Random Variables and Heuristic Solutions

Part Six

Heuristic Solution Numb3r Five (ICU – UCLA – Day Three, 31st October, 9.00pm)

Someone had left him a newspaper, but he wasn't making very much headway. The lights were dim in the cubicle and it was impossible to concentrate. Alan shifted awkwardly to ease his aching back. He'd reached the decision all hospital chairs had been designed by some kind of sadist. Perhaps it was a devious way of making sure visitors didn't linger. At least Terry had taken Charlie home again. He'd been badly in need of some rest.

Charlie . . . Alan frowned. To be honest, he'd heaved a sigh of relief when his younger son eventually departed. Charlie's strange behaviour had left his nerves a little ragged – more than a little frayed round the edges. To quote Tennessee Williams, Charlie had been acting like the proverbial 'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof!'

It was easy to work out why, of course. He was getting much better at understanding Charlie. Ever since his wife had died, he had been forced to work harder at it. Funny - Margaret had always been able to read her younger son like a book. She had never been as successful with Don. Alan sighed and glanced over to the bed.

Don.

Neither of them had been particularly successful with Don. Not if the truth be told. Don had been successful with Don. And for that, Alan was eternally grateful. Hindsight might be a wonderful thing but it wasn't always comfortable. Rather like the hospital chair he had no intention of leaving tonight.

There was no change in Don's condition. He was still on the critical list. His body lying in limbo – in the twilight zone between life and death. Now, why did that sound so familiar? Alan's brow creased with remembrance. What was it his mother always used to say? Some superstitious, hocus-pocus, from the 'Old Country.' Something about the 'in-betweens' being a place where the veil is thin?

Sunrise and sunset, the mystery of evening. The spaces in-between day and night. She had never let them linger in doorways or window sills, so-called 'thin' dimensions, where people believed time itself could stretch and then contract. "You're neither in one place nor another," he recalled her words in his head. It was an Eastern European thing, he supposed. And like so many of the Old World superstitions, it had travelled across the Atlantic and ended up along way from home.

Alan laid the newspaper down on the locker. His eyes lingered for a second on the date. It was the 31st of October. He had forgotten all about Halloween. A feeling of unease settled over him. If ever there was an in-between, it was here and now, right in this room. There was a sense of unreality about it all – he felt like he was living in a dream.

Better make that a bad dream come true. Or, even worse, a living nightmare.

Alan gave a heavy sigh. Years ago, when Don had been nine or ten, the two of them had researched a school project on the origins of Halloween. Amazing how it came back to haunt him now – he made a slight face at the pun. He'd had no sense of warning or foreshadowing. It had been a mere curiosity back then.

Tonight was the last day of October. It was a definite, in-between. A space between one month and another and a cross-over between the Christian festivals of All Hallows Eve and All Saints Day. It was also a time between autumn and winter, the end of the old Pagan calendar. A time of dying and introspection when the whole earth held its breath. The trees, the crops, all of nature itself, was fallow and awaiting rebirth. Hence the tradition of honouring the dead on a night when the veil was thin.

Alan gave an involuntary shiver. He glanced over at the modern technology which was keeping his son alive. The beeping machinery and flickering lights reassured him in more ways than one. Foolish. He was being a foolish old man, remembering all the old stories. There was no place less flooded with superstition, than here, in the heart of modern LA. Nonetheless, Alan reached across to the bed and placed his hand firmly on Don's arm. The compulsion to remind Don his place was here, among the living, was suddenly, very strong. Alan needed to anchor him securely on earth. To keep him, safely, with his family. He held onto him tightly, just in-case Don had other ideas.

The pale skin was smooth and marble-cold to the touch, so still and unlike his son. Alan's uneasiness grew stronger and he found he was up on his feet. He hesitated and reached for the call-bell, the feeling of dread increasing. Every neurone in his body screamed out at him – something was terribly wrong. It was with no surprise and a sense of almost calm inevitability that he heard the first alarm go off. Within seconds, the cubicle was filled with a riot of sound as the monitors began flashing red.

Heuristic Solution Numb3r Six (Terry Lake's Apartment – Day Three, October 31st, 10.30pm)

Terry shivered and pulled her cardigan tighter around her. She was surprised how cool her apartment felt. Or maybe, it wasn't so much the apartment as the chill which had settled through her body. Part of her was tempted to phone the hospital again - one last call to check on Don's condition. Although, rationally, she knew there was no real need. She would soon hear if there was a problem.

She looked at back at her computer and re-read the words on the screen. Four, concise, little paragraphs. Succinct and absolutely to-the-point. They mocked her with their brevity, with the wealth of omission beneath them.

'Who had she been kidding?'

It was inevitable – had always been inevitable – from the moment Don had moved back to LA. Some profiler she'd turned out to be. Not even able to profile herself or had she just been going through denial?

Merrick's words came back with a vengeance. 'It's a commonly held idiom amongst law enforcement officers that they're closer to their partners than they are to their spouse.'

What had he seen in her eyes? Despite all her attempts at obscuring her emotions, somehow, her feelings must have shown. The words on the screen went blurry as she reached for her glass of wine. Chianti, red and rough around the edges. She welcomed its rawness on her tongue.

The irony would have been funny if it hadn't almost turned deadly. If Merrick – a man not usually known for his stunning grasp of human character - had noticed something, the whole office must be wondering about the nature of the relationship between her and Don. The only person with no idea how she felt was probably Don himself.

She thought she had been so professional – had deliberately tried to distance herself. If anything, he was even more attractive now, then he had been when they were dating. Seeing him again after all these years had made her realise a spark still burned. Don was a caring and tactile boss and it was hard not to fall into old patterns. How often had she blamed a heavy workload to avoid spending time in his company? How many lame excuses had she made to try and keep her feelings under wraps?

When she'd rounded the corner a few yards behind him and seen him face down on the ground . . . Terry took another gulp of wine. The terror had been indescribable. Her world had begun to shatter like glass until he had shifted slightly. It was only then, when she'd known he was alive, her training had reasserted itself.

She ran a shaky hand through her hair. Her world was still irrevocably broken. Whether or not Don recovered from this, she knew she never would. She was his partner – she should have covered his back. She hadn't been there when he needed her.

Terry wasn't stupid – she knew it wasn't solely her fault. Don could run a lot faster than her and he shouldn't have gone so far ahead. Not the point. It wasn't the point. A tear slid down her cheek. She was forced to face an inescapable truth. After all this time, she still loved him. There it was, out in the open at last. She had confessed the words to herself. In-spite of ten years and a broken marriage, she was still in love with Don Eppes.

And knowing that, accepting that, she couldn't remain in LA. However skilled or well-trained they were, they risked their lives every day. One small mistake could make a big difference - she wouldn't be the cause of his death.

It was hard enough when she had been in denial, but now she had admitted her feelings, Terry knew it was impossible for her to stay on Don's team. It wouldn't be fair on either of them, especially not on Don.

She swallowed down the last of the wine and looked at the empty bottle. She usually stuck to a two glass max. but tonight the circumstances were exceptional. Tonight, she wanted to get very drunk – tonight she was allowed some excess. Her hand reached across for the computer mouse and she gave it a single click, waiting for the whir of the printer as it churned out her 'Request for Transfer' letter.

TBC

Lisa Paris