"Frank? Frank!!" Frank was hyperventilating, panic and wild terror blazing in his eyes as he turned to his mother who had run barefoot to his room. Mom, mom’s here, he thought numbly.

"Frank? What happened? I heard you scream-" Laura Hardy’s words died in her throat. Her eyes went wide with horror. Oh God, look at all the blood! "Oh my God, FRANK!!!"

Laura rushed forward and grabbed her son around his waist as Frank’s knees buckled. Frank slumped heavily against the wall, his head lolling weakly, his face as white as paper. With trembling fingers, Laura reached for her son’s right hand, her heart wrenching in sympathy as she studied it. The skin had been torn where the metal was digging into his fingers, revealing the white flesh underneath. Blood was flowing non-stop from the gash. Swallowing the impulse to be sick she gingerly lifted the metal hinge of the mousetrap buried deep in the flesh of his fingers. Frank didn’t even flinch; his eyes were glazed and he seemed unaware of the unbearable pain Laura knew he must have been suffering and still was. Laura laid his swollen right hand gently on the floor and leaned over for his other one. The left hand didn’t look too bad; the trap just caught the front of his three fingers, tearing his nails, exposing the red flesh underneath.

Laura blinked back tears as she gently pried the wretched mousetrap away from Frank’s left hand, apologizing silently for causing further pain. Droplets of blood splattered her robe, but her only concern was her son. Oh Frank, she wept silently, who could have done this to you?

"Hello? Anybody home?" Laura drew in a sharp breath as she heard the front door slam. Racing to the foot of the stairs, her eyes brightened at the sight of Joe who had just walked into the house.

"Joe, we’re upstairs! Frank needs help!" Joe’s eyes went wide at the urgency in his mother’s voice. He took the stairs two at a time and reached Frank’s room in a split second. "Quick!!!"

Joe gasped loudly, his heart nearly stopping for the second time that night. Blood was everywhere, on the bed, on the floor-His breath whooshed out of him as he knelt down beside his brother, and his eyes grew hard when he took in his brother’s battered condition.

"What happened, Mom?" He snapped as he helped Frank get to his feet. Laura took his son’s other arm and slung it over her shoulders. Together, they helped Frank to the bathroom. The bleeding must be stopped and the wounds must be cleaned. As if startled, Frank jerked awake and started struggling but Joe kept his solid grip on his brother and ignored Frank’s cries and pleas. Joe’s stomach churned as he gripped his brother’s bleeding and torn hands and shoved them under running water, watching in fascination as the blood drained away, a nauseating red at first, then slowly turning into pink.

"Stop it-it hurts, please, mom, make it stop…" Frank whimpered, tears running down his cheeks. Laura laid a hand against the side of Frank’s head and pulled Frank gently toward her. Frank buried his face against his mother’s chest as he sobbed in pain, his shoulders hitching violently as liquid fire scorched his fingers.

"I’m sorry, Frank…" Joe whispered, trying hard to keep his emotions at bay. He couldn’t bear to see Frank in so much pain. "Just a little more, Frank and it’ll be over, ok?"

"It hurtttssss!!!!!" Frank screamed hoarsely. "Joe, stop it!"

"Alright, alright, it’s done," Joe soothed his brother, grabbing a clean towel off the rack. "It’s done."

After wrapping his brother’s hands with the towel, they led Frank, who was trembling badly to Joe’s room. Frank lay on Joe’s bed and stared up at the ceiling, gasping when Laura dried his hands gently and cried out a little when she applied antiseptic. At last, Frank’s hands were bandaged and he fell asleep instantly after Laura made him swallow some pills for the pain.

Still shaken, Joe shook his head, sympathy in his eyes. "Poor Frank." Anger suddenly replaced the pity and his nose flared. "Someone will pay for this."

He marched toward Frank’s room and turned on all the lights. If he didn’t know better, the place looked like a crime scene, with all the blood. His eyes roamed every inch of the room, looking for anything out of place. Then he saw it.

Laura watched as Joe walked slowly toward the window. Joe carefully pried a bright-green envelope from underneath the windowsill. With shaking hands, he tore open the envelope. Inside was a single piece of scented paper and written on it in bold, crude handwriting was:

PLAY WITH ME, JOE

*Copyrights reserved. Words by Oscar Hammerstein.

Music by Richard Rogers