Author's Note: Passerby, thank you for your comment. I did notice that at one point. I, however, do have an idea for a story which reconciles reality with the show.

Chapter 2

Joanna pulled up to a spot about three blocks from the antiques shop that Henry and Abe called home and pulled into it. She shifted the gear into park, undid her seat belt, and opened the door. As she got out, she smiled. With the exception of going to lunch, her mother's visit had gone quite well.

Her smile faded as she thought about the reason for her visit to this part of New York. It was supposed to be a simple dinner with one of her unofficial subordinates. Why did Henry and Jo feel as though this dinner was necessary?

Joanna groaned as she walked around the car and onto the sidewalk. Truth be told, today wasn't the first time that his behavior was odd. There were at least several other times, especially within the first year that Henry had worked with them, in which he had acted stranger than normal for him. He had been stalked once, and he had initially refused to tell her, Jo, and Mike that he suspected that his hunting knife was used as a murder weapon. A few months later, he broke into a warehouse owned by Isaac Monroe. Then, Henry was oddly affected by the investigation into the disappearance of Abe's mother. Within days of that case's closure, Henry was so focused on finding a missing pugio that he had tried everything that he could think of to sabotage the investigation. Lately, there were a couple of cases in which he had temporarily withdrawn himself from the investigation until Jo or Abe had a talk with him.

In most of those instances, Henry's actions during the cases would be considered illegal. During the investigation of Blair Dryden's murder and the missing pugio, Joanna had overheard Jo mutter something about arresting him for stealing it out of the evidence room. At the time, Joanna had been willing to overlook the behavior as she had hoped that things would work themselves out.

Now, it seemed as though it wasn't the best idea at the time. Were they an indication that Henry wasn't as trustworthy as he appeared? Was she so pleased with the results that he gave them that she was willing to condone his immoral behavior?

Honestly, she wanted to believe that Henry was a good man who reacted in a normal manner when confronted with pain and grief. In spite of his eccentricities, he treated everyone around him with a kind of respect that she saw only in period pieces on TV. He was almost always honest with people, sometimes in a way that reminded her of Simon Cowell, and he could be charming when he wanted to be. Everyone in the precinct treated him as though he was one of them. He and Mike were becoming good friends in spite of their differences. He thought of Jo as a very close friend, and Joanna suspected that a few hints of his romantic interest in her were beginning to manifest themselves lately. His nature was why she couldn't reconcile her beliefs about the man with his actions.

To distract herself from her swirling thoughts, she peered down at the sidewalk. The incongruous sight of tennis shoes with Tricia's dress pants greeted her.

Joanna looked at her mother's face. "I thought that you didn't own tennis shoes."

Tricia huffed mockingly at her. "I'm not crazy enough to wear high heels on icy sidewalks. I could fall and break my hip."

Joanna nodded as a pang of hurt struck her. The older woman didn't need to remind her daughter of her age.

Tricia shook her head and smiled. "I still can't believe that I saw Dr. Morgan again today. He looks exactly the same way that he did back when I was a child."

The lieutenant stared at her walking companion. Her mother still believed that Henry was alive in the 1950s. "Your Dr. Morgan would be in his nineties or 100, gray-haired, and wrinkled by now. That is, if he's still alive."

"Joanna." The woman's firm voice forced Joanna to stop. "He's the same man."

Joanna studied Tricia. There must be a reason why her mother was so persistent in her belief. As far as she knew, her mother's insistence that Henry and the Dr. Morgan she knew were the same wasn't age-related. Maybe Henry could give her some answers when they arrived at his place.

Looking back now, though, Henry didn't deny her claim. Instead, it was almost as though he knew exactly who she was before she had even said her name.

Joanna decided to humor the woman. "What was your Dr. Morgan like?"

They resumed walking. "He wasn't skittish; that's for sure. He was more like he was around the female detective whom we saw him talking to earlier today. I don't know what had happened in his life to change him like that."

Joanna chuckled. "Like Henry was around Jo?"

She quickly sobered. Henry's nervousness was the one thing that they could agree on at the moment.

"That was Jo? The one you hope would succeed you when you either are promoted or decide to retire?"

"Yeah, that's her."

"From what I could tell, I can see why. She reminds me a bit of you."

Joanna stared at her mother. She didn't see any similarities between them.

Before Joanna could say anything, her mother quickly returned to her thoughts and to Joanna's question. "Dr. Morgan was always a kind and generous man. Busy too. He and Mrs. Morgan worked in the hospital's emergency department. Everyone came to them for any type of medical issue, and he always treated them. The year before they left, I overheard Momma tell Poppa that the medical community had lost a fine practitioner when Dr. Morgan decided to quit medicine. Of course, he never did turn away anyone who needed his help even then."

Joanna smiled. That sounds familiar.

She quickly sobered. Innocent people generally tended to stay put. "Why did they leave?"

Tricia sighed. "Honestly, I don't know. They left without any warning. I've always thought that it had something to do with Abe."

"Abe?"

Out of the corner of Joanna's eye, she could see her mother nod. "Abe was the only kid in school with a tattoo on his right forearm. When we were six, a couple of boys teased him about it. Naturally, he was upset about it, and he was even more upset when he learned that he was adopted. He ran away from home and made it as far as our apartment. Momma saw him, brought him in, and told him that his adoptive parents loved him just like he was their own. Gratefully, Abe calmed down, and he walked back to his apartment. Afterwards, every time someone commented on his tattoo, he would proudly tell them that his parents found him in a liberated concentration camp in Germany when he was a baby and that they adopted him then."

"I don't see how—"

Tricia looked at her. "Back then, some people, even here in America, would threaten anyone of Jewish descent with harm, to say the least. Abe's tattoo and his stated past were signs of his ethnicity. When the Morgans left, I thought that someone had threatened Abe and that Dr. and Mrs. Morgan felt they needed to leave for Abe's sake."

Joanna took in her mother's words.

The other woman smiled. "I wish that you could have known the Morgans then. They were great people, and I think that you would have liked them. And their apartment always had the best sounds and smells. On almost any given day, you could smell the most mouthwatering dishes when walking past their front door. And the music! On most days, you could hear classical music or opera coming from a record or their piano. Sometimes, you could hear jazz streaming out of their living room. A couple of times, I saw Red Holland, our resident jazz musician, walk out of their door." She chuckled. "I think that I heard Dr. Morgan sing on a couple of occasions. He's quite good."

Joanna returned her mother's smile. Now she knew where her family's love of jazz had come from.

A red-brick, two-story building suddenly attracted her attention. On the building's eyebrow, she could see the words "Abe's Antiques".

She steeled herself. She had no idea what Henry was going to say. Hopefully, something about today would make sense.

As they walked along the building's side, Joanna could see some movement within the shop's large windows. A couple of seconds later, she noticed Henry walking toward the door and unlocking it.

She raised an eyebrow when she spotted his dress shirt and pants. Outside of his NYPD sweat suits, this was the first time that she had seen him dressed rather casually.

Just as they reached the door, Henry opened it. He smiled at them, but his nervousness showed in his eyes. "Tricia, it's good to see you again. Lieutenant. Why don't you come in?"

He held the door open for them. As Joanna passed him, she shot him a look. How on Earth does he know the name that Mom's family and friends call her? I haven't said anything about it. Calm down, Joanna. It's probably just a deduction from the NYPD's resident Sherlock Holmes.

Satisfied with her explanation, Joanna looked around the retail section. Each table top was covered every type of glassware and porcelain objects that she could imagine. Old-fashioned cabinets, armoires, and a grandfather clock lined the walls. She glanced down and noticed the lightly trafficked floors. Where did Henry and Abe find the money to buy everything for resale? Henry's salary as a medical examiner certainly couldn't cover their living expenses, the store's inventory and rent, and his expensive taste in clothes and liquor.

Henry led them around a desk and through a doorway. Joanna realized that this was the first time that she had been in Henry's home. Lucas, Mike, and Jo had all been in various living quarters before. Now, it was her time to see them.

The delicious smell of lasagna and garlic bread drifted down the stairs and aroused her appetite. Apparently, Abe was the chef of the pair.

Tricia turned to her daughter. "It smells like some things never change."

They reached the top of the stairs and walked into the kitchen. Abe stood at the island near the entryway and hastily chopped some vegetables for a tossed salad. He appeared to be lost in thought.

Joanna stopped and raised her eyebrows. The usually affable man had never seemed upset before. Why was this time different?

Tricia stepped around her daughter and over to the island. "Abe?!"

Abe stopped what he was doing and looked up. "Tricia?!" He warmly smiled and walked around the island. "I haven't seen you since we left in 1957. How have you been?" He placed one hand on the island and his free hand on his hip.

"I've been doing great. Your dad invited Joanna and me over for dinner."

Joanna stared at the other woman in disbelief. She had just addressed Henry as Abe's father.

Breathe! There has to be a logical explanation for this.

She needed to look for clues. As her mother and Abe talked, Joanna studied the older Morgan. Nothing about his facial appearance indicated that he was actually younger than Henry.

She glanced down toward the ground…

…and instantly noticed a blue numerical tattoo on Abe's right forearm.

That could not be a coincidence. Neither could Henry's recognition of her mother. Nor his knowledge of her nickname.

Joanna stepped around the pair and walked over to the kitchen table. Was there a possibility that her mother was telling the truth?

Joanna looked at Tricia to calm her nerves. The woman was still talking to Abe.

"Where's Mrs. Morgan?" Tricia's eyes suddenly widened, and her hand flew to her mouth. "I'm sorry for your loss." She inhaled. "When did it happen? I never had the chance to say goodbye."

Joanna heard Henry inhale behind her. She turned to him. Under his nervousness was a sense of sadness.

"Maybe our departure would be an excellent place to start."

"We'll talk some more after Pops finishes his story." A moment after Abe's words, Joanna's mother joined her.

As they walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa, Joanna took a deep breath. Keep an open mind and go from there.

Henry sat down in one of the chairs on the other side of the coffee table. "Abigail, my wife, and I were walking through Central Park the day before we departed. She left to pick Abe up from school, leaving me alone to enjoy the season's beauties. A PFC Hemecker recognized me from my days as an Army doctor in World War II and mentioned that I hadn't aged in the past 13 years. I became frightened, and, the next morning, we left our apartment and headed for Hawaii."

Abigail. Joanna had heard both Henry and Jo mention her before.

"Why were you afraid of him?" The question left Joanna's mouth as the words came to her.

Henry slouched down in his seat and lowered his eyes to the coffee table—just like he had when he had confessed that he had a stalker. "Do you remember when I said that my stalker believed that I was immortal?"

"Yes. How does this relate to your move?"

Henry inhaled. "I lied about one part. He knows that I'm immortal."

What?!

Joanna could see her mother shift her weight. "Immortal? Like Tithonus—but with eternal youth?"

Leave it to Tricia Reece to find something from her lesson plans and use it in everyday life—even in the craziest moments.

Henry looked up, stared at her for a second, and chuckled as he straightened his posture. "It's more like the death of Aristeas of Proconnesus. Only it happens every time I suffer a fatal injury or illness. And, yes, I do have eternal youth."

Joanna stared at the coffee table separating them. While planning a lesson years ago, her mother had once mentioned the legend of the Greek poet who died in and disappeared from a locked fuller's workshop and who had been spotted—alive and well—shortly afterward.

Immortality. That happened only in myths and legends, right?

The stories must come from somewhere, though. Was there a chance that immortals did indeed walk the Earth? Did they spark numerous tales which had changed with each retelling until they became the myths that her mother taught today's teenagers?

She looked at Henry. Immortality could explain his odd comments. And his knowledge about the world and human nature. And his sixth sense of death. And the craziness that this day had brought.

She needed to say something. His nervous statement before their shop talk echoed in her head.

"We'll talk about your stalker in the morning. Right now…"

Henry stared at her in disbelief for a moment and then nodded.

"How did you become immortal?" The older woman voiced the younger one's next question.

Henry sighed. "Honestly, I don't know. It was the initial reason that I had become a medical examiner, to learn more about my condition." He paused, seemingly in an effort to shield them from another, grimmer, thought. "Somewhere along the way, I had begun to see the value of my work to the NYPD and to the families of the victims as well."

Joanna nodded. Whether he wanted to admit it, Jo had something to do with that.

Henry glanced back down at the coffee table. "When I was younger, I was a staunch abolitionist, and I worked within the abolitionist movement during my spare time. In 1812, I learned that my father, the head of Morgan Shipping—our family business—was engaged in the slave trade to supposedly save the company from bankruptcy. I was furious, and I tried everything in my power to end our involvement in the abominable practice. After my father's death, I boarded The Empress of Africa as a ship's doctor so that I could simultaneously lead the 300 slaves aboard the ship to freedom and destroy the family business."

The Empress of Africa. Rick Rassmusen's murder. Isaac Monroe's discovery of the ship. Henry's break-in.

Joanna found her voice. "What happened?"

"On the night of April 7, 1814, I got as far as getting the key to the slaves' manacles and cells. The captain called me to tend to an ill slave just as I was setting my plan into motion. The crew suspected cholera and wanted to throw him overboard, but the man only had a fever. I refused to let them touch my patient." Henry paused, his nervousness increasing.

He inhaled. "I remember the captain shooting me, a pair of crewmen throwing me into the water, and sinking beneath the waves. Within the next few seconds, I died at the age of 35. You can imagine my surprise when, sometime later, I suddenly found myself alive and surfacing in the North Atlantic to breathe some air."

Finding himself alive in the water. The unusual reports—like people hearing two bodies land near Grand Central Station two and a half years ago and seeing only one body near the building. Henry's frequent arrests near the East River.

Joanna raised a hand to her face and lowered her head onto it. She couldn't believe what she was thinking—or about to say next.

"Whoever you talk to on the other side, tell them to let you come back with some clothes on!" She sighed. "Now I know why you haven't invested in some pajamas."

She gathered the courage to look at Henry and lifted her head. He stared at her in disbelief again.

The rise of Abe's laughter drifted into the room. He appeared in the threshold, wiping his hands on his apron. "Pops, what did you tell her?"

Henry turned to the other man. "All I told her was that I was a somnambulist and that I slept naked."

Abe's laughter turned into a belly-aching guffaw. "That's the lamest excuse that I've heard you use to describe your awakenings. Couldn't you have come up with something a little less creative?"

Henry sighed. "I was pressed for time. Lt. Reece—"

Tricia interrupted. "What happened next?"

The question refocused Henry's attention onto his guests. "A ship found me and brought me back to Europe. About a year after my first death, I returned home to London and to my first wife Nora. Shortly after our reunion, she encouraged me to tell her what had happened." He took a deep breath. "She didn't believe me, so I tried to prove it to her. She stopped me and then left our house, claiming that she wanted to visit a neighbor. When she returned, she came with a wagon from the Charing Cross Asylum. They placed me in a straitjacket and transported me there. She ignored my pleas for her to request my release, and I spent nearly a year in the asylums experiencing what Jo has called torture. I was eventually transported to Southwark Prison, where a Catholic priest helped me escape three months after my arrival.

"Since then, I've been experimented on, and Nora had tried to kill me to expose my immortality to my fellow colleagues and patients when she had found me working at Mercy General Hospital in London fifty years later. Because of my experiences, I have almost always moved after someone sees one of my deaths or notices that I haven't aged, and I rarely reveal my condition to anyone."

Having a secret that big would complicate marriage to another wife. "What about Abigail?"

"We met while working near a liberated concentration camp at the end of World War II. Lieutenant, I assume that your mother had mentioned some of the details of Abe's life."

Joanna nodded.

"Well, shortly after we adopted Abe, I learned that her former beau had abused her. I tracked him down to warn him not to touch her again, and we started fighting. He stabbed me just as Abigail joined us. I died in her arms, and she discovered my secret. Gratefully, she accepted it—and me. For about forty years, we were happy. We were married in 1955, ten years after we had first posed as husband and wife so that we could keep Abe. In the 1980s, people began to notice that she aged and I didn't. She became distraught, and she left us in 1984."

Her mother gasped.

Henry continued. "Fortunately, she still wanted us to be a family and to live in Tarrytown. She wrote a letter mentioning her intentions to me in 1985, but she never mailed it." Henry licked his lips. "One of her patients found her and threatened her life—and mine. She, um, killed herself to protect me." He blinked back tears. "I didn't know about it until a year and a half ago."

Joanna looked at the coffee table. That explained his reaction to the disappearance of Abe's mother. His nervousness suggested that his stalker might have something to do with it. And maybe the case of the missing pugio.

Tricia looked at the man. "Why did you leave the medical field?"

He inhaled. "One day in 1956, I was leaving work to take Abe to what remained of the World Series game. I saw a man shot another man in the parking lot of the hospital where Abigail and I worked. I headed over to treat the man. Moments after my arrival, the man shot me as well." His voice cracked at the memory. "Instead of remaining with the man until help arrived, I crawled beside another car and died the moment that I heard the police enter the area. Abigail tried to convince me that I should stay in medicine because I had protected my family, but I couldn't bear the thought of violating my oath as a physician again should the situation repeat itself. I quit my job at the hospital and began to search for alternate lines of work the next day."

That would explain his knowledge of various odd jobs. The lack of protest or complaint coming from the kitchen indicated that he must have told Abe about it before now.

Henry nervously lowered his eyes to the floor for a moment. "I know it sounds insane…"

Reality finally struck her, and she began to fume at the realization that she was considering the possibility that it was true. Insane didn't even begin to cover it.

Joanna placed her teeth around her tongue to maintain her temper. Oblivious to the room's other occupants, she shook her head and began to pace. The story that Henry had just told had to be the single most ridiculous tale that she had ever heard. No one had died and returned to life—repeatedly. In the morning, she would call Bellevue and ask them to come and check his mental status.

She looked back at him, expecting to see the familiar look that psychopathic liars always gave her during interrogations. Instead of the convinced stare, Henry still wore the same nervous expression that he had when he had started his tale. For a moment, she swore that he was making plans to flee the country shortly after she and her mother would leave the shop.

She glanced back into the kitchen to calm her nerves. Abe and Tricia were talking about old times while she helped him set the table. She listened as Abe proudly and joyfully called Henry "Pops". It seemed as though Abe truly believed that Henry was his father.

She inhaled. Henry was an excellent medical examiner and a very valuable member of the team. He had friends at work, and he was obviously close to Abe. She hated the idea of forcing him to give everything up because he had claimed to be immortal. Yet, she couldn't have him putting his life in danger if he felt that losing his life was necessary to protect Jo and Mike.

Her eyes met his, and she felt her stomach churn. She realized that she held the fate of his life in her hands.

Author's Note: The information about the two legends are from Wikipedia.

I do recognize that anti-Semitism still exists. When I first read about incidents in New York in the 1950s a few years ago, it came as a bit of a shock; I had assumed that it occurred in other parts of the US but not there. Boy, was I wrong! Anyway, I decided to incorporate it into the story.