"I gotta tie my shoes, dummy," Frank protested from inside his bedroom. "I don’t like tripping over my shoelaces, even if you do."

"I don’t have laces, I have Velcro," Joe corrected, moving to stand in the doorway of his brother’s room. Frank was sitting on his bed, tying his left shoe; his right shoe laces were laying loose over the floor.

"Then you trip over your shoes when you don’t Velcro them tight enough."

Joe rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything more. Frank was in picky mode, which meant he would correct just about anything Joe said. Far better to keep quiet and not get into a disagreement with his older brother. Frank was almost always right when they argued anyway; he was too darn smart. Bouncing a little with his eagerness to be on the way to the playground, Joe watched as his dark-haired brother finished tying his right shoe, grabbed his glove, and hopped up from the bed. "Finally," he muttered as he hurried down the hall and then thundered down the steps.

"Can’t you walk a little more quietly? You sound like a bunch of barrels being knocked over simultaneously," his aunt Gertrude remarked from the living room.

"Sorry, Auntie," Joe apologized. He didn’t usually thump on the steps like that; Dad had been teaching them how to walk without making any noise. "We’re going to the playground to play baseball with the guys-"

"That’s why you’re carrying a tennis racket, of course." Gertrude nodded, her eyes twinkling. Joe cast a hasty look at his bat to make sure it hadn’t somehow switched on him, then laughed.

"And Frank was being slow, so we’re in a hurry."

"I wasn’t being slow, you were being impatient. We’ll be back in a couple hours, Mom," Frank inserted. Joe turned and saw that their mother had just come out of the dining room.

"All right, dear. Have fun, and good luck." Mom smiled at them both.

A blast of warm, sticky air greeted the boys as they left the house, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been the previous day. Yesterday they’d spent most of their time in the local pool. Joe was careful to close the front door all the way, so the air conditioning wouldn’t escape.

"What’s simul- simul-whatever mean?" he asked his brother as the boys hurried down the driveway.

"I dunno." Frank shrugged.

"Really?" Joe pretended astonishment. In fact he was a little surprised; Frank almost always knew the big words that grown-ups used. "Wow, there’s something you don’t know! Wait till I tell the guys!" Joe’s blue eyes gleamed with mischief; seconds later he was running full-tilt down the sidewalk, his eleven-year-old brother in hot pursuit.

"Wait till I get you!" Frank shouted.

"You can’t-" Joe’s brag was abruptly cut off as he glanced back over his shoulder at Frank. He felt his foot catch on something, staggered, and fell full-length on the hard concrete. Pain tore through his hands and knees and the breath flew out of him with a grunt. He lay still, gasping for breath and fighting not to cry at the pain.

"Oh, man, are you okay, Joey?" Frank’s voice came from above him, all concern. Joe felt his brother’s hand rest on his back.

"Uh..." was all he could manage for a minute or two. Finally he pushed himself to his knees, wincing, then got unsteadily to his feet. "Whoa," he said hoarsely, feeling his stinging scrapes begin to throb. Frank stood up beside him, caught his elbow and steadied him. "What got me?"

His brother stared down the sidewalk for a moment, scowled suddenly, and pointed. "That."

Joe turned to see a length of fine, clear twine stretched across the sidewalk. One end was tied to the base of a bush in the Everard’s yard, the other to the chain dangling from the fire-hydrant near the curb. "Sean Everard! That sneaky jerk!" the blond boy exploded, clenching his fists and then changing his mind in a hurry. "Ow."

"I’ll fix him real good," Frank vowed. "Are your hands hurt?"

Joe exhibited his scraped palms. "Well...no blood, anyway," he grumbled. Joe didn’t panic when he saw blood- he’d seen it far too often, as many scrapes and cuts as he got- but he definitely preferred not to see it.

"Good thing you’re wearing jeans, you might’ve torn up your knees."

Joe regarded his jeans and nodded, then poked at a newly roughened spot and gingerly brushed some debris from the material. "And don’t say it," he warned his brother.

"Don’t say what?"

"That if you hadn’t been running, you would’ve seen it-"

"You probably wouldn’t’ve," Frank replied. "That’s fishing twine. And anyway, you should be able to run on the sidewalk without worrying about getting snared by some stupid creep’s trap. People jog on the sidewalks all the time." He smiled at Joe- a grim smile, but reassuring nonetheless. "You want to go home and take care of those?"

Joe shook his head. "I’m okay, it just bumped me for a minute." He rubbed his aching ribs where the concrete had smacked against his abdomen. Picking up the fallen bat, he proceeded down the sidewalk at a more leisurely pace, scowling as he thought about Sean Everard.

Fourteen-year-old Sean lived with his father and stepmother, both of whom were lawyers- very highly paid lawyers. ‘Spoiled Sean’, as he was known throughout the neighborhood, was constantly making trouble, playing nasty pranks and picking on younger children. Sean had a particular dislike for Frank and Joe Hardy, who always stood up to his bullying and defended the other kids. They’d gotten him in trouble several times with his father as well- Herman Everard didn’t approve of his son’s disruptive ways- and Sean held a strong grudge against them for it.

By the time they got to the playground, most of the pain had faded from Joe’s ribs and his hands and knees were a lot less sore. He had shared several ideas for revenge with his brother, some of which had promise, but would need work. He was musing over a particularly complicated scheme involving rotten eggs in Sean’s dresser drawers when they reached the backstop where they played baseball at recess. Most of their friends were already there, and during the round of greetings that was exchanged when the Hardy boys hurried up, Joe gradually forgot his plans.

"Who’s captains this time?" Frank asked, and the debate began. Joe didn’t pay attention to it; he never got to be captain and didn’t much care, as long as he ended up on the same team as Frank. Joe didn’t really like playing against his brother. Besides, Frank was usually a captain and his team usually won. Joe liked to win, though Dad had taught him that everyone lost sometimes and it was important to lose with good sportsmanship.

While he was waiting for the decision- which looked like being made by drawing straws, since no one had a coin to flip- Joe looked around the otherwise deserted playground. It felt weird to be here during summer vacation. He wondered, grinning, what would happen if the bell signaling the end of recess rang right now. Would they all go line up to go inside, complaining? Or would they just laugh and remind each other that they didn’t have to go back to the classroom this time?

A sudden loud noise made the boy jump and jolted his train of thought to a halt. "What was that?" he asked aloud, startled. Another followed; it sounded like fireworks. Was someone shooting a gun?

"Oh, it’s Spoiled Sean," Tony Prito said dismissively. "I guess he thinks it’s Fourth of July or something, he keeps setting of those stupid fireworks." Another bang followed the remark.

"If he thinks it’s still Fourth of July, we should call him Stupid Sean," Joe suggested, and his friends laughingly agreed.

"He’s hiding behind the bushes by the swings," Frank commented, his sharp brown eyes narrowing.

"Hey, there’s Chet!" Joe said excitedly as his friend wandered into the schoolyard from the street. "Shouldn’t we bring him in?"

"Sure!" several voices chorused.

"But we’re even," Jerry lamented. "If we add Chet in-"

"He can be catcher for both teams," Frank suggested, then had to repeat himself as another bang drowned out his words. "Jeez, that’s annoying!"

Joe dropped his bat and trotted towards his friend. Chet had been hurrying to the swings, but had stopped short at the noise. "Hey! Chet!"

"Hey, Joe!"

Another bang made Joe roll his eyes. He slowed to a stop beside a quite perplexed Chet.

"I can’t figure out what that noise is," the chunky lad complained, peering in the direction of the heavy shrubbery that lined the chain-link fence. The fence marked the limit of the school grounds and kept the children from wandering off during recess.

"Oh, it’s just Stupid Sean playing with firecrackers," Joe explained, using his new version of the unpopular boy’s nickname. "Come join the game, you can be catcher for us."

"Okay," his friend said easily, looking relieved. "Mighta known it was Sean. He’s the only one dumb enough to not know the difference between July seventh and July fourth."

"Shut up, Fatso!" came a yell from the bushes and Sean- tall, skinny, blue-eyed and black-haired, and covered with leaves- emerged. He was carrying what looked like a piece of dynamite in one hand and a cigarette lighter in the other. He smirked at Joe, who was scowling. "What’sa matter, little Joey? Fall down and hurt yourself?"

"Gee, I wonder why you thought I might fall down," Joe retorted in a voice that held no trace of inquiry. Sean’s smirk grew wider.

"You’re the one who’s gonna get hurt. Firecrackers are dangerous, you could blow your head off," Chet told the bigger boy.

"He probably wouldn’t notice," Joe pointed out. He was incensed at being called ‘Joey’ by his enemy, but knew it wouldn’t do a bit of good to protest. "But maybe it would shut him up for a day or two."

Sean’s smirk turned into an ugly look. "You’re the one who needs his mouth shut, Joey Hardy. And little babies who fall down and get boo-boos need training wheels."

"You don’t put training wheels on your feet, stupid. But huge brats who try to make traps might trap the wrong person and get grounded for a month again," Joe countered contemptuously.

An apprehensive look crossed the teenager’s narrow face. "If I get in trouble, I’ll know who tattled, anyway," he growled.

"Not me. You’re so dumb you even put it right outside your own house," the Hardy boy retorted. "Everyone’ll know who did it, ‘cause there’s only one person that brainless in the neighborhood."

"What’re you talking about?" Chet wondered. Joe turned to him and explained the fishing-line trap that Sean had stretched across the sidewalk.

Neither boy noticed the teen holding the lighter to the fuse of his explosive.

"Hey, Joey, catch!" Sean flung the lit device at Joe Hardy, who lifted his hands in terrified shock. A scream echoed in his ears; a second later, a tremendous boom sent him reeling into blackness.

***

Another explosion echoed across the schoolyard, this one much louder than the previous ones. Frank Hardy grimaced and rolled his eyes, reaching down to pick up the bat his brother had left behind. Then he froze, hearing terrified cries from the other side of the field.

"Joe! Joe!"

Frank’s eyes went wide and a cold feeling clutched him as he turned. Sean Everard was backing away from- Chet Morton was kneeling beside-

The bat fell from Frank’s hands as he tore across the field. It seemed to take hours for his legs to propel him through the grass; he wasn’t even aware of his friends racing along behind him.

Sean, seeing the group bearing down on him, turned and fled. Frank paid no attention. "Don’t touch him!" he hollered to Chet, who was reaching out to shake Joe’s motionless form. Chet snatched his hand away and stared across Joe’s body at Frank as the older Hardy boy fell to his knees beside his little brother.

‘He can’t be dead, he can’t be dead...’ Frank stared in horror at the burns on Joe’s face, his arms, his hands and chest. Dark grayish-black soot smeared his reddened skin and his shirt. ‘He can’t be dead...what do I do?! Breathing- is he-?’ Frank leaned close, holding his hand over Joe’s mouth and nose, then studying his chest. Yes...yes, he was breathing. His chest was moving- slowly.

Frank took a quick breath and looked up. "He’s breathing. What happened?"

"Sean threw the firecracker right in his face!" Chet said loudly. The younger boy was rubbing his ears. "My head hurts and I can’t hear right. Is Joe gonna be okay?"

Frank bit his lip, swallowed hard. He didn’t know, he could only hope and pray. "Jerry!" he called, only then aware that his friends had piled into Sean and were pinning him to the ground several dozen yards away. Jerry disentangled himself from the pile and ran over. "Go get my Mom," Frank told his friend urgently, his voice shaking. "Tell her Joe needs to go to the hospital right away. Nine-one-one," he added.

The sandy-haired eleven-year-old nodded quickly, his brown eyes darting worriedly from Frank down to Joe and back again. Then he turned and ran for the playground entrance. Frank watched for a moment as his friend disappeared up the street. Jerry was one of the fastest runners; he’d get to Mom and aunt Gertrude faster than almost anyone else. "Joe?" he whispered, leaning close to his brother again, making sure the younger boy was still breathing. No response. Frank laid a very cautious hand on Joe’s thin chest, pressing his fingertips ever so lightly against the ribs. There, there was the slow beat of Joe’s heart. "Joe, can you hear me? You- you’ll be okay," the eleven-year-old went on, and hoped he was telling the truth. "Mom’s coming, and we’ll get you to the hospital..."

There had to be something else he could do, but Frank couldn’t figure out what it was. You weren’t supposed to move injured people; you weren’t even supposed to touch them much, just in case. It would be awful to hurt someone who was already hurt! There was nothing to use to wash all the smelly soot off, and nothing to help the burns. As Frank looked from his brother to Chet, biting his lip and trying to think of some action to take, he noticed again that his friend was rubbing at his ears and forehead. "Are you okay?"

"Huh?"

Frank repeated himself, with more volume.

"My head’s pounding," Chet complained. "And I keep seeing weird colors. I think my ears are starting to feel better, though."

The Hardy boy felt a twinge of conscience. After all, Chet had been standing right near Joe when the rotten firecracker hit him! He was about to call another of the gang over, when he saw a familiar figure running towards them. "Mom," he said softly, breathing a deep sigh of relief.

Several eternal moments later, Laura Hardy halted beside Chet, breathing hard from her run, and gazed at Joe, who still hadn’t moved. She crouched quickly and pressed her fingers against his temple, frowning. "There’s an ambulance on the way," she said curtly. "Exactly what happened?"

Frank took a deep breath and told her what he’d seen, then added what Chet had told him. His mother’s blue eyes narrowed in fury and Frank cringed, feeling as though he’d messed up terribly. Though how he could have kept Joe from being hurt, he didn’t know! "Mom," he started shakily, but clamped his mouth shut as she stood up and walked over to the boys, who were still holding Sean pinned to the ground.

"Let him up," she said quietly, and when they moved aside, she reached down and hauled the bully to his feet. "I want you boys to take Sean home and explain to his parents what happened. Sean, I will be contacting the police and sending them to your house. If you aren’t there to be questioned, they will find you and arrest you and take you to jail. I will speak with your parents myself, once I know how seriously Joe is hurt." She paused, her eyes boring into Sean. "You will be punished for this, believe me."

Frank shivered. Mom didn’t make idle threats. It was a good thing Sean wasn’t her son, or he’d probably get the belt treatment that Mom had once threatened to use on Frank himself. Fortunately, she’d never done it, thanks to Joe... Frank looked down at his little brother again, willing him to wake up. But Joe just lay there on the ground, as still and silent as before. What if his mind had been hurt? What if he was in a coma and would never wake up again? What if he- ‘He can’t die, he can’t! Oh, he can’t...’ Frank tried to swallow the lump in his throat and looked up as an ambulance- sirens wailing, lights flashing- pulled up in the school parking lot.

Mom came back to the three of them and crouched beside Frank. "He’s still breathing?"

Frank nodded, looking up. "Mom, Chet’s hurt too. He said his head hurt, he can’t hear right, and he was seeing funny."

"There’ll be room in the ambulance for him." His mother’s eyes were locked on the approaching attendants. "I want you to go home and explain to your aunt. Have her contact your father and the police."

"I want to be with Joe," Frank whispered, and Mom put her hand on his arm.

"I know, honey, but there won’t be room in the ambulance for Joe, Chet, me and you. And I need you to do this for me. I have to be with Joe, to give my permission to the doctors to treat him." She stopped and stood up as the ambulance men halted beside Chet. Frank stood up too as one of the men took the chunky boy’s arm and led him towards the ambulance; the other knelt by Joe and began checking him over. A few minutes later, the first man returned with a stretcher and laid it on the ground beside Joe.

Frank jumped at a touch on his shoulder. He’d forgotten Mom was beside him, he was too absorbed in watching the men lift his brother onto the stretcher. "Another thing, Frank- you’ll need to have your aunt call the Mortons, to tell them about Chet. You’ll be able to do this for me, sweetie?"

Frank looked up into his mother’s drawn face and realized he was shaking all over. "Mom..." he pleaded.

"This is the best thing you can do for your brother right now, Frank. It’ll be a tremendous help, and it will be something I won’t need to worry about while I’m at the hospital." She laid both hands on his shoulders; her fingers felt cold even through his shirt. "When you’re done, you and Gertrude can come to the hospital- he might be awake by then."

The eleven-year-old sucked in a long breath, then nodded slowly, still trembling. "I’ll tell Auntie," he promised. "Police, Dad, and Chet’s mom."

"Yes. Thank you, sweetie," Mom said seriously, and hugged him quickly.

"He- he’ll be okay, won’t he?"

"I’m sure he will," his mother replied, but she didn’t sound any more sure than Frank felt. The two of them watched, Mom’s arm still around Frank’s back, as the ambulance men carefully lifted up the stretcher bearing Joe and carried it towards the parking lot. Mom let go of him then and walked after them.

Frank watched them go, then turned to the silent, awed group of friends- and one enemy- standing nearby. "Better do what she said," he remarked bleakly. "You don’t wanna make my Mom mad."

***

Everything hurt.

Joe Hardy didn’t even try to open his eyes. His face hurt, his head and ears were aching terribly, and his chest stung. His eyes felt sore and painful even though they were closed, and there were strange bright lights dancing on the backs of his eyelids.

"Frank?" he tried to call out, but it came out as a croak. Where was he, anyway? What was happening? That stupid Sean had thrown the firecracker at him, and that was the last thing he remembered- the boom. ‘I’m not dead, am I? This doesn’t seem like Heaven. You’re not supposed to hurt,’ he thought vaguely.

There were noises around him, he realized suddenly. Very strange noises that echoed. It sounded like people talking, but the words didn’t make any sense and he was so tired and his head hurt so much...

***

When Frank got home, panting and sweating after his run from the playground, he found his aunt gathering up her purse and muttering about having mislaid her keys. He quickly delivered his mother’s message to call Dad and the police, and was stunned when she replied, "I already did."

"Huh?"

"I thought it would be the most sensible thing to do," Gertrude explained. "I tried for your father, couldn’t reach him, but the police are on their way to the Everards’ home. Ah, here’s where I left those keys. Shall we get to the hospital, or do you need anything first?"

"But how-?"

"Young Jerry, of course. He said Chet was beside Joe and saw the whole thing."

"Oh, um, and Mrs. Morton, we need to tell her," Frank remembered suddenly.

"I called Ellen Morton, too. Jerry said Chet kept rubbing his ears, so I figured your mother would have him taken in to be checked out. Ellen said she’d go to the hospital at once. Is your brother all right?" the tall woman asked seriously. "Jerry said Sean Everard threw the thing into Joe’s face?"

"Yeah- that’s what Chet said," Frank answered fearfully, and followed behind as his aunt frowned and went into the kitchen. "Chet was having a headache and he couldn’t hear very well. Joe- Joe didn’t wake up."

"Didn’t wake up?" Gertrude stopped in her tracks and turned quickly to look at him, alarm crossing her face.

Frank shook his head. "He was breathing okay, but he wouldn’t wake up. Auntie, what if...?" He didn’t even try to put into words all the fear he was feeling, all the things that might happen to his little brother.

"Don’t think too much about it dear, not till we hear from the doctors," his aunt said, very gently. Then she picked up the phone, dialed information, and asked for Mr. Everard’s phone number. Frank wondered briefly why she was doing that, but dismissed the question when his aunt started talking.

If Frank hadn’t been so worried and tense, he would have greatly enjoyed the part of the conversation he got to hear, which was undoubtedly most of it. When Aunt Gertrude started scolding someone, she didn’t stop very soon; Mr. Everard probably didn’t have a chance to say more than "Hello," before Auntie got rolling. But the eleven-year-old was too distracted to listen with much attention. Grown-ups getting angry at each other happened a lot and was usually pretty boring. Joe being badly hurt was a lot more important, and very scary, and the boy just wished Aunt G would cut the yelling short and hurry up and drive them to the hospital.

Finally- with a more forceful movement than was usual for her- Gertrude put the phone down and glared at it. Then she turned. "Into the car," she said curtly. Frank, knowing she wasn’t mad at him but still rather intimidated, made haste to comply.

***

Laura Hardy finished filling out the forms with a sigh and sat back in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Beside her, young Chet Morton sat fidgeting, constantly glancing around the waiting area with apprehensive eyes. Every now and then he rubbed his ears or his forehead. Joe had been taken directly to an examining room when the ambulance arrived at Bayport General Hospital, but since Laura was not Chet’s mother or guardian- and since the boy didn’t seem to be seriously hurt, or even mildly concussed- the staff was waiting for Mrs. Morton to arrive before treating him.

Rising, Laura went to turn the papers and clipboard in to the nurse at the processing desk. The woman took it with a nod and Mrs. Hardy returned to her seat. Now there was nothing to do but wait, and she mused for a moment over which was worse; the nuisance of filling out insurance forms, or the anxiety-ridden boredom of watching the second hand slowly circle the clock-face. She rather regretted not bringing Frank; he would have been company for Chet, and she would’ve been able to make the telephone calls herself. A distraction would be welcome. But she hadn’t arranged it that way, so Laura gave up her hindsight and tried to resign herself to being patient. Ellen Morton had a long way to come; it would be a while before Laura could, in conscience, leave Chet.

It was almost half an hour before Laura saw her sister-in-law hurrying across the floor, an anxious Frank in tow. She stood up at once as Gertrude reached her, shaking her head at the older woman’s questioning expression. "No news yet. Now that you’re here, would you keep an eye on Chet while I go see what’s going on?" she added before Gertrude could say anything.

"Certainly. Laura, I reached the police, I contacted Ellen, and I had words with Mr. Everard. But I had to leave a message with Sam Radley for Fenton. He’s out of touch-"

"Invariably," Laura muttered, a familiar feeling of resentment welling in her. Always, when she needed him the most, her husband was not there. Not merely absent, but unreachable. "I don’t know why I expected anything else." She took a breath, seeing the sympathy in Gertrude’s gaze. "I don’t suppose Sam knows when Fenton will be back in touch?" A slow headshake was the reply, and expecting it didn’t make it any easier to stand. Once again, Laura would have to handle the crisis, make the decisions, answer her sons’ questions...comfort them, console them. Just when she could have most used the strong presence of her husband to help deal with the worry, just when his opinion over procedures and options would have been the most useful... Why in the world had she ever married a man so constantly absent from her life?

"Mommy?"

Laura looked down at her eldest son, so much the image of his father. "What, sweetie?" she asked gently. He must be frightened, he hadn’t called her ‘mommy’ for almost a year.

"Is Joey okay?"

"They haven’t told me yet, Frank."

"Can’t we see him, at least?"

"Sweetie, you’re not fourteen...remember?"

Frank’s attractive young face creased in a sudden unattractive scowl. He remembered, his mother concluded. "Stupid rule," he growled sitting down hard on the chair next to Chet and folding his arms across his chest in a sulk.

"I’m going to go in and see him." Laura regarded her eleven-year-old regretfully. It really was a shame he couldn’t come in. Frank wouldn’t cause problems or disturb anyone. "I’ll see if they won’t make an exception, but don’t get your hopes up. It is a rule. Besides, Joe might not even be awake to talk to anyway."

"Don’t care," Frank muttered, averting his gaze as he usually did when he was feeling surly.

"I’ll be back and tell you how he is." Laura glanced at Gertrude, then turned and hurried down the hall to examining room six.

***

Gertrude Hardy watched quietly as her young sister-in-law hurried down the hallway and vanished around the corner. Then she sighed and turned her attention to the children beside her. Frank was murmuring to Chet, something she couldn’t quite hear, though she caught the name Everard. She hoped they weren’t planning some sort of boyish retaliation on Sean Everard; he might deserve punishment, but it wasn’t for the boys to decide. Then she snorted to herself. ‘Might’ wasn’t the word; if it were up to her, the brat would get a good, harsh whipping- just to begin with. Joe could easily have been killed, or left comatose with brain damage. His hearing might suffer... Her eyes went to Chester and she hoped that her nephews’ friend would not suffer any lasting ill-effects either.

Of all the days for Fenton to suddenly be out of touch! He could at least have warned them that he’d be incognito for some time- however long that was going to be. Not that it would have helped Laura’s mood. Gertrude hadn’t missed the anger and apprehension on Laura’s face when she realized she’d have to deal with this emergency on her own. And that mutter of, "Invariably-"; it did seem that men were always absent just when a woman needed them the most!

"Ma!" Chet called out suddenly, and Gertrude turned in surprise, jolted from her thoughts. Then she saw Ellen Morton hurrying towards them and rose to greet her. She was obliged to wait as Chet and his mother shared a relieved embrace, but for once, waiting didn’t strain her patience.

"What’s going on?" Ellen asked after a few minutes, still holding her son.

"Laura’s in with Joe, we don’t have any word yet. They did look Chet over and decided to wait for you to arrive before taking him back for testing-"

"Ma, I can’t hear good," Chet complained, interrupting. "And my head hurts." He released his mother and looked up at her anxiously.

Ellen took Chet’s hand. "All right, Chet, we’ll go see the doctor now." She turned to Gertrude. "Thanks for bringing him in. I do hope Joe’s all right," the pretty, plump, dark-haired woman said worriedly. "And as for Sean Everard-!"

"I informed the police. They’ll deal with him," Gertrude assured her. "He’s fourteen, so there’s a slight hope they may charge him as an informed minor, but definitely not as an adult."

"What’s an informed minor?" Frank asked curiously. He had risen from the chair, but was standing a bit to the side and keeping quiet.

"Someone who’s old enough to know better," his aunt explained.

"Oh." The boy’s gaze drifted back to the corridor his mother had disappeared down as Ellen Morton shepherded Chet towards the registry desk, leaving the Hardys alone. Gertrude took her seat again, and after a moment, Frank climbed into the chair beside her. He knelt, tucking his feet under him, instead of sitting conventionally.

***

Twenty-two minutes passed before Laura appeared again. Frank said nothing the entire time, merely stared at the hallway with a deep frown on his young face. The frown vanished, replaced with a look of worried interest, when his mother suddenly emerged from around the far corner.

"That was quick," Gertrude mused quietly as Frank hopped out of his chair.

"He woke up," was the first piece of news, and both Frank and Gertrude sighed in relief. The older woman suddenly became aware that she’d been sitting with her shoulders hunched, and straightened up. "He’s very groggy and disoriented, but he recognized me. My voice, that is; he didn’t open his eyes. Said they hurt. They’re running some tests on his hearing and vision, and they’ll make sure he hasn’t had a concussion. He didn’t seem to be nauseated, but he said he was dizzy- that could be related to the ears-"

"What?" Frank looked puzzled.

"Your balance is based on your eardrums," Laura explained. "If he’s dizzy, it might be a concussion, or it might be from his ears being hurt. They’ll have to check that out."

"I didn’t know that," the eleven-year-old said thoughtfully. "I’m glad he woke up, though! Did you tell him I’m here?"

"I did- in fact, he asked for you first thing," his mother answered with a rueful smile. "And got rather surly when I reminded him that you’re not old enough to come back and see him, so I imagine he’ll be fine."

A wry smile tilted the corners of Frank’s mouth upwards. "Yeah," he agreed.

As he spoke, a low gurgling sound caught Gertrude’s attention. "Is that your stomach I’m hearing?"

"It might be mine," Laura remarked with a soft laugh as Frank put his hand on his stomach with a startled look. "Why don’t we go find a little lunch while they’re busy with Joe?"

"You two go. I’ll stay here," Gertrude replied firmly. "Just in case they finish more quickly than they usually do. I had finished my lunch when Chester came running in."

"That’s right, you had and I hadn’t. Well, then, Frank-" Laura held out her hand. "Let’s see what they have to offer."

The dark-haired boy looked a little dubious, but finally took his mother’s hand. He gave a yearning glance down the corridor, then sighed and turned to walk beside Laura to the elevators. Gertrude regarded the child with gentle eyes as the two crossed the room. It was unusual for a boy so young to show such concern for his younger brother, but Frank had always been fairly protective of Joe. True, they sometimes got on each others’ nerves and squabbled like any other set of siblings- but whenever Joe wasn’t well, Frank showed a great deal of concern and did his best to care for the younger boy. Gertrude wondered if he’d inherited the trait from his father, or if it was just part of Frank’s own intelligent, sensitive personality.

‘Strange,’ the woman mused, shifting in a vain attempt to find a more comfortable position on the plastic chair. ‘When Frank was suffering from that allergic reaction to the bee-stings, Joe was just as concerned about him as Frank would’ve been in his place. And when he got home, Joe was very attentive to him until he’d recovered. I never noticed him doing that before- but then, Frank isn’t as reckless as Joey, doesn’t get hurt nearly as often.’

For two such opposite personalities, they really did get along exceptionally well, the older woman thought, a faint smile crossing her face. Much better than she and her brothers had at that age. Maybe the old folks were right when they said opposites meshed.

***

Young Frank Hardy clung to his mother’s hand as they left the crowded, loud cafeteria and walked back through the long white halls to where they’d left Aunt G. It was a scary place, this hospital- all white walls and dark doors, desks and beds and other, more worrying things in the hallways. Strange equipment, and people in blue-green or white clothes hurrying around, talking quickly and using big words. Rolling beds here and there- beds with sick people in them. Children crying and adults looking white and tired and lots of people with bandages and those strange tall poles with bags on them. Most of those had medicine in them, but one of them had looked like it had blood in it!

The cafeteria had been sort of scary too, in a different way. There had been lots of people, all talking and eating, a distinct contrast from the quiet hallways. The food had not been too great- though not as bad as school food sometimes was- and the big room had been colorful with the clothing the visitors were wearing. The scary part was that so many of the people looked worried or unhappy. Naturally; it was a hospital and the people were here to see family who wasn’t well, but Frank had had no idea that so many people were sick or hurt at one time. And he hadn’t liked the bits of conversation he’d overheard, either. Some people had talked about how their family person was recovering, but mostly people were speaking of what was being done to treat their person. Most of it sounded awful- what if they had to do similar things to Joe?

When they got into the right hallway, Frank could see his aunt standing, talking to a man in a white coat. Mom saw them too, and started walking faster. Frank had to trot to keep up, but he didn’t care about that.

"This is his mother," Auntie G said as Mom stopped beside her. Frank stopped too, panting a little and looked up at the doctor. Then he frowned a little and took a step back, not wanting to be very close to this man. This wasn’t a nice person. He was an older man, his face all lined and his hair gray, but that wasn’t why Frank didn’t like him. It was the look in his eyes; he looked like he wasn’t really interested in anything.

"I was just explaining to Miss Hardy that we’ve completed enough tests to reach some preliminary conclusions," the doctor said to his mother. His voice was like his eyes; he didn’t care. "Joseph’s ears are affected, but only mildly, so his hearing should suffer no loss. He doesn’t seem to have a concussion, but it’s hard to tell, since his pupils are not reacting normally. However, he claims to be unable to see anything, and the tests concur. He is also complaining of pain in his eyes, but I don’t want to give him too much medication- not with the possibility of a concussion, however minor."

"You’re telling me my son is blind?" Mom asked furiously. Frank took another step back, just in case, though he had no idea what might happen. Mom sounded mad enough to hit the doctor. Then the word she’d used sank into Frank’s awareness and his eyes went very wide.

"At this time, yes." Frank hardly heard the doctor’s answer, but he forced himself to start paying attention, to try and ignore the fear crawling through him. "It may be strictly temporary; it may not. We may be able to correct it with surgery, but he won’t be fit for a surgical procedure today. His system has suffered a considerable shock, and surgery could affect him quite adversely. I’d like to keep him under observation today. We should know by tomorrow morning what we’re up against, and then we can deal with it. If he’s able for surgery tomorrow, that would be best; you don’t want to delay in cases like this. Much better to go in and work on it before things deteriorate."

Blind. Joe couldn’t see anything. And might have to have an operation. But the operation would work- wouldn’t it? Frank swallowed hard and looked up at his mother as she nodded slowly. What if it didn’t work? What if....? He didn’t dare complete the thought, not even to himself.

"All right," his mother answered, no longer sounding mad, but tired and very unhappy. "What about visitors?"

Visitors! Frank felt a moment of hope, which melted when he saw the doctor looking right at him with a ‘you’re not important’ look. "No one under the age of fourteen is allowed into the cubicles. And I think it would be best to restrict it to immediate family. He needs to relax and sleep, rather than trying to talk and move around."

Frank scowled. Obviously the doctor thought he’d make a bunch of trouble if he got to see Joe. He considered protesting, but- glancing at his mother’s serious face- changed his mind. Mom had already reminded him that it was against the rules, and the doctor would just say he was following those rules, that he wasn’t picking on Frank- even though he was. Still scowling, the eleven-year-old sat back down on the chair, folded his arms, and let his feet swing vigorously back and forth. He imagined kicking the doctor, and when that image failed to placate him, he imagined kicking rotten Stupid Sean.

"Honey-"

"Huh?" Frank stopped swinging his legs and looked up at his mother.

"Maybe you should go on home with your aunt." Mom sounded like she was repeating herself, something she didn’t like to do.

"No." Frank let his gaze fall back to the floor.

"But there’s nothing for you to do here."

"I don’t care." Frank let his feet start swinging again. "At least you can tell him I’m here, not off at home doing something without him and not caring that he’s hurt."

"Frank, he wouldn’t think that you didn’t care," his mother said patiently.

"At least he’ll know that I want to be with him, even if no one will let me actually see him." The more Frank thought about it, the madder it made him. "Stupid rule," he muttered under his breath.

"We have rules for a reason, young man," the doctor said disapprovingly.

"It’s a stupid reason. You think anyone who’s not fourteen yet is going to make trouble," Frank retorted, glaring at him. "But I’m not fourteen, and I wouldn’t run or make noise or touch stuff or pester my brother when he feels bad."

Mom sighed. "All right, Frank. But if you get tired and bored, that’s your problem-"

"Mrs. Hardy, I can’t permit you to leave a child here unattended. It would be most unwise, not to mention unsafe."

Frank was liking this man less and less with each passing moment. "You just don’t want me around. You think I’ll try to sneak down and see him anyway," he accused.

"Frank!" Mom sounded both surprised and shocked. "Your behavior is not doing you any credit today. I think I’m going to insist that you go home with your aunt. I don’t feel like trying to deal with this mood of yours."

Frank didn’t budge. "I want to be where Joe is. I’ll obey the stupid rule, but I’m still gonna call it stupid, ‘cause I think it is. And I don’t like him-" he nodded at the doctor, "’cause he thinks I’m gonna do something bad just because I’m a kid. He’s just saying that about unsafe to get rid of me. Nobody’s gonna walk into the hospital and steal me, but he’s trying to make you think so."

"It will be easier for you if you don’t have to divide your attention between your sons," the doctor said to Mom, ignoring everything Frank had said.

"Won’t have to divide it," Frank muttered. "Joe’ll be resting and I’ll be sitting on a chair."

Laura looked from the doctor to Frank and sighed. Then she looked at Aunt Gertrude and said quietly, "Take him home please, Gertrude. And keep an eye on him."

Frank bit his tongue hard against the tears of anger, stood up, and stomped away from his mother. He wished he dared kick her, but he’d tried that once when he was younger and all it had gotten him was a smack on the cheek. He consoled himself by using a lot of bad words in his head, even a few that he wasn’t supposed to use, and that did make him feel a little better, for a moment. But it wore off right away.

He jumped as his aunt put her hand on his shoulder and guided him through the building, out to the parking lot, and over to the car. The drive home was a perfectly silent one, which surprised the boy. He’d fully expected Auntie G to scold him for being rude. But she didn’t, she didn’t say a single thing, not even fussing at the other drivers as she was prone to do.

The first thing she did when she got inside was to check the answering machine that sat on the little table near the sofa; the second thing was to pick up the phone and try to reach Dad at work again. "Well, no luck," she grumbled after a moment, hanging up again. "I do wonder what he’s up to this time. He ought to have left a message telling us where he was going and when he’d be back!"

She continued to complain, but Frank had stopped listening. He climbed up the stairs- slowly, so they wouldn’t creak- went down the hall and lay down on his brother’s half-made bed. Burying his face in the pillow, he let his fear and anger rush over him. He didn’t cry, though his throat ached. He simply lay still, trembling slightly with emotion, thinking of what he’d like to do to rotten Sean, and that horrible doctor, and his mother for sending him home, and Dad for not being here...

***

"Frank?" Joe Hardy murmured weakly, shifting restlessly as he heard someone moving near his bed.

"Who is Frank?" a man’s voice inquired.

"My brother. Where is he? Where’m I?" Joe tried to open his eyes and discovered that he couldn’t. They seemed to be held shut with something. He lifted his hand curiously to touch them, but before he could, a strong hand grabbed his wrist and pushed it down.

"Stop that. Don’t touch the bandages."

"Bandages? On my eyes? Why? Where am I?" Joe repeated. "Where’s my brother? He was at the playground." That was the last thing he could remember, the playground and that terrible boom. That boom...that firecracker. Stupid Sean! "My eyes hurt," he realized aloud.

"The explosion did some damage. We did some tests-"

"I don't remember that," Joe murmured, frowning.

"Well, we did. Your eyes were burned, so we put some medicine on them and bandaged them; tomorrow you’ll have an operation," the man said calmly.

"I don’t want an operation!" Joe protested shakily, feeling himself go cold with fear. Adrenaline tingled through him, lending him strength. "Where am I? Where’s my Mom? Where’s Frank?!"

"Obviously, you’re in the hospital-"

"Well, how should I know?" Joe snapped. "I can’t see!"

"Your mother went home hours ago," the man continued, ignoring him. "I imagine your brother is at home as well. Now, you need to lie still and rest."

"I need to go to the bathroom," Joe corrected him. "And I’m thirsty."

"I’ll have the nurse bring a bedpan. Don’t touch your bandages, it’ll just make your eyes more painful."

Joe nodded slowly, then winced as pain shot through his head. "Ow..."

Footsteps were moving away now and Joe found he didn’t mind. He didn’t like that guy at all! He waited for a while and found his need growing rather urgent. Biting his lip, he decided he wasn’t going to just lay still and wet the bed, but as he sat up the world seemed to wobble all around him. Groaning, he lay back, feeling weak and shaky. "Mom," he whispered, his throat going tight. "Frank..." There was no answer, of course, and Joe felt even worse. He wondered if crying would make his eyes hurt more, and was trying not to find out when the door opened. "I need the bathroom!" Joe croaked. "Really bad!"

"Just lie still and we’ll get that settled," a woman’s voice assured him kindly. Joe lay still- there wasn’t much else he could do- and blushed fiercely when the woman helped him arrange the bedpan in the proper position.

"Who was that man?" he asked, to distract himself.

"Doctor Wilburn. He’s-"

"Mean," Joe finished flatly.

"He’s a very good doctor," the nurse replied quietly.

"Well, maybe, but he’s mean. I asked three times before he’d tell me where I am," the ten-year-old muttered sulkily. "And then he acted like I was stupid. ‘Obviously, you’re in the hospital.’" He added a heavy sneer to the words. "How should I know? I don’t remember what happened after the firecracker exploded, and I can’t see anything..." Joe’s voice rasped in his throat. "I’m thirsty," he murmured, suddenly feeling very tired and weak. "An’ tired."

"Are you all finished?"

"Uh-huh." Joe was too tired even to blush as the bedpan was removed. Then he heard water running; a second later, a straw was touched to his lips. He gulped down cool water, grimacing a little at the taste but too thirsty to protest. When he’d had enough, he let the straw go and sighed. "Yuck."

"Yuck?" The nurse sounded amused. "You sure drank a lot for someone thinking it’s yucky."

"Tastes like the pool," he murmured. "When’s Mom coming back?" he roused the energy to ask.

"In the morning. It’s about three a.m. right now, so she’s probably sleeping. Sound like a good idea to you?"

"Yeah," Joe sighed, and shifted slightly on the bed, finding a more comfortable spot on the mattress. It was harder than he was used to. "Thank you," he added, remembering his manners. A tremendous yawn took him by surprise.

"You’re welcome. Sleep well now." The woman’s footsteps went across the floor and there was the sound of a door closing. Joe yawned again, wishing that his brother was there, but he fell asleep before he had the chance to dwell on that.

***

Voices roused Joe from his deep sleep. Two voices- one man’s voice, he didn’t like that one at all. It was the voice from last night, the doctor, the mean guy. The other was- "Mom?" he called weakly.

"I’m right here, honey," his mother’s voice assured him, and then he felt her hand close tightly around his. "How do you feel today?"

"I don’t want an operation," Joe murmured, remembering that part of the previous night with sudden apprehension.

"Who told you-?"

"That mean doctor, last night, when I woke up. Said this morning I’d have one."

"Mean?"

"He doesn’t like me," the ten-year-old explained drowsily. "He acted like I was really stupid, wouldn’t answer anything till I asked like three times. My head hurts," he added, recalling that Mom had asked him a question. "And my eyes hurt."

"An ache, or a needle?" his mother inquired gently.

"Both," Joe sighed. "It aches here-" he touched his temples. "But it feels really sharp, in my eyes, and sorta..."

"Sort of what?"

"Sorta behind ‘em."

"What the doctor was telling me was that the nerves in your eyes- that’s the part that carry messages to your mind- they’ve been hurt by that firework. The doctors need to do some work on the nerves to try and repair them so your eyes will stop hurting."

"And so I won’t have to wear bandages," Joe deduced. Mom didn’t answer, but he felt her hand tighten. "Mommy?" he asked after what seemed like a long time.

"Honey, it will help your eyes not hurt, and you won’t have to wear bandages, but we don’t know yet if you’ll be able to see or not. The nerves might be too broken to be fixed right," his mother said at last.

The thought sent a shudder through Joe and then he was shaking, reaching out for Mom and clinging to her, longing desperately to take the bandages off and look around, to see something that wasn’t empty blackness. By and by he became conscious that he was crying, his tears soaking the bandages and burning his already-hurting eyes. "I want to see," he whimpered. "I want to see!"

"Baby, they’ll try. They’ll try their very best, and they’re very good at it. But they can’t do everything, and you need to know that. Hopefully you’ll be able to see at least some- maybe not as much as you used to, but that’s better than nothing, right?" Mom was hugging him and stroking his back, but Joe still couldn’t stop shaking.

"I want Frank," he whispered, gulping back the tears.

"He’s not old enough to be visiting you, honey."

"I want Frank," the child repeated. Frank was the only one who knew how scared Joe was of the dark. If Frank was only here, he’d hug Joe tight and tell him it was okay- just like he did when Joe woke from a nightmare and slipped into his brother’s room.

"I made him stay home, Joe. He’s pretty mad at me about it, too," Mom said with a sigh. "But there’s nothing he could do for you, and you’ll be sleeping a lot anyway."

Joe let go of her and lay back down on the bed. He was still shaking with fear, but he also felt bitter and resentful. He clenched his fists around the pillow and tried to focus his scared mind on his brother. Frank would be so mad; he’d be frowning that angry frown and- well, he couldn’t be rude, ‘cause Mom wasn’t there, but he was probably thinking up rude things for when she got home. Joe hoped Frank wouldn’t be too rude; he didn’t want his brother to get spanked.

The doctor’s voice said something to Mom. Joe didn’t listen. He tried to ignore the people going in and out of the room, his mother’s hand stroking his back. He was startled to awareness, though, when something cold was rubbed against his arm. Puzzled, he opened his mouth to ask what that was for. A sharp pain went into his arm and he realized he’d just been given a shot. "Ow! Hey! Why’d you do that!?"

"It’s a sedative, to make you drowsy," the man’s voice told him.

"You coulda warned me you were giving me a shot!" Joe retorted indignantly. He was tempted to say more, but checked himself. If this awful doctor was the one who was going to work on his eyes, it would be better not to say anything to him. He might get mad and mess up Joe’s eyes on purpose. "I don’t want an operation," he remembered suddenly, but his voice sounded weak. If an operation was the only way he’d be able to see again, then he did want it. "I mean, I don’t want that horrible mask."

Nobody answered. Mom’s hand kept rubbing his back and Joe started to feel sleepy again. There were more voices, and then Mom’s hand went away and it felt like the bed was moving. Joe wanted to ask about that, but he was so sleepy that it didn’t really seem to matter. A chilly gust of air made him shiver, and then that terrible-smelling mask came down on his mouth and nose and a voice told him to take deep breaths. Joe obeyed, too tired to care when the blackness went from his eyes to his whole mind.

***

"But when?" Frank Hardy repeated crossly.

"Honey, if I knew when your brother would be home, I’d tell you," his mother replied wearily, sitting down on the side of Frank’s bed. Frank frowned up at her but didn’t say anything more. "The doctor said there was more damage than he thought- you don’t want Joe to come home when his eyes aren’t healed properly. And he only had the operation this morning."

Frank sighed and looked away. The clock beside his bed said eleven-thirty, an incredibly late time for him to be awake. His mother had only gotten home half an hour ago; she had stayed with Joe until he woke up from the operation. Aunt Gertrude had let Frank stay up until ten in hopes of hearing something from Mom; Frank had almost been asleep when the phone rang at ten-thirty. He’d hopped right out of bed and gone downstairs; Auntie G had told him that Mom was on her way home and then sent him right back to bed. This time, though, he hadn’t let himself go to sleep.

Now his mother had told him that the doctor wasn’t sure how successful the operation would be, and that she didn’t know when Joe could come home. Grown-ups liked to think they knew a lot, but really they didn’t know that much more than kids did, the eleven-year-old mused bitterly to himself. "I guess that awful doctor still won’t let me see him, but I want to be at the hospital," Frank declared after a moment. "I want Joe to know I’m there."

His mother’s tired blue eyes looked into his. "We’ll talk about that in the morning, Frank. I know you and Joe are both angry about that, but rules are rules and-"

"Mom, I’m not talking about seeing him. I’m just talking about being at the waiting room, just so he knows I’m as close as you’ll let me get," the boy interrupted crossly. "And I’m always going to think that rule is stupid, no matter what anyone says."

"I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to sit around the waiting room all day, especially when you’re in such a bad mood. Besides, I am concerned about leaving you there all by yourself," Laura told him, her own voice turning rather stern. "If nothing else, you might end up getting sick from one of the patients."

That was something Frank hadn’t thought about and he felt a touch of apprehension. He definitely didn’t want to get sick, and people in hospitals usually were either very sick or very hurt. "Well..." he hedged.

"I’ll just feel much better if I can keep all my attention on Joe and know that you’re safe at home with your aunt," Mom said. Then she sighed. "If your father would just-!" Frank shrank back a bit, troubled by the anger in her voice.

"M-mom?"

"Nothing, honey." Mom leaned over to give him a hug and a kiss, then stood up. "Go to sleep now," she suggested, closing the door behind her as she left. The light from the hall went out and Frank lay staring into the darkness. He ran that curious remark through his head several times, wondering what it meant. Mom was mad at Dad? Dad hadn’t come home and he hadn’t called. Mom was worried about Joe- she probably wished Dad would at least call so she could tell him about it. She was used to Dad going away suddenly for a while, but then, usually no one was hurt when he did.

Letting go of that puzzle, Frank concentrated on his brother. ‘Joe had the operation, so he better be able to see when they take those bandages off! That’s what it was for, after all.’ Frank knew his brother was scared of the dark- no one else knew, because Joe hadn’t told anyone else. Joe was a little ashamed to be scared; only little kids were afraid of the dark. But Joe was, and for him to have to be blind- to be stuck in the dark forever- that would be the worst possible thing for him.

‘I used to be afraid of the dark, too- I told him and he didn’t feel so ashamed about it after that,’ the boy recollected. ‘Used to think there was a monster under the bed, too.’ Frank smiled a little, remembering how he used to jump into the bed from several feet away just so the monster couldn’t grab him. The dark was different from monsters, though. It was easy to be scared of the dark when you heard creepy noises and couldn’t tell what was causing them. Turning on a light always helped, but if you couldn’t see, there wouldn’t ever be any light. You’d just go on being scared and wondering what was happening...

Frank sat up for a moment, shivering a little, then turned on his stomach and pulled the covers closer around him. He wasn’t going to think that anymore. The operation had to have worked. Joe had to see again.

***

"I want my brother."

It was practically the only thing that the ten-year-old in room thirty-eight would say, and it had the nursing staff baffled.

Joe Hardy had been admitted three days previously, suffering first degree burns, a possible brain concussion, trauma to the eyes and ears, and shock. He had undergone surgery the morning after his admittance; the nerves of his eyes had been badly seared by the explosive concussion of the quarter-stick of dynamite that some moron had flung at him. Now the little boy lay in his bed, eyes bandaged, listless more from depression than from any medication or residual effects of the laser surgery.

His mother, Laura, a kind and patient woman, had been with the boy almost constantly, but he barely responded to her presence. Doreen, one of the night nurses, reported that the boy had showed some spirit his first night, calling Doctor Wilburn ‘mean’ and complaining about how bad the water tasted. The kid had good points; Wilburn was not known for his bedside manner, particularly not with children, but he was the most competent in the delicate art of repairing damaged eyes. And the water of the hospital was heavily chlorinated to purify it.

As for Joe’s father, there was no sign of him. His mother had been seen with an older woman from time to time, probably a grandmother or aunt. There had also been a young dark-haired boy who had given old Wilburn a fair bit of lip when Joe was first admitted, but he hadn’t been back since. This, the staff presumed, was the brother that Joe wanted so badly to see.

But why his brother? Why would a boy ask so constantly for his brother when his mother was sitting right beside the bed? Someone had speculated that perhaps it was the brother who’d thrown the explosive, that Joe wanted to see him in order to have it out with him. If that was the case, it was just as well that the brother was too young to visit. The last thing the ward needed was a brotherly brawl.

But if that was so, Rochelle Chambord thought, why did he say he wanted his brother? Wouldn’t he talk instead about what he was going to do to his brother when he got home? "Is there anything I can get for you?" the registered nurse asked quietly as Mrs. Hardy sat beside her drowsing little boy.

"No thank you," the woman answered listlessly. "Nothing that’s available here."

Rochelle gave the woman a curious look. There was a strong family resemblance between mother and child; the thick blond hair, for one. Rochelle wondered if the boy’s eyes were as rich a blue as his mother’s. It was impossible to tell until the bandages came off, though.

"What I need is my husband...and what Joe needs is his brother," Laura said bitterly. "But my husband’s been completely incommunicado since the day Joe got hurt, and your hospital rules won’t let Frank in here."

Rochelle paused before speaking again. "It’s very unusual for a child to want his brother," she said at last, tactfully.

"My boys are very close," Laura replied, sighing. "But even so, I don’t know why he’s so set on wanting Frank here. And Frank’s not much better; every night I go home and he’s glowering at me for not letting him come in and sit in the waiting room, bored and worried and restless. I don’t understand it at all."

Rochelle reflected for a moment. "How did it happen? I was told it was an M-80 explosive..."

"Oh, a neighborhood bully was setting off fireworks while my boys were getting ready to play baseball with their friends. Joe went to ask one of his other friends to play, and apparently had some words with the bully, who lit the explosive and threw it right at him," Laura explained, sighing. "Sean Everard, you may’ve heard of him. He’s been questioned by the police. Tried to twist it all around and lay the blame on Joe- said Joe grabbed it out of his hand- but Joe’s friend Chet insists Sean threw it. He was standing right there when it happened- too close, poor boy, he’s still having headaches."

"If Joe had tried to grab it, one hand would have been a great deal more burned than the other," Rochelle remarked. "As it is, the burns are almost exactly the same, both in the amount of area affected, and the severity...which fortunately isn’t severe at all."

Laura looked up from her son’s pale, sleeping face. "Yes," she murmured, gratitude mingling with surprise. "Yes, that’s right..." A smile erased some of the weariness that hung about her, making her a very attractive young woman. "Thank you, I’ll mention that... the sort of thing my husband would catch at once if he were here. Fenton Hardy," she added.

Rochelle’s eyes widened. There had been some speculation of just how closely related these folks were to the legendary detective. Everyone had assumed that Laura was a sister-in-law or cousin or something, not the man’s own wife. But it explained why the father wasn’t here- naturally, he was investigating something. "Glad to help," she answered rather lamely, blushing. "Well...if there’s nothing I can do, I should probably get back to my rounds. I’ll drop by again in a while and see how Joe’s doing." Unable to resist, she took another long look at the face of Fenton Hardy’s little boy, then hurried silently from the room. What a lot she had to tell the rest of the staff!

***

"I need you to turn over."

Joe frowned, wondering if the voice meant him. Probably- it was that mean doctor’s voice.

"Right now. Please."

The ‘please’ was obviously not the important part, Joe thought, and turned over onto his back. He didn’t ask why- didn’t feel like talking. People were always coming in to poke him and listen to his chest and take his temperature and blood pressure. Joe did his best to ignore it all, answered ‘yes’ and ‘no’ when he was asked questions, and wished for Frank.

He felt his mother’s hand wrap tightly around his- on the wrong side, and that caught Joe’s interest. Usually she was on his right; now the doctor was on the right and Mom was on the left. So this would be something different. He hoped it wouldn’t be a shot.

"I’m going to take the bandages off," Dr. Wilburn told him. "Then we’ll run a few tests to see how your eyes are, I’ll decide if you need any medicines or eye drops, and after that, you and your mom can go on home."

Home! Joe tried to sit up as excitement jangled through him, but the hands pushed him back. "Home? Today?"

"This afternoon," his mother said quietly. "But since we don’t know exactly when that will be, Frank and Aunt Gertrude are staying home- I think your aunt is making a cake for you."

Joe smiled for the first time in three days. It wasn’t the thought of the cake that made him smile, even though he hadn’t liked the food at this place. Going home! Seeing his brother! Even if he couldn’t see quite right, he wouldn’t be in the dark anymore, and Frank would be there, and he’d have his own room and his own bed and no more nasty doctor, and no more poking and-

"Now, I want you to lie very still," the doctor told him. "I’m going to be doing some snipping, and I don’t want to cut you." The doctor sounded nicer than he had since- at all, actually, Joe thought. ‘He must be glad I’m leaving. I sure am!’ He obeyed, holding himself still and trying not to grimace or flinch at the cold scissors on his skin, the crisp snips so close to his face.

"Have you had any pain at all today?" the doctor inquired. That was the question everyone kept asking. The first day, Joe’s head had stopped hurting, but his eyes still burned and prickled. It made him want to rub them.

"Not pain. They feel kinda...I dunno, not itchy, but sorta..."

"Dry?"

"Yeah. Almost like sunburned," the ten-year-old said thoughtfully.

"We’ll have some drops for you, then; they’ll make a big difference. Your tear ducts might not be producing quite enough moisture- not uncommon for a trauma to the eye." More snipping, and then the big puffs that had covered each of Joe’s eyes fell away. Then something thin was peeled off.

"All right now, your eyes may be very sensitive to light, so we’ll turn all the lights off. Mrs. Hardy, if you would close the window shade?"

A click over his head; Mom’s hand leaving his, her feet tapping on the floor, the zzzzuup of shades being lowered. More taps as she came back, and the warmness of her hand holding his. "Can I look now?"

"Go ahead."