“Breathe…relax…you’re okay now.”  I’m sure that’s what Frank would be telling me if he was here right now.  But he’s not so I’m saying it to myself.  

I’m shaking so badly now just thinking about it, that I need to sit down before my legs just give out on me.  I have been scared many times in my life and I am loath to admit it, but this was the worst in a long time.  

I think the first time I ever knew true fear was when a disturbed man, whose name I can’t even think of without having a damn near panic attack, abducted me from a carnival funhouse where Frank and I were playing Hide and Seek.  

I was five years old.  

Less then 48 hours later, I was home, but that was more than enough time for that man to reshape who I would become and to lay a very strong foundation for my fears; I am afraid of the dark…I am afraid of being alone…and I am afraid of strangers.  

Now over the past 12 years, I’ve become a master at hiding these fears, and Frank is the only one who knows just what a battle that still is. I overcompensate by forcing myself to be the outgoing, fearless person my friends count on, but in truth I would prefer to just lock myself away from the world…in Frank’s room.  

Why Frank’s room, you might wonder….Well, my own room just doesn’t offer me the same sense of security or solace that my brother’s does.  Maybe it’s because I depend so much on Frank, and the room, as his personal space, offers my addled mind something in his absence.  

Maybe it’s because I know that he will be coming back there when he gets home, and I am waiting for him.  

Or maybe it’s because I just don’t feel as safe in my own room.  

When my Dad and Frank brought me home after the Funhouse kidnapping, I couldn’t sleep in my room without fear of nightmares finding me, but Frank came, and without even asking what was wrong, he took me to his room, put me in his bed and promised me that the monsters wouldn’t find me there…  

…Go to sleep Joey.  I’ll take care of you.…Those bad old monsters will never find you here…  

He was only six….And people wonder why I idolize him so much.  

But then again, no one else was there with me, in that dark hell when my six year old brother crawled in through a open window, and then stood at the foot of the stairs, armed with a baseball bat….To protect me from the man who seemed hell bent on killing me.  

The same bat that this man had threatened me with only moments before…  

Turning away in disgust, he pointed towards the bat as he said to the child, “Come morning, if you don’t feel the love… I’ll see how thick your skull really is…”  

Shivering at the memory, I run my fingers across the top of Frank’s duvet as I sink down on his bed.  The room is aglow from the small desk lamp that Frank turned on before going out.  I sometimes wonder about that.  

It’s me who hates the dark…why would Frank always turn that light on before he went out?  

As always, I ponder this for a little while but then give up. Maybe non-neurotic people don’t like going into dark rooms either.  Oh well, for it I am thankful.  

Because no matter what, I’m not sure I’d have the courage to come in when Frank wasn’t there and the room was completely dark…not at a times when I’m feeling like this.  

Fear reduces me to everything I despise about myself.  Funnily enough, I can handle other people’s fear and it even lends me courage and they label me ‘brave,’ but with my own…there is none left.  

My room has a nightlight. And although my friends do like to tease me about it on occasion, I don’t really find it that funny. I also keep a flashlight under my pillow in case the lights go out, and I have to admit that’s come in handy before.  

It’s actually all pretty ironic considering how much time I spend in the dark on stakeouts and stuff, but then again Frank is usually around and I’m too focused on the case to remember my own demons.  

But that wasn’t the case tonight.  

This guy, turns out, is the one that Dad and Sam are looking for. And now, lucky me, he’s found me.  

He made me drive to the house and I could only just imagine the look on their faces when Dad’s car parked in the driveway and out I got…with their suspect!  

Dad only told me later that this guy had already killed four other people and was probably not too concerned about making that number five. Of course, I’d pretty much figured that out already.  

“Joe, are you okay?” My dad shouted as the knifeman pressed the blade hard enough against my throat to bring blood. But I really couldn’t say much or even move without causing more pain, so I didn’t say anything.  

This guy, name was Rossi I’d found out afterwards, knew his place was being watched and was actually watching them!  

God I hate when that happens.  

Anyway, he felt I was his golden opportunity when he’d heard me call out, “Be careful, Dad!” when my father was walking away.  

Me and my big mouth; I really should just get the thing stapled shut!  

Anyway, things got very tense for the next hour as Rossi kept making demands that my father couldn’t give in to.  I don’t remember a lot of what was being said as I was concentrating on not passing out or something – I was terrified.  The blade was held to my throat for a full hour…  

I didn’t look at my dad because I thought it would throw him off if he saw just how scared I was. So I kept my eyes closed and wished Frank was there.  There might have been nothing he could have done either, but it would have at least given me some peace of mind just knowing he was there.  

That might sound terrible, and I am not saying I wanted my older brother to watch me get my throat slit but…okay, maybe I was just being a bit selfish for wanting him there, but I figured a guy’s allowed to be a bit selfish when he’s about to die!  

Is it me, or did it just get colder in here?  

Grabbing Frank’s duvet, I pull it up around myself as I inhale the aromas that make it his; the smell of his shampoo, his soap, the cologne…and just him. And NO, I’m not some sort of pervert!  I just really love smells, or the way something feels or how it looks.  

I guess I’m a guy driven by his senses….Hmmm, Frank said that once and when I finally let him up for air, he tried to explain to me that it wasn’t a bad or sissy thing.  In fact, he said he thought it was pretty cool actually – and that was why I had such a good gut instinct about things.   

He said I was just a very tactile and perceptive person. Now if he’d said ‘perceptive’ in the first place, it could have saved us both a lot of grief – Frank isn’t an easy guy to pin!  

I guess maybe he’s right though. It would explain why the smell of him from this blanket was helping calm my growing anxieties as the shock is wearing off and everything is becoming a bit too real now.  

I almost died tonight.  

It also helps me understand why physical touch is so important to me.  Words are Frank; they’re not me.  

Sure they help but in the end when Frank gives me a hug or squeezes my arm to let me know he’s there for me, that means more to me then any verbal reassurances.  Although I do have to admit, there are times when I shy away from even Frank.  Sometimes it’s because I’m too angry… Sometimes it’s because I’m too afraid…and that one I don’t understand at all.  

My throat is still hurting.  I wonder if it’s just in my mind or not. Sometimes my own mind is a terrible place. It holds darkness and secrets that it waits to spear my sleep with. And I already know that there will be no comfort in sleep tonight.  

That is the real reason why I am here now.  Oh God, I wish Frank was here.  

Pulling the blankets closer around me, I scoot to the top of the bed and sit there in my little cocoon, with my head rested against the wall. The headboard is uncomfortable against my side but I really don’t care.  It’s my emotional pain I need taken care of now.  

When I was five years old, and only a couple of months after the Funhouse kidnapping, I almost drowned in the creek at the Mortons’ farm.  

Chet Morton is Frank’s best friend and we were visiting him when I and Iola, Chet’s younger sister, saw a man throwing a sack in the creek. Inside the sack was a puppy…we heard it whimpering. And now this man…this stranger wanted to drown it.  

Without even thinking – yeah another trademark Joe Hardy move – I jumped in to save the puppy.   

Big mistake!!!!  

Anyway, thank goodness Frank and Chet were on their way to the creek looking for us, when Iola found them…and Frank saved me.  

Okay officially, Dad did the CPR on me, and later the puppy, but Frank is the one who dived in after me….So I’m giving him the credit. Sorry, Dad.  

It’s hard to explain and I know everyone worries about it, but I still feel a strong connection to Iola, and I think that’s what draws me to the graveyard whenever things just get out of control.  Sometimes I think if it wasn’t for her and Frank, I’d…I’d….I don’t know what would have happened. But I know they are foundations in my life.  

Even if other people don’t understand it.  

Vanessa is great. Honestly, I have no idea what I would have done if she hadn’t come into my life, but I know it hurts her that no matter how much I love her, I can’t give her everything.  There is still, and always will be, a part of me that Iola owns.  

Even in death….Or especially in death.  

I would have married Iola Morton if time would have allowed…but the fates are twisted and so are we. We were twisted away from each other. But I know deep down in my heart that there is something more. Something beyond everything….A something that makes me sit by the cold grave of a dead girl to find peace.  

Twisted isn’t it??  

When I was six, I was thrown overboard into the dark bay by greedy men who wanted to convince my father that they were serious.  Personally I would have suggested something a little less permanent, but I don’t think brains were their strong suit.  

It was supposed to be a fun-filled family day on a cabin cruiser loaned to my father by a satisfied client.  But we should have known that there was no such thing as a fun-filled family day for the Hardys!  

The men made me tie my dog, Hero, to the car door and then forced us out onto the bay in the cabin cruiser.  

Hmmm, you know when I think back to all the near-drownings I’ve had in my life, I should be a fish by now.  

But I’m not, and actually the more that I’m thinking about it, the more convinced I am that drowning is my destiny.  

Some day Frank won’t get there in time….Someday CPR won’t be enough.  Someday I will drown.  

God it is so cold in here.…  

Pulling the blankets up to my ears I try and brush those thoughts away. I can’t deal with them right now.  

Frank jumped overboard and saved me. Again.  

He was seven… did I mention that Frank is my hero?