Chapter Six

January 14

11:46 pm

Don pulled up the house and parked his black SUV next to the Bureau car already in the driveway. He nodded to Agent Hillman who was on duty outside and let himself in the front door. Although it was well after eleven, the downstairs lights were on and he could hear voices in the living room. Agent Billy Radcliff sat drinking coffee. Charlie was sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, comfortably dressed in loose sleep pants and a tee shirt. Stacks of paper and maps were spread out around him and he was talking on his cell phone.

"Yes, Suzette, I know what you're telling me but I am telling you that someone in your office messed up. Look, I have 110,229 in Indonesia, 30,893 in Sri Lanka, 10,672 in India, 5,313 in Thailand, 298 in Somalia and another 222 between Myanmar, the Maldives, Tanzania, Kenya, Bangladesh and Malaysia. That's a total of 157,627."

Agent Radcliff beckoned Don over. "Do you know what he's doing?" he whispered.

Don sat down and pinched his fingers against the bridge of his nose. "Confirming fatality reports from the tsunami," he confirmed quietly.

"I know you're showing 163,338 but that does not line up with what you've told me. And that does not take into account the 27,161 still missing. If we added those in we'd be up to 184,788 according to my numbers."

"Man. I could not do that and stay sane." Radcliff's voice was tinged with awe and respect. He hadn't thought much of the resident mathematician who also happened to be Don Eppes little brother. What was one more overeducated math geek to him? But now, now he realized that the job wasn't about sterile numbers; that what Charlie did wasn't just about sketching out complicated equations on wipe off boards. "How can he do that and sleep at night?"

Don sighed. "What makes you think he sleeps?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Suzette. There's a discrepancy of 21,240. That's half the population of Culver City unaccounted for …"

"You know, before this came along, he was working on a project that discovered a cancer cluster in our mother's hometown. The cancer that killed her also killed twenty-nine other people in the same area."

"Charlie figured that out?" Radcliff was even more impressed now.

"Yeah. And he made sure someone knew about it." Don was proud of his brother. He wasn't about to try and hide it, not now, not anymore. Charlie had faced this cancer issue, the details of tens of thousands of deaths from horrible disaster and a threat against his life and had not gone stark raving mad, something Don couldn't swear to for himself. Oh, yeah, Don was definitely proud. But that didn't mean he wasn't worried.

"Not according to the data I got yesterday … No, uh, haven't been in today … Yeah, okay. I'll talk to you again tomorrow night and we'll go over it all again … Thanks, Suzette, you too. Bye."

"So, how's things going with Dr. Beauchamps?" Don asked as Charlie hung up the cell phone.

"Peachy. Just peachy," Charlie groaned as he pulled himself up off the floor. "I'm gonna get something to drink. You want anything, Agent Radcliff?"

Radcliff shook his head. "I'm good, thanks." He made as if to stand and follow Charlie into the kitchen but Don waved him off.

"So, Charlie, how are you doing?" Don asked as Charlie opened the fridge and pulled out the milk. "I mean really doing?" He clarified as Charlie opened his mouth to speak.

Charlie closed his mouth and sighed instead. "I'm okay. I'm worried about Dad."

"Yeah, well, Dad's fine. He's sleeping?"

"I think so. He was nodding off in his chair, I made him go upstairs."

"You should do the same, you know. You need to sleep, Charlie."

Charlie laughed. "Yeah, like that's gonna happen."

"Charlie …"

"It's okay, I'm good," Charlie assured him. But his body betrayed the truth. As he pulled a glass out of the cupboard, his shaking fingers lost their grip and the glass shattered on the floor.

"Eppes!"

Don could hear Radcliff calling from the living room. "It's okay. I dropped something," he called back.

"Shit," Charlie swore under his breath. He repeated the expletive several times to himself then moved for the utility closet. He needed to clean up the glass.

"No, I got it." Don already had the broom in his hand and waved Charlie away as he made quick work of the mess.

Charlie leaned against the counter and covered his face with his hands. So much for showing Don he was doing good. He'd managed to keep everyone convinced that he was holding up, but leave it to Don to be there when he gave himself away. Charlie pulled in several deep breaths and tried to center himself against the anxiety that was threatening to surface again. Truth be told, he was exhausted. Emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted, and it was getting harder and harder to keep himself controlled. He felt hands on his shoulders and he stiffened against the touch, but he didn't move.

"I mean it, man. You're on the edge and you know it. You need to sleep." Don's voice was soft, and so filled with concern Charlie didn't know whether to scream in frustration or cry with gratitude.

"I can't, Don. I've tried and I … I … I just can't. I keep thinking … I … I keep seeing …" He dropped his hands and looked at his brother, his eyes saying what he couldn't. "I just … can't."

Don's heart constricted at the fear in Charlie's eyes.

"Charlie. You're safe, Charlie. I've got two men outside, Radcliff and me inside. He can't get you here."

Charlie pulled away from his brother and drove his hands into his hair. "I hate this. I hate it! I feel like I'm a kid again and there's monsters under my bed and I hate feeling this way. I hate feeling out of control like I can't make sense of anything and I hate feeling like a coward and …"

Don grabbed his brother's shoulder, cutting off the rush of words. "Wait a minute, Charlie! Stop talking like that! You are not a coward. Being afraid does not make you a coward, do you hear me?"

"Didn't you hear me, Don? I'm afraid to go to sleep. I'm twenty-eight years old and I'm afraid," Charlie's voice broke, "to go to sleep. What does that make me if not a coward?"

Don stared into eyes that were bright with unshed tears. "It makes you," he told Charlie firmly, "a man who understands the position he's in, a man who knows the stakes. What you need to understand is that you are not alone, Charlie. You are not the only one who realizes that we are playing for keeps and you are not the only one who's afraid."

Charlie's eyes closed and a single tear slipped down his face. His breath hitched for a moment in his throat, and when he spoke it was so quiet Don barely heard the words. "I'm tired, Donny. I'm so tired."

Don pulled his brother into his arms and held him tight. "I know, buddy," he whispered back, his own voice none to steady. "I know. Me, too. But we can't keep this up. We can't do this to ourselves, to Dad."

"Don't worry about me." Alan spoke suddenly from the doorway. "It's you two I'm concerned about." He crossed over to his sons and put his arms around them both. "I will not stand by and watch you both self-destruct over this. We are a family and we'll get through this together. Do you understand me? Together."

Don recognized his father's tone and lifted his gaze to his father's. "What do you have in mind?"

"It's simple. Donny, you stay here and get some sleep. I sit with Charlie while he gets some sleep."

"What about you?" Charlie wondered. "When do you sleep?"

Alan shrugged. "Me? I'm retired, I can sleep all day if I want to."

Charlie mumbled something that neither of the other two caught. "What, Charlie?" his father asked.

"I can't sleep. I … I … my mind … it keeps … I keep seeing their faces. I keep seeing Bill's face."

"Well, it so happens I can help." Alan left his sons and retrieved a flat, black leather case from his coat pocket.

Charlie took one look at it and began to back away. "Dad, you didn't. Tell me you didn't."

"What's that? What didn't you do?" Don was clearly confused.

"I went to see your Uncle Paul today. I asked him to give me something that could help Charlie sleep."

Don still wasn't sure what the fuss was about. His uncle, Paul Wentworth, was a respected cardiac specialist at Rampart General. If he was willing to help, Don was all for it. "I'm sure it's okay, Charlie," he said soothingly, not sure what the issue was.

"No, it's not okay. It's definitely not okay, okay? What did you tell him this time? That I was freaking out over another dissertation? That I couldn't handle the pressure of getting another doctorate?"

"Another doctorate?" Don asked jokingly. "Charlie, how many do you have?"

"Counting the one from Cal Sci?"

Don's jaw dropped. "Seriously, you have more than one doctorate?"

Charlie shrugged. "Lots of people do, Don."

"Name five." He saw Charlie's mouth open to answer and cut him off with a raised finger. "That I've heard of," he quickly amended.

Charlie ignored him and avoided answering by pointing at his father. "What did you tell him, Dad?"

"I told him you were having trouble sleeping. I told him about the tsunami project and the cancer cluster research and I told him that you couldn't sleep. Believe me, he understood. He understands you better than you think, young man."

"You know I hate that." Charlie pointed to the case. "Why can't he just give out pills like everyone else?"

Alan unzipped the case and pulled out a small syringe. "Because they don't work as well. And they tend to wire you up instead of relax you."

Don frowned at the needle in his father's hand. "He gave you a loaded syringe?"

"He trusts me with it," Alan assured him. "Now, do we go with my idea or do we stand here all night?"

Charlie took another look at the sedative in his father's hand and heaved a sigh that was as much frustration as it was capitulation. He headed for the stairs, muttering to himself in what Don could swear was French. It didn't sound like anything he especially wanted translated. He shot a look at his father.

"Think he's been spending a little too much time with Dr. Beauchamps?" Alan ventured with a smile as he pocketed the sedative. "You can help yourself to sweats out of my drawer. The bed is all made up."

The elder Eppes followed the path his youngest took up the stairs and quietly knocked on the partially closed bedroom door. "Charlie?" He pushed the door open and found his son staring out the window at the dark garden below. Alan crossed to him and laid an arm across his shoulder. "I know you think you're weak for being afraid, Charlie, but you aren't. What you know, what you're going through would drive most men crazy. You are, to my mind, a very remarkable young man. And I would consider it a personal insult if you continue to challenge what I think by telling me otherwise."

Charlie closed his eyes and smiled slightly. "I wouldn't want to insult you."

"You ready?"

A deep sigh later Charlie nodded. He left the window and sat on the chair nearby. Without being asked, he rolled up the short sleeve of his tee shirt and waited patiently while Alan swabbed his arm with alcohol. He didn't feel the needle going in, not really, only a slight sting where the antiseptic got under the skin.

They'd done this before, but not in a long, long time. The frantic young man of his past was gone. Well, except for very recently, and Charlie wasn't glad to see him come back. It had taken him a long time to exorcise the demons of his genius, most of his teen years to be exact. But with the love and patience of his parents he'd done it. Don was gone for a lot of it, thankfully, but he'd seen enough to know that his little brother had often been troubled by bouts of anxiety and depression. That, coupled with a non-traditional teen life had made things difficult for a while. But they'd gotten through it. Together. And his father was right, they'd get through this, too. Together.

Charlie felt himself getting heavy and he realized that while he was lost in thought his father had turned down his bed.

"Come on, son. Let's get you settled in." Alan gently helped his son to his now unsteady feet and maneuvered him to the bed. With all the care in the world, he helped Charlie under the blankets and covered him up. "Comfortable?"

Charlie nodded and closed his eyes. They popped open again of their own accord as his body, still tight under the pressure of the circumstances, fought off the drugs that willed him to rest. "Dad?" His eyes sought the comforting features of his father as he turned down the lights.

"Yes, I'm right here."

"You'll stay, right? You'll stay with me?"

Alan pulled the comfortable chair over closer to Charlie's bed and then sat on the mattress beside his son. "Wild horses couldn't drag me away."

Charlie smiled at that. It was an old promise, one often made to a small boy who was afraid of the dark and the monsters under his bed.

"Now, I want you to close your eyes and go to sleep, Charlie. Alright?"

"Okay." Charlie's voice was quiet. The drugs were working quickly and his eyes slid shut. They opened again after a moment, and Alan realized that Charlie was still fighting the sleep he desperately needed. He took Charlie's hand in his one of his own and brushed the ever-unruly curls from his forehead.

Charlie smiled at him. "Mom used to do that."

Alan smiled back. "I know she always nagged you about your hair but she loved it. She said it was the one thing about you she couldn't predict."

Charlie's smile faded and his eyes grew troubled. "Dad …" He didn't finish. He didn't have the words to say what he'd been longing to say for almost a year. But Alan knew anyway.

"I know, son. I know. And your mother knew, too." Alan leaned over a bit so that he was very close. "I think you've punished yourself enough, Charlie. Your mother would never have wanted you to suffer this long. She would have never wanted you suffer at all. And your brother and I, we understand now. You need to let it go, Charlie. You need to let her rest. You need to let yourself rest. "

Charlie's father watched him wrestle with himself for a moment. Then Charlie closed his eyes and nodded. "Okay," he said softly.

Alan rested a hand against his son's cheek. "Goodnight, Charlie. I love you."

Charlie's eyes didn't open again. "Love you, too, Dad," he mumbled sleepily.

Alan watched him as he gave in to his body's demands for rest. Before long, Charlie's breathing was deep and even and Alan gave a sigh.

"Good call, Dad." Don's voice was hushed and filled with as much relief as Alan felt.

"It's nice to know that I can do something to help out with this mess. It's not easy just sitting by, you know."

Don came in and sat in the chair Alan had pulled up by the bed. "I know how you feel. But, please believe me, Dad, I will do everything I can to keep Charlie safe."

"I never doubted it, Don. I never doubted it. But now, you need some rest."

"Yeah, I'm gonna turn in. I just needed to bring Radcliff up to speed. He'll be looking in every now and then, and if you need a break just let him know, or wake me up …"

"That I will not do. You can't give this case your best if you're tired. Just do me one favor? I forgot my book. Would you mind sitting here for a minute while I get it?"

"No problem." Don propped his feet up on the bed and leaned back in the chair. He'd changed his clothes and the baggy sweats engulfed him in soft warmth. It felt wonderful. His mind began to unwind as he let himself relax. His eyes were drawn to Charlie and, in the dim glow of the hallway's accent lighting, Don studied his brother as he slept. He was drawn into memories of Charlie as a child, crawling into bed with him in the middle of the night because of some bad dream or other.

"I won't let anything hurt you, buddy," he'd told him. "Don't you know? Monsters are afraid of big brothers." Don certainly hoped that was true of the real life monster they were dealing with. Because he couldn't bear the thought that he might miss something and Charlie would actually have to face this psycho.

With that thought, any measure of relaxation Don had achieved in the past few minutes was immediately gone and he wanted, needed, to get it back. He had spent too many hours with this draining tension pulling at his strength and it was time to shut it down, if only for a short time. Closing his eyes, Don deliberately banished the demons that had haunted him from the beginning of this case. He refused to see Charlie's face superimposed over the crime scene photos. He refused to allow himself to picture Charlie dead. He began to implement Terry's suggestion that he think of a warm, quiet, safe place and picture himself there. After a moment, Don began to relax again.

Don was still in the chair when Alan returned with his book and a cup of fresh coffee. He fetched a blanket from his room and covered him up, hoping that he wouldn't wake him. Then he stood back and allowed himself to enjoy the sight. Tonight, he would stand guard over his sons and make sure that they got what rest they could. Because only God knew what tomorrow might bring.