NOW WRITING
From the creator of The Greatest Adventure
Some pirates steal your treasure but this one will steal your heart!
Kat and Riley are transported back in time
And are back to tell the story of their
Imaginary Reality: PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN
A Dream That's Too Good To Be Real
WHEN THE NUMBERS DON'T ADD UP
Written By Celeste Shinra
CHAPTER THREE: Suicide or Murder?
Charlie rested on the couch, a big smile on his face. Sighing, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. The day hadn't started off too well but it sure did end terrific! Lunch with Amita had opened up new doors for both of them. The feeling swelling up in his chest was almost painful.
"Well, Charlie, how are you?" His father came out of the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand.
"I'm good. What about you? Sorry about lunch." Charlie then felt guilty about leaving his father out.
"Oh, don't worry about that. I had some company anyhow." Mr. Epps added with a wink. He turned around and started to walk back to his bedroom. "I'm off to bed, Charlie. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Alright," Charlie stole a glance at the clock with raised eyebrows. It was only eight o'clock. When did his dad start going to bed so early? He guiltily remembered all the time he had spent in the garage and cringed. "Goodnight Dad!" he shouted hoping that his father heard him.
"Night son," Mr. Epps waved right before he closed his bedroom door.
Feeling a bit letdown and guilty, Charlie got up to get a drink. A nice hot drink of coffee would help. At least, he hoped it would. Just as he began pouring a cup, there was a small knock at the front door. For a moment, he wondered if he was just imagining it. When he set the pot down, there was a second knock, lighter than the first. His eyes went from his father's door to the front door and back. Should he answer it?
"Umm, just … just a minute!" he yelled as he ran to his father's door. "Dad? There's uh, someone knocking at the door."
"Well, go answer it, Charlie."
"Right, right. Of course." Collecting himself, he walked out of the hallway and to the door. For some reason, he was dreading to see who was on the other side.
And the wolf said, 'little piggies, little piggies, let me in!
Okay, that was not what he was supposed to be thinking as he was opening the door. Then again, when were thoughts supposed to be anything? Cautiously, he turned the knob and slowly pulled the door open.
"Uh, can I help you?" Charlie asked. It took him a couple seconds to notice who was standing in front of him. She was a little shorter than him with short black hair and blue eyes. The way she stood under the light reminded him of a little lost kitten.
"Oh, I uh … must have the wrong house." She started to turn away but then quickly turned around. "I'm looking for a detective Epps. Do you know where he lives?"
"This is his house." He replied back, staring at her.
"It is? Oh, is he home? I … I came here to get something from him." The girl stepped past Charlie and into the house. The poor boy, flabbergasted, just stood there watching her. She turned back around and raised an eyebrow. "You got your light on in the attic, kid?"
"We don't have an attic," the words came out of his mouth before he realized what she had said. He closed and locked the door, turning so that she wouldn't see his red face. "I mean, Don's not home yet. Do you like to drink? We have coffee." He hurried into the kitchen and grabbed out another cup.
"So, are you a detective too?" The girl followed him and sat down at the table.
"Me? No, I'm a professor. I teach math." After he set the cup down in front of her, he sat down. "What do you do?"
"I work and go to college. Not much of anything important." The girl took a sip. She put the cup back down, looking at him. "This is good. You make it?"
"My dad did."
"My detective lives with his dad?" The girl laughed a bit before taking another sip of her coffee.
Charlie wasn't sure if it was what she said that bothered him or the way she said it. Her detective? Did that mean that she had personally hired him or was she something more to Don?
"What's your name?" he asked, leaning forward.
"You're pretty much a straight-forward kind of person, aren't you?"
"I just thought that since you're in our house, I at least should know your name." Charlie felt proud of himself. At least he had said one smart thing tonight. Where was his mind when he needed it?
"Riley Thompson." The girl sighed, blowing her bangs out of her face. "And you are?"
"Charlie."
"And I guess I'm just supposed to assume that your last name is Epps, correct? So that would mean that you're Detective Epps' brother?"
Charlie nodded, not feeling stupid for the first time that night. He glanced quickly at the clock. When was Don going to be home? He had never been good with company and he was proving it well.
"So Charlie, aren't you even wondering what I'm here for?" Riley shifted in her seat, pulling her knees to her chest.
"Are you one of his witnesses?" Charlie asked. He nervously played with the edges of the tablecloth.
"Your stupid brother took something of mine and I want it back."
"What was it?"
"It was my mom's … some kind of cloth with a whole bunch of numbers on it." Riley sighed, her shoulders falling into a slump. "My mom was always making weird notes for me to decipher."
"It had numbers on them?" he tried to keep his voice from shaking. She was obviously talking about the cloth Don had given him earlier. But would it be a smart thing to tell her that he had it? If she was looking for the cloth, then that meant that she was the victim's daughter. Charlie suddenly felt more determined to decipher the code. Yet, was it such a good idea to get emotionally involved? "I might know where it is." He added slowly, letting his thoughts rest at the back of his mind.
"You do?" Riley's eyes snapped open wide. She placed both her hands firmly on the table as she leaned forward, her face inches from his. "Show it to me," she hissed eagerly.
"Thanks for dinner, Don. The lobster was delicious." Terry said quietly, washing down the food with wine. The candles were illuminating their faces, casting tiny shadows across the table. It was the perfect romantic dinner.
"It was my pleasure," Don rubbed her shoulder gently, his brown eyes gazing into hers. "Why don't we have some dessert at my place? It'll be just the two of us."
"Oh, well, that sounds great." She looked up at him smiling.
"Do you know how beautiful you look when you smile, Terry?" Don asked as he placed his hand on hers.
"No, but you should remind me more often." Terry commented coyly. She teased him by tracing her fingers along his wrist.
"Terry." Don started, leaning forward.
"Yes?" She closed her eyes, waiting for his lips to meet hers.
"Terry?"
Terry snapped to attention, her eyes blinking rapidly. Looking up, she met Don's concerned gaze. She gave a small smile.
"Sorry, Don. My mind went on a vacation for a second. What did you say?"
"I was wondering if you were going to finish your fries." Don pointed to the basket of fries in front of her.
"No, go ahead. They're all yours." Terry pushed the basket to her partner, a frown on her face. She turned her head to the seafood restaurant across the street and sighed.
"Something wrong, Terry?" Don asked as he consumed half the basket of fries in one mouthful.
"Hmm? Oh, it's nothing." She said quickly.
"You're thinking about the case from this morning, aren't you?"
"The case? Oh, that …" Terry waved her hand, dismissing the thought. "That was far from my mind. I don't even want to think about it for the rest of the night."
"Well, speaking of the case," Don paused, his hand scratching the back of his head. "The girl, the daughter, called me—"
"Wait, what!" She turned to him, raising her eyebrow. "She called you? What for? To whine more about her suicidal mother?"
"That's a bit harsh, Terry and I'm beginning to wonder why this is upsetting you so much." Don leaned forward, keeping his eyes on hers. "What is it about this case that is making you act like this?"
"Act like what?" She could feel her voice strain and tried to stop but her mind was in the wrong place. "Act like I don't care about some stupid woman killing herself? Act like I don't care about some daughter who's mother just up and sliced herself open?" She leaned back in her seat and angrily glared out towards the street.
"Do you?"
"Do I what."
"Do you care?" Don's voice was calm with no hint of worry or hysterics, much unlike Terry's. He waited a few minutes while she bit her lip, thinking. When she turned to face him again, his heart sank with sympathy. Her face was drawn, looking ten years older.
"Yes, I care."
"Why?"
"When I was twelve, my best friend killed herself." Terry moved her hand to her forehead, rubbing it as if she had a headache. "All because her stupid boyfriend dumped her for her sister. Can you imagine living knowing the fact that you were the reason you're sister killed herself?" She sighed and tilted her head back, closing her eyes as her mind went into the past. "Her sister never went out with the guy and spent most of her life with psychiatrists. She ended up committing suicide eight years later."
"That's horrible! Why haven't you ever told me this?" Don asked, concerned.
"You never asked and besides," Terry mover her head back and smiled grimly, "it was never important."
"It must have been to you." He said softly, reaching out to pat her hand. This time, her smile was genuine.
Not exactly the romantic setting she had imagined but the his hand on hers was nice… very nice…
"But besides all that, do you think you can still do this case, Terry? You might get too involved and it will cloud your judgment." Don shrugged when she glared at him. "Hey, it's my job to ask. That way, I won't have to take the blame when you screw up," he teased, winking at her.
"Like I would screw up!" Terry laughed. "So then, what did the daughter want?"
"Show it to me!"
"Are you serious?"
"Give it to me!"
"But … it's evidence!"
"Does it look like I give a shit?"
"But I can't! I'm not allowed to and I'm not giving it to you!"
"Stop being such an idiot and hand it over! NOW!"
"No."
"No? No! Why the fuck not!"
"You know, cussing isn't very ladylike."
"Again, does it look like a give a shit!"
"I'm still not giving it to you."
"Why!"
"I already told you and would you put that cup down! You'll break it."
"I'll break your arm in a second if you don't give me the damn cloth!"
"The police will handle the case and let you know the progress as we continue."
"The police are the ones who ruled my mother's murder as a suicide!"
"Careful with the cup! You don't slam porcelain on a hardwood table!"
"Give me one good reason why I should listen to you!"
" … It belonged to my mother …"
"It belonged? As in … past-tense?"
" … yes."
"Oh … … here."
"Thank you."
"Can I still see the cloth, please?"
"Alright, but you can't touch it!"
"Scout's honor."
" …"
"Sorry, police humor."
"Remind me to laugh later."
"Will do, Captain."
" … More police humor, right?"
"Right."
It well after nine when Don finally convinced Terry to join him in talking with Riley Thompson. She wasn't too happy that Don had agreed to share evidence but there wasn't anything she could do now. As she walked down the walkway to their door, she wondered if Charlie had deciphered it out already. If he hadn't, it would be an excuse to not let Riley see it.
"Dad? Charlie? I'm home!" Don shouted as he opened the front door. He left Terry to shut and lock it as he went to the kitchen. As he walked over to the table, he saw a porcelain cup resting quietly by the flower vase on the table. There was another one set not too far from it, looking somehow out of place. He reached over to tenderly run his finger across the handle, remembering all the times their mother had made home-made tea for them.
"Don, where's Charlie?"
"Hmm?" Don snapped back to reality, feeling a bit guilty about reminiscing about his mother in front of Terry. He let his hand drop back to his side as he looked around. "Well, I think they had something to drink and then … it looks like Charlie went to the garage."
"Then she left?" Terry asked, hopeful.
"It doesn't look like it," Don went across the kitchen and into the living room to walk out the side-door that was still wide open. The light in the garage wasn't usually off since Charlie did most of his work through the night but the door was always shut. As he went over, he noticed Riley in a corner, leaning over something on one of the tables. Her lips were pressed in a tight line and her fingers were edging, tapping, on the tabletop. When he and Terry walked in, she lifted her head briefly before going back to whatever had caught her attention.
"Don! You're home." Charlie waved to him briefly from his spot by the white-board. "Riley and I almost have this thing figured out. I don't know ho w I never saw it before. It was so obvious. It's not random at all. Not even close!"
"So you've cracked it?" Don forgot about his irritation at seeing the cloth, the evidence, in Riley's trembling hands. Charlie shook his head, hesitant.
"Not exactly but we're close." Charlie smiled and pointed to the board. "Look at the numbers. When you look at them, what's the first thing you think of?"
"A headache." Terry commented, hoping they knew she was teasing. Don gave her side-long knowing look and Charlie half-glared at her. "Well, not really but … I think of a phone-number."
"Or a really long zip-code." Don murmured, jokingly.
"A barcode." Terry suggested.
"Are you two even looking at the numbers?" Charlie asked exasperated. "I mean, look at them! Look at them. What do they remind you of?"
"Charlie, you know we don't have the patience to stand around here thinking about and we know that you don't have the patience to stand around waiting for us to think about it so why don't you just explain it to us?" Don crossed his arms, leaning against one of the tables.
"1-5-1-9-1-1-2-1-2-5-2-6-1-3. Numbers are related to a lot of different kind of codes. You can make a million codes using numbers and a million ways to read them. We use numbers sometimes to decipher messages. We use numbers as letters, see?" Charlie scribbled some equations below the numbers, licking his lips in excitement. "One could be A, Two could be B, and so on. So I figured—"
"Ahem!" Riley lifted her hand, as if trying to draw some recognition to herself. "You figured?"
"Well … we figured …" Charlie grinned sheepishly. Clearing his throat, he went on. "We figured that this is some sort of message but there are endless possibilities. It could be any code—"
"What do you mean by 'any code'?" Terry asked. "Numbers are letters. Letters are numbers. What other codes are there?"
"For example, the letter A doesn't always have to be the number one. It could be thirteen, or eight, or even twenty-three. There are twenty-six letters so we know that the key only includes numbers one to twenty-six but the letters could be in any sort of arrangement."
"So, exactly how close have you—"
"Ahem!"
" …. How close have both of you gotten to deciphering this?" Don finished, throwing Riley a disapproving look. He was quite taken aback when she stuck her tongue out at him. The look on his face was so comical that even Charlie almost laughed.
"We've written down all the numbers and possible letters that could match. There are about 26x26 possibilities if you go down every single one. Cross out the 2 and put—"
"There are 676 codes possible, is what he's saying."
Charlie glared at Riley, not feeling like laughing anymore. His hand was poised over the board, in the middle of writing his third equation. And he didn't think it was very funny when she stuck her tongue out at him! He turned back to Don who had an amused look on his face. "I h ate it when you let your work follow you home." Charlie told him, still glaring.
Don did laugh then and Terry looked at him like he was crazy. What was so hilarious about the way the girl was acting? That smug smile on Riley's face wasn't easing her anger either but the look on Don's face was what shocked her.
Admiration.
Pure and simple admiration. Even after Charlie turned back to the board to finish his equation and Riley went back to writing down codes, Don's eyes lingered on Riley for a minute before looking back at the mess of equations. Terry's eyes went back and forth between her partner and the victim, wondering.
Was it just her imagination or had their been something else in Don's eyes besides admiration?
She didn't want to even guess at what it could be …
END OF CHAPTER THREE
Author's Note: Sorry about not updating in so long. School and work have been taking up my life. I haven't even cleaned my room completely yet! Anyhow, the chapter is up! 13 pages, oh yeah! Go me! I rock! I rule! By the way, in case any of you were wondering (and no doubt some of you did), in the part where there is just dialogue—It's just Riley/Charlie talking. The basic point was to show their differences as well as similarities. The differences were that Riley was a more forceful …err, more violent approach to things while Charlie's was calm and passive. The similarity was the fact that both their mothers were dead and that's the transition, showing Riley's soft side. Umm, any other questions, explanations or corrections … just post it in your review and I'll answer to it when I post it or email it to you. thanks to all my reviewers! I love you!
