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Author's Note: Hi, all. Thought I'd abandoned it? No such luck. ;) Chapter one is obviously reuploaded with editing. Chapters two, three, and four will follow this weekend.
Disclaimer: The Hardy Boy, Nancy Drew, and all related characters are property of Simon & Schuster along with the Stratemeyer Syndicate. No copyright infringement intended.
Warnings: The characters in this story are adults and will be written as such. Case files, Files, Super mysteries, On Campus…with edge. I'll try to stay true to the essence of what the characters and series are about, but subject matter and language may nonetheless be mature.
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It was a dark night, full of dark blood carrying with it
the river of rage that had brought him to this point…and the horror of it
suddenly shone with the vivid clarity of strawberry blonde hair whipping across
her pale face in the glare of fast approaching and unremitting headlights, and…
The nightmare never ended…at least, had never ended before. It played like a
bad serialization, bouncing about his mind in circles, inescapable. It wasn't
that he had slept restfully that made him wake up; eventually he had just
become too tired to sleep and dream any longer.
Nor was it the first time he had woken, just the first time without the dream invading
reality and distorting everything. Once before he had come to in a panic,
putting his hands around the throat of an attacker and only after a long minute
realizing it was only some poor scared candy striper before going under again.
Ever since, there had been restraints, and those he pulled against now.
Stay awake, the young detective ordered himself. Let them know you're awake.
Tell them…
…she met his eyes briefly, shock reflected, before turning
and stumbling further down the wet street, into the nearest maze of alleys.
He couldn't speak; his throat felt so dry…there was a feeding tube, in his
stomach. He had always dreaded feeding tubes. Call button. Wasn't there one on
every hospital bed? Was he still in a hospital? It was too dark to tell.
Trying to clear his mind, he raised weak but whole hands, scrubbing at his face
with almost desperate demand. Nose, lips, eyes. Check. Call button. Wriggling
free of the loosened restraints, he threw a hand out to feel at the bed
railing, panic and lack of use making his aim reckless. The nearby table rolled
away slightly, the food tray clattering completely off of it. Hospital, yes, it
had to be.
Everything was so loud, so empty. The echo lingered.
For once in her life, Nancy Drew was miserably unprepared
for battle; he could hear the unsteady tap-click of stilettos as she scrambled
away in the dark.
Damn, he swore inwardly, apologizing to his mother in the same breath. But
who was he fooling? He'd heard worse than a few miserable blasphemes. He had
done worse than blasphemy. It had gotten him where he was, wherever it was.
Calm down.
The memory of his brother's voice was one of the few things that seemed
more solid than the nightmare. He had to find him.
Where was everyone?!
Gripping the sides of the bed, he struggled for bearing, teeth grinding as a
wave of pain washed through his stomach.
Nancy…
"If you move the wrong way, you might kill yourself!"
That would be too bad, but not bad enough to make him stop. He had to tell
someone. Where was everyone?
Feet on the floor, touching cold tile…brother knew he hated wearing socks.
Muttering a blessing, he gripped the cool metal of the bed foot, straightening
and deliberately focusing his gaze on the door, on anything but himself. He was
in pajamas. No hospital then. Care facility, old folk's home?
He had never felt older.
"Neglectful people…" The door was heavier than he expected, or maybe he was
just weaker. It took a full minute of wrangling to open it, and then the light
blinded him. Utter darkness in the room…not as sterile or shabby as he had
thought…was immediately replaced by the bright light of a corridor. Carpeted,
wide, and convenient…no forehead bumps if you keeled over, he supposed.
Holly and garland dangled in loops from corners and doors, he noticed, gripping
the railing that led way down the hall, moving forward slow and with more
impatience than he had ever thought possible. Singing seemed to be a ways off.
So that was it…it was Christmas. The half lucid and workers were caroling. He
was just suffocating in isolation.
He saw the first familiar face a good minute later, edging around a corner to
take in the celebration. There was a large family area, big tree, lots of
rockers and…and he felt brief shame. A few of the wheelchairs held kids younger
than he, kids barely out of diapers. What had convinced their families to dump
them somewhere like that? Had they just been too much to handle?
They never expected me to recover. They thought I would die a loon.
Seeing her almost brought him to his knees…
The connection to his past was so painful, so welcome.
Focus. This is a job. You get help. You tell them what you know. You finish
the case, before it finishes you.
She stood before a fireplace, hair clipped up in a chic bun, smiling slightly
at one of the kids she was standing near. Older, that was how he saw her, and
felt a brief, horrible fear. How long had he been…out? She was so slim, so
serious, so focused. Why was she even there? If he remembered right, he was in
Bayport, at the home. They had done a few cases from here, he and his brother,
or just brought flowers.
He shoved the fear away and pushed forward, trying to shy around corners and
walls, not wanting to scare anyone. He felt like a freak, creeping through
nursing home halls in pajamas, with a tube trailing from his stomach.
Two feet away…he could smell her perfume. Lilac. She
was older, at least a little, or she had been terribly worried lately…little
lines were beginning to dig into the corners of her mouth.
The tap-click rhythm had stilled, he tapped on his penlight to find her crouched between stacks of crates, her eyes shut tight, lips taunt and chapped. He touched her, couldn't help it, reached out and touched a strand of the fine hair that had escaped the elegant twist.
She leapt away, and then turned, blue eyes widening as far
as he'd ever seen them. Speechless…she was never speechless for long.
"Bess." The name came as if from a catalog, dusty and
distant, it hurt to speak it. There was so much he wanted to ask. Why was she
in Bayport? Why was she here? Why was she older? How much time had he lost?
"Why couldn't you just leave it alone?" Her voice found, Nancy was shouting at him even as she stood kicking, face livid as her hair. "Do you know what you've all done…"
Her pale hands snaked out in an almost maternal gesture, hugging him to her, and he saw more than felt the needle jab his neck. Stumbling, he grabbed for leverage and shook, slamming her wrist against the brick building they struggled against until bone cracked and the syringe fell to the gravel.
He had never wanted to hurt her. She was one of the few people in the universe he simply never could understand, who drove him crazy, but he would never have dreamed of ever being put in a position to intentionally hurt her.
"Why?" She asked, one hand clutching his shoulder, the other angled oddly and limp.
"I'm going to help you, Nan."
"Kill me, you mean. You have no choice now, you know." The words were almost muffled as he stood shakily, and energy gone, she settled more or less into his grip.
Had he killed Nancy? Uncertainty gnawing at his gut, Hardy scrubbed at his eyes, the sickly ivory walls doing kaleidoscopes around him.
His target turned, a hand flying to her mouth. The room
fell silent, a dozen stares both lucid and empty settling on him.
"Bess, help me." He pleaded and sagged into shaking arms as a soft
cry escaped her mouth.
And then there came darkness.
