"I don’t know, but something is wrong. I can just feel it," Frank said, standing up from the couch.

"What are you talking about? Are you feeling all right?"

"Cal, I need to go home."

"What for?! I thought we were going to spend the evening together, you know-- like a couple!" Callie’s frustration was not going unnoticed by Frank.

"I’m sorry, Cal ,but I can feel that there’s something wrong with Joe and I have to be there in case he calls."

"So? Let the machine get it, or your parent’s. Why do you have to go?! It’s not like he’s called before."

"I have to go, Callie. I don’t know why, but I have a strange feeling that Joe needs me."

"This is unbelievable! Even when he’s away, Joe completely controls your life! When are you going to put ME first?!" Callie knew as soon as she said those words that she was being unfair. Frank had given her all his attention lately.

"Joe’s my brother. We have all been through a lot lately. If he’s in trouble, I have to be there for him, like I always am. I would be here for you, too, if you were in trouble. Please don’t be mad."

"I’m not mad, Frank." Callie said, having calmed down. "I am just really tired of this. I used to think things would change once you boys got older-- That you would both be more independent, but it hasn’t. If anything, it’s getting worse."

"Callie, what are you saying?"

"All I am trying to say is that sometimes I need you, too."

Frank, not knowing how to reason with Callie, bent down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek before running home. Before Frank got in his van he looked up to the window. Callie was standing there looking at him. She had this sad look in her eyes and for a moment Frank thought that maybe he should go back to the house. Not being able to ignore the uneasy feeling he had, he got into his van and headed home. All the way home he thought about what Callie had said. "Sometimes I need you, too." Had he not been there for her in the past? She had a point, though. Maybe he and Joe were unusually close. Many of his friends had brothers as well, but none of them seemed to share such close relationships as he and Joe did.

One Frank got home, he was surprised to find that his parents were already in bed. He rushed straight to the answering machine to see if there were any messages from Joe, but there weren’t.

Knowing that something was definitely not right, Frank sat down on the floor next to the phone, determined to stay awake until that phone call from Joe came.

***

Back in New York, Joe was still sitting in his cell. He had dozed off for a while, but was woken up when Mike came into his cell and told him to get up; he was going to be interrogated. Joe, although he was feeling really weak his wund was not life threatning, could hardly make out what Mike was saying to him.

"Let me out of here. I didn’t do anything wrong!"

"Come on snap out of this! The drugs should have worn off by now." Mike pulled him from the floor by pulling on his sweatshirt. Getting to the interrogation room, Joe was seated in a chair in the middle of the room. A woman came to the room and took one look at him.

"What do we have here. How old is he?"

"How old are you, kid?" Mike asked Joe.

"Seventeen." The woman looked at officer Mike who was staring at his shoes.

"Have his parents been notified?"

"We don’t now who his parents are. We are still running a fingerprint search to check out his identity."

"All right, put him back to his cell. We can’t do anything until his parents are here."

The woman, who Joe figured out to be the district attorney, turned around and walked out of the room.

"You little liar!" Mike screamed at Joe as his slapped him right across the face.

"What?! I didn’t lie. I am just seventeen," Joe stammered.

"What are you trying to do, get me in trouble with the boss? That ought to teach you," Mike said, continuing to beat Joe around. After the third punch, Joe fell of his chair and onto the floor where he crumbled up to the fetal position, not able to take any more beating.

"Please stop! I can’t take any more of this."

"Get up! I am taking you back to the cell where we will forget about you for a couple of days. That’s how long our fingerprints will take to be processed. Maybe we will even lose them for a couple of… let’s say… weeks… and for that time you can be our guest! How does that sound?"

"No," Joe mumbled, while being dragged back to the cold cell by Mike.

"Here is a bigger cell for you, and also some company," Mike laughed, and put Joe in with some other inmates. "Enjoy".

Joe looked at his new roommates but didn’t feel any fear. They all looked like homeless people and most of them were more scared of him than he was of them. Joe found an empty seat next to a young woman.

"You don’t look too good, kid," she said.

"I don’t feel too good either; I was stabbed last night but the cops won’t get me a doctor. I will probably die in here." Joe’s voice didn’t hold much hope for his situation.

"Where is your family? You look awfully young."

"I ran away from home three months ago and they don’t have any idea where I am, and I can’t even let them know because they won’t give me my phone call," Joe cried, confessing his whole life story to this complete stranger. She listened to him and let him cry on her shoulder for a while.

"Maybe I can help you," She said, and reached into her jacket, pulled out some coins, and gave them to him. "Here. Take these --you are going to need them." Joe held out his hands for the money looking at her, surprised. She gave him a smile and then she got up and walked to the bars.

"Hey Kevin! Come here for a minute," the girl yelled, and one of the guards came walking to her. She whispered something in his ear and he agreed. He opened the bars and pointed Joe to follow him. Joe stood up carefully, still not trusting this so -called cop who had treated him the way he did.

Much to Joe’s relief, Kevin took him to a pay-phone to let him make his call. With trembling fingers, Joe dialled his home number praying that his brother would pick up.