Ashes to ashes......

Frank didn't care if they saw him cry. He didn't care if they saw him down on his knees. He didn't care if they saw him lose control.

Dust to dust...

At the minister's last words, he didn't even care if he went on living. God had taken away the one person he loved more than anybody else in the world and he could see no reason for living anymore.

Through vision blurred with tears, Frank knelt down in front of the fresh grave. He ran his fingers over the headstone, his heart sinking as he realized that the crude granite block was the last reminder that his brother, his beautiful baby brother had once walked the earth.

It's not fair, Frank thought numbly, balling his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. He could feel fresh tears welling in his eyes. His brother had seemed invincible, undeterred by anything that stood in his way. Joe was such a strong person, inside and outside. Grief started crashing over him in waves, overwhelming and overpowering like he'd been hit by a ton of bricks.

"Joe!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" he screamed his brother's name, the sole syllable tearing up his heart and tearing up the core of his soul. His whole body shook uncontrollably. "Joe..."

"Frank," he heard someone call his name. But it sounded so far away; Frank thought he was just imagining it. All that mattered to him was that his brother was dead.

"Frank," the voice called again, louder this time. Frank blinked. Wait a second. Joe's engraved name was blurring. In fact everything looked blurry. Frank blinked again.

"Frank, wake up," someone said, shaking his shoulder gently. Wake up from what? He felt someone shaking him again. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and opened them again. Vanessa stood in front of him, bringing him around. Her eyes were red and puffy.

"I am so sorry, Vanessa," Frank whispered, burying his head in his hands. "I tried to save him..."

"Frank, Joe's not dead," Vanessa said. Frank froze.

"What did you say?"

"He's not dead," Vanessa repeated firmly. "Gosh, you should have more faith in your brother-"

But Frank wasn't listening. He looked around. Instead of rows and rows of headstones, he could see rows and rows of plastic chairs. Instead of smelling the sweet, musky smell of earth, his nose wrinkled in disgust at the stench of disinfectant, a stink always associated with hospitals. He was in the hospital.

"Joe's not dead?" Frank asked, a hopeful gleam in his tired, bloodshot brown eyes.

"He's still in there." Vanessa tossed her head toward the emergency room. "We came as soon as we heard." She sighed, raking her unruly blond hair which was unusually untidy and tangled. Though she appeared calm, Frank knew how shaken she was. No matter how many times Joe managed to land himself in the hospital, she knew she was never going to get used to it. And dating Joe, she knew he'd been in the hospitals more than enough in the past 17 years of his life to last him two lifetimes.

Frank's wristwatch said 10.40 p.m. Joe had been in the emergency room for more than an hour. More than enough time for the worst nightmare of my life, Frank thought, remembering his dream. He shuddered as the images flashed through his mind...Joe collapsing in the van, his trembling finger reaching for his brother's neck just to find his pulse irregular and thready. He remembered driving the van as fast as he could to Bayport General emergency room, near hysterics when the doctors could not detect Joe's heartbeat. He remembered the sound of the ER doors banging open as they rushed Joe in, remembered restraining hands as they pushed into one of the seats in the waiting room, but he couldn't remember drifting off to sleep after his mind cleared enough a little to call Vanessa.

"What happened, Frank?" Vanessa asked dully. She was hanging out with Callie at her house when suddenly Frank called and told her the terrible news.

"I don't know, Vanessa," Frank said helplessly. "Right after dinner Joe's stomach suddenly started hurting a lot and-and then he went into a seizure then he c-collapsed." Frank's voice broke, his face crumpling. Vanessa put an arm around Frank's shoulders and hugged him close.

"Frank, you're awake," a new voice joined them. Callie stood in front of them, in her hands two polystyrene cups of coffee. She handed one to each of them. "Here. You look like you need some."

After what felt like eternity, a doctor in scrubs stepped out of the trauma room and looked around, his eyes at last fixing on Frank and the girls.

"Are you here for Joseph Hardy?" he asked. "My name is Dr. Carter." He was a fine looking man in his late twenties with wavy brown hair and warm brown eyes.

"How is my brother, Doctor?" Frank asked anxiously. "What's wrong with him?"

"Your brother has been poisoned, Mr. Hardy," said Dr. Carter gravely. "We found traces of arsenic in his blood, strong enough to kill three men of his size. It was a miracle that he survived."

Poisoned? Frank felt all the blood drain from his face. He choked out, "Is he going to be okay?"

"I'm not going to lie to you, Mr. Hardy. His condition is very serious and although we've stabilized him for the time being, there is a possibility of a relapse because the poison has dangerously weakened his system and we're doing the best we can. The rest all depends on him." The doctor's words somewhat calmed Frank down. At least Joe's still alive, he thought.

"Can we see him?" Vanessa asked. The doctor was about to argue but then relented. "Okay. But one at a time."

There was no question of who should go first. Frank licked his lips before standing up and making his way towards his brother. His legs were shaky but he managed to make it. He stood outside the hospital room door for a moment, taking a deep breath as he gathered together his courage. Pushing the door open, he held his breath in anticipation of what he'd see.

Joe was on the bed in the middle of the room, oxygen being fed through his nose to help him breathe. His head was turned to the side, his eyes closed and Frank took advantage of the time to truly take a hard look at his little brother. Joe looked terrible. He was so pale he outdid the whiteness of the bare hospital walls.

An IV was pumping fluid sluggishly into his arm and tubes and wires coming in and out of every part of Joe's prone body-his nose, his mouth, his chest, his forearms-everywhere and they were attached to big, bulky machines monitoring his vitals. Frank couldn't bear to stare more than a few seconds at the EKG, not when Joe's heartbeat was fluttery and irregular like those squiggly lines moving up and down at an alarmingly slow rate. Joe looked so small on the bed, and Frank could feel tears welling once again in his eyes.

The doctor had told them that Joe still had not regained consciousness and wasn't likely to-not for a couple of hours, he said. But thinking of all the drugs that were pumping into Joe's veins Frank doubted it. Who could have done this? He thought in rage. Then he remembered.

"Oh my God," he whispered, guilt replacing anger and grief as once again he was assaulted with memories. "I did this."

"Wanna trade?" Joe offered.

"My, you're in a generous mood today," Frank commented, taking Joe's plate and handing him his own.

"Just trying to be nice," Joe muttered.

That poison was meant for me, he realized with a heart sinking as fast a plunging elevator. I should be the one lying in this bed, not Joe. This is all my fault. Frank took Joe's limp hand, careful not to disturb the IV and cried softly.

The moment he picked up the phone, she barked, "He's not dead, you moron."

There was a dead silence. "That's impossible. I was careful with it." His voice was flat, void of emotion.

"Not careful enough," she snapped. "Wait till Billie hears about this."

Damn, damn, damn, he cursed as she hung up. He couldn't believe this. He put enough poison in that thing to kill 5 people, let alone a 17 year-old boy. It was pure luck that the kid didn't die. Then the corners of his mouth tilted upward in a sly smile.

Frank was exhausted. He'd stayed with Joe until 4 o'clock in the morning and reluctantly he let Vanessa take over after she'd gone back home, changed and come back. He was planning to get a cup of coffee, go back to Joe's room and try his damnedest to persuade Vanessa to go back home and sleep. He was not looking forward to the task though, knowing full well how stubborn his brother's girlfriend can be at times. Just like Joe, he thought sadly.

Stifling a yawn, Frank got himself a big cup of steaming coffee and bought a couple of Three Musketeers bars from the vending machine, wondering for the thousandth time why they still had these machines selling chocolate bars and all other sickly-sweet goodies in hospitals. Hello? Sugar? Diabetes? Ring a bell? God, I'm beat, he thought as he yawned again. I'm even making stupid jokes when my brother is lying near death because of me. All because of me. Frank raised a hand to wipe away the stray tear that had escaped as emotions threatened to overcome him once again. Why? Why did I trade with him? Oh my God, why?

Control yourself, Frank, he commanded himself. It's not going to do Joe or anybody any good if you lose control now. Joe needs you. Joe needs you more than ever now to find whoever had done this to him. Frank nearly laughed. The person who did all this was right here. He did it to Joe.

"Stop it," Frank whispered, rubbing a hand over his face. He forced his legs to move and with a heart as heavy as stone, he dragged himself up to Joe's room. The sight that awaited him froze him in his tracks.

Vanessa was lying sprawled on the floor and someone was pressing a pillow onto his brother's face, cutting off his supply of air, suffocating him. Killing him.

Pain PG