"Where could he have gone?" Alan asked aloud. Don paced back and forth.
"He was upset about Thomas Raymond's death," Don commented. "He thought he killed him! I should have never let him leave."
"What should we do?" Amita asked, worried. Don pulled out his cell phone.
"Call the hospitals," Don told Amita. "I'll call David and put out an A.P.B…."
The front door opening interrupted Don. Charlie walked in.
"Hey everybody," Charlie said casually. Everyone just stared at him.
"What?" Charlie asked, a little bewildered.
"Where the hell were you?" Don shouted. Amita ran over and gave Charlie a hug. Charlie accepted it, confused.
"Uh, I went for a drive," Charlie answered. "I told you that." Alan let out a sigh of relief.
Don paced, his adrenaline still up. He didn't know whether to hug Charlie or kill him. "You weren't answering your cell phone. We thought something happened to you."
"I'm sorry," Charlie said sincerely. "I turned my cell phone off." Amita released him. "You okay?" he asked Amita. She nodded.
"I'm just glad you're okay," she said. After everyone calmed down, Don pulled Charlie aside.
"Listen, the coroner did the autopsy on Thomas Raymond," Don told Charlie. "You didn't kill him. He was poisoned."
"Poisoned?" Charlie repeated. "But I hit him with the bat."
"Yes, but that just wounded him," Don replied. "He was killed days later, probably by his partner Max." Charlie let out a sigh of relief.
"I can't believe it," Charlie said to himself. Don put his arm around Charlie and walked into the living room.
"Now all we have to do is find Max," Don said.
Charlie nodded. "Tell me how I can help."
Five days later
Charlie and Don sat across from each other at the FBI office, frustrated. Papers were spread across the desk. Charlie rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I've been looking at mug shots for days. He's not here." Don leaned across the desk.
"That just means he's never been caught. We'll find him."
Charlie stood up. "It's no use, Don. He's probably long gone by now." Don didn't want to admit it, but he believed the same thing. Don stood up too.
"Why don't you go home?" he told Charlie. "I'll call you if we find anything." Charlie gave a sad nod of approval and walked out. After he left, Don picked up one of the files and threw it against the wall angrily. He had no leads on this man. He was a ghost. Don feared he'd never find Max. David walked in. Don immediately started barking orders, but David stopped him.
"Boss, I'm sorry," David said. "But I've already been reassigned to another case."
"What?" Don said. "By who?"
"By higher up," David replied. "We have other cases, you know. In case you haven't noticed, you have two bank robberies, a drug trafficking case, and another serial kidnapper on your desk."
"What serial kidnapper?" Don asked, rummaging through the files he never opened his week. "Could he be connected to Max?"
David huffed. "No, we already know who it is." David found the file on Don's desk and opened it up. It revealed a heavyset man in his late forties. "Joseph Randall. He kidnaps young women, rapes them, and then kills them. Police have found three women already. Have you not even looked at the file?" David said, a little angrily. Don sighed audibly. He was so obsessed with solving Charlie's case that he was totally neglecting his other duties.
David noticed and softened his voice. "Look Don, I understand this is personal for you. But Charlie is home now. He's safe. You need to let this go." Don took a moment to think. He realized David was right.
Two Weeks Later
Don walked into the Eppes house, ready to crash from exhaustion. His father was in the living room, watching television alone.
"Hey, dad," Don said, dropping his stuff. "Where's Charlie?" Alan somberly pointed towards the basement. Don huffed. For the past week, Charlie had been down in their basement for hours each day, attempting to regain the mathematical talent he seemed to have lost. It didn't seem like he was having any luck. Don grabbed two beers and went down to the basement. Charlie had the chalkboards out but nothing was written on them but scribbles. The place was a mess. Charlie had stubble on his face and his clothes were dirty.
"Hey, buddy," Don said to Charlie. "Why don't you take a break?" Charlie kept facing the chalkboard.
"I almost had it," he mumbled. "It's there, I just…" Charlie dropped the chalk in his hand and pushed the chalkboard away angrily. "I can't stand this!" Charlie wrung his hair and paced. "I can't do it!" Charlie yelled. "I try, but it's all a blank. How can I be a mathematician, a professor, if I can't do math!"
"Charlie, give it time," Don answered calmly. "It will come back."
"What if it never does?" Charlie screamed frantically. "What if I never remember? I can't live like this, Don. I can't!" Don went over to Charlie to give him a hug, but Charlie shrugged him off.
"No, just leave me alone, Don!" Charlie answered. "Please, just leave me alone." Don didn't know what to do. Charlie turned back towards the chalkboard and stared at it. Don finally left.
Five weeks later
Don was at the office until late again. His team had managed to hunt down the drug traffickers but the bank robberies still eluded them. Plus, a woman named Jennifer Talworth had gone
missing. They suspected it was the work of the serial kidnapper, Joseph Randall, but they still hadn't found him or the first woman he had taken. Don was feeling pretty useless at his job.
He finally gave up for the day and got into his car. He sat there for a few minutes. Part of him wanted to go back to his apartment and just sleep. But he made a promise to his dad that
he'd come by a few nights a week and hang out with Charlie. Charlie was no longer hanging out in the basement trying to find his genius. Now it seemed like he had just given up
completely. Most of the time, Charlie just hung around the house watching television. No one could cheer him up but at least when Don came over they could have a conversation about
sports or something. So Don put aside his sleepiness and came over to the Eppes house.
Alan was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Charlie was setting the table. Alan stopped and greeted Don when he came in. Charlie didn't look up. They ate dinner pretty much in silence. Don
attempted a conversation with Charlie, without much luck. When he started probing too much, Charlie huffed and took his dinner plate into the living room. Alan called after him but Don
told his dad to let it go. Alan sighed and started cleaning up the table. Don helped him.
"I don't know what to do about your brother, Don," Alan stated, cleaning the dishes. "It's like he's a shell of himself." Don dried the dishes.
"I don't know either," Don answered. "Right now, I'm feeling completely helpless. I can't find one of the men who did this to my brother. I can't solve my other cases at work. I can't do
anything!"
"It's not your fault, Don," Alan ensured. "You're not a superhero. You try your best. That's all you can do."
Don shook his head. "My best isn't good enough."
"You know," Alan started. "This reminds me of when you were eighteen and baseball had fallen through. You thought you were a failure, right? But then you tried out for the Academy, and you…"
The sound of glass crashing in the living room stopped Alan. Don and Alan ran into the living room. The broken dinner plate lay by Charlie's feet. He was staring at the television with a
frightened look on his face.
"What happened?" Don asked, surprised. "What is it?" Charlie just pointed at the television set. A real estate advertisement was playing. A man in his thirties stood in front of a large
house. He had on a business suit with a bright blue tie on, baring all of his teeth. "Looking for that dream house?" the man said. "A place to raise a family? Then call me: Russell Taylor. Our
prices cannot be beat." A phone number flashed on the screen and a picture of a happy family in a big house. The man came back on screen, a cocky grin on his face. "Hamptons Real
Estate. Where all your fantasies can come true." The advertisement ended and a television show began. Don looked back at Charlie, who was still staring at the television.
"That was him," Charlie said. He looked at Don. "That was Max."