The mid-afternoon sun was especially punishing as the two brothers drove the long way back home from campus. Stuck in a rare traffic jam along Bayport Highway- uncommon because it was not peak hours yet, Joe felt his thoughts wander yet again to familiar, weed-ridden grounds and, unable to control their swift legs, he let them drag him along through the mushy mud and puddles though his impassive face betrayed none of his inner turmoil.

The sunlight strayed inside the car, slanting through the windscreen and illuminated his pale face but he could not register the warmth it should bring as the Mustang air-conditioning system had severely malfunctioned. The temperature was immovable from the artic range- its regulating dial as useless as a fungus on a tree.

He donned his Oakleys when he suddenly decided that the blinding white rays were too piercing. Part of him was irrationally afraid that it would elucidate the images of his mind flashing in his eyes and Frank might accidentally see. Without the sunglasses to hold up his hair, his wild fringe flopped down once again all over his face.

Need a hair cut.

"Something on your mind?" Frank asked as he sagged against his seat, most probably tired of engaging and releasing the clutch repeatedly, guiding the car slowly inch by inch forward. Joe sighed and closed his eyes, letting sleep wash over him. Sweet, intoxicating sleep. But the moment his physical sight completely shut down, his mind’s eyes took over and he saw her again- as pretty as a flower, as real as the sun and as tearful as a rainy spell. Unable to hold on to the image without his heart breaking, he opened his eyes a crack and viewed the world through blue-tinted lenses. He thought the world had immersed deep into the ocean’s depths and everyone was just swimming about lethargically in an endless stupor as the sun penetrated the water and beat upon their backs.

"You were chatty just now. What’s up?" Frank was not giving up, bored from the waiting perhaps. Joe was the designated restless brother while Frank could sit in front of a PC for ages- his hand guiding the mouse the only visible movement. Yet, now, the roles were reversed. Frank wanted to talk and was unable to sit still as he shifted his butt on the seat and pulled irritably at his seat belt. All drivers needed mental stimulus when trapped in a jam or just cruising for a prolonged period as they might just doze off and wake up in either heaven or hell.

Joe shook his head listlessly, not knowing why he just did not feel like bantering anymore. Mood swings were indescribable, the change abrupt and intrusive. Moreover, Joe could not remember anything about being normal or talkative just a while ago. He could not recall the topic he had discussed with Frank, though the backdated issue of Wheels gave him some clues.

It did not matter. Nothing did because he remembered her. He had forgotten about her for a while and it seemed like such a cardinal sin. She was probably somewhere waiting for him; for rescue. An evil wizard had whisked her off and locked her up in the upper most story of an ivory tower, a thousand levels high and Joe did not know the magical word to break the runes on the heavy oak doors.

And a dragon. Joe added a dragon into his terrible fairytale. A big, red fearsome serpent with wings spewing fire and brimstone at all who dared to come too close. It was as big as Bayport and as evil as the devil’s henchmen.

Then there was his princess, looking forlornly out of the tower’s sole window at the very top- her ash blond hair fluttering in the winds of high altitude wind which also blew away her precious tears. She whispered prayers for her knight to come. The sky canopying the hellhole was purple and red with pollution from the dragon’s breath and the dense clouds hid the bright blazing sun from bursting forth but insulating none of its heat.

Her knight. Her weak, sniveling knight was trapped in a traffic jam a few dimensions away.

"The sky’s up. The star’s up. The moon’s up and so is the sun."

"Don’t play smart with me. Not now. Joe, you remember Jeremy Bret, right?" Frank drew attention to the name of the serial killer who had stolen time away from him- precious time he could have spent with Vanessa. Joe swallowed a bitter lump, ignoring the fact that with the FBI’s efforts, Frank’s volunteering with the Crime Scene Investigation and his unofficial meddling, a menacing force was nabbed and its path of destruction halted with the verdict of the gallows.

Gallows. Jeremy Bret was sentenced to death. Joe shuddered at the memories. He had not deeply thought about capital punishment but somehow, the sentence disturbed Joe.

"Yah… sure I do… the psychopath. Takes one psychopath to understand another." Joe drawled as oddments of the case began to come back to him. The FBI agent that they had to work with had been the most inhuman guy he had ever come across. He wrinkled his nose as he recalled the icicles the man left hanging from the ceiling of every room he entered and left. He was inhuman- not in the evil sense- just, cold. His blood seemed to be a frozen crimson lake. Everything about the FBI agent was frosty.

And a question struck him. He had always been curious. Now was as good a time to ask as any, at least Frank would not interrogate him for being too quiet. "Say, were you jealous when you worked with him?"

"Jealous? Me? Of course not!" Frank protested a little too quickly and loudly. Then, blushing because he probably knew he had just bared the hidden envy inside of him to Joe, Frank lips stretched so thin that Joe was a little concerned that they might be permanently elongated.

"No?" Unable to resist the truth that was about to be unearthed, Joe pressed on.

Frank sighed and licked his lips, a sure sign he was thinking introspectively. Cautiously, as if sifting through many versions of dictionaries to find the right words so as not to implicate his own human fallacy, Frank narrowed his eyes and confessed- sort of.

"Actually he’s not that bad. He just doesn’t… well… consult and share information much…. I take back my first sentence. Working with him is a chore." Frank answered dryly; his bitterness over the experience was not sweetened with the arrest of Bret nor assuaged over time.

"So, you’re jealous…" Joe taunted in a sing-song voice, his moodiness left behind by companionship.

"Joe…" Frank growled as his eyes slanted warningly over at Joe.

"Because he’s FBI and he practically solved the case before you did… by a whole five minutes. But the two of you worked so amazingly together I thought you were going to ditch me as your permanent partner…building all those credible profiles... sharing those one-sided conversations…" Joe smirked at his brother as he chuckled inwardly, recalling Frank’s complaints against the guy he nicknamed Frosty the Snowman.

"I don’t have the experience he had and most importantly, the access to the information that he could utilize. And if you’re going to torment me some more, I’m really going to ditch you." Frank threatened nonchalantly as his fingers were now drummed the steering wheel. Joe shook his head.

The last case had taught Frank some wisdom- that it was a little difficult to work with somebody who kept all his thoughts and ideas to himself, which was what Frank often did on quite a number of occasions. Joe was often exasperated by Frank’s silent analysis of the clues and evidence. However, with Frank, there was still an acceptable degree of consultation. With Elijah Raily, the best answer anyone would get on a bright sunny day was, "Hmm."

And Joe appreciated Frank’s openness. As lacking as it was on some days, Joe accepted that it was the way Frank worked and it was all right. Joe needed to verbally thrash out ideas with someone he could trust. Frank needed silence and much thought before he discussed any issues. Being different from each other did not necessarily mean Frank was wrong and Joe was right or vice versa. It just meant the brothers were as different as the color of their hair.

"Why are you smiling?" Frank asked, out of the blue. Joe snapped his head to face his brother, not realizing he had a stupid smile plastered on his face.

"Was I? I was just thinking of the profile we need on the FBI guy. You know, the one where we just wrote on a blank piece of paper stating Elijah Raily is a law unto himself?"

"Oh… yah… that. It’s a little unnerving to see someone who has no feelings, no regard for anything at all, working for the side of justice. I don’t think he’s even aware of any laws, rules, regulations or code of honor…" Frank commented and nodded his head vaguely in silent agreement with something he had just concluded. "One thing’s for sure, I don’t want to work with him ever again."

"See! Jealous! Can’t take the pressure!" Joe teased and laughed softly as Frank shook his head, not having any idea of how to stop Joe from probing.

Hah! A taste of your own medicine!

Two brains in an outfit. Of course Frank would be jealous. Frank was not only smart- he was unblinkingly intelligent. Yet, Elijah Raily was as well. The difference between the both of them was that while Frank had a heart entrenched in love and humanity, Elijah Raily was a robot, moving purposefully forward to achieve his aims, and would hurt those who stood in his way and not feel any qualms. Joe had comforted Frank by affirming his brother’s good heart when Frank was feeling especially down one night by some of Raily’s dry, sarcastic comments that Raily could somehow, convey like truthful statements. He simply told Frank that he did not have to be jealous of a robot whose astonishing AI was the only reason why he was still alive, living life as he did.

With great intelligence comes great demand for wisdom and compassion. That was an innate motto of Frank’s, a code he always tried to live by. And that was why Joe hero-worshipped his brother, for a reason that was more than just because Frank was his elder brother. Frank led a relatively simple life though he could grab any scholarships he wanted or lord over others with his sharp cunning. In short, he did not exploit his talents for selfish reasons. He was mostly humble, though sometimes, when he went into a knowledge high, he could sound boastful or condescending. Most of the time, his self-praise was only for humor, letting his friends take digs at him so everyone could have a good laugh. He corrected without sounding domineering; advised without being controlling.

But Joe also knew that though Frank seemed to more have gifts than he did- though everyone was always labeling Frank as the "genius" and he as the "jock"- that he was not a lesser person than his brother. Categorizing others into neat little two-dimensional cardboard figures was something only those with no capacity for deeper thinking did. By judging people too quickly and unfairly, they neglected something wonderful called an individual’s soul- complicated in its simplicity and yet never duplicated in someone else, dead or alive.

Regardless of the "himbo jock" status so many wanted to push him into, Joe had once firmly believed that he was his own person, not a shadow of his intensely intellectual brother and definitely not a cut-out figure. Yet, he could still be in awe of Frank out of childhood habits and being inspired by the guy himself.

Had once firmly believed.

"I’m just glad that you’re not like him. You’ve shown me that geniuses need not be insane." Joe thought that he could be kind and throw Frank a compliment which was an understatement at how he really perceived his brother. It was all right. Frank knew.

The dark brown eyes warmed as the slightly cracked lips smiled at the flattering remark awkwardly. Frank hated to be extolled for his intelligence and yet, Joe knew somewhere inside the still waters, Frank was actually dancing to a bumptious rhapsody. "Yah, whatever. Anyway, we do digress too much, don’t we, dear Watson? Back to the topic. The more I think about it, the more the memory of Bret haunts me. He picked his victims, both females and males, seemingly at random. However, we found out that the victims always had a phobia or the ghost of a dark secret lurking in their closets, manifested in their mannerisms or speech. Liz, our good old friend, was always overly concerned with her looks to the point she would check out all reflective surfaces to make sure no strand of hair was out of place. Bret stalked her, investigated her from afar to know her inside out and then terrorized her with mail, pranks that ranged from being paranoia-inducing to actually damaging…"

Joe bit his lips and felt something tugging at his chest. Paranoia-inducing. If someone wanted to make him paranoid, all he or she needed to do was just look at him for a second longer than a brief glance. He recognized where Frank was leading him, but he hoped that there was nothing more substantial to back Frank. He did not want to have to face another serial killer. One was bad enough. Especially one who was the cause of him not spending enough time with Vanessa who might be still alive.

Still alive. Dead. Alive. Dead. Alive.

He might as well flip a coin.

"So?"

Frank’s mouth slacked opened but before the reply could emerge, he coughed. Joe slouched against his seat and lolled his head towards Frank, eying the brown-headed guy. Lassitude dimmed the sapphire gems.

"Don’t swallow your words. You’re just trying to say that he or she knows I hate… well, this person knows I hate being called… you know… and he or she did…. The pranks are now paranoia-inducing, ire-inspiring and soon they could be deadly. Maybe an accomplice or a copy cat is after me." Joe’s drone became reluctant stutters and he curled his lips when he finished, disappointed with himself. If he could not bring himself to say, "Murderer," how could he expect Frank not to mince his words?

"It’s just a weak deduction. We don’t have enough to establish that yet… could be someone else you offended with that smart mouth of yours." Frank clarified himself softly, the light-hearted choice of words at the end clashed most inharmoniously with the somber tone.

Joe kept silent, watching the traffic easing up. Soon, he passed by the culprits holding up the streams of metal chariots. Two motorists were arguing with each other and occasionally ganging up on a pitiful traffic policeman. Their cars were banged up pretty badly but there were no splotches of red anywhere or body bags.

Turning away from the commotion at the shoulder of the road, thankful for the lack of deaths, Joe gazed up at the blue sky that was made a blanket of melancholic indigo through the azure shades. A request was pounding away in his heart until it finally burst through the fleshy cage to travel urgently up his throat. He knew he would be refused if he asked but thought there was no harm in trying.

"Can I see her journal?"

The silence that followed told Joe all he needed to hear. Expelling a breath that sounded more like a sharp, self-derisive laugh, Joe shook his head, not in disbelief but in weary acquiescence. Frank did not say anything and pretended to concentrate on driving. Perhaps he felt it was better to just treat it like the question was never asked. Joe could not fathom. Frank had switched on the "protective" mode again.

After about five minutes of continued, tedious silence that was becoming a norm these days, they approached an exit and Frank made an abrupt departure from the highway, cutting through two lanes hurriedly just to enter into downtown Bayport. Baffled, Joe turned to his brother and jerked his head sideways.

"I thought we were going home?"

"Nope…you need a mobile. Do you think you can reach into the glove box and take out the envelope?" Frank asked cursorily as he maneuvered the car slowly into the left-most lane in anticipation of a sharp turn into Bayport’s Mall basement car-park.

Knitting his brows in curiosity, feeling the antagonism melting away slowly, Joe did as he was told. The envelope was a little bulky, like it was stuffed with something folded but soft. Reaching in, Joe touched the crispiness of freshly minted notes.

Immediately he withdrew his hand and replaced the envelope in the glove compartment. "I can’t. Bro, you don’t really have a job…" Joe could not deny that he was tempted but Frank need not be responsible for his screwed up life and he did not want to abuse Frank’s kindness and love for him. He had borrowed way too from much Frank already over the years and he would not be surprised if the total amount added up to a few thousand dollars.

Little brothers were somehow always broke.

"I’m earning some, doing research for a couple of Masters students. They need the information that is useful for my thesis as well so I’m killing two birds with one stone. Besides, my little bro needs a roof over his head." Frank assured Joe casually. He found a parking space without much fuss and very expertly swung the frigid Mustang perfectly into the slot.

"I do have a roof over my head. This nice, Tudor on Elm Street…" Joe unbelted himself before turning to face his brother who, from the suppressed smile on the dark handsome face, Joe knew was trying not to read too much into his answer.

Frank cocked his head towards his own door. "What’re you waiting for? Let’s go…"

"Wait…" Joe rested a hand on Frank’s but only briefly. He was forcing himself to improve with physical contact but still, the feel of his rough scarred skin over the smooth unmarked of other people’s unnerved him. There was little he could do to stop feeling like a walking contagious virus.

Frank raised his brows as Joe rubbed his own neck with his hands, trying to bring some warmth to his digits and his throat though none had any amount of heat to conduct to one another.

"Thanks. I appreciate that… I’ll pay you back every single cent I owe… I promise…"

A hand swiped dismissively in his direction, commanding him to disregard what he had just spoken. "Don’t talk about repaying me. I never expected anything in return. You’re my bro, all right? Don’t stand on ceremony with me…" Frank’s deepening brown eyes bored into his cerulean ones and for a moment, Joe felt closer to his brother than anything else in the world.

"Besides, you owe me way too much… if you start to seriously decide to pay me, I think you’ll be bankrupt in no time!" Frank’s eyes twinkled with good humor and Joe laughed softly.

"Ok, got it…" Joe pursed his lips in mocked contemplation before he pressed his fingers against his temples and took on a robotic drone and wore a blank mask on his face. "Programming in progress- Frank’s a generous idiot meant for exploitation by his kid brother. Programming complete."

"Get out before I kick you out of the car!" Frank growled, laughingly. He pushed Joe affably towards the car door and Joe, upon contact with the metal body, hugged his torso and winced exaggeratedly, not having enough fun yet.

"I think you killed me… good…," he rolled his eyes up and jerked his body still, "bye."

In his mind, he could see the familiar shaking of head and the muttering of "childish" under Frank’s breath. Suddenly, he felt his side of the car door swung opened and he tumbled onto the cold, hard concrete- landing painfully on his butt.

"Hey, I’m injured! What if I land on my head and get a concussion? Who’s going to remind you where you keep your false teeth when you turn senile?" Joe protested as Frank stood by, chortling at the hilarious sight of his comical fall. Joe wanted to fume at his moronic brother but the corners of his lips trembled upwards beyond his control and soon, he too broke into soft guffaws, feeling a huge weight temporarily suspended up from his chest.

The two of them shared that rare moment of pure simple joy and all those terrible memories and festering thoughts were so far away that Joe was not even sure they even existed. However, the moment he wondered about their veracity, they flew back to him- black, leathery wings of dragons caressed him from behind, breathing fire down his neck.

A scissors cut the string loose.

The weight fell on his chest again like it had never left.

Frank’s own laughter stopped short after Joe’s did. However, Joe allowed Frank to help him up as usual.

As usual.

***

 

A zephyr sang in his ears as he stood, looking down at the grave where her name was wrongly carved in. She was so young and delicate, a flower yet to bloom. How could a budding flower wither before its time and its petals trodden on the ground, browned and pulped by the elements?

No sense. It made no sense. It’s only her name… her name…on this tomb… but is it her underneath?

Wisps of blond hair slapped his face and he brushed them aside. His feet were aching from standing for far too long but the tiredness paled to the pining in his heart. Slowly, he sat down on the ground, feeling the crisp green grass crunch under his weight. He did not want to kneel. To kneel would be to acknowledge her passing away. Was she really gone? But she came back.

Joe Hardy. Public Grass Enemy No. 1.

Leaning a shoulder against the cold, gray stone, Joe cleared his mind of all thoughts except the riddle of heads or tails. The coin that was flipped up in the air had not descended and the sunlight glinted off its thin side, blinding Joe. He could not see, nor deduce what would be the answer but he knew no one would believe him.

"Joe?" A voice called out to him from behind. He recognized it and he feared it the most. They had all vindicated Vanessa right in front of her and she was the sole soldier who fought for her daughter’s innocence. Perhaps it was only her who loved Vanessa. Maybe not even he did, having tarnished her name in a bid to save his own sorry self.

And so I’m not worthy.

He struggled up again and brushed away loose soil and grass from the back of his jean-clad legs. Turning around, he smiled weakly and self-consciously, knowing how terrible he must have looked. His blond hair, slightly curled at the ends, plastered onto his neck with sweat and his clothes needed an acute treatment of steam iron. Joe wondered if he had bathed in the morning, he could not remember. All he knew was, sometimes, he would wake up and thought about why he should bathe at all because it was just a mundane chore. It seemed stupid to bathe, only to have to bathe again the next day. So, sometimes, he would just lie in bed and stink.

Sometimes.

Andrea, in her smart office wear, was dressed from head to toe in a black theme. Black shoes, a knee-length black skirt and a stylishly cut black blouse that revealed only a hint of cleavage, half-masked by a sharp, black jacket. Black, the choice of all professionals because it represented seriousness and authority- the no nonsense air must be colored black.

Black. The color of mourning.

Black. Emptiness. Black.

"Joe…" She repeated his name and reached out for him, taking him by surprise. He had expected a slap or maybe even a kick. In fact, he would think Andrea would just take her black handbag and whack him behind his head to give him a concussion that would last for years without even bothering to greet him first. Andrea hated him but on second thought, she did not exactly say his name in the hostile breath of so many months ago.

He thought she sounded friendly, even consoling- the voice of one in grief reaching out to her fellow mourners. Her change in attitude vacuumed all words from him and he bit his lips after a desperate, failed search for those alphabets.

She embraced him gently, briefly before extricating herself, still stunning him with her actions. Nodding towards Vanessa’s grave, she raised a brow at him.

"I see your flowers here sometimes."

"Yah…erm… I…" Joe choked on his saliva and coughed, still lost for words.

"Mina told me about the investigation. I spotted your brother and Phil driving off from my place and asked her about it. Don’t worry, I won’t compromise your investigation. It’s good to know… to know for sure she did not kill herself. She would never have done it… she learned the grief suicide brings from her father’s untimely death." Andrea turned towards him again and patted his shoulder. He noticed her cracked hands and slowly, he began to realize that Andrea was not taking Vanessa’s death any easier still.

Her sorrow and loss was evident in those hooded gray eyes and some new wrinkles that lined her once flawless skin. Dark eye circles prominently accentuated her deep-set orbs- emphasizing the woes of having to bury her daughter. It seemed wrong whenever a mother had to lay to rest the child she gave birth to- a reverse of roles. To be the life-giver and the mourner. It just seemed too unfair.

But life was never fair and Joe learned that the hard way. Life threw charcoal at some while it presented diamonds to others. Life only equalized everyone with Death. It was the only thing that came to all without prejudice or discrimination.

For all must die. The pretty, the strong, the rich, the disfigured, the weak and the poor. Then the question is, where do we go?

Where did she go? Is she dead?

"And I’m sorry, Joe. Mina told me once that you’re suffering too and that you can’t be blamed for her passing away. It’s silly of me… even if it was suicide, she made the choice, not you. I do admit, I thought you killed her… but now, it just felt absurd somehow. Ness loved you. And I can see why. Forgive me for giving you a hard time. Seeing you just brought back a lot of sad memories. The times I fought with her over her choice in college. I wonder, if I had given her too much stress myself too. The night she died, I didn’t exactly have the most wonderful conversation with her before she left for the party. Tired, after a grueling business trip, I came back to see her browsing through Boston’s student prospectus and I knew she was going. I should have known it just meant that she was going off to find herself, to be independent. It did not mean she was leaving me." Andrea finished and smiled sadly at Joe who felt the wind being knocked out of him. Gasping for air, his chest heaved painfully and his head throbbed. Boston. He had insisted that she go to Boston with him.

"Why don’t you want to come with me to Boston?"

"I do! I just… I don’t know… my mom wants me to stay here…"

"Fine! Then stay! You got accepted into it easy and got my hopes all up and now, you tell me you aren’t going with me… forget it…"

"Joe… why don’t you stay…"

"Ness…. It’s Boston vs. Bayport. I don’t want to be stuck here forever. Frank’s in Harvard, I don’t want to be the brother who got left behind."

"We can do emailing, call, video-conference…"

"Ness, save it. I don’t believe in long distance relationships. They don’t work."

"I’m selfish too… I… never mind. How are you, Andrea? I haven’t… haven’t seen you around much…" Joe managed to squeeze out some words. He and Vanessa had many arguments about Boston and Bayport that would always end up in tears for the both of them until one day, after the arrest of Bret, Vanessa called him and told him she was going with him. He had bought the ring, too, for her and her announcement never seemed timelier.

He remembered being so happy. For a while. Before it all came crashing down. They all came- hateful things like anger, jealousy, intolerance and death came. They came and his happiness got chased away to the dark side of the moon.

"I’m ok… just, just a recurrence of some old habits. But my counselor is very pleased with my progress and I’m picking up the pieces very well, or at least I hope I am… it’s a tough day at the office, I must be a mess!" Andrea let out a small laugh and lovingly stroked the top of Vanessa’s grave. Joe pondered over telling her that he had seen Vanessa but decided against it for reasons not very clear to him. How could he explain that she came and just left with no trace? No, he needed solid evidence.

I’ll find her first and bring her back to Andrea. And to me. And I’ll be nothing but loving and understanding. I’ll not throw any more childish tantrums. I’ll just be the best boyfriend in the world. I’ll pamper her and shower her with so much love that she’ll never feel the lack of it.

If only you’ll come back and give me another chance. Another chance.

That’s all I want Ness, another chance. A second stab at this and this time, it’ll be wonderful and perfect. And you’ll never shed another tear because of me.

"You look great, Andrea." Joe assured her softly and she smiled, tucking her lock of ash-blond her behind her ears.

"Thanks, I can’t say the same about you though. It’s hard to deal with loss but… we try… we always try to move on." Andrea let out a gentle sigh and shrugged. "Trying is all we can do, anyway."

"I’m sorry, Andrea. Forgive me. I love her very much… I…." Joe swallowed hard. It was difficult to face an angry Andrea, even more so to face one who was so forgiving. He had not forgiven himself but it seemed like everyone around him had.

A blight on my soul.

"You’re forgiven, though, Mina’s right. I shouldn’t blame you for it in the first place. You are already marked by this and I should not have caused you more grief." Andrea spoke without looking at him, having reverted her attention back to the grave but Joe knew what she was talking about.

Joe smiled then, if the melancholic lift of his lips could be called one. He clenched his fists and wished for nothing more than another chance to set things right. To step backwards into the chronology and just stop her from leaving him.

You’re forgiven.

But have you forgiven me, Ness? Have you?