Perception Deception Part 2: Audrey

by Rabid Raccoons

Chapter 6: Foot in Mouth Disease

…

Don sat at his desk the next morning, and could still taste shoe leather. He'd put his foot in his mouth, big time, the evening before, and had effectively ruined Larry's dinner. Charlie's eye pain had sent him off for a tramadol, and he'd ended up on the sofa with Amita by his side, until he'd drifted off to sleep. Don hadn't felt like eating, but he forced himself to sit with Alan and Larry. 'Forced' was the word of the evening; the conversation was forced, and he had to force himself to eat, force himself to listen as Larry; unnerved by the argument, went into a technical ramble about the Large Hadron Collider that had Alan's eyes glazing over.

Now Don sat, brooding, trying to figure out how it had happened. Dr. Aaron Shulman had sounded so sure of himself when he'd said that Charlie was blind in one eye, and Don had simply assumed that Charlie had passed that information on to him. Had Shulman jumped to some kind of conclusion on his own, or had someone given him that information? Don stared at the piece of paper on his desk, and the phone number scrawled on it, toying with it, and finally straightened, picked up the phone, and dialed.

Shulman's receptionist put him straight through, and Don heard the doctor's voice resonate warmly through the receiver. "Don Eppes! What can I do for you?"

His carefree tone was irritating – didn't the man know the trouble he'd caused? Don scowled into the phone. "Well, for starters, you can tell me where you got the information on Charlie's supposed blindness. The subject – uh – came up, last night, and Charlie didn't know anything about it. He was pretty upset."

Either Don's directness or the statement itself seemed to flummox Dr. Shulman for a moment; he was completely silent. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I think we should talk face-to-face. I have some time right now, if you do – perhaps we can meet for a cup of coffee? Or maybe later, if you're busy, although I'm a bit booked with appointments later in the day."

Don glanced at the digital clock on his computer screen. He had an hour and a half before a meeting on a smuggling case they were working in conjunction with the DEA and the Coast Guard. "Sure. How about the Java Jive on the corner of Rampart and West Fourth?"

Shulman looked appropriately chagrined as he walked in the door of the Java Jive, and Don's irritation eased, just a bit. Still, his expression was anything but welcoming, he was sure, and he tried to wipe the frown from his face as Shulman slid into the booth across from him. They ordered; black coffee for Don, white tea for Shulman, and Shulman sighed and rubbed the back of his head in a rueful gesture as the waitress set down their cups and departed. "I'm afraid I made quite a mess of things," he said, liberally dumping sugar in his cup and stirring his tea. "After we got off the phone, I called Charlie's ophthalmologist, Dr. Cooper, just to be sure that I had the latest reports." He sighed, looking back at his tea. "It was...difficult...to pin Dr. Cooper down. He's extremely good – one of the best, but that also makes him extremely busy. Anyway, some medicines can interact, or have effects on the eye, such as raising or lowering ocular pressure, so when Charlie injured his arm, I had contacted Cooper's office for the information, just to be sure. The notes in the report said that the prognosis for his right eye wasn't good, and that he was currently legally blind; he can sense light, but no more, in that eye."

The coffee suddenly seemed to percolate in Don's stomach, which rolled queasily. He put down his cup. "Charlie said that Dr. Cooper had told him that his eyes were still healing, and there could be improvement yet."

Shulman nodded. "The report did say that, but Dr. Cooper stated in his notes that while the left eye is improving steadily, the right hasn't seen much improvement. I assumed that Charlie knew that, and that he would have told his immediate family. Both bad assumptions, and to be truthful, I broke a cardinal rule of patient confidentiality." His kind face reddened slightly. "Technically, you could get me in all sorts of trouble - and I would deserve it. He waved a hand. "At any rate, I wanted you to know what I read in the report, and why I said what I did, but you have to realize that I may have only gotten part of the story from Dr. Cooper's notes, or perhaps those notes were out-of-date. The situation could very well have changed. Neither of you should take my word for it – you should speak directly to Dr. Cooper." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I am so very sorry – this is entirely my fault, and it's inexcusable behavior." He smiled wanly. "I know my father has taken you on as a pupil of sorts, and although he doesn't talk about your discussions, I could tell from his expression when he mentioned you that he likes you a great deal. I suppose I assumed some familiarity that didn't really exist, and was a little freer with our discussion than I should have been." He took a sip of tea. "Good tea, although it's not quite enough to counteract the taste of my foot."

Don's anger had been slowly dissipating during Aaron Shulman's apology, and he grimaced regretfully. "Yeah, well, I know how that is. I had a pretty bad case of foot-in-mouth disease myself yesterday." He regarded Shulman for a moment. "You meant well, and you had Charlie's best interests at heart. I didn't really call you to ask for an apology, or to threaten legal action; I was just trying to sort out what was really going on with Charlie's recovery. But if you need to hear it, you're forgiven, at least from my standpoint."

Shulman nodded, and smiled, and the way his dark eyes twinkled reminded Don of his father, the rabbi. "Thank you, I very much appreciate that, although I'm afraid I'll need to apologize to Charlie, as well."

Don's face eased into a slight smile. "Besides, if I didn't exhibit the spirit of forgiveness, I'm sure I'd hear about it from your father."

Shulman threw back his head and laughed, revealing even white teeth. "As would I, if I didn't apologize. He's got us both running scared."

"He's a pretty smart guy," said Don softly.

Shulman nodded, with a fond look in his eye. "Yes, he is." He stirred his coffee once more and took a sip. "I'll call Charlie when I get back to the office. Is he at home?"

"No, he went in to campus. He started teaching a class or two, but I think just smaller groups of more advanced students in small classrooms – I think he has a hard time with seeing distance-wise, so someone's picking up his lectures in the big lecture halls. I'm sure he has some gaps in his schedule."

Aaron was silent for a moment. "He seems to be pushing things pretty hard, considering his injuries."

Don sighed. "That's what I thought, myself, but he was adamant about going back. I think he wanted to prove to himself that he could." He pulled out a card, jotted some numbers on the back, and pushed it toward Shulman. "Here's a card – my office number's on the front, and I put Charlie's office number on the back. You should be able to reach him there."

Shulman nodded, took the card, and rose. "Thank you again for your patience and understanding."

Don nodded and watched him depart, absently swirling the lukewarm coffee left in his cup. He had decided he liked Aaron Shulman as much as he liked the man's father, and he had the sense that he and Aaron Shulman were probably somewhat alike – even in looks; Shulman was roughly his age, his height, wore his hair the same way. Acted rashly on occasion, too; Don had to admit, he had a tendency to do that himself. No wonder Rabbi Shulman had taken a shine to him – Don probably reminded him of his own son.

He also knew that Shulman wasn't the only one who needed to apologize to Charlie, and like Shulman, he was going to make sure he did that today.

...

Charlie frowned and gingerly rubbed his eyes, before turning back to his laptop. His office was quiet; he had time between classes, and he spent it as he tended to spend most of his free time these days – going back over the Tuttle/Montague case, looking for something they missed. Jim Montague was adamant that Tuttle was involved, but there was no way to prove it, not with the current evidence. Tuttle's men were definitely connected, but each of them swore that they had been retained by Montague, behind Tuttle's back. No one really believed that, but the prosecutor had such a good case against Montague, he wasn't trying too hard to discount it for fear he would ruin his case. Like their earlier case against Tuttle, someone else was taking the fall, and J. Everett Tuttle was walking free.

There was one other person who was certainly involved, and that was Audrey Montague. They had used her brother's accounts as a front, as a place to hide the money, and she was the trustee – she had to have known about the plot. Oh, she admitted she knew that Jim Montague was funneling money through the accounts, but she said she didn't know it was stolen, and maintained that Jim Montague had lied to her about the legality of it. Neither Don nor Charlie believed that, and Charlie had become convinced that she was the weak link, the chink in the armor of their web of lies. Even Jim Montague didn't contradict her story – he seemed as bent on protecting her as he was on implicating Tuttle. Charlie had been poring over the records of electronic transactions, trying to tie them to phone records, anything that that might indicate that Audrey had truly known what was going on.

He peered at the screen, and blinked. He could enlarge the font on some of the documents so that it was easier to read, but some of them were scanned files, and would only enlarge so much. He couldn't wait for his appointment the next day; he'd be fitted with his new contact lenses. Finally, he'd be able see clearly again – at least out of one eye. The thought made him think of the evening before, and shift uncomfortably in his chair at the memory. He wasn't sure which had upset him more; the thought that what his brother said might be true, that he really would end up legally blind in one eye, or Don's obvious irritation with him. No, make that anger. Don usually had more self-control than to pick an argument in front of others, even if the others were practically family. There was no doubt in Charlie's mind that his brother had thought he had lied to him, and was significantly irked. Angry. Pissed off. Furious…

"Charlie."

Charlie jumped at the sound of Don's voice, and turned his head toward the door. He could make out a head sticking through it, topped with dark hair, about the right height for Don. "Don?"

The door opened wider, and Don stepped through it, and shut it behind him. "Sorry. I knocked, but I didn't think you could hear me. Or maybe you did…," he trailed off, uncertainly, then began again. "I could hear you typing. Anyway, I won't keep you long. I just wanted to say -,"

Charlie had been expecting a lecture, and decided to head it off. He really hadn't been entirely forthcoming as far as his progress had gone, and had never considered that Don might feel slighted at not being kept up to date. If an apology would set things right, then so be it. "I'm sorry," he blurted, and the words came out in stereo, duplicated by Don.

It took Charlie a moment to realize that Don had actually said, "I'm sorry," also, and as he did, he stared at him blankly for a split second. He opened his mouth to speak, but Don raised a hand. "No, let me say this, Chuck. I screwed up yesterday – or maybe I screwed up a few days ago. When Dr. Shulman told me about your eye, I should have talked to you directly, instead of just hoping you would bring it up. I just assumed you gave him the information, and that you were purposely leaving me out of the loop. I felt, uh, bad, you know…," he trailed off again, and Charlie squinted. Was his brother blushing? Don cleared his throat and started talking again. "Well, I just felt that we'd gotten closer, recently, and I was upset when I thought you weren't being straight with me. I'm sorry for the scene last night, but I'm more sorry for doubting you."

Charlie shook his head slowly. "It's okay. I haven't told you everything, but there really hasn't been a lot to tell. Dr. Cooper did say that my right eye wasn't progressing as well as my left, but he never said it wouldn't heal. He's been saying all along that it would take time." His last two sentences were spoken with just a hint of defensiveness, and Charlie took a breath, and tried to speak more calmly. "Look, I have an appointment tomorrow. Dr. Cooper is going to fit my contacts, which should improve my vision a lot. I talked to Dr. Shulman earlier, and his advice was for us to go directly to the source - I think that's a good idea. Why don't you come along, and we can ask him about my right eye?"

Don had moved closer, and Charlie could now see his expressions. There was relief there, certainly, but there was also a bit of doubt. "You wouldn't care?"

Charlie grinned at him, with a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach from Don's admission. His brother had felt it too, then; that they had gotten even closer as a result of their ordeal. "Of course I wouldn't care. I'm sure there was just a misunderstanding on Dr. Shulman's part. Dr. Cooper should clear it all up." He grinned, a little self-consciously. "Besides, sometimes I have a little difficulty getting him to slow down and speak plainly - hell, maybe I'm the one who misunderstood. Maybe he'll go over the situation again for your benefit, and if that doesn't work, you can lock him up and interrogate him." Charlie's eyes twinkled, teasingly, and Don smiled back as Charlie continued, his inflection sincere. "From now on, I'll be straight with you on all of it." He reddened a little. "I got the same lecture from Amita, last night, for not telling her everything. I guess I need to be a little more forthcoming. Although, when I get my contact lenses, you guys shouldn't have to worry so much about me. I should be able to see fairly normally."

Don had come up next to the desk, and Charlie could see his face relax and a look of curiosity steal over it as he glanced at Charlie's laptop. "What are you working on?"

Charlie sighed. "Oh, I've been going over the case files again, trying to tie the timing of the electronic fund transactions to phone calls between Jim and Audrey Montague, and Tuttle. The problem is, there aren't many phone calls. If they were communicating by phone, they must have been using prepaid cell phones, or something else untraceable."

Don stared at the screen for a moment. "You still think Audrey was involved?"

"I'm sure of it," Charlie said firmly. "Aren't you?"

Don let out a breath, then nodded, slowly, but with conviction. "Yeah, buddy, I am. Without a doubt."

Charlie gave him a brisk nod. "That's why I'm digging into her records, and Mark Vincent's accounts. I think she's the key to all of this."

"Charlie -," Don began, then broke off, hesitating.

Charlie searched his face, trying to read his expression. "What?"

"Don't you think you're pushing it a little hard?" Don waved his hand vaguely at the office and Charlie's computer. "Back to teaching classes already -,"

"Just a few-,"

"- and working on this case? Which, technically, isn't an official case; in fact the prosecutor might have a problem with us digging around in this before he's gotten Montague to trial."

"I would think he'd rather have the truth, if we can tie Audrey and Tuttle to it, also."

"Maybe," said Don, doubtfully. "It's just – we got in trouble that way before, by digging around in something on our own. And you just – don't look up to it yet. You look tired all the time. You're still experiencing some significant pain in your eye. You should be home, recuperating."

Charlie felt an equal flush of pleasure and guilt – pleasure that his brother was concerned about him, and guilt associated with the fact that deep down, he had the sense that Don was right. He didn't want to admit it, but he was pushing it. Worse yet, he was using his pain medication as an enabler; burying the stress from the recent attacks and the worries over his vision in his increasingly frequent doses of tramadol. He shrugged off the nagging thought. The pain medication was simply a necessary evil while his eyes healed, and a temporary one at that. "I'm fine," he insisted. "You'll see when we visit Dr. Cooper tomorrow. I'm fine."

...

Mark Vincent stared at the computer monitor, concentrating with all his might, and the cursor wavered, lurched an inch upward, and stopped.

"That's it," said the man in the white coat beside him, encouragingly. "Now that you know what that feels like, try it again."

It was Mark's first training session with the Omega Research Group, and he was working with a man named Jim Trace. Mark had been fitted with electrodes that could measure brain activity, and they had completed nearly a half hour's worth of unsuccessful trials before Mark could manage to move the cursor. Now that he'd done it, though, he realized he'd been trying too hard. All he had to do was relax, and think of where he wanted to put it…

"There you go!" said Trace, as the cursor lurched again. He pointed at the screen, which contained a picture of a keypad. "You can type words using the keypad, by moving your cursor over the keys – they'll display in a message block at the top of the screen. Once you get used to it, you can also run this computer like anyone else does – if you want to surf the Internet, click on that icon, and then type in what you want to search – we set you up with access, so you can access what you want. It will take some practice, but we will leave you hooked up so you can try it whenever you want. We have a subprogram running that will record what you write or what you access, so we can assess your progress. Now, I want to see if you can type out a simple reply. How about the word 'yes'? Move the cursor, that's right…,"

It took Mark another hour, but he finally managed, after several jerky attempts, to type 'yes' using the virtual keyboard on the computer. Before he departed, Trace urged him not to be discouraged; that it would take weeks of practice to be able to move the cursor consistently to where he wanted it. Discouraged was the last emotion Mark felt at that moment, however. After years of being unable to communicate, he had finally said something – even if it was a simple three-letter word. As the door shut behind the researcher, Mark stared at the screen, and watched the cursor move, jerkily, toward the keyboard, and muscles in his face twitched, pulling one side of his mouth into a faint, lopsided smile.

...

Dr. Cooper poked his head out of the exam room door, and nodded at Don. "Okay, we're done with Charlie's exam. He asked me if you could come in and sit in our discussion."

Don rose, trying to read the expression on Cooper's face. "If it's okay -,"

"Certainly," said Cooper. His smile was merely courteous, Don decided, and it didn't reach his eyes. He shook off a feeling of trepidation, and walked through the door that the doctor held open for him.

He relaxed as he saw Charlie. Charlie was sitting in the exam chair, and he beamed as Don entered. "I have my lens in," he said. "I can actually see you."

Dr. Cooper nodded. "We're using a soft contact lens; and are getting very good correction for his left eye – close to 20-20. That eye is still changing with each visit, and he'll probably need to change the lens prescription more than once while it stabilizes. It should be good for at least a month, however. He'll be allowed to wear the lens only a few hours each day – when he's on campus if he wishes, and the rest of the time I would like him to wear glasses, to make sure we don't stress the eye. We are holding off on a lens for the right eye for the time being." He settled behind his large desk, closed a file folder on its surface, and spoke a little impatiently. "Now, Charlie said you two had some questions for me, and he wanted you to be part of the discussion. What's on your mind?"

Don looked at Charlie, and Charlie looked back at him, and then straightened and turned toward the doctor. "We had a little misunderstanding earlier this week with Dr. Shulman," he said. "Somehow, Shulman reviewed your notes and came away with the idea that I am legally blind in my right eye."

Don saw a shadow pass over Cooper's face, faint, then it was gone, but his expression was serious as he answered, speaking more slowly. "Ah, yes, I spoke to Shulman last evening." He paused, and continued gently. "Charlie, you are legally blind in your right eye."

Charlie waved a hand, unconcerned. "I know that – at least, for right now. But the healing process could take weeks, or months – you said that yourself."

Cooper hesitated, and in that brief moment, Don felt his heart drop. He could sense what was coming, but Charlie didn't, apparently; he was looking at Cooper expectantly.

Cooper rubbed his forehead, a gesture of capitulation. "Charlie, I have to say, I have been reluctant to give you a solid prognosis, because your eyes are still healing. I never meant to imply, however, that I was sure they would come back one hundred percent. It has been long enough now that I believe I can – and apparently, after the confusion this week – should give you an outlook. I think there's a good chance of full recovery, or close to it, in your left eye. Your right eye, however, is not improving at all. It hasn't changed during the last two visits. I'm afraid, Charlie, that your right eye will not come back; in fact, I am projecting little change from what it is now. That is why I suggested therapy at your last appointment; therapy designed to help you function with sight in only one eye. I fear that the blindness in that eye is going to be permanent."

Don felt his heart twist as he looked at Charlie; the expectant, optimistic look had fled, Charlie's shoulders had slumped, and he sat there motionless for a moment, his lips parted as if he were about to speak, but couldn't find the words. 'Charlie, I'm sorry,' he thought to himself, filled with remorse at the desolate expression on his younger brother's face. He'd looked so happy just a moment ago. 'This is all my fault…,'

Charlie closed his mouth, swallowed, then lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders. "That's okay," he said evenly. "It's not a problem. Even if either of my eyes didn't improve any more, I see great with the contact lens in my left eye."

If Don felt terrible before, he really felt low as he watched Charlie try to put on a brave front – for his sake, Don suspected. Dr. Cooper thought as much, too; Don hadn't missed his quick, assessing glance at him as Charlie spoke. As stunned as Charlie had been by the news, he was shrugging it off, trying to pretend it didn't matter, because Don was in the room.

"Do you have any further questions?" Dr. Cooper asked gently.

"I'll need the name and number for the therapist," said Charlie, his tone still a little lighter than it should have been.

Dr. Cooper nodded. "I also need to write you out another prescription for tramadol," he said. "That is one thing I do expect to improve – those stabbing pains that you feel in your right eye should diminish with time. You also need to be careful not to strain your left eye – you will be more tempted to use it with the corrective lenses, and you need to ration close work – reading, using the computer, and so forth. Try to limit that to your time at school." He looked at Don. "Any questions from you?"

Don felt like asking if Cooper could prescribe something for suffocating guilt, but he shook his head.

He almost didn't hear Charlie when his brother rose, looked toward the door, and spoke to him. "Let's get going – I need to pick out some frames."

Don waited until they were out in the car before he attempted to speak himself, and then he turned toward Charlie. "Charlie, I'm so sorry -," he began.

Charlie gestured impatiently. "For what? It wasn't your fault, Don – you weren't the one who hit me." He turned and looked at him earnestly, his dark eyes wide. "I told you before, I don't regret it – not a minute of it – and I'd do it all over again if I had to. It could have been a lot worse, Don – if this is all we have to deal with, I'm counting us lucky."

Don's heart swelled, and for a moment it was so full – of regret and pride, of sadness and admiration – that he was afraid he might break down. He turned away and started the car, and emotion made his voice gruff. "Let's get your glasses, before the store closes."

Charlie looked forward, out the windshield. "Can we stop at the pharmacy on the way? I'd like to get the tramadol prescription filled."

Don shot him a glance. "Didn't Shulman write you a prescription when you hurt your arm?"

Charlie shook his head. "I had a few left from Dr. Cooper's last prescription," he said, and his voice held the same flat, even tone it had when he sat in the doctor's office, saying that it didn't matter. He sat up in his seat, his shoulders still back and head up, but in profile, his posture looked rigid, forced. His next words sounded even more forced than his body language. "Wow, this contact lens is amazing! I can really see again."

Don said nothing; he couldn't, around the lump in his throat. Instead, he drove to the pharmacy, and waited in the car while Charlie went in to fill his prescription. Charlie had more or less insisted, and although Don wanted to go with him, he had to admit that Charlie seemed to be moving more easily now that he had the contact lens inserted. His brother had been through a lot this afternoon, so Don acquiesced and let Charlie go by himself; he could probably use some time alone.

...

Charlie had been almost more stunned by Cooper's offer of tramadol than he had been about the news regarding his eye. His first thought was that Dr. Cooper must understand that Dr. Shulman had already written a tramadol prescription for Charlie; it must be written in his file, somewhere. But Cooper had stood briskly, and Charlie had followed suit, watching with both hope and fear as the doctor scribbled illegibly on a prescription pad, glancing at his watch at the same time. Charlie began to consider the situation. Supposing the always-harried Dr. Cooper had not taken the time to carefully read Dr. Shulman's report? Charlie wondered briefly if he should say something - but his craving for additional tramadol momentarily stayed his tongue.

When the doctor ripped off the prescription sheet and extended it toward Charlie, the professor grabbed it avidly; so quickly he feared his eagle-eyed brother might question him. Charlie had tried to distract Don with blather about glasses – but it turned out that Don had been mired in his own presumed guilt, and hadn't noticed anything unusual.

Now, Charlie breathed a sigh of relief as he handed the prescription to a clerk and took a seat in the waiting area. He expected it to take at least a few minutes to fill the prescription, and he was surprised when he heard his name called. He squinted at the large clock on the wall, wondering how long it had been, and felt himself stiffen when he saw who was waiting for him at the patient counseling center. Rather than a clerk holding a tiny brown bottle, he saw a stern-looking man in a white lab coat, still holding his prescription. He swallowed thickly and then stood and approached the counter. "Is there a problem?" he asked timidly.

The pharmacist shook the prescription at him. "Checked the database. We like to keep fairly close track of narcotics. You've got another active prescription for tramadol, and it's too soon for a refill." He frowned at Charlie.

Charlie felt his gut flutter. Could he get in trouble for trying to get this prescription filled, when he already had one? If he acted as if he hadn't known it was a problem – and he hadn't – maybe the man would give him a break. He fell back on the attitude that had helped him secure the prescription from Dr. Shulman in the first place. "Oh...that's all right, then. It's... it's good that we have a database for this sort of thing; I didn't know."

"Apparently," sniffed the pharmacist, still holding the prescription.

Charlie held himself ramrod-straight, and looked the man in the eye. "I'll just wait until it's time for a refill on the original prescription." He smiled ingratiatingly and hoped he could still pull off what, during their childhoods, Don had labeled 'The Wounded Puppy Look'; hopefully, one blind eye wouldn't ruin the effect. "It's my fault, anyway." He lowered his voice, almost whispering confidentially. "You see, I recently lost the sight in one eye, and I haven't adjusted yet. I never should have left the bottle sitting next to the bathroom sink. I took half a pill this morning, set the open bottle down, and left the water running so I could brush my teeth." He tried to laugh, and shrugged with embarrassment. "I'm such a klutz these days; when I reached for the toothpaste, I knocked the bottle into the sink. It was uncapped, the water was running, and before I knew what was happening, the last pill was swirling down the drain. I mentioned it to my ophthalmologist during my regular appointment - more as a joke than anything else - but he insisted on writing me a new prescription to tide me over until it's time for a refill." He frowned and tilted his head. "You'd think he would have known that I wouldn't be able to fill it."

The pharmacist glanced at the slip of paper in his hand. "Cooper," he sniffed. "We've had trouble with him before. Doesn't like to pay any attention to the rules."

Charlie tried to turn up the puppy wattage. "Well, he's very busy. Really, I'm sorry I wasted your time. Just throw that away."

The pharmacist hesitated. "The doctor's name on the other prescription was Shulman."

Charlie nodded. "That's correct; my orthopedist." He laughed again, hoping he didn't sound nervous. "Told you I'm a klutz. I also fractured my arm, in the accident that left me blind in one eye...then I re-injured my arm, the very same day the cast was finally removed!"

The man shook his head in sympathy. "Sounds like you haven't had a good year."

Charlie smiled. "I've had better. Now that I understand about the database, is it all right if we just pretend this never happened? You can shred the prescription, maybe."

"Have much pain?" asked the pharmacist.

Charlie shrugged. "Oh, I'll be all right. The doctor says my eye should calm down, soon." This was too good to be true. He'd been simply trying to stay out of hot water, and now the man was actually sounding as if he'd changed his mind. Was the pharmacist going to fill this, after all? He tried not to look too hopeful.

The pharmacist leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I can override the system; there are protocols for accidental destruction of medication." He straightened again, the stern expression back on his face. "I won't do this again — no pharmacist will, they'll see my notation in the database."

Charlie's heart leapt, but he managed to keep his expression neutral. "Honestly, sir, I'll be fine; I don't want you to go out of your way..."

The pharmacist sniffed. "I'm not, young man. I told you, we have protocols for this. Just take a seat. I'll only be a few minutes."

Charlie bumped into something on the way back to the waiting area; not because he couldn't see it, but because he was walking in a dream state. He sank into a chair, his legs becoming almost boneless as it fully hit him what had happened. He had just lied, shamelessly, to a pharmacist. He tried to tell himself that he'd just been trying to stay out of trouble, but he knew the truth – those lies were just for a few more tramadol.

What was happening to him?

...

End Chapter 6