"Sorry, bro," Frank said apologetically. "She said no."

Joe abruptly turned away, not wanting Frank to see the disappointment in his eyes. "Thanks for trying," he mumbled.

Having finally gotten Vanessa to see the light, Joe had hoped he might be able to convince Laura to skip the day’s proceedings as well. Frank had found him nervously pacing in front of his parents door and guessed what Joe had in mind. When Frank confirmed it and suggested he be the one to talk to their mother, Joe jumped at the offer and retreated to the sunroom to await Laura’s answer.

Watching Joe stare at the floor, dejected, Frank cursed his mother’s stubborn streak – the very same one Joe had inherited. Just as Frank was about to turn around and make a second attempt, he heard Fenton’s subdued voice.

"Boys? It’s time to go."

Joe turned and left the room, his eyes glued to the floor, never uttering a word.

*****

Laura Hardy sat clutching her husband’s hand so tightly her fingers were numb. Joe had just finished describing how Rashman’s partner had hit him in the face, knowing full well Joe could have a broken jaw and punched him in the stomach when Joe feigned ignorance. He was beginning to relate the first of the savage acts of abuse Keith Rashman had subjected him to, when Laura got the first inkling that maybe she should have listened to Frank’s impassioned plea that morning.

"What did Mr. Rashman do then?" Peter Handling’s voice filtered through to Laura.

She gazed at Joe as he took a deep breath, so obviously struggling with the memory.

‘My baby,’ she thought sadly, wishing she could wave a magic wand and make all the pain disappear.

"He pulled a piece of wood – burning wood – out of the campfire," Joe replied.

"By burning wood you mean it was flaming?" Handling asked for clarification.

"Yes," Joe said, the slightest tremor in his voice. "He held the flame right against my arm."

"Like this?" Handling asked as he theatrically waved a Polaroid picture in front of Joe.

"Yes," Joe flinched back for a second and then continued, his voice much softer now. "I tried to pull away, but I couldn’t move." Joe stopped and stared at the picture a moment longer, before turning away. Instinctively, Joe looked towards Frank as he always did when he needed support.

As Joe spoke, his words ignited the fiery thirst for revenge that had been raging inside Frank for months now. Despite what he was feeling inside, Frank forced himself to stay calm, determined not to let Joe see how angry he was. Right now, Joe needed the brother he always depended on, the brother who was calm, cool, collected and in control no matter what the crisis. Not the brother who was consumed with thoughts of murder and revenge.

"And how many times did he bring the flame in contact with your arm?" Handling asked as he slowly paraded in front of the jury, holding the very disturbing picture at arms length, making sure everyone got a good look at it.

"Four or five times," Joe replied, now fixated on his brother, who nodded at him supportively.

"Four or five times?" Handling repeated sounding shocked. "How long was that, time-wise? How many minutes were you exposed to the pain of an open flame being held against your skin?"

"A-a few minutes. Two or three. I’m not positive," Joe replied his eyes haunted at the recollection.

As Joe spoke, Handling produced more pictures of Keith Rashman holding the burning log against Joe’s skin. A muffled cry was heard as the courtroom turned deathly quiet. Suddenly the abuse Joe suffered was no longer in the jury’s imagination, but staring them in the face.

"Did Mr. Rashman burn you anywhere else?"

"No." Joe shook his head.

"Were you aware that he had taken these pictures?" Handling now held them at arm’s length towards the seating area, allowing for a quick glimpse of the inhumane act of violence to anyone who chose to look.

A horrified gasp echoed through the room followed by muted sobs. Without even looking everyone present knew it was Laura Hardy.

Joe tried to block out his mother’s anguished cry. He leaned forward taking a quick look at the pictures and pointed to the one where he was leaning his head back against the post.

"No, not until he took this one. My arm hurt. It was throbbing. I…I was trying to focus on the stars…to block out the pain." Joe faltered for the first time as the memory hit him full force. Immediately he pulled his arm towards his chest, holding it tightly.

"Then I saw the flash. He told me I was going to become part of his resume. He said he always took pictures. He liked to send a photo to the family…as a memento." Joe closed his eyes remembering the all-encompassing terror that Laura or Vanessa would be subjected to that picture without warning. And now it was happening right in front of him.

"What happened after that?"

"They sat down in front of the fire and had dinner," Joe said, as a few murmurs of disbelief were heard.

"They sat down and had dinner?!" the D.A. repeated, incredulous as he faced the jury.

"Yes."

"I don’t suppose they offered you any," he queried.

"No. Not that it mattered. My arm hurt so badly it was all I could think about – trying to block out the pain," Joe replied quietly.

Unable to take anymore, Laura stood up, tears streaming down her face and fled the courtroom. Fenton rose, hastily whispered something to Frank and quickly followed his wife amid loud whispers of sympathy from the other spectators.

"This court will recess for 15 minutes," the judge announced abruptly. Standing he quickly retreated to his chambers.

Startled Joe looked first at Handling and then back at Frank. Seeing his brother motioning to him, Joe practically flew off the witness stand to Frank’s side.

Putting one arm around Joe’s shoulders, Frank shielded him from the curious stares and gawkers. Knowing Joe was about to self-destruct, Frank quickly ushered him to the secluded room where they had eaten lunch every day. As soon as the door closed behind them, Joe whirled to face his brother, clearly upset.

"I can’t do this, Frank, I can’t!" Joe was obviously panicking, distressed at both Handling’s enjoyment of his painful ordeal and Laura’s hasty retreat from the courtroom.

"You can, Joe." Frank caught his brother’s arm as Joe tried to turn away. "You can do this, I know you can."

"No…" Joe replied, anguished.

"Yes," Frank said forcefully, knowing the case against Rashman would probably fall apart completely if Joe didn’t testify. He could be back on the streets and gunning for Joe before they even made it back to Bayport. "Listen to me. When you get back up on that stand you look at me – ME – and no one else. Right here," Frank pointed to his own deep brown eyes for emphasis. "Don’t look at anyone else. Don’t even blink. You pretend we’re sitting on top of that jungle gym in the park just talking – like we did all summer."

Joe shook his head vigorously. "It won’t work. I know it won’t."

"It will if you believe it will," Frank replied with conviction.

Joe stared at his brother. "You…you really think so?" he asked afraid to get his hopes up, yet convinced he couldn’t get through it any other way.

"Absolutely. It’ll just be you and me, alone, talking. Don’t look at Handling or Dad or Mom…especially not Rashman… just me." Frank saw hope warring with doubt in his brother’s eyes and took a deep breath. "You trust me, don’t you?"

"Absolutely," Joe replied without hesitation.

"Then do what I’m asking and everything will be fine," Frank assured him, hoping he was right. Reaching out he squeezed Joe’s shoulder tightly. "I promise."

Returning to the courtroom, Joe saw it was empty save for his parents. He stopped for a moment, unsure of what to do or say. Seeing his confusion, Laura stood and walked purposefully toward him stopping when she was directly in front of him. Wordlessly, she held her arms out and Joe reacted immediately.

Rushing forward Joe stepped into the sanctuary of his mother’s warm embrace. Several moments passed as Joe lost himself in the feeling of security his mother’s touch always provided. Hearing the doors to the courtroom open, Joe released her, reluctantly giving up the refuge he craved.

As he stepped back, Laura reached up and rested a hand on his cheek. "I had a little talk with your father," she smiled a little sadly. "I’m fully prepared for everything now so I don’t want you to worry about me."

Joe swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded silently, grateful he didn’t hear the discussion his mother was referring to. Feeling a strong hand on his shoulder, Joe turned and saw his father looking back at him.

"And I had a little talk with Handling. I told him I didn’t want your testimony to drag on and on. We mutually agreed that his questioning would begin and end today."

"How’d you get him to agree to that?" Joe asked slightly amused. He knew Handling would prefer to drag out his testimony for days on end, exploiting every single episode of torture.

"I told him if he wasn’t capable of wrapping it up in one day I’d insist he be replaced with a Federal prosecutor who could," Fenton couldn’t hide a little smile of victory. "When he threatened me with his ‘friends in high places’ within the government, I called his bluff. It seems my friends are a whole lot higher up than his."

Joe heard his brother laugh out loud and couldn’t help but join in as he took a seat between Frank and Laura. Moments later, after the judge and jury returned Joe found himself back on the witness stand. Recalling Frank’s promise of a few moments earlier, Joe sought out his brother. As Peter Handling resumed his questioning, Joe blocked out everyone else in the courtroom, focusing completely on Frank.