COPYRIGHT Month and/or year, BY: 2001 by Joyce Lyle THIS STORY IS WRITTEN FOR PLEASURE AND IS NOT INTENDED TO INFRINGE ON ANY PREEXISTING COPYRIGHTS THAT MAY BE VIOLATED. FEEL FREE TO SHARE WITH FRIENDS, BUT NOT FOR PROFIT. THIS STORY IS FICTIONAL, A WORK OF THE WRITER'S IMAGINATION. THE CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS USED IN THIS STORY ARE PURELY FICTIONAL AND ARE NOT BASED ON ANY PERSON AND/OR PERSON'S

Rated: X

Author's Notes, Reserve and Restriction: This chapter isn't really all that bad, but since this is only part of the story and the story, as a whole, is rated X, I am leaving it on this rating.

Moonstar’s Note: This story is not meant to be demeaning to anyone. This story is to prove the point that anyone can be the victim of a heinous crime. If you’ve been a victim there are many wonderful organizations that will help you.

CHAPTER 1

Blond-headed, blue-eyed, six foot, seventeen-year-old Joe Hardy looked out of the second story window on the house located at the corner of High and Elm Streets. The rain had settled down to a light drizzle and the darkness which had arrived with the earlier storm had faded into night. Joe gave a sigh and let the curtain slide from his hand and close in front of him.

"Do you have to go out tonight?" Joe asked Frank for the fifth time in twenty minutes. "It's nasty out. Surely, Callie wouldn't mind if you canceled tonight?"

Brown-headed, brown-eyed Frank looked across the room at his year younger and inch shorter brother. "Would you just chill already?" Frank demanded in exapseration. "It's just a little rain," he said. "And I really doubt Callie would understand if I canceled because I didn't want to get wet."

Frank looked at the frown on Joe's face. "What is with you anyway?" he demanded. "Just because Vanessa went with mom to Los Angeles to see Sarah Darnnel and her daughter, I am supposed to stay home and be bored too?"

Sarah Darnnel had been a good friend of their mother's, and her daughter had become close to Vanessa right before Mr. Darnnel had been transferred to LA a few months ago. Mr. Darnnel had died in a car wreck the day before and when their mother had decided to go and see her friend, Joe's girlfriend, Vanessa Bender, had asked to join her.

"We could play chess?" Joe suggested, knowing Frank loved it even though, he, himself, didn't care for the game.

"I'm going," Frank said. "Look, if you are lonely, have dad play a game of trivial pursuit with you or something."

"It's not that," Joe said.

"Then what?" Frank demanded.

"Did you ever get the feeling that something was going to happen that would change your whole life and not for the good?" Joe asked, his blue eyes looking into Frank's with a hint of worry.

"Relax, bro," Frank said, coming over and putting an arm around Joe's shoulders. "It's just this dreary weather messing with your mind."

"Are you sure?" Joe asked, not believing him.

"I promise," Frank said, giving his shoulders a tight, comforting squeeze before letting go. "Look, just go to bed and get some sleep. When you wake up, the sun will be shining and this feeling of forboding will be ancient history."

"You're probably right," Joe said with a little laugh. "Have fun tonight," he said as Frank left the room with a small wave.

From the window, Joe watched Frank get into the van and drive away. He gave a sigh and let the curtain close again before going in search of his father.

A former police officer with the New York City police department, brown-eyed, brown-haired, Fenton Hardy had retired when his sons were younger to start his own detective agency. Joe stopped at the doorway of the room his father had converted into an office and rapped lightly on the open door.

Fenton looked up and gave a smile when he saw his youngest son standing there. "What's up?" he asked.

"That's what I was going to ask you," Joe said. "You have been buried in here for hours."

Fenton gave a sigh and shook his head wearily as Joe came inside and sat down in a chair in front of his dad's desk. "I have been asked to find a serial killer who, for the past month has been raping and killing teenage males," he told Joe.

"Can I help?" Joe asked, hopefully.

"NO!" Fenton jumped to his feet and shouted harshly, surprising Joe with his vehemence.

"Dad?" Joe asked, worried.

"I...I'm sorry," Fenton said, looking repentant. "You can't help this time," he said. "Promise you'll stay away from this one," he demanded.

"Dad, why..." Joe tried to ask, but his dad interrupted him.

"Promise!" he ordered, his brown eyes stern and his expression set.

"Fine," Joe agreed. "I promise. But can't you at least tell me why?"

Fenton sat back down and looked at Joe. "The killer seems to be choosing his victims by their appearance. All of his victims have had blond hair, blue eyes, either sixteen or seventeen years of age, and play on at least two athletic teams in high school."

"Oh," Joe said, swallowing nervously.

"So far, three boys have been viciously raped and murdered at Southport High School and four more from Melview High School. After the first attack at Melview, I was asked to look into the matter. So far, I haven't come up with anything."

"Nothing?" Joe demanded. "There haven't been any witnesses or clues?"

"Forensics at the Southport Police Department have been able to confirm the man is black with black hair. But that's it," Fenton said. "That information was uncovered by scraping the fingernails of the victims."

"Well, I see why you don't want me helping out," Joe said, his voice a little sick becasue he knew he matched the description of the other victims.

"Why don't you go on to bed?" Fenton suggested. "A long night's sleep should help you feel better."

"I feel fine," Joe said, looking into his father's eyes.

"Maybe," Fenton said, smiling. "But you look a little down," he added. "Go on and get some rest. I won't be going anywhere until tomorrow," he promised.

Joe nodded and left the room. He went back to his own bedroom and took off his clothes and went into the bathroom. He turned on the water and climbed in the shower. He grabbed the sponge and poured on the liquid soap. As he rubbed his skin, the soap made a lather and he slowly rubbed it over his entire body. He closed his eyes as he stepped up to the spray and let the water rinse the lather off. He grabbed the shampoo and washed his hair before shutting off the water and stepping out.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and took another to dry his hair with. He quit after a minute and let the towel lay around his neck as he grabbed his toothbrush and brushed his teeth. When he had finished, he tossed both towels into the hamper and returned to his bedroom and opened the top drawer of the chest. He pulled out a pair of pajamas and slipped into them.

Picking up his dirty clothes, he emptied the pockets and dropped the contents onto the chest. Then he went into the bathroom and put the clothes into the hamper. Going back to his bedroom, he turned off the light and climbed into bed. In a few minutes, he was sound asleep.

Joe was riding a horse inside of a paddock. He threw back his head, enjoying the breeze when a rope was thrown around his neck and he was pulled from the horse onto the hard ground. Joe gasped for air and his eyes flew open.

The rope was a hand which was clamped tightly around his throat, cutting off his air. Joe reached up and grasped at the hand, trying desperately to pull it away as he looked in fear at the dark stranger which had invaded his bedroom.

As Joe pulled on the man's hand, the man laughed and ran his other hand along Joe's cheek. "Shh!" the man said. "Stop struggling kid. We are going to have some fun before you die."

Joe's eyes grew even wider as he struggled harder. The man released Joe's throat and stood up, hauling Joe to his feet. "Dad! Help!" Joe screamed as loudly as he could after taking a quick gulp of air.

The man laughed heartily. "Want Daddy?" he asked. "That's good, 'cause guess who we are going to see right now?"

"What?" Joe asked, his eyes darting around, seeking a means of escape from this man who outweighed him by at least sixty pounds and every inch of the weight, muscle.

"Why, sweetie," the man whispered into Joe's ear. "I would never have come to Bayport if I hadn't found out your old man was after me. And then when I found out he had such a delectable son, well, how could I stay away?"

CHAPTER 2

He grasped Joe's shoulder in a vise-like grip and steered Joe out of his room and down the hall to his parents bedroom. Joe saw his father, bound hand and foot, to the chair he had been sitting in earlier that evening. His right cheek had the beginning of a nasty bruise and his mouth held part of a red bandana which wrapped his head and was tied in back.

"Didn't want daddy to miss out on the fun," Joe's attacker said, pushing him inside the room.

"What do you want?" Joe whispered, his throat still not recovered from the near choking in his own room.

"Why, I want your dad to see what happens when he crosses my path," the man replied in a friendly tone, ruffling Joe's hair. He looked at Fenton. "This is all your fault you know?" he asked. "If you had stayed away from me, I never would have come to Bayport."

Grabbing Joe's chin, he dragged Joe until he was standing right in front of his father and forced his face to within an inch of his dad's. "Take a good look at him," Curly ordered, for apart from his massive appearance, the tight black curls on his head stood out in the minds of all who saw him.

Curly knelt down by Fenton, still holding Joe's chin. "This is the last time you're going to see the childish innocence lurking there," he whispered into Fenton's ear, sending a chill of terror down Fenton's spine.

Curly stood and pulled Joe away, shoving him roughly to the bed. Joe rolled over and tried to get up on the other side, but his attacker grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"No," Joe snarled, striking out with his right fist. The punch never connected as his attacker caught Joe's wrist in his huge hand.

"That's not how you play, Blondie," Joe was told. His other wrist was then imprisoned and both his hands were forced down on the bed above his head by one hand of his attacker. Curly used a finger on his other hand to trace an imaginary line from Joe's right ear down to his chin, then down his neck, stopping as it came into contact with the top of his pajama shirt.

"Looks like this is going to be a two-hand job after all," he said, staring into Joe's angry eyes. He reached inside his shirt and withdrew a switchblade. He flicked open the knife and repeated the movement his finger had made with the blade, careful not to pierce the skin.

"You can kick," Curly told Joe, licking the left side of Joe's face. "And hit," he said, then licked the right side. "You can even scream" he said, his nose now touching Joe's. "But if you bite me at any time, I'll cut off your dick and feed it to your dad. Understand, boy?" he demanded, his brown eyes cold and hard.

He saw the fear spring forth in Joe's eyes then covered Joe's mouth with his own. Forcing his tongue between Joe's lips and inside his mouth, he ran his tongue over each of Joe's teeth, then fought a war with Joe's tongue before going as far back as his tongue could reach. When the assault was over and he finally moved away from Joe's mouth, Joe gulped in air as Curly leaned his lips against Joe's ear.

Breathing heavily, Curly said, "You follow directions real well, boy."

He looked over at Fenton and smiled. "It's a good thing you had his tonsils removed," he told him. Then looked back into Joe's terror filled eyes. "It cuts down on the gag reflex."

Joe had no idea what Curly was talking about, but from the muffled shouts emanating from his father's throat, he knew he wasn't going to like finding out.

Curly shut the blade and tucked the knife into his pants pocket. He then let Joe's wrists free and, using both hands, ripped Joe's shirt open, revealing his trembling chest and abdomen beneath.

"No!" Joe cried out, balling his hands into fists and pummeling Curly on the shoulder and chest. "Leave me alone!" Joe ordered.

Curly laughed at Joe's punitive efforts, then grasped Joe's throat again, forcing Joe to cease hitting him and try to remove the grip from his throat, because he could no longer breath.

Tears fell from the corner's of Joe's eyes, dribbling down into his ears as he realized the futility of loosening the grip. He let his hands fall and waited for what was going to happen next.

Curly eased his grip on Joe's throat, allowing him to breathe, but kept it tight enough to prevent Joe from moving his head.

Curly grinned at Joe, seeing the fear in his eyes as he reached down and fondled Joe's right nipple. He leaned down, squeezing Joe's throat tighter to warn against using his hands, then began sucking on the nipple he had been playing with.

"Please stop," Joe managed to whisper, loud enough for Curly to hear but Fenton, too far away, saw only Joe's lips move. More tears fell from Fenton's eyes as Curly bit Joe's nipple, causing him to wince in pain before giving Joe's left nipple the same treatment.

Curly bit Joe's left nipple, then began a series of butterfly kissies down to his navel. He began licking the indention and Joe, having gathered some of his strength, brought both hands up and clapped Curly hard on his ears.

Curly froze, his tongue in Joe's navel, and raised his eyes to Joe's chin which hung out over Curly's hand. He sat up and released Joe's throat. Joe's eyes, which had been busy blinking at the tears, grew wide with terror as he looked into Curly's.

"I told you, you could hit me," Curly siad softly. "But I must have negelected to mention the consequences of the action," he added, his lips curling into a nasty smile.

Joe began squirming, trying to shake Curly off of him, but to no avail. Curly laughed and backhanded Joe across the face.

Joe's face took on a dazed look as the bitter-sweet taste of blood filled his mouth. Before Joe could utter a sound, he received a hard slap on his other cheek. The dazed look became set, his eyes seemingly fixed on something in the distance.

More muffled shouts erupted from Fenton as did much squirming as he tried in vain to loosen his bonds. Curly looked over at Fenton and said in cheery voice, "You wanted to know what I did to them before I killed them. Now, you're finding out."

Curly got off of Joe and pulled down his pajama bottom, along with the white briefs beneath. He tossed both items onto Fenton's lap. Looking into Fenton's eyes, he reached down and took Joe's member in his hand, rubbing his thumb up and down over the mallable flesh.

Joe groaned, his head jerking in protest. A whispered, "No," escaped his lips as he fought to focus on what was happening.

Curly bent over Joe's rod and placed the tip of it in his mouth, his lips closing tight around it as his tongue licked the smoothness of the circumsized head.

"No," Joe said again, becoming fully alert to his surroundings. He sat up and tried to push Curly away. Curly abruptly raised his head and grabbed Joe's hair, forcing his head back. He kissed Joe again, hard and long as before. When Joe's mouth was freed, he could feel the tender flesh around his lips beginning to swell.

Joe kicked out at Curly, aiming for his stomach, but Curly caught his foot and, releasing Joe's hair, grabbed Joe's leg and flipped him over onto his stomach.

"Very nice," Curly said softly, gazing at Joe's solid white, firm buttocks. He reached down and ran his masive hand over them, then brought back his hand. Smack! Curly's palm landed on Joe's rump. Joe emitted a strangled cry of pain. Curly licked his lips in delight and let loose with several rapid fire slaps. Joe's muffled cries of pain from where his face was smashed against the bed was the only noise vying with the sound of flesh striking flesh.

Curly quit only when the whiteness was marred by several red imprints, all in the shape of a hand. He reached down and unsnapped his own pants. He unzipped them and let them fall to the floor around his ankles, revealing the large, dark cock which hung straight and ready, a drip of cum clinging to the tip.

Fenton struggled harder, his wrists already bleeding from rubbing the rope repeatedly. The sticky substance felt cool to his sore wrists but offered no measure of assistance in allowing him to work free.

Curly grabbed Joe's waist and pulled him nearer to the edge of the bed. When he had Joe hanging partially off the bed, he put his forefinger at the top of the crack which led to Joe's asshole and let his finger slide down. He pushed his finger inside, just a fraction and felt Joe's muscles constrict as he cried out.

"No, please stop! Please!" Joe begged with what little strength he still had left. Curly laughed as he pulled his finger out and laid the head of his own cock against Joe's ass.

CHAPTER 3

Frank stopped off at the door of his father's office and told him goodnight, not expecting to return home until around midnight. Then he went downstairs and out to the van.

He knew Joe was watching him from the window, but he refused to look up at him. Doing so might reinforce Joe's sense of unease and Frank did not want that to happen.

He climbed into he van and backed out of the drive. He passed a brown truck as he drove toward the stop sign at the end of the street. Frank looked both ways for oncoming traffic, failing to see the truck pull to a stop near his own home.

He made a left turn and took off for Callie's house. He had a strange sensation in his stomach and thought he must be hungry. He wondered if he could talk Callie into catching the late flick and eat first instead of the early flick as they had originally planned.

He was met at the door by Callie's mom who was on her way out to meet her husband at TGIFriday's. Frank went inside and sat down on the living room sofa to wait for Callie. She came down in a few minutes and Frank, watching her enter the room gave a low whistle of appreciation.

Seventeen-year-old, green-eyed, Callie Shaw wanted to be a news reporter even though she could easily have passed for a model. She wore nothing more dressy than a pair of tight fitting blue jeans and a lavender halter and her long blond hair had been French braided with the bottom swinging just below her waist. She was tall for a girl, five foot and eleven inches in flats, but she wore a small heel to make her even with Frank.

"You look good no matter what you wear," Frank told her, standing up and greeting her with a light kiss on the lips.

"Mmm, I bet you say that to all your girlfriends," she said, smiling at him.

"Considering I just did, yeah," Frank replied with a grin.

"So what movie are we going to see?" she asked.

"About that," Frank said, running a hand through his brown locks. "Would you mind terribly if we caught the late show and ate first?"

"Not at all," she agreed. "I'm kind of hungry too. And it is better to fill up on protein junk food than sugar junk food," she added, comparing a pizza to a candy bar.

"Great," Frank said, leading her out the door. She locked the door and they both got into the van. "Mr. Pizza?" he asked.

"You're reading my mind," she answered.

On the way they stopped at the newstand and picked up a newspaper to get the movie listings. "The only thing that looks good that we haven't seen is Flying Solo," Callie said. "It starts at nine."

"Sounds good to me," Frank agreed with the selection. He didn't really care about the movie, he just wanted to spend the evening with Callie.

They arrived at Mr. Pizza a few minutes later and entered the one story brick building. They saw some of their friends at their usual table near the back and went over to join them. "Hey guys, where's Joe?" asked eighteen-year-old Biff Hooper, an athletic blond with blue eyes. Most of the girls at Bayport High were torn between considering Joe or Biff the cutest guy on campus.

"He stayed home," Frank replied. "He misses Vanessa, I think."

"Pull up a seat," invited eighteen-year-old Tony Prito. Tony was small, wiry guy, with dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin. His parents had immigrated to the states right before Tony had been born and opened Mr. Pizza. Tony was currently the manager of the restaurant.

"I thought you didn't have time to kick back and enjoy a slice with us," Callie commented as Tony pulled a slice of pepperoni pizza from the pan and stuck the tip in his mouth.

"I don't have time when I am working," Tony said. "But I'm on vacation, so to speak. Dad has given me a week off," he added.

"So, what are you two doing tonight?" asked Karen Black, Biff's black-haired, blue-eyed, date. Karen was seventeen and had started dating Biff only recently.

"We're going to go see Flying Solo," Callie replied, grabbing a slice of pizza from the pan.

"Don't bother," said seventeen-year-old, sandy-brown haired, Phil Cohen. He looked at Frank and Callie through serious brown eyes. "I saw it. What a waste of money."

"That bad?" Frank asked.

"And how," Tony agreed. He grinned. "I saw it with him."

"Well, there go our plans for the evening," Callie said.

"How about hitting the new juice bar?" Phil suggested. "Pete's Juice and Arcade," he clarified. "They have live music on the weekends and Westlife is playing tonight."

"Why not?" Karen agreed with a shrug.

"There doesn't seem to be anything else going on tonight," Callie agreed.

"Why don't you call Joe and see if he wants to go with us?" Phil suggested to Frank.

"I'll do that," Frank agreed. "It might get him out of the doldrums." Frank got up and went to the payphone near therir table. He had lost his appetite when he saw the pizza on the table, but his stomach still held the same strange feeling it had after he had left home. He shook his head. Joe's unease had rubbed off on him.

Frank put a call through to his home but received a recording telling him the phone had been disconnected. He tried again in case he had put in a wrong number. The same recording came through the receiver. Frowning, he walked back to the table.

"I can't get through," he said, a hint of worry evident in his brown eyes.

"The storm must have knocked out the line earlier," Phil said, seeing Frank's concern. "Why don't we just drive by and pick him up?"

Frank smiled at the suggestion and sat back down until the pizza had been finished. He threw some money in on the cost since his date had eaten some, and they all went outside. "No sense in taking all the cars," Frank said. "Let's all just go in the van and I'll drop you off back here afterwards."

They drove to the Hardy home and pulled to a stop in the driveway. Upstairs, Curly heard a car come to a stop and a door open. He went to the window, pulling Joe up and dragging him along.

"Blast it!" Curly snarled. He shoved Joe onto the bed and pulled up his pants. Fenton gave a sigh of relief which was short lived as Curly reached into his pocket and withdrew the knife.

Curly pulled Joe up again. "This isn't over, doll," he whispered into Joe's ear, not loud enough for Fenton to hear. "I'll be back," he promised. "I always finish what I start, and we have a lot of unfinished business," he added, causing Joe's white face to become a sickly shade of green.

Fenton watched Joe's pallor change, his stomach twisting in pain for his son. Joe didn't seem to be aware of the knife in Curly's hand, but he was. Fenton watched in horror as Curly flipped open the blade and brought it to Joe's navel.

"Just so you won't forget me," Curly said louder, then slashed at Joe's skin, causing a deep gouge from his navel to his side, so that the wound finished at his right hip.

Joe, already weakened by the abuse of the evening, didn't even utter a cry of pain as his face twisted in agony. Curly released Joe, letting him fall to the floor unconscious.

CHAPTER 4

Frank unlocked the front door and went inside, followed by the others. No one was downstairs, so Frank left his friends in the living room and headed upstairs to Joe's room. He looked in and saw Joe's unmade bed, knowing Joe must have taken his advice and made an early night of it. Or, at least, had tried to. Frank looked in the bathroom which connected Joe's room to his own. The light was off and Joe wasn't there.

Frank headed toward his father's office. The door was open and the light was on. Inside, he found one chair missing and the other lying on it's side. Papers were strewn all over the floor. Dread filling him, he stepped out of the office.

He heard muffled sounds emanating from his parent's bedroom at the end of the hall and rushed down. There, he saw his father, brusied, sitting bound in a chair.

"Dad!" Frank shouted and rushed around the king size bed to get at his father. He came to a sudden halt, his eyes going wide as he almost stumbled over the prone figure of his naked, bleeding brother.

"Joe," Frank whispered, kneeling down beside his brother. All thoughts of his father gone from his mind. He felt Joe's neck for a pulse and felt a faint one as his friends, who had become alarmed at Frank's first shout, could be heard running up the steps. Biff came to a halt in the doorway as he saw Frank kneeling by the bed, tears streaming down his face while his father sat tied to a chair.

Phil looked behind him at the girls who had brought up the rear of the group and told them to call 911 as Biff slid over the bed to remove the gag from Fenton's mouth.

"Neighbor's," Fenton said hoarsely, his mouth was dry from trying to shout through the gag. "He cut the phone lines."

Callie and Karen took off at a run as Tony came inside the room. Frank pulled the bedspread off and covered his brother, applying pressure to the wound made by the knife.

"What happened?" Frank demanded, looking at Joe and pushing the hair from his face with his free hand. He had seen the bruises around Joe's mouth, the bite marks on his nipples and the fingerprints on his neck.

While Biff and Tony untied him, Fenton explained how he had been surprised in his office and knocked unconscious. When he had come to, he was tied to the chair. He then told how Joe had been forced into the room and what had happened to him, not divulging all the details, but relating enough so they knew the terror Joe had lived through.

"Why did you do it?" Frank asked, looking up into his father's eyes. "Why would you take a case where Joe could get hurt so badly?" he demanded. "Didn't you think this might happen?"

"I told Joe he couldn't help with this case," Fenton said in his own defense, although it sounded lame to him too. The fact was Joe had been assaulted and was dying from loss of blood and it was all his fault.

The girls came back saying the ambulance and the police were on their way. Phil and Tony ushered the girls downstairs. Biff remained with the Hardys. "I'll take everyone back to their cars and drop Callie at home," Biff offered as sirens were heard in the distance.

"Thanks," Frank said, reaching into his pocket and tossing him the keys to the van.

"I'll call you later and find out how Joe is doing," he said. Biff knew he wouldn't be allowed to see Joe tonight. He also had the strong suspicion that no one would be able to get Frank away from Joe for any length of time this evening. "If you need anything, call me," he said. Frank nodded.

"Would you stay until after the police leave and lock up?" Fenton asked Biff. "We're going to the hospital with Joe."

"Why don't you stay?" Frank asked his father bitterly. "Your job is so much more important."

Biff looked at Frank in surprise but knew he didn't mean what he was saying. He was just worried about Joe.

Fenton, however, already riddled with guilt, winced in pain at the accusation. "That isn't true," he said softly, still crying. "I would die before I let that bastard hurt your brother."

"And yet, he is hurt and you are still alive," Frank said, looking up into his father's eyes as the sirens came to a halt outside the house.

Unable to dispute the fact, Fenton remained quite until the paramedics arrived. He told them about Joe's near rape and being stabbed. They started to move him.

"Be careful," Fenton told him. "He spanked him hard on his backside."

Frank looked away from Joe and at his father again. "You didn't tell me that," he said. "What else have you left out?"

So, while Joe was being stabilized and placed onto a stretcher, Fenton told Frank every sordid detail about Joe's experience. Biff, along with Phil and Tony who had returned upstairs with the paramedics, were all too shocked to say anything.

"Will he be okay?" Frank asked one of the paramedics as they stood and started to take hold of the stretcher.

The woman, who had started crying for Joe while Fenton had talked, answered him. "The wound isn't too deep," she said. "But, I think he will need more help than he can get at the hospital," she added.

Frank nodded. He knew what she meant. After this ordeal, Joe would have to see a psychiatrist. He just prayed Joe would recover. He couldn't imagine Joe as worried and depressed as he had been earlier on a regular basis and knew it would be even worse now.

Fenton spoke with one of the officers who arrived and promised to file a report as soon as he knew Joe would be okay. He and Frank went to the hospital together, leaving amid muted tears and words of encouragement.

At the hospital, Joe was treated for the wound, taking thirty-nine stitches to close it. After a complete check-up and some blood work, to insure Joe had not contracted any diseases from the oral contact, he was placed in a room for the night.

Fenton and Frank were both there. Fenton kept trying to get Frank to talk to him, but Frank refused to answer. Afraid he would say something he didn't really mean like before. He knew his dad loved Joe. He knew he would always put family above any case, yet Joe had been horribly hurt, mentally and physically.

Frank was mad at himself too. Joe had told him he had a sense of something that was going to affect his whole world and yet, Frank had shrugged it off and left. Joe had always been more in tune with his surroundings. Hadn't Joe been the one the little ghost boy had gone to for help when they had gone on vacation last summer? Frank closed his eyes and cried more. It was his fault, not his dad's Joe had been hurt like this. If only he had taken Joe's fears more seriously.

The doctor came in and started to check Joe's vitals. Joe stirred slightly as the doctor checked his heartbeat. When he picked up Joe's wrist to check his pulse, Joe's eyes flew open.

Terror and fear filled Joe's blue eyes as they stared unseeingly at the doctor. He began crying and shaking his head, his lips moving, forming the words, "No, please, no, please." Yet no sound came from his mouth.

Fenton and Frank rushed over. Frank reached out to soothe and reassure Joe as the doctor backed away, but Joe reacted to the touch as if he had been struck, flinching and scrambling back, nearly falling off the other side of the bed to get away!

CHAPTER 5

"Joe," Frank said urgently, trying to break through Joe's fear. "Joe, it's me, Frank. It's okay. You're safe now. I'm here. I won't leave you again. I promise. It's all over now."

Joe calmed down and looked up at Frank, seeing him for the first time since awaking. He leaned over and let Frank hold him. Joe grabbed Frank's shirt and cried silent tears, soaking Frank's shirt as Frank kept rocking him gently saying soothing words and rubbing his head comfortingly.

After a few minutes, Joe leaned back a bit. Frank eased Joe back onto the bed and stood up beside the bed. The doctor came forward and Joe's eyes widened in fear again.

"It's okay, Son." Fenton said, from Joe's other side. "This is Dr. Thompson. He just wants to check your pulse."

Joe looked at his dad, then back to the doctor. He sniffed and nodded hesitantly, reaching out and grabbing Frank's hand. The doctor picked up Joe's other wrist and took his pulse. "How are you feeling?" the doctor asked.

"My throat hurts," Joe whispered almost inaudibly.

The doctor pulled out a tongue depressor and asked Joe to open and say ahh. Joe did as he was told and the doctor looked inside Joe's mouth. "Your throat is probably sore from being constricted," he told Joe. "I suggest you try not to say anything for a few days and drink tea prepared with a teaspoon of honey. It should help ease the pain."

Joe nodded. "We'll get you a tablet so you can write down anything you want to say," Fenton told Joe, after the doctor had left the room.

"What..." Joe started to speak but Frank put a finger over Joe's lips so he couldn't continue.

"Tablet first," he said. "We don't want you to injure your throat permanently," he added in a worried tone.

"But..." Joe tried to speak again, his eyes worried as he looked at his dad.

"He got away," Fenton said, knowing what Joe was trying to ask. "Don't worry," he continued. "He won't get near you again. I am going to call in a favor with the FBI and have you put in a safehouse until this bastard is caught."

Joe shook his head. "Wouldn't feel safe there," Joe rasped. Frank groaned and left the room in search of a notepad.

Fenton stopped Joe from saying any more until Frank returned in a few minutes with some computer paper and a pen. "No notepad, but the nurse let me have this," he said and handed the paper and pen to Joe.

Joe took the paper and pen and scribbled down a message. Frank took the paper and read it aloud. "I wouldn't feel safe there. I want to stay with Frank." Frank looked at Joe. "Don't worry little brother, until this creep is caught, I am not leaving you alone even for a second."

Joe smiled at his brother but Fenton frowned. "Joe, you know how big and strong this guy is. Frank is a good fighter, but do you really think he could protect you?"

Joe frowned, looking down at his clasped hands and started trembling as he thought about what his father had said. He was right of course. If Joe couldn't fight him off then Frank didn't stand much of a chance either.

"Easy, Baby Bro," Frank said softly. "Chet, Biff, Phil, and Tony will help."

Joe scribbled down another note. "Tony has to work, but that would help," Fenton read the note aloud this time.

"Tony has the week off," Frank told him. Joe nodded and gave a wan smile.

Fenton pushed a stray lock of blond hair from Joe's eyes. "I am going to the police station to file a report about tonight," he said. "Then I am going to call and drop the case," he promised.

Joe's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, but Frank cleared his throat meaningfully and Joe ended up scribbling another note. "You can't do that," Frank read aloud the note. "If you drop the case, he won't get caught and he'll keep coming after me."

"If I drop the case, he will leave you alone," Fenton told Joe. "You heard him, the only reason he was here was because I took the case in the first place."

Joe started writing again, this times, tears began dripping down his cheeks. "Before he cut me, he said he would never leave me alone. He said that now that he had tasted me, he couldn't get enough. And that he wasn't going to kill me after he had finished like the others, he was going to find a place to take me and keep me forever," Frank read the note, his voice weakening as he spoke. "Oh, Joe," he said, sitting down on the bed beside Joe and hugging him.

Joe felt himself stiffen involuntarily as Frank touched him, but forced himself to relax. Frank felt the reaction and it made Frank hurt for Joe all that much more.

"He won't get you," Fenton promised his son in a voice heavy with emotion. "I'll get this bastard if it's the last thing I do," he vowed. He leaned down and kissed Joe's forehead lightly. Frank felt Joe stiffen again. "I'll be back in the morning," he promised.

Joe nodded and Frank pulled away from Joe and followed his father to the door. "About earlier," Frank began.

"You were right," Fenton replied. "This is my fault."

"No, it's not," Frank said. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," Fenton said, and gave Frank a big hug. "Take care of him," he told Frank and left the room.

Frank went back to Joe's side. "Why don't you get some rest?" he asked. Joe's eyes took on a fearful note. "What?" Frank asked. Joe scribbled a note, telling Frank about Curly's waking him up.

"You're safe now," Frank told him. "He isn't here and I am. I won't let him get near you," he promised. Joe nodded, but Frank could tell he was still unconvinced. He swallowed the lump in his throat, wondering if Joe would always be afraid of going to sleep now. "How about if I read to you?" Frank asked. "There are a couple of magazines in the hall." Joe looked up fearfully.

"I'm not leaving. I'll use the call button and have the nurse bring us one, okay?" Joe nodded.

A few minutes later, Frank sat in the chair by Joe's bed and read a story from the Reader's Digest they had been brought. Before long, Frank saw Joe drift off to sleep. He sat back and continued to read the story silently to himself.

Joe's eyes flew open in stark terror. A hand was gripping his throat. He looked up and saw Curly leering down at him. "You didn't think anyone could protect you, did you?" he laughed, moving a bit so Joe could see Frank.

Frank sat in the chair, his head to one side, his eyes wide open. Joe could see blood all over his shirt which had poured down from the deep wound which crossed Frank's neck.

"Too much trouble to tie him up," Curly whispered in Joe's ear. "Ready to start again?" he asked.

Joe began crying. "No, please, no, please, please," he moaned, trembling. Curly released Joe's neck and put both his huge hands on Joe's shoulders. "That's right," Curly said, starting to shake him. "Say please."

"Stop, please stop," Joe begged, as his shoulders were shaken harder.

"Joe! Joe, wake up," Frank's voice began to register in Joe's mind. "You're having a nightmare," he was saying. "Joe, come on, wake up," Frank's frantic voice came through.

Joe opened his eyes. He saw Frank's worried face through his tears and gave a muted shout as he threw himself in Frank's arms. Frank held Joe as he cried, uttering soothing words and rubbing his hair as a mother would a hurt child. Frank's own tears flowed as he held his terrified brother. Almost an hour later, both boys had cried themselves to sleep.

The nurse who checked in on Joe saw the two boys lying on the bed. It was against hospital policy for any but the patient to be on the bed, but under the circumstances, she had no intention of forcing Frank to get up. She closed the door and walked away.

The next morning, Fenton arrived at Joe's room and walked inside, to see Frank lying on the bed, Joe cuddled up on his chest. "Frank," Fenton whispered, leaning close to his eldest son. Joe's eyes flew open instead and he jumped back. "Easy, Son," Fenton told him as Frank now awoke. "It's okay."

"Dad," Frank said, sitting up.

Fenton say the puffy red eyes of both his son's and knew it had been a long night for them. "I got his name and a former address," Fenton said.

Joe looked up at his father hopefully. "I am going to go and check it out this morning after I drop you boys off at home," Fenton continued.

"I need to call the guys first," Frank said.

"I already have," Fenton said. "They are at home waiting on you. Your mother and Vanessa will be in some time this morning. Vanessa's car is at the airport so you won't have to worry about picking them up."

Frank nodded and looked over at Joe who was tugging on his sleeve. Joe pointed to the pen and paper. Frank smiled and handed them over.

"What's the guy's name? Where does he live? And how did you find out?" Frank read what Joe wrote.

"His name is Tom Silverman," Fenton said. "He lives in Melvile near the high school. He was a teacher until two months ago when his four year old son was raped and killed by one of his students."

"He was a teacher?" Frank repeated in disbelief.

"What about his son?" Joe scribbled for Fenton to read.

"The student, Craig Miller, a blond headed kid with blue eyes, had told Silverman he would be sorry for flunking him," Fenton related what he had been told. "He broke into Silverman's house one night and kidnapped his four year old son. The next day, the boy was found in Silverman's classroom, dead. He had been raped and beat to death."

"And they didn't know Silverman had snapped and was behind the attacks?" Frank asked.

"No," Fenton said. "At first, they thought Miller was responsible. No one could prove he was guilty, not even of the boy's murder. He died three days ago in a car crash."

"So Silverman is going around attacking guys who have the same basic features as Miller thinking they are Miller?" Frank asked.

"That is probably how it started," Fenton agreed. "Now, I think he may have totally flipped." He looked at his sons. "Whatever got him started, Silverman is now certifiably insane. There is no telling what he is capable of. Be very, very careful."

Frank looked at Joe, who was again looking down at his hands. "I won't leave Joe alone for a minute," he promised.

"What is it?" Fenton asked Joe, when he kept looking at his hands. Joe glanced up at his dad, then scribbled something.

"I know I should feel sorry for him because of his son," Frank read as Joe wrote. "But I can't. Does that make me a bad person?"

"Of course not," Frank and Fenton said at the same time.

"Son, what happened to Silverman's son was terrible and what happened to Silverman because of it is really bad, but no one could blame you for not feeling sorry for him," Fenton said gently. "He hurt you in a way no one should ever have to be hurt. There isn't a soul alive who would feel sorry for him if they had been through at his hands what you have."

Joe still wasn't sure, but he nodded. Right now, he really wasn't sure of anything except that he was scared. But....a thought occurred to him and he wrote something down.

"Maybe he won't come back," Joe wrote. "If he is crazy, it isn't like he actually enjoys what he is doing."

"Maybe," Fenton agreed, swallowing the lump in his throat at the pleading look in Joe's eyes as Frank read the note. "Why don't you go and get dressed in the bathroom?" he suggested, holding out a bag he had brought from home with him.

Joe took the bag and looked inside. There were a pair of his jeans, a shirt, some underclothes and shoes. Joe smiled gratefully at his father and headed into the bathroom.

"You think he will come back," Frank said to his dad after Joe had gone.

"He quit being a vengeful father a long time ago," Fenton stated. "Now, I believe he has become what he appears to be, a man who rapes and kills for the joy of it."

"Why?" Frank asked.

"Because if he were still only doing this out of vengeance, then he never would have come to our house when he found out I had been put on the case," Fenton answered.

An hour later, Joe had been released and the three arrived at the Hardy house. They were met at the door by blond-headed, brown-eyed, Chet Morton. Seventeen-year-old Chet was one of the Hardy's oldest and best friends. Joe had dated his sister until she had been killed in a car bombing the previous year. Joe still felt guilty because the bomb had been in his car and meant for him and his brother.

"How you doing?" Chet asked in concern, seeing Joe's bruised face and slow gait.

"He isn't supposed to talk for a few days," Frank said. "His throat was hurt."

"Don't worry," Chet told Joe. "I'll go fix you some honey tea. That's what I always get when my throat is sore."

Joe smiled gratefully as Chet hurried into the kitchen to fix the tea.

"Hi guy," Biff said, as Joe came into the living room. Joe gave a wan smile at Biff and the other guys who stood to greet him.

"I'll see you boys later," Fenton said, having made sure Joe and Frank got safely inside with the others. He left as Chet returned with Joe's tea.

"Now, drink it all," Chet urged, handing it to Joe after he had sat down on the sofa. Joe took a timid sip from the cup. He wrinkled his nose. He hated tea. "Drink," ordered Chet. "It will help soothe your throat."

Joe gave Chet a beligerent look, but sipped more of the warm tea. Frank and the other boys all sat down and chatted about the weather, trying to think of something to say which wouldn't upset Joe. Joe finished his tea, grateful he had such good friends, but wishing they didn't feel so uncomfortable around him.

Joe took the pen and paper off the coffee table which his dad had left there before coming to pick them up this morning. He scribbled a note and handed it to Frank. Frank read the note and nodded. "Biff will you stay in Joe's room and I will go in mine. The rest of you guys can just hang around down here?"

"Sure," Biff agreed, standing up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Frank said. "Joe just wants to take a shower."

"You don't need one," Chet said, looking at Joe.

Joe shrugged and picked scribbled another note which Frank read aloud. "I feel dirty."

"Onward and upward then," Biff said over the lump which had formed in his throat. He knew Joe felt dirty becasue of what that bastard had done to him.

Upstairs, Joe went into the bathroom and closed the door. He took off his clothes and looked at himself in the mirror. He was bruised and his side looked sore. He knew the shower was going to hurt and he knew he shouldn't take one with the stitches, but he felt so unclean. He opened the medicine cabinet and removed some bandages. He covered his stitches with the waterproof band-aids and put the two remaining ones back in the medicine cabinet.

He reached behind the shower curtain to turn on the water, but his wrist was grabbed by a hand which pulled him into the shower stall.