Fenton Hardy glanced at the clock on his desk. It was exactly three minutes later than the last time he had looked. By the time he had gotten Joe admitted to the Campbell Center and returned home, the sun had started to rise. Although he was exhausted, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. To keep busy, he had retreated to his office and begun listing all the things he would need to do that day.

As long as he kept his mind occupied, he could keep the events of the past few hours at bay. If he allowed his mind to wander, even for a moment he was back in the bathroom with Joe, listening to his heart wrenching cries, seeing him staring blankly out into space, repeating those same three words over and over. When that happened, Fenton thought he could actually feel his heart breaking. And the hardest thing he had to do was still ahead of him.

Frank had called late the night before, as soon as he arrived in Los Angeles, consumed with worry for his younger brother. At that time, Joe had seemed fine. Well, as fine as he could be considering everything that had occurred that day. Fenton had spoken with Joe earlier in the evening and Joe had assured his father he was all right, just a little tired. Joe had told Fenton that he and Vanessa had gotten take out for dinner and were going to watch a few videos and turn in early. Even though he knew Joe wasn’t being totally honest with him, Fenton had actually gone to bed feeling much better about his youngest son; until he had gotten the frantic call from Vanessa in the middle of the night.

When Frank called the previous evening, Fenton had repeated his conversation with Joe word for word, knowing Frank wouldn't settle for anything less. Although Frank was dubious at Joe's comment that he was "just fine", Frank knew he had no choice but to accept his brother’s explanation. Fenton had no idea how he was going to tell Frank that their worst fear had indeed come true. He had no doubt that Frank would want to be on the next flight home. Under any other circumstances, he would want Frank to come home. However, he knew that if - when - Joe recovered, his trial would resume immediately. If they hadn't found any evidence to clear him of the charges by then, he might very well end up in prison. Fenton knew without a doubt, should that happen, Joe would die there. No, he had to convince Frank to stay in Los Angeles at least until he could speak with Angela Taylor. That, he decided, was going to be the most challenging thing he had ever done in his life.

Several hours later, after making all the phone calls necessary to have the trial postponed, Fenton picked up the phone one more time, to make the call he had been dreading. He had put it off as long as possible and knew if he didn't call Frank soon, then Frank would be trying to get in touch with Joe to offer moral support for whatever the day's court proceedings held in store for him. Glancing at the post it note stuck to the calendar on his desk, he dialed the number of the hotel where Frank was staying.

"Hello?" Frank answered immediately.

"Still on East coast time, I see?" Fenton joked. It wasn't much past five in the morning on the West coast.

"Yeah. I couldn't really sleep. I know you'll think I'm crazy, Dad, but is Joe ok? I've had a really bad feeling about him ever since I woke up."

Fenton remained silent. He had hoped to ease into it, but Frank had other ideas.

"Dad? Is Joe ok? He's all right, isn't he?" Frank asked again, panic rising in his voice.

"No, Frank, he's not." Fenton said, quietly. "He remembered. He remembered everything."

Frank sat down heavily on the bed. He had wanted to be there if and when Joe remembered. He wanted to support and comfort his little brother. He understood he was only a little boy himself when it had happened, but ever since the night his parents told him, he couldn't shake the feeling he had somehow deserted his little brother when Joe needed him most. He was bound and determined not to desert him again. He had desperately wanted to be there for Joe when he finally remembered that horrible weekend.

"How is he?" Frank finally managed to ask.

"Not good, Frank. We had to admit him to the Campbell Psychiatric Center."

Frank inhaled sharply. "What?! Dad, he can't…he can't be that bad." Frank did not want to believe what he was hearing.

"He's totally unresponsive, Frank. He doesn't know where he is. He doesn't recognize anyone. He's trapped, Frank. Right now no one can reach him." Fenton said, his voice breaking. He took a deep breath and slowly explained everything, beginning with Vanessa's phone call and ending when he walked out of the Campbell Center after signing Joe in earlier that morning, still not really comprehending what had happened.

Frank remained silent for so long that Fenton thought they had been disconnected.

"Frank? Are you still there?"

"I'm coming home. Today."

Fenton steeled himself, knowing this would be an uphill battle. "No, Frank. Stay there."

"Absolutely not!" Frank said, hotly. "Joe needs me!"

"Yes, he does! He needs you to find something that will clear him of these murder charges!"

Frank was stunned. He couldn't believe his father didn't want him to come home!

"Frank, listen to me." Fenton said, gently. "If Joe were cognizant of what was going on around him, I would want you home immediately. But he's not. If you came home today, he wouldn't even know who you are." He hated to say it, knowing how hurt Frank would be, but he had no choice. "I'm choosing to believe that Joe will get better. And when he does, his trial will resume and we will need that evidence. Frank, please. You'll do him more good where you are. As soon as you talk to Angela Taylor and get anything that will help, you can get the next flight home."

"Please, Dad." Frank begged. "Please let me come home now."

Fenton heard the heart break in Frank's voice. Joe had become so dependent on Frank the past few weeks, it seemed he couldn't get through the day without talking to his older brother every few hours. Frank had responded to Joe's desperate need for him and was more overprotective of Joe than he had ever been in his life. Fenton felt like he was tearing them apart but he knew he was right. Once Joe recovered, as Fenton prayed he would, and the trial resumed, they would not have the luxury of time to begin looking for evidence once again.

"Go see Mrs. Taylor today, Frank. Please. If you honestly feel she can’t be of any help, come home tonight. Otherwise, you need to stay there and get whatever information you can."

"Fine." Frank said, stonily. Without another word, he hung up the phone.

Frank was angry. Bitterly angry. At his parents, for letting Joe stay with his aunt and uncle that weekend so long ago. At his aunt and uncle, for taking their eyes off Joe even for a second and allowing him to be kidnapped. At himself, for agreeing to go off with his friend for the weekend and leave Joe behind. At the world, simply for allowing people like Tilghman and Taylor to exist.

Frank knew Joe would be upset - devastated - when he finally remembered everything, but he never, ever thought it would be this bad. These kinds of things weren't supposed to happen to good, decent people. They weren't supposed to happen to his family. The thought of his little brother in a mental facility, caught in some world of limbo, was incomprehensible to him. He understood what his father had said, but he still couldn't believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.

"Damn you." He whispered, not sure whom he was cursing. The rage and anger quickly grew inside him.

"Damn you, Joshua Tilghman!" Frank yelled. Picking up a pillow off the bed, he flung it across the room nearly knocking over a lamp. Tears ran down his face as he let out an anguished wail.

"Damn you, Chris Taylor!" He picked up the trashcan and threw it at the mirror over the bureau, shards of glass flying everywhere.

Frank turned, banging his fists on the small desk over and over again and finally sank to his knees, sobbing.

"Why?" Picking up the files he had left open on the desk, he flung them across the room. "Why Joe?!" He screamed.

A sudden flash of memory from the night Vanessa had been raped appeared in front of his eyes. He saw magazines and newspapers flying through the air, as a result of Joe's uncontrollable rage. At the time he couldn't understand it, how someone could completely lose control of themselves like that. Frank had never experienced emotions so intense as to cause that kind of reaction. Now, however, he totally understood Joe's actions, and anguish, that night.

Helpless. He was completely and totally helpless. Everything he knew how to do, everything he excelled in could do nothing to bring his brother back to him. It didn't matter how intelligent he was, how well he could pilot a plane, how easily he could manipulate a computer or the Internet to get exactly what he wanted. None of that would help Joe right now. Frank had always been able to get Joe out of every tight situation he had found himself in. Always. Until now. Never before in his life had he felt as powerless, and useless, as he did right now. With nothing else to do, Frank sat and cried.

Frank didn't know how long he had cried, mourning his little brother. When he finally stopped, the only thing he felt was…empty. Standing up he walked to the window, staring out as the city of Los Angeles woke up. Frank couldn’t help but think about his brother. Joe loved this city. Frank could almost hear Joe’s voice, as if he were standing right next to him.

"Gorgeous weather, gorgeous beaches, gorgeous women. What’s not to love?"

Leaning his forehead against the glass, he stared at his own reflection and tried to contemplate life without his brother and found it was much more than he could deal with right now.

"Please, Joe. Don’t leave me. Not like this." Frank whispered.

He stood watching the people hurrying along on the street below a moment longer, then turned and reached for the phone. He didn't even bother explaining to the desk clerk how the mirror in his room had been shattered. Just asked for it to be replaced and the cost added to his bill. Now on automatic pilot, Frank took a shower and prepared himself for the day ahead, feeling absolutely nothing.

Frank looked at the address written on the slip of paper on the seat next to him.

"17326 Sepulveda Boulevard." He said to himself.

Checking the numbers on the houses he passed, he began looking for a place to park. Finding a spot in the next block, he pulled in and got out of the rental car, backtracking to the Taylor house. Standing on the tiny porch, he hesitated a moment. The LAPD had informed Angela Taylor of her son’s death – and the circumstances surrounding it – earlier in the week, yet she still agreed to meet with Frank. He took a deep breath and knocked. The door was quickly answered by a woman in her late forties with dark blonde hair and hazel eyes, tinged with sadness.

"Frank Hardy?" she asked.

"Yes. Mrs. Taylor?"

"Please call me Angela." She said opening the door so Frank could come in. Leading him into a small, comfortably furnished living room, she gestured towards the couch. "Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thank you." Frank replied, amazed at the graciousness of this woman. "I appreciate your willingness to see me."

"It’s the least I can do. I am so sorry about everything your brother and his fiancée have had to go through." She said, sincerely. "I know it won’t change anything, but please tell them how deeply I regret what Chris put them through."

"Thank you, Mrs. Taylor."

"Please – Angela." She corrected him.

"Angela." Frank smiled. "Please accept my condolences…"

Immediately Angela held up a hand to stop him.

"That wasn’t my son who died that night. Not inside – where it counts." She said, placing a hand on her chest for emphasis. "That was Joshua Tilghman’s son."

Frank was silent for a moment as Angela gazed at a framed photograph on the end table. Frank couldn’t help but cringe inwardly at the photo of Chris Taylor.

"Your brother didn’t kill him." She said continuing to look at the picture. "My Chris died a long time ago." She seemed lost in memories for a few moments before turning back to Frank. "You'd like me to tell you about my son?" She asked and Frank nodded in response.

As Frank listened, Angela told him about her brilliant yet troubled son who eventually gave himself up to the demons passed down to him by his father. Having been ostracized by friends and neighbors, they had left Bayport shortly after Fenton Hardy rescued Joe and destroyed Tilghman’s organization. As they moved from place to place, Chris tried to make friends in school and wanted desperately to fit in, but his genius level I.Q. made him an outcast. Angela was becoming concerned about Chris, as he seemed to become obsessed with Joe and blamed Joe for his father being suddenly torn from his life. Chris had been very close to his father and she hoped that he might build a relationship with her second husband when she remarried.

Those hopes were dashed the day George Taylor found a box hidden in Chris’ closet. He and Angela were horrified to see scrapbooks and photo albums filled with pictures and articles on Joe. When she found the journal Chris kept with daily "letters" to his father, describing his plans to exact revenge on Joe, she took him for psychiatric counseling.

By that time, it was too late. Chris was almost 18 years old and would soon be a legal adult. A week before his 18^th birthday he left home without so much as a note and Angela had never heard from him again.

"Do you know where that journal is?" Frank asked, hopefully. If he could produce the journal where Taylor laid out the specifics of how he intended to get even with Joe, that could be all the proof needed for a jury to find Joe innocent of murder.

"I’m sorry." Angela said sadly. "He took it with him."

Frank’s face fell. "I searched his apartment in Clayton Beach and there was absolutely nothing there either. Do you have any idea where he might keep something like that?"

"No, I don’t. After George and I found the box in his closet all his personal possessions, the things that were important to him, suddenly disappeared from the house. I never did find out where he took them."

Looking at the clock on the wall, she inhaled sharply. "I had no idea we’d been talking so long."

Frank followed her gaze and found it was close to six o’clock in the evening.

"I kept a box with the things Chris left behind, just in case he came home someday." Frank could hear the heartbreak in her voice. "My husband and I are going to a retirement party tonight for one of his colleagues, but if you like you can come back tomorrow and look through the box."

"Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?" Frank asked.

"Of course not. It’s the least I can do after what your brother and his fiancée have suffered through."

"Thank you, Angela."

"Why don’t you come by around ten tomorrow morning. That should give you plenty of time to search through his things."

"I will. Thank you again." Frank said walking to the door.

Angela watched as he left the house and retreated down the street, truly hoping he would be able to find something that would help Joe when he returned in the morning.

Frank returned to his hotel dejected and depressed. He got in a little after seven and immediately called his father. He'd been praying Joe would start to recognize the people and things around him and hoped his father would have good news for him. Unfortunately, the news wasn't what he wanted to hear. Joe's condition had not changed at all. Frank had fought to hold back the tears he wanted to cry for his brother but once he hung up the phone, they came pouring out. He cried until he was sure he had no more tears left. And then he decided - this one day of crying was all he would allow. Now that he knew for sure Chris Taylor had kept a journal, he wanted to focus all his energy on finding it. Closing his eyes to go to sleep, he thought of Joe.

'I'll find it, little brother. I promise you I'll find it.' Frank thought, as he drifted off into a restless sleep.