Note: I cannot thank everyone enough for their reviews and feedback. I loved all of them, and the PMs. I hope you continue to read and enjoy as everyone works through some pretty serious situations! To that end, many thanks to those who took the time to review the last chapter: TinDog, SnowPrincess88 (chapter 8), EastBlue, EvergreenDreamWeaver, ulstergirl, PaulinaAnn, hbndgirl, max2013, Caranath, Red Hardy and Hero76. A quick aside for anyone reading- many of the people I just mentioned here also happen to be fabulous writers. Check out their stories- you'd be in for a delightful ride!

The Secret Spaces

Chapter 12

Joe rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up. He had fallen asleep waiting for news from his father, and somehow didn't hear the alarm. Glancing at his phone, he realized it was far later than he had expected. He got dressed quickly and went downstairs, and was glad to see his brother sitting at the kitchen table.

"Hey!" he said with a smile. "Sorry- the time kind of got away from me." He sat next to Frank, and grabbed for freshly baked muffins that he realized his mom had made for them.

"I'd normally be put out by your lateness, but I guess you were right," Frank said with the smallest of smiles. "I was exhausted. I feel like I can try to think clearly now, and I've been going over everything in my mind since I've been up. I've been thinking about..."

"Unbelievable!" Joe said, closing his eyes.

"What? I didn't even tell you what I was thinking," Frank responded, surprised.

"Oh...uh… I meant mom's muffins. They're so good." He reached into the basket for another one.

"Really, Joe?" Frank asked, exasperated.

"Well, they ARE," he responded with a wink. "And we need a little food and a little sleep in order to function. Now- I'm ready. Hit me."

Frank sighed. "You make me want to, sometimes," he mumbled.

"What?" Joe asked, sipping orange juice.

"Never mind," Frank answered. "I was thinking," he started again, a contemplative look crossing his face. "Remember when I said that BP, other than the connection to Johnny, probably meant Bayport Detective, and how we said that made sense?"

Joe nodded, totally focused now.

"And the fact that the ads appeared in the Bayport Times? We know that dad's being targeted, but it's through Callie", his voice trembled, "and through Vanessa." He paused for a moment, fighting the nausea he felt every time he thought about his wife with a serial killer, what he knew, and tried to refocus.

"I remember," Joe said quietly, and reached over to squeeze his brother's arm.

"What if there's more to it than that?" Frank went on, his eyes focused on Joe's. "What if this guy, who likes to play games and taunt dad- and us- what if he's doing it by staying HERE?"

Joe raised his eyebrows. "Wait- you think the girls are here? Why?"

"It's a long shot, I know," Frank said, standing up and running a hand through his hair, nervously. "But wouldn't it be sick to have us running all over New York when they're right under our noses? And Bayport is pretty big- there's a lot of dense forest areas all along the outskirts. And it starts with a B, which would fill the pattern of his name. A, B, C. I…" he paused, blushing. "Never mind. Maybe it's a stupid idea."

Joe stood next to Frank and placed a hand gently on his back. "No. It's not. It's a great idea. It's certainly no worse than any other idea we have right now. Where would we start?"

Frank shrugged. "It makes no difference. North to south? Maybe east- that's first alphabetically."

Joe looked at his brother and felt his heart tug a bit. Frank was trying so hard to maintain his composure; to grasp at any straw, no matter how minimal, just to DO something. He was acting and thinking now very much like him, which showed how unnerved he really was. Joe felt the same way, but had always relied on Frank's calm demeanor, his "cool- under- pressure- no-matter- what" facade. If Frank crashed, he knew he would, too, and he was temporarily unable to think. Thankfully, the phone rang at that moment.

"Hello," he answered.

As he listened the voice at the other end, he sucked in his breath. "What?! Is he okay?"

Seeing Frank's startled face, he held up a finger indicating him to wait.

"Okay. Where? Yes. She knows? Okay. I'll be there. Thanks." He hung up the phone, heart pounding in his chest.

He turned to Frank. "That was Officer Rice. Collig was with Dad in the city offices of Criminal Hunters today. He went to talk to his officers and… and he was electrocuted on a city grate."

"What? Is he-" Frank managed.

"He's in critical condition at Bellevue Hospital with serious injuries. He went into cardiac arrest. His wife is there, along with several officers. The FBI is trying to figure out how the grate became live," Joe said quietly.

"Oh my god," Frank exclaimed, horrified.

"I know," Joe responded. "Where's dad?" he asked suddenly. "He was supposed to be with Collig."

Frank hesitated.

"What aren't you telling me?" Joe asked, startled that his brother was keeping any information from him.

"Dad got some news," Frank said at last, "that he's checking out. He's with some agents."

Joe's eyes flashed. "What news?" he said, through clenched teeth. "What aren't you saying?"

"Joe, calm down," Frank started, but he got right in Frank's face.

"Do NOT tell me to calm down," he seethed. "I just got a call that the chief of police- OUR FRIEND- is in critical condition in the hospital. My wife is missing. Your pregnant wife is missing. Our friend is missing. And now I find out that you're keeping information from me, when you're my partner- and more importantly, my brother? What the hell do you know that I don't?" he shouted as his temper got the best of him, finally. He poked Frank in the chest.

Frank balled his hands into fists, feeling his emotions reaching a breaking point. "Dad," he shouted back, "is with federal agents right now and is just fine as far as I know. He was going to a location about halfway between here and the city because he had received word that there was a hit on the location of Vanessa's cellphone. THAT's what I know!"

"There was a hit on her phone?" Joe cried, stunned that the info had been held from him. "Why the hell didn't you tell me that?"

"Because it would have given you hope that may pan out to be nothing," Frank said, holding back tears that unexpectedly sprung to his eyes. "And I couldn't do that to you."

Joe glared at his brother. "You had no right…"

"You know what else I didn't tell you?" Frank asked, eyes tear-filled, trembling. "That I got a call early this morning that Callie's phone was found, too. In a garbage can in Chelsea. Covered in her blood. And I was trying to spare you that information so you wouldn't feel what I'm feeling."

Joe's mouth fell open.

"So don't you DARE tell me I have no RIGHT to do whatever I want," Frank replied, voice shaking, "because right now- I have no hope." He grabbed a glass on the table and threw it against the wall, shattering it. "I have nothing."

He turned and stormed out the door, ignoring Joe's calls from behind him.

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Fenton Hardy, along with two FBI agents, made his way to Fishkill, NY. The cell phone signal indicated an abandoned firehouse located in a bad area of the city. If there was a chance that Vanessa was here, he sure as hell was going to check it out.

They were only minutes away, and he found himself thinking of the awful events of that morning. Ezra had almost died- might still- in some freak accident soon after he had left. Fenton tried to find the pattern- there HAD to be one; it could not have been an accident. Thank god he had lived; at least for now. And then there was the awful news about Callie. When he had heard, he had to be the one to call Frank. He took a shaky breath recalling the dead silence on the other end of the line when he told Frank about the recovered phone; the blood. He had begged Frank to hold out hope; had asked him not to tell Joe about Vanessa's phone until he could check it out, himself. But Frank's "okay," had sounded more like a whimper than a response, and his heart ached for his son; and his daughter.

He was getting all the paperwork with the names of the show's writers and editors, anyone who was in any way connected to the finale episode, sent to Joe, seriously doubting Frank could handle anything more at the moment. He was living a nightmare, and each moment seemed to get worse.

"Sir?" a young agent turned to him. "We're here."

Fenton nodded. They parked the car and looked at the GPS signal report, slowly making their way through the streets. Very shortly after, another agent pointed at the building. Looking at each other, they slowly drew their guns as they headed into the building. The first agent kicked the door down, and all three entered, scattering to check the premises.

"Clear," Fenton called out.

"Clear," came Agent Smith's voice, followed 30 seconds later by Agent Clara's voice with his own "Clear."

The men searched the premises and finally located the signal. Removing debris from the trash, Fenton sighed as he reached down and picked up a phone. It was Vanessa's, he saw right way, immediately recognizing the bedazzled case. As he stared at it, he saw no blood. "Thank God," he muttered. He stared at the phone, when he heard a grunt and whipped around.

It took only a second for him to notice that Agent Smith was lying on the ground, clearly unconscious, and that Agent Clara was now holding two guns, aimed firmly at him.

"Mr. Hardy?" Agent Clara asked, and Fenton just stared. "Drop the gun. Now. You're coming with me."

"Wha-" Fenton began, completely confused.

"Now, Hardy," he said, and he suddenly looked much older than he had appeared initially. "And don't try anything funny."

Shocked, Fenton reached into his pocket, grabbed for the gun, and dropped it on the ground in front of him. He followed the man back to the car, and before he could think of a way out, felt a savage hit to the back of his head. And then nothing but darkness.

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Joe was at the hospital back in the city, having checked on Collig, himself. He managed to ascertain that, although nothing had been discovered yet as to the cause of the live grate, answers should appear very shortly. He looked at the file in his hands and willed himself to look through it, knowing he had to, but finding concentration difficult.

Why hadn't his dad called him? He made a mental note to ask one of the officers here to contact the FBI agent in charge to find out where they were. Still, it was unusual not to hear from his dad in so long, and he was starring to get a bad feeling.

Vanessa. He swallowed hard. Please, please let the phone be a lead. Let her be okay, he prayed to himself, and tried not to give into his worst fears. He couldn't live without her. He... he wouldn't live without her.

Frank. He knew he would never forget the haunted look in his brother's eyes, the despair… the rage he had shown, which was the complete opposite of everything Frank embodied. He wanted desperately to apologize, to help him not sink into the darkness threatening them both at every turn. It broke his heart to know how much pain and fear his brother was experiencing, and that he couldn't do a damned thing to stop it.

Callie. He fought his own tears and hoped that there was some sort of explanation for why her blood was on her phone. Callie was very much his sister, and they'd grown very close over the years. He could not have been more excited to become an uncle, and he loved her very much- he was scared to death that she would suffer the most of all at this madman's hands, simply because she was carrying his father's grandchild. His stomach knotted thinking of it.

Johnny. His extraordinarily talented and fun friend who had done nothing at all except to have known Callie. The only real hope that the girls would have might very well come down to him. Let him have the strength to protect them, he thought again. Please, Johnny.

He took a deep breath, blinked back his tears, and started to scrutinize the file.

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Frank sat in his car at the outskirts of Bayport, and, alone, he knew he could let his guard down, and finally let himself cry. "Callie," he whispered. He didn't know how much longer he could do this; hold out hope that she was okay, when every piece of evidence spoke to the contrary. How could people just disappear? Where was she? But if she was … dead.. Wouldn't he feel it? Wouldn't he know? And what kind of person would he be if he didn't?

Body wracking with sobs, he rested his head on the steering wheel and allowed his mind to wander. How had this happened? Had it been less than a week when he had held her in his arms, told her he loved her? He could almost feel her physical absence, the need to hold her overwhelming. He had been with Callie for almost twelve years, had been in love with her his whole life. The thought of life without her was literally incomprehensible. They had grown up together. He thought of their relationship, the day he had finally proposed to her, their beautiful wedding, the moment she had told him she was pregnant, and the feeling of total joy he had, which had never left, when he realized that he was going to be a father. But he could do none of it without her. This was unbearable.

And that said nothing of his fear for Vanessa. For Johnny. For Collig. For his father. For his baby… for his precious baby. "Little Joe… or Jo," he murmured, the tiniest smile appearing for the most miniscule of moments.

Eventually, he stopped crying. He had nothing left; nowhere to turn. He felt hollow inside. He stared ahead at the dense woods before him. If there was a chance- any chance at all- he had to look. If it took him the rest of his life, he would not stop.

He opened the door, grateful for the daylight, waning though it was over the next few hours. The sky was a somber gray, and it was cold- very cold. He zipped up his jacket, grabbed his gun, flashlight, and backpack, and envisioned his path. He made a mental note to give himself no more than two hours to look around. Soon enough, in the next few days, he would have the help of the police and the FBI, who could cover far more ground than he could alone. But he had to try. He couldn't sit back any longer.

He started his path, bracing himself against the freezing cold, and began to mark his path physically as he had been taught to do since he was a little kid in the Boy Scouts. He made his way deeper into the forest, almost enjoying the wind whipping at his face- it numbed him, and he needed that.

Eventually, finding nothing, he glanced at his watch. He'd been gone too long- almost an hour and a half- that meant an hour and a half back. Okay- an extra hour wouldn't kill him. He hoped. He knew he hadn't told anyone where he was, and that it was a stupid move, but concern for himself had not been the highest of his priorities.

He paused to rest and sat on the ground, opening his backpack and taking a few long sips of water, wishing it was steaming hot coffee. He looked at the beautiful scenery- he'd always loved hiking and the mountains- and tried not to think of the horror that the random victims had gone through as they were trying to escape Cotnig.

Something nagged at him suddenly, but he couldn't figure it out.

He gazed up at the huge tree in front of him and stood, stretching, planning his route back, taking out his flashlight in case darkness descended earlier than expected. Then something caught his eye. Someone had carved initials in the tree. "That's weird," he muttered to himself. "This is kind of far out for that."

He went to take a closer look and gasped as realization dawned on him. "VH" and an arrow. Could it be?!

"Vanessa!" he mouthed, shocked. He took a quick picture of the carving; sent it to Joe and his dad along with his location, praying his phone still had a signal in this environment. He asked for backup.

Then he called out, "Vanessa! Vanessa!" as he started running in the direction of the arrow, having no idea where the path would lead. But he had a path. And it was something.