A meeting had been arranged, as promised, for Locke to speak with Detective Jorge Cervantes about his stalker. It would have been off the record if not for the arrival of yet another package filled with pictures of Locke throughout his life. He could practically fill one of those cheap photo albums with the contents of his recent mail. Things were dangerous no doubt, and they weren't getting any better.

Locke didn’t want to look through the new pictures. It was bad enough to get the one of last Christmas, but these ones included yet another post-haircut photo. He had tried to identify every picture, but there were some that he just didn’t recognize, especially the first one. Locke had separated them to the best of his abilities, having his school pictures together, the newspaper clippings, and various ones that he knew. There had been nothing from the age of eight up until last year. He didn’t know what to make of it, since it was only in the last two years that he had been in New York. About the only major event that he could think of during that age gap was his father meeting Kendra. Yes, his step mother didn’t particularly want Locke living across the country, but would she be involved in any way? The handwriting on the envelopes was neat like hers, but the shape of the letters was wrong, and unfamiliar.

The teen wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans knees. Not only did the stalker think freak him out, but Locke wasn’t entirely at ease with talking with a police officer after the whole Alcatraz fiasco. While none of his activities were illegal, they probably weren’t the sort of thing that a teen should be doing. ”Detective Cervantes?” he asked, eyes on the table where he had set down the photos. His backpack had been emptied out of his schoolbooks, and filled with dirt from the school grounds. It had been hellish trying to dig through the frozen crust, but on the whole, having a portable Fluffy made him feel better.

Stalkings. Those were never the cases to take lightly. The detective knew as much when he was working in Miami. That was why he had arrived early at the mansion. Gemma had contacted him that one of the mansion student’s was being stalked, strange photos sent to him from points in his life that he didn’t think were possible. The whole idea was rather creepy to Detective Cervantes; to suddenly be receiving mail like that for on conceivable reason? Gemma said that the kid, by the name of Locke Tori, had been rather shaken. Jorge hoped he could help.

Sitting in the living room of the mansion, the detective sat across from a small table, taking out his notepad and pen. He clicked it once, twice, doodled on his sketch pad, and then stood up and shoved his hands in his deep gray long coat.

Idly as the detective stood, he paused to look over the fineries that were in the living room. He had to admit that he was always impressed by the beauty that the mansion managed to uphold. Especially considering the students that stayed here. Teenagers were a handful enough but teenagers with mutant powers seemed downright impossible. It made him wonder how many times certain furniture, art pieces, and knick-knacks were destroyed and replaced.

That would be a question for Gemma.

As he paused though, he smirked when a pair of young kid’s right back, between nine and ten years old. One was a girl who looked like a giant grasshopper and the other was a boy crackling with electricity. He smirked as they dashed around, small cowboy hats askew on their heads. As they passed by they kept firing with invisible guns.

“Hi Mr. Cervantessss!” they announced as they ran by, giggling and firing at each other.

He smirked as he gave them a wave. The students were getting to know him rather well as time passed. He was glad for it. “Hello kids! Be careful! You know Ms. Taylor said no running in here.”

“Yessir!” they announced as the sound of running feet ceased and they instead walked out of the living room.

Jorge shook his head with a smirk as he returned to his seat and waited for the boy, Locke, to appear. He hoped that the fact that most of the kids here seemed to like and trust him, that word would spread to Locke that he could be trusted. But Jorge would not know until he appeared.

Flipping opening his notepad, Jorge began to jot down a couple of notes, initial thoughts about the case when suddenly…

>> ”Detective Cervantes?”

He looked up when he heard the voice. He noted the hair, the shy look, the posture, and the stacks of photos he had set down on the table in front of him. Yup, this had to be the kid. He offered him a kindly and understanding smile.

“Mr. Tori, yes, but please, call me Jorge,” he said as he waved to the seat across from the table. “So,” he said as he tilted his head down to the all the photographs on the table. No wonder Locke was freaked out. “Ms. Taylor tells me you’ve been having some trouble. Um, may I?” he asked as he motioned to the photos.

There was no difference in height Locke noticed upon sitting. Detective... no, Jorge's eyes were right at Locke's level. He couldn't keep the gaze up for long before having to look back down at the table. Jorge was the same height, but the man was larger overall. It seemed more likely that he would get a stalker than Locke would. "Locke," the teen said. Jorge wanted to go by his first name, so Locke wanted to go by his. Ms. T had said that Locke wasn't to blame for this, that it wasn't his fault. The stalker was the one that was sick in the head, not the teen. Seeing as he was free from the guilt it felt wrong to be called by his last name. Locke was use to being called Mr. Tori by telemarketers or when he was in trouble. If he wasn't in trouble he would go by the name his dad had given him.

"Go ahead," Locke said when Jorge gestured to the pictures. With the newest batch there were forty five moments in time captured. Five of them were of him as a teen, the rest not going past elementary school. Two of the present pictures weren't on photo paper or newsprint, but just regular computer paper. They were pictures that had been taken when he had gone home for New Years with Chris, pictures that Locke remembered Kendra snapping as the ball dropped and Locke was fighting with a bottle of sparkling apple cider. "Ms. T said that I should write down when and where the pictures were taken." Locke informed Jorge, not wanting to interrupt any thought process that the detective was going through. The teen reached into his pocket and pulled out two sheets of loose leaf paper. His fingers were stained blue and black from his pens as he both compiled this list and fought to catch up on his schoolwork.

As the detective studied the pictures Locke chewed on his lower lip. The more people he told about his stalker the more ashamed he felt. He was a guy for crying out loud. Guys don't get stalkers, unless they are some famous celebrity. Since he was as famous as shoelaces it meant that any stalking business that Locke was a part of should have been him being the stalker, not the stalk-ee. No wonder that men didn't come forwards whenever they were victims of harassment. "Oh and uh... there's this," Locke mumbled, pulling out from his rear pocket the first envelope. Although it had been in the dictionary, things had battered it up slightly, and he had to bend it in half just to get it to fit into his pocket.

>> "Locke,"

Jorge nodded. “Locke, nice to meet you.” He said as he stretched out his hand to shake. Once Locke had done so, it seemed that the boy had motioned to the plethora of photographs with a couple of printed out ones.

>> "Go ahead,"

He nodded once again. Once Locke had taken his seat, Jorge had turned his attention to the photos and pulled a few to him. Slowly the detective began to look them over, carefully, trying not to miss anything. The photos were so varied though. Obviously they were all of Locke but at various stages in his life. It was almost as if someone was anticipating Locke making a scrapbook of his life and sent him all the material that he would ever need.

Definitely, truly, odd. He shook his head in thought as he set down one stack and began to go through yet another one. It was not just what was in the photos themselves that was important but it was that actual, physical object itself. How were they printed? Collected? The majority of them looked quite uniform so was it home printed or done from some drug store? Too many questions and not enough answers.

>> "Ms. T said that I should write down when and where the pictures were taken."

He glanced up as Locke produced folded sheets of paper. That was definitely a good idea that Gemma gave him. Maybe with a written record of these photos, it could shed light on where and how all these pictures were being taken.

>> "Oh and uh... there's this,"

His head tilted curiously as he looked up to see Locke pull a folded envelope from his pocket. What else could there be.

“Locke, I’m sure this is been asked before,” he said as he set down another group of photos and jotted a note down on his notepad. “But, is there any one that you can imagine would do this?”

Even with the grim situation Locke had to smile. Jorge and Ms. Taylor thought alike, and they both wanted to know the answers to the same question. "No clue. Nobody knew that I was going to come to New York, so it probably wasn't anyone back in San Francisco right? But I don't know anyone in New York that would have the younger pictures." Locke had tried remembering if his Dad had sent his uncle and aunt so many pictures. They had been on his mom's side of the family, that much he was able to remember clearly. Uncle Morris, or Mark and Aunt... something. Maybe they had a baby picture or two of him, but probably nothing more than that. When they had come out for his birthday it had been an after thought. Just random coincidence had them take a vacation in California during the week of his birthday. His birthday present from them had clearly come from the airport. Something about airport presents said anti-stalker. "Nobody that I know. But isn't that the way all stalkers are?"

He had tried thinking of anyone who might have as many pictures of him that could be a stalker, usually when he was trying to fall asleep at night. Ms. Taylor had spoken with his teachers, and Locke was given a chance to fix his grades, but rather than take his time with it, Locke was working obsessively. The more he did his schoolwork the less he had to think about the situation. By the number of pictures it had to be someone he knew, but nobody made any sense. "I figure it has to be someone I know. My dad was always the one getting the pictures developed and putting them in photo albums, so it's not like they were going to some stranger. Not unless it was the guys at CVS." School pictures do get sent to relatives, but for the most part kids in Locke's elementary school gave them to their friends. His social circle had never been huge, mostly Eaan and a few kids that had been in peewee baseball with him.

"What's going to happen?" Locke asked. He hated uncertainty. Nobody ever showed or explained how a stalker was handled on TV shows, and if they did, it was something like Fairly Oddparents where everything that was written as a joke. This was his life, and if his stalker was meant to be a joke, nobody was laughing. "Do I just stay inside the school forever or do I go into the witness protection program? Or do we just set me out in a park and see who comes to chop off the rest of my hair?" What Locke wanted was for this to stop. He wanted his stalker to be found and every picture they had of him taken away.

>> "No clue. Nobody knew that I was going to come to New York, so it probably wasn't anyone back in San Francisco right? But I don't know anyone in New York that would have the younger pictures…Nobody that I know. But isn't that the way all stalkers are?"

Not necessary, Jorge thought. But he did not want to scare the kid so he did not voice that point. The norm was that stalkers usually tended to be strangers, people who grow obsessed and watch from afar, not want to disturb their illusion be interjecting into the subject’s life until absolutely necessary or it could not be helped. Yet, there were the occasions where the stalker turned out to be a neighbor, a friend, even a family member on rare moments.

Which was this though? Photos of a young man sent to him from various moments in his life? It was extremely odd. The stalker was not sending gifts of affection but was instead sending him notices that they were watching him. Viewing him from all aspects. But was that the whole message?

>> "I figure it has to be someone I know. My dad was always the one getting the pictures developed and putting them in photo albums, so it's not like they were going to some stranger. Not unless it was the guys at CVS.”

Jorge nodded and jotted another note. Maybe he could take a picture or two of Locke’s to see where he could trace them. Were they originals or were they copies? If they were the originals then did the parents and family know the person stalking the boy? If they were copies then who had access to the originals? At the moment everyone and anyone was a suspect.

He sighed as he tilted his head to look at the photos. So many of them…

>> "What's going to happen? Do I just stay inside the school forever or do I go into the witness protection program? Or do we just set me out in a park and see who comes to chop off the rest of my hair?"

He looked up. Locke was obvious tired of this and wanted answers. Jorge could only imagine.

“I know you’re creeped out, but…I don’t believe that there is cause to send you into witness protection just yet,” he said seriously. “I do think that for the time being that you should try to remain here on campus and if you do have to leave you pair up with someone you explicitly trust. I know this school, Locke, this is probably the safest place that you can be.”

It was going to be tough and he feared Locke feeling like he was imprisoned in his own home, but this school was safe. He hoped Locke realized it.

He sighed, though as he glanced at his notes, then to Locke. From what Gemma told him the kid was rather shy, good at school though. This was definitely not something that he deserved.

“Locke, do you have any family I can talk to,” he said cautiously. “Preferably family that has access to family photos?”

"Just my step mother Kendra. My dad died six years ago," The words were hard to say, they always were, and probably always would be. Locke reached over and started sorting through some of the pictures. The two from New Year's went into his pile, along with all the school photos and the newspaper clipping in which he was crossing the street with some other second graders. "Those are my brother and sister. Kendra took those pictures last New Year's eve. I uploaded them to the internet. This was way before the letters started coming." The new pile that Locke had made consisted only of the pictures his step mother would likely have, or at least had access to. "The letters started coming after my last birthday, so almost six months now."

Six months. Holy cow. He knew that it had been going on for some time now, but he never really thought about the length of it. Half a year had passed and he didn't even notice. "I know this is serious, and that you'll probably have to talk to her at some point, but if we could keep things quiet from Kendra?" A stupid request really. Kendra was legally his guardian, she should know about this, especially since it had been going on for half a year now.

It wasn't as though he doubted Kendra would want to get involved. She might still be coming around to his being a mutant, but she had been there in the hospital when he first came out of a drug induced slumber. Kendra was no monster, and strange as it might sound, Locke was finding that he didn't hate her nearly as much. The issue was that no doubt Kendra wouldn't understand how the school was the most secure place. To her the safest place was where she could keep her eyes on him. He didn't blame her. When you make a living finding the creeps of the internet you tend to be a bit overprotective. For his brother and sister Locke didn't mind Kendra acting that way. They loved San Francisco, it was where they grew up, and to them the house didn't feel like the walls were closing in. "It's not going to happen though is it."

>> "Just my step mother Kendra. My dad died six years ago… Those are my brother and sister. Kendra took those pictures last New Year's eve. I uploaded them to the internet. This was way before the letters started coming…The letters started coming after my last birthday, so almost six months now."

Jorge nodded as he jotted down his notes.

“You have my sympathies,” was all he said as he glanced up at Locke momentarily before returning to his writing pad.

He really did feel for the boy. The pain of losing a parent was not something that was easily forgotten that followed people for the whole of their lives. The pain of it never went away; it only got slightly more bearable to deal with as time ticked on and on and on. Though Jorge had let to lose a parent, he knew what it was like to lose some he cared deeply for. It was an experience that the young should never have to go through.

But Jorge didn’t want to dwell on that. Instead he wrote down the names of family that Locke had given to him. That would have to be his best bet at getting a jump start on this investigation.

>> "I know this is serious, and that you'll probably have to talk to her at some point, but if we could keep things quiet from Kendra?"

Or not.

He tiled his head as he peered at Locke. He didn’t want his own stepmother to know about it. At first it would seem like a foolish request. After all, family should be warned if someone was stalking them. But in the end, he could see why he did not want to tell her. Though Jorge did not know this kid’s stepmother, nor did he know their relationship, it really did seem as if Locke was trying to spare the woman knowledge of this. If she cared about him, at all, the first thing she would want would be to pull him out of school and keep him nearby. Parents always believe that parental protection will trump all.

That was not the case here. Jorge knew that the safest place for the kid was here at the mansion.

On top of that, the last thing he was sure the boy wanted to do was to make her worry about him. No parent could take it easy when hearing that their child, born or step, was being stalked. He sighed.

>> "It's not going to happen though is it."[/’i]

A calming breath and Jorge looked over all the photos that had now been laid out in stacks. He then turned his attention squarely onto Locke.

“That’s up to you,” he said with a nod. “I will work as best as I can without telling your stepmother. But you need to know that if someone is stalking you and has access to all these photos, then it is very likely that they could already know who your stepmother is. You may not want to worry her, but I would at least advise that you caution her.”

"It's alright," Locke said. His dead father wasn't the issue here. It was only mentioned because Jorge needed to know about any family that Locke might have. When you think about it, it made sense to want to know about any relatives that might have this deranged fascination. Who else but a family member would have this many pictures spanning his life? Ms. Taylor had suggested the possibility of someone breaking into his house at one point. While he did have a very vague impression of a police officer talking to his dad at one point, Locke felt confident that his house had never been broken into. He remembered a conversation that Kendra and his dad had about home security. Hugo felt that installing a security system was invitation for someone to break in. The biggest danger, in his dad's eyes, was what could happen inside the house. Fire, slips, carbon monoxide poisoning, none of which would have brought the police by.

"You don't think my brother and sister are in danger do you?" he asked. What fresh new terror had Jorge stumbled across? Kendra hadn't mentioned anything like the letters happening in San Francisco, so he assumed that everything was normal back there. With there being a picture now that included the twins Locke wondered. It was stupid to have uploaded those pictures.

>> "You don't think my brother and sister are in danger do you?"

Jorge inwardly groaned. His expression did not show it but for that moment he felt a little sorry that he had said anything. He did not want to put ideas into Locke’s head and force the kid the panic. After all, he was going through enough just knowing that someone had access to family photographs that no stranger was supposed to have had. Now he had to worry about whether or not this same person was actually having access to his own family.

Way too much stress on an already stress situation. Jorge sighed as he turned his attention up to Locke, trying to speak in a calming voice so that he did not freak out the boy farther.

“There’s no need to panic, Locke, okay?” he said reassuringly. “To be honest, I just don’t know. But I don’t think it would hurt to at least give your family a call just to see how they are doing and to make sure that everything is well.”

Stalkers were predictable only in the sense that they were unpredictable. But Jorge did his best to not inform Locke of that, not just yet anyways, until he got all the facts. He still was not 100% sure exactly what he was dealing with here. So far Locke’s stalker was remaining at a distance, only sending Locke photographs. But Jorge knew that with stalkers such a thing never lasts. Eventually it would escalate. When and how, Jorge had no idea.

He glanced at Locke again.

“In the end, it’s up to you if you want to tell them. If you like I would be glad to inform them, but the decision is yours Locke.”

"You know, telling me not to panic kinda is making me want to," Locke tried to joke. He learned not to tell Mai not to cry when tears threatened, those words always shoved her over the edge. Jorge had a point though, a few of them actually. Panicking often felt, not good, but right at the time, simply because you have no choice but to do so. In the end it complicated things far more than necessary, leaving you in worse condition than before. The police were involved now. While he had not had any interaction with the boys in blue here in New York, their method of handling a stalker had to be better than Locke's shoving the pictures into his dictionary. They would be acknowledging the situation.

And he really needed to talk to Kendra, just to make sure everyone was ok. There hadn't been any other pictures with his brother and sister besides the ones in the pile. Some of the pictures had others in it, but the focus had been Locke in them, the one consistent thing. Only the pictures of him when he was very young had any family member, and Hugo was not in danger.

"I'll bring it up next Skype session," Locke promised the detective. Without a cellphone Locke had to rely on his laptop to talk with his family. His laptop was his link to everything important to him, it was what kept the darkness from capturing him at night. "The second that she hears you're a detective she's going to drag me out of here. Forget stalker, she'd be the biggest threat." Locke blanched. It came out wrong. "Not to me. To anyone who tries to get in her way. She's kind of over-protective."

And for good reason. It can't be easy handling your dead ex's child along with your own. They had been trying for the last six years, and things were getting easier now. Going back to San Francisco would be a step back for the two. "Uh, I noticed something with the um, pictures," Locke said, trying to get back to the stalker issue. He pulled out the first of the new pictures, the one from the year with the walking trees, and one of the pictures from his childhood. "There's this gap of like, almost ten years with nothing, like I didn't exist then."

>> "I'll bring it up next Skype session…the second that she hears you're a detective she's going to drag me out of here. Forget stalker, she'd be the biggest threat…Not to me. To anyone who tries to get in her way. She's kind of over-protective."

Jorge smirked at the comment.

“Trust me, I understand,” he said.

The truth was, being a detective, Jorge met a lot of different mothers: negligent, concerned, loving, spiteful, angelic, monstrous, so he was well versed on the gambit of emotions that they could possess. But judging by Locke’s words, it quickly became apparent that even though she was Locke’s stepmother, she did care about him a lot. He knew that was all it was. Her caring for him, wanting to keep him safe would probably drive her to do anything to get Locke back in under her roof.

At least Locke had someone like that to care about him. The unfortunate truth of the matter was that he knew far too many kids who did not have that system of protection. Locke was lucky in that aspect. It was just unfortunate that he needed to be in this situation.

>> "Uh, I noticed something with the um, pictures…There's this gap of like, almost ten years with nothing, like I didn't exist then."

Jorge arched a brow as he looked at the photos that Locke had presented to him. A glance from one to another and it was obvious that the kid had a point; there was a whole span of time that was missing. But…why? Lack of photographs? Started late and went back to get the older pictures? There was a reason, but one that he could not see right off the bat.

He nodded to Locke.

“I’ll look into it,” he said as he turned back to the photos. “Would you mind if I took a couple of those? Maybe run them for prints or origin?” he asked. Once Locke had given him an answer he reached into his pocket and pulled out a contact card. “Locke, this has my number at the precinct, as well as my cell number. I want you to keep this on you, if you ever need to call me,” he slid the card over to Locke. “If if makes you feel better, you can give the information to your stepmother and she can talk to me directly if she needs to. I always have my phone on.”

Smack! Locke’s hand connected solidly with his forehead. Fingerprints! Why hadn’t he thought of that before grabbing onto the pictures. The glossy ones had fingerprints on them, possibly the person who had sent them, but Locke’s fingerprints were all over them, along with Ms. Taylor’s, Jorge’s, and whoever had ever held them even for a moment. On a few of them there probably was even his father’s, given that Hugo’s handwriting said where “Bug” was. ”I shouldn’t have handled them huh?” How stupid could he be? He watched horror movies where detectives searched for a killer, he knew about incriminating evidence like fingerprints, saliva samples, a stray hair. As much as people tried to convince him that his stalker wasn’t going to kill him, it was something that required police involvement. Why hadn’t he thought about fingerprints? ”Take them,” Locke said, still amazed at how stupid he was for not thinking about contaminating evidence, ”There’s only two or three I want to keep.”

Although Locke was the focus of most of the pictures, there were a few where he was just one face in the crowd. Even more important than that to Locke was the few pictures in which his dad was present. None of them went past the age of five, which didn’t surprise him. He knew how many Hugo had taken. In a family of two there aren’t that many options on who can snap a shot, especially when one is at the age of breaking everything that costs more than five dollars. The very first picture he got, the one where his dad was trying, and failing to get him to look at the camera was one that was put into the pile. There hadn’t been much time with his father since the first six years of his life were fuzzy, which left five years. Seeing his dad look so young made Locke feel better about what had happened.

Also comforting was that Jorge was willing to talk to Kendra. He probably had to deal with parents all the time, some that could care a whole bunch less for their kids than Kendra did. The detective had to be able to handle overprotective parents. Locke tucked the card into his wallet. There never was any money in it. Locke really used it only as a portable file cabinet of sorts. Family pictures were in there, along with receipts from Taco Bell to redeem for a free taco. ”I’ll keep that in mind,” Locke said, studying the number, “But let me break it to her first ok? If you call she might think that I’m dead already.”