Joe Hardy glanced into the side-view mirror and frowned. “There’s a semi on our bumper,” he noted, glancing over at his mother.

Laura Hardy’s weary blue eyes lifted to the rearview mirror and she nodded. She didn’t have as much to say these days as she had before Dad was killed- before she’d had to make the heart-wrenching decision to have him taken off life support.

Joe took a breath, let it out silently, tried to think about something else.

It was a hot but pretty day near the middle of July. Mom had just gone back to work at the bookstore two days ago; her employers had given her two weeks off with pay, but she’d decided to go in and work anyway. She’d said she’d rather be keeping herself occupied than hanging around the house needlessly, and Joe could appreciate the sentiment. He and Frank had been trying to avoid hanging around the house, too. The place felt so empty now, and he didn’t really feel secure there, even when he was with Mom or Frank.

‘Stop it, J. Don’t think about it.’

Just now they were going to pick up a number of books from a contributor and cart them to the bookstore where Mom worked. Mom had volunteered to collect them on her way in to work and Joe had decided to come along, ostensibly to help her carry the books, but his underlying reason was a bit different. He and Frank had been spending virtually all their time together lately, nearly excluding their mother altogether. Joe felt rather bad about that and wanted to make amends for it by spending some time with her. He was feeling somewhat ambiguous about it now, though; it was weird not to have Frank a few steps away. And Mom was so sad, even though she tried to hide it.

“Why do you have to go and collect ‘em?” Joe inquired, trying to get some sort of conversation going to ease the heavy feeling of unhappiness that hung in the car. “Why don’t the customers bring ‘em in?”

“Normally they do,” Laura agreed. “It would run up our bills in a hurry if we had to go around and fetch them all. But this particular contributor is eighty-two and can’t drive anymore. He’s giving his entire collection, some of them extremely valuable, because he’s leaving at the end of the month. Moving to Florida.”

“Oh, that makes sense. I wonder,” Joe was saying, when he lost his train of thought. Another semi had moved up beside them on the drivers’ side. The boy scowled, feeling uneasy at the proximity of the huge truck. Then his eyes widened in sudden fear; the truck was drifting into their lane! He darted a worried glance at his suddenly tight-lipped mother. Laura gripped the steering wheel tightly and glanced into the rearview mirror again.

At the frightened look that spread over his mother’s face, Joe turned sharply in his seat. His eyes widened even more; the truck behind them was even closer. “What the-” He barely managed to avoid the curse on the tip of his tongue.

“He won’t let me slow-” The car swerved violently towards the shoulder and there was a screeching scrape as the semi beside them impacted on the side of their vehicle.

“They’re trying to- yaah!” The cry was wrenched from Joe as the truck behind them banged against their bumper. “Speed up!” he shouted. “Get around this-”

“There’s no room!” Laura screamed as the semi beside them forced her onto the shoulder. Joe cringed at the sight of the guardrail whizzing by outside his window. He whirled again and gasped as the rear truck thudded against their bumper. The driver- he couldn’t see the guy’s face, but he could see the man’s white hair!

“Starmail!” he gasped. “It’s the Starmail guys! The ones who- watch out!”

Laura screamed again. Joe turned and yelled in panic as their car smashed through the safety railing with a terrible grinding jolt. Then it was all a whirling, pounding, spinning pain that turned to silent blackness.

Pain. Darkness. Hot wind in his face. Joe opened his eyes and stared dizzily at shattered glass, his own bloody arms, the white fabric of the deflated airbag. His brother’s frightened voice echoed in his mind as the smell of gasoline came to his nose. Have to move. Have to get out.

Pain shot through him as he pulled off the seatbelt, opened the door. Sharp pain in his ankle as he stood, even sharper pain from the cuts in his arms and legs. His vision blurred as he stumbled around to Mom’s side of the car. There was blood on Mom’s face, on the steering wheel. She registered his shaky whisper that he needed to move her, that it would hurt, then moaned in pain as he lifted her- or was it his moan as her weight drove the glass shards deeper into his flesh? No matter. He had to get away... Joe stumbled away from the car, lowered his mother to the ground as carefully as he could.

Joe briefly became aware again of Frank, who was calling an ambulance for them. Then he lost the contact and blinked around, finally registering their surroundings. They were in a narrow ditch some thirty feet deep and half that from one side to the other. Shrubs and trees and thick grasses grew on both slopes. He noted, offhandedly, the mile-marker embedded in the front grille of the car and the blown-out windshield.

A deafening burst of noise shocked the boy to his core and he cringed violently, flinging his arms over his head as fire and metal shards erupted from the automobile. When his pulse slowed a little, Joe slowly lowered his bloody arms and looked back to see the rear of the car in flames. The gas tank had exploded, he realized- but only the gas tank. The underside of the car, where the fuel line ran, was undamaged, the engine untouched. The smell of the gas was fading- probably the fuel line had broken, draining all the liquid in it.

Frank’s silent reassurance that the emergency vehicles were on the way murmured encouragingly in his mind. Joe spared a moment to wonder which hospital he’d be taken to this time, then felt his brother’s presence fade away again. Slumping beside his mother, his head spinning, Joe held her limp, chilly hand in his bloody one and listened in dim fear to her ragged breathing. She would be all right. She had to be. He couldn’t lose her, they needed her- but she was unconscious and blood was trickling from her mouth. Joe knew what that meant, but he denied it fiercely, calling her, trying to rouse her. His voice was weak and he felt sick, but he walled off the feeling. His mother was more important than his pains.

The sound of sirens reached his ears. Soon afterwards, a chattering of voices and the sound of people rapidly descending from the highway above, crashing through brush and stunted trees.

Dizziness. Standing- where was Mom’s hand? Where was Mom? So sleepy, so confused. Nauseous. His lunch came up, and after that he was lying down on something and moving. Joe wanted to sleep, but they wouldn’t let him, kept talking to him and making him answer questions. Jabs of pain made him gasp as they extracted shards of glass from his arms and cleaned the cuts. His blood throbbed under the tight bandages.

Questions, constant questions. Even as he was rolled down halls and into a bedroom, a man in a blue uniform- a cop- was questioning him. He struggled to tell what he knew, but the words were clumsy on his tongue.

The doctor came in and the cop left. Joe was rolled to another room, the trip making his stomach churn again. X-rays were taken, first of his head and then of his foot. His ankle ached as they moved it into different positions. Low voices spoke nearby, conferring with one another, and finally the verdict: no breaks, but a bad sprain and a concussion. His ankle was wrapped tightly in a bandage and then Joe was returned to the first room and left alone in the quiet. When were they going to tell him about Mom? She was hurt- but she’d be all right, she had to be...had to be...

Voices sounded outside the door- low voices, but Joe was positive he recognized them. Turning his head, he blinked at the light that was streaming in through the open doorway. A tall figure stood there, the shadows of the room rendering him unrecognizable. His face was turned to someone in the hall, his hand on the doorframe. He nodded, then turned into the room, letting his hand fall to his side as he came in. As the shadows washed over him, his features resolved into the familiar, serious face of Frank Hardy.

Joe let out a relieved sigh, suddenly aware that he felt more alert. The shock of the wreck and his injuries seemed to be wearing off, even though his head still ached badly. “Who were you talking to?” he asked quietly, vaguely pleased that he was no longer stuttering.

“Con Riley. He thought you were sleeping, so he didn’t come in to take your statement,” his brother replied softly, halting beside the bed and studying him carefully.

“I was drifting for a little while, I am sleepy. The concussion, I guess. Nothing broken, though.” Joe lifted his right foot in explanation of that remark. “What about Mom? No one will tell me anything.”

“Doctor Anderson was coming to tell you, but he ran into me and...” Frank faltered. “I asked him to call Aunt G instead.”

“I know it’s bad.” Joe’s nagging fear solidified into terror. Mom was hurt; she must be very badly hurt. So bad that they didn’t want to tell him- but Frank would tell him. Frank didn’t hide things from him. Looking up into that well-known, serious young face, Joe suddenly wished his brother did hide things- or at least this one thing, this one time.

Frank saw the fear in his eyes and moved closer, lifting his hand and smoothing Joe’s hair very gently, as though mindful of his aching head. His own brown eyes were not so much afraid as- regretful. “It doesn’t get much worse,” he murmured. “She’s gone, Joe.”

‘Gone?’ Joe didn’t recognize the word for a moment. ‘Gone, like...dead? No! Mom can’t be dead! She can’t...’

The memory of his mother’s white face, of the blood at her mouth, the sound of her weak, labored breathing, flashed through his mind in an instant and Joe’s silent denial crumbled before he could even speak it. He’d known she was dying. Known and feared it. “I shoulda been driving...” he murmured distractedly. It was his fault. His! He could have saved her. He was used to reacting quickly, taking chances, he would have sped up sooner, passed the blockading truck, taken an exit- he had the experience

Frank was talking, but none of it got through until, “Her airbag didn’t deploy properly,” sounded in Joe’s ears. Then...it was not his fault. There was no comfort in the thought, but there was less pain.

Until a new and horrid truth came to light, weeks later:

“She didn’t have her seatbelt on.”

Why, why, why hadn’t he noticed? Even when he lifted her from the car, he hadn’t noticed! He should have seen, reminded her- saved her life-

It was his fault!

Frank Hardy woke with a gasp and sat up quickly, knowing that something had jarred him awake, but not quite sure what. Some strange noise? Staring quickly around with sleep-fogged eyes, he realized he was in his own room- his new room, in their new apartment. The overhead light was still on and Joe was lying beside him on top of the rumpled covers. The clock beside the bed indicated that several hours had passed since he last looked at it. Obviously he’d fallen asleep- but what had woken him?

A low, groaning cry tore from his brother’s throat, incomprehensible, but full of agony. Frank leaned over and shook Joe’s shoulder. The blond boy started up with a gasp, but he wasn’t awake; his eyes were unseeing as he stared straight ahead of him. “No,” he whispered hoarsely. “No.”

“Joe, wake up-”

“Mom,” the younger boy whimpered, his face twisting. “Oh, Mom!”

Frank bit his lip, fighting a surge of grief, then shook his brother more vigorously. “Joe!” he hissed. Joe turned to him and his brow clouded with bewilderment.

“D-Dad?”

“No!” Frank gasped reflexively, badly startled. “No, I-” This obviously wasn’t working, the rational part of his sleepy mind told him. “Joe!” he repeated in the speech of the mind. “Wake up, you had a dream.”

“Uh...” Joe blinked hard a few times, stared at him again. “What?” he asked aloud.

“Dreaming!” Frank repeated urgently, both mentally and verbally.

“No...no, not dreaming.”

The sending wasn’t working either. Scared and exasperated, Frank slid off the bed and left the room. A moment later he returned, carrying two things. The first item was a glass half-full of cold water, which he emptied straight into his brother’s pale face. This action left Joe sputtering, his eyes closed against the wetness, but when he did open his eyes there was a measure of rationality in them again. Frank offered the second item, a hand-towel from the linen cupboard. “Awake now?”

Joe gazed at him with a baffled expression, then slowly took the towel and wiped his dripping face and neck. “I...think so,” he said weakly. “You got the bed all wet, though.”

“It’ll dry.” Frank put the empty glass on the night table and sat down near the pillow, which had only a drop or two of water spattered on the pillowcase. “Sorry about that, but I figured it was better than slapping you.”

The blond boy nodded, rubbing at his hair with the towel. “I’m glad you didn’t. Once was enough,” he muttered.

“Once?”

Joe frowned, his hands stilling, his damp hair sticking up in tufts. “Well, I thought...maybe it was the dream?” he ventured. “I looked up and saw Dad and he hit me. Just like...” His hand went to his cheek.

“Oh. You looked up and saw me, mistook me for Dad, and your mind dragged up a memory,” Frank said with a sigh. He knew perfectly well that he resembled their father, but no one had ever actually mistaken him for Fenton Hardy. Still, dreams did weird things to peoples’ minds.

“I guess. I wasn’t...” Joe still sounded vague. “Mom,” he whispered. His eyes closed again. “It was my fault.”

“Now I ought to slap you,” Frank said before he thought. “For daring to even think about believing that,” he added as Joe’s bloodshot blue eyes opened wide. “It was not your fault, and if you think about it a minute, you’ll recall that we’ve been over that aspect quite a few times. You were not Mom’s keeper. It was not your duty to remind her of a basic safety precaution that she was well aware of.”

The younger boy’s mouth fell open in shock and dismay, and Frank suddenly realized how harsh he sounded.

“Joe-”

“You’re still mad at me. You know I’m right, you-”

“Don’t you dare!” Frank felt his control cracking. “Don’t you try to tell me what I know or feel about this!” He took a deep breath and added more quietly, “That’s for me to tell you.”

Joe stared at him with wide, half-fearful eyes for a moment, then quickly averted his gaze. The tense silence remained unbroken while Frank strove to bring his emotions under control again, but the longer the silence lasted, the stronger his uneasiness grew. He felt himself starting to tremble, a bad sign. “To begin with, I never got mad at you because I wasn’t mad,” he said at last, hoping to break the tension and calm himself down in the process of explaining. “Nor did I blame you, and I’m not going to start now. Gertrude blamed you, but I told her off for that on several occasions.” He took another breath; the tension wasn’t easing and there was a too-familiar fluttery feeling in his gut. “I’m sorry I sounded so harsh, Joe, but the thought of you blaming yourself when there’s absolutely no reason to just makes me sick inside. I might as well blame myself for Dad’s death.”

Joe glanced up, then looked away again, but the one glance was enough.

“Okay, you don’t believe me.” Frank leaned back against the bedframe and tried to stop shaking. “We- were all very distracted,” he reminded his brother, using words he’d used once before to good effect. “With good reason. Mom made a mistake. The only- person responsible for her seatbelt was her.” Bad grammar, he reflected. But a valid point. “Mom...hadn’t been sleeping well. Neither had you- or I, for that matter. She was- was forgetful. Joe...”

The younger boy continued to stare at the carpet, his arms crossed on his chest, hands gripping his own biceps. He looked as though he were trying to restrain himself- or hug himself. “What?” he muttered.

Frank closed his eyes and swallowed hard. The shaking was getting worse, the flutter in his stomach had become a cold knot. “I- I know I don’t sound very- sympathetic,” he managed, his voice strained. “And I’m s-sorry, but I- I-”

Joe’s gaze snapped up and he regarded Frank through narrowed eyes. A second later he uncoiled himself and scooted to Frank’s side, wrapping his arm around the older Hardy’s shoulders. Frank leaned against him, deeply grateful for the embrace. He didn’t feel his attitude of the last five minutes really deserved comforting, and he wouldn’t’ve blamed Joe if he had just gotten up and walked out, leaving Frank in the throes of the panic.

“Shoulda told me you were getting panicky,” Joe murmured as he reached for the blanket. “Oh, this is all wet.” Frowning, he leaned forward and pulled the other end free from the foot of the mattress. He wrapped this around them both, and then the familiar, calming touch of his mind mingled with Frank’s own half-paralyzed mind. Frank closed his eyes and held on gratefully to the light that was his brother’s strength.

“Better?” came the quiet inquiry about ten minutes later, when the last tremors finally ebbed.

Frank nodded slowly, not lifting his head from Joe’s strong shoulder. The panic attacks always left him weak and exhausted, but at least his head was fairly clear. “Thanks,” he whispered. “I didn’t deserve that, but thanks, brother.”

“Say what? I mean, why not?” Joe sounded genuinely perplexed.

“I was awful harsh-”

“You were harsh because of the panic...right?”

Was that why? Or had he been harsh because of a different fear? “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe. But I heard Gertrude talking out of your mouth, and it scared me. No matter what either of us said, she always threw the blame on you- and it’s not your fault, Joe! Mom made a mistake, and she would’ve been the first to admit it. Besides that, there was no guarantee that having her seat belt on would have saved her anyway. The airbag was faulty- remember?”

Joe let out a long sigh and nodded; as he slowly sat up, Frank saw that his brother’s eyes were closed. “I...I do remember,” he agreed softly.

“I think,” Frank speculated daringly, leaning back against the headboard, “that you’re blaming yourself now because you remember blaming yourself then. I know it’s a bad memory for you, Joe, but keep pushing through it, get to the end of it.”

Joe sighed again. “I’m trying,” he replied. Then he opened his eyes and said, “Sorry if I triggered you, talking about it.”

Frank had to think a moment before he realized Joe was talking about having triggered the panic attack. “Don’t blame yourself for that, either. I did the same thing yesterday, you know, panicked as soon as I woke up. I hope this isn’t going to become a habit,” he added, frowning.

“Well, I startled you,” Joe mused. “And yesterday it was your alarm clock going off so loudly that spooked you. Maybe if you wake up more slowly- I mean, not that this is something that’s easy to plan out, but maybe that’s the difference.”

“You always were good at seeing patterns.”

“Still am, I hope.” A faint smile touched the younger boy’s face briefly.

“Still are,” Frank agreed, relieved at the change of subject. He only hoped Joe was genuinely convinced that Frank didn’t blame him, not hiding a lingering fear where it could get stronger grip on him. The guilt itself, he knew, would take a long time to dissipate.

“Tired?” Joe asked as Frank’s eyes inadvertently drifted closed.

“Mmm-hm.”

“Me, too. But let’s get into my room, and let your bed dry out a little.”

That sounded like an excellent idea. Frank forced his eyes open and his weary body off the bed, glad that it took only a few seconds to trudge next door to Joe’s room. “I hope there’s not a next time, but if there is, I won’t be so unconventional when I wake you up,” he promised, slumping down onto Joe’s bed with a yawn.

“I’ll appreciate that,” Joe replied, snapping off the light. Frank felt the bed shift a few seconds later as his brother joined him. “’Course, I’ll ‘preciate it more if it’s not needed at all. Thanks,” he added, and Frank felt the warmth of Joe’s hand on his arm.

“Thanks, yourself, kiddo. Have...better dreams.”

“Isn’t that awfully inconvenient?”

Frank Hardy looked up from his computer screen and over his shoulder at the figure standing behind his chair. “What ‘that’ are you talking about?” he asked in reply.

“Having your desk wedged into the corner like that, not being able to open the closet door the whole way...makes your room seem pretty cramped.”

Frank’s neck was starting to ache, so he turned halfway around in his chair as he replied, “Well, yeah, it is a kinda tight fit.” And wasn’t that the truth! “But there’s not much to do about it- unless you see a better way to arrange things?” Then he wondered if he should have inquired; Joe was wearing his best ‘innocent’ look, which usually meant mischief.

“Sorta,” the blond boy replied with a sudden grin. “Move it down the hall.”

“Down the-” Frank stopped in mid-thought, blinking. “Into...the big bedroom,” he verified cautiously.

“We’re not using it,” Joe pointed out, his smile fading into seriousness. “In fact, I was thinking that putting our books in those empty bookshelves would not be a bad idea, either.”

“What about all her boxes of books, though?”

“I stacked those in the closet. No point shelving them, they’d just get dusty and worn, and we never read ‘em anyway. It might be more sensible to throw them out entirely, but I do believe she’d kill us if we did.”

Frank sat thinking for a moment, nodding absently to the last remark. Joe had a point: they had been reserving the master bedroom for their aunt since before they moved into the apartment. But now that they knew she’d never leave Seven Oaks, the space was going to waste. They might as well utilize it. Unless- “We could move into a two-bedroom,” he pointed out. “We’d be down a level and paying even less.”

Joe cocked his head, considering that. “But if we stay in this one, we have more room for people- visitors- and things,” he replied. “The two-bedroom would be smaller, and everything would be that much more crowded. We’d probably have to ditch the bookshelves altogether, just to begin with. Besides, do you really feel like moving twice in three months?”

“Well, no,” Frank admitted quickly. Their move had been accomplished more smoothly than he’d expected, but all the same, the thought of trying to pack everything back up and haul it down a flight of stairs was extremely unappealing. Besides, he didn’t need to ache for another week from all the lifting and stair-climbing.

“And we don’t know that we would pay less. Even if he did only charge us for a one-bedroom, it’s not as big a difference between one bedroom and two bedrooms as it is between a two and a three-bedroom,” Joe continued.

“Well, that’s true too. Proportionately, we could end up paying more... You win,” Frank gave in with a smile. Then he turned and regarded the narrow corner into which his computer desk was cramped, and nodded. “Yeah, I think maybe I will move this space-eating machine into the big bedroom. It’s a good idea.”

“Why, thank you.” Joe’s grin had a distinct hint of smugness in it.

“Just out of curiosity, what- aside from the goodness of your heart- made you suggest it?”

“That, mainly; it occurred to me that there are times that I do get on the computer, and those sometimes are times where it’s not exactly convenient for you,” Joe answered smoothly. “Thus the goodness of my heart, not wanting to disturb or inconvenience you.”

“Ah, I see,” Frank replied gravely, and then laughed. “In other words, you want video-game access on a more frequent basis! Well, no problem... You know, all of a sudden, I miss my laptop,” he added, sighing. The laptop, which had been utterly destroyed while he was attending Unity College, had been a gift from his parents.

“Maybe you could pick up a secondhand one. You and Phil could have a fine time playing around with it and adding all the bells and whistles,” Joe suggested. His hand rested lightly on Frank’s shoulder for a moment in consolation.

Frank nodded, appreciating the sentiment but not exactly encouraged by it. He didn’t want a different laptop; he wanted the one that had been a gift. It had been something of sentimental as well as practical value. “Anyway,” he said, changing the subject, “I can’t move this thing down the hall right away- I’ve got to leave in a bit to meet up with Callie.”

“Oh, right.” Joe’s hand fell away. “You two keep missing each other, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Frank sighed. He’d meant to talk to her the day after Joe’s graduation, over a week ago, but circumstances kept interfering. First they’d had their final exams of the semester on Monday and Tuesday, and both of them had been genuinely wiped out each evening after their stressful days. Then Callie’s folks had taken her out of town for a three-day weekend; Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

There had been other reasons, too. Callie had claimed she had a doctor’s appointment Wednesday and an outing with her mother Thursday. Frank was pretty sure these were contrived excuses- genuine, but pulled together on fairly short notice as a means of avoiding him. The mother-daughter outing, in particular. The fact that both times Callie had called him the night before, begging off at almost the last minute, strengthened the young sleuth’s suspicions.

“I’m wondering,” he said quietly, knowing his brother was still standing behind him, “if she’s going to want to break up.”

Joe’s hand returned, squeezing his shoulder gently. “I doubt it, bro,” he answered in reassuring tones.

“I dunno what else to think, the way she keeps avoiding me...” Frank trailed off, feeling a complicated mix of fear and unhappiness. He and Callie had been together for so long and he cared so much about her! If she didn’t want to be with him any more, he’d have to accept it, but he dreaded the thought of his loneliness without her.

“Maybe she’s afraid you want to break up and she’s trying to avoid it. If you’re not with her, you can’t dump her- that’s not how you work.”

“You incurable optimist,” Frank sighed, feeling a measure of his tension ease. He tilted his head back and caught a glimpse of Joe’s smile before the younger boy’s other hand tousled through Frank’s dark, now-untidy hair. “Thanks.” While he didn’t really believe that was the situation, it was a good reminder that a breakup was not an automatic certainty. He and Callie had worked through relationship problems before; surely they could do it now, too.

“Anytime,” Joe replied, a smile in his voice. “And you don’t look half-bad, all mussed up like that, either.”

“Joe! That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Frank laughed, turning around in the chair to meet a mischievous grin and teasing blue eyes.

“Should be more specific, big brother.”

“You’d think I’d’ve learned that by now,” Frank agreed, getting up from the chair. “I dunno how long this is going to take,” he added more seriously. “We’re meeting on the beach-”

“I’ll wait for you to get in touch with me,” Joe inserted, nodding. “But if I don’t hear from you by sundown, I’m going to get worried, and if I get worried, I’ll probably go looking for you. So don’t pounce on me if I interrupt something.”

“I wouldn’t pounce on you,” Frank assured his brother. “But I can’t vouch for Callie, so don’t come looking for us. Just send and I’ll let you know what’s up. Though I don’t think it’ll be necessary to worry, I doubt we’ll take- what, seven more hours?- to settle this.” ‘One way or another,’ he added to himself.

“Hey, you never know. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have such a meaningful and romantic talk that you fail to notice the time passing,” replied the incurable optimist, swatting the older Hardy gently on the back as Frank headed out of his room and paused at the front door. “Got everything?”

“I think so. Keys, wallet...” The dark-haired boy pulled his keys from his shorts pocket, then ran his other hand through his mussed hair, trying to undo the tousling Joe had so kindly given him.

“Checking to make sure your brain’s there?”

Frank swung around and cuffed his grinning brother on the arm. “Unlike you, I don’t let mine wander off! Later, Joe- and stay out of trouble if you possibly can, okay?”

“I make no promises,” Joe retorted irrepressibly, and he closed the door before Frank could respond.

Chuckling, the nineteen-year-old descended the stairs to the parking lot, but his cheerful mood quickly turned somber as he drove towards the Barmet Beaches. He knew this was not going to be an easy discussion, despite his brother’s attempts to persuade him otherwise, and the closer he got to the rendezvous, the more anxious he felt about it. His hands shook ever so slightly as he pulled into a parking spot and he paused a few moments before getting out of the car. Closing his eyes, Frank attempted to use one of his martial arts meditation techniques to clear his mind and steady his nerves. He didn’t want to go into a panic attack in front of Callie if he could possibly help it.

Then, feeling more resigned than calm, he got out of the car and went looking for his girlfriend.

Callie Shaw pushed her light-brown hair back from her face and wondered why she’d suggested meeting Frank on the beach. Sure, it was easy to be private this way, but there had to be a dozen other places that were equally private and also had the advantage of being out of the hot sun and strong wind.

Once again she stood up from the bench she’d chosen and looked around impatiently. She knew her impatience was unjustified- it wasn’t two o’clock yet- but she was too nervous about this coming talk to be feeling very reasonable.

No sign of Frank. The girl sighed and sat down again, unconsciously taking in the area. If she strained her eyes, she could just make out the Marina office far to the right; the boathouses sprinkled on the water and the piers lined with bobbing boats were easy enough to see. Beyond that was the murky haze of the industrial shipping area. Sandwiched in between the two was the passenger charter, where customers could arrange anything from a rowboat rental to a ten-day cruise. Not that Bayport had cruise ships- yet- but the travel agencies sold the tickets and provided transportation to the various cruise ports.

Callie sighed again and turned her gaze to the public beach before her. The sun sparkled on the water; distant laughter and shouts came to her ears. The lifeguard towers were all manned today and she wondered vaguely what it was like to sit up under those umbrellas and watch the ocean for potential rescues. Probably a lot less relaxing than most people thought. Behind her, she could hear the occasional noise of traffic in the streets and pedestrians moving around among the waterfront shops. Down by the ports, things were rather dingy and rough; even up here there was a rougher element, but the shops and restaurants were better maintained.

Turning to look the other way, her eye followed the ‘boardwalk’, as the Bayporters laughingly called it, up to where it stopped being a wooden walkway set on the sand and became a winding, sandy path among the dunes. All along the walkway were lampposts and benches; it was conveniently close to both beach and shops and was second only to the Mall as a meeting place. Second because, in the Mall, one didn’t have to worry about rain, sleet, or any other versions of foul weather. Or sunburn either, Callie amended to herself.

“Hi.”

Callie jumped and turned as Frank sat down beside her. “Are you ever going to stop sneaking up on me?” she asked almost crossly.

“Sorry. I thought you saw me.” He sounded calm, but Callie knew him better than that. Specifically, she knew that shuttered look on his face.

“Mind if we move into the shade?” she asked, taking a calming breath. Something in her wanted to put this off as long as possible.

“No problem.” He stood up again and followed as she led the way down the boardwalk. The search for a bench that was in the shade as well as unoccupied took them nearly twenty minutes. They finally settled on the last bench before the boards gave way to the twisting path that led among the dunes.

“Okay...” Callie settled into the seat, looked out at the sea, and realized there was no more stalling left to do. “So, you’re not too happy with me.” Frank was looking at her, she could feel it.

“I’m not too happy with the way you keep avoiding me. Specifically, the way you keep agreeing we’ll talk and then finding some way out of it.”

The girl felt a twinge, both of conscience and of anger. “You think I was making up excuses not to be with you?” she accused.

“Something like that.” Frank still sounded calm and she turned to scowl at him. It was one of the most infuriating things he did, being cool and rational when other people were agitated

“And how many times since we’ve been together have you called and cancelled .something with me at the very last minute?”

“Plenty,” he admitted. “But not because I was deliberately avoiding you. If you haven’t been avoiding me on purpose, Cal, you’ve sure given a good impression of it.”

Callie turned back to the sea and waited, her nails digging into her hands. Waited for him to say they shouldn’t see each other any more. Waited for him to accuse her of cheating on him. Or tell her that he’d found someone else, or-

“Are you going to tell me why, or are you just going to sit there and wait for me to start taking guesses?”

“No, I’m going to sit here and wait for you to explain to me why I always have to come second,” she snapped out. “Because as soon as you’re not the first priority in my life, you get pretty unhappy, so what makes you think I like being your afterthought?”

“Oh, stop that,” her boyfriend said heatedly. “You’re trying to put me on the defensive and it’s not going to work! I just said I’ve never deliberately avoided you. More to the point, I neither need nor expect to be the first priority in your life, and I’ve never even pretended that you were the most important person in mine. So don’t go acting like I broke some commitment to you. The only commitment we’ve made is not to see other people- and we agreed that even that might change. I’m not wondering what my priority level is with you, I want to know why you’re avoiding me.”

Callie felt tears sting her eyes and turned her face away. “Oh yes, I know who the most important person in your life is,” she muttered bitterly.

“Is that it? You’re going on another jealousy kick?” Frank sounded peeved, which was unusual for him. “You know, if you were jealous, again, of how much time I spent with Joe, you could actually have done something about it. Like offering to spend time with me instead of shutting me out. He and I have both been through hell these past two months, and it would’ve been real nice for me to have someone else around that I could depend on. I guess you were too busy sulking about having to ‘share’ me to think of it, though.”

‘How does he do that?’ Callie asked herself in frustration. ‘How does he always make it my fault? Why am I always the problem?’ “You never said a thing about wanting me around when we talked,” she gritted out. “And it had nothing to do with ‘sharing’ you- and you know damned well that I don’t get half as jealous of Joe as he does of me!”

“Did, not does,” Frank retorted. “The past doesn’t concern us now, Cal.”

“My point,” she went on angrily, “is that I’m not the only one who needs to communicate, okay? How am I supposed to do it by myself, Frank? How can I give you space when you need it and still be there when you want me around unless you specifically tell me? If you want to see me, don’t call me and ask, ‘When can we get together next?’ Call and say, ‘I want to see you, I want some company’. But that’s exactly what you didn’t do, you just talked vaguely about doing things sometimes and made me guess the what and when and how. I don’t even know-”

“Hold it, I am seriously lost,” Frank inserted, holding up his hand. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you!” Callie half-shouted. “I’m talking about you spending every minute of the day with your brother, trying to make him remember! That leaves you very little time for anything else, and I knew the second I suggested getting together, you’d tell me no, you needed to be with Joe. So I waited! And I’m talking about you getting caught and dosed with some drug and ending up hospitalized again, and me not even being allowed to visit you in the hospital because you didn’t tell the nurses I could come in! And then you come home and you won’t tell me what happened- how’m I supposed to be ‘supportive’ of you then? Oh, I know, I’ll wait on your convenience! I’ll wait till you want to tell me- but you never do, you take your meds and you keep all this distance between us and act casual and mention doing things together- but oh, you never say what things! So I make plans instead, to do things by myself instead of with you, and the next thing I know you’re saying I’m the one who’s avoiding you! I don’t damned well think so, Frank Hardy! I got sick of being the one who patiently waits for you to pay attention to me when you get time in your busy schedule, and I gave you a dose of it back. And you don’t like it. Well, guess what, I don’t like it either!”

Waves rolled in and broke on the shore. The breeze whispered past, rustling the twigs and leaves above them. Gulls cried and wheeled above the sun-sparkled water. Callie felt her breath heaving in her chest and willed herself not to cry. She wouldn’t succumb to the weakness of tears, not with Frank’s eyes pinned on her this way.

“I didn’t know you wanted to come and see me-”

“Well, you should’ve! I always have, except that one time when you were in that stupid place that only permitted family.”

Frank sighed. “I wasn’t thinking very clearly, Cal. It’s hard to do when I’m on sedatives. So,” he went on, sounding moody, “I took you for granted and twisted it around to make it like you were taking me for granted. But you made assumptions and leaped to conclusions- and then you got mad at me about them.”

“So I’m more to blame than you?” she offered angrily, turning to glare into his dark brown eyes.

“Stop being so freakin’ defensive! I’m not saying it’s all your fault. We’ve been together long enough to know how not to get into this sort of situation, and we did anyway. You didn’t communicate with me; I didn’t communicate with you. You assumed I wouldn’t have left Joe alone to do something with you- which is not accurate, by the way- and I assumed that since you didn’t set out any specific plans for getting together, that meant you didn’t want to. Which apparently was also inaccurate.”

“Sometimes I think I hate you,” Callie said quietly, and watched her boyfriend’s handsome face go slack-jawed in shock. “You are so logical, even when everyone else around you is raging with emotions. If I didn’t know you do have feelings, I’d swear you were an android. You never talk about how you feel, Frank- except to Joe. Everyone else gets only the slightest hints of emotion from you, and most of those you cover in facts. Like you did just now, dissecting our ‘communication problems’ instead of suggesting that maybe, just maybe, you feel bad about them. You know I’m furious and you know I’m upset- I’m not hiding it. I can’t tell what you’re feeling, besides annoyed and resigned. I guess you don’t think I’m important enough to tell me or show me.”

“Callie-” Silence fell as Frank gazed at her, astonishment in his face. She’d never seen him lost for words before; it seemed her accusation had struck deeper than she expected. Then he took a breath and started again. “Cal, I didn’t come out here to rant and rave-”

“Oh, you going to do all that when you get home?” she interrupted. “Going to share our so-called private talk with your brother?”

Frank was silent again, turning away to stare across the sand. He might just as well have admitted aloud that she was correct; his silence said it for him.

“You owe it to me to tell me how you feel towards me. And you owe it to me to keep a private talk private, not to spill it to Joe. Otherwise I might just as well have met you in your apartment.”

Frank’s dark head bowed and his shoulders slumped. After a moment, he nodded wearily. “You’re right. I was thinking to tell him, but that- that would be wrong. But- Cal- I just don’t think ranting and raving is going to solve the problem. I’m afraid all it would do is split us up, if we sat here shouting accusations and- and hurt feelings at each other- and I really don’t want to do that. I- I thought you knew, understood, how much I feel for you. That’s why I’m not interested in seeing anyone else.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Feelings- are hard for me, Cal. I feel a lot, sometimes too much, but I don’t dare let them get out of control.”

“Why not? What’s wrong with cutting loose and expressing yourself every now and then? Feelings are hard for everyone, Frank. I’m not enjoying this discussion at all, because of my own feelings, but they are necessary,” Callie pointed out. “Both the feelings and the discussion,” she added at his confused look. “I think...you won’t like this. But I think the reason you have so much trouble with your feelings in public is because you’re so used to turning ‘em over to Joe in private. You’ve made him your sinkhole, you tell him everything and everyone else virtually nothing. And it’s not fair to him, nor to everyone else.”

“And you just told me I was too logical?” Frank said crossly. “I didn’t expect a lecture analysis on what’s wrong with how I choose to live my life, or who I choose to confide in. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about Joe, I want to know about us. Do you want to split, or not?”

Callie blinked several times at the abrupt topic swing. “I- why should I be the one making that decision?” she countered, trying to catch her mental balance. Was he afraid of splitting up, or was he going to urge her to do so? “Tell me what you want. Tell me how you feel about splitting up,” she added maliciously.

Silence. The sun had moved noticeably in the sky; time was passing, though Callie hadn’t been aware of it.

“If...if you want to-”

“Tell me how you feel!” Callie demanded, grabbing her boyfriend by the arms and shaking him. “For pity’s sake, will you drop the armor! Just for once in my lifetime?”

Stunned brown eyes met hers. Stunned, tear-filled eyes. “Cal-”

Something like fear welled up inside of Callie as she wrapped her arms around her boyfriend, as he clung to her and pressed his face against her shoulder, as she felt his body quivering. “Don’t leave me,” the words breathed in her ear, shaky hoarse words. “Don’t leave me, Callie. I need you.”

“I need you, too,” she whispered past the pain in her throat, past the fear tingling in her nerves. Frank Hardy- crying? Was such a thing even possible? Had she hurt him that badly? “I- Frank, I’m...I’m sorry...”

No reply, except a slight shake of his head. Biting her lip, she stroked his back, kissed his hot cheek, nuzzled his neck.

Some minutes later they both regained a measure of composure and drew a little way apart. Frank scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and his girlfriend’s heart melted. “I’m sorry,” she murmured again, reaching up. He clasped her hands between his own.

“Don’t be,” he whispered back. “You- you were right. I ought to- drop my armor every now and then and tell you how I’m feeling.” He bit his lip and Callie moved closer, not sure if what she was feeling was sympathy or love. Maybe it was both. “It’s...awfully hard, but maybe I’ll get used to it.”

“Why is it so much harder for you than for someone else?” the young woman wondered half-aloud.

A wry smile twisted the corner of Frank’s mouth. “You said it yourself,” he reminded her. “No practice- except with Joe. And a little, with you.”

“Yeah.” ‘But why don’t you practice?’ the girl wondered. ‘If you need me so much- what do you need me for, if not to confide in?’ She didn’t ask, though. There’d been enough acrimony for one day, and Frank didn’t look too inclined to say much anyway.

Callie sighed, wondering why her heart was so wrapped up in someone who worked so hard at not needing other people. Maybe because she knew it was only armor, that inside himself, Frank needed to trust and depend and confide just as badly as anyone else did. But how could they possibly make a relationship work if he never admitted it, if he only let her have a brief glimpse of his emotions every now and then?

In so many ways they were a great match, but in this way they were almost opposites. Callie had no problem informing people exactly how she felt on any given topic. Frank almost never spoke of how he felt, only pulled the topic apart with logical, intelligent precision and made his decisions based on the facts. When Callie pressed him, he would sometimes admit to certain feelings, but only reluctantly. Would he ever choose to reveal his worries and frustrations to her without her urging him first?

Callie had hoped so, but the more time passed, the less certain she became. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, he’d become so dear to her; but she had more and more difficulty seeing the two of them making a life together- unless something changed radically.

Maybe this, she thought hopefully, would be the breakthrough she was waiting for.

Joe looked up from his book as the front door opened and stifled a sigh of relief as his brother walked in. He had tried not to get concerned about Frank’s long absence, but he couldn’t quite help himself.

In the week that had passed since Joe’s graduation, the symptoms of Frank’s withdrawal from the Euphoria overdose had diminished considerably. Joe’s reluctance to let Frank out of his sight, however, had not been quite so quick to fade. It wasn’t that he really feared Frank would get kidnapped the moment he set foot out of the apartment; it was that he remembered a little too vividly the feelings of frustration, worry and helpless fear that he’d experienced then. He dreaded the thought of feeling them again, no matter how low the probability was.

Besides, even though Frank was mostly recovered, he still had the occasional anxiety attack, and those were more likely to hit when Joe wasn’t around. Joe had been haunted with the thought of his brother fighting to control his feelings, caught in the awful fear-mist of his mind with no one to help him guard against it. ‘At least it’s anxiety more often than true panic now,’ Joe reminded himself as he watched Frank close the door. “Hey,” he said mildly as his brother sank down on the sofa next to him.

“Thought you’d be playing with the computer.” Frank leaned back and closed his eyes.

“It kept beating me.” Joe put the book aside. “You okay?” He was suddenly ablaze with curiosity, but he knew better than to ask too much, too quickly. If Frank felt like sharing, he would. If not, questioning him would just make him evade and retreat- physically and verbally.

“Kinda wrung out. Joe? Do I- do you think it’s unfair of me to tell you about all my feelings?”

“What? Unfair?” Joe repeated incredulously. That remark was from way out of the blue- and what in the world had put the thought into Frank’s mind? What could possibly be unfair about confiding in someone? “Unfair, how?”

“I mean, like venting on you.”

“No,” the blond boy replied promptly. He moved so that he was sitting cross-legged, facing Frank instead of the front door. “Why?”

“It was something Cal said. About how I- I use you as ‘a sinkhole to drop my feelings in instead of sharing them with other people’. She said it’s not fair to you or to the other people.”

“Her, she means,” Joe said with a snort. “Is she feeling jealous again?” He’d learned quite a lot about his brother’s girlfriend along with everything else lately, some of it from memory and a bit from direct experience. It wasn’t at all unusual for Callie to have what Joe termed fits of jealousy whenever Frank didn’t pay her enough attention to suit her. And the jealous fits didn’t all involve Joe, either, though he did seem to be the most frequent reason behind her resentment.

It wasn’t that Callie disliked Joe, nor vice versa; they did get along pretty well most of the time, though they hadn’t when Frank had first started seeing Callie. But Joe felt he’d made a lot more progress in controlling his possessiveness than Callie had. Callie hadn’t yet learned that the way to stay close to Frank was to give him total freedom to leave, and that trying to cling to him made him all the more eager to escape. Joe understood it because he felt similarly; possessiveness could easily become strangling. He was grateful that Iola never tried to dominate his thoughts and feelings the way Callie seemed to wish she could dominate Frank’s.

“She didn’t say, but I expect so,” Frank replied, bringing the younger boy’s thoughts back to the present. “But I did wonder. It doesn’t seem quite fair to drop everything on you all the time and expect you to cheer me up or whatever.”

“Nothing unfair about it. I drop my feelings on you, too, bro. And you cheer me up. Or whatever.” Joe grinned as his brother smiled slightly. “The only way it wouldn’t be fair is if one of us did all the confiding and the one listening never got a chance to let off some steam every now and then,” he finished more seriously.

“True.” Frank turned his head and opened his eyes. “You know I don’t feel comfortable talking with other people about my emotions...”

“I expect Callie would like you to change that,” Joe said shrewdly, a flicker of memory aiding in this deduction. “It’s not unreasonable of her to wish you’d confide in her, but accusing you of unfairness...well, maybe she feels it’s unfair to her, but she shouldn’t speak for anyone else, and certainly not for me. Anyway, if she wants you to start talking to her about your feelings, that’s your call, Frank. Just don’t let her push you into something you’re not comfortable with.”

Frank closed his eyes again. “I just hope it doesn’t come down to a choice between feeling uncomfortable and losing my girlfriend.”

Joe started to point out that if Callie pushed Frank that hard, maybe he’d be better off without her. Instead he answered, “She’s pretty patient, at least most of the time. And you don’t have to just dive straight in and start confiding everything all at once. It’s the sort of thing you need to get used to doing, a little at a time. She ought to understand that.” At Frank’s slow nod, Joe uncrossed his legs and slid over to touch his brother’s arm. “You sure you’re okay?”

Another slight smile reshaped Frank’s tired mouth. “I’m all right, Joe. Really. Just wrung out. It was quite a talk.”

Before either of them could say anything more, the phone rang. Joe frowned a little at the interruption, but slipped off the couch and went into the kitchen to answer it. “Hello? Hey Tony! Really? Cool! Sure, hang on.” He poked his head out into the living room. “Tony says Biff’s home. Stopped by the pizza place today. Tony wants us all to do a welcome home kinda thing- you up to heading over, if it shapes up?”

Frank sat up. “Sure. Ask him if he’s gonna do one for Slim, too.”

Joe relayed the question and smiled at Tony’s reply. “He says absolutely, if Slim drops his summer semester and heads home.”

Frank grimaced. “I forgot. One less free pizza this summer.” He smiled as Joe laughed.

“All right, Tony, let us know the whens and- well, I guess we know the wheres, but I’m curious about the whos. Okay. Later.” He returned to the kitchen to hang up the phone and explained, “He’ll call back in an hour or so with the time and guest list.”

“Cool. In the meantime, I think I’m going to have a snooze. Oh- Joe, you still have those sedatives, right?”

“Right.” Joe gave his brother a quizzical look. Frank, fearing he would become dependant on the medication, had turned the prescription vial over to Joe and told him to keep it out of sight so he wouldn’t be tempted by them.

“Might as well get rid of ‘em, I don’t think I’m going to need ‘em anymore.”

Joe watched thoughtfully as his brother disappeared down the hall. ‘Maybe not,’ he mused. ‘But all the same, I think I’ll hang on to ‘em for a while. Never know when they might come in handy, and once you’ve tossed something, it’s hard to un-toss it.’ Shaking off the thought, he returned to the sofa and picked up his book, thumbing through the pages in an effort to find his place again.

“He what?” Joe was saying into the phone when Frank Hardy wandered into the living room, blinking against the bright summer sunset that was casting sunbeams into his eyes. Going to the window, the dark-haired youth frowned up at the heavy storm clouds moving in over the city. Maybe not the best night to go out on the town, he mused. But the weather had never stopped them before! Yawning, he gave himself a mighty stretch and then turned to take in the half of the conversation that he could hear.

Something seemed to be wrong, he concluded after a moment. Joe’s eyes were narrowed and his forehead creased in a deep frown. He held the phone to his ear, saying nothing at all, just listening as the caller- probably Tony again- spoke. Frank sat down on the arm of the sofa and glanced at his watch; he’d slept nearly an hour and a half before the phone woke him with its loud ring. They hadn’t managed to turn the volume any lower, and they hadn’t taken the time to buy a new- quieter- handset yet.

“Really! Aw, man. Well this sucks. I don’t get it, he’s not usually like that at all. I mean yeah, he’s got a temper and everything, but- no, not at all. Well, thanks for passing it along. Yeah, I’ll call him. Poor guy. Okay. Later.”

“That wasn’t Tony,” Frank deduced as Joe disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, then returned to stand in the doorway, phoneless.

“It was Q,” he explained. “Apparently Tony called around and invited everyone for the fiesta, then called Biff and told him what was up- and Biff threw a tantrum. At least, that’s what Q made it sound like. He said Tony called him back sounding real upset, told him everything was off and could Q help get in touch with everyone to tell them. Didn’t want everyone to show up and then have to turn around and go home.” The blond boy shrugged, still frowning. “Check me on this- that’s pretty out of character for Biff, right?”

Frank considered. “It’s not like him to get mad without a good reason, no. Did Q actually say Biff was mad, or what he was mad about?”

Joe shook his head. “I don’t think Tony told him exactly what happened. Why don’t I call Tony and see what’s up?”

“Probably wise.” Frank stretched his legs out in front of him as he let himself slide from the arm of the sofa onto the seat. “I hope everyone else isn’t having the exact same idea, though- you might have some trouble getting through.”

“I hope you’re right. Frank, we need to put another phone in this place. Having just one extension is going to mean repeating things an awful lot.”

Frank agreed quietly and sat still, listening alternately to the far-away rumbles of thunder and the grumbling of his own empty stomach. He felt torn between a desire to go back to bed and a strong urge to get up and find some food. But even if he did get back to sleep, the thunder would only wake him up again in about twenty minutes. He never could sleep through storms- unlike Joe, who only woke when the storms were right overhead, and who usually fell asleep again within minutes of being awakened. Frank could sleep through the fringe of a storm, but once he was awake, he couldn’t drift off again until all was quiet.

“Tony’s coming over.”

Frank started and looked up, trying to shake the sleep-fog out of his brain, suddenly realizing he’d nearly drifted off again as he sat there. Joe had just plopped down beside him on the sofa and he looked about as serious as he ever got when not involved in a mystery. “Tony’s coming over? Now?” the dark-haired boy repeated, surprised.

“As soon as his shift ends. He doesn’t want this to get around to everyone else, but he knows we’ll keep our mouths shut about it. He does sound pretty upset, but I can’t figure what could’ve happened to cause it.” Joe paused, shrugged, and added, “I guess we’ll find out, though.”

“Did he say when he’d get here?”

“An hour or so.”

“Then I have time to eat.” Frank hauled himself off the sofa and plodded towards the kitchen. “And maybe even enough time to wake up properly.”

“Storm coming,” Joe remarked as another rumble sounded, this one closer than the others. “I hope it’s over by the time he has to leave the Mall.”

“Me, too. Joe, did you eat all the ham again?” Frank frowned into the refrigerator, seeking the spiral-cut ham slices they’d bought just a few days ago.

“No, I put the rest of it in the round plastic thingy. Container. The wrap was getting all mangled and messy.”

“Oh.” Frank pulled out the container, verified that it did contain the remaining slices, then found the scalloped potatoes in another container and decided that combination would make a fine early dinner. The approaching storm made it seem later than it was; it was only a little after six. “If you want any of this, you better come claim some.”

“I’ll find something else later,” Joe replied from the living room. “I had a sandwich while you were sleeping. Sleep well, by the way?”

“Yeah, pretty well.” Frank stuck the plate of food in the microwave and, as his meal heated, put the last few pieces of ham back in the refrigerator. The empty container that had held the potatoes was dropped in the sink and rinsed. A glass of milk...silverware... “What’d you do while I was in dreamland?” he inquired, carrying the utensils out to the table.

“Read, mostly.” Joe held up his book with a smile.

“Hey, that’s one of mine!”

“I was trying to figure out what you found so entrancing about these guys,” Joe explained. “Not very realistic, are they?”

“What do you mean?” Frank went back into the kitchen to retrieve his food when the microwave dinged.

“Oh, c’mon, a fifteen-year-old and a seventeen-year-old, with virtually no detective training who put clues together like pros; a father who literally leaves them by themselves in a number of creepy situations with no guardian at all; a dog that gets mentioned in some books but not in others-”

“You’ve been reading all of them,” Frank deduced, amused. “Addictive, aren’t they?”

Joe opened his mouth as though to protest, then laughed. “And the language is pretty dated, too.”

“Well, they were written in the fifties, Joe, they’re bound to be out of date.” Frank shook his head and started eating.

“Is it a trademark of the fifties to wander off on tangents?” Joe wondered.

“I wouldn’t know,” Frank mumbled. “I just think it makes the characters more interesting. Not everyone is as single-minded as you.”

“Oh, like you’re the one to talk.”

“Or me,” the older boy conceded, smiling.

“That’s more like-” Joe’s remark cut off in mid-word as the power went out. “Oh, isn’t this fantastic!”

Frank noted Joe’s sarcasm with some amusement. His brother hated it when the power went out, not only because it limited his options of what to do, but because it meant he’d have to reset all the clocks. “I’m glad it waited until I was done cooking.”

“I hope it doesn’t last long,” Joe muttered. “I hate reading by candlelight. Makes my head ache.”

The older Hardy smiled again. There hadn’t been a power outage this summer- until now. The only way Joe would know that candlelight reading gave him a headache was if he was remembering it from his past. This was something Frank no longer took for granted; even now, when Joe’s memory was almost entirely back to normal, the older boy relished the occasional tidbit that told him Joe really remembered the details of his life. ‘Of our lives,’ he corrected himself, swigging some milk. “I’m glad you remember that,” he said as he put the glass down.

Even in the dim light, Joe’s smile shone. “Me, too.”

Tony Prito lifted his hand, hesitated a moment, and then- with a suddenly decisive movement- knocked on the apartment door. He had just enough time to regret his action before the door swung open. Joe Hardy’s familiar smile greeted him, and the easy, “Hey, c’mon in,” as he moved aside to let Tony enter relaxed the Italian youth slightly. He stepped into the apartment and looked around appreciatively; he hadn’t been here since the day the guys moved in.

“Tidy,” he said in some surprise, looking pointedly at Joe, who was closing the door. “I’m amazed. What subtle form of torture or blackmail are you using to achieve this, Frank?”

Both of the Hardys laughed. “Aw, lay off,” Joe grinned. “I can be organized when I have to be. He doesn’t even have to nag me.”

“Much,” Frank added from where he was sitting on the sofa. “Good timing, Tony, the power just came back on about a minute ago.”

Tony nodded, looking at the still-lit candles on the coffee table. “I was in the stairwell when everything suddenly went bright,” he agreed. “Made life interesting coming over, too, some of the traffic signals were out. That was one heck of a storm.”

“Yeah, one of the trees opposite our building got lightning-blasted!” Joe sounded quite excited. “That was...loud.”

“I bet.” Tony perched on one of the easy chairs as Frank sat up straight, dropped a book onto the carpet by his bare feet and leaned over to blow out the candles. Pungent smoke rose into the air in wispy white coils and the tips of the wicks smoldered for a moment before dying out. “So...”

Joe sat down on the sofa by Frank, shoving one of the stray pillows away to make room. Tony noted that the brothers seemed as much at ease with each other as they always had been. A far cry from the anxious, uneasy pair who’d visited him at work a month ago; far removed even from the gradually-more-confident duo of the last two weeks. Maybe Joe’s memory had finally finished returning.

“So, Q called and said the whole thing was off,” Joe began encouragingly. “He said Biff apparently got his back up and was really rude, or something of the sort.”

“Yeah, I didn’t tell Jesse what exactly went down,” Tony agreed with a sigh, his heart sinking again. “I don’t want to go blabbing around and causing trouble or anything, but at the same time I sorta feel like I should be warning people. Problem is, I dunno what to warn ‘em. I mean, if Biff’s suddenly got some problem with me, that’s one thing, but if he’s gonna be a bear to everybody, I think we’re gonna have trouble.”

The boys exchanged glances and Tony was once again struck by how mature and resolute they both could be. He was a year older than Frank and nearly two years older than Joe, but at times like this he felt like the younger of the three, bringing his problems to his well-experienced elders.

“What happened?” Frank asked slowly. It was plain he didn’t want to pry, but of course he needed to know in order to help. Tony sighed.

“Start at the beginning, eh?”

“Probably be best,” Joe agreed quietly, his expressive face showing his sympathy.

“Well, first Biff came into the restaurant and did take-out. That was yesterday. I didn’t serve him, but I saw him as he was leaving and waved. Thought he didn’t see me, ‘cause he didn’t wave back. He was studying the floor; I thought he looked tired and depressed, maybe jet-lagged. Then I got busy and it slipped my mind until this evening, when I was doing up the receipts for the week and saw his. Thought it’d be good to do a welcome home- you know all that part.”

“Who’d you call?” Frank inserted.

Tony paused, counting on his fingers. “You guys, Q, Chet and Iola, and Karen. I called Jerry, but he couldn’t make it. Phil said he’d come. Jamal had a date with his girlfriend. Once I finished talking to everyone, I called Biff.” Tony stopped and took a deep breath. “You try to do something nice for someone,” he muttered bitterly. “Well, first of all Biff wasn’t pleased to hear from me. You know how you can tell- I said, ‘Hi, welcome home!’ and he said, ‘Yeah, thanks’ real unenthusiastically. I asked why hadn’t he come over and talked when he was in the place yesterday and he was like, ‘Oh, you saw me?’ As if he wished I hadn’t.” Tony paused; his friends were trading puzzled looks.

“Strange,” Frank said quietly.

Tony nodded. “So I told him, ‘Yeah, I saw you, but you left so quick- I thought maybe you were tired or something, jet-lagged maybe.’ And he didn’t really answer that, just asked what I wanted. I said I’d called around and certain people were wanting to welcome him back. And that went over like a lead balloon- that was when he started getting mad. Asked, ‘Don’t you think I’m capable of telling people myself? You’ve got no business pulling some stunt like that, I’ll do the deciding when, and I’ll decide who, too!’ I couldn’t make sense of it, I said, ‘Biff, c’mon, calm down. It’s just our friends, the gang, you know? We just wanted to get together and welcome you back, some of us have actually missed you, okay?’ So he asked what I was talking about, getting together- I thought he was calming down so I told him the plan.” Tony paused, bracing himself. “And that’s when he blew up,” he concluded tightly. “I can’t even remember half of what he said, I was so stunned that he was saying it to me.”

“You’re saying he cussed you out?” Joe asked incredulously. “He’s always been prone to swearing, but-”

“But never at us. Till now,” Tony agreed morosely. He laced his fingers together and stared at them, trying to forget the stream of curses that echoed in his head even now.

“That sounds totally unlike Biff,” Frank’s voice muttered. Tony looked up to see the elder Hardy frowning distractedly into middle space. “He does overreact, and he sure has some rough edges on him, but when you get past that, you’ve got a solid friend.”

Tony nodded. “But when you’re his enemy, you’re his enemy for life,” he reminded Frank. “I have no clue why he’s acting this way- I feel like I did something wrong, but I can’t understand what. I tried to ask him, but he just kept calling me names...” Tony lowered his face into his hands, more to get control of himself than to hide his expression.

A moment later he felt a hand rest on his left shoulder and the gentleness of that touch helped him get a grip on his feelings. After another few moments, he let his hands drop and looked rather blearily at Joe, who was crouching beside him. “I thought I was past the age where anyone could hurt me with words,” he said with a sigh.

Joe shook his head. “Words hurt more than anything else- if the right person is saying them.”

Tony sighed, nodded, and let his head hang. “He called me-” No. He couldn’t repeat it. “-well, everything in the book. And I do mean everything. And when he was done, he hung up on me. It took me a couple minutes to realize that I had to call around again and tell everyone it was off. And when Jesse asked me why, I almost told him.”

“But you decided not to?” Frank had risen from the sofa and moved to stand on the other side of the chair. Tony shook his head, feeling oddly protected by his friends’ obvious concern.

“If Biff’s mad at me for some reason, there’s no good in getting the rest of the gang involved,” he replied slowly. “And if he’s just come home with a chip on his shoulder and a bad attitude-”

“College could do that,” Frank put in. “The peer pressure is unbelievable sometimes. If he’s started hanging out with a rougher bunch...”

“Biff’s always been attracted to rough stuff. Remember how he used to hang out with Zack and his friends- the Zack Pack, what a dumb name that was- when we were in grade school?” Joe mused. Tony and Frank exchanged a glance and a half-smile.

“Yeah, until Zack’s ‘pack’ started that fracas with the Crabbs Corner guys and they all got to cool off in a jail cell for two days,” Tony recalled. “That’s when Biff decided there was a limit to how much blame he’d take- especially when he wasn’t at fault.”

“Pretty dirty trick Zack pulled, saying it was Biff who shattered the department store window.” Joe frowned, shaking his head. “But that was Zack.”

“And the fact that you two witnessed it and stood up for Biff had a lot to do with it, too,” Tony concluded. “He owed you big for that, he would’ve had to pay for the window instead of Zack.”

“He wasn’t bad at all when he was alone. I guess he is one of those people who really reflects the group he’s in. If he’s in a rough group, he wants to be the roughest. If it’s a cool group, he’s got to be the coolest-”

“And if he’s in a group that’s pushing the limits,” Joe finished for his brother, “he’s going to push them further and faster than anyone else. It’s a wonder he and I get along, actually.”

“Yes, two very competitive spirits,” Tony agreed. “But the difference is, you know when to quit, Joe. You go to your limits to win, but you know winning isn’t as important as playing fair and clean and doing your best. Biff doesn’t- to him, winning is it. Everything else is unimportant. So he only backs off when someone stronger than him tells him to.” He and Joe both turned to look at Frank, who blushed slightly.

“I’m not-”

“You’re a leader, bro. Biff’s a follower, despite all his competitiveness. If he was a leader, he would never have hung out with us so long; he woulda wandered off and started his own gang,” Joe pointed out.

“Might even have tried to take some of us with him. Not that we would’ve gone. No one else is as reckless as he is...well, I might take that back,” Tony amended, smiling at Joe.

“Only on a mystery,” the blond boy smiled back, standing. His hand was still resting on Tony’s shoulder. “And for that matter, I know a certain Prito who could challenge me for a recklessness title, pal.”

Tony sighed. “Is Marc being a daredevil again?” he asked resignedly, referring to his fourteen-year-old brother. This was friendship, he thought as the Hardys both laughed. This was why he helped the younger boys with their work, no matter how dangerous- or worse, how dull- it got. Because he, and everyone else who hung out with Frank and Joe, knew that whenever they needed a hand, of whatever sort, their sleuthing buddies would be there to offer it.

“I was not referring to young Marcus,” Joe assured him. “I had someone older in mind.”

“So,” Frank said, looking more seriously at Tony, “you want to keep this quietly to yourself until we know how he’s going to behave?”

“I guess that’s pretty much it.” Tony considered for a moment. “I don’t know, guys, I’m all confused. I don’t want to influence anyone against him if it’s something personal between him and me, but...I want to warn people, too. It’s so- not like him. But then what if I do warn everyone and then he acts like it was no big deal?” The young Italian sighed. “I just don’t know,” he grumbled. “I can’t seem to think straight right now.”

“I think just telling people tonight that he was rude and angry for no apparent reason should be warning enough. The gang all knows it’s not his usual way to behave and they’ll be a little cautious.”

“I dunno.” Joe was frowning. “They’re all going to be pretty curious.”

“That’s true.” Tony wondered where this was heading. Joe’s notions tended to get rather convoluted.

“So no matter what Biff does, there’s going to be questions. Say he does go around saying you made a mountain of a molehill, when you’re not there to set the record straight.” Joe paused. “What I’m getting at is, don’t you think it would be better to tell your side before he tells his?”

Tony sighed and leaned back in the chair, more bewildered than before. The words made perfect sense, it was the concepts behind them that he couldn’t comprehend. Why was he in such a spot over one of his own friends? Discussions like this should be about one’s enemies. “You really think he’d misrepresent the whole thing? Try to pass it off, or worse, lay blame on me?”

“Well...”

“It’s the suspicious detective in Joe making an appearance,” Frank said mildly. “If you want to wait and see how he acts before you answer any questions, that’s not such a bad idea. Give him the benefit of the doubt,” he added to Joe, who was still frowning. Tony felt a surge of gratitude for the blond boy’s protectiveness, even though he devoutly hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.

“Listen,” he said softly, touching Joe’s arm. “You’ve got good instincts- maybe he will try to do a twist and make me out to be the problem. But you can back me up if he starts explaining how it was all a ‘misunderstanding’, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“So if people ask me what’s the deal, I’m just going to say I’d rather not talk about it till I’ve talked to Biff.” Tony grimaced. “Besides, I really don’t feel like sharing.” In fact, he didn’t feel entirely comfortable talking behind Biff’s back like this anyway. Spreading word about how nasty the guy had been would be even worse; it was the sort of thing one would do to an enemy. And despite Biff’s behavior, Tony preferred not to think of the guy as an enemy. “I’d rather defend than attack,” he concluded.

“All right, amigo, we’ll do it your way.”

“I keep telling you, Joe, amigo is Spanish, not Italian.”

“So? If you can learn Puerto Rican, I can talk Spanish at you.” Joe smiled and Tony felt his spirits lighten again at the teasing.

The discussion shifted to other things and by the time Tony departed an hour later, he felt vastly better. Why had he worried so about coming to the Hardys for moral support, he wondered as he said goodnight and left. Silly of him to fear that they wouldn’t understand or would make light of the matter. They were better friends- better people- than that.

“Poor Tony,” Joe Hardy murmured, sitting down on the sofa as Frank locked the front door.

“I don’t get it,” Frank agreed, turning to him. “Biff and Tony have never been the best of buddies, but they’ve never had the sort of problems that Chet and Jerry’ve had, either.”

“You mean like when Stuart was setting ‘em at each others’ throats?” Joe asked ruefully. For some reason, Stuart Ryder had been on his mind this evening. Maybe he was just associating the trouble between Biff and Tony with the trouble that little brat of a telepath had caused while he was in Bayport.

“That wasn’t exactly their fault,” Frank reminded him. “I was thinking more like when Chet pranked Jerry’s locker and inadvertently ruined his Science paper.”

“Oh, yeah. Jerry kept insisting Chet had done it on purpose so that Chet would get his own project written up in the school paper. And he kept it up until Iola pointed out that the pick was going to be random and Chet would have no way of influencing the teacher who did it.”

“That was the one. Boy, that was a mess, too. ‘Specially when Monica came down on Jerry’s side.”

Joe agreed, then stood up from the couch and stretched. “I think I’ll take a shower. And then I’ll eat. What’re you going to do?”

“Hmmm.” Frank looked down the hallway. “I think I’ll move my computer.”

Joe grinned as he headed for the bathroom; it seemed his suggestion had been a good one.

A little over an hour later, Joe- his hair still damp from the shower- put his plate in the dishwasher and wandered down towards his bedroom. It still felt a little weird to him, living all on one level like this, but he was getting used to not having to climb stairs to reach his bedroom. His stomach gurgled contentedly as he flopped down on the bed and lay blinking sleepily at the ceiling. Weird he was so tired, he hadn’t done an awful lot today.

‘I really need to get over to the University and start picking my classes for fall... College, man, I never thought it would really happen. Sorta felt like I’d be stuck in high school for the rest of my life! I think Frank’s glad I didn’t decide to go out of state...strange, but I really wouldn’t want to leave Bayport for that long. I’d be scared, being completely on my own...and I’d be afraid it would change me. Like it seems to have changed Biff. Poor Tony, he was really upset. Getting cussed out by someone you call your good friend, and for no apparent reason- I wouldn’t be going on the defensive, I know that much!’ Joe scowled, but gradually relaxed again as his thoughts ebbed and flowed. ‘Glad I remember now, what it was like before.’ The eighteen-year-old smiled, his brother’s words echoing in his head.

I’m glad you remember that.

‘So am I,’ Joe thought. Frank had been such a help, such a- a strength during the whole business. He’d been as eager as Joe to see his brother get his own memories back, to not rely on anyone else’s explanations and recollections. Just as Joe had vowed he would do.

As he mused on this satisfying thought, Joe’s smile faded. True, Frank had been an enormous help and support, but even that couldn’t erase the pain and guilt and anger that had come with the returning memories. Joe had expected there would be much that was hard to bear, things that would hurt him immensely when he recalled them, but his parents’ deaths had held far worse than just ‘hurt’. Joe had actually wished, for several days, that he’d remained lost in the amnesia forever rather than relive those memories; particularly their mother’s death.

He hadn’t told Frank, though; he could easily imagine the distress in his brother’s dark eyes on hearing that Joe would prefer the confused frustration of amnesia to the agonizing guilt of memory. Frank had assured him that the pain would pass again and he’d feel less guilty; Joe had taken his word for it but wondered if he really ought to hope for it to ease. Wasn’t that- well- disrespectful?

On the other hand, he couldn’t imagine his parents wanting him to be wrapped in grief for the rest of his life; he remembered that much about them. He remembered Frank’s assurances- and sometimes arguments- on the matter as well. Accepting what had happened and trying to go on with his life didn’t exorcise the pain, but it did make things much more bearable. Mostly, anyway; there were moments when the burden was so heavy that Joe was sure he’d never be truly happy again. Yet there were other times when his heart was light and he found things to laugh and joke about. It was strange- like riding a see-saw blindfolded, never knowing when he’d be up and when he’d be down.

Joe’s mind drifted on, vague thoughts and brief flashes of memory slowly fading into random confusion. His body relaxed into sleep and his mind followed, dreams flickering through his subconscious and painting pictures before his sleeping eyes.

The eighteen-year-old woke up with a shout of, “No-o!”

“Joe! What’s wrong?” Frank appeared in the doorway, then hurried the few steps to the bed and sank down beside him as Joe struggled to sit up. The younger Hardy was trembling and cold sweat dotted his face; he gazed around the room, feeling as though he was seeing it for the first time.

“I remember,” he panted. “The Mindwipe- I remember!”

Joe peered in through the dirt-smeared window of the hovel, searching for signs of occupancy. All the lights were out, which made it hard to tell if anyone was inside- perhaps sleeping, curled up unmoving in a shadow somewhere. He frowned, squinting, fighting the sense of urgency that was plucking at him. Frank was distracting the suspected dealer, the one they’d seen selling a bag of yellow powder to Frank’s classmate Carl. But Frank wouldn’t be able to pin the guy down forever- Joe needed to get in there and search the place quick.

Seeing nothing that resembled a human, sleeping or otherwise, Joe moved to test the back door. The run-down old place was on the main road that ran through the small town of Gresham, and it was only a little after nine-thirty in the evening. Joe didn’t care to run the risk of going trying to enter through the front door, not after having to duck four times already to avoid being seen. He shivered a little as he reached the relative safety of the rear of the house; it was a cold, wet May night and his fingers were chilly as he dug his lockpicking kit from his jeans pocket.

He almost had the old lock picked- it was a simple enough mechanism- when something rustled behind him. As Joe started to turn, something hard crashed painfully against the back of his head and everything went dizzily black.

The sound of voices was what brought him back to awareness. Two people were arguing quietly about something and their voices sent waves of pain through his aching head. He groaned internally as he tried to turn over; moving not only seemed a bad idea, as it jarred his pounding skull, but it also didn’t seem to be working. Then Joe became aware of the constricting feel of ropes on his wrists and ankles. Twisting experimentally, he discovered that the men- both the voices were male and he assumed they were the ones who’d caught him- had tied him very securely indeed.

Joe abandoned the notion of working loose for the moment and looked around. He was lying on the linoleum floor of the beat-up building. There was a strong stench of dust and mildew mixed with something very unpleasant that he couldn’t readily identify. The lights were still out and the two men were shadows on the far side of the room. There was something that looked like an unmade bed, and a table- and an overflowing garbage can, which was probably the source of the stink. A little light was coming in through the window- streetlights and moonlight- which made Joe wonder how long he’d been unconscious. Long enough to be bound very firmly, at any rate, he concluded grimly. His fingers and feet were losing circulation.

‘How’m I gonna get out of this?’ he wondered, pushing back the fear that always came with being captured. ‘Man, I hope Frank’s in the area...’

Joe was contemplating the wisdom of sending to his brother when a sudden quiet thump startled him and silenced the two men. A moment later came another thump. “Lee,” one of the men said quietly, and left the room. The other came over and crouched by Joe.

“Ah. Playing possum, Joe?”

“How-” Joe started, surprised. Then he snapped his mouth shut, but the man only grinned, teeth flashing in the darkness, and held something up.

“Your wallet, of course. So what’s it like to be famous?”

“Huh?” Joe stared up in bewilderment. The man sounded both amused and genuinely curious. ‘At least he’s not threatening me, or worse...yet.’

“Famous boy, written up in the papers, interviewed on the radio and TV, all for poking your nose into what does not concern you. Is it worth it, all that fun stuff, when you wind up in a place like this?”

“What’re you, a philosopher?” Joe asked, wishing his head would quit pounding. Between the ache and the strange conversation, he couldn’t get organized enough to reach Frank’s mind. “I don’t-”

“What’s going on?” a new voice hissed. There was a babble of explanations from both men and the newcomer- apparently this was the ‘Lee’ the other guy had mentioned- pulled something from his pocket and aimed it at Joe. The teen flinched, feeling fear run coldly down his spine. There was a click- and a flashlight beam danced over his bound body. Joe closed his eyes in relief, feeling himself un-tense slightly.

“Easy enough to deal with. The Doc sent us some more Mindwipe, we’ll just give him a dose and drop him somewhere,” Lee said indifferently. “Better than risking a murder rap. Dead bodies are too inconvenient. He won’t remember a thing, so he won’t be able to tell his family or the cops what happened.”

“Mindwipe?” Joe muttered, hearing his voice quiver slightly. ‘Won’t remember a thing’ echoed in his brain.

“It causes amnesia,” Lee told him, then turned to one of his cohorts. “Here, hold the light while I dose him.”

Joe watched with growing horror as the man pulled out a syringe and a vial of liquid that shone milkily in the light. He shrank back as the man drew the liquid into the syringe and then knelt down beside him. Amnesia! How much would he forget? Or would he really forget? Maybe it was a bluff. Maybe it was purely psychological.

“This is double the usual dose,” Lee explained as he pulled Joe’s sleeve back, baring his upper arm. “Twenty minutes from now, you won’t even know your own name.” The needle stung the boy’s arm and a cold ache made him suck in his breath as the drug entered his vein. “Did you know there’s no cure for amnesia? It has to go away on its own.”

“But this is a drug,” Joe pointed out, trying not to shake. He had a sudden mad urge to claw his arm open, let the tainted blood spill out before the drug could have any effect. He pulled at his bonds, but they were as tight as ever; he could scarcely feel his hands at all. “It’ll wear off-”

“Nope. It’s been tested. It causes a chemical change in the brain configuration- the same sort of change that occurs when someone experiences natural amnesia. Some amnesiacs do recover their memories, but it’s less likely when it’s chemically induced. I’m a chemist, in case you’re wondering,” Lee explained, still sounding indifferent as he put the vial back in to his pocket and stood up. “This is exactly the right business for me,” he concluded with a laugh. Then he turned to his companions, taking back the flashlight. “So where’s Todd?”

“Hasn’t shown yet. Probably got sidetracked,” one of the others growled. He’d hardly finished speaking when another thump-pause-thump sounded at the door.

“There you are, Todd, we were just wondering about you. You three get on with what you need to do,” Lee told them as a fourth man entered the room. “I’ve got to get in touch with one of our customers.”

Joe scarcely listened as the men conferred and Lee departed. ‘I can’t forget, I can’t! Mustn’t let myself forget. Gotta hang on to my memories. Frank. Mom, Dad. Iola. School, home...’ Images whirled in the boy’s head. The faces of his family, his friends- even his enemies. He silently chanted their names, clenching his eyes closed in an effort to concentrate.

For a little while, it seemed to be working. He could still see the faces in his mind, still remember words he’d heard and spoken, things he’d seen and done. It wasn’t until his mother’s face again flashed before his eyes and he struggled to remember her given name that he realized he was losing the battle. ‘It starts with- with...she’s, she’s my Mom, I know her name! Think, Joe, think! You know Mom’s name...Dad’s name. F, f...Fenton. Right. And Frank! My brother! Older brother, older- I- wait, is he older? Big brother, yes, he’s older than me. He looks like Dad. I look like Mom. Oh, what is her name?’ Tears welled behind his eyelids and his breath came unevenly.

“So,” a sneering voice interrupted his desperate, terrified thoughts. “What’d you say your name was?”

“Joe,” the boy gasped, shaking. Icy sweat beaded on his forehead and his stomach fluttered. Pain flared in his wrists and he realized he was straining against the ropes again.

“Joe what?”

“Joe...Hardy!”

“Are you sure about that, Thomas?”

Someone laughed. Joe was too dazed to reply. Thomas Hardy? Why did that seem so familiar? Or did the man mean Joe Thomas?

“How’s your sister Laurel?”

“I don’t have a-” Or did he?

“Todd, you’re a riot,” one of the other men chuckled. Joe felt sudden rage surge in him. He was losing every shred of his identity- and these men were laughing, thinking it was funny!

“You wouldn’t think it was a riot if you were in my place!” he tried to shout at the stranger. “You wouldn’t laugh if you couldn’t remember your name!” What was wrong with his voice? He sounded so weak, and felt so tired all of a sudden.

“Sounds like he’s about ready to be dumped,” the man beside him said, leaning closer. “He’s starting to get drifty.”

“Drifty?”

“Remember, Lee said he’d probably faint.” The voice seemed to be coming from far away. There was the sensation of being lifted, but Joe felt totally disconnected from his body. All he was aware of was the increasing blankness of his mind.

“Brother,” he whispered weakly as the dark wave rolled over him, and everything stopped.

Frank Hardy put one arm around his shivering brother; with his other hand, he cupped Joe’s chin and lifted his head until they were eye to eye. “You know me,” he said softly.

Joe’s lips were trembling and tears slid softly down his cheeks, but he nodded slightly.

“And you remember Mom and Dad now.”

Another nod from Joe, and then the sudden (though soft) noise of a sob catching in his throat. Frank swallowed and pulled his brother to him. He felt the shoulder of his shirt slowly grow damp. “Frank...” Joe’s fingers were digging into his arm and back.

“Shh, shh. Easy.” Frank stroked the shivering back, smoothed the soft golden hair. “You’re back, kiddo.”

“It was terrible!” Joe gasped, his voice muffled against Frank’s shoulder. “I could feel myself forgetting! I forgot Mom’s name, and Dad’s- I forgot if you were older or younger- I couldn’t even remember my name.”

“You were conscious?” Frank whispered, appalled. His brother nodded, his grip tightening even further. “Oh, Joe...”

“I could- I kept trying to remind myself. Reciting names, facts, picturing faces. And then- then-” Joe paused, his breathing harsh. “I could still see faces, but I couldn’t remember names. Which name, which face? And then I lost the faces, I couldn’t tell if they were right or wrong, and they got all blurred- changed- and faded. It was like- like pieces of my memory were falling off, crumbling away, falling down into a dark well... He asked me what was my name and I-”

“Who did?” Frank demanded. The thought of someone watching as Joe’s memory disintegrated filled him with rage.

“One of the Euphoria dealers.” Joe took another deep, shaky, breath and lifted his head, but he didn’t let go of Frank. “Two of ‘em caught me, then the third- that guy Lee- showed up and he was the one who dosed me. Then the fourth guy came in- Todd- and Lee left. Todd was the one asking me questions, and laughing at me when I got confused. Asked if I had a sister, and was I sure my name wasn’t Thomas.”

Frank drew in a breath between his clenched teeth. “Thought it was funny, did he?” he asked in a lethal whisper.

“Oh yeah.” One of Joe’s hands unclamped from Frank’s back and lifted, wiping moisture from the younger boy’s flushed cheeks. “I got all sleepy right around then and I heard one of them say I was going to pass out. I guess it’s a common side effect. That guy Lee, he said he’d given me a double dose-” Joe’s voice choked off suddenly.

“Joe?” Frank looked anxiously at his brother; horrified blue eyes met his and the color drained from Joe’s face. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Injections!” the blond boy gasped. “Both of us- injections!”

“So...?”

“Needles, Frank!” Joe gulped and Frank felt his own face paling as he took in the implications.

“You mean- if they- weren’t sterile.” Quivers of sheer terror cascaded through the older boy, shook him, chilled him to his bones. “We- we’d better- damn! Why didn’t Doctor Bates think of it?” Frank closed his eyes and tried to focus. If they were infected, they were infected; it was too late to do anything but try to find out and take steps to make that change in their lives. ‘God, not another change...not this change! If I lose my brother-’

“Stop it. Stop thinking so loudly.” Joe’s voice wasn’t much more than a whisper.

“Sorry,” Frank muttered, opening his eyes. A new thought occurred to him, making him shudder. Joe’s bleak eyes gazed at him, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he overheard that awful thought.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” the blond boy insisted, sounding almost desperate. “The odds are so far against it-”

“They injected me twice,” Frank said softly. Might as well put the thought into words, maybe then it wouldn’t be so frightening. “And the second time- they used the same needle. That says-”

Joe groaned softly, his head bowing down to rest on Frank’s shoulder again. “Still,” he said shakily after a moment, “they might not have used it on anyone else. They couldn’t infect you with anything by using it twice on you.”

Strange, how sharp and clear and yet unreal everything felt, Frank thought dazedly. He was acutely aware of the silence, the darkness outside the window, the blinking clock beside Joe’s bed, the feel of his brother’s arms tight around him, of his own arms encircling Joe. And his own stark, heavy fear. He felt almost as though he was stuck in a very vivid, very frightening dream.

“If something does happen, promise me-”

“I’m making no promises,” Joe interrupted roughly. “Not till we know. And anyway, you’re jumping way too far ahead, brother. Even- even if- you know people live for years, even decades, without so much as a symptom.”

“True,” Frank murmured, unconvinced. Even if he did go for a decade or two without developing the symptoms of AIDS, eventually it would wear him down and he’d face weeks or months of illness. Of fighting to recover, only to endure another setback, and one after that, and after that, until he was a bare shadow of himself- alive, but not really living. Joe would look after him until he was too sick and weak to be at home; then he’d remain in a hospital, under treatment. For a while they’d talk about sending him home when he recovered, but after a time that would stop and his brother would hover near with a pinched look in his face. Waiting.

“Stop it!” Joe snapped, sitting up and shaking Frank by the shoulders. The older boy blinked in surprise.

“Sorry- my shield...”

“Stop thinking like that! Man, and I thought I was the one to leap to conclusions. You’ll be imagining your funeral next.” Joe’s voice was an odd blend of fear, affection and scorn. “First we get the tests done. Then we’ll know whether to freak or not, okay? In fact-”

Frank watched in surprise as Joe scrambled off the bed and out of the room. He indulged himself in a brief thought of what he’d do if it was Joe and not he who had somehow become HIV-infected. Then he shuddered and pushed the idea away. ‘He wouldn’t be able to talk me out of going with him,’ he decided, remembering his agonized nights alone in East Side. ‘I guess I won’t be able to talk him out of it, either.’ Then he got up from the bed with a shaky sigh and went to find Joe.

Joe was in the kitchen, talking urgently into the phone. Frank frowned at the clock, which read nearly eleven-thirty.

“Okay, and- uh-huh...uh-huh. Yeah. Ah, really! Boxes of syringes!”

Frank’s head snapped around as his brother gave him a significant look. “What-?”

“And wrapped, too? Good. Good to hear. Well, it was bothering us both a bit, seeing that we both got injected...yeah. Yeah, exactly. Yes, we will, just to be sure...definitely. Thanks, Con. Later.” Joe hung up and turned to Frank, his expression one of relief. “I asked him what had been confiscated from the dealers.”

“Boxes of syringes?” Frank repeated, hardly daring to hope.

“In among the Euphoria, Mindwipe, and a few more common things like crack and heroin, a little PCP- yes, about fifty boxes of syringes. Seems they were doing an equally brisk business in making sure their customers used safe needles,” Joe explained, a note of triumph in his voice. “Euphoria works if it’s just swallowed, but injections get the addict a faster high, Con said. Which would work out-”

“To more addicts, which meant more repeat business for ‘em,” Frank concluded, feeling a deep disgust.

“And it was in their interests not to have sick customers, either. Con did say we should get checked out anyway, though, no matter how unlikely it seemed.”

Frank nodded, leaning against the kitchen wall and trying to decide whether he felt relieved or not. He and Joe had not been ‘customers’ and there was no guarantee that the drug dealers had taken any precautions when dosing them. But there was little likelihood that they’d kept used syringes around in the hopes of using one on an obnoxious young snoop, either, he reminded himself. “Tomorrow,” he said wearily, still shivering. “Let’s get to bed- I’m wiped out.”

Joe nodded and switched off the kitchen light. Frank wasn’t too surprised when Joe followed him into his bedroom, dropping down on the bed with a slightly abashed, questioning look. The older boy nodded as he lay down, waited silently as Joe turned out the light, and relaxed slightly when the comfortingly warm presence lay down beside him. He knew he’d have a hard enough time sleeping tonight, even with Joe there. Lying in the darkness by himself, with this new fear gnawing at him- no, that wasn’t any way to get to sleep. Sighing, he started at the touch on his arm, then relaxed a little more. “You’re too good at freaking yourself out,” Joe murmured.

“Yeah. Penalty of being a pessimist.” Frank grimaced in the dark. “Can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind.”

“Mm-hm.” A pause. “Surprised Con was there so late.”

“Me too. I was expecting to have to ask someone else.”

“What made you decide to call him?” Frank asked, turning on his side and feeling Joe’s hand slide from his arm.

“I thought they might’ve picked up the needles- could maybe run some tests on ‘em,” Joe explained.

“Oh. Good notion.” Frank heard his brother yawn and said nothing more. It was nearly another hour before Joe’s quiet breathing lulled the older Hardy to sleep.

“A year,” Frank muttered as the Hardy brothers walked across the blacktop to where they’d parked their car.

Joe squinted against the late-morning sun and reached for his sunglasses, then remembered that he’d left them on the front seat of the car. He said nothing in reply to Frank’s remark; Frank was obsessing again and there was nothing to do but wait until he let go of his fear and got his mind off the topic. As they reached their car, he took out the keys and climbed into the driver’s seat, slipping on his sunglasses at the same time. Letting Frank drive in this frame of mind was not a sensible option.

Still, he hardly blamed Frank for feeling high-strung; Frank had a lot more reason to worry than Joe did. The odds were twice as high for him to have contracted the dreaded disease than for Joe, who’d only endured a single injection. The blond boy could hardly even bring himself to think of the letters that spelled that death-sentence.

And it would be a full year before they could know for sure that they weren’t contaminated.

“A blood test every three months for a year,” rang in his head, in Dr. Bates’ unusually serious voice. “Now, the odds are highly against it, from what you’re telling me, but it’s only the better part of sense to verify. Since it’s been over a month since the injections occurred, there’s a slightly greater likelihood of catching it with the first test, but the second or third is more likely. If you pass the third and there’s still no sign, it doesn’t mean you’re home free, but the odds drop considerably. And trust me, the odds are not too high here to begin with.”

‘He was worried,’ Joe thought now, driving out of the parking lot. ‘That’s why he was repeating himself.’

“What’re we going to tell people?” Frank asked suddenly. Joe frowned, then shrugged.

“I think the only people we need to tell are the girls,” he said bluntly. “If a test does come back positive, then we can tell folks, but in the meantime-”

“Joe, we can’t pretend this hasn’t happened, and we can’t just keep it quiet and not take precautions. Going on with our lives is one thing, but deliberately putting people at risk- no matter how small the risk is- and not even telling them what they’re risking...that’s wrong,” Frank scolded.

“So if you’ve already decided what we’re going to tell people, why are you asking me?” Joe shot back, feeling both cross and chagrined.

Silence fell in the car, a silence that lasted until Joe was pulling into the parking lot of their apartment building.

“Can we just not fight about it?” Frank asked at last, running a trembling hand through his hair. He sounded so pitiful that Joe’s conscience smote him. They’d both been through a lot lately, but Frank was the one whose nerves had been strained to the breaking point.

“Sorry, big brother. I’m- I guess we’re both pretty freaked right now, probably not the best time to talk about it.”

“Maybe not.” Frank sighed and got out of the car as Joe plucked the keys from the ignition. Following his brother upstairs to their apartment, he took refuge in his room and tried to let his mind go blank. That didn’t work; all he could think about was what little he knew about AIDS and the illnesses that came when one’s immune system began to degenerate. Grimacing, Joe grabbed up a book, but that was no help either. Finally he put on his headphones and lost himself in his music. After a while he found himself relaxed enough to do a little room-cleaning, including changing the sheets on the bed and preparing to do some laundry.

It was several hours before Joe became aware of the nagging hunger in his gut. Rising from his desk, where he’d been sorting through his drawers, he went out to the kitchen to find something for lunch. What he found was that his brother had apparently had the same notion; Frank was looking rather dubiously into the refrigerator. The older boy had calmed down somewhat, but still looked distracted and a bit unnerved. After looking rather aimlessly around the kitchen while Joe made himself a sandwich, he settled for pulling out a bag of corn chips and nibbling rather listlessly on them.

“Not hungry after all?” Joe inquired as he went out to the table, sandwich in one hand and juice glass in the other.

“Yeah. My stomach’s kinda knotted up.” Frank sat down beside him, placing the chip bag on the table, and the discussion began anew. Joe, as usual, found himself taking the optimist’s view, trying to persuade his brother to remember how unlikely it was that either of them were in any real danger. He also reminded Frank again that there were usually many years between the diagnosis of HIV and the onset of AIDS symptoms. “They’ve already got some really effective treatments; who knows, by then they may’ve come up with a cure.”

Frank took his usual realistic view, but in this case the realism was loaded with pessimism and a touch of irritability; it was almost as if he resented Joe’s optimism. “I know my feelings are making a mess of this,” the older boy finally admitted after a few minutes of back and forth. “You can say the odds are against it- even majorly against it- until the cows come home, but it doesn’t do anything to stop the fear. Even if there were virtually no chance at all-”

“Which is about where we stand,” Joe interposed.

“Even so, even a tenth of a percent...a million to one...” Frank shrugged. “I’m still scared,” he said simply. “And I can’t get a grip on it. All the logical reassurance in the world wouldn’t help me right now. And what’s making me snappy is that you don’t seem to be worried at all. Are you just letting me do all the fretting and-”

“Frank!” Joe dropped his sandwich and glared. “I guess you’re so busy being scared that you haven’t got room for anything else in your head. Just ‘cause I’m not as obvious about it doesn’t mean I’m not worried about this.” His anger faded as he looked at his brother. Frank was slouched in the chair, his face mostly averted, his hands toying with the chips, breaking them into smaller and smaller pieces.

“I didn’t mean to-” Frank began in a mutter.

“Yeah you did,” Joe sighed. “‘Cause it happens a lot. You worry and I don’t. But this time, I am worrying. Mostly about you, but some about me, too. I’m just trying not to let it get the upper hand.”

Frank looked at him. “Mostly...?”

Joe shrugged, reached over and touched his brother’s arm, suddenly feeling that protective instinct rush through him. “You’re the one whose nerves are taking a beating- again.” He watched Frank’s eyes close, his hands stop their restless fidgeting, his taut shoulders relax, and wondered at it. Was it really that important to Frank, to know that Joe was worrying? Or was it the sympathy? Joe frowned, musing over his remarks since they’d left the hospital and wondered if he’d been a little insensitive in trying to get Frank to be more optimistic. Maybe he’d come across as dismissive instead of encouraging.

“Callie’s going to be furious.”

“Um...” Joe took his hand back with a blink of surprise, feeling his face burn. He wasn’t at all sure he wanted to ask the question that sprang to mind. Frank couldn’t be doing that! Could he? With Callie?

“She just got finished complaining- yesterday- that I never let my defenses down, that I depend on you to keep me on an even keel...and now this has to happen.

“Um...”

“You already said that,” Frank remarked, glancing over. Then he frowned. “What’re you so- Oh! No, it’s not that! Jeez, Joe, talk about leaping to conclusions!”

“I dunno what other conclusion you expected me to reach,” the younger boy snorted, his face still flaming with embarrassment.

“Well, that’s true, I guess. Okay, I’ll take that back.”

“Thank you. Now what do you mean- I mean, why is this- why particularly-?” Joe heaved a frustrated sigh.

“If you’re trying to ask what she’s going to be mad about...”

“I’m trying to ask what you’re going to do that’s going to make her mad. What do your defenses have to do with this?”

“Same principle as when I was having panic attacks,” Frank replied with a shrug, his dark eyes downcast.

“So you’re going to tell her about this, but not talk to her about it after that?”

“Oh, I’ll talk to her about it, certainly.”

“Well, yeah, to let her know how the tests are coming out, but-?”

“More often than that, I imagine. I’m sure she’ll bring it up on and off.”

“Stop making me fish, brother. If you’re going to talk to her about it, she’ll have no reason to get mad. So what aren’t you saying?”

Frank was getting a little exasperated, judging from how he bit into his next chip. “I thought you understood; I don’t talk much to Callie about how I’m feeling- not nearly as much as she wants me to. She’s going to get mad when I tell her all this and don’t mention how I’m feeling about it.”

Joe picked up his neglected sandwich and started eating again, pondering. “Because you’re not comfortable with it,” he murmured, remembering their conversation of the day before. “And the more she tries to get you to open up, the less comfortable you feel.”

“Right.”

“You tell her that?”

“I tried to. I’m not sure she understood. And even if she did, she’s getting impatient, waiting for me to work up to feeling more comfortable.”

Joe chewed for a while. “Give her bits and pieces,” he suggested at last through a mouthful of bread and lunchmeat. “And tell her you’re trying. Keep reminding her that it’s a lot easier for you if she doesn’t push, that she needs to keep being patient and let you move at your own speed. As long as you’re showing even a little bit of a sign that you’re working on it, she won’t get so cranky.” He paused for a drink of juice, then added, “And it might make the whole business of letting out your feelings a little less difficult. Practice, in a word. Better to practice on Cal than on about anyone else.”

“I’ll try that,” his brother mused after a brief silence. “It can’t hurt, and it might help. As long,” he added grimly, “as she does still want to be around me, after she hears this.”

“See, start with that. It’ll clear up the question without any delay, and it’ll convince her you’re serious about this confiding business.” Joe paused, then put down his sandwich with a frown. “I shouldn’t be giving you a road map on how to replace me, but-”

“Joe, no one will ever replace you,” Frank said quietly, meeting his gaze directly. “No one else,” he added in the silent mind-speech, “will even get close.”

Jesse Martinez sniffed the appetizing aroma of pizza as he slid into the booth beside Phil Cohen. Cool air from the ventilation system wafted over him, a welcome relief from the heat of a late June afternoon. The pizza place was busy today; diners chattered and silverware clicked. A table away, a pair of youngsters were squabbling and trying to push each other off their chairs while their mother wiped at a spill of soda on the table. Someone else nearby had reached the bottom of their cup and was slurking loudly through their straw, trying to get the last few drops.

It had been five days since Tony’s abruptly-terminated suggestion of having a welcome back gathering for Biff Hooper. Jesse frowned, remembering the strain in his friend’s voice when he’d asked Jesse to help him call everyone and cancel the plan. Jesse had no idea what had happened between then and now, but it seemed that things had taken a turn for the better.

Phil looked up from his computer book as Jesse’s weight made the seat shift. “Hey, Q, what’s up?”

“Not much,” the Puerto Rican replied. He liked Phil, even though the guy was often distracted with some new technology. Phil had a sharp mind but a kind manner, and he never got so involved in something technological that he ignored his friends. “I was looking for a summer job- my parents insist on it- but I couldn’t find anything I really liked the sound of. And when I did, they hired someone else.”

“Tony’s looking for help,” Jerry Gilroy remarked from across the booth. He looked like he’d been swimming, for his sandy hair was much darker than usual. Jerry was an odd one, Jesse thought as he nodded. He was always around and participated as much in the banter and fun as anyone else, yet he was standoffish, hard to know. At first glance he was all surface and no depth, but Jesse had caught a few hints of deeper feelings, carefully hidden but occasionally breaking through. The most recent such hint had been when Jerry heard that Biff had been cruel to Tony; Jerry had cursed quite inventively for a few minutes and finished with a threat to blacken Biff’s eye.

“I noticed the sign up,” the younger boy replied to the comment. “Thought I’d ask him about it tonight.”

“It would be a good chance for you guys to work on your language lessons,” Chet teased. “In between pizzas, of course.” The husky boy was standing just outside the booth; why he had not sat down yet was a bit of a mystery to Jesse. Chet could be a nuisance at times, since he was always trying out practical jokes and pranks, but what annoyed Jesse most about the otherwise good-natured guy was that he was so mean to his younger sister. Fortunately Iola held her own remarkably well, especially when Joe gave her a little assistance. And Chet had the admirable quality of being able to laugh as loudly at himself as at others. All in all, he was a solid friend.

“Where’s your sister?” Jerry inquired of Chet, who smiled and rubbed his hand over his reddish crew cut.

“Where do you think?”

“With Joe,” Phil remarked, not looking up from his book.

“Yep. They’ve been doing that a lot.” Chet’s expression turned serious. “Glad his memory’s come back.”

“Here they are now, all four of ‘em,” Jesse remarked in quick warning, seeing the Hardys, Iola and Callie walk into the pizza parlor. Chet slid into the seat and a moment later, Frank and then Callie sat down beside him. Iola, looking a bit sunburned, took the spot beside Jesse with a smile and Joe took the outside edge.

“Are we really going to be able to get two more people at this table?” Joe wondered, brushing his blond hair away from his eyes.

“Oh, we can squish a bit,” Jerry said cheerfully. “Well, you can, we’re pretty squished as it is,” he added, grinning at Chet.

“Sure, we can manage,” Chet replied good-naturedly. “One more on your side, and one at the end. All set.”

‘How little they resemble each other- unless you look closely,’ Jesse thought again, glancing at the Hardys as the banter continued. Of all his friends, he was fondest of these two. They’d been the first of this clique that he’d gotten to know, Joe from the football team and Frank when he came home for Thanksgiving. Funny how two impromptu training sessions to improve Jesse’s quarterback skills had led him to make a bunch of new friends. The younger boy knew he’d always remember how awed he’d been to meet Frank Hardy, who was somewhat of a legend among the football team. Jesse been amazed at how friendly and kind and encouraging Frank had been during their practices. He hadn’t expected modesty, either; not after hanging around Mark Gold, the braggart who’d done everything he could to shake the backup quarterback’s confidence.

Jesse hadn’t really expected the friendship to continue once the football season was over; the Hardys were older and so popular and he was just a shy new Junior. But to his gratified amazement, they’d not only continued to be friendly, they had actually sought him out. For whatever reason, they seemed to genuinely enjoy his company and had accepted him totally as was. They hadn’t spilled any of his cautious confidences or looked on him as inferior. They’d respected his uneasiness about their joking and teasing and tried hard not to make him feel uncomfortable. They made him feel like his friendship was something they valued, and Jesse knew he wasn’t the only one to feel this way.

“Those two, they’re special,” Tony had told him a few weeks ago, when they were discussing Joe’s loss of memory and hoping it would come back. Tony was the one, aside from the Hardys, that Jesse felt most comfortable with. Tony was even older, but he understood Jesse’s culture-shocks the best, having gone through it himself. “First day I met them, they made me feel like one of them. I don’t know how they do it- they both just accept people. They’re always making new friends and acquaintances, but we, their gang, we don’t change. Don’t get dropped in favor of anyone else. Friends like these are few and far between, Q. It’s the loyalty,” the Italian had concluded. “They’re both incredibly loyal, and as a result, we are too.”

Jesse had nodded; he’d felt that loyalty himself. When he’d gotten hypothermic last winter, the Hardys had noticed right away and seen to it that he was properly taken care of, without making him feel foolish or inconvenient. They’d even been the first to visit him in the hospital when he was hurt, and had caught the malicious Mark Gold on their own time while the police were still spinning their wheels.

That was the sort of thing they did, without even thinking twice about it. It made you want to do something in return, even though you knew they didn’t expect anything back. That was as much a part of it as all the rest; they didn’t expect or ask for payback. They did things for their friends because they wanted to, not to put them under obligation.

Tony had said something else, too- he’d explained very seriously that it was highly unusual for one of the ‘fringe friends’, as he called them, to end up as a part of their clique. Phil, at the age of thirteen, had been the last one to slip past the fringe and become a solid part of their gang- until Jesse himself arrived last winter. The rest of them had known each other since they were kids, had formed their own group as early as Elementary school. Even more unusual was for one of the friends to be dropped from the circle; that hadn’t happened since the boys’ friend Nancy had moved away- and that had not been voluntary. Ever since, there had only been the occasional addition.

‘Until now, anyway,’ Jesse mused to himself, looking up at the sudden silence to see Biff Hooper walking towards the table. He felt a sudden apprehension; highly sensitive to the moods around him, the youngster was acutely aware of the smoldering resentment directed at the older boy. Biff had broken their code of loyalty; he’d brutally turned on Tony for no apparent reason, and the gang was closing ranks against him.

Jesse knew very little about the tall, powerful-looking youth; he’d only met Biff once, during the previous winter, and had liked him then. But he’d gathered that while aggressive behavior was not unusual for Biff, sheer unkindness was out of his usual character. His friends were angry, but they would do him the courtesy of allowing him to explain himself. What would happen after that was anyone’s guess.

“Grab a chair,” Joe suggested as Biff halted at the end of the table and looked at the silent assembly. “We’re kinda cramped.” The younger Hardy’s voice was neutral. Jesse glanced around and saw similar expressions on all his friends’ faces; wariness dominated, but Jerry looked sullen and Phil seemed uncomfortable. Iola’s green eyes were cold and Callie’s lips pressed tightly together, as though fearing that what she was tempted to say might come out without her consent.

Biff did as Joe suggested, snagging a chair from a nearby table and seating himself. His hair, a darker blond than Joe’s, was windblown and he didn’t quite meet anyone’s eyes. But his expression wasn’t one of apology or remorse or even uneasiness. ‘It’s arrogance,’ the young Puerto Rican thought uneasily, fearing an explosion of temper at any moment. He glanced over at Frank, their unofficial leader, for reassurance. ‘He’s not looking at anyone because- because he’s feeling superior? Contemptuous?’ Frank had apparently noticed it too; he was studying his old friend’s face with a frown.

Jesse fidgeted as heavy silence descended again after Joe’s comment. What was going to happen? Wasn’t anyone going to say anything else? Biff seemed unaware of the tension, but his fingers beat a steady tattoo on the top of the table. Jesse glanced at Phil, who was studying his silverware. There was an expression on the slight youth’s face that Jesse couldn’t fathom.

Chet finally spoke up, fracturing the quiet: “You join a band or something?”

“No,” Biff replied, contempt mingling with curiosity. “Why?”

“Just wondered, the way you’re drumming.”

Biff stopped tapping his fingers and glanced around for a moment or two. “So, no argument about pizza toppings?” he said at length, turning back to the table. “That’s new.”

Jesse glanced at Frank again, expecting him to say something, but it was Joe who spoke. “We can do that in a few minutes, when Tony gets here. In the meantime, perhaps you’d like to explain last week to us.”

“I’m not explaining anything to anyone,” Biff retorted, scowling at Joe. “I talked with Tony. We argued, yeah, but it was between us and he shouldn’ta made it anyone else’s business. I sure wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t clear between us.”

“He had no choice but to make it our business,” Callie said calmly. “He had to explain to us why the get-together was suddenly off. And we do have the right to know why you suddenly decided you didn’t like the notion of spending time with your friends.”

“It’s my business,” the muscular youth replied sharply. “Believe it or not, I have a private life, and I don’t let just anyone in on it.”

“So now we’re all a bunch of nobodies,” Jerry muttered venomously. “Just anyone, nobody you particularly like or seek out. Very cute, Hooper. If that’s what you learned in Montana, keep me away from that state.”

For a moment, Jesse thought the explosion was on them; Biff’s fists clenched and his eyes narrowed. And then, quite suddenly, he seemed to shrink. “I- didn’t mean it like that,” he said quietly. “I trust you guys-” He paused as his eyes fell on Jesse. “For the most part,” he amended. Jesse felt his face grow hot and looked away. Callie and Frank both gave the embarrassed boy sympathetic looks, which helped, but he still felt like a sudden outsider.

“Well, if you’d been here more, you’d trust us all, not ‘for the most part.’”

“Ah, but I haven’t been here more, have I, Joe? So you can’t expect me to feel quite the same way about things as you do. Look...” The youth sighed. “Give me time, all right? School’s hell- you know that,” he added to Frank. “I didn’t have it as bad as you, but a lotta shit went down and I’m still trying to find my balance. I knew you’d all be asking me what went on and this and that, and I just didn’t want to deal with it. And I shouldn’ta got so mad at Tony, but he just kept asking me why not, why not? Pushing me, you know? Saying ‘I don’t feel up to it’ shoulda been enough, but he wouldn’t let it go.”

Jesse saw Joe glance at Frank, saw Frank’s eyes flick over to meet his brother’s. ‘They know something,’ he thought. ‘Tony must’ve said something to ‘em...does that mean Biff’s telling the truth? Or he’s lying?’

Frank looked about to say something, then stopped as Tony came over. “Hey guys,” the young man said, sounding weary. “Whatcha want?”

“Usual?” Joe suggested, glancing around. A chorus of murmurs rose, along with nods of agreement. Tony, seeming unsurprised by the lackluster attitude, nodded and hurried away without saying anything more. Another silence fell while they waited, and to Jesse’s dismay, Tony didn’t sit down to eat with them when he brought the two pizzas over, five minutes later.

“Maybe when it slows down a little,” he explained when Iola asked him about this departure from custom. “But I’m two people short tonight.” And he hurried off again before Jesse could mention applying for one of the open positions.

Things grew somewhat calmer and more friendly after that. Jesse smiled a few times as Chet and Jerry, then the Hardys and the girls, regained some approximation of their more common cheerfulness. But there was no laughter, and a certain amount of tension remained in the air. Jesse noticed that Phil remained quiet and rather withdrawn, but that was nothing new, and passed without remark.

When only a few slices of the second pizza remained, Biff settled back in his chair, obviously feeling more relaxed, and asked in an easygoing way what everyone had been up to while he was gone. Jesse kept his mouth shut, as much because he was sure Biff wouldn’t be interested as because he didn’t particularly feel like sharing. Not that there was much to share anyway. He listened with half an ear as Phil talked about his labs, Jerry and Chet mentioned graduation, Callie talked about journalism, and Iola spoke of volunteering in Bayport General Hospital. When Frank mentioned the drug case Lieutenant Riley had asked their assistance with, however, his attention sharpened. Since the case was closed, the details were no longer confidential, and there was a great deal that everyone was curious about.

Tony joined them after a while, taking one of the three remaining slices of pizza and munching it as he leaned against the side of the booth. Jesse noticed his friend’s arrival, but he was too distracted by what the Hardys were now explaining to Biff to do more than glance up briefly. Hearing it all chilled the youngest of the gang, and everyone else grew rather somber too, but at the same time there was a feeling of something drawing them together. A sense of shared emotions.

And then, as Joe paused, Biff made a sound of disbelief. “Amnesia?” he asked skeptically. “C’mon. Try another line, that one’s just silly.”

Jesse felt a new heat in his face; not embarrassment this time, but anger. The mood shifted, he could feel it. They were still together, in sympathy with the Hardys, but now they were also united against Biff.

“There’s nothing silly about it,” Joe said sharply. “My memory’s come back, slowly-”

“Yeah, right. Real convenient.”

Joe stood up and leaned over the table towards the bigger youth. “You know something, Biff? You sound exactly like Coach Barnes.”

“Don’t you dare compare me with that-” Biff sounded furious and Jesse remembered the old story about Biff punching the coach out.

“You do. As a matter of fact, I’m not at all surprised at what you’re saying. Seventy-five percent or so of Bayport High said very similar things. They didn’t believe me, and they took every opportunity to make fun of me. I lost a bunch of friends in the process, including Karen. As it turned out, though, I could count on the gang.” Joe paused, glaring at Biff. “All but you, apparently.”

Biff shrugged. “Amnesia’s something out of a novel, and-”

“It happens every day,” Phil said, startling everyone. It was the first thing he’d said for almost an hour. “You just don’t hear about it. And I’m not talking about old-age memory loss, either. It’s real, and some people never recover from it. Joe’s lucky; he did. If you’d come home a month or so ago, we would’ve had to introduce you. Just like we had to introduce the rest of us.”

“Whatever you say,” Biff said vaguely, averting his gaze. The obvious disbelief in his voice made Jesse’s blood boil.

“I wonder why it is that people think I’m making it up, or that it’s something to make jokes about,” Joe growled, his hands knotting into fists. “Maybe you could explain that to me, mister skeptical.”

Silence. Joe caught his brother’s steady look and slowly lowered himself back to the seat. Or maybe it was Iola’s hand against his arm that did it. Jesse felt a touch of relief that it hadn’t erupted into a fistfight; he knew Joe was a good fighter, but he had no idea if Joe could prevail against Biff. And they shouldn’t fight anyway- they were supposed to be friends.

Frank took over then, speaking of his own unpleasant experience with the drug dealers. Jesse listened intently to this, as did everyone else, for it was the first time either brother had mentioned it in any detail; all they’d said before was that Frank had been kidnapped and drugged and had to stay in the hospital for two days under observation. Now the older boy explained how his car had been forced off the road, how he’d overheard his captors talking- until they realized he was awake- and how he’d had a narrow escape from being given the same amnesia-inducer that Joe’d been given.

Joe took over again when Frank paused, and explained his part: how he’d become concerned, talked to Lieutenant Riley, and tipped off the Gresham police as to where the dealers were hiding. Frank added a bit about the sedative he’d been put on; it seemed the drug he’d been given caused some pretty nasty nervous symptoms as a side effect. Anxiety and irritability and a tendency to overreact.

And then Frank faltered slightly, and Joe spoke again. “We didn’t consider one aspect until last week.” The blond Hardy grimaced. “Injections.”

That took a moment to sink in, but when it did, Jesse gasped aloud. Phil caught on a moment later, his eyes going very wide; Callie pulled away from Frank with a look of horror.

“Since we have no way of knowing whether the needles were used before-”

Iola covered her mouth with a choked cry and Chet went white. Jerry clenched his fists on the table so hard that his knuckles went purple.

“-we’re playing it safe. So far, so good,” Joe concluded grimly. “We do know they used at least one needle multiple times, so...” He shrugged. “We’ll have to see what happens.”

“I think you’re making a tempest in a teapot.”

Jesse blinked as Biff pointed his soda straw at Frank, then at Joe. Making a- what did that mean? Whatever it meant, the boy concluded a moment later, it was definitely insulting. Frank’s eyes narrowed and Chet placed clenched fists on the tabletop, a scowl distorting his cheerful features.

“I just finished saying-” Joe started furiously.

“I heard what you finished saying, and it’s ridiculous. The odds are so far against it, you’re just wasting your time,” Biff replied contemptuously. “You’re just trying to impress us with how ‘dangerous’ these cases of yours are.”

“You know yourself how dangerous they are!” Jerry gritted out. “You’ve helped! And you know damned well that Frank and Joe don’t go around trying to impress jerks like you!”

“Oh, our cases aren’t dangerous, to Biff,” Joe remarked, and Jesse suddenly wished he wasn’t sitting on the same side of the booth as Joe, because he couldn’t see the younger Hardy’s face. And he would have liked to; Joe’s tone was absolutely poisonous. “Biff thinks nothing of danger, he thinks common-sense precautions are stupid. Little things like dirty needles and unprotected sex don’t faze him- you remember, don’t you Jer, how he never would wear his motorcycle helmet?”

“Oh yeah!” Jerry drawled. “Always said they were for sissies.”

“Nor a life-jacket,” Chet remarked. “He never would wear one of those either, even when we went white-water rafting.”

“Just because you’re reckless to the point of suicide doesn’t mean you can scoff at people who aren’t,” Callie agreed, her tone biting as she glared at Biff.

The husky youth, who was slowly turning dark red, suddenly sprang up. His chair crashed over backwards and the noise level in the restaurant took a dramatic drop as people turned to stare. Jesse jumped as Biff’s big fist landed in the middle of the table. “Just because I don’t worry, fret and complain twenty-four/seven doesn’t make me a fool!” he snarled.

“I would hardly think obeying a physician’s orders could be considered worrying or fretting, and I haven’t heard any complaints but yours,” Jesse shocked himself by saying aloud. He cringed under the older boy’s glare, but added bravely, “Disagreeing is one thing, but you’re taking a lot of pleasure out of being insulting.”

“Let it go, Q,” Frank said softly. “You can’t reason with him now.” Turning to Biff, he continued, “We were willing to give you another chance, but you’ve blown it. Until you drop that arrogant exterior and show some willingness to be a friend again, you’re on your own.”

“Amen!” Jerry said loudly amid the murmurs of agreement from the girls and Chet. Phil was silent, but nodded slowly.

“I think you better leave,” Tony put in tightly. “You’re disturbing the other customers.”

“Some welcome,” Biff growled, shoving the chair aside and favoring them all with a final glare.

“You reap what you sow,” Iola snapped in return. She didn’t flinch at the hostility in Biff’s eyes, Jesse noticed with admiration. But Iola had more strength of spirit than most to begin with. Biff made a gesture at her that the Puerto Rican had no trouble recognizing and stamped out of the restaurant without another word.

The restaurant was silent for several minutes after Biff’s sudden departure. Tony reached down, picked up Biff’s chair and sat in it. He looked tired and demoralized, Joe Hardy thought, glancing around at his silent friends. Everyone else looked angry or disgusted, or both.

Gradually the conversations resumed around them, but no one at their table spoke until Joe made the suggestion that was nagging at his mind. “Let’s get out of here and go somewhere we don’t have to worry about irritating other people.”

“Or about being overheard,” his brother agreed quietly.

There were nods and mutters of agreement, so after the bill was settled, the teens got up and made their way out into the mall’s main corridor. Several of the customers regarded them curiously as they left, but no one inquired what the commotion had been about.

When they got into the mall, there was no sign of Biff Hooper, for which Joe was grateful; he had a powerful urge to teach the guy some manners- the hard way. But he wasn’t sure how such a lesson would turn out, and he did know that mall security would take a very dim view of Joe’s version of a ‘lesson’.

“Anyone see which way he went?” Jerry grouched as he glanced around. It seemed his mind was running along much the same path that Joe’s was.

“I wish,” the younger Hardy replied grimly.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” Iola remarked, taking his hand. “I’d hate to see security throw you out of here.” Joe looked at her and felt his mood lighten. She wasn’t mentioning the fact that he’d probably have a hard time beating Biff in a fight, and he appreciated that.

“Besides, it might not turn out the way you’d like it to,” Callie put in, and Joe gave her an irritable look.

“What, you think us two couldn’t handle him?” Jerry asked belligerently.

“Three,” Chet inserted.

“Or four,” Frank muttered.

“That’s hardly fair...”

“Oh, if it’s fair we’re talking about, he was the one to start the whole thing, and he sure acts like he wants a fight,” Chet said, frowning.

“So don’t give him one,” Callie replied with a shrug. “If he goads you into it, he wins- he manipulates you and gets what he wants.”

“I swear, I hate logic sometimes,” Joe sighed, and went to sit down on the nearest bench. They were not far from the fountain in the middle of the mall and there were several giant tubs of trees, flowers and ferns scattered around, with wooden and metal ‘park’ benches under the greenery. The mall staff was behind in their trimming again, he noted as he brushed away a fern that was poking him in the ear. Iola followed, but didn’t sit; she stood before him, reaching out to hold his hand again and looked down at him with serious eyes.

“I know how you feel,” she said softly. “I wanted to- well, to do something! It really bites, just letting him insult us all and then walk off like that. But he’ll regret it more than us.”

“Will he?” Joe asked, wondering if that was true. “Will he even regret it at all?” If Biff only regretted his attitude, there was still some hope of pulling everything back together again. But if not...

“Well, whether he does or not, we will. He’s been our friend for ages. But if all he can be is hateful and vicious and not even care that he’s hurting us, we’re probably better off just letting him walk away and not come back,” Iola declared, lifting her chin. “And we gave him chances, too- we were fair and he wasn’t.”

Joe nodded slowly. He still had a strong urge to beat some sense into the older youth, but he knew that tactic seldom worked. He might even win the fight, but it wouldn’t change Biff’s attitude. Tugging gently on his girlfriend’s hand, he urged her to sit beside him and she did so with a small smile. “About...this other thing-”

Iola paled, but she didn’t pull away the way Callie had pulled away from Frank. “I think being sensible is a good thing, Joe. I’m glad you’re not taking anything for granted, and... I hope... but no matter what happens, to either of you-” Her hand tightened on his. “Nothing’s going to change. I care about you- and your brother is my friend.”

Joe wrapped his arms around her and felt her soft black hair slide against his cheek. After a moment, he ducked his head and kissed her. “You’re really someone wonderful, Black Cat,” he murmured in her ear. He wanted to say more, make certain promises, give her certain assurances. But this was not the time; not in the Mall, not in public, and not with their friends nearby to overhear. “We’ll talk a little more about this in private, hm?”

A rosy flush replaced the pallor of his girlfriend’s cheeks and her gaze drifted shyly away as she nodded.

“Are you two getting lovey-dovey again?” Chet inquired, wandering over from where the rest of the group was standing. “We’re all trying to decide what to do now, and you’re stealing private time...”

“We’re not stealing it, Chet,” Iola retorted with a snort, straightening up in Joe’s embrace.

“Yeah, it’s paid for,” Joe joked, loosening his grasp on Iola as he tried to head off a squabble. The Morton siblings smiled at the jest. “And we can’t have missed much.”

“You haven’t,” Frank agreed, taking a seat at the end of the bench. “What do you think: break it up for the night and meet again in a day or so when we’re feeling less angry, or find something interesting to do now and try to work out of the mood?”

“That’s a very good question. Who wants to do what?”

“No one’s decided,” Callie answered ruefully from the other side of Frank. She was holding his hand, apparently having gotten over her initial reaction. Or remembering that the deadly virus was not spread by casual contact.

Joe pondered for a moment, gazing from one friend to another as Q, Phil and Tony wandered over. Jerry had disappeared for the moment, but Joe saw him at the drinking fountain a moment later. “I vote we cheer Tony up,” the blond boy said at last, very quietly.

“That,” Frank began, and stopped as their friends came closer.

“I gotta get back and do the closing up,” the Italian youth said wearily.

“And short-handed, too,” Q said sympathetically. “That reminds me, I wanted an application.”

Tony turned to look at him. “You’re hired,” he replied. Jesse blinked and Joe smiled at the younger boy’s confusion.

“Just like that?”

“I already know you won’t rob us blind or skimp on the chores, so why not?” Tony inquired with a half-smile.

Joe glanced at Iola, then at Frank, both of whom were looking very thoughtful. When the brothers’ eyes met, Joe nodded.

“Tony, if you need a few more hands tonight,” Frank began.

“Sure, we can help!” Iola broke in, a smile crossing her face.

“Leftovers!” Chet remarked, grinning. Tony actually laughed, the first time he had done so all evening.

“I dunno, I don’t think I need quite this much help,” he demurred, looking around with a grateful smile.

“You’ll get closed up that much faster,” Joe pointed out slyly.

“Besides, you have a new hire to do paperwork on and get oriented,” Callie added. “That takes plenty of time, right?”

“You win.” Tony raised his hands in surrender, grinning. “Let me shoo everyone out and get the door locked and we’ll see how fast you guys really are.”

Joe got up and followed as Tony led the way back to Mr. Pizza. Helping clean up in the kitchen and eating area wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind for the night, but the offer definitely had cheered Tony up. Besides, it was always a lot of fun. Amazing how even dish-washing could be turned into a game- if you were with the right people.

“There he is.”

“Where?” Frank Hardy glanced around the neatly manicured lawns of the Seven Oaks Assisted Living Center, hoping to spot the elderly man his brother had brought him to meet.

The teen stifled a yawn as he walked along the paved path; they were having an early start on top of a late night. Last night he and Joe had met the gang at the pizzeria and they’d all helped Tony close down for the evening. Then they’d all gone out together for dessert and ended up sitting on the beach, eating ice cream and talking until after midnight. The latest unpleasant developments- with Biff and with the HIV tests- had both gotten a great deal of discussion and all the gang had assured the Hardys that, positive results or negative, their friendships would not change in the slightest.

Frank was realist enough to know that wasn’t quite true; if one or both of the Hardys turned up HIV-positive, things would change, like it or not. But he had said nothing of that, knowing his friends meant that there would be no sudden abandonment.

Frank shook off the memory, crushed his fear into submission and tried to stifle another yawn. When had they gotten home, anyway? Two or so? And then getting up at eight- not quite enough sleep. “I don’t see-”

“Sitting on the bench.” Joe picked up his pace until he was nearly trotting. Frank followed behind, eyeing the lone white-haired figure seated on the bench with interest.

“Hello, young fella,” Joe said cheerfully to the elderly man, who looked up in surprise. Frank watched the man’s gloomy expression swiftly change to one of delight.

“Well, now, if ‘tisn’t Joe. And who’ve ye brought with ye t’day?”

“Alistair, this is my brother, Frank,” Joe explained easily. “So is it Uncle Al yet?”

Alistair laughed, loosing one hand from his cane and extending it to Frank. The teen was surprised at the strength of the handclasp. “Nay, no’ yet, my lad. Pleasure t’meet ye, Frank, your brother’s told me a bit about you.”

“He’s told me a bit about you too, sir-”

“Oh, no need for sirring me, ye make me feel downright elderly,” the man chuckled. “So what’s he filled your ears with, eh? Told ye all the bad and me no’ there t’defend myself?”

Frank grinned. “Actually,” he said, sitting down beside the old fellow, “I know how he works. He says he’s going to ruin a guy’s reputation, but as soon as your back is turned, he’s bragging on you till you’d blush to hear it. He just hates to get caught at it. See, look, he’s blushing now,” he added wickedly, nodding at Joe. Joe quickly turned his head to hide his pinkening cheeks, but the dirty look he threw Frank lacked force.

“Aye, he has a good heart, this one,” Alistair replied contentedly, folding his wrinkled hands atop his cane. He was dressed pretty warmly for so late in the summer, Frank noticed. Long slacks and a long-sleeved flannel shirt in a red and black plaid pattern. The bench was mostly in the sun, which was fairly strong despite the earliness of the hour.

“You try to keep a secret and look what happens,” Joe muttered, pretending to sound peevish. He was still standing before the bench, his hair shining in the sunlight. “So how are you today?”

“Oh, middling,” Alistair sighed. “Better’n yesterday. Had a go on the machine, then.”

Frank recalled that Joe had told him about Alistair’s dialysis and wondered if it was painful. Uncomfortable at the very least, he assumed. “Sounds unpleasant,” he ventured.

“Tisn’t the best way to spend an afternoon,” the elderly man agreed. “Discomfort is one thing, but it grows dull beyond words, sitting indoors with naught to do. But I’ll say na more of that. Ahh, here she comes,” he added suddenly, a big grin crossing his face. Frank turned and saw an old woman in a motorized wheelchair moving slowly down the path towards them. When she stopped at the bench, he realized with a jolt that it was their Aunt Gertrude.

“Hallo, Gertie,” Alistair said affectionately, rising to take her withered hand in his.

“Hello, Alistair,” Gertrude replied. Her voice was weak, but clear- not as crisp as Frank remembered, but not nearly as slurred as the therapists had hinted. She was dressed in a dark-blue ankle-length skirt and a white long-sleeved blouse with lace at the wrists and neck. Her hair- now totally white- was bunned up on the back of her head and bifocals rested on her nose. It was the first time Frank had seen her come outside, and also the first time he’d seen her in a wheelchair. He glanced at Joe, who looked as taken aback as Frank felt.

“And here’s your boys come to see us,” Alistair mentioned as he sat back down.

“They’re not really my boys, you know,” Gertrude answered, sounding almost wistful.

“Your brother’s boys, then- isn’t that close enough?”

The woman nodded, looking away.

“Maybe we should go?” Joe ventured, echoing Frank’s thought.

“Na, na. Your aunt was wishing to speak with you- is’t not so, Gertie?”

“It- it’s true, yes,” was the tremulous reply. An awkward silence fell. Frank watched, feeling embarrassed as Gertrude started to speak several times and then stopped, shaking her head. Finally she turned to Joe and asked, “Is your memory coming back yet?”

“It’s about all back now,” the younger Hardy replied neutrally, sitting down beside Frank. “I’m sure there’s some bits I haven’t picked up on yet, but that’s more a matter of reminders than real forgetting. I mean- it’s there in my mind, I just haven’t had opportunity to access it yet.”

Gertrude nodded. “I’ve been hoping for that,” she said, her eyes on the concrete sidewalk. “But dreading it, too. I knew that- that it would be painful for you, and I felt sick inside when I realized what you’d remember of me.” She took a deep breath. “I- I owe you more apologies than I can properly say, Joe. The way I treated you was inexcusable. Most importantly, though- I- your mother... It wasn’t your fault, and I knew it, and I was terribly wrong to suggest it, much less behave as though I believed what I was saying. I had to blame someone and I chose to blame you for your mother’s mistake.”

Frank slid closer to his brother and laid his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “And did you really think we were too ‘clingy’ with each other?” he asked before Joe could say anything.

Gertrude shook her head, glancing up. “I was envious,” she admitted. “You two had each other- for strength, but also to show your weakness to when you needed to. I was jealous of that, I had no one to help me be strong and no one to allow me to be weak. I...I used my pride instead and acted as though your closeness was something to be contemptuous of.” She let out a long sigh. “Well, ‘Pride goeth before destruction’- they say it and it’s true. My pride was the destruction of the affection you had for me, and since I chose it, I must bear it. I’ll always regret it.” Her weary eyes dropped from Frank’s, glanced at Joe, then fell back to regarding the pavement beneath her chair.

“You waited a long time to tell us,” Joe said softly.

“There’s a thing, with depression and- forgive me, Gertie- self-delusion,” Alistair spoke up quietly. “First, ye must admit it to yourself. Then, ye must find the courage to admit it to another. And finally, ye must summon yer strength and tell those ye’ve wronged.”

The boys exchanged a glance. “It’s true,” Joe remarked mentally.

“Yeah,” Frank had to agree. “But it’s not an excuse for hurting people in the first place.”

“I don’t think he means it as an excuse, Frank. And anyway, depression and self-delusion are a pretty far step away from real emotional sadism.”

“So you’re going to forgive her?” the older boy sent incredulously, frowning.

Joe hesitated. “I don’t know,” he answered silently. “I don’t know if I can. But I’d like to try and stop despising her.”

Frank manage to restrain the urge to nod as he understood what Joe was getting at. Gertrude was old, in ill-health. They probably didn’t have a lot of time to do repair work on their relationship with her; they couldn’t afford to wait too long and let the chance slip away.

“Course, having thought that, she’ll probably live to see one hundred,’ the dark-haired youth thought cynically. He was slightly surprised when Joe broke the heavy silence, saying that they needed to think about things for a while and readjust their opinions a bit. Their aunt replied that she understood, and she looked relieved. ‘Probably afraid we’d just tell her to take a leap, not give her a second chance,’ Frank concluded. “What can you tell us about the fire?” he asked aloud, slowly.

Gertrude looked startled at the question. “Not much,” she answered, sounding weary. “I was in the den with the door closed and the first thing I knew that something was wrong, was when I smelled smoke.”

That made sense. Their aunt’s hearing had been declining over the years and she’d refused to wear her hearing aid even a quarter of the time. She wouldn’t have heard the fraternity boys slipping in, sneaking up the stairs and starting the blaze. And they, seeing the closed door, would not have realized there was anyone in the room.

“We’ll need to pass that along to Mike,” Joe murmured, and Frank nodded. Mike DeSoto would be very pleased to get this information; the good-natured officer had been chafing about being unable to find a reason to investigate Ted Madison and several of the other Delta students. In light of the uncertainty over the origin of the blaze, his options had been limited. “And once we do,” Joe went on, “we’d better keep our eyes peeled. They might decide to drop back in on us.”

Frank nodded again, then explained to the puzzled Alistair who Ted Madison was and why they needed to be careful.

“A dangerous one,” the old man concluded after Frank was done. “Be wary, lad. A man wi’ a grudge and nae other weapon is more dangerous than a man wi’ a handful o’ steel.”

“Especially this one,” Frank agreed grimly. “He’s power-hungry.”

“Please be careful.” Gertrude’s whisper brought Frank’s eyes back to her.

“Are you all right?” he asked sharply, seeing the pallor of her lined face.

“She’s wearied. I’ll see her back-”

“We’ll go with you,” Joe cut in, standing up from the bench. “And then we’ll go talk to Mike.”

Frank stood too and the boys followed the wheelchair and its guardian back to the main building. Having seen their aunt safely into her room, they took their leave of Alistair and headed for police headquarters.

“I don’t get it,” Mike DeSoto complained, tapping a pen against the top of his desk. “If she didn’t set it herself, why didn’t she say so earlier? Why wait a month and then decide to talk about it?”

Frank and Joe Hardy exchanged a glance and a shrug. “I’m guessing, but- problem one, she was having a lot of trouble just talking,” Joe explained. “Problem two, I think she actually did tell people, but they were her therapists, who had to keep it confidential. The first hint I got was when her friend Alistair told me how upset she’d been that the place was gone. And of course there was problem three, which was that she wouldn’t talk to us about anything. Maybe she was offended by the fact that she was under suspicion at all-”

“Or maybe she didn’t realize how important it was,” Frank added. “We have had a pretty huge communication failure with her, until today.”

Mike grunted in agreement. “Okay, so this knocks it down to the college kids,” he concluded. “They had the motive, they made the threat, and they were in the area. With any luck,” he added as he reached for the telephone, “they’ll figure we were quiet this long just to let them relax and think we weren’t onto them.”

Joe watched as Mike dialed, frowning slightly. “Or maybe they’ll think you’ve been collecting evidence and monitoring them,” he mused, then broke off as Mike held up a hand.

“Mrs. Madison? Officer DeSoto from Bayport, New York. May I speak to your son Ted? Oh? Where is he, then? Oh, really. No, no, so far as I know he’s not come to any harm, I just need to ask him a few questions.”

The Hardys exchanged another glance. “Not home,” Frank sent grimly.

“What do you want to bet he’s somewhere in this state?” Joe replied the same way. A prickle of tension went down his back; they had grown complacent and stopped expecting trouble, since none had come their way. Not from Madison, anyway. ‘Sloppy thinking,’ he scolded himself. ‘Just because they haven’t been up to anything recently doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be careful.’

“Especially now,” Frank’s voice said in his mind, apparently catching the thought. “Once they realize we’re getting after them again, they could get nasty.”

“Yeah. Scared people- or determined-not-to-be-caught people- do crazy things.”

“Dangerous things,” his brother amended.

“Both. I think we better mention this to the guys, Frank. We could use the backup, since we don’t know how many we’re going to be up against. They know there’s two of us, I hope that doesn’t mean there’s fourteen of them.”

Joe felt his brother wince, mentally, and saw Frank’s shoulders tense. Then the clack of Mike hanging up the phone registered and he broke the mental contact to pay attention to the cop.

“You’ll never guess where Mom Madison says her boy is.”

“New York?”

Mike nodded, looking unsurprised at Joe’s guess. “In fact, he’s been staying in a little town called Redcliff.”

“That’s, what, an hour from here?”

“Hour and a half,” Frank muttered. “Far enough away to let the excitement die down, but close enough to come back any time and pull some more cute stunts.”

Joe noted his brother’s sarcasm and knew what that meant: Frank was trying to hide his nervousness. “Also far enough away that there’s no chance of accidentally running into him. If he was in Southport or Kingsbury, he might have been spotted.”

“I’m going to get in touch with the Redcliff cops and get their cooperation quick,” Mike muttered, picking up the phone again. “The faster we get on this, the less time his mother has to warn him that the police want to talk to him.”

Frank nodded silently and his eyes strayed sideways, seeking Joe’s. The younger boy moved an unobtrusive step closer; he could just about feel the tension coming off his brother. “Let’s go,” he suggested softly.

“Go?” Frank turned and gave him a more direct, and puzzled, look.

“Make some phone calls of our own. And warn the Seven Oaks people to keep security tight.”

Frank’s brown eyes widened in shock. Then he leaned across the desk to Mike. “Can someone be stationed to keep an eye on Gertrude? Just in case?”

“I’ll talk to the center about it. Do you think it’s likely?”

“I don’t know,” Frank answered slowly, straightening up. “But she’s old and weak and a bad shock could kill her. Madison might get desperate enough to go after a hostage. And it would be easy for a visitor to just walk in there and ask to see her.”

Mike nodded, scowling. “I’ll take care of it. I don’t suppose you two would submit to protective custody?”

Joe snorted.

“Didn’t think so. I- hello? Officer DeSoto of-”

“All right, let’s go,” Frank murmured, turning away from the desk and walking towards the main doors. Joe followed, a little bemused by Frank’s acquiescence.

“So...?”

“So, we head home, call the gang, keep our eyes open, and-” Frank paused, swinging the door open.

Joe caught the door before it fell back, squinted as his eyes adjusted to the summer sunlight, them trotted a few steps to catch up. Falling into stride beside Frank, he asked, “And?”

“I was thinking about security systems,” Frank explained.

“I dunno, bro, those are kinda expensive, and I don’t know what Larry would say about it either.” Larry Vickers was the landlord, a short, balding, rather overweight fellow in his fifties; he tended to be a bit closemouthed, but amiable. But how he’d react if they started re-wiring the apartment was difficult to say.

“Yeah, I had the same thought. Even if he didn’t have any more objection than he did to the cable wiring, it still would be pretty pricey.”

“We should just get a good deadbolt,” Joe agreed, opening the passenger door as they reached the car. Heat poured out in shimmering waves and he grimaced as he ducked into the vehicle. Why Frank always insisted on putting the windows all the way up- especially when they were parked in the sun-! But then, there had been a few times when they’d left the windows down and returned to find little ‘gifts’ awaiting them. Usually of an explosive, or at least harmful, sort.

“Uh, we already have a deadbolt, Joe.”

“I said a ‘good’ deadbolt. The one we have now could be pried out with a crowbar in a minute or so.”

Frank turned the keys in the ignition and reached for the air-conditioner controls. “I hope you’re exaggerating,” he murmured, throwing a worried glance at Joe.

“I hope so too, but I have a few doubts.” Joe decided to change the topic; obviously he was making Frank even more uneasy. He glanced at his watch; it was nearly eleven-thirty. “We’ll have to clear it with Larry, of course- why don’t we swing home for lunch and see if he’s there? Then we can start calling the guys.”

“Sounds good.” Some of the tension passed from the older Hardy’s face as he swung the car onto the street. Frank always felt better when he had a specific plan to follow, Joe mused, aiming the air vent more directly at his hot face.

“Of course it does, it’s my plan. And it doesn’t even involve you doing anything ridiculous...I need to work on that,” he replied, smiling at the headshake and wry grin he got in response. Nothing like a little younger-brotherly humor to lighten a troubled mood.

“Got the list?” Frank Hardy asked his brother as they walked into the grocery store.

“Yeah, right in-” Joe stopped, and a frown spread across his face as he dug first in one front pocket, then the other. “Um...” He patted his hip pockets and then looked up at Frank with a familiar, sheepish expression. Frank sighed and shoved his hair away from his forehead.

“Let me guess,” he said, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice.

“Well, I thought it was in my pocket,” Joe answered defensively. “I must’ve left it on the counter.”

“We’ll just have to see what we can remember. And when we get home,” Frank added ironically, “we can check it over and see what we forgot!”

“Like you never forget anything,” Joe muttered sourly, and went to grab one of the wheeled carts.

After three aisles of sulky silence from his younger brother, Frank grabbed the cart by the metal wires that made up the basket and brought it to a stop near a sale display. Joe’s blue-eyed gaze slid away; he studied the meat counter, affecting to be interested in the packages of steak. “Sorry if I sounded harsh,” the nineteen-year-old said quietly. “It’s not really that big a deal, I’m just...antsy.”

Joe’s eyes flicked to him, then away, and then the younger boy nodded slowly, shifting his grip on the cart’s blue plastic handle. “I guess I’m overreacting, too- I’m kinda uptight,” he admitted.

“Two days and no trouble...” Frank sighed and glanced around. “I keep telling myself that’s a good sign, but I’d feel a lot easier if Mike had managed to pick Ted up. I feel like I’m waiting for someone to creep up behind me and yell ‘Boo!’”

“Well, I could do that, if you wanted,” Joe offered in such a somberly serious voice that Frank almost didn’t take the meaning. Then he rolled his eyes, his mood lightening in spite of himself.

“Thanks anyway, I’ll just pass,” he answered sarcastically, trying to hide his grin.

“Okay. But if you change your mind- hey! Pudding’s on sale.” Joe grabbed one of the six-packs of chocolate pudding from the display beside them.

“I don’t think that was on our list,” the older boy pointed out.

“Frank, you gotta learn to be flexible,” Joe replied glibly, and pushed the cart towards the deli counter to get some pre-sliced lunchmeat.

“I am flexible; I have to be, with you around,” Frank muttered, following. He felt a lot better though; he knew Joe had forgiven him, as the younger boy always did. Joe often said that Frank was ‘scary’ when he was angry, but to Frank’s mind, it was downright unnerving to be around Joe when his temper was up. It wasn’t the blazing explosions that bothered Frank; it was the venomous and spiteful remarks Joe could come up with when he was feeling cross or sullen- or enraged. He never seemed to care what he said or how much it hurt, and it was virtually impossible to argue with his cruel jabs. So often they were true, stirring guilt and regret, shame and anger.

As Joe had often said: the truth was a deadly weapon.

Shaking the thoughts from his mind, Frank turned his attention back to the grocery store just as a man in a hurry nearly ran into him with a cart. The fellow didn’t even have the grace to apologize, just glared at Frank as though the teen was at fault and scooted off in a huff. Frank felt a bit vindicated a moment later; catching up to Joe, the two watched as the same man ran smack into a Hispanic woman. The woman, apparently possessed of a considerable temper, immediately began to harangue the careless man in excellent English and the Hardys moved on, squelching their chuckles.

It was after they checked out and wheeled the cart down to the car that Joe suddenly stopped in his tracks and slapped his forehead. “I almost forgot!”

“What?” Frank opened the trunk.

“TP.”

“Teepee? What do we want with an Indian tent?”

“Not a teepee, dummy- TP. Think bathroom. I’ll be back.”

“Oh,” Frank said quietly as his brother jogged away. “That.” He lifted the bags into the trunk, two by two, his smile twisting a little as he noticed how neatly that brother of his had gotten out of this chore.

It was as he turned and reached for the last bag, containing the gallon of milk, that something hard cracked against his jaw, stunning him. The bag fell from his hand and his legs wobbled as the sunny day went dark and started to spin around him. Someone grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and another hard, painful impact drove the air from Frank’s lungs.

The asphalt was burning his hands, heating his body- he must have fallen down. He couldn’t get any air past the constriction in his abdomen, and a wave of panic swept over him. The hand caught him again and the fist thudded into his face; he tasted blood and the pain was sharp, cutting. Another punch, and another; Frank couldn’t even get his arms up, it was all he could manage to gasp in a few shallow breaths.

There was a noise, like a scuffle; the hand released him and he fell and everything went black, but he could still hear. Grunts and the sounds of fists landing, and a short, hoarse cry, and someone muttering something he couldn’t quite hear, but it sounded vile.

‘Joe?’

Voices, a confusion of male and female voices. Words fading in and out: “Police... Hurt?...Who are you? You know him? Police are...”

And then more footsteps, running, and a familiar voice under the others. Joe’s voice, urgently whispering his name.

Frank blinked and slowly discovered that he was lying face-down on the hot blacktop. His face and ribs throbbed with pain and his head felt ready to burst. Joe’s hand rested on his back briefly; as the older Hardy struggled to sit up, the hand supported him. “Oh, man,” Joe said softly, and Frank looked into wide blue eyes that squeezed closed for a moment and then opened wearing a remorseful expression. “He got you good, big brother.”

“Yeah,” Frank managed between gasps. “Who-?”

“Madison.” Joe’s soft voice turned as hard as steel.

“Did you-?”

“No. Biff took him down.”

“Biff?” Frank repeated, wondering if he’d heard right. Joe nodded and moved to the side, gesturing to his left, Frank’s right. Frank turned his head, wincing as pain shot through his neck and temple.

Biff Hooper was kneeling on Ted Madison’s back, pinning the fraternity president’s wrists securely behind him. Madison was struggling and muttering oaths, but was unable to get enough leverage to throw Biff off. All around the two were wary, curious shoppers, watching the scene with great interest.

“I called the police,” one man remarked when Frank met his eye. “They should be here in a minute. Do you need an ambulance?”

“Thanks, they’ve been looking for that jerk for a couple days now,” Joe spoke up for Frank, who was still panting. “And-”

“Don’t need an ambulance,” Frank managed, his eyes going to Madison. “Nothing broken, just bruises.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” the man said doubtfully. Frank nodded, feeling Joe’s gaze on him. The younger boy said nothing, though, and a few moments later, the police car pulled into the lot. It was quickly followed by a second, unmarked car.

The next twenty minutes were more or less routine. The uniformed officers handcuffed Madison, read him his rights and arrested him on charges of assault, arson and attempted murder. The murder charge got a big reaction from the bystanders and Madison protested violently until Joe got in his face. “Are you trying to suggest that you torched our house without checking to see if there was anyone in it first?” he inquired savagely. “Or did you do it knowing our aunt was still in there? Either way, she nearly died- you obviously didn’t care who got injured, so long as you got to play pyromaniac.”

After that, the young man was sullenly silent, but Frank, slowly rising to his feet and bracing himself against the hot exterior of the car, detected more than a hint of fear in Madison’s demeanor.

Madison was secured in the back of the squad car and taken away. Then Mike DeSoto- the driver of the unmarked police car- carefully took the statements of everyone in the vicinity, thanked them for their assistance, praised Biff for his quick action, and warned that any of them might be called as witnesses when the case came to trial. Then he drew the Hardys aside as the crowd dispersed and studied Frank for a moment. “You sure you don’t need to get checked out?”

“Well,” Frank began, wincing. His ribs hurt with every breath.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to take him in for X-rays,” Joe said dourly. And as Frank started to protest he added, “That’s what you’d insist on if I was the one being used as a punching bag, right? Besides, we want a doctor’s testimony for the assault charge.”

“Oh, all right.” Frank sighed and winced again. “But let’s at least take the food home, first; it’ll go bad if we leave it in the trunk for the next six hours.”

“I think he’s okay,” Joe said to Mike. “He’s as exaggeratory as usual. But I’ll make sure.”

Mike smiled. “All right. Let me know so I can make sure we’re charging that punk correctly.” The smile faded. “And so I can bawl you both out for not being more careful, too.”

“Now hold on a moment,” Joe began. “Would you expect to be assaulted in broad daylight, in a parking lot, with a dozen witnesses around? I mean, look what it got him. Yeah, Madison succeeded, if getting himself caught, identified and arrested was his goal, but if not, I suspect he’s regretting his move.”

The policeman scratched his head. “I suppose you have a point there, Joe. But all the same, you were very lucky.”

“Where did Biff go?” Frank asked suddenly, staring around the parking lot.

“He left with everyone else, I guess.” Joe looked as perplexed as Frank was feeling. The brothers exchanged a glance and a shrug; then Joe pitched the last two bags into the trunk and slammed it shut. “Let’s get this stuff home and then see about getting you poked, prodded and patched up.”

“You make it sound so pleasant,” Frank grumbled, climbing into the passenger seat. Mike gave them a brief wave as Joe started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “Surprised to see him- he must’ve been in the area.”

“Yeah, probably picked it up over the scanner.” Joe gave him an anxious look. “You all right?”

Frank nodded, thought about it, and shrugged a moment later, realizing his brother meant emotionally, not physically. “Pretty mad. I didn’t see him coming, he snuck up behind me.”

“Like his ilk,” his brother muttered angrily.

“Yes. I should’ve been more alert.”

“I shouldn’t have gone back in the store,” Joe said softly. “Shoulda stuck with you...”

“Don’t.” Frank ran his hand absently through his tousled hair, trying to smooth it out a bit.

“I should have!”

“Maybe, and maybe I should’ve told you to wait up, that I’d go back in with you. But I doubt he would’ve attacked if I hadn’t had my back to him, Joe.” Frank paused. “And anyway, it’s all ifs. A bit late for those now. It happened, I’m a bit bruised but basically all right, and he’s on his way to jail. No more worrying. So lighten up on yourself, okay? We expect to take some bumps and bruises in this job.”

“Bumps and bruises, yeah, when we’re fighting together. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be just as uptight-”

“Joe-”

“-if it’d been me in your place-”

“Joe.”

“-and you weren’t there to help me.” Joe applied the brakes as they rounded a corner.

“Joe, really-”

“Yeah, all right, all right, I’ll shut up about it,” the younger boy muttered. “But I’m not going to forget it in a hurry.”

Silence fell in the car for a while.

“I wish you’d stop taking everything negative that happens to us as your own personal fault that you ought to have somehow averted,” Frank said at last, realizing even as he spoke that he’d mangled the sentiment somewhat. “You always blame yourself, no matter who else might share responsibility with you. Would it make you feel better if I yelled at you? You didn’t seem too keen to have Mike scolding you.”

Joe didn’t respond; he pulled the car into the parking lot, parked, hopped out and opened the trunk.

It took two trips to get all the bags of groceries into the apartment, and Frank had to sit down and rest between them. The effort of climbing the stairs had winded him and he began to suspect he had some cracked, or even broken, ribs. “Are you going to answer me?” he inquired, slumping down on the sofa again after the second trip.

“No,” was the curt reply as Joe closed the door. “Let me know when you feel ready to leave. I’ll call ahead and tell the hospital we’re coming.”

“Why not?” Frank demanded, ignoring the part about the hospital.

“Because I don’t have an answer.” Joe vanished into the kitchen; the sound of rustling bags drifted out as he began to put the groceries away. Frank leaned back on the sofa, holding his side and waiting for the pain to fade.

“Are you-” Joe Hardy paused as his older brother gave him a level look. “What?”

“Please stop asking if I’m all right,” the older Hardy requested. “That’s about the sixth time since we got home. I’m fine. The painkiller is working, it’s just two cracked ribs, nothing broken, nothing crippling, so could you please turn down the concern a little? Just a little. You can sit and observe me and make sure I don’t pass out or something- which I’m not going to anyway, but if it’ll reassure you I don’t mind. But stop asking the same question over and over, okay? You make it sound like you don’t believe me, and-”

“Frank, hush.” Joe tried to stifle a wry grin. “I can tell you’re doped up, you’re being more of a chatterbox than me on my best days.”

Frank’s brown eyes, slightly dilated from the medication, blinked in surprise. “I think maybe you mean worst.”

“Best, worst, either way, you’re outdoing me. Bargain: I’ll hush if you will.”

“Deal.”

There was a pause that lasted for all of thirty seconds.

“Did you ever come up with an answer for me?”

“What?” Joe turned his attention from the wall he’d been studying and frowned over his shoulder at Frank.

“About why you always blame yourself when you ought not to?”

Joe, seated cross-legged on the floor near the sofa, turned to face his brother. “Oh, that. Yes. You asked why I acted like it was my own personal fault,” he said casually, leaning his arm against the coffee table. “And the answer is, it is my own personal fault. I told you weeks ago that I’d back you up, make sure you didn’t get hurt again. And we saw how very well I carried it out today, didn’t we?” The edge in his voice was directed entirely at himself, but he wasn’t prepared for his brother’s angry reply.

“Do I look like a child, Joe? Do I look like someone who can’t take care of themself, who needs somebody else to bodyguard them from the big nasty bully every day and night? I’m responsible for my own safety, thank you; I knew better than to leave my back exposed with that creep skulking around in the area. That’s exactly how he got to me the last time, and if I didn’t learn enough from that to be careful, then I deserved to get ambushed again! I did not put myself in your hands and say, ‘oh, don’t let him get me’, you know; I was glad for the thought of some backup, but I had every intention of guarding my own back- of not letting him get the drop on me again. And look what a good job I did of it! I took no precautions whatsoever!”

“Does that drug send your blood pressure up or something?” Joe jumped into the brief lull when Frank stopped for breath, figuring he wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise if he didn’t interrupt. “You don’t usually get so carried away.” His casual tone covered considerable shock at the older Hardy’s outburst, but the question was more rhetorical than not. Joe was sure that Frank’s belligerency was due to the drug, but he wasn’t quite so certain about the underlying attitude.

“I don’t know, I just know I’m tired of you demanding all the blame when the majority of it is on me, or someone else. I’m tired of seeing you guilt-trip yourself, Joe, and especially when no reasonable person would insist that you were at fault.”

Joe stared at the floor, thinking that he should have just replied, ‘No, I still don’t have an answer for you’ rather than subject himself to this. It had been a long time since Frank got so vehement, and it was very disagreeable- even if it was drug-induced. He also found it unpleasantly ironic that his brother was expressing concern in the form of snapping Joe’s head off.

“I’m not suggesting that you shouldn’t take responsibility for your actions,” Frank went on more quietly, as though sensing Joe’s emotions. Quite possibly he was. “But only for your actions, Joe. Not for mine, or anyone else’s. You did exactly what I did- you turned your back for three minutes. So why- if we both did the same thing- should you be the scapegoat? Don’t you think I’m as devoted to my own safety as you are?”

“Frank,” the younger boy said wearily, “you can logic me till dawn, but I made you a promise and I screwed it up. And no amount of logic is going to change that fact, nor the way that I feel about it. Logic and feelings simply don’t mix.”

“If that were true, we wouldn’t be a team, Joe.”

Joe sighed heavily, stared at the carpet for a few more minutes, and finally hauled himself to his feet. “Anyway, you wanted my answer, you got it. I didn’t ask you to criticize it or try to talk me out of it, and you shouldn’t have tried to do so,” he said evenly. “Just because you think my feelings are wrong doesn’t mean that they actually are.”

Frank looked away, his shoulders tensing at the rebuke. “Who said anything about wrong?” he demanded. “I”m not talking right and wrong- obviously, or I wouldn’t be pointing out that we did the same thing. I-”

“What was that supposed to mean?” ‘Or do I want to know?’ Joe wondered silently on the tail of his question.

“I just told you- are you so busy listening to your guilt that you won’t listen to me? I said, yes, you turned your back for three minutes. So did I! Neither of us was ‘looking out for me.’ If even one of us had been, there wouldn’t be a problem. And as I also said, I thoroughly expected to be the one to deal with Madison. I wanted to. If you’d stepped in to fight him for me, I would’ve told you to back off and let me deal with him. I owed him,” Frank paused for a breath, “and I’m angrier at myself for screwing up my chance to give him some of his own medicine than I am at him for jumping me in the first place. So drop this ‘it’s all Joe’s fault’ business, brother. It’s about a quarter your fault, half mine, and the rest his for being such an asshole in the first place.”

“Feel better?” Joe inquired sarcastically.

“I think that depends.” Frank finally turned to look at him.

“On?”

“On whether you’re going to tell me to stuff it somewhere or not.”

“I think we better postpone this talk,” Joe ventured after a moment or two of complete amazement. He’d never told Frank to ‘stuff’ anything anywhere in his life. “You’re getting really emotional, and I’d as soon not be yelled at anymore.”

“It must be the drug.” Frank seemed to deflate suddenly. “I didn’t mean to yell, but I’m really frustrated with you. You never look past the guilt and ask yourself if it’s really justified for you to heap all the crap on yourself. You start feeling guilty and then you simply don’t let go of it, ever. Some of it, yeah, it’s yours. Most of it isn’t, but you go hauling it around anyway. It’s wrong and it’s unfair and it makes you feel terrible. And I can’t stand it when you hurt- why do you go and deliberately inflict it like that? You’re not a masochist...” He let out his breath in a long sigh, leaned his head against the back of the sofa, and closed his eyes. “Damn, I’m tired all of a sudden.”

“Lie down,” Joe murmured through his daze. “I’ll get a blanket if you want.”

“Just a pillow, thanks.”

Ten minutes later, Frank was soundly asleep on the sofa, the pillow from his bed tucked under his head. Joe sat on the floor, his back against the sofa, his mind churning with the complicated mix of logic, emotions and memories that his brother’s words had roused in him.

‘Maybe-’ he thought; ‘-just maybe- Frank is right.’ It was a thought that demanded a great deal of exploration and he sat motionless, brooding, as the evening wore on into night.