Just a warning: This chapter may be unsuitable, offensive and sensitive for some. (Adult matter) PARENTAL ADVISORY

"No, that can't be," Frank whispered and gently pushed Vanessa aside, heading toward the police officers crowding at the door, their faces grim and tense. Frank shoved his way through the crowd, ignoring restraining hands and orders to stop, determined to see for himself when a burly man stood in his way.

"I'm sorry, sir, this is a crime scene-" He started to say but faltered when Frank glared at him, his eyes burning with venom. Get out of my way, his look said. The sympathetic cop let him pass through and nothing prepared Frank for what he was about to see.

Jerry lay face down, blood dripping down the sides of his face from a stab wound to the back of his head and pooling under his head, staining the carpet a dark, nauseating red. Frank rocked back on his heels, and he immediately felt hands supporting him from behind. Frank closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths and eventually the nauseous feeling abated, leaving him with a dull empty feeling in his gut. Frank dared to open his eyes again and he immediately felt blood rushing to his head again, certain he was going to fall for real this time.

A mass of fallen equipment and machines marred the far side of the room but was scared Frank the most was Joe's bed. There was blood everywhere- on the pillow, the pristine white sheet, on the floor even spattered on the pile of blankets at the foot of the bed. Frank was paralyzed, he couldn't speak, he couldn't move, he couldn't even think. Only one word played over and over in his jammed mind - JoeJoeJoeJoe

After long, long minutes Frank turned slowly, his eyes dull as he stared at the sympathetic and nervous faces staring back at him. A man stepped forward and gently took his arm, leading him as he made his way wobbly toward a bench. Frank slumped into his seat and buried his face in his hands, his whole body shaking and trembling as shock set in. Again after long, long minutes he lifted up slowly and turned to the man who was sitting patiently next to him.

"When did this happen?" Frank asked softly, his eyes staring blankly at Vanessa who was now openly crying in Callie's arms.

"A few minutes before you arrived. Your brother's girlfriend went out for a while to get a drink and when she came back, Jerry was already dead on the floor and Joe was gone," the man answered. "My name's Detective Jordan Gore and I am truly sorry about what had happened. Are you okay? Do you need some time alone?" he asked sympathetically.

"No, I'm-fine," Frank said. But Joe was not. He could feel it. Joe must have been sacred to death, he thought, blinking hard to hold back tears. I'm not gonna cry. Not this time. I'm going to find Joe and crying wouldn't help me at all. Then the words came, pouring out of him like an endless rush of water.,

"I know this has been very hard for you, Frank, but the police are doing everything they can to find your brother. There has been a murder here and I promise you there's not going to be another one," Gore said after Frank had finished telling him about everything-Weinhardt, the money, Allan Gregory, the attempted murders and his strange behavior with Joe . He looked into Frank's hopeful face and couldn't help feeling sorry for him. "I'm sure Joe is still alive if what you've been telling me about this Weinhardt is true."

"It's true," Frank said tiredly.

"We've sent some blood samples back to the lab to see whether it's Joe's," Gore explained. "And I have notified your parents and they are coming over right now." Frank nodded. Guess I've got a hell of explaining to do, he thought. Suddenly he jolted in his seat. Everyone turned to look in confusion when Frank started running, not even stopping to wait for the elevator, taking the stairs instead. In split seconds Frank was gone.

He knew it was Weinhardt who had taken Joe. Frank had seen too much and now once again Joe was paying the price. He tried Bobby's cell phone to call him on the way to Cohens' but the automated female voice told him that the service had been terminated. Figures, he thought in disgust, throwing the phone onto the passenger's seat and stepped on the gas. He'd driven almost everywhere around Bayport, hopefully looking for a glimpse of Weinhardt's sports car but it was nowhere to be seen. A few minutes later he drove up the Cohens' driveway.

"Is it done yet?" Frank asked 15 minutes later, pacing impatiently as Phil Cohen worked furiously at his desk.

"Just about," his friend answered distractedly. Phil had been horrified at the news and without hesitating he had immediately set to work. Now he was in the final stages of piecing together another set of earphones to replace the one Frank had broken. "Where did you put the bug?"

"On his handkerchief," Frank muttered. Then he stopped. "Can the earphones be connected to a tape recorder?"

"Uh, sure," Phil said, shrugging. In just a few minutes, he got the new earphones attached to an AC adaptor, an amplifier and a recorder. "Done. I think I've got that set up at about the same frequency. Let's see if this works." He twisted the knob on his makeshift transmitter, and a burst of static blared through the speakers.

"And let's hope he's wearing his handkerchief," Frank muttered. Please let this work, please let this work, please let this work, Frank found himself praying again. After a little more twisting and turning, at last a male voice broke through the clouds of static. Frank turned up the volume on the amplifier and instantly recognized the voice as Weinhardt's. Phil pushed on the recording button, and Frank smiled his thanks. But inside his heart was pounding.

"-your worthless brother a lesson," Weinhardt was saying. Frank's face went tight and his grip on the edges of the table involuntarily tightened. Then someone was laughing, a laughter Frank had heard so many times before. It was Joe's.

"You? Wanna teach Frank a lesson? Dream on. That's what you've been saying since he started being suspicious-" Joe's scornful words turned into a cry of pain when they heard the unmistakable sound of flesh striking flesh. Frank winced. Joe spoke again, his voice weak and filled his pain. "But you still haven't succeeded have you, Gary?"

Then someone chuckled. "Oh, yes. Yes, I have, my dear, darling, handsome-"

"Don't you dare touch me," Joe hissed. Then they heard the sound of striking flesh again, and this time it brought a groan from Joe. Frank closed his eyes, trying to picture his brother and telepathetically, he told Joe to hold on. Hold on, Joe, I'm coming. Just hold on, brother. The problem was he had no idea where Joe could be. Weinhardt's next words sent a shiver down his spine.

"Yes, oh yes I will touch you, whenever I want, ANYWHERE I want." Weinhardt was beginning to sound angrier by the second. Frank wished he would say something, anything to give him some idea of where they might be keeping Joe.

"And you. I thought you were my friend." They heard Joe say next, his voice filled with hurt and betrayal. "But that was just an act, wasn't it? You were the one who tried to poison Frank. Wasn't that your first try to teach my brother a lesson, Gary? You're lucky I was the one poisoned, you know that? Or else I would have come to you and slit your throat!" Joe was shouting now. Guilt overcame him in waves and his feet wavered at his brother's loyalty. Oh Joe...Frank pinched the bridge of his nose and waited.

"Oh really? Hey Bobby have you seen Frank anywhere? No? What about you, Beth? Any sign of your lover-boy? Still no?" Frank froze, listening intently. Lover-boy? Could it be- Then Weinhardt let out a triumphant laughter. "He's not here, Joe. Face it. He doesn't care about you. You're gonna die here Joe, unless you follow everything I say." Then his voice became gentle. "Would you do that my darling?"

A weak 'No' was Joe's reply. "Frank would never leave me. He'll come and get me. You'll see."

"But nobody knows you're here, Joe. You two, out of here." Seconds later they heard a door open and slam closed. "Now, it's just you and me here, Joe."

Then there was a long pause. Alarmed, Frank turned up the volume but still he could hear nothing. Cold sweat started pouring down his face and back. What is going on? What is he doing to Joe? He exchanged frantic looks with Phil, who was also waiting in suspense.

Just when they thought that the bug may be broken, Weinhardt started to speak. "Joe."

They heard a low groan coming from Joe, and then silence. "Yes."

"I love you, Joe. Do you love me?" Weinhardt whispered huskily. Frank felt the blood drain from his face.

"I do." Joe sounded as if he was in a trance. Frank had a good guess about what was happening.

"He's hypnotizing him," Frank whispered aghast. Dear God, he's hypnotizing my brother! Phil drew in his breath sharply. "Frank, I think we'd better call the police..."

"Tonight is going to be your special night Joe. Do you know why?" Nausea rose in Frank's throat at the coyness and seductiveness in that voice. He shuddered at the thought of Weinhardt's dirty hands touching his brother. Recoiling at the image, Frank sank shakily into a chair. Oh Joe where are you...

"No."

"Because tonight I'm going to make sure you have a good time, Joe. You'd like that, won't you, Joe?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to touch you in the places no one else has ever been , Joe. I'll take you to a level you've never been before and by the time I'm finished with you, you will CRY"-the sound of lips smacking against flesh-"and ask" - the sound of another kiss - "for more," Weinhardt finished breathlessly.

"I will," Joe whispered.

"Yes, you will. You are so beautiful...my handsome-" the transmission was cut off suddenly, then followed by some muffled sounds, and Frank realized with dawning horror. He's taking his clothes off. Weinhardt is-taking-

"I can't listen to this," Frank said abruptly, taking off the earphones and he covered both his ears, his eyes squeezed shut. Then he began to sob.

Pain PG