A/N: I live in Philadelphia and though I hate football I'm
cheering on my Eagles! The Superbowl is ours this year! Also, thanks to
everyone who reviewed. Sorry it takes awhile to update; I'm writing this and
the case to go along with it, and I want to make sure it fits together well.
Let me know how I'm doing, okay? J
"I have
a case I'd like you to help with," Fenton Hardy entered the family room
where his sons were watching the Eagles Playoff game. Frank sat eagerly up on
the couch, while Joe stayed sprawled on the floor with his head on his arms.
"Mmmm....let's
talk about it tomorrow," the younger Hardy mumbled. Frank nudged his
brother in the ribs.
"I
never knew you to turn down a mystery."
"I'm
not turning down anything. I'm getting my beauty rest."
"It's
four in the afternoon."
"Beauty
is a full time responsibility."
Frank
chuckled and rose to follow his father into his study. "I can always work
solo, you know..."
Joe snorted
and leapt nimbly to his feet. "You'd get no where without your Watson,
Sherlock."
Frank just
grinned.
Fenton
shut the door and slid behind his desk while his sons took the two seats before
him. Their father sighed and shuffle through a pile of neatly labeled manila
folders.
"I
have to tell you," their father said slowly, "it's against my better
judgment to ask you to do this."
"How
come?" Frank asked immediately. Joe felt his own interest peak instantly.
"Because
this man is one of the FBIs most wanted since he escaped from prison." He
looked both his young sons straight in the eye. "He is very, very
dangerous. I don't want you getting too involved. You are strictly on research.
Do you both understand? I forbid too much involvement."
Frank and
Joe glanced at each other, then nodded, not used to seeing their father so
serious.
"We've
worked with dangerous types before, Dad," Joe started.
"And
you've always gotten hurt," Fenton snapped, "I want you two together
at all times and strictly research. If you don't agree to that then you
don't need to work on this. Your safety comes first."
"We'll
do it," Joe said at the same time Frank said "Don't worry."
Their
father sighed and flipped open one of the folders, turning it so his sons could
see. "This is our guy," he said, showing them a mug shot of a muscular,
dark-haired, dark-eyed man with smoldering, rebellious eyes and a smirk on his
face. Joe shuddered ever so slightly, an eerie feeling of dread creeping over
his skin, then receding as abruptly as it had hit him. "He calls himself
the Reaper. He traveled under so many pseudonyms that no one's sure who he
really is." Fenton shut the folder and flipped open another, the excerpt of a
trial transcription. "He's responsible for over forty murders; all deaths by
torture or extreme violence. He was very creative with his methods of killing.
He'd also studied extensive medical techniques. He knew how to cut a person so
they'd be in agony but die slowly. They also charged him with twenty-two counts
of kidnapping, fifteen breaking and entering, two assault…you get the picture.
He was sentenced to death. About two months ago he strangled a guard, dressed
as a janitor and escaped from prison. The FBI already suspects him in three
murder cases. We think he's just getting warmed up."
"How'd
he work?" Frank asked, his brow furrowed in concentration, as usual,
unfazed by danger.
"He'd
choose a victim at random, stalk him or her, and slowly kill off their
families, then the victim himself."
"What
do you need us to do?"
"I
want you to retrace his steps." Fenton handed each boy a thick folder.
"That's all the information I have on his victims. I want you to find some
more. And some more on him. Try and find out who he is exactly." He
watched his sons carefully. "There are pictures in there," he warned.
Both boys flipped open their folders and started.
"Jesus
Christ," Joe whispered, staring in horrid fascination at the mutilated
corpse before him. Frank calmly glanced at his, then pushed it behind the pile
of documents.
"You
understand why I want you to be careful now," Fenton said softly, taking in the
horror on his younger son's face.
"Don't worry Dad," Frank jumped in, glancing at Joe and offering his father and brother a smile. "We will be."
