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 credit for most of the plot, and heartfelt thanks.
Thank you to those kind people who have been leaving commentary and reviews, especially max2013, Cherylann Rivers, and caranath.
January Thaw
By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH
Chapter 11
Megan and Callie looked at each other in dismay for a long moment…and then turned and re-entered the house, their shoulders slumped and heads drooping. Without speaking, they mounted the stairs, walking quietly back toward their bedroom prison. Behind them, the man they knew as Dan Sullivan kept pace, the cocked pistol pointed unerringly at Megan's back.
Still silently, Megan and Callie returned to their armchairs and sat down; waiting quietly to be re-cuffed. Tears were sliding down Megan's cheeks, but she said nothing, merely stared straight ahead at the wall, as if she were alone in the room. Callie closed her eyes.
"So you thought you could get away…" Sullivan finally broke the silence, as he locked the manacle on Callie's wrist once more. "I don't know how you did it, or what you've done with Bob – but it didn't work, did it? Nice try, ladies, nice try…but it didn't work." He stepped back and surveyed the girls; Callie's eyes were still shut, and Megan stared at the wall. "Care to tell me what it was you did?"
Neither girl responded, and Sullivan's eyes narrowed. "I want to know what you did," he repeated. Stepping closer to Callie, he held his pistol next to her head. "I'll ask you once more."
Callie slitted her eyes open and realized she had no choice. "Allergy to shellfish," she murmured. "He went to get me some medicine for an allergic reaction."
Sullivan emitted a bellow of laughter. "Now that's a new one!" The laughter suddenly died, and he pressed the gun barrel against Callie's head. "Do you suppose you have an allergy to lead, as well as shellfish?"
Megan shifted her gaze from the wall to her companion. "Don't shoot her!" she cried. "Please, you can't – you can't!"
"Oh, but I can—" Sullivan replied. He shifted the gun, pointing it at Callie's legs instead of her head. "but perhaps I don't need to make it fatal. I'm sure we could find out if Ms. Shaw is susceptible to lead poisoning without actually killing her."
"Please, please don't!" Megan begged him, new rivulets of tears slipping down her face.
Sullivan cocked the pistol once again. Callie held her breath, eyes closed, waiting for the impact and pain. Megan stared at them, her eyes blurred by her tears.
The silence was broken by Sullivan's guffaw. "Naw – not yet. Not that you don't deserve it, understand. It's just that I'm not ready for some nosy neighbor to call the cops because they heard gunshots over here!" He let the hammer down and slid his gun back into his pocket. Megan's gulp of relief was clearly audible, and Callie released the breath she had been holding, with a long sigh.
Their captor stepped back and glared at them. His anger was all too evident, even though only his eyes were visible. "You won't get another chance to escape," he muttered.
"You have the plans, don't you?" Megan demanded, elevating her chin slightly, making a brave attempt to appear haughty. "Why can't you let us go now? Wasn't that the bargain? Frank gives you the security plans and you release us?"
"Not yet," Sullivan snarled. "Not yet, you little spitfire! And watch the smart mouth, too!"
At that moment, the door opened and Bob poked his head into the room. He looked somewhat flustered.
"Boss, can you come out here a minute?" He held up a small paper sack toward Callie. "Hey, kid – I got you some antihistamine."
The look Sullivan gave him could have ignited a campfire with its heat. "You damned incompetent! What kind of guard are you, anyway?" he bellowed.
"Boss, come here!" the guard repeated insistently. "I need to talk to you!"
Fuming, Sullivan crossed to the door, exited, and slammed it behind him.
"Do you have any idea how close those two were to getting away?" Sullivan demanded in a harsh whisper. "I caught them outside, you damned idiot!"
"Boss, the blonde really was sick! I swear she was!"
"You moron! If she'd had an allergic reaction, it would have showed up within an hour after she ate the stuff, not five hours later! They tricked you, stupid!"
"Boss, she puked, over and over! She was really sick, I tell you!"
"Ever hear of bulimia?" Sullivan scoffed. "Girls can make themselves puke without half trying!" He crossed his arms and stared at his underling. "I ought to fire you…I would fire you, if I had a choice at this point."
"Boss, listen – the reason I called you out here….there's someone snooping around outside. I saw him when I came back."
"Someone – what do you mean? Why the hell didn't you tell me that right away?" Sullivan shouted in fury. "You wasted all this time talking about the Shaw girl – what's this person look like, and where'd you see him?"
"I just saw a figure – dark clothes, tall – slide into the bushes beside the house, when I pulled up in the car."
"I thought you said the Hardy kid was knocked out this afternoon, so he couldn't follow Rocco and Sid back to the house?"
"That's what Sid told me!' Bob defended himself. "He said there'd be no way Frank Hardy could follow them back here! He slugged him hard enough to keep him out for quite a while."
"Well, somebody must have! The neighbors aren't in the habit of sneaking around in the bushes. It's gotta be Frank Hardy!" Sullivan reached into his pocket for his gun, and headed for the stairs, only to stop short, glaring in exasperation at his underling. "Well? Come on!"
##########
The evening hours passed uneventfully. Joe and Laura had eaten dinner – Frank had drowsily declined Laura's offer of food – and Joe helped his mother clear the table and load the dishwasher. Laura then settled down with a cup of tea and a book, and Joe went upstairs to check on his brother.
Frank was deeply asleep now; the worry lines in his face smoothed away. Joe slid a cautious hand beneath his head, and winced sympathetically when he felt the swelling under his fingertips. Ouch! That spot's going to be sore for a few days…. As Joe removed his hand, Frank stirred and muttered a few words, but did not awaken completely.
Joe went into his own room, feeling decidedly unsettled. He glanced at the bedside clock radio, mentally calculating the time his father had been gone. Eight o'clock…Dad's had plenty of time to reconnoiter that street. Heck, he could have mapped every square inch of it by now! He must have decided to settle down for a stakeout. Joe shut his bedroom door to the hallway, and began to pace, absentmindedly. There weren't that many places to check out, Vanessa said…. Joe halted, glancing toward his telephone, then decided he'd pestered Vanessa enough for one day. I sure hope nothing's happened to Dad!…Nah, what could happen? He's the best there is in the business – and he said it himself: he's able to do surveillance without help! The younger Hardy resumed his pacing, trying to organize his jumbled thoughts. He's just had to stay out of sight longer than he thought he would; that's all!…It's so cold, though…could something have happened to him because of the cold?
Joe halted again, visualizing his father crouched in the cold, watching a house, slowly succumbing to hypothermia in the frigid night. With an impatient gesture he dismissed the thought and flung himself into the desk chair. He picked up a magazine from the welter of paper on his desk and began to leaf aimlessly through it. Every few minutes, he glanced at his wristwatch.
At eleven o'clock, after checking on Frank again and finding him still sound asleep, Joe wandered downstairs. Laura was watching the late news on television, and Joe plopped into one of the recliners to join her. Local news…world events (Joe listened avidly to the comments regarding the upcoming conference scheduled for the end of the week)…amusing features…sports…weather (it was predicted that the cold snap could moderate in the Bayport area within the next day or two, but the nighttime temperature would possibly dip to 15 below zero tonight, and two to three more inches of snow were expected to fall before morning). Finally it ended, and Laura rose to her feet.
"I'm going to bed, honey," she said. "Are you going to stay up for a while yet?"
"Yeah – maybe there's a late movie on, or something…." Joe reached for the TV guide.
"How is Frank?" his mother inquired, returning from the kitchen where she had taken her teacup. "Have you checked on him recently?"
"Right before I came down – he's fast asleep, Mom; don't worry about him. I promise, he'll be fine in the morning!" Joe grinned at her reassuringly. "He's better off sleeping anyway – remember how upset he's been lately?" he added, hoping to lead Laura's attention back to the supposed quarrel Frank and Megan had had.
"You're right; I'd forgotten about that," his mother replied. "All right, honey, see you in the morning." She kissed Joe and went upstairs, snapping off the extra lights as she did so.
Alone, Joe channel-surfed for a bit, finally settling on an old action-adventure movie he'd seen many times before. For a while he amused himself by anticipating the dialogue, but eventually the entertainment palled, and he switched off the set. Dad should've been home by now…should have been home, or at least called….I'm not one for premonitions, but this doesn't feel right… I wish he'd let me go with him – Frank didn't need anybody looking after him! Dad just used that as an excuse to make me stay home.
He looked at the clock again. Twelve-forty. Even if Dad's in his car, he's gonna freeze his – oh, hell! Why hasn't he come home? Joe got to his feet, switched the lamp off and headed upstairs, too restless to sit still any longer. He took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, and got into sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, but he didn't get in bed. He stared into the icy night through the frost-encrusted window, wondering what was going on with his father. It's starting to snow again…Dad, where are you? How could you have let something happen to you?
##########
Megan! Megan! Callie? No, don't – don't hurt them! I gave you the plans! You said you'd let them go! You told me if I got you the plans, you'd let them go! Noooooooo!
Gasping, Frank jerked awake from a nightmare filled with gray nothingness, where a faceless enemy retreated, dragging Megan and Callie with him, holding a gun to Megan's temple as she screamed and struggled to get away. Oh man…that was a bad one! He disentangled himself from the twisted blankets and sat up, trying to get his breathing under control. He glanced at the bedside clock, numbers glowing luminescent in the darkness of his room. Almost four o'clock in the morning….
Soft sounds came from the bathroom: Joe's footsteps padding across the floor. Frank reached to the lamp beside his bed and turned it on the lowest setting. "Joe?"
In a few seconds, Joe was sitting on the edge of his bed. "You okay, pal? I heard you yelling a minute ago – bad dream?"
"Yeah." Frank shuddered at the memory. "But I don't want to talk about it." He squinted at his younger brother in the dim light. Joe's face was drawn, dark crescents showed under his eyes, and his blonde hair tousled as if he'd been running his fingers through it. "Haven't you been to bed, you idiot?" Frank demanded.
"No – Frank, how are you feeling now? Your head, I mean." Joe looked at him searchingly.
"It's okay." Frank tentatively felt the bump on the back of his skull. "It hurts to touch, but the headache's gone. Why?"
"Because I think we've got a problem," Joe said somberly. "Dad's not home yet. He's been gone for almost 12 hours now. He hasn't called, either." He stared into his older brother's eyes. "Frank, I'm scared – what if he's been captured?"