Chapter Twelve

Joe scowled, looked at his watch and peered out the front door. His father was late. After the big deal he made about catching a ride with Tony, he’s the one who’s late!

Watching the rain hit the ground hard, Joe yawned. It had been a rough practice and he was tired. “Come on, Dad!” he moaned, sagging as he laid his head against the door frame.

Suddenly a shrill scream cut through the air and the boy jumped.

What the hell was that?

Heart pounding, he squinted out through the teeming rain, trying to see where the cry had come from.

“HELP ME!” a female voice cried out, making him jump again. He started forward but then stopped. What if this was a trap? His father was always telling him to look before he leaped.

The female voice screamed again while Joe dithered, debating about what to do. What if some girl really was in trouble? He looked back and forth between the pouring rain and the deserted school corridor; there was no one else to help.

“NO! GET OFF ME! SOMEONE, PLEASE!” The voice sounded desperate now.

Torn, Joe took an uncertain step forwards. There was still no sign of his father’s car and his instinct to help was starting to overrule the voice of caution in his head.

Another cry rang out, weaker than before and Joe felt sick. Someone might really be in trouble and he was just standing there like a coward. Steeling himself, the boy stepped out into the rain and glanced around to see where the cries had come from.

The screams seemed to have stopped and Joe felt a chill of foreboding. Had he waited too long? Jumping down the front steps and dashing across the lawn, he looked around. There was nobody there. Pushing his streaming hair out of his eyes, Joe could feel his hands shaking with fear and apprehension.

A loud groan from the small cluster of trees to his left made him jerk and stare wildly before taking several uncertain steps forward. Heart hammering painfully, he stopped just in front of them and swallowed. The rain was getting heavier and he had to squint to see through the darkening rain clouds. His gaze landed on what appeared to be a human foot sticking out from underneath the bushes between the trees. The boy gave a sharp intake of breath.

Oh God!

Yanking his school bag off his back, Joe rushed forward. Immediately something barrelled out from behind a tree and hit him hard, sending the boy staggering. Regaining his footing, Joe swung wildly at the figure but it ducked quickly before diving forwards and tackling him to the ground. He landed hard on his back, the man on top of him. With a burst of panic, Joe tried to scratch the man pushing him into the mud, but the man grabbed his wrists and pinned them down. Heart racing in fear, he kneed his attacker in the groin and heard a cry of pain. The tight grip loosened, and he managed to shove the man off him before sliding sideways to get away. Dripping with mud and the rain pounding hard in his face, Joe scrambled to his feet. Behind him he heard his attacker clambering clumsily to his feet as well, swearing under his breath as he did so.

Joe spun around to face the man, feeling a horrible dart of terror as he loomed above him. In the darkening rain and dripping with mud, he looked monstrous. As the man rushed forwards, Joe darted sideways in an effort to escape. But the man spun quickly seizing his arm and slamming him backwards into the nearest tree. A rag was shoved over his mouth and Joe recognised the smell of chloroform at once. Struggling desperately, he tried to evade the man’s grip but he was bigger and stronger and kept a tight grip on the boy. Senses reeling and head spinning, the last thing Joe Hardy heard was the ringing of a cell phone.

xxx

Fenton stared in horror at his tyres.

Oh God!

A quick glance at Laura’s car showed him that her tyres had been vandalised as well. Heart pounding, Fenton pulled out his cell phone and dialled Sam. “Come on, Sam, pick up!” he said urgently as he listened to the phone ring on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Sam! Get an officer to the school now! It doesn’t matter who, just send anyone straight there!”

“Fenton, what-?”

“Please! Just do it!” Fenton urged. “I think it’s him!”

Disconnecting the call, Fenton dialled Joe’s cell with shaking fingers. Please pick up, Joe, please pick up! he prayed as the phone started to ring. Come on, come on!

“DAMMIT!” he roared as an automated voice told him the person he was calling was unavailable. Hoping that the phone was in Joe’s bag and he merely hadn’t gotten to it on time, the detective dialled the number again and waited with agonized stillness to hear his son’s voice. Please, Joe, answer the phone!

His heart plummeted in fear as the phone went to that irritating, automated voice once more. Panic taking over, he dialled Sam again.

Sam answered on the second ring. “Fenton! What the hell is going on?”

“Did you get someone to go to the school?” asked Fenton, ignoring his question.

“Yeah, we sent out a radio call. There’s a patrol car less than ten minutes from the school and they’re on their way there now. Fenton, what is going on?”

“My tyres were slashed,” Fenton rushed out. “And Laura’s! Sam…”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” said Sam at once.

“But Joe’s not answering his cell,” Fenton whispered, fear in his voice.

Sam was silent for a moment before replying. “Maybe Joe had his cell on silent for class and forgot to change it back?”

“That does sound like something Joe would do,” Fenton admitted, trying to stay calm.

“I know. Fenton, I want you to stay calm. Go back inside the house and wait for me to…hang on a second.”

The detective heard voices on the other end and waited anxiously, clutching his phone harder than necessary to his ear.”

“Fenton?” Sam was back on the line. “Con just radioed in. He’s on his way over to your place, he’ll be there shortly.”

“Okay. Sam…”

“Fenton! For God’s sake, go back inside! I can hear the rain down this end of the phone!”

Fenton started. He had forgotten the rain. He was standing there dripping wet but he had forgotten the rain. “I’m going back in now,” he said, walking towards the house. “Sam, please let me know.”

“I will,” said Sam softly and hung up.

Fenton reached the front door but before he could get his key in the lock, the door swung open and Laura stood there pale with fright.

“We could hear you yelling in here,” she said shakily. “Fenton, what’s going on?”

He stepped past her into the hall. Frank stood in the doorway to the living room, wide-eyed and apprehensive.

Laura closed the door and turned to face her husband, dripping on the hall rug. “Fenton?”

“My tyres have been slashed,” he said quietly. “So have yours.”

“What! Why would anyone do that?” she cried.

“To incapacitate us,” he replied grimly. “Sam Radley’s tires were slashed as well.”

“But…he was picking Joe up!”

“There’s a patrol car on the way over to the school now,” Fenton told her.

“Dad,” Frank spoke up. “Did you call Joe?”

Fenton avoided his eyes. “He’s not answering his cell.”

Frank blanched while Laura gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

“Please don’t panic,” Fenton pleaded with them. “There might be nothing wrong.”

“But what if there is?” she whispered, lowering her hand.

Fenton went to put his arms around her before realising he was dripping wet and stopped. “Laura, I told Joe to wait inside the school doors. The officers should be there any minute so lets just wait and see what they have to say, alright? Joe may just have his phone on silent.” Fenton tried to keep his voice low and soothing both to mask the panic he was feeling and to calm his frightened wife.

Laura, trembling, nodded. “Fenton, why don’t you…why don’t you go upstairs and change out of those wet things? I’ll make some tea.”

“Good idea.” Fenton’s encouraging smile felt painted on. “Frank, why don’t you help your mother?”

The teenager remained still, appearing not to hear his father. His expression was one of shock.

“Come on, honey,” said Laura gently, leading him towards the kitchen.

Fenton waited until they had entered the kitchen before climbing the stairs two at a time. Entering his room, the detective stripped out of his sopping wet clothes and dragged dry ones from the closet. Just as he was buttoning up his shirt, the door bell rang and he tore out of the room in his stockinged feet, leaving the wet clothes in a pile on the floor. He hurried down the stairs and got to the bottom just as Laura pulled open the door.

Con Riley stood on the porch steps, his countenance grim.

“Con! Have you heard anything?” asked Fenton at once.

“Fenton, I’m sorry,” said Con softly, stepping into the hall and closing the door behind him. “Sam just called me. Joe wasn’t at the school.”

Fenton closed his eyes.

“His school bag was found on the lawn,” Con continued quietly, “along with evidence of a struggle.”

The detective opened his eyes. “Is it him, Con?” he whispered, his voice tight with fear.

Con looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“There was no syringe, no temazepam, but one of the officers found a rag with what he thinks is chloroform on it.”

“Chloroform? But that’s not…he’s never…” Fenton stopped, stunned. Was it possible that someone else had his son?

“What happened, Con?” asked Laura, her voice shaky and face white. “Fenton said he told Joe to wait inside the school.”

The officer swallowed, looking deeply unhappy. “I think he was lured out.”

“Lured out?” repeated Fenton, rigid and tense.

“The officers found a mannequin’s foot sticking out from under a bush and a portable recorder with a woman screaming for help on it. They said it sounded pretty real.”

“What…what do we do next?” asked Fenton, his mind unable to recall any of the procedures that he so often followed in situations like this. All he could think was that he had given in and allowed Joe to go to practice against his better judgement.

“Forensics are processing the scene now,” Con answered softly. “And Sam thinks he may have a lead on the guy who attacked Frank.”

“What kind of a lead?”

“A cab driver,” replied Con, quickly filling Fenton in on what Sam had told him about the strange fare. “Sam’s just called him, he’s on his way into the station now. And we’ve sent two officers over to the train station to get the camera footage from that weekend.”

“I guess that’s something,” said Fenton hoarsely. “What can I do?”

Con hesitated. When Sam had called him with the news of Joe’s disappearance, he had begged Con to try and keep Fenton at the Hardy home. The detective had not been thinking clearly when it came to the case of the murdered boys and Sam was worried that he would be more of a hindrance than a help in the search for Joe.

Con had reluctantly agreed with him. He had seen Fenton’s emotions get the better of him far too often in the past few weeks to the point that he sometimes did not think or act rationally. However, agreeing with Sam and getting Fenton to remain at the house were not the same things.

“Fenton, maybe you should stay here?” he ventured nervously.

Predictably, the detective goggled at him. “Stay here? Are you insane? Do you honestly expect me to just sit around on my ass while my son is missing?”

“It might be a good idea,” said Con quietly. “I have an officer on the way here to install a trace on your phone just in case it isn’t him, and you should be here in case there are any calls.”

“If it’s him then there won’t be any call!” Fenton snapped. “And I’m not willing to take that risk!”

Con stepped closer to Fenton. “If it’s not him then Frank is still a target!” he hissed in his ear. “Are you willing to take that risk?!”

Fenton had no answer, merely glared at Con who sighed. “Fenton, we are doing everything we can. Please, can you just trust us to do our jobs?”

There was a moment or two of tense silence before the detective silently sagged.

Con was relieved. He had expected a bigger fight from Fenton. The officer looked over to where a trembling Laura Hardy stood, her arm around an ashen-faced Frank.

“Laura, where’s Gertrude?” he asked quietly.

“She’s visiting a friend,” Laura replied. “She said she wouldn’t be back until late.”

Damn! Con’s heart sank. Fenton’s sister was a strong willed and opinionated woman at the best of times, but she could be more than counted on to keep everyone calm in a situation like this. He sighed. He would just have to do this without the force of nature that was Gertrude Hardy.

“Why don’t we go into the living room?” he suggested, trying to keep things calm. “Sam said he would call as soon as the cab driver was finished giving his description to the sketch artist.”

Laura gave a move between a shrug and a nod and slowly propelled her son towards the living room.

Con turned to Fenton. “Are you coming?”

“Just gave me a minute,” the detective whispered. “I need to call Mike.”

Con gave an understanding nod and followed Laura and Frank into the living room. Laura looked up as he entered.

“I was just making tea,” she said. “Will you have some?”

“No thank you, Laura,” he replied politely.

“Some coffee then?” she asked, somewhat desperately and Con recognised in her a need to be doing something, regardless of how small or trivial.

“Coffee would be lovely, thank you.”

She nodded and moved dazedly into the kitchen just as Fenton entered from the hall.

“I can’t reach Mike,” he told Con plaintively. “He’s not answering his phone.”

“Maybe he’s driving?” Con suggested.

“Maybe.” Fenton bit his lip and sank down on the couch beside a silent Frank. Con sat into the armchair.

The next two hours were long and uncomfortable. Con and the Hardys sat in the living room saying nothing and listening to the rain battering against the windows. Occasionally, their gaze would drift towards Fenton’s cell phone lying silently on the coffee table. Con kept checking his watch, wishing Sam would call with some news for the Hardys; but their only contact had been the silent officer who had installed the trace on the Hardy phone then left.

Finally, around nine, the doorbell rang. Laura disappeared to answer it while Fenton and Frank stared hopefully in the direction of the hall. She returned a minute later with Sam Radley in tow.

“Sam!” exclaimed Fenton, jumping to his feet. “What’s going on? Have you got anything?”

Sam, looking tired and grim, handed a piece of paper to Fenton. “That’s the description the cab driver gave us of the man he drove here to the house. It’s an almost identical match to a guy that was picked up on three different security cameras at the train station.”

Fenton took the proffered page and studied the sketch. The man looked very ordinary; a thin face with brown hair. Not exactly a person one would pick out in a crowd. He looked at Frank who was watching him anxiously and handed him the picture. “Frank, does this look anything like the guy who attacked you?”

Frank’s hands were shaking as he studied the picture. He wracked his brain trying to get some flash of memory from the night he was attacked but nothing would come to him. All he could remember was driving to karate and listening to a Counting Crows song playing on the radio. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and forced out the lyrics of Raining in Baltimore from his head, trying to get a glimpse of something else, anything, that might have happened that night.

There was nothing. Opening his eyes, Frank looked up at his father and felt like he might cry. “I’m sorry, Dad,” he whispered. “I can’t remember.”

“That’s okay, Frank,” said Fenton softly, as he removed the paper from the teenager’s trembling fingers. “You did your best.”

Squeezing his son’s shoulder reassuringly, Fenton turned to Sam and Con who were on their feet and staring at him. “Have we anything else?” he asked them.

“Not yet,” answered Sam quietly. “Officers are looking through the campus security cameras from the high school, but so far they’ve come up with nothing. And Chief Collig has sent some officers to the houses of the kids who had football practice and any of the staff who might have still been there when Joe was abducted, just in case someone saw anything suspicious.”

Fenton nodded. “Do we…have we any hint that it’s him?”

Sam shook his head. “The MO is different. We can’t be sure if it’s him or not.”

“Why did he go after Joe?”

The question was asked so quietly that they almost didn’t hear it. The three men looked down at Frank who was looking up at them with frightened eyes. “If it’s him…the guy from Dad’s case, then why did he go after Joe? I thought…I thought I was the target?” He swallowed and Fenton could see that part of him was blaming himself.

“We don’t know that it’s him, Frank,” he told his son quietly.

“But what if it is?” the boy persisted.

Sam opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by the sound of Fenton’s cell phone going off. Fenton jumped, froze for a minute and then dived for the phone on the coffee table.

“Hello?” he answered quickly. “Mike! Where are you? I tried to…” the detective’s voice trailed off as he listened to his friend on the other end. His face took on a shocked expression. “How did you…?”

Everyone in the room focused their attention on Fenton. “Mike, are you sure…what? No! Don’t…” His voice trailed off and he clenched his jaw as he listened to the man on the other end of the cell. The others watched him anxiously as his face grew progressively darker and grimmer. “No way!” said Fenton sharply. “That is stupid and dangerous! You need to wait until-” An angry, frustrated expression darted across the detective’s face as he was obviously interrupted by Mike once more.

Sam and Con looked at one another. What was going on?

“DON’T SAY THAT!” Fenton roared suddenly, making them all jump. “Mike, I swear, if you…hello? Hello?! GODDAMMIT!” Fenton yelled throwing his phone across the room. “SON OF A BITCH!”

xxx

Joe didn’t know what woke him. His head throbbed painfully, his stomach felt nauseous and his mouth was uncomfortably dry.

Where am I?

Joe opened his eyes and saw only black, then felt himself start to spin. Nausea rose in his throat and he tried not to retch. It was then he realised he was gagged and blindfolded. He tried to get up but found himself bound hand and foot. He immediately attempted to loosen the ropes but his arms and legs felt like lead and his efforts were feeble. Letting his head fall back to the ground, Joe tried not to panic.

Where am I? What’s going on?

Memories started to flit back to him in hazy images…waiting for his father…hearing screams for help…being attacked by a shadowy figure…

The reality of his situation began to dawn on him and cold terror snaked its way around his heart. Breathing hitching in fear and panic, the boy started to struggle with the ropes once more. Jerking his hands roughly, he forced out short, agitated gasps through the gag in suffocating bursts. His efforts only succeeded in pulling the ropes tighter around his wrists, rubbing them raw. With a groan of despair, he stopped fighting and concentrated on relaxing his frightened, rasping breathing.

Suddenly, a loud click sounded in the room and Joe heard the distinctive creak of a door. He froze and waited, listening to whomever had just entered the room. Heavy footsteps came across the floor towards him and then he heard a soft whoosh.

“Hello, Joe,” said a voice by his ear, causing the boy to jerk in fright. “It’s nice to meet you.” An evil laugh followed the pronouncement before the man added, “And I’m sure it will be even nicer getting to know you.”

A/N: I have two things I want to say; first, thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to review. I know I say it at the end of every chapter but I really do mean it. It means a lot to me when people take the time to review and I really appreciate it.

Second, please do not flame me. I do welcome constructive critisim, it helps me improve as a writer. For example, I once had a reviewer tell me that the dialogue in my stories was a little formal and it taught me to watch out out for that, and I feel the dialogue in my stories has really improved since then. Pointing out something that a writer can improve on or watch for is helpful, telling her that her writing is 'rubbish' does not. I received two reviews on my last chapter (which I deleted) that claimed I had turned this into a 'Joe' story. The first review was cold and a little unfriendly, but it wasn't overtly rude and it probably wouldn't have bothered me so much if it weren't immediately followed by the most defamatory review I have ever had the displeasure to read. Telling a writer that she 'sucks' and doesn't 'have a clue about writing' and that her story is 'a pile of ' serves no purpose other than to upset, hurt and dishearten the writer. I also want to get one thing straight. I do not write 'Joe' stories, nor do I write 'Frank' stories. I write The Hardy Boys...plural.

I understand that not everyone will like my story and what's more, I respect that. However, if you don't like a story then the solution is very simple...stop reading. I have read several stories that I have enjoyed which have suddenly taken a twist that I did not like (such as killing a Hardy family member. That's always out for me) and I just stopped reading. I have never felt the need to insult a writer because their story (that they had planned, plotted out and written) did not follow the path that I felt it should. That's arrogance and I would never dream of tearing apart someones hard work with hurtful remarks just because I didn't like it.

I'm well aware that the vast majority of readers and reviewers will not do this (in fact, they are usually wonderful people who posess the ability to lift a writer's spirit after even the crappiest of days at work), but I worked very hard on this story and spent the better part of a year writing it, and those two reviews (especially the second) were more than hurtful; they were crushing. If you don't like this story and decide to stop reading, that's fine, I completely respect that. If you see something I need to work on and want to tell me about it, then go ahead. I absolutely welcome that type of feedback because it really does help me as a writer. If you don't like my story and decide that you need to defame and insult my writing, please don't. Keep in mind that I would never do it to you. Thank you.