A/N: Thank you for your reviews! I really appreciate them! Also, per request, a little sequence involving Frank's first kidnapping by Randal...enjoy...


Part IV:

Frank tried to open his eyes.

But at the moment, pain was all that seemed to register. He tried to move his right arm, but groaned and stopped. His wrist was aching, his leg hurt as well. With his non-injured arm, he felt his calf.

It was sickeningly warm and sticky. Blood.

Frank tried to sit up. A throbbing discomfort hit him directly in the chest. He winced; some of his ribs must have been bruised or broken.

"Sorry, Frank. Are you alright?" a voice apologized from somewhere else in the room. Frank's brown eyes shot wide open. He looked around carefully, finally noticing the dark figure watching him casually.

Frank swallowed. Maybe a little too hard.

"Who...who are you?" Frank wondered, hoping his voice was as firm as he wanted it to be. He heard the small man laugh--but it wasn't like he was amused, it was like he was...insulted.

"Who am I?" the man mocked. "You must have hit your head harder than I thought." A lamp flickered on, and Frank finally saw the man, who was standing closer to him than he thought.

Isaac Randal.

Kidnapper. Stalker. Murderer. Psycho.

"So what hurts?" Randal picked up a roll of bandages and moved towards Frank, who tried to sink backwards into the uncomfortable couch he was sitting on.

"I'm okay," Frank said quickly. His eyes darted frantically about, trying to locate an easy escape.

"Frank, please." Randal smiled. "It's clear that you're not 'okay.'"

Before Frank could object, Randal was next to him, already starting to bandage his sore, bruising wrist.

His gaze then moved to Frank's leg. "That's a nasty cut." Isaac moved to examine it, but Frank jerked back.

"Uh, actually," he coughed. "Do you have a bathroom I can use?"

Isaac nodded and pointed to a small room down a narrow hallway. Frank got up slowly, not wanting to alarm the unstable man.

He shut the door behind him and gasped, a small cry escaping his mouth. His chest heaved as panic swept over him.

What the hell do I do? He seems so harmless...but...I know better...I've seen the reports...Oh God...Get a hold of yourself!

Frank took a look at himself in the mirror. He looked exhausted, pale, worried. His eyes traveled down to the stinging in his leg, the clotting gash certainly was ugly.

Alright. You can handle this, Hardy. You've dealt with worse, right?

He took a deep breath and reached for the door.

When Frank walked silently into the hallway, he could make out sounds from the kitchen and thanked God for letting Randal be distracted.

Frank moved as quickly and quietly as he could, ambling to the front door. He could still hear the clatter of dishes in the kitchen and wondered vaguely if Randal was preparing dinner for the two. The thought made him quiver.

He finally reached the front door, but froze.

There were four different locks.

"You need the keys to leave, Frank."

He jumped, spinning around. But he wasn't met with Randal's sick grin or angry eyes, but with his surprisingly strong fist.


Frank Hardy woke with a start, terrified and gasping.

Joe's calm breathing faltered for a moment, but he didn't quite wake up. Frank was grateful that he hadn't disturbed his brother; sleep was an important thing at the moment...for both of them.

As well, he was thankful that Joe's breathing was more even than it had been all night, Frank having been able to remove the duct tape gag without much protest from his already sore sibling.

Frank sighed, gulping back choking tears that threatened to spill as his nightmare came flooding back to him. He had kept thinking, kept hoping that if he fell into a peaceful sleep that when he woke up this would all go away like a bad dream. But it didn't and so far his rest was far from tranquil.

He fitfully tugged at the still present reminder of Randal's maniacal insanity around his wrists. Of course it was a futile action, but in some sense it made him feel better. Like he wasn't just sitting here waiting for the worst--and inevitable--to happen, but trying with all his might to free Joe and himself. Needless to say 'all his might' wasn't going to cut it this time.

Frank leaned his head back against the wall, closing his red rimmed eyes tightly and holding back every emotion threatening to break the dam at any moment. It was his fault. It was all his fault...if Joe hadn't been with him...but what if Joe had ended up going out alone? What then? What if Randal...had killed him?

Enough! Frank yelled subconsciously to himself. To hell with 'what ifs.' This is the present and this crisis is happening now. There is nothing you can do to change that.

As if sensing Frank's tensed, angered state Joe's eyes blearily opened, taking in the disheveled appearance of his brother through narrow, tunnel like vision. His mind registered some sort of danger, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out why. He was with Frank, he couldn't have been in mortal peril. He was with Frank.

Then, his eyes widening a fraction, Joe remembered everything.

The pain scorching his body prickled back and his senses awakened. It was a horrible feeling, almost numbingly comfortable, yet excruciating at the same time. He wanted to cry, and that was saying something considering he could barely remember the last time he had openly cried in front of anyone, let alone Frank.

"Frank?" His mouth was dry but at least he was ridden of the unbearable duct tape over his lips.

The older brother opened his eyes as well, coming back to reality, snapping brutally out of his self-berating reverie. "Joe!? I'm here--"

"I know," Joe answered calmly, spooked into composure by Frank's abrupt, shaking reply.

Frank looked apologetically towards his younger brother, words bubbling in his mind but never quite able to make it out of his throat. Joe's face, where it was not livid with bruises, was an unnaturally light hugh and his eyes were spidered with red that circled his sadly translucent blue eyes.

"Joe." It came out as a choke. What was with him? He wasn't usually this emotional...but when it came to Joe his defenses were down and he couldn't help but let everything through.

"I'm okay," Joe whispered unconvincingly, as if he had read his brother's thoughts as easily as an open book. He looked at the handcuffs still wrapping their vicious, binding metal around Frank's raw wrists. "I just...we just need to get out of here."

Frank couldn't stop the ghost of a smile that slithered onto his own paling face. "I know." He gave another useless tug at the cuffs. "I'm working on it."

Joe let out a nearly silent laugh, but his eyes now sparkled genuinely. "Frank--"

"I'm really sorry Joe..." Frank's voice was back to being crackly and unrecognizable. It terrified Joe that his brother was already breaking down this early...if Frank was panicked and vulnerable, what did that leave Joe as? He rarely was the one giving support...he was used to being supported. But when an apology started to slip out of Frank's mouth something inside of Joe clicked.

"Don't you dare apologize for him, Frank." Joe's voice was thick, heavy with grief, pain, and surprising disdain. "Don't you dare. You cannot apologize for him Frank. In no way is this your fault...it's that delusional bastard's. Don't ever think you have to apologize for him Frank...please. I will not accept one. This is not your fault." Joe paused to take a steadying breath before continuing. "This is not your fight or my fight...if anything it's our fight."

"Joe--"

"No. I don't want to hear it," he said stubbornly. "There is no way in hell that any of this is your fault so there is absolutely no need for an apology...ever."

After a moment of impenetrable silence Frank finally spoke. "Okay."

Simultaneously both brothers sighed quietly to themselves. Frank because he felt as though a burden had been lifted from his shoulders and Joe because he could now revert back to his minimally amicable state and not have to endure that discussion again..or at least for the time being.

The sun, having just risen over the horizon, peeked into the front window of the rundown motel room signifying morning. The sky was clear and orange and made the brothers long even more for freedom. Frank pulled once more at the handcuffs, now merely out of habit.

"Joe--" Frank started to say, but his wondering thought was cut of by the younger Hardy, as if, again, he'd understood what he was about to suggest.

"No way am I leaving you here with that psycho Frank...even if I could get away...there's no way..." Joe wasn't even looking at Frank as he spoke. His gaze was meandering across the meager landscape they could make out through the motel's window. The sun rose slightly higher.

"I understand Joe. I just...feel so helpless," Frank huffed, resting his head back against the yellowed wall again. His arms ached from being held in such an awkward position and he felt like he needed get up and stretch his legs, walk around. Plus he was still exhausted. A night full of nightmares, real or not, will do that to you, he thought to himself, wryly.

But then a feeling of guilt washed over him. If he was uncomfortable surly Joe was hurting even more. How could he be feeling sorry for himself when his baby brother was the one enduring all of the real physical trauma?

As Frank guilt tripped unnecessarily, Joe was trying hard to think of anything else but the throbbing in his arms and ribs--the stinging of his face was practically benumbed by now. If he could somehow just get the cuffs off of Frank, or break the iron bars...or...or somehow develop super human strength! He laughed bitterly to himself...but this was truly outrageous...he deserved to be thinking slightly off kilter, considering everything that had happened to him in the last several hours.

"I know...." Joe whispered to his brother, the sudden spine-chilling reality of the situation clouding over his head once again.


Aching, weary, and bleary eyed the three anxious friends sat around Callie's kitchen table all lost in their own thoughts.

Vanessa was thinking weakly about how nice it would be to curl up in front of the TV with Joe and watch a terribly made black and white horror film--the best kind in their opinions. In her mind she decided that that would be the first thing they would do together when Joe turned up...and of course it would be when and not if...she was sure of it.

Phil was trying desperately--and unsuccessfully--to stay awake. He'd stayed up all night with the girls to offer whatever moral support he could, though in actuality he was really not used to that sort of thing, but he did his best. So, every couple minutes, his chin resting in his palm, his jaw would slacken and his eyes would droop and everything would become blurry until he had to literally shake himself awake. Any other thoughts beside his apparent lack of sleep running through his mind were directed towards the impending circumstances of his good friends.

Callie on the other hand couldn't even think of such a thing as sleep at a time like this. Similar to Vanessa and Phil she was wondering where Frank and Joe were and if they were okay or not. Her mind was racing with possibilities of the most dreadful kind and hope filled likelihoods. Each hour passed slowly with no word from the authorities or the Hardys and Callie's emotional state was slowly going downhill. She could see a similar look on Vanessa's face shrouded by drooping blond bangs.

Vanessa rubbed her eyes. "Any coffee left Cal?"

Callie looked towards the nearly bone dry coffee pot on the counter next to the refrigerator. "Mmm...no. That was the last of it."

The phone rang, it's shrillness cutting though the habitual quiet and starling all three, especially Phil who had drifted off again. Being the closest to the phone the young man yawned once and answered quietly. "Hullo?"

"Phil? It's Lieutenant Riley."

"Oh...hi Lieutenant." There was a pause and no one spoke. "Con?"

"I managed to bump up the investigation a little. Frank and Joe have been missing long enough to convince me that somethings not right."

"That's great Con." Phil thanked him as enthusiastically as possible considering the situation at hand.

"There's not a lot we can do right now, however. Nothing much but wait," Con replied heavily, sounding as if he too had stayed up all night. It wasn't unusual for the Hardys to attract danger and bad luck...it was something the man had grown somewhat accustomed to over the years...however unfortunate that might have sounded, it was true.

After relating the somewhat reassuring conversation with Con, Phil had an easier time of keeping his eyes open. Though Vanessa was getting progressively more and more agitated and fidgety. Deciding that she needed to do something productive to keep her mind off of things she stood up abruptly. "I'm going out...to buy some more coffee."

"I can come with you," Phil offered, but Vanessa refused to let Callie stay alone, telling him she'd be fine and home in less than half and hour. She just needed some air.

Taking her car keys from Callie's entryway bureau Vanessa left the apartment, feeling weak from lack of sleep, but determined to think only positive thoughts.

How could this be happening? It seemed like only yesterday it was the aftermath of Frank's kidnapping by that stalker Isaac Randal. Vanessa made her way towards her Jeep, mulling everything over in her head. Isaac Randal...wait a second...could he...

Muffled footsteps came from behind her and as Vanessa spun around she was met with steely hard eyes that glinted with a terrifyingly mad sparkle. Before she could so much as think to scream Randal had pounced at her, pinning her slim body against the side of her Jeep, a rough hand over her mouth, a pistol in her side.

"Please, I don't really want to hurt you...I just need you to cooperate with me...I just need your help...Miss Shaw."


Frank was about to suggest trying to come up with some sort of plan--maybe not a full proof one--but something that could possibly get them out of the cursed motel when the door opened with a bang, startling both boys into silence.

"Oh Fra-ank," Randal sang as he walked into the room, dragging an air of icy trepidation and a struggling person along with him. Frank and Joe's stomachs dropped.

Ash blond hair fell over her features, but not quiet obscuring her panicked blue-gray eyes. Vanessa.

"I've brought a friend," Randal continued, guiding a bound Vanessa closer to the brothers. "Maybe your pretty little girlfriend can help convince you Frank. We've already become fast friends, she thinks I'm great...she's smart...she can help you understand."

"Th-that's not Callie." Frank was stuttering now, uncontrolled guilt and anguish bubbling out of him. He saw Vanessa's eyes, how they bored into his own; they had meaning, a purpose, determination. But Frank couldn't let her be brave. Not now. "That's not my girlfriend," he continued, as if unfazed. "I-I've never seen her before in my life."

Randal looked at Frank, studying his emotionless face. A hint of anger fluttered on the man's features, but was soon distinguished with what looked to be a form of self pity. He was annoyed with himself, mad he had done something wrong, how his plans had so suddenly changed, all due to his own incompetence.

This woman was blond, Callie Shaw was blond...but what shade of blond? He wracked his memory, panicking ever so slightly. She had come out of Callie's apartment building...it had to be her...but...it wasn't. He thought he knew Miss Shaw...but he didn't. He'd seen this girl before though...he was sure of it. Randal looked conflicted, trying hard to think of what to do next.

Then he smiled down at Frank, a simpering, vile smirk. "Then she is no use to either of us." He removed the gun from his pocket, still holding Vanessa in a tenderly firm grip. Frank held his breath, not believing that Randal had the guts to kill an innocent girl.

Isaac brought the gun barrel close to Vanessa's face, grazing her cheek with the cold metal tip. A single tear rolled down her face, but she did not say a word, did not put up a fight.

Frank watched Randal's quivering finger helplessly and heard the safety unlock and saw the pressure start to build on the trigger.