Fool's Auxillary.
Don hung up the phone. He said, "Charlie will be here in fifteen minutes or so." David and Colby resumed their searches for clues to Bonnie Park's whereabouts. Don returned to his desk, intending to review Mrs. Park's archived stories. That was when Megan found him. "I found a second power bill for Mrs. Parks. It's in one of the warehouse districts. It might be where she works."
"Sounds good." Don said. "Let's go take a look. I'll meet you downstairs." He grabbed his coat and keys before stopping at David's desk.
"Megan has a lead on an alternate worksite for Parks. We're going to take a look. Would you give this to Charlie?" He gave David the envelope with the sheets of numbers they wanted Charlie to look at. "He can call me if he finds anything, otherwise, I'll see him tomorrow."
David said, "Will do."
Don was sure he was mistaken when he spotted Charlie's car sprawled on the edge of someone's yard with the passenger side door open, the lights still on and the alarm blaring in the night.
"That look like Charlie's car to you?" Don asked as they approached the vehicle.
"Yeah, it does," Megan said, her tone thick with concern. Don pulled in behind the car with his own car's enforcement lights flashing.
"Don!" Megan moved like a cat as she exited the suburban. He hurried to join her and found her leaning over Charlie's crumpled form, checking for a pulse. "He's alive," She said. Shattered window glass from the front driver's side window lay scattered across his brother's still form.
"Charlie!" Don nudged Megan out of the way and was examining Charlie for injury in a heartbeat. He found Charlie unresponsive, with a disturbingly large pool of blood collecting beneath his head. The blood came from a wound in the back of Charlie's skull. Gentle examination revealed wound characteristics of a gun-shot and bone moving where it shouldn't. Don's stomach churned.
"Medic is on the way." Megan said from behind Don.
"Fractured skull I think, tell the medic to move it. Have LAPD process the car." Megan found Charlie's keys and turned off the alarm. Don applied gentle pressure to stop the bleeding head wound, trying to avoid or ignore sensations of bone moving under the skin.
"LAPD is on the way. I had David and Colby check the alternate address for Parks." Megan said quietly. Don nodded absently, unable to care. He covered Charlie with his jacket, but a vicious circle of self-accusation pulsed in his mind, marking each moment spent waiting for the ambulance to arrive.
He's my responsibility. I'm supposed to keep him safe. This wasn't supposed to happen. He probably thinks I'm still mad at him.
Don rode in with the ambulance, watching, as Charlie's face seemed to grow paler with every breath he took.
Hospital staff disappeared with Charlie into the bowels of the hospital and Don focused on getting Charlie admitted as an alternative to panic, but it bubbled quietly in the back of his mind. He could have brain damage. I felt the bone move. He could die. The bullet's in his head and he might wake up and have lost his genius. He might not wake up. Under it all, other thoughts rang like a tolling bell. I failed. I didn't keep him safe.
He'd almost finished the paperwork when Megan said, "I've sent LAPD to pick up your dad and Amida."
"Wha—No!" He started to get to his feet. " I'll go." His hand went to the pocket where he kept his keys, but it was empty. He'd given the suburban's keys to Megan so she could follow him once LAPD showed up to process Charlie's car.
"You'll stay." Megan told him, her hands on his shoulders pushed him back into the chair. "You need to be here, for Charlie. LAPD has your contact info, they'll want your report. You're in no shape to drive, Don. Your dad needs to hear this in person."
"I shouldn't have let Charlie work for the FBI." Don glanced at his watch and then at the hallway Charlie had disappeared down. "I shouldn't have let him."
Megan said, "You don't know this has anything to do with Charlie's work for us. We don't know who did this to Charlie or why. This is not your fault, and you know it. We did everything we could and the doctors here are top notch." Megan pulled him to his feet. "They have a private lounge for us. If anything can distract you at this point, hospital coffee will. Come on."
The police officer escorting his dad and Amida arrived as Don got to his feet to pace for the fourth time. Larry had come with them. All three wore identical expressions of worry.
His dad gripped his arm. "What happened?"
Amida looked around for a moment and asked, "Where's Charlie?"
Don opened his mouth and tried to say something, but nothing happened. Megan was already on her feet and moving toward his dad. She paused long enough to exchange meaningful glances with Larry, before continuing toward Allan.
With a detached awareness, Don noticed how she placed herself, not directly between him and his dad, but a little to one side, where she could divert Allan if he became hysterical.
Speaking slowly and calmly, Megan said, "Allan, Amida. Charlie's been injured. He's in surgery. We're waiting for more information from the doctor."
"Charlie?" Allan Epps stared at Don, confusion blooming in his expression. "What happened to Charlie? The officer said—"
"I know, I asked him to bring you. Don and I found Charlie's car on the way to gather evidence. It looked like someone had run him off the road and then robbed him. His laptop was gone and whoever it was shot him."
Shock ran through them like a wave.
"Did you catch them? Was it the same car that followed him last night?" Amida blurted out.
"The medics—" Megan got out before Amida's words registered and Don all but pounced on her.
"What car? Who followed him?"
"He didn't tell you?" Amida was almost as surprised as Don.
Larry picked up the explanation. He said, "Charlie stayed at Cal Sci last night. Amida and I found him this morning, picking up pillows. We thought he'd stayed to work, but he said he thought someone was following him and decided to stay there. By the time he told us about it, he'd half convinced himself it was a product of his own imagination."
Amida said, "When I suggested he ask you about it, he remembered the meeting at the FBI and raced out. I figured he would talk to you about it."
Don said, "He say anything about the car? Who he thought was driving it?"
Amida shook her head with regret and said, "It's like Larry said, he was almost convinced he'd been paranoid."
In his peripheral vision, Don noticed Megan pull Larry aside and hold a brief, but intense conversation.
Keep Dad and Amida busy until she gets him settled.
"Did Charlie say anything to you?" Don asked his dad.
Allan shook his head and said, "I haven't seen him since lunch, and he wasn't talkative. His focus was elsewhere."
"Agent Epps?" Don spun to face a young woman his own age dressed in medical scrubs, with a stethoscope hanging around her neck. A name tag read Dr. Anderson.
"Yes." Don forced himself not to bombard her with questions. His dad and Amida took care of that. Dr. Anderson managed a coherent report despite constant interruption.
She said, "The bullet fractured the skull and lodged in the right parietal lobe of Professor Epps' brain. He survived the surgery and the neuro-surgeon removed the bullet and repaired the skull. We'll know more when he wakes up."
Don's heart tried to stop. Everyone else looked as sick as Don felt.
"Can we see him?" Allan asked.
"We're moving him to recovery now. I'll have a nurse come get you once he's settled."
They thanked her and she left.
Megan gave Allan a hug and said, "Everyone is pulling for him. Let us know when he wakes up. Okay?" He nodded absently and sat down. She offered Amida a similar sentiment and a shoulder squeeze. She and Larry traded hugs and a long, soulful look.
She let Don follow her to another lounge, and when she faced him, it was with an expression he'd grown to dread, one that said, We can argue if you want, but I'm going to win, so why don't you make it easy on yourself and agree with me? All she said was, "I had David start the paperwork for an emergency leave for you. I'll bring it by this evening for you to sign. Give it a week and see where things are."
"I can't sit in this hospital for a week and wait for him to wake up. I'll go nuts. I need to work."
"You can't work. If it were anyone else, maybe, but this is Charlie. At best, you'd sit at your desk and brood. At worst, you'll get yourself or someone else hurt. We'll talk in three days, but I think by then, you'll see I'm right."
Don watched her leave and then found the cop and gave his statement.
###
God, he— Don couldn't finish the thought. Charlie was barely recognizable under all the bandages, wires, and tubes. He remained unconscious. Don stared at the broken, battered form of his brother and felt an all-consuming need to destroy whoever had done this.
He knew he wouldn't be allowed anywhere near the official case, but that wouldn't stop him from finding the bastard. He took a seat beside Charlie, remembering all of the cases he'd helped solve in the last year; from finding Colby aboard the Chinese freighter, to finding Ross Moor's stolen comic book.
"I think Dad's right." He murmured. "Sometimes, you're so good at helping us, I forget you're not an agent. I shouldn't have taken your head off about the interview. I'm sorry."
Allan found him dozing a couple of hours later. A hand on his shoulder woke Don and he sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Allan handed him a cup of coffee and pulled up the remaining chair.
He said, "I didn't think you'd still be here."
Don shrugged and said, "Megan got the assistant director to put me on emergency leave. She's told the guys to ignore my calls, so you'll need to tell them when Charlie wakes up. She probably found a way to suspend my clearance. I doubt I'd make it to the elevators at work."
"Maybe that's not a bad thing. You've been pushing yourself awfully hard, Donnie."
"Something else to talk to my shrink about, I guess."
###
Charlie's return to consciousness the following morning was as abrupt and unexpected as many of his approaches to helping Don.
One moment he was unconscious. The next his eyes popped open and a brief, fearful cry escaped him before he lurched upright, disturbing tubes and wires in the process. His right hand clutched a fist full of blanket, his left remained oddly relaxed. His right leg bent at the knee, the left remained flat under the blanket. His eyes were wild, darting frantically until they found Don and their father.
He relaxed for a moment before renewed pallor set in and he managed to lean far enough to vomit violently over the edge of the bed. Don managed to catch him before he fell out of bed entirely, while avoiding the vomit. Allan found and pressed the call button for the nurse's station.
"Easy there, brother," Don said gently. "It's over, they're gone."
Charlie took a shaky breath as Allan got him a cup of water, and a tub in case his stomach rebelled again. He said, "How—what day is it? What happened?"
"It's tomorrow," Allan said, "It's about ten in the morning, and we were hoping you could tell us."
"You scared the—you scared us a lot," Don said as the nurse arrived. She saw that Charlie was awake and smiled brightly.
She said, "Welcome back Professor!" She noticed the vomit and paused long enough to get a mop, but continued talking as she cleaned it up. "Nausea, I take it?"
When Charlie nodded, sympathy flowed into her smile. She said, "That's very normal, but tell me when it goes away, all right?"
"Okay."
"Is your vision blurry? Are you having trouble getting your eyes to focus?"
"Yes."
The nurse asked a battery of questions that Charlie answered with bemused patience as she straightened out the mess of tubes and wires. When she finished, she asked Charlie to raise his hands. The right came up immediately, but the left remained relaxed on the bed beside his hip.
"Your left hand too, please."
Confusion and alarm flashed across Charlie's expression briefly and he glanced down at his left hand before lifting it with deliberate effort. When the arm moved, the alarm dissipated, but the confusion remained.
"Sorry." He murmured.
"No problem, that's great. Can you make a fist with that hand?"
It required another deliberate effort, but Charlie did so.
"Terrific! The doctor will be in shortly. Any pain?"
"Headache. Massive headache," He said with a shy smile.
"I'll see what I can do," She promised, "If being good at math leads to this sort of recuperative ability, my kids are all going to be math majors." She said with a fresh grin as she made notes in Charlie's chart and left.
Allan held out the cup of water. It took Charlie two tries to grab it, to his evident embarrassment. He took several small sips and gave the cup back to Allan. He settled back against the pillow, closed his eyes, and raised his right hand to gently explore the bandages on his head.
"What happened?" Charlie asked.
"We're not sure," Don said, "Best guess is a failed carjacking. Megan and I found you unconscious beside the passenger side door of your car. The driver's side window was shattered and the alarm was blaring. Your laptop and cell phone were gone. What do you remember? Amida and Larry said you thought you were followed two nights ago."
Allan pulled out his cellphone and left the room, mouthing the word "Megan" as he did so. Don nodded and returned his attention to Charlie.
Charlie said, "Yeah, a silver pickup, a big one, with fog lights. It'd had work done on the right front fender and the hood. They were a different color, darker, rust or a light brown. I saw it again, it was parked along the side of the road, it pulled out when I drove by, right after I hung up with you. It rammed me when I tried to call you back, knocked the phone out of my hand. Then I was too busy driving to—"
"Do anything but try and stay on the road?" Don suggested. "It ran you off the road?"
Charlie nodded and said, "I guess. I don't remember much after losing the phone."
"Okay. You get a look at the license plate?"
"No, all the lights were on, all I got was glare."
"What about when you drove by the second time, you see how many people were inside?"
Charlie shook his head briefly before grimacing in pain and saying, "No, the windows were tinted."
Allan returned and caught Don's eye, tilting his head toward the hallway.
"Okay, this gives LAPD something to start with. They'll probably send someone to talk to you, but I'll send this stuff over. You ought to relax and see if that will help the head ache go away. We'll be back in a couple of minutes."
Charlie didn't argue, or even ask any questions, which told Don more about how bad he felt than all the complaints in the world.
Don followed his father out of the room and shut the door.
"What did Megan say?"
"She said you had to promise to take the week off she recommended before I tell you."
"Dad—"
"She said if you go in, what I have to tell you becomes irrelevant, because the case will be given to another team."
Facts clicked into place in Don's head.
"Ballistics came back." He guessed. "The bullet that hit Charlie is tied to the case we were working on somehow."
Allan's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"Never mind, I promise." Don said. "What did Megan say?"
"The gun that shot Charlie was used again barely an hour later by a guy helping to remove files from the address you and Megan were going to check out when you found Charlie. David and Colby surprised him and two others and shots were fired. Colby killed one of them, but the other two escaped in a silver pickup with fog lights and a repaired right front fender and hood."
"Have they found the bastards yet?"
"They're working on it. Megan's trying to get Charlie's case transferred from LAPD, but—"
"She has to go slow and sneaky so they don't notice how often she works with Charlie."
"Pretty much. She said if she pulls it off she'll send David over to talk to Charlie and he can give us better information."
###
David showed up just after lunch. He and Charlie talked about the pickup and the suspect they had in custody. Charlie had no trouble identifying the pickup as the one that had followed, and later run him off the road, but the photo of the suspect meant nothing to him.
"I don't remember seeing anyone. Once I dropped the phone, it's all a blank." He told David reluctantly. "What are the numbers you wanted me to look at?" Charlie asked.
"Amida and Larry are looking at them. Don't worry about it."
"Amida and Larry have classes. I have nothing to do but lay here and think about—useless stuff. I might as well think about something useful."
David gave Don a helpless glance
He's hates having nothing to do. We are alike in that. Don thought. What's the harm in letting him look? He gave the tiniest of nods to David, who said, "I'll see what I can do."
###
Charlie relaxed as his dad followed David out. His head still hurt and his eyes wouldn't focus. His whole left side felt unreal, as if it belonged to someone else. He glared at his left leg and focused on making it move, more to reassure himself that he could than for any other reason.
"I hope you don't glare at your students like that."
Charlie looked up and to his left, startled to find Don still there.
"What?"
"If I was your student and you glared at me like that I wouldn't give you raves on professor evaluations. So, if you do, I'm a little concerned about your students." Don said, a grin firmly in place and his tone mocking.
"No, glaring doesn't work very well. Jokes and demonstrations are better. What else did you need? I've told you everything I remember."
"Nothing. Go ahead and relax. I'm just hanging out." Don settled back in his chair with a grin. It took more effort to put the pieces together. The pain meds had worn off, but the headache was just as bad when it came to distraction.
"Why do I need a bodyguard?" He demanded when things fell into place. "This have to do with the Parks case? Is that who—"
"We don't know anything, but there are hints. Since Megan won't let me near my desk, I'm freeing up another agent to find the bastard who took the shots. The fact that I get to spend some quality time with you is a nice coincidence."
Charlie mulled that over and couldn't find anything worth saying, so he nodded and closed his eyes, wondering how long it would be before he didn't have to choose between the distraction of the headache and the spacey feeling of the pain killers.
"Charlie?" Don's voice held an odd undertone. Charlie opened his eyes and glanced at his brother.
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry."
"For what? You weren't there. You couldn't possibly have stopped this. It's not your fault."
"I know, it's not that. I shouldn't have over reacted about the interview. You really didn't say anything damaging. I should have stood up to the director for you. I think Dad's right. You're so good at helping us, sometimes I forget you're not an agent."
Charlie blinked, caught without a reply. Don didn't apologize very often, and almost never when it came to work.
"Oh. Ah—Okay. Thank you." He dropped his gaze in embarrassment. "You really think whoever shot me will try to finish the job?"
"Not unless he finds out you survived, but I need something to do, and Megan—"
"Megan won't let you near your desk." Charlie finished the thought and added, "Glad I can still help with the case."
###
Charlie resisted the urge to tear the pages of numbers into tiny pieces. David had delivered the number lists that morning, along with a new laptop that Amida had set up.
Charlie had spent three hours trying to make sense of the lists and the only progress was a feeling that the number 205 meant something. He didn't know what, but the number repeated often enough that it must have significance. So now he was searching for places where one ran into the number 205 repeatedly.
The memory of the truck colliding with the back of his car flashed in his mind, followed by the most recent conversation with Dr. Anderson.
"When will my depth perception come back?" He'd asked her.
"It may not." She'd told him bluntly. "The bullet damaged an area of your brain that processes spatial relationships. I was pleasantly surprised that you didn't have more trouble walking. Many people with this sort of injury find walking almost impossible at first."
With that optimistic introduction, she'd reminded him to use his left hand and arm as much as possible, scheduled his physical therapy, and recited a list of his new limitations and possible future effects his injury could cause.
He remembered not to shake his head as he banished the memory and went back to the lists. His first physical therapy session was in an hour and he didn't want to brood about it.