Chapter 16_Murdoch in the Jungle_Epilogue
As the older woman closed the gate behind her and started down the path towards the house, she spotted the boarded-up living-room window with a gasp. Instantly her mind flashed an image of seeing Dr. Ogden riled up into a fit of anger at the detective and throwing a knickknack of some sort through the closed window, shattering the glass. "Now Eloise," she lectured herself, "you know the doctor has quite temper, but there's no point in jumping to conclusions so." She took a deep breath, working to lower her emotional reaction. She had come to greatly care for this dynamic, and in many ways, magical couple, but they were far from perfect, and times were probably the hardest between them that she had ever seen as of late – at least since she had been re-employed by Dr. Ogden, and the detective, after becoming unemployed when the doctor had married Dr. Garland.
Turning the lock in the door, Eloise reminded herself about how much trouble Detective Murdoch and Dr. Ogden had had before that marriage, albeit with the detective being arrested and almost hung, and then being accused of setting Constance Gardiner free, and then disappearing off the face of the Earth. Eloise had always believed it was because he had been devastated about the doctor's marriage to another. She had sympathy with the man, him coming from a similar class to her own. He must have figured his working class status was a likely factor in the doctor's choice of Dr. Garland over him. However, even back then, Eloise had wondered if that were really true, for the doctor seemed unique among toffs in that respect.
Eloise stood near the coat rack, dropping her packages down, her mind splitting between wanting to check to see if the detective had spent another night on the couch, and remembering how much more torrential things were for this couple after Dr. Garland had been killed, with Dr. Ogden arrested and found guilty – set to hang – for murdering Dr. Garland. All the while, it had been that insane villain, James Gillies, who had set the whole thing up, and then he had captured and tortured the detective. She smiled to herself, with the thoughts of, first the detective, and then the doctor, each declaring their love for each other during the trial, for all the world to see… and then marveled at that remarkable man, Detective Murdoch… for devising a way to escape Gillies and stop the execution of the love of his life… "Magical, like I said," she praised herself.
Before taking her treasure out of the bag, knowing it would help the detective's spirits, whether he had slept on the couch or not, she gave in to the urge to snoop, peeking around the doorframe into the foyer. "The couch was completely free of bedding! They had made-up!" she celebrated to herself.
) (
Upstairs in their bedroom, the couple slept just a few minutes before the alarm clock would sound. Although her husband was deep asleep, Julia tossed and turned, twitching and occasionally moaning in her sleep, for she was in the midst of a dream.
She was standing with Eloise. Suddenly, their front door opened, flooding her in a bright light, and William, in his hobo clothes, looking so desperate for her, stood as its silhouette. The need to be in each other's arms overruled every law of the universe… and then… she just was in his embrace, tight, strong, finally… Her face nestled into his shoulder, his neck, the smell of him permeated her, sank in deeper, not pleasant as it usually was, its pungency forcing her to pull back. She stood before him, seemingly in a haze. Both of their eyes dropped to see his opened palm. A condom… That was a condom, there in his hand.
One – Two, CLAP! She slapped him – Poof, he was gone.
It was the heartwrenching sound, somehow far off while also near, of his sobbing that drew her towards him, after she had fallen to her knees under its burden.
Over there… On the other side of the ocean… On that tiny island… Under that one, dry, thirst-ridden palm tree… she could see him as the mist dissipated away. His naked body curled up on his knees, it trembled and shook so with his weeping. He was so far away… and so… alone.
The pain, unrivaled even by the bullet she had withstood. Then, in the water, urgency fueling each stroke, each second essential, she had to get to him, had to hold him, had to save him from such unbearable despair.
"William!" she called out, standing in the surf now, the weight of the ocean lugging against each step, "William!" she called.
He stood, turned to watch as she approached across the sand, his face so handsome, his eyes full of sparkling mischief. Was he about to tease?
"Doctor," his delicious voice challenged, "Where's my hat?"
Was it still the beach? No, it is their bedroom, and he is getting dressed. Such an odd mix of clothing, she noticed. His brown workpants, his red pajama top tucked in neatly, covered by a cummerbund… and a bowtie. But he is barefoot, with his prized homburg on his head, tilted just so. He pinned his badge to his pajama top and then turned to lift a white lab coat, inserting his arm.
"William," she interrupted him, drawing his beautiful, chocolate brown eyes. "You can't wear all those different clothes together. You have to choose," she insisted patronizingly.
Instantly she regretted having criticized him, as his eyes seemed to melt, first into hurt, and then into panic, before they thinned into anger. He swallowed back his emotions and defended himself, "I have to wear all of them," he started, and then decided to continue dressing, pulling his lab coat over his shoulders, "they are all me."
She ducked her head, looking up at him, fighting back a judgmental smile, "Yes William, but not all at the same time," she explained, "The clothes don't match. You'll look ridiculous."
She didn't expect it, quite unlike him. But abruptly, he threw the lab coat down to the floor in a huff. His motions brusque, and hurried, William stripped himself naked, flinging various items of clothing this way and that. Once bare, he paused, unsure of what to do, seemingly becoming distraught with embarrassment, and he had to get away – fleeing into the secret passageway in the back corner of the room, closing the hidden door with a slam.
She heard it in William's voice inside her head, "It seems the clothes still don't fit the boy," her memory replayed his despondent words from their argument so long ago. Plaguing, troubling, for originally they had been her words, not meant for him, and yet he had clung to them, wearing their expression of his discomfort with his new station because he had married her. "The clothes still don't fit the boy."
She had felt it back then, down in her own bones, such regret for her lack of compassion with his struggle. "How could she have forgotten," she asked herself, "how could she have forgotten something so important?"
She ran to the hidden door, knocked her forehead against it with a remorseful thud. "William," her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm sorry." And she felt the tears come, with the heat of the swelling and the choking up of her throat. She had to fix this. "Please William. Please come out," she begged.
Almost silently, slowly, the secret passageway door budged. Julia's breath caught, she held it. Only an inch at first, yet reassuring to her. "He was coming out!" her heart alerted. She stepped back allowing space for him to walk out, out of the dark passageway into the warm bedroom light. The metal of his suit of armor shined so in this glowing light. Clank, clank, with each step he took the metal rattled and creaked.
She tried to calm herself, take a deep breath.
William stopped right in front of her, the facemask of his suit of armor closed, and then she noticed it, the features of the man's face shaped into the iron of William's mask. It was Jonathan Armour! William's mask was that of her dreadful cousin Jonathan! She could not believe it. No, not William! Not William! The panic threatened to collapse her.
"William," she called out, her blue eyes searching, looking, for him inside the suit, behind the mask. "William," yet, she was thrown quite off balance, speechless, she found she could say nothing more.
It seemed weeks went by. Every day, every moment, he was shielded within the metal suit of armor. It had led to a devastating sadness which had overtaken her, and she had come to accept it, to bear it. He slept in the armor, went to work in the armor, attaching his magnetized badge directly onto its steel chest, he came home from work in the armor, lifted the Armour mask to kiss her, sometimes brought her flowers in the armor, he ate dinner in the armor, he even held and cared for their beautiful tiny baby in the armor…
But, just now as they prepared for bed, tears had welled in her eyes uninvited, for she had felt it stir within her – the longing for him, the wanting to touch him, the need to hug him, the desire to kiss him, soothe him, make love with him, so deeply, to feel his weight on her and his rhythm, his flesh covering her, penetrating her, pushing into her, over and over again, all to be unfulfilled.
She became overwhelmed with such debilitating sorrow – to know he had never, he would never, share his warmth, his unique, manly tenderness, at once protective and compassionate, with their baby boy, or with her, ever again.
"William," she called as she slid closer to him from her side of the bed, and tried to find his ear in the blackened room, her lips only encountering rigid, unforgiving, metal. She brought her hand across his chest, her arm, her breasts only attaining stiff, unyielding metal, the chill of it triggering an irrepressible cringe in response to the cold, hard, feel of his steely body against hers. For the tiniest fraction of a second, the top of her breast moved over a ridge a bump. "Odd," she thought. He doesn't usually wear it to bed.
Suddenly, she felt it more than she heard it, the perfect "click" of her locket bonding to his badge… The sound intensifying her feelings, surging her fear of losing him, and twirling and entwining it with her knowledge that they were meant to be together, spurred by memories of the first time she had heard that simple, quiet, remarkable "click," and she so regretted having had ignored its significance then – leaving him for Buffalo despite its portending. Panic swept through her… Not again. She couldn't bear losing him. Not again…
"William, please take it off," she pleaded. "Please William. I want to hug you, so badly, William. My God, I miss it…" Her lips kissed the metal hinge that held the Armour mask to the helmet, wishing, pretending she were kissing his cheek, with its morning stubble. She would seek his lips, always stunned by their softness as they bent and molded under hers. "I want to kiss you…" her voice waned into a squeak, the sound of her own deterioration magnifying her panic, sending her heart to race and her breathing to grow shallow as she fought against the fright and the pain, "I long to feel your sweet skin, William… warm and smooth, sliding over mine," Julia said as she moved her body along his metallic armor. "William, I… I yearn to be covered by you, encircled, gloved, by your strength, to have you meld and merge and fuse into me, press down into my flesh, William…" her crying fell into tears. And she pleaded with him, "William, I miss you, please take it off… come be with me. Please…"
Still sobbing, Julia awoke. In the dark, to her own twitching and whimpering, and became aware that she was in her own bed, just as she had been in the dream, and William was right next to her, under her, as she rested her head on his chest, just as in her dream as well. But… thank God, he was naked, she remembered, peaceful, sound asleep – not in a suit of armor. She felt his warmth and his softness as she cuddled closer. And she remembered through the fog of the dream, that he had had such a hard, hard time with this case, and he was beyond exhausted, that he had been dead tired. And he was alright. And they had made up. And she was pregnant, and he would be there, mind, body and soul with her to raise their baby, and everything would be fine. And her sigh of relief calmed her deepest essence. And she loved him more than she would ever be able to tell him… And despite herself, she was happy.
Julia's fingers found the locket hanging around her neck, warm from having been sandwiched between her breasts, treasuring the sleek feel of the golden surface as her fingers glided over it. A smile emerged on her face as her mind flashed William's voice telling her last night that, "the bond is stronger now," after he had mended it. The significance of the locket clicking with his badge in her dream did not escape her, its reminding of the foretelling that their love was meant to be, and the premonition had been right, for they were, she knew it, madly in love with each other still – always – forever and ever.
Her mind drifted and settled on his badge, prompting her to remember that it was a workday – Wednesday. He had only been home from his undercover hobo trek into the wild jungle, as he called it, for two days. So much had happened in those two days… even more in just little over a week. They had solved the case. Today they would bury Ieva next to Adomas. Her sigh slipped into the darkness, mingling with William's deep breathing. She noted that although he was not commonly one to snore, he was close to doing so right now – so very tired from all his ordeals. That's when she decided…
She quietly crawled out of her side of the bed, tiptoed around to his side and turned off his alarm clock. "William Murdoch will be sleeping in this morning," she silently announced to the world with her hands on her hips. Actually, the timing was perfect. They did not have to leave for the train to Wychwood Park until ten o'clock. Julia placed a hand over her belly and whispered in her head to their baby, "Daddy needs more sleep, little one." Then she slipped her naked body into her robe, relishing in the feel of the silky material as it spilled over her skin.
As she headed downstairs, she was planning in her mind. "First tell Eloise to delay breakfast. I think I'll call George and invite him to join us, then we can all go to the train together. And the Inspector – at home I guess. He should be up soon..." When she reached the landing at the halfway point of the staircase, she halted, her eyes stuck on the spot against the wall where she and William had lusted so deliciously after making up yesterday, after he had come to see the hurt he had caused her with his decision to keep his visiting Ettie a secret from her. It was right after that that she had remembered her strange dreams about needing to tell William about Mulligan's bloody car-pet, prompting her to figure out that she had a way for William to prove Mulligan had killed Ieva after all. It had been so exciting, so wonderful… and yet…
Her mind turned deeper inward, chasing after a feeling, one that was less happy, more problematic, regret, sadness related to that regret, the feelings so similar to, probably remnants from, her dream. She dove after her feelings, working to remember the dream.
The image of William in a suit of armor appeared. "William as her knight in shining armor," she thought, "but no, that wasn't it. He had been reacting to something. That's why he had put it on. What was it?"
"Ah, there's the regret. I had bothered him… about his clothes. They didn't match…" Then, Julia remembered William's words about "the clothes still not fitting the boy." It was with that that she remembered the whole of it, their history. William had had to move up into a different social class because of their marriage. The shift had been difficult for him, and he had used her own words to tell her this months ago – for she was the one to originally say, of young, dead Pip that, "the clothes don't match the boy," arriving at that conclusion because the child was dressed well but had Ricketts, a disease of the poor. She had to admit that, she too, has found the issue uncomfortable. It was for this reason that she most likely avoided telling William about her cousin, and now his cousin, Jonathan Armou…!
Oh, and then she remembered a significant part of the dream… the facemask on William's suit of armor! William had been wearing Jonathan Armour's image as his mask. And Julia remembered it so clearly then, that she had been afraid that William would have thought she would want him to be more like that despicable Jonathan. That had been one of the reasons she had withheld her relationship with her cousin from him. And even though the thought of William believing she would want such a thing disgusted her down to her gut, she had to admit that she had worried it would be so. Her brain, her rational mind, told her William would never do any such thing… but her dream told her that her subconscious, her heart, believed differently. She and William would definitely have to talk about this. Oh yes, this issue was not yet resolved.
Her mouth twisted up into William's 'admitting it' face, prompting her to giggle at herself. Endearing actually, the way she had taken on his expressions. She took a deep breath and coached herself, "I'll have to make sure we don't sweep this under the rug," and she giggled to herself again as she thought, "or should I say car-pet."
Julia noticed there was a bounce in her step as she entered the kitchen…
) (
The early December morning darkness still cloaked the bedroom when Julia returned. She stealthily snuck under the covers and allowed her body to sink down into the comfort and coziness of being in their warm bed with him. He had not moved at all, remaining in the exact same position he had drifted off to sleep in last night. So quickly, she joined him in sleep.
Happily, she dressed along with William, readying for the trip to Wychwood Park to bury Ieva Baltavesky next to her husband Adomas. Fitting in so many ways, Adomas and Ieva finally reunited. Even important details had been taken care of, William placing Ieva's locket and both of their wedding rings, and even both of their St. Valentine's keychains with Ieva to be buried with them through all of eternity. Finished with her hair, she looked behind her to see William sharing her vanity mirror, crossing one end under the other of his tie.
Julia stood and turned around. Without saying a word, she took over control of his tie. She felt his eyes on her, growing bigger.
"I like to have my way with your tie, William," she said, finishing the knot.
The next thing she knew, her chest was plastered against the wall. He was behind her. He was big and strong, and he wanted her, and he was right behind her. His hot, rapid breath flooded over her exposed neck, its breeze lapping one of her curls about. Every cell in her body changed orientation towards him. She wanted him. My God, she wanted him.
His hands, so very softly, took her shoulders, his breath barreled in her ear… Such a tender, soft kiss, against her skin, then another. Wave after wave of desire rolled and thundered into her, through her the force of it would surely collapse her. "William," weak, so very weak, she whispered, the implosion imminent, right before the fall.
"Shh," he was in her ear, sinking in deeper, touching her, his heat seeping down to fill and ignite her core, deeper and deeper, exquisitely caressing her down to her very soul. His hand around her waist. "We can't," is all he said… but he did not… stop.
Thank God, he did not stop.
His hand felt so big, wrapped around her belly, protecting and covering their baby nestled within her body, his attentions firm, supportive, attentive, aware – loving. Oh, but then his other hand… It traveled up her side, snuck in from behind, under a breast. Took her in his hand, he lifted, and molded and squeezed, and my God… when he moaned, worshipping the feel of the supple, creamy mass of her succulent flesh in his hand. A gentle, gentle pinch of the nipple, and his breath washed over her powerfully, so powerfully, the wind of it flipping her, floating her. His urge grew hard and big behind her. "I love you, Julia," he whispered, his words catapulting her, and carouseling her through space. Unbearable now, the agony of her want for him. Tears welled in her eyes – with the desperation of it.
"Please take what you want William. Please… Please…" her inner voice begged, the words lost twirling around in the windswept squall.
His mouth took her neck, so rough, so hungry. Ravenously he sucked her in.
Oh, this would leave a mark. They both knew this would leave a mark. But, it felt so delicious…
"Don't stop, William. Don't stop," she pleaded for his luscious torment to continue.
Her voice lured, but her words reminded, for then he stepped back – stopped – withdrew.
"Sorry," he whispered, followed by silence albeit for their hurried breaths and their heartbeats.
Of course, he was right… She turned around to face him, brought her eyes to his lovely, apologetically wrinkled face, grateful for his control, but still dizzy from his love. She slid her hands around his neck, and melted with relief when he wrapped his arms – his big strong arms, around her.
"I think it was because you had your way with my tie. Something happens to me when you touch…" he needed to swallow, "my tie."
"I see," she said, acting nonchalantly, but she knew that something happened to her too, when she touched his tie. Strange really, for it was blatantly obvious what his tie represented for each of them, but such truths are better kept away from the conscious, she mused.
His fingers traced the red, swollen mark he had just made on her neck. "Perhaps, husband…" she teased, "You should finish your mark. I do believe it needs something more… personal. Maybe a "W" would be nice."
"Mm," he answered her. Something about his tone though, so confident, cocky…
Then, she saw it in her mind… His mark on her neck… reached up to feel the mark for herself, to read the braille with her fingers… A perfect heart encircling his initials in a deep, almost purple-red hue, branded in her flesh, "WMH." Amazed at her joy, happy to be his, she declared, "Now, detective…" as she pulled at the knot of his tie undoing it, then undid his top buttons, and ripped the shirt collar to the sides, feeling her knees buckle with the sight of the exquisite creamy pink neck.
"Fair's fair," she explained and then tilted her head and moved in, anticipating the sweet taste of him, his thick, fibrous flesh yielding to her, his scent sinking into her nostrils, so close.
Suddenly, she was just awake, awake in their bed, in the golden dawning light, next to him.
She slid over, draped herself upon him, wanting only to be with him in the world. The movement, the touch, roused him.
William's eyes jolted open – he tensed up, "What happened… the alarm! It's late!" he worried.
"Shh…" she reassured him in his ear, "There's no rush. You're not expected at the stationhouse until this afternoon. We still have half hour. It's alright William. Everything's fine."
She felt his heart pounding so, but his body softened, sank back down into the bed, comforted, recovering. "Good," he replied.
"That's better," she whispered. Julia rested her head back on his chest. "I called the Inspector, he agreed it was best to let you sleep in," she added, basking in the slowing rhythm of his heartbeat. Her hands began to explore his body as she whispered, somewhat seductively, "I just had one of those dreams Isaac said can't be helped." Her hand slid lower under the covers riding his bare flesh. On the threshold, her fingers gloried and electrified her insides upon encountering William's scrumptious, wiry hair… lower still…
Gentle but firm was his grasp as he stopped her, his hand taking hers. William's face scolded as she lifted her head to look him in the eye, "Tis best to leave the genie in the bottle milady… for the baby's sake."
He rolled her over, now the couple each lying on their sides, face-to-face. He noticed the locket, his fingers lifting it, cherishing it. All felt right with the world.
"William," she said, "You protected our baby in the same way in my dream – with your amazing self-control."
He lifted an eyebrow and replied, "Mm," with a nod. "And, how is our little angel doing?" he asked, releasing the locket and gliding his fingers up her neck, along her jaw, his thumb glancing her chin. He leaned in and kissed her tenderly, delicately shaping and sculpting her lips this way and that under his. Then his mouth kissed up her cheek on route to her ear.
He could feel her smile against his face as she responded, "Well, the baby is fine… but quite active lately."
"I see," his voice in her ear, his breath spilling down her neck. She felt the lustful stirrings begin to twist within and she reminded herself to fight against them.
William, too, changed to a less flirtatious tone. "May I have the mother's permission, to say good morning to my son, or perhaps my daughter?" he asked.
"Of course. I'd be delighted," Julia answered, rolling over further, onto her back. She took his hand, guided him down.
She was very, very large with child, and William found himself momentarily astounded with the biology of it all. He moved lower and placed his mouth close to her skin. His mind flung off in multiple directions, envisioning the tiny baby inside of her. The inventor in him again wondered about using soundwaves to see the baby, but the father in him dominated, overpowering his mind, his very being, and the inventor's thought went no further.
Inside of this woman, this amazing, beautiful, remarkable woman, was the one thing he had accepted, all those years ago, as the fortune teller's premonitioned "great sacrifice." The great sacrifice that he would have to make for this earthshattering love he had with Julia – to father no children. He had made that sacrifice, and yet, that very loss had not come to be. He would be a father, she his child's mother. William found himself surprised with his own overwhelming emotions, for he felt the heat, the swelling, of tears in his eyes.
"Good morning my little man, or perhaps my little lady," he greeted their unborn child. "Your mother tells me…" he caressed the tiny baby inside, "my beautiful William Jr. or Sus…"
"Thump," a rambunctious kick bumped against his hand. He marveled that he could actually see Julia's flesh extend outward with the tiny blow. William gasped and looked to Julia, surprised.
Julia's smile could light up the world. She reminded, "I told you," and then gave a sweet giggle.
William turned his attention back to their progeny. "Now William Jr." he scolded, "Susana, you must be more careful…"
"Bonk," once again the baby walloped its mother's outer boundaries, causing its father to again raise a judgmental, shocked eyebrow.
Julia found the whole thing to be absolutely hilarious and fell into hearty laughter.
William teased, "Julia Ogden, are you enjoying our child talking back to its father?"
"Immensely," she replied through her chuckling.
Feigning concern, William lectured, "Julia, we'll need a more united front."
She cleared her throat and pulled herself together. "And we will have it," she promised, trying to hold back her smile. She looked at her belly and said, "Now little one, you should listen to your father. He is wise… and truly… so lovely." Julia felt her heart burning madly, passionately, wildly on fire with love for this man. Blessed beyond any possibilities – they were.
William took a breath and decided to try again. He slipped his hand lower, cradling the baby inside of her from below, leaning closer again he said, "It must be getting rather crowded in there. Is that wha…"
"Thwack," the biggest kick of all exploded out of her! Now, even William burst into laughter. His gorgeous brown eyes jumped to meet Julia's intense blue ones. "I think he might have gotten your stubbornness," he chuckled.
"Perhaps," Julia joined the giggling. Her brain challenged that William could be quite stubborn himself, but she decided to let it go, at least for now. There was a better explanation.
"I think the baby is hungry, William. It's quite late for breakfast today," she offered.
"Oh. That's true," he agreed.
Knowing that it was time to get up, William plopped back down on the mattress, delaying the inevitable.
Julia draped herself over him once more. "Did you enjoy the extra sleep?" she asked as she kissed and stroked his cheeks, loving his early morning stubble.
"Oh yes. It was lovely," he replied.
She rolled up on top of him, straddling him, her chest lying on his, their nakedness pressed together, their baby between them. Fluttering butterfly kisses showered over him until her mouth hovered over his ear and she whispered, "I love you William Henry Murdoch."
"And I you," he whispered back. And then he said, "Now, Mrs. Murdoch, do you not think we should rise before our ravenous offspring belts you yet again?"
"Sounds wise," she answered. She sat up, only to realize that dismounting from him would be more difficult than she had thought, trying raising her one knee, but ending up dangling dangerously close the edge of the bed. Disappointed, with a huff, she dropped back down onto his chest.
William smiled, "I do believe the turtle is stuck again," he teased.
With the tiniest pout, igniting his heart into flames, she acquiesced, "Perhaps."
He sat them up, then rotated to bring his feet to the floor, with her straddling his lap, safely in his arms. Truly, he knew this would take some effort, but his male pride was on the line and he would give it what it took. William whispered, "Hold on tight," basking in the tremendously heartwarming feeling as she hugged him closer. He stood them up, and held her as she brought her legs down until she rested her feet on the floor.
Before Julia let him go she told him, "You're my knight in shining armor, William." Then, as they stepped apart, each one making the shift from intimacy to beginning their day, she said, "I had a dream about that… I mean you actually were… dressed in a suit of armor."
"Oh," he wondered. "And were you my damsel?" he asked, wrinkling his face in doubt and then adding, "That doesn't sound much like you." As he stepped into the bathroom he thought aloud, "Do you think it was because of Graveson last night…"
"Could be," she interrupted, "But there was definitely more to it than your protecting me from the, admittedly terrifying, man. Actually, I believe we will need to talk about it…" she said.
William's gut reacted, he recognized her tone, its forewarning. This involved one of their issues.
She began the daily ritual, lifting the toothbrush, adding some of the toothpaste. "I think the suit of armor represents many things… a mixture of protecting yourself," she raised an interrogating eyebrow at herself, "us," she added. She went on, "By wearing the suit of armor, you were keeping us safe, maybe hiding yourself too, I think, from the dangers and horrors in the jungle…" Julia waved her toothbrush about and added, "But there were also elements of the dream that pointed to my, um," she exhaled, "to my lingering concerns about our struggle with…" Julia paused.
William braced himself.
She continued her thought, "Class issues – and your not..."
William was on full alert…
"Fitting in, um, into my class… The armor you were wearing in the dream, It… the facemask, it had Jonathan Armour's face molded into the mask," she explained. "And I had criticized you for wearing… your clothes in the dream, they didn't match…"
Abruptly, the doorbell rang, drawing their attention downstairs. Both naked, they knew Eloise would be the one to answer it. Julia explained, "That will be George. I invited him to join us for breakfast before we go to the train."
"Good," he answered with a smile. William returned to preparing to shave. It seemed the time for this discussion was not now.
"Your dreams are quite interesting Julia," he contemplated, "They seem to use…" he tilted his head, searching for the right word, "Well, puns, I guess. So much double meaning. Carpet… and now Armour…" he looked her in the eye. "Quite clever," he admired.
"The subconscious works in ways that we can't completely understand William. It is quite astounding really," the psychologist in her noted.
) (
The couple rounded the corner in the kitchen together, arm in arm. George had been sharing with Eloise about his good news, that his suspension had been ended now that Mulligan had confessed.
Julia's voice cheery, she exclaimed, "That's why you're in uniform, George. You start back today?"
"Yes," George answered, "Right after we return from Ieva Baltavesky's burial."
William helped Julia into her chair. He hesitated, his eyes down on the vase of yellow roses on the kitchen table – the same roses he had bought for Julia just yesterday. It was amazing that that was less than 24 hours ago.
Julia spotted his attention on the flowers. She reached out, took his hand. Her fingers slid over his wedding ring as his beautiful chocolate eyes met hers. The world seemed to pause, just for a breathless moment, as they shared an acknowledgement of their love for each other and an appreciation of all they had been through together, recently overcoming obstacles and finding profound trust in each other's care once again.
Mounds of food abound, and George provided most of the talk. "It is a bit of a shame, though, to have to go back to work," he explained, "I was getting along rather well on my new novel."
Julia raised her cup of tea to her lips and asked before sipping, "Likely inspired by your recent adventures I presume… in the jungle?"
"Oh yes, quite, doctor," George answered.
Julia noticed out of the corner of her eye, that William tensed up with this new topic. "He is definitely still suffering from the aftereffects of his ordeals," she acknowledged to herself, feeling her heart warm and worry for him.
George had moved on, "Well, like this ham here…" George brought his fork over to a serving plate in the center of the table and lifted a thick, pink, slice of juicy ham up into the air. "You will notice that the detective has taken a serving, or more, of everything else but the ham," he observed aloud.
Considering it for a moment, Julia agreed that it was odd. William had always liked ham…
William exhaled through pursed lips, unbeknownst to himself, indicating to all present that he was feeling pressured. "George," he asserted, "Let's not talk about the food, please."
The room grew tense, uneasy.
It was Eloise who broke through the uncomfortable silence. "Oh," she called from the back pantry, "Detective, I noticed the garbage cans were not out. Do you think you could take them out to the street before the wagon gets here to collect…"
Grateful for the reprieve, William was already standing. "Yes, right away. It was a busy night last night," he defended his oversight.
George asked, bulging his eyes out of his head halfway through the question, realizing he may have been jumping from the pot into the fire, "Does it have anything to do with the broken living room window?" After which George gave Julia a pleading look.
William had already gathered up the garbage to take outside. He answered, "Yes. There was an intruder…" Deciding it was safe to tell George, reminding himself to make it clear that there were National Security issues involved, William added, "Graveson had another try."
Julia noticed George's frightened look.
"Oh my!" George declared, "Obviously, he was unsuccessful once again, sir, thank God."
William looked at Julia, seeing from her expression that George's reaction had only solidified her certainty that they had done the right thing to call Jonathan Armour and get him to call Graveson off of his persistent attempts to assassinate her husband, and his own cousin.
"You know Graveson as well, George?" Julia asked.
Giving up control over the situation, William left with the garbage.
"Yes doctor," George replied, looking up to notice that Eloise was nonchalantly listening in from next to the sink.
Julia, too, looked at Eloise, and then back to George. "Go on, George," she said, calmly turning back to take a piece of ham, quieting his concern about the woman overhearing. She served herself some ham to help herself remember to ask him about the ham before William got back.
"Actually, Graveson tried to kill me first, using that fake handshake method. The detective tells me you are the one who figured that out. Indirectly doctor, you saved my life," George explained.
Julia smiled and bowed, "Glad I could be of service," she said, her smile warm and genuine. She cleared her throat and leaned closer. "George," she asked, "What were you going to say about the ham?"
Feeling his loyalties pulled, George hesitated. Almost whispering, unsure if her secrecy was about Eloise or the detective, he said, "Well, doctor, twice the detective came close to being killed and having his body disposed of by being… um, processed, err, with the ham."
Julia's brain raced. She knew it rang true. She remembered that he had been almost killed at Davies Slaughterhouse, hanging, bound and tied, from a meat hook on his way to being cut apart by a huge rotary saw…
Her words came out before she had thought it through. "Twice?" she asked.
By then, George had remembered that she already knew about the first time. And he had started to realize that it was possible that the detective had not told her about Jonathan Armour's attempt on the detective's life… or maybe the detective had not told her that he himself had knocked Armour unconscious, the detective thinking he might have accidently killed the toff and would likely hang for the crime.
Stalling, George said, "Well, you know about the time at Davies Slaughterhouse…"
Julia nodded and glanced at the kitchen door William would return through. Wanting George to hurry, "There was another?" she pushed.
George scratched his cheek as he tried to tackle with his conflicted feelings, "Um… well,"
"George! Before he gets back!" Julia barked her whisper at him.
"Yes, but it was just a verbal threat the second time…" George started to explain, but then rambled on as he tended to do as his mind took him down a tangent, "Maybe it would have been more of a threat if the detective hadn't knocked Jonathan Armour out with a bronze pig statue of all things…"
"Jonathan Armour?" Julia interrupted. Her heart pounded so with her detestable cousin's name, and William's name, and killed, and processed with the ham all being used in the same instance! And! – And William knocked him unconscious! Oh my God! This was crazy! She felt lightheaded.
"Yes doctor. The very wealthy and powerful Jonathan Armour – the detective worried for days that he would be arrested and dragged back to the States and eventually hung for the unfortunate murder. It was self-defense, but um… The detective was looking for evidence and Armour walked in on him, and they had a confrontation. Armour had a gun…"
Julia's mind barreled forward and backward at the same time, figuring out that when the things George was describing were happening, William probably was unaware that Jonathan Armour was her cousin, his cousin because of their marriage… he had said his not knowing had been problematic, had caused him some turmoil, perhaps this is what he had been referring to.
"And it was Armour who made the threat – about William becoming part of the ham?" she asked, speaking very quickly.
"The Christmas ham to be exact," George replied. "You know, all told, the detective faced his maker an astounding number of times while on this case," George pondered. Suddenly, his eyes bugged out! "Doctor!" he declared, "I shouldn't… He's your husb… Of course, I, um…"
Working to deflect George's worry, and truth be told to try to get him to divulge more, Julia replied, "it appears that you faced death, too, George… I uh, heard." It worked, she noticed, George had calmed down and began to try to remember his own moments of being in grave danger.
Julia helped him, reminding, "I know that a corrupt and rather nasty American policeman, called Flannel Bull, knocked you unconscious… Well, his men did I guess, and then threatened to shoot you in the head if William didn't…" Julia stopped short, she would be overstepping her bounds if she said any more. This was William's story to be told, a quite personal and devastating one at that. It was not her place to share it with anyone. She regretted saying as much as she already had.
George had always been unsure about what had happened to the detective after he had been knocked unconscious that night in the jungle. Her statement, even uncompleted, led him to believe some of his worst fears had been true.
"He told you… a - about Flannel Bull?" George asked, unable to hide his surprise, and his embarrassment, and his concern for his friend and mentor. These two had an amazing relationship, he marveled, the thought making him feel joyous, for he loved them both so much and it was obvious that they were perfect together, and it warmed his heart to know someone as capable and loving as the doctor was entwined in Detective Murdoch's life.
Julia nodded. "He did," she said.
William's footsteps could be heard at the kitchen door.
Julia refused to pretend they had not been speaking of such things. "It does sound like so many awful, awful things happened on this undercover excursion," she concluded, as William closed the door and walked into the kitchen. She addressed him directly, "George told me about the Christmas hams, William. I asked him," she explained, hoping to be transparent.
Eloise bravely added, revealing that she too had been listening to George's tales, and to their conversation, "Would it be best if I no longer serve it… ham I mean?"
All eyes turned to William. He took a deep breath. There was more to it than just that he had almost ended up that way – slaughtered, butchered, to be someone's dinner. So much more so than he thought anyone would ever be able to understand, it was because of what he, himself, had done to those defenseless pigs. He swallowed, the aversion to the memories extreme enough to turn his stomach.
His eyes, wide, worried, found Julia's. She felt an enormous pull – like she had felt that first moment he had returned from being out in the jungle and he stood in their doorway… And like she had felt when she held him yesterday and he sobbed torrentially, and they cried together, right there, at the corner of this very same table. He was so unsteady. He needed her so much. William's gravity, the power of his need for her tugged and wrenched at her heart. Unbearable, not responding, she stood, walked over to him. Hugged him. She whispered in his ear, "Tell us," for she knew he was shouldering an insufferable burden.
Julia stepped back to give him some room, and William told them, although George already knew, about his wrapping a chain around each pig's hindfoot, and watching, listening, as the pig was suddenly hoisted into the air, the bone-breaking pain and terror surging the crazed animal into screaming and squealing such that it curdled and crawled the skin. Of course, it didn't help matters that a similar fate had almost transpired to him, but truly, the guilt of committing such a thing, such a sin, and doing it over and over again, to helpless animals that had done nothing but trust their handlers, trust him… it racked his soul. The profound extent of the suffering that had been besetting him and agonizing him so deeply had been exposed, made clear, even to George, who had not grasped the severity of his mentor's affliction until now.
George took a deep breath, drawing everyone's attention. He offered a ray of hope, the glimmer of which had originally been ignited by William himself. "Sir," he reminded, "You have done more to help the suffering of these poor animals than anyone else could – with your electrified zapper gun device that you invented. Two of the most important men in the entire world's meat industry now have a more humane and efficient way to kill the animals, thanks to you, sir. Thanks to you. If you had not had to do those things, then you would not have ever thought to give these meat mongers the idea for the blessed gadget. It was for the greater good sir," he explained.
William sighed. "Perhaps you're right George. I hope so, I guess," he said, still somewhat reluctantly.
"George is right, William," Julia concluded, working to comfort him, giving him an encouraging kiss on the cheek. Changing the subject, she hastened, "Now gentlemen, we'd best hurry, or Father Clemens will be waiting for us as the train pulls out of the station!"
William leaned over his half-full plate of breakfast and worked to gobble down a few more bites and swallow some of his tea. Julia and George headed for the foyer together.
No one told Eloise that day, but she decided, no more ham for the Murdoch's, certainly not for quite some time anyway.
"And your protagonist, George, is he still the swashbuckling anthropologist, but now studying the life of the downtrodden hobo?" Julia asked, releasing George's elbow to take up her coat.
George whispered, "Doctor, I know you know, it is the detective who inspires my heroes. But now, I have this mixture of the adventurous anthropologist and my character from my picture books – Jumping Jack."
Julia's eyes grew big with excitement, "Oh, I quite like him. I always saw William in the character, so many gadgets… and so brave…"
"Who's this?" William asked, joining them in the foyer.
Julia eyed George, then turned to her husband. "George was telling me about the hero in his new book."
"Oh?" the detective said.
A sly smile slipped onto Julia's face, unable to mask her glee. "He is rugged, but introverted, a bit buttoned-up I guess you could say, and very smart, based on all his inventions…"
Suddenly, William's face lit up, his huge smile beaming across the room. Everyone turned to see what had caught his eye!
The trusty homburg rested on its peg!
William grabbed Julia into a hug.
Laughing, she told him, "Thank Eloise. She must have picked it up on way home last night and brought it this morning."
"Eloise!" the detective called, taking the treasured hat in hand and rushing back to the kitchen…
Julia turned to George and said, "He does so love his hat. As a matter of fact, he even mentioned to me that he noticed that your star, Jumping Jack, had gotten a similar hat in the latest book. I think he knows, George."
William returned, put his hat on his head just so, adjusting it in the mirror, then quickly added his coat and scarf.
As they headed out, Julia asked, devilishly, "George, does the hero still have the same Achilles heel… his fear of butterfl…"
George interrupted, replying, "Interesting you should ask that doctor. The villain mistakenly thinks our hero remains terrified of butterflies, using them to keep our champion ensnared in his trap, but, what the fiend doesn't know is that the hero has a found a beautiful, smart, brave woman… who cares for the hero, loves him so mysteriously, so boundlessly, that he has changed… this outstanding woman has helped our hero heal an old wound, that, err, well, at least that's how I think she did it, and it's thanks to her healing him that he unexpectedly manages to escape the villain's trap, because thanks to the power of their unfathomable love, he now better knows himself, has found compassion for himself, and thus he is able to pass through the dense mass of fluttering, flapping butterflies blocking his escape…"
William cleared his throat and said, "I dare say George, you certainly got that part right," taking Julia's arm in his and pulling her close, "She would have to be a remarkable woman indeed, to help a man overcome a fear as potent as that of butterflies."
For the life of her, Julia couldn't see his smirk, but she heard it in his voice. It prompted her to giggle. "Indeed," she agreed.
))) (((
The first time that Julia discovered that William had paid for a poor victim's burial was when she had known him barely a year. She remembered it fondly, as they had stood listening to Father Clemens today eulogize both Ieva… and Adomas. That old case had been interesting in and of itself, involving prominent members of the theater. With a smile as she stood there in the pauper's graveyard in Wychwood Park, she saw in her mind the photograph of her that William had kept stowed away in his hobo-coat pocket, the one she had found right before she discovered his pockets also held a condom, the same photo he had borrowed so many, many years ago, to unknowingly obtain fingerprints from the suspects in the case.
Today, he also paid for a burial, this one for Ieva. She would be buried in the tiny spot between her husband's grave and that of some other pauper. The spot had been so narrow that the gravediggers had made the grave precariously close to that of Adomas, and they had lowered Ieva's coffin into the ground on its side rather than upright as usual. Gasps had flooded the air when the men had removed the straps from her coffin and the box had settled six feet below with a 'thump,' bumping against the coffin of Ieva's husband, the love of her life, through the thin, mud wall. They truly were together, finally, Adam and Eve, as they were meant to be. The psychiatrist in her knew it was perfect closure, the woman in her fell even more deeply in love with William.
))) (((
A week or two after their return from the jungle, George stayed late into the early morning hours wanting to capture his thoughts about being in the jungle before the busy details of daily life dulled them and buried them out of reach. He considered again, making the story take place in the winter, as his own and Detective Murdoch's actual experiences had been from that time of year, but he decided that it was essential the tale occur in the summer so that his hero could overcome his encounter with the multitude of butterflies his plot required. "A shame though," he thought, "Jack won't be able to jump off the rooftop of the moving train into a huge snowbank… or make a snowcow to stop the train…"
Out of the blue, George remembered that he had received a letter from Sin that morning, having had put it aside until he was alone. Excitement pumped through him. The man had been an inspiration, living his research as he had. Perhaps he had word of his own book? Sin had told them he would probably title it, "The Jungle." Apt, George had thought.
Hello George,
I must say, I much prefer Crabtree to Flowers. Was it your intention to stick with plants in your choice of undercover name? I find myself puzzled by your choice.
I'm writing to share my marvelings with you of the true-life adventures of our fellow hobo, the man I'm sure you based your swashbuckling introverted protagonist on, our Henry Codrum, aka Detective William Henry Murdoch. Is not his strawbale, the breathtakingly beautiful woman whose photo soothed his soul while in the jungle, the woman he told us of, the woman who had shared a profound and uncommon love with our hero, the woman who left him because she was barren and knew he wanted children, and then married another breaking his heart… and her own as well, only to birth a child to this other man – the very irony of his tale sufficing to break my own heart as well – is not this woman Dr. Julia Ogden?
My spirits soared so high upon reading your Toronto Gazette, for I learned the truth of it. And the truth of it is more unbelievable than the lie, and more magnificent. My curiosity so piqued I had to read back years and years and years to understand the magic of it all, but now I know, as I am sure do you too, this wondrous tale.
So, it looks like the boy got the girl after all! Amazing, this "other man" was really the toff Dr. Darcy Garland, was he not? And she was accused of committing his murder. And our hero saved her from the noose… after escaping from a trap constructed by his nemesis, and proving that the actual murderer was this same deranged villain, James Gillies, an ingenious fiend who had set out to frame the woman our hero loved in order to make him choose whether to save his own life or that of the woman he loved. Such a mild-mannered, private man as our hero, protesting his love for another man's wife in a court of law for all the world to know. And that same woman declaring her undying love for him in that same venue. And now, the woman who left him all those years ago because she could not give him a child has given birth to our hero's son.
And I stop you here for a moment, to tell you that this is an impossible tale to believe, before I go on to add that it is our hero who ends up performing the surgical procedure required to bring the child into the world – and in so doing, saves his child's life and that of this remarkable woman he loves with all his heart and soul. No one would ever believe such a story, alas, a challenge for you it seems if you intend to write it. But I wanted to tell you George, I wanted you to know, that I am aware of its truth. And it made me happy, in the end.
Warm regards,
Sin
George folded up the letter and tucked it back into its envelope. He would take up the valuable correspondence tomorrow. But now he felt the desire to write. The author's pen began to move and he scripted the thoughts as they came…
Jack drifted with his thoughts, finally home, out of the jungle, floating in his warm bath. Although he and his loved ones were safe, conflicts seeped and gurgled within him, afraid he would not be able to forget the horrors of the jungle, perhaps more frightened that he would not remember them. For he knew now, the jungle exists. It is everywhere. And as the lianas and vines and trees in the jungle tangle and grow together, with them, between them, inside of them, the endless crawling and striving of insects, and fungi, and animals, and man… so too does bad intertwine with good, greed with generosity, abundance with scarcity, beauty with ugliness, courage with cowardliness, passion with indifference. Truth is at once empty and full with the seeing of it – the mixing of kindness and cruelty in the world. To not see it would mean living a life incomplete, but to see it and flourish, well, now he had found the key – it was to love. For through loving we heal, and we find those who nurture us, and we find those whom we can nurture, and with that we find the meaning of life, so simple really, to care… And in caring you find the biggest gift of all. Action, choice, response… Respond, as often as you can, with right to wrong, touch ugliness with beauty, give generosity to greed, and your heart will grow.
The warm steam filled Jack's tired lungs, its fogginess clouding his vision and he rocked and swayed there in the bathwater, and oh, how he hoped he would remember this simple and yet profound insight, something he could have only learned from having been… in the jungle.
(Note: Please Review, I so want to know – What did you think?)