Don closed up his cell and slipped it away into his pocket, but Colby caught the movement. "Charlie okay?" he asked, tossing the manila file onto his desk. A stray beam of late morning sunlight stabbed it through the dog-eared tab on the edge and then went nowhere. Colby remained carefully casual. His boss's temper had been more than a little erratic over the past few days.

Weak smile in return. "Yeah."

Colby had a task to accomplish, one that Don didn't know about. "That's what, the fifth time you've called him since eight this morning?"

"Uh…yeah. Sixth, actually."

"He getting pissed at you calling so much?"

Hunched shoulders this time. "You could say that."

Colby gave a knowing nod. "He's feeling better, then. A lot better compared to last night. Must have been some flu bug."

Mutter.

"What was that, Don?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he's feeling okay. He went into work."

"At the usual time?"

"Yes, at the usual time." Don glared at Colby. "Don't you have anything better to do than to play Twenty Questions with me?"

"Actually, I've got a lot of other things to do. I got a full day's work ahead of me and then some. We on again for tonight, see if we can wrap Anders' tail up in knots and finish this thing?"

"No."

"That's not what Charlie says."

"When did you talk to Charlie?" Don asked, stung.

"I think it was after call number four that you made to him. He phoned me, asked me to try to get you to calm down. Said something about the numbers proving that we had to keep going, or Anders would bolt and we'd never catch him with his hands dirty. Told me about the Game Theory proof, or some such."

"I don't care what Charlie said. He has absolutely no sense of self-preservation, Colby. He'd walk into a lion's den if he thought it had the answer to his equation, which is what those seminars are."

"I don't know, Don." Colby shook his head. "What he says makes an awful lot of sense. This Anders guy isn't the type to give up."

"He's not giving up; he's won. He got his target: that Frank woman. He's finished. He can pack up his business and move on to another location. He's done. Let someone else deal with him."

Colby leaned back in his chair. "Is this the Don Eppes that I've come to know and respect? Letting go of a case before putting the suspect away?"

"It's not a case. We're not authorized to pursue it. There was no murder, and no justification to investigate."

"Right. That's why we've spent the last three nights watching Charlie stumble out of a seminar where kids kill themselves, trying to figure out how he does it. Working when he's sick with a flu bug, just so we can stop Anders from hurting any more people."

No response. Red started creep up out of Don's collar.

"That's why Anders waltzed in here a few days ago, daring you to stop him."

Veins bulged out from Don's forehead.

"That's why Anders brought Charlie a personal invitation, just so that you'd know that—"

"All right!" Don snarled. "Dammit, Colby—"

Colby turned back to his desk. "I'll set up the surveillance truck for tonight, boss."

"I don't see why we need these things," Charlie complained as David carefully taped the wires to his chest. Raw reddened areas still dotted the exterior edges where earlier efforts had been removed, taking small quantities of dermal tissue and follicular growth with them during the removal process. "We didn't use them last night, and things seemed to go okay—"

He stopped. Don was glaring at him with a fury that topped anything that Mt. Vesuvius might care to offer.

"Right. Wires. Glad to have 'em. Very necessary. Tape a few more on, please."

Don turned away, only partially mollified.

"What I still don't get," Megan mused from her seat in front of a bank of computer equipment inside the truck, "is how Anders is doing this. Are you sure that you don't remember anything that Anders has been saying in those speeches of his, Charlie? I'm finding it very suspicious that you've fallen asleep every time you've gone."

"Not the first time," Charlie pointed out. "The first seminar was very productive in terms of working out a piece of my Cognitive Emergence stuff. I didn't fall asleep then."

"Yes, but you did the second and third," Don growled. "That mean anything to you?" As in, this is damn dangerous?

"Yes, and the tox screen came back negative," Megan said.

You're not helping, Megan. "That was just the preliminary. I'm waiting for the real thing."

"Don, Anders has to have some way of making people feel terrible about themselves, and it just doesn't make sense that he can do it in less than a week without some sort of drug or poison," Megan pointed out. "Even people who commit suicide or other violent acts have been subjected to abuse over weeks or months or years—not a couple of days. Look at Melanie Frank; not at all suicidal even if she was unhappy in her marriage. Two speeches, two short sessions with Anders, and she pops a killer dose of pills. It just doesn't make sense. What is he doing in there?" She turned to Charlie. "I don't suppose that there's any way that you can get me in there? As a guest, perhaps? Maybe I could spot what he's doing."

"I could try," Charlie mused. "Don? What do you think?"

"What, you're asking me?" Don's temper was still hovering around 'bear', having slipped down from 'Africanized honey bees'. "Nice to know that you're still considering my input. Try it, Megan. See if he'll let you in. He's still here, doing business, which means that there's still something he wants to accomplish. Maybe he's waiting for another crack at the Frank woman."

"She certainly won't be there," Megan murmured. "Charlie, you ready to go?"

Charlie held up his coffee cup and chugged the last sip. "Espresso," he informed them. "Second cup. No way I'm falling asleep tonight."

"No, just spending it in the john," came the sotto voce response from Colby's direction.

"Mr. Anders," Charlie introduced, "this is—"

"Mr. Anders," Megan cut in, extending her hand. "I'm Professor Megan Reeves, from the Psychology Department at CalSci. I've heard about your seminars, and I have to say that I'm quite intrigued. Dr. Eppes has told me a great deal about them. I hope you don't mind if I sit in to observe."

Anders beamed. "What an honor you do me, Professor Reeves! To think, that I'm coming to the attention of one of the finest minds in the country! Unfortunately, I have to decline your request," he said firmly. "These sessions are really quite personal, and introducing another person into the equation at the moment could have a strong and lasting effect on the outcome. Would you care to meet with me, perhaps another day, and I can discuss my methods with you in greater detail?"

"I'd love that," Megan told him, sincerity oozing out of every pore. "Tomorrow, perhaps?"

"Excellent. I suspect that I'm free just after lunch. Do stop by."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Megan assured him.

"In the meantime, do enjoy some of the refreshments. We have another few minutes before the rest arrive, and we can start." He looked around, at ease now that he'd won the 'round' with the FBI profiler. "I don't see Mrs. Frank. I wonder if she's coming tonight?"

"One of your clients?" Charlie had to admire Megan's acting ability. He never would have believed that the FBI agent had saved Melanie Frank's life the previous night.

"Yes." Anders shrugged. "Well, I can't wait forever. Dr. Eppes, have some coffee, or perhaps the juice. I'll see you inside the auditorium in a few minutes." He drifted away, speaking to one of the college students that Charlie barely recognized from seeing the kid walking on the campus.

Megan sighed, and sipped at the coffee in her hand. "Busted."

Charlie blinked. "Busted? What do you mean? He ate up every word."

Megan smiled sadly. "Not really, Charlie. Think back to what he said. He was needling me. That line about being 'the finest mind in the country'? Not a chance. He didn't know who I was because I made up the persona on the spot."

"He could have been being polite," Charlie suggested. "I doubt that he's researched every professor at CalSci, certainly not enough to respond without a moment's notice."

Megan shook her head. "No. There were other clues, body-language, that sort of thing. No, I'm busted. Although I might take him up on his offer of a visit," she mused. "It would be interesting to see how far each of us could take it without giving away the whole show. Think about the possibility, Don," she added quietly, for the benefit of the wires taped beneath Charlie's shirt. She finished her coffee. "You might think about a little more caffeine yourself, Charlie," she suggested. "Since I can't get in, I really want a blow by blow description."

Charlie chuckled. "Actually, I think the men's room would be a better option at the moment. I'll see you after the show."

Megan tugged open the door to the surveillance truck, accepted Don's hand to hop up onto the landing. "You heard?"

"I heard," Don told her. "I'm not thrilled with the thought of you going into the lion's den, either, but we're not getting very far this way. Let's think about it overnight, and decide in the morning."

"Doing something like this during the working day means official time," David pointed out, still leaning over Colby's shoulder. "Can we get away with it? No real case, I mean?"

"I could do it on my lunch hour," Megan suggested.

"I don't know," Don said unhappily. "The Director's been pretty lenient about us borrowing this truck after hours, since other teams haven't needed it. I'm not sure we could get it tomorrow afternoon." He sighed. "I'll talk with him, see how lenient he's inclined to be." He looked at Megan. "That will have a big impact on whether you keep your 'appointment', Reeves. I don't want you in there alone with him, with no way to call for help."

"You let Charlie go—"

"Because we didn't think he would move so fast." Don cut her off. "In San Francisco, in every other town he's worked, his victims showed signs of withdrawal before killing themselves. Charlie hasn't shown any of that. Now, after seeing what happened to the Frank woman, you better believe that Charlie won't be there without some way for me to monitor him. Or any of you, for that matter," he added, glaring around the van, daring any of his team to argue.

Megan shrugged. "I'll keep my lunch hour free, just in case." She yawned widely. "Somebody tell Anders to make this a short session, will you? I need my beauty sleep."

Megan had departed by the time Charlie returned to the lobby, and the other five remaining participants were filing into the auditorium.

Anders, as before, ushered them to the front. Charlie found himself taking the same chair that he had on the previous two nights. Creatures of habit, that's what we are, he thought to himself. Same chair, same night, same behavior. Patterns: human nature. Beside him, one young man covered a yawn as he sat down.

Charlie, though, felt wide awake. Good, he decided. He'd be able to hear and remember what Anders said this time. He'd need to, because Anders was already handing out headphones as he had last night. The wire, like the previous night, wouldn't pick up what Anders was saying through the miracle of electronics.

Tonight he was able to pay more attention to what was happening around him. The rest of the auditorium was empty, small whispers of sound echoing into the darkness behind him as Anders turned down the lights to leave only himself in a spotlight. There were another couple of yawns as fellow attendees settled in, and Charlie couldn't resist the temptation to yawn himself.

Comfortable chairs. Much more comfortable, he decided, than the ones in the rows further back. Slightly different colored upholstery, he thought, although he couldn't be certain in the dim lighting. He put the headphones over his ears as instructed, the cups surrounding his auditory canals and preventing any other sound from entering.

Anders' soothing voice immediately filled the space around him. "Let your light shine forth," he murmured. "You are the best, and the brightest, and you deserve success. Let your light shine forth."

Another yawn from the kid sitting beside Charlie, and Charlie had the sneaking suspicion that the girl on the other side had already fallen asleep. Hah, he thought, I wasn't the only one.

Not tonight. Tonight Charlie was awake and taking mental notes.

Not too many mental notes, he realized sourly. Anders kept repeating the same lines, over and over: Let your light shine forth. You deserve success. You are the best and the brightest.

Then, slowly, the tenor of the lines changed. A couple of different thoughts intruded: You only deserve success if you are worthy. Perhaps you are not worthy. Charlie began to become uncomfortable. This was definitely something worth reporting to Don. This sounded more like what Megan was worried about, although Charlie couldn't see how this could affect someone as quickly as Don had talked about. This, from all Charlie could remember, was long term behavior modification.

Next step, even darker: You are not worthy. You make everyone around you miserable. Kill yourself; no one will miss you.

Charlie squirmed in his seat. How could he have missed this? Had everyone slept through this, all six participants? Charlie couldn't imagine anyone listening to this unpleasantness and wanting to return for another helping. There was a sudden small burning in his leg, from the cushion seat. Charlie squirmed again, wondering if a spring in the cushion had come loose, trying to avoid the spot. He tried to massage the spot, rub the burning away—and his fingers came away with a small stickiness. Damn, was that a drop of blood? Sharp metal, puncture wound? Charlie tried to remember if his tetanus shot was up to date. Probably not; Charlie tended to ignore things like that. Better not mention it to Don, or his big brother would use that as just one more excuse to pull Charlie out of this and let Anders move on to kill more kids.

You are not worthy. You make everyone around you miserable. Kill yourself; no one will miss you.

This is boring, Charlie thought. This isn't a speech. It's not a lecture. It's hypnosis, or whatever Megan wants to call it. He squirmed again, feeling uncomfortable in his chair, trying to avoid the area with the unfettered spring. The chair, once soft, had become lumpy and hard and his muscles and joints were protesting the indignity. He adjusted once more; nothing seemed to help. He chanced looking at his fellows, and found that they all had their eyes closed. One was even emitting gentle snores.

Charlie couldn't stand out. There was something going on. He quickly closed his eyes, only allowing them to occasionally widen to a bare slit in order to see what Anders was doing.

It was then that he became aware of a deep pulsing, coming through the headphones. It was almost below the threshold of hearing, a pulsing almost but not quite in time with his heartbeat. Charlie fidgeted once more, realizing that the pulsing was in time with the throbbing sensation that was pushing him toward yet another headache. Not the flu again! This just isn't fair!

He frowned. Not only not fair, but not accurate. Whoever heard of a flu that attacked three nights running and left him feeling fine the next day? This had to be part of Anders' plan, Charlie was certain of it. Falling asleep every night? Another part, despite Charlie's drug screen coming back negative the previous night. Medical science didn't claim to be able to test for every substance, and Anders, looking to outwit the FBI, would hunt for something that wouldn't show up in routine testing.

You are not worthy. You make everyone around you miserable. Kill yourself; no one will miss you.

Score one for espresso coffee, Charlie thought triumphantly. This was important data to bring back to Don and the others. Megan would undoubtedly know about the effects of sound on the mind, and this could be the very key that they needed to unlock the secrets of Anders' methods. Charlie wondered about trying to leave before the session was over—the chair had really become very uncomfortable, and his joints were aching something fierce—but one peep at Anders squelched that idea.

Crap, the man was looming over Charlie! Charlie kept his eyelids shut, tried to keep his breathing even and regular just as the others were doing. Sleep, he told himself. I'm asleep.

More looming. Charlie could almost feel the man's presence standing over him. Sleep. I'm sleeping, like everyone else. Charlie willed himself not to respond.

A gentle touch on the shoulder. Charlie didn't move. A tug.

Anders must have been satisfied by Charlie's lack of response, because fingers went to the buttons on Charlie's shirt. First the top one, then the second. Crap, the wires taped to my chest! Charlie almost panicked. What if Anders finds them? How could he miss them? They're right there!

I'm busted. I'm so busted. Busted worse than Megan was. Charlie seriously debated leaping up out of his chair and running for the exit.

But Anders simply buttoned Charlie's shirt back up, and moved on. Charlie struggled not to sigh in relief. Whatever would come of this, it wasn't going to happen immediately. Anders was going to try to play this out.

Adrenalin ebbed away, and Charlie could think further. In fact, there was no reason to panic at all. Anders already knew what the story was. He knew that Charlie was helping Don, probably suspected that Charlie had been wired before. Come to think of it, since Charlie had slept through the previous two 'seminars', there was a good chance that Anders had checked him out for wires those times as well. Charlie began to breathe more easily.

You are not worthy. You make everyone around you miserable. Kill yourself; no one will miss you.

Then, gradually, the words moved back into a more positive aspect: Let your light shine forth. Charlie tuned it out as Anders slowly increased the overhead lighting. He watched the others, emulating their actions, stretching and 'coming awake' as they did.

He tried to get up, found it took two tries. His head was spinning. Crap, he felt awful! The throbbing in his head was still there, despite removing the headphones. He felt wiped out. He took a deep breath, trying to bring himself under control. He had to go on; future victims were counting on his ability to persevere. He took another breath, willing himself to feel stronger.

Anders was at his side. "Professor Eppes, are you all right? You look a bit worn out."

Charlie forced himself to meet Ander's eyes, those blue orbs turning to hazel with the glitter in them. Charlie remembered Don's description of that angry glitter, and suddenly knew exactly what his brother had been talking about. Anders knew why Charlie was there. Charlie knew what Anders was doing. Immovable object was going to meet irresistible force. They both knew that the other knew everything, and Wesley Anders was determined to win this contest.

Not right now. Charlie plastered a smile on his face to offset the pounding in head. "Long day." It wasn't a lie, even if it was an exaggeration.

"I'll see you tomorrow evening, professor?"

"Of course." Don't hug the walls as you leave. Falling over would be bad.

"Megan?" Don shook the profiler's shoulder. "Megan, wake up."

"Huh?" Megan blinked.

"Megan, you almost fell out of your chair." Don peered concernedly into her face. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just…sleepy."

"Sleepy?" Alarms bells starting going off in Don's head and, by the expressions on the other two, David and Colby's heads as well. Don took Megan's head in his hands, tilting her back so that he could peer into her eyes. "Megan, your pupils are pinpoint. You're not taking anything that I don't know about, right?"

"I'm not…taking…anything." Even in this state, the indignation came through.

Colby came over to see for himself. "Man, she is blitzed! You think Anders had something to do with this?"

"You got a better explanation?" Don asked harshly. He tapped her lightly on the cheek. "Megan! Wake up."

"Hm? Don?" Megan blinked again, and a third time. "Don! What's wrong with me?" She shook her head, and some of the cobwebs seemed to fly off of her brain. "Damn! I can't seem to concentrate."

"Megan?" Don stared at her. Even as he watched, the profiler seemed to regain her faculties. "Megan, look at me."

"What?"

"Just look at my eyes." Don wasn't taking for an answer. He took her head into his hands once more, peering deeply into her eyes. "Your eyes. They're not pinpoint any more."

"What are you talking about, Don?" Megan was waking up, and fast.

"Whatever it was, you're coming out of it," was Don's diagnosis. "You're coming up quick. How do you feel now?"

Yet another blink. "Foolish," Megan admitted. "Don, was I really under?"

"Falling asleep in your seat," Don told her. "Can you come up with any explanation for your behavior except one that involves Anders? You've been with me all evening, eaten the same food that I have."

"Except for the coffee that I grabbed in the lobby before Anders kicked me out."

"Exactly." The smile that crossed Don's face never made it to his eyes.

David too had caught on. "Fast-acting, too, so that Anders' 'clients' go under during the beginning of the session, and come up out of it by the end. This also goes a long way toward explaining how Anders is getting to these kids fast. He lowers their resistance by drugging them, then feeds them whatever line he wants. They'd be putty in his hands." He glanced at the clock set into the bank of computer equipment in the van. "Just about time for the session to end. You think that's why Charlie slept through the past two of Anders' seminars?"

"I know it is," Don said grimly. "Charlie just misses a diagnosis of hyperactive by a split hair, and manic by not much more. Slowing him down takes a sledgehammer. I should have seen it before this."

"You did," David reminded him, "or did you miss the part last night where you insisted that the ER doc do a tox screen on Charlie?"

Don tightened his lips. "Yeah. Whatever it was, it didn't show up. And I'm betting that even if we turned Megan into a pincushion right now, it still wouldn't show up. It probably goes through the body like a rollercoaster and is gone before you know it. No, the only way to figure out what Anders is doing is to get a sample of that coffee." He too glanced at the clock. "Charlie'll be coming out any moment, and I'll bet that he's as wobbly as he was the night before until it wears off."

"Not taking that bet—" David started to say, when Megan interrupted him.

"No, he won't, Don," she said. "Charlie didn't drink any of Anders' coffee. Remember him drinking all the espresso before going in? He was caffeine'd out. He didn't drink any. Not even any of the juice that Anders had for the non-coffee drinkers."

"Damn." That worried Don. "That means that he may not react properly when Anders is holding his session."

"Unless he realized what was happening, and played along," David suggested.

"My brother? Doing what everyone else is doing? Not standing out in a crowd? You and I are thinking about two different people, Sinclair." Don touched the holster of his gun underneath his jacket, reassuring himself of its comforting presence. "I'm going to get him out of there."

Colby turned around. "Don, look! Look at the screen! They're coming out. Man, they looked whipped!"

There was more alarm in Colby's voice than there ought to have been. Don didn't waste any time getting there to look over Colby's shoulder at the screen focused on the front entrance to Anders' building.

The 'seminar' was letting out. The first man walked out, pausing to put a hand onto the frame of the door and leaned heavily, breathing in and out for several long moments before staggering to his car. It took him another moment or two to be able to insert the key into the lock just to get into the car, and Don held his breath when the man narrowly missed getting clipped by a passing car when he pulled out without properly seeing the oncoming traffic. Two and Three slowly trudged out together and plopped themselves down onto a bench to wait for the city bus to come by. Neither one seemed particularly pleased at the prompt arrival of the bus. Sitting in one spot for another half an hour would have been just fine.

"C'mon, c'mon," Don muttered under his breath, waiting for Charlie to emerge. "Chuck, get your tail out of there." He raised his voice. "Anybody hear anything from the wiretap on Charlie?"

"Nope. Just the normal sounds of Charlie walking out. Anders is saying something in the background; can't make it out."

Four hailed a cab. He apparently didn't feel well enough to chance navigating the city transportation hub this late at night. Don didn't blame him. Five took entirely too long to follow, and actually half-fell over the transom before catching herself against the glass door and pulling herself upright. Her car keys fell onto the ground, and she ended up there a moment later, trying to pick them up.

"Isn't that the grad student that Charlie met? Erin something or other?"

"I think you're right. She safe to drive?"

"Maybe not," was David's opinion. "I'll notify LAPD, ask them to send someone around to drive her home. Give me her plates. I'll tell them that she's not drunk or high, that this is not her fault. They'll never believe it any other way."

"Do that." Don had eyes only for the screen focused onto the entrance of Anders' business, waiting for the last participant to emerge. That was really what he was interested in, and if Charlie didn't appear in the next thirty seconds, then Don was going to jump out of the truck and run the two blocks over to—

"There he is."

Don let out the breath that he didn't realize he wasn't using. Obviously Charlie had managed to keep from alarming Anders. His brother's thespian skills were greater than Don realized.

Or, Don thought unhappily, it was equally as possible that Anders had chosen to play along. This was a complex Cat and Mouse game they were playing, and the opponents were Anders and Don himself. Charlie was just one of the pawns and, in Anders' eyes, expendable.

Not in Don's.

Charlie's gait, Don realized, was a lot steadier than any of his predecessor's. Don watched as the indistinct figure made his way directly through the lobby, not hanging onto any of the walls, pushed open the glass door, and stepped out. There he paused to take a deep breath. Charlie looked around, orienting himself, trying to figure out where it was likely for the FBI team to have parked the surveillance truck.

Colby started up the truck's motor before being asked, easing the large vehicle into the meager late night traffic.

"Not too quick," Don warned. "Stay back around the corner, so that Anders won't see us coming." He sat himself into one of the seats in front of the computer equipment, eschewing the seat belt.

"Hey, Don! Look!" Colby sped up.

"Colby!" Then Don saw what Colby had seen: Charlie, leaning drunkenly against the brick wall of the building adjoining that of Anders'.

Double-parked: Don didn't care. He and David leaped out of the truck and over to Charlie.

Don was the first to reach him. "Charlie?" Still standing, which meant still alive. "You all right?"

Shivering. Face whiter than the moon overhead. Droplets of sweat standing out on his forehead, drenching his dark curls and plastering them against his skin. All of this on a cool L.A. night that was as pleasant as L.A. ever got.

"Yeah," Charlie told him. "Feel great." His knees started to sag.

Don grabbed his brother, David propping him up on the other side. "Let's get him to the truck." One touch on Charlie's skin, and Don knew what was happening. "Charlie, you're burning up." Casting a look down the sidewalk and hoping that Anders wasn't watching, Don hustled his brother across the pavement and into the listening post vehicle.

Inside, with the interior lights on, Don was in for another unpleasant revelation. There something dark on Charlie's fingers, something that at first Don was willing to dismiss as dirt. A second glance told him that blood was a more likely candidate. He snatched up Charlie's hand as Megan was pouring some water down the mathematician's throat. "Charlie, what's this?"

Charlie let his head rest against the wall of the truck, looking drawn. He opened his eyes to blearily at what had Don upset. "The chair in the auditorium—the one I was sitting in. One of the springs let loose. It jabbed me."

"It jabbed you? Enough to draw blood?" Not typical behavior for a supposedly new seat cushion. Don exchanged a suspicious look with Megan.

There was more. "Charlie, did you hit your head?" Megan wanted to know.

"No. This is just the flu, or something," he said tiredly. "Can we go home? Don, I'll tell you everything that happened on the way back, I promise."

It wasn't going to be home, but Don wasn't going to tell Charlie that. Not yet, anyway. Not with a drop of fresh blood positioned at the man's ear canal. Not with Megan showing distinct signs of having been drugged. Not with Charlie looking like death nuked in a microwave, the fever emanating from him worthy of a glass-blower's furnace.

What the hell had Anders done to Don's brother?

"I'm taking a cab home," Charlie informed Don, head held high.

It wasn't easy looking righteously annoyed in a hospital gown, but his brother was doing an exceptionally fine job of it.

"I can get you home—"

"That's what you said before bringing me here. Hand me my pants." Charlie slipped on his jeans, keeping his modesty intact before dropping the hospital gown onto the ER stretcher.

A simple dose of ibuprofen had done wonders for his brother's health, Don realized entirely too late to do anything about it.

Charlie realized it, too, and was making certain to drive the information home. "Blood tests: normal. EKG: normal. CT scan of the brain: normal. Various x-rays: normal."

"Charlie—"

"Big brother: abnormal!" Charlie pulled his tee over his head, carefully avoiding the sore spot on his arm where several large gallon jugs of blood had been drained away for extensive testing. The nice ER nurses had conscientiously replaced the loss with another bag of clear fluid into the other arm, but that somehow didn't appease the mathematician. For him, the numbers failed to add up.

"Charlie—"

"Second time in two days, Don, that you've brought me here. This is expensive, or didn't you realize that? I tried to tell you: flu. Ibuprofen. Rest and fluids. You're so panicked over this Anders character that you're seeing ghosts." Charlie slipped his feet into his shoes, not bothering with his socks.

"Charlie, there were two puncture wounds on your leg—"

"Bruises, Don. Bruises. I banged myself somehow, trying to get enough done so that I could go to that silly lecture. Where's my cell? Anybody have the number of the taxi company?"

"Charlie, the blood in your ear—"

"I bumped it, or do you not remember grabbing me outside of Anders' place? I can almost guarantee you that Anders wasn't watching. He would have called 911, so that LAPD could come and arrest the two men dragging me off into a large white truck."

"Look, Charlie, I'm sorry. I was scared." 'Terrified' was the most precise term for how Don had felt. 'Foolish' did pretty well at the moment. "I promise, I'll take you straight home. David and Colby should be here any minute with the Suburban from dropping off the surveillance truck. They're going to see Megan home, and I promise I won't deviate one iota." He held up his hand. "Boy Scout's honor: directly home, buddy."

"You were never a Boy Scout, Don. Dad thought that they were a bunch of ultra-conservative subversives, remember?"

"Whatever. Charlie, I'm sorry. I was scared. I got rattled." Don tried to get under Charlie's skin. "Charlie, when you told me that Anders went to see you in your office…" He trailed off, hoping that Charlie would get the hint.

He did. Don could see the anger melting away from his younger brother's face, leaving him in between still pissed and you're gonna owe me a big one. Don didn't care. What did matter was that Charlie was okay. Both Don and Charlie had worked hard over the last few years to build the brother thing, and Don really didn't want to lose it in a single night.

Charlie looked at him, the dark curls still saturated with post-fever sweat and trying to dangle limply into his eyes. "Had you going tonight?"

Time to suck up. "Yeah. Especially after Megan zonked out on the coffee." Don also knew when to play the other end, and push in a few facts.

"Didn't she tell you that I hadn't had any?"

"Sure, but who knew what other stuff Anders was gonna throw at you?"

"Her tox screen came back negative, too," Charlie observed pointedly.

"Right. She woke up after about an hour, which is when Anders' seminar thing let out. He's got it well-timed, buddy. He puts you under for an hour, feeds you a load of negative crap, and then brings you up in time to wake up and go home."

Charlie started to shake his head and thought better of it; the ibuprofen wasn't all that effective. "Don, I just don't get it. Whatever he's doing, it's just not that bad. It's like sticking your tongue out at someone and calling them names. That's all he's doing, is chanting stuff about being 'unworthy' and 'nobody loves you'. Anybody with solid family support, this stuff is going to roll off their back. They won't be affected by it."

"Which means that there's something that we haven't figured out yet—" Don started to say when he was interrupted.

"Knock, knock." It was David, and the words had to do since the area was only screened off by curtains. There was nothing to knock on.

Don knew by the way David looked as he pushed past the curtains that something bad had happened.

David wasted no time. He was reporting to Don, but his words were aimed equally at both brothers. "Erin Wernicke, the psych grad student, who left the seminar ahead of Charlie?"

"What?" Don feared he knew what was coming. By the looks of him, by a white complexion turning even more white, so did Charlie.

"Just found dead in her car, apparent overdose." David looked straight at Charlie. "They're ruling it a suicide."