Joe shook the thought from his mind, unable to dwell on it for even a second. Suddenly, getting up on the witness stand and describing every beating and abuse he’d suffered was too terrifying to even acknowledge.

Looking up, Joe studied his reflection in the mirror and scowled in disgust. Sleep had eluded him most of the night. When he finally did manage to doze off, Joe found himself endlessly reliving the night of torture he so desperately wanted to forget. His normally sparkling blue eyes seemed almost glazed over and the dark circles underneath only served to call attention to that fact.

Leaning over the sink, Joe closed his eyes and splashed cold water on his face. Straightening up, he saw Frank’s reflection behind him in the mirror. Reaching over his shoulder, Joe silently accepted the paper towel Frank offered and used it to pat his face dry.

"You okay, little bro?" Frank asked quietly. He was smiling but the concern in his deep brown eyes was abundantly clear. Joe had seemed fine, albeit tired, when they’d left for the courthouse that morning. Now however, he was sending off signals of fear Frank hadn’t felt since they were small children.

Joe automatically started to respond in his customary manner, saying he was fine even when he was on the verge of total meltdown, convinced he could handle everything on his own. However, something in the look on his brother’s face stopped him. He’d been leaning on Frank heavily the last few months to try and prepare himself for the trial and Frank hadn’t let him down once.

Still, Joe hesitated. It had only been in the last few minutes that he admitted to himself he was scared – terrified – knowing he would probably have to at least begin his testimony before the day was out. Somehow it had been a whole lot easier to deal with, when telling a room full of strangers how he’d been beaten, tortured and abused was still something that would happen ‘one day soon.’ Now that the day was here, Joe wasn’t at all sure he could do it.

Contemplating Frank’s question, Joe wadded the paper towel into a ball and effortlessly shot it into the trashcan across the room.

"A three pointer," Frank murmured appreciatively, "but you still haven’t answered my question. Are you okay?"

Joe sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "I’d be a lot better if I knew for sure I didn’t have to testify until tomorrow." He looked at Frank unable to hide the fear in his eyes. "I’m scared, Frank. I don’t think I’m ready to do this."

The feeling was upon Frank so fast it took him completely by surprise. Anger…hatred… the overpowering need for revenge. For what seemed like the millionth time, he silently cursed Keith Rashman, vowing some kind of payback before burying those feelings under concern for his brother.

Leaning against the counter next to Joe, Frank reached out and lightly rested his hand on Joe’s back. The move was automatic and instinctive now, seeming to go unnoticed by the brothers, yet bringing a sense of comfort to both of them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Frank studied his brother for a moment, his heart twisting at the image confronting him. Joe’s eyes were glued to the floor and when Frank had reached out to him, Joe had automatically moved an inch or so closer to his older brother without even realizing it. Frank was reminded of Joe’s first day of kindergarten when he’d sought solace and protection from his big brother after a day of torment at the hands of the school bullies.

‘Scared and vulnerable,’ Frank thought achingly. ‘Different bully this time, but the result is the same.’

Frank wished he could handle the problem exactly as he had all those years ago – punch out the bully, instill the fear of God in him if he ever dared go near Joe again and be done with it. Problem solved. ‘If only…’

"You are ready, Joe," Frank finally said, his voice low but exuding confidence in his brother. "You’re a hell of a lot tougher than he is. You’ve already proven that just by surviving, no matter what he did to you." Feeling Joe shudder slightly, Frank rubbed his back comfortingly. "It’s okay to be scared, but remember everything we talked about. I’ll be right there with you every step of the way. And if the monsters get too tough to handle," Frank gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, "just pass them off to me. I’ll take care of them for you."

Joe gazed at the floor a moment longer contemplating Franks words of advice. Finally, Joe looked up at his brother with unabashed admiration.

‘Just like you always do,’ Joe thought as he flashed the ghost of a smile.

"I’ll remember," he said softly, pushing himself away from the counter. "Let’s go."

*****

Joe looked at the clock nervously as he half listened to Dr. Marston describing the emergency surgery he’d performed on Joe at the hospital. The doctor testified that Joe had been so close to death upon arriving in the E.R., he didn’t wait for approval from the family. He’d simply rushed Joe to surgery and hoped he could save Joe’s life.

Joe had become distracted early on in Marston’s testimony, realizing he’d finish rather quickly, leaving ample time for Handling to at least begin questioning Joe. Despite being only vaguely aware of Marston’s voice on a conscious level, Joe’s subconscious had apparently been paying very close attention. As soon as Marston had mentioned his concern that Joe’s arm had become infected and required a second debriding process several days after surgery, Joe had instinctively grabbed his left arm and pulled it close to him protectively.

As fate would have it that was the exact moment Keith Rashman turned to look at Joe. He smiled brazenly, apparently happy to know he’d caused Joe further pain even after he’d been rescued and treated for his injuries. While Joe was oblivious to Rashman’s gaze, Frank was not, locking eyes with the man he despised. When Rashman smirked at him, it took all the self-control Frank possessed and then some, not to launch himself out of the chair and kill Rashman on the spot.

Still clutching his arm a short while later, Joe heard his name being called, and jumped. His eyes momentarily widened in terror as he felt every person in the courtroom staring at him intently. He felt Vanessa kiss his cheek and heard her sniffle as she sat back in her chair. As it hit him that she was about to hear every gory detail of his twenty-four hours in hell, Joe panicked. He was giving serious thought to grabbing her and fleeing the courtroom when he heard Frank’s voice, quiet and confident.

"Remember, I’m right here," Frank said reaching out and patting Joe on the shoulder as he stood up.

Joe nodded gratefully, knowing for a fact he would need to take Frank up on his offer. Glancing at his parents, Joe saw the pain in their eyes despite the smiles of encouragement on their faces. Stepping past Callie, who squeezed his hand in support, Joe emerged into the aisle. Remembering his father’s words of advice, Joe completely ignored Rashman as he walked to the witness stand.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?" the bailiff asked.

"I do," Joe replied, relieved to hear his voice was calm and steady as he sat down.

Peter Handling stood and walked forward stopping directly in front of Joe.

"Good afternoon, Joe," the D.A. smiled.

"Good afternoon," Joe replied, not at all happy about the seemingly predatory gleam in the man’s eyes.

"Joe, do you recall where you were at approximately five p.m. on May 15^th of this year?"

"Yes," Joe said resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of the question. "I was at O’Hare airport waiting to board a flight home to Bayport."

"But you never boarded that flight, did you?" Handling couldn’t hide a tiny smile.

"No," Joe replied thinking Handling was enjoying this way too much. ‘I’m supposed to be the victim, for God’s sake!’ Joe thought with disgust.

"The gate agent on duty that evening has all ready testified that she spoke with you and issued you a boarding pass. She also testified that she observed you make a phone call and then walk towards the restroom. She then told the court she never saw you again. Can you tell us exactly what happened once you entered the restroom?" Handling asked theatrically, emphasizing the word exactly.

For the first time in his life, Joe wished he weren’t the center of attention. The weight of the stares was crushing and he found himself wishing the floor would open up and swallow him when he heard the voice that never failed to keep him grounded.

Joe sought out his older brother and locked onto his deep brown eyes, amazed at the feeling of security that one simple gesture provided.

"After I called Vanessa to confirm my arrival time with her, I went to the restroom." Joe began easily. "When I went in I was the only one in there. I went all the way to the stall on the end. Right after I locked the door, I heard someone enter the one next to me and an envelope came flying over the partition. The guy said, "Here’s the down payment along with your instructions. You’ll get the rest of the money when the job is complete." And then he left.

"I opened the envelope and saw the money and two sheets of paper. One was a picture of Senator Hurley and the other had all the instructions for his assassination. I knew my flight was boarding so I put everything back in the envelope and stuck it in my shirt. I figured I’d show it to my father and brother when I got home and we’d decide what to do together. But when I got to the entrance of the restroom I saw Keith Rashman and his partner standing across the hall."

Joe was mindful of the fact that he was not permitted to mention Dennis Malick by name. Matthew Barning had tried to get all mention of a second assailant barred knowing the jurors would wonder why, if Rashman truly were insane, this second assailant didn’t try to stop him. Handling was able to convince the judge that not allowing Joe to at least mention the existence of a second assailant would be akin to perjury. The judge had ruled that while Malick could never be mentioned by name, his presence could be alluded to but only when absolutely necessary.

"Did you know who Mr. Rashman was at the time?" Handling asked.

"No. But it was obvious he and his partner were looking for someone. His partner was watching people walking by and Mr. Rashman never took his eyes off the door of the restroom," Joe almost choked at having to refer to Rashman as "Mister." "I assumed one of them threw the envelope and afterwards realized the person who got it wasn’t their contact and now they wanted it back. No one else had come into the restroom, and there was no way I could leave without being seen."

"So essentially you were trapped. Cornered. No way out." Handling paraphrased, as he paced in front of the jury.

"Yeah, pretty much," Joe agreed. "They hadn’t seen me yet so I went back into the restroom. I hid the envelope under the trashcan in the handicapped stall, and then I called Frank. By then I had a pretty good idea I wouldn’t be leaving Chicago voluntarily and wanted to give him some idea of what was going on and where to start looking for me.

"When I started to walk out of the restroom, Rashman and his partner were coming in. They weren’t really paying attention to me and I guess I hoped for a second that they didn’t realize I had been the only one in there. But I ended up walking right into their trap."

Joe stopped as a movement to Frank’s right caught his eye. Vanessa sat with her head bowed, obviously trying to wipe her eyes without being seen, stopping Joe dead in his tracks.

‘I can’t do this with her here. I can’t upset her.’ Joe thought panicking. ‘She’s already crying and I haven’t even gotten started!’

"Joe?" Handling said, when Joe remained silent. Stepping closer to the witness stand, the D.A. stood directly in front of Joe, blocking his view of Vanessa…and Frank. "Joe? Do you need to stop for a moment?"

"No," Joe answered his voice starting to shake. "Could - could you move out of the way please?" he requested softly. Unable to see Frank or the rest of his family, Joe felt isolated and alone and rapidly started to panic.

"Of course," Handling quickly complied, noting the way Joe immediately relaxed once he was able to make eye contact with his brother.

"Mr. Rashman stepped aside to let me pass. As soon as he was behind me, his partner pulled a gun on me." Ignoring the muffled sob from Vanessa, Joe pressed on. "Mr. Rashman grabbed me around the throat and started choking me. He pulled me back a few steps, so we were out of sight of anyone in the corridor."

Another muffled sob ripped away a small piece of his heart.

"They asked me what I did with the envelope and I told them I didn’t know what they were talking about. His partner frisked me and when he didn’t find it, they asked me again where it was. I kept telling them I didn’t know what they were talking about. Mr. Rashman spun me around so I was facing him, and his partner pushed the gun into my back, forcing me back into the restroom. They asked me again where the envelope was."

Another movement from the front row and Joe saw his mother cover her mouth with one hand, while the other was tightly clutching Fenton’s arm.

"I kept trying to convince them they had the wrong guy but they didn’t believe me. We heard someone coming into the restroom and that’s when they decided to take me with them and ‘beat it’ out of me."

Although Laura was openly crying now, Vanessa still hadn’t looked up.

"I was looking for some way to escape and never saw his fist coming."

"Whose fist?" Handling asked, seeing Joe was losing his focus, distracted by his mother and fiancée.

"Rashman. He knocked me out with one shot." Unable to stop himself, Joe’s eyes darted to the defense table. Rashman was staring at him, smiling, knowing it would push Joe even closer to the edge. "That’s the last thing I remember at the airport. When I came to it was dark. My jacket, shirt, socks and shoes had been removed and I was chained to a fence."

Still another sob was heard in the quiet of the courtroom.

"What was your first thought when you realized what had happened?" Handling asked. He knew the judge was going to declare court closed for the day any minute and wanted the jury’s final impression to be a lasting one.

"I remember noticing how many stars I could see in the sky and how that was not a good thing." Joe shivered at the memory.

"Why?" Handling kept digging despite Joe’s obvious discomfort.

"Because it meant we were so far out in the middle of nowhere that…that no one would hear me scream." Joe finished his voice growing softer with each word.