Hi everyone! New chapter, new pen name, still the same crazy me! Welcome back and thank you for sticking with this story, I'm obviously back at college so I don't have much time to write. But I changed my major to environmental studies (tbh I was considering English) so hopefully I'll have a more time to write now. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed thus far because we've reached over 100! That made me so happy! :) Big shoutout to Joe'sFan for the inspiration for this chapter!

Chapter 20: The Visitor

(Frank is 17. Joe is 16.)

Louis sealed the thick Manila envelope with some of the blood from the knife. "Hardy Family" was scrawled out messily across the front. Inside, along with the gifts was a simple note, explaining how much fun they were having and that the boys would soon be returned- in pieces. Louis hadn't even signed it, they'd know who it's from.

Realizing sending the package through the mail would take too long for his liking; he decided to deliver the package to the Hardy's doorstep in person. Was it risky? Of course. But it would show Fenton Hardy and all of New York just how good Louis Callaway was. Maybe he'd stick around awhile and get a taste of Hardy life, he could stalk their friends, tamper with the case, maybe have some fun with Laura or Gertrude. He licked his lips in anticipation, it had been awhile since he had laid with a woman, especially one as pretty as Laura. However it was Gertrude who reminded Louis of his wife, strong, a sharp tongue but caring, just like his Vivian.

Louis had done his research on the entire Hardy family, he knew where they lived and when they'd be out of the house; he had plenty of time while in jail to study their personalities and personal lives, committing every detail to memory. The deranged criminal carried the precious package out to the van and drove off, with a little house on the corner of Elm Street in mind.

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Snake watched as his comrade drove away, supposedly to take the envelope to the post office, but Snake was smarter than that. He knew where Louis was going, he also knew there was a good chance the stupid man would be caught. He didn't use his head! Snake swore under his breath and turned away from the window. Louis wouldn't break under interrogation, but the whole operation was about to go up in smoke. It didn't matter much though, because Snake was going to kill Louis by the end of it. Freakshow was becoming too much of a liability, becoming careless, letting his emotions and quick temper get the better of him. He was not cut out for the Black Dog Gang, a group of cunning, fearless individuals who held no emotional capacity whatsoever.

Snake considered moving the young Hardy's while Freakshow was gone but he had a special guest who was supposed to be arriving soon.

As if on cue, a coded knock was heard on the back door of the cabin. Snake had told Walter Richardson to come to the back and use morse code, in case Freakshow had any stipulations.

Snake opened the back door and greeted the man with a smile. "Hello Mr. Richardson, you weren't followed were you?" The two men made their way into the kitchen.

"No I wasn't, Bernie. Been a long time since I've seen ya. How've you been?" Walter was one of two people who could call Snake by his true name, the other person being his nephew Lorenzo.

"I've been pretty good since getting out of that damn jail cell." Snake replied coolly, pulling two cigarette from his pocket and handing one to Mr. Richardson before lighting both of them. Being a few years younger than Walter, Snake looked up to the man like an older brother. Much like how he assumed Joe Hardy looked up to Frank.

Walter inhaled the cancer stick. "Let's get down to business, we can save the chit-chat for later." Still as direct as Snake remembered him.

"Alright, old man. A thousand for the both of them."

"You're positive they're Fenton's sons?" Mr. Richardson asked, cigarette bobbing in his mouth.

"Positive. When you see 'em you'll know."

"Alright then." Satisfied, he pulled out a wad of cash from a hefty briefcase.

"Don't kill them, and don't stick your dick where it doesn't belong." Snake took the money, "Also, you'll have access to any instruments on that table." He pointed to the torture table to their left. "You have one hour with each of them, and a drink with me afterwards." He counted the money and motioned to Lorenzo, "My nephew will show you to them."

Lorenzo was silent as he led the man towards Joe Hardy's room, if it could even be called that. The space was bare with only a bed and a nightstand, a bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling. All the windows had been boarded up and only thin rays of light shone through.

Upon walking into the room, Lorenzo had time to take in Joe's appearance. He was half naked, only wearing the same dress pants he had on the day he became a captive. The now stained dress shirt, tie and belt were laying haphazardly on the floor. Lorenzo internally cringed at the sight of the boy who lay before him, he looked dead, his eyes were sunken in, his skin had an extremely pale pallor and his bones protruded from malnutrition. But that wasn't what scared Lorenzo the most, what scared him was the amount of blood on his frail body. His own blood, dried in most places, sticky in others. His head wound looked the worst, still bleeding freely onto the stained mattress. The boys arms were cuffed to the headboard behind him causing his arms to pull upward exposing his once muscular frame. His torso was dark with bruises and dried blood.

Mr. Richardson let out a low whistle, "Bernie and the gang really worked a number on him, huh?" Lorenzo merely nodded and silently left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Mr. Richardson examined the unconscious boy in front of him. He was definitely Fenton Hardy's son; there was no doubt about that. He wasted no time in opening his briefcase and removing several items.

Joe began to stir when he heard the door close. He tried to open his eyes and felt the crusted blood breaking away, allowing him to see a blurry reality. There was a large bald man with bulging muscles fiddling with a briefcase in front of him, he strained his neck to see what the man was doing.

"Oh good, you're awake." The man said as he pulled a long piece of metal from the case. "I thought we'd have to start without you." He had cold, expressionless icy blue eyes. Joe assumed he might be ex-military.

"Who are you?" Joe mumbled, throat so dry he could barley speak.

"My name is Walter Richardson. Does that sound familiar to you, Joseph?"

The boy shook his head.

"I'm not surprised, it was a pretty long time ago." The bed squeaked as he sat at the side of Joe's bed. "About ten years ago, my accomplice and I were going to rob the Museum of Natural History. We made it in fine, getting out was the problem. There was a shoot out and your daddy killed my partner and put me away in one of the worst prison systems of the U.S." He took one final drag of his cigarette before pressing the burning end into the hollow space in between Joe's ribs. The blonde screamed in pain as the scent of burning flesh filled the room.

"You see Joe, my partner was my only son." Mr. Richardson's voice was dangerously low. "And your daddy killed him." His voice grew increasing louder. "I loved that boy more than life itself! And Fenton Hardy took him away from me!" He quickly composed himself and stood up from the bed.

Mr. Richardson retrieved the piece of metal he was examining earlier. "I have an hour with you to show you how much that hurt me."

"Fuck you." Joe spat, now realizing the man held some sort of electric shock device. Why did the Hardy family have such bad luck with deranged creeps? He vaguely wondered.

Richardson approached Joe with a shock device that resembled a small cattle prod. He touched the floor so Joe could hear the crackling electricity.

"If you ever see your daddy again, tell him I said hello." He pressed the cattle prod into Joe's lower side, causing him to convulse. The older man drew the weapon back before replacing it on Joe's thigh. Again, the scent of burning flesh filled the room as Joe continued to convulse.

Finally, the pain stopped and Joe's body lay still. Eyes closed, tears dripped down his face as a trickle of blood spilt down his chin as he realized he bit his tongue.

Joe lost consciousness momentarily and when he woke up he was surprised to find himself laying on his stomach. He groaned as the cuffs now pulled his arms at a different angle and the mattress rubbed against his new burns.

He couldn't see anything except for the mattress and headboard in front of him but his ears told him Mr. Richardson was standing somewhere behind him. The room was eerily silent as the only sound Joe could hear was his own heartbeat. A slight whish filled the air before Joe felt as if his back was on fire.

"I'll whip you until there is no skin left on your back, boy!" Richardson declared, "Then maybe you'll feel the pain your father caused me." He raised the whip once more and hit Joe with enough force a red stripe was drawn across his back.

Joe let out a strangled cry and arched his back torturously, willing the pain to stop. Lash after lash, each more painful than the last, leaving long red ribbons in a cross crossed pattern. Memories of his terrifying childhood resurfaced; and finally Joe succumbed the calm bliss of the darkness that overtook him.

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Mr. Richardson exited the room chuckling, Snake was waiting for him with a glass of whiskey. "Kid didn't even last forty-five minutes!" He said as he took the drink. "Bring me a bucket of water for the next one."

Snake nodded at Lorenzo who scrambled to get things set up. "I'm surprised. Joe Hardy has got a real defiance in him." Snake replied.

Richardson tilted his head back, took the shot and grimaced. He handed the empty glass back to Snake. "On to the next one then!" He exclaimed cheerfully. Snake shook his head in disbelief at how happy the man was, like a kid on Christmas morning.

When Mr. Richardson entered Frank's room, he was already awake. Eyes ablaze at hearing Joe's screams. "Who the hell are you?" He spat, expecting to see Louis or Snake.

Richardson chuckled. "And they told me your brother was the one with the mouth." He approached Frank and produced a knife from his bag. "My name is Walter Richardson, your daddy killed my son and arrested me, blah blah blah."

Frank remembered reading about that case in his father's study. Richardson had sworn vengeance upon Fenton after his son was fatally shot.

"Stay away from me!" Frank commanded as he saw Richardson approach him.

Richardson paid no attention as he held the knife at an angle and pressed into the soft flesh of Frank's stomach, flaying him. Frank yelled and tried to buck the man off him but that only resulted in the knife cutting deeper.

Richard pulled a small container of salt from his briefcase. "No, please." Frank begged when he realized what the man was going to do.

"Sorry Frankie, I paid good money for this. I'm going to get my hearts content of it." He said before pouring salt on Frank's wound and vigorously rubbing. Frank screamed as the salt burned his whole abdomen.

Mr. Richardson wiped his now bloodied hands on Frank's shirt, which was draped across the bed. The boy before him was trying to control his breathing to not aggravate his wounds.

He pulled a final toy from his briefcase, a hammer. He hefted the tool so Frank could see it before letting it fall on Frank's knee, not hard enough to break the knee cap, but hard enough to still hurt, causing Frank to gasp. He brought it up again and let it fall full force onto Frank's foot, shattering the bones. Frank screamed in absolute agony.

Richardson took a second to take in the boy's sniffling cries. "You know what sounds fun?" The crazy man said as he placed Frank's shirt over his head, stretching the fabric tightly over his face. "Water boarding!"

Suddenly water was poured onto the shirt and Frank couldn't breathe. As quickly as it started, it stopped and Frank inhaled dramatically, but got a mouthful of wet cotton. Again water was poured onto his death mask, Frank struggled but still couldn't breathe. He tried kicking the man off of him with his good leg but to no avail. Frank began to lose vision as his brain was deprived of oxygen and water began to enter his lungs.

Thankfully, once the bucket was empty, the cloth was removed, Frank, on the verge of consciousnesses, coughed the water from his lungs and breathed in beautiful oxygen as he thanked God that ordeal was over.

But the ape of a man wasn't finished yet, hands grabbed Frank's throat and started squeezing with inhuman strength. His vision blurred as black spots danced in front of him as his brain was once again denied the most basic necessity of life. The last thing he saw was the face of Walter Richardson grinning down upon him.

Money well spent. Richardson thought to himself as he exited the room, intending to enjoy an entire bottle of scotch with his friend.

I skipped a frat party to write this so I hope you enjoyed! Please review and tell your friends!