Broken Roots
Chapter Seven: The Bad Seed
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,034
Disclaimer: I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.
Summary: Sins of the father are passed onto the son. Sins of the mother to the daughter. And somewhere in the middle of all of that lies the truth.
Pairing: Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )
Author's Note: Okay, so here's the explanation for what Woody said in the last chapter... I've tried to be vague-ish about certain details, but if anyone thinks this deserves a higher rating for the subject matter, let me know and I will change it.
The Bad Seed
"The nightmare," Woody said softly, his voice full of horror, his eyes closed in a desperate attempt to push back the memories. "It wasn't... It wasn't a dream. It was real."
"What nightmare?" Jordan asked gently, taking his hand. He looked at her, unable to stop the shudder. Cal snorted across the room, and Woody wanted to hurt him, to knock some sense into him. He supposed he had proof that his father hadn't touched Cal, now didn't he? Because if he had, then Cal wouldn't be sitting there acting like Woody was the bad guy.
"My father was drunk that night. I know because he... I got used to... I would wake up at the same time every night, didn't matter when I had gone to bed, because he... he went straight into my room when he got home. I would wake up to him..."
Woody woke up slowly. His room was dark. There was no snoring, no breathing. He was alone. His father must have passed out in the living room. He would have been in here by now if he hadn't. He'd be in the bed. Sometimes he fell asleep before he did anything, but that didn't usually happen. Woody shuddered. He already felt dirty, and his father hadn't even done anything. He couldn't take this.
They were supposed to go to Milwaukee in the morning. He couldn't do it. He didn't ever want to go back there. Cal was excited. He was going to see his team play again, and it was going to be so good. But Woody knew that he would never make it to the game. He'd be "sick" from the car ride, and he'd have to stay at the motel, and then...
No, he wasn't going to do it again. He wouldn't let it happen.
He got out of bed and walked into the kitchen. He could hear his father snoring now, and he knew that if he just... He could end it. All he needed was a knife. He took one from the rack and walked into the living room. All he had to do... He just needed to...
He stopped at the edge of the couch, raising the knife.
He just needed to push the blade down, straight in the heart like if his father was a vampire. He aimed the knife, his hands shaking. Then he lowered it. He couldn't do it. But he had to. He didn't want to—couldn't take it anymore, the horrible things they did to him...
He raised the knife again, and suddenly a hand caught his arm. He stared at his father in horror. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I..."
"You know better than to play with knives, Woody," his father went on, sitting up. Woody tried to pull free, but his father's grip was too tight. He couldn't escape it. He never could.
"Let's put that away, shall we?" his father went on, standing up and dragging Woody into the kitchen. He held Woody's hand over the counter and forced him to drop the knife. Then he put it back where it belonged.
"Now, see, you didn't really want to kill me, did you?" Warren asked, touching Woody's cheek as he shuddered and started to cry. "No, of course not. You wouldn't do that to your own father..."
Woody opened his eyes, forcing back the vomit that wanted to come up his throat. He looked at his brother. "That was what you saw, Cal. I didn't touch him. I couldn't. I wanted to, but I... couldn't... I never went through with it."
"And that makes it okay?" Cal demanded. "You were going to kill him."
"God, Cal, don't start," Woody said, lowering his head. Jordan pulled him into her arms and held him. He let himself rest there, in the safety of her embrace, taking comfort from her. She loved him, and he didn't deserve it, but she did, and she was here. He needed her, needed her desperately right now. "You saw the knife and ran back into your room, didn't you? You didn't stick around to see me put it back or what he did to me afterwards, did you?"
Cal started to say something, but then he stopped. He looked at Woody for a long moment. "It was you screaming that night, wasn't it? I thought... I guess I thought it was him, but it was you..."
Woody nodded, feeling sick again.
"Okay, I think we need a round after that one," Max announced. He looked over at the recovering addicts, weighed the decision, and he poured a shot for everyone, leaving them on the table. They could take it if they wanted, or they could leave it where it was. Woody didn't hesitate. He reached for the shot and tossed it back, then collapsed against Jordan again. This was slowly killing him. They had to finish this, and fast.
Garret considered the drink, but he refused it in the end, settling back with a soda instead. He grunted, pulling his coat in an effort to get comfortable again. Cal wanted the drink, it was all over his face, but he made no move towards it. He stared at his brother with a stunned expression, and Max knew that the boy was only now comprehending what his brother had gone through. Jordan and the others took their drinks, downing them as Woody had done.
Max set his own glass, now empty, back on the table. "Let's get this started properly, then, shall we? Woody, can you—"
"I can be myself," Woody whispered. "I don't want to, but I can."
"And you, Cal, you'll have to tell your part, too," Max went on. He looked down at the list they'd created for "parts." There, at the top of the list, was the one that no one wanted: Warren himself. Max looked at the man he considered like a son, and he shook his head.
"Give me the file," Garret said. "I'll be Warren."
Woody shuddered again, and Jordan leaned next to his ear, speaking to him soothingly as she combed through his hair. Max handed Garret the file and took the one of the sheriff for himself. He gave Bug the file for the other unlucky farmer who had been in the store that night. Nigel got the role of the punk accused of the crime, and this time he didn't even protest. Max gave the role of the boys' aunt to Lily, thinking it best if
Jordan didn't have a role other than holding onto the shattered man in her arms.
There was hope for those two yet. And this was just the beginning. Tonight, they'd put Warren to rest, and in a few days, Emily, too. And that would leave two people with the rest of their lives to enjoy. Maybe even time enough for some grandkids...
"How far back are we starting?" Woody asked. "That day, or...?"
"I have a question," Lily began hesitantly. "I know you probably don't want to answer, Woody, but... How much time passed between the night with the knife and the day he died?"
Woody closed his eyes, pained by the memories. "About... four days, I think. I know there was at least two, because he did take me—us—to Milwaukee that weekend... That was probably the worst time I was ever there, actually... I... I remember thinking, over and over before he died, that I should have killed him that night... And then he died, and I felt so guilty..."
"Okay, worse question," Nigel said. "And don't answer this if you don't want to, Woodrow, but why was that time the worst? I mean, I guess it's a twisted thought, but wouldn't the first time...?"
Woody shook his head. "Yes, but no... That weekend... He let someone else, some stranger... He took money for it, filmed it for him..."
Max reached for the bottle and poured them another round. Garret looked at the folder he now held with even greater disgust. Nigel looked sick. "That's it, I'm not asking anymore questions."
"So, let's talk about the day before," Jordan said, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen on the room. She'd tried, and they'd tried, but no one could say anything for a while after Woody's last admission. Everyone felt sick, and it looked like they shouldn't have bothered with food because no one wanted to eat, and that would probably last through the whole night. This had to be the worse case they'd ever done, not the most gruesome, but it was still worse than any other.
Woody raised his head. "It was Monday, the day before... I didn't make it to school that day."
"He was sick," Cal added. "Dad told me he was sick."
"I never made it to school after a Milwaukee weekend," Woody said, shaking his head. "The time was short, so they made the most of it... I couldn't hardly move afterwards. So, I didn't go to school. I don't remember much of that day. I slept it off, mostly. I think I remember when Cal got home... He had a problem with his schoolwork, woke me up to help him..."
"Math," Cal muttered with distaste. "I hate math."
Woody smiled faintly, and Jordan found herself kissing his forehead. He would be such an incredible dad. She wanted him to have that chance. He deserved that chance. "It was a pretty quiet day, actually. Cal fell asleep in the middle of his homework, which spared me from having to face my father again, and the next thing I remember is the next day."
Max looked over at Garret. "Anything in there about how Warren spent the day before?"
"Minor details on his shift," Garret admitted with a grunt. "Went out on patrol, pulled over a speeder, and came back. Routine and uneventful."
"No, they said... They said that the speeder was probably the same punk that was in the store that night," Woody insisted. He frowned and looked at Cal. "I think."
Cal nodded. "I remember our aunt telling us that... He was just doing his job. And I remember being angry, because he wasn't working that night, but then she told us that he had pulled over the kid the day before, and when the kid recognized him in the store, he went crazy..."
"That was the theory, anyway," Woody shook his head. "They couldn't prove it. The car was different, the kid denied the ticket..."
"If you will allow me, I believe this is my part," Nigel interrupted dramatically. He opened his folder with a flourish. "And I quote, 'that stupid pig couldn't have caught me if I was speeding. Stupid Barney Fife. He deserved to get capped, but I didn't do it.'"
Woody grimaced. Jordan kissed his forehead. Cal rolled his eyes. Max smiled to himself. Jordan knew that look of her dad's, and she shook her head. It wasn't that she didn't want the same thing, but she couldn't believe how open her father was being about it, almost...smug. She sighed. She still didn't know why he was here. He had been in Boston for a while, too. He hadn't been invited back just for this, and even if he had, he wouldn't have come. No matter how much he liked Woody, this wasn't a big enough pull. She was going to find out what her father was up to after this was finished.
"Okay, so we can't prove that the man accused of killing Warren was the same one that was pulled over the day before, can we?" Lily asked, frowning in confusion.
"Wait a minute," Garret said. He flipped through more paperwork and found the page he was looking for. "Here. It says the id was fake, and Warren took it from the kid. If that's somewhere in all this mess, then maybe the photo would show the killer."
"Maybe," Woody muttered darkly. "But no one ever found that fake id again. I remember looking for it in the evidence myself. It just... vanished."
"Well, now," Nigel said, a smile creeping across his face. "I'd call that suspicious, wouldn't you?"
