Mind Games

Chapter 63

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer

Two weeks later, Jonathan Wilkes stepped up next to the figure standing near the doorway of Charlie Eppes' hospital room.

A week and a half prior, once Charlie had stabilized; Wilkes had gone back to New Orleans to participate in the ongoing investigation at Cypress Institute. In addition to agents combing the site, searching for institute personnel who might recognize J. Scott Marsh from his picture, a quiet CIA internal investigation had been looking into the doings directed by Dr. Allman. Director Conaghan had ordered a cease to all covert mind programming activities in the wake of what had happened to Don Eppes, stating that the activity was 'counter to U.S. principles,' and had the potential to be a danger to the country's security. Going forward, the institute's government-funded resources were to be concentrated on trying to find cures for paralysis and for mind control of artificial limbs, primarily for the benefit of returning war veterans. A private psychiatric ward was also being set up, to aid CIA personnel suffering from mental illness, breakdowns, or post-traumatic stress – a place where they would be allowed to discuss highly sensitive material. Jonathan Wilkes, on recommendation from Conaghan, was to head up that section of the hospital.

Wilkes returned to L.A. two weeks later to complete unfinished business, and his first stop was UCLA Medical Center, and the hospital room of Charlie Eppes. As he moved down the hallway to stand next to Don Eppes, he took the opportunity to scrutinize him before making his presence known. As always, Eppes was hard to read, his face expressionless as he stood in the doorway of his brother's room. There was still a guard on the doorway, but he had moved to a discreet distance down the hall. It was a regular hospital room; Charlie had been improved enough to be moved there over a week ago, and as Wilkes got to the doorway he looked inside. Charlie Eppes was sitting up in bed; he looked weak and horribly thin, but he was alert and talking with his father and girlfriend. Considering the fact that he had been at death's door, it was a remarkable improvement.

"Why don't you go in?" he asked, and Don's head turned in surprise as he came out of what appeared to be an attention-consuming reverie.

Don shrugged, an uncomfortable one-shouldered gesture, and shot a quick wary look into the room. He obviously had been trying to remain undetected. The motion by the doorway had caught Charlie's attention, and he looked toward them. Don took a step back and turned toward Wilkes as if to continue their conversation, but Wilkes suspected it was just a reason for him to avoid making eye contact with Charlie. Charlie, for his part, gazed for a moment, then, as Don turned away, disappointment flitted briefly over his face before he turned back to his visitors.

Wilkes eyed Don quizzically. "So why aren't you in there?"

"I just stopped by for a minute to see how he's doing." Don shot the phrase over his shoulder as he turned away. It was cryptic and didn't answer the question, and Don knew it, but he kept moving down the hall. "Got to get back to the office."

"I'll call you later," Wilkes called out to his retreating back. "I'd like to schedule an appointment with you."

Don half-turned his head and gave a distracted nod, and disappeared around the corner.

Wilkes frowned after him; then turned toward the doorway again, as Alan Eppes stepped out of it, his hand extended. "Agent Wilkes," he said. He was smiling, but looked weary, careworn. "Good to see you again."

"Jon, please," said Wilkes. "How are you, Alan? How's Charlie?"

"Getting there," replied Alan. "Last week was pretty rough; he was in a lot of pain. This week was a bit better. The repairs to his intestine are healing; he's off clear liquids – he's still on a liquid diet, but he's been able to take some fluids with more substance to them, nutrition drinks, and so forth. It's made a big difference in his strength. They'll try him on soft food tomorrow, and if that goes well, they might even release him in a day or so."

Wilkes' eyes trailed to the frail figure in the bed. "He doesn't look strong enough to handle crutches."

Alan shook his head. "He's not, yet, although they said they'd send some home with him. He'll be in wheelchair for a while; they're going to schedule him for physical therapy, build up his strength again. Even once he gets out of the wheelchair, he's going to be on crutches for a long time, I'm afraid; he needs to go through surgery on his leg yet. They're going to give him another three weeks to get some of his strength back before they attempt that."

Wilkes nodded, his brows knitted. "He'll get full function back?"

Alan's face clouded. "They think so, although they're quick to point out there are no guarantees. He'll walk again, there's no doubt of that. He may limp, however, or face chronic pain. We just have to hope for the best, there."

"And how's Don?"

Alan raised an eyebrow. "Physically, or mentally?"

"Both."

"Physically, he's fine. He had a follow-up appointment with Dr. Janovic two days ago – I went along. Janovic did an MRI and ran a battery of tests, and declared him healed enough for everyday activity – Don's even been going in to the office the past couple of days."

Wilkes nodded. "We've noticed no ill physical side effects at all in previous recipients of the programming. In fact, we've noticed one positive one – a slight improvement in reaction time. We're not sure why, but I would guess it might be the only lasting physical effect that Don would experience."

Alan nodded, and Wilkes could see a flicker of relief in his eyes. "He's not released yet for field duty – the profile you did with him was submitted, and he passes the mental and cognitive requirements, but Janovic won't sign the physical release for another two weeks yet – says he needs to be fully healed before he'll do that. Mentally and emotionally…" Alan hesitated. "I think they both have some issues."

Wilkes pursed his lips. Truthfully, he was not surprised, but he wanted to hear Alan's assessment. "How so?"

Alan sighed. "They don't – interact – much, and neither one wants to talk about it. It's really hard to tell what is on their minds. Don asks about Charlie often, and he'll stop by like he did just now, but he'll rarely go in to see him, and if he does, it's only when there's a crowd in the room. I think he's afraid that he'll disturb Charlie, make him upset."

"And Charlie?"

Alan turned his head to regard his son. "I'm not sure," he said softly. "He still struggles with nightmares; I think he's still fighting PTSD. On the rare occasions that he catches a glimpse of Don, he gets this, this - look - on his face. I'm not sure if it's fear, or hope."

Wilkes followed his gaze. "Or both," he said softly. He looked at Alan. "Director Conaghan gave me direction to come back out here and offer therapy sessions to each of them. I'm one of the few psychiatrists who has clearance to discuss what happened to them. I'd like to schedule a few sessions them, individually. Maybe even a joint session or two, once they're ready for it."

Alan's face cleared. "That would be wonderful. They need something to get them over this impasse, to get them talking again."

Wilkes nodded. "I'd actually like to start with Charlie, if he's ready."

Alan considered his son, his face softening as he watched Amita take Charlie's hand, gently intertwining her fingers with his. "He still gets tired pretty easily – if you want to start today, I'd do it now. He has a few good hours, usually, but by later on, he'll be wiped out." He looked at Wilkes. "He can be pretty introspective and fairly stubborn, as I think you know. If I were you, if you really want him to talk, I wouldn't give him an option."

"I'm not," said Wilkes firmly. "I'm on record as a treating physician; I can make completing a psychiatric profile part of his release requirements. In other words, he won't get out of here until he talks to me."

A moment later, he was nodding politely at Amita Ramanujan, who perceptively took her cue to leave and headed out the door with Alan, murmuring that she had to get to class. Wilkes watched Charlie's eyes trail her as she walked out, trying to read the expression on his face. "So, how are you doing, Charlie?"

Charlie lifted his gaze to Wilkes and leaned back against the upright back of his bed, the hospital gown too large on his thin frame. "Okay," he responded quietly. His expression was calm, but guarded.

Wilkes pulled up a chair, and sat, his posture relaxed, as if for an informal chat. "I've been asked by Director Conaghan to spend some time with you and your brother in some therapy sessions. Your sessions will count toward meeting your requirements for release from the hospital."

Charlie frowned. "I wasn't aware that I had to pass a psychiatric evaluation."

Wilkes looked at him impassively, and stretched the truth a little. "It's routine after such a traumatic event, and considering your PTSD symptoms prior to this latest attack, I think it's advisable. We can do a session right now, if you're up for it."

Charlie shrugged and nodded, although he looked less than enthusiastic.

"Your dad says you're still having nightmares."

Another shrug; and Charlie looked away. "Yeah."

"About Don?"

Charlie kept his eyes averted. "Sometimes."

He looked back at Wilkes as if to challenge his own admission. "They're getting better."

"How so?"

Charlie sighed. "Why does it matter? They'll gradually go away, right?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. You know what happened when you tried to avoid dealing with this before – you started having flashbacks. Don't you think it's better to deal with it, and make sure?"

Charlie stared at him for a moment; then shifted uncomfortably. "I was having dreams that Don was chasing me – I still am, but the tone has changed," he admitted in a low voice. "The dreams before were sometimes benign, but were often violent. Over the past week or so, they've started to change. Often, Don is still chasing me, but he's not the aggressor any more."

"Who is?"

"Marsh. As of the last few days, if I have a nightmare, Marsh is the one who is the threat. Don is present, but he never - hurts me - in the dream." He flushed a little as he spoke.

Wilkes studied him. "You're uncomfortable with talking about this."

Charlie glanced at him a bit sheepishly, rubbed his cheek and looked at the ceiling, obviously flustered. "I just – I'm not sure I believe in analyzing dreams. When you say it aloud, it sounds so - illogical. Puerile."

Wilkes lifted a corner of his lip, wryly. "Trust me, it's not. Of course, dreams are not the only thing we should be discussing, but they're a good start. So in your dreams, you've transitioned the role of the aggressor to Marsh – I'd say that's logical. Does that mean you're not afraid of Don anymore?"

Charlie hesitated briefly. "No – I don't think I am. At least not when he's not here. Immediately after the attack, just the thought of him scared me – I didn't want to admit that, but it was true. Now, that's not true anymore."

Wilkes' eyes narrowed. "And how about when he is present? What do you feel when you see him?"

Charlie grimaced slightly. "I don't know. I feel a quick flash of something – discomfort, maybe, or anxiety - but it disappears right away." He sighed. "I'm not even sure it's related to the attack."

"What would it be related to?"

Charlie's expression was tinged with regret. "Maybe to the fact that he obviously doesn't want to be here – to the fact that I've screwed up any chance we've ever had at becoming closer. He went through hell, and it was my fault. I don't think he can even look at me anymore without revisiting what happened."

"It was your fault." Wilkes raised an eyebrow. "How?"

Charlie looked at him as if he were dense. "I told you before; I was the one who insisted on taking the assignment. I told him he didn't need to go along, but he'd made it clear that if I took it, he was going, too. I knew that, and I took it anyway."

Wilkes pursed his lips, thoughtfully. "That brings up a very good question. Why did you take the assignment?"

The question seemed to catch Charlie off guard; he simply stared back for a moment, and silence fell.

Pinning down Don Eppes turned out to be a much tougher proposition, Wilkes found, to his surprise. After all the sessions they'd already held and the results of Don's last printout, he would have expected that Don would be comfortable with sitting down and talking. Instead, the agent kept putting him off. Two more days came and went; Wilkes had another session with Charlie. The professor did seem to be making progress, but he was mired in a morass of guilt and regret – a situation that could best be resolved by a heart-to-heart talk with his brother, which was something that both of them seemed to be avoiding. Finally, Sunday rolled around, the day of Charlie's release, and Wilkes still hadn't successfully scheduled a session with Don.

The agent showed up at the hospital to help. Charlie was still too weak to navigate very far on crutches, and the release nurse instructed Don and Alan how to get him into and out of his wheelchair, by having Charlie put one arm around each of their shoulders. He then supported his weight on his good leg, with a step-swing maneuver that got him from the bed to the chair. The cast on his leg looked enormous and cumbersome; and made Wilkes wonder how they had gotten him dressed, even though the nylon track pants he wore were baggy, and snapped up the sides. He didn't let the logistics of the move deter him from observing them, however, from watching as they made physical contact, as Charlie put his arm around Don's shoulders, and Don put his arm around Charlie's rib cage to support him. There was no reaction discernable on either part; they both kept their faces carefully neutral.

Wheelchair to car, then car to wheelchair at the Craftsman, then wheelchair to the front stoop. At that point, Charlie already looked tired. They had been greeted at the house by Amita Ramanujan, Larry Fleinhardt, and agents Sinclair and Granger, and this time, Colby and David stepped in to support Charlie to get him over the stoop and into the house from the wheelchair. It was a slow and awkward process, and by the time they had deposited Charlie on the sofa, he looked spent. Don carried the collapsible wheelchair inside, and Alan bustled out to the kitchen to get iced tea for the group. Wilkes followed him in, catching a sigh as he pushed through the door.

"Problem?" he asked quietly, and Alan glanced at him over his shoulder, then shook his head.

"No – what I mean is, it's great that he's home, but I was wondering how this is going to work, long term. I'm setting up a bed for him downstairs, and there is a bathroom on this floor, but the shower is upstairs." He smiled. "Small worries, in the big scheme of things."

"It will give you a good excuse to have Don come over and help," replied Wilkes.

Alan read the meaning in his eyes. "That it will," he agreed. "Have you had any luck getting him to sit down and talk?"

"We're scheduled for tomorrow evening after work; hopefully he'll keep the appointment."

Don did, although reluctantly. For lack of an office, they met at Don's apartment; it had been swept for bugs and the remaining camera removed, and it was as secure a place as any for a conversation. Wilkes took in the surroundings with mild curiosity. He had seen shots of it on the video feeds back at Cypress Institute, but he hadn't been inside yet. It was definitely the bachelor pad; comfortable furniture in neutral colors in the living room, a utilitarian kitchen. A doorway off the living area led to what Wilkes presumed was the bedroom and bathroom. All of it neat, orderly, comfortable but no-frills. It wasn't monastic, but it did speak of self-discipline, and didn't tell one much about its owner. Like Don Eppes himself, his living quarters didn't give one much access to his mind.

Wilkes sat in an armchair when Don offered him a seat, leaving the sofa to the agent. Don flung himself into it with studied casualness, and slumped against the back. No offer of water or coffee – he obviously wanted to make this session as short as possible.

Wilkes started out with a neutral observation. "I hear Charlie goes to ID Marsh on Thursday."

Don nodded. "They're setting up a standard line-up. I heard from Masters that Charlie actually saw Marsh's face in the park; Marsh had apparently pulled up his ski mask and talked to Charlie before I found them. It nails Marsh down as the man in the mask, and of course, Charlie can also put him at the Montreaux estate."

Wilkes smiled agreeably, and purposefully delivered a comment intended to provoke. "That's great news for the prosecution. Of course, if you ever talked to your brother, he might have told you that himself."

Don scowled furiously and looked away. "I'm trying to give him some space. He's still healing; he doesn't need to deal with me right now. I'm the last person he wants to talk to about what happened out there – it's got to be tough enough for him to cope with it, without -"

"Without what?"

Don's voice and eyes dropped, but he kept the scowl. "Without me."

"And why do you say that?"

Don looked up, his eyes flashing with anger and pain. "What, you need to ask? He's still having nightmares - I heard him call my name out in the hospital, and the way he looks at me – well let's face it, he's never gonna look at me the same way again."

Wilkes pursed his lips, considering. "You're saying that like it's a bad thing."

Don sent him an incredulous look. "Of course it's a bad thing. He looks upset every time he sees me."

Wilkes sighed. "Look, I'm not saying that he doesn't have some things to deal with – he does. But he is handling them remarkably well, considering, and he's stronger emotionally than you think. I've been talking to him, and I think he's more than ready to talk to you. In fact, I think if you two are ever going to get over this, you need to start talking, spend some time together. And I mean really talking – not about work, or the game on television – something more than the mundane discourse you've had for most of your adult lives. You may be surprised at the result."

Don's lips tightened and he shook his head. "And I think you're wrong. I don't think he's ready, and I don't think he's ever going to forget what I did. I can't forget it – how could he?"

"Maybe he won't forget, but he can forgive. It may surprise you to know that you don't own all the guilt, here. Charlie blames himself for taking the assignment in the first place. It also may surprise you to know why he took the assignment. A big part of it was a feeling of duty to his country, that's true. I think that's a sentiment that both of you share. He admitted, though, that a large part of it was an attempt to impress you – to get your attention - and when you took the job, too, it was a chance to do something unique, meaningful, just with you. He looks up to you, and I suspect that he always has. It isn't uncommon for younger siblings to harbor a sense of hero worship when it comes to their older siblings."

Don snorted. "Now I know you're reading things into this. Charlie is known across the globe - he has no need to look up to anyone. Especially not me." He looked at his watch, even though they were only a minutes into the session. "Are we done, here?"

Wilkes regarded him silently for a split second, then rose. "If you wish," he said, his voice threaded with quiet disappointment. "You know, after how hard you worked at your deprogramming, I really didn't expect this from you – I didn't think you would just give up. Maybe it's not Charlie who's afraid. Maybe you've always been afraid – afraid that if you let your guard down with him, that if you reach out, he'll reject you. It's easier this way, isn't it? As long as he's doing the reaching, you're still in control, emotionally. That's why you get along in the work environment – you're the boss, you have the upper hand, so you can live with that arrangement. God forbid you should ever open up with him, make yourself vulnerable. I'll just let myself out."

He turned and headed for the door in the ensuing silence, and left Don sitting on sofa, still scowling.

End Chapter 63