*Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry

You don't know how lovely you are

I had to find you, tell you I need you

Tell you I set you apart

Her room, pretty like her- a mirror image of her. The her that I love so intensely that my heart will just burst with the pain of loving her.

Why did I even go in the first place? Because I was missing that little spot on Earth that seems to be always harassed by a tornado then? The modern décor of metal and brightly colored walls that echoes her feistiness? The white laced curtains and embroidered bed- sheets she so preferred that softened the edge?

Why?

Tell me your secrets, and ask me your questions

Oh let's go back to the start

Running in circles, coming up tails

Heads on a science apart

He was driving home and it was already deep into the night. The earlier sheets of drizzle had rolled back up into the sky but his windscreen was still misty. No, it was not his windscreen. The foggy steam came from his eyes- brimming with the hot, deliquesced throes of strangled passion.

It was all supposed to be fine. All the dust should be settled. Ok. Calm down. Think carefully… I told her I love her. In that nice little café, I affirmed my feelings for her. She cried. We cried… we went back to her house… my arms around her waist...

My arms around her waist…. It was natural…. It was right…

Nobody said it was easy

Oh it's such a shame for us to part

Nobody said it was easy

No one ever said that it would be this hard

Oh take me back to the start

He covered his mouth and nose with a palm, breathing deeply in and out. Anguish was surging through his veins to his eyes, spilling out as tears. Happiness was so close. The warring currents of doubts, confusion, yearning- was calming.

Was calming. Was.

The torrents were now veiling his eyes with a watery pall.

"It’s getting late, Frank. You fell asleep." She woke me up. I had stupidly dozed off, my dumb head resting on my folded arms on her study table. She must have been so angry...

"Did I? I’m sorry… I…"

"It’s ok. I know you’re tired… swarmed with many things on your mind… forgive me for not understanding before… you should go…" The look. The sweet, sad look and the sweet, sad voice. Disappointed. Was she disappointed with me?

"I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here as long as you need me…" I answered her, almost choking on my sincerity. Why can’t she hear it? If she heard it, why can’t she accept it?

I was just guessing at numbers and figures

Pulling the puzzles apart

Questions of science, science and progress

Do not speak as loud as my heart

"Frank…" She knelt down and placed her hand on the arm of the chair, looking up at me with so much tenderness that told me it was hopeless. "I’m a month pregnant. You’re an adept mathematician, surely… surely you know what I’m talking about…"

A month. We broke up slightly more than two weeks…Then. Then I felt the old betrayal. The traitorous feeling of betrayal. Stifle it. Should have stifled it.

But they consummated… when she… when she was still mine…still technically mine.

Did they do it on her bed? The lace embroidered sheets? While I told her I’m busy with my thesis or something?

"Oh…" I didn’t know what to say. What can I say? How can I be so presumptuous that she will want me as the baby’s father?

And… can I even handle it?

"Oh." She had agreed; nodding at the same time. "I’m sorry. I cheated on you in the worst way. Thanks for being here for me today. I have to… have to tell you this because I don’t want to lead you on or anything or bring up false hopes… it’s not fair. And you deserve to know the whole truth…"She continued, still looking at me with those liquid orbs, breaking my heart again.

She cheated on me.

A statement. A fact. And here I am, a sniveling, groveling fool, wanting her still. Wanting to be the baby’s father.

Am I angry? Am I still angry?

Tell me you love me, come back and haunt me

Oh and I rush to the start

Running in circles, chasing our tails

Coming back as we are

He realized then that he had passed by the same building for probably the third or fourth time. In the terrible roving of his mind’s eye, he had driven around in circles as well. Just like the mellifluous yet melancholic ballad eerily reflected.

And then, he had the answer. It hit him then. The answer to he and Callie.

I’m not angry. Just tired. Running on empty, I need a break.

And I can’t deny I still love her. It is she who will not take me back. I know I still want her. All my promises- spoken, silent- still stands.

He turned into the lane where the sweet Tudor house was situated.

Home.

But I need to clear my thoughts, too. The revelation… a jagged pill.

Nobody said it was easy

Oh it's such a shame for us to part

Nobody said it was easy

No one ever said it would be so hard

And it’s choking me.

I'm going back to the start

***

The pale silhouette of his younger brother was aglow; reflecting the silver moonshine shaded over with soft orange hues streaming down from the patio lightings. Leaning against the rough, unpolished white wall, Joe’s star-blue eyes were staring hard at the wooden floor; his mind in another realm where Frank was not invited; nor welcomed if he should accidentally trespass. His lips were pulled tight into a taut line; his expression grim and foreboding. Frank was a little surprised; thoughts of he and Callie were pushed aside for the moment and the only physical marks they left behind were the dried streaks tracing his cheeks.

While it used to be that he could not catch a glimpse of the sun-blessed hair even if he absolutely needed to, he was sure seeing his kid brother loitering around the Hardy’s residence quite a lot these days.

Joe looked up then, probably hearing Frank’s Mustang pulling into the driveway. Noticing his brother’s attention, Frank quickly parked his car next to his father’s, unbelted himself and fumbled in the glove compartment for the envelope of hard-earned cash. Having stopped working part-time jobs owing to the lack of time and energy, money was difficult to come by and he was feeling way too old and responsible for himself to be relying on allowances from Fenton. Most guys his age would be living independently but there he was, still bound to the physical structure of his home.

As he climbed out of his car, the envelope in his hands, he shivered a little under Joe’s watchful glare. From the moment his car arrested Joe’s awareness, Joe had not moved a single muscle; simply observing each and every movement of Frank’s with hawk-like intensity.

Something’s not right. No. Don’t let him descend again, please. I’m so weary of it as well… I’m too tired to deal with it now…

"Hey, brat, what’re you doing here? Sick of staying in your hostel?" Frank tried to be casual; unaffected. Yet, his composure was slowly being chipped away by the reminder of last night’s madness and the heartbreak of just now. Feeling cautious, he was unduly tensed up with the fear of pushing something over the edge- most probably his brother.

"Nope, waiting for you. Happy?" Joe spoke blandly, scrutinizing Frank still with those startling eyes- wide open and dancing with blue sparks of lunacy. The crazed look gave birth to anxiety and discomfiture- the roles had reversed.

Frank was used to giving others the electrifying shivers with his quiet; intense intelligence, or rather, he was accustomed to others reacting to him in such an amusing manner. He had hardly experienced the uneasiness for himself until then, faced with the chancy alien that was fast devouring the brother he knew so well.

Chet often told him geniuses are separated from lunatics by only a thin membrane called sanity. He knew and understood what Chet meant but as he stood, a heartbeat away from his brother, Chet’s words brought on a whole new angle.

He, the genius, was separated from his almost insane brother by a mere footstep.

Either they part; or they pull each other to their respective sides. Remembering Callie’s fears, Frank resolved to win the tug-of-war.

Because he could never leave his brother alone and walk the other way.

"Don’t you want to go inside? It’s damn cold out here, don’t you think?" Frank suppressed his awkwardness and folded his arms against the slight breeze. The grip on the envelope was taken for granted. It was still there but Frank was already desensitized to it.

"I don’t want to. Care to go for a ride with me? We’ll take your Mustang, as you see, I haven’t retrieved my van yet." Joe remarked dryly, his words were swallowed with something bitter as his voice thinned off. He indicated to Frank’s car, which was still warm from the earlier journey. Not knowing what Joe wanted and never able to turn down many of Joe’s requests, Frank nodded hesitantly- still troubled by the sinking apprehension.

The car ride was endured in the same, old sickly silence. In those spells of deadened quietness, noise would only emphasize the emptiness. Frank refused to put on any music or even attempt any small talk. The silence was emitted from the fidgety being next to him and Frank knew whatever question he threw, he would only hear a hollow answer or worse, his own voice echoing piteously back at him.

Nothing could bring substance to the vacant silence; make it more habitable. It commanded an unceasing presence and brought no peace of mind.

He had asked Joe where he wanted to go though, and Joe only answered "Big Cliff." The articulation of the name itself resurrected the dormant fear of loss and if Joe could care, he would surely see Frank’s hands trembling slightly, unable to grip the steering wheel capably.

But of course he won’t care. He can’t see beyond his pain; can’t reach further than his body length to reach out to others. My brother, a far cry from his old self.

Excuses that were made and taken as canon were being torn down during the introspective ride. With no words to speak, no songs to listen to, Frank could reflect until the cows came home. Excuses- torn down with recurring disappointment that sounded like a sad refrain. As much as Frank wanted to continue to shield Joe- continue to guard him against the sands of slander pelting forth like speeding bullets- Frank was becoming tired of it.

He had thought that after that night on the beach, Joe could sympathize with his plight and start to really think and act on his own recovery. But he found nothing changed. Two weeks was too short but Frank was getting impatient. He had been waiting and waiting and nothing improved. After the night before, Frank was convinced that the bottom of the pit was not yet breached.

Layers of explanations for his brother’s utterly incompatible attitude of late were wearing Frank down. Leaving Joe alone to plot out his own route to healing was not the best step to take; neither was dismissing his acerbic skin as a natural and understandable consequence of his sufferings.

With all his heart, he wanted to help but inertia cloaked him like a sticky veil. He knew he did try but he also knew that there were times when his actions were sluggish as his entire being was enervated. Lack of sleep; encumbered by tricky relationships- he knew the excuses for himself all too well.

Frank grabbed the sides of the veil and ripped it through the middle. He would pull Joe over to the side of safety as he always had- by brute force if he had to- out of the sewage dunk Joe perversely relished wading in.

They finally reached their destination; the end road that Joe had dictated in few words and with fewer emotions. As usual- being one of the highest altitudes of Bayport, Big Cliff brought no warmth; only numbing cold- the frozen tips of fingers and toes.

And after establishing itself as a landmark in the brothers’ life for all the wrong reasons, Frank felt a new chill of a different sort; the sort of chill that actually shrieked and wailed. The howling apparitions of wolves blew past Frank and he longed for the warmth of his house- his parents’ hugs and cookies’ smell.

Anywhere but there. He wanted to be anywhere but there.

Unlike Lover’s Peak, Big Cliff was not fortified with railings of any sort. Besides the weak illumination of moonlight, it was shrouded by the vacuous night. It was not dangerous, unless one made it so by standing too close to the edge. A slight tether; a stronger than usual airy current and anyone could just fall over and be swallowed by the hungry waves below.

"Why here? Let’s go back into the car and I’ll drive us somewhere nice and warm…" Frank offered, huddling his torso against the heartless gale. He was leaning against the bonnet of his Mustang, finding breathing difficult as sinus, aided by the cold, sought him out.

"Spit it out, brother…" Joe, just next to him, desiccated of all emotions except menace. Frank furrowed his brows at the hostility that ran deeper than what he thought. In the absence of a clue to help him out, he sighed and watched as his breath condensed into the air; forming smoke-like tendrils that conveyed his wretched frustration.

"What do you want, Joe? I’m tired. I don’t want to guess anymore. Just tell me." Frank twisted around and threw the ball back onto Joe’s court.

A heavy slam on the metallic bodice of his car jolted him. When he recovered from the violence of Joe’s silent rage, he noticed that Joe was hovering in front of him- his brows knitted in anger and his breathing ragged.

"Tell you! Tell you and what? I told you what I can and you went and told it to Chet! And then Tony knows! Next will be Brian and he’ll be laughing his socks off! At poor, pathetic Joey! All… laughing!" Joe looked away, his fists clenched tightly. Frank was hypnotized by the rising and falling of his brother’s emaciated chest and as truth hit home, his face involuntarily broke into a smile.

"Joe…"

"YOU SMILE! You think it’s super funny! What happened and…you don’t believe me! How do you expect me to trust you when you discuss in graphic terms what I’ve told you in confidence? Have I ever done it to you? Huh? My mind! It’s crawling with those sordid secrets you’ve made me keep ever since we were young and I never told anyone!" Joe ranted on, walking away from Frank and gesticulating wildly as he did so, precariously approaching the edge of Big Cliff.

Close enough to send Frank’s heart pounding away and his legs to take flight.

He thought I told Chet about that? How? What untruths did Chet and Tony feed to Joey?

No… more likely, his paranoid mind told him the untruths. I’ve got to clarify! If only he would just let up!

He seized hold of Joe’s hand; fighting to keep his eyes open as they were both assaulted by an irate gust of wind then, probably irritated by the two brothers on the brink of falling out with each other on its territory. Joe carried on in his strides, dragging Frank along with him with surprising strength.

"It’s not what you think. It’s about Vanessa, Joe! That’s what I wanted to tell you last night! Vanessa’s death was not a suicide!" He hollered; willing himself to be heard through the hullabaloo that the livid wind was rousing. More importantly, willing his voice to filter through the chaos to reach some rational, sane part inside his brother.

Joe halted in his tracks then, like a machine that screeched to a halt when something foreign and unexpected became lodged in its mechanism. He did not shake his hand away and Frank appreciated that restraint. Waiting for the wind to settle down because he did not have the energy to wrestle with the wind while simultaneously engaging in a mental spar with his brother, Frank took in a deep breath in preparation for the revelation that was to come next.

From him.

His grip did not relax.

The wind languished and withered out in a while; bowing down to Frank’s willpower perhaps, stepping aside for a worthy competitor. It waned down to a waft and Frank took the zephyr as a cue.

"Vanessa. From what you told me, the statements you gave the police and other observations, I have strong doubts about her death as a suicide, bro... The facts did not add up and… we…"

We can go get the bad guys!

Great idea, Frank! Now that I know she did not CS, I am totally OK! Let’s go bust evil like we use to do!

"We should…" Frank’s words held no faith; not to himself anyway. Hollow. He sounded as hollow as the big, black hole in the sky.

It was a starless night. He glanced up briefly and the knowledge saddened him.

"We should go find the killer. Is that what you’re trying to say? I know what you think, but the killer’s right here and you’re holding on to him, trying to save him from some edge he’s going to fall over." Joe murmured; each individual syllable forsaken to the gentle breeze that carried them to burden Frank’s heart some more.

"No, Joe… listen. You… there’s really someone else. She fell down and broke her neck before she was shot. She was killed and someone tried to mask it as suicide. Look at you, aren’t you tired of torturing yourself with this self-blame? Ness, Ness loved the drive in you- the impetuous Joe. Your zest for life, that’s what she loved most about you, she was always telling Callie how your enthusiasm for almost everything influenced her and … to see you so… so dead… that would only break her heart…" Frank tried to reason as he had many times before. Nonetheless, this time was different. Hopeless, he was hopeless. What could this episode accomplish? The previous ones tried and held so much promise only to be shattered, leaving broken glass for them to step on.

Joe turned to face him then, very gently extricating his hand from Frank’s weakened grip. He smiled; sympathetically with a hint of sorrow- the sorrow at not being understood. But Frank begged to differ. He had caught glimpses of understanding. He had tried his darned best! In complete earnest, he was wishing desperately for a miracle.

Joe, get up! Fight! Be yourself again! Don’t be empty. You’re supposed to go crazy, to go wild and start pestering me to continue on the case, pronto! You’re supposed to…

You started me on this, remember? Little bro?

"Just answer me, big brother. Is what you’ve just told me supposed to make me feel better?" Joe’s voice was calm, sounding so much like his old self, yet, devoid of the light-heartedness. Guilt had added weight to Joe’s spirit; added weight to everything he did.

Frank’s mouth gaped opened to say something clever, something meaningful but he could not. It was then he knew he actually knew so little; he knew nothing. Was that what Joe was running away from? Their knowing looks? Telling him that they understood his grief and he should just move on? Maybe Frank wore it on his face all the time but he just was not aware of it until then.

He could never understand the grief. And Joe was walking through it twice- somehow, he had gotten so entrenched in the woods; tangling himself up with the vines that dangled from the rough, thick branches that blocked out the sun.

I’m a dunce. And I never felt wiser until this admission.

Joe waited for a while more and then he shook his head and laughed softly; wretchedly. "You don’t know."

"I don’t. I’m sorry." Frank admitted and bit down on his lower lip.

"Thank you. Maybe I’ll ask her. She’ll know."

"Mina? Maggie? Mom?" Frank asked; mystified.

Joe sighed; letting out resigned exasperation- or so Frank thought. A chill kept Frank’s heart in a vise grip; he knew, with some heavy horror, what Joe was going to say.

He needs a psychiatrist.

"It’s ok. You don’t believe me, you’ll never understand. Hey, why am I so sad and angry? I don’t need to be… she…" Words drifted away with the eyes that turned wistful; longing for something that the dreamer already falsely believed in.

The more ridiculous his brother’s words; the louder and harder Frank’s heart pounded.

"Joe! Listen! You held her body in your arms. You know it was her. Thinking that she’s alive won’t solve anything but we can seek justice for her death. We can and we will…" Frank tried to persuade Joe over to the side of rationality and reality; straining his eyes in the darkness to see if there was any puncture marks on Joe’s neck. Joe had hallucinated once before; had tottered on the brink of a delirious chasm.

But that episode of lunacy was induced with chemicals; utilized under the hands of the murderous Assassins. Joe’s ashen neck showed no signs of injections of any kind. Frank prayed he was mistaken, or it could only mean one thing.

The one thing that Frank thought he had dealt with and trampled under his feet.

Joe stared at Frank with sadly, sweet eyes; the portrait of one who surrendered to being maligned; misunderstood. He pursed his lips and thumped Frank’s back. "It’s ok… I understand…I’ve got to go now… I’ve got to get my van." With that, Joe turned and walked against the wind, beginning his descent down the cliff; continuing his stumble into madness.

Frank laughed; mocking the sky; mocking his brother; mocking himself. The poignancy bought hilarity and the payment was his sanity. He turned and with vexation, veiled over with bemusement, he watched Joe slip away into the night yet again, all by himself.

Not this time.

His legs obeyed. He raced after Joe. When he neared Joe, he grabbed the bony wrist and squeezed it hard. Joe was startled and Frank knew Joe had not heard him running after him; being lost in some other world yet again.

"You’re not going anywhere. You’re coming with me." Frank tried to pull Joe to the Mustang; vowing to himself that he would drag Joe to see Emily or someone else who could help him and stymie the ropes of lunacy before they tethered onto Joe’s spirit.

"Frank…it’s late…" Joe protested and Frank felt really sick. Sick to the very core. Him dragging his brother was too common an occurrence these past few days. As common as breathing.

He felt like he was fighting the battle even when he was not with Joe. Subconsciously, maybe he did. If Joe could not heal; Frank could not rest.

Could not stop reproaching himself for the sleight of hand; the twisting of facts that turned out to be falsehood to create the terrible lie that became Joe’s eternal prison.

Because Joe believed in Frank’s logic and Frank’s judgment had killed Joe; re-affirming what Joe had already believed in. With the trial, he had given Joe the impression that he was not alone in his awful conclusion.

A hammer pulverized his conscience. It was not a mere prick. It was a blow that knocked the wind out of him.

"I know it’s late. You’re coming home with me. You’re going to sleep in your room. I’ll force sedatives down your throat if I have to but you’re going to sleep properly. And in the morning, we’re going to see Emily." Frank listed his plans resolutely, feeling his grip on Joe stronger and Joe’s struggles more frantic.

"No! She’s real! She talked to me! We sat on the beach… she just went away for a while!" Joe dissented, so convinced of the phantoms that floated around him; reaching out with deadly hands to strangle sanity out of him.

Frank would stop them somehow. He now knew he really had no clue but he had the determination. Joe had madness on his side but Frank tipped the scales with his resolve.

And his exploding frustration as well.

"SHUT UP! We’re doing it my way now! I’ve left you alone long enough! I’m sick of all these things, your madness, Callie’s betrayal, Maggie’s disappearing trick soon to be performed. I’m sick! Sick! And I’m going to start getting something back by setting you straight!" He bellowed. Still holding on to Joe, he opened the door of the passenger seat and after some struggle, managed to shove Joe in; wondering, for a split second, how he was going to get Joe to stay put.

"Let me go! I’m not mad! You are! You’re the mad one!" Joe hollered. Taking advantage of his slight distraction with thoughts of ways to force Joe to comply, Joe rose up his legs and kicked Frank; the tough rubber soles of Joe’s Nike made painful contact with his knees, causing him to fall on his butt onto the hard, grainy ground. However, wasting no time to groan in pain or anything, he immediately struggled up only to be a few steps too late because Joe had already fled.

Frank gave chase again but his knees gave in favor of pain. The pain reminded him of his frailty; he was only human and he could not bend his brother to his will, no matter how much he wanted to.

He was broken, on his knees literally. Joe’s kick was potent.

Damn!

"DON’T BE A COWARD JOE! JOE!" He shouted after the disappearing back of his brother but the only answer he got was the pitiless howling of the wind; gathering strength, feeding on Frank’s failure.

Silence. It echoed- hollow in its lack of substance.

And Frank was sick of it. 

 

 

* The Scientist by Cold Play- A Rush of Blood to the Head, 2002