Chapter 6

He watched them walk away and hugged himself tighter. How could any of them understand? He did not expect them to. The guilt devoured him from the inside, self-hatred became his best friend and he knew that he must be sufficiently punished. Only when he was sufficiently punished would his brother come back into his life.

And mommy. Mommy will come back.

He knew he had killed her, but he had forgotten she was dead. It was weird really, how he would feel guilty at having murdered her and then wanting to go into her room to find her and ask her to forgive him.

And the voice in his head would taunt him, make him a little crazy. He would have managed to tear away the filthy side of him had Nancy and Hope not came in when they did. Scanning around the room, there was nothing much he could use. The fire had burned away all hope of his fingernails ever growing back properly, if they ever do.

The physical pain he felt too no longer tortured him as he faced each day knowing that he deserved all that happened to him and he welcome each punishment. But the emotional pain gnawed at him and he wanted to scream out loud for someone to just throw him out of the window.

Only the memory of the tenderness kept him clinging on to his sanity. When he had told Frank all he wanted to say, he would then decide what he would do to himself, what he would do to Joe Hardy.

And he himself would pay for all the crimes he committed, for all the evil acts that brought them so many tears. He, Joe Hardy would personally make sure Joe Hardy would suffer. Joe Hardy should suffer. He had not suffered enough.

So he smiled, knowing justice would be served.

Then came the memories of his soul being torn apart sucked him into another vacuum, one that he knew he could scream forever, scream and scream until he was ripped asunder into scattered pieces for vultures to feed on.

"So Joe, this is how you use the notebook...I got you the best and..." Fenton tried to lift Joe's unresponsive hands onto the sensor pad, to let Joe get some practice in using the notebook. Joe snatched his hands away and then very guiltily mumbled an apology.

"You have nothing to be sorry about son." He spoke, trying to sound as loving and as gentle as he could, trying, in that few moments, to be the father that he never was. But his unforthcoming student probably never heard it, just staring with deadened blue eyes at the screen.

It's ok. It's the trauma. He knows us, our existence. It's only the trauma.

Only the trauma, how easy I make things sound. Only the trauma.

Joe did not look at him and Fenton watched him silently for a moment, reminded of Laura. Surely Laura who could see all that transpired in Heaven would hate him now. Hate him for failing their son. Hate him for not having that capacity to love in the very first place.

"Joe, just try it. Internet can be very fun..." He cajoled his son as tenderly as he could. Joe in turned looked up at him with the strangest eyes.

"No..." Joe spoke finally, after such a long spell of silence. "No, cannot...not fun...no..." his voice drifted off, but still maintaining that trance like chant.

Damn! I used the wrong word...

"Joe, I meant good...Internet..."

Joe then shifted away from Fenton, right to the other edge of his bed. He huddled himself closer and wrapped the blankets tightly around himself, his eyes no longer strange but glazed over with fear. Yet, they kept their gaze on Fenton and commitment to finally be a father was all that kept Fenton from bolting off.

"Joe..."

"You let them have fun..." Joe whispered painfully. "On me...you let them..."

Yes, I did...in my way, in my negligence, I did.

"You saw them? You saw what they did? You saw what I did?" Joe asked him, or maybe it was not him that Joe was asking. Fenton was at a lost for words. He just wanted to walk away. He could not deal with this madness, maybe he really did not love Joe enough, and still could not, because guilt was devouring him too much to let him have space to think of loving a lost son.

Then staring into the empty space, Joe waved his hands about. "I saw...saw everything...everything I've done, you knew, in your heart, you already knew. You were so right...so very right..."

"Can you please kill me?" Joe asked earnestly, his eyes widening with too much sincerity at a perverted request, chilling Fenton to the very core of his bones.

"What are you saying Joe? Joe...are you with me?"

Joe did not answer him this time round. He cocked his head to one side and squeezed his eyes shut. His body swayed and his breathing became ragged. Fenton wanted to inch forward but somehow, he moved away. He left Joe alone in the room; he could not deal with Joe's pain, did not know how to and most probably did not want to. He was not there for his daughter either before. And he certainly could not be there for his son.

"Sir." Michel greeted Fenton half-heartedly as he entered the manor. Fenton had known of his friendship with Joe and had asked Michel to take on a double duty as Joe's physiotherapist. Michel was fully qualified, that was how he got into the Network in the first place, as a physiotherapist for rehabilitating agents who got wounded in line of duty before he got talent spotted to be an agent as well. He had held Fenton Hardy in awe before, because under Fenton's leadership, the Network had busted many rouge terrorists rings. However, he had seen how lousy a father Fenton was and could not help but felt the injustice at the way the world worked. There was a father with four very beautiful children, all grown up and all screwed up in some ways. And there he was, wanting to be father and yet, not knowing where his daughter was.

I don't like the way you treat Joe. I hate it in fact. You were there sure, at the hospital. But you weren't there enough. You, his father, should be there everyday. But out of seven months, you were only there less than fifteen times.

Your other son's worse.

"You can call me Fenton here. You're not on duty now." Fenton led him up to Joe's room. Michel was not impressed with the largeness of the manor. In any case, the massive grounds only served to highlight the emptiness. It was an empty place, devoid of warmth. It sucked away all the efforts of anyone who would try to brighten it, make it more homely.

"Yes Fenton. How is Joe doing?" Michel questioned. Joe had been pretty unstable in hospital and when he was brought back, the doctor did warn them that Joe would be extremely unsettled mentally. Michel had heard Joe's ramblings while he was semi-conscious on that hospital bed that had threatened very convincingly to be Joe's deathbed for too many times and knew, with dread, that the brat was going to take a long time to return.

Fenton shifted uncomfortably. They were now in front of Joe's door, on a seemingly deserted wing of the manor. Trust Fenton to keep his son away, keep that tumor away the body. Michel swallowed down a bitter insult. He was seeing a lot of ugliness that he really hoped had been kept hidden from view.

"Not very well. He's not coherent all the time."

Just as expected. But Joe was never that coherent anyway.

Michel opened the door. He saw Fenton just standing there, not moving and frowned. "Aren't you coming in?"

"No, you go ahead. I'm going to pack. The stint in Israel is not yet settled."

Ah...stints...great excuses.

He nodded and stepped into the room. Fenton then walked away and Michel, with a soft sigh, shut the door softly.

"Brat."

Joe turned and smiled shakily at Michel. "Mic."

"So, you remembered who I am." Michel smiled back. He was a little worried. On too many occasions in the hospital, Joe had not been able to recognize him. His smile faded away though when he saw Joe trembling. The room was not cold, it was nice and warm. If Joe was shivering, it must be because his soul was frozen.

"How are you today?" Michel tried not to crowd Joe's personal space by approaching Joe yet. He knew Joe would appreciate some distance then. He would get Joe warmed up first, then he would approach Joe. He was in luck for Joe was speaking to him at least, though not very much.

Joe opened his mouth as if to say something then stopped himself. He laughed a little softly and then shook his head. Michel stroked the handles of Joe's treadmill, accessing it and knew that Fenton had taken the trouble to purchase the very best.

But of course, Fenton could purchase anything he wanted with relative ease.

"Why the laughter?" Michel asked casually though he was truly concerned. Joe was scaring him a little. He had been quiet before but along the way, before that encounter with Kleptous that pushed Joe deeper back into the pits, he had been healing in some ways, had found love, had found a new life. But when even that came crushing down, not to mention what Bob had done to Joe, Michel was very much worried that Joe would not be able to find the strength to stand.

"Nothing." Joe replied, softly, looking at the drawn curtains. The room was too dark though it was sunny outside. So Joe would not even let a little sun into his life, a little warmth to melt the icicles that trapped his soul in an arctic cage.

"Nothing?"

Joe pressed his lips together. "I feel funny. I want to puke."

Michel took the cue. Joe was still very weak and needed help to walk. When Joe had emergencies like these, all he had to do was press a button and his nurse would attend to him. Knowing Joe, he probably would rather crawl to the bathroom rather than trouble someone he did not know very well. He walked over to Joe to want to help Joe stand but Joe shook him away. To Michel, it was a soft struggle, a fragile one. But Joe probably used all his might.

"I didn't say you can come near me!" Joe's quietness was replaced with agitation. Michel had misread the cue.

"I thought you wanted to puke."

"I never said I was going to, only wanted to!" Joe hissed back, glaring at Michel. Michel stood there helplessly. The meeting had started out fine only to be ruined by his act of kindness. Joe's mood swings was extremely volatile.

Joe then closed his eyes painfully. "I'm sorry...I don't know what came over me. I feel...I don't know."

"It's ok brat. You're forgiven." Michel gave Joe an assuring smile. He sat on the foot of Joe's bed, close enough to Joe to offer companionship but not that close to invade on the broken soul's personal space, which had widened to protect itself from further harm.

Joe buried his head in his hands and sobbed. "I hate this! I hate this life! I hate him so much!"

"Don't be like that Joe...snap out of it, you can..."

Joe looked up then at Michel with begging eyes, begging for something that Michel could not give, because Michel did not know what Joe was asking for. And he had a feeling even if he knew; it would not be him who could offer Joe what he wanted.

Then the madness passed. Joe's tears stopped flowing and he calmed himself down by breathing deeply, slowly. Michel marveled at Joe's tenacity, his strength. He wondered where Joe found all that will to still stay on that thin line between sanity and chaos when chaos was pulling him stronger than sanity was retaining him. But he knew it might not be long before Joe would snap. A weaker person would have succumbed long ago.

"I can't control myself all the time." Joe spoke softly to no one in particular, his eyes gazed sadly downwards.

Michel kept his smile on and motioned towards the treadmill. "You ready to do some reps?"

"You're my physiotherapist now?" Joe gave Michel a weird dirty look that gave Michel some hope that the old Joe was down there somewhere. It was funny how many old Joes were there. Frank knew the Joe who belonged to the carefree days. He knew the Joe who had been quiet, cynical and reticent and yet, healing. Now they faced a new Joe, a Joe dealt yet with another huge blow, a Joe no one could understand yet.

"Yes. And I say we start with some simple exercises first. C'mon."

He thought, for a moment there, he heard Joe groaned and smiled a secret smile to himself.

Chapter 7

Fire licking his feet, threatening to engulf him but he knew he got to find what he went in for or he could never forgive himself, ever. There were so many questions left answered, so much to say. If only he would hear Joe say "I didn't do it...never..." he would believe...but Joe simply answered "I don't know" or "I think I did.."

Confusion, disorientation...the fire may seem bright but it was dark inside, and smoky. He almost could not breathe. He had not the time to look in every corner.

Moaning...in pain, dying.

He's there...in that corner! I found you little brother!

Joe was on the ground. Frank could tell from the silhouette that he was naked, badly burnt, and ready to pass out any minute. He only knew he had to put out the fire. The smell of kerosene was strong still even with the soot, the smoke and of course, the crackling inferno.

The next thing he knew was holding Joe, having a good look at him when they were out of harm's way. Cooked flesh, rotting flesh, raw red flesh.

But he held Joe's charred hand. He wondered if Joe knew that his hand was trembling.

"No!" Frank woke up, sweating profusely. It was abnormal that he should sweat since the night was chilly. Opening his eyes wide, he tried to absorb in all details of his surroundings to purge out the memory of that day. He could still smell the horrible smell many times. People complained of phantom pain, and Frank was haunted by phantom smells.

He got out of bed, it was 1 am at night and the weather was very cold for spring. Wrapping his robe around himself, he went to his bar counter and poured himself a cognac. Always a cognac. Sometimes he would drink wine but he was addicted to cognac.

Could be the name of the drink, it just sounded right.

Contrary to what everybody believed, that he left Joe all alone after saving him, Frank did not. He just did not have the courage to deal with it. He could imagine the pain Joe was going through and yet he was so torn inside himself. Thus he only went to visit very late at night. And if there was someone around like Michel or Malcolm and sometimes his father and Nancy, he would lurk in one corner, hoping to steal a glance from the glass windows, to see the chest heaved slowly up and down, a sign of life still.

And now Fenton had brought Joe home. He wondered why Fenton was suddenly so forgiving to Joe, so accepting of a son he could never love before. He had spent quite a lot doing up the room, buying the necessary equipments that would be required for Joe's recovery and hiring for Joe a very expensive nurse that came highly recommended. It was no big deal to his family, the money involved that was, but all of them had been pretty positive that Fenton would send Joe to some hospice instead. Frank found his father's devotion towards Joe a very odd affair.

He dressed himself in his usual jeans and t-shirts when he had no business to take care of. Walking downtown sometimes in his very working class, ordinary youngsters' fashion gave him the anonymousity that he sought. He had, in recent months, turned down a few interviews requests by Time and Fortune magazine. He needed some space. He even considered exchanging his posh car for something a little lower profile, like a Golf or something with speed but less flashy, like a Supra. But he knew he had to keep up appearance as the hip and cool young business genius.

And his watch, my watch now, burn within me some hope...if that is hope. And much guilt. Much guilt.

He left the apartment and drove to his family house. The night loomed heavily on the mansion and if anyone wanted to film a movie on a haunted house, that would be a perfect setting. The looming darkness paralleled that of Frank's soul, something that had plagued him for so many years and now the darkness was suffocating, confusing and extremely frustrating.

Very quietly, he unlocked the front gate and then the front door. He knew where Joe was, Marjory had told him in her complaints and he had just listened to her, churning out model answers she would expect from him. But then he could also sympathize with her and baffled at why Fenton would cause the family to reopen wounds that were already healing quite well.

As still as the night, he crept into the room like how he crept into Joe's ICU unit all those months. His eyes were already adjusted to the dimness and he could see Joe thrashing his body weak here and there, his face set in a restless sleep, his forehead shiny, even in the darkness, with beads of sweat.

Beads of sweat like blood squeezed from the mind from a nightmare too horrifying for anyone to reiterate or even remember.

"No...don't...I confess...don't..."

"Joe...I'm here...can you hear me?" He tried to soothe the little brother he could not acknowledge yet, the little brother that he loved so fiercely, hated so intensely.

"Don't touch me...don't..."

Frank leaned forward and gently stroke Joe's forehead, like he had so many times when Joe was rambling in the ICU. Somehow, it always calmed Joe down, if only for a little while. This time, he would not be successful because Joe's eyes suddenly opened and it even shone in the darkness. Frank was startled and tried to leaned back to disappear in the shadows but Joe's fevered eyes spotted him and grabbed his t-shirt.

"Frank, protect me, please...they'll get me...the wardens...they don't care..."

Very slowly and with more will than he thought he needed, he put his arms around his brother for an embrace for the first time in so long. He could feel Joe's temperature, feel his unfamiliar frailness and the bones there were sticking out in all sorts of places. And then he could feel his brother's tears soaking through the cotton.

"Why didn't you come visit me?" Joe wept, his voice so lost, so heartbreaking. Frank, as if on autopilot held him closer, tighter, knowing that it would hurt Joe's wounds but knowing that it would be what Joe needed.

What I needed. What will I give to be close again to you kiddo?

"I'm here now right? They won't get you...I promise...Joe...I'm sorry too...I'm so..." He never needed his brother more than then. The tears that he swore to himself he would never shed flow so freely now. Some tears for himself, for wasted years when he could have just believed against all the evidences but mostly for Joe, for Joe's twisted fate that left him in the abyss of torment.

And shame, shame at myself. Myself. I wasn't there.

Joe pulled away from him and studied his face very intently. Frank took a bandaged hand to his own cheek.

"You forgive me? Why are you so nice to me?"

"Because...because Michel's right. I should see you, for who you are. Joe, I'll get you..."

Joe smiled at Frank, a half smile and the blue eyes seemed happy for a while and then something came and took the happiness away, leaving only misery. "I remember Frank...how I killed mom...how I did those things to Marjory and Ben...it's so clear to me, I can see it now...I never feel more guilty, I wish I can turn back time and not do them, not commit them... I thought you'll hate me if I told you but now...I know you can forgive me..."

A world of hope came crashing down. Frank froze and then returned to a dull aching familiar ground.

Yoyo...I'm a yoyo. You played me like a yoyo...

And then gratitude returned. "You forgive me...you are a saint...you saved me..."

Frank threw Joe's hand down, leaving Joe baffled and in shock. "Who said I have forgiven you?"

Why the hell did I even bother? Is this the closure I'm looking for? His very clear confession that's been missing all these years?

Joe, why can't you say you're innocent and let me believe it? Why?

"Frank..." Joe's voice was too was full of lost hope, laced heavily with perplexity.

"I saved you. I can't leave a person dying knowing I can help. That's all. I shouldn't have come here. Count yourself lucky my father had the heart to take you in because I shall hell won't." He was not screaming. His voice was flat, as flat as his expression if Joe could see through the darkness. He turned and left. As calm as he seemed, he was in turmoil inside, unable to really breathe properly. He felt the same way when they put Joe up on the stand with the evidences against him. He did want to believe that Joe was innocent, so desperately wanted to.

"Frank! Please...come back...don't just leave me!" He could hear Joe shouting behind him and hurried his footsteps. He flew down the flight of stairs in the darkness and occasionally missing a step or two. He needed to get away, get away to make sense of it. Find an escape from what he had heard.

With my own ears, from his own lips. Is that what he told Nan to tell me?

Shouldn't have bothered. What's the use of trying? What's the use of anything at all?

The watch burned into his soul bringing not hope, not even guilt as it first had. It burned into his soul, with a ferocity, bringing him the unbearable pain of being betrayed, of false hope. But he could not touch it, knowing if he did, he would burn his fingers as well.

Why did I bother?

He could hear strained footsteps behind him, so Joe had followed after all. But he was so much quicker, so much faster. He was about to reach the entrance when somebody stood in his way, a girl.

Marjory.

"Who's that? Frank? It's you! Frank! What are you doing here? Have you come home to stay? Please say you are, so I don't have to leave..."

With a luggage.

Frank almost tripped over his sister's luggage and without another word, pushed her aside. The door handle seemed so far away, the room was spinning, he could not breathe, curtains, dark heavy curtains surrounded him, choked him.

A hand reached for him, steadied him. An angry cry and the hand let go. He turned; Marjory and Joe were behind him. A headache came out from nowhere, threatening to split his head open.

"YOU! YOU SCARED FRANK AWAY! I HATE YOU! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

"Margie...I...Frank...you don't seem too well...please listen to me..." Joe reached out his hand to try to calm Marjory down. It was a bad move for Marjory would never let herself be touch by him; his touch would be like hot amber on her cool skin.

"I SAID GET OUT!" Marjory piercing shriek had awoken the whole house. Servants were rushing down to see what was happening but upon encountering the confrontation, they stood behind in their humble positions. The lights flickered on and Frank saw Joe's face. He saw the pleading eyes, the caged soul within, unable to turn left or right. And he saw the scar on the neck, which he knew would extend all the way down to the rest of the body.

"Keep quiet Marjory. What have you got to say Joe?"

"Frank! Don't listen to him, see, we can convince dad now to just spirit him away somewhere else...he doesn't belong here..." Marjory rushed beside Frank, clearly afraid of Joe, tugging his sleeves. Frank held his sister protectively; it was an instinctive reaction, for she was facing her rapist for the first time after so long.

Joe kept quiet, looking down on the floor. Frank noticed a dark stain on the leg of his pajamas near the shin area but could not tell what it was, most probably it was blood. Frank waited and as the tension thickened, he saw Joe slowly stepped back.

"Don't go near Marjory." He warned Joe, no longer able to think of him as his brother or anything else. He had found the closure. It was not the one he had dreamt of, not the one where he saw himself standing next to Joe, arms around him, protecting him.

He had something else to protect now, his family's sanity, threatened, put on the line because Fenton had insisted that Joe returned home.

Why would dad do that?

For that anxious moment, the tiny nagging feeling was pushed into the recesses of Frank's mind. "Don't go near her or Ben or me ever. You hear? It's irrational to do something so heinously unforgivable and expect forgiveness so easily. What you are going through now, you deserve it."

He knew the words cut deep but he was hurting too much too himself to care. He wanted the words to cut, wanted the words to be forever etched in Joe's mind. He wanted those words to sever the final bonds of brotherhood between them. He saw nothing then but blind rage.

"If you come near them, you have to answer to me and I assure you, that would not be pretty."

"Frank!"

Chapter 8

Fenton had arrived too late. He was sleeping when he heard noises but he was tired and thus, thinking it was perhaps one of the servants or the cats, he continued sleeping until one of the servants rushed to his room and woke him up, informing him of the trouble downstairs.

Downstairs was a distance away in the mansion. Fenton put on his robe and his heart sank when he saw brother against brother. He heard the words that Frank spoke, he saw the unflinching Joe taking it all in. He wanted to yell at the both of them that it was not what they thought then he remembered Joe was on the edge of insanity and Marjory...

He would not do it. Could not. Joe would still be insane and he would take care of his son but he could not let his other children live in guilt. He could not lose the others as well.

Frank would surely go on a self-destructive mode. I have seen it before. We cannot go through it again.

But can I let Joe go through it? Can I?

Yes I can. I can because as a father, I'm already damned.

Damn you Bob. Damn you. Rot in hell.

"Frank! That's enough. Why are you home so late?" Fenton went over to Joe side and saw, to his distress, the look of anger in his daughter's eyes. Turning to a servant, he asked her to bring Samantha down. The entrance was too far away from the west wing. He could hardly blame the nurse for not hearing the commotion when he himself had ignored it at its first stirrings.

And then he stood between the both sides with a heavy reluctance for that would mean abandonment to Joe and earn him the mistrust of Marjory. The four of them stood in silent for a while and Fenton dismissed the servants to their quarters. It seemed that they would forever be trapped there with Marjory clinging on to her brother, Frank glaring at Joe and Joe looking on the floor. To his relief, he spotted Samantha rushing down and even in that tense situation; he could feel his heart skip a beat.

Her long deep red hair was loose, something she hardly allowed. Her face was set in worry for Joe and he was glad that she immediately walked to Joe and put her hands on his shoulders which were very still. Even Frank's was quivering a little. Joe did not shrug it rudely away like he normally would; he just stood there, not even blinking.

I will give anything to know what's he's thinking. Anything. I will try harder than I did.

"Sam, please bring Joe up to his room. Frank, in my study and Marjory, you're not going anywhere in this hour." He commanded all of them, earning a look of disgust from Frank.

"Yes I am! I go where I please since you bring who you please back to stay." Marjory picked up a luggage defiantly but was stopped by Frank.

"You wait for me. I'll drive you to my apartment tonight."

Yes Frank, alienate me from you and from Marjory. I'm the sinner in your eyes now, the traitor. I know how difficult it is for you. But I chose this, didn't I? So how can I blame you?

Marjory trusted her brother and sat down on the settee placed along the wall. "I'll be waiting right here." She did not look at Fenton and Fenton could feel her rage eating into him.

One mistake after another. But I can't take Joe out now can I?

From a corner of his eyes, he saw Samantha very gently guiding Joe away and Joe very obediently followed. They were walking very slowly and he saw a darkened patch growing bigger from Joe's knee to his shin. Samantha noticed it too as well slowed down their pace some more. Frank just stared at them.

He and Frank then overtook Joe and Samantha and walked up the opposite direction to his study.

"Are you alright dear? You want a drink?" Samantha poured a glass of water for Joe who had turned on his side, facing away from her. She saw him shook his head lightly. He had allowed her to change the dressing on both his legs earlier. Both were bleeding from the sudden actions he took, like dashing down the stairs.

"Want to talk about it? I will not tell, I promise." She spoke in very gentle and assuring tones. Again he shook his head.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

He nodded and pulled the blanket over his head. Samantha understood. She did not know much but she knew this young man, no, boy, was suffering more on the inside than outside. But she could not reach him that easily. He would not permit her to.

After that incident with the fork, they had taken the mirror in his bathroom (afraid he would shatter it and do something silly), and all other objects, especially sharp and breakable objects away from his room. Though his room was bare now, stripped of all the previous delicate crystal and ceramic ornaments, it was as safe as it could get. It kept Joe safe from himself, if there was ever such a situation. She switched off the lights and went back to her room, which was just across the library.

Frank poured himself a glass of whisky and sat down opposite the strong desk. Fenton had this look on his face that told Frank he had a lot of things to say but did not know how to begin. Frank decided to help his father out.

"Why dad? Why so forgiving all of the sudden?"

His father shook his head disapprovingly at the golden drink Frank was holding but Frank could hardly care. He drank the whisky without tasting, just wanting the kick to set in and kill the pounding in his head.

"I thought I taught my children to be more magnanimous. What if one day Frank, like you told me before, you find that he's really inno..."

"That's impossible." Frank interrupted, refilling the short glass at the same time. "He confessed it all finally to me. It's a closed case."

"He confessed?" Fenton's face paled and his voice was a little shaky.

"Yes, I came home to just...take a look...never mind...He told me he finally remembered. So...I'll let it go at that. If you're harboring the same hope as me dad, forget it. Do us all a favor, if you want to be the saint, be a saint to him somewhere else, not here. Marjory is almost out of her mind. She's having insomnia again; afraid he'll barge into her room." Frank set his glass down; half of the whiskey he poured was not drunk.

"Let Marjory drive." Fenton ordered Frank.

"Afraid I'll crash? Don't worry dad. I'm still sober."

"You don't drink and drive. I taught..."

In a chilling tone Frank answered Fenton. "Yes daddy. You taught me very well."

Frank threw the keys at Marjory. "You drive us to my apartment today."

Marjory took the keys and beamed, "Your Porsche? You letting me drive your Porsche?"

You're letting me drive us home? But I just got my license an hour ago and we have to go on the highway!

Yah, you just got your license that's why you need some practice. C'mon!

Oh man...I hope I don't crash the car...or dad will kill me!

Don't worry bro, if you crash it, I'll say I did it. Here, catch...

Frank ruffled her hair and gave her a half smile. "I drank too much, I have a headache. And if the Porsche can cheer you up, you can go buy yourself one tomorrow and charge it to my account."

Marjory gave Frank a look like he had grown two heads. "Really?"

"No brat, of course not. Let's go, I'm tired."

Chapter 9

Joe>>Hello. My name is Joe. I need to talk to someone.

Kinsy>>Hey Joe! I'm Kinsey!

Aurora>>And I'm Aurora.

AA>>Hi there, I'm Aaron.

J.A>>I'm Jack, 25, Ohio.

Danon>>Oh, me from Toronto, Canda.

Joe>>I want to kill myself.

Danon>> You don't want to that.

Joe>> Yes, I do. There are things I can't tell anyone because when I do, they will run away. But these...these things are important to me, I need...I don't know what I need. Sometimes you just hear...forget it.

Aurora>> Joe, I wanted to kill myself when I was 14 also. But my dad beat me to it so I'm here now, trying to work things out. It hurts Joe, those left behind, so many people who love you, they will be so devastated.

Kinsy>> Yes, me too. My sister tried to commit suicide and still is. Each time she tries, I'll be like, oh my goodness, don't let her succeed, or I don't know what to do...

J.A>> Those you live behind will die a thousand deaths. I know. I'm still dying one everyday when I think about my best friend and girlfriend Sophie.

Kinsy>> ((((((((hugs Joe))))))))

AA>> (((((((hugs Joe)))))))))

Joe>> Thanks guys. I...I really wish all of you the best. Thanks. You talked me out of it.

------Joe left the chat-------

Nobody understands, no one can know...he knew and he ran.

Of course he'll run! The way you told it to him, could have done with more finesse.

I just want him to know because he can't be so nice to me and not know! I need to know that...

That he loves you enough to forgive you? Do you even know what you did?

I know...and I can't live with myself.

You should look at yourself everyday with nothing but contempt.

Who's that?

I don't know...someone's crashing our party...

Frank hates you! Fenton hates you! Marjory hates you! Ben hates you!

Hey! Stop it!

No...let him continue, I want to hear...what he got to say...

I know I have been mean to you sometimes but I'm not as evil as that...shut it up!

I can't shut you up, how can I shut him up?

He's you Joe!

No! He sounds different...he speaks the truth...

He does?

Yes. And you should hate me too.

How can I hate you Joe? I'm...I'm you.

Which means you must hate me more than anyone else.

"What are you doing Joe?" Michel waltzed into Joe's room. Fenton had given him a key so he could visit Joe with more ease. Joe slammed down the notebook and glared at him.

"Why don't you knock?"

Michel raised an eyebrow. "I have been knocking for ages, I thought I'll just let myself in."

"Good, now you can let yourself out." Joe took a pillow and hugged it close to him. Michel looked at him with a little sadness that made Joe feel worse. He felt like he had just kicked a cat.

"Don't look at me like that!" He snapped, unable to control his irritation.

"You know Joe; there will come one day when even I will not be around to be your punching bag. You can try to be nicer to me."

"I don't need to be nice to you because I don't want you to be nice to me. Why don't you get it?"

"I don't get it. Explain it to me." Michel spoke in all seriousness now, looking at Joe intently. Joe felt uncomfortable, he felt uncomfortable because he thought Michel was trying to read too much into him and he felt very exposed.

"Because." He mumbled, wanting to go back into the chat room again. Maybe he could find someone willing to read for a long time and type out everything, even though it was pretty painful to type.

"Because what?"

"Just because ok? You don't want to come near me." Joe glared at Michel, hoping Michel would get the message, whatever the message was.

Michel threw his hands up in the air in mock surrender. "Oh is this the, I'm so dirty Michel that I can't stand being touch because I'll dirty your clean hands? Or, I did so many bad things and there's blood all over me and...hey brat...ok...I'll stop...Joe...I'm sorry...here..."

Joe stared at Michel, hurt. He knew he was being difficult but it was for Michel's own good. But he had no idea Michel would dismiss how he felt so insensitively, could not because Michel had always been nice to him even when he was being a pain in the butt.

"I'm sorry...I did not mean to...I'm rushing things ain't I?" Michel took Joe's left hand and gently curled and uncurled it. "See, no blood anywhere, it's clean, cleaner than you think..." he spoke in a tone that people use with children and Joe's reaction changed from being hurt to being pissed.

"AND HOW THE HELL WOULD YOU KNOW?" Joe burst out, snatching his hand away. "Don't you see I'm trying to protect you? How would you know he's not coming to like take over me again and..."

Michel was baffled now, Joe was too. A weird feeling had came over him, like he was split into two personalities, like somehow he was protecting people from himself but he was himself and it just did not make sense.

"Joe, let it go...I'm here to help you with your physiotherapy, maybe we can concentrate on that and not think about anything else...ok?"

Don't wanna! Don't wanna don't wanna don't wanna!

"Can you just go? Please? Just leave..." Joe pleaded with Michel, he desperately want to be alone, he was all confuse inside and he did not want to do anything but sleep for the rest of the day.

"Joe...I take what I said back...can we..."

"IT IS NOT THAT! NOT THAT! JUST GO! GO!" Joe threw a pillow at Michel and was going to throw the plastic cup next to his bed when Michel stood up and tried to calm him down. Joe violently shook off any point of contact.

"Just go...please...leave me...you don't understand, no one do..." he moaned into his blanket, almost crying the tears he dared not let fall.

"I'll come back later...you have a good rest...just..." Michel stood with his hands feebly down his sides. Joe wished Michel would just disappear there and then.

He uncovered his head when Michel left the room, feeling extremely sick to the stomach. Getting out of bed with some difficulty, he took the notebook and went to the little corner which he strangely felt safe in. Opening the notebook, he visited the website that he was in just now. He had been going into that chat line for a few days now and had always been nothing more than a lurker but he had to talk now to somebody, hope that someone would sort him out. He could not talk to those around him or they would think he was going crazy, he thought he was going crazy. His fingers shaking, he started typing.

Joe>> Is anyone there again? I just chased my only friend away.

Danon>> I'm here if you want to talk. Can we go into the private chat?

Joe>> How do I do that?

Danon>> You just hang on, I'll invite you to my private room.

Joe>> Thanks...

Michel left Joe's room, regretting the sarcastic remark that he had put in, he knew better than to aggravate Joe's already unstable mental condition. He had a terrible secret with him and it pained him not to be able to reveal it to Joe or anyone, it pained him greatly. And Grey Man had the most ingenious plan to deal with the "big-mouth" temptation. He repeated what Bob told Fenton to Michel and Michel repeated the same knowledge back to Grey Man until they were both tired of it but still, they knew it would only be a matter of time before one of them slip.

Deep in thoughts, he bumped into Joe's nurse, Samantha. She was a foxy lady, despite her age. He heard in his childhood days that redheads are the most passionate, the fieriest. Her eyes were not large but they were beautiful in their very gentle, sleepy way. Grey eyes never looked more appealing. Though her face was angular, but it only loaned her an air of regality.

"Oops...sorry..." He smiled at her, feeling very attracted to her looks but that was all. She was after all ten years older than him and with Frank out of Nancy's life, he could not help but feel that old crush on Drew coming back more forceful than the first time round.

"Oh, hi Michel, your session's pretty short today." She spoke with a tone that made it more like a question.

Michel shrugged and let out a huge breath (did he remember to rinse his mouth with Listerine?), "My patient chased me out."

She nodded, smiling in understanding. "I get those too. But for someone as traumatized as him, it's not very difficult to understand why he would unpredictable and agitated. He had a rough last night. Is he talking at least?"

"Yah, he was, shouting more like it...but I guess I'll just hang around a while more, just in case. Anyway, what happened last night? He tried something silly again?" Michel gave a questioning look, a look which told people that he was not going to let them go until they gave him a truthful reply.

Samantha got his implied message and in a lowered voice, a little ill at ease, she recounted last night's event to Michel. "There was a commotion but I arrived only in time to bring Joe up. But from what the servants said, Joe's elder brother, not Ben, came to visit him..."

"Frank? Visit Joe?" Michel was a little amazed, he had thought Frank was still hiding and running away from the whole thing, burying himself in paperwork and socializing with clients.

"Ah! That's it! Frank. Well, he came to visit and they did not knowwhat happened but somehow, Marjory got involved..."

"That's bad..." Michel mumbled softly under his breath.

Samantha paused having been interrupted, "Yes?"

"Oh...nothing...please, continue..."

Samantha eyed him, as if she wanted to see if he was sincere in wanting to listen to the story. Michel tried to put on a very interested look, which was not too hard, since he really wanted to know.

"There's a shouting match...actually, Marjory was shouting...and then they said the way Frank looked at Joe was murderous...after that...Fenton came down, I came down shortly, and took Joe up. Poor boy, he was bleeding all over his leg."

No wonder he was so jumpy. Can't Frank see his brother's suffering? If only Fenton will let me talk to Frank about it...

"That's all I know." Samantha finished. "So, can I go feed the king now?"

Michel noticed the tray of food in Samantha's hands for the first time and laughed apologetically. "I'm so sorry Samantha...can I call you Sam? I mean since we're going to see each other more often and all..."

She smiled warmly, "Of course. Everybody calls me Sam. It's easier that way...Samantha can get your tongue a little tied sometimes."

"Yup. You know, Joe's not going to eat that." Michel looked at the soup and salad. It was healthy, it was organic but he did not think of Joe as a soup and salad guy. With a feeling of warmth, he remembered those late night chats they had in the soup kitchen, how Joe, who did not eat much and drank probably only beer would finished a tub of chocolate ice-cream just like that.

And still remained skinny.

"I know. But he needs to eat healthy and these may look little but we're trying to get started...he needs more food but...nothing seemed to stay in that stomach...he would just purge it out, deliberately almost...until it becomes a habit."

"He probably thinks it's yucky."

Samantha was offended, but in a joking manner. "So what do you propose I serve him then? Lobster? Abalone?"

"You can try beer and ice cream." Michel stared at the food and felt a strange pity for his friend, probably also his best friend.

"What? Are you trying to kill him? Alcohol will give him liver failure and with the hep B thing in him..." Samantha chided Michel and shook her head. "I thought you'll have more sense."

If I had, I would not have said what I did. Insenstive! Bad Michel, Bad!

Michel grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. " Maybe not beer...but...I guess a little ice cream won't hurt."

Samantha thought for a while and grinned. "You're right, it won't hurt. I'll probably give him some after he finishes these. Ice cream is nice but it ruins appetite." She then balanced the tray on one hand and patted Michel's shoulder with the other. "He's real blessed to have a friend like you."

"Thank you. I try my best." Michel cheeks grew hot at the compliment. Really hot.

Foxy lady, come to daddy...Horny Michel! Bad Michel!

I'm spending too much time with Joe.

She threw him a gracious smile that grew to her eyes. He could not help but smile his best smile in return. Watching her enter the Joe's room, he wondered if Fenton also had a thing on her, since her age was just right for him.

And also, like any other hot blooded male species, he checked her out.

Definitely sexy, but she's not Nancy Drew. Not like Nancy at all.

Michel went back to the Network after it was pretty clear that Joe was not going to receive any guests after all. It was grueling, to have to be his physiotherapist, part-psychiatrist and having to perform the usual Network duties as well. He was just thankful that he was not assigned anything urgent and thus had free time to help his friend. Smiling to himself, he recalled how he and that kid got to know each other, and it all boiled down to God's will. While not deeply religious, Michel did have a fundamental belief in the Almighty.

If I'm not his 'tag', if he had not opened up to me, maybe we'll just be strangers on the streets, funny thing it is.

Just when he thought he could sit back, shake his legs and maybe flip through some terrorists' records and use some mug shots as his new target piece, Grey Man hastily walked right up to his table and slammed a file on his table.

"Woah...hey man...I'm taking a break here...you just sent me to Tahiti a couple of months on a wild goose chase. And I'm still catching my breath..." Michel sat upright. Seeing his direct superior worried look, his expression became more serious. "What's the matter Grey?"

Grey Man flipped opened the file and pointed to a paragraph circled red. "This is what happened! Incompetent...you would think the boys down at the headquarters had more sense!"

"Ah...Robert Maximillian Jr Garland. Escaped. Blah blah blah while been transported to facilities to Nebraska from Nevada...Nebraska? Why..." Seeing Grey Man's impatience, he diverted his eyes back to the file and continued reading aloud in a monotone, "overpowered the agent escorting him, escaped into some place...hmm...could not be found...yadda yadda...this is bad news, real bad news."

"I know. But at least we know he can't go back to the Assassins. They are extremely unforgiving towards those who did not take their own lives in the face of capture."

Michel nodded. "But he's far away from here, I don't think he could actually get here...even hitchhiking would take ages...we'll find him."

Grey Man scanned the file again thoughtfully. "We have to keep security on high until he's caught. Fenton's in Siberia, some routine stuff. I'll send a message over. You lead a team to check the nearby train stations, airports, etc. He's very crafty and even without the Assassins, I'm sure he has his ways."

"No problem."

Grey Man then left him alone. He contacted his team members and hesitated a little before calling her. She was not officially part of his team, she was more with the paperwork side, but she was informally promoted since the episode with the fiend, Bob Garland. But he knew she would appreciate his asking her to join him.

For professional reasons of course.

"Hi, I'm Nancy."

"Hey Nan..."

"I'm not available at this moment. Please leave your message after the beep and I'll get back to you. Good day."

Rolling his eyes, Michel spoke a little uncomfortably to the voice recorder.

"Nan, this is Mic here. Bob escaped. Do you think you can come back to the office and we'll discuss on how to step up security around here? Thanks."

Danon>> Joe, I understand how you feel. But you have to be strong and trust yourself. You're going to be ok.

Joe>> I feel like a stranger in my house, I dare not go out, what if I meet them? Why must...him...the only dad I know who is not my dad, bring me back here? If only I have the physical strength, I'll just go...I'm so afraid sometimes but I can't explain, no one understands...and my brother, he hates me to the core. There's no one I can trust...

Danon>> No friends at all?

Joe>> I...I have this friend, problem is he's too nice to me it...and another one, my mentor of sorts...he's busy down in the soup kitchen now and so he haven't come by to see me but I know he's...well...I don't really know. But I don't want to let them hear it from me...I feel like I have lied to them and they see a Joe they liked but when they see the real me, they'll be repulse...I keep screaming at him...the first one...sometimes...I wish...I wish it was Frank who's doing what he's doing but it's a fat hope...

Danon>> you poor thing...what can be so bad? You can tell me. I promise you I will not judge you. I'll even help you sort it out. I can be your friend.

Joe>> No, I can't.

Danon>> Of course you can. What have you got to lose? If I'm repulsed, I can always just log off and you can too...we don't really know each other, just letting our fears be out in the open for once...don't you like to be free just for once?

Joe>> I'll love too...

Danon>> (((((hugs))))) C'mon, bore me with the details...and I'll bore you with mine later. Whatever we tell each other, secret. I don't know who you are, you don't know who I am...we're safe.

Danon>> Joe? You alright? You're lagging.

Joe>> Here it goes...it all began when we found out I was borne out of rape, out of a heinous sin.........

It was nightfall. The Internet session left Joe feeling a little better but only for a while. He had typed very slowly, because his fingers hurt and without the nails, it hurt even more. He thought he saw some blood on the keyboard after logging out of the chat room.

They had talked for a very long time. Danon had listened to everything, Joe missed out some parts of course. Parts too disgusting even for him to replay it on the computer screen. Parts that gnawed his soul everyday. He glossed over his crimes, glossed over his torment in a place for reform. He glossed over the dirtied, crumpled linens of his ugly life.

He knew himself well, knew how close he was at losing it but he was trying very, very hard. His own mood swings had not only made the people around him nervous and unsure of what to do, it made him tired too because of the rollercoaster ride that he had to ride through with no control, only the tedious experience of the erratic momentum, nauseating speed and abrupt stops that made him want to throw up.

He tried to sleep, but flashbacks of his past glory haunted him suddenly and he could not breathe all of the sudden. He thought he heard the cheers when he scored a touchdown. He thought he heard the shouts of joy when he won the inter-high school meet many times in the 100m and 200m sprint. He heard sounds he thought he could never hear again.

And he heard the cello.

Playing, its smooth velvet tone caressed him, bringing tears to his eyes. The room was dark but he was used to darkness, he was shrouded in it, living his life in it. The sunshine before the eclipse had only been a taste of happiness that seemed promised to him but snatched away cruelly by himself.

By his own deeds.

"Mom?" He whispered, against all hope that she was around somehow. Somehow.

He struggled up and made his way to the corridor outside his room. He hated mansions of all sorts; he had hated coming back to the manor in his youth. It was huge, it was cold.

"Mom..."

He made his way to the main wing again in darkness. Darkness was his friend, darkness was his guide. He groped around until at the end of the hallway, he faced a door leading to a room he knew pretty well. He knew her piano would be inside, so would her cello be at one corner. He knew there were books of all sorts on music, theories, lives of musicians, scores. He knew if he entered the room, he would find her.

And so he did. The cello guided him, tugging his heart, gave him false hopes. Empty promises again.

For it was lying there, collecting dust from years of neglect.

The cheers ended. Announcement of Bayport sprinting hero being born cut short. The shouts from the field whenever a touchdown was scored faded into the background. They were taunts, no more than taunts.

The cello playing too ended and he knew he was losing it. How could she be around when he had killed her? How could he even hope for something he had no right to hope?

He sat down on the piano and opened it, lovingly touching each keys. It was there she first introduced him to the music. She had pushed him hard, seeing in him the only child who could be a prodigy, a music prodigy she never had the opportunity to become but she was good in it as well. She pushed him very hard that once, when he was fifteen, he screamed at her to leave him alone, that he was no Mozart, just a jock who knew how to play the piano that was all, and went out to play touch football. When he came back home all covered in mud and dirtied with bruises and scratches, she rushed to clean him up and all was forgiven. She was that sort of mother. She did not keep grudges.

She never could hate her children, even if they were the vilest criminals. She would love them, pamper them. She would fiercely protect them.

But maybe he had pushed the line. He had also hurt her other little ones. Though she loved him best, she loved the rest intensely just as well.

He tried to play a tune but his fingers were sluggish. He could not move as gracefully as before. His fingers hurt, they were unyielding and stiff. He heard music in his mind, music that he could never make again. He heard the damnation of Faust, the opera's final climax. The women screamed. He clashed the keys, making hideous sounds, as hideous as his soul.

For he had already sunk, he had already descended. He would never be able to stand again. One look at him and everyone would know.

Even the piano knew. And she would know as well, in heaven, where she resided, would she cry for him? No, the tears would never be shed for someone like him. The tears would fall, but not to comfort him, not out of sadness for him, but out of pain, the never ending pain that he brought to all.

Chapter 10

Frank drove Hope home. The incident with Joe couple of days earlier had left him very distracted. He felt numb for a while but when he replayed the scene again and again in his head, he realized he could not really let go. Bitterness, anger and a hatred for the world in general surged through him. He hated life for giving him a brother so close to him and then taking him away in the worst possible way.

What choice do I have?

"Frank? You missed the turn..." Hope pointed out a little wearily. It was the fourth turn that Frank missed. He could drive to her house from anywhere in Barnett Bay blindfolded but that day, he seemed to have trouble telling one street from another and sometimes, at junctions, he had to paused for a minute second longer than necessary to figure out whether he should turn left, right or just go straight.

"Oh...did I?" He smiled wanly. He drove to the next junction and very carelessly made a U-turn, invoking the wrath of other drivers. Leaving the angry horns behind him, he knew he was going to be nagged at again.

"You're not supposed to make a U-turn there Frank Hardy! What's wrong with you? Trying to get us killed?" Hope gave him a sharp slap on the back of his wrist. Instinctively, he brought it up to his lips.

"That hurts..."

"Then pay more attention, I do want to get home..."

"Why not come to my place? Caramel's in children's camp, you'll be alone..." Frank tried to persuade her. He was feeling very lonely then and needed her with him.

He waited for the answer, he knew Hope wanted some space of her own and he was getting a little possessive, controlling her movements, taking her to and fro where she wanted to go, making sure she stayed in the office and when she had to leave, she had to inform him. But he could not help himself, even though it was more than half a year since the abduction, he had nightmares that someone would take Hope away from him again and he was getting slightly paranoid.

And at times, the nightmares were about Joe being burnt alive and there was nothing he could do but watch.

"I...I see you almost 24/7 Frank...it's not healthy..." He sensed reluctance in her voice and was a little hurt. He could understand, but he really needed her then.

"Please...I promise you...I'll be so sweet you won't want to leave...and Margie's not staying with me anymore, she's gone to her new dorm yesterday...the apartment's too big...Hope...please?" He practically pleaded. Everyone feared a little loneliness sometimes.

"I have plans..."

"Hope..."

"Alright...alright sweetie...I'll come for dinner...but I will not stay." She could never refuse his requests. Frank smiled and stole a quick glance at her. She gave him a reproaching look and pointed to his windscreen to get him to focus on the road again. She was so beautiful and everything seemed fine again.

"Stop fooling around...haha...Frank!" Hope was trying to heat up some sauce for spaghetti when Frank grabbed her by her waist and started tickling her. She was very ticklish and tried to wriggle away but she had to hold on to the saucepan as she had not had the chance to set it down on the stove yet. But her boyfriend was relentless. Slamming down the saucepan on the stove, she tried to push him away, playfully.

"It's time for some fun, joy and laughter!" He carried her by the waist and laid her on the sofa. To her horror, he climbed on top of her and started zooming in on her tickle points again while nuzzling her neck, making her cringed and wriggle, unable to escape, helpless in controlling her laughter.

"Frank...please...Eek!" She laughed, not because of mirth but because her body demanded it. Tears were starting to roll down her cheeks. And just as sudden as he attacked, he stopped. He looked at her strangely and then pushed a lock of hair away from her forehead. Slowly, dreamily, he kissed her eyes, her cheeks and her lips where she locked the kiss in, opening her eyes to see his handsome face just inches away from hers, eyes closed and so tenderly loving.

And then her mobile rang. She broke the kiss the struggled to disengage herself from Frank but Frank held her down. "Hmm...let it go..." She looked into his soft brown eyes, so different from those that his clients saw. It was not calculative, not summing up people or business deals. It was just Frank Hardy's eyes, the way it should be. Soft, liquid and soulful. She succumbed to his request and he smiled, almost happily and stroked her hair. He was about to kiss her when her mobile rang again and he gave up. Getting up, he reached into her bag which she put by the coffee table and rummaged for her mobile. She was about to stop him but he twisted this way and that and she could only watch him speak to whoever was calling her.

"Hi! This is Hope's secretary, the famous Frank Hardy. That's right. Multibillionaire, business extraordinaire. I'm now her slave for the evening and I'll appreciate it very much if you let us continue kissing..."

"Frank, get Hope here."

"Nan?" Frank looked at Hope curiously. Hope covered her mouth when she realized she had forgotten all about her prior arrangement with Nancy. Then she gestured frantically for him to pass her back her mobile which he reluctantly returned.

"Nan! I'm so sorry, I know we're supposed to meet but...I'm so sorry to stand you up..."

"Oh...hmm...nice of you to forget your dear friend..."

"No...wait..." Hope motioned for Frank to stay where he was and he shrugged and sat down on the sofa, scowling at her, pretending to pick up a newspaper and read it. Mouthing "Good boy", she went into Frank's guest room, her room when she was staying put at his place right up to a couple of months ago, closed the door and spoke in whispered tone.

"I'm so sorry Nan...I know...but Frank needs me..." She begged with Nancy to forgive her and heard only a tense silence. She had never stood Nancy up before and wondered how Nancy would take it, especially since Frank threw her that opening line.

"Nan? Hey...I'll make it up ok? My treat at Black Coffee tomorrow..."

Still silence.

"Ok ok...my treat for the rest of this week when we meet up."

She heard a laughter that sounded like it was being suppressed for too long. "You said it, not meee...heeheehaha..." Nancy tried to sound serious but burst out laughing. "You stood me up to fool around with him..."

"I know...but he's a great kisser...what can I say...oh...sorry Nan..." Hope could almost punch herself for shooting her mouth off. Frank had always been a sensitive topic between the both of them but sometimes, Hope would just forget.

"Ah...so I see...it's alright...I think I won't go today. I actually called to say I won't be able to make it. Got a date too...and besides, Mic says Joe's a little...we'll get thrown out." There was a little sorrow in the voice. Hope understood. Everyone got thrown out.

"We'll see Joe another day, maybe Friday...everyone's in a better mood on Friday...and who's this date? And since when did you call that Michel guy Mic?"

"Since...this week. Ok...don't tease me...he's my date...and...enjoy yourself. We deserve it."

"Thanks Nan. Byebye..."

"Bye!"

She was about to join Frank when she saw him right behind her. And she realized she might have not closed the door properly being in such a haste to apologize. Even in the dimness of the room, she could tell that Frank's expression had darkened, he must have heard everything.

"So you're going to see Joe on Friday. Were you supposed to go with Nancy today?" He asked her coolly, his features still.

"It's not what you think Frank...I owe it to Joe...I may not even be here if he hadn't sacrificed himself for us..."

"Ah...alright. I never said you can't go, you don't have to be so defensive." Frank gave her an insincere smile before turning his back on her. Hope felt her heart twisted into a knot. She knew Frank was really displeased with her because if he was only angry, he would have a temper, just like everyone else. But now, he was all "cool" and "accommodating" and that scared her.

"Frank, listen to me..." She ran up to her boyfriend and took his arm, stopping him in mid-strides. He stood still but kept quiet and Hope was at a loss of what to say to make him understand that she had to do this because Joe had saved her life and no matter what happened, she still treats Joe like a friend.

"You're right, I was going to see Joe but I place you before him, before anyone else, I came back with you baby...and seeing Joe doesn't mean I don't love you, he helped me and Nan escape from that horrible place after all..."

Frank turned around, his hands clenched. "Then go to your savior, like I said, I did not say you can't go."

"If you're afraid, you can always come with me, he'll love to see you, I know that." Hope looked at him with hope in her eyes, wishing against all odds that he would say yes.

Frank gave her a very strange look, a deadly look but it was not directed at her. "Oh, he'll love to I'm sure. I've experienced how he'll love to. I don't think I want to see him again."

Hope caught what was Frank saying and smiled shakily. "You have been to see him? Then you'll know how much pain he's in..."

"PAIN! Don't talk to me about pain." Frank burst out before going lethally soft. "Everyone looks at him, his burns, his ramblings, his frantic pleas of forgiveness and imagine that the poor baby must be in so much...pain...but what about my pain? Our pain? My dad may have forgotten but I have not. It is this pain that's driving me crazy. Don't you know I hope more than you that...never mind. You're already won over, he saved you. What can I say? I wasn't the one who sacrificed myself to save you. I left you alone in the office so you can go gallivanting with Nan!" Frank breathed heavily, his eyes shooting daggers at something else only he could see, probably an image of Joe in his mind.

"I love you..."

"Yah right...got it. Now go see him, before it's too late. He might be sleeping already." Frank snarled at her and she let the tears she had been holding back stream down her face. He saw her cry and she felt him relent a little but abruptly, he turned around again.

"I'm going to lose you to him soon anyway. I'm healthy, handsome and virile. He's weak, scarred and in pain. Who's going to tug at your heartstrings more? Me or your old boyfriend? There's really no contest." He said bitterly and shook his hand loose and sank down to the sofa, refusing to have eye contact with her.

Hope sat down beside him and tilted his head towards her but he was stubborn, refusing to let her have her way. "You're not going to lose me. I love you, so much. I made my choice seven months ago, seeing him doesn't mean I'll stop loving you, in any case, everyday, I love you more and more." She looked at him with so much love and tenderness in her eyes. He took a glance at her and saw himself in her eyes, loved and very cherished. He was touched and took her hands into his.

"Hope, everyone can leave me. I can give up anything, my friends, my wealth, my life. But...I cannot have you leave me, you understand? I don't really have much now. My family, the family I've worked so hard far, tried so hard to keep together is falling apart and maybe it's because of him, maybe it's not but I feel like I'm losing something very important to me everyday. And I don't want to wake up to a day when I find that I don't have you. I can't...Hope..." He looked deep into her eyes, a look that made her felt like electricity was surging through her, and a look that caused her to anticipate for something, something very precious.

"Marry me." He kissed her hands and looked at her with so much longing, so much hope. She knew she wanted this but was it the best time? Nevertheless, he had asked and her heart knew the answer.

"No diamond ring?" She smiled at him with so much joy through her tears and he laughed, merrily, and pulled her in a tight embrace, showering her with little butterfly kisses.

"I love you so much..." He mumbled into her hair. She cried tears of joy. The insecurity she felt had all but melted completely. She kissed him fiercely back, abandoning herself to the rapture of the moment.

With all the sadness that was happening, all the hurt that was eating at everybody, their lives needed a little happiness and this was the happiness that she sought.

"You're looking dood...I mean...good. Damn! I just trip over my words all the time." Michel ran a hand through his brown hair and his eyes twinkled. "Must be a pretty lady making me stupid."

Nancy shook her head and chuckled. She had received a voicemail from Michel two days ago and they had talked about Bob Garland escaping and probably on his way to seek revenge on the Hardys, especially Fenton, Frank and Joe who had, in their own ways, ruined his plans. Nancy was more worried about Joe though, Fenton and Frank could take care of themselves, Joe could not.

And as they were discussing, Michel suddenly asked her out of dinner and in that moment of surprise, she said yes and there they are, in a cozy eatery in Little Port which Michel swore served the best cheese steaks. She liked his easy-going nature and found his willingness to help very attractive and she had enjoyed the night, it had been a long time since she went out on any dates.

Not to mention he did share physical similarities with all her past boyfriends, namely Ned Nickerson and Frank Hardy. All three were tall, well built and had brown hair and eyes but of different shapes, textures and shades. While Ned had light brown hair and brown eyes that seemed a little hazel in some angles, Frank had dark brown hair and the most intense pair of deep brown eyes she had ever seen. Girls could get lost in those eyes, which from some angles, exuded the shade of mysterious black.

Michel had a good-looking face, attractive enough to take a second look but not the jock cuteness of Ned, nor the GQ suaveness of Frank. Yet, he had a very comforting warmth about him and a very genial nature and she wondered why, after working for a couple of years with the Network, she had not noticed it before.

She socked him right after his comment, blushing. She was flattered and was glad, with a slight guilt, that she had changed her plans after all and not gone to visit Joe. She had been looking forward to the date until she called Hope and Frank had picked up the phone, saying what he did. Her heart felt pierced with arrows and her stomach churned but she could not let her friend know. She had given them her blessings, though it was difficult. Yet she knew if Frank had gone back to her, they would continue to drive each other crazy. She was too strong for him and he was too much of a control-freak for her.

Yup, reasons to make me feel better, like I haven't made the wrong choice. Damn! Why am I not over him yet?

Nancy had always been honest with herself and her feelings. She could deny to the whole world, tell the world that she was over Frank and that she was ready to move on. But to herself, lying would be futile because she had a lifetime to share with herself. But knowing these feelings, acknowledging these feelings towards Frank made her all the more resolved to get over him and she knew she would, she only feared she would fall into the temptation of using Michel to get over her heartbreak and after that, if she had fallen in love with Michel, everything would work out but if not, then she would have hurt a great guy.

"Ow, I have heard of people unable to take compliments graciously but never have I met one who would react violently..." he protested, rubbing the spot she had punched lightly and playfully. She knew he was exaggerating and simply made a face at him.

He was 30, going onto 31. She was 24, going on to 25. There was a gap of six years between them but during the whole night, he had been anything but boring and she felt a closeness to him, probably due to the bond they shared, the common bond of secrecy, a bond borne out of danger, being secret agents and all.

"Well, now you know that I'm secretly sado-masochist. Still interested?" She teased him, pretending to go a little psycho through hooded eyes.

He laughed and put an arm around her, drawing her close. "Thank goodness then, have I told you I'm a masochist myself? We'll make a great match." She giggled and pushed him away lightly. They continued walking the stretch of road to his car, not holding hands, not with arms around each other but very close to each other. Sometimes, his hand would very accidentally brush against hers, she noted with amusement. It was very juvenile actually, but she liked it, strangely. It was fun to still be able to flirt. She resisted the temptation to hold his hand and at one point, clasped her hands behind her back while giving him a very innocent smile. He simply blushed, shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down on the floor, unable to wipe a sheepish grin off his face.

Though they had promised not to talk shop, Nancy wanted to ask him about Joe. Among all of them, he was the closest person to Joe right now. He had mentioned that Joe was down in the dumps (what's so weird about that?) but refused to say anything less, only that he had not been able to give Joe as much physical therapy as he should, worried that Joe's muscles would weaken and stiffen, rendering them almost useless.

"Without proper therapy, he might not be able to use his fingers as effectively as he could have. And he would forever walk baby steps. But there's nothing I can do about his limp. They shattered his shin."

"So, how's Joe? Have you been to see him this morning?"

He stopped looking very happy and put on a somber expression. Nancy had always been bewildered with Michel's attachment to Joe and had questioned, in the early stages before she felt his crush on her, whether Michel was interested in Joe in that way. After all, Joe did have a very beautiful, androgynous face and now that he was built like a waif, she could imagine that he might trigger that protectiveness (another likeness to Frank) in Michel and caused Michel to like him in that way. She was never comfortable with the topic of homosexuality but she had went up to Michel once and said she would accept him as a friend for he was and he had this incredulous look on him and laughed so hard. And then he explained to her that he was a guy in every sense of the word and that even Joe had once questioned him. He then told her he did not know why but he felt he had to help Joe, to guide him around. It was right, that Joe had triggered a sense of protectiveness, but that was all. More than anything, he treated Joe like a very difficult little brother.

"You're one of his blessings, among what few he has."

"I know. And I intend to keep it that way. He's actually a very special kid."

"I thought we all are special?"

"Yes, we are. But he doesn't know that."

"I went this morning, he's eating a little more now that Samantha's been enticing him with ice-cream, and we spend some time on the treadmill but he's unwilling to work his hands. I don't know...it's really tough on him. I know he plays the piano before."

"He's a genius at that. It's his true talent." Nancy replied dejectedly. It was difficult enough to be a crippled, even more so when the handicap took away one's natural abilities in some areas, for Joe, it was sprinting and piano.

"Hah, true talent, his true talent is to confuse everyone's with his mood swings, but..." Michel continued in softer, more understanding tones. "I can sympathize with that, especially after Frank..."he clammed up, realizing he had revealed too much.

Nancy stopped him. They were very close to his car and it was cold but she had to know what happened. "After Frank? What did Frank do?"

"Oh...you know...never visiting and stuff like that..." He tried to wave off the conversation. "Oh look! It's late, better get you back!"

"Mic! You're lying. Tell me, Joe's my friend too..."

"Why can't we talk about something else like our views on sex?"

"Mic!" Nancy raised her voice in exasperation. Trust Michel to want to get shallow at this time.

Michel saw her determination and knew he was not going to escape without letting her in on the truth. He took a deep breath. "Frank went back to see Joe."

"Oh..." It was supposed to be happy news but somehow, from Michel's expression and from the way he said Joe was acting, Nancy's heart that it was very bad news.

"From what I gathered from his nurse and servants, Joe and Frank had a confrontation of sorts with Marjory all tangled inside too...you can guess how it went."

Michel was right. Nancy could guess as Marjory's hatred for Joe ran deep. Sometimes, she wondered if it was Marjory who, in some ways, was stopping Frank from reuniting with his brother. Shaking her head, she knew the answer was yes but it was not all. The crimes Joe was supposed to commit, or maybe really had commit, were too difficult to come to terms with. If she was in Frank's shoes, she might be even more hardened than him.

She had not realized she was standing in the middle of streets lost in her thoughts for a very long time until Michel waved his hands in front of her face and went "Ooh hoo..." Breaking out of her reverie, she gave him a weak smile and slipped her arm through his, allowing him to guide her to his car.

"I had a great time." Nancy had unbelted herself and planted a quick kiss on Michel's cheek. He grinned happily, he was so easily contended.

"I guess I never really confessed outright to you but...I really like you...since you came into Network...didn't ask you out because you were after all, going out with Frank Hardy, I don't have the wealth to compete with that rich kid...and..." He closed his eyes, embarrassed at what he said. When he opened them again, he saw Nancy looking at him with such captivating blue eyes and his attraction for her gave him the courage to take the risk.

"Do I stand a chance?"

She smiled and pretended to think really hard. "I guess you might...but...I'm not looking for anything serious now, but a few dates here and there...a quick kiss, someone to hold for a while..." She looked straight into his eyes, sending him to heaven and back. "I think I can handle that...can you?"

"The no commitments but with all the sweet things part? Hey...sure..." He smiled, relieved for the semi-positive answer. It would be serious; he would make sure of that. He really wanted her and he was an old man, wanting to have a second chance with someone he liked and maybe, settle down.

No ugly things like annulments or divorce again, I think she could be it. The one. The ONE.

He leaned forward and kissed the soft, pale lips. She kissed him back. It was nothing passionate or promising to lead to other things. It was just sweet and very nice.

"Thanks for dinner...I'll see you around?" She broke the kiss and was about to get out of the car and he was still lost in the moment of bliss.

"Oh..yah...sure...I'll look forward to that..."

She threw him a dazzling smile and walked to her apartment building, stopping along the way to greet the security guard. He did not have the habit of sending a girl right up to the doorstep. He was Michel Angelos, the one who waited at the sidelines, the one who waited in the car until he saw that she went back safely, that the lights in her unit was switched on before driving off.

"Hello! Nancy here." Nancy balanced her mobile with her neck and chin as she fumbled for her keys. She had not the chance to look at the caller-id and was slightly excited to hear the voice on the other line.

"Hey Nan...Frank here..."

She smiled and put her bag on her coffee table before sitting down on the sofa and kicking off her shoes.

"I will know your voice anywhere...you sound happy, what gives?"

"I proposed to Hope. She said yes. I want you, my best friend, to be the first to know."

She was stunned and the happy mood that she had earlier was forgotten. A strange numbness washed over her, she did not know what to say.

So it is done. He had chosen.

"Oh...I'm so happy for the both of you...congratulations! Holding any reception to announce the...well...happy announcement?" She feigned happiness and elation, protecting them, protecting herself.

"I think so...I'll leave it to Hope to plan, got a new project that I want to fight for...if it's not too much trouble, maybe you can help her out? She gets so stressed over these things...she's right now in the bathroom, rambling about brands of dresses, how many to invite, who to invite, how many kids we'll have...it's so hilarious just to hear her..."

Nancy could imagine Frank smiling warmly at the scenario, the smile that would warm that face that had gotten colder and colder as years passed by. The smile that would melt his eyes and turned her once into liquid. The smile, the Frank Hardy smile.

"Great! I'm sure it'll be fun...did I mention I'm so happy for you? Really happy?"

Stop laying it on so thick...he'll know...

But Frank was too much in love to notice such things which he normally would have caught even a mile away. "Yes you did, many times...I don't think I've been happier..."

Not even when you proposed to me before? But then I did say no.

"I'll help her out...thanks for telling me first..." She could feel her voice cracking soon; she needed to end this conversation. Fortunately Frank did it for her.

"Oh...Hope's out now...can't talk, I'm sure she'll tell you tomorrow, she's still a little...caught up now...it's really cute...I'll see you soon?"

"Yah...bye..." She replied ever so softly, fearing her voice would break. Then without waiting for him to put down his phone, she clicked her mobile off.

Staring into the blank television screen, she was suddenly so overwhelmed by memories of her and Frank, the way they had to deny their feelings for each other when they were still innocent teenagers, still convincing each other that they were in love with their partners at that time, the battles they had fought to be together, the tensed moments they had and the way they drifted apart, salvaged only by deciding to go back to friendship.

And then the first drop of tear rolled down. After that, there was no stopping the breaking of the dam.

In her misery, she forgotten to tell him about Bob's escape.