chapter thirty-eight. frank hardy. and then the world ends.

"Why did you kill Joe and Nancy?"

"I beg your pardon?" Tino presses the end of the pistol harder into my chest.

"I said, why did you kill them? A mine collapse wasn't really what happened. I want to know exactly what happened, Tino." I keep him distracted enough to discreetly slip my hand into my jeans pocket and pull out the small white device—flicking it on with my thumb. "I want to know exactly how they died. I have a right to know."

"You don't have a right to anything, Hardy. And you can't make me tell you anything—you can't make me do anything, do you understand?" he gets right in my face at this point, lowering his voice to just above a violent whisper. "You can't make me talk—your brother stepped on that ground once before, and look where it got him."

"Joe—? What did he do?"

"He tried framing me with some idiot accusations—the kid didn't even know what he was talking about, didn't even know how to present any evidence whatsoever. You call yourselves detectives?" he pauses here just to interject a disgusted laugh. "What a joke."

"So he tried to bust you huh? And what did you do."

"Don't play the innocent card with me, Hardy—don't act like you don't know about that night. Don't act like he didn't totally spill everything to you about the fight and everything that happened after that,"

"What fight? He didn't mention anything about that—he didn't even tell me that he talked to you," I feel my eyebrows pull together with confusion. "Why wouldn't he have told me?"

"Because I told him not to,"

"You told him not to? You mean you threatened him not to?" a few seconds pause. "You blackmailed him?"

"Blackmailed him?" he actually laughs at this if you can believe it—one of those sick laughs. "No need to act so shocked. You knew about it this whole time—"

"That's a lie—I did not!"

"Yeah that's what your brother said when I found out that he blabbed to Nancy about how I switched the maps and sent everyone off course. And I'm sure he told her about everything else. That kid's such a loser—I'm surprised he's been able to stumble through missions this far," he shakes his head slowly, and I just stand here taking it all in. "Idiot, stand-alone imposter—doesn't even have an ID to back up his so-called PI standing with ATAC—"

"You say that like he's still alive."

Boom. You could hear a pin drop right here. Even on the carpet.

"…Is he still alive?"

"What other options did I have?" he growls, getting to the edge of his temper, "When he knew about everything, then he went and told Nancy about it? I don't think I had any other choice but to get them both out of the scene."

"Get them out of the scene? Is that how you see it?" my voice comes out sounding pretty freaked. "How many people have you gotten away with murdering just so you could "get them out of the scene"? How many—"

"I didn't say that I murdered them—did I?"

"You didn't deny it—"

"But I didn't admit it," he says through clinched teeth. "Did I?"

I swallow, shaking my head slowly. "…Why did you have to get them out of the scene? What did you have to gain by doing that?"

"I already told you—" he scoffs, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "the information they knew would get out eventually—about how this whole stupid thing went down. About all the unethical crap that happened and it would all be pinned on me."

"So that's why you killed them. Because you're running from everything you did wrong?" I shake my head slowly. "Because if the world found out what you did, it would be over for you—"

"And I'm afraid that it's never over for me." at this point, the guy slams one hand down on my shoulder, nailing me hard against the wall.

I nod slowly, gravely. "It's over now."

"Oh yeah? And how's that possible, Hardy?" he smiles slightly. "I believe you're the one who's trapped right now—not me. The game is over. The case is closed."

"What about the case of who murdered the two teen detectives?"

He pauses for a second, before a demented smile twists back onto his face. "What about the case of who shot and killed Frank Hardy?" then he laughs—the mumbled, criminal kind—shaking his head slowly. "There are unsolved mysteries everywhere, my friend. And you're about to become one of them," he repositions the pistol at me, pulling back a little to get his finger poised over the trigger.

Yeah, my heart is slamming around inside my chest at this point—I mean, this guy isn't going to change his mind, so my escape plan better work or I'm dead. But I manage to force myself to stay emotionless.

"So you're going to kill me. Do I get any say in this?"

"No, actually," he smiles again—sick. "I try to make it a rule not to allow any last words on the part of the victim. It makes it so much easier for both of us, don't you think?"

"Tell me something first."

"Yeah."

"Where are they? Joe and Nancy I mean." I look up to get eye-contact again. "Where are they. Exactly."

It takes a few long seconds—and I start to think that I won't ever get a reply to that one. But then he finally speaks. "At Brimstone Canyon. But they're dead. And if they weren't dead when I left, then they're dead by now."

"If they weren't dead when you left? What does that mean?" I surmise, stalling my escape as much as I can to bleed out every ounce of information here.

"Death by elevator crash is a terrible thing, but death by starvation is a much slower, antagonizing way to go, don't you agree?"

"Death by starvation? That wasn't very long ago that you trapped them." I point out, trying to keep my abnormally-loud heartbeat under control. "They could still be alive,"

"The odds are very much against that, I'm afraid." he scoffs, laughing a little. "And even if they are still alive, what does it matter if nobody ever finds them?" he shakes his head slowly. "You're not going to find them, Hardy. Because you're not getting out of here. You're going down." he sets the trigger.

I nod slowly, forcing a half smile. "Go ahead," and that's when I hold up the device in my hand to let him see—the voice recorder which has been on this whole time. "Make my day."

Something like short-lived terror washes over his face for a second, but he quickly smoulders it with a twisted smile. "Oh, a voice recorder. I'm so scared."

"A voice recorder from ATAC which is programmed to instantly live stream back to several other devices, as well as hard drive memory at ATAC's headquarters. Everything you just said is on file right now. Undestroyable evidence."

And I thought I knew what blood draining from somebody's face looked like. Until now. He doesn't say anything in reply to that. Instead he just freezes for a few long, dead-silent seconds. I just stare at him, the voice recorder still on. His gun still pointed. And for a few short seconds, I actually start to think that maybe he's changing his mind. But then those few short seconds end. And he pulls the trigger.

But I knock the gun out of his hand first, slamming my shoe down on his foot to make him lose his grip. I'd anticipated his next move and that's what gets me out of it. The pistol still goes off, letting out a suppressed click, and nailing a bullet into the wall. Then it hits the ground spinning, landing in front of the desk.

At this point, Tino is knocked off guard enough for me to jump forward a few steps, giving him a hard shove and getting to the unmanned pistol before he can—kicking it under the desk and out of reach.

He staggers back a step, catching himself against the wall—his gaze flashing back up to mine. Shocked and pretty much ready to blow a fuse.

"Oh, I'm sorry—was that your only weapon?" I muster some kind of sarcasm, even though I'm freaking shaken up. "Every good detective should know to carry more than one form of defence."

"You bastard—"

"What are your options now, Tino?" I straighten up slightly, the recorder still going in my hand. "…It looks to me like running is the only option left at this point."

And bam. That's where it all ends. Because that's when the train car door is slammed open, and we both snap out of this deathly, intense silence as Lori Girard walks in, stopping in the doorway.

"Lori, I thought I told you to stay where you were!" my voice comes out sounding severe—and louder than I intended. She shouldn't be here. Things are going down and I really don't want her to get hurt.

"Oh so you've got her involved with this mess, too?" Tino throws me a look, straightening up.

"Involved in what mess?" Lori stays in the doorway—not moving an inch. Obviously freaked out. "What's going on, here? Frank?"

And then? Tino runs. I'm not kidding. The guy bolts for the door, obviously snapping up this opportunity to leave. Does he really think that he can get away?

I scramble behind the desk and grab the loaded gun from the floor and Tino makes it to the doorway.

"Get out of my way—!" he yells

"No I will not. Not until you tell me what's going on!" Lori demands, still bracing herself in the doorway—obviously determined and not planning on moving. I bolt to the end of the train car.

"I said, get out of my way!" he grabs her forcefully by both shoulders at this point, tearing her hands away from the door frame.

"Get your hands off of her, Tino!"

Lori screams as he throws her against the wall, then raises a hand to hit her. I jump forward, blocking the punch and nailing the pistol against Tino's back, forcing him out into the hallway. Lori screams again, probably seeing the gun, and dives into the couch.

And that's when Tino twists around and chops my wrist, forcing me to drop the pistol. It hits the floor. And I kick it away. Hopelessly out of weapons at this point, he grabs my shoulder again, locking it in a vice grip—then cracking it out of place. (which feels like total hell, by the way.) He throws a punch at my head—but I drop out of it before his fist can land, missing a concussion by mere inches.

I think fast—and stand back up, using my left hand to throw a neck-jab as hard as I can without losing control. He falls backwards, collapsing to the floor. Unconscious.

I pull myself up, breathing hard—tensing up. Just watching him for a minute to make sure he's really out of it. And he is. Totally out of it. Done. That blow will definitely last at least a good few minutes—which is all that I need.

I reach down and grab the gun from the floor, disengaging the trigger as I turn and stumble back through the doorway, trying to ignore my dislocated shoulder—which is pretty much impossible.

Lori is still curled up in a trembling, freaked-out ball on the couch, hiding behind an overstuffed pillow. I pull myself over there and set the gun down on the table, taking a seat on the couch beside her. I gently reach up to close one hand over hers, "Lori? Are you okay?"

She pulls the pillow away from her face, which is now streaked with fresh, frightened tears, looking up at me with those big watery teal eyes. "I… I think so. What happened? Did—did you kill him?"

"No, I didn't kill him," I shake my head quickly, "but he's done. It's over."

"Oh God, Frank—" Lori sits up, voice ready to break again. "—all I want to do is just go home." and then she reaches up and wraps her arms around my neck—I wince at the pain ripping through my shoulder. "I'm sorry," she pulls back a little. "are you okay?"

"Yeah, just a little…" I refrain from giving her all the detail, managing a dry laugh. "...beaten up."

"You poor thing," she looks up into my eyes with her big, damp blue-green ones. "you know, that was like so heroic of you. You.. rescued me. How can I ever thank you?"

I shake my head slowly, her closeness starting to register and making me kind of nervous despite the pain and the agony and the torture. "You—you don't have to thank.. me, Lori. Really."

She smiles, bringing her voice down to almost a whisper. And letting her fingers sort of just tangle a little in my hair. "Well thank you anyway," and then the world pretty much ends. Because that's when she leans in closer and kisses me.

And then I realize that my voice recorder is still going.

FlightFeathers: I'm so glad you liked that last chapter! And yes, I wouldn't kill Joe. ;) He's too dear to me. I can't wait to see what you think of this chapter! Thank you so much for reading. 3