The sun burns my shoulders, but I don't care . . . I'm just happy to be somewhere other than Boston. I make my way down the boardwalk; I've walked this boardwalk once before. Last time, I was waiting for Herman Redding. I don't know what drew me back here; maybe it was the fact that here was where the search for my mother's killer spun out of control. It began with Herman Redding . . . it ended in suicide. The Malden fiasco didn't answer any questions, it just created more. I wanted to be as far away from those questions as possible.
Two weeks ago, I called Agent Haley. It was something I told myself that I would never do, but I needed a way out of how complicated everything at home was. I don't even know if I can still call Boston home . . . my father isn't there . . . my brother is somewhere in the river . . . Malden is dead . . . and well, I have nothing there anymore. Home implies family; I'm not sure if I have any family left.
Garrett told me to mourn my father and my brother. It seemed silly to mourn for someone who wasn't dead; it seemed sillier to mourn someone that I never knew. I was mourning my entire family. It was hard to do this alone; I always relied on my father to pick up the pieces when I could not. This time, it was just me to survive, but even I, was licking my own wounds.
I'm not sure if Garrett fired me; I'm not sure if he even knows. I told him I was going to California to do a little extra training. He made me promise that I would come back, but I wasn't sure if that was the truth. Haley told me that he could use my expertise. A profiler and a medical examiner; Haley had a case that he said he could use some help on. I just wanted out, but he knew without asking. What's the only reason a one night stand calls the man that dug her out of a coffin . . . escape. I needed to escape into something vaguely comforting and vaguely recognizable. I remember feeling safe around Haley; he didn't let people in. You can't get hurt by what you cannot touch. I told myself that this would become my mantra.
Why did I leave? Why didn't I leave is a better question . . . I left Boston with damage equivalent to a hurricane. Nigel, Peter, and Bug all being reprimanded for protecting me and helping me to protect James. I left them apologies; small notes that wouldn't make what I did better. Garret was left to explain to Renee why Malden was dead . . . who killed him. The answer was obvious this time; well, to me it was obvious that James killed Malden. To Renee, that would probably sound like some bizarre fabrication that could only come from the Cavanaugh family. Woody was suspended and there was a court marshal pending for letting Dad run. I couldn't think off what to say to Garrett and Woody. I didn't want to cause them anymore pain; I would let myself downward spiral, but I wouldn't take them down with me this time.
"Cavanaugh . . . it's good to see you," Haley said. I hadn't noticed that he was standing next to me on the pier.
"Haley . . . when do I start?" I asked. I knew he would appreciate my honesty; like me, he didn't pussy-foot around any situation.
"Tomorrow morning . . . you'll have to be cleared by the government," Haley said.
"How long is that going to take?" I asked. I longed to lose myself in my work . . . anything to forget the pain that I was feeling.
"A day . . . maybe two . . . you don't have any priors do you?" Haley inquired. He smiled an easy smile. It made me feel a little more at home. We both gazed at the ocean . . . the waves gently rolling along the white sand.
"No, I'm clean," I replied.
"What brings you here, Jordan?" Haley asked never making eye contact with me.
"You are the profiler . . . shouldn't you already know?" I challenged him. He did know; from the tone of his voice I knew that he did his fair share of background work.
"I do know . . . I'm just trying to see if you will tell me," Haley replied.
"I need intense work to get my mind off some things in Boston. The more you give me, the better," I replied.
"Well, I do have a case that I'm working on . . . an arsonist. Care to talk about it over dinner?" Haley asked smirking. I hated that smirk.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked trying to smile . . . trying my hardest, but it wouldn't come out.
"My place," he replied. I wasn't too keen on following him home; after all, I am a bad historian. I tend to let history repeat itself.
Boston: Nigel's POV
"Oh . . . Jordan," I sighed as I ready the note taped to my computer screen. Even in her more fragile times, I loved her . . . the more fragile she got, the more I loved her. She said that she was going away for a while, but she thanked me for everything I did for her, Max, and James. It broke my heart; I was afraid that it didn't ring as a good-bye for now, but rather a good-bye forever. She ran again . . . I knew that she would, but I wasn't looking forward to the day. I reasoned that it had to be genetic.
"Nigel, where's Jordan? I need her for a pick-up," Garrett said as he walked into my office. He looked haggard.
"She's gone," I replied. I assumed that she left something for him; he was like family to her.
"What do you mean she's gone?" Garrett asked. His skin flushed white; he knew the answer before he asked the question.
"I don't know, but it doesn't sound like she's coming back anytime soon," I replied. He must not have gotten a note; it was probably in the mail . . . like last time.
"Did you talk to her?" Garrett asked. His voice faltered a little bit; I knew he loved Jordan like a sister. I knew it hurt him to see Jordan hurting.
"No, she's left me a note," I replied as I looked down at the stationary adorned with her sloppy penmanship. I hoped that someday soon I would see it again.
He stormed out of my office; I followed him . . . I knew he was going into Jordan's office. He hurriedly unlocked the door pausing briefly to prepare himself to see an empty office; I was hoping Jordan would still be here sitting behind her desk with a file open, she'd yell at us for not knocking. The only thing on her desk was her guitar and a manila envelope.
Garrett opened the envelope to find the phantom print and another piece of paper. He scrutinized it; it was the deed to the Pogue. Her last act was to give it to Garrett . . . the post-it said 'Keep it warm for me.' Everything else was as she left.
Woody's POV
Today . . . Today was the first day of my suspension. My return to work of dependent on if they found out that I let Max run; that I tried to protect him and Jordan from the monster that Malden was and the monster that Max could be. Dirty money; all he wanted was dirty money to raise his daughter with. Why not . . . he had spent all his money on inpatient treatment for his mentally ill wife. Cops don't make that much money; we sure don't have that good of health care. His wife's treatment had to have tapped him out.
I haven't been sleeping well; my nightmares are haunted by the sight of James freefalling into the river and the look of sheer horror on Jordan's face. I was most disturbed when Jordan looked as if she was contemplating joining James on the ledge. For a minute, I thought we would be looking for two bodies in the river; two people trying to escape from all their demons.
Jordan effectively spliced me out of her life; she knew that she couldn't trust me. I arrested her when she came to me; I don't think she realized that I did that to protect her. She didn't tell me about Malden drugging her; I heard it second hand from Garrett. She only told him because he found her in the alley way behind her apartment. I didn't know whether to feel guilty or be mad at her . . . mad at her for making me the corrupt cop . . . making me keep secrets. I didn't know who's secrets were worse Jordan's or Malden's. I think she knew that the blood was on her hands. Finding her mother's killer did not bring her the solace that she thought it would.
I get off the couch and go to the door of my apartment to get the newspaper. The next few days would be like a Sunday morning . . . lazy, slow. There envelope on the welcome mat covered with her handwriting; I felt my stomach drop. The outside said 'sorry' . . . the inside contained a sizeable check. Jordan once said if I ever needed anything to ask her; during my last suspension, I told her to solve the case soon so I could pay my rent. Well, this time I got what I asked for . . . rent money.
She wasn't going to be on Pearle street anymore. I knew that she was gone; she took her terrors with her. This was her way of protecting me; the rent money was her way of saying good-bye. I knew it wasn't that she didn't care . . . she just didn't know if there were words to describe what she was feeling about herself and me. For the first time in her life, Jordan was a loss of words. She needed to leave until she wasn't lost anymore.