A/N: I just wrote, possibly, the longest AN ever to be seen (lol) and I managed to ERASE IT ALL! So bear with me here!
Jinubean - I was hoping no one would pick this up until Garret did. See he was all in shock and everything - didn't stop to think that it wasn't possible that she was dead. So thanks for spoiling it! lmao just kidding! Glad you spotted it:) But yeah that was purposeful! (at least that's my story :P) Like Ayres says in this chapter, he's set the stage all he has to do it sit back and watch. And the Lion King thing - haha yes definatley the best Disney movie! Thanks for your reviews I love them!
NadezhdaSt - Heeey! Church choir, hey? Sounds fun! About your plot-hole, yes, you were right. He is not one to take chances, however, he has left a lot of room for errors, which is what makes his plan so fool proof, or rather gives him so much confidence in it. He figured that, even though the body may not have been sent to their morgue, they would find out pretty soon anyway. And the one resource Ayres has plenty of is time. He does not have a time frame for his plan, it will take place when it does. Like I said, room for error. Thanks for the review!
Okay I better do a disclaimer next... Thanks to Orlando-crazy, Mrs. Rhett Butler, KittyDoggyLover, Taybry and Susan Rose Potter for reviewing.
Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own the characters...oh except Ayres, I take full credit for him...hehe. Okay well everyone knows the rest of the drill...
Chapter 5: Life is a Bitch
"Look, why don't you tell me what's eating you? We may be able to work something out."
He looked up from the spot on the carpet that he had been staring at.
"Do you know what its like to have the person you care most about in the world taken away?"
She looked at him. "Yes," she said quietly. He frowned slightly but other than that didn't miss a beat.
"Hey I'll still beat you as far as sob stories go," he said.
"Oh, I think I could give you a run for your money. I'll tell you what. We'll have a competition. Or a game. I'm the shrink, you're the patient. Then we'll swap roles."
He surveyed her and nodded, giving her a small thrill. She had made an offer, and he had accepted! She had been right, right in thinking he was human, that he was fallible. She could win this war yet.
"So, Jeremy, how's your life been thus far?" she asked in a mocking parody of a shrink.
He snorted. "Ever been locked up in a mental asylum?" he asked. She shook her head. "Its worse than jail."
"Now there I've been," she said. He grinned.
"Not nice, eh?"
She shook her head. "Not at all."
"Its horrible having people speak slowly to you, you know? Being treated like a second class citizen."
"Hey, welcome to the world of a child. Quite ironic too, when children are often far more perceptive and intelligent than us, and they certainly have better reasoning skills."
He laughed. "Exactly. They just have a different perspective. Anyway, I was not insane."
"No, of course not. It was all an act."
"Every bit," he said, nodding. "Pretty good, too."
"Makes you wish you went to acting school, huh?"
"I would have been good at that," he said wistfully. "Instead I was pushing papers all day long."
"What did you do?"
"I worked for the FBI," he said. She stared, and a trickle of information crawled back into her mind.
"You were demoted," she said. "Then fired."
"Yep," he said. "The stress had been accumulating, and I snapped." He didn't seem to want to divulge the details.
"Life is a bitch, isn't it?" she said scathingly, but he seemingly missed the insincerity and nodded his head in agreement.
"It sure is."
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Woody climbed out of his car and walked towards the morgue. He knew this feeling – was well acquainted with it. It was the absolute devastation and grief that could only come with death. He had felt it when his mother died, and again when his father followed, and hoped never to feel it again. But he had, and this, in some small, indefinable way, was worse. The pain was acute, it taunted him and danced just out of his reach so he could not grab it and look at it properly, but it was there, always there. His friend, his love, was gone. He had no trouble admitting these feelings to himself even now there was no way he could hold her and tell her he loved her. She was a corpse, and all that was in her future was decomposition and burial, something that seemed so inadequate. How can a life so vibrant, so full, just be gone? Her hands, her face, her hair, gone. All gone. He couldn't believe it, all the risks she had taken, all the potentially fatal situations she had gotten herself in, she survived them all, her spirit and quick thinking had served her. But what could one woman do against a train out of control? And now she was dead.
His feet had carried him across the carpark and into the elevator, almost without him knowing. The doors slid open and he stepped out, staring at the morgue. It was still functioning, still running. He couldn't understand it! The people were chatting, smiling, laughing as if it was a normal day? How could they not be standing still, stupidly, like he was? How could they not be feeling the pain he was? How could anything still happen, run, function, how could they move and work and gossip?
That was how Lily found him, staring blankly, standing in front of the lift.
"Woody?" she asked tentatively. His eyes slowly came around and met hers. A familiar face, he thought numbly. Someone who understands.
"I need to…" He stopped. He needed her, that's what he needed. Nothing else. "Tell me this is a sick joke," he said in that strange voice that sometimes overcame him when he was stressed. "Please."
Her face crumpled in grief and she took his arm, steering him away from the hustle and bustle of the lobby and into her office.
"How could this happen?" he asked as she shut the door.
"I don't know, Woody," she said. She was in shock too, she was upset. She couldn't help him, just like she hadn't been able to help Garret. Their feelings just ran too deep.
"I'm sorry, Lily," he said, and his eyes met hers. The shadows fell away and he was there, back again in his entirety, much to her intense relief. He could see his friend was terribly upset, and was only just holding it together. He could not expect her to be strong for both of them. He took a step towards her and encircled him in his arms. She latched onto him, and allowed herself to cry, for the first time since the news had come out. His eyes were wet too as he squeezed her and stroked her hair, trying to soothe her.
Garret watched from the window, frowning slightly. Why had he come here? The detective obviously associated this place with her, had never known it before she was here. The younger man was either trying to confront his feelings, or was still in denial. Garret shook his head and walked back to his office.
Twenty minutes later, the detective followed the same path.
"Garret?"
The ME's head lifted and their eyes locked.
"I can't accept it."
"What do you mean?" Garret asked, surveying him.
"There are too many questions, and a shortage of answers. Help me find out why she died."
Garret stared at him, trying to read the look in his eyes.
"Don't hope," he said, finally.
"What?"
"There is no hope. She is dead."
Woody steeled himself. "Fine. I need to know why."
"Why?"
"So I can accept it. As it is, she is still in present tense in my mind."
"Its only been a matter of hours since…" Garret stopped, throat constricting. "Do you want more pain?"
"We owe it to her," he said. "It was her philosophy. To know the whys, the wherefores. Not to rest until she had it."
"It was probably her undoing," he said tactlessly.
Woody exploded. "She is not undone!" he shouted, voice finally wavering. He took a deep breath. "If you don't want to help me, I'll do it myself." He stormed out, anger written all over his face, and looked for the door to Trace, where Bug and Nigel were bent over their respective decedants.
"Where is she?" he demanded, watching their heads snap up, and they read the desperate glint in his eyes for what it was.
"In the crypt," Bug said sadly.
"Show me," the detective barked. Bug nodded and beckoned for him to follow.
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"She broke her promise."
If it was possible, Jordan wished she had never opened the closet, wished she had never asked him. The man's story was more depressing than hers, he was making her want to slash her own wrists. No wonder the guy's a maniac, she thought to herself. His father had been abusive, had beat him and his small brother, and probably his mother too. She hadn't stuck around long enough for them to find out, had met another man and ran off. Of course she kept in touch with her sons, loved them to bits, but it just wasn't enough. Jeremy in no way held it against her, he said that in her position he would have done exactly the same thing. He had grown, gotten a job doing what he loved, married and had a beautiful daughter. Then the wall he had built, the life he had managed to erect for himself had crumbled, gradually, with every blow, until it smashed completely and he had snapped, killing his wife and daughter. Not that he would admit to the killing of his daughter, he still maintained that it was his wife.
"Who?" Jordan asked.
"Melissa."
Of course, the wife, she thought.
"She said she'd stick by me, you know? She vowed, before God!"
"I thought you were an atheist."
"I am. That's beside the point." Even when he was under stress, recounting the worst moments of his life, he retained his wit and sense of humour, which only cemented Jordan's fear. He was more like her than they both gave him credit for.
"She said, she vowed. For better or for worse. In sickness and in…"
"Death?" Jordan broke in, eyebrow raised. He glanced sharply at her.
"I only broke the vows after she did. They were void."
"Of course," Jordan said dryly. They lapsed into silence.
"Your turn," he said after a while. She looked at him reluctantly. She had hoped that he had forgotten the deal.
"What do you want to know?"
Ayres looked at her. "You said before you knew. Knew what it was like to lose someone. Who did you lose?"
She hesitated. "My mother."
"How old were you?"
She paused again. "Ten."
He nodded. "Then you do understand. How did she die?"
"She was murdered," she said.
"By your father?" he guessed, his view of fathers forever tainted. Jordan bristled.
"No. We never found the killer."
He nodded, seeming to identify with her. As he did so, she wondered, and took a chance.
"We all know," she began. "Macy, the detectibe. We've all lost people."
He stared, visibly steeling. "Well now they've lost someone else."
She stared at him, hope again dashed. "What do you do now, then?" she asked. "How long do we wait?"
He grinned. "I've decided to skip the funeral. So not long. Depends on how smart they are, really."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
'Don't you see? There are so many inconsistencies! All they have to do it study the records, give them to someone who knows you, hell, even they'd know you well enough to know you didn't have three fillings. Plus, nothing else adds up. All I did was switch the dental records. If they're smart they'll guess sooner or later. My work is pretty much done. I've bought the props, set the stage, now I just have to turn the camera on and start filming."
As if impressed with his own genius, he grinned happily. "So I guess you'll probably be hungry by now?"