Note: As I re-read this chapter, I realize that it's very long- almost 5,800 words- and comprised of five different scenes, each one of which probably should have been its own chapter. But instead of separating the scenes, I kept them as is, because they all go together. (On a side note, all the chapters remaining are pretty much this length!). I'm posting it a day early, since it may take you a day to read- LOL. Hope you enjoy! Thank you so very much to those of you following the story and for those of you who have been so kind to leave feedback since the last chapter: Tin Dog, Erin Jordan, Snow Princess 88, Hero 76, Guest, hbndgirl, Laurie Q, EvergreenDreamweaver, BeeBee18, Caranath, Paulina Ann, BMSH, max 2013, and Penlew. Your comments do make a difference and they're motivating me to force myself out of my current writing slump!

The Stages of Conviction

Chapter 28

December 18th, 9:15 a.m. Frank had gazed at her as he prayed for her to wake up. Then, against all odds... she did.

He had been there when it had happened, thank God. He had just brought JJ in to kiss his mommy good morning; it was their ritual now. Get JJ up, feed him, bring him to the hospital to spend an hour with Callie, drive him back to his grandparents, and go back to the hospital. It was his new routine, a somber reality of living and not -living, existing but not functioning, caught somewhere between life and death- just like Callie.

But this time, when JJ called out "Mamamama!" and gave his little baby kisses to her cheek, Frank had seen her eyes start to flutter. His heart had stopped. "Callie! Callie! Baby- can you hear me?" He had sat on the edge of her bed, holding JJ with one arm, touching her face with his other hand. "PLEASE. Honey…"

And she had opened her eyes for no more than five seconds, gave the palest, least discernible smile he had ever seen, and had tried to lift her hand to cover his. That had been it, but she was back, in some form, and he would wait. He'd called his in-laws and parents, Joe and Vanessa, and then had held JJ and kissed him over and over as he held Callie's hand.

Yes, he would wait. He would wait forever if he needed to. He closed his eyes and reflected on the worst time of his life...

The first week that Callie had slept in a coma had been a whirlwind of emotions. Frank didn't think he had ever been so despondent or so hopeful in his entire life. When she had made it through the first night, against every doctor's expectations, had moved her hand ever so slightly to cover JJs, he felt his faith restored. He kept a constant vigil over her, splitting his time only with Joe and Vanessa, his own parents, and Callie's parents. But she remained virtually lifeless, a flower ready to bloom but not quite in the right environment to do so. Still, he maintained hope. He kissed her, held her, talked to her and prayed for her, but there was no sound except for the monitor that measured each beat of her heart...or maybe it was his own.

He'd left Joe to work on the case alone, to get the revenge that he, himself, so desperately wanted, and Joe had been hurt, required major surgery to fuse his clavicle back together.

And Joe had gotten them, with help from so many. Fitzhenry, Katnova, Daniels, and Grant were in custody, but Todd Rangers and especially- ESPECIALLY- Alan Cotnig had eluded capture, were still at large. If it was anyone else, Frank knew he would have assumed they would have fled. But he knew better. The attacks may have stopped, but Cotnig was out there, watching, waiting, planning.

And, in the meantime, his family was suffering.

The start of the second week she had slept had been hell. Day one of week two was December 3rd. The eighth anniversary of the night that had changed her- them- forever. He couldn't leave her alone. They'd never spoken in detail about it after that first time, but every December 3, no matter what else was going on, at 7:00 they would just get in bed together and he would just hold her, and, wrapped in his arms, she would fight the terror, the nightmares, that always came to her, as he assured her that she was safe. This night would not be any different.

And he had held her, had refused to leave her, until his father- in- law came in at midnight and insisted he go home. He'd refused; he hadn't cried at all since that first day of the "accident", but when he felt his father- in- law gently help him up as his mother- in- law sat at the foot of Callie's bed, he realized that his face was moist, the tears coming with no conscious thought. He was so grateful that his other father hadn't asked a thing; rather, he had driven him home in silence, hugged him tightly, and said, "I know, son. I love you. Rest."

When he'd entered the house, he was shocked to see Joe wide awake and sitting on the couch.

"What are you doing here?" he'd asked, numbly.

"Vanessa and I are watching JJ tonight," Joe had reminded him, softly.

He nodded. He should have remembered that. It was important.

He knew that Joe could read him better than anyone, as well as Callie could, and he'd always been able to do the same. He saw in Joe's eyes compassion, hurt, concern, love.

"You feeling okay?" he found himself asking Joe automatically.

"I heard you were having a bad night," Joe replied simply.

So... his in-laws had called Joe. He didn't even care. Tonight his heart was bleeding. Tonight he was reminded of everything: IT, her kidnapping and treatment at Cotnig's hands, Johnny, his own fight with Joe, the fear in her eyes as she told him about a miscarriage, the fact that she was barely clinging to life now. His poor, beautiful angel who deserved none of this. He couldn't talk.

"Iola's memorial service was today, nine years ago, exactly three months after she died," Joe said quietly, meeting his eyes.

Frank saw what he was doing, and was grateful beyond words. Joe was talking so he didn't have to, was sharing his secrets so Frank could keep his, was reminding him that he, too, had suffered a terrible loss, and he got it.

Joe turned and retreated into the kitchen momentarily, returning with a large bag in one hand. He reached in with his good arm and took out a case of beer. "I have at least two more. Plus vodka. Rum. I thought you might need to get drunk. I'll be happy to join you."

Frank looked at Joe, walked over to him, and hugged him tightly, careful to avoid his shoulder area. He gave his brother a kiss on the cheek, something he had not done in over twenty years. "Don't mind if I do," he said with a small smile.

Joe only smiled, turned on the tv, opened two beer bottles, and handed one to Frank. "To Callie," Joe said, fighting tears. "To Iola," Frank responded, and hit his bottle against Joe's.

"The next one's to us," Frank added softly, and Joe nodded.

And that was how week two went: a subtle numbness and a fading to black.

The third week she had slept had been like the hangover: a slow realization that you had to face life, no matter how very foggy and painful it may be. Christmas was two weeks away and he hadn't done a thing. But his life wasn't his own anymore. JJ deserved his first Christmas, even if he wouldn't remember it. So he'd left his in-laws with Callie, and had put up the tree, drinking whatever was left over from Joe the week before to help him get through it.

But Joe had insisted on being there, and though he wasn't physically useful, Joe had saved his sanity. With Joe, he didn't have to make small talk. Joe understood that this was a penance, a duty, not a celebration. He'd done the bare minimum, but it still looked nice, more than acceptable. Callie would have approved. And Joe had done him the favor of hanging up the stockings, because seeing their names on each one on what would have been their first Christmas with their son would have been too much for him.

And Vanessa had gone out and bought gifts, wrapped them all up, and hidden them away. He still couldn't have said what she had bought, but the thoughtfulness touched him deeply.

When Vanessa had brought JJ down to see the tree with the lights, he had started laughing and clapping his hands and crawling like a doodlebug all over the place, so very excited. And Frank had felt Joe's arm around him as he watched his son through tear-filled eyes, knowing this was a moment Callie should have been present for. Joe- always AT his side- always ON his side. Something he always should have known.

And then that week had been surreal. Now doctors started asking questions: How long could she continue in a coma? At what point should the baby be aborted or try to be saved? Could a comatose woman deliver a child? The answer, he'd learned, was yes. Would the baby survive birth with the extent of Callie's injuries? Would Callie die anyway? It was crazy, unbelievable, frightening... sobering.

He finally began to concentrate on what they were saying. Placenta Previa. Placental Abruption. Cervical cerclage: apparently, that had been what the doctors had to do to keep her from miscarrying, though he had little understanding of what it entailed. And it had worked. The irony was clear: her body was shutting down, unable to deal with the shock, blood loss, and pain, and, in turn, was giving her baby a chance to heal, to grow, one life for another. Just like with JJ.

The list went on and on. Severe Anemia. Low amniotic fluid. Three broken ribs. A punctured lung. And still… and STILL… she fought.

And then today, this morning, she had tried to fight again.

He looked at his watch again. 3:45. He had been here all day, waiting for the miracle of this morning to repeat itself. His dad had been good enough to take JJ, and everyone else was there, too. Had been all day, since his call.

"Frank?" she whispered, barely opening her eyes. It was so bright. Everything hurt. Where- where was she?

He was at her side instantly. "Cal?" he asked, voice shaking.

She stared at him, trying to process everything. She didn't understand. Why couldn't she think?

She felt him brushing the hair from her forehead, saw him smiling although tears were running down his face.

She couldn't talk. She was so very tired. Her eyes began to close.

She felt him kiss her lips, hold her hand.

"You're safe, honey. You're safe."

THAT she understood. She managed to squeeze his hand before succumbing to the darkness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

One week later- Christmas Day

"Do you like it?" Joe asked Callie. He and Vanessa had just finished setting up the Christmas tree in the hospital room and dropping several presents in front of it for when JJ and Frank would be arriving in about an hour.

Callie smiled. "It's perfect, guys. Thank you."

"Merry Christmas!" Vanessa exclaimed happily, bending over to kiss Callie on the cheek. "Oh, Cal. This is going to be the best Christmas ever!"

Callie laughed softly. "I have a lot to be thankful for, absolutely," she responded. She yawned suddenly and then winced as a pain shot through her ribs.

Vanessa eyed her sympathetically. "How much pain are you in?" she asked, concerned.

"Oh, hush," Callie answered. "I'll be okay. This is JJ's first Christmas, and I'm here, and you're here, and everyone is coming later." She spoke slowly now; breathing was still laborious. "And I have this hat, so what's not to be happy about?" She pointed at the ridiculous Santa hat that Joe had brought her, adorned with lights and garland. It was the tackiest thing she'd ever seen, next to that pajama set that he had given to JJ on Thanksgiving, the total opposite of every fashion rule she believed in.

"You like it, right?" Joe asked, and she could tell there was a little more than teasing in his eyes.

"It's great," she responded softly, concentrating on breathing. "And you gave it to me. So I love it." She tried to keep her sentences short; it was easier that way.

"Eggnog or coffee? Orange juice? What do you want for breakfast?" Vanessa asked, anxious to make Callie happy, to keep her mind off her long recovery; her constant pain.

Callie almost answered that she wasn't hungry- she wasn't-but she knew she needed to gain weight, and she could hear her doctor warning her about how important it was for her to take her medicine and vitamins and to eat well. "How about eggs and a piece of toast?" she asked slowly, breathing painful. "Thanks, Van."

Vanessa's face lit up, and Joe smiled at her enthusiasm. "Sure! I'll be right back. Joe, I'll make a separate trip for you!"

Joe walked to Vanessa and gave her a lingering kiss. "I love you," he told her.

"I love you," she replied, blushing. "I'll be back soon, Cal!" she added, and headed for the hospital cafe and the special Christmas menu.

Left alone with each other, Joe smiled and sat down on the side of Callie's bed. Although she had been getting stronger each day, she was still very, very weak and in much worse pain, he knew, then she was letting on. She slept most of the time and had just started being more alert two days ago, and this was the first real time he had spent with her.

He held her hand. "You look cute in the hat," he said, offhandedly. Vanessa had brought her an ugly Christmas sweater which she now wore over her tee shirt and Christmas pajama bottoms. Callie, who was always so put together and conservative, looked completely out of her element.

"I look ridiculous," Callie replied softly, with hesitation. "But today I love it."

He squeezed her hand. He had so much to tell her, but he knew that she knew it all already; he felt it. "You know, if this gets too much for you today, kick everyone out. You need rest."

"Okay," Callie responded, closing her eyes to rest. She felt completely fine doing so with Joe as he rubbed her hand gently.

"Are you really stuck in this place until junior arrives?" he asked her after a few minutes.

She opened her eyes weakly. "That's what they say." She remembered vaguely the doctors talking seriously to her and Frank about her options. She wouldn't abort this child, even if it cost her her own life. The doctors had told her that they normally no longer prescribed strict bed rest for expectant mothers, since inactivity was no good for mother or child and it could lead to a whole host of other issues. However, in her case, she needed it. She had been ordered to bed rest until the baby would be delivered- again, no doubt, many weeks premature- and allowed to get up only to go to the bathroom and shower and literally do nothing else. The cervical cerclage demanded total pelvic rest; plus, she had to wait for her internal injuries to heal properly.

She added, "But you know damned well I have no intention of staying here." Her eyes, though tired, held a familiar sparkle, a mischief in them. "I can rest as easily at home as I can here."

Joe laughed. "I'll help spring you out, sis. My brother would be happy with you here, though. In fact, he was working on inventing a new plastic bubble to surround you."

Callie squeezed his hand again. "Thanks, buddy."

Joe winked at her. "I wanted to tell you- before Frank gets here. Just so you know. He's been working really hard getting the truth out there about Johnny. Now the papers are hailing him as a hero again. Some are still harping on the fact that he was gay and making him a role model for the community."

"Well," she responded, clinging to Joe's hand as a wave of pain cut through her. He didn't ask; just held on. "John WAS a hero and a role model. But he was too private for anything else." Joe could tell how tired she was getting. "He would say that we don't have heterosexual heroes so we shouldn't have homosexual heroes. Actually, he would deny he was a hero at all."

"He was a good man," Joe said, simply.

"Mmmm," Callie answered. "He was. My Johnny."

"And I always knew that. Just- I wanted to-" he began, needing to speak to her as he had finally spoken with Frank.

"I know, Joey," she assured him. "So does Frank." She forced her eyes to remain open momentarily. "Hey," she whispered softly. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything," he replied earnestly.

When he looked at her, he saw how exhausted, weak, and uncomfortable she was, but he was shocked most of all by the look of intensity in her eyes, heavy with sleep. She was literally fighting to stay awake, and he saw that. "You're always so good to me," she muttered in a low voice. "Frank told me about your talk. I owe you a little more explanation."

"You don't," he replied, still rubbing her hand gently. "It's okay, Cal. I should have just accepted your request to leave it alone, because it meant something to you. I'm sorry."

Her eyes were filled with tears as she turned from him. "No. I promised you I would talk to you, and I always keep my word. I can't say too much, Joe, because it's a part of my past that I never want to remember. But I want you to know, directly from me... why. Briefly..." her eyes took on a haunted tone as she tried to be very vague, "when I was in college, and Frank and I were separated, I had to deal with... things... on my own. It..." her lips quivered... "was a very negative time, and I was scared because I had no one. Johnny was the someone who helped me, to say the least. You have no idea what that man did for me. I loved him, Joe. I knew him as well as I know Frank, and that's why I knew he couldn't be guilty."

Joe looked at her tenderly, and simply listened. He'd grown a lot, had learned the value of silence from his brother.

"What-" he started, in a low voice, but stopped when Callie shook her head.

"I can't, Joe. Ever. But I should have told you when this case started what I told you now. It was just so... dark... that I couldn't think straight and realize what it would do to you and Frank. I reacted strongly because it was John's reputation on the line, and of course that was important. But it hit me one day; I was defensive because of who I knew him to be, what he did for me. I'm so sorry." She was crying softly. "And no one else in the world, other than Frank, knows that time even existed. You really don't need to know the details. It's done. I need you to respect that, but I am truly sorry I wasn't clear at the start of everything. I could have saved everyone heartache." She was trembling slightly, her hands now balled into fists, and Joe could see how traumatic it had been for her to even speak the vague words. Her whole posture changed as she almost shrank into herself; her breathing was totally uneven. She was fighting against unconsciousness as each word became a battle.

He looked directly at her, finally, his blue eyes and her dark ones parallel pools of sorrow. He released her hand and sat by her side, slipping an arm around her slim shoulders. He leaned his forehead against hers. "Shhh," he whispered. "Close your eyes. Rest. No one will ever know what you told me, Cal. Thank you for telling me what you did. I won't ask you more; you have my word. Before, I was going to say 'Whatever you need' not 'what happened," believe it or not. If you ever want to talk, I'm here for you, and I will support you with all that I have. And it hurts me," he choked out, "that I couldn't help you. I'm so sorry for whatever you went through," he went on. "I'm sorry that we weren't close enough for those years that you had to trust a new person in your life with whatever happened. I'm glad he turned out to be worthy of you. I'm so very sorry you felt alone, sis," he finished. "I swear to you that you'll never be alone again. On my life, I promise you that." He kissed her forehead. He would keep his promise not to speculate, not to discuss that anything at all had happened with anyone. Callie trusted him, and he valued that immensely.

Callie shakily wiped her tears with the back of her hand and rested her head against his shoulder, fighting against the intense physical and emotional pain. Her eyes, heavy with sleep, closed at last. She tried to concentrate on the positive: she had Frank and her family and his family. By some miracle, she had survived IT. By an equal miracle, she had overcome her physical injuries then; even the fact that she had gotten pregnant- twice-had been unexpected, to say the least. The doctors had told her that the odds were against her ever being able to have children as a result of the physical damage which had occurred from the extreme brutality of IT, but Frank had married her anyway, joyfully and with total love and acceptance of that fact, willing to give up any hope of having children of his own, all for her. Another secret. But now they had a most beautiful son, a miracle of the greatest proportion. The days she had given birth to her son and found out that she was pregnant again were the greatest moments of her and Frank's life, much more than anyone knew. Life was filled with hidden blessings, with moments such as this.

She wished Frank was there now. But Joe... somehow, he was a pretty good substitute.

"I think I need to sleep for a little while," she managed, taking slow, shallow breaths. She couldn't stay awake, heard her speech slurred. "Before everyone comes. Can … can you stay with me?" she asked, completely empty. It had hurt so much even thinking about it; she had nothing left. Plus, she was scared. Sometimes she was afraid that if she fell asleep again, she wouldn't wake up. She needed someone who she knew would wake her up if she slept too deeply- someone she loved a lot and trusted to do so. She had only confided that fear to Frank, but he wasn't here yet, and she was exhausted. Just talking and thinking were a major effort.

She didn't have to say another word. He understood at once, and was touched, gently rubbing her shoulder in comfort, and he held her free hand.

"Of course. Sleep, Cal. I'm right here for you. Merry Christmas," he said softly.

"Merry Christmas," she mouthed back as her eyes closed. She held onto Joe's hand. He didn't let go.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The rest of Christmas passed in whirlwind. Everyone descended on Callie's hospital room, and Joe was pretty sure that, if it hadn't been Christmas and the hallways hadn't been so sparsely populated, they would have been kicked out long ago.

Callie had very limited stamina, but Joe had seen the absolute joy in her eyes when she had seen JJ and Frank. She had watched JJ open his gifts with help from family and friends. He had almost started to cry when "Santa" arrived, and had spent the day enjoying his first Christmas, looking like a perfect little angel, himself. Soon after, completely spent, she had fallen asleep, nestled against Frank. Joe knew he would never forget the look of utter devotion, relief, and love in Frank's eyes as he looked as his son and Callie. It was beautiful; it was time that he had that moment.

Callie's parents were overjoyed and laughing; Fenton and Laura were chatting, Laura feeling sufficiently stronger and reinvigorated by the new life in her family. All grandparents were fussing over the baby.

Visitor upon visitor came with gifts, and, if Callie had been awake, she would have seen how many people loved her. Biff and his girlfriend dropped by, and Biff tried to convince Joe to play "Toss the baby" instead of "Toss the Football" as soon as his arm healed, much to Frank's consternation. Andrea, Pat and his girlfriend, Tony and his wife, Chet's whole family, Liz, Stephanie, Collig and his wife, who was recovering well, Phil and his new lady… the list of visitors went on and on.

At the conclusion of visiting hours, Laura and Fenton returned to their house with JJ. The Shaws returned home. The only reminder of their case was the constant police presence, but they were regular guys, too, always down for a laugh, and they made themselves known more as old friends than people who were prepared to protect them at all costs.

At the end of the night, Frank had hugged Joe tightly and apologized for not getting him a present this year, but offered free babysitting for at least a week, which Joe thought more than sufficient. Joe had managed to enjoy the day, pushing his conversation with Callie away, as he promised her that he would do. It was necessary for him as well, because when he had let his mind wander after his earlier conversation with Frank... and then Callie... he had felt a sickness come over him as the puzzle pieces started to fit. But he'd stopped himself, truly not wanting to know, because his mind went to a dark place and, if he had guessed correctly, he didn't know if he could deal with it, and he prayed to god he was wrong. So he didn't think. He just channeled that energy into an even deeper love for his sister and brother.

Then, Frank had simply settled in next to Callie, and Joe knew he'd be holding her close, thanking God that she was there. They deserved peace. Finally.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Joe and Vanessa finally were dropped off at their home by the officer assigned to them, he held her hand as they walked to their door. He smiled as he picked up a surprise package from his brother, who really had gotten him a gift after all- he had ordered a monthly delivery of the best imported and domestic beers to be sent to him all year, and had attached the message, "I got one for myself, too, in case you wanted to get drunk one night. I love you. Frank."

He ignored the tears in his eyes as he led her inside. There, he turned on the tree lights and started the fireplace.

Helping Vanessa off with her coat, he laid down with her on the couch and wrapped his arms around her, cuddling close. He laid a hand on her belly, so excited that she was finally showing. Because of Callie's problems, they had been especially quiet about their own burgeoning joy of parenthood, sensitive to the fact that Callie and Frank almost lost - might still- lose their child.

But he was so excited. "Look at my beautiful baby and my beautiful wife," he said tenderly to her.

Vanessa laid her hand on top of his. "I think LJ will be just perfect," she whispered with a smile, and Joe laughed. They hadn't told anyone yet, but they had found out that they were having a boy and decided to nickname him LJ for "Little Joe" until they could find a suitable name for their son.

"Can you believe this, Babe?" he said tenderly to her. "This is the last Christmas it's just you and me. And if I haven't told you enough," he went on, looking into her gorgeous blue-gray eyes, "I love you more than life. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I will TAKE it," he said, and pulled her close for a passionate kiss.

Vanessa felt her heart beating hard. She loved Joe so much; loved how he made her laugh and made her feel treasured, never once afraid to show his feelings publically or privately, to express the words in his heart and mind, for better or worse. "Merry Christmas, sexy beast," she teased him.

"Merry Christmas, gorgeous angel," he answered. "And Merry Christmas, LJ," he said to her tummy, rubbing it gently again. His eyes crinkled with love as he felt just the slightest movement, this miracle. "Thank you for being perfect," Joe whispered, "and for carrying our baby. I still can't believe it." He kissed her again, more intensely, making her moan softly in pleasure.

"It's late," she breathed, managing to sit up. "We should end the night with Christmas songs or something," she added, trying to catch her breath.

"Okay," Joe replied mischievously, wrapping his arms around her from behind and kissing her neck. Vanessa felt the color rise to her cheeks as waves of pleasure swept through her body. "No Silent Night," he replied, continuing to trail his kisses lower. "It's more like Joy to the World, Sleigh Ride, Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree, and especially O Come all Ye Faithful…"

Vanessa laughed at Joe's ability to be both ridiculously silly and ridiculously sexy at the same time. She finally gave in, turned around, and returned the kisses. "I will never think of the titles of those songs the same way again," she breathed heavily as she spoke. "You've ruined Christmas for me."

"Grinch," he teased, and winked at her. "Now, let's have yourself a merry little Christmas…" he murmured and lost himself in the moment, taking a moment to be grateful for all his blessings this day, the biggest one of which was in his arms.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Alan Cotnig looked at the plans in front of him. Things had gone well- very well. Fenton Hardy and Ezra Collig were within his grasp, and, like last time, they were just starting to let their guard down.

Last time had been fun; this time, it was downright brilliant. Sure, there had been many casualties on his part along the way, but they were all pawns in his game; his brothers, blood or otherwise, understood the risks. No matter what crimes they had done, they had also done the time. And nothing united a bunch of low -lifes, as Fenton Hardy had called them in court, like a little revenge.

Take some special skills- a hacker, a bank thief, a doctor, an arsonist, a murderer- the list went on, and ask them to prove their worth. Everyone liked to be validated. Everyone would be merciless when there was nothing to lose. Everyone liked games. Everyone hated Fenton Hardy and Ezra Collig. And, poof- everyone was set for action.

Enter him-burned, scarred for life, in constant pain, because of HIM. That was unforgivable. So let him see what it was like to have that pain, and start slowly. Like a fine wine, it improved with time. Start with the mental, crush slowly, go to the physical. Then die. He briefly thought of Poe's "Cask of Amontillado." Poe, like him: brilliant, dark, mad? Some would say so. Yes, Poe had said it best in that story: "A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong."* Brilliant.

God, he loved puzzles and games. He loved to hurt people who thought they were better than him. He loved to put people in their places. And everyone hated the Hardys, the police, their holier-than-thou attitude, their wholesome, good guy image. But he'd cracked them; yes, he had. And once the smallest crack appeared, the whole foundation could crumble. A veritable "Fall of the House of Usher."

And literature helped him. The great minds, misunderstood, judged by critics who simply did not understand their brilliance. Frost; Dickinson; Poe; Hamer; Cummings; the inimitable Shakespeare- ALL of them, and so many others, on shelves gathering dust. He'd just brought them to life.

So when the idea occurred to him to use their brilliance against those who did not understand, it was his honor to do so. Join them with Hercule Poirot, Sherlock Holmes… and see if Fenton Hardy and his sons could even hold a candle to them. It had been fun to watch them burn. A classic tale...

He wrote furiously in his notebook.

A: Angst. Anxiety. Anguish. Aspirin. Actors. Ashes. Aunts. Antic Disposition. ANTHONY.

B: Befuddle. Babies. Beatings. Brakes. Brother battle Brother. BIFF.

C: Confuse and Confound. Clue after Clue. Crashes. Cops. Coma. CALLIE. CHET.

D: Deceive. Die. Doctors. Digitoxin. Death. DON.

E: Enervate. Elucidate. EZRA.

F. Fire. Formula. FENTON. FRANK.

G. Guesses. Gasps. GERTRUDE. GELLERS.

H. Hurting. Hunted. Hospital. HARDY.

I. ICU. Injuries. Injustice. Indiscretion. IOLA.

J. Justice. Jealousy. JOE.

He could go on and on, but he had proven his point. He was smarter than them. But now that:

Ezra Collig had watched his wife almost die

Laura Hardy had been hurt

Callie Hardy had been kidnapped, badly hurt twice, and was still fighting for her life

Vanessa Hardy had been kidnapped and hospitalized

Gertrude Hardy had been hospitalized

Anthony Prito, Biff Hooper, Chet Morton, Don Anllow, Ezra Collig, Frank Hardy, and Gertrude Hardy had helped to reveal his hidden codes, and had been terrorized

Frank Hardy's son had been in an accident

John Gellers was dead

There was only one thing left.

One. Kill.- O.K.!

Another code. He smiled.

K. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL

The final stage was at hand, and his conviction was strong.

*Edgar Allan Poe's "The Cask of Amontillado"