Laura told him, and Frank conscientiously wrote them down. He knew his mother was trying her best to be strong and concise, but he could hear the quaver in her voice as she spoke.

"We’ll get there right away, Mom – I’m with Phil, in his car. I’ll be there just as quick as I can. And I’ll try to have him transported to Bayport General, if it’s safe for him."

"Call – as soon as you know anything, honey, please. Call me." Mrs. Hardy pleaded softly.

"I will. I promise." Frank flipped his phone shut and turned to the anxiously-listening Phil. "Joe’s been hurt – someone found him in my car. Here – here’s where he is."

His hand shaking despite all his best intentions, Frank held out the scribbled directions to Phil, who grabbed them, took a quick glance, and shoved the accelerator towards the floorboards. Frank felt himself pushed back by gravitational forces as Phil’s car shot forward, but only wished they could go faster still. He no longer was worried about Phil’s erratic driving habits.

"Did your mom say whether the car was damaged?" Phil asked, momentarily slowing for a turn.

"No." Frank could barely get the reply out, his throat felt so constricted. "How could he have had an accident with the car, Phil? He wasn’t driving anywhere!" Stricken, he buried his face in his hands.

Soon, but not soon enough for Frank, they reached their destination – the back parking lot of a back street gas station. Flashing lights of an ambulance and a police cruiser made the scene garish with color. Frank was releasing his seat belt and opening the car door almost before Phil had come to a full stop, and he sprinted across the asphalt to where he could see the paramedics working over a still form on a stretcher.

"Hey, kid, stay back!" one of the medics warned, as Frank hurtled into their midst. "You don’t have any business here, this is an emergency site!"

"That’s my brother!" Frank gasped. "This is my car, that’s my younger brother, Joe!" He caught his breath and continued. "I was at a friend’s house – in the area – when my mom called me and said she’d been notified…that someone had found him…."

He crouched beside the stretcher, and now the medics did not try to hinder or dissuade him, although they did not stop what they were doing.

Oh, Joe…. Fear coursed through Frank as he looked down at his younger brother. So still and pale, but he was scraped and scratched and gouged; there were spots on his face where the skin was rubbed raw. His forehead had been cut, he’d been bleeding, but it had stopped, and Frank saw a good-sized lump was swelling into existence. What happened? Who did this to you?

"Hang on, Frank." The elder Hardy felt a hand on his shoulder, and he realized that Phil Cohen was standing behind him. "Joe will be all right; he’s like a cat with nine lives. He’s been hurt before and came out okay; he’ll be okay this time too."

But how many of those nine lives has he used up? Shivering beneath Phil’s comforting hand, Frank sought reassurance from the EMT’s. "What’s his condition? What are his injuries?" he demanded.

Before he could receive a satisfactory answer, he was interrupted by the presence of a police officer who wanted to talk to him. The paramedics shooed them both away from Joe’s side. Phil stepped back too.

Trying to keep at least one eye on what was going on with his brother, Frank told the story: that Joe had been trailing someone who they suspected of taking a violin belonging to a friend, and had, as far as Frank knew, followed this suspect to a mansion somewhere in the area. What had happened after that, he didn’t know.

"There are dozens of big houses in the area, son, maybe upwards of 50 or so." The policeman, a husky man with thinning dark hair and blue eyes looked sympathetic, but his voice was brisk. "This is Long Island, after all! And your brother shouldn’t have been sticking his nose into police business, chasing after people, you know…you should leave things like that to professionals—"

Frank barely heard the words; his attention was riveted on Joe, on that quiet figure lying on the lowered stretcher. I should have gone with him – he was right, we should have stayed together. All that crap about saving time, that I told him…he was right after all. There wasn’t any hurry…we could have….

"According to the gas station attendant who found him, there’s no sign that your brother was in a car accident," the officer was continuing now, and Frank attempted to concentrate on what he was saying. "There’s no damage to the car, and he was in the front passenger seat, not the driver’s seat. It looks like someone drove him here and left him." After waiting for a response that he didn’t receive, the man went on. "So, if I can have your name and address and telephone number, you can take the car, since it’s fairly obvious that the crime – if there was a crime, that is! – didn’t take place in it."

Frank gave him the required information, still keeping most of his attention on the medics and Joe. For once, ‘Hardy’ didn’t trigger any special response, but Frank scarcely noticed the omission. He was focused on his brother. Joe…who wasn’t responding to anything they did, wasn’t coming to, wasn’t opening those blue eyes and attempting to wisecrack with the ones ministering to him…Joe, why aren’t you waking up?

"Mr. Hardy? We’re ready to transport now." One of the EMT’s approached Frank, interrupting his despairing thoughts.

"Where are you taking him? Can – could you take him to Bayport General?" Frank begged. "That’s our home town; he’d be with doctors that know him; his medical records are there; it’s fairly close—"

The medics exchanged glances and nodded in unison. "Bayport’s as near as anywhere else, and it’s got a good trauma unit," one of them said. "That’s what he needs; he’s taken quite a knock on the head. Sure, we’ll radio in that we’re going there."

"I’ll follow in my car," Frank said. "Phil – what about you?" he asked, turning to his friend, who had been standing and waiting patiently throughout all this.

"I’m going to go back to Allison’s and tell her what happened," Phil replied, squeezing Frank’s arm in reassurance. "You’ll keep me informed, right?" He looked at Frank doubtfully. "You’re okay to drive, aren’t you?"

"Yes – yes, of course," Frank’s answer was distracted as he slid into the driver’s seat of the Saturn. "I’ll call you…when we know anything."

The ambulance pulled onto the street, and Frank followed, sticking as close as if the Saturn was glued to the vehicle’s back bumper. While they were still maneuvering at low speeds through the residential streets, Frank dialed his home number to talk to his mother. He told Laura that Joe was still unconscious, apparently having received a head injury, and that he was being transported to Bayport General Hospital. She responded that she had located their father – should they try to meet Frank somewhere along the way, or…?

"Mom, just go there and meet us," Frank told her. "They’re already on the way." He glanced to the side, flipping on his turn signal as they prepared to merge onto the expressway.

When the call ended, Frank settled down to following the whirling lights in front of him. He was no longer thinking – his mind was focused on those lights, and the still figure inside the ambulance, with a bare minimum of attention paid to steering the car and avoiding others . Hang on, Joe…you can do it, just hang in there, little brother!

Frank felt numb inside with worry and apprehension. Joe looked so pale – and he should have come to, long before now. Extended unconsciousness – not a good sign at all! Absently, Frank registered their arrival in Bayport, but he didn’t recall driving there. He swung through the familiar streets, the Saturn seemingly attached to the ambulance ahead by invisible tethers.

When the ambulance stopped at the emergency entrance, Frank headed into the general lot and parked his car. Flinging himself out of the vehicle, he ran inside the building and headed for the emergency room. The first thing he saw when he got there was his father, standing beside the information desk.

"Dad!"

Fenton turned and held out his arms to his elder son. "Frank!" He hugged Frank tightly for a long moment. "They just brought Joe in – took him into an examination room immediately."

Frank nodded tensely. "I was right behind the ambulance."

"Frank—" It was Laura, coming from the waiting area, looking worried, but trying to smile at him. "I’m so glad you were there with him."

But I wasn’t! I wasn’t with him…if I’d been with him, this wouldn’t have happened! Frank seethed with guilt inside. "Mom, I…"

"Let’s go sit down," Fenton urged his wife and son, "and I’d like to hear what’s happened." He guided Laura back towards the waiting room, and Frank followed. Once they were seated, Fenton gave him an encouraging smile. "Okay, shoot."

In a numb, barely audible voice, Frank related what all had gone on that day – the message at Phil’s, the search for him and Allison, the visit to Rodney, Joe’s pursuit of the car with the binocular-wielding occupant, the brick through the window….

"I should have gone with Joe," Frank muttered, "or told him not to follow the guy without me – but I didn’t. I didn’t! Why didn’t I?" He raised anguished brown eyes to his father. "Dad, it’s my fault he’s hurt!"

"No—" Fenton shook his head decisively at this. "It’s not your fault at all, Frank, so stop blaming yourself. You and Joe work separately lots of times, and this was a time that immediate action was called for. If you’d told Joe that, and he’d listened to you, and waited, he’d have lost track of the car. You know he wouldn’t have agreed to do that."

"But if we’d stayed together, gone to Rodney’s together and then to Allison’s—" Frank persisted. "That’s what he wanted to do…."

"Perhaps – but that’s hindsight, and you had no way of knowing something like this was going to happen." Fenton reminded him.

Frank shook his head, unable to believe that this situation was not, in fact, his fault. He slumped down in his chair, suddenly feeling exhausted. He heard his parents talking quietly to each other, and overheard other conversations taking place in the waiting room, but his mind was becoming foggy. It wasn’t all that late, and he desperately wanted to stay awake so that he could immediately hear any news on Joe’s condition…but his stressed mind and body circumvented his intentions. Frank leaned his head back against the chair and let his eyes close….

"Frank—" A soft voice, a gentle kiss on his cheek, and someone taking his hand…. Frank blinked his eyes open and stared into a lovely, familiar face.

"Megan," he murmured.

"I didn’t want to wake you, but you looked terribly uncomfortable," she said quietly, as he struggled to sit upright.

Frank looked at his watch, and saw that he’d been asleep for less than an hour. "When did you get here?"

"About twenty minutes ago. I came with Vanessa." Megan gestured, and Frank looked across the room where Vanessa was sitting next to Mrs. Hardy. "Phil called her about Joe, and she called me. What happened?"

Frank squeezed his eyes shut, guilt flooding his soul once again. "Joe’s hurt and it’s my fault!" He folded his arms tightly across his chest and stared down at his lap.

Megan gently brushed a strand of dark hair from his forehead, and then proceeded to stroke the back of Frank’s head soothingly. "Why would it be your fault? Why do you feel so guilty? You didn’t hurt him, I know that much!"

Frank shrugged. "I’m the older brother, remember?" he muttered bitterly. "I’m supposed to look out for Joe. We weren’t together – if I’d been there – if we’d been together like Joe suggested – then Joe wouldn’t have gotten hurt!"

She shook her head. "No. Absolutely not true. There’s no way you could have known that anything was going to happen, unless you’ve suddenly become omniscient – and no way you could have prevented it. You did what seemed best at the time, and so did Joe."

"I should have done something…" Frank said miserably, keeping his gaze fixed on his lap.

Determinedly, she reached for his hand, tugging it loose from his folded arms and then grasping it tightly. "Frank, Joe’s not your baby – or your puppet to control. He’s his own person, and you can’t dictate all his actions, and you can’t always prevent things happening to him, no matter how hard you try. You didn’t do anything to feel guilty over."

"She’s right," a new voice broke in, and Vanessa walked across the waiting room and seated herself on Frank’s other side. "None of this is your fault, Frank. I’m worried about Joe – horribly worried – but I certainly am not blaming you! it’s not your fault." With a look that pleaded for his help and support, Vanessa reached out for Frank’s free hand and clasped it in hers. He sighed and squeezed her hand, hard. He still was very upset and worried, but he did feel slightly less guilty now.

Time went by, the seconds and minutes flicking away with relentless deliberation. Fenton paced, Laura flipped aimlessly through outdated magazines; Frank and the girls sat and held each others’ hands and talked, as Frank quietly brought Vanessa and Megan up to date on what had transpired during the day. It kept them distracted for a while, at least.

When at long last someone called the name "Hardy" and Frank looked up, the first thing he noticed was that the expression on the physician’s face did not look very encouraging. He rose to his feet, along with the others, and they grouped about the doctor, a short, balding man with reddish-sandy hair and blue eyes. The identification tag clipped to his lab coat read Max Carrington, MD.

The doctor cleared his throat and began his discourse. "We’ve determined that Joe has suffered a severe blow to the head that has caused, at the very least, a moderately severe concussion. From what we can tell by the abrasions and bruising pattern, it looks like he struck his head on something, rather than being struck with something, by the way." He smiled encouragingly at the little group – none of whom managed to return the smile. "We’ve done a CT scan on him, to determine brain activity – and it’s normal." Relieved sighs followed his words, and Dr. Carrington smiled a little again, then sobered. "But there’s some swelling, due to trauma, and unfortunately, he’s still unconscious." He paused. "And that’s surprising."

"What – what does – what do you mean?" Laura asked, into the silence.

"I mean that although we expected him to come around before now, he still is showing no signs of awakening," the physician said somberly. "At this point, all we can do is try to reduce the swelling and pressure…and wait."