Sorry there haven't been any updates lately -- I'll try to be better!!
Day 71: Beth Israel Hospital 2 am (Woody's POV)"Jordan is asking for you," Dr. Stiles said as he sat in a chair next to . . . I sat motionless in the family waiting area . . . I had no where to go after Jordan asked me to leave, "I want to talk to you first . . . do a little State mandated psych evaluation."
"Is she still mad at me?" I asked . . . it was a stupid question . . . I sounded like a five year pouting after being reprimanded.
"She's not mad at anyone . . . . Jordan is frustrated. She wants to understand why she has been victimized. This is the first time in her life that she has felt weak," Dr. Stiles replied, "Jordan doesn't want to run this time . . . she's doing her damnedest to go home. She's embracing therapy . . . trying to be a better person. Jordan is doing this so she can be with you."
"It's hard . . . I blew Jordan off . . . she said that she wanted me to stay with her. Jordan begged and cried . . . she always tells me that she feels safe around me. Why didn't I stay with her that night?" I rambled . . . I highly doubted anyone would think of giving me my gun and badge back after this evaluation.
"Why didn't you go to her?" Dr. Stiles asked . . . I didn't want to talk to him . . . he tried to make me confront everything that I tried to hide from.
"I was working on the case . . . that damn case has taken over my life. I'm afraid that if something doesn't break soon . . . I'm not going to be able to keep Jordan safe," I replied.
"So you were doing what you thought would keep her safest . . . trying to figure out who is behind the roses, the beating, and the rape?" Dr. Stiles parroted.
"Yes, I thought I would see something . . . come up with something that I hadn't before. I just want her to be safe . . . I didn't want her to have to be 'baby-sat' each night . . . I just wanted to give back her freedom. You know Jordan . . . she gets scared when things get too claustrophobic . . . I just didn't want her to run anymore," I explained.
"How is doing what you think is best wrong?" Dr. Stiles asked.
"I promised to keep her safe . . . I didn't live up to that promise," I replied . . . it set in that I had not kept my promise . . . I realized the enormity of the mistake that I made . . . this was huge . . . unforgivable.
"You shouldn't make promises that you cannot guarantee you can keep. Garret tells me that you found Jordan," Dr. Stiles commented . . . I was sick of talking to him . . . he was making everything real . . . everything was setting in . . . until now, I was so focused on Jordan . . . I hadn't begun to think about myself, "How did that make you feel?"
"I couldn't even think . . . I thought that she was dead. She wasn't moving . . . I couldn't even see her breathing. I just held her until the paramedics got there . . . I'm a cop . . . I'm supposed to be able to deal with emergencies, but I just sat there," I replied . . . I had never talked about this . . . I only relived it in nightmares . . . waking up in a cold sweat . . . ending the dream with violent nausea.
"You weren't a cop at that moment . . . you were Jordan's boyfriend. She didn't expect you to be a cop . . . I bet that she was just happy to be comforted in her time of need. You did a wonderful thing for Jordan by loving her as you have," Dr. Stiles commented.
"I feel like I should be doing more," I replied . . . I started to feel less angry . . . had she died . . . I would have wanted her in my arms . . . I wished that she would remember the things that I had said to her while we were waiting for the ambulance . . . I told her that I loved her . . . she just needed to hang on . . . I couldn't live without her . . . I needed her . . . I'd always need her. This wasn't fair.
"Go in by Jordan . . . be patient with her. Listen to her . . . even if you don't want to hear it. Woody, stop building the walls . . . if you stop, she will stop," Dr. Stiles said as he stood up.
"Thank you," I replied . . . sitting still for one more moment.
"Call if you need me . . . I make house calls," Dr. Stiles said laughing . . . gesturing to the room around him.
I held my breath as I walked to Jordan's room . . . I wasn't sure what to say to her . . . I just wanted to wrap my arms around her . . . tell her that I loved her.
She was sitting up in her bed . . . her knees to her chest . . . just looking around . . . scared to be alone. Her face softened . . . I think she tried to smile.
"I was afraid that you left," Jordan said as I sat in my chair next to her bed.
"I don't have anywhere else to be," I replied.
"I didn't mean to get mad at you . . . I'm mad as hell at who ever did this to me. I don't remember anything that is going to help catch this person . . . this thing that brutalized me," Jordan replied.
"I know . . . I know. I'm glad you don't remember . . . you have enough to live with . . . you don't need to remember the details. It's bad enough that I'll always remember the details," I said.
"I'm glad you're here . . . I wish you didn't understand," Jordan replied.
"Understand what?" I asked confused.
"What it's like to see red blood against a pale surface . . . to wonder how much blood a person can lose before they die . . . to wonder what would have happened if you woke up five minutes earlier or later," Jordan rambled . . . the tears ebbed at her eyes . . . she tried to blink them back . . . she told me that she was getting sick of crying.
"Jordan . . . I'm glad Eddie called when he did," I replied.
"Can you hold me?" Jordan asked . . . she tried to smile . . . I sat on the edge of her bed . . . she sat next to me . . . leaning heavily on me . . . I wrapped my arms around her . . . kissed her forehead.
"Do you still love me?" Jordan whispered.
"Always," I whispered.
"Even after . . . you know?" Jordan asked.
"How could I not love you?" I asked.
Day 72: Morgue (Garret's POV)
Everything about this case pisses me off. All our evidence leads us in circles . . . we have three crime scenes . . . nothing at those crime scenes has given me any information about the identity of the monster that brutalized Jordan. Nigel and I have gone over the case file a dozen times . . . we've investigated Ellington . . . we've played Jordan's game.
I sit in my office . . . confronted with all the other work I need to do. I need to finish signing release forms . . . I need to review all the autopsies the Peter has been handling for me . . . I need to do my laundry . . . I need to go grocery shopping. These all seem less important than the case file sitting in front of me.
Max called me today to let me know Jordan is getting out of the hospital tomorrow. Woody is going to be staying with her . . . Susan is flying home tomorrow . . . Woody and Jordan are taking her to see the ocean. Max is worried about when Woody goes back to work . . . he's not sure how to protect Jordan anymore. I agree . . . I told Max that I've made sure the Jordan is receiving all the money from her paid vacation and disability . . . it's enough to make sure she has a full paycheck for the next few weeks. Max thanked me . . . he knows that young detectives don't make much money . . . plane tickets to Wisconsin aren't cheap. I told Max that Woody is lucky . . . he has an anonymous benefactor . . . paid for Susan's ticket.
Eddie called me nearly the second I got off the telephone with Max . . . he's been busy following up leads. He's released the composite Jordan and Nigel made . . . there are posters all over Boston . . . the news stations have been ending all their broadcasts by showing this man's picture. Nigel is working on comparing the composite with those of the neighboring states . . . he's exhausted . . . so am I.
I push the papers around my desk . . . constantly caught up in this case. Only now, do I understand the baggage that Jordan has been carrying around . . . it's everywhere . . . every face I see in the street . . . I'm examining it for a Roman nose, wild eyebrows and dark brown hair . . . maybe a faint scar on his right eyebrow. This is an insanity that I never knew existed . . . it was so much easier to be withdrawn from every situation . . . to observe carefully rather than dive in haphazardly . . . I could never be like Jordan.
I go to see her every day. The lady in the room next to Jordan's always asks me to walk with her down the hallway . . . she reminds me of my mother. Gladys is frail . . . maybe eighty years old . . . hunch backed . . . a head full of tightly curled white hair . . . white as the snow falling in December. Gladys says that I am a nice man . . . I remind her of her son . . . died years ago in a car accident . . . she thanks me for the stroll . . . asks if my sister is doing well . . . I smile and help her into a chair next to the window . . . she is alone the same way that I am alone . . . she has no family except for a slightly younger sister in New Jersey. I enjoy her company . . . even if it is only for a few minutes a day.
Jordan and I watch Jeopardy in the afternoon . . . it gives Woody and Susan enough time to go get something for lunch. Jordan lets me win . . . she's slowly becoming someone that I no longer recognize. She doesn't have that carefree, to-hell-with-the-rules attitude . . . she's quieter . . . much more careful in planning her actions . . . everything about her is becoming so well thought out . . . I'm sad to see her changing . . . I admire her . . . I could never say it publicly, but I think she knows.
I see Woody changing . . . the innocence . . . it's gone. He came to Boston so innocent . . . not hardened . . . it's changing. He's serious . . . Jordan has commented on it too . . . she says she misses when his eyes used to be the color of the ocean . . . she says they are dark . . . dusky. She says that their relationship is becoming awkward . . . she says it is hard to be intimate . . . I tell her to take her time . . . she says that her life can't possibly be going slower.
"Dr. Macy," Lily says . . . bringing me out of my trance, "Bug says he needs to see you . . . something about Jordan's case. He's in trace evidence."
"Sure . . . thanks, Lily," I say dryly as I pull myself out of the chair . . . head over to trace. Bug, Nigel, and Peter are huddled around a computer screen.
"What's going on?" I ask.
"Turns out that Ellington was involved in a scuffle last night at the Metro . . . the security camera caught every bit of the action," Nigel said . . . he was furiously typing . . . trying to focus the video.
"This guy sounds strangely similar to the guy that attacked Jordan," Bug commented.
"Get me a picture and I'm heading to the Metro . . . Eddie said he would meet me there," Peter said trying to get Nigel to go faster.
"It's him," Nigel whispered as the video came into focus . . . a scar on the right eyebrow.
"I'm going with you," I said . . . I barely recognized my voice . . . I was looking at the person that attacked Nigel and raped Jordan.
Day 72: The Metro Upscale Eatery (Garret's POV)
"He was here last night . . . racked up a large bar tab . . . seemed like he was celebrating or something," the bartender said . . . New York accent . . . Brooklyn maybe.
"Was Ellington with someone?" Peter asked.
"An older lady . . . maybe his wife . . . then some guy . . . weasel looking . . . we had to lend him a jacket . . . he was dressed too casually," the bartender rambled.
"Do you still have the jacket?" I asked.
"Yeah," the bartender replied . . . looked at me funny.
"Was it washed or dry cleaned?" I asked.
"No, we don't normally clean them that frequently," the bartender replied.
"We need to collect the jacket as evidence," I replied.
"You'll need to talk to my boss," the bartender commented.
"Who paid for the drinks?" Peter asked . . . the bartender looked nervous . . . he said he never had spoke to the police before . . . I wanted to tell him that we weren't the police, but then he would stop talking . . . I needed him to talk.
"Ellington . . . he gave me a good tip. That guy yous are interested in . . . looked like he got paid to, but it sounded like he was upset . . . they started arguing . . . the host needed to asked them to leave the bar area. It sounded pretty serious," he replied.
"Is this the guy?" Peter asked as he handed the bartender a copy of the composite that Jordan and Nigel had made.
"Yeah, it's him . . . is he in trouble for something?" the bartender asked.
"Attempted murder, rape, and two counts of assault," I replied.
"Wow . . . this city is full of sickos," he replied . . . I imagined that it was worse where ever he came from.
"You may have just helped us catch on of them," Peter replied.