Callie Shaw turned her face away from the argument that was raging beside her and chewed on her lip in an attempt to control herself. The urge to stand up and add her two cents to the situation was very strong. But it would only make matters worse; even if some of her friends happened to agree with her, Jerry Gilroy and Chet Morton would not.

The hand around hers tightened and she looked into her boyfriend’s drawn, grim face. Frank Hardy looked as though he was taking this argument as his own personal responsibility. It wasn’t, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to persuade him of that.

Despite her resolve, Callie looked around the scene once again. Shoppers in the mall were hurrying past, casting them all annoyed or disapproving looks. And well they might, the girl thought grimly, flushing with embarrassment. She pushed a lock of pale-brown hair behind her ear and shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench. Chet and Jerry were getting louder and louder, more and more aggressive, and she feared it wouldn’t be long until mall security intervened. In fact, she was a little surprised they hadn’t arrived already!

Monica Ford was sitting on the next bench over, crying softly. Iola Morton had put an arm was around her and was leaning close, murmuring something in the distraught girl’s ear. Callie winced at the sight; Monica was not merely upset, but humiliated. Five minutes ago, Jerry had told her that he didn’t want to see her anymore. ‘In the middle of the mall!’ Callie thought indignantly. ‘In front of us all, and passers-by, too! Of all the insensitive jerks-!’

The young woman’s eyes shifted to Chet, who was red in the face from more than anger. On hearing Jerry’s remark, he had immediately snarled, “You’re only doing that so you can try to take my girl away from me!” Elena Rodrigues had stood up from where she was sitting beside Chet, smacked his round face, proclaimed that she wasn’t ‘his girl’ to lay claim to, and departed in a hurry. Callie had some sympathy for Elena’s anger, but her way of expressing it had drawn a lot of attention.

Slim hadn’t helped, either. The youth’s comment that both Jerry and Chet were behaving like children might not be too far off base, but there’d been so much condescension in his tone that Jerry had actually shoved the older boy. “If you’re going to talk about me behaving like a child, I may’s well give you something to talk about,” the sandy-haired youth had snapped.

Now Phil was getting into it, Callie saw with dismay. With Slim, over some aspect of the situation. And Chet and Jerry were squaring off. Oh, they couldn’t! Wasn’t it bad enough that they’d gotten kicked out of Mr. Pizza yesterday for starting a fight, without getting kicked from the mall altogether?

Frank’s hand slid away from Callie’s and she looked up in surprise as he stood and walked determinedly towards the two boys. “Cool it,” he told Phil and Perry, who both stopped in surprise. “You’re both supposed to be smarter than that.” Then he stepped between Chet and Jerry. “Enough,” he ordered. “Knock it off, both of you.”

“You shut up!” Chet shouted. “Who are you to boss us around!?”

“If I feel like wiping the floor with him, I’ll do it, no matter who sticks their nose in,” Jerry asserted.

“No you won’t,” Frank told him. “Not here, you won’t. If you two’re so bound and determined to fight, fine- I won’t lift a finger to stop you. But take it somewhere else so the rest of us don’t have to put up with it, or get in trouble for it- like we did yesterday!- or feel like we have to take sides.”

Jerry glowered and took a step towards Frank, his hands knotting into fists.

“I wouldn’t,” came Joe Hardy’s voice from behind Callie. Strange that he was so calm; she would’ve expected him to be going up in flames. “If you don’t get booted from the mall for fighting, Frank’ll take you apart. And if by some crazy fluke he doesn’t, I most certainly will.”

Jerry hesitated, his eyes flickering from one brother to the other. He knew perfectly well that he couldn’t match either one of them; he was good with his fists, but both the Hardys had far more fighting experience than he did. Finally he snorted, turned on his heel, and stomped off. Chet watched his rival’s departure grimly, cast a scathing look at Frank, and then marched off in another direction. Monica, seeing Jerry leave, leapt up and ran- not quite in his direction, but it was obvious she was going to try to catch him. Phil and Slim, both looking irritated, quietly withdrew.

Frank sighed, shook his head, and came back to sit down beside Callie. She took his hand and gave him a little kiss on the cheek, trying to console him and express her approval. Iola got up from her bench and went over to Joe, who had moved to stand in front of the bench, looking at his brother with sympathy. Stuart, the boy the Hardys had recently rescued from an abusive father, edged up behind Joe, his eyes large and his face very solemn. No one said anything for several moments.

“I’m going to see if I can find Elena,” Iola said suddenly, breaking the glum silence. “I don’t think she has any way to get home and I’m sure Chet won’t remember to take her, the mood he’s in.”

That was a restrained attitude from the black-haired girl, Callie thought. Chet and his sister had been fighting like cats and dogs lately, and Callie’d expected Iola to say something scathing about her brother. Maybe Iola, like Callie, had finally concluded that keeping her mouth shut was the most sensible thing to do right now- even if it was the most difficult.

Joe looked at his brother for a moment, then turned to his girlfriend. “I’ll go with you. If she needs a lift-” He glanced back at Frank, who nodded. “We can give her one,” Joe went on. “And if Chet went home without you, I’ll take you home, too.”

“Meanwhile, I might be asking you for a lift,” Frank murmured to Callie, who found herself smiling a little.

“Sure thing,” she replied quietly.

Joe put his arm around his girlfriend and gave Callie and Frank a little wave, then turned and headed down the mall. Callie frowned as Stuart tagged along after them, only a step or two behind. “It’s like Joe’s sprouted another shadow,” she remarked, and Frank frowned, his forehead knotting.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he muttered. “That kid’s a real pest.”

Callie gave him a startled look. The Hardys had introduced Stuart Ryder to the group several days ago- five? Or was it six? Whatever, he seemed to be a very nice boy; a little immature for them, but that was only natural, since he was just fifteen. She hadn’t gotten to know him yet, he was so quiet and shy; he did follow Joe around like a lost puppy, but she wouldn’t have imagined he was ‘a real pest’. True, tag-alongs could get annoying, but Frank sounded more angry than annoyed. “Why do you say that?”

Frank got to his feet again. “Let’s go over to the pizza place, maybe Tony won’t mind if it’s just you and I coming in. And I’ll tell you a little about Stuart.”

“If it’s just you two, I don’t mind,” Tony Prito answered Frank’s question with a sigh. “You aren’t going to get into a fight, are you?” he added half-seriously.

“No, not at all. In fact, we’re not even going to talk about the gang-” Callie grimaced and leaned her head against her tall boyfriend’s shoulder.

“There was just another blowup,” Frank explained briefly, running his free hand through his dark hair. His other arm was around Callie’s waist. “So we’re trying to think of other things.”

“I see. Okay. Just don’t say any more,” Tony said sourly. “I don’t want to know, either. All right, well...Q’s in here, he might be glad for the company.”

“Q’s always good company,” Frank remarked with a smile. Tony led them over and the Puerto Rican boy looked up from his personal-size pizza. His rather sad expression altered at once to a happy smile.

“It’s good to see you!” he exclaimed. “Sit down with me, I’d be happy for some good company. Where is Joe?” he added after a moment. “Strange not to see you two together.”

“Joe’s off with Iola,” Frank explained, letting Callie sit down and then sliding in beside her. “And Stuart, of course, if they haven’t managed to shoo him off yet.”

“Ah, Stuart. He is...what’s the word...clingy?”

“He’s a leech,” Frank said flatly.

Tony, who was still standing nearby, raised his eyebrows at this. Then he inquired neutrally, “How’re you paying booth rent today?”

All three of the teens laughed a little at the running joke. Tony knew they wouldn’t have come in if they didn’t plan to get something to eat, but he joked about how much they ate compared to how much chatter went on. He said they were more interested in talking than in eating, and only got food so they wouldn’t have to leave the booth and stop talking. “You mean Q’s rent isn’t enough?” Callie asked archly.

“Now that there’s three of you, no,” Tony teased back.

“I could eat something,” the girl continued, looking innocently at her boyfriend.

“Your wish is my command, right up until I delegate it to Tony,” he replied with mock-gallantry. Tony grinned as Callie decided she’d like a personal-size pizza with sausage and pepperoni, and a coke; Frank asked for a personal with peppers and ham. Tony pretended to bow and took himself off to fill the orders.

“Why do you say, ‘a leech’?” Callie asked, growing serious.

“I think you don’t like Stuart.” Jesse Martinez added his opinion rather cautiously. He’d gotten more and more withdrawn since all the fighting started; it had happened the same day that Stuart had met their group, and it had been growing worse as the week went on. Callie rather approved Q’s solution, which had been to simply stay away from everyone until things settled down. The problem was, things were not settling down, and Jesse was obviously getting pretty lonesome. He had other friends, but none he was as close to as their gang.

“You’re right, I don’t.” Frank frowned at the tabletop, weighing his words. “The way he behaves in public is not much like the way he is in private, at home. Remember those chick experiments, hatching out a chick in science class and getting them to imprint on you so that they followed you wherever you went?”

Callie nodded, she’d done that in her senior year. “So Stuart’s imprinted on Joe?”

“Yeah. But it’s not blind instinct, it’s deliberate. Everywhere Joe is, Stuart’s got to be. If he was polite about it, it’d still be a pain, because he’d always be underfoot. But the kid has- or appears to have- no concept of the word privacy. And refuses to admit there’s times when people want to be alone, or do things without their shadow.” Frank exhaled and leaned an elbow on the table.

“When’d he start behaving this way?” Jesse asked curiously.

“Well...the first day was fine. We came home from school and Auntie had already taken care of alerting Protection Services, the Foster Agency- gotten him scholastically tested, even taken him out shopping for new clothes. You know how she is when she gets on a roll,” he added, giving Callie a half-smile.

Callie nodded again. Gertrude Hardy could be a veritable dynamo when the mood was on her.

“The second day was when we started noticing this shadowlike behavior,” Frank went on with grim humor. “We figured it’d pass; it was natural for him to be clingy, he was in an entirely new and strange situation. That was when we first explained to him that knocking on someone’s door before you go into their room is the polite thing to do. We were in my room talking, and he came upstairs, opened the door, walked in, and sat right down on my bed. We were rather surprised. Turned out he wanted help with his homework. No big deal. Well, since then- never mind, I’m getting ahead of myself.”

A waitress brought the trio’s drinks over and they thanked her. Frank sipped at his soda and twisted the straw between his fingers.

“Third day, as you know, we introduced him around. Nothing major there, but when we got home, he was making a pest of himself for the first time. Kept coming up and interrupting Joe and I- Joe was getting really exasperated, because he was basically explaining the same algebra procedure to Stuart on every single problem. I finally went down to help and explained it and Stuart was all ‘oh, okay, now I get it, now it makes sense’. We went back upstairs and Joe said, ‘You know, I told him exactly the same thing, about eight times. Almost verbatim. I was about three seconds away from telling him to just not do it and talk to the teacher tomorrow.’ We both found that very interesting, that Joe’s explanations weren’t getting through, but mine did, even though I said precisely the same thing.”

“You think it was a ruse,” Callie deduced. “That he was pretending not to understand just to keep Joe downstairs with him?”

“It occurred to us both,” Frank agreed. “We’re pretty sure that’s what it was.” He paused a moment, frowning at his soda. “Well, it just kept getting more and more noticeable from then on. Not just following Joe around, but constantly coming in to Joe’s room or mine- wherever Joe happens to be. Just sits down and listens to whatever we’re talking about. Adds his two cents- or worse, changes the subject. Tags along every time we leave the house, whether we ask him to come along or not. And several times now, he’s tried to either talk Joe out of doing things with me, or talk me out of going along with him and Joe.”

“That is incredibly rude,” Jesse agreed gravely, shaking his head. “Sounds like a really bad case of hero worship and sibling rivalry, all at the same time.

The young detective nodded, taking a deep breath. “On Friday, I decided I was sick of not having any time to say more than hi to my brother, so I told Joe the new CD we both have been wanting is out and suggested we come get it. And his eyes lit up!” Frank smiled briefly. “So we’re coming out to the car when all of a sudden the door slams behind us and Stuart runs up and grabs the passenger door open- and starts to get in! I pretty well lost it at that point. I said, ‘What do you think you’re doing? You get back in that house and finish your homework.’ And the little brat ignored me completely; if Joe hadn’t grabbed him by the collar, he would have climbed right into the car.”

Callie’s eyes widened. “What gall!”

“When Joe pulled him out, Stuart acted all innocent, asking why couldn’t he come along. I said, ‘I invited my brother to come with me. I did not invite you. Therefore, you aren’t coming!’ And he still ignored me, asked Joe why again. Joe answered, ‘My brother just told you why- maybe you need to clean out your ears. We are going to spend some time together, just Frank and I, and you are going to stay behind.’ And he closed the door Stuart had opened, got inside, and shut the door quickly. I got in pretty quick too, and we made tracks out of there, with Stuart wailing about how ‘mean’ Joe was being.”

Callie and Jesse exchanged a look of astonishment. “That is one of the rudest things I have ever heard!” the young woman exclaimed. “Just inviting himself along, cool as a cucumber! And then ignoring you and trying to get Joe to back him up- what a little jerk!”

“It gets worse- actually, in a way it’s better, and in a way it’s definitely worse,” Frank amended, and then paused as Tony brought their personal pizzas over. “Thanks, Tony.”

Tony sighed, looking strained. “Chet tried to come in a minute ago,” he said resignedly. “I had to tell him no deal. I feel rotten about it, though.”

“Don’t,” Jesse murmured. “He may be your friend, but this is business- you have to think of the whole restaurant, not just one person.”

Frank nodded agreement. “He’ll get over it when he’s feeling rational again,” he attempted to comfort their friend. Tony smiled thinly and left without saying anything more.

“Poor Tony,” Callie murmured, watching him go with sympathetic eyes. Then she turned back to Frank, who was already halfway through his first slice. As she picked up one of her small pieces and munched, he continued with his story.

“The better aspect is that Joe’s decided enough is enough. He’s been tolerating Stuart’s behavior out of pity and a sense of responsibility, but now that the kid’s been rude to me and is trying to compete with me for Joe’s attention, the gloves are off. The downside is that Stuart doesn’t seem to care whether the attention he gets is positive or negative. In his mind, if Joe is paying attention to him, he wins. Like last night. We were playing a video game. Stuart came up and told us at length how his day had gone. Didn’t come in my room, since he knew I’d tell him to get out- but he sat in the hallway opposite the door and just rattled on. You know how hard it is to concentrate when someone’s talking at you?” the youth asked, his brown eyes flashing in remembered anger. “I finally asked him to hush, politely, because he was distracting me, and his response was, ‘Well, it’s just a dumb game.’ In one of the most condescending voices you ever heard! Sure, hearing how his day went is far more important than getting to spend some uninterrupted time with my brother,” Frank concluded in an ironic growl.

Callie nearly swallowed her soda wrong; again she and Jesse exchanged glances. Jesse was shaking his head, his dark eyes wide. “What’d you say?” he asked, incredulity in his voice.

“I almost said something along the lines of wondering why he thought his day was more interesting than our ‘dumb game’. But I didn’t say a word. I hit Pause, got up, and shut the door.”

Callie broke into a smile. “Good for you!” she said enthusiastically. Frank was usually so polite, even to people who didn’t deserve it. She’d often urged him to not waste so much time being pleasant to people who were being rude to him.

“It solved the problem, but only for a little while. Next time I looked over, the door was open again. Then Auntie called us for dinner and we went down. Stuart, as usual, tried to sit beside Joe-”

“After that?” It was Callie’s turn to shake her head. “Doesn’t he have any shame in him?”

“No,” Frank replied succinctly, and paused to eat some more pizza. “After dinner we went back upstairs and this time when we were in my room, I shut and locked the door.”

“Good,” Jesse muttered.

“A little while later, I heard a noise and looked over to see the doorknob twitching back and forth as he tried to open it.” A smile suddenly crossed the nineteen-year-old’s face. “Joe saw it, and he yelled, ‘If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times; you WILL knock on the doors in this house before you come into a room! And if you haven’t the brains to remember on your own, you’ll get reminders like this one until it sinks in!’ I hugged him,” Frank added thoughtfully, his smile turning gentle. “I’ve been trying really hard not to make Joe feel like he’s got to choose between me and Stuart, but when I heard him say that, I felt like he had picked me to side with.”

“Of course he would. You’re his brother,” Jesse said simply. “Stuart’s a kid he’s known for- what, ten days? Nine? Naturally you have his loyalty first, and it’s very strong loyalty.”

Frank turned a little red around the ears. “I know, but it was still nice.”

“Well, of course it is,” Callie replied, grinning. Sometimes she resented how very close the brothers were, but in another way it was a comforting thing. Their intense loyalty to and affection for each other was something to count on. Not that she’d ever needed any proof of Frank’s loyalty to the people he loved, but if she ever had, his relationship with his brother was potent proof indeed.

“So what are you guys going to do? Obviously something needs to be done,” Jesse commented.

“We’ve been calling the foster parents group almost daily, pointing out how ‘attached’ Stuart is getting to Joe and how hard that will make it for him when he leaves. Therefore, the sooner they place him, the better for everyone. Unfortunately, they’ve got what they call a backlog, and they expect it to take a while to find a suitable family. We’re not altogether thrilled at that notion,” Frank finished with his usual understatement.

“I hope it won’t take too long,” Jesse commiserated.

“Me, too.” Callie leaned against Frank’s arm, munching quietly at her next-to-last piece of pizza.

“It’s unanimous,” the Hardy boy agreed dourly. “I keep reminding myself that it will pass...eventually. But I don’t think ‘eventually’ is gonna be soon enough for me.”

“Joe, I don’t mean to sound nasty or anything,” Iola Morton said hesitantly. “But-”

Joe Hardy sighed internally. He knew exactly what his girlfriend was going to say. “No, wait, let me guess,” he broke in. “You don’t want to sound mean, but isn’t there some way to keep Stu from hanging around all the time?”

The two teens were now sitting at a small table in the coffee shop in the mall, indulging in the shop’s special: hot chocolate and an assortment of small frosted cakes. Their search for Elena had proven futile until another Bayport student claimed to have seen her getting into Rob Strickland's minivan. Rob was all right, in Joe's mind; Elena wouldn't be in any danger, except possibly of mild boredom. Stuart had followed them, but they’d managed to leave him behind when he paused to check out a video store.

“Well...yeah,” Iola replied. “I mean, he’s a nice kid, friendly, sweet...but he’s always there! I guess I understand him bonding with you, since he can’t have known much affection, but it does get kind of- too much of a good thing.”

Iola was being tactful; Joe had seen her look of swiftly-restrained annoyance only two days ago when Stuart had inserted himself into their conversation without so much as a by-your-leave. It was something the boy did as a matter of course, and it was beginning to make Joe’s friends rather annoyed with Stuart. Frank, of course, was already well past annoyed. “I’m trying,” he muttered. “I really am, but-”

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Stuart plunked himself down beside Joe at the table and smiled at his idol. “I thought you saw me go into that store. They have the coolest-”

Joe gripped the handle of his mug and tried to pretend it was his temper he was gripping. Very firmly, so it wouldn’t get away from him. Not in public. “Stu, Iola and I are trying to have a little private time,” he interrupted.

“In the middle of a restaurant?” Stuart blinked, then grinned, taking a cake from the plate without waiting to be offered one.

“Yes,” Joe replied determinedly. “We-”

“That’s silly, Joe. There’s no such thing as privacy when you’re in a room with fifty people.”

“Those fifty other people aren’t paying us any attention,” Iola said rather sharply, tossing her hair back from her shoulders. “Therefore, we have privacy- or did, until a moment ago.”

Stuart gave her a wounded look. “Sorry,” he mumbled, rising with alacrity. To Joe he sent, “I don’t know why you like her! She’s a bitch.”

Joe gritted his teeth and locked off his mind. He didn’t dare split his concentration, not when his emotions were in such a ruckus. But he promised himself he’d have a little talk with the boy later tonight. He waited until Stuart was gone, took a weary breath, and drank a bit of his cocoa. “You see how it is,” he said at last to his girlfriend, who was looking distinctly guilty.

“I feel bad for being so sharp, but honestly, how else can I get the point across when he won’t take a hint?” Iola sighed. She picked up a cake, toyed with it a moment, then started to eat it.

“The problem is, I don’t think he’s genuinely misunderstanding the hints; I think he’s just trying to ignore them so he can stay nearby.” Joe frowned, tapping his fingers against the table. “Never mind. Let’s talk about something else. I’d like a change of topic.” He selected a cake of his own and took a bite, quickly discovering that it had a jelly-filled interior.

“All right. Let’s talk about the Valentine’s Dance,” Iola suggested, a sly smile crossing her face.

“You know I hate getting all dressed up.” Joe grabbed for a napkin as lemon jelly started to slither out of the cake.

“Yes, and I know how very handsome you look when you do get dressed up. I also know you’re a good dancer! And you know how much I like to dance.” Iola paused and her eyes twinkled. “Of course, if you really aren’t interested, I suppose Tim Bradley might-”

“Hey!” Joe protested, then realized he was being baited. “Well, if you want to, go ahead. But I warn you, I saw him at the last dance- Homecoming. And he dances like a frog.”

Iola burst out laughing. “I guess that means you’ll have to take me after all,” she answered, giggling. “Goodness, Joe, what a mental picture that is!”

“I suppose it does mean that,” the blond boy agreed resignedly. Then he smiled at his girlfriend. “But for you, I will even put on a suit for an evening,” he added gallantly.

“You’re so sweet. And you can take the tie off within an hour of our arrival,” Iola assured him.

“Oh, toss me a bone. I’m so grateful.” Joe finished his cake and looked at the last remaining pastry. “Coconut,” he remarked. “You can have it.”

Iola sipped her hot chocolate and frowned at the cake. “I’m full,” she sighed at last. Coconut was one of her favorites.

“Wrap it in a napkin, then. It’s paid for, might as well take it,” the seventeen-year-old said practically. “Have it for dessert.”

Iola did as he suggested, putting the small parcel into her purse. The two talked quietly for a little longer, but when the hot chocolate lost its warmth, they decided it was time to go. Since neither of them had the slightest idea where their siblings were, Joe drove Iola home. “I hope Frank won’t be too annoyed at being stranded,” the green-eyed girl said as they drew up outside the Morton’s farm.

“Nah. He’ll get a lift from Callie, remember?” Telepathy, Joe thought once again, was extremely useful; he’d informed his brother that they were leaving and gotten a simple, ‘Okay,’ in response.

Now, seeing that Chet’s battered old car was not present, Iola hopped out with a little frown, closed the door, and came around to the driver’s window. Joe obligingly opened it, received several kisses, and got back on the road to home about five minutes later.

On arriving home, Joe was a little guilt-stricken to realize that although he hadn’t stranded his brother, he had left Stuart in the mall. His worry over abandoning the boy vanished almost as soon as he walked into the house, though; Stu was sitting on the living-room sofa, watching television. He gave Joe a reproachful look as the older teen came in.

“Stuart, if you ever say my girlfriend’s a bitch again, there’s going to be trouble,” Joe said, figuring to make that point right away. “She can be sharp, I don’t deny it, but she is a sweet person and she likes you. So watch it.”

Stuart was taken completely aback by this rebuke and sat with his mouth open for a moment. Then he looked down at the carpet, color rising into his pale face. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, looking up again. “I’d just been looking for you for almost half an hour and then you let her be so mean to me.”

“We wanted some time by ourselves and it was pretty rude of you to just barge in like that. She had every right to be sharp with you. Y’know, I keep telling you that things you’re doing are very rude,” Joe remarked, a new idea suddenly alighting in his mind. “And you keep ignoring me, which really makes me wonder. You’ve passed me a ton of compliments since you got here; but if you really think I’m such a great person, why don’t you ever listen when I tell you something? Why do I have to be harsh with you and make you obey? I don’t like doing it, and you don’t like me doing it, so can’t we make some changes?”

Stuart turned redder and looked away. “I’m trying,” he muttered. “I really am. I know you’re mad at me about Frank, and I’m sorry I was nasty to him, but he doesn’t like me anyway.”

“So you’re just not going to waste the time to try and be polite? I wondered if you were being rude on purpose; now I know you are, and- just so we’re clear, it lowers my opinion of you considerably.” Joe was starting to feel quite hot under the collar, but he tried to restrain it. He hated speaking sharply to a boy who’d had nothing but cruelty and abuse all his life, but there didn’t seem to be much alternative.

The boy looked up, anger and something else flickering across his face. “He doesn’t like me!” he repeated crossly.

“You have yourself to blame for that,” Joe said with an exasperated sigh. “He liked you just fine until you started trying to play tug of war with me. And even now he’s polite to you. You two don’t need to like each other, but you could at least not be rude on purpose. All it really does is get me defensive on his behalf.”

Stuart sighed and looked away again. “He isn’t even nice to you and you stick up for him,” he said bitterly.

“What?” Joe stared, incredulous. “What do you mean, ‘not nice’?”

Stuart was silent; his demeanor was that of someone who feels he’s said too much and is determined to say no more.

Joe shook his head. “Well, you just go on telling yourself that if you really want to delude yourself,” he muttered at length. “Do you really think I’d spend time with someone unless they liked me?”

“You don’t want to spend time with me!” Stuart retorted. “And I like you!”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Stu, it’s a question of intensity. We can be friends, we can spend time together, but you cannot be with me every minute that we’re not in school! Even my brother doesn’t spend that much time with me- and I wouldn’t want him to. I need time by myself, and with other people. And I’ve told you all this before- it’s one of those things you simply refuse to accept. But like it or not, you are going to have to cope with it. And if I can’t get through to you kindly, I’m going to have to keep being harsh with you. So it’s up to you.” The blond boy sighed and looked around. “I’m done arguing,” he grumbled. “I’m going up to do my homework. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t disturb me.”

Stuart looked downcast, but returned his gaze to the television.

Joe was surprised to reach his room and find Frank sitting on the bed. He’d expected his brother to be in his own room, working on his own assignments. Frank was staring out the window at the early winter sunset and glanced up briefly as Joe came in. “What’s up?” the younger boy asked.

Frank shook his dark head, shifting to sit cross-legged with his back to the wall. “The good news is, we ran into Jesse at Mr. Pizza and talked for a while. The bad news is, Tony was pretty upset because he had to turn Chet away at the door... You and Iola get some time without your shadow?”

“Some, after she shooed it away. She’s a great deal calmer now- or she was when I dropped her off,” Joe amended, dropping his bookbag with a thud. “I imagine sparks may fly again soon, though.” The blond boy glanced at his brother, taking in his expression. It was hard to remember that Frank had turned nineteen last week; he still looked exactly the same as he always had. Acted it, too- but then, Frank had almost always acted older than his age. “Is it just me, or is this sort of thing happening more and more lately?”

“It’s not just you,” Frank said quietly. “Everyone’s getting argumentative and stubborn lately. Even irrational. Making mountains out of molehills and indulging in some truly cruel behavior.”

“Yeah. It’s a good thing you stepped in when you did...” Joe grimaced, then canted his head and ran a hand absently through his hair. He knew that expression on his brother’s face- and that tone in his voice. Something else was bugging him. “And what’s bothering you?” he asked gently. Frank looked up and met his gaze.

“Had a phone call just after I got home,” the older boy replied slowly. “We go to court on the twelfth.”

Joe sat down on the bed with a fwump, his knees suddenly shaky. “Starmail.”

“Yes.”

Joe took a deep breath, suddenly wishing he had not stopped in the coffee shop with Iola. His stomach was knotting up. “That’s the day after tomorrow,” he murmured, stating the obvious. “And how’re we supposed to get out of school, anyway?”

“Tell Mr. Neucomb tomorrow. He’ll clear it with your teachers,” Frank said wearily. “I’ve called University President Quincy and let him know, he was very understanding. Said he’d inform ‘my faculty’, meaning only the professors I deal with. And my advisor.”

Joe nodded. Then he got up, ran from the room, and reached the bathroom just in time as his stomach went into complete rebellion.

When he finally got back to his feet and made his wobbly way down the hall to his room, Joe sprawled on the bed. He didn’t notice that his brother was still in the room until gentle hands lifted his head and pillowed his cheek on what turned out to be Frank’s corduroy pants. His brother’s hand moved very slowly and soothingly over his head, smoothing his hair.

Neither of the Hardy boys said anything for a very long time. There was no point saying anything. Joe lay wondering if they’d have the strength to get through it, to face their parents’ killers. To repeat all that had happened to them in front of a jury and judge and audience...and the defense. To be cross-examined... He felt himself starting to shake.

“What is it?” Frank asked softly, his hand resting on Joe’s shoulder. “What’re you afraid of?”

What was he afraid of? Facing the murderers. Feeling the pain, enduring the memories. Facing his own guilt. “It’s- it’s going to be like- like living it all over again!” he stammered after a moment. Worse, there’d be an audience!

Frank’s hand pulled gently at his arm; Joe turned over and looked up into his brother’s tired brown eyes. “I know. But it’s the only way those guys will get what’s coming to them.”

Joe turned that remark over in his mind for a while. There was no denying it. The trial was to determine Locke’s and Pearson’s punishments- which was, he thought grimly, a very worthy cause. But he still dreaded the thought. The criminals didn’t wake up haunted by nightmares, weren’t trying to get over the deaths of loved ones. They wouldn’t be dragged back to the beginning of their pain and made to remember it all in as much detail as possible. It wasn’t fair!

But life never was fair. The Hardy boys would have to take what they could get, and in this case, Joe was hoping what they would get was a death sentence for the murderers. He thought of the two men who would be there with them, the lawyers they had asked to represent their side of the case. Men who’d known of their father, but who had not been personal friends of his. That had been Frank’s suggestion; he’d pointed out that they didn’t want any stink about personal bias. Joe had only met them twice-

“They’ll be by tonight, after dinner,” Frank spoke up, stroking Joe’s hair again. “Eight o’clock. Want to go over the routine and stuff. Give us a general schedule of what’s going to happen, and when.”

Joe nodded, not surprised that Frank had heard the thought. “I wonder if getting ‘em the death penalty is at all possible,” he mused, not referring to the lawyers.

“We can inquire about that.” Frank sounded quite calm about the notion. He’d probably been thinking the same thing.

Joe frowned suddenly. “Are they going to want her to take the stand?” He had no idea what Gertrude could add to the prosecution, but she might turn out to be a detriment if they weren’t careful.

“Dunno yet. Probably they’ll want her there, just in case.” Frank paused. “If nothing else, testimony about the attacks on us.”

Joe nodded. He was still shivering a little, but his stomach had unknotted and he felt calmer. He wondered how Frank was managing to take it so much in stride.

“Doing okay now?”

Joe sat up rather suddenly. “Are you all right?” he countered, looking intently at his brother.

“Mainly I’m numb,” Frank explained. “I expect that will change eventually, though.”

Joe expected the same thing. “Well...when...when it does, I-”

Frank smiled and reached out to tousle Joe’s hair, and suddenly the rest of the offer was completely unnecessary. “I know you will. Hey, don’t forget your homework,” the older boy added, and Joe had a sudden sense of disorientation. How they could be talking about Starmail one moment and homework the next? Still, homework was a much better thought. Ironic; there weren’t too many things that homework was better than.

“Yeah, but there’s one thing I have to do first.”

“Oh?”

“Iola and I had a little plan forming for Valentine’s. I better change it now and not wait for later,” Joe explained ruefully. Moments later he was on the phone, waiting for Iola to answer on her end. It wasn’t until she picked up and said hello rather abruptly that it occurred to him she might once again be in a foul mood. “Um, sudden change of plans,” he started.

“Are you going to try and back out of that dance, Joe Hardy?” Iola demanded.

“Iola, listen,” he said seriously. “We- we’ve got a trial to attend, I just found out a little while ago. Starting on the twelfth.”

“Trial?” Iola’s voice softened. “Oh! You mean for- for...”

“Starmail. Yeah.” Joe took a deep breath. “So- you can figure I’m probably not going to be in a mood to go out and dance afterward.”

“No, no, of course not,” the girl replied, her voice subdued. “But...maybe you’d be in the mood for some company to cheer you up a little? I don’t mean the gang, just...us two. Well, three, of course you’ll want to be with your brother...maybe four if Callie’s included too.”

“I kinda like the sound of that,” Joe answered seriously. “I think it would help a lot.” He hadn’t forgotten how supportive and understanding she’d been over the past summer and fall. “I’ll let you know. Thanks, baby.” They exchanged a few more remarks, then said goodbye and hung up.

Feeling just a bit better, Joe returned to his now-empty room and struggled with his homework until dinner, almost managing to finish it. After the meal he returned to it, and was deep in his Government book when he became aware of a presence behind him. “You are supposed to knock,” he almost snapped.

“Something’s the matter with you guys,” Stuart answered, ignoring the rebuke. “You’re so uptight I can’t watch TV, even.”

Joe sighed, put his finger in the book to mark the place, turned to face Stuart and explained briefly that he and his brother would be testifying in a murder trial, starting in two days and proceeding for as long as it took to get it finished. Maybe a week, maybe a month. “Probably more like a month, they’re trying the two killers at the same time, so it will get complicated and repetitious.”

“Can I-”

“No.”

“But-”

“No. You can’t go, Stu. You need to be in school, and you do not need to be locked in a room full of angry, upset, miserable people for eight hours a day, five days a week. It could burn you out.”

“What about you?” Stuart protested.

“I have shields. Stone and metal. You’ve barely got cardboard, Stu; you’ve picked up on my feelings tonight so bad you can’t even watch TV, and I barely let them down at all.”

“But-”

“The answer,” Joe said as patiently as he could manage, which wasn’t very, “is NO. Tonight, tomorrow, and every other day, no. I’m not changing my mind, so you might as well save your breath.”

Stuart opened his mouth, then closed it, turned, and stomped out of the room. Joe cast his eyes at the ceiling, pushed his hair out of his face, and turned back to his homework. The doorbell rang a few minutes later and Joe’s stomach started to twist again as he went downstairs to greet their lawyers.

The trial was everything Frank had feared it would be.

His first fear had been of the media, and it had been justified. The whole situation had generated a lot of attention from the start, and with the trial getting started, public interest was rekindled. The judge had forbidden the TV stations entrance to the courtroom, which helped, but there were always a bunch of reporters waiting outside the courthouse like a bunch of very loud vultures. Both the boys got distressingly adept at ignoring the questions and allegations that the press flung at them in order to get some sort of reaction. Frank did get a perverse pleasure from altering his ‘no comment’ to, “We have nothing to say; you’re wasting your time asking.”

Joe got fed up one day after being grilled on the stand by the defense for more than an hour. He took the opportunity to vent some steam and blistered the collective ears of those who “haven’t managed to figure out yet that no matter how often you ask, we aren’t going to talk to you. Go hound someone else- someone you might have half a chance of getting a reply from.” After that, he didn’t even bother with ‘no comment’ anymore.

Frank’s second fear turned out to be even more justified. He’d known it would not be a quick trial, but he hadn’t counted on this level of slowness. It was taking for-bloody-ever to make any progress at all; the defense was not so much defending its clients as it was stalling the procedure. They’d stalled over the jury selection, over their lengthy and unaccountably boring opening statements. Now they were stalling over the presentation of evidence; they perniciously cross-examined both the boys on each possible detail, trying to trip them up and discredit them. They’d tried to get lawyers Drew and Harrison dismissed and replaced with a more ‘objective’ court-appointed lawyer, but Frank’s tactic of using men who had only known of Fenton by his reputation had paid off in that regard.

Frank recognized that the trial would have been lengthy anyway. The court was trying Pearson and Locke together; Jamison was there as well, but his part had been much less involved and he’d already made a full confession. The young sleuth figured the only chance the defense had was to just wear everyone down until they were so sick of the whole business that they agreed to just about anything to get the trial over with. This was not going to happen, but keeping the shyster tricks to a minimum was proving extremely difficult.

One great surprise- and delay- had been that Gertrude had been required to take the stand. Her testimony had been riddled with objections because the elderly woman kept drawing conclusions instead of sticking to statements of what she’d observed. In fact, when one of the defense had asked sternly whether she knew what ‘conclusion by the witness’ meant, Gertrude had responded swiftly and waspishly.

“Of course I know what it means! And if you think any sensible person would not be drawing exactly the same conclusions from all this as I am, you’re less intelligent than you look! But that can’t be very difficult, seeing who you’re representing.”

After that, Gertrude had not been recalled to the stand by either the defense or the prosecution. All the testimony about the attacks on the boys and Joe’s supposed death was supplied by other people, including an unusually subdued Chet Morton. For a while Frank feared the defense would somehow try to cast doubt on whether Joe was ‘really’ Joe or not, but apparently that was going a bit too far even for them. Or maybe they just knew how quickly it could be proven that he was genuine- and simultaneously demonstrate how desperate they were to slow everything to a crawl.

It was several days into the trial, after Chet’s testimony, that the nightmares started plaguing Frank; he kept dreaming of the fire at Lynch’s mansion and the days of despair afterwards. He also frequently dreamed of his parents. In this respect he was actually fortunate; his brother had begun having nightmares on the night he heard when the trial would begin. Joe had also reverted to his silent depression of the previous summer. He’d almost stopped eating entirely again and was losing weight. Several times a comment or question that would normally have had him fighting to control his temper passed by him without provoking so much as a blink.

As the trial dragged on and on, Frank forced himself to push most of his own unhappiness aside and focus on his brother. He pestered Joe into completing the assignments his teachers sent him. He encouraged Iola and Callie to come over; their presences were cheering. He coaxed his brother out into the cold February nights to walk the mall or see a movie, or meet a friend or two at some eatery and enjoy the company. It seemed to help Joe; it certainly helped Frank to have something other than his parents to think about, something he actually had a hope of making a difference with.

Stuart remained a problem, but neither of the boys paid much attention to him at all, despite his protests of how ‘mean’ they were being. Gertrude managed to distract the boy to some degree, but all the same, it became clear that Stuart was harboring a lot of resentment. Finally, Frank dragged the boy aside one day when he was pestering Joe, and did something he had not done before. He sent his thoughts to Stuart, who looked downright stunned to receive them.

“Leave him alone.” Frank tried his best to imprint his thought on the boy’s brain, even though he wasn’t as good a sender as Joe. “He does not want you around. Neither do I. We went through this together in the summer and we’ll get through it together now. You didn’t love your father, so you can’t begin to comprehend what either of us is going through. If you care at all about Joe, leave him the hell alone. The very last thing he needs right now is you trying to pull him away from me.”

“I want to help him!” Stuart protested aloud.

“Fine, but wait for him to ask for it. If you keep forcing your help on him when it isn’t wanted, he’ll reject you completely. And believe me, it’ll be ugly- I happen to know just how cruel and spiteful he can be when someone pushes him too far. You’re on thin ice, Stuart. Back off.”

Later, Frank would remember that remark.

You’re on thin ice, Stuart. Back off!

The words resounded through the fifteen-year-old’s angry mind.

Back off! He doesn’t want you around.

‘How would Frank know?’ the boy wondered sulkily. ‘Frank doesn’t care about Joe. Not really. Not the way I do. Frank’s all cold and distant. His mind’s always locked up tight behind steel walls. He’s probably not even a real telepath, just a person with strong shields.’ Stuart conveniently ignored the telepathic remark that the older Hardy had pressed into his head; that was just a stupid fluke. It was probably more from Stuart not maintaining his shields than from Frank trying to send.

Frank Hardy had no clue whatsoever about the bond Joe shared with Stuart. He had no idea what it was like to connect with Joe’s brilliant, strong mind and feel the affection there. Joe was the only one who had ever shown any sort of kindness to Stuart, and the younger teen was both grateful for it and greedy for it. He wanted to be Joe’s favorite person, wanted Joe to realize just how little Frank had to offer in the way of caring and turn away from him. Frank wasn’t worthy of the affection and smiles and gentle teasing Joe bestowed on him. He probably didn’t even notice them!

‘But-’ Stuart frowned and sat up on the sofa, where he slept every night. ‘But then, how come he’s always in my way?’ For Frank was certainly an obstacle. He almost acted jealous sometimes, always wanting Joe to be with him and not with Stuart. ‘Spiteful,’ Stuart decided, kicking at the Hardys’ sofa and imagining it was Frank. ‘He’s just trying to keep Joe away from me. And Joe doesn’t see it, he’s too glad that Frank’s finally being sorta nice to him, paying attention and doing things with him.’

So what was there to be done about it?

“Please don’t kick the sofa, dear,” Gertie requested gently.

Stuart stopped kicking and smiled at her. Gertie was the best. She was a great cook and a good teacher and she never yelled at him. She called him ‘dear’ and ‘sweetie’ and sometimes gave him a kiss. She didn’t want him to leave and go to some dumb old foster home, not when he was already here and settled in. He hadn’t managed to quite change her mind yet, but he was working on it and he was confident that she’d give in with a little more persuasion.

Or, he had been, until this stupid trial came up. Stuart sprawled back against the cushions and sighed. That trial was ruining everything! It meant Gertie wasn’t around, so he couldn’t guide her thinking. It meant Joe wasn’t around, so there was no chance of spending any time with him. And it meant Frank got to spend the whole day strengthening his grip on Joe’s attention and affection. The only good thing about it was that Frank wasn’t around to complain about Stuart and make his brother think Stuart was rude and stupid.

The thought of his ‘discourtesy’, as Frank called it, made the boy even more angry. Frank didn’t knock before he went into Joe’s room. He didn’t ask if he could sit down beside Joe and Stuart when they were watching TV. And he sure didn’t ask if Joe and Stuart had anything planned together before going and making plans with Joe! He didn’t even ask if Stuart might want to stay with them. Stu had hinted about it to Joe, who’d told him it wouldn’t be possible, but if Frank just wasn’t around, Joe would probably change his mind.

If Frank wasn’t around...

Stuart sat up slowly, turning that thought over very carefully. A smile crossed his face. After all, Frank wasn’t a real telepath. He couldn’t possibly have the control and power that Joe had. If Stuart could just somehow get past those metal shields of his, he might be able to persuade the older Hardy to leave.

But why stop there? The command might wear off. Or worse, Joe might go looking for him. What if- what if something major happened to Frank? What if he went crazy? Stuart frowned a little; he wasn’t sure he could make anyone crazy, not convincingly. Besides, Joe might search Frank’s mind and discover Stuart’s influence. That would be a big problem; Joe had told Stuart that influencing would get him in trouble. No, crazy wouldn't do the job- but what if Frank got killed?

The more Stuart turned that idea over, the more he liked it. Frank would be gone. No one would know Stuart was behind it. Joe would probably be very upset, but Stuart could always help him feel better. In fact, that was the best part! The youngster lay back against the cushions, smiling at the picture his mind was presenting him with: Frank dead, Joe grieving, turning to Stuart for comfort and soothing. It would take a little time for him to forget Frank, maybe, but eventually he’d realize that Stuart would make a much better brother than Frank ever had.

The problem was just those shields, then. The young telepath frowned again, brushing his long black hair off his shoulder and idly twirling an end around his finger. The arguments had given him noticeable amounts of energy; much moreso than the emotions he’d pulled out of people when he lived in East Side. That was thanks to Joe, who’d taught him so much about telepathy. But all the arguments hadn’t given him enough energy to break past Frank’s ugly rotten strong shields and persuade him into doing what Stuart wanted. Gertie hadn’t been so easy herself, but with persistence, he’d managed it. He’d never manage it with Joe, of course- Joe was his teacher and would know right away what he was doing, and make him stop. But that was just a minor thing; he didn’t really want to control Joe anyway.

So. He’d have to gather more energy, and store it off to the side, and when he had enough built up...well, while he was storing it, he’d think about just how he was going to kill Frank.

“It’s a good thing Biff isn’t around, or we’d have several folks with black eyes and bloody noses,” Frank remarked to Jesse Martinez one bright, cold afternoon, handing him a cup of fresh hot chocolate.

The two boys were sitting in the Hardys’ living room. Stuart was not yet home from school and Gertrude was out somewhere; the house was very quiet. Frank had been working on his class assignments, which his professors continued to faithfully send him each week. Frank had been glad to take a breather when Jesse rapped on the door; his workload at Bayport U. was not as heavy as his Unity one had been, but he’d been finding his concentration wasn’t as sharp as it normally was. Even classes like Criminal History 201 and Advanced Chemistry, his favorites, seemed more burden than challenge these days. Still, he was not falling behind in his subjects, and that was something. He was grateful the Dean had arranged for his professors to hold off on his tests until the trial was over.

Jesse Martinez was a frequent visitor these days. He was extremely sympathetic to the Hardys for the loss of their parents, coming as he did from a large and very affectionate family himself. He also admitted that he preferred Frank and Joe’s company to the company of their other friends, for the arguments had increased in frequency and severity over the past week. Distressed by all the fighting, Jesse had withdrawn even further from the once-close group.

In fact, that was one reason why the Puerto Rican was visiting now; he had just finished telling Frank about the latest violent argument among their friends. This one had been between Phil Cohen and Jerry Gilroy in the computer lab that afternoon. It seemed Jerry was suddenly resenting Phil’s authority as teaching assistant to the computer department. Phil’s habit of being brisk when someone didn’t understand a computer procedure probably hadn’t helped either.

“I can’t understand what’s going on,” the junior agreed to Frank’s remark with a sigh. “I’d just gotten used to this ‘teasing as affection’; now all of a sudden I can see the difference between what usually goes on and all of- of this.” He shrugged helplessly. “These- there’s nothing playful at all about the insults flying these days.”

“We’ve had our ups and downs before, but never anything like this. I dunno what to make of it. And I can’t think of anything to do about it that hasn’t already been tried- and failed,” Frank admitted heavily. Then he smiled as Iola and Joe, who had gone for a walk together, came into the house. Both were wind-blown and pink-faced from cold. “Iola, have you been whispering sweet nothings in his ear? He doesn’t usually blush like that.”

“It’s the wind!” Joe exclaimed, then rolled his eyes with a smile. That was something he hadn’t been doing much of lately. “Hi, Q, good to see you. What’s this?” he added, peering into Jesse’s cup.

“Hot chocolate.”

“There’s more in the kitchen,” Frank told his brother, who vanished and soon reappeared with two mugs full. Iola shed her coat and sat down on the sofa, smiling her thanks. Joe sat beside her, sipping his own cocoa and looking more content than he had for a while. “We were just talking about the gang,” the older boy added. Joe sighed.

“More trouble?”

Jesse nodded and explained what he’d just told Frank.

“I heard about that,” Iola murmured, and took a deep breath. “You three are about the only ones who aren’t fighting with anyone,” she said slowly. “I don’t know what the problem is, but I just can’t get a grip on my temper anymore. I’m so oversensitive, it’s- it’s pathetic. And it’s a little scary.”

“I had a few mad moments too, but since I stopped hanging around with the group, I haven’t,” Jesse agreed.

“Mad moments?” Frank asked.

“Like I wanted to jump in and yell at someone, but I didn’t because I knew it’d just make things worse. It was a real strong urge, though. That’s not very like me,” the younger boy said thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s the winter. Isn’t there some sort of seasonal mood change thing?”

“There is, but it usually makes people depressed, not argumentative. Besides, it’s never happened to any of us before, and this winter hasn’t been all that gloomy. It’s the lack of sunshine that causes Seasonal Depression,” Joe explained, and took another sip of cocoa.

“Speaking of sun and so forth, where’s your shadow?” Frank asked his brother. He’d just noticed the time and was surprised Stuart hadn’t crashed their little gathering yet.

“Sulking somewhere. We met him on our walk and he was making a pest of himself, trying- again- to persuade me to let him come to court with us. So now he’s all upset because I was unreasonable enough to tell him, once again, that he may not,” Joe replied, frowning. “He doesn’t need to be there, he can’t add anything. And he’d distract me.”

Frank nodded, knowing the real reason. The tension in the courtroom would not be good for the budding telepath.

“Besides which, he does need to be in school,” Iola pointed out.

“That, too,” Joe agreed. “We haven’t been paying a lot of attention to him lately, but Aunt G is; she’s fussing over him as if he was a toddler. And he doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Still no word on a foster family?” Jesse inquired.

“There’s a possibility that just came up,” Frank answered. “Yesterday. But they’re first-time foster parents, so they’re being screened carefully. I told the lady that she couldn’t do much better for a first-timer than Stuart, he’s so quiet and shy.” He shrugged. “We’ll see. If they do take him, he’ll be going upstate quite a bit- to Buffalo.”

“A little too far to drop by on weekends,” Iola remarked.

“Well, yeah, but there’s telephones and things,” Joe murmured.

“Would you miss your shadow?” Jesse asked with a smile.

“Mmmm....kinda,” Joe agreed musingly. “He’s a nuisance and a half, but he’s had his good moments, too. Was I ever as big a pain in the rear as that, when I used to tag around after you?” he asked Frank suddenly.

“No,” Frank answered at once. He’d mused about this matter himself ever since Stuart had started tailing Joe. “You were a brat sometimes- still are- but that’s different.” He grinned as Joe pretended to take a swipe at him.

“Of course I am, it’s a younger brother’s job description- right, Q?”

“It certainly seems to be in my little brothers’ job descriptions,” the young quarterback agreed, smiling.

Frank grinned briefly, then returned to the serious question. “Your tagging along was usually by invite. I’d either ask if you wanted to come along, or you’d ask if you could go; you never assumed that you were automatically welcome. If I said ‘not this time’, you didn’t act like the world had just ended. And you contributed.” He paused a moment, frowning. “Stuart doesn’t care what you’re doing, he just wants to be where you are. You, on the other hand, had as much interest in the hike or the climb or the swim or whatever, as in being with me...and you would wander off and interact with other people, too.”

Joe, who was blushing just a little, gazed into his cocoa mug. Jesse and Iola sat grinning, both at the insight into their friend’s life and at Joe’s discomfiture.

“Besides, I never actually tripped over you,” Frank added, and they all laughed.

“You sure you don’t want to come along, Joe?”

“That’s the third time you’ve asked me, Frank. The answer’s still, yes, I’m sure.”

It was the twenty-fourth of February, a Sunday. Court was closed for the day and the Hardy boys were making the most of it. In Frank’s case, this meant driving down to the frozen lake for a game of hockey with some of their friends. He’d been trying to persuade Joe to come along, but the blond boy was firm in his decision.

“Okay, so you won’t go, but why not? It would do you good to get moving around a bit, have some fun with your friends.”

Joe sighed; he was trying to draw, something he had not done in a while, and he hated having his concentration interrupted. “That’s part of why I don’t want to go,” he explained. “The way our friends have been acting lately, we don’t need enemies!”

Frank, who was standing in the doorway with his skates in his hand, looked over at his brother with a suddenly grave expression. “Well, yeah,” he admitted.

“I just don’t feel like dealing with it.” Joe shrugged. “Besides, it looks too cold out there. Bright, pretty, but cold.” He smiled slightly. “I give it about an hour before you decide the wind chill is too much for you.”

“Well, that’s what those vending machines in the Nature Center are good for,” Frank said cheerfully. “Unlimited hot chocolate-”

“Even if it isn’t as good as homemade,” Joe finished. “Go on, enjoy slithering around on the ice. Just don’t get frostbite. And good luck with keeping the guys from each other’s throats,” he added more seriously. Frank had gone to a lot of trouble, getting the guys to agree to a truce and cease-fire, and Joe wasn’t at all sure it would last the day. Normally optimistic, he feared his brother was indulging in a rare fit of wishful thinking. Frank was hoping the cease-fire would help them shake off some- maybe even all- of the anger that had gripped them all month.

“I hope I don’t need that last.” Frank pulled on a glove, waved, then departed, pulling on the other glove.

Alone, Joe lay on his bed, frowning to himself, his sketch forgotten. There was something just out and out wrong about all this arguing. He had wondered if he’d been inadvertently broadcasting his unhappy feelings about the trial...but no, he thought, sitting up. The trial alert had come on the tenth, and people had been snarling at each other for more than a week before that. ‘In fact,’ he thought, ‘they guys have been irritable ever since- ever since...’ Frowning, he got up from the bed and went to his desk, peering at the desktop calendar. ‘Ever since Stuart got here.’ Joe pondered that for a moment. ‘Not since he got here, exactly,’ he amended, checking the calendar again. ‘But ever since he started hanging out with us all.’

Joe Hardy had been trained not to believe in coincidences, and this one was too much of a stretch even if he had believed in them. Hadn’t he already discarded the idea that his own emotional aura had been affecting people? Perhaps it wasn’t his aura, but Stuart’s. Only- how, and why? Stu was so quiet, so...likeable. In public, anyway. Could it be the sense of ‘privacy invaded’ that came with having the little shadow around? But why would that give people such extreme reactions- and why at each other? Why not at Stuart, since he was the one who made no secret of listening to others’ conversations and invading their space?

That would seem to suggest that it wasn’t Stuart’s doing, Joe decided. He stretched out on the bed again and picked up his pencil. After all, people did fight. And as much as he disliked the notion, groups of friends did suffer irreparable damage- especially when emotions were involved. Maybe it would blow over; maybe not. He hoped so; he’d been trying to get people to start talking to each other again...

Joe turned his attention firmly to his drawing and sketched for nearly half an hour before giving up in frustration. He was too tense, too worried, couldn’t keep his mind on what he was doing, and the picture was suffering as a result. If he kept this up, he’d ruin it completely. His mind returned to the question that was still bothering him.

What if Stuart was the problem- the cause of all the aggression? He didn’t want to accuse anyone who was innocent, but Stuart had already proven that he was perfectly willing to put on an innocent act while deliberately provoking Frank. Though, there was the possibility that the kid simply didn’t realize what he was doing- that Stuart’s frustration and uneasiness were influencing the people around him. It didn’t seem too likely to Joe, but it had to be considered.

“Akilana!” he called telepathically, feeling a sudden sense of urgency. If it was Stuart’s doing, maybe something could be done about it- but Joe had a very uneasy feeling suddenly nibbling at his mind. Something Akilana had told them the very first time they met her was suddenly vivid in his memory.

“I greet you, Warrior,” came the swift mental response. “What troubles you?”

“Teacher, is there anything about a telepath-in-training that would make the people around him irritable and aggressive? Ever since Stuart started hanging out with us, there’s been fights and arguments like you wouldn’t believe, and we just don’t do that,” the younger Teacher told the elder one anxiously.

“A student, no. But a fledgling outcast might well be responsible,” the woman answered gravely, and Joe squeezed his eyes shut. Exactly what he was afraid of.

The people Akilana called ‘outcast’ were telepaths who used their abilities to harm others. Their most common abuse of the power was to absorb the feelings and energies of other people. And to do this, an outcast would first stimulate strong emotions- like anger, fear, jealousy and resentment. All of which the Hardys’ friends had been experiencing. Having started a fight or frightened someone or made a situation unpleasant, the telepath would then enjoy the powerful ‘vibrations’, the tension and heightened emotions. They would, in fact, draw energy from the feelings, leaving the victims feeling weary and defeated. An outsider, observing the fight, would wonder why the arguers were being so stubborn, unreasonable and overreactive.

A less common, but more deadly abuse of the ability was to invade an individual’s mind and take whatever the outcast wanted. If the victim was another telepath, this could lead to the ‘burning’ of the mind, as the injury could be too deep to be healed. In a non-telepath, it could result in physical brain damage. And in either case, it had been known to lead to death. Sometimes directly, from the damage inflicted; sometimes by suicide from the raging emotions the outcast usually engendered.

“There’s been lots of anger, lots of grudges lately.” Joe bit his lip and detailed Jerry’s breakup with Monica, the constant fighting between Jerry and Chet, the new outbreak between Phil and Slim, Jesse’s retreat, Tony’s refusal to have certain former friends in the pizza shop.

“How does the boy behave towards you and your brother? Have you also been fighting?”

“No, actually, Stuart tags along after me, always wants to be with me. He’s pretty much indifferent to Frank. Though- he doesn’t seem to care whether I’m annoyed with him or not. And he was making Frank mad for a while there, but Frank just ignores him now.”

“Then he is trying to absorb your feelings, positive or negative, but he is not deliberately stirring them in you yet. And he would be unable to stir much in your brother because his shields are so strong, it would take too much energy to get past them and manipulate his feelings. That’s a good sign, it means he’s not beyond help. But you must bring him to me immediately, beloved. This is no job for you. Only the strongest, most experienced teachers can re-train a fledgling outcast- and sometimes not even those succeed.”

Joe nodded, sinking down on the bed. “Did I- did I train him wrong?” he asked miserably.

“No,” came the swift, reassuring reply. “You have heard of addictive personalities? People who easily become attached to things they crave, who substitute one craving for another?”

“Yes...they try to break their habits but they usually succumb to them again, or to something else. Like going from drinking to drugs...” Joe wondered where this was leading, then his intuition made the connection.

“Exactly. Certain people are this way emotionally, and seek destructive relationships, as well. There are also those who have this addiction mentally. They are born with it, and it takes the most rigorous of training to weed it out of them. That is why there are fledgling outcasts; they do not at first realize what they are doing. They may even try to stop themselves. But that seldom works, and over time they cease to fight the urge and begin to enjoy draining other people’s strength.”

Joe shuddered, then shoved himself off the bed and headed for the downstairs. “I’ll get him up there to you as quick as I can,” he assured Akilana.

“I’ll be waiting. Keep your shields strong, and warn your brother and aunt to do the same. In case he becomes stubborn, or worse.” With that, her strong mental touch faded.

Joe took a deep breath as he descended the stairs. He supposed he understood why he was alone on this- one of those things a Teacher had to be able to deal with- but he wished all his ‘lessons’ didn’t involve making it up as he went along. Instincts were great, but having to rely entirely on instinct was mighty unnerving.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he stopped and looked around, perplexed. He’d expected to find Stuart watching television, but the boy wasn’t there and the TV was off. Frowning, he looked in the den, startling his aunt. “Where’s Stu?” he asked as casually as he could manage. His instincts were telling him something was seriously wrong, but he wasn’t sure what exactly it was.

“Goodness, you startled me! I thought you’d gone with Frank and Stuart to the lake.”

Joe’s stomach churned. It was the first time that Stuart had chosen to go somewhere with Frank instead of staying with Joe. There had to be a reason for it, and he had an awful feeling he knew what it was. The gang would all be there, to stir into yet another frenzy of contention. What Stuart was going to do with the energy once he got it- that was the big question. “Keep your shields up as tight as you can,” he told his aunt grimly, spinning around and heading for the closet to grab his coat.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Gertrude sounded quite cross.

“Stuart! He’s a fledgling outcast,” Joe called back, hauling on his coat and frantically patting his pockets in an attempt to locate his wallet and keys.

“A what? An-” Gertrude stopped with a gasp, evidently remembering what an outcast was. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. He may not’ve realized it yet, but I think he’s about to- I think that’s why he went with Frank instead of staying with me,” Joe explained quickly. “I’ve got to stop whatever he’s about to do- if only he hasn’t done it yet! Just keep your shields up until I tell you it’s all clear, okay?”

“Be careful.” It was all his aunt said, but there was genuine fear in her voice.

There was no other way.

Joe Hardy stared at his father’s car, caught between his sense of urgency and his frantically protesting mind. There was no way he could get into this car, sit where his mother had been sitting when she was fatally injured, drive the cursed thing down the road. He couldn’t!

But it was more than five miles to the lake; it would take him an hour to get there running, especially in this frigid cold. And Frank had taken the boys’ car.

The seventeen-year-old clenched his jaw, opened the car door, and got inside. There was one good thing about the freezing air; he could tell himself he was shaking with cold, not stress. Taking a quivering breath, he started the vehicle and backed out of the driveway, feeling his body tense in fear. “Don’t think,” he told himself aloud. “Don’t think, just drive. You know where you’re going, just go there.”

Hyperalert, every nerve jangling, he drove through the familiar streets. After five minutes- that felt more like five hours- he pulled to a halt in the Nature Center parking lot. As soon as he stopped and turned off the engine, he felt an overpowering need to get out of that car as fast as he could. His hands shook as he hauled off the seatbelt and shoved the door open, and he stumbled a little as his feet hit the ground. Joe had never imagined that stepping from a warm car into cold air could be so comforting, but he did his best to push his reaction aside and moved on shaking legs towards the lake shore.

There were not many people out, despite the clear weather; it was too cold. Joe picked up his pace and jogged down the path, thinking that on milder days, he would have had to weave through the passers-by. As he reached the clearing where the Nature Center stood, he saw Iola just coming out of the building and called to her urgently.

“Joe?” His girlfriend looked surprised, then smiled a little. “Well, it’s good to see someone who won’t start a fight,” she remarked, hurrying up to him. Joe’s heart sank.

“Another fight already?”

“Yeah.” Iola pursed her lips. “Chet and Jerry have been picking at each other since they got here, and your brother- I swear he has the patience of a saint- keeps separating ‘em. Tony’s threatened to bean someone with his hockey stick if they don’t knock it off, but I don’t think that helped any. As Slim pointed out.”

“Where are they?” Joe scanned the lake. “Oh, there,” he added, seeing the five figures zipping over the glazed surface. “Um, have you seen Stuart? Auntie said he came with Frank, which surprised me a great deal.”

“Surprised us too. Maybe he’s starting to branch out,” Iola joked. “He’s down there- watching the game.” She pointed down the gentle slope at a lone figure standing near the edge of the lake.

Watching. Joe shivered and wished it was the cold that was the cause. What was he supposed to do now?

“Joe, are you all-” Iola stopped, groaned grossly. “Oh, not again!”

Indeed, two of the figures had stopped skating and were yelling at each other, nearly face-to-face. Chet and Jerry. A third figure skidded to a halt beside them and got between them. Frank. But this time the intervention didn’t work, for as Chet turned to skate off, Jerry swooped to the side of the lake and grabbed up a chunk of ice. It bounced off the surface of the pond behind Chet, who whipped around with a yell and headed for the other boy, discarding his hockey stick as he went. Jerry discarded his own stick and- to Joe’s surprise- skated away from the huskier boy and headed for the shore.

No- not towards the shore. “Oh, shit!” Joe hissed. “He’s going down the river- the ice won’t be as strong down there! The current, and that stretch of whitewater-”

Iola turned to him, startled. “You think-?”

“I think there’s an accident waiting to happen,” Joe replied grimly, and took off running. He passed behind Stuart, who was watching the scene avidly, and quickly entered the woods that enclosed the small river. There was a rough footpath, for this was a popular hike, and he had pretty good footing since the snow was mostly gone. Ahead of him, he could catch glimpses of several figures skating hard along the frozen river, and he heard shouts.

The path spread out somewhat as the trees thinned and he halted, panting hard in the cold air. He was barely aware of the cold as he saw what lay ahead of him, though: Chet and Jerry had caught up with each other and were trading punches. Frank had followed them; he halted beside them in a spray of ice and yelled something. Then another figure skidded up beside the others- Tony. Joe whirled and looked back- Slim was approaching, too. And behind him, running hard up the path, a wide grin on his face, was Stuart Ryder- the outcast.

Everything seemed to happen at once. Joe saw the expression the fifteen-year-old was wearing and sent to his Teacher, “He’s not a fledgling- he’s an outcast! He’s smiling!”

At the same time, amid the noise of the punches and yells, he heard something horrible- the sound of ice cracking. “Get off the ice!” he screamed to his brother, spinning back around; as he turned, he saw Stuart become aware of him and the boy’s smile twist into a look of horror. Then he saw his brother grab Tony and shove him away from the crack that was splintering under the Italian boy’s skates. Tony slithered backwards, knocking into Chet and sliding them both clear of the dangerous ice. Jerry, deprived of a target, fell sprawling on his rear and scrambled away from the hole as Frank turned to get to safety.

For one second, the Hardy brothers’ eyes met; Joe reached out helplessly as the ice under his brother cracked again, shattered from shore to shore- and Frank disappeared under the fast-flowing water. “NO!” he shouted, and tried to run, but something was holding him back. Something- he couldn’t see, couldn’t move, there was a cloud of fog in his mind. He wasn’t even sure which way he was facing, what he was seeing...

Fog. Mind fog. He’d run into this before. Locke had inadvertently fogged Frank’s mind with fear; now someone- Stuart- was deliberately fogging Joe’s mind with paralyzed confusion. Enraged, Joe sent a sizzling blast of fury into Stuart’s greedy mind, stunning the boy so that his grip vanished. Joe spared a glance to see Stuart fall unconscious to the ground, then took off running again, his heart dying inside him. The delay... his brother... the cold, the solid grip of the ice... If Frank somehow survived long enough, he’d come out at the rapids. It was the only chance.

Joe ran as he never had before. He felt like he was moving in slow motion, but there ahead of him were the rapids! He leapt from the bank, plunged thigh-deep into icy, fast-running water. Stones rattled under his feet as he struggled upstream; he reached the area where the ice still skinned over the surface of the water and began to bash at it with his gloved fists, desperately seeking a glimpse of his brother’s dark winter coat. “Frank!” he sent wildly. “Frank, hang on! Where are you?”

A response, faint, barely there, but still clinging desperately to consciousness. Joe plunged his hands under the ice, groped wildly. Nothing. He stumbled forward, searching, searching- he knew he was close, where-? Then his numbed hands found something, something hard and soft at the same time. He grasped his brother’s jacket and, hauling hard, drew Frank into the bright, cold air. Frank gasped weakly as he came up, coughed. His eyes were closed. He tried to reach up, but his hand fell back into the swift-flowing water.

“Easy, I got you,” Joe gasped, and then stopped. Between his brother’s weight and the current shoving against his numb legs, he wondered despairingly if he’d be able to get them to shore. Suddenly other hands were helping him; Chet, his eye blackened, got an arm around the stricken Frank and pulled him up. Tony loomed on Frank’s other side and helped haul him towards the shore. “Let us,” he said briefly. “You’re shaking like a leaf. Get out before you get any colder.”

Joe suddenly became aware of the horrible cold. His teeth were rattling so hard he thought they might splinter. He staggered after his friends, nearly taking a complete dunking as the stones shifted under his feet. Then an arm went around him; Slim Robinson guided him out and helped him clamber up the bank, then supported him as he staggered in the direction of the Nature Center. Joe vaguely saw Jerry, his nose still bloody, lifting Stuart from the ground. The sandy-haired boy asked no questions, just slung the younger kid onto his back and trudged along behind.

By the time Joe got into the Center, he was numb through, exhausted and disoriented. Hypothermia, his brain vaguely identified the problem. He was aware of lots of noise and bustle, of people tugging at him and speaking nearby, but he couldn’t bring any of it into focus. His head hurt, he noticed idly. Someone pushed him onto a bench; he craned his neck, seeking a glimpse of his brother. “F-Frank?” he asked weakly, through chattering teeth.

“...be okay. Here.” Something warm and liquid touched his mouth and he choked briefly. Then the darkness hovering at the edge of his vision swept down and he knew nothing more.

Iola Morton stared worriedly after Joe Hardy as he disappeared into the thick woods surrounding the lake and the stream that fed it. Her irritation with the world in general and her friends in particular- except for her boyfriend and his brother- vanished like mist in sunlight. Worry slipped in to replace it. An accident waiting to happen? The thin ice of the river; the weight of the young men skating on it... Iola shivered, cold with more than the icy air. Her brother was down there- and Joe, and Frank, and-

Footsteps caught her attention and she turned to see the young boy, Stuart, racing down the trail after Joe. Suddenly her worry was gone, her irritation strong and getting stronger. So what if they fell in? They deserved it! Yes; even Joe. Running off to leave her, to try and get to his brother- who ought to have sense enough to stay clear of thin ice without someone telling him. Just like her own dreadful brother. Boys! They were such pains!

Turning, she stalked into the Nature Center and sat down beside Callie on a bench. “Well, now they’ve done it,” she groused. “Took off down the river, arguing again, having no more sense than to rush down towards the rapids, where it’s thin ice. Serve them right if they all fall in.”

Callie gave her a weary glance. “You wouldn’t say that if you had to attend their funerals after they died of hypothermia,” she predicted gloomily. “But the boys have sense enough, I hope...at least, Frank does.”

“I dunno. He was following right behind those two idiots. At least Joe had the intelligence to go along the path-”

“Joe? What’s he doing here?” Callie asked, with slightly more of an edge than necessary.

“Well, I thought he came to say hi to me,” Iola sniffed. “But evidently he thinks it’s more important to chase after Frank...”

Callie put down her plastic cup of cocoa and frowned. “Iola...maybe we better go after them,” she said slowly, and at the sound of her friend’s worried voice, the black-haired girl suddenly felt another jangle of fear.

“They- they’ll be fine,” she replied, but she didn’t sound convincing, even to herself. “Won’t they?”

“We better-” Callie choked off what she was saying and shot to her feet with a gasp. Iola looked where her friend was staring- and screamed, both hands rising to her mouth. For Tony and Chet had just stumbled into the Nature Center, bearing between them the unconscious, icy form of Frank Hardy. Behind them, Slim Robinson supported Joe Hardy, who was staggering, and last came Jerry, with an unconscious Stuart Ryder on his back.

Callie dropped her cocoa and flew across the room, her face white with fear. The proprietor, alerted by Iola’s scream, grabbed her by the arm. “Blankets!” he snapped. “Help me get the blankets- we’ve got to get them warm!”

Numb with fear, Iola obeyed, casting a glance over her shoulder as she helped the man drag out several thick blankets. Slim had eased Joe to sit on one of the benches; Frank was now lying on the floor, his wet hair shockingly dark on his pale face. Callie was kneeling beside him, quickly stripping off his soaked clothing. Iola clutched her armload of blankets and hurried to her friend’s side. “Here!” she cried, shoved several into Callie’s hands, then hurried to Joe. Joe was wet from the waist down; his eyes were vague and he wasn’t shivering. A bad sign, Iola knew.

“Let me get-” Slim didn’t finish, just undid Joe’s water-spattered coat and pulled it off the unresisting boy. Iola wrapped a thick wool blanket around her boyfriend, then gave one to Slim, whose teeth were chattering.

“Pants, too,” the proprietor ordered, coming up behind them. “And make him drink some of this.” He held out two cups of steaming-hot cocoa. Slim took one and gulped, grimacing as he burned his tongue; Iola took the other and held it to her boyfriend’s mouth, urging him to take small sips. Slim put down his half-empty cup and quickly followed the man’s other instructions.

It seemed to help; after several sips of cocoa and a vigorous rub with the blanket, Joe’s eyes cleared a little and he started to shiver violently with the returning warmth. “Frank?” he murmured dimly.

Iola turned her attention to the floor, where Frank still lay motionless. He, too, had been stripped of his wet things, and was now wrapped in several blankets. “How is he?” she called to Callie.

“He’s starting to shiver,” the other girl said tersely. “We need to get them home, people. Slim, go start their car, and get the heat on. Tell us when it’s warm enough for us to bring them out.” The tall youth obeyed without a word.

“He’ll be okay,” Iola whispered to her boyfriend. “Here, drink some more of this...” Joe sipped at the hot liquid obediently, his eyes closing.

“Home? Not the hospital?” Jerry spoke for the first time; he was wiping at the blood that had dried on his face and shivering in the warmth of yet another blanket.

“They don’t need the hospital,” the Nature Center man assured them. “Get ‘em home, in bed, under covers-”

“They have electric blankets- at least, Joe does,” Chet remarked. Then his eyes went wide. “Iola, catch him!”

Iola turned quickly and caught her boyfriend in her arms as he toppled over in a faint. “Oh, no...!”

“He’s all right.” Iola finally saw the man’s name badge as he bent over her and Joe: Mr. Sullivan. “He’s fine- it hits people like that. They start to warm up and just drop off asleep sometimes. Body’s healing mechanism, to keep ‘em from moving around and maybe leaving their heat source.”

“We’re not all going to fit into one car,” Tony remarked, rising from where he’d been kneeling on the other side of Frank. “I’ll go heat mine up. How’s the kid?” he added, looking at Stuart.

“Waking up. Stu, how do you feel?” Jerry asked anxiously.

“Head,” came the feeble reply. “Head hurts.”

“Are you cold?”

“No. Just headache. Huge headache.”

“You probably banged your head and that’s what knocked you out- running on that icy path,” Jerry said compassionately. “We’re taking you and the guys home in a few minutes, just lay still and take it easy.”

A minute or so later, Slim came back in and reported that the car was warm enough to put one of the Hardys in. “Take Frank, he needs more attention,” Iola said at once. Callie nodded and wrapped the blankets more closely around the prone figure. She followed anxiously behind as Jerry, Slim and Chet all carefully lifted their friend and carried him out of the Nature Center.

Iola watched too, fear in her heart. Joe would be all right, she told herself firmly. He was cold, even unconscious he was shivering, but he’d recover quickly. But Frank? Had he suffered irreversible damage? Had he been trapped in the water too long or been deprived of oxygen for more than four minutes? What had happened, anyway? She recalled her angry words to Callie about the boys deserving whatever they got, and Callie’s pessimistic response. Tears welled in the girl’s green eyes and she turned her face away from the doorway, holding her pale, limp boyfriend closer. “He’ll be okay,” she whispered. “Please...?”

“So. What exactly happened?”

Iola slumped in her chair at the Hardys’ dining room table and gazed wearily at Gertrude Hardy. The last hour and a half had been controlled chaos. As soon as they’d gotten the young sleuths home, Gertrude had taken command and sent the friends scurrying all over the house in their first-aid efforts.

The first thing had been to get Frank into a tub of warm water- the best remedy for someone unconscious with hypothermia. Callie had sat beside the tub for nearly an hour, holding her boyfriend’s head out of the water so he wouldn’t inadvertently inhale any.

Joe, who’d been struggling to regain consciousness when they carried him into the house, had been stripped and put to bed; his electric blanket had been turned to the highest setting and several hot-water bottles had been snugged against his feet and chest. Iola had stayed with him long enough to see his eyes open and hear his weak whisper: “Frank?”

“He’s all right. He’ll be fine, babe,” she’d whispered back. “They’re taking good care of him. Go back to sleep.” She’d been surprised when his weary blue eyes fell shut and he drifted into a deep sleep. Either he trusted her or he was just too tired to stay awake.

Iola glanced over at Stuart as her brother Chet started to answer Gertrude’s question. Stuart had come home with Joe in Tony’s car, and the boy had not said a thing, aside from muttering that his head hurt. He was lying on the sofa now, wrapped up in several blankets, and Gertrude had given him two Tylenol’s for the pain.

“-And then the ice started cracking,” Chet was saying. Iola bit her lip and turned her attention to her miserable-looking brother. For the first time in a while, she saw him as himself; not as an enemy or a figure of contempt, but as her brother, who was angry at himself, insecure, upset, and guilt-stricken. “Frank shoved Tony away, Tony knocked into me and we both slid clear, Jerry got clear, but Frank fell in and was pulled under the ice.” Chet’s hands were shaking as he clenched them around a mug of hot cider.

“Joe was on the bank,” Tony picked up the story. “He stood there for about two seconds, looking stunned, and then he took off down the trail and I figured he was headed for the rapids. They aren’t frozen yet. So I yelled at the guys that we hadda help and we all picked ourselves up, slipped past the hole in the ice, and went on down after them. When we got there...” He shook his head. “Joe was in the water about waist deep, hanging on to Frank’s jacket. How the dickens he found Frank I have no idea, and it’s a good thing Frank can hold his breath so long. I didn’t even think, just went right up to the edge of the ice, fell through, splashed over to Joe...”

“He was pretty cold himself by then, he let us take Frank. Then Slim got there and helped Joe out. And Jerry grabbed up Stu,” Chet concluded, nodding tentatively at the silent, sandy-haired boy.

“Shouldn’ta stopped to take my skates off,” Jerry muttered, looking down. “Got there too late to help out.”

“You helped,” Slim told him. “If you hadn’t grabbed Stuart, he might’ve gotten hypothermic, too.”

Gertrude nodded slowly, her eyes unreadable. “Well,” she began, and then sighed. “Well, I hope you’ve all had a lesson today.” And without another word, she went into the kitchen. Soon the good smell of beef broth began drifting out, setting more than one stomach to rumbling.

Iola shifted again in her chair, studying the subdued faces around her. She could no longer feel the slightest hint of anger, annoyance, betrayal, disgust. All she felt was tired and worried, and in a strange way, relieved. They’d had their fights, to be sure, and she was as guilty as any of the boys, but there was still a strong underlying loyalty to each other. Maybe they could still mend their bridges- maybe their friendships weren’t tattered past repair.

If only Frank and Joe were all right...

Frank Hardy shivered, burrowed a little deeper into the warmth that surrounded him. He tried to go back to sleep, but found himself wondering where he was.

Opening his eyes, he looked around at the familiar walls of his own bedroom. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to see, but it wasn’t this, and he blinked a few times in disbelief. After a few seconds he noticed that he was lying snugly in his own bed, and frowned at the discovery that, under the covers, he was- he wasn’t wearing anything. What made this so embarrassing was that Callie was sitting on a chair beside the bed, looking anxiously at him.

“You’re finally awake,” the girl said softly, leaning over him. “How do you feel?”

“Um,” he replied. “Confused.” He sounded a little weird- hoarse.

“Cold, warm, hungry?” Callie inquired.

“I’m pretty warm,” Frank answered slowly. “I remember being terribly cold, though...”

“You were at Hidden Lake, on the river, and the ice broke,” his girlfriend answered gravely. “Joe and Chet and Tony pulled you out and brought you to the Nature Center. We got you home as fast as we could- you were badly exposed and we started thinking we’d have to take you to the hospital. But your Aunt had the guys put you in the tub, in a lot of hot water, and that seemed to do it.”

The boy frowned as a flicker of memory returned. “I think I remember that. I definitely remember the ice...” He shivered again, not with cold this time. “Joe- he’s okay?”

“He’s all right. He’s in his own room, sleeping, with the electric blanket on and Iola keeping an eye on him.” Callie turned to the night table and picked up a mug. “Your aunt made this. Beef broth. Want a bit?”

The notion of hot beef broth was enticing; Frank hoisted himself up on an elbow and reached for the mug, only to discover that he was rather wobbly. Callie shook her head at him and held the edge of the mug to his lips. It wasn’t as hot as he’d expected, but that was all to the good; he didn’t burn his tongue. After he’d taken a few gulps, he lay back and sighed. Electric blankets were wonderful things, but hot soup was better for warming up from the inside. He closed his eyes, conscious of a deep weariness. “That’s the last time I try to break up a fight on ice,” he remarked quietly. “I guess our weight was just too much.”

“Yes, and the river ice doesn’t freeze as thick anyway,” Callie reminded him, putting the mug back on the night-table with a quiet klunk.

“When did Joe get there?” Frank murmured, suddenly curious. “He didn’t want to come along- stayed at home.” ‘Thank goodness he changed his mind,’ the teenager added to himself. He shuddered, recalling his struggle not to panic as the current swept him deeper and deeper under the unyielding ice. Remembered his growing despair as the pain gripped him- and the sudden clear burst of his brother’s sending that lent him new courage. ‘Thought I was done for- thought he was still at home... I think- yeah, I did see him on the bank, just as I fell- but I was sure I’d imagined it.’

“I’m not sure,” Callie answered, sounding perplexed. “I was still in the Nature Center when Tony and Chet brought you in, and Slim came in a moment later, helping Joe. Then Jerry brought Stuart in.”

“Stuart?” Frank opened his eyes for a moment. “I thought he was still at the lake when we went down the river...what happened to him?”

“No one’s sure. Jerry said he found the kid lying on the path, knocked out. Figured he must’ve been running to help, slipped on ice or something, fell and hit his head. He’s okay, too; he was moving around before we left to get you home. Wouldn’t say anything, though, except that he had a horrible headache. He’s on the living room couch with a hot water bottle on his feet, and he’s taken a couple painkillers,” Callie concluded.

Frank nodded briefly and let his eyes close again. “The guys?” he murmured. He was getting very sleepy.

“They’re- well, Chet has a black eye, Jerry finally got his nosebleed to stop, and both of them looked very ashamed of themselves. But they’re okay. Had some soup to warm up and went home after they brought you to bed,” Callie said briskly. “Tony’ll be by in a day or so to thank you for keeping him from falling in, I expect. He said it cracked right under his skates.”

That bit of news was somewhat of a relief. At least his aunt and girlfriend hadn’t been the ones to strip his clothes off of him, or dry him when he got out of the tub! Frank felt a little color heat his cheeks and forcefully shifted his thoughts in a different direction. “Surprised Aunt G didn’t insist on the hospital.”

“I was a little surprised, too. But she did call your doctor, he should be by sometime soon to check you both over.” Callie smiled. “In the meantime, why don’t you get some more rest?”

“Good-” Frank yawned. “-idea.”

The next time he woke up, Frank was not too surprised to see that it was dark outside the window. Dark still came very early, these winter days. There was a crack of light showing under his door and the chair beside the bed was empty. As he mused for a moment, he seemed to recall Doctor Bates standing over him, listening to his heart and lungs with the cold stethoscope, pricking his fingers and toes with a pin, and taking his temperature. Apparently he’d passed the test, since he was still in his room and not in the hospital.

Frank’s stomach grumbled and he was turning over the notion of getting up to find food- which didn’t appeal; the room would be cold- when the door swung quietly open. The light from the hallway glinted off his brother’s blond hair as Joe stepped in and closed the door most of the way again.

Joe was wrapped up in his bathrobe over pajamas and his hair was wildly tousled. He sat down on the side of Frank’s bed; there was just enough light for the boys to see each other’s faces. “You can turn on the light if you want,” Frank remarked drowsily.

“Okay. Wasn’t sure if you were awake or not.” A quiet click, and moment later the lamp on the nightstand was emitting its initial, feeble glow. Gradually the bulb reached maximum wattage and the room was illuminated. “How’re you feeling?”

“Hungry,” Frank answered promptly. “And warm. For which I think I have you to be grateful to...” It came out sounding rather awkward, but the sentiment was clear.

Joe’s hand rested on his shoulder. “And a couple others, yeah.”

“Callie was telling me about it,” the older boy answered softly, “but- it’s the sending I remember. And...” And the hands that had pulled him into the air had been his brother’s. “And so I think you get the lion’s share.” Frank took a breath and added, “What made you change your mind?”

“Huh?”

“About coming to the lake.”

“Oh! Ah, that’s complicated. And I’m kind of hungry too. Why don’t we both get some food and then I’ll explain. I also,” Joe added grimly, “want to make sure Stuart’s not going to butt in on this.”

Frank nodded and started to sit up, but winced when the cold air hit his bare skin. “Brrrr,” he shivered, pulling the covers back around him. Joe got up and went over to the dresser, rummaged for a while, and eventually drew out Frank’s nightclothes. He tossed them onto the bed and then brought over the bathrobe from the closet.

“You get those on, I’ll find something supper-ish and bring it up,” the younger boy commanded, smiling. He was as good as his word, returning in ten minutes with on a tray containing two big mugs full of steaming clam chowder, a basket of heated Italian bread, and two glasses of water. “I guess we were going to have soup tonight,” he remarked, putting the tray on Frank’s nightstand.

Frank, now nicely bundled against the chill of the room, propped the pillow behind his back and sat sipping the hot, savory soup. Joe sat in the chair beside him and for a while both the boys concentrated single-mindedly on eating.

“So what’s this complicated business?” Frank asked about half an hour later. He was feeling very content: warm inside and out, full of good food and no longer burdened by the heavy exhaustion that had clung to him earlier.

Joe put his mug down and scowled. “First off, we’ve been harboring an outcast.”

Frank felt his eyes widen. “Stuart?” he said disbelievingly. That seemed impossible. The telepathic outcasts who stole others’ energy and emotions had to be cruel, sinister- The Hardy boy shook his head, dismissing the thought. It was very seldom that any criminal ever fit a stereotype.

“Up till recently he may just have been a fledgling, a potential, but I saw his face today when Chet and Jerry were going at each other.” Joe shook his head. “Grinning like a Cheshire cat. Obviously enjoying every minute of it.”

“Damn,” Frank muttered. “So he’s the one responsible for the outbreak of arguing.”

“Exactly. And he’s probably been absorbing everything he could get his- his mind on- from me, too. Only I guess he wanted the more positive feelings, from me...I dunno. Approval, that sort of thing.”

‘Affection,’ Frank thought. “That’s why he’s been trying to monopolize you...yeah, now it makes sense,” he agreed aloud.

“I don’t know what exactly he was up to yet,” Joe mused, shifting to sit cross-legged on the chair. “But after you left, I started thinking about how all this chaos started after he started hanging out with us. Talked to Akilana, ‘cause it made me really uneasy. She agreed that he was probably outcast and wanted me to bring him up to her right away. So I went looking for him and Auntie told me that he’d gone to the lake with you, and that set off every alarm system I’ve got. I knew he was going to do something and I figured I better get there fast.”

Frank nodded slowly. “I’m glad you did. But- he didn’t crack the ice, did he? I mean, that was just coincidence...?”

“I’m sure he couldn’t’ve cracked it, no. I just wonder what he wanted all that power for. He had to be getting a big blast out of that argument, stirring Chet and Jerry up so badly. He sure tried to mess me up, filling my head so full of fog that I couldn’t even move,” the younger teen muttered, scowling again. “Then I remembered how to shove it away and gave him about the nastiest mental punch I could throw- that’s why he’s been complaining to Auntie about how bad his head hurts.”

“Whoa, what? Fogged you?” Frank asked, slightly alarmed. “What exactly do you mean?”

“Well, pretty much just that. I couldn’t tell where I was or what was happening. It was a lot like being caught in pea soup, just in my mind,” Joe explained. “It was sorta like what happened to you when Locke...” Joe trailed off and Frank nodded grimly, remembering. “He didn’t want me to help you,” Joe went on, “but I wasn’t going to let that little shit stop me.”

“He didn’t want you to help me?” Frank repeated incredulously. “You mean- after you got me out?”

“No, right when you fell in,” Joe replied softly. “So I was- I was in a hurry and I didn’t take any care of how hard I hit him.”

Frank leaned back on the pillow, feeling unnerved. Why in the world would Stuart want him to die of cold or drowning? What had he done to the kid to provoke such a response? Something tweaked at his memory then. Cold...ice...thin ice... Suddenly he remembered how he’d insisted that Stuart leave Joe alone- and his comment that Stuart was on thin ice. Stuart must’ve been thrilled at the notion of getting Frank on literal thin ice- and watching him fall through. So he’d herded Chet and Jerry down the river and just waited, holding them where the ice was weak... Frank shuddered.

Joe got up from the chair, moved over to sit on the bed, and touched Frank’s arm. Frank clasped his brother’s warm hand and felt just a little better. “But how’d you get there?” he asked after a brief silence.

“I drove,” Joe said quietly. Then he frowned. “And I think the car’s still there, too. I’m not sure who brought us home.”

“You drove?” Frank latched onto that. He’d taken their car, not Fenton’s, which meant- “You drove Dad’s car?” Joe hadn’t willingly gotten into that vehicle for six months at least; he’d not made a big deal of it, but it had been understood between them that he was not going to drive the car their mother had been killed in.

“I didn’t have much choice,” the seventeen-year-old answered with a faint shrug. His eyes were fixed on the blanket.

Frank put his arms around his brother and held him close. “That took a lot of courage,” he whispered. “I’m proud of you, kiddo...and even more grateful, now that I know.”

“It was- not easy,” Joe admitted painfully, letting his head rest briefly on the older boy’s shoulder. “But I could either drive or I could run, and I didn’t think running would do any good at all. Though I’m not in a hurry to do it again.”

Frank just nodded. Driving that car would be rough on Joe at the best of times, and this- with the Starmail trial still slogging through its proceedings- was definitely not the best of times. It was a very powerful comment on just how worried Joe had been for Frank’s safety- and what he was willing to do to ensure that safety.

“Feeling better yet?” Joe Hardy asked his brother.

Frank, who was lying on the living room sofa, wrapped up in a blanket with one of the cushions under his head, answered with a nod and a brief, “Mm-hmm.”

They had just returned home from the day’s proceedings at the courthouse. It had not been a pleasant day for either of them; both the Hardys had been tired and listless from their peril of the day before. Frank had been uncomfortable all day, as he was still very susceptible to low temperatures. Taking off his jacket had led to shivers, but to his annoyance, keeping it on had left him too warm.

Joe was sitting in the easy chair, his eyes closed. The cold wasn’t bothering him much, but his head was pounding with a mix of fatigue, stress and telepathic exertion. Actually, the telepathic exertion was the least of it; he had more or less recovered from his unusual use of mental energy the day before. He had taken two painkillers and the ache was beginning to subside. “I keep wondering about those dreams from last month,” he mused suddenly, aloud. “Both the real dreams and the sending, actually. Maybe Stuart was giving them to me deliberately- trying to raise energy to control his father, to keep the beatings to a minimum.”

Frank glanced over, frowning. “You can ask him when he gets back, after we go into detail on a few other little items,” he replied.

Joe knew that the touch of sarcasm meant Frank was feeling anxious about the upcoming confrontation. Joe had contacted Akilana again this morning on the way to the courthouse, and had been given instructions of what to do. “She did say he needed to be- burned,” he murmured uneasily. “But she didn’t say how I’m supposed to do it! I guess it’s another of those things a Teacher has to know how to do, but I’m not looking forward to this at all.”

The older boy nodded, his brow furrowing even more. “We can’t inflict him on some unsuspecting foster family while he has this ability; it’d be like setting a pyromaniac loose in a fireworks factory. And like Akilana said, there’s no point trying to let her train it out of him. Not now that we know he’s enjoying it. He’s gone past the point of no return; taking it away from him is the only option left.”

“I know,” the blond boy replied, opening anxious blue eyes and looking worriedly at his brother. “And I don’t disagree- not really. I hate the idea of taking the ability away from him by force, but it’s got to be done. What’s bugging me is that I don’t even know how to begin. I guess I’ll find out fast enough when my instincts kick in, but in the meantime... it’s kinda nerve-racking.” He bit his lip. “And- and Stuart’s had enough abuse in his life. I feel awful at the thought of taking this away from him. I’m afraid it’s going to hurt him- and what if I do it wrong and cause major damage to his mind or his body? Or even...kill him?”

Frank turned over onto his side, tucked his arm under his head, and regarded Joe with a very serious gaze. “Trust your instincts, Teacher,” he said softly. “You haven’t guided me wrong yet. Remember, our Teacher told you that the stronger senders have very reliable instincts of what to do and not do. I think as long as you’re not trying to cause brain damage or cripple him, you won’t.”

Joe seemed to relax a little. “I hope you’re right.”

“And if you need a hand... His defenses won’t be too much for you to handle, will they?”

“Well...his shields shouldn’t be a problem,” the seventeen-year-old mused. “They’re still more like cardboard than stone. I’m worried about that fog, though. I know how to handle it, but I didn’t teach him that; it makes me wonder what else he’s learned on his own, and just how strong he really is. And hell, maybe his shields are stronger than I think-”

Joe stopped as the front door opened. He knew it wasn’t Gertrude coming in; he’d sent her over to a neighbor’s house and told her not to come back until either he or Frank gave her the all-clear. No point getting her caught up in the coming struggle. Gertrude had obeyed with uncharacteristic silence, obviously very unnerved by what was happening. She hadn’t even thought to reprimand either teen for their ‘carelessness’ in bringing Stuart home when they didn’t know the first thing about him. She also hadn’t tried to talk them out of ‘hurting the poor boy’, which reassured them both. At least Stuart wasn’t trying to control their aunt’s mind and sway her to his defense.

Not, Joe thought grimly, that the boy would’ve had any luck doing so. Their aunt was far too stubborn to be easily manipulated.

Frank sat up as Stuart walked into the room. Judging from the look on his face, Stuart hadn’t expected them to be waiting for him. He fumbled with his books, nearly dropping them on the floor in his surprise.

“Have a seat,” Frank suggested coolly. “We need to have a little talk about your behavior.”

The boy didn’t respond, just looked from one Hardy to the other, fear clouding his face.

Joe wasn’t sure just what to say at first. Then he took a deep breath, remembering the day before. “You know what you’ve been doing is wrong,” he said bluntly. “And-”

“I haven’t either been doing anything wrong!”

Joe had expected some sort of denial, but hearing it suddenly enraged him. “Do you think I’m a moron, or what?” he flared. “You’ve been manipulating the gang all month, feeding off their feelings, heightening their tempers and aggressions so they’d blow up at the slightest excuse. And you enjoyed it- I saw that smile on your face yesterday as you egged Chet and Jerry on to fight each other.”

“What I want to know,” Frank added as Joe paused to get his breath, “is why do you want me dead?”

A strange expression crossed the fifteen-year-old’s face as hatred suddenly joined the fear already there. “Why do I want you dead?” he repeated slowly.

“You filled my head with fog, nailed me in place so I couldn’t help him,” Joe growled. “You-”

Stuart startled them both by flinging his books to the floor. “I hate you!” he shouted at Frank, who blinked. “I hate you, you and your rotten steel walls!”

“My shields.” Frank exchanged a glance with Joe, on whom the light of realization was beginning to dawn. “I see. You couldn’t get past my shields to manipulate me, so you tried to get rid of me.”

“I can’t break ‘em. I needed the power from the fight to break ‘em, to make you go away-”

“Go away?” Joe repeated, baffled.

“Away! For good!” Stuart advanced on Frank, who watched him warily. “He’s mine!” the boy shrieked. “Mine!”

“What?” came from both Hardys simultaneously.

“Mine! But he’s always with you, always paying attention to you, always pushing me to the background-”

“Number one, he’s my brother- so yeah, I think you can expect him to spend a little more time with me than with some kid off the street. Number two, you knew this arrangement was strictly temporary anyway, so you shouldn’t’ve gotten too fond of it in the first place. And number three, you don’t lay claim to people, Stuart. It’s wrong and revolting. Joe belongs to himself, not to you or me or anyone else.” Frank’s voice was calm, but there was an undertone of cold anger that was unnerving to hear, and the words were meant to hurt.

“He’s mine!” the fifteen-year-old screeched. “He belongs to me!”

Joe, shaken, made a face of revulsion. “So you thought if you got rid of my brother, I’d automatically become closer to you? Shove Frank aside and in steps Stuart? Let me tell you,” he went on, rising to his feet, “you’re way off base. You could never replace him- no one can. In fact, if you’d succeeded yesterday, I wouldn’t be around anymore for you to claim. I’d rather die with my brother than live and have you trying to replace him.”

“You’re lying!” Stuart whirled on Joe. “You’re just trying to make me mad- to hurt my feelings! You always hurt my feelings! And I know why, too- you’re really mad at him for being so nasty to you, and you just take it out on me!”

“Oh, bullshit,” Joe retorted succinctly, and sent a blazing shaft of anger into the boy’s mind. Stuart reeled back a step. A stinging mental slap was the boy’s attempt at retaliation, but it was a feeble thing and Joe’s shields were more than adequate. He brushed off the attack and followed up his anger with another blast, this one calculated to hurt more. It wasn’t anger that he sent, though. “Am I lying?” the seventeen-year-old demanded. “You feel that, you tell me- am I mad at my brother? Do I think he’s ‘mean’ to me?”

Stuart stared at Joe as the older boy forced his feelings into Stuart’s mind. Stuart’s face crumpled in sudden defeat as he was made to sense the powerful, unbreakable bond between the brothers. He looked away- and then he counterattacked.

A sudden blast of rage and resentment tore into Joe’s momentarily vulnerable mind, for Joe had let his shields down in order to make his point to his outcast student. The young sleuth cried out in pain and clutched at his temples, half-blinded by Stuart’s frighteningly strong emotions. His head felt as though it were cracking; the room swam out of focus and became a blur of vague color. Sounds faded into the distance and his legs shook under him. He knew he was about to pass out, but fought it; he had to stay conscious. Had to break Stuart’s mental grip. No telling what the kid would do when Joe was unconscious-

The pain intensified- and then, as abruptly as it had come, it was gone. Joe gasped in relief as the room solidified and sounds returned more or less to normal. His head and neck were aching and he was slumped against the side of the easy chair. He pushed himself upright, feeling a little dizzy and trying to ignore the spots that sparkled before his eyes for a moment or two.

“Damn you!” Stuart howled, turning on Frank again.

“You really think I’d sit here and watch you hurt him?” Frank growled, rising and moving threateningly forward. “I don’t think I’m the mean one around here, Stuart. And I don’t think Joe’s the one who’s resenting me, either. It’s you, both times.”

Joe’s eyes met his brother’s and he knew at once why the bombardment had stopped. Frank had shielded him. Stuart still couldn’t get past those adamant walls, even with all the energy he’d just absorbed from their confrontation. “Thanks, brother,” he murmured as his strength began to seep back. “I might’ve guessed he was getting a big boost of energy out of this.” He gritted his teeth and steadied himself on the arm of the chair, then turned to the furious, frightened boy. “But enough’s enough. You’re an outcast, Stuart Ryder. And there’s only one cure for you.”

Joe didn’t blast the boy again. He didn’t need to. Something in him suddenly knew what he needed to do. He reached into the boy’s mind, pushed past Stuart’s shields, noting that they were stronger than he’d expected. That, or he was weaker now from the attack- maybe both. There was no time to worry about it, though. Joe knew what he was looking for, and he quickly found it. The telepathy centers- not in Stuart’s soul, not in the depths of his deviously powerful mind, but in the very brain tissue itself- Joe could see and feel certain areas radiating energy. It was exactly as if he was checking to see if the boy was telepathic. Except this time, Joe wasn’t just going to look.

This time, Joe reached out to the energized areas and obliterated them.

It was a lot like watching kindling flare up in a fireplace. Joe could hear the younger boy screaming protests, aloud and mentally, could feel the frantic attacks that Stuart was trying to throw at him, but he ignored them. He didn’t try to turn the boy’s own strength in on himself; that was too risky, too likely to run out of control and backlash on him. Instead, he drew on his own energy to fuel the destruction. He could tell there was no physical pain involved- though there could be, if he fed the process into Stuart’s nerves- but that was too much like what the outcast had been trying to do to him. Joe was not outcast; he would not use an outcast’s tricks.

In time, the fire in Stuart’s mind flickered and died. Joe frowned mentally and searched carefully amid the wreckage he’d made of Stuart’s telepathic centers. He found a few ‘hot spots’ and pushed more energy into them until they too flared up and died out. When he was certain that no trace of telepathic ability remained, he departed swiftly.

“Thanks for the backup,” he sent gratefully to his brother, opening his eyes and feeling a deep surge of weariness. His head was pounding again, but not as badly as it had yesterday. He had a feeling Frank’s shields had a lot to do with that. “I couldn’t’ve done it if you hadn’t shielded me.”

“Didn’t want him backstabbing you. It’s done?”

Joe realized he was still leaning against the chair and slowly stood up straight. He looked at the crumpled heap sobbing on the floor and nodded in reply to Frank’s question. He wasn’t sure whether it was due to his anger or his exhaustion, but either way he could feel no sympathy for Stuart. He supposed he’d feel devastated if he somehow lost his own telepathy, but right now the thought failed to touch him. “Tomorrow,” he said wearily to the boy, “the Carters are coming to take you to your new home. And if I were you, I wouldn’t try to get revenge on either of us. No one is going to believe you if you tell them there’s such things as telepaths. Especially since you can’t prove it.”

Stuart let out a wail. “I won’t go! I won’t! Not till you give it back! Give me my mind back!”

“You have your mind. You just don’t have the ability to invade and control people’s thoughts anymore,” Joe told him, turning his back on the boy. “As for giving it back, I can’t. My teacher told me to burn you; she hasn’t taught me how to undo it. Not that I would, but I can’t anyway.” He made his way into the kitchen, suddenly feeling an intense hunger gnawing at him. His hands quivered a little as he fixed a sandwich and then sat to devour it. It felt good to sit down, his legs seemed very unsteady. A few minutes later, Frank joined him in the kitchen and heated some of the leftover soup.

“I feel kinda strange,” the older boy murmured.

“I’m pretty shaky myself. I think I used a lot of energy,” Joe admitted. “Soon’s I finish eating, I’m going to take a nap.”

“That wise?” Frank nodded towards the living room.

“Wise or not, I can’t help it. I’m too tired,” Joe answered between bites. “If I wasn’t so hungry, I’d probably be asleep already.”

His brother nodded, looking more closely at him. “You’re pretty pale... Well, I’m not too beat, just hungry. I’ll stay up while you nap and make sure he doesn’t get any ideas about ‘parting gifts’,” Frank offered grimly. He opened the microwave as it beeped and pulled out his soup.

“Sounds like a good idea.”

Joe Hardy woke up with a start. Someone was bending over him. Then he recognized his brother, even in the dimness of the unlit bedroom. “Sorry,” Frank apologized. “Didn’t mean to wake you up, I was just checking on you. You’ve been conked out for a while.”

“No problem,” Joe replied sleepily. He yawned, noticing that the awful shaky feeling was gone. He didn’t feel energetic, but he didn’t feel exhausted either. He mentioned this and his brother smiled.

“Good. Stuart’s curled up on the sofa. Cried himself to sleep. I don’t suppose he’ll wake up with his ability re-grown, will he?”

Joe shook his head and sat up. “I was thorough,” he answered rather bleakly. “If he hadn’t tried to keep me from helping you, I might feel a little sorry for him, but...”

“Say it like it is,” Frank retorted, straightening up. “He wanted me dead so he could have you to himself.”

Joe shuddered and pulled the blanket around him. He felt his brother’s hand rest on his shoulder, a wordless apology for the bluntness of the remark. “I can’t figure that one out, and I’m not sure I want to,” he muttered. “What did he mean...‘his’?”

“Well...” Frank sat down on the bed beside him, hand still on Joe’s shoulder. “I can think of one possibility right off,” he suggested gravely.

“So can I. But it wasn’t- it wasn’t that. I mean, there was nothing...nothing affectionate in his mind.” Joe could feel his face turning hot in the darkness. It wasn’t that he had anything against homosexuals, he just didn’t want one to fall for him. It would be terribly awkward, at best. But Stuart didn’t seem to have been feeling unrequited love; there’d been nothing in his mind about it that Joe had sensed.

“Okay, good.” Frank was quiet for a moment, then shrugged; Joe felt his brother’s arm move. “Which leaves us with him thinking of you as his possession... Which doesn’t seem to make a lot of sense.”

“Or his fuel source,” Joe speculated bitterly.

“I don’t think so,” Frank mused, and paused. “Think about it a second. If he saw you purely as a fuel source, he wouldn’t’ve gone to such trouble to get you away from me.”

Joe frowned, feeling another shiver go down his spine. Isolate and control. Stalker behavior. “That’s a good point, it was definitely about keeping my attention on him and no one else.” He paused and rubbed absently at an itchy spot on his arm. “You know, he was a lot stronger than he let on to be, he probably could’ve manipulated me if he wanted. But maybe he didn’t dare try because he knew you’d notice and shield me. And he knew he couldn’t break through your shields. ...None of which actually answers the question, though. If he didn’t- care about me, then-?” The blond boy shrugged, leaving the remark unfinished.

“Hmm. Well, if he got you to care about him, he’d have an easier way to manipulate you, without having to worry about me shielding you,” Frank remarked. “I mean, if you gradually decided you’d rather hang around with him than anyone else, certain people might get annoyed...myself, for one...but I wouldn’t say you were acting weird and therefore someone was influencing you. I’d probably conclude you were being a jerk.” The older boy sounded like he was smiling ruefully, but it was hard to tell in the dark.

“That’s a thought. And not a pleasant one. I wonder if he thought my shields were actually yours?” Joe said suddenly, the thought only now striking him. “That you just habitually shield me? I don’t think he realized just how strong I am- probably figured my sending was weaker than my shields and that I needed some extra help.”

“That’s a possibility,” Frank agreed. “All the more reason for him not to mess with you telepathically; if they were my shields, I’d certainly notice him trying to fool with ‘em.” He paused. “What would that make me, a mind-guard?”

Joe had to smile. “Close enough. So he’d maybe figure that with you gone, he could control me completely... I wonder if that’s what- no, that couldn’t be.”

“You’re playing mental leapfrog.” Frank’s amusement was evident in his voice.

“Um, yeah. I was wondering if he was controlling his father- but no, he wouldn’t be crazy enough to make his father beat him. Whatever else he is, he’s not a masochist.”

“Maybe he was trying to control his father, but his father’s drinking affected how much control Stuart had. Alcohol did seem to make sending easier for me,” and now Frank sounded rather abashed, “but it might inhibit someone else.”

“Yeah, ‘specially if they were having to fight through someone else’s drunk to do it,” Joe agreed. “That’s a good deduction. Alcohol does affect people very differently.” He considered for a moment. “Of course, it’s all speculation, I doubt he’d tell us the truth at this point. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Stuart was the reason you and Aunt G got into such an incredible fight- and why she was so spiteful to me- the first night he was here. He may not’ve manipulated us much, but I’m sure he messed with her.”

“I didn’t even think about that.” Frank sounded surprised. “That’s entirely possible. Maybe- maybe that’s why I lost my temper badly enough to hit her.” A note of regret entered his voice. “Still wish I hadn’t done it.”

“Which reminds me.” Joe let the covers fall away; he was getting a little too warm. “Is she home yet?”

“Oh, yeah, I called up and told her it was safe to come back now. She just got back a little while ago, she’s in the kitchen now. Hardly said a word all night, either. I think she’s pretty spooked.”

Joe nodded, then slowly slid off the bed. Frank stood up beside him, his hand sliding down Joe’s back and giving a brief pat before withdrawing. “Let’s call the Foster Care people and ask whether we’re supposed to take Stuart to Buffalo or if they’re going to come down and fetch him,” the younger boy suggested after a moment.

“Let’s see if we can’t talk them into fetching him,” Frank amended. “We’re supposed to stick around town, you know.”

“Oh yeah. Just in case we’re needed at the trial...” Joe sighed and shoved his feet into the shoes he’d kicked off before falling asleep. Then he headed for the stairs, not bothering to tie the laces, with the inevitable result that he tripped and nearly fell down the steps. Fortunately Frank was right behind him and caught him by the arm.

“You know, that was not the brightest thing you’ve done,” the dark-haired boy scolded. “Sit down and tie ‘em, the phone won’t run away.” Joe sighed again and sat down on the top step to obey, wondering again why the state hadn’t let Frank take charge of him. His older brother certainly had more of a knack for stepping into a parental role than their aunt did!

The remainder of the evening was awkward. Stuart woke up, refused Gertrude’s offer of dinner, gave Frank a hate-filled glare and Joe a long, yearning look, and finally vanished into the den. Gertrude didn’t noticed either look, and after she had taken her seat at the table she remarked what a shame it was that ‘the child’ had turned out to be so duplicitous.

“I don’t understand why he apparently hates Frank and not me,” Joe muttered, glaring at the nearly-closed door to the den. “I’m the one who took his talent away.”

“It really is a shame you had to do that. He didn’t seem like an outcast. So polite, so soft-spoken and gentle and obedient. You two could’ve taken some examples from him,” Gertrude declared.

Joe looked up from his plate with a scowl, but Frank got his answer in first. “Examples like manipulating people?” he asked pointedly. “Rummaging around in peoples’ minds and stirring up their feelings so’s to use ‘em as power sources- like batteries?”

“Or like clouding people’s minds?” Joe added crossly. “If I hadn’t blasted him at the river, he would’ve held me right where I stood until it was too late to help Frank. And I’d be willing to bet he had something to do with that horrible argument, that first night he was here.”

Gertrude paused in her meal and settled her glasses more firmly on her thin nose. “I must admit,” she said rather grudgingly, “that...that evening got very much out of hand, and I find I regret it.”

“So do I,” Frank agreed quietly. Joe said nothing. He was pretty sure she wasn’t talking to him, and even if she was, her regret wouldn’t change anything. Frank still hadn’t told him all that went on that night, probably wasn’t going to, and the younger Hardy was just as glad not to know. His usual curiosity was greatly dampened by the thought of what other, crueler things she might have said- even if she no longer meant them. Besides which, getting out of hand wasn’t the same as not meaning something you’d said.

“It makes me quite cross to think someone could just come in and- and control me. And I never even noticed. I suppose he encouraged me to believe that he was such a good boy, so friendly. So I wouldn’t interfere with his agenda,” the old woman concluded rather shrewdly.

“Quite likely,” Joe agreed grimly. “Anyway, someone’s going to come get him tomorrow and take him to Buffalo. I called the agency-”

“Yes, I saw you on the phone. That’s good- did they give you a time?”

“Sometime in the morning; it’s a bit of a drive. So we should make sure he’s packed up and ready to go.” Joe looked over at Frank, who nodded agreement. The problem would be talking the boy into it- or if that failed, packing his things themselves.

“Wheeeewww.”

Joe Hardy let out a long sigh of relief and turned away from the living room window. Moving to the couch, he sank down and leaned back against the cushions.

“Gone?” his brother inquired from the corner of the room.

“Gone.”

“Good.”

Frank didn’t add the ‘riddance’, but it hung in the air between them. The older sleuth was sitting in his favorite chair, a book on his lap, but he wasn’t reading it. Silence reigned for a while as both the boys mulled over the new, welcome change. The atmosphere in the house seemed quieter, calmer than it had been in weeks.

“Funny,” Joe said after a while, talking more to himself than his brother. “Now I understand why he took the idea of telepathy so calmly.” It was nothing that Stuart Ryder had said that led Joe to understand this, for the boy hadn’t said a word since his young Teacher had burned his talent away. It was Joe’s intuition that told him Stuart had shown no surprise because he had not actually been surprised.

“What do you mean?” Frank asked curiously.

“The way he just accepted telepathy as a perfectly normal thing,” Joe explained, looking across the room at his brother. “We didn’t do that-”

“Oh! No, we didn’t. You were pretty uncertain about it, and I was rather apprehensive myself.” Frank closed his book. “It sure seems like a lot longer than- what, eight months since you started picking up people’s thoughts?”

“About that, yeah.” Joe mused a minute. “I guess I figured that nothing really surprised him at all anymore because he’d had such a difficult life. He had to learn to accept things as fast as they were thrown at him. But that wasn’t it- he knew about the telepathy all the time, probably from a pretty young age, and was working very hard to improve it. Because he found it gave him strength.” Joe sighed. “Stolen strength,” he amended grimly.

Frank nodded gravely. “Too bad he didn’t connect up with someone sooner. They might’ve managed to train that out of him after all. But don’t blame yourself,” he added at Joe’s frown. “He was too far gone for you to do the job. He just wanted to know everything you could teach him so he could steal more effectively.”

The blond boy nodded, his brow still knotted. “I know. Akilana told me it wasn’t any doing of mine that he turned out like this. I only hope,” he added after a moment, “that he doesn’t give the Carters any trouble.”

Both of the boys had been impressed with Jean and Thomas Carter. They were both still very young, not yet thirty, but they seemed ready for the challenge of taking on a fifteen-year-old foster son. “We hope to end up as much friends as parental figures,” Jean had confided while Thomas took Stuart and his bags to the Carters’ station wagon. “It won’t be easy, but we’re going to try.” Jean was a pretty woman, all soft curves and bouncy red shoulder-length hair, with eyes almost as blue as Joe’s.

Thomas, her husband of three years, had mid-brown hair and rather muddy eyes, but his face was open and honest. He was a ‘hacker cop’ he’d said laughingly; he spent most of his day trying to search and destroy computer worms and viruses. “Not for any particular company, either,” he’d added slyly. Joe had liked the guy a lot. It turned out the Carters were both native New Yorkers, having lived in the city itself and then moved away to Buffalo for more peace and less bustle. Stuart would be all right with them- the question was whether the Carters would be all right with him. Not that there was anything the Hardys could do about it if not.

“You know what, we need to go pick up the car,” Frank said into Joe’s brooding.

“The-? Oh, right.” The younger teen suddenly recalled that their father’s sedan had been left behind in the commotion at the lake two days ago. He still wasn’t sure who had brought them home, nor how. “And we should check on the guys- Tony and Chet and Slim. And Jerry.”

“Shall we go do that, then? Better than sitting around,” Frank suggested, putting his book on the floor.

“It seems weird to neither be in school nor in court,” Joe murmured, standing up. “Feels like it ought to be the weekend, but it’s not.” He glanced at his watch. “One flaw in your plan, Frank- school’s not out yet. Soon, though.”

“Hmmm. How soon?”

“About an hour, which you could’ve figured out for yourself if you cared to use that brain of yours,” Joe answered good-naturedly.

“I haven’t had lunch yet,” Frank commented. “An hour should be plenty of time for lunch and then collecting the car before checking in with the guys.” He ignored the rest of Joe’s remark, but his brown eyes were bright with amusement.

“Now that you mention it, neither have I. And I would rather not wait till we get to Mr. Pizza. Don’t tell Tony I said so, but something other than pizza works just fine, every so often.” Joe followed his brother into the kitchen and quickly pulled out a quantity of leftovers from the refrigerators, including a turkey leg. This he chewed on while investigating the containers.

“I wouldn’t dream of tattling,” Frank replied, watching as Joe opened the plastic boxes and bowls. “At least, not till the next time you threaten to put snow down my back.”

“Blackmail,” the younger boy muttered around a mouthful of turkey. “I shouldn’t be eating this, it’s going to put me to sleep,” he complained after a moment’s thought.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure the cookies you’re going to get into will counteract it nicely,” his brother answered dryly. “I’m just glad you aren’t-”

“Drinking soda? Good idea!” Joe got a can of cola from the refrigerator, ignoring Frank’s phony sigh of dismay. Then he got busy and soon had the turkey heated up, as well as some corn and leftover stuffing. No sense in warming the sweet potatoes; he loathed them. Frank didn’t care for them either, but he wasn’t nearly as passionate about his dislike as the younger Hardy. “You’d think it was Thanksgiving recently,” he mused, staring at the plate. And had a sudden, vivid memory of Thanksgiving; Frank home from Unity, the snow, working with Jesse Martinez on his passing game...

“Coincidence.” Frank sat down beside him and dug into his own lunch, a dish of hamburger mixed with noodles in a thick sauce. Joe shook off his memories and set to, but the feeling lingered and he looked over at his brother several times while he ate. Frank had settled back into Bayport life almost as though he’d never been gone; Joe no longer caught himself looking around to make sure the older boy still really was nearby. The major difference now was that he was never lonesome anymore- and neither was Frank.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Frank asked, his brown eyes suddenly meeting Joe’s. Joe felt himself turn slightly red, but told him, and watched an affectionate smile cross his brother’s face. “I know what you mean,” he agreed. “I don’t think about it as much as I used to, but when I do, I’m still really glad to be home. Despite everything.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, sure, there’s compensations for putting up with you,” Frank teased. His eyes sparkled as he pushed his dark hair away from his face, revealing the very faint scar on his forehead where the Unity fraternity boys had struck him with the stick that horrible night.

“There’s gonna be a food fight in a minute,” Joe warned him, stifling the memory. Then he shook his head as Frank reached over and ruffled his hair. “Jerk.”

“Brat.” Frank’s arm slid around him and gave him a gentle squeeze. The younger boy smiled, leaning into the half-hug for a moment, then turned his attention back to his food.

After they had eaten, cleaned up and helped themselves to a handful of cookies each, the Hardys bundled up against the frigid, cloudy winter day and Joe took the driver’s seat of the boys’ car. This trip to the lake was about a hundred percent less stressful for him than the last one had been. It also took longer, since they hit both the red lights on the way there. “I’m glad to see that no one towed it- or messed with it,” Frank commented as they pulled into the parking space beside Fenton’s sedan.

“I doubt they’d’ve towed it,” Joe replied. “They knew it was only a temporary abandonment.”

Frank nodded and started to get out. “See you at the mall?”

“Um.” Joe looked at his watch. “Well, if you want. We’ve still got half an hour, though.” He frowned and looked over at his brother. “You know, we’re going to have some explaining to do- unless we want to just stonewall completely.”

“What? No, wait. Tell you what, let’s drive home and you can explain where it’s warm.”

“Okay.” Joe watched as his brother got out, waited to make sure the sedan started all right, then swung out of the parking lot and headed home again. The gang was going to need an explanation of sorts, he thought as he drove through the streets. Just telling them Stuart had been taken in by the Carters didn’t seem quite good enough. And maybe it would help put an end to all the tension if the teens realized that their minds had been manipulated without their knowledge- that they weren’t really responsible for what they’d been feeling and saying.

He had a feeling his brother would raise some objections, though.

“Okay, let me see if I’ve got this right. You want to tell the gang they’ve been manipulated mentally, but not tell them that we’re telepathic?” Frank Hardy asked his younger brother disbelievingly.

Joe, who was perched on the arm of the living-room sofa, nodded.

Frank sat down in his usual chair and turned the idea over in his mind for a few minutes, idly picking up his discarded book and putting it on the seat beside him. “Why?” he asked at length, looking over to meet his brother’s blue-eyed gaze. “Wouldn’t it be a lot safer for us to just let things run their course?”

“And maybe lose some friendships in the process?” Joe retorted, frowning.

“Well.” Frank felt a little abashed. They wouldn’t lose any friends- or would they? They hadn’t argued with anyone, but mightn’t Chet, for example, get annoyed if they hung out with Jerry? Or vice versa? It hadn’t happened so far, but that might be because the Hardys had been in court and hanging out with anyone had been rather difficult to manage. There was some question as to how reasonable everyone would be when the boys were back in the picture-

Frank paused in his thoughts. ‘Reasonable’ was the last thing people had been lately. With Stuart gone, they might be inclined to be reasonable again, but on the other hand, it might prove difficult to have the whole gang together without recriminations. The grudges might not fade very easily, though they always had in the past. “The gang usually manages to get over whatever difficulties-” he began. Joe’s frown deepened and he pushed a hand through his hair, grimacing at the static that crackled from his fingertips.

“Yeah, but it’s never been this bad before.”

Joe had a point, Frank acknowledged with a rueful nod. “I’m just afraid it would worry them. Even if we could pull it off, it might lead them to think that someone else could come along and manipulate them. And Joe, how would we-” Frank paused again. “Okay, so we get involved in weird stuff, confidential stuff, but isn’t this a bit much, even for us?”

“What, and flying saucers weren’t?” Joe smiled suddenly.

“They weren’t real!” Frank snorted.

“Okay, okay- seriously, I really don’t think it’s too far out to believe. Look, it’s a fact that people only use a fraction of their brains and that scientists are always trying to discover new things about the mind. Put those two things together, add a dose- a very truthful dose, I might add- of a renegade who’s trying to use a unique ability/situation for his own ends- well, that’s hardly new or unbelievable,” Joe said earnestly, leaning forward. “We don’t know exactly what he wanted or where things might’ve ended up- also truthful. We do know he’s been...neutralized and taken away. Let ‘em speculate that the Carters are a cover for more careful and controlled supervision, no harm done. In a sense, that’s true too; we know Stu might run away from them, but whether he’s with them or not, there’s nothing more he can do to manipulate people. Mentally, anyway,” the blond boy amended, taking a deep breath and sitting back again. He idly lifted one foot and rested his sneaker against the front of the sofa’s arm.

“You’re going to leave a footprint,” Frank murmured. He propped his arms on his knees, and gave the situation another round of deep and careful thought. Joe had covered the practical aspects extremely well: the question now was, should they go through with it? Wouldn’t it be safer to simply say nothing? But that wasn’t a very comfortable thought either. Frank felt he’d rather tell his friends as much of the truth as he could. There were times when lying or evading were unavoidable, but he still hated to do either, and especially to people who trusted him. Saying nothing didn’t feel as bad as lying, but it still didn’t seem right, not when an explanation could go a long way towards making things right.

Besides, not telling the truth meant having to remember who knew the truth and who did not, which could lead to some very serious and awkward mistakes. “Well, I’d like to,” he agreed at last, looking doubtfully over at Joe, who had let his foot drop and was toying with the tassels of the blanket that lay crumpled on the cushions. “But what happens if the whole thing comes out?”

“As far as that goes, we have an advantage. Confidentiality,” Joe reminded him, looking up and dropping the half-braided tassels. “They’re used to that, too.”

Frank sat up, shoved at his hair- it was getting much too long and was always in his eyes lately- and looked over at the clock. “All right,” he agreed, abruptly making his decision. “Let’s see how this goes.” He felt his pulse speed up a bit as he got to his feet and went to collect his coat. Joe bounced off the arm of the sofa and hurried to join him. “Let’s hope everyone’s in the mall.”

“Call ‘em on the cell and ask ‘em to meet us there,” Joe suggested practically, shrugging into his own coat. “I’ll drive.”

“I’m starting to get a bit nervous about this,” Joe confessed as he pulled the car to a halt outside the shopping mall. “I really hope it works.”

“I feel uneasy myself,” Frank agreed as he took off his seatbelt and got out of the car. Closing the door, he shivered in the chill air of the parking lot. Even though two days had passed since his fall through the ice, he still felt the cold a little more than usual. Maybe it was psychosomatic. He'd felt a little cold for a couple days after the incident at Unity, too. “I’m not sure whether it’s more from what we’re going to tell them, or the thought of actually having the whole group together.”

Joe held the mall door open and frowned as Frank hurried into the relative warmth of the big building. “Yeah. I hope we don’t get a massive brawl. I never knew the guys were so good at holding grudges,” he muttered. “We really don't have any guarantees.”

“Yeah, but once we explain,” Frank replied quietly, “that should settle a lot of resentment. I just hope they listen long enough for us to explain!” Things were back to normal, he thought ruefully. It wasn’t at all unusual for Joe to start having second thoughts about a plan after it was far too late to halt it. Nor was it unusual for Frank to start out wary of his brother’s plan and switch over to insisting it would work. He was never sure what caused them to flip-flop that way; it might’ve been amusing if it weren’t so nerve-racking.

“You can do the talking, bro. After all, you're the one in charge.”

“Oh, thanks a lot,” Frank mock-growled. “It was all your idea, brat.”

“Yeah, but you’re the leader- and you made the calls.” Joe smiled over his shoulder as he made his way toward the fountain where the group had agreed to meet. “Don't worry- if you start stuttering, I'll help you out,” he teased.

Ordinarily Frank would have made a retort, but it was so good to hear his brother being lighthearted that he let it pass. Joe hadn't had much to joke about lately, between the trial, the ice accident, and Stuart.

Stuart. Stuart would have arrived in Buffalo by now, and hopefully he wasn't making too much trouble for his new parents. Or telling tales about how 'badly' he'd been treated at the Hardys' hands. Frank still felt uneasy about that, he wasn't at all sure the boy wouldn't try to get some sort of revenge on them both. But, considering that Stu had shadowed Joe virtually everywhere the older teen went, it would be easy to get a lot of people to refute any accusations- if Stuart ever made them.

At least the trial was winding down; the jury was deliberating and there should be a verdict quite soon. Although the death penalty was being considered, Frank was pretty sure it wasn't going to be handed out. Still, that might be his pessimism talking. The cold-blooded murders of Pearson’s and Locke’s own stooges had appalled the jury almost as much as the ‘assault with intent to murder’ of Laura Hardy. Frank bit his lip and tried to shake the thought away. Uncertainty over the verdict aside, he was glad the seemingly endless days of testimony were finally over. Joe had been right; it had been dreadfully like living it all over again.

Now if he could just stop having nightmares...or at the very least, take that haunted look out of his brother’s blue eyes...

The boys were the first to arrive at the fountain; taking seats on one of the nearby benches, they both shed their heavy coats to wait for their friends. While they did, Frank mused to himself over how long it would take for Tony to relent and let them all into Mr. Pizza again as a group. Definitely not till the grudges were cleared up, but if Tony himself was harboring a grudge, it might be a few months.

As Frank was brooding over this, Chet and Iola wandered up, both looking less surly than they had lately but still clearly tense. Over the next half hour the rest of the gang gradually trickled in, in pairs or alone rather than in bunches. That wasn’t surprising, for they all lived at various distances and some had not planned on coming to the mall today.

‘They’re only here ‘cause I asked ‘em to come,’ Frank thought, half in awe and half in uneasiness, a bit unnerved at this strong reminder of his ‘leadership’. He tried to ignore the feeling and focus on the point of the gathering- at which point he became aware of the extreme tension radiating from the small crowd. The young sleuth had another moment of gratitude that Biff Hooper hadn't been home to get involved in all the chaos. Biff was a staunch friend, but there were times he'd argue with a signpost. He usually accepted Frank's nominal authority, but there were limits and this would probably have been one of them.

There was little attempt at conversation while they waited for everyone to arrive; the tension smothered any small talk. Everyone did ask how the brothers were feeling, and both Jerry and Chet murmured apologies for their altercation on the ice. Tony Prito, arriving a few minutes later, was probably the least affected by the aura and openly thanked the older Hardy for saving him from a dunking. “Sorry you got to take it for me,” he added with a grim smile.

Jesse Martinez was the last to arrive, and looked distinctly uncomfortable about it. He’d managed to keep on good terms with everyone, simply by not being around anyone very much, but he was clearly worried that someone was going to go up in flames about something before the meeting was over. As the Puerto Rican youth took a tentative seat, Frank felt the weight of thirteen pairs of eyes, including his brother’s, land on him.

“Dive in,” Joe suggested silently. “They all know something’s been wrong, they know they all feel different lately and they can’t figure out why. They think we might just have an answer- and they’re a bit worried that they’re gonna get scolded.”

Frank hesitated. This really was more Joe's territory than his; Frank could organize people and groups, but Joe had the knack with words. He had no idea what to say, how to say it, whom to say it to. Besides, why would anyone think he was going to scold- Oh. Because he went through the ice and nearly-

“Or shall I start?” Joe asked silently, his eyes losing their subtle mischief.

“Please,” the nineteen-year-old agreed fervently, his thoughts tumultuous. Why hadn’t he figured on that? Fighting was one thing; fighting to where someone- two of them- got into serious trouble- nearly fatal trouble... of course they expected to be reprimanded. What a mess!

Joe stood up from the bench, then leaned against the side of the fountain, the very picture of ‘casually relaxed’. “I guess you’re all wondering why we asked you here today,” he began, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Some of the tension eased as the young folks murmured agreement. “To get right to the point: there’s an explanation for what's been going on lately. We can’t tell you everything- in fact, we really shouldn’t be talking about it at all. But you’ve all put up with a lot of crap that wasn’t supposed to happen, so we’re bending the rules a bit.”

“Have you two been on another case?” Chet asked irritably.

“No,” Frank answered mildly, getting a grip on himself and silently admiring Joe's deft comments. “We haven’t. But we’ve been in contact with some- sources, who've been into some very...”

“Unusual.”

“Yeah. Unusual and fairly top-secret experiments. You’ll notice,” Frank went on, after taking a breath, “that we packed Stu off to Buffalo today, and as a direct result, things have quieted down a lot. I can tell you’re all tense, but I can also tell you’re all wondering just what the heck’s been going on, why things have gotten so out of hand.” He paused; almost everyone was nodding. “And if you think about it, you’ll notice that all the uproar started right after Stuart started hanging out with us.”

There were quite a few murmurs at this, most of them in surprised realization.

“The experiments involved something I don't even think they have a name for yet. It involves manipulating people,” Joe offered. “Very subtly.”

“Are you saying we’ve all been drugged, or what?” Phil asked, as Frank had more or less expected. Phil was the brainiest of the bunch, and always up for some intellectual challenge. He also liked to get to the bottom of things, which was definitely a two-edged sword at times. Like now.

“Not drugged- it’s more akin to hypnosis than drugging,” the young detective replied. “Except it’s much more subtle and swift than hypnosis- it’s like the difference between dial-up and DSL.”

There were a few smiles at this, but the main emotion now seemed to be curiosity mixed with indignation.

“I don’t quite get how Stuart could have been responsible for manipulating anybody,” Liz Webling murmured. “I mean, it’s true it started with him, and it does seem to have ended with him, but...”

Frank hesitated again, glancing at Joe. This was the tricky bit; how could a homeless, abused boy of fifteen be the sort of person responsible for manipulating a bunch of older teens without their awareness?

“Well, all we can say about that is that Stuart is not quite what he seems to be. I don't believe even his father was aware of what he was doing. Or,” Joe added musingly, “maybe he was aware, at some level, and resented being manipulated, and tried his best to break free of it. It’s hard to say; the guy's not exactly the brightest candle on the cake, and he's not talking much anyway.”

“But why would Stuart do it? Did he get some kick out of seeing us all fighting with each other?” Jerry asked, frowning.

“He did seem to find that amusing. But I think he was more trying to make a place for himself in the group by- well, agitating his way in. He wasn’t content with just being accepted. It’s fair to say he's something of an emotional predator, if only because he never got any affection from his father. Vicious circle,” Frank explained with a shrug.

“So- but- how’d he learn this weird technique, anyway?” Callie asked curiously.

“That, we really don't know. Translation, we aren’t supposed to talk about it; let’s just say the word renegade was mentioned once or twice,” Joe put in.

“Oh.”

“So, there's this program going on about manipulating people; someone gets loose from it, happens to teach Stuart how to do it, and he decided to use it on us for his own reasons? Like, to get accepted?” Phil hypothesized after a moment of brooding.

“He...was also very resistant to moving to Buffalo,” Frank said pointedly. The boy knew that if he neither outright denied nor quite acknowledged the theory, it would lead the gang to conclude that they were on the right track. And it wasn’t really that far from the truth, either.

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” Chet muttered. “So he was trying to stick around, too.”

“Hey, is that- did that have anything to do with you and the ice?” Callie asked suddenly, looking at Frank. “Think he was going to try and go the hero route by saving you?”

“That’s a possibility,” Frank remarked, glancing again at his brother. “Though I’m not sure if he set that up on purpose or not- probably not, he couldn’t’ve known the ice would break.”

“Well, he might’ve been hoping it would,” Tony pointed out. “We all know it’s thinner ice up there, and we all were standing in a bunch. Lotta weight.”

“Yeah, true- so he might’ve decided to see if it would work, and take advantage of the situation if it did. And if he hadn’t slipped and hurt himself, he might’ve succeeded.” Frank grimaced; that was closer to the truth than he liked, for various reasons.

“Damn good thing you showed up when you did,” Tony commented to Joe.

Phil cocked his head. “Manipulating peoples’ minds... Sounds more like telepathy- mind-reading- than anything like hypnosis,” he remarked thoughtfully.

The reaction to that was immediate and negative. The Hardys both kept quiet and endured the remarks about invasions of privacy, disgusting snoops and eavesdropping freaks without morals for a while, trading a glance of shared exasperation from time to time. They both knew it was fear and ignorance talking, but that didn’t make it any easier to listen to. Finally Joe got too annoyed to keep quiet. “Well, y’know, guys, no one has either proven or disproved telepathy,” he spoke up. “But let’s look at it another way. You know we-” he gestured at Frank, “have got all sorts of little gadgets for listening to and watching people unseen. Does that make us ‘disgusting snoops’, or ‘untrustworthy’? I mean, just because we know how to use the things to gather information doesn’t mean we’re going to use ‘em on everyone we run across.”

Silence fell, this time a silence of embarrassment and faces red with shame. “No,” Phil said after a while, rather quietly.

“No, of course not,” Callie added, and then the others chimed in, apologetic.

“I guess we weren’t being very reasonable, but it’s sorta scary, thinking about people who could read minds,” Chet offered.

Phil smiled at that. “I always wondered if you two could read each others' minds,” he remarked to the Hardys. He was clearly teasing, but Frank felt his nerves suddenly go sharp with shock.

“Of course we can,” Joe replied teasingly. “Thought you knew that- how else would I always know when he needs his rear bailed out?” He nodded at Frank.

“My rear? What about the times you’ve needed yours bailed, brat?” Frank retorted, smiling as much in relief as amusement.

“Well...okay, yes, it works both ways,” Joe conceded. Most of the gang was chuckling at the banter.

“So what's it like, reading Frank’s mind?” Tony asked with a grin.

“Boooorrring,” Joe drawled. “You never heard such a tedious list of facts and figures.”

Tony looked inquiringly at Frank as the rest of the teens grinned. “And for you, what’s it sound like when Joe thinks?”

Frank considered that for a moment, regarding his brother. Then he turned back to Tony. “It's sorta like listening to the inside of an empty can.”

Joe's indignant “Hey!” was lost in everyone else’s laughter. “You are in so much trouble,” he grumbled after the laughter died down.

“Seriously, you two do have some major connection going,” Chet remarked more thoughtfully. “Suppose that kept Stuart’s manipulations from working on you? You two didn’t fight with anyone.”

“Actually, that’s not quite true,” Frank responded. “I had a really wicked fight with Aunt G the first night Stuart stayed in our house. I’m pretty sure now that was more than just her being unreasonable. But we haven't been around as much for him to influence, being at court all this time.”

“Oh yeah.” There were nods at this.

“And we had massive amounts of trouble in getting him out of the house and up to Buffalo,” Joe added. “Fortunately, the problem was out of our hands once we got him there. And that’s all we can say about that aspect of things, since it’s, uh, ongoing.” The blond boy stood up straighter and stretched. “So now you all know,” he concluded. “All this arguing and everything hasn’t really been ‘us’.”

“Which isn’t to say it’s all Stuart’s doing, because I do seem to recall some assorted disagreements from time to time,” Frank put in with a wry smile. “But the difficulty in getting over the fights, and the flare-ups and all- well, I think most of us are really regretting a lot of what’s been going on, and wishing we could take things back. We can’t, but we can at least be aware that it wasn’t really us talking.”

Several tentative glances were exchanged at this and the tension level dropped dramatically. “We’ve got a start,” Joe remarked mentally to his brother, who was hard put not to look over and nod.

“It’s going to take a little while before we’re back to normal,” he answered the same way as he saw Chet and Jerry officially shake hands, knowing it would be a few days before the wariness dispersed. But wariness was better than brooding anger. “But I think we’ll get there.”

“So it wasn’t such a wacked-out idea after all!” the younger boy declared silently, sitting down beside Iola again.

“Stop trying to make me laugh, you. You’ll give us away,” Frank rebuked mildly. He settled closer to his girlfriend, noting the smile that was gradually crossing her face. In fact, smiles were starting to glow all around, a very pleasant sight indeed after all the sullen scowls lately.

By the time the Hardys left the mall, the ice between their friends had melted to a greater degree than either one had expected. They hadn’t quite got to the point where Tony was willing to let them all back into the pizza parlor at once, but then that was rather difficult with fourteen people in any case. So when stomachs began to complain and the weight of class assignments and household chores began to register their unpleasant influences, the group gradually broke up and headed to its respective homes.

Joe was full of himself, of course, but Frank had expected that and knew how to deflate his brother’s ego if it should become necessary. He did give credit where it was due, though, and admitted that it had after all been a very good notion to explain about Stuart’s manipulations. “And I will also admit,” the older boy added as they reached home, “I was very glad you stepped in- I think I got stage fright or some such thing. Ever since you pointed out that I lead this bunch, I get a weird feeling when I catch myself doing just that.”

Joe seemed to find that amusing. “As soon as you stop thinking about it, it doesn’t seem to bother you,” he remarked. “So just forget I said anything and be yourself. It’s not as if anyone resents it.”

Frank decided to change the subject. “Did you get all your assignments?” he inquired solicitously.

“Oh, hush. I don’t want to think about homework right now,” the younger boy grumbled. “I swear, you do make a mighty good, responsible parent.”

Frank blinked over at his brother, startled. “Is that a compliment or an insult? I can’t quite tell.”

“It’s a bit of both,” Joe explained, slowing to take the tight corner onto Elm. “There are times I wish you were just a teeny bit less responsible.” He let go of the wheel with one hand just long enough to indicate a very small quantity with his thumb and first finger, then took hold again.

“Oh, I see.” Frank didn’t say anything more, just thought about that for a while, still not sure whether he was insulted or not. Finally he decided he wasn’t. If Joe didn’t like Frank’s ‘responsibility’ yet still wished Gertrude wasn’t his guardian, Frank must be doing something right. That was definitely good, considering he was just nineteen.

“I think I figured it out,” Frank Hardy said thoughtfully, turning off his computer and swiveling in his chair to regard his brother.

“Figured what out?” Joe was lying on the bed, his eyes closed. An open book lay on the bed beside him; a History book.

“Stuart. Y’know, when he kept saying you were his, but wouldn’t say what that meant?”

“Yeah. Not his amor, not his power source, just ‘his’ something or other,” Joe responded, bitterly amused.

“I think what that leaves is, his guardian.”

Joe opened his eyes, sat up and frowned. He leaned his weight on one hand as he closed the History book with the other and dropped the textbook onto the floor. “How’d you arrive at that?”

“Well, the way he followed you around, clung to you, tried to always-”

“I know all that.” The blond boy was turning red with discomfort.

“In other words, he idolized you, stuck you on a pedestal. As his guardian, the person who was taking care of him and training him. You told me yourself, Teachers are both guardians and warriors.”

Joe blinked a few times, taking that in. “Yes...”

“We consider Akilana our teacher, even though we know she has other students. We have a sort of a claim on her. Stuart took his claim on you too far- just like he took his ability too far.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Joe replied slowly. “I bet that’s exactly right, Frank. And he couldn’t explain it because it was something I hadn’t taught him yet- about teachers. I could tell he wouldn’t be a teacher, so there was no need to go into details about them, not till he had the basics down anyway,” he added in explanation.

“Sensible. No point confusing him with things he didn’t need to know.” Frank folded his hands on the top of the chair and leaned his chin against them thoughtfully.

Joe nodded. “What brought you to that conclusion?” he asked curiously.

The dark-haired boy hesitated slightly. “I sort of mixed my ideas,” he explained slowly. “Followed a chain of thought. What you said lately about-” he paused and lowered his voice. “About not wanting Auntie to be your legal guardian- that sort of got combined with you, as a Teacher, being both a guardian and a warrior.”

Joe blushed a little more, but he looked less unhappy. “I see,” he said quietly. Then he frowned. “You didn’t take me too seriously this afternoon, did you? When I was being a sourball about my homework and complained about you being too responsible?”

Frank wasn’t quite expecting that, and took a long moment to reply. Then, as he saw the concern darkening his brother’s face, he sat up straight and shook his head. “I concluded it was a compliment; if you still would rather have me be your guardian than her- even if I am a little too responsible for your liking.” He shrugged. “I must be doing something right. Of course,” he added, scratching his head, “I wasn’t considering just who I’m in competition with! That might not be such a compliment after all.” He smiled at Joe’s expression.

“It wasn’t really supposed to be either a compliment or an insult, just a bit of not-too-serious complaining,” the other teen responded. “But I started to think it didn’t come out quite right. I guess it didn’t, if you couldn’t figure out just what it was.”

“It wasn’t that big a deal-”

“It wasn’t, but it is.” Joe’s voice was very soft. “Especially with the- the difficulties lately. Y’know, being a little oversensitive.”

“Ah.” Frank moved to his bed, sat down beside his brother and looked closely at Joe’s half-averted face. “You’re tired, you’re getting the blues,” he murmured. “And putting things out of proportion. I made a good thing out of an uncertainty; don’t beat yourself over the head with it, just remember it for later.”

“Why do you always forgive me when I do something stupid or rotten or...whatever?”

Frank doubletook. “That’s a question I could ask you,” he responded at last, still too startled to really answer the inquiry. “I think I bruise your feelings more often than you bruise mine; yours are more...”

“Exposed.”

“Yeah.” Frank slipped his arm around the younger boy. “Well, to answer the question,” he murmured when Joe didn’t respond. “Because I want to...and because you punish yourself far worse than I ever would. Really, you get these massive guilt complexes going, and the last thing I want to do is add to them. The better question is, if I forgive you, why don’t you forgive yourself? Do you heap on the punishment because you think I’m not dealing enough out, or what?” Frank wasn’t entirely sure which of the many guilt bogs he was referring to, for he’d pulled his brother out of quite a few in his time, but he felt a sudden, haunting memory of their mother drift through Joe’s mind.

“I don’t know. I know that sounds like a cop-out, but I really don’t know. I never think about it,” the younger boy replied at length, sounding morose.

“Try thinking about it. And try telling yourself that you’re going overboard with it,” Frank urged. “Because you do. You know you’re prone to extremes, kiddo.”

“Well, yeah.” Joe sighed. “I’m so glad this trial is almost over,” he whispered, leaning against Frank’s side. “I don’t think I could’ve taken much more.”

“I know. Me, either.” Frank pressed his cheek against the top of Joe’s head, finding rather more comfort in the gesture than one might expect.

“You’ve helped me a lot, brother.”

“I’m glad. I helped myself in the process, too.”

“That’s good.”

Something was poking Joe Hardy in the back. He grunted sleepily and inched away, but it poked him again. “Time to get up,” came the sleepy-sounding voice from behind him. Joe grumbled discontentedly and burrowed further under the warm covers. He was not getting up. Not yet.

“Oh yes you are, and you better do it quick,” the voice said firmly. “We have to be in court in an hour. The deliberations are over and-”

Joe’s eyes snapped open and he sat up swiftly, totally awake. “How d’you know?” he asked, squirming around so that he was facing his brother instead of the bedroom wall.

“I guess you didn’t hear the phone ring a little while ago.” Frank looked tired and there were shadows under his dark eyes.

“You look beat.”

“You don’t look too hot yourself, little brother. C’mon, let’s get this over with.”

“Penalty of being awake till two in the morning, I guess,” Joe had to admit, climbing out of bed. The two had shared a long, convoluted discussion the night before, starting when Joe- in a moment of candid moroseness- had asked his brother, “Why do you always forgive me?” There were times, Joe felt, that he did things- usually without thinking- that didn’t deserve forgiveness.

“That does seem to have done it,” Frank agreed, smiling slightly as he left Joe’s room to get dressed.

As he hurried into his clothes, paused to gulp down some breakfast, and then followed his older brother out the door to their car, half of Joe’s mind remained on that conversation. It was hardly the first time they’d stayed up late to talk about whatever came to mind, but it was probably the most serious talk they’d had in a while. In fact, it might be the most serious ever. Content for once to be a passenger, he gazed unseeing out the car window and brooded over what they’d shared. His persistent guilt over their mother’s death. Frank’s low-level anxiety over what would be happening to them in the future- Frank always did look ahead and try to plan for things that might never happen. Their shared unhappiness over this accursed trial. And the nagging pain that persisted in haunting them both.

‘I never even suspected Frank felt guilty about Mom. I was glad he didn’t come with us that day- he probably would’ve gotten hurt too- and all the time he was feeling bad because he was at home eating lunch when we crashed. But I’m still glad he wasn’t there. That he didn’t have to see it... I don’t think he realized that I wonder too about what’s going to happen to us. He’s not the only one worrying about next month and next year and farther ahead. Got to talk about that more often, we know the money’s not going to hold out forever, and I don’t want to have him thinking that I’m depending on him to solve that problem. This damn trial’s distracted us both, we’ve been so busy fighting our memories that we’ve not done much else. And he’s been taking care of me again- time I stepped back up to being a partner, not a burden.’

Joe glanced at his brother and smiled slightly. ‘He sure was surprised when I mentioned moving. Never really thought I’d want to move- and we were both totally against it when Aunt G mentioned it- but the idea is starting to sound better and better. And more practical, too. We can get a three-bedroom place that’s a lot smaller and less difficult to take care of. And doesn’t feel so incredibly empty. And he agreed... We’ll both hate to leave the good memories, but we’ll be very glad to get away from the constant reminders that hurt so much. Can’t take all that stuff in the basement, though; we’ll have to give some of it away or sell it or something-’

“You’re far away.”

“I’m not awake. I only look like I’m awake.”

“Quite an illusionist, aren’t you?” Frank sounded amused.

“Actually, I’m trying to be awake and think at the same time. It’s not easy at this rotten hour.”

“What’re you thinking about?”

“Moving.”

“Ah. Got a fire lit under you again?” Frank grinned; he knew how it was when Joe got stuck on an idea.

“Not exactly, just thinking about the basement in regards to moving,” the seventeen-year-old replied, covering a yawn with his hand.

“Ohhhh. Yeah, all that stuff...we’ll have to give it a real winnowing-out.”

“New thought,” Joe said suddenly, an idea dawning on him. “Let’s wait till after my birthday to start looking for a place. That way if we do find something right away, we can co-sign and you won’t have to take the entire responsibility.”

The look of gratitude and surprised approval that Frank gave him made Joe’s whole day seem brighter, despite the heavy clouds cluttering up the winter sky. ‘Maybe someday I’ll get around to figuring out why his approval does that to me,’ he thought with a smile.

“That’s a great idea. And while we’re waiting for my ‘older’ brother to get even older-”

“Aw, knock it off!” Joe laughed.

“We can be rummaging and sorting and making piles of what goes and what doesn’t.”

“Very sensible. We should make that your new middle name, Frank.”

“I’ll keep the one I’ve got, thanks.”

“Hmmmm. What would you do if I started calling you Dave?”

“Start calling you Alan.”

Joe’s eyes widened in dismay. “Okay, scratch one bright idea,” he murmured, and smiled as his brother laughed. Then they pulled into the courthouse parking lot, and all the laughter faded away into grim seriousness.

Joe Hardy shifted on the uncomfortable wooden chair that was drawn up to the prosecution’s table at the front of the courtroom. He was practically vibrating with surpressed tension, and having to sit respectfully still and wait was not helping matters in the slightest. Only his brother’s firm grip on his hand kept him from rising and pacing.

Behind them, the spectators murmured in soft voices and shifted in their own seats. Joe didn’t look back. He didn’t want to see the looks on their faces; it had been bad enough walking the gantlet of all that pity when they first arrived. He’d seen their aunt Gertrude in the crowd and wondered how she’d gotten there. Neither he nor Frank had remembered her until they reached the courtroom doors. She’d looked at them both as they went to take their seats; she looked as pale and tired as Joe felt. Probably hadn’t slept any better than her nephews had.

Across the room, Locke and Pearson sat at their table with their lawyers. Two jail guards watched from nearby, to ensure that neither made an attempt to escape- or to attack anyone. Joe took some petty satisfaction in looking at the two criminals, dressed in prison uniforms and looking sullenly defiant. They knew they were in a hard spot. But if they ever got out of jail, the boys would have to be wary.

The bailiff startled everyone with his stentorian, “All rise!” as the black-robed judge entered the room. Joe stood, feeling his head pound and his stomach twist madly. He swallowed, not sure whether he felt more inclined to vomit or to faint. But he wouldn’t do either one. Not with those two watching!

“Be seated.” The audience sat with a muted rustle; the judge put on a pair of rimless spectacles and peered over his tall bench. He was an older, graying man of at least sixty, paunchy and red-faced. His voice was deep and often stern, but he was fair and impartial and he had won Joe’s respect over the past month. “The jury will be entering in a moment,” he declared. “When they render the verdict, there will be no outbursts. The dignity of this court will be upheld.” He shifted his glance to the bailiff and nodded; the officer of the court solemnly opened the door to the jury-room and the twelve men and women filed in, their faces resolute.

Joe had not taken much time to look at the jury. He’d had enough to do to keep his mind on what the lawyers and the judge and the witnesses were saying and doing. Now he looked at them closely, seeing young and old, male and female, dark skin and light. Most of them glanced at him and Frank as they took their places, but they also looked briefly at the defense’s table, so that wasn’t much of a sign. He felt his brother’s grip on his hand- out of sight of the spectators- grow tighter, and knew Frank’s calm mask of serenity was perilously close to shattering.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a unanimous verdict on all counts?”

“We have, your honor.”

“And what is the verdict?”

“On the counts of premeditated murder of Maxwell Gorlon, Stanley ‘Red’ Hewlett and William Davies, we find the defendants guilty as charged. On the counts of murder of Fenton Hardy and Laura Hardy, guilty as charged. On the counts of attempted murder of Franklin and Joseph Hardy, guilty as charged. On the manslaughter of Leonard Cooper, guilty as charged. On the possession of illegal explosives, guilty as charged. On two counts of the use of illegal explosives as assault with a deadly weapon, guilty as charged. On the thirty-seven counts of smuggling merchandise in the state of New York, guilty as charged.” The spokeswoman halted, taking a deep breath.

Guilty as charged on all counts. Joe’s head reeled and he wondered vaguely if Frank was going to break all of his fingers before the morning was over. His hand felt as if it was caught in a vise.

“Does the jury have a recommendation to make in regards to the sentencing?”

“Your honor, we do. We recommend the death penalty for Christopher Pearson and James Locke, and life imprisonment for Dirk Jamison.”

Joe started to shiver. The death penalty. Justice.

“The court accepts the recommendation of the jury. Christopher Pearson and James Locke are hereby sentenced to death in the electric chair, at a time and day to be determined by the judicial system. Dirk Jamison is hereby sentenced to life imprisonment. The court thanks the jury for their service in the cause of justice,” the judge intoned. “The court is now dismissed.” Dazed, Joe watched the mallet descend and the loud crack echoed through his throbbing head.

“Well,” one of the lawyers said quietly, sounding pleased in a rather subdued way, “they really couldn’t’ve reached any other decision-” He was interrupted by one of the counsels for the defense striding over to the table.

“This isn’t over,” the man hissed. “My clients will appeal.”

“Figured they would,” Joe said with an effort. “But aren’t you starting to run out of stalling tricks?”

The man gave him a glare, turned about and went back to his own side of the courtroom. Pearson had slumped in his chair, staring straight ahead, but Locke was regarding the Hardys with hatred in his eyes. The look brushed some of the fog from the seventeen-year-old’s mind, and he stared back as the prisoners were ushered from the room. Neither resisted.

When they were gone, Joe turned to his brother and was not surprised to see a dazed expression on Frank’s face that pretty much matched Joe’s own emotions. “You gonna loosen up a little?” he asked softly. “I’m starting to lose circulation.”

Frank blinked, then managed a weak smile and eased his grip on Joe’s hand. Then he took a deep breath and got to his feet. Only then did Joe become aware of the sound of voices and movement behind him; the spectators were gathering their things and talking animatedly. It seemed the verdict and sentence were being highly approved. Gertrude, still seated, looked pensive and shaken as she spoke with one of the women beside her. Then the jurors started walking from the jury box up the aisle and Joe stood up, wanting to thank them but lost for what to say.

It turned out he didn’t need to say anything; there was sympathy and kindness in every face, and even signs that some of them had cried. These people didn’t know him or Frank, hadn’t known the boys’ parents, but after this there would always be a bond, an understanding, almost a kinship between the teens and the twelve people who’d held the Hardys’ fate in their hands.

The rest of the morning seemed to blur. Later, Joe would have a vague memory of speaking with the lawyers, of being quite unexpectedly embraced by his aunt, of walking out to the car and shivering in the cold as the heat gradually warmed the car’s interior. He did remember asking how Gertrude had gotten there; she explained that she’d been visiting with Carole Huntrell- Biff’s girlfriend’s grandmother- and had decided to call the court and see if it was resuming today. Learning that it was, Mrs. Huntrell had driven her in; Gertrude was much too tense to be driving herself.

“Earth to Joe,” he heard his brother saying. Looking around, he realized they were in their own driveway and Frank was about to get out of the car.

“Oh,” he said rather dimly, and undid his seatbelt. Climbing out, he shook his head, trying to clear some of the fog from his mind. “I think I’m still in shock- that, or half asleep. Maybe both,” he concluded with a huge yawn.

“I’m tired, too.” Frank sighed as he opened the front door. “It’s only ten-thirty. Let’s have a nap before lunch.”

That sounded wonderful to Joe; he thumped slowly up the stairs and sprawled on his bed, not even bothering to undo his shoes or take the exasperating tie off. Within minutes he was sound asleep, wrung out by his turbulent emotions.

“I guess I was mistaken,” Joe Hardy growled to his brother one morning at the breakfast table.

“About what this time?” Frank asked lightheartedly, and smiled as the younger boy glowered at him.

“About those two shyster lawyers being nearly out of stalling tricks,” Joe replied. Still scowling, he finished his sausage and got up to get another one out of the frying pan that lay on the stove.

“Oh.” Frank’s smile faded a little. The lawyers for Pearson and Locke were indeed doing all they could to get a new trial for their death-row clients. They hadn’t managed to find any genuine grounds for an appeal, since they’d been such sticklers about procedures, but they had still managed to stall the assignment of actual execution dates. A bit of a victory for that bunch.

Still, in the month since the trial had ended, things had improved for the brothers. Joe was sleeping better and- as his plate this morning proved- eating much better. His mood wasn’t nearly so low, though he did still have his bleak and depressed moments. Iola was very good at making him smile, and Frank was pretty sure Joe confided in the girl almost as much as he did in Frank. That, he’d concluded, was a good thing. The more his brother shared, the easier he’d find it to cope. Joe was complaining a bit about being back in school now, which was another sign he was getting back to normal. His first few days after the trial, he’d actually been glad to get to Bayport High and attend his classes. Frank had teased him a bit about that, but not too much, for neither of them had been up for much teasing at that point.

Frank was feeling much less burdened with unhappiness too, these days. He and Callie had had a bit of a squabble a few days after the trial ended; she’d felt he was, once again, giving too much time to his brother and not enough to her. An old argument between them, and a very familiar one. He’d pointedly reminded her of how distant she’d been when Stuart was with them; chastened, she’d agreed that she’d been at fault. “Not for being distant and hoping to avoid quarrels,” Frank had assured her. “But for not telling me that was what you were doing. You didn’t even call me when you said you would, several times.” In the end, they’d agreed that they needed to brush up on their communication skills and ever since, things had gone quite well. Frank was still reluctant to leave his brother alone for too long, but Joe had insisted that the older boy take some strictly personal time with Callie.

The Hardys had also managed to make contact with Ryan Cooper. The boy had been at the trial and had testified several times about his own and his brother’s involvement with the smugglers. In return for his testimony, and since he was a minor who had voluntarily come forward, he was not charged. The fact that he had voluntarily gone back to live with his ‘strict’ uncle had also been a point in his favor. The boy was still grieving for his brother Lenny, and was as eager as the Hardys to see the murderers get their justice.

There had been no word from Stuart or his foster parents, the Carters, and neither of the Hardys had remembered- or been very inclined- to get their telephone number. Joe, particularly, wanted as little to do with the outcast he’d had to burn as possible. With the boy now living in Buffalo, that was fairly easily accomplished.

With Stuart gone, Gertrude was less ‘gentle’ than she had been while he was there, but she was also much less likely to scold either of her nephews now. In fact, she was altogether quieter than she had been, seldom speaking to either boy and then being more formal than friendly. Still, Frank had been surprised to see a wistful look on her face when she looked at them from time to time, and he had a feeling she was trying to get around to mending bridges between them. He wasn’t at all sure that was going to work, though.

One thing all three Hardys had agreed on was that it was time to think of moving; money was going to be a practical problem soon, and none of the trio was very happy in the old place. “Leaving all of the memories here will be difficult,” Gertrude had said when they talked about it. “But it will also make waking up in the morning a lot less depressing. Every morning I find myself listening....”

She hadn’t needed to complete that remark; Frank and Joe both knew exactly what she meant. Joe later admitted to his brother that if he believed in ghosts, he’d swear there was one in the house now. “I’m sure it was just my imagination,” he’d said quickly, half-ashamed, “but I keep thinking I see something out of the corner of my eye, and then I turn around and there’s nothing there. It’s right at the top of the stairs, near Dad’s study door. It’s as if someone had just gone into the study and I caught the door closing. It’s not scary...but it does make me ache inside.”

Privately, Frank wasn’t so sure it was Joe’s imagination. If anyone would sense a ghost, Joe would, and maybe Fenton’s rest was not as peaceful as it might be. Maybe he still felt the need to reach some sort of peace with his youngest. But Frank hesitated to suggest that Joe go into the study and confront whatever memory was in there. His brother had been through quite enough already.

In the end, Frank didn’t need to make the suggestion; Joe, with his usual intuition, settled the matter himself. The older brother got a heck of a shock one Sunday, a month and almost a week after the sentencing, when he paused at the top of the steps and the study door opened. For a heart-wrenching moment Frank half expected to see his father, but it was Joe who stepped through the doorway. The seventeen-year-old’s eyes were very red, but when he saw Frank he stopped short, then smiled. “We had it out,” he said simply. “He wanted to say he was sorry- and to tell me not to feel so damned guilty. In so many words!”

Frank put his arms around his brother and felt Joe’s burning cheek rest on his shoulder. “And that he loves you...”

“That too, yes,” Joe whispered, his voice cracking. Then he took a steadying breath and let it out with a slightly shaky sigh. “And you know what? I think he’s okay with us moving, too. He just wanted to tell me before we went and did it.”

Frank nodded, accepting this unconditionally. It was the sort of thing Dad would do, urge them to pick up, move on, find their own place and their own way. Not to forget- never that- as if they ever could. But not to live steeped in old memories and fresh pain. The pain would never go away- but already it was more bearable than it had been.

“C’mon,” the dark-haired young sleuth said gently, releasing his brother and looking into the younger boy’s blue eyes. “Let’s go down and start looking through the apartment listings in the paper.” He brushed a stray wisp of golden hair from Joe’s forehead. “Unless you think a townhouse is the way to go?”

“We might think about that,” Joe agreed. He closed the study door, turned and followed his brother down the stairs.

End “Finding Friends, Making Enemies”

Story to continue in “Euphoria’s Grip”.