Back to the Drawing Board_12_Twice?_T

) (

Through the bedroom window, in the early, early morning, the breeze rustled in, carrying with it the smell of ozone. Maybe it was the far-off lightning strobing the room, or perhaps the distant thunder, that roused William to wake. He breathed in deeply, the electricity in the air tingling his body as the next flickerings of light splashed the walls, the ceiling… Habitually, he counted, one – one thousand, two – one thousand, three – one thousand, four – one thousand, five – one thousand, six – one thousand, seven – one thousand, eight – one thousand, the rumble began, still far off, but so long the low vibrations of it, the ominous rolling. It's a big one," he told himself. Another bright flash followed by smaller trickles of light… One – one thousand, two – one thousand, three – one thousand, four – one thousand, five – one thousand, six – one thousand, sev… The thunder boom hit, this time louder, closer, the thunder. Evidence collected, now he knew, the storm was approaching. Phenomenal, the charge he felt with the realization, the internal planning ahead. He would wake her. They would make love.

"William," her voice scratchy, purred.

"Shh," he urged her, his lips next to her ear, to listen, certainly the thunder would sound.

They held their breath together. Boommmm. She heard it, the rumble rippled, lasting and lasting.

"Oh, I do so love a thunderstorm," she whispered to him, slipping up on him, pulling her leg up over him, feeling his readiness through his pajama bottoms with the inside of her tender thigh. "It seems my husband does too," she giggled, as she tucked her face into his neck, and nibbled and kissed, and her body writhed and pushed into his, the fuse lighting. Remembering the time of the month for her, she suggested they go into the shower.

So many reasons, he did not want to, the next flash seemingly only seconds before the thunder.

"I want you now," his voice… his words, sent torrents of lust through her body, spun her brain, wrung her womb so tight it would surely snap. Resistance was futile. She reached down, removed the clothing blocking his access.

He grasped the bottom of her nightgown, lifted, guided the garment, as she ducked her head, and he pulled it up, pulled it off of her. The radiance relative to its proximity, the next lightning strike stole his breath away with the sight of her smooth, naked body. Stunning, she was rolling onto her back in the pure white light of the flashes, yielding to him, eager for him, so gorgeous, the way her breasts bounced and jiggled when her back hit the mattress. William's groin, exponential, the surge of it locking his jaw, teetering his fight against the jolting need to take her in an abandoned rush. He hurried, focused on her as he removed his pajamas.

The weight of him on her, heavenly. His arms tucking under her shoulders, clamping on, locking her in place underneath him. His knee, between her thighs. Just the tenderest of requests, he urged her leg aside. He would… Oh my God, he's going to…

"Uhhh," her moan so luscious as he moved closer, as he felt her succumb and she melted and molded around him. Her warm, succulent squeeze taking hold of him, pulling him closer and closer, their connection, the only thing in all the world.

"William," the burst of fiery air out of her, flowed, hot and moist over his ear, "Please," the desperation of her voice adding impetus to his inertia, to their gravity. His teeth seized the pliable flesh of her shoulder, his fingers, demanding, dug into her flesh, pulled her down to him as he drove himself closer to her.

Highlighting their energy, a flash, then, immediately after the quaking whiteness all around, the crack of the thunder rocked the room.

His mouth let her go, his voice in her ear as he started the rhythmical motion that made life worth living. "I love you, Julia," he bared his soul, shoving, holding her in place, his strong biceps firmly straining… so sensual against her ribs, striving to deepen the power of his lovemaking. He promised her again, "I love you."

Pumping fiercely, forcefully, much as storm-waves rock the shore, each pulsation, a flood rupturing her deeper, only to pull back, teasing her more, raising the pressure, sucking every drop of her back into him, then roaring forward to flood through her once more, cascade through her, again, and again. The amplitude hovered, before the motion switched direction, now so precariously close the edge.

Inevitable now, having already surpassed the critical level. She could bear it no more. "Please William," she demanded… "Touch me!" she screamed it in her head, "Touch me harder," she groaned, urgent, crucial, into his ear, burrowing her fingernails deeply into his powering haunches, the effort, the desperation, the reach for him, bringing tears to her eyes… and with the breaking point guaranteed now, she waited, silent, breathless, cherishing the float, having had spent the last ounce of her every fiber wanting him… And she knew, only, that it would come… and she knew, as her brain dizzied with anticipation, that it would be big.

The room imploded with the strike of the perfect lightning bolt, deafening, blinding, the impetus of it gushing William forward into her with all of his might. He erupted, so deliciously sweet, the explosion, soaring, ripple after ripple of pleasure, through his every last spec.

William's low, rumbling moan completed her. She loved him with all of her heart, so that she was certain she could not survive it. Unbearable, the swelling of her love. Whoom… an overwhelming cloudburst trembled through her, her crying deluging into sobbing, breaking his heart.

William's whisper in her ear, in between his kisses, bonding them indestructibly together, "Hold on to me, Julia. I'm right here. I love you. I will always love you… Hold me."

Unable to speak, overwrought, she shook in his arms, clung to him desperately. Never, never would she ever be able to withstand letting him go. She needed him too much, too much to survive without him. She was certain of it. They had so much to lose, and sometimes, she just couldn't cope with the enormity of it, with the cost, with the fear, to bear it.

He soothed her, and reminded himself of her fears, the unreasonable, superstitious ones she voiced reluctantly just this morning, when she admitted to her worries about the premonition and that he would die… up in the airplane, and he remembered too, how she often cried after their intense lovemaking… and after he had faced his death… after she had… almost lost him.

Pouring raindrops pattered on their rooftop, sparkling and rattling the puddles down on the ground outside their opened window, showering nature's drum. She hugged him tight, wrapped herself around him, secured herself in his arms. And he carried her, still intimately entwined together, while she wept herself out, safe in his arms, so relieved to be in his arms, he carried her to the bathroom. He would take them under the warm waterfall of the shower, wash away her tears. The storm had moved away now, lightning strikes no longer a threat, it would be safe now, despite the metal pipes, and the flowing water, both good conductors of electricity, and he would soothe her, he would love her, he would be with her until her internal storm had passed, as well.

Recovering, weak, she told him, "Sometimes I think I'll never stop wanting to be closer to you, William… never."

He pushed her, softly, back into the shower wall, out of the spray of water, lifted her chin, let himself bask in the astounding beauty of her face for a moment. Breathe… Be with her. He kissed her, so tender at first, but she grew hungrier, sucked him in. Passions stirred, rose, grew warmer and warmer, there under the cascading stream of water, their steamy love began to plume.

Give and take, push and pull, it was the oscillating play between them that built up their lovestorms…

She pushed back against him, her palms pressed against the firmness of his chest. Her motions so intentional, so seductive, she took the bar of soap in her hands, rubbed, and watched the as the myriad of bubbles, and the creamy liquid, formed…

As did he...

"I think I got you dirty, detective," Julia's voice, lusty in the humid echoes, said.

"Mm," he moaned as much as agreed, "In more ways than one, doctor," he teased about the complaint.

Oh, how the world seemed to fall away, his brain whirlpooling into a melty, luscious, soupiness, with her slippery, soapy, sudsy touch. Instantly he reached for her, enlarging, expanding, striving to fill her.

"Julia," his collapsed sound barely audible, calling for as he surrendered to his yearning.

Delighted, she studied his face and smiled. Mischievously, she asked, with a doubtful eyebrow raised, "Twice, William?"

Actions speaking more than words, William stepped back into the deluging stream, flooded himself free of soap, and then he took her, ardently, there and then, making love to her against the cold, hard shower wall, in the warm, lush, steamy atmosphere of their love.

Scrumptiously spent, clean and fresh, William and Julia went back to sleep. The storms past, they had a few more hours before the next busy day began.

) (

While dressing, William told Julia that he had developed the photographs from yesterday's cargo drop, and that he planned to take them to Pendrick's air-shipping business before going into work. Curious, she asked to see them.

Unable to hide the fact that she was impressed, she gave him her enthusiastic praise. "You could sell these William! Everyone would want to see their house, their street, their schools and their businesses from the air. It gives one an amazing perspective!" she declared.

He wrinkled a corner of his mouth. "Perhaps," he answered. "The blurriness is vastly improved," he offered himself, "And the depth perception is intriguing…"

Julia threw her arms around his waist and squeezed and wiggled against him. "Brilliant once again, detective," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Finished preparing for work, and with Claire-Marie seeing to the older ones, Julia went to the back bedroom to wake her baby girl, her little Chelsea. Unbeknownst to her, William watched them from the door. The baby was now first stirring in her crib, bathed in the loving voice of her mother as she spoke softly to her. Chelsea extended her short, chubby legs outward, twisted her tiny little body to the side, and then straightened out her arms as far as she could, filling her baby body with the sweetness of the warm sensation of her blood circulating, flowing through her.

"You're stretching my baby girl, stretching those muscles," her mother's voice encouraged as her hand nestled and rubbed the little baby's plump belly.

Unable to see the baby's face from the door, William relied on his memory to imagine the small child's heartwarming, boundless, smile.

"Oh my, your smile could light up the world my little one," Julia gleamed, lifting the soft, malleable baby into her arms. She indulged in cherishing the smell of her beautiful baby's hair, and rocked her side-to-side, her heart filling with joy and well-being.

Immediately the child reached for her mother's twisty curls, those puffy little fingers entangling and pulling, only one goal in mind, to put the treasure in her mouth. So gently, Julia expertly opened the tiny fingers, freeing her hair.

Just as she was turning to the door, William said, "I find I wonder, Julia, how you could have ever doubted your being a good mother."

She stepped close to him, replying, "It is much easier, William, with you as the father."

She meant it… He knew so, so he accepted the compliment, and smiled. Uncomfortable, however, he quickly moved on. "Speaking of which, I have been thinking of building them a tree house…"

Leaning back to wholly see him, she interrupted, "Oh William, please… Let's not fight about it…"

William's mind raced to the connection – time of month! Bad timing, William… bad idea…

Julia's tone rose towards is customary squeakiness with her upset. "They're too young. Please not now, when I've just dealt with worrying about you falling out of an airplane, and now I also have to worry about them falling out of trees," her squeak cracked, and she needed to take a breath.

He smiled, sincere with a hint of devilishness. "Marry me, Julia Ogden," he said.

He had won her completely, still holding the baby, she stepped into his arms and promised him, "A thousand times over, William… a thousand times over."

Unavoidable, they kissed.

Chelsea, so quickly, had his badge pinched between her teeny fingers, shiny objects being the most enticing for her. The child leaned downward and forward with a wobble from her mother's arms, with every intent of getting the glorious thing into her mouth, prompting Julia to break off their kiss and stop the child's progress.

William shrugged and noted, "It's usually the tie."

Julia widened her eyes gleefully, "I quite love the tie myself." Her eyes perused the male accessory from its perfect knot down to the point where it tucked into his suit's vest. She shifted Chelsea on her hip and then reached over to fiddle with the knot.

Patiently, and truly feeling the customary awakening in his trousers that accompanied such attentions from her, William reached up to stop her.

She could feel William's gaze on her, him pleasantly watching Julia's pretty blue eyes as they drifted, changing targets, settling in on his badge. She preferred his other one, she thought, but she quickly reminded herself not to say it…

A keen observer, he noticed, and asked her, taking the replacement badge in his fingers himself now, and changing his focus to consider it, it's newness apparent with the ease of the glide over its unscathed, polished metal, the etched word, Toronto, the only scratch detectible on the smooth surface. "Is something wrong?"

Her eyes bolted to his, then back to the badge. "The older one had more character, is all," she explained.

"Mm," William granted, thinking so as well. He felt the tweak of an unanswered question. "Why were you reluctant to say so?" he pondered.

Julia's sigh warned him to prepare. She lifted her eyes, held hers to his. "I didn't want to remind you… of when you lost the first one," she replied, giving him a wrinkle at the corner of her mouth to apologize.

His responding wrinkle served to admit to her that his troubles with having been abducted still lingered.

"Done, for now," she decided to herself. With the baby now fully engulfing William's tie, Julia changed the subject. She stepped closer to him again, brought her face, her breath, her lips, closer to his neck. She took a feather-soft breath of him, then said, "I do so love this spicy Chinese scent of you, husband. But, sometimes I wonder… do other women seem as enchanted by it as I? Or perhaps you can't tell, whether it is the scent of you that captures them, for there are so many possible reasons women are attracted to you…" she sighed, continuing her teasing, "It's hard to know how much of it is the special aroma… hmm, detective?"

Delighting in his blush, she remembered a remarkable conversation she had had a while ago with George, before he and William had ventured out together to work undercover to solve a case, out in what William called the Jungle, full of men struggling for employment, and traveling the trains fighting to survive. She had asked William's mentee and right-hand man how William handled women propositioning him when she was not around. George had confided in her that William either seemed not to notice their flirtations, or would become annoyed because the women's attraction to him inevitably caused a delay in his progress on the case. Suddenly, she couldn't help herself, she giggled.

Just as William raised an eyebrow at her… child-sized footsteps thundered around the hallway corner, Katie bursting into view. The little three-year-old ran by them. "Mommy! Mommy! Can I wear ruffle dress?" she rushed to get the words out.

Right on the girl's heels, Claire-Marie appeared from around the corner.

Quickly, Katie filed her complaint, "Claire-Marie won't let me," she pouted.

The nanny's walk fast-paced and businesslike, she explained, "It's too nice for playing in the backyard…"

Julia, Chelsea still in her arms, rallied to protest, "It is such a shame that little girls are not allowed to play the way they want to, especially for such a silly reason as it will mess up their clothes."

William bolstered support, offering, "She will surely be riding her new bike. I do not see how she would get so dirty…"

Claire-Marie, exasperated, but also one to often overstep at times, at least according to her elders, stopped and opened her arms. "Monsieur," her use of the French title betraying her impulsiveness and solidifying a connection with the man to whom she spoke, "you know if one is learning to ride a bike, one will fall, do you not?"

William yielded, wrinkling his face. "True," he agreed.

Little Katie had shot ahead, and now hurried to find the beautiful dress with the ruffles in among her others in her drawers. Julia turned and called into the child's bedroom, "Katie, wear your suit of armor, please," masterfully maintaining her deadpan delivery.

Immediately, William laughed at her self-deprecating joke. Cockily he took advantage, adding, "Maybe she should save that for treehouse."

Happily, the comment earned him a playful shove.

)

After William had changed his slobbery tie for a drier version, the Murdoch's enjoyed their breakfast together. Before he left, William informed Eloise and Claire-Marie to expect that Mr. Pendrick would be coming by the house later to remove the cargo parachute from the shed. Although it was a long bicycle ride to Pendrick's business, it was a beautiful day and he was not in a rush, so he kissed his wife good-bye and helped her step up into her cab, and then mounted his bike, the photographs of the cargo drop secured inside his jacket.

) (

Arriving at Pendrick's air-shipping establishment, it was obvious to the detective that his friend's crew was in full swing. The entrepreneur was excited and busy. "I have customers, Murdoch!" he declared seeing his fellow inventor. It seemed that, particularly, delivering documents was going to be James Pendrick's forte – people needing to get their paperwork done, signed, and delivered quickly, making his air-delivery business the sole means of meeting their needs in minimal time.

Despite his flourishing business rush, Pendrick could not help himself from becoming interested when Murdoch pulled the photos out from his suit. The two men analyzed them in detail, apparently relishing every minute of it. Soon, talk of flying again came up. Murdoch wanted to improve the Goggle Earth device – the photographs were still fuzzier than he would like and he had an alteration to the design in mind to fix it. "I believe changing the angle of three springs attaching each camera to the belly of the plane, widening them, should give nearly exponential improvement in lowering the effect of the plane's vibrations, thus, much better clarity is possible, I'm sure of it," he said, then paused waiting for the other innovator on the team's feedback.

Considering the turn in his business' demands, now speedy delivery of small packages much more in demand, Pendrick suggested, "Well, Murdoch, it is not unreasonable to complete two test runs of the cargo drop, but, we could test the photography without the drop…"

"Perhaps the… um, the place we saw…" William's unconscious asked before he thought about it.

"Murdoch," Pendrick's concern apparent in his tone, "we agreed to let that be, leave it to the more sinister forces," he reminded, being the one more in control.

Of course, mind you, Pendrick had not been abducted, did not have the underlying trauma William had driving him to make it right.

Having had talked the detective out of returning to photograph the secret government airbase, Pendrick agreed to fly again, but wanted to install the Goggle Earth cameras on the belly of one of his smaller, faster planes. It was agreed. Murdoch pulled off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and got to work removing the apparatus from the larger plane, changing to longer springs and installing it on the smaller plane. He was confident he could complete the whole task in a half an hour…

Only about five minutes into the job, one of Pendrick's men came to get the detective at the worktable. Parts strew all over the tabletop, the detective worried that the man might be a spy and made an effort to stand in such a way as to block his view of the cameras.

"Detective Murdoch, there was a phone call for you," the man said, "I took a message. Here's the address." The man handed William a piece of paper. He went on, "You're needed. There's been a murder."

William read the address. It was quite close to here. "Would I be able to make a call before I go?" he asked, beginning to pack up the Google Earth pieces in a box to leave for Pendrick to store in a safe place.

"Yes," the answer came, "It's in Mr. Pendrick's office. I'll leave the door open." Quickly, he was gone.

Meeting with Pendrick quickly before he took his leave, it was decided that it would be best for William to keep the photographs from the cargo drop, being that Pendrick was more likely to be infiltrated by spies than Murdoch was. The detective called the stationhouse and arranged for George to meet him at the scene, and to bring his murder bag, and to phone Julia at the morgue to send her as well. Photos tucked inside his jacket, he pedaled his way to the crime scene.

Pendrick's business was in a quite hilly area, and William was finding his muscles feeling the strain. Truth be told, he loved the feeling – it somehow making him feel more alive to have to strive. The incline he climbed right now was impressive, formidable really, and he was grateful to see the bulge at the top coming into view. Anticipation grew inside of him… It would likely be a steep decline on the other side. The boy in him sought the thrill! Already standing, using his weight to add to the force of pedaling, William dug in, pumped with all his might to pick up speed, gain momentum, for the last 100 feet to the climax.

The effort triggered a memory, surging through his mind, of the last night's thunderstorm… and making love to Julia - twice, his brain – his body – momentarily captured by the memories of the powerful sensations of so lusciously making love to her with absolutely everything he had. His legs threatened to seize with the screaming pain of the exertion. Almost there… peak in sight, I'll fly over the bump, gravity will shift…

Whooosh…

Hat in hand, arms spread out like the wings of a hawk, William soared with the riding of the huge wave of his pure joy, wind and speed, and sheer happiness.

) (

At first the small, dilapidated house seemed abandoned, and William wondered if he had the right address. However, he spotted the body on the floor through the small window of the front door. There was blood, seemingly a shot to the chest, he noted, before he had even entered the house. Once inside, it was clear that the house was occupied, scantily decorated, but the essentials were present, a small dingy sofa, table, two chairs… On the table, there was a single cigarette butt. William took out his handkerchief to collect it. Then he noticed a sprinkling of a brown dusty material which he collected as well. Checking in the bedroom… a bed…

Click…

The sound of the gun being cocked registered simultaneously with the hard poke of the thin metallic cylinder to the back of his head.

Instantly, William raised his hands slowly in the air. His heart thundered rapidly in his chest, adrenalin pumped, his mind rushed. There was another man in the corner of the bedroom… Oh God, and another!

From behind him he heard the threat, "I'd just as soon pull the trigger as not."

The third man that William had spotted, from within the deepest in the shadows of the small bedroom, spoke. "Detective Murdoch, ve meet again…"

William's fear ruptured with his instantaneous aversion to the man's voice, the accent familiar – German!

He needed to think… "My God William think!" he screamed at himself. He was being abducted again. There was no doubt. By the same people. A hundred miles per hour the thoughts came.

The sound of a carriage outside, a horse's hoofbeats, a snort, alerted all of them to the arrival.

"Julia!" William panicked.

Voices… male…

William recognized it as George.

A second carriage, and William's heart sunk with the certainty that now his wife's life was in danger.

The man closest to the window peeked out. "Constabulary, sir commandant," he informed.

"Do you see Dr. Ogden?" the man in charge asked…

Bolting William's heart into sheer frenzy…

He did.

Oh my God, he did! Terror struck, as William's mind went flying this way and that all at once. He would grab the wrist behind him holding the gun, bend forward, twist and flip the man… Probably not get shot… Breathless with the panic…

Click… and then quickly, another, Click…

"Three guns! Three guns now!" William felt dizzy with it. "Scream out! Tell them to stay back!" he tried a different plan…

"Do not attempt to alert zem to our presence here, Detective Murdoch, or your beautiful vife vill be shot in her pretty head," the captors' plans were made clear.

The Commandant barked out his orders, "Schultz, in ze hall closet! Door ajar, aim at ze lady's head! Klemp! Outside in ze back, aim your gun at ze fräulein through ze window. Stay low. Shoot ze vife of ze detective, here, if necessary. Aim at her head…"

The evil leader turned his attention to William and whispered, "I vill be in here, detective, gun at ze ready, I promise you. No one comes in here. Say nothing… NOTHING! If you want your lovely vife to live. Yes, she is a good doctor. She saved you. But she will not be able to treat herself once shot in ze head, I promise you. Ve vill be listening. Ve vill kill her, if need be. Ze others as well."

Vanished, all around him only air… unbreathable, too thin the air… too bright… warped somehow…

Stunned, William felt instantly alone. He rushed to the front door. They were already there. He opened it. His own breathing so loud… terrifying. He needed to act calmly.

"George," the detective greeted, "Constable Milton…"

Directly behind them, oh how he wished it wasn't so… Julia, he almost cried with the sight of her, his heart wrenching in his chest. So beautiful, her little black doctor's bag in her hands…

"Detective," she gave him a nod.

"Doctor," he replied… in his head evaluating his own performance. Sounded professional, he thought, like normal.

"Oh, George… uh, we won't be needing the murder bag. Send it back to carriage," the detective instructed. William's eyes glanced to the hall closet, zing – a sharp slice through his body recognizing the significance of the thin dark line of the slightly-opened door.

Crabtree's detectiving instincts pushed him to consider the scene in an effort to determine Detective Murdoch's decision about his murder bag. "Does seem somewhat straightforward", he reasoned to himself, noting the bullet wound to the heart of the victim on the floor.

"Yes sir," he replied. "Constable, please take the detective's bag back to the carriage," he said, handing the murder bag to the other member of the Constabulary at the scene, adding, "And help Tom prepare to collect the body."

"Doctor," William invited his wife to check the body, opening his hand out to the side, guiding her that direction. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that George was perusing the rest of the house. An electric shock surged through him. About to scream out, "NO!" he warned himself not to alert them to the danger…

William cleared his throat, swallowed. "I already checked the place," he told George. Needing to distract him, William offered the only evidence he had found before he had discovered the trap. William pulled his balled-up handkerchief out of his suit jacket pocket and opened it wide in his hands for the constable to see. "I did find this," he said.

Just a quick dart of his eyes over to Julia. She was squatted down over the body, doing what she does, temperature and rigor assessment, etc. Couldn't help himself, glanced to the window… Zing the zap of pain through his body again with the sight of the barrel of the gun, so well masked at the bottom corner of the window, barely visible through the thin curtain that was wrinkled to the edges of the window frame.

William put his eyes back on George's face. He found he needed to clear his throat again. "Try to determine the brand of the cigarette. And we'll need to analyze the powdery substance… Um, perhaps Dr. Ogden…" He handed George the handkerchief.

The two of them joined the doctor in squatting over the body. Julia began to give him her initial report, "The victim has been dead for between twelve to twenty-four hours…"

William, almost interrupting her, said, "It seems he has suffered the same demise…" the slightest pause, he swallowed, he was taking a chance – in leaving a clue, "…as the first man, um, the one we thought performed the flying cannonball act at Terrell Jacob's Circus."

She looked at him funny. George did too.

"Well sir, I don't see any…"

"William… Detective Murdoch," Julia corrected the way she addressed him when working, "This man was shot in the heart. There's no obvious connection… But, if anything, he's much more like Wimm…"

William's heart flung up into his throat!They'd hear! They'd shoot her!

"Yes," he interrupted her curtly… then, held her eyes a little too long.

A puzzled expression arose on her face, and he turned away, his attention back down on the body. He asked, praying with all his might that she follow him away from the subject he had, so stupidly, brought up, "Did the bullet exit the chest, doctor?"

Her voice misty with the air of mystery around, she answered, "No… No, detective. I'll have it for you once I perform the postmortem."

George found a card in the dead man's wallet. He held it up, read it aloud, "Mr. Adam Trappe, 113 Waters Place…"

Detective Murdoch shook his head and chuckled. "Thank you, George," he said, taking the card and putting it in his pocket.

"May I take the body now, detective?" Julia asked.

William's heart erupted with the tug of war inside of him, for she would go, and she would survive this nightmare, and she would go and he would likely never see her again. There was a swelling, a heat, brewing behind his eyes. He swallowed back the urge to cry.

Still, his voice was scratchier than usual as he replied, "Yes doctor."

Already…

It was all happening so fast.

The men had the body… now out the door.

She would go.

"I'll see you with my initial report, then," she said, as she usually would… from the door, looking back at him, giving her parting nod, waiting for his charming tip of the hat in response…

In the center of the room William remained with Crabtree. Suddenly, there would never be enough time in all the world… He made her wait, as he instructed, "Constable, I believe you should give the administrators at the University a visit."

He heard Julia huff. Not that uncommon, her husband so wrapped up in the case he forgot his manners, she thought to herself.

"Why, sir?" George asked.

Julia had turned to leave! Unbearable the thought of it, William called her back, "Julia…"

As he rushed to the door he explained to George, "Our victim was wearing a blue-colored tie and had a college ring." William stiffly parked himself between Julia and the guns behind him.

"Of course, sir. That makes sense," George answered him… unheard.

William stepped close to her. "I didn't want to let you go without saying goodbye." He tilted his head, leaned in, kissed her… goodbye to the love of his life… on her tender lips. His inhale deep, behind her ear, he whispered "I love you." And then he stepped back, gave her his admitting it face. She looked confused. He turned abruptly to Crabtree, remaining firmly between her and the bullets, knowing that behind him she turned away, she left.

"You can take the carriage, Constable. I have my bicycle. Stop at the University on your way," he made his requests for the next steps on the case.

As Julia's carriage pulled away from the scene, victim's body loaded, the postmortem at hand usually occupying her mind, she wondered to herself about William's odd behavior, kissing her at crime scene. "Perhaps left over emotions from last night – the thunderstorm, the passion, all her crying… Twice," she thought, with a small, Leonardo-Da-Vinci's-Mona-Lisa, smile growing at the corners of her mouth.

) (

While George was at the University, he and Constable Milton found no one of that name who worked there, attended there, now, or in the records from the past ten years. He did, however, find a Chemistry professor willing to analyze the powder collected at the crime scene. They headed back to the stationhouse, at least not completely emptyhanded. George would begin right away trying to identify the brand of the cigarette. His mind drifted. "Why the circus?" he wondered.

) (

While performing the autopsy, it was Miss James who noticed it first. There were peculiar burn marks on the victim's fingers. Dr. Ogden proceeded to examine the dead man's fingers more closely. "You're right Miss James," she exclaimed, "That is very strange." She decided to give William a call.

Alarm rang through her, though she deemed it unreasonable, upon finding that he had not returned to the station yet. "Detective William Murdoch is very thorough," she advised herself, "He is likely simply chasing down the oddest, most miniscule of clues… and one of those tiny little things that irks him will end up being the clue that breaks the whole case open," she attempted at self-reassurance. It haunted her though, his goodbye kiss…

Back working on the autopsy, her plan to wait for William to stop by to receive her initial findings, the doctor was edgy. Enough so that Rebecca eventually asked, "Is everything alright, doctor?" after yet another uncustomary criticism.

Dr. Ogden put her scalpel down on the morgue slab with a sigh. "I'm sorry Miss James," she apologized. "I guess I am out of sorts," she began to explain, considering confiding in the young woman about her unfounded fears. She looked into Miss James' big, dark eyes, and just in that moment she decided to forgo her pride and give in to her 'womanly instincts.'

Seemingly speaking to the whole world rather than specifically to Rebecca, Julia insisted, "Something's not right. I know it," she stated outright. The doctor asked Miss James to continue working, she was going over to talk with the Inspector about the case.

Worried, the Inspector called Crabtree into his office. George had noted that Dr. Ogden had come to the station and gone into his superior's office, and it was his nature to be curious, so he had also noticed that she seemed upset. He greeted her, "Doctor," somehow his expression conveying his compassion.

The Inspector seemed to be in a rush. "Anything seem out of sorts with Murdoch at the crime scene this morning, bug-a-lugs?" he asked.

Inside George's head, and his heart, a mix of emotions spurted about – fear for the detective, who had not yet returned and George now felt more certain that he should have… and a twang of embarrassment, for what he was about to say was uncomfortable

"I did think it odd the detective wanted, err, to kiss the doctor, sir," George said, risking a glance at Dr. Ogden to apologize. Hurrying to explain, he said, "He doesn't usually do that. And he… well sir, he basically told me not to look around. Now Detective Murdoch is of a mind that you can never investigate the crime scene too much, sir, as you know. So I found that odd… Um, even if he had already checked the area before I had arrived."

"Well, did he say anything? Where he was going?" the Inspector's tone showed his annoyance was rising.

Used to the pressures of dealing with his Inspector, George managed to calm himself enough to think about the question. He remembered handing the detective the victim's card from his wallet. "Oh… Yes, sir. He had the name and address – probably of the victim, he thought… or I thought…"

"What was it!" the Inspector barked, losing patience.

"What was what, sir?" George asked.

Steam now out his ears, the Inspector yelled, "The man's name!"

"Oh, now let me see," George mumbled, "It was one of those names… kind of common…" He turned inward, trying to remember.

"I heard you read it out too, George," Julia said. "I remember thinking it was like another victim, the man you and William went undercover, as hoboes into the Jungle on the case for…"

"Oh, I'd have to disagree doctor," George replied.

The Inspector's complexion grew redder.

"No… not at all doctor. I don't recall the name sounding Lithuanian – like Baltavesky…" the constable's use of the Lithuanian victim's name from a previous case striking memory in both Dr. Ogden and Inspector Brackenreid. He had continued, "It was much shorter… Started with a 'T' I think."

The Inspector was feeling stressed, attempting to relieve it by telling himself there was no good reason to panic. "Murdoch had his ways, slow as molasses… Often goes off somewhere chasing down some inane, indecipherable clue… Less so since he married the doctor and they had the bairn…" he sighed and poured himself a scotch. He and the doctor sharing a drink at times, he tilted the bottle at her. She declined.

"Trappe! That's it, Trappe, but spelled weird, like the French do with shoppe," excited, George called out.

The doctor added, her memory responding to George's catalyst, "Adam Trappe… Like Adam Baltavesky, of Adamos and Ieva, remember?"

"Yes doctor! Yes I do," George exclaimed. "And, I remember the address – 113 Waters… something," he added.

"Well, don't just stand there you daft bugger. Take Kingsley and go," the Inspector ordered.

George rushed out.

The Inspector turned to the doctor and asked, "What was it you found, that you were looking for the detective about?"

"Oh yes, um, well it turns out that our victim has had his fingermarks…" she tilted her head and wrinkled her face in doubt or strain, "removed."

"Removed? How?" the man marveled.

"They had been burned with acid, it appears. Now if I know William…"

"And you do," the Inspector said with a wink.

Unable to help herself, it touched her the man knowing of her special connection with his detective, Julia smiled. She went back to answering his question, "He would ask if they were removed pre or post- mort…"

"Inspector! Doctor?" George ran back in…

"Crabtree?" Brackenreid asked, finding his curiosity outweighed his frustration with the man.

George reminded himself to take a breath, to slow down. "Well sir, I was thinking…"

"Never good," the Inspector groaned to himself.

"Detective Murdoch sort of… chuckled, when I read the name on the card…" he said.

"Chuckled?" the Inspector checked.

"Yes sir. And as you know, well I'm sorry to say doctor," George sidelined looking to Julia for a moment, "but I'm sure you know it's true, well," his eyes back to the Inspector now, "the detective has a somewhat serious attitude, and I thought it was odd that he would laugh then. And so, I asked myself why. And, well, it's just that I'm sure the detective recognized it, when I read the name, immediately he saw it, 'Adam Trappe,' sir…" Crabtree looked expectantly at the two of them.

"Do you recognize the name doctor?" the Inspector asked, turning to Julia, for it meant nothing to him.

"No…" she replied, shaking her head, wondering.

George opened his arms inviting them to try harder, then shrugged with frustration, stamped his foot and blurted, "A Damn Trap!"

"Bloody hell!" the Inspector declared, "Of course Murdoch would get that."

Julia nodded, for she too knew that William would.

And it sank in and landed with all of them…

Julia being the one to voice it, that, "He laughed because he already knew."

Everyone heard it in her voice, she was choking up. She was scared.

"Now doctor, don't you worry. He's a smart bloke, your husband, and he'll probably work something out. And we've got some clues to go on. You get back to that autopsy, hmm?" he looked her in the eye and waited for her to nod.

"Crabtree, I'll join you, let's break out the armory, for this "trap" and we'll need to bring more constables…" he ordered, the whole Constabulary whipping up into action.

) (

The Sun was low in the sky by the time the three of them met again in the Inspectors' office. Julia shared with the other two her thoughts. "William was saying goodbye to me – he knew. He knew because his abductors were there…" She dropped her head down, said it so low they barely heard it, "Or his murderers." She took a deep breath, lifted her chin and went on, "They were there, I think, hiding…" her eyes brightened with recognizing a connection, "That's why William didn't want George to look around…" the light dimmed, her voice lowered, "That's why he told me goodbye, and had that… look…"

Julia fell into her despair as she thought it, that the final look in his eyes would haunt her forever.

Both men's hearts wrenched in their chests with the ache of it. Drawing away the pain, distracting from it, getting back to working the case, the Inspector looked pleadingly at George, standing up to accent his plan of taking action instead of falling into helplessness. "We need to think like Murdoch," he stated confidently. "There are things we know. For instance, do we think the cases are linked? That Murdoch would get abducted twice?! And if so, by the same people?" he asked.

Crabtree took the ball. "Well, we found his bike still at the original crime scene. So, he did not leave there of his own accord. And…" thank God, he thought, "There was only the blood of the victim…"

"And no sign of a struggle," the Inspector added. Thinking ahead, planning to reassure the man's wife, he said, "And so there's a good chance they were there to capture Murdoch rather than kill him. But, are the two cases linked?"

Her voice was almost ghostly as she said it, Julia told, "They're linked. Today, at the crime scene, William alluded to this victim being like the man shot from a cannon at the circus…"

Brackenreid became flustered, asking, "But this victim had a bullet in his heart?!"

George jumped on it. "Well, that's true, sir! That's why it was so odd for Detective Murdoch to say the two cases were alike… It had to be that the detective was leaving us a clue," he added.

The Inspector's logic fought the impulse to jump to conclusions. He would voice it, but tactfully… well as tactfully as Brackenreid was able. "You two are trying too hard. We are asking about a connection between this case and Murdoch's abduction. What does the case of Schiergen, who wasn't shot out of a cannon but instead fell from a plane, by the way, have to do with Murdoch's abduction?!" he found in the end his voice betrayed his frustration. "And what would any of that have to do with this case!?" he insisted.

Julia answered, "William's clue connects all three cases, sir. You see, William always said he thought that Schiergen's case was connected to Wimmer's case – remember? William's supposed abductor was the victim lying in my morgue, a man with the false identity of Wimmer… Terrence Meyers took that case from us, stole the spy's body and took all the evidence… Just like Meyers did again after that, when Schiergen's body was the one in my morgue…" Julia checked, they were with her so far.

She went on, "Well, the man pretending to be Wimmer had been shot in the heart, just like this…" her hands flung up in the air and her eyes started to swell, "like this Trappe man. Meyers had told us William didn't have to worry about his abductors anymore because the man who had abducted him was dead!" Julia's voice had begun to squeak. She was terribly upset, tears so close. "The bullets will probably match-up between the fake Wimmer and this fake Trappe!" she declared, "But, of course, we'll never know, because Meyers took the evidence we had from Wimmer…" she was feeling the hopelessness close in, "William said he thought he was being followed… all this time. I don't think Meyers was right! The man who abducted him wasn't dead! He has him again!" panic won out.

Julia collapsed down onto the Inspector's couch… where she usually sat with William… and she never would again. And her mind raced away with her… How would she tell the children?!

Compassion tugged at the two men. They shared a look. George sat down next to her on the couch, the Inspector squatted down to look her in the eye. "Don't you give up hope so easily doctor. I know you better than that. Murdoch married a tough cookie," he encouraged.

George spoke up, "It's good news, doctor, that it's the same people who took him before. They don't want to kill him. He's alive. And we'll find him…"

She sniffled, and the Inspector fished out a handkerchief for her. It hurt so when she giggled, reminding herself how, somehow, William Murdoch always seemed to have a perfectly clean, white handkerchief available whenever and wherever she needed it. She wiped her nose, her eyes, and nodded talking herself into it. "Yes. Yes, of course you're right," she said.

The constable from the front desk knocked on the door. A report had just come in, James Pendrick was missing too.

"That cannot be a coincidence," the inspector declared.

"No sir," George exclaimed, "Whoever it is… they want both of them," he figured.

It was silent for a moment, as minds worked.

Suddenly, George hurried to tell, "They were working on something together. I saw it on the detective's blackboard, all drawn out in chalk. They were using the detective's scrutiny cameras and there was something that looked like that baby bouncer contraption the detective made a while ago… I remember! They wrote the name of it on the board, "Goggle Earth!"

The Inspector began to protest, once again, against George's zany ideas….

But Dr. Ogden interrupted, "The goggles were to be stereoscopes," she told them. "That is the link, I think, between all the cases," she said, clearly getting the attention of the others. "As you'll remember, William found aerial photographs in Schiergen's flat. That's what got William thinking about making a better aerial camera," she explained the connection, adding, "And Pendrick let him install it on one of his planes. They photographed a cargo drop at our house, just yesterday. But I think it's more than that," she felt the lines between the dots joining, "William was letting us know, when he mentioned the cannon and the circus today, that his suspicions that Schiergen's case, and his own case of being abducted, along with the case of his supposed abductor – the spy using the alias of Wimmer, and now this second abduction – of both William and Pendrick – are all connected!" she concluded.

Julia called home and asked Eloise and Claire-Marie to take care of the children, telling them there was an emergency and she and William would not be coming home tonight. She and George and the Inspector, and nearly all the constables in Stationhouse #4 would work through the night. Murdoch's life depended on their finding him. They now had abundant clues, for there were many cases involved, and in the end they all linked to this one.

They had one really big problem though, there was only one man who had taken away most of the evidence they needed, and as William had told Julia so many, many, nights ago, "experience tells you can't get in touch with a spy. It seems the spy must come to you." The Inspector tried to reassure everyone… Meyers would turn up soon enough. He had already stopped their work on this case… why just think of it, so far, it seemed he had done so TWICE.

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