Seventeen-year-old Joe Hardy opened his eyes and immediately regretted it as an all-too-familiar pounding began in his skull. ‘Well, you did it again, J; you weren’t careful enough and you got clonked,’ he grouched to himself, trying to reach up to rub the place where the pain was centered. But his hands wouldn’t move and after a moment he became aware of his position. He was lying on his side, his hands fixed behind him. The constriction around his wrists must be rope- it didn’t feel like wire or tape. As he shifted, attempting to at least sit up, he discovered similar bindings around his ankles.

The teen swore inventively to himself. ‘I hate this!’ he growled mentally, twisting his wrists to see how loose the rope was. Not at all, he quickly discovered. As he sighed in frustration, he became more aware of the uncomfortably tight gag across his mouth. Tilting his head in the hopes of getting some of his hair out of his eyes, he blinked around the gloomily lit room. Nothing but bare, dirty walls, the overhead light fixture, and the scuffed tile floor. ‘Maybe Frank managed to avoid ‘em when he heard me get conked.’ Joe hoped so; it meant his brother would soon be in to untie him. The sooner the better; there was nothing more thoroughly irritating to him than not being able to get up and move around as he chose. 

And besides that...

Joe would never have voluntarily admitted it to anyone, but it wasn’t just the irritation of not being able to move, nor the indignity that went with getting caught and trussed up like a fly in a spider’s web. Being tied up frightened him. It left him vulnerable, unable to defend himself against whatever his captors had in mind. And most of the time, what they had in mind was pain- or worse, death. 

Pain was bad enough in itself, but to know his death was being plotted and to have no way of preventing it- Joe shuddered at the thought. 

Still, he had learned to cope with his fear instead of panicking the way he had the first time. He could no longer remember exactly which case that had been, but it had been terrifying...

His hands wouldn’t move. No matter how he tugged at the ropes, no matter how he twisted his wrists or ankles, he just couldn’t move. The rough rope dug into his skin, chafing it; the tight bonds were probably leaving bruises. His fingers were gradually going numb from lack of circulation.

Fifteen-year-old Joe Hardy finally stopped wrenching at his ropes and lay still for a moment, trying to catch his breath and gather his strength. He’d read about people being ‘bound’ before, but he’d never expected it to happen to him and his brother! Certainly he never had thought about how incredibly uncomfortable it would be, lying on your side on a hard, damp slate floor, unable to shift position as your limbs cramped up. And there was no warning at all about being gagged. Sure, he could still breathe through his nose, but with half his air cut off, he was tiring a lot faster than he usually did. 

A feeling akin to claustrophobia was creeping over the boy and he struggled again at his bonds- briefly, uselessly. His stomach knotted with fear; he’d never felt true helplessness before. Now he knew what a horrid feeling it was; it made your body tremble and tears of fright well dangerously close to your eyes. 

Giving up for the moment, Joe craned his neck to look around the bare, chilly basement, taking slight reassurance from the sight of his older brother lying nearby. Frank was tied up too, though, and he seemed not to be moving, which was not reassuring. Joe hoped Frank wasn’t hurt, but he couldn’t get over to him to see if he was or not. And even if he could see, he couldn’t do anything to help!

Footsteps sounded overhead and Joe cringed, hating the feeling of helplessness even more. Their captors were nearby, and if they decided to do something to the captives, they’d do it. There wouldn’t be a thing Joe could do to stop them. The men might do anything- or nothing. 

The sound of talking from the room above them sharpened his alertness; he listened carefully to the men’s blurred voices. Not in any hopes of picking up clues, but just to find out what was in store for them. ‘Forget solving the mystery,’ he thought miserably, again tugging experimentally at the ropes. ‘I just want to get home safe...’

"-Dump ‘em in Barmet Bay tonight?"

‘No!’ the boy thought, his eyes widening in terror. ‘If they throw us in tied up like this, we won’t be able to swim-’ That was the point, he realized after a moment. He and Frank were in the way, and this gang obviously had no qualms about murder. Joe could feel his heart racing, feel the sweat gathering all over his trembling body. If only he could get at the knife in his pocket! But even if he could pull it out, his numbed fingers would never be able to use it on his own ropes.

But on Frank’s ropes? Joe looked at his brother again and saw him twitch. A moment later Frank rolled over and the boys’ eyes met. ‘Frank’s almost as scared as I am!’ That was definitely not a reassuring thought. But at least he was awake; maybe...just maybe...

Joe managed to heave himself into a sitting position, straining quite a few muscles in the process but feeling a little better for the accomplishment. He wasn’t completely helpless, at least! However, he quickly realized that there was no way in the world he could get his fingers into his front pocket, where his knife was. He groaned behind the gag, and was startled to hear his groan reduced to a soft, scared-sounding whimper. 

Another sound caught his attention; Frank had sat up and was inching towards him. The effort was obviously tiring him; his dark hair was sticking to his sweaty face, but he determinedly kept going. Joe realized his brother was trying to get behind him, and turned on his bottom so his back was to Frank. Then he started working his way backwards, and realized what incredibly difficult work that was. ‘I’ll never take moving freely for granted again,’ he told himself grimly. He just wished he knew what Frank was going to do.

As he paused to catch his breath, the sound of raised voices overhead made Joe wonder how long it would be before the men came in. Then he jumped violently at a touch on his back and simultaneously became aware of his brother’s heavy breaths. So- Frank was here, but-

Chilly fingers touched his, fumbled at his wrists, and then began to tug at the rope binding his hands. A gasp of surprise caught in Joe’s throat. Would this work? It might not, if his brother’s fingers were half as numb as his own- and even if it did work, it would take a while. How long did they have?

Joe’s world narrowed as the time passed; there was only the hard floor, the dim light and the persistent touch of Frank’s fingers against his wrists. The voices had fallen silent and Joe feared that at any second their kidnappers would come down and catch them trying to get loose. He could feel the slow loosening as Frank worked at the knots and managed to restrain the mad urge to wrench at the ropes. Several times Frank paused and his hands went away briefly; Joe figured his brother must be in a very awkward position and needed to rest a bit now and then. Still, every time Frank halted, Joe’s fear surged anew. What if Frank was hurt? What if he’d passed out? What if he didn’t finish before the men came back? What if...

Finally, after what seemed hours, the knots loosened enough that Joe could slide one hand free. He groaned at the pain of returning circulation in his fingers, at the stiffness of his back and shoulders, then stifled the sound, afraid he’d be heard. He jerked the gag away from his mouth with a viciously frightened movement, then fumbled in his pocket and drew out his knife. Forcing his tremoring, numbed hands to steadiness, he turned and sawed through Frank’s wrist bindings. Incredible; so long to untie the ropes, so little time to cut right through them.

"Whew...." Frank’s exhalation as he pulled his gag off was the barest sigh, but it said everything. Joe slashed off the rope binding his brother’s feet- an awkward proposition but easily accomplished- then turned to free his own ankles. Then he tried to stand up.

‘Another thing I never considered about this,’ he thought bitterly, clenching his jaw shut as his muscles groaned in protest. Pins and needles prickled in his limbs and he swayed as the blood rushed from his head. Catching his balance, Joe tried to will himself to stop shaking. They had to get out of here before someone came to check on them, and they had to do it without being heard. He looked at Frank, who was just standing up beside him, and nodded at the steps that led up to the exterior basement door. If it was only unlocked, they’d be out on the grounds in a matter of moments, able to escape into the nearby Barmet Village and find help. 

Frank’s emphatic nod told him that the older boy agreed with the choice; it was much more sensible than trying to go out through the house. Both of them moved as quietly as they could up the steps, an uneasy effort at any time, but made all the more difficult when they were restraining the urge to just run like mad. The adrenaline coursing through Joe’s body made his movements awkward and clumsy. Every footstep seemed to echo from the walls. ‘We’ve got to make it, we’ve got to! If they catch us, they’ll tie us up again, and this time they’ll guard us...’

Easing the door open, a fraction of an inch at a time. Sweat prickling his body, running into his eyes. The blessed scent of fresh, cool afternoon air and the frantic longing to cast the door open and run... Finally, the door was wide enough to slip through. Joe winced as he stepped out; his feet were still tingling and he was half-afraid of being pounced on a second time... 

Sheer carelessness had led to their capture. They had been following a man their father had described to them, one of a gang of counterfeiters that was operating out of the area. The man they trailed had led them out of the small city of Bayport, through tiny Barmet Village on the outskirts of the town, and down a dirt road to an abandoned dairy farm. And there, while the Hardy boys spied on the counterfeiters who’d seriously injured a bank teller during an attempt to pass phony bills, the teenagers had discovered they were not, after all, unobserved. 

Joe touched the side of his jaw with a wince, feeling the extreme tenderness there. They had heard the ambush too late, and though they’d both fought desperately, they had been badly outnumbered and- inevitably- overpowered. Half-conscious from the stunning blows they’d received, they’d been bound and gagged while the men jeered at them. Joe had flinched in shame when the man they followed told him that he’d spotted them less than five minutes after they began to trail him. 

And then the Hardys had been left alone in the basement while the gang decided what to do with them.

Seeing no guard, Joe relaxed and turned to give Frank, who was just joining him, the all-clear.

That was when it happened: the door slid from Frank’s quivering hands and slammed shut with a bang that would wake the deaf. The boys exchanged one terror-stricken look and bolted through the woods near the farm, away from the isolated countryside and towards the beckoning safety of Barmet Village.

The last person they’d expected to slam into as they came full-tilt around the corner into Main Street was their own father, but it had been Fenton- worried about their absence and tipped off to the gang’s whereabouts by one of his contacts. It had been less than half an hour before the entire group of criminals was securely in the hands of the police, the counterfeiting and assult charges augmented by two more counts of assault and kidnapping.

It had been a good deal longer before Joe stopped shaking.

Joe Hardy sighed through the gag, remembering the case with unnecessary clarity. Dad’s fortuitous arrival had sealed the case, but it had been a long time before Joe stopped having nightmares about being tied up.

The teen shivered slightly and tried to think of something else. Thinking about how scared he’d been every time he was bound was just scaring him more. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to focus on the present case. They were-

His eyes snapped open. Footsteps.

The door creaked open.

"Joe!" A familiar voice.

‘Frank. Thank goodness,’ Joe thought, relaxing in relief. He glanced up as his older brother hurried to his side and quickly pulled the gag off.

"You hurt?" It was always the first question they asked each other.

"J-just a bump on my head." Joe carefully steadied his voice. "And my pride’s a bit sore." Glad as he was to be rescued, it did leave his ego feeling a little tender. 

Moments later, he was free. The blond youth sat up and rubbed his fingers and wrists as Frank returned his knife to his pocket, then smiled slightly as Frank’s hand rested on his shoulder before helping him to his feet. Frank knew. He didn’t say anything, but the concern in his dark eyes and the reassuring grip of his hand showed how well he understood Joe’s fear. It was unnerving to be so helpless, even if it was nowhere near as terrifying as the first time.