Marked Target ~ Chapter Three ~ by: Danielle Krieger (c) 2011 Lawrence "Lex" McKinley lives about as average a life as one can with metahumans popping up everywhere. Well, as normal as someone who spends their free time as an MMA fighter really can. He's about to get the shock of his life--the punch he never saw coming. In this installment: The imprisonment continues and some insight is given to Lex about her captors and why she's in captivity. Is she ever going to get out? Will she ever get her life back under her own control?

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DISCLAIMER :: This is a retroactive continuity. A “ret-con”, if you will. It follows other stories in Lilith Langtree’s “Comics RetCon Universe”. The story is mine, but some of the characters are not. This is a RetCon of X-23, from Marvel Comics’ X-men (with a special guest appearance from Dr. Hank McCoy). Laura Kinney, X-23, and Dr. Henry Philip “Hank” McCoy, Beast, are trademarks of Marvel Comics. All rights reserved. The pic, this time, has been brought to you, again, by the incredibly talented Mike Choi.

WARNING: There is a scene of violence between a man and a woman. Naturally, being a woman myself, I do not condone such actions. The scene is present to make a point. That is all. If you are squeamish of such things, the scene is clearly marked and you can skip it, if you'd prefer.

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Chapter Three:

Why couldn’t I ever have a book? Violent criminals in prisons get books. There really wasn’t that much to do in the cell. Most days, I would meditate for hours on end. Sometimes, I would actually resort to checking myself out in the mirror. I kind of really liked my ass. My boobs still looked enormous to me, so it was hard to get “attached” to them, as much. Just saying. It probably garnered a laugh or some freakish pervert fantasy from some of the staff on the other side. I mean, why have a two-way mirror if I wasn’t being watched?

For the last couple of weeks, though, I had actually started to run through my taolu. It felt like it had been forever since I did. Not only that, my balance was all wrong. I now had first-hand experience that men and women did, indeed, have different centers of gravity. Not to mention, my boobs kept getting in the way. Not only that, I could really use something to tie my hair back. If I was going to be stuck like this for a while, I’d have to get used to the idea. My eyes would close and my body would maneuver through the movements, one by one, and when I got to the end, I’d bow and start all over again. Thankfully, with my reduced size, I could actually freely move within the confines of the eight-by-twelve-foot cell. That was good news, at least.

Under it all, there was still the multitudes of questions that I needed answers to. Why had they chosen me? Why had they locked me up? What did they want? Most importantly: What had happened to Julia? All of them plagued my mind day in and day out. Meditating was the only thing that helped me retain my sanity.

While reaching the tail end of movements for the taolu, that lovely little squakbox chirped to life for the first time in I don’t know how long.

“Hello, Miss McKinley. Aren’t you just the picture of grace?” The male voice inquired.

“Fuck off,” I ordered him with my teen girl voice. I didn’t even stop the taolu to do it. One of the punches was a little more forceful, but that was about it.

“Is that any way to treat your benefactor? You really ought to learn some manners.”

I scoffed, cutely. “I would hardly call you a ‘benefactor’.” Now, the taolu stopped. My body turned and I glared into the “mirror” angrily. “You want some manners? Open that fucking door and I’ll show you some manners!”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such language really is unbecoming a young lady such as yourself.”

“Who are you?! What do you want from me?!” Anger was boiling within me and my words came out as shrieks that reverberated off the walls. It kinda hurt my ears.

“Now, that is the question, isn’t it? I am Dr. Zander Rice, vice-chairman of this facility and, for all intents and purposes, your primary physician. You may call me Dr. Rice.” He explained. “What I want is to see the potential that metahumans have. There are so many of you lately. Uncle Sam is paying a pretty penny to figure out your secrets.”

I rolled my eyes. It actually looked somewhat cute in the “mirror”. “Oh, great. Now, you’re telling me I’m an ‘honored guest’ of Uncle Sam? Well, that fucking figures. It’s pretty obvious you guys knew something well before I did. Nice touch with the goon squad. Totally original.” The sarcasm dribbled down my chin.

“No, my dear. You are my honored guest. Uncle Sam will pay top dollar for your secrets, but how will we get them if we don’t perform studies and find them out?”

My eyes narrowed. I tried not to pay attention to how utterly cute it looked as I approached the mirror. “Let me out of here or I swear you will be the first one I cut a new smile for… ear to ear.”

“Threats of violence will get you nowhere, Miss McKinley. After all, you wouldn’t want us to harm your dear, sweet Julia, would you?”

“Where is she?!”

“She is safe… for now… as long as you cooperate. You have been warned.”

“What the hell am I supposed to cooperate with when you keep me locked up in this cell all the time?!”

There was no answer.

“Hello?!”

Again, no answer. Now, I was mad. I stomped my foot and raised my arm up to punch the glass. SNIKT! My hand hit the glass, all right. However, my newfound claws went through it. I glanced up at my hand and got an idea. I could see the maniacal grin grow on my face as I flexed my other fist. SNIKT! Out came the other set and I started pounding on the glass for everything I was worth. I was getting out of here and that fucker was going to pay for keeping me locked up.

At first, I was only making small holes. Then, I experimented a little with long swipes. That proved more fruitful. In a few short minutes, the glass was in shambles and I was through. I stood in the window frame and glared at the dark room beyond. It was empty. Damn. I hopped down off the framing and landed on some glass shards. That was dumb.

SNIKT! Away went the claws and I was now digging glass out of my foot. Thankfully, the wounds were healing as I plucked the glass out. How was my body doing this? My head shook. In the midst of my musings, an alarm suddenly began to sound. I didn’t have time to mess with my feet. If I was going to get out of here, now was my best and only chance. I rushed up and checked the door. Locked. SNIKT! One swipe of my hand and the claws went right through the wood. Another swipe and I had created a little triangle around the nob. SNIKT! I put the claws away and moved to pull the door away from the handle. By jove, it worked. The handle, with the lock still engaged, fell out of its cradle and the door was open.

Carefully, I poked my head out into the corridor beyond. To the left, my cell plus two more, with wooden doors for the adjoining observation rooms, and an open door into what looked like a bathroom/shower area. To the right, one more cell and a metal bar door like they have in all the nice jails. Left it was, then. As I slipped out the door and into the hallway, the alarm got a bit louder and there were some flashing red lights. Glancing up the wall, I spotted one of those rotary lights they used to have on all the cop cars before moving to strobe LED’s. Beyond the door made out of bars, there was what looked like a guard station, but it was empty. Good. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, besides Dr. Rice, as I made my way out.

As I approached the door made of bars, I thought I could hear booted footsteps, moving in cadence. That was weird. Instinctively, I slammed my back against the wall, hoping to not be seen. Though, the footfalls were really distant and my eyes confirmed that there was no one in the immediate corridors. Thus, I tried the door. Locked. Just great.

Impulsively, I glanced down at my dainty little hands and balled one into a fist. I’d managed to bypass glass and wood, thus far. How do these things fare with metal? Once I got out, there would need to be some investigation done as to where the damn things came from. For now, they were too handy to complain about. My face making a grimace, I tightened my fist and out came the blades once more. In case you’re wondering: Yes, they still hurt like a bitch, just like the first time. Anyway, blades out, I contemplated the door for a good minute. Then, I took a swipe. There was indeed a great deal of resistance from the metal, which I almost expected. I didn’t break through, though. I did, however, make some nice scratch marks about a quarter of the way through the metal bars. So, the deduction was that I could, in fact, cut through the bars, as long as I had enough leverage and force behind the strike.

Taking a breath and closing my eyes, I focused on the door. My arm swung back with the claws extended. For all the marbles, I took one, long, powerful strike at the door, centered on the locking mechanism. You know that sound of nails on a chalkboard? Yea, this was worse. By the grace of some deity somewhere, it didn’t last but half a second and when my eyes opened again the door creaked as it slowly swung open. Its locking mechanism was in tatters, thanks to my new little friends. My eyes wide, I took one look at the blades. They didn’t have a single scratch blemishing their reflective silver surface. I was going to have to get to the bottom of this little mystery. However, now was not the time. Grimacing once more, the claws went away.

Again, I poked my head into the corridor. There were only two ways to go: directly in front, passing the guard station, or to the right. My ears picked up the footfalls coming from the right. In half a second, I calculated my next move. Since I didn’t know the layout of the place, getting some bearings might prove useful. Stepping over to the guard station, I reeled back and slammed my foot into the door. It swung open with a crack as the lock dislodged from the frame and bang as it hit the wall. Somebody heard that. They had to. Still, I darted inside to get a better look at the place.

Whoever these guards were, they were slobs. There were Chinese takeout boxes littered everywhere and paperwork all over the workstation. There were three file cabinets, two by the door and one across the room in the far corner. Along the workstation, there were six monitors set up. Obviously, these were surveillance terminals. My eyes darted about the room, searching for something I could use. On the back wall was a framed map that read: “Level 2”. Grabbing the frame from the wall and tearing open the back, I grabbed the paper blueprints inside and gave them a quick look. I’d used blueprints for several games in the past, so I was familiar with the basic application of reading them.

The layout in the middle-left looked familiar. It had the four cells, labeled #22 through #26 including their own observation rooms, with the shower room at one end and the guard station I was standing in to the left of them. I followed along the “forward” corridor with my finger down a ways until it came to a large open room. If I were to take a right once reaching that room, there was a flight of stairs and then a straight run for an exit. I’d probably have to cut through one more jail door, but it was worth a shot. I had my plan.

Rolling up the blueprint map, the footfalls were getting louder. I wanted to avoid contact with any guards, if at all possible. There wasn’t much of a chance I could effectively defend myself without hurting any of them or myself, especially given my quite new “assets”. Darting out of the guard station, I bolted down the “forward” corridor in full run. Thankfully, I wasn’t wearing any shoes, so the “pitter-patter” of my little feet wasn’t too loud that it might give away my position. The trick was avoiding contact to happen between the bridge of my feet and the concrete flooring. I had learned long ago do run on the balls of my feet, anyway. It was quicker, quieter, and more efficient. Not to mention, it kept my boobs from bouncing too much, objecting to the confines of the sports bra.

Passing six more cells with adjoining observation rooms, the jail door was coming up fast. Way behind me, I could not only hear the booted footfalls but also a whole flock of male voices speaking through some sort of walkie-talkies. The problem was, I could hear more synthesized voices ahead of me, too. So much for avoiding the guards.

In transit, one more grimace and the claws extended with another snikt sound. There would probably never be any way around how much that hurt. It was likely something I would have to get used to. Sliding to a stop, I braced and let loose with one big swipe at the door. The claws sliced through as though the bars were made of butter and the door popped open. Another grimace and a snikt sound later, the claws were again put away. I stepped into the big open room and let my eyes scan the area.

Over an intercom somewhere, a voice suddenly began speaking. To my ears, it sounded droll and mechanical. In fact, the female voice reminded me of the computer’s voice on Star Trek. “Priority Alert: Subject 23 has escaped custody. Extreme caution advised. Subject to be considered well armed and extremely dangerous. Deadly force not authorized at this time.” The message began a repetitive loop. Well, at least they weren’t being given orders to kill me.

Quickly glancing to my right, I spotted two guards positioned down the catwalk that were not looking in my direction. Way at the far end of the room, through I don’t know how many guards, was the little green “Exit” sign, taunting me. This was going to take some finesse or it was going to get messy. For a moment, I contemplated going back the way I came and finding an alternative route.

“There!” A synthesized voice announced behind me. My eyes darted in that direction and about ten guards in full riot gear (including full helmets) were charging toward me. Well, nix the backtracking idea. “Stay where you are!”

Dropping the map, I tore into a full run straight for the stairs. I was never good at taking orders. There was never going to be a career in the military waiting for me.

This time, there was no concern to stay quiet at all. They’d already spotted me and were communicating my position to all their buddies. This was going to get bad, I could feel it. My body darted along the catwalk at full speed as the guards ahead of me turned around. They didn’t have enough time to train any weapons on me. I took the stairs two at a time until I reached a certain point. Then, I jumped. It was a good ten feet to the concrete floor below, but I knew how to fall correctly. Rolling with the impact, I was on my feet in less than a second and back to full run, again. All this was done while trying to ignore the breasts wildly bouncing all over my chest. Thankfully, the sports bra was keeping most of that in check, but it was somewhat distracting.

Now on “Level 1” and at full run, I realized just how big the place was. It was huge and seemed old with the paint peeling in several places. It was difficult to run across the flooring because there was paint debris and dust all over the place. While I contemplated that, more footfalls hit my eardrums. They were fast, though. As soon as I glanced to my right where they were coming from, I was greeted by the buttstock of their weapon of choice, in the face. As one would imagine, my momentum pretty much ceased and the inertia of their strike knocked me over to my left. I landed rather hard on the concrete surface. Serves me right for having a one-track mind at that point. My mind screamed, ‘Damn. The exit was right there!’

Shaking off the strike, I resolved to lift myself off the ground. Probably quicker than they anticipated, I was on my feet and lowering myself into a defensive stance, but seemed unfazed by the strike. They gathered around and resolved to surround me. I began a breathing exorcise to calm my mind, build my qi (life force energy, like Japanese “chi”), and focus on the task at hand.

“Put your weapons down and lie face-first on the ground!” The leader’s synthesized voice ordered.

In a calm, surreal voice, I answered him. “As you can plainly see, I don’t have any weapons. Also, I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request.” Never in my life did I ever see a practical application of that quote. I stand corrected.

“Excuse me?”

I narrowed my eyes on him. “That would be a ‘no’, gentlemen. Now, I do not want to harm any of you. My goal is that door under the exit sign. If you stand in my way, I will be forced to remove you from my path. If you insist on violence, I will be forced to defend myself. I would rather not, but the choice is yours.”

For a moment, they exchanged glances amongst themselves. Obviously, they had not been briefed on just whom it was they were dealing with. One of them even chuckled, remarking, “Yea? What’s a little girl like you gonna do?”

“Advance on me and you’ll find out.”

Idiot. What is it with the male bravado? He was fully warned but he raised his weapon and advanced anyway, clearly underestimating his opponent. Classic mistake. My perception was as if time had slowed dramatically. I could see my left hand grab what appeared to be the barrel of the weapon and pull it forward. His arms extended, as anticipated, and I reached between them with my right hand balled into a fist. The upper cut connected with the bottom of his chin and forced his head back. Letting go of the weapon, I shifted my weight onto the left leg and extended the right leg. My foot connected with his abdomen and he flew backwards a couple of feet before landing hard on the concrete, his weapon sliding across the floor. Time returned to normal, I brought my foot down, returned to my defensive stance, and focused on the others. One down, about eleven to go.

After quickly exchanging glances, they all advanced at once. That hadn’t been figured into my situation assessment. Suddenly, I was blocking and sending weapons flying off in all directions. Any time I felt a hand on my body, it was quickly knocked away. It was a little hard to keep up, though. Seven years under the instruction at Hao Lai Academy had taught me focus, balance, and muscle memory. Now, my brain had the memory but my muscles were acting like it was their first time out. I was essentially back to square one. The moves I knew. I just couldn’t perform them with the proficiency I had when this whole thing started. If I was catching a block, somebody hit me from behind. If I lowered for a sweep, someone kicked me and knocked me over. It was grueling work.

After several minutes of this, there were somehow four more unconscious bodies on the floor. Amazingly, though there was a lot of work going on, I wasn’t winded at all. Seven were still standing, half of them winded. For the life of me, I couldn’t really figure out how I was going to get out of this. They had much more experience than I did with their own bodies. They had the advantage, which was becoming obvious.

I narrowed my focus on the leader once more. “I’m not going to tell you again. Back off and let me pass. I don’t want to hurt any of you.”

He scoffed. He was winded, though. He reached across his body and pulled out a collapsible baton, flicked his wrist, and the baton extended. It seemed like a standard issue that police would have. There was one difference: electricity arced around the tip. “And I’m not going to tell you again: lay down your weapons and drop to the ground. We’re taking you one way or another, missy.”

He had just upped the ante. “Suit yourself.” Snikt-snikt. The blades came out of my fists and I grimaced once more.

Several of them jumped back. They were definitely not briefed about me. Off in the distance, I could hear the “click-clack” of a woman’s footsteps while wearing heels. That was new.

“Holy shit! I’m not getting paid enough for this!” One announced as he picked up his weapon and took off.

“Nobody told us she had that! You’re on your own, Steiner!” Another stated and followed his friend.

“Fine,” The leader nearly growled. “Leaves me the pleasure of taking down this freak bitch myself.”

He raised his baton to come at me.

“Captain! You are to stand down, immediately!” A woman shrieked.

Amazingly, he flinched and then stopped, turning to look at her. So did I. She seemed plain enough. She dressed plainly in two-inch black pumps, smoke-colored nylons, a navy blue skirt, a lavender blouse, and a white lab coat. Her dark brown hair was wrapped up in a messy bun. Her arms folded and she tapped one foot on the concrete floor.

“Dr. Kimura? What are you doing down here?” The leader asked, clearly confused.

“Plans change, Captain.” She glanced at the bodies on the ground. “Tend to your casualties and report back to your post.” Then, a stern glance met me. “You, come with me.” She turned on a heel and started walking.

For a moment, I just stood there, transfixed. What the hell is going on? First, they’re attacking me for trying to escape and now this woman was wanting to talk? Had to be a trick.

“You’d better go with the good doctor, missy. Otherwise, I have full authorization to take you out.” The leader advised.

Reluctantly, I lowered my guard and stepped over an unconscious man to follow the strange woman. Snikt-snikt. The claws were away again and I absent-mindedly rubbed my hands afterward. The woman led us down several corridors that all looked the same and into a door painted white with a little plaque displaying “Dr. Kimura” on the front. My mind played several questions on a repeat cycle, but I kept quiet the whole time. Thankfully, the alarm was no longer sounding and the warning computer voice wasn’t coming over the intercom any longer.

Once we were inside, she quickly closed the door. “You have to get out of here. I don’t know what they have planned, but it will probably kill you.”

I spun around with my eyes widened at her. “Beg your pardon?”

She didn’t immediately answer. My eyes followed her as she quickly crossed the room to one of the two leather chairs in front of an oak desk. She picked up a purple and black backpack. It looked full. “I packed some things for you. Some essentials, if you will. Inside this bag are two more bras, a package of underwear, several socks, and a fresh package of panty liners. You’ll need them in a day or two.”

I shook my head. “Come again?”

She looked angry, stomping her foot. “We don’t have time!” She turned and moved to a wooden closet behind her, tearing it open. Pulling out a brown paper bag and rifling through it for a moment, she tossed a bundle of dark blue denim at me. “I tried to approximate your size. It was a little difficult to do with any measure of discretion. If those don’t fit, I’m sorry.” I caught the bundle and looked at it quizzically. “They’re jeans! Put them on!”

Flinching, I opened the fly and started doing as instructed. Funny. They were shaped oddly for a pair of jeans. I had them pulled up to my thighs when another bundle of black fabric hit me and landed on the floor. “You can thank me later.”

Pulling up the jeans felt very strange indeed. Once the fly was done up, they hugged my butt and my hips while pressing against my crotch. They were women’s jeans. They didn’t fit my thighs well and they were a little too long in the legs, but they would protect my modesty. Groaning, I rolled my eyes and picked up the black fabric. A squeak of glee escaped my lips. It was my T-shirt with the Punisher logo. My very favorite shirt. Hurriedly tearing off the damnable pink thing, I opened up my shirt and slipped it on. Correction: it was now my very favorite dress. It fit me about the same way the pink thing did. There was a strange tug on my head. Unconsciously, I removed my hair from the back of the shirt.

She waved me closer. She’d been good to me, thus far, so I complied. She motioned for me to sit in the open leather chair and handed me a pair of socks. As she rifled through the bag again, I slipped them over my feet, noticing just how much smaller they were. “Thankfully, I could accurately measure your feet with a measure of discretion while you were on the examination table.” She plucked out what looked like purple and black “skater” shoes, then handed them over to me. “I hope you like them and they’re comfortable enough.”

Again, she was diving into the bag as I absentmindedly pulled the shoes on. They fit perfectly. Grabbing a dark brown leather bundle from the bag, she moved around the desk and tapped my shoulder. She was holding up a coat. I slipped my hands in as requested. It was a little big, but not by much. It hung to about the middle of my thighs, though. Girl’s coat. I rolled my eyes again as she moved to take up the backpack. “I also included a brown manila folder inside. It has exactly two thousand dollars in it. That should get you as far away from here as possible and put some food in your stomach.” She handed it to me and I slipped it over my shoulder. “There’s a trap door in the corner. Use it and follow the tunnel to the other side. Once you’re in the open air, don’t stop until you get to civilization due West. Even then, don’t stop until you feel safe.”

Turning to her desk, she picked up a business card, pulled open the coat, and slipped the card into the inside pocket. “You want answers? You get in touch with Dr. Henry McCoy.” Oddly enough, she kissed my forehead–which made me flinch. She looked right into my eyes. I could see tears forming in hers. “For my part in this, I’m sorry. What I have done should not be done to anyone. Get out of here, find Julia, get away, find Dr. McCoy, and you’ll get your answers. Now, go!”

She turned me facing the corner. I could see the hatch for the trap door. I moved over to it and pulled it open. Sliding down onto the ladder beneath, I took one last glance at my benefactor. She shook her head at me. “Go!”

I could hear footsteps coming down the hall. Men’s oxfords, I think. Time to go. “Thank you.” I dropped down and closed the lid behind me.

A sigh of relief left her lips the moment the trap door closed. Her prodigy, probably the best work of her life, was now gone. Safe.

Without too much time to think, Dr. Kimura spun around to her desk, grabbed the paper sack, and returned the thing from whence it came. Then, she closed the closet. Her heart was racing. It was only a matter of time before word would travel about her intervention. She glanced around her office, making sure nothing was out of place. In a moment of recollection, she touched the photograph of her husband, herself, and their two children. A single tear rolled down her cheek. What would happen to them, now?

With ferocity, her office door slammed open. A bald man in a navy pin-stripped suit burst in, followed by three guards. The slam startled her and she quickly wiped her eyes.

“Dr. S-sutter?! W-what a p-pleasant surprise…” She stammered.

The bald man glared and growled. “Stow it, bitch! Where is she?!”

“Why, whatever do you…”

“Don’t toy with me!” He crossed the room and delivered a backhand blow to her face that sent her flying across the floor. “Where is she?!”

Flushed and knocked off balance, she put her hand up to her warm cheek. Tears rolling down her face, she glared back at him. “Far away from you, by now!”

Again, he growled and quickly scanned the room. His eyes landed on the hatch, then returned to Dr. Kimura’s mostly limp form. “You let her use your escape tunnel, didn’t you! You little, insignificant, insubordinate bitch!”

He laid into the woman with several blows while she writhed and screamed. The guards didn’t move. When he was satisfied and she was whimpering through sobs, he stood up once more and glared at the guards. “Take Dr. Kimura to a nice, padded cell and throw away the key. In the meantime, I want that little bitch found!”

He stormed out of the office while the guards scrambled to pick up the limp form of the woman.

Running as far and as fast as my body could carry me, I was surprised to discover just how far I could run at full speed. Upon emerging from the tunnel, it was apparently sometime in the morning and late morning at that, based on the position of the sun. There was no other way to tell the time, so I had to resort to pure instinct. Thankfully, the forest surrounding me was at least recognizable. I was still in the Pacific Northwest, but whether I was anywhere near Seattle remained to be seen. Turning to the West, my legs pumped harder and I just kept running.

Not paying any attention to anything other than getting away to safety, the sun had traveled the sky. Had I really ran full speed all day and only just now needed to rest? The ramifications baffled me. It was the beginning of sunset before I finally reached a paved road. Vibrant oranges and reds were painted onto the clouds and nearby buildings. At least, it wasn’t raining. It seemed a little warm, though. Somewhere off in the distance, I could hear a siren sound off. Falling to my knees, tears streamed down my face. Civilization, at last.

Suddenly, I was awash with different senses. Mostly, smells. I can’t really describe most of them, but I could smell everything–especially the things you really don’t want to smell. I could hear people talking, but couldn’t see anybody around me. My eyes darted around the little suburban street I managed to find myself on, looking for any clues. Then, I caught it. The smell of potatoes dipped in searing hot oil and singed meat. My stomach grumbled in protest. Having no idea where the smell was coming from, it was time to do as Tucan Sam had always advised, just follow my nose.

Following the scent, I wandered for quite a few blocks. It was annoying when the wind changed directions for a moment and I’d loose the scent. Thankfully, it was back again shortly after. After several suburban blocks, I finally came to a main thoroughfare. So, my nose led me to a Burger King? Oh, happy day!

In my utter excitement, I nearly slammed the door into a 40-something woman, carrying out her child’s meal. I felt terrible because the little girl behind her was, frankly, adorable. She probably wouldn’t have been happy if I’d have put her mother in traction. They took their sweet time moving out of the way, though. As soon as they were past, I darted inside and took a big whiff of the place, taking it all in. Glancing at the menu board, I remember being tempted to order about half of what was up there. Instead, I sat in a booth and began to rifle through the backpack for the manila folder. With enough digging, all of Dr. Kimura’s claims were authenticated. There were bras, underwear (boy shorts), socks, the package of maxi pads, and finally the folder was buried near the bottom. Ignoring all else, I pulled out the folder. Inside, I found something that looked like a long, rectangular, plastic wallet with a purple and black argyle design on the outer shell. I learned later the term is “billfold”. Upon further inspection, it had a magnetic closure apparatus that was easy to decipher. Once opened, there were 18 $100 bills and 10 $20 bills. It was $2,000, exactly.

Beyond that, what was her whole deal with the color purple? The shoes, the backpack, now the billfold? I mean, I liked the color well enough, but she insisted on it being everywhere. It creeped me out more than a little. The need to eat quickly overcame the need to figure out the lady’s fascination with that particular spectrum of the rainbow. My stomach growled in protest, again. Taking a 20, I moved over to get in line. It didn’t matter what I ordered. I just needed food. Now.

The problem? It was “dinner rush” time and there was a line. Great, I break out of a top-secret unnamed facility, run all day, and then have to wait for the denizens to get their grub before I can actually order anything. Typical.

Finally up to the cashier, she immediately smiled at me. Not knowing what to make of that, I quickly made the order I’d devised down to the smallest detail while I was in line. The girl behind the counter had to be either a sophomore or junior at the local high school. Remembering my reflection, it could be said that she was in “my age group”, now. Not wanting to dwell, there was information I needed.

“I have a question, but it’s going to sound weird.” My words formulated as I handed her the $20 to pay for my meal. My voice still sounded very alien to me, but I did my best to emulate the lingo without “blowing my cover”.

“Sure, hon. What’s up?” She asked, almost in a mock cheerful tone.

“Where am I? I mean, what town am I in?”

Her eyes seemed to reflect the myriad of thoughts crossing through her mind. I deduced that she believed me to be a hitchhiking runaway. “Welcome to Chehalis, sweetie.”

Chehalis? How the heck did I get that far South? “Okay… is there, like, a Greyhound station nearby or anything like that?”

She nodded, knowingly. “Yea. It’s about 3 blocks down the road, next to the Safeway. You can’t miss it, really. Everything worth seeing in this town is right on this main road.”

“They make regular trips to Seattle and stuff like that, right?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t pay that much attention. I mean, I’ve seen some coming down the road headed to either Portland or Seattle, but I’ve never paid attention to what time that happens.”

I nodded back and offered a smile. “Thanks.” Then, I grabbed my meal and sat down to eat it. I was utterly famished!

After the awkward stares while eating, I slipped the billfold into the inner pocket of my jacket, slipped the backpack over my shoulders, cleaned up after myself, and followed the instructions given. Glancing around at my surroundings, it was very apparent that this was nothing more than a hole-in-the-wall small western town. They even had some storefronts that looked as though they’d come right out of the 19th Century. It didn’t take me very long to arrive at the little Greyhound station. The disappointment set in when I learned there wouldn’t be a bus until the next morning. Essentially, I was stuck in corn-fed hell for a while longer.

There was no identification included in the package Dr. Kimura had given me. That was quickly discovered when I tried to rent a room at the motel across the street. It was very strange to note that I could buy a Greyhound ticket, bound for anywhere I wanted, but couldn’t rent a motel room for the night without possessing identification. After that night, never in a million years would I ever advocate sleeping in a Greyhound station. Waking up the next morning was more than a little rough. Absently, I took a glance at my ticket. Was it really August 14th? Had I really been in that god-forsaken place for more than six months?

Having rested on the wooden surface of the bench, my body loudly protested. I had aches in places I’ve never had aches before. Shuffling onto the sardine can was easy enough. There, thankfully, weren’t too many people on board. I decided to catch a few more winks as the bus rumbled northward along Interstate 5. Awakening to the announcement that we would be arriving in Seattle shortly, I felt like I could really use a few more of those winks. Traveling sure is rough.

Knowing that we’d be arriving in the heart of Downtown Seattle was comforting. From there, I had formulated a plan pertaining to what my next move would be. As soon as we arrived and disembarked, I hit the ground running. Not literally, mind you. I had patience. Casually walking toward the Metro Bus Tunnel, I knew where I’d be headed. The problem was that my nostrils were clogged with all the nasty smells of the city; plus, non-stop sirens and traffic noise were hurting my ears. Had Seattle always been this loud and… smelly?

Hopping on a #11 bus, a grin crossed my face at getting away with paying the youth fare. Though, I noted that the standard fare had been hiked up, twice. A few things had changed. There was hope, deep within me, that other things hadn’t. Though I used to live on Capital Hill, my building required a magnetic keycard that was not in my possession. That wasn’t where I was headed, though. I needed to get my bearings and get a grip on things that had happened in my absence. There was only one place I knew to go. I just hoped somebody was home.

Having disembarked a second bus for the day, I wound my way through six blocks of residential buildings. Finally finding the one I was searching for, I happily approached the brick building that had apparently been built in the 1940’s. What luck! A man was exiting the building as I came up and was only too happy to hold the door open for me. I wouldn’t have to buzz in. That would have been awkward. Thanking him, I ascended the stairs until I reached the third floor. By now, the heart in my chest was beating furiously. Not from exertion, mind you, but from anticipation. Nervously, I glanced up at the fake brass numbers of 314, took a breath, and knocked on the door.

Inside, I could hear muffled conversation between two men. Then, there were some rather thunderous footsteps. My heart started beating faster, even as the locks were being disengaged. Interminably, the door slowly swung open. A young man in his mid-twenties was revealed. Gawd, he looked really tall and huge. He was wearing a simple pair of gray sweatpants and, apparently, nothing else. His muscles bulged out of his abdomen, chest, arms, and legs. Did he really shave his head?

“Um… can I help you, Miss? We really don’t buy Girl Scout cookies, here. Though, nice touch with your sister’s jeans and your brother’s T-shirt.” He stated plainly.

I could have melted the moment I saw him. Suddenly, my eyes felt hot and really wet. My voice seemed to squeak and my throat felt really small. “Brickhouse? Is that really you?”

His expression became very puzzled. He raised an eyebrow at me. “I’m sorry. I don’t think we’ve met, honey. There’s a select few people who know me by that name and you’re really not the type.”

I stomped my foot. “Dammit, Brickhouse! It’s me!”

“Who… who are you?”

I tugged at my shirt, full out bawling at this point. “This is my very favorite shirt. Now, it’s a fucking dress. They took Julia and did God-knows-what with her. A lot has changed. I need you to understand that I’m Lex.” His eyes widened. “Yes, you know it! I’m the only one of us that uses that line from Jayne in reference to my shirt!”

His eyes widened even more. “Holy shit… Lex? Is that really you in there?”

Nodding, tears were cascading off my cheeks. I fell forward into him and felt his arms wrap around me.