Chapter 5
Charlie found Alan standing in the kitchen, drinking a bottle of water. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and Charlie touched a palm to his father's skin. "You have a fever," he said accusingly. "You're sick."
Alan wouldn't – couldn't – deny the ache he felt all over, or the headache that had hung on all day. He was weary, too washed out to stand here and reassure Charlie all night. "It's just a cold, son," he finally answered. "Probably the big weather change between here and Alaska."
Charlie studied him. If his father had been drinking regularly, he shouldn't be dehydrated, yet. "Have you been nauseous?"
Alan seemed to consider, sipping the water. He lowered the bottle. "No. Not at all. I had a good lunch, and heated some soup for dinner." He indicated the water. "I'll just finish this and go to bed."
"Have you taken anything for the fever?"
Alan tried to think around the pounding in his head. Was he this annoying when the boys were ill? And how had Charlie materialized in the kitchen, anyway? Had he gone to CalSci and picked him up?
Charlie was pressing some pills into his hand. "Tylenol, Dad. It should bring down the fever." Alan raised his hand to his mouth obediently, and chased the pills with some of the water. In truth, this whole thing surprised him a little, too. He hardly ever got sick. He nodded absently as Charlie insisted that if he wasn't better by morning, he was going to the doctor. Vaguely, he heard Charlie's cell phone ring, and watched his son answer.
"Yes. This is Dr. Eppes." Charlie listened for a few moments and then raised his eyes to look at Alan. His eyes were wide, and the naked terror in them cut through Alan's fever haze and entered his own soul.
"What is it?", he whispered, already afraid to hear the answer.
Charlie flipped the cell shut, still looking at him, and Alan's knees almost buckled at the words. "It's Donnie. That was the hospital."
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"According to the police, your son was found unconscious in an alley. A couple passing by heard a cell phone ringing, and saw it lying on the ground. The gentleman leaned over to pick it up, and that's when he thought he saw a hand. They're certain it was a robbery. Your son's wallet lay nearby, which is good – it's where we found his ID, and emergency contact information – but there was an ATM receipt from just a few minutes before, and no cash. Also, it looks as if a watch was stripped from his wrist."
Alan reached out to grab at the doctor's coat. "I don't care about all of that. Tell us how he's hurt."
The doctor frowned. He had felt the heat of that hand through the material of his jacket. "Mr. Eppes, are you all right?"
"He has a fever," Charlie barely whispered, looking at the doctor's shoes.
Alan waved a hand. "It's nothing. A cold. What happened to Donnie?"
The doctor looked at him a moment longer. "Blunt force head trauma," he answered, and Alan's sudden pallor made him look sicker than ever. "He was hit with something heavy. He's still unconscious, and having a CT scan right now. While we're waiting, Mr. Eppes, why don't you step into an exam room yourself? Your fever seems quite high."
Charlie looked up at his father quickly, hoping he would do it, then back at the doctor's shoes. He didn't want to make any unreasonable demands. The three men sat in a corner of the waiting area of the trauma department. "I don't need…", Alan began, then stopped, suddenly a little dizzy.
The doctor spoke gently. "Mr. Eppes, there's really nothing you can do for your oldest son right now. But I think you could help your youngest son out by letting us check you over quickly. We'll just try to reduce the fever a little – you're probably right. It's probably just a cold."
Alan looked at Charlie then, who was staring at him through pain-filled, frightened eyes. He forced himself to feel some pity for his son. Not nearly recovered from what had happened to him last week, Larry in the hospital, and now this, with Donnie. He didn't need to worry about Alan, too. He patted Charlie's knee and smiled at him. "All right. If it will make you feel better."
The ghost of a smile hinted at Charlie's mouth, and he almost did feel better, for a moment. He almost let himself feel something akin to relief. He almost let himself believe that the doctors were taking care of Don, and would take care of his father.
He almost believed it, until Alan stood up to follow the doctor, and dropped in an unconscious heap at Charlie's feet.