Title: The Aftermath
Author: The Silent Rumble
DISCLAIMER: "Sequals are best posted a year after the previous book ended." Oh, wait... I don't own Hardy Boys.
I don't own Numb3rs. (Last I checked, neither do you; please don't sue!:))
Beta: FraidyCat
Let's go with a co-writer here, guys, she really did a lot. Thanks, FraidyCat.
Summary: "…He had arrived home with a tear-streaked face, a broken arm, and a stuttered story about falling in the playground." So, You Really Didn't Fall Off The Jungle Gym Sequel. A Hardy Boys/Numb3rs crossover.
Thanks for reviewing, thanks for sticking with us, and thanks to FraidyCat for beta'ing. Any remaining mistakes are mine. -Jason
"…. He had arrived home with a tear-streaked face, a broken arm, and a stuttered story about falling in the playground."
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"I'm so sorry, Jessica," Charlie said. He stood sobbing at the gravesite of his childhood friend, Jessica Cartman. Her own stepfather had murdered her, and Charlie had been there when it happened – and hadn't been able to stop it. The memories, though, were disturbingly fresh in his mind. He had repressed the experience for 20 years, until Fenton Hardy had managed to change all that.
Charlie's father, Alan, had agreed to foster Frank Hardy, the son of his old friend Fenton. It was bad enough to find out that Fenton was actually a criminal mastermind, operating a huge organization. When one of his long-time partners turned out to be Jeff Henderson, Jessica's stepfather, things had gone from bad to unimaginable. Kidnapped and tortured by Fenton and Jeff had triggered Charlie's memories of the morning so long ago; the morning he had intended to go to the park with Jessica. Instead, a few hours after walking to her house, he had arrived home with a tear-streaked face, a broken arm, and a stuttered story about falling in the playground. By the time his worried parents got it out of him, Charlie believed it himself. Oh, how he wished he still did!
Now, he remembered the day that Jessica was murdered – every single last moment. Frank's own story of abuse at the hands of Fenton had sent him into a "flashback" mode, where he could barely focus on anything, even his work. When Henderson lured Alan away from the house long enough to break in and throw Charlie down the stairs – just as he had done all those years before – it was all back. Charlie remembered everything. Why he and Jessica had gone down to the basement of her house, and what had happened there. What they had seen first, together; and then what he had seen alone.
Everyone told him it wasn't his fault, that there was nothing he could do. Yet as Charlie stood with his head bowed and his shoulders shaking with his sobs, he knew in his heart that it was. Not only had he not been able to help Jessica, he had let her murderers live unpunished for years. He had let them go on to abuse more children. Even as he begged Jessica to forgive him, Charlie knew that as long as he lived, he would never forgive himself.
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Six months later
Oswald was awakened by the steady beeping of an annoying monitor, and focused bleary eyes on a small computer screen to his right. Confused, he turned his head on the pillow and saw Charlie on the other side, looking like hell, as usual. That was the only thing that made sense to Oswald; Charlie had looked like hell for the last six months. But what was he doing here, staring unseeing at the floor? And for that matter, what was he, Oswald, doing here? This was obviously a hospital…. Shit. Someone must have found him in time.
He groaned and Charlie's head shot up. "Oswald? Do you need something?"
He reached for a glass on the bedside table, but Oswald shook his head. Actually, he was really thirsty – but he didn't deserve it. "You should have let me go," he whispered, looking Charlie in the eye.
Professor Eppes blinked rapidly, and started whispering himself. "Why? Oswald, why? You could have come to me…"
Oswald snorted out a derisive laugh and looked away. "Who the hell are you kidding? No-one can talk to you, anymore." His voice took on strength and an accusatory tone. "You left me alone out here, man. Sure, Frank's kept in touch, but he's been through enough hell as it is…." He went on bitterly. "I know my place, man. Don and the others only talk to me if you call me in to help on a case, and Alan's been so worried about you and Frank – so my place is 'last', just like my dad always said it would be." He rolled over in the bed, away from Charlie. "Just leave. Leave me alone."
Charlie reached out a hand as if to stop Oswald from turning away from him, but ended up dragging it through his hair. He stood on shaky legs, and his voice when he spoke was even shakier. "I'm sorry, Oswald, I'm sorry. Please, I'm…." He gasped, and hurried for the door, knowing he was about to be sick. All he did was let people down.
He had let his first friend be murdered, and he had let his last friend try to kill himself. Charlie flung himself into the corridor and all-but collapsed when he ran full-tilt into Don. "He hates me!", he cried, feeling like a fool as he looked up at his brother. "It's all my fault. Everything is all my fault."
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