Note: To Iara: thank you for reviewing, and come on people, I've seen bad review #'s for fanfic's before, but this is pitiful, I want three more reviews before I continue, how u like them apples LOL!
"What do we got Nige?" Woody asked, busting threw the double doors into the Englishman's office.
"Well we know that our Jane Doe is real name is Cory Taylor, six years old, born in New York city to a high class prostitute by the name of Christine Taylor, father is unknown... now here's the kicker three months ago her mother was murdered in the Bronx, a drive by, no one caught the guy." Woody stiffened when he heard this, he could feel Jordan tense, that was a raw nerve left open and exposed, it was easily touched.
"Go ahead Nige." Jordan whispered softly when he paused.
"Anyways, Social Services came by her apartment to get the kid, no kid... no one tried anymore." He finished sadly, hanging his head and walking out.
"So the plot thickens, I'm going back to Mac's room, see if she's okay, maybe she'll recognize Cory." Woody explained, "Have you guys seen Angela?" he added as an afterthought.
"No, but Bug and I will get to work on that substance we found on the bottom of her feet." Jordan said, snapping off her latex gloves.
"Great," he muttered under his breath.
"What the hell is your problem?" she asked sharply,
"Oh, nothing I'm just reeling from when you paged me out of a meeting to open a pickle jar that's all."
"For the third time Woody, I didn't know you were in a meeting with the DA and if I did you know I wouldn't of called you. Why did you come running from a meeting anyway huh?"
"Because you said it was an emergency!" he countered, pointing. "I specifically told you emergencies are, a. lots of blood, b. death c. process servers d, FEDS. You know that we've gone over it, now Jo, repeat it to me." She rolled her eyes and gave a heavy sigh.
"Lots of Blood, Death, process servers, and FEDS... happy now?" she said dully.
"ecstatic, see you in a few hours, remember, emergency only!" he reminded her as he made his way down the hall.
"Yes sir." She whispered under her breath sarcastically, giving him a mocking salute.
"Jordan." A voice said coolly behind her, causing her to jump. "Be nice." Garret said in his usual sardonic way. Jordan gave him a lopsided smile as he patted her on the shoulder before walking into his office and shutting the door.
Angela sat at her brand new desk, computer up and running, coffee steaming hot, sitting precariously on the edge of the metal tabletop. Pictures sat in a box at her feet, she was ready to personalize her new 'living quarters' as Woody liked to put it, but couldn't bring herself to open that box, filled with memories that had long since been denied the right to come back to the depth of her being. Kewaunee was worlds away, a life she and Woody had both renounced a long time ago. Slowly she opened the box.
It was pictures of herself, Woody, Thomas, her ex husband, Annie, and Gracie. Gracie, Angela's daughter, she was maybe three when the picture was taken. Sitting on her 'Uncle Wood's lap in her pink pajama's her strawberry hair pulled back, smiling feverishly, her sickly white skin a major comparison against Woody's tanned skin.
She smiled setting the picture smack dab in the middle of her desk, picking up the fallowing picture. She, Annie, Woody and Cal. Cal had his arm around Woody, Woody was trying desperately to extract himself from his brothers grip. Annie was covering her face with her hand but smiling, her hair mussed from the great lakes air. And Angela, was up on Woody's back, her legs wrapped around his waist, her chin resting on the top of his head. She laughed in soft remembrance. 'Lord how old were we there?" she thought to herself, 'sixteen, seventeen maybe." She amended they were seniors in high school.
It had been a long time since there departure from the watchful eyes and town gossip that came with living in Kewaunee, it had just been a pit stop on this highway they were traveling at the same time once. Gracie was Angela's light, her fire, without her there was no reason for getting up in the morning. Thom, he was sweet, but always second best to Kyle, another crazy highschool friend, but the love of her life.
It was amazing she made it out alive, headlines in the paper the next morning read.
"Four teenagers lives cut short in an instant, when their car struck by drunk driver."
No one ever saw it coming, the light was green, didn't that mean it was safe to go? Why was it that every time someone crosses a street they expect to make it to the other side? Because sometimes you don't. She had been driving. She was the designated driver that night. And she had been wearing her seatbelt... she survived, without scars, without wounds, or at least that were visible.
Woody had come to the hospital that night, three in the morning, in his pajama's, he was fifteen years old, it still amazed Angie how little he had changed since then, the same ole' caring Woody that he had always been.
That night he let her cry on his shoulder, for her Kyle, the poet with the beautiful handwriting, just the same way he had always let her cry on his shoulder. The day she was getting married and got cold feet, the day Thom left her, the day she had Gracie, the day Gracie died. He would always have that heart of gold, there for you eternally.
Then in a moment, a blink of an eye, he was gone, she never really remembered much of the days leading up to his mysterious disappearance, all she remembered was him going to talk to sheriff Cody, that was unusual, Dean Cody despised Woody. Woody always did his best to be nice to the stout sheriff, not only his girlfriends dad, but both his and Angela's boss. He heard shouting, then Woody pushed opened the door in a fury. As he stormed by he knocked a picture off of his desk in anger, it lay shattered and broken on the floor.
Three days later she came home to find a message on her answering machine, she knew it was Woody, no one had seen him since his and Sheriff Cody's confrontation. His mom was worrying. Swallowing the lump in her throat she pushed the button.
"Yo Angie, listen, I... uh, I had to get away, I'm in Chicago right now, could you tell Ann I'm sorry for everything, I just couldn't do that to her... I wouldn't do that to her. You know I suck at goodbyes so I'm going to make this short, so um, thank you Angie, for always being there for me, I won't forget it kid... I'll give you a call when I get to where I'm going... I promise, see yah punk."
Punk, that was his name for her, only he was allowed to call her that. Angie smiled to herself as she set the last picture up on her desk, the frame fixed, but she kept the glass inside as a reminder that things could never be the same. It was Annie and Woody, him hugging Annie close to him, kissing the top of her head, her smiling into his chest. A lot of time had passed, and things would never go back, but now she could find some sibilance of clarity that she had been searching for endlessly for four years.
"Hey Mac!" Woody announced himself as he stood in her doorway, her face instantly brightened, a young, pretty nurse sat at the edge of her bed, laughing, the little girl was sitting up, her bruises were more gruesome in the Florissant lighting of the sallow white, colorless hospital room. Her dark hair fell around her shoulders, framing her pallid face and frosty blue eyes.
"Hi Woody!" he smiled at the girls eagerness; she giggled at the antic's of the yellow sponge on her TV. "Have you ever watched sponge bob?" she asked merrily, popping a bit of jello in her mouth.
"Yeah he's a riot huh?" she nodded her head vigorously in agreement, sending her tresses flying. He relented, swallowing the lump in his throat, closing his eyes, now was the time to ask her. "Kid, I need to ask you a question, and its okay if you can't answer right now."
He held out the picture for the little girl to inspect. "Mackenzie do you know her?" he saw her eyes grow wide, the picture shook in her tiny hands, she looked up at him softly.
"That's Cory and her Mommy, Christy, Christy and my Mama we're friends, until my Mama died, then it was me, Christy and Cory, then auntie Christy died, then it was Me and Cory... is Cory okay? Is she hurt?" the little girls mind was flying, she felt the room spin violently. Memories of her fried whirling threw her small brain at a mile a minute. She clutched the hospital bed with a sweaty palm. "Did he get her?" she asked in a small voice, shaking viciously. Woody glanced up with fear at the monitor that now beeped furiously, her blood pressure was growing, as she was breathing quicker. Woody stroked her hair back and told her everything was okay, he also asked who he was.
"Who is he Mac? Who is he?" he asked despritely as nurses crowded around him.
"The Voice." She whispered before a nurse led him away.