"Let go of me!" Frank screamed to the figures clad in black cloaks which held him. He pulled his arms as hard as he could, struggling to free himself, but to no avail. He watched, helpless, as his brother was secured to a wooden cross with thick strips of leather.

"AHHHHHH!" Joe screamed in pain, his head pressed back against the cross, his eyes squeezed shut tight as one of the cloaked figures plunged a jeweled silver dagger into his open palm. The blood poured down into a silver goblet which the figure held. Once it had been filled and started overflowing, the man lifted the goblet to his mouth and drank.

"No, please, no!" Frank begged, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Stop! Let me help him!"

"You can't help him," said the figure who had just drank of Joe's blood as he came closer to Frank. "You can't help him unless he asks you."

Frank looked up at his brother, his lips were moving but no sound came out. "He's asking," Frank cried. "Let me help him. He's asking."

"I can't hear him," the cloaked man said, standing directly in front of Frank. "You can't help him," he taunted Frank. "You wanted him to help himself."

"You can't stop me from helping him!" Frank declared, pulling his arms free. He started toward Joe but froze almost immediately.

"What's wrong?" the cloaked figure demanded of Frank, laughing almost hysterically.

"Stop it!" Frank cried out. "I'm going to help him even if he never asks for my help!" he shouted. "And you can't stop me."

The cloaked man ceased laughing and raised his blood-stained hands to his hood. He lowered the hood and looked into Frank's face. Frank stared at himself. 'It can't be! I'm the only one stopping me. I did this to Joe!'

Frank jerked awake and sat up in bed. Tears ran down his cheeks as he gasped for breath and waited for his heart to cease it's erratic beat. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Laying his head on top of his knees, he wept.

The shrill ringing of the phone awoke Mr. Hardy at seven a.m. He had tossed and turned most of the night, finally giving in to exhaustion and falling into a dreamless sleep.

Mr. Hardy reached over and plucked the phone from it's cradle, hope taking hold that Joe had been found mingled with the fear that it was too late.

"We've got a lead on Avery," Sergeant Con Riley's voice came through the receiver.

"Tell me," ordered Mr. Hardy, sitting up in bed, his pulse racing. Mrs. Hardy, also awakened by the phone, sat up and watched her husband's face as he listened.

"When we reached the owner of Crawhaven Towing Service to let him know to watch out for Avery, he told us he saw a man matching Avery's description late last night. He traded a black Chevette and paid three hundred dollars for a four door Plymoth Reliant," Con informed him. "He left, heading in the direction of Signet."

"Signet?" Mr. Hardy repeated the name of the small township just outside of the Bayport city limits. The town was small, having only one hardware store, a gas station, one restaurant, a church and a graveyard. There were no apartments, motels or hotels in the area.

"Thanks Con," Mr. Hardy said. "I'll get Frank and we'll head out there."

Joe felt his captor make sure his nostrils were left exposed to the night air and then....nothing. He couldn't hear, see or feel anything but the earth covering him. It was impossible for him to move; the dirt had been packed solidly around him.

Joe tried to lift his hands to move the dirt from around him, but try as he might, he found it impossible to budge an inch. He felt himself starting to hyperventilate. He found it hard to breathe and yet, breathe he did. Why had he been ensconed in the ground? Was he to lay here for days; weeks maybe, before he died? He tried again to move his arms, his legs, anything.

The pressure of the dirt was nothing compared to the weight which began to press on his mind. The total silence combined with the absolute darkness and the inability to move, left him alone with the one thing he dreaded the most; his own thoughts. Even as a prisoner of the cult, he hadn't really been alone. Given the rituals he had endured daily, he hadn't really had time to concentrate on himself or on Frank.

Ever since he and Frank had quarreled and Frank had insisted Joe take care of himself, he had been afraid to take time to think. Granted, he and Frank had made up...to a point. Frank didn't want to worry about Joe. He wanted his own life and Joe was no longer an integral part of that life. This realization had wounded him deeply.

What had he done to make Frank want to sever the closeness they shared? Had he done something so reprehesible that Frank didn't want him as his best friend anymore? Obviously, they had to remain brothers. But had he done something to turn Frank against him? Sure, he said not, but maybe he had just said that for their parents' sake. Joe knew their parents had been worrying about them. Frank must have known too. Could Joe have done something bad and not realized it? Was everything that had been happening to him his fault? Or...was it Frank's? The thought came unbidden.

If Frank hadn't been so distant, would he have seen Joe was getting into trouble? Of course he would. Frank always knew when someone was using Joe. Would he still have become friends with Francessca if Frank had been around to warn him? Probably, Joe admitted to himself. He had never let anyone, even Frank, dictate who he should or shouldn't have as friends. But if Frank had been there, doing what he always did, looking out for him, Joe would be safe at camp now. He never would have been kidnapped in the first place. He was sure of it.

No wonder Frank didn't want Joe in his life as much as he had been. He did depend entirely too much on Frank. He was a burden. This thought hit him with a wave of self-pity. I'm useless, he thought. If I were Frank, I would dump me too. I even nearly got his girlfriend killed.

He tried to remember what had happened in the cave, but no matter how hard he tried, his last conscious thought was of Callie seeing him during the bathing ritual. Was that why Frank had been in the hospital when he awoke? Was Callie in the hospital and he had just come to visit Joe for a brief time while their parents got some rest? Even his memory of his time in the hospital was fuzzy. Or maybe, Frank had changed his mind about helping him? Probably not. Frank was nothing if not stubborn. Most people thought Joe was stubborn but that was only because he was stubborn about the wrong things. Frank made up his mind and it usually took an act of God to change it. He was just usually right which is why most people didn't realize it.

No, most likely, Frank was back at Bayport University. His dad was his only chance of rescue. Would his dad find him? Joe had managed to call home. Surely they had traced the call. There must have been something in the apartment where he had been to give them a clue as to who had taken him. But, they had left. What if his captor never returned to the apartment? How would they know where to start looking? And even if they caught him, would he tell his dad where to find him? Probably not.

The hopelessness of his situation was beginning to sink in. He felt tears slip from the corners of his eyes, mixing with the dirt and giving him the feeling of something crawling over his skin. Would he never again see his brother; his parents? Would he die here, a mere extension of his grandfather? No one would ever think to look for his body on top of his own grandfather's grave. Would they keep looking for him; wondering every day what had happened to him and if he were alone or scared? Would they consider him dead? Would they have a funeral with an empty casket, not even looking for him? The irony of the scenario hit him. He would really be buried only feet away from his empty casket. He wondered what someone would think if they knew. He found it disturblingly hilarious.

How dare this man do this? What made him think he could do the things he had done to him and get away with it? Surely he knew his dad would punish him....if he were to ever get caught.

Maybe Frank had done the right thing. If they weren't so close, then Frank wouldn't have to mourn so much. He knew his family, Frank included, would be very upset. But, the further apart they were emotionally, the less it would hurt. I'm sorry, Frank. I shouldn't have gotten angry at you for wanting to live your own life without worrying about me. Have a good life. But please....don't forget me. Remember all the good times we shared. All the fun and laughter. Your first kiss....you really got mad at me for taking a picture and then you made mom have it enlarged and put it on your nightstand. My first date...you practically dragged me out of the house and into the car, then teased me about it after we got home because I didn't want to go home after the dance. How can you forget? How could he forget? The thought repeated itself.

NO! It can't end this way. All the torture, all the humiliation I went through, just to die in my grandfather's grave? Why had that bastard dug up his grandfather's grave anyway? There were lots of other places he could have buried him. Did it just give him some kind of sick thrill to desecrate a grave? His grandfather was dead. He didn't deserve to have his eternal slumber disturbed this way.

Wait. Why hadn't he been buried completely? Suffocation would have been as bad as thirst, although it wouldn't have lasted as long. And why had he given him the wine to drink before burying him? He had already been thirsty. Why did his captor keep calling him lamb? He had to have something more in store for him. Of course! He isn't going to let me die here, Joe realized. This is just another ritual to be put through. Only the first day, he thought. The others had kept him for weeks. Was that his intention too? If so, how long? And what else must he endure before he would finally be allowed to die?

And after he was dead, then what? Would this madman go after Frank? He still didn't know why he had been chosen as a sacrifice. Was it because he and Frank helped people out? No, that couldn't be it. Francessca had never made any move to want Frank around. Just him. He should have realized something wasn't quite right about her. Frank would have....had he been around.

Frank! Damn it! This is your fault. You are just so stubborn! Well, you are going to have a lot to answer for. When I get out of this mess I am going to show you that you need me just as much as I need you. This could have been you here, you know. What about that?

How am I going to get out of here? There's no way I can dig myself out, I can't even move. But, he'll be back. He'll dig me out and take me somewhere else. He has other things planned for me. How am I going to get away? Everytime I try, he is there waiting to crush my hope and bring me back. What am I........Of course! After he takes me somewhere else. After he does whatever it is he is planning on doing to me, I must get free again. But, I can't escape. If I try and leave, he will capture me. But if he thinks I am ready to accept my fate, maybe he'll ease up a bit or at least not be so omnipresent.

Could it work? It has too. It's my only chance. I can do this. I have to do this. It's up to me. You'll see big brother, I can take care of myself. I need you...not what you do for me. And you need me. You'll see.......