Vendetta
By BeckyS
April 2005-2006
The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS"
are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci.
No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.
After a stop at the men's room to wash his face and discover how haggard he looked, he headed for the elevator. Megan and David flanked him, Colby behind them, but all the agents and techs rose from their chairs and stood quietly as he passed. He took it as the tribute his brother deserved, not realizing that it came from respect for both brothers.
As they rode silently down to the lower levels, Don mulled over how he'd always thought it was appropriate to have the morgue on the lowest floors. He'd supposed they were built there for ease of moving bodies, but he wondered now if it wasn't also some deep instinct relating to burying the dead. It didn't seem right for Charlie, though. Not Charlie, whose mind had flown with the eagles, commanding the highest winds. No, his brother didn't belong in the cold, dark earth.
He stepped out of the elevator and walked steadily down the hall to the gleaming double doors at the end. Step by step, he forced himself forward. He pushed through the doors as if they didn't exist and approached the medical examiner.
"Can I see—" he started but couldn't finish.
Dr. Sabello scrutinized him carefully, but was apparently satisfied. "Of course," he said. "I haven't begun the postmortem, though, so at this point I don't have much more than what the paramedics said."
"Right now," Don swallowed, "right now I just want to see him."
"Don?" Megan asked. "Do you want us to stay?"
He clenched his jaw for a moment, then shook his head. "I'd like a little time with him . . . alone. If you don't mind."
She touched his back lightly. "Of course not." His team left, but not without a final backward look from Megan. "We'll be just outside," she added.
He nodded. Looking at the wall of vaults, he asked the doctor, "Which one?"
"Seventeen. Do you need help?"
"No. Thank you."
"All right. I'll join your friends for a few minutes, then."
And he was alone. The only man alive in a room full of bodies, even if they were tucked away neatly. The only Eppes alive in the room. He forced himself forward, toward the door marked "17."
"Figures," he muttered. "A prime number." He rested his fingers lightly on the handle. "I don't want to do this, Charlie. I guess I understand a little bit better now why you couldn't go see Mom when she was so sick. I'm sorry I was always so hard on you about that. I don't want to see you all messed up. I don't want to see you and think you're asleep, like when you finally wind down enough to rest for a minute, and then you're so gone that I always have to stop and make sure you're still breathing. I don't want to look at you asleep in there and listen and not hear you." He leaned his head against the cold metal, but it didn't ease the hot ache deep inside. "Oh, Charlie, why?"
Then with sudden strength, he grabbed the handle, opened the door and pulled the slab out. He touched the black plastic that encased his brother's body, and gently, reverently pulled the zipper down. He parted the wrapping, and found himself looking at a stranger.