"Ok."

"She said that you would come for me," Owen reveals.

"Did she say why?"

"You know why."

"Of course I know why. Do you know why?"

"I know that I'm adopted."

"You do?"

"Yes. We talk about it all the time," he adds.

"What do you way?"

"I just listen, mostly."

"What does she say?" Jane wonders.

"That my mom wanted me to be safe, from a bad man. I guess she was talking about Nick."

"Yes," Jane confirms.

"That she thought that I would be safer, if she didn't keep me."

"Uh huh."

"And that she wanted to keep me, and that she loved me. She told me that maybe I would understand, one day, when I'm grown up, and I have a child. She said that a parent would do anything to protect their child."

"That's true."

"This is all my fault."

"No, Owen this is not your fault."

"Yes it is," he nods.

"Why would you say that?"

"My birthday was yesterday," he points out.

"I know."

"And last week, when she asked me what I wanted, I told her that I didn't want to move anymore. I told her that I just wanted to be safe."

"What did she say?"

"She said that she would take care of it."

"Owen, did she say anything else?" Jane probes.

"She bought the gun, that day. From a pawn shop. It looks like yours," he points to her holstered weapon.

"Did she make any phone calls?"

"Yeah," he nods.

"To who?"

"Um..."

"Nick?"

"No. She called Mark."

"Mark?"

"Mark... he had a funny last name. I don't remember it. I wrote all down, though."

"You can't go back inside right now."

"It's in my tree house."

"Your tree house?"

"Yeah, it's great. I take my notebook everywhere. I want to be a cop, when I grow up. She packed my bag."

"Packed your bag?"

"She said that she was going to fix everything. She said that you would come to get me. She said..."

"Owen what did she say?"

"Can we go get my bag?"

"Ok," Jane nods.

She follows him into the backyard. He climbs up the ladder against the tree. He goes into the tree house. He comes back with his back pack. He climbs down the ladder. He silently follows her back to the car. He climbs back into the car, and unzips the front pocket. He pulls out the notebook. He hands it to Jane. He pulls out a medallion, on a chain. He puts it in her hand, she just looks at him.

"This is yours, do you want it back."

She fights off the tears, "Nope, it's yours. You keep it."

"Jane?"

"Hm?"

"What do you want me to call you? Jane? Detective Rizzoli?"

"Whatever you want to call me."

"You're my mom. You left this with me, when you left me with Miss Faith. It's Saint Michael, the patron saint of police officers."

"Yes," is all she can manage to get out.

"You named me after him?"

She nods.

"Owen Michael."

"Yes."

"Are you going to take me home?" he inquires.

"I don't know, Owen. It's not that simple."

"It's what she wanted."

"It isn't that easy, baby boy. You see..."

He waves his finger. He pulls out a pack of tissues, and hands it to her.

"Thanks," she sniffles.

He reaches into his bag, and pulls out a folder. He hands the folder to Jane. It's a manila folder, that has two rubber bands binding it, to keep it's contents from spilling out.

"She said it's all notarized, I don't know what that means, but she said for me to tell you."

"Owen, what is this?"

"Um... can I have my notebook?"

She hands him the palm sized spiral notebook. He flips through the pages. Finally he stops. He begins reading to her.

"Last will, and testament. Custody papers. Immu-," he stops.

He holds the pad up for her to read. She instantly recognizes that it's adult handwriting. It was a list that Kimberly Grant had written for her son, Owen. Jane reads the rest outloud.

"Immunization records. Medical records. Owen's list of likes, and dislikes. Owen's friends. Owen's friend's contact information."

"Yeah, oh that last name is in here," he tells her, flipping back several pages.

"Mark Fur-elli? I don't know if I spelled it write, but that what it sounded like."

"Mark Fa-relli, maybe?"

"Yeah, that's it. Does that help?"

"Yes, it helps a lot."

"You're not just saying that?"

"Mark Farelli, is sort of like Nicholas Bentley's assistant."

"His minion?"

Jane smiles, "Exactly. How do you know what a minion is?"

"Movies. Jane?"

"Yes, Owen?"

"I told you it was my fault."

"It's not your fault Owen."

"Jane?"

"Hm?"

"Was Nick really my dad, like he said?"

"Yes," she nods.

"Oh."

"You sound disappointed."

"He's a drug dealer," Owen replies.

"Yeah," she nods.

"Why..."

"I'll explain it, one day, when you're much older, ok?"