Chapter Four

A Dent Where His Heart Should Be

It was bitterly cold and very clear out when Jordan took her trash out to the dumpster.

"So much for a white Christmas," she mused to herself when she looked at the dingy, black remnant piles of snow that were neatly plowed to the side of the building. The buzz she had from Nigel's 80-proof eggnog was starting to wear off leaving her with the beginnings of a slight hangover. She was glad he took a cab instead of his bike. He left a few minutes before patting her on the head, telling her to be a good girl and go to Mass...while he went home and passed out.

At this point, Jordan doubted she'd make it to Mass. It wasn't like her father was there to drag her. Jordan thumbed the cell phone in her coat pocket willing it to ring.

Nothing.

Whatever Max was doing for Christmas Eve it didn't include calling home. And since she didn't have a number to reach him...

Nigel told her to forget it. He told her that they were fine. Who needed others? They'd make a nice simple Christmas celebration of their own. Big Macs, stout eggnog, and Elvis singing "Blue Christmas." Jordan tried. For awhile she actually enjoyed herself. Who couldn't with Nigel as a cruise director?

Half way through Nigel's second feature of the day, "It's a Wonderful Life", he leaned a half-drunk head on her shoulder and asked her about her Jeffries painting. More to the fact...its missing status. Jordan brushed his inquiry off by saying that she was redecorating and sold it. Nigel believed her about as much as George Bailey believed in unassuming angels.

"Jordan darling, I can tell when you are not being honest with me. You sold it. Why?"

"Do I need a reason? I was tired of it. I wanted a change..."

"So you have a blank wall with a big ass hole in it from the anchor."

"I'm keeping my options open," she laughed, sitting upright and pouring herself a nogless version of eggnog.

"It's the Aussie isn't it? He really did a number on you."

The whiskey was smooth on her throat. "No. JD and I parted amicably. I hope he's happy. I'm just glad it's not with me."

"That's a relief. I'd hate to see your heart broke again. It still doesn't explain why you sold a valuable painting that just happened to be signed to you personally."

"Okay, the Enya concert tickets I bought you for Christmas set me back further then I thought they would," she said sarcastically.

As she assumed, Nigel wasn't insulted at all. Her mockery just served to make him more curious. "Ah, then maybe it's a little down under detox in the form of a first class ticket to Vegas and week of room service in a suite at the Montecito with Danny McCoy?"

"No," she laughed.

Looking back, Jordan half wished she had been honest with him. Nigel of all people would understand. Or would he? She didn't understand the rollercoaster she was on herself. Wrapping her arms around herself to try and keep out the cold, Jordan rushed through in the backdoor to her building. Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone leave out the front door and disregarded it as someone heading out for some kind of Christmas celebration. Better them then her. It was too cold to do a darn thing but pull the covers up tight and sleep until Spring.

She was in a hurry to get back inside her apartment and all but tripped over the oblong envelope just inside the door. She assumed it was just a last minute gesture of good cheer from one of her faceless neighbors. She was about to toss it on the counter when she recognized the neat lettering on the cover ...JORDAN. It was from Woody. He used the same block letters he writes his police reports with. He must have slipped it under her door. Self-consciously she looked at the walls of her empty apartment, mentally kicking herself for missing him while she was taking the trash out.

Slipping her fingernail under the flap she opened the envelope and took out the simple card and smiled. She recognized the print from a set of cards being sold by the local children's hospital as part of their annual fundraiser. Leave it to Woody to shell out the extra bucks for a box of cards for a good cause.

The print depicted a drawing that was probably sketched by a prepubescent girl if the hearts and rainbows in the margins were an indicator. The central figures were of a woman with short hair and a man holding a hair comb and a comical look on his face.

'The Gift of the Magi', Jordan smiled. She opened it expecting only to find Woody's strong handed signature. Maybe it was just the leftover alcohol in her system but the short note she found instead made her eyebrows knot together. It wasn't as much what it said...but the hesitancy in the penmanship. It was like he started to write something else and end up just penning a standard blurb on wishing her a Merry Christmas and safe New Year.

Jordan looked at the empty spot on her wall and wondered if he received the package yet. It was late. Of course he had it. Her fingers itched to dial the number -- telling herself she was just going to wish him a Merry Christmas. She debated with herself for the next half hour. When she finally found not only the nerve, and rehearsed her impromptu greeting to a T, she realized it was too late. Undoubtedly, her devout friend would be tucked in his pew at Midnight Mass by now.

Rubbing her temples, Jordan opted to call it a night. Before she turned off the lights she unearthed her treasure box from underneath her bed and tucked Woody's card inside. She laughed at her sentimentally when she had at least one card on her coffee table which was more elaborate and the note inside more thoughtful and poetic.

JD's

Of all the cards she should keep his...but she knew it would go in the trash with the other recyclables. Ending up tossed together with the daily junk mail and the Sunday newspaper.

She climbed into bed telling herself she could weed Woody's card back out and toss it like the rest. She fell asleep knowing it was safely tucked away and wondering just what it really was he was going to write.

The next few days flew past in a chaotic blur. By New Year's Eve Jordan sent out a silent wish that it would be over soon. The holidays are always tough at the morgue. Statistically speaking, the holidays traditionally held the record for the number of suicides that were recorded for the year. Add in the homeless that for some reason refused shelter, the old and ill whose bodies couldn't handle another cold spell, and the constant challenge of home heating with outdated, and often lethal avenues...by New Year's the staff both emotionally and physically exhausted.

It was mid-afternoon when Jordan answered the call. An apparent suicide just off the BC campus. The third from this section of town this week alone. She was a little surprised when she saw Woody standing just inside the taped perimeter. She hadn't seen him since that day at the jewelry store, even though his Christmas card was still under her bed.

"I would have thought you would have worked Thanksgiving, Christmas and Fourth of July just to get today off..." Jordan said.

Woody looked up from him notebook like he had just noticed her when in fact he knew the second she drove up. The El Camino had a knock that always sounded worse when it was cold. And it was cold today.

"Excuse me...?" Woody asked holding the police tape up for her.

Jordan walked passed him and into the scene. "Come on...its college-football-nirvana-time-of-the-year. Don't tell me your beloved Badgers are not playing some game of the century today."

"Oh," his lips parted in what he hoped was a congenial smile as what she was saying dawned on him. "Actually, they play tomorrow. Male, age 19, his name is Michael Barrister. His roommate said he's been having some problems at home and decided to stick around for the holidays and spend a little quality time with his girlfriend only to get a 'Dear Mike' email the day before Christmas."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. There is an empty bottle of sleeping pills over there on the dresser and an equally empty bottle of Wild Turkey in bed next to him. Oh, and there was a suicide note in the form of a DVD in his computer.

"Huh?" Jordan scanned the room with a jaundice eye. She had seen her share of suicides in her career. They were never pretty. Especially when a young life was snuffed out like the flame of a holiday candle on the day after New Year's.

"A high tech suicide note...complete with musical accompaniment." Woody held up an evidence bag containing a DVD-R complete with carefully Sharpie inscribed block letters that read: Mike: My So-Called Life. "He was no John Ford, but it's pretty detailed. 'Woe-as-me, my life sucks and nobody understands... so fuck the world and let me off. The End.' " Woody pointed to camcorder and tripod located near a disorderly desk. "He apparently took the last week to plan and orchestrate..."

Jordan grimaced at the cluttered room. Everything from story boards to endless empty Starbuck cups litter the area speaking to even the untrained eye that this young man was very troubled and reaching out for help that never came.

"...damn."

Seemingly dispassionately, Woody closed his notebook and carefully tucked it in his coat pocket. Flatly, he looked at her and said, "Unless you can tell me anything different I'm going to go ahead and call this a suicide."

"Just like that?" she demanded.

"Yes."

Jordan's voice became colder with every word. "Don't you think this is wrong? A kid is dead because he thought he was alone in the world. Now you are in a hurry to sign your report and be done with it..."

"I can't change what has happened Jordan. If I could I would. Trust me; I know what is like to be so messed up you don't know what end is up...but I've never considered taking my own life because of it." With that, he turned heel and yelled out to one of the CSU officers in the front yard leaving Jordan and the body alone.

Jordan watched the stiff shouldered detective walk out into the cold. He reminded her of the Roby. When he did smile it rarely met his eyes. Since that ugly day in the hospital Woody was left with an emotionless expression and a dull, scratched, cold exterior over a hollow center. Jordan didn't have to look. She knew there was a dent. She saw his medical records. She knew where the physical scars were. It was the emotional ones that left her confused. With a sigh, she went about her job.

Woody answered his cell on the first ring. "This is Hoyt."

"He had a BAL of 1.2 and enough half-digested Phenobarbitals in his system to take down a horse. You can file your report," Jordan said coolly.

Woody could almost picture her pulling off her latex gloves and tossing them in the trash with a little more force then necessary. He shifted the phone to his other ear. "I'm sorry, Jordan."

"What the hell do you have to be sorry for? You didn't need to be a detective to call it. You were right. Michael Barrister, former Boston College student will spend New Year's Eve in the crypt with 49 other poor souls, a victim of his own demons..."

"He was a freshman, studying music theory...and he grew up just south of Farmington...the second son of a plumper and day care provider. He wanted to go to Hollywood and be one of those guys that composed soundtracks for motion pictures."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

His voice was low and strained. "I just wanted you to know that I think of him as a person, Jordan. Everybody deserves to be remembered for who they were and not just how they left this world."

Jordan ire faded away like the last of the Christmas lights the day after The Epiphany. She realized it wasn't just the morgue that had to face the dark backlash of the season. The police department shared the load.

"I'm sorry Woody. I didn't mean to snap at you. It's been a long week. Hey, I'm about finished here and I'm starving. What do you say about meeting at Mike's...maybe grab a sandwich or something? I don't think I can face a Dick Clark-less New Year's Eve on an empty stomach."

Her laugh, as weak as it was, was contagious. Woody found himself smiling. He clicked the print icon and sent his final report on the suicide to the community bull pen printer thus finishing his shift. He couldn't see any harm in having a little after-the-case-bite-to-eat with Jordan. It'd been awhile.

"Sure, it sounds good. I'll meet you there..."

Mike's was deserted except for a pair of uniformed officers sitting at the counter. Woody acknowledged them before he led Jordan to a booth towards the back of the room. As they sat down Jordan noticed the Christmas decorations that hung in the windows showed the signs of the past few weeks' wear and tear. She couldn't help but compare them to the man sitting across from her. At first glace he looked like he always did. Tall, straight...and still as handsome as sin. Yet, there were lines in his face that were never there before. A leanness that verged on gaunt. Once again her mind's eye went to that robot.

Woody could feel her studying him over his menu. He self-consciously ran his tongue over his teeth before he smiled. A beautiful genuine smile. The kind that made her forget about the toy and remember she was sitting across from the man that held her heart. "You haven't even opened the menu. You know what you want?"

Jordan felt her stomach flip like a fish on dry land at the innocent question. After a pregnant pause during which the entire the 1812 Overture, complete with cannons, could have been played, Jordan returned his smile and groped for her menu. "A burger sounds good...yeah, a burger...with onion rings...and make that fries...and a piece of pie. I'm starving."

"Are you alright?" he asked measuring her slowly.

"Hungry...Miss!"

Jordan held up her hand for the waitress. Soon the table was groaning with enough food to feed four people. Amused, Woody dug in. It always amazed him how much food Jordan could put away...when she was eating. Having only discovered the problem of a lagging appetite in the last few weeks Woody found himself taking a big bite out of the greasy hamburger and sighing in gastric-contentment.

Between bites he asked a question that had been dogging him for a week. "Did you get away for Christmas this year?"

"Ah, no. Why?" she asked wiping her mouth with her napkin.

"I stopped by Christmas Eve and you didn't answer the door. When I saw you were off both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day I figured you...left town for a few days..." He couldn't come out and ask her if she visited Pollock for the holiday even though when she didn't answer her door he strongly suspected it.

"No," she grinned in her coffee. "I spent Christmas Eve with Nigel getting drunk, watching movies, eating fast food and waiting for a phone call from Dad that never came. Pathetic huh?"

"I'm sorry Jordan." he said automatically. Hearing she only had Nigel to spend her holiday with should make him more sympathetic. When he saw Nigel at work Christmas Day, nursing a little hangover and surfing art auction sites on his PC, the lanky Brit said nothing about Jordan except that she was off. While he was mad at Max for not finding the time to call his daughter for Christmas, Woody was secretly happy Jordan didn't include JD Pollack in her holiday celebrations.

"Don't be." Jordan said with a wave of her hand. "I cleaned my apartment from top to bottom." What she didn't tell him was that in his card JD did ask her to visit. She turned him down...and without a shred of regret. Turning back to the subject at hand her lips thinned out. "Max's got his own life, Wood. I've faced that fact a long time ago." Brightly she added, " I'm sorry I missed you when you stopped by. I got your card. It was nice. Thank you."

Woody dug into his fries with false gusto. What she didn't know was when we stopped by he also had a pair of small brightly wrapped packages in his coat pocket. He hemmed and hawed about actually giving them to her. The same way he hemmed and hawed buying them. When she didn't answer the door he assumed she was gone. He quickly signed the card and slipped it under her door and left without a second glance. He abandoned those little boxes in the glove compartment of his car thinking that someday they'd join the other forsaken gift deep in his dresser drawer. One thought echoed through his mind...

...She didn't go.

"You're welcome," he mumbled.

Jordan asked, "So how about you? Did you do anything special this year?"

"I...I had a TV dinner and worked." He also spent part of his Christmas morning hitting up Nigel to help him track down his secret Santa. Always game for a mystery, it was a shock when Nigel said he was too busy. When Woody asked him if he was involved Nigel snorted and said he barking up the wrong tree. He had better things to spend his money on then buying elaborate gifts for hopelessly straight men with more issues then the Boston Globe and went back to his search of recent Louis Jeffries sales.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one...You know? We deserve better," she laughed mirthlessly. Jordan could tell the easy camaraderie of the moment was slipping away. Grasping blindly at anything to change the course of this depressing conversation Jordan asked if Santa was good to him this year.

Woody's eyes lit up. "Actually he was. I got a package delivered Christmas Eve with no note, nothing. It was a collector's item I'd been eyeing for awhile."

"...Oh..." Jordan said trying to sound surprised when she realized her mistake.

"It was that Roby I told you about. I have no idea who could have sent it. I tried to get Nigel's help to track down the sender but he's being very Nigel about it..."

Jordan shifted uncomfortably in her seat looking for an escape. She knew she was taking the coward's way out. She still hadn't convinced herself that sending that Roby was the wisest thing she's even done. "I'm...I'm sure it'll all work out." She looked at he watched and announced, "It's getting really late. I really don't like being out on the streets with the drunks..."

Jordan opened her purse to take some money out when Woody stopped her. "No problem, I got it. Consider it your Christmas present..." he said lightly. Jordan simply nodded and stood up. She was half way out the door when she turned around. Two steps later she leaned down and kissed his cheek.

"Happy New Year's Woody..." she whispered.

Before he could say anything she was gone.

Woody sat in the booth for what seemed like a lifetime still feeling the texture of her lips on his face. He should forget it. Forget her. Yet, no matter how much he tried...he never could.

He looked at the congealing grease on his plate when the waitress approached and asked if he was done.

"I could use some more coffee," he answered cryptically. Mike's looked like a good place to ring in the New Year's as any. The waitress said she'd return with the pot once she took away some of the dishes.

She was stacking the dishes together when she noticed a pair of gloves in the seat Jordan had vacated. "Mister," she said picking them up. "I think your friend left her gloves...it's going to be pretty cold tomorrow..."

Woody took them out of the waitress's hand and reached for his wallet. "You know what. I changed my mind about that coffee."

The waitress was right. It was cold out. Knowing Jordan he doubted she had more then one pair. Then he remembered she had at least fifteen coats...and probably fifteen pairs of gloves to match.

"Fuck it," he whispered and tucked the gloves in the breast pocket of his overcoat.

Before he could second guess himself Woody left the diner and pulled out into the late holiday traffic. Vaguely, he thought it was funny that he hadn't been there since she and Pollack were still playing house and a crazy decided to make their lives miserable. Now he was going there twice in the span of a week. Pollock was gone and the only crazy Woody could think of was he himself...for driving across town, with all of Jordan's drunks, to return a pair of brown leather gloves.

"More like masochistic..." he mumbled to himself turning up the radio.