A/N: Hi and Hello to anyone reading this! I contracted a severe case of writer's block over the summer and am currently exhibiting signs of senioritis (waaaah! I know). BUT I have managed to pull the broken pieces together (somewhat) and in a moment of inspiration wrote the following. Yes, I had to break away from my previous story, it was too stale - literary-wise - for me to disturb at the moment (but I will update it SOON). So without further ado...
Disclaimer: ('.') I don't own anything you recognize.
- Elsewhere (Joe) -
A blonde-haird, blue-eyed seventeen year old watched a blue van drive by from the second floor of a clean, white Victorian home. His eyes were glazed over, his mouth slightly pouted, his forehead creased, as he struggled to remember something... or someone.
The blue van had pulled him into another episode of staring into space with a memory prodding the tender back of his mind, but unable to penetrate.
"What...?" he muttered. There was a quick knock on the door and he turned his head to greet his visitor. "Hi, mom."
"Hey, sweetie," the woman replied. "Dinner's ready."
Strangely, it pained him to look at her, but he set that thought aside and nodded.
"Be down in a minute," he told her. She smiled, something that always made him nervous, and whipped about to leave. Watching her leave, he noticed her dark brown hair, and a terrible feeling settled itself in his stomach. He looked down at his wrists. He couldn't remember the watch and bracelet he was supposed to have been wearing too tightly, the ones his mom had told him had caused the sore red lines that now decorated his wrists. He couldn't remember tripping over anything that would have caused the cactus to fall onto the crook of his arm and leave it with several small puncture holes. The terrible feeling squirmed and swelled. Something was not right here.
- Elsewhere (Frank) -
It was pitch black.
He jerked at the restraints, cuffs with worn pads, that kept him flat on his back on the cot.
Vision throbbing in and out of focus, he slowly turned his head to one side and fought the bile and blood in his throat. He stared at the door, light from behind it giving it an eerie, blinding outline, but what terrified him more was what he couldn't see. He could feel the little holes that marked his left arm, could feel the drugs in his system, taking over everything he had grown to rely on-his senses, his logic, his instinct... his memory. He fought to keep the now pixelated images intact, but for every infinite second that passed, the pictures would break down even more. He could see a woman, brunette with silver lining, hands on her hips and her face one of playful skepticism. Aunt Gertrude, he thought. A woman, blonde with eyes that mirrored the sky.
"Mom," he croaked. He let his head fall to the other side, away from the light. A man, brunette like the older woman, with a firm jaw and a stern look about him offset only by the twinkle in his eye.
"Dad," he whispered tearily. A boy... He frowned. A boy...
"No!" he whispered in horror. Had he lost him already? "No!" he cried louder this time. Then it came to him. A boy, blonde with a mischievous air appeared in his mind's eye, and with it came the name he most dreaded to forget. He breathed in achingly and then slowly let it out, "Joe..."
- Hardy Residence -
Fenton Hardy stood up finally, knees popping and bed creaking with relief as he did so. He looked behind him to see the wrinkles that marked where he had been sitting on Frank's bed for the past several hours. The house was uncharacteristically quiet, and had been for... Fenton glanced at the calendar tacked to the wall by the desk. The last crossed out day was... two and a half weeks ago. Fenton stared absently at the familiar handwriting, imagining the characteristic determination of the hand. He started when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Laura stood forcibly straight and tired.
"The escorts are waiting," she said quietly. "Gertrude's already in the car. You know how she is with goodbyes and with everything that's going on..."
"It's alright, I understand." He gently took her hand. She gave a small choked laugh.
"I don't want to leave here, Fenton," she whispered and shook her head in disbelief. "I don't want to leave you. Why I let you talk me into going to your mother's -I can't..."
Fenton cupped her cheek and they held each other's gaze.
"Because you trust me to get our boys back safe, and I trust you to keep safe while I do it," he told her. "I won't lose any of you."
"I know," she took his hand from her face and rubbed her forehead a little before looking at her bags waiting in the doorway. "Carry my stuff down for me?"
He gave a silent nod, not trusting himself to say anymore, and slowly followed her out.
- Elsewhere (Frank) -
"Are we going to behave now, Lance?"
The dark-haired teen stirred and opened his eyes, bloodshot and unfocused.
"Answer me, Lance. You know how much daddy hates to repeat himself, Lance... Lance!"
The eyes had shut and now shot open again, fighting the drug still, but much more weakly now.
"Daddy..." the boy rasped finally. "can go screw-" A heavy hand shot forward and grabbed him by the chin, forcing him to face his captor. Then the grip on his chin disappeared. He was about to let out a deep breath when the man suddenly wrapped his calloused hands around Frank's tender neck. For a few moments, all that could be heard was the heavy breathing of a man in his late forties and the wheezy attempts at breathing of the figure on the cot. Frank felt his heart hammering in his chest, his entire body trembling, struggling to avail of, at the very least, the musty air that shared the boy's prison. The man smirked, tightening his hold until the boy's lips tinged blue.
"You're lucky you're so valuable to them, otherwise..." he let the boy go with a jerk. "Bye bye, Lance." Frank didn't move, just lay there, breathing through his mouth haphazardly, and choking.
"You should embrace it, Lance. It is real, it is good. It'll stop hurting if you stop fighting and just accept... who you are. Lance. Lance. Lance. Remember that for next visit. Otherwise..."
His captor watched as something in the hazel eyes died, reminding him of a candle's flame when snuffed, and waited until the dulled orbs succumbed to the needling darkness before leaving with a scowl.
- Elsewhere (Joe) -
"James, dear, why haven't you touched your food?"
The boy being addressed looked up from his plate and gave a well-rehearsed yawn, so realistic as to make his blue eyes water even. "Sorry," he said, putting up a hand to cover his mouth. "I'm actually more sleepy than hungry at the moment."
"Oh?" the man seated at the head of the table interjected. "Did this afternoon's football practice wear you out?"
What football practice? James thought edgily. It was frustrating not being able to remember anything that he'd done since he woke up from his nap in his room an hour or two ago. But he smiled and nodded his head.
"Yeah."
He was excused and then carefully walked to his room, all the while fighting the urge to run.
He collapsed onto his bed, stared at the ceiling, and then absently lifted up a hand as if to touch it. He eyed his left arm and discovered a scar that began at the base of his wrist and came just short of the middle of his forearm. How come I never noticed this before? He mused, fingering the abused line of flesh. It was old, seeing as it was so faint, and the tingling sensation returned to the back of his mind, screaming one name: Frank.
9 years ago...
"Joe! Dad is so going to kill you when he finds out!" An anxious brown-eyed dark-haired boy gently prodded an equally anxious blue-eyed blonde boy.
The blonde, one or two inches smaller, looked up at him pleadingly.
"You won't tell him will you, Frank?" he asked in a small voice. The other boy sighed heavily and shook his head.
"We have to tell him, otherwise he'll just find out and we'll end up in even more trouble," Frank explained gently. "Besides, it's kind of hard to cover up." He nodded at Joe's arm, which was bleeding from a cut.
"I'm sorry, Frank," Joe said tearily. "Dad's study is locked- I thought I could reach it-"
"It's alright little bro, now you're just making me mad. Quit blaming yourself and apologizing. I should have kept a better eye on you. Just promise me no more Mr. Fantastic stunts? If the ball breaks a window, especially the one in dad's study, don't try to reach through and grab it, because one, you can't and won't reach it and two, this'll happen." Again he indicated Joe's cut. "Now, let's go get you cleaned up. The least we can do is look presentable at trial." He was teasing, but Joe couldn't help but imagine their father with a gavel and a grave face. He gulped and nervously looked up at Frank who smiled at him reassuringly.
"Don't worry about it too much. Who knows? Maybe if you put on those puppy dog eyes Auntie falls for so much, we might actually be let off the hook."
"Yeah," Joe lit up mischievously, all worry gone from his face. He wrapped his good arm around his brother's waist and hugged with all his might. "Thanks, Frank."
"Hey," he heard his brother whisper. "anytime, little bro. Partners in crime, you and me."
'James' bolted upright.
Frank, he thought, letting the name roll pleasantly unsaid in his mouth before... "Frank."
That's when it struck him, his memory resurrected.
My name is Joe Hardy and I am being held here against my will, he thought with terror.
TBA
A/N (cntd.) : BTW, if you don't know me by now let it be known that I have certain preferences, one of them being Frank over Joe. Sorry to all the Joe lovers out there! I just wanted to let you know before you get any further into this that it will be more on a Frank-centric side :)
Happy Readings everyone!
A/N: I decided against posting a whole other chapter for this next part because it reads so much better just adding it after the first; lots of flashbacks, you see.
Haven't gotten much response yet -as expected, really- but thank you to those who alerted and favorit-ed! Alas! I see that I'll have to work harder to lure in more of you... enjoy...
- Hardy Residence -
Fenton sighed heavily as he seated himself behind the sturdy oak desk that had inhabited his study since before Frank's birth and made years even before his own. He patted it contemplatively before letting his fingers rest on one of the files that littered the surface. It was well-worn and creased, evidence of every night he had so far spent reviewing every page held within, searching for any clue as to where his sons may be. He was exhausted, beyond anxious, and guilty, knowing that his last words to the two of them had been full of anger.
Eighteen Days Ago
Frank paced up and down in his father's study while Joe stood, rigid and with fists curled.
"We can't just stand here doing nothing, dad," Joe said through gritted teeth. He was jumping at the opportunity to nab some bad guys. "Let me and Frank go, we can handle ourselves." He glared at Frank for support, who obligingly stopped and looked pointedly at his father. It was clear, though, that Fenton had no intention of letting them go this time.
"There's no point in putting yourselves in unnecessary danger, you boys will stay here, and that is final," he told them firmly. "We've done what we can, now let the local authorities handle the rest."
"This is out of their jurisdiction," Frank spoke up calmly. "They shouldn't-"
"Oh, for once, won't you just do as I tell you?" Fenton said in exasperation.
"We always do, and I'm starting to think that that's the problem," Joe said angrily.
"I can't have you boys out there, not this time," Fenton remained firm.
"Please, dad," Frank appealed gently. "We've been working this case for what? Two, three months now? We can't just let other people finish for us, we never have, and we are definitely not going to start now."
"We are not talking about smugglers, and petty thieves here. This is-"
"This is imprisonment! What you're doing? Involuntary detainment! You have to let us-" Joe cried.
"No, it's much too risky, and from a father's perspective your safety comes before duty. I won't let you!"
"More like you won't trust us to take care of ourselves!"
"Hate me all you want for this but I'm not changing my mind."
"You trained us for this! Have seen us off to worse situations, and then now, all of a sudden, you-"
"Enough!" Frank interjected, putting up a hand. There was a slight pause before he turned to his brother. "He's right, Joe. We needn't chance it." With a brief nod to his father, he stalked up to his room just before giving Joe an expectant glance. His brother caught on and after giving his father a look of disappointment he hurried up after Frank.
The next day found both of their rooms empty, one particularly chilled by an open window.
- Elsewhere (Joe)-
Joe's body tensed as the door to his room swung open. It was a little past nine thirty in the evening and as usual, someone came up to check on him, usually his 'father.' The noise of the other's breathing was brief, and then came the sound of the door shutting and the lock being turned. As usual, Joe thought not too glumly; their predictability was working in his favor. He'd had to play possum before, pretending to be asleep now wasn't hard. Next, escape. Joe nimbly rolled out of bed, careful to make as little noise as possible. Crouching down, he made his way quickly toward his window. As soon as his fingers gripped the wood and his palm flattened against the glass of the window to ease it open, he was struck with- Deja vu, Joe thought suddenly, his mind slipping briefly from the present.
Eighteen Days Ago
Joe shook his brother gently. He had successfully gotten out of his room and into his brother's without waking anyone. That was the easy part. Now, he had to convince...
"Frank," Joe hissed urgently. He didn't have to wait long before Frank turned in his bed to face him.
"No." the voice was muffled, Frank being still buried in his covers.
"You don't even know what I'm about to say! Or ask!" protested the younger Hardy.
"Whatever it is, and I have a pretty good idea what it is, the answer is still no."
"So you agree with what dad said? You think we should lay off the rest of the case, the very case we pratically solved ourselves, and just hand it over on a silver platter to middle-aged men in uniform who would be more than happy to take the credit for all our hard work?"
"No."
"No you don't agree or-"
"Both. Listen, Joe, we are not stepping a foot in Doyle's direction," Frank said, finally throwing off the covers to glare at his brother. "Besides, let the 'middle-aged men in uniform' do the leg work for once, who knows, maybe this way they'll remember how to do their jobs. Might as well give ourselves a break, too. I sure could use it, and from the looks of it, so could you."
Joe felt a pang of guilt at that. By the moonlight he could easily see the heavy shading under his brother's eyes, hair reaching out in all directions, a rasp that screamed for relief, very uncharacteristic for Frank save for when they were working on a serious case. Still, Joe's stubborness had Joe insisting.
"Remember that time when we were little, when I broke one of the windows to dad's study and we decided to tell him... and get in trouble together? Remember what you told me?"
"Joe, not again. You know that's not fair, I was nine and you're taking what I said completely out of context!" Frank groaned, putting a hand to his forehead in exasperation. Ignoring his protest, Joe went on.
"'Partners in crime.' That's what you told me we were."
"We're not doing it, Joe."
"Are you denying-"
"Joe!" Frank's voice was edged with the beginnings of anger. An angry brother was a rare sight for Joe and after those first few times he'd preferred to keep it that way. The younger Hardy immediately changed tactic.
"Fine. I'm more than willing to compromise. We go now we can at the very least check and see how the stakeout is going."
Frank eyed him warily. "You really think it's worth sneaking out, against dad's orders might I add, to watch people watch other people?"
"Who are you and what have you done to my brother? He'd be itching to get out and wrap this mess up once and for all!" That earned Joe a pillow to the face. There was a slight pause before his brother spoke again.
"Take care of the window while I get dressed," Frank mumbled as he dragged himself from the bed. Joe grinned at his brother's back and ran over to open the window. As he eased it open he couldn't help but whisper into the waiting night, "Oh, yeah, bad guys here we come!"
Joe felt his chest tighten at the memory. Thoughts of Frank had occupied whatever nook and cranny in his mind that his plans for escape had not. He remembered fighting with his father, sneaking out with Frank, shadowing the police on stakeout, confronting Doyle... and clearest of all, the image of Frank unconscious in the arms of two menacing strangers, and his own voice screaming for his older brother as they were dragged apart. He lifted himself over and out of the window, biting back tears. I'll find you, Frank, Joe vowed silently as his feet hit the ground, just hold on for me, wherever you are.
- Elsewhere (Frank) -
"Lance."
Eyelids opened and shut, giving the room's two other occupants a peek at glassy, brown eyes. One of them, 'Daddy,' stooped down to give the young man on the cot a few firm slaps on the cheek.
"Lance!" he hissed. The boy's eyes open and shut,a small hint of awareness toward his two visitors. 'Daddy' grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him roughly until the other man placed a restraining hand on his arm.
"How much did you give him?" the other man queried.
"I followed orders down to the tee. I don't understand why it hasn't manifested-"
"You know how important this one is to our organization," the other man went on with a steel edge to his tone. "I thought I had given him to the right man."
"Listen, Mr. Doyle, I did everything right. It's the kid, he's fighting the drug, fighting me!"
"Tom, he's Fenton Hardy's son, one shouldn't expect otherwise."
Silence.
"What happened to his neck?"
"He got a little uncontrollable."
"In those restraints? And drugged up to his eyeballs?"
"Like you said, sir, he's a Hardy brat."
Silence.
"P-Please... just l-let... me... g-go... p-please..." rasped the tortured boy from beneath them.
Doyle knelt, leveling his eyes with the cot, and leaned forward until his breath tickled Frank's ear.
"What's the matter, my boy?
"I... I..." Frank stammered, the desire to convey even a fraction of the pain he was in clashing hard with his inability to do so properly. He shut his eyes, swallowing repeatedly. "P-pain. T-too. Much."
"I see..." Doyle spared a glance at Tom, who stood by with a face set in a sneer. "What happened? Can you remember?"
"H-him. Y-you. Did. This." Frank sobbed angrily, shaking his head. "I c-can't r-remember. But y-you. Y-you..." By now, Frank's body was trembling uncontrollably, with fear, pain, exhaustion, he couldn't tell anymore. Maybe it was a combination of all three. "H-hurt. P-people. Children!"
Doyle allowed himself a small, amused smile. "Lance-"
"N-not. Lance. Frank Hardy," Frank whispered, more to himself than to them. "M-my name is F-Frank Hardy."
Doyle persisted. "Lance, believe me, this is for your own good. You're not thinking straight right now, the medication you're being given will make things clearer. Lance?"
Frank's eyes had been blinking slowly, had even shut for a few seconds. Please let this all just be a bad dream, Frank thought pleadingly. Just a bad dream...
"Where's m-my brother? W-where's Joe?" Frank demanded, jolted awake at the thought of his brother possible undergoing a similar torture. The Doyle and Tom exchanged glances before returning their gazes toward Frank, this time a steely glint in their eyes.
"Keep to the administration schedule. I don't want him becoming fully lucid, I expect him disoriented at all times. He's been working with his father and brother on us. He knows how our operation works, and he's a little older than what we're used to dealing with," Doyle mused. "It makes it whole lot harder to make him think what we want him to think, and especially when he knows that's exactly what we'll be doing."
"Fine, so I drug him into next week. Then what?"
"No, not next week. I'll have him and his brother relocated in two days' time."
"Seperately, I hope? One's enough of a pain, for sure. And somewhere south?"
"Somewhere they won't ever be a bother to anyone, anywhere, ever again."
Frank couldn't hold back a relieved sob. So Joe was still alive at least. But for how long? The thought of his brother was Frank's last as he slipped once again into unconsciousness.
A/N: Mwah hah hah! Cliffy! Short and sweeeet.
We writers don't write only so we can, for fun, read our stories back to ourselves, this is for YOU! So, please, please, review! Critique! Be mean (totally optional)! Comment! It will be very much appreciated. :)
TBA