(Date and Time Unknown)

Joe woke slowly to what he assumed to be morning, though the total lack of windows for outside light to confirm it threw off his sense of time to a great extent and left him uncertain as to the actual day and night. The blue-eyed young man blinked into the darkness that once again surrounded him and found he had been chained again to his bed when he slept his drugged sleep. He remembered vague hints of odd dreams, or what he assumed to be dreams. Had he... had he imagined the kiss? He hoped he did and he hoped he didn't. If he imagined it, his mind was much more troubled than ever he thought. If he did, though, it meant his Uncle hadn't really touched him.

Joe wasn't very sure which he wanted it to be.

Joe blinked as he tried to pull free of the chains again but found that, whatever mechanism was used to lock them in place was very strong. No matter how hard he exerted his not inconsiderable strength on it, he was still not able to make them give.

Why? He thought with disgust. Why is Derak doing this now?

Joe sighed and took a deep breath.

Be calm, he ordered himself with no less than firmness. Be calm. Be Frank for once in your life. Think things through. Act, don't react.

Joe almost laughed. If his brother and sister could have heard him even think that, they would both be laughing their heads off. While Joe was a man of action, he was known more for his hotheaded running in without fearing for angels than he was for his ability to think things through. Joe smiled despite himself and hoped that the darkness made it hard for Derak to watch him with whatever cameras or peepholes he had about the place.

The mechanical lurch of the stairs startled him again. It came so suddenly as it had the first time that Joe's heart leapt into his throat. He forced breath in and out as he watched the rectangular opening appear above the half-set of stairs and the top part of the stairs begin their grinding downward crawl to where they intersected with a two loud clanks with the stairs below. Frank would be totally fascinated by such things. Joe didn't know what he thought about it, except a brief surge of fear when he knew that the coming of the stairs heralded the arrival of his Uncle who, no doubt, had more fun and games in store for him. The light snapped on right after that.

Joe swallowed nervously and watched as his uncle descended the steps, once more carrying the tray of food that he carried before. Joe watched him, silently, while Derak sat the tray once more on the table. The same routine as before, it seemed, only, curiously, his Uncle said nothing at first.

At first, that is.

After he sat the tray on the table, Derak went back up the stairs. The stairs, however, did not disappear as they had the last time. The smell of the food made Joe's stomach rumble again in anticipation but the food was totally inaccessible to him when he was chained to the table. Then, after about five more minutes, maybe three, maybe ten, Derak came down the stairs again.

This time he carried two things. One looked to be a metal bar, like the poker used for a fireplace and the other was a... hibachi?

His uncle sat the hibachi on the table beside the food and Joe, unable to stop it, watched his Uncle's every move. He felt the tension in his shoulders grow stronger and harder with each passing moment as his Uncle took out a packet of matches from a pocket and lit one. He tossed it into the brazier and placed the poker in it. Derak left the poker in it propped up in place by the wall behind the table. Joe watched as a sort of horror grew within him. He was not at all sure he wanted to know what the use of the hot poker would be.

"Derak," Joe started but the name caught in his throat and he had to start again. He swallowed heavily. "Derak, what are you doing?"

Derak turned to him, his face hidden behind the ski mask that he wore. His lips turned upward, Joe saw the movement beneath the mask. Joe nearly panicked once more when he saw the cold, hard expression in Derak's eyes. There was, despite what Joe thought of the matter, not a single hint of madness in Derak's eyes. There was merely a cold, certain, matter-of-factness. Joe flinched back and turned away, unable to hold that gaze again.

"Do you want it spelled out, Joseph?" Derak asked him, the mechanical voice once more in place, masking most of the emotion that otherwise would be present. Joe imagined it was a hiss, though and easy to do that. "You're in college, boy, do I have to spell it out for you?"

Joe swallowed, dry-mouthed and afraid and he shook his head as he looked over at the poker, which still stuck up out of the hibachi with its obviously growing hot coals. Joe licked his lips and looked away from it and turned away from his Uncle.

So, he thought with growing nausea. It's going to be torture is it? It's not enough to just... just do it. He's got to torture me first.

Joe tensed even more when his Uncle placed a hand flat on his chest. His uncle's warm hand chilled Joe all the way through. He shuddered and flinched while his Uncle idly ran a finger up and down his the middle of his chest.

"Mine," his Uncle said, the mechanical voice at odds with the expression in his eyes. The cold look was now gone but it was even scarier than before - it was worse. "Mine. And you'll remember, that Joseph."

Derak turned away from him and went back over to the hibachi. He shifted the poker once and then turned back to Joe.

"I'll just leave that to get nice and hot," Derak said. "And leave you to think about what it means. The meal will keep."

Derak went back to the stairs and ascended and Joe squeezed his eyes shut, shaken to the very core of his being. He was caught again, stuck in a nightmare worse than any before. He wanted to lash out at someone, to hurt, to kill, to make the emotional pain stop now. Derak... what was he going to do now? Surely he didn't mean to use that poker.

FRANK! MANDY! FRANK! He screamed mentally. HELP ME! GOD, HELP ME!

It took another ten minutes before Joe got control again and was able to calm down enough to take several deep breaths. Joe was certain he had given his Uncle what Derak wanted. Again. And he hadn't been able to help it. Brave in the face of bad guys with guns, the possibility of being blown up, the defensive line of any college football team in America or any number of other dangers he faced in his life, it took his Uncle only minutes to turn him into a quavering, quivering coward - the ten-year-old boy who suffered the worst betrayal of his life warred with the nineteen-year-old young man and, very close to the surface, came close to winning.

*****

Friday, October 20, 2000 (3:30 a.m.)

Frank woke from a half-doze; startled awake by a dream so intense he thought it must be real. He thought he heard someone scream in his head, a scream so primal, so filled with pain that it filled Frank with what possibly was the worst fear in his life. He didn't know the cry, couldn't quite put a finger on what was said, so half-fogged with sleep as he was.

Someone stirred near him and he heard a slight gasp and startled cry that almost echoed the scream of Frank's dreams. The older Hardy reached out blindly with one hand in the direction of the cry and someone grabbed it. A moment later someone huddled in his lap and he knew, by the shudders that wracked her shoulders, that it was his sister. Mandy wrapped her arms about Frank's shoulders and sobbed, so intense, so strong that Frank's body shook with the force of them. He held onto her as tightly as he dared, to give her the comfort that she needed.

Frank knew he was close to crying himself.

Mandy sat on his lap for some time, sobbing, unable to stop or to keep back the pent up emotions they all kept at bay since they found out Joe was either dead or missing. For their parts, they held up rather well, Frank thought, though half the time he had been half out of it on whatever the latest drug the doctors wanted to give him was. Yet something that night had woken the both of them and caused them to seek out each other.

Joe was in serious trouble.

"I... he was..." Mandy tried to speak.

"He was scared," Frank said as he patted her hair and kissed her forehead then settled her again on his lap. "I thought... I thought I heard him scream for help."

"He did," Mandy whispered in a soft voice. "He was so frightened, Frank. We have to find him, we have to find him now, we have to!"

"I know," Frank patted her hair again. It was still silky soft though he felt the tangles from sleep as he slid his hand down her head. "I know. We do need to find him. I don't know what's happening to him now, Mandy but..."

Frank didn't want to know. Whatever Derak was doing, why he was doing it... Frank wanted... needed to stop it. Frank scratched his own dark hair; he needed another shower in the worst way. He always felt that urge fresh out of the hospital; one shower didn't do the job. Frank leaned back against the arm of the couch on which he slept and continued to rock Mandy as much as the couch allowed. He heard voices from up above; Sam and Edith and his parents.

Frank grimaced when Mandy moved a minute later and landed right on top of his bad knee. He said nothing for another minute but his knee began to throb almost unbearably.

"Uh, Mandy," Frank said softly. "Could you please move a little? You're on my knee..."

"Oh!" Frank felt Mandy move and the pressure on his bad knee eased. He rubbed at it and relaxed back against the arm of the couch and propped his arm behind his head. He heard Mandy move something then realized it was a chair of some kind when she took his free hand in hers.

Frank shifted the blanket across his torso to cover his legs a little better and heard movement on the stairs behind and to the side of the living room. His father and mother's voices preceded them down the stairs, softly spoken but loud enough to Frank to almost be understood.

"You have to stay here, Laura," Fenton said. "Someone needs to watch things here."

Frank heard his mother sigh and he shifted again.

"I know," he heard her say, again in that soft voice. "I just... well, you know how I feel, Fenton. I'm afraid, for Joe, for... you. Are you sure you should bring Frank?"

Frank nearly froze and even Mandy stopped fidgeting. Mandy squeezed Frank's hand as Frank held his breath to wait for the answer.

"Am I sure?" Fenton said, slowly and Frank envisioned him running a hand through his hair, as he often did when answering such a question. "Not really, no. But, Laura, we can't shield him; we can't treat him as though... as though he can't do everything he used to do. It's not fair to him. He's still Frank inside, and whether he can see or not, he deserves to go."

"So long as you'll keep an eye on him," Laura said with a sigh.

"I always do, love," Fenton laughed a little. "I always do."

The finished the steps and Frank heard their feet pad across the carpet to the living room where he sat on the couch.

"Why are you two awake?" Frank's mother asked. "Frank? Is everything all right?"

"We just had a nightmare, ma," Mandy said and Frank heard her shift. Frank slid his legs off of the couch to allow his parents a place to sit; he kept his blanket over them. He felt the familiar impression into the cushion next to him as his mother sat and felt her pull on his bad leg. He shifted again so that his leg rested, somewhat comfortable, on top of her lap.

"A nightmare?" Laura prompted. "What kind?"

"Joe," Frank said. "We both dreamed about Joe."

"He was yelling for help," Mandy's voice choked up and Frank squeezed the hand he still held. "He's so terrified, mom, we could both tell this time."

"We're leaving soon," Fenton said, as way of comfort. "The FBI is meeting us at the mansion; Collig couldn't deny they have jurisdiction, they always do in kidnapping cases. A little more back-up won't hurt, I think."

Frank frowned but said nothing. He leaned back as much as he could with the space provided and put his free arm over his eyes, a habit several years old. His mother gently massaged his bad knee and he gently pushed her hand away when she hit a particularly sensitive spot.

"You'd better start getting ready, son," Fenton said. "We'll be leaving in a half hour or so, it's a decent drive up there."

Frank nodded and shifted again, turning so his leg touched the floor. He leveraged with both hands until he stood to his feet and limped in the direction of the downstairs bathroom, which he knew to be past the stairs, down the hall two doors on the left-hand side. He memorized that last night for any unplanned trips to use the facility. He felt around until he found the towels Edith sat out for him the night before.

He showered quickly, used to by now doing it by feel, though his leg protested the whole time that he stood there with the hot water beating down upon him. He fumbled twice with the bottle of shampoo but otherwise the shower took only five or six minutes, start to finish.

"Dad!" he called out suddenly, then grimaced. He didn't need to waken the whole house.

"What is it, Frank?" his father said from the doorway of the bathroom a half-minute later.

"I, uh, need help to get out," Frank said.

"How'd you get in?" his father opened the door to the bathroom. It creaked slightly.

"Carefully," Frank said. "But it's different getting out. Wrong direction."

"Ah," his father said. He gave Frank a shoulder and took Frank's weight as Frank stepped out of the shower onto his bad leg and then shifted to put all his weight back on his good leg.

"Thank you," Frank said.

"You're welcome," Fenton turned and closed the door again quickly.

Frank toweled off and dressed as quickly as he could and ran his electric razor over his face a couple of times, then felt to make sure he missed nothing. It felt all right to him. He sat down and strapped on his brace once more, then limped out. He kept his hand on the wall as he went back to the living room.

"Here, Frank," his mother said and fussed over him a minute as she straightened his shirt and did something with Frank's belt. Frank sighed and remembered that it was her right as a mother to fuss, though he would have been glad to go without it. "Better. Much better."

"Are you finished?" Frank asked, a little more grumpily than he meant to.

"Your hair needs combed," Laura answered in an almost deadpan tone. Frank laughed as she kissed his cheek but he dutifully combed his own hair.

"Remember, Amanda," Fenton said to Mandy and in that tone of voice that told Frank this was not the first time he said it and he doubted it would be the last. "You aren't to go out alone. Make sure you have someone with you at all times, the more you have the better. Understood?"

"Yes, dad," Mandy said in that tone that said she was tired of hearing it. She sighed angrily and by the footsteps Frank heard, stomped away a moment later. Frank sighed and felt around for his shoes. He had slip-ons so he wouldn't have to try to bend his knee to tie shoelaces and he slid them onto his feet.

"Ready to go?" Frank heard Sam Radley's cheerful voice then. "You look good, Frank. We'd better get a move on if we're going to get there when the FBI do."

"Take this," Edith Radley said, her kind, warm voice a welcome. "It's a snack for the road. You'll get hungry. Here's a thermos with coffee too. You drink coffee Frank?"

"No college student could live without it," Frank said and he grinned.

She patted his hand affectionately.

"Take care," she said.

Fenton led Frank out to a car - it took Frank all of a minute to figure out they were not in any of the Hardy cars or even Sam Radley's truck. They were in a car of some kind but not one that he knew.

"Whose car is this, Dad?" Frank asked as he shifted to get his leg comfortable.

"Con Riley's," Frank said. "He's letting us borrow it. We thought we'd better take a car no one recognized, just in case Derak is watching out for us."

"I didn't hear him come in," Frank said. "Or hear him there at all."

"He came in when you showered," Fenton said. "He went out back to check the alarms in the back."

Frank shifted again. This car was much harder to get comfortable in; he should have brought his blanket and pillow, he could take a nap in the car for the drive. It would take them, if he remembered right, about three hours to get to the mansion in Connecticut and that was if the traffic in New York cooperated. It might take four hours.

Frank sighed and leaned back on his arm. He placed his other hand on the window but knew from the lack of direct heat that it was still the middle of the night. He reached into the small backpack Mandy handed him before he left and found the familiar talking clock given to him just a few weeks ago by Joe. He touched the button on the top and it said, in a low voice, "The time is... 4:39 a.m."

Frank grimaced; it was much earlier than he thought it was. He yawned and closed his eyes again.

"We're there," someone touched his knee and he realized it was Sam Radley. "Frank?"

"I'm awake," Frank sat up again and stretched his neck. Ouch. "I slept the whole way?"

"You probably needed it," his father said in answer. "You did just get out of the hospital yesterday."

"Can you see anything?" Frank asked. When he leaned forward in the chair he felt heat on his face; the sun was out again. He felt air blow on his face from an open window.

"Not yet," his father said. "But we may not see anything until we actually go inside. The FBI agents and the local police are here; I saw them parked in the driveway across the street."

The car stopped after Fenton parked it and Frank slowly climbed out of the car and stood beside it, one hand on top so that he didn't lose his bearings. The sun felt good though there was enough of a breeze to make Frank wish he brought a jacket. He shoved his hands into the pocket of his jeans and leaned his cane against the car beside him.

"Mr. Hardy?" the person who spoke was a woman with a warm, rich voice that made Frank wonder if she knew how to sing too. "I'm senior agent Deanna Merrill with the F.B.I., this is my partner, special agent Audrey Simpson."

Two female agents, Frank thought with some surprise. Not unheard of, of course, but not expected either.

"Pleased to meet you, though not under the circumstances, Agent Merrill, Agent Simpson," Frank's father said.

"You as well," Deanna Merrill said in her same, modulated, polite voice. "I've heard a lot about you from others and my husband has spoke very highly of you from the one time he met you. Daniel Merrill?"

"Ah, I hadn't realized," Fenton said. "Yes, of course I remember your husband, Agent Merrill."

"Deanna," Deanna said succinctly. "I've met with the New Haven police. Detectives Reems and Klasky are our local liaisons."

"This is my son, Frank and my partner, Sam Radley," Fenton introduced them. Frank held out his hand a one clasped with his and shook it.

"Pleased to meet you, Frank," Deanna said.

She was quite unlike any other agent Frank ever met. All two of them.

"I've done a preliminary of the place already," another female voice, Frank wasn't sure if it was Agent Merrill's partner or one of the police detectives. "I didn't see signs of life though the helicopter we were told of is in the back. There weren't any teal or green Audi's of any kind in the garage. No cars at all, actually, except for a 1990 Mercedes with a flat tire. The only other vehicle is the helicopter and the engine on that was cold."

"You didn't see any lights or anything from inside?" Sam Radley asked while Frank shifted on his feet. He found his cane again and leaned against it so he could take some weight from his injured knee. "What about smoke, garbage, things of that sort?"

"Nothing like that, either," whomever the woman was said. "The place, frankly, looks deserted but that doesn't mean anything. From what I understand this old place has a lot of inside rooms that we wouldn't be able to see from the outside. Our best bet is to just go in and take the place a part. I assume you got that search warrant, Reems?"

"Yes I did, Simpson," Reems was male by the tone of his voice. "It's in my back pocket."

"By the book, then," Deanna interrupted. "Audrey, you and Klasky go to the back. I'll take Mr. Hardy here to the side entrance and Reams and Radley can go through the front. That should, I hope, cover all of the exits."

"Shouldn't we keep our normal partners?" another man complained. Most likely Klasky. "Makes more sense for us to stick with the people we know."

"Makes more sense but this is a joint venture, gentlemen," Deanna said in a rather no-nonsense tone. "Let's make the most of it and line things up the way I said. Let's go."

Frank sighed and leaned back against the car as he heard the footsteps of hard-soled and soft-soled shoes across the street to the pavement and up the long sidewalk that led to the stairs up to the front door of the mansion. He turned around and leaned against both hands as he settled into wait for whatever came next, good or bad.

Frank wasn't sure how much time passed as he stood next or sometimes sat on the car they came in. He walked restlessly whenever his leg allowed it but when it showed signs of giving, he would quit and open the door of the car to sit again. He found that day that he really hated waiting. He wanted to be inside searching.

After what seemed to be forever passed he heard the sound of a door slam and he jerked up. Just as he was about to step out of the car someone grabbed him by the arm and hissed,

"What are you doing here?"

The Loss PG