A/N: Thank you all for being patient with me. It's been a busy week at school, and I'm having some issues with my ankles so I've been in and out of the doctor, so I'm sorry it's been over a week since I last updated. I'm going to do my best to update regularly, but if it takes a little longer for a chapter to come out, please forgive me; I've been very busy.

That being said, I want to thank Nonnimus and xXAngel404Xx for their amazing reviews! Thanks you guys, you are the best! Here's chapter four! :) Please review and let me know what you think!

Castaways

Chapter Four

Frank, Biff, and Chet spun around as they heard the unfamiliar British accent call out to them. "That's our boat!" the man continued, stepping out of the shadows of the forest along with another man, this one huge and muscular.

"That's our boat," Frank snapped, pointing a shaking finger at the Sleuth. The stress piling up on him had really began to do its number. He looked at the men carefully. Something seemed very familiar about their faces, although he was sure he had never seen them face-to-face before...perhaps he had seen them in his father's criminal files. He instantly became suspicious but covered his distrust of the men with ease so as not to alert them.

"Is it?" the bulky, muscular man with brown hair said. "We found it floating around in the ocean, abandoned. We didn't know what had happened to the owners but we figured it had something to do with the storm."

"Yeah, we tied it up to a rock at the other end of the island but when we woke up, it was gone," Chet put in, happy beyond belief at finding someone who could get them back to civilization.

"Must not've tied it up very tightly," the American noted and Biff nodded. "So how'd you wind up here?"

"I could ask you the same question," Frank said, stepping forward, trying to remember where he had seen these guys before.

The men glanced at each other, and it was in that moment, when he saw both of their faces profile that Frank realized who he was talking to. Instantly he held up his hand and said, "Hold that thought." He spun and faced Biff and Chet. "Guys—these two are major drug dealers," he whispered urgently then turned to face the men with a phony smile on his face. "Just a second!" he called out, then turned his whispered attention back to his friends. "Their names are Ted Jones and Melvin Gatsby. I remember seeing them on my dad's file—they must have their storage or something here—meeting them here is not a coincidence. You guys cause a distraction and try to overpower them; tie them up with your belts or something—they're dangerous—and I'm going to go check it out."

"Do you have to sleuth now?" Chet gaped at his friend. "At least wait until we're not on a deserted island and there are...I dunno...police within five hundred miles of us!"

"They might have a radio transmitter or something in their hideout if they have one here," Frank hissed and Chet caught on. Grinning widely he said, "So, fellas, what did you say you were doing here?"

Biff and Frank turned to face them as well. The British man said quickly, "This is a favorite spot of ours. We come here because it's so deserted and tranquil every so often to have a picnic, surf, you name it. The real question is—"

All the time the men had been talking, Frank had been edging toward the trees. When he nodded inconspicuously at Chet and Biff to distract the men, Chet cut off the drug dealers. "Hey, look!" he stammered, pointing off down the beach. "The—thing, it...it fell."

Both men looked at the boy strangely and Frank hurried back to Biff's side and whispered in his ear, "Remind me never to tell Chet to cause a distraction again." Then he said, "Oh, well, I guess it's better this way anyway, three against two is better than you two against them. I'll check it out after we've captured them."

Then he winked at his friends and sucked in a shuddering breath, causing both men to jump and eye him tentatively. He let out a low moan and cried, "Oh, no...I can't breathe...help me..." He flopped lifelessly to the ground, his muscles tensed and ready for action. The criminals just stood there looking at him.

Biff got into character and yelled, "What kind of heartless fiends are you? Do something."

"Why don't you do something?" the American man said, a hint of concern in his eyes. "He's your friend."

"Because...we're frozen with shock...?" Chet answered lamely.

The men looked at each other, shrugged, then chorused, "Makes sense." They rushed forward to help the "dying" teen and Biff and Chet jumped them from behind. Frank jumped up and helped deliver a knockout punch to Ted just as Biff hit Melvin on the head with an iron fist. The boys quickly pulled off their belts and used one to strap the druggies' together then tied their feet with the two remaining belts.

Chet stood up and gasped. Frank and Biff turned to look at him and nearly died laughing. Apparently, the shortage of food on the island had affected the plump boy adversely, making him a bit thinner around the waist. Without his belt, his shorts fell to his ankles in a wad, giving his friends a clear view of his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles boxers.

His face turned red as he yanked up his pants. Then he grinned and said, "Whoops."

"You guys stand watch over these guys," Frank ordered. "I'm going to search the island for their lair."

"Be careful," Biff said solemnly. "There may be more of them."

Frank nodded and headed off into the woods by himself.

Joe woke up to a pounding head and a surge of panic. He couldn't see, hear, or move. He forced himself to be calm and used his remaining senses to try and figure out where he was and what he was doing there. The last thing he remembered was being tied up by Gatsby, Jones, and Luther and then being injected by some sort of drug. He hoped that it had just been something to knock him out for a while but he couldn't be sure.

Now he realized that he was standing—or, more accurately, leaning—upright against something long and rough—a tree trunk. From what he could tell, his hands were still tied behind his back and his ankles were bound. He was tied upright to a tree and he was gagged and apparently blindfolded. He couldn't hear anything other than his own heavy breathing. He realized that the men had tied him here and left him to starve!

This realization reminded just how hungry and thirsty and weak he already was. He hadn't had water in over a day. Three days without water will kill a person. He silently cursed his brain for dredging up such wonderful trivia at the most inopportune moments. He tried to struggle but quickly discovered that escaping on his own wasn't an option—he was tied too tightly, and anyway, the drug was still working in his system, making him sluggish and he was as weak as a day old kitten from exhaustion, hunger, and lack of water.

He almost wished that Luther had went ahead and shot him. He didn't want to die, but if he had no choice, he'd rather die quickly and have the pain end than slowly feel his life drain away.

But no matter what he wanted, it looked like Luther was getting his way and Joe's death was going to be agonizing. Joe really hated that guy.

Frank went into the forest cautiously, heeding Biff's warning that there might be another gang member somewhere. He went several hundred feet into the brush. Soon the foliage became so thick that he could barely see the sun through the canopy of green. The silence was eerie and consuming; something alive and foreboding.

For the first time since the accident, Frank was alone. As he stood in the tent of green and glanced around at the beauty of nature, the grief hit him again, harder than it had since Joe had been thrown overboard. He fell to his knees and felt tears on his face. Reality bore down on him like a wolf on its prey. He was never going to see Joe again, never hear his brother's teasing voice or lame jokes, never investigate another crime with him, never be able to just be Joe's brother.

If only he had been paying more attention to Joe on the Sleuth! He could have held onto his brother, kept him safe...Guilt rained down on him, a flood of remorse that nearly made him black out. Joe...

For several moments he knelt there, hands hanging loosely at his sides, head bowed, eyes closed, his whole body quivering like a machine on overload. After many long minutes he forced himself to his feet and went about what he had set out to do in the first place. It just didn't feel right, sleuthing without Joe. He just didn't feel right without Joe. They were a team. Sure they were two individuals, but they were two individuals whose abilities and strengths and weaknesses meshed together perfectly and made them into something stronger than they could even hope to be by themselves.

He began to search the forest, his head pounding and eyes moist. He had gone a few steps when he thought he heard a muffled sound. He tensed, expecting to be attacked by a drug dealer. But no one leaped from behind a tree or tried to sneak up on him. The sound came again, and this time Frank followed it a little deeper into the brush.

Not knowing what to expect, he rushed forward, muscles tensed and ready to take down whatever enemy lay ahead. Instead, he wound up staring at the one person he had been sure he would never see again.

Joe.

Biff and Chet smirked at their prisoners who lay bound—and now gagged with strips torn off of Biff's shirt—on the sand.

"We sure fooled you," Chet said. "You really thought Frank was having some sort of 'episode'."

"I have to admit, he's a pretty good actor," Biff said with a teasing grin at Chet. "A lot better than someone else who shall remain unnamed—'Hey, look, the thing, it fell!" he mocked and Chet threw a handful of sand at him.

The boys became serious, ignoring the drug dealers who were glaring angrily at them. "But we still lost Joe," Biff muttered, eyes wet. "It just seems so...unreal."

Chet sniffed. "Things were finally getting a little less strained between us. I think he was finally starting to realize that I don't blame him for Iola's death." Chet's sister and Joe's first true love had been killed in a murderous explosion courtesy of an insane terrorist that meant to kill the Hardy brothers.

"Just think, as bad as we feel, this doesn't even scratch the surface of the torment Frank's going through."

"He'll be missed by a lot of people," Chet remarked, then wiped his eyes and squinted toward the trees. "He's been gone about twenty minutes. Should we go in after him?"

"No," Biff said after a moment of hesitation. "He told us to stand guard over these goons. Besides, I don't think there are any more gang members on the island. But if he doesn't come back in, say, fifteen more minutes, let's go after him."

The boys sat in silence for a few minutes until the quiet afternoon was broken by the sound of a motor. In the distance the boys could see a motorboat headed for the island. "Someone's coming!" Chet exclaimed, struggling to get to his feet without losing his breeches again. Biff followed the suit but with a little less difficulty.

As the boat grew closer, the boys gaped when they saw the person behind the wheel.

The person driving the boat was none other than Tony Prito, a grim-faced Fenton Hardy riding in the seat next to him.

A/N: Want more? Chapter five (the last chapter) will be here soon, but PLEASE review; I really want to know what you think! :)

~Emachinescat ^..^