“Who...Whoever stabbed him must have...” Laura broke off as both the doctor and Chief Collig shook their heads.

“We had reports of a young man acting strange as he walked through town,” Collig informed the Hardys. “He nearly caused an accident by dancing in the middle of the street. The officer I sent to look for him got enough eyewitness reports to confirm it was Joe. They found him in an alley between Serendipity and the Five and Ten,” he continued. “Joe was holding the knife still lodged in his stomach.”

Frank felt faint. “You’re implying Joe hurt himself?”

“It’s not the first time a bad trip has resulted in tragedy,” Dr. Mason said. “I saw this rather frequently when I worked in San Francisco.”

“Wait a minute,” Frank said, feeling incredibly ill. “I read somewhere people who have used LSD, even once, can have flashbacks anytime.”

“That’s true,” admitted Dr. Mason, frowning. “I remember the son of a friend of mine. He was at a party and someone slipped him some LSD. He recovered from the experience but two years later, while he was driving to work, he had a flashback and went off the road. He survived for four days in intensive care before dying from his injuries.”

“He’ll never be able to recover from this?” Laura asked, tears flowing from her eyes.

“He may never experience a flashback,” the doctor said. “Most people don’t; but there is that five- percent who does.”

“Can we see him now?” asked Frank, feeling at least forty years older.

“Fifth floor,” Dr. Mason replied. “He’s in constraints but that’s in case he is still hallucinating when he awakens,” he quickly added.

“Fenton, I have to file a report,” Ezra told him before he could leave.

“I know,” Fenton replied wearily. “But if Joe was on drugs it wasn’t his choice,” he stressed.

“Unless he was addicted before and decided it was easier with them,” Ezra suggested softly.

“You know Joe better than that!” Fenton snapped defensively.

“And you know dope-heads,” Ezra retorted, his tone firm.

Fenton closed his eyes and turned away. Ezra was right, he thought, opening his eyes and leading Frank and Laura from the room. It was entirely possible.

Frank was silent as they rode the elevator to the fifth floor. Could it be true? Hadn’t he had thoughts along this same line earlier?

The elevator stopped on the fifth floor and they got out. The nurse at the nurse’s station directed them down the hall. There they found a nurse jotting Joe’s vitals down on the clipboard she held. She gave them an encouraging smile before leaving them alone.

Frank moved to the side of Joe’s bed and sucked in his breath. Joe lay still, his skin a ghastly white; most likely caused by the extreme loss of blood the doctor had mentioned. Frank reached out and brushed the hair from Joe’s face, alarmed at how cold Joe felt.

“Find who did this to my baby,” Laura demanded hoarsely as she touched his hand.

“I will,” vowed Fenton, for the first time feeling empathy for the man who had gotten his son involved with the pushers over the past summer. He knew even if Joe had inflicted his own wounds, the fault lay with the men who supplied the drugs.

“What’s he going to think when he wakes up and can’t move?” Laura asked, looking in horror at the straps which held Joe captive.

“He’ll be okay,” Frank promised her. “I’m not going to leave him alone. When he wakes up, I’ll make sure he knows they’re only temporary,” he ended.

Temporary! Frank’s brain screamed. Joe could hurt himself again at any time without warning! Frank fought the rush of fear as it flooded his veins. He could protect Joe from just about anything but how was he going to protect Joe from himself?