Chapter Seventeen: Wild Animals
---1---
Unfair. Despite their additional hardships, Don remained on leave and Charlie remained in the doghouse, as Dad put it, with the head of the math department. Both employers maintained that the Eppes men's latest experiences with Jacobi AKA Katherine Reylott had exacerbated their fragile psychological states and that they were not yet fit for work. For Don, nothing had changed—the psych evaluation was still on schedule. And for Charlie, a mandatory meeting at the university as soon as he cared to schedule it.
Charlie had lost a chunk of money. Several thousand and dimes. Alan about two and Don the same in addition to the damage to his home. Seems Jacobi had preferred to squander Charlie's money first in order to twist the stake in further, make him suffer, as Don had concluded.
After all this, back where I started from. Not knowing whether Reylott's dead or alive, wondering, forever wondering. If Jacobi/Katherine knew of her brother's final fate, she'd likely not tell. She might have assumed he was dead, sure enough to hold Charlie responsible. Altintop claimed he didn't know Reylott's ultimate fate, had never met the man but knew Katherine had spoken with him occasionally on the phone.
The night after the break in, Charlie retreated again to Don's room, the bat against the wall between the bed and nightstand. Now was not the time to fling the gauntlet at the feet of the Tortuous Trinity by returning to his own room. He and his father were sleep-deprived and that deprivation mitigated their jitters for the evening; they slept reasonably well. But once rested, on the subsequent night, Charlie was plagued with a building apprehension, compounded by a fourth demon—the one appearing on his chest like Altintop had, snatching his breath away. Alan came to him during a screamer, told him he had to go back to Volkov, asked why he'd delayed calling their physician. They argued and Charlie got out of bed and walked the room, repeating I know, I know, I haven't had time to think about it, what with being sick and tired and dealing with Jacobi and her lies. Her eyes like her brother's.
o--o--o--o--o--o--o
The following day, Larry arrived for a second visit because the first day he'd dropped by Charlie had been asleep. From the front of the house, they strolled round to the backyard and Larry asked how he was, asked about Don, how they were getting along.
Charlie detailed his troubled nights then explained how he'd offered to help Don clean his home but he'd turned him down bluntly, saying he'd chosen to do the scrubbing and repairing himself, hiring professionals to do the rest of the job.
"Don said he didn't need me," he told Larry. "To take care of my own affairs." He'd felt dejected, as though Don were saying he'd been neglecting his responsibilities or was inept, lacking will power. I'm trying. They'd paused near the Japanese Maple at the perimeter of the garden and Charlie angled his face to the sun, absorbed its warmth on his skin; it'd been too many days without it.
"I'm sure he simply sought to spare you the trouble," Larry said, and they walked towards the koi pond, came upon the location of the infamous skirmish.
Charlie continued, telling him about the argument he and Don had had over the Altintop affair. Larry was politely attentive and parked himself on a granite bench between the pond and a plantar overflowing with spider plants.
"I'm responsible for allowing Jacobi into our lives," Charlie said, searching the flowerbeds for the crushed lamp. "That's how Don figures it."
"I don't see how that's possible." Larry crossed an ankle over his knee, breathed in the scent of a gardenia bloom behind the bench. "But Don has yet to overcome his fears."
"How so?"
"Charles—I'd agree with Megan on this—he's struggling with his sense of identity. You pursued Mr. Altintop but in his mind it was his job, not yours."
"It merely worked out that way. I almost failed, even forgot the bat. Don was the one who broke down the door. How could anyone be braver than that?"
"Well, when we reach a point where we lose our perspective, we can be very hard on ourselves. We refuse to accept evidence to the contrary, no matter who or what the source of that evidence, and I believe this is where your brother's mindset currently dwells. The intruder not only slipped past the lookout but by him, too. And until he can secure a reality check on his fire phobia which, I assume he's yet to vanquish, he won't be receptive to contrary facts."
A glimmer of sunlight drew Charlie's eye in amongst the weeds. "I thought he was still projecting on me."
"Don's a reasonable man. He'll eventually arrive at the realization that you've been doing the best you can with the Reylott problem—and this other unexpected situation—and conclude it's no reflection on him how you're coping."
"Which isn't very good." He leaned down, pushed the weeds aside, uncovering glass from the garden lamp bulb.
"I don't know about that, Charles, you do seem less tense."
"Because we finally caught up with Katherine Reylott. We won't be getting creepy pain and suffering messages or broken windows anymore—I hope." He stomped on the glass, used his foot to brush dirt over it. "With Reylott, I reacted out of fear. I had to shoot to save us, shivering in my boots the whole time. With Altintop…I don't know, Larry…there was this surge of anger, a madness, about protecting Don and Dad. There wasn't any fear. I heard a voice shouting, 'No one's ever going to hurt my brother again', and it took over, I went after him."
"You've mined something phenomenal within yourself." Larry plucked a gardenia off its stem. "I would observe it closely." He got up, wandered slowly back to the house. "I would think," he said, taking in the bloom's fragrance. "Don may have admonished you about Altintop for an additional reason."
Charlie followed him. "Yes?"
"Pardon me for saying this if it's a little much, but, he loves you. It frightened him when you gave chase."
"Then why doesn't he say so?" he said. "He'd rather get angry at me."
"Yes. Than to say it reminded him of his previous trauma, when you were abducted by Reylott. Can you imagine the flood of emotions he must've felt when he'd been struck and stunned by Altintop and you dashed out? For all you knew, he had a genuine sidearm, a loaded one. Don must have been overwhelmed by the danger he knew you were in while he was still struggling to pick himself up off the floor. Those emotions would be difficult for anyone to grapple with, the feeling of helplessness. Neither of you, I'd daresay, has had anytime to process what's happened in the last forty-eight hours."
The disagreeable odor of ginkgo fruit flitted by on a breeze and Charlie made a face. "Tell me about it."
Larry balanced the bloom under his nose, seemed not to notice the odor. "This lull between you two is precisely what you both need. Now that he's rested, his opinions have probably softened. You should be able to discuss things with clearer heads in the very near future."
"I suppose you're right," he said. "Circles on a sphere, after all." They'd reached the back door off the path but Charlie was in no hurry to go in and hide—perhaps something was changing within him. "But Don will have his own ideas about what should be done next."
"You'll simply have to convince him otherwise." Larry said, looking down. On the low deck, streaks of sienna spotted the flagstone. "Oh dear, is that what I think it is?"
"You wouldn't know it for the color on the rock," Charlie said. "Mine, and Don's. It's been washed but it's left a stain. I've bought a thing or two with that blood."
"And Don?"
"I don't know," he said, opening the door. "We'll have to ask him."
---2---
Larry's interpretation of Don's behavior struck Charlie as truth and he recognized that before he could step back on campus, he'd have to do one important thing, and it wasn't to see Volkov or get sleeping pills from his physician. Megan's advice had tunneled into his mind, the concept of not backing down. When he'd subdued Altintop, he'd proven to himself he had the mettle to fight back. His anxiety attacks had been programmed on automatic and likewise the ability to defend his family seemed to be also, co-existing in conflict, each lying in wait to trample over the other. I have too much to lose; I must take control of my fate.
Charlie was resolute; he wanted to go back up Mean Marmot Trail. He weighed whether it was best to approach his brother or go it solo. Don's mission was incomplete; there was a good chance he'd be unwilling to take company, just as before. It didn't seem equitable. They were brothers; they'd been through everything together. If they did this together, they'd double their individual strengths. Charlie felt it in his gut; he was afraid to go it solo. Hard to admit, but better than stuffing emotions down like Don did.
A man doesn't hide from what he has to do. It takes courage to wade through all that stuff inside us that piles up and drags us down, makes us unhappy.
Charlie broached the subject with Don the next day at his apartment. As he approached, the smell of fresh paint greeted his nostrils and he discovered the door wide open while a housekeeping team walked in and out at will, carrying brooms, hauling out trash bags. Inside, Don was speaking to an elderly woman who appeared to be in charge of the workers and he pointed towards the carpet, explaining why the neighbors hadn't reported anything amiss the day the place had been vandalized.
Shortly, the woman exited, giving Charlie a motherly grin as she passed. All around, the apartment was a disaster zone. Workers on their knees washed multi-colored spots by hand from the carpet; others toiled at removing stains from the walls and preparing the windows with masking tape. The ripped furniture had been pushed to the middle of the room, torn curtains bundled into a heap on top. Charlie knew it would all have to be thrown out.
"I'm sorry about this." He poked at an armchair cushion, its stuffing bursting out like giant popcorn. "I had no reason to think Jacobi was other than she presented herself."
Don walked toward the kitchen, motioning for him to follow. His face was exceptionally serious and his bruises had expanded out another inch, right into his sideburn. "Dad called me," he said, turning around. "I was upset…more tired than I knew… but I wasn't blaming you. Jacobi reeled you in at a vulnerable time. Her music reminded you of mom, didn't it?" He flicked a fleeting smile. "Snared you with her hottie status."
Snared and skinned. "That's a relief to hear. Any news on your accounts?"
"Holding at two K. I'm lucky. Megan says she's stolen up to a hundred K at a time." He picked up a plastic grocery bag amongst several on the counter. "How's the cough?"
"Getting over it." Charlie stepped aside to allow a worker into the kitchen. Its walls had been freshly painted and a tarp remained on the floor. "Any news on her?"
"No. The kid either. They'll get her. Sooner or later, she'll slip up."
"Listen," Charlie said. "Dad saw my arms. No need to keep it secret."
"How'd he take it?"
"He felt guilty, but we're all right now. He told me you're leaving for Marmot Trail again."
"I am. Cleaners should be done today." At the refrigerator, which was spotless but barren, he began to unload the contents of the bag. "I'm planning on tomorrow A.M., fresh."
"I still want to go with you."
"I'm going alone," Don said. "I need it more than you do."
"Why do you need it more than me? What qualifies you? After everything that's happened, everyone who's come galloping through my house and your house…" Charlie heard himself yelling and slowed down his words. "We were both with Reylott, both there the other night with Altintop…"
"One has nothing to do with the other."
"How can you say that?" Charlie asked, excited again.
"You weren't in those fires, I was. Either one." He grabbed another bag. "No way around it, Charlie. I have to do this by myself."
"Why?"
"I don't know, because it's spookier that way and I'm game for the challenge?"
Charlie said, "You don't want me to see you scared, do you?"
"Now who's projecting?" He plopped the tomatoes into a bin. "Why do you want to come with me anyway? You afraid to go alone?"
"I'd do it alone in a blink."
Don shut the bin and straightened up, dared him. "Go ahead."
"I'm not scared any more than you," Charlie said. "You're the one who's scared."
He crinkled the bag. "Yeah? All right, be a kid—prove it."
"Let me come, and I will." A challenge of my own.
"Negative. You have stitches."
"They won't slow me down—and they're quite healing nicely, thank you." Charlie slammed the fridge door shut. "I have a proposal. We hike up together then I go ahead to the cave and spend the night there, you stay at the cabin."
Don seemed to ponder it, his eyes more worried than contemplative, then said, "No cell phones. On your honor, no flashlights once they're off. Can't use 'em."
"Won't phone you or anyone. On my honor. Light's off."
"Are you sure you can handle it? I can't go traipsing through the woods in the dark if you chicken out."
Charlie said, "Who went after Altintop? Foolish or not."
"Hey, buddy, I would've if he hadn't walloped me."
"Why won't you give me credit for that? Admit it, you wet your pants when Reylott had you and now it's all in your head, screwing up Big Bad Don, isn't it?"
"I'll see you seven A.M., sharp." Don returned to the grocery bags. "Be ready, on time."
Sir Don, the stubborn Eppes. Charlie turned to go. "Don't be late," he said, sweeping his finger over a cupboard. "You missed a spot."
---3---
In contrast to their previous hike up to the cabin, Charlie's and Don's second excursion along Mean Marmot Trail was cooler, promising unclouded skies. On the trip up, they'd spoken intermittently and Charlie had napped while Don drove, listening to news. Once on the bus shuttle, they'd been surrounded not only by vegetation but by a tension in the air between them. To ease it, Charlie had engaged a conversation with a Peruvian couple who were exploring U.S. landmarks.
'I'll walk you through it'—that's what you told me, isn't it, Don? Is this what you meant? You'd walk next to me completely immersed in your own world. I know that faraway look in your eyes. I've known it all my life. You got into this world first, years before me, and you've never let me forget, even without saying a thing. You and Dad have always had something special. He must've been a lot like you when he was your age.
As they'd left home, their father had misgivings, then bid them good luck, said he'd trust his sons to work everything out, that's what he raised them to do, be self-sufficient, but depend on one another when necessary. No one's independent 24-7, he told Charlie, I hope you two come to terms with that.
Tell Don. Charlie pushed through his nervousness, kept an eye on the trail and reminded himself Reylott was a shadow, no longer flesh, truly a ghost with no substance. In one night, it'll be over, I'll be re-fortified. Reinstate the old Charlie, bust out of that old metal ribcage, unharmed.
They reached the cabin before nightfall and examined the mess, untouched since the fire. Logs which had been marked out in a rectangle around the thirty-foot perimeter were still in place but inside that zone, shrubs, grasses and shoots had begun to reclaim sections of the clearing. Eventually, the owners had plans to rebuild. Portions of wall were still vertical, the remainder ruins of pointed heaps.
"Where will you sleep?" Charlie asked, putting his pack down.
"Maybe on the deck, find a space. What's left of it."
They snacked, drank water on the steps. The scent of pine invigorated Charlie; made him feel as though he were absorbing their stamina, their resilience. Yet when it came time to part, a familiar flutter sliced into his gut. Damn it, it's just a beautiful day in early fall, why do I feel like it's a death sentence?
"You better get going," Don said. "Shouldn't be climbing the mountain after dark."
He got up, slipped on his backpack, stared at the ground. His feet wouldn't budge. Square one in Charlieland.
Don was seated on a charred stair. "You breathing? I thought you'd be okay."
Charlie said, "Don't rush me."
"Want me to take a look at those stitches?"
He couldn't move.
"Know where it is?" Don said, getting out a bag of sunflower seeds. "Want me to walk you?"
"Stop the sarcasm. I can do it."
"I'm serious. The color's drained from you face. It isn't hard to see—"
Charlie marched off, proceeded to the perimeter and halted. "This is tougher than I thought it would be," he called back.
Don tossed the seeds to his pack and went to him, pine needles crunching underfoot.
"I have an extreme aversion to separation," Charlie said. "How do you do it?"
"I handle it differently, that's all."
"You brought your gun, didn't you?"
"As a matter of fact, yes." Don swept a hand across his forehead. "But it's packed away."
"No wonder you feel confident."
"Charlie, a gun's no help with what I'm dealing with."
He pulled up his shoulder strap. "And you're dealing with?"
Don said, "Right now? My little brother."
And your equal? He removed his pack and sat on a log with a limb on one end that wasn't quite level.When it wobbled, he steadied himself, an ache in his side. The wound had nipped at him the whole way. Complicated. He studied Don. His brother's expression had taken on a milder appearance, as if the hike had pacified the storm within him.
"Mostly in life," Charlie said. "I've been able to do things for myself. Other times, I've been in over my head."
Don joined him on the log. "And now?"
"I feel paralyzed."
"Charlie," he said. "I don't want you to give up. I want you to go up there and say 'fuck you' to the fear, growl and run at it like a wild animal until your heart's so hyped you're going to have to run faster just to slow it down."
"Wild animal. Would that constitute a hell of a job?"
"That what's bothering you," Don said, "what I think?"
Charlie jammed a heel into the loose topsoil. "I am a scaredy-cat."
"You're not."
"Why did it have to be me?" he said. "Why did I have to pull the trigger?"
"Well, you were the only one there who could." Don dusted his knees with firm slaps. "I was a little indisposed. But if it makes you feel any better I've been thinking…"
"You can't stand to look at me?"
Don stopped dusting and grinned gently, shook his head. "No. Thinking Megan's right. She and I had a long talk. It hasn't been about you, not really. More like I couldn't stand to look at myself. See, when Dad told me you were having nightmares, it didn't affect me, that was you, you'd need the shrink. I was certain I was fine. The sleeping problem would fade out. But after I flaked out, everything got worse, I wanted to get as far away as I could from all of it, including you. I hated the way I felt. It seemed like Reylott was humiliating me all over again." He lightly pressed the Band-Aid on his face, the darkest purples showing round the edges. "Then you got sick. And the Jacobi thing and Altintop, the Reylott sightings. It even bothered me you took Altintop down. It was proof that I'd lost who I was. Everything happened so fast…the damage was done."
"Megan says you don't talk about Reylott and the fire."
"Reylott won that time, mashed me into pulp. I'd still like to claw his eyes out. Because of him, I've been hard on you and puny fires scare the crap out of me. Last time I checked I think I was even afraid of matches."
"I'm sorry about the Big Bad Don remark. Being afraid is—"
"Afraid, yeah. I have nightmares, too," he said, and got up. "Didn't want anyone to know." He strolled out of the clearing with fingertips in his pockets, thumbs out, and scanned the sky toward the cliffs. "I relive the fire. You have no idea, Charlie, it was…there's no word for it. I woke up with the flames going full blast. Saw your cot engulfed, tried to get into the room from the window and set myself on fire." He turned and came back to him. "I rolled and put it out, yelling your name the whole time. Didn't even feel much pain, not then. I passed out, woke up in agony, to Reylott on the phone, taunting me. He put a .38 in my face and dragged me, hit me, made me look for your body in the rubble. I got sick to think I'd find something. I'd lost you. It was real, as real as losing mom."
Charlie restrained his hate for Reylott, but the overflow brimmed his lids. "It makes me furious to know he did that to you."
"We survived," Don said. "That's what's important." He'd bowed his head, slowly raised it to meet Charlie's gaze. "I'm sorry, too—I pushed you away and rode off into the sunset. Like a coward."
"Don't say that, never a coward. It's been hard for both of us."
"Thanks." Don walked back to the cabin, grabbed his pack. "Come on. I'll get you to the cave."
Charlie wiped an eye, collected his things. "I have to do it on my own."
"You will. I'll escort you, then go," Don said, and they clasped hands tightly in agreement, headed toward the outcropping.
o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o