Near Death Experience – Chapter 9
A/N: In this chapter, Joss tries to make rational sense of the irrational. There are three POVs – Moss', Joss' and Rafael Alvarez – he was the firefighter who helped Joss solve the murder of baby Leila's mother in the Season One episode, Baby Blue.
FBI Agent Brian Moss breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the church. At last something went right.
Moss had never worked directly with Nicholas Donnelly, but the man had garnered an excellent reputation in the Bureau's Boston office and Moss expected that Donnelly would do well here. He was intelligent, a hard worker and determined, if a little humorless - newcomers to the New York office often were at first – it was a highly sought after post, and it took them a while to realize it was no different than any other office.
Over time they relaxed. But Donnelly never did.
Moss supposed it had to do with this whole Man in the Suit thing.
Donnelly had spent months chasing him, had authorized the spending of huge amounts of money and resources on the pursuit, had even gotten a NYPD detective a temporary FBI post, which had raised more than a few eyebrows.
The rumor that Donnelly had finally cornered him had rocketed through the office, and even people who didn't know what the case was about were smiling – the explosion under the bank was the morning's top news story and everyone at the Bureau expected a news conference shortly – a nice double play that would give the Bureau positive publicity for several days.
Then, in a blink of an eye, it all went to shit.
Complaints from the Mayor's office, NYPD, the Corrections department and anybody who could fill out a form were dropping like confetti on the Director's desk.
Everyone was holding their breath, anticipating that the man who was beaten – an innocent man, by the way, who was released – would be filing a massive lawsuit any day now.
Even some of the prisoners, sensing blood in the water, threatened to sue, citing mental anguish for viewing the assault.
There was so much scrambling, backtracking and spinning it made your stomach turn, no more so than with scheduling a memorial service for the fallen agent.
New York said Boston should do it because he had worked there the longest; Boston said New York should do it because that was where he was assigned at the time of his death; New York said he hadn't been here a year yet and that he was still being carried on Boston's personnel roster; Boston shot back that he'd been able to authorize spending via New York's budget, so he was officially New York's and so on…
Bottom line, nobody wanted to be associated with it.
Finally Moss and a few other senior agents from both offices had a closed door video conference with management and the service was scheduled.
But even then, the shit continued to roll downhill.
This morning, Moss walked into a cluster of staffers whispering that there had been a massive screw up – many of the invitations and emails for the service had never been sent out.
When he told them that every person on the list was going to be called by nine AM and that any local invitees would have their invitations hand delivered by noon they just looked at him.
Moss rarely showed any emotion, even when he was furious.
He raised an eyebrow.
They scrambled to make the calls and deliveries and by eleven o'clock that morning there was a respectable number of attendees for the service. Moss himself called several whose feathers he knew would be ruffled by what they would perceive as a snub for not receiving an invitation sooner.
Situation under control, he thought as he left for a meeting with the SEC on a fraud case.
But that afternoon, Moss returned to the office to see another cluster of staffers, whispering. The flight information for Donnelly's aunt was wrong, so nobody had met her at the airport. He cringed when he heard her cheery message that there must have some mix up, but she would find her way to the church on her own.
They hadn't been able to locate her. A sixty-seven year old housewife. Not a trace. It was as though she vanished.
Thank God Law and Order wasn't on the air any more – this was the perfect setup for a 'ripped from the headlines' episode.
Moss never raised his voice, but the reaming out he gave the staff was already legendary.
"We're the Goddamn FBI, for fucking Christ's sake – we find people! Are you telling me that we literally can't find some little old lady from Virginia?!"
But there she was, sitting in a pew with the NYPD detective Donnelly had worked with, Jocelyn Carter.
Detective Carter was one of the people contacted today about the memorial service.
Moss watched the two women for a moment. Donnelly aunt's was talking and he could see that the detective was listening, really listening, a rare talent these days.
He'd met Carter at the crash scene and he could tell that she was good at her job, just from a brief conversation. When he asked her opinion about Donnelly, she said that he was a good agent and Moss could tell she meant it.
The detective had conducted herself well at Rikers and while she seemed surprised when he told her the case against the Man in the Suit had been closed, she didn't make waves. Smart.
She'd done her duty – more than her duty, if the rumors of her being assaulted at the jail were true - unfortunately it seemed as though everybody else had fucked up, including, sad to say, the late Nicholas Donnelly.
XXX
They say that when you make an assertion or a commitment about something, the universe will issue a challenge to test your resolve.
Give up sweets – there's a cupcake on your desk.
Commit to walking every day – it snows the next morning.
Tell yourself that you've accepted your role in a man's death – his aunt asks you to sit with her at his memorial service.
Joss was contacted this morning that a memorial service for Donnelly was scheduled for this evening. She had meetings scheduled through the day with the DA's office for a case she was scheduled to testify on next week, so there wasn't any time to go home and change.
Fortunately Joss always kept a simple black dress in her locker at the precinct – there were times where she'd have to make an unexpected appearance in front of a judge and she knew that with some, dressing a little more formally was required.
She'd stick out like a sore thumb in the red coat, but it couldn't be helped.
Fusco stood up as she got ready to leave and she knew that he was going to offer to accompany her, but Joss shook her head no – she had to do this alone.
The service was being held near the precinct so Joss walked. She knew that she was going to be a little early, but she wanted to collect herself before the rest of the mourners arrived.
Joss had only felt that wisp, that sense of being followed when she was in front of the church, but she supposed it was only right that of all places, she should feel some sort of presence in the air here.
XXX
Stella Donnelly O'Connor was the aunt everyone should have, Joss thought as they settled in the front pew – as a little kid, she would be the aunt who let you try a sip of coffee, who let you stay up just a little bit longer than your bedtime, who would ride the scary rides with you at the carnival.
When you were a teenager, she would be the aunt who slipped you some money whenever you came to visit, who listened when you raged against your parents and who taught you how to parallel park.
And when you were an adult she was the aunt who made people laugh when she gave the eulogy at your funeral.
Her eyes were bright with unshed tears and Joss could tell this was someone who never wanted anyone to suffer, even if it meant holding her own suffering in. She was determinedly optimistic, so she commented on how nice the weather was, how interesting the trip to New York had been and how beautiful the church was.
"So, a police officer! You must get such satisfaction out of helping people." All of the sudden she tilted her head at Joss. "I knew your name sounded familiar – you sent flowers! Did you know Nicky well?"
"We worked on a case together, Mrs. O'Connor."
"It must have been very important to involve the FBI and the New York police department. Was it the case that Nicky was working on when he – died?"
Joss nodded. "Yes, it was."
"You must be very good – Nicky only worked with the best people. He was always so dedicated – when he was a little boy, one year he decided to read the entire World Book encyclopedia and he did it. So many pages every night, no matter what. Even took a volume with him on a family trip to Florida.
Joss smiled at the thought of a determined young Donnelly in the back seat of the family car, reading as it sped along the highway.
Donnelly's aunt smiled back. "He was always so focused, so," she stretched her arm out, "full speed ahead. I only wish that sometimes – well – sometimes you find the best things, you know, when you get off the path. When I was a teenage girl, I decided to take a right turn and it changed my life."
"What happened, Mrs. O'Connor?"
"Well, I was driving along and I saw a sign that said 'Fresh Strawberries – Five Miles Ahead' with an arrow pointing to the right. Now, the only reason I had my daddy's car was that I was delivering some items to my gran's and I was supposed to go straight there and come right back, but I thought, it's a nice day, I'm early and I'll bring some strawberries, too.
The older woman shook her head. "Well of course, the road was terrible, somehow I missed the next turnoff and I got a flat. There I was, a seventeen year old girl by the side of the road with no idea of how to change a tire. All the sudden I heard a roar and a man rode up on a motorcycle."
She smiled. "I'd had never seen anyone like him – he had square sunglasses, I learned they were called granny glasses later on, and long hair. At first I told him that I was perfectly fine, and tried to send him on his way, but he insisted, and he changed the tire."
"You married him." Joss said.
She nodded. "That right turn was the best thing I ever did."
"Your husband didn't accompany you today, Mrs. O'Connor?"
"He had an accident last year – that damn motorcycle – and he's still recovering. Some days he doesn't know who I am," she flashed a determined smile, and Joss knew that Stella O'Connor was much more like her nephew than she let on, "but we're getting through it and he's going to be fine."
"I'm sure he will be."
Stella nodded. "Now, you must have taken a few right turns in your life," she fingered Joss' sleeve. "This stunning coat, for example. I have a feeling that you didn't buy this for yourself."
"No, you're right, I didn't." Joss replied.
Stella tilted her head at her. "I bet he's something."
Joss nodded, smiling softly. "He is."
He left me.
Stella squeezed her hand, smiling back.
"Mrs. O'Connor? I'm Brian Moss. I'm glad you were able to find the church." The FBI agent shook her hand, nodding at Joss.
"Oh, Mr. Moss! Well, it was an adventure, but I'm here. And this lovely young woman kept me company, so everything worked out wonderfully. Please join us."
XXX
Joss stood there for a while watching the barista work. She knew that others in the shop were watching those long fingers, imagining they were caressing them instead of those coffee cups. He was so good at what he did, she thought and not just technically good – she had watched him before that night, before he had even approached her, and she had been impressed at how well he handled himself with all the craziness that could walk in the shop in that proverbial New York minute.
When she'd spent that night with him, they talked and while she knew that he didn't take things for granted, knew that he expected to work hard, he also had that confidence, that quiet certainty that things would work out.
He kept a notebook and he would write a brief review of his workday every night, noting any mistakes or areas for improvement, his ideas for dealing with them and then later, comments on whether his solution worked or not and his plans for next time.
He was already handsome, but she knew in a few short years he would fully come into his own and become truly stunning, the kind of man whose smile as he walked by would leave you immobile, unable to utter an intelligible word but with the feeling that, yes, this is what God intended when he created Man.
Like someone else.
She wondered if he had ever been that confident about life, if he had been ever that sure.
Joss hadn't been in the coffee shop since that night, hadn't seen or spoken to the barista. That Monday a small bouquet of flowers had been delivered to her desk at the precinct. The card was blank, but she knew it was from him.
Of course Joss hadn't responded. She couldn't.
That night was a mistake, one she was determined not to repeat.
But here she was, watching him.
She could just go in for a minute, get a cup of coffee to go.
She could just say hello to him.
She could thank him for the flowers.
And she'd leave right after that.
She could do that.
Joss knew that if she walked into the coffee shop, that even if he was angry, even if he was hurt, even if he already had plans for the rest of the evening, he would smile, he would forgive her, he would drop everything just to be with her, even if it was only for a few hours, even if there wasn't a promise of anything more.
He wouldn't leave her.
Joss walked forward.
She stepped off the curb.
She could just go in for a minute.
Just a minute.
She could do that.
She closed her eyes for a moment, then turned around and left.
XXX
"Goin' to polish the underside of the 'frig today, B. Rachael?"
Joss couldn't help but laugh when her son walked into the kitchen with a pair of sunglasses on, his hands in front of face as if he was warding off some bright light. "Come on, Taylor, I'm not that bad."
"You come on, Mom, this place glows in the dark!" he laughed.
"It's just a little spring cleaning."
"Mom, check the calendar, it's not even close to spring," he said as he took a box of cereal out of the cupboard.
Taylor was right. Joss had cleaned and scrubbed and purged, organized and rearranged and repurposed, steamed carpets, stripped floors, washed windows, polished and waxed and refurbished. She had pulled out appliances, categorized recipes by the meal and the primary ingredient, conducted a complete home inventory.
Their apartment was never a disaster, but now it was so clean, so organized, so lemony fresh, that her son had started calling her B. Rachael, a mashup of B. Smith and Rachael Ray.
She'd upped her jogging regimen and was putting in ten miles a day. Always good about her paperwork, not only was she caught up, but she'd gotten several other detectives, including Kane and Terney, caught up on theirs, too.
She quizzed Szymanski on the exam he was planning on taking for the next grade in the detective hierarchy.
When their captain asked for volunteers to review and categorize old case files so that they could be scanned, an odious task that involved digging through dusty, dirty boxes in the drafty old annex building, she raised her hand.
She baked hundreds of cupcakes for an event at her mother's church and attended several webinars concerning legal trends.
She stopped in at a small non-denominational church near the precinct and would sit there quietly for a few moments almost every day. She accepted that Donnelly would be with her always, that she would think of him in some way every day for the rest of her life.
When Police Matters, a quarterly newsletter that provided updates on law enforcement activities in the New York area, noted Donnelly's passing, including a nice overview of his accomplishments with the Bureau, she sent a copy to Stella O'Connor.
She fell into bed every night, the exhaustion so encompassing, so complete, that she wasn't surprised to wake up in the exact same position as when she closed her eyes, her mind and body so tired that she sank into oblivion with no dreams, no musings, no thoughts.
She had done everything she could think of, but the yearnings, the desires, the need was still there.
XXX
It was perfectly natural, of course, a function of biology, Joss knew.
Every creature has the call, the need to reproduce. They scheme, strategize, fight and in some cases, die, to pass their genes on.
When you've come close to dying, that need is amplified, an urge to let the world know that you were here, that you existed.
Joss had seen it with her fellow soldiers after a particularly harrowing incident. She knew that he – come on, Jocelyn, she told herself, you can say his name, she thought – John, had experienced those feelings in Bosnia. He was so young back then – he'd probably never even thought seriously about having a child at that point in his life - but the urge to spread his seed must have been overwhelming.
It was understandable, normal if you thought about it, something that passes over time.
But it hadn't with her.
Joss was still getting those looks from men and it seemed as though the harder she tried to ignore them, the more they tried to engage her.
And after she almost returned to the coffee shop…
She was afraid that she might look back.
XXX
Firefighter Rafael Alvarez waved to Joss Carter from his porch. His nickname for her was Doe Eyes – that was all he saw the first time they met when she was a new detective assigned to an arson – murder case, those big dark brown eyes that seemed to encompass her face.
He was skeptical about her at first – a detective and a lawyer? – he'd bet that she was one of those upwardly mobile types, more focused on racking up promotions and degrees rather than actually doing the work. But she proved herself by not only being driven to solve the case, but also to find justice for the victim – she was one of the rare people who understood that they are often not the same.
Over time they became friends, catching up with each other every month or so. She considered him a mentor, asking for his advice and counsel on numerous cases, not just arson related ones.
He wondered what she wanted to talk to him about today as he watched her walk up the sidewalk – she hadn't mentioned a case and when he saw her last a few months ago, she seemed fine.
She was thinner than the last time he saw her, probably still doing that running crap – he'd told her more than once, all you're doing is running yourself to death – and she looked tired, not the tired when you don't get enough sleep, but the tired when you think the answer is somewhere out there if you just worked a little bit harder, even though you were already putting in twenty hour days.
You're smarter than that, he thought. It's not always about working harder – sometimes you have to step back, let the case speak for itself. Often you got to get out of your own way – own up to whatever's inside you, that keeps the answer just out of your grasp.
"Bribery's considered a crime, Doe Eyes," he growled, looking at the bag of doughnuts in her hand.
"Any judge who takes one whiff of that cigar, Rafi, will throw the case out of court. I'm performing a public service – for me and your neighbors." Her head tilted towards the adjoining porch.
"How do you think I keep them away?" he retorted, stubbing it out. "Come on in. Let's get rid of the evidence before anybody catches on."
They sat in his kitchen, sipping coffee and polishing off the sugary treats, sharing departmental news, catching up with each other. Finally Alvarez pushed his plate away. "What's up?"
She looked nervous, uncertain, but then as he knew she would, she sat up a little taller and looked into his eyes. "I need to ask you about the Pratt case. What happened afterwards."
Alvarez leaned back in his chair, studied her for a moment. "I heard things got rough for you out at Rikers."
She didn't reply.
"Ok." Alvarez nodded. Most of what he was going to tell her was common knowledge within the NYPD and FDNY, but he sensed she needed to hear the whole story.
The Pratt case happened several years ago. Alvarez was driving home from work when he had car trouble. As he raised the hood on his car in the dark, Alvarez saw a flash in the house on the corner - he knew the house was on fire.
Calling the fire in, he ran to the house, managed to get inside and somehow make his way upstairs in the swirling smoke and flames, getting the mother and the three children out. When he returned to the house to get the father out, who had fallen asleep in the den, he fell through the floor.
"They tell me that I stumbled out on the lawn and collapsed. I don't remember that, don't remember how I even got out of that house. All I remember was thinking that I was going to die and I think I did, for a few moments."
Alvarez was lauded as a hero, featured in all the media outlets, feted by the mayor and other dignitaries. On the surface he seemed fine, quietly accepting the accolades, attending the funeral for Mr. Pratt who didn't survive, returning to work as though everything was normal.
Behind the scenes he was drinking himself to sleep every night and screwing anything that walked. The drinking stopped, but the screwing didn't and after six months his wife, Kat, left him.
He came to his senses, but it was too late, his marriage was over.
"I think Kat might have stayed with me, treated it as some mid-life crisis that would blow over if it wasn't for Nikki."
Nikki was the sister of a police officer, fifteen years younger than Alvarez and his wife; she made no bones about her designs on him, showed up at the house and told his wife in excruciating detail everything he had done with her.
"I rubbed her face in it – everybody knew, in both departments. Kat had to leave." He sipped his coffee. "I know some of what happened was the result of almost dying – what better way to prove that you're still alive, but you know that already."
He knew that Joss had done her research. People reacted in a variety of ways to near death experiences – it was the rare person who wasn't affected in some way. Some became more spiritual, while others lost their faith. Some cherished the life they had, while others chucked it all – spouse, job, home swept away as they built new lives from scratch. Some became addicted to almost dying, seeking bigger and bigger thrills to approximate the feeling, while others sought total safety, trying to cocoon themselves away from everything and often from everybody. Heavy drinking, wild sex, crazy outbursts were all part of the package.
"Some was guilt over not being able to save Mr. Pratt, even though the fire started in that back room and he was dead before I got there. Some of it was that Kat and I had been together since high school and I know I ain't no prom king. Suddenly all these women wanted me and God help me, I wanted them, even though I knew that the only reason they did was because I was a 'hero'."
"I didn't want to admit that Kat and I had been drifting for a while before the fire, that if we had just talked to each other – no, if I had talked to her – things might have turned out differently. I probably would have still screwed up, but maybe not fucked up, if you know what I mean."
He refilled their cups, passed Joss the cream. "You were out of the picture at the time, if I remember."
"I was undercover." Due to her background as an attorney, Joss had spent six months working undercover at a legal firm suspected of witness tampering on a grand scale in New Jersey. Alvarez recalled that the success of that case and her other work was one of things that led her to getting on the Homicide Task Force.
"Good thing you were – I might have made a pass at you and you probably would have knocked me into next week." He chuckled. "Might have helped."
Alvarez gave her the look, a slow, searing gaze, the look that he got when he sussed out something everybody else missed, that critical clue that made him so good at what he did. He knew that whatever was bothering her, it was more than what was rumored to have happened out at Rikers and the death of the FBI agent she had worked with.
"You're not drinking, I can see that. So some screwing around."
Joss bit her lip. "I-I just don't do stuff like that, Rafi."
Alvarez leaned forward. "You got out of control a little. Whatever you did, it's no big deal and nobody knows about it. Believe me, I would have heard. There are a few folks out there who think you've got a stick up your ass and they'd love to find out that the great Joss Carter isn't as perfect as she appears."
She didn't reply.
He sipped his coffee. "I heard you're seeing a Narcotics detective." He smiled at her surprised look. "There are no secrets, you know that."
Joss nodded. "Yeah." He saw there wasn't a spark in her eyes, something to let him know that this guy mattered to her when she answered.
"He know you're just markin' time with him? Nothing wrong with that if that's what you both want." He picked up their plates and put them in the sink. "Did I tell you wanted you needed to hear?"
"Thank you."
She stood up and Alvarez touched her arm. "Look, I'm not going to ask you what's really going on. Just – don't screw somebody else over because you can't be honest with yourself."
Her voice was a whisper. "I think it might be too late for that, Rafi."
"Doe Eyes…" he wanted to hug her, but he knew she didn't want to be comforted. "I'm around, ok?"
She nodded. "Well, I know you've got to go."
He grinned. "My granddaughter Kellie has a recital today. Got a whole caravan going."
"Do you and Kat…"
"We talk. She's got a nice guy. I still love her, if that's what you're asking."
"But the last time I saw you…"
"Me and Nikki…she invested so much time in trying to catch me, she can't admit the whole thing's a mistake."
"Does she know?"
"Yeah, a few years ago at Thanksgiving – Jesus, in-laws, outlaws, partners, significant others, exes, 'friends' – you needed a scorecard to figure out who was with who. I got a little sauced and she saw the way I looked at Kat. Asked me flat out and I told her. But she still comes around and I still sleep with her." His smile was without any mirth. "Never said I was good at following my own advice."
Alvarez walked her walk away. Joss Carter was an intensely private person. For her to even hint at something going on inside her, meant it was big, overwhelming. She was smart and she was strong, he knew that. She survived the loss of husband, war. But even someone as smart and strong as she was, could only take so much.
It wouldn't break her – she'd survive, but he sensed that she'd be different.
Doe Eyes, he thought, as he put on his jacket to spend the rest of the day with the woman he loved, but could never have again, don't get screwed up like the rest of us – fight, kick, scratch, scream - do whatever it takes to be happy.
But he knew she wouldn't.
Next, Reese finds the extraordinary in the ordinary and we spend a little time with (yes, we have to) Detective Beecher.