What starts out as a Spring Break spent helping their father solve a case soon turns into a dangerous confrontation with one of the biggest organized crime syndicates in Atlanta. Along the way, one of the Hardy boys will have to deal with a pain that no young boy should ever have to deal with... a pain that will either turn him into a man or destroy him forever.

A/N: In this story, Frank is 13, Joe is 12. I accept all reviews that offer comments or criticism, but I find flaming to be completely unnecessary. Don't forget, folks… this is fiction. If you don't like it, ignore me quietly.

Thanks everyone, for the reviews! Thanks to everyone who is reading too, even if you aren't reviewing. I don't own the Hardys!

Polaris

Frank gaped in open astonishment as Dr. Richardson jerked backwards in his chair across from Frank and fell to the ground. He spun and looked in horror at the two men who had now taken the masks off and had their guns trained on him.

"Come on, kid," the closer one said. "We're goin' on a trip."

Shaking his head and backing away, Frank tried to keep as much space between him and the bad men as possible. Slipping suddenly on something, Frank landed hard on the floor. To his horror, it was a pool of blood – very real and clearly visible – that had tripped him up, and it was coming from the psychiatrist who lay in a heap beside him. Yelping in fright, Frank scrambled away only to be picked up by the other man.

"Let's go!" the second man growled.

Momentarily forgetting his vow to keep his hands off other people, Frank squirmed and twisted violently, grabbing at the man who held him in a desperate attempt to get loose. He heard the man cussing at him, trying to get a better grip, but Frank was too panicked to settle down.

"Do something about him, will you?" he complained at his partner after Frank managed to backhand him in the face. With a sigh, the first man strode over and slammed the butt of his gun down on the back of Frank's head. Gasping, Frank went rigid for a second before slumping down, unconscious.

"Damn kid," Derek muttered, rubbing his jaw where Frank's wild flailing had hit him.

"Puts up one helluva fight," Bruce agreed, picking Frank's limp form up from the floor. "Quick, let's get outta here 'fore his kin gets back."

"It would've been a lot easier to just kill them all at once!" Derek grumbled. "I thought we were just going to shoot the four of them and get out?"

"Yeah, well, they ain't here, are they?" Bruce snapped. "We're gonna have to improvise now. We'll just take the kid an' call Hardy up to come get 'im. Let's move."

Hoisting Frank over his shoulder, Bruce turned and stalked out of the room, with Derek following close behind. Paulson would be wanting an update soon… at least this time they had progress to report.

In Atlanta, Stalans was once again pacing his office downtown. The rest of the department was buzzing excitedly about their weekend plans, but Stalans was in no mood for jocularity. The loss of Paulson still gnawed at him, occupying his thoughts every waking moment, and some of those in which he was not awake. For the past five or six odd years, Paulson had been an objective; now he was an obsession.

Picking up the whiskey bottle from where it sat unhidden on his desk, Stalans took a fiery gulp straight from the bottle, not even bothering to find a glass. So close… so close… so close… the mantra pounded through his head. He took another swig, hoping to drown the words that consumed him. So close… so close…

"Sir?"

Stalans jumped at the voice, not having heard anyone knock on his door. It was a young officer, eyeing him with a mix of caution and confusion.

"What?" Stalans spat at him.

"Sir… the DA wants to talk to you…"

"Shit," Stalans muttered. He was in no mood for the bureaucratic bull that he knew he was in for. The District Attorney had never been a police officer, had never worked in the field, had never stared down the barrel of a gun pointed in his face. He didn't understand Stalans, and Stalans didn't understand him.

Stumbling to the door, Stalans was about to leave when the young officer cleared his throat and stared pointedly at the bottle the chief still held in his hand.

Heaving a world-weary sigh, the slightly inebriated police chief stomped back to his desk and thrust the bottle inside. As if he didn't have enough trouble coming from the DA… now he would smell of liquor as well. Pulling out a piece of gum and chomping down on it vengefully as if the gum itself had sinned against him, Stalans headed to meet with his boss.

"Fenton, someone's been in your house," Chief Collig said into the cell phone as Con Riley carefully dusted the doorknob for fingerprints. The Bayport city police chief had only that morning heard about Frank and Joe's misadventure from Con, and had headed over to the Hardy residence immediately... it was his duty, after all. They were rather disturbed to find that, although the Hardys didn't seem to be home, the door was unlocked.

Collig didn't like it. Fenton was far too careful to forget to lock his own house, no matter what kind of stress he was under. Something, he sensed, was amiss.

"What? Are you sure?" Fenton demanded from the other end of the line. He and his family were on the way back to Dr. Richardson's office to pick up Frank.

"As sure as I can be. The door was unlocked when we got here. We're checking for prints now, but there doesn't seem to be anything obvious missing. I thought you should know. Just be careful, you hear me?"

"Ok, Chief. I appreciate it… we'll be there soon."

Hanging up the phone, Fenton sped up slightly. Those razor-sharp detective nerves of his were running overtime… that same feeling he'd gotten in Atlanta was buzzing at him again, and he was concerned.

"Honey?" Laura prodded, reminding him of her presence. "Fenton, what's going on?"

"Chief's at the house," Fenton answered shortly, gripping the steering wheel and weaving around slower moving cars as his tension mounted. "Says someone's been inside. He said it didn't look like anything had been taken… but I can't imagine what anybody would want anyways. I'm not on a case right now! Let's just hurry and get Frank and go home."

"Take Ailor Gap Road then," Laura commanded. Her husband's tension was picked up and multiplied by her protective instincts to get to her child as fast as she could. "That'll get you there quicker."

"Ailor Gap is going out of the way," Fenton argued, sticking to the lane he was in. "I'll save time taking Millertown Pike the rest of the way down."

"Not at this time of day, you won't!" Laura said sharply. "It's lunch hour, Millertown's going to be jammed."

"Laura-"

"Fenton! Take Ailor Gap NOW!"

"ALRIGHT!" Cutting the wheel hard to the right to make the turn in time, Fenton tore down the back roads, feeling an unnecessary degree of urgency that he had to get to Frank.

"Mom, what's going on?"

Laura turned to see Joey's frightened face in the backseat. She smiled reassuringly at him, reaching out to pat his hand.

"Nothing, honey. We're just in a hurry. Did you like that ice cream?"

Joe nodded, not taking his eyes off his father, who's mouth was set in a firm line. Worry lines creased his face, and the rest of the trip was made in silence.

As they pulled into the lot outside the doctor's office, Fenton jumped out almost before the keys were out of the ignition. He hurried up the stairs, pulling open the door and bursting into the deserted waiting room, with his wife and youngest son coming in a second later.

"Something's wrong here…" Fenton swiftly pushed Laura and Joey behind him. "Something's not right."

"Fenton, be careful," Laura whispered, following close behind him. She had learned long ago not to disregard the gut instincts of her husband. If he felt something was not right, then by God, something was going to be wrong.

Knocking on the door of the office, Fenton slowly pushed his way into the room and glanced around. A room as small as it was, there was no way he could miss the crumpled form of Dr. Richardson.

"Laura, you two stay out there!" Fenton shouted, swiftly blocking the room with his body so his son wouldn't see. Laura pulled Joey close to her, her thoughts racing fearfully through her head and her heart pounding unrestrainedly. She had seen past her husband… she had seen the body of the doctor sprawled out on the floor. What if…

She couldn't even finish the thought. She couldn't finish the thought that Fenton would also stumble upon the body of their son.

Inside the office, Fenton was thinking much the same thing. It only took a quick, cursory glance around, however, to determine that Frank wasn't anywhere in the room. Fenton was torn… on the one hand, if Frank wasn't there, he might still be alive! On the other… where was he? Who had done this? What were they still going to do? Frank surely would have put up a fight… had they hurt him to make him come? The young boy had only just started making the beginnings of a recovery… would this new experience take all hope of that away?

A weak moan brought Fenton back to the present. Hurrying to Dr. Richardson's side, the detective checked for a pulse.

"Laura!" he yelled. "Laura, call an ambulance! Richardson's still alive!"

"What exactly are you trying to say?" Stalans roared at District Attorney Mark Epson. "Are you firing me?"

"No, John," the DA said with practiced patience. "I just think you need a vacation, that's all. I know how much getting Paulson meant to you-"

"Oh, you do, do you?" Stalans sneered.

"Look, John. I've gotten too many complaints about you. And from Fenton Hardy himself? John, do you know who that man is? And I mean, look at yourself! You need to go home and clean up. I'm suggesting you take a few days. Take a week. Hell, take a month if you want to, but find some way to deal with this other than being nasty to some traumatized kids and drinking in your office!"

"So you are firing me."

Mark Epson closed his eyes, wondering – not for the first time – why he put up with this man. Anyone who was a less effective police chief would have been gone so long ago…

"I will be, if you don't shape up pretty fast, John. I'm serious: take some time off and go home!"

Swearing under his breath, Stalans spun around and stormed from the room. He would go, alright. He would go find Paulson. And when he did… he would silence that pesky voice in his head for good. So close… so close… so close…

When Frank regained consciousness, he didn't remember immediately what had happened. All he knew was that his head hurt, he couldn't move his arms, and this wasn't his parents' car. It took hardly any time at all, however, for the memories to come back. The doctor's office! The psychiatrist! Those two men! His head hurt because one of them had hit him, he couldn't move his arms because they were tied behind him, and this was their car… he was being kidnapped.

Tears came to Frank's eyes but didn't drip down. He was scared, for sure, but he also felt lower than he ever had before in his life. It was all his fault. Dr. Richardson… true, he had annoyed Frank by always pushing for him to talk, but he was still a nice man. Frank had never wanted him dead! It was all his fault… they had come for Frank. The doctor had merely been in the way. It was all his fault. Everywhere he went, bodies were left behind.

"Yes sir."

The voice startled Frank, and he turned his attention to the front seat. The man who had hit him was in the passenger seat, speaking to someone else on a cell phone. The other man was concentrating on driving, but he glanced at his partner occasionally, apparently concerned with how the conversation was going. When the driver turned halfway in his seat, Frank could see blood spattered across his face where Frank had managed to get in a hit, though he was fairly sure it was the type of blood that neither of the bad guys could see.

Sensing that he was being watched, the driver twisted around and Frank immediately closed his eyes, pretending to still be out. All the while, though, he was listening furiously.

"Yes sir," Bruce said solemnly. "Yes sir, we have one of Hardy's brats. We're going to offer Hardy a chance to trade, and find out what he knows and who he's told… then we'll kill them both."

TBC

A/N: I hate to leave you guys hanging like this, but that's probably the last chapter I'll be able to post for a week or so. I'm moving back up to school, so I'm not going to have a whole lot of time for writing. But I'll be back, I promise! Leave those reviews, folks, it's all the bread and water a starving artist can ask for! :)