Darkness swam through his mind, undulating and finally drifting into muted colors. Muffled sounds, noises he couldn't differentiate from the drumbeats in his head rebounded in his skull. A familiar voice strung through him, bringing back memories and images too fast for him to see. The voice sucked the darkness away. A name formed and he struggled to say it, but the constricted cords of veins in his throat couldn't seem to find the bridge to his brain. He could only moan. His frustration brought him closer to the surface. He tried to open his eyes, but couldn't.

The pain still hadn't gone away, still throbbed deep within his body, and though he couldn't speak, Joe knew what had happened to him. Hands touched him, gently gathering him in strong, warm arms and with the last bit of strength Joe had, he pulled away. Someone spoke to him, breaking through the layers of wool stuffing his brain. He knew that voice, he trusted that voice. The voice told him to wake up, to open his eyes.

Joe blinked. He was lying on his stomach on a familiar bed in a familiar-looking room. Frank was sitting by the bed. Worry lines had aged him; he was drawn and pale.

"I'm sorry, Joe." At Frank's first words, Joe burst into tears. His quiet whimpers intensified to heart-wrenching sobs and when Frank tried to pull Joe to him, Joe drew back at his touch, and covered his face with both hands.

"Stay away from me, Frank," Joe wept. "I'm d-dirty..."

"I can't do that, Joe," Frank said as he leaned in closer.

"How can you even look at me, Frank?" Joe cried softly, tears slowly rolling down his bruised face, soaking his pillow. Oh God, I want to die, he thought, humiliation, pain, anger conspiring together to crash down on him in waves.

"You're still the Joe I know and love," Frank said softly, rubbing Joe's quivering back comfortingly. "You're my brother."

Joe cried harder and Frank pulled him into his embrace. Like a child, Joe clung to Frank, hesitantly at first but then let himself drown in his big brother's embrace, his whole body shaking and trembling. Why me? Why me? Joe pounded his fist weakly against Frank's shoulder. Frank just held him close and let him cry.

"You betrayed me," he hissed, his eyes narrowed to slits. After dragging Bobby to the car, they'd scoured the whole area and just as he expected, he found her just about to leave the public phone down the road. One look at her smug face told him that she had done it again. The sound of wailing siren getting louder and louder by the second confirmed his suspicions. "You little-"

"There's nothing you can do now, Billy," she said bravely. "They know where you are, they know who you are, they know what you've done. Give it up, Billy, it's over." It was dark, but it wasn't too dark that she couldn't see Bobby shaking his head in horror at her from the passenger seat. Billy had apparently hurt him, she thought, her heart sinking as she saw blood glistening down her twin's head from a gash near his temple.

"Oh no, my darling, it's not over yet," he said, smiling. There was nothing fatherly or friendly about the smile; she knew that smile. Only once had Billy smiled like that. When he had stabbed their mother to death in cold blood when he found out she'd been cheating on him. "Nobody betrays me and lives," he had said as Annabelle dropped to her knees, blood spurting out from the gaping hole in her chest, gushing like a fountain, turning her white dress she was wearing on the day of her death bright red.

Neither Beth nor Bobby knew that Billy was also thinking about the night he'd caught her in bed with another man. Billy had loved her with all his heart, but he just couldn't bear the thought of his wife sharing her love and passion, reserved for him and him alone, with another man. He just couldn't accept betrayal, especially from the people he loved.

"You betrayed me, my dear, darling Beth," he repeated. Sadly he reached out to touch his daughter's cheek but she drew back with a hiss. The thought of his dirty hands touching her revolted her. Frozen, she watched as Billy slowly reach into his jacket and pulled out a silencer. He's going to kill me, she realized numbly. I've really done it this time.

She closed her eyes as Billy lifted the gun and aimed it at her heart, tears glistening in his eyes. The gun shook as he cocked it. It's happening all over again, he thought as he stood, staring at his daughter standing rooted to the ground, brave and perfectly willing to die. Her black hair shone in the dark of the night, just like her mother's, and her face, chin thrust forward stubbornly, just like her mother.

Goodbye Frank, she thought as she expected to feel the bullet slamming into her any second, hoping death would come swift and painless. Oh God, I know I don't pray much but please take care of Bobby for me when I'm gone and please please don't make Mama angry with me when I meet her and please- Her thoughts were caught off when a shot rang out through the night.

I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead The words kept playing over and over in her head but surprisingly she felt no pain. No pain at all. She opened her eye a crack, and then opened her wide, her mouth dropping in horror.

"Noooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" She screamed, dropping to her knees next to her brother. "No, Bobby, No!!! Oh, please, Bobby, why-" Her breath stuck in her throat as she cradled her twin in her lap, ignoring the blood seeping through her pants from the gunshot wound on Bobby's back. "Oh, Bobby..." Tears streamed down her face in rivulets, as Bobby gasped for breath. Bobby tried to speak but gurgled instead, blood escaping the side of his mouth and ran down his chin.

Billy stepped back in horror. He didn't see his son inching closer and closer, he didn't see him when Bobby suddenly jumped in front of his sister, throwing himself into the line of fire. He couldn't stop the bullet from slamming into his son's back and as Bobby collapsed, Billy knew he had to run. He had to escape. The cops would be here any minute. He jumped into the driver's seat and sped away, leaving a trail of dust as the sports car shot out.

"I'm-sorry, Lizzie," Bobby croaked out, his eyes bright with pain and shock. He coughed and another clot of blood spurted from his mouth.

"Shh, don't try to talk, Bobby," She whispered furiously. "You're going to be okay, you're going to be okay..." She leaned back to try to reach the phone, but a hand suddenly gripped her arm, stopping her.

Bobby shook his head vehemently, his face a deadly shade of white. He could feel the life blood draining out of him, the rattles of death in his chest, but he struggled to hold on. He had to tell his sister something before he-he-

"I love you, Lizzie," he murmured, raising a bloody hand to her cheek in the attempt to brush her tears. "Don't cry for me-Lizzie-" he coughed again and more blood poured out of his mouth. "I'm going to meet Mama. D-do you think sh-she'll forgive me?" He shivered as ice suddenly coursed through his veins, as if replacing the blood he'd lost.

"Yes," she whispered, sobbing even harder when Bobby smiled. He had saved her life. "Oh, Bobby, why did you do it?"

"Silly girl," Bobby breathed out, his eyes starting to close. You really have to ask, don't you, he thought dimly, no longer hearing her cries as black spots danced in front of his eyes, interspersed with bright, shining colors. That's so beautiful, he gasped in awe as he looked into the bright, white light. Bobby, he heard someone call out his name. Mama? Mama, is that y-

She felt Bobby going limp, his last breath escaping his lips in a sigh. She cradled his head and hugged him to her chest, her body racking with sobs as she rocked his dead body back and forth. And that was how they found her later.

Frank shook his brother's shoulder gently. "Joe, wake up."

Joe winced and his eyes blinked open. "I'm not asleep, Frank."

Frank bit his lower lip, trying to think of a way to say it to you without agitating his brother. Joe had not wanted to see anyone, not even their parents. Even Vanessa had begged to see him, but Joe adamantly refused.

"The police. They want to talk to you," Frank said gently.

"What?" Joe asked, confused. Then his eyes went wide and he shook his head violently. "No! I don't want anyone to see me." Joe brought his knees up to his chest and hugged himself.

"I know, Joe," Frank tried to reassure his brother. "But everything will be alright. You'll see."

"Everything is NOT alright, Frank," Joe snapped. God, why can't all these people leave me alone, he thought angrily. "I've been RAPED, Frank. That's not an alright thing. That's not the kind of things that happens to normal teenagers." Joe's voice broke, and he bit his lips to hold back tears, which seemed to come very easily nowadays. Not that it's difficult to figure out why, he thought as he brushed away a stray one angrily.

"I know, Joe," Frank said. "But you've got to let us help you. You can't go through this alone."

"I was alone when he did it to me, Frank, So why can't I go through this alone?" Joe retorted, burying his face into his pillow. "Just leave me alone," he said, his voice muffled, but Frank could hear the hurt in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Joe, I'm sorry for not being there for you, I'm sorry for not being able to prevent this from happening, I'm sorry because I've failed you and if there's anything I can do to make it better, I'll do it," Frank said, laying a hand gently on Joe's shoulder. He chose not to feel hurt by Joe's words because he knew Joe was in a vulnerable situation, Joe was facing the worst moment in his life and he understood his anger, his humiliation, his bitterness.

"These people are the only ones who can help you, Joe. But they need you to catch this guy who did this to you-"

"I told you I can't remember who did this to me!!" Joe shouted suddenly. "I can't remember anything... you keep talking to me about Weinhardt, but I don't know who he is!! I know nothing of Billy, of Bobby, I don't even know who Gary Weinhardt is!" Joe lost control of his tears. "I know nothing of a school play, nothing whatsoever of a new teacher in school! Mrs. Shannon is my English teacher! All I know is someone did this to me, and I don't know who he is..." Joe covered his face with both hands. "I don't know..."

"Yes, you do, Joe," Frank said forcefully. "You know damn well who he is, and if you can't say it, if you can't tell us, this guy is going to go free-"

"I told you I don't remember!!" Joe exploded and with lightning speed, he tried to get off his bed, knocking over his IV stand. He fell painfully to the floor. I have to get of here, he thought frantically. He tried to crawl but the pain from his earlier attack stopped him. He felt Frank's arms under his armpits, trying to haul him up. "Let me go, Frank! Let me go!" He tried kicking Frank away but Frank was quick to lift him up to his feet and helped him onto his bed.

Joe was still agitated and tried to break free from Frank's grasp. Dr. Carter rushed in a few minutes later and gave him a sedative. In a matter of seconds, Joe drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

Damn it, Frank thought as he watched Joe's face relax, the contorted lines smoothing out and his breath slowly becoming slow and steady. Damn it, I knew this would happen, he cursed silently. Weinhardt must have erased Joe's memories somehow. He had to figure out a way to get them back. But he had no idea where Weinhardt could be. The Bayport police had searched everywhere but to no avail.

Then he realized that through the whole commotion, the television on Joe's room was on. Afraid that it would disturb Joe's sleep. He leaned over for the remote control and was about to switch it off when suddenly Weinhardt's face appeared on the screen. He's on the news, Frank thought as he upped the volume a little bit.

The newscaster was saying that Senator Garret Haydin was believed still hiding in Bayport. There were roadblocks at every entrance and exit to and from New York City and warrant for arrest has been issued for him under the charges of first-degree murder, attempted murder, kidnapping, rape, extortion and embezzlement. Frank's jaw dropped open when they showed a live footage of a girl crying in the middle of a road, cradling a body in her arms. That's April, he realized with shock.

"Haydin is believed to have killed his son, Robert Andrew Haydin earlier last night in an accidental shooting ensuing a family fight last night right after Joseph Hardy, a 17 year-old boy Haydin was alleged to have sexually assaulted was found in an abandoned cabin near Lake Gambon. His daughter, April Elizabeth Haydin had been taken to custody as a possible accomplice," the blond anchorwoman said.

Frank leaned back against his chair and gaped at the TV screen, still too shocked to believe what he had just heard.

"How are you feeling?" Frank asked gently, in his hand a tray filled with a bowl of steaming broth and a glass of water.

"I've been better," Joe answered, smiling wanly. Frank set the tray down carefully and sat down on the edge of the bed, returning Joe's smile. The last few days had been hard on both of them. Joe'd been released from the hospital just the day before and Frank had no intention of seeing him go back.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Joe asked hoarsely. Frank shrugged. "No reason."

After a beat, Frank reached down and helped his brother sit up. "I hope you're hungry. Callie made this especially for you."

Joe's face registered surprise. "Callie? She was here?"

"Yeah. She wanted to come up and see you but I told her you were resting." Frank let Joe feed himself, knowing perfectly well how Joe hated people helping him eat.

"Why?" Joe spooned the broth carefully and slurped the steaming fluid. Mmm, delicious, he thought, satisfied, as the hot, refreshing liquid warmed his throat down to his stomach.

"Because I wanted to talk to you," Frank answered simply. Joe gave him a sharp look. He had a feeling what Frank wanted to talk to him about. And it was the LAST thing he even wanted to think about.

"Joe, about your attacker-"

"I don't want to talk about it," Joe cut him off tensely, his fingers automatically tightening around the bowl in a white-knuckled grip.

"Joe, we have to talk about it," Frank tried again. " You don't want to talk to the police, you don't even want to talk to Mom and Dad. If we don't do it now, we never will." Through 17 years of hanging out with Joe, Frank still could never manage to get Joe to do what he didn't want to do.

"I'm not ready yet," Joe said softly, his voice quivering. If only he weren't feeling so weak... Joe couldn't take anymore of this conversation.

"Joe, you have to talk to somebody sooner or later. Now I'm ready to listen," Frank pressed, moving to other side of the bed when Joe turned his face away.

"Please don't make me do this, Frank," Joe pleaded, tears glistening in his haunted blue eyes. Images flashed through his mind, assaulting his mind mercilessly. Images of hands roughly tearing off his clothes...hitting him mercilessly...kissing every part of his body furiously...Images he wanted to bury deep into his soul, images he never wanted to see again.

"Why not? Don't you trust me, Joe? I'm your brother. Would I ever hurt you?"

"You're hurting me now," Joe whispered.

Frank was silenced. Part of him wanted to hold Joe and tell him he's sorry and that everything was going to be alright. But part of him knew it wasn't.

"I'm your brother. I want to help you." Frank was begging now. " Please, let me help you."

I want to help you I want to help you The words kept repeating themselves in Joe's head. He choked back a sob. " That's what he-said- "

"Who said? Who, Joe? Tell me!" Frank grabbed his brother's shoulders and shook him roughly.

The bowl of broth splashed onto the floor, staining the pristine white carpet a dark, nauseating brown. But Joe cared nothing for it. All he wanted was for Frank to stop.

"No!! Don't-touch me!!!" Joe screamed at the top of his lungs, struggling to break free. He continued to fight and thrash about hysterically even after Frank had released him, tears flowing furiously down his cheeks. "No! Let go of me! Frank! Help me!"

Horrified, Frank tried to calm his brother down but Joe's harsh, heart-wrenching sobs continued, incoherent pleas and cries muted by his struggles for air. "Frank!! I can't-breathe-he's-suffocating me.."

"Calm down, Joe! I'm here, I'm here with you! Breathe slowly," Frank soothed, rubbing Joe's chest gently.

"That's it. Slowly." His brown eyes were shadowed with pain and sympathy at what his brother had gone through, wishing he could somehow take Joe's pain away. Hell, it's his job. Joe's his brother. Frank felt a lump in his throat, unable to shake the feeling that he had failed his brother at the time when Joe needed him the most.

"Please don't let-him touch me," Joe wheezed, his hand gripping Frank's so hard Frank winced.

"I won't, Joe, I promise." Frank stroked his brother's blond hair lovingly.

Pain PG