Work; I keep telling myself that tomorrow I will be able to throw myself into my work. Today, I was fingerprinted, my DNA was taken; I talked to psychiatrists and to talk to detectives. Haley vouched for me; He said that I would be good. Haley fed me some stupid line about me being the best in Boston. Best my ass; do good medical examiners hurt everyone around them for a stupid case? I don't think they do.
I lay across the bed of a crappy little hotel located two blocks from the ocean boardwalk. It was dirty and the neighbors sub-par. I could hear over ambitious moaning last night; she was faking. I assumed she was a prostitute. It didn't really matter to me; this wasn't home and no matter how hard I tried, this still wouldn't be home. Boston plagued my thoughts; I wondered what they were doing. I thought about calling; just to say hi, but I dialed Garrett four times, but the cotton in my mouth prevented me from getting any words out. It was better for me to stay away from them anyways. I didn't want to set a new record by emotionally torturing my friends from thousands of miles away.
I pulled off my clothes . . . turned on the shower . . . tried to rinse away all my thoughts . . . make myself clean . . . my thoughts pure. The last time I was pure . . . well, it was when I was under the age of ten. I carried around more baggage . . . more hurtful things than I cared to admit.
I dressed carefully; Haley said to look nice. He said that we could have a fancy supper. I knew what he would be wearing; it would be the standard issue FBI agent uniform of black suit, white, starched dress shirt, and black tie. I wore a skirt; I owned two of these to church twice a year . . . Christmas and Easter. My faith hung by a thread if it was even there anymore.
"Jordan, you should really lock your door," Haley said. I startled; I was in the bathroom putting on the little make-up that I knew how to use . . . powder, mascara and blush. You needed a mother to teach you about the intricacies of make up. Maybe that's why I thought I could never look glamorous like the girls had caught Woody staring at.
"I didn't realize," I replied.
"I knocked for five minutes. Where were you, Jordan?" Haley asked as he watched me from the doorway. I could feel his eyes all over my body. His smile was approving; as if, he didn't believe that I could possibly pull myself together like this.
"Lost . . . I was lost," I replied. It was by far the most honest thing I had said in weeks. I could be honest with Haley even if he had never been honest with me. I could be honest with him because he wouldn't let me in anyways. You can't hurt what you can't touch.
"I know you are . . . someone's trying to locate you via your cell phone GPS system," Haley replied.
"Do you guys watch everything?" I replied . . . it sounded much more curt than I meant for it to.
"When it happens to involve our newest ME, I do. Jordan, what did you run from?" Haley asked. He didn't mince words; he went straight for the marrow in the bone.
"I ran from everything. Haley, don't psychoanalyze me . . . I don't need it right now," I gathered my purse and stood by the door.
"Jordan . . . I don't need to analyze . . . you read just like a book," Haley said as we walked out of my room. I locked the door. Haley nodded approvingly.
"Tell me about your case," I demanded as we got into his black Crowne Victoria . . . the same as Woody drove.
"Jordan, are you ready to commit to this case? It needs your full attention . . . I need you to work with me . . . not against me," Haley said.
"Haley, I have no where else to be, but here," I replied.
"I have five charred buildings . . . the same incendiary device . . . and letters from whoever did this. He likes to call himself the 'Firestarter.' Well, my friend has killed five children," Haley said.
"What do they all have in common?" I asked. Haley always had something up his sleeve.
"Nothing . . . thus far they have nothing in common," Haley replied, "Jordan, I need you to dig for me . . . you just call me when you want to violate search warrants and do some breaking and entering."
"Haley, you have my full attention," I replied as Haley began to drive down streets lined with multimillion dollar hotels. All I could think about was how this wasn't Boston.
Boston: Woody's POV
"Nigel, isn't there anything else you can do?" I asked pacing the room. Nigel tried to work his magic on the computer for well over three days. Her cell phone was the closest we came to finding out where she might be, but the database didn't show her as a valid user. It was as if she disappeared. I called her cell phone five times . . . it rang . . . I got her voice mail. Invalid user my ass.
I wondered what the hell was going on. Even with her GPS disabled, the phone company should at least have record of her having a cell phone. Something was wrong with this picture; Jordan was being deleted. I knew she ran, but I didn't think that she would fall off the earth.
"Woodrow, Jordan is gone . . . the ball is in her court. She always comes home . . . she just needs time to do whatever it is that clears her head," Nigel said.
"How long was she gone last time?" I asked. Four days seemed like a long time; I carried that stupid check with me each day. I was hoping she would be in her office, so I could return it.
"Two years," Nigel replied. Wow, I didn't think she would be gone that long. So much can change in two years; so much had already changed in two days.
"Is Dr. Macy available?" a tall, dark-suited man asked. He was FBI; his mannerisms and dress confirmed that.
"He's in his office . . . down the hall to the right," Nigel replied, "Aren't you . . . the profiler . . . the Digger case?"
"Agent Haley," he replied. I had heard stories about the digger case, but it wasn't something regularly talked about in the office. It was too personal; it had hurt Jordan badly. She refused to speak of it; along with the topic of her mother, Digger was a taboo that I never dared to bring up.
"Where is she? Do you know where she is?" Nigel asked. I knew he assumed the worst; I did too. It wasn't every day that the FBI was present in the Boston ME office.
"She's with me," he replied, "Jordan is working on some federal cases. She's classified, so you can stop trying to locate her."
"I want to see her," Nigel demanded.
"You can't . . . she's not here. I just need to collect a few things from her office . . . a few personal things she has requested," Haley said as he disappeared out of the room down the hall; I followed him.
"Is she okay?" I asked. I struggled to keep up with his rapid pace. He didn't bother to look back at me; I didn't have any authority to make him. I was in street clothes; my court marshal wasn't until this afternoon. NO badge, no gun; I was a shell of a cop.
"Detective Hoyt . . . I suggest you worry about your own problems before you worry about Jordan," Haley replied curtly.
"Is Jordan okay?" I asked again this time raising my voice to somewhere between a yelling and a forceful tone.
"Jordan is doing fine . . . she even seems happy," Haley replied. I tried to catch up with him pushing Peter out of my way to get to Haley. Haley knew that this was the most hurtful thing he could possibly say to me. He didn't seem to care. Jordan must have said something about our tangled relationship, if you could even call it a relationship anymore.
"Where is she?" I demanded.
"That's classified, Detective Hoyt," Haley replied.
"I need to know where she is," I yelled at him. I needed to know that she was safe; I needed to know that she wasn't still reeling in the downward spiral she left in.
"Hoyt, don't push . . . don't probe . . . Jordan doesn't belong to Boston anymore," Haley said as he pushed me up against the wall knocking the wind out of me and catching me by surprise, "I have an appointment with Dr. Macy . . . you should be headed to your court marshal . . . you wouldn't want to be late."
He released me and walked away. I didn't follow this time.
"What the hell is going on?" Peter asked.
"Jordan . . . Jordan is with him," I said breathlessly.
"Who is he?" Peter asked. Things concerning Jordan didn't affect him the way it did everyone; sometimes, I thought he was lucky to be so far removed from the situation.
"I hope Nigel knows," I replied turning on my heel. Nigel was already furiously typing on his computer.
"He's not on any out-bound flight. I'm trying to figure out where the FBI has him stationed . . . I'm not having much luck," Nigel said.
"Who is Agent Haley? I've heard about Digger, but . . .," I replied trailing off.
"Profiler for the FBI . . . he's obsessed and hard-headed like Jordan," Nigel replied.
"There is the possibility that Jordan went with him willingly," Peter replied.
"Jordan and Haley . . . there was more than a little animosity between them," Nigel replied.
"There is more than a little animosity between Jordan and everyone," Peter replied as he left the room.
"I can't find him . . . he's classified," Nigel said. I had never heard him admit defeat. How could she be happy; Haley's words confused me. How can two people that don't exist on paper possibly be happy?
Haley's POV
I felt bad for the kid; Hoyt looked like he was just a kid . . . too young for the mess that Jordan had made. I offered to let her go to Boston to collect some items from her office that she hastily left behind a week ago. She refused; Jordan claimed that she had hurt everyone there so bad that she couldn't even face them. I believed her; I believed her even more when I saw the computer guy and Hoyt. She had only been gone a week, but they had already filed missing persons reports, started tracing her telephone calls, and trying to locate her with the GPS device in her cell phone. It seemed like a lot of work to find someone that didn't want to be found. I had to make sure that the FBI classified her work; I asked them to make her disappear much like I disappeared after my ex-wife murdered my baby.
They both looked miserable; before I left Jordan said to be kind to them, especially Hoyt. It was hard to be kind to them; I didn't want them to know why she was running, but part of me wanted to scream at them that she ran to protect them from herself. That's why I ran; it was the only way to stop hurting the people that I loved the most. Only a unique few understand it . . . they are the lost . . . the people who have nothing . . . the people who have isolated themselves from the world . . . the people that run to try to find comfort in something that only seems recognizable at a distance. Jordan and I were the lost.
Jordan didn't talk much; she spent her first two days on the job reviewing charts from the previous autopsies. I watched her work; it was meticulous and detail-oriented. Her work was an art in itself. It was full of a masterful beauty that I had so rarely seen.
We had supper together every evening; it was better than being isolated. I asked Jordan what had happened to make her run from the place she nearly gave her life to protect. She shut down; I could see the demons in her eyes. It was the same way I shut down when confronted about my son, a son that I would never know.
"Dr. Macy," I said as I walked into his office.
"Agent Haley, is Jordan in trouble?" Dr. Macy asked. I closed the office door; I was pretty sure Hoyt was listening somewhere . . . somehow.
"No, she's not in trouble. Jordan has requested a few personal items . . . I would like to return them to her," I replied. He looked so different from the man that helped me dig Jordan out of a coffin; he looked so much more tired.
"Where is she?" Dr. Macy demanded much more weakly than Hoyt just had.
"She's safe . . . she's working. Jordan and I . . . I'll return her in a few weeks," I replied ineptly as I tried to search for the right words.
"What does Jordan need?" Dr. Macy asked looking a little more relieved.
"Her guitar, her laptop, her patriots blanket . . . and the pictures on her shelf," I said reading the list; it was nearly impossible to read her handwriting.
"I'll open her office," Dr. Macy. Her office was untouched; garbage still in the garbage can and files still on the corner of her desk. I could see the computer guy watching me as I quickly gathered her things . . . the photographs startled me . . . they all were so happy . . . her and Hoyt . . . her and the computer guy . . . and her and all her co-workers . . . they looked like haunting memories.
"Could you please give her this?" Dr. Macy said as he handed me an envelope . . . sealed.
"Sure. Thank you for her cooperation," I replied trying to make the best of the discomfort I was feeling; I felt like I was uprooting a family . . . taking someone away.
"Tell Jordan . . . tell her that I love her . . . tell her to be careful," Dr. Macy said, "Tell her that she needs to come home . . . tell her that this morning we were able to bring James home. Tell her that Woody . . . he's trying to find her."
That . . . that was enormous. The little reading I did about Jordan, a few newspaper articles, I knew who James was. I wasn't sure what Jordan would do.
"I'll do that. Don't worry about Jordan . . . she'll be kept safe," I replied. I exited her office walking a quickly as possible trying to leave the damage and pain that I had just inflicted behind me.