Disclaimer: I don't own any Numb3rs characters, nor am I making any money off of this story.
Author's Note: I have no idea how long actual IQ tests of this magnitude take, nor do I have any idea how old Charlie was when his genius was discovered (I know it was mentioned at one point, but I can't remember).
The Gaze of a Stranger
Prologue
It had been two days since the results came back. After a week of testing, it had been confirmed that four-year old Charlie Eppes was, certifiably, a genius.
But what did that mean? He was extraordinary, to be sure. The world would never view him as just another face in the crowd. Throughout his entire life, he would be accorded special treatment—the treatment due to one of such mental stature.
To thirteen-year old Don Eppes, it meant that his baby brother, his number one fan, was special. Too special.
For the past week, all he had heard from his parents, the IQ testers, even his friends, was "Charlie, Charlie, Charlie." His brother's name dominated all conversations; whether he was out playing baseball with his friends, twirling spaghetti around a fork while laughing as Charlie made faces into his spoon, or staring vacantly out a car window trying to purge the C word from his memory by losing himself in the blur of passing scenery, Don could not escape his brother's name. Not even when he thundered over home plate after smashing the pitch into next week did his parents—or anyone else, for that matter—forget about his little brother's soon-to-be-determined brainpower. In its ecstatic discovery of a baby genius, the world had forgotten about Don.
That was not to say that everyone in the neighborhood knew Charlie was a genius. It was too soon for that. Rather, everyone knew that Charlie was being tested for genius.
Don had been approached by so many people in the past week, so many strangers who had somehow heard of his brother, all asking after the probable Eppes prodigy. He wanted to ignore them, but when he tried his parents glared. So instead he contented himself with an "I don't know" or "It's too soon to tell" and hurried away. Now that the results were in, however, he didn't have that excuse.
Don's little brother was really starting to bug him.
But that wasn't important right now.
Willing himself to concentrate on something other than his brother, Don stepped up to the plate and readied his bat. Gluing his eyes to the ball, he prepared himself to swing.
"Your son is really quite extraordinary, Mrs. Eppes. Charlie's mathematical skills are astoundingly advanced…"
Strike one, as the ball flew by. Don swore to himself and wrenched his mind back to the present.
"Wow, Don, your brother's a real genius! That's so cool! Hey Charlie, come here a sec…"
Strike two, an eerily accurate clone of strike one. 'PAY ATTENTION!' Don screamed at himself.
"Isn't this wonderful, Don? Aren't you proud of your brother?"
Proud. Yeah right.
"Isn't this wonderful?"
The pitcher wound up.
"Aren't you proud?"
Any second now.
"Aren't you proud?"
Almost. Almost.
"Aren't you—
"Go Donnie! You can do it!"
As the pitcher released the ball, Don smiled to himself. Genius or not, Charlie was still his number one fan.
The bat connected with a resounding crack, and the ball flew skyward. Not bothering to sprint, Don commenced jogging around the bases, grinning maniacally with pride and glorying in the wild cheers that had erupted in the stands. That ball wasn't coming back.
The game had ended with Don's team firmly in the lead. Excitement still coursed through the crowd, and congratulations flew freely as exultant parents hugged their children and trumpeted their triumphs to the world. Don took in compliment after compliment from family, friends, and teammates, reveling in the attention: you couldn't have too much of a good thing.
Foremost in the compliment gallery was, of course, Charlie. The tiny boy was leaping about in a state of hyper ecstasy. Don laughed as his little brother cavorted in circles around him, defying gravity to celebrate his idol's victory. Charlie's mop of crazy curls bounced in tune to his exultation, rising and falling in a dark halo of reflected sunshine.
The wild victory dance came to an abrupt end when one of the team parents leaned forward with interest and asked of Alan and Margaret Eppes, loud enough for several people to hear, "Isn't your son the little boy being tested as a genius?"
Charlie's exuberant smile faded in midair, and Don scowled as a shyness attack propelled his little brother's tiny hand into his own. The focus of everyone's attention shifted abruptly from Don to the little boy timidly peeking out from behind him. Don's scowl deepened as he realized that this incident was only the beginning of a whole new life: Charlie was always going to steal the show from now on. No, forget that, Charlie was the show now. The star actor had emerged, and the supporting cast was being dismissed with a volley of pink slips.
A whimper sounded behind him, and Don quickly loosened his grip on Charlie's fingers, his scowl banished by guilt. Shaking loose his brother's hold on his hand, he turned and walked away, leaving a cluster of parents—including his own—gawking after him.
"Donnie, wait for me!"
Don walked faster. 'Go back, Charlie. The spectators came to the zoo to see the prize monkey. They'll be disappointed if they don't get their money's worth.'
"Donnie!"
Don stormed along the bleachers, lengthening his stride. Behind him, he could hear the patter of Charlie's feet as he strained to keep up with his big brother.
"Donnie, wait!"
Only when chubby fingers brushed the back of his jersey did an exasperated Don at last whirl to face his brother. "What is it, Charlie?"
"I want to go with you."
Looking into the earnest face of the baby genius, Don felt his anger fade, to be replaced by guilt. He knew he was hurting his brother by running away, and he wanted to make it up to him.
"Hey little genius, what's 312 times 47?"
Don's anger returned full force, and he whirled to face his friend Tom.
"If you want to do a math problem, go find a calculator!" he yelled in his startled friend's face. Wheeling back to his original direction, he continued his stalk along the bleacher's edge. After a few steps, he heard Tom follow. And of course, someone else followed as well.
"Donnie—"
Whirling yet again, Don turned to face his brother. Pretty soon he would just turn into a merry-go-round.
Not bothering to hide his frustration, Don bent down, picked up his little brother, and deposited him on the bench. Gripping his brothers wrists to keep him still, he snapped, "Listen, Charlie, I don't want you following me all the time! I need some time by myself, without you! I want you to stay right here, and don't bother me!" The knowledge that he was hurting his brother resurfaced, but this time Don welcomed it. After all of the pain and frustration that Charlie had caused him, the little boy deserved to taste a little in repayment. "You really think I want to play with you all the time? You think I want to play with you at all! OF COURSE I DON'T! Why in hell would I wanna spend time with a snot-nosed, crybaby, too-smart-for-you brat? Why would I even wanna look at you! You're just a spoiled brat, and leave me alone!" Don was yelling by the time he finished, and as he held his brother's gaze, he saw the tears pooling in his eyes. Guilt resurfaced, but he pushed it back down. He had a right to be angry, didn't he? He had a right to remind the world of the damage its lack of caring was causing. Glaring at his brother for a moment more, he released his little arms and stormed away.
Tom was staring openly now, and he wasn't the only one. But Don ignored them all, treating them to a taste of their own medicine. 'Your opinions aren't worth crap to me! And neither are you!' his mind raged. 'Do you see that now? Do you realize that I'm ignoring you 'cause I don't care about you? You'd better!' The bleachers opened up as he reached the middle, splitting into two sections. The space between them formed a path back to the parking lot. He stalked past the fissure and continued onward, the end of the row—and a corner around which he could disappear—beckoning to him.
He heard the murmur of many voices around him. Some of those voices were discussing him. Some weren't. And, despite how far he had stalked, one sobbing, hiccupping voice in particular suddenly cut into his mind again.
"Wh-who're you?"
Don snarled, drowning out the voice.
"B-but I d-don't want—"
He walked faster.
"Donnie!"
Even faster.
"DONNIE!"
Something about his name, voiced with such fear, at last arrested Don's angry march. His little brother's call compelled him to turn around—and find nothing.
Despite his noise, Charlie was gone from the bench that Don had designated for his temporary prison. In fact, he was no where in sight. A cold chill suddenly tingled down Don's spine, and for all the speed he had poured into getting away from his brother, he was suddenly rushing back twice as fast.
He flew along the stands, a one-sided corridor guiding him to fate. As he came to the gap between the rows, he glanced down it—and saw his little brother, hand in hand with a stranger, being tugged along. Charlie was wrenching back and forth, struggling against the man's grip, but not succeeding in his bid for freedom. People were staring, but none came forward to question the stranger.
"Charlie!" Don yelled, giving chase to the pair. Charlie turned to search for his brother, and Don clearly picked out the fearful tears that slid over his face.
As Charlie turned, so did the stranger.
Ice green eyes fixated on Don, gazing with a power that sent chills slashing up and down the boy's spine. The tanned face held a warm smile, the smile a parent might bestow upon a child, but upon observing his pursuer, that kindly expression quickly became a taunt. A ludicrous smile appeared on the man's face, a malignant light sparkled in his eyes, and his pace quickened as he challenged Don to a race—a race for Charlie. This stranger knew the pain he was currently inflicting upon Don—only a fool could have missed the desperation in the teen's eyes—and the very idea of it made him squirm with a feral joy.
The evident enjoyment in the stranger's bearing increased the fear that was quickly icing over Don's heart. He urged his legs to move faster, far faster than he had ever run in his life, and his lungs began to scream in burning agony as he outran his air supply. He pushed away the fire, though, and only ran faster.
The stranger was speeding up. He had almost reached the curb, where a black sedan sat, waiting.
Don snarled. No way was anybody taking his baby brother into that car.
The stranger reached the car.
Don ran faster.
He opened the door.
Even faster.
He hefted Charlie and threw him inside.
Faster!
Then he turned, and with a cheery wave and a malicious grin, he disappeared into a cavern of black upholstery.
When Don finally reached the curb, all that remained of the sedan was the piercing screech of abused tires and the scream of an accelerating engine. Don didn't care, though. The chase was still on!
He took off in pursuit of the car, his legs pumping and his heart pounding. The car was easily visible ahead of him: it had not yet left the parking lot.
Through the rear windshield, a mop of unruly curls rose into view. Don's laborious breathing efforts nearly failed as his brother's eyes met his own over the back of the seat. Charlie's mouth opened, and although Don could not hear the voice, he knew that his brother was once again calling for help from his idol.
The tears on Charlie's face spilled over onto Don's as the car pulled away. Don's knees abruptly gave out, and an eternity later, his parents found him huddled in the middle of the street, mourning a loss that shriveled his heart. He had lost the race: he had failed his brother. Now all Don had left of his number one fan were the tears on his own face and the imagined howl of his brother's voice, still sobbing out his own name. Then the torment of his parents stole even his fancies, and all that remained to him were the tears.
