When Joe awoke he was lying on the floor of what appeared to be a deserted cabin. There was no furniture and the roof had more than a few rotting boards where it had been bombarded by rain. Laid out in the corner of the room was a bottle of wine; a silver flask; a silver dagger; a black candle; a lighter; a bucket; a sponge; and several rolls of gray tape.

Joe shuddered when he saw the array and tried to sit up. "Good evening, little lamb," his capotor said from the doorway, causing Joe to start and lose his balance. His arms gave way and his head crashed onto the wooden floor.

"Easy," Avery said, coming closer to Joe. "Tomorrow night it ends," he promised. "But for now..." Avery picked up the bottle of wine and opened it. He knelt down by Joe and lifted his head. Joe winced in pain as Avery's hand made contact with the fresh lump on the back of his head. Avery put the bottle to Joe's lips and kept it there until Joe had consumed half the bottle. He laid Joe's head gently back down and closed the wine bottle.

He tugged at Joe's soiled shorts until they came loose in his hand and he tossed them into the corner. He stood and retrieved the bucket and sponge from the corner then returned to where Joe lay. Smiling, he dipped the sponge into the bucket. He pulled the sponge back out and squeezed the excess liquid out before putting the sponge to Joe's forehead and rubbing the sponge over him.

Joe gagged when he realized it was blood being put on him. "Easy, boy," Avery told him. "Blood is very important. Besides, we don't want to waste his blood after he let us stay in his house, now do we?"

Having animal blood poured on him when he was a prisoner of the cult was bad enough, but having human blood, the blood opf someone who had been killed just for his blood...it was too much. Joe forgot all about his plan to play along. He couldn't control himself. He began wretching and in seconds was throwing up all over his captor.

Avery gave a hearty laugh and soaked the sponge again. "That's it, boy," he told Joe. "Give in to it. Let your emotions control you." It was several minutes before Joe stopped gagging and when he did, he still felt sick.

"Please, God, let it end," Joe entreated silently. "No more. Please." Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes and Avery rubbed the tears with the blood soaked sponge. He covered every inch of Joe's body with the blood, turning him over to get the rear, then started again. Thirteen times Joe was bathed in the blood before his captor tossed the sponge in the bucket and stood up.

He took the wine bottle and forced Joe to consume the rest of it then stood up and left the room. He was back in two minutes with some rope. He tied Joe up and left him alone. Joe tried to struggle with the ropes, but he was too weak. Finally, he fell asleep.

When next he awoke, his captor was sitting beside him, watching him. Joe looked at him in question, wondering with morbid fascination what was next in store for him. "I paid a visit to Bayport," Joe was told. "Your funeral is tomorrow," he paused to let that information sink in. "And I was thinking it would be a shame if you missed it."

Joe shivered at the glint in the man's eyes. "You must have been tired, Little Lamb," he continued. "You slept all last night and most of today." he reached over and traced the pentagram on Joe's chest. "It's time." He untied Joe's hands and placed twenty pound leg weights on each wrist. Had Joe been in better condition, he could have lifted his arms easily, but he was so weak, the weights were an effective means of keeping him in place.

Joe looked over and saw the dagger, flask, candle and lighter were no longer int he corner. Instead, they lay within easy reach. Joe's ehart raced as the man started chanting while he traced the pentagram on Joe's chest. Thirteen times he repeated the gesture, his voice never faultering or changing in tempo.

After the thirteenth time, he took the black candle and lit it. Still chanting words which offered Joe's soul to Satan, he took the candle and let the hot wax drip down onto Joe's chest as he again trace the tattoo. When there was nothing left of the candle but a stub, he set it in the center of the pentagram on Joe's chest and watched and chanted as it melted and flickered out.

Avery reached for the silver dagger and lifted it to Joe's chest. Joe waited for him to plunge it into the center of his chest where he had let the candle melt but instead, Avery lowered it and traced the outline of the tattoo gently, causing him to bleed lightly. He turned Joe's right hand palm side up and let the dagger sink into the skin, stopping just short of the top of his hand.

Joe screamed out in agony not for the first time. Tears accompanied his silent screams as he tried his utmost to close his hand, but he wasn't allowed to do so.

Avery took the flask and lifted it to Joe's hand. He squeezed Joe's hand forcing blood to drip into the silver flask. The flask was half full when he removed it. He took the dagger once again and repeated the procedure with Joe's left hand. The flask full, he lifted it to Joe's lips and forced him to drink his own blood. Joe gagged, but kept it down.

Next, Avery lifted the flask to his own lips and drank deeply. Lowering the flask, he wiped a dribble of blood from his lip and closed the flask. He untied Joe's ankles and picked up a roll of gray tape. Starting with Joe's toes, he began wrapping Joe like a mumy. One roll down, he picked up another and continued the task. He reached Joe's waist and brought Joe's bleeding hands to his side, forcing them tight against him before taking another roll and encircling him. He used all the tape he had brought, ending his task at Joe's neck.

The pressure brought on by the tape caused Joe's hands to stop bleeding. Joe was confused. He had been sure he was supposed to have died. His captor stood up and lifted Joe into his arms. He carried Joe out of the cabin and into the woods, down a little path to a beige car. Joe knew instinctivily it had belonged to the man who had been killed. He wondered if the fiend had killed the woman also. That thought was followed almost immediately by a positive one from his subconscious.

Once in the car, they drove for a bit. When they stopped and Joe was hauled out of the car, he saw he was at the church near the cemetery where his grandparents' graves were located.

Joe was left alone by the car for a few minutes. When his captor returned, Joe was lifted up and carried into the church and set inside an open coffin. The lid was closed and Joe was left alone.

He must have fallen asleep because he was awoken by the sounds of someone talking. Joe opened his mouth and tried to scream but no sound came out. Crying his silent tears, he listened tot he muffled voices from outside his coffin. He couldn't make out the words but he knew what was happening. It was his funeral.

He felt himself lifted and carried slowly somewhere then set on the ground. Good-bye, Frank, Mom, Dad, Vanessa, Joe thought. He knew this time he was being buried for real. There would be no more reprieves. He would suffocate six feet in the ground, close to his grandparent's graves. "I'm sorry," his lips formed the words. "I always seem to cause you pain. This will be the last time," he promised, closing his eyes and waiting for the inevitable.

Less than a minute later, when he should have been moving into the ground, his eyes flew open as the casket lid lifted. Joe's eyes, wide with the terror of the past few days and the wonder of what was happening, flew open and clashed with the familiar brown eyes of his brother.

"NO! WAIT!" Joe shouted silently as Frank dropped the lid back down, leaving him in darkness again. "No. Don't," Joe begged silently, tears falling down his blood-stained face. "Please don't leave me here!"