Safety Net

by foreverHenry919

A big news story breaks of another immortal and he's not Adam or Henry. But is their shared secret in jeopardy now that people are told how to, in effect, "hunt" for immortals and turn them in? I do not own "Forever" or any of its characters.

2. Safety Net Ch 3 to 10

3

Jo and Hanson slide into a comfortable, cushy booth in the oldfashioned diner with its warm 50's-era decor. She likes the old-timey jukebox that is really a very large radio tuned to the oldies station, piping in song classics from doo-wop to disco. In her mind's eye, she sees Henry in the iconic John Travolta 70's get up shaking his groove thang across the floor under a silvery disco ball. Then she sees him in elaborate 18th century period dress, dancing the minuet. She closes her eyes and shakes her head to empty it of the ridiculous images. The server, a young man with a much-too-current hairstyle and overly eager friendliness, takes their order.

"Hey," Hanson says, breaking into her thoughts. "Ya think maybe we should have what he's drinking?" He eyes the young man's quickly retreating form, laughs softly and shakes his head. "Sooooo," he continues, "Regarding Henry..."

Jo meets him with a glare. Clearly she is not amused at Hanson's reference to the Harrison Ford movie of the same name. "Well, we know about Henry." Hanson gives her a "really?" look. She qualifies it with, "I mean we know that he is not a criminal, not a bad guy. My gut tells me to check out Barnes and Larson, though." Hanson ponders it a few seconds and nods in agreement. "Maybe," she mutters, "we can nip this immortal hunting in the bud."

"I'll take Larson, you take Barnes." Hanson offers. Jo nods in agreement. They both lean back, moving their hands out of the way as their large mugs of steaming coffee arrive and they both take a quick sip.

"And we google the Doc, too, right?" he continues even though he knows he's treading dangerous waters with Jo where Henry is concerned. He's met with silence. He straightens up spreading his hands. "Look, Jo, I know ya got feelings for the guy and all but if there's something, anything in his past that might come back to bite him, bite US in the-"

"At this point, just concentrate on Barnes and Larson." Jo says, cutting him off. She looks at Hanson who still looks perplexed, and relents a little. "OK, if, and I mean, IF we dig up something on those two that might involve Henry, then...we'll cross that bridge when we get to it." She sullenly takes another sip of her coffee that has cooled off somewhat. She also tries to stave off the pangs of guilt because she DOES intend to "google" the Doc. She offers an unspoken apology to Henry and glumly rolls her new moniker around in her mind: Judas.

Hanson sets his empty cup down and wipes his mouth with his napkin. "We'd better get back to the office and get started, then. There's also the toxicology report on Jane Doe 462 that we have to look over." Jo abandons her half-finished coffee, now cold. They settle their bill and head back to the precinct.

Earlier at Abe's Antiques...

Abe doesn't watch TV a lot, especially in the mornings what with all the depressing news being reported. He entertains himself in other ways (learning a new recipe, reading, listening to jazz, hanging out with his old Army buddies). However, after a customer came in (and left without buying anything) blathering about a guy on the news claiming to be immortal (or maybe he was just some guy off the street overly excited at the news), he promptly turned the Open sign to Closed and locked the shop's door.

He shuffled up the stairs to his second-floor bedroom at the end of the hall as quickly as his 70-year-old legs would carry him. He switched on the old black and white TV on his dresser and watched the screen flicker to life. (He was temporarily amazed that the ancient equipment still worked). The live announcement had concluded, but he managed to catch the tail end of a rerun of Dr. Reuben Barnes' remarks. Something about how to spot an immortal and urging them to contact him at some guinea pig hotel in upstate New York! Crap!

Abe immediately thought of his father. He knew that if Henry knew about this, too, he would most likely freak out. Abe turned down the TV and used the phone on his nightstand to call him at his office in the city morgue. Henry's phone rang and rang and caught the voicemail. Frustrated, he hung up and redialed. Again with the ringing and no answering. Where was Henry? Just as he was about to hang up and redial, Henry answered. "Yessss, hello," his tone flat and tired.

"Henry. What took you so long to pick up? You sound terrible."

"Oh. Hello, Abraham."

"Hey, there was this guy on the news a little while ago claiming to be-"

"Yes, I saw the Barnes and Larson circus on TV this morning!"

"Look, I was just worried about you. Stop yelling!"

"I'm not yelling! (silence) I'm not yelling...my apologies."

"OK, OK, I, ah, I think I recognize that Barnes guy."

"What?!"

"Yeah, yeah, there was a Barnes family that lived next door when we lived on East Lucien, remember?"

"No, I don't remember any Barnes family - ohhh, oh, God. I do remember. Oh, dear God!"

"You're yelling again."

"I'm not yelling!"

"Henryyyy, get a hold of yourself."

"Er, uh, look, Abraham, I'll be home as soon as I can."

"Are you sure you need to do that?"

"I'm leaving my office now."

Abe sighed as the call ended with a hasty click. He stared at the phone for a few moments and went back to the TV to turn it up again. The newscasters were interviewing their so-called experts now, putting their own spin on "this most extraordinary news of the day." Abe folded his arms across his chest and laughed to himself, thinking, 'Extraordinary? Extraordinary? Try living with an immortal your whole life, ha ha! You guys don't know zilch!' And he turns the TV off with a hard twist of the knob.

He exits his bedroom and makes his way to the small but cozy kitchen to prepare a comforting meal for his father once he got home. He dreaded the coming conversation and eventual argument about leaving (running and hiding) versus staying (and fighting). His father could be so stubborn at his best, obtuse at his worst, whenever he and Abe disagreed on something. Lately, it's been his refusal to disclose his secret to Jo, no matter how many times Abe had urged him to. No matter how many times he had assured his father that Jo could be trusted. She would believe him. She would accept him. Because she loves him, for Pete's sake! And he loves her.

The shop's bell tinkled and he knew that his father was home. As he heard Henry's hurried footsteps across the shop's floor and then on the stairs leading up to the kitchen, he braced himself for what was to come. 'Better make a pot of strong tea. And break out the whiskey.' he thought. He was determined to defy his father and prevent him from running - at all costs.

vvvv

4

Jo and Hanson compare the toxicology report on Jane Doe 462 to her autopsy report. As homicide detectives, they've seen a lot of these reports but they really are much easier to understand when explained by a medical or technical professional. Henry was most likely prepared to deliver his spiel when he left the tox report earlier. That is, before he was chased off after seeing the strange TV broadcast of a man declaring to the world that he is immortal. She hands the reports to Hanson who's been hovering over her right shoulder and sits down at her desk.

"We need to talk to the Doc about these," Hanson mutters as he studies the report. "If it bleeds, it leads, as the newscasters say."

Jo understands the unspoken meaning: uncovering the mystery of Jane Doe 462 supercedes delving into the mystery of Henry Morgan. Reports in hand, they head down to the morgue.

Jo and Hanson enter the morgue to speak with Henry but are dismayed to see his empty office. They approach Lucas and greet the assistant ME, who sits at his small workspace, deep in thought. He looks up at the detectives, then nervously back at Henry's empty office and back at the detectives. His more than six-foot, lanky frame slowly rises as his mouth opens and closes, and finally he says, "Uh, hey, detectives. If you're looking for Henry, uh, he's not here. He left a little over an hour ago. Some type of family emergency. I-Is there anything I can help you with?" His voice cracks and the last few words come out an entire register higher. His fragile wall of calmness cracks, as well, as he absent-mindedly pats and re-pats his large hands on either side of his long torso.

Hanson exchanges knowing looks with Jo and holds the reports up. "We need to talk to the Doc about JD462 and these reports on her."

"Lucas," Jo asks, "is there anything you can tell us?"

"Okay, well," he begins slowly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, "aside from what the Doc has already told you about her age (20's) and race (African-American), she has a very athletic physique of average height, but gained and lost weight in recent months."

Jo: "Yo-yo dieting?"

Hanson: "Stomach stapling? An eating disorder?"

Lucas: "Pregnancy and childbirth. Recently."

Realization and doom wash over the detectives at the possibility of a newborn being out there, somewhere, without its mother and with God knows whom. That's if the baby survived. But hope springs eternal, right? So maybe that's a clue for them to follow. When and where did she give birth? Certainly not in the shallow grave where she was found, inside of a large garbage bag.

They all shudder at what may have been her horrific final hours. First, enduring an increasingly uncomfortable gestation period, then the hard pains of labor, only to become a new mother and possibly a murder victim. Henry believed, initially, that she did not die from the strange burns. However, he concluded that they were inflicted by someone using a blowtorch.

The morgue, two months earlier...

"Depending on how hot the flame is," Henry began, "and how long it's held to the body, a blowtorch would inflict quite a ghastly burn. Ten seconds or longer could result in third-degree burns as seen on our victim here." He continued, simultaneously spreading his arms and raising a pointed finger as he usually did while sharing his professional opinion in his thick, lyrical, Welsh accent (and unbeknownst to them, his firsthand knowledge of having endured such injuries). "Such injuries not only cause the obvious burns but the flesh is literally blasted away and destroyed, leaving these deep, burned-out gashes."

"Geez!" Hanson blurted out, frowning in disgust and taking a couple steps back from the body.

"Wow." Jo marveled and looked away, anywhere but at the victim, in a seeming attempt to distance her mind and emotions from the knowledge of such a brutal attack. "Tha-that – must have been - painful beyond imagination. Poor girl." She struggled to hold back the tears.

Henry quickly responded, "Oddly, maybe not as painful as you might think. You see, the nerves and deeper skin tissues are completely destroyed. But, yes, it still hurts." His voice trailed off, as Jo recalled, as he silently fell into another of his mysterious memory fogs. She recalled wondering where he went to in those moments; what was behind the tired sadness in those chocolate-brown eyes.

"So, lemme get this straight, Doc," Hanson asked, "whoever burned her face, hands and feet, was trying to-" he doesn't finish.

"-make it difficult, if not impossible, to identify her." Henry finished Hanson's thought. "Yes, detective. As I stated initially, I do not believe the burns were the COD. I can let you know more conclusively after we complete our autopsy on her and receive the results of toxicology and other tests."

Morgue, present day...

Jo speculates that Henry was going to share this latest information with them earlier today. Her detective's mind is clicking and she doesn't want to impede its progress towards the next step in the investigation. She looks first to Hanson on her right, then across the small workspace to Lucas. "We really need to speak with Henry about all this. Do you know when he will be back?" she asks.

Lucas stutteringly replies, "W-well, he, uh, didn't exactly say...well, he didn't say...exactly. He, he seemed pretty upset after a phone call. I mean, he was pretty upset right before he got the phone call, and, and...," his voice trails off and his arms flop-drop to his sides. In a more hushed town he says, "I just don't know. He zoomed out of here like he was running to a fire."

'Or running from one,' Jo concludes to herself. "Do you know who was on the other end of the call?"

"Apparently, it was Abe, his roommate. Look, I shouldn't have been listening, I mean," he abruptly corrects himself, "I only accidentally overheard his end of the call."

Hanson smirks slightly and asks, "Did you 'accidentally' hear what they were discussing?"

Jo quickly adds, "Yeah, what could Abe have said that upset him so? Did something happen to Abe? Is that the family emergency?" Jo has developed quite an affection for the curmudgeonly antique store owner and wouldn't want anything bad to happen to him. She's enjoyed both his cooking and his company on several occasions over the past few months as both she and Henry have also inexplicably and unwittingly grown closer. Who knew that only a little over a year after Sean's death, that the heartbreak of losing him would be healed just enough for her to welcome the two mysterious men into her life? Abe treats her more like a daughter – and she likes that. She allows that. His caring nature envelopes her and makes her feel safe. Her own father, who chose to live his life on the other side of her badge, has never made her feel that way. Even though she's still not quite clear on how Abe is related to Henry, she envies Henry's years of having lived in close proximity to him. If she's concerned about Abe after knowing him for only a few months, she can only imagine Henry's heightened concern, prompting him to leave work so suddenly.

"Oh," Jo begins, "maybe we should call Abe to find out what this emergency could have been and when Henry might be back."

"No need for that, Detective." Henry's unmistakable Welsh accent lilts into the morgue behind them, and causes Lucas to almost yelp out, "Boss!" The detectives turn their heads toward him and watch as he saunters into the morgue in his usual dapper suit, scarf and all.

They all watch as he walks past them with that familiar half-smile, enters his office, doffs his top coat and scarf and dons his white lab coat. He exits his office and walks over to stand by Lucas. He clasps his hands behind his back, squares his shoulders and raises his chin. "So good to see you all. Now," he begins, as he looks from one detective to the other, "where were we?"

Notes:

Gruesome as they are, the blowtorch injury information was found on a site called . The query by tinyham and replies by FalseGod and casdave provided me with enough to insert the two-month-old flashback into this chapter. The case of JD462 will be solved in the next two chapters. Is Adam connected to the crime? To Barnes and/or Larson? Maybe. Maybe not. We'll see.

As you can tell, Abe was able to calm his father down and bring him back to earth. Abe, the dutiful, stalwart son.

Thank you to all who have followed the story so far. I'm new to this site and still struggling with the Notes part of it, i.e., making sure previous chapters' notes do not appear on current chapters.

vvvv

5

"Abraham!" Henry bellows anxiously as he hurries up the stairs to the kitchen.

"So much for preparing a comforting meal." Abe mutters to himself.

"Where are you? Abraham, where - oh, there you are." Henry spots Abe standing near the kitchen island. He quickly closes the distance between them all the while windmilling his arms as he demands his passports. He suddenly turns and marches into his bedroom. Abe hears him bellow again for his passports and that he needs to run.

Abe listens as he stands with one hand on his hip and the other planted on the counter. He hangs his head, closes his eyes and steadies his breathing. 'Why? Why do you have to overreact like this, Dad? I swear there are times when I -'

He hears the bureau and nightstand drawers being yanked open, rifled through and slammed shut. He hears the closet door roll open on its track and after a few minutes, it rolls back with a loud bump. All the while Henry still bellows his son's name; that he needs his passport and his already-packed, quick getaway suitcase (dash-bag, they had nicknamed it in happier times).

The bellows continue. Abe is reminded of the giant in the Jack and the Beanstalk tale. 'Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum... How do I get through to this English-mun?' He almost smiles at his own clever new ending of the phrase.

Henry stalks back into the kitchen, breathless from his rantings and fruitless search. His face is flushed a bright pink above his meticulously trimmed 3 o'clock shadow. His dark, wavy curls have lost a bit of their tameness. He slowly steps toward Abe, his head slightly bent down, his gaze intent. "Where...are...my...passports...and...dash...bag?"

Abe maintains his stance but remains silent. 'Like the defiant child, he is.' Henry thinks.

Henry is at Abe's left elbow now and repeats the question in a sterner fatherly tone. But Abe merely turns to squarely face his father. Henry's patience is wearing thin now. He's also confused because Abe, of all people, should understand the urgency of the situation. "Abe, look, I need those things so I can -"

"- so you can run. " Abe quickly but quietly interrupts. "Lay low, outlive, move on."

Henry winces at his son's tone, laced with tired sarcasm. "Abe -"

"No! You listen to me for a change!" Abe blurts out, his voice louder than he intended. He punctuates his last remark by pointing first at Henry, then to himself. Henry steps closer and opens his mouth to reply, but Abe cuts him off. "And I mean, really listen, Dad." Henry reluctantly closes his mouth but maintains the stern fatherly look, his eyes piercing Abe's.

Now that Abe is sure he has his father's full attention, he begins to slowly pace around the kitchen island as he speaks, fully aware of Henry's eyes following him.

"You're overreacting, but that's not unusual for you. Damn, you can be such a coward sometimes! I call you to tell you that Dr. Reuben Barnes from the TV news story looks familiar and next thing I know you rush home with your shorts in a knot ready to hightail it outta here and leave everything you've worked for behind. Everything you've built up these past several years; everyone who loves you, behind. I don't know if you really love any of us here or not. You sure don't act like it. Not if you do this, Dad.

"I love you. I've always loved you. I always will. But I guess that's not enough for you."

"Abraham!" Henry shouts.

"No! No! You listen!" Abe shouts louder, determined to finish. "It's not enough that Jo loves you or that you love her. Yeah! You LOVE her. You're too much of a coward to admit that, too! You just - you just - ," (he flails his arms around) "frustrate the heck outta me, Pops!"

Abe feels the tears burning at his eyes now. Henry's stern look has melted off of his face and he slowly sits down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Years of built up frustration with his father's stubbornness and paranoia cause him to ignore the wilt of Henry's demeanor. He's on autopilot now, coating his words with bile and venom from deep within. Bad memories and years of repressed hurt and anger add ugly weight to his present disappointment with his father.

"I'm 70 years old. I'm old! I'm tired! You want to continue to drag me around to parts unknown when YOU get scared off. I can't do that anymore, Pops! You don't realize that you have something GOOD here now. You have Jo! The people you work with. I - can't - believe - you want to give all that up without even knowing if the 'Barnes and Larson circus', as you call it, is gonna roll over on you or not.

"It's selfish." Abe drops his voice. Then raises it back up. "It's selfish of you to take yourself away from us. Away from Jo! Away from ME! Stay and fight this thing out if there IS to be a fight. You fought Adam and won." Henry makes a move as if to protest. Abe raises his hand and shouts, "No! You won! Why don't you think about the positive things in your life for a change, for God's sake?" He walks towards Henry and bends forward to emphasize his last words.

"You leave...and...you listen to me: you leave and I won't care where you wind up. Don't ever contact me again. I mean it, Pops. And when I kiss this world good-bye (he pauses, his breath shaky now, tears brimming over his eyes and down his cheeks), DO NOT BOTHER TO CREEP TO MY FUNERAL AND PEEP FROM BEHIND A TREE. Because I won't be your son anymore. If you leave. I won't. And don't ever visit my gravesite."

"You wanna leave? Well, here." Abe quickly marches into the sitting room and retrieves Henry's dash-bag and passports where he had hidden them earlier and returns with them. "Leave then." He growls through gritted teeth. He throws the dash-bag onto the floor and kicks it over towards Henry's feet. He then flings the passports across the kitchen table and they wind up almost perfectly in front of Henry.

Henry reacts as though Abe had actually kicked him. As if Abe had flung his love for him away, as well. He has never, ever heard his son speak to him this way. His words truly cut like a knife. He felt the need to run...because...well, to protect his secret and to protect Abe from unscrupulous individuals. Right? Tears begin to drop onto his hands and he realizes he has been crying, too. Of course, he loves his son. Loves him dearly. Always have and always will. But is Abe right? Is it possible that he is just a coward, a selfish coward, thinking only of himself? If he had not allowed himself to grow close to anyone outside of Abe...would he still leave? His son is right. He's getting too old to trapse around here and there with him at a moment's notice, whenever he felt threatened. Abe should have some rest in his golden years. It IS time to let Jo in - to trust her. Guilt and shame wash over him in alternating waves of nausea. How could he be so thoughtless? Abe's harsh words oddly have a calming effect. He stands up and picks up the dash-bag and passports. He doesn't move, though, as he senses that Abe has more to say.

"Stay, Dad." Abe is across the room but facing Henry. His voice quiet and calm, his tears brushed away, but his face pinched. "Stay here with us - with me. Please. Don't make our lives together end that other way. I'm proud to be your son. Proud. Remember what you said Mom told you once? 'Life is about the journey.' Well, our journey hasn't ended yet, Pops. Whatever this turns out to be, we can get through it - together. You have Jo and the entire NYPD to help you now."

Henry places the dash-bag in the chair and lays the passports back onto the table. He slowly walks over to Abe and without stopping, embraces him in the tightest bearhug he can manage. Abe returns the embrace. Henry closes his eyes and says softly, "I'm not going anywhere, Abe. You're right. Everything you said is true. He plants a kiss on the top of Abe's head and pulls back. He looks loving at his son. "Forgive me?" he pleadingly asks, his mouth turned up in a painful smile.

Abe throws his arms around his father again and muffles into his shoulder, "You bet, Pops."

The two men give each other final pats on the backs and separate. Abe walks into the sitting room and sits on the couch. Henry sits next to him. They sit for several minutes and breathe in the calm that has returned to them both. Henry breaks the silence with a small smile and a raised eyebrow towards his son. "That was really something, Abraham."

"Yeah. I know." Abe agrees, grinning sheepishly.

Henry knits his brow and leans back. "Um, this Reuben Barnes -" he begins.

"Let's talk about that later, Pops, OK? Don't worry. There is no way anyone in the Barnes family knew anything about you. That's why I got so angry with you, the way you jumped the gun..." He stops himself and looks down at his clasped hands. "Anyway, we can talk about it later, like I said. Say, don't you have a Jane Doe to worry about in the morgue?"

Henry suddenly sits forward and quickly stands up. "Yes. Yes, thank you, Abraham, for reminding me. I should be getting back to work. There is so much to tell the detectives," he says, his eyes darting rapidly back and forth. He flashes that dazzling smile of his and proclaims, "We're going to solve the case of this poor woman if it kills me." He turns and quickly makes his way down the stairs and out of the shop as he bellows over his shoulder (this time happily), "I'll see you later, Abraham!"

"Bye, Pops!" Abe bellows back and a wide grin grows over his face. He takes a much-needed deep breath and decides to take a nap on the couch. Lunch can wait, he tells himself. Raggin' on his old man took more out of him than he bargained for. He stretches out, closes his eyes and mutters, "Don't say stuff like 'if it kills me', Pops." He drifts off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

vvvv

6

Back at the precinct...

Hanson leans back in his chair at his desk, right hand poised on his mouse as he stares at his computer screen. From time to time he clicks on a link and stares intently as the resultant information fills the screen. His eyes skim over it as he scrolls downward. Items which appear to be most pertinent to the blowtorch case cause him to lean forward as the fingers of his left hand rub across his forehead. Occasionally he breathes out an "O-kayyyy" then rises from his chair and makes the short walk to the printer in order to retrieve a printed document. He returns to his desk and repeats the ritual.

Jo mimics his actions at her own desk but instead of rubbing her hand across her forehead, she sits bolt upright in her chair, her head tilted forward as she also stares intently at the screen. Her "Mm-hmm's" are an echo to Hanson's "O-kayyyy's".

They finally place their documents into a manila folder and head down to the morgue. On the way, they discuss their individual findings and they are buoyed by what they feel are now good leads. They speculate if any of it will be enough for Henry to help them profile the type of person who would put a blowtorch to another person; what type of blowtorch was used; and where/how it may have been obtained.

Back in the morgue, Lucas stealthily casts occasional glances at his boss who feigns unawareness. Henry is too immersed in finalizing his notes on the autopsy report to pay much attention to Lucas' odd behavior (again). Even though he feels he can adequately surmise how the victim met her gruesome end, he can't help but envy her. Envy her for the end - not the gruesomeness. The fact that she came to the end of her lifespan. Indeed, he envies anyone who walks that final mile of existence and transitions to another plane. 'I want to grow old.' He remembers lamenting to Abe several weeks ago. For the past few months, he's come to realize that he wants to grow old with Jo. He's painfully aware that unless something drastically changes as far as his - condition - that that lovely scenario is still an impossibility. Her image, her essence, invades his thoughts and takes him on a short, but pleasant romp through his own private what-could-be land. He closes his eyes and smiles. Smiles even more as he also remembers Abe taking him to task earlier at the shop for not letting Jo know about his secret; for not letting Jo know about his love for her. 'Kids say the darndest things, according to the late Art Linkletter'. Henry shakes his head slightly as he rises from his chair. He leaves the report on his desk to walk out of his office into the morgue where his young assistant, Lucas, pretends to be engrossed in his comic - ah - graphic novels. As soon as he reaches the door, though, his path is blocked by Lucas.

Lucas knows he is doing a poor job of hiding his guilt over having eavesdropped on Henry's earlier phone conversation with Abe. At first he was elated to see his boss return in good humor and resume control of the autopsy. Now he feels the urge to come clean.

"Lucas?" Henry queries, confusion written on his face. He looks up at the young man whose near-NBA athletic proportions seem to tower over his own 5'11" frame. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Lucas opens his mouth but only manages to release a sigh of exasperation. Henry cocks his head to the side, lowers it, and steps aside to allow his young assistant to enter his office. Lucas quickly makes his way in and stiffly seats himself in one of the chairs facing Henry's desk. Henry closes and locks the door and draws the blinds close. "Now. What's on your mind?" He quickly pats Lucas' left shoulder as he passes him to sit behind his desk.

"I need to apologize," he begins slowly, "for eavesdropping on you earlier." Lucas runs a hand through his neatly-coifed, straight brown hair; unable to allow his blue eyes to meet Henry's. Lucas feels he can't look directly at Henry because those amazingly wide eyes and elevated powers of observation (and those Jedi mind tricks of his) will leave him too transparent and rob him of coherent speech or thought. So he concentrates on the manila folder that contains the autopsy report. "I heard you groan and I got concerned so -", he pauses - "I kinda hung closer to your door and heard more of your conversation than I should have." The last words come out in a rush. He closes his eyes, inhales again and expells the air in a great rush, as well. 'There. I told him.' He feels relief at first, then, just as quickly, regret. 'I'm gonna be fired. Man, this is not good. I really, really, really need this job and I really, really, really like working here with-'

"Thank you, Lucas," Henry states with genuine sincerity, "for your honesty. You needn't have worried, though." He gives Lucas that lop-sided smile of his. "As it turns out there was no real emergency and I simply overreacted to something that Abraham mentioned during our conversation." He lowers his head to hide his embarrassment and adds, "We both know that the only reason you overheard is because I conducted my end of the conversation with all the civility of an elephant at a tea party." Henry abruptly freezes as he realizes that that last descriptor might be a tad arcane, probably drawing suspicion towards him. 'Note to self: must endeavor to use more up-to-date colloquialisms'. He manages, however, to maintain a calm exterior as Lucas now appears more visibly relaxed.

"Thanks, Boss." Lucas sighs out with a faint grin. They sit in silence for a few moments until Lucas' cell phone buzzes. He takes it out of his pocket and reads a text message. "Uhhh, yeahhh," he draws out as he reads it and texts back his reply. He suddenly looks up at Henry. "Oh, sorry. That was a text from a buddy in missing persons." He speaks as he slowly rises from his chair. "He may have something on our vic. Hope you don't mind I contacted him earlier while you were out of the office. Remember, it was an MPR that helped us to ID the bones that belonged to Belinda Smoot a while back, so..." Lucas chooses to stop right there, as he remembers how deeply affected Henry was by that recent case. Especially after the discovery of the bones of Abe's mother. Huh, Abe's mother. He never quite got the whole story on that and because of Henry's need to perpetually construct his wall of secrecy as if it were the Winchester Mystery House, Lucas has resigned himself to the fact that he may never know the whole story. But he's grateful for Henry's acceptance of his apology along with Henry's explaining a smidgen of something personal. Makes him feel that they have trod new ground together, hopefully in their budding friendship; certainly in their work relationship.

"On the contrary, Lucas, your observations and input are highly valued." He emphasizes the statement by punching a thumbs up in Lucas' direction.

Lucas looks a bit awestruck. 'Henry Morgan giving me praise? Wow.'

"Carry on," Henry continues, "and let us know of your findings as soon as possible."

"Uh, thanks." Lucas manages as he grins from ear to ear. "Uh, yeah, soon as I - yeah, yeah."

Conversation ended, both men exit the office. Henry watches Lucas lope towards the elevator. He can't help but feel somewhat guilty, though, because he has never been totally honest with Lucas. The younger man admires him, he acknowledges, and he feels unworthy. Out of nowhere he thinks, 'I must tell him about me some day.' Henry is at once astonished at his own words and wonders why the thought came so easily to him. He finds his answer in Abe's words that echo in his ears again, stinging but accurate, reminding him that he enjoys his work here these past several years. He enjoys the comraderie of colleagues: Jo, of course, but also Hanson, Reece and Lucas. 'Should I tell each of them about me? Am I comfortable with that?' He realizes that for the first time in nearly a century, yes, he is. He feels - brave. And a little excited. Well, more than a little excited at the prospect of expanding his small circle of friends beyond Abe. He's almost giddy at the prospect.

There have been many times in his long past when his secret was accidentally revealed to others and it did not end well for him. His late wife, Abigail, however, had found out accidentally and had still loved him. Dear, sweet Abigail. Their adopted son, Abe, was a teenager when he realized that his mother, Abigail, appeared to age along with most of his friends' parents, but his father, Henry, did not. He had confronted them with questions and Henry and Abigail had finally explained his "long story" to Abe. And, like Abigail, Abe had still loved and accepted Henry. That is, after a month-long period of awkwardness and a game of seemingly one million questions. But Henry knows that the timing is not quite right. They are so close to solving the case of this latest Jane Doe currently identified by only a number: 462.

DING! Henry shoves his thoughts to the back of his mind as Jo and Hanson exit the elevator and make their way into the morgue.

"Hello, Detectives." He motions them into his office and seats himself behind his desk once more.

"Hey, Doc." Hanson greets him by raising the manila folder he's holding. "Got ya blowtorch smorgasbord here." He steps into the office behind Jo who smiles a "Hey, Henry." to him and they both take a seat. She looks over at Hanson and shakes her head in disapproval. He looks away and mutters an apology. His crude remark garners a look of even greater disapproval from Henry. He squirms uncomfortably in his chair and says, "OK, OK. Sorry. This case has kinda gotten to me, ya know? Guess I'm doin' a bad job of trying to keep my emotions from runnin' away from me. I mean, I got two kids myself and I can't imagine that little baby just bein' snatched from its mother like that and..." He grows quiet and looks over at Jo whose expression has softened towards him.

Henry allows Hanson time to compose himself. He longs to confide to Hanson that he understands because he is also a father. 'Soon, perhaps', he thinks'. "At any rate, Detective," he begins, "in my opinion, the blowtorch used was the kind that artists use. There were traces of art resin on her forearms as if she had come in contact with it and had done a poor job of removing it from her skin. Her lungs also showed signs of inflammation most likely from inhaling the substance over a period of time. You see, -"

"She was sniffin' this stuff?" Hanson breaks in, a look of incredulity on his face. Jo's jaw drops as she stares at Henry, her eyes begging him for a different conclusion.

"As I was about to sayyyy," Henry eyes them both like a professor retaking control after his lecture has been interrupted, "depending upon the type of epoxy resin and hardner used, the person must don protective gear such as goggles, gloves and some type of respirator over their mouth and nose in order to prevent inhalation of the toxic fumes. Proper ventilation is also necessary in order to avoid the debilitating health effects such as our victim suffered." His eyes drop to view the manila folder containing the autopsy report and pats his hand on it in an unconscious effort to soothe the deceased.

"So not a baker or a chef." Jo thinks out loud.

"And not a construction worker or welder." Hanson sighs, looking at the folder of apparently now useless information they had found on the Internet about uses for a blowtorch.

"More likely an artist or an art student." Henry offers.

Hanson: "Her perpetrator could be, too."

Jo nods in agreement.

Henry: "There are several reputable art schools and universities in New York City. The blowtorch could also have been used to produce art in a private residence."

They ponder the possibilities and brainstorm on the next best move in their investigation when Lucas bursts into the morgue. His long legs quickly cover the length of the morgue and he rushes up to Henry's desk.

"Valerie Nayanja Nelson." He passes the Missing Person's Report to Henry as he continues to recite its contents. "Age 22, single, born and raised in Queens, dropped out of art school about a year ago. Reported missing by her roommate, Cheryl Biggams, who said Valerie was going to get paid big bucks for being a surrogate mother for an unknown, childless couple. Apparently, Ms. Biggams was more concerned with getting Valerie's share of the rent than she was for Valerie's safety. Not that she didn't care about her, she said she didn't feel Valerie was in any danger since she was being cared for by this couple. Who knows," he speculates, "maybe she changed her mind and decided to keep the baby?"

"Maybe this unknown, childless couple didn't like that so much, huh?" Hanson adds.

"We go talk to Ms. Biggams, then." Jo says, her mouth set in a thin line. She gets the roommate's address from the MPR. Both she and Hanson rise to leave. "You coming, Henry?"

"Absolutely, Detective." Henry answers with a mock-serious look on his face. Jo grins and rolls her eyes.

As the trio leave, Lucas slowly walks to his workstation and sits down, murmuring forlornly, "Thank you, Lucas. Good job, Lucas." He shrugs. "Take the rest of the day off, Lucas." He sighs and picks up one of his graphic novels. Then he hears Henry's Robin-Hoodish voice saying, "By the way, well done, Lucas! It's fine with me if you want to leave early." Henry nods once, turns and jogs into the elevator with Jo and Hanson who have been holding the door for him.

A smile slowly creeps over his lips and he locks up his workstation and walks towards the elevator. 'Well done, Lucas! Yep, leavin' early. Muh boss, muh buddy said so.'

Across town in a Bellevue hospital room, a silent figure lies in bed. His slender body's muscles and voice unable to respond to his desperate commands. His short, brown hair freshly washed and groomed. His mind, however, is very much alert. As a chatty nurse in her 50's with a nasaly voice and an annoying affinity for the phrase, 'Ya knowww?' checked his vitals that morning, she had turned on his overhead TV to an astonishing news report of a man claiming to be - immortal. But it wasn't Henry. Another immortal? But Not Henry? Adam thought that after more than 2000 years there were no more surprises in store for him (other than when he found out about Henry). He wonders - has wondered all day - what the younger immortal thinks of all this. Was Henry going to be found out now? Would he in turn be found out? If only he could break free of this physical inconvenience. He cursed his inability to take control of his own body. He cursed Henry again...and again...and again. But he had to find a way out of this. He had to learn who Ben Larson was and if he was truly an immortal. He had to know. He...had to know.

Notes:

This chapter took longer to write because of the research that had to be done in order to try to bring out details on the crime of the Jane Doe. I gave a major look to a video on YouTube. No that discussed epoxy resin and blowtorch use in art and the mixing of such. I think my hair is more white now. Please read and leave comments. Thank you.

vvvv

7

The apartment that the victim, Valerie Nelson, had shared with Cheryl Biggams was just a few blocks away from the precinct on a pleasant, tree-lined street in a newly-renovated, three-story red brick building. As Jo drove the short distance and parked, she made a mental note of how much the neighborhood had changed in just a few short years. 'Gentrification', she scoffed to herself. She wonders how many people have been misplaced as a result of the still ongoing new construction and renovations which ultimately demand higher rents and mortgages which in turn require tenants with deeper pockets than those with fixed or minimum-waged incomes.

Jo, Hanson, and Henry exit her police car and make their way across the street to the building. She suddenly realizes that Henry has been strangely silent during the ride. "What, no lecture on the changing landscape, architecture, and populace in this part of town, Henry?" she asks with a smirk of a smile. When he fails to respond, she looks over at him only to find him at the sidewalk's edge slowly turning around, lost in thought as he takes in his surroundings. The look on his face indicates that he's entertaining fond memories. Jo calls to him to snap him out of his reverie. He at first looks a bit startled, then apologetic as he catches up to them. Hanson is already ringing the buzzer.

"C'mon, Doc," Hanson prods, "lecture us. You know you're just dyin' to."

Hanson's innocent but poor choice of words grate upon Henry's sensibilities. He eyes Hanson for a second and calmly states, "A story for another time, Detective." Obviously, he can't divulge to them his familiarity with the once ramshackle area because of the many poor patients he tended to during his time in a free clinic in the 1960's.

The buzzer answered, Jo announces themselves and the entry door opens. They walk in and knock on Apt 1B. A young woman in her early 20's with short, brown hair wearing yoga pants and an oversized NY Jets jersey, opens the door and lets them in after they "badge up" to her. 'Amer-Asian,' Henry automatically begins to observe and note. 'Recently unemployed and enduring an unsuccessful job search.' He takes in the unkempt condition of the livingroom. 'Starting to get a bit depressed.' A newspaper on the coffee table lies open to the classified section with several job notices circled in black, many of them crossed out in red. Not uncommon in today's economy, he laments, that job seekers soon become discouraged at finding a plethora of low-paying jobs with terrible work hours. After a few weeks they run out of steam and literally take up residence on their couch. Their legitimate job search, slowly usurped by TV, junk food, and Facebook games, gradually slides into a quiet desperation. Henry can't help but feel a tinge of guilt because no matter how many times he has uprooted and fled elsewhere, sometimes with a new identity, he has always managed to find sustainable employment, usually in his chosen field of medicine. His attention is immediately drawn to the young woman as he hears her speak about the mysterious couple.

"All I know is that the woman was, is, an artist and she was kind of letting Val help her with her weird artwork. Something to do with a blowtorch and some chemicals, which I told Val sounded unhealthy...for her and the baby...and dangerous. Val was all excited to learn that technique. I was like, whatever. She could be so pigheaded at times." She wrings her hands and sighs, a worried frown on her face. "I miss her, OK? She's...she...was...good people. Her parents died in a car crash about a year ago and she was an only child. She never spoke of any other family. Oh! I can't believe I'm talking about her in the past tense!" She looks up and shakes her head, tears forming in her eyes. Henry places his neatly-folded, monogrammed, white handkerchief into her hands. She offers a weak smile to him as thanks and wipes her eyes.

"What about the guy? Did she ever say anything about him? How he looks, where he works?" Jo softly asks.

"Well, after a while, she began to always smile when she spoke of him. If you ask me, she had gotten in over her head. I mean she began to think that she wanted to keep the baby for herself and...", her voice trailed off to a whisper, "live happily ever after with that guy, you know?" She barks a laugh and slaps her knee. "Now, pigheaded as she was, she would not listen to me, that that kind of thinking was just - plain - silly. Turns out it was dangerous, right?" She barks a laugh again and shakes her head, tears flowing more freely.

"You don't think the guy shared her desire for the three of them to be a family, then?" Jo asks. Jo just can't bring herself to call this guy a man. She pushes her personal feelings down and manages to maintain her professional manner.

"No, no!" Cheryl exclaims. "I never even saw him and I could tell from what she told me, that he was scheming on her." Her voice shaky with anger now, her jaw set. "He just wanted to humor her - "

"-so that she would relinquish the child at end of their agreement." Henry gently finishes for her. Cheryl looks up at him, her mouth still open, then she closes it and quickly nods.

Jo leans forward. "I know you said that you never saw either the woman or him, but do you have any idea of where they were they taking care of Val?"

"No," Cheryl draws out as if recalling something, "but she said it was hard to breathe sometimes, wherever it was. She began to have these breathing attacks like asthma or something. I told her to go get some medication from the doctor, but they had convinced her that it was better for the baby if she just had OTC meds because prescription meds would be too harsh. Man! She just wouldn't listen to me, to reason."

"How did she get the meds?" Hanson queries.

"HE always bought them for her. You know, those OTC meds are not as effective as the prescription stuff." She blinks a couple of times as if having a revelation. "Wait. Wait. She mentioned once that after he got her the OTC inhaler, they had a pastrami sandwich - she craved them - from the deli across the street. What was the name of that deli - ?" She closes her eyes tightly and breathes deeply. Her eyes pop open. "Sam's Deli on West 20th. There's a Rite-Aid right across the street from it!" She smiles in triumph at each of them. Her smile quickly fades. "How could they have done that to her? Why didn't they just take her to court like that other couple did with their surrogate a few years ago? You know the case in Ohio. The surrogate wound up having to give the child to the couple but nobody died!" She heaves a big sigh and begins to cry again. She wipes her eyes with Henry's handkerchief. She then blows her nose loudly and balls it up and offers it back to him. He raises a hand and steps back, shaking his head, telling her that she may keep it.

"Are you sure?" she asks. "This is so fancy, all monogrammed with - your initials?" She looks up at him. He smiles and nods slightly. She says, "Well, thanks. Who does that nowadays, anyway? Get hankies monogrammed? So oldfashioned." She suddenly looks up at Henry. "Oh, no offense. I-It's pretty and all, it's just that," she lets out a giggle, "sounds like something one of those immortals might do, you know, get hankies monogrammed. Even HAVE hankies. Who carries those anymore?" She looks Henry up and down and then Hanson as if to compare their style of dress. Her head swivels slowly back to Henry and she smilingly says, "You know, I have pictures of my great-great-grandfather dressed almost exactly like you are back in the 1920's. She continues to smile as she squints at him and asks, "Sure you're not one of those immortals walking amongst us?"

Henry's smile freezes on his face, his mind empty of any intelligent response. Hanson breaks the awkward silence by coughing. Jo laughingly blurts out that Henry "gets that all the time." They all laugh a bit more and bid themselves a hasty exit, thanking Cheryl for her time and that they will be in touch. Jo hands one of her cards to her.

Cheryl sidles up to Henry and whispers, "Don't get me wrong. It's a good look on you." Her sultry eyes meet his and he ducks his head, smile still frozen on his face as he is finally able to step out of the apartment into the hallway.

The three sleuths quickly make their way out of the building. As they cross the street, Hanson pipes up with, "Only the Doc could get a chick all hot and bothered by letting her use his snot rag." Jo back slaps him on his arm but it's all she can do to stifle her own laughter. "Jealous." He playfully hisses at Jo. He continues his ribbing. "But she's kinda young for my tastes, Henry. Kind of robbing the cradle, ain't ya?" He looks over his shoulder and grins at Henry.

'If you only knew, Detective. If you only knew.' Henry returns Hanson's devilish grin with an exaggerated one of his own. When he met Abigail, she must have been no older than Ms. Biggams; early 20's. He, by contrast, had walked the earth consistently for 166 years. If he was robbing the cradle then, or now, it was through no fault of his own. He had no control over his long lifespan. He had never asked for it. And, so far as he knew, he was doomed to continue it for eternity. So he would be robbing the cradle of any woman he would be involved with, at this point. And, at this point, it was just another aspect of his - condition - that he had to live with. He couldn't feel guilty about it. Even if the gentleman in him still made him feel a bit uncomfortable with it.

Once back on the road, Jo and Hanson discuss getting surveillance footage from both the deli and the Rite-Aid that Cheryl Biggams mentioned. Talk with employees, see if they can't get an ID or description of the mysterious guy who bought over-the-counter asthma medication for the victim and dined on pastrami sandwiches with her. Hopefully, a pregnant woman will stand out in somebody's mind and the case can really begin to pop.

'No more monogrammed handkerchiefs', Henry reminds himself. 'And no more lending them out!' He seriously considers reading that handful of Lucas' graphic novels; the ones with "immortal stuff" to help him keep a better low profile. He's thankful that so far everyone thinks his dress and deportment simply sprout from his eccentricity. That blasted Reuben Barnes!

vvvv

8

Back at the precinct, Jo and Hanson update Lt. Reece on their progress in the Valerie Nelson case. They share that many of the businesses in their target area don't even have a surveillance system. Those that do, record over their footage every 48 hours. That makes it difficult, if not impossible, to capture footage they would need from over two months ago. However, one lone jewelry store owner sends her footage to a facility in Atlanta, Georgia, that digitizes and stores it. NYPD should receive the surveillance footage for the requested time period once the facility completes their response to the warrant. A check is also being done on birth certificates issued for babies not born in a hospital in the last three to five months. So far, they've narrowed it down to four and out of that number, two very likely candidates to be the baby Valerie Nelson birthed.

"Good work, Detectives." Reece lauds them. "Unfortunately, for the victim and the baby, this case is getting buried by the press because of the hubbub over that recent news story about immortals and how to spot them, which is utterly ridiculous, if you ask me." She snorts in disgust. "But at least the press has not joined the usual clamor from my superiors. Although that gives us a little more breathing room, we stay focused, as usual." She emphasizes the last two words by tapping the well-manicured nail of her right index finger twice on Jo's desk. The two detectives nod in agreement. They both eye their boss as she steps closer to them and lowers her voice. "How's our - friend - been getting along lately?" They both know she means Henry.

"Fine." Jo quickly replies and looks over at Hanson.

"More than fine." Hanson beams. "Matter of fact," he continues as he leans back, "this Biggams chick we just interviewed hit on our - friend. Apparently, some women -" he abruptly stops when he sees that Reece is not amused and his smile quickly fades. He straightens up in his chair and clears his throat. "Uh, yeah, fine, like Jo said." He avoids Reece's piercing eyes and Jo's look of mild annoyance.

"I think Lucas Wahl is rubbing off on you, Mike." She says dryly. She softens her expression as she eyes the detectives, then the wall clock. "Been a long couple of days for you two. Pack it in and be back bright and early tomorrow morning. OK?" They both respond in the affirmative and she returns to her office and closes the door. She hesitates a second and then closes the blinds.

Joanna Reece is proud of her rise from beat cop, to detective, and now, Lieutenant. Although decorated in all three capacities, it hasn't been easy. She delegates authority very well, too. But sometimes...like now...that nagging urge to dig in herself has to be satisfied. There's a reason she knows everything that goes on in her precinct. She unlocks her computer screen, opens an outside web browser and types inside the search window, Center for Scientific Discovery. Once the wanted information appears with the phone number, she picks up the phone and dials. 'Reuben Barnes. Ben Larson.' She thinks daggers of them both as she writes their names on a legal sized note pad. How dare they cause such an uproar with such an outlandish claim in her city on her watch. She grumbles to herself that their well-respected Medical Examiner and some others may have some unsettling experiences at the hands of some lame brains looking to identify a so-called immortal. She's determined to get to the bottom of it all. The line is finally answered at the other end. Anger strains her voice as she speaks. "Yes, hello. This is Lieutenant Joanna Reece of the NYPD, 11th Precinct. I'd like to speak to Dr. Reuben Barnes, please."

Meanwhile...

Hanson leaves before Jo, eager to surprise his wife and kids with a bowling night out.

Jo steps into the elevator. She wants to drop by the morgue first to see if Henry wants a ride home, then she decides against it. She does have feelings for him, as Hanson so bluntly stated back in the diner, but they're not dating or anything. And she doesn't want to appear - desperate. His mixed messages have frustrated her for weeks, though. Is there something there or not? Does he care for her or not? Why doesn't he make his move, as they say? She hates to admit it but if their partnership/friendship evolves into another level, it will have to begin with Henry. This is not like her one-night stands. Henry is different. For the first time in a long time, memories of her late husband, Sean, no longer totally fill her quiet hours. They're now filled more with visions of Henry. He looks like he stepped out of a Jane Austen novel with his impossible good looks; that smile that buckles her knees; that beautiful accent. And whenever they have accidentally brushed up against each other it's sent shivers up and down her spine. And those scarves! How can a guy look so sexy wearing scarves? But he does. And how many does he own? But she also loves him because he's so principled and caring and has such a good heart - wait - loves? She searches her heart for the truth behind the word and finds it. Yes, she loves Henry Morgan. A smile gently turns up the corners of her mouth and she realizes that the pain of having lost Sean has lessened enough to make her yearning for Henry increase. 'If only - '

"Coming out or going up?" A voice breaks into her thoughts and she sees the lobby from the elevator's open doors. A half dozen uni's step aside as she exits and they enter. She trudges her way to her car and once inside, points it towards home. 'Home for some "me" time, then. Romance on the back burner. Stay focused, Reece said. Stay focused.'

'No more monogrammed handkerchiefs', Henry reminds himself. 'And no more lending them out!' He seriously considers reading that handful of graphic novels from Lucas; the ones with "immortal stuff" to help him keep a better low profile. He's thankful that, so far, everyone thinks his dress and deportment simply sprout from his eccentricity. 'That blasted Reuben Barnes! '

Henry sits in his bedroom with the half dozen or so graphic novels he borrowed from Lucas. They're stacked into a neat pile on the empty side of his bed. He had decided earlier to read them but sits and stares at them instead. Something bothers him; something that Cheryl Biggams said when Jo and Hanson interviewed her earlier today. According to the Missing Persons Report she had filed a few weeks ago, she did not feel Valerie Nelson was in any danger at that time. Yet she now admits that she felt Valerie had been in a dangerous situation. Why the discrepancy? 'Ahhh, probably nothing. A person can change their mind.' Henry wearily tells himself as he sighs and rubs his eyes. Lack of restful sleep over the past couple of days has caught up with him.

He looks forward to Abraham's return from a short business trip to Secaucus, New Jersey. 'That came up suddenly. Oh, stop. Getting paranoid in my old age.' He quietly laughs. Then his thoughts drift again to Jo. He wonders if he should call her about Cheryl Biggams' contradictory statements. Perhaps he could make the short trip over to her house and tell her in person. Almost immediately he perks up at the prospect of spending time with his favorite detective. But they'd be alone in her home and he doesn't want to appear over eager. He also can't guarantee that he could adhere to all the rules of his gentlemanly upbringing if he were alone with her. He closes his eyes and imagines...imagines how he would sweep the beautiful woman up into his arms and express his love to her; for her. As much as he wants to, though, he decides against it. Not the right time.

He sighs and picks up one of the novels and skims through it. His brow furrows as the story unfolds on paper. 'Lucas, Lucas, Lucas. How on earth could you give your time to such balderdash as this!?' He shakes his head as he reads the preposterous nonsense on practically every page of the slim publication.

The house phone rings on the nightstand and he welcomes the interruption. He drops the novel back into the pile and quickly answers the phone.

"Hello?" He hears breathing on the other end and merrymaking in the background. A party? A nightclub?

"Hello?" (silence).

"Who is this?" (more silence).

"Look! -"

("Easy, easy, man.") A young male voice eventually replies. His laughter mingles with that of several others in close proximity to him.

"Who IS this and WHAT do you want?" Henry angrily demands.

("Are - are - you one - of them?")

"I don't know what you're talking about." Henry growled.

("You know - one of - them. An immortal.") The group's laughter is now louder.

"You're drunk!" Henry shouts.

("Heyyy, look, I mean you fit the bill, OK? We just wanna know, thass all.") More loud laughter.

"If you call this number again, I'll alert the police." Henry warns through clenched teeth.

("OK, OK, OK. It's just that that guy on the news; he said we should be on the lookout -")

Henry slams the receiver down, jumps to his feet and begins to pace. Shaking with anger, he suddenly stops and recalls Jo telling him that if he ran into any trouble to let her know. So he slips his jacket back on, then his coat and scarf. After he throws a few items into an overnight bag, he marches over to the phone to call her. But then realizes that he doesn't know her cell phone number because it's on speed dial on Abe's cell phone. 'Blast!' He prays that Jo will hold true to her offer and be receptive to his impromptu visit. Because he's on his way over.

vvvv

9

Before Henry realizes it, he's standing on the sidewalk just outside the antique shop. The chilly night air on his face slowly cools his anger and calms his breathing and heart rate. He hears his son's voice in his head, though, telling him that he's once again overreacting. He mentally pictures Abraham pointing a finger at him, his other hand positioned on his hip. The phone call, after all, was not from Adam. Most likely just a random call from some drunken young lout and his friends in a bar. He shuts his eyes and breathes the night air in deeply to settle his thoughts.

'How ridiculous to think that I should just pop over to Jo's unannounced in order to cower in her home like a frightened rabbit. Take undue advantage of her good graces for no good reason.' He silently chastises himself as he breathes in deeply through his nose and blows it out through his mouth. In his long past he's run from greater threats, more dire situations. And not always successfully. He admits that he still feels the residual effects of the nearly year-long stalking of him by Adam. 'It was just a prank call, a silly prank call.' He opens his eyes, rubs the back of his neck, and looks up and down the streets. He gives the overnight bag in his hand a quick shake and walks back to the shop door. Once he lets himself back inside, he leans his forehead against the cool glass of the shop's door and shuts his eyes again. His sudden expenditure of energy coupled with a two-day lack of sleep has left him drained. His comfortable bed and pillow call to him and he willingly answers. After he first lowers the volume of the ringer on the old rotary dial phone on his nightstand, within the next five minutes he's under the covers and blissful sleep overtakes him.

The next morning, Henry enters the morgue invigorated from a good night's sleep. "Good morning, Lucas."

"Morning, Boss. Uh, Det. Martinez just called, said they got a situation. Said she couldn't reach you at your home." Henry winced at that.

"She wants you to meet Hanson and her in the lobby. ASAP." Lucas carefully eyes his boss as he turns to leave. He's thankful for the time away from Henry and undecided whether or not he should spill the beans about Malcolm's prank call to him last night. 'Maybe I won't tell him at all about that jerk.' Lucas had been in the same bar last night when he overheard the last few words his fellow assistant M.E., Malcolm Etheridge, had slurred into his cell phone. As he approached him, he knew instantly that Malcolm and his scuzzo friends were laughing it up as he prank called another poor somebody. Not that he, himself hadn't indulged in same when they were both younger, but he didn't understand why Malcolm still got a kick out of it.

"Heyyy, Lucassss." Malcolm swayed, blue eyes bleary, as he ended the call and slapped him on the shoulder as he came to stand near.

Lucas shook his head disdainfully. "Seems like that would have gotten old for you by now."

"Awww, not that againnn. Don't try to take away my funnn. Just havin' a lil fun." His laughter mingled shamelessly with that of his small band of cohorts.

Lucas shook his head and turned to leave when Malcolm slapped him on the shoulder again and stumbled around in front of him. He leaned in and gleefully bragged that he had prank called Henry. "I told him that he fits the bill. You know, for being an immortal. Your boss is such a weirdo stuff shirt. Mannn, did he get mad!" He threw his head back and laughed louder.

Lucas, outraged, grabbed the front of Malcolm's shirt and pulled him towards him so that they were nose to nose. He surprised even himself when he warned the 6'7" drunken prankster that if he pulled another stunt like that he would shove his teeth down his throat. He released Malcolm, now stunned, then shoved him away. Lucas stormed out of the bar and during the cab ride home, he wondered how he could ever have called Malcolm a friend. Henry was a friend and a good person. Well, he'd like to be friends with him. But he knew that Henry was still a good person and it troubled him that others who saw him only in passing would misjudge him. Lucas could feel the effects of the alcohol he had consumed and was grateful when the cab finally pulled up in front of his apartment. He paid the driver and stumbled up the steps and into his apartment. He thankfully threw himself across his bed, fully dressed. As he drifted off, he dreaded the inevitable hangover in the morning.

Henry does want to confer with Jo and Hanson about the Valerie Nelson case. He ponders what the "situation" could be. Lucas nods to acknowledge his departure and opens one of the files at his workstation. Henry frowns as he thinks there's something a bit off with Lucas' behavior but he continues on his way to the lobby. He eyes his young assistant at the other end of the floor as the elevator doors close.

Hanson is on the phone at his desk, standing but hunched over as he frantically takes notes from the person on the other end. Jo puts on her jacket as she also stands, facing Hanson. He throws the phone receiver back into its cradle and waves the slip of paper at Jo as he recites the address to her.

Jo turns and marches out of the bullpen and Hanson hurriedly falls in step with her. He looks at the small slip of paper in his hands and shoves it into his personal notepad. He shakes his head in exasperation. "Man. A jumper."

During the drive on the way over to the address of the would-be jumper, the detectives explain to Henry that the person is a distraught young woman at the edge of a rooftop. Holding a small baby. All three of them now share the same panic and dread as the air inside the car seems suddenly sucked out.

"My God." Henry whispers. He still remembers the first time he held the soft, fragile body of his baby son in his arms. His innocent, trusting eyes locking with his own. Those eyes. He fails to fathom how a parent could intentionally harm their own child - any child - but especially their own.

"Yes, pray." Jo said as she swerves the car expertly through the dense traffic, siren wailing, lights flashing. She finally brings the car to a screeching halt and all three immediately pile out. They maneuver their way through the crowd of onlookers, uniformed police, and press. They push past the microphones and reporters and ignore their hastily tossed questions.

Jo and Hanson identify themselves and Henry to the person in charge of the hastily set up command post, Captain Ryan Johnson. A short, stocky man in his late 40's, with a totally bald head. As a bodybuilder and former marine, he's aware of how intimidating his physical appearance is, but he's also the father of three. Negotiating with a suicidal person is hard enough. The fact that a small baby is endangered tears at his heart.

"Neighbors say she's Janice Layne. Married. Husband unaccounted for. Word is, they weren't able to have children of their own so they paid someone else to be a surrogate. Surrogate's MIA, as well."

The three exchange looks as Hanson sighs out, "We're pretty sure the surrogate's in our morgue. Has been for a couple of months. Valerie Nelson." He's aware that he's begun to speak in short, choppy sentences like Captain Johnson.

"We're also pretty sure we've found the baby she carried and recently birthed." Henry adds, nodding upward to the woman on the rooftop.

"Wonderful." the Captain grinds out, lowering his head. They all look up at the figure teetering near the edge of the building's rooftop. "I hate this."

"Has anyone gone up yet?" Jo asked.

"No," Captain Johnson replied, "we don't want to spook her. She says she'll jump if anyone comes up there. We're trying to locate the husband but his co-workers say he's called in sick today and for the past couple of weeks." He shakes his head. "I just don't understand. They wanted a baby, they got a baby, then he bails. The neighbors say they heard the baby crying a lot and they heard the couple arguing. A lot."

"Sounds like she was having trouble caring for it." Jo speculates.

"Yes." Henry draws out as he recalls his own hesitancy at first over feeding and handling baby Abraham. Yes, he was a doctor, but not a pediatrician. Thank God for Abigail, a loving mother who happened to also be a trained nurse. "This poor couple found themselves ill prepared for parenthood. The hardest job you'll ever love."

"And how would you know about parenthood, Henry?" Jo eyes him skeptically.

He swallows and realizes that he has probably said too much. "Something my parents used to say." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jo squint at him and cock her head to the side. He's thankful that she turns her attention back to Captain Johnson as she and Hanson discuss the situation with him. Their focus now fully on the woman and the baby, Henry quietly extricates himself from them and the crowd.

He's familiar with this part of town and the architecture, some of which dates back to the late 1800's. He recognizes the building as having once been part of several owned by a wealthy Texas oil magnate. He'd had it painstakingly recreated from a European monastery for his wife and eight children for their summer residence. Once a sprawling monument to grandeur and opulence, it fell out of the hands of the family in the 1940's, and was divided up into eight separate buildings. But when the oil magnate and his family occupied it, there were underground passageways that connected the main residence to the servants' quarters in the rear. Henry desperately hopes those passageways still exist unobstructed.

Jo is the first to notice Henry's absence. Her eyes scan the crowd and the surrounding area. No Henry. She heaves a deep sigh of frustration and looks at Hanson who's confused by her look of anger. She utters a name: "Henry." Hanson looks around, his brows raised, then quickly realizes her meaning.

"Where did 'Mr. Darcy' get off to now?" He places his fists on his hips and surveys the area again. He hears Jo gasp, "Oh, my God." He follows her line of vision upwards and sees Henry on the rooftop as he stealthily approaches the woman and baby from behind. "Ah, Geez." he groans.

"Who is that?!" Captain Johnson barks. "Wait. Isn't that your M.E?" The look he levels at the two detectives rivals that of Lt. Reece's piercing glare.

'They must practice that stuff in front of a mirror.' Hanson concludes.

All eyes are on the rooftop now. The woman holding the baby sits on the edge as her legs dangle over the side. She sobs as she clutches the baby to her chest and appears not to notice Henry directly behind her. He lifts his arms and suddenly grabs the two of them and pulls them off the edge. The crowd roars and applauds in delight. Several people high-five each other as if they had been involved.

A squad of uni's, including Jo and Hanson, converge on the building through the front entrance. They make their way up to the rooftop to find a shoeless Henry as he embraces both the woman and child. He offers comforting words to the sobbing woman as he gently strokes her short, blond pixiecut.

The squad leader communicates to Captain Johnson below that the situation is now under control. He motions to other squad members and they slowly approach the trio with guns drawn. They lower them once they wrest the child from her arms and she is taken away in cuffs. "Yes, sir." The squad leader places his hand up in front of Henry to block his departure. "I'm sorry, sir, but I have orders to escort you to Captain Johnson."

Henry looks over at a greatly annoyed Jo who holds out his shoes to him. He takes the shoes as he raises a finger towards the squad leader. "A moment, if I may." As he puts his shoes back on and laces them up, the squad leader stares unblinkingly at Jo and Hanson. They squirm under his scrutiny.

Hanson averts his eyes. 'Everybody gives a look these days.'

Later, back at the precinct...

The two detectives exit Lt. Reece's office; their ears still burn from the tongue lashing they had just received. Luckily, Henry won't be arrested for having interfered in an ongoing hostage situation (the baby was an unwilling participant). Likewise, neither detective will face discipline because of Henry's actions. Captain Johnson conveyed that it took a lot of guts for what Henry had done. And although he's thankful that no one was harmed during the rescue of the baby, he will personally shoot the good doctor if he interferes in another of his operations again.

Once Reece had calmed down, she shared that the would-be jumper, Janice Layne, was ready to make a statement that could heat up the Valerie Nelson case. She named her husband, Roger, as the father of the two-month-old baby girl. Reece had ordered Jo and Hanson to go take her statement. She then requested Henry to stay.

After the detectives leave Reece's office, she folds her arms and leans back in her chair. She eyes him for several moments. "Tell me, Dr. Morgan, how did you get up on that roof without anyone seeing you?"

Henry explains about the tunnels that connect the handful of buildings.

"OK. Why didn't Janice Layne hear you creeping up on her?"

"I removed my shoes to soften the sound of my footsteps."

"I see." The Lieutenant leans forward and clasps her hands together on the desk. "Why is it, Doctor, that you and only you usually know things that nobody else does? Things that no one else even fathoms?"

Henry's heart begins to pound but his voice remains calm. "I am a voracious reader."

"You've gained all your knowledge from books?"

"Well, no, personal experience accounts for some." He attempts a small smile.

The Lieutenant rises from her chair and walks around to the front of her desk to face Henry where he's seated. "I don't enjoy playing games, Doctor." She echoes his own words to Adam several months ago during one of the older immortal's early cryptic phone calls to him. Henry wonders nervously if Reece knows about him and his condition. The urge to bolt from the office is strong but he resists it.

"Is there a point to this, Lieutenant?" He works to keep the edge off of his voice but he's had to volley these types of questions in the past with someone who had become suspicious of him. His façade had sometimes crumbled and things didn't end well for him. Other times he was able to emerge unscathed and either continue his life where he was or move on without consequences.

Reece's voice and demeanor suddenly softened. "We like to think of you as not only our esteemed colleague but also as our friend, Doctor. If there's anything you feel you need to share, my door is always open." She walks back around her desk and sits in her chair again. "If you would prefer to confide in Det. Martinez, that's understandable. I understand that the two of you have become close friends."

Her veiled inference at first surprises then embarrasses Henry. Before he can reply, her desk phone rings. She answers and responds with, "Right. You and Hanson. Henry's on his way down. Wait for him." She hangs up. "Uni's have located Janice Layne's husband, Roger Layne. Martinez and Hanson will interrogate him once he arrives. You can sit in - from behind the glass. Remember to behave yourself. No pounding on that mirror, you hear?" Henry ducks his head and smiles. "We need your medical expertise to try to understand what really caused her death. Am I clear, Doctor?"

"Loud and clear." Henry follows Reece down to Interrogation Room 3 and feels he's dodged a bullet. Odd, he tells himself, that he should casually reference that certain small object. But as he pushes Reece's probing questions to the back of his mind, he's keenly aware that time cuts into his life in a duality of ways, much in the same way as a two-edged sword. Which way is it cutting now?

vvvv

10

Uni's have located Janice Layne's husband, Roger Layne. Martinez and Hanson will interrogate him once he arrives...We need your medical expertise to try to understand what really caused her death..."

...Henry follows Reece down to Interrogation Room 3 and feels he's dodged a bullet. Odd, he tells himself, that he should casually reference that certain small object. But as he pushes Reece's probing questions to the back of his mind, he's keenly aware that time cuts into his life in a duality of ways, much in the same way as a two-edged sword. Which way is it cutting now?

As Henry and Reece approach Interrogation Room 3, they are met by a disgruntled Jo and Hanson.

"She lawyered up." Hanson sighs. "We cut her a deal, though, and she gave up hubby."

"Especially since he already gave them up." Jo says with disgust. "He's in for a big surprise when he gets here."

"Sad case." Reece shakes her head. "What did you get out of her?"

"Apparently, Valerie Nelson agreed to carry the Laynes' baby, for ten big ones, after the wife's two miscarriages." Hanson relates. "Valerie had some student loans and dropped out of art school and intended to return to school after the baby's birth and after she got her money."

"Things seemed to go well at first, " Jo adds, "until the Laynes ran out of money. The wife was counting on proceeds from the sale of some of her artwork but that never panned out. The husband's salary as an assistant manager in a local pizza parlor, barely kept them afloat. Our vic -"

"-Valerie Nelson." Henry gently prods.

Jo crosses her arms across her chest and gives him a pointed stare.

"She has a name, Detective." He shrugged.

"-began to make noises like she wanted to keep the baby if they couldn't pay her. The wife offered to teach her how to use a blowtorch with artresin. The caustic fumes began to make her ill, though, so Valerie (she raised an eyebrow towards Henry) decided it wasn't for her."

"Then Romeo, " Hanson breaks in, "decides he wants to spend more time with her in order to keep her in check, you know, so she wouldn't run off with the baby. The wife accused the two of them of having an affair even though they both denied it to her."

"Which one of them killed her, mutilated her, threw her into a garbage bag and then a shallow grave in Central Park?" Reece exasperatedly demands as she looks at the two detectives.

Henry answers, though. "Neither of them, from what I can gather." The other three eye him with skepticism.

"It appears that she was poorly tended to immediately after delivery. You see, if the placenta does not spontaneously expel from the body within at least 30 minutes, it must be manually removed within two hours either by massage of the abdomen or perhaps by administering Picotin in order to stimulate uterin contractions. There was no trace of Picotin or any similar drug in her system. Sometimes fragments of the placenta can remain in the body. It's extremely important that they be removed so as to allow blood vessels to close. Otherwise, hemorrhaging occurs either shortly after or several days or even weeks after delivery."

"So she bled to death, is what you're saying?" Jo asks.

"As a result of placenta fragments that remained in her body, yes."

"So nobody actually murdered her. She...just..." Hanson's voice trails off as the unfortunate scenario plays out in his mind.

"- had the misfortune of being attended to by those with no medical training." Henry finishes. "And to answer your question, Lieutenant, as to why her body was mutilated and thrown into a shallow grave...perhaps they simply panicked. People have been known to do some very stupid things out of fear. Fear of reprisal. Fear of discovery. Fear of rejection." His voice lowers to a whisper and his eyes once again have the look of when he's lost in his memories.

"Well, laws have still been broken even if there was no actual murder." Reece reminds them. "Let's see what the husband has to say."

As if right on cue, a cuffed Roger Layne appears at the end of the short hallway as uniformed police escort him into Interrogation Room 2. Reece gives a quick nod. Jo and Hanson join Layne and Henry and Reece position themselves behind the two-way mirror.

A rumpled and unshaven Layne shakes his head and rocks slightly back and forth. There's a pained expression on his face and he's seemingly oblivious to the presence of the two detectives seated across from him.

Jo presses play on the outdated tape recorder on the table. She identifies herself and Hanson and confirms that Layne has been read his rights and waives them.

"Yes." Layne agrees with a shaky voice. His body stills and he looks woefully at them, then lowers his eyes and stares at his hands.

"Roger Layne." Hanson begins. "Your wife told us her side of the story. What's yours?"

(silence)

"Are you aware that your wife attempted suicide earlier today?" Jo queries.

(silence)

"She was holding a small baby. A baby girl."

"The baby's name is Gretchen." He quietly states.

"She was threatening to jump from the roof of your building with the baby." Jo leans forward and looks him squarely in the face.

(silence)

"Your wife says that you are the father of the baby." Jo sighs. "Look, Roger, the autopsy shows that Valerie Nelson most likely died from complications of childbirth, not from murder. But we need to hear from you what happened."

Layne finally opens up to them and corroborates his wife's statement. "Everything - just - fell apart." He sobs and covers his mouth with his hand. "We just - I mean - we wanted a baby, that's all." His voice shudders as he struggles to calm himself. "It was my idea to - use the blowtorch to, to - burn her so that nobody'd recognize her. So nobody would know she had been kind of living with us...carrying our baby." He suddenly becomes very animated. "It was Jan's egg and my sperm." He hits the table with his palm. "It was OUR baby. Val had no right to threaten us that she would keep it! I tried to be nice to her, Jan thought there was something going on between us but it wasn't, it WASN'T!"

He looks down at his hands again. "We didn't mean to hurt her. We - just couldn't - couldn't do anything for her after, after..." He shakes his hands as if to demonstrate how helpless he and his wife felt during those moments. His voice cracks and he swallows a deep sob.

"She bled. And she bled, it was so much blood. Oh, God, it was so much blood and, and, it came out so fast! I, I - just - " He turns his face away from them. "didn't know what to do." He sobs. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm SO SORRY!" He breaks down.

Jo looks over her shoulder at the mirror as if she can see Henry and Reece behind it. Hanson opens the door to the room and motions for a uni to escort Layne to booking and calls for a stenographer to transcribe the tape.

Leiutenant Reece heads back to her office with the detectives and M.E., in tow. Much like a mother hen leading her chicks back to the coop. "Good job, all of you. We can finally put that one to rest." They all nod in somber agreement.

As they approach the bullpen, they notice a package on Hanson's desk and he walks over to see who it's from.

"The digitized surveilance tapes from the jewelry store near Sam's Deli and the Rite-Aid." He looks up in surprise. "That was quick."

"Guess we don't need them now, though." Jo says.

They both look to their boss for direction. She shrugs and says, "Maybe not. But since things are kind of slow right now, it's best to be thorough, just in case. " She returns to her office and closes the door.

The trio exchange looks as Hanson gathers up the package. They turn on a TV in a nearby conference room and insert the first DVD into its slot. "This oughta be interesting." Hanson smirks. They seat themselves and prepare for some dull viewing.

Two coffee cups each and two hours later, they've only viewed two weeks' worth of surveillance. Nothing out of the ordinary, either. Automobile and foot traffic continue almost ceasingly from day into night and into day again. New York is billed as the city that never sleeps and these images offer certain proof of that.

Something catches Henry's eye at the time stamp of 8:23 p.m., on a Tuesday night, three weeks in. His heart almost stops as he views what appears to be a startlingly familiar flash of light in the middle of the dark street. It's as if an object had been thrown into traffic. 'No. It's as if an object or - a body - fell into the middle of traffic.' He now wishes desperately that he was somewhere else. And he prays that the odd flash does not look so odd to the detectives. Much to his dismay, he's not to be that lucky.

"Say, did you see that?" Hanson points at the screen. He reaches for the remote and pauses it, then reverses it a few frames. He presses the 'play' button and pauses it when the flash shows again. "There!" He points again. The remote in his hand, he stands near the TV and peers at the paused flash of light. "Ever see anything like that?" He takes his seat again but still holds the remote.

"Maybe just a firecracker?" Jo speculates.

Henry wishes he had control of the remote so he could press erase or delete or whatever to hide what he knows was Adam as he jumped from a building into the street. He has never witnessed what occurs when he has died. He only knows what Abe or Abigail had described to him. But he had seen Adam shoot himself in the head in the taxicab when he'd kidnapped him a few months ago.

"Naww, I know what a firecracker going off looks like. That seemed to drop down from somewhere and then the flash."

"Well, it's hard to tell what it could be, really." Henry says. "What with the shadows and darkness of the night."

"We'll send it to our tech lab to isolate and analyze it frame by frame." Jo says. She leans forward, peers closer and suddenly straightens up. "That definitely looks like a human form falling and hitting the street. But what is that flash of light?"

"Another jumper?" Hanson asks despairingly.

Henry thinks back and realizes that at that exact time, 8:23 p.m., on that Tuesday night, he ended his phone conversation with Adam. They were discussing the pugio dagger that Adam said had brought on his immortality when he had been stabbed with it by a Roman soldier. 'He must have been so bored that night that he jumped off a building into traffic. And now his death has come back to haunt me.' He watches helplessly as Hanson removes the DVD.

"I'll walk this down to the tech lab."

"Great." Jo stretches and yawns. "I'm gonna call it a day." She looks at Hanson. "McSorley's?"

"Sure." Hanson waves the packaged DVD to her. "Just let me drop this off and I'll be over there."

"How 'bout you, Henry? Care to join us for drinks?"

"Uh, no, thank you, uh, I have a prior engagement." He smiles nervously, walks out of the conference room with Jo and heads down to the morgue.

Jo wonders what could have spooked him this time, then realizes it was something on the tape. She's aware that he was unusually silent when the strange flash of light appeared on the TV screen.

Henry punches the down button for the elevator as he dreads what the tech lab analysis of the DVD will reveal. 'Adam. You blithering idiot!'

Notes:

Information on the importance of removing the placenta after childbirth was obtained from two different sites: afterbirth removal and birth and delivery. I also once had a co-worker who died after the doctor/hospital staff failed to remove hers. We were told that it had wrapped around her heart.

Anyway, cliffhanger, cliffhanger give me a break (sung to the tune of Matchmaker, Matchmaker, make me a match). Hope you all like the latest update. Thanks for your interest.