Hello and welcome to my new story! I am planning to continue my publishing schedule of every Thursday (as started by Blood of Apollo) but thought I could get the prologue out now to give everyone a taste. The final chapter of Blood of Apollo and the first full chapter of this story will be published as planned on Thursday.

I hope you all enjoy this story.

A few warnings to take into consideration however. The story includes violence towards children, neglectful behaviour from parents (not Laura and Fenton) and the discussion of the death of a child. I would consider the violence canon typical but the boys are fifteen and fourteen in this story so felt it needed to be taken into consideration.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys.

Maddy glanced up from her phone as there was a squeal from the playpark. A little boy had been pushed off a swing but neither the pusher nor the pushee had been one of the children she was babysitting. She turned back to her phone.

She was babysitting two boys. Frank and Joe Hardy. Frank, an intelligent brown-haired boy at the ripe old age of just-turned-six, made her job a lot easier. He would keep his brother, Joe, aged four, in line. In fact, watching the Hardys was the easiest babysitting job she could get and paid the best. Their father's work meant that he was often rushing around and jobs came at short notice. The Hardys always compensated well for not being able to give forewarning. Laura was out of town, helping an old friend prep her house for an unexpected pregnancy. Fenton was working on a case in town in which a guy was manipulating teenagers into stealing for him. His sister was coming to help look after the boys but Maddy had been given the job of watching the boys until then. They really didn't take much watching.

She let them loose on the playpark, going over to join a gaggle of teenagers. Some were babysitting, others there to watch younger siblings. Daniel Parker was there, the wittiest boy in school. Maddy allowed herself to become lost in one of his stories, offering occasional glances towards the playpark to check that the number of blond and brown-haired children seemed right. She didn't realise the Hardy children had already slipped away, disappearing past the trees that separated the playing field from the road. Just as Daniel's story was approaching its climax, a wail filled the air.

"JOE!"

Everyone in the park turned. Older siblings leapt the park's fences to rush to their sibling's sides. Parents called names and pulled their children close. Maddy looked around urgently.

She knew the voice. It was Frank. He sounded terrified, distraught. She pushed past one mother and looked around desperately. She could see neither of the brothers. Her heart hammered in her chest as she searched, calling for the brothers.

"There he is!" Daniel Parker shouted, pointing off towards the trees.

Maddy turned.

A little boy was running, stumbling, across the field, crying out of her. Dark hair – it was Frank. Maddy rushed towards, beaten to the boy by one of the guys from her class. He knelt down beside Frank.

"There's blood. Oh man, there's blood."

Maddy's friend was saying. Frank was talking too but his words were snatched by sobs as the shock of what had happened began to set in.

"Hey, Frankie, Frankie," Maddy said, kneeling before the little boy.

She collected his hands into hers. There wasn't much blood. She couldn't see what all the fuss was about. The teenager beside her was probably distressing Frank more than anything else.

"Where are you hurt?"

Maddy looked for cuts or bruises, tried to work out what was wrong. She found none. No cuts. No source for the blood.

Joe. Where was Joe?

"He hit him. He hit him. He hit him."

It was all Frank seemed to be able to say. Maddy tried to look into his teary brown eyes and get him to talk sense. Had someone hit Joe? A slap didn't normally draw blood.

Maddy heard an engine roaring into life from the road. Frank whimpered at the sound.

No.

Maddy got to her feet, blindly shoving Frank towards her friend. She stumbled into a run, crashing through the treeline. Almost immediately, she came across the road. The car was disappearing out of view, too far for her to get any sort of description of it. But, lying in the middle of the road, was the blue sun hat Joe had been wearing.

Maddy dropped to her knees as her hand closed about the hat.

Ten years later

The figure dropped out of the window he had forced open. He began to hurry away from the Office of Vital Records, trying to focus on getting away. Processing could come later and it would be far nicer to process from the safety of his bedroom rather than the inside of a prison cell. He began to close in on the main street, slowly shrugging off his make-shift disguise. He peeled off his gloves, unwound the scarf that covered the bottom of his face, removed the hat he wore and tried to smooth down his hair.

He'd not found what he had looking for. In fact, he'd found his task would be a far bigger one than he had expected. But he'd made a start. Breaking into the Health Department, scouring through as many birth records as he could… it was a big step on the journey that would hopefully lead him to a front door which would open to a familiar face with recognition in their eyes.

The young man pocketed his gloves, his scarf, his mask and hummed triumphantly to himself. His victorious smugness died instantly when he heard movement nearby. He pulled on the hat once more, fumbled to wrap the scarf about the lower half of his face.

He thought about running but he stood transfixed, eyes focused on the shadows. They were moving. Someone was there.

A second figure emerged from the gloom, towering over the first. He wore a balaclava, his hands clutching a stiletto knife that glistened in the little watery moonlight that managed to reach the ground of New York City. The first figure instinctively reached for his own blade but found it was not there. He could remember leaving it in his bedside cabinet. He didn't want to hurt anyone. Perhaps it was delusional but he wanted his quest for answers to be as bloodless as possible.

"I don't want any trouble," the first figure said.

He forced himself to lower his voice, emphasise his accent, disguise his voice the best he could.

The second figure didn't reply. Instead, he lunged. The first figure dived, instinctively raising a hand to block the knife as he did so. It would not have been a fatal blow but it would have hurt a lot. It still did. The knife slid across the palm of his hand, drawing blood that dripped onto the floor of the alleyway. Biting back a cry of pain, the injured figure slammed his uninjured hand against his adversary's elbow. The knife fell to the floor. The first figure didn't let up. He twisted sharply, driving his elbow back into his opponent's nose. There was a pained grunt from behind him and the nose was broken. The figures separated, sizing each other up. The second raised a hand to his nose, unable to check it properly through the balaclava. The first figure watched as the second scanned the floor, looking for the knife. When he turned to snatch it up from where it lay, the first took off at a sprint. His racing footsteps echoed off the alleyway walls as he charged away. Rubbish and broken glass were trampled underfoot as the figure sped away.

He exploded onto a quiet street. Immediately slowly his run, he unfurled the scarf from around his face and wrapped it over the cut across his palm. Then he disappeared into the New York night.

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