Chapter 15.

Thanks so so much for enjoying the last bit. I'm so sorry this took so long - but I had to do some serious shopping for baby pram, cot, clothes etc. I'm afraid I got caught my all the cutsy pink frilly girly stuff I could now buy.

This chapter is mostly to tie up some loose ends on the Hardys side, and an excuse for Joe to remember some stuff. Its also a filler so Andrew would have the time he needed to get his stuff in place, and to set the scene for the next run. Also sorry for long chapters. Will try to shorten it.

Tukkie: sorry havent been reading emails cos of net problem. Net access limited to 15 mins at Pac Coffee, and upload limited to 10 mins free wifi time at a nearby McDonald. Getting a little sick of Mc burgers. Will try to visit in 2-3 days time to upload next bit. Hopeful of deciding on net provider soon. Can access short email on 3G phone. Sorry - that Frank seems to be getting into quite a bit of trouble for a Joe piece. Then again, I'm never really good with the Joe or Frank piece divide.

Will still try to finish this before baby due. As it stands, its 21 chapters.

Meantime, enjoy this chapter. Do leave a line if its okay.


WHEN IT RAINS IT POURS

Chapter Fifteen

-o-

It was very late. The last of the customers had just left a sleazy little bar located at a sleazy end of the town. After locking the doors, the plastered cheery smiles faded off the faces of the few tired staff. And they would still have to clean the place up before they could leave for the night.

In a tiny room above that bar, a meeting was taking place.

"It was as effective and addictive as you claimed," said the gruff voice of a well-dress man whose face was hidden in the shadows. "The Boss would like to know how much you can supply and what do you want in return."

Andrew Kempton smiled. Ambrosia was one of the few highly addictive designer drugs he developed a number of years back just for fun.

"I currently have about 200 lbs in stock," he said. "The Boss can have that entire stock, plus the formula for Ambrosia, in exchange for a small favor."

"Which is?" The well-dressed guy queried.

"Just a number of goons who wouldn't mind a short jail term to rough up several members of the Hardy household," Andrew said. "And to make a number of special deliveries…"

"The Hardys are not well-liked in this corner of town," the well-dressed guy commented. "Getting those few goons wouldn't be a problem, as long as we provide adequate compensation. I have to consult with The Boss first…"

"Go ahead," Andrew answered.

He waited patiently as the other man took out a cell phone and started quietly conversing with his Boss.

The Boss, as he expected, agreed.

"And you will let us know if and when you have a new formula suitable for the mass market?" the well-dressed guy intoned.

"Of course," Andrew replied smoothly.

They spent the next several hours hashing out the finer details.

As the sun rises heralding the arrival of the first day of March, Andrew Kempton was a happy man heading back to his hideout.

The deal was sealed.

-o-

In a spacious private ward located on the top floor of Bayport Memorial Hospital, a weary but determined brother kept watch over the other.

Frank Hardy knew every move his brother made. He heard every moan uttered. And he was the one who gently brushed away those tears. Leaning close, he whispered soothing words of comfort, and a promise that Andrew Kempton would never be able to come close again. Frank would like to think that his brother heard him, for the tears soon stopped. Joe seemed to sleep better after that.

He made sure that the only hospital staff allowed near his brother was the ones cleared by his father or Sam. He double-checked the medicines that were given to his brother. His mother and father had offered to take over, but he always refused.

Joe was his responsibility.

Every now and then, the harrowing events of fifteen hours ago would repeat itself in his mind. Those few emotionally intense seconds were permanently seared into his memory:

For one joyous moment, he thought he heard his brother acknowledged their mother. That meant Joe remembered…

But the next moment he was leaping through the air with horror in his heart as he tackled a fellow law enforcement officer in a desperate bid to save his brother's life.

In the stillness that followed, the sense of relief he felt when he thought he might have succeeded was overwhelming.

Only to have that hope snatched away from him in the very next instant when his eyes saw and his mind registered the red stain that was spreading swiftly through Joe's shirt.

He watched in absolute disbelief as Joe teetered unsteadily for a while before falling to the ground. His mother's cries of denial and grief rang loud in his ears even as he sat rooted to the spot, unable to accept what his mind told him he was seeing.

Frank was vaguely aware of his father moving in to break Joe's fall. He was vaguely aware of his mother scrambling over to assess his brother's wounds. He was even vaguely aware that the officer that he just tackled reaching for his CB radio and calling for an ambulance.

But he could not find the will to act or react.

All he could think of was; Joe came home, only to die.

He failed…

Thank God his brother lives.

And thank God that all Joe got was a flesh wound. Even the doctor mentioned how lucky Joe was after hearing what happened. The bullet merely grazed the upper left torso and went clean through the fleshy part of Joe's upper left arm missing the bone.

"You need to rest and eat something, Frank."

"Not hungry, Dad," he answered, even as his stomach growled at the sight and smell of the sandwich his father just shoved under his nose.

Fenton raised his brow as Frank turned a shade redder.

"Your mother made it. It's your favorite home-made honey roasted beef," the father cajoled as he unwrapped that home-made treat.

There was another soft moan.

Frank was by his brother's side in an instant, his own tiredness and hunger again forgotten. His hand gently danced across his brother's brow, the way he used to do when they were kids. That simple act never failed to drive away Joe's nightmares. Slowly, Joe lapsed back into a peaceful sleep. It even appeared to Frank as if Joe was smiling.

"Do you think he's remembering?" Frank asked hopefully.

"He will remember," was his father's simple reply.

It took a while for those words to sink in. And Frank had to agree with his father. Joe would remember eventually, and that was what mattered. When Joe awakes, he would have to deal with the death of his entire adoptive family. It would not be fair for his real family to burden him with more emotional demands.

"You need to eat, son. And you need to rest. Let me and your mom take over for a while."

Frank was about to say 'no' when he heard what his father added in a firmer tone, "you've been sitting here for the last fifteen hours. Let your mom take over for a while."

Only then did Frank hear what Fenton not say out loud: we're Joe's family too.

He had been selfishly hogging Joe…

Frank nodded his agreement. But he was still reluctant to relinquish his place by his brother's bedside. So he stayed where he was and slowly nibble at his sandwich and sip at his can of coke.

"Joe should be waking up soon," he mumbled instead, noting the fact that almost fifteen hours had passed.

"The doctor said Joe would be out for at least fifteen to twenty hours, Frank," Fenton reminded his elder son. "He also needs to sleep off the effects of whatever drugs Andrew managed to put into his system."

Two pairs of eyes darkened at that reminder. It was galling to know how easily Andrew Kempton had gotten to Joe, to the Blacks, and to Maria. That was why Fenton personally looked into the background of every single medical staff allowed to come near Joe.

That was also why Frank refused to leave his brother's side.

"Callie…" Frank suddenly paled; he had not had any contact with Callie for at least eight hours now, and anything could happen in eight hours.

"Tommy's still with Callie and Vanessa," Fenton said in an assuring tone. "Con will be joining them tonight. And Chief Freeman has arranged for increased patrol in their area. We're also arranging to move both of them and possibly their immediate family to a safe house as soon as possible."

Frank stared at his father blankly for a moment. His heart sank. It happened again. Thank God his father was there for Callie and Vanessa. He was not. How could he be one of the top graduates of his course, a promising rookie homicide detective, and yet kept failing those who mattered to him at the most crucial moments?!

Fenton watched his son's uncharacteristic reaction with concern.

"Frank…"

The father tried to reach out to his son, and was surprised when Frank moved away.

"What's wrong, son?" he asked again.

"I forgot…"

"You were tired," Fenton cut in firmly, knowing now exactly what Frank was referring to. "And you know Callie's safe. And Vanessa. Tommy won't let anything happen to them."

When Frank still refused to meet his eyes, Fenton knew there was something else.

"What else is bothering you, son?"

"I froze."

Frank's voice was so soft, Fenton almost missed it.

"I saw the blood. All I could think of was that Joe was dead. But he was alive and bleeding…"

Fenton's eyes widened in comprehension, and he berated himself a moment for missing it. He understood that kind of guilt well, very well indeed.

"You saved your brother's life," Fenton said in a voice that brooked no dissent.

Not that he expected Frank to take what he said at face value, so he reconstructed what happened logically.

"None of us saw that police officer, but you did," Fenton reminded his guilt-tripping son. "You know how the situation would look like to any law enforcement officer. It would appear that Joe was about to shoot two victims point blank. Officer Rand would compute that he had only a fraction of a second to save two lives, and his only option would be to shoot to kill. You know that, Frank. And you managed to divert that shot. As a result, Joe got a flesh wound instead of a fatal hit. You saved Joe."

"And then I froze."

Stubborn boy! Fenton sighed.

'Stubborn as a %&*#!' A familiar voice from his past echoed through his mind. That was Sam Radley throwing up his hands in surrender after trying numerous times to get Fenton to step berating himself…

"Six years ago, I froze too," Fenton announced in a soft clear voice. "I knew Andrew Kempton had you and Joe. Yet all I could see was the blood on your mother's chest. All I could think was that she was dead, that I lost her…"

The father kept his eyes on his son as he spoke. While it was true that he threw off that yoke of guilt years back, he realized now that it was only sort of true. A part of him had always wondered how Frank or Joe would react if they knew. Laura, blessed her, had forgiven him for that lapse. That forgiveness had meant everything to him.

Frank looked at his father, surprised by what his father just said. After all, he heard from various officers, Sam, and Ezra, how a terrified yet determined father worked through all the clues and figured out his son's location when no one else could. That was the father he knew, and the father he ad came to depend on.

"You found me…" was all Frank said.

Fenton smiled wryly. "Yes. The truth was: I froze. I stood there in shock while Sam worked to save Laura's life. Sam had to literally scream some sense into me to get me moving. And Ezra was the one who kept reminding me that I still had two sons who needed me…"

The father shook his head lightly to dislodge those old memories, the memories that still had the power to terrify and hurt.

"I spent weeks castigating myself over that lapse," Fenton continued his admission. "In the end, it was Laura who set me straight. We're only human, son. And there will be times when the mind and body just had to take some time-out just to protect itself…"

As a psychology student, Frank knew what his Dad was talking about. Yet knowing in theory and reacting in reality are two very different things.

"It's okay to feel guilty, Frank. Even to wallow in it for a while, if you needed to," his mother's voice cuts in. "Took your father a few weeks to work through that. But I'd prefer if you don't try your best to break that record."

Frank turned around to see his mother standing at the door, watching them with a little smile on her face. It looked like she was recalling something from the past. He wondered how long she's been there, and how much she'd overheard. Then his mother was moving towards him.

"We all have our moments," his mother said. "But there is one thing I want you to remember, always. You have family and friends who will be there for you. We have family and friends who will be there to pick up the slack when we needed that break to heal our minds and souls. You understand what I am saying, don't you?"

Frank nodded. The logic's the easy part. It's the acceptance that he found hard to do.

Laura reached up to gently cup her son's face, staring straight into his eyes. She had her own admission to make.

"Do you know that it was your steadfast belief in your brother that kept hope alive for me and your father all these years?" she asked. "It was painful to hope and have that hope dashed at the end of every single day. There were times I would have preferred to just let go and carry on with life. But you never let go, and I am grateful you held on. I can't tell you how grateful I am."

Laura turned to look at the other son still sleeping in his bed.

"You are right. Joe lives. And now he's home," Laura turned her bright eyes back to her son before continuing. "And I never thanked you for saving Joe's life. None of us saw what was coming but you did. And you acted. You saved Joe's life. Thank you."

Frank relished the comfort of the hug his mother gave him. Laura Hardy was always generous in her hugs and embraces. But there were times when it was nice to be comforted, and there were times when one needed that comforting. Then Fenton joined in. They stood there together for a moment, exorcising their recent fears and tensions. The ordeal was clearly not over. Andrew Kempton was still out there somewhere, plotting and planning. But the likes of Andrew Kempton would never break the spirit of this family.

It was a while before they extricate themselves from that tangle of limbs. There were several short burst of shy laughs as they each pretended that they weren't crying if just a little. After all, they were family. But each acknowledged that they had their own little bits of useless pride that do get in the way some time. They were after all, just human.

"Now, finish your sandwich and take a quick shower, Frank You stink," Laura admonished sternly as she recovered from that little bout of sentimentality. "I've cleared with the doctors and the Blacks' family lawyer. We can all spend the night in this room with Joe. You and Fenton can fight over the other couch. I'm taking this comfy one right here."

Frank had to smile. His mother just staked her claim on the couch next to Joe's bed and dared him to deny her. He couldn't of course. And his father would take the other couch. The dutiful son would just have to make do with a blanket on the floor.

He finished his sandwich and coke under his mother's watchful eye before excusing himself to head into the privacy of the corridor to make a call to Callie. Ten minutes later, a happier and more relaxed Frank returned to the private ward. His father was seated in the corner going through his notes next to the night light. His mother was comfortably curled in the couch next to Joe reading a book. It was all in all a very cozy and familial sight.

It did not take him long to fall asleep on the floor after he had his warm shower. He had been running on adrenaline and caffeine for far too long.

Several hours later, Fenton nodded off, followed by Laura.

The hours passed peacefully. No one disturbed them.

And then it was the dawn of a new day. (March 2nd)

-o-o-0-o-o-

I felt warmth on my face. I opened my eyes and saw soft glow of the morning sun streaming through the window. It took me a while to figure out that I was in a hospital.

What happened?

My body felt achy, as if I just recovered from a bad bout of flu. My chest felt sore and my left arm hurts like hell. Like someone poked a burning steel rod right through.

That pain jolted a memory:

A single gunshot echoed through the house.

I smiled joyfully at Mom, my guardian angel. Laura. I even remember her name now. Soon I would be reunited with my love ones.

Then I felt that very first twinge of burning pain.

It would not be long now, so I thought.

But no, something was wrong. Mom was no longer smiling at me. Instead, horror was written all over her face. And that pain was wrong. It wasn't hurting at the right places.

I looked down. My left sleeve was rapidly turning red. I smothered a bitter laugh. That was not the fatal hit I was expecting.

A different pain, a more agonizing one, swept through me. The reunion with my loved ones that I was looking forward to was being taken from me again.

"No…." I believed I howled.

So close, yet so far. Then again, I was born under the bad luck star.

I turned and saw the cause of my grief.

Frank.

Frank somehow saved my life and condemned me to live on.

I looked down at my bandaged arm and thought bitterly, "I'm alive."

So many died, and yet I lived.

I could barely smother a moan of despair at that knowledge. Both my Mom and Dad were dead. They adopted me, gave me so much, and then died because of me. How could I live with that knowledge? How?

My eyes were clenched tightly shut. But I could feel the hot scalding tears flow down my cheeks. There was nothing wrong in crying for all I lost.

A soft feminine hand gently brushed away my tears. A soft gently voice was telling me over and over that she loved me, and that everything would be all right from now on. I wanted to laugh. How could everything be all right? Michelle and Michael Black, my Mom and Dad were dead.

But that voice was soothing yet familial. I opened my eyes and saw my Mom standing over me; my guardian angel.

She was holding my right hand with her right, and brushing away my tears with her left. I could see how much she loved and missed me. She even said it. And that sadness and yearning behind those pale blue eyes…

I let her down again.

"So sorry Mom," I croaked.

She kept coming for me but I kept living. I just couldn't or wouldn't die.

But those around me kept dying…

"Hushed. Everything will be fine," she said more forcefully this time. "We won't let them get to you again…"

I felt her hand tightening its grip on mine. It was warm. I tightened my grip around her hand. It was solid. Rock solid…

"You're alive…" I cried out in disbelief.

How could that be? I shot her through the heart. We shot her through the heart, my Dad and I. So how could she be alive?

"You didn't die…" I could not keep that wonderment from my voice. "I didn't kill you… I didn't…"

"Yes… I didn't die… and you didn't," she continued in a much fiercer tone, as if willing me to believe in her words. "It was never you, Joe. Never, you hear that. You didn't. You would never kill anyone. It was Andrew Kempton. Andrew Kempton and his son William. Not you..."

I didn't kill her! I latched on to that fact with everything I had. Mom lives. I didn't kill her…

It felt like a heavy burden had just been lifted off me.

I couldn't take my eyes off her. Nor could I take my hands off her. The need to touch the warmth of her hands and trace those familiar features of her face was overwhelming. There was this underlying fear that I was dreaming, and that if I let go, she'd disappear and never returned.

Mom continued chattering, though I only heard snippets of what she said. I was too busy savoring every inch of her features.

"… father and brother… Andrew Kempton and his son… they won't touch you again…"

Andrew and William Kempton… why do those two names sound so familiar? And I sensed that my Mom hated and feared them. I racked my wooly brains. Two shadowy figures with brown hair and brown eyes formed at the back of my mind. I could not see their faces clearly, but somehow I knew they were father and son. A dull throbbing started behind my eyes and slowly spread to my temples.

Who were Andrew and William Kempton? Why couldn't I remember those people whom my Mom seems to fear and hate?

That was when I saw Fenton and Frank hovering just behind Mom…

"You! What are you doing here?!" I hissed; the dull throbbing at the back of my head temporarily forgotten. "Get out!"

"Joe… They're your family…" I heard my Mom, Laura, saying.

"No," I gritted out through clenched teeth.

They killed my adoptive parents. They wouldn't even spare Maria. I would never acknowledge them.

"Get out, get out of my room. Now!"

Both Fenton and Frank flinched visibly. I could see from their eyes my reaction hurt them. Badly. Why should it? They never even loved me.

"They're your father and brother, Joe," Mom was still trying to explain as I reached blindly for that button that would summon a hospital staff to my room. "Things are not what you think they are… Please, let us explain… let me explain…"

Of course I knew they were my brother and father. I spent the last six years denying their existence. It was easy when I could not remember who they were or what they looked like. But now, knowing them and seeing for myself the similarities in our features made me sick. Why would any normal sane person want to acknowledge a psycho killer for a brother or father? And why would Mom…

Something clicked at the back of my mind.

Yeah, why would Mom?

As a matter of fact, it did not appear that Mom was scared of or angry with those two in any way.

A nurse and a doctor arrived. I wanted to tell them to throw Fenton and Frank out of my room. But Mom's pleading eyes stopped me. Or at least I would like to think so.

I watched warily as Mom, Fenton and Frank communicated with the doctor and the nurse. They all seemed to be on familial terms. I could not decide if that bodes ill or well.

"At least you didn't break any bones this time," middle-aged motherly looking doctor who introduced herself as Dr. Barton said with a friendly smile.

I stared at her for a moment. She sounded like she knew me. And did Dr. Barton say 'this time'? She made it sound like I was a regular here.

Was I?

Nah, a part of me scoffed. Six years as Joe Black I was never a patient at any hospital. Not once.

Yeah, but before that?

Before that I was being drugged and chopped into pieces then sewn back together over and over by a pair of brother and father medical expert psychos. I even knew how to cut and sew myself up. Who needed a hospital then?

Dr. Barton was still clucking like a mother hen as she cleansed my wound and replaced the bandages.

"…never liked hospitals… never follow the doc's orders…" I thought I heard her say, though her mouth never moved.

I must be imagining it.

An image of her throwing up her hands in exasperation and surrender flashed for an instant and was gone, leaving behind that throbbing ache behind my eyes that felt just a little more painful than before.

"There, just try not to move that arm too much," Dr. Barton said. "You don't want to tear all those beautiful stitches…"

Do I know you? I desperately wanted to ask, but for some reason, I just could not get those words out. Something of that desperation must have showed, for she said: "Just take it easy, Joe. Everything will come back to you in due course. Don't push yourself."

What will come back to me in due course?

"And do not hesitate to call for me if you need anything. Anything at all," she stressed before she left.

I did not miss that warning glance she gave Frank and Fenton. Made me feel a little better; I was not the only one wary of those two.

"Please, Joe," Mom was close to pleading. "Things are not what you think they are. Give them a chance. Give me a chance to explain a little…"

Mom pleading on THEIR behalf? My curiosity pricked, I nodded curtly. I always knew that was a bane of my existence, that sense of curiosity of mine.

And Mom began to speak.

I sat and listened. To one ridiculously incredible tale that by the end of the hour seemed to take on a certain macabre sense of reality. Fenton and Frank were my father and brother. I was abducted by Andrew and William Kempton who pretended to be my father and brother.

Let's see. I had three fathers. A real life private eye, followed by a real life serial killer, followed by a real life best selling crime-mystery novelist.

And I had two moms, both who loved me. One I thought I killed, and the other now dead because of me.

It was kinda darkly funny. I never considered myself that lovable or popular a person.

Still, it was a giddy feeling to be told that the one deep-seated fear I had about myself wasn't true. I was not related to those two psychos in any way. It was not in my blood to be a killer.

Then again, if blood does not make a man, what does?

There were just so much blood and death around me…

I shuttered off that line of thought.

Perhaps it was because of that innate desire of mine to believe that I am normal. And perhaps it was the photographs that Mom was showing to me of a happy normal past with a happy normal family.

Merry laughter rang at the back of my mind, and scenes long forgotten rose to the fore. I knew those scenes were real memories because they were not scenes from the photographs Mom showed to me.

No, those were the memories of two little boys running amok in a tiny apartment driving their mom nuts with their hyperactive demands. The two boys were brothers, borne just a year apart. I watched them grow up together through the years. They were close and rarely apart for long. The older brother was definitely very protective and loving of the younger, whose curiosity tends to outweigh his common sense that oft led him into mishaps.

One of those boys was me.

The other was… Frank.

My eyes snapped towards Frank. Our eyes met and held. The love and hope in those brown eyes were so raw I knew it could not be faked. I could almost hear him pleading with me to remember what we had and shared once upon a time.

I knew without doubt that the psycho I remembered for a brother would never be able to manage that kind of heart-felt emotion.

More memories flashed by:

I was standing in the middle of a football field. The scoreboard said that we were one point behind with just over a minute to go. I sent a signal to Frank. He knew what I needed, he always do; we were a team. We misled our rivals, Frank got a little roughed up, and Biff Hooper scored the touchdown.

' Frank… we won...' I gasped.

"Frank… we won…" I found myself repeating that out loud.

Strangely, I did felt as if 'we' did just win over something together.

Frank must have heard what I said. I heard his indrawn breath. I could not help but take in that hopeful expression forming on his face.

Other similar memories followed in quick succession. All the boyish pranks we played on each other, and together on others. How we ogled at and talked about girls, but were once too shy to approach any. And then there was that one time when we ended up in detention and Mom had to come down to Bayport High to talk to the principal. The little mysteries that we solved together in Bayport and the mishaps we got into that gave Mom the white hair on her head. And in that tree house that we built in our backyard one summer, we talked about our dreams and made our plans to start a detective agency together…

"… best friends and partners forever," I echoed the promise being made in that little tree house so many years ago.

Frank's eyes shone brightly. I wondered if his eyes were hurting like mine.

I called out to him, or did I?

It mattered not for he was by my side in an instant, as I instinctively knew he would.

"I missed you, little bro," he said, grabbing me in a bear hug and was yet careful of my left arm. "You've no idea how much…"

Did I miss him? How could I miss something I never remembered, that I never knew I had? Yet I recalled moments in my life as Joe Black eyeing my classmates with siblings with more than a simple sense of envy.

"I think I missed you too…" I said honestly – that was all I could offer. "I know you love me. And I remember I love you too…"

It felt good to have those brotherly arms tightening around me. It mattered not that I was an adult full-grown. At that moment, I felt like a child in need of comfort and support. I needed that comfort and support.

My memories were still unfolding, and at an ever faster pace. I could feel the start of a pounding headache which I willfully ignored. My desire and my need to remember took precedence over all else. I bit down hard on my lips to stifle a low moan, and to counter the throbbing burning in my head.

More faces started to coalesce in my mind, and along with those, names to match. Gawky, studious looking Phil Cohen, lean athletic Jerry Gilroy, dark haired rugged Tony Prito, and chubby cheery Chet Morton… Morton…

A feisty petite pixie-faced beauty was staring up at me with love in her eyes and a smile on her lips…

Iola…

And then she was gone in an explosive fireball.

She died, when it should have been me.

A soft strangled cry escaped from my throat before I could rein that in.

She died because she loved me.

A pain started in my chest in addition to the headache that was forming. But the memories continued to flow.

I watched helplessly my happy years with the Blacks fly by, knowing that it would end in tragedy…

I started to tremble.

I heard Frank asking me if I was all right. I did not respond. My eyes were wide open, but unseeing of what was around me.

I could only wait for the scene I dreaded. All too soon, Michelle was in my arms gasping for breath and dying. Her last words to me were to remind me how much she loved me and how proud she was of me. And then I was hanging on desperately to Mike. He never moved. His heart wasn't even beating. It wasn't long before the doctors pronounced him dead.

The pain in my heart was unbearable.

And then there was Maria, her dead eyes staring accusingly at me.

They all died because of me…

Someone or something whispered in my mind. "All who loves you dies… killer…"

"No!" I fought back. "I'm not…"

It was them, THEM, not me…

Cruel laughter rang in my head.

I saw a shiny scalpel in my hand. I saw how swiftly and cleanly I could slice and dice a rodent with it. I saw a tiny but real heart beating within a tiny ribcage. My hands were coated with blood…

I saw myself working to swallow my bile as THEY torment and eventually killed THEIR victims. I felt sick when I remembered that I was carefully watching and remembering HOW they did it.

And then I was standing before a young girl strapped down onto a makeshift operating table. I do not know her name, but I knew I was going to slice her up before killing her. I was going to put everything I learned from my brother and father into good use and make them proud of me…

I was going to…

Horror filled me.

I was going to torture her before killing her…

I started trembling violently. I had difficulty breathing. The bile rose from my guts and spilled out of me. I…

There were voices coming as if from a distance.

"Joe!"

"… get the doctor…"

"… look at me, little bro, look at me…"

"… deep breaths…"

I tried to reach them, but I could not.

I tried to stop remembering. But the floodgates, once opened, could not be closed. The pounding in my head grew worse, but it did nothing to stop the relentless flow of horrifying images:

I was walking calmly down a road towards a two storey house. I finally accepted my destiny, that that is that I was born to kill. But unlike THEM, I'm going to be very selective about my victims. There would be only two…

Once in the dining room, I lifted my guns and aimed. I was relishing in my next act. I was going to kill Fenton and Frank…

I was going to kill Frank… I was happily going to… kill…

That scene froze.

During that breather, I tried to rally my faith in myself. I didn't kill Frank. I didn't kill anyone. I didn't…

Then slowly, that scene restarted.

I knew that I was no longer looking at a memory, but a vision of what was to come:

The smile on my face was now different. It was the lazy smile of someone doing something most pleasurable. I was no longer holding a gun but a scalpel. The silvery scalpel flashed and sliced.

I could hear Frank's voice crying out in pain. He was begging me to stop.

I did not. With a single flip of my wrist, I had that scalpel buried partway into his heart.

"Noooooooo!"

Was that me howling or was that someone else?

I felt a multitude of arms fighting to hold me down.

The headache was excruciating. The emotional agony was worse. I could not breathe and dark spots started to appear before my eyes.

It took a painfully long time before the blessed darkness dragged me down into its depths.