Note: I am so appreciative for those of you reading and following this story, and especially for those who have left reviews, which I love reading. I will try to send you a PM later today or tomorrow to thank you personally. In the meantime, you made me smile with your feedback since the last chapter: TinDog, Allie B, SnowPrincess88, EastBlue, hlahabibty, ulstergirl, Caranath, max2013, hbndgirl, Paulina Ann, and Hero 76. This chapter was a tough one...

The Secret Spaces

Chapter 14

At 9:00 that night, Joe stood outside Pat's police car and tried not to panic. They had driven around some remote areas of Bayport when Joe remembered that Frank had suggested looking at areas of Bayport from starting in the east, since that started directions alphabetically. He knew Frank had just been shooting from the hip and had probably not even meant it. Then again, Frank had done a lot of things in the case that Joe hadn't expected. He convinced Pat to start at the easternmost end of the outskirts of town and, sure enough, when they arrived, Frank's car was there.

Pat radioed several FBI agents and fellow officers to help locate Frank, since it was late, dark, and freezing, and obvious viable threats and crimes had been made against his family and friends. Frank hadn't answered his phone; had disappeared into nowhere, and now 7 agents were formulating a plan.

Joe leaned back against the car and accepted a cup of hot coffee from his friend, who had gotten it from fellow officers who had just arrived.

"Thanks," he acknowledged with a small smile. It was so cold that he saw puffs of air from his mouth every time he tried to speak.

"This isn't like Frank," Pat replied, matter-of- fact. "The whole case seems surreal, huh?"

Joe nodded, staring into the darkness. "Yeah," he managed. "It's freaking crazy. Every time I try to make sense of it, I keep coming back to the fact that Vanessa is missing. Dad is missing. Cal and Johnny are missing…" He found it hard to continue.

"I can't imagine, man," Pat said. "And I'm sorry." He gave Joe a quick pat on the back. "This is a nightmare."

Joe tried to fight the sickness he felt every time he thought about his family. And now Frank was missing, in the middle of the woods, maybe-and for god only knew how long. He began mentally calculating exactly how long it had been since Frank had probably come out here, and stopped. It had been too long.

"Over here!" An FBI agent beckoned several other officers to an area not too far away. Joe felt his heart drop and ran to him. Agent Ho looked contemplative. "Your brother ever a Scout? Trained in proper hiking and wilderness exploration?" he asked Joe.

"Yes. Why?" Joe asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"I think he left a trail. A few guys and I headed a bit into the woods. Look." He pointed at a tree with a clearly marked specialty paper, the kind that came in camping kits, for occasions when people got lost. "I don't know how far it goes back, but we have a lead. That was smart. We'll start heading out in a few minutes. Damn- it's dark. It's gonna be hard as hell to follow this trail at this hour. We may need extra supplies."

Pat spoke up. "We have lights; flares; things like that at the station," he offered, and Agent Ho nodded. "Anything you have," he responded, and Pat turned around, giving Joe a final nod of support.

"I'm going with you guys," Joe emphasized.

"Too uncertain," the agent replied.

"I'm going," he said firmly. "That's it. I'm not taking no for an answer. That's my brother."

"I understand," the agent replied, sympathetically, then added firmly, "but it's against protocol and the answer is no."

Before he could argue, he heard a faint call in the distance, and then, before he could process what was going on, he saw officers starting to run. He heard one call for an ambulance.

Then, he saw it. Frank- and Vanessa.

Joe didn't think he had ever run faster in his life. He saw agents out of the corner of his eye go to his brother, who was now kneeling on the ground. He had no idea what condition he was in, but he was at least alive.

"Van!" he cried. She was lying on the ground, now covered in a heavy blanket that read "FBI."

As soon as she saw him, Vanessa sat up and Joe, now openly crying, took her in his arms. He heard sirens in the distance. He crushed her to him and rocked her in his arms. "I'm here, baby. I'm here," he whispered as she clung to him. He felt her trembling as the officers backed off to give them some brief privacy. He hesitated only slightly to kiss her face; her lips. He cupped her face in his hands. "Are you okay, baby? What… happened?"

He looked at her again, and felt his stomach drop. "What happened to your face?" he asked, horrified, as he saw her swollen and bruised cheek and eye. "Where else are you hurt?" He held her to him again.

The sirens drew closer.

Vanessa found it hard to talk. It was so cold, despite her wearing both her own jacket and Frank's, at his insistence; Frank's gloves and hat. She was completely spent; physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. Frank had half supported her, half carried her back here, and it had taken hours. She had no idea how he had done it. And yet, despite everything, the most painful part of her time with Frank was when she had told him about what had happened; how Callie and Johnny desperately needed their help. She hadn't told him everything, though. It would have killed him.

"Babe," she managed. "N… no time," she answered, teeth chattering. "B...b...but I t...t… told Frank where I think… Cal… Callie and… and… Johnny are."

Joe's eyes grew wide. She was right. Where were they? He had a sick feeling again.

"They're okay?" he asked her, softly, holding her.

She nodded her head no, and he sucked in his breath.

"D...didn't tell Frank," she replied into his chest. "John tried to...to p...protect us. But he got hurt- stabbed- with… this." She reached into her original jacket and, shaking, handed the knife to Joe.

"Stabbed?!" he whispered. "How-"

"Callie," she interrupted him. "L... listen. He hurt her," Vanessa managed as her own tears started again.

Joe was barely holding on to his emotions. "What do you mean, he hurt her?" he asked, terrified to know.

"She… she was really w… weak," Vanessa cried, snuggling closer to Joe. "He would… not...give us ...w...w...water or food. He kept … he...kicked her a lot...in her… back." Vanessa was sobbing again. "Pl... please find them…"

Joe was biting his lip so hard trying to control the image that he actually tasted blood.

"I… I couldn't… tell him," she managed.

By now, the ambulance had arrived and two EMTs were rushing to Vanessa. Letting her go was physically painful, but he still clung tightly to her hand.

"Let me go!" he heard his brother cry out, and he heard the desperation in his voice. He was caught between rushing to Frank and refusing to let Vanessa go.

"Go… go to him," Vanessa whispered. "Please- help them."

"No way. I'm not leaving you," Joe answered firmly.

"C... Callie, Joe," Vanessa begged.

Joe's heart caught. Something was wrong with Frank; he saw him struggling with officers. As Vanessa was strapped to a gurney, Joe felt a hand on his shoulder. "I'm back. I've got her, Joe. I'll stay with her and I swear to you I won't leave her side." It was Pat, looking at him reassuringly.

"I can't," Joe replied, wiping his eyes.

"Please," Pat asked, and Vanessa nodded. "I'll… be okay. Just come… when… when you have Callie and… and … Johnny."

What the hell was Frank yelling about?

He closed his eyes for a moment and then nodded at Pat. He bent down to Vanessa and kissed her forehead. "I love you, babe. I love you. I will be back with you as soon as I can, I swear it- not a minute later."

Vanessa nodded weakly as Joe went to turn. Then, he heard her gasp.

"What?" he asked, alarmed, grabbing her arm.

"He… he said to tell you… I.. I don't k… know what it means."

"Tell me what, babe?" Joe asked.

"Alan s...said hi," she whimpered.

Joe felt rage build in him and it was hard to breathe.

"I've got her," Pat said to him, seeing his change in demeanor. "Go to Frank- go now."

Numbly, Joe turned.

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Fenton Hardy stared groggily at his surroundings. His head was throbbing and it was hard to make sense of his environment. He tried to move and realized in a moment that his hands were tied painfully tightly behind his back, and he was tried to a pole of some sort. Wherever he was, he could already sense it was someplace nondescript.

What was happening? Where were the agents? He remembered at once that Agent Clara had knocked out Agent Gold. So- he was an insider. But why? How?

Fenton sighed heavily. He couldn't do much. But what he could do- in the absence of anything else- was think. Maybe- maybe he could piece together this nightmare at least enough to know how to to deal with Cotnig- or whoever else would soon, he was sure, pose a threat.

If only he had gotten to look at the files from the show. If only he had spoken with Laura; with his sons. If only Ezra had been available to review the files from the original case. If only; if only. Damnit.

As his eyes adjusted, he started to recognize the faintest outlines of the place. And, if he wasn't mistaken… it looked very much, again, like a firehouse.

Confused, he stared at the walls in front of him. And then he heard a loud creak from somewhere nearby. And it was followed by a long, slow laugh.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Cal," Johnny nudged her. It was getting harder and harder to keep her warm, to think of ideas on how to help her. But he had to- they were going to die.

By now, she was shaking badly and moaning, one hand on her back and the other on her belly. He gasped and tried to mask his shock as he noted the blood pouring down her jeans. He looked away for a moment, fighting tears.

"Cal, tell me what's happening," he whispered into her ear as he turned back to her.

"My baby," she uttered. "Oh, God... it hurts…" Her breathing had become haggard and sweat poured from her forehead despite the ceaseless wind and cold.

"Are you in labor?" he asked, trying desperately to warm her. She was white as a sheet.

"I dunno," she slurred. "I… think so." She looked as if she was going to pass out.

"Well, we can't let that happen," he said to her, kissing her head. This was all his fault and it had gone far enough- too far. He should have gone to help the girls by himself when he had the chance and left both of them behind to wait. He was hurt, true- but he was stronger than Vanessa. And besides, they- these crazy people- wanted HIM, didn't they? Or did they? How did they know Callie-Frank? Why had they said he wasn't important, but that Vanessa- and especially Callie- WERE?

Briefly, he thought of his parents, missing them desperately. His thoughts were disjointed, flashing from them, to the stage and show, to his dear friends, and former loves. He'd tried so hard to be a decent person, to do the right thing, all his life. And he was grateful now that he HAD taken chances and lived life in the moment, because life really was too short. Obviously.

And finally now, he glanced at Callie, his only real family, his very best friend. She was everything he'd ever wanted, except that he simply had known for years now that he was gay, and he would never have been able to be with her. That, and the fact that since the day he'd met her, she had always loved someone else. But if he hadn't been gay, he would have fought Frank hard to win her heart. They'd had so many memories together. She was an amazing listener, gave great advice, and was so passionate about her beliefs. Plus, he had found out very soon that beneath her reserved appearance lay someone who was hilarious and damned fun. The Callie he knew could dance til the early morning; was spontaneous and adventurous, always up for a good time. Looking at her sometimes was like looking into a parallel future world in which they were married, and he knew they would have been, had it not been that the stars had never aligned in their favor. But he adored her anyway, platonic as it was, and she was his girl, too, in her own way. Through her, he had Frank now, and Joe, and many of her friends who were as authentic as she was, and that had made his last few years without his parents bearable.

He felt Callie cry out softly as she clutched his hand. Why- why had he insisted on leaving? Yes- they would have had to face the madmen there, but then he would have had a chance to try to help her. But now- it was dark and frightening; and Callie, who had always been so fit, who never complained, was literally freezing and in terrible pain through no fault of her own. Seeing her like this was making him sick.

As gently as possible, he cradled her against him, rubbing her back. He closed his eyes, fighting his own pain, freezing, and trying to ignore the her blood loss, which terrified him. How had this even happened? Taking several deep breaths, he willed himself calm. Almost by habit, he started humming and whispering words softly to himself as he tried to think. He'd grown up in the theater, loved acting, dancing, and singing. In the worst of times, going through the motions helped to calm him. And things were pretty damned deplorable right now. To his surprise, the soft melody seemed to have the same effect on Callie.

"What're you singing?" he heard her whisper, her words still jumbled together. She seemed almost numbed by the cadence.

He smiled briefly into her hair. "You know this, honey. Something from Phantom of the Opera," he said softly. "All I ask of you." Remember that, Cal?" He barely managed to hold the tune, his words light as a feather in the air. Yet he was shocked when he opened his eyes weakly and saw Callie trying to mouth the words silently with him. "No more talk of darkness/ Forget these wide-eyes fears/ I'm here, nothing can harm you/ My words will warm and calm you," he barely managed. It sounded more like a prayer than a song at this point. God, how he wished for those words to be true now. He briefly flashed back to college, where he'd starred in the musical theater performance, and remembered how he'd always practice with this song to get the right effect. And Callie had endured hours upon hours of listening to him while she tried to study, until one day he'd convinced her to sing Christine's part to humor him. He smiled at the memory, recalling how, to shut him up, she had done it, making him promise to leave her alone if she did. To his utter astonishment, she knew the part...and she had such a beautiful, sweet voice. She'd shocked him.

"Sure you don't want to belt out your part?" he joked, weakly. "You could be a star."

"I can't act," she whimpered, so grateful for his purposeful distraction.

"Yeah. You do kind of suck at acting," he teased her softly.

Their situation was dire and Callie couldn't pretend anymore. "Johnny?" she murmured.

"Mmmm hmmm?"

"Thank you," she whispered, knowing it wasn't enough. "No matter what happens, you know I love you so much, right?"

He swallowed hard before answering. "Stop. This is too much like goodbye, Cal." But when he felt her trembling, sensed the real pain she was in, he held her tighter. "But yes- I know. And I love you, too, honey." He gave her a quick peck on the lips. "And your husband will kill me if I don't somehow find a way to get you to get home safely. So let me work on that."

"We're going to die, John," Callie interrupted suddenly, voice painfully weak, as she bit her lip to prevent crying out from the agonizing sharp stabbing sensations in her abdomen and back; the abject fear of what she knew was happening.

"Not like this," he responded, heart hurting for them; for her; for her family. He made a decision.

"I'm leaving, sweetheart," he said to her, forcing her to meet his eyes. When she registered what he was saying, she looked terrified and tried to speak.

"N...no. Johnny… please."

He fought tears. "Listen to me, Cal. Please. I will find my way back to the cabin. I'll beg- beg-for help. I don't know what else to do, but we can't stay here. You'll never make it." He was freezing.

"Please," she mouthed, voice barely above a whisper. "Don't leave. I'm scared."

"You can barely walk," he began, the tears in his eyes now threatening to spill over.

"I can try," she managed.

Johnny swallowed hard and got up slowly, his leg shooting pain as he stifled his own moan. He had to lift her in his arms to even get her to stand, and she almost collapsed, but he held her against him, trying to get her to gain some strength for a minute. She was trembling badly, and he knew it took every ounce of strength she had just to stand. Normally, he could have lifted her practically with one arm, as he stood a full foot taller than her and even now probably outweighed her by 100 pounds. But not now, when she was losing so much blood and fighting god knew how many other injuries, and he could barely stand, himself. But he had to- he HAD to. For a moment, he imagined what they would look like to outsiders right now, or what his director would have said: Too melodramatic. Refocus- make it real. The irony was not lost on him.

"Don't move."

Callie jumped painfully and immediately cried out as Johnny tried to stare at the figure in front of him. It was almost pitch black, but he knew the voice. The goon from the cabin. Slowly, his eyes started to adjust.

"Wha-" he began.

"My friend Alan wanted you followed," he said coldly, evenly. "You got further than he thought you would. He was impressed. He said it was absolutely vital that we saw how next season should begin."

"Please," Johnny begged, tears in his voice. "Please don't. Help us. Help her." He held Callie tighter, almost fully supporting her. She literally had almost no color in her face and how she hadn't collapsed yet was beyond him.

"Actually, that's why I'm here," he responded apathetically. "She's no longer needed for the story line, until her detective husband comes to find her, right?"

Johnny stared.

"Let her go," the man said calmly.

"No," Johnny cried out vehemently.

"You're hardly in the position to bargain, Mr. Durant. Mr. Gellers, you're even in less of of one. Let her go."

"No," Johnny repeated.

"John," Callie managed, squeezing his hand, shaking. "Do what he says," she managed and, unsteadily, almost falling, started to separate from him.

"If I let her go, you won't hurt her?" Johnny asked. He noticed that the man had had a gun on them from the start.

"No," the man answered. "But see, we need symmetry. The others… they had no food and no water, either, but they also had a little issue with bleeding from a gunshot wound. She's bleeding badly anyway, but somehow it's not enough. It should be the same here, too. We let the other girl go without it for fun. She's probably dead anyway. But back to balance."

"What are you talking about?!" Johnny cried out. "Just please- you won't hurt her, right?"

"No," the man said.

Johnny watched as Callie stumbled away from him, seeing how it took all her strength to stand up straight. Then, she simply couldn't do it without him anymore, and sank to her knees slowly, so weak she was barely able to lift her head.

Johnny felt tears fall from his eyes. "Oh, Cal," he whispered.

Suddenly, the man aimed the gun at her.

"No! You- you said you wouldn't hurt her!"" Johnny cried in horror.

"I lied," the man smiled.

He pulled the trigger.