Chapter 13
Three men rode in silence for a few minutes. Chief was lost in thinking, judging by the look on his face, the young officer behind the wheel was busy driving as fast as possible down the wet road at night, Fenton...Fenton was simply staring out of the window, afraid to think what they could find when arriving to the hut in the woods.
According to Collig, Newman sped off the moment he noticed a police car following him. There was no doubt he hadn't gone in any other direction other than to the house he was keeping the boys at. Fenton closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. 'What if he was finishing his business now?' A chill ran down his spine.
A monotone melody brought him back to reality and he turned his head to look at the Chief who was pressing his phone against his ear.
"Yes?" he said into the phone. The expression on his face was unreadable while he listened to the caller. "You went inside?"
Fenton's heart skipped a bit.
"And?" Collig glanced at Fenton who was staring at him, fear and anxiety in his eyes. "Not there," he heaved a sigh, looking aside. "And the other kid?"
Fenton fought the desire to snatch the phone from the Chief's hands to talk to the caller himself, desperate to hear the news, because the scraps of conversation weren't giving him any idea who was 'not there' and who was 'the other kid'. Trepidation started to gnaw at his heart as he watched Collig's face pale.
"What's going on there?" he demanded, unable to wait any longer.
"Damn it...." He heard the Chief say into the phone, a deep wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. "You called the ambulance?...Good. Are there any traces left, indicating where he might.... Following them? Hurry up, they must be found!" he ended the call. "Edgewood lane!" he leaned to the driver's seat to direct the officer who nodded in reply.
"What is it?" Fenton asked huskily, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest.
The Chief leaned back and licked his lips, "They got there, but Newman had already left," he swallowed before going on. "Apparently with Joe because they only found Chet in the basement."
Fenton stared at him, pop-eyes, letting the news sink in.
"There are traces left on the ground, they're following them," Collig explained. "I don't think he could go very far, so...so we have good chances of catching him."
"He left with Joe? Where are they heading?"
"Looks like north."
Fenton's face turned as white as sheet. "Ezra, there are hairpin bends there."
The Chief opened his mouth to ask why it worried the detective so much, but then remembered that Newman had often been fined for careless driving. Moreover, it was the car accident thanks to which the police caught him seven years ago. He found no words to say to his friend.
"Is he hurt?" Fenton asked, praying for the negative answer.
"Joe? They say it doesn't look like it," Collig replied and smiled meekly as the detective let out a sigh of relief, but then his face turned serious again, "But Chester..."
The grim expression replaced the happy look on Fenton's face. "Chet?" in the moment of joy he had completely forgotten about the friend of his children's. "W-what? I mean...did he...." A cold and dreadful sensation started to grip his insides at the horrible anticipation.
"The ambulance is on its way," Collig said quietly.
"Did...did he?..."
"No, no, it's not what you though. He was stabbed," The chief said gloomily. "But he's alive."
All the color drained from Fenton's face. "Is he going to make it?" he managed in a quiet quivering voice.
"I hope he is."
A strange feeling started to eat at Fenton. Was it guilt? It wasn't his fault Chet had been kidnapped, it wasn't him who directed Newman into doing that to the boy. But it was him Newman was desperate to take revenge on, Chet had nothing – should have had nothing – to do with it... How was he supposed to look the elder Mortons in the eyes now? Even if Chet survived?
His feet were moving on their own.
Frank went through the adjoining bathroom to the door. As if bewitched, he turned the door handle and peeped inside. He couldn't resist it. Pain seizing his heart, he went inside and looked around the untidy room.
Joe always preferred his mess to Frank's order. "After all, what's the difference if I can find my socks – one near the drawer and the other one under the bed – as quickly as you can get both of them simultaneously from your wardrobe?" Joe's voice rang in his ears, making him smile at the memory.
He sat on the unmade bed and looked around. Joe was everywhere in the room – in the stack of books on the table, in the chair with a heap of clothes upon it, in the things lying everywhere on the floor, in the pile of comics on the night table. "Big kid," Frank chuckled half-heartedly and half- bitterly.
He closed his eyes and stretched on the bed. 'If you come back, I swear, I'll never complain about walking into your room and tripping over something.... When you come back... Because you are coming back home.
'Aren't you?'
Stifling. It was so stifling that it was hard to breathe. Each gulp of stuffy air was making his throat dry and ticklish. What wouldn't he give away now for a swallow of fresh air!...
Stifling, confined and shaking – those were the first sensations Joe Hardy felt after he had come to a little while ago. His throbbing head was nearly killing him, it took him some time to realize he must be in a car – at least the last thing he could remember was being dragged by Newman on wet dirt to a vehicle. Only judging by how dark, stuffy, confined, bumpy and thus uncomfortable it was he guessed he was in a boot of a moving car.
'Where the hell is he ta-...' Joe swore to himself when shaking was replaced by a jolt and he hit his head against something, '...-taking me? And why?... And what's the sound?' he wasn't sure if he wasn't hearing things, his head felt so heavy and the buzz in his ears was so loud that it could possibly be his imagination. But the sound was getting louder with each passing second. 'No, it's sirens! It is!' Distant, muffled sound – but it was of sirens! The police was pursuing Newman!
There was another jolt and Joe saw stars in front of his eyes. 'Please, stop him! Catch him! Please, get me out of here! Don't let him get away... You gotta help Chet! He's hurt, he needs help!...Or maybe... No....He cannot be, I know he....'
A powerful jolt interrupted his thoughts at once. What happened after that, he didn't know. He hit his head again and then –
Then he thought the world had turned upside down....
Horror-stuck, Fenton Hardy stared at the site.
The dimness of the early morning was disturbed by red and blue flashing lights of the three police cars that stood ahead of them on the road, their headlights lighting the dell that was to the left of Edgewood lane. The dented dark-green sedan was lying on the right side in the mud of the hollow, smoke was still emitting from under the hood.
His hands shaking, Fenton opened the door to his side and climbed out of the car, never taking his widened eyes off the crash site. It was less than five minutes ago when Collig had answered a call from one of the officers who had been pursuing Newman. He said that he had lost control of the car on the wet asphalt and it swerved off the road. Fenton had tried to prepare himself for what he was going to see, but nothing could prepare him for the cold sensation that ran through his body as he saw people in uniforms, who had arrived at the site before them, lean over two motionless bodies that they had taken out of the wrecked car.
His legs gave way under him. "Joe..." a hoarse whisper left his parched mouth. "Joe!!"
A second later his legs were carrying him down the slope. He was barely able to keep his balance on the slippery leaves-covered ground and the champing mud beneath his feet. He hurriedly crossed the ruts left by the sedan when it had veered off the road and fallen down, rolling over a few times before halting in the dirt, and ran to his son as fast as his legs could carry him.
"What's with him? Is he alive?" he demanded breathlessly of the two police officers who had been checking the unmoving teen.
"He's unconscious, but he's breathing steadily and his pulse is quite strong," one of them replied. "Looks like he has a couple of ribs broken and...."
Fenton never heard the rest of his explanation as he dropped to his knees next to his son and looked into the bruised face. "Joe? Joe, can you hear me?" he called, his voice wavering with concern. "Joey, it's Dad, please, do you hear me?"
But Joe didn't stir, his eyes remained closed. Swallowing, Fenton reached out his arm to take Joe's hand and check the pulse himself and froze for a moment. "Oh, thank God!.." he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw that Newman hadn't started to do anything to his son. He took the limp cold hand in his and his fingers almost touched the wrist when he noticed the red line on the purplish skin. Anger started to build inside of him when he gingerly placed a finger above the wound and found steady beating.
Relieved and pained at the same time, Fenton squeezed the mud-covered hand and brought it to his chest. His heart racing inside, he leaned down and felt the lump in his throat literally smother him as he saw the dirt and blood stained face. There were cuts and bruises on Joe's pale face, his damp hair was covered in mud. "Joey?" he tired calling again. "Please, open your eyes..."
Joe's lips were turning bluish, Fenton took off his jacket and wrapped it around his son to keep him warm. He was struggling with desperate yearning to pull him into a hug, Joe looked so fragile and he was afraid his touch could cause more injuries. Concern was replaced by fear as Fenton kept on calling his name, but receiving no response from him.
"How is he?" asked a sudden voice behind his back.
Fenton turned his head and saw the Chief standing next to him. Swallowing, he shrugged his shoulders, "He's breathing and his pulse is okay," he said quietly, trying to keep his tone even. "Joe, do you hear me?... Joe?... He's not responding..." his lower lips trembled tell-tally.
Collig looked at him sympathetically. "The ambulance is on its way, they'll be here in a couple of minutes," the Chief looked at the motionless teen and his face became wry. "Sorry they couldn't prevent it," he said, referring to the officers that were nearby.
Fenton shook his head, "Not their fault..." A quiet bell rang in the back of his mind and he turned his head to look at the other unmoving form, lying not far from them. "Not their," his voice was suddenly hard.
Before he could control it, he jumped to his feet and, oblivious to the surprised looks, ran to Newman, seething with sudden rage. In the blink of an eye he was on top of the criminal, his hands seizing hold of the collar of his jacket. "I'll kill you!! I'll kill you, bastard!!" Fenton shouted, furiously shaking the unconscious man. "I'll kill you for what you did to him!!" Still holding him with one hand, he pulled the other into a fist and aimed it at the bloodied face. "I'll...."
A vice grip stopped him. "Don't, Fenton," Collig said firmly.
"He. Tried. To kill. My. Boy!!" Fenton hissed between clenched teeth, his hand still firmly clenched into a fist and his knuckles white.
"But he failed. Don't. He's not worth it."
Fenton glared at the battered unconscious face of the criminal for a few more seconds, struggling with desire to hurt him as bad as he could, before finally growling and unclenching his fist. The grip on his right hand loosened and he used both hand to push the man to the ground with a thump. Hatred still raging inside of him, he spat at him and stood up.
Being a PI, he had met many parents who wanted to tear the offenders of their children apart. Being a father of two sons, he always knew he'd want to do the same in their place.
He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths of chilly air in to calm himself. He flinched when a hand landed on his shoulder and opened his eyes. "You did the right thing," Collig said quietly. Fenton swallowed and nodded, though deep inside he felt he hadn't completed something important – something to avenge his son...
The sound of sirens coming their way brought him back to reality. Right now his son didn't need him avenging. Swallowing his fury, Fenton hurried back to the motionless youth. Kneeling down, he gingerly took Joe's hand in his and patted it. "Help is coming," Fenton raised his head and saw paramedics emerge from the ambulance and hurry down the slope. "They're going to help you. Please, be okay... Please..." he touched the limp hand with his lips. "I love you," he whispered, looking into his face one last time before standing up to let paramedics work on him.
He was standing aside, his hand over his mouth, watching two medics check Joe's vitals. Physically he was there, seeing and hearing everything, but mentally he was far away, his mind having drifted far away. It was only yesterday's morning that Joe was perfectly fine, smiling, talking, walking, joking about...what was that word? Milti...multi-something? Multiplier?... Fenton shook his head. It was only yesterday and yet so much has changed... "Are you his father?" a voice snapped him off his thoughts.
Fenton looked at one of the medics, who had spoken to him, "Yes, how is he?"
"He's stable for now, but he needs to be in emergency as soon as possible to avoid complications. We're taking him to Bayport Memorial."
"Can I ride with him in the ambulance?" Fenton asked hopefully, watching them place Joe on a stretcher.
"Sorry, there isn't enough room for you," the medic forced an apologizing smile for the father. "But don't worry, he's going to be okay."
The medics lifted the stretcher off the ground and carried Joe to the ambulance. Fenton kept pace with them, afraid to leave Joe's side. But once on the road, he watched helplessly as they took him inside the car and closed the door.
Letting out a heavy sigh, he took out his cell phone and dialed home phone number. He knew Frank was desperate to hear the news.
Three men rode in silence for a few minutes. Chief was lost in thinking, judging by the look on his face, the young officer behind the wheel was busy driving as fast as possible down the wet road at night, Fenton...Fenton was simply staring out of the window, afraid to think what they could find when arriving to the hut in the woods.
According to Collig, Newman sped off the moment he noticed a police car following him. There was no doubt he hadn't gone in any other direction other than to the house he was keeping the boys at. Fenton closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. 'What if he was finishing his business now?' A chill ran down his spine.
A monotone melody brought him back to reality and he turned his head to look at the Chief who was pressing his phone against his ear.
"Yes?" he said into the phone. The expression on his face was unreadable while he listened to the caller. "You went inside?"
Fenton's heart skipped a bit.
"And?" Collig glanced at Fenton who was staring at him, fear and anxiety in his eyes. "Not there," he heaved a sigh, looking aside. "And the other kid?"
Fenton fought the desire to snatch the phone from the Chief's hands to talk to the caller himself, desperate to hear the news, because the scraps of conversation weren't giving him any idea who was 'not there' and who was 'the other kid'. Trepidation started to gnaw at his heart as he watched Collig's face pale.
"What's going on there?" he demanded, unable to wait any longer.
"Damn it...." He heard the Chief say into the phone, a deep wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. "You called the ambulance?...Good. Are there any traces left, indicating where he might.... Following them? Hurry up, they must be found!" he ended the call. "Edgewood lane!" he leaned to the driver's seat to direct the officer who nodded in reply.
"What is it?" Fenton asked huskily, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest.
The Chief leaned back and licked his lips, "They got there, but Newman had already left," he swallowed before going on. "Apparently with Joe because they only found Chet in the basement."
Fenton stared at him, pop-eyes, letting the news sink in.
"There are traces left on the ground, they're following them," Collig explained. "I don't think he could go very far, so...so we have good chances of catching him."
"He left with Joe? Where are they heading?"
"Looks like north."
Fenton's face turned as white as sheet. "Ezra, there are hairpin bends there."
The Chief opened his mouth to ask why it worried the detective so much, but then remembered that Newman had often been fined for careless driving. Moreover, it was the car accident thanks to which the police caught him seven years ago. He found no words to say to his friend.
"Is he hurt?" Fenton asked, praying for the negative answer.
"Joe? They say it doesn't look like it," Collig replied and smiled meekly as the detective let out a sigh of relief, but then his face turned serious again, "But Chester..."
The grim expression replaced the happy look on Fenton's face. "Chet?" in the moment of joy he had completely forgotten about the friend of his children's. "W-what? I mean...did he...." A cold and dreadful sensation started to grip his insides at the horrible anticipation.
"The ambulance is on its way," Collig said quietly.
"Did...did he?..."
"No, no, it's not what you though. He was stabbed," The chief said gloomily. "But he's alive."
All the color drained from Fenton's face. "Is he going to make it?" he managed in a quiet quivering voice.
"I hope he is."
A strange feeling started to eat at Fenton. Was it guilt? It wasn't his fault Chet had been kidnapped, it wasn't him who directed Newman into doing that to the boy. But it was him Newman was desperate to take revenge on, Chet had nothing – should have had nothing – to do with it... How was he supposed to look the elder Mortons in the eyes now? Even if Chet survived?
His feet were moving on their own.
Frank went through the adjoining bathroom to the door. As if bewitched, he turned the door handle and peeped inside. He couldn't resist it. Pain seizing his heart, he went inside and looked around the untidy room.
Joe always preferred his mess to Frank's order. "After all, what's the difference if I can find my socks – one near the drawer and the other one under the bed – as quickly as you can get both of them simultaneously from your wardrobe?" Joe's voice rang in his ears, making him smile at the memory.
He sat on the unmade bed and looked around. Joe was everywhere in the room – in the stack of books on the table, in the chair with a heap of clothes upon it, in the things lying everywhere on the floor, in the pile of comics on the night table. "Big kid," Frank chuckled half-heartedly and half- bitterly.
He closed his eyes and stretched on the bed. 'If you come back, I swear, I'll never complain about walking into your room and tripping over something.... When you come back... Because you are coming back home.
'Aren't you?'
Stifling. It was so stifling that it was hard to breathe. Each gulp of stuffy air was making his throat dry and ticklish. What wouldn't he give away now for a swallow of fresh air!...
Stifling, confined and shaking – those were the first sensations Joe Hardy felt after he had come to a little while ago. His throbbing head was nearly killing him, it took him some time to realize he must be in a car – at least the last thing he could remember was being dragged by Newman on wet dirt to a vehicle. Only judging by how dark, stuffy, confined, bumpy and thus uncomfortable it was he guessed he was in a boot of a moving car.
'Where the hell is he ta-...' Joe swore to himself when shaking was replaced by a jolt and he hit his head against something, '...-taking me? And why?... And what's the sound?' he wasn't sure if he wasn't hearing things, his head felt so heavy and the buzz in his ears was so loud that it could possibly be his imagination. But the sound was getting louder with each passing second. 'No, it's sirens! It is!' Distant, muffled sound – but it was of sirens! The police was pursuing Newman!
There was another jolt and Joe saw stars in front of his eyes. 'Please, stop him! Catch him! Please, get me out of here! Don't let him get away... You gotta help Chet! He's hurt, he needs help!...Or maybe... No....He cannot be, I know he....'
A powerful jolt interrupted his thoughts at once. What happened after that, he didn't know. He hit his head again and then –
Then he thought the world had turned upside down....
Horror-stuck, Fenton Hardy stared at the site.
The dimness of the early morning was disturbed by red and blue flashing lights of the three police cars that stood ahead of them on the road, their headlights lighting the dell that was to the left of Edgewood lane. The dented dark-green sedan was lying on the right side in the mud of the hollow, smoke was still emitting from under the hood.
His hands shaking, Fenton opened the door to his side and climbed out of the car, never taking his widened eyes off the crash site. It was less than five minutes ago when Collig had answered a call from one of the officers who had been pursuing Newman. He said that he had lost control of the car on the wet asphalt and it swerved off the road. Fenton had tried to prepare himself for what he was going to see, but nothing could prepare him for the cold sensation that ran through his body as he saw people in uniforms, who had arrived at the site before them, lean over two motionless bodies that they had taken out of the wrecked car.
His legs gave way under him. "Joe..." a hoarse whisper left his parched mouth. "Joe!!"
A second later his legs were carrying him down the slope. He was barely able to keep his balance on the slippery leaves-covered ground and the champing mud beneath his feet. He hurriedly crossed the ruts left by the sedan when it had veered off the road and fallen down, rolling over a few times before halting in the dirt, and ran to his son as fast as his legs could carry him.
"What's with him? Is he alive?" he demanded breathlessly of the two police officers who had been checking the unmoving teen.
"He's unconscious, but he's breathing steadily and his pulse is quite strong," one of them replied. "Looks like he has a couple of ribs broken and...."
Fenton never heard the rest of his explanation as he dropped to his knees next to his son and looked into the bruised face. "Joe? Joe, can you hear me?" he called, his voice wavering with concern. "Joey, it's Dad, please, do you hear me?"
But Joe didn't stir, his eyes remained closed. Swallowing, Fenton reached out his arm to take Joe's hand and check the pulse himself and froze for a moment. "Oh, thank God!.." he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw that Newman hadn't started to do anything to his son. He took the limp cold hand in his and his fingers almost touched the wrist when he noticed the red line on the purplish skin. Anger started to build inside of him when he gingerly placed a finger above the wound and found steady beating.
Relieved and pained at the same time, Fenton squeezed the mud-covered hand and brought it to his chest. His heart racing inside, he leaned down and felt the lump in his throat literally smother him as he saw the dirt and blood stained face. There were cuts and bruises on Joe's pale face, his damp hair was covered in mud. "Joey?" he tired calling again. "Please, open your eyes..."
Joe's lips were turning bluish, Fenton took off his jacket and wrapped it around his son to keep him warm. He was struggling with desperate yearning to pull him into a hug, Joe looked so fragile and he was afraid his touch could cause more injuries. Concern was replaced by fear as Fenton kept on calling his name, but receiving no response from him.
"How is he?" asked a sudden voice behind his back.
Fenton turned his head and saw the Chief standing next to him. Swallowing, he shrugged his shoulders, "He's breathing and his pulse is okay," he said quietly, trying to keep his tone even. "Joe, do you hear me?... Joe?... He's not responding..." his lower lips trembled tell-tally.
Collig looked at him sympathetically. "The ambulance is on its way, they'll be here in a couple of minutes," the Chief looked at the motionless teen and his face became wry. "Sorry they couldn't prevent it," he said, referring to the officers that were nearby.
Fenton shook his head, "Not their fault..." A quiet bell rang in the back of his mind and he turned his head to look at the other unmoving form, lying not far from them. "Not their," his voice was suddenly hard.
Before he could control it, he jumped to his feet and, oblivious to the surprised looks, ran to Newman, seething with sudden rage. In the blink of an eye he was on top of the criminal, his hands seizing hold of the collar of his jacket. "I'll kill you!! I'll kill you, bastard!!" Fenton shouted, furiously shaking the unconscious man. "I'll kill you for what you did to him!!" Still holding him with one hand, he pulled the other into a fist and aimed it at the bloodied face. "I'll...."
A vice grip stopped him. "Don't, Fenton," Collig said firmly.
"He. Tried. To kill. My. Boy!!" Fenton hissed between clenched teeth, his hand still firmly clenched into a fist and his knuckles white.
"But he failed. Don't. He's not worth it."
Fenton glared at the battered unconscious face of the criminal for a few more seconds, struggling with desire to hurt him as bad as he could, before finally growling and unclenching his fist. The grip on his right hand loosened and he used both hand to push the man to the ground with a thump. Hatred still raging inside of him, he spat at him and stood up.
Being a PI, he had met many parents who wanted to tear the offenders of their children apart. Being a father of two sons, he always knew he'd want to do the same in their place.
He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths of chilly air in to calm himself. He flinched when a hand landed on his shoulder and opened his eyes. "You did the right thing," Collig said quietly. Fenton swallowed and nodded, though deep inside he felt he hadn't completed something important – something to avenge his son...
The sound of sirens coming their way brought him back to reality. Right now his son didn't need him avenging. Swallowing his fury, Fenton hurried back to the motionless youth. Kneeling down, he gingerly took Joe's hand in his and patted it. "Help is coming," Fenton raised his head and saw paramedics emerge from the ambulance and hurry down the slope. "They're going to help you. Please, be okay... Please..." he touched the limp hand with his lips. "I love you," he whispered, looking into his face one last time before standing up to let paramedics work on him.
He was standing aside, his hand over his mouth, watching two medics check Joe's vitals. Physically he was there, seeing and hearing everything, but mentally he was far away, his mind having drifted far away. It was only yesterday's morning that Joe was perfectly fine, smiling, talking, walking, joking about...what was that word? Milti...multi-something? Multiplier?... Fenton shook his head. It was only yesterday and yet so much has changed... "Are you his father?" a voice snapped him off his thoughts.
Fenton looked at one of the medics, who had spoken to him, "Yes, how is he?"
"He's stable for now, but he needs to be in emergency as soon as possible to avoid complications. We're taking him to Bayport Memorial."
"Can I ride with him in the ambulance?" Fenton asked hopefully, watching them place Joe on a stretcher.
"Sorry, there isn't enough room for you," the medic forced an apologizing smile for the father. "But don't worry, he's going to be okay."
The medics lifted the stretcher off the ground and carried Joe to the ambulance. Fenton kept pace with them, afraid to leave Joe's side. But once on the road, he watched helplessly as they took him inside the car and closed the door.
Letting out a heavy sigh, he took out his cell phone and dialed home phone number. He knew Frank was desperate to hear the news.