Chapter 8

Henry set his hands on his hips and stared into the filled open drawer. He preferred that the clothes remained packed in the suitcases for the time being. He did not anticipate them staying here for long. Once they returned to Summit Rock, the location should jog their memories about that day, and they should return home in time for their first date this weekend.

He sighed and shoved the drawer shut. Experience, however, had taught him that it wasn't that simple. Even if they could remember their involvement in that investigation, it wouldn't improve their situation. They might produce one or more leads that could solve Dexter's murder, but they would be no closer to finding their stalker than where they were now. If their stalker had been there that day, he had blended into the crowd that had gathered at the scene, and neither he nor Jo could now pick him out of a police lineup. Given how long it had taken Adam to reveal his true identity to him and then to Jo, they could be here for months or….

To distract himself from that possibility, Henry turned to the satchel leaning against the drawers. He withdrew his copy of Alexander Pope's Essay on Man, pickedup the bag containing his small library, and gently nestled it on a shelf under his pants in the walk-in closet. He smiled at the tome and fingered the spine. He had attempted to read it again whenever his son had gone out on a date, but, every time that he had set out to do so, he had drifted off to sleep. Perhaps he could read it now since he had plenty of time.

Henry tucked the book under his arm and sauntered to the bed. He propped his pillow against the headboard, sat down, and wiggled back until he reclined comfortably against it. He slipped the tome into his hands and breathed in the slight vanilla smell of the pages. With the month that had passed, it had felt like millennia since he had last been able to engage in one of life's simple pleasures.

His shoulders drooping, he opened the book up to where he had left off. A few paragraphs in, the words blurred together into a tangled mess. He blinked several times to ward off any sleep attempting to creep in and claim him again. He wanted to finish the book again some time during his long life, and now would be the perfect time to do it.

His mind drifted off into his and Jo's last two meals: lunch at the nearby Italian restaurant and a pair of sandwiches from the local deli. During both, their conversations had been relatively pleasant. Yet, he had sensed a slight strain between them. They had agreed that their circumstances were the source of their tension and that some time apart would do them some good. He, however, still felt that, to some extent, it was his fault.

Henry huffed. He had held off adapting to a modern lifestyle for as long as he could. After his first exposure to the inventions that he currently used, he couldn't imagine returning to a life without them. In contrast, everything that Jo had been accustomed to since childhood had been things that he had adamantly resisted. Today, it had become glaringly apparent that he needed to reconsider his position on the remainder of modernity to maintain his cover and his relationship with the woman he loved.

He reached over the edge of the bed and picked up the book. Inspecting the spine, he sighed. It was evident that he was not going to be able to read it any time soon. If he didn't know any better, he would swear that the tome was cursed.

He set the book beside him, pushed himself off the bed, and headed over to his window. Beneath him, the traffic flowed steady past the majestic park, almost seemingly ignoring the beauty just beyond them. One that had changed as Vaux and Olmsted's designs had fallen victim to the city's desires for expansion, but a beauty just the same.

"…If I were you, I would take this time and get reacquainted with each other as lovers…."

Henry rolled his tongue in his mouth. Abe was right. They needed to do that. Their time in the grocery store had revealed several similarities that he had never noticed before. Perhaps he should take Abe's advice and get to know her as intimately as he could.

He surveyed his room. After their stalker was arrested, that was. They could not begin their relationship in earnest with their lives in constant peril. Should something happen to her….

His attention turned back to the gorgeous view outside of his window. He needed a change in scenery. Perhaps he should take a walk in the park and allow the warm spring evening clear his head.

He neared the door, twisted the handle, and hoped that Jo wouldn't mind if he left the apartment for a while. He needed this time to himself to see if he could jog his own memory of that day. Every time that he had died, and when he had recently regained his memory, the events of Dexter's death had always been a short burst in his mental landscape. Yet, the details had eluded him ever since Lt. Reece had asked him about their victim. If he could swing over to the outcrop and take a few minutes to recall what else he had seen or heard while conducting an external examination of Dexter's body, he probably could remember something that could break their stalker's hold on their lives.

"It's the top of the fourth here at Yankee Stadium. The Yankees lead the Red Sox 4-2…."

The announcer's voice jerked Henry's mind and body. Blinking to regain his bearings, he cracked the door open and dared to peek out into the living room. The images of the latest baseball game appeared on the TV screen. His eyes wandered across the room. He drew in a deep breath as Jo sat on the sofa, her feet curled up beside her.

She turned to him, and their eyes met. She held out the remote control, turned the TV off, and hid the device out of sight. Her enticing smile asked him to join her on the sofa. He bit back his own smile. As tempting as it was, he must remain focused on his mission.

Her eyebrows turned up. "How are you doing?"

"A little better than I had been earlier."

He pointed his head to the TV and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Couldn't resist the Yankees' game?" She had mentioned her preference years ago shortly after she had asked him which baseball team he supported. He had blurted out that he was more of a cricket man then, but her eyes widened when he had later told her that he had quietly supported the Yankees in the past because of Abe's love for them.

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, brushed back a strand of hair, and gave him a small smile. "Not really. I came across it while trying to find something to watch. Might as well support the team."

He nodded. He had occasionally found himself wishing that he could do the same both during the short time that he had lived in Chicago in the 1890s and when Abe was a child. Yet, the game of baseball was so far removed from the form of cricket that he had played in his childhood that he had found himself unable to get into it.

She scooted over to one side of the sofa. "You care to sit down?"

His mouth widened. Although it was likely a ten-minute walk to the outcrop by using the footpaths, he wanted to leave plenty of time to arrive there, walk himself through his and Dr. Ross' movements, and return before night fully fell. Barring another death due to a distracted driver, if he left now, he could be back before bed.

"I, um, I—." His heart picked up its pace and blocked his thoughts from his mouth.

A weight grew in his chest and pulled down on his body. He couldn't leave her now. She had come into the living room seeking refuge from her own thoughts and concerns, and she had chosen to occupy her mind with the images and sounds from the TV. If he were to continue to Summit Rock without her, he could cause her own pain to dig deeper into her soul and wound her for the remainder of her life.

He dared to look into her eyes. At her smile, his worries faded into the distance. The almost black specks that bejeweled her soft, brown eyes begged him to inspect them more.

A shiver unwound his muscles, forcing him to look away. The sofa's cushion called out to him. Not wanting to fall down in front of her, he slid over to the space that she had provided and lowered himself down beside her.

Reality broke through his haze. As his vision cleared, he glanced around the room. Although he was enjoying his time with Jo, a part of him longed to think that this wasn't happening. That piece wanted to be elbow-deep in the latest body, looking for clues into the victim's untimely death. To bounce theories off Lucas and to reenact them at the latest scene or in the morgue. To see Jo and Mike walk into the OCME and ask him for his opinion on a statement or a piece of evidence. To head home to Abe and to talk about his day.

"Henry?"

He shook himself out of his thoughts, scoffed, and pivoted toward her. Her bright smile and steadfast gaze, the same expression that had invited him to share whatever had been on his mind during their first year of working together, adorned her face.

"This day still feels surreal in a sense." The words tumbled out before he knew it. He shook his head. "I sometimes expect to wake up in bed in a cold sweat and to realize that today is only a nightmare."

Her smile and the gleam in her eyes faded. She bit her lower lip and bowed her head. "Tell me about it. I keep waiting for Mike or Lt. Reece to call and to let us know that they have found our stalker."

She took another look at him and scoffed. "You know, for a while, I was really enjoying our day. If it weren't for Nick and Lisa, I would have let myself take this as a vacation."

He bowed his head. "I had too."

Henry found her hand, wove his fingers between hers, and gave her a small smile. He wasn't going to let their neighbors or their stalker take this moment with Jo from him. He had waited an entire month for their schedules to coincide. No matter what circumstances had brought them together, he was, to some extent, truly glad that they could finally have even an afternoon to themselves.

Her eyes traced his face, igniting his curiosity and flaming a warmth in his chest. When they had completed their circuit, she released his hand and pushed away from him. Hoping that he didn't upset her any more than what he already had, he refrained from asking her what was wrong.

She turned back to him and grinned. "I'll be right back."

He stared after her as she proceeded to the kitchen and disappeared through the threshold. She appeared too happy for someone who had been offended by a statement or reminded of something painful. Her mysterious air….

He furrowed his eyebrows. She rarely acted as though she was concealing a secret. The only times that she had—.

Jo appeared in the threshold a moment later, her hands behind her back. Her grin had grown in the time that she was gone.

"I figured that you would like these."

As she lowered herself onto the cushion next to him, she dropped her shoulders. A moment later, a package of blueberry scones appeared in her hands.

His jaw dropped, and his eyebrows knitted together as she handed him the plastic container. He gingerly accepted it. He had unloaded her bags when they had returned to the apartment. How did these escape his notice?

Tears welled up in his eyes as he peered at the scones. How was it possible for her to know that he longed for some comfort?

She briefly dropped her eyes. "I know that they're not as good as Abe's, but…"

"I—, um, I—." Henry drew in a deep breath, remembered his words, and met her gaze. "Thank you."

He opened up the package, removed one, and took a bite. As he chewed, he let the crumbs and the sweet morsels of blueberry erase his train of thought. Jo was right; it wasn't anything like Abe's. Yet, it was serving a purpose that the bakers could never imagine.

"So," Jo shifted around until she faced him and propped her head on her hand. "Carrying me over the threshold? Have you ever done that before?"

He almost spat out his mouthful. Swallowing, he regained his composure. "No, not even with Nora."

Jo tilted her head, and he bowed his head at the memory. "I wanted to, though, as a way of doing something romantic for her after we had returned from our honeymoon. She, however, insisted that she walked through the door of our new home." Jo's raised eyebrows enticed him to go further. "Nora might have been religious, but she wasn't superstitious. When I had suggested it, she had promptly inquired why I, a man of science, believed in a 'ridiculous superstition'."

He threw up his finger. "Her words, not mine. Anyway, after she had me committed to Charing Cross, I had begun to wonder if her unwillingness to accept the gesture was the first sign of trouble in our marriage."

"And Abigail?"

He quickly finished his scone, shook his head, and grinned. "She was holding Abe when we had first stepped foot in our apartments in both London and Brooklyn. And we had already considered ourselves to be married by the time that I had proposed to her."

Jo leaned forward, her eyes never leaving him. "I'm the first woman you've carried over the threshold?" Her smile tempted him to ask her to return to the door so he could do it again. "The way that you held me, I swore that it wasn't your first time."

He set the scones on the end table next to him and mirrored her posture. "Have you forgotten that I had been a doctor and an Army medic before my current profession?"

She laughed, and it rang out like church bells into the living room. "Considering I don't remember how you got me onto your sofa the times when I got drunk…?"

Her voice and her gaze trailed off. Henry's migrated to the lamp behind her. He hated that she had drowned her grief in alcohol and men. He wished that she could have spoken to her mother about it and that Mrs. Martinez had provided Jo with the same support Abe had when he had used alcohol in an attempt to forget about Abigail's absence in his life. If Jo had sought out her mother, perhaps her grief wouldn't have deepened like it had.

Henry felt her eyes on him. "What else do you like to do?"

"Huh?" His unfocused eyes to process what she wanted. "What do you mean?"

She laid her head back on her head. "What type of activities do you enjoy? Other than reading, chess, and listening to classical music or jazz, that is."

"Now or—?"

"Anytime. Even back when you were a kid."

He rolled his tongue in his mouth. He was sure that she hadn't heard him mention anything from that time….

His breath hitched in his throat. Actually, they had never shared many of their other interests before. Their conversations had predominately consisted of their cases, Abe, or whatever had occurred in their personal lives. When he had told her about a few of his interests—or she hers—they had always been in the context of a case or one of their stories from their pasts.

He peered down at his lap to rein in his emotions. Once he calmed, he found her eyes again. "Although the game had more of a written nature, my family and I enjoyed 'Consequences'."

"'Consequences'?" Her eyes widened. "As in 'Truth or Consequences'?"

He shook his head and met her gaze. "My friends, my mother, and my younger sisters were exceptionally good at creating the stories. I envied their ability." He chuckled. "Abe would disagree with me if he heard that."

"How do you play?"

"Usually, we jotted down adjectives of men and women, their names, articles of clothing—." With each detail, he could feel the past calling out to him.

Jo's eyes widened, and they glazed over. "That sounds like Mad Libs."

"What?" Henry narrowed his eyebrows. He had first heard of that game when Abe had mentioned that he, Fawn, and Lyle Ames had played it as children. Why was Jo drawing the connection between it and the game from his youth?

She fished out her smartphone and quickly found a site. "My sister and I played it all the time when we were growing up. We saved up our allowances for the latest book and bought it when the book fair came to our school."

He narrowed his eyes. They had book fairs for children? He would ask her, but for now, her own memory enticed him to follow her where it went.

She grinned and flashed her phone at him. "What we came up with made us laugh so hard that Mom came to our room and asked us what was going on."

Henry scooted over until his body abutted hers. He stared at the screen, his widening eyes transfixed by the words and blanks. He drew in a deep breath at the familiar sight. How was that possible?

"It's not quite the same game that I had played when I was a child, but this is remarkably the spirit of it."

"We could play now." She quickly tapped on the screen and smiled. "I would love to hear your choices when it's my turn to write them down."

Her eyes darted down to the phone. She gave it a wistful look before her gaze traveled back to him. She frowned and heaved a sigh. "Right. Our stalker could use this—" she waved her cell phone in the air "—to find us."

Her frown as she pocketed her cell phone stabbed him in the heart. Adam had caused less destruction than this. At least he afforded her the slightest bit of privacy in her domestic life…so far.

Henry's jaw clenched. Unless it was Adam who had forced them into this situation. If so—.

His mind traveled back to their walk to the grocery store. On one of the lampposts, they had spotted an advertisement for a local bookstore, and Jo had teased him about finding it. Yet….

He grinned at her. "We can use the purchase of a few books as an excuse to check out that bookstore we had learned about earlier today."

She returned his smile with one of hers which always made him feel slightly weak and slapped him on the chest. "You would."

She nodded, and her smile grew. "We could. It'll give us a chance to check out the rest of the neighborhood."

"How about some time tomorrow? We have nothing else to do."

Jo's smile faded. "How about Summit Rock?"

Henry swallowed. He had almost forgotten about that.

He studied the space between his feet. He didn't want to give up his time with her just yet. "We could go there early tomorrow morning and find the bookstore in the afternoon." He dared to gaze at her. "Provided that we don't remember something first."

A flash of blue and steel attracted his eyes. He furrowed his forehead. He didn't recall her ever having slight dimples in her fingers, let alone mentioning any projects in the domestic arts.

"When did you begin to knit?"

She blinked and stared at him. "Huh?"

He nodded to the ball of yarn. "Your knitting needles and ball of yarn. I've never seen them before."

She glanced back at it and smiled. "Oh, that? Yeah." She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I picked it up when I was an uni to calm my nerves, but…." She scoffed. "…needless to say, I haven't done it much. I thought that I could try again since we have time."

The left side of his mouth quirked up. Somehow, it was comforting to know that he wasn't the only one who had felt that they had needed to maintain some sense of their routine lives.

"…If I were you, I would take this time and get reacquainted with each other as lovers…."

He pushed himself back on the sofa, draped an arm around her shoulders, and nodded his approval to continue elaborating on her hobby. As she revealed the source of her fascination with the ancient craft, he let her words wash over him and sweep him under her influence. He smiled as he noted each thing. Perhaps he could have enough time to start unraveling the mysteries of Jo Martinez.


It had never been easy to talk to widows…especially to those who had lost their husbands under mysterious circumstances.

Mike drew in some air and steeled himself for what would happen once they were inside. He had handled situations like this only a few times before, and, each time, it was different. Some women had shut down. Others had talked about everything but their husbands and their deaths. One widow had assaulted him. And Jo…. Although Sean's death was more straightforward, Jo had plunged herself into her work, drunk herself into a near stupor, or ran out of the room whenever she had thought about his death.

He shot Lieu one nervous glance, swallowed back his fear, and rapped on the door. "Megan Chapman?"

An eerie silence greeted him. He stared at the door. The DMV had claimed that she lived here in Brighton Beach, and he had seen the lights on in her window. Had she seen their car pull up and was refusing to answer the door?

The door swung open, revealing a tall woman with a pair of manicured hands. Her eyes took in the two strangers. Megan's eyes drifted to Mike's shield. She stepped back and shoved the door toward them.

"I'm done talking to cops."

Mike stuck his foot in the door. "Mrs. Chapman—."

He wrinkled his nose as the door crunched his toes. As soon as he got back to the precinct, he was going to find some ice in the break room's freezer and make himself an ice pack.

"It's Miss Burris, and I ask you to leave before I call your superior and report you for harassment."

Lieu stepped behind him. "His superior is here. May we come in?"

Megan pinched her nose and closed her eyes. After a moment, she nodded her approval.

She watched them as they entered the modest apartment. "I don't see why you are here. I haven't done anything wrong."

Mike's eyes drifted to the urn sitting on a table near the fireplace. In a split second, he saw Sean's casket sitting on the biers at the altar of the church where the funeral had been held. The pallbearers stepped aside to allow a dazed Jo see Sean one final time. He leaned forward and nudged her. She slowly twisted around and stared at him as blankly as some of their corpses. Karen poked him with her elbow as her way of telling him that it was okay if he left her side. He eased around his wife and made his way to the front pew. He apologized to his partner's mother and squatted down in front of Jo. After convincing her to go to the casket, he escorted her to her husband one last time. Jo's knees buckled under her. He held her hand and had wrapped his arm around her while he had escorted her back to her seat.

He swallowed and gathered his courage. "We're here to ask you a few questions about Dexter's death."

Megan headed to a chair across the room and sank into it. She hunched over her knees. Her hand reached under her ponytail and stroked her nape.

After several long, silent moments, she finally straightened herself and eyed the investigators warily. Her puffy eyes darted from one investigator to the other. "What about Dex?"

Mike and Lieu lowered themselves into the sofa across from her. He smoothed his tie. "Someone is targeting a couple of people who were at the scene of his death, and we suspect that it is connected to it."

Her hand dropping into her lap, Megan huffed. "Like I told the medical examiner at the time, there was nothing wrong with Dexter. He was a perfectly healthy man."

Mike and Lt. Reece exchanged looks at the conspicuous absence. Lt. Reece separated her hands and inched forward. "Let us get this straight. You haven't spoken to a detective about your husband's death?"

Megan slumped in her chair and looked away. "The only times that I saw the police were when an uni had informed me of Dex's death and at his funeral."

Mike swallowed and studied the beige rug covering the hardwood floor. It wasn't like Jo to abandon an investigation in its early stages. Even when Detective Hugh Dunn had killed Sean's informant Aaron Brown, she had remained on the case until it was solved. Why hadn't she done so this time?

Dr. Ross' statement ran through Mike's mind. He eyed Megan and tightened his lips. "Dr. Ross had told us that you had mentioned Dexter had become withdrawn the day before his death. Is that true?"

Megan leaned back into her seat, gripped the chair's arms, and fingered the wedding band on her finger like Jo used to do. She finally found his eyes. "It's true," she whispered.

She sighed and sat higher in the chair. "I tried. I really tried. If I could have—. Maybe—. Maybe—." She ran her hand over her hair again.

"Tried what?" Mike swallowed.

She stared past him. "To get him to talk about what was going on in his mind." She laid her hands over her face. "He, um, he…"

Mike nodded. He had lost count of the number of times that he had refused to talk to Karen about his day. It wasn't because he didn't want to; it was because he knew that she wouldn't understand what he was going through. Either that, or he didn't want to burden her with the grisly sights that he had seen or the insane suspects that he and Jo—and lately, Doc too—had faced.

Megan's lips quivered. She sucked in some air. "I've always suspected that something at work was bothering him, but I'm still not sure." She huffed. "I wish I knew what it was. Maybe I…."

Lieu tracked Megan's eyes and offered her a small smile. "His reluctance to talk to you is not your fault. Sometimes, it's difficult to talk about our work to others. All you could have done was to be there for him."

Sensing Megan wasn't going to give them any more answers, Mike stood up and smoothed his tie. "Mrs.— Miss Burris, we didn't want to make you relive your husband's death, but we will catch Dexter's murderer." He hoped so. He extended a hand. "I am sorry for your loss."

Taking his hand, Megan bowed her head in an attempt to hide her face. Once they finished, he and Lieu eased out of the room. He took one look back at the grieving widow. He didn't know why, but, for a moment, her posture reminded him of Jo.

He swallowed as he closed the door behind them. Jo. He wanted to solve this case for her and Doc too.


"She's trying to bury that part of her past."

Mike glanced over at Lt. Reece as they walked the four blocks to the garage. He looked around to see if anyone was listening to them. Once satisfied, he bit the right half of his lower lip in thought. "Sounds like it."

The urn appeared before him like a ghost. Mike pushed his hands deeper in his pockets as one thought reared up in him.

He sucked in some air and gathered his courage. "What if she killed Dexter?"

Lieu's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

He turned his attention to the traffic at the intersection to keep himself calm. "Jo's like my sister, and we tell each other everything. Well, almost everything." For about two years, she had said nothing about Doc's condition, and he was steamed when he had discovered it through one of Doc's deaths. "Maybe things got heated during their last morning together, and she killed him in a rage."

He glanced over at Lieu as they crossed the street. She nodded as she contemplated his words. She sucked in some air herself. "If so, how did she know that Henry and Jo are still with the NYPD and OCME?"

"Good point. If Megan is anything like Jo, she's cutting herself off from everyone she knew at the NYPD. Even if she hadn't, all she has to go on were rumors."

"…Or she was working off the record…."

Mike's heart raced. "We need to look at Dexter's latest cases. If Jo was working off the record, she could have stumbled onto what he was investigating."

He swallowed. That still didn't explain why she never showed up at Megan's home or at the OCME. Nor didn't it explain….

Lieu looked at him. "I hope that Kyle Ferguson is working in records tomorrow." She huffed. "I don't want to deal with his psychopathic colleague."

Mike snarled, but not at his superior. He would like to know how Adam had conned his way into a job with the NYPD. Whoever had helped him deserved to be fired.

The garage grew closer, and Mike maneuvered his way through the crowd. His mind mulled over the possible explanations for Dexter's death. So far, none of them stood out.

As they crossed the last street, he glanced toward the Upper West Side. He hoped that Henry and Jo would remember something about the case. If so, their insight could give him and Lieu a much better idea of what direction to take it.


Author's Note: I'm naturally taking some liberties with Henry and Jo's lives. Nora's religious beliefs are something that I had started in "Remember You Must Die and Live".

The information about "Consequences" is from Wikipedia. Jo's words are my own when I read it…seconds before I saw Mad Libs mentioned in the article. The information on baseball and cricket history from Wikipedia and ESPN's "Cricket in the 17th and 18th centuries". I looked up the Yankees' and Mets' schedules online when writing this scene and changed the score to match the one in real-life. (Originally, it was supposed to be the Mets, but I changed it to the Yankees.) By the way, the Yankees won 9-6 that night.

I am taking a one-month hiatus from this story. I am participating in NaNoWriMo again this year. (This story was last year's project!) I am starting an original story…with two main characters who are Forever fans. It had been in my mind since chapter 27 of "Remember You Must Die and Live". (Yeah, that long!) In the meantime, I have two one-shots that are ready to go, and I will be posting them next month. (I have a third one, but it's not ready yet.) I hope that you will enjoy them.