Cheeky little warning here before I crack on, there is a little bit of swearing in this chapter...not a lot. But just to let you know :D
For a beat after Frank hit the deck, all was silent in the warehouse. Even the pattering of the rain seemed to fade into the background as white noise filled Joe's ears. Rage began bubbling under the surface of his skin as with a dangerous measure of control, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the radio.
"CON!" he snarled into the receiver "Talbot warehouses, NOW!"
Throwing the device to the floor without waiting to check if the message had been received, all measure of calm left the young detective as with a roar of anger he launched himself across the remaining distance toward Michael's waiting form.
Joe made one mistake that Frank hadn't however. He assumed that the mere size of the smaller man was indicative of an easy target. His conscious mind blinded by rage and not computing the fact that even with his diminutive size he had managed to take down Frank Hardy, who had been extensively trained in several martial arts.
Hurtling across the room, he tackled Michael to the ground. Fully expecting that first assault to daze him enough to make the rest of the process easier, he instead found himself on the receiving end of a vicious punch which instantly re-opened the previously attained wound on his cheek.
Joe did not even feel the pain however, so maddened was he by the image of Frank swaying drunkenly and covered in blood as he had entered the warehouse. Leaning back he brought his own fist down in a returning punch, instantly leaving a welt on Michael's face which in turn only seemed to enrage the man more.
Michael wriggled from under Joe's body, turning long enough to direct a kick at his side which sent him crashing down and stole his breath.
Both men scrambled to their feet and stood apart from one another, the rage in their faces perfectly mirrored. It was seeing the hint of madness in Michael's eyes which staggered Joe a moment, almost as if he had taken another blow to the face. He stepped out of himself for an instant and took a slight calming breath. Remembering that the man before him spent most of his time believing a voice to be his friend, he instead attempted a calming tone and tried appealing to his saner side.
"Michael, we don't have to do this," he bit out, attempting to keep the broiling anger from his tone.
"You did this!" Michael spat back, a sneer clouding his features "Trying to take my angel. Trying to take her away from me again. Trying to take Stan!"
"Your...your angel doesn't belong to you Michael," Joe said, finally seeming to win the battle of his own emotions and injecting his voice with restraint "and Stan, Stan isn't real."
Once again these words flicked a switch in Michael, and with more speed than Joe thought possible he launched himself forwards, raining iron like blows down on Joe's face and shoulders.
"Forget this," Joe thought to himself as one of the fists split his eyebrow open and blood trickled down to meet the stream gushing down his cheek. The subdued anger surged back through him as with a snarl he brought his own fist back and caught Michael in the temple.
Michael was thrown backwards a few feet, unconscious before he even hit the ground. As he fell, something flew from his hand and clattered across the walkway, coming to a standstill as it bounced off the rusting machinery.
Joe took a flash of a second to heave a breath. The rage flushing out of him to instantly be replaced by concern for his brother. He turned, about to rush towards his prone figure when he heard something which sent both his heart racing and an icicle of fear through his body.
Jooosephhhh
Turning haltingly, his eyes widening in fear and confusion, he whipped his head towards Michael who was still out cold.
Hello Joseph. Seems you were wrong about one thing. I think you'll find that I, am entirely...
"Real."
Joe whipped round as the last word from the chilling voice seemed to come from the other end of the building. Stepping menacingly out of the shadows came the huge figure of a beast of a man. The most evil of smirks beneath the deadest eyes Joe had ever seen. This was a man who's entire body language spoke of having nothing to lose.
Joe's mind could not process this turn of events. His senses slightly dulled by the beating he had taken and sheer confusion racing through his body. Slowly looking at the man's hands, he noted that one held a particularly lethal looking hand gun, and in the other...
"What Joe? Oh...this?" the man's smirk grew wider as he brought the object forward and slowly wiggled it in the air.
A flash of understanding rocketed through Joe as his head whipped back to the item Michael had clutched to his breast during their fight which had clattered from his hand as he had fallen. The twin object to the one this man proffered...A two-way radio.
The realisation hit him like an actual force, sending him staggering back a step until he steadied himself with a hand on a a broken conveyor belt.
"Yo...you," he began looking back into the shark like eyes of the grinning man before him.
"Me, Joseph. All me. Meet...'Stan'," he said, his voice filled with mirth as he motioned again to the radio in his hand before, with one jerk of movement, tossing it with a massive heave to the floor where it smashed into a million pieces causing the younger Hardy to jump a little.
"But...why?" Though Joe was slowly understanding the magnitude of what the walkie talkies meant, there was still a gaping hole in the man's apparent motive.
"Why? Well to orchestrate a lovely coming home present for my dear old friend Fenton of course," Stan replied, the grin on his face beguiling the anger which suddenly flooded his voice.
"Wait...what?" Joe's brain was sluggishly attempting to figure out every word coming from Stan's mouth. "Who the hell are you?"
"The only name you need to know, Hardy," bit out the man, rage running barely veiled through his words although his exterior remained dangerously calm "is Stan."
He spat the word Stan out with a mocking edge. His grin widening and his eyes flashing a moment.
"Then..then all this," Joe said, motioning weakly with his arms "all this is some sort of elaborate...revenge mission?"
"Finally you're getting the picture. It's a shame your brother is out cold. He really must be the brains of the outfit," sneered Stan.
Ignoring the jibe, Joe continued "then two girls...lost their lives for nothing." His own anger was resurfacing as the slow process of working out what the hell was going on starting snapping bits of the puzzle into place.
"Haha! Oh, have I pissed you off there Joey? A little self righteous anger sent my way? Am I meant to play remorseful? You think I give a shit about the lives of some screwed up girls when my own life was ruined by your daddy?" Stan's calm facade slipped a little as he literally spat the last word towards Joe. "My only regret, is that we didn't get that pretty bitch of a girlfriend of yours before you sent her away. That would have been a cherry on top of the misery pie I plan on sending your father."
Joe literally saw red for a moment. No longer caring for his own safety, or even bothering to try to work through the current happenings, he charged towards Stan screaming words of hatred at him as his mind was filled with Vanessa.
Hitting into Stan was like running into concrete. The man barely leant backwards as he took the full force of the attack from the young Hardy. Joe snarled and balled his fists, landing one into Stan's washboard stomach and the other on the cheek of the smirking man before him.
Stan didn't even react for a moment. The first blow apparently glancing off his muscular frame. The second, however, had opened a split on his cheekbone which burst in a gleam of red. Joe, staggered for a second by this apparently mad man's lack of reaction, saw Stan cock his head slightly before snapping his own gaze to Joe's eyes.
Moving with cat-like grace he threw an uppercut at Joe's chin sending him crashing backwards into a railing. In a flash of movement he brought his other hand downwards, smacking the grip of the gun into the temple of the dazed man, bringing him down to his knees.
Slowly returning to his previous stance, he walked away from Joe. Barely conscious, Joe's stubborn nature was the only thing keeping him vaguely upright, rain mingling with the blood on his face turning it to a hideous mask.
Stan walked towards the prone form of Michael knowing, with a surety which on some level angered Joe, that the younger Hardy was no longer a threat.
"Ah Michael," he said, like a man talking to his dog. "You crazy little bastard."
"Y..you" spat Joe out through a mouthful of blood "you made him..crazy."
"Hah!" barked out Stan, glancing back at Joe "he was crazy long before I got to him Joseph. I just saw his potential. I knew how I could use him. After all, no one else bothered to talk to him when Jimmy was murdered and he was left all alone. I was the only one. And he craved it. He needed it." A sneer crossed his features as he focused back on Michael.
"Who the hell is Jimmy?" Joe asked, almost exasperatedly.
"You're not good enough to say. His. Name," Stan growled "Jimmy was this little moron's brother. My right hand man. Always used to bang on and on about how he was going to look after him, gonna make their lives right." His last words were said with almost a regretful air.
"You stopped talking to Michael...when we was sectioned," Joe said, still needing to piece together the puzzle through the cobwebs filling his mind.
"I didn't stop on purpose," Stan replied "I was sent to prison by your wonderful father. I wanted to use Michael. To kill the people who deserved to die. But it didn't work. Mikey here went and got himself caught by the police and sent to the loony bin. So I had to finish the work that we started..."
"And," Joe said, with a bark of laughter "I would have...gotten away with it..too if it weren't..for you pesky kids."
"Your dear old daddy," roared Stan, stalking his way over and crouching until he was eye to eye with Joe "stuck his nose in where it wasn't wanted. A life sentence. Rotting in prison Joseph, forever, can you imagine that?"
"Nothing less..than scum like you deserves," Joe said with an attempted smile which came out more like a grimace.
Eyeing the swaying man before him, Stan let out a snort of laughter, before backhanding Joe in the mouth.
Joe smacked forward to his hands, still refusing to give in to the blackness which tunnelled his vision. He would have smiled if he could have through the split in his lip when Frank's voice seemed to fill his mind and berated him for continuing to poke the bear with a stick.
Stan stood once again, slowly moving back to Michael. Checking the gun's magazine he said "it pays to have friends on the inside, and so here I am. Admittedly a little later than I would have hoped. But still, better late than never."
"So you got...Michael to..murder those girls," Joe panted out, his words getting quieter as his vision grew foggier "just to get..our attention?"
"Can you blame me for wanting to add a bit of flare to the job?" Stan returned, equally as quiet as thoughts clouded his mind "it would have been too easy to break in and have you eat lead whilst you slept. No, I wanted Fenton to come home to a spectacular mess. It was simple getting Michael to go after those girls. He has a penchant for the ones with the soft, golden hair.."
"Eat lead..." Joe said aloud as a thought crossed his mind "...eat lead...it was you! You...killed them...you shot them."
"Ah, figured that one out on your own did you Hardy? Maybe you're not as dumb as you look," Stan replied, the sneer returning to his face. "Michael was taking too long pawing at them, his precious angels so I had to step in and finish the job. Couldn't have the police coming across him early by accident and ruining the whole shebang now could I?"
Joe felt a pang of sadness shoot through him at the thought of the lonely and wretched existence Michael had lead which had driven him to take comfort in the lunatic parading in front of him now. His fading attention was brought back to the room by a clicking noise and Stan's quiet voice once more.
"Still, his part in this is finished now."
Joe barely had time to understand what Stan meant by that phrase, shouting out a "No!" as a bang filled the room. Stan had finally silenced the voices and put Michael out of his misery once and for all.
The gun smoked slightly in the man's hand as he focused for a second on the mess before him. Imperceptibly shrugging it off, he clicked the hammer back once again and turned, walking slowly towards an ailing Joe.
Joe, knowing that his own time had ran out, focused all of his energy into pulling himself back and sitting on his knees, a sneer marring his blood soaked face. Joe Hardy would not go out on all fours like an animal.
"It's almost a shame kid," Stan said, his shark eyes flashing once again as he took in the admirably stubborn man before him "in another life, me and you could be partners."
"In...any...life," Joe spat back "you'd..always..be a scumbag". With the last of his reserves, he grinned at the man before him, who with a snarl of rage pulled the gun up and aimed it at the younger Hardy's head.
A yell of pure animal fury distracted Stan for a moment as Frank Hardy threw himself through the air and charged straight at the man threatening his little brother. Stan grinned, his finger tightening on the trigger and the gun going off with a deafening boom at the very moment he was tackled to the ground.
"No!" Frank groaned as from the corner of his eye he saw Joe flung backwards by the impact of the bullet, hitting the floor and failing to get up again.
Stan got to his feet, cackling in pure crazed elation as he eyed the fallen Hardy.
"Too late there Frankie boy! And now, now it's your turn." He turned the gun on Frank, who scrambled unsteadily to his feet, his face unconsciously mimicking the stubborn look Joe had given Stan as he waited for his doom.
A gunshot echoed once again around the vast space of the warehouse. Stan's smile grew, if possible bigger. A low, husky chuckle erupting from his throat...as the blood slowly bubbled from corner of his mouth.
Frank's eyes opened widely as red blossomed on Stan's t-shirt, the stain growing quickly as his pierced heart pounded it's last beats. The gun fell from Stan's hand as he collapsed to his knees. The glitter in his sharks eyes snuffing as he finally face planted to the ground.
Frank whipped around, too quickly it seemed as his body protested and he staggered, falling to the ground again...but not before he saw Fenton, who stood brandishing his own pistol as police streamed into the warehouse behind him. The sounds of pounding feet and shouting voices muffled as darkness closed in on his mind once again, this time cushioned by the knowledge that their father was here and he would make everything better.
Well, you have no idea how much I have re-written this whole thing in my mind before getting it down on 'paper'. I hope it came off like I wanted it to. I know it could potentially be confusing. I don't think I have ever proof read something so much in my life! And I had to write a dissertation for uni!
Comments and critiques are welcomed :)
Sarah
(Also, I know it's a bit of a shorter chapter, but it felt like the right place to leave it...)
