Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).
Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give much credit and thanks.
Thank you to those persons who have left feedback on prior chapters; it is much appreciated.
January Thaw
By EvergreenDreamweaver & Sparks JSH
Chapter 3
Frank's tumultuous thoughts were interrupted by Joe's footsteps thumping down the stairs. Joe entered the family room in a rush.
"Was that Vanessa on the phone?" he demanded.
"N-no," Frank's voice cracked slightly; he cleared this throat. "No, it was – it was a wrong number."
"Oh." Joe shrugged, losing interest. "Guess I'll call Van, then; we had talked some about catching a movie tonight." He removed the phone from Frank's hand and commenced punching buttons. "You think you'd feel up to going, you and Megan?" he asked, waiting for the call to go through. Before Frank could reply, Joe was turning away from him, attention distracted. "Oh, hiya Vanessa, it's me. You still want to go to the movies tonight?" Partway through his conversation, Joe tilted an inquiring brow in Frank's direction and mouthed Want to go? Frank shook his head slightly; Joe nodded his understanding, and finalized his plans with Vanessa.
Finishing his call, Joe set the phone down next to Frank again. "She's going to pick me up; I'll leave the van for you, in case you decide to go out after all." He glanced at Frank, surprised by his brother's continued silence; then took a second look, narrowing his eyes in concern. "Frank, are you feeling all right?" He sat down on the edge of the couch next to Frank. "Is your headache worse? You're white as a sheet!"
"No – yes – I mean, no, my headache isn't worse; yes, I feel all right," Frank replied. "I – uh – that first phone call woke me up, I guess – startled me."
"You're sure?" Joe continued to gaze at him; a worried frown creasing his forehead.
Frank summoned a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, little brother. Go on, get ready for your date. I'm going to try to sleep a little more."
Joe got up. "Well, if you're positive you're okay, I will. I'm going to take a quick shower; Van's supposed to be here in about half an hour." He departed upstairs once again, but cast a dubious glance or two in Frank's direction as he did so.
Alone, Frank lay back on the pillows, but he was anything but relaxed. How could someone have kidnapped Megan – and why? And what am I going to do about it? I can't tell Joe; whoever that was said they'll kill her! He suspected something was wrong…how can I keep him from finding out? Frustrated, Frank clenched his fists and groaned.
Joe bounced down the stairs a little while later, dressed in khakis and a heavy sweater; his blonde hair still damp from his shower. Frank swallowed hard and made a great effort to sound normal when he spoke. "Your hair's going to freeze solid if you go outside with it still wet."
"I'm hoping it will dry before Vanessa gets here," Joe grinned, but at that moment a car horn beeped outside. "Uh-oh, looks like it's icicles after all!" He leaned over and patted Frank's shoulder. "You take it easy, okay? You still look sort of pale. And I've got my cell phone with me; call if you need me."
"Okay." Frank gave his brother what he hoped was an innocent smile. "Have fun."
Joe departed, grabbing his jacket from the hall closet as he left. Frank shut his eyes, trying to think clearly but having difficulty doing it. What am I going to tell her mother…this is worse than last September; at least then I knew why she'd been taken!
When the telephone rang, Frank jumped violently and stared at it as if it had been a cobra about to strike. He picked it up and punched the button to connect. "Hel-hello?"
"Frank?"
"Wha – Megan?" The name exploded from Frank in a near-shout. "Megan, is that you? Are you all right?"
"Of course I'm all right – why wouldn't I be all right? I told you I'd call and see how you were feeling…."
"Megan, where are you?" Frank demanded.
"Where am – Frank, what kind of game are you playing? I'm at home of course!" Her voice changed from slightly annoyed to worried. "Where's Joe, or your parents? You don't sound right….are you delirious, or something?"
"No, I'm not delirious, I – uh, I – I'm sorry, honey; I guess I – I was asleep for a little while; I must have been dreaming. I thought something had happened to you…."
"Oh." Megan's voice softened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you; you just sounded so strange!"
"Baby, I need to see you. Can I come over for a while?" Frank was on his feet now, already moving towards the closet where his jacket hung.
"Well – of course you can come over, but are you sure you should be driving around after what happened this afternoon?" Megan sounded uncertain. "Would you rather I came over there?"
"No!" Frank bit his lip and moderated his tone. "No, I want you to stay right where you are. I'll be over in just a little bit, okay? Don't leave the house, Megan, promise me you won't. I'm fine to drive; the headache's gone. Just – just stay put. And make sure the doors are locked, okay?"
"All right, I will…but Frank, you sound so upset…."
"It's okay; I'm okay. I'll be there real soon. I'm leaving right now. I love you; goodbye." Frank disconnected, shrugged into his jacket and grabbed his car keys from their customary spot. He was out the back door in the next instant, leaping into the van, and starting the motor.
As he backed down the driveway, the telephone began to ring inside the empty house.
##########
In a small house in another residential section of Bayport, Callie Shaw opened her eyes and blinked up at the ceiling. She was very dizzy, and her head ached ferociously. She made a single attempt to lift her head, but immediately laid it back down; seeing her surroundings wasn't worth the pain. She cautiously looked about her, trying to figure out where she was without moving again. It's – a bedroom, she thought. I'm in a bedroom somewhere…lying on a bed…how did I get here? I was walking from the parking lot towards the dry cleaner's…and I heard someone behind me….
"Well, it's about time you woke up!" a nearby voice said. "I thought that chloroform would never wear off!"
Callie turned her aching head minutely and stared at the figure beside her. It appeared to be a man, but whoever it was had a lightweight ski mask pulled over his head; only his eyes were visible. The eyes were gray in color – a cold, menacing gray.
"Who are you?" she whispered. "Where is this? And why am I here?"
"You don't need to know who I am," the man replied. "As for why you're here – you're here so that someone very near and dear to you will do exactly what I want. You're my insurance, pretty one."
"Someone…" Callie squeezed her eyes shut, wishing her head would stop pounding, even if just for a few moments. "Someone dear…." Fear coursed through her. "My parents?"
The man laughed harshly. "Naw, sweetheart, I don't want anything to do with your parents! It's your boyfriend I've got business with!"
"My – boyfriend? Jonathan?"
The laughter stopped abruptly. "Jonathan! Who's Jonathan?" The man leaped to his feet and loomed above her menacingly.
"He's – he's my boyfriend…." Callie shrank back. "He lives in Colorado….Why would you want him to do anything…?"
"I'm not talking about somebody named Jonathan!" raged her captor. "I'm talking about Frank Hardy, you stupid little brat!"
"Frank!" Callie gasped. "But Frank's not my—" She clapped a hand to her mouth, but it was too late to take back her words.
"What did you say?"
"N- nothing – I didn't say anything," she stammered, terrified.
"Tell me!" The man grabbed her shoulders and shook her, roughly. With her headache and dizziness, the effect was horrendous; Callie screamed in pain, and nearly passed out. Seeing what was happening, her jailer pushed her back down, but kept his grip on her shoulders. "Okay, little girl, tell me: what about you and Frank Hardy?"
Callie swallowed hard, fighting nausea. She took one deep breath, then another, and was finally able to speak again. "Frank – and I – aren't going together anymore," she whispered. "We – we broke up – when we – when I – went away to school…last fall."
"What?" It was nearly a scream. "You were with him at the mall just the other day; I saw you! You met there, and you kissed him when you left! Don't try to tell me you're not his girlfriend! We know he's been with you for years!"
Anger was giving Callie new strength. What is with these people? I thought I'd gotten away from all this stuff once Frank and I were through! "Well, we're not now!" she snapped. "That was just a chance meeting! He has someone else now!" As the words left her lips, she knew she'd made a terrible mistake.
"Who?" All the anger was gone from her captor's voice; it was ice-cold, silky-smooth, and deadly frightening.
"I don't know!" she gasped. "I don't know her!"
"Look, beautiful, I need Frank Hardy's current girlfriend. You're no good to me, if you're not her." The man reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small pistol. "You're not much good to me at all – unless you know who she is, of course." He held out the gun toward Callie and deliberately took the safety off. "You were saying…who is Frank Hardy seeing now…?"
Callie squeezed her eyes shut again, trying to think. She didn't want to do this – but the man, whoever he was, was steadily moving the gun closer to her head. Frank said her name, she thought wildly. Her name – what was her name? "It's – it's Megan!" she whimpered, as she felt the gun muzzle touch her temple. "I don't know what her last name is! But her first name is Megan!"
Slowly, the gun was withdrawn. Callie opened her eyes and risked a glance in her captor's direction. He had re-seated himself on the chair and was staring at her, apparently weighing the truth of her words.
"Megan, huh?" he muttered. "Well, that's better than nothing, I guess." He put the safety back on, and slid the gun into his pocket, then reached for the telephone on a nearby table. "Hey, it's me," he grunted into the receiver. "Put a tail back on Hardy – he's got another girl, apparently! Find her and grab her. You have 24 hours, maximum."
Hanging up the receiver, the icy-eyed man stared at Callie again. "It'll have to do, I guess. You've managed to save yourself for now." He rose to his feet, walked over to a cabinet against the wall, and returned carrying a pair of handcuffs. Grasping Callie's wrist, he snapped one cuff on her arm, and fastened the other end of the shackles to the headboard of the bed. "Someone will check on you after a while – bathroom privileges and all that. But I'm not taking any chances on you getting away."
Callie watched him go out of the door, stark terror in her eyes.