Chapter 6: Half way between Heaven and Hell

Note: I love this chapter, I have no idea why, I just love it.

"Oh Great," Oliver rubbed his thick hair with a shaky hand, closing his dishwater colored eyes. "This can't be good for my ulcers…" he commented. Jordan looked around, people weren't as tense as they were mere moments ago, something about Ollie didn't strike as a killer, although Jordan knew that things weren't always what they seemed. Woody was living testimony to that, she had yet to find out what was in his past that kept bubbling up in his eyes, something lifeless and dull, something he had been hiding.

"Uh, Boss, what are we suppose to do now?" Sam asked, swallowing hard, a pained look on his face. Woody looked around nervously, his icy blue eyes darting around the tiny room, Jordan knew he was assessing the situation, she watched him a million times doing the exact same thing at crime scenes. He would walk the perimeter, making sure any evidence was handled, witnesses and victims were treated with respect. Jordan always knew that was what made him a fantastic cop, the simple act of caring, it was a great gift, she had seen many of callous cold cops, Woody wasn't one of them, each case seemed to hit a nerve. She always guessed that was what made them such a great team, or as Garret had once affectionately dubbed them "Batman and Robin, without the stupid tights."

Suddenly a rush of emotions had come over her all she could do was blink. What had happened to him? How could he seem so distant? She noticed the scar once again, her hands itched to touch it, but she kept them out in front of her firmly, holding fast. His eyes seemed like wells, deep and stony in a way, yet she knew there was more.

Woody could tell that Jordan was looking at him, he took in a deep breath, Oliver didn't seem the type to kill for the fun of it, nor did he look like a criminal mastermind, in some way Woody wanted to just tackle him and get this charade over with, the sensible, reliable part of his brain had already over assessed and over analyzed this. It wasn't smart, especially with thing one and two over there with shotguns… his father's murder played out in his head, to his alarm.

That morning seemed like a bad movie, the officer knocking on his screen door, having to tell Cal that their father was never coming home. How some 18 year old punk ended a life for eighty four dollars. Some part of Woody was glad, never again would he sit in his room nursing wounds from an abusive father that never knew when to stop, even after his son lay crumpled on the floor, beaten almost to death.

Woody cried when his dad died sure, but another part of him absolutely hated him, with a dark hatred that seemed to stem only from an abused child. He had gone through a lot, he was never allowed to grieve for his mother. To his father, Woody and Cal reminded him too much of his wife, their mother, and he used to try and beat her out of them.

Woody had vowed never to feel that helpless again, he would never be labeled weak… though often his fathers words rang in his head, pushing him farther, working him harder, and in the end drove him beyond the breaking point many times.

Jordan had that deer-caught-in-the-headlights-look, the last time he saw that look was when her brother was standing on that ledge looking over the murky Charles River, begging her to join him. Their eyes met for a brief second… then she looked away.

Woody had always regretted the way he went, she was standing there the whole time, but then nothing would have kept him in Boston, nothing, not even her… he needed to go somewhere familiar and warm… but when he got there, he relized it wasn't home anymore, he realized that it was different, the people were cold to him, unapologetic and sick-like. He couldn't stay, nothing was what it seemed.

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Seven years earlier…

Woody closed the phone booths flimsy door in a attempt to drown out the noise of the highway and factory not to far away. Brushing a hand threw his dirty hair, sending a slew of dust into the oily air.

"Cal… Cal, pick up baby brother." He demanded, jamming the phone in-between his shoulder and ear. "Well, I just wanted to say that I'm home for a little while I catch my breath for a bit, then I'll go back to Boston… maybe transfer to New York or Philly…" he snapped himself out of his reverie in an instant. "I'll stop by later to see if your home… Got to go, bye." Slamming the phone down on the cradle and for a moment, imagined himself in Boston, he was five minutes from Kewaunee… Somehow he felt farther away from where he was suppose to be, not closer.

Opening the door and allowing the once annoying sounds of the nearby freeway to fill his senses. The rest stop was littered with trash, cars and pavement. The smell of oil and metal was redolent in the air from the nearby factories, totally drowning out the smell of the wide river not far off. Climbing into his "beater car" as Jordan liked to call it.. drove away, feeling like he left a piece of his heart in Boston.

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Jordan rubbed her eyes, The negotiator should be coming soon, she thought to herself with growing dismay, it was taking them far to long to get things going. The little girl sat not to far off, she didn't seem the slightest bit scared, she just sat looking out the window at the blue and red lights outside with a strange, calm trance.

Jordan looked over at Woody, he sat with his back to her now, she could tell he felt helpless at the situation, unable to do anything. She inched toward him, placing a soft hand on his shoulder, she could feel him tense under her touch.

"Woody…" she whispered, like an olive branch she was holding out to him. He shook her off, she could tell he was in pain so she swallowed her anger and made one more attempt. "Woody" she repeated, he whirled around.

"I cannot believe you left my service revolver in the car!" he said in a loud, angry whisper.

Something in Jordan snapped, "Are you implying that this was my fault?" she asked appalled to death by the tone in his voice. Like on cue, as before, the obstinacies grew louder, most of the time they didn't know what the other was even saying. The other hostages groaned, suddenly Oliver was in-between them.

"DEAR GOD WILL YOU TWO SHUT THE HELL UP, I FEEL LIKE I KIDNAPPED MY PARENTS!!!!" he shouted in his thick Boston accent, rubbing his head methodically, "Alright, I want you by the liquor over there…" he said to Woody, "And I want you over by the frozen fish sticks, go now, before I loose my temper!!" Jordan and Woody shared a hateful glance.

"Over actor." Jordan said spitefully

"Hag." He retorted,

"Last word freak." She snapped.

"NOW!!!" Oliver demanded, pointing them each to their separate corners.

"What, he gets booze and I get fish sticks?" Jordan asked quizzically, in a vain attempt to lighten the mood, Diane, the housewife laughed bitterly, like she found something ironic or amusing, everyone glared at her with puzzled faces. She saw them staring and said bitterly.

"My husband left me this morning." Suddenly the phone rang. startling everyone.

"Hello?" Oliver said after picking up the receiver with trepidation.

"Hi Sir, this is Shiloh Tanner, I'm with the Boston Police department… I'm here to negotiate the release of some hostages…"