Abe's Antiques the night before in Dimension One ...

Abe Morgan was upstairs in the kitchen putting the final touches on the lemon chicken dinner he'd promised his father in celebration of him helping the 11th Precinct solve their 100th homicide. He knew that Dad wasn't one to want to accept accolades for that. After all, people had been murdered, sometimes brutally. But Henry had reluctantly agreed to the special meal since his son was so set on doing something to show how proud he was of him. And that particular poultry dish was one of his favorites, Abe knew, so it hadn't taken much to convince Henry.

Abe removed his apron and tossed it into the laundry hamper in the bathroom next to his bedroom. He was about to relax for a few moments with a glass of wine when he heard a person shouting and pounding on the shop's locked door. More like cursing, he realized. He moved quickly to the top of the stairs and heard glass shattering. Certain that he was being robbed, he grabbed his handgun and cellphone from the nightstand drawer in his bedroom and stood breathlessly behind his bedroom door. He heard rushed footsteps first move across the retail area and then stomp quickly up the stairs. The voice grumbling out curses sounded familiar, though. Dad! He started to open the door but stopped himself at what he heard next.

"Abe! Abe, where are you? Hiding in your room like a bloody coward? Do I have to drag your arse out of there again? And why doesn't my key work in the blasted lock anymore!? Trying to lock me out won't work, you know!"

Dad ... ? The angry voice was now in the hallway on the other side of his bedroom door. It definitely sounded like his father's British accent but he had never used that tone or those words with him. Abe, totally confused and his heart beginning to race, placed his hand on the doorknob and twisted it to open it but he was suddenly knocked backward, stumbling onto the bed, as the door was shoved open from the outside. When he fell backwards onto the bed, his right elbow hit first and in slow motion, he heard his gun discharge and saw the angry countenance of ... his father? ... standing over him . Then the angered look turned to surprise, then horror as the man lowered his head to view a quickly growing red spot on his shirt and vest just over his heart. An equally horrified Abe stood back up and looked at the gun in his hand. He placed it on the nightstand and stepped closer to the now dying man who'd stumbled backward, dropped to his knees, and fallen backward onto the floor. But there was something wrong. This man looked like Dad but his hair was much darker, his scruff much thicker. And his eyes - greyish blue!

'What the - ?'

The man was reaching up at him and mouthing something so Abe moved closer and bent over to be close enough to hear what he was saying.

The man grabbed his pant leg with a bloodied hand. "Abe," the man managed to say as blood gurgled up and out of his mouth, a thick stream running down the side of his cheek into his ear and onto the floor's carpet. "Kill ... your own ... father ... ?" He attempted a laugh but it only made him cough, causing more blood to gurgle out from his mouth. The wet redness on his dark blue vest and white shirt was now a growing pool of blood that shimmered as it thickened into gruesome, murky layers.

Abe was at a loss for what to say or do. He'd accidentally shot the man but this wasn't Dad. Who was he and why was he here, behaving this way and saying these things? Then his heart skipped a beat when the man breathed a last breath and in the next instance, vanished! Blood and all, into what resembled small, blindingly-white twinkling stars. Abe gasped and shot upright without thinking about any trauma to his back. He felt no pain, only the sinking feeling in his stomach that something extraordinarily awful had happened. For it appeared that this man he'd just shot and killed thought he was his father. He'd also just died from a fatal gunshot wound to most likely the heart and vanished. Abe had witnessed more than one of Henry's deaths and the vanishings never looked like that. It was a brilliantly white flash of light that left almost as soon as it had come. But, whoever this man was, he was also some kind of Immortal like Dad. But where had he come from? How had he gotten here? Why was he here? And if he was here instead of Dad ... where was Dad?

The adrenaline rush in him finally began to give way to shaky knees and hyperventilation threatened to set in. He soon realized that the man might surface in the East River but who could be sure? And, so what if he did, since he had shown himself to be potentially violent and abusive? He wasn't going to put himself out by going to retrieve him. Assuming that that's where he rebirthed. All he could think of was to call Jo but it was only then that he realized she was already there.

"Abe?"

Jo's quiet, wavering voice reached him across the now suddenly quiet room and his head jerked in her direction. At first, he couldn't understand why she was there but then he remembered - the celebratory dinner. They had invited her and she'd accepted, telling them that she would be over later after finishing some reports. And Dad hadn't told her anything about his condition yet. What she had just apparently witnessed, he realized, would make it hard for the truth about Dad to remain hidden. He felt he had no other choice but to try do that, though.

Jo was frozen to the spot where she stood, breathing rapidly, trembling from head to toe, her face paled with a pinched expression. "What ... what just happened here, Abe?" she asked, lowering her weapon. Abe flew to her side, placing his hand on the side of her arm. She looked at him pleadingly, trying to understand what she'd just seen.

"I ... I parked my car outside and was worried when I saw the broken glass on the front door of the shop. Then I heard what sounded like Henry's voice coming from up here. He, he sounded angry." She stared straight ahead as she spoke but focused on nothing as he guided her away from the room and into the sitting area where he perched her on the sofa.

"I've never heard him that angry." She now looked at Abe and asked, "What went on up here? There was a gunshot." It wasn't a question. She had distinctly heard a gunshot but there was no longer a dying and bloodied victim on his bedroom floor.

Abe had walked into the kitchen while she spoke. He now returned to her side with two shot glasses and a bottle of scotch. He sat them down on the end table and poured them both a drink. He handed her one of the glasses with a still shaky hand and gulped down his own drink, immediately pouring himself another one.

"I'm afraid I'm as clueless as you are, kiddo," he lied, struggling to keep his voice calm. But he was clueless about some things. For instance, who was that strange man? How did he know his name and where had he come from? As they sat and drank, he filled her in on what had happened after the strange man had broken into the shop, culminating in an accidental discharge of his weapon, killing the man.

"But he, his body, just, just vanished, Abe!" Jo worriedly reminded him. "Or did I just imagine that?"

He shook his head and replied, "No. You didn't imagine it. It really happened," he assured her. "I accidentally shot him, he died, and ... poof!" he added, waving a hand up.

"Yes, but where did he - " Her cellphone's buzzing cut off the end of her question, making her not want to answer the call. As it continued to buzz, Abe raised his eyebrows and cut his eyes downward to her phone. She sighed and pulled the phone out of her pocket and quickly answered it.

"Martinez." A look of amazement washed over her face as she listened to the caller on the other end. "Did he show signs of any trauma like a gsw? ... Uh-huh ... I see." She leveled her gaze on Abe and told the caller, "Okay, thanks, Mike. I'm headed over there now." She ended the call and repocketed the phone, all the while continuing to stare at Abe. A trace of a smile mixed with the slight look of annoyance on her face. She stared straight ahead as she told him what Mike had just told her.

"That guy, who looks so much like Henry, but isn't Henry?" She tilted her head and turned her now unsmiling face to stare at Abe as she continued. "Just got himself arrested down by the Hudson River for public nudity." She stood up but continued to bore her eyes into Abe's, her smile given completely over to the annoyance. "Now how odd is that?"

"Wow, uh, ha! R-really odd," Abe stammered out with a nervous laugh.

Jo chewed on her bottom lip as she nodded her head and looked away from him and said, "Yeah. Well, I'm leaving to go and question him; try to find out who he really is. But there's something you're not telling me, Abe. So, I'll be back to find out just what the HELL is going on with you and Henry!" When her voice boomed on that infernal four-letter word, Abe jumped and swallowed. She turned on her heel and marched toward the stairs then turned just as quickly and marched back to him. Pointing behind her toward his bedroom, she ordered him to "Secure that gun" and warned him that if he tried to run and hide from her, she would track him down to the ends of the earth.

vvvv

Det. Jo Martinez rushed out of the antiques shop and raced her car over to Manhattan South where the strange man was being held. She knew that Reece was exasperated with their eccentric ME and his insistence upon sleeping nude and then, according to his unbelievable story, winding up down by the river. Except this wasn't their Henry so she was sure that he wouldn't be reprimanded this time.

But many questions swirled around in Jo's mind. The fact that she'd witnessed the man's death and his body vanishing just a little less than an hour ago in Abe's bedroom was the most bizarre thing she had ever seen in her life. Who was this man and where did he come from? And where was Henry? Jo shook her head to clear it as she pulled up to the police building and parked her car in front of it. And she shouldn't have been driving with that much liquor in her system. This was an emergency, though, she told herself.

Jo identified herself at the front desk and was soon following a patrolman to where the man who claimed to be Henry Morgan, was being held. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. There he was. Alive. She'd seen him die from a gsw to the chest and vanish and now ... here he was. Breathing. Sulking. Damp from the river and smelling of it. He seemed oblivious to her presence, seated in a chair next to a small, wooden table near the front of the holding cell, his arms folded across his chest. No blood. No wound. She thanked the patrolman with a nod and after a few moments of studying the dark-haired man behind the bars, cleared her throat.

At first, he didn't seem to react but then he adjusted his arms, taking in a deep breath. "Hello, Martinez. Here to take charge of me?" He slowly lifted his head in her direction, a tired but smug look on his face.

"No. I'm here to get some answers," she replied. Hmmm, she thought to herself. Henry never called her by her last name like that. It was either Jo or Detective.

He left his seat and sauntered over to face her. "You're not bailing me out?" he asked, eyeing her in a deprecating way. "Come, come, Martinez. Let's not depart from the usual routine."

"I'm not here to bail you out, Hen -, whatever your name is." Seeing him up close made her uneasy even though the bars separated them. The greyish blue eyes, the jet black hair and ... something else. She looked closer at him and down at his feet stuffed into dirty running shoes. He wasn't as tall as her Henry. He wasn't even as tall as Abe, who was 5'9". There was an odd scar on the left side of his neck that looked like a knife wound. Henry had an angry-looking scar on his chest, just over his heart. Why the scars? And when had she started referring to him as her Henry? No time to dwell on that right now, she told herself. Finding out who this man really was and where Henry was, were her first priorities.

The man folded his arms across his chest again, eyeing her up and down. Squinting and raising his head, and jutting his chin out, he asked, "You decided to get rid of it?" When she looked confused, he clarified his question. "The baby. Your midsection's suddenly absent the tale-tell baby bump, as it's called now." He unfolded his arms and clasped his hands behind his back. "Look, just because I expressed some doubts about it being mine - given your history of entertaining men with one-night stands - you didn't have to get an abortion." He shrugged and added, "But who am I to stand in the way of a woman exercising her right to choose."

She wished she could slap that smug look off of his face; and his condescending attitude angered her. But she knew that she had to keep her cool if she was to get any answers out of him. This man, obviously not Henry, thought that she had named him as the father of her unborn child and he hadn't believed her? Seething with anger, she fought to control it since none of this actually pertained to her. But he thought she was someone who'd been involved with him; this, this lousy excuse for the dear man she knew to be Henry Morgan. Some poor woman somewhere must be deeply regretting having had anything to do with this guy. Her Henry was nothing like this man. Okay, alright. Her Henry.

"As I said, I'm here to get some answers," she repeated, surprised at how calm her voice sounded. "First of all, I am not the woman you think you know. Secondly, it's obvious that you are not the man that I and everyone else know. Who are you and what have you done with our Henry Morgan?"

He let out a hollow laugh and said mockingly, "I'm hurt. You're actually saying that," he lowered his voice, tilting his head to one side with that annoyingly smug smile, "you wouldn't prefer to have me squirming around under the covers with you?" He rubbed his finger suggestively up and down one of the bars.

Jo bit her lower lip and looked in the direction of where the patrolman had exited. She then looked back at the repulsive man and stepped closer to him, smiling. Before he could react, she reached through the bars, grabbed his collar and yanked him towards her, banging and pinning his head up against the bars. At the same time, she unholstered her gun and shoved the barrel up under his chin.

"Listen, Casanova," she warned him through clenched teeth, "I now know that if I kill you, you can come back to life in the river. And I'll stand there and shoot your ugly ass over and over until you get it through your thick skull that I'm not who you think I am and you are not to talk to me like that." She yanked him closer again, causing him to grunt as his face rubbed painfully against the paint-chipped bars. "Understood?" she demanded.

"Absolutely," he managed to croak out. She released him and shoved him backward. He ran a hand over his hair to smooth it down and adjusted his clothes, his smug expression now a dark scowl.

"Good. Now, I want some answers and I want them quick," she told him, meeting his dark scowl with her own.

Although he was still reluctant, she was able to question him further about what had happened at the shop in Abe's bedroom. The knowledge that she'd witnessed his death and vanishing, did appear to disturb him somewhat and he finally related his side of the story as to how he wound up at the shop in the first place.

"The precinct was celebrating the milestone of 100 murders having been solved with my assistance during the past four years. However, I was not in the festive mood. So after finishing up some paperwork in my office, I left for the day. Boarded my usual train for home and just before arriving at my stop, I saw an unusual light in the tunnel ahead of us. However, no one else appeared to react to it or even see it. But I did." His eyes widened at the remembrance of it and she saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. He was seated in a chair near a small table but rose and paced back and forth in front of her in the tiny space.

"The, ah, train passed through the light and it widened as if welcoming it. I felt an odd sensation of being pulled and then being suddenly released. Like a rubber band being stretched and released." He blinked his eyes and rubbed his hands together, clasping and unclasping them. She could tell that he was no longer focused on her or his present surroundings by the faraway and transfixed look in his eyes. It reminded her of how Henry looked sometimes when he was lost in his imaginings, as he'd once told her.

"I left the station, walked home to the shop where I live with my - (he shot her a look) - with Abe. Only my key no longer fit the lock and I broke the glass door in order to reach through and let myself in." He looked up at her again. "Perfectly legal. No laws broken. It's my home, too, after all." He then frowned slightly and sat back down in the chair. "Only ... "

Jo waited for him to respond but after a few moments when he didn't, she asked, "What? Only what?" A look passed over his face that spoke to the inner turmoil he was dealing with and for just an instance, it reminded her again of the Henry Morgan she knew whenever he attempted to mask his vulnerability.

"Only now that I think about it, I have noticed some differences," he quietly replied. "Subtle, mind you, but ... very definite differences." The right side of his cheek drew up into a lop-sided grin and he stood up, clasping his hands behind his back and jutting his jaw up and out. "It would seem that I have encountered a phenomenon as unexplainable as myself," he admitted.

Henry's left cheek pulls up into that funny half grin, Jo said to herself. Definitely a subtle difference.

"And referring to me as ugly, Martinez?" he mock-frowned at her, shaking his head and tut-tutting her, "Good girls mustn't tell lies," he haughtily remarked.

Not wanting him to have the last word, she silently checked her weapon to make sure it was loaded. She then pointed the gun straight at him, her eyebrows raised expectantly. She triumphantly smiled when he bowed his head, raised his hands up defensively, and sat back down in the chair.

vvvv

Jo and this strange, other Henry walked out of the Manhattan South police station and got into her car. She started it up and wove into traffic.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked.

"A hotel," she replied, keeping her eyes on the road.

"A hotel? Why not back to the antiques shop?" he asked, irritated.

"Because Abe doesn't want you anywhere near him or his home," she explained. "I mean you did attack him and he wound up killing you."

"Oh, that," he replied dismissively.

"Uh, Yeah. That," she told him with a shake of her head.

"I thought he was - " He stopped before finishing his statement.

"Thought he was what?" she asked, squinting at him then back at the traffic.

"I thought he was ... the man that I know." He frowned, sighing, and continued. "It's apparent that I don't belong here," he said more quietly as if only to himself.

"Oh, uh, I wouldn't argue with you about that," she told him. "You are definitely NOT our Henry."

"And this is definitely NOT my world," he added. He uttered a silent thank you to the inventor of the seatbelt when the car came to a screeching halt. "You had me believing that you were a safe driver up until now! What happened?"

"First you die. Then you vanish in front of my eyes and pop up alive and well halfway across town," she told him in a breathless, rapid rush as she gripped the steering wheel. "Now you tell me that you're from another WORLD? That you're an ALIEN?"

"No, no, no, no, no. I'm as human as you are," he assured her. The look of doubt on her face prodded him to admit, "Well, minus the dying and vanishing and coming back to life part." He turned in his seat to face her. "Other than that, my life is just like yours." He pursed his lips and looked outside the car at the buildings, the people. "Everything looks almost the same. The people I know and work with. The same, I suppose. You," he said, turning to her again. "You're so much like the Jo Martinez that I know but ... " his voice trailed off as his eyes dropped to her midsection. "Different."

"Yeah, I'm not and never have been pregnant," she told him and parked the car more correctly outside a two-story Victorian home. She turned the car off and exited it, walking around to the other side. She motioned for him to get out of the car.

"This doesn't look like a hotel," he protested. But he felt it was best to do as she told him, so he undid his seatbelt, exited the car, and stood beside her on the sidewalk.

"It's the NYPD's kind of hotel; actually a Safe House. Move it," she ordered him again, flicking her head toward the house.

"You could try to be a little more civil, Martinez," he told her as he walked up the steps in front of her. "You're not the only one who's been traumatized by the events of this day."

Jo didn't answer but she kept her eyes on him while she called someone inside the house, identified herself and stated her purpose for requesting entry. A middle-aged woman in a plain, cotton dress and cardigan sweater (actually, a plainclothes female detective) opened the front door. Jo ID'd herself and her charge again. Once they were allowed inside, the woman led them to a bedroom at the top of the stairs. She unlocked the door and opened it, stepping back for them to enter. Jo thanked her and told her that if they needed anything, she would let her know. The woman left and Jo closed the door and turned around to face this other Henry.

He looked around the room and then walked over to the closet, opened the door and scowled at the meager offering of street clothes hanging there. "Surely, you don't expect me to wear any of these cast offs, do you?" he asked indignantly and turned around to face her. "And just how long am I to be made to remain here? I do have a life to live ... somewhere," he told her uncertainly, darting his eyes around the room. "It's not fair for a person to be imprisoned simply because they come from ... another ... dimension." He'd attempted to state that last line as if it were the most common thing for someone to say but even he had to cringe at how ludicrous it sounded.

Jo sighed, shaking her head. "It's late. And I'm tired." She eyed him up and down and said, "As I suppose you are, too," she conceded. Intensive questioning could wait until tomorrow. But because of his special ability to disappear and reappear somewhere else unharmed (she mentally omitted the part about his dying), she felt it was best to advise him to refrain from doing that.

He chuckled mirthlessly and asked, "You mean that I should refrain from obtaining my freedom via suicide, right?" He sat down in the armchair near the bed and sat forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "Ordinarily, I would exercise that option, but it's apparent that I'll most likely require your assistance in getting back to my real home. So," he said, sighing, "I will remain here as long as necessary in order to accomplish that." He looked up at her and asked, "Good enough?"

"Good enough," she replied. When she began to leave, he asked how he would get his meals. "Better get used to takeout. Someone will let you know when the pizza gets here," she told him. When he muttered "How barbaric" under his breath, she fought back a smile, realizing that he was as much of a food snob as their Henry. At the same time, the thought of Henry stranded in some other dimension, or worse, in limbo, caused an emptiness she'd valiantly been ignoring to present itself again. After composing herself and with her back to him, she told him that she'd see about getting some healthier, more appetizing meals to him but couldn't promise anything. She left the room and locked it from the outside after he'd offered her a faint thank you.