The Displaced Detective: A Body Hopper Tale -Part 1
by Limbo’s Mistress

“Here you go, Detective” the barista behind the counter said with a little smile. “One double espresso latte with whole milk.”

I returned the smile as I reached out to take the cup of steaming coffee. “Thanks,” I said.

The pretty young clerk smiled again and turned to help her next customer, leaning slightly over the counter. Instinctively, my eyes slid down to admire her pert rear showcased by a pair of tight jeans.

After a brief, yet appreciating glance, I turned my eyes away, feeling a little ashamed. After all, despite being a perfectly lovely example of the feminine form, the girl working the café’s counter was several decades my junior. Ogling her bottom only reinforced the realization that I was turning into a dirty old man.

I took a sip of my coffee, heading across the floor toward the exit. The caffeinated goodness surged down my gullet and into my bloodstream, giving me a much-needed energy boost. I’d only managed about two hours of sleep in the last four days, trying to wrap my mind around my current case.

I knew the answer to the mystery was right before me, and I hoped the espresso would allow me to crack it open soon.

Stepping through the door, I emerged onto a busy downtown sidewalk. Even though it was still early on a Tuesday morning, the plethora of shops and offices attracted citizens in droves. I even had to perform a little spin to keep from getting run over by a briskly-walking mother pushing a stroller before her.

“Sorry,” she called out, not bothering to slow down. Her brown ponytail swayed wildly with her quick steps.

I sighed and shook my head, watching the parent zig-zag through the throngs in her path. Maybe she was late for a doctor’s appointment. Or perhaps she wanted to get in her morning exercise before heading back home in time to put the baby down and have some lunch. Hell, for all I knew she was on her way to one of the many restaurants in the area, meeting her husband for a family lunch date.

Another sigh, heavier this time, came through my lips.

I’d been a lifelong bachelor. Now, watching the young mother vanish into the crowd, I once again realized that the family life would never be for me.

Being a police officer in a large city meant a job filled with danger. Being a homicide detective meant work hours that were completely unpredictable. While working on a tough case, I sometimes only made it home just long enough to shower and change clothes. Too many of my buddies had seen their own marriages fall apart under the strain.

Being married to a cop, was something I’d never had the heart to inflict on any of the women I’d dated. It just wasn’t fair to them.

With a shake of my head, I moved down the busy sidewalk to where I’d parked my car. The late August morning was sunny, with just the barest hint of a breeze to make the temperature comfortable. As such, the streets were more crowded than normal.

I set the coffee cup down on the car’s roof while I fished the keys out of my pocket. My fingers had just pulled them free when I heard the unmistakable sounds of a commotion taking place down the block.

Turning around, I watched as someone fell backward onto the curb, as if knocked aside by a much-larger person. Immediately after, a couple of other were jostled to the side. Whoever was heading in my direction didn’t seem to give a crap about the rules of sidewalk etiquette.

As the disturbance came closer, I slipped my keys back into my pocket before away from the vehicle and back onto the sidewalk. My first instinct was a purse snatcher or a pick pocket was doing their best to escape with their ill-gotten gains, unconcerned about hurting someone else in their getaway attempt.

Strangely though, I also noticed there were no screams of “help!” or “stop, thief!” If the perp was truly fleeing from the owner of whatever they’d pilfered, the sounds of dismay should usually be right behind.

The clump of pedestrians a dozen yards away from my position leapt aside as the source of the commotion broke though. For a second, I was stunned by what I saw.

A girl, probably no more than sixteen or so, burst through the crowd, stumbling a bit as her right shoulder collided with a rather heavy set man. Golden blonde hair, glimmering in the morning sun, flew back behind her as she sprinted full-speed in my direction.

She was dressed in the pleated skirt and blazer combination of one of the area’s private schools, though she didn’t seem to be carrying a backpack or a purse. As she grew closer, I noticed that her eyes, a brilliant shade of green, were wide with what was either fear or panic. She didn’t seem to notice me, nor the shiny badge on my belt. Instead, she continued to sprint along the sidewalk, her black shoes slapping loudly on the concrete.

She glanced over her shoulder, looking back in the direction from which she’d come. I followed her gaze to see the crowd parting again, this time to allow a large man in a black leather jacket, faded jeans, and a pair of mirrored sunglasses, to step through.

The running girl turned her face forward again. This time, there was no mistaking the fear in her pretty face. Not fear. Sheer terror. Definitely not the expression one would find on a common thief afraid of being caught.

It was the kind that someone would wear when terrified for their life.

As if to re-affirm my deduction, the man in the sunglasses reached beneath his jacket and brought out a large handgun. He raised his arm, sighting down the barrel at the fleeing teen’s back.

I surged forward, one hand reaching for my own pistol, tucked securely in the holster under my shoulder while the other reached out toward the girl. Even as my fingers wrapped around the grip, I knew I had moved far too late.

The business end of the man’s weapon jerked up slightly from the shot’s recoil. A half-second later, the schoolgirl arched her back, as if she’s been punched between her shoulder blades. Her mouth dropped open in a cry of pain as she was hit. Her feet stumbled, sending the petite form tumbling toward the hard sidewalk.

I managed to catch her around the waist before she could face-plant on the concrete. At the same time, I yanked the Glock free from its mooring and pointed it at the man.

“Police!” I yelled, aiming at his torso. “Drop the gun and get on the ground!”

The shooter finally turned his attention from the girl to me, seeming to notice me for the first time. The barrel of his weapon didn’t swing in my direction, but the smirk on his face indicated he didn’t consider me much of a threat.

“Drop the gun!” I yelled, louder this time, mostly as a warning to the civilians around the perp to get the hell out of the way. I was a pretty decent shot, but there was too big of a chance of hitting one of the clueless pedestrians.

The girl in my arms moaned, drawing my attention for a moment from the gun-wielding man. I turned her over a bit, expecting to see a large, smoldering hole in her back and the scarlet flow of her lifeblood leaving her body. Instead, I discovered a tranquilizer dart lodged into the skin of her back. It was only about the size of a house key and had a dark blue plumed stabilizer.

I glanced up from the girl to see the man had broken open his weapon and was in the process of loading another round. Before he could snap the slide closed and fire again, a Good Samaritan, in the form of a burly-looking construction worker, clocked him across the head with a wicked-looking wrench. The girl’s attacker crumpled to the sidewalk like a house of cards in a strong wind.

A hand touched my face, drawing my attention back down to the girl in my arms. She had turned her face to look up at me. There was a ton of sadness in those green eyes. As if they’d seen far too much for someone of her youth.

“You’re going to be okay,” I told her, brushing some blonde strands out of her face. In the distance, I could hear the whine of approaching sirens. The Calvary was on the way.

Her gaze rolled around, losing focus as whatever drugs had been in the dart ran rampant through her system. I said a silent prayer that the man’s intention had been only to render her unconscious. If the contents were deadly, I doubted the teen would survive until help arrived.

I glanced back up to see that the construction worker was sitting on top of the unconscious man. He looked over in my direction and gave me a thumbs-up gesture. I opened my mouth to tell him to make sure the man’s gun was out of reach. Just in case he woke up before my colleagues were on the scene. However, before I could say a single word, a soft hand pressed against my cheek.

Turning my face down, I found myself looking into the girl’s emerald-colored eyes.

“I’m sorry about this,” she whispered, not taking her gaze from mine. “I really am.”

I started to ask what she was sorry about, but a sudden wave of vertigo rolled through me. The world spun around as if I’d just stepped out of the center of a micro-tornado. For the briefest of seconds, I thought I was looking up at myself, my lips curled down in a disappointed frown.

Then the darkness claimed me.

* * * * * * * * * *

I noticed the rave taking place in my head before anything else.

One moment, I was completely unconscious, unaware of anything. The next, an agonizing throbbing bolted through my temples, dragging me up from the depths of the abyss. I opened my eyes, wincing from the brilliance of the light that rushed in and sent the pulsating beat in my noggin all the way to eleven.

I squeezed them closed again, breathing rapidly as I tried to focus past the searing headache. After several moments of getting myself under control, I finally cracked the lids open again, this time turning my head slightly. The action caused a wave of nausea to slam into my gut, but I swallowed back the bile, reclosed my eyes, and breathed through the sensation until it passed.

Then I tried again.

I opened my eyes to see I was in a hospital room. The walls were a bright yellow color that reminded me of daffodils. There was a white privacy curtain on a silver track set in the ceiling and a television on the far wall. It was turned to one of the national news networks. Glancing at the information scrolling across the bottom of the screen, I noticed it was the same day as the incident outside the café. Good. That meant I hadn’t been unconscious too long.

Turning my head some more, I could see the sky on the other side of the room’s windows was painted in deep reds and purples. Evening.

When I shifted beneath the sheet, which was a lot scratchier than the ones I used at home, I realized something wasn’t right. I lifted my head to look down at myself, wondering what I might find. After all, something had led to me being in the hospital. I just couldn’t remember much past looking down at the girl in my arms.

Had the guy who looked like a reject Terminator shot me with a dart as well? At that thought, the memory of the gorilla-sized man wearing a yellow hard hat smacking mirror-shades with a wrench came rushing back to me. The girl’s attacker hadn’t had the chance to take another shot.

Not at her, nor at me.

If I wasn’t shot, then why did I black out and require hospitalization? Right on the heels of that came an even bigger question: why the hell was I cuffed to the bed?

But not one bit of my previous history prepared me for what I saw.

One end of the shiny restraints was wrapped around the curved metal of the bed’s frame. The other encircled a wrist. Not my wrist, because my wrist was a lot thicker than the dainty one that seemed to be attached to the end of my arm. And my fingers were not slender and painted a dark shade of pink.

I flexed my arm, staring as the tiny, nearly hairless limb tugged against the shackles. The pounding in my head, which had started to recede, picked up in tempo. Along with my heartbeat.

Finally tearing my gaze from the wrongness of my right arm, I looked to the rest of my body. As much as I hadn’t expected to see what I had when I looked at my arm, I was even less prepared to discover the obvious outline of a pair of feminine breasts beneath the sheet covering me. As my breath entered and left my lungs, the mounds beneath the thin linen rose and fell in synchronization.

I blinked several times, trying to process the impossible situation. Before I could get much past the fact that I wasn’t actually having a nightmare, the sound of someone moving drew my attention to the other side of the bed.

“You’re awake,” said a very familiar voice.

I turned my head to see myself sitting in a chair, an open magazine sitting on my lap. I was still dressed in the same the gray slacks and light blue dress shirt I’d put on that morning. There was a small rip in one of the knees of the pants. I brought my gaze up from my duplicate’s attire to look at his face.

The me siting in the chair, whom I suspected was not a drug-induced hallucination, held up his hand.

“Please do us both a favor and don’t scream,” he said, leaning forward. He glanced over at the open door for a second before turning back to me and lowering his voice. “I’ve been waiting for hours for you to wake up so we could talk alone. If you start yelling and screaming, it’s going to bring in a bunch of people. That would not be good for either of us.”

I had opened my mouth to ask what had happened to me and why I was looking at myself. However, the questions, which no doubt would have been voice rather loudly, stopped long before they could exit my mouth. Instead, I looked over at the closed door of the room for a moment, then nodded before looking back at him.

“What’s going on?” I asked in a voice barely above conversation volume. Surprisingly, I wasn’t totally stunned to hear my tone was higher than I was accustomed. Years on the job had given me the ability to compartmentalize my emotions and operate strictly from a point of detached logic. In this case, I appeared to have a female body, so it would only be logical to have a voice that matched.

Of course, I wasn’t sure how long my calm was going to last.

“Well,” the me sitting in the chair said. “Let’s start with the obvious. You’ve noticed that you’re not in your own body, right?”

“Of course,” I said dryly, my new voice made me sound more like petulant teen than a seasoned detective. “That much was a given. Care to tell me how I ended up in the body of that girl from the street? I mean, it is her body I’m in, right?”

The man who looked like me nodded his head. “Correct.”

My mind flashed back to the hand pressed against my cheek, the pity in those green eyes, the softly mumbled apology, … and the image of looking up at myself before blacking out.

“Or would it be more appropriate to say that I am in your body?” I arched a brow, though I wasn’t sure if it carried the same weight as it had before.

The man wearing my face nodded. “Very astute, Detective Rollins. I’m pleased the transference didn’t scramble your brains into mush.” A small smile played across his mouth. It was an expression I couldn’t ever recall making.

I frowned in response, though something told me it came across as more of a pout. “Well, thank heaven for small favors.” I locked eyes with the body snatcher and tugged on the handcuffs. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, do you mind?”

He looked at the metal shackles and reached into my pants pocket to produce a set of keys. Selecting one of the smaller ones on the ring, he stood up and approached the bed. Right before leaning over, he gave me a dubious glance.

“You aren’t going to attack me, are you? If I remove the cuffs?”

I rolled my eyes, stiffening as soon as the gesture was complete. I never did that. In fact, it was a long-ingrained opinion that people who did roll their eyes deserved a good smack. Drawing in a slow breath, I held it for a moment before answering.

“No,” I said, trying to keep my tone as non-threatening as possible. “I didn’t plan on it.” I gestured at my new, more petite form with my free hand. “Besides, do I look like I could actually hurt you if I did?”

The Not-Me shrugged. “You might be a lot smaller and weaker than you were, but you still have all your training and experience. For all I know, you are a black belt in a dozen different martial arts.”

I started to roll my eyes again, balling my hand into a tight fist to fight against the urge.

“I’m a homicide detective, not a damned ninja.”

He looked at me for a moment, then reached over and unlocked the cuffs. I pulled my wrist free and rubbed at the tender flesh. Those things were uncomfortable even as a guy. I could already see where I was going to have a bruise on my much more delicate skin.

“Thanks,” I said. Grabbing the rails with both hands, I pushed myself up into a sitting position. The top of the sheet slipped down to reveal the generic blue hospital gown covering my body. The weight on my chest shifted, indicating that I wasn’t wearing anything beneath the garment.

The motion also sent loose strands of gold falling into my face. I huffed and pushed it back, only to have some of it fall back down again. Gritting my teeth together, I pointed at him.

“Well?”

A look of confusion appeared on his face. Much like the little smirk from earlier, I decided I didn’t like that expression on my mug either. “Well … what?”

I sighed. Perhaps my brains hadn’t been stirred by the exchange, but I was beginning to think hers had. “Swap us back.”

A deep frown crossed her face. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean ‘can’t’?” I said, fighting to keep my voice from rising any higher. “You obviously were the one who switched us. Otherwise, why apologize before you did it?” I pointed at myself and then at him again. “So, put us back where we belong.”

Now it was his turn to sigh. “I can’t. The drug in that dart isn’t just to knock me out. It’s to keep me from Hopping.”

“Hopping?” I asked, staring at her. “As in hopping from body to body?”

He nodded. “Yes. Makes it easier to catch us, I suppose.”

I held up my hand. “Wait. Make it easier for who to catch you?”

“The Order of the Dawn.” He shook his head. “Before you ask, I don’t know much about them. Mostly just rumors and whispers. All I do know is that they hunt down people with special abilities. Some they kill. Others they recruit. Apparently Body Hoppers are at the top of their target list.”

I arched a brow again. “So the guy with the dart gun was one of the members of this mysterious Order?” I could feel the wheels in my head beginning to turn. I never could resist following the trail of a mystery. Apparently not even when the subject was me.

“Yes. They realized I’d hopped sooner than I expected. I didn’t anticipate having to run in a skirt and dress shoes.”

I stared at him for a few seconds, turning his words over in my mind.

“So, this body,” I said, waving my hand at the teenage girl I’d become. “This isn’t yours? Like, your original one?”

He shook his head. “When I woke up this morning, I was a thirty-three-year old Asian investment banker. I was on my way to meet with a client when the Order grabbed me.”

I nodded, indicating for him to continue.

“They came after me while I was standing on the corner waiting for my Uber to arrive. I fought them off as long as I could before one of them managed to stab me with a syringe. As soon as I realized what they were planning, I panicked.” He shrugged his shoulders again. “There was a young girl standing on the corner next to the car. Apparently the commotion of the abduction had piqued her interest. We locked eyes and …”

I sighed, leaning my head back into the pillow, remembering the way the teen had looked into my own eyes before the world went wacky. “And you hopped into her to get away?”

“Yeah.” There was shame in his voice. Regret that sounded sincere. “I switched with her and took off running down the street. Their car drove off for about half a block before stopping. I guess she must have started screaming about losing her body before the drug knocked her out.”

“That’s when Mr. Aviators started chasing you through downtown?”

“Mr. Who?”

“Aviators. The mirrored sunglasses the perp was wearing are called Aviators.”

He nodded. “The Order wears those for protection. A Body Hopper has to be able to look into their target’s eyes in order to swap. The mirrored glass prevents the exchange from happening.”

A sense of dread passed through me. “Oh shit.” I sat back up and looked at him. “If you just reacted in a panic when you, uh, hopped, then you don’t know who I am, do you?”

I received a contrite look in response. I didn’t like the way it sat on my face.

“Lieutenant John Rollins, right? Metro City Homicide.”

The eye roll happened before I could stop it. “No, genius,” I snapped. “Not that me. This me.” I tapped the center of my chest. “This body you stole and subsequently stuck me in. Who is she? Like, her name?”

He shrugged. “Sorry. I didn’t really get the opportunity to check her backpack for her student ID. I was a little preoccupied with running for my life.”

I opened my mouth to say something harsh, but closed it without making a remark. I had to remember that this guy wasn’t an officer with training. He was a civilian.

“Okay,” I said after a minute. “Let me ask you something. Do you think this Order is still gunning for you?”

He didn’t hesitate in responding. “I’ve no doubt about it. Especially since chasing me has put one of their members in the emergency room.”

I thought about the construction worker and his big wrench. “Yeah, I saw him get taken down hard.”

“Massive head trauma. Doctors aren’t sure he’s going to live. Much less wake up.”

I nodded. “If that’s the case, some of them might show up to check on him. They might also ask about a young girl who came in at the same time.” I nodded my head at the small closet on the other side of the room. “I need to get dressed and we need to get the fuck out of here.”

I threw back the covers, blinking stupidly for a moment as ten toes sporting hot pink polish stared back at me. Then I shook my head and turned to slide off the bed. My heart hammered in my chest as I realized that, just for a second, I thought the color was particularly cute.

I shoved the thought away like a live grenade. Because I was sure, as the Bard once wrote, “that way madness lies”.

Walking over to the closet, I opened it and was rewarded, if I could call it that, with the discovery that the private school uniform was hanging up inside. Sighing, I grabbed the clothes, tossed them on the bed, and grabbed the hem of the gown.

As I started to pull it up, I looked over to see my own eyes staring at me. Watching my actions with an air of interested curiosity.

“Really?” I said, dropping the gown back down to automatically plant a hand on my hip. “We need to get gone, like, ASAFP and you want to enjoy an underaged peep show?”

He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, then shook his head. The redness of his cheeks told me just how much I’d shamed him. Good.

“I’ll, uh, wait outside the door,” he stammered.

I waited until the door closed behind him before resuming my change of clothing. Pulling off the gown, I was thankful that the orderlies hadn’t removed the panties along with the bra. I felt guilty enough looking down at the breasts of a high school girl I didn’t even know. I certainly didn’t want to have to face any other intimate parts of her anatomy.

I pulled on the skirt, zipping it up the side. Even though the bottom reached almost to my knees, it seemed a whole lot shorter. I tugged down on the hem, but the material didn’t stretch.

“Get a grip,” I said softly. “It’s a damned skirt. It’s supposed to be sort of short.”

The bra was next. Picking it up, I studied the straps and clasp for a moment. Sure, I’d removed plenty of these from women over the decades. Putting one on myself shouldn’t pose that much of a problem. I thought about it for a second, then remembered a trick my girlfriend from college had used. I grabbed the thick side straps and pulled them around my navel, hooking the ends together. Then I turned the contraption around, slipped my arms down through the shoulder straps, and pulled the cups up onto my chest.

Of course, I wasn’t as smooth as Kara had been. One of the cups folded when I pulled it up, leaving me with half and exposed boob. Sighing, I tucked myself back in tightly, grabbed the white blouse and black knee-socks, and finished getting dressed. Slipping my feet into the scuffed black shoes, I picked up the blazer and looked at the crest embroidered on the left breast pocket.

St. Pius X Academy. The most prestigious private school in the state.

Shit. No only had Mr. Investment Banker swapped me into a stolen body, he’d obviously had the bad fortune to pick one that belonged to a well-to-do family. The longer we hung around the hospital, the likelier someone would figure out who Detective Rollins' Jane Doe really was.

I had no intentions of facing the Order of the Dawn or the parents of the girl I currently was.

I slipped into the blazer and cracked opened the door.

Not-Me was standing with his back to the room, sweeping his head back and forth to survey both ends of the hall. I waited until he gave me a quick nod before stepping outside the room.

The hospital was a commotion of activity, with nurses and orderlies rushing back and forth, conferring with people in white lab coats. The volume certainly helped to explain why no one had come to check on me during my time of new self-discovery. Given the hectic pace of the obviously overworked nurses, it made sense why an otherwise healthy girl who was simply unconscious would be low on their list of priorities.

Especially if said girl had a member of law enforcement sitting by her side.

“Let’s go,” I said to the man wearing my face, nodding my head toward the bright red exit sign in the opposite direction of the busy nurses’ station.

I started toward the door to freedom, getting several paces ahead of my body when I felt a hand grab my shoulder. I spun around to see he was looking back at the room we’d just vacated. It took me a second, but I noticed the door I’d closed when we left was now open.

Listening to the warning sensation of my gut, I turned and resumed my egress. Only this time, at a much faster pace. Just as I put my hands on the bar running across the front of the door, I heard someone at the end of the hall yell.

“Hey! Where are you going? Get back here!”

I pushed the door open, turning my head to look past the man behind me to the hospital room. Standing there right outside the open door were two men. One was an older gentleman in a long, white coat, a clipboard in his hands. Obviously, the doctor assigned to Little Miss Jane Doe. From the look on his face, I assumed he had been the one to call out to us.

The other man, who wore mirrored sunglasses and held a walkie-talkie in his hand, began to march in our direction. I couldn’t see where his eyes were focused, but I couldn’t shake the sensation that his attention was directed solely at me.

For a brief second, I considered the option of having us stand our ground. I usually made it a point not to run from trouble. I was a cop, after all, even if I was currently inhabiting a teeny-bopping schoolgirl. However, I couldn’t be completely sure the man wearing my face would be able to be convincing enough to pull off actually being me.

Then again, if Not-Me pulled his badge and managed to take control of the situation, the two of us would still end up in a small room in the downtown precinct, being grilled with questions neither one of us really wanted to answer.

“Go!” I said to my doppelganger and pushed open the door. The white metal steps of the stairway went down to another door, also marked as an exit.

I took the steps two at a time, momentarily enjoying the heady rush of youthful vigor and agility. Other than the way my small breasts bounced around, I found the return of my vitality to be something wonderful. The man behind me surged past, slamming open the door with his shoulder. The impact made me wince.

“Careful, doofus. That’s my body you’re banging around, you know.”

He shot me a worried glance, then reached down to grab my hand.

“Well, if they catch us, they’ll probably put a bullet in it.” He ran down the sidewalk toward the parking lot, practically dragging me behind him. “Unless they take us alive and discover that the person they’re after is now in you. Then they’ll probably put the bullet right between your blonde pigtails.”

I stumbled with the thought of dying in this body, feeling the chill run through my blood.

Fortunately, my companion managed to keep me on my feet as we left the sidewalk and rushed past the sea of cars parked in the hospital’s lot. The streetlamps, arranged in neat rows, created little circles of light. We fled across the asphalt, sliding in and out of the shadows.

“Please tell me you didn’t ride in the ambulance,” I said in a voice that struck me as way too whiny. “Please, please, please tell me you drove my car here.”

Before he could answer, the sight of my dark gray sedan came into view. Barely suppressing a gleeful yelp, I pulled my hand free and raced to the driver’s side. Not-Me came rushing along right behind me, sparing one quick glance over his shoulder to check for any followers.

“Quick, give me the keys.” I said, holding out my hand.

He shook his head as he came up next to me. Pulling the keys out of his pocket, he unlocked the door and pulled it open. When I scrambled inside and stopped behind the wheel, he didn’t wait for me to get the hint. Sliding in right behind me, his larger bulk easily pushed me over the leather seat and into the passenger side.

I shot him a glare of pure annoyance.

“Like, what the fuck, dude?” I asked. Then I slapped my hand over my mouth, my eyes widening in horror.

He nodded grimly as he pulled the door closed and fired up the engine. “Yeah, I was afraid that was going to happen,” he said in a sympathetic voice. “I noticed it earlier.

Without so much as a warning, he dropped the car into gear and peeled rubber out of the parking lot. I barely managed to get my seatbelt clicked securely before we emerged onto the lightly trafficked street and zoomed down the road.

I glanced into the mirror on the side of my door, seeing no other vehicles racing to catch up to us. Then I looked over at myself.

“Noticed what? I asked, my pulse starting to quicken with an alien emotion. Fear. “What is happening?”

“There are certain … consequences … to Hopping. Certain changes.”

My already racing pulse shot into the redline as my mind rolled through everything I’d said and done and felt since waking up in that hospital bed. Before the words left his mouth, I already knew what he was going to say.

“Being in that body has already started to corrupt your mind.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “You’re beginning to turn into her.”

The Displaced Detective: A Body Hopper Tale - Part 2
by Limbo's Mistress

The car's tires squealed in protest as the sedan made a sharp left turn, moving away from the hospital at a speed that was a bit more than the posted limit.

"Sorry about that," the man who’d stolen by body said, focusing on the road before him. "I just figured we might want to put some distance between us and anyone who might be coming after us as quickly as possible."

I responded to his apology with just the slightest of nods, continuing to stare blankly at him while the gears and wheels in my newly blonde-coiffed head whirled and grabbed for purchase. The bombshell he’d dropped on me still had me reeling.

After a few minutes of weaving through the sparse traffic, he navigated the vehicle onto the highway, then glanced over at me.

"What?" he asked, his brow … my brow … crinkling.

My eyes never left his face. "What the hell did you mean when you said this body was corrupting my mind? Particularly the part where you said I was turning into her.”

He shook his head and changed lanes.

"Now’s not really a good time, John," he said. "Even if the police haven’t started huntring for us yet, I promise you the Order definitely is. I promise to tell you everything as soon as we get someplace safe.” He quickly looked back to the road. “At least, everything that I know.”

I continued to stare at him for a few more seconds, then sighed loudly.

"Fine," I said grudgingly. My new voice made it sound more like a protesting whine. “Where is this safe place you’re taking us?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Well, not aloud anyways. However, his face spoke volumes. I’d learned to read people fairly well over the years. And if there was one person I could read better than anyone was myself.

“Uh, I haven’t figured that out yet.”

I rolled my eyes. Then wanted to slap myself for doing it. Shaking my head, I turned sideways in the seat.

"Well, we can't go to my place. That's the first anyone with half a brain would begin their search.”

“Makes sense,” Not-Me replied.

“I also get the feeling that if the Order knew who you were before you hijacked Little Miss Sunshine’s body, we can’t go back to your place.”

He nodded, his eyes continually flicking up to the rear-view mirror as if to check to see if we had picked up a tail. Though I was a bit skeptical that a civilian would even know what to look for.

"Thirdly, even if we had a clue who this body belongs to, we couldn’t go to her house. I have a feeling her family would freak out if she returned from the hospital with a strange man in tow.”

“What about an out of the way motel? Something off the highway?”

“No good. It’s not just a matter of finding a place that wouldn’t raise an eyebrow at an older man booking a room with an underage Lolita. It’s a matter of cash flow. The only thing in that wallet in your pocket other than plastic is a five.”

“Okay, so we just keep driving until we get a couple of states away.”

I shook my head, leaning over to point at the dash. More precisely, at the needle of the fuel gauge. It currently hovered just above E.

"We’ll run out of gas before then. If you try to fill up with my cards, it’ll be as bad as if you tried to use them for a motel. Might as well, like, send up a signal flare.”

He sighed. “Okay. Since you've been nice enough to point out all the places we can't go, do you have any ideas about where we can hide?"

I turned and stared out the windshield at the highway, trying to figure out where we were. I’d been a little too distracted by the unfamiliar sensations coming from my new body, as well as the nagging in the back of my thoughts that hinted that the longer I was trapped here, the worse for my psyche it was going to be.

When I spotted a sign informing us of an exit a few miles ahead, the possible sanctuary location leapt into my mind.

"Yes," I said, pointing at the sign. "Take that exit and turn right at the bottom. I just thought of a place that is, like, totes perfect.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw him glance over at me and frown, but I was too focused on getting us off the street to be concerned with whatever it was that was bothering him.

"Hey, what about them tracking this car? Can they do that?"

I shook my head. The sedan was my personal vehicle, registered with the police, but titled in my name. As such, it didn't have the usual GPS devices customarily installed in patrol cars. There was a radio, but it was currently turned off and posed no threat of giving away our position.

“Shit!” I gasped, turning to look at him. “My phone. It should still be in the inside pocket of my jacket.”

Not-Me took one hand off the wheel to fish around inside the coat. A second later, his hand came out holding my phone. He held it in my direction.

"You planning on calling someone who can help us?"

"Nope!" I said, grabbing the device from him. I pressed the button that rolled down my window. Then, without so much as a "vaya con Dios", I flung the phone into the night air.

Hopefully, someone behind us would run over it and turn it into a pile of useless plastic and circuitry.

"What the hell did you do that for?" he asked.

I rolled the window up, looking over at him with a smirk that felt more sassy than smug.

"They could have used that to locate us," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. The feeling of budding breasts pushing against my forearms was both unnaturally distracting and uncomfortably familiar.

"Oh, I thought that was just something from the movies."

I rolled my eyes again. Thank goodness I was here. Otherwise, we’d get picked up within an hour.

The man wearing my face changed lanes and veered off down the ramp. At the bottom, he merged to the right and continued on.

“Okay, go about another half a mile, then turn left at the light. About three miles or so down that road, you’ll see a large stone sign for a community called ‘Lakewood Estates’. That’s where we’re headed.”

After what seemed to be an incredibly long, fifteen minute drive later, we pulled to a stop in front of a pair of immense wrought-iron gates.

"Now what?"

I shook off the errant thoughts which had been coursing through my mind and turned to see him looking at me with that same uncomfortable expression.

"What?" I asked, feeling really annoyed about his constant, non-verbal judgments.

He lifted his arm and pointed at me. Well, more like at the side of my head. Unsettling enough, it took me a few seconds to realize what he was indicating.

During the ride, as I’d been lost in introspection about everything that’d happened since I’d enjoyed the view of the barista’s pert bottom, I’d apparently begun to twirl a thick cord of honey gold around and around my index finger. The action had provided me with such a sense of comfort, and I’d been so engrossed with other things, I hadn't even realized I was doing it.

But now that it had been pointed out, I immediately yanked my finger away, painfully tugging on the entangled hair.

"Fucking shit!" I yelled, the word sounding comically horrible to me due to the youthful high-pitched tone. “Dammit, that hurt!”

Not-Me simply shrugged and pointed at the security keypad next to his window. "I hope you have the code for this thing. Otherwise, we're going to be up the creek without a paddle."

Still reeling from the latest slap in the face that I wasn't currently who I was supposed to be, I glared at him. "Duh! It's 5-8-7-4-2-1-1."

He arched a brow, then rolled down his window and input the numbers I’d given. A second later, the red light on the front of the panel turned green and the heavy gate blocking our way rolled slowly open. My companion shifted back into drive and pulled forward past the entrance.

"At the end of this street, turn right,” I said, pointing at the road. “Then go to the lone house at the end of the cul-de-sac. Number sixty-five-oh-nine."

He nodded. "Got it."

I tapped my finger against my lip for a moment, then sighed. "You know, you never did tell me your name."

"My name?" he asked, cutting his eyes over at me.

I nodded, trying to look relaxed instead of the impatience I felt. His answering a question with a question was getting on my last freaking nerve. "Well, I sure as hell am not call you 'Jack'," I said.

“Jack?”

I sighed. “It’s a nickname for ‘John’. The guys at the Academy started calling me that and I’ve been ‘Jack’ ever since.”

He took a second or two before answering. "You can call me Matthew, I suppose." He tapped his chest. "That's who I was before I became her ... I mean, you."

I narrowed my eyes at him, clearly seeing the holes in his explanation. "But that wasn't who you've always been, right? The investment banker the Order came after this morning? That wasn’t your original body, was it?”

"No. I've only been him for the past five years."

"Oh," I said, injecting a healthy dose of sarcasm into the words. Amazingly enough, my new voice was perfect for conveying the snark. "So, do you just wake up one day, decide you’re tired of your current life, and just go out and steal someone else’s? Like boosting a car when you want a new ride?”

"It's not like that, Jack." His hands tightened on the steering wheel as his jaw visibly clenched, making me worry he was going to break one of my crowns. Damned things were more expensive than a Prada bag. After a second, he relaxed a bit and sighed. “Look, can we just table this discussion until we're at this safe spot of yours?"

"Whatever," I replied with a huff. When our destination came into sight, I pointed at the front of the large house. “Pull into the garage." Before he could point out the fact that the door was currently closed, I opened the glove compartment and pulled out a small remote control.

With a flick of my pink-lacquered thumb, still looking kind of cute, I pressed the button, and the windowless door rolled up to reveal an area spacious enough to fit three of my sedans inside with little chance of them bumping into each other. Other than neatly organized racks of assorted items lining the far wall and a huge chest freezer dominating one corner, the only thing visible in the garage was a shiny black Humvee.

Matthew pulled to a stop next to the SUV, shifted into park, then looked over at me.

"Who's house is this?" There was no mistaking the fact that he was impressed.

"An old Army buddy." Opening my door, I climbed out of the car. "Not many people know about him, and he's out of town for the next week or so on a deep-sea fishing expedition in the Gulf of Mexico."

"You just happen to have a key to his house?" The skepticism in the question rang like a bell.

I shrugged. "I'm supposed to be feeding his cat." My shoes clacked loudly on the concrete floor as I strolled toward the lone door on the back wall.

Matthew climbed out as well, glancing around the garage before following me. I quickly tapped a series of number into the keypad set beside the door, humming softly as I did. At the beep, the red light on the front of the pad turned green and the sound of a lock being disengaged emanated from the other side of the door.

I glanced up at my cohort and flashed a grin. He was staring at me oddly, like he couldn’t believe the multiple layers of security.

"Thomas likes his privacy," I explained, opening the door to head inside.

The kitchen we stepped into was humongous, and seemed larger than I remembered. Stainless steel appliances lining the walls gleamed from the faint light drifting in through the doorway on the other side of the room. Matthew entered right behind me, jumping slightly as the sound of the garage’s door automatically closing rattled behind him.

I giggled a little before moving through the room to the fridge. It wasn’t until I was standing before it that I realized the reason the room seemed larger.

I was now smaller.

Matthew closed the door, whistling softly as he took in the opulence of the room. The expression on his face, however, was one of valued appreciation rather than raw impression. Hell, for all I knew he’d owned houses larger and nicer than this.

I kicked off the evil dress shoes and wiggled my socked toes on the cool tile of the floor, sighing with exquisite relief. No matter how adorable the damned things looked, their one-inch heels were so not made for sprinting. Especially across concrete sidewalks and hospital corridors.

I pulled open the fridge, peering inside. As expected, I was greeted with an extensive assortment of imported beers. Thomas was a connoisseur of brewed alcohol, always sampling and trying new craft concoctions. Though I was more of a domestic guy myself, the day I’d had earned me at least a lager. I grabbed one of the bottles, a dark brown one with a German, or possibly Dutch, label and twisted it open using the towel hanging on the oven door.

Matthew stood there watching me, a slightly amused look on his face.

I held the bottle up in a mock toast in his direction, then took a long, deep swallow.

The next thing I knew, I was leaning over the sink, coughing and sputtering. The horrible-tasting liquid had set my throat ablaze and caused my tummy to roll in protest. Tears ran down my face as I fought to get the gagging under control. A second later, Matthew stepped up behind me and put his hand lightly on my back, patting softly.

"Sorry about that, Jack,” he said in a soft voice of condolence. “I should have warned you."

"Warned me?" I croaked, turning my face in his direction.

He nodded. "You've probably been drinking alcohol in some form for decades. Unfortunately, none of that tolerance, or acquired taste, carries over to your new body.”

I groaned in response, still feeling like I might puke or something, and closed my eyes. The hand making slow circles on my back felt wonderful and relaxing. Comforting. A warm fuzziness wrapped itself around my brain, whispering alien thoughts about how nice it would be if I had a thick blanket to curl up in.

Then, just as I was about to give myself over to the sensation, my eyes flew open. I spun around to put a few feet between me and the body-jacker.

"Watch it with the hands, you perv," I said, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring up at him. "We aren't here so you can get a cheap feel.”

A hard look formed on his face, his fingers curling into a fist before dropping to his side. He shook his head, his features slowly softening to an expression of disappointment.

"I was only trying to make you feel better, Jack," he said. "Believe me, I feel no sexual desire toward you. Not as you are."

I arched a brow. "Oh really? What's the matter? I'm not sexy enough? Or do you prefer men?"

He shrugged. "Sexual orientation is mostly biological, Jack. So, your body's orientation is my orientation." Then he laughed. "However, when I look at you I think 'cute'. Not 'sexy'." Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

For a second, I felt weirdly upset by his comment, then shook my head to chase that thought away. Leaving the horrible bottle of brew on the counter, I reopened the fridge and opted for one of the waters lining the shelf above the beers. Twisting it open, I followed Matthew into the living room.

He plopped down on the sofa in the middle of the gigantic room and pinched the bridge of his nose. A cold chill ran through me as I recognized the gesture as one that I often performed. Usually right before I had to give a victim's family member bad news. I walked over to take the chair across from him.

"Sorry," I said, pulling my knees up beneath me. “There’s all these weird thoughts and sensations and feeling. It's like, they're me and not-me at the same time."

He nodded. "It's a part of the swapping process. An acclimation of the mind and body."

I leaned back in the seat and stared at him. "Is that what you meant by me being corrupted?"

He nodded. "Perhaps corrupted wasn't the right term. I’m not really knowledgeable about the specifics of how it works, but here’s what I do know from personal experience. When a Body Hopper switches places with someone, some residual … essence … from the former owner remains behind. It helps us with blending in with our new lives."

"Blend in?" I asked, tilting my head to the side.

He nodded. “Yeah. Okay, let’s say that someone is right-handed. If they were to hop into the body of someone who was a lefty, suddenly switching to a different dominant hand might get noticed. That residual essence allows them to use their left hand flawlessly. Or, if the person had an accent or regional lilt, it would just come naturally.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You mean it helps you with pretending to be the person who’s life you stole without raising too much suspicion."

He frowned slightly, but nodded in agreement. “Yeah, something like that. Like I said, I don't know how it happens. Only that it does. Until today, I didn't realize the effect went both ways. I don't usually have this much discussion with someone after we've swapped."

"Really?" I said, unable to contain the sarcasm overflowing in that single word. "I can't possibly imagine why you wouldn't want to have a chat with the person whose life you just stole. I mean, I can’t imagine they’d be all that upset about it."

His jaw clenched again. "Unlike some other Hoppers out there, Jack, I don't steal people's lives on a whim. It's usually an ... arranged affair. This is the first time in over three hundred years I've swapped into someone without their permission."

"You've got to be kidding me," I said as rolled my eyes and unfolded my legs to cross them at the knees. “Are you seriously trying to convince me some people, like, let someone have their body? Hijack their life?”

"It's not hijacking. Not when I do it." He frowned. "Are there less scrupulous people like me out there? Absolutely. They enjoy taking a body from the unwilling. However, I only switch with people who already want to die."

I felt my mouth drop open. "You’re talking about people who are suicidal."

He nodded. "If someone is completely bound and determined to end their life, there's not much anyone can do to dissuade them. As a cop, I know you know that to be true. I simply approach those people and offer to help them … shuffle off the mortal coil. So to speak.”

"So," I said slowly, trying to wrap my mind around his words. "You find someone who wants to die, then convince them to let you have their body. After the two of you have switched, you murder them so they don't have to worry about killing themselves?"

“That makes it sound crude and heartless, Jack. When it’s time to switch, I poison myself with a special concoction that is completely painless and relatively quick. Then we swap. They drift off to their eternal sleep in my old body and I start living in theirs."

"That's, like, the most stupidest thing I've ever heard of."

"You would rather I just let them kill themselves? Either way, they’ll be dead." His expression was completely sincere. “You wouldn’t believe how many people readily agree just to avoid hurting their family. After all, as far as everyone else is concerned, the person is still alive.”

I shrugged in response to his justification. "Afterwards, that residual essence stuff lets you avoid tipping your hand about you not being them?" I arched a brow as I considered the implications of the exchange as he’d explained. “So, what if the person you swapped with didn't speak any English? I mean, accents and stuff like that is one thing. If you, like, swapped with someone from China, would you be able to speak Mandarin?"

“Right off the bat? Probably not. However, I would be fluent in a few days." He shrugged. "I’ve never swapped with anyone I couldn’t communicate with. The truth is, I never know what all I will pick up from the host body. One time, back in the 70s, I swapped with a guy who was a professional billiards player. Two days later, I was doing trick shots and running the table as if I'd been playing all my life. I didn't have to even try, it just came to me." His eyes, my eyes, bored into me. "It eventually just becomes second nature."

I frowned. "So that's why my speech has become ... different, isn't it? Why some things I’m used to doing feel totally wrong and stuff I wouldn’t ever do, such as twirling my hair around my finger, seem normal?" I looked down at myself. "I'm turning into this girl."

"No," he said, leaning forward. "You're not turning into her. Not exactly. It's just that parts of her are expressing more strongly than certain parts of you. Your memories of being who you were aren't going to suddenly replaced by her memories. Your reactions, mannerisms, and stuff like that, however ..."

I gave him a quizzical look. “What kind of other stuff?”

He didn’t answer for a couple of seconds, then snapped his fingers. Another trait I recognized as mine.

“Okay, I'm going to try my own hand at sleuthing and guess that you’ve never worn a pair of heel, like high heels, in your life. Right?”

I shook my head, unable to suppress a tiny smile that formed on my face. "Sorry, Matt. I'm a little too straight-laced to perform in drag."

He chuckled, though I noticed his amusement seemed to be more at me, than with me.

“So I could guess. Yet, I bet if you put a pair on right now, in ten minutes of walking you'd be strutting around like a seasoned pro. Unless that girl never wore heels either. Part of it would be the body's muscle memory, but not all. Likewise, your speech patterns have undergone some ... alterations ... because we're not normally conscious of the way we talk. We just talk. It's automatic." He shrugged again. "Except now, the automatic portions are more attuned toward a teenaged schoolgirl and less a seasoned police officer."

I frowned. Of course I had noticed the marked difference in my words and tone. The worrying part was that I also realized I was noticing it less and less the longer I was stuck in this body. Would I eventually sound like some dippy valley girl? Did valley girls even exist anymore?

"I suppose that extends to other things?" I asked. "Like applying makeup or braiding hair?" My hand reached up to my head, finger extended. Luckily, I stopped myself before the damned twirling could start.

Matthew waited a few moments before answering, obviously concerned about his response.

"Eventually," he said. “Just like picking up playing pool.”

I shook my head, flashing him my most serious look, and jumped out of my seat.

"There isn't going to be an eventually for any of that, Matthew. You know why? Because I don't plan to be, like, in this body any longer." I stepped closer, stabbing his shoulder with one outstretched finger. "Switch us back. Right now!"

He stared up at me for a few moments, then nodded as he stood up. He reached out with both arms, placing his hands on my shoulders, then leaned in until our noses almost touched and our eyes were only inches apart. For several long seconds, we stood there, staring into each other's eyes.

It began as a light tugging sensation, centered around the base of my skull. Like someone pulling on a thread running from the top of my spine, through my brain, and out my eyes. The tugging became a yank, causing a sharp stab of pain that made me hiss loudly. I felt like someone was trying to vacuum my gray matter out through my orbital sockets.

Like a switch flipping off, the pulling ceased and a wave of exhaustion rolled through me. I swayed on my feet, feeling the room tilts wildly. My eyes closed and the world went sideways. Before I could hit the floor, however, a strong hand grabbed my shoulder and guided me to the couch. I collapsed as soon as my legs hit the soft cushions, falling over at an angle to lay back in a half-sitting position, my head rolling around loosely on my shoulders.

I felt like someone had just punched me in both of my temples and the base of my neck at the same time.

"Damn, that hurt," Matthew mumbled, plopping down beside me. I cracked open one eye to see him rubbing at the sides of his own head, grimacing.

"What was that?" I croaked, momentarily feeling like I was going to hurl. "It wasn't like that when we swapped the last time."

Blinking a few times, Matthew shook his head. "I have no idea. I've never had that happen. It's possible the drug the Order shot me, I mean, shot you with are still in your system. That might be preventing me from switching us back."

The throbbing was slowly subsiding, but the nausea threatened to hang around for a bit.

"How long until I'm clean?"

He responded with a silent shrug.

It took a few more minutes before my stomach felt stable enough to sit upright. When I did, I suddenly realized an urgent issue. I stood up, swaying a little, and started walking away from the sofa.

“Where are you going?”

I kept walking, angling for the staircase on the far side of the room, as I pointed at the ceiling.

"Nature’s calling. I need to go to the bathroom," I said.

I expected him to ask why I wasn’t using the one next to the kitchen since it was closer. However, the sound of Thomas’ gigantic television hanging above the stone fireplace flaring to life told me he had other things on his mind.

Ascending to the second floor, I continued down a hallway covered in thick, fluffy carpet toward the door standing closed at the end of the hall. When I reached it, I put my hand on the knob and hesitated, convincing myself that what I was about to do wasn't some form of perverse vanity. It was necessary.

Thomas had gotten divorced from Sheila, his lunatic of an ex-wife, about three years earlier. The money-grubbing tramp had taken her alimony and headed off to bask in the Miami sunshine. However, they shared joint custody of their fifteen-year-old daughter, Karen. It was the absent teen's room I found myself standing outside of, nervousness making my arms and legs tremble.

I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths. Panic wasn't something to which I was accustomed. I knew, logically, what I was experiencing was likely the residual emotional responses inherent of the former owner of my body. I was only feeling scared because she would have been scared.

However, knowledge didn't do a damned thing to make the feelings any less overwhelming. And that was the part that scared me.

Back at the hospital, I'd managed to remain calm and detached. Ingrained reactions which assisted in our escape from the clutches of the Order. My lack of anxiety was likely due to my belief that my strange physical would only be temporary.

However, now I had the unsettling fear that might not be the case. A whisper, hovering in the back of my mind, that I was going to be stuck in the body of this teenager for a long time. Helpless to prevent my decline from a tough, seasoned police officer to a giggling, clothes-crazy schoolgirl.

After several long minutes of deep breathing, I managed to compose myself enough to reach out and turn the knob. The door swung open easily, letting a tiny sliver of light into the dark, cavernous room that loomed like the pitch black interior of a cave leading into an unknown realm.

I’d been in Thomas’ house more times than I could count, but until now, I had never so much as peeked into his daughter’s room. I steeled myself, drew in a deep breath, and stepped into the shadows, feeling blindly along the wall inside until my fingers brushed the light switch. I flicked the level up, and the overhead light in the ceiling ignited.

The walls were a pastel blue, almost the color of a robin’s egg, and the off-white curtains over the double set of windows sported a tiny pink flower pattern. There was a door on the far side of the room standing partially ajar. Through it, I could make out the curve of a sink and the gleam of a mirror. Karen’s private bathroom.

The center of the room was dominated by a white, four-poster bed, the curtains normally draped from the posts and rails curiously absent. The red and white checkerboard duvet on top of the bed looked totally comfy and inviting. Part of me thought a nice nap would go a long way to recharging my batteries. Though, some level of alien awareness warned that if I crawled under that thick blanket, I’d end up crying myself to sleep.

I glanced from the bed to the matching nightstand beside it. In addition to a small lamp, the shade decorated with a myriad of heart and moon stickers, there was also an expensive-looking clock radio. The digital numbers glowing with a soft blue light informed me that it was nearly nine o’clock. Meaning I’d been the mysterious girl for nearly fourteen hours.

Less than a day had passed, and I was already losing the fight against the overwhelming emotions and personality that came with this body.

There was another door, this one closed, on the other side of the room, next to a

three-drawer dresser in the same color and style as the nightstand and bed. I walked over to the door and pulled it open.

I wasn’t surprised to see it was a large walk-in closet.

There must have been some sort of motion sensor on the door or inside, because the second I walked across the threshold, the track lighting running along the ceiling instantly illuminated the scene.

I stood there, staring at the exorbitant abundance of clothing hanging from the double sets of rods lining the side walls. There were dresses and skirts, blouses and shirts, sweaters and slacks. Everything was segregated by type, style, and color. I pulled a light peach colored sweater from one of the hangers. The tag inside confirmed my suspicion that Thomas’ daughter preferred designer labels.

There was a full-length mirror on the back wall of the closet, opposite the door. I stepped closer to it, examining the image reflected back at me. When the girl in the mirror had been running at me along the sidewalk outside the café, I’d noticed only the most general of her details. Apparent age, hair color, eye color, ethnicity, and attire. The heat of the moment had precluded any further inspection.

Now, however, I had more than enough time to review the new me.

The girl looking back looked around sixteen or so, and wore a doubtful, almost timid expression on her youthful face. As Matthew had claimed earlier, she was more cute, or pretty, than sexy. Although, it wasn’t hard to see that she really hadn’t fully blossomed. Over the next couple of years, she was probably going to turn into a knockout.

Her golden blonde hair hung down to past her shoulders to the middle of her back, and was in a bit of disarray. Obviously the result of running for her life and lounging on a lumpy hospital pillow. She had green eyes flecked with bits of blue that looked like polished emeralds in the glow of the florescent lighting. The nose situation between them was small and

slightly upturned.

I moved back a step, moving my attention away from her face to the rest of her. The legs peeking out from the hem of her pleated skirt were short and slender. Almost coltish. Perhaps one day they would fill out into a more sultry shape. I turned to the side, noticing that her rear wasn’t anywhere near as big as it felt to me. While there was definitely something hidden beneath the dirty wool skirt, it would never be mistaken for a “booty”.

I stripped out of the blazer and the white blouse, leaving only the bra on. When I’d gotten dressed at the hospital, the small breasts had seemed had seemed enormous from a first-person perspective. Looking at my reflection, however, I could see that they were actually not huge at all. If pressed, I would guess them to be a B, even a small C, in size.

I brought my eyes from my bosom to my face, locking eyes with the girl staring back at me.

“Hello,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry you got all mixed up in this. I promise I’ll do my best to take care of your body while I’m in it, and find some way to get it back to you.” I pushed a smile onto my face, but it was apparent that it wasn’t genuine.

I felt a little ridiculous talking to a girl who wasn’t there. Making a promise I wasn’t even sure how to fulfill. Even if Matthew managed to swap us back around, there was still the problem of finding the body holding her mind. We didn’t know where she might be, or even what her name was.

I gave the girl a final glance, then began to grab some clean clothes. In addition to the peach sweater I’d found earlier, I snagged a pair of jeans from the rack, and held them up to me. They seemed a close-enough fit to be workable.

In the top drawer of the dresser, I found Karen’s underthings. A few of the articles inside were a little too risqué for my comfort, but I did score a pair of really cute pink socks, a beige bra, and a pair of light blue cotton panties adorned with pink stripes.

With the clothing tucked under one arm, I crossed over into Karen’s bathroom. Setting my haul on the counter, I proceeded to use a bottle of foaming face wash to scrub the remains of the makeup adorning my cheeks and eyes. When I was done, my skin was left with a nice rosy glow. Removing the makeup, though, seemed to crank the clock backward a year on my appearance. I would be hard-pressed to believe the girl in the mirror was a day over fifteen.

There was a black-handled brush on the back of the sink, and I went to work getting the tangles out of my messy blonde hair. Then I grabbed one of the dozen or so brown hairbands from a small, plastic container and secured the tamed tresses into a tight ponytail. I paused for a second afterward, a shocked expression plastered on my face when I realized that I’d put my hair up without even having to think about it.

I shuddered with the revelation.

The blazer and blouse were still on the floor of the closet, so I unzipped the side of the skirt and let it drop to the floor at my feet. Stepping out, I used my toes to push it behind me. Rummaging around in a small closet next to the sink gained me a towel and a small washcloth.

I gave myself a quick “whores’ bath” with the face wash, scrubbing especially well around my neck and armpits. When I removed the bra to wash my breasts, I averted my eyes. Doing the deed was making me feel like a dirty old man already. Watching myself at the same time would have just been too much.

Of course, I had to accept that if my situation didn’t improve soon, I would have to get over the feeling of being a Hubert Humbert finally getting his hands on Lolita. For now, though, I chose the more conservative path.

I stripped out the panties I was wearing, but didn’t wash anything more sexual than the tops of my legs and the small of my back. Turning around to face the shower, I patted myself dry with the towel, then put on the purloined clothes. The jeans were an inch or so too long in the legs, though they fit really well in the hips and butt. The bra, a 32B according to the tag, seemed a bit tight.

However, I decided the clean trumped over fit. I returned to the closet and emerged with a pair of lime green Nikes in my hand. I put on the socks and the shoe, which were another perfect fit, and headed out of the room.

When I got back downstairs, Matthew had moved to the chair, leaning forward to stare at the television with his hands resting on his knees. There was a commercial for pickup trucks playing on the screen, and he turned to look at me when he sensed my return.

His eyes moved up and down, taking in my neater, better attired, appearance. Then the corner of his mouth turned up in a sideways grin. The same expression I used when I was feeling particularly amused.

I rolled my eyes, then did a little pirouette. As if modeling my new look.

“Happy?” I asked, walking over to sit down on the sofa.

“I wondered what you were doing up there,” he said. “But I thought it might be rude to go up and check on you.”

“I just needed a moment to decompress a little.” I shrugged. “Take stock of everything.”

He nodded. “That makes perfect sense. Though, I have to admit, you certainly don’t look like a Sasha.”

I crinkled up my nose, glancing from the television to him. “A what?”

He pointed at the screen. The truck ad had been replaced by one from a local attorney who was yelling that he would fight for my rights.

“It was just on the news while you were getting cleaned up. We now know who you are. Well, who the body you’re in is anyway.”

“Who?” I asked, both eager to hear my identity and dreading it simultaneously.

“Sasha Dellinger.”

My mouth dropped open as I stood up, looking from him to the screaming lawyer and back.

“Sasha Dellinger? As in, the daughter of Michael Francis Dellinger?”

Matthew’s lop-sided grin faded as he saw my reaction. “Uh, yeah. At least, according to the TV. They nodded. “That’s correct. Right now, they’re trying to speculate why she was attacked on the street in broad daylight, and what reason you … I mean Jack … abducted her from the hospital.”

“Oh … oh no.” My heart began to hammer in my small chest.

“Right now, your Chief is hinting that it was for protective custody.”

I flopped down on the edge of the sofa, holding my head in my hands.

“This is bad,” I said. “No, no this is beyond bad.”

Matthew stood up and walked over to stand next to me, looking at me with a mixture of fear and confusion. “Jack, what’s wrong?”

“Of all the people you had to leap into, why did it have to be Michael Dellinger’s daughter?”

“Who is Michael Dellinger?”

“Michael Francis Dellinger is the owner of a very prestigious high-end construction company. If a new commercial skyscraper is being erected downtown, or a exclusive residential community being developed, more often than not the signage on site reads ‘Dellinger Enterprises. The guy has his fingers into everything.”

Matthew stroked his chin with his thumb and finger. “I think my firm handles some of his company’s accounts. So ... he’s a rich guy?”

I nodded, disliking the way my belly felt like I was falling over the edge of a cliff.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “Very rich and very, very connected. According to some the scuttlebutt floating around the precinct, which I’m pretty sure are, like, totes accurate, his construction business is really just a front.”

Matthew shot me a curious look. “A front? What’s that mean, exactly?”

I sighed again, then gestured at my teenaged self.

“It means, Matty, that you hijacked the body of the head of the local mafia.”

The Displaced Detective: A Body Hopper Tale – Part 3
by Limbo’s Mistress

The perky blonde newscaster’s voice remained completely somber as she stared out at us from the giant screen dominating the wall of Thomas’ living room.

“At this time, the police had no official explanation why Detective John Rollins, fifteen-year veteran of the force, abducted Sasha Dellinger from Mercy Grace Hospital earlier this evening. However, Chief Ronnie Dawson released a statement a few moments ago that the entire resources of the department would be brought into the hunt for Rollins and the missing fifteen-year-old. We here a Channel Five will continue to bring you updates on this story as they happen.”

Matthew, standing in the center of the room with his arms crossed over his chest turned his head to look at me, frowning.

“Looks like the Order has brought their considerable influence to bear. It only took an hour for them to turn the narrative around on us.”

I was reclining on the couch, in pretty much the same position I’d adopted since realizing that the body I was stuck in belonged to the daughter of one of the city’s most dangerous criminals. After that revelation, neither of us had said much about it, being more interested in what the television had to say.

Although I hadn’t realized it, I sleep had begun to press down on me. When Matthew spoke, his voice pulled me back into wakefulness. I pushed myself into a sitting position and rubbed at my tired, burning eyes.

“What? Did you say something about the Order?”

When I lowered my hands from my face to look up at him, there was a frown etched onto his face. On my face.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Before I could answer, I was immediately overcome by a yawn that felt as if it were big enough to drive a bus through. An involuntary stretch that sent my arms straining over my head, exposing the smooth, flat skin of my belly, followed the yawn.

I lowered my arms, tugged the sweater back down, then nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just really tired all of a sudden.”

An amused smirk appeared on his face. “Well, I’m pretty sure that body is used to already being in bed at this time of night. If you factor in all the running, the heightened emotions, and the drug the Order shot you with, it’s not at all surprising.”

I nodded again in agreement, biting down on my lip to stifle another yawn. When it finally passed, I gestured at the TV.

“Every cop in the city will be looking for my car. We won’t get five miles before we’re spotted.”

Matthew began stroking his face again. “First thing we need to do is decide where we’re going to go. Then we can figure out how we’re going to get there.” He looked around the room for a moment before turning his gaze back to me. “Does your friend have an office in this mansion? Perhaps with a phone and a computer?”

I lifted my arm, pointing at the hallway opposite the kitchen. “Third door on the left, just past the bathroom.

Matthew walked off in the direction I’d indicated. It was a few minutes after he was gone that I mused to myself that his gait had been a pretty decent facsimile of mine. Or rather, how I was when I was in that body.

A dash of ice water surged through my veins, chasing the fatigue away as if I’d just sucked down a double espresso.

I leapt off the couch in one quick motion, then attempted to walk from one side of the living room. I tried to make my motions resemble the ones I knew from memory. Though I managed to pull it off, for the most part, the sway of my new hips and breasts made it feel really unnatural.

Like I was trying to write with the wrong hand.

I stopped at the entrance to the kitchen, turned around, and then re-crossed the living room back to my starting point. This time, I deliberately didn’t attempt to influence my gait, though I did pay attention to it. As if following some eerie pre-programmed parameters, my hips rotated with each step, swinging my lower half slightly from side to side.

By the time I returned to the sofa, my vision was wet and blurry.

“Great,” I said, voice nearly choking with a sob. “I don’t even walk like a man anymore.” Anger bubbled up through my despair, and I went back across the floor a third time, this time pushing my strut into something just shy of a sashay.

“Look at me,” I snarled with righteous fury. “Take a look at my big, fat ass. I’m going to, like, have all the boys drooling.”

I ran back to the couch and threw myself face-first on it, feeling as if I’d just fumbled the ball and lost the homecoming game. The tears ran freely from my eyes, dripping onto the expensive leather. My progression from mature adult male to emotional teen girl was not only continuing, it was starting to accelerate.

How long did I have before the damage to my psyche was irreversible? A day? A week? I had no way of knowing. And with this being the first time Matthew had swapped with someone who wasn’t dead a few minutes later, I was pretty sure he would be just as clueless.

I lay there, trying to fight the wave of fear and panic that continued to beat at my thoughts. I had to hang onto who I was, even if my chances of success sat between slim and none. I couldn’t let Sasha Dellinger’s natural reactions and motions overwhelm me. I had to fight back with the decades and discipline I’d acquired as Jack Rollins.

It was the only weapons I had in my arsenal. I could only pray they would be enough.

I wiped at my eyes and focused on my breathing and my training.

In … out. In … out. Relax. Calm down. Panic is the enemy of rational thought. Emotions distort logic. Fear clouds observation.

As the second ticked by, I started to unwind, feeling my racing pulse being to slow down. The terror and heartache running rampant in my petite frame slowly began to ebb.

Unfortunately, the meditation was too effective. I forgotten how exhausted I’d been earlier. By the time I reached a level of calm where I could be helpful in assisting Matthew with an escape plan, I was fast asleep.

“Jack?” A voice from somewhere really faraway said. It was followed by the sensation of being shaken softly. “Jack, wake up.”

For a second, I happily basking in the inky blackness of unconsciousness, enjoying the fact that I didn’t have to worry about anything currently going on in my life. Then I returned to the waking world as if I’d been shot out of a cannon.

One moment, nothing. The next, light and sounds and thoughts.

My eyes flapped open as a surprised squeal leapt out of my throat. I rolled away from the hand on my shoulder and experienced a heartbeat of vertigo as I fell off the couch, landing on the living room floor. Blinking rapidly, I sat up and looked around, trying to get my mind back into gear and determine where the hell I was.

I looked over to see myself sitting on the edge of the leather sofa, a concerned expression on my face. For some strange reason, I wore a baseball cap and a black windbreaker jacket, both of which I’d never seen. My first thought was that I was having one of those out-of-body experiences people always talked about. A heartbeat later, I remembered that I was already having one of those.

Only I wasn’t just out of my own body, I was in someone else’s.

“Matthew?” I asked. Even though I was still in the process of getting all my mental cylinders to firing properly, I realized how absurd the question was. Who else would be currently wearing my face? I shook my head back and forth to jumpstart my gray matter, then looked at my wrist for the watch that wasn’t there.

“It’s a little after two in the morning,” he said. There was a brown plastic bag in his hands, the logo of one of those twenty-four hour convenience stores stenciled across the front.

“You went out?” I asked accusingly as I climbed back to my feet. My arms automatically crossed over my chest, and I narrowed my eyes at him. “There’s a fucking manhunt for us and you thought you’d run out and get a slushy?”

He sighed. “No. I ran out to take care of our financial situation.”

I shot him a skeptical glance. “How did you manage that?”

“Using your friend’s computer. I logged into my emergency bank account and initiated a wire transfer. The nearest spot I could collect it was a store a couple of miles down the road.”

I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? Why didn’t you just send up a signal flare to announce where we are?”

He looked at me like I was the complaining teen I appeared to be.

“Jack, I’ve been around for centuries. You think I’ve never prepared for contingencies? I pulled the money from a dummy account I keep on the side. No way it can be traced to Jack Rollins, Sasha Dellinger, or Matthew Lang. It’s untraceable.”

I gave the matter some thought before accepting that Matthew’s argument was actually pretty sound. Without any cash, we were pretty much screwed. Obviously, he’d realized that and taken care of the problem. Not too shabby on his part. The more worrisome issue for me was the realization I should have come to that same conclusion sooner.

“Now that we’ve got some cash,” I said, pushing my cop brain into gear. “We can take Thomas’ Hummer out of the city. We just need to figure out where to go.”

“Well, I didn’t just use the computer for a wire transfer, Jack. I also sent an email to a … friend of mine. Someone who might be able to help us.” He looked at my watch. “If we leave in the next hour or so, we can be there by nightfall.”

I planted one hand on my hip, gesturing in the air with the other. “What makes you think this friend of your will be able to help us? Like, with our situation?”

He shrugged. “For starters, she’s also a Hopper. I’ve known her for about a hundred years or so. She’s a lot older than me, more connected within our little secret community.” He flashed me a slightly forced smile. “If anyone can figure out how to get you back in your own body, it’s her.”

A real, genuine smile formed on my face, and I really had to resist the urge to lunge at him and hug him tightly. If his friend could come through, then I could kiss pleated skirts and ill-fitting bras good-bye. I could be Jack Rollins again, instead of an adolescent schoolgirl.

Then a dark thought intruded on my moment.

“What about Sasha?” I asked him, looking down at myself for a moment. “We have to get her back into her rightful body too.”

His mouth turned down into a deep frown, and he looked away from me.

“I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible, Jack. She’s dead.”

“What?” A shard of ice pierced my heart. “What do you mean by ‘dead’?” I couldn’t resist doing the air quotes around the last word.

He sighed. “While you were sleeping, I scoured all the local news website. Late this afternoon, a pair of fishermen down by the wharf discovered the body of an adult male who’d had his hands and head removed. I have no doubts that it was Matthew’s body. The condition matches some of the things I’ve heard about the Order’s M.O.”

My knees gave out, sending me down to couch. Another wave of despair rolled through me, threatening to send me back into being a bawling, worthless mess. I clenched my hands into fists, pressing the pink nails hard against my palm. I struggled to replace my sadness at Sasha’s passing with anger.

“They killed her,” I said through gritted teeth. “They grabbed you and when they found out you weren’t in there any more, they butchered an innocent girl and tossed her into the ocean. Fucking animals.”

Some of my fury was directed at Matthew, since he’d been the one to originally switch with the innocent girl. However, I also knew that he’d Hopped in a panic, not thinking about the life he was sacrificing to save his own. Could I honestly say I wouldn’t do the same? If not for my training and experience?

Therefore, I reserved the majority of my ire for the Order of the Dawn. It was their actions that led to Matthew making that terrible decision to switch places with the teen.

“Those bastards are going to pay,” I growled, rising to my feet. Despite my youthful lilt, there was no mistaking the determination in my voice.

Matthew nodded. “They will. I promise.” Then he put his hand on my denim-covered knee. “However, the first thing we need to do is get out of here. Taking Thomas’s SUV is a good idea. However, let me ask you this. You said only a few people know of your friendship with him. How many is a few?”

I shrugged. “Maybe less than a half-dozen. Two of them are local, but I can tell you that they, like, wouldn’t tell anyone where I might be.”

He shook his head. “The Order has people who are experts in getting information. Particularly from unwilling participants. By now, I can promise they’ve already compiled a list of your closest friends and family. At some point, probably sooner rather than later, someone will mention Thomas’ name. When the Order checks and sees that he owns a house on the outskirts of the city, they will make this the first place they look.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to ignore the nervous fluttering beginning to take place in my tummy. I balled my hands into tiny fists. I was not going to give into the panic threatening to rear its head. “Then we need to get out of here.”

“Don’t worry,” Matthew said, “We’ll go. But first,” he held up the plastic bag. “We have to make a few changes.”

“Changes?”

“To help hide us.”

He reached into the bag and began to pull out the contents one at a time, placing them on the table beside the recliner. When he was done, the polished surface was adorned with a pair of scissors with a dark blue handle, a pair of ladies’ sunglasses with a floral pattern on the earpieces, and two boxes of hair dye. One was labeled “Darkest Brown” and the other “Ravishing Copper.”

“Seriously?” I said, rolling my eyes.

Dammit! That fucking action was becoming a unconscious permanent reaction to everything. Did Sasha roll her eyes at everything she found stupid? Or was that something that belonged to a less-mature version of me?

“What?” Matthew asked, looking at the stuff on the table then back to me.

“That’s your big plan? Disguise ourselves with a trim and some hair dye? You do know that, like, us cops are trained to see through totally lame shit like that, right?”

He gave me a stern look that caused me to flinch.

“Jack, the police and the Order will pay extra attention to any male travelling alone with a young girl. No amount of disguise is going to fool them. The appearance changes are to hide us from the general public and any surveillance cameras we encounter.”

My face ignited, burning my cheeks with heart-crushing shame. I should have realized that all on my own.

“That’s … pretty good actually. Sorry for snapping.”

Matthew shrugged. “It’s been a stressful night all the way around, Jack. Don’t worry about it.” He picked up the box of red dye, turning it over in his hands to look at the back of it. “Of course, this is just a temporary solution. We’ll have to come up with something better for a permanent one.”

“Permanent?” I said, trying not to scream. “Like, permanent permanent?”

“Jack,” he said with a note of finality in his voice. “No matter what happens over the next few days, even if my friend can figure out how to help us switch back, our lives won’t ever be the same as they were yesterday morning. We’re going to have to make new ones.”

I threw my hands in the air. “So, you want me to just abandon my whole life? My career?” I shook my head. “You’re going to stand there and tell me that even if I become Jack again, we’re still going to be running?”

“What else can we do? I mean, I am sure as hell not stepping into Sasha’s former life. Not when the Order knows who she is. It would only be a matter of time before they tried to capture me again. I will not let that happen.” His eyes hardened and he put his hands on his hips as he looked down at me. “Besides, what possible story can you come up with to explain why you ran off from the hospital with Dellinger’s daughter, dragged her across two states, then came back without her?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but his next sentence took the air right out of my sails.

“No offense, Jack. But right now, I’m the one who’s thinking more like a cop.”

My mouth dropped open, and it seemed as if someone had punched me as hard as they could in the abdomen. I stood there, staring up at him, as my tired thoughts jumbled around. As loathe as I was to admit it, he had a very valid point. If I thought we were just going to swap back bodies and pretend that everything was back to normal, I was deluding myself.

Even if “Sasha” claimed I helped her escape from someone who wanted to kidnap her, and completely denied me taking her against her will, I would looking at a lengthy session with Internal Affairs for not reporting my plan to my superiors as soon as possible. I would either be suspended, demoted, or terminated. My career would, effectively, be over.

On the other hand, if Matthew followed through with his promise of not going back where the Order could reach him, everyone would think I’d murdered her and buried her body. I’d spend the next couple of decades behind bars. If I was lucky, that is. If not, then I’m sure Dellinger would have his associates make sure my last few hours on earth would be as painful as possible.

That left two possible courses of action.

One, we could split up and go our separate ways. The problem with that is, while Matthew’s centuries of experience would probably mean he’d be just fine, there wasn’t a lot of options for a fifteen-year-old runaway. At least, none that didn’t involve doing things I’d rather not contemplate.

Two, we could stick together, watching each other’s backs, until we got to this mysterious friend’s house. Where we would hopefully be able to swap back. After that, we could probably get some fake identification and make our way out of the country. I had a few old contacts that could help.

Because I believed, wholehearted, that the Order of the Dawn would not stop looking for us. They obviously wanted Matthew, alive, for their own reasons. Jack Rollins, though, was merely a loose thread that needed to be clipped.

“Oh, all right,” I said, acquiescing to his plan. “One dye job coming up.” I leaned over ot grab the box sitting on the table.

Matthew, reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. “I should use that one,” he said, then pointed at the salt and pepper hair on his head. “It will cover the gray and make the black darker.” With a slightly amused smile, he held the other box out to me. “Besides, only a ‘Sasha’ could possibly pull off ‘Ravishing Copper’.”

I sighed, though managed to not roll my eyes. Score one for Jack!

“I assume the scissors are for me as well?” I asked, pointing at the long blonde strands falling past my shoulders.”

He nodded and picked them up. However, instead of handing them to me, he simply arched a brow.

“It would probably be better if I cut your hair, Jack. I’m pretty sure you’ll just butcher it.”

“Excuse me?” I said, a wave of indignation flaring up inside me. “Maybe this teeny bopper body comes with cosmetology skills.”

He smiled at me. It looked extremely condescending to be honest.

“Jack, while its is not impossible for skills like hair styling to carry across, I want you to think about this for second. Do you think Sasha Dellinger is the type of girl who cuts her own hair? If her father is as much of a made man as you believe, then I bet she has a personal stylist who makes house calls.”

I glared up at him for a few seconds, mulling his comment around. Eventually, I figured he was probably right. I only knew Dellinger in a cursory, professional way. But everything I’d heard seemed to fall in along those lines.

“What makes you so sure you won’t butcher it just as bad?” I countered.

“Because, I worked in a beauty salon in the early nineties.” He twirled the shears around one finger like a gunslinger, then pointed at the ceiling. “You need to dye it first. Just follow the directions on the box.” His eyes softened a bit. “When you, uh, changed clothes earlier? Did you explore your … you know?”

“Did I …” My mouth dropped open as I seriously considered kicking him square in the balls. Except that I would have to deal with the aftermath. “No! Jesus, Matt!. I’m not a pervert! What makes you think I would just go fondling a minor just because I happen to be in her body?”

He facepalmed. Literally. When he lowered his hand, he should his head.

“I meant, did you take the time to look at it? From an owner’s perspective? Because if you haven’t, then you might be a little weirded out when you shower.”

“Oh,” I said, shrugging as the memory of standing in Karen’s closet, gazing into the mirror came back to me. “Yeah, I sort of did.”

He nodded. “Body dysphoria isn’t uncommon. Especially for new Hoppers.”

I turned around and went back up stairs to the bathroom I’d used earlier. I sat down on the lid of the toilet and perused the instructions on the back of the box. Then I glanced from the shower to the sink. The basin might be deep enough to soak my hair, but unless I could float upside down, I wouldn’t be able to rinse thoroughly.

Which meant I had no choice but to use the shower.

door behind me and sat down on the closed lid of the toilet to read the instructions on the box. I glanced over at the sink. The basin was probably deep enough to allow me to get my hair wet, but was far too shallow to allow a proper rinsing.

That meant I’d have to use the shower.

The tub’s controls were the ultra-modern type. The kind where it was nearly impossible to not have the exact temperature one wanted. I turned the knob and adjusted the spray to a setting somewhere between warm and hot. As the steam filled the room, I pulled out the contents of the box and mixed the powerful-smelling chemicals inside together in the provided plastic bottle.

Then I pulled off the clothes I’d just put on a couple of hours ago, folding them neatly and placing them on the side of the sink. The fogged up mirror helped to keep me focused on what I was doing, rather than watching myself.

That’s something you’re going to have to get used to, pal. Because if Matthew’s friend can’t help you …

I shoved the thought away, grabbed a fresh towel, and stepped into the shower.

The water blasting from the extra-large showerhead felt divine, and I closed my eyes and stood there, letting it gently massage my shoulders and back. I tilted my head back, letting the water saturate the long, blonde strands.

When I was sure every inch of hair was completely soaked, I grabbed the plastic bottle, shook it vigorously until the ingredients inside blended to a dark crimson hue and seemed to have the consistency of a milkshake.

“So long, Blondie,” I said to myself. “And hello there, Red.”

I stepped to the side, away from the water. After donning a pair of plastic gloves, I liberally coated my hair with the pungent-smelling dye. My actions seemed to come unbidden, making me wonder if perhaps Miss Dellinger had dyed her hair before.

After all, it wasn’t like I’d bothered to check to see how well the carpet matched the drapes. For all I knew, she wasn’t a natural blonde.

The box had suggested waiting at least five minutes before rinsing. I thought about simply counting off the seconds to pass the time. However, right as I started, I thought about what Matthew had said about being comfortable in this body. Even if I had no intention of keeping it, waking around, behaving as if I weren’t a teenaged girl would likely draw attention.

Attention we totally didn’t need.

So, I took a proper bath. There was a loofa hanging from a hook on the wall and a couple of bottles of body wash in various scents. I grabbed one that smelled kind of nice and squirted a liberal amount on the small sponge. A few seconds of kneading later, I had a crap-ton of foamy suds.

First, I dragged the rough sponge over my arms, around my neck, and as much across my back as I could reach. Which, incidentally, was quite a bit. Apparently Sasha was a lot more flexible than Jack. Then I went to work on my belly and sides, giggling a bit when I brushed the loofa over one particular spot above my hip. Looks like the teen was ticklish in places.

Bending over to wash my legs would likely send the dye rushing into my eyes, so I lifted each limb in turn and placed it on the edge of the tub to clean them. The edge of my hand trailed behind the sponge, feeling the slightly prickly skin beneath.

I was going to need to shave soon.

After my legs were complete, I stood up again and prepared myself to tackled the remaining two parts. I started with my chest, washing the perky mounds with care. As a guy, I would have just scrubbed my chest. However, I wasn’t sure the rough approach was going to be viable in this situation.

The slickened sponge glided beneath my breasts and over the tops, sending a not-unpleasant tingle running through me. A tiny smile formed on my face as I enjoyed the sensation for a bit before moving my ministrations to the little hardened nubs jutting from the front of them.

“Oh dear god,” I breathed as a wave of intense pleasure rocketing from the point of contact outward through my body. Without a second thought, I grazed them again … harder.

Another blast of something wonderful exploded inside me, followed by a tinge of heat appearing between my thighs. Leaving one hand on my breast, I raised the other pinched the tingling nub. The flicker of heat down below expanded, making my knees tremble.

I let go of conscious thought, allowing my fingers to slide down my body all on their own, drifting over my navel, past the curved area of the pelvis bone below, seeking the source of the sudden warmth. The soft feel of wet hair located there tickled my palms, but I ignored that sensation as I extended a single finger lower.

The tip of the nail encountered the slick wetness of the feminine folds nestled at the apex of my thighs. Whether the dampness was from the shower, the soap, or my unexpected arousal, I wasn’t sure. If I’d been examining the situation from a professional standpoint, I would have said it was the last.

Of course, I was running on autopilot.

When I moved just inside the damp opening, I gasped aloud. The hardened pearl nestled there thrummed from the brief contact. I couldn’t stop myself from striking it again, this time with a bit more force. The gasp turned into a soft moan, and I dropped the loofa to put my hand on the wall of the shower.

The desire inside grew bolder, more demanding.

I pushed my finger deeper, gliding it into the slickened opening. My heart hammered in my chest, and my knees trembled. I wanted more. Needed it. My eyes closed as I slide the digit fully inside, my thumb curling to stimulate the engorged bean that seemed to pulse with a power all its own.

“Yessss,” I crooned softly, sliding the penetrating finger most of the way back out before delving into the fiery cove between my legs again. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, a rump-rump-rump that seemed to echo throughout my core.

A sharp rapping on the bathroom door snapped me out of my erotic haze.

“Jack? You okay in there?” Matthew called out from the other side of the wood.

The heat of desire between my legs instantly went cold as it transferred to my cheeks. Awareness of what I had just been doing, what I had been about to do, slammed into me, sending waves of intense guilty crashing across my soul. I washed my hands under the water, attempting to remove any trace of evidence like some adolescent Lady McBeth.

“Yes!” I yelled louder than I intended. “I mean, yeah. I’m good. Just finishing up now.” I could hear the shame in my voice, and felt sure the man on the other side of the door could hear it too.

Jesus, Jack! What the hell is wrong with you? It’s one thing to be comfortable enough in this body to clean it. Jilling yourself is something completely different.

“Just checking,” Matthew said. “When you’re dressed, stay in there and I’ll trim you up.”

I sighed, feeling the tension drain from my muscles as a wave of fatigue rolled through me. The nap earlier hadn’t nearly been enough rest, and the shock of adrenaline about nearly being discovered masturbating in the shower was already fading, leaving me even more drained of energy.

I quickly rinsed the soap from my body, then went to work removing the dye from my tingling scalp. The water around my feet turned a sickly shade of reddish-pink, swirling around before vanishing down the drain. After a few more minutes, the stream turned clear.

I squirted a large dollop of conditioner from one of the bottles lining the tub and worked it thoroughly into my hair. Once I’d rinsed again, and was sure all of the dye was gone, I shut off the water and stepped out of the shower.

Thankfully, the mirror was still completely obscured. There was no way I could face the girl I would see in it. Not after what I’d been attempting a few minutes earlier. I felt like I owed her some kind of apology, even though I already knew she was never coming back.

I toweled off and slipped back into my clothes, ignoring the way the material stuck to parts of my body that weren’t completely dry. I held off on donning the sweater, though, since I knew that Matthew still needed to cut my hair.

Wrapping the towel around my bra-clad torso, I opened the door to find myself standing there.

The brown dye had removed every trace of gray from my old head, leaving it looking as it had back in my Academy days. He’d also used a razor on my scruff of a beard, leaving his face smooth and hairless. The effect had a similar result to what I’d seen when I took off Sasha’s makeup, managing to turn the clock back some.

He’d also raided Thomas’ closet. My friend was a slightly smaller build than me, but still close enough that it didn’t make that much of a difference. The suit I’d put on the previous morning had been replaced with a pair of khaki slacks and a dark blue polo shirt. The chest and arms of the shirt seemed more snug, than tight. Which only highlighted how much I’d managed to keep myself in shape over the years.

When I brought my gaze back up to his face, Matthew shrugged.

“I thought about just going bald, rather than coloring it. But I wasn’t sure how well you’d take it.”

I simply nodded, forcing a strained smile onto my face. When his own expression started to shift, I quickly pointed to the scissors in his hand.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”

We went downstairs to the kitchen. I parked my bottom into one of the chairs at the small, round wooden table. As Matthew began to comb and snip, I closed my eyes and attempted to forget my indiscretion with the teenager’s body.

Why had I suddenly become so randy from just washing myself? Even more unsettling than what I had been doing was the knowledge that if Matthew hadn’t interrupted, I would have carried out the deed to its conclusion.

I wasn’t sure there was any way for me to get over that.

“Almost done,” he announced, pulling me from my internal struggle with morality.

“Anything new on the television,” I asked, my eyes remaining closed.

“Not really. The press showed up at Dellinger’s house. He made some comment that he had full faith in the police to return Sasha unharmed.”

“I doubt his faith is with the cops,” I replied. “He’s probably, like, already hired a dozen private investigators to start hunting for us.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re getting out of here.” The scissors snipped thrice more. “There.”

I opened my eyes and looked over at him.

“Good. The sooner we hit the road, the better.”

A suspicious look formed on his face. “Would you like to see?” He held out a small hand mirror.

“Might as well,” I muttered, taking it from him.

The girl in the small oval wore a sour-looking pout on her face. The long blonde hair she’d previously worn had been replaced by a deep reddish copper that made her green eyes seem to pop. Matthew had taken quite a bit of the length, leaving me with a short bob cut that hung down to my chin. Though the loss of the golden length bothered me, I couldn’t deny that my new appearance was extremely cute.

With the discarded uniform lying in the closet, the missing clothes, and the mess I’d left in the bathroom, Karen was going to know someone else had been using her stuff. Like the Three Bears returning home to find evidence of Goldilocks’ trespassing.

Only this Goldilocks wasn’t golden any longer.

“It works,” I said, handing the mirror back to him. Can we get out of here now?”

Before he could respond, I stood up and turned my back on him. I dropped the towel over the back of the chair and slipped into the sweater.

Matthew didn’t answer me. Instead, he walked back into the living room and returned wearing a black leather jacket. In his hand he carried a much smaller white one. He handed it to me.

“It’s still chilly outside, Jack. You’ll probably need this.”

The jacket did something to his appearance. To my appearance. With the dye job, the clothes, and the whole package, he looked like a fit male in his late thirties, rather than someone pushing fifty.

I bit down on my lower lip as I wondered what the taut muscles beneath the polo would feel like now. Sure, I’d touched them millions of times over the years, but not from the outside. How would those hard pecs feel under my now smaller, softer hands. If I dragged my nails across those hard pecs, would the leave little red welts behind? Would he feel firm, warm, and inviting if I placed my cheek against his chest?

“Jack?”

I shook over those alien, disturbing thoughts, snatching the jacket from his grip. I pulled it on with hasty, jerking motions. Emotions bubbled beneath the surface of my mind ebbed and flowed like an out-of-control tide. Desire. Shame. Fear. Anger. A virtual typhoon that seemed to spring up from nowhere and slam at me relentlessly.

“Are you okay?” he asked, giving me a concerned look.

“I’m fine!” I snapped, turning around to march toward the door leading to the garage. Halfway across the room, the realization that I was walking like a girl hit me and I began to stomp with a deliberately masculine swagger.

I was a man, dammit! No matter how much this stupid body wanted to impose its feminine wiles on me.

Matthew followed, pulling the door closed behind him. He walked around to the driver’s side of the Hummer, unlocking the door to climb inside.

When I heard the passenger door unlock, I yanked it open forcefully, and pulled myself into the spacious interior. As Matthew started the engine, I leaned over to grab the handle with both hands and pull it closed with a slam that rattled the vehicle.

He sighed, turning in his seat to look at me.

“Jack, for the love of Pete, what the hell is going on? You’ve been a … bitch since you got out of the shower.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and ignored him to stare straight ahead at the closed garage door. After a few seconds, Matthew sighed again and clicked the remote over his visor. The door cranked up achingly slowly. When the way was clear, Matthew pulled the SUV out of the garage and back onto the street.

The digital clock on the Hummer’s dashboard indicated that it was almost four in the morning. Soon, Thomas’ neighbors would be rising to start their day. With any luck, it would be hours before anyone would show up at the house and find my sedan.

Silence permeated the inside of the vehicle as Matthew navigated back onto the highway and took us in a westerly direction. It wasn’t until we’d been riding along for about ten minutes before he spoke.

“This is going to be one extremely long ride if you’re planning on sitting there sulking like …” His voice drifted off, and I could see him tighten his grip on the steering wheel in my periphery.

My chin jutted out in defiance as I turned my face toward him. “Like what, Matty? Like a petulant teenaged girl? Well, guess what? That’s because that’s exactly what I am.”

He stared at me for a second, then shook his head, putting his eyes back on the road.

“No, Jack. I already explained this. You may have Sasha’s body and picked up some of her mannerisms, but you are still you.”

“Wrong,” I exclaimed, my voice rising in pitch. “What you explained was that the longer I was in here, the more like her I was going to behave. I figured that might be limited to the way I was talking. And walking.”

“Okay…”

“But it’s becoming more than that. Like, I keep having these … feelings.” My face started to warm, recent memories returning in full-color. “Urges. Things I can’t seem to control.”

“Jack, I’m sure that if you …”

“If I what? Pay more attention? Go with the flow?” A deaf person could have heard the sarcasm dripping from my words. “I feel like I’m damned either way. When I focus on being me, it feels strained. When I let go, I find myself thinking things I shouldn’t be thinking. Feeling emotions that scare the shit out of me.”

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, making me think he might be reconsidering our partnership. After all, who the hell wanted to be on the lam with a spoiled teenaged brat?

Then the thought that he might just up and abandon me caused my breath to hitch in my lungs and my eyes to fill with tears. I sniffled and wiped at my damp cheeks.

“Jack?”

I held out my wet hands in his direction, shaking my head.

“See? I can’t control myself. It’s becoming, like, one fucking crazy emotion after another.”

He looked at my hands, then to my face. There was a deductive expression in his eyes. Then he drew in a breath and released it with a sigh.

“Oh fuck.”

“What?” I asked, realizing that something important had just occurred to him.

“Dammit, Jack, I didn’t even consider …”

“Consider what?” I interrupted, wiping at my eyes again. “What?”

He looked back at me, this time appearing very apologetic.

“I’ve never Hopped into someone who wasn’t an adult before. The youngest I’ve ever been is twenty-five.”

“So?”

“How old is Sasha? Fifteen?”

I nodded, attempting to follow the differential. “Just turned fifteen, I think.”

“So,” he said softly. “She’s a teenage girl. An adolescent teenage girl.” He looked back to the road. “And you’re in her body. With all the lovely biological processes that come with it.”

I took me a second to follow his logic train. However, when I arrived at the same destination, I flopped back into my seat and put my face in my hands.

“Oh…that means …”

I felt Matthew pat me on the head.

“It means you’re going through puberty again, Jack. This time as a girl.”

The Displaced Detective - Part 4

by Limbo's Mistress

Matthew’s announcement that all of the problems, mental and emotional, I’d been experiencing were due to being stuck in the body of a hormonal, teenaged girl was more sobering than a cold shower and an adrenaline injection. I found myself unable to present an opposing theory, because I had none that made more sense.

I might look like I was ready to lead the pep squad, but I was still a seasoned detective. Arguing against the facts would be completely non-productive. So, I closed my mouth, and turn my face to the window as I watched the scenery go by outside. As the two of us fled from the city which had been my home and employer for almost twenty years.

By the time the first tendrils of the sun began peeking over the horizon, we were rolling through the rural countryside. The light traffic we’d encountered during the first part of our escape slowly increased to a more normal number as people joined us on the road on their way to work.

Or school.

The thought made a small ache form in my chest. If not for an unfortunate turn of events, Sasha Dellinger would either be getting herself ready for school or already on her way. Now, though, she was dead and her once-bright future over.

A few of our fellow travelers gave the shiny black Hummer an appreciative glance as it passed by them. The darkened tint of the windows, however, kept the identity of the occupants hidden from prying eyes. None of the other drivers could see the redheaded girl staring out the passenger window with a sad, forlorn look on her pretty face.

We changed lanes to go around a green mini-van, the rear seats loaded with a quartet of kids of various ages. The woman behind the wheel, who might have been somewhere between thirty and fifty, looked harried, exhausted, and frustrated as she focused on keeping the vehicle in her lane.

Our speeds matched for several long seconds. More than enough time for me to observe the pandemonium taking place inside the vehicle. The woman's mouth opened and closed, voicing screams I could see but not hear. The kids seated behind her seemed completely oblivious to her angry tirade. They continued to laugh and throw things at each other with reckless, disorderly abandon.

My thoughts then turned to the other mother, the one who blew past me outside the coffee shop back when I was still Detective Jack Rollins with a life that was my own. Through careful retrospection, I remembered that, despite seeming to be in a hurried rush, she hadn’t possessed the same, worn-out expression as the woman in the van. Maybe it was because she had only a single child to contend with. Or maybe her offspring was more agreeable and less a ball of organized chaos.

Regardless, the thing that struck me the hardest was the knowledge that I could very well end up like either one of those women.

Back in my younger, less cynical days, I’d often fantasized what it would be like to have a wife and a family. In those idle thoughts, my son would grow up as a dependable, strong young man. Someone who protected those smaller than himself and always did the right thing. My daughter would be Daddy’s Girl. No less honorable than her brother, of course, but with enough charm and grace to convince me to overlook her minor transgressions.

However, as the years rolled by, I never met that one woman with whom I felt a permanent connection. Someone who could make those dreams a reality. One thing, though, which had never reared its head in my fantasies was the aspect of how I would handle motherhood.

Matthew, apparently tired of uncomfortable silence after almost three hours, reached over and turned on the radio, twisting the dial to search for a station. When I turned my head to glare at him, he returned the look.

"I’m not looking for road tunes, Jack,” he said, sounding annoyed. “I'm trying to find out if our situation has followed us out of the city."

I shrugged. "I would be more surprised if it hasn't. Dellinger's influence is probably pretty vast. You can bet your shiny new badge that every law enforcement agency within a hundred mile radius has received an APB with our pictures on it."

Matthew smirked. I didn't like the way it looked on my face.

"Then it's a good thing we don't look like ourselves, huh?" he said.

I rolled my eyes with let out a rather loud and dejected sigh. Once it was out of my mouth I clenched my hands into fists, digging the adorable pink nails into the tender skin as I began to mentally chastise myself for not being more vigilant. Yes, I accepted that some of Sasha’s personality was going to bleed through, despite my best efforts. But that didn’t mean that I had to just sit back and let them happen. I’d been a fighter all my life. First in the orphanage, where I’d been one of the smallest. From there it had been the military, with a double rotation of deployment. Then the police force, and my dogged pursuit of justice.

I could beat this body’s influence. I just knew I could.

Drawing in a deep breath, I closed my eyes and relaxed, waiting until my flash of unbridled anger passed and I could make myself speak the calmness of authority and experience.

"We both agreed that these hasty disguises might work at keeping the average citizen from immediately recognizing us, but any law officer worth his badge will insist on taking a closer look if we come anywhere close to matching the official descriptions. The most basic of which are, a Caucasian man and a Caucasian teenage girl travelling together. Simply cutting and dyeing our hair isn’t going to fool anyone.”

Matthew nodded his head, then turned to look at me with a slightly amused expression.

“Well then, I guess we should probably do our best to avoid any attention from law enforcement.”

I snorted, rolling my eyes again. "No duh, genius." Then I returned to staring out the window.

Talking with Matthew, especially when he kept using my voice and my mannerisms, was like having an unreachable itch just beneath my skin. Skin I was becoming more and more accustomed to wearing. I just hoped we could rectify our situation before it was too late.

The minivan had exited the highway during our brief discussion, and the rest of the cars that passed us were totally uninteresting. I’d actually started to nod off from boredom when I sensed, rather than witnessed, Matthew’s body suddenly go tense. I blinked away my sluggish thoughts and realized that there was the logo-emblazoned vehicle belonging to the state police riding alongside us.

I nearly ducked beneath the window before I remembered that I was practically invisible from the outside. I held my breath and looked over to see that Matthew’s eyes were constantly jumping from the road in front of us to the speedometer on the dashboard. The knuckles of his hands were nearly white on the wheel.

A couple of seconds later, the siren on top of the police vehicle flared to life, the lights began to flash, and the car zoomed forward to exit the highway at the first available ramp.

It wasn't until he was out of sight that I realized that every muscle in my petite body had become as tightly wound as a guitar string. I let out the breath I’d been holding and slumped back in the seat. When I glanced over at Matthew, he looked like he had just nearly crapped his pants.

“I think I need to pee,” I said, the tension draining out of me sending ripples into my small bladder.

Matthew nodded. “I think I did pee a little.”

When he looked over at me, I couldn’t help but start to giggle with teenaged gallows humor.

“That’s, like, totally not funny,” I saw between chuckles.

The radio was a bust. Other than the brief recap of the "crime" and the announcement that a state-wide search for us was ongoing, the was nothing of value to us reported. I’d at least hoped that the reporter would drop some hint about our suspected whereabouts. Just so we could be sure we weren’t running into a dragnet.

I wondered if anyone had checked out Thomas’ house yet. We had gotten lucky to be able to use it to hole up and make a plan. Not to mention acquiring the transportation we currently enjoyed. However, I didn’t harbor any illusions that our temporary stopping place would remain secret forever. Especially if this seemingly powerful Order had the resources at their disposal that Matthew hinted.

A cross referencing search of my past would bring up Thomas’ name as one of the few surviving members of my unit. When the files revealed that we both lived in the same city, it was a fair bet they’d be knocking down the door in less than a half hour. The minute they saw my sedan in the garage, information about the missing Hummer would be broadcast up and down the chain of law enforcement.

Matthew informed me that he’d stolen some plates from a car parked on a street near the convenience store where he’d purchased the hair dye. While I napped, he had used them to replace the ones registered to the SUV. It was a pretty good idea, but black Hum-Vees weren’t exactly commonplace.

The moment a patrolman performed a check, out of idle curiosity, and discovered the numbers on the plates were registered to a Honda Civic or something like that, we would be totally screwed.

The miles rolled by as the morning rush traffic thinned and waned. The levity the scare had brought to the inside of the vehicle faded as well. Matthew tried to initiate a conversation once or twice, but each time, I shot him a look, worthy of the girl I appeared, to convey just how much I was not in a talking mood. Likewise, each time he turned on the radio and to put on some music, I reached over to turn it back off.

My thoughts turned to the fate of Sasha Dellinger. While I had no trouble imagining what it would be like to suddenly find yourself in a body that wasn't your own, I also had the benefit of being a trained adult. There was no doubt in my mind that she'd been terrified. One second, she's watching with horror as some random guy is grabbed off the street in front of her and shoved into a car.

The next, she's the one in the car, being restrained by strong hands, being stabbed with a syringe while another her stands on the curb watching.

Was the Order merciful when they realized they had the wrong person and ended her life? Did they sedate her before killing her? Or did they torture her for information on her identity and then put a bullet in her head?

Did she cry for her daddy to come and save her?

After twenty years of working grizzly crime scenes, I could easily think of a dozen horrible ways her young life could have been snuffed.

The swaying of the silent vehicle began to lull me back to sleep. More than once, I caught myself drifting off and responded with a startled jump that set my heart to racing for a few moments. I tried to remain more alert, occasionally pinching my thigh really hard whenever I noticed my eyes were drooping. The pain managed to push away the siren call of slumber. At least temporarily.

By late morning, I began to feel another call tugging at me. This one from nature. I tried to dismiss the increasingly growing urge, pressing my knees together tightly as I thought about anything and everything except liquids.

After I’d been fighting against the need for nearly twenty minutes, I relented. If we didn’t pull over someplace soon, I was going to have a very mortifying accident.

Matthew seemed oblivious to my constant shifting, focusing on the road. I sighed loudly to get his attention, already feeling my cheeks starting to warm.

“How are we doing on gas?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

He looked down at the gauges. “We have a little over a quarter of a tank. Probably need to stop sometime soon and fill up.”

I nodded silently, but then we hit a little uneven bump in the road which jarred my aching bladder and made me grit my teeth to keep from breaking the seal. I pressed my knees even tighter and stared straight ahead at the oncoming sign that indicated a fuel vendor and several restaurants were just ahead of us.

“"Do you think we, uh ... could stop up there?” I asked, swallowing the lump of pride caught in my throat. “Please?”

I shouldn’t have been embarrassed by the request. After all, the need was a matter of biology. Everyone experienced it. However, that knowledge didn’t stop my voice from sounding distraught or my face from feeling like it was under a heating lamp.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matthew’s face turn to me. Then his gaze went down to my legs and the way they were positioned.

“Yeah,” he said as he changed lanes to put us in the lane that departed the highway. “Probably a good idea to go ahead and get some fuel while we’re here.”

Matthew drove the Hummer up the exit ramp to the stoplight at the top. From the intersection, I could see three large gas stations, five fast food joints, and a boarded up car wash.

"We should probably get something to eat as well,” he said, looking over at me. "I haven’t had anything since raiding the hospital vending machine yesterday. And you’re probably starving.”

I shook my head and opened my mouth to say that all I needed was a bathroom. However, at the mere thought of food, my belly growled as if it contained an unruly litter of wild dogs. Apparently the idea of eating something, anything, appealed to my traitor of a stomach. I quickly moved one hand down to try and stifle the noisy rumble, and the heat in my cheeks intensified.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said with that damnable smirk of mine.

When the light turned green, he made a left and pulled into a gas station that sat next to one of the nicer of the restaurants. Instead of stopping next to the pumps, he pulled into an empty spot and shut off the engine.

I unbuckled my belt as fast as my fingers would work, and started to jump out of the Hummer. The bathroom only a dozen or so yards away was screaming my name.

"Hold up," he said, putting his hand on my arm. "We need to establish our identities first."

"Our what?" I said, trying to focus more on not peeing on myself than the words coming out of his mouth.

"I can't call you 'Jack' in public, now can I?" he said, pointing at me. "It'll attract attention."

"Well, you can't call me 'Sasha' either," I snapped, pressing my knees together again. Oh god, I was going to wet myself because Matthew was channeling his inner police officer. Wasn't this something we could discuss after I'd relieved my bladder?

He frowned, the expression making it seem he thought I was being deliberately confrontational. "Do you have a preference for a name? A female name?"

I just wanted to yell at him that he could call me anything he wanted. Just so long as he would let me get out of the car and into the closest restroom. I could feel the pressure approaching the breaking point.

Jesus, how small a bladder did this girl have?

"No," I snapped. "No preference. Call me 'Jackie', if you want. Or ‘Jane’. Or 'the Queen of fucking France'. Now, let go of my arm before I lean over and punch you right in the dick."

He released me as if I’d suddenly burst into flame and shook his head.

“Fine, Jackie,” he said in a pissy tone. “Go!”

Finally free, I scrambled out of the big SUV, darted across the parking lot, and rushed

into the restaurant. Praying to whatever gods or goddesses who might be listening that I would be able to hold out another thirty seconds.

The few workers I could see standing behind the serving counter gave me a strange look as I burst through the door like a maniac. I whipped my head back and forth, looking for the signage to indicate the location of my salvation. I spotted the universal logos at the end of a narrow tile hallway on my left, and bolted in their direction.

I had the first door halfway open before I remembered that I now had the wrong equipment to use that particular room. Spinning around in a quick about-face, I hopped across the hall to the one that wouldn’t get me kicked out of the place and went inside.

Thankfully, spacious room was completely empty. Like an idiot, a slow idiot at that, I swept my gaze across the room for the urinals before groaning and slapping my palm against my forehead as I rolled my eyes internally.

"Duh! Different plumbing, you dummy."

I turned and crossed the room, pushing open the door of one of the stalls. For a second, I paused to admire how clean the toilet seemed to be. The ones in nearly every men's room I'd ever been in were nasty affairs one wouldn't even want to be in close proximity with. Much less to actually sit down and do business.

Closing the door behind me, I hung my jacket on the door hook, pulled down my jeans and underwear, and lowered my bare bottom to the seat. A sharp hiss came from between my lips as the icy coldness of the hard plastic assaulted my tender skin, causing goosebumps to appear on my exposed legs.

Despite the overwhelming pressure in my bladder, I worried that I didn’t know how to perform this operation with my new bits. Did I squeeze something to make the flow start? Spread my legs a little? As a guy, when I needed to piss I just whipped it out, aimed, and let go. Surely it was completely different for girls, right?

Turned out, not so much.

Biology took over automatically, and I only had to relax the muscles I’d been tensing for the past several miles. A hard, hot stream shot out from somewhere between my legs, and I sighed loudly with relief, my eyelids fluttering. Who would have guessed the simple act of relieving an over-filled bladder would be an equally pleasant experience for both sexes?

When the last trickles finally stopped, and I no longer felt as if I were going to float away, I pulled a few pieces of toilet paper from the roll next to me and wiped myself clean. This time, it was knowledge acquired over decades of girlfriends that prepared me for how to do it, rather than any leftover bit of Sasha.

I got re-dressed and washed my hands, nose crinkling at the overpowering antiseptic smell of the soap in the dispenser. Karen’s body wash had smelled of lilac. This smelled of industrial strength germ killer.

Matthew was waiting for me at the counter, perusing the menu with his hands clasped behind his back. When I stepped up next to him, I cut my eyes over to the Hummer.

“I thought we would just go through the drive-thru,” I murmured softly.

He looked down at me and shrugged. “I needed to use the facilities as well. However if it makes you feel better, we can get our food to go.”

I stared up at him, wondering if he was no longer capable of thinking critically.

“That’s not necessary,” I said in a totally sarcastic tone. “We can sit in one of the booths, enjoy our meal, have some conversation, and hope it’s the police who catch us first and not your buddies from the Order.”

Matthew glared down at me, obviously not a fan of my humor. I, however, couldn’t resist cracking a smile.

When it came time for us to order, I requested a bacon and egg white sandwich with hash browns and an orange juice. Matthew ordered two sausage biscuits, two orders of hash browns, and a large coffee. When the server turned to get our drinks, I elbowed him in my ribs.

"I'd prefer you not balloon up my body before you figure out how to stick me back in it," I said in a low voice through gritted teeth. "In case you haven't noticed, but I've been taking pretty good care of it most of my life."

The woman turned glanced back over her shoulder at us for a second, her eyes lingering on the two of us a little longer than I liked. Then she put the Styrofoam cups on the counter and went about getting together the rest of our order.

We took our food out in one large paper bag and walked back to Hummer. Once inside, away from curious eyes, I relaxed a bit and began to eat.

Matthew devoured every bit of his before I could get halfway done with my biscuit. When I managed to finally finish, I felt like a slightly sea-sick beached whale.

"Stupid tiny girl stomach," I grumbled.

He wiped his mouth with a napkin and grinned at me. "Think of how much you could save in groceries."

I narrowed my eyes at him, not appreciating the suggestion that I should count any blessings related to remaining trapped in my current form.

“I really hope this friend of yours knows more about our situation than you do. As much as it would decrease my food and alcohol expenses, I fear that any financial gains would be undone by the costs of jewelry, makeup, and clothes.”

Matthew nodded, still grinning. “Not to mention feminine hygiene products."

I nearly choked on my juice. It took me a few seconds of coughing before I could get enough air to respond to his jab.

“Fuck you, jerk. I am really not planning on being in here when that shit starts.”

He looked at me for a second, then dropped his humorous expression for one of sincerity.

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen, Jack. To you, to me, to Sasha. All I wanted to do was live a long, quiet life for a while. I had planned on staying Matthew for a couple of decades. If the Order hadn't come after me, our paths would never have crossed." He shrugged. "You would still be a middle-aged detective and I would still be a rich investment banker."

I locked my eyes onto his. "And Sasha Dellinger would still be alive."

He didn't say anything for a second, then nodded slowly. "Yes. She would."

Matthew gathered all of our trash and shoved it into the bag. I took it from him and climbed out of the Hummer while he started the engine and pulled around to one of the pumps. He walked over to me, his hand digging into his pocket.

“I’ll have to go in and pay in advance,” he said, pulling out a small wad of bills.

I put out my hand. “I’ll do it,” I said.

He studied me for a second, then handed the cash to me.

“Pump Ten,” he said, turning back around. “Get fifty dollars’ worth.”

I went into the store, nodding at the middle-aged man behind the counter who looked like he had been working the past two days straight without a break. Keeping the bills in a deathlike grip in my hand, I got in line behind a woman trying to buy a six-pack of beer and wrangle a four-year-old simultaneously.

She kept one hand wrapped around the little boy’s wrist while she fished around in her pocket with the other. The kid, a bit of dried snot clinging to the underside of his nose, kept complaining about wanting to watch Bubble Guppies.

I did my best to remain patient, fighting against the Sasha-born urge to begin tapping my foot.

After what seemed to be an incredibly long time, the woman finally retrieved enough money to pay for her booze and dragged her screaming child out of the store. However, she did take enough time to look back at me, and sneer with envy. At my youth and childlessness, I supposed.

I told the clerk to ring up fifty dollars on ten and handed him two twenties and a ten. His eyes widened a bit at the remaining amount of cash in my small hand. I quickly shoved the wad into my front pocket and looked away from his curious gaze.

Turning around, I made haste for the exit, nearly colliding with a girl a couple of years older than Sasha.

She was blonde, several shades lighter than I used to be, with lightly tanned skin and bright blue eyes. She was wearing a pair of black yoga pants and a green tank top that revealed to anyone with working eyes the fact that puberty had been more than generous to her. It was the kind of body that was built for turning heads and causing problems.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, bringing my gaze from her form to her face.

She glared at me, fury flashing in her eyes. “Watch where you’re walking, bitch.”

I blinked, instantly wondering why someone so pretty would be so hateful to someone for accidentally bumping into them. I returned her hard stare, gritting my teeth.

“What?” She said, taking a step closer. “You want to say something?”

I debated teaching her a lesson. Despite every cop instinct in me screaming that I was drawing attention, the pressures and trials of recent had my patience worn down to razor-thinness. Despite being younger and smaller, I knew six places where I could strike her with minimum force and leave her lying on the dirty floor gasping for air.

“No,” I finally said after a few seconds, turning my eyes away from hers.

“Good.”

I balled my hands up and stomped out of the store.

When I got back to the Hummer, I climbed inside and slammed the door closed behind me.

I wasn’t sure who I was madder with. The blonde, for action like a complete and total stuck-up bitch. Or myself, for rising to the challenge and behaving more like a spoiled mafia princess than a professional police officer.

The Hummer’s engine was off, so I rolled down the window to get some fresh air. Leaning my head on the frame, I swung my gaze across to a pick-up truck parked at the next island over. It was one of the newer models, with glossy royal blue paint, shiny chrome bumpers, and oversized tires.

Standing beside the vehicle was a boy about the same age as the tramp I’d collided with. He had the build of a natural athlete, and wore a pair of faded jeans and a black form-fitting tee. His shaggy brown hair was slightly messy and hung down into his face. One hand came up and pushed the bangs out of the way, revealing a pair of soft brown eyes that looked like pools of rich caramel.

Our gazes met, and the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile that set my heart to racing.

I continued to stare, unable to stop gliding my eyes down his body in a slow examination of appraisal. The muscular arms poking out of the sleeves of the tee were more than large enough to wrap around someone as petite as me, and the curve of his chest beneath the taut cotton covering screamed manliness. I bet he could have picked me up as easily as he could a doll. When he turned slightly to the side so he could check the status of the pump, I found my attention drawn to the way his butt looked in profile in the tight jeans.

My pulse quickened as new thoughts sprung immediately into my brain. How wonderful would it feel to be held by those strong arms? Pressed against that well-defined chest. What would his cologne smell like? Would his breath smell like mint?

Would it taste like mint?

A shudder ran though me as my mind painted a startling vivid picture of the hot way his breath would tickle my neck as he whispered sweet words between bouts of nibbling on my neck.

The sound of pump shutting off rattled the Hummer, pulling me from my erotic daydream. I sat up with alarm, looking around as the sensual images resisted my attempts to banish them. A dazed and confused awareness surrounded me, like I’d just been sucker punched by a heavyweight contender.

Had I really just been about to drool all over myself while ogling some boy? I shook my head, like I could fling everything I'd just imagined out of my brain if I tried hard enough. Like I could convince myself that it hadn’t actually happened. However, there was no denying the way my heartrate remained elevated and there was a painful hardness in the nipples beneath my sweater.

I figured looking back at the boy might be an unwise decision, so I turned my attention to the front of the store as I attempted to splash some metaphorical cold water on my rampaging libido.

The blonde was standing on the curb, cellphone jammed against the side of her head. She waved her free hand in the air as she spoke to the person at the other end of the line. The tired-looking clerk stood beside her, also on the phone. His motions were less animated than the bimbo’s, but he kept repeatedly looking over at me.

Not me. The Hummer.

My heated arousal went out like a candle in a hurricane as I watched the girl turn to look at the street corner, leaning slightly to the side so that she could get a clear line of sight at the signs dangling over the intersection.

She wasn’t gossiping with one of her girlfriends about the redheaded brat who’d bumped into her. And even if she were, it wouldn’t help explain what the shopkeeper was doing. No, every fiber of cop in me told me they were both talking to someone official.

About us.

“Oh shit,” I breathed as I scrambled over to the driver’s side of the Hummer and threw open the door. Leaning out, I looked at Matthew as he was engaged with putting the gas cap back on.

“We've got to get the hell out of here." I said, pointing at the pair of phone users. “We’ve been spotted!”

Matthew looked to where I pointed, his eyes widening. He snapped the lid of the tank closed and practically leapt into the driver’s seat. I barely had time to put on my seatbelt when he fired up the engine and dropped the Hummer into gear as he stomped on the pedal.

The SUV took off like a rocket, zooming across the parking lot in the most direct route

to the highway onramp. The suspension received one hell of a workout as we bounced over the curb, down a grassy hill, and turned right onto the highway.

Matthew kept the pedal to the floor, pushing our speed well past eighty. His eyes jumped from the lightly occupied road before us to the rearview mirror and back repeatedly.

“How?” he asked, not daring to look over at me.

“It was me,” I said, banging the heel of my hand against my forehead. “I was careless and drew attention to myself. I’m sorry.”

"How much of a head start do you think we have?"

I tried to calculate the answer to his inquiry. The problem was that I didn’t know how long the two of them had been on the phone before I spotted them. I’d been too busy salivating at the prospect of a little alone time with the truck-driving stud.

Fucking teenage hormones.

“I don’t know. Maybe five to ten minutes before anyone arrives at the store, depending on if there are any units in the area.” I shook my head, looking over at him. “The fact that we don’t completely match our descriptions might buy us another minute or two. Not long enough to get away.”

He narrowed his eyes at the windshield.

“Well, if we can’t run, then we’ll have to hide.”

I glanced over to see what he was talking about.

The sign that went zooming past us informed motorists that the next exit led to a museum, a park, and a mall.

“The mall?” I asked, realizing that just saying it made me sound like a clueless teen. Then I smiled. “You want to hide in the parking lot?”

He nodded. “If they have one of those multi-story decks, it would be even better.”

I shook my head, momentarily proud of him. He’d reacted with calm under fire, and been insightful enough to deduce a logistically sound plan that increased our odds of getting away. However, my moment of delight quickly faded as I realized that those were my traits. My skills. His inhabiting my body had provided him with access to the quick witted thinking that had served me well throughout my life.

A flash of fury rose up in me. Thanks to the swap, Matthew had acquired my professional abilities and I, well, I had acquired a ridiculous fashion sense and a penchant for having cute boys make my motor run.

We couldn’t Hop back fast enough.

Our luck held out, though, and Matthew pulled the SUV into the entrance of a large parking deck attached to one side of the mall’s exterior. The structure was three stories tall and filled with rows upon rows of cars. We ascended to the second level and stopped in a darkened corner next to the delivery van of a big-name electronics company.

"We've got to ditch this vehicle and get a new one," he said as he shut off the Hummer's engine.

Still annoyed that he’d thought of something I should have, I rolled my eyes.

“Duh. If we wait here, we risk giving them time to set up a roadblock and begin canvassing the area. Eventually, they’ll look here.”

“Good point,” he said, opening his door.

We climbed out of the Hummer and stood next to the van.

“We need to wait and boost the car of someone who just got here,” I said, forcing myself to remain in detective mode. “If it’s reported stolen too soon, the cops will add it to a list of suspect vehicles.”

“Which means we’ll have to steal another once we’re further down the road.”

I nodded. “Yep.” Then I sighed, leaning my head back against the side of the van. “Twenty years of upholding the law and only one day to commit multiple felonies.” I looked up at him. “I really don’t want to go reform school as a girl.”

Matthew couldn’t suppress his grin. “You’ll go back to a life as a spoiled princess. Probably even more so due to the trauma of being kidnapped. I’m the one who will go to prison.”

“Not if the Order gets to you first,” I said, instantly regretting it.

He looked at me and frowned, nodding his head.

“If they do, Jack, chances are they will come after Sasha as well.” His voice dripped with serious concern. “They can’t afford to leave loose ends.”

“What about Sasha’s father? Crossing him wouldn’t be smart.”

“Any loose ends.”

The Displaced Detective: A Body Hopper Tale – Part 5
by Limbo’s Mistress

We only had to wait about ten minutes before an opportunity, two opportunities actually, became available.

From our hiding spot behind the delivery van, we watched a dark green Honda Accord pull into a nearby parking space. Immediately behind it was a dark red Jeep Wrangler.

The door of the Jeep opened and a young man, around mid-twenties, climbed out. He paused to check his hair in the side mirror before strolling away toward the skybridge that led into the mall.

“What do you think?” Matthew asked me, nodding his head at the Jeep.

“Let’s wait a second,” I said, turning my attention to the Honda. “At least make sure we aren’t seen by anyone who might call the cops.”

The doors of the sedan opened and a fortyish woman climbed out of the driver’s side. With her was a girl probably a year or two older than Sasha. The two of them were very chatty, talking animatedly about topics I wasn’t close enough to hear. They followed behind the guy from the Jeep, so caught up in their interaction that I never saw the lights of the Honda blink or the horn chirp.

"Let's go," I said to Matthew, moving out from behind the van toward the women’s vehicle.

Matthew caught up to me and lightly grabbed my arm. "Why that one?"

I looked up at him, then held up a pink-tipped finger. "One, because they didn't lock the

doors." I held up a second finger. "Two, because a mother and her daughter at the mall? Around lunchtime? They’ll probably get something to eat, then shop for at least an hour or so. By the time they come back and realize their car is gone, we’ll be well past any roadblocks.”

Matthew looked between the car and Jeep a couple of times before nodding.

I couldn’t help but feel a perverse sort of pride that, despite it recently seeming like he was the seasoned detective and I the bratty schoolgirl, my experience and skills were still occasionally mine to use.

"Do you know how to hotwire a car?" he asked me as I opened the driver’s door.

I shot him a Sasha-worthy look of reproach and leaned in under the dash. I pulled a couple of wires free and began reconnecting them in a different configuration. Luckily, the vehicle was an older model, without all the latest in security devices.

While I worked, Matthew leaned over me and pulled the level to open the trunk. I twisted my head from beneath the dash to look up at him.

“What are you doing?”

“The police are going to be looking for a man travelling with a young girl, right? I was thinking that it might be smart for you to ride in the trunk. Not the whole day. Just until we know we’ve managed to give them the slip.”

After I got the engine started, I climbed out and walked around to stand next to Matthew at the rear of the vehicle. The compartment contained a half-dozen black plastic garbage bags.

“What is this?” I asked Matthew, pointing at the bundles.

“Clothing,” he said. “Looks like a bunch of stuff getting donated to charity.” He looked over at me and shrugged. “Might make the trip a little more comfortable.”

“Okay,” I started to climb into the compartment, musing that my adult body would be cramped in the small space. Sasha, however, was petite enough that it wouldn’t be that tight.

Matthew waited until I buried myself behind the bags, before closing the lid and sending me plunging into darkness. I lay there, listening as I heard him close the driver’s door of the Honda, shift into reverse, then back out of the space. When he braked, I rocked from side to side, sending one of the bags falling over. The top opened and some of the contents spilled out over my jean-clad legs.

The car bumped over the entrance of the deck and accelerated. I felt the vehicle travel for a bit, stop for a few seconds, then continue. I kept expecting the ride to finally hit the smooth constant pace of the highway, but it seemed like it was taking far longer to get back to the interstate than it had to get to the mall.

The anxiety belonging to the teen began to creep through my mind, making me imagine all kinds of horrible things that could happen to me. We could wreck, my unrestrained body being launched into a ditch. Matthew could decide that this would by the perfect time to cut his losses, parking the car at a bus terminal or train station and leaving me to either die of thirst or be captured by the authorities.

The longer I let my brain journey down those dark paths, of which there were many, the more I started to think I should feel around to see if there was an emergency release lever that would open the trunk and let me escape those nightmarish fates.

“Jesus, Jack,” I snapped aloud to myself. “Get a fucking grip. You’re acting like a … scared little girl. Matthew isn’t going to ditch you.”

I wasn't sure how long we drove. It might have been about an hour, but felt like much more. While there were long stretches where we didn’t slow down, it never seemed like we had returned to the highway. Eventually, the vehicle slowed to a stop, the tires crunching on the gravel of the shoulder.

The engine silenced, and the door opened and closed. I rose to a half-sitting position and waited on Matthew to let me out. Seconds ticked by. I told myself that he was just making sure that no one was driving by before opening the lid. Soon it had been a minute. Then five. Ten.

I began to sweat and tremble at the same time. All those bad thoughts I’d battled so recently returned, bolstered by the unassailable fact that I’d been abandoned.

Feeling around, I found the release lever I’d assumed was inside. I curled my fingers around it and prepared myself to pull hard. Once I did, the trunk would fly open, and I’d be free.

If I did that, then I would be committed to getting out of the trunk. What if Matthew had stopped because of a road block. Maybe he was ordered to kill the engine and step out of the car. If the trunk flew open and a teenaged girl climbed out, any bluff he was attempting to use on the officer would be moot. The game would be up.

Maybe Matthew stopped for a non-police matter. Hell, he could be taking a leak on the side of the road. A grown man relieving his bladder might get a funny look from a passing motorist, but a young girl emerging from the trunk of parked car would scream human trafficking and definitely provide the worst type of response.

Another five minutes passed, then I heard another car pull to a stop right behind the Honda. The shaking in my hand increased. The car behind me was a cruiser, stopping to investigate an abandoned vehicle. Once they called in the plates, and discovered it to be stolen, I would be caught.

Any hope of getting my adult body back would vanish faster than Michael Dellinger could say “Hello, Pumpkin!”

The sound of the car’s door opening and closing was followed by a series of quick footsteps that approached the rear of the sedan. I steeled myself to make a break for it as soon as the lid opened. I wasn’t going back home in this body. Even if it meant having to learn to live on the streets.

However, when the trunk opened, the harsh afternoon sun blinded me. I threw up an arm over my face, blinking against the glare with eyes that had been staring into darkness for far too long. If I tried to flee now, I would probably run directly into the officer.

"Come on," Matthew said as he grabbed my arm and helped me out. "We have to hurry."

I climbed out of the trunk and stood behind the car on legs that were shaking from disuse and nerves.

“Are you okay?” Matthew asked, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"Where are we?" I asked, looking around at the wooded area around us. Then I noticed the car parked behind the Honda. It was another SUV, this one a brown Ford that had seen better days. "Where did you get that?"

Matthew looked at the bags in the trunk, then grabbed two of them before shutting the lid. He walked around to the open rear of the Ford and threw them inside. When he returned, he took me by the hand and led me to the open tailgate.

"We're about fifty miles from the mall. I stuck to the back roads and travelled parallel to the highway." He nodded back at the Honda. "The sweet GPS built right in the dash was really helpful."

"Are we outside the search area?"

He shrugged. "I think so. However ..." He looked from me to the SUV’s cargo area and back.

The meaning was clear. He wanted me to ride back there, hidden by the bags, for a little while longer.

I sighed and climbed into the back of the SUV. "You know, yesterday I was a highly respected member of law enforcement. Today, I'm luggage."

Matthew grinned, moving the bags around to partially conceal me. As well as provide me with something comfortable to lay on.

"But you’re really cute luggage."

He quickly slammed the hatch before I could kick him in the balls. He climbed into the front and soon we were back on the highway.

"If everything goes without a hitch, we should be at Carol's place around dusk," he said. "Are you okay to ride back there for at least an hour? Until we know we’re clear?”

"Yeah," I said as I stared at the roof of the car. "It's, like, totally better than the trunk."

“Okay. I'll keep an even speed and try not to draw any attention."

"Good idea."

Once again, the gentle swaying of the ride lulled me into a very relaxed state. Assisted, no doubt, by the minor panic attack I’d experienced in the darkness of the Honda’s trunk. Matthew turned on the radio, but the music was barely audible and only served to make me even more lethargic.

My drowsy mind turned inward, back to the boy at the gas station. There was no doubt I'd found him attractive. To claim otherwise would be a lie. The curious thing was that the memory was slightly uncomfortable, but not the least bit revolting. More like putting on a jacket that seems to be the right size, but just doesn’t feel quiet right.

But one that you could easily learn to like wearing.

I shook my head and turned my thoughts to the barista who’s shapely bottom I’d admired the day before. Now, instead of attracted to her, I felt … slightly jealous.

As if she were now competition.

The sensation of the car slowing down was quickly followed by an explanation from Matthew.

"We're pulling in to a rest stop. Sorry, Jack, I have to go to the bathroom."

I snickered, then realized that I did, too.

There was only one other person in the gigantic ladies’ room. An older woman, who might have been between mid-fifties and early seventies, was washing her hands in the sink. She glanced up into the mirror as I passed behind her and flashed me a warm smile.

I returned it and hurried over to the nearest stall. Before I could close the door, however, she turned around to look at me.

"I love your hair, dear," she said, eyes glittering with mirth. "It's so bold and lively."

"Thank you," I said in response, reaching up the run my fingers through the short, red strands. "Although I think it might be too short."

She shook her head, grabbing a few paper towels from the holder on the wall. "The length is perfect. Makes you look sassy.”

“Sassy?”

She laughed, turning around to look at me. "There’s nothing wrong with being sassy, my dear. All of history's famous women were. Just remember to temper that boldness with a little common sense." She tossed the damp paper into the wastebasket, then gave me a stern look. "You're a pretty girl, and sometimes pretty girls don't think things all the way through."

I shrugged, my hand resting on the closed door of the stall. "Guess I'm still getting used to being a pretty girl."

She laughed. "Good. That's good. Never get used to it and you'll find strengths beyond your appearance.” She gave me another smile and turned toward the door. "You take care now, sweetie."

When I finished my business, Matthew was waiting next to the front of the Ford. There was a smorgasbord of vending machine snacks spread out on the hood, as well as a couple of bottles of water.

"You certainly took your time," he said, tossing me a smirk.

I glanced around to make sure no one was around, especially sweet little old ladies, then gave him the finger. “I don't have the equipment to, like, just whip it out and spray down a seat anymore, jerk." I planted my hand on my hip. "It takes a lady a bit longer, you know."

He laughed and handed me a candy bar. "It's not a real lunch, but it's probably not a good idea to get off the highway to try to get something more substantial.” He glanced up at the diminishing light overhead. "Only about another hour or so until we get there."

I took the offered chocolate bar and grabbed one of the bottles. While far from the ideal nutrition a growing girl like me needed, the sugar and calories from the junk food would keep me from crashing. I started walking toward the rear of the SUV, but Matthew put his hand on my shoulder.

“It’s probably safe enough for you to ride up front now.”

We got back into the vehicle, my butt and back grateful to have a real seat to sit in, rather than the stiff, unyielding floor of the cargo and some lumpy garbage bags. Matthew packed up our picnic and soon we were rolling down the highway once more.

“So,” I said, turning in my seat to look at him. “Tell me about this Carol person. I already know she’s a Hopper. Is she one like you?”

“Like me?”

I waited a second before answering, hoping I didn’t sound too crass.

“Does she work out deals with people who are suicidal? Or does she just take a body that appeals to her?”

“She’s … at least she used to be, like me. Like I said, she’s a lot older than me. With that kind of age comes wisdom.”

“And a loss of humanity,” I added. It was clear enough that this woman waiting for us at the end of the road didn’t have qualms about assuming some poor innocent’s life.

“Despite her morality, she’s pretty much the only person who might be able to explain why we’re stuck as we are. Do you want to risk throwing any chance of getting your body back away due to a disagreement with the way she uses her abilities?”

I arched a brow, giving him a skeptical stare. I didn't even need to look in a mirror to know the expression on my face seemed right at home. There were few people on the planet who could convey disbelief better than a teenager.

“Fine,” I said, putting a chill in my words. “I’ll table my feelings on that for now. I might be eternally grateful if she can fix us and decide to overlook her indiscretions.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. Just try to keep Sasha in check when we get there. I’m not sure throwing adolescent shade will do much to convince her to help us.”

We rode the rest of the way in silence. A little over an hour after the sun had set, Matthew turned off the highway and onto a small country service road. The dirt trail was pitted with a ton of potholes and ruts, and it seemed as if he were determined to hit every single one. The jarring caused the Ford, and my boobs, to bounce around like a bucking bronco.

Thankfully, before my teeth could rattle out of my crimson-haired skull, we turned onto a long driveway that was much smoother than the road. The thick trees lining both sides almost completely blocked the light from the moon overhead. The drive emerged into a wide clearing, revealing a rustic, two-story farmhouse waiting at the end of the line.

The house looked like something out of a movie, looming ominously over the well-manicured lawn. The second floor windows were completely dark, adding to the eerie ambiance. However, I spotted a sliver of light peeping through a gap in the curtain of the large bay window on the ground level.

Someone was home.

Matthew drove toward the house while I glanced at the vast empty fields around us with a sense of foreboding. I wasn't sure if it was more of Sasha’s adolescent imagination making the tiny hairs on my slender arms stand on end. Perhaps it was the honed instincts of a cop who’s seen the worst side of people. All I knew for sure was the closer we got to the farmhouse, the less comfortable I became.

That disturbing feeling didn’t lessen when Matthew pulled to a stop in front of a detached garage standing like a silent guardian next to the house. It reminded me of the kind of place where serial killers kept their victims caged until the torture could begin. As isolated as the farm was from the service road, screams for help and cries of pain would go unnoticed.

“We’re here,” Matthew said, killing the engine. He opened his door and climbed out, stretching the kinks in his back due to sitting for so long. He pushed the door closed with one hand and walked around the front of the SUV toward the front of the farmhouse.

I, however, made absolutely no move to get out of the vehicle.

The thought of spending the rest of my life in the body of Sasha Dellinger didn’t appeal to me at all. Even if I could get away from her mobster of a father, I didn’t want to have to learn to live as a girl. Or a woman. I didn’t want to have to learn how to handle having periods, and boyfriends, and all the shit associated with growing up all over again. I’d done my time once, and I really didn’t have any desire to turn back the clock.

Staring up at that house, feeling the wave of anxiety pushing against my senses, I would have gladly taken off of that, including Michael Dellinger, rather than step foot inside.

Matthew put his hand on the gate of the little fence running around the perimeter of the yard, and looked back at the Ford. When he saw me still sitting in my seat, he turned around and walked over to the passenger side.

I rolled the window down. "I'm not sure about this," I said to him, nodding at the house. "I'm getting some, like totes, seriously bad vibes from this place."

He glanced back at the house, then turned back to me. "It's okay, Jack. We're safe here. Nobody knows we’re here. Not the police, the Order, or Sasha’s dad. We can finally relax a bit."

I shook my head, feeling about as far away from relaxed as humanly possible.

Something's not right here. I can feel it."

Matthew sighed and leaned in to put his arms on the window’s frame.

“I think it’s just your imagination is getting the best of you. I believe that somewhere deep down, you’re convinced that Carol isn’t going to be able to help us get you back into your own body. Or that she might refuse to help us. That worry is mixing with those teenage hormones running through your brain and causing you to freak.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head defiantly. “That’s not it at all.”

But … was it? I thought about the way my imagination had run away with me in the back of the Honda. I’d been so absolutely convinced that Matthew had ditched me that I was ready to leap out in the middle of nowhere. After all, hadn’t I been positive that the SUV was actually a patrol car?

Could my subconscious concern that I might have no choice but to remain Sasha be driving me to abandoning any hope of trying? I already had proof that my thoughts were sliding around in patterns completely unlike my normal self. Was it really that hard to follow the chain of clues to the very point Matthew was making?

I was about to agree that he could have a logical argument when the sound of a door banging against the frame caused me to jump in my seat and let out an embarrassingly girlish squeal.

Matthew turned around to face the house while I leaned around him, peering out from behind the safety of his shoulder.

There was a woman standing in front of the door, the yellow light spilling out from inside casting her in shadows. Though I couldn’t see her darkened face, I knew she was looking right at the both of us.

"Well, are you two going to sit out there in the car all night?" a melodious, almost cheerful voice with a Southern drawl called out to us. "Or come inside and be sociable?"

Matthew turned back at me, flashing a slightly forced smile.

“Jack, this is the best option we have. Hell, it’s the only option.”

He began to walk backward away from the SUV, gesturing for me to come with him.

I looked from him to the silhouette on the porch and back. There was no way I was going to be able to talk him into abandoning this plan. The plan. Any debate was only going to come back around to my being anxious and delusional.

So, I drew in a deep breath and, against every professional instinct I still possessed, climbed out and followed him.

The woman remained where she stood as we approached, hands planted on her wide hips. When we got closer, I was able to see that she was heavy-set and older than I expected. She looked like she might be in her early sixties, with a rounded face and dark hair almost as short as my own. A wide smile split her face as she waited until Matthew got within touching distance. Then she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a tight squeeze.

“Oh, Cornelius,” she said softly. “It’s been far too long.”

Cornelius?

“Hello, Carol,” Matthew said, giving her a slightly chaste kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for responding to my email so quickly.”

She nodded, then turned to me. “You must be Jack, right?”

“On the inside,” I replied. My tension had abated a sliver or so, but I still felt like I might open a box and find a nest of rattlesnakes instead of a prize.

Carol blinked with surprise, then chuckled softly. The laugh shook her considerable girth.

“Oh, Jack. That’s hilarious.”

“Being funny is one of my many talents,” I replied, trying to temper my teenaged snark.

“Please, come inside, both of you.” She gave Matthew/Cornelius another long look, then turned around and stepped into the house.

Matthew waited until she was out of earshot before turning back to me.

“I know this is going to be tough,” he whispered to me. “Not only because it seems to be a natural thing for you and Sasha, but try to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. Remember, we need her help.”

I gave him a little salute, along with a hard glare, then moved past him to follow the woman into the house.

The room I found myself was decorated in what would have been a homey, welcoming classical farm style. Like something one might find in an issue Southern Living or Country Home. The floors were polished wood, and the wallpaper on the walls had a flowery print. A stone fireplace, which almost matched the steps outside, sat along the far wall. Flickering flames crackled within, giving the room a toasty feeling.

The mantle running across the top, made out of some variation of dark hardwood, was adorned with several framed photos

The middle of the room was dominated by a large, blue sofa flanked on either side by matching chairs. A hallway visible on the other side of the furniture led into a shadowed area and the barest hint of a staircase. Across from the front door, I could see the entrance to a cozy-looking kitchen.

The smells wafting from inside sent my nervous tummy rumbling with urgent need.

The woman stood next to the fireplace, looking at me. There was an odd look in her tired eyes. As if she weren’t simply looking at me, but was eyeing with the practiced gaze of an appraiser of fine jewels. When her gaze rose to meet mine, the expression in her eyes changed to one of care and warmth.

I suddenly liked her even less than the house.

Matthew stepped in behind me, closing the door. He looked around the room before turning his attention to his long-time friend.

“Nice place,” he said, sounding genuinely impressed. “Not what I would have pictured you living in, but it really has rustic charm.”

Carol smiled and shrugged in a way that seemed exaggeratedly nonchalant.

“Well, when I figured I’d settle down for a while, it ended up being here. Then it just sort of grew on me, you know?”

I sighed under my breath and walked over to fireplace, letting the warm try to drive the chill from my body. Even though I knew the coldness in my veins wasn’t the fault of the weather.

“Matthew … uh, Cornelius, I mean. He said that you could, like, help us.”

She smiled and bobbed her head up and down. “I can certainly try.” She looked over at my clueless companion. “I mentioned that you’d tried to Hop back into her last night. Have you tried since then?”

My head whipped over at Mathew, who suddenly found his shoes to be fascinating.

“We were, uh, busy with trying to get away from the police … and the Order.”

She took a step back, nearly stepping into the fire.

“The Order? You didn’t say the Order was after you.”

“You left that part out?” I said to him, narrowing my eyes.

He held up his hands at both of us. “I worried you wouldn’t agree to let me come if you knew.” He lifted his hand and pointed from himself to me. “They’re the reason Jack and I are where we are now.”

Carol shook her head. “Did they inject you with something?” From the tone of her voice, I knew she already knew the answer.

He nodded. “When I was in her. I Hopped right before I passed out.”

She sighed. “Did you learn nothing in the years we spent together?” She gestured for him to come over to us. “Try to see if your powers work now.”

Matthew hesitated for a moment, then walked over to me. I turned to face him, looking up into my own face. Hopefully for the last time. He put his hands on my shoulder and stared into my eyes.

The thread sensation from before returned, this time a lot less strongly. When the tugging came, it didn’t hurt nearly as bad. However, it still hurt more than I preferred.

“Ow!” I yelled, twisting out of his grip to place my hands against my temples. Matthew staggered slightly to the side, doing the same.

Carol watched the event unfold, then nodded her head as Matthew and I slowly recovered from the attempt.

“It’s this new drug they’ve developed. It locks a Hopper into a body. Keeps them from being able to adopt a new identity and hide.”

“Wait,” I said, pointing at Matthew. “He’s locked in my body permanently?”

“Which body got drugged?” she asked me.

I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat as I reached up and tapped my chest.

“This one.”

She frowned a sympathetic frown and patted me on the shoulder, leaving her hand resting there.

“The drug affects the part of the brain where personality resides. It creates a sort of wall that keeps the personality trapped.” She looked over at Matthew. “Your ability is working just fine, Cornelius. The problem is in her.”

I shook my head from side to side, feeling a wave of despair rolling toward me. A tsunami of panic that I knew, without question, would drown me in its wake.

“No. There has to be something we can do. Something to counter-act the effects.”

“Jack …” Matthew said, sitting down slowly on the arm of the sofa. “I’m so sorry.”

Tears formed in my eyes, blurring my vision into distortion. I was trapped in here. Forever destined to be the girl I saw in the mirror.

Carol patted my shoulder again.

“Now, now, dear. There’s no need to cry.” She leaned down and looked me in the face, our noses only a few inches apart. “After all, you are right, there is an antidote. One that will allow you to be plucked from that beautiful little head like a rose from an award-winning garden.

I sniffled, my shoulders slumping as the good news sent a wash of endorphins surging into my brain.

All was not lost, it seemed. There was an antidote to the Order’s horrible drug.

An antidote.

To a relatively new chemical concoction being deployed by an organization known to be an enemy of people like Carol and Cornelius.

I don’t know if it was the fatigue, the hunger, or the hormones, but the dominos that began to fall moved slower than I liked.

The feeling I’d experienced outside the house that I knew was more than just nerves. The way that Carol didn’t rush to peer outside when Matthew mentioned that the Order was after us. The fact that she not only new about the drug locking a Hopper in place, but that it also had an antidote. The way she’d eyed me warily when I first came into the house.

I suppose crossing the finish line of the only logical conclusion happened for me and Matthew simultaneously.

“Hold up,” he said, rising back to his feet. “How the hell do you know that there’s …”

Before I even registered her moving, Carol had produced a pistol from behind her back. She held it in the hand not resting on my shoulder, leveled the barrel at my body, and pulled the trigger.

The explosive rapport I expected never manifested. Instead, there was the sound of a gas cartridge being activated and the whip of something small leaping across the air from the weapon to Matthew.

“Fuck,” he yelled as he slapped at the side of his neck. He took a single step toward us, then another, before falling over one of the smaller chairs to crash face-first onto the floor.

“Now,” Carol said as her fingers dug into my shoulder. If not for the leather jacket, I probably would have screamed. “Your turn.”

Back in the hospital, Matthew had show apprehension about uncuffing me. He’d been afraid that I would use my combat training against him. I’d countered with the argument that I was much too small in Sasha’s body to do any damage to anyone.

Which was a complete and total lie.

As she began to bring the pistol to bear on me, I lashed out with my left foot, driving the toe of my sneaker into her shin. The impact sent a blast of pain into my foot, but achieved the desired result. The vicelike grip on me evaporated.

I kept moving, slamming the palm of my right hand squarely into the woman’s solar plexus. The motion was textbook perfect, despite my diminutive size. The gun clattered to the floor as the air rushed out of her lungs, and she fell sideways against the side of the fireplace.

My head snapped over to Matthew, lying on the floor out cold. I didn’t want to leave him, but there was no way I could carry him out to the Ford. Not if I had any hope of getting away from our supposed “savior”.

In fact, I could see Carol already recovering from my attack. With one hand planted on the stone facade of the fireplace, she was already leaning over to retrieve her weapon. Five more seconds and I’d really be a mafia princess. Only this time I’d be Sleeping Beauty.

I spun around and bolted for the front door, running for all that Sasha was worth. My hand gripped the knob and turned it as I glanced back to see Carol rising back to a standing position, fingers curling around the pistol’s grip.

I yanked open the door and leapt through it onto the porch.

Or, would have, if I hadn’t found myself face to face with the man standing just outside the doorway.

His barrel chest was attired with a dark gray ribbed turtleneck sweater beneath a black sports coat. The butt of a pistol was visible just under the left lapel. His face was ruddy, possibly from the evening’s chill, and a smattering of light stubble peppered his chin. The smile on his face was genuine, if less than completely friendly. His eyes, though, were shielded behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

“Hello, Detective Rollins,” he said in a deep timbre voice that reminded me of Orson Wells. “I’m so glad to finally meet you.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but I suddenly felt a bee sting me on the back of my neck. My hand flew up automatically to the wounded area, my fingers brushing against the tiny metal tail of the tranquilizer dart lodged in the flesh.

“That …” the world around me suddenly upended, as darkness formed at the edges of my vision and rocketed to the center. “That’s, like … totally not cool.”

My eyes closed as my arm dropped from my neck and my legs decided it was quitting time. I felt the strong hands of the man catch me before I hit the floor.

And after that … nothing.

The Displaced Detective: A Body Hopper Tale – Part 6
by Limbo’s Mistress

The buzzing of the world’s biggest headache dragged me, kicking and screaming, out of the darkness of slumber into awareness.

I’d just been in the middle of the best possible dream. I was behind the cafeteria with Blake Stevens. We were sitting on the steel benches, out of sight of any prying eyes. He held my hand and brought it to his lips over and over as he told me that I was the one he loved. Not that stupid bitch Becky Davis. Of course, my head just had to start hurting right as he leaned in to kiss me.

Real awareness broke over me, thrusting me the rest of the way to being awake.

I sat up with a start, breathing coming at a rapid pace as my heart hammered in my chest with the fragmented remembrance of the dream. Though I couldn’t rightly say if it were because I’d been enjoying it or if its appearance scared the hell out of me.

As soon as I was upright, the agony between my ears, which had been the catalyst in breaking sleep’s hold on me, flared up. I leaned over, closed my eyes, and grabbed the sides of my skull, positive that it was about to split in two.

“Oh, that really, like, fucking hurts.”

“My apologies for your discomfort, Detective,” a voice from beside me said. It was the same one I’d heard right before passing out in Carol’s living room. “It seems Mrs. Reese used the adult dose on you by mistake.”

I lifted my head, forcing open my eyes, and turned in the direction of the voice.

The room I was in was small, about bedroom sized actually. The source of the light that had seemed to be a god-powered flashlight to my pounding head was a small window on the far wall. The bars on the other side cast parallel shadows on the hardwood floor. The walls were painted a light green color, and were devoid of any sort of décor.

From the bed I was in, I could see a small closed door on the wall perpendicular to the window, and a larger one opposite. I surmised the smaller of the two either led to a closet or a tiny bathroom. The thought of which instantly made my bladder pipe up through the cacophony taking place in my head.

Jesus, all I’d had was a freaking bottle of water. One freaking bottle! Did Sasha spend most of her waking hours in the toilet?

Pushing the call of nature aside, I continued to turn my head until my eyes rested on the man I’d last seen looming in the doorway of the farmhouse, blocking my escape. He sat in an comfortable-looking chair at the head of the bed, his legs crossed and a tablet in one hand. Maybe it was the fact that I was less terrified than I’d been then, or maybe the migraine doing the Macarena in my head, but he seemed far less imposing than I remembered.

He was still wearing the dark slacks and gray turtleneck sweater from before, this time sans the jacket. The holster strapped around his shoulders was empty. No sign of the pistol I’d noticed right before passing out. Guess he felt safe enough wherever we were that he didn’t think he needed it.

His gaze held my own without flinching, the steel blue eyes focused and alert. It took a couple of seconds of trying to figure out what was unusual about his face before I realized he wasn’t wearing the mirrored glasses. He must have noticed my apparent surprise at the revelation, because his mouth curled into a small smile.

“You’re not a Body Hopper, Detective,” he said with a note of amusement. “Hence not needing the protection provided by our eyewear.” His voice still carried that deep timbre that ran with authority. There was no doubt this was a man who was accustomed to being in control.

Which meant that my best chance of seeing the outside world again lay in letting him keep that control. For now.

“Where am I?” I asked, wincing as my voice cracked and my throat suddenly felt like someone was trying to strike matches on the back of it.

“One of our facilities,” he said, settling back in the chair. “I thought it best to be here when you awakened. To head off any potential problems that might arise.”

“What sort of problems?”

His eyes seemed to glimmer with amusement. “The ones born out of your attempt to escape.”

Before I could protest that I was just a helpless little girl, he looked down at the device in his hand.

“Detective John C. Rollins. Born February 1, 1971 in Decatur, Illinois. Attended Woodbury High School, Class of 1989. From there you joined the United States Army, rising to the rank of Corporal. Saw combat during Operation Desert Storm. Honorable discharge in 1996. Attended UMass, majoring in Criminal Justice. After receiving your degree, you enrolled in the police academy, graduating at the top of your class. Four years as a patrolman before passing the Detective’s Examination. Then you spent five years with Vice before transferring to Homicide. Three commendations over the past ten years. Two for Heroism and one for Merit. Parents deceased. No siblings and no spouse.”

He glanced back up to me, his smile widened as his eyes twinkled with an air of smug satisfaction. “Did I happen leave anything out?”

I smiled back, putting no pleasant emotions behind it. The amount of data the Order had on me was scary. A lot of what he recounted was public knowledge, but I didn’t have to imagine too hard to think they knew shit that was kept in secret files.

“Like, you didn’t mention my totally awesome tennis backhand.”

The smile never faltered. “Yes. Well, we tried to stick to just the relevant facts. However, I’ll be sure to remember that the next time I need a partner for doubles.”

I shrugged, leaning back against my pillow. “You sort of have me at a disadvantage. You guys know everything about me, but I don’t know very much about you, Mister …?

“Armitage. Herman Armitage. But you can call me ‘Harry’, if you prefer.”

I took another drink of water, set the glass down, and crossed my arms over my chest.

“So, Herman, why are we talking? Hell, why am I still alive, for that matter?” I gestured at the room. Despite being essentially a cage, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Because we are not savages, Detective. Nor are we vile monsters that ooze evil. Despite whatever exaggerated horror stories the person who stole your body may have told you. The Order isn’t evil empire out to kill and destroy.”

“Why should I believe you? I mean, you’ve been chasing me and Matthew for two days. Or are you trying to say that it wasn’t one of your guys at the hospital who tried to stop us?”

“We were searching for you and your companion. That much is true. However, we were more interested in stopping him than killing you.”

“I see. Is that why I was drugged and taken prisoner at the farmhouse?”

He held out his hands in a supplicating gesture. “I prefer the term ‘guest’.”

“Semantics,” I replied.

He waited a second or two before continuing. “Let me ask you this, Detective. What have we done that would make us the bad guys? Which of our actions would give you the impression that we are exactly what your traveling companion, the man currently wearing your body I might add, has claimed?”

I arched a brow as I thought through his words. True, the guy on the street’s gun was filled with darts, not bullets. Nothing lethal there. Also, given the setup we walked into, the Order knew where we were going. They could have simply taken us the moment we walked into the house. Which would have ended with someone hurt, possibly even dead.

The man smiled. “I see the lawman’s brain whirling around in that adolescent skull. So, nothing at all?”

I continued to stare at the far wall, trying to think logically rather than emotionally. Of course, it was my noticing that I had begun to twirl my hair around my finger that I discovered the answer to his question.

“Sasha Dellinger,” I said as I untwisted the crimson strands from my finger and narrowed mye yes at him. “The young girl who used to inhabit this body is dead because of your organization’s actions. The hunt for Matthew ended with the death of an innocent girl.”

The conceited smile never faltered for a second. “I’m afraid you are sorely mistaken, Detective. Miss Dellinger is very much alive. In fact, we are already making arrangements to put her back in control of that body and return her to her worried family.”

“What?” I flinched inside as the surprised tone of my voice sounded more feminine and youthful than normal. Of all the excuses and arguments I’d expected to hear to support Armitage’s insistence that the Order was benevolent, the announcement that Sasha was alive was a complete surprise.

I sat there for a few moments, feeling the weight that had been pressing on my conscience for the past twenty-four hours lessen. Even though I hadn’t had anything to do with the teen’s situation, other than get stuck in her body, I had still felt responsible. Learning that at least one life might be saved after all this was over went a long way to helping me deal with that strange form of survivor’s guilt.

“Matthew … he said that your people had killed her when they discovered he’d Hopped into her body.”

“Another lie, Detective. Cornelius’ …uh, Matthew, I mean, would say anything to paint us in a terrible light.” His smile moved into one that seemed to turn friendly far too quickly. “I trust that you’re the kind of person who prefers to make his own opinions based on actual evidence?”

There it was, the flattering.

Instead of calling him out on it, I merely nodded my head slightly. The headache had begun to unwind and the mariachi band had taken their act to a room a few doors down.

“I try to make sure I have all the fact before I come to a conclusion.”

“Excellent!” The man rose to his feet, gesturing at the door. “Care to take a walk while I show you the truth behind the falsehoods and discuss the details of your future?”

“Details?”

“Yes. About our organization, our purpose, and, most importantly, how we are going to get you back to your life.”

I thought about all the trouble I was sure was waiting for me when I returned home. Returning to my life as I’d left it twenty-four hours earlier would end up with me in prison at the most. Being fired was a near certainty. So either Herman was just blowing smoke up my skirt, or his group really did have some really powerful influences.

Regardless, I couldn’t do much about my situation by remaining in bed all day.”

“A walk sounds nice,” I said as I slid off the bed. Even though I still wore the jeans and sweater I’d taken from Karen’s closet, someone had been thoughtful enough to remove my jacket and shoes. The coat was nowhere to be seen, but the sneakers on the floor beside the bed.

I slipped my feet into them, tightened the laces, and followed Herman over to the door.

He paused before opening it, turning to look back at me over his shoulder.

“Though I really think it doesn’t need to be said, Detective. Please do not try to escape. I have no desire to hurt you, but I cannot allow you to simply take off on your own. Not that I think you would want to leave before we fix your situation.” His eyes flicked down over my feminine body.

I opened my mouth to remind him that he wasn’t dealing with a teenager, despite what my appearance seemed. However, I opted to just nod my head and do my best to look impatient.

Which, apparently, I was able to do with practiced ease.

Herman’s expression shifted momentarily, from one of outright friendliness to something darker. More guarded. I was sure he didn’t actually trust me. The question was, could I get him to at least refrain from ordering my execution.

That practiced smile returned and he twisted the knob in his hand, pulling the door open with ease. Hell, the damned thing hadn’t even been locked.

We emerged into a darkened hallway with hardwood floors and a curved ceiling beset with recessed lighting. Several closed doors branched off along the corridor, which ended in what appeared to be a T-junction. Several paintings hung on the wall. As we passed, I noticed they were all of stern-looking men.

“The Founding Fathers?” I asked sarcastically.

Herman smiled. “In a way. The Order itself has been around since the early Twelfth Century, although there has been a group such as ours for almost as long as there have been those with special abilities.”

I nodded. “Hoppers.”

“Precisely. However, they are just one type of the dangerous people out there, Detective. Being able to swap souls with someone, taking their body away from them, is detestable. No question there. Unfortunately, there are those who are far worse. Those whose abuse of their fellow man is ore sinister than simply stealing a life.”

We turned the corner at the end, continuing down another hall that was almost identical to the previous. With the exception of perhaps a few less paintings and doors.

“Such as?” I asked. Mostly just because the more he told me, the more I thought he might begin to see me as a potential ally. But also because if there were people out there who could do more horrible things than Hop, I wanted to know about them.

“Let’s see,” he said, pausing as if in thought. “There are ones called Life Drainers. Rather than steal someone’s body, they actually steal their vitality.”

“Vitality?” I asked, a wave of uneasiness forming in my belly. “You mean, their youth?”

He nodded. “While I’m sure it’s not been any fun for you to be stuck in the body of a fifteen year old girl, can you imagine being that fifteen year old and having someone grab ahold of you and steal sixty years of your life away? One day, you’re cheering at the Homecoming Game and looking forward to the Winter Formal; the next you’re in adult diapers and eating through a straw in a nursing home.”

I stopped walking for a moment, staring up at him with my mouth slightly agape. I honestly couldn’t seem to get my mind to fathom the horror of that scenario. As a man approaching fifty, I’d been more than aware of the passage of time and the toll it’d taken on my body. However, to go from being young and carefree to a drooling octogenarian overnight made the urge to pee flare up in me again.

“That’s terrifying,” I whispered, not caring that I sounded exactly like a scared girl.

He nodded in agreement.

“Unfortunately, that particular example is a true story. We weren’t able to catch the Drainer and force him to give her back her stolen youth. The poor thing passed away of heart failure at the ripe old age of eighteen.” He frowned and began walking down the hallway again. “There are also individuals out there who can rearrange someone’s memories as easily as you might rearrange items on a shelf. Also, let’s not fail to mention the ones who can warp their local reality to suit their whims. The Laws of Physics be damned.”

“Shit,” I breathed. Matthew hadn’t told me anything other than there were people out there with powers different than his own. Someone who could control reality? Manipulate memories? How would you even begin to defend against someone like that?

At the end of the corridor, a wide staircase with ornately-carved handrails descended down into a large open room with four hallways branching off in opposite directions. A smaller side room, directly across from the bottom of the steps, revealed a darkened foyer and a thick wooden door.

A beam of brilliant sunlight drifted in through the windows running along the top of the door.

I turned to look up at Herman. “So, the Order’s main goal is to stop these sorts of people from using their abilities on innocent people? It’s not to recruit them for its own purposes?”

“Mostly,” he said, looking me square in the eyes. “We do employ some of the less dangerous individuals. Those who want to use their abilities for good instead of their own selfish desires.”

“So, it’s either get recruited or die?”

His gaze hardened. “Tell me, Detective, have you any idea the aftermath of an ego spat between a pair of rival Reality Benders looks like?”

I shrugged. “Can’t say that I do.”

“You wouldn’t be able to sleep for a week. Bodies grossly altered to mind-boggling degrees of perversion. Entire identities and personalities lost forever to the ether. Leftover memories of acts and events so obscene they defy rational comprehension.” He pointed at me. “Let me assure you, for the victims of something like that, simply getting trapped in a younger body of the opposite sex would be a pleasant vacation.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question. Is the Order putting people with dangerous powers away for the common good? Or simply stockpiling weapons for its own use?” I held up a hand before he could answer. “I mean, you have to totally admit having one of these Reality Benders on the payroll would be, like, a seriously powerful advantage. Might go a long way to increasing the Order’s influence.”

“Everything we do is for the common good, Detective. I hope as man like yourself would appreciate that.”

Motion out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. When I turned, I saw a young man, probably in his early twenties, striding down one of the hallways toward us. He had a concerned look on his pimply face and several sheets of paper gripped tightly in one hand.

He walked right up to us, gave me a less-than-brief glance, then looked at Herman.

“Director Armitage? I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but this report just came in from the Atlanta Division.” He held out the sheaf of paper. “Analytics thought you should see it immediately.”

A look of annoyance momentarily passed over Herman’s face, but he took the offered pages and began flipping through them.

While he did, the younger man turned his attention back toward me, the dark brown eyes behind the thick lenses perched on his nose traveled up and down my body again. This time in a slow, obviously more lecherous manner.

His brown hair was greasy and hung down over his ears and stood up haphazardly in several spots in the back. The smattering of acne was more prevalent on one side of his face, giving his skin an uneven, splotchy appearance. While not grossly obese, I could see the flabby belly and chest under his dark blue t-shirt. Both the bottom of the shirt and the upper thighs of the faded jeans he wore were splattered with grease stains. As if he’d used them to wipe his hands after eating potato chips or something similar.

Beneath all that, though, there was something else that caught the brunt of my notice: his smell.

It was a heavy, musky scent that seemed to surge right up my nostrils like Federal agents breaking down a terrorist’s door. With each breath, the overwhelming aroma wafting off him permeated my senses. Swam up my nose directly into my brain.

I continued to stare up at the boy. No, not a boy. A MAN. This was a man standing there next to me, his eyes telling me how much he enjoyed looking at my body.

I flashed a demure smile at him, shifting my hips and spine so that I struck a pose that did everything possible to put my feminine assets on display for him. I hoped he would find them acceptable, despite the boring, practically asexual clothing I wore.

A dark cloud of self-admonishment rolled through my thoughts. Why had I picked the most boring clothes from Karen’s closet. I kicked myself for skipping over the myriad of skirts I’d ignored in favor of a pair of jeans. Or I could have grabbed that slinky black dress I’d seen hanging on the rack. I was sure it would have really looked totally hot on me.

The gorgeous man’s leering smile widened a bit, indicating that he still liked what he was seeing. The expression alone set my loins on fire. My breathing switched between a deep inhale through my nose alternating with a quickened gasp from between my trembling lips. It was as if I simply could not get enough of his body’s delicious fragrance.

I shuffled a step closer to him, slowly reaching out to place my hand on one of his thick, pasty-fleshed arms. The touch sent an electric currenting running up my limb, down my spine, and directly into my va-jay-jay. My panties, already damp, became saturated. This time, instead of a tiny gasp, a sensuous moan dribbled out from between my lips. It was a cry of desire.

Of want.

Of need

Yes, I needed him. Needed this unnamed bastion of manhood in the most womanly way possible. The boy at the convenience store had been a blip on the scale of attractiveness. What I’d felt looking at him had been nothing more than a curious girlish impulse. That longing was eclipsed by the god standing before me. It was a religious experience of a kind I hadn’t believed possible.

I licked my lips as I drank in every divine morsel of his being, and my thoughts drifted to the bedroom upstairs. I couldn’t think of a better location to give myself completely to my new master. If I could manage to wait that long. Which was doubtful, considering the fire raging out of control in my womanhood made me heady with lust.

My eyes darted to our surroundings. Armitage was preoccupied with his papers. All I needed was a semi-private alcove so I could worship and bask in the studly male’s glory.

I saw my future, clear despite the haze swirling around my addled brain. He would claim me for his own. Naked and kneeling prostrate before him, I would be his forever. I would service his manhood at any time, in any position. As long as it pleased him and made him happy. We would fuck and fuck from dawn until midnight.

A sudden, pleasurable ache formed just slightly above, and to the sides, of my pelvic bone. The twinge shifted my thoughts along a tangent. I would be my master’s broodmare. He would fill me with his seed over and over until I carried his holy progeny in my increasingly expanding womb. I saw myself still kneeling in supplication, only this time with a belly stretched to near the point of bursting.

I literally couldn’t wait one second more. Privacy was no longer a consideration. My fertile young body was so horribly empty. Until I knew that my holy lover had knocked me up, taking permanent possession of me, I would never be satisfied.

Another cooing moan crawled out of my mouth, and I began to lower myself to my knees. The hand touching his arm moved to join its mate at the buckle holding his pants closed. A couple of tugs and the descent of a zipper was all that stood between me and everything I could possibly ever want.

Then, a rude, rough hand grabbed my arm and yanked me back to my feet and pushed me away from Nirvana.

“Goddammit, Jerry!” Herman snarled, placing himself between me and the other man. “Reign that shit in or you’re going back in the damned box!”

Jerry, Blessed be His Name, blinked rapidly behind those adorably thick glasses as he took a couple of steps backward, fear forming on his face as he looked from me to Armitage.

His retreat from me was like a punch in the gut. I reached out with one hand, fingers spread wide, and willed him to come back to me.

“Please …” I cried softly as my heart broke.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, taking another step back, trembling with panic. “I didn’t mean to … I just lost control. It was just for a second. I’m sorry.”

I tried to step around the man between me and Jerry, but his grip on my bicep tightened, keeping me in place. My outstretched hand beckoned toward Jerry, pleading for him to rescue me from Herman’s clutches.

“Whatever,” the older man growled. “Get the hell out of here. Tell Analytics to move in and secure the asset. Got it?” He shoved the papers back at the boy.

Jerry nodded rapidly as he took the reports from Armitage. His gaze swept back across me for a brief moment, causing me to release a sad, wistful sigh. Then he spun around and waddled away as fast as his legs could carry him. He turned the corner at the end of the hall, vanishing from my sight.

I wanted to die.

Herman glanced down at me, snarled with annoyance, then stepped back a step so he could slap me soundly across the cheek with an open-handed blow that echoed in the large room.

“Snap out of it, Jack!”

I stumbled backward, one hand clutching my scorching face, and blinked rapidly through the tears filling my eyes. For a brief moment, there were two of me. One was the love-struck fifteen-year-old who was still daydreaming about being the mother of many of Jerry’s children.

The other was Detective Jack Rollins, who was still trying to figure out exactly what in the hell was going on.

Herman stepped back to me, a slightly embarrassed expression on his face.

“I apologize for slapping you, Detective,” he said, frowning. “The shock was necessary to end the effect. I trust you’re thinking a bit more clearly now?”

I glared at him, still holding my cheek, and pointed in the direction the nerdy boy had departed. “What … the fuck … was that?” My heart was still hammering in my chest and the alien thoughts which had taken over my mind were lingering like smoke in the air.

“Jerry? Well, he’s what we have labeled a Harem Master.”

“Harem Master?” I glanced to the empty hallway, happy to see that Jerry was long out of sight.

Herman nodded. “He, and those like him, have the ability to make members of the opposite sex adore them. To a disturbingly staggering degree. Most of them are male, but we have encountered a few that were women.” He sighed. “Their victims become mindlessly devoted to them. Their age, race, marital status, sexual orientation, or even their relationship to the induvial, none of it matters. They will fall completely and totally in love, willing to do anything and everything to make their owner happy.

I felt a wave of nausea roll though me as I remembered vividly how badly I wanted to give myself over to Jerry. He could have used me in the most disgusting ways, and I knew I would have loved him until the day I took my last breath.

“Jesus,” I said, shaking my head before looking back to Armitage. “And he works for you?”

“Jerry’s a special case, Detective. His ability stems from the special pheromones his body produces, rather than the mental domination excised by the others. He didn’t even know what he was doing until we caught him and brought him in. He just thought he was a really popular guy who could get lucky with any woman that caught his attention.”

Though I still felt like I wanted to vomit up the dinner I hadn’t eaten, the investigator in me couldn’t resist asking for more information.

“What was the damage?” I asked. “Before you managed to get him off the streets? How many girls fell into his lap?”

Herman frowned. “One hundred twelve. Most were female students from his high school.”

“Only most?”

The man nodded. “Several teachers were likewise affected. As were his two older step-sisters and their mother.”

My hands automatically moved down to my abdomen, the yearning throb from earlier still clear in my mind.

“How many resulted in pregnancies?”

“Seventy-five.”

I nearly fell on my ass. This kid had enslaved over a hundred women and girls, including members of his own family. And managed to knock up seventy-five of them. The numbers seemed almost comical.

“So, the Order nabbed him and put him to work? What about the lives he ruined. Even if it was unintentional, there had to be some serious repercussions. I mean, the scandals alone …”

Herman didn’t answer me for several long seconds. Almost as if he were debating how much he was willing to share with me. After a few moments, he nodded.

“Fortunately, we were able to mitigate the aftereffects surprisingly well. As I believe I mentioned, there are some individuals who have the ability to affect memories. We were able to edit the recollections of the affected women and any possible witnesses, removing all recollections of Jerry from their minds.”

I snorted, giving my head another shake. Now that the over-encompassing desire to belong to the disgusting pig had vanished completely, I was left with a hollow anger that roiled in my belly.

“So, you left behind a whole gaggle of girls who were all mysteriously, unexplainably pregnant? I’m sure that didn’t raise any eyebrows.”

Herman’s eyes narrowed at me ruefully. “Of course not. That would cause just as many problems. Fortunately, at least from our perspective, almost all of those impregnated were in

relationships. It was just a matter of transferring the memories of paternal responsibility from Jerry to another. For the handful or so who were not in a pairing, we made additional adjustments to provide a suitable stand in candidate.”

Another short, sarcastic laugh jumped out of my mouth. I couldn’t believe how self-assured the man was about what his organization had done. If he’d followed up his explanation by puffing out his chest in arrogance, I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised.

“Are you telling me that, not only did you make, like, a jillion cuckolded men believe they were the father of their partner’s child, you forced other people into a relationship they likely wouldn’t have otherwise entered?”

Herman’s eyes narrowed. “We made the best out of a bad situation, Detective. What would you have us do? Simply let dozens of women attempt to file paternity suits, or rape claims, and draw public attention? A large part of what we do requires that we remain anonymous.”

I shook my head. “You talk about altruism and the common good all you want, Herman. But from where I’m standing, it seems to me you’re not that much better than the people you hunt.”

Herman’s jaw clenched very visibly, breaking that haughty, superior façade.

“The justification for our motives and actions are beyond your limited understanding, Detective. We do what has to be done for the betterment and security of all.”

From the expression on his face and the furious blush creeping up out of his collar, I knew I’d stepped too far. Any goodwill I might have attempted to use to my advantage was gone as quickly as my desire to have Jerry the Geek put a baby in me.

“The ‘all’ not including those who have to sacrifice without having any choice, right?” I snorted derisively. “Spoken like a true megalomaniac.”

He glared at me for several seconds, then sighed softly. Shockingly, the sound actually sounded genuinely upset.

“I had hoped I was wrong about you, Detective. I wanted to believe that I could show you the good work the Order is performing, how important it is that we identify and find those people with unnatural abilities before they can hurt anyone else.”

In the bottom of my peripheral vision, I saw his hand disappear into the front pocket of his slacks, fingers curling around something hidden inside.

“Sadly, it’s become painfully clear to me that you cannot, or will not, see past your own narrow views of right and wrong. It’s a shame, really. I had thought you might see the light.”

The hidden hand moved slightly beneath the fabric. As if he’d pressed a button on whatever was tucked inside the pocket.

Though I didn’t have any positive proof of what he might have just done, my instincts screamed that it was definitely not for my benefit. Which meant whatever was coming for me would be coming soon.

Armitage had spent so much time trying to woo me to his cause that he’d obviously forgotten the farmhouse. Forgotten about how I nearly got away.

I was in motion before he even noticed, bending down as I drew back my arm and swung forward with a uppercut, putting every ounce of Sasha’s limited strength behind it. Unfortunately for Herman, I wasn’t tall enough to slam the blow home on his chin. So, I used my decreased stature to strike at a much lower, much more intimate, location.

My fist slammed into the space between his legs, the impact sending shockwaves up my slender arm. The air whooshed out of Herman’s lungs as his testicles were blasted back up into his body. The hand not trapped in his pocket zoomed over to cradle his damaged jewels as he doubled over. His ruddy complexion instantly taking on the color of pea soup.

I didn’t wait for him to recover from the punch. I took a single step backward, spun around sideways, and lashed out and down with my left leg. The spinning hook kick drove my sneakered heel directly into the side of his knee. The joint cracked loudly and collapsed, sending the off-balance man toppling face-first onto the hard wooden floor.

The sound of people running down the surrounding hallways in my direction prevented me from continuing my assault on his downed form. I turned away from the prone, groaning man and bolted across the floor to the large, ornate door across the foyer. It was locked, but the latch for the deadbolt was on the same side as me. I flipped it open, twisted the brass knob, and pulled the door open wide.

A rush of cool air blew past me as I sprang through the opening and down the steps. Any residual lethargy from the tranquilizer had long since vanished, and I enjoyed the return of my new, youthful energy. I was like a supercharged battery hooked into a high-performance piece of equipment.

When I hit the gravel walkway at the bottom of the steps, I paused just long enough to look around. The massive house behind me was nothing short of a mansion. Three stories, at least, above ground, and wider than an acre. It sat in the middle of a huge open field ringed by thick trees. In the distance, the bluish-purple tops of nearby mountains rose above the foliage.

We were certainly a long way from the farmhouse. Though where, exactly, was a mystery.

The pathway I was on curved around the house, toward was seemed to be a parking area. Several black SUVs, Chevy Tahoes it appeared, were arranged in neat rows. Standing ready for the next hunt for people with powers.

As tempting as it was to try to use one of the vehicles to get away, I knew I didn’t have time to hotwire it, or search for the keys. Besides, if the Order was half as smart as they seemed, they would have the vehicles low-jacked for easy tracking.

That left the woods as my only hope.

I broke into a full-on sprint, tennis shoes slapping the thick grass as I ran down the gentle incline toward the tree line. A few seconds later, I heard the shouts of people as they emerged from inside the house and saw me getting away. The commotion only spurred me into running faster.

My earlier assessment of Sasha’s body, particularly her legs, had obviously been correct. While I might have more than generous curves in the coming years, right then I was built solely for speed.

I couldn’t help the grin that formed on my face as I rocketed down the hill. Even though I could still hear my pursuers, their voices were getting further and further behind me. Guess none of them had been recruited for their ability to outrun a teenaged girl. A small laugh escaped from my mouth. Suck on that, Jerry!

Sure, I didn’t have much of a plan besides running into the woods. Apparently Sasha was the impulsive type. Right then, the only thing I wanted to do was put as much distance between myself and my pursuers as I could. Though I couldn’t be sure, I assumed Matthew was still trapped somewhere in the house that was receding quickly behind me. Part of me felt bad for abandoning him to the Order’s mercy.

Another part soberly admitted that leaving him also meant saying goodbye to Jack Rollins forever.

Oh well. I would make do as best as I could. If I could stay off the radar for a few years, hopefully the Order would stop looking for me. It might take me years, but I swore that one day I would get my payback.

I was about fifty feet from the edge of the woods when a shimmer disturbed the air around me for a moment. I turned my head to the side, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. I had just written it off as a figment of my imagination when I turned to look forward again, only to see the woods weren’t any closer than they’d been a second ago.

Huh?

I was running, practically sprinting as hard as I could. Despite that, the space between myself and the trees remained the same. I turned to change my angle of approach, heading along the diagonal.

No dice.

What the hell?

I looked down at my feet. My shoes continued to slap lightly on the thick grass. From this point of view, I should have been nearly to the woods by now. When I brought my eyes back up, though, I remained squarely where I was.

Risking a glance behind me, I saw several dark-suited men in mirrored sunglasses jogging lightly toward me at what seemed to be a pretty leisurely pace. Each of them held a wicked looking pistol in their hand.

I should have been leaving the slower men in my dust. As it was, they continued to grow closer and closer.

Something seriously wasn’t right here.

Brining my gaze higher, I saw Herman at the rear of the pack. There was a noticeable limp in his gait, and murder on his face.

Turning back around, I began to pump my arms up and down as hard as I could, pushing to get every ounce of horsepower out of my flailing limbs. My heart hammered and my lungs burned, but I didn’t get so much as a foot closer to my destination.

Then a lightbulb exploded in my head, along with two words Armitage had used.

Reality Bender.

I looked behind me again. As expected, there was another person walking along with

Herman. A woman dressed in a similar fashion to the squad of burly men closing in on me. There were no mirrored sunglasses covering her eyes though, and those twin orbs glowed with an otherworldly silver light that beamed out like a pair of spotlights aimed directly at me.

I wasn’t sure what exactly she was doing to retard my progress, but I realized with a sinking feeling in my heart that my momentary flight to freedom was effectively over.

I gave one final look to the trees, then simply stopped running. Instantly, I lurched forward a few steps, like I’d just walked right off of a treadmill while it was still running. I bent at the waist, hands on my knees, and breathing heavily from the wasted exertion. I kept my gaze downcast even as a half-dozen large shadows encircled me.

A few minutes later, Herman’s voice cut through the quiet, drifting down the hill toward me. “A valiant attempt, Detective. I had certainly anticipated the possibility you would resist, even attempt escape. I just didn’t account for your physically attacking me. An oversight on my part it seems.”

I glanced up, a smirk secure on my face and a pithy comment on my lips. The game might be over for now, but I would be damned if I begged or pleaded for mercy from Armitage or his goons.

However, the moment my head came up to face him, he backhanded me across the face with a blow that made the one from earlier seem like a light love tap. My head snapped back as a cry of pain, rather than a sarcastic remark, came from my mouth.

I staggered sideways, reeling from the blow. My feet tangled around each other in the high grass, and I went down in a heap.

“Pick her up and take her back to the house,” Armitage barked at the men standing over me. Then he turned to the woman, her eyes no longer glowing silver. “Put her in Room Five and make sure she’s strapped in nice and tight.”

“As you wish,” she said, flashing me a smile that seemed to indicate she would rather put me in an over and eat me than anything else.

Armitage reached over and lightly squeezed her arm before turning to look down at me.

“Not to worry, Detective. We’re not going to kill you. You’re far too valuable to us alive.” Then a malicious smirk formed on his face. “Well, that body of yours is.”

Before I could ask what he meant by that, he turned away and began limping back up the hill toward the house. The woman nodded to a couple of the men, and two pairs of rough hands grabbed my upper arms and yanked me back onto my feet.

My jaw stung something fierce where Armitage had stuck me. There would be one hell of a bruise on my face before nightfall. I decided that the next time, I wouldn’t just punch that asshole in the nuts.

I was going to kill him.

The men on either side of me dragged me back up the hill, showing hardly any strain while doing it. The woman walked ahead, occasionally looking back at me with that hungry smile. About halfway back to the house, I decided to see how much I could push before the hammer came down. I dug in my heels and pulled against the arms gripping me.

“I can walk just fine on my own, assholes,” I grumbled.

“Release her,” the woman said, taking a step toward me. “She won’t try to run away or cause more trouble. Will you, sweetie?” She let out a little laugh and leaned in until she could have kissed me. “Or do you want to see what other tricks I have up my sleeve.”

“Not particularly,” I muttered.

The march back up to the house was tedious. My flight down the hill had been powered by adrenaline, fear, and excitement. Trudging back, especially on legs running on empty, was a serious pain. Once inside, the rest of the underlings went off their separate ways while Goon One and Goon Two escorted me down another hallway with Super Bitch bringing up the rear.

We stopped before an oak door similar to the others I’d seen around the house. A bronze plate next to the frame had the number “5” engraved upon it. The dork on my right reached over to open the door before shoving me ahead of him.

The interior of the room was practically Spartan. No paintings, no rugs, and no furniture other than something resembling a dentist’s chair in the center of the room. The only illimination emanated from small lamps positioned on the center of every wall.

My appraisal of the furnishings was brief. No sooner than I’d had a chance to glance around, then I was dragged forcefully over to chair and practically thrown on it.

When I started to sit up, one of the men pointed his finger in my face.

“Lay down,” he snarled.

“Would it be too much trouble to get a ‘please’?” I asked.

His upper lip curled into an even ferocious sneer, but the woman calmly stepped forward, eyes gleaming dangerously.

“Please sit,” she said. “I won’t say it again.”

Sighing as loudly and dejectedly as I could, I plopped my bottom on the thick padded seat, huffed with an overabundance of scorn, and crossed my arms over my chest. I turned my gaze to her and rolled my eyes.

“Happy now, bitch?”

Her eyes flashed silver. “Silence.”

I turned my head and asked her if she thought we were in a library or something. At least, that was what I had planned to ask. Instead, my mouth opened and closed, forming the words soundlessly. What the hell? My eyes widened as I reached up and placed a hand at my throat, casting a shocked expression to the smiling female.

“I’ve removed your vocal cords.”

My mouth dropped open, silently of course, and the men took advantage of my shock to strap me down onto the chair.

The woman leaned over me. “This time, it’s only temporary. Next time, I’ll leave you permanently blind, deaf, mute, and incontinent.” Her lip curled evilly. “For a start.”

A river of fear rolled through me, and I merely nodded meekly. I wasn’t ready to just roll over and give up. There was still plenty of fight left in me. But as long as this bitch was nearby, there wasn’t much I could do but play along.

The men completed their task of making sure I couldn’t so much as wiggle on the chair, then stepped back. The woman gestured at the door and the pair departed, leaving the two of us alone.

“Snug as a bug in a rug,” she said, reaching out to run her fingers through my hair. “Not that I expect you to take it, but here’s a bit of free advice. Don’t fight with Herman. He’s not exactly a patient man, and you’ve gotten on his worst side. While I’m sure you won’t be happy with what he has planned for you, trust me when I tell you there are far worse fates.”

Then she leaned in and kissed my forward before exiting the room, closing the door behind her.

The Displaced Detective: A Body Hopper Tale - Part 7
by Limbo's Mistress

I lay strapped to that chair for what seemed like hours. To help with the disturbing feeling of isolation, which I couldn’t even break by talking to myself, thanks to that smarmy, glowy-eyed bitch. So, I worked the problem of my situation to occupy my time.

It also provided a badly needed distraction from my protesting bladder, which I’d never had the opportunity to empty before making a break for freedom.

The only reason why I was in this room was because Armitage needed me for something. Hell, he’d all but said so outside. Only, he also made sure I was aware which part of me he needed. Men like Herman Armitage saw other people in only one of two ways. Either you were an asset worth keeping. Or you were an obstacle that needed to be removed.

Sasha Dellinger, apparently, was an asset. Jack Rollins? Eh, probably not so much.

I wiggled my arms, testing the leather bands holding me down. After a few seconds, I gave up and snarled in frustration. Silently, that is.

The chair was obviously designed to hold its occupant completely restrained. I doubt I’d have been able to get loose even if I still had my old body. This smaller, weaker one didn’t stand a chance.

Why, exactly, did an organization like the Order consider her life a benefit? Was it possible that Sasha had an ability? One that perhaps she, and them, knew about, but that I’d been unable to access? Or maybe her power hadn’t become active yet, lying dormant until the right trigger caused it to flare to life.

I rolled my eyes at my own ridiculousness. I’d been in this body for forty-eight hours and the only special abilities I’d discovered it possessed was a heightened fear reflex and the tendency to do its own thing when I wasn’t paying attention

Like rolling my eyes.

Plus, duh, Matthew hopping into Sasha had been purely a reflexive thing. I doubt the girl would’ve been on their radar otherwise.

No, Armitage had a differing interest in Sasha. I just needed to figure out what it was, and how to stop him.

I kept my wheels spinning, but continued to make no advances on solving the case. Which began to frustrate me something fierce. Boredom began to set in, making the waiting even more torturous.

During my time as a cop, I’d been on many stake-outs. Years of sitting in my car, in an alley, or in a motel room while waiting for a perp to make a move or a phone call, had built within me a surplus of disciplined mental patience.

Unfortunately, that particular skill set seemed to have vanished along with my dick.

As I’d noticed, my teen body came with a teenage brain. One that was underdeveloped, wired differently, and currently awash in adolescent hormones like nobody’s business. Before that first hour was up, I had ditched working the clues in favor of tapping my feet as much as I could on the padded lower portion of the chair and staring up at the ceiling, trying to fight against the madness I felt creeping over me.

Perhaps that was Herman’s plan. Leave me all alone in here until I broke and sobbingly agreed to anything he asked. Revenge for having upper-cutted his nuts.

I tried some new age deep-breathing meditation techniques I'd learned from an old girlfriend who was an aficionado of yoga and tai-chi. I figured relaxing thoughts and images would help to make the time pass quicker. However, every time I tried, instead of calming waves and trees swaying gently in the breeze, I kept seeing Jerry.

Lounging on a sofa … naked ... shoving fistfuls of nacho chips into his mouth.

Peace and tranquility stayed well the hell away from me.

When the door opened to reveal Armitage and another man, I actually welcomed it.

The man with Herman entered first. He was at least a head taller than my captor, and dressed in a dark blue track suit with white stripes running up the legs and sleeves. His hair was jet black and shaggy, as if the concept of a brush were an anathema to him. The guy seriously needed to see a professional stylist in the worst possible way.

I mean, I could totally see the split ends from across the room.

He had pale blue eyes, slightly bloodshot, that seemed to grow wider when they fell upon my restrained form. They turned from exhausted to hungry, an expression only enhanced by the way his thin lips curled up into a tight smile.

It wasn't friendly expression at any stretch of imagination. It was the smile of a malicious child who just discovered something both exciting and enticing. Something they were eagerly looking forward to playing with.

Armitage followed behind him, stopping only to close and lock the door. When he turned back, his hard eyes swept across my prone form, examining the bindings holding me to the table. Apparently satisfied that I would be unable to smash anymore of his favorite body parts, he approached and stood next to Mr. Tracksuit.

"I trust you are comfortable, Detective?" Armitage asked. By his tone, I guessed his actual concern for my comfort hovered around “Not Giving a Shit".

I rolled my eyes. "Totally comfy. I should, like, get one of these for my condo." Then I blinked, stunned that actual words had come out. Guess my vocal cords had returned.

The taller man chuckled, cutting his eyes over at Armitage.

"So defiant, this one," he said. His voice had a weird accent. Vaguely European, but not anything I could immediately identify. "Full of fire. Do you think it comes from the girl’s petulance, or the man’s bravado?"

"Oh, the man. Unquestioningly. The girl, as I’m sure you will discover, is a different sort of rebel. Just like a spoiled brat."

"How's your nuts, Harry?" I said, glaring up at him with a smirk. "If I'd had more time, I might have stomped on them, too. You know, for good measure."

If I had hoped my barb would get knock that superior smirk off his face, I was completely wrong. His smug grin only widened as he leaned in closer to me and whispered softly, “At least I still have mine, Detective. Soon, however, I think you’re going to find you don’t miss them one little bit.”

A cold chill passed through me, preventing me from maintaining eye contact with him. There had been something there, in the way he looked when he phrased his response that told me that leaving me trapped in Sasha’s body for the rest of my life wasn’t the worst part of his scheme.

No, there was something far more sinister in my future.

"What are you going to do to me?" I asked, still facing away. “What is it you want?” The ice forming in my veins reached all the way down to my soul. I tried to fight the fear, reminding myself it wasn’t mine, but Sasha’s.

"From you, Detective, I want nothing. Miss Dellinger, however, is quite the valuable prize.”

“Because she has an ability?” I knew it was like casting a line in a typhoon, but I was long past the grabbing at straws phase.

Armitage began to chuckle, drawing my attention back to him. He glanced over at the other man, who was also snickering softly. Herman shook his head, his gaze turning to one that might be directed at a helpless animal.

Or a stupid child.

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “Sasha Dellinger’s only ability is one that is very common among her kind. That’s the power to attract the attention of hormonal young men.”

“Then what could you possibly ….” The words died as the detective in me finally got a clue.

Armitage nodded, seeing that I’d finally reached the only logical conclusion.

“It’s not what that girl is. It’s who she is.”

“Michael Dellinger’s daughter,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “You want something from Dellinger, and rescuing his only child is how you’re going to pay for it.”

He flashed a condescending smile at me. “Normally, the Order wouldn’t bother to associate itself with a man like that. Someone with a proclivity toward criminal enterprise doesn’t usually have the vision to see the bigger picture. However, there is no denying his contacts and influences are quite extensive. While I’m sure you could easily guess who he might control in your local experience, let me assure you that the leverage he enjoys extends much further. Including several important politicians who have historically been less than receptive to our approach. Imagine how grateful someone that powerful would be, should something so dear to him as his daughter be returned unharmed to him.”

"So ...," I stammered, mind whirling around as I attempted to follow the thread I was pulling. "You plan to swap me with another Hopper. Someone who can put Sasha back in here, where you need her to be.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine what would happen to the body that no longer had value to the Order. As soon as I was out of here, I would be just another loose end in need of snipping.

“Close. Unfortunately, Miss Dellinger’s … soul …to use a term, isn’t available for re-housing.”

"What!?" I instinctively pulled against my restraints. If I could have gotten loose, it wouldn’t have mattered that I was smaller and weaker than Herman. I would have ripped his eyes from their sockets. "You fucking lied?? You claimed Sasha was still alive."

He laughed and shook his head. “Oh, Detective. I wasn’t lying. Sasha Dellinger is still alive.” He leaned over and tapped my forehead. “In there. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be back home and can tell your dear daddy how thankful you were that me and my team were able to rescue you."

“Wrong, asshole,” I sneered. “The first thing I’ll tell Michael Dellinger when I walk in the door is the horrible things the Order did to me after it kidnapped me. I’ll tell them how scared I was that I was going to die. How I feared being tortured or raped by your men.” I flashed him my own vicious smile. “You think that Dellinger would be a great ally. I promise you he will be one hell of an enemy.”

This provoked another round of laughter from both men.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that one bit, Detective. Even if we provided concrete evidence to the contrary, Mr. Dellinger would believe his daughter first and foremost.” He gestured at the man beside him. “However, Dr. Zimmer is here to make sure that you stick to the script.”

The tall man nodded, then looked over at me. "This may feel a little strange. It will pass.”

Before I could open my mouth to respond, the world around me twisted in an intense wave of vertigo. I clenched my eyes shut as my stomach churned angrily, and a surge of bile shot up my throat. It was like eating a dozen chili dogs then climbing into a washing machine on the spin cycle.

I brought my hands up to cover my mouth, hoping it would be enough to stop the wave of vomit I was sure was on its way.

My hands. Which were no longer tied down.

I opened my eyes to discover that, not only were my hands no longer restrained, I was no longer strapped down to the chair. In fact, the chair was gone.

As was the room I’d been in.

Now the space around me looked like a bedroom. A girl’s bedroom, to be precise. There were pink curtains on the window, a princess four-poster bed against one wall, and a vanity with a lighted triple mirror.

There was also a giant bookcase, nearly filled to the brim with blue-covered books. The titles on the spines seemed to be in a foreign language made up of weird symbols.

“Welcome, Detective,” Armitage said from behind me.

I spun around to see him and Zimmer standing there looking at me. Both of them seemed to be in on some joke to which I had yet to understand the punchline. There was an ornate stone fireplace, similar to the one at the farmhouse, in which a roaring fire blazed. Oddly enough, the room itself, which should have been toasty, was barely lukewarm.

“Where the hell am I?” I asked, looking around once more. Yeah, definitely a girl’s bedroom. Was it Sasha’s? Did Zimmer teleport me to Dellinger’s estate?

I shook off that notion as a possibility. As I was right now, there’s no way they’d dare bring me withing a thousand yards of Michael Dellinger. Not until they’d made sure I would sing their little song.

“Where?” Armitage said, smirking wider. “You haven’t gone anywhere, Detective.”

I gave a single nod to the two of them before bolting across the hardwood floor toward the door I felt sure was the exit. Once on the other side, away from the pair, I would start screaming Sasha’s pretty little head off.

Even if her father wasn’t at home, someone likely would be. A servant. A bodyguard. Someone who would come rushing the moment the missing teenage girl started shrieking.

I yanked open the door without so much as a backward glance and, with my newly returned vocal cords primed and ready, sprang across the threshold … right back into the room.

My feet, still clad in Karen’s sneakers, skidded to a stop with an audible squeak. I wasn’t just back in the room, I was back in the exact spot I’d been when the world stopped twisting around my belly.

I blinked at Armitage and Zimmer, whipped around in a one-eighty, and bolted across the room and through the door again.

Right back into the room. Same exact spot.

Okay, Houston … we have a really big fucking problem.

Zimmer snickered and looked at Herman. “I love it when they try that. Sometimes, it takes them forever to figure it out.”

Another Reality Bender?

I turned around to look at the window. I could try diving through it, but that was more dangerous than remaining where I was. Dellinger’s house was probably multiple stories, and chances were Sasha’s room would not be on the ground floor. Plus, diving through a glass window isn’t like in the movies. The jagged pieces would shred my soft skin to ribbons.

When I turned my head back, I felt a weird sensation, followed by a buzzing noise. Like having an insect right next to your ear. The more I focused on the vibration, the more I noticed it. It had been subdued by the sudden rush in my escape, but now was extremely noticeable.

I looked over my shoulder at the spot in the floor where the chair should have been, then glanced down at my unshackled hands.

“Oh,” Zimmer said with amusement. “I believe she’s starting to understand.”

I ignored him for the moment and waved my hands and arms around. They moved freely enough, visually. However, the buzzing in my hair flared up a bit, and I could swear I felt some tiny measure of resistance to my motions.

As the only logical solution occurred to me, I turned around to stare at the two of them.

“We’re still in the room from before,” I said, cursing Occam’s Razor. “All of this, this room, you two, it’s, like, all in my head.”

Zimmer clapped his hands together twice.

Herman looked at him. “I told you he wouldn’t take long to figure it out.” Then he turned to me. “I really wished things could have been different, Detective. A man like yourself working with us? It would have been an adventure.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Okay, so we’re in my head. Let me guess, Doctor Mindbender there is going to do some kind of mental mumbo-jumbo? Make me believe that I really am Sasha? Brainwashing from the inside out?"

“Close,” Armitage said. “But not quite. You simply believing yourself to be Dellinger's daughter is not enough. You wouldn’t know everything she knows, and there would be too many discrepancies in your behavior. People well acquainted with her would start asking questions. People like her father.”

“That could be a problem,” I agreed, already feeling like any illusion of control was about to be completely shattered. “And your solution?”

Armitage looked at Zimmer. “Otto, a small demonstration, if you will. Nothing too jarring just yet. But something that will make what is about to happen very clear to him.”

The other man nodded and walked over to the bookcase. He perused the tomes for a few seconds before putting his fingers on the spine of one of them. Then he looked back at me.

“Tell me, do you remember your second grade teacher?”

I shot him a confused look. Second grade? That was over forty years ago. Like most adults, the specifics of my childhood were a blur. Images and feelings comprised the majority of those memories. However, I did recall the teacher’s name, if I couldn’t remember what he looked or sounded like.

"Mr. Blake. Curtis Blake."

Zimmer nodded. With a little tug, he pulled the book he’d grabbed off the shelf. The buzzing in my head jumped to eleven for a second, and I watched, with rapt horror as another book, one that had been jammed in behind the blue one, slid forward to occupy the now empty spot.

A pink one.

“Now, Detective,” Armitage said. “What did you say your second grade teacher’s name was? Curtis Blake, right?”

I opened my mouth to reaffirm my previous answer, then paused as uncertainty rolled through me. Mr. Blake? Second grade? No, that didn't seem right. My teacher in second grade was ...

"Ms. Donadio," I said with a bit of hesitation. Because, as right as I sure I was about that answer, it felt completely wrong.

However, the very moment the words left my lips, my mind rolled with the appearance of a thousand new memories and experiences. I remembered a pretty brunette woman with a wide smile and a pleasant demeanor standing at the front of a classroom that I both did and didn't recognize. An entire school years' worth of daily interaction with classmates. Strangers whose names I knew without hesitation. Events that had never taken place which had also been a part of shaping who I was.

My heart froze for one moment, a second that stretched into eternity. One of those newly old memories, one that was as solid as anything else around me, loomed larger than the rest.

I was standing on a stage at the school talent show ... having just finished performing a small piece of a ballet with the rest of Ms. Donadio's class.

As we all took our bows, my attention was on a singular individual in the audience … Michael Dellinger, who clapped as proudly as any father could.

"What ... the ... " The words died in my throat. I didn't need to ask what had happened. I already knew. My entire second grade experience, the one that belonged to Jack Rolling, was completely gone.

Replaced Sasha Dellinger’s.

The memories on either side of that school year were less clear, as if so much older than those of Ms. Dondario’s class. Playing kickball in a vacant lot with other boys from the neighborhood the weekend before school started for the year. Of the day during the first week of summer vacation when I fell into the creek near my house while trying to catch an enormous toad I’d found. Fishing with my father. The fistfight between myself and Jordan McGee in the field behind Old Man Logan's house. One that ended with both of us sporting black eyes and split lips. By the end of the summer, we were the best of friends.

However, every memory between those two summers belonged solely to Sasha Dellinger.

I staggered to the side, clutching my stomach as another bout of nausea slammed into me. The reality of Armitage’s plan was a bright as a nova. He wasn’t just going to make me think I was Sasha, he was going to actually turn me into her. Inside and out.

All Zimmer had to do was remove all of Jack Rollins’ memories. Leaving only hers.

"Now you understand," Armitage said. “You finally see why I say that you will help us recruit Michael Dellinger to our cause. Because you, Detective, will not be in there to stop her.”

I shook my head, fighting to find a way to stop them. "Matthew said there were only scant echoes of Sasha in here. Just residual traits. Echoes."

Zimmer made an annoyed face. “A crude representation of the beauty of two minds in one body.” He gestured at the bookcase. “When you were placed in here, everything that was you pushed everything that was the young girl to the back. Who she was didn’t disappear.” He reached out and stroked the spine of the lone pink book in the sea of blue. “She is just waiting to reemerge.”

I tried to wrap my head around the jumble of thoughts the reveal created within me. I could sacrifice myself, and Sasha Dellinger would live again. The fact that I would be nothing more than a nightmare that would fade from her memory in time was a pittance to pay. As someone who’d dedicated his life to protecting and helping others, I was willing to die to save her.

But I couldn’t just let go and give Armitage the leverage he desired over her father. It was bad enough to know that a mobster like Michael Dellinger had undue influence over people he shouldn’t. That same control in the hands of the Order was a recipe for disaster.

Zimmer took the book in his hand and pushed it back into its former spot. The buzz in my skull ratcheted up again for second as all of the memories that belonged to Jack Rollins returned. I could still recall fragments of Sasha’s second grade life, but they were intangible. Ethereal.

Armitage shook his head. “If you had been willing to join us, Detective, we would have simply rearranged enough memories so that you could believably pass as Miss Dellinger. Once her father’s cooperation was secured, we would have swapped you back into your own body, and placed one of our Hoppers into her. Everyone would have what they wanted.”

I balled my illusionary hands into fists. “Except the real Sasha. She would still be dead.”

Zimmer laughed. “The real one? Tell me, Detective, what makes someone real? Is it some physical aspect of their bodies? Or is it merely the summation of all their life’s experiences?”

“I …” Damn, I didn’t plan on having a philosophical debate with my captors. “I don’t know the answer, but I know what murder is.”

Armitage smiled. “Yes. There are a lot of things you know … for the moment.” He turned and nodded at the other man again.

Before I could so much as take a step toward them, Zimmer yanked the second grade memory book from the shelf again, then turned and tossed it into the roaring flames of the fireplace behind him.

The vibration in my skill felt like it was going to rattle my imaginary teeth right out of my imaginary skull. When it passed, I felt like I’d been sucker punched. I knew, without question, that the man had just destroyed some of my childhood memories. Worse than that, however, was the competing knowledge that my memories of those months was still there.

Distant, but no less real.

“There is your answer, Detective,” Zimmer said smugly. “The body is just a vessel. The mind is what makes someone who they are.” He put his hand on another blue book. “And the mind is mine to control.”

I snarled something animalistic. A cry that would have sounded horrific coming from the throat of a grown man in the middle of a war zone. The fact that it emerged from the mouth of a teenaged girl made it absolutely terrifying.

My feet slapped on the mental construct of bedroom floor as I launched myself at Zimmer, pretty pink nails curled into talons. I was going to rip his face from his skull, pull his eyes out, and permanently remove that arrogant smirk from existence.

Then it would be Herman’s turn.

Unfortunately, I only succeeded and crossing the virtual equivalent of a couple of feet before I was back where I started, still in motion. Four times in succession, I ran forward, only to return to where I’d begun.

Armitage, who had actually reacted to my screeching battle cry with a step backward, began to laugh.

“You are so entertaining, Detective. Even when you know this is the end, you refuse to go down without a fight.” He shook his head. “Struggle, if it makes you feel better. The satisfaction will only be the better as you watch yourself fade into oblivion one memory at a time.”

My hands were still primed for action, but my legs decided that they didn’t care to play anymore. I collapsed to the floor, my vision blurring with hot tears that seemed as real as the rest of the room. As real as the memories that weren’t mine.

My anger wasn’t just directed at Zimmer and Armitage, though they both were the main targets. I was also pissed at Matthew, for getting me into this mess. The Order for being the actual boogeyman in the closet. Myself for not taking more control in the beginning.

I was even pissed with Sasha Dellinger. Thought that was because I’d inherited her penchant for crying at the drop of a hat. I hoped that when I was completely gone, there would still be enough of my echo remaining to get her to toughen up a little.

I wiped at my cheeks with the back of my hands, glaring at Zimmer.

“Fucking get on with it, asshole. No need to drag it out.” I pointed at the bookcase. “Just scoop it all out and burn everything. Chop chop!” My furious gaze swung over to Herman. “I mean, like, don’t you have better things to do? Protecting the common good and all that other horseshit!”

Zimmer shook his head. “I understand your feelings, but doing that would be … disastrous. This process is delicate, the removing of someone’s life experiences. We would not want to cause to poor girl to develop a severe psychosis because we were too hasty in erasing you.”

“Correct,” Armitage added. “I don’t intend to return Dellinger’s daughter to him in any condition less than perfect.” His expression turned malicious as hell. “Besides, I am going to enjoy watching your bravado fade away as everything you were is burned.”

"You're a monster," I spat, rising back to my feet. "If we were in the real world, I would strangle you to death with my bare hands. You better hope I never get free before you’re finished, because …" I froze as the buzz in my skull went up in pitch.

When I spun back around to look at Zimmer, his smile could have frightened a shark. Behind him, I saw with soul-searing agony that a second pink book sat on the shelf.

“Guess who just got a brand new thirteenth birthday?”

At his words, the crystal clear memory of a singular day zoomed to the forefront of my thoughts.

I had awoken that morning full of excitement. I was finally going to be a teenager. No more tween jokes at my expense. Maria, our head maid, had made sure to lay out my outfit the night before in anticipation of my big day, a custom-made, pink silk tea-length dress.

After a long, relaxing bath, I sat patiently while Roman, the stylist hired by Daddy to make sure I was perfectly coiffed for my party, went to work on my long blonde tresses. When he was finished with my hair and applying my makeup, I looked and felt like an actual fairy princess.

A grown up fairy princess.

After lunch, my guests arrived and the party began. Everything was simply perfect. Until Darla Chambers spilled her chocolate ice cream all over the front of my brand new dress. The half-melted concoction stained a large section of the pastel pink silk into a disgusting shade of brown, permanently ruining the entire outfit.

I was beyond livid. A girl only turns a teenager once, and that little bitch had ruined everything.

The other girls gathered around the dining room table, my closest friends in the whole world, stared at me with wide eyes and mouths hidden behind hands. The looks on their faces wavered between amusement and horror. The more I saw their reaction to the accident, the more I seemed to feel the cold wetness seeping through the front of my dress.

And the hotter my cheeks became.

Darla, still gripping the now-empty bowl in her hands, looked from my stained dress to me, tears already flowing freely from her bright blue eyes down her blushing crimson face.

“Sasha, I’m sorry. I didn’t … didn’t mean to.”

A couple of titters rang out behind me, but when I whirled around to see who had the audacity to laugh at me, none of the faces betrayed the culprit. I glared at the assembled onlookers, daring any of them to laugh at my face.

The fact that I had been the one to run into Darla was a moot point. So what if the collision was technically my fault? This was supposed to be my Big Day. The day I transitioned from being a little girl into a mature young woman.

And Darla’s stupid face had turned it into a disaster.

Unable to handle the crush of despair and shame, I bolted from the large dining room, up the stairs, my own tears flowing freely down my face. I slammed the door behind me and threw myself onto the floor, curling up in to a ball of terrible emotions that wracked my body with world-ending sobs.

A few minutes later, I heard the door open and close as Daddy came into the room. He sat down on the floor beside me, rubbing my back soothingly. The gentle caress was a gesture he’d done all my life. Whenever I was upset, the loving touch of fatherly compassion across my upper back always managed to soothe me. He continued to comfort me until my tears began to slow and my breathing ceased it’s hiccupping hitch.

When I finally felt more composed, I sat up, wiped at my eyes and told him why I was upset.

"Well," he said in a soft voice. "It seems that Darla Chambers is as much a clumsy idiot as her father. Then he stood up, brushed off his pants, and looked down at me as he extended his hand in my direction. "Now, wipe those tears away, fix your makeup, and go back downstairs and show those girls that you're a Dellinger.”

I nodded, sniffling a little as he lifted me off the floor.

"Remember, sweetie, you must never show your enemies any weakness. Or they will use it against you."

So, I did what he suggested. When I finally returned to the party, a few of the girls made some additional snide remarks in regards to me, but I simply pretended to ignore them. To allow their words to upset me would only give them power they didn't deserve.

Darla was the only one who didn't join in on the teasing. Instead, she agreed with everything I said and suggested that day. Whether it was from embarrassment for what had happened, or fear of repercussions, I didn't know. Nor care. I accepted it as part of her penance.

When the party was finally over, Darla was the only one I had forgiven. The rest would find out soon enough that laughing at a Dellinger was a bad mistake.

I gasped, holding my head in my hands. The ripples emanating from my memories twisted my brain around, leaving me feeling as if someone had just clonked me on the head with a wooden stick. I drew in several deep breaths and then looked over at Zimmer.

The excited twinkle in his eyes was back, and he tilted his head to the side slightly, as if studying a rather unique specimen.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "The party not to your liking?"

His mocking tone reminded me of the girls at my birthday. Sasha's birthday.

Just like the school memories, I knew they were not mine. However, that didn't stop them from feeling completely real. I could still recall the taste of the cake. The feel of the wrapping paper under my fingertips. The hate in my heart for the girls who laughed at me.

Zimmer turned back to the shelf, tapping his finger as he scanned the books. What would he steal from me this time? My education? What about my memories from after I was fifteen? The ones were there were no Sasha counterpart? If he burned my senior year of high school, when there was nothing pink on the shelf to replace it, would I simply forget everything I’d learned from that year?

Would I lose the trigonometry I’d memorized? Or would I still be able to do the math, with no knowledge of where I’d learned it? As if the information was a gift from the void.

Armitage sighing loudly pulled my foreboding fears from the bookcase. He shook his head and looked at Zimmer.

“Figures,” he said, sounding completely annoyed. More so than he had when Jerry had interrupted his attempts to sway my cooperation.

“You must leave?” Zimmer asked, arching a brow at his boss.

Herman nodded. “I swear most of these morons couldn’t wipe their own asses without my help.”

Hope began to build in my chest. A stay of execution would give me the time I needed to try and come up with a way to maintain my identity. That little spark of optimism was snuffed out, however, when Armitage nodded his head at me.

“You may continue, Otto. No need to wait for my return.” Then that hard stare fell back upon me. “All I ask is that you make the experience lengthy. Draw it out. But do not erase the last bit of our dear friend until I do return. I want to see him completely broken before that piece of himself is destroyed.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Armitage flashed me another dastardly grin, then simply vanished from the room. The second he was gone, I whirled around back to Zimmer, holding up both hands.

"Please," I said, wincing inside at the way it sounded like begging. “You don’t have to do this. If you get me out of here, I can help you escape from the Order. You won’t have to be their tool anymore.”

“Escape?” Zimmer laughed softly. “Do you think me a captive? A prisoner? An unwilling cohort?” He shook his head. “No, Detective Rollins, I volunteered to join. I was facing a death sentence when Armitage found me. The Order saved my life.”

“What?”

He nodded. “Besides, they allow me access to some of the most delicious minds. I’m afraid you simply cannot understand the thrill of taking another person apart bit by bit. Changing them totally. I can turn a genius into a simpleton. A devoutly pious man into a depraved letch.” He pointed one bony finger at me. “Or a brave officer of the law into a scared little girl.”

As I tried to think of something to say in response, Zimmer turned to the bookshelf, scanned the tomes, then placed his finger on one. When he turned back to me, I understood that Armitage was a bad man. A man so misguided in the belief of his own righteousness he couldn’t see past his own agenda.

But Otto Zimmer was a complete and total monster.

“So, Detective. Are you ready to mis-remember your first kiss?”

Before I could answer, he yanked the book from the shelf.

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."

The Displaced Detective: A Body Hopper Tale – Part 9
by Limbo’s Mistress

I spun around toward the voice, my heart already leaping up into my throat. No! No! No! We’d been so close to making it to freedom. Our escape into the air only a minute to two from becoming a beloved reality. A reality where we left this awful place behind.

Armitage stood in front of the plexiglass doors, an arrogantly annoyed smirk on his face. As if he were pissed about having to come outside to collect me himself, but pleased that he’d managed to catch me off guard. My hate for him shot up another fifty points, spurred on by the spoiled debutante sharing my skull.

A pair of burly men, each dressed in a dark suit and mirrored sunglasses, stood on either side of Herman. Each one held a Glock in one hand and a taser-like device in the other. While all four of the weapons were gripped in a ready position, none of them were pointed at me.

Yet.

Bringing my gaze back to Armitage, I asked the question that was pinging around Sasha’s mind.

“How … how did you find me?”

He laughed, clasping his hands together as his smirk widened. I honestly thought for a moment he was going to start rubbing those mitts of his together and begin cackling like one of those outrageously demented villains from James Bond.

At the same time, I also had the uncomfortable thought that having Daniel Craig swoop in and save me would be totally dreamy.

“The answer, I would think, is quite obvious. Your choices were the front door or the helicopter. And considering the disastrous attempt you made earlier, I gambled that you would pick the helicopter.” He clucked his tongue disapprovingly, the sound making Sasha-me blush with the embarrassment Jack felt for not thinking of that himself. “Now, let’s end this farce, shall we?”

I didn’t dare look behind me. I’m sure he knew I wasn’t alone, but since my allies were on the other side of the bird, mostly obscured by the darkness, perhaps he would only think Matthew was out here. If he didn’t know about Carol and her new abilities…

One of the men stepped forward, raising the taser to aim at me.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I said, hoping I sounded braver than I felt. Which was, like, not at all. “Wouldn’t want Daddy … Dellinger to get his daughter back with electrical burns on her tender flesh.”

Armitage shrugged. “Not to worry, Detective. We have an excellent healer downstairs who can really work miracles. I promise they can repair any wound, regardless of severity.” Then he glanced at the other thug. “Collect her companion. Shoot him in the leg if you must, but I want him alive.”

Companion. Singular. With a male pronoun.

The man nodded and started to walk toward the helicopter, the arm holding the pistol bent in a standard police preparation manner. As he passed me, I considered leaping on his back to give Matthew an advanced warning. However, I also knew the man with the taser would light me up like a fucking Christmas tree the second my back was turned.

Just as the gun wielder took another step toward the chopper, he turned around and pointed his weapon at the other henchman.

“I told you to come with me,” he said in a voice full of warning sighted down the barrel and dropped the taser to grip the pistol in both hands. “If you continue to resist, I’ll shoot you.”

“George?” the man tasked with collecting me turned his head slightly to look over at Armitage for a second before looking back at the other man. Despite the reflective sunglasses, I knew his eyes were full of confusion and panic. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Not one more step closer, asshole,” George said. He thumbed back the hammer on the weapon, an action that struck Sasha as impressive at first. Then Jack remembered that the automatic the thug was holding didn’t require such theatrics.

Herman looked from the pistol-holding man to me, as if ascertain if I was responsible for the sudden change in the narrative. He shuffled slightly to the side, placing himself behind George’s buddy.

“Donaldson, get a hold of yourself. Stop!”

“You should have listened,” George said, pulling the trigger.

The rapport made me jump, but I wasn’t the only one. Right as the man fired, his buddy pulled the trigger on his own, less lethal, weapon. The bullet slammed into his chest, sending a spray of black arching up into the beam of one of the nearby spotlights, where it became a brilliant crimson almost the same shade as my hair.

The wired darts from the taser sunk into the center of George’s chest and delivered their high-voltage load, causing him to go rigid. The electricity coursing through him contracted his muscles, including his trigger finger. A second gunshot split the night, the bullet ricocheting harmlessly off the rooftop, and the gun fell out of the now-unconscious man’s hand. He collapsed to the roof and continued to twitch.

I spun around to see Carol peering out from around the front of the chopper, her eyes glowing silver. The grin on her face was positively terrifying, and reminded me of the way Zimmer had smiled each time he stripped another piece of me away. It wasn’t just that she had used her powers to kill someone, she’d apparently enjoyed it immensely.

The sound of someone grunting and struggling caused me to turn back.

It took a second for what I was seeing to register. The man with the very bloody hole in his chest had fallen against Armitage when he went down. Being the larger of the two, he’d first knocked his boss over, then landed across his lap to pin him to the roof beneath with two hundred plus pounds of dead weight. The noise I’d heard was Herman trying to push the man off him while simultaneously attempting to reach the discarded Glock lying about a yard away.

Matthew rushed up from behind me, grabbing my shoulders as he spun me around. His eyes went up and down my body several times in quick succession, as if checking to make sure I wasn’t leaking vital fluids from unnatural holes. When he seemed satisfied that I was only shaken, he glared over my shoulder at Carol.

“What the hell were you thinking? Jack could have been shot.”

She walked past us toward Armitage, sniffing with derision. “I was thinking that someone should step in and save our asses. Including the one belonging to Miss Thang.” Then she lowered her gaze to mine. “You’re welcome by the way.”

Herman finally managed to wriggle himself free from beneath his recently deceased employee. Leaning over, he just managed to put his hand on the butt of the gun when he glanced up to see Carol walking toward him. His face scrunched up in an expression of complete confusion.

“Hannah? What are you doing?” he asked, seeming to forget all about the pistol for a second.

“Guess again,” she said, smiling. “Hannah doesn’t live here anymore.”

“Carol,” he said, spitting the word like it was a distasteful. “I might have known.”

He kept his palm on the gun, but didn’t attempt to pick it up yet. Instead, his face took on a serious look. Sort of the way Daddy looked when he was about to close a business deal with a particularly annoying client.

“I understand that you might feel some sort of way about the recent past, dear. However, before you do anything rash and unforgivable, let’s talk. Think of the benefits of our cooperation. Surely you have to know we could accomplish so much by working together.”

Carol laughed as turned her head to look at the hand reaching for the gun. A second later, Armitage hissed in pain and yanked his hand back, cradling it as if it had just been burned.

“Working together? You mean, like when I did that job in Reno, and you repaid me by trapping me in that old, fat cow? Is that what you believe cooperation is all about?”

Still babying his hand, he looked down at the weapon again for a second before turning his face back to Carol.

“Would you like an apology? I didn’t want to do that to you, but you were far too valuable to just let you Hop away and vanish from our radar again. Do you have any idea how many resources were wasted during the five years it took to locate you after last time?”

“You’ve worked for the Order before?” I asked, glaring at Carol.

“Besides,” Armitage said, still smiling like a salesman in the most important pitch of his life. Which, like, it totally was. “Look at what you’ve gained. Not only do you have your original powers back, but you’re currently in possession of Hannah’s as well. You’re twice as formidable as you once were. Together, we would be unstoppable.”

“You’re, like, totally insane,” I said, shaking my head at Herman. “Seriously. I don’t know why you thought you’d be able to get one over on Daddy. He’s ten times smarter than you.”

Carol looked back at me and laughed, then turned back to Armitage.

“You’re right about one thing, Herman. I am unstoppable.” Even though she wasn’t facing my way, I could see the silver light shining around her face. “I think I’m going to be just fine without you.”

Armitage opened his mouth, then closed it as his head whipped around to look behind him at the plexiglass doors. A second later, a whimper of fear, something I would have sworn the man didn’t understand, bubbled out of his mouth. He scrambled to his feet, backing up as he continued to stare at … nothing. The doors remained closed and the bit of hallway that was visible through them was empty.

When he got closer to me, I instinctively moved behind Matthew, worried that Armitage might decide to use me as a shield against whatever was freaking him out. However, my precautions were a moot point. As he continued backing up, he never bothered to even look my way.

The smell of his freshly released bladder was disgustingly pungent.

Suddenly, the man who would probably haunt Sasha’s dreams for years screamed at the top of his lungs and whirled around. With a speed the defied his age and build, he bolted like a professional track star toward the low wall running along the edge of the roof. When he reached it, he didn’t even slow down, leaping up and over to vanish from view.

His wails followed him all the way to the ground, instantly silenced by the echoing rapport of something heavy landing on solid concrete.

Despite the way the sound made my stomach turn over, I couldn't say his death actually upset me. The man responsible for the dumpster fire my life had become was finally gone for good.

Matthew sighed, tossed a reproachful glance at Carol, then began walking to the helicopter.

"Let's go," he said. There was a note of regret in his voice. As if he were either sad that Armitage was dead. Or displeased that Carol had killed him.

I didn’t ask which it was. I merely nodded and made my way behind him, climbing into the rear seat of the chopper.

Another explosion from inside the building shook the helipad just as we lifted off. As we rose into the air, I could see dozens of figures fleeing through the front and rear doors. Most of them were men in dark suits who ran toward the SUVs. None of them seemed the least bit interested in helping their fellows.

More than a few of the figures, however, were dressed in either hospital gowns or pajamas. These seemed to be milling around outside, some of them tasting freedom for the first time in a long while. I hoped the girl I’d seen was one of them. Even if she was an assassin, like Carol suggested, she’d probably been made that way by Armitage and his men.

I wondered if any of the figures I saw below wore Jack Rollins’ face.

Matthew used the GPS to locate our exact position. Carol, sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, told him which heading to take in order to get us back to the farmhouse. According to her, the flight was going to take about three and a half hours.

I settled into my seat, letting the thrumming of the blades over my head soothe me. I could hear bare snatches of the conversation taking place in the cockpit. However, I didn’t need to know what was being said to know that there was a whole lot of animosity building between them. The last thing I was able to make out before their fight ended was Carol’s statement on Matthew’s morality.

“One day you’ll have to kill someone, Cornelius. Better accept it.”

The rest of the journey through the dark sky was spent half-dozing while my brain, mixed up as it was, spun around and around. The threat of the Order was past, at least for the foreseeable future. I wasn’t quite so naïve, even as a fifteen year old, to think that we’d destroyed the whole organization. As far as I knew, Armitage was in charge of just that particular section. What I did hope, however, was that any connection between the Order and Michael Dellinger was tied directly to the dead man.

That left the question about what to do with my other problem. I wasn’t getting my old life back, and the more I thought about that, the more I was convinced that any hope I’d had was a fool’s errand. Like it or not, without the antidote and a willing Hopper, I was going to be Sasha Dellinger for the rest of my life

I didn't want to run, constantly looking over my shoulder as I eked out a living on the streets. Dellinger had a long reach, and sooner or later someone would find me. Plus, the lawman that still resided in my nubile body itched at the thought of being dragged back against my will to my daddy. I would be under constant guard until I was thirty. Then I’d probably be married off to someone as part of a shady business arrangement.

So, that meant I was going to have to go home. With one really damned good story under my belt if I didn’t want to be grounded like I had when I lied about Maria ruining my new blouse.

The bump of the landing struts on hard, packed earth jolted me awake from where I’d been dozing. The world outside the chopper’s window was dark and flat. I stared at the silhouette of the farmhouse on the other side of the field as the whirling rotors overhead wound down to a stop. Then I unfastened my seatbelt and climbed out of the chopper.

My legs were shaking a bit as I walked away from the aircraft. The field we were in was about a quarter mile from the house, and the mostly full moon hovering halfway up the eastern horizon cast everything in a silvery glow.

"Well, Detective," Carol said coming up beside me. "That was quite the adventure. I must admit that everything ended up working out better than I’d hoped."

I stopped walking and looked up at her. “I wouldn’t call that an adventure. I still think you sold us out to save yourself. I also think that if we hadn’t been able to escape, you would have let them keep Matthew and watched without a damned care in the world as they, like, used me as a bargaining chip.”

“Do you think you might be judging me a little too harshly? After all, you really don’t know me.”

I shook my head. “Maybe not, but I know your type.” I tapped myself on the chest. “I might seem like just a silly little girl, but in here,” I tapped my temple, “there is still a seasoned investigator. I still know how to read people. Your only concern is yourself. Don’t deny it.”

She laughed. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of denying it. As you so succinctly put it, I look out for myself, first and foremost. Which is not a good thing for you. See, Cornelius is soft, easily manipulated. He spent the better part of the eighteen century following me around like lovesick puppy.”

I felt a wave of uneasiness roll through me at her words. I turned my head to look at the helicopter. The pilot’s side door was open and I could see Matthew’s legs poking out from inside. When they moved, indicating he was still alive, I released the breath I’d been holding and turned back to Carol.

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t wish to leave any loose ends.”

I took a step backward. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, for starters … there’s the matter of this.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small vial containing a dark liquid.

I looked at it for several seconds before realization slammed home.

“That’s … that’s the antidote. The one that counteracts what’s keeping me trapped in this body.”

She nodded. “This was my backup plan. If Armitage or his men managed to get the drop on us, I was going to force it down your throat and Hop into you.”

I shook my head. “You could have given me that back in the mansion. Matthew and I could have swapped.”

She grinned a malicious smile. “I could have. But I like the body he’s in now. It’ll make a much better bed companion to this one than yours.”

As soon as I took that first step toward her, her thumb flipped off the stopper on the vial and she dumped it into the loosely packed earth.

“No!” I yelled, dropping to my knees before the damp spot. I pressed my fingers into the remains of the puddle, unable to get more than a drop or two before the thirsty ground swallowed the rest. Hot tears began to flow down my cheeks.

“Oops!”

I glared up at her through watery eyes and rose back to my feet.

“You think Matthew will be with you after that? He already feels guilty about me being trapped in here. When he learns that you deliberately dumped out the antidote, he will never forgive you.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” she said, taking a step closer to me. “You see, not only will you be in that body for the rest of your life, you won’t even care.”

“What … why?”

“Sometime in the next couple of hours, the police will respond to an anonymous tip and discover the missing Sasha Dellinger wandering along the side of the road a few miles from here. Poor thing will be practically catatonic from what had to have been a horrendous ordeal.”

I took step back as her eyes began to glow with eerie similarity to the moon behind her.

“Of course, the best doctors in the world will be brought in. Too bad that none of them will have any success reaching her.” She laughed evilly. “Look on the bright side, Detective. With your family’s wealth, the hospital you spend the rest of your days in will be first-class. No rundown padded leather cells for you, girlie.”

Her eyes flashed brighter, and the sensation of a cat's claws attempting to dig into the soft matter inside my skull sent a wave of agony rolling through me. I cried out and dropped to the ground on my knees, my hands pressed against the sides of my head. It felt as if the bedroom where Zimmer had removed Jack Rollins was being shaken by a monstrous earthquake. Or perhaps a tornado slamming against the walls.

I was so overwhelmed by the lighting bolts of pain bouncing around in my brain that I didn’t recognize the sound of a nearby gun being fired for a couple of seconds. Then, the screeching in my head instantly vanished, and I looked up to see that the luminous glow in Carol’s eyes had ceased.

She stared down at me, both hands pressed against the front of her chest. As I watched, a dark circle formed beneath her fingers and spread out, staining her blouse. Her mouth was open, as if she were trying to tell me about the new hole in her torso.

I turned my head to the side, still fighting a bout with nausea, to see Matthew standing about thirty feet away in a classic shooter's stance. A black pistol, just like the one George had used on his partner, was gripped tightly in his hands.

Carol looked over at him, her face twisted in an expression that seemed to say that she was having trouble following what had just happened.

"You told me I was going to accept the fact that I was going to have to kill one day. Today is the day.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Carol coughed, a little spray of black ejecting from her mouth to glint in moonlight. Then she dropped to one knee in front of me, still holding onto her chest. Her eyes rolled around in her head for a moment, then snapped down in an attempt to find mine.

I almost looked away, until I remembered the empty vial. I kept my face completely neutral as she attempted to change places with me. It only took her a second though, to remember her boast of how stuck I was.

"Have fun in hell, bitch." I said, crossing my arms over my chest as I watched the blood seep out of her body. A moment later, her eyes rolled back again, this time remaining that way as she pitched over and hit the dirt with a thud.

Matthew walked over and stood in front of me. He had an extremely guilty look on his face. He met my eyes for a moment, then turned his attention down to the gun in his hands.

“Where did you get that?” I asked, climbing back up onto a set of trembling legs.

“It came with the body,” he said. Then he looked from the weapon to Carol. “I knew she would try to screw us, Jack. I didn’t want to believe it. I had hoped she had changed.”

“Some people find the years have corralled them into a certain way of living. When you have more years than you can count, changing is the hardest thing to do.”

“I did love her once, you know. When I was young and optimistic. I always thought that, if she could see how easy it was to live without hurting anyone, perhaps I could get her to follow my example.”

"I understand," I said, reaching out to put my hand on his arm. "You made the hard call. Something every cop has to do more than once in their lives."

He sighed. "So, what are we going to do now? Keep running? Granted, I don’t look like Jack Rollins anymore. However, you still resemble the missing Dellinger girl."

I shook my head. “Running, for me at least, isn’t a viable option. I’ve been thinking about something that might actually let me live here in peace.”

He arched a brow. “Oh?”

I nodded. “Still have a few of the finer details to work out, but I think with a lot of planning, and a little luck, I can make it work.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Tossing him a little smile, I shrugged one shoulder. “Actually, there is.”

The Displaced Detective: A Body Hopper Tale – Epilogue
by Limbo’s Mistress

Three years later …

I swore under my breath that if the dude droning on and on at the podium didn’t shut up and sit down, I was going to organize a strike force to make him shut up. I mean, like, how long can we be expected to sit here and listen to some geezer monologue about how bright our future is?

I turned my attention from the sea of green gowns and caps around me to the crowd of people sitting in the auditorium’s left-side stands. It took a few seconds, but eventually I spotted Rich and Barbara in the throng. Rich was speaking to a young woman sitting beside him, probably someone’s sister, but Barb was looking right at me. When I ours locked, she gave me a thumbs-up gesture accompanied with a giant smile.

I returned it, then turned back to resume fuming about the seemingly endless rambling of my graduating class’s keynote speaker.

* * * * * * * * * *

After Matthew and I had returned to farmhouse, he’d scared up a can of soup from the pantry, heated it in the microwave, and insisted that I eat.

“You haven’t had a decent meal in almost two days, Jack,” he said, placing the steaming bowl in front of me. “You eat while I go and deal with Carol’s body. When I get back, you can tell me about this grand plan of yours.”

I nodded, picking up the spoon. However, just as he started to leave the room, I spoke.

“Sasha,” I said in a soft, but firm voice.

“Huh?” He paused in the doorway, turning back to look at me.

“Sasha. That’s what you should call me from now on.” I shrugged. “There’s probably more of her than of me in here now. Jack … just doesn’t fit me anymore.”

He stared at me for a moment, then nodded. “Well, Sasha, eat up. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

Unfortunately, our discussion would have to wait until morning. After eating, I went into the living room and sat on the sofa, awaiting his return. At some point, my exhaustion paired up with my full belly, and sent me right off into a dreamless sleep.

When I awoke, sunlight was streaming in through the window, and I was covered with a small blanket with images of bell peppers embroidered across its surface. I stretched as I sat up, the cover falling away to reveal that Matthew had removed my shoes when he’d tucked me in.

I was just finished making breakfast when he came into the kitchen. He’d ditched the jacket and dress shirt, wearing only the gray slacks and a white, skin-tight tee that highlighted just how athletic his stolen body was. I quickly turned away and shoveled the scrambled eggs from the pan in my hand onto the plates already loaded with toast and sausage.

“Smells good,” he said as he sat down at one of the table’s pre-set places. Although I had been tempted to make coffee, I had the feeling Sasha’s taste buds were not prepared to handle a cup of black joe. Instead, I’d poured two glasses of orange juice from a carton in the fridge.

I put his plate in front of him and sat down at the other place with my own. “Yeah, I’m probably going to make someone a good little wifey one day.”

I’d meant it as a joke … mostly. However, the colored drained from Matthews face and he sighed with apparent regret.

“I’m sorry this all happened to you, Ja … Sasha. If I had it to do over again, I would have not Hopped into you. Or Sasha.”

“You were just trying to live, dude. I don’t blame you for how things turned out.” I shrugged. “All we can do now is, like, make the best of the sitch.”

“Sitch?”

I rolled my eyes. “Situation. God, keep up.”

As we ate, I presented my idea to him. At first, he thought I was insane. However, the more I explained the details, the more he started to be receptive to it. When I was done, he shook his head.

“It’s bold. No doubt about that.” He stroked his chin with his fingers in contemplation. “The only question I have is if you think you can really go through with it? All of it to the end?”

I nodded, finishing the last of my juice. “Sure. Why not?”

He gave me a sympathetic look. “Because you keep referring to Dellinger as “Daddy”.

The knowledge hit me out of the blue. I shook my head in denial. “I have not.”

He nodded. “You have. Not all the time, but at least seven or eight that I can recall.”

My jaw clenched as the urge to reach into my head and slap the teen flared to life. Instead, I counted to twenty and sighed. “Then I’ll have to be extra-vigilant, won’t I?”

After breakfast, we went about the house, wiping down everything we could remember having touched. When we were both satisfied that the majority of prints would be Carol’s, we climbed into the SUV and left.

Neither one of us spoke during the hour it took to get from the farmhouse to rest stop next to the highway. Matthew pulled the Ford past the other parked cars while I hunkered down in the passenger seat, hidden from view. When we were on the far side of the lot, away from any prying eyes, I climbed out of the vehicle.

“Good luck, Sasha,” he said, flashing me a smile.

“You, too.”

He drove off while I went into the nearby trees and waited. Luckily, my newfound impatience held off until I finally spotted a state trooper pull into the rest area. When the officer got out and headed into the building, I scooped up some dirt from the ground, rubbed it over my face and in my hair, then tore the sleeve of my blouse. I stumbled out of the trees, walking with an overtly staggering gait. As if I’d been running for hours.

The trooper emerged from the building and headed back to his vehicle. Right as his hand rested on the handle, he glanced over my way. His eyes widened comically as his jaw dropped open. He ran around the car, rushed over to me, and knelt down in front of me with care and concern plastered all over his face.

“Help me,” I said in as tiny a voice as I could manage. Tears began to run down my dirt-stained face. “My name is Sasha Dellinger.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The boring guy finally shut his trap before he put everyone in the audience to sleep. Once he had sat back down, an older woman with mocha skin and steel gray streaks in her chocolate curls rose and crossed to stand behind the podium.

“We will now begin the commencement ceremony,” the Superintendent announced. She looked down at the podium. “Angela Renee Adams. Stephen Carter Adams. Georgina Rebecca Amos.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Of course, there was a huge media circus about my return.

The trooper from the rest stop, Sergeant William Blevins, whisked me from the middle of the rest stop’s parking lot to the back seat of his car. Then he was on the radio, informing dispatch that he had found the missing Dellinger girl. Within five minutes, another half-dozen patrol vehicles and an ambulance came screeching into the rest stop.

The law officers wanted me to answer a bajillion questions, but the paramedics took over and demanded that they hold off until I could be checked out for any injuries. By the time they were finished examining me, the area had become a chaotic mess. In addition to the troopers, two cars belonging to the FBI arrived, as did four news vans.

The officials decided that they could wait to grill me about my whereabouts, and the whereabouts of Detective Jack Rollins, until they had me in a private room at the nearest station.

I’d rehearsed my spiel over and over until I knew it backwards and forwards. Apparently, Jack’s skill at mental recollection was still mostly intact. As was my knowledge of police procedures. It was easy to prepare myself for their inquiries when I already had an idea what they were going to ask.

I regaled them with a tale of how I’d watched a man getting abducted right in front of me. When the kidnappers saw there was a witness, one of them climbed out of their car and chased me. Right into the protective arms of Jack Rollins.

I took their questions in stride. No, I didn’t know what the make of the car was, only that it was a large sedan and black. No, I didn’t know the Asian dude who got grabbed. Yes, I assumed it was a kidnapping due to the way the guy struggled and the fact that one of the dorks inside chased me for several blocks.

I told them I’d awoken in the hospital with Jack sitting by my bedside. He asked me my name and what I knew about the situation on the street. It was then that he overheard someone asking the nurse outside about an unconscious young girl who might have been brought in earlier. Jack peeked out the door and noticed the man wore sunglasses similar to the ones on the guy who’d been chasing me.

He also noticed the guy had a gun.

Not wanting to risk a shootout in the hospital, Jack had ferried me away, intending to put me in a safe house until he could contact reinforcements. When he realized we were being followed by a couple of black SUVs, he decided to lose them and lay low at some house on the outskirts of town.

No, I don’t know why he didn’t head straight to his precinct. No, I have no idea whose house we were hiding in.

When we saw the news on the television, Jack tried calling his supervisor to see about getting an escort to bring us in. Then I mentioned something about hearing one of the kidnappers mention the Order of the Dawn, and he hung up the phone before getting through.

Interestingly enough, when I mentioned the Order, one of Feds shifted his stance and cut his eyes quickly to the other lawmen. The guilt on his face was plain as day.

Jack told me that he’d heard rumors about the Order and thought we should hit the road until the heat died down. He also suggested we disguise ourselves. I hadn’t wanted to cut, or dye, my beautiful blonde hair, but he’d insisted that we might end up dead otherwise.

Funny enough, Matthew’s comment about Sasha having her own professional stylist on-call turned out to be true. Less than twenty minutes after Michael Dellinger brought me home, Simone was there to make it blonde again.

I told them that the Order’s men had tracked us down when we stopped for food and gas. Jack’s phone had been lost at some point and he didn’t trust calling in on an unsecure line. Our hasty departure from the pumps had been to flee from the Order, not the police.

The story took a hard detour from the truth after that. According to me, Jack drove us to the mall, where he hoped we could hide while he found a way to get us some help. Unfortunately, the Order found us and grabbed us before we could make it inside.

Later on, I managed to access a crime report database. Both of the stolen vehicles, the Honda and the Ford, had been recovered. Somehow, the fact that the sedan had been taken from the same mall where Thomas’ Hummer had been found slipped past the officer writing the report. Our connection with those two incidents of Grand Theft Auto were not discovered.

The Order drove us to a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Being blindfolded during the trip, I couldn’t tell them where it was located. The men dragged us inside where they tied me to a chair and made me watch as they beat up Jack as retribution for getting involved in their business.

The next morning, some older guy showed up and tried to explain to me that they weren’t going to hurt me. Instead, after having found out who I really was, they planned on ransoming me for a great deal of money. When they left us alone, Jack managed to get free from his bonds and rescue me. We fled out of the farmhouse into the nearby woods. The Order began pursuing us of course, but the heroic detective led them away while I continued my flight to freedom.

No, I didn’t see him after that moment in the woods when he told me to keep heading east and stay away from the road until I knew it was safe. After that, he ran off in another direction, drawing the people hunting us after him.

I’m sure the investigators would have loved to keep grilling me. Unfortunately, that was about the time that Dellinger and his ten thousand dollar an hour attorney arrived at the station and secured my release in less than a minute. He covered me with his coat as I clung to him, dramatically flinching away from the throng of press gathered outside.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Franklin Richard Collins ... Stephanie Anne Coltrane … James Henry Cullen….”

* * * * * * * * * *

Being back home, well Sasha’s home, was a little unnerving. While I knew, intimately, every nook and cranny of the place, having lived there my entire life, I never stopped feeling sort of like a visitor. A stranger who knew things she shouldn’t have.

Being around Dellinger was almost as unsettling. I would look at him, and a feeling of warmth, love, and security would nearly overwhelm me. Then I would remember that I wasn’t completely his daughter and the fear that he had finally realized it would send my pulse pounding and a cold sweat to break out on my forehead.

The nightmares, though, were the worst. Each time, I was back in that room in my head. Only this time, Sasha herself was there with Armitage and Zimmer. She was this ghostly, ethereal thing, sitting on the bed looking distraught. As each blue book burned, and was replaced with a pink one, she became a bit more solid. And slightly more … alive. Of course, each change made my arms and legs seem less tangible.

The process continued until Zimmer held the very last blue book. By that time, Sasha was a bright and energetic as she’d been the day her life was stolen from her. With the destruction of the last bit of Jack Rollins, she would be complete. She walked over to Zimmer, took the tome from his hand, and threw it in the flames herself.

Those usually woke me up, drenched in sweat, with a scream lodged painfully in my throat.

Sometimes, the scream didn’t get stuck.

For the first couple of months, I got acclimated (or reacclimated) to being Sasha. Daddy kept me out of school for the first week after my return, but I eventually convinced him that I couldn’t stay locked up in the house forever. When he finally did allow me to return, there was always one or two of his “employees” who kept watch on me throughout the day.

It was totally stifling.

Funny enough, as hard as I’d fought to not become Sasha, I soon realized I liked it. Sure, I missed being Jack Rollins a lot of the time, but I didn’t miss the way I’d begun to notice age creeping up on me. My new body was younger, healthier, and strangely familiar.

As the nightmares about the real Sasha helping destroy my male self away faded, I started to find myself falling back into the routines to which I was accustomed. Soon my life once again revolved around school, my friends, and boys. Often I would catch myself wondering if it had all just been a dream. Perhaps I had been kidnapped by some really bad men, threatened with my life, and merely invented the idea of being swapped into this teenaged form as a way to cope.

I might have simply let Sasha live as Jack slowly drifted off to wherever figments of imagination go when their no longer needed. Except, about six months after my encounter with the Order, I received a letter in the mail. There was no return address, but the postmark was from within the city. Curious, I tore into the envelope before stopping to consider otherwise. Inside was a business card from a financial analyst at a local investment firm. The name at the bottom was “Matthew Lang.”

My heart began to race as I turned the card over to see four words written in flowing cursive script: “Remember who you are.”

The lethargy that had come over me, which had allowed me to simply be Sasha Dellinger, was broken. I wrested control back from the displaced teen and remembered not only who I really was, but what I had planned to do.

“Thanks, Matthew,” I said to the empty room. “You warned me this might happen.”

That evening, I began with my grand scheme. Looking back, it was so surprisingly simple.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Kimberly Alicia Johnson … Michael Francis Johnson … Rachel Johnston ….”

* * * * * * * * * *

Michael Dellinger maintained an office in the downtown business district for his construction firm. However, he conducted his less-savory activities from the comfort and security of his own home. With multiple armed men constantly patrolling the outside perimeter, extra-dense walls designed to thwart long distance surveillance, and a nearly paranoid habit of only making felonious decisions in one room in the mansion, the chances of some score-hungry cop getting what he needed to bring Dellinger down were about the same as Jeffrey Scott getting to second base at the Winter Dance. Practically nil.

First base, however, was still up for grabs.

However, there was one person whom Dellinger trusted beyond a shadow of a doubt. One person, who could go anywhere in the house with no questions asked by any of the guards. Only a single individual who could pout and bat her eyes in such a way that one of the most feared men in the state would happily give her anything her heart desired.

I started with simple stuff. Keeping track of who came to the house to visit Daddy’s study and how often they visited. That in itself was eye-opening. I couldn’t believe how many members of the local police force, people in high up positions, were regular guests. Fortunately, I was able to squash the righteous fury at the duplicity of those cretins. They were sworn to uphold the law, not climb into bed with a mobster.

When I was able to deduce a slightly regular pattern, I conveniently “lost” my new smartphone. Of course, Dellinger was more than happy to provide me with a new one. I used the old one as a hidden recording device, nestled behind one of the plants near the large mahogany desk in the center of the room.

I managed to collect a treasure trove of incriminating evidence. At least, I hoped it was incriminating. Some of my judicial knowledge was full of disturbing holes.

Since some of the data revealed Dellinger’s influence on some of the guys in the local Fed office, I decided to take my findings to someone more likely to be outside of his reach. One morning, I gathered up everything I had, allowed Renaldo to drive me to school, waited until after homeroom attendance had been taken, then snuck out of the girls’ bathroom window. One Uber right to the bus station, and a four-hour trip on a Greyhound, I walked into the FBI office two states away and informed them that I wanted to speak to someone on their Organized Crime task force.

The way the two men who met with me stared at the presents I’d brought, you would have thought I’d, like, single-handedly saved Christmas. They whisked the flash drives away to their colleagues for analysis while they began my interview. I told them everything, making sure to use my teen girl voice and words. The last thing I wanted was for them to suspect I might be lying, and using jargon only a professional policeman would use might cause them to question my story’s validity.

It was well after sundown before they finally felt they’d learned enough to make an air-tight case against Daddy. One of the agents, Dawson, ferried me to a secure hotel while the other, Bolton, went to call in a warrant. I was pretty sure by the time I was in a pair of comfortable pajamas and enjoying a pizza and a movie, Dellinger was being handcuffed and charged with a plethora of crimes.

True to my word to the Agency, I was the key witness at the trial. I told the jury all about how I’d heard conversations where my father had ordered this person bribed, that one threatened, and more than a few others killed. I informed them of how scared I was, that maybe one day, my own Daddy might find me to be more trouble than I was worth.

Of course, the defense attorneys tried to convince their audience that I was just an emotional, traumatized teenage girl who had been shaken by a bad experience at the hands of some bad people, and was allowing her imagination to paint a wholesome member of the community in such a horrible light.

Sure, my statements might have been just the ramblings of a delusional teen. You know, if Exhibit A hadn’t been video evidence collaborating my testimony.

Dellinger, for his part, sat in the courtroom in obvious shock and confusion. I’m sure he spent many a night tossing and turning as he tried to understand why his only daughter, whom he had given everything to, would turn on him in such a manner.

His answer came in my last statement as a witness. I announced that my experience with Detective Jack Rollins had made me realize that the best way to honor his memory, and all he had done for me, would be to help uphold the law and put a terrible person away for a long, long time.

At the sentencing, I managed to maintain an impassive expression as the judge informed my father that he was going to be a guest of the Butner Federal Correctional Facility for a minimum of no less than fifteen-years. When the bailiff went to remove him from the courtroom, I rose and walked over to him. Dellinger stood there, looking down at me with a mixture of sadness and heartbreak plastered all over his face. Even at the end, he wasn’t angry with me.

Just … disappointed.

I think that look was what almost did me in. The pain and hurt I saw in his eyes. After all, he had been my entire world for most of my young life. The memories might not truly have been mine, but that didn’t stop the feelings that came with them from hitting me like a sledgehammer. The agony and grief raging in Sasha over what we’d done nearly caused me to lose my composure.

However, the trained adult managed to keep control, barely, and I leaned in closer so that only he could hear me.

“Just want you to know,” I said in a soft whisper. “I’m not really your daughter.”

The look of confusion on his face went a long way to making me feel better about being related, in a way, to a man who could so casually end lives and careers. He would have a long time to try and ponder the meaning behind my enigmatic statement.

After the trial, I convinced the FBI that I was terrified that some of Dellinger’s associates, ones who weren’t initially indicted in my testimony, might come after me just to make sure I didn’t do anything that might jeopardize their freedom.

Apparently, they found my concerns were believable enough, because less than an hour after Dellinger was in chains and on a bus to his new home, WITSEC whisked me to the other side of the country. I was given a whole new identity, a new look, then placed with in a foster home with a really nice couple who had no knowledge about my true parentage.

As far as they knew, I was an orphan whose parents died in a horrible car accident and had no other family to take her in.

Richard and Barbara made sure that I knew how welcome an addition I was to their family without smothering or coddling me. They provided me with enough personal space to grieve over my loss with the understanding that they would be there when I needed them. I admit, I was really standoffish at first. Mostly because I was not one hundred percent sure who I was anymore.

As time went by, and I found myself back out in a different world, I started to realize that I didn’t have to be either Sasha or Jack. Thanks to the way Zimmer’s ability worked, neither one of them would be capable of living without the other now.

Fortunately for my sanity, just living my life as best as I could heled to get my head together. After that, the three of us started to behave like a real family. I found I felt comfortable talking to them about my feelings and sharing my worries and hopes. They made sure to remind me constantly that they really cared about me as if I had always been theirs.

The formal adoption took place about four months before my seventeenth birthday.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Gerald Henry Marsters … Lisa Darlene Martin … Jaqueline Elaine Matthews.”

I stood up, straightening my cap as I cut a wide grin at the girl next to me. Lisa had been one of the first people to befriend the new girl who arrived at her school months after the semester began. And while she hadn’t been the only friend I made in those first few weeks of attending Baxter High, she was the one whose company I enjoyed the most.

Back when I’d been on the run from the Order, I’d sniped angry to Matthew about spending my future waving my pom-poms around. Funny enough, Lisa and I both had ended up on the cheer squad … and the volleyball team. By the time our Senior year rolled around, we were close as the sisters neither of us had.

I held my head up high as I strode down the aisle toward the stage, up the steps, and across to where the Superintendent shook my hand as she handed me a rolled up parchment tied with a strip of green ribbon. Even though I knew, without a doubt, that I’d gone through this ceremony once long ago, my heart hammered in my chest. I couldn’t remember what Jack had felt when he earned his high school diploma, but I knew Sasha … Jaqueline … would remember hers for the rest of her life.

After the ceremony, I told Lisa that I needed to hang with my folks for a bit before I could sneak away so we could head down to the lake. The entire graduating class was planning on one last hurrah to celebrate finally getting released into the world. It was going to be a fun evening of camaraderie, laughing, and enjoying being alive.

Plus, if Lee Thompson played his cards right, he might get to see me in the red and white bikini I’d bought the last time we went to the mall. I’d been teasing him with its existence for weeks.

Liking boys had seemed like something repulsive when I’d just been an occupant in a hormone-ridden body that wasn’t mine. However, I did escape the clutches of the Order with most of Sasha’s young life experiences replacing Jack’s. Attracting and being attracted to handsome males was just a part of the territory.

I hadn’t dared take that last, final step yet. Though, if Lee really played his cards right …

Barbara had to take, like, a million pictures. Me by myself with my diploma. Me posing ridiculously. Me and Richard. Me and Barb making duck faces. The three of us with our arms around each other. I didn’t think it would ever end.

And I really didn’t want it to.

“Okay,” Rich said, taking the parchment and my gown from me. “What time did we agree on?”

I slipped my phone into the back pocket of my shorts. Like my classmates, I’d ditched the flowing polyester garment for street clothes. However, we all agreed to wear our caps until we got to the lake.

“Midnight?” I said as I slid a pair of sunglasses on my face. When Rich gave me a stern look, I sighed overdramatically. “Fine. Eleven.”

He nodded, then leaned in for one last hug. “Love you, kiddo. I’m proud of you.”

I kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Thanks, Dad.”

Beaming like a man who’d just been handed a VIP pass to the Playboy mansion, Rich linked his arm in with Barbara’s and turned toward the parking lot. “Eleven, Jackie. Not one minute later.”

Barbara, though, looked at me as she smiled and shook her head. She mouthed the word “midnight”, then led her husband away.

I watched them vanish into the crowd of parents and kids still taking pictures and celebrating. In fact, I was so engrossed in their departure, I didn’t realize someone was standing behind me until they’d been there for several seconds.

Whirling around, I saw it was the girl who had been sitting with my parents during the ceremony. She looked like she might be in her late twenties or early thirties, with long blonde hair that seemed to be the color of spun gold in the afternoon sunlight. She was wearing a pastel floral print sundress. Pretty, with a slightly noticeable bump just below her belly.

“Hello, Jackie,” she said. Then she smiled. “Jacqueline. Nice name. Not as exotic as Sasha, though, is it?”

I took a step back, wondering if anyone would hear me scream over the din of conversations and squeals of excitement. If they did, they’d probably just think it was just another person enthusiastic about high school being over.

Before I could scream or flee, the woman said two more words. Words that froze me in place.

“Ravishing Copper.”

I blinked staring at her with my jaw hanging halfway open. When I closed it, I took a step closer to the stranger.

“Matthew?”

She smiled and gave me a little nod. “Been a while.”

“But … how … here ..”

“It’s okay, Jackie. Your cover isn’t blown. I got … nostalgic. So I managed to borrow a Marshal’s body … just temporarily … so I could look at your file. I wanted to wait, though, until you were done with school.”

“Where have you been?” I closed the distance and hugged her tightly, careful of the bulge.

“Around. Trying to use my abilities to help people.”

“Really?” I winced when I realized I sounded far to suspicious. “I mean … how?”

When we were on the run, I tried to tell you that I was one of the good guys. That wasn’t completely true. I mean, I never stole anyone’s life, or killed an innocent person, but I did prey on those who I could have helped. I selected desperate people and agreed to help them end it all if I thought being them would benefit me.”

I nodded. “That’s changed though?”

“Yes. Now I find people who feel they are … wrong. I use my Hopping power to make them feel closer to right.”

“I’m still not following,” I said. Then tapped my temple. “Not having all of my old detective skills means not using them regularly. I’m rusty.”

Matthew laughed and nodded. “Well, for example …” She reached down and rubbed her hands over her belly. “This young lady was the victim of a horrible rape. She didn’t believe in abortion, but she also couldn’t bring herself to accept having to carry her attacker’s child.”

“So you Hopped into her?”

“Yes. She’s currently living as a young man in Phoenix, taking adult night classes to be an auto mechanic.”

“She’s okay with it?”

Matthew smiled. “I think she was never comfortable being a female. Now she doesn’t have to be one.”

“What are you going to do … about it?” I nodded my head at her belly.

“There’s a guy about an hour north of here. He’s been desperate to transition for years, but with family pressure and a strict religious upbringing, it’s not going to happen. He’ll torture himself for years before he finally ends the pain.” She shrugged. “Decades of studying people.”

“So, you’re going to offer her an easy way to be who she truly is? Baby and all?”

The smirk on that face was all Matthew. No matter what face he wore, I knew I would always recognize that smile. “I get the feeling that she won’t mind at all.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling my face warm. “For everything.”

“You shouldn’t thank me, Jackie. I stole your life, remember?”

I opened my mouth, then paused when I saw Lisa wandering around, obviously searching for me. Turning back to Matthew, I grinned.

“You stole my body,” I said, reaching out to take her hand in both of mine. “Yet, when you did, you gave me the chance to have a life. Jack Rollins was a great detective, but that’s all he was. No family. Not a lot of friends. Just the job and a lonely existence. So, yeah. Thank you.”

She laughed and hugged me again. “Thank you. For being my friend.” Pulling away, she nodded over at Lisa, who’d finally spotted me, but was hanging back with a confused look on her face. “You better go before your friend comes over and starts asking questions we can’t answer.”

I laughed and shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe not now. But, who know, maybe I’ll write a book about the whole adventure one day.”

“What would you call it?”

“I dunno. How about ‘The Displaced Detective’?”

Matthew laughed and shook her head. “I think that’s perfect!”

~THE END~

Author’s Note: I hope you have enjoyed this little tale of mine. It was originally posted at Fictionmania, albeit in a less concise, slightly haphazard, form. This is the re-write I felt better told the story as it lived in my head. Thank you for providing me the opportunity to share it with you.

XOXO,

Limbo’s Mistress (Samantha)