The Shower helped.
I still felt lousy but I was feeling human again. My sense of smell was still acting funky. I was also moodier, and grumpier than normal. On the bright side, the right half of me was taking commands again. That trumped all the other stuff.
I was sitting on the couch watching, something. I really wasn't sure what the television program was or what it was about. One of the joys of coming down off one of my bad migraine sometimes was my attention span got blown down to milliseconds. It's similar to having your brain going on the fritz and having this constant static white noise floating through it. Almost like walking around in this flashing strobe light and leaving pieces of you everywhere.
"What am I watching?" I asked, as what looked like some form of furry rodent scampered across the screen. I was baffled. I didn't even remember turning on the television.
"A program on Rattus Rattus, the common black rat," Charlie said, not bothering to look up from the paper he was grading in the seat next to me. "You said something about looking for Mickey the mutant mouse's digs. And that's the third time you asked what this program is."
This was the reason I hated taking Imitrex. I was never sure which was worse, coming down off the migraine or coming down off the delightful medicines used to treat them. I honestly think the medicines are worse. They tend to leave you brain dead and hung over like after a night of doing straight tequila shots.
"It is?"
"Yup."
I take it back.
My brain actually works better after a night of being poisoned with tequila.
I appreciated the patience Charlie was showing. I really did. I don't know if our positions had been reversed that I would have showed half the self restraint he did. If I was honest with myself the answer would be, probably not. Especially when my leg went out from under me in the shower and I had to catch myself with the hand rails to keep from breaking my neck.
Then again, Charlie always had his thoughtful, supportive moments.
When you go armed, there are rules you live by. One is you always make a gun safe. You either keep a gun unloaded and locked up, or you keep it physically on you where you can control it. Depart from those rules and that's how tragedies happen. I had always tried to respect my father's wishes of no guns in his house. That meant when I stayed over here, my gun stayed unloaded, secured with a gun lock, in the glove compartment of my truck with the vehicle's doors locked.
The thing is I'm paranoid. I don't trust kids. Kids are the most creative, resourceful little creatures at getting into places they have no business. Throw a police light on the front dash of a SUV and some interesting police gear in the cargo area, it's a neighborhood kid magnet. I had never been comfortable leaving my gun locked out in my truck unattended overnight. Then soon after Charlie bought this house, the gun lock box had shown up on the top shelf of the coat closet. The key to the box had appeared with no fanfare on my key chain, too. That had been my biggest signal of the changing of the guard.
Yeah, my brother had his moments.
They've kept me from reaching across the table to throttle him more than once.
My cell phone snapped me out of my thoughts. That's when I realized the program I had been watching was long over. Shooting a quick look at the stack of papers Charlie had managed to go through and grade, I must have been zoning out in my own little world for a while.
Crap.
How does Charlie actually live with a brain that always functions like this?
I flipped open the phone and said, "Eppes".
"Agent Eppes?" an unfamiliar voice asked hesitantly.
"Yes".
"My name is Rabbi Miller. Agent Gales gave me your number. I understand you're looking to secure donations for a tombstone for a young child abuse victim?"
Mike Gales was the Senior Agent in Charge of our office's Hate Crimes Division. He was an inch shorter than me but built broader. He was also one of the few men in the office I didn't have to step back to look square in the eye. Gales was a bloodthirsty, nasty, SOB that hated losing to the bad guys on general principle. Being all of those not-so-nice things myself, Gales and I understood one another perfectly. We had come to our enlightened understanding in one of those warm, fuzzy, beat-the crap-out-of-each-other testosterone bonding moments.
It had been the start of a beautiful friendship.
"Yes, I am, Rabbi," I replied.
"Our synagogue maybe interested in donating. Are you free tonight?"
"Tonight?"
"I realize its very short notice, Agent Eppes. Ms. Katz, the head of our board of directors, would like to meet with you before we commit ourselves to a donation. She's in her seventies and doesn't get out much. She's at the synagogue on other business tonight. I thought it might be easier for both of you. If tonight is not convenient, I understand."
I really didn't want to do this. I shouldn't do this. I still felt like crap. I really didn't want to go out. I couldn't even drive myself there. Agreeing to meet tonight would be an incredibly stupid thing to do, even for me.
I was going to do it anyway.
It was a feeling, the spark of something pulling me there tonight. The flash of it danced across my skin and made the back of my neck crawl. It was nothing I could explain rationally, but my intuition was shouting at me I needed to go. I trusted my instincts. They had saved my life too many times.
Besides, the good guys are supposed to do incredibly stupid, self-sacrificing things.
It's a rule somewhere.
"Can you give me at least an hour to get down there, Rabbi?"
"That would be perfect. It would give us some time to wrap some things up. I'll inform Ms. Katz that you are able to make it tonight. Let me give you our address."
I got up and grabbed a pen and paper. I wrote the address he gave me down, repeating it back to him to make sure I got it right. I had a pretty good idea what part of town the synagogue was in and wasn't too worried about being able to find the place. I ended the call and hung up with, "I'll see you an in hour."
"Are you completely out of your mind?" Charlie asked quietly. "You're barely on your feet. What possible difference will meeting with them tonight instead tomorrow accomplish?"
"I need to do this."
"Why?"
"Because that little girl was mine," I stated matter-of-fact.
My responsibly. My duty. My failure.
Charlie sighed. I think he saw on my face there was no way he was going to stop me, even if he tried. "Go change. I'll grab your keys."
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
I changed in to something 'friendly'.
Standard Fed issue black pants and white shirt.
Hey, for me that's friendly.
Merrick had been getting on me lately about my wardrobe. Supposedly I am dressing like "GQ meets assassin chic". I swear. The man had serious issues with you wearing black. He had informed me that my clothing was "setting a bad example" for the office and was "intimidating". Merrick had then gone on to "suggest" I go for a little less hostile look for office attire and maybe try adding some color.
I added red.
My boss had not been amused.
Some people are never happy.
Looking out the passenger window, I focused my attention at watching the scenery fly by. It was times like this I missed New Mexico. I missed its pulsating colors and extremes. I missed its mesas painted in vibrant reds, oranges, and purples. You could lie under the stars out there and almost feel the pulse of the planet under you. Close your eyes and you could almost hear the echo of the ancient persons who came before, their feet dancing to that steady primitive beat as you felt the rhythm of life hum through you.
Goes to show how morose I'm being tonight because I don't usually let myself think about New Mexico. Much less let myself miss it. Thinking about New Mexico opens up the way to start wandering down more depressing avenues of regrets like Kim.
Crap happens. Life goes on. You accept it.
Our planet is going to keep spinning. And boy, did I ever resent that fact once. But these days, I try to keep my outlook on life as uncomplicated as possible. At times, I think I'm cynical. Others, just tired. But I find the fact the earth keeps turning in spite of all the bad stuff rather comforting. If the world stopped for every little person on this planet that had a rotten day, we'd all be waving 'Hi' to Larry in space.
"Penny for your thoughts," Charlie said from the driver's seat.
"I'd owe you change."
"I was thinking...," Charlie started.
"When aren't you," I grumbled.
Geesh. That sounded pissy, even for me.
Either Charlie knew I still wasn't feeling great or he was in a very forgiving mood tonight. He ignored my snarky comment and continued, "That you should stay at the house with Dad and me through the holidays. We could stop at your place on the way home and pick up some more of your clothes." Charlie shot me a hopeful look. "I'd like to actually see my brother during holidays."
The holidays suck.
Ask anyone in law enforcement. The hours are long. You're usually working double shifts. People let their guard down around the holidays and the criminal element takes full advantage. Pull 'loved' ones together and it can boil down to volatile, bloody mixtures and crime scenes. Don't even get me started on squabbling parents that can't suck it up for the good of their children. I didn't even want to think of the number of kidnapping cases that will cross my desk because one parent decided to give their finger to a custody agreement, take the kids, and run.
Oh yes, I could feel the warm glow of the holidays now.
I wholehearted agreed with the Grinch about hating "The whole Christmas season".
"Don," Charlie took a deep breath and began in that blurring, mile-a-minute tone that made my head spin. "Let's face it, you're most likely going to be crashing at our place anyway thanks to the double shifts. This way, your stuff is already over at the house. It will save you a trip over to your place to change in the morning. Not to mention give you an extra hour of sleep. Dad will get his required hovering and nagging time in. We'll actually get to see you. Everyone wins."
I just shook my head trying to follow that. Gotta love my brother. When he expects a fight, he usually just talks so fast you have no idea what the hell he's saying. It's his way of cornering you in to agreeing to something without actually knowing what you just agreed too. Charlie was playing dirty tonight. I had way too few functioning brains cells to actually try to translate, much less argue.
"Don't think for a minute I'm doing your laundry," I grumble. I knew I had lost already but I just couldn't throw in the towel with no fight. "I'm going to hog the TV, get on your last nerve, and drink out of the juice container."
"How is this different from usual?" Charlie gloated sweetly. He knew he won this one.
"One condition, tell me why? Why all this?" I gestured with my hands hoping he'd understand.
I just couldn't put my finger on when this side of my brother started coming out. I really couldn't. It was bugging me. I think it started some time around the Yates case, but I wasn't sure. A feeling told me there was a little more to all of this than my close call with a syringe full of morphine.
"I don't suppose you'd just accept the answer, 'Because you're my brother'?"
"No."
The silence echoed on for a few minutes.
Then Charlie said quietly, "Because I found out the hard way. The people that walk in when others walk out, like you did, or ride with you to the bottom, like Larry. Those people are worth your time and the effort in this life. They'll be the ones always hopping on when the bandwagon ends. Mom's cancer taught me that. I had fame. I was the toast of the academic world. Everyone wanted to be the 'young Einstein's' friend. And guess what? None of it meant anything when mom got sick." He shot me a bitter smile. "That's not the answer you were expecting, huh?"
"No."
"You asked," he stated with a shrug as we turned on to the street of our destination. "Are you up to walking?"
I nodded.
There must have been some sort of function going on. We ended up parking at the bottom of the hill looking up at the synagogue. I got out of my truck and snickered. I just could not believe what I saw, although my twisted sense of humor could appreciate it.
There was a yellow brick road leading up to the synagogue.
It seems I had made an appointment to meet the wizard tonight.
Charlie must have been reading my mind. He smirked at the yellow path stretched out in front of us and said, "After you, Dorothy".
