"Instead of seeing the rug being pulled from under us, we can learn to dance on a shifting carpet." (Thomas Crum)
Chapter 13
Life, Don had noticed over the years, had a sneaky way of happening.
He tried to keep up with Charlie, he really did. He drove his father crazy calling for reports. He drove Charlie crazy.
"Stop it," his brother had said just two days ago. "You're worse than that wart I used to have on my toe. I thought I would never get rid of it, either."
So Don had backed off. He knew he was doing exactly what he had warned his father against.
But he also knew what it was like, to look down at your own hands and know that without them, another human being would still be alive.
Difficult as it was, he tried to concentrate on something else. Work. Face it, that was the only other thing he had, besides his family. At work, he and David and Megan took care of each other. He was thankful that neither of them seemed to blame him for what had happened with Colby. In fact, it had actually made them a tighter unit. Megan even thought they would have to be careful not to exclude the newest team member. After over a year and three temporaries, Merrick had informed them that Colby's permanent replacement was on the way. A young agent. This would be only her second assignment since Quantico. Don sighed. Breaking in a new agent. He hadn't done that in years. That should prove a distraction. But she wasn't due for a few weeks yet. What was he going to do until then?
He flipped open his cell to call his father, feeling like an idiot. Okay, so he would back off on Charlie. Didn't mean he couldn't still keep tabs on him.
"Hey, Dad."
"Donnie. I've been waiting for your afternoon check-in."
"Sorry."
"You never have to apologize to your father because you're trying to look after your brother, Don."
Don smiled. "So how is he, today?"
Alan took just a second too long to answer. "I'm sure he's all right."
Don sat up a little straighter in his chair. "Spill it, old man."
Alan sighed. "You know I wouldn't ordinarily let you get away with that."
"But?"
"He's just so … polite. It's like living with a stranger. I can't tell you that he's doing anything wrong. He's eating. If he's having nightmares, I haven't heard them. He helps with the dishes. Don. I walked by his room today — the door was open — and it was clean … neat."
Don gave a low whistle. "You're right. That's a stranger."
"Maybe you shouldn't back off just yet, even if he's asked you to."
Don checked his watch. "I should be on time tonight. I could come for dinner."
"Please. I always enjoy that. Unfortunately, Charlie won't be here. He's teaching a night class this session."
Don thought. "I'll try to call him tomorrow for lunch, then. Listen, Dad …"
"Yes?"
"Let me bring take-out, tonight. To make up for the 'old man' crack. Chinese?"
Alan chuckled a little. "Won't be that easy, my boy. I'm already marinating some steaks — you can cook them."
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He was almost drugged.
Between the meal, the beer, and the sound of rain on the roof, he was lulled into the most restful sleep he'd had in months.
So of course he would get called to a crime scene in the middle of the night.
Don groaned. No good to ignore it. He rolled over in the bed and grabbed the cell from the nightstand. "Eppes."
"D – D – D – D"
"What? Who is this?" Don didn't bother to check his caller ID. If this was a wrong number, the less awake he got, the better.
"D – Don. It's me."
Suddenly, Don was awake. "Charlie?" He glanced at the alarm clock. 2:30 in the morning. "What's wrong?"
"I … I … I need … It's c- c- cold."
"Charlie, you're freaking me out, here. Where are you?"
"I … I … don't know. I we…went for a walk."
"In the middle of the night? In the rain?"
"I don't … don't remember any r-rain, when I l-left. I … I don't know when that was."
Don sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, squinting in the sudden light.
"Tell me where you are. I'll come and get you."
Don heard a tiny sneeze, a sniffle. "I don't know."
"Look around. Do you see any business signs? Are you near a corner, are there street signs?"
"I can't do this."
Don heard the quiet despair and it felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. "Charlie, come on. Just tell me where you are. I'll come, Charlie."
Charlie was quiet for so long Don was afraid he had hung up, but then he heard another sneeze.
"Charlie!"
"M- m- Mexican restaurant. C- c- closed."
Don grabbed the phone book from the nightstand drawer. "Name, Charlie."
"El … El Arrier. The Doorway. To what, I wonder?"
Don thumbed the yellow pages. Thank God. Only one of them. "Okay, Charlie, I've got one. Are you standing in the rain?"
"Yes."
Don was out of bed now, trying to dress with one hand. "Well, get out of it. Get in the doorway of the restaurant."
Charlie laughed a little wildly. "Get in the doorway of The Doorway? S- Someone is there."
Oh, shit. Don made the connection to the address. Charlie was not in a good place. "Okay, never mind. Dammit. Just stay where you are. Don't talk to anybody. Talk … talk to yourself, they'll think you're crazy and leave you alone."
Charlie laughed again. "Not a prob…problem. Am crazy."
Don slipped his feet into some slippers. No time for shoes and socks. "No, you're not, Chuck." He grabbed his keys, shoved them in his pocket and took both coats out of the hall closet. "I'm coming."
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"Every time I close my eyes, it's one or the other of them. I never know who until I roll him over, because when the back of their heads blow off, it looks pretty much the same. Either way, I'm the one holding the gun."
Charlie was planted on Don's couch, wearing Don's sweats, warming his hands around a cup of Don's coffee. Don sat in the chair facing the couch and let his brother talk.
"And…And I eat, because I know Dad is watching me…" He looked at Don. "…when you aren't … but I always throw it up, later. He thinks I go to the garage to work, but I go out there so he won't hear me. I feel sorry for the garbage man."
Charlie carefully set the mug down on the coffee table in front of the couch, and shivered. He huddled a little deeper into the blanket Don had placed around his shoulders. "I don't know what to do. What is there to do?"
Don leaned forward in the chair a little. "Make a choice, Charlie."
Charlie's expression changed from desolate to confused. "What?"
"Choose your memories. You can remember that Colby thought enough of you to do what he did — or you can remember the look on his face whenever you tried to explain one of your theories — or you can remember what motivated you in the first place to help, to consult with all the departments you've worked with."
"Right." Charlie's voice was bitter. "It's that easy."
"I never said that it was easy. It's necessary. Necessary is hardly ever easy."
"I feel like I'm coming apart."
Don remembered. Don remembered that feeling. He leaned even closer to Charlie, smiled grimly. "I know. And as scary as that is, Charlie — something has to fall to pieces before it can be put back together. Put it back together right, and it'll be stronger than it ever was."
Charlie looked at him for a few seconds, and then allowed his head to loll back on the couch. "I'm tired."
"Then sleep." Don stood and started turning out lights, made sure the curtains were closed so that the morning light wouldn't wake him. "One more thing to remember."
"Mmm?" Charlie didn't open his eyes. He was almost gone, already.
"Always. Always remember. You're not alone."
