Joe slowly opened his eyes and looked around – where was he? And then images from the night before slammed into him and he lurched from his bed and into the bathroom.

‘Nooo!’ his mind screamed, ‘it didn’t happen! It didn’t happen!’ Bypassing the toilet, he flung the cold water on in the shower, stepped under the spray and braced his uninjured hand against the tiles, letting the water cascade down his back, ‘please – it didn’t happen!’

But it did.

Within moments he was shivering as the water soaked his pajamas and the fiberglass cast, but the teen was oblivious to it all, his body seared with internal pain.

“So much blood,” he whispered, his voice lost in the showering water, “so much blood…” His eyes squeezed shut; all he could see was red. He imagined it running down his body like this water, a crimson tide draining away beneath his feet….

* * *

Frank lay on his bed and heard the shower go on. He heaved a sigh of relief, having been terrified that when his brother did finally open his eyes, he’d be as catatonic today as he had been last night – or rather, early morning – when they finally came home for the hospital.

Things had gotten chaotic after his father and Sam showed up; the flashing lights of police cruisers and ambulances not far behind. Miles of yellow tape had been carefully placed, outlining the crime scene as officers had milled around making chalk outlines and asking questions.

The paramedics had pronounced Smuff dead on the scene and then shook their heads about Iago – so much needless violence and senseless death.

Everything had become one big blur of activity as Frank had just sat on the small cot, his arm protectively around the shaking body pressed tightly against his side. He had wanted to do nothing except get Joe the hell out of there.

He had answered the questions that were asked of him; no one asked Joe anything, probably because they took one look at his pale face and glassy, unblinking stare and realized he wouldn’t be able to answer them yet anyway.

And then finally, Fenton had gently guided his sons to his sedan and an officer had driven them to the hospital; Sam had stayed behind to give his statement. And thankfully he had not been arrested. It was clear-cut self-defense…well, not his own but Frank and Joe’s.

If he hadn’t fired when he did…. Frank shivered and tossed that thought out. No use worrying about what never happened!

At the hospital his brother’s arm was set and put in a cast. The younger boy had been very lucky; although the break was a bad one it didn’t require a pin, something to be thankful for, anyway. There had been some talk about keeping Joe overnight for observation but in the end, he was sent home with his father and brother. Although he had not been very responsive, he had reacted strongly to the idea of being admitted and in the end the ER doctor relented, cautioning the family to keep an eye on his increasingly distressed patient.

That had been – Frank looked at the clock – six hours ago!

Sighing tiredly, he closed his eyes and waited for his brother to get out of the shower.

* * *

Joe took the stairs two by two as he hurried downstairs, dressed in khaki-colored shorts, a beige t-shirt and his running shoes. He hurried towards the front door.

“Joe, honey,” Laura saw her son and caught him before he could make his getaway, “Where are you going?”  Her eyes appraised his slightly flushed face and red-rimmed eyes, and knew he was upset.

“Outside,” he said, opening the front door, but his mother’s voice stopped him.

She smiled and rolled her eyes.  “I figured as much – but where? You really do need to take it easy for a couple of days, sweetie.”

“I know, and I will,” the teen assured her, returning her smile with one a bit too forced. “I just thought I’d go hang out at Biff’s for a while.”

“I thought the Hoopers were out of town until Sunday,” Laura reminded him, and watched as he shifted from one foot to the other.

“Not at Biff’s really then,” he amended, “the park by Biff’s.”

“By yourself?” she asked, not bothering to hide her concern. With everything that had happened in the last 72 hours, she just didn’t want Joe, or Frank, going off alone.

“Well—” Joe started.

“With your brother?” Laura pressed, putting him on the spot. They both knew what he really was trying to do: escape. But this wasn’t something he could run from – not this time.

“Not exactly…”

Shaking her head, the blond woman stated, firmly but gently, “Come on, I’ve made pancakes. You need to eat something.”

“Oh Mooom—” he started to protest, but then sighed and reluctantly followed her, after she gave him a very patented ‘don’t-you-dare-oh mom-me’ look.

“You should still be upstairs, resting!” his mother chastised as she waited for him to sit down at the table before placing a plate of pancakes in front of him and pouring a glass of orange juice.

“Thanks Mom,” he said quietly, although he really wasn’t feeling that hungry, “but I’m okay, really.”

“Really?”  She raised her eyes skeptically and sat down next to him. Both Fenton and Sam were still sleeping so it was just her and Joe in the kitchen. The sound of water running upstairs told her that Frank was in the shower. “You don’t look so okay to me.”

The boy shrugged but never answered as he picked up a fork and began to distractedly break the pancakes up into little pieces. He startled briefly when his mother touched his hand – placing her soft one overtop of his; stopping the agitated movement. He put down the fork.

“Sweetie,” her voice was soft and cajoling; her pale blue eyes searched his vibrant ones when he turned to look at her, and her heart was saddened by the anguish she saw on his young face, “you’re not okay, are you?”

The teen bit his lip and stared down at his untouched food; his hand trembled beneath hers.

“Your father told me what happened,” his mother spoke softly, gently squeezing the cold hand beneath her fingertips, “about what you saw – what you were forced to see…“

Joe glanced up quickly – obviously shocked that she knew.

“Please, tell me sweetie…I can see how upset you are!”

Joe blinked quickly and looked away. “I can’t,” he whispered, closing his eyes and swallowing hard.

His mother grasped his chin and made him meet her gaze, compassionate but imploring.  “Please Joe…don’t shut us out!”

With a quick jerk, he shook his head and pulled his hand away from hers, but she reached out and grabbed it again, holding tight; knowing how much he needed this contact – even if he didn’t realize it himself.  “It’s okay, baby—” Laura paused and then added, her voice sad and remorseful, “I’m so sorry, Joey, so sorry that we never knew…That we weren’t there for you.”

And it was true. Her soul sizzled with guilt about what her child had been forced to endure while she and Fenton had been so blissfully unaware. Things made more sense to them now, both about that time and more importantly, about the way their younger son had behaved – about what he’d tried to do.  Frank had been right when he insisted there was something so much more than just the superficial that they’d accepted.

Laura steadied her voice, squeezing the hand she held reassuringly.  “But we’re here for you now, sweetie, if you’ll let us be.” She placed a warm hand against his pale face.  “I love you, baby – please let me help.”

Joe sucked in a breath and let it out slowly – seeming to gain courage under her gently reassuring touch and words.  She couldn’t even begin to imagine what he must be feeling, and hated Oscar with an intensity she never thought possible!  All she could do now was support Joe and let him know he was safe and not alone – never alone…

“It – it’s everywhere,” the boy finally whispered, his haunted gaze breaking her heart; he was terrified. “The blood! It’s e-everywhere!” He shuddered, “He wouldn’t stop! I just wanted him to stop! But he wouldn’t – and the blood—”

“Oh, my baby.”  Laura pulled her tormented child to her, wrapping her arms around his muscular frame as he laid his head on his shoulder.  She felt his tears – hot and priceless – dampen her shoulder as he clung to her – once again that scared nine-year-old little boy who so desperately needed the shelter of his mother’s embrace. “Oh my precious, precious baby…”  She held him as soundless sobs shook his body.  

Fenton had told her everything when they had gotten home, and she had been horrified to finally hear the details of what her young son had been witness to, eight years ago, and then again only hours ago.  And they had yet to hear from Joe….“Shhh,” she whispered, fiercely, “You’re okay, baby, you’re okay...Mommy’s right here…”

* * *

Fenton Hardy paused, unseen in the doorway, and felt his own heart wrench as he watched his wife console their younger son. ‘Damn you, Smuff,’ he cursed, ‘damn you straight to hell.’

Although the detective was dead, he was still hurting them; forcing them to live with what he had done – forever changed by his cruelty.

For one fleeting moment, the dark-haired man wished Sam had not shot Smuff, but that he, himself, could have had the pleasure of ripping him limb from limb! But no, the murderer was dead and he could never hurt Fenton’s family again.

But as he watched his son, he felt that still wasn’t enough....

His face saddened as he heard Laura’s words of sweet comfort; and then, feeling like he was intruding on this very personal and private moment, Fenton turned, silently, and went back upstairs…