See Disclaimer, Chapter 1

Bird Flu - Chapter 55

Ryan Morgan sought out Hector Cruz in the prison yard again that evening. Parker's words had put fear in his gut; he was definitely going to need to be prepared – he needed the items from Cruz. He found the inmate lounging against the wall of the building, surveying the yard with his posse around him, and Morgan sidled through them to Cruz' side. "You get what I needed?" he asked quietly through clenched teeth, looking out into the yard, not moving his lips.

"Not what you wanted. Too tough right now," responded Cruz, in a like manner, lazily slouched against brick. "I can get you a shank, no switchblade. Price is less, though – three thousand."

Morgan's jaw tightened. "Not good enough."

"Sure it is," replied Cruz. "It can't cut too well, but you can stab with it. And I can get you a pick for the cuffs, like you asked."

"When?"

"Tomorrow. Sit next to me at dinner – stick them in the hem of your pants leg, in the front of the leg. When they pat you down, they check the sides and the back." He gave Morgan further instructions to have someone deposit the money in an account in a downtown bank, as the signal sounded for dinner. They drifted toward the doors, side by side; neither of them had looked at each other once.

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Don stepped out into the night and took a deep breath. Life had seemed surreal lately; it had been completely upended since the moment he'd found the birds in his apartment. The familiar backyard of the Craftsman brought him back for instant - the sight of it at night, the smell of summer reminded him of playing hide-and-seek in the darkness with Charlie, as kids. Charlie was out in the darkness now, sitting by the koi pond, and as Don moved toward him, he reflected that although his brother was in plain sight, the Charlie he knew was still hidden for the most part; still wrapped away inside his head. He'd been quiet before his testimony that morning, and quiet again that night. He hadn't been himself since the ordeal; his normal confidence stripped away, seemingly on the edge of something, some kind of abyss. He'd done well on the stand that day, but he'd still been obviously scared, tentative, very much a victim. Don couldn't help but compare it to the last time he'd seen Charlie speak in public, at his awards banquet. The confident young man on the podium that night bore little resemblance to his brother now. Even though Charlie was no longer in physical danger, in many respects, he was still fighting for his life, trying to claw his way back to normalcy, trying to escape the horrors inside his mind.

He sat down on the bench next to him, and caught Charlie's glance. For a peaceful moment, they said nothing, just watched the reflection of light on the water, then Don spoke. "You did great today."

Charlie snorted softly. "I managed. I don't know if it was great." He looked at Don. "Did I look as scared as I felt?"

Don's face softened. "You looked a little scared, and there was one time, maybe more than a little. It didn't matter, though, you kept your head, and the jury seemed to identify with you. You made up a lot of ground today – Phelps thinks you put us back on an even keel."

"I almost lost it at one point," Charlie admitted. "I realized that all those families out there were watching me, counting on me, and then I looked at – him – and I kind of freaked a little." He swallowed, and his voice dropped. "I still can't stand to look at him."

Silence descended again, and Don sat brooding. How close to the edge was Charlie, he wondered? He looked sideways again. "There's something I wanted to ask you – something that's been bugging me. A couple of nights ago, when I walked in the solarium – you had all those pills in your hand, well, I - you weren't thinking – uh," he paused, trying to get the words out; they were too hard to say. Instead, he glanced sideways, and his heart dropped as the look on Charlie's face gave him the answer.

Charlie looked up at him guiltily. "About taking them all?" he finished. He looked away, his jaw working. "I don't know."

"Charlie." Don's voice was stunned, filled with reproach.

Charlie glanced at him again, with a plea for understanding on his face. "I know," he said quickly. "I didn't do it, though." He closed his eyes for a moment. He felt so off-balance, so – not right – still. He felt weak and uncertain, especially next to Don. A picture flitted through his mind of Don in the courtroom that day, how confident he seemed. And then, in contrast, there was him, tentative, frightened – he wanted to get back to the way he used to be, but he didn't know how. Today, on the stand, he'd taken a first step, but he still seemed so far away from right, from normal.

"Charlie, please, promise me," Don said, his voice shaking, and Charlie opened his eyes and looked at him in surprise. Don's face was twisted with pain, and he stared into Charlie's eyes, intensely. "If you ever think about anything like that again, talk to me about it first, okay? It doesn't matter where or when – I'll come over in the middle of the night – it doesn't matter."

Charlie stared back at him, and nodded slowly, a bit taken aback by Don's reaction, and he realized how selfish even the mere thought of it had been. Talking about it, bringing it out in the open made him realize that – how insane it was to contemplate, even abstractly. Looking back at it, he wondered how he could have even entertained the thought. It brought home to him just how off-kilter he had been.

"There was really only one point – anyway, I think I'm past that now." He sighed shakily, and ran a hand over his face, guilt settling on him like a cloud, when he thought of Don and his father, how patient they'd been with him. "I know I've been – a burden. I'm starting to think a little more normally, I guess, and I look back and realize how bad I was -," he smiled ruefully, with a glance at Don, "how bad I still am." His expression sobered, intensified, and his eyes suddenly glittered with moisture. "I know it's been tough for you and for Dad, dealing with it – I just want to say – thanks for being there. I haven't said it, but I never would have made it through all of this without you."

Don looked back at him, and was filled with the sensation of something suddenly giving way inside, a hard tight knot of pent up worry and tension melting, and being replaced by a glow, that spread upward into his throat, making it hard to talk. Instead, he reached out and put an arm around Charlie's shoulders, and gave him a squeeze, swallowing, trying to find his voice. "Of course I'd be there. I'd never leave you, Buddy," he finally managed in a husky whisper.

Charlie reached out, and squeezed Don's arm, awkwardly. "I know," he whispered back. "And I won't either. I promise."

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Charlie stepped into the solarium that night, exhausted, his mind on the trial the next day. He'd made it through his testimony, and although he'd done well, he knew the worst was yet to come. He was dreading Parker's cross-examination, but Charlie was beginning to feel that as long as he kept the testimony at arm's length, treating it like lecture material, like something that had happened to someone else; he just might get through it.

It was Morgan who was the biggest threat, Charlie had decided. Sitting at the front like that, facing Morgan, he'd had to keep his eyes on something else. The one time he'd looked at the killer, he'd been completely thrown, had almost experienced a panic attack right on the stand.

"Just take the questions one at a time," Phelps had advised him, "and keep your eyes on the jury." Simple enough instructions, if he could follow them.

He brought his mind back to the present, and realized he was standing in the middle of the room. For the first time in days, he felt tired enough to sleep without medication and had no real desire to spend time staring at the stars, or even to distract himself with an analysis. He gazed at the bottle of sleeping pills and the futon for a moment, thinking about his conversation with Don, then turned and flicked off the light, heading out the door.

Alan was on his way to his room when he passed Charlie in the hallway. "Charlie. I thought you'd gone to bed already. Did you forget something?"

Don appeared in the doorway of his old bedroom; he'd obviously heard Alan and had stepped to the door to look out. He appeared a little worried, Charlie thought, and it came to him that he'd put that look on his brother's face; Don had done nothing but worry about him for the past several weeks. Charlie shot both of them a small reassuring smile as he passed. "No," he said to them, over his shoulder. "I just thought I'd sleep in my own room tonight."

He went inside and closed the door behind him, and Don and Alan looked at each other in surprise. Their features both relaxed at the same time; and Don smiled. "G'night, Dad."

"'Night," replied Alan, and taking a deep breath, he turned and headed for his room, wondering if maybe, the end of the nightmare was in sight.

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He'd been a little too optimistic, Charlie decided, the next morning. It felt good being in his own bed again, but going from a double dose of sleeping pills to none had set him up for an evening of nightmares. He was tired and jittery, and the sense of control from the night before had evaporated. He'd done well on the stand the day before, but he knew he could easily negate everything he'd done if he blew it today.

With that cheerful thought, he made his way down the hallway to the courtroom, along with the rest of the group. He sat with them until the judge was seated and he was called to the stand. Randall Lee Parker stood as soon as he was instructed to proceed, and strolled in front of Charlie; then stopped. Charlie had planned to keep his eyes on the jury, but he had to look at the attorney while he was speaking – it would look odd if he didn't, and Parker knew that. The lawyer picked his spot strategically, standing so Charlie would see Ryan Morgan over Parker's right shoulder every time he looked that way. The attorney hadn't even started asking questions yet, and already Charlie was rattled.

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Amita sat between Alan and Larry, filled with nearly unbearable tension. She hadn't heard the entire story of Charlie's abduction until the day before; she hadn't realized the extent of what he'd gone through. She was still shaken by it; she'd spent the entire sleepless night thinking about it. Although someone who didn't know him well would think he looked somewhat collected on the stand, perhaps just a little tense, she knew better. She could feel his anxiety across the room, and it ratcheted up her own. Yesterday, she'd thought of him as a warrior ready to do battle as he'd walked into courtroom, and she realized now just how apt that comparison was; she knew now just how brave it was for him to do this, to face Morgan in court, each day. She also, knew, without a doubt, it only made her love him more.

As Charlie was sworn in, she glanced at Alan, whose face was creased with worry. He glanced back and his expression softened as he reached over and patted her hand. It had to be so hard for him, she thought, to sit there and listen to what had been done to his youngest son.

Alan looked at Amita, taking in the worry on her face, knowing it was reflected in his own. He knew, more than anyone except perhaps Don and Susan Raine, how deeply all of this had affected Charlie. Over the past few weeks, he'd seen Charlie at his lowest moments; he knew how vulnerable he was, how raw he still was inside. Like Amita, he'd heard the entire story for the first time the day before, and was shocked, shaken to his core by Charlie's recounting. As the shock had resided, it had left him numb at first, but that was slowly giving way to outrage, and a new sense of fear as Charlie faced the defense attorney. Alan was well aware of 'that Parker man's' reputation, and he'd had an opportunity to see him work. The man was obviously ruthless, and skilled. The senior Eppes wasn't one given to hate, but he could truly say that was the emotion he felt for Morgan, and for Parker, the man who represented him. He hated Parker, and he feared him, too – feared him for the damage he could do to Charlie. As Parker rose and approached his son, it was all he could do to stay in his seat.

Larry glanced at Alan and Amita uncertainly as Parker got to his feet, a hand made its way to the side of his face, and he held it there, plastered against his cheek as if he had a toothache. It was a habit Larry didn't even know he had, until Megan teased him about it. When nervous or perturbed, a hand would creep toward his head, and stay there in one position or another – sometimes both hands, sometimes resting gently, sometimes pushing on a portion of his face as if it was putty, accentuating the worried furrows in his brow. And worried he was. It was unthinkable what his colleague, his protégé; his good friend had gone through. To see him up there now reminded him of a long-ago moment, when he watched a teenage Charles Eppes defend his doctoral thesis against some of the best minds in the math world. Then, as now, Larry was rooting for him, with all his heart and soul. 'As are we all,' he thought, looking across the room at Don and his team.

Charlie's older brother was pale-faced and motionless, his eyes fixed on his younger sibling. Larry knew that if Don could be up there in his place, he would be, in a heartbeat.

Don's gaze was riveted on Charlie, and he had it – the feeling. It was a sensation that he experienced before a raid, a moment brought on by adrenaline – a prickly, wide-awake state, where everything seemed focused, brought into sharp relief, into hyper-clarity, his mind and nerve endings on overdrive. It was pure torture to have to sit there in that condition, motionless, to listen and watch an enemy attack his brother. Even though that attack would be made only with words, considering Charlie's vulnerable state, the thought was still disquieting. Morgan's presence, too, in the front row, was menacing; Don knew Charlie felt it keenly – hell, he felt it – a malignant aura in the courtroom that had kept Don on edge every time Charlie was in the room with the man. If Morgan so much as twitched the wrong way, Don knew he would go right over Phelps, seated in the row in front of him.

As Parker began to speak, Don took in a breath, looking at Charlie's tense, pale face. 'C'mon, Buddy,' he entreated, under his breath. 'You can do it, I know you can.'

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End Chapter 55

Thanks for the reviews all - next chapter, the showdown between Parker and Charlie...