"We know we’re on the right track." Fenton said as if he could read Frank’s mind. "That woman in the store recognized Rashman immediately. And the manager of the fast food place remembered Malick coming in."

As they came across the small towns that dotted the route they were searching, they would stop and show the photographs hoping someone would remember seeing Rashman and Malick, or better yet that in the normal flow of conversation they would inadvertently leave some kind of clue as to where they were taking Joe. Although they would still present Joe’s picture, they were fairly sure no one would have seen him.

"I know, Dad. It’s just that the longer it takes us to find him…" Frank stopped. He’d had visions of his brother being beaten and abused all day and didn’t want to put those terrifying thoughts into words, as if that could prevent the unthinkable from happening.

"He takes pictures." Frank said quietly.

"What?" Fenton asked, his fingers involuntarily tightening on the steering wheel.

"Carlos told me that Rashman takes pictures as he’s torturing his victims. He always sends one to the family."

Frank heard his father mutter something under his breath but couldn’t quite make out what he said. A moment later he spoke again, loud enough for Frank to hear.

"His brother used to take pictures too. But he was never quite sadistic enough to send them to the family."

"You don’t think he’s sent one to Mom? Or Vanessa?" The thought clutched at Frank’s heart. They had been purposely vague about what had happened to Joe when they called home. Frank couldn’t bear the thought of Laura or Vanessa opening an envelope and being confronted with a picture of Joe suffering at the hands of Rashman.

"No, not yet. I don’t think he’s had time." Fenton replied easing Frank’s mind somewhat. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he continued. "I think we should stop in the next town and get something to eat."

"What?" Frank cried out. "No, Dad, I don’t want to waste time eating when Joe is still out there going through God knows what!" He snapped.

"I understand that Frank and I don’t really want to do it either." Fenton sighed. He knew it was going to be a battle convincing Frank they needed to rest even if only for an hour. "Other than the few catnaps we’ve caught while the other was driving, we haven’t slept in almost two days. We haven’t eaten anything since early this morning and that wasn’t much. We’re no good to Joe if we get so tired and hungry that we can’t put one foot in front of the other."

Frank did not respond but he knew his father was right.

Leaning back against the seat he closed his eyes and drifted off into a light, restless sleep.

*****

Rashman had taken great pleasure working the salt into the burns on Joe’s arm as deeply as possible. Even though he had stopped a while ago, leaving Joe in misery, the intense burning had not let up at all. No longer able to put any weight at all on his right foot, it had taken all the strength Joe had left to keep himself upright. If he lapsed for just a second the result of his weight pulling on the chains increased the pain in every part of his body to almost unbearable levels. Reeling from the pain, Joe didn’t know how much longer he could last at the hands of Rashman.

The throbbing in his left arm had increased intensely as the blisters and burns had begun to swell as a result of the salt that had been embedded in his arm. The sites where he had been stung by the scorpions continued to emit a raw, searing pain. Over the past few hours it had increased dramatically and now seemed to be slowly making it’s way towards his body. It seemed to Joe that one minute he was sweating profusely and the next he was chilled to the bone. As disoriented as he was, Joe knew he wouldn’t be able to survive much longer.

With what felt like his last breath, Joe whispered three words…"Help me, Frank."

Sitting on the ground several yards away, Rashman and Malick were at their wits end as to how to make Joe talk.

"There isn’t much more I can do to him without killing him." Rashman said frustrated. "Not that I wouldn’t enjoy that immensely. I’d love to send Fenton Hardy a picture of his baby boy’s last minutes on earth."

"Well, we need to come up with something. We need to get that envelope back whether the hit is carried out or not." Malick replied.

Reaching forward, Rashman pulled one of the now cold logs out of the long dead fire. "Maybe a few swings of this will get him to open up. I know he can’t take much more."

"Let’s give it a try." Malick shrugged his shoulders. Standing, he picked up the camera and followed his partner, stopping just in front of Joe.

"I gotta hand it to you, Hardy. You’ve taken more than anyone I’ve ever dealt with. You should be dead by now. Do us both a favor and tell us what you did with the envelope." Rashman said.

"No." It took every ounce of strength Joe had left, which wasn’t much, just to utter that single word. He had vowed to hang on as long as he possibly could, for Vanessa.

"Have it your way." Rashman shrugged.

Joe tensed as he saw Rashman hold the log as if it were a baseball bat. He prepared for a vicious swing unsure if he could survive one more blow. It felt as if every inch of his body had been beaten, cut, kicked or burned. He prayed this strike would be aimed at his head. With any luck he would pass out completely and escape this unbearable pain for a while.

Rashman drew the log back and was just about to let loose, when Malick grabbed his arm.

"Wait!" he cried out. "I have a better idea."

Joe looked at him and felt cold, hard fear at the glint in his eye, wondering what could possibly be worse than what they had already done to him.

‘God, Frank, what’s taking so long??’ Joe thought, knowing whatever Malick had in mind for him now, would make death seem like pure bliss.

Joe watched warily as Malick rummaged through the trunk of the car and came up with a First Aid kit. Opening the box, he pulled out a plastic bottle. Holding the bottle behind his back, he came to stand directly in front of Joe.

"This is your last chance – for now. Tell us what you did with the envelope and we’ll leave. Someone will find you…eventually. Otherwise, we’ll come back later. After you’ve regained consciousness. And start all over again…" He said ominously. With an evil smile he held the bottle in front of Joe’s face.

Reading the label, Joe’s eyes grew wide and he inhaled sharply, instinctively trying to pull away.

"No!" he gasped.

Malick reached out and grabbed a handful of Joe’s hair. Pulling him up, Malick held Joe’s face just inches from his own.

"Where is it?" he demanded.

Joe looked from the bottle to Malick and back again. He knew he was weakening, his resolve almost gone, and was tempted to tell them what they wanted to know.

‘Just tell them.’ Joe thought, suddenly feeling defeated. ‘Something must have gone wrong. Frank isn’t coming this time.’ He knew Frank and his father had to have found the envelope in the trashcan by now. He could tell Rashman where he had put it without fear Senator Hurley would be killed. And it would put him out of this seemingly endless misery. Assuming he was going to die here in this desolate place, Joe opened his mouth to speak when Vanessa’s face suddenly forced it’s way into his mind.

‘Van…’ His eyes burned at the thought of leaving her alone. What would happen to her if he died? How could she deal with his death on top of everything else? Would she be able to get past it? Move on? Find someone else? He was the only person she trusted; the only one she felt safe with.

Joe clamped his mouth shut and stared straight ahead, trying to gather what little strength he had left. Telling them what he had done with the file was a veritable death sentence. He couldn’t do that to Vanessa. He had to hang on just a little bit longer. Joe focused on Vanessa completely, willing her to keep him alive until Frank could find him.

"Still not talking?" Malick waved the bottle in front of Joe’s seemingly glazed over eyes. "Suit yourself." He took a few steps back and unscrewed the cap on the bottle. "At least you won’t have to worry about infection."

Joe braced himself for the excruciating pain to come, knowing nothing could really prepare him for the agony that was just seconds away. He prayed he would quickly pass out once the liquid hit the open and bleeding wounds on his body.

Drawing his arm back, Malick let the alcohol fly, soaking Joe’s tortured body. Inhuman screams split the night air. Smiling, Malick and Rashman watched Joe writhing in pain, pulling on the chains that held him securely in place, until he finally passed out. Stepping forward, Rashman kicked Joe to ensure he was indeed unconscious. Satisfied, he turned to Malick.

"Let’s go get a bite to eat." He said. "He should be just about coming to by the time we get back."