Chapter 14
"Dad?" Frank Hardy called breathlessly, running into the waiting room of Bayport Memorial and recognizing at once Fenton Hardy's fine figure among other 6 people in the room in this small hour.
The older man raised his head and forced a waned smile for his son, "Hi, Frank," he said. "You're quick."
"How is he? What did they say?"
Fenton nodded at the plastic seat next to him, beckoning him to sit down "Have a seat. He's still in ER, so I know nothing yet."
Frank let out a disappointed sigh, "What did they say? Is he going to be alright?" he asked.
"Nothing seemed too serious, so they said he was going to be fine," his father said with a smile and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Thank heavens! While I was rushing here I had so many terrible assumption cross my mind..." Frank looked down at his hands, they were still trembling, giving away his anxiety. "What happened? And how? You said it was an accident of some kind, right?"
"Right," Fenton leaned back in his chair, "Roughly speaking, apparently Newman didn't have anything to-to do you know what, so he went to get some, well, 'tools'. But it was dead of night and all shops were closed, so-"
"He decided to rob one?" Frank guessed, raising his eyebrows. At his father's nod he shook his head in disbelief. "Isn't it a stupid thing to do when the police is looking for you?"
"I can't disagree with you," Fenton said with a meek smile, "but then again it's thanks to his stupidity and haste that it's over now. Anyway, after he tried to break into one shop and the signaling went off, he went to try another one. At the same time the police went to check the first shop and it wasn't too far from where he'd gone, so when the same thing repeated they were quick enough to tail him."
"But Joe wasn't there with him, was he?"
Fenton shook his head, "No. Newman rushed into the woods, breaking away from the police at one point. When they discovered where he'd gone to, he was already speeding away from that small hut, with Joe in the boot of the sedan...."
"Wait, and Chet?" Frank asked, afraid to hear the answer. "What about Chet?"
"Chet is in the operating theatre at the moment with several stab wounds," Fenton replied gloomily.
"What?" Frank's voice was barely a whisper.
"I don't know how serious they are, but..." Fenton bit his lip and looked aside. "I'd love to say that I'm glad it's only stab wounds and nothing else, considering what could have happened, but-but somehow it doesn't make me feel much better."
Frank eyed him for some time, recalling the conversation with his inner voice less than an hour ago when he felt guilt gnawing at him. He still felt remorseful, though he knew he had nothing to be blamed for. There were things he just couldn't control – like predicting and changing the future, knowing in advance that something terrible was going to happen and doing his utmost not to let it happen. But at times like this he wished he could.
"Do his parents know?" he asked quietly.
"Yes. I met them when I arrived here. They're in the waiting room on the 4th floor," Fenton replied. "We didn't talk much."
Frank was silent for a moment, trying to imagine himself in their place – what could he possibly say if his son was on the operating table? And the answer was – probably nothing. "Were they, like, angry with you for what had happened? Or us, to be more precise?" he asked.
"Nervous, Frank, they were nervous. When your kid's having a surgery you only feel nervous, trust my experience. Anger comes later... I just hope he'll make it."
"I hope so, too," Frank said. Awkward silence fell between them. "So..." Frank said moments later, feeling uncomfortable in such quiet. "What happened after that? After he sped away from the hut?"
"Then..." Fenton closed his eyes and massaged his temples. "Then they caught up with him, but he lost control of the car and crashed...." He shook his head and opened his eyes, trying to get rid of the memory of the wrecked car in the dell. "That's the story."
Frank was watching him for some time, a questing bugging him. He opened his mouth to ask, but didn't found courage to speak.
"Just say or ask," Fenton told him, a faint smile touching his lips.
"Do you always notice every slightest movement?" Frank asked. His father nodded his head, making Frank smile, he could only dream of being so observant. But then his smile disappeared as he brought himself to ask the question. "I was- was wondering if you... Did you know what was happening when you were leaving?"
Fenton looked at his son, "No, Frank, I didn't. I was near the station when Collig called me. And fifteen minutes later and I phoned you."
...In the silence of the empty house the sound of the phone starting to ring downstairs seemed deafeningly loud. It snatched Frank off the miserable thoughts he had been abandoning to. What happened after was a vague memory, so fast it had happened – his father's concerned voice, telling him to go to the hospital, the door closing with a thud, the creak of the tires as he sped out of the driveway, a whirl of blue-grayish colors of the town as he flew down the empty road, then a strong smell of antiseptic, hitting his nostrils...
"You thought I knew and left you?" Fenton asked, snapping Frank out of his memories.
Frank swallowed and looked down at his hands, feeling too uncomfortable to answer. He heard a sigh and felt his father's arm around his shoulder.
"I didn't know, son. I really didn't," he said quietly. "Besides, it'd be obvious if I knew, so you wouldn't have to ask."
Frank bit his lower lip, feeling small. Could he really doubt his father? "I know, Dad..." he sighed heavily. "Sorry. I guess I'm just going crazy after tonight."
"We all are. It's been such a night."
"Sorry."
"'s okay."
Frank laid his head on his father's shoulder and closed his eyes. It has been such a night. It must be about four in the morning, no wonder he felt so shattered that he could barely stay awake. The waiting room was quiet, except for muffled voices of other people and soft rustle of the hospital which was unusually calm in the morning....
Frank didn't know how long he had been in this drowsy state of mind, not asleep, but not fully awake, when something brought him back to his senses. He half-opened his eyes, blinking at the light, and looked around, but then realized it must have been soft footsteps approaching that had awakened him and looked at the door.
Moments later a man in a doctor's smock appeared in the doorframe. "Anyone here for Joseph Hardy?", he asked, looking around the waiting room.
Frank and Fenton jumped to their feet. "Yes, how is he?" Fenton asked, coming to the doctor.
"I'm doctor Farmington," the dark-haired brown-eyed man in his early 40s introduced himself. "I have treated your?..."
"Son," Fenton told him.
"Your son. Fortunately, his injures weren't too serious, especially considering the circumstances he had received them under. He has a concussion and three ribs broken and those were the worst things. Also, he has a cold from over-cooling and several cuts and bruises, some of them are nasty, but they'll heal eventually. That's about it."
"Is he going to be okay?" Frank asked hopefully.
"Definitely," Dr. Farmington nodded. "I'd say he'll be perfectly fine within a week or so, but I want to keep him for a few days to make sure he's healing normally."
"Can we see him?"
"Yes, of course. He's in room 212. He's sleeping now, but I expect him to wake up soon."
"Thank you, doctor," Fenton thanked him, smiling in relief at the news.
Dr. Farmington smiled back at them and nodded, "I have to go to other patients now," he excused himself and disappeared in the corridor.
A couple of minutes later the two stood at the door to the room 212. Fenton turned the door handle and noiselessly opened the door, looking inside with a sinking heart.
Joe was lying on the hospital bed in a dotted white hospital gown, covered up to his chest with a blanket, his eyes were closed and his head was tilted a little. If it weren't for bandages around both his wrists, the IV attached to his left arm and bluish bruises on his pale face and arms, it'd seem as if he were sleeping peacefully.
Frank swallowed, wondering if Joe would be able to sleep peacefully for a long time after such a nightmare. He and Fenton quietly walked in, afraid to disturb Joe's rest. Neither of them said a word for some time, just looking at the still form on the bed.
Fenton remembered the previous morning and sighed inwardly. Strange how things can change in just a day. Yesterday you smiled and laughed, having no care in the world, today you shudder at the thought how close you have come to losing someone. Had they not been fast enough to stop Newman...he shook his head, getting rid of the thought.
He looked at his elder son and put an arm around his shoulders, "Everything is going to be fine now," he said quietly.
Frank forced a smile for him and nodded, "Just as you promised."
"It's not my merit it ended without- ended like this," Fenton said and Frank thought he had heard sadness in his voice.
"You don't give yourself enough credit," he told him.
Fenton smiled ruefully at that. "I guess it's time to call Mom," he changed the topic, his voice a bit glum. He knew Laura wouldn't be happy to hear the news. At Frank's nod, he patted him on the back, "I'll be back in 10 minutes, okay?"
When left alone with his brother, Frank went to sit down on a chair near the bed and watched his brother for a while. They were lucky this time. Again. Lucky to live though the hazardous night, safe and sound, alive and in one piece. He gently took Joe's limp hand in his and smiled at his brother. "I'm so happy you're back with us," he whispered.
Deep inside he hoped Joe would hear him and answer, but he was deeply asleep and Frank didn't mind. Not letting go of his hand, he rested his head on the rail board of the bed.
He never noticed how sleep welcomed him.
"Dad?" Frank Hardy called breathlessly, running into the waiting room of Bayport Memorial and recognizing at once Fenton Hardy's fine figure among other 6 people in the room in this small hour.
The older man raised his head and forced a waned smile for his son, "Hi, Frank," he said. "You're quick."
"How is he? What did they say?"
Fenton nodded at the plastic seat next to him, beckoning him to sit down "Have a seat. He's still in ER, so I know nothing yet."
Frank let out a disappointed sigh, "What did they say? Is he going to be alright?" he asked.
"Nothing seemed too serious, so they said he was going to be fine," his father said with a smile and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Thank heavens! While I was rushing here I had so many terrible assumption cross my mind..." Frank looked down at his hands, they were still trembling, giving away his anxiety. "What happened? And how? You said it was an accident of some kind, right?"
"Right," Fenton leaned back in his chair, "Roughly speaking, apparently Newman didn't have anything to-to do you know what, so he went to get some, well, 'tools'. But it was dead of night and all shops were closed, so-"
"He decided to rob one?" Frank guessed, raising his eyebrows. At his father's nod he shook his head in disbelief. "Isn't it a stupid thing to do when the police is looking for you?"
"I can't disagree with you," Fenton said with a meek smile, "but then again it's thanks to his stupidity and haste that it's over now. Anyway, after he tried to break into one shop and the signaling went off, he went to try another one. At the same time the police went to check the first shop and it wasn't too far from where he'd gone, so when the same thing repeated they were quick enough to tail him."
"But Joe wasn't there with him, was he?"
Fenton shook his head, "No. Newman rushed into the woods, breaking away from the police at one point. When they discovered where he'd gone to, he was already speeding away from that small hut, with Joe in the boot of the sedan...."
"Wait, and Chet?" Frank asked, afraid to hear the answer. "What about Chet?"
"Chet is in the operating theatre at the moment with several stab wounds," Fenton replied gloomily.
"What?" Frank's voice was barely a whisper.
"I don't know how serious they are, but..." Fenton bit his lip and looked aside. "I'd love to say that I'm glad it's only stab wounds and nothing else, considering what could have happened, but-but somehow it doesn't make me feel much better."
Frank eyed him for some time, recalling the conversation with his inner voice less than an hour ago when he felt guilt gnawing at him. He still felt remorseful, though he knew he had nothing to be blamed for. There were things he just couldn't control – like predicting and changing the future, knowing in advance that something terrible was going to happen and doing his utmost not to let it happen. But at times like this he wished he could.
"Do his parents know?" he asked quietly.
"Yes. I met them when I arrived here. They're in the waiting room on the 4th floor," Fenton replied. "We didn't talk much."
Frank was silent for a moment, trying to imagine himself in their place – what could he possibly say if his son was on the operating table? And the answer was – probably nothing. "Were they, like, angry with you for what had happened? Or us, to be more precise?" he asked.
"Nervous, Frank, they were nervous. When your kid's having a surgery you only feel nervous, trust my experience. Anger comes later... I just hope he'll make it."
"I hope so, too," Frank said. Awkward silence fell between them. "So..." Frank said moments later, feeling uncomfortable in such quiet. "What happened after that? After he sped away from the hut?"
"Then..." Fenton closed his eyes and massaged his temples. "Then they caught up with him, but he lost control of the car and crashed...." He shook his head and opened his eyes, trying to get rid of the memory of the wrecked car in the dell. "That's the story."
Frank was watching him for some time, a questing bugging him. He opened his mouth to ask, but didn't found courage to speak.
"Just say or ask," Fenton told him, a faint smile touching his lips.
"Do you always notice every slightest movement?" Frank asked. His father nodded his head, making Frank smile, he could only dream of being so observant. But then his smile disappeared as he brought himself to ask the question. "I was- was wondering if you... Did you know what was happening when you were leaving?"
Fenton looked at his son, "No, Frank, I didn't. I was near the station when Collig called me. And fifteen minutes later and I phoned you."
...In the silence of the empty house the sound of the phone starting to ring downstairs seemed deafeningly loud. It snatched Frank off the miserable thoughts he had been abandoning to. What happened after was a vague memory, so fast it had happened – his father's concerned voice, telling him to go to the hospital, the door closing with a thud, the creak of the tires as he sped out of the driveway, a whirl of blue-grayish colors of the town as he flew down the empty road, then a strong smell of antiseptic, hitting his nostrils...
"You thought I knew and left you?" Fenton asked, snapping Frank out of his memories.
Frank swallowed and looked down at his hands, feeling too uncomfortable to answer. He heard a sigh and felt his father's arm around his shoulder.
"I didn't know, son. I really didn't," he said quietly. "Besides, it'd be obvious if I knew, so you wouldn't have to ask."
Frank bit his lower lip, feeling small. Could he really doubt his father? "I know, Dad..." he sighed heavily. "Sorry. I guess I'm just going crazy after tonight."
"We all are. It's been such a night."
"Sorry."
"'s okay."
Frank laid his head on his father's shoulder and closed his eyes. It has been such a night. It must be about four in the morning, no wonder he felt so shattered that he could barely stay awake. The waiting room was quiet, except for muffled voices of other people and soft rustle of the hospital which was unusually calm in the morning....
Frank didn't know how long he had been in this drowsy state of mind, not asleep, but not fully awake, when something brought him back to his senses. He half-opened his eyes, blinking at the light, and looked around, but then realized it must have been soft footsteps approaching that had awakened him and looked at the door.
Moments later a man in a doctor's smock appeared in the doorframe. "Anyone here for Joseph Hardy?", he asked, looking around the waiting room.
Frank and Fenton jumped to their feet. "Yes, how is he?" Fenton asked, coming to the doctor.
"I'm doctor Farmington," the dark-haired brown-eyed man in his early 40s introduced himself. "I have treated your?..."
"Son," Fenton told him.
"Your son. Fortunately, his injures weren't too serious, especially considering the circumstances he had received them under. He has a concussion and three ribs broken and those were the worst things. Also, he has a cold from over-cooling and several cuts and bruises, some of them are nasty, but they'll heal eventually. That's about it."
"Is he going to be okay?" Frank asked hopefully.
"Definitely," Dr. Farmington nodded. "I'd say he'll be perfectly fine within a week or so, but I want to keep him for a few days to make sure he's healing normally."
"Can we see him?"
"Yes, of course. He's in room 212. He's sleeping now, but I expect him to wake up soon."
"Thank you, doctor," Fenton thanked him, smiling in relief at the news.
Dr. Farmington smiled back at them and nodded, "I have to go to other patients now," he excused himself and disappeared in the corridor.
A couple of minutes later the two stood at the door to the room 212. Fenton turned the door handle and noiselessly opened the door, looking inside with a sinking heart.
Joe was lying on the hospital bed in a dotted white hospital gown, covered up to his chest with a blanket, his eyes were closed and his head was tilted a little. If it weren't for bandages around both his wrists, the IV attached to his left arm and bluish bruises on his pale face and arms, it'd seem as if he were sleeping peacefully.
Frank swallowed, wondering if Joe would be able to sleep peacefully for a long time after such a nightmare. He and Fenton quietly walked in, afraid to disturb Joe's rest. Neither of them said a word for some time, just looking at the still form on the bed.
Fenton remembered the previous morning and sighed inwardly. Strange how things can change in just a day. Yesterday you smiled and laughed, having no care in the world, today you shudder at the thought how close you have come to losing someone. Had they not been fast enough to stop Newman...he shook his head, getting rid of the thought.
He looked at his elder son and put an arm around his shoulders, "Everything is going to be fine now," he said quietly.
Frank forced a smile for him and nodded, "Just as you promised."
"It's not my merit it ended without- ended like this," Fenton said and Frank thought he had heard sadness in his voice.
"You don't give yourself enough credit," he told him.
Fenton smiled ruefully at that. "I guess it's time to call Mom," he changed the topic, his voice a bit glum. He knew Laura wouldn't be happy to hear the news. At Frank's nod, he patted him on the back, "I'll be back in 10 minutes, okay?"
When left alone with his brother, Frank went to sit down on a chair near the bed and watched his brother for a while. They were lucky this time. Again. Lucky to live though the hazardous night, safe and sound, alive and in one piece. He gently took Joe's limp hand in his and smiled at his brother. "I'm so happy you're back with us," he whispered.
Deep inside he hoped Joe would hear him and answer, but he was deeply asleep and Frank didn't mind. Not letting go of his hand, he rested his head on the rail board of the bed.
He never noticed how sleep welcomed him.