"Oh, brother, brother, brother…." Sang Gwen Steffani. "There’s far too many of you dying…."

Frank instantly remembered his dream and sat upright in his bed. "What was that dream about? My brother??… Was it a dream or…. could it be a memory?"

He used to think of how nice it would be to have a sibling, but he’d become so used to the fact he was an only child that he couldn’t even imagine living his life sharing anything with anyone, even his own brother or sister. "You’re so selfish sometimes!" Frank scolded himself. He was sure that Fenton and Laura would have told him about his brother if there had been one. Or…

…or could they have kept a secret from him? Lately he’d heard them a couple of times saying that he didn’t know ‘everything’. Goodness only knows if ‘everything’ is my baby brother - I should ask them about it.

"If I did have a brother, then where is he now? If I don’t remember him then it means he disappeared when he and I were very little. Could he have died? Drowned, been hit by a car or something else? Oh my…what if he was killed or…" Frank thought. His father has made many enemies and one of them could easily… "God…."

While he was in the bathroom he recalled a day in his past life.

Fifteen minutes later, after his morning ritual, Frank made his way downstairs to the kitchen where he found his father. They hadn’t talked lately and Frank still bore a grudge against him, but he wanted to have the truth from him – thus, he needed to be nice!

Mr. Hardy was reading a newspaper and sipping his coffee.

"Good morning, Dad," Frank greeted him, trying to sound more or less cheerful. He managed a smile.

"Morning, son," Fenton put his newspaper away. "Finally! Someone to communicate with! This newspaper’s so boring. It’s always full of gardening, which isn’t something I'm interested in…. Your mother’s gone to Mrs. Morris to get a new recipe. If you ask me I'd rather go hungry than visit Mrs. Morris. She’s so talkative, she doesn’t let you leave until you’ve listened to everything she wants to tell you…I always fall asleep when Laura takes me to visit."

"Does Mom feel better?" Frank asked.

"Yep. She’s just fine today. Much better than yesterday."

Frank only nodded, and said nothing — Mrs. Morris was the last thing on his mind at the moment. He wanted to ask his father about his dream, but he didn’t know how to start. He poured himself a cup of tea and stared out of the window.

Fenton noticed that Frank was silent today, and looked as if something was bothering him. "Frank, is everything okay? You seem a bit distant. Are you still mad at me for something?"

"I'm just thinking," Frank replied, sipping his tea. He opened his mouth to say the words he wanted to say, but didn’t feel ready. Why is it always so difficult to ask something you really want answering?

"A penny for your thoughts?" Fenton offered.

Frank swallowed; there was only one way to start the conversation.

He looked straight into his father’s eyes and asked, "Dad, did I ever have a brother?…"

Paul Stevenson opened his eyes and yawned. He had a slight headache, which, he knew, would pass the moment he stood up. But his muscles didn’t want to move. No, I’m never getting out of this bed, it feels so good…. He turned onto his right side and adjusted the covers. He wanted to drift off to sleep again and closed his eyes, but...

…it’s time to wake up, his brain screamed at him. It’s about eight and you can’t allow yourself to become used to waking up at eight! He thought. He forced himself to open his eyes, but the next moment narrowed them again against the light coming from the window. When his vision cleared he saw the gray sky. It’s cloudy again! Damn this Bayport! Does the sun ever shine here?

He listened to what could possibly be happening in the house, but heard nothing - the house was absolutely quiet. Joey’s such a sleepyhead. Paul smiled at the image of his son that flashed through his mind. I remember the times when he was little and would finally go to sleep. I couldn’t sleep because every time I tried, he would start screaming again! I wonder if he was doing it just to mock me? Probably, yes…. Thank God the little devil grew up!… Hmm, time flies so quickly….

Mr. Stevenson caught sight of the picture that stood on the nightstand near the bed. It was of him and his wife, Stella, who had died seventeen years before. There they were, so young, so happy, unaware of what was to come. Stella had been a beautiful woman of 20 years old, she had stood 5’6’’, her long dark hair swirling in the wind, her brown, almost black, eyes sparkling brightly. Her husband, who was 21 back then, had his arms around Stella’s waist. Both were happily smiling from the picture, which was taken 20 years before during a trip to Miami.

When Paul was nineteen he’d saved enough money for a trip to Italy. Once, while he was in Florence, he’d spotted a young woman who was selling flowers. That was Stella Tochetti, in Paul Stevenson’s opinion, the most beautiful and best woman in the whole Universe. The moment he saw her he knew it was her he wanted to be with, forever. Back in Los Angeles, where he lived then, he didn’t have a girlfriend, mostly because he was a rather poor guy. Paul had grown up in a poor family in New York, but when he was eighteen, his parents were killed in a car crash and they left some money, so he moved to LA to study at the UCLA.

There, in Los Angeles, he found a job as a courier in a financial company - that’s how he started earning his living. He didn’t know he’d become rich and respected among his colleagues, and other people thought he’d be as poor as his parents. No girl wanted to have such a boyfriend.

Stella was different; she herself had a sick mother and was short of money. She’d lost her father when she was five years old and was the breadwinner of her little family. To pay for medical treatment she sold flowers, but she loved her job dearly: it rewarded her with money and people’s smiles.

It must have been love at first sight, for three months after they had met, Stella and her mother moved to the USA and then she and Paul got married. Paul was promoted and they finally had some money. They rented a small flat and even bought a car. Still, they didn’t want to have children before they were sure that would be able to afford everything a child would need.

A year later Stella’s mother died of cancer. The couple had no one else but themselves. At the age of twenty-four, Paul became a father and Stella, aged only twenty-three, died. Even after her death Paul still loved her. He was young when she died, but he refused to marry another woman.

Paul smiled at his wife who was smiling back from the photo; it was like she was there, listening to his thoughts. Look at us, we were so happy back then, I'm sure we’d still be together if you were alive…. I wonder what you would be like now…. Joey’s so grown up, isn’t he? I just wish you were here with me helping to raise him.

Mr. Stevenson sighed, he looked at another picture. Stella was already gone, Joe was four years old, he was sitting on his father’s knees, beaming all over his face. Then Paul glanced back at Stella and smiled back at her image, I still love you…. I always will.

You’re getting so emotional - probably, you’re just becoming old….hmm, you’re already forty-one, or only forty-one? He shivered as he got out of from under the blanket, rubbed his face and stood up. Then he stretched and heard his bones crackle. He grinned at himself. See? you are old! Then he made his way to the bathroom where he lazily took a shower, shaved and brushed his teeth. He stretched again, heard no sounds of creaking bones and, satisfied, left the bathroom.

Very quietly he left his room. On his way to the kitchen he walked past the door leading to Joe’s bedroom. He didn’t know why but he decided to look into the room just to make sure Joe was fine. He quietly opened the door and peeped in.

He’s just like a little angel; Paul thought when he saw his son sleeping peacefully on his front, holding his teddy bear in his arms. He was covered with the blanket up to his waist. Mr. Stevenson thought he might feel the cold and went into the room to adjust his son’s blankets. Joe stirred, mumbled something under his breath, but didn’t awaken.

Children are the flowers of life, Paul thought on his way out. Yeah, right, on their parents’ graves, his inner voice added….

"What do you ask?" Fenton stared at his son, pop-eyed.

Frank swallowed, "I had a strange dream tonight. I was little, we still lived in New York and there was another little child in our family. You told me it was my little brother. Dad, I want to know, was it just a dream?"

Mr. Hardy took a deep breathe in, "Frank….." and then he stopped. He couldn’t say it.

When his father said nothing else Frank felt a tense sensation rush through his body, "No," he whispered as he shook his head, "you couldn’t have lied to me all these years, could you? You’d have told me the truth, wouldn’t you?"

Fenton only buried his face in his arms and said nothing. He was searching for the right words to explain to Frank, but his head seemed to be empty. His heart was racing as he didn’t know how Frank would react if he confessed to them having had another child while they were still living in New York.

"Just tell me!" Frank said.

"What do you want me to tell you?" Fenton managed to whisper. "That I haven’t been totally honest with you?"

Frank’s eyes went wide, "So it’s true?" he whispered, shocked. "It was my memory. And it means that the little child was my baby brother. Dad, is it true?"

"Oh my God….Why did it have to happen this way?"

"Dad… why didn’t you tell me?" Frank asked, still dumbfounded, he sat down on a chair next to his father. "What was the reason for keeping it a secret? I had a right to know!"

"Yeah, no doubt you’re right…. Frank, it’s so difficult to explain…." Fenton started.

"What?! Dad, for God’s sake, stop it! I'm not a little boy anymore! Stop telling me that it’s difficult to explain and that I won’t understand."

"No, I know you’re old enough, what I meant was…. You were only two years old when he was kidnapped and we…me and your mother…we didn’t want to hurt you. We thought that if we told you, it would only cause you pain," Mr. Hardy said, his voice slightly wavering. "I gave this problem a lot of thought, I’ve wanted to tell you about him many times before, but I just couldn’t bring up the subject…."

"He was my brother, after all! You should have told me years ago!" Frank argued, raising his voice. He couldn’t keep his emotions under control.

"Frank, he was my son as well!" Fenton snapped. He didn’t like the accusing tone Frank was using with him.

Arguing was the last thing they needed at the very moment. Frank took a couple of deep breaths to collect his thoughts. His head was going around and around. He had always believed, in the back of his mind, that the dream was a memory, but now that it had turned out to be true, he didn’t know how to behave.

"What happened?" he finally asked moments later. "Where is he now, why is he not here with us anymore? Did he die?"

"I don’t know," Fenton miserably looked down at the table, he couldn’t look Frank in the eyes.

"Sorry?!" Frank raised his eyebrows in utter surprise mixed with discontent. "What do you mean you don’t know? He was your son! You should know!"

"Frank, don’t tell me what I should know, okay?" Mr. Hardy firmly said as he looked at his son. "If you think I don’t care about what happened to him then you’re wrong. Do you really believe I haven’t tried finding him?"

Frank closed his eyes, calm down, calm down, stay cool-headed, you can do it, "Dad, just tell me…. What happened?" he asked in a softer and quieter voice.

"He was kidnapped," Fenton replied in a low voice.

"Kidnapped?!!…" Frank’s eyes grew wide.

"He was only nine months old when it happened, and you were two years, four months old. We were still living in New York then. I don’t know how you could remember your brother, you were too little to remember anything."

Frank shrugged his shoulders in reply; "I wanted to remember, so that was already half of work done…. So he was kidnapped and you don’t know if he’s alive or not?" he looked at his father, "haven’t you been able to find out what happened to him, at all?"

Fenton rubbed his eyes, "Yes and no…. Frank…. All these years I've been searching for him, without any luck. I promised myself I'd find out what happened to him and then tell you…. And I have nothing on him yet. 17 years…so long."

"Why don’t you tell me now?" Frank asked. "Now that I know about him, there’s no reason to hide it from me anymore."

Fenton looked at him, "Yes…. Now’s the time. Mind if we talk about it in my study?"

"Not at all," Frank stood up and followed his father. Once in the study he sat down on one of the two leather chairs that stood in front of the desk and prepared himself to listen.