Chapter 2

"I think it's in here." Charlie's voice was muffled, and from where Don was standing, it looked like his entire torso was buried under boxes. Charlie backed out from the corner of the garage, wrestling a backpack from the grip of boxes and heaven knew what else, dust in his hair. He straightened and handed it to Don. "This is my old one. The frame was actually a little too big for me, so it should fit you fine. I've got an extra sleeping bag in here somewhere." He dove back into the pile.

Don examined the backpack, glancing at his brother as he opened the pockets and checked the straps. Edgerton had told them to come prepared – a few of the sites they were to look at were remote, and they would need to hike in and possibly camp overnight. Charlie mentioned he had extra gear, and Don had come over after work, ostensibly to pick it up, but also figuring that it would give Charlie an opportunity to unload, to tell him about Amita.

So far, Charlie had not said a word about anything other than their impending trip, and Don was beginning to feel a twinge of anxiety. He had thought that he and Charlie were to a point where Charlie would confide in him, and the thought that maybe Charlie wouldn't made him feel, well, a little slighted. He chided himself even as the thought occurred to him; this was not about him, it was about Charlie, and his brother would undoubtedly tell him when he was ready.

He glanced up as his father appeared, leaning in the doorway. "Dinner's almost ready," said Alan, watching Charlie rummage among the boxes. Don suspected from his father's reaction when he told him about the trip that he was less than excited about it, but Alan had said nothing other than, "Make sure you pack warm clothes." Don had figured that Alan thought as he did, that it would do Charlie good to get away.

The doorbell rang, and Alan turned away to answer it, as Charlie pulled a plastic garbage bag out of the pile with an effort. Several boxes collapsed, and Charlie turned back to straighten them, as Amita's voice came floating through the kitchen. Don glanced at his brother; Charlie had frozen at the sound of her voice, standing stock still with his back to Don, shoulders tense.

They could hear Alan's voice, animated and cheery, saying, "I haven't seen you in awhile. Those finals must really keep you busy," and then a murmured reply from Amita that sounded polite and noncommittal. Charlie's gut was in a knot, and he tried to get control of his expression, wincing as he heard his father invite Amita to dinner. He turned slowly, and Don studied his face as Charlie looked at the doorway, standing stiffly as Amita entered the garage, an armful of folders in her hands.

"Hey, Don, hey, Charlie," she said, smiling easily. Don felt a tweak of irritation; did she not think that anything had changed? She ought to at least have the grace to acknowledge it. Don glanced at Charlie, who had replied quietly, and making sure his own expression was neutral, responded, "Hi Amita, how've you been?"

"Good," she said cheerily and glanced at the backpack in Don's hands. "Going camping?"

"Yeah, we've got a case up in Los Padres." He glanced at Charlie, who had made no move towards her. The guarded expression was on his brother's face again, and Don could only imagine what it was costing him to maintain it. Feeling oddly protective, Don said abruptly, "Charlie's going with to help us out. We leave in the morning."

"Oh," said Amita, looking at Charlie as if she expected him to say something. An awkward silence descended. "Well," she said to Charlie, as she stepped toward the table, "After you dropped those files off this morning, I realized that I probably had some of yours, and I went through my office this afternoon. I'll just leave these here."

Charlie was starting to get control of his faculties, and decided he should make an attempt to keep up appearances. He stole a quick glance at Don, who seemed to have developed a sudden fascination with a strap on the backpack, and walked toward the table. "Thanks," he said, as looked through the files. He smiled at her as his father came to the doorway again. "Hey, do you have a minute?"

"Sure," she said, shrugging, but her glance was probing.

"Dinner's ready," said Alan.

Charlie looked up at him. "We'll be just a minute, Dad." Don looked up quickly, realizing that that was his cue, and dropping the backpack, almost bolted from the room, muttering something about washing his hands.

Charlie waited until they left, and looked at Amita awkwardly. "I, um, I wanted to tell you that I haven't told them yet. About us."

Amita's face relaxed. "Oh, that's fine. I mean, it's not like I'm leaving or anything. I'll be around. I won't say anything – I doubt they'll even know the difference." She looked hard at Charlie. "What we talked about – well, we are still friends, right?"

Charlie took a deep breath. "Right. Sure. Absolutely." He swallowed, and looked down at the files.

Amita watched him, her expression softening. "I'm sorry, Charlie. I don't even know where this relationship is going to go, if it's going to work out." In spite of the lead weight on his heart, Charlie felt a sudden little frisson of hope. He kept his expression carefully neutral, still focused on the files. She continued with a sigh. "I just need to find out, to know for sure."

"Right." Charlie swallowed again. "We talked about this. I'm okay with it." He looked up, forcing a smile.

"Good," she said, smiling back. Their eyes met, and Charlie could feel the pain knife through his chest.

"We'd better get in there," he said. "Dinner's waiting."

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Megan hauled her gear over to Colby's truck. It was 6 a.m., and they had met at the FBI building parking lot. "I'm riding with you guys after all," she said, as David and Colby turned to look at her. "I guess Don wants to talk to Charlie about something." At David's raised eyebrows, she shrugged. "Beats me. Help me out with this, will ya?"

They wrestled her gear into the back, and she turned and looked over at Don's vehicle, parked a few aisles away, watching the brothers, speculating. Don had pulled her aside quietly, out of Charlie's earshot, and asked her if she could ride with David and Colby, saying only that he and Charlie might want to talk. She wondered briefly what they would need to talk about. 'Probably nothing,' she decided. 'Maybe they just want to spend some time together.' They clambered into the vehicle and headed out, following Don's SUV.

They had about a two hour drive to get to Elk Ridge, their meeting point, plenty of time, Don reasoned, for a discussion. He frowned as Charlie pulled out a pile of paperwork. That didn't bode well for a conversation, he thought. "What's that?" he asked. "I thought you had all of your finals graded."

"Yeah, I do." Charlie made a disgusted face. "This is something new that Millie wants us to do – a self-assessment on each of our classes, to be completed at the end of each term." He looked at the pile of paperwork, sighing. "Just what we need; more paperwork."

"Believe me, I know how you feel," said Don grinning. Silence fell, and he glanced over at his brother, who was staring out the window with a pensive expression. Don settled in behind the wheel, waiting for Charlie to speak.

Over an hour later, well into their trip, he was still waiting. He was beginning to feel a little hurt and slightly irritated. Didn't his own brother feel like he could confide in him? 'I thought we were closer than that,' he thought. The doubt that Charlie's silence created made him feel inadequate somehow, which in turn annoyed him. 'I told him about Robin, and that wasn't easy. Why can't he open up?"

Charlie had spent a good portion of the trip staring out the window, making half-hearted attempts at working on the forms in front of him. A few times, he had looked over at Don, and each time, Don thought, 'Okay, here it comes,' but Charlie never brought it up, in fact barely spoke at all. They had had two good opportunities for Charlie to say something, in the garage, and now in the car – and nothing. Don chafed at the silence, and was sorely tempted to bring the subject up himself, but remembering the look of pain on his brother's face the day before, he bit his tongue, feeling instinctively that he shouldn't push it.

Charlie sighed and stared out the window, thoughts of Amita and their situation scrambling any semblance of rational thinking. He couldn't concentrate on his forms, and he wondered vaguely if he was going to be any use to Edgerton at all in his current state of mind. Deep inside was the realization that he would feel better if he talked with Don about it, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. Talking about it, acknowledging it, would make it real, would make it final. Besides, he thought, almost hating himself for thinking it, what if her relationship didn't work out, what if she decided she was wrong, what if she came back…

A little under two hours later, they pulled into Elk Ridge. It wasn't so much a town as a conglomeration of a hotel, gas station and diner, and its main claim to fame was its proximity to the one of the park trailheads. Megan glanced at Don and Charlie as she pulled her gear from the truck. Charlie's face was composed, but there was something in his eyes – he looked sad, she decided. Curious, she looked over at Don, whose face was knit in a frown. She couldn't decipher what emotion was generating it; he almost looked irritated; she thought. Whatever it was, he certainly didn't look happy. 'I wonder what's up with them,' she thought, as she saw Edgerton step out to greet them.

"Hey, Ian, good to see you," said Don, clasping hands. Edgerton never changed, he thought, as he took in the dark hooded eyes. Ian had the disconcerting effect of appearing to see everything, while revealing nothing. The man was a dark legend; many stories swirled around him, and not all of them were pleasant. He had never, ever failed in a mission, and rumor was that he walked the wrong side more than once to get results.

Don's mind wandered back to a point in time when he himself was ready to take advantage of Edgerton's lack of regard for the rules; when he had asked him to lean on a suspect, and the thought dredged up an old feeling of discomfort. He yanked his mind back to the present, as the rest of his team gathered around.

"Glad you could come up," responded Ian, grabbing Charlie's hand and clapping him on the shoulder. "We can sure use the help." He shook hands with the other agents, and said, "We've got Room 103 set aside as a war room. Get yourselves checked in and we'll meet in there."

The hotel was rustic, but the rooms were a decent size. In spite of that, and the fact that the beds had been taken out of 103, the room was packed. Local law enforcement officials mingled with FBI personnel, and they jockeyed for good viewing position as Edgerton started up his laptop, which was connected to a projector. Don glanced at Charlie, who was leaning against a wall near the door with an open notebook.

"What we have are three homicides within the past two weeks," Edgerton began. "All of them hikers; all them disappeared from the western side of the park in the Chumash and Sespe Wilderness areas. In each case, the bodies were discovered two or three days later, in different locations from where the victims had been taken. On the map, in red, you can see the points at which they were abducted, and in blue, the points at which they were found. If you will note, there is one green dot. That indicates a suspicious death prior to the other murders, with a different M.O., which may or may not be homicide, and may or may not be connected."

Charlie's eyes narrowed as he examined the map of the park, and he jotted a few notes in his book, trying to calm his queasy stomach. The number of people in the room was making him a little claustrophobic, and he had been a bit nauseated from the car ride to begin with. He wiped his forehead and tried to concentrate.

"How do we know the three are connected?" asked David.

Edgerton smiled grimly. "The M.O. is unmistakable. In each case the victims were mutilated in precisely the same way; I'll get to that in a moment. The victims are all male, and all exhibited signs of a blow to the head, and possible concussion. That is how we believe he subdued them. Two of them were with groups, one was a solitary hiker."

"No witnesses, I assume," said Megan. "Did anyone in the groups see anyone on the trail?"

"No, no witnesses," replied Edgerton. "None of the groups were even aware of exactly when the victims went missing –the best they could give us was an approximate location. In both cases where the vics were part of a group, they were bringing up the rear. It's possible that they were lagging behind, maybe stopped to tie a shoe or take a picture, who knows. One thing we are fairly certain of, our killer has superior woodland skills. He is capable of moving quickly and quietly, and knows his territory."

He pulled up a picture of a partial footprint. "We have identified a common boot print that was present at three of the scenes that does not match the victims' boots or those of anyone in the groups. Based on the size of the print and the amount of indentation, we believe the wearer is tall, around 6'2 or 6'3, and lean, with a weight of around 180 lbs. Given his apparent ability to cart off a grown man, we can expect that most of that weight would be muscle. Now for M.O."

He pulled up a slide, showing several dark colored objects lying in a pile of leaves. "Does anyone know what these are?" The local sheriff and his deputies exchanged knowing glances, but kept their mouths shut, knowing that the question was not meant for them.

"Some kind of animal droppings?" guessed Colby, squinting at the picture.

"They're digits - toes," said Edgerton. Charlie's stomach lurched. The objects in the slide were grossly swollen and discolored, and hardly resembled toes. "According to the coroner's reports, we have determined that the killer followed a set ritualistic procedure with each of his victims. He starts by cutting a shallow 'X' in their chest." He pulled up another slide showing the torso of a victim, with slash marks starting at the collarbones and running toward the ribs on either side. Don glanced at Charlie, who had turned an unhealthy shade of green, in concern. This was getting a bit too graphic. Don started to edge toward him, intending to quietly usher him out of the room.

Edgerton continued. "At around the same timeframe, the killer begins putting tourniquets on the victims' legs. There were tourniquets found at the top of the thigh, above the knee, at the ankle, and around each toe. According to the coroner, the victim was probably left that way for several hours, perhaps a day. With the circulation cut off, the legs begin to die. Hence, the appearance of the digits." Don quietly squeezed past a burly local deputy, and focused on Charlie, whose eyes were huge and dark, and reflected undiluted horror.

"At some point," Edgerton stated quietly, "the sick bastard returns, and begins removing pieces of his victim. The corner believes he starts with the toes, then the feet, the lower leg, and the thigh. He also believes that the victim is still alive when the process starts. The tourniquets keep the victim from bleeding out while the killer dismembers him." Charlie's heart was thumping, and he could hear a buzzing sound in his ears. A wave of nausea overtook him and he pushed himself away from the wall, just as Edgerton put up a slide containing leg pieces. He turned and stumbled blindly for the door, feeling a hand on his elbow, and burst outside to freedom, making it over to the side of Don's SUV before losing his breakfast, as his brother stood with his hand on his back.

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