The Displaced Detective - Part 5 free porn video

The Displaced Detective - Part 5 by Limbo's Mistress Matthew ascended the steps, pausing at the door to speak to the woman standing there. After a few seconds, she turned around and vanished back inside the house. Matthew looked over in my direction, then gestured for me to come on. As if to emphasize the invitation, he pulled open the screen door and held it for me patiently. Despite still being apprehensive about going inside, an unusual sense of politeness spurred me on. Someone was waiting on me, and the innate urge to not disappoint drove me forward. The realization of my motivation hit me as I climbed the stone steps onto the porch, and I wondered if that sudden need to please was from me. Or Sasha. However, I still gave Matthew my hardest stare as I walked past him into the house. I was not happy at all that he'd simply dismissed my concerns as hysterics. Dammit, I was, like, totally the trained detective here. He would do well to remember that. The room I found myself in was decorated in what would have been a homey, welcoming style. Like something one might find in an issue Southern Living or Country Home. The floors were polished wood, and the wallpaper was a cheery, flowery print. The stone fireplace, opposite the door, looked as if it might have been built out of the same material as the steps outside. A cozy fire flickered and danced inside its confines, while the mantle running across the top was adorned with several framed photos. The rest of the room was decorated with a large blue sofa that looked super comfy. It was flanked on either side by matching chairs. There was a hallway to the right that led to a darkened staircase and unknown rooms beyond. I could see part of a brightly-lit kitchen through the doorway set in another wall. The sounds of someone moving around just out of sight were accompanied by wafts of delicious smells that sent my anxious tummy rumbling with need. It had been hours since we ate breakfast, and I was starting to feel the effects. Sasha wasn't a big girl, but she was a growing teen. Her body was probably used to eating several small meals and snacks over the course of a normal day. Not that the past two days had been anything close to normal. Matthew closed the door and walked over to stand next to me. When I glanced up at him, he arched a single brow, then nodded at the room around us. His meaning was perfectly clear: See, nothing to worry about. I frowned and shook my head in disagreement. It was the nicest response I could provide, since I really wanted to just kick him in the balls and ask if he was even listening to the inner skeptic that came with his hijacking my body. What a dork. "You two make yourselves comfortable," the woman called from the kitchen. "I'm warming up some stew to chase off the chill. Along with a kettle for tea." I rolled my eyes at Matthew, then strolled over to the fireplace. The heat rolling out from the stone opening was toasty. Although, despite it succeeding in chasing the cool night's chill from my flesh, it did nothing to ease the cold prick of ice still buzzing around inside my brain. Standing up on my tiptoes, I examined the photos on the mantle. The first was a picture of a happy couple on their wedding day. They looked to be in their early thirties, and the smiles on their faces seemed genuine. Carefree. The picture next to that one showed the same couple, although some years later, evident by the streaks of gray standing in stark contrast to the otherwise jet black hair of the man. The remaining four photos were of the woman by herself, progressively older in each one. She still smiled at the camera, but the expression never seemed to reach her eyes. "Johnathan died of a heart attack," a voice from right behind me said. I jumped, nearly knocking the last photo off the ledge as I squealed like a teenage girl, which I was, who just found a spider on her arm. I spun around to find the woman from the photos standing right behind me. She was a bit older than in the last picture. Now, I would guess her to be in her mid-to-late sixties. Her formerly long, chestnut brown hair had become mostly white and was cut into a style much shorter than my own. A pixie cut, I thought to myself. It looks really cute on her. She was still slender in build, though her spine wasn't as straight as it used to be. Her breasts were in that sagging stage that affects all women across the passage of time. However, their large size hadn't diminished in the least. Deep laugh lines creased the corners of her mouth, tiny folds of loose skin around the bottom of her jaws, and crow's feet around her eyes. Eyes, however, that still remained brightly alert and shone with the deepest shade of blue I'd ever seen. Like glittering sapphires. Electric and vibrant. Eyes that slowly slid up and down over my body, from my face down to my feet and back. I managed to repress a small shudder from her examination. Sure, it's possible she's merely studying the strange girl she's invited into her home. After all, she knows Matthew. I'm an anomaly. Unexpected. Yet, I can't help but feel her gaze was more an appraisal of my appearance. Being valued. Or measured. Then, as quickly as it started, her eyes bounced back up to mine, and a seemingly warm smile formed on her wizened face. A smile that simply overflowed with a generous amount of friendliness. More than was necessary, actually. "I'm sorry for your loss," I said, trying to sound like I meant it. In reality, I had the feeling Johnathan was better off being six feet under than continuing to live with the woman standing before me. She nodded in response to my condolences, then tilted her head slightly toward me. "Detective Jack Hamilton? I'm Carol. Carol Jenkins." I didn't like the way her gaze had made my skin crawl. However, Matthews little pep talk outside was continuing to replay in my mind, causing me to wonder if I was being paranoid for no reason. It was easy enough to remind myself that I was a professional, trained in being able to accurately assess a situation. To look for clues others might miss. Sasha Dellinger, on the other hand, lacked such skills. The two parts of me were merged in an uneven manner. Like two paint colors tossed in the same can. Right now, each side was uniquely distinct. Mostly. Unfortunately, the process of blending was already under way. Given that, I couldn't be positive that everything wasn't exactly as it seemed. So I decided the best course of action was to play it cool until I knew for sure. One way or the other. My lips curled upward as I returned her smile, putting as much effort into mine as she seemed to put into hers. "That's correct," I said. Then I gestured at my lithe, adolescently feminine form. "I've not, you know, been feeling like myself recently." Carol blinked a few times, staring at me with a slightly incredulous expression. Then a short, barking laugh came from those obese jowls, quickly followed by a deep, rumbling cough that shook the older woman's body for several long seconds. Eventually, she managed to regain her breath, and composure, and looked at me as she dabbed at the corner of her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, amusement still in her voice. "It's just that what you said is a little joke my kind like to share with each other." The eyeroll is automatic, and I do nothing to fight it this time. "Totally hilarious," I mumbled. If my teenage sarcasm bothered her, the woman looming over me didn't show it. Instead, she reached out and lightly patted me on the shoulder. Like someone would do to a pet. Or an idiot. "I'm impressed that you've managed to retain both your sanity and your wit, despite the situation you're in. You may not be aware of this, Jack, but not everyone is as resilient. Most people completely lose it when they suddenly find themselves no longer ... well ... themselves." She shrugged innocently. As if the people she was talking about were dealing with some natural disaster. Or tragic accident. Rather than being the victims of callously indifferent individuals with strange powers. "You don't say," I said with even more snark. "I can't imagine why." She waved her hand dismissively. "Some of them eventually recover. Maybe not to the point they were at before, but they learn to manage. Some of them decide to end their life. And the rest? Well, there's no shortage of psychiatric hospitals for those poor souls." How I kept from leaping at her to claw her eyes out with my pretty polished nails, I will never know. She talked about the effects of Hopping as if they were a news article from the other side of the world. Another bombing in the Middle East? Food shortage in Asia? Que sera sera. Chill out, Jack. Just rein it in for now. You can punch this crazy bitch in the tit later, if you want. Right now, you, like, need her help. It wasn't as if Matthew hadn't warned me that most Hoppers weren't as altruistic as himself. They didn't actively seek out and switch with those who no longer wanted to live. Instead, they changed bodies as soon as boredom set in. Or opportunity appeared. He'd also informed me that Carol person was one of those types. Still, to stand there and listen to her complete lack of concern for someone unable to cope with having their body and life stolen away nearly drove me over the edge. That rubbed both the cop and the schoolgirl the wrong way. My tiny hands curled into tight fists, but I kept them planted against my thighs. "Matthew says you and he go way back," I said, changing the subject before I completely lost self-control. "Like, centuries." She held my gaze for a second longer, then turned her focus to the man standing there watching us. "Matthew?" she asked, arching a brow. "Is that the name you're going by now, Cornelius?" "I haven't gone by Cornelius since Fresno," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Matthew was the identity I wore until my run-in with Jack. I thought it was only fair to keep it. For the time being." "Cornelius?" I asked, looking at Matthew. Part of me, not the detective part, nearly giggled at the name. It sounded more like something out of Ben-Hur than Wall Street. "Hoppers refer to each other by their birth names," he explained. "Otherwise it gets really confusing over the years." "Quite so," Carol said, nodding her head up and down a few times. The action made her look like a chicken, a plump chicken, bobbing for grain. "Can you imagine? Trying to have a conversation and having to specify which Michael or Susan you were referring to? What a nightmare." "Sounds like a total pain," I said. The cynicism of disaffected teen peppered my tone. "What is your birth name? Surely not Carol." The woman's smile faltered a bit, taking on a more strict visage, but her eyes quickly shifted back to Matthew. Or Cornelius. Shit, I was never going to keep things straight at this rate. "Signe," she said, inflecting her voice with a northern European accent. Then she returned to her former country drawl. "Anyway. You weren't very forthcoming in your email, Cornelius. Other than to say the Order had found you and your abilities were not working properly." Matthew nodded. "Yeah. It's been a rough two days, Signe," he said with a sigh. "For both of us," I added. Carol, or Signe, frowned for a moment as she looked between the two of us. Then she gestured toward the kitchen. "Well, why don't we have something to eat while you bring me up to speed. Then we'll figure out how I can help." She paused for a brief second before adding. "Both of you." She smiled again, this one slightly more genuine-seeming. As if she were actually hoping for a positive outcome. Once again, I wondered if it were possible I was just overreacting? I was a stranger, after all. Not only in her home, but also in the secret world she and Matthew shared. A world filled, with people with magical abilities, and also with groups dedicated to hunting them down. Perhaps her attitude toward me had been nothing more than the result of being suspicious of strangers for over a century. Maybe she was uncomfortable being around a non-Hopper who knew what she was. We followed her into a spacious kitchen which was decorated in the same down-home country style as the living room. A giant wood stove against the back wall cast enough warmth to make the room more than comfortable. The cast iron post sitting one of the flaming burners, bubbled and popped softly. The aroma emerging from within set my tummy to rumbling again. Only louder than before. She turned to look at me, a wry grin forming on her face. "I guess with you two being wanted fugitives, both from the human police and the Order, you haven't really had too many chances to stop and eat, huh?" Matthew shook his head. "We stopped at a fast food place this morning. Dinner was from a rest stop vending machine a couple of hours down the road from here." Carol/Signe sighed, turning to look at me. "Well, that won't do at all," she said. She stepped closer and put one hand on my tiny shoulder. "I know you're feel like a grown man in there, Detective. But you're also a growing young girl. You need to remember that and treat your body accordingly." Her touch sent a chill up my spine, causing my original feelings of distrust toward the woman to return from their brief sabbatical. Matthew sat down at one end of the rectangular wooden table in the middle of the sizeable room. I walked around to take the chair to his right. If my hunch was right and things went sideways, the last thing I wanted to find was myself trapped between the table and the wall. Carol/Signe hummed softly to herself as she reached up into a cabinet next to the stove, coming out with three blue and white ceramic bowls. She placed them on the counter, then open and closed one hand several times. As if the action had caused her joints to stiffen. Not exactly uncommon in older folks. "So, Cornelius," she said as she reached over with her other hand and picked up a metal ladle from a hook over the stove. "Care to tell me how you two ended up on my doorstep." Matthew ran through an abbreviated version of the events that had transpired since he stepped outside of his home the previous day. He paused for a moment when he mentioned seeing himself, his other self that is, through the window of the Order's vehicle. When he mentioned the tranquilizer dart and his immediately Hop into me, Carol paused from scooping the contents of the pot into the bowls, turning to look at him. "So, the Order's agent shot you with a hypo-dart and you switched places with the good detective right before you passed out?" He nodded. "Yeah. I was already going under when I Hopped." "Interesting." Before I could ask what she found so intriguing, Matthew continued our tale. "When I realized I was unable to swap back," he said. "I got desperate. You were the only one I thought of who might have an answer. Or at least, you were the only one I knew wouldn't immediately tell me to go screw myself." The woman in front of the stove let loose with another of those short, barking laughs. "Fair enough." I looked at Matthew. "Why wouldn't any of the others of your kind help?" Carol/Signe answered before he could. "Cornelius is considered a fringe element in our society, Jack. While we all might be discerning about the bodies we ... inhabit, Cornelius is the only one who picks specific humans to switch with. He will only Hop into people who want to die." She shook her head. "It was amusing for the first couple of decades. Then some of the others began to feel like his actions were judgmental in a way. Like he was trying to prove he was better than the rest of us." "Isn't he?" I asked, leaning back in my seat to cross my arms under my budding chest. "He has compassion and cares about the people he is to become." She laughed again. "Is that what you think?" She turned around and carried two of the bowls, steaming with a delicious aroma, to the table and set them down before Matthew and I. "Are you saying I'm, like, wrong?" She looked at me, then grinned before grabbing a third bow, setting it down at the place at the other end of the table. "Signe..." Matthew said in a warning voice I knew all too well. The woman shrugged and carried over a trio of mugs, each with a teabag settled inside. "Let's be completely honest, Cornelius. I believe the poor girl deserves it." She smiled condescendingly at me, then grabbed the softly whistling kettle to pour boiling water into each cup. "Sorry, I mean the poor man deserves it." I looked over at Cornelius. "What's she talking about?" He sighed. "Signe and I ... we used to Hop regularly. Once or twice a year, actually. I was new to the ability, and the thrill of using it was addicting. I lost myself in the euphoria of it." His face, my face, reddened with shame. "You have no idea what it's like, Detective," Signe added. "Imagine seeing a couple and finding one of them to your fancy. All you would need to do is get their partner alone, swap bodies with them, then enjoy the carnal fruits of your labor. Afterwards, you could choose to stay there for a while, or simply swap back. I mean, it's not like anyone would believe some wild tale about having their body temporarily stolen." I took a swallow of the tea, sort of wishing it was actually a soda, and shook my head with a frown. "The Order of the Dawn would." Her eyes hardened. "Touch?." "Then I started to realize that I was destroying lives," Matthew chimed in. "I was thinking of only my wants and desires without consideration to the wreckage I was leaving behind." "What changed?" "He met a young woman. At first, he was going to just swap with her husband long enough to enjoy bedding her. However, he soon learned that the husband was being unfaithful to his bride. The guilt of carrying on the scandalous affair was causing him to consider suicide." "Seriously?" I asked, looking back to Matthew. "That's, like, totally messed up." "I knew the wife would end up penniless on the streets. So I approached the husband and offered to make the swap. I promised him the death he desired while ensuring him that his wife would be well cared for." "Yes," said Signe. "That's when his habit of self-righteousness first manifested. From there, he stopped Hopping for the hell of it and set up those stupid rules for himself." "They're not stupid rules," I snapped, sticking out my chin. "Being concerned about others isn't dumb. It's human." Signe stared at me with an amused expression. "I guess it's to be expected," she said after several long seconds. "One day you're a macho policeman who enjoys being feared and respected. The next, you're trapped in the body of a high school bimbo. I'm not surprised you're going through the typical teenage rebellion shtick." I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at her back. "I am not a bimbo," I said with a generous helping of teenaged derision. "And I'm, like, not going through any type of shtick." She picked up her spoon and stirred it around in her bowl. The action made my animal brain remember that I was practically starving and a hunger pang clenched my belly. I looked over to see Matthew was washing a bite down with his tea. "The past is the past," he said, setting down his spoon. "Do you have any idea why my ability isn't working. The one time I tried to switch us back, it ... failed." I snorted, nearly choking on the delicious stew. I'd pretty much inhaled the majority of what was in the bowl, and hoping there'd be seconds. "That's putting it mildly. Felt like my brain was getting squishified." Signe tapped her finger against her lips, as if pondering the problem. "This 'squishy' sensation," she said, looking at me. "Does it result in a headache. Like the kind you'd get from a hangover?" "A really bad one," I said with a nod. "Like getting punched between the eyes by a prize fighter." She nodded. "I suspected as much." Then she turned to Matthew. "There's nothing wrong with your abilities, Cornelius. You're just as you always have been. The problem is with her." "With me?" Unconsciously, I rose to my feet as if preparing to defend myself. "What the hell does that mean." Signe pushed her bowl to the side and placed her hands on the table. "Cornelius cannot swap bodies with you. Because you cannot let go of the form you're now in." I blinked, feeling my cheeks begin to burn. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Of course I could let go. I, like, wanted to let go of this body since the moment I'd awakened in the hospital. I really wanted to be Jack Hamilton again. Carol/Signe seemed to find my ire amusing since a tiny smile curled the corners of her mouth. "It wasn't implying that you were deliberately holding onto that body, Detective." Her eyes did that appraisal thing again. "Although, there are far worse places to be stuck." Then her smile vanished and she looked over at Matthew. "It's something the Order cooked up. Specifically to capture Hoppers. It's a drug that creates a blockage in the part of our brain that controls our abilities. Prevents us from switching bodies." The dread hovering around inside me since we arrived at the farm slammed down like a giant's boot. Tears welled up in my eyes as Signe's words rang in my ears, but I managed to beat them back. Sheer willpower keeping them from spilling over to run down my cheeks. "Hold up," I said, raising my hands. "Are you saying I'm permanently stuck here? In this body?" "That doesn't make any sense," Matthew said. "When I was shot by the dart, I was in her body." He pointed at me. "But I still managed to Hop." She nodded. "It's likely that the drug was a fraction slower than your abilities. If you were being chased, then the girl's body was a flood of adrenaline. It was simply the overwhelming panic that bought you the extra second needed." I shook my head, stifling a sudden yarn. The road trip must have really taken its toll on me. "If that's true, then the drug is in here." I tapped the side of my head. "Physically in this brain. So how can it be affecting me if I don't have powers to block." Matthew shook his head, his own yawn slipping out. Not surprising, since he'd been up for almost two straight days. "The Order collects people with powers in order to exploit them," he said. "Use them for their own nefarious purpose. Making it so a Hopper can't Hop pretty much defeats that purpose. I, for one, find it hard to believe the Order would give up access to that sort of power." Carol/Signe nodded. "They wouldn't. They've got an antidote that will reverse the effects and allow a Hopper's abilities to function again." Matthew nodded, yawning again. An antidote! Something that would keep me from being stuck in Sasha Dellinger. I could totally sing Signe's praises. I was thrilled to finally have some good news. I guess Lady Luck was with us. What were the chances that the first person Matthew/Cornelius reached out to would have the answers? My giddy thoughts came crashing to the ground as the haze of teenage hormones parted for a second. It was like watching a fog bank break up beneath the heat of the day. Little snatches at first, each one another part in the clouds. Signe seemed to know quite a bit about the drug and the antidote. The drug could be explained as her having spoken to a fellow Hopper who'd been affected. The antidote, however, would have been a more closely guarded secret. The sort of thing the Order of the Dawn would keep firmly under wraps. There was also the matter of her being so quick to help us. From what I'd inferred from Matthew, Hoppers feared the Order like a small child feared the Monster Under the Bed. He would have told her before we left the city that they were the ones hunting him. Unless she was as sympathetic as him, something I seriously doubted, then she wouldn't have wanted him anywhere near her. The last clue to spring into my rapidly slowing mind was the woman herself. Signe, according to Matthew, was the kind of Hopper who leapt from body to body on a whim. Like a shopper who just had to see what every outfit in the store looked like on her. A person like that wouldn't have stayed for years and years in the same body. Letting the ravages of time have their way with her. She'd been in real pain when she'd been serving us the stew. Remaining in an old woman with the beginning stages of arthritis was completely out of character for her. Signe must have been watching me, waiting to see if I was still a police detective. Or if I'd become too corrupted by the teenager's body to put it all together. When I blinked several times, the realization of it all hitting me at once, she responded by clapping her hands together. Matthew, looking even more out of it than I was starting to feel, looked from me to Signe. "How do we get ... our hands ... on the ... the ... anti ...dote." She laughed, tossing a wink at me. "I'm not sure. Maybe we can ask them ourselves." I jumped to my feet, becoming extremely unhappy with the way the world chose that moment to tilt violently. My eyes shot to Matthew, my vision blurring slightly. "It ... was ... her," I said, my voice sounding very far away. "Told ... you." Matthew simply stared at Signe, with his chin in his hands. I'm not even sure he was seeing her. When he yawned again, his eyes slid into a mostly closed position. Fear sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through my small body. Not enough to completely counter the sedative we'd obviously been slipped, but it was plenty to clear my head for a brief moment. "You set us up," I said, pointing my finger at her. "You told them we were coming here." She nodded, sliding to her feet. "Of course. I mean, they did make me an offer that I just couldn't refuse." She walked around the table toward me, her predatory grin widening. "I had resigned myself to eventually dying in this body. Then Matthew contacted me and I knew, just knew, I had the perfect bargaining chip." "They took ... took ..." My time was running out. "Powers." "Yes, Jack. They trapped me in this body and left me to rot. However, today I have earned my freedom." She shook her head, looking at me with mock concern. "Just let it happen, sweetie. You can't fight it much longer. I made sure of that." I whipped my head back and forth, trying to get the fuzz that had enveloped my brain to let go. My eyes drifted down to the mostly eaten bowl, now doubled, at my place. When I finally dragged my gaze back up, she laughed again. "It wasn't the stew, Detective. It was the tea. You and Cornelius were severed a very special blend. I opened my mouth to say something, but a heavy thudding sound from beside me easily stole my rapidly deteriorating attention. I glanced over to see Matthew's head on the table, a soft snort emanating from between his half-parted lips. "Poor thing," she said, standing up to move the bowl and mug a few inches away from the slumbering man. Then she stroked her fingers through his close-cropped hair. "I really didn't want to have betray him like this, but I really had no other choice." With Herculean effort, I forced myself to start moving toward the doorway. I thought, such as it was, that if I could get outside, into the fresh night air, I might be able to make a run for it. Sure, I'd be on the streets with no money and no help, but at least I wouldn't be a captive. "Now, where do you think you're going?" She stepped around the table toward me, reaching out in my direction. I stumbled the opposite way, attempting to get my leaden feet to move faster. Where the hell was that damned teenage energy now? The world swayed back and forth as I attempted to navigate back into the living room. As I passed through the doorway, my shoulder slammed into the frame, sending me bouncing over to hit the other side. The impacts felt muted. Distant. The front door seemed to be as far away as the moon. That didn't stop me from trying to reach it, though. My feet stumbled and banged into each other, threatening to send me down to the floor. As I passed the fireplace, a firm hand encircled my wrist and held tight, bringing my escape to a screeching halt. "No need to rush off, Jack. We've got important company coming." My formulative thought processes were mired in the molasses, but my instincts were still mostly functional. Without even thinking about it, I reached over with my other hand and grabbed one of the framed pictures. Before the woman could react to what I was doing, I slammed the photo against the side of her head with every ounce of my remaining strenght, shattering the glass. Signe cried out in pain, and the hand gripping my arm released its hold. I careened away from her, barely managing to remain on my feet. Already I could see the darkness that had been hovering at the edge of my vision creeping closer. I wasn't sure what I was going to do once I got outside. I doubted I would have the strength to get more than a few hundred feet away before I passed out. However, I wasn't about to just give up and lie down. When my fingers grasped the knob, I expected the door to be locked. Instead, it turned easily in my hand. I spared one last look back at the woman, holding her head and leaning against the sofa. I hoped I'd given her a concussion. I pulled open the door and lurched forward, only to be grasped firmly by my shoulders before I could cross the threshold. My head snapped up, taking in the image of the large man standing just outside the door. His hands, holding me both in place and upright, were surprisingly gentle. 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. "Detective Hamilton," he said in a deep timbre voice that seemed to come from the bottom of a tin can. "I'm so glad to finally meet you." I opened my mouth to respond, but the only thing that came out was a tiny, weak sigh. Then the darkness around me would be held at bay no longer, and it swarmed over my awareness.