Thank you James, max, erin and princess for the reviews. Thanks to all who are reading.
Shared Sorrow
Chapter 20
Jeff sat in the living room, one small lamp glowing beside him. He'd arrived home hours ago just as dusk was falling, having spent most of the day sitting in a dimly lit bar, fighting the overpowering urge to have a drink, certain he'd fail. He'd ordered one as soon as he arrived, and then sat staring at it for hours as it got warm and watery. When it was undrinkable, he ordered another one. Like the first, it remained untouched. Jeff cradled the glass in his hands, occasionally putting it down to stir the ice around. Watching the ice melt, he was struck by what a telling metaphor it was. His own life had melted away while he was consumed with thoughts of someone else's life.
Every day he'd thought about Joe, tormented by thoughts of how being kidnapped and held by a pedophile for days had affected him. Some days it dominated his every waking moment. He thought about Fenton and his response when Jeff had asked for his help. Even now, all these years later, Joe's well-being was the most important thing to him. Fenton had done everything in his power to protect Joe when he needed it; to support him, to be there for him… Jeff thought about the kind of father Fenton Hardy was; the kind of father Jeff himself had hoped to be, should have been, but never was. And that's when he'd had an epiphany.
Fenton had implied that Kevin might have stolen over half a million dollars from his employer. But there was just as good a chance that he hadn't stolen the money; that he'd somehow become a victim. The only thing Fenton was sure of was that the money was missing and somehow, Kevin was involved. Jeff realized that regardless of whether Kevin had orchestrated the theft or been an innocent victim, he was going to need Jeff's support when he returned home; something Jeff couldn't give if he were drunk. Suddenly that seemingly uncontrollable and all-consuming need to have a drink was no longer in the forefront of his mind. It had been replaced by thoughts of Kevin. Jeff had paid for the two drinks and gone home.
He'd now been sitting there alone in the shadows for hours, thinking about everything - and nothing. Shaking his head tiredly, he stood and walked to the front door, making sure it was locked before going to bed. As he turned towards the stairs, the phone rang, breaking the eerie late-night silence. Rushing to the kitchen, he grabbed the receiver, not wanting it to wake Carole.
"Hello?"
"Jeff Cutter, please."
"Speaking," he replied, puzzled at the unfamiliar voice calling so late at night.
"Sam Radley… Fenton Hardy's partner," the man said by way of introduction.
"Sam," Jeff repeated, surprised. "It's been a long time." He'd met Sam Radley a few times after the Hardys had moved to Bayport, although they were never more than passing acquaintances. Jeff recalled that from the moment Joe had been kidnapped, Sam had never left Fenton's side, working with him non-stop until Joe was found. Jeff could only imagine what Sam thought of him now.
"Yes, it has. I was wondering, have you seen or spoken to Fenton today?"
"Yes, he was here this morning with an update on the search for Kevin."
"What did he say?"
"He said he'd found something at Kevin's house, a CD, that proves someone was stealing money from the employee's pension fund. He wasn't sure if it was Kevin or not."
"He told me about the CD yesterday." Sam sounded distracted. "Did he say anything else? Mention where he was going today, if he was meeting anyone…" Sam's voice trailed off.
"He said he was going to Myelin after he left here, to speak with Marcus Andresson. Is something wrong?"
There was an uneasy silence before Sam responded. "Fenton was supposed to call and check in at ten o'clock tonight. He never called."
"Maybe he found something-" Jeff began
"No," Sam cut him off. "He's supposed to check in at pre-arranged times. He wouldn't miss that check-in, not voluntarily. I have no choice but to assume he's disappeared."
'Fenton's disappeared?' Jeff was stunned. Suddenly his mind was spinning. First Kevin went missing and now Fenton? His stomach twisted in a knot as a new thought struck him – did Kevin have something to do with Fenton's disappearance?
"We're flying out there tonight," Sam said.
"We?"
"Frank, Joe and I."
Everything seemed to be happening at warp speed. Jeff felt as if the breath was being sucked out of him as realization washed over him. 'Joe's coming here?'
Sam's voice broke into his rapidly shifting thoughts. "Jeff? Are you there?"
"Yes, yes, I'm here."
"We'll need access to Kevin's house. Can you let us in tomorrow morning?"
"Yes, certainly. What time?"
"I'll call you in the morning. In the meantime, if you remember anything else Fenton said, even if it seems unimportant, call me. Here's my cell phone number."
Jeff wrote down the number Sam gave him, bid him goodbye and hung up. Leaning heavily against the counter, Jeff stared at the wall. In less than twenty-four hours he would finally be getting what he'd been hoping for since the day he left Bayport – the chance to see Joe Hardy face to face.
How Joe would react to seeing him? Would Joe hate him? Did Joe hold him responsible for what happened, just as Fenton and Laura did?
'Why wouldn't he? You were supposed to be watching him.' Anticipating the all too familiar feeling of guilt that he lived with every day, Jeff was shocked to feel trepidation and anxiety instead. He recalled Fenton being adamant that Joe not be involved in this investigation at all, fearing it would have devastating repercussions. While Jeff had been living with the knowledge of what Joe had been through for eighteen years, Joe had only known about it for a little over a year. It just now hit him that Fenton and Laura never really said how Joe had adjusted to it, if he had adjusted. As he slowly climbed the stairs to his bedroom, Jeff hoped and prayed that seeing him again wouldn't have painful consequences for Joe, all the while fearing that it would.
oooOOOooo
Joe listened to the drone of the plane's engines, feeling the vibrations in the pit of his stomach. When they had first boarded the small private plane, he'd hoped to catch some sleep during the flight to Arizona. In fact he had started to drift off, but then it started. Broken, disjointed memories flashing in and out of his subconscious. Startled back to wakefulness, he decided maybe sleep wasn't such a good idea but by then it was too late. Even awake, staring out the window into the dark night sky, he could almost see the haunting images reflected in the cold glass. Immediately Joe tried to force them back into hiding, but the techniques that had been so successful only a few days earlier now failed him miserably.
Shifting uncomfortably in the small seat, he almost wished they had taken a commercial airliner instead of having Jack Wayne fly them. At least then he could get up and walk around, stretch his legs, try to forget.
Joe sighed, knowing it was useless. He looked to his right and stared enviously at his older brother. Across the tiny aisle, Frank was stretched out as much as the confined space would allow, a small pillow cushioning his head. The papers Sam had given him to look over were spread on the seat next to him. The steady rise and fall of his chest told Joe that unlike him, Frank had no trouble dozing off.
Resting his head against the seat back, Joe thought about what Frank had said earlier. It probably was inevitable that they'd have to come face to face with Jeff Cutter at some point. The more Joe contemplated that, the more unsettling it became. Soon after Fenton had left to begin searching for Kevin, it had occurred to Joe that he'd never thought about his aunt, uncle or cousins since that day at the park. Not once. If he hadn't even thought about the man in almost eighteen years, how would he react to actually seeing him? Trying not to let his imagination get the best of him, Joe couldn't help but wonder why it seemed that every time he thought he'd taken a step forward in dealing with the aftermath of that weekend, something came out of nowhere and forced him to take two steps back.
oooOOOooo
As the car pulled into the long driveway of Vince Ellison's isolated vacation home, Fenton squinted out the window. He could barely make out the shape of the house in the darkness. Getting out of the car, he silently followed Vince up the steps of the porch to the front doors. Vince took out a key and unlocked the door, turning on the light in the foyer as they entered.
"The basement is this way, through the kitchen." Ellison motioned to his right.
Fenton followed, suddenly anxious at seeing his nephew for the first time in so long. As they made their way to the kitchen, Ellison turned on a few more lights. They stopped in front of a closed door on the far side of the kitchen as Vince unlocked it. He opened the door and began descending a steep set of carpeted wooden steps.
Before they even reached the bottom, Fenton heard another person moving around in the room below. Ducking his head under the low ceiling, he took the last few steps a little more slowly, watching the young man standing at the bottom staring up at him. A look of recognition flickered in the hazel eyes.
"Kevin, this is Fenton Hardy," Vince Ellison addressed him. "He's a private investigator. Your parents hired him to find you."
Kevin looked at Fenton for a long time, making Fenton feel extremely uncomfortable.
"So did he?" Kevin finally asked, still watching Fenton warily.
"Did he what?" Ellison responded, confused.
"Find me," Kevin said sarcastically. "Or is he your prisoner now too?"
As Ellison was about to respond, Fenton thought he heard something – a noise from upstairs. In one fluid movement, he motioned for the other two men to be silent, pulled his gun from its shoulder holster and turned back towards the stairs. He glanced upwards, but remained at the bottom of the steps, listening, and then he heard it again. Muffled footsteps. Someone was up there, moving around and trying to avoid detection.
Looking back at Vince and Kevin, he pointed to the far side of the room, indicating they should take cover there. Then quietly he crept up the basement stairs. Despite the adrenaline rush he felt, Fenton took his time, testing each step before putting his full weight on it, not wanting a creaky stair to alert whomever was in the house that he was on to them. Finally reaching the basement door, he stopped. Cautiously peering into the kitchen, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The lights Vince had turned on when they first arrived were now off. The house was in total darkness.
Tick-tick-tick.
The ticking of the clock on the wall mingled with the steady thumping of his heart. After all these years, all the cases, all the hazards of his job, Fenton Hardy still got a rush of excitement when confronted with danger.
Tick-tick-tick.
Fenton stood quietly, listening for breathing, footsteps, anything to give him an idea of where his adversary was. He heard nothing but silence. Standing in the darkened doorway, he waited. Fenton didn't move, knowing no matter how long it took, he could wait them out.
Tick-tick-tick.
Several tense minutes passed when finally he heard a muffled noise coming from the living room. Quietly, Fenton moved forward, not making a sound. As he neared the room, he heard another noise just ahead of him. The person was trying to get away. Fenton moved faster, using whatever he could - the table, sofa, desk - to make sure he had cover every step of the way. With grim determination he reached the entrance to the living room and prepared to enter when he heard it. Breathing. So close he could almost feel it.
'Damn!' There was more than one person in the house. He'd walked right into a trap.
As the thought registered, he started to turn around when a gunshot rang out. Fenton let out a muffled cry and fell to the floor, the bullet leaving a fiery trail of pain as it tore through the back of his leg.