(time and date unknown)

The chill of the metal table under Joe's bare shoulders and back crept slowly, ever-so-slowly upward, through his muscles, even to his bones. He kept shivering uncontrollably as his discomfort continued. He struggled occasionally, in the hope that the chains just might give away and let him escape but each time they yielded as little as they did the time before that, and the time before that, and the time before that. Each time he subsided into confused exhaustion and shivered even worse than before the exertion.

Joe admitted, to no one but himself, that he was confused. Derak had him right where Derak wanted him. Was there something in the pervs-of-the-world handbook that said you had to torture your victim first? Make him (or her) too tired to perform? Joe sighed again.

He did not like the darkness. In fact, the longer he lay in the musky dark, the more he wanted to be able to simply see more than the shadows about him. He felt guilty for those feelings - Frank lived with worse darkness than this with no hope, for now, of ever getting out of it. Joe felt even more awe for his older brother - Frank never complained, never railed about the injustice of it all, he merely coped with it.

Well, Joe vowed. If Frank can live with it, so can I. I am not afraid. I refuse to be afraid. I refuse to give Uncle Derak that satisfaction. If I do, I may as well give up and never fight him. Never.

Joe relaxed his shoulders as much as the chains allowed and thought instead of his family. He always thought himself independent, able to get along without the need of anyone else ever. He knew he was resilient, able to fight and strong but, more than anything right now, he wanted his family. He wanted his brother and sister, his father and mother. A gentle touch to assure him that he was all right would go further than just about anything, even a warm blanket or something to eat.

The young detective quivered inside, the fear and tears just under the surface of his emotions. The fear ate at him, the memories of a pain so deep surfacing. With the very concerted help of his family and a very good therapist he had not built a wall around the memories of what Derak did to him but he had learned to deal with them, to face them, to defeat them. The mornings when he had to wake up and walk through the steps that got him going for that day had gone two years ago.

Now he felt it all washing away like a flood about to burst a levy. The sandbags were about to be swept away under a current and he wanted to scream in terror and frustration and to beg for his life, to beg Derak to let him go, to please, please not go through with whatever sick plans he had.

Joe, college sophomore, fighter, detective, boyfriend, son and brother was not at all sure he could survive this again. He wasn't ten-years-old but the thoughts of those terrible hours with his Uncle when he was ten made him feel like that ten-year-old boy. The young detective went through the steps again and again. The steps that allowed him to cope, to try to live, even in this dark, musty hole in the ground. He heard Doctor Morgan's voice in his head, he pictured her bright auburn hair, the way her green eyes flashed whenever she gave orders.

Thinking of Doctor Morgan made Joe think of Samantha. They didn't look a thing alike, for all they both had reddish hair and green eyes. Doctor Morgan had the looks of a super-model with just a bit too much brain. Maybe, Joe thought with a grimace, like Famke Jansen from the X-Men movie. No, Doctor Morgan didn't even look like that. For one, her eyes had this way they danced when she finally got around to giving advice. Samantha, on the other hand, was less cold looking and in many ways prettier. Not that Doctor Morgan was an...

What are you doing, Joe? He brushed back his blonde hair. What the heck are you doing? You're lying chained to a table and you're comparing your therapist with your brother's girlfriend. Real intelligent, Hardy. Completely. Find brain and reinsert in slot. Thank you. Good boy.

Joe was no idiot, though. He knew just why it was he thought of his therapist and his brother's girlfriend and why he compared them. He would rather think of anything other than what it was that his Uncle might do to him, any minute now. If he thought of Doctor Morgan and saw her in his head then he just might get through this with his sanity intact. What had she told him to do if he found himself caught again? Build something in his head?

(Flashback)

Joe scuffed his foot on the carpet as he stared out the window in Doctor Morgan's fifth-floor-office in the very expensive, very posh office complex located in the Bayport Heights region of Bayport. At fourteen he had been coming to Doctor Morgan for the last four years, since two weeks after... his mind still shied away from it even though Doctor Morgan told him it wasn't healthy. She said it was normal but he needed to accept it, not force it back.

Easy for her to say, he grumbled to himself.

"You still with me, Joe?" Doctor Morgan asked from her seat beside the chair that Joe normally sat in. The one thing he liked about Doctor Morgan's office was she didn't insist on the use of her couch. In fact, the couch pulled apart into sectional pieces, one with a recliner and that was Joe's favorite chair. The office was done up in what Doctor Morgan called 'silliness.' Part of the wall contained comic book characters, like Spider-man and the X-men and Superman and Batman and some other sillier things like Sailor Moon, Scooby-Doo, Flintstones and even Star Trek, Star Wars and other stuff like that. Another wall was done all up in weird hieroglyphi stuff that Joe didn't understand. Wall to ceiling. Joe suspected, suspiciously, that they were inkblots.

The last wall that wasn't window was shelves of books and music, a stereo-system, a TV and VCR and a large rack of videos. Doctor Morgan was not like any therapist Joe ever heard about in his life.

"With you," Joe mumbled as he looked back out the window. He saw cars going down below and wanted to be out there. The sun was shining.

"You're about fifteen blocks away from here," Doctor Morgan said with a little laugh. "Which is OK, Joe. Go ahead and tell me what you're thinking about. You won't hurt my feelings, they're fairly resilient."

Joe sighed and turned back around. He leaned against the window and crossed his arms in front of him.

"It's nice out there and I'm stuck in here," Joe said, finally. "That's what I'm thinking about. I want to be out playing with my friends."

"Ah," Doctor Morgan said, somewhat noncommittally.

Joe frowned at that. He hated when she went all doctor on him like that. The other thing he always liked about her is that while she made him do a portion of the talking she was never afraid to make him feel better. According to some of his friends at school she was very different. Maybe that's why his mom chose her.

"Come on," she said as she stood and held out her hand to him.

Joe blinked at her in surprise. "What..?"

"You want to go out, we'll go out. I'm afraid the playing with your friends will have to wait until you go home but we can go outside to have our talk today. There's a small park in the back, you've probably seen it."

Joe nodded. He had seen it but had never gotten to play in it before. He cautiously approached her, as if he expected this to be some kind of trick. He didn't trust anyone, not fully, not yet. Well, he trusted Mandy. And his mother. And he was pretty sure he trusted his dad and Frank and Aunt Gertrude. But not anybody else, not even Doctor Morgan.

They went out to the park, though and sat in swings. Doctor Morgan smiled a lot out there that day. She swung herself just as high as Joe did and didn't ask a single question until there was only about ten minutes left of their session. She stopped and went to sit on the bench but said nothing.

"Your mom said you've been pretty quiet lately," Doctor Morgan said at last. "She said you wouldn't talk to her about what's been on your mind."

Joe sighed. He knew that was coming.

"I've..." he started but it seemed to silly to talk about.

Doctor Morgan didn't prompt him - she never did. She just looked at him from those really pretty green eyes that looked understanding and kind all at once.

"Uncle D-derak will g-get out... someday..." he said softly. "I've... b-been thinking about that."

"I was wondering if it was that," Doctor Morgan said. "What have you thought about it?"

"What... if he gets me again?" Joe asked in a small, small voice. Joe felt ten again, just as small as he did when Uncle Derak was... and he had grown nearly five inches since then. "I couldn't... Doctor Morgan I can't again. It... I can't."

Doctor Morgan put her arm around him, gently, not squeezing, always, always giving Joe a chance for 'escape' if it was too close. She patted his arm and nodded.

"I can help you with that, Joe," she said in her soft voice that wasn't too high or too low. "Here's what I want you to work on, to do. I won't tell you that your Uncle may never get you again. You asked me to never lie to you when we started and I'm keeping my promise. I don't know what's in the future. I do know your parents will do everything in their power, they'll do anything they have to do to keep you safe from him again. But here's what I want you to remember, Joe.

"If it ever does happen again, if the worst thing ever happens and he does get you here's how you get through it. You forget what he's doing to you. Instead, you think of something else. The best way to do that is to build something. Build something you like. Your mom said you really like motorcycles right now. Read some magazines on how to build magazines and then you can build a motorcycle in your head. Don't miss any parts of it. Or if there's something else you like, build that. Build a house. But don't skip any parts. Put in every nail. Put in every nut and bolt. And even if the pain gets really bad, keep building. It won't be easy, Joe."

"Will... that work?" Joe asked.

Doctor Morgan nodded. "A man who was taken prisoner in Vietnam survived being a prisoner-of-war by building, I think it was a car. He built every single part of that car, he visualized putting in all of the nuts, all of the bolts, every single piece of it. It took him several years to finish building that car but it got him through torture, through starvation. Building that car got him through the experience still sane.

"I can't promise it will be easy," she said. "It's very hard to maintain that concentration but if you ever lose track of what you're doing go back to what you remember and start from there again. Don't give up on it. This is your car, Joe. Your motorcycle, your house, your whatever you want it to be. It's your link to yourself."

Joe nodded and smiled for the first time that day. Maybe, he thought as Doctor Morgan led him back up to her office to meet his father, maybe it would work. Maybe.

Joe changed what he would build sometimes on a weekly basis but he never forgot to have something in his head. Even ten years later he remembered that his Uncle might come after him again and he kept his contingency plan, his 'item' planned so that he wouldn't have to concentrate or focus on whatever his Uncle wanted to do to him.

It might, Joe reflected. Be the only thing that gets me through sane.

An overhead light clicked on and blinded Joe more fully than the darkness ever did. Joe turned his head to one side and shifted his shoulder up a little to shield his eyes. He saw light spots that swirled in front of his eyes even with them squeezed shut. It took some time for him to be able to open his eyes fully, a matter of degrees, of opening then closing, opening then closing again until he could keep them open. He turned his head cautiously, almost afraid of what - or who - he would see.

Nothing.

Nothing but a cold, concrete gray room that resembled something from Attila-the-Hun's personal torture chamber. No, it wasn't even that, not really. A huge, multi-bulb round chandelier hung from the ceiling overhead, a cascade of cheap-looking and dusty crystals hung on varied-colored strings from the base of the chandelier. Joe looked over his head at the wall behind him and saw that the chains attached to the shackles around his wrists were fixed to the mouths of gothic-looking medieval lion plagues. The looks on the two lions were baleful glares that cut right through the young detective. He trembled again and looked away.

The sidewall to the left was half-wall and half-staircase that ended, not at a door or even a wall but merely... nowhere. It stopped, of all places, halfway up to the ceiling. There was nothing up above it but open air and, in the ceiling over it, something that looked like a rectangle of wood, maybe where the staircase used to go.

The rest of the left wall had a gothic picture of what Joe assumed to be two lovers. He looked quickly away from that and found he now looked at the baleful glares of the lions on the next wall, beyond his feet. The chains from the shackles around his ankles were, once again, attached to the mouths of the lions. Joe winced as he saw the two crossed-swords between them, both with nasty serrated edges on them.

The right looked to be the safest place to look. In the center of it was a large mantle and fireplace made of gray stone of some sort. Along the top of the fireplace though, were pictures. One was of Joe, with his family, sitting in their living room when Joe was nine. Over Joe's picture, written in red marker, was the single word 'mine.' Joe's blood chilled.

The next picture, taken when Joe was sixteen, was of him and Iola, walking out in front of the school. Again, 'mine' was written in red marker over Joe's head but Iola's slim figure had been X'd out with a black marker. The next picture was a year later, from Joe's senior class prom. This time he and Vanessa stood together, facing each other. Joe remembered how uncomfortable the tuxedo had been but it had been worth it. Vanessa had a dreamy expression on her face, one filled with happiness. Again, there was the red-inked 'mine' over Joe's head but Vanessa was X'd out.

The last picture was a large group picture taken at the beach at the end of the last summer. All of the faces but Joe's were X'd out. Joe grimaced and turned away again to stare up at the sparkles of crystals that streamed light about the room. He shivered again from cold and fear. His uncle was more insane than even Joe imagined. Derak not only wanted to do the unmentionable with him but it seemed that Derak was hell-bent on playing mind games to do it.

Joe jumped when something mechanical clanked overhead and he looked up at the ceiling in time to see the rectangular section of the floor slide out of the way and the missing half of the stairs slowly lowered from above. Joe's mouth gaped open when he saw the steps coming down, lowered by some sort of elaborate hoist system. The steps fitted firmly into place with the steps of the lower half of the staircase. As soon as two resounding clicks were heard, the whirring noise stopped and it was silent once more.

Joe frowned and looked up at the opening, his struggles with the cold, the shackles and the fear momentarily forgotten. He didn't know what it heralded, the opening of the ceiling and the arrival of the top part of the stairs. He was pretty sure he didn't want to know either. He looked up at the glaring lions and then at the glaring lions at his feet.

"Good day, Joseph," the mechanical voice was back and Joe stopped his struggles again to stare up at the opening in the ceiling.

Joe said nothing, he continued to glare up at the ceiling. He had the feeling of being watched, as if there were cameras all over the place. For all he knew there were; he knew they could hide them just about anywhere and a person wouldn't know it. That thought gave Joe the heebie-jeebies. He shivered again and wished he could chafe his arms or something. He was freezing!

"You need to work on your manners, boy," the mechanical voice growled. "What do you say when someone says good day to you?"

Joe thought of several answers to that question, none of them polite and none of them very clean. He took a deep breath to keep from getting angry all over again.

"Let's try again," the mechanical voice sounded almost reasonable. "Good day, Joseph."

"Good. Day. Derak," Joseph said through gritted teeth. Drop dead Derak. Eat dirt Derak. Kiss off Derak. Bite me Derak.

And several other things that he wouldn't be able to say in front of his mother, his sister, his aunt or his girlfriend.

Feet appeared at the top of the stairs and began to descend downward. Joe watched silently as the feet became legs, the legs became the lower torso, the lower torso the upper torso and finally the whole person was down the stairs, carrying a tray as he came down the stairs. Joe couldn't see a face; it was covered up by a ski mask. Like that would prevent Joe from recognizing his sleezeball of an Uncle. Derak crossed the room to the table just at the feet of the table on which Joe lay. He sat the tray down on top of it and stopped.

"I will be removing the chains," the mechanical voice continued. It must be taped since Joe was positive the mouth of the person in front of him wasn't moving. He obviously recorded the message. "You will do everything that you are told to do or you will be chained, again, to the table and treated like the refuse you are. I am allowing dignity only because I don't wish you to be weak when I am... ready... for you."

Derak turned and pulled a device from the pocket of his black trousers. He aimed it at the fireplace. It moved out of the way and revealed a very small bathroom. Joe wondered what it mattered now; he hadn't had access to a bathroom in probably days and he smelled - badly. Amazing how he hadn't worried about that until now.

"There is no way out of this room," Derak told Joe. "No way save that staircase and when I leave it will be gone again. You will find clothes in the bathroom. They aren't much but they are what I am allowing you."

"Why are you playing games, Derak?" Joe demanded. "Just get what you want and get it over with."

"Oh, no," the mechanical voice continued and Joe jumped. He looked at his Uncle and he looked back at the opening in the ceiling. "Our games, our fun has just begun, Joseph. We have a long way to go before I get what I want. A very long way to go."

Joe frowned as he looked at the Uncle that he hated so much. What more could he possibly need to just do whatever it was he wanted to do?

"You took my family from me," Derak said again in that resonating mechanical voice. "And I have not forgiven or forgotten. I remember it all, Joseph Hardy. You have taken my family from me and I shall take your family from you. And then, only then, I will have you."

Joe struggled again. "You jerk! Just get it over with. Leave my family out of it! If it's me your after you have me! Leave my family alone! You don't need them. I'm the one you want!"

Derak lunged for him and wrapped his hand about Joe's throat and started squeezing, lightly enough to not seriously hurt Joe but hard enough that Joe had a very, very hard time breathing. Joe struggled again, unable to do anything to stop his uncle from doing what he was doing. Against his will, tears streaked down Joe's cheeks and he forgot all about what Doctor Morgan told him to do. He forgot the sleek 1966 Ford Mustang he'd been learning about the last three weeks, the one he had meant to rebuild if Derak had him. He became that ten-year-old boy unable to defend himself.

"You're not enough," the mechanical voice hissed at him. "You aren't enough, boy. Not yet. I will have what I want this time, what I want! I've waited this long for you, I can wait longer. There is no hope for them or for you."

"NO!" Joe screamed - or tried to scream. "Uncle Derak... please..."

Joe hated begging but he realized, in that instant, in just a flickering passage of time, that he would do anything - anything - to protect his family. He would give his body, his very soul to keep them safe.

"No," Derak said simply as he released Joe and walked back to the stairs. "They're mine just as you are, Joseph, only, I suspect you and I will have a lot more fun than your family will. Think on that, my boy. Just like those pictures say, you are mine and nobody is going to stand in the way of that."

Derak ascended the stairs without another word and a moment later the stairs began to ascend after him, pulled up by whatever mechanical system Derak had in place for such things. For a minute, Joe thought Derak had forgotten to release him, to let him get up and at least try to clean up but a moment later he heard a snapping sound and the shackles about his wrists opened. Joe pulled his aching shoulders down and curled up in a ball on the dirty table, his whole body in pain from being in one position for so long. He fought back tears only barely, though he wanted to break down and sob.

"Mandy, help me," he whispered, then. "Mandy... Frank... someone..."

Joe didn't know how long he lay there. It took some time before he forced himself to sit up and take stock of his situation. He had light still; he half expected Derak to take that away from him just to be cruel again. Joe slid off the table onto shaky legs and nearly stumbled when he took his first step. He stood, unmoving, for several more seconds then took a step toward the bathroom. This time he felt sturdier and he walked very slowly to the welcoming little alcove in the room. He frowned when he realized the door wouldn't close. Just like Derak promised, there was clothing of a sort in the room, along with several towels, washcloths and some soap.

Joe didn't know how long it took him to clean up, use the facility and get on the new 'clothing.' The clothing, in this case, consisted of a silk robe that barley went down to the top of his legs and a pair of silk boxers that weren't his taste at all. He felt cleaner though and he carefully washed out his swim trunks and hung them off of the rail in the bathroom.

Joe turned at last to the dinner that had been brought for him. He half-suspected his Uncle had drugged the lot of it but the rumbling of his stomach told him that he wouldn't be able to resist eating. Joe did drink several mouthfuls of water from the water faucet then took a towel and a washcloth to clean off his 'bed.' Once that was done, he cleaned his hands again and sat down to eat.

The food was bland and cold but as far as his stomach was concerned, he wasn't about to turn it down. In fact, he savored each bite, including the broccoli sprouts that he hated with a passion. That done, Joe turned from the tray and frowned. Not like there as much to do down here. The table was bolted to the floor so he couldn't get at the swords that were too far up for him to reach.

Joe sat down in the chair by the table again and sighed. He stood again and began to do stretching exercises. If he couldn't do anything else, he could do exercises. He did pushups, sit-ups, stomach tucks, jumping jacks, he jogged in place, then around the room, up the half-flight of stairs, down again, up the half-flight of stairs...

...then had to stop.

Joe's vision swam before him all at once and he nearly fell. Just like he feared, the food had been drugged. One of the slowest acting drugs Joe ever encountered but drugged all the same. Joe stumbled toward the hard metal table and fell across it, barely getting his legs up onto the table before he fell deeply asleep.

He thought he woke up once to something being put over him but it wasn't that he remembered. He thought he heard a low voice speaking to him once and a mouth pressed to his own. The voice said, he thought, "Soon, my Joey, soon."

But he was asleep once more.

The Loss PG