Nixie
Disclaimer: I don't own Numb3rs.
A/N: Ok first, sorry this chapter took so long to get posted. Second it may be awhile before the next couple chapters get posted (about a week, two tops—hopefully less than a week) they are still in the outline stage and oh what a vague outline it is. I also have had a major amount of homework and I have to start doing scholarship essays…so those are eating up a lot of time, but I promise I'll try not to keep you in too much suspense. ; - ) Oh and as always, official stuff I may mention is all made up.
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Chapter Seventeen: Mad World (Gary Jules & Michael Andrews/Donnie Darko Soundtrack)
The flashing lights of the now silent sirens shone through the window casting an eerie and melancholy aura on the household. The pale luminescence of so many headlights illuminated the living room, and the splashes of blue and red added to the surreal feeling. The electricity to the house was out, the handiwork of the kidnappers, and so everyone was just making do with the impromptu light source.
Don sat by himself in a remote corner of the room, feeling like everything was moving so slowly, the dreamlike quality was so strong that he felt he would surely waken at any moment; that all his nightmares would be dispelled soon with the comforting light that the dawn brings.
His brother's house was a zoo—FBI agents, CSIs, and a couple EMTs that were trying to examine his forgotten head wound but they were met with a dismissive hand—one that allowed for no arguments. He sat on the stairs waiting for the hall to be cleared—and again he was struck with the unreality of the situation—his home, a crime scene. It time that seemed to crawl by like years, he watched with dispassionate eyes as his fellow agents questioned his brother who was holding up well despite the situation.
The scene was cleared. The CSIs left. There was no obvious evidence.
Unnoticed, Don slipped by everyone in the noisy chaos that seemed so muted to his ears. He slipped into his daughter's room and stood, just looking. There, in the light that streamed in, flashed in with the silent sirens, could he see the vague outline of her stuffed blue dog.
She had named it Mickey.
Don picked up the stuffed animal with trembling hands. He had asked her why the name Mickey but she had just smiled at him, replying that it was 'a good name.' He felt the soft plush fabric against his hand and he held it tightly as if it were his last link to that which he had lost.
"Don?" He heard Megan call his name from the living room and suddenly it all became too much. This dream, this nightmare, it became too real and it progressed with such agonizing slowness that he felt his heart would rip its way out of his chest long before the ordeal was done.
He was moving now, he didn't fully realize where to, just that the walls were closing in all around him and he had to escape or else he'd be trapped forever—trapped in some inescapable box of pain and darkness, in a box of night where the boogey man lived.
"Don!"
He wasn't sure whom it was that called out his name; only that it didn't matter—none of it mattered. He found himself outside, by the koi pond; his breathing was in ragged gasps, the tears falling freely now. No it wasn't a dream, not even a nightmare.
He should know better—things are never that simple.
He sat down on the cool grass, damp with dew and he knew the dawn was coming and that it held no peace for him, no reprieve from this aching pain, this aching fear. He clutched the stuffed dog to his chest with one hand and tried to muffle his now uncontrollable sobs with the other.
It seemed like an eternity; seemed like he had spent years in a black pit of pain, guilt and oblivion—when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Don." It was the third time he'd heard his name in the span of a few minutes. Had it been that quickly? To him the time seemed to crawl. His name had been spoken this time, not with inquiry as the first, nor alarm as the second, rather this time his name was spoken with a melancholy air, a statement of a fact that yes he did exist and he wasn't just some random dream and no this wasn't going to be easy or just some terrible mistake. Reluctantly, Don met his younger brother eyes.
Charlie sat next to him, his hand never left his older brother's shoulder, nor did his eyes ever shy away. Don wanted to reject the silent sympathy, the unasked for understanding that gleamed at him from the dark irises of his brother's eyes. Don was supposed to be the strong one, he was supposed to take care of Charlie, not the other way around. Earlier that night, everything had been right; and now everything was wrong, oh so wrong.
"Charlie," he croaked into the stillness, shattering the silence, taking his mind out of lethargy and placing it back onto real time, "It's all my fault…"
"No, Don, it isn't…" Charlie spoke in hushed tones, wrapping his arm around his older brother's shoulders and was more than a little shaken inside at how much the FBI agent was physically trembling; not that the slim math professor was ever going to let on—his brother needed him and he wasn't going to back down—not here, not ever.
His brother laughed a silent, humorless laugh, devoid of emotion except for the faint feeling of sorrow.
"You know, she almost got kidnapped in New York, I never told anyone but she did—I stopped it that time but not tonight, not tonight—what are the chances of the same girl being kidnapped twice Charlie? What are the odds?" To himself he murmured but Charlie heard: "What were the odds that I could save her twice?" The self-accusation screamed out in that nearly mute whisper.
"There was nothing you could have done," the professor tried to comfort his brother, as the agents' hand covered up his eyes, smearing the line of dried blood from the side of his head in with the tears that still cascaded down his face. "They'll find her." Charlie spoke with more conviction than he felt, "They'll find her and she'll be ok—she's a tough kid." He said again when his words fell on the quiet dark of the night. Slowly, slowly, his older brother nodded—it was a numb, hapless nod yet there it was; some single strand of hope that still lived deep within the recesses of hopelessness.
"Let's go back inside and get that head looked at ok?" Charlie whispered and again, Don nodded without any emotion. He was shutting down, slowly but surely, he was packing away the darkness, packing away the fear.
The two brothers went inside long before the sun rose, yet when it did, the golden light it spilled into the house in the quaint residential area gave no comfort and it revealed no truths.
The sun was up but the bleak night was far from over…
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A/N: whew, what a tricky bit to write! Please review and let me know what you think!