Joe struggled to fight his way back to consciousness. Even in his groggy state, he sensed something was very wrong, with both himself and his surroundings. There was a constant dull throbbing in his head; his mouth and throat were so dry it almost hurt to swallow. Tentatively opening one eye, he hissed in pain at the assault of light and thought better of it.

Shifting slightly, Joe attempted to lift his arm, feeling a tiny hint of panic when he realized he was being held down by some type of restraints. Carefully opening his eyes once more, he cautiously looked around as it finally registered that he was in a hospital room. He continued his sweep of the room, letting his gaze come to rest on the police officer seated in a chair next to the door. The officer reached up, his eyes locked on Joe’s, as he pressed a button on the small microphone clipped to the shoulder of his uniform and uttered two words.

"He’s awake."

Dropping his hand back down to rest in his lap, he watched Joe impassively. Muffled voices from outside the door caught Joe’s attention. As one of the voices rose in pitch and tone, Joe recognized it as Franks.

"Frank." Joe croaked, wincing at the sound of his own voice. Despite his confusion, Joe knew the fact that he had been physically restrained and had a police guard did not bode well for him. Suddenly he trusted no one but his own brother.

After another minute or two of commotion, the door opened and another police officer walked in followed quickly by Frank, who raced to his brother’s side.

"Joe! How do you feel? Are you okay?" Frank asked, anxiously. Noting some faint scratches and bruising that had started to appear along Joe’s jaw and throat, Frank’s heart tightened in his chest. It was apparent Joe had fought with someone and either overpowered them or was subdued by them rather quickly.

"What happened?" Joe rasped, his apprehension lessening only slightly at the appearance of his older brother.

Glancing around the room, Frank quickly spotted a plastic pitcher and cup on a small rolling table. Filling the cup with cold water, he grabbed a straw and placed it in the cup. Reaching down for the remote control, he pressed a button, raising the head of the bed.

"Drink." He ordered Joe, holding the cup for his brother. When Joe drained the first cup, Frank poured another and waited until Joe pulled away, indicating he’d had enough.

"What’s going on? Why am I here? Like this?" Joe asked, pulling on the restraints, trepidation creeping into his voice.

Frank hesitated, turning back over his shoulder to look at the two officers. "Can we have some privacy please?" He requested, knowing Joe shouldn’t say anything without speaking with their lawyer first. With a grunt and an eye roll, the two officers left the room after informing Frank they’d be "right outside."

"What do you remember?" Frank asked, deftly answering with a question of his own.

"Nothing!" Joe’s voice rose as panic started to settle in. "If I remembered anything I wouldn’t need to ask you, would I?!"

"Easy, Joe." Frank said soothingly. "Take a deep breath and think. What’s the last thing you remember?"

"This isn’t good, is it?" Joe asked his voice shaking slightly. "The restraints. The police guard….what did I do?" He ended in a scared whisper.

"I don’t think you did anything." Frank reassured him. "But I need you to verify that. Think, Joe. If you don’t remember exactly what happened, what do you remember?"

Sinking back into the pillows, Joe closed his eyes, wishing the pounding in his head would cease. Or at least quiet down enough to allow him to think clearly.

"Pizza." Joe finally replied. "We ordered pizza." His eyes suddenly flew open, wide with fear. "Vanessa? Where’s Vanessa?!" He demanded.

Frank unconsciously took a step back, shocked that Joe remembered so little of what had happened. Frank felt himself pale slightly, realizing he’d have to tell Joe much more than he had originally anticipated.

"Where is she?!" Joe cried out, now in a full-blown panic at the look on his brothers face.

"Up…upstairs." Frank stammered, trying to buy some time. He had at least expected Joe to remember that Vanessa had been hurt. Truth be told he had been hoping for a detailed description of whoever had attacked them, still certain Joe had been framed.

Watching as Joe sagged back into the bed with relief, Frank was overcome with guilt. Even though he hadn’t lied, he hadn’t been totally honest with his brother either. Vanessa was upstairs…in the Intensive Care Unit. Upon arriving at the hospital, she had been rushed to surgery where doctors repaired the damage to her lung caused by the knife. They had also discovered a skull fracture and swelling of the brain. The prognosis they’d given Andrea Bender had been guarded. If she didn’t regain consciousness soon, Vanessa would more than likely slip into a coma.

"Can I see her?" Joe asked wearily, assuming Vanessa was fine and simply waiting for word on his condition. "Maybe she can help me remember what happened."

When Frank didn’t respond, Joe repeated his request. "Frank? Can you go get Van? I need to talk to her."

"I…I can’t do that." Frank mumbled. ‘God, how am I going to tell him?’

"Sure you can. You go out the door, get on the elevator, go upstairs and bring her back down. Even you can handle that." Joe joked half-heartedly, trying to alleviate some of the tension that had suddenly sprouted.

"I…Joe…" Frank stumbled over the words, praying for divine intervention to get him through this.

"What’s wrong?" Joe asked, the panic returning full force. "Vanessa’s okay, isn’t she?"

Frank’s silence told him Vanessa was far from okay.

"Frank….is she okay or not?" Joe demanded, once again pulling at the restraints holding him down. "ANSWER ME!!"

"No, she’s not okay. She was…someone attacked her. With a knife." Frank finally replied.

"Wha…what?! Who? Where? When?! Where was I?" Joe cried out, the questions coming fast and furious.

"We don’t know who." Frank responded, adamantly refusing to believe Joe had anything to do with it other than being a scapegoat. "It happened last night. In your apartment."

"No." Joe whispered in complete denial. "You’re wrong. I was there. I would have stopped anyone who tried to hurt her. I would remember…" Joe’s voice trailed off, his eyes shining brightly. "Frank, I don’t…I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember?"

"Joe, listen to me. I’ll tell you everything I know. But you have to stay calm. If you don’t they’ll come in and give you another sedative." Frank began.

"Another sedative?!" Joe yelled, completely ignoring his brother’s instructions to remain calm, pulling harder still on the leather straps, determined to free himself. "What the hell is going on?!"

Immediately the door burst open and the two police officers on guard duty rushed into the room, hands hovering over their guns. "Do you need help?" The first officer asked Frank. "I can get the doctor…"

"No!" Frank replied emphatically, placing a firm hand on Joe’s arm and squeezing hard. "He’s fine. We’re fine."

The two men looked at him doubtfully. When Joe remained silent and settled back against the pillows, they reluctantly left the room again.

"Start talking." Joe demanded, needing to know what happened, yet dreading what he might hear.

"Okay," Frank took a deep breath, "Just promise me you’ll stay calm."

Joe glared at him in silent response.

"Last night Con and Chief Collig responded to a domestic violence call…at your address."

Joe’s mouth gaped open in shock. "What? I…I never…"

"I know. Just listen. Your landlord made the call. Right after he called 911, he called Dad. We got there a few minutes after they did. Your door was locked; deadbolted. You didn’t respond when Con knocked so Mr. Doyle had to let them in. Dad and I were right behind them."

"But…I was there! We never left the apartment. At least… I don’t think we did." Joe faltered, his eyes growing more fearful as he realized he had no memory of the prior evening.

"You’re right, Joe. You were there." Frank confirmed, although his voice lacked that comforting tone Joe was so used to hearing. Skipping over the initial confusion, when Con tried to hold him back, Frank continued. "When we walked in, everything looked normal. Until we got to the kitchen. Vanessa was…" Frank stopped and stared out into space for a moment, then blinked rapidly to dislodge the image of Vanessa sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood.

"Vanessa was…what?" Joe whispered, his throat dry and his heart racing.

"She was lying on the kitchen floor, unconscious, bleeding from multiple stab wounds to the back." Frank replied, his voice only slightly louder than Joe’s had been.

Joe tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back a small whimper, his eyes filled with fear and confusion. "Where was I?" He asked in the same whisper.

"You…you were there. In the kitchen. Crouched on the floor." Frank closed his eyes and swallowed hard, unable to look his brother in the eye. "Holding a bloody knife."

Frank waited in vain for some kind of response from Joe. When the silence felt as though it were choking him, Frank finally opened his eyes. Joe was staring at him, his intense blue eyes even more piercing against Joe’s now deathly pale skin.

"Did…I…" Joe choked on the question, his eyes huge, absolutely terrified Frank would answer in the affirmative.

"No!" Frank replied forcefully. "No, you did not stab Vanessa!"

"But…how do you know? You weren’t there and I can’t remember." Joe’s eyes grew wider still and he began to tremble as something flickered in his subconscious. A knife clutched in his hands. Blood…everywhere. Was it a memory? A dream? A flashback? "Why can’t I remember?!" He cried out on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Easy, Joe." Frank said in a low, soothing voice rubbing Joe’s shoulder gently. "Take a deep breath. That’s it." He continued encouragingly as Joe tried to comply. "You probably can’t remember because of the drugs."

"Drugs?" Joe repeated, confused. "You mean the sedative?"

"No." Frank replied, taking a deep breath himself. "After we got there, Con tried to help Vanessa. As soon as he reached for her you got…violent."

Joe stared at his brother, speechless, feeling like he were in some surreal dream.

"You went after Con with the knife. Dad and I had to restrain you. It took both of us to get the knife away from you and hold you down so Collig could…handcuff you." Frank said, almost apologetically, leaving out the part about Collig and his officers being prepared to shoot Joe in order to protect Con.

"Handcuffs?" Joe repeated in disbelief. "I…I don’t remember any of it."

"When the EMT’s got there, they gave you a sedative. After they transported you, one of Colligs men found your gym bag. Joe, it had drugs in it."

"What?! Frank, I don’t…I never…NEVER did drugs!" Joe exclaimed, drawing in a sharp breath, as his thoughts suddenly tumbled back in time. "That one time. It wasn’t my fault. You know that, right? I didn’t want to! They forced me!" Joe cried out, unconsciously pulling on the restraints once more.

"I know! I know!" Frank put his hands on Joe’s shoulders, hoping to calm him. "I believe you, Joe. I believe you." He waited until Joe quieted down somewhat before continuing. "But, I think the same thing happened again. Joe, you were high on… something… last night." He finished softly. "I know you didn’t take it voluntarily. That’s why I need you to think…remember as much as you can. I don’t think you and Vanessa were alone in the apartment last night. I think someone set you up."

"Vanessa!" Joe exhaled her name in a rush. "Frank, she’s going to be okay, right?" Joe searched his brother’s face for confirmation, dying a little when he saw only doubt. "Right?" He repeated in a pleading voice. "Please tell me she’ll be okay…"

Frank wanted more than anything in the world to tell Joe exactly what he wanted to hear, but he had never lied to his brother and he wasn’t about to start now. "When she fell, she hit her head." Frank almost stopped at the soft cry from Joe. "She has a skull fracture and swelling of the brain. They said…" At the look of devastation on Joe’s face, Frank found he couldn’t be entirely truthful. "They said they hope she’ll regain consciousness soon."

Joe was silent for what seemed an eternity, trying to make sense of everything Frank had told him. Through the hazy mist in his brain, he came to a horrifying realization.

"Frank… you said I was high on something." Joe looked at his brother, trying to keep his voice steady. Frank nodded silently. "I…I can’t remember what happened."

Out of nowhere, disjointed images flashed through Joe’s mind. Vanessa lying on the floor…blood…a knife…in his hands. Now shaking at the thought of what those images could mean, Joe looked at his brother.