"Dad!" croaked Frank as loudly as he could. He swallowed. "Dad!" he shouted again to gain his father's attention.
Fenton came flying down the steps but came to an abrupt halt as Laura stepped inside the house, her blue eyes steely and her lips drawn so thin they were all but invisible. She set the papers she had down on the table and picked up the one on top. With a shaking hand she held it out to her husband. "Do you have any idea what that madman is doing to my son?" she demanded angrily, her voice barely an octave above a whisper.
"I do," she continued. "I looked at some of these as I was copying them. I want my son found. NOW!" she ordered, her eyes going from the steely blue to a fiery violet and her lips curling into a snarl.
Fenton looked down at the sheet of paper Laura had handed him and began reading, his face growing more taunt as he progressed.
"He killed this Ambrose person," said Laura. "He wrote it down like it meant nothing!"
Fenton did not speak but he agreed with her as he looked at the paper:
Ambrose was uncontrollable tonight. I had to kill him but not all is lost for there is another to take his place. I will begin research on my new test subject after classes are finished for the day. I must find a way to remove him from campus without being spotted. No one would understand the importance of my research.
"That bastard has no conscious," declared Laura.
"You're right," acknowledged Fenton, his own face as pale as his wife's.
"Find him," ordered Laura again.
"We're doing everything we can," Fenton replied.
"It's not enough," Laura retorted, her eyes beginning to leak. She grabbed the papers and thrust them at Fenton. "Look at them!" she ordered with a breaking voice. She released the papers as Fenton's hands closed around them then ran upstairs to her room and slammed the door.
"I've never seen her so upset," stated Frank.
Fenton shook his head and walked into the living room. He set the papers on the coffee table. Frank sat down on the sofa beside his father and reached for some of the papers, stopping when his cell went off.
"Frank, Mayhem was spotted," Biff's excited voice came over the line.
"Where?" demanded Frank gripping the phone tighter.
"East Bridge," was the reply. "I'll be over in a few to pick you up," he continued. "Mom and Dad have all ready given me permission."
"Great!" enthused Frank and disconnected. He told his dad about the call and Fenton pulled out his wallet and removed two fifties. He handed them to Frank to give the finder once Mayhem was located.
The two read over the papers until Biff's van was heard pulling into the driveway. "I'll call when we find him," promised Frank as he set the paper down he had been looking at and exited the room. He was glad to get away from them. The horrors he had put Jonathan Ambrose through was almost too much for him to handle, especially since he knew Joe would be going through acts equally as obscene.
Fenton kept reading. All the papers concerned a young man named Jonathan Ambrose. Fenton's forehead wrinkled as he continued through the sheaf of papers. They read like a scientific journal but the content could only be labeled fiction. Had Mayhem written a novel and then gone mad and thought it was true? Was he going to try and do these horrendous things to Joe? Had he already started? Fenton broke into a cold sweat as he remembered Frank telling him about the blood.
Fenton read more. He noticed that there were notations on the side that gave a web address or book reference. For a work of fiction he really went all the way, thought Fenton. With all the footnotes and asides one could almost be convinced of the existence of werewolves.
After a particularly gruesome piece, Fenton put the paper down and went into the bathroom. He splashed some water on his face and then reached for a hand towel. As he dried off an idea came to him. He put the towel down and returned to the living room and picked up the phone. Dialing a number, he waited impatiently for someone to answer.
"Mr. Cohen," said Fenton when a man answered. "This is Fenton Hardy. I'm sorry to call so late but it is rather important. Could I please speak with Phil?"
"Of course," agreed Mr. Cohen at once then hit a button on the phone that transferred the call to the basement that Phil had converted into an electronic lab and where Phil was, Mr. Cohen knew, still engrossed in a new invention.
"Hello?" answered Phil after the first ring.
"Phil, this is Frank's father," Fenton introduced himself.
"Yes, Sir," replied Phil with a grin. He had met Mr. Hardy several hundred times and talked to him on the phone enough to easily recognize his voice and he found it slightly amusing that Mr. Hardy still felt it necessary to introduce himself as his best friend's father.
"I wonder if you could do me a favor?" asked Fenton. "To help find Joe," he added.
"Anything," Phil assured him and he meant it. Although it was Frank who was his best friend, he liked Joe very much as well.
"Is three any way to track Boris Mayhem online?" inquired Fenton. "I can give you some URL's for sites he has visited if that would help."
"I could probably get his address or at least his phone number from the last time he was online," Phil informed him.
"That would be great," said Fenton. "Hang on and I'll get the list."
When Phil hung up he looked at the list of URL's Mr. Hardy had given him. He gave a sigh and turned his monitor on then connected. He would go to the sites but first he had an idea of his own to try.
Frank filled Biff in on the investigation as Biff drove to East Bridge. As they hit the city limits, Biff pulled over and called his friend on his cell. When he hung up he looked over at Frank. "Mayhem bought some groceries then drove out to a log cabin off Crystal Lake Road. Rem said he would meet us at the gas station at the intersection of 87 and 431."
Biff drove to the designated gas station and Frank filled the tank while Biff went inside to pay the attendant. When he came back out a nineteen-year-old boy with dreadnoughts, dressed in faded, ripped jeans and a tattered jean jacket over a grungy looking tee shirt, was talking to Frank. As he neared, he saw Frank pull out his wallet and hand the young man some money.
"Rem?" Biff asked incredulously as the boy turned to leave.
"Biff!" Rem greeted his friend with a big smile. "Long time, no see."
"No kidding," agreed Biff, amazed at the appearance of his pal. The once geeky looking lean young man with straight, greasy black hair and wire-framed lenses was almost unrecognizable. "What gives?" he demanded. "Your hair can't have gotten that long in six months."
Rem burst out laughing. "It's a wig," he admitted. "I'm in a play at the community center and we had a dress rehearsal. I got a call from Stan on my cell as I was leaving the hall and saw your target at the grocery store when I stopped off for some eats."
"Are we going to follow you?" asked Biff.
"No," Rem answered, glancing at Frank. "I told your friend where he was at and he said he knew the cabin."
"Okay, then," said Biff. "Thanks for helping out."
"No problem," answered Rem. "Thank you," he added, holding up the two fifties and taking off. He didn't know why finding the van and the driver was so important but he had an idea if he knew he would have given the money back. But he had plans for the money so he asked no questions and hurried away.
"Shouldn't you have made sure it was Mayhem before you gave him the money?" asked Biff curiously.
"He told me what he looked like, what he was wearing and," he stressed the word, "what he was buying. Namely; sixty pounds of raw meat. It has to be Mayhem."
"And the cabin?" asked Biff.
"Two cabins away from the one dad rented Christmas before last for an old-fashioned holiday," Frank answered, remembering the deep snow outside and the warm fire and bright tree inside with just Joe, him and their parents for four wonderful days.
"Going to call the police?" asked Biff.
"Not until we make sure he's still there," replied Frank. "Come on," he said, opening the passenger door. "Let's get going."
Fenton came flying down the steps but came to an abrupt halt as Laura stepped inside the house, her blue eyes steely and her lips drawn so thin they were all but invisible. She set the papers she had down on the table and picked up the one on top. With a shaking hand she held it out to her husband. "Do you have any idea what that madman is doing to my son?" she demanded angrily, her voice barely an octave above a whisper.
"I do," she continued. "I looked at some of these as I was copying them. I want my son found. NOW!" she ordered, her eyes going from the steely blue to a fiery violet and her lips curling into a snarl.
Fenton looked down at the sheet of paper Laura had handed him and began reading, his face growing more taunt as he progressed.
"He killed this Ambrose person," said Laura. "He wrote it down like it meant nothing!"
Fenton did not speak but he agreed with her as he looked at the paper:
Ambrose was uncontrollable tonight. I had to kill him but not all is lost for there is another to take his place. I will begin research on my new test subject after classes are finished for the day. I must find a way to remove him from campus without being spotted. No one would understand the importance of my research.
"That bastard has no conscious," declared Laura.
"You're right," acknowledged Fenton, his own face as pale as his wife's.
"Find him," ordered Laura again.
"We're doing everything we can," Fenton replied.
"It's not enough," Laura retorted, her eyes beginning to leak. She grabbed the papers and thrust them at Fenton. "Look at them!" she ordered with a breaking voice. She released the papers as Fenton's hands closed around them then ran upstairs to her room and slammed the door.
"I've never seen her so upset," stated Frank.
Fenton shook his head and walked into the living room. He set the papers on the coffee table. Frank sat down on the sofa beside his father and reached for some of the papers, stopping when his cell went off.
"Frank, Mayhem was spotted," Biff's excited voice came over the line.
"Where?" demanded Frank gripping the phone tighter.
"East Bridge," was the reply. "I'll be over in a few to pick you up," he continued. "Mom and Dad have all ready given me permission."
"Great!" enthused Frank and disconnected. He told his dad about the call and Fenton pulled out his wallet and removed two fifties. He handed them to Frank to give the finder once Mayhem was located.
The two read over the papers until Biff's van was heard pulling into the driveway. "I'll call when we find him," promised Frank as he set the paper down he had been looking at and exited the room. He was glad to get away from them. The horrors he had put Jonathan Ambrose through was almost too much for him to handle, especially since he knew Joe would be going through acts equally as obscene.
Fenton kept reading. All the papers concerned a young man named Jonathan Ambrose. Fenton's forehead wrinkled as he continued through the sheaf of papers. They read like a scientific journal but the content could only be labeled fiction. Had Mayhem written a novel and then gone mad and thought it was true? Was he going to try and do these horrendous things to Joe? Had he already started? Fenton broke into a cold sweat as he remembered Frank telling him about the blood.
Fenton read more. He noticed that there were notations on the side that gave a web address or book reference. For a work of fiction he really went all the way, thought Fenton. With all the footnotes and asides one could almost be convinced of the existence of werewolves.
After a particularly gruesome piece, Fenton put the paper down and went into the bathroom. He splashed some water on his face and then reached for a hand towel. As he dried off an idea came to him. He put the towel down and returned to the living room and picked up the phone. Dialing a number, he waited impatiently for someone to answer.
"Mr. Cohen," said Fenton when a man answered. "This is Fenton Hardy. I'm sorry to call so late but it is rather important. Could I please speak with Phil?"
"Of course," agreed Mr. Cohen at once then hit a button on the phone that transferred the call to the basement that Phil had converted into an electronic lab and where Phil was, Mr. Cohen knew, still engrossed in a new invention.
"Hello?" answered Phil after the first ring.
"Phil, this is Frank's father," Fenton introduced himself.
"Yes, Sir," replied Phil with a grin. He had met Mr. Hardy several hundred times and talked to him on the phone enough to easily recognize his voice and he found it slightly amusing that Mr. Hardy still felt it necessary to introduce himself as his best friend's father.
"I wonder if you could do me a favor?" asked Fenton. "To help find Joe," he added.
"Anything," Phil assured him and he meant it. Although it was Frank who was his best friend, he liked Joe very much as well.
"Is three any way to track Boris Mayhem online?" inquired Fenton. "I can give you some URL's for sites he has visited if that would help."
"I could probably get his address or at least his phone number from the last time he was online," Phil informed him.
"That would be great," said Fenton. "Hang on and I'll get the list."
When Phil hung up he looked at the list of URL's Mr. Hardy had given him. He gave a sigh and turned his monitor on then connected. He would go to the sites but first he had an idea of his own to try.
Frank filled Biff in on the investigation as Biff drove to East Bridge. As they hit the city limits, Biff pulled over and called his friend on his cell. When he hung up he looked over at Frank. "Mayhem bought some groceries then drove out to a log cabin off Crystal Lake Road. Rem said he would meet us at the gas station at the intersection of 87 and 431."
Biff drove to the designated gas station and Frank filled the tank while Biff went inside to pay the attendant. When he came back out a nineteen-year-old boy with dreadnoughts, dressed in faded, ripped jeans and a tattered jean jacket over a grungy looking tee shirt, was talking to Frank. As he neared, he saw Frank pull out his wallet and hand the young man some money.
"Rem?" Biff asked incredulously as the boy turned to leave.
"Biff!" Rem greeted his friend with a big smile. "Long time, no see."
"No kidding," agreed Biff, amazed at the appearance of his pal. The once geeky looking lean young man with straight, greasy black hair and wire-framed lenses was almost unrecognizable. "What gives?" he demanded. "Your hair can't have gotten that long in six months."
Rem burst out laughing. "It's a wig," he admitted. "I'm in a play at the community center and we had a dress rehearsal. I got a call from Stan on my cell as I was leaving the hall and saw your target at the grocery store when I stopped off for some eats."
"Are we going to follow you?" asked Biff.
"No," Rem answered, glancing at Frank. "I told your friend where he was at and he said he knew the cabin."
"Okay, then," said Biff. "Thanks for helping out."
"No problem," answered Rem. "Thank you," he added, holding up the two fifties and taking off. He didn't know why finding the van and the driver was so important but he had an idea if he knew he would have given the money back. But he had plans for the money so he asked no questions and hurried away.
"Shouldn't you have made sure it was Mayhem before you gave him the money?" asked Biff curiously.
"He told me what he looked like, what he was wearing and," he stressed the word, "what he was buying. Namely; sixty pounds of raw meat. It has to be Mayhem."
"And the cabin?" asked Biff.
"Two cabins away from the one dad rented Christmas before last for an old-fashioned holiday," Frank answered, remembering the deep snow outside and the warm fire and bright tree inside with just Joe, him and their parents for four wonderful days.
"Going to call the police?" asked Biff.
"Not until we make sure he's still there," replied Frank. "Come on," he said, opening the passenger door. "Let's get going."