Author's Note: I finished the majority of this chapter about the same time that I published Chapter 24. I didn't post this one because I wanted to wait until after Thanksgiving here in the US. I hope that you will enjoy this chapter.
There are references to the Pilot, "Skinny Dipper", "Hitler on the Half Shell", and "Social Engineering".
Chapter 25
With each step, Henry tried to review the methodology that he needed to pursue his lead about the hoodie. Yet, as he followed Detective Martinez—Jo?—out of the detectives' work area, he found himself drawing a blank on both the technique and the type of forensic evidence that he was seeking.
As they neared the elevator, he sighed in frustration. He should know what he was looking for. After all, Detective Martinez had said that he did possess knowledge of the subject. He wished that he could remember it so that he could solve the mystery of Brent's death and his own amnesia.
Another wave of familiarity washed over him. At one point, he had felt that his work could solve another riddle. He quickly pushed the question about his baffling mystery out of his mind. He must focus on this case now instead of thinking about some past puzzle that he had forgotten.
Detective Martinez pressed the down button on the elevator's control panel. Almost immediately, the bell rang, and the doors opened. They stepped into the car and watched the rest of the precinct pass them as the doors closed.
The car lurched and began the journey down to the first floor. Henry once again began to ponder what evidence he could find on the garment in question.
"Okay. Talk."
Detective Martinez's firm, slightly irritated voice snapped him out of his thoughts and focused his attention onto her vague order. "About what?"
"You've just received some very upsetting news, but you're acting as though nothing's wrong. What gives?"
He sighed as the stunned expression on her face as she had brushed past him in Lt. Reece's office crossed his mind. She had just received equally disconcerting news of her own, and she needed time to process it. He shouldn't burden her with his fears of the future.
He looked into her searching eyes. There was no way to hide his thoughts from her.
He inhaled in an attempt to alleviate the rue that he felt. "Honestly, it feels like a death sentence."
She bit her lower lip and glanced down with tears beginning to form in her eyes. Before she could say anything else, the bell rang again, and the doors opened. They stepped out of the car, and he let Detective Martinez take the lead again.
Each step took them deeper into the building's interior. The number of people in the hallways dwindled until the halls were empty.
When he noticed that they had a sense of privacy, he decided to elaborate on their conversation in the elevator. "Within the next few days, everything about me will be gone. My past. My hopes and dreams. My fears. My mistakes. Everything I am and everything I've learned will cease to exist."
Suddenly, he heard a feminine voice restate the start of his last sentence and completing it with words of her own. Strangely, the voice didn't belong to Detective Martinez.
He instinctively turned his head away from Detective Martinez. Whose voice did he just hear? Was it his late wife's?
"Was that another vague memory?"
He looked toward the detective. His eyes darted around before training themselves onto her. "I believe it was."
He fought back his forming tears as a few of his questions about himself returned. "I want to be able to remember everything about myself. I hadn't pursued it before because I had been frightened by what I would find. But, now…"
Detective Martinez stopped and took his hand into hers. "You're a good man, Henry Morgan. Don't you forget it."
At that moment, Henry heard an unfamiliar masculine voice echoing some of her words, and he unexpectedly cringed. It was almost as if the man associated with the voice had done something so reprehensible that it had caused Henry to be unable to reconcile the man's statement with his previous actions.
Detective Martinez's squeeze of his hand brought Henry out of his thoughts. He looked into her caring eyes and immediately felt calmer.
She gazed into his eyes. "As for your memory, we'll find a way to help you get it back."
In spite of the news that they had both received, she seemed so confident in her belief that his condition was reversible. He squeezed her hand to thank her for her reassurance before she released it.
They continued their walk. She glanced over at him. "Why do you need to look at your hoodie?"
Relief that Detective Martinez—Jo?—wanted to know what he was thinking flooded him. "I believe that I have a lead in my disappearance and in Brent's murder. There should be some evidence on the hoodie that could tell us what happened in both instances."
She nodded and knitted her eyebrows in thought.
They walked together in silence for a few more seconds. Soon, she reached up and rubbed her forehead.
A pang of guilt hit him. Her irritability was from physical aches as much as it was from fatigue and emotional pain. Maybe his lead should have waited until Monday.
Stop it. She is concerned about your memory issues, and she wants to know what happened to you. You must let her do this for her sake.
His thoughts echoed the ones from last night, and he sighed inwardly. It had been so much easier to tend to her every desire and need before the instant that he had seen himself underwater. Since that moment, he struggled to determine exactly what Detective Martinez's—Jo's?—needs were. Last night, he had wanted to take care of her before he had seen the mug that was meant for Abe. In contrast, he had willfully ignored her fatigue in his excitement about his lead until merely seconds ago.
Then again, couples shared each other's troubles and concerns, and, together, they would find ways to either resolve the issues or to take the other's mind off their worries. Ideally, the burden would be equally shared. As his problems were more noticeable of the moment, she was shouldering the burden by finding ways to put his mind at ease. Hopefully, he could find a way to reciprocate her care of him soon.
Before he could apologize for his insensitivity about her headache and fatigue, he saw a sign on the wall saying "Evidence Room". As they entered it, Henry noticed a pair of doors to his right.
"Why don't you wait in there while I get the box?" She pointed to one of the doors.
He placed his hand on the knob and opened the door. To his surprise, it looked like the interrogation room but without the large mirror separating the room from the observation area.
He closed the door and started pacing as he reviewed the facts of his disappearance and Brent's murder. The pacing seemed to help him maintain his focus on his analysis. He, however, could not think of the necessary forensic evidence.
He blew his breath out in frustration. He was sending Detective Martinez on a wild goose chase. As far as they knew, the only thing that they would find is Brent's blood on the hoodie. Blood that he had, judging from the appearance of Abe's suit and gloves during everyone's reenactment the other day, smeared on it after he had futilely tried to save Brent's life.
Speaking of Detective Martinez, where was she? Did the people in charge of keeping the evidence lose the box?
Just as Henry lifted his arm to check the time on Abe's wristwatch, he heard a knock on the door. He stepped over to it and opened it. Detective Martinez—Jo?—stood near the threshold with a box in her hands.
She walked the box over to the table and set her package down as he closed the door behind her and moved back to the table. She removed the lid and took out the plastic bag that he had seen during his interrogation and a file folder apparently containing the police report.
He looked into the now empty box. "Is that all?"
"Yeah. Thanks to the police commissioner, the unis are as swamped as we are. Since you were alive and there were no signs of physical injury, no one apparently felt the need to investigate it any further. That is, until the DNA results revealed that Brent's blood was on the hoodie."
He nodded. Her explanation was logical. The other patrol officers possibly assumed that someone at the hospital would discover what he needed to resume his life. Either that, or they believed that the homicide division would actively investigate the matter to protect one of their own.
Just then, he swore that he heard Lt. Reece's voice echoing the last part of his latest thought. What had happened then?
Detective Martinez's motions discouraged him from analyzing the fragment of memory any further. She tossed him a pair of gloves, and he slipped them on. He reached over, picked up the bag, opened it, and removed the hoodie.
He started to examine it. Upon a quick visual inspection, it appeared to be in perfect condition. The only thing on it was the blood stain that they both had seen.
"What are you looking for?"
Henry raised his head and looked at her. "Typically, in arson investigations, CSU looks for glass, debris, serological evidence, and volatile ignitable liquids on clothing to determine the nature and behavior of the fire. I obviously wasn't present in the fire when Brent's body was burnt, but I'm checking for smoke damage." Why am I suddenly remembering this information?
"Smoke damage? What are you—?"
Henry lowered the garment and watched her forehead wrinkle in response to her pain. Her headache was interfering with her excellent powers of deduction.
Another wave of familiarity washed over him. He had mentioned her ability—and meant it as a genuine compliment—once before.
He looked at a point past her to get himself to focus on the task at hand before turning back to her. "Smoke contains many corrosive chemicals, such as hydrochloric acid and hydrobromic acid, as well as soot. Fabrics are porous in nature, which allows them to absorb the chemicals. That is why people frequently replace unburnt clothes after a fire, both to prevent damage to their clothes and to rid their closets of the distinctive smell of smoke.
"Although I wasn't in the fire, smoke could have still gotten on my clothes even if the fire had started in the other apartment." He laid the article of clothing down on the table. "Smoke travels both up through a chimney-like structure—" He pantomimed the outline of a chimney "—like a stairwell or elevator shaft, and out—" He rotated his hands so that they paralleled the ground and spread his arms out before placing them on the table next to the hoodie"—through hallways or an opening. If there was a gap between the apartments, smoke from the fire could have traveled into the other apartment—." How do I know that? Did I witness a fire before?
She nodded. Despite her temporary inability to make deductions, she understood his reasoning.
Lifting the hoodie into the air again, he inspected it once more. He wrinkled his eyebrows. The article of clothing didn't appear to have any smoke damage or soot. He looked down at the table, and he couldn't see any soot, glass, or debris on its surface. Nor could he see anything unusual in the plastic bag.
He turned the garment around and, knowing that it was beneficial to him earlier this morning, tentatively sniffed an area on the middle of the hoodie's back. Puzzled, he lowered it onto the table and spread it out. The hoodie smelled like dirt, and a very light, almost imperceptible, patch of black stood out among the blue color of the garment.
He placed his hands on the table and narrowed his eyes in thought. The emergency department doctor had stated in his report that Henry didn't have any soot on his body or in his airway. That would be consistent with his discovery of Brent's clean airway and clean lab and toxicology results. Since Brent's death had occurred before the fire…
"I lost consciousness after I tried to save Brent but before the fire engulfed both apartments." So, how did I escape the fire?
A thought suddenly crossed Henry's mind. It made sense in some ways, but it also begged more questions than answers.
He looked over at Detective Martinez—Jo?—to see her reaction. Her wide eyes and open mouth indicated that she had drawn the same conclusion.
"Someone removed you from the apartment before the fire spread to it." She wrinkled her eyebrows and thought for a moment. "That explains a lot."
Something about her tone of voice indicated that she believed that it could be an explanation for something else as well. He pushed the thought out of his mind; he was likely imagining things.
"I still need to take a look at the hoodie under the microscope to confirm our theory, but, yes, it appears to be that way." He sighed. There should be more clues.
His and Detective Martinez's conversation in the car during the trip to WNYL's studios came back to him. "I also should read Fire Marshall Gideons' report." He inhaled. "I need to go to the—." He suddenly blanked out on the name of the room. "It's a room that one goes to for their post—" his heart began to pound at the mention of the last word "—mail room and see if it's in there. Do you know where it is?"
For a moment, she looked a little worried, but her facial features softened in the next instant. "No, but there should be signs on your floor that would direct you to it."
He focused on a spot just beyond him as he felt her words slow his heartrate. His momentary use of British English again had prevented him from remembering his first day of work. The signs posted throughout the building had helped him find his way to the OCME then, and he did remember seeing directional signs on his floor as well.
"So." Detective Martinez's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Someone opens the apartment door, pulls you out, and closes the door, leaving Brent behind—"
"He or she takes me to East River Park, dumps my body near the river, and—." He knitted his own eyebrows. "Leaves?"
"Your 'rescuer' left you under some trees near a sidewalk." She paused. "He or she wanted someone to find you alive."
"But who would do that?"
Maybe she would have some additional insight. One glance at her eyes, though, told him that she had no answers for him.
She sighed, closed her eyes, reached behind her neck, and started to rub it. The ache had spread to her shoulders.
His heart broke for her. He wanted to do something that would take away both her pain and her emotional tension. Something like—.
He pulled off his gloves and laid them down next to the hoodie. "Would you like a massage?"
Her eyes flew open, and she stared at him. Her hand slid off her neck. "What?" She opened her mouth a couple of times. "How do you know how to give one?"
"Abe taught me how to give a massage while we were talking the other night." One of Abe's stories about his days at Berkeley had reminded him of the girlfriend who was a masseuse, and he had gleefully decided to teach Henry right then.
Her eyes widened in surprise. "Abe?" She then smiled. "He's a man of many talents, just like his f—." She stopped. "Just like you."
The pained look in her eyes focused his attention onto her and not her unusual pause.
After a moment, she took a deep breath and shrugged. "Sure. Why not? It couldn't hurt."
Henry walked around the table, pulled out a chair, set it near her, and turned it around. Detective Martinez—Jo?—submissively sat down in it.
He studied her shoulders and neck as he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He could work with the cloth. Her loose hair, however, produced a different challenge.
He reached out to pull her long, dark brown hair back. The second that he gathered the strands into his hands, a strong tingle spread throughout his body.
He dropped her hair in surprise, and his breath caught in his throat. Was this what love physically felt like?
"Everything okay back there?" She turned around and looked at him.
He took a needed breath and then blinked to bring himself out of his thoughts. "A massage is quite an intimate gesture, usually given by someone whom a person completely trusts."
He swallowed. He needed to say this. "We haven't talked about our relationship yet. We apparently have been very close friends for a while, and I don't want to lose that. If I give you a massage, I feel that this would change things between us."
She narrowed her eyes, both in pain and in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
His eyes met hers, and, because of his earlier thought, he reminded himself to breathe. "I've fallen in love with you."
Her eyes suddenly widened again, and she opened and closed her mouth several times.
As he studied her expression, he took a deep breath to calm his suddenly racing heart. What if I'm wrong about her feelings toward me? What if she doesn't feel the same way?
"I love you too." A smile began to grow on her face.
At first, he couldn't believe his ears. Then, joy sprung up and overflowed within him as they grinned at their admission. They no longer were a couple in name only, acting independently of each other but longing to be together. Their shared love now bound them to each other—.
Detective Martinez's—Jo's?—eyes suddenly shut, and she squeezed them tight as she rubbed her forehead. Her headache would not allow them any time to revel in their newfound reality.
"Time for that massage, huh?" She turned around in her chair.
He once again reached out and took her hair. Once again, a strong tingle came over him the second that he touched her hair. This time, he breathlessly gathered it together, gingerly twisted it, and gently laid it over her shoulder.
He viewed her back and neck as he reviewed the technique that Abe had taught him. He quickly identified the location of her spine and shoulder blades. He studied the chair's back, and the top of it landed just below her shoulder blades.
He placed his fingers on the top of her nape and pressed his fingers into her neck. "How does this feel?"
"Could you press down a little harder?"
He followed her instructions. "How about now?"
"Yeah. That feels good."
Pleased with the knowledge of her preferred amount of pressure, he slowly slid his hands down toward her shoulders and then over them. As he moved his hands, he felt several knots. He noted their locations so that he could apply more pressure to them later.
He then removed his hands from her body and placed them again on her neck. He made two additional slow, gentle sweeps over her neck and shoulders. Remembering another step, he placed his hands on the sides of her neck and gradually moved his hands down to her shoulders and then up to her ears.
She suddenly let out a moan.
He stopped, his hands just under her ears. He was working on a very delicate area of the human body. "Have I hurt you?"
"Keep going." He could barely hear her muffled, relaxed voice.
He widened his eyes, chortled in joy, and shook his head. She was enjoying her massage.
He looked at her nape to redirect his attention to his task. He immediately swept his hands over her neck and shoulders again. As he touched the area between her shoulder blades, she instantly leaned back into his hands, and he could feel that her breathing had become slower. He smiled. A state of deep relaxation had overwhelmed her, and she had finally allowed herself to rest.
He finished his sweeps and directed his attention to her knots. He located the first one, pressed his thumb into it, and kneaded it until he felt it disappear. He then moved onto each one and kneaded them into relaxation.
After the last knot disappeared, he moved his hands back to her nape. He kneaded her neck and shoulders with his thumbs and then glided his hands over the areas. In another pass, he made small circles with his fingertips as he worked his way down.
He then placed his hands on her shoulders and massaged the front of her shoulders with his fingers. As he worked the area, he noticed how focused he was on his task. He gave the observation no thought and let it pass.
He continued the motions for a while. Eventually, he began to worry that he might overwork her muscles. He wanted to keep going to let her continue her rest, but she would be more comfortable in her home. He reluctantly gave her shoulders one last rub and lifted his hands off of them.
"How do you feel?" Knowing that she needed a few moments to leave her slumber, he watched for her arousal.
At first, she remained still. She then slowly stirred, turned around, and looked at him. She blinked her eyes and smiled. "Wow! I feel great!"
She stood up and turned fully toward him. As she stepped forward, her weight shifted toward him, and she grabbed the back of the chair to steady herself.
She ran her free hand through her hair and chuckled. "I must be more relaxed than I thought."
He grinned. He then inhaled as he beheld her relaxed face and her radiant smile. In that moment, her eyes shone brighter than he had ever seen them. Her face glowed with joy, and her hair, cheeks, and lips glistened under the harsh florescent light.
If he could take his eyes off her, he had no desire to look at anything else. The light only accentuated her classical beauty. A multitude of buried impulses began to awaken deep inside him. If he could move, he longed to act solely in response to what was stirring in the depths of his soul.
"Are you two still in there?"
Lt. Reece's authoritative voice shocked him out of his state. Henry looked over Detective Martinez's shoulder. He then took another look at her. Her mouth was open, and her cheeks had spontaneously flushed.
Detective Martinez—Jo?—turned toward the door. "Yes."
The door opened, revealing her superior. Lt. Reece maintained a neutral expression, but the look in her eyes suggested that she was slightly amused by the situation.
Her eyes moved from Detective Martinez to him. "Your boss wants to know where you are." She looked back at her subordinate. "As for you…" She stopped and studied the detective. "I'll take you home myself. Don't worry about your car."
Detective Martinez—Jo?—turned back to him and started to say something before deciding to smile again. She silently laid her free hand on his chest, and he held his breath when he sensed that her hand was over his heart. Her light touch forestalled his thoughts, and he felt his impulses return and grow more intense.
Lt. Reece cleared her throat, and the spell that had come over them immediately broke. Henry took a deep breath to get some needed air.
With a slightly disappointed look, Detective Martinez slowly removed her hand from his chest, turned toward the other woman, and toddled toward her. Lt. Reece stepped into the room and wrapped an arm around Detective Martinez's waist to offer her support.
She looked over at the table as she wound Detective Martinez's arm around her neck. "What had you found?"
It took Henry a few moments to remember that they were still in the evidence room in pursuit of a lead. "I still have to examine the hoodie under a microscope, but, so far, we've seen Brent's blood and what appears to be a dirt stain. We're certain that someone had pulled me out of the apartment in the moments before the fire and moved me to East River Park."
She nodded. "I'll help you with the chain of custody. Just let me get her seated in a chair first." With that, the two women left.
Henry picked up the gloves and put them back on. As he lifted the hoodie and began to refold it, he thought about Lt. Reece's sudden presence. It would seem that she knew everything that happened in the building.
That wasn't possible, not unless she had some assistance. Wondering what else was in the room, he surveyed his surroundings. He looked up and noticed a black dome protruding from the ceiling. He suddenly felt the impression that he should be frightened by it, but he wasn't.
He shook his head. He was imagining things. His parents would have shunned the object, and he was feeling their influence long after their deaths.
He pressed the folds down and smoothed them. He removed the bag from the table's surface, and, as he inserted the hoodie into it, he looked at the piece of clothing. At the moment, he vaguely remembered telling Jo about the hoodie while they were still at her desk.
He froze for a moment and then smiled. He immediately knew why that memory was vague, and it wasn't because of his amnesia. Strangely, Jo's massage had relaxed him almost as much as it had relaxed her.
Jo. His natural use of that name in his thoughts woke him up. He needed to confirm her first name before he accidently invoked her wrath if it wasn't what he thought it was. If he had the opportunity, he should either look at her nameplate on her desk or mention his recent tendency to her.
He sighed. His plan would have to wait until Monday. They both had the day off tomorrow, and Lt. Reece was taking her home today.
He laid it in the box and removed his gloves. He picked up the file folder and looked at it for a moment. Perhaps he should read the file as well; it could contain a clue into his amnesia.
As he closed the box and took the handles, he smiled. Honestly, the amnesia and the case were merely passing thoughts. Right now, he was as calm and relaxed as he was when he had left Detective Martinez's—Jo's?—coffee on her desk.
He had four days to jog his memory, though. Maybe he could ask everyone about his past in the coming days to see if something in their stories would spark something. The way that he was feeling right now, they could tell him the most fantastical story, and he would be inclined to believe them.
Henry quickly shifted the fairly light box onto his hip and used his free hand to open the door. He kicked it open and crossed over the threshold. He stepped into the hallway just as the door swung closed behind him.
He searched the area for the woman he loved, but he was disappointed to find that she wasn't there. The sight of Lt. Reece in the hallway prevented any additional thought about Detective Martinez's whereabouts. The other woman directed him to the desk, and he obediently followed her instructions.
Once he filled out the paperwork, he turned back toward the hallway. When he saw that the women, both clothed in coats, hats, and scarves, were seated in front of him, his heart skipped a beat. He quickly joined them as they stood and as Lt. Reece wrapped her arm around Detective Martinez.
He quietly accompanied them as they wound their way through the hallways and toward the elevators. Occasionally, he stole a glance at a very relaxed Detective Martinez—Jo?—and grinned. He rejoiced in his ability to shoulder some of her burden like he had wanted.
When they reached the elevators, he pushed the down button on the control panel, turned around, and took one last look at Jo. He smiled as their eyes met, and she grinned at him. He reveled in their shared love for each other as Lt. Reece gently guided her toward the building's exit. They were, as Hanson had put it, together.
Author's Note: To all fellow Jenry shippers, you're welcome! Okay, it's not a first kiss, but hopefully the massage made up for it! By the way, if Lt. Reece didn't interrupt them, Henry would have kissed Jo within the next few moments. As for that surveillance camera in the room, whether anything is on the security footage will be dealt with in another chapter.
My sources for smoke were Wikipedia ( wiki/Smoke#Chemical_composition) and this site.. Henry's comment about people ridding their closets of the smell of smoke is pure Henry.