Abe Morgan nervously gripped the steering wheel of his car as he and Henry sat in deafening silence and stared out at the choppy, briney waters of the East River. After several long minutes, Abe spoke up.

"You're not sure you wanna do this, are you?" he asked quietly, his gaze still fixed on the waters.

Henry sighed. "Does seem rather desperate." He sighed again and forced his gaze up and across the river to the twinkling lights of the city's nightscape. "Cowardly." He removed the gloves, with the special side openings and large velcro fastening, from his hands and examined them again, palmside down, then up, then down, then up again, as if by magic the scars would vanish. And all ten fingers would heal along with the underlying musculature. Without the ability to effectively hold and use his medical instruments anymore, his days as a medical examiner, or as any type of physician, were over. Even so, he felt more fortunate than the attacker's other five victims.

Two of them, a married couple in their 90's, celebrating their anniversary by taking in a Broadway play, had been attacked as they'd exited the theater. They'd died only a few hours later. Three others had survived with more extensive injuries than he had, and would undergo years of facial reconstructive surgery and physical and psychological therapy. Victim #3, a 42-year-old housewife and mother of three, had recently been served divorce papers by her spineless husband. Victims #4 and #5, a young couple out on the town, had initially supported each other in an effort to maintain their relationship. But the pressures of their new, more harsh realities threatened to pull them apart.

Most of Henry's face had been spared when he'd been attacked. But his left ear had been badly damaged. In the process of demonstrating to Jo two possible ways in which a person might automatically shield themselves from such an attack, he'd covered his face with both of his arms, then, both of his hands. As fate would have it, the attacker had chosen that very same moment to douse him with industrial strength drain cleaner. They'd been walking near Bethesda Fountain in Central Park, as luck would have it, and he'd had the presence of mind to throw himself into the fountain's cooling waters. Passersby had aided Jo and him in removing his acid-soaked top clothing. Others had successfully subdued the attacker until the police had arrived and taken him into custody.

After the attack, Henry had gone into shock and had spent several weeks in the hospital. The doctors had used skin from the large areas of his body to repair the burns on his forearms, hands, and ear. But too many people, including Jo, had seen him badly injured. Many of them were strangers he'd probably never meet again, but the hospital staff; the responders; and ... Jo. What plausible explanation could he come up with to justify his sudden and miraculous recovery from these burns when all of the others had not? It was all so tempting. Just swallow the small vile of poison tucked away in his coat pocket, die, come back healed in the river. He had a way out of this pain and disfigurement that none of the others did. He told himself that it was necessary in order to get his life back on track. Get back to his job and colleagues, now friends, and to Jo.

They'd known each other for nearly three years, but had grown closer over the past year and a half; and he had begun to feel that they could have something special together. That is, if he'd ever gotten up the nerve to reveal his secret of immortality to her. Abe had been warning him that he should do so, but the longer he'd delayed, the harder it had become for him to do so. And then, this happened. He ran it over and over in his mind how he would explain his totally healed body to Jo. Hang everyone else, what would Jo think? How would she react? It would then be necessary to reveal the truth about his condition to her, but ... No. There had to be a better way.

"Quite the contrary, I do want to do this." He sighed and clumsily managed to put his gloves back on. "But I have to find another way. Let's go back home, please, Abraham."

Abe looked at his father for a few seconds as he'd struggled with the gloves. He fought back the natural urge to help him because Henry had told him that he must learn to do simple tasks by himself, for himself.

Henry turned to him with a forced smile and repeated, "Let's go home."

Abe grunted, started up the car, backed it up, and headed home to the shop. "Can't say as I blame you for wanting to, but what do you plan to do now?" he asked, the concern in his voice evident.

Henry pulled his lips in and exhaled loudly through his nose. "I'll figure something out."

"We'll figure something out." Abe said with a reassuring smile.

vvvv

British Airways Flight 1515 would take him on a more than 12-hour journey from New York, to Copenhagen, Denmark. It was a long flight, but he had time. All the time in the world. And he knew the language once he would arrive there, even though he was sure English would be spoken by most everyone so there would not be any barriers to effective communication.

"What time's your flight?" Abe asked with a deadpanned expression.

"Tomorrow morning, 4:36 AM." Henry replied, much in the same manner.

They'd discussed at length his supposed decision to be treated at a burn unit in Copenhagen. His treatment and recovery would take months. Then, all perfectly healed, he would return to New York, pick his life and career back up with the OCME, and, hopefully, resume his relationship with Jo. A perfect plan. No questions asked. Of course, it was all rubbish. He'd find a place to settle in there and pick a time and method for his self-demise in order to be healed. Abe had begrudgingly agreed to help him pull off the hoax of his travel to a faraway clinic for lengthy but bogus treatment and recovery. It was simple. And no one would ever have to know the truth. His secret could be kept from Jo a little bit longer.

"What if she doesn't wait for you? Say she meets some other guy, just as good-looking, maybe more; maybe more charming, maybe rich like that Ivan guy?" Abe suggested.

Henry frowned as he took in his words. "Isaac." he replied and stared at his half-eaten meal. He'd long since tired of trying to eat his finely chopped or pureed food with a spoon.

"What?" Abe asked, confused.

"Isaac." Henry repeated a bit louder as he rose from the table. "His name was Isaac Monroe."

"Whatever." Abe waved a hand dismissively. "What if you bounce out of here, keep her in the dark and she finds out? She is a detective, you know. She's not dumb. Not like some people I know." he muttered under his breath.

"I heard that last part." Henry flatly replied as he stared at the uneaten food on his paper plate. Normally, he would have eaten all of it from a regular plate, he would have rinsed it and the utensils, and situated them into the dishwasher. It was all so much of a challenge now. "Just because you've gotten older doesn't mean that you have permission to speak so disrespectfully to me."

His voice had that distracted tone all too familiar to Abe. And there was no sparkle in his eyes. Hadn't been ever since he'd been attacked. But it was the tiredness that had crept into his voice that worried Abe the most.

As Henry turned to face Abe again, the tiredness showed even more on his face. "I'm not in the mood to argue with you anymore about this, though. Goodnight, Abraham." He turned and walked out of the kitchen.

"Night, Dad." Abe couldn't help but feel a bit slighted. His father usually hugged him before going to bed, he poutingly observed. But his injuries, though healing, still generated enough pain when he raised his arms or if any pressure was applied.

"Abraham?"

Abe looked up to see his father standing in the kitchen doorway, his head slightly bowed with an apologetic look on his face.

"Yeah, Pops?"

Henry walked over to him and slowly bent down and pressed his chin to the top of Abe's head. He raised back up with a chuckle. "That's the best I can do for now. I owe you a big bear hug."

Abe grinned and raised a finger at him. "You owe me a lot of 'em."

Henry backed away grinning, then dipped his head, turned around, and walked out again.

"Night, Pops." Abe whispered again, this time with a warm smile.

vvvv

"Henry! Henry! Dad!" Abe shouted as he knocked loudly on Henry's bedroom door, then swung it open and entered his room. The clock radio on the nightstand displayed 6:13 AM. "Dad, wake up! You missed your flight!" He had mixed feelings about it, though. On the one hand, he was glad that Dad wasn't leaving just yet, but deep down inside, he knew it was probably the best plan for his father to get healed and be able to resume his life in New York. Abe walked quickly over to his slumbering father and started to shake the bed to rouse him. But the peaceful look on his face stopped him from doing so. The flight was already a bust, so he'd let him sleep a little longer. The flight could always be re-scheduled. He turned and tiptoed out of the room and gently closed the door shut again. As he neared his own bedroom, the early morning newscast was blaring a report of massive demonstrations and chaos at JFK International Airport. He walked into the room dreading that it might be another terrorist attack. He closed his door and settled down on his bed. He frowned as he listened to the unbelievable news report.

"... The President signed an executive order Friday barring citizens of seven Muslim-majority countries from entering the country ..."

Abe switched the channel.

" ... tens of thousands are marching to protest the President's immigration ban ... "

He switched the channel again.

"... in cities and airports across the United States ... "

It was the same on every news channel, a big story of people being detained with threats of immediate deportation, confusion among the various airports' security personnel, protests, utter chaos.

Abe scoffed. "Good thing Dad overslept and he's not gonna be in the middle of all that."

It was another hour and a half before Henry finally woke up, at first in a panic. He'd calmed down once Abe had explained the situation effecting JFK and many other airports across the country.

"Looks like you're landlocked." Abe jokingly observed. "At least for a while."

Henry frowned as his eyes darted about the room while he considered his other options. He sighed and raised his eyebrows as he looked at Abe. "Then, it's Plan B."

"The cabin upstate?" Abe asked.

Henry nodded and managed to spoon up some more scrambled eggs and crumbled bacon (courtesy of his very attentive and caring son). As he chewed, he closed his eyes and was already imagining a heartier meal that required the deft use of a knife and fork.

"So ... tonight ... again?" Abe cautiously asked.

"Yes, tonight." Henry replied. "And not a moment too soon."

Abe groaned and held both hands to the small of his back as he rose from his chair at the kitchen table. Henry winced as he watched him limp into the living room. And there was that. The guilt he felt of hauling his elderly son around at all hours of the night, of worrying him more than necessary. Especially recently since he now required special preparation of his meals so he could handle feeding himself. It weighed heavily on his mind more and more each day. But this self-death was necessary. Even Abe had agreed.

"I'll go online and try to get a refund for you on those airline tickets, Pops." Abe loudly announced as he huffed down onto the couch and pulled his laptop, already out on the coffee table, closer to him.

"Thank you, Abe." He managed to clear the table by pushing the pedal waste bin over to the edge of the table with his foot, and sweeping the paper plates and utensils into the open receptacle with his arms. Gently. Slowly. But anything he could do to be of help. Tonight couldn't come too soon for him.