Note: I have no idea if Don's boss is named Briggs or not. I'm pretty sure a superior's name was mentioned in the first and 2nd episodes but I didn't catch it and it didn't seem relevant. So, I made up Briggs. - Xanthia
Chapter Four

"Hey, Charlie, thanks for coming in."

"Yeah, sure. What do you have?"

"Briggs handed me a case that just came down from Sacramento. Over the past nine months, five men in the state have been severely beaten then strangled to death."

"Location?"

"The first two were in the north – Shasta Lake vicinity and Eureka. The third was in San Francisco. The fourth was in Yuba City. The fifth was here in L.A. We inherited the file with the latest victim. Seems no one put two and two together until this last murder."

"Any connections?"

"They were all male – different ages, different marital statuses, different occupations, different everything except the M.O."

"Okay. Any relation in the dates of the murders?"

"That's what Briggs wants you to find out. And anything else you can come up with. He doesn't want this file to go any further than it has." He handed his brother a working copy of the thick file.

Charlie flipped through the pages of information, his keen eyes cluing in on any usable information. "It's not much to go on but I'll do what I can, Don. I have to tell you though, I have a big project coming up. I'm not sure …"

But Agent Eppes didn't wait to hear him out. He simply put a casual hand on his brother's shoulder as he headed out for the daily briefing.

"Thanks, Charlie. Whatever you can do would be great."

January 12

6:15 am

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Charlie awoke to the sound of birds. The past few weeks had seen him waking before dawn, the constant streams of data running through his head making it impossible to sleep. But last night he'd climbed into bed at nine o'clock and had slept through without waking once. It felt wonderful. And he was certain his father would be thrilled.

Alan had been very quiet when Charlie had told him about his projects. Don had insisted on it. Charlie didn't mind, once he was made aware of how worried his father had been, but he was deeply concerned his father wouldn't approve, that the Eppes patriarch would consider what he was doing inappropriate somehow. And disappointing his father was a hurt that Charlie couldn't bear to think about. The man had done everything in his power and more to make certain that his exceptional son had received everything he'd needed to utilize his gifts, even though he didn't always understand them.

For a long time, Charlie and his father found it difficult to communicate what the other needed. It had become harder after Margaret Eppes had died. But lately, the two seemed to have come to somewhat of an understanding of each other, a certain level of comfort that wasn't always there before. That comfort was a joy to Charlie and he was deeply concerned what his father would think of what he had been doing all these weeks.

"So that's it. That's what I've been doing." Charlie had told him everything.

"You discovered this cancer cluster on your own by researching your mother's illness?"

"Well, not on my own. The data was out there, I just brought it to their attention."

"And there were other people from Maryton who had this disease? Other families going through what we went through?"

"Yes. I felt I had to do something, Dad. If something could be done …" Charlie's voice trailed off. He could see that his father was taking this hard. "I just felt I had to try … to see if I could help."

Alan had closed his eyes then, afraid that the emotions building within him would spill out if he didn't. "And then you took on the burden of verifying the number of people killed in the tidal wave."

"Um… tsunami… yes."

"Because you wanted to help."

"Those numbers will help determine how much relief assistance each community can receive…"

Charlie's father cut him off with a wave of his hand, and then sat very still for many long moments. Just when Charlie thought he would have to leave, that he couldn't take the silence any longer, his father spoke.

"Charlie, I have always been proud of you, you and your brother both. You have always tried to make good choices in your lives. But …"

The young man braced himself for the disappointing blow that was sure to come.

"… I have never prouder of you than I am at this moment."

It took Charlie a moment to realize what his father had said and he let out the breath he was holding. He looked up and saw tears on Alan's face.

"I wasn't sure … I didn't think you'd approve," he whispered as emotion clouded his voice.

"That's your biggest weak point, Charlie. You don't always think. You should work on that." Then Alan smiled at him, and pulled his son into a firm embrace. "Just see that you get some sleep, okay?"

That was five days ago. Yesterday he'd sent off his findings on the cancer cluster. He was one hundred percent certain it would garner an investigation. After all, he'd shown that there was eighty six percent likelihood that something in the Maryton vicinity had caused the illnesses. And that was enough to spark anyone's interest.

Charlie stretched and enjoyed the feeling of not having to be anywhere today. It was raining, lightly from the sound of it, and he could hear it hitting the leaves of the tree outside his window. He was fairly certain his father wasn't up yet, it was still pretty early, and he thought he would do something for his dad for a change and make his morning coffee. Pulling on sweats and a tee shirt, Charlie headed downstairs. Noting the rain was falling harder, he grabbed the newspaper off the front steps and headed into the kitchen. He rolled off the rubber band that held the L.A. Chronicle together and let it fall open on the counter, glancing at the headlines as he spread the paper out to dry. Charlie stared, struggling to process what he was seeing.

The story's headline was small, not the main news of the day, but still important enough to run on the front page. By the time he finished reading, Charlie was breathing fast and heavy. It seemed as if the whole world had coalesced into four square inches of black typeset and it was beginning to wobble at the edges.

"Facts, Charlie!" he told himself. "Examination. Verification. No assumptions."

Forcibly quelling the panic that was rising in his gut, Charlie made himself walk to his computer. He pulled the names of the victims in Don's latest case back into his memory bank and sent them, one by one, into the netherland of cyberspace. "If I'm wrong …," he told himself. But he knew he wasn't. He had the same feeling now as when he was at the end of a long equation. All the pieces were falling into place and the answer was obvious, even though it was still three or four calculations away. The Internet made those calculations for him. Unable to comprehend that he was right, Charlie went back into the kitchen to read the article again. Maybe he had missed something. Maybe he had read it wrong. He hadn't, and as the ramifications of his findings closed in on him, Charlie could feel the panic rushing up inside of him.

Alan Eppes looked down at where the paper should have been and stared at the empty wet stoop. The absence of his morning constitutional could only mean one of three things. It didn't come, which was possible but unlikely. The neighbor's dog had gotten a hold of it again, which was also possible but unlikely. Or Charlie was home, the least likely reason of all. Hoping that the last was true, Alan turned himself around and headed for the kitchen. Best to check on the closest possibility first, he thought. What he did not expect to find was his youngest son leaning against the counter as if it were the only thing holding him up and breathing like he'd just run a marathon.

"Charlie!" he called, the concern heavy in his voice as he rushed to his son's side. "Charlie, what happened?"

Charlie turned toward his father and Alan gasped. The young man's face was white; it looked like the face of someone who'd seen a ghost. It was the same look Charlie had worn when he was told his mother was dying. Alan felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Whatever had happened was bad. Real bad.

"Sit down," he urged as he gently pulled the young man to the floor. "Sit, now, before you fall. Sit!"

The younger Eppes let himself slide bonelessly to the floor. "What happened, Charlie?" his father was asking him. Charlie opened his mouth but no words came out.

Alan could see the struggle Charlie was having just trying to form words. He looked around the kitchen to see if there was anything there that might have triggered such a reaction. The only thing different than the day before was the damp paper spread out over the counter.

"Is there something in the paper, Charlie?"

A small movement of Charlie's head, barely a nod, and eyes wide with something deep and powerful, something Alan was hard pressed to put a name to, were all that he needed to see. He grabbed the paper and pulled it down to the floor. There was nothing amiss as far as he could tell, just the same old news.

"What is it Charlie? What did you see?"

With a shaking hand, Charlie pointed to an article in the bottom right corner.

Prominent Los Angeles Software Genius Murdered

The body of William David Michaels, founder and C.E.O. of Wunderkind Software, was found late last evening in his Los Angeles office. The probable cause of death was strangulation but there are reports that the victim was also severely beaten.

Police are not releasing any information as to a motive or possible suspect but it has been speculated that Michaels may have interrupted a burglary in progress although nothing in the office was immediately reported missing.

Michaels made headlines five years ago when, at age 22, he was hailed as the youngest entrepreneur to break the ten million dollar earning mark by Software Fortunes magazine. Michaels, a child prodigy, was recognized as a genius by the age of fourteen, and a member of the exclusive Omega Tau fraternity. He started Wunderkind Software, so called for the nickname he received at Cal Tech where he earned dual Masters Degrees in Computer Programming and Software Engineering at age 18. Michaels went on to develop the Prodigy line of learning software aimed at helping children with learning disabilities master computer skills. He was also in the process of finalizing software that would enable autistic children to communicate through computers by using eye movements instead of fine motor functions to manipulate a mouse and utilize keyboard functions.

Mr. Michaels was a member of the Historic LA Revitalization Committee, Chairman of the Los Angeles County Library Board of Trustees, and a consultant to many other civic organizations. He is survived by his wife, Madeleine, and three young children.

"My God," was all Alan could manage. He, too, was in shock. William Michaels was well known to him. "I'm sorry, Charlie. I … I don't know what to say."

"Dad." Charlie's voice crackled with tension. "I have to talk to Don. I have to tell him something."

"Charlie, I don't think you should be talking to anyone right now. You need to calm down first."

"Now!" Charlie shouted, as he pushed away from his father and stumbled to his feet. "I'm sorry, Dad, but you don't understand! I need to… I need to…" His ragged breathing didn't allow him to finish his sentence. The rational part of his brain that was still functional knew that he was in the midst of a full blown panic attack, something that had not happened to him in years. But his body wouldn't listen to the commands that his consciousness was desperately sending. He could no more calm himself down than he could stop the terrible thoughts that swirled through his head and for the first time in a long time, Charlie was genuinely scared. Not since he was a teenager had he so completely lost control of himself, at least not where someone else would see.

Sensing that Charlie was unable to help himself, Alan got up and grabbed his son firmly by the shoulders, undeterred by Charlie's harsh tone as he yelled at his father to stop. He knew that his son was not responsible for his actions at this moment. He knew that Charlie was too far gone in the anxiety that coursed through him.

"Charles Alan Eppes! You need to sit down before you fall down, and if you won't do it yourself I will do it for you." The tone was unmistakable and years of habit were hard to break. Charlie sat down heavily in the chair he found miraculously underneath him.

"Now," Alan commanded with a hard shake of Charlie's shoulders, "look at me. Look at me, Charlie! Good. Now, breathe. In …out. In…out. Slowly. That's it. Breathe, Charlie." With the patience only a parent could manage, he managed to coax his agitated son into a calmer state. After many long moments, when Charlie no longer looked like he was about to pass out and a modicum of color returned to his pale cheeks, Alan released his shoulders and took his son's face gently in his hands and spoke to him slowly. "Tell me what is going on. Why do you need to talk to Don?"