Note:

This is a story, not a casefile. But in all Hardy Boys' tradition, there will be a case tied in but I concentrate more on the dynamics of the characters and the way they had changed and the darkness each of them have to bear. This is not a happy, brothers' united together story. It has extremely sensitive and matured themes. I don't condone a variety of actions that the characters go through like alcoholism, pre-marital sex, guns, unforgiving natures etc.etc. But characters cannot be perfect human beings and I don't seek to make them saints either. They make their mistakes, they learn, they move on. Please do not read if you are under 18 or are not matured enough to treat this as a story and deal with some topics weaved in.

Warning: RA

Warning: Extremely Long Story.

TORMENT (Part One) Rated R

Chapter One

He walked on. The streets seemed so empty even though there were people walking all about. The note which the address was written on was crumpled from frustration of failing to recognize the instructions, much less follow them. But the anger was latent. He had managed to keep everything inside him. Anger only brought him more pain and he had learned the hard way.

How long had it been? 5 years? Somehow, it's like eternity. Everything has changed.

His blond hair was matted down on his head. Sweat and grime caused the shiny platinum blond hair to dull into a dirty mess though when clean, it was still soft to touch. His t-shirt hung on him, he was thin, much too thin. Five years had could really changed a jock to a pathetic excuse for a man, especially in a cold and brutal environment, where one could get bullied, could be forced to starve for nothing at all. A place for reform that turned mad men into mere brutal animals, waiting to dominate and kill.

He saw many shops along the way, shops that had never existed during his teens. With computers and many people playing what seemed to be a first shooter game. He saw new fashions, girls' clothing that seemed to be ripped in all places, definitely not for modesty, and guys pants that wore more like skirts. He managed to browse through a magazine that mentioned about the event that rocked the world, and other activities that followed the wake of it.

Terrorists. Not the small time ones that he had chased after before, but extremely violent ones. People with clear agendas, huge training grounds and incredible amount of money. People who did not discriminate against who they kill. They kill for what they say think is right, their grave perversion of righteousness. Human lives are nothing to them.

But as incredible the event was, he heard about it in prison through the wardens, through the news, he felt detached from it. He felt detached from the world that no longer spoke to him, no longer offer him any hope of achieving any dreams, any hope of any dreams. The event did give him a month of peace and quiet as those who terrorized him were trying to deal with the problem and it evoke in them some sense of humanity. Which they lost soon after.

The foreign streets beckoned him. Lost in his own thoughts, he almost missed the small little sign that wrote "LittlePort Bay Ave.". That was the street he was supposed he walk along. That would his first road to salvation. He turned and noticed that the buildings were becoming more and more dilapidated. But he saw it finally, double-checked the house number and knocked on the door. He did not know who will answer him. Just like when he cried at night, he did not know who he was crying to.

But he would walk on.

"I don't like doing business. I hate doing business. Why am I doing business?" Frank mumbled to himself. After he had graduated from the Harvard Law School, he had been forced to enter the family business. Events had managed to uncover one secret after another. That he was actually one of the heirs to the multi-billion empire his grandfather built from scratch. That his father was the head of the Network, the real one, not one of those phonies that they threw at him to appease his curiosity years ago. That he was picked to train to help out in future, that one day, the Network will function with him at the helm. It was a government agency of course, but one that was extremely selective and secretive with potential agents spotted from as young as toddlers.

But now, his chances of joining the Network were dashed when in a secret meeting, his dad had vociferously objected to his son involvement while all the rest of the Mr Xs and Ys were in deep approval. And so he was cajoled by his dad to try to run the family business. They dabbled in anything that could make money and cut their losses off once their highly trained, highly paid analysts as well as business spies informed them of downhill businesses. But their core was in technology and they were the forerunner in the race with some of their top scientists engaged to research in military and intelligence equipment. Frank had proven to have extremely accurate business acumen and everyone was glad have him in the company. But Frank did not like it there. No one asked him, the responsibility was just dumped on his shoulders.

"Earth to Frank Hardy! Hey, stop the typing and go grab a bite with me will you? You hardly have time for me anymore. How are we going to get married in a year's time if you too busy with other things to get to know me better?" Frank looked up from his work desk to see the pretty, grinning and very determined face of Nancy Drew, whom he had left Callie for a couple of years ago. Their relationship had been rough with objections from friends, family and of course their own emotional baggage but because of the battles they had gone through, they remained strong and Frank had proposed to her a week ago. She rejected it, claiming she wanted to wait out for another year to see how everything went. And now she was accusing him of not doing enough to prove he wanted to marry her.

Girls, who can understand them? Frank smiled to himself.

"You don't need to work today?"

She sauntered to his side and sat down on his lap while disengaging his fingers from the keyboard that had, in recent months, seemed permanently attached to it.

"No, I was hoping to spend more time with you."

Frank slowly and gently maneuvered her to stand so he could stretch himself. He had been on the desk the whole night but he was not tired, just...

Just empty.

It had been a couple of weeks since he last caught up with Nancy, she had been very busy herself with an unexpected increase in business in the small trading company she worked for. While terrorists threats had caused plenty of businesses to plunge, Frank was shocked that the place she worked for had done rather well. Frank had tried to lure her over his side but she refused, citing loyalty and joy of working for small businesses with not much expectations, unlike his empire.

Not my empire. My grandpa's. Then my mom's who let my dad handle it. And then my dad's after she died.

Frank blinked away the tears that came unbidden to his eyes. He had gotten use to being motherless for the past 5 years. But still, she would always be there, at the back of his mind, somewhere in his heart. There were still times when he would see her, rushing to fuss over him, to nag at him for all sorts of bad habits that he had.

You shouldn't be playing with your computer so much Frank! Why don't you go running or something?

Mom, I worked out already. Besides, I'm lean and mean and not fat at all.

Then date! Go out with your friends! ANYTHING. I don't want to have a tech nerd for a son. You haven't been out with Callie for a while....

Ok Mom, got to go yah? Love ya!

Yes, she was always the concern mom, always checking to see that he had not isolate himself from the world owing to some new technological gadget he just discovered from some funny computer shop. And he would always remember this conversation. Insignificant as it was, it was the last. He went back to Harvard only to return to attend Laura's funeral.

5 years. An eternity to deal with.

"Hmm.......nice girlfriend, good girlfriend." Frank turned reached out to stroke Nancy's hair, treating her like he would to a puppy. It always annoyed her to no ends.

Nancy slugged him, he ducked.

"Be more serious alright? Now, I really want to spend some quality time with you. If you don't want to, then call me in a year's time."

Now she was angry. Always in control, sometimes she could get rather bossy. But threats were a thing of late, Frank noticed. He wondered if she was insecure about something.

"Give me 10 minutes then. You just stopped me from trying to earn more money."

Nancy sighed. She tucked her hair she had left behind her ears and her expression turned all somber. "I thought you would be rearing to go." She exhaled deeply. "You remember today? Frank?"

"Hmm...what's the date? Happy Birthday, Christmas, Easter, Whatever." His eyes were still glued to screen of changing numbers.

"It's the day. He's out. I think he'll love it if we are there for him. It's been so long.."

"Huh? Him who? Who him?" Frank feigned ignorance. He continued typing. Of course he knew who. How could he not? They did shared a life together as brothers, laughed together, cried together. Once, he was closer to Frank than anyone ever was, knew Frank better than anyone else. Even Frank himself.

But it all changed. That bastard probably deserved more years. Dad shouldn't have intervened with his influence.

How quickly love turned to hatred and then to indifference. The realities of life and relationships could be so harsh. When he could finally remember that innocent, playful face with some fondness at times, disgust took over and the image torn to shreds.

Nancy though was not blind. Frank knew she knew he was avoiding, doing every thing he could to forget this day would ever come. But Nancy had mistaken his immersion in work as some manifestation of a denial of inner struggle to forgive and forget or to hate.

For Frank, forgiveness was never an option. How could he when Joe, whom he used to love dearer than his own life had betrayed everything they both had ever stood for in a wink of an eye.

Yet part of Frank knew why he had locked himself up in this unfeeling room since last night. Because the rich mahagony furniture against a pale backdrop, the extravagant design, the coldness of the leather chair all served to immerse Frank into work that would keep him occupied, provide for him the excuse that would set his heart at rest for a while. He needed this detachment of the room and this obsession with work even though he hated what he was doing to avoid the confusion that would have wrecked him for many years if he had allowed himself to slip.

Of course you would never admit that. Never to youself. You were never confused. You had chosen not to regard him as your brother that night...he would had killed you too.

Work, that was all he knew for the couple of years after Joe was sentenced with probability of parole in 5 years. Work, that was all he knew for the couple of months before this day.

"We should go." Nancy's tone was soft, and yet, firm.

Could he go? If he went, what would he say if he saw? Would the blond hair still reflect the sun with a brilliance that made so many jealous? Would he be able to hug his brother? Would things be the same again?

Could they forget and forgive? Could Frank forget and forgive?

How many dreams and lives must you shatter before you will stop? How many? I can't forgive. I can't.

The last words Joe would hear from him before he was led to fulfill his sentencing. "Frank, he could be...you know....inno.."

'Then you mean to say we are all wrong? That it's all an illusion?" The steel reply did not flinch Nancy. She was persistent, just she was persistent in finding the truth.

Just like I was. But I hated the truth. The truth that had come. The truth I had to accept.

"We should go."

"Would my mom return? Would Marjory smile again? Would Ben walk again?"

Can I be like before?

"I'm going."

"Then don't come back to me. Ever."

He meant it. She knew it. So stubborn he had become, so cold at times. She thought she had found him, but she obviously needed for to look harder.

She did not go. She waited for him in outside, in the living room, decorated minimally, reflecting the indifference that Frank felt towards comfort, joy and happiness.

No one did.

Joe waited. In anticipation or fear, he did not know. Emotions had ceased to be understandable to him. If he dwelled on them too much, he was afraid he would lose his sanity, if he had not already.

Insanity seemed like a release.

Shaking himself, he urged his mind not to think of such thoughts ever again. But they would always come back about seconds later. The door opened then, and Joe was very glad for the distraction. His mind could dwell on something else for a while.

A tall, muscular black man opened the door. His singlet was drenched with sweat, so was his face. He seemed about 10 years odd or so older than Joe. His expression, fierce and unfriendly, made Joe extremely uncomfortable because those in prison had the same look too, but with a touch of inhumane brutality that this guy lack. Looking closer, Joe could actually see distinctive smile lines.

"Ya? What do you want?" The guy barked. His voice resonated. Fear crept in but it did not show on the young face.

"I....I was given this address...but I guess it must have been the wrong one...goodbye" Joe spoke almost inaudibly, his head down. When once he would be the most boisterous in a party, he could barely be heard now. He did not talk much in the 5 years. They did not let him talk much.

"What address? Let me see." Joe was ready to leave when the man reached out with his huge fingers and grabbed the paper away from Joe. He tried to read through the wrinkles for a while, and then his face broke into a smile. A twinkle flashed in his almond eyes.

"You got it right kid. Welcome. I did not expect you today. Normally, kids like you would have gone home first..." He stopped when he saw Joe cringed at the word home.

"I'm normally the last resort. Come on in. I'll show you around and maybe, you may find what you need here." The man began gently and beckoned Joe in.

"I'm Malcolm...." The man tried to strike up some conservation to put Joe at ease for it seemed as if Joe as rooted to the ground. "You are recommended by Spike right? Dear old Spikey. How is he? Come on in and tell me all about him."

No response. Still rooted on the ground. Malcolm was blocking the entrance. Joe did not want to brush against the guy.

Malcolm, used to such inertia ,at this moment, offered something no one like Joe could refuse. A snicker bar. Joe stared at the bar. He did not realize he was hungry.

"This won't fill you up kid. There's food in the kitchen."

It worked like a charm. Lured by the promise of food, and the snicker bar, Joe argued with his stomach for a while. It was a useless argument. His stomach growled and he obeyed. But he tried his darn best to squeeze through without brushing against any part of the guy. It was impossible. Malcolm was simply too huge.

______________________________________________________________________________________

"So you are Joseph? Nice name. Look here kid, I won't eat you up. Could you at least say something?"

The kid munched away on the bar, oblivious to what Malcolm had to say, failing to respond.

"I know I did look fierce, but Macy is high on drugs again. Over here, we reform. We change and we try to change to help other people. First we got to help ourselves and drugs are a no no. And so is keeping silent."

The kid stopped munching, and impatiently, the first sign of emotion that reminded Malcolm that he was talking to a human being and not a robot, asked,

"Where's the kitchen?"

He looked at the kid for a while. Short blond hair, dirty with grime and other assorted street delights, a thin angular face softened by large, wide and intense clear blue eyes. No, not intense, haunted was more like it. The slim nose and almost pouting lips. This kid looked too pretty despite the dirt on his face and his alabaster- pallid skin. Together with how he had been acting, Malcolm immediately guessed. Only guessed. He would not dare confirm.

"I know. But you should wash up first or the dirt will on the food."

"I'm hungry." The soft voice cut through the air again. No one could make up what he was saying if the room was noisy. At the same time, they would not be likely to forget the voice if they heard. It was the voice of a hopeless man with no dreams, a voice detached from the soul. A voice just mouthing words from the brain. A voice no one wanted to hear from themselves.

Malcolm turned towards the kitchen near the end of the hallway. "This is the kitchen area. Our meals are at 7 for breakfast and 7 dinner. Lunch would be in the soup kitchen where you will help out. We are funded by various people who want to do good deeds without letting the public know. You will be given an allowance which you must promise to save a quarter each month. It's only a promise. We won't monitor you. We build our relationship on trust and friendship.." in a low voice he continued, "if you will take the friendship offered."

He continued his speech, unable to make any conversation now except speeches that he was not even sure was heard. Joe was not the first to enter into house like this. There was one other kid. A memory no one can forget.

"We are strict here about punctuality because there are so many of you. You will share a room with 3 other kids like yourself. Don't worry. It's all safe here." He did not know why he added the last line. Probably because a flicker of something that went past Joe's eyes. 'Ahem..like I said, it's all safe here. I won't accept troublemakers. You can look forward to getting out of the soup kitchen in about a months' time when we have found suitable employment for you....you know where are your certificates and such?"

Joe looked back at him, his eyes like mirrors. "No."

"It's alright. We'll think of something. If you must stay in the soup kitchen forever which we won't allow for your sake, then...well...we'll see. Quite a lot of you kids have no qualifications of any sort either. We won't forgive....no....too strong...we always forgive...but we won't tolerate nonsense. No fighting. 3 times and you're out. No drugs or it's one lousy rehab experience you won't forget and you won't like. No sex in the quarters and no laziness. I'll add more nos later..haha...juz kidding. Just be yourself and don't get into trouble. You'll be fine."

Won't forgive. Won't forgive. I won't forgive, I can't forgive you. How many lives, dreams..dreams...forgive....no. Never NEVER!.

The eyes betrayed none of the ravages of the mind. None.

"I'll be fine." The voice, soft again. Devoid of emotions. Devoid of everything.

"And you can eat now. After that, follow me to your room."

Joe was getting used to the environment the house had to offer after a few weeks of stay. It was more like a shelter than a house but they called it such to feel better, like they all had a home to return to after work. Some of them already had work outside but no lodgings yet and they were allowed to remain until they found a roof over their heads to call their own.

The building was big and functional. A plain looking white house at the corner of Bay Ave, it had 7 rooms, with the smallest, having an adjoining bath, belonging to Malcolm Berret himself. They all shared the remaining seven rooms and 3 toilets, 3 rooms for females and 4 rooms for males. The rooms were functional, with two beds and two wardrobes, of which one would most probably be empty. Only five of them, including Joe, helped out in the soup kitchen. Some of the occupants were incumbents, taking advantage of Malcolm kindness to remain there to avoid paying rent outside even when they had a job. And Joe only remembered the names of those he worked with and two others because they were always together. The rest just went in and out of the House, not even having their meals there thus, no one ever cooked for them.

And Joe was to found out, from conversations that not everyone was a convict. Some just had no place else to go. Only one of them though dared approach Joe on a couple of occasions, trying to get him to join in their little night time chat during dinner. He was never successful though Joe would sometimes try to manage a half smile. Towards the rest, he would just ignore, unless they offered something that he wanted.

Like a nice jug of beer and some sanity.

And the man was Michel. He reminded Joe so much of Frank. Brown hair, lean and muscular, dark brown eyes. Yet, there were significant differences also. Frank was handsome in a dark, romantic way while Michel good looks stemmed from his good heart. Joe found himself starring at Michel at time, making the poor man nervous, thinking Joe could be gay and interested, but Joe did not know that of course. He just liked to watch Michel take charge, like how Frank would take charge. And he liked to eavesdrop on Michel consoling others' because he sounded so much like Frank. Always objective yet always kind.

"Hey Joe, ready to go?" Casey shouted from across the kitchen. Joe was startled as if as he was in a dream when in actual fact, he was just observing Michel as he was trying to give counseling to Macy in the backyard just outside the kitchen. Macy was a stoned up young woman of 25 with shocking pink hair that contrasted her pale white junkie complexion. She was crying, as usual, blaming the whole world for her predicament, her inability to stand. Blaming everyone but her own weakness. But Michel was patiently listening to everything. However, he was not soft on Macy, indulging her by agreeing with her unrealistic claims. When he helped people, he would get to the root of the problem and no matter how hard the words were to hear, he would say them and pray the person would be all the more better for it.

"Yah, just give me a moment." Joe peeled his eyes away from the window and hurried to finish washing the dishes. He could not hear what Michel and Macy were saying as they were quite far away but he could see Macy now standing up, crying into her hands, pretending to want to turn away from Michel. It was a secret joke that Macy had a crush on Michel and was creating all sorts of problems everyday just so Michel, out of kindness of his heart, would talk to her. When Malcolm wanted to give Macy sometime to sort out her "problems" with him, she would always snub him, preferring to instead run into Michel's strong arms and cry the tears from tear ducts that never cease to stop working.

Casey looked out of window as well. "I knew it. Wherever you look, there would be Michel. You gay or something?"

Joe gave Casey a cold hard stare and pushed him out of the way. Casey simply shrugged and followed behind Joe as the both of them went outside to meet Leroy who had managed to borrow a rickety old car from a friend of his.

"We're painting the town red tonight baby!" Leroy shouted to them as Casey and Joe piled into the front passenger seat and the back seat respectively. Casey gave Leroy a hi-five and exclaimed,

"Yah, ladies' night tonight, plenty of harvesting to be done. Haven't had any action for sometime." Casey raised an eyebrow, looking a tad too lecherous.

Joe gazed out of the window. He knew that the two were only talking hot air, they would not dare approach any ladies as they had no money themselves. They would just sit in the bar counter and check out every opposite sex in a short skirt. Joe had been very interested in girls once too but only dated those he was serious about and that counted to only 2. Now, all he wanted was to get his hands on that can of beer.

The pub that Leroy had brought them to was a small, sleazy one near where the House. However, it was crowded with all sorts of unfortunate people. Hookers looking for actual paying customers prowled the street where the pub was located and had actually Casey who seemed a little tempted. Their eyes though lingered on Joe who simply ignored them, heading straight for the entrance of the pub. He was already sitting at the bar counter when Leroy and Casey finally decided to join him. The two of them, as usual, were talking among themselves about girls, cars and new jobs, wishing for the day they would finally find employment and get out of the soup kitchen and actually having real money in their hands.

Joe kept himself out of the chat, topped with a few loud hoots here and there. Ordering a can of beer first, he found himself simply gulping it down without tasting it, without relishing it, gulping it down as if he desperately needed it. His head pounded with the beat of the loud trashy dance tracks the pub was playing, drowning out his dark thoughts.

He had gotten hooked to the numbness from reality that the alcohol brought him. In fact, everything he did nowadays was to seek release from his life. He put in longer hours in the soup kitchen than anyone else. He kept himself as physically exhausted as he could, sometimes even waking up in the wee hours of the morning to go for a long run, not to keep fit but to keep himself awake so he did not have to lapse into nightmares. Alcohol was something new though, all his life he had been obedient to his parents and not drink too much unless it was for socializing and even then, he would restrict himself, knowing the unpleasant effects alcohol would bring later. Sure, once in a while he would get drunk, which teenager would not? But it was all in due fun and for the sake of experience though there are many things he would not experience then like drugs, pre-marital sex and all the nonsense that were ruining so many people's life. Now, he could hardly be bothered. Alcohol brought him the temporary numbness he needed, make him unaware of all that he was feeling.

And after a binge, the darkness would only seek to return with more than full force, blanketing him with increased heaviness and the unbearable feeling of being himself would also return stronger than ever. His solution would be more exhaustion, more withdrawal from people around him and more alcohol.

I'll soon be drinking myself to death...maybe that's not such a bad idea.

Morbid thoughts were a common thing to him. Had he a weaker will, he might had just ended it for himself.

But I won't, it's the coward's way out. And I won't, because...it's not good for the soul.

"Yo Joe, me and Casey gonna over there," Leroy pointed to a group of decent looking females dancing in a circle. "Wanna join in the party?"

Joe simply continued drinking, waving Leroy away. Leroy shrugged and together with Casey, they hit the small dance floor, introducing themselves to the ladies. Once again, like always, Joe would enjoy his drink solo. He waved to the bartender to get him a glass of vodka. Leroy and Casey came back after a while though with a few girls with them, some trying to hit on Joe but he was totally oblivious to them, pretending to spend more time with his new best friend. And before the night was over, he had so much to drink that Leroy and Casey had to carry him back to the car and drove him home.

Malcolm was awaken by the commotion, someone was railing at the top of his voice about wanting to go back home. Without investigating, he knew who it was.

It always happens. Damn Roy and Casey, why must they bring him along?

But Malcolm knew that even without Leroy and Casey, Joe would have gone by himself and get into more trouble, probably get into a fight and lose his life. He went out of his room and down the stairs, guided only by a faint side light from the kitchen which they always leave switched on throughout the night.

"Here we are, home...man...why didn't you watch him?" Malcolm could hear Casey complaining to Leroy again.

"You were too busy watching the ladies...cover his mouth yah? You'll wake the old biddy and we'll get into trouble!"

"Shouldn't have brought him along, always end up giving us trouble."

"But the ladies are always attracted to him man! He brings more ladies to our side then when I go with you alone! Now, will you shut the fuck up and shut him up?"

Malcolm cringed when he spied them trying to drag Joe between them at the same time, trying their darn best to be quiet. Joe had stopped railing and was muttering some gibberish that Malcolm could not pick up. Suddenly, he pushed them aside and ran to one corner and retched. It was another mess to clean. "Damn! Now Malcolm will surel..." Casey stopped when he saw Malcolm looming over them.

"I want you both to drag him out of the House and leave him on the steps." Came the strict orders. Malcolm was unbending when it came to House rules.

"Aw Malcolm, kid got a little too much to drink, drank a little too fast too..." Leroy tried to put in a good word for Joe. If there was something good to say about those who stayed in the House, it was that they were supportive of one another. They might not always support the better things but they would be lending their strength at any time should anyone them be bullied or in this case, punished by Malcolm.

"I said throw him out of the House. He can sleep it off outside. It's safe. The gate's locked. And since you're so buddy buddy with him, bringing him along when you know this will happen, you can clean up the mess he made."

"Aw...C'mon Mal..." Leroy pleaded. An angry stare from Malcolm prompted him that all pleadings were useless. He was tired, the last thing he wanted to do was to clean up someone's vomit. Joe had slumped on the floor next to the mess and was sleeping quite soundly. Knowing Malcolm's temper when rubbed the wrong way, the two of them quickly dragged Joe out, trying to put him in a comfortable position on the door steps before returning to clean up the mess and finally, getting some sleep about an hour later. Joe, who slept through the night, did not even feel the cold hard ground or the insects that bothered him from time to time.

"No, this won't do. We cannot keep diversifying. Frank! We should focus on what we have and just keep improving! If you keep diversifying, when will it ever end? Do you want to stop until we are selling pencils and erasers as well to kids in school?"

Frank seethed in anger at his uncle. Nothing he proposed was ever good enough.

"Why not? This is a fantastic time to move into this line. We have the resources. If we lose, we lose, no big deal. This pharmeutical company is small but it does have plenty of potential. With the genes being coded out, new illnesses being discovered needing a cure, why not go into healthline? People fall sick, people die! Everyone needs medicine and this company has some of best biologists and chemists with them who happened to like what I am proposing!"

"Do what you want sonny. If you don't listen to me, soon, you are going to squander away all that we have. Our empire is big. We have made tons of money but it's someone like you who think he can think 'out of the box' that will get us into trouble."

"How much has our billions increased since I came in Uncle? Three times? Four times? I have lost count. That's my credibility. And you're only an advisor. I call the shots here. I'm not diversifying if you have seen the report carefully. I'm replacing. Replacing those companies you invested in that are losing money."

"You are going to regret it and when we lose what we could have earned elsewhere, I'll make sure you are voted out of the office." Came his uncle's threats. Empty threats from an empty brain. No shareholders would dare vote Frank out of office. He would just cashed in his shares and they would be hard pressed to find someone else to head this outfit, do the work for them and take the blame occasionally and yet, give them a nice income which they could all spend on alcohol, women and STDs

"Then vote me out already instead of making threats! I can't fucking stand it. Go on! Vote me out and try to convince everyone that I'm losing money for them when I'm not! You'll be doing me a great favor!" Frank put on his jacket and stormed out of his own office. He had slogged day and night for the company. He had single-handedly saved much of their investment from the E-economy bubble crash. He had increased their profits by almost 5 times and everyone on the board of directors which he was the chairman were happy with the exception that old fart of an uncle which always say the candle burn the brightest before it went out. He felt cheated out of his destiny.

The Network. That's where I should be.

But he had done so well, improving a business empire that many thought was already perfected. Magazines had interviewed him, calling him most eligible bachelor, dashing, rich and highly intelligent.

Not here. Not here.

The morning was especially cold. Nancy had pushed him again for marriage the night before. He was only 25. He wanted it before. But now? With all that was happening? He sense that Bob was trying for a takeover. But he had no evidence. It was just a gut feeling. In business, everyone's having gut feelings about having a knife soon tuck into their backs.

He used to be the one to follow his gut feelings too. Look where his gut feelings got him.

Frank also had typed out a resignation letter the night before. He was burnt out. He had done what he could. He did not know what else he could do to expand the business empire and directors were already pressuring him about slight fall in profits after the terrorists attacks, factors beyond his control.

I can't. This is grandpa empire. He left it for mom and dad. Mom died and dad left it to me. But I don't want to. It's supposed to be Ben. Though crippled, he could still do it. Dad did not want Ben to exhaust himself. Neither did Ben felt confident enough. And the load fell on my shoulders. Is it fair?

Network. I should be in the Network. Not this empire. Not this. If it grows, I'm praised. If it falters, it'll be my fault too.

From a corner, he saw Ben, wheeling himself faster to be able to catch up.

"Hey!"

"Leave me alone."

"Hey! Stop. Look..its no big deal alright? Bob is always like that. He doesn't listen....but that's why we are here."

"Leave me alone damn it!" Frank stopped finally, but before Ben can catch up. "What do all of you want from me? This office, I don't want it! I just want...I just want a life! My Life! What's wrong with everything I'm doing? Didn't I achieve enough and made enough money for them? "

"I know." Ben was rushing his mind for a way to convince Frank. He had outbursts with Bob before. He had stormed out before. And it was always Ben who was the go-between, who would bring him back to his senses. Instill in him the responsibility that he faced.

"If Bob really take charge, do you think Dad would sit there quietly and watched our inheritance erode away under his "stringent care"?"

"Fuck him and fuck all you want to say."

"Why don't you come with me to a place?"

"Where?"

"A little known place which we invest in, but expect no returns...except a good feeling here. It's a place where an insignificant part of the money you earn for us do a lot of good to people." Ben pressed his hand over his heart. Frank had to smile. Actually, he learned more about their business empire from Ben than Bob who was supposed to teach him in the beginning. And Ben had always deflected Frank's anger by taking him to visit charity organizations they were supposed to have helped anonymously. Every time Frank stormed away, Ben would have somewhere to bring Frank. Frank wondered if one day Ben would run of company's charity interests to show to Frank.

"It's not too far from here. Drive us there. I'll give you the direction."

At about the same moment when Frank stormed out of his office, Joe had to deal with dishing out soup while suffering from confusing and unwelcome thoughts in his mind, owing to too much alcohol the previous night. He had awoken again outside the House and being late for work in the soup kitchen, he tried his best to sluggishly shower and freshen himself but still; he had a lousy hangover that even after taking 3 painkillers, the pounding in his head still bothered him. It did not help that Michel was working alongside him behind the counter and from his messed up mind, he kept thinking that seeing Frank's face on Michel, making his mind and heart more flustered than he already is.

He said he won't forgive you. Why do you still look for your brother in everybody? You miss him, does he misses you?

"Stop it! Stop it!" Joe slapped the back of his head with his palm. Hard. But when those voices came into his head, they never let up. And strangely, those voices sounded like how he would sound if he took on an evil tone in his voice.

Vanessa left you too that day. She said she will visit. You asked her to visit. She said she would. Did she? No...who will want to associate themselves with someone like you? Love of her life! Huh! They all left you. Shit of everyone's life. But it's good she did not visit. If she did, she would have known..hahaha...loser. And you would have gained her pure, unadulterated disgust.

"I said STOP IT!" Everyone in the soup kitchen just turned and stared at the eccentric boy who was dishing soup one second to the needy and throwing the ladle down on the floor the next. Michel, next to Joe, distributing the bread tried to muffle down the angry and confused murmurs of the diners while putting his hands on Joe's hand, trying to drag him into the kitchen.

"DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH ME!!!! DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH ME!! I WON'T BE TOUCHED! I WON'T BE!" The boy who had never raised his voice above a whisper, who did not like talking to anyone, was screaming manically, flailing his fists at Michel.

"I'LL HURT YOU! LET GO! LET GO!" He screamed and then kicked his legs about, as if he was trying to fend off something evil that would threaten to take him away.

Now some diners were scared and after stuffing bread into their pockets, they left frantically, thinking besides the knife, the mad man could have strapped a bomb to himself as well. Casey and Leroy who were in the back preparing the food came out and helped ushered the crowd out.

Michel overpowered the skinny boy easily while Alyssa, another helper on duty then rushed into the House opposite to inform Malcolm. However, one of Joe's hands managed to break free of Michel's hold and landed a punch on Michel's face, causing the larger man to step back a little and broke his hold on Joe. Leroy immediately rushed over to help Michel but stopped when he saw Joe looked up at Michel's face which was more in shock than in pain and caressed the cheek that he had punched, his expression anxious and deeply concerned.

"I...I won't hurt anyone, I'll never hurt you. You know that...I'll never hurt you. I'm sorry...so sorry... Why don't you believe me?"

He then collapsed on the floor, his body unable to take the ravishing of his mind.

Michel scooped him up to carry him into the kitchen, a little embarrassed at the display of affection by Joe.

"I won't hurt you...never...believe me...never shot at you...never..." Joe's pleas were too heartbreaking to hear and those eyes, those wide blue eyes, wild and feverish were too difficult to look at and Michel just had to turn away.

With desperate hands, Joe clutched Michel's shirt tightly.

"No...F..Frank....I...I didn't mean..I d..don't......please...forgive me...please.....please....I did not mean to hurt you...I'll never hurt you......please..don't let them hurt me...you said you'll protect me...you will... don't turn away from me...don't...please...don't..."

Michel smoothed the soft blond hair, unsure of what to do; Joe had obviously mistaken him for someone else.

"Forgive me please....don't be like them..don't be...."

"I won't be like them... Shhh...it's alright." Michel looked at Malcolm who had just arrived and was panting from having sprinted like he was running for his life when Alyssa screamed into the House that Joe was going to kill everybody. He was glad that Malcolm was there. Michel was good consoling people, sane people who asked him for advice. He was good at restraining some who got too violent after taking drugs or hard liquor secretly and came back to the House, threatening harm to people. But he was not good with emotional breakdowns, emotional breakdowns that had no obvious catalyst.

"It just happened Malcolm, but I don't think he would actually hurt anyone."

More nonsensical pleadings came from Joe who had refused to let go of Michel's shirt.

"Go on to work, people need food. I'll handle it from here." He gestured for Michel to let go of which Michel did, probably grateful for someone wiser to take over this mess.

"No! Don't let me go...don't let me go Frank...we promised...we'll never let go...we are brothers...we promised....don't let me go...they'll hurt me...they will...they will..." His screams of fear became moans and Malcolm was a little surprised to see that though Joe was obviously broken in spirit and mind, he was not crying, just a haunted look in his eyes.

Very gently he carried Joe out of the soup kitchen, into the House, up the stairs and into his room.

"Forgive me....please...."

"Yes...shh...shh"

"Please................"

Frank looked at the soup kitchen, up down, down up, and up down again. It was like a small canteen where destitute people came together for some warmth, sustenance and to compare how depressing their life stories are with the next guy. In his well-pressed Hugo Boss suit, Frank felt extremely out of place.

And he was, judging by the stares he got. Not all who are poor are kind-hearted. There was a sort of aimlessness in most eyes he saw. And those that were not gazing aimlessly at each other took aim at his pocket.

Poverty made one desperate. But in a place like this that served to give without receiving, temptation to steal may set in but never adhered to. It would be, for the superstitious, bad karma. Better to wait until he was out in some desolate alley all by himself.

"Hey mister, you're in the wrong place. We don't serve those whose watch can buy over the whole place."

Frank gingerly put his hands into his pocket. "Hmm. I'm waiting for a friend. He's coming along..there is he."

"And we don't serve those in wheelchairs who have shoes expensive enough to pay the rent for 10 years."

Frank was soon running out of patience but still, he kept his cool.

"Ha, don't mind him Frank. He loves to jest. Where's Malcolm, Leroy?"

"Yo Ben, you shouldn't come here too often or if you get mug , I can't help you. I'm stuck here." Leroy raised his hands up, proclaiming helplessness should that situation really happened. But Ben knew better. He was almost mugged once. It was Leroy who had punched the daylights of the kid, saying things like "you don't bite the hand that feed you."

"You don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine. I have my strong virile brother here. Meet Frank. Frank, meet Leroy."

"Hi."

"Frank huh? Malcolm ain't too free but he's in the house. You just missed an interesting commotion here. " Leroy pointed to a puddle of spilled soup which was stepped on by many feet and obviously neglected.

"Thanks. We'll be going. Frank, you're going to meet one of the all time modern ghetto saints."

Malcolm seemed imposing. Very imposing. He was taller than Frank, who at 6 feet 1, was very imposing himself. But at the same time, he looked tired. The eye bags under his eyes showed. Yet, he wore his smile like a badge, his booming voice tinged with a fake cheer that could be heard for miles.

"Ben! Good to see you kid! And who is this? Your brother?" Malcolm bent over to give Ben a hug. And he would give Frank a bear hug too had Frank not extended his hand out first instead.

"Frank, meet Malcolm. Malcolm, meet Frank, the business whiz kid of Macmillan Enterprise." Ben humbly introduced Frank to Malcolm.

"A little shy around old Malcolm huh? Sonny, I bark, I don't bite. What brings you two here?"

Frank sat down. The kitchen of the house was huge but slightly dirty as the sink was filled with dirty dishes screaming to be washed. Yet, he could see efforts were made to make this kitchen homely. There were a few assortment of hanging plants, some fancy mugs here and there with names and an unmarked one. The pictures on the wall served to remind all of those who sat here and made it out. Then there was one marked, "We Remember".

"Who's that guy?" Frank asked, unable to contain his curiosity. This house, this man and his soup kitchen seemed too much of an oddity in this quaint little harbor town of LittlePort, next to the bustling city of Barnet Bay, modern on one side, extremely poor on the other.

"Who? Oh....him.." Malcolm's eyes glazed over. "Him..hmm..someone..he died very young."

"Frank, stop asking. Anyway, this is the ghetto saint! He was running this little place for prisoners who had just came out and other assorted needy people and needed some permanent support instead of random donations until I spotted it three years ago while traveling past here. I thought he had a wonderful idea, and a greater heart. So I sponsored with company's funds to help out." Ben started.

"Ah...but I am no saint. No...just someone who wants to help."

"What if you meet a criminal in for the most vile crime?"

"We don't ask what they had done time for. Most of the time, it's some poor soul that one of the inmates who had been here before inform to about this place." Malcolm chuckled. "From where I come from... it's a poverty-stricken place and it made people hardened, more willing to take risk, any risk in order to escape from it themselves. Knowledge of my place spread by word of mouth, I don't even know who referred who unless they call me specifically, which most never do, wishing to remain anonymous. I deal mainly with youths but lately, more adults are coming in."

"Doesn't it get overcrowded?"

"By God's blessing, no."

"And there are those you regret taking in..." Ben started smiling at the gentle giant.

"Hah, yah..who knows..maybe she learn a thing or two about humanity." They looked at each other and laughed.

"How's Regina?"

"Man, after the way she played with your heart you still ask about her? She's an incumbent, always saying she's leaving, she's moving on but never packing her bags and never staying for more than a week in a job."

Frank raised an eyebrow. So, Ben was still hooked on Regina, a willful and psychotic girl, gorgeous, nonetheless. After all these years of separation, Frank found it hard to ask Ben about such things he would banter automatically about with Joe previously. With some surprise, it was getting easier to think about his brother.

Ben simply smiled, but there was a hurt in his eyes. Any idiot would know he once loved this Regina deeply. Once.

"I know its hard on you. But I don't want to see her in the streets again.."

"Her new boy's a deadbeat you know that? We tried to talked her out of it but you know that mouth of hers and how stubborn she is when she decides she really loves someone."

"And how stubborn she is when she decides to really hate someone."

"Aye..and that too."

Frank felt uncomfortable. At an instant, he knew he was an outsider. How could he not be after 10 years away from his family, whisked away by his dad to the little town of Bayport to train as a Network agent, only coming back to Barnett Bay occasionally? Of course he did not know he was being train but the way cases just land at his feet made him very suspicious sometimes. But still, the four children never question their father his intention of separating them. Something Frank felt really silly for not doing.

This guy knew so much about my brother than me. And they knew each like...3 years?

Malcolm served them coffee. Not exactly served, but he did put two cups, two packets of instant coffee and a pot of hot water in front of them as he bantered with them just now. Frank immediately made a cup for himself. At least he would have something to do while they talk.

"Leroy said someone cracked. Is it Macy?"

"Macy's fine now. She's off ecstasy for a while. No...some other fella. Quiet guy. New here. Well..I'll be damn...........Sorry, I can't entertain you guys anymore" Malcolm had glanced out of the window and did a double take

"REGINA! WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO?"

A captivating brunette in tight jeans and a bra top was strutting out of the house compound, with a sloppy looking guy with brown hair, sweat stains on his t-shirt and an unsightly paunch. She was struggling with a nice comfortable looking armchair and he was carrying an old but still functional coffee table.

"NONE OF YOUR F_ING BUSINESS!"

"Regina..." Ben whispered.

PUT THOSE BACK. THEY ARE NOT YOUR PROPERTY!"

"NEITHER ARE WE! YOU DON'T WANT ME TO STAY HERE ANYWAY.....Ben?"

The girl called Regina caught a glimpse of Ben from outside. Ben too lean his head forward to make himself recognizable. Frank cocked an eyebrow. He could see why Ben was enchanted by Regina, despite her distasteful nature which irked him to no ends. She was a woman in every sense of the word. Long curls, dancing black eyes, porcelain skin. She was every bit beautiful as she was ..... crude.

"WHAT THE FUCK. ARE YOU DOING HERE?" Regina threw the chair she was carrying towards the window. They all ducked but for no reason. The woman had not the strength to throw it further than a meter.

But she was determined, Frank could see. Leaving the sloppy guy who had sent his brains on vacation, Regina ran towards the window and the moment Ben wheeled himself to the open window, Regina socked him.

"Ouch, why did you do that for!"

"For leaving me and allowing me fall in love with a deadbeat! I hate you!" Forgetting that she had her boyfriend outside, she climbed in the house through window, pushed Malcolm and Ben aside and ran to her room in tears screaming, "I can't even leave the house in peace!"

The guy outside, obviously unable to comprehend what had gone on, scratched his head and dropped the drawers before turning towards the window, intending to climb in just like Regina did. Malcolm slammed the window shut right into the guy's stupefied face.

Malcolm slammed his butt onto the dinner chair, slouching over the table, head in his hands.

"The world has gone mad I tell you. Everyone has gone mad."

In spite of himself, Frank started laughing.

"Where am I?" The soft voice caught Malcolm by surprise. He had dozed off on the nice easy chair in the corner of his room. Frank and Ben had just left with Frank thinking he had stepped into a madhouse, not a rehab for prisoners and the occasional runaway, drug addict etc.

Can't blame him. I think I'm going crazy myself too.

Joe had awoken after sleeping off his madness in the morning. It was late afternoon now. The kid sure could sleep.

"In my room. We were all worried.."

Immediately he sprung up and looked under the covers. Malcolm walked towards him, intending to soothe him.

"Don't you dare do anything.." the voice was deadly but at the same time frighten. For if Malcolm wanted to do something, this frail chap would have no defenses against him.

"Don't be crazy! Look at yourself in the mirror. You ain't a girl. Even if you are, I will never do this sort of thing." Malcolm heaved a sigh. "When you are ready, wash up, make my bed and get ready dinner. Since you did not work today, you can prepare dinner for all of us." He stood up and was getting ready to leave when Joe spoke, probably one of the more coherent and complete set of sentences he had managed since he arrived.

"I'm sorry. You don't understand. I just snapped, that's all. I'll be fine....I think...I..." The little boy's lost look was in his eyes. For the first time, the mirror eyes let its guard down and all was exposed. The hurt, the disgust, the brokenness and abandonment.

Yes. Abandonment. He saw it too in Jules. They seemed like spiritual twins.

"We are all entitled to our moments of weakness. But we must be strong. You must have hope."

The flaxen head did not reply. It stared up at the wall, longing for something.

Malcolm went back to Joe's side. He sat by the bed, his eyes cajoling Joe to talk more. The more Joe talked it out, the more it would help. And he would not be like Jules. No.

"You have seen many people coming from where I was. Did any of them end up like me?" Joe asked softly, his head looking down at his own hands which were clasped so tightly together that the knuckles turned white.

"End up what?" Malcolm knew what Joe was driving at. Joe then stared up at him again, the defenses were put up again, the eyes were piercing right through Malcolm, making Malcolm very uncomfortable.

"You know. You knew the first day you met me. I'm confirming it for you."

Malcolm reached out to stroke the soft hair as if on autopilot when he heard the confession of sorts. Such injustice, such sadness. "One of them did. His name was Jules."

"And what happened?" Joe flinched away from Malcolm's touch. He still did not like to be touch, even when the touch was innocent and meant to give comfort.

"Whatever happened, I won't let it happen to you."

A snigger, not at Malcolm, but at the one who sniggered. "Ended it huh?'

"It won't happen to you. I promise. You will be alright. Soon, you will heal from all this, all this wounds and you will walk again. I'm sure you will find love again and happiness. But you won't find all these if you keep yourself closed in and make everyone think you're a loony." Malcolm kept his voice low and reassuring. No matter how Joe tried to turn his face into a mask, Malcolm could guess the hurt, pain and self-hatred that were gnawing at the crying soul.

"Your words are very pretty."

"They are truth."

"It will never happen to someone like me. You don't know what I did."

"I don't and I won't judge even if I know. Forgive youself. That way, you heal."

Malcolm left to tend to matters while Joe made up the bed for him. In his mind, Malcolm's comforting words swirl all around, only to be debunked by Joe's dark thoughts.

Pretty words, Macolm had said. Pretty words of healing, love and happiness. Part of Joe scorned at ever feeling pure joy rain through him like a cool shower after a hot summer. Part of him desperately want to believe.

Forgive myself. Will they forgive me? Will Frank forgive me?

No. I'm on my own. If I see him, he'll be a stranger at best, an adversary at worst. But I don't want him to hate me.

Pretty words. That's all they are. Pretty words.

Stop Joe, you'll not make it! Turn yourself in Joe! Turn yourself in! When you come out, you can start life anew...I don't know how but I'll help you.

Frank pursued on. He was the marathorn runner though. Joe was the sprinter. Though he had a headstart and he was faster, his heart was now burning in his chest and it was getting harder to breathe. He was slowing down when he could not afford to. And he did not where to run to either. It was almost futile. He should just stop and let the inevitable happened, resign to fate. He would soon collapse. They had be running for a very long time.

Joe fell on the ground. The night was too dark with only half a moon in the sky and no stars. It was the night that Frank would arrest his brother.

A bullet shot blasted the space, ripping the silence. Joe covered his ears for the next one which would hit him definitely. But it didn't. Instinctively, he reached for his gun, hoping to protect himself, maybe protect Frank. Someone was here. Someone had shot.

Or was it Frank who had shot at him? In his state of confusion, Joe could not discern where the gun shot was from. The hooting of the owls, the howling of the wind. The horrible sounds distorted all that Joe was hearing, feeling.

And there was Frank, without a gun on his hand, staring at the gun in Joe's hand.

The gun from Joe's hand! He thought Joe had shot at him. Joe simply stared at Frank, and he knew what Frank was looking at, was thinking. No! He wanted to scream. It's not like that. But frozen in space, Joe's hands could only shake.

"It wasn't me Frank. I'll never shoot you..never..it wasn't me."

"It's too late for that. You tried. You failed. Shoot again! Shoot! C'mon!"

"It really wasn't me. I did not do it. Frank...you got to listen....please...."

The police sirens could be heard in the background. Frank must had something hooked on him to lead them there. From his angle, Joe could see the bright headlights of the cars. He knew it was the end.

Shadows in the night caused by passing clouds. Shadows clouding his heart.

Joe threw away his gun into the ravine, just as Frank drew his.

"See Frank! I won't shoot you! I won't. Believe me..please. Let me go, please...I did not do it..honest.."

"It's too late little bro. It's too late. You coward! Now you know the fear. Did you felt what mom felt when you pushed her down the stairs? Or when you crashed your van into Ben? Or when you hurt Majory?"

"No...I did not..I don't know how I ended up there..I don't...please...."

Please, please please. That was all he could say, all he could think of. Please.

Frank walked with a fierce resolution towards Joe. The handcuffs were in his hands. Joe's eyes were pleading.

Clicked. The handcuffs snapped. Joe was caught, finally.

"Does it make you happy Frank? To be the one who arrest me?"

"Yes Joe. Better me than someone else."

______________________________________________________________________________________

Joe woke up, his body soaked in cold sweat. Memories of that faithful night whirled round and round his head until they visited him a cruel, warped nightmare. Joe was losing sleep almost every night and disturbing his roommate at it. With some guilt, he looked at Michel. Michel was awoken. Joe had probably spoken in his sleep.

"Kiddo, you alright?" A brotherly concern, just as Frank would offer.

"Yes, bad dream. S..sorry I..I woke you..I.." Why was he stammering? Nervous of course, Joe concluded. He was nervous. Michel reminded him too much of his big brother. He probably, in that messed up brain of his, really thought he was talking to his brother. And then he gave a self-mocking laughter, surprised by the madness of his own convictions.

"It's ok. You want to talk about it?" Michel whispered back, obviously not wanting to wake up Lo who had shared the room with them for that night as Casey had repainted their room on a whim (actually, he had dirtied the wall by flicking a pen and letting the ink splatter all over the concrete canvas and gotten Malcolm all upset.) and the whole place stunk. The boy could sleep through earthquakes, avalanche and volcano eruption. There was once, he told everybody, how he slept through a prison riot at in the deep of the night. No one believed that to be the whole truth but they did believe some of it.

The crickets were dancing under the moon, making merriment. The quiet of the night was heightened by the night sounds of nature and Joe's ponderous silence. Michel cocked his head towards the door. "We can always go to the kitchen if you need to talk."

Silence again. Joe simply stayed frozen on his bed. Michel silently prayed that he was not going to explode again. Finally, he let out a breath of relief when Joe answered.

"I don't need to talk, just a glass of milk, maybe a run."

Michel smiled and put on his singlet. The night was extremely hot and he had slept nearly in the buff. Joe had averted his eyes away when his eyes finally adjusted to the dark and he could make up the faint outline of the muscles on Michel's well-toned body.

"There's no need to be shy. We are all men. Come, let's go get that glass of milk. I think I need one too. Thank goodness tomorrow's Sunday which is not yours or my shift for this week. We can chat the whole night if you want."

Joe pressed his lips together in what seemed like an attempt to smile but failing miserably. But he was, in that vulnerable state of his, glad for the comfort of a friend. Malcolm had been a friend. Michel had been a substitute for the physical presence of his brother. Now, maybe he was to finally make a friend.

The kitchen was a little cooler with its big windows. Michel turned on the table fan that the seven of them had shared to buy a few weeks ago, driven so by the hot weather. Joe reached into the refrigerator for the milk that he found himself looking forward to all of the sudden. Gingerly, Joe smiled to himself. Maybe some part of him had not changed. He still loved the thought of food, though he ate much less, very much less.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Michel took out his mug and Joe's as well, together with a tube of blue fabric paint. Joe looked quizzily at the paint, wondering what Michel was up to. Michel saw Joe's inquiring look and put down his own mug. Lifting Joe's unnamed mug with one hand and pantomiming writing Joe's name with the other, Michel was glad to see that Joe let out a little laugh.

"Trying to get me...hmm..join the gang?"

"Yes. We must all do this. So we know exactly whose mug we accidentally used. Of course it's a way to make sure we never touch those that are..untouchable. Make us all crude and vulgar." Joe laughed softly. Poor Regina, always making others the butt of her cruel words. Little did she know that she herself was the butt of their own private jokes and insults.

"I don't know how to do this..I'm not very steady with my hands."

"You can do it! It's nothing difficult, just squeeze the tube and write your name and wait for it to dry."

Joe took the tube paint and very testily squeezed it. A squirt of it jetted out and hit his t-shirt.

"Oh....does it come off?"

Michel reached over instinctively to wipe away the paint while it was still wet. Joe took a step back.

"I'm sorry, I forgot you are sensitive about this..."

"It's..its ok...." As an afterthought, Joe added, "Thanks though..for trying to help.."

"Now, that's a start. You hardly thank anyone for the past few weeks you are here."

"That's because I never needed to. I did everything on my own." Joe shot back, defensive all of the sudden. His old self was finding it increasingly easy to emerge under Michel's friendly approaches. He remembered how before, he had an excuse for everything. Even the most far-fetched excuse was not too embarrassing for him to use to get away with all the mistakes he made.

The dog did not ate my homework Sir, the cat did.

You expect me to believe that?

Hmm...yes?

Joe smiled at the memory. He had made the whole class laugh. His cheeky smile and angelic eyes softened quite a number of teachers' heart when he was young and he got away with not doing quite a bit of homework. Only those more set in their stern ways punished him severely. But even then, he remained one of their favorites, gaining great reviews all the time.

A good deal those great reviews did for me, Joe thought. His incompetent state lawyer had dug out those reports at court. They did nothing against the mountain of evidence, eye witness and circumstantial evidence that were against him. They did nothing against the fingers pointed at him by his loved ones. Joe eyes closed at the memory. It hurt. It still did. He wondered if it would ever go away.

Michel had poured the milk in both their mugs and went about writing Joe's name on his mug, sensing that Joe was really incapable and not interested in the job. Without looking up, he tried to fall into easy banter with Joe. Disarm Joe with friendliness and get to the root of the problem.

"You know, you can let us help you out sometimes. It's not like we did not want to offer. You just seemed so strange."

Joe sat on the chair opposite Michel, his eyes starring into the night. A night with only a few stars, its darkness almost matching that of that fateful night which haunted his dreams again and again, never letting up.

"I'm sorry about...about the...you know what I mean." Joe began. He had really been sorry about it. He remembered snapping and the horrible feeling of being abandoned, screaming and raving. He remembered the punch. He remembered the clutching of Michel's shirt, as if he was clutching to a last strand of hope.

"I know. It's alright."

Michel laid a hand upon Joe's, surprised at the warmth when Joe seemed so frail and cold. Surprised that Joe did not snatch away his hand.

"Who is this...Frank that you were asking about?" Michel enquired, curiosity getting the better of him.

Joe eyes widened, he had probably mistaken Michel for Frank in his madness. Then he shook his head and pushed his slightly too long hair away from his forehead. "He was...he was very dear to me."

Michel took his hand back immediately, Joe could sense a little hesitation on Michel's part and suddenly, he understood. In spite of all that he was going through, that understanding amused him greatly. He laughed a little at Michel's confused face.

"Joe...I'm sorry. I'm sure you're a great guy when you want to be but...I...I'm not like that..."

Joe could not help himself, he burst out laughing, which made Michel even more worried. "Don't take it too hard...I mean...hmm...maybe..." Michel was trying to make sense of what Joe was feeling but whatever he said just made Joe laugh all the harder, though still softly.

Joe's shoulders were still quavering when he could bring himself to clarify things, to assure Michel that he had no need to fear any unwanted attention.

"Frank's my elder brother, Mic...not my lover. And I'm not gay either." Joe explained and Michel immediately broke into a relieved smile.

"I knew it all along...I mean that you are not gay, just that, you know, they would talk about it, Regina would tease me about it. Your stares sometimes can get pretty intense."

"You just remind me of him, and sometimes..." Joe's voice trailed off. The memory of Frank took away all his mirth, only a dull ache remained, an ache that would probably be with him for the rest of his life. He had lost a brother, a family. He had lost everything and all he could feel now, after five years of torment, was a dull heartache.

Michel placed his hand back on Joe's offering some comfort. But this time, Joe pulled away. "He's gone now, from my life, I have to deal with that."

"How did he died?" Michel assumed which was a natural conclusion, given Joe's phrasing of words.

"He is not dead. I died in his heart." It was a flat reply, betraying none of that hurt that was caused by each word. Each word that came out was actually like an arrow, piercing into Joe's soul, drawing blood.

And Michel understood. Whatever it was, it was Joe's past. And from the looks of it, Joe was not going to talk about it tonight. He stood up and Michel tried to stop him by placing touching his hand. Joe flinched and took a step away from the table, turning away from Michel.

"Don't touch me again Michel." Then softer, gentler and sadder. "You won't want to touch me."

His frail body shook a little. Michel wanted to hug him, give him some comfort.

And then he remembered the words that Joe spoke.

Joe rinsed his mug in the sink as Michel watched. He was not going to get a confession tonight. He struggled to think of something to say, anything.

"Goodnight Joe."

"I'm going for a run, won't be back so soon."

"You should get some sleep."

Joe stared pensively out of the window. "Then it will all just come back again. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Joe left Michel in the kitchen and put on his running shoes, a cheap pair which he found in a flea market. He then began to run, not knowing how long he would last, how far he go but he ran, sprinted actually, trying to make himself forget. There was no alcohol tonight and so he would run until all he could think about was the constriction of his heart, the tiredness in his legs.

But the aching in his soul, it remained. It would always remain and grow in intensity, no matter what method he chose to use. It would remain until the day Frank would forgive him, until the day he could finally run home.

Frank typed away furiously on his computer. His most treasured possession for the reason that he was a techno geek and for the reason that he kept his most trusted journal under secure password lock inside. Not even Nancy knew about the journal. It was one of the few ways Frank controlled himself when stress and emotions were much too overwhelming for him to keep his cool. But rather than taking it out on Nancy, he took it out on his keyboard, banging away into the night.

It was basically ramblings. Frank just type whatever came into mind. He seldom censor himself except in areas that he denied himself to think about. Tonight was different. The dream and recollection had left a bad taste in his mouth and an ache in his heart. He did not know what he would type, how he would type. He just knew that he would type pages again.

Dear Journal,

I really hate the world and myself. Why is there so much hate in me?

And it went on and one. Just ramblings. Frank was more afraid that if someone should discovered the journal, someone might think he was mad rather than leak out his ramblings which he himself found difficult to understand most of the time. It was hard to keep cool all the time, he was not one who was comfortable with emotional outbursts from himself. So he relieved his stress at night, banging on the keyboard, filling pages on the inanimate screen.

But after the initial rambles, something coherent would usually surface. But most of the time, he refused to let himself dwell into that realm which should had been gone by now. Yet, tonight, Frank just wanted it out.

He has returned to civilization. It's summer and he has returned. I don't know where he is. Though I like to pretend I don't care to know. I do. Deep in my heart I know I do.

I wonder how he is, Has he changed? I found myself changed. I feel sluggish, unable to focus and concentrate. I don't know what's happening.

Our multi-billion empire had just grown a few more multis in recent years. Everyone congratulates me. Everyone expects me to do more. But I'm tired. I feel old beyond my years. Where's the old excitement? The smell of danger? No. Now I'm stuck in front of you my dear friend as you present to me pages after pages of various companies report, deciding which ones to invest in, take over and annihilate. I feel like a robot. And I'm only 25.

And part of me don't want to care. I just want to be indifferent. But everything is forcing me feel. To feel. I don't want to feel. It hurts to much to feel.

Joe. Where could he be? Can I forgive him and we can go back to the past?

No. I can't. Because Majory and Ben will always remind me. Mom's absent will always remind me. But forgive? Maybe. Maybe it's time.

Frank stared at the screen, horrified by the secrets he had revealed.

And he hit delete. No one had to know. No one should know.

I made the choice when I refused to visit him. I made the choice to cut him off.

I will live with choice. And I will try to live with myself.

Breathing in deeply, Frank allowed himself to forget for a while. It was already 5a.m. Soon, it would be Sunday. It would be dawn. Frank decided to do some Inbox clearing before the emails he received everyday threaten to tear up his baby. A new mail caught his attention, it was sent to him by Professor Linko, one of his newly acquired scientists, specializing in bio-genetics and medicine science. He had written a short note to inform Frank that the government had finally approved of him to work on some new strain of virus and he was asking for Frank's permission for the go-ahead also. Frank replied immediately, giving Professor Linko a go-ahead. He would speak to the professor later in the morning. Right then, he just wanted to sleep. Pushing his keyboard aside, letting his computer rest on standby, he rested his head on the rich mahogany desk. And almost immediately, he heard Nancy calling him. He awoke to find the sun already shining bright in the sky.

"Frank...There you are baby. Ready for breakfast?"

Frank through blurry eyes could only barely make up Nancy's face in front of him. "Yes baby...give me a moment to freshen up."

"A virus?" Nancy knit her brows together, while sipping some fresh lemonade. The streets of Barnett Bay was extremely busy even though the weather was sweltering. Elsewhere, a siren sounded. Another accident. This new city was not the suburb it used to be years ago when she decided to move to from River Heights to be closer to Frank who had almost lost it two years ago. Not to mention it was near one of the Network offices, disguised as a small trading company.

They were in a small but cozy coffee house near the docks of Barnett Bay, close to Frank's personal apartment which Nancy, though with the key, had not moved in. She was old-fashioned, wanting to be married first before staying together. But Frank trusted her with the key, saying it would be hers sooner or later. The apartment was in a prime district of Barnett Bay, overlooking the harbor. It was awfully quiet at night and Frank, staying in the pent house, the highest level of the tallest apartment building in Barnett Bay, had the privilege of being close to the stars while comforted by the crashing waves of the sea.

Frank did not know that Nancy was already part of the Network. She was approached by some Network agents who looked, in a way, more like the kind aunties one would encounter in church every Sunday. Over the last couple of years since she was an agent, Nancy was little more than just an information procurer, not actively chasing criminals or terrorists. The increase in terrorists' attacks had kept the Network busy for the past few months and the amount of data she had to read and analyze increasing day after day. But of course this was a large part of her life she could not share with Frank. Frank had always thought Nancy had given up on her investigative days to do managerial work. The reason? The pay was better and she could be closer to Frank.

But Nancy feared the day this little big secret of hers would soon drive her and Frank apart. Already she had started conjuring excuses of working late in the nights because economy was in the slumps and she wanted to do more for the company which felt some attachment towards. Frank, lost in his work, had offered her a cushier job as his personal assistant. She was so very tempted. But passion took over and she declined, much to Frank surprise.

I thought it was about money and being closer to me? You always complained that I don't have enough time for you. Now, I'm allowing you to survey me 24 hours a day Nan!

Yah, but I do have feelings of loyalty. My trading company will soon close down if I'm not around.

Are you really so indispensable?

Yes you male chauvinist. You know why you want me to be your PA too. Besides having an eye candy to look after you, you get to push all work to me!

That's not true, you know that.

Then leave me be alright? I promise you, once we go under, I'll send you my CV right away.

She did not even know what a trading company was and was so thankful that miraculously, Frank did not inquire deep into the nature of her job. It was in his habits. He was a male chauvinist who thought that the business empire had no place for women. So he would never ask her for details, though he kept trying to poach her over to his side. Dozens of girls would be dying to be in her shoes, but she was not too hot with where she was. She was getting sick of conjuring up little episodes of office politics to keep Frank believing that she was a working in a normal small company. But the lies were getting harder to keep up with. Lisa who had offended her on Monday became Mona when Frank quizzed her about the same incident on Thursday. Frank was no idiot and one day, he would find out. And it would drive them apart.

"I thought it's the girl Lisa?"

"Lisa? Oh..Lisa. Well, in my office, there's politics all the time. You see, there's this Mona who offended me on Tuesday. You know, this bitches are everywhere. It's hard to keep track."

"Mona and Lisa? Ha, Mona Lisa."

"Yah, we call them the twin bitch."

Because he tells me everything. His disappointment about how his dad rejected his official application to the Network when it should had passed. How he felt he could not cope with running the family business his grandfather had left behind. How he would give anything to just be in the line he had loved the best, espionage, spying, investigating and most importantly, seeking the truth.

Why Mr. Hardy would reject his own son whom he had specially trained to someday take over some of the most sensitive positions in the Network was beyond Nancy. Frank was a better detective than her and definitely, by arresting Joe personally, he had proven himself to be beyond ties of any kind. When it came down to objectivity, Frank had to be best candidate.

And objectivity was very important. Often, Nancy found that she could not let her deductions be totally devoid of her emotions. Frank could. It was a major plus and a failure.

For Nancy often wondered if Frank was just bottling everything up, waiting for the day to explode all in a bout of pure insanity.

"Yah, probably not important, I don't know. But it's a start for our new section, if Professor Linko can get a breakthrough, we would be able to get more grants in other research, saving lives, doing the good deeds, keep profits up." Frank ate as he spoke listlessly, showing no more interest than he was expected to, being at the helm of the company, perhaps even less. The economy was not looking good and Frank had to seek new grounds and new market somewhere. His company was an expert with new scientific breakthroughs, mainly in the technological field which was growing faster and faster, with today's champion becoming tomorrow's castaway. And now, Frank wanted to shift their expertise in research and experiment to new fields, like genetics and medicine.

"So, what's the virus like?" Nancy queried. New research, especially sensitive research like surveillance gadgets, intelligence equipment etc. were of great interest to the Network who procured quite a lot of their state-of-the-art equipment from the company, without Frank's knowledge of course.

Frank gave her a suspicious glance. "Why are you being so curious? I think you're more interested in my company's research than I am sometimes."

Is he suspecting? No, he...he knows my blood, my detective blood. But why ask?

"Oh...caught me! I'm curious, that's all." Nancy tried to sound as natural as she could. Pretense was an old friend of hers that she was getting pretty tired of. Frank always popped funny questions at the weirdest times.

He shrugged, seemingly uninterested in her answer (then why ask in the first place?) and toyed around with a slice of ham. "I don't know. Could be anything. I haven't check it out yet."

"Oh...ok." Nancy did not know what else to say. That was what Frank and she had been facing these few months. Strained conversations, or more appropriately, conversations for the sake of talking to each other. Frank suddenly shook his head, chuckling to himself. Nancy followed his direction of sight and saw that it rested on a crowd, a normal crowd just walking towards the offices downtown. Unable to guess what her boyfriend was laughing at, she eyed him curiously. He caught the glance and pointed at something or someone in the crowd.

"I thought I saw a guy resembling Grey Man but he disappeared....ha...I think I have been thinking too much of the past. Apparently he isn't and apparently, I have to get use to not being the same old crime busting Frank Hardy of Bayport."

Nancy choked. Grey Man. He had to be one of the most famous in their circles. Deeply admired and also hated, he used to be one of the fore-running candidates to take over the leadership of the Network reach in the Middle East. Of course it was going to be a thankless job and Grey had, in many instances, expressed his deep desire never to step foot in that conflict-stricken place. He did not want more responsibility than he could handle but it was job requiring extreme intelligence and perseverance, qualities that Grey Man had no lack of. But he was passed over by another guy who expressed an even deeper desire not to work in the Middle East. Sometimes, the Network had quite a sense of humor.

"What would the busy Grey Man be doing in old peaceful Barnett Bay? Yup, I think you're thinking too much. Have you been seeing Trish lately?"

My boyfriend, and I don't even know if he had seen his therapist recently.

"Nope. Scheduled an appointment next week though. Very busy."

"You should make it. I know your habit of making appointments just to make me happy and then wham! At the very last minute, you always have something on."

"Yah, and if I go, she will ask me those same questions about him. I told her it's the past and I don't think about it anymore. I don't think she's helping."

Because you will not let her. And if you're really over the past, why can't you even bring yourself to say his name? I know Frank. You miss your brother. You will not admit it because you're so afraid you'll betray your family this way. I know you baby.

Frank ruffled his own hair. He had acquired his habit only after Joe was arrested. He used to love to ruffle Joe's soft blond hair just to mess it up for fun.

Do you want to know where he is?"

Frank smiled wanly at Nancy. "I thought we had an agreement to stop discussing about him."

"You decided for yourself. I decide for myself that you need to talk about it. It will be easy to track him down, I have my...I mean, connections still. They can help out." Leaning forward, she squeezed both of Frank's hands tightly.

"Don't you want to see him?"

Frank broke out of her grasp. He threw his napkin on the table and rested his head against his hands, propped up on the table.

"Nancy! Why..Why do you...nevermind." Frank said in exasperation, shaking his head. "We can have a nice time, a nice date," He looked up at Nancy with disbelief in his eyes, "Why do you always have to ruin it with talks about him?"

"Frank, I can see this issue torturing you. Do you think you really spend those sleepless nights, typing away on your computer, looking through your company's portfolio, churning out investments after investments to go into because of responsibility? Of need to perform well? It happened after he went in when you would immerse yourself in all sort of crap books on law and those...those bottles! And it's happening now when you immerse yourself in work shortly before and after he's out! Don't you see the link? Even I can see....Frank, you can talk to me. It's ok to want to...want to maybe just.." Nancy paused for a moment, not wanting to aggravate Frank and yet, drive some sense into him.

"It's bothering you, all these years. I really don't want to see you all depress like before. I don't."

Frank wiped his mouth and finished the last drop of tea. He seemed to have enough of what Nancy got to say. All Nancy knew for certain is that they were not going to leave this café in the same car.

"I'm going off. My office needs me. And Nancy...... why?" Came the frustrated reply and she watched him walk away from her.

Nancy sipped her lemonade, a little disappointed and hurting because Frank just walked out like that. It was getting harder and harder to talk to him because he clammed up or he refused to even discuss any issues at all. She had not agreed to the proposal before because he did it in order to appease her and marriage in that circumstance would only make things worse. Sometimes she wondered if she had already lost him.

She had been rooting for Joe and Frank knew it and she knew that it probably drove a wedge between them. Deep in her heart, she could not believe that Joe could have committed those crimes all by himself. Even if he was not innocent, there was a chance that he could be coerced. But Frank seemed to have already convinced himself that it was not worth digging back into the past. And also because of new developments they had from the Assassins that had gone missing since the day Joe went into jail. Evidence pointed against Joe. Frank pointed at Joe but his finger was heavy, reluctant.

Thanks for coming Nancy.

Are you alright Joey? Did anyone bully you inside?

*Frivolously" No..everything's just dandy. You can't ask for much. It's free lodgings and food.

Joey, you don't look ok. Can I help you with anything?

I have paid Nan. For everything I have done, I have paid. Why don't they let me out? Get me out Nan.

I can't Joe.

Silence

Then come see me more. Bring Frank along next time. Maybe he doesn't know the way here.

I promise. You take care.

It was a promise she never kept. That was the first and last time she visited Joe. She knew that they had all failed him, abandoned him. But he had paid.

He had paid. Both of them had already paid.