Joe left his group, eyeing up his targets as they of course darted off in different directions, running slightly because of the rain. Whipping out his walkie-talkie he radioed in to Con who was sitting in the back of the support teams van.

"Con, Joe here," he said releasing the button and waiting for the reply.

"Con here, what have you got for us?" Came Con's slightly crackly response.

"I have two possible targets, one heading down West Field the other going down Baker street. I'm heading for Baker," Joe said, turning on the spot and hoping in his heart that he wasn't making a mistake.

He didn't need long to find out however as, following the girl round the corner, he caught only a glimpse of her as she leapt out of the rain and into her parked car before gunning the engine.

Swearing, Joe span and jogged in the opposite direction towards his other target pressing the button on his radio as he ran.

"Scratch that Con, I have changed targets. Baker is on her way home in a vehicle. I repeat, I have West Field covered."

"Ok Joe, we're heading to Park Lane currently," came Con's reply "Simmons has a possible. Watch yourself and we'll get to you when we can."

"Gotcha," Joe said, turning off the device and dropping it in his pocket.

Having to trot a little to keep up with the woman's quick step as she hurried in the freezing rain, Joe cursed whoever had decided to make a rain coat which didn't include a hood. The water now running freely down his neck and making its way into his clothing underneath. Shivering slightly he kept his eyes focused on the target ahead.

About ten minutes later he found himself letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding as he saw the woman making her way into what was obviously her home. Tension easing from his shoulders as he realised he was done for the night Joe once again clicked on his walkie-talkie.

"Con?" he said into the device.

"Go...Jo...we'r..on...trail." Con's voice was broken and more than a little hard to make out as Joe held the walkie near his ear in an attempt to hear the officer better.

"Repeat Con? You're breaking up buddy."

"Let us...position...we're...trail."

Joe had an idea that they were trying to let him know they were currently tailing another target elsewhere. Pressing the button once again, he shouted slowly and clearly "I READ YOU CON. I AM CLEAR MY END. REPEAT, CLEAR!"

The response he got was a garble of static. Pocketing the walkie-talkie, he brought out his cell phone with the intention to ring his brother and see where he had ended up. He noticed in surprise that he had already a text from Frank. Three words,

"Talbot Warehouses. SOS."

Heart beating a little faster Joe turned quickly, his head whipping back and forth in an attempt to get his bearings before he took off in a dead sprint, mind set on one thing only. Helping his brother.


Grunting slightly in the rain, Michael paused. Watching his new angel. The way her hips swayed as she ran slightly in the downpour. He licked his lips as water ran down his face. The closest he had come to a shower in a long time.

Luckily for him she happened to live in vaguely the same direction as the abandoned warehouse he had made his home. Almost. He had never thought of taking the angels back to his home before. In all honesty he hadn't thought of it this time either. It had been Stan's idea.

Stan. There would be no use bothering to try to speak to him tonight. Not for the moment. Stan was never around when Michael was on the trail of his angels. Left him in peace to concentrate. But he always interrupted at the end. The thought half annoyed, half pleased Michael. He wanted to be alone with his angels. But Stan was the only one who ever spoke to him like he was a person. Like he was worth something. Stan was his only friend.

Focusing back on the woman, Michael mumbled darkly as he saw her turning down the wrong street. Away from his home. He would have to take her. Take her soon. Take her now.


Frank's heart was in his mouth as he followed the pair of figures ahead of him, the girl still entirely clueless to her impromptu entourage as she hurried to get out of the rain. As much as he wanted to radio the Chief and the supporting officers, his proximity to the skittering man was too close to allow him to chance it. They were all moving too fast to grant him a moment to drop back and attempt contact either. He knew that if he paused even for a second the darkness and rain limiting his view could result in him losing them both entirely.

Luckily for him, he had his cell phone. He would send a message out to Joe when he had both a chance and a fixed destination in place where he could send the cavalry. For now, he concentrated on catching glimpses of his quarry. No mean feat as the man ahead of him was quick as a fox, dashing in an out of any shadowed areas and always keeping an eye on the woman ahead. His movements were twitchy and his steps faltering. But the elder Hardy could read a sense of dangerous grace and coiled tension beneath the gestures. Frank tried to make the connection between the darting figure and the photograph of Michael Thompson currently filed away in the cupboard of Hardy and Sons.

Occasional forays into the light of street lamps showed a smallish man who appeared to be very thin. Frank couldn't make out any of his clothing as he was attempting to keep a good distance away for fear of being spotted. But whatever he was wearing all appeared to be dark in colour. By design or because of dirt he couldn't say. Long hair was the only other thing that Frank could make out in the darkness. For all intents and purposes, it seemed they had been right. Their killer was Michael.

One thing he did know for sure however was that Michael, if it indeed was him, was not to be underestimated. He had managed to subdue two healthy women with just his bare hands. Furthermore, their actual deaths had been the product of bullets. Michael was as armed as he was dangerous. Frank, again, cursed his inability to summon backup.

Looking around for anything which might give him a better idea of his position, he noticed an old boarded up bar on the corner of the street. Hank's. It had once been a thriving establishment as it was situated a few blocks over from what had been an equally prosperous industrial estate. Frank suddenly knew where they were and where they were likely headed. The owners of said prosperous industrial estate had invested their money into the wrong stock on the market and had gone under taking the business, and Hank's patronage, with them. Now all that was left were the ghost shells of abandoned warehouses.

Frank looked up suddenly. He had paused a second whilst trying to find out his current position, a second too long as he realised he could no longer see his targets ahead of him. Cursing quietly in the darkness the detective ran silently forward, his eyes raking the gloom as he searched for any sign of movement.

His heart leapt into his throat as a short, sharp shriek pierced the night away to his left. Momentarily dazed he dashed in the direction of the noise, whipping out his cell to alert Joe as his suspicions of their destination appeared to be confirmed.

"Warehouses," he thought to himself as he sprinted "why does it always have to be warehouses."


Joe panted as he ran. He had always been the sprinter of the family whilst Frank was good for cross country. Baring his teeth a little, his determination was buoyed by the sense of urgency his brother's text had given him. No matter how far the distance, Joe Hardy would never give in to defeat if Frank's life was on the line. Tension radiated through his shoulders as he neared his destination.

He whipped out the walkie-talkie and once again tried to contact Con and the team. Whether it was the distance or the rain screwing up the signal he couldn't tell, but all he got was static. Resisting the urge to throw the device into the nearest wall as a surge of anger ran through him, he instead roughly pocketed the radio, balling his fists as he pumped another burst of speed into his steps. A feeling of dread washed over him as his gut told him that he was running out of time.


Poking his head through a doorway of the smaller of the two warehouses, Franks gasping came quickly but silently as he tried to regain his breath as quietly as possible. The air of surprise could be crucial in a situation where he might have to apprehend Michael. He had already decided he would only engage his target if he absolutely had to. Age had brought with it the knowledge that taking on a suspect without knowing where your backup was was entirely irresponsible. Instead, he would find where Michael had taken the young woman and observe from a distance until Joe, and hopefully the cavalry, arrived on the scene.

Creeping forwards, Frank found himself in the middle of a vast space filled with the broken forms of once impressive machinery. Rain fell in through holes in the ceiling and plinked off the metal appliances and walkways in a pattering staccato. Frank's soft footfalls and the water which dripped freely from his drenched clothing was muffled by the musical, and in any other circumstances calming, sounds. The moonlight streaming through the broken glass windows reflected off the rain soaked surfaces adding an ethereal quality to the room. Straining his ears, the detective heard the muffled noise of what sounded like laughter coming from one of the deserted office spaces across the building. Picking his steps carefully, he built up speed as he aimed his intentions towards the sounds.

The shouts of glee became clearer as he got closer to the doorway leading into the room where Michael had obviously taken his prize. Frank fervently hoped that, though he had deviated from his previous MO by bringing his victim to his 'home', he would otherwise stick to his own patterns and had yet to actually kill the girl. Ducking below a window which opened into the next room, his heart chilled as he finally focused on the words Michael was interspersing between giggles of macabre delight.

"We did it Stan! Did it! An angel here! Where they can never take her from us. They can never find her here Stan. We did it!"

Frank peered over the lip of the window from where he crouched. He saw Michael dancing around the prone body of the woman below him and noted in relief that whilst unconscious, she was still breathing. Taking stock of the room Frank eyed the stack of filthy rags and cushions clearly stolen from trash cans the town over and fashioned into a nest, and the litter of wrappers which surrounded it. He was irrationally reminded of Joe's desk for a moment and almost had to muffle a bark of laughter. The man had clearly occupied this room for a while if the amount of rubbish was anything to go by.

Michael clutched something to his breast as he leapt one last time before scuttling forwards to the female lying before him. Frank's skin crawled as he saw him running his filthy fingers through her hair, all the while muttering to himself and grunting in glee. Suddenly, his movements stiffened and after a pregnant pause, he screamed the word "NOO!" startling the young detective out of his disgusted trance. Michael whipped round with a look of deranged rage in his eyes as he caught sight of Frank peering through the glass. Ripping his fingers from the woman's hair he launched himself, bellowing, at the stunned and dismayed Hardy.


Michael was filled with more happiness than he ever could have thought imaginable as he crouched over his angel and muttered declarations of love to her prone body. His fingers stroked her downy, hair as he murmured in an almost trance like state.

He was torn from the moment when the voice he did not want to hear right then spoke two words which shattered her spell in an instant and had him screaming in rage.

They're here

Whipping around, the only thing he could see through his curtain of hate were the pinpoints of light reflecting from the eyes of the person hiding below the window. Screaming murder, he launched himself forward to the man who was here to take his angel away.


Frank could not stop the shocked gasp which tore from his throat as Michael came towards him. Gone were all traces of the person Frank had seen in the photo before his release. There was no reasoning with the madness which he saw in the eyes of the man who barrelled at him.

Scrambling to his feet, Frank instinctively lowered himself easily into a fighters stance as he waited for the unavoidable impact of Michael's rage. Even then, he underestimated the power of the smaller man as he was launched backwards off his feet and came thudding to the ground behind him. Michael straddled his waist and raised his fists whilst drool flew from his mouth which was frozen in a snarl. Frank noted, in the split second it took for the blows to begin raining down upon him, that the man clutched something in his right hand.

The shock of the attack dulled the older Hardy's senses for a moment allowing Michael to land several blows which, whilst not well placed, fell like hammers. Fists hit Frank in the chest and neck stealing his breath. But it was the one which caught him across the forehead and caused blood to gush down the side of his face which both made him see stars and broke him from his daze.

Bucking his body, Frank threw Michael to the side, leaping to his feet and shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. He pulled his hand across his eye in an attempt to clear the stinging blood which had instantly streamed into it from his open wound. The rain, still managing to reach him through the broken parts of the roof, did nothing to help matters as it mixed with the blood making it a losing battle. Focusing on Michael, he landed a roundhouse kick to the smaller man as he launched himself from the floor screaming blue murder. The blow sent Michael reeling back to the ground where he instantly turned and re-flung himself at Frank.

"My god he's relentless!" Frank had time to think to himself, before he was once again brought crashing down to the ground. All the fight training he and Joe had gone through in their younger years was nothing when used against white hot hatred mixed with insanity. This time, however, Frank did not give Michael chance to land any blows. Instead he rolled again, Michael slipping from his body and thudding to the ground. Frank straddled his knees over the bucking man as he pinned his arms to the floor at the wrist and attempted to get through to him with words.

"Michael, MICHAEL!" he grunted out as the man's thrashings grew wilder once he realised he was incapacitated and panic set in.

"No, NO you won't take me back, I won't let you!" he screamed at Frank, his eyes rolling slightly in their sockets and spit flying out with his words "I won't let you! Stan! Stan help me! Stan. STAAN!"

"Stan..isn't..real!" Frank bit out between pants of breath. He could feel his strength failing a little as the beating he had taken mixed with the sheer psychosis driven power of his quarry started to take its toll. He would have to subdue Michael and soon. "He is a voice in your head Michael. Listen..to..me!"

At these words Michael seemed to grow, if possible, even stronger. Too many times he had been told that his only friend in the world was not real. He refused to listen. Refused to give in. Screaming in rage once more, he brought up his legs and launched Frank backwards. The elder Hardy's arm gave a sickening crack as he landed haphazardly on one of the silent machines littering the room. Moaning slightly he rolled to his side, clutching the injured appendage to his body as he brought himself to a crouched stance on his knees, willing himself to his feet as he looked up. Alarm filled his eyes as Michael came, once again, barrelling towards him. He stopped a few feet from the Hardy, bringing his leg back as he prepared to land a killing blow to Frank's head.

Powerless to stop him Frank could only cringe back slightly when he heard something which filled him equally with both elation and horror.

Joe Hardy had finally reached the scene. Standing, panting, in the doorway of the warehouse he had picked on a hunch, sounds of a struggle instantly had his attention from the other side of the vast building and he had launched himself across the space in time to see Michael running at his broken and bloodied brother, who was swaying slightly as he knelt on the ground.

"HEY!" he had bellowed at the top of his lungs, startling Michael out of his rage for a moment, his balance wavering as he brought back his leg in preparation for a kick.

Making eye contact with his brother, he saw the momentary look of relief on his face morph into one of horror as he realised Joe was alone and therefore also at the mercy of the madman before him. Joe only had time to take a step towards the two men before him before Michael, with a snarl, sent his foot forwards where it hit Frank in the face. His nose seemed to explode in a haze of blood as he finally succumbed to his beating and fell backwards into oblivion.


Well thur you go. My operation took more out of me than I thought it would because it went from being something simple which would take about a week to get over, to being something a little more than simple which is going to take six weeks to get over.

I've basically been wincing my way round the house (it was only meant to be a day case too but I ended up in hospital over night...much to my amusement) and now I'm at the point where it's been like three days and I'm well enough to mooch and be extremely bored, but not well enough to actually leave the house and do...anything.

But enough about that nonsense, all you need to know is that I'm back writing. And due to my lack of adventuring from the house, I can probably finish this puppy up within the next couple of days. Don't know if I'm going to write anything post that because I don't really have a solid idea yet. But I have enjoyed paddling in the Hardy universe so far.

Ramble much, I hope you enjoyed this chapter anyways. Comments and critiques are, as always, welcome!

Sarah

(side note: Frank on his knees, bloodied and soaked from rain was the image which started me off on this whole story. That was literally the only point of reference I had when I started writing..It originally started out as Joe but morphed into Frank as I cracked on.)