"Good morning baby…I am going for lunch with Biff today… that will give you a few hours in the afternoon to do what you want."

"Thanks, babe. I’m sorry, I think I’ll be pretty busy lately…"

"It’s ok. I understand. Will Joe mind if I visit him in Sanctuary?"

"I… hmm… I don’t know if he minds me telling anyone about it… so for the time being, let’s just pretend nothing happened."

Frank glanced at his watch. Eleven-fifteen. It was time to set off for Brian’s house. Stretching himself, he heard muscles, both familiar and foreign, cracking- finally able to chase the tension away. Sitting down, hunching over books and notes, and trying to make sense of things, was starting to get extremely difficult to accomplish, especially when he had more urgent matters distracting him, constantly churning the machinery at the back of his head, stealing time and focus away from what he was actually doing.

The library. In his whole life, he had never utilized that treasured tomb for books so obsessively until college, and it seemed like he was resurrecting dead books with his thesis. Sometimes, the library was a grieving place. True, popular books came and went such that if a student was a step too late, the wait for a recommended textbook would be so ridiculous that it was wiser to fork out cash and actually buy it. However, the majority of books were left forgotten on the shelves, like urns sealed behind a columbarium, all laid to rest in that apt mass sepulcher called "The Library."

Sometimes, when he chanced upon a useful book for his research, the dust hidden between the pages for years would just explode into a cloud onto his face like a mini-atomic bomb set off by the turning of each page.

He had desperately tried to fall asleep on the two-seater couch in Joe’s room after the brat had cried himself to dreamland. However, the cramped sofa was no substitute for a warm bed and fluffy quilt. He tossed, turned and ended up with his legs slanted at a peculiar angle down to the floor. Knowing that he was not going to get any rest because he would only get muscle spasms if he tried, he got off the sofa and paced softly up and down the room, half-convinced that all the caffeine he had ingested was forever incorporated into the blood that flowed through his veins.

Doing nothing and thinking of everything, Frank deduced that it was useless for him to stay. Laura called his mobile, which was set to silent mode and he almost missed the call having felt the vibrations at the last possible moment. She told him that she was going to spend the day with Joe so he could attend to whatever he needed. The hidden message in her kind motherly words was for him to scram so she could care for Joe without any distractions or someone else hovering over him and effectively hampering her from trying to bond with her son.

"Mom, I understand. I’ll make myself scarce but if there’s anything, call me at the first possible moment, all right?"

"I’m glad you do. Now, don’t drink too much coffee. Your dad could not sleep last night and I know he’s worried but too bad he confessed about the cup of coffee you enticed him with."

Frank left before Laura arrived- before Joe stirred from his sleep. Callie called almost right after Laura did and told him of her lunch date with Brian. That gave him a few hours to return home, grab the necessary stuff, do some research and perform that dreaded operation as soon as he could.

Got to update Con on the case. Joe should be safe there but I don’t want to take chances.

"Hey! Going so soon?" Phil clapped Frank on the back too enthusiastically, almost knocking the wind out of him. Frank stuffed his Pocket PC into his sling FX bag before he ‘Velcroed’ the flap down absentmindedly, feeling a little guilty at the sight of his old friend for no reason.

No. Not for no reason. I suspected him… I did…

"Hmm… yah… what about you?" Frank started walking towards the stairway and Phil followed him, his own Nike haversack hung low down his back.

"I was just helping the staff here repair some glitches in those free terminals at level three. Was going to go when I spotted you. So, where’re you going?"

Oh, to commit some sort of evidence burglary… you know, breaking and entering… the usual sort of thing I do that will kinda violate some laws and render the gathered proof useless if I’m a law-enforcer of some kind. And for your info, it’s one of our dear, old friend’s place I’m going to break into. Callie’s in on it too. Want to come? Before I forget, I was just thinking of doing it to your place, too. Actually, I thought of hacking into your computer but I think that would be futile since you have a firewall that stretches longer than the Great Wall of China and I have absolutely no idea what I’m supposed to be looking out for.

"Home." Frank said and shrugged, "Where else can I go?"

"I don’t know. Hey, want to check out the new game I bought back at my dorm? Age of Mythology… kinda cool."

"Thanks but I’ll pass." Frank replied with some wistful regret. How long had it been since he touched a PC game? A month ago. He was grappling with Championship Manager, a game on soccer- one sport that held the international communities’ unwavering interest in a vise grip but had yet to stoke its flickering flame into a bush fire that would consume the fervor of the States.

Suddenly, in the middle of his wandering thoughts, he felt like something was missing from his pocket. Stopping by the stairs landing, he patted all his pockets and his bag for his mobile.

"Damn!" Frank opened up his bag and started rummaging through it. Phil stood by and gestured vaguely.

"What?"

"Did you see my mobile on the table? Did I keep it? Damn!" He swore again, kneeling down now so he could inspect his bag, which had a few inner compartments that were a little difficult to reach into. His tiny, stylish mobile phone was a curse sometimes, especially more since it was black in color. It could camouflage itself perfectly at some dark corner of his bag and being so weightless, Frank would have easily missed it in his search.

Phil reached over and grabbed Frank’s bag. Before Frank could stop him, he turned it upside down and all the contents started pouring out. Though he could not stop his dear friend’s meddlesome attempt to help, his lightning quick reflexes stopped his Pocket PC from enduring a concussion if it should fall onto the floor.

And his mobile phone as well. The end scenario was a little comical. There, on the floor, was a heap of papers and books. His two hands were suspended in mid-air, each clutching a state-of-the-art technological gadget. Phil was holding his upside-down emptied bag with its rectangular gaping opened having vomited out the contents Frank trusted it with.

Frank almost giggled at the hilarity of it, especially when he saw that a small audience had found them. However, from out of one of the bag’s inner pockets, which he had carelessly not zipped up, his set of lock-picks dropped out. It landed on the pile of papers with a soft ‘thud’. Phil’s brows were arched when he saw it.

Hurriedly and a tad too flustered, owing to the same shame that visited him when Phil greeted him earlier, Frank laid his phone and PDA down onto the floor and snatched the bag from Phil after which he started chucking the fallen remains hastily into his bag.

Phil waited until he was done and as they made their way out of the library together, Frank sensed that Phil was just trying to pepper the journey with small talk pertaining from everything about the weather to what he intended to put in his thesis and Frank, still reeling inwardly, still feeling the sinking of guts at being caught, humored him with vague answers. He was just as bothered as Phil by the question that danced like fire on the tip of Phil’s tongue.

"When’s your thesis’s due?" Phil asked for the second time during the short ten minute walk from the library block to the car park behind and probably the fifty-fifth time since semester started. It had become like a great opening to greet Frank these days.

Frank sighed with uncontrollable aggravation, frustrated by Phil’s blatant attempts to keep the mood light despite the fact that he knew Frank was off to some illegal and sneaky operation. In the past, Frank would have no problem discussing with his close friends his impending actions to solve a case, should they ask of course. Phil must have sensed the atypical reluctance in offering information with ease like before, when trust was a given constant- a reluctance that broadcasted like a sole beacon in the middle of a starless night.

"Next millennium. If there’s nothing, I’m off now. Bye." Frank replied curtly, not knowing why he should feel so peevish when Phil should be the one angered at being kept in the dark about any clandestine operations, which he had uncovered, especially since Frank had roped him into the investigation.

Phil reached out with one hand and grabbed Frank’s shoulder before Frank could stride on straight ahead to his Mustang.

"Wait… there is something. The lock picks… you don’t carry it around like a pen or pencil. What gives? Who are you investigating?"

Frank twisted his lips before he turned around slowly. The only answer he could give was a shrug with a mirthless smile.

"Oh, c’mon! Enough with all this cloak and dagger bullshit. You… you don’t suspect me… right?"

Hmm… is it so apparent on my face?

"No. Is there a reason that I should be?" Frank gestured around sketchily, before he curled his lips and shrugged again.

"I don’t like your tone. This is not the place, huh?" Phil’s eyes darted around the car park and the few students walking to and from their vehicles.

The same darting eyes that shot flitting sights to all corners of Vanessa’s room.

"I’m sorry. I’m a little jittery lately. Lousy night last night. I’m not investigating or suspecting anyone real seriously at the moment. Just…" Frank rubbed his palm down his forehead to his chin and leaned against a car, some Lexus or something. He could not care.

"Just trust me on this."

Phil tilted his head to one side, his brown eyes narrowed in deep thought and his hands akimbo. A few seconds later, he shook his head.

"Do what you will. As crazy as Joe is, I believe him when he says he would never suspect any of us, even if it had been him I’d seen with the lock picks and then acting so strangely about it… but you…" Phil lifted his shoulders lightly before he turned around and started walking away. Frank cast his eyes on the floor until he heard Phil’s footsteps fade completely away before he shoved his hands into his pocket and walked three car lots down to his trusty old Mustang.

I’m not the one who came up with this. And right now, I think I’m trying to find evidence to not be bought over by his arguments.

 

***

Brian’s house was a few streets away from Frank’s, on a modest little lane called Chapel’s Drive. Close to the BBC, it suited Brian’s mother very well because even with her busy work schedule down at Bayport Hospital as a staff nurse, she could still volunteer at the Church tutoring the children from dysfunctional families plagued with either a broken marriage, abuse, the lack of means to support themselves or a combination of any or all and more.

Laura and Ingrid Hooper had always been friendly to each other and the traumatic history between Brian and Joe had not affected it. Ingrid was always asking about Joe, out of her own and her son’s concern.

But Joe was unaware of it. After Vanessa’s death, he would never attend the noon service if he ever went to Church. Ingrid attended the noon service regularly. Joe avoided anything that had any slightest relationship to Brian.

The house was a humble two-storey abode flanked on each side by its identical replicas. Weathered hues of white dictated the color scheme on the outside- a small flight of stairs with its white paint peeling off the splintering wooden balustrade led up to a lattice front door whose white paint was a little yellowed. Looking up, he saw the curtains fluttering through the wide opened dormer window on the second-storey.

That’s Brian’s room. The lazy Saturdays spent inside with the gang, going through sports magazines while Joe and Brian debated and deliberated over tactics.

All in the past.

Frank walked around the house and saw no car parked in the garage besides noting the best place to break into the house without the neighbors, who were only a short distance away on each side, discovering him. Finally, he decided that the wooden back door was more favorable to the lattice front door, owing to the large trees casting dark, overlapping shadows in the open backyard, which could offer him some coverage from prying eyes from accidental sight.

Working with some awkwardness because he was breaking into an old friend’s home, Frank only managed to pick the lock after a couple of minutes. Cautiously, he pushed the door open and stepped silently into the kitchen, glancing around to double-check, feeling a little stupid for doing so since, if he caught sight of Brian or Ingrid inside, they would have spotted him as well. The emptiness in the house was sensed before the mind perceived it with evidence given by the eyes. Taking in a deep breath, Frank shut the door gently behind him and made his way hurriedly up the stairs to Brian’s room.

Brian’s room was as Frank remembered. In fact, it bore similarities to Joe’s when it came to colors. Joe and Brian were not best friends since the beginning. When they were kids, Joe often taunted Brian about everything and they hated each other though Frank could not understand where the antagonism came from. However, during 6^th grade, somehow, the two of them got along fabulously for no reason except finding out that they shared a common passion for football.

Since their friendship blossomed, they realized they had quite a lot in common. Both liked to refurbish old, crumbling sedans and insisted on calling junk metal on wheels "vintage beauties". Both liked sports. Both like soft alternative music bordering on rock and both could play some form of instrument- Joe with his piano and Biff with his harmonica. Both loved the color blue.

Both loved the same girl.

Frank opened up the drawers first and rummaged around, hoping to find something. He started searching the room without any clear plans or thoughts and by the time he got to the fifth drawer in the first of the three shelves in Brian’s room, he hit upon the realization that it was not going to work because he had limited time and he could not afford to mess up Brian’s room because the falling sands would not freeze in mid-air and everything with it except for him, so he could tidy up whatever chaos he created.

If I have Ness’ cat pin and I love her dearly… maybe feel guilty… maybe miss her a hell of a lot. I would want to keep her cat pin with me always.

What if it’s on him?

No… too risky. If he killed Ness, he would not want to keep the cat pin on him just in case Chance steered someone’s sight to it.

But he would bring it wherever he goes. Probably, he won’t touch it, just keep it somewhere easy for him to pick up and go wherever he needs to go.

Deductions, deductions.

Right now, he’s shuttling between Arizona and Bayport, Long Beach. He just came back. With all the happenings these days, he may not have time to unpack fully and he might want to go back soon…

Suitcases. Where are his suitcases?

Frank speedily walked up to the bedroom closet, which doubled up as Brian’s wardrobe and also his personal storage space. He opened the door and walked into the darkened space, which was divided further into two sections. The space on the left was cluttered with built-in wooden drawers and aluminum clothes-racks that were not properly employed, as t-shirts and jeans were strewn over the place, intruding into the storage space on the right.

A red and black Deuter Trans Alpine backpack, which had definitely seen better days, caught his interest. It was dumped on the floor next to a folded bike and several unopened cartons, most probably used to contain old school notes. On the right wall, shelves were drilled in to further utilize the limited room and Brian’s old textbooks, among other things, were exiled to some lonely corner on the third shelf.

Another similarity. Joe and Brian NEVER use suitcases.

 

After unzipping the backpack, Frank noticed that Brian had left quite a few things inside, like a pair of Teva sandals with sand stuck in the crevices of the soles. Rummaging around, he felt something like a ring box hidden behind the back lining. He moved his fingers up and found a zip but it was locked. Carrying the bag out of the dimmed closet, Frank quickly eyed a vacant space between the prince-sized, unmade bed and the too empty study desk. He sat down on the bare floor and laid the backpack in front of him. Reaching into it, he tilted the tiny lock up and set to work. Seconds later, the simple lock gave in to his subtle manipulations.

He unzipped the compartment and drew his hand in, immediately making contact with the box. Without even seeing it, Frank knew it was definitely a jewelry box of some kind from the feel, shape and size of it. He withdrew it and gripped it tightly as his other hand prepared to reveal the contents inside the white, hard paper box with gold trimmings.

Here goes all or nothing.

With resolution, he forced the box to yawn open. Two sapphire cat eyes captured his reflection- their crystalline blue irises the same color as that of his brother’s.

His throat was choked with unspeakable sadness as hot tears burned his eyes.

It need not come to this.

I don’t want it to come to this.