Day 21: Morgue (Garrett's Point of View)
"Nigel, who do you want to be?" I asked as I poured myself a cup of coffee . . . I really wanted a glass of gin . . . something to calm my nerves.
"I'll be Davidson . . . Bug, are you in?" Nigel asked carefully as he took a seat at the large round table.
"I'll be Jacobson . . . Dr. Macy?" Bug said as he drummed his fingers on the table . . . he looked nervous.
"I'll pinch hit tonight . . . Abrams and Ellington," I replied as I swirled the coffee in the Styrofoam cup . . . splashing some on the oak table.
"I did you a favor years ago . . . so I asked you to do a favor for me," Bug said to Nigel . . . referring to the time Jacobson got the DUI charges against Davidson.
"What was your cut? You wouldn't do this for free," I said to Nigel.
"Simplest scenario . . . I needed to repay my debt. The conspiracy theory . . . I was going to split the money with you," Nigel said.
"That can't be . . . you didn't want to share my money with Candice . . . why would you share it with Davidson?" I asked puzzled . . . Bug's fingers rhythmically drummed on the table . . . Nigel smiled . . . he loved the conspiracy theory.
"This is stupid . . . why can't we just go over the forensics again?" Bug said . . . I felt the same way . . . this didn't make sense.
"What about the old saying that 'any publicity is good publicity?'" Nigel said, "Ellington's notoriety had gone down the toilet . . . Ellington was worried about his daughter surfacing . . . she's called you asking for money . . . she's sick of living on the street . . . she likes the lifestyle, but she wants to still live the good life."
Nigel stood up . . . momentarily pacing the room. The conspiracy theory . . . Nigel was proud of his baby . . . proud that this might just be the feasible answer. His eyes lit up as he delved further into his imagination.
"Davidson suggests offing her . . . Ellington said that there is no glory in legislation to protect the rights of one victim . . . a serial killer would be best. Ellington would exploit his daughter's death . . . campaign for safety . . . more police . . . the battle cry of a terrified public," Nigel rambled, "He promised to cover it up . . . Davidson enlisted Jacobson . . . we were both in it for the money . . . sleaze."
"Nigel . . . how do you think about that stuff?" Bug said visibly cringing, "Why did you try to kill Jordan and Woody?"
"They were threatening to expose the whole plot," Nigel said smiling.
"It's possible. It's very possible . . . I'm calling Eddie. Nigel . . . Bug, go home . . . tomorrow . . . tomorrow we need to comb every piece of evidence, every credit card transaction . . . we need to get Jordan home," I said as I left the conference room . . . my adrenaline surging.
Day 22: Hoyt Residence
"Jordan, are you cold?" Woody asked as we sat on the porch . . . watching the stars. It was so simple, but I could have stared forever . . . it was like all the stars from Boston were transported to Wisconsin . . . all the stars that I had never seen before.
"No, I want to stay out here longer," I said . . . transfixed . . . I had never seen this many stars before. I rocked in the rocking chair . . . Woody sat on the steps.
Today, Woody had taken me out to the barn to see the horses . . . after much negotiation, he taught me how to ride a horse. He was terrified that I was going to fall and break my neck . . . I begged him . . . he relented. Paul watched as Woody helped me on to the oldest, sickest looking mare . . . Paul said that was probably the safest way to go. Woody used an exercise rope to guide the horse . . . it felt good to feel free again.
I watched Paul milk the cows . . . he made Woody help. I asked if I could help . . . they both said no . . . Woody said that I wouldn't like it . . . Paul said it isn't the cleanest or most desirable job. Paul said he liked me . . . I was a smart girl . . . said that he said that I seemed like trouble. Woody replied that I should have been named trouble.
Woody took me into town for supper . . . a small Italian place . . . it didn't seem like it belonged in Kewaunee. Everyone knew Woody . . . they all asked about me . . . asked about wedding dates . . . told me that I would make a beautiful bride. Woody took such good care of me . . . he was uncomfortable with the whole situation . . . he had a harder time pretending.
"Jordan, my mom really likes you," Woody said . . . staring off into the woods.
"Woody, we should bring her out to Boston sometime soon," I replied.
"Jordan, there is no we," Woody said as he stood up . . . started walking away from the porch . . . I stood up and followed, "Jordan, I'm glad this is so easy for you, but I'll be the one to tell her that I'm not getting married . . . that this was all a hoax."
"Woody, she'll understand," I whispered as I ran to catch up to his long stride.
"Jordan, I don't think she will understand . . . she's already excited about planning the wedding . . . she went to the store today to buy bridal magazines . . . she spent all her money on that," Woody said raising his voice . . . out of all the times that he has yelled at me . . . this is the first time that he sounded serious.
"Woody, I'm sorry . . . please stop," I said as I grabbed his arm . . . his blue eyes gleamed in the moonlight.
"Jordan, we are leaving tomorrow . . . we need to leave . . . I've talked to Eddie . . . we need to leave," Woody rambled . . . he tried to pull his arm away from me . . . I wouldn't let go.
I pulled him close to me . . . I ran my fingers down his jaw line. He finally looked me in the eyes . . . I don't know what I said . . . I knew what I wanted to say. I wanted to say that I was really sorry . . . that his mother was amazing . . . that his father was amazing. I kissed him . . . his lips moved softly against my lips. I put my arms around his neck to ensure that he wouldn't pull away . . . I wasn't too worried about that . . . I was the one that always pulled away. He ran his hands through my hair . . . for as much as I wanted this, I was terrified.
"Jordan, while we were in the Mojave, you said this would never work . . . that we could never be together," Woody said.
"I say a lot when I'm scared," I replied.
"It's the only time that you have ever effectively communicated with me," Woody replied, "It's not fair . . . the way that you let me in . . . then push me away. Jordan, you can hurt me . . . just don't hurt my family."
"Woody, I don't want to hurt you," I replied.
"Jordan, why can't you let me in?" Woody asked.
"Woody . . . everyone I've let in . . . they hurt me," I rambled.
"Jordan . . . I'd never hurt you," Woody said . . . I could hear the disappointment in his voice . . . I was sure that even in the dim moonlight . . . that he could see the tears running down my face . . . I knew that he would never hurt me.
"Jordan, don't cry . . . I'm sorry for yelling. Let's go back to the house . . . I'll sleep in the barn tonight," Woody said as he stood up . . . walked past me.
"Woody, no . . . Woody," I said as I stood still . . . let him walk past me . . . so many things ran past me . . . or I pushed them past me.
I began to cry . . . I hated crying . . . the tears were acidic on my face . . . burned my skin. I wrapped my arms around my chest . . . I choked on the sobs . . . maybe I did really want this all to be real . . . I wanted to forget about the river rapist . . . leopard and lace . . . Candy Cane . . . everything . . . I just wanted to be in Kewaunee. I could feel his eyes on my back . . . I didn't want him to see me cry.
"Jordan, come on," Woody said as he walked back to me . . . visibly he looked less mad at me.
"No," I said still crying.
"Jordan, please . . . let's go in," Woody whispered, "You know that I'm sorry, right?"
"I don't want it to be like this . . . I'm just afraid . . . I want to try," I cried.
"Jordan, don't say things you don't mean," Woody said defensively.
I kissed him again . . . this time not letting him push away from me. I desperately held on to him . . . afraid to open up, but even more afraid to let him go.
Day 23: Hoyt Residence (8 am)
I woke up with a headache . . . so bad that I could barely move. Woody's arm was around my waist . . . he was still sleeping. I eased his arm off me . . . headed to the bathroom to find some Tylenol . . . anything to stop the pounding.
I hadn't intended for last night to happen . . . I hated fighting with Woody. I wasn't sure what he was thinking . . . he was silent as we walked back to the house. By the time I was done changing in the bathroom, Woody was already in bed . . . he wouldn't say anything. I knew that I had given him a lot to think about . . . I wasn't sure what he would say.
I felt locked in . . . I needed some time to think about last night . . . think about our charade. I swallowed some of the Oxycontin I was prescribed . . . Woody must have packed that for me . . . I tried to avoid narcotics . . . in medical school, I watched a classmate become addicted to Oxycontin . . . it was so easy. I felt nauseated . . . I trudged back to bed. Woody was gone . . . it didn't surprise me.
I wrapped the blankets tightly around me . . . I closed my eyes . . . tried desperately to sleep.
"Jordan," Woody said as he knocked on the door.
"I'm not feeling good . . . I'm going to try to get a little more sleep," I said as I pulled the covers over my head.
"Can I come in?" Woody asked.
"Fine," I said . . . I closed my eyes tightly . . . I could hear the door open.
"Are you okay?" Woody asked, "I brought you some breakfast . . . I guess my parents decided to eat without us."
"Not hungry," I whispered . . . talking hurt.
"Are you going to be okay?" Woody asked again . . . I couldn't remember if I had answered.
"Just a headache," I whispered.
"Okay," Woody said . . . he began to massage my scalp, "Jordan, I'm really sorry about last night."
"Woody, you've apologized enough . . . when are we leaving?" I asked.
"Tomorrow morning . . . I want to spend one more day with my parents before we go," Woody replied.
"Where are we going?" I asked . . . I would try to make myself scarce . . . do a little reading on the porch.
"A cabin up north," Woody replied.
"You can go further north?" I asked . . . it was the middle of the summer and the nights here were still freezing . . . I wasn't sure where Kewaunee was in relation to the geography of Wisconsin.
"Yeah," Woody replied.
"When can we go home?" I asked, "I miss Dad, Garrett and Nigel . . . I want to go back to my normal life."
"I don't know yet . . . Eddie said that Garrett has a new theory that he's working on, but that doesn't put Jacobson back in jail. Walcot is threatening to drop the murder charges . . . even though DNA links Jacobson to four crime scenes," Woody said.
"Is he going to be tried for attempted murder?" I asked . . . I wanted to know about the progress of my case.
"Those charges still stand . . . Eddie said there are rumor of them being reduced to assault," Woody said softly.
"That bitch . . . I can't believe that she would do that," I replied as I sat up in bed . . . I could feel myself shaking . . . the thought of Jacobson roaming the streets sickened me . . . the thought of the DA reducing the charges infuriated me . . . I didn't feel like Jacobson was done with me . . . he could easily try to kill me again.
"It's going to be okay," Woody replied.
I began to cry again . . . I could feel my heart pounding my chest . . . I couldn't believe how this man was taking over my life. He made me flee from my home, my job, and my family . . . he made me look at everyone walking down the street differently . . . every anonymous face could be capable of hurting me. I hadn't felt this kind of fear since I saw her laying on the floor in a pool of bright red blood . . . I wondered if this was the legacy she left for me . . . victimization . . . first Digger . . . then Herman Redding.
"Garret is going to crack this wide open . . . Eddie is working round the clock . . . this is going to end soon," Woody said, "Did you want me to pack for you?"
I couldn't even talk . . . the tears choked me. I think I nodded . . . I remember burying my head in my hands. I heard the door close . . . I had managed to push Woody even further away from me. I was startled to feel his arms around me . . . my tears quickly saturating his shirt. He didn't say anything while he held me . . . this was the only place that I felt safe.
He held me until I fell asleep.
Hoyt Residence – Noon (Woody's POV)
"You and Jordan . . . had quite the fight last night," my mom commented as I helped her make lunch.
"You know what they say about the Irish," I replied praying that she did not hear the content of our argument.
"Is Jordan okay?" Mom asked referring to the fact that Jordan was not yet awake.
"She's fine . . . just upset. We didn't sleep well last night," I replied.
"You two should never go to bed angry," Mom commented, "Woodrow, be careful with Jordan . . . she's a good girl. The way she looks at you . . . she loves you a lot . . . love her back the same amount."
We ate lunch silently . . . I cleaned up the kitchen. Mom watched from the snack bar . . . I told her that Jordan and I needed to leave early. We were going fishing up north . . . then meeting some of my college roommates in Milwaukee. She looked so disappointed . . . she asked for one more day . . . I had been away so long. I told that we had all today . . . I wanted to take her out to a fancy supper tonight . . . just the two of us. Mom asked what Jordan would be doing . . . I said that she and Dad could watch the baseball game . . . Mom and I weren't fans. I knew I needed to call the sheriff to have patrols stepped up while I was gone.
"Woodrow, you have become such a fine man. You take such good care of this old woman," Mom said as she hugged me . . . tears running down her face. I felt guilty for lying to her, but I didn't want to put her life in danger . . . the truth might just do that.