Man can live about forty days without food, about three days without water, about eight minutes without air, but only for one second without hope

11011

Don was in the dark hallway again. This time he decided he didn't want to open the door. But it seemed that the more he tried to walk away from it, the closer he got. Even when the door was within his reach he refused to open it.

He could hear a voice whispering from behind the door, "You were never a good brother, Donnie. It's all your fault."

The voice sent chills up his spine. His baby brother's voice was all around him, "Donnie..."

Don sat up, covered with sweat. "Where are you, Charlie?"

11100

Charlie woke up in John's arms. He opened his eyes carefully and looked around in the dimmer lighting of the after noon at a neighborhood he had never seen before. The large yards and white picket fences pointed to families and children in the area. He had no idea where he was, but he was pretty sure it wasn't L.A.

He looked up at John who was carrying him again and then looked at the closed trunk. "What's going on? Where are we?"

"Home," John answered nonchalantly.

Charlie finally looked where John was putting him down - a wheelchair set right next to the car.

"You can't walk yet so I thought I'd make things more comfortable for both of us. Don't worry. You'll get by fine and I'll help you when you need it."

Even the idea of sitting in a wheelchair made Charlie want to cry. He was a very active person and the inability to walk made his stomach turn. John lowered him into the chair, very careful not to harm him.

"I really don't want to be in this wheelchair, John." Charlie tried pleading with his jailor. He could see that John was inclined to listen to his wants and he decided to find out just how much. He knew he would never be able to get back home as long as he was confined to a wheelchair.

"I know."

John knelt down in front of Charlie, lifted his feet and set them on the footrests. He released the brakes and started wheeling Charlie towards the house. There was nothing exceptional about the house. Just a very average private home in what looked like a very average neighborhood. John turned the chair and wheeled it backwards up the steps at the entrance to the house. Facing the street, Charlie had a chance to size up his new environment again. He wanted to scream for help from one of those average-looking houses but knew that John would kill him before anyone would even know what was going on.

John took Charlie to the kitchen, putting the brakes back on next to the dining room table.

"I bought us some food. Why don't you help me set the table so we can eat?"

Charlie didn't answer. He unpacked the food from the bags while John got some plates from the cabinets. He didn't feel like carrying a conversation and just wanted to enjoy a good meal and some water, but John seemed to have a different idea in mind.

"Do you like the house?" John asked enthusiastically, sitting across from Charlie.

"It's nice."

"I didn't know what kind of food you like." John spoke again.

"This is fine." Charlie didn't know what he was eating and wasn't sure he cared. At this point, he was just happy to have something in his stomach.

"I want to talk to you about something." John continued without looking at Charlie, "I want you to forget about Don - he doesn't exist."

Charlie froze for a second, not knowing how to react.

"I'm your brother now and I'll take care of you, like he never did." John went on firmly. "I don't want to hear his name in this house again. This is our home. As far as anyone's concerned our names are John and Charlie Mann and I want you to feel that way too. He's dead, do you understand?"

Charlie nodded quietly, keeping his eyes on his plate.

"I registered our parents as Alan and Margaret Mann because I know how much you love them but that's it, he doesn't exist." John took a sip from his glass and continued, "If anyone asks, you had an accident. That will explain the chair and why you don't leave the house. I will tell people you're autistic like we discussed, and they won't believe what you say. I just thought you should know that."

Charlie nodded again, trying to fight his sudden lack of appetite.

"I bought you some clothes and stuff, I'll show you when we're done eating."

"I'm done," Charlie said when he could no longer look at the food in front of him.

"In that case, let's go. I'm sure you'd love a shower and everything's ready for you." John took the wheelchair and led him to the basement door, located next to the entrance. When he opened it, Charlie saw several stairs which led down to a closed door. John lowered him down the steep staircase carefully. Charlie recoiled slightly when he saw the large padlock on the door. He would never be able to break through it from the inside.

John opened the door ceremoniously, showing Charlie where he'd be staying. It was a small room, dimly lit by a bulb in the middle of the ceiling, and had no windows. It had a cot to sleep on in the far corner of the room and a small closet next to it, but was pretty much bare otherwise.

"This is your room," John said as if they had just entered the Four Seasons Hotel. "That's the bathroom." He pointed to the door next to the bed. "I added some railing so you'll be able to manage when you're weak, like now. You'll find what you need in the cabinet there."

John knelt in front of him, putting his hands on Charlie's knees.

"You do understand I can't give you a razor or anything, so why don't I give you a shave?"

John sounded perky which annoyed Charlie although he was doing his best to stay calm.

"Okay." Charlie was bewildered by the whole situation he was caught up in and decided silence was probably the best course of action.

John wheeled him to the bathroom. It had a bathtub and toilet to the left and an unusually low sink on the right. John set the chair's brakes next to the sink. "Give me your hand." If Charlie hadn't seen the duck tape in John's hands he would've thought nothing of his request. Slightly apprehensive, Charlie did as he was told. John secured both his arms to the armrests, leaving Charlie helpless.

"I'll be right back."

Charlie looked around frantically, trying to find anything he could use to get free. He couldn't find anything from his spot next to the sink, and he doubted he would.

"Here we go," John said happily as he entered the bathroom again, holding a razor. "Lean your head back."

Charlie let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling, doing his best not to look at John.

John brushed his hands over Charlie's face, moving some unruly curls out of the way, and then lathered shaving cream on it.

Charlie thought it felt odd, to say the least, to be shaved by another man who took special care in every movement. Almost as if he was shaving his brother. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back tears as the razor touched his skin. He didn't like John holding a sharp object this close to him, and was definitely not enjoying the experience.

"Lean some more," John said, putting his hand on Charlie's forehead to push his head back as much as he needed, exposing Charlie's neck to the cold blade. "Now, don't move."

Charlie held his breath as he felt the sharp razor against his lower jaw and only let the air out as a heavy sigh when he was finally done.

"What do you think?"

Charlie looked at the mirror over the sink, pretending he was examining John's handiwork. Instead, he was examining himself. He had not seen his reflection in over two days. His cheek and eye were still blue and swollen and there were other cuts on his face he hadn't noticed before. His skin was pale and his eyes were drawn. He only hoped that his family, whom he knew had seen him bruised and wounded on the video tape, would know it was nothing serious.

"It's nice."

"Maybe we'll give you a haircut tomorrow." John mused.

Charlie tore his eyes from the sad image in the mirror and looked directly at John, "Let's not. I like my hair this way." He didn't want anything else to change. He wanted to recognize the man looking back at him in the mirror.

John smiled. "Okay." Charlie decided he didn't care for that smile. "I'll put everything away, hang on." John left the bathroom again only to return without the blade. He took out a small pocket knife and cut Charlie's hands free.

"There are clean clothes in the closet and soap and everything in the cabinet. I'll let you get cleaned up." With those words, John left the room, locking the padlock after him.

Charlie wheeled himself into the main room with some difficulty, being still too weak to move around much. He looked around the room and tested the door, but couldn't find any weak spots to his prison. Eventually, Charlie gave up the search. He really did need a bath and he hoped it would help clear his mind.

Now he just had to figure out how he was going to accomplish that feat.

Taking his shirt off was the easy part. He then unbuckled his jeans and looked around the room for something to hold on to. There was a handrail installed next to the bathtub which he leaned on as he tried to take the rest of his clothes off. Whatever strength he had left in his arms and legs eventually did the trick and he was soon sitting in the bathtub, enjoying the warm water against his skin. He washed his hair and face, and leaned back in the soothing heat. He could feel his body relax and his mind coming back to itself. His brilliant mind finally began work properly, so he just laid back and let it do its thing.

11101

"I have some bad news," Colby entered Don's cubicle.

"What," Don was almost afraid to ask and Colby definitely didn't want to answer.

"Mark Rigby, the lawyer, died in a car accident two weeks ago." Don closed his eyes tightly. "We don't have a witness anymore." Colby finished.

"God," Don looked up at Colby, "We really don't have any leads."

"Did Amita come up with anything?" Colby tried to sound hopeful but he could already see the answer to his question in his boss' eyes.

"She got too many answers and doesn't know any way to narrow the field." Don rubbed his eyes for a second and then thought better of it. "Any ideas?"

Colby shook his head sadly.

11110

Charlie took another look at himself in the mirror. He had put on a pair of sweats, but had yet to put on a shirt. His shoulder was slightly swollen and blue and his neck seemed to have taken on an odd shade of purple. Charlie looked at his red ankles, and cut wrists. Although he hadn't lost much blood through the slices, the area was discolored and seemed like it might benefit from a few stitches. He was pretty sure there would be scars. Most of his body was still throbbing, but all in all, he felt better.

He had no idea what time it was. He assumed it was pretty late but had no way to be sure. Just as he took a fresh shirt from the shelf, Charlie heard the lock being opened.

"Hi," John said as he poked his head into the bathroom.

"Hi," Charlie felt a shiver run down his spine and quickly pulled the long sleeved sweatshirt on.

"I heard you turning the shower off. Want to watch some TV?"

"Sure, whatever." It didn't really matter what they did, but Charlie wanted to be out of 'his' room, and he wanted another chance to look around the first floor of the house.

"Let me help you with that," John said as he saw Charlie take some socks from the closet. Charlie knew it would be a struggle to put them on while feeling as weak as he did and handed them over. He would have to pick his battles and let his strength build with time. He would need it all to be able to escape.

John knelt in front of Charlie and started working on the socks.

"I think you'll be able to walk again really soon. It's gonna be uncomfortable for a while but you'll get used to it." John's hands were cold against Charlie's feet.

"What will?"

"I have to make sure you won't run away when I'm at work. I really don't want to hurt you, Charlie," for a split second John looked up at Charlie, who was doing his best to concentrate on the socks. "I don't want to tie you to the bed because I want you to be able to drink and go to the bathroom during the day. So I'll put you on a leash - for a lack of a better word - and that way you'll be able to move around."

Charlie's head shot up to look at John at the mention of a leash. "What?"

John didn't miss the panicky undertone in Charlie's voice. "You won't be able to leave the house but you'll be able to move around. It's the best thing for you."

'The best thing is going home,' Charlie thought to himself.

"I'll tell you what. I'll get you two of them so you'll have much more freedom when I'm home." John was done with the socks and stood up. "It doesn't look like you'll really need it today, but I'll let you get used to it anyway." John left the room and came back with a metal chain which he attached to the bathroom wall on one end and had a thick bracelet on the other.

"It's not heavy, but it's strong." John knelt in front of Charlie again and pulled the sock on his right ankle as high as he could so the metal wouldn't have contact with Charlie's bare skin. "This is a long chain so you'll be able to go to the kitchen and living room." John closed the bracelet around the ankle tightly, causing Charlie to wince as it put pressure on an already tender area.

"Sorry," John said absentmindedly as he locked the bracelet into its position. "I can't really take the chair up the stairs with this chain and all. It's too complicated." He reached to pick Charlie up again and cradled the smaller form against him. Charlie felt extremely uncomfortable to be carried around by this man. The lack of control over his own movements left him feeling helpless and he suspected that this was exactly what John liked about the situation.

"So what are we watching?" Charlie started speaking as they went up the stairs, trying to sound as casual as he could. He could feel a battle plan forming in his head. He would figure out where the keys were or if they weren't within his reach, he would find a way to break the chain and would run away, no matter what he would have to do to his captor. He'd have to get stronger, though, and that would take patience.

"We'll see what's on." John walked into the living room and Charlie could hear the chain dragging behind him on the stairs. He didn't think he would ever get used to it. "There's a baseball game on."

"There is?" Charlie wasn't as surprised there was a game on as he was surprised that John would offer to watch it. Even though Charlie fell in love with the game while watching Don play, baseball had always been Don's thing.

"Sure, you like baseball, right?" John laid Charlie down on the couch.

"Yeah, sure." Charlie tried not to sound too enthusiastic, expecting it to be a trick question.

"Great," John said as he sat on the sofa and turned the TV on. Charlie relaxed into the couch, half watching the game, half imagining Don and his father watching it at home.

He fell asleep without even noticing.

11111