I want to thank everyone who took the time to review this story-- it is very much appreciated. As I said in the first chapter, this was the first story that I ever wrote for Hardy Boys and I tried to model it on the Casefiles as much as possible. As I wrote more and more, my style and voice gradually developed. The next story, "Classified Secrets," picks up where this one leaves off, although it can be read on its own. I hope that you all continue to read—the actual writing looks a lot different from this story! Many thanks to all, and to Red, who encouraged me to post here in the first place!

Make a Wish

Conclusion

"Who said that?" a voice resonated above the crowd that Ernie had around him. Joe looked up. He KNEW that voice.

As all of Ernie's cohorts began removing their masks, the last one to remove his mask was... Frank Hardy!

Everyone froze, and then Joe broke into a huge smile and ran to his brother, enveloping him in a huge hug. For once in his life, he could care less what others thought of him. He was just ecstatic that his brother was alive. As it turns out, no one made fun of Joe. They all ran to Frank to give him hugs, kisses, slaps on the back, and play shoves.

"How on earth did you wind up here, bro?" Joe had to ask. "You definitely had me worried there."

Frank, although glad to see his brother, didn't look happy at all. He spoke hesitantly. "Listen. Joe. When the fire broke out, I was in the lab. I didn't know where I was going. At last, just when I thought I was a goner, one of Ernie's friends, here, Guy, pulled me back and out of harm's way. I finally knew I had to follow them if I wanted to get out alive. The only way to avoid detection was to be in disguise. And so, here I am."

"They helped me in the same way, too," Vanessa chimed in.

Joe noticed that Frank looked terrible, despite his life just being saved.

"What's wrong?" Joe asked, his voice full of concern.

"Joe," Frank said in a low voice that, Joe noticed, was trembling slightly. "Before I could get out, I couldn't make sure that I got the right antidote for Callie. It was so dark. Way in the back, vials were alphabetized by last name, but under 'Shaw,'" Frank shuddered before continuing, "There were three. I have no way of knowing if they can help her or harm her."

Callie. Joe groaned, thinking immediately of the bloody tee shirt that they had left behind. There's no way that Joe would be able to muster those words to tell Frank. He knew what it was like to lose the love of your life. Still, he had to try. "Frank," he said softly, "there's something I have to tell you..."

"Well, " chimed in Ernie, "perhaps you can tell him on the way to the hospital, because that is where I arranged to have Callie Shaw sent two days ago."

They all turned to stare at him, but his face was grave. He turned to Frank.

"Frank," he said, " I learned of Callie only a few days ago. I was able to sneak her off the property. Unfortunately, and I don't know how to tell you this, the Assassins were not lying when they told you what they had done to her. When I saw her, she was incredibly weak and in terrible pain. I do not doubt that without a remedy, she will die. You need to get there, quickly."

"Let's go," Joe said.

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In the next hour or so, two cars headed to the hospital; their rental car, and a car provided by Ernie and his people. Frank, Joe, Chet, Biff, Iola, and Vanessa, sat in silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

The rest of the "Collateral's", sans Iola, had headed out quickly to their own lives, anxious to return to the land of the living. Sirens screamed in the distance.

At the hospital, Frank managed to track down information as to Callie's whereabouts, and he found the doctor taking care of her. Of course, she had been admitted as an anonymous patient. When the doctor learned of Callie's condition, which he had been perplexed about for the two days he had her, he grew very serious.

"Young man," he had said to Frank, "Your girlfriend is very ill. She's unconscious, and on a lot of pain medication. She may have serious internal damage. Something is slowly killing her, and if you know something that could help us out, you have to let us know. She has very little time left."

Frank held back the lump in his throat. Hands shaking, he took out the three vials he had taken from the lab. "I... I don't know which one could help her," he whispered.

"Wait right here," the doctor said, taking the three vials and heading out of the room.

Fifteen minutes later, the doctor came back with very anxious look on his face. Frank saw it, and felt like dying. "What?" he choked out.

"Well, Mr. Hardy, I'm sorry to tell you this. I have never seen anything quite like this in my career. All three vials that you have here could potentially save your girlfriend. They could also potentially kill her. I cannot use these drugs in conjunction with one another. It's a toss up. I honestly have no idea which one will help her."

The doctor's face softened, as he said, "Mr. Hardy, in less than 24 hours, your girlfriend will die. She has one shot to live; one of these drugs will save her, but they've been labeled so many times it is impossible to tell which one will do it. I... I can pick one at random. Or… you can. There's a one in three chance that either one of us will be right."

Frank felt himself shaking worse than he could ever remember. He looked at the vials. He thought of Callie. He had been one of the main causes that Callie was involved in this scenario in the first place. He had to be the one to make the decision. Looking at the bottles, Frank tried desperately to logically figure them out. What was it? "White you're right; red you're dead; green you're a has been?" No. No-- it was "White- not right; red's ahead; green is keen." Oh, no. That wasn't it either. God. What to do?! Finally, shaking terribly, Frank selected one of the vials. "Take that one," he choked out, pointing to the white one.

The day that passed by was the slowest of Frank's life. He was managing to maintain a cool front, but he was dying inside. He was unable to even see Callie, as the doctors considered her case so sensitive that they didn't want to jeopardize her chances by introducing any new germs in her environment. Joe had tried to talk to him several times, but Frank had waived him away. Frank fought exhaustion and terror as he stayed up 24 hours straight.

Iola had been admitted into the hospital as well for a much needed check up and rest. Joe and Chet split shifts with her, and Vanessa and Biff sacked out in the waiting room.

Minutes turned into hours. Frank thought he would go crazy. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Callie.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the doctor came up to him. Frank took a sharp breath. He couldn't read the doctor's face.

"Mr. Hardy."

Frank looked up. Please, God, he thought. "We have some bad news for you."

Frank felt his heart stop. He knew he was about to lose all control. This couldn't be happening. NO! Not to his Callie.

He couldn't even speak.

"She won't make it..." the voice began.

Frank tuned away.

"Home today," it finished.

"What?" Frank didn't understand.

The doctor smiled. "God bless you, son. You must have some good instincts. Callie will be okay. She'll be very weak, and she'll have a while to go before she's back to normal. BUT, she'll be fine. You can pick her up here in a week."

The doctor turned away and walked down the hall, leaving Frank staring in disbelief.

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A week later, things were very different for the Hardys. Chet and Biff had gone back to Bayport, along with Iola. Although she had wanted to be there for Callie, Joe had insisted she go. Iola needed to be back with her family. Joe knew it would take her a long, long time to get re-acclimated to normal life. He also knew that she had a lot of issues to deal with, including a lot involving him, and it wouldn't be fair to push himself on her right away. What Iola needed right now was unconditional love and support from a friend, and Joe was prepared to give that to her. Any added benefit of a relationship and rekindling a deep love would have to wait. Joe was okay with that. God had granted him his wish, and that was all he could ask for.

Vanessa had been unbelievable. She and Joe had spoken at length over the past several days. They had cried, and laughed. They talked about everything, including this case. Both of them couldn't get over Callie's "bloody tee shirt," which, it was later found, was really Iola's, who had worn it under her sweat-suit. The animals apparently had gotten to it before Iola could pick it back up. She had left it for a marker to remember where she had been.

They didn't come to a decision about their relationship, either. Vanessa had suggested that they date casually, or just remain friends for the moment. Obviously, a lot had to be sorted through. Joe could see the pain in her eyes when she had said that, and he felt it, too. He knew she was being kind, cutting him a break and letting him off easy. She would pre-empt a breakup to remain on good terms. He was lucky to have her. He didn't know if he would ultimately end up with Iola or with Vanessa, or if the cards would be dealt to him to make him lucky enough to end up with either one. All he knew was that as deeply as he loved Iola, he still did love Vanessa, too. She was so wonderful to him, and had remained there in Maine to offer support, as a friend. He could not have hoped, or wished, for anything better.

Frank, in the meantime, was getting ready to talk to Callie, and to take her home from the hospital. He had left Joe and Vanessa in the lobby, and he was a nervous wreck. He hadn't yet seen Callie. For all he knew, she could not even want to talk to him. She could hate him and, Frank thought, with good reason. Callie had saved Iola, and had been the catalyst for so many changes in people's lives. Yet, so many people had turned on her, and that was a wound that would take time to heal. Frank was wracked with guilt over causing Callie so much pain. He was intensely curious to see how she was physically doing, and terrified to see her reaction to him. He had so much he wanted to tell her, even if she wouldn't listen. But, Frank thought, how can you get your heart to speak? Words can never adequately express the heart's emotions. Just let her be okay, he thought again. That's all I can pray for.

Frank stopped outside Callie's door. He took a deep breath. He raised his hand to knock, but the door opened anyway. Frank stepped inside.

Seeing Callie, Frank was overcome with emotion. He found it harder than ever to hold back tears. That was NOT the reaction that he thought he'd have, and Frank hated the fact that he wasn't prepared for it. He swallowed hard.

Callie was dressed and ready to go. Vanessa had dropped an outfit off for her earlier in the week. She was wearing jeans and a loose white tee shirt. Always with a great figure, Callie had lost a considerable amount of weight, so that he clothes hung on her slightly. She wore only the smallest amount of make-up, and her long, golden-blonde hair was tied back. Frank had to shake his head. Even with ill -fitting clothes and light makeup, Callie somehow managed to look put together. Despite her weight loss and pale face, and the deep bruises Frank could see on her arms, Frank didn't think she had ever looked so beautiful. Holding back tears, he told himself, "Control yourself, Hardy."

Callie was lying down on the bed. The doctor had told Frank that it would take some time for her to get back her strength, and that she should rest as much as possible.

He had no idea what to say, for once.

"Hi," she said softly to him, smiling weakly.

"Hey," he replied.

"H… how are you?" Frank thought he sounded ridiculous. All he could do was stare at her.

"Okay."

"Callie, I..."

"Frank, I..."

They both spoke at once, and then looked at each other. Callie laughed. Frank did, too, in incredible relief.

"Come here," she said, and moved over on the bed. She patted a spot next to her.

Frank knew he didn't have to say anything. Lying down next to her, he took Callie in his arms and held her tightly. As he gently stroked her hair, Frank felt tears slip down his cheeks. And, for once, he didn't care. Callie nestled closer to him, and rested her head against his chest. She could hear Frank's heart beating. She didn't think she had ever heard a sound so wonderful in her entire life.

After a long while, lying there in silence, Frank finally whispered, "Callie, I'm so sorry. I wish none of this had ever happened..."

Callie slowly pulled away from Frank and smiled at him. "Come on. I think we have some people waiting for us downstairs." She gently touched his face. "It's not your fault."

"But..." he began.

"It's not. No 'buts,'" she answered definitvely.

Frank shook his head. He was deliriously happy. Going around to the other side of the bed, he helped Callie up. It was good to feel her lean against him.

"Cal?"

"Mmmm?" She looked up at him.

"I really love you. You'll never know how much. I wish you did."

Callie smiled. "I love you, too. You know that."

Frank began again, "Callie, I wish..."

"Frank! Quit it! Stop making wishes!" she said with a small laugh.

"Oh. Okay," he stammered in reply.

"Except," Callie grinned mischievously, "well, maybe one."

"Anything."

"I wish you'd just kiss me already! Enough with the talking!"

Frank pulled Callie close. Everything was going to be okay. Iola was safe, Joe and Vanessa were talking, the Assassins had been halted, if not stopped, and a lot of innocent people were now free to live their lives. Somehow, a lot of prayers had been answered, and a lot of wishes had come true.

Smiling down at his girlfriend, Frank whispered, right before his lips covered hers, "Anything you say. Your wish is my command!"