The case was going nowhere, and fast. The students didn't have any clues and Don was at a dead end. He didn't want this case to go cold, or for this guy to strike again. He had David and Colby out on a threadbare lead. He and Megan were re-examining evidence. Charlie was at home working with Larry, or so he had been ten minutes ago when Don checked in with the two agents watching him.
And to top it off Don still had no serious leads.
"Remind me again about the types of serial killers." He reached across the conference table and thumbed through past crime scene photos.
"Thrill seekers," Megan started. "They see killing as a way outsmart law enforcement, to play a game. They love media attention, police pursuit, evading capture. But they don't stay quiet. They brag, often send messages and keep detailed records of every kill."
"Like a trophy," Don muttered.
"Exactly," Megan agreed. "Then there's the mission oriented. The ones that believe they're doing society a favor by getting rid of people they feel are less desirable. Like prostitutes. Professors don't exactly fall into that category."
"More like the opposite." Don scanned the photos. First hit was a physics professor, then a philosophy professor, followed by a two English teachers, a Biology guy, a Linguistics guy, and now there was a math professor dead.
"Last type is power and control. Those are the killers that-"
"Enjoy the victim's terror, suffering, and screaming," Don cut in. He remembered that lovely point from Quantico. Personally, he found those people the sickest of all. "That's Peters."
"He admitted it and showed no remorse once we had him."
"Sounds like you believe we did get the right guy after all."
"Yeah, I think we did," she admitted. "Carlson, yes he was tortured, but something's different."
"No forehead gash?" That was obvious one, but Don knew that wasn't what she meant. He had the very same feeling and it was extremely frustrating to not be able to pinpoint it.
"Yes, but there's something else. You think Charlie's having any luck?"
He pushed the photos in front of him away. "I sure hope so."
--
It was after four when Don made his way back to Charlie's. He was happy to see the government sedan across the street, and even happier to see Charlie sitting at the dining room table, papers scattered. Larry sat across from him, and Charlie's laptop was open. Neither man looked satisfied.
"Should I ask?"
Charlie sighed. "I don't get it. It says I'm wrong. That Peters has to be one responsible."
"Peters was in custody. Is still in custody, Charlie."
Charlie shook his head. "That's true, but he still comes up as the prime suspect. It doesn't make any sense. Peters isn't the answer."
"Right." Don pulled out a chair and sat down next to Charlie. "How about if you take the older cases out of the mix?"
Charlie frowned. "Pull them out? Why?"
"Because it's falsifying the data," Larry put in. Don nodded; Larry got it.
Charlie, however, continued to frown. "One case isn't enough data. I told you that. If we pull out the other murders, we're starting from scratch."
"Not enough data would make any analysis much more difficult. But, Charles, perhaps the way we are examining the data is not the best." Larry gestured as he spoke, hands moving, and Don briefly wondered how Charlie wasn't constantly dizzy. Then again, Charlie often talked with his hands, especially when explaining a concept. Maybe it was a science thing.
Charlie thought a moment. "Well, there are other theories..." He and Larry started discussing, but their words faded into the background when Don's cell rang. He picked it up.
"Don, you have to see this."
It was Megan, and something was up. Something, he knew that was yet again, not a good thing. "See what?"
"We got a letter. This isn't power and control guy anymore. This guy is thrill seeker."
A pit formed in Don's stomach. "I want a copy-"
"Already got it."
"Good. I'll be there in twenty."
--
It mentioned him by name. Don read the words carefully. This was a game. A complete and utter game and one that had just gotten very personal.
"I needed your attention, Agent Eppes, and I got it. Watch your back," he read. But that wasn't what bothered him. He could handle being threatened. It had happened before and it would happen again. It came with the job. No, it was the last sentences that chilled him.
"And your little brother's. I like math professors."
--
Don bypassed his father when he dropped by Charlie's. Alan was obviously heading up to bed; his hand had been ready to lock the back door when Don came through it.
"Where's Charlie?" were the first words out of Don's mouth.
"Hello to you, too. He's at the table, working. You know, Donnie, as much as I love seeing you stop by, it's nearly midnight."
Don stole a glance at the clock on the microwave. How had it gotten so late? "I know, but I really need to see Charlie."
"Like I said, dining room." Alan reached out and locked the bolt. "Is everything all right? I saw the news."
Don avoided his father's eyes. "I don't really want to get into it. It was messy, and we don't have much to go on yet." The news said nothing about the note, and if Don had anything to do about it, that particular piece of evidence wouldn't ever be seen by or mentioned to the press.
Alan looked like he wanted to push, but he didn't and Don was grateful. While he wanted to believe he could hide things from his father, in reality, he knew Alan Eppes was much perceptive than he gave him credit for.
"If you want to stay, there are fresh sheets on the bed in your old room."
"Thanks." He watched Alan leave before heading straight towards Charlie.
"Don, this is getting a little out of hand. You called me thirteen times." Charlie waved his cell in front of Don.
Don didn't care how many times he had called. Charlie hadn't picked up, which was the reason why Don threw some files in the car and left the office.
"If you picked up your phone every once in a while, or at least reviewed your voice mail, I wouldn't call so much," he answered. He'd get no sleep again tonight, but he knew it wouldn't be because of some dream.
"Wouldn't call...My cell was in my bag and I didn't hear it. I only just checked the messages." Charlie put down his phone. "Why are you here? I still don't have an answer. Not one that makes sense."
Don intentionally ignored Charlie's question and slumped down in a chair. "That's fine. We got a few answers of our own this afternoon."
"You did?"
"We did."
Charlie gave him a look that asked him to elaborate, but Don wasn't in a talking mood. Charlie, however, wasn't ready to take no for an answer.
"Was there another...?"
"No." Now, just a crazy person apparently out to get him and Don had not a clue who it was and why they wanted revenge. He'd spent a couple of hours digging through past cases, pulling out suspects and family members. But there was so much data and there was no way he was dumping all that into Charlie's lap. In fact, he wanted Charlie off the case and tucked away somewhere safe.
He wasn't aware that he'd actually spoken his thoughts out loud until Charlie stared at him, mouth open.
"Why do you want me off this case? This is about Greg, isn't it? Don, it's a coincidence. Of course, I want nothing more than to make sure the person responsible-"
"It's not about Carlson."
"I'm not a victim, Don."
Yes, you are, he wanted to shout, but he bit his tongue. He could see the argument from earlier that afternoon rehashing itself and honestly, he didn't have the energy to deal with it.
"Maybe not, but you fit the profile. And that's something that I can't ignore," he shouted back. It was more than that and he had the typed words to prove it.
"So does half the staff at CalSci. Does that mean you have agents on them, too?"
"Half the staff at CalSci isn't my little brother," Don grumbled.
"Little?" Charlie repeated. "I'm younger, not 'little'."
"Fine, younger. The fact is, Charlie, half of CalSci hasn't been threatened."
"Threatened?" Charlie was confused.
If he wanted Charlie to drop this, he'd have to come clean and he hated it. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure his father had headed upstairs. Alan might be able to draw certain conclusions, but that didn't mean Don was going to hand it to him on a silver platter. He could just hear the lecture and he didn't want to sit through it. Especially, since this time he was ready to agree.
"I got a letter. It isn't Peters. Peters is our guy for the last six university murders, not this one."
"He threatened you, didn't he?"
He did, but that wasn't what worried him. "I guess you could say that." He stared at Charlie, willing him to get the silent message, get the point. Understand.
"I want to help. I found Peters-"
"This is a whole new game, Charlie. This isn't a math problem anymore."
"Everything's a math problem," Charlie replied, just as Don expected him to. Everything was numbers to Charlie. But numbers didn't explain why people killed other people.
Don couldn't live with himself if his job got Charlie killed. "It isn't," he said, his voice unyielding. "I don't want you working on this."
Charlie blinked and Don could see the wheels turning inside his brain. He feared Charlie would protest, but he was in shock when Charlie responded with a soft, "Okay. If that's what you want."
Charlie gathered up his work. "I'm going to bed," he said, "If you want there's sheets-"
"On the bed in my old room," Don finished. "I know." He sat at the table long after Charlie left, wondering what the hell had just happened because that was too easy and that unnerved him even more.
--
It was another classroom, another crime scene. But this time, it wasn't random. Don knew this place well, too well, from the numbers on the chalkboard to the broken bowl of gumballs scattered across the floor.
A struggle, yes, but this time there wasn't a kidnapping. There was a body surrounded by the proper crime scene personnel.
His feet were glued to the floor. He knew where he was, knew the horror of it, the worst case scenario popping out at him.
It couldn't be.
No.
--
Don's eyes flew open and his hands scrambled for the blankets, shoving them aside. For a few moments he lay there, doing nothing but listening to his heavy breathing. A glance at the bedside clock told him it was just after four.
He didn't want to think, not about is dream, not about anything. He got dressed and found himself standing in front of the door to Charlie's bedroom. He felt silly, stupid, but he needed to know. He gently pushed the door open, wincing at the creak it made. Just another inch and he'd be able to see ...
An empty bed.
Don swung the door open all the way, revealing rumpled sheets, piles of dirty laundry, but no Charlie.
It took Don two minutes to get to into his car and out onto the road. Charlie's bike was missing and all he could see was the broken pieces of glass and loose gumballs from his dream. He tried not to panic. He knew exactly where Charlie had gone; a quick check with the agent he had tailing Charlie told him he'd gone to the university. Don had a field day with one of agents on Charlie for not being notified right away. And despite the fact that he'd been told Charlie was fine, his mind still didn't want to believe it.
He gripped the steering wheel every time he hit a red light, and did anything not to count the seconds that passed. Finally, he pulled into the space in the main campus parking lot and sprinted across the campus lawn towards the math department. Before he even entered the building, he stared up at the window he knew was Charlie's.
The light was on.
Immediately, he took let out a breath. The light being on was a good sign.
He should have known better.
The light was on all right, but the broken glass was there, the gumballs were scattered across the floor, and papers were strewn everywhere. Don didn't even bother to look towards the corner. His stomach sank and a chill ran down his spine.
Charlie was standing in the middle of it, a look of absolute shock and terror across his face.
Only then, did Don look.
Fuck was the first word that came to his mind.
"Charlie."
Charlie didn't move and Don took a few steps further into the room, careful not to disturb anything that could be considered evidence. He touched Charlie's shoulder. Charlie flinched.
"Don?" The word was whispered so softly that Don almost missed it.
"How long have you been here?"
"Two minutes. I was down in the main computer lab and I needed...I came back to...I turned on the light..." Charlie fumbled for words. "Don, he's..."
"He's what?"
"Dr. Philips. Fred Philips, from the physics department." Charlie drew in a sharp breath, and Don let go of his shoulder and turned to face him.
"He's new," Charlie continued. "Started two weeks ago, just getting his lab settled. Larry and I...god, we had lunch with him two days ago. I..."
"I'll take care of this." With years of practice behind him, Don flipped open his cell and dialed the right numbers, spoke to the right people, did his job. Only after he finished, did he notice the patch of white taped on the backboard in the mist of Charlie's latest figures:
/Told you I liked professors. Though, perhaps next time, a certain one might not be so lucky. You can't ignore me or catch me. But I look forward to seeing you try./
--
Charlie was freaked.
He wasn't the only one.
Don had tried his best to forget about the dream that had driven him here and concentrated on doing his job, both professionally and personally. He had guided Charlie out of the room, settled him in the faculty lounge down the hall before heading back down the hall. He had hated leaving Charlie, and had hesitated at the doorway.
"I'm fine," Charlie had muttered, his tone even. But his eyes betrayed his words, staring straight ahead. He didn't move from the couch Don had guided him to.
Don hadn't moved.
"Go," Charlie had said, waving his hand but not breaking his stare.
"Okay," he had agreed, knowing it would only be for a few minutes. He'd need Charlie's statement before the dawn broke
When the crime scene was set, the questions were being answered, the letter taped to the backboard bagged and on its way to the bureau to see if any other information could be obtained from its surface, Don returned.
Megan was sitting with Charlie, talking. Larry was standing a few feet away, busying himself with the coffee maker and Don wondered when the physicist had gotten there. Then again, it shouldn't have been a surprise. Larry was probably Charlie's best friend and Don had caught a glimpse of the news van through the window. Any hope of keeping this case out of the media spotlight had been shot to hell.
Charlie's head was pointed downwards, and every minute or so he'd nod. Don knew the helpless and guilty feeling; it was one he was experiencing himself. What would have happened if he hadn't gotten here when he did? He could just imagine the phone call and what could have been if their father had...
Dad. Damn. It was nearly seven a.m. and Alan made a habit of watching the early morning news. There was no doubt he wasn't going to be pleased.
He started to step closer to the couch when Megan looked up and caught his eye. Her glance said 'wait' and as much as he didn't want to, he knew she was right. He shouldn't interrupt Charlie's statement; it would be much easier to let Megan finish and get Charlie home. So instead, he approached the coffee maker. Larry offered him a cup.
"You happened to be on campus?"
"I was on my way here, yes," Larry admitted. "I heard the news on the radio, which is quite unusual, considering the fact that I don't usually listen to the radio in the morning."
Don took a sip of the coffee. It was black, but he didn't care, he could use all the straight caffeine he could get. "Coincidence, then." He knew all about coincidences lately.
"One would think so." Larry dipped a spoon into his cup and stirred, not seeming to notice the fact that he was getting drops of liquid on the counter and himself. "Dr. Philips is...was a brilliant man."
"Charlie said he was new. Been here two weeks."
Larry nodded. "He came from MIT. His office is perpendicular to mine. He was still unpacking boxes and was waiting on a lot of lab equipment. But his insight on particle acceleration and wave production and its relevance to auroral dynamics along with his plan to uncover the plasma micro-physics behind electron and ion acceleration and the role of the various plasma wave modes commonly observed above the visible aurora, well..."
Larry had lost him at auroral dynamics, but Don nodded, letting the professor babble onward about a man whose death had obviously impacted him. He took another sip of his coffee and couldn't help watching Charlie out of the corner of his eye. Megan had a hand on his shoulder and for a split second he had a flashback to the look on Charlie's face when he found him, standing amidst the broken glass.
He shook his head. Larry was still talking, still stirring his coffee. Only when Don placed his cup back down on the counter, did Larry stop.
"Oh dear," he commented and grabbed a napkin to sop up the mess he had made. At the same moment, Megan rose from the couch, patting Charlie's shoulder as she did. She met Don's eyes again and nodded. He took his cue, leaving Larry to his mess. Larry hardly noticed; he heard him ask Megan if she wanted coffee as he sat down next to Charlie.
He didn't say anything at first. But it turned out he didn't have to.
"This is why you don't want me working on this case." It wasn't a question and Charlie's gaze stayed straight ahead when he said it.
"Yes. One of them," he admitted. "But, Charlie, this isn't because-"
"Of me?" Charlie turned to him. "I saw the note, Don. But he has a pattern and if I sit down and look at it-"
"I don't want you to look at it," he interjected. "Charlie, you can't help me. This is beyond you. This is personal. We have no clue who this guy is, just that he wants my attention."
"Which he got," Charlie muttered. "But Don, he's obviously following Peters' pattern. I could use the same algorithm as a basis to try and---"
"This isn't Peters. And honestly, Charlie, I don't even want you working on the case. This guy killed someone in your office. Got in without so much as anyone noticing. He's dangerous. I think you should stay home for a few days."
"I can't stay home."
"Your office is a crime scene. You can't work here even if you wanted to. And like it or not, there will still be two agents watching you."
Charlie took a deep breath. "I have a life. I have classes. My office..." He ran a hand through his hair. "Don, I'm glad that..."
"Glad that what?"
Charlie blinked. "Why were you here? It was after four in the morning."
Don didn't want to answer that. "Why were you here?"
"Work," Charlie answered. "I can concentrate better at night. You didn't answer my question."
Don shrugged. "I just was. Why does it matter?"
Charlie studied him and Don resisted the urge to turn away. He didn't want his brother to try and read him because in his exhausted state it was a bit harder to hide. Finally Charlie spoke.
"It doesn't."
"Good." He gave Charlie a feeble smile. "I'll take you home. I'm sure Dad's seen the news and I have a feeling you and I will have some explaining to do."
"Yeah," Charlie agreed.