Another chapter! A huge thanks to everyone's reviews. I hope to get the next chapter uploaded in the next month or so.
Jack stared blankly at the door. He rubbed his face, as he tried to make sense of what had just happened, of what he has just seen. He has scattered his ashes over the Huston eighteen painful months ago. He closed his eyes as the painful memories began to resurface. He'd, they had just begun to move on. The nightmares had all but gone, and now this! He nervously stepped towards the door, peering through the spyhole. He pinched himself; well he wasn't dreaming he thought dryly. Maybe he had taken something and he was hallucinating – bloody cruel hallucination he thought. But he knew he hadn't; well unless someone had slipped something into one of his numerous coffees. Maybe it was exhaustion; he'd just worked forty eight hours straight. He knew he was tired, he didn't think he was, well, this tired. He stepped back, and leant against the wall, holding his head in his hands. Danny Taylor, formerly of the Missing Person's Unit, New York, a man whom he'd known for nearly eight years, the same man's ashes he had scattered eighteen months ago was standing, very much alive, outside his apartment. But why? How could someone go from dead to alive? His mind fired off question after question like a machine gun, but he had no answers to those questions. If the ashes he scattered into the Huston weren't Danny's who's were they? Were they even ashes? Of course no DNA could be extracted from ashes, so they could have never identified who's they were. Taking a deep breath, he placed a shaky hand on the door handle and opened it
He slid down the wall and sat there for a moment. What had he done? A man, a friend, whom he thought was dead, had stood before him. His reaction? Shut the door on him. No, not only had he shut the door, he'd told Danny, a man who he'd mourned his death for eighteen months to go. He had given his car keys and a wad of cash, and told him to leave. He had given Emma's address and told him to go. He had told Danny, a friend, whom he had known for nearly eight years to go. Why the hell had he done that? Sure he had been shocked, scared even, but to send him away without so much as a hello? What kind of man was he?
Danny sat, his head and arms resting against the steering wheel of Jack's car. What had just happened? He didn't expect his former boss to welcome him back with open arms, but he expected more than this. He had been working for the CIA, and Jack has known that. He had known every element of his mission, well up to Jack's security clearance. Jack must have known he was coming home. Then why the reaction? Why had Emma suddenly moved to D. C., when in all of her letters she had talked about redecorating the apartment in New York? Something just didn't add up. He rubbed his face with shaking hands. The CIA, or more importantly, Agent Hutchison had lied to him. But why and how could he prove it? He knew Agent Hutchison had lied to him, but how could it be proven without any evidence? He bit his lip and rubbed his face as the full gravity of the situation weighed down on his already heavy shoulders. The CIA probably didn't know about this mission. Basically, Danny Taylor was dead, and he, Carlos Rodriguez, was a war criminal, wanted by Danny Taylor's government.