As the light changed to green, Joe turned right watching Ryan follow him. Bypassing the next street, Joe continued down the block to Fitzwater Street and made another right turn, immediately slowing due to the massive traffic jam in front of him. Checking the dashboard clock, he realized downtown would be packed with pedestrian and automotive traffic alike as Bayport’s workforce began to break for lunch.

Frowning, Joe knew Ryan would never make a move on him with so many witnesses. As he sat in traffic drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Joe smile grimly as an idea formed. Slowly inching forward, Joe turned left at the next street and repeated the move again, now heading out of town.

Ten minutes later, the buildings and congestion of the city gave way to neat suburban homes with manicured lawns and children playing in driveways and on sidewalks. Continuing on it wasn’t long before the homes gave way to farmland. With the extraneous outside noise now gone, Joe could clearly hear the familiar chirp of his cell phone resonating from the trunk.

Groaning, Joe realized he’d forgotten to take it out of his gym bag. He briefly considered pulling over to retrieve the phone, but decided against it. He hadn’t seen Frank since he’d pulled out of the parking lot at the gym, but then again, Frank was an expert at tailing suspects. Joe hadn’t expected to see his brother’s car at all. However, they were now out in the country where the roads were much less traveled and a lot more isolated. With no way to warn Frank of his intention to pull over and reclaim his phone, it was almost a certainty that Frank would catch up to them, alerting Ryan that something wasn’t quite right. Assuming Frank was calling just to check in, Joe continued on.

Less than a mile later, the green Ford suddenly sped up dramatically, pulling into the left lane. Joe eased off the accelerator as if he were letting the other car pass. When Ryan had pulled just a few inches ahead of Joe, he yanked the wheel hard to the right, forcing Joe off the road and into a ditch.

Cringing at the thought of what the deep ruts and grooves were doing to the undercarriage of his new car, Joe nonetheless followed through until his car came to a stop. Almost immediately, his door was pulled open and he found himself staring into the barrel of a gun.

"Get out." Ryan ordered stepping back just enough to allow Joe to squeeze out of the car.

Joe slowly exited the car, his hands in the air, his eyes trained on the barrel of the gun.

Reaching out Ryan grabbed Joe’s arm, twisting it behind his back and pressing the gun into the back of his head.

"Walk." Ryan commanded, steering Joe towards the rear of the Taurus. "Stop." He instructed once they were standing next to the trunk. "Now, you’re going to pick up that rope on the ground and tie it around your ankles. And don’t try anything funny. You’re going to end up dead. It doesn’t matter to me whether it happens here or somewhere else."

Nodding once, Joe leaned over and picked up the rope, tying it around his ankles. As he was straightening up, he heard a familiar ‘pop’ and the trunk lid opened. Feeling the gun pressed into his back, Joe saw a hand reach into the trunk and pull out another coil of rope.

"Hands behind your back." Ryan demanded, waiting until Joe did as he was told before pocketing the gun. Pushing Joe up against the bumper, Ryan tied his hands with the rope. Before Joe could react to what was happening, Ryan gave him a hard shove and Joe tumbled into the trunk, wincing as he landed hard on his left shoulder.

Joe was quickly enveloped in darkness as Ryan slammed the lid shut. He felt the car lurch as Ryan got in and tried to brace himself feeling the car rolling over the gravel shoulder and back on to the road. Bemoaning the bruises he knew would form, Joe took comfort in knowing his brother wasn’t far behind them ensuring this whole nightmare would soon be coming to an end.

Joe estimated it wasn’t more than five minutes later when the car made a left turn and the road immediately turned bumpy. Rutted grooves and deep holes cause Joe to be tossed about the trunk before they finally came to a stop. Once again, the car rocked as Ryan got out. Hearing no footsteps, Joe realized they must have been muffled by grass and vegetation. As the trunk opened, Joe squeezed his eyes shut at the blazing sunlight.

Taking advantage of Joe’s momentary blindness, Ryan roughly hauled him out of the trunk, cutting the ropes around his ankles and pushing him forward. Finally, opening his eyes a crack, Joe saw they were approaching a dilapidated, run down barn with broken windows and a partially caved in roof.

Yanking the door open, Ryan propelled Joe forward, pulling him to a stop in front of a very unsteady looking wooden chair. Spinning Joe around, Ryan shoved him into the chair, tying his ankles to the legs of the chair. Cutting the ropes that bound his wrists, Ryan then tied each of Joe’s arms to the wooden poles flanking the back of the chair.

Not wanting Ryan to confess until Frank, Fenton and the police were in position to hear it, Joe remained silent, simply watching as Ryan moved about the room. Walking over to another chair, Ryan placed the small bag he’d carried in with him on the seat and unzipped it. Joe got a chill as he recognized the items pulled out – a rubber tube, cigarette lighter, spoon, syringe, and small plastic bag filled with a white powder.

Suddenly Joe’s vision became hazy and his breathing became labored. Taking in short gulps of air Joe saw vivid images swimming before him… a blonde stranger forcing himself into the apartment…Vanessa running into the living room…a piercing scream as Joe turned to her…a fist making contact with his jaw…a needle penetrating his arm… paranoia like nothing he’d ever felt before… The images became faster, frantic and more violent…more screaming… breaking glass…still more screams…Vanessa!…knives…a sea of blood…

With a muffled whimper, Joe slowly became aware of a presence, someone standing directly in front of him. Forcing himself to focus, Joe looked up to see Ryan smiling down on him with contempt.

"Flashback?" Ryan asked knowingly. "I’m not surprised. Your first trip was a pretty bad one. You were so paranoid even I thought someone was after you."

Joe tried to speak, and failed, unable to take his eyes off the items Ryan had neatly laid out on the other chair. Swallowing hard, he tried again. "What’s that for?" He jerked his chin forward in the direction of the chair.

"You." Ryan replied.

"Thanks, but I don’t do drugs." Joe said sarcastically.

"You do now. In fact, tonight you’re going to OD. Your poor parents will find your body in their garage. They’ll also find your suicide note, confessing to your drug problem and the murder of your girlfriend." Ryan threw him an evil grin.

"There’s one little problem with your plan." Joe informed him. "I won’t write it."

"You don’t have to," Ryan laughed, "I took the liberty of doing it for you."

"But Vanessa isn’t dead."