"Joe," Joe heard his name and felt hands slide beneath his shoulders and lift him to a sitting position.

Joe moaned and opened his eyes, rising a hand to his head as he did so.  He winced as his hand came into contact with the back of his head.  He pulled his hand back and saw blood on his fingers.

"Easy, Son," Father Ramster said, helping Joe onto a bench as Sister Anna came rushing into the room with a cold, wet cloth.

"What hit me?" Joe asked, his voice a bit weak.

"A statue of Mother Mary," Sister Anna answered, pointing to the statue which lay nearby.

"Who hit you?" Jim asked, standing just behind Sister Anna.

"I don't know," Joe answered.  "I didn't see anyone."

"I saw a man with brown hair in a dark suit run out of here," Father Ramster said.

Joe frowned as an image of Agent Patrick flashed through his mind.  "You know who it was?" Father Ramster asked, seeing the frown.

"Not really, no," Joe said, attempting to stand up.

"Stay still," ordered Father Ramster.  "Maybe we should call for an ambulance."

"No, I'm okay," Joe objected.

"The police, then," Mrs. Barley insisted.

"No," Joe said, seeing Father Ramster pick up the statue and wipe it off before setting it back where it belonged.  He gave a silent sigh as he saw the only possible evidence being wiped away.  "Are you finished with your session?" Joe asked Jim, who had been looking at Joe with a worried frown on his face.

Jim nodded.  "Let's go home then," Joe continued, lifting an eyebrow as he turned to look at Mrs. Barley.

Jim was quite all the way home.  When they arrived, he went to his room and closed the door.  Mrs. Barley started to follow him, but Joe put a restraining hand on her arm, then followed Jim's path up the stairs and to his bedroom.  He came to a stop in front of the door and knocked gently.

"Come in," Jim said, his voice reserved.

Joe went inside and sat down on the bed beside Jim.  "What's wrong?" he asked.

Jim shook his head but said nothing.  "Are you mad at me?" Joe inquired, trying to get Jim to talk to him.

"No!" Jim exclaimed, his eyes going wide.  "Oh, no," he said.  "I just...." he quit speaking.

"What?" Joe pressed.

"Did you get hurt because of me?" Jim asked, his eyes bright.

"No," Joe quickly assured him.  "Jim, none of this is your fault."

"They why did I have to go to jail?" Jim demanded, tears falling down his cheeks.  "And why did you get hurt?"

"I don't know," Joe said, truthfully.  "But I am going to find out," he promised.  "I do know, however, that none of this is your fault.  You haven't done anything wrong."

"Really?" Jim asked, sniffing.

"Really," Joe assured him.  "I'm very lucky to have you as a friend.  And I will always be your friend."

Jim wrapped his arms around Joe's neck and hugged him.  Joe returned the hug.  "Maybe you can help Frank and me find out who is doing this bad stuff," Joe said.

"I can?" Jim asked, excited at the prospect.  "How?"

"Can you remember if you met anyone new in the past couple of months besides the people you met when you were away from your mom at the police station?" Joe asked.

"Chet and Iola and Callie and Frank," Jim said, counting on his fingers.  "I've met four new people," he told Joe, smiling.

"That's a lot of new friends," Joe said, smiling back at him.  "Can you think of anyone else?" he asked.

Jim's smile vanished as his forehead creased in thought.  "No," he said slowly.  "I don't think so."

"Do you know if you've seen anyone recently who you haven't seen in a long time?" Joe asked him another question.

"The man who was at the police station," Jim said, frowning.  "I don't remember his name, but he's mad a lot."

"Mad?" Joe asked, puzzled.

Jim nodded rapidly.  "He's always making a mad face," he added.

Joe scowled because he still didn't know who Jim meant.

"Like that!" Jim shouted, jumping off the bed and pointing at Joe.  "You make that face just like him."

"Just like...." Joe began to ask, then realized who it must be because the man always scowled at him too.  "Agent Patrick," Joe said.  "Taller than me with brown hair?" Joe asked.

Jim nodded again.  Joe frowned.  Not much of a clue, he knew, because Patrick had been on the case for sometime.

"Want to see what I did?" Jim asked Joe, going over to his desk and forgetting about the conversation.

"Sure," Joe said, standing up and going over to stand beside Jim.

Jim opened the top drawer and pulled out a stack of papers.  "Momma says I can draw good," Jim told Joe proudly, handing him the papers.

"Is that so?" Joe asked, returning to the bed and sitting down.  He set the papers down beside him and began looking at them.  "I'll just have to see for myself," he said.

"I drawed pictures of everybody I know," Jim told him, sitting down on the bed with Joe.  "You too," he added.  "I'm gonna show my new ones to Father Ramster at our session tomorrow."

"Ah, I get to see them first," Joe said.  "I'm honored."

"I already showed him some," Jim continued.  "But he hasn't seen the new ones I did."  Joe smiled at Jim and complimented him on the first picture before going on to the next one.

While Joe was looking at Jim's pictures, Frank was sitting in the Shaw's living room talking with Callie as she lay nestled against him.

"What did you do?" Callie asked when Frank told her about Mrs. Lenin crying.

Frank shrugged uncomfortably.  "I waited until she was feeling better and tried to leave, but she insisted I have some tea first," he informed her.  "I haven't heard from Joe yet," he continued.  "But then, this is only his first night there.  I doubt he's learned anything yet."

"What are you going to do now?" Callie wanted to know.

Frank shook his head.  "I really don't know," he answered.  "Probably see Tim Donalds.  He was Devon's neighbor and the two didn't get along."  He ended his sentence with a yawn.  "Sorry," he said.

"That's okay," she told him, sitting up.  "You should probably get home before your parents start to worry."

"I am tired," Frank said, giving her an apologetic look.

Callie leaned over and kissed his cheek, her braided hair falling on his shoulder.  "It's okay," she whispered.  "I'll see you tomorrow.  Why don't you pick me up after breakfast and we'll go see Donalds and the Lenins together," she suggested.

"Excellent idea," Frank agreed, his lips closing over hers.

Ten minutes later, he left Callie's and headed home.  It had begun to drizzle while he had been at Callie's and he flipped on the wipers as he backed out of the drive.

The drizzle turned into a light rain and Frank turned on the defroster to clear the windshield.  He gave another yawn and turned on the radio.

Frank took the exit which led to High and Elm Streets and began slowing down because of the speed limit change.  He smiled, listening to one of his favorite songs.

Seconds later, a horn blared and Frank's eyes jerked open in time to see a pair of headlights coming straight at him.

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