Chapter 4
It was after 8 before Charlie had made a one-handed dent in the paperwork he had missed and was ready to go home. When he called his father for a ride, it took several rings for Alan to answer, and when he finally did, he sounded…bleary. Not at all the way a man who had just gotten back from a cruise should sound. Charlie felt a chill. "Dad? Are you all right?"
"Just a little cold, son. Are you ready for me to pick you up?"
Charlie tried to think. Had Larry come by the house on Saturday? If he had, he might have passed on the flu. Charlie couldn't remember. "Are you sure you're all right? Larry is really sick. He's in the hospital, there must be something going around."
Alan tried to work up some enthusiasm. "Hospital? That's too bad. He's sick?"
Now Charlie was really worried. He had just said that. "Dad? Do you have a fever?"
"It's a little warm," Alan admitted, and tried to laugh. "But then, I've been in Alaska. I'll come get you."
"No," Charlie protested. "You stay there. I called to tell you Don is bringing me home."
Charlie heard a yawn. "That's nice, son. What time should I be there?"
Oh, shit. "Dad, don't come, all right? Stay in the house, We'll be right home. Okay? Are you staying there?"
"Of course I'm here." Alan was sounding increasingly loopy. "How else would you be talking to me?"
Charlie wished he could stay on the line with his Dad, but he had to call Don and get him to go to the house as soon as possible. Then he had to call a cab, and get there himself.
"Dad, I'll be home soon, okay?"
"That's fine. That's good…" Alan still sounded confused. "Wasn't I supposed to do something?"
Charlie almost shouted. "No! Everything is taken care of. Just wait for me. On the couch."
"Good idea," Alan said, and the phone line disconnected.
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Don had worked late himself, just as behind in paperwork as Charlie was, and when he left the office at 8 all he could think about was the drive-thru burger place a few miles from his apartment. Halfway there, he remembered that he had never gotten to an ATM that day, and he didn't have any cash.
Swearing under his breath, tired, he pulled the SUV to the curb and got out. He knew there was a bank a street over, and about a block east. It would take less time to park and cut through the narrow alley than it would to negotiate the one-way streets and get there in the car.
He hurried through the alley and into the bank alcove sheltering the ATM. He looked around carefully – always the FBI agent -- and then accessed some cash. He put it in his wallet and exited the alcove, then re-entered the alley just as his cell rang. He yanked it off his belt. If this was a crime scene call, he was just going to lay down in the alley and cry.
"Eppes."
"Don, something's wrong with Dad, can you go to the house and check on him? I'm still at school, I'm waiting for a taxi."
Don stopped walking. "Slow down, Charlie. What do you mean, 'something's wrong with Dad'? What's wrong?"
"I called him, and he's talking funny, and I'm really worried…"
Don started walking again, slowly. "Charlie, are you sure this isn't just…one of your moments? You've got to admit, you're being a little unreasonable these days…"
Strolling through the alley, talking to Charlie on his cell, Don didn't even see a shadow move behind the dumpster as he passed it. He was completely unprepared when the baseball bat slammed into his skull, driving him to the ground and sending the cell flying. He didn't even feel the hands go through his pockets, find his wallet and relieve him of it. He lay spread-eagled on his stomach in the alley, unconscious, completely oblivious while the watch his father had given him on his last birthday was ripped off his wrist.
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Charlie stared at his cell in disbelief.
He couldn't believe Don had just hung up on him like that.
He wasn't wrong to be concerned about Dad, was he?
He sat on the bench outside the math and sciences building, huddled miserably. A respected colleague was dead, and Charlie had witnessed the entire horrifying event. His own body was still broken from the accident. His best friend, already grieving over the loss of someone he had been close to for years, lay sick and tied to IVs in a hospital. His father was home alone, and something was seriously wrong with him, Charlie just knew it. But sometime in the last week, he had used up all his grace with Don, and now his brother had cut him loose, tired of the soap opera Charlie had long ago started referring to as his life.
He continued to stare at the cell. Don had said he was being unreasonable the last few days. Charlie didn't see it that way, but he'd give Don the benefit of the doubt. He speed-dialed "1", to apologize to Don and tell him not to go by the house, he would just call later after he had seen Dad himself. Four rings later, the call was shuffled to voice mail, and Charlie hunched into himself even farther. Now Don wouldn't even take his calls.
He sat on the bench, waiting for his taxi, and tried not to feel as if the universe was laughing at him.