THE SECOND TRIAL 

"Doctor Jimson, can you tell us what a suicide griever will go through? Let us be familiar with the psyche of the victims of this unfortunate tragedy." Hector looked genuinely interested in the topic. Frank spotted the jury did as well, with quite a few leaning a little forward.

Everyone’s interested about how everyone’s feels. Interested- but not sympathetic.

"Yes. While it’s different for everybody, most suicide grievers will feel intense sorrow, which is understandable; confusion; anger; maybe severe depression and very very common, an extremely unbearable sense of guilt."

"Unbearable sense of guilt. Interesting... Why?"

"Because they feel like they could have done something to prevent it. Most of the time, the relationship between the suicide victim and the griever is rocky and there’s much anger and hurt. If the aftermath is not dealt with properly, some grievers may cultivate suicidal thoughts and actually, allow the nightmare to repeat itself." Dr. Jimson spoke impassively, professionally and in a strange way- because of his deep, commanding voice- effectively.

"You said it is different for everyone. Would Joseph’s ‘confession’ on this trial be a result of this intense guilt as well?"

"Most probably, since he has lost someone so dear to him before, which- to my knowledge after meeting with him- he still blames himself for, up to today. An argument right before the deed will be a terrible reality to face as well. And the words he spoke in this trial- if I remembered correctly- ‘I said such hurtful words’ and ‘in a way I did’ points to the fact that he feels that he is the catalyst in her decision. And thus, the feeling of being an indirect murderer- though unnecessary and erroneous in this case- will be even harder for him to not experience."

"But is he one? I mean, is he a murderer in anyway?"

"No. He never was. We cannot predict the future. If he can, I know he will have done whatever he can to save her. We are all guilty of not saying the right things, of letting our anger get the better of us at times. We are all guilty of being inadequate at one point or another." The psychiatrist let his controlled voice slip. His next words seemed to be for Joe personally.

For my brother. Joe, please listen.

"A suicide is the victim’s choice. It is illogical to take such responsibility for somebody’s else decisions. The griever cannot know exactly what will happen. No human beings can- really. The guilt is overwhelming but it’s a guilt that is unnecessary and potentially, extremely self-damaging. The grievers should work on healing and recovery."

"Thank you very much Dr. Jimson." Hector smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

***

PRESENT 

Joe drove around aimlessly and Frank had to gently prompt him a little. "We’re going to the police station right?"

His kid brother stared at him for a moment and then smiled, embarrassed. "Yah…we are. I’m sorry. Got to find that damn U-turn…"

"You swear too much." Frank chided Joe affectionately. "Pisses people off."

"Does it? I never noticed. Shane and Craig are worse though. They swear so much that their tongues are falling off." Joe kept his eyes on the road as he spoke and Frank tried to act casual at the mention of Joe’s new friends’ names.

"So, how are they?"

"Who?"

"Your band members." Frank inquired. He did not like them, but he thought maybe he should know more about who Joe hung out with. He was very worried about their influence on Joe though, because they, with the exception of Wayne who Frank did genuinely liked, never could keep a lid on their alcoholic impulses.

But he made me a promise. He kept it. I think he did…

Joe narrowed his eyes against the glare of the sun that was suddenly in their eyes, since he was now driving against the sun’s rays. He stopped at the curb and put on his sunglasses- a pair of Oakley shades. "Oh…fine…failing tests, drinking and ruining their lives." He gave Frank a sidelong glance.

"Don’t worry. I made you a promise. You’re my brother. They’re only my friends."

Am I hearing this right? I thought it used to be "They’re my friends, you’re only my brother."

Frank’s heart was consoled. There was hope after all, if only Joe could see it. Joe grinned a little and Frank was taken aback.

"You don’t have to look so happy about my comment."

"I am happy. I was getting worried there." Frank replied sincerely. "Very worried."

"Don’t worry too much. If I desert you one day, you’ll still have Maggie. She’s really doing well…you know she’s going to play solo in the orchestra right?" Joe asked Frank who nodded slightly, surprised that Joe knew about the developments in the family when he seemed so removed.

"She told you?"

"No. Wayne told me. He saw the Orchestra’s program. I felt a little guilty when he told me…I mean, I should be the one boasting about it to my friends. It’s difficult to get into Bayport’s orchestra, let alone play solo." Joe spoke in a low voice but Frank could hear the pride in Joe’s voice. When they were young, though Joe would sometimes playfully terrorize little Maggie, he was actually very interested in her progress in her pursue of music- much more than Frank.

. Frank slipped on his own shades as well- he preferred the softer frames of Nike.

"Don’t feel bad about it. So…are you going to watch her perform?" Frank raised his brows while looking over at Joe who was trying to navigate through the heavy traffic that had built up as the road they were on was bordered with too many inlets and outlets. Joe weaved into the next lane slightly recklessly, earning the ire of the driver behind him- the driver he had cut in front of. He raised a hand out of the window to apologize.

"Are there any more tickets? I did not pre-order any. I think the arty farty bunch had it all snapped up already. Damn! I missed that turn…what’s wrong with me today…" Joe swore under his breath.

"Maybe you should drive." Joe added, after a split second thought.

He must be really distracted. Joe hardly gives up any chances at driving. He loved cars almost as much as he’s obsessed with speed.

"I bought your ticket long ago. We’ll go with Mom and Dad, alright?"

Joe swerved sharply to the right, almost missing another crucial turn. Frank held on tight to his door handle. He was almost flung off his seat though he had his belt on.

"I’ll think about it. Take is as a yes first. And Frank…"

"Yes?"

"I’m trying. I really am." Joe mumbled right before swearing again when he missed another turn and stopped abruptly by the curb and slammed his head back against the seat. "I give up. I can’t think well now. Anyway, what I meant was that I’m trying to be normal. Like before…you know…"

Frank patted Joe’s shoulders and felt the same old flinching, only, this time he knew for certain why Joe stiffened each time. The knowledge hit him again, with a strength that was stronger and more powerful than that of any physical forces, causing Frank to feel like the wind was knocked out of him.

But Frank kept his feelings bottled up for Joe’s sake.

I want to scream it out loud. Loud enough so that his stupid brain will know we’ll always be there for him. We are all screaming out our love for him! Nothing he has gone through will make us despise him…why can’t he see that?

I know little brother! I know! Let me help you! ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

There…I feel so much better. It’s another day yet again. If he doesn’t go crazy soon, I will. From being helpless. From being so very helpless.

"I know. It’s already wonderful that you’ve gone sober for two months." He forced himself to sound like the regular Frank or he would set Joe’s hypersensitive radar all haywire. Somehow, being alone with Joe made the secret he had to bear much more insufferable. His heart pounded so badly- threatening to shatter his ribcage and burst forth from his chest.

Joe nodded and then he turned and smiled at Frank, an almost happy smile that melted a little of Frank’s jadedness. "Can you drive us there? The way I’m getting distracted, I don’t think we’ll be there by nightfall."

***

Joe waited for Con Riley to receive him and his brother while he was tapped his foot edgily, annoyed by the long wait. He glanced over at the clock once at every ten seconds interval, convinced that time passed too slowly for his liking.

He had not visited the police station in a long time and he knew he was irritating the clerk who was behind the desk which they were standing in front of. She clucked her tongue disapprovingly but Joe ignored her.

Frank too seemed pre-occupied with something. Though Joe had failed miserably in trying to get them to the police station using a route he should know like the back of his hand, Frank too had trouble navigating for a while even when he did a much better job.

We’re both hiding our little secrets. I wonder what’s his? But who cares…I don’t care one bit.

It’s too painful to care…no, Joe…don’t remember now…not now…not when Con is coming out…Con…police…does he know?

Damn…it’s not a good idea…

Get a hold of yourself, Joe! Not everybody knows alright? Some people are still very pure…very…

"Hello young men…I was about to call you two boys but I know the both of you aren’t anymore." He greeted them cheerfully. Con always had a jolly face for everyone, unlike the dour Chief Ezra Collig.

And in a softer tone, he faced Joe and asked with hooded eyes, "How are you Joe? Alright? Taking things easy?"

He knows! How did I get so paranoid…maybe he doesn’t. It’s a normal question to ask someone who went to jail before…

Be calm…stay calm…don’t get all jittery…you’ve got a gig tonight…you’ve got to get this all done.

"I’m alright." Joe refused eye contact with Con, afraid because he knew most policemen knew about those sort of things- though they may not always attest to the soiled garments that the justice system wore sometimes. When he was finally ready, he looked up with those mirrored eyes. Eyes that scared himself sometimes- wondering why he had gone so cold; wondering where he had gone to. Joe faced Con squarely in the face, trying to deny all that that he thought Con suspected.

I can see. How can I not know what are the questions that whirl around his head when he looks at me?

"Frank and I want to look at Vanessa’s file." He requested as calmly as he could, knowing he could not let slip. Old cases were hard to re-open or even granted a look at. He spotted Con eying Frank with a dubious expression.

Frank spoke through stretched, skewed lips, eying Con warily. "I think we will really like to see the file again." Joe wanted to ask Frank to just keep quiet then

He might as well tell Con, "Will you just humor my little brother here? He got a little crazy you see…and he thinks he can seek the truth when the truth is that he should be the one buried six feet underground, not her."

Con Riley ushered them into the office and to his desk. Joe stood still, like a marble statue, bile rising into his throat again. He had thought he was ready- maybe he really was not. Maybe he really did not know anything. But he just knew he needed to do that or she would hate him. She would surely hate him. And he could not have her hate him. She had much to scorn him for already.

"I don’t usually do this…but…I’ll tell you what. I’ll get the file for you. You don’t breathe a word to Ezra about this." He spoke to them in hushed tones. His colleagues did not concern themselves too much with his two sudden guests though some did threw curious looks their way. Probably everyone had been betting on when the Hardy brothers would pay the police station a visit again.

Especially when the last trip was not one in a mad dash for justice. It was one in a mad dash for mercy.

"No problem Con. We understand." Frank gave Con Riley a grateful look as Con Riley searched for the file in their database. Joe felt his mind shutting down suddenly and he had trouble keeping his eyes opened. He just wanted to go to sleep so very badly.

After the initial ravishing, now all I want is a pillow.

"You ok? You seemed out of sorts…" Frank whispered from the corner of his lips and Joe held on to the table to steady himself, a giddy spell had taken over him for a while. It always happened, when he allowed those revolting memories to seep in a little, his sanity would slip a little and his body would demand rest, to stop him from thinking and falling into chaos.

He shook his head, confronting his brain silently to work with him, not against him. He had to seek that courage to reveal the truth, so all would know her innocence. It was the only way he could protect her now. He only wished he did it immediately, 5 months earlier, right after he was acquitted instead of playing those stupid gigs; sleeping at home; looking at Frank dumbly from under his covers while Frank filled out his college application forms for him at his study desk, asking him questions that he could only shrug an answer to; made calls to pull in some favors with faculty members he knew so his kid brother, who had missed the application deadline, could be allowed to enter college.

She has much to scorn me for already. So much.

UB was almost willing to do anything Frank Hardy asked of them. He had been top of the dean’s list for the Law Faculty ever since he transferred in. He was an inactive Mensa member with an IQ of 180. He would do them proud, if only they could keep him for their post graduate law programs instead of losing him to somewhere more prestigious like Yale or Harvard.

 

And so he did. College. Took history and tried to lose himself in that mumbo jumbo philosophical crap for a month and still, she probably led him back there. He could not resist this drive that had attacked him suddenly and pressingly, especially last night.

She wants me to find the truth. To clear her name.

Now, where did I get this weird idea from? She’s dead. The dead don’t talk to people.

So why am I always talking to her?

"I’m alright. I left the caffeine pills in the van."

"You slept pretty early…I meant early for you. Don’t rely too much on that stuff alright?" Frank spoke gently but his gaze was on Con, who was beginning to rise from his seat.

"I’m going to collect those print outs for the both of you. Remember, if anyone asks…"

"Like before, it’s just some forms for official businesses." Frank winked at Con and gave the cop that conspiratorial half smile. Con Riley shook his head and mumbled something about old habits dying hard. And then he eyed Joe again, his expression turning all contemplative and sympathetic.

Well…for me Con, it’s not old habits dying hard. After a while…dying becomes a habit. I’m so used to it. Want to hear about it Con? We can trade horror stories…you don’t have to look at me like that…all you got to do is ask nicely and I’ll really tell you everything.

Really. Everything you cops will never want to admit to.

But I don’t have the courage to fight the system.

They took the duplicated report from Con Riley when Con called for Frank to stay behind.

"I have a question to ask you Frank." Con Riley cast a worried glance at Joe who was staring at Frank to silently and commandingly will Frank to leave the dreaded place with him.

"Con, I think…"

"You’re still with our volunteer team? There’s a case which might need a new insight." Con Riley cajoled and Joe grumbled, his mind put at rest for a moment. It made sense. Frank had been investigating and thinking of plausible scenarios with the police department for quite some time as a civilian participant. Though he had been out of touch for too long, someone like Con Riley would appreciate his talent.

"Joe?" Frank seemed to be asking Joe permission. Joe waved him on, knowing Frank inherited more bloodhound instincts than he did.

"Alright Con, lead the way." He watched as Frank and Con Riley left him and entered the back room. Not really knowing what he should do, he waited around for a while more and spotted those stupid officers giving those weird stares. When Frank was not around to protect him, they ogled and Joe felt he could reach in and pull out all the filthy thoughts that would be running through their dirty brains which must had been used to wonder what happened to him in prison.

He seethed and gritted his teeth, trying his best to exit the police station in as dignified a manner as he could. Paranoid thoughts wandered free in his head and he yearned so badly for the emptiness and the numbness of before. He was paranoid then as well, but this time topped all panic attacks.

Her grey eyes were all he could think of and it brought a heartbreaking remorse in his heart. Unable to endure the sudden load weighing on his soul, he ran to his van, flung opened the door and sat himself down heavily; feeling protected by the familiar, metal covering.

What if Con asked Frank in on pretext of asking for insights when actually, he was going to dish out all the sordid details for Frank to hear?

No. Con is a good man. I keep forgetting. Sometimes people on the outside are very nice.

It’s those inside that aren’t. Villains locked in those cold cells, allowed to create mayhem.

Villains just like me.

He reached inside the glove compartment for his caffeine pills. No, now he was no longer sleepy and his mind was overreacting. He rummaged through the box violently, in incensed frustration. Valium was what he wanted but he had none. Why did he allowed Frank to leave him alone? Because he knew this would happen? This madness tearing at his soul? Such that he felt he was being left behind in the deserts for jackals to prey upon?

He threw the caffeine pills bottle back into the compartment and leaned back on the chair, breathing in and out, breathing hard but still suffocating. His eyes shut tightly; his face a mask of silent anguish,.

He was alone. Always alone. Frank was just humoring him.

Only humoring me.

***

"There’s no crime right Con? What do you want to talk to me about?" Frank asked, stifling a yawn. Exhaustion was coming back to him. He had a restless sleep the night before and two papers to be handed in next week that he had barely started on. Now, this case that he wanted so much to concentrate on-if it could help Joe seek the closure he needed- was stressing him up before they even got started.

But what if the closure was what we thought of all along?

The darkness we fear to think about?

Only…which darkness? Damn this thought. No…cannot have this thought. I’m his brother.

"Why do you and Joe want to look at Vanessa’s file all of a sudden?" Con Riley sat down on the sofa in the empty police lounge. Frank made himself a cup of instant coffee first from the sachets, cups and hot water found on a small table which served as a faux pantry of sorts.

"He wanted to. I only have to go along." Frank sipped the steaming hot drink, imagining his tiredness ebbing away gradually with each swallow.

Of course it doesn’t. Caffeine makes your eyes opened, not keep your brains awake.

"We did not know how to classify her file. Used to be homicide. Now, it’s unknown." Con Riley then motioned for Frank to sit opposite him.

"You know that your dad had been asking questions about the four months your brother spent in prison right?"

No…not again. I don’t need to be reminded of my failure to pull Joe away from hell.

"Yes…Con…I don’t want to talk about it." Frank rested his head against the sofa, stifling yet another big yawn. Caffeine was losing its magic on him.

"I know. It’s difficult to even believe of such a…I don’t know…how do you learned people put it?" Con Riley smiled a thin smile. "Like use a pretty word to hide an ugly truth."

"There’s no euphemism for it Con." Frank was suddenly so sick of the coffee in his hand- the once fragrant smell that he looked forward to now brought a churning to his stomach. What was it that Callie told him before? That coffee caused diarrhea?

Oh…great Frank. You’re thinking of the possible bowel problems that coffee can induce when Con is trying to pry into your brother’s private affairs.

What is this about people that makes us want to read pages of real-life tragedies in the pretense that we’re concerned when we’re actually just looking for a juicy slice of meat to sink our teeth in?

"I need to go now, Con. Whatever happened to Joe, if you know about it, please don’t spread it around. I’m just trying to protect my brother the way I know best." Frank was shocked at the coldness of his tone which seemed to originate from the winter that had settled in his heart for too long.

No, not coldness, more like a chill, a chill that rattled my bones and make me so sick of being so powerless all the time. A chill that kept me frozen and so frightened.

So frightened of tomorrow. Afraid that something would make him mad. Trying desperately to shelter him from all possible pelting stones that could hurt him.

Because I failed to stop the real crushing blow that sent him reeling. I watch him embrace the darkness and I can’t bring the light back to him.

Why must I love my kid brother so much? Why can’t I be like other brothers who beat up and terrorized their siblings all the time?

Because I never will. If anything happens to Joe or Maggie, it happens to me.

Because of love.

Frank walked towards the door only to be stopped by Con. "I understand. I only wanted to help or something. You’ve known me long enough Frank. We are the justice system and when even we cannot deliver what we…

"Save me the rhetoric, Con. I’m not in the mood. Not today." Frank grabbed the door handle and a thought hit him. He flipped open the case file on Vanessa.

Probable motive: Suicide.

"I can’t show this to him." Frank shoved it back at Con. "You know in court we were only trying to prove that there is always another angle from which to look at everything."

Con refused the duplicate case file. "Then look for that angle. The angle that tells the truth. That angle will-perhaps- save some part of your wretched brother."

Now you have to go and make me guilty about all I thought of before. But don’t blame me please. You could have made yourself clear.

I’m now very paranoid about who could potentially hurt him again. I’m sorry. You’re an old friend.

"Thanks Con." Frank spoke softly. He was admonished but Con did not need to know that. Taking the file with a shaky grip, he left the police lounge and prayed that Joe would not over-react.