A/N: I'm not certain of the structural dynamics of the Eppes' backyard, so I'm just going to guess a lot.

Ch. 14

Leon

What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing...?

Charlie sat stiff-spine with terror as he stared at the weapon resting in his unsteady hands. He held it as though he were holding a tarantula, and that the slightest movement would set it off.

He had no time for this, but neither could he move.

What am I doing, What am I doing...?

Hot tears stung his eyes, then burned down his face. If his heart beat any louder he wouldn't be the only one to hear it.

Charlie's familiarity with guns was not as limited as Don might have suspected. His experience did not stem from firing that rifle on the range, but from watching Don handle his own gun. Curiosity was a practical disease for Charlie, and he had always found himself watching in nervous fascination as Don cleaned and assembled his weapons. Don never did it at the house, of course. Alan hated seeing Don bring his guns into the house (with recent events being the exception). Don always did his cleaning at his own apartment, and Charlie got to witness it whenever Don invited him over for lunch, a movie, or to talk about a case. He would do it at a distance, with Charlie in his living room and Don in his kitchen, ensuring the gun was pointed away from his brother at all times despite the fact that it wasn't loaded.

Charlie never protested. In fact, he always insisted Don go ahead, because Charlie liked to time how fast Don did the work. His older brother was fast – not with the cleaning since caution was a must – but about assembling the gun back together. It took only seconds for the weapon to be deadly again, and for Charlie to wake up and recall his dislike for guns. It was always easy to forget when the gun was in pieces, harmless and no longer looking like a gun.

When something caught Charlie's interest, it became burned forever in his brain. So, looking back to the many times Don had cleaned his weapon, Charlie was able to remove the clip from the gun, as well as the extra bullet in the chamber. He did it slowly, barely breathing, and ensuring the gun was pointed toward the wall and not himself. Once the gun was empty of the deadly metal projectiles, he set the clip and bullet on his desk, right over his plan. He then slipped the gun into his pants along the hip to hide it. Sitting as he was, hunched up in fear, the grip dug into his floating rib painfully.

What am I doing, What am I doing, What am I doing...?

Now or never, Chuck.

The cold metal of the gun against his skin created a numbing effect that spread through his entire body, filling his mind with a haze of surreality. He stood, and everything became like a dream to him, which seemed fitting. Hadn't he wanted it all to be a dream? Only the feel of the gun at his side, and his ceaseless shivering, kept a part of him in reality to do what he needed to do. He slipped his bare feet into his tennis shoes, not bothering to tie them. He then pulled on his hooded sweater, but did not zip it up. No time.

This is stupid! What am I doing!

Not stopping, that was what he was doing. He found he couldn't stop. Like a wind-up toy, all he could do was hope that eventually he would wind down – either from exhaustion or terror – and wake up from himself.

Gotta be done, Chuck, or You'll never know. Want to be a wuss forever?

Charlie moved to his door and pressed himself against it, listening intently to the muffled voices that droned down the hall from downstairs. Obscuring the haphazard drone was his own heart pounding through his bone and flesh like a fist on the door. He waited as minutes became hours, ticking by soundlessly but with a heavy presence at the back of his mind.

Tick, tick, tick, Chuck.

Then he heard it; the creak of the stairs, the moan of the floorboards in the hallway. Charlie pushed himself away from the door and dove into his bed, throwing his covers over him. His light was already out.

He could sense, more than hear, his door open, and grit his teeth when the gun's digging into his side stung with each breath. He held his breath, and for a moment his body stilled, but the wait was an eternity and he could not suppress his shivering for much longer. Finally, his door swished closed, and the creak of protesting floorboards receded as his father made his way to his own room. Charlie opened his eyes, flinging back the covers and heading back to the door. He pressed his ear against it but heard nothing.

Don and David were outside, in the front yard doing another sweep. Charlie only had minutes, maybe even less depending on how thorough they chose to be. Carefully, Charlie opened his door. Even more carefully, he stepped from his room. He knew his house, knew every creak and moan of it, and so knew where to step and how lightly to tread so as not to produce any sounds.

His methodical movements were maddening, and the urge to run before Don and David came in was tearing at his nerves. He took the steps two at a time, keeping to the rail where the noise was more subdued. But once he reached the bottom floor, he took off at a half-run to the garage, still managing absolute silence. He slipped through the door, then down the stairs. He turned, and darted through the second door into the backyard, all the way to the shadow-drenched Koi pond. Once behind the tree, he crouched, shaking and panting, his heart ready to burst.

What am I doing? His mind whimpered, and he cringed. Alan was going to be furious with him, Don even more so, and between the two Don was the scariest when angry.

Gotta know, Chuck. Gotta know. It'll never be over otherwise if you don't. You want it to keep going?

Charlie moved along the fence within the shadows, heading to the gate at the front end. He huddled in the corner, listening to the scrape of gravel and the crunch of wet grass.

Please don't come in here, please don't come in here, please don't come in here...

Charlie heard the squeak of a shoe in the grass, then jumped when the gate rattled, his heart trying to crawl into his throat. It stopped, and whoever it had been moved away.

Charlie still waited, watching the house, listening for the opening and shutting of a door. The sound eventually came, and Charlie sucked in a breath he had not realized he had been holding. He straightened slightly, reaching up and pulling back the metal lock of the gate. He opened it one slow inch at a time, just enough for his slender body to slip through. Any wider and the gate would groan loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. Neither he nor Alan had ever oiled it, since it was Charlie's responsibility now and Charlie never remembered.

Once out, Charlie shut the gate and placed a rock in front of it so it wouldn't open again. It was too high for him to reach over and re lock, but then that was the point.

Once that was done, Charlie slipped behind a copse of shrubs and stayed crouch for several breathless minutes. Don and David would be in the back yard by now. So Charlie slipped back out, straightening, and took to the sidewalk at a run. He didn't care if anyone saw him. In fact, he wanted to be seen. Let the neighbors call the police, call Don, send help. But Charlie needed a head start first – a little time to make sure.

His direction was for the park several blocks away. Yes, it had been checked and rechecked, but if Leon were deviating from his original plan, then he would be there. It was the only area affording suitable hiding places, especially at night. Authorities could search during the day all they wanted, but Leon would know better than to be around. He was mentally ill, not stupid.

Charlie was going at his fastest run, which was not fast enough thanks to his present condition. His lungs were quick to start burning, which in turned set off a stabbing pain in his still cracked ribs. He stumbled, tripped, landing on his knee that sent pain shooting up his leg, causing him to gasp. He tried to stand, but fell again, gasping in rasping breaths and shaking now with fatigue more than fear. He gave himself a moment, swallowing against the rawness stinging his throat, then coughing fitfully. Finally, Terror and adrenaline gave him his second wind, and he pushed himself carefully onto his feet, stumbling and limping down the sidewalk.

He heard the distant hum of a car coming closer, so he darted into the thick shadows between a house and its fence. The huge, black SUV rolled by, and Charlie waited until he saw it turn another corner. Once out of sight, he went back to the sidewalk.

That might have been some of McAllister's people, but Charlie wasn't sure.

Any other day, his walk to the park would have seemed mere minutes. But time was still messing with his head, and the darkness was toying with his nerves. He saw movement everywhere; in the shadows, under trees, between warped fence slats. A small, dark shape whipped across a well-kept yard, and Charlie startled, stumbling back and nearly falling. The shape darted halfway up a tree, and turned eyes that flashed like lightning toward him.

In the dim light from someone's porch, Charlie could make out the form of a cat. The cat twitched its head about, then clamored down the tree and sauntered off as though satisfied by the fear it had caused its terrified observer. Charlie wanted to laugh, but the breath hitched in his throat, coming out more like a half-sob.

The need to turn back was tearing Charlie in two, but the fact that he was almost there kept him going. Soon he could see the park bathed in patches of yellow streetlights and darkness. He could see the empty baseball field bordered by bleachers and a chain-link fence, and the playground like a small city of slides, monkey-bars, jungle gyms, and swings. There were trees scattered everywhere, some clumped together like pieces of left-over forest. Charlie eyes went to these small woods, darting from one to the other, seeing movement that probably wasn't really there. The closer he came to the park, the slower his walking became. An unseen force was pulling at his back, and a disembodied voice was screaming at him to stop.

Momentum must have been keeping him going, because he wanted desperately to stop and turn. Even more, he wanted to wake up and see all this as the real dream.

Why am I here? Don's going to kill me. What have I done? I'm so stupid, stupid! Why won't I stop!

Because you want to know. Need to know. Have to know. It's the only way for anything to stop.

Charlie's throat constricted, his chest tightened. He cringed as he stepped off of the sidewalk and onto the cool grass of the park. Terror squeezed all reason from his addled and exhausted brain. He could no longer think. All warnings, pleas, and reasons became jumbled into incoherent mumblings in his head, and all he could do was to sob, tremble, and keep going. He cut across the grass, through the playground, and toward the trees as tears raced down his cheeks, slowing when they reached his jaw and crawled down his neck. Shadows moved, and every sound resounded, even the snap of a twig and the creak of a branch.

He wasn't within one of the little forests, but he was surrounded by scattered trees where the ground was painted in shapeless flecks of light and dark. A soft wind made the leaves whisper, and fallen leaves scrape the dirt pathway. It made his heart jump painfully, and his breath come in quick, uncontrollable pants. He was panicking.

Charlie stopped. He couldn't go on any further. He couldn't even move. He stood, and took in his surroundings, feeling small and lost like a child. He wanted to puke but had nothing left in him to throw up.

And Leon had yet to come.

Charlie sank to his knees.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, I'm so stupid, why? Why did I do this? Why...?

He felt the gun, felt it bruising him like the harmful hunk of metal that it was. He was tempted to take it and throw it, but it was Don's gun, and he needed to give it back. Just as soon as he could move, and stop crying... and think.

" Don," he said in a small, cracked voice. " I'm sorry."

Something crunched and scraped, slow and rhythmic; footfalls.

Charlie snapped his head up, eyes wide and hope swelling in his chest. " Don?"

He saw a form wrapped in shadows, a silhouette in the distant lights of the baseball field. The figure stopped when Charlie looked up. The figure reached into a pocket, and pulled something out. With a click, a light flared on right in Charlie's eyes, momentarily blinding him.

Then the person started laughing, louder and faster, slapping his thigh mirthfully. Then the laughter died abruptly. " You've got to be kidding me."

Charlie's heart slammed, and his body froze. The figure took three more steps forward, then crouched. Charlie blinked rapidly against the light, and shrank back. The figure shook his head.

" Stupid, Chuck, real stupid." Leon rose to his feet, towering over Charlie. " You said you were a genius kid. so what the hell are you doing here!" He snarled, and advanced.

Charlie snapped from his terror hold. He fell back, trying to get to his feet, the gun bruising his hip.

The gun.

Scrambling back, Charlie grabbed the gun from under his shirt, and pointed it at Leon. Leon stopped, raising both his hands, and Charlie scrabbled back onto his feet.

" Well," Leon spat bitterly, " look who grew a spine."

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Don was tired, but it was easy enough to alleviate as long as he kept moving. Megan and another agent would be arriving soon to take over for him and David, hopefully within the minute before the couch beckoned for him to lay down and 'rest his eyes' for a moment. He was standing before it even now, but staring at the clock. Ten thirty. By Don's standards, that wasn't even late. Yet the way his body was acting it might as well have been one in the morning.

He normally only felt this way when something was getting to him; a case, family. In this instance, both. Stress was making him old before his time.

David came out of the kitchen with a half-full glass of water in one hand. Nothing about the younger man betrayed even the remotest sign that he was tired, and Don felt a small pang of jealously at that, which made him grin.

He may be younger, but I'm still his boss, he thought rather vindictively, but still in good humor.

" You really think this guy'll show his face with us crawling around?" David asked.

Don, unable to stand it any longer, dropped onto the couch and rubbed his face with both hands, finishing off the brief massage by pulling his hands through his hair. " No." He then dropped his hands into his lap. " But, then again, what do I know. You'd have to ask Megan."

David took the easy chair, taking a sip from the glass. " How's Charlie?" he asked when he finished.

" Hopefully passed out." Don then sighed heavily. " I really have no idea how long we should do this."

" What do you mean?" David asked.

" Waiting for Leon to pop up. If the guy's as smart as Agent Hanson says, then he's not just gonna appear out of nowhere, demanding Charlie." Don shrugged. " However - not being the profiler in the department – I can't really say what Leon may or may not do. I can't even say if he's really here, or if Charlie's just seeing him."

David let out a breath, shaking his head. " Poor guy."

" I think 'poor guy' is an understatement. The only time I'd ever seen him suffer this bad was when our mom died, but even then it'd been different. Charlie's getting sick. But hey, big surprise, right? Kind of hard not to get sick when you're that stressed out."

David nodded assent. " Well, this might just be my optimistic side talking, but I think we'll catch this guy. I may not know Charlie like you do, but he's never struck me as the type to give into mind tricks. His mind just seems a little too busy as it is to be seeing things."

Don smiled at that. " True. I don't think he's seeing things either." Then Don let his smile fade. " So what does this guy want with Charlie?"

David shrugged. " Wrong guy to ask. I will say this though. Once we catch him, try not to beat the answers outta him. Or at least not in public."

Don smiled and chuckled at that. Outside, he heard the low rumble of a car pulling into a driveway. " All right, the calvary," he said tiredly. He bent forward and began rummaging through his bag. Then paused.

David, awake and acute, picked up on Don's sudden rigid pause like a lion picks up on blood.

" What?" he asked warily.

Don began frantically pulling clothes from his bag, tossing them onto the couch and floor. " My backup piece. I had it in by bag."

David set his glass on the side table and stood. He reached for his own gun. " Taken?"

Don shook his head, then stood. " I don't know." He headed for the stairs, taking them fast, and making a B-line for Charlie's room.

How could Leon get into the house without us seeing? We checked everywhere, the doors were locked, windows too...

Then he opened the door to Charlie's room.

The bed was empty. His little brother was gone. Don moved his gaze to the window, but spotted something on the desk. He entered the room and went straight for the items he saw lying there in plain sight, the equivalent of a note that said more than words ever could.

There was the clip and a single bullet. Below that, a paper cluttered with equations and words.

Movement, places to hide, food sources...

A question; Would Leon run?

Another; Why is he doing this?

Another; What can I do?

Don could hear his brother's desperation and confusion in the written words, and his heart plummeted like a rock.

" Oh, Charlie, no... no. What are you doing?"

He picked up the clip and paper, staring at them as though they had betrayed him, betrayed Charlie. Charlie could not help listening to the numbers. They told him everything he did not know, and did not understand. They were supposed to be his friends.

Don pocketed the clip, then turned to David. " Go meet Megan at the door. Tell her Charlie's missing and we're going to find him. I need to wake my dad."

David nodded once and hurried out. Don turned, briefly, to look back at the equation. But he had no time to think or feel. Charlie needed him. So he hurried out, veering to his father's room.

Charlie, what are you doing?

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A/N: Will Don make it in time? Will Charlie survive? No! Charlie dies! Mwuahahahahahahaha! Okay, I'm just kidding, please don't maim me. (It was my sister's idea to say that, honest!) Or am I kidding? Sorry for the cliffhanger, but this chapter was just screaming for one. Nearing the end though, so hold on tight!