Joe woke up choking on screams, fighting them back into his chest, remembering the paramedics and police and his father forcing Frank from his arms, remembering his shirt and pants brown and bloodied, remembering the fight as they dragged him through the room, his screaming of "That's my brother! Let me go, I have to stay, I have to help him! Somebody help him! Somebody do something!" and then he was on his back and they were tying him down and he was dizzy and weak and numb and disbelieving, and his father was beside him with tears on his eyes murmuring "It'll be all right, son, we'll get through this…somehow…" but still he hadn't believed, hadn't believed as they brought him in for observation and gave him a shot and whispered 'shock' to his parents behind his back, hadn't believed when his mother and aunt entered weeping, hadn't believed until he'd stormed into the morgue and demanded to see his body, and then he remembered his brother's last words and the limpness of his brother's hand and blankness of his eyes and blacked out on the concrete floor.
"Joe."
He sat straight up as his brother perched on his bed, his straight and firm rather than its usual relaxed and soft.
"Frank," he sobbed, "I can't…"
"Get up."
Joe looked up sharply. "What?"
"Get up. Put my coat on."
"What? Why? Where are we going? It's three a.m.!"
"Get up."
"But…"
"Trust me."
"I did that before, and look how things turned out!"
Frank rose, took his brother's hand, and pulled him to his feet.
"Put your coat on."
"Frank—"
"Now."
"But—"
"No talking. No thinking. Trust me. Follow me."
Joe—trembling—slowly obeyed, dressing himself as he had the night they'd gone to the cafeteria, noting that his brother's coat was just a little tighter; his body, a little less cold.
Frank stepped through the door and waited while his brother locked it, then walked swiftly ahead, so quickly and lightly Joe could barely keep up. For the first time he realized that his brother's feet and legs were fading: his step was lighter than before, as his own were growing heavier.
He's leaving soon.
The thought hit him so hard he almost stopped, but Frank, as if sensing, turned around and made a sharp gesture that urged him on.
Trust me.
And so Joe stumbled on through the dark, away from campus—past the river and the tree they'd sat beneath—out onto the road—one of their favorite to run on—through part of the woods—they'd explored them in their teens—down a hill—they'd sledded with friends—to the austere black gates, spiked and stabbing upward and the faint light of the moon hovering over the graveyard.
"Frank—"
But his brother had stepped nimbly through the bars and was already moving amongst the stones. Joe stood, tremors racing through his body.
He'd never been to his brother's grave.
Joe? Honey, are you—
I need to go Mom.
There's still the cemetery—
I'm not going to the cemetery.
Joseph, don't be disrespectful!
To who?
Your brother!
MY BROTHER IS DEAD!
Joe leaned against the cold steel, fighting tears.
Running from the church, tears pouring, flooding, cascading over my face, choking as I ran suit and all tripping scraping knees not caring leaving the hearse behind ignoring their cries—Vanessa Callie Mom Dad Gertrude Chet Phil—disappearing home, grabbing the vodka and the keys drinking crying driving crying drinking driving drinking drinking drinking the world spinning—
Wanna race?
—deciding to rid myself of the van, of this symbol of our bond.
"Joe."
The younger Hardy raised his haunted eyes to his older brother's ghost.
"Come with me."
Trembling, Joe pushed on the gate, surprised when it gave and he stepped through the threshold.
If you'd hit a foot more to the left you'd be dead, Joe.
Frank slammed the gate shut and half-shoved his brother forward.
I want to help you, baby…
There is no help for me, Van.
The elder Hardy moved swiftly over the earth, obviously familiar with the layout of the gravestones; Joe trembled harder and harder with each step.
Ever smoked up?
A wind swayed the branches, black against the sky, and suddenly Joe was beyond cold despite his brother's jacket.
What did you expect, that he'd protect you forever?
I thought we were invincible.
A car's lights winked as it passed the trees in the distance—
Messages on the answering machine
—and Joe caught sight of the Morton mausoleum in the corner—
Honey, you know it wasn't your fault. Neither one was your fault…
—before he caught sight of his brother, halted several rows away, facing him. Waiting.
Joe you're failing school are you okay what's wrong what's on your arms he wouldn't want this for you you never smile anymore why won't you let me help you I want you to come to school with us Joseph you need to come home they're putting you on academic probation we left his room untouched it's probably best if you stay out I'm quitting everything Ezra want nothing to do with solving mysteries ever again Joe they caught the bastard he's in jail for life promise honey why won't you eat you're losing too much weight he wouldn't want this for you—
Entering Frank's room
He'd want you to go on—
The knife on the desk
He'd want you to be strong—
Toppling drawers and chairs and mirrors
He loved you so much—
Shower blocked out the noise
He wouldn't want you to give up—
Blade to flesh, the rush of red
Please don't leave me—
Collapsing
I…
The knock
Love…
Whiteness
You.
Joe sank to his knees in front of the tombstone he'd finally reached, holding his hands over his mouth to hold in the screams clawing at his throat, the swirl of emotions violently clawing their way to his vocal cords.
"You can't keep holding it in!" Frank shouted. "Think of me! Think of the blood, think of the pain, think of your grief, and let it out!"
Joe's hands were torn from his lips and the scream came out, echoing off the gravestones so that the cemetery was crying with him, and then it was over and he was slumped on the ground beside the stone, sobbing and weakening, but realizing that the cold and exhaustion were gone and in their places were hunger and lightness.
Frank knelt down his beside his younger brother and brushed hair off his head.
"You're all right now," he murmured.
He vanished.
Joe felt no panic. He rose slowly, dusted himself off, wiped his eyes, touched the flowers at the base of his brother's grave, and quietly left the cemetery.
