Alan followed the doctor through the halls, anxious to finally see Don. The doctor seemed to be taking his time, and it was all Alan could do to keep from yelling at him to pick up the pace.
The doctor finally pointed out Don's room, and Alan brushed past him. He hurried inside, stopping when his son finally filled his view.
Don was lying asleep in bed, wearing a hospital gown. White gauze peeked out from the right sleeve. A number of machines were connected to his son, most of which Alan recognized. A steady, strong pulse filled the air, sending a calm feeling through Alan.
Almost hesitantly, Alan sank into a chair beside Don's bed and reached for Don's hand. Gripping it tightly, he said a silent prayer of thanks that his son was all right.
A few hours passed before a gentle knock drew Alan's attention away from the slumbering form of his son. He turned around, wondering who it could be.
Larry hovered uncertainly in the doorway, eyes flickering from Don and Alan.
"I, uh, sorry to disturb you, sir," Larry stammered. "How's he doing?"
"He's sleeping," Alan replied, standing. "Where's Charlie? Is he outside?"
"That's, um, what I wanted to tell you," Larry stated. "I couldn't find him."
"What?" Alan asked, his voice raised slightly.
Larry jumped. "I searched the school, your house, several diners and hang outs that I know Charles frequents. Amita called several other students, but we can't find him."
Alan's heart leapt into his throat. "Could something have happened to him? Where the hell could he be?"
Larry shrugged. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm worried about him, too. Could there be anyplace else he might have gone?"
Alan thought hard for several moments, then finally shook his head. "Not that I know of."
Larry glanced at Don again, then looked back to Alan. "I'll keep looking, and I'll call as soon as I know anything."
"Thank you, Larry," Alan replied. As he sank back into his chair and reclaimed Don's hand, he couldn't help but wonder what had happened. Charlie didn't have that many friends, and tended to stick fairly close to school and home. If Charlie had been as agitated as David had described, then Charlie could be anywhere.
Alan didn't like that thought.
Terry hovered over the blood stains outside of the warehouse where Don had fallen, replaying that awful scene in her mind. No matter how hard she tried to bury herself in the work, she couldn't stop seeing her partner slide bonelessly to the ground, blood spilling on the unforgiving concrete.
"Agent Lake?"
Terry shook herself from her thoughts and turned. She frowned at the man standing behind her. He looked oddly familiar.
"Dr. Larry Fleindhart," he introduced himself, wringing his hands. "We met awhile back. I'm a friend of Charles'."
Terry's expression cleared with her confusion. "Oh, yes. Is there something I can do for you?"
"Actually, yes," Larry replied. "I'm having trouble locating Charles, and I was wondering if you could provide some assistance."
Terry glanced at the other agents, who were finishing up their evidence gathering. Looking back at Larry, she nodded. Maybe looking for Charlie would help her forget about Don.
At least for awhile.
Larry smiled, relieved. He quickly told her what he had told Alan, finishing with, "I thought maybe we could start where he was last seen and go from there."
"Sounds good," Terry agreed. She nodded down the road. "He ran that way, last I saw him today."
The two began their trek down the road in silence.
Charlie's sobs had finally abated, leaving him feeling weak and exhausted. He sat down beside his mother's tombstone, leaning heavily against it as if seeking solace from her, even from beyond the grave. He hugged his knees tightly, his eyes staring blankly ahead. The horrible scene from earlier that day played in an endless loop in his mind, accompanied every so often by memories from the past of his brother.
Graduation day.
Don was dead.
Don trying to teach him how to defend himself.
Don was dead.
The two boys wrestling for Charlie's chalk as Don tried to convince Charlie to take a break from math.
Don was dead.
Don's comforting arm around his shoulders at their mother's funeral.
Don was dead.
His last birthday. Don had convinced Alan to throw a surprise birthday party right under his nose.
Don was dead.
Don was dead.
Don was dead.
I killed him.
"Do you really think Charlie would have made it this far?" Terry asked. "I mean, he could have turned off at any road. What makes you think he would have made it here?"
"As Charles is so fond of saying, math has to do with everything," Larry answered. "And Charles, bless him, is the perfect example of that. In his state of mind, he ran a prefect straight line from the road out to this park. No random turns. He would have come through this way."
"Okay," Terry grudgingly agreed. "But where would he go from here? I don't see him."
"I was hoping maybe you could answer that," Larry admitted.
Terry grinned slightly, despite herself. She looked around the park, trying to get into Charlie's head. Think what he would have thought.
"A park . . . this afternoon, there would have been a lot of families, right?" Terry asked.
Larry nodded, looking around. There weren't many around now, but the sun was setting and any young families would be sitting down to dinner by now.
"Charlie would have been thinking of Don, seeing the families, maybe thinking of his own family," Terry continued, mumbling to herself. She took a few steps forward, still processing her thoughts. Suddenly, she whirled around to face Larry, her eyes wide.
"I think I know where he might have gone," she said. "But it's too far to walk. Let's go back for my car."
Larry could barely keep up.