Author's Note:
Hi everyone. Thank you so much to Evergreen Dreamweaver, Cherylann Rivers, Erin Jordan, and Hlahabibty for the kind reviews on this odd little tale. Three chapters after this one. Most of my stories don't take a supernatural or creepy turn, but then, this one was for a Halloween contest originally. I'm happy to hear from everyone, it keeps me in the writing mood for the 2 new HB stories I'm currently working on. Thanks!
CHAPTER 4
Frank slumped as he turned off the ignition, staring at the dull tan blocks of the police station wall. A single street lamp hovered at the entrance, the remainder of the street glossy black in the steadily falling rain. He'd been half way to Remsen when it sank in that he'd actually driven away and abandoned Joe.
His cell phone sat on the opposite seat, mockingly useless. Frank ran an exhausted hand over his face and picked the phone up again, wanting to make one more attempt at avoiding the building at front of him. He punched the speed dial for home. No one was supposed to be there, but he still slung the phone into the floor board in aggravation at the lack of an answer. The response to his home number was the same as the one he'd achieved by dialing the Bayport police, the local state police detachment, Sam Radley, and a half dozen of his friends. The number you have reached is not in service...
He exited the van with a squelch and trooped inside the station. The interior was dim, a dull wood floor and grime coated plaster walls suggesting turn of the century construction. Turn of the last century, anyway. A long wooden counter ran across the entry a dozen feet in, blocking access to the remainder of the interior. Empty cherry wood chairs on cast iron rollers graced workstations that no doubt would have been manned had it not been far past midnight, with a fine layer of dust marking a few unused areas. Spotting an old fashioned brass bell on the desktop, Frank rang it and waited.
A mammoth-sized man of about fifty emerged from the steel door to the right, his grey uniform struggling to encase an ample girth. He was half a foot taller than Frank and had that unmistakable look of an athlete gone to seed, although at the moment he could have passed for a grumpily awakened bear. "Something you need, son?"
Glancing at the name tag and brass star, Frank cleared his hoarse throat. What I need is someone without an attitude provided by Dirty Harry, but seeing as that isn't an option... "Sheriff Colin, I think we spoke on the phone earlier. I'm Frank Hardy, and I still haven't been able to find my brother ..."
Colin's scowled deepened as he interrupted the youth dripping on his floor. "Look kid, I don't know what sort of a game you're playing at tonight, but you need to turn yourself around and get right on back out that door. I don't appreciate having my time wasted."
"No sir, I'm sure you don't, but Joe wrecked our mom's car and we have to..."
"We don't have to do anything. Now get out of my police station and go sleep off whatever it is you're on. I'm sure when you wake up in the morning your brother will be right where he's supposed to be." A beefy palm landed on Frank's shoulder, rotating him toward the door.
Frank ducked out from under the hand, forcing his face into a placid expression. "No sir, I don't believe he will. I was able to speak to him on the phone and he definitely crashed the car. Did your deputy see anything?"
"You mean other than the annoyed look on his wife's face when I woke them all up? He didn't see a thing out of place on route twelve beyond a pair of stray mutts. The EMS folks I also woke up on your account didn't either. Now. Go. Home." The older man's face was tinting toward florid.
"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir. I need your assistance to find my brother. Can I at least use the station phone to make some calls?"
"You know what, boy, that's it. I have tried to have a sense of humor with your ridiculous shenanigans, but I have had it. You have made more than enough calls for tonight." The sheriff slipped the handcuffs off his belt, turning to roar over his shoulder. "Carl, get down here!" The cuffs snicked closed before the youth fully registered what the lawman intended to do.
"Frank Hardy, you have the right to remain silent..."
Frank let the rest of the recitation drone on, rapidly trying to figure out what in the world just happened. "Can I ask exactly what you're arresting me for? There does have to be a reason beyond interrupting your sleep... sir..."
"You think I don't have a reason!? Let's see son, there's making false calls to 911, filing a false police report, ingestion of illegal substances by the looks of it, and, oh, we've got a one AM curfew on underage drivers in this county that you're currently violating."
Frank took a deep breath and fought to adopt a reasonable tone, his shoulder twitching as his hand started toward his hair out of habit only to be abruptly stopped by the handcuffs. "I swear the reports aren't false, I don't believe you've actually seen me driving, and I haven't ingested anything beyond a roast beef sandwich. I'll be happy to answer to all this tomorrow, but we have to help Joe." Although I'm starting to think he might be safer without the Keystone Cops here anywhere near him...
The deputy shuffled slightly behind his boss, looking at the young man more closely. "He's awfully coherent to be stoned, Chief, and he doesn't smell drunk."
"Are you daft? He's pale, he's shaking, his heart's racing a million miles an hour, and he waltzed into a police station in the middle of the night to spout a bunch of bull. Stoned until proven otherwise, I say."
"He's soaked to the skin, Colin, that'll make anybody shake in this weather, and if his brother really did crash, he may be frightened enough to speed his pulse up."
Frank stood stock still, hoping the exchange might still turn his way. A hope that quickly evaporated.
"You looked for his brother yourself, Carl; he ain't out there. Lock the kid up, drug test him, and have him call his folks. We'll straighten this out in the morning. I'll be back in an hour or two."
"Yes sir. Where are you headed?"
The sheriff pulled his face into a passable imitation of a dyspeptic bulldog. "Out to route twelve like a blang fool, heaven knows why. Keep an eye on that boy and don't let him cause any more trouble."
"Yes sir."
"Come on, Mr. Hardy, up the stairs."
Frank considered a few options that would have gotten him grounded through his fiftieth birthday in the next second, but between the handcuffs and the deputy's hand on the grip of his pistol, he slumped and made his way up the staircase, the steel door locking behind him. Gotta find a way to talk myself out of this one. Doubt it'll help Joe much if I get myself shot...
The upstairs area was simple in design, a pair of scarred wooden desks with oversized name plates along one wall and three simple cells lining the other. Each contained a steel cot bolted to the wall and an empty shelf above basic bathroom facilities, and none of them were occupied at the moment. Deputy Carl Shumate steered his charge to the cell closest to his desk, sliding the door closed between them before removing the handcuffs. He shuffled through a small closet at the rear of the room and shoved a pile of retrieved items at Frank through the door slot.
"You're going catch pneumonia if you stay in those clothes. Put your watch, wallet, and any jewelry in the Ziploc, and your clothes in the big plastic bag. Shoes go in the small one. This stuff ought to fit and there are sheets to make the bed."
Frank pulled in the offered stack, awkwardly shifting from one foot to another when Carl sat down at the desk not five feet away. "I, uh... Are you going to... Um, is there somewhere I could?..."
An understanding grin drifted across the deputy's face. "Shy, kid? Sorry, you're changing in there, that's the rules. You know, though, I feel like some coffee. Think I'll go downstairs and fetch a cup. You want some?"
"No sir, I just want Joe." Frank dumped the fresh clothes on the bed, looking up as the deputy left the room. Small favors...
By the time Deputy Shumate made it back, Frank was dressed in the plain white t-shirt and orange sweats, the shivering noticeably better as he draped a wool blanket around his shoulders. Even the lumpy cot called to him, but sleep was a luxury he didn't have the time for. He managed a weak smile when he noticed the officer had brought him a cup of coffee anyway, along with half a hot sandwich.
"Hope one cream is ok. I tried your folks, they aren't home." Carl drew a rubber tourniquet and syringe from his pocket. "You can refuse the drug test; we don't have a court order for it."
Frank shook his head, brown hair still vaguely scattering water. "If it'll clear this mess up, I'm fine with it." Pretty sure this is illegal without dad's consent, but if a pinprick keeps this guy talking to me, then he can do a drug test, check my cholesterol, test for malaria, see if I have beri beri for what I care...
Blood drawn and the sandwich devoured, Frank sat on the end of his bed, wracking his brain for a way to get out of here and back to Joe. Both hands disappeared into his hair, again, eyes staring sightlessly into the speckled tile floor. Thirty seconds later he was back to pacing in circles, waiting for divine inspiration to strike. Think like a case, Hardy... Ok, missing person's investigation...
For any other case, leaving the creek when he couldn't reach his missing person there would have been the textbook approach. When one avenue doesn't pan out, investigate other leads, seek assistance. The sheriff's response really couldn't have been predicted, right? I'd have no doubt that was the correct plan if it wasn't Joe... but it is Joe. Changes everything. I have to get out of here. Have to...
"Frank?" The deputy's question was soft, his style completely different from his good ol' boy boss.
The brunette head snapped up, startled. "Yes?"
"You really are worried, aren't you, kid?"
"Yeah, I am. Joe's out there and he's in trouble." Somewhere mid sentence Frank resumed lap number two hundred twenty two, give or take. "I can feel it."
"I drove all the way down route twelve and both the side roads that go near the water. I didn't see a wrecked car or a teenage boy anywhere." Carl vacated his chair, settling instead on the end of his desk and turning a sympathetic gaze into the cell. "Walking a mile in there isn't going to help a darn bit."
"No, I guess not. You didn't see anything unusual? At all? Nothing out of place?" Frank forced himself to sit back down at the negative head shake that came his way. Maybe there was another way to get help his sibling. "Don't I get to call somebody?"
"Sorry. You're under eighteen, so who you contact in this situation is up to your parents. I already tried your home number again and didn't get an answer."
"Surely there's some leeway in the policy somewhere? I mean, there are minors that don't have parents. They've got to call somebody else, right?"
"Actually, no. If there are no parents we call CPS, and if we can't contact yours within twelve hours that's what will happen with you, too. Child Protective Services will assign you an advocate to go with you to court."
"Perfect." Frank dropped his chin onto his folded hands, deep brown eyes still meeting the deputy's grey ones. "My brother's stranded out there. He may die while you and I sit here chattering on about telephone protocol." Don't let that be true, Joe, please don't...
Carl hissed a long audible sigh, wondering what about the youth in front of him made him want to cross swords with the always disagreeable Colin. It wasn't like that was exactly smart. "Ok, for the sake of argument, I'll assume your brother really did crash somewhere outside Remsen. Is he familiar with the area at all?"
"No, we were picking up paperwork upstate for our father." As much as Frank wanted the opportunity to build his own reputation as a detective, this was one occasion where he wished he hadn't gotten a blank look at the name Fenton Hardy.
"Maybe he confused where he is then." The officer fished through a junk strewn drawer, hand emerging with an assortment of maps. Unfolding one across his desk, he tossed another to Frank. "Where did he start from?"
"Clayton." Frank smoothed the creases of the yellowed paper, his index finger tracing Joe's route. "Dad told him to stay on the interstate, but he didn't like the weather and wanted to shorten the trip. He got on route twelve at Watertown."
Carl frowned, eyes following the outlined path. "If he was heading back to Bayport, he needed to hit route five after he made it through town here. Are you sure he didn't get that far? I drove that way a few miles, but if you're convinced he's out there, that's where we need to look."
"No."
The flat certainty in Frank's tone caught the other man off guard. "Just because he told you he's on twelve doesn't mean he is, Frank."
"Yes, it does."
"Kid, you can't-"
"Could you not do that?" Frank regretted the sharp comment as soon as he made it. He's the only person who is even considering helping us...
"Not do what?"
"Nothing, I'm sorry."
The deputy mentally replayed the conversation. "Call you kid?"
"Yeah." Frank hung his head. "It doesn't matter."
Carl stood up, shoulder leaning against the iron bars as he hovered closer to occupant of his jail. Half dry brown hair reflected the number of trips the youth's fingers had raked through it and the corners of the chocolate eyes were tight with restrained urgency. Regardless of what Colin might have said, Carl was a fair judge of character and nothing about Frank Hardy suggested a kid out to stir up a little Halloween mayhem for kicks. Frank was worried and frustrated, working his way into scared and angry respectively.
"Kid makes it sound like you don't know what you're talking about, doesn't it? I apologize. Show me where you think Joe is."
Frank tapped an area by the river. "Near the bridges on this road."
"That's pretty specific. Did you see something out there, Frank?" The tone of his voice was studiously neutral. After all, every small town had its stories.
Nothing that won't have you transferring me to the county looney bin. Maybe I ought to just save you the time and drive myself there. "Joe's description was pretty detailed. Unfortunately, this map's not." Frank shoved it aside in irritation, his gaze settling on the laptop on the sheriff's desk. "Don't suppose you could pull up a map that's a bit more recent? Or maybe take a look at Google earth?"
Carl faced off with the laptop as if sizing up a potentially violent felon. "Bloody contraption belongs to Colin. I can probably coax a map out of it, but that whole satellite image thing isn't going to work for me."
Hoping he wasn't pushing his luck, Frank gestured toward the computer. "It would work for me."
The deputy ran a hand across the back of his neck, considering. "You're not supposed to be on the internet in there... " After another look at Frank's face, he shrugged. "Fine. Keep it turned around so I can see what you're doing."
Ten minutes later, Carl was fidgeting while the screens rapidly shifted , all of which seemed to be related to Remsen and the local area. He snatched Colin's abandoned crossword off the sheriff's desk, attempting to fill time instead of fretting about the young Hardys. Both of them.
Ring around the rosy...
"Did you say something?" Frank thought he heard... something.
"What? Oh, no, I didn't. Blank twenties. Third letter A." The deputy didn't realize he muttered the clue aloud.
"Roaring." Frank's answer was equally distracted, his mind never leaving the Chamber of Commerce site he'd found about the town. An ironic chuckle slipped out when he found a paragraph about visiting the local jail, which was apparently on the National Register of Historic Places.
"Is the Old River Road in the city limits?"
"No, it's county jurisdiction, but since we don't have a city police department, there's not much difference. "To terminally inhale water, five letters."
"Drown. I can't find when the new bridges were built on that route."
"Why would that matter? Before I was born, I think. Live in teacher, historical. Nine letters."
"Governess. Joe mentioned a stone bridge, but the ones I crossed were steel."
"The stone ones haven't been drivable for half a century, at least." Carl tapped his pen on the rumpled newsprint. "Three horse sleigh, starts with T."
"Troika. Joe said he drove across a stone bridge." And I know which one except that explaining what I saw will get me locked up on a permanent basis. There has to be something here that will help...
"Mysterious Stranger scribe."
"Mark Twain."
"No, twenty-two letters."
"Samuel Langhorne Clemens." A quick glance confirmed Deputy Shumate was absorbed in his puzzle and Frank fired off a terse email before returning to topographical images, trying to spot any houses near Joe's bridge.
"You're good at this."
Frank detached himself from the screen and looked up. "What, crosswords?"
"Um hmm."
"It's a New York Times one, right?" Frank had noticed the paper on the way in. "It's a little easier than their usual. Must be today's."
"Yesterday's actually. Finding anything to help you with your brother?"
"Maybe. If I do, are you going to, um, I'll need to... go." Frank limped through the sentence, aware that friendly or not, a county deputy wasn't likely to just let him go. "Or maybe you could?"
"I can't leave you locked in here alone, Frank, it's against fire regulations." He watched the young face fall. "But I will send somebody besides Sheriff Colin back out there, ok?"
"Ok." Likely the best answer I can hope for. But somebody better read that email and rescue Joe. I can sit here 'til the cows come home, but he doesn't have that kind of time. Who am I kidding, the phones don't work, why should the email? I have to get out of here... Maybe if I tell him the truth?...
"Deputy Shumate? I might have done a little more than talk to Joe on the phone. I'm pretty sure- No forget that. I'm completely sure I talked to him in person down by that river, and it was snowing, no matter what the weather says, and I can't begin to explain why I couldn't see him, but we need to get back out there. Please, I know it sounds crazy, but my brother's hurt and he's alone and no one will do anything. Take me back down to the river. I'll do whatever you want after that, I'll plead no contest to whatever the sheriff dreams up, and stay here as long as he wants, but... please..."
"Frank, I'm sorry, son, I am, but Colin's out there searching right now. I've been out there, and two ambulance crews have too. I'm not sure what else to-"
"Wait. Did you say that was yesterday's crossword?"
Surprised by the abrupt change in topic, Carl double checked the date. "Yep. Now-"
"It's not." Frank emphatically shook his head, at loss to explain the sudden sense that this was somehow tremendously important. "I did yesterday's crossword at breakfast. None of those clues were in there."
"You might not have gotten to that part yet."
"No, I finished it while Mom made the pancakes."
The deputy cocked an eyebrow. "You finished the New York Times crossword in the time it took to make pancakes?"
Frank had the decency to blush a little. "Um, yeah." In ink... "That's not what the puzzle-"
This time the officer interrupted him. "Hold on a minute. Drown. Roaring Twenties. Troika. Governess. Clemens." He rolled the answers around his tongue another time, his already pale face fading to parchment. "Colin said your brother mentioned a Clemens' Crossing?"
"The sheriff said there isn't any such place."
"There used to be." Carl Shumate unconsciously wrapped his arms around himself, fending off the chill of childhood nightmares. Unlike the boy before him, Carl's brother hadn't had any particular care for his sibling, other than as a source of entertainment. And terrorizing him with the local ghost stories had nicely fit the bill. "The Clemens' family had a farm out there, sort of well to do for the area come to think about it. Hired themselves a nanny for the children and everything. You'd have to check me on the date, but sometime in the 1920's she took the siblings over a few farms to play. The weather turned nasty and the sleigh flipped into the water. She made it out, but all four of the younger children drowned."
The puzzle clues all... nah, that's crazy... Frank waited, willing the older man to continue, but the threat of sounding insane appeared to be hindering him as well. "Has anyone ever, uh, wrecked out there before?"
Carl squirmed, acutely self conscious. "Well, I mean, well, it all just old stories, you know? Things made up to scare kids. I'm sure there's nothing to it."
"Nothing to what?"
"Every now and then somebody does go missing out there. Been a long time since it happened; always seemed to be a teenage boy. Everybody always figured they were runaways since the cars, or even horses at first, were never found. There are tales, though. Tales about that governess."
There's no such thing as ghosts... There's no such thing as ghosts... No such thing as an invisible Joe either... Am I so afraid of making a fool of myself that I won't grab at a chance ... What's that term from English class? Willing suspension of disbelief... but that's supposed to be so you can enjoy a movie, not search for ghosts... I need to reach Joe before he freezes to death... Decision made Frank consciously pushed aside common sense, logic, and perhaps his link to reality. "What tales?"
"Not that I'm saying I put any faith in them, mind you," Carl's pallor declared just the opposite, "but if she wanted your brother as a playmate for the Clemens younglings, she might have taken him. Takes the playful, the young, those with a sense of fun. Blondes, the whole lot of them, but I'm guessing your brother's brunette, huh? Pulled him into the water and back to that farmhouse she would have, keeping her charges happy without them ever having to cross the river again. They say once you sleep the night in that house, you aren't leaving it ever again."
The deputy realized he'd slipped into ghost story mode and shrugged his shoulders. "If you believe that sort of thing."
"Of course not, but, just curious, did anyone turn up again?" Frank assessed Carl's expression.
"Not after sun up, anyway. Rumor says if you can get back across the stream yourself without spending the night there, you have a chance. Ridiculous legend, huh?"
"Sounds like it." Frank tried to sound casual and failed. "So, is the house still standing?"
"Nah. Some irate neighbor burned it back in the sixties, something to do with his son. The nanny died in the fire."
"She didn't leave after the children drowned?" Frank was surprised.
"No. The Clemens' family couldn't stand it there anymore. They moved away with an older son and abandoned the house. Come to think about it, there was something about the son and that teacher, too. He was youngish for that sort of thing, I'd think. I don't know if they left her the house or she simply took it after they were gone."
Frank closed the laptop, convinced now it didn't hold the answers he sought. He sat long seconds, aware of the thin layer of frost newly spreading over the inside of the window even as a trickle of sweat started down his back. She couldn't have taken Joe... that's not... She's dead. Been dead fifty years almost. She couldn't...
"Deputy?"
"Yeah?"
"Not that I put any account into stories like that either, but if it were your brother?"
Carl corrected the family dynamic without being aware of it. "If it was someone I cared about, I'd make sure they crossed Clemens' creek by dawn." He shook his head, not quite believing what he planned to do, before taking a heavy iron ring off the wall. The key slipped into a cell lock far older than the deputy and Frank combined. "Come on out of there, Frank."
"I... but the sheriff will... you'll... Thank you."
"Colin will be madder than a hornet, but I can handle him. Now come on out and go get your brother. Bring him by when you're sure he's ok and we'll work this out. Come on."
Frank stepped out from behind the bars, swiftly shaking Carl's hand. "Thank you." I'm coming, Joe... crazy story or not, I'm coming... We can always get my straightjacket for the funny farm later... long as you're there to buy it for me..
He made it as far as the doorway to the stairwell when am immense bellow rocked the hundred year old structure. "Where in the thunder are you going, boy!?"
"Sh-sh-sheriff? I was, ah-" Frank took a rapid step backwards, brain scrambling for the solution to this development. I have to get to Joe, right now. His eyes swept the room for a clock, desperate to know how long remained before sun up. Instead he spotted a wide eyed Carl gaping at his boss from the cell's open door. Doesn't matter what it costs me...
Another step back and left allowed the sheriff to storm closer, a plate sized fist grasping for a handful of white t-shirt. As Frank expected, a third side step and the fabric eluded the lawman's grip, over balancing the larger man.
A single well timed kick swept Colin's feet from beneath him, tumbling him into Carl and propelling the pair behind the waiting bars with the all the finesse of a bowling strike. The giant lumbered to his feet just in time to spot a swath of white cotton rounding the corner through the now closed cell, followed by sock clad feet thumping down the stairs.
"You're gonna to regret this boy! You hear me?! Not a smart decision, Mr. Hardy, mark my words. Are you listening to me, kid?! Knew you were nothing but a common trouble maker, and I bet that no account brother of yours is worse. Your father will be glad to be done with the lot of you, won't he, boy? You better be getting your hind end back up these stairs, son, and by God I mean right now!"
The tirade faded as Frank crossed the downstairs lobby, Carl's softer calls lost first. "Go on, Frank, go out and find your brother, we can work this out later. Go on out..."
Oh man, I am in so much trouble... I am in soooooo much trouble...
"Go on out..."
"You hear me, boy?!"
Trouble doesn't even come close...
The mash of noises squashed Frank's awareness of a fourth voice until well after he'd made it outside.
Come out, come out wherever you are...
Joe-eeey's all go-onnne.
Ashes, ashes...
Come out, come out...
To be continued...