Disclaimer: It would be wrong of me to say something untruthful by claiming I owned Numb3rs or its characters. Therefore, I'm not going to do that.
Rating: A very cautious rating would say M for sensitive themes, but I think T should suffice.
Timeline: There are references to 5-20 "The Fifth Man" and 5-21 "Disturbed", for which this story is an AU, so heavy SPOILERS for these two episodes.
Edit (May 10th): Thanks, Anonymous, I fixed it :)
Wrong
Prologue
With a quick glance, Charlie made sure that Amita was still sleeping peacefully before he softly opened his bedroom door and padded downstairs, on bare feet. He made it to the back door and outside, embracing the freshness and the cold of the damp grass against his feet as they were taking him to his destination, the koi pond. He sat down on a rock next to the pond and told the still racing thoughts on his mind to slow down, staring into the water as though this black pool was holding both the quietude and the answers he was looking for.
It was dark at this time of night, and Charlie hadn't brought any light with him, but the soft glow from the street lamps helped him to get his bearings. Besides, he wasn't very eager to see the world around him, he wasn't embarking on a journey into the world outside. No, what he wanted, what he needed, was an inner journey. He needed to find clarity and calm, and with everything that had happened lately, the calm of the night was a necessary prerequisite for achieving his goal.
Still, it was a challenge, for whether or not the world around him had quieted down, the thoughts on his mind hadn't. It seemed as though his mind was running itself ragged, in circles, going over the same agonizing thoughts and pictures and sensations over and over and over again. The sound of Don flat-lining, the image of his unresponsive brother confined to a hospital bed, the moment Charlie had looked into the eyes of the man who'd almost killed him…
He shuddered. That had been a mere hours ago, and the adrenaline was still stirring up his body. Facing the man that had brought all that upon them had been hard, but also necessary, as Charlie had realized. He'd realized that the mere knowledge of Radovic having been apprehended and about to be brought to justice wouldn't be enough, he'd felt it necessary to be a part of the take-down, to do his share in making sure that his brother's suffering would be avenged. And to tell the truth, he'd also thought that seeing Radovic arrested would give him closure, that he'd be able to deal with the situation then and put it behind himself.
It hadn't, though.
He still kept seeing Don's broken figure in front of his inner eye, and the whirling thoughts in his mind still hadn't slowed down. And still, worst of all, despite everything he'd tried, he hadn't been able to rid himself of the crushing feeling of guilt.
He supported his heavy head with his hands. He'd known all along, he'd never fully been able to fool himself that catching the bad guy would make things better, because Charlie could do all he wanted, as long as he didn't find a way to change the past, there was no way he could make this right again.
He'd been wrong. He had missed the fifth man, he'd led the team to believe that they knew everything there was to know about the premises, and he'd been wrong, so horribly wrong, and Don would have almost paid the ultimate price for that.
He should have set his priorities. That was what his dad had said, and Charlie knew he was right. He'd been juggling too many balls at once. It was either academia or his consultant work, doing both just wasn't fair against the agents whose lives were in his hands. Whenever he was on a case, whether or not it seemed easy or important or clear, he needed to do his best performance, everything else was negligence that could, as Don's example showed all too clearly, prove fatal.
He felt the heat rise to his head, despite the coldness in his feet and on his bare forearms. It was true, he'd recklessly put his brother in a situation that had almost resulted in his death, and he wouldn't be able to change that, he'd have to live with that on his conscience forever. But one thing was certain: there would be no repetition of that. From this day forward, Charlie was going to make sure not to be wrong again, not ever. He'd be diligent and focused and devoted, and never again would he present results that he had reason to believe weren't the best he could do. That was what he owed to Don and to everyone in the FBI he was working with, and he would never let them down again.
Twelve days later
"I still don't see how Nancy Kershaw fits into the pattern," Charlie stated with diplomacy, thinking there was hardly a chance she fitted into the pattern at all.
"Aha!" Roy exclaimed in his quirky manner. "Always the skeptic, I expected that. That's why I prepared – this!" He opened a file on one of his many screens, a network with Nancy's picture in the middle connecting her with eight other pictures that Charlie was familiar with, for they were the pictures of other victims of their serial killer. And, if he remembered the dates right, there was no timely pattern between those nine killings, at least none he could see.
"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to see here," Charlie admitted while he was reading the texts that had been added under each picture. They all listed particular details of the killings, like specifics of the murder weapon, or, under a different victim, specifics of the murder scene. It seemed rather haphazard.
"What you're seeing, my friend, is Nancy's connection to each of these eight murders. Just look, here we have the same murder weapon, here. And here, we have the same area where the murder was committed, and here, the killer gained access to the victim's apartment in the exact same manner. I could go on, but I assume you get the general picture."
"I do," Charlie said quietly, frowning, not knowing how to deal with Roy's excitement. "But… We're looking at over five dozen killings here that are designed to show little commonalities between them. So of course we can find similarities to other killings, that is to ones that have not been committed by our guy. The probability of a murder to fit none of the features we can find in either of these sixty-eight cases is quite low, in any case lower than finding similarities."
"Okay, look," Roy went on after having semi-patiently waited for Charlie to reach the end, "I can see that you're all for coincidence, which, I have to say, is a rather naive way of seeing the world given all the examples of non-coincidence that we can see all around us. Let's just take President Kennedy's murder –"
"Roy," Charlie interrupted him, knowing he had to stop his new colleague from indulging in conspiracy theories before it was too late to pull him back. "This was about Nancy Kershaw?"
"Right," Roy accepted the interruption and got back on track, obviously used to being set straight. "I just don't think it's likely we're looking at a coincidence here. Just look at the timeline!"
"I am," Charlie said. "Her murder doesn't fit into it. It's much too close to the killing of Meredith Baker."
"Who lived just two blocks from Nancy!" Roy exclaimed. "Don't you see? I bet she saw something or heard something, or maybe the killer came across her while stalking Meredith and couldn't resist getting them both!"
Charlie thought. "Actually," he said slowly, "that does seem to make sense somehow."
He wasn't sure whether to feel surprised or thankful for this new lead, but when he glanced at his watch, he realized that there wasn't much time for feelings anyway.
"Shoot, I'm sorry, I have to go. But I'm going to look into her case, thanks, Roy."
"No problem, Professor," Roy said with a wide grin and shook Charlie's hand.
When he sat in his car, Charlie paused before turning on the ignition. Roy was a strange little fellow, and Charlie didn't know what to think about the fact that within few minutes, he'd managed to convince him of an idea that had at first seemed as outlandish to him as Roy's theories about President Kennedy's murder. Maybe David and the others were right after all? Maybe this was merely an idée fixe and Charlie simply couldn't see it because he was too deep down in his obsession?
He sighed. He still didn't know what to think of this. He was so sure about his analysis, and yet, it couldn't elude him that the only person believing him was a notorious conspiracy theorist. Maybe that was what was happening to Charlie, too? Maybe that was why David had decided to bring those two crazy consultants together, because they had both lost sight of that line that divided the real world from the world of outlandish theories and imaginative stories?
He bit his lip and shook his head. As much as his pride was suffering from being regarded as the new whacko in town, he couldn't just let this go. He'd made a vow. He couldn't just abandon this and risk letting innocent people get hurt, for if he was right, he had to be thorough and uncover the truth, he couldn't risk another oversight just because he'd been too complacent. And if he was wrong… Well, in that case, there wouldn't really be any harm done other than to himself. So until someone could prove to him that he'd become insane, he had to assume that what he was seeing was the truth, and that what his math was telling him was right. For if he could no longer trust his math, then what else could he trust?
Amita paused before stepping into Charlie's office fully, reluctant to accept what her eyes were presenting to her as reality. The room that should have been the office of a tenured professor had apparently become an experimentation chamber for chaos theory, otherwise those haphazard heaps of boxes and paper couldn't be explained.
"Oh dear L-rd," she heard Larry mumble beside her as they slowly edged into the room, careful not to get caught by the garlands of witness photos and documents dangling from the ceiling.
"Charlie?" Amita asked when she saw a back through all this mess that in theory could be her boyfriend. She noticed that her voice was trembling a little, but honestly, this was getting pretty scary.
"What is all this?" she asked when her greeting got her no reaction.
"Case files," was Charlie's terse reply as he got up from his squatting position to attach a piece of paper to one of the five dozen garlands. "I had to somehow find a way to structure all the data."
Amita raised her eye-brows and took another glance around, but didn't change her verdict. This did definitely not look structured.
She cleared her throat, now more than ever certain that she and Larry needed to do what they'd come here for, and that was basically stopping Charlie from self-destruction.
"So this is all about that serial killer case?" she asked and tried to keep her voice accusation-free.
"Yes," came the brief answer.
She exchanged a glance with Larry and saw her own worry reflected in his eyes.
"I can see you, you know," Charlie caught them and Amita actually flinched a little. "But it doesn't matter anymore. So go ahead, mock me, go on whispering behind my back how crazy I am, but I just no longer care, for whether or not you think I've lost my mind, I'm going to see this through until I have all the answers. And maybe you're right and I'm wrong about this, but right now, I'm pretty sure that I'm not, and if I'm right, there's a chance we can stop someone who's already killed over sixty times. So if you want to laugh at me for being thorough, go ahead, just let me do my work in peace."
Amita bit her lip. She was well aware that Charlie hardly ever let anything go once it had caught his interest, and his words even sounded sane and rational somehow, but everything she could see was not that. This was abnormal, obsessive behavior, and Charlie needed to realize that – before he'd gone too far for them to reach him.
And luckily, she and Larry had found a promising idea how to make Charlie see his error. Whatever happened, Charlie knew that math didn't lie, so all they had to do was find the flaw in his analysis.
"Actually, we're here because we want to help you," she said after having exchanged another glance with Larry.
Charlie turned around to face them, surprise and mistrust both visible on his face. "You do?"
"Well," Larry said, "if we're indeed looking at such a high number of victims, I suppose it would be worth examining your findings."
Charlie looked at them hard as though he was trying to figure out whether they were merely messing with him, then he shrugged. "I made a back-up copy earlier, it's on the flash-drive on that box."
Amita looked around. Finding 'that box' in Charlie's office was currently no easy task.
"You can take it if you want, but I really have to go now." He put a kiss on Amita's cheek as he rushed towards the door and threw a "See you later!" over his shoulder.
"Really, Dad, I can get it," Don said and was reaching for his wallet.
"Just put that back," Alan insisted and paid the bill for their dinner. "You know I'm more than happy to still be able to give you a treat."
An added bonus was to see his eldest blush with embarrassment. "Well, okay. Thanks then, I guess." Before this could go any deeper, Don chose to divert the attention from himself. "So what exactly was Charlie's excuse for not coming?"
Alan sighed, somehow reluctant to burden Don with this, yet simultaneously realizing that Don's involvement might be exactly what was needed to get Charlie back on track. "He said he wanted to continue working on that serial killer case."
"Yeah, what's the deal with that? David said he told Charlie there is no case, why doesn't he just leave it alone?"
Alan's sole answer was a slight raise of his eye-brows, and Don realized his mistake. "Okay, I'll rephrase that: why is Charlie obsessing over a serial killer that obviously doesn't exist?"
Alan sighed again, more heavily than before. It didn't come easily to him to say this, but the truth needed to come out eventually. "I suppose I might be the one to be blamed for that."
Don frowned, and Alan could practically read the question in his eyes what his old man might have to do with Charlie's FBI consulting. "How so?"
Another sigh. "Well… When you were – you know –, your brother felt he hadn't given his all for your case, and that you had been attacked because of something he'd missed. So I… Well, I told him to get his priorities straight, and apparently, that's what he's been trying to do ever since."
"Hold on," Don said with a frown that told Alan he had some trouble believing that such a conversation had taken place, and to tell the truth, Alan now found it hard to believe as well. "What happened wasn't Charlie's fault."
"I know that –"
"And did you tell him that?"
Alan was silent, giving Don an opportunity to go on in a tone that sounded rather reproachful. "For from where I'm standing, you seem to have made it pretty clear to him that you think that this was his fault."
"I never said that, I don't think," Alan tried to justify himself, but at the same time knew that it didn't matter. He'd messed up, and he could no longer pretend that everything would work itself out on its own. He needed to finally make things right.
"You don't have to say it, you know how Charlie gets!" Don went on while they were leaving the restaurant. "You know how upset he gets when he thinks he was wrong about something, and all you did was add fuel to the flames. Remember when I got shot during that bank robbery, four years ago, and Charlie blamed himself for that? No wonder he's been avoiding me. Why did no one bother to tell me any of this?"
"Because it's my mess, not yours," Alan replied. "And you can stop patronizing me now, I'm old enough to understand when I've made a mistake. That's why I'm going to go straight to your brother to apologize, I'll just make a quick stop at the house to drop you off. Happy?"
"Just let me come with you," Don decided as they got into the car. "Given Charlie's degree of obsession, this might call for a full-blown intervention."
"Very well then," Alan gave in and started the engine.
He was feeling a little sick, and the sensation intensified the closer they came to CalSci. That conversation with Charlie… it really hadn't been his finest hour. True, he hadn't been in his right mind then, and given the fact that Charlie had never broached the subject again, Alan had thought that they both understood that whatever had been said during that time couldn't be taken seriously.
Yet, Alan knew very well that it wasn't that easy. It hadn't eluded him that Charlie had kept his distance from him ever since he'd said those words, and no matter how hard he'd tried, he'd never completely rid himself of the impression that Charlie was choosing to avoid him because he was afraid of him, because he was fearing further reproach and accusations.
Alan bit his lip. He knew he shouldn't have said that, and he knew he should at least have set the record straight afterwards. He hadn't, though, and the worst part was, he didn't even know exactly why. It was just that every time he'd rerun that moment in his head (which was more often than he would have liked), he'd told himself that maybe, he was blowing things out of proportion. Maybe Charlie had already forgotten about his words.
At heart though, Alan knew that he was clinging to false hope. He was almost certain that Charlie hadn't forgotten that moment either, and he knew just as well that the reason he still hadn't come clean was lying in the fact that he was a coward. It was as simple as that, he was just too afraid to ask for his son's forgiveness – and face the possibility of his rejection.
That, however, had to end tonight. Don was right, if Alan wanted to sort this out, if he really cared about his relationship with his son, he needed to finally put it all out in the open – no matter how madly the thought was making his heart beat.
When they arrived at CalSci, the building was dark, save for some very few illuminated windows with over-eager scientists who just didn't know when to go home. Charlie's office couldn't be seen from this side of the building, but Alan was sure there was still light there as well.
"I'm still tempted to go to his old office," Don said while they were going down the hallway towards Charlie's new office. "I tend to forget that he's moved."
"Well, what qualifies as 'moved'. Last time I checked, the place was still filled with unopened boxes."
"Because he's been obsessing over that case?"
Alan nodded. "I'm not sure he's been doing anything not FBI related ever since… you know."
Don sighed. "Great. That's a nice outlook for this conversation. Hey, Chuck?" he called then while knocking on the thick wooden door.
There was no answer, but they could see the light coming from the crack between the door and the floor.
"Good luck pulling him out of the zone," Don said with a grim smile on his lips before he opened the door.
"Whoa," the sound slipped out of his mouth then, and Alan had no trouble understanding why. The room seemed even more cramped and chaotic than last time he'd been here. "I love what you've done with –"
Don stopped abruptly, and now that they'd entered the room and their view of the couch that was almost hidden between the piles of boxes was more or less unobstructed, it became clear why.
"Oh my G-d," the words escaped Alan's throat while his eyes took in what couldn't be happening.
While he himself was rooted on the spot, Don was rushing to Charlie's side and kneeling down next to him. He was slapping his cheeks, trying to get his attention, but it was in vain. Charlie was lying on the couch with his eyes closed and a face that was so white and so immobile that it didn't seem right. There was a cold sensation coming from that face, and to Alan, it felt as though the coldness was invading his body, clutching his heart with an icy fist.
He was lying on his back, his right arm hanging down towards the floor in a slightly unnatural manner, as though it was pointing towards the box sitting there in front of the couch and serving as a table. And on that box, Alan saw something that made his stomach turn, something that his mind was racing to find another explanation for than the one that was both obvious and brutal: a half-full bottle of whiskey, an empty glass and a bottle of pills.
"Call an ambulance, he's barely breathing!" Don's alarmed voice made his head turn. While his eyes were presenting him with a sight that his mind was refusing to accept, Don giving Charlie mouth-to-mouth respiration, his son's words took a second to register.
An ambulance. He needed to call for an ambulance.
One shaky breath later, his phone was in his hands and he was dialing 911 with hands that were trembling badly. All the while, he was still watching one son fighting for the life of the other as though they were part of a different world than him, maybe acting in a movie. He couldn't deny though that those two dark heads were still his sons, so the only explanation seemed to be that the play they were starring in was the story of his life, which was showing all signs of becoming a tragedy.
Later, he hardly remembered anything of his conversation with the emergency operator, but he knew he would never forget the looks on his sons' faces, the desperation and fear on Don's, and those immobile marble features that made his youngest son look like the cold, lifeless statue, the empty shell he'd wanted to become.
His throat had closed up, making it difficult for him to breathe. In the meanwhile, his feet had taken him to his sons and now, he was standing next to Charlie's side as well. As he lowered himself on the ground, he could hear his knees creak, but he didn't feel them, for all he could feel at that moment was his heart break.
"Let me take over," he heard himself say. Then, he started to fill his son's lungs with air, all the while feeling his clammy cheeks under his fingertips.
"His pulse is still slow," Don said, and Alan heard what he'd really meant saying, too slow.
He tried to ignore him though, both his devastating words and his panting that still bespoke his latest exertion. Also Don's readiness to hand over the respiration part to him told him that he probably should have asked him sooner, especially given that Don's lungs weren't back to full working order. Once again, he was too late, he'd once again failed his responsibilities as a father, just like he'd been too late to apologize to Charlie. And now, his time had run out. Charlie had chosen he couldn't live with the guilt that Alan had assigned to him.
He had pushed his own son into taking his life.
He could feel tears burn in the corners of his eyes and his throat was closing up again, but he knew he needed to keep it working, he needed to keep breathing, he needed to hold on to his son for as long as it took to make those gruesome clutches of death release him.
Don stood on trembling legs when he saw Amita and Larry hurrying towards them, noticing that his dad was remaining in his seat, his face hidden by his hands. He's going to be fine, was all that he'd said ever since they'd arrived at the hospital, and Don wasn't sure whether he was just trying to calm them both down or actually believing his words. Then again, he knew that his dad couldn't have missed all the signs that were screaming at them that this was serious. Charlie's white face… Don shuddered. He would never forget that face, he would never forget his brother's unresponsive, clammy features for as long as he lived. And even if they were lucky, even if Charlie survived, that still didn't make what he'd done unhappen. As reluctant as Don was to accept it and as unrealistic as it felt, Charlie's actions were standing there clear as day, an unmistakable cry for help: he'd tried to kill himself. He'd been feeling guilty, he'd been feeling alone, he'd been depressed, and none of them had cared to listen until he'd taken the ultimate step.
Tried to take the ultimate step, Don corrected his thoughts, clinging to the chance they'd been given. Tried to. He's still alive, he'll come through this, and then we can work it all out.
"What happened?" Amita's voice then directed his attention towards her. He could see that both her and Larry's eyes were wide with shock, and as foggy as his mind currently was, he was still pretty sure that his account of what had happened would not make their faces lose that expression.
He was just explaining to them how they'd found his brother when the doctor he could see above Amita's and Larry's shoulders caught his eye, for he was coming straight towards them.
"Hold on," he told the two scientists and immediately turned towards the doctor, Charlie's doctor, if he wasn't mistaken, noticing from the corners of his eyes that his dad was finally lifting his head as well. "Can you tell us anything yet?"
The doctor nodded, but waited until he'd come to a halt before he spoke. "The dosage of diazepam in his body seems to be very high, and the combination with alcohol led to severe respiratory depression, so we're still using a ventilator to make sure he's getting enough oxygen. We're hopeful though that he'll be strong enough to breathe on his own once he wakes up. We were able to remove the pills by a stomach pump and gave him some flumazenil, which should make him come round shortly. Once he wakes up, we'll have to check for organ damage due to the shortage of oxygen, especially brain damage, but at this point, his physical condition is no longer life-threatening. He'll be staying in the ICU for the night, where we can monitor him closely, and you should know that for obvious reasons, we also had to restrain him. We're going to transfer him to the psychological ward some time tomorrow, as soon as his physical state allows us to do so."
Don breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes, suddenly feeling weak. "Thank you," he said to the doctor, forcing himself to keep his attention on the present and on the good news, on the fact that these people had just saved Charlie's life. All the other questions would have to be addressed later.
For the moment, there was only one question to be asked. "Can we see him?"
With dismay, Don watched the doctor shake his head. "I'm afraid not, at least not now. As soon as he wakes up, we'll need to take his patient history, and before we'll have done that, Charlie shouldn't be talking to any of you. In the meanwhile, I'd like to talk to you, too, about Charlie's condition before the attempt."
For a moment, Don was shell-shocked. This was reminding him a lot of work, they were separating the suspects, as though they were looking at a crime.
And technically, this was about attempted murder.
"I'm sure you'll understand that making sure we can give Charlie the help that he needs is our foremost priority," the doctor went on, "and for that, we have to gain a clear view on what has brought this situation about."
"We understand," his dad said with a graveness in his voice that was tugging at Don's heart. He was standing now, and more than that, he was showing a readiness to take over responsibility again, despite the fact that he still didn't exude his usual strength. "I'm going to take care of this," he told Don before he went with the doctor. In the moment before he turned around though, Don caught a glimpse of his eyes, and what he saw made him flinch. There was a chagrin in them, a sorrow so deep that to Don, it felt as though his heart was being torn in two merely from looking at it.
Don followed him with his eyes, not sure how to feel about what he was seeing. His dad had been really quiet this whole time, and Don had no trouble guessing the reason. Ever since they'd left the restaurant, his father had been pondering over something, and given their conversation before they'd left, there was hardly any doubt that his dad was beating himself up over what he'd said to Charlie.
He shook his head slightly. If his job had taught him one thing, it was that death, whether self-inflicted or not, was never that simple. There had to have been more going on than one upsetting conversation to make his brother take such severe steps.
More things that Don had neglected to see.
"Don," Amita's voice sounded next to him as soon as the doctor had left. He turned his head to face her, surprised by the urgency in her tone. Her eyes were brimming with tears and her voice was a little choked, but other than that, her whole demeanor was telling a different story. "Charlie didn't do this," she told him with a resoluteness that maybe Don might have felt too few hours ago, before he'd found himself giving his little brother mouth-to-mouth respiration.
"Look," he said and lightly touched her arm in a futile attempt to lead her towards the chairs at the wall. "I know it's difficult to understand –"
"He didn't do it, Don," Amita insisted. "I know he was depressed and feeling guilty lately, but as much as he was worried about you, he was also really worried about your dad, and I won't believe he'd willingly put him through such an experience again."
Don moistened his lips, not sure what to say. He could understand her distress – damn it, he was feeling her distress. Imagining that his little brother would do something like this went against every fiber in his body, but as reluctant as his mind was to accept the idea, how could it discard the evidence?
"I think Amita might be right," Larry cautiously threw in. His voice, too, was trembling a little, and his complexion showed that he was still rattled by the latest events, but then again, weren't they all?
"We took the liberty of conducting some sort of peer review of his analysis, and from what we found, I think it's safe to assume that Charles was right about this serial killer."
Don frowned. "Are you sure?"
"We couldn't find any inconsistencies," Amita chimed in again. "His work was sound, so he's not going crazy."
Don was shaking his head and biting his lip, not knowing what to think about this. "Amita, even if he was right… I mean, if you can give me any other explanation for what happened, I'll gladly take it, but the fact is that he did take those pills, and I think we both know that Charlie's smart enough to know not to mix them with alcohol."
"Right, didn't you say it was whiskey? When did you last see Charlie drink whiskey?"
Don paused. Amita was right, Charlie had never been particularly fond of whiskey. Don had been surprised too, but hadn't thought about it much. Maybe Charlie had just been looking for something strong, and that bottle of whiskey had been the first thing to fall into his hands.
"I think that serial killer is responsible," Amita said, and Don had to admit that despite his resoluteness of upholding his caution, he was becoming intrigued. Maybe there was still a chance after all, a solution that didn't imply what Don had been fearing to be the cold, hard truth?
"Charlie gave us a copy of his findings earlier today, because we wanted to prove to him that he was wrong. But it turned out he was right all along, and we were just about to tell him that when you called me, but even though he may have been doubting himself after that case with Radovic, he knew he was right, and I knew he wouldn't have given up on this, not when he knew that Larry and I were looking at this case as well and when he hoped we would corroborate his findings."
Don licked his lips. He wanted to believe what Amita said, he did, but he just couldn't dismiss the evidence. "I didn't see anything to suggest that someone forced those pills on him –"
"But he's done this before!" Amita interrupted him. "One of the cases that Charlie linked to this serial killer has been a suicide with almost the exact same setup, also diazepam combined with alcohol. It was made to look like a suicide, but it fits perfectly within the timeline that Charlie established for the serial killings."
Don sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He wanted to believe Charlie's friends, he did, but he also knew that he couldn't allow himself to be blindsided by giving in to a false hope. For if Amita and Larry were wrong, then Charlie needed help, badly, and Don knew he couldn't risk giving his brother an opportunity to make another attempt on his life.
Eventually, he made a decision. "How about we simply ask Charlie himself. They said he's gonna wake up sooner or later anyway, right?"
While Charlie was regaining consciousness, he had the distinct sensation of being estranged from the world, as if there was a thick glass wall between him and reality. Everything seemed foggy, and a bit slower than usual, as though someone was playing the events at half-speed. Besides, everything was white, and that in a glaring way that was hurting his eyes.
"Can you hear me; Mr. Eppes?" a woman was saying, telling him a name and a hospital he instantly forgot. What he didn't forget was her presence though, there was someone here, there was someone here he could ask for help. For he knew, he needed help. He just wasn't sure why.
He forced himself to leave his eyes open, trying to get that wavering shadow into focus that had to belong to the voice, and after a couple of seconds, he succeeded.
"I want you to understand that we are here to help you, Mr. Eppes, and that all measures that we're taking are in your best interest. Do you understand that?"
"Um..." Charlie started, not really knowing what she was talking about. However, the part about helping him sounded good. "Okay."
The words, if you could call them that, came out slurry, which seemed somehow weird, but on the other hand fitted the general picture of his current situation remarkably well.
"Good," the woman said. By now, she had gotten clearer contours and Charlie could see that she had to be in her fifties. She had dark, rather short hair and plain glasses that gave her a very strict, efficient appearance that somehow reminded him of his third grade English teacher. "Then I'm sure you'll understand that your visitors will have to stay outside for another bit until we're done talking. So, how long have you been considering suicide?"
Charlie frowned, not sure he'd heard right. Had she just implied he'd tried to commit suicide? "What? I've never –" He broke off, registering only now what had been nagging at his brain: there was something wrong with his arms. They were heavy, he couldn't lift them, and now that he looked down, he could see that they were restrained to the side rails. He was strapped down to this bed.
Then, the memories were coming back to him with a blow that kicked the air out of his lungs. "Oh my… I need to call someone! I need to call my brother, or a friend, or my girlfriend, anybody!" He noticed his breathing had accelerated. He tried to remain calm, but it wasn't that easy. He needed to tell someone about what had happened. True, Don was still off-duty, but he could still call David, or Amita, for he somehow needed to let David know that he'd been right about that serial killer, that there was a mad psychopath out there somewhere ready to strike again.
"As I just said, there will be time for all that later when we're done with your history."
"What history?" Charlie exclaimed, failing to adhere to his plan of remaining calm.
"Look, Mr. Eppes, an attempt like this doesn't just happen out of the blue, so it's not the beginning of our journey, but neither can it be the end. So in order to figure out where we can go from here, we need to obtain some clarity about when and where your suicidal tendencies started."
Charlie opened his mouth to protest, but had to realize he hadn't understood any of that. True, his mind was still rather foggy, but he was also inclined to think that it was this English teacher substitute that wasn't making a lot of sense, as she never had. "What journey? There is no journey here, this is all a misunderstanding!"
The woman sighed heavily. "Alright. So why don't you tell me your side of the story?"
Charlie felt his irritation grow. He knew this haughty demeanor, he could tell that she didn't believe him a word he was saying. Well, she'd soon have to change her mind. "I didn't take those pills voluntarily," he started, fighting to keep his speech clear, which was a bit of a challenge, since he was still feeling the effects of the pills. "I've been investigating a serial killer, and tonight, while I was working on that case in my office, he showed up and forced me to take the sleeping pills and the whiskey, and I did, because he had a gun. I'm not very clear of what happened then, I got really drowsy, but I know that he stayed, so I couldn't call for help, and I… I think he had some sort of cloth in his hand, I think he was planning on suffocating me if the pills and the alcohol didn't do the trick."
He was finished then, but realized that he couldn't have gone on even if he had wanted to. His throat had closed up, the realization dawning on him: he should have been dead now. That guy had tried to kill him, and if everything had gone right in his plan, Charlie wouldn't be here. He had no idea where he would be, or if he would be, but he definitely wouldn't be here.
The thought made him shiver. He was feeling sick, too, and he doubted that the pills and the whiskey were the only reason for that.
His shock gave the woman at his bedside an opportunity to make some notes on the clipboard in her hands before she looked up at him again, the strict expression never leaving her face. "I think this is all we need to know for now. You'll be staying here over night so we can monitor you closely and make sure that you don't show any belated reaction to the drugs, and we'll be transferring you to the psychological ward tomorrow, provided your bodily state allows for that. As of tonight, we'll have to make sure that you have no opportunity of harming yourself, so we'll have to keep you restrained."
"What?!" Charlie asked, aghast. "You can't do that! Didn't you hear what I just said, there's a killer on the loose! I have to tell the FBI, you need to let me go!"
"Look, son," the woman said, but somehow it didn't sound very endearing. "This is how it's going to work tonight. Tomorrow, you'll be talking to a psychiatrist and you can tell him everything that's on your mind. You just need to trust us that we want to help you, and that everything will get settled eventually, with or without the help of the CIA."
"I never said anything about the CIA, this is about an FBI case –"
"You just try and get some rest now, you still look like you need it."
"Wait!" Charlie called after her, but she didn't so much as turn around before she left the room.
Don felt his heart flutter as he watched the woman come towards them. He stood, but his legs didn't feel like they would hold him for very long. Despite everything he knew, despite how rational everything sounded that Amita and Larry had said, there was still some small bastion of doubt left in his mind, and he knew he couldn't let go of that, not if being wrong about this might cost Charlie's life.
As the woman came nearer, Don felt himself reminded of one of his grade school teachers, Mrs Tucker, but since it wasn't a very fond memory, he tried not to think about that. Mrs Tucker introduced herself as one Dr. Hilary Upton, one of the hospital's psychological analysts. Then, she finally came to the point, letting her words do justice to the grim expression on her face, which, to tell the truth, Don had hoped to be merely a doctor's disease.
"I'm sorry," Dr. Upton said, but it sounded more like a pleasantry than a revelation of her feelings. "But as of now, Charlie is still highly disturbed and not ready to face his actions. He's using denial as a coping mechanism, and while that might help to make him feel better in the short run, it bears a high risk of repeating the behavior that got him here, and I think we can all agree that we do not want a repetition of that. That's why I cannot advise for him to leave this facility anytime soon, and I also have to say that I have to strongly advise against visitors in his current state. What Charlie needs most right now is some quiet to think about his actions, so you would help him most by giving him some space. You may talk to him tomorrow."
Don noticed Amita beside him take a breath, so he hastened to take the floor. If Dr. Upton was anything like Mrs Tucker, they needed to give her the feeling that she was getting what she wanted if they wanted to reach their own goal. "We understand," he assured her. "It's just… we've come to realize that we haven't been very supportive, and we'd just like to make it clear to Charlie that we'll be there for him throughout this, no matter what."
Dr. Upton grimaced, but Don knew that face. It was showing reluctance, but only to make him grovel further. "Please. It would really mean a lot to us if we could see him for just a couple of minutes. And I'm sure Charlie will be much more ready to seek help once he realizes we'll be standing by him through all this."
She sighed. "Alright. After all, he has been asking for his brother and his girlfriend, I assume that's the two of you, so it might actually help to calm him down a little to see you. But again, you are not to upset him, and I'll have to ask you to leave within the hour."
"Thank you," Don said simply, thinking that they could still argue further later, once they had a foot in the door.
"I'll wait here to inform Alan," Larry offered and Don gave him a thankful glance before he and Amita followed Dr. Upton to Charlie's room. He could sense Amita's anger as they were walking side by side, but at least she was keeping quiet for as long as Dr. Upton was still with them.
Only when she left them, directly in front of Charlie's room, did she break her silence. "What was that?" she hissed with irritation in her voice.
"We got what we wanted, didn't we?" Don gave back under his breath, still apprehensive of being overheard by Dr. Upton. Now that he was standing in front of his little brother's hospital room though, that was no longer the only thing he was apprehensive about.
Charlie was trying to control his breathing, trying to calm down. He just needed to be calm when the woman - or anyone else, for that matter - returned, and then, everything would get sorted out. He just needed to stay calm, he couldn't give them a reason to think he was mentally unstable.
On the other hand, that was what they were thinking about him already, and that put his problem to a whole new level: how was he supposed to convince them he was sane when they didn't believe a word he was saying?
The thought made his throat constrict, but despite everything, his hope was resuscitated then: there was a knock at the door, and shortly after, the door handle was moving down. Only a second later, when the two visitors carefully entered, he felt himself flooded with relief.
"Amita, Don! Oh boy, I'm so happy to see you guys!"
"How are you feeling?" Amita asked as she swiftly rounded the bed to sit down at his side. When she took his hand, however, Charlie noticed a certain reserve, which might very well stem from the fact that his wrists were still tied to the bed.
"Okay, I guess, given the circumstances," Charlie replied, but had some trouble concentrating. Don was still standing at the end of his bed, at a safe distance, as though Charlie was contagious. "But you need to get me out of here. These people seem to think I'm some kind of whack job. I mean, look at what they did to me!" he exclaimed, giving the restraints a meaningful glance.
"And why do you think are they doing that?" Don asked quietly. He was still standing at the end of Charlie's bed, his arms crossed before his chest and an expression on his face… Charlie didn't quite know what to think of it. It was dead serious and seemed somehow strict, but that didn't make any sense, did it? Because Charlie hadn't done anything to deserve his brother's anger, right?
Unless, of course, Don thought that –
"You don't think I did this," Charlie said, letting his gaze shift from his brother to Amita and back. Suddenly, he was scared. If not even the two people closest to him believed him, then how would he ever be able to convince anyone, how would he ever get his freedom back?
"You tell me," Don said, and Charlie felt a lump in his throat that he was trying to make disappear by morphing his despair into anger, but the resulting emotion was still stuck somewhere in between.
"I didn't do it! I was forced to take those pills!" He felt the despair inside him grow, like a deadly sickness crawling into every fiber of his body. "I would never do something like that! You know that! Why don't you believe me?"
His voice almost broke at his last words, but before the despair could take over completely, he felt a squeeze of his hand. He turned his head, looking right into Amita's eyes, and for a moment, the despair stopped its spreading. Those eyes told him everything he needed to know: Amita believed him.
Which seemed to leave his brother, but if Charlie could trust his senses, Don too didn't seem as hostile anymore, the expression on his face had changed to something softer, something less strict.
"I'm sorry, Charlie," Don said and finally closed the distance between them, sitting down at Charlie's other side. "I just had to make sure."
"Make sure?" Charlie exclaimed with his voice cracking and would have liked to withdraw his hand from under Don's light touch, but he was still confined to this prison. "How could you think even for a second that I would do something like that? You know I would never do that, I would never do that to Dad!"
Don, too, was getting upset. "Look, I just didn't want to take any chances, okay? Not that long ago, I thought you were dead and we tried to resuscitate you, so excuse me if I don't want to risk a repetition of that!"
The words hit their mark and Charlie was silent, trying to get the images and thoughts of that parallel universe out of his head, the one in which he hadn't been so lucky. He swallowed and took a deep, yet still shaky breath, trying to win his calm back and do what needed to be done. They believed him, that was the important thing, so now, he could finally tell somebody about this, somebody who would listen.
"It was that serial killer I've been investigating," he eventually said, but had to realize that his voice was still trembling badly. At the same time, he felt tired of having to repeat those scary moments. "He came to my office, he told me I had come too close and he forced me to take those pills. He had a gun, so I figured I still had a better chance of survival by taking the pills."
"What happened after you took them?" Don asked, but Charlie noticed that he'd abandoned his role as an agent. Now, it was his brother sitting at his bedside, and Charlie would have never thought how emotional that would render him. He hadn't realized it before, but he was safe now. Someone had tried to kill him, but he hadn't succeeded, and now, it was all going to work out, for he wasn't alone in this anymore, he was safe.
He closed his eyes, trying to level himself. "I'm not sure," he said, shaking his head slightly, but immediately abandoning the attempt. His head was killing him, and he wasn't sure whether it was the effect of the sleeping medication, the alcohol or whatever medication the hospital had given him. "It's all a blur after that. He made me drink the whiskey and I remember I tried to stay awake, but it was getting harder with every second. I remember I was waiting for him to leave so I could call for help, but he didn't. I can't be sure, but I think he wanted to stay until I was dead, and help it along if necessary."
He stopped. He couldn't go on, his mouth was dry.
"Can you describe him?" Don asked.
Charlie grimaced. "Theoretically, yes. But I think he may have been wearing a disguise. His mustache seemed a little off and I'm not sure whether or not he was wearing a wig. He had glasses, too, and I'm not sure whether or not they had any strength."
"In any case, I'm gonna try to get a sketch artist in here as soon as possible, while your memory is still fresh. But now I guess you should try and take a nap, you look ready to drop. I'll try to have a talk with your doctors though to get these restraints removed."
Charlie tried to smile to convey his thanks, but the jittery feeling in his stomach made that impossible. "There's… one more thing," he said, but didn't quite know how to go on. "He's… There's..."
He broke off and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. It's okay, he told himself. He was alive and he was safe. For now, at least. Well, relatively safe, considering.
"What's wrong, Charlie?" Don pressed, and Charlie noticed that Amita too had strengthened the grip of her hand.
Charlie swallowed thickly while laying out the words before him in his mind to avoid further stammers. "I'm scared."
Damn. He hadn't planned to be so blunt. However, it was too late to pull back now.
"Of what?" Don asked with that intense look in his eyes that told Charlie that he would move heaven and earth if necessary. And in a way, that was what Charlie was counting on.
"Roy, the, uh, the free-lance consultant I've been working with, he pointed out some other killings that our guy may have committed," he finally started at the beginning. "I was skeptical at first, but then I checked them out and… I think he's right. I think that our killer murdered those people because they'd gotten too close to discovering what he was doing, so he got rid of them before they could tell anyone about what they knew."
He could feel that his mouth was dry, the words were scratching in his throat, and he swallowed again, not knowing how to go on.
"So now you're worried he might come back and try again?" Don concluded and Charlie refrained from swallowing again, for he was getting sick of it, literally. He knew it was stupid, he knew that there was a good chance that the killer might move again, like he'd done before. Or maybe he wasn't afraid of Charlie's testimony, because he thought that his disguise had masked his identity. Then again, he knew that Charlie was onto him, and he had already tried once to do away with him, so what was stopping him from trying a second time?
"I agree," Don said, thereby stopping Charlie's musings whether being afraid of a second attack was a way of taking rational precautions or just plain paranoia. And, Don being Don, he went one step further in calming Charlie down. "For tonight, I'm going to stay here as your protection, but I'm going to make sure tomorrow we'll find some official solution to keep you safe."
Charlie frowned. True, it was good to hear that nothing was going to happen to him tonight, but that still left a whole lot to be worried about. They were talking about a killer who had remained undetected for years, and even though Charlie had started to uncover his deeds, he didn't feel as though he'd actually come close to figuring out his identity. And even if they figured out their guy's identity, evidence suggested that he'd changed that before, so he might do it again. And then, what would Charlie do? He couldn't just get protection indefinitely, right?
No, there had to be another way, and he already had an idea. He just wasn't sure whether it was a viable plan, or one that was downright crazy. Still, when he was facing the options of either an indefinite amount of time in witness protection or becoming victim number sixty-nine, he figured that thinking a little outside the box wasn't the worst thing they could do.
Now he only needed to convince his brother.
David stopped before opening the doors to the stairwell when he saw Colby's car enter the parking garage. He waited until his partner had swiftly parked his car few yards next to him and gotten out.
"Have you figured out by now what happened?" Colby was asking him while he was still getting out of the vehicle. The expression on his face was tense and alert, two emotions that had gotten a hold of David as well. "Why are we meeting Don in a hospital?"
"Let's go find out," was all that David said before he and Colby made their way upstairs to the room Don had directed them to. The fact that it was located in the intensive care unit didn't do anything to alleviate their concerns.
When they opened the door though, they were in for a surprise, for the person lying in the bed and hooked up to the monitor wasn't Don, but Charlie.
"What the hell is going on here?" Colby blurted out as a way of greeting, while David was trying to gauge how bad things stood. Charlie was looking pale, true, but he seemed alert enough, and David couldn't detect any outward injuries.
"Our phantom serial killer tried to kill Charlie earlier tonight," Don said as if he was talking about the weather, but even with the shock his words induced, David could tell that he was much more shaken up by what had happened than he was trying to let on.
"Wait, what?" Colby voiced David's confusion.
"He came to my office earlier," Charlie took over. "He told me how I had come too close and interfered with his business and then he forced me at gunpoint to take some sleeping pills and alcohol. Apparently Don and my dad found me and called an ambulance."
David exchanged a glance with his partner and was confronted with an expression that he'd rarely seen on Colby: shock.
"I'm fine," Charlie added into the silence that had ensued his last words. "It's just been a little exhausting to convince everyone that I'm not trying to kill myself."
"I still don't get it," Colby said, and David had to admit, he was feeling some awe for him. He himself still hadn't regained his ability of forming words. "How did he find out about your involvement? And where did he go after he drugged you, he just left and hoped his plan would work?"
"I assume he heard my dad and I talk in the hallway and found a place to hide in Charlie's office before we came in."
David could see how hard it had been for Don to utter those words, but apparently, Colby was missing the chagrin in his eyes, for he went on, "But wouldn't you have seen him?"
"I was otherwise occupied, okay?" Don snapped.
Colby, realizing his mistake, held up his hands apologetically. "Right, sorry."
David cleared his throat and tried to gloss over the awkward moment by returning to the question that seemed most pressing now. "What do you want us to do?"
Don sighed and bit his lip, and David could see that he wasn't comfortable with this at all. Maybe that was why he started by beating around the bush. "You know I can't order you to do anything, not as long as I'm still off duty. Plus, we're not officially on this case, so we're kind of in a gray area here."
"Just cut to the chase, boss," Colby said, apparently deliberately softening his insubordinate words by the use of Don's title.
It worked. "We're afraid he might try again," Don went on. "But we also suspect he may be watching us and wait for me and my Dad to leave before he dares coming back to finish the job. His behavior so far suggests that he's diligent and ready to tie up loose ends, so..." He swallowed and closed his eyes, and his next words made it clear why, for this was a decision that obviously hadn't come easy to him. "So it seems most sensible that I leave along with my dad to lure him out of his hiding. Otherwise he might strike at a later time or in a way that we're not prepared for. So the reason that I called you here…" He paused again, then looked them directly in the eye, a dead serious expression on his face. "I need you to make sure that nothing's going to happen to Charlie. If our guy really decides to attack tonight, you need to stop him and apprehend him. Am I making myself clear?"
David nodded and felt Colby's mirrored movements next to him. "Crystal clear," he said.
Don nodded, apparently their reaction had put his mind at ease at least a little. "Good." He hesitated, then said, "You guys realize I'm trusting you with Charlie's life here, right?"
"We know, Don," David stated clearly. "Trust us, we know the stakes."
"I'm sorry," Charlie said as soon as Don taken his leave. "He's been a little over-protective tonight."
"Well," Colby said, "I'm not sure I'd want to call it overprotective seeing that someone just tried to kill you."
Charlie swallowed. Yes, Colby had a point there.
"Anyway, how are you feeling?" Colby went on.
Charlie shrugged. The true answer was 'miserable', but he didn't want to sound too whiny. "Mostly tired," he said instead. "Those pills are still working somehow."
"Listen, if you want to take a nap, don't mind us. You can rest assured that we won't let anyone get too close to you."
Charlie felt himself blush. "Thanks," he said and cleared his throat. "I'm not sure though I could sleep even if I wanted to, waiting for someone to kill me isn't all that relaxing."
He heard Colby's soft chuckle. "I hear that."
"We should keep quiet," David tersely interrupted their conversation. "If our guy really decides to show up tonight, we don't want to scare him away by making our presence known."
Put in place like that, Charlie didn't dare making another sound and resigned to waiting. At first, the tension was barely tolerable and he thought he just had to get up and find another position, something that didn't make him feel as vulnerable as lying in bed. At least Don and Amita had managed to convince the hospital personnel to take away the restraints, otherwise he probably wouldn't have been able to bear lying there as bait. He had to admit though that with David and Colby there, he was feeling rather safe. They were both staying hidden, David between his bed and the window and Colby in a recess near the door, so if their killer did indeed show up, there was hardly any chance that he'd be able to get away – or hurt anyone.
The feeling of safety made Charlie lose his tension the more minutes passed without anything happening, and with every minute passing, he was strengthened in his belief that he'd probably been wrong about this. Their killer wouldn't risk gaining access to a hospital, to the ICU no less. At this time of night, he'd have to pull some serious tricks to make that happen. True, given what they knew, it wouldn't be the first time for him to go through such lengths, but the more time passed and the heavier his eye-lids were getting, the more Charlie doubted that anything was going to happen tonight. He was just sorry that they'd had dragged David and Colby out here for nothing.
Then, there was a sound at the door, and when Charlie had gotten his bearings, he had to realize that it was already open. Damn, he'd actually dozed off for a second!
Now, however, sleep was about the farthest thing from his mind. His heart was beating like crazy while he was trying to get a better glimpse of the person gaining access to his room. So far, he'd only been able to see his outline, and he could tell that the person was wearing a white coat, but he knew that didn't have to mean anything. At any rate, he was aware that the clothes were much less suggestive than the fact that this man was entering his room in the middle of the night.
The light was switched on and while he heard the door close shut, Charlie squinted against the bright light. "What are you doing here?" he asked, still not sure whether this man was a real doctor or someone with an agenda very much opposed to saving people's lives.
"I was sorry to hear that the medication you ingested earlier did not have the desired effect," the man said, and Charlie felt a shudder run down his spine. That was him, there was no doubt about it, and even if he hadn't recognized his voice, he'd be on his guard now that the man was slowly drawing nearer, retrieving a gun from under his white coat.
"Stay away from me!" Charlie cried out and jerked back, pulling up his feet to his upper body as though that would offer him protection. Before he'd had time to find an escape route though, David was jumping up from his hiding-place, his gun at the ready.
"Stay right there, don't move! I'm with the FBI, and you're under arrest for attempted murder. Lay down your gun, and do it slowly!"
Before the doctor-imposter had even started moving, Colby came out from his hiding-place as well.
"And don't even think about running," he said with a growl.
The perpetrator took in the situation and realized that he had lost, at least this battle. However, he didn't seem ready to accept defeat in the war just yet. "What is this about?" he asked with a fairly convincing air of indignation. "Did you say FBI?"
"We did," Colby said. "Now lower the gun, and don't make us order you again."
"I can assure you, this is all a big misunderstanding," the man said, but actually complied with the task.
"Misunderstanding, huh?" Colby said, unbelieving, before he turned to Charlie. "Is this him?"
Charlie nodded. "Most definitely," he said and had to realize that his voice sounded rather croaky. But damn it, it didn't happen every day that someone tried to kill you. Twice.
The door whooshed open then just as David was putting cuffs on their perp.
"You boys got everything under control?" Nikki asked while her sharp eyes were taking in the room and everything it held. She edged in, her weapon held out before her, with Liz not even half a step behind.
"Yeah, we got him," Colby replied while David was searching him for further weapons. He didn't find any, but from the back pocket of his trousers, he removed a wallet. "According to his ID, he's one Robert Posdner." He looked up at Charlie quizzically.
Charlie took the hint, frowning. "I came across the name somewhere, but I'm not sure..." Then, his memory clicked. "I left him a message earlier today, I wanted to talk to him about Nancy Kershaw's murder."
He saw the agents exchange a glance that told him all too clearly that making that call hadn't been one of his smarter ideas. Thankfully though, Colby glossed over the awkward moment by redirecting everyone's attention to the bad guy as he and David roughly pulled the him to his feet. "Anyway, what's it going to be, Betancourt, you wanna drive or you wanna take care of our little friend here?"
"And subject us all to your driving? Just give me the keys, Granger," Nikki gave back.
"Will you be alright, Charlie?" Liz then asked him, ignoring her colleagues' banter.
"Sure," Charlie said, but was still trying to understand what was happening. "I'm still confused as to what you guys are doing here, though, I thought Don and I agreed it wouldn't make sense for you to come here as well on a mere hunch?"
"Well, let's just say we've learned to work as a team even without Don's orders," Liz replied with a cocky little smile. "But I guess it's time now to give you some rest. You have to promise though you're gonna lose that grayish tint before next time we see you."
Charlie smiled and even felt gray while his eye-lids were growing heavy. "Done," he said.
"I'm calling Don," Colby said. "I guess he'll want to show up some time during the interrogation."
"You guys go ahead," David said to the rest of the team, "I'll be there in a minute."
When the team left with get-well wishes thrown over their shoulders, Charlie felt the tension leave his body as though someone had pulled the plug, leaving him with no energy whatsoever. All he wanted to do was sleep, and he wondered what was so important that David had to talk to him about that it couldn't wait until morning.
"Look, Charlie," David started when the door had closed behind him. To Charlie's surprise, he exuded nervousness, he was still standing near the door and only very carefully coming closer to his bed. "I don't really know how to say this. I'm just… I'm really sorry."
Charlie was frowning. "You mean for saving my life? Maybe I should just wear a sign around my neck that says 'I do not want to kill myself'."
He'd tried it as a joke, but David's face remained dead serious. "You know exactly what I mean, Charlie. I should have believed in you. But I didn't, and you almost died because of that."
Charlie shrugged, but had some difficulty acting as unconcerned as he was trying to appear. The thought of how things would have turned out if Don and his dad hadn't shown up when they did was still making him shudder, but that wasn't everything that was weighing on his mind. For as much as he would have liked David to believe him, he couldn't very well blame him for not trusting him blindly. "It's not like I've never been wrong before," he said quietly, but at least managed to ban the tremble from his voice.
David raised his eye-brows and tilted his head. "Well, maybe not never, but I have to say, I'm having some trouble remembering a case where you were actually wrong. I should have gone by… balance of probabilities, that's what your people call it, right?"
Charlie gave him a lenient smile. "Actually, no, we don't." He hesitated, but when he saw that David was really taking this to heart, he forced himself to go on, "All I'm saying is that I get it that you would have been a little skeptical. I mean, of course I would have preferred you believing me over considering me some kind of mental case, but I guess my theory did sound a little far-fetched."
And besides, Charlie thought to himself, he'd just come from committing the biggest blunder in his history of FBI consulting.
"Still," David went on, "I'd just like to turn back time and do it all differently."
Charlie smiled, but felt like crying. You and me both, he thought. "No hard feelings," he squeezed past the lump in his throat and was relieved when David finally took his leave.
He needed to be alone.
Charlie had raised the backrest of his bed as high as it went, but was still fighting to keep his eyes open. It was morning now, and pending the newest test results that should be done before noon, he'd be allowed to go home, and he was definitely looking forward to that. As tired as he was – the events of the past night contributing to his exhaustion just as much as the residues of the chemical substances still floating around in his body – he still couldn't seem to get any rest in this facility, and he was longing for the comfort of home.
"I'm just so sorry," Amita said and pressed his hand.
Charlie closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on what to say, for he knew he had to say it right. True, during the last couple of days, while everybody had considered him obsessed or deranged or worse, he'd planned to rub it in once they would have found he'd been right all along. But now that the truth had indeed fallen on his side, he was getting much less satisfaction out of it than he'd anticipated. This was at least the third time that Amita was apologizing to him, and while initially, that was before last night, Charlie had planned to let her grovel a little for his forgiveness, he was now tired of hearing those words from her. He just couldn't bear seeing that pinched look on her face any longer, but until now, his show of forgiveness obviously hadn't been very effective, so he needed to find something that was.
"Look, I'm not even sure things would have happened differently if you had believed me," he tried a different approach. "If anything, you might have become a target of his as well, so in a way, I'm glad you considered all this a waste of time."
The door opened then, Don sticking his head in. "Mind if I come in?" he asked with an amount of consideration that Charlie wasn't used to experience from his big brother.
"Not at all," Charlie replied and lifted the corners of his mouth to a smile. And it was good to see Don, he just didn't really have the energy to let that show on his face.
"I should probably go," Amita then said and stood.
With a jolt, Charlie was alert. "What? Why?" He was looking back and forth between his girlfriend and his brother, trying to detect whether there was for some reason animosity between them. What he thought he saw, however, was quite the opposite, they seemed to be acting on a common understanding, and the worst part was that Charlie had no idea what that was about.
"I'll be back later," Amita said softly and put a tender kiss on his lips.
"Thanks," Don told her when she left the room, and that was when Charlie tore his gaze away from her, focusing on his brother instead.
He swallowed, despite himself. "Am I in trouble here?" he asked, still wondering what this was all about.
Don's mouth twitched to a smile. "No, buddy, you finally got out of trouble. Seriously though, how are you feeling?"
"Well, tired" Charlie said with a shrug, before he chose to go for a little more honesty. Maybe Don's intervention or whatever this was wouldn't be as bad when he understood that Charlie still wasn't fit to fight back. "Pretty sick, actually. But since my brush with death has been much less dramatic than yours, I guess I can't complain."
Don was looking at him, his face immobile. "You know there's nothing funny about this."
Charlie cast down his eyes. Yeah, he knew that. On the other hand, thinking of how close he'd come to die wasn't a very pleasant undertaking. And yet, here he was, his thoughts taking a direction of their own.
"So it seems like you and Dad saved my life last night," he said in a low voice, looking intently down at his fingers that were fidgeting with his bedclothes.
"Yeah."
Charlie waited, but that was all that Don chose to say to that. He swallowed again, not knowing how to phrase this. "Thanks," he mumbled eventually, but knew at the same time that the word alone meant nothing.
They were silent for almost a minute before Don started to talk again. "So, seems like you actually found yourself a serial killer. By the way, Posdner almost seems to have been waiting to get caught, he's singing like a bird. I don't think there will be any problem in convicting him for what he did."
"Good," Charlie said simply, not knowing how to take Don's words. As glad as he was that his brother was here, this was somehow awkward, and there was something about his tone that made him keep his guard up. At his brother's next words, it became apparent that his mistrust had been justified.
"You know though that being as obsessive as you've been about this case usually doesn't pay off, right?"
Charlie shrugged, but felt his feeling of uneasiness increasing. "It did this time, didn't it?"
"Yeah, but at what cost? Face it Charlie, what you did was reckless, you almost ended up dead. You can't just start an investigation on your own."
Charlie shrugged again, but had to realize that the fidgeting of his fingers had become worse and more cramped up. "What can I say? You all thought I was wrong, so I had to prove to you that I wasn't. You know how I don't like being wrong."
His last words got him a wry smile from his brother. "Trust me, I know." He hesitated, but Charlie sensed there was more to come, that this was in fact what Don had come here for. "That's the thing, though. You'll have to learn sooner or later that we're all wrong every once in a while, we all have to accept that."
Charlie was silent, looking at his bedclothes, but only seeing Don, on life support. Somehow, his brother had managed to change the topic, and Charlie didn't like where this was going at all.
"Besides," Don went on, "you haven't really been wrong technically, it was merely an oversight."
Charlie blinked, fighting to get the words out. "One that almost got you killed."
His sight had become blurry and he blinked faster, trying to regain control over his emotions. Still, he more felt than saw Don lightly touching his leg. He felt him lean in closer to him, trying to establish eye-contact, but Charlie couldn't look at him, not now when his guilt was crushing him like a giant rock, burying him deep into the ground.
"Charlie," Don started, and Charlie felt his touch become a little tighter. "I need you to understand that this wasn't your fault. Mistakes like that, they just happen. You can't hope to be right all the time."
"But I can't allow myself to be wrong either," Charlie gave back, noticing his voice had become husky, "not when it might cost someone's life."
Don shook his head. "You'll have to, just like the rest of us," he said quietly before Charlie thought he could hear a teasing note in his tone, something that didn't belong there, so he looked up after all and indeed found the teasing glimmer in Don's eyes as well. "Despite appearances, you're not perfect, and you're still human."
Charlie was silent for a moment, not wanting to say what he knew that he needed to say. "But if… If I had just set my priorities straight –"
"No," Don interrupted him. "Don't go there. Look, I may not always act as though I understand, but your job is important, too. You're teaching the new elite, and who knows what they'll do with the knowledge they get from you, and at the same time you're developing ground-braking theories that might have a real impact on the world. And I know you, buddy, I know you're diligent with everything you do, and that's why I trust you with my life on a daily basis."
Charlie was on the verge of crying now, but still fought to keep the tears at bay, which made his voice sound raucous, like that of a fragile old man. "I think it's pretty clear by now that you shouldn't have done that."
"You did what I asked you to do," Don stated very clearly. "None of us was aware of that fifth man, it's an oversight that we are all accountable for, if anyone. And you can be as diligent as you want, you can't always cover all the angles and explore all possibilities, otherwise we'd never get any results. You have to find the right balance between diligence and efficiency, and that's what you've been doing for us for years now. And now that you weren't 150 per cent right – well, I can't say it's the worst thing that could have happened. A small mistake once in a while can at least stop you from becoming complacent."
Charlie looked at him doubtfully. Given the consequences, his mistake could hardly be considered 'small'.
"Look, buddy," Don said, and his tone had become serious again. "I need you to understand that you're not responsible for what happened. This wasn't your fault. Nobody is blaming you except for yourself."
Charlie bit his lip, not wanting to object, but knowing that he had to. "Dad is."
Don shook his head with a resoluteness that despite everything let Charlie feel hope. Then again, Don didn't know what had been going on between him and his dad while he'd been fighting for his life. "He doesn't," Don said with a simpleness that Charlie knew couldn't be based on reality. He'd heard the accusation himself, and that meant that he wasn't the only one to have come to the horrible conclusion, and that in turn was a strong point in favor of him being right about his role in Don's near death experience.
"I know what he said to you," Don went on and thereby got Charlie's attention. "But he was wrong, and he knows that. Actually, that's why we showed up at your office last night. Dad wanted to apologize to you, and that's when we found you."
Charlie frowned and tried to understand his brother's words, but had some trouble concentrating when he thought back to those scary moments last night.
"He realized that he was wrong," Don went on. "As a matter of fact, that's something that you are to be blamed for, because if I'm understanding this correctly, you were the one who put the idea in his head by suggesting you hadn't done your job right. In my line of work, we call that leading the witness, so shame on you for that."
He could tell that Don was trying to lighten the mood, but he still didn't know what to think about this. If his dad truly wasn't blaming him, then why hadn't he made the time to visit him here?
Don must have read his mind. "You know, I woke up last night, around three or so, because he was going about in the kitchen. And going from the smell and from what I found the next morning, I'd say he was making lasagna and baking a chocolate cake."
Charlie frowned. "Why would he do that?"
"Well, I'd say because they're your favorites. Although I'm not sure whether he's planning on bringing them here or on stashing everything in the fridge, but I wouldn't be too sure whether he'd had a plan on his mind while doing that. You know how cooking's some kind of coping mechanism for him."
Charlie was back to regarding his bedclothes, though more thoughtfully this time.
Don went on, his voice lowered, but his earnestness increased. "He's been taking this really hard, buddy. I'm pretty sure he spent last evening thinking he pushed you into this."
Charlie looked back at his brother, but the frown was still on his face. "But he knows I didn't do anything to myself."
"He knows that now. But trust me, it was some really scary hours before we had some answers, and I think… I think he's still not too proud of himself for how he's been treating you these last couple of days, and… I don't know, but he actually seems to be afraid of facing you."
"Afraid?" Charlie asked, lacking understanding.
"You have a better explanation for why he's not here?"
Charlie shrugged. He did, but Don had already made it clear that he wasn't ready to believe it, so he kept his mouth shut. Besides, how did Don's account of their father's actions the last night fit into his theory?
"Look, Charlie, just trust me on this one. He's really sorry for his comment about getting your priorities straight, and with everything that has happened since then, I guess he just doesn't know how to apologize. But I think both him and you shouldn't forget that if last night he hadn't decided to make things right again, you'd probably be dead now. And I'd just like to ask you… I mean, I know he shouldn't have said that, but still, after almost losing both of his sons within a month, I think you might wanna go a little easy on him."
Charlie was back to frowning. "I wasn't planning on giving him a hard time," he said, still not sure whether Don's positive view on things might actually turn out to be the truth. However, given everything he'd learned, it seemed reasonable enough to allow himself to hope. Time would tell.
In the meanwhile, he'd have to figure out this new side of his brother. "Anyway," he started and cleared his throat to get himself sobered, "where is this coming from? Since when are you the wise one in this family?"
Don gave a laugh at that. "I beg your pardon? I've always been the most sane one among us."
"Oh boy," Charlie sighed theatrically. "You must have fallen on your head harder than we thought."
"Get your facts straight, bro', I didn't fall on my head."
"Oh no, not then," Charlie clarified. "I meant way earlier, we have to account for a couple of decades of abnormal behavior here."
"Abnormal behavior, huh?" Don repeated and stood. The next moment, he had his brother in a headlock and was ruffling his hair. "How's that for abnormal behavior?"
"Pretty spot-on," Charlie gave back while half-heartily trying to free himself. "Be careful though, in this part of the hospital, they tend to keep your kind for a lot less. I can't breathe, by the way."
Don let go of him. "Truce then? For I gotta tell you, as nice as the grayish paint and the smell of disinfectant is, I know better places to stay."
"Yeah, me, too. So what do you say, how about we both stay away from hospitals for the rest of the year?"
Don grinned. "Agreed."
- finis -