Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with CBS' television show Numb3rs.
Close Call 1/1The case had been over for days, but Don was still brooding. Megan watched him surreptitiously for an hour, and he hadn't moved. He sat, staring off into space, one finger absent-mindedly rubbing his lower lip. Finally, her curiosity got the better of her and she tossed her pen onto her desk.
"Alright, Eppes. Give."
Don looked up, mildly startled. "What?"
Megan stood and walked around her desk, dragging her chair. She rolled it to a position close to Don's desk and sat down. "What's bugging you?" she asked.
For a moment he looked like he was going to argue, then he sighed. "Charlie," he answered.
"Want to talk about it?" Megan settled herself into a comfortable position and waited. After what seemed like a long internal struggle, Don relented.
"Charlie told me… on this last case… high school was really hard for him," he began quietly. "I guess I never really paid attention to the trouble he was having. We were kids," he said, as though trying to convince himself of the validity of the excuse. "What kind of problems do you expect a kid to have?" He gave a short bark of laughter, but Megan could tell there was no humor in it.
"Was it bad?" she asked.
Don gave a half shrug and began toying with his coffee cup. "I guess… he never talked about it. I did my thing, and he did his – or so I thought. I mean," he shrugged again, not looking up. "We had different interests – different friends. It's not like we moved in the same circles." He paused. After a moment, he looked at Megan. "How was I supposed to know?"
Megan shook her head. "How were you supposed to know what?"
Don watched his finger trail around the rim of the cup. "About the trouble he was having…" His voice dropped to just above a whisper. "About Val."
"She was the one you guys fought over, right?" Megan asked. "The one that got married at the house last week?" At Don's silent nod, she said, "Did you ever talk about it?"
"No," he replied. "Well, sort of… Charlie doesn't want to think about it – I guess it was kind of rough."
Megan gave him her 'you're not telling me everything' look. He saw it, and once again his shoulders moved. "I guess I didn't want to either. But now… I wonder if maybe I should've kept at it." He sighed and ran both hands through his hair. "It's too late now, I guess. The opportunity is gone."
"What do you mean, 'it's gone'?" Megan sat forward in her chair. "Where did it go?"
Don let his hands fall into his lap. He regarded her with a wary look. "What?"
Megan snorted. "You! That's one of the lamest excuses I've heard in a long time – and one I never thought I'd hear from you!"
He sat silently, thoroughly puzzled, and waited for the other shoe to drop – it wasn't long in coming.
"You sit there, hour after hour, thinking about what you could've done, or should've said," Megan continued. "Why don't you talk to Charlie about it?"
Don shook his head. "Charlie's out of town at some seminar."
"That is what telephones are for, " Megan said, pointing to the one next to his elbow. "Pick it up, and call him."
He regarded her for a moment, then a smile spread slowly across his face. "You're nuts, you know that?" he asked.
Megan got up and began rolling her chair back to her desk. "You say I'm nuts? I don't have a fear of telephones!"
Don grinned foolishly and picked up the receiver.
-x-x-x-
Charlie hung up the phone feeling strangely light-hearted and more than a little confused. Don had called him, out of the blue, and just wanted to talk. More than that, he had wanted to listen. They had agreed to meet up when Charlie got back into Los Angeles to have a real heart-to-heart conversation. Don had felt awkward talking for a long time on the phone, so they had made an arrangement instead. Charlie sat on the edge of the bed in his hotel room and wondered what had come over his brother.
Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, he turned his thoughts instead to what he had yet to do at the seminar. He had already given his lectures, done the obligatory palm pressing, and made arrangements for future appearances. The only thing remaining was the closing ceremony and he wasn't really needed for that. His flight was leaving tomorrow at 1 p.m., getting into LA almost two and a half hours later. On impulse, he picked up the phone and dialled.
"Hello," he said when the call was answered. "This is Professor Charlie Eppes. I have a reservation I would like to change, if possible. Is there a flight leaving Seattle tonight for Los Angeles?"
-x-x-x-
After finishing up his paperwork, Don stood and stretched. Grabbing his jacket, he announced, "That's it for me – I'm going to head home."
Megan stood as well. "Would you be able to give me a lift, Don?" she asked. "My car's back in the shop."
Don laughed easily. "When are you going to get rid of that lemon and get a real car?"
"You're feeling better," she observed as they headed for the elevators. "Did you get everything sorted out with your brother?"
Don punched the 'down' button and then replied, "We're going to have a talk when he gets back."
"Good," Megan stepped back to let the car's former occupants go by before entering the elevator. "When does he get back?" she asked.
"Tomorrow sometime," he replied. The elevator began its descent.
Megan echoed, "'Tomorrow sometime'? You don't even know?"
As the doors slid open on the ground floor, Don said, "Hey, give me a break, will you? We're just getting started on this 'brother' thing. I don't keep tabs on what he's doing, and vice versa. We're not that close."
Megan made a sound of disgust as they headed for the parking lot.
-x-x-x-
He'd been asleep for about an hour when he heard his brother's voice as clearly as if he'd been standing next to the bed.
Don! Help me!
Don sat bolt upright in his bed, wide-awake. He looked around quickly, but there was no one there. He picked up his watch from where he'd left it on the bedside table and glanced at the luminous dial. Twelve – fifteen a.m. He considered putting it back but instead strapped it onto his wrist.
With an urgency he didn't understand, Don climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans. Grabbing his shoes and socks, he made his way into the living room. He sat in the armchair and put on his footwear, then grabbed the shirt he'd slung onto the couch the night before. Shoving his arms into it hurriedly, Don grabbed his cell phone. After pressing the first four digits of his brother's number, he abruptly snapped the phone shut and sat down.
What was he doing? He tried to identify the source of the feelings that clawed at his gut: urgency, danger, helplessness and - regret? He shook his head as if to clear it, but the sensations didn't go away. If anything, they became stronger.
He gave in. Grabbing his jacket and car keys, Don headed out the door.
-x-x-x-
He couldn't explain it – and hoped he'd never have to. This… feeling. Turn here – go straight there. Hurry, hurry. It made him feel sick, and more than a little bit scared. Nevertheless, he obediently followed the urges that made his hands move of their own free will, and made his feet manipulate the pedals as though he knew where he was going.
Except he didn't.
Turning a corner, he saw a car parked by the side of the road. On second glance, he realized it wasn't parked – it was run up against a lamppost. The street ran by the Cal Sci campus, and it at this hour, was virtually deserted. Don saw the driver's door had been left open, and quickly pulled over.
Jumping out of his car, he jogged back to the abandoned vehicle. The car was still running, and Don examined it to see if there was anyone inside. The interior was littered with beer bottles and cigarette butts, but otherwise empty. He reached in to shut off the motor. As the engine rattled to a halt, Don realized the sensations that had driven him this far had died, too.
Standing, he looked around for signs of the occupant – or occupants – of the car. Drinking and driving had obviously caused this mishap, and Don pulled out his phone to report it to the police.
Someone groaned nearby. Don peered over the crumpled hood of the car. He thought he could see a person's backpack on the far side of the car, but he'd have to go around the vehicle to see who it belonged to. Stepping carefully to avoid disturbing anything that might be needed as evidence, Don made his way around the back of the car to the other side. What he saw made his blood turn to ice.
Charlie.
Abandoning caution, Don raced to his brother's side and fell to his knees. Charlie's left leg seemed to be pinned under the front of the car, and he appeared to be unconscious. At Don's anguished cry, however, he opened his eyes slightly and whispered, "Don… knew… you'd come…"
Don felt the tears coursing down his cheeks. "What the hell are you doing here, Charlie?" he pleaded. "You're supposed to be in Seattle!"
"Sorry…" came the gasped response. "Wanted to… surprise…"
"Oh my god!" Don said. He flipped open the phone he still carried in his hand and called 9-1-1. After giving the operator directions and demanding an ambulance, he disconnected. He grabbed Charlie's hand in both his own, noting how cold it felt. "Charlie," Don begged. "Stay with me, buddy. There's help coming."
Charlie's eyelids drifted shut as he whispered, "Knew… you'd come…"
-x-x-x-
"Mr. Eppes?"
Don looked up from where he had been staring at the waiting room floor. He'd called his father half an hour ago to tell him what had happened, but he was still trying to sort it out for himself. Why wasn't Charlie in Seattle?
"You can see him now," the doctor said. Don stood, and the other man guided him to a curtain drawn around a bed in the emergency room. "Not long," he continued. "We have to take him up to surgery in a few minutes." He turned and left. Don took a moment compose himself and then stepped around the curtain.
Charlie was lying on the bed dressed in a surgical gown. The blanket was drawn up to his waist, but his left leg was only covered by a sheet – for sake of decorum, Don thought. He looked at his brother, lying quiet and pale, watching a nurse injecting something into his IV. Don moved next to the bed.
Charlie turned his head. "Hey, Don," he said weakly.
"Hey, buddy," Don said, smiling at him. "How are you doing?"
Charlie glanced at the nurse, who said, "I've just given him a sedative in preparation for surgery. He's going to be getting pretty sleepy soon."
Don asked, "What's the surgery for?"
"Well," she said, smiling at Charlie and straightening his blanket. "The professor here has to get a couple of pins in his leg." She looked at Don. "He's got some fractured ribs as well, but other than that, he's pretty healthy." Turning back to Charlie, she added, "You were very lucky. I'll be back in a bit." Casting another smile at them both, she ducked around the curtain.
Don saw Charlie watching him warily. "So how are you feeling, really?" he asked.
Charlie plucked nervously at his blanket. "I'm sore, and it hurts to breathe… I don't feel much in my leg, though. They gave me a shot in my thigh." He glanced up briefly before asking, "Are you mad at me?"
Don stepped quickly to the side of the bed and took Charlie's hand. "No, no. God, no, Charlie! I'm not… I'm not mad at you! How could I be?"
Stunned, Charlie asked, "You're not?"
"It's not your fault, Charlie," Don replied. "You scared the hell out of me, and I wish you'd called for a ride… what were you doing there, anyway?" he asked suddenly. "You didn't go home when you got off the plane?"
Charlie shrugged, a movement he instantly regretted. After catching his breath, he said, "The airline lost my suitcase, and my bike was at the school. I had the taxi drop me a few blocks away because I wanted to walk." Don sighed and scrubbed one hand through his hair. A moment passed in silence, and then Charlie asked, "How did you find me?" Don dropped his hand and looked away. Charlie went on. "The car came around the corner, and the next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground. My backpack was too far away… my cell was in it." He rubbed one hand over his eyes. The sedative was starting to kick in.
Don put his hands on his hips and stared at the floor.
"Don?" Charlie asked. Don looked up. "What happened?"
Don took a step away from the bed. At that moment, Alan came around the curtain.
"My God, Charlie!" he exclaimed. "Are you okay?" Charlie nodded, and Alan turned to Don. "What happened?"
Don waved one hand in Charlie's direction. "They have to put a pin in his leg, and he's got broken ribs. He was walking down by the university, and some drunk clipped him on his way to a lamppost."
"Did they catch him?" Alan asked.
"They will," Don shrugged. "They'll run the plates – track him down. They've probably got him by now."
"Don," Charlie was struggling to stay awake. "How…"
Alan looked from one son to the other. "What's he asking?" He went to Charlie's side. "What is it?"
Don sighed. "He wants to know how I found him." Alan looked at Don. Charlie nodded slowly. Don regarded them both silently for a second, then asked, "Charlie, when you came to and realized you couldn't reach your phone, what did you do?"
Charlie thought for a moment. He was getting very drowsy and it was difficult to concentrate. "I… I thought it was… stupid for me to change my flight… and not tell anyone… " He thought some more. "And then… I wished you were there, Don… to help me." Alan patted his arm reassuringly. "Then, " Charlie continued. "I must have blacked out… because the next thing I knew… you were there."
The doctor and the nurse came back at that moment, followed by an orderly. "I'm sorry, gentlemen," the doctor said. "We have to take Charlie up now."
"Wait," Charlie insisted groggily. "Don… how… "
"I don't know, Charlie," Don replied. The nurse unhooked the IV as the orderly began pulling the bed away from the wall. "We'll talk about it after, okay buddy? Let them get you fixed up first." Don ruffled Charlie's hair as he went by.
Alan and Don stepped into the hallway as the orderly turned Charlie's bed toward the elevator. Alan called, "We'll be waiting right here, son." Charlie nodded. The doors slid open, and he was pushed inside.
Alan turned to Don. "Want to try explaining it to me?" he asked.
Glancing at his father, Don headed for the waiting room and a nearby coffee machine. "I was sleeping," he began, plugging coins into the slot.
Alan waited. After he took the cup Don offered and watched him put more change in the machine, he tried again. "And?" he prodded.
Don took his cup out of the machine and walked slowly to the only window. Gazing out at the lightening sky, he sipped his drink before replying. "I heard Charlie call me." He turned to his father. "I woke up and got dressed. I got in my car and drove." Alan lowered himself into a chair, never taking his eyes off Don's face. His oldest son was obviously struggling for words. He waited. Don moved away from the window and sat in another chair, staring at the floor, the cup in his hands forgotten. Alan turned to face him squarely.
"I drove… and drove… I don't know how I knew where to go… " He shook his head. "I felt… drawn. Like something was pulling at me." He looked at Alan. "I thought… I thought I was going crazy, Dad," he whispered.
Alan set his cup on a nearby table and leaned closer. "You're not going crazy, Donnie," he said. Don looked up at him, confusion written plainly on his face. Alan reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. "I've heard of it before… I just haven't ever seen it myself." He let his hand drop. "Sometimes, when two people are extremely close, they can – communicate, I guess – with each other in times of great need."
Don snorted. "Oh, come on, Dad. You actually believe that junk?" He leaned back in his chair.
Alan leaned back as well and picked up his coffee cup. Taking a sip, he gazed serenely at Don over the rim and asked, "How do you explain it, then?"
"I can't – but even if it actually happens to real people," Don added, "How does it apply here? Charlie and I aren't 'extremely close', as you put it."
"Maybe you're closer than you realize," Alan replied wisely.