Chapter 6

He was dreaming of eyes.

His father's and Don's were brown, like his, but none of them were the same shade. His father's were light, reflected the water of the koi pond when he bent over to feed the fish. Charlie giggled. It looked like the fish were swimming in his daddy's eyes.

Don's were darker, reflected something burning inside him. Charlie stopped giggling when he looked at Donnie. Those eyes were hard, unforgiving, He didn't like them. They scared him.

He looked instead at his mother's eyes. They were blue, beautiful, the color of the deepest part of the ocean, reflected…

wait a minute…

they weren't his mother's eyes, anymore, they were green, dark green, as green as the ferns around the koi pond, as green as anything he had ever seen, but they reflected nothing. They just stared at him, never blinking.

But they were changing, again. Still green, but accusing, now. Not angry, like Don's, but hurt, somehow, as if he had done something terrible to those eyes. He whimpered a little, not understanding those eyes. Eyes that could speak. "You've done something wrong," they said, and he didn't want to believe them, but he looked at his father again, and suddenly his eyes were green too. "You shouldn't have," his daddy's eyes said, and then he frantically looked for the anger in Don, but even his new, green eyes taunted him. "Why didn't you?", they said, and Charlie cried then. He searched for his mother, her eyes would never hurt him, but he couldn't find her. He couldn't find her.

He closed his own eyes, squeezed them as tightly shut as he could, but the green eyes would not go away.

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"I don't know what to tell you, Mr. Eppes. He should be awake by now. Has your son ever had problems with anesthesia before?"

Alan looked desperately at the bed. "No, no, he had his tonsils out, as a child, and later — at about 20 — an appendectomy. Could the shock you told us about do this?"

Dr. Kildaire nodded. "It could be a contributing factor, but his blood oxygen level is back to normal, heart rate and breathing are good…" The doctor stepped aside while two orderlies pushed a gurney into the room. "We're going to do a CT scan, get some more information. You can wait here. I'll talk with you again when the procedure is over." The doctor turned to follow Charlie down the hall. He looked back at Alan. "Try not to worry, Mr. Eppes. He's only a few hours behind schedule right now."

Alan walked to the doorway to watch the procession until they had all turned a corner and left his sight. He rubbed the back of his neck, walked back into Charlie's room and lifted the telephone from the bedside table. He hesitated. Don was a little busy, right now. What was he going to say to him anyway, "Get over here and wake your brother up"? Maybe he should at least wait until after the CT scan, when he had more information.

He replaced the telephone and turned on the television.

"…and in an update on yesterday's tragic shooting at the FBI offices here in Los Angeles, authorities today stated that new protocol, designed since New York's 9/11 attacks, proved very successful at securing the scene. Procedures from 'Code Black' were instituted when an employee within the area targeted was able to access the alarm, thereby alterting agents in all areas of the building to respond to the ground floor and the areas under attack. 'Code Black's' Emergency Action Plan further increased the FBI's ability to triage and transport victims, as well as maintaining a sense of order in this very overwhelming situation. The 'Code Black' alarm system is also wired into Los Angeles county's dispatch center, and LAPD officers as well as emergency medical personnel were at the FBI offices within minutes. Both the bureau and LAPD have conducted numerous drills of this protocol since its inception. Jim, it's certainly good news that this new system worked so well, yet it's so tragic that 'Code Black' ever had to be tested at all."

"That's correct, Diane. And during your report, I received an update on the victims of yesterday's shooting. Wanda J. Anderson, a secretary employed by the Los Angeles FBI office, has been pronounced dead. With Leland S. Stavers, the civilian who died during the night, total fatalities suffered during this assault now stands at 13…"

Alan turned the television off, and sank down into a chair. What was happening?

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Don was exhausted. No one on the team — no one left alive at the bureau — had gone home, yet. All known and suspected terrorist contacts were being dragged in and questioned. A third inventory of the evidence locker was being completed by a third set of eyes. Around 3 a.m., an agent questioning Melvin from the Mailroom again had to be dragged off the kid, after he broke Melvin's nose and slammed him into a wall in interrogation.

The elevator doors opened and he strode into the hall. His father hadn't called him yet, but he had needed a break, needed to get out of the war zone that used to be his office. Before he really knew where he was going, he was halfway to the hospital. He kept going. The team would understand if he took a few minutes to see Charlie. Hell, he'd ask him a few questions while he was here, call it an interview.

3317. This was the room number he had been given. Opening the door, he saw his father sitting forlornly in a chair, next to…next to an empty bed.

"Where's Charlie?"

Alan whipped his head around to see Don in the doorway. "Come in, son. Sit down, You look like you're going to fall…" Alan stood, offering Don the more comfortable chair. "I just saw a news update…Don, I'm so sorry this is happening…"

Don walked into the room, but refused the chair. "Where's Charlie?", he asked again.

Alan looked away from him. Never a good sign in interrogation. "He's having a CT scan. I was going to call you after I had some results, something to tell you…"

"Why is he having a CT scan? Did something happen, did they miss something, is he complaining of something, what?"

Alan physically led Don to the chair, pushed until he sat down. He sat on the end of Charlie's empty bed. "Donnie," he began, and Don was glad he was sitting down. Alan rubbed his eyes, then looked at Don again. "They can't wake him up."

Don's body tensed. "What? He should have woken up hours ago."

"I know, I know, I keep talking to him, I keep trying…"

Don took a breath. "Is it the shock?"

"They don't think so." Alan's explanation was interrupted by the door opening, and Charlie was pushed back inside. The doctor stood behind the gurney. He saw them both and motioned for them to join him in the hall.

"Let's talk out here while they get him settled in his bed again."

Don bolted out of the chair and beat this father to the door. "What did the CT scan show?", he asked, before the door had swung all the way closed.

"It's normal," the doctor answered. "Offers no explanation as to why Charlie is taking his time, here. In fact, we noticed during the scan that he is sometimes lightening to the point of REM sleep, but even when we spoke to him during an REM session, he remained unresponsive."

"There's got to be something you can do," Alan pleaded.

Dr. Kildaire sighed. "I'm afraid this is the hardest part, Mr. Eppes. We all just have to be patient. If Charlie is still not awake by this afternoon, I've scheduled an MRI, just to gather whatever information it may offer…but…" he looked from Alan to Don. "I'm sorry. You should talk to him. Especially if you see signs of REM sleep…rapid eye movement." The door opened again and the orderlies pushed the empty gurney past them. "I'll check back soon."

Father and son watched the doctor walk away.

"You should go home, get some rest."

"There is no rest, Dad. When I leave here, I'm just going back to the office."

"Anything new?"

Don didn't even answer. "Look, you should go home and get some rest yourself. You've probably been here all night, right?"

Alan walked across the corridor, paced back again. He decided he wouldn't answer, either. "I called Larry. He doesn't have any afternoon classes today, and he's canceling his office hours. He'll be here around noon. I'll go home for a few hours then. I won't leave Charlie alone."

Don looked at the floor. Did all hospitals buy linoleum from the same place? He looked back at his father. "At least go to the cafeteria and get something to eat. I can stay until you get back." He looked at the door. 3317. "I'd like to talk to Charlie for awhile."

Alan reached into his pocket. "Did you drive Charlie's car here? We should switch back. You have important things in the SUV."

They silently made the exchange, and then Don pushed open the door to Charlie's room, walked toward the chair near the bed. He spoke quietly, but Alan still heard him. "I have something more important in here."