Chapter 8

At least this time the door was locked – probably because Megan herself had locked it just a few hours ago. It took several minutes for Charlie to answer their knocks and rings. Colby had resorted to pounding, and Megan had her cell open to call and see if he'd already left, when the door finally opened.

Right away, Megan noticed three things.

Charlie had shaved, and changed his clothes – and was barefoot.

He held the door slightly open and peered out at them, not inviting them in. Megan cleared her throat. "Charlie, the guys and I were hoping we could go with you to the hospital. You should probably put some shoes on first, though."

He blinked from one face to the other, finally settling his eyes back on Megan. "I'm not going," he said. He started to close the door, but David thought fast enough to put his hand out.

He flashed his most charming smile at Charlie. "May we come in? Have some coffee? Or…I don't know…water?"

Charlie frowned. "Do not treat me as if I don't know exactly what you're doing, Sinclair. I'm not stupid." He sniggered. "Haven't you heard? I'm a friggin' genius."

David held up his hand in surrender. "You're right. I'm sorry. We want to come in and talk to you."

Charlie let go of the door temporarily to run his good hand through his hair, and Colby took advantage of the situation. He led the charge, like a tackle blocking for his team, and the three agents crowed around Charlie in the vestibule. He glared at Colby and tried to get around him. On his best days, Charlie tried not to get this physically close to so many people at one time – and this was definitely not one of his best days. He took a step to the right. Colby, facing him, took a step to the left.

"Please let me go," Charlie said, disgusted himself at the whining caliber of his voice. "You can go to the hospital without me."

Megan tried to be the voice of reason. She knew the two bigger men were intimidating Charlie, even though he knew them as friends, and she tried to turn that into a "good cop-bad cop" scenario. "Charlie, you'll be all right. We'll go with you."

He lashed out at her. "I don't care about that! Weren't you paying attention last night? I found the pattern, and – and I have to break it, I have to remove myself from the equation, before I kill everybody!" His voice rose nearly an octave and gained considerable speed toward the end.

Colby regarded him, face impassive. Back home in Idaho, Colby had a couple of brothers, one older, one younger. He missed them – sometimes a lot, when he saw Don and Charlie together. He'd heard all of the allusions to difficulty in their relationship in the past, but he wasn't sure he bought the stories. Seldom had he seen such a solid connection between two people. He thought about Don, lying in the hospital, naybe still unconscious, and he remembered the look on his face when that witness had grabbed an Agent's gun and shot up the FBI bullpen a few months ago, narrowly missing Charlie. Their consultant was teetering on the edge of some precipice he didn't really understand, but he could tell that he was hanging ten already. So Colby decided that he could do it: For Charlie, whom he genuinely liked, and for his team leader, who couldn't do it himself. Colby would channel Don.

He took a step closer to Charlie. "For a Whiz Kid," he said lowly, "you can sure be a freakin' idiot when you want to be." He felt David looking at him, felt Megan's hand on his arm, but he ignored them both. Charlie needed Don? Charlie would get Don. He physically poked the shorter man in the chest, near the sling. "You want patterns? I'll give you patterns. I see a pattern of pure selfishness, Charlie. Three men are lying in the hospital, and it's all about you. You're the victim. I see you developing a secondary pattern right now. We create our patterns in life as we go, kid. What are you trying to design? Your best friend becomes more ill by the minute – are you sitting beside him, as he would beside you? Your father lies in a hospital bed sick, unable to get to his injured son, knowing his other son is unwilling to do it for him. Your brother takes a baseball bat to the head. Are you standing over him, talking to him, encouraging him to wake up?" He poked Charlie again. "No. No. And No. So what the hell are you doing?" He took a step back, put on his disgusted face from the interrogation box. "Shit, you're not even running scared, dude. You're standing still scared."

Colby stopped talking and they all listened to each other breathe for a while – mostly Charlie, who looked as if he was on the edge of hyperventilating. His breathing was rapid, shallow, yet loud and ragged. He continued to stare at Colby, his face, at first white, slowly regaining color. He never broke eye contact with Colby, not even when he spoke to one of Colby's partners. "M-M-Megan," he finally managed to get out, still staring at the other man, "I could use some help with my shoes."