***Thanks for commenting...and thanks for reading...here's chapter 19!***
((Right after chapter 18.))
Garret's house, 3pm
~~Garret~~
"Dammit to hell! Don't dig THAT deep!"
"You want them out, or you want to be labeled as having one too many body piercings?"
I glared up at Renee. "I want them out, but you don't need to dig the tweezers in that deep. Please."
"Alright, you big baby, now just hold still...this one's in here good." She grabbed my arm and pinned it to the table, and proceeded to yank a good sized chunk of glass out of my arm. "There, that didn't hurt, now did it?"
"Yes. It did hurt. Just like the other ones you've taken out." I looked around my kitchen and sighed. "Top cabinet, on the left, there's a bottle of scotch. Get it."
"You're working." She walked towards the cabinets.
"I'm getting glass ripped out of my arm, without any painkillers. I don't care."
"Fine, but when you go back to the morgue smelling like I took you out to bar, it's not gonna get pinned on me." She sat back across from me, and filled two shotglasses full of scotch.
"You gonna give it to me?" I looked up at the glass sitting across the table.
"Depends how you want it." She grabbed my glass and slowly pushed it towards me.
"I'll take it however I can, I'll leave that up to you." I reached for the glass, but she pulled it away from my grasp.
"Not...yet. One more chunk." She picked up the tweezers and grinned.
"You make me so dependent." I raised my arm towards her. "Take your pick."
"A man who gives his choice to a woman is often hurt in the end." She grabbed ahold of a piece of glass. "Now, hold still."
The park, same time
~~Jordan~~ After we ran Rudy to near death in the park, Nigel and I sat under this big tree and talked for at least an hour, just about life, how I was doing, and about the case that Nigel was working on.
"So, what did you find on that cigar you brought in a few weeks ago?"
"Oh, that." He paused. "The test came back, with the DNA markers showing that whoever's DNA was on it, besides the kid's, was a paternal match."
"So the kid's dad?" I looked up at him.
"Yeah, the only thing I don't get is, why was the kid's DNA on the cigar in the first place?"
"Maybe it was the kid's blood?"
"No signs of blood found anywhere on the body. No punctures, no scratches, no nothing." He rolled over onto his stomach and started playing with a blade of grass.
"Saliva maybe?"
"Possibly, but I did a scope into his lungs, no sign of recent smoke inhalation. And tobacco levels were so low I couldn't get a good reading."
I thought for a minute, then I got an idea. "Nigel?"
"Yeah?"
"You ever fight with your dad?"
He grinned. "All the bloody time! We were always at it, it seems."
I shook my head. "No Nigel. I mean FIGHT with your dad. Like fists and kicking..."
He sat quiet for a minute, then looked up at me. "Yeah, a couple of times."
I saw him look down at the grass again, and I sighed. "And?"
"And what Jordan?"
"What happened? Like what did you each do?"
"Well, it was different each time, but always the same...kinda funny in a way." He slowly sat up and looked at me. "We'd always start off yelling at each other for some stupid reason...he'd usually get mad about something I didn't do, or something I forgot...the little things."
I waited patiently, thinking to myself: I've done that before...
"Then, if he'd had a few too many, he'd start wailing on me...from far away first, the occasional shove or belt smack...you know...he never really meant to hurt me, just to put me back in my place."
"Did you ever fight back?"
He shook his head. "Not usually, it would just make him even madder. He never did it while mum was alive...it all started after she died."
"Anything worse ever happen?" I leaned back and rested against the tree trunk.
"There were...two times, that I can remember, that I actually started fighting back on him. Once was after he hit me across the back with a switch...I was walking away from him and he took a shot at me, and I wasn't going to let that go too easily."
"What did you do?"
"I remember whipping around and lunging at him...I got a few good knocks on him...he started screaming about sending me off to an institution, the military, and then he started slugging back. He got a good one right here..." He traced his finger along his eye socket. "Gave me a shiner for two weeks."
"That all?"
"That was the only time I've ever seen him cry."
"He was crying?" I looked up at him. "Was he too drunk to control himself?"
"Nah, he knew what he was doing. As soon as he saw me hit the ground...he stopped. Like he had a double personality almost. He started freaking out...crying...I just got up and walked out of the house."
"Oh. I see now. What about the other time you fought?"
"He was drunk...he'd been out all night partying, sleeping around...it was the one year anniversary of me mum's death..." He sighed. "I got mad at him because he brought some tramp home...so he started yelling about how I needed to 'keep out of his business' and 'go to hell', the usual."
"Why'd you fight?" I paused. "I mean, why did you FIGHT?"
"I told him he was a drunken ass...and that he had no respect for mum...and all he could do was sneer at me and tell me that..."
I glanced up at him, wondering why he had stopped. "Nigel?"
"What?"
I noticed that his eyes were watering ever so slightly. "What did he say?"
"That he was glad she was dead, because she was nothing but a tight whore." He paused. "I hit him."
"He deserved it!" I stared at him in shock. "He said that about your mom?"
"Yes. I hit him, and we both went at it. I gave that son of a bitch two black eyes, and a few bruised ribs, I reckon."
"And what'd you get?"
"Bloody nose, fat lip, black eye, and the nerve to finally leave him."
She raised an eyebrow. "Leave him?"
"I joined the military the next day. I was nineteen, confused, and very proud of my battle scars."
"You left and joined the military?"
"Yep. Why Jordan, you know that..." He smiled at me.
"But I didn't know why until now." She smiled back. "But one last question."
"What?"
"When you were fighting, did you ever spit in his face?"
"A few times...yes...why does that matter though?"
"Saliva, on the dad's cigar. Kid was trying to fight him off." I saw the lightbulbs in Nigel's head go on.
"Jordan...I love you. This proves it."
"Why?"
"Evidence of bruising on the upper arms of the body. He was getting held up, and he spit on the bastard."
"Back to the morgue?" I stood up and offered him my hand.
"Back to the morgue." He pulled himself to his feet, and smiled at me. "Thanks Luv."
"Hey, it was you who figured it out. That fighting did come in handy."
"I guess it did."
TO BE CONTINUED:
***Thanks for reading, sorry if its short, but this is how it came out.***
((Right after chapter 18.))
Garret's house, 3pm
~~Garret~~
"Dammit to hell! Don't dig THAT deep!"
"You want them out, or you want to be labeled as having one too many body piercings?"
I glared up at Renee. "I want them out, but you don't need to dig the tweezers in that deep. Please."
"Alright, you big baby, now just hold still...this one's in here good." She grabbed my arm and pinned it to the table, and proceeded to yank a good sized chunk of glass out of my arm. "There, that didn't hurt, now did it?"
"Yes. It did hurt. Just like the other ones you've taken out." I looked around my kitchen and sighed. "Top cabinet, on the left, there's a bottle of scotch. Get it."
"You're working." She walked towards the cabinets.
"I'm getting glass ripped out of my arm, without any painkillers. I don't care."
"Fine, but when you go back to the morgue smelling like I took you out to bar, it's not gonna get pinned on me." She sat back across from me, and filled two shotglasses full of scotch.
"You gonna give it to me?" I looked up at the glass sitting across the table.
"Depends how you want it." She grabbed my glass and slowly pushed it towards me.
"I'll take it however I can, I'll leave that up to you." I reached for the glass, but she pulled it away from my grasp.
"Not...yet. One more chunk." She picked up the tweezers and grinned.
"You make me so dependent." I raised my arm towards her. "Take your pick."
"A man who gives his choice to a woman is often hurt in the end." She grabbed ahold of a piece of glass. "Now, hold still."
The park, same time
~~Jordan~~ After we ran Rudy to near death in the park, Nigel and I sat under this big tree and talked for at least an hour, just about life, how I was doing, and about the case that Nigel was working on.
"So, what did you find on that cigar you brought in a few weeks ago?"
"Oh, that." He paused. "The test came back, with the DNA markers showing that whoever's DNA was on it, besides the kid's, was a paternal match."
"So the kid's dad?" I looked up at him.
"Yeah, the only thing I don't get is, why was the kid's DNA on the cigar in the first place?"
"Maybe it was the kid's blood?"
"No signs of blood found anywhere on the body. No punctures, no scratches, no nothing." He rolled over onto his stomach and started playing with a blade of grass.
"Saliva maybe?"
"Possibly, but I did a scope into his lungs, no sign of recent smoke inhalation. And tobacco levels were so low I couldn't get a good reading."
I thought for a minute, then I got an idea. "Nigel?"
"Yeah?"
"You ever fight with your dad?"
He grinned. "All the bloody time! We were always at it, it seems."
I shook my head. "No Nigel. I mean FIGHT with your dad. Like fists and kicking..."
He sat quiet for a minute, then looked up at me. "Yeah, a couple of times."
I saw him look down at the grass again, and I sighed. "And?"
"And what Jordan?"
"What happened? Like what did you each do?"
"Well, it was different each time, but always the same...kinda funny in a way." He slowly sat up and looked at me. "We'd always start off yelling at each other for some stupid reason...he'd usually get mad about something I didn't do, or something I forgot...the little things."
I waited patiently, thinking to myself: I've done that before...
"Then, if he'd had a few too many, he'd start wailing on me...from far away first, the occasional shove or belt smack...you know...he never really meant to hurt me, just to put me back in my place."
"Did you ever fight back?"
He shook his head. "Not usually, it would just make him even madder. He never did it while mum was alive...it all started after she died."
"Anything worse ever happen?" I leaned back and rested against the tree trunk.
"There were...two times, that I can remember, that I actually started fighting back on him. Once was after he hit me across the back with a switch...I was walking away from him and he took a shot at me, and I wasn't going to let that go too easily."
"What did you do?"
"I remember whipping around and lunging at him...I got a few good knocks on him...he started screaming about sending me off to an institution, the military, and then he started slugging back. He got a good one right here..." He traced his finger along his eye socket. "Gave me a shiner for two weeks."
"That all?"
"That was the only time I've ever seen him cry."
"He was crying?" I looked up at him. "Was he too drunk to control himself?"
"Nah, he knew what he was doing. As soon as he saw me hit the ground...he stopped. Like he had a double personality almost. He started freaking out...crying...I just got up and walked out of the house."
"Oh. I see now. What about the other time you fought?"
"He was drunk...he'd been out all night partying, sleeping around...it was the one year anniversary of me mum's death..." He sighed. "I got mad at him because he brought some tramp home...so he started yelling about how I needed to 'keep out of his business' and 'go to hell', the usual."
"Why'd you fight?" I paused. "I mean, why did you FIGHT?"
"I told him he was a drunken ass...and that he had no respect for mum...and all he could do was sneer at me and tell me that..."
I glanced up at him, wondering why he had stopped. "Nigel?"
"What?"
I noticed that his eyes were watering ever so slightly. "What did he say?"
"That he was glad she was dead, because she was nothing but a tight whore." He paused. "I hit him."
"He deserved it!" I stared at him in shock. "He said that about your mom?"
"Yes. I hit him, and we both went at it. I gave that son of a bitch two black eyes, and a few bruised ribs, I reckon."
"And what'd you get?"
"Bloody nose, fat lip, black eye, and the nerve to finally leave him."
She raised an eyebrow. "Leave him?"
"I joined the military the next day. I was nineteen, confused, and very proud of my battle scars."
"You left and joined the military?"
"Yep. Why Jordan, you know that..." He smiled at me.
"But I didn't know why until now." She smiled back. "But one last question."
"What?"
"When you were fighting, did you ever spit in his face?"
"A few times...yes...why does that matter though?"
"Saliva, on the dad's cigar. Kid was trying to fight him off." I saw the lightbulbs in Nigel's head go on.
"Jordan...I love you. This proves it."
"Why?"
"Evidence of bruising on the upper arms of the body. He was getting held up, and he spit on the bastard."
"Back to the morgue?" I stood up and offered him my hand.
"Back to the morgue." He pulled himself to his feet, and smiled at me. "Thanks Luv."
"Hey, it was you who figured it out. That fighting did come in handy."
"I guess it did."
TO BE CONTINUED:
***Thanks for reading, sorry if its short, but this is how it came out.***