Anxious to see Frank, he took a hasty shower and dressed quickly before hurrying downstairs. His mother and aunt were sitting at the table when he entered the kitchen.

“Morning, honey,” said Laura, then frowned. “You look terrible. Didn’t you get any sleep?”

“Not much,” Joe mumbled.

After his father had gone to bed the night before, Joe had crawled from his hiding place behind the chair and crept upstairs, but he hadn’t been able to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see his brother lying pale and bruised in a hospital bed.

Gertrude gave him a sympathetic glance. “Would you like some breakfast, Joe?”

He shook his head. “I’m not hungry. I’ll just have some juice.”

“Joe, you have to eat,” scolded his aunt. “You need to keep your strength up!”

“I’ll eat later.”

She opened her mouth to argue but closed it quickly when Laura shook her head.

“Where’s Dad?” asked Joe, to change the subject.

“He’s gone to collect my car from the Town Hall,” answered Laura.

“Oh.” Joe looked at the table.

“We’re going to the hospital when Fenton gets back,” his mother said gently. “Do you want to come?”

Joe nodded, feeling lost.

Laura gave his arm a sympathetic pat, then stood up and took her plates to the sink. Gertrude followed suit just as they heard the front door open. Minutes later, Fenton entered the kitchen. Joe noticed at once how pale and haggard he looked.

“Morning, Joe,” his father greeted him.

“Hi, Dad.”

Fenton turned to his wife. “Are you ready to go?” he asked gently.

“Almost. Just give me five minutes to clear up.”

“Nonsense, Laura!” Gertrude put in at once. “I can clear up here and follow you to the hospital.”

Laura tried to protest but Gertrude was having none of it. “Go!” she insisted. “I’ll see you there later.”

With a grateful smile at his sister, Fenton ushered his wife and son out the door.

The drive to the hospital was quiet as a certain awkwardness hung in the air; Joe and Fenton had not completely resolved their issues from the argument the evening before, and Laura was too worried about Frank to make strained small talk.

Upon arrival at the hospital, Fenton parked the car and the subdued group made their way up to the third floor. As Joe followed his parents into Frank’s room, he couldn’t help but notice the officer sitting outside the room

It did nothing to alleviate his fears.

The doctor attending to Frank looked up as they entered. “Good morning,” he greeted them. “You must be the Hardys. I’m Dr. Cox.”

“How’s Frank?” asked Laura.

“The same I’m afraid. But as you suspected, Mr. Hardy, his blood tests were positive for temazepam and we’ve given him a strong doze of flumazenil to counteract that. We expect to have some better news this evening.”

“You do?” said Laura hopefully and the doctor nodded.

“Yes. I suspect that the temazepam is responsible for keeping him out. The dose was quite a strong one, ninety milligrams, and Coma is often a side affect of overdose.”

“What’s temazepam?” asked Joe.

“A sedative,” the doctor answered. “An extremely powerful one, rarely prescribed and even then only in minute quantities. I should also warn you that Frank will most likely suffer some side-effects when he wakes up.”

“What kind of side-effects?” asked Laura at once.

“Auditory hallucinations are quite common, as are visual. Frank will also probably suffer from periods of somnolence for a few days but it really is very difficult to say until he wakes up.”

“But you have no idea when that will be?” asked Fenton bitterly.

The doctor shook his head. “I’m sorry, but the concussion was rather severe, and the temazepam has only compounded the problem. Its interference with Frank’s physical reactions has hampered our assessment. He could wake up today, tomorrow, next week or next year. But we may be able to give a more accurate diagnosis this evening after we have given the flumazenil more time to work.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Fenton whispered as Laura sank into the chair beside Frank’s bed.

“I’ll be around if you need me,” the doctor told them softly and left the room.

Joe was standing frozen at the foot of Frank’s bed. Horrible, uncontrollable panic was washing over him and the boy thought he might be sick. What if Frank stays like this for a year? What if he NEVER wakes up?

The thought was impossible to bear.

“Dad, I need the bathroom,” he said bleakly. “Where is it?”

“There’s one just down the hall from the nurses’ station.” Joe turned to go but his father’s voice stopped him. “Don’t leave the hospital, Joe. In fact, don’t even leave this corridor.”

Joe appraised his father’s grim face and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Fenton tried to give his youngest son a reassuring smile but it came out as more of a pained grimace. Swallowing hard, Joe turned and left the room.

Blindly, he made his way to the bathroom. It was empty and the boy threw himself into one of the stalls before locking the door and sitting down. An image of Frank’s motionless figure danced before his eyes, taunting him. He felt sick to his stomach at the thought that Frank might never wake up. What would he do without his brother?

Hot, burning tears rose to his eyes and Joe brushed them away angrily. What is the matter with you, you sissy?

But at that moment, Joe felt more like a lost child than a teenage boy, and try as he might, he couldn’t fight the wave of misery that was threatening to explode inside him. Despite his best efforts, several scalding tears rushed down his cheeks and he brushed them away with a trembling hand.

It was several minutes before he was able to compose himself enough to return to Frank’s room. His parents made no comment about his pale face or red eyes, but his father gave his shoulder a supportive squeeze when he joined them by Frank’s bed.

***

Later that evening, Sam Radley arrived. “How’s Frank?” he asked quietly.

“The same,” said Fenton, a disconsolate expression on his face. The detective was sitting by his son’s bed watching him sleep. On the other side sat Laura with Gertrude beside her, patting her hand comfortingly.

Joe stood at the back of the room against the wall, shuffling nervously as his eyes darted around the room always coming back to land on the immobile figure in the bed.

Sam noticed at once that his anxious movements were like that of a caged, frightened animal. “Hey, Joe,” he addressed the teenager. “I’m going to the canteen to get a quick bite to eat. Will you keep me company?”

“It might be a good idea, honey,” his mother prompted. “You haven’t eaten much at all today.”

“Okay,” said Joe unenthusiastically. He still wasn’t particularly hungry, but he wasn’t at all sure that he wanted to stay there in that room either. The morgue-like silence, the grim expressions of his family and the lifeless figure of his brother were combining to drive him crazy. Joe felt like he was quite literally going out of his mind.

He and Sam walked in silence to the Canteen, where Sam ordered them each a large sandwich. Joe didn’t eat much of his, merely picked at it while Sam wolfed his down.

“So, kiddo, how are you holding up?” the detective asked as he finished his sandwich.

Joe shrugged, his miserable expression telling Sam everything he needed to know. “Joe, Frank will be fine, you’ll see.”

“What if he isn’t?”

The question threw Sam off guard. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

“The doctor said that he might not wake up for another year. Sam, what if…what if he never wakes up?”

“That’s an extreme scenario, a one in a million chance.”

“What if Frank is that one in a million?” Joe asked fearfully.

“He won’t be,” said Sam firmly. “Frank is a Hardy, and you guys are nothing if not stubborn.” In a gentler tone he added, “Joe, I’ve seen your Dad in some tight situations and he always manages to make it out. I’ve even seen you beat the odds when you were just a little kid. And that’s how I know Frank will be fine, Joe, because Hardys are made of hardy stuff!”

Joe smiled weakly at the bad pun. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Anytime,” said Sam and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Are you ready to head back?”

Joe nodded. “But I guess I’d better ring Chet first. The guys will all be wondering how Frank is.”

“Actually, Joe, could you give Callie a ring too?” asked Sam, remembering his promise to the girl the night before. “I think she’d really like to know how Frank is doing, and I promised her last night that I’d get someone to call her.”

“But I don’t even know her number,” said Joe, a little surprised at the request.

“Maybe Iola would know?” Sam suggested.

“Okay, good idea.”

They made their way back to the third floor, and Joe stopped by a payphone to call Iola and Callie. Sam headed back to the room to give him some privacy.

He dialled the Mortens’ house and was pleased when Iola’s clear voice answered the phone.

“Hi, Iola. It’s Joe.”

“Joe!” she gasped. “How’s Frank? We’ve been calling your house but there’s no answer!”

“We’re all at the hospital,” he told her. “Frank…Frank is still unconscious.”

“Oh, Joe! I’m so sorry. What do the Doctors say?”

“They’re not really sure. He could wake up at any time, but he…he might not wake up at all.”

Iola was silent for a moment before responding.

“Joe, I know I’m not a doctor, but I’m sure Frank will be fine.”

“How?”

“Well,” said Iola, “for one thing, Frank is too stubborn and too smart to spend the rest of his life sleeping. Come on, Joe, this is the guy who gets up at eight on a Saturday morning because he thinks lying in is a waste of time! I mean, who does that? Really?”

“Frank does,” said Joe with a watery grin.

“Exactly! And Frank is also a lot tougher than any of the doctors realise. He is a Hardy after all.”

“Sam said the same thing.”

“Well, if two smart people are telling you that then maybe you should listen?”

Joe couldn’t help but grin at her irrepressible optimism. “I suppose,” he conceded, feeling some of the horrible knots in his stomach loosen. “Iola, I couldn’t ask you to call the rest of the guys and let them know how Frank is?”

“Of course. Joe, you know you only have to ask if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Iola.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied softly.”

Then Joe remembered Callie. “Iola, do you have Callie’s number?”

“I’ve got it written down somewhere upstairs. Why?”

“Sam asked me to call her and let her know about Frank. I don’t know why ,but he promised her last night that he would get me to call her.”

Down the other end of the phone, Iola smiled. At least Sam wasn’t as clueless as the two Hardy brothers appeared to be. “No problem, Joe. Just hang on a second and I’ll get the number.”

There was rustling on the other end as she put down the phone and hurried off to fetch Callie’s number.

While she was gone, Joe became aware that someone was standing behind him waiting to use the phone, and they were standing a little too close.

“I’ll just be another five minutes,” he told the man who was idling behind him. “I have one more phone call to make.”

“Take your time, son,” the man replied. “I’m in no hurry.”

Frowning, Joe turned away again. He had hoped the man would take the hint and back up a little to give him some privacy.

“Joe?” Iola was back on the line. “Callie’s number is 555-8723.”

“Thanks, Iola. I’ll call you if there’s any change.”

“Okay, Joe. You take care,” she told him softly.

“I will. Bye.”

Joe hung up and dialled Callie’s number. Mr. Shaw answered and Joe asked for Callie.

“May I say who’s calling?” enquired Mr. Shaw politely.

“Joe Hardy.”

“Just a minute, please.”

Callie was on the line in seconds. “Joe? How’s Frank?”

“He’s still unconscious.”

“What do they doctors say?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “They aren’t sure of the damage until he wakes up.”

“But when will that be?” Callie persisted.

“They don’t know,” his voice quivered a little. “It could be today, tomorrow, next week or…next year.”

There was silence for several minutes.

“I’m so sorry, Joe,” she whispered finally.

Joe swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Callie, thanks for driving us to the hospital yesterday.”

“It was no problem, really.”

“Yeah, well, still…thanks.”

“How are you?” she asked gently.

“Been better,” he mumbled. “Look, Callie, I don’t mean to rush but I’d better go.”

Joe was vividly aware of the man behind him pressing in uncomfortably close, trying to hurry him on.

“Okay, Joe. Please call me if there’s any change?”

“I will,” he promised and hung up the phone. “It’s all yours,” he muttered to the man.

The man just stared at him and stepped past him to the phone. Joe headed back for Frank’s room, disgusted at how rude some people could be.

***

Only Joe and his mother returned home that night. Fenton was staying with Frank.

No one had told Joe why, but he knew that his parents were concerned about leaving Frank alone. Con Riley had stayed with him the night before, and there had been an officer on Frank’s door when they had arrived at the hospital that morning.

Joe wasn’t stupid. Despite his parents refusing to tell him anything, he knew they were worried that whoever had attacked Frank would return. It made the teenager most reluctant to leave his brother while he was so vulnerable. He had begged to be allowed to stay with Frank, but his parents had insisted he go home and get some rest.

But Joe got little sleep.

As he stared at the luminous clock face on his nightstand, he couldn’t stop the disturbing images that flashed through his mind; Frank being attacked by some unknown assailant. Frank, battered and bruised, lying in a hospital bed. Frank lying in a coffin, dead.

The words echoed in his head and the blonde boy pulled a pillow over his face and screamed into it. Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!

Joe hated his overactive imagination. Shutting off his thoughts was something he always had trouble with when he was worried or scared, and talking with Frank was usually the only thing that would quiet his mind. Frank was a sage listener who could answer hard questions, present logical solutions and generally just make Joe feel better when he felt bad.

But Frank wasn’t here, that was the problem.

Growling to himself with frustration, Joe shifted restlessly in his bed until he was staring at the ceiling. He wished he had some answers to his questions about this case. He wished he knew the identity of Frank’s attacker so he could pound the hell out of him! But most of all, Joe wished his brother was okay.

Around dawn, Joe finally drifted off into a restless doze. The shrill ringing of his alarm woke him just a few hours later, and he shot up in bed feeling disoriented and exhausted.

Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Joe reached over and switched off the alarm before dragging himself out of bed. He stumbled into the bathroom he shared with Frank and washed quickly, trying not to think about the fact that his brother wasn’t in the next room. Still groggy as he shuffled downstairs, he was surprised to discover his mother at the foot of the stairs putting on her coat.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

She turned around to face him. “Oh, honey! I thought you were still asleep, I heard you twisting for most of the night.”

Joe shrugged in reply. “Where are you going?” he repeated.

“The hospital. I thought you would sleep for a little longer. Gertrude was going to wait until you got up and take you to the hospital then.”

“No. I’ll go with you now,” he told her.

“What about breakfast? I can wait while you eat something.”

“No thanks, Mom. I’m not really that hungry.”

“Joe, you have to eat.”

“I can eat at the hospital.”

“You didn’t eat much at the hospital yesterday,” she remarked, looking at him in concern.

“Mom, I’m fine! I’m just not hungry, alright?”

She sighed. “Alright. I’ll just let your aunt know that you’re coming with me now.”

“I’ll wait in the car,” he muttered, slouching out the door.

Joe felt slightly guilty as he sat into the car. He hadn’t meant to lash out at his mother; he had just felt so tired and all he wanted was for Frank to be okay.

When his mother joined him in the car minutes later, Joe apologised at once. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s okay, honey,” she said softly, as she started the car and pulled out of the drive. “I know you’re worried about Frank.”

Joe bit his lip. “Mom, what if he doesn’t wake up?”

“He will honey, you’ll see.”

Joe scowled out the window. Every one keeps telling me Frank will wake up…so why hasn’t he woken up yet?

Laura didn’t speak much to her youngest son on the way to the hospital. All her questions were met with monosyllabic answers, and if she were honest with herself, she didn’t really feel much like talking either. Despite her reassurances to Joe, Laura was terrified that Frank would not recover and this fear was creating cracks in her seemingly calm composure. Laura was starting to feel like she was falling apart.

When they arrived at the hospital, something occurred to Joe as they walked down the hospital corridor to Frank’s room; his mother was not insisting that he go to school. This was the second day he would have missed, and neither one of his parents had even brought it up. As his mother pushed open the door to Frank’s room, Joe wondered if he should be bothered by that fact.

Inside, Fenton greeted them with a tired smile. “Morning,” he greeted them, kissing his wife’s cheek.

“Any change?” she asked hopefully and he shook his head.

Her face fell. She had been so hoping for some good news. Without saying anything, she brushed a lock of hair from her unconscious son’s forehead, but Fenton was quick to notice how her hand trembled.

“Honey,” he said softly. “I’m just going for a coffee. Why don’t you come with me?”

Laura didn’t answer, merely nodded, and her husband could tell at once that she was on the verge of tears. Anxious that Joe wouldn’t see this, he gave him a quick hug.

“Joe, your mother and I are just going for a quick coffee. Why don’t you wait here with Frank?”

Joe nodded.

“Don’t leave the corridor,” his father warned. “We’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Again, Joe nodded and watched his parents leave the room. Just before the door swung closed, he saw his father put his arm around his mother while she buried her face in his shoulder.

They’re afraid he won’t wake up either!

Joe was horrified by this realisation. His parents had spent the last few days reassuring him that Frank would be fine, when really they were every bit as scared as he was.

Fear overwhelmed him and the teenager sank into the chair beside his brother’s bed.

“Frank?”

There was no response and Joe swallowed miserably. He could feel those stupid tears start to sneak up on him again and angrily he swiped them away.

“Come on, Frank, please wake up! I’ll do anything! I’ll do your chores for a month, I’ll take out the garbage every evening…I’ll even pay you back all those loans I owe you! Just…please wake up.”

His brother never moved and Joe stared at him for several long minutes.

“You’re being a jerk!” he accused, finally getting angry. “You’re sleeping your head off while we’re all here worried about you! Well, fine! Be like that, I won’t bother doing your chores!”

The only sound was the beep of the heart monitor.

“Frank, come on!” Joe pleaded, his demeanour changing once more. “I miss you,” he added in a whisper.

Silence.

Joe felt his anger flare again. “WAKE UP!” he yelled, slapping the arm of the chair.

But the horrible silence continued and Joe buried his head in his hands. He wasn’t really mad at Frank, he just wanted his brother back.

“Please wake up,” he whispered miserably.

Frank Hardy never moved.