Part 4: Reaction
During the first week Charlie was in the hospital, he would sometimes wake up. Whenever Charlie gained consciousness—if that's what you could call it—he would thrash and moan, begging for something to write with and sobbing because he couldn't focus. Eventually, the doctors caved and gave Charlie a notebook and pen. Charlie had scribbled indiscernible marks. It was as if his mind couldn't write only one thing at a time and tried to purge ever idea in Charlie's head all at once. The result left Charlie screaming in pain and anguish.
The doctors kept Charlie sedated the second week. They worked frantically with other specialists across the country, discussing different methods of treatment. They didn't want to wake Charlie up and damage his mind. Until they knew what steps to take next, they kept Don's little brother in a state of unconsciousness.
In the meantime, Don split his time between the hospital and the FBI. His team still had to work the open murder case, but they also began investigating Focus. They made little progress with either case.
Two weeks after Charlie's hospitalization, another student at CalSci died. Don's team was called to the scene. They found a bottle of white pills in the dorm room where the body had been found. It was identical to the bottle Don found in Charlie's bag. The FBI team interviewed students and witnesses. They eventually pieced together a vague description of the seller—a young man, maybe a student. It wasn't enough to go on. Don wondered how on earth Charlie had come into contact with the suspect.
Schools and campuses across the state began posting warnings about the addictive drug, creating awareness of its dangers and side-effects. It did little to help. More students turned up showing symptoms of Focus addiction.
Alan spent his time at the hospital, needing to be near youngest his son. Don would drive him to the hospital every morning, sit with him an hour while they stared at a sleeping Charlie, then go to the FBI. He'd return at lunch, and again in the evening to take his father home again. At the end of every day, Alan always gave the same news. No change.
Don's breaking point came at the start of week three. Another family was discovered slaughtered in their home. After nearly a month of inactivity, the serial killer had reappeared in the most gruesome way imaginable.
"Dammit! Dammit! DAMMIT!" Don shouted, slapping a fist on the table. The outburst wasn't enough. He could feel the pent-up tension surging through his limbs. He jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process. He kicked the chair across the room where it slammed against the wall. Gathering a stack of papers, Don hurled them to the floor.
His team stared at him. It wasn't often Don Eppes lost his cool. None of them could blame him for the outburst.
"I'm sorry," Don said, though he didn't mean it.
"We get it, Don," David said. "We're all under stress. Maybe you should head home for the day."
"I have to figure this out," Don said. He bent down to gather the scattered papers. A moment later Megan's hand appeared over his. He looked into her sympathetic expression.
"Go see Charlie. Spend some time with your father. You can't work when you are like this."
If anyone but Megan had said those words, Don would have argued or ignored them. Megan's calm yet commanding tone had Don heaving a sigh.
"Call me if anything turns up." He straightened and moved toward the door.
"Don."
Pausing, Don turned back to see Colby watching him. "If you need to talk, or anything else, we're all here for you."
Don nodded, then passed out of the room.
He did what his team suggested and went straight to the hospital. There he found Doctor Glover speaking with Alan.
"What's going on?" Don asked as he stepped into the room.
They both looked up, Alan nearly dropping a stack of pamphlets he'd been holding.
"You're here early," Alan said by way of greeting.
"Is Charlie okay?" Don asked, feeling panic rise in his chest.
"Your brother is doing as well as can be expected," Dr. Glover said. "We were just discussing some long-term options for his care."
This time the panic expanded passed Don's chest and landed in his gut. "Long-term?"
Dr. Glover gave Don a sad smile, "The truth is, there isn't more we can do for Charlie. We don't have enough research to find a solution."
"What about the other specialists?" Don asked.
"We are all stumped. Many doctors have chosen to move patients into rehab centers. Others have found home-care solutions. All the options are in the literature I've given your father."
Don looked at his dad who was staring hopelessly at the pamphlets hanging loosely from his fingers. Was Dr. Glover really telling them that they were giving up?
Memories of Charlie flashed through Don's mind. Working cases together, watching baseball games, even spending time together as kids. Then there was the time they'd spent apart. Over the past few years, Don had begun making up for those years they'd lost touch. He couldn't throw all that away now.
"No."
"I'm sorry?" Dr. Glover said.
"No. Those aren't our only options. Charlie is going to get better."
A sad smile appeared on Dr. Glover's face. "I'm afraid we just don't have enough research yet. Have some patience and—"
"No," Don said one more time. "This is my brother you are talking about. I'm not ready to give up on him."
"Not a single victim of Focus has successfully withdrawn from the drug," Dr. Glover said. She was starting to sound annoyed. "I understand you have strong feelings about this, but Charlie's chances are not high."
"Save your probability lecture," Don said, feeding off of the doctor's annoyance. "Charlie is an anomaly. He always has been. And this case is no different. He's going to be fine. Now tell me what you need."
"Need?"
"To find the solution. To help Charlie."
Alan looked up then, his expression almost as shocked as Dr. Glover's.
"Well…" After considering for several seconds, Dr. Glover's expression became determined and she nodded to herself. "The origin. If you can find the manufacturer, see how Focus is made, it gives us a place to start."
"You can't reverse-engineer it from the samples?" Alan asked.
"It would take too long. If the FBI can find how Focus is made, it might give us the time we need to find a treatment for Charlie."
Don nodded, though he felt less sure. They'd been trying to track down the origins of Focus for two weeks now. All they had was a vague description of a distributor.
"Anything else?" Don asked.
"Just that you'd better hurry, Agent Eppes."
- O -
That night, Don sat on the couch of the Craftsman home. His father had retreated to bed, but Don couldn't sleep. He resisted the temptation to go back to the FBI and look at the case files. Instead, he sat in the dark and considered everything he could remember about the case.
It was after midnight when the answer struck Don. The late hour and stress were beginning to take him. His mind grew fuzzy and his thoughts were distracted by ideas of sleep.
Suddenly Don sat bolt upright. What he was considering was dangerous. It was more dangerous than any action he'd ever taken before. The consequences could be devastating at best, fatal at worst, but it could provide a solution.
Don reached for his phone and car keys, dialing Colby's number as he exited out the front door toward his SUV. The phone rang three times before Don heard Colby's groggy, sleep-filled voice.
"Don? Everything okay with Charlie?"
"Colby, today you told me that if I needed anything, you'd be there for me."
"What's going on, Don?" Colby sounded more alert with every word.
"I have an idea. I either need you to support me or talk me out of it. I haven't decided which. I'll be at your place in an hour."
He hung up before Colby could reply. By then he was in his car and pulling away from the curb. Fifteen minutes later he was pulling into an empty parking lot at the FBI. Taking a deep breath, Don entered the building. When he exited, he carried a box of folders. Everything they had on both the Focus case and the serial killer.
Don placed the box in the passenger seat of his car. He felt in his pocket for his keys and his hand brushed against the evidence bag in his pocket. He suppressed a shudder and started his car.
Even though he arrived at Colby's apartment earlier than planned, Colby was wide awake and waiting for him.
"What's going on?" Colby asked as soon as he opened the door.
Don moved passed him and set the box on Colby's coffee room table. "Charlie doesn't have much time left. The doctors need to know how Focus gets manufactured."
Colby seemed to deflate. "We've gone over this a hundred times, Don."
"Not like this." Don reached into his pocket. "I'm going to solve this. I can do it with Focus." He took out the clear evidence bag, the bottle of white pills sealed inside.
Nearly a minute passed before Colby spoke.
"You've got to be kidding."
"It's either this or Charlie gets put in a long-term rehab facility. They're giving up on him, Colby. We have to solve this now."
"So, you're going to put yourself in the same situation as Charlie? Alan's going to lose both his sons?"
"I'm going to solve this," Don argued. "The higher the stakes, the greater the effect of Focus. I'm going to take a dose and figure this out."
Colby rubbed a hand over his face in a very Larry-like fashion. "You have got to be kidding me." He lowered his hand and looked at Don. "Why call me?"
"In case something goes wrong. I need you to monitor me. Make sure I don't lose consciousness."
This time barely a second passed before Colby turned away. "I'm calling Megan. If you're serious about this, I want her expertise."
"Fine," Don said. He moved to the couch in front of the coffee table and began organizing folders. "I'm doing this whether either of you support me though."
Ten minutes later, David arrived with Megan. Apparently, Colby had called them both. Don waited patiently while they made their arguments as to why this was a bad idea, then reached for the evidence bag and ripped off the tape. Removing the pill bottle, he popped off the lid and poured two tablets into his palm. He caught the looks his team was shooting at him.
"I'm not going to die from this, guys. Don't look so grim."
His words did nothing to erase the morbid expressions from his friends' faces.
"Look, if something does go wrong, just…" He didn't know what to say. Just know he's sorry for a stupid decision? Just make sure Charlie is comfortable in his incurable state? Just take care of his dad who lost both his sons to the same drug? "Just don't let anything go wrong," he finished lamely.
Tipping his head back, Don swallowed the pills and took a gulp of water from the glass resting on the table. He looked down at the files, waiting for the drugs to kick in.
"Here we go," he mumbled, picking up the closest stack of papers and beginning to read.
It only took fifteen minutes for Focus to take effect. Within the hour, Don had reread all the case files from the serial killer and was making new connections between their observations and the evidence. He was vaguely aware of his teammates discussing his findings as he scrawled them down. Then he forgot the team was even in the room. They were a distraction and Don's mind filtered out distractions.
He got lost in the work. He felt neither sleep nor hunger, as those would be distractions. At one point he handed a file to one member of his team, he wasn't sure which and ordered them to verify some information. Had he been more aware, he would have realized he'd roused David from where he'd been dosing on the couch to complete the task. But Don was unaware of the hour or his teammate's need to rest. All that mattered was the work. All of Don's focus was on the work.
Daylight crept in through the windows, turned golden yellow in the afternoon, then faded back to black. Don continued to work without even noticing the passing of the day. When his teammates returned from tasks, he would read through their findings then send them back out to collect more information. His conclusions seemed obvious under the influence of Focus. Of course, all the victims shared a commonality. They all were carriers of a certain genetic disorder. The killer would want to stop the families from passing the genes on to future children. That's why he was eliminating entire families. And how did he know who carried the gene? Only someone with in-depth knowledge of their ancestry. He must work at a medical facility. More likely a family history library.
Under the influence of Focus, it had taken just over a day to narrow down the list of suspects until he had a name. He wrote down his conclusions and dropped the paper onto the stack of neatly piled case folders. Messes could be distractions. He couldn't even remember cleaning up the folders. But he must have done it sometime in the night. After all, it was daylight again.
He ignored Megan when she picked up his notes and read through them. He barely heard her praise his findings. Don didn't blink an eye at the sound of Colby's front door opening and closing when half the team left to follow up on his results.
With the serial murder case completed, Don turned to the research on Focus. While the serial murder case had weeks of information and research, Focus was very limited. Don read over interviews with witnesses. CalSci students and faculty described an unknown seller distributing the drugs on campus. Although the physical description was vague, the circumstances surrounding the appearance of the dealer held many similarities. Enough that Don could track down the suspect.
Gathering the folders, he stood up and moved toward the front door.
"Woah, Don. Hold up there."
He recognized Megan's voice, but her request to pause was a distraction. He couldn't let his focus be interrupted. He needed to keep working.
Don tried to pass Megan, but she continued to block him.
"Where are you going?"
"I need to get to CalSci. I can find the distributor."
His annoyance grew as Megan continued to block him.
"You can't leave the apartment, Don. Not in this state."
Don ignored her. He couldn't do anything with Megan in his way. He needed to eliminate the distraction.
"Come with me. You drive."
Megan froze at Don's words. He saw her relax and realized she'd been prepared to defend herself against him. But Don didn't feel violent. He merely wanted to solve this case and help Charlie. That was where his focus was at the moment.
"Let's go, Reeves," Don said, finally passing the agent and gaining the front door.
They took Megan's car to campus. As they drove, Don started to feel some of the side effects of the drug. He had nothing to focus on for the ten minutes it took to reach CalSci. The other cars on the road, the music blasting through the radio, Megan's alert driving, all became distractions that Don struggled to push away.
Is this how Charlie felt? Was he lying in the hospital because the distractions became too much?
Before Don's mind could complete that train of thought, Megan was pulling up at the curb outside the university. Don climbed out of the car and scanned the various students making their way across campus. He couldn't imagine trying to pick out just one person from this sea of students if he didn't have Focus to guide him. With the drug in his system, Don would find the distributor, who would lead him to the manufacturer. Charlie would be cured by evening.
Before Don could even reach the sidewalk, however, Megan's phone range. He felt her grab his arm in a surprisingly strong grip. She held him in place as she answered. Don ignored her—she was a distraction—and continued scanning students.
"Don, David and Colby need us at the office."
Don heard the words, but he ignored them. Right now, his focus was centered on CalSci and finding the distributor.
"David and Colby need to see if their suspect is the serial killer. They need your confirmation before they can proceed. We need to go now."
Her words sounded louder. With a jolt, Don realized he'd been on Focus for nearly forty-eight hours. The dose wouldn't last much longer. He needed to find the distributor before it wore off.
"Don, we can't ID the killer without you. Are you coming?" Megan's insistent voice penetrated his thoughts. He was fading faster than he'd expected. Along with the thought came the sudden loss of energy. He felt his legs start to collapse as his muscles lost feeling. Megan yelled his name and he felt her catch him before he hit the ground. It was the last thing he remembered before he was overcome by darkness.
- O -
Don opened his eyes then immediately closed them against the blinding light. He was lying on his stomach and felt utterly exhausted. His mind wanted to drift back into sleep, but Don forced himself to stay awake.
The second attempt to open his eyes gained better results. Don blinked and looked away from the window where the light was flooding his bedroom. He looked around and realized he was at the Craftsman. The last thing Don remembered was going to Colby's house. How had he gotten back here?
The sound of the door opening startled Don. He wrenched his neck whipping his head around to see the intruder. It was only Alan, walking in with a tray of breakfast food.
"I see you're finally awake," Alan said, setting the tray on the bedside table and crossing his arms.
"What happened?" Don asked, sitting up and rubbing at his sore muscles.
"I'm waiting for you to tell me. Megan dropped you off here last night with instructions not to leave you alone. I wanted to call a doctor when you wouldn't wake up, but Megan told me to keep an eye on you and only call for help if you developed any symptoms." Focusing his intense "dad stare" on Don, Alan asked, "What did you do?"
It took Don a minute of thinking to remember. When it came back to him he groaned and pressed his hands over his eyes. "Something stupid. I did something really stupid."
Don stood up and wobbled. He ignored the breakfast and started looking around for his shoes. "I need to get to the FBI," he said. A thought struck him, and he finally looked at his dad's perplexed face. "How's Charlie?"
Alan scoffed. "Considering you haven't been to see him in almost three days…" Alan sank onto the bed with a sigh. "He's the same. The doctors want me to move him to a permanent rehab facility, but I wanted to talk to you first."
Don nodded, somewhat relieved that Charlie's condition hadn't deteriorated further.
"I think I can help him, dad. I just need to talk to my team first. Don't do anything yet." Finally locating his shoes, Don pulled them on.
"What do you mean you can help him? What's going on?" Alan seemed to collect himself and he followed Don out of the room.
"You don't want to know. Trust me. I really have to go." As Don grabbed his keys and exited the house, he threw over his shoulder, "I'll see you with Charlie at the Hospital."
- O -
Don spent the morning at the FBI with a relieved Megan, Colby, and David. They were pleased to see that their unit chief survived his brain-addled scheme to take Focus. Between the four of them, they were able to go over Don's notes and find the chain of evidence to link the suspect David and Colby had arrested the night before to the murders. After an hour of interrogation, the man broke down and confessed. His mother had died of a genetic condition. The man thought that by killing others with the condition, he was sparing future generations from the pain he went through.
With the case concluded, Don was free to focus his attention on Charlie.
"We didn't find the manufacturer," Megan said when the team reconvened.
As far as they knew, Don hadn't left any notes on the case. According to Megan, Don had read through the files and decided to go to CalSci to find the distributor. The drug wore off before he made any progress.
Don's memories of the previous two days were sketchy at best. It was as if the drug left a blank spot in his mind. Every time he tried to reconstruct his thinking, his mind would immediately fall apart into a plethora of distractions. He couldn't focus on any one line of thinking for longer than a single moment. It was frustrating and discouraging. Don felt like the answers were right there, but he couldn't make his mind focus long enough to grasp them.
"One more go," Don said. "One more dosage and I could have the answers."
His plan was met with glares.
"They weren't kidding when they said this stuff is addictive," Colby muttered.
"I only need it long enough to find out how to help Charlie. Then I'll never touch the stuff again."
"Not a chance, Don," David said.
"Look, you guys don't get it," Don tried to argue but was immediately cut off by Megan's authoritative tone.
"It's not an option. One more word about it and we'll go to Merrick. We've talked about this. We're aware of the side effects. Don't think you can convince us otherwise."
"Yeah, remind me who's in charge of this team?" Don asked defeatedly.
"Sorry, Don," David said. "Focus is the easy way. We need to do this the right way."
"Charlie may not have time for that. His doctors are talking to my dad about moving him to a permanent rehab center."
"It won't be permanent once we find the cure," Colby said. "Did we learn anything new from yesterday's…experiment?
"Don said he needed to go to CalSci because he knew how to find the distributor." Megan still sounded hesitant and watched Don with a critical eye.
"So, do we go to CalSci?" Colby asked.
Don shook his head. "I won't be able to find him without Focus."
"Which you aren't getting any more of," Megan said automatically.
The three of them fell into silence, thinking.
"Is there anything you remember from yesterday?" Colby asked. "Anything you remember at all?"
Don stared at his feet. Once again, he was overcome with the frustrating feeling of having all the answers just out of his grasp. He tried to think but his mind was overcome with distracting interruptions. Now a headache joined the confusing jumble.
"If I could just concentrate, but when I think about the last few days, it's like my mind can't settle down and worry about one thing at a time."
Megan sat up straight. "Trouble focusing?"
"Yeah."
"That is one thing I can help fix. Let's go, Eppes."