Chapter 12

The next time Charlie woke up, he was looking up at the same ER physician who had admitted Don and Alan the night before. The man stared at him morosely. "You had to do it, didn't you? You had to find a way to pass out in my ER. Why didn't you do this upstairs?"

Charlie licked his lips, and tried to corral his thoughts. "I did," he offered. "An orderly brought me here and left me."

The doctor frowned. "You've lost consciousness twice?"

Charlie tried to sit up. "It's no big deal," he said. Hands pushed him down again, and he sighed. "The first time, I- I was shocked, by something."

The doctor's frown deepened. "Electrical?"

Charlie shook his head, noting for the first time his mammoth headache. "No. Well, yes. It was a television."

"You were upstairs trying to fix one of our televisions?"

Charlie suddenly flashed on an English lit class he had taken somewhere along the way, and he thought of Shakespeare. This was turning into a comedy of errors. He tried to explain himself again. "No. I wasn't working on it, I was watching it."

The doctor exchanged a glance with someone else in the room, then looked back at Charlie. "Were you watching it in the shower or something? How did it shock you?"

Charlie struggled against the still-present hands to sit up again. Somebody in the conversation was a buffoon. Maybe he had hit his head, too. "No! No! Dammit…" He was growing increasingly frustrated, and it wasn't helping his headache. "I saw something that shocked me. News footage — a local FBI agent being shot."

This time the doctor sighed. "Granted, that's disturbing. In fact, the Agent is actually in this ER. But why would that make you pass out?"

"He's a friend of mine," Charlie answered. "He works with my brother. The team is not having a good week."

Comprehension began to dawn on the doctor's face. "Ah. I see. What about the second time?"

Charlie blinked at him. "The second time? Was Colby shot again?"

The doctor pulled up a stool and sat down. "No, son, the second time you lost consciousness. Here in the ER."

This conversation was exhausting. "Oh. Oh. Someone ran into me, and it hurt my wrist."

With a murmur of understanding, the doctor reached over Charlie and picked up his wrist gently, palpated it a little and then laid it back down on the gurney. Suddenly his face came within inches of Charlie's own, so quickly that he slid out of focus, and Charlie closed his eyes tightly against the frightening results. "Stop that," he whispered miserably.

"Okay," he heard from a distance, and he risked opening his eyes again. The doctor was standing, scribbling on a chart. "We need to X-ray that wrist. Also, there's fresh bruising on your temple and you've lost consciousness twice. Finally, you're an Eppes. Gonna have to insist on a CT scan."

"That's ridiculous," Charlie protested, and tried to get up a third time. To his eternal embarrassment, the doctor pushed him down with one finger.

"Not getting in an upright position until that CT scan is clear." He studied Charlie. "Have you eaten, today?"

Charlie closed his eyes. "I've been busy."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He actually fell asleep on the gurney, then, and woke up when he felt his bed jar. He opened his eyes to see that he was being pushed off an elevator. He tried to twist his head around to see the technician responsible for the ride. "Where are we?" he asked the woman.

"We're almost to radiology," she answered. "We'll see where the line is shortest — CT or X-ray." She pulled sharply to the left then, about to pass another gurney and tech in the corridor, going the other way.

While Charlie was flat on his back, the passenger on the other gurney was sitting at about a 30-degree angle. When he saw Charlie, he put a hand out and tried to grab onto the gurney. "HEY, WOAH, WOAH, EVERYBODY STOP!" Colby had used his best "FBI — Freeze!" voice, and everybody did. He tilted his head to smile up at his technician. "Dude, back me up a little, get me even with that guy, okay?" The tech shrugged, and did as he was asked. Once the gurneys were even, Colby looked at Charlie, who was craning his head around trying to see what all the yelling was about. The mathematician's eyes grew round and wide when he focused on Colby. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Colby looked at the woman piloting Charlie's gurney. "Hey, can you guys get us a little closer, maybe give us a couple of minutes?" He smiled, and she smiled back. The techs negotiated the gurneys close enough to the wall so that another could pass if needed, then stepped away a few feet, still keeping their charges in sight.

Colby grabbed the edge of Charlie's gurney. He had been going for Charlie's arm, but at the last second he noted the swelling and discoloration. "Hey, Whiz Kid. What the hell are you doing here?"

Charlie's eyes, still wide and glued on Colby, filled with tears. "I saw the video," he said. "God, Colby. Are you all right?"

Colby grinned. "That's what the vest is for, kid. Doc has to see the x-rays, but I'm betting broken rib. Maybe a couple." He lifted a hand to the back of his head. "Don't even have a concussion from meeting the asphalt. Hell of a headache, though."

Charlie wished he could reach out his hand, but it wouldn't obey him. "What happened? I…didn't hear it all…"

Colby shrugged, and grimaced a little. "More of your chaos theory. We were just doing witness interviews. There was a drive-by earlier, and it may be another in a gang situation LAPD called us in on. Anyway, we thought the guy in the truck was just another witness. Turns out he didn't even know what happened. It was all over by the time he blew a tire and pulled over — in the middle of his get-away. He had just robbed a convenience store five miles away, and he thought we were there for him."

Charlie blinked the moisture back. "God. It was so…it was so…" His eyes threatened to fill, again. "Are you sure you're all right? David said there was blood."

Colby lifted his hand off the edge of the gurney. He looked momentarily confused. "Blood?" A light went off and his face cleared. "Oh, oh, right. On impact, my arms flew back -- I hit myself in the mouth with my own weapon, bit my tongue and knocked loose a tooth. Must've bled like a sumbitch. Gotta go to the dentist when I get out of here so he can finish pulling it, or something...anyway. How's everybody here? And what happened to you?"

Colby frowned when Charlie suddenly looked away from him, to the ceiling, and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," said Charlie dejectedly. "I tried, I really did…" He opened his eyes, but continued to stare at the ceiling. "I know you were right this morning, it's not about me right now — but everything is wrong. Don wouldn't wake up, and Dad thinks I'm a dog, and Larry has pneumonia, and you were shot, and- and- I don't know what to do. I can't fix it."

Colby stared at him for a moment. "What happened to your wrist?"

Charlie closed his eyes again. "It's bright out here," he observed tiredly.

Colby suddenly zeroed in on the fact that Charlie wasn't sitting up at all. Maybe something had happened to his head, too. He hurried to make his point so they could get back to taking care of him. "Hey, Charlie, listen. You don't have to fix everything — nobody can. All you have to do is keep putting one foot in front of the other, okay?"

Charlie was starting to question his grip on reality almost as much as everyone else was. When his mother had died, he thought he saw her everywhere for months. He turned his head again and looked at Colby — both sadly, and hopefully. "Are you real?" he questioned, and Colby used his FBI voice again to call back the techs.