The Disclaimer Continues. Ad Infinitum.

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Chapter 13

Don didn't tell Alan about their conversation, but he went home to his apartment before dinner, and let Charlie have some space. He didn't come back until the next afternoon. He found Charlie sitting at the dining room table, his lap top up and running before him. Charlie was concentrating and hadn't heard Don pass through the swinging door from the kitchen, and Don stood uncertainly for a moment, wondering if he would be welcome.

He was almost knocked over when his father pushed through the door after him. "Oh! I'm sorry, Donnie. Charlie, did you speak to your brother?"

Charlie looked up and started a little. "What?"

Alan rolled his eyes. "I said your brother is here. Do you need anything? I thought I would go to the store while Don's here." He glanced at Don. "If that's all right with you. Were you staying for a while?"

"Sure," Don answered, watching Charlie for a reaction.

Charlie was poking one-handed at the keyboard. "I don't need a babysitter. And get some yogurt. Please."

"I'd worry if you were home alone too long. And yogurt is on the list. Anything else?"

"No, I'm good."

Alan smiled. "You'll be better if you put that lap top away and talk to Don. You've already worked an hour since lunch." His smiled seemed to widen. "Besides. I think you have something to tell him."

If Dad was smiling, it couldn't be too bad. Don hoped. "Beer," he said.

Alan frowned. "It's too early, Don. It's only 3 o'clock."

Don reached for his wallet and grinned. "Not right now, Dad. I wondered if you could get some for me, as long as you're going to the store. Let me give you some cash."

Alan waved him off. "Don't worry about that. I have Charlie's debit card. This is his week to pay for the groceries."

"Hey!" Charlie slammed shut his lap top. "I heard that."

Alan winked at Don. "Amazing how convenient that boy's hearing is. I'll see you both in about an hour. Call me if you think of something else — I'll take my cell."

Don watched his father retreat into the kitchen again and then took a seat opposite Charlie at the dining room table. "Working, already?"

Charlie smiled. Smiling was a good sign. "I just graded some tests this morning, and this afternoon I entered the grades into the records. Nothing major. Trust me, I have not even made a dent. I'm glad you're here. I was going to call you, but Dad thought you'd come by, and I wanted to tell you in person if I could."

Don waited, apprehensive despite the smile.

"Dr. Stedman called this morning," Charlie informed him. "The hospital lab called him, since he's my primary care physician."

The apprehension grew into worry. "You're okay, aren't you?"

Charlie nodded. "Yes. Some more tox screen results came back, though. Apparently I was the victim of a basement chemist somewhere."

Don's eyes gleamed, and he tried not to smile. Who smiled when he learned his brother had been drugged? "I knew it," he said forcefully. "What was it?"

"Salvinorin A."

"Sal what?"

"Salvinorin A. Found in the leaves of the S. divinorum plant, which is endemic to the Mexican state of Oaxaca. Concentrated quantities have a psychoactive effect. Combined with the effects of sleep deprivation, Dr. Stedman says it's amazing I didn't literally fly."

Don tried to corral his thoughts. "Where did you ingest it? Damn, I wish I could get our resources on this. Is there any way to tell if you were targeted because of your government ties?"

"Slow down," Charlie admonished him. "LA's finest already cracked the case."

Don was nonplussed. "What? When? How?"

Charlie chuckled a little. "It's kind of cool to know something before you do."

Don grunted in exasperation. "Chuck, this is not the time to mess with me."

"Okay, okay. The lab informed LAPD, and some detectives came around 9:30. They asked me what I ate and drank that day, and all I can remember is half a cup of my own tea in my office with Larry before my first morning class, and another cup of tea in Dr. Sorenson's office. So they went to CalSci to get samples. Turns out I wasn't even the target. When they got to Sorenson's office, he said that he and his wife are going through a messy divorce. Fighting over custody of the kids, community property, pretty much everything. He even has a restraining order against her. That morning, she showed up at his office with the tea. Said it was a peace offering, and asked if he would lift the order. Things degenerated into a shouting match and he threw her out. He says I'm the only one who's consumed any of the tea — I saw it on the corner of his desk and asked for some. I was hungry, and a little nervous; I thought that might help."

Charlie stopped to take a sip from the bottle of water on the table and Don tapped his foot impatiently.

"So," Charlie said after he swallowed, "the detectives took his tea and my tea and dropped it off at their lab. Then they went to interview the wife." His face fell a little. "This part is actually kind-of depressing."

"What? Why?"

"She caved. It wasn't like the movies or television at all…or even like the cases I've helped you on. There was no serious investigating to be done, no algorithims to design, no interrogation in the box. She just looked up, saw the detectives and their badges, and burst into tears. She said her contact swore to her that the stuff he was putting into the tea was untraceable, and would make her husband temporarily psycho. She intended to use whatever he did under the influence as leverage to get the kids. She was hanging out on campus, waiting for something to happen. Then she heard about…my flight. She already knew that I worked in Sorenson's department, so she put two and two together. She assumed they knew a lot more than they did already, when they showed up in her office. She was terrified they were coming after her for attempted murder. The whole thing was over…well, for me anyway…before 1 o'clock."

Don sighed and sat back in his chair. "Incredible." He shook his head, as if to clear cobwebs. "The doctors don't expect more problems with it, do they? It's out of your system?"

Charlie dropped his eyes. "I'm sure it is. I didn't have that much...well... I guess it depends on how strongly the tea was laced. Dr. Stedman wants me to come in tomorrow morning for another blood test. He said the lingering effects could account for some of my short-term memory problems, and extreme mood swings."

Don couldn't stop it anymore. He smiled. "Well. This is all…great, Charlie. I knew you didn't jump off that roof."

Charlie didn't smile back, but regarded Don seriously. "No. But I said what I said, up there. Larry was here last night, and he confirmed it. I said what I said to you the other night at dinner, too."

Don's smile faltered. "Didn't you just say that the doctor said there could be lingering effects?"

Charlie raised a hand to push back a stray curl. When his hand dropped, his eyes were dark. "I know how I feel, Don, and I know how long I've felt that way."

Don leaned forward a little, arms on the table. "Tell me."

Charlie's eyes strayed to the portrait of their mother on the wall, then to his lap top, and finally back to Don. "I do not remember a time," he started, "when the numbers were silent. No matter what else I am doing – teaching, presenting a theory to the team, reading a text – hell, mowing the lawn – it's as if I'm doing it next to the ocean. There is a constant roar in the background. Constant. Sometimes, the tide comes in, and the roar gets louder, or rolls off me in waves. That's what happened with Mom. And with that bank case, the Charm School Boys. Mom…Mom used to help me sleep. She would come and try to talk louder than the ocean, until all I heard was her voice. And she taught me little tricks, so I could try to relax." Charlie suddenly chuckled. "Be reassured here, Don. This is why I have always been so fond of a hot bath at night."

Don smiled with him, and Charlie continued. "There were other things. Late-night koi contemplation. Warm milk. Visualization, even. All those tricks stopped working long ago. I'm not just exhausted because we worked a bad case and I'm fact checking for both Larry and Dr. Haven. I'm exhausted because I need some new tricks." A look of dawning comprehension passed over his face. "In fact, I'm sure that's why I take on as much as I do – or at least part of it. I'm trying to exhaust myself. Take this week, for example. Gotta tell ya Don, I've been sleeping great. The tide is out."

They both sat silently for a while, digesting Charlie's confessions. Don felt a little…ignorant. He had grown up in this house, and he was five years older than Charlie. He certainly should have been observant enough to notice an entire ocean between his brother's ears. He drummed his fingers on the table. "I suppose suggesting a vacation would be too simple?"

Charlie grinned lopsidedly. "Pretty sure I'd have to take my head with me, Don." He smiled broader and met Don's eyes fully. "Remember a couple of years ago, when I drove down the coast for a few days over Spring Break?"

Don nodded. "Right. Was that the time you were supposed to be gone all week and were gone two nights?"

Charlie slapped his hand on the table, startling Don. "Exactly! Know why? The first day, I stopped before dark at a small motel right on the beach. I left my stuff in the room, grabbed a flashlight and a blanket, and went to sit on the beach and watch the sun set. Relaxing, right?"

"Is this a trick question?"

Charlie snorted. "At 4 a.m., the batteries in the flashlight went dead. I had been calculating the grains of sand visible in a typical two-mile section of California beach. All sorts of variables. Wind speed, foot traffic, sand density, the amount of beach that is under water, and for how long…and where exactly under the water 'the beach' ends and the sand is considered ocean floor."

Don shivered, remembering Charlie on the roof, begging him to tell him where the sky began. Charlie seemed to deflate a little. "Anyway. When the batteries died I dragged myself to the room, slept for 20 hours, and drove home. Completely aware, with every passing mile, of something: How many seagulls will appear between mileposts 30 and 33 during high tide on a spring day, for example."

Don stared at him. "It's always been like that? As long as you can remember?"

"Unless something happens. I'm sick, or I finally become so exhausted I faint, or something."

"That…That…Sucks."

Charlie grinned again. "Yeah, well, it can get old – fast. The thing is, I know I didn't try to kill myself. I never even thought about it…but I can see some value to what that doctor at the hospital said. Damn, there were so many of them…"

"Simpson? The shrink?"

Charlie nodded. "Yes. I still don't think I need the kind of therapy he recommended. Maybe just a few sessions with somebody though. Since Mom died, it's been worse, because there's no-one who sees me going under. She used to know before I did. I think I need someone to help me learn how to manage my own…I don't know…internal ocean?"

Don wanted to apologize for not noticing, he wanted to offer to be more attentive in the future – and yet he had to agree with Charlie. He needed to be able to help himself, and learn how to ask for outside help when he needed it. "I guess…that sounds like a good idea," he finally offered. "I want to tell you I'll try to do a better job, too. As your brother, I mean."

Charlie smiled at him again, fondly. "Can't do much better, Don. You're pretty damn good at it already."