Who still loves Numb3rs? Me! I do! That's why I'm releasing this new story. (Yes, a year later and I finally wrote something new.) It will be short-ish. There is mention of drug use and some graphic descriptions of crime scenes. Now you have been warned. With that being said, please enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters and all that. You've read this a million times in other stories. It's the same for me.
- O -
Part 1: Reason
Larry stared at the newspaper. It had been years since he'd read a paper. He didn't normally subscribe to this form of news. He gleaned most information by word-of-mouth. If there was something important going on, he'd hear about it without resorting to a newspaper. The story he currently consumed was one such piece of news. Larry had been handed this particular section of the newspaper by a colleague who knew he'd want to read the obituary.
As Larry stared at the picture of the young woman, he thought back to his class. Katie Shelley had started the semester as another average student. But as the weeks progressed, she steadily rose above the mediocre. Her work was extraordinary. Larry found himself looking forward to reading her papers. Her ideas made the impossible sound possible. Not since Charlie had Larry found such untapped potential in a student. Once it was determined that Katie wasn't cheating or plagiarizing, rumors began to circulate about her future. Government and private aerospace firms had already contacted Katie about hiring her to work at their companies, several offering bonuses at the interviews. All this and she was still several semesters away from graduation. She had such potential. Too much potential to see it end in tragedy.
The obituary said Katie died of an overdose. Larry tried to remember if he had seen any signs that she was struggling with drugs. After years of teaching, Larry seen his share of students develop addictions. He understood that the pressures of college could be overwhelming. Larry knew what to look for and when to intervene. He couldn't remember seeing any of the usual red flags in Katie's case. Maybe he was losing his touch, getting too old for teaching.
Sighing, Larry set the paper aside and gazed out the window. Perhaps the time had come to invest his talents in another field. Perhaps Katie's loss was the sign Larry needed to move on. Poor Katie. So much potential. It was truly a tragedy.
- O -
Charlie stared at the pile of work mounting on his desk. He couldn't remember ever having this much to do. His father always warned him about taking on too much, and for the first time, Charlie wished he had heeded that warning.
Finals were less than a month away and Charlie still hadn't finished grading midterms. He still had to review some work for a paper he was co-writing with a professor from MIT. Now he stared blankly at the open doorway that Don had just exited through after dropping off case files. He didn't have a clue how he was going to get through all this work.
Then there was the unfortunate announcement of the loss of one of CalSci's students. Charlie hadn't known Katie Shelley personally, but he remembered Larry talking about her. She produced brilliant work and was already getting offers from prestigious organizations. Charlie remembered his own experience as an undergrad, the pressure placed on him due to his genius. If only he'd been able to talk to Katie Shelley, maybe this tragedy could have been avoided.
Charlie was still staring into the hallway when Milly appeared in the doorway, smiling and holding a stack of papers. She caught the distant expression on Charlie's face and clucked disapprovingly.
"Professor Eppes, not too busy I presume."
Charlie opened his mouth to correct her when she dropped the papers on his crowded desk.
"Congratulations. You get to head this year's scholarship committee. These are essays from the applicants. I just need you to read through each one and select the top three."
It was several seconds before Charlie realized his mouth was hanging open. He quickly closed it and looked at Milly's stern smile.
"Milly, I really don't have time right now."
The smiled waivered but the sternness in Milly's eyes was steady. Charlie knew there was no way he was talking the division chair into letting him out of this assignment.
"Dr. Eppes, if you can't find the time to help our future students, you may need to rethink your priorities. I've been lenient about letting you consult for the FBI, but if your extracurricular activities start interfering with your duties at the university, we may need to renegotiate your contract."
Charlie sighed. He'd been in this situation before and knew it was better to simply do whatever Milly wanted than to try and argue – no matter how wrong she may be.
"You're right, Milly. When do you need the essays?"
Milly's smile widened again. "I knew you'd come around. Get them to me by Monday."
"That will take the entire weekend. There must be at least fifty essays in that stack," Charlie moaned, placing a hand on his forehead. He could feel the beginnings of a stress headache.
"Fifty-three. And you get an extra half day to finish them if you start now." Milly smiled again and strode from the room.
Charlie groaned and leaned back in his chair. Of all the people demanding his time, he tried to think who would be the least disappointed come Monday when he didn't have their project finished.
The MIT professor might drop Charlie as co-author on the paper. That didn't sound too bad except Charlie hadn't published in over a year. He needed the recognition.
His students emailed him daily asking for their midterm results to help them study for finals. Even though Charlie was one of the most popular professors on campus, he knew he could lose that reputation fast if he didn't meet the needs of his students.
Then there was Don. The case his brother had dropped off appeared urgent and Don sounded desperate. He needed an algorithm to help narrow down the list of potential targets. Though Don hadn't specified what those targets were, the expression on his face when he talked about them was grim. This case was bad.
Now Milly needed him to read a stack of essays from students. He really didn't want to spend his weekend reading high school level essays about scoring forty points in basketball or the time they shook a senator's hand at a rally. But Charlie didn't want Milly following through on her threats if he didn't read them.
A knock on the door pulled Charlie from his thoughts. He looked up and saw a student leaning in through the open doorway.
"Professor Eppes?" the student asked.
"Yes, how can I help you?" Charlie sat up and tried to compose himself. He didn't recognize the student, but that didn't mean he wasn't in one of Charlie's classes. Several of the freshman level courses he taught were held in Amphitheatre-like classrooms that seated over a hundred students at once.
"I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with Dr. Finch. It sounds like a lot of work for you."
Charlie felt redness creep into his face. "Don't worry about that."
"Are you sure, professor? Because I think I could help."
Charlie took a closer look at the student. He seemed older than the average freshman, but Charlie didn't recognize him from any of his higher-level courses. Maybe he was a TA for one of the other teachers.
"I don't think I could let you read the essays. But I appreciate the offer."
The student chuckled. "That's not what I meant. I just know a way for you to get through the work faster."
"In what way?"
The student reached in his pocket and took out a small bottle. It looked like a prescription pill bottle.
"Have you ever tried Focus? They boost concentration. Two pills can eliminate all distractions for hours at a time. Plenty of students around here are using them to get through studying and homework."
Charlie felt his gut clench. Was this student seriously offering him drugs?
"Um…I don't think this conversation is appropriate. Are these pills even legal?"
The student laughed. "Focus isn't illegal. Tons of people take it. Trust me, professor, just two pills and you will breeze through all this work."
Charlie wondered if he should call the school's HR department. Was security aware that students were using drugs? Then again, the student said the pills weren't illegal. Was there anything human resources or security could even do?
"Look," the student began, opening the bottle and shaking two pills into his palm. He set them on the edge of Charlie's desk. "I'll just leave these here. You don't have to take them, just think about it." The student pocketed the bottle and turned to go. "Have a good weekend," he said by way of farewell.
Charlie stared at the small white tablets. He picked them up and inspected them. They looked no different than the painkillers he took for headaches. Could they really help with concentration? Of course not, Charlie scoffed. He'd never considered any sort of synthetic enhancement in his life. He'd been taught since childhood not to take drugs for any reason besides medical.
Charlie's hand moved toward the garbage can then hesitated. He couldn't throw them away here. What if the janitor found them. He'd have to dispose of them somewhere more discreet.
With his heart pounding, Charlie pocketed the pills.
- O -
Don pulled his SUV up to the curb in front of the craftsman. It was already dark, but lights were glowing in the windows of the house. Someone was still awake, and Don hoped it was Charlie.
After a long, stressful day, all Don wanted was to go back to his apartment and relax. He'd love to forget about the case, at least for the night. Unfortunately, his mind would not let that happen. So, he decided to quench his burning desire to know if Charlie had found anything out yet.
Don kicked open the car door and dragged himself up the front steps. He knocked as he pushed open the front door and was greeted by his father.
"Donnie! You're here late."
Don grimaced. "Hey, dad. Charlie around?"
Alan rolled his eyes. "He's in the dining room. Enter at your own risk."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Your brother's feeling a bit overworked. You're not here to bring him a case, are you?"
Don felt his gut clench with guilt. He'd pushed Charlie into taking the case this afternoon. Now he wondered if that was the best idea. Then he thought about the specifics of the case—a dozen bodies mutilated, the murders escalating—and the guilt went away. They needed to solve this fast, which meant they needed Charlie.
"I just need to talk to him, dad." Don pushed passed his father and entered the dining room. Charlie sat at the table, surrounded by piles of papers.
"Any progress?" Don asked by way of greeting.
Charlie looked at him and Don noticed two things at once: dark circles under the eyes, and guilt furrowing his brow.
"I…uh…"
"Have you even started?"
Charlie looked down again.
"Are you serious? Charlie, come on. We need to catch this guy."
"I'm sorry. I just have so much other work to do. I haven't gotten to it yet. I'll work on it tomorrow."
"This afternoon you said you'd get to it tonight."
"Then Milly brought me a huge pile of work."
"Is Milly trying to catch a serial killer?"
"She's my boss, Don."
"And this is the FBI, Charlie. We are talking life and death, not As and Bs. Do you not understand what's at stake here?"
"I'm sorry, Don. I promise I'll work on it first thing tomorrow."
Don should have been content with that answer. After all, he wasn't even going to think about the case until he got back to the office. But it was too late to be content. Don's temper had heated up and he was using it to burn his brother.
"Seriously, Charlie, you think you are so special. Well, guess what? The world doesn't run on your schedule. Serial killers aren't going to check your calendar to make sure you're available to build some new equation to hunt them down. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices. If that's too hard for you, maybe I should talk to the assistant director about your consulting contract."
Don saw Charlie flinch at the mention of the contract, but he continued his rant.
"You know, you begged to help me with these cases. I never wanted you anywhere near this work, but you begged me. Now we have some maniac slaughtering families and what? Suddenly you don't have time for this anymore? That's not how this works, Charlie. You are either in or you're out."
This time Don was fully aware that Charlie had turned several shades paler and he chastised himself for admitting details about the case. He'd never intended for Charlie to know the gruesome bits. Charlie looked down again and Don felt shame rise in his gut again. He pushed it away and said, "Look, just get to it soon. There is a lot riding on your results."
Charlie pushed his hands inside his pockets and nodded. "I'll have something for you tomorrow…morning."
Don knew that meant Charlie would spend a sleepless night working in the garage. Normally that would bother him, but then the image of the child's body covered in blood flashed through his mind.
"Call me when you're done," Don said. He turned and left the dining room. Murmuring a goodnight to his father, Don soon found himself back in his SUV.
He was disappointed in Charlie, more than he should have been. Don knew Charlie was busy. He knew consulting for the FBI was second to his duties at the university. But Don had gotten used to Charlie dropping his other responsibilities to accommodate his needs. Now when his brother put something else first, Don threw a tantrum.
But Don couldn't get the crime scene images out of his head. He saw the little girl's blond hair dyed red with blood. He saw the mother's body bowed protectively over her baby, the weapon piercing them both. He saw the brothers, splayed out next to each other on the floor, hands positioned inches away as if reaching out for comfort in death.
The killer was going after families. Maybe some of that attitude was rubbing off on Don. Don too was going after his family.
Don still hadn't started the car. He sat there, staring at the steering wheel, debating if he should go in the house and apologize.
At last he reasoned that apologizing wouldn't make the results come any faster. Don started the SUV and drove to his apartment.
- O -
No sooner had he heard the front door slam shut, then Charlie grabbed all the files and papers off the table in a single armload and bolted from the kitchen. He knew his father heard the shouting and Charlie wasn't in the mood to talk about it. He retreated to the garage. His sanctuary. Here he could work without distraction.
The thought reminded Charlie of another means of eliminating distraction. The two white tablets still rested in Charlie's pocket from where he'd put them earlier that day. He took them out and inspected them. They looked harmless, but there was no way of knowing if they were dangerous.
Taking the drug was risky. The student that gave them to him swore they were for studying, but he couldn't trust the student's word. These pills could be anything. Charlie's stomach curdled at the thought of ingesting something illegal or harmful.
Charlie's hand moved toward the garbage. His conscience told him the risk was too high. He couldn't take them. He couldn't. But then another voice at the back of his head slowed his arm's movement.
"Just two pills and you will breeze through all this work."
Speed had never been a problem before when it came to Charlie's work. He'd been up against deadlines before, but somehow, he always felt confident he could finish his projects accurately in the allotted time.
"Now we have some maniac slaughtering families and what? Suddenly you don't have time for this anymore?"
Don was counting on him. Milly was counting on him. MIT was counting on him. His students were counting on him. And all those people were counting down. If the clock hit zero and the work was not complete, Charlie's standing, his reputation, even his career may be in jeopardy. He'd have a difficult time renewing his contract with CalSci, collaborating on projects with other schools, and consulting with the FBI and other agencies. Certainly, the circumstances justified a gamble.
Charlie fingered the pills in his hand. Take them and see if they worked or try to manage the workload on his own. He felt damned either way.
In one swift movement, Charlie brought his hand to his mouth and swallowed the pills dry. He felt them go down, their rough sides scraping against the sensitive walls of his throat.
Turning to the files he'd carried out from the kitchen, Charlie opened the nearest one and started to work. He wondered how long it would take for the pills to kick in.
- O -
"Charlie? Wake up, son."
Someone was shaking Charlie's shoulder, ushering him out of sleep. He groaned and tried to swat the hand away.
"No. Go away."
"Wake up, Charlie. You have class in an hour and you need to shower."
Charlie opened his eyes and shot up, startling his father who took a step back.
"Class? What day is it?"
"It's Monday. You've been in the garage all weekend. I certainly hope you got something done."
"So do I," Charlie mumbled, getting off the lumpy couch and stretching his back. His eyes fell on the old desk where files and papers were neatly stacked. Aware of his father watching him, Charlie wandered over and inspected the work.
It was finished. All of it. From the top three scholarship essays to reviewing the paper for MIT. He'd even graded all the midterms for his students, going as far as writing comments on each individual test.
Charlie's laptop beeped, and he glanced over to see an email from Don. Automatically he opened it and read a gratifying message from his brother, thanking him for the work he did on the case. They had new leads and were hopeful once again.
"Son? You really should shower and eat something before you go to canvas."
Charlie looked at his dad and saw worry lines etched on his face.
"Right," Charlie said, turning away from the desk and heading toward the door to the house. "I'll do that."
"Are you okay, Charlie?" Alan asked.
To be honest, Charlie wasn't sure he was okay. The completed work took the stress away, but it was replaced by a different feeling. Apprehension?
Charlie shrugged. "It's been a long weekend. I'm still waking up."
Alan huffed. "That's an understatement. I've never seen you that focused. You barely left the garage all weekend. I was beginning to worry."
It was then that Charlie realized what was bothering him. He couldn't remember the last two days. His memory caught glimpses of working. He remembered hitting send on the email to Don or logging the midterm grades on his computer. But he couldn't remember anything concrete about the weekend. The lack of detail made him nervous.
His stomach turned over when he realized the pills must be responsible for his foggy memory. Charlie looked at the desk, examining the work he'd accomplished. The pills must also be the reason that he'd gotten so much work done. The student hadn't been lying. He'd never achieved so much in such a limited time frame in his life. He just wished he could remember it.
Charlie spent most of the morning trying to fill the gap in his memory. He barely paid attention as he showered and ate breakfast. At least he remembered to collect the finished work from the garage before he headed toward campus.
Once in his office, the day's tasks melted away the effects of the weekend. Charlie's students were thrilled to have their midterms back and many signed up for one-on-one sessions during his office hours that afternoon. He had a conference call with MIT that lasted forty-five minutes, but the paper was back on track. When Milly came in to collect the scholarship essays, she thanked him profusely.
"To be honest, Charlie, I expected you to hand me an excuse instead of the essays. This shows real dedication."
"Anything for CalSci," Charlie said.
By the time Milly left, Charlie was feeling euphoric and exhausted. He must not have slept much during his two-day focus binge. He was also starving. That problem was solved by the next visitor through the door.
"Hey, Charlie," Don said, setting a brown sack on Charlie's desk. "I wish I had more than turkey and provolone to thank you with."
"Don't mention it," Charlie said, opening the sack and unwrapping the sandwich he found inside.
"Seriously, you really came through for us on this one. The results were more accurate and relevant than anything you've produced for us before. How did you do it?"
Not wanting to reveal that he'd taken drugs, Charlie just shrugged and took a big bit of sandwich.
Don chuckled. "Maybe I should yell at you more often. It really seemed to motivate you in this case."
Charlie swallowed and laughed. "I'd prefer sandwiches to yelling," he said.
"Whatever it takes," Don replied.
They spent the rest of lunch talking about the new leads Charlie's work had generated and what Don's team would do next.
By the time Charlie finished his last bite of sandwich, the lunch hour was up, and a student was knocking on Charlie's door.
"I'll let you get to it," Don said. "See you later, bro."
Charlie waved Don out, feeling content for the first time in days. He was caught up on his work, his family and colleagues were happy with him, and his stomach was full. Life didn't get much better than this.
"Professor Eppes?"
Charlie looked up at the familiar voice and saw the same student that had visited him on Friday, the student that had given him the pills.
"You seem to be in a better mood," the student said. "Did you use Focus?"
At those words, a wave of guilt washed away the peace. Yes, life was better, but Charlie attributed the improvement to an outside substance. But was that necessarily bad? What he did was no different than taking medication for an illness. Charlie had been stressed. He had work to finish and deadlines to meet. The pills had helped him get through the workload on time. He shouldn't be ashamed.
"Those pills are something," Charlie said and saw the student's smile widen. "I can't believe how much I got done over the weekend."
"I know what you mean," the student said. "Focus works miracles for students. I brought a bottle along with me in case you wanted more."
Charlie had to fight down another wave of guilt. This was beginning to feel just like the illegal drug sales he saw in movies. Except that they were in his office, not some back ally. And the pills the student was offering weren't some illegal substance. They were simply a medication that removed distractions and helped with focus. Charlie was impressed with what the pills had helped him accomplish over the weekend. He wondered what he could achieve with his cognitive emergence work if he had no distractions.
"If they work the second time as well as they did the first time, then I'll take a full bottle," Charlie said.
The student's eyes grew wide. "Sure," he said. "I can't give them away for free though, you understand."
"Of course," Charlie replied, reaching for his wallet. "How much?"
"One thousand for the bottle," the student said.
Charlie froze. He waited for the student to start laughing and tell him the real price. When the student didn't offer any correction, Charlie said, "I don't have that much cash with me today."
"How much cash do you have?" the student asked.
Charlie reached in his wallet and started counting bills. "About $180."
"That will buy you four pills for now."
"I'll take them," Charlie said, almost without thinking.
The student grinned again. He took the pill bottle from his pocket, opened it, and shook four small white tablets into his palm. He held them out and dropped them into Charlie's extended hand. Charlie handed the student the cash.
"Pleasure doing business with you, professor," he said, moving toward the door. "I'll be back in a couple of days in case you want to buy more. See you around."
"Yeah," Charlie said. "See you."
He stared at the pills in his hand. Four this time. They were multiplying. Two before. Four this time. Next time would he get eight? Or Sixteen? Or more even?
"Charlie, I almost forgot—"
Charlie closed his fist and shoved his hand under his desk as Milly strode into this office.
"You still need to submit your finals to the testing center by the end of the week," Milly said.
"No problem," Charlie replied. He felt the small tablets in his hand and smiled. "I'm totally focused."