Thanks to Freefall and Patty for commenting on individual sections; it's nice to see repeat names! Steph, I'm going to be updating this one pretty fast -- it's complete, and I think it needs to be read without huge waits. Knadineg & Patty, I appreciate the detail in your reviews. It's always nice to know what grabs people. ;) These next two parts finish Chapter 2. Hopefully I'll get Chapter 3 formatted tonight or latest tomorrow morning.
The Unquantifiable Variable
By BeckyS
April, 2005
The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS" are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci. No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.
Chapter Two, Part Two
When the woman screamed, Charlie dropped everything he was holding and whipped around to find out where she was. He saw a flash of movement at the front doors, then two men came barreling through the double entrance, one holding a bag, the other hauling the little girl Charlie had just seen at the checkout.
The man with the bag was looking behind him and ran straight into Charlie, knocking them both sprawling into a display of power tools. Charlie scrambled to cover his head with his arms, but was too slow to block a router from striking his forehead, dazing him and leaving a nasty gash. His left leg exploded with pain when a circular saw landed on his knee. He bit back a cry of pain and simply endured until everything had finished falling.
"Rick!" he heard. "We gotta get outa here!"
Someone nearby moaned.
Charlie lifted his head carefully and looked around. The man who was yelling still had the little girl tight against his side with one arm, a pistol waving through the air in the opposite hand. The man apparently called Rick was crumpled on the floor under a pile of bags of concrete mix, and a bag of cash had split open, bills scattered across the floor. It didn't take a genius to figure out that two bank robbers had just chosen the wrong escape route.
The old woman fought to get back in the front door. "Leeda!" she cried – a long wail of anguish – and the man holding the girl spun and fired at the doors, shattering a pane of glass in one door and drilling a hole in another.
"Grammy!" screamed the girl as she fought furiously to get free.
Charlie sat up and tried to gather his scattered wits, just as the construction worker he'd met in the PVC aisle bulled through the mess.
"Leave the girl alone!" the man yelled.
The gunman whirled and fired again. Charlie ducked instinctively, but the girl's would-be savior wasn't so lucky. He landed in a heap right next to Charlie.
Charlie looked around at the wreckage. He'd just been looking at flashlights, sipping his coffee, and now there was chaos everywhere – injured people moaning, a little girl sobbing in terror. He looked down at his own leg, saw the rip in his jeans, the blood welling from a deep cut just above his knee.
"Get up," the gunman ordered, his voice raspy and harsh.
Charlie blinked at him. "What?"
"Up," the man repeated, pointing with his gun.
He climbed to his feet and stood shakily amid the wreckage, weight on his right leg. He looked around, took in the sobbing child, the ominously silent construction worker, the moaning robber who was still buried under the display wall and the shocked faces of Benito and Solana as they held each other. The gunman stood before him, his face distorted by a nylon mask, chest heaving as he breathed heavily.
"What . . . ?" Charlie asked, his thoughts still scattered. "Why . . . why would you . . . ?" He pressed hard against his temples, trying to try to bring his mind back into order. He looked up at the gunman and saw the wavering pistol. Could the man be as terrified as he was? This wasn't good.
Charlie consciously lowered his voice, trying to calm them both. "This isn't going to get you anywhere. Your friend is hurt, and so is this man. We have to check them, see if they need help."
"No." The gunman waved the pistol at Charlie again. "Get a sack for the money first."
Charlie raised his hands in front of him, showing that he wasn't any threat. "Solana can do that while you look after your partner. If you give me the girl, then you still have one hand free to help him."
The man glanced over at Solana. "Do it," he ordered.
The girl, perhaps feeling that this gentle stranger was safer than the man who'd taken her from her grandmother, leaned towards Charlie, her arms outstretched. Tears still tracked down her dark cheeks, but her sobs had settled to hiccups.
Charlie wanted to reach for her, but realized he had to go slowly. "You can't hold the gun, the girl, check on your partner and take the money," he said in what he hoped came out as a reasonable tone. He could hear Solana behind him, dropping wads of cash into a shopping bag, but he kept his focus on the gunman. "We aren't going anywhere – I can barely walk, anyway." He hobbled forward a step, locking his left knee in a slight bend that minimized the pain as much as possible.
The gunman slowly loosened his hold, and the child wriggled free. Charlie knelt as best he could, and in two jumps, she was in his arms. "It's all right," Charlie soothed. He tucked the girl's face against his shoulder and stroked the back of her head. The springy black curls were soft against his fingers. "It'll be okay, I promise."
He wished he knew how he could possibly keep his promise.
