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Disclaimer and summary in chapter one.
Proving Ground
Part 2/6
by Megan
Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.
-Isaac Asimov (1920-1992)
Friday
2:02 pm
Don quietly closed the front door and took the steps two at a time to his father's room, afraid of what he'd find. The AD had called him into his office earlier and told him he was needed at home. The message was something about his father being very ill, followed by something about his brother. He was so worried about his father that he didn't quite comprehend the part of the message about his brother.
He'd been out in the field and involved in multiple stake outs for the past week and hadn't had time to visit his family. If there was anything out of the ordinary going on, he wouldn't have noticed.
Stopping at the threshold to his father's room, his heart caught in his throat. The room was dark, and the stale air contaminated with the pungent smell of illness. His dad lay on his back, pale and sweating, eyes partly open.
He moved to his father's side. "Dad?"
Much to his surprise, a small smile crossed Alan's face, but quickly to be replaced with worry. "Don, you got here quick," he croaked.
"Of course I did. You asked for my help." Don quickly set about opening the window, allowing fresh air and a little light into the room. He then ran to the kitchen to grab his father a glass of ginger ale.
Upon his return, his father graciously accepted the cool liquid and savoured each sip. "How long have you been sick? Where's Charlie? He doesn't have class this afternoon."
"I started feeling sick last week, but it just got bad a few days ago." He closed his eyes and settled back against the pillows. "I'm sure it's just a really bad cold."
"You look like death warmed over. Is Charlie helping you?'
"No."
Don could hear the worry behind that single syllable, but couldn't help the anger he was starting to feel. He narrowed his eyes at his father as he continued.
"That's why I called for your help. Not for me, but for him. I haven't seen him in two days," Alan finished.
"What? You mean he knows you're sick and he is choosing not to help you? Where is he?" Don's worry for his father was being replaced by anger at his brother. He couldn't understand how Charlie could be so selfish at times.
"I can hear him in the garage. But Don, you need to understand. There's something not right with him."
"I'll say. How dare he..."
Alan cut him off. "Listen to me. He's not sleeping. I can hear him up at all hours of the night, and I'm certain he's not eating. I heard him come home from school too early yesterday, and he hasn't had anyone like Larry or Amita over. I need your help with him."
Don didn't know what to say. This scenario was disturbingly similar to what the family went through last year when his mother died. His brother had locked himself in the garage, completely neglecting himself. His father had been too wrapped up in his grief to look after the family, leaving Don to do it. Now because of Charlie, it was happening again.
"Please, Don. I'm worried about him."
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Don stood outside the door to the garage and hesitated before entering. He could clearly hear the chalk scraping against the board as Charlie madly wrote out whatever equations were crawling around in his head. He knew what he'd find on the other side of the door, and wasn't sure he could handle it. Well, handle it, yes. In an appropriate way? Most likely not. His patience had been wearing very thin with his brother lately, and recent events were threatening to override his common sense.
Squaring his shoulders, he pushed the door open and stalked into the room. It was worse than he'd thought. Every chalkboard in the room was covered in various numbers and symbols he didn't recognize. Many of the equations were overlapped to the point nothing could be deciphered, and when Charlie had given up on that, he'd started writing on the floor. Chalk dust hung in the air, and was sprinkled over his brother's dark clothes and hair, making him look like he'd had a mishap with a bag of flour. Words and phrases that were meaningless to Don spewed forth from Charlie's mouth.
"Charlie," he started, aghast, as he stepped further into the room. No response. Raising his voice he tried again. "Charlie!"
"Go away," Charlie mumbled, not even glancing up from the floor. Don suspected Charlie didn't even know who was in the room with him.
Don walked the remaining few feet to where his brother was hunched over and again tried to get his attention. His calm exterior hid the anger he could feel deep inside. "Charlie, look at me." Again no response. "Charlie, I'm talking to you, damn it!" He emphasized this by reaching down and roughly grabbing Charlie's wrist, the one with the chalk, and hauling him upright. "What the hell's the matter with you?"
"This equation... not enough time, and, uh, this equation, is uh, what is this I'm forgetting..." Charlie's disjointed ramblings were accompanied by a total lack of interest in Don. His eyes wandered the room, as though looking for a convenient place to start writing again. Don's eyes widened when Charlie quickly passed the chalk from his restrained right hand to his left, and reached over to start writing on one of the pillars.
"Charlie, no!" He grabbed the front of his brother's shirt with both hands, roughly pulling him forward until they were almost nose to nose. He was used to Charlie losing himself in his math, it would happen from time to time. It just never happened to the total exclusion of the world around him.
Charlie's eyes were still wandering, so Don shook him. Hard. Charlie's eyes suddenly snapped into focus, staring directly into his older brother's. What Don saw chilled him, making him temporarily forget about his anger. These weren't his brother's eyes. Charlie's eyes were bright and clear, and overflowing with knowledge. The eyes he saw were empty, like a void where his brother should have been. Despite the brightness of the garage, his pupils were dilated, and it was then he noticed the slight tremors coursing through his brother's smaller frame. He'd been in law enforcement long enough to recognize the signs. Coupled with the not eating or sleeping, it all made sense.
"Charlie," he started, his voice dangerously low. "What did you take?"
His little brother's eyes widened in surprise at the accusation, and for a split second his thoughts cleared. "Don?'
"What are you on, Charlie? Some sort of amphetamine? Huh? Need something to help you work at these damn equations longer?" His anger was threatening to overcome him once again.
"What? Don... what's going on? I'd never..."
"Dad is lying in the house so sick he can barely function, and instead of worrying about himself, he's fretting about you! You don't care enough about your own father, who's spent his life giving everything to you, to help him out with the simplest tasks, and then above all else you start taking drugs!" Don knew he was jumping to conclusions, but didn't care.
This was inexcusable. "He calls me at work and gets my supervisor so worked up he calls me off the case I was working, thinking there was some sort of serious family emergency! The only serious family emergency that comes to mind is the fact I allowed you back into my life!"
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Charlie was aware of Don's presence, could sense his anger and see his disappointment. He could feel the pain as Don's hands tightly gripped his shirt, and wished more than anything he could respond. He willed his mouth to work, to simply form complete sentences so he could defend himself from the hurtful things Don was saying, but instead found himself drifting further away.
His vision clouded as his eyes lost their focus.
Don!
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Don saw and felt Charlie's collapse before his mind fully registered what was happening. For a split second, he'd seen a glimpse of the real Charlie in the dark orbs before they lost focus again. The force of his brother's collapsing weight coupled with his death grip on his shirt pulled him down to his knees, while at the same time he quickly put his right hand behind Charlie's head to stop it from impacting the concrete floor with too much force.
"Charlie!" he sharply called, trying to rouse his unconscious brother.
He put his fingers against the younger man's neck and sighed when he felt a strong pulse, but that relief was short lived when he realized just how fast that pulse was going. "What have you done, Charlie?"
He pulled out his cell and rattled off the required information for the 911 operator, his eyes never leaving his brother who had yet to move. With a jolt he realized his dad was still lying upstairs, oblivious to the drama unfolding in the garage. He was torn between staying with Charlie, or going to give his dad the heads up as in a matter of minutes an ambulance with sirens blaring was going to pull into the driveway. The decision was taken out of his hands when the ambulance arrived.
He ran to the door and ushered the medics in, sticking close.
"What happened?" the older paramedic of the two asked.
"I'm not exactly sure. He just collapsed, but before that there was definitely something wrong with him."
The other paramedic had attached a pulse-ox monitor to Charlie's index finger and was in the process of deflating a blood pressure cuff. "Pulse 172, blood pressure 165/110," he quietly told his partner, who upon hearing the vitals started demanding information from Don while he rapidly prepared to transport Charlie.
"Is he on any medications? Specifically heart medications?"
"Not that I know of." Charlie would have mentioned something like that, wouldn't he?
"Has he taken anything? Anything at all?" They already had Charlie on the backboard and were headed for the ambulance.
"I... I'm not sure." It hurt Don to say that. Under any other circumstance he would have been offended by a question like that, but given Charlie's earlier behaviour he couldn't rule it out. "He was confused and rambling right before he collapsed, and he hasn't been eating or sleeping. What's wrong with him?"
"We can't say for sure. His pulse and blood pressure are dangerously high and he needs to get to the hospital immediately. You can follow behind us if you want." With that, the ambulance doors were slammed and the ambulance screeched out of the driveway.
Don ran back into the house and bounded up the stairs, almost running into his father as he rounded the corner. "Dad!" he exclaimed, shocked.
"Don? What's going on? What happened to Charlie? I need to see him."
"Dad, no. He collapsed in the garage and is on his way to the hospital right now. I'm going to meet him there. Do me a favour and get back to bed and I'll call you as soon as I know anything." He reached to touch his father's shoulder and steer him back down the hall.
"Absolutely not! You expect me to lie here while my son is being rushed to the emergency room?" The adrenaline surge brought on by the shock of hearing the sirens had given him a small burst of strength. He moved to push past Don.
"Dad, listen to me. You will not do yourself or Charlie any good pushing yourself like this. You are very sick too. I suspect once the doctors get a whiff of you they'll either want to admit you or shoo you out so you don't make anyone else sick."
"Don -"
"Dad, trust me. The minute I know anything I will call you. I don't want to have to worry about you too, all right?"
"I'm going to hold you to that." Alan obviously wasn't happy about this.
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
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