"Son, don’t berate yourself. Suicide is a choice made by the victim and even the victim could not be held fully responsible for the action. We are inadequate at times- you’re only twenty-one, how mature can you be? Even I and your mom don’t know how to deal with Joe, what more can we ask of you?"

"Dad, it doesn’t take the guilt away, the rationality of your arguments… even I know should Joe be successful in his attempt, I didn’t push him. But it doesn’t take away the guilt that when he needed me the most, I failed him…"

"Like I said, we are all inadequate at times. Don’t be too harsh on yourself. We learn from our mistakes… some lessons are so much more painful than others. But what matters is that you don’t despair. You pick up the pieces and you just keep going and you learn. With what life’s lesson taught you, take away from you and gave to you, you turn it round to benefit the people around you, with love. Understand?"

Frank gripped the knob, almost strangling it. It could be his imagination but he thought the knob was stuck and he was sure it was not locked. Fear seized hold of him in a split second and he choked on his breath. What if Joe had woken up and locked himself in to do something silly? Talking about Joe’s suicide attempt made paranoia trigger his heart into chaotic palpitations.

His hand shook, rattling the knob. The answer to his problem in getting past the door came to him as bright as the advent of daylight after a long, cold wintry night and he heaved a sigh of relief.

For it was not the knob that was jammed- it was his hand which, for reasons of the heart, turned stiff in anticipation at seeing Joe for the first time since he was warded in Sanctuary.

Fear? What do I have to be afraid of? He’s all right. If he’s not, he’s going to be.

Frank held no faith in his self-prepping. Taking in a deep breath, he forced his hand to hold the knob tight and turn it. It gave and he pushed the door open gently, not wanting to wake Joe for his brother needed rest.

For I have no idea what to do if he’s awake.

"Dad, why must we put Joe in here? Maybe he’d like to go home… I don’t know…you said he begged to go home… is this arrangement really a better choice?"

"I’m at my wits’ end, Frank. I wish that there was this wonder pill which your brother could just pop in and all his craziness, moodiness and unfamiliar taciturn would go away, but this pill don’t exist. Bringing Joe here is the only way I can make sure he goes for counseling and take his medicine if needed. We’ll give it a try. If it doesn’t work, we’ll take him out immediately and think of something else."

He was greeted by Joe’s deathly pale face, briefly illuminated by the white rays of light streaming in from the hallway. Startling blue eyes stared at him fixatedly and yet, blankly.

So, you’re awake.

Frank closed the door behind him and extinguished the artificial glow on Joe’s face.

"Don’t come near me. I don’t want anyone near me."

Hearing his brother’s soft request from behind, Frank halted at the door, his hand still on the blasted knob which would soon be his right’s hand best friend if the stiffness in his limbs remained.

"Do you want me to go outside?" He asked, speaking to the door. There were some shuffling sounds from behind him and then the atmosphere was bloated with silence again. Only the heavy breathing of both brothers rocked the stillness but they echoed in the silence- emphasized the silence.

"No."

Frank acquiesced to his brother’s temperament and turned around, mustering a smile with much difficulty. The darkness would hide the smile but he thought he should show signs of positivism. Even if Joe could see it, maybe Joe could sense it.

"I’ll be right on the couch…" Frank walked to his left and sat down on condensed two-seater which could only accommodate a child after he occupied one and half section of the sofa. He crossed his legs and leaned backwards, trying to look casual- to make light of the situation.

He’s here. In a mental institution. A mental institution. He shouldn’t be here. He would not be here if I had been wiser; stronger.

If I had succeeded in reaching out to him.

Joe continued gazing in the same direction, now staring at the door. Frank wondered, with some sadness, if Joe had even seen him at all.

"I saw her. I did." Joe spoke to the blackness. There was something about the lack of color- the absence of scrutiny by the harsh light that would only elucidate the shadows cast by one’s soul. Frank watched as Joe huddled himself tighter under the blanket, as if there was a chilling coldness in the room. From the haunted sapphire eyes and the trance-like voice, Frank could almost convince himself that the room was visited by Vanessa’s ghost.

"How does she look?" He thought maybe he should just let Joe talk it out, help him rationalize his sightings. But rational thinking was highly subjective, more so in the case of minds that were attacked by vehement forces beyond anyone’s comprehension. What was perfectly logical to Joe could well be akin to selling sand in the desert to Frank’s understanding.

He made out a smile creeping up Joe’s lips in the darkness. Either his eyes had gotten accustomed to seeing without light or that the moonbeam had suddenly remembered the little room.

"She’s… like… like before. Beautiful… her hair, blowing in the wind, even when there’s not even a breeze. But she’s so easily scared… she comes to me only when I’m alone. Other people scare her away. She talks to me, Frank. On the breakwaters, she said she loves me. She’d stay forever… if I wanted her to and she kissed me. Then in the motel room, she wouldn’t even let me touch her, wouldn’t even turn around to look at me. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong… I’ve done so many things wrong and I don’t know what…I can’t…" Joe sniffed, a sure sign he was tearing. How could the narrator not cry? Tears were already streaming down the listener’s cheeks.

Are you really that far gone? Love’s supposed to heal, not keep you in chains like that… chained to someone who has already left.

"Joe…" Frank croaked and helplessness clogged his lungs. He could not breathe for the air strangled him. The understanding of just how tenuous Joe’s sanity hung in the balance was never clearer and the clarity pierced Frank’s mental sight. He prayed silently and urgently, as if willing his prayers to race ahead of billions others to reach God’s ears first. He knew it was silly of him to think that way- he had faith that God knew what he was going to pray before he even thought of the words himself, before he even knew what words were. The Almighty do not work on a first-come-first-serve basis. However, Frank could not help but scream inwardly to hurry divine assistance because he knew he could not handle it if Joe was to suffer a mental breakdown right there and then.

Please, God. Don’t let Joe be permanently mad. He can’t be. He just can’t be.

"You don’t believe a word I’m saying. You think she’s dead. Brian thinks she’s dead. Brian says all of you saw her in the coffin and she’s underneath the soft mushy soil. That she’s dead."

Frank hunched forward and rubbed his temples. No replies came to him and no matter how much he struggled, he could not come up with one word to aid him.

"You don’t know I feel… everyday. I wonder sometimes, if I should have just jumped. I tried to be happy, to smile… but I can’t…. I’m here, Frank. I’m crazy… I’m here and I’m crazy. So many, many things in my head…I’m going to explode." Joe’s breathing became ragged and his voice sputtered off, like the sporadic flashes of a broken dream. Frank stood up and hurried over to Joe’s side, deciding not to heed Joe’s initial request.

Briny rivulets flowed in continuous streams down his brother’s cheeks but the blond young man did not even seem to know he was crying. Frank sat down on the edge of the bed, next to Joe’s upper torso and rested a hand on Joe’s blanket-shrouded shoulder.

"Which is why you’re here. To rest. Don’t think of anything, leave the thinking to me. You just rest here. Don’t worry about the case, about school, about anything at all. You’re not crazy. You just need to rest."

"I don’t want to. I want to see her… I want it to be like on the breakwaters…like a year ago… I want her here… to feel her in my arms but I know… I can’t…I don’t know what I want." Joe shook his head feebly and closed his eyes, gushing more tears out. Frank squeezed Joe’s shoulder, lost for words.

"What can I say to her to make her stay the next time around?" Joe revealed pleading sapphire gems that stabbed into Frank’s heart with their watery rays.

What can you say to someone who’s dead? Can she even hear?

"You tell… tell her that she’ll always have a special place in your heart…" Frank shakily replied, his own sadness sprung from a different well from Joe’s. "That you miss her…"

Joe covered his face with his hands and his body wracked with sobs and hiccups. Unable to stand seeing Joe sunken in into the nadir of despair, Frank pulled his crying brother into a comforting embrace- holding his brother tight and praying for deliverance out of the hell-hole.

He stroked the blond hair which had finally succumbed to its owner’s neglect -the wavy locks twisted in tangles; grimy to the touch from sweat, the elements and salty tears. Joe cried into his shoulder, clinging on to him for comfort and support- for salvation from his own warring consciousness. It did not seem possible but Frank drew the quivering body closer to him, irrationally fearing that it would just fly apart.

Be brave. That’s all I ask of you.

"Then you say goodbye for now, Joe. Then you say goodbye."