Mind Games

Chapter 56

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews and the continuing alerts; you are so kind.

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Don collapsed on the vest, scrabbling helplessly at the pockets. His vision was blurring, and he was losing control of the left side of his body. Clumsily, he flipped open pockets, looking for the current controls. He had an idea of what to look for, after spending so much time with Wilkes' larger version of the controller. There - he found it, his fingers desperately gripped the knob, and he dialed it down, sagging with relief as the current receded. For the first time in nearly three days, there was no buzzing in his head, and he just lay there for a moment, trying to regain his senses.

Finally, he gathered enough strength to sit up, and he glanced up the trail in the direction the man had run. He was long gone, now, and it was fortunate; if the man had come back while he lay helpless on the ground, he could have finished him, easily. Don gingerly fingered the lump near his right collarbone, trying to figure out what had happened. The pain had been only in the right side of his head – the device they had installed to dampen the current must have broken free somehow, perhaps damaged during the struggle, allowing current at full strength to pour into the right side of his brain. More than likely, the fact that the left side of his brain was still relatively unaffected was the only thing that had saved him – he'd been cognizant enough of what was happening to find the controller and turn it off.

He sat there for a moment longer; making sure the effects of the current had worn off, ascertaining that he had normal function in his limbs. He was still half-stunned, but the significance of what he held in his hands suddenly occurred to him. He had the vest – the man couldn't control him anymore; he was free, unless there was another controller out there.

After a moment, he regained enough control to push himself shakily to his feet. The man was now not likely to be a threat – Don was sure he had fled, giving up when his attack failed. He would probably try to escape the area and try again later, but that was a worry for another day. Don was in no condition to pursue the man now, and he felt suddenly, strongly, that he needed to get back to Charlie. He needed to find Ian, Colby, and David in the fog, somehow, and get help. If nothing else, there was the radio in Charlie's pack, still probably lying where he'd left it, back in the little hollow. He felt tendrils of fear curl around his heart as he staggered back down the trail, carrying the vest. Charlie – he felt suddenly, strongly that he never should have left him. His legs began to regain some semblance of coordination, and as they did, he began to run.

He loped back down the trail, through the clearing, splashing noisily across the creek, and up the smaller trail along the bank. He felt instinctively that something was very wrong, and chided himself for leaving Charlie there alone. Now that his head was free of the current, he began to realize how much his decision processes had been affected for the past few days. He'd made at least three decisions he never would have made in his right mind. He'd left Charlie, twice, in pursuit of the man, as hatred for him took dominance in his mind, and the third bad decision was the first one he'd made – the one he never should have made to begin with – the decision to bring Charlie out here. What had seemed like a good choice at the time now seemed a horrible mistake, and Don knew that he wouldn't have made it if he hadn't been under the influence of the controller. That didn't make him feel any better, as he approached the overhang, slowing his pace to a walk.

He suddenly realized it was very quiet, and he stopped dead as he came around the bend and saw the overhang. That feeling was replaced by a white-hot bolt of fear, as a cold muzzle pressed suddenly against his neck. "Don't move," said a voice, and Don dropped the vest and raised his hands slowly to chest height, to show that they were empty.

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Ian Edgerton stood, holding the pistol to Don Eppes' neck, and quickly removed the pistol in Don's waistband as David Sinclair moved out from behind a tree, his own gun extended. David swiftly moved to Don's side and patted him down. As his search reached Don's legs, David knelt, and he pulled up the leg of Don's jeans, removing a lethal looking knife in a sheath. Ian handed him Don's gun, and then reached out a hand and turned Don around, studying him. Don's face and clothes bore smears of mud and appeared damp, his hair was disheveled, and his left hand was covered with blood that was seeping down from the wound in his arm. His face was pale, and his eyes, dark with irritation, burned in it like coals, although he'd borne the search patiently, silently. "What is this, Ian?"

Ian ignored the question. "Where'd you get the gun and the knife, Don?" His voice was quiet, and he kept his face expressionless. David had picked up the vest and moved away a yard or two, then set it on the ground and examined the gun. He was methodical, professional, although Ian could see a hint of distress in his dark features.

Don's voice was level, but filled with tension. "They were left for me at my apartment."

"By your controller?"

"Of course. You heard Masters; he wasn't going to let me carry a piece."

Ian eyed him, speculatively. "So you just went against his orders, and took it anyway. Along with the knife."

Don's eyes flashed. "If you were in my position, you would have done the same thing, Ian, and you know it. I wasn't coming out here with Charlie without some way to protect ourselves. Plus, the controller could see every move I made. He had a camera in my apartment; he could watch me pack. If I hadn't brought them, he would have been suspicious." His voice hardened. "Now, if you're done playing cop, I'd like to see Charlie."

Colby Granger had emerged from under the overhang where he'd been sitting with Charlie, and Ian could see the conflicting emotions in both his and Sinclair's faces. David was examining the Beretta he'd take from Don, and he looked up. "One round fired," he said quietly.

"Where are we going to find that bullet, Don?" Ian asked softly.

"In the perp," Don retorted, testily. "I hit him in the right shoulder. He took the trail on the other side of the creek. I tried to go back for him and he jumped me, and he ended up getting away. Why are you asking?"

Ian's eyes narrowed. "Charlie has a bullet in his hip. The last time I saw you, you were pointing a gun at him – we were up on the ridge above you."

Don had paled, and his eyes widened. "Charlie was shot?" He shook his head in disbelief. "But when I carried him here, I would have noticed…," His voice trailed off, and a look of comprehension dawned on his face. "His hip felt damp, but I was supporting it with my left arm. I thought the dampness was my blood." He gestured slightly with his injured arm.

Ian could see the gash in it; and the sleeve of dark, close-fitting athletic shirt looked soaked. Don's expression turned anxious, and he looked at Colby, then at the overhang. "He's still in there? How bad is it?"

Colby's gaze flickered uncertainly to Ian, then back to Don. Ian could see Granger wavering, Sinclair too. They both wanted to believe him. Hell, Ian did, too, but he couldn't afford to act on that belief until they had proof.

"He's still conscious," said Colby slowly. "He's bordering on shock; they've got a chopper on the way."

Don was shaking his head, a very credible look of distress on his face. "I don't understand. If I shot the man, and he shot me, where did the third bullet come from? I'm sure he only got one shot off."

"It came from me," Ian said expressionlessly. "The man didn't shoot you in the arm, I did." Don stared at him, and Ian's gut twisted uncomfortably at his look of stunned betrayal.

"Then the bullet in Charlie must have come from him," Don said slowly. "When I was hit in the arm, I just assumed the man shot me -," he broke off, anguish in his face. "Please, you have to believe me. I did point the gun at Charlie, but I was maneuvering, trying to buy time to get a shot at the perp. I need to see Charlie, please." He pointed at the vest, lying near David. "I wrestled that away from the man and turned the current off. I know I made some bad decisions, but I'm thinking clearly now - I just need to see him."

David and Colby were looking at Ian, and he could see they were both hoping that he'd say 'yes,' but Ian knew he had to put personal feelings aside. He was in charge, and needed to be objective. He had to ask himself – if Don were any other suspect, what would he do? He paused. "Cuff him, Sinclair."

Don mouth opened in protest. "Ian! For God's sake -,"

"I'm sorry, Don," Ian cut him off, his voice heavy, as David slowly, reluctantly pulled out a set of handcuffs. "I have to take precautions until we get ballistics back on that bullet. You can see him, if you're cuffed."

Don stared at him, and then slowly put his wrists out, wincing as David applied the cuffs. Colby stood there, taking in the scene with misery in his face. Don's voice was quiet, husky. "Okay, I'm cuffed. Let me see him."

Ian looked at Colby and David, who stood there, shoulders drooping dejectedly. David's eyes were flashing protest, but he stayed silent. Ian spoke to them. "We need to move Charlie out from under that overhang so the paramedics can get to him."

Colby nodded slowly. "I think it's warmer out here, anyway," he said. "That rock is cold." He cast an apologetic sideways glance at Don.

Ian continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "Colby, you and David bring him out, carefully. Then I need you two to go and see if you can pick up the perp's trail. Don and I will stay here with Charlie." They nodded, and headed for the overhang. Ian glanced at Don, who was studying him, silently.

"You don't believe I shot him, either," Don stated. His voice was quiet, and filled with calm conviction.

Ian raised an eyebrow. "Why do you say that?"

Don looked at him steadily. "You shot at me and missed."

Ian shrugged. "You moved. I missed. It happens."

Don shook his head. "Not to you, it doesn't." He turned as Colby and David carefully carried Charlie's limp figure from under the overhang, lifting him over the low brush at the mouth, and set him on a carpet of pine needles next to the trail.

Ian face twisted with the faintest of rueful grimaces. 'Busted,' he thought to himself. Don was right; Ian believed him, or wanted to believe him. It was true, they now held the vest, but as long as Don Eppes had that wiring in his head, and especially under the suspicious circumstances, Ian couldn't afford to relinquish control of the situation.

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Don had begun to move toward his brother as soon as he saw him, and knelt down next to him as he was lowered to the ground. Although the fog was thickening, it was still much lighter out in the open than under the rock, and in the light it was obvious that Charlie's condition was serious. His face had taken on a grayish cast, and his breath was quick and shallow; his eyes closed in pain. David and Colby had taken off their camouflage jackets and covered him, and Don pulled one aside just a bit, anxiously checking for the wound, fumbling a little with his cuffed hands. "I still can't believe I didn't see this," he muttered, his fingers gently, uneasily trailing over Charlie's side, down his hip, searching for the bullet hole.

"His clothing is dark," offered David, his expression reflecting Don's concern. "You can't really see the blood, and like you said, you thought it was your own."

Don cast a quick anxious look at Charlie, who was still lying motionless with his eyes closed, and then back down at his hip, still carefully probing Charlie's side. "Where is it?" he asked, his voice rising. "I thought you said it was his left hip."

Colby knelt next to him and gently pushed aside Don's cuffed hands, trying not to let Don know that he could see that they were shaking. He gently pulled up Charlie's T-shirt and pulled the waistband of Charlie's pants down, revealing the dark hole just inside the left hipbone, oozing blood.

Don's heart dropped. When Ian had said 'hip,' he'd envisioned a wound on the outside of the hip, above the leg. Serious, certainly, but not life threatening in itself. This was a gut shot – far worse, and for a moment, Don felt dizzy with panic. Charlie was going to die, and it was his fault…

He realized, dimly, that David was speaking. "There's no exit wound, and it's not bleeding heavily." Don stared at the wound. David was right, at least as far as they could see. The bleeding didn't seem excessive, but was no telling how much internal bleeding there was.

"How far out is that chopper?" His voice sounded foreign, rough with fear.

"About fifteen minutes." Ian came and squatted beside him, examining Charlie. "They'll put down in the next valley over – it will probably take twenty minutes or so for them to get over the ridge and get a stretcher down here." He looked up at Colby and David. "You two had better get going. The perp's not getting any closer."

They nodded, and as they moved off, Charlie's eyes flickered open, dazed with pain. Don took his hand, gently, and held it between his own. "I'm here, Buddy," he said softly, his voice cracking. "I told you I'd come back for you."

Charlie's gaze rested on him for just a fleeting moment; then his eyes fluttered closed. Don thought he'd passed out again, but then his lips moved, and his eyes opened again. Don bent closer, trying to catch the faint words.

"…not your fault," Charlie was saying. His breath sounded ragged, labored, and he paused between words. "Was mine…pushed you to take…the assignment…," He stopped, shuddering as a convulsion of pain gripped him, and Don's heart sank as he realized that Charlie was trying to make sure that he didn't blame himself – it was obvious that his brother felt he was near the end.

Don swallowed fear, thick and acidic in his throat. "Charlie, listen to me. You're going to be fine – you need to hang in there. There's a chopper on the way, we'll have you out of here soon." His mind raced frantically through the time line for rescue. Fifteen minutes for the chopper, twenty minutes for the rescue team to reach them, another twenty to get back to the chopper, maybe more – they'd have to move more carefully once they had Charlie on the stretcher. Then the chopper would need time – how long? – to get to the hospital…

He gripped Charlie's hand tightly between his as Charlie's eyes fluttered shut again. "Charlie, please, Charlie, look at me, buddy. Charlie, please…"

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End Chapter 56