Chapter 19 ed.

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Homecoming

"I'm attually veeling 'edder nowh…" Joe almost tripped over his own foot had Frank not pulled him up in time, supporting his swinging frame. The doctor had told a groggy but still defiant Joe that if he did not take his medication and rest, his fever would rise and he would be warded in a hospital with no hope of discharging himself for the next few days.

"I'm sorry. We aren't speaking the same language. I don't understand gibberish." Frank wrapped one hand across Joe's warm shoulders as he unlocked the door to the motel room he rented. "We'll get you in bed and you'll be feeling a grand after a rest, all right?"

"No…" Joe shook his head before wincing, "No west…"

Frank twisted his lips, mildly vexed by the stubborn mule he had for a brother and had to drag a reluctant Joe into the clean, decent room. It wasn't too hard to overcome Joe's pathetic attempts at pushing him away and the fever jab that the annoyed doctor gave Joe must have been laced with some potent sedative. The moment Joe's head hit the pillow, he fell into a troubled sleep. Smiling grimly, resigned but still worried, Frank drew out a thin, clean blanket folded up in the wardrobe and covered Joe loosely with it.

"Sleep tight, little bro. I'll be back soon. Don't worry about a thing, all right?" He whispered and with a nostalgic tenderness, he felt Joe's forehead with the back of his hand, relieved to find that it was no longer as burning as before. The doctor had diagnosed Joe as having a heatstroke, aggravated by stress and the lack of sleep- Frank guessed Joe's panda eyes were a dead giveaway. He wondered if the doctor could catch the whiff of death still lightly clinging onto their clothes. Looking at Joe's mien which could not even relax under the combination of medication and fever, his heart cracked.

"Hawee... duddee get de baddie away…" Joe mumbled as he shifted in his sleep, snuggling his head deeper against the pillow.

"Yup, we're gonna get the baddie…" Frank patted Joe's shoulder, wishing he could stay to make sure nothing happened to Joe. However, there was work to be done. He left his brother's side and made his way towards the door. The first thing to do was to find a convenience store with one of those phone-charging stations for his cell's model.

"Nessa… Nessa… dond go… puheeze… nid you…"

Stopping by the entrance, heartbroken by the feverish pleading, Frank turned around and his stomach shriveled when he saw the vulnerability spelled out on Joe's tormented features. His little brother had endured through so much and still the past gripped his heart with a yearning of a dream that had turned into a nightmare. If only there was time for Frank to be the big brother.

So you still love Ness. It's such a pity… the both of you had something so wonderful before.

But I promise you that you'll always Hallie, kiddo. You'll always have Hallie.

He walked out of the room. If only there was time.

***

"Step out of the car," The figure as black as the night commanded them, cocking the gun in his right hand to show that he meant business. In the deserted short-cut, Callie knew there was little chance of rescue. She caught the shadow of another gun in the man's left hand, but with a longer barrel.

The cabby burst into tears- desperate fat droplets reflected under the moonlight.

"Please… I have a family. A wife and two children not yet five…"

"Shut up! Step out of the car, now, bitch! Hands up! No funny moves now or he dies!" The gun was pressed even harder against his skull. Callie noticed that the crotch area of the cabby's khakis pants was wet. Anxious and guilty that an innocent man would be drawn into their predicament, hoping that this was only a simply case of theft and the villain would be pleased with their wallets and leave them alone, Callie climbed out of the car while Elle stepped out from the other side, just a little more stoic than her. Callie had not wanted to show the kidnapper any fear but her knees were trembling, as was her lips which had suddenly became parched with quiet horror.

The moment they were both out of the car with hands up in the air, the cabby crumbled to the ground onto his own puddle of piss.

"Please… please… my mom is sick too… there'll be no one to take care of them…" The cabby looked up at the fearsome man and begged with hands clasped tightly together. Looking once at Callie, then at Elle, a sinister smile crept up the thin lips.

"I'll let you go if one of them trade places with you… who will it be… gee…"

"I'll trade." Elle spoke up before Callie could and took a cautious step forward. The night was hot as summer nights were usually, but all three of them were shivering with the trepidation of having someone else holding their lives in his waiting hands. Callie felt cold to the core of her being, as if the man's cruel, languid gaze had froze her insides.

"Elle…" Callie protested weakly but the offer was already accepted. Elle stood tall and steady, a short distance away from the man.

"Now, let him go."

If only I can see the face. If only. Elle, think of something… I can't…

"Sure… I always keep my bargain…"

Callie, seeing the golden chance as the man trained his attention on Elle while still having to keep the cabby in check, dashed for the fiend. She was about to jump the man when a muffled crack cut through the tension and, immediately, a sharp pain shot from her left thigh to the nerves in her brains, opening her mouth in a silent scream.

She buckled under the pain, clutching the wound, feeling warm blood seep through her fingers. The pain was too much and her mind screamed. With pained eyes, she saw that Elle had used the distraction to pounce on the man. The cabby, now freed, stared at the two girls, his eyes rounded, shining wildly.

Please… help us…

The cabby spun around and ran off. Callie finally understood why Frank always said that he would never count on another person to look after his life, not even her. She couldn't blame the poor fellow though, what could he do?

He could have helped Elle.

Elle!

Elle gripped the man's wrists, trying hard to slam his hands onto the granite road in order to loosen his grip on his guns. But the man laughed mockingly as he kicked Elle in the guts from under her, sending her flying back and into an agonizing landing. Callie tried her best to stand but she collapsed uselessly yet again. The only consolation was that he didn't hit an artery. At least she hoped he didn't.

Much consolation that was for now- within the blink of an eye, he was up on his feet with the gun pointed at Elle's forehead.

"ELLE!" Callie shrilled frantically. Why wasn't there anyone? Why did the cabby run away? Why was she so ineffectual? Frank would have been able to stand up and fight. Hot tears stung her eyes as she saw her new friend staring into the barrel next, trying to be unafraid in the face of death. The man brought one boot down hard onto Elle's neck, strangulating her and she tried to wrestle it away, gasping for precious breath as her legs kicked out futilely into the air.

Frank will stand up. He will fight against the pain and damn it, he'll help!

She gritted her teeth and even though Frank wasn't with her, she felt his love coursing through her veins, giving her courage. He led by example and she was going to use him as an example. Frank never gave up- if she wanted to be his wife, she better not be throwing in the towel soon.

Barely on her feet, she saw the longer barreled gun pointing at her too late. He did not even have to look at her as he fired. She expected searing pain but felt a sting instead at her waist and the area around growing numb.

In fact, she was beginning to feel a little oozy. Her body swayed. Her legs gave way again as her will wavered.

"Good night, my darlings…" The masked man grinned. Callie slumped onto the hard ground, wishing Frank was by her side at that very moment. Now that she was about to die, she knew, with startling clarity, who the most important person in her life was.

She wanted to tell him that she could not wait even two months to be called Callie Annette Hardy. She could not even wait for one more day. And now, the both of them would never have to wait again for the dream would never come true.

***

The Fels Mansion, part of a mansion group in Walnut Street, originally belonged to Samuel Fels. Born in Yanceyville, North Carolina in 1860, Samuel Fels was the president of Fels & Compancy, manufacturer of Fels Naptha, a popular household soap. He was an industrialist motivated by a utopian philosophy and his legacy lived on in 'The Samuel S. Fels Fund' which support projects "which prevent, lessen or resolve contemporary social problems", or which seek to provide permanent improvements" in human daily life*. Now, the handsome Georgian mansion not only housed the Fels Center of Government since 1937, it was also home of the Global Interdependence Center and Frank's destination of interest, The Jerry Lee Center of Criminology.

The serious, handsome young man was now waiting in the functional office of the director of the Center, Robert Hayek. Uncle Rob, as Frank called him, was not only a prominent criminologist in his own right, currently helping in a research about society and crime rates- a research which hoped to procure methods of reducing juvenile crimes- he was also an old friend of the family, harboring an utmost respect for Fenton Hardy, his old course mate in the University of Miami.

He had called Robert's cell phone from a public phone booth and summarized the events leading up to the finding of the corpse as succinct as he could. Even though verbally truncated, the gravity of the matter was not lost on Robert Hayek. The rich, baritone with a touch of endearing joviality grew low and heavy as Robert agreed to let Frank searched through the professor's office before the police came knocking on the Center's door.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. I really need to pee!" Robert Hayek's booming voice which seemed to be always stuck in the exclamation mode no matter his mood was as pronounced as his wide girth. Every time Frank met Robert Hayek, he swore that Robert's waist grew by at least three sizes. Once, in their childhood, Joe had joked that Uncle Rob could make up a whole audience by himself. Now, Frank could safely tell Joe that Robert's protruding stomach could house one whole planet.

"Ready to go, Frank? I had someone unlocked his door." The voice grew solemn as the hulk stood by the entrance, holding the door open for Frank. The younger man stood up and nodded, following his uncle to another office a short distance away.

"How is Joe now? I hope your brother isn't crushing his skull against every door… one thing he lacks the most is patience and the stillness of deep waters is what you both need now…" Robert Hayek rambled on, still clearly shaken by the news that Frank had divulged over the phone. Frank raised a hand to halt his uncle, not out of rudeness but out of necessity. He had neither the time nor the energy for idle chatting; no matter how related it was to the case.

"We know that, Uncle Rob."

"Ok…" Robert turned the knob and swung the door open with some heavy grief. "Are you sure it's old Don?"

"No, I can't be sure though I have strong hunch. Anyway, he is definitely related somewhat to this case. Thanks uncle."

"No worries." Robert cleared his throat and gestured around the cluttered mess of files and notes scattered all over the office- on the shelves, on the floor, on chairs and the work desk. "I have no idea how you're going to mine through all these."

"Maybe you can help me narrow it down," Frank asked his as Robert switched on the computer. On the password dialogue, Robert keyed in his own administrator's key to assess the computer. "Was Donald Summers researching on something new? Or working with the Feds or police in anything?"

Robert knitted his brows before shaking his head. "If the police or the Feds had approached him, I would have known in time. As for research, Don was an old hermit, very reclusive and secretive. He kept thinking someone's going to steal his ideas and thus, unless he had it almost completed, save the proof-reading, he kept it as tightly under wraps as he could…" The burly man sighed deeply, his body slouching under the tenseness of guilt. "We all thought Don's at home; he likes to stay at home for a long spell before coming back to work when he's stressed up. We never bothered him… maybe we should have…"

Frank looked at his uncle's guilt-stricken face and smiled comfortingly. "You didn't know it's going to happen. Besides, it may not be him…"

"And if it's not him… then he'll be implicated as the culprit… either way… it's a terrible thing." Robert moved away from the workstation so Frank could utilize it. "Don is really just an old, cranky fellow. He can't hurt anyone with anything else but his biting comments if you block his path or something akin to that."

Frank was grateful that he hadn't told his uncle the grisly state he and Joe found the body in. "I'll be fine in here, uncle."

He hoped that his uncle could sense that he wanted to work alone- sometimes, it was faster that way. Thankfully, Robert heard the implied message and left Frank in the office to tackle the mess in solitude.

It turned out to be an easier find than Frank had expected- the professor was indeed doing a study on a series of child kidnapping which initially seemed to be unrelated until two forest hikers found a child's body floating in a pond hidden in the deep north woods of Maine.

A search revealed more bodies that were dumped in the pond, weighted down onto the bed by bricks. The bodies were horrendously decomposed the police managed to identify them via dental records and other methods. I am only interested in this.

The last victim, a boy named Arnold Hunter, was kidnapped in his own home about three years ago. His babysitter was shot dead and the boy went missing. From that crime scene, an unidentified full print, believed to be from the middle finger on the left hand, was found. The print could not be identified. It was also the only case in which a death occurred and the victim actually absconded from his own house. In all other crime scenes, no clues could be recovered.

After Arnold Hunter, this kidnapper seemed to have stop. Either that or he knew about his carelessness and had taken pains to prevent himself from ever leaving behind prints or other bodily shed clues which could lead the police to him.

I had the pleasure of speaking to the young Fed agent in charge of this case- an enthusiastic greenhorn by the name of Simon Lee. He was willing to help me and was supposed to let me look at the report. I am still waiting for his fax, at this time of writing.

Frank scrolled through the rest of the article which held nothing much of interest to him. Fax! Frank whispered silently. Glancing around, he spotted the fax machine beside the phone on a long cabinet to his right, its incoming fax tray filled to the brim. Rushing to the machine, as if he was afraid if he wasn't quick enough, the faxed documents would vanished into thin air, he immediately picked up the stack of documents and perused through them, flinging those that were not important onto the already cluttered floor.

Hey professor,

Here's what you requested. I hope it's of use. Remember our deal. You see something that I didn't, you tell me.

S. Lee

With trembling hands, Frank looked through the rest of the few pages that followed the cover letter. He read them until his eyes were crossed. Lee didn't fax the fingerprint over- he must have figured that it would be useless to the professor's academic profiling on the kidnapper.

They had very little on the guy, in fact, nothing at all. No wonder the Feds needed the professor's help. Out of habit, he reached into his pants' pocket for his hand phone to key in Lee's telephone and fax number to be found on the cover page and was shocked to find nothing inside his pocket but his wallet. Slapping his forehead, he remembered that he had left his phone charging in a locked, phone-charging booth on the counter of a Seven Eleven store nearby. He would have to pick it up soon before someone smashed the booth and steal it.

Folding up the relevant documents, Frank was about to leave the office when a pale-faced Robert Hayek flung the door open, his expression a picture of bad news.

"Your father called me. Frank, he needs to speak to you now."

Frank arched a curious brow- how did Fenton Hardy know he was here? Whatever the reason, Frank knew he would find out soon enough. He followed Robert back to his office and took the call, a little ill at ease.

"Dad? How did…"

"No time for that, Frank! How can you and Joe run into mobile phones trouble at this time!" Fenton reprimanded him harshly. "The kidnapper made contact with Elle and was supposed to meet her at some warehouse in Porter's Bay. Callie was supposed to meet me before we go over to back Elle up. Not only did she not show up, but a cabby reported to the police that he was mugged and the two lady passengers with him were abducted…"

Frank had the most ominous hunch as to where this was heading. He slumped down onto Robert's armchair, cursing his phone, cursing himself.

"The taxi was left at the crime scene but some blood was found- Frank…" His father's tone softened with the motive of cushioning dire news with tenderness, as if it ever worked.

"The blood type matches Callie's and the cab was the one I called for the both of them. The cabby too described Callie and Elle pretty accurately. I went to the warehouse to check it out with the Chief- it was deserted, abandoned and no one was around. The rusty lock on the entrance was not touched- it wasn't touched in years."