The Displaced Detective - Part 8
by Limbo's Mistress

Memories. How much of who we are is our memories? The answer? All of it.

There was little I could do to stop Zimmer from shuffling around and removing my memories, the memories of Detective Jack Rollins, like a magician shuffling a deck. I tried to physically assault him twice after Armitage departed, hoping that the attention he was using to decide what part of me would get erased next would prevent him from stopping me.

Each time, I found myself blinking back to beside the girlish bed before I got within three feet of him. Finally, I surrendered myself to sitting on the floor with a dejected huff, trying to come up with a different tactic. Some flaw in this illusionary world I found myself

The dresser drawers didn’t open. The scene on the other side of the singular window was utter darkness. I could begin to fathom what might be on the other side of the glass, but since the latch wouldn’t turn, it didn’t really matter. The door out of the room would be as useful as trying to attack Zimmer.

The frustration of being so easily thwarted, though, paled next to the restructuring taking place in my mind.

Zimmer’s selection of which memory would be the next to go seemed to follow no projectable course. It was random, strictly controlled by his own sadistic pleasure. Hell, he even chuckled a few times as he pulled a book from the shelf, read the spine, then threw it into the fire.

Only rarely did he bother to tell me what I’d lost … and gained.

I cannot begin to describe the conflicts that started to arise within me. Competing memories that both seemed completely real, and strangely not.

Thirteen year old Jack, getting a physical examination in February so he could play on the middle school baseball team. Thirteen year old Sasha, undergoing her first appointment with a gynecologist in April. The dichotomy was staggering.

No wonder the process couldn’t be rushed. Even with the tediously slow method with which I was being replaced, I felt like I was becoming schizophrenic.

Not knowing what Zimmer altered was disconcerting. Being told what I was about to forget was even worse.

He pulled a rather thick volume, the size of a phone book, from the shelf and turned to me.

“I suppose a precocious young lady doesn’t need all this nasty military experience.” Then he threw the book into the fire.

My entire Army career went up in flames.

I could remember enlisting. Signing my name at the bottom of the document to pledge myself to the service of the United States for the next four years. I could also recall the day I was handed my discharge papers, and the way the man in the uniform with a couple of stripes on the shoulder, shook my hand and told me to be safe “out there”.

Everything in between those two periods was gone.

However, I still remembered talking with guys I’d served with afterward. Sitting around chatting about the war and the things we did. I just couldn’t actually remember those things. Or where I’d even met the men I’d obviously served with.

The frightening thing was how … comfortable the changes were. Unless I thought about the constant buzzing in my skull, which never seemed to cease, or actively focused on a particular memory, having my entire life scrambled around wasn’t unpleasant.

Mostly because I knew, on a deep subconscious level, that it would eventually be over and the me that would care would be no more.

I simply sat there, staring at the flickering fire as one book after another went in and turned to ash. I cried, but didn’t feel any sadness.

I was Johnny Rollins until I was eight. Then I was Sasha Nicole Dellinger for the next four years. I went from roughhousing and catching frogs to ballet classes, shopping excursions, and tea parties. The sharp stab of pain I’d felt when Rickey Bennet yanked too hard on my ponytail on the playground seemed like it was yesterday.

The time, a couple of years later, when he kissed me on that same playground was even more vivid.

Jack reappeared the summer after sixth grade, lasted for most of that school year, then gave way to Sasha up until the start of seventh.

I also learned, not surprisingly, I was a virgin. Despite what the media likes to portray, the majority of fifteen-year-olds, both male and female, are not sexually active. Sure, there's probably a lot of experimentation, maybe even some intimate touching. Just not a lot of actual intercourse.

But a large part of what kept me … Sasha … from going to far with a charming boy was my fear of what Daddy would do … what Michael Dellinger, that is, would do if he discovered that some horny boy had gotten his hands on his daughters … on my … honeypot.

Still possessing the knowledge of a city police officer, I knew the young man in question would likely turn up missing. Permanently.

However, Zimmer took great delight in taking that lifechanging experience completely away from Jack as well.

“Since Miss Dellinger has no experience with the act of coitus, Detective, it’s only fair that you share her naivety.”

So, Zimmer went through Jack's memories and burned every sexual encounter I’d ever had. I remembered the girls, the dates, lying tangled in sweaty sheets afterwards, panting from exertion.

Just nothing at all about that act itself.

“Now the first time really will be your first time, yes?"

I gave him the finger.

And on it went, more of me being replaced by Sasha. More of who I was falling victim to the void. I knew how to disassemble and reassemble a gun, but I never remembered learning how. I was pretty sure I could drive a car, but I was also excited about finally taking driving lessons. I could still procedural forms, incident reports, and follow the steps for conducting a police investigation, but I couldn't even remember attending the police academy.

Finally Zimmer turned to look at me. An exaggerated smile on his face. If the version of him outside of my head wasn’t sporting a boner (like, total yuck!), I would been shocked. The bastard was practically getting off on his job.

"Although I am enjoying myself very much, Detective, the Director will be rejoining us shortly. I know he ordered me to not completely erase you before his return. However, I think he would find it as amusing as I would to return and see you without your original childhood.” He gestured at some of the blue books that were clumped together on one of the upper shelves. "This is all that is left of you, the male you, before the age of fifteen."

Even though I knew we were only in my head, I could feel my heartbeat quadruple in a second. When Armitage reappeared, he would find my disjointed remains. Sasha Dellinger, as she was until two days ago. Most of my adult life after that was already gone. A few months’ worth of high school fragments, maybe a college course or two, and my last three years on the force.

What was left of Jack Rollins’ mind wouldn’t survive the shock. There would be a jarring schism in my psyche that would likely combine with the teen’s hormonal overload to tear the last of my personal resolve to shreds. I would probably beg him to finish off the rest, to purge my young, feminine soul of those nasty old man images.

Armitage would have won.

Zimmer grabbed one of the books and waved it in my direction. “Say goodbye to six-year-old you,” he said with a laugh.

Then he turned slightly to the left, away from the fireplace. His eyes widening for a moment, then narrowing in a suspicious manner.

“What are you doing here?” he said to the empty air in front of him. “I insist that you leave at …”

His words cut off as his face went slack and he vanished from the room. The book in his hand leapt across the air and put itself back on the shelf.

I scrambled to my feet, confused, elated, hopeful, and terrified. No sooner had I rose from the floor than another curling wave of nausea slammed into my, turning my world around in a cyclone that sent me falling into darkness.

When I opened my eyes again, the world slowly rolled back into focus. Once more, I found myself strapped down to the leather dentist’s chair, staring up at the ceiling. Motion on my left side drew my attention. Straining against the strap running across my forehead, I managed to turn my face in that direction just the tiniest bit.

A large man in a dark gray suit stood over Zimmer’s unconscious form. In his right hand he held a baton that looked a lot like the handle of a gymnast’s ribbon. The man tapped the toe of his shoe against my tormentor’s ribs a few times. Then, apparently satisfied that the creep was, like, totally out cold, turned and walked over toward me.

I flinched, shrinking back away though my bonds prevented me from actually going anywhere. A tiny whimper rolled out of my mouth as my eyes widened in fear.

The man stopped, his brow crinkling in confusion. He stared at me for several long seconds before speaking.

“Jack?” He said in a soft whisper. “Is that you?”

Jack? Yeah, hold on. I knew that name. It was me. I was Jack. Wasn’t I?

“Uh, sure.” I said, sounding less than certain.

“Sasha?” the man asked.

I nodded. Then shook my head, as I closed my eyes. “Sort of.”

He sighed and finished his approach, going to work on the leather strip holding my head against the chair.

“It’s me, Jack. It’s Matthew.”

"Matthew?" I said weakly. The effects of Zimmer’s machinations with my mind created thick clouds of confusion. How could he be there? Wasn't he supposed to be locked up in a cage somewhere?

Wasn’t he supposed to look like … me?

"Hey, Jack," he said, finally managing to get the lock to disengage. He flung the strap which had been pressed across my forehead away, then moved to the one across my shoulders and chest. As he worked, he arched a brow at me, his expression somber. "You are still mostly Jack in there, aren't you?"

Was I? Honestly, at this point I couldn’t really be sure. The last vision I had of the bookshelf of my mind, there seemed to be just slightly more blue books than pink ones. Of course, there were also more empty slots than I liked. I felt like someone suffering from Multiple Personality Disorder, I was more than just a single individual now.

Only, unlike those poor souls who never know their other selves, I was intimately associated with the teen.

“Enough that I think it counts,” I said. “Though I don’t have to worry about trying to learn how to walk in heels anymore. I’ve apparently been wearing them since I was six.”

I shuddered as I realized that my voice, the one that had been coming out of my mouth for two days and never sounded quite right, now seemed perfectly natural. It was trying to remember how Detective Jack spoke that seemed alien.

"Well," he said in an almost apologetic tone. "I guess that's better than the alternative, huh?"

I couldn't argue with that.

"How did you get in here?” I asked, sitting up as the band across my chest loosened. The tightness had left my boobs totally squished and aching. “What did you do to Zimmer?” Then I blinked rapidly as the question I didn’t want answered bounced out of my mouth. “Where is my body?”

Matthew frowned. The funny thing? The person he was now wasn’t as old as I had been. Like, mid-thirties. And really handsome. When his mouth turned down apologetically, I caused my heart to flutter a bit.

“I … I had to ditch it, Jack. I’m sorry.”

“You had to ditch it?” I leaned over and grabbed the lapel of his jacket with my hand, balling the material up in my small fist. “Ditch it where?”

“The holding cell I was in,” he shook his head. “Jack, if we don’t hurry, then it’s not going to matter anyway. We’ll both be stuck here.”

He pulled himself loose and finished unbuckling my legs, I swung them over the edge of the table and hopped down. The second my weight came down on my feet, my entire body crumbled to the floor as the sensation of a million ants biting at my legs and feet flared into existence.

“What the hell?” I said, looking up at him. Did Zimmer accidentally remove my memory of leaning how to walk?”

Jack shook his head and leaned down to pick me up, cradling me in his arms like a helpless … girl.

“Your circulation’s been cut off by the straps,” he said. “However, we don’t have time to wait for the feeling to come back.” Turning, he began to carry me toward the door.

“You Hopped into this guy?” I asked, poking his extremely well-muscled chest. The pec beneath the dress shirt was like a slab of concrete.

He nodded. “Yeah. Hey, open the door, will you? My hands are full.”

I rolled my eyes, but did as he asked. When the door opened, I could hear yelling and screaming coming from some place else in the house. I cut my eyes over at Matthew.

“It’s all kinds of pandemonium out there. The better to cover our escape.”

He stepped out into the hall, looking left and right quickly before going down the left hallway. The commotion sounded more like it was oriented behind us, but the acoustics in the mansion were making it hard to pinpoint exactly how far behind.

We rounded a corner, jumped as the wail of someone in mortal terror echoed from the corridor on our right.

“What’s going on?” I asked, looking up at the man carrying me. “Matthew, what did you do?”

“Surely you know the benefits of a good distraction, Detective,” woman’s voice said from just behind us. “Opportunities multiply when seized.”

I swung my head around to see the silver-eyed bitch from before. She was standing about two yards behind us and walking our way.

“Sun Tzu,” I replied, suddenly shocked that I’d remembered that.

“Did you find us a way out of here?” Matthew asked her.

She nodded. “Helicopter pad in the north wing. That way.” She pointed down the corridor opposite the no-longer screaming person. “But we’ll need to hurry, Armitage and his men won’t be on the defensive for very long.”

“Don’t listen to her, Matthew,” I said, glaring at the woman. “She’s with the Order.”

The woman laughed, reaching up to pat playfully at her curls. “Are you still angry about earlier? Would an apology help?”

“Are you apologizing for preventing me from escaping? Or for marching me into that room and stealing my voice? I mean, like, your transgressions are piling up rapidly. Hashtag crazy bitch!”

“That’s not who you think it is, Jack. It’s Carol.”

“Huh?”

The woman smiled at Matthew. “See, Cornelius. I told you he would still be in there. Perhaps a little worse of wear, but that couldn’t be helped.” Then she turned to me. “Sorry about last night. I didn’t really have any choice in the matter.”

“Right,” I said with as much sarcasm as a fifteen year old girl can produce. Which, for the record, is a lot.

“Can we talk about this when we’re a hundred miles away?” Matthew hissed. “Come on.”

We stealthily made our way down the hallway and down a flight of steps. At the bottom, the pins and needles sensation in my legs had faded to a light tickle, so I asked Matthew to put me down.

“I think I can walk now, thanks.”

“You better be able to run, if necessary,” Carole said. “Now that I’ve got my abilities back, I will not be put back into a cage. Even if that means leaving the princess behind.”

Matthew put me down. The moment my legs promised they would play nice, I whirled around to face Carol.

“I don’t trust you,” I said, cocking my hip to one side and planting my hand on it. “You, like, totally sold us out at the farmhouse.”

Matthew arched a brow at me, frowning again. When I realized it was because of the way I was standing, I immediately went rigid and stood up straight.

Carol laughed again. "This is so entertaining," she said with a great deal of mirth. "If it weren't for the fact we really need to get moving, I’d suggest sticking around to watch the old man and the young girl battle for the body.”

"She's right, Jack," Matthew said. "We don’t have time to second guess each other. Just trust me that Carol’s been on our side since before we got to the farmhouse.”

I sighed and shook my head. “Fine.”

There was a metal door at the bottom of the stairs. There didn’t seem to be a handle or a knob, but there was a biometric scanner next to the frame. I pointed it out to Matthew.

“Hope that goon you’re in has the proper clearance.”

“Me too,” he replied as he went over and placed his palm on the pad.

The dark screen lit up and compared the pattern on Matthew’s new hand to its database. A second later, the door whooshed open on both sides. The hallway it revealed was dimly lit.

A explosion roared from the floor above us.

I grabbed Matthew’s arm. “What did you two do?”

“We let some of the Order’s prisoners out of their holding cells,” Carole said with a grin. “The more they focus on rounding them up and putting them back, the less they can focus on finding us.”

"Was that a good idea?" I asked. "I mean, like from what I learned from Herman, some of those people can be really dangerous to the public.”

"That is true," she said. “But the Order is far from weak. It is a safe bet they will be able to recapture most of them before they can escape. Some will get away, only to be reclaimed at a later date. A few others, a group I sincerely hope includes us, will vanish off the Order's radar. Never to see the inside of this place again."

I could understand her logic. And a big part of me, a part that enjoyed wearing pigtails, agreed with her plan. Sacrificing a pawn or two to achieve victory was Michael Dellinger’s motto. One he whole-heartedly instilled in his daughter.

Me and my feminine side were going to have a serious chat when this was all over.

Speaking of …

“Can we at least get my body back before we, like, bounce?”

Matthew looked at Carol, then looked at me.

“Jack, the cell I was being kept is in a completely different wing. Trying to get back there now would be suicide.”

“Besides,” Carol joined in. “Without the antidote, Cornelius wouldn’t be able to pull you out of that adorable little frame anyways.” She gave me a shrug that was less apologetic and more disinterest. “So, why don’t you dig down deep, put on your big girl panties, and accept the fact that you’re stuck there. At least for now.”

“Carol …” Matthew shot her a warning glare.

“I wasn’t talking to the Detective, Cornelius. I was talking to the scared little girl.”

I wanted to tell her that there really wasn’t much of a difference between the two anymore. Thanks to Zimmer. But instead, I narrowed my eyes at her.

“If you two could quit sniping at each other for a while,” Matthew said as he started walking down the dimly lit hallway. “At least until we’ve flown to freedom, I would appreciate it.”

I remained in the middle of the line, mostly because if we encountered any resistance, I would be next to useless. Both Matthew and Carole had abilities they could use. I didn’t even have my former strength. Nor any of my military training.

Unless we encountered a situation that required someone who could do a back handspring or a triple twist, I was the liability.

Of course, there was also the issue of allowing Carol to be at my back. I didn’t care what Matthew said, that bitch was as sneaky and underhanded as Rebecca Chambers, my middle-school arch nemesis.

The corridor ended at another steel door. This one had a plaque affixed to the wall beneath the palm scanner.

North Wing. Minimum Security.

Matthew opened the door again, and the hallway behind was more illuminated, running about sixty feet to a T junction. There were three reinforced steel doors on either side, with a one foot square window set in the middle.

“I think the elevator to the roof is this way,” Matthew said striding through the door.

“You think?” Carol and I said at the same time. When I looked back at her, she simply winked in response.

I followed along behind Matthew. At the second door on the right, I noticed that there was a sign affixed to the wall next to the door. I stopped, reading the words on the gray plaque:

"Subject # 223: "Laura Carroll". Mimetic Metamorph."

I walked over and peeked in through the window. I had to stand on my toes to see the occupant inside.

There was a girl, about my age, lying on a bed reading a magazine. About Sasha's age, I mean. In addition to the bed, the room was furnished with a desk, a vanity, and a dresser. A flat-panel television, currently dark, hung on one wall. Across from the bed was another doorway, and I could barely make out the curve of a sink just inside it.

The girl herself didn't seem that remarkable. Dark brown hair that fell to her shoulders. A slender build that was thinner than mine and not nearly as developed. I couldn't see if she was pretty, due to her face being downcast toward the magazine. However, she did appear to be at least sort of cute. In a waifish way.

I turned away from the window to see Matthew and Carol looking at me impatiently. Ignoring them, because no one rushes a Dellinger, I turned back to the girl and my mouth dropped open.

She was still lying on the bed, with the magazine open before her. However, now she sported a head full of honey blonde hair that was styled in a much shorter cut than my own. The profile of her face, now visible, was one of beauty. Also, from what I could tell, she had filled out to gain at least three cup sizes and a seriously stacked bottom.

"Jack!" hissed Matthew.

I turned around and looked at him. “We should free her.”

“What?” Carol asked, marching past me to peek in the window at the girl. Then she looked at the plate beside the door. “Are you insane?”

I ignored her to focus on Matthew. “She’s just a girl. Same age as m … Sasha. Who know what Armitage wants from her.”

Before he could answer, Carol grabbed my arm and yanked me down the hallway.

“This is the minimum security area, little girl,” she said between gritted teeth. “That pretty young thing is most likely a trained assassin.”

“Huh?”

She sighed and shoved me at Matthew. “As amusing as it is to see your feminine side coming through, you had better let the adult drive for a while.”

Matthew looked at me and nodded. “She’s probably right, Jack. A shapeshifter like that girl would be perfect for getting close to the target without arousing suspicion.”

I shook my head. “Do you really believe that?” The girl had seemed so … normal. Well, except for completely changing her appearance in a heartbeat.

“It’s what they recruit Hoppers for,” he said solemnly. “Swap in, kill, swap back. Hopper gets a pat on the head for a job well done and the innocent gets to take the fall.”

When we got to the T, Carol pointed down the hallway to the left.

“There’s the elevator. However, there is a guard room right next to it.” She looked at Matthew, nodded, then turned her gaze to me, her eyes glowing silver. “Right now, the only thing they will see on their cameras is an empty hallway. However, in order to maintain that ruse, we need your pig-tailed ass to stay with us. Got it?”

I glanced up at the six cameras pointed our way and nodded. A wave of shame passed through me, followed by anger. I wanted to be angry at Carol, for daring to lecture me about caution and teamwork. However, I hadn’t even considered that there might be video surveillance. Which, given my former life, I should have.

Of course, that was the million dollar question, wasn't it? Who was I now? A girl dreaming that she's a full-grown policeman? Or a full-grown policeman who remembers being a young girl?

Ugh, it was maddening.

"Sorry," I said, trying to sound like I meant it. "Won't happen again."

The three of us crept along the hallway, sticking close together. When we reached the door, Carol signaled for Matthew and I to hold back. She reached out and put her hand on the handle.

"Ready?" she whispered. Then, without waiting for our response, pushed open the door.

Matthew and I rushed in behind her, ready to subdue the guards before they could sound the alarm. I remembered to hang back enough to help if needed, but to not get into Matthew’s way. I expected the fight to be short, though I was completely not prepared for what I saw when I stepped around Matthew’s stopped form.

There were two guards, one male, one female, who sat in front of a bank of video screens. However, they were no longer interested in keeping a secure watch on the activities taking place within the manor. Or outside the manor. Or anyplace else, to be honest.

They had eyes only for each other. Seriously.

Tongue swirled around each other in a frenzy of passion as hands fondled and fumbled with buttons, buckles, and zippers. The sounds that came from their throats were animalistic. Primal. This wasn't two people in the grip of love, or even lust. This was two horny creatures whose only drive at the moment was removing enough clothing from the other in order to rut and breed.

"What the hell, Carol?" Matthew barked, looking from the couple, who were now on the floor tearing at each other's uniforms and … snarling, to her. "I thought you were just going to put them to sleep or something.”

The woman laughed, sounding a lot like the original inhabitant of the body.

"That was what I was going to do. But when I saw them, I just thought it would be so much better to have them occupied with something more ... amusing."

I rolled my eyes, moving to stand next to her. "You're a sick person. You know that? There is, like, something seriously wrong with you."

She laughed again, turning to look at me. “Better be nice, Detective. I can always turn it into a ménage a trois."

I shuddered at the thought of finding myself sandwiched between the pair, having my clothes torn from my body, feeling groping hands and hot mouths all over my body. Being used in every conceivable carnal method.

“I’m sorry,” I said, Sasha’s terror at becoming a vessel living only for sex overriding any manner of bravado.

Matthew pointed at one of the switches on the panel. “That’s the one that will unlock the elevator.” Then he pointed to one of the small screens. “And there’s the helicopter.”

I glanced up. Sure enough, on the middle of a concrete slab painted with a giant "H", sat a jet black Bell 230 helicopter. Just like the one Daddy kept on standby at the airport.

Movement in some of the other screens caught my attention. I saw a guy sporting eyes that shone with an orange glow and a crown of flickering flames writhing around his head. On another, a woman with what looked like dragonfly wings sprouting from her shoulders.

“Let’s go,” Matthew said, taking my hand and pulling me with him out the door. The last glance I got at the pair on the floor, the man had mounted the woman from behind. Both of them panting and growling, with eyes the color of onyx and mouths full of sharp teeth.

Animals.

We darted out of the office and over to the elevator. Matthew stabbed his thumb against the button multiple times, as if that would make the cables controlling the car move faster.

The sounds of disaster behind us were growing faint. Soon we could hear multiple sets of feet descending the metal stairs to this level.

“Come on,” Matthew grumbled just as the doors slid open to reveal an empty lift. I’d been completely convinced we would have discovered Armitage and a squad of his men waiting for us. Like some kind of cliché movie villains.

We all piled into the elevator, and I pressed the button labeled “Roof”. Beside the button was a blue circle with a capital H inside it. The helipad.

I giggled uncontrollably as an amusing thought popped into my addled brain. Carol and Matthew both shot me curiously surprised glances.

"I know this is kind of a bad time to be asking this, but can either of you actually fly a helicopter? Because I can't remember if I ever knew or not."

Matthew nodded. “I can. Live long enough, Jack, and you find your skill set to be enormous.”

The elevator opened onto a small hallway about ten feet long. The door at the end of it was made almost entirely of plexiglass. Night had fallen as some point since I was last outside, but thanks to the spotlights dotting the rooftop, I could see the chopper sitting so pretty on its pad.

Waiting to take us away from here.

I started rushing down the hall and skidded to a stop. Whipping my head around at Matthew, I opened my mouth. However, he cut me off before I could utter a single syllable.

“I know, Jack. I’m really sorry.”

A single tear rolled down my cheek as I glanced back at the elevator. My body was somewhere still inside the mansion. I would likely never see it again.

“Keep moving,” Carol said, pushing past us to step outside onto the roof.

Matthew and I followed her. Outside, he ran across the pebble-strewn roof to the pilot's seat of the helicopter while Carol gestured at me to help her remove the nylon rope running over the tops of the landing struts.

Just as I’d finally managed to get my side free, thanks to my weaker fingers and complete revulsion at the thought of chipping a nail, I heard someone behind me speak.

"Running off so soon, Sasha?" Armitage's smooth voice said. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist you stay. At least until all traces of that fucking policeman are removed from your pretty little head."