A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews. Please continue to hang in there. I really hope you enjoy it! As always, the usual disclaimer applies. Don't own CJ (or JOC either, darn!).
Chapter 5 - A Start
We moved hastily from the horrid place I had deemed the "country clinic". A taxi was hailed and we were unceremoniously deposited in the back, the sole piece of luggage the only clue that we'd been here for months. Michael was 18 weeks old, and growing by the minute. There were no mushy goodbyes or anything so sentimental -- I had pretty much kept to myself. Maybe that was another factor in my insane plans. I didn't care. The taxi driver asked the normal "Where to?" and I pointed him to Boston.
The only thing I would miss about the "country clinic" was the peaceful feeling I got sitting and rocking on the porch swing. There were no porches safe enough in Boston. No country views or mountain vistas. Just blocks of concrete. Once I got Woody to accept Michael and I into his family, we would get a house, in the suburbs, with a fence and a yard. For now, though, it had to be an apartment. With no yard. And no Woody.
As luck would have it, we reached Boston just before the sun set and after stopping at a convenience store to get some diapers, wipes and some food, I checked us into a crummy little hotel room under my new name…Mikayla Hoyt. I felt no shame at taking Woody's name. My son already had it, and I would soon enough. Mikayla had been my mother's middle name, and was my middle name as well. Easy enough. Traceable, yet untraceable. Because no one would be out looking for a dead woman.
I scoured the newspaper as soon as Michael settled down for the night. I had exactly two hours between feedings, and although I knew I was supposed to rest while he was sleeping, I had adrenaline surging through my veins. He was in Boston, and now so was I. I could feel electricity, as though he were near, and I promised myself that it wouldn't be long before we would meet again. I closed my eyes briefly, seeing him standing in front of me, before I focused my attention on the ad section. I needed an apartment.
The listings went on for several pages, but just before Michael woke, I saw it. I grabbed a pen and circled the listing before it vanished…An apartment on Pearle Street. Right across from Jordan's building. It was perfect. If it was on the right side of the building, I would be able to look out of the window and watch her comings and goings, see who else visited…See if he still did. I couldn't have planned it better…It was as if it was really meant to be, this horrible plan of mine.
Michael started crying for me and I rushed to pick him up, gathering his sweet little body in my arms and plopping us down into the stiff orange chair, the only chair in the room. He was rooting, searching for milk, and I pulled him to me and began to nurse him, feeling that soon everything would be better. I closed my eyes , once again, envisioning Woody there with me in our own home, watching me feed our son. It was so real I almost felt his arm resting on my bare shoulder. But I knew it wasn't real - not yet. The plastic chair was itchy and uncomfortable, the smell of the room stale, the lighting dim. A tear escaped down my cheek. This was not what I wanted for myself, not what I wanted for my son -- our son.
Finally Michael drifted off to dreamland and I gently laid him down on a blanket we'd gotten from the clinic, it's sterile warmth better than anything the hotel had to offer. I wondered if I would be able to sleep through the next two hours. I almost couldn't wait for the light of day so I could call the listing, but before long I had nodded off and slept a fitful sleep, dreaming of Woody. He was walking arm-in-arm with Jordan into her apartment building, pulling her to him and kissing her deeply. Tomorrow, I thought in my tormented thoughts. Tomorrow I would start. For Michael. For me. For Woody. For the death of Jordan. For the love of my family - the family that was Michael and me…and Woody...