"Really? Another one? Where?" Frank asked, frowning. Three teenagers had been reported missing in the short period of two days around Bayport. THREE in just TWO days, Frank had thought in disbelief when their father first told them about the case he was investigating. That’s a lot. And real serious.

And what baffled Frank as much as it baffled the police was that there was no sign at all that even one of the missing teenagers fit the description of possible runaways. All were good and brilliant students, from loving families and basically normal lifestyles. There was also nothing whatsoever to indicate the signs of foul play, each one of them vanishing into thin air just like that.

"Who is it now?" Frank asked, dread tracing his voice. Bayport was a small city. It could have been anyone, even someone he knew.

"A boy named Peter Kellerman."

"Peter Kellerm- Nixon High?" Fenton saw the horrified _expression on his son’s face. He frowned, trying to remember.

"Yes, from Nixon High, if I’m not mistaken." Now even Joe was listening. He was staring at his brother’s face, gauging his reaction. "You know him?"

"Peter? Yeah, he-he was the first runner-up in the Science Fair last year," Frank stammered. He couldn’t believe it. Just last week he’d run into PJ at the local shopping mall, browsing for a new software for his computer.

Joe glanced sharply at his brother. He was dismayed to feel the dreaded stab of jealousy again. Frank had won last year’s Science Fair with the talking vacuum cleaner he’d invented. He had never won anything like that.

"You know him well?"

"Uh, yeah, kinda. PJ and I were even in the same district chess team." Figures, Joe thought bitterly.

"PJ?"

"His middle name’s Jay. You remember him Joe? You met him at the fair last year." Joe frowned, thinking hard.

"Was he the stocky one or the tall, muscular one?" That was the first sentence Joe said that night.

"The stocky one." Oh yeah, I remember, Joe thought. He nodded, not offering anything else.

Fenton’s frown got deeper. "I want you two to be very careful. Frank, I expect you to keep an eye on Joe, and you do the same, Joe." Both his sons nodded. Well, at least Joe’s being cooperative, Fenton thought. For the time being the four missing teenagers had only been reported as missing persons but Fenton had a bad feeling that something big would happen. It wasn’t anything new, the bad feeling, but this time it was a lot stronger and he couldn’t help fearing for his sons. He knew both Frank and Joe were more than capable to look after themselves, but he still worried.

"Where are you going?" Frank asked. He was just passing Joe’s room to go to his own when he suddenly stopped in his tracks. For one second he felt as if he was transported back into his dream. Joe was running to and fro his messy, clutttered room, getting dressed, a rush of fear instantly washing over him. But then Frank got himself together, telling himself after so many times, Haydin was just a regeneration of his worst nightmare, nothing more than that.

Joe pulled on a fresh pair of jeans. "I’m going over to the Reids’. I’m studying together with the Swedish girl." Frank was confused.

"The Reids’?

"She’s staying with them while she’s here." Joe ran to his closet and got out his jacket.

"Oh." Frank was still confused. He was glad to hear that Joe was finally being serious enough about studying to have the initiative to set up a study date but-with that Swedish girl?

"Does Vanessa know about this?"

"She won’t unless you tell her." Frank slowly walked over to Joe’s bed and sat down, watching his brother warily.

"This Tessa girl, she-" Frank hesitated. He’d seen the girl pass him along the hall a couple of times, and it brought up the same reaction in him like it had in Joe. "It’s because she looks like her, doesn’t she?"

Joe froze in the act of tying his sneakers. Then he slowly straightened up, his face drained of color.

"Does Vanessa know about her?" Joe asked a little accusingly, regretting the tone instantly, knowing that Frank would never do something like that. Not without telling him first.

"You mean, the fact that she looks like your dead girlfriend?" Joe flinched. Frank shrugged. "If she does, it wasn’t my doing," After a while, Frank continued. "But I don’t think so. Not yet. But she’s bound to find out sooner or later."

They sat staring at each other in silence for a few minutes. At last Frank spoke. "Just be careful, okay, Joe. I don’t want you to get hurt again."

Joe nodded numbly. Frank’s heart broke at Joe’s forlorn face. Hanging out with Joe for the past 17 years had really made him an expert in guessing Joe’s feelings and reading his emotions. Frank knew how hard it had been for Joe to get over Iola’s death. Not only that, Frank also knew how much their parents’ expectations had put the pressure on Joe. Too many times Frank had looked at his brother’s face these past few days and saw the same thing. Envy. Though it hurt Frank to know that his own brother was jealous of him, he understood pefectly.

"Joe, you know you can talk to me if you have problems. You still remember what I said at the cabin, don’t you?" Frank asked gently. Joe didn’t answer; he just kept his gaze down on the carpeted floor.

"That you can always depend on me. But you’ve been pushing me away these past few days. Why?" Frank asked, still using the same gentle tone.

Because I’m not good enough for you, Joe answered in his heart bitterly. You and your achievements; me, what do I have? Nothing. I’m not good enough to be your brother. That’s why.

"I need to go," Joe said abruptly, standing up. His steps faltered when he reached the door. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. "Don’t wait up for me."

Frank stared at the door for a long time after Joe left.

He was mad. Really mad. Too soon. She passed out too soon. I was just starting to enjoy myself, he grumbled inwardly. He was exhilarated when she let out her first scream but it seemed as if it was all too much for her, her head lolling lifelessly in a dead faint a few seconds later.

He paced the room, his glances flicking from the clock on the wall and the girl lying sprawled on the bed. Blood had saturated the clean white sheet, turning it a dark nauseating red. His eyes gloated as he caught sight of the blood. Hey, passed out doesn’t mean she can’t feel anything, he realized gleefully. Oh, he was shivering with excitement already. He had never tortured any of his victims when they were out; usually he waited until they woke up again before resuming. The thought had never occurred to him but he could find no harm in trying.

Almost giddy with joy, he ran to the kitchen and came out a few seconds later with a big goblet and a sharp, kitchen knife, a thumb stuck in his mouth. He had wanted to find the sharpest knife the suite had and it seemed he couldn’t think of other ways to find out other than cutting his own thumb. He sucked on his thumb in ecstasy, savoring the bitter, coppery taste of blood, the drink of life itself. Oh how he reveled in pain. He LIVED for pain.

He tiptoed over to the bed, trying not to make any sound in case she might wake up. Gee, as if she’s gonna, he thought, laughing at his own stupidity. No way would anyone wake up so soon after parting with one of her ears. He stared at the piece of earlobe, lying bloodied on the pillow, separated from where it was supposed to connect with the girl’s temple, in both disgust and delight. It had been too easy, he thought in dissatisfaction. Don’t know why I ever went for the ear first. If I knew she was going to pass out so soon, I would have gone for her liver or spleen first.

"Wake up, little girl…" He sang into the big, gaping hole that used to be her ear. He giggled as he stuck a finger into the garish torn flesh. Blood was still pouring from it. Her head was like a big water tank, and the ear had been the tap. Take off the tap and what happened? His finger came out drenched in blood. Ahh, he thought. The sight of more blood was intoxicating. He couldn’t wait to see more.

Licking his lip, he picked up the knife, the glint of the sharp edge reflecting in his eye. You can do it, he told himself. You’ve seen Tom Cruise do it in that vampire movie. It didn’t look that difficult.

Humming along with the radio, he lifted her hand, scrutinizing the pale, white wrist. With his tongue he felt along his teeth. Not sharp enough. Guess I’ll have to settle for the old-fashioned way then.

With one smooth slash of the knife, blood began bubbling out, trailing down her forearm, dripping onto the sheet. Whoops, he thought. My mistake. He groped around for the goblet he’d brought with him and watched in glee as it caught the trickle of blood, rapidly filling up the glass as the fountain of life spurted more and more. Ah, just look at that. Look at that beautiful shade of red.

"Wake up, gal," he said, shaking her limp shoulder. "Hey, don’t you want to watch this? Come on, wakey, wakey."

Mary Helen Lee felt like dying. Pain was roaring in her head. Oh she knew what he was doing to her. But she felt so weak…The pain in her grew stronger and stronger, and though her eyes were closed, she could see it, she could feel it as if it were molten metal coursing through her vessels, branching through every sinew and nerve. But she knew it was only the pulling, the sucking, the draining of blood from her that was causing it. And she was totally powerless to stop it.

She struggled to open her eyes. If she were to die she wanted to look her killer in the eye. But it was useless. Her vision blurred, aware that blood was pouring out of her from two sources, her ear and her wrist. She knew she was going to die. She was going to die with someone singing this stupid song about some damn yellow ribbon round a tree…

"Mom," she whispered and Mary Helen Lee closed her eyes.