Jo and Hanson left Lt. Reece's office and headed toward the interview room to question the ten-year-old boy named Abe Morgan, whom Henry claimed was - his son. His ... son. Admittedly, she would have had no problem believing that part of his tale if he had not woven so many other implausible parts into it. He was born in 1779; he was immortal since his first death in 1814. First? Death? Oh, and had adopted Abe as a baby in the mid-1940's. He and his wife. His second wife. When, according to his crazy sounding timeline of events, he would have been at least 166 years old! To make matters worse, he professed to believe Lucas' Outer Limits theory that Abe had been de-aged to a ten-year-old, along with a few others, by some mad scientist. The whole thing caused her to now question Henry's sanity. Her quirky friend losing his mind? It broke her heart to give a second of thought to that possibility. While Hanson walked alongside her and grumbled something about both Henry and Lucas being crack minded from having breathed in too much formaldehyde or something, and if this was some kind of stupid joke, he was going to wring their necks - Henry's fantastical words rang in her ears.
"You already think me mad; I doubt there's anything I could say to convince you otherwise. But Abe is, at the least, an outside perspective. If you can't believe my words, ask him what he thinks the date is. Ask how he was adopted. Ask his address—I believe the unis have already verified that it's been turned into an office building. You're detectives, I'm sure you can come up with a way to verify Lucas' theory or my age."
Just as they reached the door of the interview room, Hanson placed his hand on the doorknob and turned to Jo. "This is a big waste of time, Jo," he groaned out in a whisper. "Henry's finally popped his cork, that's all. And Lucas? His other suit has been a straight jacket for a long time." He shook his head, his eyebrows twinged up, wrinkling his forehead. "I don't like spinning my wheels like this."
"Lieu says to interview the boy, Abe," she quietly reminded him, "and that's what we're gonna do." He heaved out a sigh and shook his head. "We question him in order to either prove or disprove what Henry told us," she calmly continued and watched him closely as he nodded in reluctant agreement. "Process of elimination," she told him and tapped his shoulder with her notepad. "Afterwards, we can investigate more normal theories to find out where and to whom these kids really belong." He nodded again, they both drew in a breath, and he pulled the door open, allowing her to enter first.
Abe, a blonde, blue-eyed girl named Sally, and an African-American boy named Jeffrey, sat solemnly with their hands folded in front of them on the table as if at prayer in Sunday school. At first glance, they appeared to look no different from any other kid walking around the city. But closer scrutiny revealed that their clothing and hairstyles were from a different era, more like the 1950's or early 1960's. Whoever dressed them, she thought, was obviously a huge fan of the "Back to the Future" movies or had watched too many early "Leave It to Beaver" reruns. At any rate, they were still children and both she and Hanson had to tread lightly with them. Besides, they appeared to be the victims either of abandonment or some cruel joke. After a moment's hesitation, she and Hanson seated themselves on the other side of the table, facing them. Since Abe was their target, she pondered how best to isolate him from the other two children without upsetting or alarming any of them. However, Jeffrey solved the problem for her.
He raised his hand timidly and said, "I have to go to the lavatory." Hmmm, she thought to herself, that was what many people called school restrooms decades ago.
"Me, too," Sally said.
She eyed Abe but he shook his head. "I already went." She instructed the male uni to accompany Jeffrey to the restroom and for him to get a female uni to take charge of Sally. After that, she further instructed them, the two were to be taken to the conference room that had recently been converted into a playroom to temporarily house child victims of crime or children of those arrested until they could be released to either a family member or Child Protective Services. Once they'd left the room, she turned her attention back to young Abe.
"... ask him what he thinks the date is..."
"Abe, uh, you're how old?" She chose a different route to get to what year he thought it was.
"I told you guys a hundred times already, ten!" he scowled and shoved his fist against his cheek.
"Calm down, okay," Hanson said, patting a hand at him, "we just wanna make sure we got all the facts straight." He looked over at Jo for her to continue. Being the father of two rambunctious boys himself who constantly tried his patience and required frequent discipline, he understood all too well how to dig the truth out of an upset child. But he still wasn't buying this BS Henry had thrown at them.
"Okay, ten," Jo replied. "That's great." She bolstered up her smile a bit more and asked, "When and where were you born?"
"August 13, 1944, in Poland. It was in a camp called Auschwitz," he told her matter-of-factly. "Where's my dad?" He looked anxiously toward the door.
She swallowed and her smile faltered a bit. "Don't worry," she said soothingly, placing her hand over his. "He's close by, talking with our boss, Lt. Reece about how best to help you and Jeffrey and Sally." She glanced quickly over at Hanson. He cleared his throat and sat forward a bit in his chair.
"...Ask how he was adopted..."
"Abe, uh, you say that Henry is your father." Abe nodded vigorously. "What's your mother's name?" he continued.
"I don't know," Abe shrugged and lowered his eyes to his still folded hands.
Hanson leaned back in his chair, confused. Jo's brow furrowed a bit and she bent her head down to look into Abe's face.
"You don't know your mother's name? Why is that?" She managed to mask the worry that threatened to creep into her voice. Worry that her unofficial crime-solving partner may have either lied for reasons unknown or had suffered a mental break, as Hanson had suggested.
Abe shifted uncomfortably in his chair and raised his small face to her, a pained expression on it. "Because she died right after I was born. Both of my parents died in Auschwitz." He looked forlornly at them. "The Nazis ran the camp and they were mean to them. At least, that's what I was told. That's what's in the history books. They were mean to everybody in the camp. I never knew my parents' names or what they even looked like. Never knew the name I was born with, either."
Hanson frowned and tilted his head. "But you said that Henry was your father." Jo's heart was beginning to race as she waited for Abe's reply.
"Yeah, he is." He shifted in his seat again and the pained expression gradually left his face. "See, he was a doctor in the war. He and the nurse who found me in the camp fell in love and they decided to adopt me after they couldn't find any other relatives for me." He virtually chirped out the words as his broad grin dimpled his cheeks; his bright, blue eyes sparkled. "They're the only parents I've ever known."
Jo's heart leaped for joy while Hanson rubbed his fingers up and down his forehead trying to ward off a headache - a really big headache. As unbelievable as Henry's story sounded, young Abe had apparently just corroborated it. But they had to be sure.
"And the name of the nurse who found you in the camp?" Hanson asked.
"Oh. Abigail," Abe proudly replied. "She's real pretty. Mom and Dad are neat parents, too. They're both British," he proudly chirped again.
"Abe, you do know what year this is, right?" Jo asked.
"Sure. 1955. I turn 11 this year." He lowered his eyes to his hands again. "But ... " his voice trailed off.
"But what, Abe?" Jo asked, a bit concerned. "What is it?"
He looked up at her again and said, "Things look ... different." He shrugged again and scratched the top of his head. "I don't know, the cars, the buildings, and the clothes that most everybody's wearing." He sighed. "I don't understand what's going on."
"And you say you live at 69th and 2nd?" Hanson asked again.
"Yeah," he replied. He looked from one to other. "Can I go see my dad now?" He waited for them to respond. "Please?"
The color had washed out of Hanson's face. He studied Abe closely for any sign that this was all some kind of an elaborate hoax. Or dream. But he had seen and questioned enough lying suspects and those who were sincere and honest to know that this little guy appeared to be telling the truth. As crazy as Henry's story was, it matched the kid's. Henry's kid. Hand to God, he knew the guy was weird the first time they'd dealt with him during the subway crash investigation a couple of years ago. He sighed and stood up, extending an arm to young Abe.
"Yeah, c'mon, kid," he said, "We'll take ya to him." Abe quickly left his seat and stood by Hanson.
Jo stood up and closed her notepad. "One more thing to check first," she quietly said to Hanson. The three of them left the interview room and walked into the bullpen, stopping at Jo's desk. Hanson instructed the boy to sit in the chair behind his own desk. He pulled out a legal size pad from one of his desk drawers and gave him a box of colored pencils to occupy him. He then pulled the straight back metal chair away from next to Jo's desk and placed it next to her, sitting in it as she typed on her computer keyboard. She pressed enter and they both waited anxiously for the requested information to display onto her screen. When it finally did, their jaws dropped and they exchanged a look of incredulity as they stared at the 1956 NYC marriage record for Henry Morgan, 35, and Abigail Winters, 33; both gave birthplaces in the UK. The next record she retrieved was the official 1945 adoption record for Abraham Morgan born 13 Aug 1944, Auschwitz Camp, Poland (near Oświęcim). Hanson's face turned ashen when they read the names of the adoptive parents: Henry Morgan, 35, a doctor, and Abigail Winters, 22, a nurse; and both in the military and both British citizens. They quickly schooled their features and darted their eyes around the bullpen to see if any of their other colleagues had noticed their reactions. Thankfully, it appeared they had not.
"Passport," Hanson whispered and she nodded, already typing the information into the search window.
Soon, images of Henry's and Abigail's passports with their information and photos filled the screen. Information that matched with everything they'd gathered so far. The passport photo of a young, beautiful Abigail matched the photo of the young, blonde woman on Henry's desk in his basement laboratory of the Antiques Shop. She'd seen it and another photo of an older woman next to it while searching his lab when Henry had been a suspect in the subway crash case. And later, when she'd caught him holding his hunting knife that had had the blood and human matter of Richard Smite on it. But at the time, she had assumed the two photos were younger and older versions of his mother or grandmother. However, she now concluded that the older woman's photo on his desk was also that of Abigail once she'd slipped past middle age.
Jo glanced over her shoulder at Abe, who appeared to be engrossed in creating artwork with the pad and pencils Hanson had just given him. Before she knew anything, though, Hanson was already in Reece's office, ashen-faced, telling her breathlessly, "Lieu, it's true." Then she heard a small voice behind her.
"That's Mom and Dad."
She turned around in her chair to see Abe standing behind her, staring enraptured at the screen.
"Is that a TV? Are they on TV?" he asked with a slight smile, his eyes widened with curiosity.
She quickly collapsed the browser and said, "Uh, Abe, can you wait just a minute back over there?" She pointed to Hanson's desk and he reluctantly walked back and plopped down sullenly into the chair.
"I'll take you to see your dad in a second, okay?" She smiled at him and he nodded. She quickly emailed the documents they'd discovered online to the Lieutenant and closed the browser and logged off of her computer. "Okay," she said and beckoned him with one finger. He jumped up and followed her to Reece's office. Once the door was opened and he saw Henry, he quickly slipped away from her and past Hanson, to stand by his father, who welcomed him with open arms.
"Abraham," he whispered as they embraced. Henry pulled back to look at his son's face. A face he had not seen in decades. He smiled and stroked his hair. "Abraham." He swallowed hard to keep the flood of tears stinging his eyes at bay.
"I'm fine, Dad," Abe quietly told him. Henry smiled at him and nodded, his lower lip trembling.
"You answered all the Detectives' questions?" he finally asked Abe then looked at Jo and Hanson. They both smiled and nodded.
Abe sighed deeply and rolled his eyes before replying, "Yeah, but they must don't write things down because they kept asking me some of the same stuff over and over."
The four adults, including Hanson, couldn't help but chuckle softly even though their eyes were misting over. Henry, naturally, because of his care and concern for his son's wellbeing and safety. The others because they now knew some of the truth their mysterious and quirky ME had long withheld from them about himself. The interaction between Henry and his miraculously age-regressed son unexpectedly warmed their hearts. A parent-child reunion was always heart warming to witness but this one was enhanced with special circumstances, to say the least. But it still allowed them to be privy to a side of the secretive man they had never even suspected he had.
"I was scared, Dad." Abe's voice was small and quiet.
"Wha-, oh, Abe," Henry breathed out fretfully, shaking his head. "Of course, you were. I'm so sorry you had to go through that." He cupped the side of Abe's face in one of his hands.
"The whole time I was there with that creepy guy." Abe said, frowning at the memory. Henry opened his mouth to reply but Abe continued. "But I didn't let him know." He set his mouth into a tight line and jutted his chin out, much like Henry did sometimes when being defiant. "I didn't let him know, Dad."
Henry swallowed and blinked several times before replying, "That was very brave of you, my boy." He sensed the Detectives' antennas being raised when Abe described his captor as 'creepy'. Presumably, they had been more concerned with finding out who the children were and who they belonged to when they'd questioned them and failed to believe them, at first. They'd have to wait, though, to satisfy their curiosity. His own curiosity would have to be put on the back burner, as well. He could see that his son was tired and he strongly felt the need to get him home.
Hanson made eye contact with Lt. Reece, silently requesting her permission to question Abe further, but she put up a hand, keeping her eyes on Henry and Abe.
Henry rose up from his seat and put his arm around Abe's shoulders. He looked at Reece and announced his intentions of taking Abe home and any further questions could wait until tomorrow. Reece closed her eyes and nodded once.
"We're going home now, son," he said, smiling down at him. Abe's next question, however, froze him in his tracks and nearly sucked the air out of his lungs.
"Dad, where's Mom?"
It was an innocent question, a fair one, he conceded. But the others could see that Henry was totally unprepared to answer it. He went stiff as a board and swallowed, causing his Adam's apple to bob furiously. They watched almost awestruck as the terror fleetingly crossed his face, only to be quickly replaced by a calm facade. Countless times they'd seen it before when he'd sidestepped personal questions with either half-truths or lies. He was perceived by many as being anti-social; unreasonably secretive. Now they knew why. Now they knew why he'd so fiercely guarded his private life. Who would have believed him if he had told the truth? They still found it hard to believe even after all the evidence they'd just uncovered. But instead of feeling the satisfaction of successful treasure seekers, they felt the embarrassment of guilty intruders. It was obvious that Henry's wife, Abigail, was no longer in their lives. They now recognized his seemingly calm demeanor as a cover up for the fear he now felt. It was literally rolling off of him as he smiled down at his son.
"She can't be here right now, Abe." Two centuries of practice allowed his voice to be calm and he raised his eyebrows up over his smile. "Settle for the old man?" Abe grinned and nodded, just happy to finally be leaving and headed for home. They bid their goodbyes and proceeded to walk out of Reece's office. Just for a second, he paused as he neared Jo and she placed her hand on his arm, mouthing 'Call me'. He gave her a genuine smile of gratitude and a quick nod. With that, he and his son left the building and took a cab to the Antiques Shop.
"Man, oh, man," Hanson said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wouldn't wanna be in his shoes right now." He scoffed and observed, "You never know what people are hiding, do ya?"