Frank studied his brother critically. Although the doctor had pronounced Joe well and free to leave, Frank was still far from convinced, and he would have preferred if Joe stay for a few more days and if it wasn’t for Joe’s persistent pleas he wouldn’t have given in. Frank didn’t tell anyone but inside, he was terrified. Though Joe seemed fine and showing no signs of any side-effects, the fact that the doctor had made it clear to him that he wasn’t ruling out any possibilities of a relapse or any lethal side-effects was enough to make Frank shudder. He was just thankful that Joe had not been drugged with Proxcel. That would have definitely made things worse.

"I’m going with," Joe said stubbornly, crossing his arms across his chest, adamant.

"Joe, you just got out the hospital!!!"

"I don’t care." Don’t argue with me, Frank, Joe warned his brother telepathically, his eyes narrowed to slits. I mean it.

Frank felt like screaming. Sometimes Joe could be so stubborn he felt like killing him.

At last Frank threw his hands up in the air.

"Fine!!!" he snapped. Why do I always have to be the one giving in? Can’t Joe see that I’m just worried about him? Why does he have to be so pig-headed all the time? "But don’t expect me to carry you if you collapse or anything."

Little did Frank know that Joe was actually very much aware of his concerns and worry. But as always, Joe didn’t seem to care much. All that mattered to him right now was finding Tessa and bringing her back to safety. He had never cared this much for a girl after Iola die-

Yes, he had. Vanessa. And for a second, his former girlfriend’s face flashed through his mind. We really need to talk, Joe thought guiltily. But what is there to talk about? I don’t know how I feel about her anymore. True, he had felt betrayed by Vanessa’s utter fascination with the deceased Craig, but come to think of it, he had done the same thing to her.

She started it, Joe thought defensively. I was not the one drooling over some gorgeous newcomer.

Yes, you were, a little voice whispered in his head. You definitely were. Tessa’s face flashed through his mind and he shook his head, torn between his own guilt and Vanessa’s betrayal.

"What are you waiting for?" Joe’s head jerked up. Frank was staring at him expectantly at the door. "Thought you wanted to come."

"I did, I did," Joe muttered, mentally trying to erase the impact of the little voice had on his turbulent emotions. "I mean- I do. I mean-" With a sigh, Joe hefted off his bed and stood up. "I’m coming."

But even as he walked out of the house and got into the van, Joe still couldn’t convince himself that the empty feeling inside his heart was not because of Vanessa. Again, Joe was surprised at how much he missed her. But at the same time he was worried sick about Tessa. And never before in his life had he ever felt so confused.

"I’m sorry sir, I can’t let you do that," the young man said, flustered, dropping the pen with Trademark Hotel emblazoned across it clumsily.

Frank glanced at the gold tag pinned to the concierge’s red coat. "Please, Jerry, we just want to check whether Mom’s here or not. She’s been missing for almost 2 days and we’ve checked everywhere, relatives’ houses…at Grandma’s…but we still can’t find her."

"Just once, Jerry, please let us look at the records. Our father really, really wants her to come home and he’s really, really sorry," Joe pleaded. Then he leaned in and whispered. "No one’s gonna know."

Jerry shook his head adamantly. "I can’t go against the hotel policy. The privacy of our patrons is our top priority."

Sighing, Frank turned around and leaned against the counter, sweeping his eyes across the vast hotel lobby while Joe still tried to lobby the loyal concierge. People dressed in business suits passed by with their briefcases and tourists with their bulky luggage. This is hopeless, he thought as he smiled at a young Asian lady with a camera hanging around her neck.

Sighing again, Frank whirled around, ready to go try to sweet-talk Jerry into letting them to take a look at the computer records. His eyes suddenly went wide as he turned just in time to see Joe disappear with Jerry through the side door. Frank waited anxiously for a few minutes before Joe emerged at last, in his hand a few sheets of printed-paper. Jerry avoided his eyes and surreptitiously went back to his place behind the counter, attending to a group of tourists who had just arrived.

"How-"

"You have to buy me lunch today, Frank and everyday onward because I’m dead broke," Joe interrupted, patting his flat pocket. "Damn guy’s expensive."

Frank couldn’t believe his ears. "You bribed him?"

"What else was there to do? He wouldn’t give in and he was just seconds away from shouting for security." Joe shook his head in disgust, and without another word, walked out of the revolving glass doors.

"So what are we looking for?" Joe asked later as they sat in the restaurant for lunch. After ordering burgers and fries, they had immediately looked over what they had obtained. Frank studied the list of names in front of him carefully while sipping his iced water. Last night, Frank had sweated blood hacking into the computer system of almost every hotel in and out of town, and though it was truly a challenge he managed to get the guest list on every hotel except for Trademark Hotel.

"I think we can cross out the guests in single rooms…none of the victims had been found in the single rooms," Frank said, crossing out about 30 or so names from the first list. And that was also what he did to the other lists. "Right. That leaves us with-" Frank raised his eyebrows, "About 2,500 names."

Joe groaned. "That’s going to take forever!"

"Not unless we know what we’re looking for," Frank said slowly. "See if you recognize any of these names."

"I’m not much of an oldies fan," Joe confessed. "I wonder who could help us with this." Joe shook his head slowly as he ran his eyes down his list. Then his eyes narrowed. "The length of stay could probably tell us something."

"What do you mean?" Frank asked.

"Tessa’s been missing for 2 days now and she hasn’t been found- so whoever this killer is he must still be keeping her." And that means she’s alive, Joe thought. Frank glanced sharply at his brother. There was a hopeful look on his face and Frank didn’t have to make a wild guess what Joe was thinking of.

After a few hours of the pain-staking task of crossing out name after name, at last the Hardys came up with a considerable list of names, some of which high-lighted because of the length of stay and also because they seemed to share names with some famous oldies singers.

"F. Sinatra?" Frank wrinkled his nose. "These people have a really weird sense of humor."

Joe didn’t answer. He was exhausted. And he had a dreadful headache.

"You look peaked," Frank commented. Joe rubbed his eyes tiredly, and unsuccessfully tried to stifle a yawn, but his tiredness caught up with him and he laid his head facedown on the table.

Looking at the list of names one more time, Frank wondered what they were going to do next. He was thinking of checking the rooms out one by one but he doubted that was possible considering there were more than 30 names on the list and it would take them forever. They had no other choice but to leave the rest to the police. Frank was about to suggest that to Joe when suddenly Joe spoke up.

"So what now?" Joe asked, lifting his head off the table. He felt so drained.

"I was thinking of giving these names to-" Frank’s words cut off suddenly and his eyes suddenly went wide. "Joe, you’re bleeding!!!"

"Wh-" Baffled, Joe reached up a hand to his face and immediately found the source of Frank’s distress. He pressed a finger horizontally against the base of his nose, and his heart began to pound when he felt the unmistakable stickiness and wetness of blood. Damn, he thought uneasily. What’s this? A nosebleed?

Frank handed Joe a napkin and gingerly Joe dabbed at the blood.

"Hey, Frank, don’t look so scared," Joe said in a light-hearted voice, trying to sound confident. Frank’s face had gone completely white. Joe swallowed hard as he felt something wet trickle down his nostril. True enough, a second later Joe tasted the coppery-taste of blood in his mouth.

"Joe, are you okay?" Frank asked anxiously, handing him more paper towels.

Joe couldn’t answer; he was too busy dabbing at the blood. Napkin after napkin he pressed to his nose but still it wouldn’t stop bleeding. Droplets of blood speckled his T-shirt and more were staining his clothes.

"Frag, by dose wod stop bleedig," Joe said, pinching his nostrils in an effort to stop the flow of blood, and the concerned expression on Frank’s face turned into one of horror when he realized that Joe was bleeding profusely.