Chapter 8
Megan pushed open the door of Charlie's room.
"Megan! How are you? I heard the news update on my way back to the hospital. I honestly can't believe it, even after what this country went through on 9/11…"
Megan offered Alan a brief hug. "I know. It's…indescribable. Were you able to get home for a few hours today?"
"Yes, Larry and Amita just left. The news announcer said Homeland Security and the NSA have assumed control of the investigation?"
"Yes. Poor Don is still debriefing with their agents. I was sent home a couple of hours ago, along with almost everybody else, but I can't sleep." Megan turned her attention to Charlie. "The MRI?"
Alan lifted an eyebrow. "Nothing unexpected. The doctor believes that Charlie is 'lightening' more often, and hopes he's coming a little closer to the surface each time…it's been 28 hours since he was taken into surgery."
"I know you just got back, but do you think I could talk to him for a few minutes?"
Alan understood Megan's unspoken request for privacy. "Of course. I forgot to bring some coffee up with me, anyway. The machine at the end of the hall is worthless, but what they serve in the cafeteria is pretty decent…would you like me to bring something for you?"
"No, thank you Alan. I'm just going to talk to Charlie for a minute and head home again. Maybe knock myself out with a hammer."
Alan felt his heart ache for the young woman, and he couldn't stop himself from hugging her again, longer and tighter this time. "Take your time. I'll get my coffee."
Megan waited until the door closed behind him, then took a place in the chair next to Charlie's bed. She checked his eyes. No REM, but that was okay. "Hey Charlie. It's Megan." She stood again, brushed at his hair. "Would Don's hair do this if he grew it longer? It's very sexy."
She sat down again. "Did you know your room number is 3317? You know, 'three plus three plus one equals seven'? I probably wouldn't have noticed that, before I met you. You've helped make me aware of more possibilities, I think I'm a better agent for that."
She watched Charlie sleep, saw his eyes moving behind his eyelids. Lightening. She'd better say what she came to say now. She stood up again and lightly touched his face.
"I know it was frightening, Charlie. I was there. I'm a trained agent, and I was scared. More scared than I ever have been, in my life. I'm trained to go after the bad guys, they're not supposed to come into my house, come after me…" She moved her hand down to a shoulder. "G-d, Charlie. I still am scared. The guys, they've all been great — but they weren't there, like you were. I need to talk to you."
She sat down again, trailed her hand over his, careful not to disturb the needles. "Wherever you are, now, that must be frightening too. You're alone there. Maybe…" her eyes wandered the room, "maybe if you come back, at least that part will be better. We're all waiting for you. Your Dad, Don, all of us." Megan's voice wavered a little. "And I really could use some help, here, Charlie."
His eyes weren't moving anymore, and Megan stopped talking, relaxed into the chair, her hand still on his.
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"She said she couldn't sleep, wanted to talk to your brother. I went for coffee. When I came back up, that's how I found her. It's been almost half an hour. Do you think we should wake her up?"
Don swayed a little in his exhaustion. "I think we should wake them both up."
"Son, please, you've got to get some rest. You said you have to be back at the office in the morning."
Don ignored his father and walked over to the chair, knelt beside it. "Megan? Agent Reeves!"
She started. "Whipped butter."
Don laughed. "What?"
Megan's eyes focused, opened wider. "Sorry. Guess I fell asleep. I was dreaming."
"Agent, do me a favor and don't tell me what about, all right?" Don used the arm of the chair to push himself up, extended a hand to Megan. "My father is kicking us both out for the night. You okay to drive home?"
"At least as okay as you are, Agent Eppes."
"That's it. I'm driving you both home."
"Dad, you can't leave Charlie. We'll be all right."
Alan contemplated his youngest son, then his oldest. "I can have you both home and be back in an hour. If he wakes up while I'm gone…he's welcome to hate me forever. I'll be happy enough to stand it."
Don's lack of argument convinced Alan as much as anything else that he was making the right decision. If his son was too tired to argue, he was too tired to drive.
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The gun came out of nowhere, and was commandeered by no-one. It just floated, of its own accord, following his brother.
He could see the dark curls, recognized the hands running through them, leaving chalk dust. He could just barely hear music in the background, but not well enough to make it out. What kind of mood was Charlie in today? Hard rock? Classical? Love songs? Music to load the gun by?
Someone was in that kind of mood, because someone had loaded one and then set it loose to track his brother. If he could get to the gun, he could rip it out of the atmosphere. If he could get to Charlie, he could hold him back, get him out of the way somehow.
But he couldn't do any of that, because, looking down, he saw that he had no feet.
The gun began to fire, over and over, and Don couldn't hear whether or not Charlie was screaming — because he was.
