Sorry. Writing and letting go of a chapter takes forever. I tell myself I can't write. I ask God to let me be His crayon. And I have OCD, which means perfectionism is a problem. I am not reading this again. Scared I'll never get it out.
No, I haven't started the next chapter. No idea when next update. Sorry.
Of course, it's not perfect, but here it is. Hope it speaks to you.
Chapter 25
Summary: The Enforcer sold Frank and Joe to Lars. Lars runs a billion-dollar drug smuggling operation. Five years ago, Fenton captured Ander, Lars's youngest son. Fenton's testimony sent Ander to prison for life. Lars hired mercenaries to break Ander out of prison. But the day before the prison break, Ander died in a prison riot. Lars wants revenge.
Frank POV
An explosion knocks me off my feet.
I open my eyes. Joe is sprawled a few feet away. With his hands cuffed behind his back, and a hood over his face – my brother is an easy target. A bullet hits inches from Joe's head. Shaking off my dizziness, I run to him.
When I touch Joe's shoulder, he tenses.
"Easy. I got you," I say.
Gunshots echo as a war goes on around us.
I throw Joe over my shoulder. Running into a warehouse, I take cover behind a large wooden crate.
Dad would keep running. But I can't. If I'm caught, Joe is dead. Got to get his hood and cuffs off. That way if I'm caught, Joe still has a chance to escape.
When I take off Joe's hood, I see blood running down his face. He looks dazed. My fingers check for a bullet wound, but all my bloody fingers find is a deep cut in his scalp.
Joe winces and looks at his cuffed hands.
Lars put the cuffs on so tight, Joe's wrists are covered in blood and bruises.
About eight feet away, I see a piece of wire on the warehouse floor.
"I'll be back," I say and run to the wire.
When I grab it and turn around, I see my worst nightmare.
"Time to say goodbye," Lars says. His right arm is wrapped around Joe's neck. His left arm points a gun at Joe.
"Kill me instead," I say.
"No. Fenton killed my youngest son, so I will kill his," Lars says.
Joe's dazed, pain-filled eyes meet mine.
Doomed to fail, I take the only chance I have. I run to Joe.
When I'm halfway to Joe, I hear a gunshot.
My heart stops. I pull Joe into my shaking arms.
Lars falls face down on the floor.
"That was too close," Sam says, lowering his gun.
Lars groans as the bloody spot on his right shoulder grows larger.
Medics load Lars on a stretcher. People wearing DEA and FBI jackets surround us.
"You and your brother are dead men walking, Hardy. Just a matter of time until one of your dad's enemies kills him and you," Lars says.
"Get him out of here," Sam growls.
Lars spoke the truth. I already let Joe down. If Sam wasn't here, my brother would be dead.
Lars is just another monster left alive. A monster who wants to kill Joe. How many monsters are there?
Joe looks like he's in shock.
"C-can you get his cuffs off?" I ask.
"No problem," Sam says, pulling out a lock pick set.
"How did you find us?" I whisper, keeping an arm around Joe.
"Called in some favors," Sam says, as Joe's handcuffs pop open. "Told my contacts in the DEA and FBI what was happening. Wanted to get you sooner, but they insisted we wait until everybody came to the party."
"Can we get a ride to the hospital in your car?" I ask
"Sure."
Joe leans against me in the back seat. I can't stop picturing Lars actually killing Joe. Judging from his dazed eyes and shaking, Joe is in shock. With luck, he won't remember anything. Wish I could forget.
Feel my mind falling into a dark, deep hole. Joe will die on my watch. No logical way I can protect him from all Dad's enemies.
Three hours later, I'm sharing a hospital room with Joe.
"Want something to help you sleep?" Sam asks.
"No."
Sleep terrifies me. Especially a drugged sleep. No way to escape my nightmares of Lars killing Joe.
My worst fear is being trapped with my thoughts. My mind is a monster I can't escape. It keeps replaying how Lars almost killed Joe.
"Tell me again how you found us," I whisper.
Pathetic. I feel like a child begging for a bedtime store. But Sam's calm voice fills my mind and lulls me to sleep.
The next day, Joe and I are released.
The monster in my mind grows larger every minute. It calculates Joe's odds of survival if Dad made one just enemy a month. A low estimate.
Dad worked as a detective for 25 years. Twelve times twenty-five means 300 people are gunning for my brother. Impossible odds. Joe will die on my watch. Just a question of when. Feel myself drowning in the darkest parts of my mind.
POV Joe
Hated having amnesia. Hated being kidnapped. Hated the hospital. But living on Frank's couch is the worst. I'm in physical pain. But what hurts the most is Frank avoiding me.
Frank is either barricaded in his upstairs office or out somewhere. Haven't told Sam what's going on. Want to talk to Frank first.
Sam visits every day. He gets me medicine, food, TV remote and car magazines.
"Brought you doughnuts," Sam says.
"Thanks," I say and grab a maple-glazed donut.
"OK if I take a few days to tie up some loose ends on an old case? Figured since Frank's around, you wouldn't miss me," Sam says.
"No problem," I say and force a fake smile.
Too proud to tell him, I haven't seen Frank for the last three days.
Frank could spot me lying in a minute. No idea how, but he always knows. But Frank's not here…again. The good news is if Sam's not here, Frank has to be. I'll finally get to figure out what's wrong.
"Thanks," Sam says. "You need anything before I head out?"
"No. I'm good," I say.
When Sam leaves, I stare at Frank's office upstairs. He's up there. I can see the light shining under his door. Climbing the stairs to Frank's office is as impossible as climbing Mount Everest. I hate being hurt.
"FRANK!" I shout.
No answer.
Can he hear me? Is Frank mad? Is he ignoring me? I get a scary, empty feeling.
I can handle this. I call Frank on my cell phone. After four rings, voice mail kicks in.
"Hardy. Leave a message."
"Uh….Can we talk? Sam is gone for a few days."
"HEY FRANK!" I shout.
No response.
Desperate, I text Frank.
"I need you."
The text costs me. I hate asking for help. Already feel Frank is ten times the detective I am.
I replay the last week in my mind. Did I make Frank mad? How can I fix it?
The light under his office door taunts me.
"FRANK!"
No answer.
"I'M SORRY!"
Nothing.
Taking a deep breath, I try to get rid of my fear. After Iola died, Frank stuck to me like a shadow. He was the reason I survived.
Try to believe in God. That He'll forgive me for letting Iola die. That I'll see Iola again. Can tell her I'm sorry. Hold her in my arms again.
I close my eyes and remember. One Friday, we walked home from school, and found Iola's house in flames. Her mom, dad and brother watched as firefighters fought the flames. While Iola cried, I held her.
"What if insurance doesn't cover this? What about all the things I've lost? Like the notes you wrote me?" Iola asked.
"I'll write you more notes," I whispered in Iola's ear.
"I'm scared," Iola whispered.
"Everything will be ok," I said.
A lie. This fire could bankrupt them. What if Iola and her family moved? What if I couldn't see Iola every day? I'm lost without her.
"You're right," Iola said, wiping tears from her cheeks.
"I am?"
"Will you pray with me?" Iola asked.
"Uh…I don't know how," I said.
"Just hold my hands," Iola whispered.
I folded my hands around her small, shaking fingers.
"God, I'm mad at You," Iola said.
"Uh, you can say that?" I asked.
"Joe, God knows I'm upset," Iola said. "He knows everything."
Creepy. Someone spying on you. Knowing all your secrets.
Iola closed her eyes and squeezed her hands.
"I don't always understand, but I believe*," Iola whispered.
Alone in the dark condo, I stare at the light under Frank's office door.
Desperate, I click on Iola's favorite radio station, KLOVE. Closing my eyes, I pretend Iola sits next to me. Pathetic, but it helps me hang on, when real life gets too scary.
Most of me imagines the peace I feel knowing Iola is only inches away. A small part of me hears the announcer introduce a song by Plumb called God Help Me.
"I don't always understand, but I believe," Plumb sings.
Iola's prayer! I swallow hard to keep my tears from falling.
I don't understand. I don't believe, but for just a second it feels like Iola is here.
POV FRANK
Hospital discharged me today. Joe is asleep on my living room couch. Sam sits nearby watching Joe and working on his computer.
"Sam, I've got to work on a report," I say, going upstairs to my office.
I lied. My mind keeps visualizing Lars killing Joe. I hold my brother as he takes his last breath. The trust in Joe's blue eyes is gone forever.
No idea how to survive when my mind is the enemy. I almost got Joe killed. Does Joe remember that? Would he work with me if he knew?
My phone rings.
"Hardy."
"You've got to find Lily!"
"What?"
"My daughter, Lily, is missing!"
Dad taught us to never work alone. But Dad is MIA. Joe is recovering. Sam is watching Joe. And I'm fighting for my sanity.
I take the case. I search Lily's room. Her bed, desk and floor are covered with magazines, books, half-eaten snacks and clothes. Reminds me of Joe. My mind pictures Joe dying. I swallow hard and force myself to keep searching Lily's room. Nothing. I go through her social media. Zero. I hack into Lily's computer. Nothing.
I'm running out of time. What would Joe do?
He sees things differently than me. And Joe never gives up.
He would find something out of place in Lily's room. I take a deep breath and examine it again.
I look up. One of Lily's white ceiling tiles is dirtier than the rest. I push up the tile with my hand. A notebook falls out.
My cell rings.
"Hardy."
"Frank, I need…" Joe says.
"Not now. I'm working a case."
I disconnect and open the notebook.
I hate Mom's boss. He's a creep. Mom stopped at her office to copy some papers. While I waited in her office, Mom's boss, Leonard, stopped by. He's like 60 years old, but he dyes his hair black. Looks like the undead.
He walks over, puts his hand on my shoulder and strokes my hair. I wanted to throw up.
"Beautiful. Just like your mother. Meet me tonight at the park."
"I-I can't," I whispered, desperate to leave.
"I'm sure you can rearrange your schedule. I'd hate to terminate your mother's position."
So I'm stuck. I have to meet the creep.
Lily's mom walks in.
"Where does your boss live?" I ask.
"308 Granaple Avenue, why?"
"He's got Lily," I say.
If I was playing by the rules, I'd get a search warrant. But Lily is running out of time.
I park by the curb, run out of the car and ring Leonard's door bell.
"I don't want whatever you're selling," Leonard says, opening the door.
"Lily," I snarl.
"Don't know any Lily," Leonard says.
"The scratches on your face and neck tell a different story," I say and force my way into the house.
"Get out. You don't have a warrant. You can't come in here."
"Lily wrote all about you in her journal."
"You're lying."
"No. The search warrant will be here any minute."
OK, that's a lie.
"Why don't you show me around?" I ask and grab Leonard's arm. "Let's start with the basement."
Leonard digs in his heels, but I pull him behind me.
"You going downstairs or do you need help?"
"I'm calling my attorney."
"After the house tour."
"I'm not going in the cellar! What are you doing?"
"Helping you downstairs," I say and put my hand on Leonard's shoulders.
"Stop pushing me! I'm going to get hurt!"
"A distinct possibility. Sure you don't want to walk downstairs?"
"When my lawyer gets done with you you'll be ruined financially," Leonard says as he walks downstairs.
"My lawyer has an anger management problemI look forward to it," I say, following Leonard downstairs.
My mind replays Lars almost killing Joe. Distracted, I look at Leonard.
He stands on the basement floor and reaches around the corner. When he turns around, he swings a metal fireplace poker.
I duck but the metal poker catches my leg. I fall and roll down the rest of the stairs. Pain and fear battle for control of my mind. My leg is on fire. Leonard raises the poker over my head.
I roll as the poker hits the cement floor inches from my face. My shaky fingers fumble to grab the gun out of my shoulder holster.
"Goodbye," Leonard says, as walks closer with the poker. As Leonard brings the poker down, I fire my gun.
Leonard drops the poker and falls backward. I hear sirens getting louder.
"You could have killed me," Leonard says, holding his hand over his bloody shoulder.
"I still might."
Lily is tied to a post. Her jaw and right arm look broken. Inside I feel just as broken as Lily.
Con runs downstairs.
"I need three ambulances," Con shouts into his body mic.
"What happened?" Con asks.
"I found Lily, my client's daughter. I don't need an ambulance."
"Really?" Con asks and looks at my leg.
I look down and see a long, bloody cut on my left calf. Blood soaks my pants leg.
Con unties Lily as more police arrive.
People in CSI jackets pack the basement. They take pictures and secure the crime scene.
After Lily is transported to an ambulance, Leonard is loaded on a stretcher.
"You're insane," Leonard says, as medics carry him away in a stretcher.
No one pays any attention. But I know Leonard's right. I am crazy.
POV JOE
When I wake up, Barb and Miranda are cleaning Frank's condo.
"We dusted first so you sleep," Miranda says and holds up a feather duster.
"Did we wake you?" Barb asks.
"Didn't hear a thing," I say, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
"What happened?" Miranda asks.
"You look rough," Barb says. "Anything we can do to help?"
No way am I admitting I can't make it to the kitchen. But I've got a plan.
"Yeah," I say. "Could you pick me up some food? Here's $50.
"Sure. What do you want?" Barb asks.
"Look, Frank eats organic, clean, protein powder stuff. I need real food."
"We're on the case," Miranda says.
When they leave, I text Frank.
Hey, can you give me a ride to 3 pm physical therapy appt? Text me if you can't.
I drift back to sleep.
When I wake up, the condo smells like chicken noodle soup.
"Try this," Barb says, handing me a tray with chicken noodle soup, OJ and bread and butter.
"Thanks," I whisper.
"Ice pack or heating pad?" Miranda asks, holding out both.
"Yes."
I put the heating pad on my leg. The ice pack goes on my forehead.
While I eat, Barb vacuums and Miranda mops the kitchen floor.
I put the tray on the floor and close my eyes for a minute. When I wake up, Barb and Miranda are loading up their cleaning supplies.
"You want us to short sheet Frank's bed?" Miranda asks.
"Not today, but thanks."
Making Frank madder is the last thing I need. I hold my breath and check my texts. Nothing from Frank. I relax.
"You sure you're ok?" Barb asks, looking worried.
"Yeah, Frank will be here any minute. He's taking me to PT today," I say.
"Call if you need anything," Barb says.
"Rest up," Miranda says.
They close the door.
Why am I so nervous about seeing Frank? I've known him all my life. Today Frank is stuck with me. While he drives me to PT, I'll grill him, find out what I did wrong, and fix it.
Twenty minutes before my PT appointment, Frank is a no show. Not good since it takes thirty minutes to drive there.
I take a deep breath, grit my teeth and call Frank.
"Hardy," he answers.
"Frank, I need…"
"Not now. I'm working a case."
He disconnects. Frank is working a case? Without me?
I call back, but Frank doesn't pick up.
Gritting my teeth, I call Sam. What if he's working a case too?
"Radley."
"Hi Sam. What's up?"
"I'm at the dentist waiting to get a filling."
Great. Looks like I'm missing PT.
"Any news from Dad?"
"Not yet."
"Think he's ok?"
"Yes. Your dad is one of the best detectives in the world. He can take care of himself," Sam says.
"Do you get upset when he works cases without you?" I ask.
"No. Your dad is a better detective than I'll ever be. Promised myself I'd never hold him back. Gotta go, they want to shoot me full of stuff to numb my mouth."
Maybe I'm holding Frank back.
I make one more phone call.
"Bayport Cab."
"Yeah, Fox Run Condo 4. Need a ride to the airport."
"Fifteen minutes."
I crawl to the stairs. Tang hops on my back as I slowly climb upstairs. I'm covered in sweat when I make it to the second floor. After a few shaky breaths, I crawl into my bedroom. Shove a few sweats and t-shirts in my knapsack, and crawl downstairs.
The doorbell rings.
Gritting my teeth, I grab hold of the couch and force myself to my feet. The room swims as I walk to the front door.
"Airport?" the cabbie asks.
"Yeah," I say.
I pick up my knapsack and choke back a groan.
Only 20 steps to the cab. You can do this. Don't hold Frank back.
I lied. The cab is 40 steps away. I count each step to keep my mind off my pain and nausea.
I collapse in the cab's backseat, when someone grabs my bad leg. I'm pulled out of the cab. My leg gives out before I can catch my balance. I face plant on Frank's driveway.
When I look up, Greene towers over me.
"CABS AREN'T ALLOWED AT FOX RUN!" Greene shouts. He puts his leg out to kick me.
I close my eyes and brace myself for the pain.
"You don't want to do that," Frank growls.
I open my eyes. Frank stands between me and Greene.
"What are you going to do? Hit me?" Greene taunts. "I'm 80 years old. The newspapers will love that headline."
Frank presses one of the speed dial numbers on his black cell phone.
"My brother was physically assaulted. I want to press
charges and sue for pain and suffering," Frank says.
"I wasn't born yesterday!" Greene shouts and grabs Frank's phone. "You're not talking to the police!"
"I know. I'm talking to my attorney. I dialed 911 when I pulled in," Frank says and takes back his phone.
A siren gets louder. A police cruiser comes into view.
"My outside home security cameras filmed the attack," Frank says into his phone. "I've given you a $10,000 retainer. Let me know if you need more. Money is no object. Nobody hurts my brother."
Greene runs down the sidewalk. Two police officers chase him
"I'm calling an ambulance," Frank says.
"No way. I'm good," I say.
Truth is I'm not feeling any pain. All I feel is that whatever darkness sucked up my big brother, has spit him out for ...this minute. Scared it will end. So I soak up every second of having Frank back.
"You have a black eye, bloody nose and the left side of your face is one big bruise," Frank says. "Nothing you say will talk me out of the hospital."
"Dr. Tager," I say. "If he says hospital, I'll go."
"This is a bad idea," Frank says. He slowly helps me up and puts his arm around my shoulder.
My big brother is back. And it doesn't matter Frank has been MIA all week, that I missed PT, or gotten beaten up by an 80-year old man. I haven't had a day this good in two years.
"You still going to the airport?" the cabbie asks.
Crap.
"No," Frank growls.
I lean on Frank as we slowly walk into his living room. I collapse on the couch – bleeding, bruised and sore.
"What's going on?" Frank asks, and sits on the coffee table in front of me.
Rage rips through me. Anger so intense I can't control it.
I tackle Frank. Not my best work – sloppy but effective. I take out Frank and the coffee table.
"What…" Frank says.
I interrupt him with a hard right hook to the nose. Before he recovers, I jab my elbow into his ribs.
Frank twists around and immobilizes me. Probably a tae kwon do move.
"I'm letting you go so we can talk," Frank says.
I force my muscles to relax. When Frank releases me, I hit him with a hard left jab to the stomach. So hard – my hand hurts.
Frank stumbles back against the wall. I grab Frank's coffee mug and throw it at his head. He ducks. The glass mug shatters as it hits the wall an inch above Frank's head.
The doorbell rings.
Dr. Tager walks in carrying his black doctor's bag and an envelope.
"Joe, this letter was on your porch," Doc says.
I stuff the envelope in my pocket.
Doc looks at the blood stains, broken furniture and shattered glass.
"Now I remember why I stopped making house calls," Dr. Tager says. "Who first?"
"Him," Frank says and points to me.
"You sure?" Doc asks and looks at Frank's black eye, bloody nose and bleeding leg.
Did I do that?
"What happened?" Tager asks.
"I don't know," I whisper.
Silence.
Frank won't incriminate me.
"How were you feeling before the condo got destroyed?" Doc asks.
"Angry," I whisper and close my eyes. "Scared."
Doc gently wipes the blood off my hand. Frank's blood. I feel sick.
"Two years ago, Frank buried himself in work. My brother and best friend were MIA. Frank was a machine. He didn't eat or sleep. All he did was work."
"Drop it," Frank growls.
"Can't," I whisper. "My fault. You were trapped in a dark place for a year. But you came back. Terrified I'd send you back there and I did."
"When Callie left, I worked my way through it," Frank says. "I'll do the same thing this time."
"But you're hurting," I whisper.
"You cannot change the way I deal with problems," Frank says. "This is who I am. Now we are done talking."
I feel the distance growing between me and Frank.
"Frank, can you get me some clean towels and warm washcloths?" Doc asks.
POV Frank
I run some washcloths under warm water. After grabbing a few towels, I lean against the wall.
Privacy. To me privacy is more valuable than gold.
I am like a computer. Keeping people at a distance is my personal firewall. Joe sees everyone as potential friends or someone he can help. I view them as threats.
I've only let two people know the real me – Joe and Callie.
Joe. I envy the way he connects to people so effortlessly. On cases, I am amazed how Joe uses a smile or joke to tease information out of total strangers. Sometimes his ability to bond with everyone scares me. How can I protect Joe from all these people?
Joe thinks I'm a superhero. I know different, but I can't convince him. I want to see me, like Joe does. He cares too much. I don't care enough.
Callie. The woman I loved. The woman I still love. The woman who tore my heart into pieces.
The only person, besides Joe, who I let see my soul.
My dreams. My hopes. My future.
Callie destroyed them all.
She destroyed me.
When Callie left, I felt like a forest after a wildfire. I put up a firewall to block everyone. Even Joe. He didn't deserve it, but I had so little of me left – I couldn't risk losing it. After Callie left, I needed time … to heal …. to learn to trust.
Thought I could learn anything. I got a 4.0 GPA at Bayport High School. Was named a National Merit Scholar. Got a full scholarship to Harvard. Earned a degree with a dual major in criminology and computer science. Graduated with honors. The irony is the thing I need to learn the most – to trust – is the one thing I can't master.
Sharing this with anyone is too painful.
I'm scared.
Scared to let Joe know I am only human.
Scared to keep living in a world of gray, while everyone else lives in color.
Scared I'll never trust anyone again.
Scared I'll die alone.
Scared to let anyone see the fractured, broken person I am.
Scared I'll never love again.
Scared if I go to counseling things will get worse.
Scared a counselor might send me to a psychiatric hospital.
And that would destroy the only thing I have left – my reputation.
I prefer the hell I am in, to a scary place full of unknowns.
I survived after Callie left. I will survive this. I just need time.
I close my eyes as the image of Lars killing Joe flits through my mind.
I am drowning in my own mind. Gritting my teeth, I struggle to find an escape.
"D-doc? Is Frank ok?" Joe asks in a shaky voice.
I focus on Joe's voice.
"Don't know. Haven't examined him. Did he do this?" Doc asks.
"No," Joe says. "Frank's a black belt. He held back. Way back. I'd be in a body cast if he went all out."
I smile at Joe's description of me. But I am worried. Joe has never exploded on me like this.
"You threw the coffee mug that dented the plaster?" Doc asks.
"Yeah."
"What if that dent in the wall was Frank's skull? What if he was in Intensive Care in a coma?" Doc asks.
"I didn't think…." Joe says.
I don't like where this is going. Joe would never hurt me.
"I know," Doc says. "Judging from the trail of destruction you were out of control. What happened?"
I wonder the same thing.
"I don't know," Joe says.
"Joe, if your life was in danger, the destruction in this room is understandable. But you attacked Frank. There's got to be a reason," Doc says.
"It's been a rough week," Joe says.
"You attacked your brother. You caused thousands of dollars of damage. This is more than a rough week," Doc says.
"Maybe it's two-year's worth of rough weeks," Joe says. "I got scared when Frank shut down. He was always in motion. Like a monster was chasing him and he couldn't outrun it."
How does he know? I was trying to forget Callie and children we would never have.
"The worst part was Frank always had my back. But I couldn't help him. Thought if Frank had less stress, maybe he'd snap out of it," Joe says. "So, I stopped telling him stuff."
What?
"Just kept everything inside," Joe says.
Not sure what hurts more. That Joe sacrificed being himself so I'd feel better. Or the fact that I didn't notice.
"What did you keep hidden?" Doc asks.
"Just stuff. Like how I'm scared I'll never measure up to Frank or Dad."
Why didn't I see this? What else has Joe been hiding?
"Anything else?" Doc asks.
"Can't forget how I let Iola die," Joe says.
You did not let her die. You can't forgive yourself for her death. Someday I will convince you it wasn't your fault.
I will not forget how I let you suffer for two years. I will never forgive myself for that.
"How do you deal with the pain?" Doc asks.
"Decided after Iola died, I didn't deserve to love a woman," Joe says. "So I quit dating."
What? How did I miss this?
"Told Frank I'm going out. He can tell when I'm lying – don't know how – but he can. Luckily, Frank was too busy to notice."
Mental pain rips through me. Joe was going through hell. Crying out for help. I was too busy running away to hear him.
"So you confided in someone else?" Doc Tager asks.
"No. I did what Frank does," Joe says. "Bury the bad stuff deep and keep moving."
Joe used me for an example? Putting myself through hell is one thing. But dragging Joe there with me is unforgiveable.
The doorbell rings.
"Hey," Tony says. "What happened? Looks like a bomb went off in here."
"Kind of did," Joe says. "I got angry."
"You did this?" Tony says.
"Yeah," Joe says.
"No. I did this," I say. "I've been MIA for two years."
"This can't happen again," Doc says. "Frank, my gut feeling is you are depressed. You shut down. That triggered Joe's anger."
Logical. But how do we break the cycle?
"Frank, if your leg was broken would you wait two years to get treatment?" Doc asks.
"No. But I can handle this," I say. "I just need time."
"We don't have time," Doc says, looking at the destruction. "What if this happens again and one of you is seriously hurt?"
"You diagnosed me with depression. I will research it and set up my own treatment plan," I say.
"If you broke your leg, would you google how to fix it or see a doctor?" Doc asks.
"I have made my decision," I say.
"Yeah, me too," Joe says. "Scared I'll hurt you if I lose control again. So I'm leaving."
Leave? Joe can barely walk.
"You want to fight this alone. I hate it, but I accept your decision. I need you to do the same for me," Joe says.
"Where are you going?" I ask.
"Don't know."
"How long?"
"Not sure."
"How do I contact you?"
"You don't," Joe says.
Joe will disappear to protect me. He will give up his home and everything he cares for me. I can't let him do it.
"What does treatment for me look like?" I ask, forcing each word out of my mouth.
"Treatment gives you tools to fight depression. So if your depression comes back – like now – you know how to deal with it."
"Sounds good," Joe says.
"Does anyone else in your family get depressed?" Doc asks.
"No," I say.
I am the only one in my family who cannot handle life.
"I need blood work to rule out a thyroid problem is causing this. Lab opens tomorrow at 6 am," Doc says.
"I will be there," I say.
Maybe I can do this. Nothing I can't handle - yet.
"Sometimes medicine is prescribed," Doc Tager says.
"That's not happening," Tony says. "Frank doesn't do medicine. He won't even take an aspirin when he gets a headache."
I glare at Tony.
"Look, it's true. You only eat organic food. Every morning you juice some disgusting, vomit-like, green substance and drink it for breakfast. I even make a special pizza for you cuz you won't eat my regular stuff."
"True. Frank doesn't eat real food," Joe says.
"No drugs," I say.
How can I watch Joe's back if I am groggy from some drug?
"You're right," Joe says. He throws his penicillin bottle into the trash.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"No drugs," Joe says.
"No spleen," I say and grab his medicine out of the trash. "You take this every day to stay alive."
"Too bad. You're my role model," Joe says, smiling.
"Fine. I will try medication – if – and only if – the doctor requires it," I say through grit teeth.
"Counseling to learn coping strategies," Doc says.
"No way," Tony says.
"Excuse me?" Doc Tager asks.
"I grew up with Frank, but I barely know him. He can't do therapy," Tony says.
"Tony's right," Joe says.
"Joe, therapy could help you learn what triggers your anger and how to control it," Doc says.
"Thanks, but I can figure it out on my own," Joe says. "I'll check in every couple months once I figure where I'm staying.
Joe on his own is a recipe for disaster. I won't know where he is or how to help him if he needs me.
"You're not leaving," I growl. "Why won't you do counseling?"
"Why do I need counseling?" Joe asks. "You don't."
I feel my blood pressure rising. I am going to kill Joe. Maybe I have an anger management problem too.
"I….will….try…therapyt," I say through grit teeth.
"Dude, you know counseling means baring your soul to a complete stranger for 45 minutes, right? You sure you can do that?" Tony asks.
No. That is my worst nightmare.
I look at Joe.
"Yes," I say.
I will do anything to get my relationship with Joe back. I have two-year's worth of neglect to make up for.
"Joe can stay on a trial basis," Doc says. "I'll be checking in daily."
"No thanks. Tony can you drop me off at a hotel?" Joe asks.
"Hotel?" I ask.
"Worried I'll lose control and hurt you again," Joe says looking at my blood-stained pant leg.
"You didn't do that. It happened on the case I was working. Reminded me why I am not working without you," I say. "Besides what happened today was the result of two years of built up anger."
"You don't know that," Joe says.
"Yes, I do. I'm here for you. So the reason for your anger is gone," I say.
"But it could happen again," Joe says. "I'm not risking your health."
"You're not," I say and smile. "Follow me."
"Field trip?" Joe asks. He leans on Tony as we walk out to the garage. I converted half of it into a workout space.
I take eight flat boards off my workbench.
"Hold these, like this," I tell Tony and position his hands.
"Uh….ok," Tony says. "What are you doing?"
I do a side kick. The eight boards break in half.
"Dude, you could have warned me," Tony says. "What if you kicked me?"
"Willing to risk it," I say.
I don't miss. Ever. Not after all the hours I have practiced.
"Maybe I need protection," Joe says.
"So we're good?" Tony says. "I've got to get back to the pizzeria. Got a new pizza oven I need to break in."
"Yes," I say.
"Lab tomorrow at 6 am," Doc Tager says. "I'll check in tomorrow."
Tony and Doc Tager leave.
I pick up the boards and put them in the trash.
"I'm glad you are here," I say and put my hand on Joe's shoulder.
"Even after this?" Joe says, looking at the destroyed living room.
"Yes."
"I'll get the place fixed up," Joe says and yawns.
"No. We are a team. We fix this together," I say. "Tomorrow."
"Sounds good," Joe says.
He sits on what is left of the couch.
"One condition. You level with me. No more lies. No more telling me what you think I want to hear," I say.
"Baby steps," Joe says.
Hearing that hurts. But it makes me more determined to fight my way through this. For Joe.
"Give me a hand upstairs?" Joe asks.
A baby step. Joe hates asking for help. Hates showing weakness.
Gently, I put my arm around Joe. Slowly we go upstairs.
"Anything you need?" I ask, when we reach Joe's bedroom.
Joe shakes his head no.
"Glad you're back," Joe says.
"Someone has to keep you out of trouble," I say.
Joe chews his bottom lip, a sign he is troubled.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"How did you..." Joe asks.
"Not telling. What's wrong?" I ask.
"Scared I'll wake up tomorrow," Joe whispers, while staring at the floor. "And you'll be gone."
"No chance," I say. "I live here."
"What if you're depressed tomorrow? What if you ignore me? What if you quit talking to me?" Joe asks.
"No chance," I say. "You gave me a reason to fight."
POV JOE
Frank's back.
He's not 100 percent. But he's fighting. And one thing I know about Frank – when he commits to something he always gets what he wants.
Except Callie. Why couldn't she die instead of Iola?
I'll never forgive Callie for hurting Frank. Feel like she locked him in a prison for two years.
Slowly and painfully, I pull off my In My Defense I Was Left Unsupervised t-shirt.
Hope the blood stains come out. One of my favorite shirts.
When I take off my sweats, an envelope falls out of my pocket.
I rip open the envelope. A single piece of red paper falls out.
Get a bad feeling when I unfold it.
Shark. I know it's him. I flashback to him beating me. Telling me if I make a sound, he'll kill Frank.
I'm losing it. Can't breathe. Can't stop shaking. I shove the paper under my pillow.
"Frank!"
The word is out of my mouth before I can stop myself.
"What?" Frank shouts from his bedroom.
"Thirsty," I say.
"Ok."
I hear Frank go downstairs. What if Shark is hiding down there? Why didn't I warn Frank?
But what if telling Frank makes him depressed? What if I lose my brother for good this time?
I hear Frank coming upstairs.
"One glass of water, after I get your temperature," Frank says.
He shoves a thermometer in my mouth.
When it beeps, he takes it out.
"Normal. What's going on?"
I drink the water trying to think of an answer.
"Long day," I say. "Uh…you've got the security alarm on, right?"
"Yes. Anything you want to talk about?"
"Remember when I found the cat?" I ask.
Just need Frank here for a little while.
"Yes. You were three years old. You pulled me outside, pushed me under the porch, and climbed in after me," Frank says. "I was trapped between you and the biggest skunk in Bayport."
"Named it Fluffy," I say.
"You told me that when I pushed you into the yard and climbed out myself. Unfortunately, Fluffy followed. You tried to pet Fluffy. I tackled you. I smelled like Fluffy for a week," Frank says.
"Good times," I say.
"For you," Frank says, as he leaves. "I took a tomato juice bath every night for a week."
Closing my eyes, memories of Snake haunt me. But my biggest fear is how do I protect Frank when I can't warn him?
Joe's t-shirts come from Catalog Favorites. I don't own it or get anything from the company. But the shirts seem to sum up Joe's personality so well.