Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to numb3rs or the characters therein.
Author's note: Okay- I mention in here Don's age as being 35 to correct the mistake in my first chapter. If a revised chapter 1 ever shows up, it just means I simply changed the number 37 to 35. Also, thanks anonymous- the kidnapper is now a psychiatrist, and I read up on shock treatment so I could get it right.
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It was a clear Monday morning, sunlight pouring into the room so thick a haze hung about the occupants and their chairs, a slight glare on the whiteboard necessitating its placement at an awkward angle. Almost twenty men filled the small space with suits and ties and gleaming shoes, the chorus of their voices harsh whispers, their movements short and jerky, the scraping of their metal chairs making small beats on the floor as they moved about, the strokes of their attention drawn to and from each other as they made speculations that they tried to reign in when they broke free from common sense and actual possibilities- all except one man, whose contribution to the orchestra was a pair of broken tennis shoes beating with a nervous rhythm on the tiled floor.
His voice was lost in the pit of his ever-lurching stomach; his natural curiosity was safely plugged shut with the ear buds he wore on his head, lost to the music from the mp3 player that prevented him from hearing the cacophony of the agents around him.
Charlie did not want to know what they thought.
Not yet, anyway.
If he allowed himself to listen to their meandering melody, his own mind might take on that exact refrain.
He suspected what fears they were vocalizing.
He did not want to think of Don being dead.
So, he sat in the room in his own world of music, while the agents around him continued to perform their own sad song of "Where could Eppes be?"
He feared it was going to be an unfinished symphony, because nobody knew.
No one could guess at all.
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Special Agent Reeves approached the white board, clipping a picture of Don at the top.
Assigned to lead the investigation into the disappearance of her colleague and friend, she faced the roomful of agents, waited for Alan Eppes to find his place next to Charlie, gently shake his son's attention back to the room, the mp3 player placed away.
Standing at the podium set in the front of the room, Meagan held a marker up high in her right hand; she tapped it gently against the podium three times, waiting for the room's occupants to quiet and get settled into attentive positions- then, with an air of anticipation, she began conducting the investigation, the writing instrument in her hand gliding in short and long movements across the white board as she converted the low resonance and high trumpeting of suggestions from her fellow players into a complete expression of case notes.
When the last idea reverberated off the wall, and the racket in the room had finally faded, Megan began assigning parts to each of the federal agents. They quickly left the room to start the litany of jobs that needed to be performed.
All who were left were Alan, Charlie, David, Colby, and Megan. Regrouping, they headed to the nearest lounge to privately discuss Don's disappearance.
They grabbed cups of fresh coffee and sat loosely around a table in the corner.
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It had been a rough couple of days. Alan and Charlie had driven back to Los Angeles immediately upon receiving the return call from David. Sunday morning had been spent at Don's apartment, his fellow team members- David, Colby, and Megan- searching it thoroughly after being provided a key from Alan. Nothing looked amiss. The two-day stack of letters bunched in Don's mail receptacle and the condition of his SUV were enough evidence to indicate that whatever had happened to the agent had occurred somewhere in the parking lot. A crime scene unit was called out to go over the apartment, but no tell-tale evidence appeared to be found.
The team members brought Charlie and Alan to the apartment, and spent the rest of Sunday thoroughly going through all of Don's possessions, trying to find some indication of what had happened to him. Neither Eppes man was familiar with Don's things, so they could not say if anything was missing, though Charlie was able to state that the apartment's condition looked the same way as the last time he had seen it. Considering that had been over six months before, everyone in the room looked upon the apartment more as a sleeping and changing place for Don rather than his home.
At the same time, working out in the parking lot, the crime scene unit did not detect anything out of the ordinary. It was not until nightfall that they were called back in, the result of Colby's interest in the stars.
Everyone had decided to call it a night, Alan and Charlie heading back home, while the team members headed to write reports at the office, and then to catch a few hours sleep. There would be a task force forming in the morning, and everyone wanted to be alert when the meeting began.
Colby was standing behind the others, looking into the early evening sky.
"You know, if it weren't for all the light that we generate, we could see those stars much clearer."
He pointed to the lights from the nearby apartment windows, the glare of streetlights, and finally the lights that ringed the parking lot. That's when he noticed there was one out a few spaces down from Don's car. Colby's mind processed the information quickly- Don disappeared, there is a light out near his parking space, the area is dark, the entire lot is well-kept, no other lights are out. He immediately went to the parking space that was engulfed in shadow, the darkness intensified by its nearness to the building itself. Looking down, he noticed the vague imprints of tire tracks. He also noticed that one print was spread out and misshapen, as if the tire had been flat. An idea formed in his head, and he called over to the group of people who were watching his behavior with heightened interest.
"You find something, Colby?" David asked, standing next to him.
"Yeah- I think so. Look how this light is out over this parking spot. Now, look at the tire tracks- that rear passenger one looks like it could have been flat. What if Don got home and someone was here with a flat tire- maybe asked Don for help. Odds are, if it was someone he would feel compelled to help- like a person with an injury, a woman, or, I don't know, an elderly person- wouldn't he have tried to help?"
David and Megan thought it over. It suddenly struck David-
"Hey- yeah, I think you've go something there. I mean, that would account for him leaving the files in the car and taking off his suit jacket. He wouldn't have wanted to get it dirty".
What this suggested none of the team members voiced. They did not want to discuss any particular possibilities when Don's family was around- because those possibilities all involved violence, and Don at least being hurt.
Thus, the crime scene unit was called in again, this time to process this particular parking space and the tire tracks, while the David, Colby, and Megan headed back to the office, and the Eppes men headed home.
They all met up the next day at the task force meeting.
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Lightly swirling the coffee in his cup, Alan asked the agents, "Where do you go from here?"
Megan took the lead. "We'll start talking to our informers, see if there is any information on the street about a fed being kidnapped or"- here she hesitated, "uh, going missing."
She, David, and Colby exchanged mutual looks that agreed to not bring up the possibility that Don had been killed, and his body buried where they'd never find it. They were going to keep the Eppes' hopes up- and theirs as well.
Alan and Charlie were not fooled, however, as the possibility of Don's death had been staring at them ever since they received the return phone call from David. They appreciated the agents' concern for their feelings, though, so they also avoided bringing up the topic. It was one they were glad to let rest.
Megan continued, "We're also waiting for the crime scene unit's information from that parking space. We might be able to name a car from the tire type, and ask residents if they noticed it parked there Friday night- or at any other time. It's somewhat weak, but you'd be surprised how far a little bit of information can go."
"Also, we already checked the GPS for Don's cell phone. Whatever happened, the phone is no longer in service and the card is not readable. So, despite the small amount of evidence we have, we are still able to try numerous routes."
"Among those will be a public campaign," David added, "We'll work hard to get Don's picture out there. If we don't get any response, the Bureau will typically offer a reward."
With that, Charlie looked up.
"How much?"
"Enough," Colby said, thinking a couple seconds, "probably a hundred grand- Don's a team leader, so they would offer that much."
Charlie licked his lips.
"If they offer a reward- whatever it is, I'll double it."
The four other people at the table raised their eyebrows at the young professor.
"Consulting pays well, and, if it will help bring back Don, I'll donate every last penny I have."
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Don sat up in the bed; it felt small beneath his body, as he was not used to sleeping on a twin. Swinging his legs over the side, he placed bare feet on a blue carpeted floor. He was still wearing his suit pants and undershirt, but his belt and dress shirt were missing.
It took a lot of energy for Don to keep his vision clear; his body was tired and aching, he was extremely hungry and parched- but his curiosity overwhelmed him and was his main motivation to move.
He was sitting in what looked like a typical children's room. Four walls, no windows, and two doors set within a few feet of each other in the wall to the left of the bed; directly across from Don, a small television sat on a three-drawer dresser, a DVD player balanced on the top. To the right of the dresser, a clothed-covered lazy boy recliner was wedged into the corner, a small square toy box flushed against the wall to his right. A wastebasket was placed at the head of the bed. Everything was colored blue. There was no other furniture in the room, except the bed he was sitting on, which was pushed against the wall.
There was also a small nightlight in the shape of a rabbit, sitting in the socket near the dresser.
Don thoughtfully ran his fingers along the sheets and blankets of the bed. They were printed with baseballs, gloves, and bats- no specific team logo was apparent. The set up of the room made the agent suspect that somebody who was familiar with him had brought him here-maybe not someone he had been close to, but someone who at least knew a few things about him.
Like his love for baseball- but not the name of his favorite team.
And that his favorite color was blue- but not the shade.
Don checked his pockets, looking for a cell phone he knew would not be there. Standing slowly, facing the wall to the left of the bed, he carefully walked the few steps to the door set to his right; it opened into a full bathroom, with toilet, basin sink, and an old-fashioned iron bathtub with clawed feet.
After taking advantage of the facilities, Don ran the water in the sink, lowering his head to scoop up water, sucking in the liquid for several minutes until he satisfied his thirst. His stomach grumbled, but he ignored it. Wiping his hand across his mouth, he left the washroom and tried to turn the knob of the door to the left of the first one.
Assuming it was the exit, he grabbed the handle and was surprised to feel it turning in his hands-
The door flew open!
His balance still unsteady, Don was knocked to the floor.
Pulling himself up into a sitting position, he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples until the bright stars faded behind his lids.
Opening his eyes, he looked up into the milky face of a middle-aged woman, small laugh lines gently accenting the corners of her eyes. Her black hair cascaded down to her shoulders, pulled back with a blue headband, the small smile on her face warm and genial. She wore a loose button-down shirt with a pair of jeans and tennis shoes. Her posture was inviting, her left hand sitting loosely on the knob of the door, the right hand held closely at her side.
"What?" confused, Don only thought to ask- "who are you?"
Continuing to smile sweetly, the lady took a step into the room. As she came closer to Don, he was able to see into her eyes. They betrayed the serenity of her face, as their black cores slipped away into an unfathomable wilderness that threatened to entangle him.
"Why, don't you remember, Donny"-
She whipped her right hand around, exposing a taser gun and shooting an off-guard Don with it.
As Don felt the familiar pain flash through his worn body, and the small room began to recede, the last words that seeped into his conscious brain were-
"I'm Mommy."