“He has a knife wound in his stomach, and another knife wound, although less severe, in his arm,” Ezra answered, dreading the question he knew was coming.

“He was stabbed? By who?” Fenton asked, sinking back onto the sofa. “Did anyone see what happened?”

“We’ll deal with that later,” snapped Frank, earning him a silent but heartfelt thank you from the Chief. “Let’s get to the hospital.”

“My son was admitted a little while ago,” Fenton told the nurse in the emergency room. “He was stabbed.”

“Joe Hardy?” the nurse inquired, lifting an eyebrow.

“That’s right.”

“He’s still in surgery,” she told him. “But if you would fill this out you can go into the recovery waiting room,” she added, handing Fenton a clipboard with a sheet on it.

Fenton quickly filled out the form then went into the recovery waiting room with his family and Chief Collig.

“What happened, Ezra?” Fenton asked after they had sat in silence for several minutes. It didn’t matter that he had probably been here more times than any other parent in Bayport, the waiting was nerve-wracking.

“Don’t you want to wait and see Joe first?” Collig tried to stall.

Fenton’s eyes narrowed on his old friend. “What don’t you want me to know?” he demanded, his heart beating faster.

“Yes, Ezra,” Laura said, her blue eyes hard as she looked at him. “What? You’ve never accompanied us to the hospital and remained with us while we waited before.” Ezra’s face flushed quietly under her accusing stare.

“What is it?” Fenton demanded again. “We have a right to know.”

Collig wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. He opened his mouth to reveal his suspicions but closed it as the door opened and the doctor entered. The doctor looked at the group of people and walked up to the Chief. “His blood work came back while we were operating,” the doctor informed the Chief. “It was positive for two separate substances.”

“What are you talking about?” Frank demanded his face red with anger. He wasn’t sure why he was mad but his gut instinct was telling him this was a slur on his brother in some way.

“You’re the boy’s family?” the doctor asked, looking away from Collig.

“This is Fenton, Laura and Frank Hardy,” Collig introduced them. “This is Dr. Mason.”

“You’ve already spoken to him?” Fenton inquired, feeling his recently acquired ulcer acting up.

“How is he?” Laura interrupted, more concerned with his present health than the past or future.

“He has multiple lacerations on his arms that have been cleaned and treated. They will be sore and unsightly for a while but should heal without any permanent damage,” Dr. Mason informed her. “He also has a puncture wound in his stomach. We repaired the internal damage and the stitches we used were fine so he should only have a little scar. He did, however, lose a lot of blood,” the doctor continued. “He was comatose when he was brought in and, as of yet, has not regained consciousness. He’s been taken to the ICU until his blood pressure evens out and he regains consciousness.”

“One more question,” Fenton said before the doctor could leave. “What two substances did you find in his blood?”

“Marijuana and LSD,” the doctor answered. “There were varying stages of the former indicating it was used over at least several hours; possibly days.”