Chapter Two

Woody sighed and got up from his easy chair in front of the television. He had only been half-watching it anyway. After he had left the hospital, he had been ordered home…to change clothes and take the rest of the afternoon off. Most of the day had already slipped by anyway. "And if I were you, I'd get the prescription filled," said his chief. "If you get to hurting really badly tonight, you'll need it to rest."

Reluctantly, Woody had stopped by the drug store and had it taken care of, Jordan's warnings still ringing in his ears, Be careful, Woody…that's some strong stuff. The pharmacist had agreed. "Watch how you take this, Mr. Hoyt…especially with your other current prescription. You could find yourself in serious trouble."

"No worries," he had replied, picking up a bottle of extra strength pain reliever to go along with his prescription purchase. Pointing at the over-the-counter medication, he said, "I probably won't even need the Oxycotin. Usually this does the trick."

The pharmacist had nodded, but once again warned, "Oxycotin and Prozac don't exactly mix well together. I'm surprised the doctor prescribed this for you." Woody shrugged and paid for his purchases.

Prozac. No one but this pharmacist and his regular doctor knew he was on that drug. Not his chief. Not anyone in the Boston Police Department. Not Jordan. Not the doctor in the emergency room. And neither had Devan. He had been prescribed that medication years ago….before he left Wisconsin…when his life began its downward spiral. It helped him cope…it helped him feel not so depressed…it helped pretend to be normal – whatever the hell that was.

And he couldn't imagine his life without it. He knew there were risks about mixing the two drugs…serious risks. But right now the pain in his heart and the pain in his chest were bothering him too bad for him to be too concerned about it. His chest hurt…the extra strength pain reliever did nothing but take the edge off the soreness radiating through his body. He needed to get some sleep tonight so he could work tomorrow. The pain in his heart…that may be harder to get rid of, if he ever could. What happened in Wisconsin…what had happened in Boston…Jordan…Devan – that had been almost too much for him to bear. Jordan kept pushing him away…until he realized he couldn't love her anymore because she wouldn't return the affection. Any one way relationship was hard. A relationship with her was impossible.

Then Devan arrived at the morgue – a ray of blonde sunshine in his dreary life. She was enthusiastic, sweet, pretty, and most important…emotionally available for him. She laughed at his jokes, rubbed his neck when it hurt, and listened to him. He held her hand when they went to horror movies. He was always amazed that someone who regularly took apart dead bodies would be frightened at a scary movie. He was just beginning to really have hopes for them when her plane crashed into that mountain.

He remembered too well what he felt when he pulled that manifest off the fax machine and her name was one it. He remembered Garret answering her cell phone when Jordan had called it, trying to get in touch with her to find out where she was at. He remembered the feeling of sheer hopelessness that had overtaken him as he surveyed the crash site and realized he'd never find her…or what was left of her. He remembered the depression that welled up in him when he knew he'd never get Chinese take out for them again on Sunday nights when she worked at the morgue. He was over thirty years old now… and hadn't had a serious relationship with a woman since Annie, years ago, back in Wisconsin. He had been really praying that Devan would be the one.

If he could have only gotten her whisky-colored eyes out of his mind. Jordan. Damn her. She pushed him away so many times…too many. So when she tried to come to him after Devan's death, he had done the same thing to her…told her to leave him the hell alone…let him mourn in peace. She had changed…matured….was a warmer person, but he still didn't trust her. And today, when she tried to hug him…comfort him again, he did his best to make sure she got the picture. It's over…I'm not chasing you anymore…I don't have the energy…or the desire. The best thing you can do is go away. I'll try forget you…you forget me.

So the pain he was dealing with was two-fold. Maybe the Oxycotin would allow him one good night's rest…so he could face tomorrow feeling better – at least physically. He had taken his Prozac early that morning. If he didn't take one tonight and only took the pain medication, maybe he'd be okay.

And if he wasn't, would anyone really care?

He opened the pill bottle and stared at the white capsules for a full minute before fishing one out and swallowing it.

Something wasn't quite right. She didn't know what, she couldn't put her finger on it, but something wasn't quite normal with Woody. He wasn't acting the same. The few times they had worked together after he was shot, he didn't seem like his old self.

Not that he really had in a long time. After Devan's death, he had seriously withdrawn from the world…and her even more so. He had told her to let him mourn in peace. And given their history together, she had to respect that. But she had hoped, after he had time to grieve Devan and whatever they had together, he would return to somewhat being his old self….her Farm Boy.

But he hadn't. And now, three months after the shooting, six months after Devan's memorial service, he was no closer to being the Woody she once knew than before. She had thought that maybe it was just her – just her imagination. However, after working with him today, she knew it wasn't. He was acting odd….too odd. She knew grief did serious things to people, but the far away look in his blue eyesthis morningand his absent-mindedness had her worried. He wasn't coping well at all.

And she wasn't sure how to help him. This was far beyond her reach of expertise. Even Lily said she didn't know how to help him anymore…and Lily was a grief counselor. Something in Jordan's gut – whether it was just plain woman's intuition or experience as a medical examiner – told her there was more to this than just Devan. Determinedly, she picked up the phone and dialed his number. His receptionist picked up. "Hello," Jordan said, "Can I speak to Dr. Stiles? It's an emergency. Yes…I'll hold."