Chapter 19
Everyone stared in confusion at Hurd Johnson.
"I don't understand," said Con. "Why is the cabin registered to Kevin then?"
Mr. Johnson sighed. "I'm afraid that is a long and complicated story. And I won't delay you by telling it here. I fear time is running out for your son, Mr. Hardy. Both of them if Miles gets his hands on Frank as well."
"Then you can tell us on the way to the cabin," Fenton Hardy told him grimly. "I want to know what we're dealing with."
The old man nodded. "I'll help in any way I can."
Fenton turned to his wife who was now standing pale-faced beside the couch. "Laura, stay here. I'll ring as soon as we have news."
Laura nodded and crossed to her husband's side. She hugged him tightly and whispered, "Fenton, please be careful, and please bring the boys home safe!"
Fenton nodded as he returned the hug, then turned to the waiting men. "Ready?" he asked and they nodded. "Okay, lets go!"
The men left the house and clambered into Con Riley's patrol car. As Con drove off, Fenton turned and addressed Mr. Johnson. "Okay, spill. What's going on? And how exactly do you know Miles Denton?"
"I'm his Psychiatrist," the old man answered softly. "I have been for nearly ten years now."
"Psychiatrist?" said Sam slowly. "Does that mean…?"
"That Miles is mentally ill?" finished Mr. Johnson. "Yes, it does. Miles suffers from Multiple Personality Disorder."
"Schizophrenia?" asked Con.
"Not quite," Mr. Johnson answered. "Although the two are frequently mixed up, they're not the same. Schizophrenics suffer from hallucinations and delusions. For example, a schizophrenic may fully believe that other people are out to get them, or that thoughts are being planted in their heads by external forces. Sensory perceptions that appear real to them, can take place without stimulation of the relevant sensory organ."
"Huh?" said Con, confused.
"That basically means that shadows can take on an actual physical form," explained Mr. Johnson. "Or trickling water can become the sound of someone's voice. These hallucinations or delusions can often prompt a schizophrenic to act in a certain way, but there is no actual splitting of the personality."
"But there is with Multiple Personality Disorder?" guessed Fenton.
"It's what defines it," answered Mr. Johnson. "MPD is characterised by having at least one alter personality that controls behaviour. It's what Freud would have called 'a splitting of the ego.'"
"And Miles has this MPD," said Fenton. "How does it affect him?"
"Well, the first thing you should know is that MPD develops in childhood. There have been no known cases of an adult suddenly developing it," Mr Johnson told him. "MPD develops as a response to a traumatic event or events in childhood. It provides a coping mechanism for an individual confronting painful, traumatic situations."
"His father's shooting and his brother's suicide," Fenton guessed.
"Yes, but it's not so simple as that," said Mr. Johnson. "I don't know if John ever told you, but Miles was kidnapped as a child."
"WHAT?!" cried Fenton and Sam simultaneously.
Mr. Johnson nodded. "He was seven. It was a random kidnapping and they found him twenty-four hours later. But it was also a violent rescue, and Miles witnessed the shooting of his kidnapper. The man died in some pain and of course Miles would have remembered that when his father died. You can only imagine how he felt when his brother shot himself."
"Pretty lousy," Sam admitted.
"Yes," said Mr. Johnson sadly. "And especially since Kevin was his twin."
"His twin?" Fenton echoed. "I never knew John had twins."
"He never defined them by it," Mr. Johnson explained. "Miles once told me that they were each special and unique in their father's eyes. He loved them for being themselves. Of course, the poignant irony is that Miles' alter-ego is his brother Kevin."
"The name on the cabin," Con mused. "Which reminds me, we're nearly at Bayport Woods. I need to call Chief Collig for directions to the cabin."
While Con was on the phone, Fenton turned to Mr. Johnson again. "So how can you be sure who…I mean which personality has Joe?" he asked, struggling to get his head around this.
"It's Miles," replied Mr. Johnson at once. "Treatment of MPD depends on building up enough trust for the patient to be able to speak frankly about their feelings, and especially for the most destructive and frightening parts of the personality. The parts that carry the most pain need the most help. In this instance, Miles himself is the most violent aspect of his personality, because his memories are of his kidnapper's and his brother's shooting; although both are somewhat confused in his head. Amnesia is a common symptom of MPD, which allows sufferers to exist in their separate states."
"I'm confused," said Fenton.
"When Miles is Miles, he thinks Kevin is still alive. His memories of finding his brother's body are confused and disjointed; therefore Miles has attributed them to something else. Miles as Kevin has experienced less trauma, so he is of a gentler nature. However, Miles as Kevin is afraid of himself, or rather, he's afraid of Miles. His memories of Miles are depersonalised, so when he remembers Miles' violent episodes, he remembers them as an observer rather than a perpetrator. In other words, in each of his personas, Miles truly believes he is that one person."
"No wonder Miles is fucked-up!" said Sam. "I'm getting dizzy just listening to this."
Mr. Johnston ignored him and continued to address Fenton. "Mr. Hardy, Miles' mental health has declined considerably since his mother's death last year. I suspected as much whenever I spoke to him on the phone, and hearing Kevin's name only confirmed it. Up until last year, I had made great progress with Miles. His episodes as Kevin were short and infrequent, and he was far less violent as himself. Unfortunately, it sounds as though Miles has regressed." Mr. Johnson regarded Fenton seriously. "I should warn you that someone experiencing disassociation can emotionally distance themselves from any situation - particularly ones they can't manage."
"In other words, he has no qualms about what he does to Joe," said Fenton through gritted teeth. "Yeah, we already discovered that."
Mr. Johnson fell silent.
"Where are we going?" asked Fenton after several minutes, as he noticed Con turning off the road onto a dirty track leading into the woods.
"The cabin's down here," Con responded and Fenton realised he had been so engrossed in Mr. Johnson's tale that he hadn't noticed that Con was off the phone.
"Is Chief Collig there yet?" he asked quickly.
Con shook his head, his eyes on the road. "No. They found four bikes on the road that looked like they belonged to some kids. Chief Collig thinks they weren't able to cycle them on this muddy track."
"Frank!" Fenton hissed in understanding.
"Yup, and it looks like he brought friends," said Con grimly.
The men travelled in silence until they came to a group of patrol cars parked on the road. An ambulance and a small group of paramedics were clustered a little further away. Spotting Chief Collig, they climbed out quickly.
"Any news?" asked Fenton at once.
The chief shook his head. "No, SWAT are clearing the place as we speak. Don't worry," he added gently, as he caught sight of Fenton's worried face. "They know about Joe, they won't go in with gun's blazing."
Just then, the walkie-talkie on his belt sounded. "Chief? Cabin is cleared and secured. Repeat, cabin is cleared and secured."
Fenton didn't wait, he took off running in the direction of the cabin. He reached the door and raced in. "JOE!" he called. "JOE!"
"There's no one here, Sir," said a young man in a SWAT uniform appearing at Fenton's side.
"What do you mean there's no one here!" barked Chief Collig, entering the cabin with Sam. "Where is everyone?"
The young man was about to respond when a voice echoed up from the basement. "Chief? I think you need to see this!"
Quickly, Fenton, Chief Collig and Sam raced down the stairs to the basement. They discovered the most senior member of the SWAT team standing at the back of the basement, peering into a boiler room of some sort.
"What is it?" Fenton demanded as they joined the man. In response, the man gestured into the room beyond.
Fenton peered into the tiny room and caught sight of a bricked up window and small cot. Quickly he stepped into the freezing cold room and looked around. There was a toilet in the corner, but aside from the cot, it was the only thing in the room.
"This is a cell," said Fenton grimly as Sam joined him.
Sam nodded. "And there's blood on the cot," he commented quietly, glancing at the small bed.
The two men leaned over the cot and examined the mattress and ragged blanket.
"The stains are near the top of the bed," said Fenton trying to remain professional. "Which means the injury was on the upper half of the body."
"Like an arm?" said Sam gently.
Fenton nodded, unable to speak.
"Damn, it's cold in here!" a voice sounded behind them and they turned around to see that Con had joined them. The tiny room shrank considerably.
"Forensics found these," said Con, handing a pair of bagged sneakers that obviously belonged to a child to Fenton.
Fenton stared at the shoes in his hands. "They're Joe's," he said hoarsely.
"Which means we've found our man," said Con quietly.
Fenton didn't answer. He stared around the cell that had held his son prisoner for the last seven days and pain welled up in his chest.
Where was Joe now? Were they too late?
"Any sign of Frank?" he asked quietly, and Con shook his head.
Silently, the men returned upstairs. Mr. Johnson met them in the kitchen.
"Miles' car is out the back!" he called excitedly to them. "They must still be around here somewhere!"
The men went outside, where Fenton immediately spotted the brown mustang with the passenger door open.
"Looks like they left in a hurry," Sam commented, noticing the same thing.
Fenton opened his mouth to respond when suddenly they heard a wild, inhuman cry of pain from the woods.
XXX
No! thought Joe, his heart beating furiously against his chest in panic. Not now, not when he was so close to going home!
The boy struggled with every inch of strength he had left and was rewarded by a vicious squeezing of his wounded arm. Joe moaned as Miles hissed at him, "I thought I warned you about what happens to bad boys! You've made me very angry, Joey."
He squeezed Joe's wounded arm even tighter, and the boy cried out in pain. But his cries were muffled behind Miles' hand.
"You heard your brother, didn't you?" Miles whispered to him. "And off you went to find him. I bet you thought you were really clever in not answering him and giving away where you were. Stupid little Joey!" Miles shook him hard and Joe felt his face being scraped raw against the bark of the tree. "Didn't you know I only had to hide and wait for you to come to him?"
Joe closed his eyes. He could feel blood trickling down his arm, Miles had reopened the wound.
"Do you know what, Joey?" said Miles. "This is it. I'm going to kill you. I'm going to slit your throat and kill you. Then I'm going to chop you up into little pieces and send you back to Frank. What do you think about that?"
"Pmmh!" Joe tried to respond through Miles' large hand and Miles laughed harshly at his pathetic attempts to talk.
"I guess Fenton will know what loss feels like!" he spat viciously, his voice rising. "He might not know madness, but I swear he'll know loss!"
Miles squeezed Joe's arm as tightly as he could, then smiled at the boy's muffled screams of pain. "You know madness though, don't you, Joey? You know what it's like to never be quiet in your head, to feel pain with no relief!"
The man smiled at the boy's choked sobs. "Want to know what it feels like to die, Joey?"
"TAKE YOUR HANDS OFF HIM!" a voice yelled.
Joe opened his eyes. Frank was standing not ten feet from them, his face a mask of anger and terror. Behind him stood Chet and two other boys, their faces shocked and horrified.
"Frankie boy!" said Miles jovially. "So glad you could join us. Joey and I were just having a little chat."
"Let him go!" said Frank threateningly, taking a step towards them.
Miles smiled gloatingly. "I'd stay there if I were you, Frankie. You wouldn't want anything to happen now, would you?"
Frank took several steps forward but Miles retreated, pulling Joe with him. "Stay there, Frankie," he warned. "I mean it!"
Frank stopped. Now that Miles had pulled Joe away from the tree, he could see his brother clearly. Joe's face was pale and exhausted, and his features were contorted in pain. Frank was alarmed to see blood on his face and dripping off the fingers of his right hand.
He needs a doctor! Frank realised, as Joe coughed harshly. Then he looked at Miles smiling face and clenched his fist. He would kill this man for hurting his brother!
Frank took another step and Miles' stopped smiling. "You Hardys have real trouble with orders, don't you? One more step, Frankie, and you'll be sorry!"
"You can't hurt me!" said Frank, as he took another step forward. "I'm not scared of you!"
An ugly look crossed Miles' face. "Who said anything about hurting you?" he hissed. With one fluid motion, he dropped his hand from Joe's mouth and released his arms. Then he grabbed the boy's left arm and yanked it back and up.
Frank heard a sickening crunch, then Joe screamed; a shrill, horrific scream of anguish that made his heart stop.
"Joe," Frank croaked, but he didn't dare move closer. Miles now had his arm across Joe's neck. Joe's left arm hung uselessly by his side.
"I warned you," Miles hissed, as Joe sobbed in pain. "I warned you, Frankie, but you didn't listen. Maybe you'll listen to me now." Miles slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and withdrew a gun. Silently he pointed the gun at Joe's head.
"F-Frank," Joe moaned. "Help me!"
Frank felt sick and his heart hammered painfully against his chest. He wanted desperately to help his brother, but the look on Miles' face told him he would pull the trigger the second Frank took a step towards them. Behind him he could hear Chet hiss in anger.
Quietly Frank moved back to the boys, not talking his eyes off Joe and Miles.
"What do I do?" he asked them helplessly.
"Want me to go for help?" Phil suggested, his eyes clouded with worry.
"But we're too far from anywhere," Frank replied, his heart sinking. "And he might hurt Joe if he sees you taking off."
There's four of us," Tony pointed out. "Let's rush him!"
"No way!" Frank shook his head vehemently. "He pulls that trigger and Joe's dead."
"But there has to be something we can do!" said Chet through gritted teeth.
Joe was watching the silent stalemate through a haze of excruciating pain. He was completely unaware of the gun Denton had pulled on him.
His heart had thudded painfully when his brother had stepped back. Where's he going? Joe had asked himself worriedly, trying to push away the fear that Frank would abandon him. Now, watching as the boys just stood there, Miles' words came rushing back to haunt him.…Good ol' Frankie wished he didn't have a brother and I granted that wish. I brought you here because Frank didn't want you anymore…
"Frank?" Joe whispered, unable to speak any louder because of the pressure on his neck.
Only Miles heard him. "What did I tell you, Joey?" he whispered in the boy's ear. "Frankie doesn't want you anymore. He let me hurt you, and he's just standing there now doing nothing. I could do anything I wanted to you right now and Frank would let me." Miles increased the pressure on Joe's neck to emphasize his point. "Anything," he repeated.
Unaware of what Miles was doing to his brother, Frank was trying desperately to come up with a plan to help Joe. So far he had come up with nothing.
"What the hell am I going to do?" Frank muttered, rubbing his eyes. He thought of offering himself to Miles in place of Joe, but then brushed the thought away. Miles would probably shoot Joe just for kicks because he knew it would affect Frank.
Frank could see the man was unhinged and he didn't dare do anything that would set him off. He glanced back at Joe and saw with a rush of shock that his brother had gone purple.
While they were standing there talking, Miles was strangling Joe!
Frank darted forward but Miles laughed loudly and waved the gun. Frank stopped dead in terror. It was obvious that Miles was giving him a choice; move and he'd shoot Joe, stay and he'd strangle him.
Either way, Joe was dead.
Oh God, what do I do? Frank thought in anguish, as Miles increased the pressure on Joe's neck.
Suddenly the sound of a gunshot cracked through the air and for one horrific moment, Frank thought Miles had shot his brother. He was proved wrong when Miles, screaming in pain, dropped the gun and released the pressure on Joe's throat.
Frank spun around and caught sight of his father aiming a gun. The expression on Fenton Hardy's face was deadly. "Let him go. Now," he said.
Frank became aware of several police officers aiming guns at Miles. He turned to look at Miles, expecting to see a defeated man.
But Miles had a strange expression on his face. "Well, well," he sneered. "The great detective! Have you come to witness your son's final moments?" And then he laughed, long and loud.
Frank shuddered. There was no real mirth in that laugh, just the enjoyment of seeing someone else in pain. It was the sound of sadism. And then Frank realised something else, something his father was too far away to see.
Miles was still strangling Joe.
With a roar of anger, Frank threw himself at Miles.
"FRANK! NO!" his father yelled as Frank catapulted into Miles and Joe. He could hear the other boys yelling behind him.
They hit the ground hard, and Frank struggled to free himself from the tangle of arms and legs. Miles, disregarding his injured hand, grabbed Joe's throat with blood-slicked fingers and squeezed as hard as he could, determined to finish what he started. Frank saw Joe go limp and swung savagely, his fist connecting with Miles' jaw.
Miles gave a strangled howl of anger and turned his attention to Frank. He swung wildly with one hand, the other still clutching Joe's throat. Frank lunged at Miles again, knocking him away from Joe.
"I'll kill you!" Frank shouted, as he pummelled him. "I'LL KILL YOU!"
But the big man, even with an injured hand, was more than a match for the teenager. He gave Frank a blow to the side of the head that stunned him, and was just winding up for a vicious blow that would crush the boy's skull when Con Riley and Sam Radley threw themselves on him. Quickly they overpowered him and pinned him to the ground.
As Con cuffed the man, Frank rolled over and stood up. Paramedics rushed past him to where Joe lay.
"Joe!" cried Frank. He tried to move forward but found himself being restrained by strong arms.
"No, Frank," he heard his father's voice. "Give the paramedics room to work."
Frank held his breath as the paramedics performed CPR on his brother. Oh please, please, he prayed silently. Let him be alright! Please, please…
After several agonising minutes, Joe gave a feeble gasp.
"Okay, he's breathing," said one of the paramedics.
Frank and his father were on the ground by Joe in a flash. Fenton moved to embrace his son but one of the paramedics held him back.
"His shoulder's been dislocated," the man explained. "We need to set it before he can be moved. Can you explain to him?"
Fenton swallowed as he glanced at Joe. The boy was groggy and weak, and Fenton knew how much this was going to hurt. "Joe?" he said gently. "Can you hear me?"
"Dad?" Joe whispered.
"Yes, Joe, it's me," said Fenton, and his heart welled at hearing his son's voice for the first time in seven long days.
"My shoulder hurts."
"I know, Joe," said Fenton, as he stroked his hair. "It's been dislocated."
Joe didn't answer. "It means the paramedics have to re-set it before they can take you to the hospital," Fenton explained gently, seeing that he didn't really understand.
"'Kay," Joe mumbled, closing his eyes.
"Joe, it's going to hurt," said Fenton, wincing as he said it.
Joe's eyes shot open. In his head, he heard Miles' voice taunting him…this is going to hurt…
"No, please," Joe whimpered a little as he started to cry. He couldn't handle any more pain.
"They have to, Joe," said Fenton, feeling as though he might cry himself.
The paramedics moved in again and Fenton stood up, dragging Frank with him. The teenager hadn't spoken, and Fenton deliberately positioned him so he wouldn't see what the paramedics were doing.
Nobody spoke for several minutes, then a howl of pain shattered the silence.
"What are you doing?" cried Frank as he tried to move towards his brother, but found himself being restrained by his father once more.
"Let me go!" he demanded, struggling. "They're hurting him!"
Fenton swallowed painfully. "They have to, Frank. They can't move him otherwise."
Frank stopped trying to get away and turned to look at his brother just as one of the paramedics moved. His eyes locked with Joe's.
And Joe realised Frank was standing deadly still.
He's not even trying to stop them! Joe realised with a sense of shock, then moaned as intense pain surged through his shoulder.
"We're nearly finished," the paramedic told him gently. "Then we'll get you out of here."
Several minutes later, they were easing him onto a stretcher. As they lifted it up, Fenton appeared beside Joe and took his hand. Joe was crying quietly.
"It's okay, Joe," Fenton told him. "It's over now, you're safe."
"Over?" a voice sneered from behind him and Fenton turned around. Miles was being led away by the police.
"It's not over," Miles told him. "Not by a long shot. He's safe, but the damage is still done! Isn't that right, Joey?" He leered at the boy who shuddered and Fenton stepped protectively in front of him, clenching his fists. Miles started to laugh.
"Get him out of here!" Con ordered.
They continued in silence back to the ambulance and patrol cars. Fenton and Frank walked beside Joe's stretcher, neither saying anything. Each one was dealing with a host of emotions; relief at getting Joe back, worry over his condition and red-hot anger at Miles.
So it was only when Frank tried to hug Joe as he was being placed in the ambulance that Fenton realised something was wrong.
Joe was refusing to look at or acknowledge his brother.
As the ambulance pulled out, sirens blazing, Frank remained rooted to the spot. Fenton put an arm over his eldest son's shoulder and guided him to the car. He felt sick as he realised that Denton was right.
The damage had been done.
A/N: Thanks again to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I'm really glad you enjoyed it, and I hope you enjoy this one as much. It took me longer than any other chapter in the story to write.