The key fit the lock, just like she said it would. Damn her for knowing everything. She’d known the address, known what city he was in when he’d called, confused, knew everything. Job, rank, precinct and station. Topics of a more personal nature... apparently, he’d of had to tell her everything for her to know everything. Which didn’t jive with what he knew of his 20-something self.

People change. They change, hard.

The personal stuff, she’d told him he should discover for himself. It would mean more, she had said, if he did his own detective work on his life. Not they he remembered being a detective or anything, damn her...

Damned psychologist sister, psycho analyzing him over the phone. Not that he felt shrunk. If anything, he felt a little too large. His clothes, especially. Damn pants. Damn shirt, damn belt, damn damn!

“You’ll feel better,” she’d said. He imagined her speaking in a whiny muppet voice. “If you investigate your own life.”

Damn skippy, he would. When he’d first called her, cold and scared, he’d wanted facts. Just the facts, ma’am. Alice had access to the facts and she had shared plenty. Facts. He’d had facts of his penned had to share, too.

Fact: He was in a unfamiliar city.

Fact: He wasn’t in military academy and where the hell was he.

Fact: They were going to kill him, and he’d only just started figuring things out. He hadn’t been disciplined that week, actually, and it was a damned miracle.

And fact: his clothes didn’t fit him and his drivers license had him in his forties and old, and he was freaking out.

To each fact, Alice had been ready with an answer. He was in New York. He wasn’t in military academy. He hadn’t BEEN in military academy. Not for a good long while. Nobody was going to kill him. At least, not anyone from military academy. Though if he didn’t stop interrupting her answer session with calls of “bull shhhh”, she didn’t know. Death might be in the cards. For the last fact, he’d been met with silence.

“Hello?” He’d said. Had the line gone dead? Did he need to deposit another quarter? It had been a tour de force even finding a pay phone in this day and age, and trading in dollars for quarters to pay for it had gotten him so many dirty looks.

“Ashton,” she’d said. “I want you to go to your apartment and stay there. Be careful. If this is what I think this is—“

“What?”

“I’ll be there shortly. Dig around. Learn about yourself. It’ll be better than anything I could ever tell you. You’ll feel better,” she’d said. “Investigating your own life.”

“What?!” He’d shouted. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

A tinny voice on the other end of line asking for more quarters was his only reply. He didn’t have any freaking quarters. He slammed the only pay phone in all of New York roughly back into its cradle with disgust.

A moment later, something buzzed and rang stridently in his pants.

“The f—-“ He found its and extricated they foreign object from within. In his day, they hadn’t really had devices like this. Star Trek had called. They wanted their little communicator thingies back.

On the other end of the line, his big sister Alice swore at him. Had he really hung up on her? She’d been trying to help his ass.

He’d told her the pay phone had wanted more money and he’d been dry.

She said oh. Why the hell are you using a pay phone? Where did you even find a—never mind. Use your cellphone, you idiot.

And then she’d continued telling him key bits of information, in the way only true family can do. Alongside backhanded comments on ones intelligence, with genuine concern thrown into the mix. Said key information had included the location where he could stuff his key... and now here he was. Investigating his life, because— because she hadn’t told him jack sh^t! Too dangerous, whatever that meant.

God!

The apartment was sparse, but livable. Spartan. It was clean.

If Ashton had been pressed to pick one word to describe the furniture in the place, that word would have been “viable.” Not serviceable, not enviable. Viable. It had purpose.It wasn’t plush, it wasn’t rich, it wasn’t cheap. A perfect middle of the pack. Whoever had picked it out had had taste and common sense.

There was a television stand. There was a television. There was a couch, there was a reclining chair. An end table with a lamp, and a coffee table. Brands that would last long enough for you to get used to them, but not long enough to be passed down from generation to generation. The television screen was not of an insensible size. Anything piled on the coffee table was stacked and orderly. Ashton looked over the contents.

There was a gun magazine, a sports periodical, a dog eared trade paperback, several thin boxes with pictures of classic movies and comedies like police academy on their fronts, too small to be VHS tapes, and... a newspaper. He eyed the date on the newspaper, and took a step back.

The year was wrong. Or rather, it was in the future. The paper crunched slightly as his grip tightened on the edges. He hadn’t even realized he’d stepped forward again to pick it up.

This was something he’d suspected, if he were being honest with himself. From the crazy space tech of the phone he hadn’t known he’d had, to the sports mag with unfamiliar faces, and a million other little things.

New York was not how he’d remembered it. His memory wasn’t wrong, but maybe he was. Which was basically what his sister had said to him, but he’d been stubborn and hadn’t wanted to believe her. But yeah, his apartment, his magazines, his life. It was all his. Not some crazy bit of amnesia either... something had happened. He needed to figure out what. First, he wanted to learn more about the life he’d had.

The kitchen had nothing for him in the way of information about himself. There weren’t any pictures stuck to the fridge. No kids drawings, no family photos. Just the general type of magnets you find on a single dude’s refrigerator. Basketball season schedules, beer-themed magnets, ones that doubled as bottle openers, stick on ads for companies that did things like plumbing or window replacement. That sort of thing.

He hadn’t had a ton of kitchen gadgets, but he’d stocked the kitchen with enough to make a handful of simple meals. Obviously, he knew how to use what he had.

In the bedroom, he changed out of his gray suit and into a pair of clean jeans and a red t-shirt with a rooster and Chinese characters on the front. He’d felt overdressed, and the loose fitting shirt hung better in him than the tailored suit. But what was sriracha?

He tried to say it out loud, pronouncing the silent r.

”Srurrr acha. SrururrrWhatever.” It was better than the suit. He’d woken up in the trash. He put it in a hamper, then moved on.

What was there to see in the bedroom? King-sized bed. Gray sheets. Gray comforter. Small navy blue blanket thrown at the foot of the bed, in case it got really cold. Heater by the window. Nightstand on either side. Digital alarm clock on the right nightstand, next to a notepad and a pen. And in the drawer...

He had not realized that some day, he would grow into the kind of person who kept a journal. He’d never struck himself that way. But there it was, thick. A little battered. But not the only one. There were a few more on the bookcase on the other side of the room, by the closet. Now that he knew what he was looking for, it was easy enough to spot the similar styles of book, as well as the MO.

The journals had writing, sure, but they also had pictures and letters stuffed in. And those usually also stuck out. Just a little.

Ashton set the journal down, and walked across the room to the clothes wardrobe. On top of it were a handful of pictures. An older him with his family. Him with some mystery woman. That one had been placed face-down. Him graduating, graduating what looked like a police academy sort of deal. Other things, less interesting.

He supposed the rest of his pictures would be in a photo album somewhere. Probably on the bookshelf next to his journals, for convenience. He wondered who the mystery woman was, and why the picture had been placed face-down. Maybe the most recent journal would have an answer... or an older one. Whoever she was, they’d been smiling.

He didn't feel much like smiling, now.

The last journal entry hadn't helped. Maybe it had been the sort of situation where something had happened, and Ashton just had not been able to commit it to words yet. Something major. Maybe that had been why Alice had not wanted to talk to him about it over the phone? Did they have the time? Or maybe it had been something worth keeping a secret...

The most recent entries spoke about things in his life, more than cases. Relationships. Failed ones. His tone was that of a man who was incredibly frustrated and annoyed. Partially because they kept failing, partially because he'd never had that problem before, and partially because he figured it was on account of him being hung up on someone who wasn't really a part of his life any more.

He had rolled his eyes. Jesus. Could anyone be so pathetic? Forget about her and move on, man. Oh look. He had forgotten about this woman. And now, he was moving on. Backwards, in time.

Cases, details. Nothing caught his eye. Generic stuff. Blah blah blah. Something about him coming back from another state. An airplane. Weird shit. A space-time... rip... ah, what the fskkk?! He flipped forward a few pages, back a few pages. Forward again.

Had he started writing science fiction? There was a lot of nonsense. Summaries of things he'd gotten up to, while all of this mess had been going down. He didn't have time to pore over it right then. In fact-- let's go way, way back...

He set the journal aside, and went for one of the oldies. Flipped through... Who was Eve?

Something freaky. The writing had been hasty and confused. He couldn't figure it out. And Eve... left his partner to die. Blamed himself. God, that was harsh. Had he been miserable?

Several pages later, the guy had transferred to a new place. New police department. New problems.

Some clash. Mutants. What was... Who was he? Mutant? He'd shaken his head. It wasn't like he was doing any of the crap the guy had mentioned in the journal. He was one, too?

Ashton knew next to nothing about mutants, other than that they could do all sorts of crap. Lots of it was scary. Some of it was mind-bending. And-- he peered at the next few pages, and was silent for several minutes.

And several minutes more. He read more. And more. Jesus. Read some of the more recent stuff. His head began to throb. Then, his sister arrived with a bucket full of fried chicken and a liter of Coke.

Knock, knock, knock.

Click.

The main lock was disengaged. The door crept open an inch... and stopped in place. The dead bolt held it back. She stared at him through the crack in the door. He was irate.

"You knew." Ashton said. "About all of it."


His sister was tall and blonde, and the bucket of chicken and the soda pop weren't impressing him at all. For a moment, he flashed back to a slamming a half a hundred doors in her face, over the long course of their lives. The temptation to add another to the pile was great.

"Ashton... let me in. I have to talk to you about--"

"He was miserable. I was miserable. And you knew. And you knew I'd find out." He said, voice low and dangerous. "He wasn't happy, dammit. I wasn't happy. He had a fssskked up life... who the hell are Eve and Quin?!"

Alice winced.

He stared at her. "Well?" He tapped his foot.

"They were... your partners..." She said.

"Aaaaand?" Ashton replied.


His sister bit her lower lip. "Ashton. Let me in. There's more to this than a couple of women."

"And a rip in space and time. And cop cases. And one of them is dead. And, we are apparently caught up on some woman. One of them? Another woman?! And am I a MUTANT? Because I sure don't feel like one of those. Sis--"

She interrupted him, quickly cutting in. "This is so much more than them. And that. Ashton, someone did this to you. And they're still out there. And Archer is connected, and--"

"What the hell, Alice? Come on in," He slammed the dead bolt to one side and tore it out of the hole to let it swing and dangle. "You got some 'splainin' to do." In perfect Ricky Ricardo voice, he let her through the door.

At first, they sat in silence at the kitchen table. No explaining was done. Then, he rose with a sigh and made himself a plate.

If she’d brought the chicken, he might as well eat it. Food and drink acquired, he sat back down. Gnawed on a drumstick, and rolled his hand for her to let the explanation roll.

The blonde woman began carefully. “So. You were a cop. And Archer was a cop. You were both very close. You would always brag about her to me... Then, something happened and you became a whole lot less close.”

He arched an eyebrow, a classic ‘what?’ gesture that requires no words. Took a drink of coke.

She frowned. “Pretty sure you had an illicit love affair.”

Ashton sputtered up soda. ”An illicit what?! Love affair? Who says it like that?! Was it tawdry? Was it torrid? Tempestuous? Tantalizing? Titillating? What? This isn’t the 1960s. Or even a Jane Austen book. This isn’t a romance novel. It’s my life. So,” he concluded gingerly. Tastefully. ”We boinked.”

“I honestly don’t think it ever got that far, Ash.” Alice ran a hand through her hair, visibly uncomfortable. “I don’t pry into your love life... but from the way you reacted, you were more pissed you got accused of doing something you hadn’t done, than angry you had gone and got yourself caught. But that’s beside the point. Whatever happened, it created a rift between you. You moved to another state for a while and she quit the force.”

”She what? Why would she do a thing like that?” he shook his head.

Alice snorted. “You’re a man. You wouldn’t get it. Rumors like that are bad for a woman’s career. Can make it impossible for them to get promoted. And dating your police partner... it’s not a good look. Though you sure seem to like doing it.” She stared him in the eye.

He pressed a hand to his chest, like ‘what, me?’

“Yes, you. Eve too. She was before you moved to New York. She died though, so you didn’t get the chance to f*^^* up her career.”

He frowned at her. That didn’t seem fair. He did not argue, though. She was all-knowing. She had a mean tendency to be right. Instead, he said ”she died.”

“Yes. You never talked about her. But I think that’s around when your mutation first activated. About a year or so later, you cane out.”

He mouthed ‘came out’.

“As a mutant, idiot.”

”Oh wow. Okay. What do I do?” he asked.

“Get on my nerves! Anyways if that satisfies your egocentric interest in your exes, can we talk about why you’re not old enough to drink anymore?” She stopped and glowered at him. “You know? The important part? Where you’re in danger?”

”Oh yeah. That.” He blushed. ”Go ahead.”

He told her to go ahead, so she did.

“You and Archer were working on a case. Or Archer was. And you sort of inserted yourself into the equation at the end. Like a jerk.” She eyed him. Ashton kept quiet.

He had no idea how things had been like between him and Archer other than what his sister had told him. If she told him he was an ass, her word was gold and he was a golden ass.

“Kids were disappearing. According to you, things in the investigation kept going wrong. Even when you found a place with some people in the organization, you found pushback from within. Higher up. And—“

“Well,” she said. “Archer probably had it worse. What with not actually being a cop. You told me something happened. She got changed... and... got a whole lot younger. Which apparently is something that is going around.” Another pointed look. Ashton looked away.

”So she got turned into... a kid? Why? Who would do that? How would they do that?” Ashton asked. He had questions. Dozens, if not hundreds, of questions.

Alice sighed. “I wish I knew. But I think she dug too deep and got involved with things people within the force... or within big government... did not want her involved in. You thought... and I think... she got too close. She found a group that had been kidnapping children for trafficking, and— well. They got her back.”

”Maybe it was all a setup from the start?” Ashton ventured. Alice raised and lowered one shoulder.

“Could be. Could be a lot of things. What I DO know, is that you tried to help her and you raised a giant stink about it back at the precinct. And next thing you know, you’re young too. So—“ She met his eyes. “What do these two things have in common?”

He stared at her for a second. Then, he said tone disbelieving. ”You think a dirty cop did this?”

“Or a dirty DA. Or a dirty police commissioner or mayor. Someone up the totem.”

”Historically speaking, Ashton mumbled under his breath. ”The lower someone is on the totem, the more important they are. Read that somewhere...”

Alice did not even reward that comment with a response. Ashton rubbed the back of his head.

”So, what? I should dig around and find out who did this. Find some rats, shake some cages. See who falls out? Follow the clues back to the source?”

“No.” Alice said harshly. “I think you should stop looking and be more careful. Find a new life. But if you’re going to do the digging (and I know you, so you are), then yeah. I guess you should look for dirty cops and people who would have a grudge against you. Carefully. Don’t just go around asking people ‘hey, know anyone who would have hated Ashton Drake?’ That seems like it would end badly. Be careful!”

Ashton nodded. This would be a lot of work. And he couldn’t just ask people on the force. Couldn’t just try and go back to his old job, either. Or go through academy again. Would have to figure out a new income and sort things out. Maybe dodge calls until he had the guy... pay bills but let the person think he was dead. Or dead enough not to dig.... ugh. This whole thing was a headache. He needed to have a drink.

Maybe tonight...

((Thread end))