Chapter Two

A Bitter Aftertaste

Two Years Prior

Stifling a groan and desperately wishing she would have remembered to preset her coffee pot, Jordan rolled out of bed and got ready for work. She had never been a morning person, but in the past, at least a tantalizing case was enough to make her "rise" even if she didn't "shine" until nearly eleven o'clock.

Only now, it didn't matter what case she was working on…getting up and out the door was becoming more and more difficult. She longed to curl back up in the corner of her bed and go back to sleep. Try not to remember at least. God knows it was impossible to forget. Try as she might she couldn't forget Woody's words in that hospital room. Get out. Now. Screw your pity, Jordan.

So that was what she had done. She had gotten out…pushed back her true pity for Woody…because she did have pity for a man cut down in his prime…and tried to forget that she loved him.

But it was getting harder to do that each day, because she still had to see him…and work with him….and talk with him…and pretend that not a damn thing was wrong between them. They never spoke of what he had said to her in his hospital room again…and the only person Jordan had confided in at a moment of weakness was Garret.

And that had been six months ago…right after Woody had dissolved any romantic notions she may have begun to harbor…and killed any friendship that may have grown between them. Since his shooting and subsequent recovery, Woody had been nothing but cold, border-line calculating with her. Aloof. Stand-offish….pick any synonym that would define the word 'prick' and you now had an adjective to describe their relationship….or whatever the hell it was.

Filling the pot with water and the hopper with coffee, Jordan started her highway to caffeine heaven and climbed in the shower, running the water as hot as she could stand it, trying to rinse any thought of him out of her mind…..

Not that that would work, either.

Midway through trying her damnedest to make an effort, her cell phone had gone off. "Cavanaugh," she had spoken into her phone, managing to utter the single word around her toothbrush.

"Jor, it's Garret. Look, Woody has found a body downtown in a back alley. I know you're the answering ME, but I can take it if you're still feeling a little awkward."

Jordan held her breath and thought for a moment. That would be the easy way out….she could let Garret take the call…and she could go into the office and start the day's scheduled autopsies. Woody would never know she had 'chickened out' of working with him.

But she would know. And that would bother her.

"No..I'll take it, Gar. It'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure…what's the address?"

Jordan had jotted the location down and after swallowing another cup of coffee, had found the location, Woody, and the body in a back alley. "Good morning," she had said, forcing a brightness she did not feel.

"Morning," he had replied curtly, "This is what I've got," he went on, flipping his notebook open and reading the facts to her rapid fire. "Peter Howell…35, according to his driver's license, from Baltimore, Maryland. From the ticket stubs in his pocket, I'd guess he came here for a Sox game…."

Woody rattled on and on, while she had examined the body…."What time did you get the call?" she had asked.

"About seven this morning..why?"

"He hasn't been dead long…but he didn't die here…."

And that's where it had started…it wasn't the fact that they disagreed on where Peter Howell had died…it was the fact they disagreed. That argument just absorbed all the inner frustration and anger both of them felt like a sponge…until it was full and it had to be wrung out. And when it was, they took it out on each other.

Neither of them gave an inch, standing toe-to-toe and nose-to-nose….It was Woody's comment – "Screw your hunches, screw your conspiracy theories….screw you, Jordan…" that sent her over the edge. No matter how angry he had been with her before, he had never been that vehement at her. Inwardly crumbling at his onslaught, she had turned quickly so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes. She turned on her heel and left his office. By the time she got in her car and drove off, the tears were falling thick and fast…filling her eyes and blurring her vision…

She never saw the car that hit her….a blare of a horn and the sickening sound of crumpling metal was all that echoed through her head.

"So she thinks it's the day after the accident?" Woody asked Garret.

"At the most, only a day or two. Dr. Cruz says she still thinks Bush is President and most of New Orleans is still underwater…"

"And the Howell case?"

Garret shook his head. "Cruz hasn't said if she's mentioned any cases….just that her sense of time is off. To her, she may have been out of it two days…"

"And in reality it's been two years…"

"However, the good news is that other than being caught in a time warp, Jordan appears to be perfectly normal."

But time warp could be too much for her to deal with, though Woody, remembering how fragile Jordan had looked the last time he had seen her awake and in his office. His last comments had cut her to the quick and continued sliced him open during the time he had hoped and prayed she's wake up. Screw you….how could he have said something so thoughtless to her…he could tell it had hurt her from the moment he saw her shoulders sag again and the way she had tried to hide her tears as she had rapidly walked off.

Why didn't he go after her and tell her he was sorry?

Why didn't he follow her to make sure she would be okay?

Why didn't he take her in his arms and tell her it wasn't her he was angry at, but at the mitigating circumstances that continually kept them apart?

He had asked himself those questions dozens of times and the only answer he kept coming up with was arrogance. She had hurt him, now it was his turn to hurt her...just as many, if not more, times than she did.

Woody had swallowed his pride more than once since the doctors had come out of the emergency room that day and told them that Jordan was in a coma and none of the medical personnel could tell when or if she'd ever wake up.

And it had left a bitter, lonesome taste in his mouth.