Lost Pretense
Chapter Seven: Conflicting Truths
Rating: R (gonna do that to be on the safe side, applies to subject matter)
Word Count: 2,804
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: He wasn't who everyone thought he was. He wasn't even who he thought he was.
Pairing: Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of)
Author's Note: Computer issues resolved. I have my own again. :) Here is the long awaited Woody/Lily scene (well, maybe not long awaited, but... It is probably my favorite scene of the whole story.) And yes, I am evil.
Conflicting Truths
Jordan studied the body of Charlie Nomm, better known as Ten-Man, with disgust. Woody, you better not have had anything to do with this. Seely had caught the case, even before the victim was identified, since no one had been hired to take Woody's place yet. The detective that had replaced Lu was a bull-headed prick who bounced from city to city when the complaints got too high. Jordan had never thought she'd prefer Seely, but she was actually relieved to see him, even if he was already biased and chasing Woody for an attempted murder that was almost justifiable... almost.
"Well?" Seely asked.
"Ten rounds, most in the chest," Jordan told him, shrugging. "Maybe more. He's...a mess. Is that part of his intestine?"
Seely rolled his eyes. "Come on, Cavanaugh. I'm not going to go green at the sight of innards, not like some people. Uh..."
Jordan waved her hand dismissively. It didn't matter because Woody wasn't dead, but then Seely didn't know that. "I'd say you're looking for some heavy firepower. Judging from the rounds that missed, the shooter was probably across the street, in that building. Any witnesses?"
"Oh, yeah. Don't tell me you didn't recognize that diner."
Jordan looked back at the diner. Her stomach had fallen when she recognized it, when she realized that the dead body could be Woody's. When she saw that it wasn't, she'd been almost dizzy with relief. Still, she knew that Woody had been here. He had damn well better be okay.
"Seems our missing bodyguard offered his services to two other hookers. He was at the diner, when out to meet this lovely specimen of humanity, and then the shooting started. All of them swear he didn't do it," Seely finished. "They're lying."
Jordan shook her head. Seely was a moron. "There's no way. Even if he had access to a machine gun, he would never have been able to get that close."
Seely sighed. "Do you always have to disagree with me?"
"I don't know. I guess that depends on whether or not I can talk to the witnesses," she answered with a shrug. She was dying to talk to Ruby and Sheila. Woody refused to tell Jordan where they were, and she knew that even with the help of the entire morgue, she would never find the women Woody was sheltering unless he wanted her to find them. She almost kicked herself for not remembering the diner, but then again, it seemed so obvious. It was too predictable. That was why she had dismissed it. She hadn't expected Woody to leave himself so open, the girls so vulnerable.
Damn. She wished he had a cellphone. Any phone. She'd give him hell for this.
Seely grunted, but he didn't stop her from talking to anyone. She approached Mic first. He regarded her wary, clearly defensive. Great. Seely was barking up the wrong tree again. "He didn't shoot anyone. He's innocent, and that damn detective is railroading him."
"Forensics don't lie. They'll back your story. And I won't let them railroad him," she promised. "What happened?"
"He came for the girls. Had coffee. Sheila told him that she had a date, and then he got spooked. Told me to call the police, for everyone to take cover. And he walked up to that bastard—kid's got balls, he does. Wasn't scared at all. Then all hell breaks loose. He ducked, the other one didn't. The cops got close; the shooting stopped. He was gone. Shooter, too, I guess," Mic said, passing her a coffee.
She took it gratefully. It wasn't the average diner coffee, black as pitch and older than dirt, but strong and fresh. She sighed deeply, and Mic smiled at her. "Was everyone out here?"
"Well, Ruby was in the bathroom—he told her to stay there, but she didn't. Then the shooting started, and she went back in. Doubt she saw much," Mic considered thoughtfully. "Jerry and Sheila were here."
Jordan thanked Mic for the coffee and went to talk to Jerry. He kept looking at Sheila, checking on her. He wasn't shaken up, but he was worried about her. Jordan figured he was Sheila's date, and she wished them luck. Jerry's story matched Mic's. Woody had apparently sensed Ten-Man's presence and gone out to confront him. A shooter had gotten Ten-Man, but Woody escaped. No one knew where he had gone, but Jerry had already promised to see Sheila and Ruby safely home.
Jordan was about to ask him where that home was, but then she saw Sheila and excused herself. She reached Sheila just as Ruby did.
"I want to go home," Ruby whined. "I need to go home."
Jordan looked at the other woman, who smelled a little of vomit and wore a shirt that stretched too tightly against her stomach. Wait a minute—was Ruby pregnant? Damn it. Next time she spoke to Woody, she was telling him to get a cellphone. Or she'd just buy him one. One of the cheap disposable ones. This was ridiculous. She needed to talk to him. Now.
"That detective said we could go," Sheila agreed nervously. "Let's get Jerry."
"I'm not waiting," Ruby said. "Creepola's dead. Don't need protection."
Sheila glared at her. "Yes, we do. Who the hell do you think killed Creepola? Think about it, Rube. We're not free. Not yet. Let me get Jerry."
"You know," Jordan began. "We could help you—"
"Will warned us about you," Ruby said, watching Sheila approach Jerry. He grabbed his coat and started towards them. "I ain't tellin' you shit."
That was it, Jordan thought. When she found Woody, she'd kill him herself.
"You know, I'm not trained for this," Lily began.
"I don't want a shrink, Lily. I think...I think I hate them, don't ask me why," he said, sitting down across from her. He didn't like the conference room. It was too open, too exposed. Hopefully everyone would just assume that Lily was with a grieving family and not disturb them.
"I don't really know much about memory loss, Woody."
"You're pretty good at talking me out of this," he observed dryly.
She blushed. "Woody, I'm sorry. I'm just not used to this kind of counseling. Why don't we start at the beginning?"
"Are we talking the beginning as in my childhood or the first thing I remember?"
He made her laugh with that one. He liked the way she laughed. It was familiar, comforting. She looked at him. "Do you remember anything about your childhood?"
He thought about it for a moment. A sick feeling of nausea overtook him as he saw the flash of a belt buckle on a man in a deputy's uniform who reeked of alcohol, but it was gone quickly. He shook his head. "No. Not really. Jordan said I had a brother. That he's missing. But I don't remember him. It doesn't seem real."
Lily nodded. "Do you remember anything from before Boston?"
He shook his head. "I'm thinking I burned some bridges there, but I don't know. That's what makes this so damn frustrating. And Jordan—she wants the 'old' me back. It's too much. And I—I'm not entirely happy with who I was. Or how I feel about Jordan."
This subject clearly interested Lily, but she held herself back. "About the explosion..."
"I don't remember it. I woke up in the alley—that's the first memory I have that I trust completely. My head was pounding. I saw the wreck, but I didn't hear the sirens. Couldn't. So I knew I'd been close. I did know I didn't know who I was or how I'd gotten there. When the police wanted to stop me, I ran. Ran like a criminal, ran in fear. I still don't know what set me off that day, but I don't trust the police. Even if everyone says I am the police. I found a homeless shelter. They helped me. I guess they figured that I burned them over a trash can or something.
"Later that night, I disarmed a meth addict who tried to rob me. I took him to a hospital, spent the night at the shelter. Next day, I met Andrea. I moved in with her—on her couch. I walked her to work. Then I'd go to the library, look up what I could on the explosion. We had a routine. It was good, for a while anyway."
"What about the night she died?" Lily asked gently.
He studied her. "Are you sure you want to know? You'll be bound by confidentiality. You really want to know this?"
"I know you, Woody. It can't be that bad."
"I'm not who you think I am—not Woody. Not exactly. What I've done I'm not sure Woody Hoyt—at least the saintly, naive Woody that everyone seems to like—would approve. The angry, high on rage Woody—he would have done worse. I don't know—Lily, am I bipolar? Or what?"
"As far as I know, Woody, you are a man who—No, I'll tell you what I really think. I think you had an image of the man you felt you had to be, and you made yourself that man. You suppressed anything that didn't fit. And it came out when you were shot. And now... Now you are facing similar challenges. You have to adjust. Again. I think you found your balance before the explosion and then..."
"And then I lost it again. Lost everything," Woody finished. He took a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair. "Andrea didn't tell me about Montelli for a week. She was spooked. She told me when she asked for protection that it was from clients who wouldn't accept that she had quit. I might have known that she was lying, but I didn't care. Not enough. I figured there was time. I had my own demons. I should have done more. Andrea was... She was too young, a college kid that partied herself out of her scholarship and ended up on the streets. She was talking about trying night school. I told her to try. She finally admitted that Montelli wanted her dead.
"She never told me why. She said... she needed time. That didn't sit well with me, but I tried to give her that time. I still had who I was and what I'd done to Hoyt to consider.
"I was sitting on the couch. Andrea had just gotten out of the shower—she was teasing me... It seemed so normal, so... I was planning on going to Hoyt's funeral—turns out it was my funeral. I almost wish I'd gone. Thousands of mourners screaming or fainting as the dead man comes to life..."
"Woody?" Lily prompted softly. He supposed his comment was out of character for the precious "Woody" that everyone loved and missed.
"When I heard the pounding, I shoved Andrea into the bedroom. The lock wasn't the best, so I braced the door. I should have replaced the lock... Not that it mattered... He shot through the door, through me. I hit the wall... He dragged her out—she'd hidden under the bed. He shot her, twice. I knew she was dead. He was just walking away, leaving us there. I got angry. I got up, and I shot him. Twice.
"I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking clearly. But I knew with a gun in my hand, a cop dead... I thought he was dead—still wish he was dead... I knew I couldn't stay, had to try and... I put the gun in Andrea's hand and I left. Somehow I made it to the diner, and Mic helped me with the wound. I wandered around the city for hours until..."
He rubbed his forehead. The events of the night were obscured by the pain and shock he'd been in. he didn't know that he really trusted his memory. "I saw Jordan on the news. She was at the funeral. I knew I knew her, so I went to her for help. She told me who I was, woke up memories... I almost hate her for it. Does that make sense?"
Lily laughed. "Perfect sense, actually. You feel you'll lose yourself if the old Woody resurfaces. What you don't realize is that he is a part of you, and you're a part of him. You just have to learn to coexist."
He had to admit that she made sense. He rose, thanking her. She called to him as he left, but he couldn't stay. It was too much. He felt like he was drowning.
Damn Hoyt. Damn whatever it was that he had done that had gotten him into this mess.
"I swear, if you break into my apartment again, I'm turning you in," Jordan threatened wearily, walking in and setting her keys and purse on the counter.
"I brought Mexican this time," he told her, not apologizing or acknowledging her threat. He was Woody enough to know she didn't mean it. "Plus a little tequila to add to that mix because I know you've had a hard day."
"Hard day?" she snapped. "Hard day? Woody, you could have been killed today. You can't stay on the streets anymore. It isn't safe."
He opened the tequila and took a swig. "It never has been. Look, Jordan, someone's cleaning up their mess. That's what's happening. Me, Sheila, and Ruby are the loose ends. And there are cops involved in this—not just Montelli—so there's no chance in hell that I'm turning myself in. I don't think Ten-Man was the target. It may have been useful to get rid of him, but they were after me. He was bait. I'm not sure if this is because of Montelli and Andrea or if it is because of whatever caused that bombing."
Because she didn't know what the hell else to do, she started making the margaritas. When she finished with the blender, he looked at her. "I spoke to Lily."
Startled, Jordan choked on her margarita. "What?"
"She couldn't really help with the memory thing, but some of the other stuff..."
"I'm glad, Woody, but—"
"I came here to tell you I was leaving. I don't know why I did. I should have just left. I can't stay in Boston. And Ruby and Sheila have to leave, too. It's too dangerous.
"You're leaving?" her heart fell into her stomach. She couldn't stand the idea of him leaving. She had to keep him here. She picked up the cellphone she'd gotten on her way home and gave it to him. He took it with a frown. "What is this?"
"I'm sick of not being able to talk to you when I want to. So, your phone. I want you to use this, Woody," she told him, going close enough to pull his lips to hers. She'd make him stay, do whatever it took. He had to let her help him. They could beat this. He could stay. He had to stay. She wanted him here, wanted him to know how much he meant to her.
"Jordan," he began softly, "as tempting as it is to pull you into that bedroom and never leave, I can't afford to..."
He broke off and rushed to the bathroom. She followed, hearing him wretch into the toilet. She got a towel, ran it under some cold water, and passed it to him. "You know, Farm Boy, I thought you held your liquor better than that."
He grunted. Okay, so it was more than the alcohol. She didn't know what, though. "If you think you're kissing me again, you're sadly mistaken."
He pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. "I have no intention of...anything at the moment. I just remembered more than I ever wanted. Some sick slide show of the worst killings...autopsies... things I wish I could forget now."
"I'm sorry," she told him. "Come on, Woody. I think you should lay down—"
"I'm not staying. I'm fine now. I have to do this, Jordan. I have to go."
"Woody, wait. I talked to everyone at the diner. I think Ruby is pregnant," she blurted out, trying to get it out before he could run off and leave.
He got green again, but he didn't go for the toilet. He continued towards the front door. "Call Seely. Tell him I'll meet him. And I'll—I'll have everything he needs."
"What do you mean?" she demanded, rushing after him. He ignored her and opened the door. There was a horrible sound as a gun went off, and Woody fell back. She tried to scream, but her voice was gone.
Woody moaned. "Oh...damn..."