Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, BMSH, Sarai and Max2013!

Ghost of November Past

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 26

"Come forward slowly, hands up," the dulcet voice continued without pause. "Come on." The woman holding the revolver on them waved it, indicating where she wished them to go, then stood quietly, watching them as they filed docilely past, Frank in the lead, then Matt, then Joe.

Frank paused and slowly raised his hands in the air, watching the woman intently as he moved, and attempting to ignore the throbbing headache which still hammered behind his eyes. Who the heck is this? And how badly did I hit my head, anyway? I don't need…don't want …another concussion! This is getting ridiculous!

"Rats in the cellar," the warm contralto tones continued, and the three captives could hear the smile in her voice. "Sorry boys, but this is the end of the line. We have work to do, and you've been in the way since Day One. Now, why don't you make it easy on all of us, and tell me where they are?"

"You're – I recognize your voice," Joe blurted. "You're the Wedding Lady!"

A ringing laugh from the woman and chuckles from the group behind her was the response. "The Wedding Lady?" she echoed.

"Well, I don't remember your name," the younger Hardy muttered.

"Not that it's really any of your concern, but my name is Mallory Rutledge," she said coolly. "Now – where are they?" she snapped again.

Frank blinked stupidly in the harsh flashlight beams. "Where are what?" He managed to school his voice to patience, although what he desired above all else at the moment was to lie down and sleep for about…oh, a year, maybe? Instincts taking over, he watched warily, waiting for a moment when he might make a move, despite his aching head. He took a stumbling step forward and then steadied himself, feeling Matt's hand grip the back of his jacket.

Mallory barked another brief laugh. "Nice try, sonny, would you like another chance?" She nodded to the group of men accompanying her – with the flashlight beams in their faces, it was impossible to see how many there were – and Frank felt his arms gripped tightly and wrenched savagely behind his back, as two of them seized him. He let out an involuntary huff of pain, and wobbled; only the cruel grip on his arms keeping him upright. He wriggled just the slightest bit, testing – and was disappointed with the results. This is just not my day!

The gun trained unerringly upon them had kept Joe and Matt from any ideas of springing to Frank's aid. "Let's try it again," Mallory Rutledge said, her voice deceptively sweet. "Where are the jewels?"

"Haven't seen 'em," Joe said curtly. He was taut with fury at his inability to help Frank. "Don't have any idea what you're talking about."

The woman's eyes narrowed with hostility, the gleaming blue going dark as she stepped forward. Still holding the gun in a firm grip, she doubled up her left fist, and drove it into Frank's stomach. The elder Hardy cried out in pain, and sagged forward; he would have fallen to the ground if he hadn't been held up by his captors.

"Hey! Stop it!" Instinctively reacting to his brother's anguish, Joe lurched forward – only to find a revolver inches from his face. He halted, holding his breath.

"Stay put!" Rutledge's clipped tone brooked no arguments. She glared at Joe and Matt, as if daring them to defy her orders. "I only need one of you alive, you know. The other two can die right now, for all I care. You can choose which of you stays alive."

"NO!" Frank recovered enough breath to voice a protest. "We're telling you the truth! We don't know where the jewels are! Why do you think we keep coming back here? If we knew where they were, we'd have—" Abruptly, his voice trailed off, dwindling into nothing, and he sagged forward, head drooping.

Joe stared at him, nearly frantic with anxiety. "Frank?"

"Take them to the cave," Mallory ordered peremptorily. "Secure them there. A few days there might loosen their tongues—" She paused, and laughed caustically. "If it doesn't kill them!"

Before Joe or Matt could move, they felt themselves seized from behind, and held in brutally tight grips, unable to move. Joe watched in dismay as Rutledge nodded to one of the men, who produced a small bottle and poured the contents onto a cloth, then stepped towards the helpless Hardys and Matt Eckersley.

Chloroform! Joe barely had time to register the thought, and no time whatsoever to protest or struggle, before the sickly-sweet stench overcame him, and he sank to his knees.

#####

Freezing – I'm freezing! Why the heck is it so cold? Frank automatically tried to reach down, searching for his blankets, frowning in sleepy puzzlement when he couldn't locate them. If Joe came in and took my covers off for a joke…. He tried to roll over, still searching for his lost bedclothes – and found he was unable to move. Any attempts shot barbs of pain through his stomach and his head. He groaned, and lay still, shivering against what he could tell was dirt and rock, for a long moment before he slowly opened his eyes – to near-total darkness.

"Frank? You back with us? You had me worried, bro."

It was Joe's voice, coming from somewhere to his right. Frank blinked, trying to penetrate the gloom. As his eyes slowly adapted to the low levels of light, he found Joe sitting nearby, hands behind his back.

"What…happened?" Frank croaked. "Where…?" He struggled again to move, and realized that his own hands were bound tightly behind him. He was lying on them, and they seemed to have gone numb. There was an odd heavy weight around one ankle, too….He shivered, wondering how long he'd been lying there.

"We're in a cave in the cliff below the lighthouse," Joe explained wearily. "Those goons with Mallory Rutledge hauled us down here and dumped us – after hitting us with chloroform. I didn't get a full dose, though – I was more dazed than unconscious. You were better off, believe me – you didn't want to be awake for the trip!"

"Don' wanna be…'wake now, either," Frank murmured, and let his eyes drift shut. Conscience prodded him, and he blinked them open, and tried shifting and squirming as best he could. It hurt – it was a bad move, he knew – but at least maybe moving would warm him up a little. Maybe. "Where – where's Matt?"

"Here, dude." The dispirited voice of their friend came from the other side. Frank turned his head, wincing, and managed to make out Matt's slight form, hunched in the moonlight-shot darkness, hands shackled as well. Beyond him – Frank squinted. It looked like another body, over closer to the wall….

"Who – is there someone…?"

"Cherise," Matt explained briefly, with a resigned sigh. "Seems she didn't go home – or whatever – after all."

"She was here when I woke up," Joe said. "I tried to scoot over there and check her over a little – she's breathing, but she hasn't woken up, or even come close to it. She's alive, but she needs help – and we can't do anything for her, cuffed like we are." He shifted a little. "They handcuffed us, damn 'em. And then, to add insult, they left the keys." He indicated the wall. "I saw one of the guys put it up on a little ledge there. No way we can reach them."

"Man, I feel sick," Matt murmured, and leaned forward over his knees.

"It's the chloroform," Frank informed him tiredly. He knew exactly how Matt felt – well, maybe Matt didn't feel quite as bad as he did, he decided. Matt hadn't banged his head on a wall first, after all, or been choked by Emily…again!

He closed his eyes. This is not a good situation at all. Maybe Dad will come looking for us, when we don't show up at home….Joe's Aztek is up there in the parking lot, after all….He voiced this thought hopefully, only to have Joe dash it.

"Dad's out of town, Frank, remember? And we told Mom we might be out really late anyway." Joe's tone mingled chagrin and wry humor. "And Vanessa wasn't expecting to hear from me; I told her I'd stay out of her hair tonight while her ankle's healing."

Frank groaned a little, remembering now. "I told Megan the same thing – I mean, that we might be out all night, and she shouldn't expect to hear from me until tomorrow."

"And—" Joe paused, and Frank heard him swallow hard. "Anyway…the Aztek's not up by the lighthouse."

"Huh? Why not? You think they drove it away, or something?"

"Whaddya mean, dude?" Even Matt sounded interested, curiosity overcoming nausea for the moment.

"Because," Joe muttered somberly, "I was awake shortly after we got stuck in here, and I…saw it go by."

Frank blinked. "You saw it go by?" he echoed, uncomprehendingly.

Joe nodded toward the cave opening, where the pale moonlight filtered in. "I saw it go by," he repeated. "The Aztek doesn't float very well, Frank – not for long, anyway."

"Dude! No!"

Frank's eyes were wide with shock. "Your car…" he whispered.

"Fish food," Joe said mournfully. "That is, if fish eat metal." He gulped a little. "I knew that car was cursed," he sighed. "And damn it, I'd just finished paying it off!"

"Oh, Joe…."

"Well, nothing to be done about it now. Why don't you guys lie down for awhile and rest?" Joe was quite evidently trying to shake off his melancholy. "Frank, I'll wake you up every hour or so – the way you've been reacting, I think you've gone and concussed yourself again, brother mine – but you could get some sleep. You too, Matt. If I thought we'd have any chance of getting out of here soon, I'd keep you awake, but…."

"I'm not gonna argue, Joe dude," Matt murmured. "But if you want me to stay awake and keep an eye on Frank, just tell me, okay?" Cautiously, he eased himself down onto his side and closed his eyes.

Frank, about to follow Matt's example, suddenly froze, as shimmering light appeared near the cave entrance, and a familiar voice spoke:

"What happens here? What are you doing here?" The shimmering form drew nearer, and Frank could make out familiar features and clothing. "Frank Hardy?"

"Emily," he breathed. The ghost appeared to be hovering over them, peering down at the boys with curiosity. "Emily – we're in trouble! Can you help?" If he'd been a little less out of things – a little less hurt – Frank would have realized what an insane notion this was. Asking for help from a ghost? He didn't believe in ghosts – well, he hadn't used to. Right now, he was too tired to think about whether or not Emily really existed; he had to assume she did, and just hope she could manage to help them somehow!

She looked and sounded uncertain. "I…am not sure."

Joe and Matt were staring too, caught between disbelief and wary hope. "The keys—" Joe jerked his head. "If we had the keys…."

Emily looked, and apparently saw them. She floated over to the ledge and reached out a hand to pick up the keys, only to frown when her fingers passed through them, insubstantial as water or mist. "I…this is…" Her frown deepened into a glare, as if the keys had personally offended her – and then became a look of concentration. The three young men watched her, mesmerized. They saw her fingers curl again over the metal, and then came the soft whish! of the wind she could summon, through the cave. The keys flew through the air, borne on that ghost wind, to land with a jangling thump on the cave floor.

Frank felt like cheering. "You're doing it!" he gasped. "You're doing it, Emily!"

She frowned in concentration again, and pushed another spectral wind gust at the keys, moving them closer to Joe. A shy smile crossed her face. She was obviously pleased with the results of her efforts. But then she stopped, seeming to lose all interest in what she had been doing. She stared into the back recesses of the cave, where a small ledge protruded from the wall. Frank, watching her, would have sworn that, had she been alive – and at the moment, she seemed alive – he could see her turn paler. Emily flew – literally flew – past Joe, and landed beyond him. She hovered over…something. And then she knelt on the floor of the cave.

"Erik." The word was the most insubstantial of whispers – and it was spoken in tones more tender than Frank had ever before heard her utter. "My Erik…." She reached out and touched something on the floor.

Erik? ERIK? Frank closed his eyes. Was this where Emily's fiancé had been killed, or at least where his body had been left? Somehow, finding another skeleton here in this cave seemed awfully discouraging. It conjured up all sorts of unpleasant images of four more skeletons – his, Joe's, Cherise's, and Matt's – being added to Erik's.

Joe, meanwhile, had been struggling to reach the keys Emily had blown at him. He scooted backwards and sideways, reaching with his manacled hands to grasp them. When he finally had them securely in his grip, he sat for a moment, shivering in the cold blasts of wind which were beginning to whip into the open mouth of the cave. Finally he turned the keys about until he could get one into the lock on the cuffs, and manipulate it. It took a few moments, but at last one cuff opened, and Joe freed his wrist. Twisting about, he unlocked the other cuff, and then removed the shackles from his feet.

Gingerly, Joe rotated his shoulders and rubbed his wrists, trying to restore the blood circulation to his extremities. "Brrrr!" he exclaimed, as another cold wind gust hit him. He scrambled across the floor to Matt, and quickly freed the other man from his restraints. "You doing okay, Eckersley?"

"Better now," Matt affirmed, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. "Here, let me get Frank loose; you check on Cherise, man."

Joe did so, wishing desperately for more light than was seeping in through the cave opening. He found the young woman still unconscious, but at least she was breathing. She was cold, though – he didn't like the feel of her skin; she was obviously ill, and very probably dehydrated, as well as hypothermic. "I wonder how long she's been here?" he muttered, more to himself than to Matt or Frank. "Since Sunday? Monday?" He patted her face gently. "Cherise? C'mon now, girl, open your eyes. Cherise?" Over his shoulder, he observed, "We need to get her some help, guys. She's not doing well at all."

Matt brought him the keys, and Joe proceeded to release the cuffs which had held Cherise's hands and feet, then chafed her wrists. To his surprise, Matt scooted down beside the girl and took her into his arms, wrapping them around her.

"Don't jostle her, Matt – it's not good for hypothermic patients to be tossed around."

"I'm being careful, dude – but this is the best way I can think of to get her a little warmer," Matt replied. "It's not like we have any blankets, or anything!" Carefully, he tucked the front of his jacket more securely about the unconscious girl.

Seeing that Matt had Cherise well in hand – literally – Joe moved over to check on Frank. He found his older brother struggling to sit up.

"Hey, hey, what's the big idea? You're supposed to be resting, remember?"

"Later. Help me up, Joe."

Joe sighed, knowing Frank was probably dizzy and sick still, but obeyed the request and helped him to a sitting position – and then held him there when he wobbled dangerously. "You're pushing your limits, big brother," he warned gently. He looked back at where Emily still knelt. "What did she find?" he whispered in Frank's ear.

"Not sure," came the almost-inaudible reply, "but I think it's probably the bones of Erik, her fiancé. The one Elliott Pembroke killed."

"Killed—" Joe stared at him, eyes wide in the faint moonlight. He looked again at Emily. "Emily," he said tentatively. "Emily?"

She turned towards them, almost as if she had forgotten they were there. "Yes?"

"Could you – is there any way you could – um – get help for us?" Joe asked, feeling somewhat foolish.

She shook her head. "I am sorry," she whispered, "but I cannot. I cannot come and go wherever I wish – and I cannot be seen by just anyone - I - it is hard. I – need something to…I followed – the chain with the coin, to find Frank. And I can find him now without it. You also. But…but not…others. I couldn't find my way. And no one could see me – or if they did, why would they listen to what I said? Or believe I was there at all?" She sighed, a tiny ethereal thread of sound. "It wouldn't work."

"Even if she followed the coin on the chain," Frank commented softly, "it's in police evidence lockup now. No one to see her – hear her – believe her."

Joe sighed – much more loudly. Of course not. Homicidal ghosts don't help people. Speaking of which, why isn't she homicidal anymore? That's curious…. She'd helped them – seemed willing to help them further, if she'd been able – and she was calling Frank by his name, not cursing him as a murderer. That's my brother – he can charm even spectral astral-plane beings! Well, if Emily couldn't help, it was going to be up to mere mortals. He got to his feet. "All right, then," he announced. "I'm going for help."

"Joe, you can't!" Frank's protest came swiftly. "It's freezing in that water!"

Matt echoed him: "It's totally cold out there, dude! You weren't in it before, but I promise you – ice cube, bud, ice cube!"

Joe went to stand at the cave entrance, and was dismayed at what he saw. This wasn't a cave high in the cliff, it was low – relatively speaking. The waters of icy Barmet Bay were perilously close to the entrance already, and Joe knew the tide was still coming in, which would raise the water level even higher.

"I don't think I have any choice," he said, turning back to the others. "If we don't get out of here pretty soon, we may end up being drowned!"