Chapter 14

Max and Nicky stood in shock over the mattress. Nicky spoke first, after swallowing nervously. "How do you think he did that?"

Max looked at the destroyed computer. "That crash we heard. He was breaking that thing into pieces. He found a sharp one…" He shook his head, watched the blood flow from Charlie's wrists and soak into the mattress. "Damn. Guess there's no point in…" He glanced at Nicky, then back at Charlie. "…pretty much anything, anymore."

Nicky bent over Charlie's form, touched fingers to his neck. "He's still alive."

Max looked again at the blood. "Not for long. And say we save him. You gonna put that machine back together?"

Nicky looked nervously toward the door. "I'm not telling Merrick."

Max's eyes followed Nicky's. "Tell him? Hell, I'm not gonna be in this country when he comes back here and finds out."

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"Heads up. Somebody's coming out."

Armed with Alan and Larry's information, agents were positioning themselves around the boat storage facility, nearly caught in the act when the door opened and two men spilled out.

"Let them go," said Megan into her microphone. "Perimeter units, stop them before they get to the highway." She glanced at David. "Heat sensors showed three bodies inside. There went two of them."

He nodded. "Charlie's gotta be the other one. He has to be."

Colby squatted near them. "I want in there as badly as anybody," he said. "You know the drill. Wait for confirmation."

The three waited for seven agonizing minutes, checking their watches, before Megan's radio squawked.

"Can't shut these guys up. Almost had to shoot 'em just so we could read 'em their rights."

Megan interrupted. "What?"

The voice came back. "Your guy's in there alone. You can go after him." Megan, David and Colby were on their feet, and almost didn't hear the last part. "They said you should hurry. He's dying."

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Alan waited nervously in the emergency department ambulance bay for Charlie's arrival, with the hospital security guard who had been assigned to accompany him there. He paced back and forth and thought about the last three days, and most specifically the last 15 minutes in Don's room. Just when he was sure that he should leave, go to the storage facility himself, he saw an ambulance approaching, and recognized the FBI SUV careening in behind it.

The guard held him back as the doors to the ambulance burst open, and Alan watched doctors from the ER descend upon the gurney. He couldn't get a good look at Charlie. He only knew that it was Charlie because he'd caught a glimpse of his dark curls as the gurney was rushed past him. All too soon he was standing alone with the guard again.

The man put an arm loosely around Alan's back. "Come on." He spoke gently. "I'll take you to the waiting area."

Alan allowed himself to be escorted inside. He felt as if he were having an out-of-body experience. Nothing was making much sense to him. Shapes and colors whirled past him, but he couldn't tell if they were people or not. He found himself sitting, and wasn't even sure how he got there. Colby was kneeling in front of him, David was standing worriedly behind Colby, and the hospital security guard was offering him a bottle of water.

"Mr. Eppes?"

He focused on Colby. "Yes."

"Drink some water, Mr. Eppes." Colby snatched the water from the guard and opened it, offered it to Alan. "You're getting shocky on us."

Alan obediently took the water and drank, handed it back to Colby. He breathed deeply. "I'm sorry."

Colby smiled. "Color's coming back, you're okay. Don't worry about it."

Alan suddenly reached out and grabbed Colby's arm in a vise grip. "I couldn't see Charlie."

Colby placed his free hand over Alan's. "He's alive, Alan. We've got him, now. It's over."

Alan let go of Colby's arm and buried his face in both hands.

Over?

Why did Alan feel as if it were just beginning?

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Don glared at Cecile. "No."

She tried to reason with him, but in truth she was sort-of on his side. Still, she located her inner nurse. "You need this. You've had all the usual traction, plus a relocation to a new room…"

"I know my rights. You can't give that to me if I refuse it."

She sighed. "Please. For me."

He softened. "Ceec…I'm sorry. I need a few hours of clarity. I'll go through this next traction without it, and I won't complain, okay? Then you bring Megan in here. I need to know that's been going on with my family."

His voice almost took on a begging quality at the end, and he didn't even care.

Cecile stared at him for a moment, then lowered the capped syringe back to her pocket, and started for his leg, to hook up the traction again.

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Not even 25 minutes later, after his unmedicated traction and a few minutes spent trying to pull himself back to center, Don watched Megan enter the room. He didn't even wait for her to get all the way to the bed.

"Tell me what happened."

After she did — after she told him about Charlie discovering Merrick's involvement; after she confirmed for him that he had shot Charlie on the roof; after she detailed the kidnapping and three days of torture that Charlie had endured since then; after she told him about Amita; after she listed for him the extent of his brother's injuries; after she assured him that Charlie was alive and in surgery and his Dad would be back with news soon — after all that, Don looked at Cecile, and nodded, and let her give him the morphine.

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Torture.

It was a word he had used often, himself.

He had thought of the last three days as "torturous". Days he couldn't be with Don. Days he did not know where Charlie was. Days that culminated with him finding within himself the will, the desire, the power to kill another human being.

He was so glad they had Charlie back.

But he had been tortured. His baby was burned, bruised, cut, broken. Megan had found the newspaper clipping on the floor, so even though Charlie was unconscious when they found him and ever since, Alan knew that they had tortured his mind, and his heart, as well as his body.

For what?

For money? Merrick had killed all those people, tortured his boy, for money?

Alan found himself wishing that he had killed him when he'd had the chance.

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Don endured four more treatments, and the morphine was starting to wear off a little, before his Dad finally came into his room.

He watched his father hug Cecile warmly, and then approach the head of the bed and sink wearily into a chair before looking at him.

"How are you, son?"

Don tried to put his hand through the bed rail, but it was tethered to an IV pole and he had some difficulty. Alan noted his struggles and snaked his hand through instead, and gently rubbed Don's wrist.

"Charlie?"

"He's in recovery. Things took a little longer than planned."

Don stiffened. "Why?"

Alan rubbed his free hand over his face and sighed. "Well, they had to chase down quite a few pieces of patella, flush them out…Charlie gets to live without a knee cap, now. I didn't even realize that was an option. I thought they'd replace it, or something. And then there was the ligament and tendon damage, both 'anterior' and 'lateral', whatever that means…" Alan seemed to lose his focus for a moment, then shook his head and continued talking. "He had a couple of units of blood. He lost a lot…in that place…"

That sounded…bad, but didn't really account for everything Don thought he could see on his father's face. "Is there something else? His ulcer didn't perforate again or something?"

Alan shook his head. "No, no, not yet, anyway. They're watching that pretty closely, and started some of those medications again. The ones he was on back then."

God, Alan sounded tired. "Then what?", Don persisted.

"There's an infection that could slow things down. They had to do quite a bit of work on his arm, cleaning it out…"

Don looked away and pulled his hand out from under his father's. "Megan told me I shot him."

Alan's fingers found Don's wrist again. "No-one believes that, Donnie."

Don shook his head, wouldn't look at him. "It was my gun. My bullet."

Alan spoke with conviction. "Events…transpired. You were shot. Charlie changed his position. It happened. It was an accident." Don didn't answer, so Alan kept going. "Besides, it wasn't that serious. A graze. It was what they did to him after…" Suddenly Alan's voice broke, and Don looked back at him quickly. "Dear God, Don, they tortured him."

Don swallowed. "I know. I know."

They sat silently for a few seconds. Cecile finally spoke.

"Would you like…I mean…I know this is a private room, but we could get two beds in here. It would be close, but then you wouldn't have to run from one room to the other, Alan, and you could see him, Don…"

Don looked at her gratefully. He was completely sober, the drug still left in his system overrun by his conversation with his father…and Alan was sitting right there listening…but Don said it anyway. "I love you, Ceec."

Alan watched her blush, and for a moment, for a millisecond — he was almost happy.