"Where is it?" eighteen year old, brown haired, brown eyed Frank Hardy shouted over the howling wind at his year younger, blond haired, blue eyed brother Joe, as his eyes squinted against the blow trying to find a brick which they had observed someone throwing at their living room window.
The boys had seen the brick thrower throught the window and had gone rushing to the door. They heard it hit the house, missing the window as they opened the front door and ran outside. They caught a fleeting glimpse of the culprit as he jumped into a black Corolla and sped off.
Going over to the window, the boys looked around for the brick. "Found it!" Joe shouted, shivering as the forty mile an hour wind whistled down the street on the already cool evening.
He bent down to retrieve the brick which held a sheet of paper attached with a rubber band around it. Reaching his hand to pick it up, he felt something cold and heavy fall onto him from above. Joe pitched forward on top of the brick as everything faded to black.
"Joe!" Frank shouted, in fear this time. He rushed to his brother's side and shoved aside the metal lawn chair which had crushed onto his brother. He felt for a pulse. It was faint, but he said a silent prayer of thanks there was one. Ignoring the brick, Frank pulled his unconscious brother into a fireman's carry and took him inside. He knew Joe shouldn't be moved but he was in more danger from hypothermia and being hit again if he were left outside.
Frank laid his brother on the sofa, yelling for his mother to call an ambulance. He then checked Joe's vitals again and pulled the afghan from the back of the sofa so that it would cover him.
The boys' petite, blond-headed, blue-eyed, mother came rushing over to the sofa, the cordless phone in her hand. "What happened?" Laura demanded, her eyes wide and face filled with worry as she punched the numbers nine, one, and one again.
Frank took the phone from her and wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, giving her a tight squeeze. "This is Frank Hardy," he saiad to the emergency operator. "My brother was just hit by a metal lawn chair. He's not bleeding but he's unconscious and his pulse is faint. The address is 719 Elm Street," he informed her.
"Keep him warm, keep checking his vitals, and don't move him," the operator instruced Frank. "A unit is on the way."
"What were you two doing outside?" Fenton demanded, coming into the living room from the kitchen still wearing his coat.
"When did you get back?" Frank asked in surprise, looking at his father whose looks mirrored his own.
"In time to hear you tell what happened," Fenton replied, coming over and kneeling beside his youngest son. He checked Joe's pulse. "What were you doing outside?" he repeated his question.
Frank explained about the brick. Fenton stood up and pulled his hood back on. "Stay with Joe," he ordered. "I'll go and get it," he added, leaving the room.
When he returned, he was followed by two medics who rushed to Joe and proceded to give him a check up. They then moved Joe onto a stretcher and carried him to the ambulance waiting outside.
Fenton asked Frank to drive and Frank and Laura climbed into the front seat while Fenton settled into the back with the troublesome brick in hand. As Frank followed the ambulance to Bayport General Hospital, Fenton removed the rubberband from the brick and then the paper.
"What does it say?" Frank asked, glancing in the mirror and seeing the strained look on his father's face.
"It's a message from Kevin Dobson," Fenton told his son and wife. "I sent his son to prison last year for trafficing in drugs. He committed suicide earlier this month."
"What does the message say?" Laura asked quietly, positive she wasn't going to like the answer.
Fenton swallowed before replying, "An eye for an eye. A son for a son," he read.
The boys had seen the brick thrower throught the window and had gone rushing to the door. They heard it hit the house, missing the window as they opened the front door and ran outside. They caught a fleeting glimpse of the culprit as he jumped into a black Corolla and sped off.
Going over to the window, the boys looked around for the brick. "Found it!" Joe shouted, shivering as the forty mile an hour wind whistled down the street on the already cool evening.
He bent down to retrieve the brick which held a sheet of paper attached with a rubber band around it. Reaching his hand to pick it up, he felt something cold and heavy fall onto him from above. Joe pitched forward on top of the brick as everything faded to black.
"Joe!" Frank shouted, in fear this time. He rushed to his brother's side and shoved aside the metal lawn chair which had crushed onto his brother. He felt for a pulse. It was faint, but he said a silent prayer of thanks there was one. Ignoring the brick, Frank pulled his unconscious brother into a fireman's carry and took him inside. He knew Joe shouldn't be moved but he was in more danger from hypothermia and being hit again if he were left outside.
Frank laid his brother on the sofa, yelling for his mother to call an ambulance. He then checked Joe's vitals again and pulled the afghan from the back of the sofa so that it would cover him.
The boys' petite, blond-headed, blue-eyed, mother came rushing over to the sofa, the cordless phone in her hand. "What happened?" Laura demanded, her eyes wide and face filled with worry as she punched the numbers nine, one, and one again.
Frank took the phone from her and wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, giving her a tight squeeze. "This is Frank Hardy," he saiad to the emergency operator. "My brother was just hit by a metal lawn chair. He's not bleeding but he's unconscious and his pulse is faint. The address is 719 Elm Street," he informed her.
"Keep him warm, keep checking his vitals, and don't move him," the operator instruced Frank. "A unit is on the way."
"What were you two doing outside?" Fenton demanded, coming into the living room from the kitchen still wearing his coat.
"When did you get back?" Frank asked in surprise, looking at his father whose looks mirrored his own.
"In time to hear you tell what happened," Fenton replied, coming over and kneeling beside his youngest son. He checked Joe's pulse. "What were you doing outside?" he repeated his question.
Frank explained about the brick. Fenton stood up and pulled his hood back on. "Stay with Joe," he ordered. "I'll go and get it," he added, leaving the room.
When he returned, he was followed by two medics who rushed to Joe and proceded to give him a check up. They then moved Joe onto a stretcher and carried him to the ambulance waiting outside.
Fenton asked Frank to drive and Frank and Laura climbed into the front seat while Fenton settled into the back with the troublesome brick in hand. As Frank followed the ambulance to Bayport General Hospital, Fenton removed the rubberband from the brick and then the paper.
"What does it say?" Frank asked, glancing in the mirror and seeing the strained look on his father's face.
"It's a message from Kevin Dobson," Fenton told his son and wife. "I sent his son to prison last year for trafficing in drugs. He committed suicide earlier this month."
"What does the message say?" Laura asked quietly, positive she wasn't going to like the answer.
Fenton swallowed before replying, "An eye for an eye. A son for a son," he read.