"It's a long story."
"I have time."
"Would you like to sit down then?" Henry offered slightly nervously. Jo just nodded her assent, curious about what could have Henry so rattled.
"Tea?"
"No Henry, now stop stalling and explain," Jo demanded just managing to keep the irratation out of her voice.
"Yes, yes, where to start..." Henry trailed off and when it began clear that he was not going to continue Jo asked,
"Well how about you start with this picture."
"Yes, the picture, well what do you want me to say, that the pictures a fake, that"
"God, Henry, the truth. Is this you in the picture?"
"Yes," Henry said simply.
"Ho-how is that possible."
"Well, you see this is the long part," Henry paused for a moment, collecting himself. "I'm immortal."
"You're immortal," Jo repeated dubiously. "Please Henry tell me the truth,"
"I am Jo. Really I am. I was born in 1779, every time I die I come back to life and,"
"Stop Henry, whatever your hiding from I can help you, but I can't do anything if you won't tell me the truth." Henry sank down futher into his chair, and threw Jo a despaired look, just as Abe walked back in.
"Abe," she said in relief, after all it was Abe who said to tell her in the first place, "maybe you can convince him to tell me the truth."
"She doesn't believe you eh," Abe said looking at Henry, who just shook his head, some how managing to sink further into the chair. Abe held up a book, that the detective had some how missed when he walked in to the room.
"Brought you this," he said still looking at Henry, "thought it might help." Henry who had extracted himself from the chair stood up and took the book, while Jo looked on incredulous.
"Abe, are you saying you believe him."
"Of course it'd be a bit hard to miss wouldn't it," seeing Jo's confused look he added "you know, the not aging thing." Jo just stared before jumping up with,
"You're crazy, both of you." She heard Henry's breath catch and looked up to see his face whiten.
"No, Jo we're not crazy, please believe me, we're not." Henry said slightly panicked he opened the book, a photo album, and showed Jo. "See," he said pointing at the pictures, just like the one she had in her pocket. They were all photos of Henry, some with other people some with just him, some older photos, some younger, but all of Henry.
"Wh-what," Jo mumbled and staggered backwards, sitting back down in the chair. Henry gave her time, time to process, time to think, time to collect herself. After a while Jo looking far more collected spoke clearly,
"Explain." So Henry told her about, where (and when) he was born, how he got on the slave ship and all that happened there.
"Why were you so scared when I said you were crazy?" Jo questioned when he stopped.
"Ah," replied Henry, "my first wife Nora, well she thought I was crazy, and ... well ... she ... ah had me committed. Let's just say therapy in those days was a little different to what is now."
"Oh Henry," Jo almost cried emotion evident in her voice, as she wrapped her arms around him.
They talked for a while longer and Jo did have that tea in the end, it was several hours after she arrived that Jo left the little antiques shop/ apartment feeling much better about her friendship with Henry than she had in a long time.