Chapter 14

Frank clawed desperately at the man's hands, his lungs literally begging for air. But the man was far stronger than the boy and tightened his grip.

Frank felt his vision darken as pinpricks of light danced before his eyes. The world had gone eerily silent, and all he could see was his attacker's face smiling down at him. Suddenly, Moore's expression changed to one of shock and he pitched sideways off of Frank and onto the floor.

Frank looked up. His mother stood over him in a bathrobe, breathing heavily with her arms raised. In her hands was what Frank recognised to be one of his father's old basketball trophies. "Nobody hurts my son!" she hissed angrily. "Nobody!"

Slowly, Frank sat up massaging his throat. His mother knelt beside him. "Frank, honey, are you okay?"

"Fine," he rasped. His mother hugged him tightly then helped him to his feet. "Can you get that police officer in the car out there to radio your father and Chief Collig?" she asked gently as she steered him into the hall.

Frank nodded. It hurt his throat to speak.

"Good boy," she smiled tightly as she pulled open the drawer of the hall table. Reaching in, Laura pulled out a gun and Frank's eyes widened. "Your father put this here for easy access as a security precaution last night," Laura explained softly.

Frank merely stared. "Frank," his mother nudged him gently. "The police? I need you to get that officer to radio Chief Collig, and the paramedics as well."

Frank dashed out the front door to the young officer parked outside, and gave him a hurried explanation of what had happened before racing back into the house. His mother was crouched beside his aunt, gently trying to bring her round. She turned when she heard Frank.

"Honey, I need you to get me some water," said Laura, as she gently chafed Gertrude's wrists bringing a slight groan from the older woman. Frank did as he was told and brought the water to his mother with shaking hands.

As Gertrude's eyes fluttered open, Laura gave her a sip of water. "Oooooh, my head," she moaned. "What happened?"

"You've taken a nasty knock to the head," Laura explained. "Just lie still until the paramedics have examined you. Frank, can you get me the blanket from the back of the living room couch please?"

Frank raced to the living room and grabbed the blanket. He was just retuning to the kitchen as James Moore started to stir.

In a flash, Laura was on her feet and had the gun pointed at the man. "Don't move!" she ordered.

The man sat up smirking. "Lady, put the gun away before you hurt yourself. You don't honestly expect me to be afraid of you, do you?"

Laura's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I might not like guns but I do know how to use them," she said in a low voice, and cocked the trigger to emphasise her point. The man paled slightly. "I suggest you listen to the woman whose son you just tried to strangle, or I might forget that I'm a good guy," she finished, her voice quiet but deadly.

"You're bluffing," he mumbled.

"Try me!" Laura hissed.

Minutes later, when the young officer rushed in, Moore was sitting quietly on the floor eyeing Laura nervously. Laura waited until the officer had the man handcuffed and his own gun trained on him before dropping hers.

Wordlessly she took the blanket from Frank and placed it over her sister-in-law. "How are you feeling?" she asked as Gertrude struggled to sit up.

"I have a terrible headache," Gertrude replied with a venomous look at Moore. Suddenly they heard Fenton's anxious voice from the hall. "Laura! Frank! Gertrude!"

"In here!" his wife called.

Fenton raced into the kitchen, followed closely by Sam, Con and Chief Collig. "Are you alright?" he demanded as he embraced his family one by one. His eyes narrowed as he took in the bruises starting to form on Frank's throat.

"We're fine," Laura assured him. "Fenton, how did you get here so quickly?"

"We were nearly home when Officer Munroe radioed in the attack. Con broke every red light racing back her." Fenton shot the officer a grateful smile.

"Oh, how touching! A moving family reunion!" spat a cold voice bitterly. They turned to see Moore being hauled to his feet by Officer Munroe and Chief Collig.

Fenton's face turned hard. "You scum!" he hissed as he stalked towards Moore. "Where is my son?"

Moore laughed. "You're losing it, Hardy! Your son is right behind you!"

"Not Frank, Joe! Where is Joe?"

Moore remained silent and Frank spoke up, his voice hoarse. "He sent the tape, Dad. He said he sent you a message and was going to leave another one!"

"Where is he?" Fenton snarled, stepping closer to Moore.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" the man snapped and Fenton exploded.

Lunging forward before anyone could stop him, Fenton grabbed the front of the man's shirt and shook him hard. "Don't lie, you sick son-of-a-bitch! I heard the tape! Where is he? Where's my son?"

"Easy, Fenton," said Sam, stepping forward and prying his finger's off Moore's shirt. "We'll find out nothing this way.

Moore looked confused now. "I never sent any tape! I called the cops this evening and left an anonymous tip saying that I was at that factory. I only wanted to draw Hardy away from the house." He looked at the shock, confusion and fear on their faces, and a slow smile began to play across his own. "You mean someone else actually has your son?"

Nobody answered and Moore laughed, then looked Fenton straight in the eye. "I might not get my revenge against you," he said coldly, "but it looks like someone else has got theirs. I hope you never see your son again!"

XXX

The music continued to wail relentlessly, but Joe had stopped trying to cover his ears. After all, what was the point? He could still hear it.

He coughed painfully. The cold of his cell was starting to affect him and Joe's chest felt raw and sore. However, that was nothing compared to the pain of his injured arm.

Moaning, Joe tried to move into a position that didn't feel too torturous to his aching arm. His kidnapper hadn't spoken to him since the violent assault, choosing instead to torment Joe by playing the shrill music non-stop. Exhaustion had caused him to fall asleep several times, but the music meant he was always jerked quickly back to reality feeling disoriented and confused. Joe was beginning to feel like he was going mad.

Suddenly the music was switched off and a gentle tap sounded at the door. "Kid? Are you awake?"

Joe sat up slowly. That wasn't his kidnappers voice!

"Kid," the voice called again. "Listen, don't be afraid, I won't hurt you. I've brought you some soup, I thought it might help with your cough."

Joe was utterly bewildered. What's going on? he thought.

He heard the bold being raised and the door was pulled slowly open. Joe covered his eyes as the light shone into his darkened cell. He heard someone enter the room and squinted upwards, then hopped quickly off the cot in shock.

It was a trick. Before him stood his kidnapper!

Breathing painfully, Joe backed against the wall. "Don't hurt me," he pleaded. "Please don't hurt me!"

"Take it easy," said the man quietly. "I know I look like him but I'm not him!"

Joe couldn't help but stare. The man sounded different, but he was identical in every aspect to his kidnapper.

No, that's not true either, he realised suddenly. This man's hair was more dishevelled and his eyes were kind and full of pity, so different from the cold stone of his kidnapper. Joe noticed that the man had a bowl of soup in his hands and his eyes widened. The man saw Joe's expression and he quickly placed the soup on the floor.

"Look," he said, as he backed out of the room keeping his hands in the air. "I won't hurt you, honest. You were coughing pretty badly all night and I just thought some soup would help."

Keeping a wary eye on the man, Joe moved forward and used his good arm to pick up the soup and drink it back. It was awkward, but he was starving and determined to manage it. The steaming warmth was wonderful and the boy felt warmer than he had in days. When he was finished, he carefully returned the bowl to the floor and retreated back again, watching this newcomer.

And the other man had been watching him. He had seen how the boy cradled his right arm, and had used only his left to manoeuvre the soup. It was obvious he was injured.

The man picked up the blanket he had left on the floor and brought it into the room. Gently he placed it on the cot and retrieved the empty bowl, then backed out of the room again. "Put that around you," he instructed Joe. "I'm going to close the door but I'll be back in a few minutes with something for your arm."

Switching on the cell light, the man closed the door. As Joe heard the bolt move back into place, he grabbed up the blanket and wrapped himself in it. He was confused and apprehensive, but no longer scared. This man had shown him the first kindness that the boy had seen in days. Cocooned in the blanket, Joe drifted off into an exhausted sleep. He was woken only minutes later by a gentle shake of the shoulder.

Panicked, Joe sat up.

"Whoa!" said the man gently. "Relax, I won't hurt you. I just brought some ointment and bandages for your arm." The man held them out to Joe who tentatively took them. The boy tried to roll up the sleeve of his blood-soaked sweatshirt to get at the wound but found he couldn't manage it. It hurt too much.

"Want me to do it?" asked the man quietly. Wordlessly Joe held out his arm. He was in terrible pain and was so desperate for something to ease it that he was willing to let this stranger help. Carefully the man eased back the sleeve of the boy's sweatshirt.

"Sorry," he said as Joe winced. Silently he appraised the wound; it was inflamed and sore looking, and had the beginnings of an infection. As he started to clean the arm with some warm water and apply the ointment, the man felt a sharp pang of pity for the blond boy in front of him. When he was finished, he gently wound some bandages around Joe's arm.

"I'd better do the same for that," he said, as he pointed to the bruised welt on Joe's forehead. Unconsciously, Joe touched his head. It had been days since he'd looked in the mirror and he'd forgotten about the lump on his head. Quickly the man cleaned the wound, but he didn't put a dressing on it.

"I can't," he said, as Joe's blue eyes regarded him questioningly. "He'll know. And that reminds me, I'd better roll your sleeve back down so he doesn't see the bandages on your arm."

"Who are you?" asked Joe, as the stranger rolled his sleeve back down. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because I don't like what my brother is doing," answered the man quietly. "Here, take these," he added, pushing two Tylenol towards Joe.

"What are they?"

They'll help with the pain. What's your name, kid?"

"Joe."

"Well, Joe, I'm Kevin," said the man, handing him a glass of water. Joe drank the water and took the Tylenol.

"Thank you," he whispered, as he handed the glass back.

"You're welcome." Kevin smiled sadly. "I'll try and help you whenever my brother goes out. Just don't tell him I did this, okay?"

Joe nodded and stared at his hands. "If you want to help me you could just let me escape," he mumbled softly.

"No way!" the man shook his head vehemently. "He'd know it was me! You've no idea what he'd…" Kevin's face took on a haunted look and he looked at Joe. "I'm sorry, Joe, but this is the best I can do."

Joe nodded, keeping his eyes on his hands so the man wouldn't see his tears. All he wanted was to go home.

"Joe," said Kevin. "He's due back soon, I have to go."

Joe nodded, still not looking up.

"I need the blanket, Joe."

Joe's head jerked up. "Please," he begged. "I'm so cold…"

I know," said Kevin guiltily. "But I can't, it's best if he doesn't know." Reluctantly, Joe handed Kevin the blanket.

"I have to turn the light off again, but I can leave the music off," Kevin offered. "I can tell him I got sick of listening to it."

Joe didn't answer. It was only when Kevin turned off the light that he spoke up. "What's his name?" he whispered.

Kevin turned and looked at Joe, his figure outlined in the light of the next room. "Miles," he answered. "Miles Denton."

Then he was gone, leaving Joe alone in the dark once more.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys, glad you liked that last chapter...it was rather difficult to write.

Shee-cj: Trust me, Joe's in for a very rough ride before this story is out! Thanks for the review!

Paperdaisies: LOL! I'm glad you picked up on the irony, it's something I got quite a kick out of when writing this chapter! Thanks for the review!

Penguinlover: Hope there's enough Joe in this chapter to keep you happy! Thanks for the review, glad you like the story!