Title of Story: Before I Sleep
Type of Story: Story Contest, SN
Characters in Story: F, J
Warnings: mild to moderate gore
Date Story Originally Posted: October, 2009
Special Notes: The poem in the first and last chapter inspired this tale, but alas it isn't mine. It's Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost.
CHAPTER 1
Whose woods these are I think I know. My little horse must think it queer He gives his harness bells a shake The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep
Whoa... Frank nudged the wheel of the car to the left, resisting the urge to yank it as hard as he could. The van again obediently hugged the asphalt, the moment's hydroplane over. He sighed and raked a hand through the front of his hair, wishing it wasn't another three hours home. Maybe even four or five in this rain. He'd finished his errand in Lake Placid by late afternoon and was driving back to Bayport, trying to convince himself he didn't mind the slanted rain. Maybe the downpour wasn't all that bad, but the empty passenger seat he could do without. Not that he was likely to mention that to Joe. His year younger brother inevitably fidgeted, squirmed, crunched, spewed crumbs, joked, blasted the radio, sang and generally whined his way through any long drive, and Frank took every opportunity to claim it made him nuts. Driving the round trip in one day by himself, though, was making Joe's antics downright appealing.
Fenton Hardy, their private detective father, had just completed a smuggling case that seemed to involve half of the state of New York. Unfortunately, a solved case inevitably led to a mountain of paperwork, and Fenton had decided his sons were old enough to begin helping with that end of mystery solving too. So early this morning, Frank had been dispatched to Lake Placid and Joe to Clayton, each charged with the incredibly exciting task of collecting signed affidavits at the respective courthouses and bringing them back to Bayport. Frank idly wondered when the legal system would enter the twenty first century and accept faxed documents. The twentieth century would be an improvement, as far as that goes.
Admitting the waterlogged road was beginning to mesmerize him, Frank declared it was time for a break. Nothing about the small diner he pulled into forty minutes later seemed all that remarkable, but at least it was dry and the food smelled decent. Ordering a roast beef sandwich, potato wedges, and a slice of pumpkin pie, and getting a smile from the twenty something waitress that offered a great deal more, he slouched into a corner booth. She was smirking at him from the counter, a kaleidoscope of garish colors painted across her overdone face. There had to be a way to make his six foot one inch frame inconspicuous, but he wasn't having much success finding it.
The stoneware plate clanked on the Formica table in front of him, drawing his attention back from folding himself into a ball. "You need anything else, hun?"
"Ah, no this is fine. It looks good, thanks." Frank dropped his eyes to his plate, ignoring the quick wink sent his way.
"Oh, I'd have to say everything in here looks real good, sweetie. Enjoy your dinner." She leaned over to plant a palm on the table, wriggling her too tight uniform back into his line of sight. The brush against his shoulder could have been accidental, depending on how much denial you could really muster on short notice. "I'll be back real soon with that pie."
Frank fought his way through a very dry swallow. "Good. Yeah. Pie. That'll be, um, great." The warmth in his cheeks rivaled the food. He was halfway through the roast beef when he risked another breath. Perfume cloud's dissipating a bit...What on earth was that about? Crud... Joe. I was supposed to call Joe...
Joe groped blindly through assorted candy wrappers and smashed soda cans, certain his cell phone was in there somewhere. Couldn't be ringing otherwise, right? There!
"Hello?"
"You answered!"
"Well, uh yeah, Frank, that's the general idea. When the little rectangular box rings, you push the green button on it and say hello. Get this one down pat and we'll cover TV remotes tomorrow."
"Very funny, Joe. You've only had your driver's license three months now. You're not supposed to talk on the phone while you're on the road, you know that."
"Hey! You called me." Joe tried not to sound exasperated. "And you'd be fussing that I worried you if I didn't answer. Besides, you're on the road too, genius."
"Actually, I'm not. I'm, ah, eating dinner."
"You ok? You sound weird. Not that you aren't usually weird - truth in advertising, I guess."
"Whatever. I'm fine. Have you eaten yet?" Frank shifted his arm away from the ring laden hand loitering there under the pretense of refilling his soda.
"No, and I'm getting hungry now that you mention it. There's an exit coming up; give me ten minutes and I'll call you back."
"If I can last here that long..." Frank's comment came out under his breath, but Joe caught it anyway.
"What's that?"
"Never mind. The waitress is a little, ah, affectionate." His discomfort with the unsolicited attention was obvious.
Joe's barked laugh came through the phone loud and clear. "Hey, if I'm cramping your flirting, bro, I'll just see you at home. Wouldn't want to interrupt you and your new friend."
"Don't you dare! Ten minutes, Joe, and this phone better ring!"
"Yeah, yeah... Just make sure she doesn't bite... much..."
"Joe! I am not kidding..."
"Ok, ten minutes, geeze..."
"Hello?"
"Frank?"
"You're two minutes late, Joe."
"Yeah, well, McDonald's or Arby's was a big decision. I needed a minute to contemplate." Joe chuckled. "You still eating?"
"Just finished. Let me pay the bill and go back out to the van." Frank made his way to the cash register, grateful to see the swarthy cook standing behind the counter.
"Change is four eighty five. Have a nice night." The gruff mountain of a man scrunched his forehead, but the warning came too late.
"Night could get much better than just nice, sugar." The waitress suddenly appeared behind the wary youth.
Whatever snickered retort Joe might have offered to the overheard proposition was overwhelmed by a sharp yelp from Frank.
"Frank?... Frank?... You ok? Frank?" The slam of the van door through the telephone reassured Joe somewhat. "Frank?"
"She... she... she pinched me!"
Choked chortles claimed the next several minutes, the transmitted sounds of Joe laughing until he cried slowing leading his sibling out of indignant splutters into the humor of the situation. Finally Frank managed a laugh, too.
"So, if I beat you home should I tell Callie to worry?"
"Um, no, definitely not. I doubt you'll beat me home, though. Where are you, anyway?"
"Arby's."
"Thanks Joe, that clears it right up. I meant what town."
"Right outside of Pulaski. I've been looking at the map and I think I can cut across and go through Remsen, then hit I-90 again at Saint Johnsville. Should cut a good bit off the trip."
"Nu- uh. No way, Joe. Dad was adamant about that, no leaving the interstate. Take I-81 south to Syracuse and then hit 90 east."
"Dad didn't know the courthouse buffoons would take an extra hour to find all the paperwork or that it was going to pucker up and snow. This way will get me home faster." Joe found this rationale to be perfectly reasonable.
"Fine. Call him and ask, then."
"I don't see any need to go that far... Besides, Mom and Dad won't be home until morning."
Frank shook his head, aware his brother couldn't see it. "In other words, you know he'll say no."
"Not if I don't ask."
"Impeccable logic, as always. I'm not backing you up on this one once we're home. And it's not going to snow."
Joe squinted at the grey weight of the sky. "Looks like snow to me. Besides, you're the one up in Lake Placid with the Olympic ski runs and the amorous snow bunny. You didn't see even a little snow?"
"Trust me, she did not look anything remotely like a snow bunny, and there definitely wasn't any snow in Lake Placid. It's still 45 degrees, Joe, you miss class the day they covered freezing points? I doubt it'll even cool down enough to get slick in the middle of the night. Stay on the interstate."
"I think it's a lot colder than that, Frank, and I will be on the interstate. As soon as I hit I-90 at Saint Johnsville."
"Joe-"
"What was that?!"
Joe stomped the brake, convinced he was about to obliterate an unsuspecting raccoon, or maybe a small dog. Whatever it was, he nailed it. He brought the car to a halt, not particularly eager to view mincemeat, but needing to see if the creature was beyond help.
He exited his mother's sedan, peeping at the flattened mass under the left rear wheel. His heel slid on the pavement, requiring a hasty grab at the side view mirror. Knew it was colder than 45. The bad news was that the lump under the tire was torn in half. The good news was that it was the remnants of a large red rubber ball.
Joe scanned the trees on both sides of the road, but no children were visible in the dimming light. He could hear his father's driving lecture in his head - always beware of a ball rolling into the road as it is almost always followed by a sprinting child. Not at this hour, surely.
He thought he heard a smothered giggle, but a closer look didn't reveal a thing. There was a gurgle of noise, but that was expected. He'd come to a stop on a small stone bridge. This was either the second or third one he had crossed, all single lane affairs spanning the same meandering stream a few feet below. Shaking his head, Joe got back in the car and crept out onto the asphalt.
Ten minutes later, a wave of déjà vu swept over him even as he squealed to a stop, the car spinning around in more than a complete circle on the icy lane. No, it's only déjà vu if didn't actually happen before. .. Ok, new law of physics... the deceleration of the car's speed is inversely proportional to the acceleration of the driver's heart rate...
"What is it with the toys?" Joe climbed back out of the car, looking at the carved wheeled horse he'd managed to miss this time. "Great, now I'm talking to myself. Maybe I'm being bombarded by Santa's elves. Anyone there?"
He slowly gazed in every direction, again seeing nothing. No child answered his call, or emerged from the forest. The trees formed a tight canopy over the winding country road, slivers of faint light forcing their way through. The creek burbled at the roadside, the moss-slicked tips of protruding rocks just beginning to have a dusting of snow. Joe leaned against the driver's door, hoping another car would pass. He suddenly realized how long it had been since he'd seen one. Sure the weather wasn't wonderful, but it wasn't that late and it was Friday. Seemed like somebody else would be out.
"Ok, Hardy, quit giving yourself the willies. It's a rural road at night, that's all. I ought to be glad there isn't another vehicle around since I'm sideways across both lanes." Joe slid into the driver's seat, glad the car was still warm. Restarting the engine, he stared up and down the road.
I came from there... No, maybe that way... Why can't I tell?... What the heck is going on, I never get lost... Joe tipped his head to the sky, but the flurry laden clouds blocked any attempt to gauge direction. How come Frank got the van with the GPS?... I am so not telling him I got turned around when I get back home... pretty sure it's this way...
It wasn't even five minutes this time. A wooden scooter darted in front of the deep green sedan, Joe's eyes widening at the rapid streak. Was there a kid on there? God, I hit it. Tell me there wasn't a kid?
The brakes couldn't stop him this time, the skid of the car slamming it into the stunted sidewall of the bridge and then propelling it over, the sickening crunch of tearing automobile and scattering stones giving way to the cocooned music of the night forest. The stream trickled around its interspersed rocks, the finer tree branches gently clicked in the wind, an animal gave a soft snort in the distance. From the jagged twist of cooling metal and the boy within, there was nothing at all.