Thanks to everyone who has reviewed – I wish I had the chance to reply to you all individually but, sadly, there aren't enough hours in the day. Just know you are appreciated – and I figured you'd all much prefer an update anyway ;-)
BLAME
Joe looked down at the tray on the table in front of him. On it was a plate containing turkey, sweet potatoes, stuffing, yams, corn-on-the-cob, green beans and a bread roll – all smothered in rich gravy. Next to it, on a side-plate, was a slice of pumpkin pie.
It was the perfect Thanksgiving dinner – exactly like his mom had used to make; and that was why he had asked for it. They had done a commendable job of providing everything exactly as he'd requested – right down to a glass of purple grape juice; the closest he had ever been allowed to come to having wine with his holiday meal.
But, perfect or not, it wasn't Thanksgiving – the holiday wasn't even close – and his mother hadn't made the sumptuous fare before him. And so Joe pushed the tray away, without having even taken a single bite.
"I'm done," he said, softly, looking at the man who stood over the bunk on which he sat.
"Are you sure, Joseph?" the man asked, frowning in concern at the untouched meal. "You do have the right…"
"I'm sure, Father." Joe felt a twinge of guilt at the disapproving vibe the priest was seeming to give off at the waste of perfectly good food. In spite of everything, he felt the need to try and make it right: "Give it to someone who'll appreciate it," he murmured.
The priest nodded and then sat gingerly on the bunk next to him. He had a bible in his lap and one hand caressed the cover, as though seeking strength from it – and maybe he was. Joe wished he could find somewhere to draw some strength from. But he had nothing and no-one. He had burnt his bridges and been left alone.
He briefly wondered about his dad and his brother – most especially his brother – but he pushed the thought abruptly away. He'd made his decision and they wouldn't be there tonight. Brief pain pierced his heart as he thought of Frank – but it was a pain he had long since learnt to live with.
And soon that pain – along with all the others he'd been feeling so deeply that he couldn't feel anything else any more – would be gone.
"I'm ready," he said; looking the priest firmly in the eye.
"Is there anything you wish to say?" The priest got to his feet – and it was a silent signal for the guards to enter his cell. "If you confess your crime before God, if you repent, if you ask for atonement – then He will surely forgive you.
"I already confessed." Joe looked up – and he wasn't at all surprised to see that his guards were Houghton and Carl. It was only fitting.
Joe got to his feet and walked out of his cell – the shackles at his wrists and ankles not hindering him in any way. The priest walked alongside him and began to incant the Lord's Prayer: "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…"
Joe let the words fade out, as they entered another room. In this one there was a gurney and Joe lay down on it without even being directed. He didn't struggle as straps were tightened to hold him in place. He didn't flinch when two cannulae were inserted, one in each arm.
He closed his eyes and waited for his death – by means of lethal injection. He breathed out what he genuinely believed what was to be his last breath.
And then Joe sucked in a breath and opened his eyes. For a brief moment, he remained lost in his dream world and he wondered why – and how – he had woken up. A lethal injection couldn't fail.
Then he took in the hospital room – and the images of his nightmare began to fade and distort. Reality seeped back in and the softest of sighs escaped his lips.
He stared at the ceiling; not wanting to know – not even caring – who might be in there with him.
His nightmare had given him something. He knew what he had to do.
Just be his brother. Frank reflected on his dad's words and tried to figure out what to do with them. It all sounded so straightforward and simple, but it was neither of those things.
How could he 'just be his brother' to someone so deeply immersed in pain? So lost in self-recrimination, self-loathing and guilt? So distant to him that he didn't even want to be touched; was shying away from even the simplest gesture of affection?
How was he supposed to deal with that?
He opened his mouth to ask his dad that very question, but a soft knock at the door stalled his words. Sam poked his head in – and Fenton excused himself.
Frank barely even acknowledged either of them.
Just be his brother.
Frank took a deep breath and mentally steeled himself for the task that lay ahead. He might not know what to say – what to do – to get through to Joe, but he did know one thing: His dad had been right and being a brother was what he did best..
Though he was hurting deeply from Joe's reaction, Frank vowed not to let it defeat him. His brother could be the most stubborn person on the planet – but that was something of a family trait. He didn't often have cause to, but Frank could do 'stubborn' along with the best of them – and he directed all of that stubbornness towards helping Joe and bringing him out the other side of this.
And the harder Joe tried to push him away, the firmer he would stand. The term 'an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object' sprang to mind. He wondered which of those two forces was him and which was Joe – but then decided it didn't matter; the two were interchangeable.
He would be either or he would be both. Whatever it took.
Frank took a deep breath, satisfied that he had reconciled himself to the task that lay ahead; satisfied that he could do whatever he had to do.
He rubbed his eyes – suddenly crushingly aware that it had been more than twenty-four hours since he'd last slept; but he wasn't going to let that be an obstacle to him, either. He could survive on coffee – or maybe one of those caffeine-loaded fizzy drinks that had the ability to have his often hyperactive brother almost bouncing off the walls.
How Frank longed to have that Joe back again – even if he could be incredibly exasperating when on an energy drink high.
And then his train of thought was abruptly derailed, as a soft sigh drifted past his brother's lips.
Standing up, he saw Joe's eyes open; saw them focus on the ceiling.
"Joe…" he began, fixing a smile on his face.
He never expected to be interrupted – and most especially not by Joe himself. But that's exactly what happened:
"Tell them I'm ready," Joe said, his eyes flitting towards Frank's and then – just as quickly – returning to stare blankly at the ceiling.
When Sam poked his head into the hospital room, Fenton had stepped outside to speak to him simply because he didn't want to break the rules and give Doctor Kempton any excuse to make life any more difficult for them than it already was.
Besides, with Joe sleeping again and Frank looking lost in thought, he figured that it couldn't hurt to leave just for a few minutes. And out in the corridor, he could speak without the fear of being overheard – even subconsciously – by Joe.
As he closed the door behind him, Fenton glanced towards the chairs lined up against one wall of the corridor, but they all stood vacant.
"Is Gertrude not with you?" he asked, mildly surprised by the observation but not really knowing why.
"She stayed home. Said it wouldn't do for too many people to be fussing around Joe." Sam gave a half-shrug. "I think she might have also said something about the house needing to be aired."
Even Fenton spared a smile at that. "So, what are you doing here so early?" he asked.
At the chagrined look he received in return, he figured that Gertrude's fussing might have had something to do with it.
"I came to see how you all were doing," Sam answered, with another slight shrug of his shoulders. "To see if you needed anything."
"I could use a week's worth of sleep." Fenton added truth to his words by using one hand to smother a yawn. "But it's nothing about a million cups of coffee won't fix. Anything else?" he asked, somewhat cagily – wondering if he was yet to face serious consequences following his assault of Thomas Carr.
Years of working together had formed a bond between the two of them – and Sam easily understood what was being asked of him. But, before he could answer, the conversation was interrupted by a nurse hurrying down the corridor. It was clear that she only had only one destination in mind – and that destination was Joe's room.
Fenton grabbed hold of her arm, as soon as she was close enough: "What's going on?" He demanded, panic accelerating his heartbeat and adding an uncharacteristic – and totally unfair – brusqueness to his voice.
"I don't know," the nurse answered, a little distractedly. But she'd worked at the hospital for over a dozen years and so instantly recognised Fenton Hardy. A little bit awed – and maybe even somewhat star struck – she instantly understood the reason for his tone. She forgave him without a thought and then explained the reason for her haste: "Somebody just pressed the 'call' button."
Fenton let her go then, but both he and Sam – and the rules be damned – hurriedly followed her into the room.
When the three of them burst into the room, Frank didn't so much as raise his head to see who the intruders might be. He stood over Joe's bed, his hand gripping his brother's forearm.
"What do you mean, Joe?" he asked. "What do you mean 'you're ready'?"
Fenton and Sam exchanged a glance – and neither of them even acknowledged the nurse when she stated that she was fetching a doctor. Instead, they both stepped closer to the bed, as Joe spoke in a soft, sad voice:
"You can tell the police I'm ready for them."
"The police?" Frank repeated, incredulously. "Joe, you don't have to do this now."
"Yes, I do." Joe's eyes remained resolutely affixed to the ceiling, but there was an undercurrent of pain in his voice. And, beyond that, he sounded almost scared.
Fenton stepped forwards, fully intending to add his own reassurances – but a sudden, unpleasant thought stilled his tongue. Houghton was an escapee who'd re-offended – and the DA would surely be looking for another kidnapping and assault charge to add to his already long list of offences; and ensure his renewed prison sentence would last for the majority of the remainder of his life – if not all of it.
The only way they would be spared from further trauma, and the need for Joe to testify at any trial, was a guilty plea.
But Houghton was a sadist and his sole aim in life was to make his family suffer. So what hope was there of that?
TBC
