He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "But I have to believe he'll be fine. Despite his age, he's strong, he's a fighter."
vvvv
After a much-needed respite, Henry returned later that day to the hospital after lunch, as Abe's doctor, Dr. Malhotra, had suggested. He assumed 12:30 PM, was a good time. If not, he'd dare anyone to try to kick him out. He walked at a steady pace until just outside Abe's room, then he slowly and nervously entered. Abe's bed, one of two in the room, was near the window. Even though he'd been a doctor for more than two centuries and had seen patients with all types of illnesses and wounds, nothing really prepared him for seeing his beloved son in this condition. Unconscious; hooked up to tubes; the tubes hooked up to machines that coldly displayed life signs in numbers, symbols and beeps.
He startled when one of the machines churned out a few inches of small paper. Chart. Chart. Yes. He grabbed Abe's chart and read through it, checking everything against what Dr. Malhotra had told him, what the machines displayed, and what his own examination of Abe showed. Yes, he sighed, everything looks like he's on a good track for recovery.
He placed the chart back into its holder at the foot of his bed and moved back to the head of the bed. The elderly gent looked pale. And tired. The muscles in his face slack as he slept. He must be sleeping, Henry deduced, because the anesthesia would have worn off by now. Suddenly, the voice of Dr. Malhotra pierced his thoughts even though the man spoke softly.
"He's coming along nicely, but if the brain swelling doesn't improve in the next 24 hours, we may consider using either thiopental or pentobarbital to place him in a medically-induced coma."
"His brain waves seem strong enough. Do you really think that will be necessary?" Henry challenged.
Dr. Malhotra raised his eyebrows. "Well, as I was saying, the purpose of a medically-induced coma is to protect the brain from swelling by -"
" - reducing the brain tissue's metabolic rate and the cerebral blood flow. Yes." he finished.
Dr. Malhotra chuckled and dipped his head in Henry's direction. "You are a doctor."
"No longer a practicing one, but, yes, yes, I am. Look, Doctor, I don't mean to step on your toes but, Abraham is very special to me and I'm just concerned, that's all."
"Of course, of course, no need to apologize. Just looking out for your friend, er, cousin."
The two men exchanged polite smiles.
"Well, I'll just look him over after which you can continue with your visit.
The two doctors traded positions and while Dr. Malhotra examined Abe, Henry seated himself in a straight-back chair near the window at the foot of the bed. The doctor made some notes on Abe's chart and replaced it. He smiled again at Henry and quickly left the room.
Henry waited until Malhotra was out of view (therefore, he was, too) before reviewing Abe's chart and the newly-added notes. He knew that Abe didn't like drugs and refrained as much as possible from even using over-the-counter medication for pain. 'Thiopental or pentobarbital.' He lowered Abe's chart and sighed. He'd read enough medical journals over the years to know that an alternative drug was the powerful propofol; same drug recently in the news connected to the deaths of a few famous celebrities. Abe would most definitely want to avoid the use of that drug, he knew. He placed the chart back into its holder and walked back to the head of the bed.
"Abe." he whispered as he held his hand and bent over and kissed him on the forehead. "I love you, son." he choked out. "Get better. Please get better soon." He touched his forehead to Abe's, then straightened up and gently stroked his thinning, gray hair.
vvvv
"Detective Martinez." Mike Hanson greeted his partner as he walked into the bullpen.
"Hey, Hanson." she answered without looking up from her paperwork.
"Hey, how's the Doc's roommate doing?" he asked, genuinely concerned.
She sighed and looked up at him this time. "As well as can be expected." She shrugged. "You know. Head injuries are no joke. I just ... feel so sorry for them both. Henry's taking it pretty hard." She smiled wistfully. "And Abe's such a nice guy."
"Yeah, too bad." Mike said. "I met him a couple of times. Seemed like a pretty okay kinda guy. Wish him the best." He turned to his own paperwork and groaned. After a couple of sips of his piping hot coffee, he asked, "So, just those two dead from that car into the bagel shop, eh?"
"Three." she replied. "The third died this morning." She signed the last of her paperwork and closed the file. "A 19-year-old kid working her way through college."
"Glad we're not working that one." Mike shook his head. His desk phone rang and he answered it. "Hanson."
Jo's cellphone buzzed and she looked at the Caller ID: Metro Hosp. Henry, she guessed. "Martinez." she answered. (Jo. Hello, this is Henry.) "Hi. How's Abe?" (Holding his own.) "Well, we're rooting for him." (Thank you.) "How are you holding up?" (I'm fine. Thank you. And how are you doing? I hope you went home and got some rest after you dropped me off.) "Yeah, I did." (Really? You have a very bad habit of placing the needs of others ahead of your own, Detective.) "Pot, kettle." She laughed and it was gratifying to hear his tinny laugh at the other end. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mike holding up his phone's receiver and pointing to it. "Uh, look, Henry, I gotta go. Think we got a body." (Right. Back to work and ... thank you, again, Jo. For being there for me. For us.) "We're in this together. Bye."
vvvv
"False alarm, Detectives." Officer Kiril announced as they approached the scene in Washington Square Park. He led them to a blanket-covered form lying under a tree. As Jo and Mike looked closer, they realized it was one of those inflatable, life-sized girl dolls sold in adult stores.
"A prank?" Mike asked.
"An experiment of some kind, according to him." The officer pointed to a pock-mark faced young man of college age, with large, horn-rimmed glasses and short, black hair. Another uniformed police officer appeared to be taking his statement as they walked over to hear his story.
"No. No. It's for my graduate thesis. I needed to see just how many people would notice that Cupcake wasn't a real person. Er, uh, that's the name on her label. Anyway, how many would actually walk over and inspect her, how many would just stop and glance curiously, how many would think she was in need of aid, you know. A delve into human nature with an exposé on Good Samaritanism thrown in."
"I take it nobody took the bait." The officer queried with a slight smirk.
"Not a Good Samaritan in the bunch! But I didn't count on some bozo calling 911 and reporting her as a dead body!" The nerdy-looking young man placed one hand on his hip, disgusted over the results of his impromptu study.
The officer taking the statement rolled her eyes at the two detectives. Jo smiled as she turned and walked back to their car.
Mike raised both hands and backed away. "All yours, Officer." He turned and followed Jo.
On the drive back to the precinct, Mike asked Jo if she was coming back in or heading back to the hospital. As much as she wanted to, she decided to return to work. Henry would call her if there was any change in Abe's condition. Besides, she would drop by the hospital after work to pull him away for a real dinner, this time, and some real answers. A smile tugged at her lips at the prospect of seeing him again. She missed him. Even after only a few hours. But work demanded her attention right now.
vvvv
Henry slowly opened his eyes. He wasn't sure how long he had napped. A couple of hours, maybe. He blinked at the cartful of dinner trays stopped temporarily outside Abe's room and realized it must be around 5:30 PM. A quick glance at his pocket watch confirmed it for him. As he stood and stretched, he noticed something remarkable. Abe's eyes were open and staring right at him!
"Abraham!" He shot to the other side of the bed and gently held his hand. "Abraham. Thank God, you're awake! I'll, I'll ring for the nurse." He pressed the buzzer and peeked into the hallway. No nurse. Just as he was about to dart out to the Nurse's Station, a nurse quickly came into the room but only halfway.
"My s-, cousin is awake." he excitedly told her, grateful that he'd managed to control his near slip of the tongue.
The nurse quickly stepped closer and peered at Abe. She then smiled and said, "I'll contact his doctor." She scurried away and he walked back over to Abe and smiled down at him.
Abe managed a weak smile and tried to speak, but Henry shushed him. "The doctor is on his way."
3
"Abraham!" ... Thank God, you're awake! I'll, I'll ring for the nurse." ... "My s-, cousin is awake." ... The nurse ... smiled and said, "I'll contact his doctor." ... Abe managed a weak smile and tried to speak, but Henry shushed him. "The doctor is on his way."
vvvv
Dr. Malhotra sat behind his desk and flipped through the pages of Abe's medical file and reviewed his most recent test results. Besides the occasional "hmmm" or grunt, he divulged nothing from its contents. He closed the file, laid it on his desk, and looked up at the two anxious men who sat across from him.
"Well, Sir," he addressed Abe, "you've made a remarkable recovery." He appeared lost in thought as he drummed his fingers on his desk. "A remarkably quick recovery." he said under his breath. He then straightened up and took in a deep breath. "Your latest test results are all within the normal range for a man half your age." He removed his reading glasses and scrutinized Abe a little closer.
"Well, that's a good thing, right, Doctor?" Abe asked encouragingly, his smile waivering somewhat as he glanced at Henry, then back at Dr. Malhotra.
"Yes, of course, it is." the doctor reassured him but still appeared lost in thought. "It's just that ... well, to be honest, you were clinically dead for 20 minutes two and a half weeks ago. Not to alarm you, but I've never had a patient rebound so well and so quickly from something like that. As a matter of fact, Mr. Morgan - I have never witnessed anything like what has ocurred with you." He let out a small laugh. "You literally died and came back to life. I've heard of things like this happening to people before but never witnessed it for myself. I'd say this sort of thing happens only once in a lifetime."
Abe and Henry eyed each other with a glint in their eyes. "Uh, yeah, yeah, not your everyday occurrence, for sure." Henry lowered his head and cleared his throat.
"So, after three weeks, you are officially discharged." The doctor stood and shook hands with both men. He gave his card to Abe and advised him to schedule a follow-up appointment in six weeks. Abe promised to do so and he and Henry left the doctor's office.
"Do you have all of your things, Abraham?" Henry asked, as he pushed Abe down the corridor in the wheelchair.
"Yeah." He patted a small travel bag on his lap. "Look, I can walk out of here." He made a motion as if to rise from the wheelchair.
"Hospital policy." Henry reminded him as he placed a hand on his shoulder and eased him back down into the chair, ignoring his protests. From his vantage point of being behind and above Abe, he couldn't help but notice the new, thicker hair growth on his scalp that now covered his former bald spots. He also had fewer age spots on his hands. A remarkable and quick recovery, Dr. Malhotra had said.
The immortal man, a doctor, himself, was acutely aware of some minor, but significant changes in Abe's appearance after reviving from his clinical death. Those had been the longest 20 minutes of Henry's life when he was told that his son had died. They hadn't seen it coming, he'd been told. Abe had been making slow, but steady progress after a routine procedure to treat an infection that had developed from his original surgery four days earlier. He'd suddenly flatlined and after several unsuccessful attempts to revive him, had been pronounced dead at 3:34 PM. The news had almost stopped his own heart. Had brought him to his knees. By his own admission, he was not a religious man, but there were times, mostly desperate times, when he'd prayed. Prayed for a way out, for help, for understanding of his cursed affliction. He grudgingly admitted that his prayers may have been answered a few times. Maybe. He wasn't sure. It was the times when they weren't answered that loomed largest in his mind. He'd prayed for his curse to be removed. No luck. He'd prayed for Abigail to return to him after she'd left him. No luck. He'd prayed for some news on her whereabouts in the years after. And instead, had received a most heartbreaking answer with the discovery of her bones in a shallow grave in a lonely, desolate spot in Tarrytown, NY.
He'd offered no prayer this time, after being told of Abe's passing. This time he'd railed at God for forsaking him for years ... centuries. For taking away his son too soon, in his eyes. There were mortals who lived well past 100 years of age. Why couldn't Abe have been one of them? Why couldn't he have stayed with him just a little longer? His bright-eyed boy full of laughter, pranks and wonder who'd grown into such a fine, witty, wise and intelligent man. And the greatest companion and friend he'd ever had in the past thirty years. Then, just as he'd wiped away his tears of sorrow, he'd cried new tears of joy when told that Abe had miraculously woken up. Not only that, but over the next two weeks he'd improved so quickly that his doctor requested, and Abe had agreed, that he remain for another few days of tests. This miracle had to be explored a little more, Dr. Malhotra had explained. Bones and organs just didn't heal that quickly, especially not in the body of man in his 70's. But they had, along with his head injury. No sign of a concussion at all. In truth, no signs of any injuries at all after his miraculous return from a 20-minute journey into another plane of existence.
Getting Abe back was the second happiest day of his life. The first was when he'd held him when he was a baby back in 1944. Still, these subtle changes nagged at him. As they approached the waiting taxi outside the hospital, he brushed these thoughts aside and rejoiced once again at having him back and fully recovered.
"You're awful quiet." Abe observed during the taxi ride back to the antiques shop.
"Oh, just, just thinking." Henry smiled and lowered his head. He reached over and patted his son's hand. "It's good to have you back." He smiled at him and removed his hand from top of Abe's. He noticed that it was totally absent of age spots now. His eyes rivited up to Abe's hair and he saw just a hint of black roots peeking out from under his mostly snowy scalp cover. 'How is this possible?'
Abe picked up on the look of mild alarm on his father's face. "What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?" Then he clutched his own throat with his right hand. His voice sounded a little higher pitched than usual and not as gravelly. "Huh." He twisted in his seat and looked at Henry, his hand still clutching his throat. "Does, uh, my voice sound different to you?" His eyes widened as he turned frontwards again. "Because it sure does to me!"
"Ahh, well, let's discuss this further once we get home." His voice did sound different to him. To his ears, Abe's voice had sounded like that when he was a younger man, probably in his 50's. Something was happening to Abe right in front of their very eyes. Something totally remarkable and inexplainable. As inexplainable as his own condition, but just as certain.
The cab finally pulled up to the shop and Henry paid the fare and they got out. They hurriedly entered the shop and Abe bounded up the stairs to the upper level's living quarters. He stopped at the top of the stairs and turned around. He stepped back towards the top of the stairs and looked at Henry, who returned his look of astonishment. Abe had not bounded up those stairs in 25 years!
This was getting scary now. But neither of them had any idea what this was. One thing was clear, though: Abe was somehow getting his youthful vim and vigor back.
"What the - you see that?" The broadest of smiles grew on his face and mixed in with his astonishment. "You see how I took those stairs?" He pointed to the stairs as Henry cleared the top step.
"Yes. Yes, I did." Henry gasped when he looked up at Abe's hairline again. The hint of darkness at his roots had greatly extended. Only the tips of his hairs were white. The lines in his face were greatly reduced. Abe looked to be in his late 40's to early 50's now.
"Ohhhh, ohhhh, now ... " Abe touched the top of his head and his face in response to the travel of Henry's eyes over him. "What? What? What do you see? What are you looking at?" He spun around and darted off into his bedroom and into his bathroom. "Ho, hooooo! Henry, come look at me! You gotta see this! Oh, hoooo, oh, boy."
Henry slowly made his way down the hall to Abe's bedroom, fearing what he would see. Abe ducked his head into the hallway, grabbed his father by the arm, and dragged him into his bedroom and stood them both in front of his fulllength mirror. It reminded him of when Abe was small and would drag him to read the comics to him or to take him to the park.
Abe grabbed his pants and pulled them more than a few inches away from his waistline. "Will ya look at this? My hair's darker, my face is not so wrinkled." He massaged his cheeks with his fingers and then ruffled them through his already dishevelled hair. "Look. Look." He bent his head down so Henry could touch the top of his head. "Go ahead, touch it. No more bald spots."
Henry gently touched the top of his head and slowly fingered the texture of Abe's newly darkened, or, re-darkened mop. Not another curse, he silently pleaded. Not another curse. Two curses in the family is two, too much.
Abe raised his head up and went and sat on his bed. He was ecstatic and breathless as he watched Henry walk up closer to him. The look of concern on Henry's face worked to calm him down somewhat. He turned the situation over in his mind and asked, "What's happening to me?"
Henry gingerly sat down on the bed next to him, his hands gripped the edge of the bed on either side of him. He recalled he'd asked that same question after his first death. What, indeed, was happening. What?
"I'm not sure, Abraham. But it would appear that the arrow on the path of aging no longer points in a forward direction for you. Not only that, you appear to be on an expressway to regaining your youth."
"That's a mouthful, Dad." Abe dryly observed. "In other words, I'm getting younger by the minute."
"More like by the second."
"Well, what could have caused this? The injuries, the operation, the medication, what?" He turned a worried face to Henry.
"I don't know, Abraham." He watched with concern and awe as Abe walked over and viewed his rapidly changing appearance in the mirror again. "I simply don't know."
4
Summary: Abe struggles with his new, bizarre situation. Henry watches helplessly. He's also conflicted because he wants to tell Jo about Abe but is reluctant to, fearing the double dose of supernatural-ness will be too much for their budding relationship.
vvvv
The smell of bacon, eggs and toast cooking drew Henry into the warm, brightly-lit kitchen. Not just scrambled eggs; Abe was cooking omelets. His stomach grumbled and he picked up his step. If it tasted as good as it smelled, he was really going to enjoy this breakfast. But what was that music? Certainly not jazz. He entered the kitchen and quite a sight came into view: Abe was singing along to what he recalled was a disco song. The vocalist implored people to "Shake, Shake, Shake [their] Booty". He watched in amused embarrassment as Abe undulated his hips in a most suggestive manner and flailed his arms about his head as if he were palsied. But more unnerving was the sight of the changes in him overnight. His now full head of hair was dark, lustrous and wavy. A lean, svelte physique had melted away his beer belly and geriatric stoop. Henry was fascinated as he watched him cook, sing and dance, apparently oblivious to the fact that he now had an audience of one in the kitchen. The sound of the chair being moved as Henry sat down, finally caught Abe's attention and he spun around and grinned broadly at him.
"Morning, Pops!" He cheerfully greeted him and shoved a plate of food in front of him.
"Morning, Abraham." he responded, hoping to sound just as cheerful. He placed his napkin on his lap, all the time keeping his eyes trained on Abe.
Abe finally sat down at the table and wolfed into his own plate of food. "Boy, am I hungry!" He looked up at Henry and then down to his untouched breakfast. "C'mon, eat up. You must be as hungry as I am after what we went through yesterday." Another mouthful of omelet was shoved into his mouth.
"Apparently, what we're still going through." Henry quietly added. "Abe, how old would you say you look now?"
Abe leaned back in his chair and thought for a second or two. "I don't know. How old would you say I look now?" His smile was strained. It was clear that he was really as troubled about this situation as his father was.
"I have an idea, but let's take a look at some photos first."
They finished their meal and retreated to the basement laboratory and pulled out some photo albums. As they flipped through them, they compared Abe's current appearance to those in a few photos that dated back to the 1980's and even further back to the 1970's. One photo of the two of them at Abe's second divorce party (they chuckled at how ridiculous that was, a party to celebrate a divorce) in 1982, seemed to match best. The picture was taken a few weeks before his 38th birthday. In the photo, they looked to be closer in age so they went as brothers and sometimes as cousins.
"That's it." Abe pointed at the photo and Henry carefully peeled the protective, plastic sheeting away from the photo in order not to tear it. He finally removed it from the photo album and they gazed at it for several moments. The time and circumstance brought back many memories, both painful and cherished, for both men.
Abe eased the photo out of Henry's fingers and leaned back as he gazed fondly at it. Henry shifted his position on the couch so as to really take in Abe's appearance. Even as he studied him, more subtle changes were taking place. His facial construct lifted, laugh lines and the lines that used to ring his neck, greatly minimized. Instant facelift, he mused to himself. The fatty area under his chin flattened out into a much leaner profile.
Abe seemed once again unaware that he was being carefully scrutinized. He dropped his hand into his lap but held onto the photo, and looked out into the room. "I guess ... I look about 38 again? Huh." Henry's heart wrenched when he turned a worried gaze to him and asked, "What am I gonna do now, Dad?" He turned away and placed his free hand over his eyes. "I can't let anyone see me like this!" Abe dropped the photo onto the couch and suddenly jumped up and began to pace. "What are my friends gonna say? My business associates?" He stopped and slapped his hand to his forehead. "Fawn!" He turned and bent down to be face to face with Henry. "I can't let her see me like this! What will she think? She's a wonderful woman, but I'm sure she won't wanna be seen in public with, with ... like she's romantically involved with a younger-looking man! She won't want me anymore!"
They both froze and Abe jerked back up to a standing position. "Oh, I'm sorry, Pops. I, I didn't ... I shouldn't have said that. Sorry." He sat back down and turned his father to face him. "Dad, I'm sorry. This whole thing has just got my mind, my tongue, my brain, all screwed up!"
Abe's words sliced into him and dredged up painful memories of when Abigail had grown older and in the eyes of the world, he was her much younger paramour. He'd been called a Gigolo. She'd been accused of robbing the cradle and then of being his mother until she could take no more and had finally left him. Painful memories. Stinging words. But he swallowed down his own emotions because he was well aware of the kind of panic-stricken thoughts that must be going through his son's mind right now. Which was harder? he debated. To suddenly find, against your will, that you are trapped in a perpetually youthful body, or to be suddenly shunted backwards into one? How was a person to really be expected to live their life after something like that and successfully avoid detection? Even though his own pathway to eternal youth differed from Abe's, no intelligent reply formed in his head.
The shop's landline phone rang upstairs but neither man made a move to answer it. After a fourth ring, there was silence. A few moments later, the ringing resumed. Abe softly pointed out to Henry that it might be Jo and that he should answer it. "If you don't, she'll probably drop by the shop and she might see this." He wearily waved his hand over his body.
He rose up and quickly darted up the stairs and answered the phone. It was Jo. Another body, she'll be by to pick him up. Oh, no, no, no, he'll take a cab. And how was Abe? Tell him that she's sorry she couldn't pick him up from the hospital like she'd planned. Henry offered a quick prayer of thanks to that. For if she had witnessed what he had on the ride from the hospital to their home ...
Conversation ended, Henry hung up the phone and quickly returned to the basement laboratory to find Abe putting the photo albums away. "It was Jo."
"See?" Abe's laugh was hollow. "I think I'm psychic now, too."
Henry cleared his throat. "Ahhh ... there's a body, I, uh, have to meet her and Det. Hanson at the crime scene - "
"Go, go, Dad. Do your thing." Abe waved his hand at him.
"Abe - " Henry started.
"Go, Dad, I'll be fine here. I'll just close the shop and hang around in my room. Watch BBQ Cookoff and talk shows or something." He smiled weakly and patted Henry on the arm as he drew close to him.
"I was going to say that we have no idea if this backward aging phenomenon has run its course or not. It could be only temporary and maybe ..."
"You have a really bad habit of throwing a mouthful of words at things, don't you? Backward aging phenom-, deaging, is what it's called, Pops." he huffed and walked towards the stairs then turned. "You think that maybe the ball will start rolling back in the right direction for me, then?"
Henry spread his arms and shrugged. "At this point, Abraham, anything's possible. We'll just have to wait and see."
His spirits seemed to lift a little as he pondered Henry's words. "Okay. I'll wait. You go. Dead body." He pointed up the stairs but waited for Henry to get closer to him. "And thanks, Dad."
Henry smiled and squeezed Abe's shoulder. He was trying hard to get away from always hugging his son, even though right now he wanted to hug the heck out of him. "I'll always be there for you, son."
"I know, Pops."
vvvv
"You seem distracted, Henry." Jo eyed her partner/boyfriend with concern as they both squatted near the body of a known prostitute and drug abuser. She was shoeless and barelegged, dressed in a short, sleeveless, sequined, satin blue dress. Her long, black hair was splayed out and around her head and atop the cardboard boxes and trash upon which her body rested. A used, dirty, thin rubber phlebotomy tube was found under her body and a spent hypodermic needle dangled precariously from a vein in her left arm.
"Distracted, Detective?" he replied, as he studied the corpse of the unfortunate, young woman.
"Nah, he's just workin' up the nerve to agree with me, that this is a simple overdose, right, Doc?" Hanson joked.
"Nothing simple about it, Detective." Henry grimly replied as he rose to his feet and snapped his gloves off, eyes still fixed on the corpse. He then snapped his attention to Hanson. "But you are correct. She did die from an overdose."
Hanson's triumphant grin melted away into a frown when Henry quickly added, "Whether she administered it herself or someone else did for her, remains to be seen. I'll need to examine the body further back in the morgue."
Hanson nodded knowingly and rolled his eyes. Jo bit her tongue in order to prevent a smile from forming on her lips.
"We must be thorough and always endeavor to eliminate any doubt, in these cases, Detective. It is now most important that we treat her demise and the contributing circumstances with the respect she obviously was denied in her short life."
"Thanks for the lecture - Da-ad." Hanson muttered as Henry trudged away. Jo bit her lower lip, tapped Hanson on the arm to placate him, and caught up with Henry.
"Wanna tell me about it?" she asked him flatly once they were inside her car.
"About what?"
"Henry ... " she sighed wearily, "let's not ride that old horse again, please."
He knew exactly what she meant. But how could he tell her that he was worried about his 70-ish son who'd recently survived a terrible accident and flatlined for nearly 30 minutes, miraculously revived only to age regress to when he was in his 30's? All of this after having divulged to her about his own immortality? The poor woman is going to run for the hills from the both of them, thinking they're possessed!
"You're right; I am still worried about Abraham." That much was true. But it wasn't the entire truth because he was omitting the real reason why. Vaguely aware that he'd been wringing his hands, he clasped them together in his lap to mask his nervousness. All these many years the secret of his condition had been kept by Abe from his friends and even his wife either by lies or evasivness. Now, Henry felt he must do the same for Abe. Hopefully, Jo would understand and forgive him if he could convince Abe agree to let her in on things. How ironic, he wryly thought, that he was now the one intent on convincing the other to bring Jo into their confidence.
5
All these many years the secret of his condition had been kept by Abe from his friends and even from his wife, Maureen, either by lies or evasivness. Now, Henry felt he must do the same for Abe. Hopefully, Jo would understand and forgive him if he could convince Abe to agree to let her in on things. How ironic, he wryly thought, that he was now the one intent on convincing the other to bring Jo into their confidence.
vvvv
"Lucas, I'll be in my office making a quick phone call. Please finish prepping the corpse of Melody James." He nodded at the body of the known prostitute found that morning near a dumpster behind a nightclub.
"Will do, Doc." Lucas replied as Henry hurried past him.
He needed to check in with Abe to find out if his strange condition had stabilized or, God forbid, had worsened in the form of more deaging. He closed his door and quickly made his way to his desk and sat down. His hand shook as he punched in the shop's phone number. It went to voicemail. 'Silly, me. Abe's probably not going to answer the business line.' He hung up and this time dialed Abe's cellphone number.
"Hello! Pops!" Abe answered, the anxiety in his voice evident and, to Henry's ear, a familiar squeak he hadn't heard in decades.
"Abraham, are you allright? You sound upset." he spoke rapidly into the phone's mouthpiece but just above a whisper.
"Well, yeah, I'm upset, you already know that!" he replied breathlessly.
"Abraham. It's just that your voice sounds rather strange and more urgent than it did before. Has something ... changed?" Henry held his breath.
Abe huffed in exasperation. "Changed." he scoffed. "I looked to be about 38 when you left this morning, right?"
"Yes, yes, that's right." He desperately wanted to know what was going on. At the same time, he dreaded knowing.
"Well, let's just say that if walked outside on the city streets, a cop might haul me in for truancy."
"Abraham," Henry squeezed his eyes shut and furrowed his brow, "what are you talking about?"
"I'm saying that I now look like my senior high school yearbook photo!" He yelled so loudly that Henry had to move the receiver away from his ear.
"Abraham, Abraham, please try to calm yourself." Then it hit him. "You mean you look like you did when you were in high school?" Henry couldn't believe it. He held the phone receiver in both hands with a white-knuckled grip, his face contorted with fear and uncertainty.
"All I need is a prom date." he replied mournfully, and, if Henry wasn't mistaken, it sounded as if he were crying.
What was he to do? It was apparent that his son needed him, but he was clueless as to what remedy could be applied. And the young prostitute's autopsy was a priority because she was the daughter of a New York City Councilman. Lt. Reece's superiors had strongly "suggested" that the case required everyone's immediate attention. But there was no contest. Abe needed him right now and the autopsy could wait at least until tomorrow morning. He'd return tonight or in the wee hours of the morning, if possible, and begin the autopsy alone. But right now, he needed to get home. "I'll be home as soon as I can, Abraham; I'm leaving right now."
Abe sniffled and replied in a much calmer voice, "Okay, Pops. And, and, could you ... "
"What? Could I what, Abraham?"
"Could you please bring me some Cracker Jacks? They're my favorite."
Henry closed his eyes and smiled at the memory. "Yes, I do recall that, my boy." He opened his eyes and realized they were misty. And where was he going to get this popcorn treat for his son? He suddenly realized that there were some in the vending machine in the break room. "Cracker Jacks it is, then." he smiled into the phone. They weren't the healthiest of treats, in his opinion, but he was now flooded with fond memories of Abe dumping the concoction onto a paper towel into two separate piles of corn on one side, nuts on the other. He'd sworn that it lasted longer if eaten that way. The point was not debatable with him and, according to Abigail, was not worth arguing over, so Henry had dropped it. Three. Three boxes should be enough. No. Better get all of them.
The call ended, Henry stepped back out of his office and walked up to Lucas. "You can place Ms. James' body back into the cooler for now, Lucas." he said, trying hard to harness the anxiety and worry in his voice. "We'll start on the autopsy tomorrow morning." He smiled and nodded as he turned and walked away, ignoring the look of confusion on the young man's face.
"Okay, Doc." Lucas rose from his seat but called to Henry's back, "What'll I tell anyone if they ask why we're not starting today?"
He could feel Lucas' gaze as it bored into the back of his head but he only increased the speed of his retreat and didn't turn around. "Tell them that I left two of my tools at home, so I'm popping off to retrieve them." He hated lying but he had no choice.
The vending machine had only four boxes of Cracker Jacks left and he pumped enough coinage into it to purchase each one. Fortunately, he was able to stuff them into a plastic bag abandoned on the counter near the microwave. As he made his way out of the building and piled into the back of a cab, he grimaced when he saw Jo snap her head in his direction as she exited the building. In the cab's sideview mirror, he saw her with hands on her hips as she frowned after him. Can things get any worse? he asked himself. She'll question Lucas. Then she'll come to the shop. He sighed and rubbed his temples. Oh, stop the world; he wanted to get off!
vvvv
Jo was sure that that was Henry who'd just taken off in that cab. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out why he hadn't just asked her to drop him off at the shop. Something was up because she was also sure that he'd hunched down in an effort to not be seen by her. But she had. She bit her lower lip and tapped her foot with her hands on her hips. 'First he nearly bites Hanson's head off, then he impersonates Mr. Mumbles on the way back to the precinct. He practically hopped out of my car and made a beeline for the morgue all Gung Ho to do the autopsy, then he sneaks out without telling me where he's going.' Well, two could play that game. She spun around, nearly colliding with Lucas as he exited the building.
"Whoa, whoa, there!" Lucas exclaimed as he caught her before she fell.
She stood upright and bit her lip, frowning. "Sorry, sorry." She questioned Lucas about Henry's sudden exit but it was apparent that he was as much in the dark as she was.
Lucas felt obligated to cover for his boss, but he didn't want to lie to a member of the NYPD, either. For Henry's tools had just been delivered from being cleaned and sharpened and he'd placed them on his desk, still in the unopened shrinkwrap. So he'd figured he'd stuff a super burrito into his gut for lunch just in case he and his boss were arrested later on for delaying the autopsy and, therefore, obstructing justice in the now high-profile case. Just his luck that he would run into Jo, one of the NYPD's most competent and thorough detectives. He chose freedom over loyalty.
"All I know is that he said he had to retrieve two of his tools from his home."
"And?" Jo pressed him. There was something he wasn't telling her, she just knew it.
"As far as I know, all of his tools are on his desk. They'd been sent out to be cleaned and sharpened. ALL of them. And they arrived just before he did. I put them on his desk right before he came in."
Jo nodded and frowned and her eyes traveled from side to side. "What else, Lucas?"
Lucas lowered his eyes and stared at the sidewalk. "He made a call and he mighta been talking to his roommate ... I don't know." He suddenly perked up as if a lightbulb had gone off in his head. "Hey, wasn't his roommate injured in that real bad crash a couple of weeks ago? Maybe he got worse?" A family emergency would be a legitimate reason to delay the autopsy and get them both off of the hook. Selfish, he realized, but true.
'His son. Of course, that's it. Abe needed him.' She smiled at Lucas and attemped to look unworried. "Okay, thanks. I'll just pop over and check on them."
Lucas smiled and relaxed as she made her way back to her car and he ambled over to that burrito truck. Burrito Supremo, yeah. He watched Jo drive off and hoped that everything was okay with the big guy and his mysterious roommate.