Chapter 20

Don stared at the cast on his leg with increasing impatience. It had been hours since he had heard anything, and the frustration was overwhelming. He knew he was actually being kept in the hospital by the doctor because of the concussion; the odd thing was that as far as he was concerned, it was the cast that held him there. Had he not been encumbered by the cast, the broken leg, he would have been out on the trail with his team, concussion or not.

Alan had risen, and was pacing back and forth, through the room, out to the hallway, into the room, and back again. His father had seen right through him as soon as he walked into the room at lunchtime; and Don had ended up breaking the news that Charlie was out on the trail with Ian. He did leave out the fact that Mansour was apparently obsessed with Charlie, but judging from his father's reaction, the omission didn't help much.

His father made another round. Don tried to ignore Alan's pacing; it wanted to make him scream. He certainly understood why his father was doing it, but it was a constant irking reminder that he couldn't move himself; he was pinned to his bed by the cast, immobile, useless.

He sighed, and looked at the time display on his cell phone. 4:41 pm. Charlie and Ian had been gone over five hours - nearly six. His head was throbbing and he closed his eyes, leaning back on the pillow, trying to quell his rising anxiety. It was a big forest, he reasoned. They could get in and out and Mansour might never know they were there. No news was good news, right?

The phone vibrated in his hand and he jerked his head off the pillow, eyes flying open along with the cell phone, ignoring the pain that the movement generated. His father entered the room on one his rounds and stopped, frozen, as he saw Don lift the cell phone to his ear.

"Eppes." Short pause. "Yeah, David, you found him?" Alan's heart dropped as he saw Don's face pale, and a tense silence ensued, as Don listened. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, filled with suppressed emotion. "How bad?" Alan sat heavily in a chair as his heart plunged, and his legs lost their strength. This time the silence was interminable. "Okay," said Don finally, his voice shaking. "I know. We'll be here."

He hung up the phone and looked at his father mutely. The look said more than words could, and Alan returned it in silence, waiting for his son to speak, and dreading what would come when he did.

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They reached the trailhead in just over forty-five minutes. The ambulance was there waiting, and they decided that Megan would ride with Charlie. They had transferred him to the gurney; he was still conscious, but looked dazed, his eyes half closed. He lay limply, and everything about him suggested defeat; his posture; his expression; the look in his eyes.

Colby leaned over him, trying to get Charlie to look at him. "Hey, Charlie. You're headed to the hospital; everything's going to be okay. You hang in there for me, okay?"

Charlie didn't respond; he stared right past Colby as if he wasn't there, and Colby felt a spasm of anxiety. "You promise me, you hang in there." Colby looked up at Megan, helplessly, and she reflected that it was a look she had never seen on his face before. She was certain she had the same one on her own.

Colby backed away, as the medics moved forward to load the gurney into the vehicle. Megan stepped in behind them. "Call Don," she said quietly and they nodded, watching the doors close behind her.

They headed for the truck, and Colby rummaged in his pack for shirts. He had none clean, but he pulled out two of the least offensive and tossed one to David, who was already on his cell phone. Peters and his men were clustering around the returned deputy, as Colby and David jumped into the truck and headed for the hospital.

The ambulance ride seemed to take forever. The medics worked quickly, taking readings, starting an IV line, applying pads and pressure to wounds, and all the while Charlie lay there, unresponsive. He was so limp that had his eyes not been open, Megan would have sworn he was unconscious. The medic tried to test his responsiveness by asking him some simple questions, but Charlie refused to answer. An oxygen mask went over his face, and it somehow seemed to accentuate his eyes, and the deadness in them. Megan reached for Charlie's hand and tried to hold it, but he pulled it away and turned his head.

As they neared the hospital, some of the activity slowed; the medics had done most of what they could, and were now primarily monitoring vitals. Megan took advantage of the lull to lean forward, putting her face in front of Charlie's. She could see his eyes closing, and his breathing was becoming more labored.

"BP's dropping," said one of the medics, watching the monitor.

Megan's glance flicked toward him anxiously, then back at Charlie. "Charlie," she said with quiet urgency. "Charlie, listen to me. We're almost there. Your Dad is waiting for you. Don is waiting for you. You need to hang in there, okay?"

Charlie gazed at her blankly, only reacting when he heard Don's name. An expression of pain flickered over his face, and his eyes closed, and as they did, tears rolled out of each of them, streaking down the sides of his battered face. Megan caught her breath, and stared at him helplessly. By the time they reached the hospital doors, Charlie was unconscious, and she was crying too.

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Edgerton sat quietly, staring at Mansour's body. How had it all gone so wrong? It was just supposed to be a simple reconnaissance mission. If he hadn't been distracted, Mansour would never have gotten to Charlie. If Edgerton had followed more closely, if he had managed to catch them as they entered the canyon, if….The rationalization was meaningless. In retrospect, it had been insane to even think of it, to put a civilian in that position.

Edgerton had trodden many lines, crossed over some of them, in his career, and whether by luck or by skill, the situations had always turned out alright. This one hadn't. The luck wasn't there; the skill was for the first time inadequate. Obsessed by the case, he had gone over a line again, the biggest, most drastic one he had ever crossed, and he didn't know how to get back.

He thought back to three days before; was it only three days? His mind returned to the trip on horseback with Charlie, their easy conversation, and the huge smile on Charlie's face after the ride. He liked Charlie. They really weren't so different. Both of them were renowned in their fields, both of them loners of a sort, their lives governed by their professions. Edgerton didn't have friends to speak of; his life didn't allow for relationships of any kind, acquaintances maybe, but not relationships, not anyone he could call a friend. If he did, though, he thought, Charlie would have been one of them. He smiled bitterly. 'What in the hell does that say about you?' he thought to himself. 'Would you have done this to a friend?'

He stared again at Mansour. The bullet hole in Mansour's forehead was small and neat, but Edgerton knew that the back of his head was another story. The mission was accomplished, he realized dully. He had saved a fellow officer, and had eliminated a dangerous serial killer, but at what cost? The possible cost of a life of someone who trusted him, perhaps the cost of his career, and most telling of all, the cost of a piece of his own soul. He closed his eyes and listened to the wind sighing in the trees. Edgerton didn't cry. He never cried. But that day, he came closer to it than he ever had, and ever would again.

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Don watched his father leave the room for Emergency, his heart thumping. He wasn't supposed to leave himself, but he couldn't bear the thought of not being there when his brother came in. His rational mind told him that there would be nothing he could do anyway, but his emotions screamed that he needed to be present, to be there physically, to show his support, to help his brother in any way that he could.

He groaned impatiently, and looked around him as if searching for answer to his dilemma. He could hardly wing his way down the hall on crutches; his hospital gown flapping in the breeze. Apart from the indecent exposure, someone on the hospital staff would question the fact that he was out in the halls. He couldn't stand this, however; it was intolerable to wait, to wonder.

His eyes fell on the bag that his father had brought, stuffed in the corner, and a spark of inspiration hit him. Sliding out of his bed awkwardly, he reached for his crutches. He paused for a moment as a wave of dizziness hit, and then receded, and hobbled over to the bag. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, slipping them on and removing the gown, and with a cautious look out of the door, crutched down the hall, ignoring the throbbing in his head and leg.

Downstairs, he pulled up quietly behind his father, who was standing in the hallway anxiously watching the entrance doors. Don immediately swiveled, balancing on his good leg, hiding his face by scratching his head, as the ER doctor passed, moving quickly down the hallway. Alan felt the presence behind him and turned. "Donnie! What do you think you're doing?"

"I couldn't sit up there, Dad, I had to be here. Look, I'm fine."

Alan's eyes snapped with anger. "You didn't think I had enough to worry about here?" He stared at Don's tense face for a moment and his expression wavered. He opened his mouth to soften his words, but his attention was arrested by the sound of a siren and a sudden commotion outside.

The doors to the ER burst open, the gurney propelled by medics on the run, Megan beside it, but it halted as they were met in the hall by the doctor. Don started to move toward the gurney, following his father, but was stopped in his tracks by the sight of Megan's tear-streaked face. His heart plunged. "God, no," he thought, reeling.

Her eyes came up and caught his, and he heard the doctor say tersely, "Take him straight up to the OR; they're waiting." His heart resumed beating, painfully, and he clutched at his crutches, but his shaking hands couldn't propel him any closer. It didn't matter, the gurney was headed toward him, and he caught a quick glimpse of his brother's face, half of it swollen and discolored, half of it ghostly white under the mask. Bloody pads covered his chest, and the skin that peeked through them also bore ugly bruises.

He felt the swish of air as the gurney rushed past him, and he was left staring up the hallway in shock, as he watched their retreating backs. As he turned to look after them, a wave of dizziness hit; he staggered, the hallway whirling, and he felt his father's arms support him as he slumped to the floor.

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They gathered in Don's room to wait. Don had endured a ride back up to his bed in a gurney; then an irate visit from the doctor. The dizziness had passed quickly, but he knew he had given up his chance to argue about being allowed to see his brother when he found himself on the hallway floor. He was back in his bed, pinned to it as surely as he would be if he were chained. His father had arranged a compromise with the doctor; any reports on progress would be delivered to the room, and Charlie's doctor would see them there when the surgeons were done.

Don looked at Megan across the room. She could see the unspoken question in his eyes; his need to know what happened, but she knew they shouldn't give him a report in front of Alan. She glanced at David and Colby meaningfully and spoke to Alan. "You know, it's after six, and we haven't eaten all day. How about we go get some sandwiches and bring them up?"

Colby had missed her glance. He shook his head and opened his mouth to say that for once he wasn't hungry, but a swift elbow from David caught him. He looked up, recovering as he saw the looks on their faces. "Yeah, food sounds good," he said lamely.

Alan knew that Megan was trying to get him out of the room, but he didn't protest. He nodded, and they left the room, as Don fixed his gaze on Colby and David. "What in the hell happened out there?"

They looked at each other, and David spoke first, slowly. "We're not entirely sure. We followed them, and caught up with them after they crossed the river. We lost sight of them when they went into the woods, but we tried to follow. We didn't know they were so close; we came up a ridge, and as we got to the top Edgerton was there."

Don eyes were piercing. "Where was Charlie?"

Colby answered. "We asked the same question. Edgerton just motioned down the hill, and told us to back off. We heard Charlie yell, and when we got to where we could see him, Mansour was with him. He must have knocked Charlie out – he wasn't moving."

David scowled. "Edgerton was pissed. He told us we could follow, but not with him – he made us stay back – said we would tip off Mansour."

Don frowned. "What do you mean 'tip off?' He went after Mansour, right?"

They looked at each other, and David spoke again. "He went after Mansour, but not to stop him. He was trying to follow him back to the canyon."

Don stared, his breath momentarily leaving him. "What?" he finally hissed, his face contorting. "And you let him?"

Colby looked down at his feet. "He told us that Mansour would lose us, that he would get away with Charlie if he knew we were after him. They were way ahead of us by that time, and we were afraid he was right."

David added quietly, "He pulled rank. He gave us an order. None of us have the tracking and shadowing skills that Edgerton has. We needed Edgerton at that point, or we might have lost them entirely. He didn't give us a choice. If we had done anything different, I have no doubt that he would have tried to stop us, and Mansour would definitely have gotten away then."

Colby looked at Don miserably. "If we had known what would happen, we wouldn't have listened to him. He's Edgerton, you know; we thought he knew what he was doing. We messed up."

Don fought down a tide of black fury. He realized why his agents had done what they did, but Edgerton…. He knew the man didn't have a penchant for following protocol, but he had gone way beyond the limits of what was right, and he hadn't done it with just anyone. He had done it with Charlie.

Don took a deep breath, fighting for composure, and looked at his agents. "You didn't mess up, okay? You did just what you were trained to do – you followed your lead agent's orders. And you got Charlie out of there and back here in time…" He trailed off, as the words triggered sudden fear. He didn't know that yet. What if they weren't in time? He had no way of knowing how Charlie was doing. 'Okay,' he thought desperately. 'He's doing okay. They're working on him. He's going to be fine.'

He wrenched his attention back to his agents. "What happened next?"

Colby swallowed hard. He launched into a description of how they had followed Edgerton and Mansour; how they had met up with Edgerton and found that he had lost them. He continued with the explanation of how they had found the entrance to the canyon, and what had happened when they got there. Don's face registered a complete spectrum of emotions during the report, from rage to disbelief, and he peppered them with questions. When they reached the account of how they had found Charlie, bleeding, beaten and mutilated, and of Mansour's final moments of rage, he fell silent.

Colby finished talking, and they sat silently, looking at Don. He was pale, staring at his hands without seeing them, horror in his eyes. He finally looked up at them, struggling to control the emotion on his face, and spoke, his voice strained. "I need a minute."

They glanced at each other. "Are you okay?" asked David.

Don's eyes closed. "I just need a minute. Get out. Now."

They rose uncertainly, and shuffled to the door. Colby, concerned, paused outside for a long moment, listening. He heard nothing at all, only silence.

'This is so screwed up,' he thoughtHeart heavy, he looked up at David's retreating back and slowly followed him down the hall.

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