The ride to the hospital was the longest in Frank’s life. The ambulance cut through traffic swiftly, neatly sidestepping rows and rows of cars to speed down the lane, its siren blaring and deafening, but not as deafening as the sounds of Frank’s own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he desperately tried to rouse Joe, he’d tried rubbing Joe’s cold hand, tried talking to him, but nothing he did seemed to work.

Fresh gouts of blood dribbled down Joe’s chin and ran down the side of his face, soaking the padding underneath him. The paramedics who were working feverishly to keep his blood pressure from falling looked at each other in alarm, quickly raising Joe’s head a little to a recovery position to keep him from choking on his own blood. Frank felt his eyes water.

He’s dying. Joe’s dying.

Frank gave his head a violent shake. NO! He wasn’t going to let that happen. Not after all that had happened.

"He’s not breathing," a paramedic with the name Sue on her suit said.

Frank stared at her in wide, unmasked terror.

"Check his airway," the other paramedic murmured. Gently but quickly, Sue tilted Joe’s head back and Frank watched, numb, as she inserted a tube of some kind into Joe’s mouth started squeezing the pump.

"His airway’s full of blood," she announced. "Possible injuries to the lungs as well." After a while, she pulled the tube out, satisfied that she’d gotten all the blood out. "Clear. Check if he’s breathing, Dave."

"He is." Frank sagged in his seat, feeling strangely weak, his head spinning. They spent another five agonizingly long minutes in the ambulance before it shot into Bayport General, the wailing of the siren a stark reminder to Frank that it was really happening; and that it wasn’t all a dream.

Everything happened in slow motion. Frank couldn’t register much of what happened next, but just as Joe was wheeled into the emergency room and as the flapping doors slammed shut in his face, Frank jerked and gasped. His breaths came in hitched and ragged; Frank knew he was hyperventilating. Relax, he told himself. Breathe in slowly. Calm down. Relax. Stay calm, Frank. That’s it.

At last, Frank calmed down just enough to register the fact that he was standing in the middle of the hall, blocking the busy rush of traffic of a typical emergency room of hospital, inviting glares from people, which quickly turned into concerned stares when they saw the blood spattered on Frank’s shirt. Baastian’s blood. It must have gotten on me when they shot him, Frank realized with mild disgust. He knew without looking that he must be in total mess. But that was the least of his worries now.

Frank dragged his feet to the lone bench outside the operating room and sat down heavily. Too many times he’d sat in the same bench, too many times he’d walked the same corridor, too many times he’d seen his brother hurt, but the most painful fact of all, too many times Frank had let his brother get hurt.

Why hadn’t he been the one to open the package, from which the acidic fumes had emanated and nearly taken his brother’s life? Or why couldn’t he have been there when Joe opened it at least? He could have come to his rescue earlier and could have saved Joe from spending nearly a week in the hospital.

Why did he let Joe go off all by himself with Vanessa while he and their dad foolishly led themselves on a wild-goose chase when he knew perfectly well there was a serial killer on the loose, someone who not only knew the Hardys, but knew them well? Why hadn’t he insisted that Joe stayed with him so as not to get separated? Frank let out a heavy sigh and leaned forward, burying his face into his hands. When he saw the totalled van…he should have known there was no way Joe could have escaped the crash without serious, if not fatal, injuries.

Why, oh why couldn’t he have pieced the clues together and come to Joe sooner? It was all staring right at him, the notes, the songs…he should have seen it. And now Joe was fighting for his life, just because his dumb brother couldn’t figure out the riddles and puzzles of a dead, crazy girl in time.

"Frank." Frank looked up wearily.

"Mom, Dad." Frank rose slowly and gave both his parents big hugs, embracing each of them longer than usual, savouring the comfort, unspoken love and the worry they all shared for Joe. Laura looked terrified, although she was trying hard to keep it from her son but Frank could see it in her eyes. He gave her hand a squeeze.

All we can do is pray, his eyes said as they locked gazes. Just pray.

Blue-grey eyes flickered open. Vanessa Bender stared at the white ceiling of the examination room, feeling very dizzy and disoriented. A doctor was poking her ribs. She slowly turned her head sideways and stared dully at the tube running out of her forearm. Where am I?

Andrea Bender who had been watching silently from the far corner of the room, strode briskly to her daughter’s side when she saw her head move. The smile playing on her lips didn’t quite mask the concern in her eyes as she stroked her daughter’s forehead lovingly.

"Hello, dear," she said softly. The doctor had told her earlier that Vanessa’s injuries weren’t all that serious; she was suffering from a couple of cracked ribs, a few lacerations to her scalp, and both of her distal humeri were badly fractured. When she first set eyes on her daughter, she had nearly burst into tears and at that time she couldn’t help but blame that Hardy boy for causing it all to happen; Vanessa wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. But when she saw the condition Joe was in when they brought him in later was enough to render her speechless. And at that moment, Andrea knew that there was no one to blame.

"Mom," Vanessa whispered softly, her eyes dazed. "Wh-what-?’

"Shh, it’s alright, dear," Andrea soothed her daughter and watched as the doctor silently bound Vanessa’s wrist, splinting her arm. "You’re going to be alright…"

"Joe…where-is he? Have they-gotten him…out?" Vanessa struggled to speak through swollen, cracked lips.

Andrea remained silent. She looked down at her daughter’s bruised, pallid face, not knowing what to say.

"Is he okay? Did she hurt him?" Vanessa was getting agitated. "Mom, Joe..."

"I’m going to give her something to help her sleep," the doctor announced at last, taking off her gloves. Andrea nodded numbly, her daughter’s questions unanswered. Refraining herself from holding Vanessa’s hand, she watched nervously as the doctor gave her daughter a jab and true enough, Vanessa went under a few seconds later. The police offered her nothing but just bits and snippets of information, not enough to satisfy her. She wanted to know what had happened. All she knew was that her daughter and her boyfriend had been in a car accident and that she’d been rescued from the hands of a madwoman in a hotel somewhere. She wanted information.