Six Steps to Purgatory

Rating: PG-13 (For naughty language) Be on the lookout for a possible change in rating soon.

Author's Notes: Just a little plot bunny who decided to gnaw at my ankle until I gave in.

Author's Warning: Just some dirty language that'll filter in and out, and a bit of violence towards our chaste little Charlie.

Disclaimer: If you tie someone up and hide them in your basement, eventually they'll turn over all of their human rights to you. I'm working on the brothers, but for now all character's belong to CBS and the creators.

Super, super thanks to my new beta, Zubeneschamali, who is a total Angel for putting up with my typos. I can't imagine the amount of patience it took to go through my work. This chapter is ultimately so much better because of my new, fabulous beta.

Chapter Four:

Step Four: Illusion

As it turned out, Stockholm Syndrome wasn't anything to be taken lightly. Not that Charlie felt he was becoming susceptible to it, but merely that he was beginning to understand it. The longer he was in the presence of Clarence, in the small bedroom with the coral wall paper, the more he began to sympathize with the young man. He certainly wasn't feeling the need to don camouflage, pick up a machine gun and rob a bank with the same men who had kidnapped him, but he wasn't judging their actions so harshly, or at least Clarence's.

Clarence was a newlywed. In his late twenties, he had been married four month, with a young wife and three children waiting for him at home. He had promised to do right by his wife; promised to get his life together and provide a good life for his family. Due to a previous stay in jail, finding work proved hard, and as such the few odd jobs he managed to acquire did little to feed his family. He and his family were facing poverty when Clarence's older cousin Jerry offered him a chance to make money. So as Charlie understood it, Clarence felt helping his cousin concoct a string of robberies was his best chance at providing food, shelter and anything else his family might need. That was why Clarence wouldn't consider letting him escape.

"I've got a family, too," Charlie told him. "I've got an older brother and a father." And he had Larry and Amita and dozens of other friends whom he considered family.

Then they didn't speak to each other for another hour. Charlie napped lightly, trying to fight off the stinging numbness in his arms, and valiantly manage to get circulation into his limbs. Ultimately his sleep was fitful, filled with dreams of Don stumbling upon his body either when the FBI raided the house, or in some ditch on some nameless street. And there were flashes of his father's heartbroken face, having lost another member of his family so soon after his wife.

The sun was getting ready to set when Charlie awoke to the sight of Clarence leaving the room, and Jerry coming in to sit in the same seat as his cousin.

Jerry was a large man, standing easily over six feet, and a bit on the heavy side. His dark hair was thinning rapidly in his years, which Charlie estimated to be somewhere in his late thirties or early forties. He carried himself in a nonabrasive, but a somewhat threatening way. Charlie didn't feel imposed on in his company, but the air seemed to crackle with unspoken threats. The mathematician surmised Jerry wasn't naturally aggressive, but completely capable of it.

The tall man pulled Clarence's chair out from the desk and turned it around to straddle it backwards. He rested his arms on the back of the chair and set his chin on the back of his hands.

In response Charlie shifted from his position on his stomach to one on his knees. He settled down and finally folded his legs into an Indian style. He flexed his fingers experimentally, still not actually feeling the digits, merely the pain the action caused.

"What were you doing in the car, kid?" Jerry questioned him, his voice low and rough. "What's your association with the FBI?"

Charlie opened his mouth, thinking as fast as his brain would allow. "Some of the agents," he said slowly, "are family friends. I do some consulting work for the FBI when I have spare time." The words satisfied Charlie, who disliked lying more than just about anything else.

"You were consulting today?"

Charlie nodded. "I was working on, well, on your case. The FBI asked me to see if I could figure out where you'd hit next. Instead I figured out where you'd be hiding out."

In anger Jerry said, "And if it weren't for a head's up you and your Fed buddies would have taken all my men, and probably weaseled out the location of the merchandise out."

"You've been stealing from some pretty important people. You also hit a Federal Bank. You had to know the FBI would be after you. You managed to steal millions of dollars in cash, artwork and dozens of other things. You're obviously a very competent group, but not one that's infallible."

Jerry waved a hand frivolously at Charlie. "Feds ain't that smart. Figured we'd get most of the stuff out of the country before they got hip to us. Didn't count on a consultant."

Charlie smiled weakly. "Just doing my job."

"Then you gonna understand when I do mine." With a shift Jerry's coat fell to one side, revealing a gun, which in all probability was loaded.

"You've seen us." Jerry grunted. "Seen our faces, car and where we're laying low. You ain't in your right mind if you think we're gonna let you go."

With a pale face Charlie shook his head. "Statistically you'd stand a better chance of escaping successfully if you eliminated the weakest variable of your equation."

An unreadable expression came over Jerry's wide face. At one moment Charlie thought it was one of amusement, and then grievance, and then acceptance, but nonetheless he really couldn't decide. But Jerry wasn't reaching for his gun, or making any sudden movements so that had to be good, at least for the moment.

"You're real smart, ain't you, consulting for the FBI and all? And you talk funny. Whatcha do for a living?"

"I'm professor of applied mathematics at CalSci, but these days I tend to do just as much consulting as teaching."

"For who?"

"FBI, NSA, ATF, NASA, EPA, USDA," Charlie trailed off, seeing his words were at least partially unknown to Jerry.

Jerry scooted the chair closer, the rollers squeaking. "So for instance, you could use all that math stuff to find me a place where I'd get the biggest payout? Could you figure out where bank shipments would be coming in, and when?"

Charlie swallowed, his body language voicing his displeasure. Part of him had always been worried someone would one day want him to figure such things out. He'd always carried some fear of being forced into such deeds.

"I could."

But doing what Jerry wanted would keep him alive long enough for Don to find him.

"Good." Jerry smiled, standing. "See, and here I thought I was gonna have to kill you. And they say kids ain't worth the effort these days.

"Hey," Charlie wiggled a bit. "Do you think you could take the handcuffs off? I'm getting numb."

Jerry retrieved a small key from his pocket. He leaned behind Charlie to undo the cuff on his left wrist. He brought the free cuff up to the top of the bed and clicked it shut over the metal railing. The relief wasn't much, but it was enough.

"Sit tight," Jerry told him, pulling the bedroom door open. "Don't wanna make me send Hank in to keep an eye on you, right? I'm sure he'd love to get better acquainted with you. He's spent years in jail and he don't right mind if your clothing is on or off."

(NUMB3RS)

Alan Eppes sat with his head between his knees, dragging in ragged air, trying to calm his furiously pounding heart. His eldest son stood behind him rubbing his back softly, saying things he couldn't possibly comprehend at the moment.

"Dad," Don repeated, kneeling down in front of his father. "Dad, look at me. I promise I'll get Charlie back. I won't let anything happen to him."

"Won't let anything happen?" The aged man lifted his head, lines of worry and panic creasing his forehead. "Donnie, your brother has been kidnapped by, as you tell me, ruthless criminals who have sent numerous people to the hospital. And God only knows where he is at the moment, or if he's even still--" Alan stopped, dropping his head again to breathe. "It's your job to keep Charlie safe. You're the only reason I give my consent to him going out on the field with you," He mumbled lowly.

"Don't you think I feel bad, Dad? Don't you think I'd trade positions with Charlie in an instant? Do you even know how much I'm hurting right now? It's just as much as you, if not more. Charlie is my little brother, one I swore to protect at all costs, and he's missing. If he's hurt in any way I'll never forgive myself, and I won't expect you to."

"Oh, Donnie." Alan stood shakily with a bit of help from Don, and wrapped his arms around his tall son. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insinuate that you--"

Don nodded, squeezing back at his father. "I know."

"You'll get Charlie back, I believe in you."

"I want you to know, Dad, that everyone in my department is working on the case. Everyone wants to get Charlie back and everyone is dedicated to making that happen."

The men separated as Don's cell phone gave off a shrill ring, and vibrated strongly from its place on Don's belt. With a flick of his wrist he opened the phone and raised it to his ear where he listened carefully for the next forty seconds.

"I have to go," Don said, snapping his phone shut and reaching for his coat. "They found the car Charlie was hijacked in."

"That's good news?" Alan didn't doubt it was good, but from the expression on his son's face, it was as if Charlie himself had been found.

Don raced to the front door. "It is when there's a witness."

Alan followed after him, taking is own coat from the rack near the door. "I'm coming with you."

"Dad, I don't think that's a good idea," Don called over his shoulder as he raced towards his temporary car.

"Donald Patrick Eppes, you listen to me this instant. You know I have every right just the same as you to be there. Now you can let me come with you, or I'll follow you myself."

Don quickly unlocked the doors, waited for his father to climb in and hit the accelerator, peeling out of the neighborhood.

They came upon the nicknamed Harper's Alley, located relatively deep inside The Fitzgerald Complex. Don recalled having done a few drug stings in the alley a while ago, before the county had deemed the area off limits to federal officers. With the discontinuation of the federal presence, the police departments stopped responding to calls in the dangerous area, along with other rescue departments. The Fitzgerald Complex had once been a thriving area, but now was little more than a small hell.

Don slammed the car into park just behind a police car, seeing both Terry and David standing just outside the alley, talking to another agents.

"Terry! David!" Don waved at them, jogging swiftly with his father just behind him. "What's the situation?" A glimpse down the alley showed his car, tire marks and just behind that a large pool of blood.

Terry offered him a tentative smile before flipping open her handheld pad. "Since we were able to confine the search area to the Fitzgerald Complex, we managed to find the vehicle relatively fast, we also had help with a consultant." Terry jerked a thumb towards a woman standing near a cop car, writing furiously on a piece of paper. "Whoever took the car wasn't a moron. They found the tracking device and disabled it."

"Which is why we couldn't track it by satellite," Don interrupted. Federal cars were embedded with small electronic tracking devices for their exact situation. The fact that a criminal had known firstly where to look for it, and secondly how to remove it properly without setting off a warning, did little to settle Don's stomach.

"You said there was a witness?"

"Yeah," David said. "That blood over there belongs to him."

Terry nodded in verification. "He was bleeding to death when we showed up. He'd been shot several times."

"Forensics was here about ten minutes ago and he was taken to a local hospital about fifteen ago."

"What makes him a witness?" Alan asked, his hand settling on Don's broad shoulder. "Why not just a gang member who got caught in the wrong area? What's the connection to Charlie?"

"He wasn't extremely lucid by the time we got here," Terry said, "But he managed to confirm that five men, one fitting Charlie's description, met him in the alley in Don's car. One of the men shot him and took his car."

David said, "He confirmed he was supposed to be working with them."

Don nodded. "Until he was double crossed."

"This man can give us the license plate number of the car Charlie went off it, the identities of the men who took it, and if we're really lucky, we'll get a destination and address. The guy is the best thing to happen to us on this case."

Don crossed his arms and glanced back towards the blood pooling in the alley. "If he survives."