"Are you feeling better, Don?" Mayfield asked.
Alan watched as his son nodded but made no effort to speak.
"Good. Your fever is gone, so your efforts at communication should be getting a little better. What about pain – do you have any right now?"
Don shook his head.
"Excellent." Mayfield wrote some notes on his patient's chart and glanced over to the other two Eppes men. "So, here's the verdict – pending any complications overnight, I'll be releasing Don into your care tomorrow afternoon."
"That's wonderful!" Alan exclaimed. He grinned at his oldest son. "Not a minute too soon, right, Donny?"
The man in the bed shrugged and focused his attention on the blank television screen.
Seeing Alan's worried expression, Mayfield made a subtle gesture for the two of them to move into the hallway. "If you'll come with me, Mr. Eppes, we can go ahead and get some of the paperwork out of the way."
"Anything to speed the process up." Alan made his voice as light as possible, but his stomach was knotted with worry. Don should be so excited about leaving. This can't be a good sign. "Be right back, boys."
"We'll be here," Charlie replied as he smiled at his big brother.
Once in the hallway, Alan gave the doctor a worried look. "Are you sure he's okay to go home?"
"His physical injuries are healing quite well. His left shoulder should be out of the sling by the end of this week, his right wrist out of the splint by the end of next week. He'll need some physical therapy, but Don can do that as an outpatient service, or you can have a PT come in house." Alan nodded for the doctor to keep going. "The broken ribs have started mending, although they'll probably cause him some discomfort for another few weeks, especially when he laughs, cries, or when he's breathing hard – like after one of his PT sessions. The kidney bruising is almost healed, so we don't need to worry about monitoring for complications any more."
"And his emotional health?" Alan prodded. "That reaction in there just now – that wasn't my son."
"As I mentioned before, depression is a possibility. I'm hoping that once he gets back into a familiar environment – some place he can call home – his spirits will lift." Mayfield sighed and turned an intense gaze onto the eldest Eppes. "The swelling in the brain is gone, so that's no longer the cause of the aphasia."
"No," Alan breathed. "Don't tell me it's permanent."
"No, I'm not saying that," the doctor cautioned him. "This could just be residual from the initial trauma, in which case practicing his speech and some sessions with a speech therapist should have him back to his old self in no time."
"I hear a really big 'but' coming."
The doctor nodded. "But this may be permanent. In that case, you and your other son are going to have your hands full. The depression will get worse and Don will need to see a psychologist to help him handle the lifestyle change."
"How long before we know which one it is?" Alan demanded.
"That's hard to say. I'd give it at least a week or two and see if you can detect significant improvement or not. If you don't..." He frowned. "Then I'd say it's time to see the psychologist."
"No," Alan shook his head. "I've always been an optimist, and I see no reason to change now. He will be okay."
"I admire that, Mr. Eppes," Mayfield stated. "But just make sure that you're a realist, too, when it comes to dealing with your son's condition. For instance – have you contacted that support group yet?" Seeing the embarrassed look on the other man's face, the doctor nodded. "That's what I'm talking about. Be optimistic, but be prepared for anything."
"I understand. Is there anything else we should know?"
"Practice, practice, practice. Don't let Don slow his recovery by clamming up. Keep him talking – that's how he's going to get better. Be patient with him, but make corrections. If he says the wrong word for something, say the right word and have him repeat it. If he says something in the wrong order or the wrong verb tense, repeat what he said in the correct form. Get him to say it too. Lots of practice on his part and about three times as much patience on your part."
"I've got it," Alan promised him. He gripped the doctor's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Thank you for everything. I and my sons appreciate all that you've done for us."
"My pleasure," Mayfield smiled. "I wish you all the best of luck."
"Thank you." Because I really think we're going to need it, he added silently.
--
"You really think this pervert had something to do with Don being attacked?" David asked skeptically. "He sounds like a loner and Don was adamant that there was more than one attacker."
"We won't know until we ask," Colby answered as he pulled their vehicle into the driveway of a one level, run down house. "Besides, he might be a witness."
"That's true," David said as he unbuckled his seat belt. "How do you want to play this?"
"Hard core," Colby said. "No sympathy and, if necessary, we bluff him like there's no tomorrow."
The two agents followed the cracked walkway through knee high grass until they reached the front door. The paint was chipped and cracked and the screen door hung loosely to the side. Colby rapped on the door and patiently waited for a response.
"Who is it?" a high pitched voice demanded.
"FBI," Colby announced, holding his ID up to the peephole. "Open up."
"I haven't done anything wrong," the whiny voice replied. "Unless you got a warrant, you can't come in."
"This involves an attack on a Federal agent," Colby growled. "You open the door now, or it's coming of its hinges with a little help from me. Got it?"
After a moment's pause, they heard the locks being turned and then the door creaked open to reveal a middle aged man of average height. He glared at the two agents, his thin lips curled in disgust. "You think you can boss everyone around just because-"
"Thanks for letting us in," Colby snapped as he brushed past the man into the dimly lit hallway.
"Yeah," David agreed as he stepped inside and closed the door. "Mighty hospitable of you."
"Hey, wait! I didn't say-"
"Shut up, Alderson," Colby interrupted as he gazed at the piles of video tapes that filled the living room. "So, do I want to know what's on all these tapes?"
"None of your business," Alderson told him. "What the hell do you people want with me?"
"You know a Don Eppes?" David asked.
"No. Should I?"
"How about an Agent Eppes?" Colby asked.
"I said no," the little man shot back. "You have a hard time with that word?"
Colby stepped up to him and glared menacingly. "How about an FBI agent who kicked you out of Steve's Gym? You remember that, smart guy?"
"Sure, I do. What – is this the same guy or something?"
"Like you don't know," David said as he, too, towered over Alderson. "I bet you don't know about the attack, either."
"I don't know anything about any attack," the man said, his eyes nervously twitching back and forth between the two larger men.
"Funny," Colby drawled. "Because we've got you on video that night."
"Right," Alderson laughed. "The surveillance cameras at that place have been busted for months."
"They got un-busted," David told him with a slow, cold smile. "And they've got your image on them."
"You're lying," Alderson said as he licked his lips.
"How do you think we found out about you sneaking into the gym that night?" Colby asked. "Think that one over, you moron."
"I'm not the one who attacked him!"
Colby's heart sped up, but he kept his expression cool and calm. "I know that, you twit. But I want to know what you saw."
"Why?" Alderson inquired. "If you've got it on tape, then-"
"We have you on tape," David cut him off. "Bad angle on the attackers. So, unless you want to do jail time for peeping on innocent women, you'd better start spilling your guts."
"Alright," the little man squeaked. "I did see the men that grabbed him. Two black kids in black jeans and Raiders jackets. They walked right up to him and said something, but I didn't hear what."
"What happened then?" Colby pressed.
"Your agent nodded really slow and got off the weight bench. He walked with them through the front door without even putting up a fuss."
"Can you describe the men?" David asked.
"Young – twenties maybe – dressed up like hip-hop punks. One of them grinned and I saw a bunch of gold teeth. He scared the hell out of me."
"And you didn't bother to call for help?" David asked in disgust.
"Hey, I didn't know what those thugs had on them! Besides – Agent Eppes doesn't exactly hold a place in my heart."
"Right," Colby snapped. "Did you see where they went when they got outside?"
"There was an SUV waiting for them. Black, probably a Ford. License plate had a 4 and a K in it."
"Anyone else in the vehicle besides the driver?" David queried.
"Looked like one or two more, maybe. Once they got him in – none too gently, it looked like – the SUV screeched off down the street." Alderson eyed the two men. "Is that helpful enough? Can you just forget about what you saw here?"
"I'll tell you what you're going to do," Colby spoke firmly. "You're going to destroy these tapes and then you are never even going into the same zip code as Steve's Gym. You got that?"
"But-"
"Or I run you in right now and you do some hard time."
Alderson weakly nodded at Colby. "I guess I got no choice."
"Smart move," Colby responded. "I'm going to have an agent follow up with you in a couple of days and those tapes had better be history, got it?"
"Got it," the little man whispered.
The two agents exited the house and returned to their SUV, slipping inside and closing the doors.
"Good bluff, man," David smiled at his partner. "I mean, that was an A-1, first class act."
"Thanks," Colby answered.
"Just one thing."
"What's that?" Colby quirked an eyebrow.
"Remind me to never accept an invite to poker night from you."
TBC