Disclaimer: I don't own Crossing Jordan.

Note: I decided to post this so quickly after chapter four so that I don't go back to it and be able to concentrate on the mystery part more. So, if you feel it's a bit rushed, I'm sorry. I just didn't feel like writing it again.

Hope that this morose note didn't put all of you off. :)

"That is just impossible. That is not possible." She had been staring at the wall for so long that her eyes hurt, these words playing in her mind again and again. She looked down at the paper she had brought from the morgue for the umpteenth time. "It obviously is possible," she concluded, for the umpteenth time as well. "Fun-freakin-tastic!" she thought dryly, feeling tears in her eyes again. She thought they had dried out some time ago.

So, it was over. Not the way she thought it would happen, not even in her wildest dreams, but it was over. Definitely. Irrevocably.

She opened her purse and took out a bottle.

"Over 99 per cent," she chuckled hysterically. "Me out of a thousand women. Somebody up there really loves me!"

She examined the results one more time although she already knew them by heart.

"Eight weeks. Maybe nine."

"It's not fair!" she moaned some time afterwards. Why she? Why now? She had done everything by the book! Was this some kind of a cosmic revenge? And for what?

She wasn't ready to be a mother. She never would be. She didn't want to be a mother. She felt like a monster. They would all look at her as though she had at least two heads if she told them. But no matter what they thought, she just couldn't. She couldn't keep that baby. Which meant she and Woody were over. She could see him – grumbling about them not being married just like a real boy scout would do, searching for the special ring, proposing, babying her, making college plans long before the baby was born, Little League, Christmasses, birthdays,… He would be a perfect father. But not to her child. Because she wasn't going to have one. Ever.

But she couldn't just make an appointment with her doctor without even telling him. She owed him that much. And he owed her respect, if not understanding. She simply couldn't.

She felt like a monster again. What was wrong with her? She loved him. She did love him. More than she ever thought it was possible to love somebody. How come she couldn't love his baby, then? How come she didn't want his baby? There must be something terribly wrong with her. Anyway,… she simply couldn't. She just couldn't. She couldn't. Period.

Some people just shouldn't have kids and she was one of them. There were times when she was so messed up that she couldn't live with herself. How could she ever raise a child? It had been different with Kayla, almost an adult. Make a good, stable, healthy person from a tabula rasa? She just couldn't. Her own child was bound to start seeing a shrink the moment it started talking. Or even before that. If it ever started talking, that is. 'Cause it was quite possible that Woody would come home from work one fine day and find her holding their baby's head under water in the bathtub. Or even worse, he could be late. She shuddered.

"I'm not her. I'm not her. I'm not her…" No matter how many times she would repeat the words, she couldn't bring herself to believe in them. "Yeah, and why did you leave the oven on last night if you're not her, if you're nothing like her?" a voice in her head inquired. "I'm just saying…"

Oh, great, she was hearing voices. "I am crazy," she said out loud, matter-of-factly.

Her parents should never have had children. Her life was screwed since day one, possibly even before that – a cuckoo mother, a lying father, a crazy half-brother. Gosh, what a family!

And now she had drawn Woody into the middle of her mess. To tell the truth, she had done that a long time ago. And she shouldn't have. She should have kept the wall up. Nobody would have been hurt had she done so. Yes, she wouldn't have these last two and a half months, but she also wouldn't have to face him and… Oh God, what was she going to tell him? "Hey,Woody, thanks for a wonderful evening and oh, by the way, I'm pregnant and I can't keep the baby?" Or maybe: "I love you, but I'm not able to raise your child. Please, don't leave me?" How 'bout: "You know, I've made an appointment to see my doctor today. I'm gonna have an abortion?" She could always just run away… She shook her head. Not this time. Maybe later. Yes, most probably later. Afterwards. But she had to tell him. She owed him that much. But not tonight. She turned off her cell and unplugged her landline. Not tonight.

The next two days were difficult. More than difficult. They were tormenting. The morning after her discovery, she mused over calling in sick, but she guessed he would come to see how she was feeling, so she just went to work instead. She had figured out he'd come till lunchtime. He stopped by at eleven.

"Hey." He poked his head into her office. "What was with you yesterday? You just stormed off and you haven't been answering any of your phones since." He tried not to sound too concerned or curious. It was Jordan, she'd become even quieter if he insisted.

"Oh, nothing," she answered, not lifting her head from the report in front of her. "I was tired, that's all."

"Jordan, you sure everything's okay?" He made another attempt. He was standing in front of her desk now.

She gave him a full display of the black circles under her eyes. "Everything is just fine. It's just," she waved her hands, "this Dark Dahlia thing and everything. I've got a lot of work to do, so if you don't mind…" she looked down at the report again.

"Sure." He was hurt. But it had never been easy with Jordan. She obviously wasn't ready to talk yet. "If you… well, I'm free for lunch," he made one last, desperate attempt.

"Sure, sure," she muttered, her eyes fixed onto the table. When the door closed behind him, not so quietly as usually, her head fell onto the report, her tears making blots all over it.

He didn't call. She didn't call.

Walking to her parking space, she was shivering although it was mid-July. The decision had been made. She was going to his apartment. She had to tell him. She tried desperately to fight off the images from these last couple of months – the images of them dancing in some pub or another, them laughing, them holding hands like schoolkids, them walking in the rain, them kissing by the Charles under the moonlight, them making love in the perfect silence of her bedroom. His lips in her hair, his forehead against hers, his arms around her when she would wake up in the middle of the night, that distinctively his scent on her pillow even when he wasn't there. An extra toothbrush in her bathroom, a pale blue shirt in her hamper, a BPD T-shirt under her bed. The shivers down her spine whenever his breath touched her ear, the warmth of his fingers tracing her jaw line, her foolish grin when they would just lie snuggled in the dark and he would whisper the silliest little words of endearment. He telling her he loved her and she not remaining silent, but replying in the same words. And really meaning it. And not wanting to run away. Because with him it was safe. With him it felt right. Home.

"Oh, but you knew it all along, you idiot!" she screamed inside, wanting to kick something, to throw things, to scream on the outside, too. "What did you think? That he'd never want a family? A real home? You thought you were going to be enough? You? A crazy old broad? Oh, please, don't make me laugh!"

She just wanted that inner voice or whatever it was to stop. It was tearing her apart. But she had to admit she had swept under the carpet many a sideway glance he would give her as she was holding Maddie, many a smile he would flash to kids in the street. But it would all be different had they gotten to talk about it before… before this.

"Would it really? You were just buying your time!" She shook her head. "It's not fair! I love him. Why can't we just…" She shook her head again, feeling helpless, feeling beyond help. "Because you're crazy, that's why! You're thirty-eight, for God's sake! This may well be your last chance-"

"No, no, I can't! I just can't!" she moaned out loud, feeling hot tears pouring down her face. Her hands trembled as she was putting her key into the lock of the El Camino. She never saw the shadow. All she felt was a sudden pain at the back of her head and then all was darkness.

"Just once." He sighed. "If she doesn't pick up, I won't call her again," he promised to himself as he hit speed dial. "C'mon, Jordan, answer it, please," he prayed silently, but all he was getting was the same depressing tone. "Fine!" he finally said, snapping the phone shut. He couldn't know that, at the very same moment, her phone stopped ringing inside of her El Camino, which was parked at a local auto graveyard.

She didn't call. He didn't call.

Almost two days later, on Sunday afternoon, Bug joined Woody at a crime scene. As they ducked under the police tape, the detective asked, trying to sound casual:

"Where's Jordan?"

Bug shot him an incredulous look.

"I was going to ask you the same question," he said, kneeling beside the body. "She took Saturday off, but she didn't show up today, either. Dr. Macy is going ballistic. She isn't picking up or returning his calls."

He examined the body.

"It seems that the doggy who uncovered her did us a great favor. My guess is that she has been here for four to six months" He looked up at Woody. "She may have been the first."

But the detective wasn't listening to him. His eyes were locked on the girl's hair. Long, dark, curly. It was a crazy thought, but as soon as it crossed his mind, he knew it was true.

"Get her to the morgue! Now!" he shouted at the bewildered Bug. "I'm calling Dr. Macy!"