The Long and Winding Road

by The Profane Angel

A dark look at an event that brings Jordan and Woody together. If you don't like exploring the dark side of humanity, it's not for you. I don't own Crossing Jordan nor profit from this particular form of writing.

Crossing Jordan - Jordan gets snatched (Patty Hearst heard the burst of Roland's gun and bought it - Warren Zevon's Roland the headless Thompson Gunner), a little threatening, a little violent, and a lot anti-Lu. If you don't like exploring the dark side of human nature, stop here.

Jordan finished late, she took her time with this body, that of a ten year old girl who'd been raped and then murdered, tossed like rubbish on the side of the road. Throwaway kids, she thought, stripping off her scrubs for a well-deserved shower; never had she felt so dirty after doing an autopsy. Clean physically if not emotionally, she dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved tee, and her red leather jacket, running a comb through her wet hair before exiting the locker room. The morgue was empty, and her footsteps resounded in the hallway, which was kind of spooky, given the late hour. She took the elevator to the ground floor and waved to the security guard as she pressed the button that would release the locked doors. She was out of the building before they'd fully opened.

Tall and lean, with the stride of an athlete, she walked quickly to her car, and the back of her neck prickled. The lot was not well lit, but her car was the only one there, aside from the guard's, and she jogged the last few yards to its side, her keys out. The key was in the lock when the black phantom rolled out of the back of the El Camino and covered her mouth while putting a choke hold on her neck. He dragged her backward, into deep shadow, and a black SUV pulled up. Her attacker pushed her into the backseat, sliding in after her, her wrist immobilized in a painful police hold behind her back. His free hand grabbed a handful of her long black hair, holding her head tilted to the side, and said "Now."

The driver leaned across the space between the driver's seat and Jordan's exposed neck. She caught the glimpse of a hypodermic needle before she felt the sting; it was the last thing she saw as she fell into a darkness so absolute that it might as well be death.

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Bug found her car. First to arrive, on yet another ass-kissing mission to keep his job in the face of potential management change, he rolled up next to Jordan's car and cursed her for beating him in. Then the glint of her keys in the El Camino's lock caught his eye, the post dawn sunlight glinted on the silver dangling from the lock. He took one look at the keys, then looked up at the security cameras aimed at various points of the lot. Shivering with cold and a vague fear, he hustled inside the building and stopped at the security guard's desk. This was a new one, Bug struggled with his name, then he turned enough that his nametag was visible: Evans. Bug leaned on the desk, his palms flat on the surface.

"Evans." The man looked up, curious, the medical examiners always ignored him unless they needed something. "What time did Dr. Cavanaugh leave last night?"

He yawned, then scratched the back of his head, what was he, the keeper of the ME's? "I dunno, late. After midnight."

"You didn't log it?"

He stared at the short Indian doctor. "No, I didn't. I was stirring my coffee."

Bug resisted the urge to grab him by the front of his ill-fitting shirt and shake him until his brains scrambled. "You're supposed to log our entrances and exits."

"Not unless we're in an elevated threat condition." He leaned back in his chair and stared insolently at the doctor. "She came out of the elevators, waved, and split for home. Is she late for an assignation or something?"

Bug did come around the desk then, grabbing the man and pulling him to his feet. "Her car is in the parking lot, keys in the lock. Now what time did she leave?"

He removed Bug's hands, he knew how sensitive these doctors were about their hands, and tossed them away like cardboard coffee cups. "I told you. After midnight. If I had to guess, I'd say closer to two a.m. She looked tired, but she looked hot, too, tight jeans and that red jacket."

Bug went to the console with the security monitors. Finding the one featuring his car and Jordan's, he pushed a button, then the eject button, and seized the tape. When the guard protested, Bug looked at him with dark eyes. "You better hope nothing happened, since you're supposed to be watching those monitors." He took the tape with him, flipping open his cell phone as he approached the elevators. He found Dr. Macy's number in his directory and hit call. Macy answered as the elevators closed on the lobby and began its slow ascent. "Dr. Macy, I think something's happened to Jordan."

"Come again, Bug?"

"Her car was in the lot when I got here, keys dangling from the door lock. I've seized the surveillance tape, shall I wait for you before watching?"

"No," Garret said, a tinge of panic in his voice. "Watch it and call Woody if you see something." He deliberately let the "something" remain undefined. "I'm on my way. I'll give Nigel a call, light a fire under his ass." Macy's end of the connection went dead.

Bug stuffed his phone in his pocket, then got out on their floor. He went straight to the break room, dropping his duffel bag on the table, and turned on the TV and VCR. He shoved the tape into the slot, hit rewind, and started coffee while he waited for it to rewind; the VCR was old and it took its time, like any elderly person, to move. Coffee was dripping into the pot when he heard the loud click that said "Got there." He hit play, then spun a chair away from the table and sat, his arms resting on its back. He watched for a few minutes, then got up for the remote control and pressed fast forward. It took several minutes, but then he saw Jordan approach her car. He scooted closer to the TV, remote ready, and saw her insert her key, saw the man in black, complete with ski mask, grab her and drag her out of camera range. He paused it there, sick, then gathered himself. He poured coffee, then dug his phone out of his pocket and found Woody's number in his directory.

"This is Hoyt," came the sleepy answer.

"Woody, it's Bug. We have a problem with Jordan."

"When do we not have a problem with Jordan, Bug?" Woody sounded irritated, and Bug heard the murmuring of a female voice in the background.

"No, I mean a real problem. Somebody snatched her out of the parking lot."

"Why the hell didn't you say so?" Woody's tone changed at once. "I'll be there in twenty minutes, do not let anyone touch her car until I'm there, understand?"

"Am I an idiot, Woody?" Offended, he pressed end and tossed his phone on the table, then choked down another swallow of coffee. As he rewound the tape to the beginning of Jordan's trek across the empty lot, Garret burst in, Nigel on his heels. Bug hit pause.

"What?" Garret said, and he took the remote from Bug, pressing play. He watched the snatch, then said "Damn it." He looked at Bug. "Woody on the way?"

"Yes. We've been 'instructed' not to touch her car." He couldn't hide his disdain.

"Well screw that," Nigel said. "I'm going after trace while it's still fresh." He looked at his watch, it was six-thirty. "Or relatively so." He stalked out of the break room before Garret could countermand his decision.

Bug looked at Garret for guidance. "Should we stop him?"

"Hell no. He's an expert criminologist, it's his job to gather trace. Much better he do it than some newbie just hired by BPD. I think I'll go help. Don't let anyone else watch this tape, Bug, and I mean it, that includes Lily. Got it?"

"Yes, Dr. Macy." Bug looked down at his feet. When he heard the door close, he picked up his duffle bag and made his way to the locker room to change into scrubs, wearing a thermal undershirt beneath his pale blue top. He tied the drawstring on his pants, then sat on a narrow bench to pull on his sneakers. He returned to the break room to find Lily pouring coffee.

"What are Garret and Nigel doing to Jordan's car?" she asked. "They wouldn't tell me." Her feeling were wounded, and Bug instinctively wanted to make it all better, but Garret's warning rang in his ears.

"I'm not sure," he said. "If they don't want to tell you, they have their reasons." He walked to the window overlooking the parking lot. Woody's car careened to a halt at the rear of Jordan's car and he leaped out, anger on his face. He gesticulated to Garret and Nigel, who continued working while he ranted. Then Garret pointed up, toward the morgue floor, and with a last angry look, Woody walked away. Here it comes, Bug thought, and he looked at Lily, who watched him expectantly.

"What's going on, Bug?"

He shook his head. "You'll find out soon enough."

She was about to protest when Woody came into the break room. "You don't listen well, do you, Bug? The tape cued?"

"Not exactly. You'll need to rewind for about thirty seconds."

Woody watched the action in reverse, frowning, and then hit the play button. His frown deepened as he saw it actually happen. He heard Lily's gasp, but he ignored it, Lily gasped over an accidental fart in the autopsy room. Woody watched the tape six times, committing it to memory, then ejected it and bagged it in a tan evidence envelope. He carried it with him outside, leaving Lily to stare at Bug with undisguised horror.

Nigel and Garret had several evidence envelopes by the time he returned to the crime scene. Before he spoke, another unmarked police car pulled up, and Lu got out. She marched to Woody. "I'm taking over," she said, "the captain says you're too close to be objective."

"And how did the captain find out in the first place? I haven't notified HQ."

"I called him," she said. "What's that?" She looked at the envelope in Woody's hand.

"A tape of the kidnapping. All it shows is a man, dressed in black, complete with ski mask, coming out of the back of the El Camino and dragging Jordan off into the shadows. We can presume he had a car waiting outside camera range." He stared at the far end of the parking lot, where the security cameras didn't reach.

"We should still check all the cameras for this side of the building," Lu said, "Come on, let's get them before security tapes over them." She started for the building, then turned, waiting for Woody.

"Run along, little puppy," Garret mumbled, lifting a long black hair from the door he knew had to be Jordan's. He slipped it into a glassine envelope anyway. He ignored Woody's stare. "We about done, Nigel?"

"Yes," Nigel said, and he looked at Woody with the same contempt carried in Garret's voice. Woody bit his bottom lip, then turned away and caught up with Lu. "Lovely pair, don't you think?" Nigel asked, sarcastically, as he gathered up the evidence envelopes and slipped them into a larger brown evidence bag.

"Oh yeah," Garret said, his eyes narrowed as he watched the detectives walk into his building. "Let's get moving on this."

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Jordan woke in a small room, furnished with a cot, a chair, and a bucket. Its single window was shuttered, and the only light came from what filtered around the edges. She had a terrible headache, and her neck ached. She ran through her file of knockout drugs. The cot she was on was uncomfortable, and she hoped trying to identify the drug used on her would distract her from both the pain and the discomfort of her bed. She ran through every drug she knew in that class, and finally decided on a Demerol-based combination, considering the headache and neck pain. She tried to sit up, but the pain got worse, and she eased back on the thin mattress, staring the ceiling. The walls were pine-paneled, so she assumed she was in some kind of cabin, probably deep in the woods; she had no idea how long she'd been out and therefore couldn't even estimate the distance from Boston.

The doorknob rattled, then it opened, slowly. She watched through slitted eyes. A man in a mask came in, carrying a brown bag and a cardboard cup of coffee. He approached her warily, his pale blue eyes visible through the holes in the mask, as were his thin, pink lips. He stopped a couple of feet from her, studying her, then he knelt and put the bag and cup on the floor. "You'll be hungry, I'm thinking," he said. "You'll be with us awhile, wouldn't want you to die of starvation."

"What do you want?" she asked. "Who are you?"

He smiled, at least she thought he did. "I am the Masked Avenger," he said. "Your testimony sent my brother to prison for life, and I'm thinking that was wrong, that you made a mistake. And certain I am that your colleagues will see the error of it and rectify it, to get you back. If they're not easily convinced, then it's you who will be paying the price. Go ahead, eat, you'll not see more until dark." He backed away from her, and the door closed, she heard the lock's tumblers.

She wasn't hungry. She felt sick, and she was still on the cot, fighting nausea, fighting fear. Then her bladder kicked in, and she fought that pressure, too, until she could no longer. She eased up, her feet hitting the wooden floor, it was cold and she realized her shoes were missing. She looked at the bucket, and thought, well, if that's the john, that's the john, and she got up, unsteady on her feet. Her head was killing her, she'd been dosed by some form of anesthesia, a strong dose, and she knew to expect some muscle coordination problems. She moved carefully to the bucket and unbuttoned her jeans, then took care of business, one hand on the wall to steady herself. She felt like her knees would go at any moment. Standing and fastening her pants, she looked around for some exit, some sliver of space overlooked by her captor. None. She wobbled back to the miserable cot and stretched out again.

Were her friends looking for her? Where would they start? Hopelessness crept up on her, and she pulled the thin blanket up to her shoulders. She tried to remember what case the nut job referred to, obviously his brother had offed someone and her testimony as coroner had been instrumental in putting him away. There were too many to choose from, and his Irish accent did nothing to help. She heard thumps outside the door, laughter, then the door was unlocked and he returned, with another man, who wore a Lone Ranger mask, which she found absurd. She laughed.

It took him three steps to cross the floor from the door to her cot, and his hand smashed against her face, a vicious open-handed slap that sent her flying off the cot, face down on the rough wooden floor. He grabbed her by the neck and lifted her up, throwing her down on the cot. "I'm not as nice as me brother," he said. "I've been where you sent our brother, and then went on your merry way. I want you to find out what it's like." He turned and looked at his brother. "Be gone, Jacko. Go get beer." The other man nodded and left. The masked man then reached for her, ripped her jacket roughly off and tossed it in the corner, then studied her. Jordan knew real fear, his eyes were cold and calculating, his arms across his chest. Then he pushed her on her back and his hands were at her jeans, he peeled them off with the same speed and roughness with which he'd removed her jacket. He ripped her panties off next, then grinned.

"Prison has its own style," he said, and with one swift motion, he flipped her over. "Just so you'll know what you sentenced me brother to."

And she closed her eyes, silently screaming.

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Despite repeated attempts to coax clues from what evidence they had, there was little to be had. Jordan's fingerprints, Jordan's hair, and one shoe imprint from the bed of the El Camino, a man's sneaker, size twelve. Nigel was running the print through one of his many databases. The frustration level in the morgue ran high, and when Nigel's computer beeped, it grew; the print was of European origin and thus could not be traced to any stores in this area.

"So whoever did this," Bug said, "came over and hasn't been here long enough to need or want a new pair of shoes."

Garret nodded. Lily hung back, her imagination running away with her as she imagined the things Jordan was enduring. She met Garret's dull eyes, his pain was obvious, and he looked away from her, he was not up to an impromptu counseling session. Nigel slammed his palm on a stainless steel table.

"Have we missed anything?" he asked. "The debris we collected from the bed, did it turn up anything?" He looked at Bug, who shook his head.

"And the police are useless," Nigel grumbled. "With our Woodrow removed and that Nazi Lu running the show, I somehow think finding Jordan will slip to back burner status in short order."

"I may be off the case, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to be looking."

They all turned; Woody stood in doorway of trace, holding the swinging door open with one hand. He came in, releasing the door, and approached the group, who regarded him with hostility and contempt. He knew only too well they held him responsible for Jordan's emotional tailspin of late, and he accepted it, for he felt the same way about himself. "What have you found?" he asked.

"Nothing of value," Garret said. At this point, he'd take help from whatever quarter, it wasn't a time to hold grudges. "A shoe print of European origin."

"That's it?" He sounded incredulous. "Damn, this guy was prepared." He turned to Nigel. "Any chance of running that shoe through European databases?"

"Wouldn't do any good," Nigel said, turning away.

"Think," Woody said, and no one was sure if he was talking to himself or to them. "Have we busted anyone of European origin in the past year?"

"No bodies that I'm aware of," Garret said, "But Bug, run through the files, see if any bodies were from Europe, or claimed by Europeans. Lily, you do the same with your files." He looked at Woody. "You can check the police files for convictions? This has to be a result of a conviction, it's the only logical reason for someone to snatch Jordan."

They scattered, they were on missions, however slim the success of accomplishing them. Garret went to his office and closed the door, reaching into his desk drawer for his bottle of scotch. He half-filled his mug with it, then stirred it into the coffee with his finger and took a long drink. He didn't want to think about what was happening, had happened, to Jordan. He couldn't afford to let his feeling surface, not now, not when she needed them. There would be ample time for that later. All he wanted right now was for the scotch to silence the silent screams inside his head, Jordan's screams, and he buried his face on his arms on his desk for a moment, then sat up and downed the coffee-scotch mixture in one long gulp.

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Naked and alone on the cot, in terrible pain, Jordan curled into a fetal ball, the thin blanket pulled over her. Tears flowed unabated, she felt revulsion, dirty, and violated in ways she never thought possible. Whatever shreds of innocence she'd once kept were gone. She was completely naked and vulnerable, physically as well as emotionally, and dry heaves wracked her every half hour or so. She had no idea how long it lasted, other than forever; the physician in her knew the risks she faced - disease, infection, even a pregnancy if she wasn't rescued from this pit in hell. She'd been violated rectally as well as vaginally, and images of slides illustrating various diseases, shown to her class in med school, ran on a repeating loop in her mind.

The door opened again, and she shrank tighter into herself, pulled her knees closer to her chest, if that was possible. Her assailant sauntered to her bedside, then knelt, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

"Now, Lassie," he said, "It's the prison experience you must know, so you'll think twice before sending innocent men away without a second thought for the things they'll endure." He held up a pharmacy bottle, but her eyes couldn't focus on it, she was blinded by tears. "Crying, are we? Think of our lad, just twenty, when you sent him off for a lifetime of shagging gorillas, living in a cage -" he waved his hand around the little room, "Why, this is luxury compared to our Sean's living arrangements. But we are kinder than his keepers, lassie. While he has nothing to shield his mind from the terrors, it's pity I have for you, as a lass. While it's punishment you must take, it can be tempered with kindness." He opened the bottle and tipped two pills into his palm. "Swallow these."

"What are they?" she whispered, they looked like Tylenol, fat lot of good that would do.

"Ten milligram Percocets, lass. Kindly contributed by a pharmacist who preferred giving generously to eating the barrel of my gun. Go on with you, then, take them. It's not poisoning you I'm after," he said, smiling that dreadful smile again, "not when there's so much justice to mete out." He held the pills together and put them to her mouth. She opened her mouth and he slipped them in. "Go on, swallow, like a good girl." He reached for a water bottle on the floor beside her cot, opened it, and offered it. She raised her head and sipped, washing the pills down, believing him when he said he didn't want to poison her, oh no, he wanted her to pay and pay some more for whatever she'd done. She felt the pills slide down to her empty stomach. "That's a good lass. I'll not be giving your clothes back, we wouldn't want you to entertain ideas of escaping, though you'd find that impossible." He stood. "Me brother is leaving the punishment to me, he's not the stomach for it, he's just a lad himself, the youngest of me mother's fine sons. So I shall see you soon, pretty lass, that makes it much easier, you know." His knees cracked as he stood. "I shall return, in the words on of one of your fine generals." With that nasty grin, he sketched a salute and turned away. She took in his black Levis, black pullover sweater, latex gloves, and that ridiculous Lone Ranger mask. The door closed, the lock rattled, and she was alone again, with her terror and pain and the dreadful sense of violation. She couldn't think of anything else, all her mind could focus on was the promised return of her captor and what would happen.

The medicine eased the pain, made her drowsy, but the raised voices somewhere in the cabin woke her from an uneasy sleep, and she tensed. She could not make out the words, but the tone was angry. She tried to think of recent cases where she'd testified, but her mind wouldn't cooperate, the fear of the Lone Ranger's return overrode everything else. The drugs pulled her back into darkness, and she didn't resist, sleep was preferable to considering the unknown evil promised her.

It was dark when the Lone Ranger returned. He brought a Coleman lantern, and set it on the floor beside the cot. He smelled of beer. He unfolded a camp stool beside her cot and sat heavily, his balance impaired. "Awake, Dr. Cavanaugh? Thinking of the joy of prison life, where all you do is controlled by another? Where a young lad must choose how to survive?" He grinned, God she hated that grin, hated his yellow teeth. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, then fished a Bic lighter out. He lit one, then offered the pack to her. "C'mon, lass, why should you be worrying about health issues now? And prisoners find smokes a way to pass the time, use them as currency, too. Have a smoke." It was a command. Jordan had smoked as late as her residency, and she tentatively reached for the cigarette, which he lit for her. She drew smoke into her lungs, surprised she didn't start coughing. He watched her, and when they'd finished the cigarettes, he dropped his on the floor and crushed it under his shoe, then took hers and did the same. "It's time for your shower." He yanked the blanket away, and she shook, from fear and cold, and he laughed. He grabbed her arm and dragged her off the cot. He pushed her ahead of him out of the room and into a small bathroom that had a toilet, sink, and shower stall. "Go on," he said. She looked at him, then turned the water on, terribly afraid of what was coming next. "Get in," he said, and she did. He handed over a bar of soap. "Get clean, now." She did the best she could, trying to watch him while trying to wash her body. When he was satisfied, he turned off the water and took the soap from her. "Recall all those prison jokes." His voice was flat, and her fear grew exponentially. "Let's see if they're funny."

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Woody burst into Garret's office, a paper in his hand, and stopped short when he saw the older man, whose eyes were red and who reeked of booze. "Garret?" he asked, approaching tentatively. "Man, you've got to get a grip." He waved the paper, then sat in one of the chairs in front of Garret's desk. "I have a list of all foreigners convicted in the last year. I've been running them down, checking for family, friends, gang connections."

Garret stared at him through tired eyes. "Anything promising?"

"One or two. I have Nigel cross-referencing men with the same last names who've entered the country in the last year. It's the only lead we have."

Garret leaned forward, his elbows on his desk. "I think you should be looking at men who've entered within the last few months."

"Why?"

"The shoe treads. They weren't worn, I'd say the shoes were fairly new. And not that it helps, since we can't trace European purchases, we know they were black."

Woody wondered how the two thoughts connected, but wrote it off to Garret's pained inebriation. "OK, that makes sense, relatively new shoes. I'll go tell Nigel. And Garret, leave the booze, OK, it's not going to help her."

Garret glared at him. "And what would you care about helping her, Woody? You shot her down, wounded her almost beyond healing, and now you want to play the caring boyfriend? What does Lu have to say about that?"

Woody glared at Garret, but held his temper. "What Lu thinks doesn't matter. Finding Jordan does. And I'll use all the resources I have to accomplish that."

"Good luck to you," Garret said, dismissively, waving Woody away and turning his chair on its axis to face away from the younger man. Looking at his hunched shoulders, Woody realized how much Garret cared for Jordan, how well he hid it under the guise of friendship, and his heart went out to the man. He left the office and found Nigel.

"OK, Garret had a good idea, Nige. He said limit the initial search to men who entered the country recently, as the shoe treads weren't worn from use."

Nigel looked at him, then smiled. "The man's a genius." He turned to a keyboard and began tapping. "Jordan testified in fifty trials in the past year, but if we cut that to the past three months, we're left with six." He waited, leaning back, arms crossed, as the search engine did its thing. Thirty seconds later they had a list of sixteen men whose last names matched the six associated with Jordan. He hit print, then took the paper to the work table. He and Woody leaned over, comparing the names.

"That one," Nigel pointed, "I remember that one well. An Irish lad, barely eighteen, stabbed a hooker in lieu of payment. He left tons of trace evidence. Jordan nailed him on the stand." His finger trailed over to the list of men entering on tourist visas. "Oh bingo, Woodrow. Look."

Two names - Hugh Roe O'Malley and Thomas O'Malley. Woody slapped the table. "Call up their passport pictures."

Nigel returned to a terminal and tapped more keys. In a few seconds he had the passport photographs scanned by immigration into the national database. They were clearly related, similar physical features, but Hugh was much older than Thomas, Nigel guessed by a good ten years. The computer spit out their ages, the local address they gave, the time limit of their visit, and so forth. Nigel printed it and brought it back to Woody.

"Can you call up a map pinpointing this address?" he asked.

"Of course." Nigel returned to his computer and seconds later, a map was displayed on the monitor. It was a house in one of the poorer neighborhoods, heavily Irish in population, and Woody pulled his radio from his hip pocket. He requested units go to the address and bring the men in.

"Coffee?" Nigel offered, rubbing his eyes. He'd been working all night, and his eyes were red.

"Sure, thanks." Woody studied the photographs of the men who might have snatched Jordan. Homicidal thoughts flitted through his mind, but he forced them away. Nigel returned with two coffees, and Woody gratefully sipped, then smiled. Nigel remembered his sugar jones. "Thanks, Nigel."

"No worries." He sat on the edge of the table. "How long must we wait?"

"Half an hour, maybe." His cell rang, and he jumped, then reached into his pocket, checked caller ID, and groaned. "This is Hoyt," he said. He listened, frowning, then said "I don't give a rat's ass, Lu, this isn't a territorial pissing contest. Jordan matters to a lot of people, we're going to find her, and if BPD doesn't feel the same immediacy we do, then screw them." He chewed his bottom lip as he listened. "That's right. She does matter to me. Then do your damn job." He clapped the phone into its closed position and shoved it back in his pocket. "Bitch," he said, without thinking.

Nigel's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Your Lu?"

Woody blushed. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that. She was chewing me out for jumping into her case, after being removed from it. She's being slow on purpose, I think, just slow enough that she can't be called on it, but slow enough to let whatever happen to what she views as competition."

"And is Jordan competition, Woody?" Nigel's eyes bored into his.

Woody squirmed. "I still care about Jordan. A lot. I know how protective you guys are of her, and how you look at me, but I was going through a tough time, not that it excuses me, but I will always care about Jordan. I want her found before these guys do something terrible to her."

Nigel frowned and looked away from the handsome detective who didn't seem to know his own mind, whose treatment of Jordan drove Nigel to occasional thoughts of homicide on a fantasy level. He knew Jordan could be irritating, she was moody and had a dark side that emerged sometimes, usually with difficult cases, but she was also lightness and fun and above all, compassionate. Apparently, Farm Boy couldn't handle the shifts, couldn't make the commitment involved when accepting Jordan. All that said, he was most useful right now, if they were going to find Jordan, and Nigel would eat rat poop if it would bring Jordan back to them.

Nigel waited impatiently as the resources Woody put in play took care of business. It gave him a sense of what eternity must be like. He wandered into the break room, surprised to see Lily there, sitting at the table with a cardboard cup of coffee and a box of tissues in front of her. She looked up Nigel, as if embarrassed to be caught here at this hour. "Lily?" Nigel sat next to her and took her hand.

She looked at Nigel, her tear-stained face lined with worry. "My imagination is running away with me, I thought I'd do better here than sitting home, letting images of various horrors run through my mind like the Friday Night Creature Feature."

He patted her hand. "Glad to have you here, love. It's where you belong, with your family. Woody and I uncovered a good lead, he has men moving on it now."

Hope lit Lily's eyes. "Really? What?"

Nigel told her of discovering the two men who came into the country recently, the brothers of a man convicted of a murder, with Jordan as one of the star witnesses. Then he got up and poured himself a cup of coffee, sitting with Lily as they waited for word from Woody.

Woody came in half an hour later, his eyes lit with vengeful fire. "I think we have them, Nigel. The woman who owns the house they listed on their immigration form immediately turned to Jello and told the officers the boys, as she called them, went to a family cabin deep in the western part of the state, to do, as she put it, a little hunting while they tried to come up with a new angle to get their brother a new trial. State and local police are on the move, I'm about to join the chase, want to go?"

Nigel was on his feet. "Let's go." He looked down at Lily, who appeared stricken. "You must stay, love, we don't know what we'll find, and someone needs to be here should things change, to relay news to us." She nodded. Nigel grabbed Woody's elbow. "Let's go, mate. Let's use your car, with all those bells and whistles, we can make excellent time." He hesitated. "You do have GPS coordinates?"

Woody frowned at Nigel. "Of course I do. I only act like an idiot." He waved a scrap of paper. "We're wasting time, let's go." The two men left Lily sitting at the table, reaching for a fresh tissue, as tears of hope and fear poured down her face.

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Jordan withdrew into her mind, her body curled into a tight ball under the thin blanket. The Lone Ranger had forced two more pills down her throat, and they aided her escape from reality. She floated back to med school, to a time of relative happiness, where she had friends, shared a house with three others, sometimes it seemed a perpetual party palace, and she'd spent a lot of time at the library to study. When she was home, though, she enjoyed the partying, enjoyed the casual encounters with the good looking men who were part of their med school class, always keeping a distance, emotionally, from them, from her housemates. She tried to convince herself she was in her room in the old frame house on an old street that was once a fashionable address, and now consisted of rental property for students. She pretended she had one of her notorious hangovers, and she pulled the thin blanket tighter over her shoulders, her knees almost to her chin, her thin body trembling. The physician she was knew she was in shock, just as she knew she was bleeding from her latest violation, but she couldn't care, it wouldn't do any good.

Light filtered around the shutters and she realized, somewhere in the fantasy world she'd entered, that another day arrived. She wondered how long they would keep her, torment her, before offing her as vengeance, and that thought sent her deeper into a world of her own. It was a world of bright colors, of innocence, she realized she was a child again, before her mother was stolen from her, and she explored this place, it felt safe, she wanted to find her mother and crawl in her lap. She looked in every room, found her mother lying on her bed, and she held her arms out to Jordan, who smiled and climbed up on the big bed, then rolled into her mother's loving, protective arms. "You're cold, my darling," her mother whispered, and sat up for the extra blanket folded at the foot of the bed, covering them both.

And then shouting, a loud bang, gunshots startled Jordan out of her private world for a moment. She raised her head, listening. It was the Sicko Brothers, going at each other again in drunken rages. Her head fell back on the thin, lumpy mattress and she edged the blanket tighter. She closed her eyes and returned to her mother's secure arms, giggling as her mother made a tent out of the blanket, covering their heads and then smothering Jordan with kisses.

"Jordan!" The voice was familiar, and irritating, she didn't want to leave her mother's arms in their makeshift tent on the big bed. A hand gripped her shoulder and she shrank away, her eyes still closed, she would not open them and look at more horror yet to come. "Jordan," the male voice was softer now, gentle instead of insistent, and the blanket was pulled away. "Jesus God," she heard him say, then he covered her again. "Woodrow," the familiar voice said. "Get that ambulance here now."

She heard footsteps, hurried footfalls, but she would not open her eyes. She wasn't safe if she opened her eyes, if she left her mother's bed and protective arms. She heard knees crack, then felt a hand on her face. "Jordan?" The voice was soft, scared, she recognized it, too. When she failed to respond, burrowing deeper into her mother's arms, she heard the two men talking, as from a great distance.

"Where is that ambulance?" The voice she knew as Nigel Townsend's was angry, and Jordan didn't want him angry with her, he had a penis, he could do terrible things to her. She tried to make herself smaller.

"It's coming, it should be here any second. What's wrong with her?' That was Woody, she thought, who pushed her away, didn't want her, and certainly wouldn't want her now, old Farm Boy wouldn't want anything to do with someone who'd been used so carelessly. Not that Lu would let him. She waited to hear Lu's voice. Instead, she heard her mother whispering in her ear, telling her she was safe, the bad men wouldn't find them in their tent.

Then there were more footsteps, an army invading her cage, and she felt more hands on her, the blanket was pulled away again, and she heard someone gasp, she thought it must be Woody. Let him look, she thought, and be grateful he had Lu. The hands that touched her now were gentle, sensitive, and she opened her eyes to slits. Two paramedics were with her, one was examining her wounds with great care, while the other wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm. That one saw her eyes open.

"You with us?" she asked Jordan, softly, compassionately. "Stay with us, Dr. Cavanaugh. We'll take care of you. No one's going to hurt you again." She noted Jordan's blood pressure on a chart, then unwrapped the contraption and put it aside. She brushed Jordan's hair away from her face. "You know we have to bag you," she said, and Jordan's eyes opened a little wider. Yes, she should know that, she was a medical examiner, how many corpses had she checked for rape? But I'm not a corpse, she thought. Still, choice was no longer hers, others controlled her body, and she felt the diaper-like bag go on her, another humiliation when humiliation had become meaningless, she was just an object, being observed by all these people. The female paramedic covered her with a thermal blanket and she was gently lifted onto a gurney, where another blanket was draped over her before the straps were applied. Lying on her back, she looked at the people in the room, cops and the paramedics, and Nigel, and Woody, she closed her eyes when she saw Woody. She was rolled out, and she slipped away, back into the improvised tent with her mother.

She was aware when she was airlifted to Boston, with Nigel riding as crew. He held her hand, talking to her. She opened her eyes and met his gaze, the drugs forced into her had worn off, and she felt pain in her nether regions, terrible pain. She squeezed his hand, and he leaned down. "Nigel, it hurts," she whispered.

He nodded, and tapped the female paramedic on the shoulder, then spoke to her. She looked at Jordan, with her swollen jaw, with far more serious injuries below, and she leaned over by Jordan's ear. "You'll be at Mass General in a few minutes, they'll give you something for the pain, I promise."

Jordan knew they would, after examining her, she didn't know if she could hold out that long, but again, what choice did she have? She felt the helicopter slow, hover, then descend. More strangers would handle her body, touch her in places usually reserved for people she at least liked, but she knew there was no choice in the matter.

She was wheeled into an elevator, Nigel still with her, along with an attending physician and two nurses, as well as the reporting paramedic. She listened as her stats were repeated, her condition as evaluated by the paramedics, deep shock, severe rectal tearing, vaginal tearing, possible broken jaw. When the elevator stopped, she was wheeled into a large curtained cubicle, and her straps undone. She was transferred from the gurney to an examining table, and then her blankets removed. The staff worked quickly and efficiently, an IV line started, and the attending ordered morphine, which was soon injected into the line. After that, Jordan didn't care what they did, it couldn't be any worse than the Lone Ranger's deeds. The rape kit was uncomfortable, despite the morphine, but she knew they were being as gentle as possible.

She listened to professional jargon, it didn't matter to her. She knew she was damaged, that it was too late for stitches, she knew infection was probably working its way through her system even as the attending order broad spectrum antibiotics fed through the IV line. She doubted it would be enough to stop the raging bacteria from fecal matter introduced into her vagina, and she hoped it was a quiet death, that palliative care would ease her through the transition. Her eyes flicked from person to person, medical personnel who worked so hard to help her, and then she saw Nigel, standing against the wall, out of the way, tears in his eyes. Sensitive Nigel, she thought, don't cry for me. Then they were through with her, and the nurses eased a gown up her arms and over her shoulders, arranging it for as much modesty as such a ridiculous garment could provide, then more blankets were put on her, tucked in, and guard rails raised, the gurney rolled out of the room and once again she was in an elevator. She allowed the narcotic flowing through her to take her away again.

In the corridor outside her private room, the attending physician faced the doctors from the morgue, as well as Lu and Woody. He stared down the female detective as if she was a loathsome spider and he was deciding whether or not to squash her under his Nikes. "You are not going anywhere near my patient until I tell you that you can," he said, "I don't care if you're the Chief of Police, no one sees her unless I say so. She's in deep shock, we're trying to stabilize her. Which one of you is Garret Macy?"

Garret stepped forward. "I am." He was unshaven and reeked of scotch. The attending regarded him with something approaching contempt.

"Well, Doctor," he said, laying sarcastic emphasis on doctor, "Dr. Townsend says you're listed as her next of kin, which would automatically allow you access to her, but given your condition, I'm denying that. Check with me again when you're sober." He looked around at the rest, doing a mental inventory. The little Indian doctor looked lost, the woman next to him looked too officious for his taste, and the two detectives were out of the question. His gaze fell on Nigel. "You've been with her from the beginning, you may go sit with her for a few minutes." He slapped her chart against his thigh. "Her condition is unstable. I'll keep you updated. And you -" he looked at Macy, "Go home and sleep it off, before you disgrace the ME's office as well as yourself." He turned and went back into Jordan's room.

She was lying on her side, facing Nigel, but with her eyes closed, sedated and heavily so, at his orders. He'd seen the physical trauma, it was brutal enough to tell him the mental equivalent was worse. His daughter had been raped at college, and he knew only too well what was ahead for the pretty young woman lying on the bed, covers up to her waist, dressed in the pale green surgical scrubs like his. Nigel looked up at him, helplessness in his gaze.

"It's going to take time," Dr. Westcott said to the lanky man, who rose as he spoke, moving closer, as if not wanting the sedated woman to overhear. "I think she'll be fine, physically, in time, I think we can stabilize her within a few hours. But emotionally, mentally - is she a strong woman?"

Nigel shrugged. "Sometimes. Other times she's a vulnerable as a schoolgirl, especially in relationships. Her mother was murdered when she was ten, and she's never gotten over it."

Westcott made a note of that in his chart. "You saw how brutalized she was."

"Yes." Nigel made a strangled sound. "Had the police not taken those men out, I would. How can a man do that to a woman?"

"We'll keep her on antibiotics, keep her sedated for as long as necessary, and I'm going to bring in a shrink."

"You know the state has its own."

Westcott sneered. "Oh yes, the frog. I dislike that man, and I don't want him anywhere near my patient. We have a shrink on staff, a Dr. Keyes, she's very good with rape victims. I'll have her come by in the afternoon. Now. Tell me about Dr. Macy. The man was drunk."

Nigel sighed. "Dr. Macy cares deeply for Jordan. I think the thought of losing her was more than he could deal with. We deal with death every day, cutting open a body is no big deal, unless that body -" he stopped, looking at the floor.

"Is someone you care for," Westcott finished. "I understand, but he needs to get a grip. I don't want to see him back here unless he's cleaned up and sober. And I want that female detective kept away, too. How about the male one?"

"It's complicated, doctor." Nigel sighed. "Jordan and Woody, well, everyone expected them to get together, but Jordan has a problem with commitment. And then our Woody took a bullet…the upshot is he pushed her away, and then Lu moved in on him, which she flaunts in Jordan's face every chance she gets. And of course it hurts Jordan, just as it's designed to do. Woody seems oblivious to it."

"Would she relate better to Woody, then? Or must I ask for a new detective?"

Nigel looked at him. "You can do that?"

Westcott smiled. "I'm actually Chief of Staff here, I have connections, so yes, I can get new detectives assigned with a phone call."

"Then that might be the thing to do. Lu would be the worst thing possible for Jordan."

"Consider it done." He took out his cell phone and paged through his directory. Then he hit call. "Chief, how are you, Steve Westcott here. I have a patient here, one of the city's ME's, in very serious condition. Raped, brutally, worst I've ever seen. Yes, that's the one. The detective assigned, as Lu -" he looked at Nigel, who mouthed her last name, which he repeated into the phone, "has some serious hostility toward my patient, I do not want her anywhere near Dr. Cavanaugh. Please assign new detectives to the case at once. I'd like to see the new ones here within half an hour, because I have a feeling this detective is going to get pushy." He laughed. "If I could get away with it, I would. Some Haldol in her butt might be just what she needs to mellow out. Then I can expect new people shortly? I'd go with sensitive, female, and strong enough to deal with the emotional fallout from Dr. Cavanaugh. Thanks, Sam." He clicked off and looked at Nigel. "Done. The Chief of D's and I play golf together."

"You can expect fireworks," Nigel said.

"Good, I like fireworks." He put Jordan's chart on a table and moved to examine her. He took her vitals, she didn't stir, but when he checked the pads on her bottom, her eyes flew open, terrorized, as a scream escaped. Dr. Westcott put a hand on her shoulder. "Dr. Cavanaugh, you're safe, I'm Dr. Westcott, your attending. Easy, now. I have to check your stitches." She stared at him, then the tension eased out of her, and she nodded. He did what he had to as gently as possible, noticing Nigel take her hand, then wipe her cheek with a tissue. Finished, he covered her, checked the IV bag and drip rate, then stood beside her bed. Her drug-glazed eyes stared back at him. "I'm sorry, but you know we have to check, you know the first signs of infection."

"Swollen stitches," she mumbled, pulling that knowledge out of her numbed brain. Then her eyes closed, as the chemicals running through her system overpowered her.

"That's the part that sucks when dealing with rape victims," he said. "We have to touch them, and they freak out." He looked at his watch. "Let's go see the fireworks."

He and Nigel walked out of Jordan's room, and faced the small group in the waiting alcove. He deliberately dug change out of his pocket, then got a Diet Coke from the machine, sipped it, then looked at their faces. "Some changes," he said, just as the elevator doors opened at the end of the hall. Two women in pants and blazers got off and walked briskly toward him. He waited for them to reach him.

"Chief of D's sent us," the taller one said, flashing her badge. "I'm Detective Warren, this is my partner Detective Kenny. You're Dr. Westcott?"

"I am."

Warren nodded, then turned to Lu and Woody. "You've been replaced, Simmons, by direct order of the Chief of D's. It's our case now."

Lu stood, bristling, while the morgue staff behind her smiled for the first time in two days. "What the hell? I caught this case, it's mine."

"Not anymore. Chief said if you argued, I was to call him." She pulled her cell phone from her purse and opened it. "Shall I, or are you going to be a good girl and go back to the station to see what else they can find for you to do?"

Lu's face was crimson, she looked at Woody, whose expression was blank. Biting her lip, she grabbed her purse from the couch and stalked off, toward the elevators. Woody remained in his seat. She turned back at the elevators, saw him, frowned, then stepped into the car when the doors opened. The new detectives looked at him and shrugged, then began a quiet discussion with Dr. Westcott.

Lily and Bug stood with Nigel. "How is she?" Lily asked.

"Not well," Nigel said. "Odds are good she'll be fine physically, but I'm not placing any bets on her emotional state." He glanced at Woody, still seated, as if glued to the chair. "The doctor's keeping her knocked out, a good thing." He looked at the floor and rubbed his toe against the floor. "I've seen dead rape victims, but she's my first live one. It's awful."

"Will they let me see her? I might be helpful."

Nigel glanced at Dr. Westcott. "I doubt it, Lily. He's bringing in a shrink who specializes in this, so I think he wants to keep any outside influences just that, outside."

"She's my friend, I want to see her as my friend."

"Take it up with him. I can barely go in there." He looked at Bug. "I think we should check on Dr. M. Dr. Westcott does not have a high opinion of him at the moment, and I'm worried about him." He fished his keys out of his pocket. "Coming?" Bug nodded.

Lily glanced back at Woody. "I'm staying, I hope he'll let me in to see her." She watched the doctor lead the new detectives into Jordan's room. "We're her friends, family, why are we being excluded?"

"Because he thinks it's necessary?" Nigel offered. "Lily, why don't you try to reach Max, I'm sure he'd want to know."

She sat down next to Woody, and nodded. "I will. You guys go to Dr. Macy. I'll stay here, see if I can see her." They nodded and walked away, and her eyes followed them to the elevator, then she looked at Woody. "Are you OK?"

He looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time, then he focused. "No. I'm not. You should have seen her. It's horrible, what was done to her. I want so much to help her, and she's not going to want anything to do with me." Tears filled his eyes.

Lily put her hand on his knee. "You don't know that she isn't going to want anything to do with you. She cares deeply for you, Woody. You may be the only one who can get her through this."

He stared at the floor. "God, it was terrible." Tears hit the floor, and he wiped his eyes with his fingers. Then he looked up at the door to her room. "I'm glad the Chief of D's changed detectives. Lu was the worst possible choice for this."

Lily said nothing, but her opinion of the blonde bitch was well known. Then the door to Jordan's room opened and the detectives came out with the doctor. Lily stood and approached them.

"We'll be back in the morning," Detective Warren said. "Perhaps she can give a statement, or enough of one, then." Nodding at Lily, the women walked away, ignoring the broken man sitting in the chair.

"Dr. Westcott, Jordan is my best friend. May I please go in for a few minutes?"

He measured her with his eyes, then nodded. She eased past him and into the darkened room, guided by the dim light on the wall above the bed. Jordan was on her side, eyes closed, her jaw swollen and bruised. How, Lily thought, could someone as tall as Jordan look so tiny? She touched her, tentatively, brushing the top of her head with her fingertips. Jordan's eyes fluttered open, they were glazed and bloodshot, and Lily wasn't sure she recognized her.

"Jordan?" she whispered. "It's Lily."

"I know." Her voice was thick, Lily realized how heavily she was drugged.

"I just want you to know I love you, we all do, and we're here for you. Woody's here, he's outside. He'd like to see you when you're ready."

Jordan closed her eyes. "Pity," she said, and Lily heard bitterness override the thickness.

"No," Lily said. "He really cares, Jordan."

She frowned, but didn't react more. Lily knew she was slipping back into the arms of the drugs, and she picked up her hand and kissed it softly, then left the room. Woody stood when she came out. She put her arms around his waist for a moment, forgiving him all the pain he'd caused Jordan, touched at his own for Jordan. "I have to get hold of Max," she said. "Do you still have a key to Jordan's apartment?" He nodded. "Will you take me there?" He nodded again, and she sighed, she was going to have to walk him through this. She took his elbow and escorted him to the elevators.

They entered Jordan's apartment, and Lily found Jordan's address book in her nightstand. She finally located a number for Max, and sat on the edge of the bed, reluctant to make this kind of call. Max had little patience for niceties, but was she just to blurt it out? She glanced at Woody, who stood in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, lost. Sighing, she punched the number and waited. After several rings, Max picked up with a gruff "yeah."

"Max, this is Lily Lobowski. I have bad news. Jordan was kidnapped and brutalized terribly. She's in Mass General. I, we, thought you'd like to know."

"What happened?" His voice changed, she heard fear and pain.

"She was kidnapped, raped and sodomized, by some idiots who wanted payback for her testimony against their brother. They were shot at the scene by the cops."

"How is she?"

"Heavily sedated at the moment. In a very dark place in her mind."

"Thanks for letting me know, Lily." He clicked off, and she looked at the phone, puzzled, then shrugged and closed the cell phone and put it back in her purse. She looked at Woody. He had the same blank stare he'd had since she first saw him. She got up and took his elbow. "Let's get some coffee," she said. He nodded, following her like a puppy.

They sat in a small coffee shop near the hospital. Lily looked at Woody, wondering how to reach him. "Woody." He looked at her. "What's going on in your head?"

He shook said head, as if to clear it. "I let her down, I hurt her, and I think that somehow blunted her instincts. I can't see the Jordan we know being caught by surprise like that. If I hadn't dumped her, it wouldn't have happened."

"That's nonsense." Lily looked at him, hard. "Yes, you hurt her terribly, but that has nothing to do with what happened in the parking lot. Those psychos would have gotten her whether you'd dumped her or not. You need to get a grip if you want to help her. She can't babysit your wounded psyche now, can she? Not when hers is shattered."

He stared at her, and she saw his blue eyes clear. He picked up his coffee and sipped. "You may be right." He turned the cup on its base on the table, thinking. "I have some changes to make, now. I still feel a certain responsibility, but I'm going to be there for her." He finished the coffee. "Want me to drop you at the hospital?"

"Sure. Where are you going?"

"To see Lu." He stood. "To make things right."

00000000

Lily cautiously opened Jordan's door. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, then made her way to the bed. Jordan was still sleeping on her side, the blanket pulled up to her shoulders. She looked almost peaceful in her sleep, and Lily wanted to leave her there, in that twilight world, so she sat in the chair, sending good thoughts and remembering good times.

Then Jordan's eyes opened, and she focused on Lily. Lily couldn't read those eyes, they were blocked by pain, as if Jordan hadn't room for anything else. Yet she met Lily's eyes, and her fingers closed around the bed rails, her knuckles going white. "Lily," she whispered.

"Jordan. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. The drugs are wearing off." Her legs shifted, as if pain was plowing through her, and Lily stood.

"Want me to call the nurse?"

"Please."

Lily walked out to the nurse's station and explained that Jordan was awake and in pain, would they please give her another shot?

That accomplished, the nurse on the phone to the pharmacy, Lily returned to Jordan's room. She sat again, fists clenched in her lap, and looked at her friend. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked.

"No," Jordan whispered. "Nothing anyone can do."

"What about Woody?"

Jordan frowned. "What about him?"

"He cares, Jordan. He's been here, he'd be here now, except he had some unfinished business with Lu. He wants to help."

"Pity," she repeated, with the same bitterness. Then she sighed. "I'd like to see Garret."

"I'm sure he'll be by this morning. I called Max."

"Why."

"We all thought he'd want to know. He's your father, Jordan."

"Exactly. Not the kind of thing a father wants to deal with. He's been through enough with me." Tears formed and leaked from the corners of her eyes, and she let them run. "What happened to those men?"

"The police shot them. One died, one's in the hospital. A different one," she hastened to add as Jordan's eyes widened.

The nurse came in then, carrying an IV bag and a capped syringe. She put the syringe on the table, switched bags, and then used the port to inject the morphine into Jordan. Within seconds, Jordan's eyes closed, and Lily almost felt relieved, wherever the drugs took her, it had to be a better place than this.

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A week passed. Max arrived two days after Lily called, and spent some time with his daughter, but the experience was clearly shattering; he exited the room and left the hospital without speaking to anyone. Garret had returned the next day, sober, shaved, and dressed well. Woody was there each day, but made no attempt to see Jordan. Lily finally lost patience with him.

"Just go in," she insisted. "Don't you think, somewhere in that chemical fog, she wonders where you are? You both insisted you were still friends, and friends don't abandon one another in trouble."

He sighed. "I don't know what to say."

"How about what you feel?" She frowned. "Really, Woody."

He looked at his watch, then took a deep breath. "What if she kicks me out?"

"What if she does? Didn't you do the same? And did it keep her away in the end?"

"No," he said, and straightened his shoulders.

"Go," she said. "Just go, and see what happens."

He nodded, making up his mind on impulse, and he pushed through the door with a false determination, Lily suspected his knees were shaking. She wished she could be in there to watch.

Woody approached Jordan's bed as cautiously as a ticking bomb. She was lying on her back, her eyes closed, but as he approached the bedside, she opened them. She looked at him, her eyes dull, and he tried to smile.

"Hello," he said, softly, and sat on the edge of the visitor's chair.

"What brings you here?"

"You," he said. "How are you, Jordan?"

"How do you think I am? My body is healing, but it's going to be awhile before I can go back to work. Garret won't let me."

"He knows what he's doing, Jordan."

"Does he? Or does he just want to avoid seeing the walking wounded every day?" She turned on her side, to see him better, he felt she was measuring him, taking stock of his manhood. "He knows I'm jumpy around men."

"With good reason. Does that include me?"

For a brief moment, her eyes flashed. "What do you think?"

"I'm more interested in what you think. Listen. I have so much to apologize for, to make up for, and I don't know where to start."

"Pity, Woody?" It came out as a snarl, and he recoiled.

"No. Honest to God. This, this whole thing, made me realize what I feel for you."

"Sounds familiar. And what's the next verse?"

He knew he deserved it, but it still hurt, and he realized how she must have felt when he treated her the same way. He knew it was the pain, the horror of what happened, that drove these feelings, and he used his own experience to answer her. "The next verse is we go from there, build on those feelings."

"That should please Lu," she said.

"Lu is out of the picture," he said. "She was my rebound, I should have realized that."

"Different song, same sentiments."

He believed it was the drugs talking, he had to. He wanted so much to reach her, he couldn't believe how much it mattered to him to reach her. "No," he said. "It may sound familiar, but it's not. I'm just asking for a chance to make things up to you, Jordan, to show you what I really feel."

She stared at him for a long time, and he thought her silence was her answer, then she said, "You know you're not going to touch me."

"I know. Don't need to." He tried to smile. "I'm going to wrap my mind around you."

She seemed to smile, he couldn't be sure. "You think it's up to the job?"

"I do." His hand reached out for hers, but she recoiled, and he dropped it with a quick "Sorry."

"Dr. Keyes says it will get better in time. She's good for me."

"I'm glad."

"Dr. Westcott is going to release me in a few days."

"Will you be OK by yourself?"

She nodded. "I'll deal with it. Lily's offered to sleep on my couch."

"I could do that," he said.

She definitely smiled. "Oh Eagle Scout," she said, "I'm not sure I could handle that. Lily's been studying kickboxing."

That took him aback. "Lily? Wow."

"One should always learn by the experiences of others. Garret says a new security system was installed, nothing like closing the barn door after the horse got out." She studied him. "If you want to be my friend, I'm cool with that."

"I do. Can I take you home when you're released?"

"Lily's going to do that, but thank you."

"I'm going to be around, Jo. I'm going to show you what you mean to me, I'm not going anywhere this time."

"As long as you understand the rules."

"I do."

The door opened, and a tall, well dressed woman holding a chart came in. She stopped when she saw Woody, and her eyes cut to Jordan. "It's OK, Doc," Jordan said, "he's an old friend. We're just setting the rules for a new game."

Dr. Keyes came into the room. "I'm afraid I'll have to send him on his way now," she said pleasantly. Woody stood.

"I'll be back," he said.

"OK," Jordan answered, and she watched him all the way to the door.

"He's the one?" Dr. Keyes asked.

"He's the one. I truly loved him, and he kicked my ass to New Hampshire."

"And now?"

"Now he wants to come back."

"How do you feel about that?"

"I'm not sure. I still have feelings for him, but the thought of being touched-"

She shivered.

Dr. Keyes consulted the chart. "You've been weaned off almost all the drugs. Dr. Westcott says we can let you go home tomorrow if you want. I'll still want to see you on an outpatient basis. At least twice a week."

Jordan nodded. "What am I supposed to do about the pain I still feel? I mean, I work with doctors, but prescriptions from an ME's office are going to be looked at with a great deal of suspicion."

Dr. Keyes smiled. "We'll keep you amply supplied with Percocet for as long as necessary. Trusting that you'll be honest and let me know if it's becoming a problem."

"I will. The last thing I need is to be a junkie on top of everything else." She kneaded the sheet. "How long are men going to scare me, doc?"

Dr. Keyes shrugged. "For as long as it takes for the trauma to heal. Hopefully, not that long. I know you've always had trust issues, but in this case, you're going to have to make a conscious effort to trust, to believe that the men around you will not hurt you."

"I can try. I want to go back to work."

"That's not a good idea right now. I've talked to Dr. Macy, and he agrees. I'd say at least a month. You need to focus on healing as best you can."

"I heard the other man died."

"He did."

"Good." She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them as images of her time in the cabin formed. Dr. Keyes reached for her hand.

"You're going to remember, Jordan, you're going to have nightmares. I'm going to prescribe a mild sleep agent as well. You have someone to stay with you, at least for a few days?"

She nodded.

"Good. So what's bothering you most today?"

"Going back into the world." She shifted in the bed. "Facing it."

"It's safer in here? Unfortunately, safety is not something any of us are guaranteed, but I think you'll be safe from here on out. We'll work through this, together, you aren't alone."

Jordan nodded. "I know." Then she cried, the uncontrollable sobs of the seriously wounded, and Dr. Keyes held her hand until it passed.

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Lily unlocked the door to Jordan's apartment and waited as Jordan stepped inside. Her friends had been busy. The place was spotless, fresh flowers were on the table, and she'd bet the farm that the refrigerator was stocked. Lily closed the door and stood with Jordan, looking around.

"You have no idea how much you're loved, do you?" she asked, with soft tones that reached Jordan's bruised heart.

She looked at Lily. "No, I guess not." She walked to her bedroom. "I'm going to change." She peeled off the clothes Lily brought to the hospital and put on her pajamas, the ones with ducks, that reminded her of her mother, of being a little girl tucked into bed. Walking was painful at times, as was sitting, so she went back to the kitchen and picked up the brown bag from the hospital pharmacy. She pulled out the fat Percocet bottle and dry-swallowed two, then opened the refrigerator. Sure enough, it was stocked with all her favorite things. She got a can of Diet Coke and offered it to Lily, who declined.

Easing down on the couch, she looked at Lily. "I feel like you're baby-sitting, that I'm keeping you from your work."

"It's OK. Garret knows you shouldn't be alone right now."

"Afraid I'll take a header out the window? Or feast on the narcotics?" The underlying bitterness in her voice reminded Lily that Jordan had a history of a suicide attempt, though she insisted it was accidental. "I assure you that's not going to happen, those bastards are not going to win in the end."

"I know." Lily settled in a chair. "How's it going with Woody?"

Jordan's smile was amused but not a real smile. "He's trying, I'll give him that. I guess an inadvertent taste of his own medicine was effective."

"Are you going to give him a real chance?"

Jordan's eyes narrowed. "Do you mean, am I going to sleep with him? No way." She sipped her drink. "I'm thinking of entering a convent."

Lily couldn't tell if she was serious or not. "I meant, are you going to let him in, emotionally."

"I'll try."

"Can't ask for more than that."

The knock on the door made Jordan jump. Lily got up to answer it. She admitted Woody, bearing flowers. Jordan had to bend her head backward to see him. "Speak of the devil," she said. "Beautiful roses, thank you."

"You're welcome." He gave them to Lily, who went into the kitchen to find some kind of vase. Woody knelt by Jordan, but not too close. "How are you?"

"I'm here, and Dr. Keyes says that's progress."

"Are you in pain?"

"Always." Her gaze flicked to the bottle on the table and Woody's eyes followed hers. He nodded.

"Do what you have to do," he said. "What can I do?"

She sipped her drink. "Put some music on?" She sipped again. "This place is like the morgue, too quiet, people tiptoeing around me like I'm some kind of decomposed corpse that's going to burst open at the first false move."

"I can do that." He got up and moved to her CD collection. Lily came in with the roses and put them on the end table at the far end of the couch, where Jordan could see them. She was amused, Lily could be so transparent. The pills kicked in, and she felt her body relax. Her companions sat, and she hoped they didn't expect her to make polite conversation, especially since she felt like taking a nap.

"Lily?" she asked. "Would you get the blanket out of the closet?"

Lily moved like she had a firecracker up her ass. She had the blanket out and Jordan covered to the shoulders in seconds.

"Thank you. No offense, guys, but I think I want to sleep for awhile." She turned on her side and closed her eyes.

Lily led Woody into the bedroom. "It's normal," she said, softly, "Sleep is a form of escape. She just can't wake up alone, someone has to be here if she has a nightmare. We have to make sure she eats, takes her meds."

He nodded. "I'll be glad to stay."

"That's sweet, but I think it should be me, at least for a few days."

Woody nodded. "OK, I'll get back to work, then. Call if you need me."

00000000

Jordan spent her first night alone two weeks later, insisting she didn't need Lily, or any baby-sitters, now. She would be fine, she would battle her demons on her own, as she always had. She locked the door, the windows, put on music that always brought her comfort, but softly, she wanted to hear any noises. She took her Percocet, wondering when her nether regions would quit with the cramping and sharp pain, knowing tissue and nerves healed at different rates and it could continue for quite awhile, especially the nerves.

She'd poured her anger and her pain into Dr. Keyes three times a week for the past month, until she felt drained. Tonight, she was restless, she couldn't get comfortable, and she took the sleeping pill after a couple of hours of this. Then she got in bed, leaving a nightlight burning, and turned on her side. She fell asleep within fifteen minutes and slept dreamlessly, and when she woke, she wanted more than anything to go back to work.

She showered and dressed, in jeans and a button down oxford shirt, with a brown leather blazer, and drove to the morgue. She'd taken care with her make up and hair, she wanted to look as normal as possible. She smiled at everyone as she made her way to Garret's office. He was at his desk, and looked up at her knock. He was on his feet in an instant.

"Jordan. What are you doing here?"

She came in and closed the door, then took a seat in front of his desk. "I need to come back to work, Garret. I'll go nuts staying in that apartment. I need to work, I need to do something productive."

He regarded her compassionately. "What does Dr. Keyes say?"

Jordan shrugged. "I haven't discussed it with her."

His eyes narrowed. "When's the last time you saw her?"

"Last week. I'm much better now, Garret, but if I don't work, I'll go crazy."

He picked up a pen and toyed with it. "Restricted duty."

"Meaning?"

"No violent crimes. Auto accidents, natural causes. Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it, tough guy." She smiled, hoping it fooled him. "When can I start?"

"Tomorrow. And I will be watching you. I still think it's too soon, but if it means that much to you, I'm not going to deny you."

"It does." She stood and winced, then tried to cover it with a smile. "I'll be here bright and early."

He stood, too. "OK, but if it gets to you, if anything upsets you, I want you out of here."

"Deal." She straightened her blazer. "See you tomorrow then." She left his office and navigated the familiar corridors to the elevators. When the doors opened, she bumped into Woody. His face lit at the sight of her.

"Hi," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Coming back to work. Tomorrow."

"Want to have lunch? I just have to check with Nigel on a DNA scan, then I'm free."

She'd lost weight she didn't have to lose, and knew it, and knew they were all watching that, too, so she agreed.

"I'll be right back," he said, and dashed into trace. He was back in thirty seconds, with Nigel poking his head out the door. He grinned at Jordan, and there was something so reassuring in that smile that a real one slipped past her careful mask. She joined Woody in the elevator, keeping two feet away from him. They went to a Mexican place she'd always loved, and when he accidentally bumped her in the crowd, she jerked but otherwise didn't react. She managed to eat a decent amount, and then Woody walked her to her car.

"Can I bring dinner over?" he asked.

She looked at him, remembering how hard she'd tried with him, how it felt to be rebuffed, and she nodded. "Sure, that would be nice."

"Six-thirty OK? I should have everything wrapped up by then."

"Fine." She unlocked her car. "See you then."

000000000

Her first week back went well enough. True to his word, Garret assigned her the less stressful cases. She found being on her feet so much caused more pain than she expected, but she retreated to the women's locker room to down her Percocet, in the privacy of a stall. She was still waiting for her body to return to normal, basic functions still irritated the nerve endings, and she endured it as best she could. She performed well, made no mistakes, but there was a distance about her that her colleagues respected.

Woody had taken to coming by each night with dinner. He clearly wanted to sleep on the couch, but she insisted she was fine alone. She told no one about the nightmares that came irregularly, a by-product, she told herself, to be expected.

And time passed, healing nerve endings slowly stopped firing, it no longer hurt to use the bathroom, her reproductive system kicked in, and the nightmares were infrequent. She eased back on the Percocet, eased back on her sessions with Dr. Keyes, cutting them to once a week, speaking honestly of the issues. As she felt safer, she felt looser with Woody, allowing him to get physically closer to her. She felt his love, his protectiveness in overdrive, and one night she allowed him to crash on the couch.

It was the night a nightmare came full blown, with all the force of real time, and she woke screaming, sitting up, shaking, and Woody was there, on the bed, his arms around her, whispering in her ear, that she was safe, he was there, no one would ever hurt her again, not while he was around. When she'd calmed, when the terror passed, she wiggled out of his arms and went into the bathroom. She downed two Percocet, even though she knew it must be psychosomatic pain, nonetheless, it was real. When she returned to the bed, Woody still sat on it, concern written all over his face. No escape, she thought, and she sat down next to him.

"Thanks," she said.

"How often does this happen?" he asked.

"Not very."

Then he eased her down on the bed, his arm around her shoulders. "I won't hurt you, but please, let me lie here with you."

"Gonna keep the memories away?"

"I wish I could." He felt how tense she was. "I won't hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you, I swear."

Tears came to her eyes. "I know." Then she surprised him, turning into him, pressing her face against his chest. Bewildered, he stroked the back of her head, encircling her shoulders with his other arm. He felt the wetness from her tears, and his heart broke for her, he wanted to help her and he didn't know how. Time, he'd been told, it's going to take lots of time. He held her until he felt her body go limp, still stroking her head, she was asleep again, and he hoped she stayed that way.

When morning came, he was still awake when she returned to the world. She pulled away from him, looking surprised, then smiled. "How did you end up here?"

"You had a nightmare."

She smiled again. "I know. I'm just surprised at myself, letting you in my bed."

"I promised you I wouldn't hurt you," he said.

"And you didn't." She touched his face, so familiar, so handsome, reading love and concern in his brilliant blue eyes. "Thank you." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Maybe one day soon," she whispered.

He nodded.

00000000

It was a crazy day at the morgue, and Jordan caught her first violent case in the four months she'd been back. Again, it was a child, raped and strangled, maybe twelve years old, and she stared at the body for a long time, sending love and understanding across an ether she didn't understand but had come to believe in. "Hold her tightly," she whispered to God, "Apologize to her for letting this happen to her. You wouldn't know this, but it's horrible." Taking a deep breath, she lowered her visor and went to work.

Garret burst in ten minutes later, horrified that she'd caught this one. Jordan stopped and raised her visor, meeting his concerned gaze. "I'm fine with it, Garret." Her voice was sincere, and he let some of the tension leave his shoulders. "I'll get justice for her, I know what she endured, and I'll do what I can to make it as right as I can."

Garret touched her upper arm, the first time he'd touched her in months. She didn't flinch, and he smiled. "That's my girl," he said, and impulsively took her in a gentle hug. Again, she didn't flinch away from him, but let her body fit to his, but her arms remained at her sides. Then he looked at her again. "Carry on," he said. She smiled as he left the room, then she turned her attention back to her young victim.

0000000

Woody took her out on Saturday night about a month later, to a new club, where they drank and danced and kept it light. She felt almost normal again, except for the occasional nightmares, the automatic jerking away from a strange man's accidental touch, and she wanted to re-enter life again. She watched Woody, smiling happily with her, and suddenly she was ready to try the next step back to life. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. Surprised, he nodded, and they left the club.

Back at her apartment, she turned to him. "Bear with me, please. This scares the living shit out of me."

He nodded. "You lead, I'll follow."

They sat on the couch, and she reached for the back of his head, drawing him down for a kiss. She felt the old electricity, the attraction, and knew she had to replace nightmares with new images. She had to be a woman again, and she wanted it to be Woody who brought her back.

She found it awkward to undress, moving slowly. He waited, this was her show. When she pulled the covers back and slipped into bed, naked, she pulled them up over her breasts, watching him. He undressed almost as slowly as she did, then joined her in bed. He pulled her into his arms and just held her, letting her get used to that, lying on his back. Then she turned on her side and raised up on her elbow, a sardonic smile on her face, her eyes alight with humor, which amazed him.

"Uh, I do know what a penis looks and feels like, Woods," she said, "You don't have to lie on your back."

He blushed, then turned to meet her. She seemed OK. He touched her gently, lovingly, and felt her body respond. Then his brain kicked in. "Birth control?" he whispered.

She looked at him. "Nightstand drawer. All I have. It hasn't been on my mind for awhile."

He reached over and snagged a condom from the few that were in the drawer. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"I'm sure I want to try."

She gasped when he slowly entered her, and he stopped. "Am I hurting you?"

"A little. It's OK." She touched his face. "After all the stitching, it's like being a virgin again."

He smiled. "Tell me if it hurts, if you want me to stop."

"Trust me, I will."

It wasn't the greatest sex she'd ever had, but it was a start. She trusted him, something she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to do again, and it was sweet. She heard him whisper he loved her, words she had so longed to hear once upon a time. She was passive, which surprised neither of them, but he did his best to please her. When it was over, he held her, kissing her, telling her again he loved her, and she heard the pleading in his voice, please love me back.

She woke in the morning on her side, with his arm around her waist. OK, she thought, that was a huge step. She eased out of bed and started coffee before getting in the shower. He was awake when she came out of the bathroom.

"You OK?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "I am." She sat on the edge of the bed, toweling her hair. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Being patient. Dr. Keyes says it's a long, winding road home."

He smiled. "I'm here for the whole ride, Jordan. Never doubt that again."

She reached out and touched his jaw. "I won't. Just don't doubt me. I don't know how long it's going to take, but I do know I want you along for the ride." She smiled. "I do love you, and if we can get through this, we can get through anything."

He reached for her, and she dropped the towel, sliding next to him. "We'll make it," he said. "There's something to be said for long rides, lots of scenery and all that."

She smiled. "I don't know about scenery, but I have heard about this scenic highway…"

END