“I wish he’d call. Mom’s so worried-” 

“Mom’s not the only one,” Joe Hardy replied, looking up from his sketchpad with a frown. 

“I know.” Frank turned over on the bed and sighed. “Even Aunt G is antsy, and we both know how often she lets on that she’s fretting.”  

“She doesn’t,” Joe said flatly. Frank glanced over; he could tell that Joe was still smarting from their aunt’s more-peppery-than-usual attitude at dinner this evening.  

It was nearly midnight on the twenty-fifth of June. The brothers had been home for three days. Laura, their mother, had not heard from her husband since the day her sons left for the beach. 

“It’s not like him,” Frank murmured, running an absent-minded hand through his dark brown hair. “Ten days...” 

“I tried sending for him.” Joe was scowling at his sketchbook again; he flipped the pencil around and erased furiously. 

Frank’s answer to this was a sigh. The ‘sending’ that their telepathic teacher, Akilana, had instructed them on remained an elusive mystery for him. Joe had no difficulty now with picking up thoughts from his brother, mother and aunt, and he was having some success hearing a few of their friends. He also had no trouble locking out anything he didn’t care to hear. Frank, on the other hand, could hear Joe just fine if Joe initiated the contact, but had continued to fail in his attempts to send his thoughts anywhere. He had managed to put up a barrier that even Joe had difficulty getting through, but that, as he’d said grimly, was not a phenomenal lot of use right now. 

“Couldn’t sense him anywhere.” Joe’s brow furrowed and after a moment he flung the pencil down and slapped the sketchbook cover closed. 

Frank’s attention had clearly been caught by the remark; he was watching Joe intently, his _expression even more troubled. “Not even a hint?” 

“I’m probably looking in the wrong place. And I’m not as familiar with Dad’s mind as I am with everyone else’s,” Joe pointed out. That was perfectly true; Fenton had not been around much while his sons were learning the ins and outs of telepathy. In fact, he’d left right around the time they concluded that they did have this form of ESP. And sorting out his mind, unfamiliar as it was to them, from all the minds in the country, was a task that even Akilana might have been daunted by.  

“Probably,” Frank agreed. “We don’t even know that he’s in the U.S. at all.” 

“He did say it was just research...” Joe trailed off and sighed again. They kept saying that to reassure themselves, but both the teens knew, if their aunt and mother didn’t, just how easily ‘research’ could turn into ‘developments’. Research was seldom dangerous; developments usually were perilous, sometimes to an extreme degree. Developments meant active investigating, usually of people who didn’t care to be investigated, and some of whom would do literally anything to avoid it. 

“Something must have come up,” Frank muttered, his thoughts paralleling his blond brother’s, even though the two were not sending at the moment. “Research just doesn’t take this long. And isn’t so secret that he can’t call and say, ‘don’t worry, I’m fine.’ Even if it is top-secret.” 

“Depends who it’s for. Some people allow you your phone privileges, and some don’t,” Joe reminded him. They’d worked with both types before. He was tempted to add that their father could look out for himself, but he knew there was no point in lying. Fenton was an extremely accomplished detective, but even so, his sons had several times saved his life. ‘Snattman, for one,’ Joe mused silently, ‘and the Helix people...and there was-’

“Hush up,” Frank said aloud, more sharply than was usual for him. “Or if you’ve got to think about it, think more quietly.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to let it slip,” Joe answered, taking no offense. “I’d just rather think about when we succeeded in being useful than...than worry.” He stood suddenly from his cross-legged position. “I’m going to see Mom.” 

“She’s not asleep?” 

“No. She’s...upset.” 

“I’ll go with you.” Frank got up from the bed and followed his younger brother down the darkened hallway. A thin beam of light showed from under their parents’ bedroom door, proof enough that their mother was still awake. Joe paused outside the door and knocked gently. 

“Come in.” Laura sounded a little surprised, but mainly she sounded stressed. Joe opened the door and both boys went in. Laura was sitting on the king-size bed, still dressed in her work clothes despite the late hour and the stifling heat. The record high temperatures still had not broken, several recent thunderstorms notwithstanding. She looked startled to see them both.  

“Why aren’t you two asleep?” she asked as Joe sat down beside her. Frank stood at the end of the bed, his hands on the foot-board.  

The brothers looked at each other, both having noticed the tearstreaks on Laura’s pale face. “Too hot to sleep, even if there wasn’t anything else on our minds,” Joe answered after a brief pause. His mother nodded. 

“I wish I could stop fretting,” she confessed a moment later. Joe reached out to hug her; he always hated to see his mom unhappy. “I keep thinking of everything that might have- have gone wrong, even if it is only research.” 

Frank moved from the end of the bed and sat down on the other side of Laura. “It’s probably someone being overly careful in the secrecy department,” he tried to reassure his mother. “You know how paranoid the top-secret people tend to be. Even if it’s just a one in a million chance of a security leak, they won’t risk anything.” 

Mrs. Hardy nodded and patted her eldest son’s hand gently. “I suppose I’d rather just know, one way or another,” she remarked after a moment. “I’ve gotten better at being patient over the years, but there are limits!” 

The boys looked at her in surprise. “I never thought of you as impatient, Mom,” Joe remarked.  

Laura smiled. “Where did you think you got it from?”  

“Uh, well...dunno, I guess I thought I was recessive or something.” Joe heard his brother chuckle and leaned back to swat at him.  

“We’re not quite sure what you are,” Frank teased, avoiding the hit.  

“If you two are going to roughhouse, I’m getting out from the middle,” their mother remarked, teasing in her turn. Standing up from the bed, she tunred to face her sons and looked from one to the other with a smile. There had, in the past, been instances when their exuberance had gotten the better of them, and of whoever happened to be sitting between them at the time. Both the boys looked a little abashed at the reminder. 

“We wouldn’t do that, Mom, not anymore.” 

“I’m glad to hear it, Joe, but I think I’ll be cautious anyway.” 

“Is that word in your vocabulary yet?” Frank inquired of his brother, and evaded another attempted swat.  

“Yes, it is, mainly thanks to you driving it into my skull. It doesn’t get much exercise, though.”  

“We’ve noticed.” 

“Well, you run it ragged, I figure it could use the break,” Joe explained, and grinned as Frank and Laura exchanged amused looks. 

“Now that, you did not get from me,” Laura said after a moment. “Impatient, yes, but I do have a cautious nature.”  

“See? Told you I was recessive.” 

“I’m just glad someone can keep you in check.” A significant glance at Frank, who sighed and shrugged. 

“Sometimes. It’s sort of like trying to keep a very excitable racehorse under control, Mom.” 

“A racehorse?” Joe flopped back on the bed and frowned at the ceiling. “I’ve been compared to many things, but I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.” 

“I can see some similarities,” Laura mused. “Open a gate in front of a racehorse and it’s off, headlong.” 

“Yes, but getting it into the gate area can take some pushing, pulling, coaxing, bullying... And some of them are really not very bright-” Frank reached over to muss Joe’s hair; his brother was giving him an indignant look for the last comment. 

“I used to have a riding crop,” their mother remarked. “Frank, maybe I can dig it out and you can-” 

“Mom!” Joe sat upright with a startled exclamation, then realized he was being teased again when Laura stepped over and patted his cheek. “Why are you two picking on me?” 

“Because we think alike?” Frank hazarded. 

“Thought that was us,” Joe grumbled. 

“Well, most of the time, yeah.” 

“Have I ever told you boys how glad I am that you get along so well?” Laura asked suddenly.  

The teenagers looked at her, then at each other, both taken by surprise. “I don’t think so, no,” Frank ventured after a moment.  

“I couldn’t remember. But it’s true, I hate to think what things would be like if you fought all the time.” Laura paused. “Of course, I didn’t have the option myself, being the only child, but from what your father tells me, it can make a lot of chaos in a household.” 

“Dad and Aunt Gertrude fought a lot?” Frank surmised. 

“Somehow, that wouldn’t surprise me,” Joe said dryly. “Aunt G can be pretty stubborn.” 

“So can your father,” Laura answered, smiling. “He just doesn’t raise his voice as much. He said once that it took him a while to decide that some fights just weren’t worth getting into, but once he started trying out the theory, things settled down considerably.” 

“It does get hard to pick a quarrel with someone who’s determined not to retaliate,” Joe said thoughtfully.  

“And it drives the quarreler crazy, not to be acknowledged,” Frank added.  

“You two sound like you know what you’re talking about,” their mother commented. 

“Experience is a good teacher,” Joe agreed mildly.  

“Been a while, though.” 

“I can’t say I remember you two ever deliberately provoking each other.” Laura sounded curious. 

“Usually by the time you got home, we’d got to the ‘sullen silence’ part,” Joe explained, a rueful smile crossing his face. He shrugged. “It was junior high.” 

“Amazing. What other secrets have you got to share with me this evening?” The boys exchanged a look that Mrs. Hardy couldn’t quite fathom. “And don’t think I’m referring to things like how much danger you really get into. I know perfectly well that you give me the damped-down version of your cases.” Now they were both blushing, she saw with amusement. “You didn’t really think you had me fooled, did you?” 

“We, ah...” Joe looked at Frank. 

“We kind of hoped so, but we weren’t counting on it,” Frank admitted.  

“It’s just that we don’t want you to worry-” Joe began. 

“You don’t want me worrying so much that I forbid you to take any more cases, you mean. As if me telling you not to would have the slightest effect on you.” 

“It would, though,” Joe told her.  

Laura looked at him in surprise. “You mean to tell me you’d drop a dangerous case if I told you to?” 

“Um, well, probably not, but we’d feel really guilty about disobeying,” Joe explained. 

“I suppose that’s something.” Laura’s tone was rather resigned. Then she sighed. “Your father told me that sometimes it’s more dangerous to drop the case than to keep going with it.” 

Frank and Joe nodded. “Remember when the football stadium at State University blew up?” Frank asked. 

“Yes, all three of you were there that day. That was when you were guarding Ace Harrington, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes. We were warned off that one a couple times-” 

“With flaming fireballs hitting the roof at one in the morning, yes,” Laura said grimly. 

“But if we hadn’t stuck with it, we wouldn’t’ve got word of the explosives in the stadium...” Frank didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. 

Laura sighed and nodded, and then she looked at the clock. “Goodness gracious, quarter to one- I’ve got to get to sleep, I have to be up at seven to go to work.” 

Both boys stood up from the bed, surprised at how quickly the time had passed. Each of them gave their mother a hug and said goodnight; Joe closed the door behind him as they left the room. “That seemed to do some good,” he said quietly as he followed Frank back down the hall. 

“Yeah. Good to see her smile,” Frank agreed. Then he yawned. “I’m going to sleep,” he announced.  

“I am too,” Joe agreed, scooping his sketchpad up from the floor. Then he paused. “A racehorse?” 

Frank laughed. “It’s surprisingly accurate, considering it was the first thing that came to mind!” 

“You’re getting weird in your old age, bro’. Good night.” 

“G’night.” 

“Hardy residence,” Frank said into the telephone.  

“May I speak to mister Fenton Hardy please?” a man’s voice inquired.  

“I’m sorry, he’s not available.” 

“Oh. When will I be able to contact him?” the man asked pleasantly. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know. He’s on an investigation right now, and has been out of touch,” Frank explained. 

“Well, blast.” The man sounded resigned, but not irritable. “I was hoping to speak to him about a rather important issue, but I suppose...well, thank you anyway.” Before Frank could say another word, the phone clicked and a dialtone began to buzz in his ear. Sighing, he hung up and went back into the kitchen. 

The clock on the wall read nine-twenty. The kitchen was almost immaculate; not a dish in the sink, not a crumb on the counter. The exception was at the end of the counter, where Joe was sitting with milk carton and Cheerios box, moodily stirring a bowl of cereal. The younger teen’s demeanor was the product of having been snapped at by his aunt, who had just departed the kitchen in a huff. “I really don’t see what’s so wrong with eating breakfast in nightclothes,” Joe said grouchily, remarking on what Gertrude had been tasking him with before she left. “Especially when ‘nightclothes’ could just as easily be day clothes.”  

Frank looked at his brother’s outfit: t-shirt and shorts. Then he looked down at the clothes he’d put on when he got out of bed: t-shirt and shorts. Neither of them had put shoes on yet. “I’m with you on that one,” he agreed. True, Joe’s outfit was rather more ragged than one might want to wear in public, but it certainly wasn’t worth a fuss. “But I don’t think it’s your wardrobe that’s really on her mind.” 

Joe sighed, scowled, and started eating his cereal. “No, probably not, but I wish she’d quit taking it out on me. We’re all pretty uptight, but this isn’t exactly helping.” He pushed at his untidy blond hair and added, “I’m surprised she hasn’t taken a few chunks out of you yet.” 

‘Which is Joe’s not-entirely-subtle way of remarking that Aunt Gertrude isn’t scolding me, just him,’ Frank thought, going over to the breadbox. He pulled out two slices of bread and dropped them into the toaster. “I’m surprised myself,” he answered, fetching a knife, butter and jelly, and a plate. Glancing behind him, he lowered his voice. “I thought for sure she’d jump on me for leaving my glass in the sink after dinner last night.” The toast popped up; Frank pulled it out, dropped it on the plate and began buttering and jellying it. Then he got himself some milk and drew up a stool next to his brother. 

“Who was on the phone?” Joe asked, changing the subject. 

“Potential customer for Dad, but he hung up before I could suggest certain alternatives,” Frank explained. 

“Like us? Or Sam?” 

“Either one, I didn’t get that far.” Frank shrugged. “Maybe he’ll call back, maybe not.” 

“Hm. There was a message from Sam this morning, by the way.” Joe nodded at the bulletin board on the kitchen wall. 

“I saw. Information about a couple companies he’s investigating for fraud.” 

“Boring,” Joe drawled. 

“You expected buried treasure, perhaps?” Frank grinned, then started on his toast.  

Joe gave an amused snort, since his mouth was full. “I wasn’t really expecting anything, but there sure does seem to be a lot of research this summer,” he said eventually. 

“Give it time, it’s still June- for another few days anyway. So do I get to go digging this info up all by my lonesome, or will you wade through the utter tedium with me?” 

Joe finished his cereal and got up. He washed out his bowl and put it in the dishwasher, then turned to Frank with his usual mischievous smile. “What’s it worth to you?” he asked slyly. 

“Better ask what it’s worth to you, kid brother!” 

“Is that a threat?”  

“It may be taken as one.” Frank’s dignified reply was somewhat marred when he took a big bite of toast directly after making it.  

“Exactly what sort of threat are we talking about here?” 

“I have several in mind, actually. You know, plan A, plan B, plan C...” 

“In that case...nope, you’re on your own!” 

Frank frowned over his toast. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. 

“Well, you’ve gone and got me all curious about these threats- how am I gonna find out what they are if I help?” 

“I’ll tell you. In detail. While we research.” 

“You never give up, do you?” Joe said with a laugh.  

“No more than you do,” Frank retorted. “Giving up means giving you the advantage, and that would not be smart.” He rinsed his crumby plate at the sink, then put it in the dishwasher.  

After putting away the food- so as not to arouse the further wrath of their aunt- the boys hurried up to Frank’s room to see what they could discover from the Internet regarding the companies Sam Radley was investigating. There wasn’t much to be found on the company-sponsored websites, but there were quite a few financial news articles that looked useful. Two of these actually condemned one of the companies for fraudulent practices; the rest were more subdued, but urged investigations of discrepancies. Frank fired up the printer and started running off copies of everything they were finding. It was easier than trying to email it all to Sam. 

“Why can’t they use common English?” Joe wondered aloud, tossing one of the print-outs back onto Frank’s desk. “Or at least provide a glossary to explain what the heck they’re talking about? I thought I had a decent vocabulary-” 

“Even if ‘caution’ isn’t in it yet,” Frank muttered under his breath. Joe poked his ribs and the elder teen twisted away. 

“-But they’re using words in ways I never heard of,” Joe finished. “Like...here, ‘apply a synergy-oriented paradigm.’ What exactly is that supposed to mean?” 

“I’d be more curious about who or what they’re applying it to,” Frank answered, glancing up. “If it’s being applied to employees, it’s probably not positive. But if it’s management-oriented, it’s more than likely some sort of perk.” 

Joe scanned the article again. “Doesn’t say. It’s too vague.” 

“Then it’s probably some company mission statement, the sort that sound good to the stockholders but don’t actually mean anything.” 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been reading financial magazines,” Joe said, looking at Frank with some alarm. 

Frank laughed. “Hardly- most of this is gibberish to me, too. I was just remembering what Phil was complaining about yesterday.” 

“Oh, yeah...I was zoning out. He lost me right after the part about hourly cuts.” Their computer-whiz friend Phil Cohen had taken a job at a large computer company, thinking it would be a dream job, but harsh reality had intruded quickly.  

“You mean the sales per man-hour? Simple. Every hour the employees work is a ‘man-hour’. The company wants to have as many sales in each man-hour as it possibly can. And they want to do it while expending as little payroll as possible. So if you have three people on duty and only make two sales, that’s inefficient; you really only need one person to make those sales.” 

“Oh, I see. They cut the hours so that the manager can only schedule one person, which means two people don’t get to work that day.” 

“Exactly,” Frank nodded. “And during the busier times, they’ll have more people, but probably not as many as they need.” 

“Sorta like when we go to the store and stand in line for half an hour because there’s five registers but only two cashiers,” Joe muttered. 

“It’s pretty universal, yeah. But it’s not fraudulent.” 

“Should be.” Joe put the paper aside again, stood up, and stretched. As he did, the computer screen suddenly went blank and the drive died. Frank swore softly and leaned back in his chair.  

“Blast the power company. Oh well, at least we got it all printed out before they pulled the plug.” He lifted the papers from the printer and began sorting through them. 

“Time to start roasting again. Makes me miss that little beach house!” Joe remarked.  

“Now that’s interesting,” Frank said suddenly, looking up again. “I didn’t notice it till just now, but the power company is on this list.” 

“I don’t think I’m too surprised,” Joe answered after he reflected for a moment. “The way they’ve been handling themselves this summer indicates that something’s probably screwy in there.” 

“They can’t help it if it’s hotter than usual,” Frank protested. 

“No,” Joe admitted. “I suppose not, but they keep complaining that they haven’t the funds to upgrade and repair old equipment. It might make someone with a suspicious mind wonder why they don’t have the funds, especially when one remembers parental complaints about how high the electric bills have been. I’m going to get something cold to drink, want anything?” 

“Depends what’s down there,” Frank replied, thinking that Joe had brought up a good point. And since it was on Sam’s list, there was obviously something going on that someone thought needed attention.  

“I’ll see what I can find.” Joe left the room. 

Frank nodded and went back to reading, only to be jolted a minute later by the sound of the phone ringing. Then it stopped; probably Joe had picked it up. Two or three minutes later he heard feet pounding up the stairs and looked over to see his brother skid to a halt outside the door. “What’s-?” 

“Some guy on the phone- he started to say something about Dad, but then hung up all of a sudden-” Joe took a deep breath, gripped the doorjamb and started again. “When I picked up, he didn’t even ask who I was. He said, ‘I don’t have much time, but I’ve got to warn you. This case Mr. Hardy is on- it’s not research. There’s big trouble here, there’s already been two ‘accidents’ and there’s going to be more.’ I started to ask him what he was talking about, but all of a sudden he said, ‘Hell, they’re coming!’ and slammed down the phone.”  

Frank sat very still for a moment, saying nothing, his mind racing. Then he forced his clenched fists to relax. “He’ll probably call back when he can,” he said at last. 

“If he can.” Joe slammed a fist into the wooden doorframe. “If someone caught him making a call he wasn’t supposed to make...” 

Frank nodded. “If it is genuine,” he added reluctantly. Joe turned on him, fire in his eyes, but before he could say anything Frank went on, “Which it probably is. But we have to weigh it carefully. It might just be a clever trap to get Dad and us.” 

Joe subsided, his brow knotting. “True. We’ve been used as bait in the past; anyone who wanted to get us might use Dad similarly...you think this may be our divers, still out for revenge?” 

“Seems likely, doesn’t it? We didn’t find any bugs at the beach, but we do know they listened in on our conversation; they might have a tap on our phone,” Frank reasoned.  

“That phone call earlier, asking if Dad was available!”  

“Exactly- they might have overheard that and decided to get some use out of it. Or, it might be completely legit. We won’t know until this fellow can call back, which might take a while.”  

Joe took another long breath, nodded, and said grimly, “And we’ll keep it quiet till we do know for sure.” Turning, he walked back down the hall, only to reappear a few minutes later with a glass of ice water in each hand. He gave one to Frank, who took it gratefully, then sat down on the floor and began looking through the printouts again.  

Frank sipped the cold water for a few minutes and tried to ignore the tension emanating from his brother, but it wasn’t easy. Both of them were wound up with this disturbing, incomplete information, and though Frank was a good deal better at waiting than Joe was, he still had a strong urge to be doing something. 

But there was nothing they could do for their father right now, no matter what the circumstances were. And they didn’t have nearly enough information to speculate about what the ‘real’ work was, nor what the ‘accidents’ might have entailed, nor any of the other whats and wheres and hows...and whys.  

Putting down the glass, Frank turned back to the job at hand. At least they could be of some use to Sam Radley. A heavy silence pervaded his room as they tried to decipher more of the cautiously-worded hints and accusations leveled against the companies. 

“What time is it?” Joe asked. Frank, startled, looked over at his clock.  

“Dunno, the power’s still off. Where’s your watch?”  

Joe rose from his cross-legged seat on the floor, then winced and dropped down onto Frank’s bed. “My feet went to sleep,” he grouched, kicking the side of the bedframe to restore his circulation. “My watch is...I think it’s on my dresser. I’ll go look in a minute.” 

Frank reached for his glass of water, only to note that the ice had all melted. “I wonder if it’s up to a hundred outside yet?” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised. We should move this operation down a floor or so, it’s getting pretty oven-like up here.” 

“Basement level sounds good to me,” Frank agreed, standing and gathering up the papers. “It’s out of everyone’s way.” By ‘everyone’ he meant their aunt, who seldom went into the basement unless she was doing laundry.  

“I’ll be right behind you, once I find my watch.” Joe got up and followed Frank out of the room, limping a little on his half-numb feet.  

The coolness of the basement was a vast relief after the sweltering closeness of the upstairs. This level was a catch-all for anything that wasn’t in frequent demand upstairs. There was a little niche where the washer and dryer sat, and the ironing board hung there as well, alongside the old telephone extension, but the rest of the space was more or less a random scattering of things.  

There were some boxes of old clothes and toys, former belongings of the boys. There were a bunch of battered books in an equally battered bookcase. Several bicycles, new and old, leaned against the wall, competing with shovels, rakes and other garden equipment for space. A pegboard was hung with carpentry tools, most of which were covered over in dust. Blocks of wood, bricks, and old paint cans were stacked nearby, along with several bags of grass seed. A rainy-day clothesline stretched from the rafters.  

A table in one corner was reasonably tidy, bearing a large, covered microscope, chemicals in labeled bottles, and a number of less readily identifiable objects and papers. Two chairs were drawn up to it; Frank smiled a little at the sight. It had been a while since either of them had tidied up their ‘lab’. A closed metal filing cabinet held their father’s old, seldom used files, mainly of criminals long dead. Boxes labeled ‘Christmas’, ‘Easter’, and ‘Halloween’ held the family holiday decorations. Three barbells, with weights of various sizes. Fishing gear. A stack of board games and puzzles. The old tent that they had used when camping out... 

Frank turned as footsteps thudded hard on the steps behind him. Joe didn’t make a habit of stamping like that unless he was cross; both of the boys had put a lot of time into learning how to move quietly. “What’s wrong? She bite your head off again?” he asked as his brother stopped on the last step. 

“How did you ever guess?” Joe asked, lightly, but there was bitter edge underneath the lightness. 

“Easy enough; you don’t usually sound like a herd of rhinos when coming down the stairs,” Frank answered.  

“You been watching Wild Discovery lately? You keep comparing me to animals.” 

“Coincidence. What’d she land on you for this time?” 

“Well, you know if you leave a glass of liquid sitting on something wooden, it’ll leave a ring.” 

“Yes?” 

“Apparently this is now a mortal sin.” Joe tweaked the papers out of Frank’s hand and went over to the table, pushing some of the equipment aside to make room. Frank followed, shaking his head.  

“Where did you leave a glass?” 

“On your desk.” Joe sat down.  

“My desk isn’t wood.” 

“I mentioned that myself. That’s when I suddenly turned into an insolent brat.” 

“She called you an insolent brat?” Frank repeated, incredulous. Joe nodded. 

“She nearly got an unexpected shower, since I had gone in and picked the glass up. I’m serious,” he added at Frank’s look. “I’m getting really tired of this, and if she’s going to call me a brat, I might’s well act like one.” 

Frank rested his hand on Joe’s shoulder and felt the tension knotting his brother’s muscles. “Maybe we should get out of the house for a while.” 

“We can’t. That guy might call back.” 

‘That’s true,’ Frank thought, chagrined at having forgotten. He glanced around, then smiled. “There,” he said, pointing at the weights lying on the floor. “Stress relief.” Joe looked over and immediately started to get up, then stopped and looked down at the papers. Frank’s smile widened and he gave Joe a gentle push. “Go on. You know you won’t be able to concentrate till you settle down a little.” 

“You’re probably right,” Joe agreed, still hesitating. Then he shrugged, gave Frank a grateful glance, and walked over to the barbells. Frank sat down in the chair and spread out the papers.  

“By the way, what time is it?”  

Joe’s voice, when he answered, sounded just the least bit breathless: “It was a little after one when I came down.” Frank glanced up, watched his brother, who had one twenty-pound weight in each hand, and then turned his gaze back to the papers. Reading through them, he occasionally mentioned some of the comments that the authors had made. Joe didn’t say much, but he listened, and once or twice he did pause long enough to remark on what they were learning. 

“It’s enough to turn someone into a cynic,” he concluded at last, dropping the big barbell with a clank and dragging his forearm across his forehead. “Whew...” Turning, he went to the table and dropped into the second chair. “Doesn’t seem quite so cool down here anymore,” he commented with a smile.  

“Imagine that. You’d think working out would lower the temperature a bit,” Frank deadpanned, and pulled his arm out of the way before it could get punched. “Anyway, if you’re done?” 

“Yeah. How much more of these-?” Joe didn’t finish, just gestured at the stack of papers. 

“This pile is done, this one isn’t,” Frank told him.  

Joe eyed the ‘isn’t’ pile; it was twice as big as the ‘done’ one. “All right,” he sighed. “Hand me some tedium.”  

Frank was more than happy to oblige, and for a while they again read in silence. 

The sudden unexpected ringing of the telephone shocked them both; Joe leapt up and then had to bend down and pick his chair up off the concrete floor. “I forgot we had a phone down here,” he muttered as Frank hurried to pick up the extension.  

“Hello? Oh, hi Sam.” Frank tried not to sound disappointed; he had really hoped it would be the mysterious informant. “We’re making progress, but we’re not done yet-” 

“It’s not that,” Sam Radley said quickly. “Frank, I’ve had a really peculiar phone call. Is something going on with your dad?” 

Frank tensed. “Possibly,” he said tautly. “We had a peculiar call ourselves this morning, but we didn’t get any real information. Dad’s been away for- it’s eleven days now, and we haven’t had a word from him. He said it was top-secret research, but our caller seemed to think otherwise.” He glanced at Joe, who was now standing beside him and who looked as wired as he himself felt. 

“The man who called me- about ten minutes ago- said he needed to meet you two tonight. He gave me a location and a time, but he said he couldn’t call you directly because he feared his calls were being monitored. Not bugged, he said, but traced. Two calls to the same number would make people suspicious and he didn’t want to take any risks. He also gave me a password by which you’d know him. Said it had to be tonight, but didn’t have time to tell me why.” 

“Where does he want to meet us, and when?” Frank made a scribbling gesture in the air; Joe dashed over to the table, picked up a notepad and pencil, and hurried back. Frank repeated the directions: “The parking lot behind the old bowling alley on Seventh street... eleven-thirty tonight. Password is ‘cutting edge’.”  

The boys frowned at each other, both thinking that might be a clue in itself. 

“I don’t like it,” Sam said, troubled. “I don’t like it at all. It could quite possibly be on the level, but-” 

“It could be otherwise, yeah. We thought about that too, Sam, and it could be a clever trap. But we can’t not go. We’ll just have to be careful and keep our eyes open. The fact that he’s meeting us in a fairly open place is a good sign; if he wanted us to leave the car behind I’d be a lot more suspicious,” Frank tried to reassure their father’s assistant. 

“Backup?” Joe whispered. 

“He didn’t say anything about us not having backup, did he?” 

“Not exactly- he said not to contact the police, that they wouldn’t be able to do much and they’d probably just attract attention. Frank, I’d go with you, but I’ve got a setup tonight that I can’t let pass. If you give me a little while, I can call around and see who’s available...” 

Frank considered that. Sam Radley was their father’s main assistant; there were others he worked with from time to time, but the boys weren’t nearly as friendly with them. “It’s okay, Sam, don’t worry about it. If it’s legit, we don’t want to spook him, and if it isn’t, well, it’s two of us and one of him. And we can make some arrangements in case something unexpected happens.” 

Joe nodded.  

“All right.” Sam sounded resigned. “Be careful, and good luck. Oh, and sorry for dropping that little assignment on you like that, but I’m on kind of a tight schedule here. Some of my little companies are showing signs of adding insurance fraud to their other practices; there’s been two cases of arson this week and we really don’t want that sort of thing to become a habit.” 

“Definitely not. Glad to help out, Sam, you know that.” Frank said farewell and hung up, then turned to his impatient brother and related the conversation. 

“Arson? Things are getting serious,” Joe remarked. “It might be insurance, or it might be someone trying to hide something...but anyway, Sam’s got that under control.” He looked at the pad of paper again. “Eleven-thirty, parking lot, bowling alley, Seventh street...cutting edge.” He frowned. “Cutting edge, that could indicate high-tech.” 

“Or just plain danger,” Frank mused. “C’mon, let’s get this done so we can go check out the parking lot,” he said abruptly. “I want to look it over in daylight, and the area around it, too.” 

“Good thinking,” Joe said approvingly, and they both hurried back to their lab-table. 

Joe Hardy had the fidgets.  

It was just after eleven o’clock. The boys were seated in their car, silent, alert, waiting for the mysterious ‘cutting edge’ informer to show.  

The place, when they’d seen it by daylight, had not been one of the better parts of town. The bowling alley had been closed for several years and no one had bothered to purchase either the building or the land it stood on. But the parking lot was wide open, the doors to the building were padlocked shut, and there were no fire escapes. An unlikely spot for an ambush, as Frank had remarked. 

Getting permission had not been a problem; both Laura and Gertrude had endorsed the idea wholeheartedly, which just proved how anxious they were for news of Fenton. It had been agreed that if they did not hear from the boys by half past midnight, they would call the police and send them to the bowling alley. Joe had stuffed the cellular phone into his pocket, with the ringer off, and promised to call with all the information they got, as soon as he possibly could. 

The young detectives had been served their lunch rather late, had napped until about ten o’clock in the evening, and then grabbed a quick snack before heading off for Seventh street. Now they were sitting quietly in the car, or in Joe’s case, trying very hard to sit quietly. 

“I wish you’d stop twitching,” Frank said softly.  

“I’m trying, I’m trying,” Joe muttered. He knew Frank was feeling a lot edgier than was normal for him on a stakeout, and was genuinely trying not to excaberate his nerves. But he was so wound up, he felt he’d go crazy if he didn’t move a little.  

“Look, if you’re that restless, go walk around outside. See if you spot anything suspicious. Just be back in twenty minutes,” Frank suggested, obviously trying to control his own impatience.  

Joe nodded and swung the door open, sliding quickly out of the car. He closed the door quietly and moved out to the street. Pausing, he looked both left and right, and then, with a shrug, turned right and walked down the block. The buildings- huge old tenement houses- quickly cut off his view into the parking lot. 

It was a rather creepy part of town, Joe decided. The old houses were in sad shape; windows broken, paint peeling, graffiti’ed, they loomed over him. Trash littered the yards, sidewalk and street. There were few cars, and most of them were old hulks. Even the sidewalk pavement was cracked.  

Joe wasn’t out here to sightsee, so he didn’t walk far. Just a block and a bit more. Just far enough to see a figure standing under one of the streetlights. It seemed to be a man; a man with light blond or white hair, wearing dark clothing. His back was to Joe.  

The teen wasn’t quite sure what to do for a minute. Then he glanced at his watch and realized he’d better get back to the parking lot. It was almost time. If this guy under the streetlight was the contact, he’d be along soon enough; if he’d been sent to spy on the meeting, he seemed very unlikely to do an effective job of it. And if he was just a dealer waiting around for a customer, there was no point in being a witness. Joe backed quietly into the shadow of the old building, ignoring the creepy feeling it gave him, then turned around and walked as silently as he could manage until he had reached the parking lot again. 

Frank, who looked a little less uptight now, gave him a ‘see anything interesting?’ sort of glance as Joe went up to the driver’s side. “There was one guy, about two blocks down,” he reported quietly, nodding in the direction he’d taken. “I don’t think he’s our contact, though; he was watching the other way. All in black, but he was standing under a streetlight and it was shining on his hair. White hair, I think. Light, anyway.” 

Frank considered that a moment, then frowned. “That wouldn’t happen to be him there, would it?” he asked, tilting his head ever so slightly towards the parking lot entrance. Joe slowly lifted his eyes and took a look. 

“That’s him. He must’ve followed me,” he agreed, and straightened up. 

What happened next took them both by surprise. The man took a step or two into the parking lot, looked around- and froze when he spotted them. Then he spun around and dashed away, running back the way he’d come.  

“I’ll go after him. You wait for our guy,” Joe said quickly. He pushed away from the car and took off after the fleeing man, ignoring his brother’s protest. “It might be someone sent to spy on our meeting,” he pointed out mentally. “A little too coincidental that he happened to come down here at this exact time, don’t you think?” He felt Frank’s reluctant agreement, then closed up and concentrated on catching the fugitive. 

Frank watched in something approaching exasperation as Joe took off after the white-haired man. Always rushing off at the worst possible time- but then his brother’s explanation reached him and he had to admit that the kid had a good point. “All right, just be careful,” he sent his mental reply, but he was pretty sure Joe had missed the ‘be careful’ part. Opening the driver’s side door, he stepped out of the car. It was almost exactly eleven-thirty. The sultry air was finally cooling off a little, though it was still very humid.  

About a minute later, Frank heard footsteps. A large, bulky man walked into the parking lot, paused, and then slowly approached the car. “Evening,” he said in a low, rather pleasant voice. A familiar voice. “Wonder if you might be interested in some little gadgets I’ve got.” 

‘Corny,’ Frank thought, but he replied obediently, “Is it cutting edge?” 

The man smiled and moved closer. “That it is, sir. That it is.” He paused, the smile slipping from his face. “You weren’t followed?” 

“There was a rather suspicious character around here a minute or so ago,” Frank told him, lowering his voice. “My brother’s after him. Guy with white hair.” 

“White hair?” The informant frowned. “No, that’s nobody I know- at least, I hope not.” He glanced around. “Look, I don’t have much time, so I’m not going to wait for your brother. The information you want is this.” The man took a deep breath, and then his hand flashed forward and something struck Frank hard in the abdomen, sending him backward a step. For a second, Frank thought it was just the guy’s fist. Then the man pulled his hand back and the pain that surged through Frank’s body told him it was a lot more serious than that.  

“What-?” he gasped, slumping against the side of the car, automatically bringing his right arm across his stomach to protect himself from another blow...and to try and ease the pain. The ‘informant’ lifted his hand. Frank stared at the long, straight, darkened blade of a knife and realized what the hot trickle running over his hand was. He pressed his hand harder against the place, hoping to slow the bleeding.  

“It’s certainly cutting edge, isn’t it?” the man remarked in that same pleasant voice. Then he struck again; Frank saw the knife coming down and moved without thinking. He shoved himself away from the car with his left hand and heard metal clang against metal. Then he ducked around the front of the car and ran as hard as he could for the parking lot exit. 

The assailant clearly wasn’t expecting anyone who’d just been gut-stabbed to be able to move so quickly; Frank even surprised himself with his speed. Every step jarred his side, every breath sent new pain through him, but he forced himself to ignore it as he wove through the city blocks, choosing his path at random.  

Soon, though, the strength of his adrenaline began to fail him; he found himself slowing, then staggering, and finally stumbling to a halt near the end of a block. He’d left the tenement houses behind and was now in a business area. Frank leaned against the side of an office building, gasping for breath, feeling his heart pound with exertion and fear. His vision was cloudy and after another minute he found himself slumping to his knees. He would have fallen to the sidewalk had the building not been there.  

Forcing himself to look down, Frank stared at the blood coating his hand past the wrist, turning his t-shirt red, soaking into his shorts- and started to shake. So much blood! “Gotta find help,” he whispered, and lifted his eyes again. Far away- at the end of the next block- he could just make out a row of telephone booths. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to stand up, but his head whirled and the light of the streetlamp danced sickeningly around him. Pain shafted through his side and bright sparks burst in front of his eyes.  

Frank slid back to the pavement and the whirling subsided a little. ‘Can’t walk, can’t even stand up,’ he thought, leaning his dizzy head against the warm brick beside him. He tried to crawl, but the weight of his body was too much for his weakened limbs and he only managed a few inches before he gave it up. He stared around the street. Not a soul in sight. No security guards, no late-night stragglers. If there was a window, he could try to break it in hopes of setting off an alarm, but there were no windows. The buildings were all brick, granite, marble. ‘The cell phone...Joe has it. Got to send, tell him to call... But I don’t know how!’ 

It was his only option, but it was the one Frank didn’t know how to use. Every attempt he’d made to send his thoughts had failed. But if this one failed, he’d bleed to death before anyone found him. ‘Concentrate,’ he told himself, shivering. ‘Think...think of him... picture him...’ His mind cried out his brother’s name with all his strength, but he knew it was no good. The thought just wasn’t reaching Joe; it reverberated in Frank’s own mind like an echo. 

An echo. Bouncing off a wall...the walls. ‘The shields. Got to take them down.’ What was it Joe had said, trying to get him to lower his shields? He couldn’t remember. Desperate, feeling his fingers growing cold and his weakness intensifying, Frank tried to pull his own mental defenses apart.  

And succeeded, just as he was about to panic. 

It was a horrible feeling. It was the most vulnerable feeling he’d ever had, as though any stranger who came along could pick his heart’s secrets out of his memory with a single look. But he’d done it, and the thought strengthened him a little. “Joe!” he called out again, and then almost sobbed in fearful frustration. “Concentrate, concentrate...there. There he is. Not running. Catching his breath- Joe, I’ve been stabbed!” 

Blue eyes, half-closed, suddenly growing wide in shock; a sudden glance over a shoulder; the feeling of footsteps pounding, concrete under flying feet. “Where are you?” 

Frank opened his eyes again and sought the intersection post. “Picket and Twelfth. End of the block.” A sudden change of direction. And then the contact thinned and broke; Frank gasped, but a second later Joe’s familiar touch returned.  

“I’m here, I’m right here.” The words were mental; the sound of footsteps was distant, but closer every second. And then Joe was there, dropping on his knees beside Frank, his breathing ragged, wresting the cell phone from his pocket. Frank heard the sound of the buttons being pressed, felt a strong hand on his arm. 

“I’m at the corner of Picket and Twelfth street. My brother’s been stabbed, he needs an ambulance right away. Yeah, badly. Right.” A click as the phone disconnected; Frank opened his heavy eyes as Joe’s hand moved to his own bloody one. Joe was biting his lower lip, staring at the blood. A shake of his head, and then Joe stripped off his t-shirt and leaned close, hastily folding the shirt as he spoke. “Lift your hand... Frank, I’m sorry, it’s gonna hurt, but we’ve got to slow this down.” 

Frank nodded, gritted his teeth in awful anticipation, peeled his hand away from the wound, then leaned his head back again and closed his eyes as Joe lifted the fabric from the injury. He struggled not to cry out when the pressure was applied, but the pain was too strong, too deep inside him. For a minute he thought he was going to pass out. Then he heard Joe’s voice; he couldn’t tell what his brother was saying, but it was something to hold on to, something to keep him conscious.  

Gradually, Frank became aware of his surroundings again. Concrete sidewalk, brick building, dim streetlight. Throbbing pain, pain that was all the worse for his own uncontrollable shivering. Joe beside him, anxious, distressed, speaking soft words that didn’t make much sense but were comforting to hear. But there was something else, too, and at the feel of it a new fear crept into him. For a few seconds he didn’t understand, but as the anger and hatred directed at him grew, he began to comprehend.  

“He’s here.” The words came out shaky. 

“Who?” 

“Guy who stabbed me,” Frank whispered. “Close. He’s watching. Angry. Thinking about trying again.” 

“Where?” Just one word, but it was as cold as ice. Frank opened his eyes and looked down the street, in the direction he’d run from.  

“Down...there,” Frank gasped as another surge of weakness and pain and fear shot through him. Movement beside him caught his eye; Joe was slowly rising to his feet, gaze fixed on the shadows, hands clenched in front of him. And then, quite suddenly, he cocked his head, listening. 

“Sirens. The ambulance is almost here,” he said softly.  

After that, things started to go all out of focus. Frank was aware of his brother’s soothing voice, of the hand in his; of wild flaring lights and of laying on something much softer than bricks. But the cold fear still gripped him; the man was there, watching, hating, and he was determined not to fail a second time.

Four o’clock in the morning. Joe dropped his aching eyes from the digital clock and let his head droop into his hands again.  

Four o’clock. Four and a half hours since Frank had been stabbed.  

Joe couldn’t stop shivering, despite the heavy summer heat. If there was only some way he could turn the clock five hours back. If he only hadn’t run off after that white-haired guy who disappeared after four blocks. If only he had stayed in the car and quit fidgeting, rather than getting out to look around and grow suspicious of the man... He hadn’t even gotten a look at Frank’s assailant. If it hadn’t been for the sending, Frank would have bled his life out on that sidewalk, unable to get help, while Joe was off on his fruitless pursuit. ‘We knew it might be a trap- why did I let the bastards split us up like that?’

Four hours since he’d called his mother.  

After the ambulance had roared off with Frank securely inside, Joe had retraced his steps to their car, pulled out the phone again, and dialed his home with astoundingly steady hands, but dreading the conversation. Unable to keep his voice from shaking as he spoke to his anxious and then horrified mother. 

“Mom? No, no news. It was a trap, Mom. I’m okay, but Frank- they split us up, and while I was trying to chase one of ‘em down, the other one stabbed Frank. It’s- I don’t know, just one wound, but it was deep and he was bleeding pretty badly. I spotted him on the way back to the car and called an ambulance, just a few minutes ago. They took him to the West Side hospital, it was closer than Bayport General. I’m in the car, about to go on over.” Listening to his mother weep, biting hard on his own lips, hearing her broken reply to meet him there. Disconnecting. Forcing himself to turn the key, start the car, maneuver through the dark streets to the hospital. 

Three and a half hours since his mother and aunt had arrived at the hospital, distraught.  

Seeking any information, only to be told Frank had been taken straight into surgery, was still there, and that a Doctor Mackenzie was the surgeon. Waiting, waiting, pacing and then sitting down, only to stand again and pace some more. The nurse bringing out his shirt, sodden with Frank’s blood; he’d stared, forgetting that he’d used it to try and stop the bleeding. Realizing why he’d drawn so many curious looks; no one else in the waiting room was shirtless. Snapping at the nurse to throw it away. He could never have looked at that shirt again without remembering-.  

Two hours since they’d been informed that Frank was finally out of surgery, that the damage to the internal organs was minimal but a large blood vessel had been nicked and had taken some time to repair. That he was in a private room, and that visiting hours were long over for general patients. No exceptions. That the patient would likely remain asleep for six or seven more hours, so visiting would be unproductive in any case. Listening surreptitiously as the pompous, insensitive jerk of a doctor briefly explained to Laura how his skill had pulled ‘the kid’ through. It had taken all Joe’s effort to remind himself that punching out the doctor would just land him in trouble, and wouldn’t help Frank. 

An hour and fifteen minutes since they’d gotten home. Laura and Gertrude had gone straight to bed, emotionally exhausted from the bad news and the long wait. Joe, no less exhausted, had abandoned his own room and taken a seat on the side of Frank’s bed, determined not to sleep- not yet. Frank wouldn’t be out for that long; he was always resistant to medications. He’d wake up and wonder where he was, why no one was with him. He’d be afraid, confused. He’d need reassurance and explanations.  

Besides, Joe wasn’t willing to face the dreams that he knew would be waiting for him. He’d hear that terrified cry in his nightmares, he knew he would. And he’d be even more helpless than he was right now. He couldn’t bear the thought. And so he sat, his face in his hands, elbows on knees, shivering. His mind was far away- with Frank in the silent hospital room, waiting with a patience that would have amazed those who knew him. 

And it happened, as Joe had known it would. Frank stirred, fighting through the anesthesia, slowly opening his eyes and blinking at the out-of-focus room.  

“Where...?” He didn’t seem to have the strength for more than that. 

“You’re in the hospital,” Joe told him gently, his shivering suddenly stilled, his fears and guilt and shock pushed aside for the moment. “In West Side.” 

“West Side?” Frank repeated, confused. 

“It was closer,” Joe answered laconically. He wasn’t going to go into a detailed explanation of why closer was better, but he sensed Frank’s sudden apprehension and knew an explanation wasn’t needed anyway. “You got out of surgery a couple hours ago,” he added. “They wouldn’t let us come up and see you- real bears about their sacred visiting hours.” 

Something almost like a wry smile passed through Frank’s thoughts. “Great. Strict ones.” The smile faded. “Joe, how...how bad...?” Fear now, very definitely. And a new sight: the IV bag hanging beside the bed. A deep crimson bag. 

Joe’s brow furrowed. ‘Damn that Mackenzie...he didn’t mention a transfusion!’ he thought to himself. “They wouldn’t tell me, but I eavesdropped when he- Dr Mackenzie- was telling Mom. He said there was very little damage, it missed most of your internal organs, but it did go deep and apparently caught a rather necessary artery. Or vein. He didn’t specify. Took him a little while to patch it up, seems he’s very painstaking.” 

“I...think I’m glad of that.”  

“I certainly am,” Joe agreed, feeling his brother’s fear recede somewhat. “He didn’t strike me as very friendly guy, but he sure seems to know his business. But then, I wasn’t feeling terribly friendly myself, maybe that’s got something to do with it.”  

Another hint of a smile was the response to that. “Entirely possible.” Frank’s mental voice was getting...blurry. Tired. “Visiting hours?” 

“Ten in the morning. It’s a little after four now-” 

“Four? Jeez, Joe, go to sleep.” 

“He said you wouldn’t wake up till eight or nine, but I know you and your drug resistance. Didn’t want to leave you to wonder,” Joe explained. He wasn’t quite prepared for the affection/gratitude that he got in reply; wordless but strong. His head was starting to ache just the least little bit; it was the longest conversation the brothers had sent. “So. You sleep, I’ll sleep, and we’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Deal,” Frank’s thought murmured, and by the time Joe had sat up straight and rubbed his sore eyes, his brother was slumbering again.  

It was the sound of voices that got through the darkness. Familiar voices. One male, two female, arguing. 

“I told you, you can’t come up here yet! It’s not visiting hours!” 

“It’s five minutes till ten,” the male voice responded determinedly. “Lighten up.” 

“He’s not even awake yet-” 

“Really, Miss, it would be one thing if we were half an hour early, but five minutes is hardly worth the fuss you’re making,” the other woman said wearily.  

“Besides, he is awake. No thanks to you and your hollering.” 

‘Joe,’ Frank thought, and opened his eyes. ‘And Mom,’ he added, seeing his mother’s form blur into focus. Joe pushed past the candy striper standing in the doorway and came up to the side of the bed. Laura followed with a touch more courtesy; the girl stomped off without another word. 

Laura looked very tired; her eyes were bloodshot and her demeanor was fatigued. She sat down in a chair beside the bed, reached over the rail that Frank had scarcely noticed, and took his hand. Joe, on the other hand, though clearly also tired, was in much better shape. He did have circles under his eyes, but aside from looking a little more serious than usual, he seemed to be in pretty good spirits. He didn’t sit down, but stood leaning on the rail, a few steps up from Laura. “How’re you doing?” 

Frank tried to ignore the inexplicable uneasiness that was nibbling at him, managed a decent smile and answered, “Okay, I guess.” 

“Not in any pain, I hope?” his mother asked. 

“I think they gave me something for it the last time they came in with the thermometer, but I don’t really remember. I wasn’t too awake. Anyway, I can hardly feel it now,” he answered. There was a persistent ache, but it was far better than the deep pain of the night before.  

There was silence in the room for a little while, which was fine with the injured teenager. He didn’t feel like talking. Joe didn’t seem to mind the quiet, but Laura began to look uncomfortable. “Your aunt is still at home, she decided she’d come in later. I think she’s planning out a feast for when you got home.” 

Frank tried another smile, knowing it was expected, but from the sympathetic glance Joe gave him, he concluded it was a failure. 

“Have they told you when you’ll be released yet?” their mother pressed. 

“No, not yet. I haven’t seen a doctor at all, just nurses.” Frank felt his uneasiness growing with each word. ‘Calm down,’ he told himself. ‘Nothing to worry about.’ 

Laura continued to make conversation, speaking of the doctor, of the strict rules- things Joe had already told him, but neither of them let on. In fact, Frank could hardly keep his attention on his mother. Something was wrong. He was starting to shiver and he could hear his pulse thudding in his ears.  

“I shouldn’t have let you two meet that so-called contact-” 

“Mom,” Joe said mildly. “Remember what we talked about two nights ago?” 

A brief silence, and then Mrs. Hardy sighed. “Yes, I was forgetting how very- honey? Are you cold? You’re shivering.” 

Frank didn’t know how to respond. He was cold- with terror. But he didn’t understand it- what was he afraid of? What was it that was making his body tremble? Why was his heart racing? Why the terrible knot of fear inside of him? “No,” he tried to say at last, but he couldn’t speak; his breath was coming in such gasps that he feared he’d suffocate if he spoke.  

“Frank! Frank, what’s wrong-?” Now his mother was frightened as well, and her fear increased his own.  

“Easy, big brother,” Joe’s voice murmured in his head. “Easy.” Joe’s hand was on his shoulder; Frank opened his eyes- hadn’t realized he’d closed them- and stared up into serious, troubled, but calm blue eyes. “You’re okay, Frank. You’re safe here.” 

The words, the strength, the calmness- it eased the terror. Not much, but enough to let him speak. “What’s...wrong with me?” Frank gasped. “Why...why am I...falling apart?” The room was spinning before him, blackness was creeping over his sight. His brother was so far away, so far...  

Exhaustion.  

Warmth. 

Voices nearby.  

“I don’t understand! What could possibly have made him react like that?” 

“Mom-” 

“I shouldn’t’ve said anything about the attack. That must have been it. It was a- a trigger.” 

“That’s possible, I guess, but I don’t know, Mom.” 

Frank tried to open his eyes, but decided it was too much trouble. His side ached more now than it had before, but the dreadful tremors had left him and his breathing was calm. There was more weight on him, too, and he wondered vaguely about that. “A trigger,” he mused. “I don’t think so. I didn’t go nuts last night, and you were a lot more specific than Mom was.”  

“I know, but I’m not too sure how to explain that to her. And I’d like to try, she doesn’t need to be feeling guilty on top of everything else,” Joe replied silently. “The weight, by the way, is a blanket. Mom seemed to think it might help.” 

“You don’t know?” Mrs. Hardy was saying. “What’s to know? I started talking about it and he- he just-” 

“He wasn’t exactly chipper when we came in, Mom.” Joe sighed, apparently in response to some gesture Laura made. “Well, if you really want to take the blame, go right ahead-” 

“Joseph Hardy, don’t you speak to me that way!” 

Frank pulled his eyes open at that, suddenly angry that his mother should speak ‘that way’ herself. He caught a glimpse of Joe standing with his hands held up in a warding gesture, but then his eyes closed on their own.  

“Mom-” Joe’s voice was strangely calm, yet determined. “Listen. You’re tired and upset and really stressed. You’d do yourself a world of good if you go home, eat some lunch, and get some decent sleep. The better you’re feeling, the better it will be for him.” “For both of us,” he amended silently to Frank, who had to agree. 

“You sound like Dad. And you’re right.” 

Silence. Silence that lasted for what seemed a long time. A hand touched Frank’s cheek, startling him, and then he heard heels clicking quietly out the door. He found himself hoping that she wasn’t too angry. 

“No, not at all. She just looked surprised, and then sort of...well, defeated, and nodded.” Joe spoke aloud this time, and now his hand closed on Frank’s. The elder teen made his eyes open. His brother had taken over the chair and was regarding him intently. “You’re pale, but you look a lot calmer.” 

Frank nodded. “Don’t go away again,” he murmured, hardly aware of what he was saying. 

“Me, I didn’t go anywhere.” Joe leaned over the rail, frowned, thumped his fist against it and said, “Stupid thing,” then turned his gaze back to Frank. “You hyperventilated.” 

Which had made him pass out. “Oh.” Silence fell again. Frank felt himself drifting, drifting very peacefully, almost asleep but not quite. “I don’t understand either,” he whispered at length. “There’s nothing wrong! No...no reason for it.” 

“Not knowing the reason isn’t the same as having no reason,” Joe pointed out quietly. 

“Well...” That was hard to disagree with. “Then what do you think caused it?” Frank opened his eyes in time to see Joe shrug. 

“I don’t know either. I wasn’t looking for reasons.”  

To anyone else that would have sounded callous, but no one else could have known what Joe had been doing. He hadn’t been interested in the source of the fear; he’d been too busy trying to calm the chaos it had made of Frank’s emotions.  

“Could be it was a delayed reaction. Shock, you know.” 

“Could be,” Frank echoed. “I didn’t have time for it last night, that’s for sure.” He felt Joe’s hand on his arm again.  

“Not to mention, this entire week’s been unpleasant enough. We’ve all got our nerves run ragged, but this...” 

“The last straw?” Frank asked, mildly amused. Joe looked a little embarrassed.  

“More like the last camel,” he amended. That surprised a weak laugh out of Frank. 

“Now who’s comparing whom to an animal?” he asked with a smile, feeling his spirits lighten. 

“Hey, turnabout’s fair.” Joe grinned back. 

“I suppose it is.” Frank closed his eyes again and drifted for a bit. “That was a horrible feeling,” he said suddenly.  

Joe’s curiosity was almost tangible. 

“When I finally got my walls down. Awful. How do you deal with it?” 

“What was so bad about it?” 

Frank struggled with it for a minute. “Feeling...so exposed. So... I don’t know how to describe it. Like having my most private thoughts suddenly given to my worst enemies and just waiting for them to start mocking me.” He frowned, thinking of something. “Remember Dennis Mures? Always trying to find out some dirt on someone else and tell the whole school?” 

“Oh, yeah. Sticking that poor girl’s IQ test results up on the cafeteria wall like that. And telling everyone that Ed’s mother was an alcoholic.” Joe frowned, reflecting. “Vulnerable,” he added after a moment. 

“Yeah. But worse. Like if someone had walked by they might have seen, or heard, everything there ever was to know about me.” 

“That is definitely an unpleasant thought.”  

“You don’t get that feeling?”  

“No.” A thoughtful pause. “Sounds like you pulled everything down. I only take down a small section- like opening a window. Or maybe a door.” 

“I’ll try to remember that.”  

“At least now that you’ve done it, you know you can do it again,” Joe remarked. 

Silence fell as Frank thought about that. His thoughts began to drift, and he wasn’t aware when he slipped into a deep sleep. 

Joe looked over at the door in surprise as the tall, angular figure of a woman stepped into the hospital room. Despite what his mother had said, he hadn’t expected to see his aunt here today. 

“How is he?” she asked at once, placing her purse on the floor and walking briskly to the side of the bed. “Hmph. Too pale. How long has he been asleep?” 

“A little over an hour,” Joe answered quietly. “And he had a transfusion last night.” For the first time he noticed that the drip-bag now on the IV stand was half full of clear liquid.  

Gertrude looked about for another chair; since there wasn’t one, Joe got up and his aunt sat down. “Thank you,” she said civilly. “So what has the doctor said? How long will they keep him in here?” 

“Haven’t seen the doctor yet. And they haven’t left his chart hanging around or I might’ve taken a look at that.” 

“The doctor hasn’t been in yet?” Gertrude repeated, clearly shocked. 

“The nurses have come in- temperature and blood pressure and all that- but no doctor. He said they gave him a pain shot this morning, I guess that’s why he’s been sleeping.” Joe shrugged. “But no, I haven’t seen a doctor.” 

“Why, that’s irresponsible!” Gertrude muttered. “If something should go wrong-” 

Joe sighed internally. Evidently his aunt was almost as agitated as his mother had been. Not that he blamed either of them, he was still somewhat tense about the whole thing himself, but he did wish they’d be a little more optimistic. “I suppose he feels that there isn’t much that can go wrong at this point,” he suggested. 

“Something can always go wrong,” his aunt retorted.  

“Besides, he’s got other patients. And we don’t know how late his shift went. He might’ve been here till five or six in the morning, Auntie.” Incredible- defending a doctor he didn’t even like... But it wasn’t fair to let his anxious aunt pick the guy to pieces without knowing the whole story. 

“I suppose you’re right. And of course the staff would contact him if something happened,” Gertrude agreed, displaying one of her sudden mood flips. “I can’t believe how rigid this hospital is. I actually had to present my identification before they’d let me up. And then they warned me of all the prohibitions and rules before they’d tell me where the elevators were. As if I had ever smoked in my life, or would go about deliberately disturbing sick people!” 

Joe let that one pass. He hadn’t cared for the ‘Twenty Questions’ - ‘More like Twenty-Five Regulations,’ he amended to himself- lecture that the on-duty nurse had dealt him before he could see his brother. His aunt was saying something now about Bayport General. That they should have taken Frank there. “This one was closer,” he said quietly. “Location was an issue.”  

Gertrude took her gaze away from Frank and stared at Joe for a long moment, worry suddenly etched on her face. She looked as though she were about to speak, then turned away, her eyes dropping to the floor. Joe took a few steps and hugged her rather awkwardly; she patted his arm with a gentle hand and then sat up, straightening her shoulders and clearing her throat. “I suppose it would have been wiser- oh, Frank, you’re awake. I hope I didn’t rouse you with all my fussing.” 

Joe glanced down and met his brother’s dark, sleepy eyes.  

“H’lo, Auntie,” Frank murmured, and then yawned. “No, it wasn’t you. My side’s hurting.” 

Joe looked around, but didn’t see one of the bell-ringers used to summon the medical personnel. “I’ll go find one of the nurses,” he volunteered, and left the room. The nurse on duty at the station was much more agreeable than the last one had been, and told Joe she’d be right down with the injection that Dr Mackenzie had left orders for.  

“Could’ve used the bell,” Frank mentioned when Joe got back into the room. 

“I didn’t see it,” Joe answered, looking where Frank was pointing. Of course the bell would be on the opposite wall from where he was standing! “Besides, now she only has to make one trip.”  

A minute or so later, the nurse did hurry in, carrying a tray with alcohol swabs and a needle. She deftly administered the injection in Frank’s arm, made a few cheerful remarks, and then hurried out again.  

After the nurse left, Joe leaned against the wall by the head of the bed and observed as Gertrude chatted to Frank. His brother didn’t say much in reply, but he smiled a few times. Joe didn’t pay much attention to the talk, just watched, feeling a strange detachment. He’d never realized before that his aunt cared more about his brother than she did about him, and he wondered what the reason for this was. He also wondered why the thought didn’t disturb him. All he could feel was this peculiar distance. 

“Oh! I almost forgot, we finally heard from your father-” 

The boy’s detachment snapped; he stood sharply upright and stared at his aunt. Frank was equally alert. “When? Is he all right?” 

“He called this morning, not long after you,” she glanced at Joe “and your mother left to come here. I gave him a piece of my mind for worrying us this way, I can tell you. He said he’s fine, and he should be home in two or three days. He was also very confused as to why we didn’t get any letters, he said he sent several. He’s going to have some words with the research chief about that.” 

Joe leaned back against the wall with a huge sigh. The abrupt relief of the long tension left him suddenly shaky. “Thank goodness.” 

“Did he say anything else about the case?” Frank asked. His voice sounded a little weak. 

“Not a word. Just that he can’t talk about it.”  

“Figures,” Joe muttered. 

The three of them talked for about another hour, with Gertrude doing most of the talking and Frank doing the least. Eventually, though, their aunt rose from the chair and said she’d be heading home. “I’ve talked your ear off long enough. And I think your shot is taking effect, Frank, you look half-asleep. Joe, you’re going to stay?” 

Frank’s eyes opened. Joe nodded, and then he paused. “Oh. Mom brought me in-” If his aunt left without him, he’d have no way to get home; one of the women would have to come collect him.  

“Come home with me, have some lunch, and then you can drive your own car back here. You’re mother’s going to be too stressed to drive this evening, and you know how I am about night driving,” the elderly woman suggested. 

“Such a sensible aunt,” Joe said with a smile. “And if Mom’s feeling better after lunch, maybe she’ll come along too.” He looked over at Frank, who was watching him with an indecipherable _expression. “Work for you?” he asked, reaching over the bar to touch his brother’s arm. 

Frank nodded slightly. “I’m ‘bout to fall asleep anyway. Not the best company. Bring a book with you or something.” 

Joe didn’t take the time to answer that, not with their aunt standing right there. He gave Frank’s arm a squeeze, then let go and turned to the door. “See you in- well, sixty times two,” he said over his shoulder. 

“Make it a math book,” Frank replied, smiling, and Joe laughed as he closed the door behind him.  

The drive home took a little longer than the one the night before had; Gertrude was a cautious driver and seldom reached the speed limit. She also kept up a running commentary about the drivers she encountered, scolding them as though they could hear her and denouncing everyone on the road as ignorant, rude or both. Joe bit his lip and kept his grins inside. 

When they got home, his aunt went into her ultra-efficient mode and began to prepare lunch. Laura was still sleeping and Gertrude told Joe in no uncertain terms to let her sleep until she woke on her own. Joe had no intention of disobeying; he took a quick shower while his aunt cooked, since he hadn’t had one either last night or this morning. He trotted down the stairs and into the kitchen just as Gertrude placed a grilled-ham-and-cheese sandwich on a plate and brought out a container of vegetable sticks. “Looks great, Auntie,” he told her. Gertrude smiled, fixed herself a tuna salad sandwich, and joined him at the table. 

Joe didn’t waste any time; he was hungrier than he’d realized, and he was anxious to get back to the hospital. He had sensed when Frank had drifted off for a while, but now he was awake again and rather uneasy. ‘I would be too, if I was in his place.’ He hurriedly collected a book, and then, out of habit, grabbed up the sketchpad and pencil. He was out the door a minute later. His aunt didn’t call him back to take care of his plate and milk glass, for which he was grateful. 

Throughout the forty-minute drive, Joe was aware of his brother’s growing fear. Engrossed as he was with driving, it was not an easy matter for Joe to turn his concentration to Frank, but he tried his best, sending as soothing thoughts as he could manage. It didn’t help that Joe was as frustrated now with the traffic as his aunt had been on the way home. He also couldn’t really tell if Frank was aware of the sending or not, since he didn’t remark on Joe’s presence in his mind. Possibly he thought the fear was fading on its own.  

Joe was about ten minutes from the hospital when he felt the fear turn to utter terror, a panic so deep and so completely nerve-racking that he carefully pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. Now free of other distractions, he was able to link more strongly with Frank. “What is it?” he asked, feeling his own hands shake in sympathy with his brother’s trembling.  

“I don’t know!”  

Joe winced at the helplessness in that frightened cry. “I’m trying-” he started, feeling inadequate. And got back the sense of his brother nodding slightly, of gratitude mingled in the fear.  

“It’s helping, Joe, it helps a lot.” 

‘Helps,’ Joe thought to himself. ‘But doesn’t make it stop. I wish-’ He took a deep breath, tightened his grip on the steering wheel, and sent, “I’m almost there- fifteen minutes, maybe.”

Another nod, and a wordless plea to hurry.  

Joe wondered a little about that as he checked the mirrors and pulled back onto the highway. It seemed strange to ‘feel’ a nod; feeling an emotion seemed a bit more expected. Then he remembered what Akilana had said about some people sending thoughts and feelings, others sending images, and some doing both. He supposed a nod could qualify as an image, of sorts. Or perhaps it was a feeling. Then he shook himself back to the here and now, and soon pulled into the hospital parking lot.  

He was in luck, there was an open parking place right near the door; he pulled the car in and hurried to check in at the visitors desk. Here Joe was held up for several minutes, but managed to contain his seething impatience long enough to be civil, if only just barely. Finally he reached Frank’s room and hurried in, dropping the book and notepad that he’d automatically picked up when he got out of the car.  

His brother didn’t look good. Frank’s face was very pale, his eyes were closed and his jaw clenched; his hands were gripping the sheet and blanket so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He was also shaking visibly. Joe leaned over the bed, cursing the guardrail, and laid both his hands on Frank’s shoulders. “Easy,” he said softly, sending and speaking at the same time.  

He found himself gazing into frightened brown eyes; simultaneously, he felt as if he’d been wrapped in a thick, choking cloud of fear. It wasn’t like mist or fog; it was far more solid and heavier. It clung, and there was a powerful sense of threat in it. Shaken by both the peculiar sensation and the malice that resonated from it, Joe reacted without thinking. Gathering his mind’s strength, he shoved it away. He didn’t know where, where wasn’t important. As long as it left his brother alone. 

The ground seemed to sway a little beneath him. Joe felt his hands release what they were holding, felt himself sink into a chair as his legs gave out. It took a minute for the hospital room to come back into focus, longer for the sudden weakness to fade.  

“Joe?”  

He turned at the whisper and saw Frank watching him between the bars of the guardrail. Turning his head made him aware of a headache, but it wasn’t a bad one. “You all right?” he asked, suddenly worried, and got back to his feet.  

“What did you do?” Frank asked him incredulously. “It’s- gone!” 

What had he done? Joe shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure what I did,” he answered honestly, feeling a little lost. He had done something, but what it was and how he’d managed it, he had no idea.  

“You made it stop,” his brother murmured, and Joe looked down into eyes that had lost their terrible fear and now shone with gratitude.  

“I’m glad,” he answered hesitantly. “But I don’t know how I did it, Frank- and I...I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it again.” He clasped the hand his brother had just lifted, and noted that his admission didn’t dim the grateful look Frank was giving him.  

“I’m not thinking that far ahead, Joe. You did it now, and even before that you were helping- just knowing you were on the way was a comfort. I just wish I knew what was causing it!” Frank let out a tired, frustrated sigh and closed his eyes.  

Joe squeezed his hand, sharing the frustration. He was not unused to seeing momentary fear or alarm in those calm brown eyes, but he was very unused to seeing this kind of panic from his usually self-possessed brother, and it unsettled him. Joe supposed that he ought to feel honored that Frank would allow himself to show such vulnerability; it meant he trusted Joe. But it wasn’t really a case of ‘allowing’ himself. Frank didn’t seem to have any choice in the matter; the emotion was simply too strong to be concealed. “I was thinking about that,” he ventured. “I wondered if the pain medication might be responsible- the timing seems to fit.” 

Frank opened his eyes and frowned thoughtfully. “The timing, that’s true, it does seem to happen soon after they dose me, but...” 

Joe pulled the chair closer with his foot and sat down. His knees were still a little weak. “I know you’re pretty drug-resistant, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t some you’re sensitive to. Allergic to, more or less.” 

“True, I guess, but why would a pain medication have that sort of effect in the first place?” 

Joe shrugged. “You never know. I read about a drug that listed hallucinations and nightmares among the side effects. I think it was one of the more common antibiotics, don’t remember which one now. It’s maybe less likely for a pain drug, but if you had a sensitivity already...” He shrugged again.  

“Maybe,” Frank agreed, sounding a little more convinced. “Maybe if the doctor ever comes in, we can ask.” 

“Still hasn’t shown?” Joe asked in some surprise, looking at the clock. It was just about two in the afternoon.  

Frank shook his head. “I wish I could sit up or move around or something,” he grumbled after a minute. “I’m getting all stiff, and I think my legs have gone to sleep.” 

“I’ll help you sit up, if you want.” 

The older boy hesitated. “I gave it a try a little while ago, but my side didn’t care for the idea,” he admitted eventually. “It probably isn’t a very smart idea. But that doesn’t keep me from wishing.” 

“Hm.” Joe glanced around the bed. “Doesn’t it have one of those recline buttons?”  

“Not that I can see. Of course, my vision’s a little limited right now.” 

Joe saw nothing that resembled bed controls on the wall above the bed or on the railing. Standing, he walked around to the foot of the bed, then checked the other side. “Strange,” he muttered. 

“Try under the bed,” Frank suggested. 

Joe obeyed and let out an “Aha!” of victory as he pulled the cord towards him. “There y’go,” he said cheerfully, handing the small white box to his brother. Frank took it eagerly and soon he was leaning back against the inclined mattress.  

“It is nice to sit up. Oh, you actually took my advice,” he added, seeing the book and sketchpad that had fallen on the floor when Joe sat down in the chair. 

“When have I ever not taken your advice?” Joe inquired, moving back to the other side of the bed and bending to scoop the items from the floor. 

“Frequently.” 

Joe straightened up, sat back down in the chair and grinned, about to make a snappy comeback, but before he could do so the door opened and the doctor came in. He was a tall, thin man with a long, pale face and a pinched nose. His hair was sparse on top and going gray on the sides. He was wearing the usual white jacket over a dark blue suit and carried a chart in his thin, bony hand. 

“Good afternoon. Theodore Mackenzie,” he said to Frank, giving Joe a brief glance and then dismissing his presence. “I see you’ve had one injection so far today. Sleep all right last night?” 

“I woke up around four, but fell back asleep pretty quickly,” Frank answered. “I’ve always been pretty drug resistant,” he added at the doctor’s slight surprise. 

“I see. Any severe pain, sudden twinges, anything the medication doesn’t seem to be taking care of?” 

Frank shook his head.  

“And you didn’t eat anything?” 

“It probably looked that way,” Frank answered. Joe listened with new interest; he’d assumed his brother had eaten at least once. “I wasn’t very hungry- I did eat, just not very much.” 

“Ah. Well, let’s have a look.” The doctor put the chart down on the bed, pulled the covers aside, and drew back the clumsy hospital gown. “Hmm.” Joe couldn’t see what he was doing, but a little sound from Frank suggested that Mackenzie was prodding the wound. “It’s doing fine, no swelling, no rash, and no more tenderness than one would expect.” He turned to make a note on the chart, leaving Frank to rearrange the gown and covers. “Blood pressure’s steady, so no problems there. Temperature’s normal. All right, well, if you continue as you’ve begun, we should have you out of here in a day or two.” 

Frank nodded again, and then said, with a hesitant glance at Joe, “There is one thing- about the pain medication, does it have any odd side effects?” 

“For example?” The doctor didn’t seem very interested. 

“Well, each time I’ve had it, within an hour I- I start feeling strange. Sort of panicky.” Frank cast another glance at Joe, plainly inviting him to speak up. Joe understood; this doctor wasn’t the sort who was easy to confide in. 

“It really unnerved our mother, when she was here. He was shaking all over. And hyperventilating.” 

“Hmmm. That doesn’t sound like a side effect, no. Hyperventilating- what else? Racing heartbeat? Sweating?” 

Frank nodded again.  

“Sounds like a fairly classic anxiety attack. Not unusual after a trauma. You should find the attacks ease off within a week or so. If not, find a good therapist and talk things over with ‘em.” Dr. Mackenzie finished making his notes, added, “I’ll have a followup X-ray done tomorrow to make sure your sutures are holding, though I don’t expect any trouble. If it all goes well, you should be out by the next morning.” He gave Frank a brief nod and walked quickly out of the room. 

Joe stared as the door swung closed, utterly stunned by this display of insensitivity. Then he shook his head once and turned to look at his brother, who was as shocked as he. Anger started to burn through Joe- after everything Frank had been through, how dare that- that-  

“Anxiety?” Frank tore his gaze from the door. “Anxiety?!” he repeated furiously and swore softly but vehemently for a few moments. Pausing, he caught his breath, then added a few choice afterthoughts. “He might as well say road rage was minor irritation!” he growled at last.  

Joe listened with angry sympathy to his brother’s curses and nodded. “We’ve met some incredibly insensitive people in our time, but I think he takes the Golden Bull award,” he declared. “I have half a mind to go after him-” 

“Don’t bother,” Frank said wearily. “He’d probably just say he was being medically correct. People like that are more concerned with being accurate than anything else. It doesn’t even occur to them that others have feelings.” 

“I can’t imagine why someone like that would ever become a doctor,” Joe mused. He’d always been under the impression that medical people had a wish to help people. It was something he admired, though he’d seen enough in the course of their cases to know he couldn’t’ve done it himself. There had been people injured and even killed in several of their investigations, and the memories still turned up in his nightmares from time to time. He couldn’t imagine dealing with the sick and hurt and dying every day. 

Frank shrugged at the remark. “Maybe he started as a researcher and got interested in surgery. Or maybe he just was attracted by the idea of wealth and prestige.” 

“And the privelage of putting a cold stethoscope on someone’s bare skin,” Joe suggested, and both the boys smiled, if a trifle sourly. 

“Don’t forget giving injections and poking people to see how much they hurt,” Frank muttered.  

“Do doctors give injections? I thought they told the nurses, who did the jabbing.”  

“I expect at least some of them do. You could always ask one.” 

“There’s an idea. I’ll take a survey,” Joe decided, and smiled to see his brother’s _expression lighten. “So what’s this about not eating, huh?” he asked.  

Frank cast his eyes at the ceiling. “I knew it. It’s just what I said, Joe, I wasn’t hungry. And you might not have been either, if you’d been served oatmeal. I mean, yeah, you imitate a Hoover real well, but this was hospital oatmeal.” 

Joe made a face. “Okay, I retract the question. Oatmeal is revolting.” 

“Thank you, mother.” Frank got a good bit of sarcastic emphasis on the last word. “Which reminds me-” 

“She was still asleep when I left the house after lunch. And speaking of lunch, it looks like yours has arrived. A late one at that, it’s nearly two-thirty,” Joe remarked as the door opened and a young fellow in medical garb brought in a tray. 

“Doctor Mackenzie said he’d finished examining you, I guess he didn’t want you to eat till he’d approved it,” the man explained to Frank. Then he turned to Joe. “He’s a very good doctor, although he’s rather strict.” 

“This whole hospital is rather strict,” was Joe’s reply. “And I would use a different word entirely for the doctor, but I don’t suppose that would be polite.” 

The man smiled. “You might not be the first,” he admitted tactfully. “But he does have an admirable skill in the operating room, so people put up with his manner.” His attention returned to Frank. “Since you’re already sitting up, I’ll just ask you to lean back a bit. There.” He secured the tray on the bedrails. “Enjoy it, or at least try to,” he said with a wink, and departed.  

“Well, better luck the second time around,” was Frank’s verdict, and he did eat most of the meal. “Reminds me of cafeteria food. But better than oatmeal.” 

“Boiled shoes would be better than that,” was Joe’s opinion. 

“Is that what happened to your old sneakers? You boil ‘em up every time Aunt G serves oatmeal?” Frank grinned at him and then leaned back against the bed with a sigh and the two of them talked quietly until the intern returned for the tray at about three o’clock.  

“Hey, not bad!” was his reaction on seeing Frank’s half-empty tray. “You’re the winner so far. We keep a sort of running total of who eats the most at which meal,” the intern added in explanation. “You totally lost at breakfast.” 

Frank smiled. “You mean someone actually ate some of that junk?” 

“Yes indeed, someone managed two entire spoonfuls.” The good-natured man grinned. “Our winner.” He loosened the clasps that held the tray to the rail. 

“You an intern?” Joe asked him curiously. 

“Yep. First year, which is why I get to play waiter with the food instead of with the medications. Name’s Dave, by the way. And are you two who I think you are?” 

The boys exchanged a glance. “That kinda depends who you think we are,” Joe replied. 

“Saw your name on the med chart. Famous detectives, right?” 

“Well, famous is in the eye of the beholder,” Frank answered modestly. “But we do investigations, yes.” 

Dave balanced the tray on the bedrail. “I read the paper, that’s close enough to famous to my humble eyes. It sounds incredibly exciting, but...” he paused, looking more seriously at Frank. “Guess that’s in the eye of the beholder, too, huh?” 

“That’s true. We were checking out a few things, and I got pretty unlucky. Or, well, maybe I mean lucky after all,” he added with a glance at Joe.  

“That’s right, you’re breathing, talking, eating, sitting, and you know who you are. And you’ll probably add walking to the list tomorrow. Definitely luckier than some of my poor folks.” Dave’s tone was fairly light, but his _expression had grown serious and there was genuine sympathy when he spoke of ‘his poor folks’. “Anyway, I’ve got to get moving, but if you need anything, just holler. Um, figuratively.” 

“Figuratively, it is,” Joe agreed, and watched as the young man left the room and turned down the hall. “Good guy.” 

“Yeah, too bad he’s not the doctor,” Frank agreed. After that he was quiet, and soon drifted off, still sitting up. Joe picked up the book he’d brought along and started to read. 

There was a knife in Frank’s side. 

He stared at it, feeling the metal of the automobile behind him, feeling the metal of the blade within him, feeling the pain spreading outward from the knife.  

A flash caught his eye; the fair-haired man in front of him was holding a knife. Another one. “Cutting edge,” he said smilingly. He lifted his hand and Frank ran. He could hardly move, but he tried, his legs racing, arms pumping. It was like running through deep snow or thick mud, or up a long steep hill. He was panting for breath and his heart was pounding.  

He couldn’t keep going. It was too much; he leaned against the building wall and tried to catch his breath. It’s the knife, he thought suddenly. It’s heavy, it’s slowing me down. I’ve got to get it out so I can run! He sank to the pavement and gripped the handle, but it wouldn’t move. He pulled; it hurt like fury, but an inch of red-stained blade appeared and this gave him new strength. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and hauled hard on the blade. 

The pain tore through him, it was as if the knife was causing more damage in the removing than it had in the stabbing. But Frank persisted and at last it was out. He dropped it on the sidewalk and tried to get up, to keep running, but the agony in his side was too strong. He had to rest first.  

Opening his eyes, Frank saw the knife lying on the concrete- and saw the blood pouring out of his wound. Gasping in horror, he tried to stop the flow, but it ran out between his fingers, saturated his clothes. The pain was worsening, his arms and legs were growing numb, his body shaking with icy chills as his blood spilled all over the sidewalk.  

Help me! he tried to scream, but he had no voice, no breath. Legs moved past him, feet stepped over him and avoided the pooling blood, but no one stopped. Then there were no feet, no people, no sidewalk, nothing - just the thick grayness surrounding him, smothering him... 

“Frank.”  

He knew the voice, turned toward it, desperate. Help me, he cried out again, and it answered him.  

“I will.” A shaft of bright strength, like warm sunlight on a cold bleak day, enveloped him.  

The sensation of strong arms around him, the sound of a voice murmuring quietly, soothingly. “It’s all right. You’re safe, Frank. It’s over now. Just hang on to me, you’ll be fine.” His own arms, heavy with fatigue, clutching weakly at a strong body. Feeling the suffocating terror retreat, driven away by that beloved voice.  

Slowly, uncertainly, Frank pulled his eyes open and gasped in relief. No buildings, no sidewalk, no knife. Instead he was in the hospital room, in the bed- and his brother was holding him close. “Easy,” Joe said softly. “It was a wicked one, wasn’t it?” 

Frank couldn’t answer. He was shaking with cold terror and breathing hard; sweat was beading on his forehead. He loosened his grip on his brother and pressed his hand to his side, terrified of what he’d find. 

“It was a dream, Frank, just a dream. You’re okay.”  

Nothing. No blood. Only a little twinge of pain, nothing like the agony he’d felt before. “Oh...” The word came out with a rush of tears; turning his face into his brother’s shoulder, he sobbed in relief for a few minutes. A hand moved gently on his back, soothing, calming. Gradually he found a measure of composure and stopped crying, but he didn’t let go.  

“So strong,” he whispered after a long silence, slowly looking up. 

“Huh?” Joe looked confused; Frank felt a sudden urge to laugh. Didn’t Joe even know how strong he was? 

“You. You’re so strong. Fought off my fear for me. I wish I had your strength.” 

Joe looked more puzzled than before. “You have your own strength, Frank. I’ve seen it often enough!” 

“My strength isn’t enough- I can’t even control my own fear! You can fight off these, these panics, I can’t! Joe...you remember what Akilana said? She called me a Guardian and you a Warrior. And she was right- I protect other people, not myself.” ‘And right now- protection is what I desperately need, from whatever the hell is causing this!’ he added in his own mind. He took a deep breath and let his tired eyes close, irrationally worried for the results of what he was about to say. “Keep fighting for me, Warrior,” he whispered. “Please. Fight for me until I learn to protect myself.”  

Silence. Was he asking too much? Did Joe not understand? Was he going to keep trying to argue against the need, keep telling Frank that his own strength should suffice? Would he, like their father, insist that some things had to be faced alone? That doing otherwise could cause a dangerous dependency? He needed Joe’s help, he couldn’t bear this alone... Frank felt his brother lean closer, and then, gentle as a feather, he felt lips touch his forehead.  

Something like joy broke open inside Frank at that touch. ‘You understand,’ he thought, dazed. ‘Oh, God, you understand!’  

He hadn’t hoped for understanding. He’d only hoped for Joe’s half-puzzled, good-natured agreement- anything from a ‘well, if you really think you need it’ to a ‘sure, I’ll do whatever I can to help’. This- this tender covenant, this silent comprehension, almost stunned him. ‘Finding out what’s wrong- helping me learn to stop it, or at least learn to control it- it’s as important to him as it is to me.’ 

A hand on his cheek startled Frank; tears were slowly trickling out of his eyes and Joe was wiping them away. If it were anyone else, he would have been horribly embarrassed by this hour, this entire day, but it wasn’t anyone else. Exhausted by his turbulent emotions, he didn’t open his eyes, but felt himself being lowered to the bed, felt the mattress recline further until he was lying almost flat. The hint was plain enough and he soon took it, sliding back into sleep. 

He was roused somewhat later by a hand on his shoulder and a voice speaking his name. Opening his eyes, he smiled at his brother. But Joe didn’t look very happy, he thought through his sleepiness. “What’s up?” 

“I’m being told to scoot. Visiting hours are over,” Joe explained, looking a little peeved.  

Frank felt an icicle of fear touch him, but tried to squelch it. “Oh...it’s eight already?” 

“Yeah. I didn’t want to leave without telling you, just in case you woke up again.” 

‘Just in case I had another nightmare and woke up wondering why I was alone,’ Frank translated to himself. “I’m glad you did,” he said aloud. “See you in the morning, then.” 

Joe hesitated. “Yes...Frank, you’ll be okay?” 

He sounded so reluctant to leave. Frank smiled, his apprehension fading. “I’ll be okay.” 

“If you need me-” 

Frank nodded and gripped the hand that was suddenly resting on his. “I hope I don’t, but if so, I know what to do now.” A momentary silence, and then Joe sighed, gently withdrew his hand, scooped up his things and left, casting a last glance over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him. The elder Hardy drew in a deep breath, let it out in a long sigh, and added under his breath, “I hope!”  

“Strong.”

“What?” Joe wasn’t sure what he’d heard, wasn’t sure what it meant. 

“You. So strong. Fighting off my fear for me. Wish I had your strength.” 

Frank’s mental voice had not been much more than a whisper; he’d been so exhausted from the last ‘anxiety’ attack. It had been a bad one, sparked by a dreadful nightmare, but he had responded swiftly to Joe’s calmness. Joe had also been rather pleased- in a fashion- that he’d repelled that cloud of terror in his brother’s mind without exerting as much energy as before. 

“You have your own strength,” Joe protested. 

Hadn’t he seen his brother’s strength, time after time? His cool attitude under pressure, his ability to take whatever threats or violence were thrown his way and meet them without flinching, his ability to weave logic through the most mystifying situations. Frank wasn’t always in complete control of his feelings, but when they slipped, he mastered them. They never ruled him.  

Until now. 

“It’s not enough. Remember what Akilana told us? I’m a Guardian. I protect other people, not myself.” Frank took a long, deep breath. “Keep fighting for me, Warrior. Please. Fight for me till I learn how to protect myself.” 

The words still echoed in Joe’s mind as he lay in bed. Tears burned his eyes at the memory. 

‘He ought to’ve known he didn’t need to ask. But...maybe he did need to ask. And maybe I-’ 

Joe was at a complete loss, knowing that anything he could possibly say would sound trivial beside that soul-deep plea. And so, without even thinking, he did something he had not done since he was about five years old. He leaned over and brushed a kiss onto his brother’s forehead.

Frank hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even opened his eyes, but from the look on his face, he’d known the promise was made.  

‘Maybe I had to do that. Maybe it was the only answer he could accept. I don’t know. I just know I want to help him. I will help him. I won’t just be strong when he needs me, I’ll help him learn to control this fear- to protect himself.’  

Joe curled up on the bed. It was late. Time to sleep. He relaxed, let his mind drift, barely remembering to set his alarm. He wasn’t going to risk oversleeping, not when they might get word of Frank’s release from the hospital tomorrow.  

His mother and aunt had both been pleased to hear how well his brother was recuperating- physically. Joe had explained what the insensitive doctor had said about ‘anxiety’ attacks, and both of the women had been as outraged as the boys were. Laura said she had heard of such things before; ‘panic attacks’ was what she’d heard them called, and Joe admitted that was a lot more accurate. “That doctor suggested he might need counseling. I don’t know- I hope not, but it sure shakes him up badly. He can’t control it, and I think that bugs him more than the fact that it’s happening at all.” He knew more than that, of course, but that was between the two of them. 

“Maybe just being home will help,” Laura had suggested, and that did seem likely. For one thing, there were no stupid visiting hours at home. His mother had then given Joe some more good news; while he’d been at the hospital, Fenton had called again and said he’d be home in two days. “He was hoping to be here a bit sooner, but he’s pausing to find out who didn’t send us his letters.” 

“I hope Dad does something pretty stern to him,” Joe had growled. “None of this would’ve happened if we’d gotten those letters in the first place. You told him about Frank?” 

“Yes, I explained it to him. He was very upset to hear that Frank got hurt, but he agreed that under the circumstances, you did right to investigate the ‘informant’s’ story. He didn’t say much more than that, though. I expect he’ll talk it over with you two when he gets home.” Then his mother had smiled. “Now, what about some dinner? Or did you eat at the hospital?” 

“I should hope not,” Gertrude had said tartly from the kitchen, bringing out a plate piled high with good food. 

Now, lying in his bed, full of dinner and dessert, seeing the familiar items around him in his mind’s eye, Joe suddenly felt a pang of guilt. It was so different from the hospital, so much more comforting and familiar, with loved ones nearby. The sooner Frank came home to it, the better.

Next morning, Joe was up well before the alarm went off. He dressed and ate, and then waited impatiently for nine-fifteen so that he’d get to the hospital right as visiting hours started. While he waited, he called Sam Radley and asked how the business investigation was going.  

“Got two down, four more to go,” was Sam’s answer. “Your aunt called me yesterday, Joe, and told me what happened to Frank. Is he all right?” 

Joe hesitated. “He’s...recovering. They’re talking about releasing him tomorrow, but that’s pending the doctor’s okay. He’s been pretty shaken up by it- we all have, really. Both of us’ve been in the hospital a bunch of times, you know, but more to make sure we were okay than to get fixed up, if you see what I mean.” 

“Yes, I know what you’re getting at. Is he having visitors?”  

“He’s at West Side, and they’re strict people- it’s family only, I’m afraid,” Joe said diplomatically. He was pretty sure Frank would be glad to see Sam- but not yet.  

“Well, maybe when he’s out and I’ve wrapped up this nonsense, I’ll drop by. Meantime, give him my- and Ethel’s- regards.” 

“Thanks, Sam, I will. Oh, that research-” 

“Forget the research, Frank’s more important. I called in some favors with some of the other guys, they whined at me a bit, but they’re getting it done. Not as quick as I’d like, but it’s progressing. Oops...gotta run, something’s up. Take care, Joe.” 

Joe said a quick goodbye and hung up, then frowned thoughtfully at the phone. Didn’t sound like Sam’s helpers were going to be much use. He’d take the printouts along with him, he decided. Frank might be alert enough, and restless enough, to want something to do. And even if he wasn’t up to reading over all the dull text, it might prove a worthwhile distraction. Joe had a feeling he and his brother could find more useful stuff than Sam’s reluctant assistants. 

‘At least the power’s back on for a while,’ he thought as he gathered up the papers and then added the book he’d been reading the day before. It was a hell of a nuisance, the way the power would be on in the morning and evening, when it was relatively tolerable, and be off during the middle of the day, when the heat was at it’s fiercest. He understood that the demand was highest then, which would cause the overload that forced the shutdown- but understanding it didn’t make it any easier to put up with. 

“Nine o’clock, close enough,” he mumbled aloud. Hurrying down the stairs, he paused at the sight of his aunt in the kitchen. “Hi, Auntie, I’m about to go,” he told her, walking to the kitchen doorway.  

“All right. Your mother’s still asleep, I think she’s off work today. As soon as she’s up and ready, we’ll join you there,” his aunt replied in a much more placid tone than usual. “You did eat, didn’t you?” 

“Yes, I did.” 

“I couldn’t tell. Thank you for cleaning up so tidily after yourself. And Joe, when are you going to clean your room?” 

“If I do that, I won’t know where anything is, Auntie!” Joe grinned at her. “It’d be like rearranging your novels.” He and Frank often teased Gertrude about the romance and detective novels she loved to read.  

“That’s completely different! My books are all in one place; they’re organized. Don’t you try to change the subject, young man, that room of yours needs a thorough cleaning out. Probably got dust an inch thick in there. Go on, get over to the hospital, but don’t think I’m going to forget about this.” 

“Why not, it worked before,” Joe answered, and slipped out before she decided to throw a potholder at him.  

Frank was sound asleep, lying on his back, his breathing calm and even. After looking closely for a moment, Joe decided his brother’s dark-brown hair wasn’t actually looking darker than usual, it was just wet, which seemed to indicate that someone had decided to help him clean up a little. His face was still rather pale, though less so than the day before. Probably there had been some discomfort involved in getting up and showering, or perhaps he’d had another pain-jab. Or both.  

Joe took the seat in the chair, while he could, and then debated a bit over what to do: read the book, try to finish the sketch he’d started at the beach cottage, or work on the criminal tedium. Finally he decided that business before pleasure should be the phrase of the day, and set about reading and highlighting the documents. He’d gotten through two and was halfway through the third, shaking his head again over the vocabulary, when Frank groaned softly. 

Pausing in his efforts, Joe looked over and then sent a tentative thought into Frank’s mind. ‘Well, it’s not the panic, but that’s not too far off,’ he thought with a frown. “Wake up, big brother,” he suggested. A moment later, Frank’s eyes blinked open.  

“Joe?” 

“Right here.”  

“How long’ve you been here?” 

“Oh, twenty-five minutes, tops. You know I hate to disturb you when you’re sleeping,” he added, anticipating the next question. 

“I’ll remember that the next time you wake me up before dawn,” Frank muttered, but a smile was sneaking onto his face.  

“You wouldn’t think someone who looks so darling when they’re asleep would be such a grump when they get woken up,” Joe went on blithely. This earned him one of Frank’s darkest scowls, but the older teen couldn’t maintain the _expression and finally had to grin. 

“You smartass.” 

“This is not the first time you’ve said that.” 

“Nor the last, if I know you, which I do-” 

“To your everlasting regret, of course.”  

“The only thing I regret is your puns,” Frank replied, sounding a little more serious. He looked it, too, though he was still smiling.

“As well you should, since you inspire most of them,” Joe teased, and then he reached between the rails and squeezed his brother’s wrist. He’d been aiming for Frank’s hand, but miscalculated slightly because the sheets were in the way.  

“I’ll have to stop doing that.” Frank adjusted his arm so that they were hand in hand and returned the pressure. “They decided to stick me under a shower this morning,” he remarked after a moment.  

“I thought that might explain it.” 

“It?” 

Joe let go Frank’s hand and ruffled his damp hair. 

“Oh. Yes, very observant.” 

“That why you were sleeping?” 

“Well, it did make me sleepy, but being woken at seven had a bit to do with it, I think.” 

Joe blinked. “I would expect so,” he agreed. “Why so early?” 

“I guess everyone gets assigned a place in line.” Frank shrugged. “My luck to be one of the first.” 

“Better than being last.”  

“I dunno, I’d rather have been sleeping. What’re you doing?” 

Joe shook the printouts so that they all rustled against each other. “Being bored,” he explained with a sigh. “Sam told me not to worry about it, since he’d gotten some other people to help, but the next minute he was talking about how much they were complaining and how slow they were. I bet we find more than they do.” 

Frank sat up, looking interested. “I’d forgotten all about that,” he confessed. “But I bet you’re right, if his assistants haven’t finished by now, they can’t be giving it much effort. Let me see some of those.” 

Joe handed over about half the stack with a relieved air, pleased that his notion had worked. “It’s tedious, but it’s not as bad as being on a stakeout,” he remarked judiciously. “Oh, Mom and Aunt Gertrude will be in after Mom wakes up. Which she probably has by now. Sam wanted to see you, too, but I told him about this hospital’s crazy ‘family only’ rule so he said to give regards, his and Ethel’s.” 

Frank looked gratified. “I didn’t know this place was family only.” 

“Well...I dunno either, but I wasn’t sure if you would want too many people around yet,” Joe explained. At the reminder, his brother colored a little. 

“Now that you mention it, perhaps not.” Frank hesitated a moment. “What did you tell ‘em when you got home?” 

Joe put down the papers and explained what he’d told their mother about the anxiety attacks- “Panic attacks is what Mom said she’d heard ‘em called-” and finished with his ‘suspicion’ that the panic was troubling Frank considerably. “She hopes that coming home will help,” he wound up quietly. “I think it will, familiar and friendly is always better than strange and impersonal.” 

“I hope you’re right- both of you,” Frank murmured. Then a rueful smile touched his lips. “You ‘suspect’, do you?” 

Joe returned the smile. “That was me being tactful, I’m not surprised you didn’t recognize it. I sorta thought that the rest of it is really between us, unless...?”  

“And it can stay there. Too much explaining involved to go further with it.” 

Joe nodded. If Frank had wanted to tell their mother the whole situation, it would have been all right with him, but it was true that it would require a lengthy and rather fantastic explanation. Either that, or a great deal of embroidery on the truth. Neither was a terribly comfortable thought. 

“Just telling them I panic for no apparent reason isn’t a very comfortable thought,” Frank sent in answer to his musings. “I really don’t want to bare my soul any further than I absolutely have to, especially when they won’t be able to do a thing about it.”  

“Know the feeling,” Joe agreed. “That was how I felt about that nightmare I kept having.” 

“Now I understand a lot better... Joe, you haven’t had that one lately, have you?” 

Joe shook his head. “I think that thunderstorm at the beach scared it away, I haven’t had it since then,” he said aloud. 

Frank looked startled, then shook his head, grinning. “You’re crazy.” Then he looked down at the papers in his hand and said briskly, “To work, then.” 

The boys got in almost an hour’s worth of work on the ‘tedium’, as Joe persisted in calling it, before Laura and Gertrude arrived. The women both seemed very pleased to find Frank sitting up and obviously feeling more like himself. Joe gave up the chair, settled himself on the windowsill on the opposite side of the bed, and listened quietly for a while.  

Mrs. Hardy was almost as much improved as her son. There was color in her cheeks and light in her eyes, and she smiled often. Gertrude had lost the air of uncertainty that had hovered around her the day before and was almost as sharp as usual, but she did not give Frank the expected third degree. Evidently she recognized that he wouldn’t be very inclined to answer a bunch of questions right now.  

‘Or perhaps she doesn’t want to upset him,’ Joe thought, and then recalled the strange feeling he’d had the previous day. The feeling that his aunt favored Frank. He lost himself in thought for a long time, wondering if he’d imagined it or not. If it was true, why? And why didn’t it particularly bother him or make him jealous? He’d always been fond of her... 

The sudden entrance of Dave the intern brought Joe back to reality with a jolt. “Wow, quite a group this morning. Popular, are you, Frank? Afraid I’ve got to borrow you for a while though, you’ve got a date with the X-ray machine.” 

“Oh, just wait till I tell Callie,” Joe said slyly from his perch. 

“Would somebody throw something at him?” Frank requested of the room in general. The women laughed. 

“I’m afraid I didn’t bring anything very useful for throwing, dear,” Laura told him.  

“I should have brought the pot-holder. Better yet, the pot,” Gertrude remarked with a scowl.  

“That woulda been perfect, Auntie. But you wouldn’t want to aim at his head, it’d dent your pot.” 

“More likely, break the window when I ducked,” Joe retorted. Then he looked at Dave. “Thought you were playing waiter?” 

“Yesterday, yeah. Jack-of-all-trades, that’s us first-years. Some of the kitchen staff were out yesterday so it was waiting tables, excuse me, waiting beds,” the young man explained. “Today I’m cargomaster. You want the race-car ride, or are you feeling more traffic-jam inclined?” he added to Frank, who laughed. 

“Isn’t there anything in between?” 

“Well, on Sunday there’s the Sunday drive. But since it’s not Sunday-” 

“Can’t you make an exception?” 

“Wellllllll...” Dave glanced around the room, said, “Don’t tell anyone!” in an exaggerated whisper, and carefully wheeled Frank’s bed out of the room. That was when Joe finally realized what else was different this time; the IV stand was gone. 

“I hope that young man takes his duties seriously,” Gertrude sniffed as the sound of wheels faded, but it was plain that she approved of the intern.  

The chance remark set Joe back on his musing. Maybe that was why he didn’t mind coming in second for his aunt’s affection. She was so critical- even when she wasn’t feeling critical. It was all pretty much a farce. But as long as she persistantly attempted to hide her affection and kindness, he didn’t feel any desire to try and win any for himself.  

‘Strange, that- you’d think it’d be the other way around,’ he thought. Usually one wanted what one wasn’t able to get. ‘Maybe if she was a little less obvious about it...if I genuinely felt I had to pry any affection out of her, then yeah, I guess I’d be jealous that she gave affection to someone else openly. But since I can see right through the act, it doesn’t bother me at all. I have as much as I want. Is that why she does it? She doesn’t realize I see through her? That’s nuts, she’s got to know how transparent she is. Besides, she doesn’t really show it openly to Frank, either...’

Joe dismissed his thoughts, shifted his position on the windowsill, and then looked up as he realized his mother was speaking to him. Something about going down to lunch. “Huh? Oh.” A glance at the clock- it was after one. “I am kind of hungry, I’ll go with you,” he decided, sliding down from his perch.  

“I thought you might be,” Laura agreed. “And when we get back, let’s see if we can’t find another chair or two. That windowsill can’t be comfortable, and my feet are getting tired.” Gertrude stood up from the chair she had claimed with a rather guilty look.  

“If they didn’t have that silly bedrail, we could sit on the end of the bed,” Joe pointed out as they left the room and headed for the elevators. 

“True, but I suspect they don’t want people falling out. Or getting jostled,” his aunt said practically. 

Joe just nodded, for his mind was distracted again. “Going down to lunch,” he sent to Frank, who was patiently waiting in a rather chilly room for the X-ray technician. 

“All three of you?” 

“All three, yep. But at the rate you’re going, we’ll be back before you are,” Joe remarked. 

“They could at least have given me a blanket,” Frank complained. 

“Hey, be grateful. It’s ferocious outside, many people would be glad to be a little cold right now.” Joe smiled at his brother’s suddenly abashed agreement. 

“Forgot about that.”  

The contact lapsed then; Joe had to concentrate on finding something to eat and not looking too spaced-out when someone spoke to him. Frank had to pay attention to the technician, who had just re-entered the room. But Joe’s prediction that they’d be back to the private room before Frank was in error; he was there when they returned. And he didn’t look too good, in Joe’s opinion. Paler, and more tired. While Mrs Hardy and Gertrude bustled around trying to find at least one more chair, Joe went around to the far side of the bed and studied his brother.  

“I’m okay, just aching a good deal,” Frank murmured, meeting his gaze. “I had to stand up and then turn sort of sideways-” 

“Stand up?” Joe repeated, frowning. 

“It wasn’t standing that was the big problem, it was turning like a corkscrew that got me,” Frank explained dryly. “Standing did pull a little, but twisting hurt. And then one of the X-rays was too blurry, so they had to do it over.” 

“Oh.” Joe grimaced in sympathy. Then he glanced up as the women sat down and asked how the X-rays had been. 

“Not a lot of fun. But they’re evaluating them now, so hopefully we’ll soon know when I can get out of here.” 

“That’s good. Maybe even tonight,” Laura said optimistically, but when there had been no sign of the doctor by six that evening, the two women reluctantly decided to leave. This was due in part to their own fatigue, and partly to the the fact that Frank had by then been asleep for an hour and showed no signs of waking. Joe, who had resumed his seat on the windowsill, decided to remain until visiting hours were over, in the hopes of capturing some sort of information from the elusive doctor.  

Once his mother and aunt had departed, Joe slid down from the windowsill and found he was extremely stiff. Taking one of the empty chairs, he leaned back and stretched out his legs, feeling several joints crack as he did. Then he sat up straight and began thumbing over the printouts again. There was only one page left; he’d put the time to good use while Frank was sleeping and the women talking.  

The remaining two hours passed fairly quickly as Joe finished the analysis, stacked the papers and opened his book. Frank continued to sleep peacefully. At eight o’clock, a nurse came in to shoo Joe out and he grumblingly obeyed. “Got to go,” he sent in a sort of mental whisper to his slumbering brother. Frank shifted slightly in the bed, but didn’t awaken. ‘I’ll check back on him when I get home,’ Joe decided. He did so, and found Frank still sleeping quietly.  

Around ten-thirty, however, the phone rang and when Joe picked up he was a bit surprised to hear Frank on the other end. “Doctor Mackenzie finally condescended to drop by,” he said in rather surly tones. “Twice as insensitive as before, but the good news is that I can leave tomorrow. And you can come in before visiting hours to pick me up.” 

“I’ll come get you now, if you want,” Joe answered eagerly.  

“I wish,” Frank sighed. “But no, the release slip says seven a.m. or later.” 

“Oh. All right... so the question is, if I turn up there at seven, will I be met by a grizzly bear?” 

“You won’t, and if Mom and Aunt G come along I’ll behave for them, but any nurse who wakes me up that early again is probably going to regret it,” Frank answered without humor.  

“I’m very grateful to have immunity, then. Seven...and yes, I’ll remember to bring you some clothing,” Joe told him.  

“Good.” Frank sighed again. “Well, back to sleep for me,” he added, and yawned. “See you in the morning.” 

“Bright and early, or at least early,” Joe agreed, and hung up. Then he hurried to tell his mother the news. 

Joe groaned a little when the alarm went off at five-thirty and he seriously considered hitting snooze a few times. Then he sighed, pulled himself out of bed, and went to make himself at least halfway presentable. Halfway was about all that West Side hospital merited, in his opinion. Once he had finished that, he gathered up a few pieces of clothing from Frank’s room, carried them downstairs, found a plastic grocery bag, and stashed the clothes in it. Then he wandered into the kitchen and was almost done with breakfast when he realized he hadn’t put his shoes on yet. ‘Very good, J!’ he told himself sarcastically. ‘Half presentable is one thing, but half-dressed is something rather different- and you nearly forgot Frank’s shoes, too, you idiot.’ Shaking his head, he finished eating and then went to remedy his forgetfulness. 

By six o’clock, Joe was walking out to the car, bag in one hand and car keys in the other, wondering if he was forgetting anything. It was going to be another hot one- “Big surprise,” he muttered aloud- and the air was already thick with humidity.  

This drive took longer than the previous ones; the morning rush hour traffic was a large complication. Joe was in a fair temper by the time he pulled up outside the hospital, and the clock on the dashboard said five past seven. At least I won’t have to wait around,’ he attempted to mollify himself. ‘And heading home should be easier, we’ll be going against the heavy traffic.’ Presenting himself at the desk, he told the nurse, “I’m here to get my brother, Frank Hardy- he’s supposed to be discharged at seven.”  

The nurse seemed to take an unnecessarily long time to verify this, but at last told him to go on up and she’d have the wheelchair sent. “The billing information is already settled,” she added. “Apparently someone took care of that last night.” 

‘I knew I was forgetting something,’ Joe thought ruefully as he hurried down the hallways. ‘Mom must’ve called the hospital last night after I told her Frank would be out today- good thing, too, or- Oh, man.’ He had just opened the door to his brother’s room, and his internal dialogue stopped short at the sight. His brother looked awful. “Frank,” he said aloud, softly, and was beside the bed in a flash, dropping the plastic bag on the covers. 

Frank was lying partly on his side, facing the door, his face white and drawn. He slowly opened his eyes and Joe shivered at the despair in them. Then a spark of recognition dawned and he slowly extended a hand. Joe took it, speechless. What in the world had-? 

“I tried to call you,” Frank whispered. “I tried...but I couldn’t concentrate...couldn’t... keep myself together long enough.” 

Joe bit hard on his lip and then pressed gently into his brother’s mind. The too-familiar cloud of terror was there, but it was strangely muted by an exhaustion so deep that even panic had to take second place to it. He pushed it away and felt his brother’s gratitude. If only he could do the same for that dreadful tiredness that seemed to go all the way down to his bones... “What- what happened?” he asked faintly, and Frank gave him the memory: waking when the doctor came in, calling home, drifting back to sleep- and waking in a panic. “The dream?” 

“Yes-” Frank’s voice broke. “It wouldn’t stop, I couldn’t control it, it’s just...” his thoughts trailed off, too weary to explain. But he didn’t need to.

“You’ve been- ever since you- when did that dream wake you?” Joe wasn’t being very coherent either, in his shock and dismay. 

“I don’t know. It seems like it went on forever, but no nurse came in.” 

‘Less than two hours, then,’Joe thought, and then he shuddered at the thought of enduring a panic attack for that long. Or even longer, if the nurses had varied their two-hour schedule. Why hadn’t he checked? Before he went to sleep, when he woke up this morning... “Frank, I-” 

“It’s not your fault! Don’t even think it!” Frank said aloud, so intensely, so loudly, that Joe was taken aback again. Then his brother sighed shakily, closing his eyes. “I knew you’d blame yourself. Don’t.” Suddenly he opened his eyes and pushed himself up on his hands. “I want to go home. Get me out of this room, Joe!” 

Joe blinked, taken aback for the third time in as many minutes, then grabbed up the bag. “I got your clothes in here.” He watched as his brother opened the bag, then wondered how Frank was going to get out of the bed with the guardrail still up. As he was musing over this, someone tapped on the door and a moment later a candy striper rolled a wheelchair into the room. Coming to the bed, she took a key from her pocket and unlocked something at the edge of the bed that lowered the guardrail with a soft hum of machinery. She gave Joe a disdainful glance as she left and he recognized her as the girl he’d quarreled with two mornings before. 

Frank was already halfway out of the bed; he winced a little as he stood up, but walked around the bed and into the bathroom without pausing. Joe frowned, then sat down on the side of the bed and waited for him to come back out. That wince had bothered him; hadn’t they given Frank anything more for the pain? Then his brother emerged, walked past the wheelchair, stopped at the door and gave him an impatient look. Joe decided to quit trying to make any sense at all out of this morning, slid off the bed, and followed Frank down the hall. 

Leaving was simple; they handed the discharge slip to the desk nurse, who looked at it, checked her computer, signed the form, and nodded. Frank’s sudden burst of energy got him to the car, but he climbed into the back seat and lay down instead of sitting up front. By the time Joe had pulled onto the freeway- the on-ramp was less than 1000 yards from the hospital- a quick mental peek proved what the even breathing from the back seat had suggested; Frank was already asleep.  

It proved difficult for Joe to rouse Frank when they arrived at home. He kept waking up long enough to mutter, “Go away,” and then sinking right back into sleep. Finally Joe sighed in defeat, went into the house, and came out holding a glass of water. With this he managed to persuade his brother that it would be wise to wake up long enough to get into the house and up to his room. He had to explain from a bit of a distance, though, because Frank didn’t take too well to having cold water splashed in his face and woke up in a considerable temper. 

“So much for not snarling at me,” Joe remarked as he held the door open, warily waiting to see if a punch was going to get thrown in his direction. Frank went in with a glower, but didn’t take a swing at him. He also didn’t reply, just went to the steps and slowly began to climb them. Joe closed the door and turned to see his brother pause a few steps up, then lean against the railing. The younger boy debated with himself for a moment, but his sense of responsibility won over his wariness and he went to lend a hand, or more accurately a shoulder.  

“Thanks,” Frank murmured when he sank down on the bed a few minutes later. “But please don’t wake me up again- not unless the house starts to burn down or something. And don’t let Mom or Aunt G wake me, either, I’d rather not talk to anyone for a while.” 

“Don’t worry,” Joe assured him, smiling slightly at the brief flicker of humor. “I’ll let them know it’s not safe up here.”  

Frank made a face, then fell asleep again. 

Awareness came slowly, gradually. The dream he’d been having swirled away, leaving Frank Hardy aware of the pillow under his head, the heat of the room, and the heavy lassitude of his body. He was more comfortable and relaxed than he had been for...what was it, three days? Opening his eyes, he gazed contentedly on the familiarity of his own room. 

A slight sound caught his attention; turning lazily, he saw the back of a head bending over something. A frustrated-sounding little exhalation of breath, and then the scratching noise was replaced with the sound of an eraser rubbing against paper. Frank smiled, reached over, and gently tugged a lock of blond hair.  

His brother started, turned, and a smile crossed his face. “Good morning- afternoon, I mean,” Joe said quietly, closing his sketchpad and swiveling around. He was sitting on the floor beside the bed, and had been facing the partly-closed door. 

“What time’s it?” Frank asked drowsily. The digital clock was once again blank. 

“About twelve thirty. You’ve been sawing logs for a little over four hours. Feel better?” 

“I feel pretty good,” Frank answered after a judicious stretch. The wound in his side was sore and he suspected he’d need one of the pain pills in a while- he’d probably aggravated it by climbing the stairs. “Just very lazy. Kinda achy- hey, did I dream it, or did you actually go pouring water all over me when we got home?” 

Joe paused. “If I tell you that you didn’t dream it, how much trouble will I be in?” 

“That’s answer enough, I guess.” Frank gave his brother a frown. 

“Well, I didn’t think it would be very sensible to let you sleep all morning in the back seat of the car,” Joe explained, shrugging. “And nothing else was working.” 

“Oh!” Frank exclaimed. “Well, no, I can’t argue with you on that one. Although,” he added after a moment of thought, “you could’ve just left the car running with the air conditioning on...” He grinned at Joe’s _expression and reached out to tousle his younger brother’s hair. “Hasn’t anyone started nagging you about getting your hair cut yet? You’re getting decidedly shaggy.” 

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Joe retorted. “Surprised no one’s taken you for a pirate yet.” He tapped the side of Frank’s chin, indicating the inevitable results of not being able to shave for a few days running. Frank grimaced a little, running his hand across his jaw; sometimes he couldn’t believe how eager he’d been to start shaving. Joe was luckier in that respect. Being fair-haired had certain advantages, and one of them was that an incoming beard was a lot less conspicuous on Joe than it was on Frank. 

“So what’s been going on while I was in dreamland?” 

“Let’s see.” Joe leaned against the side of the bed and started counting off on his fingers. “Came home, got you inside, told Mom and Aunt G that it’d be wise not to disturb the pack of wild wolves in here-” 

Frank rolled his eyes. “Exaggerated above and beyond the call of duty,” he put in. 

“That too. Ran the paperwork over to Sam’s office, cursing the traffic every foot of the way. Went over it with him, he’s extremely grateful. We did, as we thought, catch some things that his assistants did not. Then I came home and did something unimaginable.” 

“Oh?” 

“Cleaned my room.” 

“I do not believe it. The world is ending,” Frank said, deadpan. “We can start looking for the Four Horsemen of the Apocolypse any time now.” 

“Yep, and it’s all my fault. Oh, Dad called while I was at Sam’s office, he’ll be home sometime between six and seven, he thinks, or perhaps a bit sooner.” 

“Sooner would be better,” Frank remarked wistfully, shifting his position to keep his legs from falling asleep. 

“Yeah... Hm, what else- oh yes, Callie called. About an hour ago. Wanted to know where we’ve been lately, so I, uh, updated her. More or less.” 

“Somewhat to the less of more, eh?” 

“Yeah. I figured you’d rather pick the details for yourself, so I gave her the quick outline version. She wants you to call her when you feel up to it; ‘no rush’ was her exact words.” 

Frank smiled. “You’re right. Thanks, brother, that makes it a lot easier on me.” He meant he would get a greatly reduced version of the third degree when he called his girlfriend. Callie was a sweet girl, but she had an insatiable curiosity. 

“Well, that was more or less the point.”  

Was Joe blushing? Frank couldn’t tell. “And how,” he inquired mildly, “did you manage to end up in here, instead of in your own just-cleaned room?” Ah, there was the blush. But then he got a surprise; Joe raised his eyes and smiled. 

“I just...wanted to,” he said simply. Frank felt the blush rebounding on him, and then he smiled back and reached over to put his arm about his brother.  

“I’m glad you did.” And with that, any hint of embarrassment or awkwardness was gone. The two were quiet for a while, both happy just to be together without having anything pressing to worry about. 

And then Frank’s stomach growled. 

“You too, huh? Lunch might be ready by now,” Joe said, sitting up straight. “I’ll run down and have a look.”  

“This is one of those times when telepathy would be extremely useful, wouldn’t it?” Frank asked with a wry smile as Joe stood up.  

“Oh yes, exceptionally, if we admitted there was such a thing...” Joe’s joking tone trailed off and a strange frown crossed his face.  

“Joe?” 

“So that’s what it is,” Joe murmured, more to himself than to Frank.

“What’s the matter?” Frank started to sit up, hastily changed his mind, and turned onto his side so he could push himself up with his hands.  

“Um, after lunch,” Joe said, glancing over his shoulder. “Either Mom or Aunt Gertrude could wander in at any time, and I don’t think we want to be talking about this if they do. Back in a second.” 

Before Frank could reply, Joe was out the door. Shaking his head, he slowly sat the rest of the way up and rubbed gently at the soreness in his side. ‘Now where’d I put those tablets...oh, here they are, must’ve stuck them in my pocket without noticing. Wouldn’t it be fun if I’d left them behind,’ the teen thought ruefully. ‘Okay, every six hours. Been asleep for four, and they gave me one last night after I called home, so-’ Frank pushed the thought of how he’d spent some of that time into the back of his mind, but his hands still trembled slightly at the memory. ‘Last night- God, I hope I never have an attack that bad again. But I won’t,’ he consoled himself quickly. ‘Not with Joe right down the hall.’

Footsteps in the hall brought his attention back to the present and he quickly put the vial he’d taken from his shorts pocket down on the night-table. To his surprise it was his mother who came into his room. “Hello, honey-” Laura sat down on the bed beside him and hugged him close; Frank was more than glad to return the hug. “Joe told us you were awake and hungry,” she said after a minute, releasing him. “Lunch is just about ready, it’s a mess of leftovers from the past couple days. Do you want to come down, or would it be better to bring it up to you?” 

Frank hesitated, feeling the injury in his abdomen twinge. “I’d like to come down, but the steps are sort of difficult,” he admitted. “I found that out when I came up this morning. Probably should stay put a while.”  

“All right. Well, there’s some cold ham, macaroni and cheese, beef stew, and some of that mixed vegetables with rice that your aunt tried out for dinner. Oh, and the zucchini, but I think you didn’t care for that.” 

“I thought the power-” Frank looked at the still-blank face of the digital clock, and a sudden thought struck him. “I forgot the stove was gas heat,” he finished, feeling a little silly. “Um, ham and macaroni and the vegetable-rice thing sounds good, but you’re right about the zucchini. I’ll pass on that.” 

“All right.” Laura smiled and stood up. “It’s so good to have you home.” 

“It’s good to be here,” Frank agreed. He felt a lot more relaxed now, and it wasn’t just from the nap. Hospitals were tense places, no matter how friendly the staff was. He watched his mother go out, then saw that Joe had left his drawing pad on the floor. Frank attempted to lean over and pick it up, but his injury protested so painfully that he changed his mind at once and sat up straight. That was better, though it still pulled a little. 

About ten minutes later, Joe came in with a tray, on which reposed a plate. Taking it, Frank noticed a letter sitting beside the silverware. “Thanks, you make a pretty good waiter,” he joked.  

“Probably not as good as that guy Dave, though,” Joe answered good-naturedly. “I’m not so bad as a postman, either,” he added, indicating the letter. “Mom’s bringing something to drink, and I have to eat downstairs because I’m a little too notorious for collecting silverware.” 

Frank laughed; Joe had frequently been scolded, not so much for eating in his room but for forgetting to bring down the dishes and utensils when he was done. “Well, wander on up again when you’re finished. And don’t step on that,” he added, pointing at the notebook. 

“Ah, yes.” Joe scooped it up and departed again, narrowly avoiding a collision with his mother as she entered with a glass of milk. 

Gertrude had dealt her usual generous servings, but Frank decided to heed the odious Doctor Mackenzie’s orders and ate rather lightly. He could always get more later if he found himself hungry again. When he had finished eating he examined the letter, which was from Unity College in Maine, the college he’d decided to attend in September. It informed him of what his schedule would be and told him he needed to be at the school on the 28th of August for orientation. 

“Already,” he muttered aloud. It seemed like such a short time since graduation- why, it was only the thirtieth of June! “They sure move quick.” College...that was an unnerving sort of thought, actually. It would be the farthest he’d been from home, and for the longest time, among a couple thousand unknown people. The college itself wasn’t a large one, but it certainly was much bigger than high school.  

Frank put the tray to one side and sat on the edge of the bed, re-reading the letter in a more serious frame of mind. So, a packet of information was to follow, probably rules and regs and tips and other useful information. It definitely gave him an uneasy feeling; it felt as though he was going to enter a completely unfamiliar world, and in a sense that was very true. He wondered if he’d be homesick, and then knew that he would be, at least until he got adjusted to the place. He’d miss his family and his friends, miss being one of the crowd in Bayport. He’d miss the town, too; he’d lived here all his life and the thought of being away from the familiar oceanside town was an unnerving one.  

And it would be very strange indeed, not to be running into some sort of mystery with Joe every few weeks- or days- too. A frown furrowed the boy’s forehead at the thought; he had not really assimilated the idea of being apart from his brother, his ‘partner against crime’ as they’d often jokingly called themselves. It was going to be rough on both of them. ‘Maybe I should have picked Bayport U. after all,’ he thought, staring at the Maine address on the envelope.  

What would happen if Joe wound up at a different college, anyway? Was this going to be the beginning of the end for their detecting together? They’d always planned to have their own detective agency, ever since they were old enough to start investigating on their own. But would they still want to investigate together after four or five years of seeing each other only at holidays and summer breaks? Or would they drift off in separate directions? After all they’d been through together it seemed impossible, but it was still a very unpleasant thought.

“What’re you getting all agitated about?” a voice asked quietly from behind him. Frank started and turned to see Joe standing in the doorway, carrying a brownie on a paper napkin in each hand. 

“You move too quietly.” 

“Practice pays off. What’s the matter?”  

Frank shrugged and replied, “Thinking a little too much, I suppose. This thing,” he lifted the letter, “is my schedule and apparently there’s more info to come in a packet. I have to be at Unity on August twenty-eighth for orientation.” 

Joe walked in, sat down on the bed, and handed over one of the brownies. Frank took it and broke off a corner. “Why’s that bugging you? I thought you were all set with the idea of leaving home.” 

“I thought I was, too,” Frank confessed. “But...I don’t know, it just threw me. It’s barely been three weeks since graduation, I didn’t expect to hear anything so soon. And it’s making me think how much of a change it’s going to be.” He took another nibble of the chocolate treat. 

“August twenty-eighth,” Joe mused. “That’s almost exactly two months from now, Frank, it’s a while yet. Put it aside and stop worrying about it until you feel more like yourself. This isn’t the time to be rattling your nerves with thoughts about changes, your nerves have had quite enough rattling lately.”  

Frank sat openmouthed for a moment, wondering if he’d ever get used to Joe’s insight. Then he smiled, if a little weakly. “That’s great advice, I’ll have to see about taking it,” he answered, and turned his attention to the brownie. 

“You do that. You’re good with logic, Frank, but sometimes you overlook these obvious things,” Joe replied, teasing gently. Frank gave him a sideways look, but didn’t answer. “It’s a good thing you have me around to point them out to you. Don’t know how you’d cope.” 

Frank pretended to take a swipe at that impish smile, but of course he missed. ‘Guess we’ll find out in September,’ he thought. ‘Probably-’ his thought broke off at Joe’s reaction. There wasn’t much in the world that could make Joe stop eating once he’d started, but apparently Frank had found something that would do it; the younger Hardy had actually paused in mid-bite. He slowly lowered the dessert to the bed, not taking his suddenly piercing gaze from Frank.  

“I guess I wasn’t thinking very quietly,” Frank ventured after about a minute of silent scrutiny. 

“No. No, you weren’t.” Joe glanced away then, running a hand idly through his hair. “You know, I don’t think I realized until this minute...” 

Frank sighed and nodded. Leaving home.  

“Well, there are a lot of changes coming,” Joe said matter-of-factly, after several more moments of quiet thought. “And neither of us really are fond of changes- we get so many of ’em- but we both know how to handle them.” He reached over to his brownie, broke it in half, and slowly took a bite. “People- most people- promise they’ll stay in touch and that nothing will change, but that’s- that never really works. Being in a new place is bound to change people, so they can’t meet up in the old place, with their old friends, and expect everything to be just where they left it. And then, staying in touch is hard. People promise to write and call, but they get busy or distracted, or just gradually forget. And they drift apart.” 

Frank listened, his eyes on the bedspread and a sort of sorrowful fear inside him. What his brother was saying was true. Joe seemed miles away, his words coming slowly but deliberately, as though he had given the idea a great deal of thought.  

“But, I don’t think we’ll have those problems,” Joe went on, and now Frank lifted his eyes, surprised. “We’ll be prepared for changes-” He stopped, and then his voice ‘spoke’ in Frank’s mind. “And as far as communicating goes, we sure have an advantage over everyone else. We won’t lose touch with each other.” 

The sending. The telepathy. Frank leaned back against the headboard and let out a sigh that seemed to come right up from the soles of his feet. He was that relieved. Joe smiled and finished his brownie, then looked over at Frank’s neglected one. 

“Don’t you dare!” Frank sat up and grabbed the treat away before the younger boy could reach for it. Joe wrinkled his nose, then sprawled out on the bed, on his stomach as usual, propped up on his arms.  

“Feel better?” he asked, canting his head to look over. Frank nodded, since he now had a mouthful of chocolate.  

“I didn’t think of it, but that’s so true- it’s going to be a lot easier, and quicker, to stay in touch this way than writing or calling,” he sent.  

“Yeah. No waiting days for the mail, no standing in line for a spot at the phones- and no busy signals, either.” Joe grinned. “I suppose email would be pretty quick, but you know me and computers.” 

“Yes, you check your mail approximately once a month.” 

“Twice, I’m up to twice now,” Joe corrected him, and Frank smothered a laugh. 

“What were you going to tell me after lunch?” he inquired aloud when he’d finished his dessert. 

“Oh yes. I noticed something while we were sending-” Joe glanced over at the door, frowned, got up to close it, and then dropped back down on the bed. “Where’re your shields?” he asked softly. “Every time I’ve sent to you this week, your mind’s been wide open- and I think that has something to do with those panic attacks.” 

“How do you figure that?” Frank asked in return, confused. How could his mental defenses against external thoughts possibly have anything to do with his own personal feelings?  

“I’m still working on it,” Joe admitted, “but I did figure out what I’m doing, and all it really is, is putting a wall between you and that- well, whatever it is. That cloud thing.” 

Frank looked at his brother for a long moment. “You make it sound very simple,” he said at last.  

“It should be, for you- your walls are, or at least were, very strong. Stronger than mine. But now they’re just not there anymore.” He paused, frowning, lifting a hand and resting his chin in his cupped palm. “You said...that feeling, that wide-open vulnerable feeling...I thought that was just from not being used to it, but as far as I can see, you didn’t just take your shields down- you pretty much obliterated them. I think if you start building them up again, the panics will stop.” 

“But that doesn’t make sense. The walls are supposed to keep out other stuff, not to- to keep out my own feelings,” Frank protested. 

“No, that’s true, and it might not work. But either way, you should put the shields back in place, Frank. You’ll feel a lot less vulnerable, at the very least.” 

There was something to that, Frank had to admit. He had thought the feeling of vulnerability would leave him when he got out of the hospital, but although it had faded, it was still lurking quietly inside, making him subtly uneasy. It wasn’t anything that most people could have put a finger on, just a reluctance to look someone in the eye, an unwillingness to say much. Shyness, reticence, and a wish for solitude. It was a wonder he didn’t mind Joe hanging around, but with his brother, it was different. Joe’s presence was comforting, not awkward. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t been picking up on every thought within half a mile,” Joe added musingly, one foot kicking the bedspread idly. “Or at least all the ones in this house.” He shrugged. “But maybe you were. Maybe you kept catching someone else’s fears and not being able to get rid of them- maybe that’s why I was able to shield you from them. I don’t know, but doesn’t it sound reasonable?” 

Other people’s thoughts... something nagged at Frank, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. Another person, someone who had been angry... “That does make sense,” he agreed slowly. “I’m not nearly as good at picking things up as you are, so it would be a lot more likely for me to catch something really strong- but I wasn’t feeling someone else’s fear, I was feeling something that terrified me. There’s a difference. That- cloud thing, you called it, I don’t know what it was. Threatening, horribly so-” Frank stopped speaking and took a deep breath, feeling a tremor run through him. 

“Easy,” Joe said softly, lifting his head and resting his hand against Frank’s arm.

Frank shut his eyes, steadied himself, and then opened his eyes again. “So how do I do this- put the walls back up?”

Joe turned over and sat up. “First you think about them. Visualize them in your mind. Just imagine walls rising up- hey, hey, easy! You’re okay-” 

Frank felt another tremor shake him, and then a third. His hands were growing cold, his pulse accelerating. “Not again,” he half-groaned. “Oh, not again!”  

“Frank, listen. Concentrate. Think about walls. Put a wall between you and the threat. That’s right-” Joe’s sending was encouraging, coaxing. “That’s right...a good solid wall- no, not like that. Think of steel. A smooth steel wall, no cracks, nothing to let anything slip through. There you go...thick, yeah, as thick as you want it. Now widen it. Keep it between you and the cloud. Make a complete circle if you need to.”  

Frank did as he was bid, concentrating hard on this mental steel wall. It seemed impossibly difficult at first, but gradually he managed to secure a solid mental picture of it. A strong barrier that would keep this whatever-it-was away from him. He made it tall and thick, and then, acting on Joe’s advice, curved it around to keep the cloud from oozing around the corner. “It’s working,” he realized, feeling his immanent terror abate. “It’s working!” Not only was the fear fading, the feeling of vulnerability was passing too as he carefully sheltered his emotions again.  

When he was done, the shields in his mind formed a large hollow sphere; his thoughts sheltered inside it, the nameless threat loomed impotently outside of it. “You did it,” he heard his brother say softly, proudly. “You did fantastic, Frank.” And realized Joe was speaking aloud; he’d made the wall so thick that he couldn’t hear Joe’s mental voice anymore. That thought bothered him and without thinking, he opened a crack in the fortress.  

“Ah, that’s better, now I can get in and pester you,” his brother sent brightly. “Seriously, Frank, don’t lock me out completely without warning me- just in case.” 

“I won’t,” the older boy promised, opening his eyes and meeting Joe’s smile with one of his own. “Never know when we’ll need to get each other’s attention. And don’t you lock me out-” 

“I don’t think that’ll be much of a problem, my walls aren’t this solid. I can’t manage steel yet, all I’ve got is stone. So to speak,” Joe finished with a laugh. 

“Maybe, but I’m not sure I can get through stone,” Frank answered thoughtfully. “I couldn’t before, anyway.” He paused, then added, “I would like to know what that cloud is all about. Who’s responsible for it.” 

“Only way I can think of to figure that out is to let it back in and try to trace it to it’s owner,” Joe said seriously. “And I’m not sure it’d work- that thing is awfully vague. Probably not the best idea.” 

Frank shivered at the thought of inviting the terror back into his mind. “I’ll pass, I think.” Then he sat up, leaned over, and hugged his brother tightly. It made his side hurt, but he ignored that, too happy to care about a little ache. Joe returned the hug gently, then exclaimed in surprise and turned around. 

“What?” 

“Oh, I forgot that thing was there,” Joe answered, nodding at the tray. “Nearly kicked it off the bed. I better take it downstairs, before someone accuses me of hoarding your silverware.”  

Frank grinned at that and watched his brother depart, then picked up the bottle of pain medication. Opening it, he extracted a tablet, took it with a swig of milk from the glass on his night table, and then lay down on the bed, feeling almost entirely like himself again.