*****

Genre: Gen; Drama, h/c; Crossover with Medium
Pairings: Not even. (Unless you count Joe and Allison, they're married, for Pete's sake!)
Summary: A frightening dream and an early morning visitor prompt a fateful meeting between Allison Dubois and the Eppes family.
Author's Note added 3/18/2006: This fic was written before the episode Mind Games, so it cannot be considered canon.
Rating: PG-13 for mild language
Spoilers: None, but if you haven't seen the pilot, you may be confused by the whole go-cart thing.
Warnings: Not really. I do apologize to fans of Disneyland and Britney Spears.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in Numb3rs or Medium. I just like to play with them. I'll return them when I'm done. Promise.
Acknowledgments: Many, many thanks to Mackie for her thoughtful and thorough beta job and for talking me into including another Eppes-centric scene. I also want to thank her for offering to host my NUMB3RS fiction on her wonderful Idol Pursuits site. I've admired her fiction since I first became involved in writing fanfiction myself and I'm truly honored to be invited to her home!
Also, I'd like to thank my dear friend, Alida, who beta'd for me back in our Sentinel days, for coming on board with this one. After a few nights of me showing up repeatedly on her IM going, "Psst... wanna read what I just wrote?" and "How's this sound?" and "Do kids still listen to Britney Spears these days?" she offered to beta for me just like the good old days. I'm pleased to say we can now count her among the converted NUMB3RS fen.
Brief note: The first few scenes are very Medium-heavy. Allison's POV is perfect for this story, so I'm not apologizing; however, I do want you to know that this is, in my opinion, a story about the Eppes men as seen through the eyes of my favorite medium. Be patient. They'll turn up in a bit.
Additional Note added 3/18/06: This story was written before Mind Games; therefore, it cannot be considered canon.:(

Go-Cart Charlie
By Red Soprano

Allison's dreams were often remarkably detailed, but the clear, bright edges of the afternoon in this particular dreamscape made her smile in her sleep. She was standing at the top of a steep, tree-lined street. The leaves moved slightly in the breeze, their nuanced shades of green and gray shimmering delicately in the brilliant sunlight.

Directly in front of her, poised at the very apex of the hill, sat a silver go-cart of some kind. It was tiny with a neat, streamlined body and narrow, spoke-less wheels the size of large dinner plates. The door to the passenger compartment was the type that opened upward, gaping ajar like the jaws of a futuristic metal insect. The occupant of the miniature car pulled a helmet down over his dark, unruly curls then pulled the door straight down to close himself in.

Without warning, Allison found herself plummeting down the steep grade, a helpless passenger in this odd little vehicle. She lay almost supine in the speeding missile, her shoulders tucked inside its smooth, rounded walls, her legs cramped into its sleek snout. Just as the sharp jolt of adrenaline was beginning to give way to a pleasant rush of exhilaration, there was a deafening pop by her left ear and a rear wheel broke away. The cart careened sideways, rolling and crashing down the hill past the blurred faces of the shocked spectators lining the street.

Allison awoke with a start and lay still for several moments, her breath coming in short, shallow pants. Beside her, Joe muttered softly and turned toward her, resting his hand on her chest. His eyes fluttered open and he eyed her quizzically in the gloom.

"That one must have been a doozy. Your heart's banging out of your chest. You okay?"

"Uh-huh." Allison swallowed thickly. "Joe?"

"Mm-hmm." Joe was already drifting back to sleep.

"Promise me something."

"Mmpph."

Allison elbowed him sharply in his ribs.

"What?"

"If any of the girls ever express an interest in doing one of those soapbox derby things? We suggest something safe, like, I don't know. Sky diving, right?"

"Mm... no problem..."

*********

Allison had given up on going back to sleep and was just sitting down with a freshly brewed cup of coffee when she realized that she had company. Seated across from her at her kitchen table was a slight, attractive woman dressed in jeans and a peach colored shell. It was difficult to tell her age. Her complexion was fair and clear, but there were long-established laugh lines around her eyes and mouth, and although her dark hair was cut in a youthful bob, it was graying at the temples. Perhaps most telling was the look of wisdom and acceptance in the warm depths of her eyes. Allison judged her to be around sixty.

During her many conversations with dead people, Allison had learned that they tend to prefer to tell her things in their own time and in their own way--which was sometimes maddeningly roundabout. Occasionally they would respond to a direct question, but more often than not, they seemed to ignore her input completely. Sometimes, they would even ask her a question, then not bother to wait for her answer. At times like these Allison realized that she was not an active participant in these conversations, but a mere conduit for passing on information from the other side.

Most times, these visitors would show up and, after two or three terse, cryptic comments, go on their way before she had a chance to fully process what they had to say. Sometimes they said nothing at all. Every once in a while though, there were the ones who would ramble on for several minutes. Oddly enough, the ramblers were no more likely to give her all the information she needed than the hit and run visitors.

The lady sitting at her kitchen table at 5:00 that morning turned out to be a rambler.

"I love this time of day, don't you?" she asked, her voice soft and melodious.

Allison yawned. "Not really. But I've had to become very familiar with it."

"It's so quiet. So peaceful. I used to love to sit in our little breakfast nook and have a cup of coffee all by myself before the kids were up for school. Just me and my coffee and the ticking of the kitchen clock. Oh..." Her voice held a faint note of disappointment. "You have one of those digital ones. Ah well."

"I may not have the clock, but I do have the coffee. You want a cup?"

Allison didn't expect an answer, but got up to pour another cup anyway. In all these years of talking with the deceased, she'd never thought to see if they were allowed to have refreshments on their visits. This seemed as good an opportunity as any to find out.

"Do you have children?" the woman asked. "Of course you do. I knew that." She frowned. "I'm not sure how I knew that."

"I'm thinking maybe the kiddie art on the fridge was a giveaway," Allison said, placing a steaming mug in front of the woman and sitting down.

"If you're not a mother, you should be. You have the hips for it."

"You know, only dead people can get away with just blurting out things like that." Allison sighed. "Well, dead people and Joe's Aunt Sybil."

"Oh, of course, I remember now," the woman said, with a snap of her fingers. "Three girls. Blond hair, just like their mom."

"Have we met before?"

The woman seemed to consider this for a moment. "No. I don't think so. No," she shook her head decisively, "we haven't met. But you know what? I think I might have been eavesdropping earlier. And your husband is absolutely right. The girls will love Disneyland. I know my Charlie did. It's the perfect time of year for a family vacation--"

"No, no. We're not going to Disneyland. Joe's company only pays for the family to travel with him once a year and we're going with him in November to his conference in Montreal."

"Montreal in November. That's very brave."

"Montreal is beautiful in November. And the girls are really looking forward to visiting their Aunt Lila and Uncle Pete--"

"Besides, Joe's not overly fond of your Uncle Pete."

"Look, lady, I much prefer the cold, clammy weather of Montreal at Thanksgiving to the crass commercialism of Disneyland over spring break."

"Do they even celebrate Thanksgiving in Canada?"

"And just for the record, Joe loves my Uncle Pete."

"Disneyland it is then." The woman nodded her head as if the decision was final, and favored Allison with a bright smile. She had the kind of smile that was almost impossible not to return; it lit up her whole face and caused her eyes to crinkle merrily at the corners.

Allison eyed her warily. "My husband put you up to this, didn't he?"

"Is Phoenix a nice place to raise children?" the woman asked, shifting abruptly to her next topic. "Big cities can be such a challenge that way. The traffic, the noise, the gangs. Of course we never had to worry about Don. He was such a good kid..." She paused for a moment, a pensive expression on her face. "You know, I never did tell Alan about the blue koi..."

"Koi?" Allison asked.

The woman ignored her and continued, "Alan and I considered moving to a small town soon after Don was born, but then Alan got a job he really loved and we bought that wonderful house. It would have broken my heart to have to leave that house. You really should see our house."

"Let me guess. It's somewhere in the vicinity of Disneyland?"

"Then Charlie came along. It's funny how that happens sometimes. We had long given up having another child. Charlie was a complete surprise. Quite a handful, but a dear, sweet handful all the same. As it turns out, staying in the L.A. area was for the best, what with Charlie's special needs and all. There we could find the right schools for him and we had access to the special tutors he needed."

She noticed the cup of coffee Allison had placed in front of her. With a small sound of surprise she wrapped her delicate hands around it. She sat silent for a minute or two, lightly running the tip of her index finger around the rim of the cup as if tempting herself, but she didn't take a sip.

"I miss my boys," she said wistfully. "I miss Alan. I miss our wonderful house."

She regarded Allison gravely. "Charlie's a good boy but he can be so absent-minded. Always in his own world." She struck the table lightly with the palm of her hand. "And he never wears that damn helmet! What are you supposed to do with a kid like that?"

"Was Charlie the boy in the go-cart?"

"Don't call it a go-cart, dear. He hates it when people do that."

Allison frowned in confusion. "But he was wearing a helmet. I saw it."

"You have to warn him. Someone wants to hurt him. I keep trying to reach his father, but he can't hear me. Why is that?" She stared intently at Allison. "How is it that you can hear me? I mean, you're a complete stranger. I was out for a walk and then I saw this light, and it was your house. It was you. And somehow I knew that you could hear me."

"Tell me how to find your son and I promise I'll warn him."

"Alan says Charlie just doesn't like wearing his helmet, but I think he would if he were reminded. Did I mention to you that he's a little absent-minded?" The woman's eyes misted with sudden tears. "Someone wants to hurt my son. Why on earth would they want to hurt him? Please warn my husband. It would kill Alan to lose Charlie, too."

Allison reached across the table to take her hand and reassure her, but in that instant, she was gone.

"Wait! Dammit! An address would be nice!" Allison dropped her head in her hands in weary frustration.

"Charlie. No last name, but he crashes go-carts." She got up and retrieved the laptop computer from the counter. "Okay, I can do this. Just how many Go-cart Charlies can there be in the L.A. area?"

**********

Over and hour later, Allison knew far more about go-carts and soapbox derbies than she ever wanted to know, but she didn't feel much closer to knowing what kind of vehicle Charlie had crashed in her dream. On the one hand, the go-carts she found online looked nothing like his sleek little car; they tended to have open carriages, whereas Charlie's car completely enclosed the occupant.

The soapbox cars looked somewhat similar, almost like an ungainly cousin to Charlie's car and, unlike the go-carts, they were engineless, which was definitely the impression she had gotten when hurtling down the hill. On the other hand, if this was a soapbox car, Charlie's father must have helped him build it, and they obviously had not consulted the rule book. Soapbox car specifications tended to be quite rigid, and Allison suspected Charlie's vehicle had a few unauthorized upgrades.

So perhaps it was a special kind of go-cart; there seemed to be far more flexibility of design with those.

In the end, what caught her eye was a website announcing a regional go-cart rally a week from Saturday in Anaheim, California. Conveniently close to Disneyland, Allison thought wryly.

She also noticed that this rally had a special division for handicapped kids aged eight to sixteen. All she had seen of Charlie was the back of his head and a glimpse of his arms as he put on his helmet and pulled the door down. It was next to impossible to guess his age with such a brief look, but she supposed he might be a teenager. She recalled the woman's comments about Charlie: special needs, special tutors. This seemed to imply that Charlie might have some sort of developmental delay. Even if Charlie were as old as his teens, the woman would have been well into her forties when he was born. This was certainly an age when there is a higher risk for giving birth to a child with birth defects and special needs.

A handful, the woman had said. A dear, sweet handful. What kind of monster would want to harm a child like that?

**********

"Joe."

"Mmph."

"Joe, wake up."

"What time is it?"

"6:30."

"I have another half-hour."

Allison stretched out on her side next to him and lay there, her nose inches from his.

Eventually, he gave in to the weight of her gaze and opened his eyes. "What?"

"I want to talk to you about something before the girls are up."

"I told you, we'll sign them up for sky-diving lessons. Go back to sleep."

"Is it too late for the girls and me to join you on your trip to California?"

Joe frowned at her. "Allison, my flight leaves tonight."

"I know, but you have meetings all weekend, right? We can fly out Monday afternoon, spend the rest of the week there."

Joe propped his head on one elbow. "I guess I could ask Sandy if she can arrange it. It probably won't be a problem. Why did you change your mind all of a sudden?"

"I had a visitor this morning. It was her suggestion."

"Let me guess. This have something to do with your dream?"

"Yeah."

Joe stared at her calmly, waiting for her to continue.

"She has this kid, Charlie. I think he's a special needs child. Somebody's going to mess with his go-cart or something. She thinks he's going to have an accident. In my dream he does."

"And this is going to happen at Disneyland?"

"Anaheim. That's near Disneyland, right?"

"Yeah."

"She give you a last name or an address?"

"No."

"These dead people. So inconsiderate."

"There's a go-cart rally in Anaheim a week from this Saturday. I think that's why she's so keen on my being there. Can we find enough things for the girls to enjoy to stay a whole week?"

"Well, considering it will take at least three days to go through Disneyland--"

"Three days? Are you serious?"

"Hey, when I was a kid, it took me a whole day just to see Tomorrowland. Which is the absolute coolest place in the world, by the way."

"Three days..."

"Then there's the beach. Bridgette and Marie have never seen the ocean. Oh! We can drive down to San Diego for a day and take in Sea World!"

"Three hot, sticky, crowded days..."

"We can maybe check out Hollywood and go on a tour of the stars' homes. Hey, you think maybe you'll run into the ghosts of some of the previous residents? Be cool if you got to see Bette Davis."

"Very funny."

"Honey, just what is it you have against Disneyland? Did you have a bad experience there or something?"

"I told you, it's hot, crowded, sticky--"

"Wait! Is it because a lot of dead people hang out there? Okay, maybe this isn't such a great idea, what with Bridgette and Ariel--"

"No, nothing like that. When I was there before I don't recall seeing a lot of tortured souls loitering around."

Joe nodded emphatically. "Damn straight. Nothing bad happens at Disneyland. No tortured souls there."

"Even so, my experience at Disneyland doesn't bring back fond memories of my childhood like yours does with you."

"I was eight when my folks took me. I had them all to myself for three whole days in this giant, magic city. When you're eight, that's a big deal."

"Sounds nice."

"How old were you?"

"Seventeen. Senior class trip."

"That explains it. Teenagers are hopelessly jaded. No way you can appreciate the joys of Disney again until you're at least fifty."

"I was bored to tears. It seemed like all we did was stand in line. And, as I said, it was hot. And sticky. And I threw up all over Tommy Wilson."

"Aw..."

"I was in love with Tommy Wilson."

"You threw up on me once and I stuck with you."

"I was pregnant with your first child. You had to stick with me."

Joe reached over and began toying with the hair that fell across her neck, his expression bittersweet.

"Are you upset that I changed my mind?" Allison asked.

"Why would I be upset? It was my idea from the beginning for you and the girls to join me on this trip."

"Yeah, and you spent a whole week trying to talk me into it. And then, when I finally give in, it's not because you wanted it, not because of the girls, but because of someone else's child."

Joe didn't answer at first, but Allison recognized a familiar look of hurt in his eyes. She marveled again at how they managed to stay married. She wasn't the easiest person to live with, and in many ways Joe had to suffer these unwelcome dreams right along with her. She'd lost count of the times she'd lashed out at him for not understanding, or, perversely, for understanding too much; and the many times he'd lashed out in frustration and impatience because of the demands made on her by people he couldn't even see. He had been honest with her in the past about how her so-called gift both frustrated and fascinated him. She counted on him to be honest with her now.

"I can't deny it, I'm a little disappointed. It kind of takes the shine off it a bit, knowing that it wasn't my eloquent sales pitch that convinced you. But when it comes right down to it, what are we supposed to do? You didn't ask to be the go-to person for the deceased."

"So you understand why I need to do this."

Joe shrugged. "Like I said, you didn't ask for it. Neither did I."

"No, you didn't."

Joe brushed her hair back behind her ear and cupped her cheek in his hand. "It's okay. I'm okay with this."

"Thanks."

"Besides. The girls get a trip to Disneyland out of it."

"Yeah. Joe, are you sure it takes three days?"

************

Disneyland wasn't nearly as bad as Allison remembered. It helped that it wasn't hot and miserable. Instead, it was one of those pleasant April days, punctuated by the occasional cool sprinkle of rain. It also helped that on this trip she had a husband to do most of the standing in line while she and Marie sat people-watching nearby. She glanced over at the long, switchback line for Space Mountain to check on Joe and the girls' progress. They were about a third of the way there.

All in all, this had been pretty nice so far. Her husband was having a blast. His only disappointment had been that the animatronic Abraham Lincoln was down for repairs. Allison had assured him that she didn't mind and that, for a person who already spent a great deal of time listening to dead people talk, this wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

Bridgette, of course, was in heaven. It was Ariel that Allison had been a little worried about. She had been afraid that her nine-year old daughter, who was approaching her pre-teen years ahead of the curve in terms of unpredictable moodiness, might be less enthusiastic. Allison was delighted that Ariel seemed to be just as psyched to be here as her kid sister.

Allison wondered if Ariel was truly having as much fun as she seemed to be having, or if this was another example of her unique sensitivity to her father's feelings. She had certainly fooled them once before, when she pretended to be exceptionally responsive to her dad's tutoring in math. She hadn't really known the answers to all those problems; she had just been reading the ones he provided silently, in his head. Ariel had only wanted to please him, but when the truth became known that not only had she not inherited the math-whiz gene from her father, but rather the psychic gene from her mother, she was almost inconsolable at having disappointed Joe.

Allison smiled down at Marie in her stroller. The toddler had long since lost interest in her people watching and was now gravely studying the Goofy plush toy she held in her pudgy hands.

"What about you, little lady? What sort of surprise do you have in store for your dad? I have to tell you, kiddo, living with three psychics is bad enough. Four might just put him over the edge."

"Allison!"

Allison looked up to see that Joe had abandoned the Space Mountain queue and was now striding quickly toward her, girls in tow, a panicked expression on his face. He was having to tug a little at Bridgette's hand, as she was lagging a bit, carrying on an animated conversation with a lady following just behind them. It was Charlie's mom.

"Allison, what's going on?" he demanded when they reached the bench where she was sitting.

"Well, uh..."

"Mom, tell Bridgette to stop talking to dead people in public," hissed Ariel, "she's freaking Dad out!"

"I am not!" Bridgette protested.

"Yeah, actually, honey, you are freaking me out a little bit." Joe ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"Missus Eppes isn't a dead person," Bridgette turned to her new friend for support. "She's--" Her eyes widened in surprise to find that the woman was no longer there. "Oh."

"Bridgette?" Allison reached up and swiveled her daughter's face toward her. "You're not supposed to talk to strangers, dead or not. Got that? Although the dead ones are probably more harmless than the live ones."

Joe seemed unimpressed with Allison's attempt at humor. "This is weird," he said, shaking his head. "One minute we're standing there talking about what we're going to have for lunch, the next minute my daughter's carrying on a conversation with someone who's not there."

"This isn't something new, Joe. You know she's done this before."

"Yeah, but I've never been there to see it."

"I didn't mean to scare you, Daddy," Bridgette said.

"It's okay, Bridge. You didn't scare me. You just--"

"--freaked him out," Ariel muttered.

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Girls, stop. It's okay. Honest. I'm fine." Joe sighed and took a seat on the bench next to Allison.

"Bridgette, you called her Mrs. Eppes. That's the name of the woman you were talking to?" Allison asked.

"Uh-huh."

"How do you know that?"

"I asked her."

Allison sighed. "Of course. Why didn't I think of that?"

"She has a boy named Charlie. She said he's really good at math." Bridgette grinned at her father. "Just like Daddy."

"She did?"

"No, that's not what she said," Ariel said disdainfully. "She said Charlie had to have special tutors for math. Dad never had to have special tutors, did he, Mom?"

"Actually, I did need help with spelling." Joe leaned back on the park bench and rubbed his hands over his eyes.

Allison patted him on the knee. He looked tired and utterly deflated. If he could just bear with her a little longer, she might have the whole Charlie problem sorted out and they could continue with their vacation, uninterrupted.

"Bridgette?"

"Uh-huh?" Bridgette had climbed up to sit on her dad's other side and was giving his shoulder a tentative pat.

"I don't suppose you got an address?"

*********

"Passteena," Bridgette had said.

In the city of Pasadena, there was one A. Epps and one Alan Eppes.

Epps, A., informed her that he had no children and was not interested in buying anything, thank you very much. Eppes, Alan's answering machine informed her politely enough that neither Alan nor Charlie could come to the phone but promptly cut her off before she got her first sentence out.

She left Joe at the hotel pool with the girls and a promise she would return with the rental car long before they began clamoring for dinner. After a few wrong turns, she managed to find her way to the address of a beautiful Craftsman-style house where Alan and Charlie lived. It was exactly the sort of house that would have brought sentimental tears to the eyes of the late Mrs. Eppes.

A kind looking man with a nicely weathered face answered the door. Like his wife, he looked to be in his sixties, which lent further support to Allison's theory that Charlie was a late-life child.

"I'm looking for Alan Eppes."

"You got him," he said pleasantly.

"Mr. Eppes, my name is Allison Dubois."

Allison was always hesitant to allow herself to open up and receive the emotions and thoughts of strangers when she shook hands with them. She'd had many nasty surprises over the years. This time, however, the moment she offered her hand and Alan Eppes accepted it in his large, calloused one, she was blanketed with a sense of well being, and she knew this was a man of warmth, intelligence and extraordinary good humor. Just beneath the surface she recognized the persistent, dull ache of a recent loss, but despite that, looking inside this man's heart was a comforting experience. He released her hand and she was left, inexplicably, with the lingering scent of pot roast. She entertained a brief, traitorous wish that she could have known what it was like to grow up with Alan Eppes as her father.

"Oh! Are you the lady who left a message on our answering machine? I'm sorry, that thing's been acting up, I could barely make out what you said. And for some reason our caller ID didn't register your number or I would have tried to call you back."

"You have a son named Charlie, right?"

"Yes I do. What's this about? Charlie's not in some kind of trouble is he?" The man's grin suggested the only trouble he was accustomed to seeing from his son was the kind that provided him with ample ammunition for affectionate paternal teasing.

"No," Allison reassured him, "I'm sure he's not. Is he still at school?"

The man shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose so. Or he might be with his brother."

"Mr. Eppes, perhaps I could have a few words with you about Charlie before he gets home."

"Please, call me Alan. Won't you come in... Allison, is it? How do you know my son?"

Allison stepped into a beautiful home that was every bit as warm and inviting as its owner. It was slightly cluttered but welcoming, in that way certain homes are when the residents value sentiment over decor, comfort over fashion. A large cockatoo eyed her curiously from a cage near the dining room.

"I don't actually know him. This is a little hard to explain, but, does your son race go-carts?"

"Go-carts?" Alan chuckled. "Well, don't let him hear you call it that, but I suppose so. Sort of. He has this exhibition tomorrow. I guess you could call it a race. It's supposed to be a big deal."

"I have reason to believe he could be involved in an accident involving this go-cart. I think it could be unsafe."

"Miss, I assure you, Charlie's go-cart, as you call it, is perfectly safe. Have you seen that thing? Space-age design and solid as a rock."

"I still think you should check it out. I'm afraid something's going to happen."

Alan's eyes narrowed. "You seem like a nice enough young lady, Miss Dubois, but if this is a joke, or worse, some sort of veiled threat from the competition--"

"Competition? No! You misunderstand me. I would never threaten your son." She stared at him. "You mean, people in these races actually do that kind of thing?"

Allison had expected to have to spend some time trying to convince Charlie's father that someone could consider harming a boy by tampering with his go-cart, but he seemed to have already leapt to that unlikely conclusion. "Man," she muttered, "these things must be more cutthroat than I thought."

Alan continued to eye her warily.

"Oh, this is not going well." Allison sighed. "Listen, Mr. Eppes. Alan. I know things. It doesn't matter how I know, but I do. Just please promise me that you'll check out the go-cart thoroughly for safety before you let your son go anywhere near it. Pay special attention to the rear left wheel. If you can talk him out of going to this race, that would be even better."

"Who wants him out of the exhibition?" Alan asked, his voice taking on a faintly accusing edge. "Are you implying that Charlie's EGV has been sabotaged?"

"EGV?"

"Go-cart," he clarified curtly.

Sabotage seemed an overly dramatic word to apply to the fixing of a youngster's go-cart race, but Allison recalled her dream of the spectacular crash after the failure of the left rear wheel and Mrs. Eppes' insistence that someone meant to harm her son. She wondered how she was going to confirm that sabotage might indeed be the right word for this, without telling Alan that it was his late wife who suggested it in the first place.

"That's what it is, isn't it? One of the other teams is going to try to sabotage the exhibition."

Allison shrugged helplessly in response.

"How did you come by this information?" Alan persisted.

"That's a little difficult to explain. I just..." Allison faltered, realizing how lame she was going to sound. "I just know things."

"You just know things," he prompted.

"Yes. I know things." She tilted her chin defiantly. "I know, for example, the brisket you're planning on having for dinner is going to be a little underdone because you forgot to turn on the oven."

With a perplexed frown, Alan glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen.

"I know that right before I rang your doorbell," Allison continued, "you were just getting ready to call your son, Don, to see if he's ever going to return your favorite dress shirt."

"What...?"

"I also know that the hyacinths should be in bloom and you're upset with yourself because you forgot to replant them last fall."

The fleeting look of sorrow that passed over Alan's face caused Allison to hesitate before treading so closely to the source of his pain.

"They were your wife's favorite."

"You knew Margaret?" His look of confusion gave way to a small, sad smile. His eyes were wistful and seemed to be inviting her to share a story, any small morsel that he could add to a collection of cherished memories.

Allison hated to disappoint him, but somehow she doubted that an anecdote about having a conversation with his dead wife over morning coffee was what he needed right now. "I met her a couple of times," she told him simply. "She seemed like a very nice woman."

Just then, the front door opened and a slightly built young man dressed in a baggy, unbuttoned shirt over a mismatched T-shirt and slacks strode in and dumped a leather satchel on the floor by the front window.

Alan's face brightened. "Here's Charlie now."

Allison recognized the dark mop of hair from her dream. What she didn't expect to see was Mrs. Eppes' boy sporting a five o'clock shadow.

Charlie stopped in his tracks and returned her startled stare with a crooked grin. "What?"

"Somehow I pictured you as younger."

"Younger?" Charlie and his father exchanged amused looks. "That's a new one," Charlie said. "I don't usually get that."

"Yeah, well, psychic vision isn't exactly 20-20," Allison muttered under her breath.

"Charlie, this is Allison Dubois. She's worried that you're going to have an accident with your go-cart."

"Dad, do you mind?" Charlie's tone was equal parts affection and annoyance. "It's an Extreme Gravity Vehicle," he informed Allison as he stepped forward and offered his hand. Allison accepted it and was struck by a wave of impressions that were both pleasantly familiar and awesomely disturbing.

The sensations that washed over her were reminiscent of those she felt when she snuggled next to Joe during those times when his mind was elsewhere, worrying away at a particularly complex problem from work. This was like that comforting rush of numbers and shapes and designs, but it was more than that: more vibrant and electric, as if she were standing in a huge field surrounded by patterns made up of numbers and symbols which flowed from other patterns and spiraled in on themselves like the walls of a great seashell...

Allison blinked to steady herself and struggled to refocus her gaze on the young man holding her hand. Just before she fainted she saw him as he would be: his face bloody and battered, a ragged gash running across his forehead, his dark eyes flat and lifeless...

*********

Allison awoke to find herself gazing up at two pair of concerned brown eyes and two identically lopsided grins.

"I'm so sorry," she said, rubbing her hand across her eyes, "How long was I out?"

"Long enough for me to go turn the oven on," Alan said. "Oh, by the way, Charlie, dinner's going to be a little late tonight."

Allison sighed and sat up. Charlie perched on the arm of a nearby chair and Alan settled onto the sofa next to her.

"Wow." Allison favored Charlie with a wan smile. "Are you, like, really, really smart or something?"

"Huh?"

Alan nodded in solemn agreement. "Yes, Charlie is, like, really, really smart." He winked at his son. "Or something."

"I'm just not used to being bombarded like that. Your head's so full of.... stuff..."

"Thanks. I guess. Are you okay?" Charlie peered at her curiously. Allison noted that he had inherited his father's kind, expressive eyes.

"I'm fine, really. This happens sometimes."

"Oh, here." Alan handed her a glass of water. "I got you this while I was in the kitchen tending to my dinner."

"Thanks."

"So, tell me, Allison," Alan said, "are you, like, really, really psychic or something? 'Cause I'm telling you, that trick with the brisket was pretty impressive."

"It's not a trick," Allison muttered. "More like a curse."

"You know, there's a lot of scientific evidence supporting psychic phenomena." Charlie leaned forward, his expression one of earnest, academic interest. "After all, brain activity emits measurable energy, and, on the receiving end, the brain is also a transducer of sorts. Someone who's a particularly sensitive receiver could--"

"So you're a mind-reader?" Alan said, interrupting his son's lecture.

"Not exactly. I just sometimes get impressions from people. And I have dreams where I see things."

"So you're clairvoyant? You see the future?"

"No, Dad," Charlie corrected him, "you're thinking of precognition. A clairvoyant senses things that no one else can sense and knows things that happen without being there to see it."

"Oh yeah, I always get those two confused."

"Look, guys, it doesn't really matter. You don't have to humor me with your discourse on paranormal terminology. In fact, it doesn't even matter whether or not you believe a word I've said. You can think I'm nuts for all I care. What does matter is that I've put the idea in your head that you shouldn't go through with this race unless you're absolutely certain that your little car--sorry, what do you call it again?"

"Extreme Gravity Vehicle."

"Yeah. That extreme car thingy. You won't go through with this race unless you're absolutely certain nothing can go wrong."

"Well, it's not exactly a race," Charlie said. "It's more of an exhibition with several teams from across the country demonstrating their EGVs. Although, the whole point is to be the fastest one, so in that sense, I guess it is a race."

"Whatever it is--"

"Trust me, nothing's going to go wrong. I helped design and build this thing. I've tested and retested it. It's perfect."

"I don't care if it's perfect! Just promise me you'll go over it with a fine-toothed comb." Allison turned to Alan for support. "Make him promise, Alan."

"He promises."

Allison knew, from the earnest expression on his face that he would see to it.

"Good." Allison carefully placed her glass of water atop a coaster on the coffee table and glanced at her watch. "Ohmigod, Joe's going to be furious with me! I left the poor guy alone with the girls at the hotel pool." She stood to go.

"Wait!" Charlie held out a hand to stop her. "I came in half-way through all this and I still feel out of the loop." He frowned at Alan. "She's saying that my EGV has been tampered with? By who?"

"She's saying we definitely should look into that possibility and she doesn't know who. Look, Charlie, Don's always after you to tighten up the security on that thing. Maybe he's not just being paranoid. It certainly wouldn't hurt to check it out."

"Pay special attention to the rear left wheel," Allison reminded him. She stepped past Charlie and was halfway to the door before she stopped in her tracks. "Oh! I almost forgot the most important thing!" She turned back and pointed a finger at Charlie as if she were going to scold him. "Don't forget your helmet! Make sure he doesn't forget, Alan."

Charlie looked insulted. "I won't forget the helmet. I never forget the helmet."

"Yes, you do," Allison insisted.

"Uh, no, I don't," Charlie countered firmly. "I guess you're not as good a psychic as you thought. I always wear the helmet. I have to. It's part of the design. In fact, it's figured right into the aerodynamic equation."

"Well," Allison admitted, "you did have a helmet on in my dream." She frowned in confusion. "That's so weird. I wonder why your mother kept going on about the helmet?"

Alan gave her a sharp look. "Who?"

"Pardon?"

"Who did you say kept going on about the helmet?"

"Oh..." Allison paused, flustered. "Uh, nobody. Just... somebody else. I must have your dream mixed up with another person's. I really should go."

"Allison?" Alan's gentle voice stopped her before she turned again to the door.

"Yes?"

"My wife? You said you met my wife."

Without meeting his eyes, Allison gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Alan leaned in to study her face. "Recently?" he asked softly.

Allison forced herself to meet his steady gaze.

"You're a kind man, Mr. Eppes. I knew that the instant I met you. Most people who find themselves faced with a crazy woman in their living room, disrupting their peaceful afternoon and spouting dire warnings about their son's safety would have shown that woman the door by now. Or called the police. But not you. You don't even seem particularly annoyed with me. In fact, I sense that you're more concerned about whether or not I can be trusted to drive."

"Well," Alan admitted, "I was thinking of offering you a ride."

"My point is, I've said what I came to say. There's no need to complicate matters by reopening the wounds of a recent loss."

"Wait." Charlie stepped forward and tentatively touched her arm. "I don't understand. When did you talk to Mom?"

Charlie's expression was one of such longing and heartbreak that she was reminded again of the reason why she avoided, whenever possible, telling people of her encounters with their dead loved ones.

"What did she say?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

"She loves you, Charlie. She wants you to be safe. I'm sorry, that's all I know to tell you. I really have to go now."

"Allison, is there someplace we can reach you? In case we have questions," Alan asked.

"If anything else comes to me, I'll be in touch, I promise. Just be careful, Charlie," she admonished, stepping to the door. "Now, please, I really have to get back to my family. Did you know it takes more than one day to go through Disneyland? I didn't know that."

Alan hurried forward to open the door for her. "Thank you for dropping by, Allison," he said, giving her a bemused smile.

She turned back one more time with a firm reminder. "The helmet, Alan. Don't let him forget the helmet."

**********

Charlie's EGV was kept in a remote garage off the east wing of the mechanical engineering department. Don arrived just as Jeff Martindale, one of the engineers on Charlie's design team, was leaving, his face somber.

"Hey, Jeff, what's up?" Don asked.

"Two and a half years of hard work, that's what's up," the young man replied bitterly as he brushed past Don.

Don frowned after Jeff's retreating figure then stepped into the large, brightly lit garage. Charlie's EGV was sitting on a massive worktable in one corner, looking oddly forlorn with its back wheels removed and rear axle dismantled. Charlie stood to one side of the table, his shoulders slumped, staring dejectedly at a set of equations written on a large dry erase board a few feet away. Alan leaned against a small counter nearby, looking tired and somewhat pale in the harsh lighting.

"Hey, guys." Don walked over to stand next to Charlie. "I got your message to meet you here. What's going on?"

"Charlie's EGV has been tampered with," Alan answered quietly.

"What do you mean tampered with?"

"The internal rear axle rod." Charlie turned to pluck a long, slender rod from the worktable and pointed to a tiny notch on its surface just to the left of center. Don noted with concern that his brother's hands were trembling.

Don took the rod from him. "What am I looking at here, Charlie?"

"This is part of an assembly that fits inside the rear axle and spins in opposition to the wheels, damping perturbations at high speeds. This rod is what made our design special." Charlie shook his head sadly. "No one else had it."

"I take it that little notch isn't supposed to be there," Don said.

"No. That little notch is just enough to throw off the balance of the rear wheels." Charlie pointed to the first of three long equations on the board, the fine tremor in his hand still visible . "At slower speeds, there's no noticeable effect." He pointed to the second equation. "At speeds approaching fifty miles per hour, perturbations set in and the two rear wheels are forced out of sync." He pointed to the third equation. "At approximately fifty-five miles per hour one of the rear wheels snaps off. Most likely the left one, given the position of the notch."

Behind them, Alan cursed softly.

Don turned to examine his father's ashen face. "You okay, Dad?" he asked.

Alan shook his head. "Your brother's reaction to something like this is to think up equations. My reaction is to conjure up images of him hurtling down a steep hill in that death trap," he said, with a sharp nod toward the damaged EGV.

Charlie took the slender rod from Don's hand. "My team and I have been working up to this for over two years," he said bitterly. "Cal-Sci is hosting this event because *we* were expected to be the best. And now this." He hurled the rod forcefully across the garage where it landed with a metallic clank.

"Come on, Charlie, take it easy." Don placed a soothing hand on his brother's arm. "You know, if we're talking about tampering here, we need to be careful with the evidence."

Charlie roughly pulled away and strode to the dry erase board. Grabbing a marker, he held it poised over the last equation as if trying to work out a new one that could undo the damage.

"Is this something you can fix?" Don asked gently.

Charlie didn't answer for a long time. Finally he sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "No. Not in time for tomorrow." He put down the marker and turned back to face Don. "It's not like we have a spare one of those rods lying around. It took weeks to get this one properly calibrated."

"I'm sorry, son," Alan said. "I know how much this meant to you."

Charlie offered his father a weak smile. "Thanks, Dad."

"Charlie, you said it was tampered with," Don said. "Are you sure this couldn't have been damaged in one of your test runs?"

Charlie shook his head emphatically. "No. There's no damage to the external axle. Someone had to have removed the rod, crimped it, then replaced it without our knowledge."

Don recalled the many times he had teased his brother about the need to increase security on his pet project, going so far as to joke about extreme gravity espionage. Charlie had been good-natured about the ribbing, but now Don wished that his brother had taken him seriously. As distraught as Charlie was about having to withdraw from the exhibition, Alan's troubled expression brought home the fact that this all could have ended very badly.

"Okay, Charlie," Don said. "First things first. We need to figure out who's behind this. Maybe someone from the competition?"

"That was my first thought," Alan agreed.

Charlie chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. Finally, he shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, I find that really hard to believe. This is a very small community we're talking about here. I know most of the people on the other teams. Even the corporate teams. They're colleagues. Some of them are friends."

Don placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Charlie, you may not want to think any of these people are capable of this, but someone obviously wanted you out of the competition."

"Your brother's right, Charlie," Alan said. "Whoever did this knew exactly how to disable your EGV in such a way that you wouldn't have discovered it until too late. I hate to think what would have happened if--"

"Wait." Don held up a hand to interrupt Alan. "Charlie, are you saying this problem wouldn't have shown up in a pre-run checklist?"

"No." Charlie motioned to the worktable. "The only way to know the inner rod was damaged was to dismantle the rear axle and examine it."

"Or to take a run down a steep hill and crash," Alan added hollowly.

"When was the last time you did a test run, Charlie?" Don asked.

"Last Saturday."

"And it was fine?"

"It was perfect."

"So between last Saturday and today, someone messed with it." Don shook his head in confusion. "I don't get it. Why did you decide to dismantle the rear axle? What made you suspect a problem to begin with?"

Alan and Charlie exchanged a look he couldn't read.

"What?" Don asked.

"We have Allison Dubois to thank for that," Alan said.

"Who?"

"She's a young woman who showed up at our doorstep this afternoon. She warned me that my son might have an accident with his go-cart." Alan winked at Charlie.

"Go-cart?" Don couldn't keep the hint of amusement out of his voice.

"I wish people would stop calling it that," Charlie muttered.

"She was a very polite young woman," Alan continued. "A little peculiar, but polite."

"Polite?" Don's eyes narrowed. "Dad, did you happen to ask this polite young woman how she came by this information?"

"Of course I did, Don." Alan looked insulted.

"And?"

Alan shrugged. "She's psychic."

"Yeah, right." Don snorted. He waited for his father to elaborate on this bizarre comment. Alan's expression remained impassive.

"Come on, Dad. You're kidding me, right?" Don turned to his brother. "Charlie?"

Charlie shrugged. "She knew stuff."

Don gaped at the two of them in disbelief. "I feel like I just walked into the twilight zone. So, what...she claimed this came to her in a vision or something?"

"She said she gets impressions. She has dreams." Alan nodded toward the EGV on the worktable. "She said she knows things."

"Dad, she knows things because she's involved somehow," Don exclaimed. "At the very least she knows the person who did this!"

Alan shook his head. "I'm not so sure, Don."

"Oh, come on, Dad!" Don stared at Alan, unwilling to believe that his father could be duped by an obvious con artist.

"Son, I'm telling you, she knew about other stuff, too," Alan said seriously.

Don looked skeptical. "Like what?"

"The brisket," Charlie interjected. "Tell him about the brisket, Dad."

"She told me I forgot to turn on the oven when I put in the brisket." Alan held up a finger to make his point. "She was right."

"She could have been spying on you from the back porch," Don reasoned.

"Maybe. But that doesn't explain how she knew I was getting ready to call you about my dress shirt. I need that back, by the way, I've got an awards banquet next week--"

"Dad, she could have known about the awards banquet," Don interrupted. "These people have ways of finding out things about their marks."

"Yeah, well, you didn't know about the awards banquet. And how did she know that I was getting ready to call you about that shirt right when she came to the door. I had the phone in my hand set to dial--"

Don threw up his hands. "I don't know, Dad. I just know that these people can be very devious."

"She also knew about my being upset that I forgot to plant your mother's hyacinths. She knew they were Margaret's favorite."

Don frowned. "She said she knew Mom?"

"You know, Dad, she wasn't right about everything," Charlie remarked. "She said that mom told me not to forget the helmet. But I always wear the helmet because it's part of the aerodynamic equa--"

"Wait. Wait." Don held up his hands as if for a time out. "Are you saying she claimed to have talked to mom?"

Once again, Alan and Charlie exchanged unreadable looks.

"She sort of implied it," Alan admitted.

"When?" Don demanded.

"You mean, when did she talk to your mother?" Alan asked.

Don nodded curtly.

"She didn't say exactly, but I think it was fairly recent," Alan said evenly.

Don stared at his father in disbelief. "Dad, how can you--?" Before he could say something hurtful, he stopped himself. Shaking his head, he turned away and stalked to the far end of the worktable. He stood, leaning on the table, taking deep breaths to try to calm his anger.

"Donnie, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking this woman used your mother's memory to try to get to your brother and me, and you're pissed as hell about it--"

"You're damn right, I'm pissed as hell!" Don rounded on them. "Dad, you don't understand how these people work. They're like vultures, they prey on people's grief. They find out everything they can about someone and they use that information against them--"

"Don?" Charlie interrupted hesitantly. "I don't think she meant to tell us about talking to mom. I got the impression that she accidentally let it slip."

The look on Charlie's face brought Don up short. His brother's expression was such a naked mix of hope and desperation, it was like a dash of cold water on his red-hot anger. Allison Dubois must have been very persuasive indeed to convince Charlie of something he couldn't prove with one of his equations. Or perhaps it had nothing to do with Allison Dubois' persuasiveness. Perhaps Charlie's love for their mother was stronger than his sense of logic. In any case, this woman had gone right to the heart of his brother's vulnerability and Don wanted to make her pay for it.

"Charlie, do you hear what you're saying?" he asked gently. "There was nothing accidental about this. This woman had you pegged from the start."

Charlie didn't respond. Instead, the hopeful look was replaced by the dark frown his father often referred to as the 'brood'. With a familiar, stubborn set to his jaw, he turned away from Don and stared blankly at the EGV on the table.

"Ah, Charlie. I didn't mean..." Don stopped, letting his words hang in the air.

Alan pushed away from the counter and walked over Don. "Son, if this woman wanted an easy mark, don't you think she'd have chosen someone besides me or Charlie?"

"Oh, come on, Dad. You are *such* an easy mark. Remember your contribution to buy uniforms for that little league team last year?"

"What was wrong with that?"

"The team didn't exist, Dad!"

"Oh, that one..." Alan frowned.

"Yeah, that one."

Alan shook his head. "No, son, that's not what I meant by easy mark." He examined Don's face intently. "Don't you think, if she went to so much trouble to find out about your brother and me, Allison would have known that I have another son who's an FBI agent? That doesn't sound like an easy mark to me."

Don thought about that for a moment. It did seem unlikely that if Allison were a professional con artist, she would have targeted the family of an FBI agent.

He shook his head. "I don't know, Dad. But that brings up another point. If she's such a great psychic, how come she *didn't* know I was FBI?"

"Maybe she did know and it didn't matter because she just wanted to warn us." Alan shrugged. "Maybe she didn't know. In any case, if her information was a little incomplete, I have the feeling it's because she doesn't always get the entire picture in her dreams." Alan checked to see if Charlie was looking, then turned back to Don and surreptitiously mouthed 'go-cart'.

Don smiled fondly at his father. From past experience, he knew he could count on Alan to see the best in people. He also knew he could count on his father to take his oldest son down a peg or two when he got too full of himself. Nonetheless, he wasn't going to let this Dubois woman take advantage of his family.

"Dad, I know you're grateful to this woman for saving Charlie's life," Don said, his tone serious. "But you do understand that I have to run a background check on her anyway, right? And if she's working some kind of angle--"

"Don, I'm not saying you shouldn't check this lady out," Alan hurried to say. "Go. Do whatever you have to do to get to the bottom of this."

"I intend to."

"In fact, I'll tell you everything I know about her to get you started. Her name is Allison Dubois. I think she might be from out of town, visiting Disneyland with her husband Joe, and her kids."

"You found out quite a bit about her." Don gave his father a bemused smile. "What? Did you guys discuss all this over tea or something?'

"No, she just tended to ramble a bit toward the end. My point is, Don, I'll be really surprised if you find Allison Dubois is anything other than who she appears to be." Alan looked into Don's eyes, his expression serious. "I liked her, Don. There was something very honest and sincere about her."

Don returned his father's earnest gaze. "So you believed her."

Alan hesitated. "I'm not saying I believed her exactly. I'm just saying I think she was being honest with us."

"Dad, that doesn't make a lot of sense."

"Just try to keep an open mind, son."

Don sighed. "Okay. I'll try."

He turned to Charlie who was still standing a few feet away, staring pensively at his damaged EGV. "Charlie, I need to make a few calls. I'll need to talk to campus security, get a list of everyone who had access to this garage. I also need a list of all the participants in tomorrow's exhibition."

When his brother didn't respond, Don said, a little more firmly, "Charlie? Did you hear me?"

"Yeah," Charlie said absently. He looked up at Don and frowned as if he'd forgotten he was there. "What?"

"Do you have a list of the exhibition participants?" Don repeated.

"Yeah." Charlie nodded. "I've got a list on my laptop. It's in Dad's car." He headed toward the garage exit.

"You going to be okay?" Don asked.

"Yeah. I'm good." Charlie's smile was a little weak, but he managed to pat Don's shoulder reassuringly as he walked by.

Don watched him leave, then turned to his father. "Dad, why don't you go on home? I'll give Charlie a ride as soon as we're done here."

"I think I will." Alan sighed. "This has been a very tiring day." Alan placed his hand on Don's shoulder. "Thanks, Donnie. Not just for investigating and everything, but for..." He hesitated.

"For what?"

"For understanding."

Don looked into Alan's warm eyes and knew that his father, as always, could read him like a book. He felt the need to say it anyway. "It's okay, Dad. I miss her, too."

"I know you do." Alan threw his arm over his son's shoulder and the two of them headed for the exit.

"Say, what's this about an awards banquet?" Don asked.

"City Little League Association." Alan smiled proudly. "I'm getting the award for booster of the year."

*********

Twenty-four hours later, Don was somewhat more inclined to keep open mind about Allison Dubois than he had been before. His background check on her and her husband had turned up little of note, except for that one phone call to the Phoenix District Attorney's office. That phone call had been very interesting.

A plump, tow-headed girl wearing Little Mermaid pajamas and sporting a pair of Mickey Mouse ears answered the door when Don came to call at the Dubois' hotel suite. She stared up at him without speaking.

Don broke the silence. "Hi, sweetheart. Is your mom here?"

"I'm not allowed to talk to strangers," she informed him solemnly. "Not even dead ones."

While Don puzzled over this odd comment, a harried-looking woman with hair the exact shade as her young daughter appeared at the door.

"Allison Dubois?"

"Yes? Bridgette, go finish getting ready for bed, honey."

"Daddy! There's a man with a suit at the door!"

She smiled as if she recognized him. "You're Alan's other son. Don, is it?"

"That's right. How did you know? Oh, yeah, right. Guess it comes in handy being psychic and all." Don showed her his bureau ID. "Didn't even have to flash my badge."

"And yet you just did."

"Sorry. Force of habit."

"I don't think that's it at all," she said pleasantly. "I think you showed me your badge because you wanted me to know from the get-go that you're not the kind of guy who falls for any old psychic story."

"Let's just say I think it's important you know that I'm the kind of person who's paid to be skeptical," Don said, pocketing his ID.

Allison glanced over her shoulder, then stepped out into the hall to speak with him.

"You must be a little psychic yourself. You certainly didn't have much trouble finding us."

"Allison Dubois visiting Disneyland with Joe and the girls. Didn't take long to run a check of the guest lists of the hotels in the area. Is there a reason you didn't want me to track you down?"

"My family's here on vacation, Agent Eppes. This so-called gift of mine disrupts our lives often enough as it is. To be honest with you, I was hoping that after a quick visit with your father, I'd have done my duty by your family and I could get back to being a mother to mine."

"Done your duty by my family? That's a curious choice of words."

A look of irritation passed over the woman's face and she appeared ready to offer a retort when a man with shaggy, sandy-colored hair appeared at the door.

"Allison? Who is it?"

"Joe, this is Don Eppes. Charlie's brother."

"The kid you went to see about yesterday afternoon? You said you convinced him and his dad to check out the go-cart, right?" Joe shook hands with Don. "Did everything turn out okay with your brother?"

Don chose his words carefully. "I'm pretty sure your wife's information saved Charlie's life. But I do have a couple of questions I wanted to ask you."

"As luck would have it, Charlie's brother is with the FBI," Allison said. "I think he's a little suspicious about how I came by my information." Don detected a hint of defiance in her tone.

"That's understandable," Joe said with a wry grin.

"Just whose side are you on?"

"I'm on your side, honey. I'm just saying--"

"I know, I know." Allison sighed and gave Don a small, resigned smile. "I'm used to skeptics, Agent Eppes. Skeptical is fine as long as your brother's okay."

From the other side of the door came the faint sounds of a pint-sized skirmish. Joe stepped back into the suite and called, "Okay, guys, put the souvenirs away, it's time for bed."

"Look," Allison said, gesturing inside, "why don't you come in? I'll try to answer whatever questions you have. Just give us a couple of minutes to get the girls settled."

Don stepped into the small but comfortable suite Aerodytech had provided for the scientist and his family during their stay in L.A. Joe ushered his two protesting daughters into a smaller bedroom off to the side while Allison offered Don a seat in a sitting area in the main room.

"Would you like a soda or something? I think we have ice here somewhere."

"No, that's all right. I won't stay long. I know you must be tired from your long day."

"I'm exhausted," Allison said, settling into the loveseat across from him. "Spending the day chasing after four kids will really take it out of you."

"I thought you only had three children."

Allison raised her eyebrows in surprise. "I see you've done your research on me, Agent Eppes."

"I'm just trying to find out what the connection is between you and my brother."

"There's no connection. And, the fourth kid I was referring to is my husband."

"Hey!" Joe closed the door to his daughters' room and took a seat next to his wife. "I behaved myself."

"So," Allison said, "I take it you found that the EGV was tampered with."

"Yes," Don nodded. "The damage was to a special rod inside the rear axle. It took a little closer examination than just the routine checklist, so he might not have found it if you hadn't warned him."

"EGV? Wait." Joe leaned forward in his seat. "Eppes? Your brother is Charles Eppes? Allison, are you telling me that your Go-Cart Charlie is *the* Charles Eppes?"

"It's not a go-cart." Allison sighed. "He hates it when you call it a go-cart."

"Well... yeah! Of course he hates it! Allison, do you realize what he and his team at Cal-Sci have developed? This is cutting edge aerodynamic design."

"It was pretty spiffy looking," Allison admitted.

"When did you see Charlie's EGV?" Don asked.

"Last week, in a dream."

"So, you predicted that Charlie would crash the EGV in a dream?"

"That's right." Her forthright gaze seemed to offer an unspoken challenge.

Joe burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Don asked.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Eppes," Joe said when he got himself under control, "but you have to realize, my wife spent most of the morning after she had that dream trying to track down your brother by searching the soapbox and go-cart rally websites."

"Yeah, well, I happen to be married to a rocket scientist, remember? If one of our girls entered one of those derbies and you helped her build her car, I could imagine it ending up looking a lot more like Charlie's EGV than a soapbox."

"That's really sweet of you, honey, but you have to admit this is pretty ironic." He grinned at Don. "Usually my wife describes her dreams to me in great detail."

"I made a conscious choice not to bother you with the details this time. We're on vacation, remember?"

"I know, but this happened to be the one time I could have actually helped you interpret the darn thing!" Joe ticked off his points on his fingers, "I know what an EGV is, I certainly know who Charles Eppes is, and I also happen to know that an exhibition of the top EGV designs in the country took place this afternoon. Here. In L.A. You realize, of course, you could have taken care of this whole thing with a phone call from Phoenix."

Allison glowered at him.

Unfazed, Joe continued, "But then, Bridgette would never have realized her destiny as a Mouseketeer."

Allison shook her head. "We probably would have had to make the trip anyway. I'm not sure Charlie would have believed me over the phone. Even face to face it took a lot of convincing."

"So, you knew about this exhibition, Joe?" Don asked.

"Sure."

"Charlie said it was a big deal," Don said, "but I had no idea they were talking about it all the way down in Phoenix."

"Are you kidding? Every major car manufacturer in the country was watching this exhibition with an eye to the future of the next generation of automobiles. It even caught the attention of the odds makers in Vegas."

"I didn't realize that," Don said, genuinely surprised.

"So, did he fix the problem?" Joe asked. "Was he able to participate in the exhibition?"

"Unfortunately, it wasn't just a matter of tightening a few loose bolts. According to Charlie, the balance was really screwed up or something. Whoever did it knew what he was doing. The Cal-Sci team withdrew."

"Darn," Joe said.

"Did you have a personal stake in this or something?"

"Not really," Joe shrugged. "It's just that I work for an aerospace engineering company. Bunch of science geeks with a friendly betting pool going. Your brother was favored to win two to one. Guess I can kiss that ten bucks good-bye."

"You bet our daughters' college fund on a race?" Allison gave her husband a light backhand to the arm.

"It was ten bucks! Besides, it was sure thing."

"And yet you lost ten bucks."

"Joe, are you familiar with any of the other teams involved?" Don asked, interrupting their lighthearted bickering.

"I know that Stanford, MIT, and Duke were supposed to be there," Joe replied. "Plus there were some entries from private corporations."

"Were there any heavy favorites besides Charlie?"

"SoLo Industries is the only team that even came close to your brother."

Don nodded. "Their design won. So maybe SoLo benefited from my brother's withdrawal from the exhibition?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. You underestimate the buzz that surrounded the debut of your brother's EGV. The expectations were pretty high. My guess is that, if word gets out that this was sabotage and not some sort of design flaw, some people may still think that, even though SoLo finished fastest, the best man didn't even race."

Don sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. "That's my take on it, too. I've spent most of the day checking up on the other teams. The people I've talked to agree with your assessment of SoLo Industries. They also agree that people would be far more likely to suspect tampering than a design flaw."

"So who do you think could have done this?" Allison asked.

"I think that depends on whether the target was Charlie's team, the vehicle itself," Don paused. "Or Charlie."

Allison shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"You have an opinion on this, Mrs. Dubois," Don said softly. "Why don't you share it?"

She studied him carefully for a few moments, as if trying to make up her mind about whether to answer.

"Charlie," she said finally. "Charlie was the target."

"How do you know?"

"Your mother told me."

Don sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I have to be honest with you, Allison..." He hesitated, considering where to take this next. "When Dad and Charlie told me about your visit last night, I didn't know whether to laugh or call the local police to have you arrested."

"Excuse me?" Joe's eyes narrowed and he reached over to place a protective hand on his wife's arm.

"Dad told me about this woman who dropped by to tell them that someone had tampered with Charlie's car. He said you seemed nice enough. Peculiar but polite were his exact words, I believe. He told me about the brisket and the shirt--which I was getting ready to return, by the way--"

Allison smiled faintly.

"He told me about the hyacinths..." Don paused, "...and that you seemed to be suggesting that you had spoken with Mom."

Allison nodded.

"Recently."

Allison nodded again.

"That's when I became angry."

"I get that reaction a lot, Agent Eppes."

Don smiled. "I bet you do. You can call me Don if you want. I'm not feeling like much of an FBI agent right now."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm actually about to pursue a serious line of questioning involving psychic predictions and conversations with the dead."

"I take it you're not angry anymore."

"I haven't decided yet." He shrugged. "I don't think so. I was certainly pissed off last night with the idea of someone barging into my father's home and claiming to have made contact with his dead wife. Dad's tough, but his grief is still pretty fresh. And Charlie... well, Charlie still hasn't completely come to terms with Mom's death."

"Don, I really did try to convince them without mentioning your mother."

"I know. From what Dad said, you were downright evasive about it. Look, Allison, you said before that there were no connections between you and my brother. As far as I can tell, you're right. I did a pretty thorough background check on you."

Don noticed Joe's eyebrows raise at the mention of the background check. "Hey, this is my brother we're talking about here, and I'm not going to apologize for watching his back."

"It's not like we have a lot to hide," Joe muttered.

"Frankly, at first I thought there might be a connection through you, Joe. Charlie's been known to consult on projects with companies like yours. But when I asked him, he said he'd never worked with Aerodytech. Oddly enough, Allison, the connection is between you and me."

"What do you mean?"

"Manuel Devalos. It certainly lends you a lot more credibility to have a district attorney in your corner."

"You spoke to my boss?"

"I know Manny from a case I worked on with the Arizona bureau a couple of years ago. He's a good man. When I talked to him today, he had some very convincing things to say about your... gift. He told me I should trust you. Which I'm inclined to do only because--"

"--because, like you, he is also a person who's paid to be skeptical."

"Exactly. So, bearing in mind that I'm still finding all this a little hard to swallow, would you mind telling me the details of your dream? Maybe there's a clue there as to who did this."

"Sure, I'll tell you what I saw, but I doubt it will provide any clues."

"You never know."

"Well, in my dream I was standing behind Charlie's EGV at the top of a hill. It was silver, streamlined. Really pretty. The hatch, or door, or whatever you call it was the kind you pull down on top of yourself. I only saw Charlie from the back; he was seated inside. He put on his helmet then reached up and closed the hatch. The next thing I knew, I was the passenger and I was speeding down the hill. There was a huge popping sound and the left rear wheel fell off."

"Were there any other EGVs in the dream?"

"No, just Charlie's."

"Any other people?"

"We passed by a line of spectators on either side of the street toward the bottom of the hill. Their faces were a blur, though."

"That's the whole dream?"

"Yeah."

"No one spoke to you in the dream?"

"No."

"So how did you know Charlie's name?"

"Your mom told me."

Don was silent for a moment, studying Allison's face for any hint of deception. She met his gaze evenly. "Go on," he said.

"After the dream, I couldn't sleep. She was at my kitchen table when I got up to make some coffee."

"What did--" Don's voice broke slightly and he found that he had to clear his throat before continuing. "What did my mother say to you?

"Your mom was quite a talker."

"Just give me the highlights."

Allison sighed deeply before listing off Margaret's major talking points.

"She asked me to warn Alan that someone wanted to hurt Charlie. She told me to make sure he wore his helmet. She said Charlie was absent-minded but he was a sweet boy with special needs and he had to have special tutors."

Don tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile.

"Yeah, well, I totally misinterpreted that one. She also told me not to call it a go-cart. Which, in retrospect, I should have interpreted more literally."

"It's not a go-cart," Don agreed.

"She was very insistent that the girls and I accompany Joe on his business trip to California rather than to Montreal in the fall. Said they don't even celebrate Thanksgiving in Canada. She said that she and Alan lived in a wonderful house in the L.A. area and they never had to worry about gangs with you because you were such a good kid. Oh, and she made an odd comment about never telling Alan about the blue koi."

Don felt the blood drain from his face.

"And you--" she turned to Joe and pointed an accusing finger at him. "Apparently you don't care for my Uncle Pete."

"I love your Uncle Pete."

"Yeah, whatever--" Allison stopped when she caught sight of Don's face. She peered at him with concern. "Are you okay?"

Don's mouth had gone suddenly dry and he couldn't answer.

"What did I say?"

"Nothing," he finally managed. "I'm fine. Go on."

Allison looked uncertain, but continued, "That's mostly it, I think. She talked for a bit. She just didn't happen to get around to telling me her last name."

"So, how did you find us?"

"When I was digging through websites on my wild goose chase for soapbox derbies and go-cart races, I found that there was a go-cart rally in Anaheim this weekend. Which, at the time, seemed to explain why she was so keen on our spending our family vacation at Disneyland. Your mother appeared at Space Mountain yesterday morning and Bridgette, ever the polite little medium, asked her name."

"Don't tell me your daughter's a medium, too."

"Yes. I know I'm starting to stretch credibility here, but I might as well throw caution to the wind right now because you're either going to believe me or not, right?"

"Something like that..." Don said, his voice almost a whisper.

Allison waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she asked gently, "Don, I said something that upset you. What was it?"

"It didn't upset me exactly. It just surprised me."

"What?"

Don swallowed past the lump in his throat. "When I was six years old, I thought it would be cool to put blue food dye in the koi pond. Dad was away on a business trip and Mom and I managed to get it back to normal before he got back, but not before a couple of the fish died. She said we didn't have to tell Dad about the dye because she was pretty sure those two fish were sick to begin with, and the dye wouldn't have killed them anyway. I still felt terrible. As far as I know she never said anything to Dad about it. It was our secret."

Allison and Joe sat studying him gravely.

"Are you going to be okay, man?" Joe asked, his voice sympathetic.

"Yeah," Don replied weakly. "Just...a little, uh..."

"Freaked out?"

"Yeah."

"It's okay." Joe gave him a reassuring smile. "Happens to me sometimes, too."

********

Allison had been enjoying an unusual stretch of restful nights. Charlie's dream had occurred only that first time, and since then her sleep had been blessedly undisturbed. She chalked it up to some sort of cosmic agreement among the folks in the afterlife that she deserved a vacation. It didn't work that way, of course, but she was enjoying the respite nonetheless.

The night following Agent Eppes' visit to their hotel was also dreamless, but she awoke at dawn with an awareness that someone else was in their room.

She peered through the gloom at a dark figure seated on the loveseat several feet away from their bed. Careful not to disturb Joe, she got up and walked over.

"Hi, Margaret," she whispered, perching on the small coffee table in front of Charlie's mother.

Margaret didn't answer at first, but sat studying a small photo wallet on her lap. It was the little plastic kind that proud grandmothers often carry around in their purses.

Finally she looked up, and Allison could see tears glistening on her cheeks, illuminated by the faint light spilling in from the hotel window.

"Charlie's okay, Margaret. He didn't race yesterday."

"Yes. Thank you," she smiled. "Thank you for that."

"You're welcome."

"You know, Allison, we don't have 20-20 vision on the other side, either." She frowned. "It's strange being there. Every once in a while you feel this... tug. And you know you're needed. So you step back across and do what you can. But it's not like you're looking down from above, knowing and seeing everything."

She returned her attention to the small photo wallet, turning it over in her hands, caressing the edges with her fingers.

"I don't get it. He's still not safe." Her lower lip trembled and another fat tear slid down her cheek. "You do everything you can to keep your kids safe and sometimes it just isn't enough, is it?"

"Sometimes you just have to let go and pray for the best, I guess," Allison said. "It's hard, I know."

"I was so lucky to have these men in my life." Margaret opened the photo wallet and held up the first picture for Allison to see. It was a portrait shot of Alan, smiling warmly for the camera, his kind eyes sparkling with good humor.

"He's a very handsome man," Allison said.

"So's my eldest, Don." Margaret smiled, turning to the next picture. Don gazed back at them from another portrait shot, looking dapper and somewhat serious in his dark suit. A gentle smile played at the corners of his mouth. "I worry about him a lot, too, what with that job of his. Do you think he favors me at all?"

"Most definitely."

"Really? Well, he always was a handsome boy."

She turned to the third picture and Allison gasped, her breath catching in her throat. She stared in shock, unable to speak and unable to tear her eyes away from the terrible image.

"I don't understand," Margaret murmured, her voice breaking. "Didn't you tell him about the helmet?"

The photo Margaret held in her trembling hands was a ghastly parody of the others. This picture was of Charlie, caught in an awkward, stiff pose, his face and the collar of his shirt covered in blood from a gruesome head wound. He stared ahead through sightless eyes, his face frozen in an expression of shock and sorrow.

With a harsh sob, Margaret disappeared, mercifully taking her collection of photos with her.

*********

In the year since his wife had died, Alan found that, more and more, he enjoyed foregoing the luxury of sleeping in and chose instead to rise early for his morning coffee. This had always been Margaret's favorite time of day. She had loved to sit in the kitchen, in what she called the breakfast nook, and enjoy the peace and quiet before the day started. It wasn't really a breakfast nook at all; it was simply a small table adjacent to one of the pantries. Alan had always meant to add on a proper nook but never quite got around to it.

This had become his favorite time of day, too, for it was in the sweet solitude of the morning, sitting over coffee in their warm little kitchen, that he felt closest to Margaret. On this particular morning, his peaceful ritual was interrupted by the jarring ring of the telephone. He hurried to answer it before it could wake Charlie.

The woman's voice at the other end sounded breathless and strained.

"Alan, is Charlie there?"

"He's asleep," Alan said, struggling to place the woman's voice. "Who is this?"

"It's Allison Dubois. Alan, you really have to insist that Charlie wear that helmet."

Alan chuckled. "Well, last I heard, sleeping's pretty much a low-impact sport. Can it wait 'till he wakes up?"

There was a long pause at the other end.

"Allison? You still there?"

"Yeah. I just realized it's only a quarter after six. I'm sorry if I woke you, but this is really important."

"No, that's all right. I'm an early riser these days. What's on your mind?"

"Look, I know I'm beginning to sound like a broken record, but you have to make sure Charlie uses his helmet."

"Allison, didn't Donnie tell you? Charlie withdrew from the exhibition yesterday. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you warned him about that EGV. Even wearing a helmet, he could've been killed."

"Alan, there are other kinds of helmets. Does he ride a motorcycle? Does he roller blade?"

"No, but he doesn't drive, so he rides his bike everywhere. And you're right, he never does wear a bike helmet. Hates the darn thing. Margaret was always pestering him to--" Alan stopped in sudden realization. "Oh."

"Alan?"

"This really is about that helmet, isn't it?"

"Please, I can't stress enough how important this is."

"Did you have another dream? Is something going to happen to Charlie?"

"It wasn't a dream, exactly."

"Margaret paid you another visit, didn't she?"

"Yeah."

Alan realized with mild surprise that, somewhere along the line, he had evolved from simply being intrigued by this housewife from Phoenix and her claim that she communicated with his dead wife, to outright believing her.

"What did she say?" he asked.

"She said he's still not safe."

"And she wants him to wear a helmet."

"That's the gist of it, yeah."

"Allison, that's pretty much good advice for anybody. But don't forget, Charlie's a grown man. He can decide for himself whether he wants to wear a bike helmet or not."

"Convince him."

"I'll try, but... Tell me something. Should Charlie be worried about a specific threat? Some accident he's supposed to try to avoid? Or did Margaret just figure out how to keep pestering him about that damn helmet from beyond the grave?" He smiled at the thought of his stubborn, loving wife tracking down this suburban housewife to convey that exact message.

His smile faded when Allison didn't respond right away.

"What's going to happen to Charlie?" he asked.

"I don't know, Alan. I really don't. I can't give you specifics because there are none. It's not like I can tell you a day or a place that something might happen. But I can tell you that Margaret seems to think that something bad *will* happen if he's not careful."

"Okay. I'll have a talk with him about the helmet."

"Look, if you think it'll help for me to talk to him, I'll be happy to. I can leave my cell phone number."

"Nah. I'm still his father. I'm still bigger and smarter. Okay, maybe not the smarter part."

"You're older and wiser."

"Yes. I am that," Alan agreed. "But maybe I'll take down your number just in case."

********

Alan had just finished making omelets and was sliding them onto plates when Charlie came downstairs for breakfast.

"Dad, have you seen my cell phone?" he asked, stepping into the kitchen. He reached over to pinch off a piece of omelet. "That looks good."

Alan batted his hand away from the plate with a spatula. "I found it in the refrigerator this morning."

"How'd it get there?"

"It's happened before, son."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Really. I charged it up for you and put it in that pocketbook where you keep your laptop."

"Don't call it a pocketbook. That's what old ladies call their purses. It's a laptop bag," Charlie said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "More like a satchel."

"Whatever. It's out on the front table."

"Thanks. What would I do without you, Pop?"

"Starve, for one thing. Go sit down for breakfast, we need to talk about something."

"Uh-oh. What'd I do this time?"

Charlie stepped into the dining room with his coffee but stopped just short of taking his seat. Resting at his place at the table, between his silverware and orange juice, sat a bicycle helmet.

"Where'd you find this?"

"Gathering dust in the hall closet. You're wearing it. No argument."

Charlie shrugged and moved the helmet to one side to make room for the plate his father handed him. "Okay."

"Okay?" Alan stared at him. "That's it? Okay?"

"Yeah," Charlie said, taking his seat.

"No argument?"

"You told me no argument. So, no argument."

Alan sat down with his plate and regarded him warily. "Who are you and what have you done with my son?"

"It's no big deal, Dad. I'll wear the helmet."

"I thought you hated that thing."

"I do hate it. It's one more thing to remember, which I really don't need. Makes my hair all sweaty. Plus, it makes me look like a total dork."

"I thought the girls went for dorks these days."

"Girls go for geeks these days. Dorks were never in fashion."

"Seriously, Charlie. Why are you so willing to wear it all of a sudden?"

"Because the brisket lady told me to," Charlie said, taking a bite of his omelet.

"Her name's Allison. And your mother had been after you to wear that thing for years."

"I know. But Allison was right about the EGV, and pretty insistent about the whole helmet thing. Maybe she meant this kind of helmet." He motioned with his fork to the one at his elbow. "And then, she mentioned Mom..." He hesitated before continuing. "Anyway, I figure, better safe than sorry."

"That's always good advice."

Alan studied his son as they continued their meal in silence. If there was one thing he knew Charlie regretted, it was that he had been unable to bring himself to spend time with his mother the last weeks of her life. He had spent most of that time holed up in the garage, feverishly working on an unsolvable math problem. Alan had been by turns furious with him and fearful for his sanity. Margaret, on the other hand, had understood what drove Charlie to do this and had begged Alan to try to understand as well. Alan wasn't completely sure he would ever get to the point where he could fathom the way his younger son's mind worked. Not the way Margaret had. In losing his mother, Charlie had lost the one person in the world who understood him, who knew and appreciated what made him tick. And Alan knew it ate him up inside to think that he had never said a proper good-bye to her.

"Dad?" Charlie said softly. "Do you really think she talked to Mom?"

"Allison? I don't know, Charlie. Stranger things have happened, I guess. Donnie seemed a little shaken after his talk to her last night, but he really seemed ready to buy her story. I don't know."

"Well, I was just thinking, if Mom is willing to come back and haunt me about this stupid helmet, maybe I'd better take it seriously."

Alan chuckled. "I was thinking that exact thing earlier."

"You might need to remind me about it now and again. Like I said, it's one more thing for me to remember."

"You've got a deal, son." Alan got up from his seat, took the helmet from Charlie and carried it into the next room. "I'm going to set it here, right on top of your bag so you can't possibly forget it."

"That should work."

Alan came back and sat down at the table. "So, Charlie, you okay? About this thing with your mom?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. You?"

"Actually yeah," Alan nodded happily. "I really am. You know, one thing that bothered your mother was how distant you and Don had become. It's nice to think that she has some way of knowing that you've gotten close again."

Charlie looked down at his plate. Alan pretended not to notice as his son blinked to hide the sudden moisture in his eyes.

"So," Alan said, "what have you got planned today?"

"Typical Thursday. I've got my 10:00 seminar then office hours. Which I'm going to try to cut short because I want to see if I can help Don try to figure out who messed with my EGV. I think he's having to look into it on his own time since he's not sure if it'll turn out to be FBI jurisdiction."

"Aren't you a consultant with the FBI?"

"Sure."

"Your life was threatened. Doesn't that make it the FBI's business?"

"I don't know." Charlie shrugged. "Maybe. I guess Don's just sensitive about the bureau thinking he's ignoring his own cases to follow up on a private concern. He reached out to a couple of friends on the police force. We'll turn up something."

"Reached out?" Alan grinned. "Is that, like cop talk?"

"He's rubbing off on me, I guess," Charlie said, his face coloring slightly.

"Well, I hope you guys catch the jerk. Are you still pretty upset about missing the exhibition?"

"Yeah." Charlie sighed. "I feel bad for the team. Although, oddly enough, we got more attention than SoLo Industries did. I'm a little worried that people are going to think we pulled out as a publicity stunt."

"Yeah, well those people don't understand how much you were looking forward to showing off your go-cart."

"Dad..."

"I know, I know. Extreme car thingy."

Charlie glanced at his watch. "Look, I have to go or I'll be late."

"Did you get enough breakfast?"

"Yes, thank you." Charlie got up and began clearing his dishes from the table. "Say, have you seen a manila folder lying around? I need it for my seminar."

"Don't worry about this, Charlie. I got it." Alan added Charlie's plate and silverware to his own and carried them into the kitchen. "Maybe it's in your pocketbook."

"It's not a pocketbook!"

"Whatever." Alan placed the dishes in the sink and began gathering up his dirty cooking utensils. From the other room, he could hear Charlie muttering to himself as he unzipped and zipped the numerous compartments of his bag. An apparently successful search was met with a satisfied "Ah!" and Charlie called out, "Bye, Dad. Catch you later."

"Bring Donnie home with you for dinner, tonight, okay?" Alan called over his shoulder. All he received for an answer was the sound of the front door closing as Charlie rushed off to class.

"Ah, I get no respect," he muttered to the empty kitchen. "Just for that, we're having liver and onions."

He loaded the omelet pan and utensils in the dishwasher and returned to the dining room to finish clearing the table. He was reaching for the empty coffee cups when he happened to glance at the smaller table in the front room. What he saw there made him curse softly under his breath.

"Dammit, Charlie."

Sitting in the middle of the table was Charlie's bicycle helmet.

********

Charlie had already disappeared from view by the time Alan ran to the front porch to try to catch him. He hurried back inside and snatched the helmet from the table. On his way out, he grabbed his keys and, as an afterthought, his cell phone from the small table by the front window.

Charlie could cover a lot of ground on his bike very quickly, so Alan knew he could be several blocks ahead of him by now. He ran to the side of the house where his car was parked and, after a brief fumble with his keys, managed to get in, get it started and pull out into the street.

He glanced over at the cell phone he'd tossed onto the passenger seat along with Charlie's helmet. He didn't think Charlie was foolhardy enough to try to answer his cell while cycling down a busy street, but hated to chance it. Then he remembered that he'd put Charlie's phone in the bag with his laptop that morning. Charlie would have to either ignore the phone when it rang or pull over to the side of the road so he could dig it out to answer it.

He grabbed the cell and pushed Charlie's speed dial number. It rang four times before Charlie's voice mail picked up.

"Charlie, this is your father. If you're trying to listen to this while biking down the street, I raised you better than that. If you've pulled over to the side of the road, stay there until I get to you."

Five blocks later, Alan spotted his son on the sidewalk, straddling his bike and holding his cell phone to his ear, a baffled expression on his face. Alan honked lightly to get his attention and pulled to the curb alongside him.

"What's wrong, Dad?" he asked when Alan got out of the car. When he caught sight of the helmet Alan was carrying, his hand flew to his head as if to see if he had another one there, too. "Oh. I forgot."

"Yeah, Charlie," Alan said, stepping up to him and placing the helmet firmly on his head. "You forgot."

"I told you I would."

"It was sitting right there on your bag. How'd you manage to miss it?"

"I moved it aside when I dug through the bag to find my folder. I just..." Charlie batted his father's hands away as Alan tried to fasten the straps on the helmet. "I got it, Dad, I got it."

Charlie returned his cell phone to his bag and finished fastening the chin strap himself. "Sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to forget."

"I know. I know. You warned me. So, you good to go?"

Charlie re-adjusted his shoulder strap so his bag hung across his back. "Yeah. Good to go."

"All right. You be careful."

"So, Dad. You going to do this every day when I forget the helmet?"

"Nope. At some point we'll have to consider attaching it surgically."

"Ha-ha. Funny one."

Alan got in his car and waited until Charlie got his bike back on the road before he pulled onto the street behind him. He considered turning at the next corner to head back home, then, on impulse decided to continue following his son. After a couple of blocks, he pulled up beside Charlie at a red light. Charlie tapped at the passenger window and Alan pushed the button to lower it.

"You don't have to follow me to school anymore, Dad. I shave and everything."

"I know. I'm not following you. I just decided since I'm out, I'd go to the grocery store."

"Suit yourself."

Alan raised the window. A few seconds later, Charlie tapped again.

"Teriyaki chicken," Charlie said when Alan lowered the window.

"What? Gesundheit."

"Teriyaki chicken," Charlie repeated. "For dinner. You said you were going for groceries. I'm in the mood for Japanese."

"That's a shame, Charlie, 'cause I'm in the mood for meat loaf."

The light turned green and, with a grin and a wave, Charlie continued on his way. Alan drove through the intersection after him, realizing too late that if he actually had planned on going to the store, he should have taken that last right turn. Ah, well. Charlie probably saw through the grocery store ruse anyway and, truth be told, Alan did feel a little foolish trailing his grown son as if he were a youngster on his first day at school.

"Well, Charlie, you're on your own, kid," he said to his son's retreating back as he switched on his blinker to take the next left. Ahead of him, Charlie was approaching a gentle curve. Alan caught the flash of sunlight off metal as a silver sedan suddenly barreled out of the small side street Charlie was passing.

"No!" Alan shouted, honking his horn frantically. Charlie turned his head at the warning and tried to veer away from the vehicle bearing down on him from the right, but the speeding car clipped the rear of his bike soundly. With the sickening crunch of metal on metal and the ominous thud of human flesh striking an unforgiving surface, Charlie was thrown across the hood of the car and onto the pavement.

The silver car didn't slow in the least, but rather, with a squeal of tires, sped away from the scene.

Alan sat paralyzed and stared in shock at the still form of his son. His heart pounded painfully in his chest and his breath came in shaky, uneven gasps, as if all the air had been sucked out of the car.

"Oh my God," he whispered hoarsely.

Not trusting himself to drive even the short distance to where his son lay, he stumbled out of the car and ran to him. A small crowd had already begun to gather. Alan roughly elbowed a man aside and dropped to his knees on the pavement next to Charlie.

"Oh my God, Charlie."

Charlie lay on his right side with his face angled up slightly, revealing a badly scraped cheekbone. A stream of blood flowed from his nose and another seeped from under his cracked helmet and ran down his right temple. He had landed with the edge of the large laptop bag awkwardly wedged under his ribs. He looked uncomfortable in this position, so without thinking, Alan reached for the bag to pull it from underneath him.

"Sir! No!" A gentle hand restrained him. "Don't move him."

Alan looked up at the young woman who had come to kneel on the other side of Charlie. She had dark hair and clear gray eyes and a smile that was calm and reassuring. "Someone's calling the paramedics, they should be here soon."

"Okay," he answered, his voice unsteady.

"Do you know him?" she asked gently.

"He's my son."

"What's his name?"

"Charlie."

"I'm a nurse. I'm just going to check him out. Okay?"

"We shouldn't move him," Alan informed her needlessly.

"I promise I won't."

The young woman knelt to check Charlie's respiration and pulse.

Alan's own heart had slowed its frantic pounding but a terrible tightness gripped his chest and the air around him felt thick, hot and impossible to breath. Struggling to ignore his own discomfort, he reached down and placed his hand on his son's cheek. It was cool to the touch. Alan couldn't tell if Charlie was breathing or not.

"Son?"

His vision clouded over and he blinked rapidly to try to bring Charlie's face back into focus. Alan felt someone tugging on his arm and realized numbly that the young woman was speaking to him, but all he could hear was a low, sibilant hiss that filled his ears. His sight darkened around the edges and he struggled to focus on her face to sort out what she was trying to say to him.

A cold numbness crept over his body and the hissing increased in volume to a dull roar inside his head. He became aware of a faint, insistent voice that seemed to be calling from a distance. The voice was familiar but he couldn't make out the words.

"What? I--"

He shook his head in an effort to clear it and the beloved voice came again, this time clearer and more insistent.

"Alan, he needs you."

"Margaret?" he whispered.

"Sir?"

Alan pulled in a deep, shaky breath and swiped his hand across his eyes to clear them. The young nurse's voice floated over the diminishing rush of white noise in his head and her face swam into focus.

"Sir? Are you all right?"

She was studying him carefully, her eyes full of concern.

He nodded his head. "Yes. I'm fine."

"For a minute there, you looked like you were going to pass out."

"Is Charlie-- I couldn't tell if he was breathing. He's breathing isn't he?" His voice held a faint, pleading tone.

"He's breathing fine. And his pulse is steady."

"Thank God." Alan placed a shaking hand on Charlie's forearm. His son groaned softly, a small grimace of pain crossing over his face. "Ah, kiddo, I know it hurts," Alan said, patting him gently. "I'm right here."

The distant wail of sirens could be heard approaching from the east.

"Look, sir... What's your name?"

"Alan."

"Alan, the ambulance will be here very soon. Maybe you should go lie down on the grass until they get here. I promise I'll look after Charlie."

"No. I have to stay with him. I'm all right."

"You don't look all right." She reached over and placed a cool hand against his neck. He realized she was checking his pulse.

Alan pulled her hand away from his neck, but held it briefly, giving it a squeeze of gratitude. "Thank you, Miss. But really, I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" she asked, still looking uncertain.

Alan nodded. "I won't leave him. He needs me."

********

Today was Sea World day. Disneyland had only merited a day and a half of their vacation, but Joe had come to terms with that and was now psyched to see the killer whales. What he wasn't so psyched about was the killer traffic from Anaheim to San Diego.

"How do people put up with this every day?" Joe muttered.

"Phoenix is getting to be almost as bad," Allison reminded him.

"Phoenix is never this bad. And when it does get this bad, we're going to move." Joe nodded firmly. "Yup. We'll move to Tucumcari."

"Yeah! Tootemcarry!" a delighted Bridgette agreed from the back seat.

"Yeah! Tootemcarry!" Joe smiled back at his middle daughter in the rear view mirror.

"What's a Tootemcarry?" Bridgette asked.

"It's a little town in New Mexico," Allison said. "You girls can go to school in a yucca field and Daddy can to learn to build rockets out of lizard guano and buffalo bones."

"A yucky field?" Bridgette frowned. "But I want to go to my own school."

"Maybe not Tucumcari, but Los Alamos would be something to consider." Joe turned on his blinker and prepared to pass the slow-moving truck ahead of them. "It's pretty up there. All sorts of secret rocket scientist things to do there--"

"Joe! Look out!"

"Whoa! Where'd he come from?" Joe exclaimed, dropping back to his lane.

"Jerk," Allison muttered as she watched the silver sedan that had cut them off continue to bully his way through the congestion, whipping back and forth in front of the cars ahead. "Shouldn't drive like that with such an easy license plate to remember."

"What was so special about it?"

"One of those vanity plates. SCI-BRO."

"I don't think so, honey. I'm pretty sure that was just a regular plate."

"Huh." Allison shrugged. "Well, I guess you did get a better look at it than me."

Allison looked back to check on the girls. "You okay back there?"

"What's a lizard guano?" asked Bridgette.

Joe laughed.

"Never mind." Allison reached back to where Marie sat in her car seat and pinched her toes. The toddler grinned and waved her arms happily. "You are such a good little girl. I can't believe you like riding in the car so much."

"I like riding in the car, too," offered Bridgette. "Ariel hates riding in the car. Ariel gets cranky in the car. Ariel doesn't like wearing her seat belt in
the--"

"I can hear you," Ariel scowled at her little sister. She moved the ear phone of her iPod to the side toward Bridgette, lay her head back on the seat and closed her eyes.

"Bridgette, honey, is the CD player back there?" Allison asked.

"Sure." Bridgette dug around on the floor in front of her for a minute until she came up with the case holding the CD player and a small supply of CDs.

"I didn't remember to pack any of ours in there," Joe warned. "Those might not be your cup of tea."

"I'll manage," she said, untangling the headphones and putting them on. "Besides, I should check up every once in a while on what our girls are listening to."

Joe gave her a forlorn look. "Don't go away! I'll miss you."

"You and Bridgette keep each other company for a while." Allison settled back in her seat. "Explain to her what lizard guano is."

"Yeah. Leave it for Dad to clean up the--"

Allison shot him a warning look.

"--mess."

Without checking the title, Allison loaded the first CD then settled back in her seat to listen. When she realized what it was she had chosen, she considered taking it out and looking for another, then decided it was too much trouble.

After several minutes of this, just when she had decided that she would switch to something else after all, she was startled by the sound of crunching metal and squealing tires. She jerked upright in her seat and, yanking off her headphones, looked around, searching through the windows of the car for signs of the collision. The traffic was lighter than before, moving well on this stretch of highway.

"What?" Joe asked.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That crash. Didn't you hear a car crash?"

"No. I didn't hear anything." Joe frowned at her in concern. "You okay?"

"I could have sworn I heard a crash."

Allison looked back at the girls. Ariel was oblivious, bobbing her head in time to the music on her iPod and Marie was snoozing peacefully in her car seat. Bridgette was looking out the window, craning her neck to see if she could see what car crash Allison was talking about. Not finding one, she gave her mother a perplexed frown. "Did you have a dream, Mommy?"

"Yeah, you must have been dreaming," Joe agreed.

"I wasn't sleeping."

"Maybe you heard it through the headphones."

"I'm listening to Ariel's Britney Spears CD, how could I mistake that for a car wreck?"

"How could you not?"

"Joe, I'm being serious. Look! There's that car again." Allison pointed to a silver sedan a few car lengths ahead of them.

"What car?"

"The one that cut you off earlier."

"No it's not. It's not even the same color."

"Yes, it is. And it has the same license plate. SCI-BRO."

Joe didn't answer for a moment. "No, Allison, it doesn't. That plate says 4IFE-913."

Allison frowned at him then looked again at the car. It was white and the license plate read exactly as Joe said.

"Something weird is going on." She reached for her purse on the floor and dug out the cell phone.

"Who are you calling?"

"Alan Eppes. I have a funny feeling about this."

Alan wasn't home and his machine once again cut her off before she could leave a message.

"Darn," she said, hanging up. "He said he'd call me if he wanted me to talk to Charlie, but--Something doesn't feel right."

"Sweetie, I'm sure he'll call you if he needs you, don't you think? Besides, there's not a lot you can do from here. We're almost to San Diego."

"I know," she admitted. "You're right."

They drove in silence for a several miles.

"Joe, there's a rest stop up ahead, can we pull over for a bit?"

"Allison, we're almost there. Are you sure you don't want to keep going until we get to Sea World?"

"No, the girls could use a pit stop and I need to check to see if Marie needs to be changed. It'll be less crowded if we stop here."

Joe pulled into a small rest area with about twenty cars parked in the lot.

"Meet you guys back at the car in..." Joe consulted his watch. "Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds."

"Don't get your hopes up," Allison warned him. "That depends entirely on the size of the present Marie left me."

"So, you're saying the time you need for cleanup increases exponentially with--"

"Dad, that is so gross." Ariel unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the car.

"What's eggs-nenshlee?" asked Bridgette.

Ariel poked her head back in the car to answer. "It means the bigger the guano, the more you really, really don't want to deal with it."

"You know, Ariel, that's pretty much what it does mean." Joe smiled brightly at Allison. "I love family vacations. They're so educational."

The girls finished in the bathroom quickly and, after their mother had checked outside to make sure Joe was there to keep an eye on them, they ran out to try to talk him into buying them sodas from the vending machine. Allison made quick work of changing Marie and was gathering her things together when again, she was startled by the distinctive metallic crash of an auto accident, this time from somewhere outside in the parking lot. She quickly grabbed up the toddler and the diaper bag and was set to run out to investigate when she noticed that the two women standing nearby waiting for their turn in the stalls had not reacted to the sound at all.

Puzzled, she stepped out of the restroom into the bright sunshine of the parking lot. She stared, open-mouthed at the cars parked there. A few minutes before, the lot had held the usual assortment of different makes and models. Now, parked in their place, were about two dozen identical silver sedans, their paint sparkling brightly in the mid-morning sun.

Allison read the license plate of one parked across from where she was standing. SCI-BRO, it read. So did the one next to it and the one next to that one. Clutching Marie tightly to her, she ran to the middle of the lot and turned to survey all the cars there. They all had plates reading SCI-BRO.

"Allison," came Joe's worried voice from behind her.

"Joe, something's happened. I need to get in touch with Alan Eppes. This has to do with Charlie, I know."

"What's going on?"

"The cars, Joe, they're--" Allison stopped. The lot was now occupied, as it had been before, with a variety of vehicles.

She handed Marie to Joe and ran back to the car to retrieve the cell phone. Ariel and Bridgette were already settled in the back seat with their sodas and watched quietly as Allison grabbed her purse and frantically began to dig through it.

"Mom?" Ariel reached forward and picked the cell phone off the storage console between the seats. "Are you looking for this?"

Allison paused for a moment, looking into her daughter's worried eyes.

"Thanks, sweetie."

"Is Charlie going to be okay?" asked Ariel.

"I think so, hon, I'm just going to call and find out." She gave her daughter a reassuring smile and took the phone from her hand. She stepped a few feet from the car and pushed redial on the phone to call Alan's number. Once again, she got his broken answering machine.

Joe finished putting Marie in her car seat and walked over to where Allison was standing.

"Well?" he asked.

She sighed in frustration. "I think I'd better try to reach Don. What do I ask directory assistance for if I need to talk to the FBI?"

Joe shrugged. "FBI, I guess. I imagine there's only one listed."

"You're not being helpful. I mean what office should I ask--" The phone in her hand rang. She stared at it in surprise for a moment before answering.

"Hello?"

"Allison, this is Don Eppes."

"I was just getting ready to try to call you--"

"Look, I'm on my way to the hospital. Charlie's been hurt."

Allison's heart sank. "Oh, God, no. What happened?"

"It was hit-and-run. Charlie was riding his bike to the university and this car just pulled out of a side street and plowed right into him."

"What happened?" Joe asked.

"Charlie," Allison whispered. "He was hit by a car."

"Oh, man..."

"Look, Allison," Don continued, "Dad said he talked to you this morning. He said you thought this might happen."

"All I knew was that Charlie needed to--"

"Did you see something?" Don interrupted, his voice short.

"What?"

"Did you have another dream? Did you see this happen in a dream?"

"No. No, Don, I didn't. I told Alan that your mother warned me about Charlie needing to be careful, but she didn't say anything specific. How badly was he hurt? Is he going to be okay?"

"I don't know." He paused, and Allison heard him take in a shaky breath before he continued. "I think so. Dad said he woke up in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. That's a good sign, I guess. We don't know much yet. They're still checking him out."

"Okay. Well, that's good. You're right, it's a good sign that he woke up."

"Charlie was wearing a helmet. Dad told me to be sure to tell you that."

Allison breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks. That's good to hear."

"Allison, this guy meant to hurt Charlie. There were several witnesses and a couple of them saw this bozo sitting there on the side street with his engine running, then he gunned it and pulled out right when Charlie rode by."

"Did they get a look at him?"

"We didn't get a decent description. He was wearing a cap and sunglasses and had his collar pulled up. I'm telling you, this guy was lying in wait for Charlie. He meant to run him down. This was someone who knew Charlie's schedule, the route he took to the university..."

Allison could hear the barely contained fury in Don's voice.

"Don, what kind of car was it?"

"A silver four-door sedan. Several witnesses agreed on the make and model, but we don't have a license number."

"Silver? And no one saw a license number?"

"No. It was blacked out."

"Don." Allison swallowed past the sudden dryness in her throat. "I think I know what it is."

**********

They spent the day at Sea World which, all in all, is a pretty cool place. If you're in the mood for that sort of thing.

After she'd finished talking to Don, Joe had taken one look at her ashen face and asked if she wanted to turn back, call it a day. He said he didn't mind lazing around by the hotel pool with the girls all afternoon. 'If you don't feel up to this, I understand,' he'd said.

Truth be told, she hadn't felt up to it. She felt as if she'd been punched in the gut. All she could think of was the bloody image of Charlie in Margaret's little photo album. She knew that Charlie hadn't been killed, that things could have been worse; all the same, she couldn't help wondering if there wasn't something else she could have done to prevent this from happening.

But when it came right down to it, she realized that if she learned nothing else from all her dreams and visions and encounters with the dead, she needed to learn that her life was important, too. If she didn't figure out a way to accept the fact that she couldn't always read these messages correctly or completely, she knew she would lose her mind.

So she spent the day at Sea World with her family, and took some comfort in the fact that she had kept her promise to Margaret. Charlie had worn his helmet. Charlie was still alive.

Alan called her mid-afternoon to give her an update. She had been relieved to hear that the concussion Charlie had suffered was a mild one. But they were still running tests, Alan said. Still concerned about internal bleeding. Still concerned about a back injury.

She thanked him and hung up, then endured one of the longest afternoons of her life, trying to enjoy the day at Sea World.

************

That evening, she paid a visit to her least favorite place in the world. Nobody likes hospitals, but Allison had her own special reason for avoiding them. Recently departed people tend to hang out at hospitals. And recently departed people usually have a lot on their minds to share with the nearest medium.

She paused at the entrance to the hospital and donned a set of headphones. She had found on previous occasions that she was able to gain some degree of protection from these unwanted spirits simply by drowning them out. She switched on the CD player and proceeded through the brightly lit lobby accompanied by the strained vocal stylings of Britney Spears.

She got as far as the elevator before realizing that she had not encountered a single troublesome spirit. On past visits to hospitals, she could seldom walk more than ten feet without being accosted by a dead person. Puzzled, she removed the headphones and looked around her.

Other than a bored-looking receptionist at the front desk and a middle-aged woman standing by the entrance, the lobby was deserted. A man dressed in scrubs stepped out of the stairwell to her left and nodded to her as he walked past. So far as she could tell, everyone she'd encountered so far was still alive and breathing.

"Don't people ever die in this place?" she wondered.

"Hi, Allison."

Startled, Allison turned to see Margaret Eppes standing by the call buttons to the elevator.

"He's on the third floor," she informed Allison helpfully.

"Thanks." Allison pushed the button to go up. "Okay, I give up. Did you chase them away or something?"

"Chase who away?"

"The dead people."

Margaret shrugged. "I told them you were on vacation."

Allison stared at her. "And that worked?"

Margaret smiled enigmatically and stepped through the closed elevator doors. Seconds later, the doors opened and an elderly couple emerged, stepping past Allison without a second glance.

Allison boarded the empty car, tucked her CD player in her bag and proceeded, undisturbed, to Charlie's floor. Other than two nurses chatting at the station across from the elevator, the hallway was empty. Hospitals were remarkably peaceful places without all the dead people, she thought.

Charlie was alone in a hospital room dimly lit by a soft florescent light over the bed. There were no tubes or IVs, which Allison took to be a good sign. She moved quietly to his side and studied his sleeping face. His right cheekbone and forehead were badly bruised, but he appeared to be resting peacefully. On the nightstand by his bed lay a bicycle helmet, its reflective paint glowing dully in the dim shadows. She picked it up and examined the long, ugly crack on its right side. It ran from a point which would have been directly in front of Charlie's ear to a point roughly corresponding to the top of his forehead. She shuddered and set it down carefully, as if afraid that she might accidentally damage it further and somehow break its spell of protection.

She turned back to Charlie's bed and found Margaret standing on the other side, watching him sleep.

"What are we going to do with you, Charlie?" Margaret reached out to brush her fingers across his forehead and Allison watched in fascination as her hand, which weighed less than a breath, lightly displaced an unruly lock of hair. Charlie muttered softly in his sleep and turned his head toward her.

"You could sure use a haircut, kiddo."

"Just so we're clear on this, I helped out with the helmet thing, but if you want somebody to talk him into a haircut, you're on your own."

"Don caught the man who did this," Margaret said, smiling proudly.

"He did? I didn't know that."

"Don is very good at what he does. He grew into such a fine, brave man." Something over Allison's shoulder caught Margaret's eye. Her face lit up and she raised her hand as if to gesture to someone. In the instant before Allison turned to see Alan stepping into the room with a cup of coffee and a newspaper, Margaret Eppes was gone.

"Allison!" Alan said, clearly pleased to see her.

"Hi, Alan. How are you doing?"

"Much better than this morning, thank you."

"Charlie's asleep."

"Oh, yeah," Alan agreed. "He's down for the count. Doctor gave him the good stuff."

"Is he going to be okay?"

"He'll be fine. He's pretty banged up, some cuts, lots of nasty bruises. And he wrenched the heck out of his back so he's going to be sore for a while. But he's young, he'll heal." He tossed the newspaper in a chair and stepped over to set the coffee down on the nightstand. His gaze shifted to the helmet sitting there. "He has a mild concussion, which is why they're keeping him overnight." He ran his hand lightly over the helmet. "Did you see this?"

"Yeah."

"It could have been a lot worse." Alan smiled at her but she noted with dismay that his eyes were moist.

"Alan? What's wrong? I thought you said Charlie's okay."

"He is... he is..." Alan reached out and pulled her into a warm hug where he held her for several moments. "Thank you," he said, his voice breaking slightly.

He let go but held her at arms length for a moment longer, gazing earnestly into her eyes. "Thank you," he repeated.

"I'm just glad he's going to be all right."

Alan swiped self-consciously at the wetness on his cheeks. "Margaret used to say she always loved this about the Eppes men. We've been known to cry over a good steak."

"Speak for yourself, you old softy," came Don's quiet voice from the door. He stepped into the room and reached out to take Allison's hand, then surprised her by leaning in and giving her a light kiss on the cheek.

"How is he?" he asked, stepping around to the other side of the bed.

"Out like a light," Alan replied. "He was awake a couple of hours ago, but he was kind of squirrelly."

"So back to normal, huh?" Don grinned at his father.

"You be nice to your baby brother," Alan admonished.

Don leaned over the bed to peer down at Charlie. Despite the dim light, harsh lines of fatigue were clearly visible on the older brother's face. They softened momentarily into a tender expression achingly reminiscent of Margaret's when she had stood there a few minutes before. Don reached down and smoothed the same lock of hair back from Charlie's forehead.

"Jeez, Charlie. When you going to break down and get a decent haircut?"

With a sigh he straightened up, rubbing wearily at the back of his neck. He caught Allison watching him in amusement.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said. "You just remind me of someone."

"So Don, did you guys get this SCI-BRO guy?" Alan asked.

Don nodded and motioned for them to step outside the room.

"Does the name Loren Pikes ring a bell, Dad?" he asked when they reached the hall.

"Pikes... Pikes. Was he that weasel from the school of engineering?"

"That's the one. It's pretty easy to track someone down when you have their plate number. Thanks, Allison."

"I'm glad I could help."

"SCI-BRO." Don snorted derisively. "What a jerk."

"Do you have him in custody?" Allison asked.

"Oh yeah. We found him at home, pretending that we'd just woke him from a nap. But it didn't take long for him to cave."

Allison couldn't help smiling at the thought of what it must have been like for Pikes, facing an interrogation from this particular FBI agent. Under ordinary circumstances, with just any suspect, she knew that Don would come across as cold and efficient. But this time it was personal, and Pikes must have felt as if he were facing a coiled snake ready to strike.

"His car was parked in his garage and had damage consistent with a hit and run." Don shook his head. "This guy must have wanted to be caught. He hadn't even tried to clean it up. There was a torn piece of Charlie's clothing stuck to the windshield wiper..." Don hesitated, as if to calm himself. Allison could see the muscles of his jaw clench. "He hadn't even wiped Charlie's blood off the hood," he finished bitterly.

"Good lord," Alan breathed.

Don reached out and touched his father's hand. "You okay, Dad?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just really glad you caught the guy."

"Well, you'll be happy to hear that we can close the case on Charlie's EGV, too. Pikes confessed to that, as well."

"Who is this guy?" Allison asked. "What did he have against Charlie?"

"Pikes is an associate professor of engineering at Cal-Sci," Don explained. "A year ago last fall he asked Charlie to help him with some equations on a study he was trying to get published. He wanted to list Charlie as co-author. Charlie agreed at first, then withdrew his contribution when he found evidence that Pikes had doctored some of his data."

"Charlie's name on the paper would have gone a long way toward getting it published in the right journal," Alan said. He gave Allison a shy grin. "At the risk of sounding like an insufferably proud parent, my son is very well respected in academic circles."

Allison smiled. "I'm sure he is."

"Anyway," Alan continued, "Charlie mentioned several weeks later that Pikes submitted the paper to three major journals for publication but each one turned it down."

"This was last year?" Allison asked.

"Yeah," Don nodded. "More than a year ago."

She frowned. "That's a long time to wait to act on a grudge."

"His tenure review came up last month and he was turned down," Don said. "Denial of tenure pretty much ends it for him at Cal-Sci. I'm sure he blamed Charlie."

"I guess you can't help feeling sorry for a guy like that," Alan said.

Don's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Dad, I can't believe you. Pikes is not only a weasel, he's an academic fraud. And, as it turns out, a bit of a psychopath. I don't feel sorry for him one bit."

"Look, Don, I'm just as furious as you are. This guy's lucky he's in jail because if I ever got my hands on him I'd..." Alan paused and glanced back into the room where his younger son lay. "All I'm saying is that I remember when all this was going on with Pikes, Charlie really wanted to help him out. Your brother knows that things come easier for him than for most people. I expect he'll forgive Pikes long before you or I will."

"Oh, I might consider forgiving him," Don muttered. "But the term 'when hell freezes over' comes to mind."

Alan gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "You should go home, son. You look beat."

"Me? What about you? You've been here all day. You have to be exhausted."

"Nah, I'm fine. Got myself a fresh cup of coffee, there's a nice comfortable chair in there--"

"Dad. They're cutting Charlie loose tomorrow, remember? I'm thinking you're going to need your rest."

Alan's brow furrowed as he considered this. "Oh, yeah," he agreed. "I hadn't thought about that. He's sleeping tonight, but tomorrow he's going to be home and sore and cranky as hell."

Don nodded gravely. "That's what I'm thinking."

"Okay, I'll be heading out, then. You coming, son?"

"In a little bit. I'll just hang out here for a while."

"Don't stay long. I might need you tomorrow."

Don pulled his father into a warm hug. "'Night, Dad." He turned to Allison and embraced her as well. "Goodnight, Allison. Thanks for all you've done."

"I'm just glad Charlie's okay."

"We owe you one," Don said, his face serious. "It's not like we can ever repay something like this, but, no kidding, if you or your family ever need anything--I mean *anything*--you give me a call."

"Thanks. That really means a lot to me."

"So, Dad--" Don nodded his head toward Charlie's room. "--were you going to take that coffee with you, or can I have it?"

"Sure, knock yourself out."

"I don't suppose you put cream in it."

"You know very well that real men take their coffee black with sugar."

"Gross."

"You'll live, son."

Grumbling, Don went back into his brother's room.

"You know he's going to fall asleep in that chair and stay the night." Alan shook his head fondly. "Oh, well. What are you gonna do?"

"Kids these days," Allison agreed.

Together, they took the elevator to the lobby. Once again, Allison was struck by how quiet a hospital could be at this time of the day without the usual barrage of ghosts vying for her attention. It seemed that most of the patients, both the present and, thanks to Margaret, the recently past, were resting peacefully.

"If I can find where they parked my car, Allison, I'll give you a ride to yours," Alan said, as they stepped off the elevator into the lobby. "I think they said it's really close."

"You didn't drive here?"

"Good lord, no. I was so shaken up when I saw Charlie get hit, I just left my car in the middle of the street with the door open and the blinker going."

They stepped out of the hospital into the cool night air. "It's a good thing Don has friends in the police department," Alan said, scanning the nearest rows of the parking lot just beyond the circular drive. "Somebody drove it here for me. Didn't even give me a ticket."

"Alan, I didn't realize you saw Charlie get hit."

Alan nodded. "I'm telling you, that's something I never want to go through again. I thought I was going to have a heart attack."

"I can imagine."

"No, Allison." He turned to face her, his expression serious. "What I mean is, I thought I was *having* a heart attack."

"Alan! Oh my God. Are you okay?"

Alan waved off her concern. "I'm fine. I managed to pull myself together. There was this nice young nurse who helped us and she bullied the doctors in the ER into checking me out. I'm okay, really."

Allison studied his face, unconvinced. Light spilling out from the brightly lit hospital entrance revealed just how weary he looked.

"Really," he assured her again. "I'm perfectly fine."

"Even so, you had a terrible shock today. Promise you'll get some rest."

"I will."

The lobby doors opened, discharging a small group of nurses engaged in animated conversation. Alan took Allison by the elbow and stepped with her to the side, several feet from the doors. He watched the nurses until they had crossed the circular drive and had begun dispersing into the parking lot before turning back to her.

"Allison, can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"Something strange happened to me after I saw that car plow into my son." Alan took in a shaky breath before continuing. "I ran to Charlie's side and when I couldn't tell whether or not he was breathing, I just started to... I don't know. Shut down. I couldn't see, I couldn't hear. My chest got so tight I couldn't breath."

"My God, no wonder you thought you were having a heart attack."

"But the thing is, Allison, I didn't. Do you want to know why?" He leaned toward her, a look of wonder in his eyes. "Because I heard Margaret's voice. I swear she was there, Allison. Right inside my head."

He paused and studied Allison's face, as if to judge her reaction.

Allison thought back to the morning she first met Margaret in her kitchen and recalled the woman's frustration that she been unable to reach her husband to warn him about their son. A shiver ran down Allison's spine when she realized that the one time Alan had heard his wife's voice was when he was on the verge of a heart attack.

Allison gave him a weak smile. "What did she say?"

"She told me that Charlie needed me. Just as simple as that. And I knew she wasn't going to let me wimp out on our son."

Allison nodded. "She can be very tenacious."

"Is that how it is, Allison? Do the people you love stay with you? Even after they're gone?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know. I think so. Maybe." His eyes grew distant. "Sometimes, when I'm having my morning coffee, I'll get this feeling that if I look up I'll see Margaret sitting across from me..." His voice drifted off, and he was silent for a long while, gazing thoughtfully into the night.

Just as Allison started to say something to coax him back to the present, a look of mild surprise came over his face.

"Huh. What do you know," he murmured.

"What?"

"There's my car."

"Where?"

"Right there." Alan pointed to a dark sedan parked in a spot about twelve feet from where they were standing.

"Wow. That's a physician's parking space. How do you rate?"

"Ah, well, you know how it is," he said, feigning modesty. "My son, Don, he's this big shot FBI agent and all."

"Must be good to have friends in high places."

"You should know," he said, winking at her. "Come on. I'll drive you to your car."

"That's not necessary. It's just across the drive."

"Then I'll walk you there." He took her arm and they headed toward her car. "Besides, I still need to ask you something."

"What?"

"How long before you guys have to go back to Phoenix?"

"We were planning on going back Sunday, but since we no longer have to attend a certain go-cart rally on Saturday, we were thinking of heading back a day early."

"No, no. Keep you plans the way they are. You and your family will be needed here Saturday."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Barbeque. My place. Having a few folks over."

"Alan, that's sweet of you, but we don't want to barge in on your party."

"You're not barging in on anything. You're the guest of honor."

"Are you sure Charlie's going to be up to having company?"

"Are you kidding? It was his idea."

"Somehow I doubt he comes up with his best ideas while under the influence of narcotics."

"Well, he did have trouble remembering your name and kept referring to you as the 'brisket lady', but he was perfectly sincere when he suggested we do something nice for you. Squirrelly, but sincere."

"I have to warn you, Alan," she said, when they reached her car. "We have three kids and no baby-sitter."

Alan grinned. "I have two grown sons and no grandchildren to play with. Trust me, Allison. That won't be a problem."

**********

When the Dubois family arrived at the Eppes' house on Saturday, the door was opened by a charmingly distracted man whose attention was drawn immediately to the three younger Dubois. With barely a glance at the two adults, he scratched his head and peered curiously at the young girls, his expression a strange cross between delight and frank befuddlement.

"This is marvelous," he said. "Of course, I realized they came in different sizes... Nonetheless, it never occurred to me to consider more than one..."

He eventually thought to introduce himself as Larry Fleinhardt, a colleague of Charlie's from Cal-Sci. Allison learned, as the afternoon progressed, that Larry was not merely a colleague, but a trusted mentor from the time Charlie was a teenager. She got the impression that he was almost another member of the close-knit Eppes' family.

Alan's barbeque was attended by an eclectic assortment of people from the Eppes' social circle. There were several of Don's work colleagues there, including a polite, serious looking young man named David and a woman named Terry whose soft, elfin features belied the calm, steely FBI persona underneath. Allison liked her immediately.

Alan introduced a couple of genial gray-haired buddies of his who greeted her with a warm 'So, this is the woman of the hour!' She suspected that Alan had not given them all the details of how she came to be the guest of honor, probably more out of respect for her privacy than out of self-consciousness on his part; nonetheless, she was grateful not to have to spend the afternoon fending off questions about her psychic ability. Even so, she wondered what Alan *had* told them about the whole affair and hoped that his explanation hadn't made her come off sounding like some rabid representative from the council on helmet safety.

There were a few friends of Charlie's there, too. Like Larry, most of them were colleagues from the university. A beautiful dark-haired girl named Amita greeted Allison and Joe with a vague, distracted smile. Allison sensed that the young woman's mind was not on enjoying the barbeque, but rather on preparing for a seminar Charlie had asked her to cover while he was out of commission. Allison noted later that she made her apologies and left early, presumably to go home to work on her notes. Allison didn't envy her. Charlie was undoubtedly a very tough act to follow.

Allison was relieved to see that Charlie was there and appeared to be enjoying himself. He moved stiffly with the aid of a cane and his eyes were glazed from the effects of pain medication, but he was warm and hospitable nonetheless, and seemed genuinely pleased to see her again and to meet her family. He and Larry quickly recognized Joe as a kindred spirit, and the three men promptly camped out at the dining room table for a round of spirited conversation.

Throughout the afternoon, Allison found herself wondering why Joe's company barbeques never had the same feel as this get-together did. No matter how skilled the host, no matter how amiable the guests, she always came away from those events with the feeling that, at the end of the evening, everyone was relieved to be able to remove their party faces and return home.

Alan's party, on the other hand, had the feel of a rowdy extended family dropping by to visit en masse. His guests wandered with familiar ease around the sprawling house, rummaging unselfconsciously through the fridge, browsing the CD collection and spilling out onto the patio to enjoy their food and to visit. She got the sense that all such gatherings at the beautiful Craftsman house were like this, thanks largely to the generous spirit of the Eppes family.

Ariel and Bridgette had warmed to Alan on sight and spent much of the afternoon tagging along with him as he grilled burgers and mingled with the guests. At one point, Allison attempted to rescue him by calling her daughters into the house to help her look after Marie, but Alan appeared a few minutes later, crestfallen, asking for his helpers back. Explaining that he was one helper short, he scooped up Marie, then he and the girls went back outside to play.

Soon after that, Allison went into the dining room to see if the mathematician, the physicist, and the rocket scientist had managed to pull themselves away from their conversation long enough to get something to eat. Larry and Joe were still engrossed in a lively discussion, their half-eaten burgers abandoned on the plates in front of them. Charlie, on the other hand, appeared not to have touched his at all. Larry and her husband continued to argue their points, blithely unaware that their companion had fallen silent. Charlie sat, quiet and pale, a faint sheen of perspiration on his forehead.

Allison leaned over him and whispered, "Charlie, are you okay?"

He gave her a wan smile. "Hey there, brisket lady," he whispered back. "Would you do me a favor and go find Don?"

"Sure." Allison patted him on the shoulder and hurried into the kitchen, where Don sat perched on the counter, talking to Terry and David.

"Don?"

"Hey, Allison!" Don greeted her warmly and threw his arm over her shoulder. "You'd better count little blond heads before you pack for Phoenix, because I'm telling you, Dad's liable to kidnap one of your girls."

"I'm sure he'll be glad to give them back by the end of the evening," Allison answered wryly. She nodded toward the dining room. "Don, I think Charlie needs you."

"Charlie?" Don sobered immediately and leaned back to peer through the door into the dining room. "Oh, he doesn't look so good, does he? Excuse me, guys." He pushed himself off the counter and went in to help his brother.

"Is Charlie all right?" Terry asked,

"I think so. The day's just catching up with him I guess," Allison said.

From the next room, they could hear Larry's voice. "Charles! Why didn't you say something! If I'd known we were overtiring you--"

"I didn't want to interrupt your train of thought," Charlie answered weakly. "Joe? We'll talk more next week, all right?"

"Sure, Charlie," Allison heard her husband answer. "You take it easy, okay?"

Allison looked at Terry and David and smiled apologetically. "My husband was very excited about meeting Charlie tonight. I guess he didn't realize he was wearing him out."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Terry reassured her. "Charlie seemed fine when I walked through there a few minutes ago. Poor guy must have just now hit the wall."

"You know, I think I'd better go check on the girls and make sure they aren't playing too rough with Alan," Allison said. "Don would never forgive me if they broke him."

David chuckled. "I think Don would forgive you and your family just about anything right now."

"Thanks for helping them, Allison," Terry said. "I know Don gave you a hard time at first, but he's very grateful to you."

Allison met Terry's earnest gaze and was mildly shocked to see the level of understanding in her eyes. She realized that Don must have told his partner everything about how she had helped Charlie. She also realized that Terry had believed it without question.

Blushing, she accepted Terry's thanks and again excused herself to go in search of Alan and the girls. David pointed her down a short hallway which joined the kitchen to a small room with French doors leading outside. As she passed into the room, she caught sight of Charlie heading up the back stairs, aided by his brother. Neither man seemed to notice her, so she was an accidental witness to this candidly tender display of their trust and affection: Charlie grasping onto his brother's shoulder for support; Don murmuring quiet words of encouragement as he helped him negotiate the stairs to his room.

Several minutes later, Don came back down and joined her on the steps to the side yard where she sat watching as Alan showed the girls the wonders of the koi pond. She accepted one of the cold beers he brought with him.

"Is Charlie okay?"

"Oh yeah. He's just tired. And sore. His back's causing him a lot of grief."

"Was this too much for him? Maybe they should have kept him in the hospital another day."

"Nah." Don waved this off. "Charlie may look a little rough around the edges right now but trust me, he really enjoyed this. He was glad to have this opportunity to thank you before you headed back to Phoenix."

A squeal of laughter floated up from the yard. Allison smiled at the sight of Marie standing at the side of the pond, clapping her hands in delight. Alan kneeled beside her, keeping careful hold around her chubby waist to prevent her from toppling into the water in her enthusiasm.

"What about your dad?" she asked. "This week had to have been pretty rough on him."

Don sat for a moment watching his father play with the girls before answering.

"He scared me, Allison," he said softly. "When he called me at work, I rushed to the hospital worried to death about what was going on with Charlie. And then when I got there, I found Dad in an exam room hooked up to an EKG."

Allison nodded. "He mentioned something about a nurse at the scene insisting that he get checked out. I didn't realize it was that serious."

"As it turns out, it wasn't. The doctors said he was perfectly fine. Even so, losing Charlie so soon after losing Mom..." Don's voice trailed off. "I don't know, Allison. I think it might have killed him."

Allison placed a comforting hand on his arm and in an instant flashed on Don's face as he stood in the ER watching his father. At that moment she realized what the loss of his entire family in the space of a year would have done to Don. On the surface he would have continued to appear stoic and self-sufficient, but on the inside he would have withered away to nothing. It would have destroyed him.

"Don?"

Don turned to meet her calm gaze.

"They're both okay," she reassured him.

"I know," he said, returning her smile.

"Your father must be superhuman. How did he throw this party together at the drop of a hat?"

"Are you kidding? This is nothing. Dad needs very little excuse to invite people over to enjoy his cooking. Once, when Larry managed to get his midterm grades turned in on time, Dad threw a lasagna dinner for the entire physics department."

"Really?"

"Yep. And a couple of months ago when Charlie figured out how to fix the furnace in the basement, Dad celebrated by arranging a block party for the neighborhood, complete with a pig roast in our back yard. So you see, he figures that when a gifted medium saves his son's life not just once but twice, it certainly qualifies for an impromptu barbeque for a few of our nearest and dearest. That's how things work in the Eppes household."

"Must be lovely."

"It is. We're very lucky."

"Well, thanks for sharing this day with me and my family." Allison held up her beer for a toast. "To friends and family," she said, as they clinked their bottles together.

"Allison, do you have any idea what Joe was talking about earlier with Charlie and Larry? Charlie was really fired up about some of Joe's ideas. He kept going on about it when I was trying to help him into bed. I didn't have the foggiest notion what he was talking about, but it was obvious he was really impressed with your husband."

"I have no idea what they were talking about either. Black holes and quantum doodads and something about that whole gravity thing."

"Yeah. That was pretty much my take on it, too." Don chuckled. "Charlie said that the three of them were going to try to brainstorm a little more next week through email."

"That is so cool."

"Yeah. He's probably still up there running equations in his sleep. Joe certainly got his motor running."

"I'm glad to hear that. You know, Joe lost a good friend recently. They used to love to bounce ideas off each other. I hadn't realized how hard he took Brett's death, how much he missed having someone like that to talk to, until today when he was talking to Charlie and Larry. It's good to see that old spark in his eyes. If I don't get a chance to tell Charlie before we go, thank him for me."

Alan strode up to where they were sitting, one Dubois daughter on his arm, the other two flanking him on either side.

"The girls say they need a pudding break, but since I know for a fact this would be their second helping, I told them they have to ask Mom first."

Allison shook her head. "I don't think more sugar is such a good idea. You girls are going to be bouncing off the walls as it is."

"But it has bananas, and Mr. Eppes says that's good for you," Bridgette informed her.

Allison's eyes narrowed. "Mr. Eppes says so, huh?"

Alan tried to look innocent. "She's absolutely right, it's practically health food."

"I suppose if you put it that way."

"Yay!" The girls headed eagerly for the back door.

"No shouting!" Allison called after them. "And no running in the house. Charlie's trying to sleep."

"So tell me, Allison, where can I get one of these?" Alan waggled his eyebrows at the youngest Dubois and she rewarded him by reaching up and giving his nose a particularly vigorous honk.

"I could arrange to rent them to you over the summer."

"What do you think, son? Wouldn't it be great to have a couple of these little critters running around?"

"Dad..." Don's voice held a warning tone.

"What? I'm just saying--"

"I know what you're saying," Don grinned at his father but held up a hand to ward off further discussion. "I'll tell Charlie to get right on it."

"Yeah, right," Alan muttered, "your little brother's got an equation for everything." He tucked Marie, football-style, under his arm and she squealed in delight. "But when it comes to giving me grandchildren, he's clueless. C'mon little missy, let's go find Agent Terry." He carried his little friend back into the house. "She's an honest to goodness FBI agent, just like Don. Did you know that?"

Don smiled ruefully. "I hope you realize you created a monster."

"I'm sorry. But you have to admit, he's so cute with them."

"Oh, you'll get no argument from me there. He's going to be a terrific granddad if Charlie and I ever get off the stick. And Mom.." He smiled. "Mom would have made a kick-ass grandma."

"One thing you can count on, she'll make darn sure her grandkids wear their helmets."

Don gave her an odd look and she realized she had spoken of his mother in the present tense.

"What I mean is--" she hurried to correct herself, "--Charlie probably won't be nearly as absent-minded with his own kids when it comes to safety and all."

Don continued to study her, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Allison shifted self-consciously. "You know, I think I'll go get some of that banana pudding myself."

Don stopped her before she could stand up to leave. "Allison, wait. Could I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"The other day I came to your hotel and you pegged me right away as Alan's other son. First of all, I apologize for blowing it off with that smart-aleck comment about psychics--"

"It's okay, I get that all the time."

"I know, but I was wondering..."

"What?"

Don hesitated, started to continue, then shook his head and said, "Never mind, it's dumb."

Allison thought back to a few nights ago when she had found Bridgette standing at the door of their hotel suite talking to a stranger with dark hair and strikingly familiar features. She understood what Don was reluctant to ask.

"Don, I didn't recognize you because of any strong resemblance to Alan. I knew you were Margaret Eppes' son because you're the spitting image of the woman I met in my kitchen a week ago."

Don didn't respond, but sat quietly for a while staring out at the garden in the back yard. Finally he turned and gave Allison a shy smile. "Do you really think so? I mean, I don't see it myself, but Dad's always saying so. It's kind of nice to know it's not just wishful thinking on his part."

"She's very proud of you. Of the man you've become."

Don looked away, his eyes suspiciously bright. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, listening to sounds of warmth and friendship emanating from the house that Margaret Eppes had loved.

Don glanced at the back door, as if to make sure no one was listening, then leaned toward her. "So, Allison, you think I got her nose?"

"You definitely got her nose."

He smiled at her, and she recalled how his mother had smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners in just the same way.

"That's good. Oh, and by the way, don't tell Charlie," he said with a wink, "but he got stuck with Dad's."

The End

Beth? In honor of your good humor and hospitality and for providing us with a warm and crazy place to bond over this show, I've dedicated the App3ndix to you. Enjoy!

APP3NDIX

Alan's Best Banana Pudding

Ingredients:

1 large box (5.1-oz) instant vanilla pudding
2-3/4 cups milk
8 oz cream cheese (softened)
12 oz whipped cream
1 14-oz can sweetened condensed milk
6 medium bananas, sliced
1 12-oz box vanilla wafers

Add milk to pudding mix and stir well. Add softened cream cheese to pudding mixture and blend as best you can (I never manage to get all the lumps out, but it still tastes good). Stir in condensed milk. Fold in whipped cream. Add bananas and vanilla wafers.

(Note: Don prefers painstakingly alternating layers of pudding with whole vanilla wafers. It's a beauty to behold. Charlie, on the other hand, appreciates the wonder of chaos and this is reflected in his haphazard dumping of the whole box of wafers into the pudding mix. You decide for yourself which side of your personality you want to express. )

Refrigerate overnight to allow the wafers to soften. Nummers. Serves: A small army or an entire physics department.

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