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Part Seven: Someone to Watch Over Me
Jordan lay wide awake, staring at the cracked ceiling, listening to the ceaseless traffic beneath her window. Though the weather was cooler now, living five floors up still made her apartment (right, more like a cubicle, she reminded herself) stuffy, so the windows were open. Sounds of fighting and making up, of sadness and joy, of life and death even invaded the very air around her. She breathed slowly, trying to push away her father's words, his belief that everyone would be happier to have her alive than angrier at her supposed death. The harder she pushed, the harder the idea pushed back until tears ran down her face and her heart seemed permanently clenched in her chest.
She'd never expected to miss it all so much. At first it had seemed like such a release. No more death. No more violence. No more grisly examples of all the ways in which the human race finds to kill each other. No more meetings, even if Garret never chided her for her lateness. No more averted eyes when she walked by and someone had just mentioned Woody's name. No more eddies of whispered conversations, speculations about when and how far she'd flee. No more Jordan Cavanaugh, wild, crazy, obsessive, pain-in-the-ass-at-times, afraid-to-commit. No more Max. No more Emily. Most of all, no more Woody Hoyt.
That feeling had lasted until the first ambulance had rolled down the street beneath her window and every instinct in her being had screamed to follow it, to find out if she could do anything. Because now there was no more justice, no more truth, no more making a difference. No one knew her or her history. N one knew her. Period. End of story. She'd come to realize that whatever story her life was supposed to tell, it hadn't been finished. She had cut it short. She had walked away. She hated herself for it.
And then the Tell killings had started. Despite the obvious risks, Jordan had jumped into her own version of an investigation. When she wasn't tending bar in the little place around the corner, she was in the library, reading the papers or looking up information on their computers. Her trained coroner's mind had looked for the details the printed and broadcast reports left out because they told her what she was looking for. It had been slow and painstaking, but eventually she'd begun to suspect Taxine poisoning. Sneaking into the morgue had been an almost unacceptable risk, and only the fact that it was a temporary building had enabled her to leave at all.
When it was clear the yew tree lead hadn't panned out, she'd let her mind drift until a couple nights ago a customer had asked for some unusual drink. Another patron had laughed loudly and told the girl - who looked to be about twenty-five and 'slumming' - to be careful - if she got the wrong mix, it could kill her. So Jordan had rushed out the morning with a flimsy cover story, but she'd managed to talk to enough people who knew the victims to establish her link. She'd intended to send Nigel the e-mail, visit her mother's grave (and her own empty one) one final time and then, leave. She'd realized she'd never get on with things if she stayed in Boston. Leaving might feel like a hemorrhage at first, but it wouldn't kill her in the end. The slow blood-letting of living so close to all of them would however.
"Damn you, Max," she muttered in the darkness.
XXXXX
Max Cavanaugh spent an equally sleepless night. He drank beer steadily without feeling it in the slightest. Every so often he would take out Emily's locket, open it and run a finger over the photo. So much blood, so much guilt. Jordan's life had been steeped in it. He sighed. Maybe it was best she stay "dead." Maybe her life in Boston was too much of a web she could never escape. He resolved not to push her as he signaled the barman at the "quaint" Irish pub for another pint.
At home his phone rang endlessly.
XXXXX
Nigel paced. He'd called Max every ten minutes for the last five hours. He dialed Garret's number. Then stopped.
Nigel was certain that Max knew. He was certain that Max had talked with her, that Max knew why she'd done it. He also felt like an idiot. He had realized, when he saw the video, why Jordan's father had come around asking about that damn locket. They all should have seen it immediately. The gold untouched by the flames but every other trace of Jordan's existence gone? They'd been misled by grief and it was exactly what she'd wanted. Nigel wondered if Mac had printed the locket himself that day. Probably so. And the Brit was willing to bet it had been wiped clean.
"Jordan, Jordan, Jordan," he whispered. "Why?" He was angry with her, but deeper than that was a tremendous well of sadness that somehow she had felt that being dead to them was a good choice. He knew, given the timing of her now-not-so-mysterious help that she was still in Boston. But he worried. Once they caught the Tell killer, would she
leave? Maybe she'd only stayed because she didn't know where to go and then the killings had started and...
He thudded a fist into his door. He would drive himself crazy if he thought that way. Jordan was alive. Jordan was in Boston. Max was not answering his phone. Nigel took a deep breath. Time to call the only other person outside the morgue who would want to find her as much as he did. Even if that person couldn't admit it yet.
XXXXX
Tammy swirled the wine in her glass, but she didn't drink. She watched Woody eat instead. He'd lost a few pounds since the Tell case. The weight loss had accelerated after the dreams had begun. He thought he'd concealed them from her, that because he no longer woke up shouting Jordan Cavanaugh's name, she believed they'd gone. He didn't know he thrashed about, that he spoke to her before whatever end came about. Tammy never asked. The haunted, aching look in the depths of his blue eyes let her know it was not something he wanted to face.
As a psychiatrist, she knew she should make him talk about it, work out his guilt or whatever it was, move on in reality, as he'd said he had. As a woman, she knew it was hopeless. He loved Jordan. A part of him always would. She'd known that in the beginning. What she hadn't realized was how big that part was. He would never intentionally hurt her, but he could never feel for her the way he'd felt about the dark-haired M.E. He'd never love anyone that way again, though he might be able to find comfort with another woman. She just wasn't the one. She couldn't settle for that and if she tried, it would end badly for them.
She cleared her throat. "I - um - I got an interesting phone call today."
Woody took a sip of his wine, smiling at her. "Yeah?"
She nodded. "An old professor of mine at Stanford has an opening in his department. He wants me to take it." That much was true, though the offer had come several months ago and she'd turned it down.
Woody nodded slowly. "Do you want it?"
She put on her brightest smile. "Yeah, I do. I really do. You know me, I'm a California girl, never have adjusted to these Boston winters. And," she sighed. "I really would rather teach. I'm better at that."
Woody chided her, telling her she was obviously pretty good with some of her patients.
She blushed and shook her head. "We could... stay in touch? Run up the frequent flier miles. Maybe you'd want to move out there...?"
Woody nodded. "Yeah, yeah, of course. I mean, stay in touch, visit, see what happens." He took another sip of wine.
"When would this start?"
She twisted her napkin in her lap. "Well, the thing is, the vacancy is really sudden. I'm leaving from Logan tonight."
Woody's jaw dropped.
"I'm sorry, Woody. Really. But this is such an opportunity! I'm going to keep my place here until the new semester anyway. Just in case, you know?"
He nodded. "Makes sense. I'm happy for you, Tammy. Really." And the thing was, he did feel happy for her. More than that, he felt relief for himself. She was great - everything he needed in his life, but the Tell case had reminded how much Jordan had contributed to his life. And the dreams had convinced him he'd never be completely whole without her.
Tammy deserved more.
Their parting was oddly formal. She refused his offer of a ride to the airport, saying she hated goodbyes. If he guessed she was really going back to her place to compose a letter request a leave of absence and making plane reservations to visit her sister in Seattle, he never let on. Instead, he did the dishes in silence, turned off his phone and fell into bed.
She didn't come to him that night. But at least that way she couldn't burst into flames.
XXXXX
Around dawn, Jordan gave up on sleep. She got up to go running. She wasn't working until midnight, so maybe she could wear herself out enough to take a nap later on. She ran slowly, easily, keeping a good pace, letting her mind wander until she found herself perilously close to some of her old routes. Her breath blowing in and out faster, she slowed to a walk. She saw the store across the street was open and decided to get some water. And maybe a banana.
As she looked at the fruit, she heard the bell signaling a new arrival and one of the cashiers called out a greeting. "Lily!
Good morning!"
Jordan shrunk into herself. "It's not. It's not. It's not," she whispered.
"Morning, Catherine."
It was. Damn it! Jordan ducked behind a giant plywood pineapple advertising the benefits of organic fruit.
"Getting the usual?" the cashier asked.
"Yep. Is Bill in this morning? He knows exactly how I like my sandwich."
"Sorry, no. But I'm sure Neill will do a good job."
"Neill?"
"Yeah, we're a little shorthanded today. Normally he does our stock, but today..."
Jordan muttered, "Get on with it." At last she heard Lily tell the cashier she'd be back in a few minutes to check out. Jordan decided that staying behind the pineapple until Lily was out of the store was the best thing. So she crouched and idly stroked the wood grain. Finally she looked down at her watch. Where the hell was Lily?
She peered out from behind the giant fruit. Another customer had claimed the cashier's attention. Jordan crept from behind the plywood. Fingers of dread tickled her spine. She wanted to walk out of the store and sprint back to her place, but her feet turned toward the back of the store. Moving slowly, telling herself if she were quiet enough, she could
see that Lily was fine and then disappear again.
The deli counter was vacant. A purse, its contents scattered, lay in front of the glass. The back door gaped open. A piece of white cloth lay just on the customer side of the gate to the counter. Delicately, Jordan lifted it and sniffed. Her curse was stronger this time.
She ran toward the front of the store. The stunned cashier tried to calm her down, certain this poor woman was not quite in her right mind. Jordan grabbed the woman's shoulders and said in as calm tones and as slowly as she could, "Neill. Who is he? Where does he live?"
"I don't think I should tell you that!"
"Lady, you'd better tell me because he just kidnapped my friend. Lily. You talked to her when she came in."
"He - What? Are you insane?"
Jordan's voice became ice. "I think he is the William Tell killer and if you don't tell what I need to know, he's going to kill Lily next. And I'm not going to let that happen."
Jordan's voice finally got through to the woman, who followed her docilely to the deli counter. She began to dither again and Jordan's fingers itched to slap her, but Jordan restrained herself. "Where does he live?"
"Um - oh, let's see... his mother's old house. Oh, a lovely place-"
"Where!" Jordan shouted.
The woman rattled off an address.
Jordan looked at her. "Call the police. They may not believe you, but at least get them down here to look at this scene.
Do it." And then Jordan was gone.
XXXXX
"What is it?" Woody yelled as he all but chased Garret Macy down the morgue hallway.
"Lily."
"What about her?"
"She's missing." Garret stopped and faced Woody, who skidded to a halt. "The Tell killer has her."
"What? How? She's not even late yet!"
"Doesn't need to be," said Bug, coming out from one of the temporary rooms.
"I got a voice mail. I was here actually. Didn't want to answer the phone that early," Garret told the detective. "Damn it!"
"You couldn't have known, Dr. Macy," Bug consoled.
"Yeah, yeah," was Macy's reply.
"What did she say?" Woody asked.
Garret shook his head. "It was a little confused. Nigel's analyzing it. Basically she'd been at Good Grains and the deli guy said she fainted, but she didn't think she had. He wouldn't let her leave what he said was the storeroom and the walls were covered with targets and dart boards. Her last words were 'He's making me some tea.' Then she hung up."
No one said it but it hung between them. Had she been cut off?
"That's kind of slim," Woody said.
"Think about it, Woody," insisted Garret. "Tea - yew tea. The guy works in a health food store and yesterday, Nigel and his mysterious helper figured out all the victims were health food nuts. Lily was taken from a health food store."
Woody held up his hand. "All right. Okay. Whatever this is, let's find Lily. I'll get some men down to the store right away to find out where the 'deli guy' lives."
"That won't be necessary." They all turned to find Max gazing phlegmatically at them.
"I think it will, Max," Woody replied.
"I know where he lives."
"How?" exclaimed Bug.
"I got a phone call. Lily's still alive - right now. And if this Neill wants to kill her, he's going to have to kill two people today."
"Two?" Macy's face registered his confusion. "Who else?"
Max looked from one to the other. It was Woody his gaze settled on though. "Jordan."
XXXXX
Neill Cassidy lived only a few blocks from the health food store. Jordan sprinted them. When she was a few houses away, she slowed, surveyed the situation. The neighborhood was quiet. Cassidy's house was shuttered and utterly still. She moved around, scanning the ground for anything that could trip her up or make a sound as she made her way to the back. She scuttled a long in an uncomfortable crouch when she reached the kitchen windows. When she rounded the corner, she gave a murmured prayer of thanks. Basement windows dotted the clapboard house.
Taking a few deep breaths, Jordan walked up to the back door and knocked, calling out loudly. If the man came to the door, she'd feed him some story about losing her dog while jogging and thinking it ran back here and ... anything to keep him talking and away from Lily. There was no answer however. In a moment of wild hope, Jordan tried the door. Firmly locked.
Well then, we do it the old fashioned way, she thought. She took off her sweat shirt, made a fist of her left hand, wrapped the fleece around it and punched through the window. Glass tinkled and she could hear Lily give a weak scream. Jordan decided hearing a supposed ghost's voice right then might not be the most helpful thing, so set to clearing the glass instead. When the frame was denuded of all shards, Jordan squeezed herself through it and dropped to the floor.
"Whoa," she murmured. The place looked exactly like the stockroom of a small store might. The pieces came together into a coherent picture finally. The victims all shopped at Good Grains. Somehow Neill Cassidy approached them and used the chloroformed rags she'd found to knock them out. He must then convince them of something - they passed out naturally? - and that he'd taken them to the store's stock room. He probably gave them the yew tea, telling them it would make them feel better. "Bastard."
"Oh, my God." Jordan turned at the sound of her friend's voice. Lily's face was chalk white. Her eyes huge and round. Jordan could see her pulse fluttering in her throat. "I'm dead," the grief counselor murmured.
Jordan rushed to her. "No, no, Lily. You're not dead. And you're not going to be dead any time soon, okay?"
"But - But - You're dead!"
Jordan hung her head. "It's a long story. Can I tell you after we get out of her."
Mutely, Lily nodded. She tried to stand up and wobbled. "Or maybe not."
Jordan nodded. "Okay. Don't worry. I'm going to get you out of-"
Lily's warning, which Jordan only heard vaguely, came too late. Whatever it was that came crashing down on her skull came down with force. Darkness swallowed Jordan.
END Part Seven