The Displaced Detective - Part 7 free porn video

The Displaced Detective - Part 7 by Limbo's Mistress It felt like nearly an hour before the room to the door opened again. After the woman, with her cryptic warning about cooperating with Armitage, left, I laid my head back against the padded rest and tried to be, like, patient. After all, it wasn't as if I was going anywhere soon. What was Armitage's plan? He didn't want me dead, that much he'd come right out and told me. Even if he hadn't, though, I could have figured that out for myself. Men like him looked at people in only two ways. Either you were useful or you were waste. Right now, he considered me useful. Or rather, Sasha's body was. With no other stimulus, I closed my eyes and let my professional skills go to work. Was it possible that Sasha possessed an ability? A power that Armitage wanted under his control? While it didn't seem likely, it wasn't completely out of the bounds of possibility. Perhaps it was something that required specific concentration to activate or utilize? She was still just a young girl. Maybe it was something that had remained dormant until puberty. I pushed those thoughts to the back burner. Even if Armitage considered Sasha important because of some power she possessed, it wasn't going to help me at the moment. I'd been in her body for over forty-eight hours. In that time, the only things I'd discovered about it was that it was female, young, and had an annoying tendency to do its own thing when I wasn't paying attention. Plus, there was the issue of timing. Given what I knew about the Order, if they'd known Sasha was powered, they would have grabbed her at the same time as Matthew. The two of them were right there together. If they were able to grab and subdue a grown man who knew the danger existed, how hard would it have been to concurrently abduct a totally surprised, teenage girl? No, Armitage had an interest in Sasha other than power. I just needed to figure out what. And how to stop him. By the time the sound of the door handle being turned reached me, I was bored to the point of tears. I had been a part of dozens of stake-outs in my years on the force. Sitting in a car, alleyway, or hotel room, waiting for a perp to make a move or a phone call, had built within me a surplus of mental patience. Unfortunately, that discipline did not seem to have carried over when I lost my body. Residing in the teen came with dealing with the teen brain. Underdeveloped, wired differently, and currently awash in hormones like nobody's business. Twenty minutes after being strapped to the chair, I was ready to burst loose and start bouncing off the walls. As the time stretched on, I started to believe I would go mad with nothing to do but lay there and look at the ceiling. I became convinced that it was Armitage's way of paying me back for punching him in the balls and trying to run away. Torture by Boredom. A couple of times, I tried some deep-breathing meditation techniques I'd learned from an old girlfriend who was an aficionado of yoga and tai-chi. I hoped some 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. Eating nacho chips. Which was more than was required to keep peace and tranquility at bay. Thank god. Finally. I turned my face to look at the door, feeling the leather straps slide across my forehead. The first person to enter the room was a tall man in a gray track suit that had a pair of black stripes running up the outside of the legs. His hair was jet black and shaggy, as if it were a stranger to any type of brush or styling product. I could practically see the split ends from across the room. Ugh, this dude seriously needed conditioner and a professional stylist in the worst possible way. His pale blue eyes, which were slightly bloodshot, seemed to grow wider when he spotted me. The corners of his mouth turned up into a small, tight-lipped smile I didn't find comforting at all. It wasn't friendly expression, Or even a simple, polite greeting. It was the grin of a malicious child who just discovered something both exciting and enticing. Something they were eagerly looking forward to playing with. Armitage followed the other man into the room, closing and locking the door behind him. When he turned back, his hard eyes swept across my prone form, examining the bindings holding me to the table. Apparently satisfied that I was unable to smash anymore of his favorite body parts, he approached and stood beside the taller man. "I trust you are comfortable, Detective?" Armitage asked. By his tone, I guessed his actual concern for my comfort level was hovering around. "Don't Give a Shit". I rolled my eyes. "Totally. I should, like, get one of these for my condo." Then I blinked, stunned that actual words had come out. Guess my vocal cords were no longer paralyzed. 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, or the man?" A sardonic smile formed on Armitage's face as he stared at me. "Oh, the man. Most definitely. I have no doubt you will find the girl to be less of a rebel. More 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 a rise out of the man, I was sadly mistaken. That smug grin of his only widened as he stepped over to my side and leaned down, coming within a foot or so from my face. His eyes never wavered from mine. "At least I still have mine, Detective." An amused chuckle followed. "Of course, I think you're going to find, rather soon in fact, that you don't miss yours any longer." A cold chill passed through me, preventing me from maintaining the smirk on my face. I felt it fall into a look of shock and fear. There was something in the man's eyes, some visible darkness, that whispered in my mind that simply leaving me trapped in Sasha's body wasn't the totality of his scheme. No, it was something far more sinister. "What are you going to do to me?" I asked, though I really felt the answer wouldn't be to my liking at all. Ice formed in my veins as a wave of actual terror attempted to overwhelm me. I tried to force myself to remember my years of training. To convince myself that I'd been in worse scrapes. To quell my panic by assuring myself it was Sasha's fear I felt, not my own. "What do you want?" My voice sounded so small. "From you, Detective Hamilton, we want nothing." His eyes finally moved off mine, sliding down over the rest of my form. It was no sexual interest at all in his gaze, only one of appraisal. "Miss Dellinger, however, is a valuable prize." I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. A shudder traveled the length of my body at his words, and my bladder informed me that a bathroom break in the near future was highly recommended. "Sasha ... has an ability?" Armitage blinked, his face quickly turning back to mine. He stared at me, an surprised expression on his face. Then he glanced over me to the other man, and they both began laughing with genuine amusement. After a few moments, their chuckles finally subsided. Armitage shook his head, looking back down at me the way one might stare at a helpless animal. Or a stupid child. "I'm afraid that's not the case, Detective. Sasha Dellinger is nothing more than an ordinary fifteen-year-old girl. No powers. No special abilities." He paused for a heartbeat. "Well, other than attracting the eyes of hormonal teenaged boys." "Then why..." Armitage held up a finger, cutting me off. "Miss Dellinger's value to the Order doesn't stem from what she can do. It's because of who she is." It took me less than a second to piece his meaning together. "Michael Dellinger's only child." His smile widened. "Precisely. Normally, Mr. Dellinger's proclivity for criminal enterprise would exclude him from our list of preferred allies. However, there is no denying his contacts and influences are quite extensive. Including several political figures who have been less than receptive to our approaches. So, imagine how grateful someone like that might be, should we return something dear to him. Whole and unharmed." Armitage sighed contentedly. "It's the sort of gratitude money itself cannot buy." "So ...," I stammered, mind whirling around as I attempted to follow the thread I was pulling. "You're going to swap me and Matthew? The real Matthew? So Sasha Dellinger can go home?" I had no doubt what would happen to me after that exchange. Matthew's former body had no value to the Order. Nor did the mind of a pain-in-the-ass detective. As soon as the teenager was back where she belonged, I would be nothing more than a loose thread in need of snipping. Amazingly enough, through my fear, I was okay with that. While I didn't want to die, I was willing to do so, if it meant the girl would get her life back. Armitage shook his head. "Not exactly. You see, neither Miss Dellinger's soul, nor the body of Matthew Garrison, are still viable." "What!?" I instinctively pulled against my restraints. "You told me Sasha was still alive." "And I was telling you the truth." He reached over and tapped me quickly and lightly on the nose, pulling his fingers back before I could think to bite him. "You are alive, are you not?" The implications hit me in less than a second. It was like driving down a dark road and finally turning on your headlights. I could see where this was going. "Me? You're talking about sending me back to Sasha's home?" "Correct. Miss Dellinger will be reunited with her father. Michael Dellinger will owe us grandly. And Detective Jack Hamilton will live the rest of his days watching the world through womanly eyes." "That's what you think, asshole." I sneered. "Go ahead. Send me home. I'll be sure to tell my 'daddy' all the horrible things you and your people did to me. That you were responsible for my kidnapping. That you tortured and hit me. You think Michael Dellinger would be an excellent ally. However, I can promise you this, you sure as hell do not want him as an enemy." This provoked another round of laughter from both men. "I don't doubt you would do that, Detective. Regardless of how much we insisted the accusations were not true, Mr. Dellinger would certainly believe his child first and foremost." He gestured at the other man. "Thankfully, Dr. Zimmer is here to make sure that doesn't happen. Shall we begin, Otto?" The tall man nodded, then looked over at me. "This may feel strange at first. It will pass." Before I could open my mouth to respond, the world around me twisted in a flash of light and 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 covered my mouth with my hands, hoping to stem the vomit I was sure was on its way. My hands. Which were no longer tied down. I opened my eyes to discover I was no longer tied down to the reclining chair. In fact, the chair was no longer in the room. Standing there a few feet from Armitage and Zimmer, I glanced around me. The room looked almost the same as before, only now there was a huge bookcase on one side of the room, its rows of shelves filled to almost overflowing with blue-covered books. From where I was, I couldn't make out any of the titles etched on the spine. However, I did notice there seemed to be another row of volumes behind the first. As I examined the tomes from where I stood, I couldn't make out any of the titles. However, I did notice that there seemed to be more texts behind the first row. I turned my head to see both men looking at me, wearing amused grins. Without so much as a parting comment, I sprang for the door. It took me less than half a second to flip the latch, fling open the door, and rush right through it ... back into the same room. I was in the same spot I'd been when I'd opened my eyes. The door across the room was still closed. Armitage and Zimmer were still looking at me. And the ominous bookcase still dominated the wall. Even though I had the feeling this was a situation similar to my earlier escape attempt, I couldn't resist giving it another try. This time, when I pulled open the door, I could see the hallway outside the room. It looked exactly like it did before. However, as soon as I crossed the threshold, I returned to my starting point in the center of the room. "I never tire of watching them do that," Armitage said to Zimmer. The other man nodded. "I agree. Though, it's more entertaining when it takes them several tries before they finally understand." I balled my hands into fists, narrowing my eyes at the two. "Where the hell are we?" "Where, Detective?" Armitage said disarmingly. "Well, certainly not in hell. Though you might find your definition of that place changing soon. Nor are we on earth. Exactly." It was then I noticed a buzzing sensation coming from the center of my skull. The vertigo and the rush to make my departure had masked it from my notice. I could feel it, though, like a distant tingle in my brain. I glanced around the room again. As I'd previously noticed, the room seemed exactly the same with the differences that the giant bookcase had appeared and the chair was absent. The chair. I lifted my arms, moving them around with apparent ease. However, there was also some distant sensation of restraint. More felt than experienced. It was like I was free and not free at the same time. I could see myself moving, but it didn't come with that same tactile sensation. The answer appeared, but I was less than impressed with my deduction. Considering what I'd seen the past two days, I should have figured it out sooner. Occam's Razor can really be a bitch some times. "We're in my head." It wasn't a question. "I'm still, like, strapped to that chair in that room." Otto's eyes widened. "Impressive," he said. "It would seem your skills were not an exaggeration. This should make for a most interesting session." "Agreed," replied Armitage. "Oh, I get it now," I said, pointing at the taller man. "Doctor Mindbender here is going to monkey with my mind so that I think I really am Sasha Dellinger. It's brainwashing from the inside out." Armitage shook his head. "Not exactly. You simply believing yourself to be Dellinger's daughter is not enough. There would be too many discrepancies in your behavior. Too many things that would seem off. Which might cause anyone who actually knew the girl, such as her father, to become suspicious. It would jeopardize my plan." He gestured at the bookcase. "Ergo, something more thorough is required." I glanced over at the shelves of books, then back to Armitage. He smiled. "Otto, would you be so kind as to provide a demonstration? Nothing too drastic. For now." Zimmer nodded. "Of course." He turned and walked to the shelf, tilting his head to peruse the blue spines. "Let's see. Ah, yes." He placed his finger on a thin volume as he turned to look at me. "Tell me, Detective," he said with a hint of amusement. "Who was your second grade teacher?" Unsure about what was happening, I shrugged. The name hadn't taken me a second to remember. "Mr. Blake. Mr. Curtis Blake." Otto nodded. With a little tug, he pulled the book he was touching off the jam-packed shelf. The buzzing in my head intensified for a moment. Like holding a bees' nest to my ear. A second book, this one with a bright pink binding, slid forward to occupy the empty slot. "And you are certain that this Curtis Blake was your second grade teacher?" Zimmer asked, still holding the blue book. 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. Almost hesitantly. However, the very moment the words left my lips, my mind was assaulted with an influx of thousands of foreign images. 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. A memory, as solid as anything around me. 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. While Michael Dellinger sat in the front row, clapping proudly. "What ... the ..." The words died in my throat. I didn't need to ask what had happened. I already knew. My second grade experience, the one that belonged to Jack Hamilton, was gone. Replaced by that of Sasha Dellinger. If I thought about the summer before that particular school year. I could recall things like kickball games with the other boys in the neighborhood. Or the time I fell into the creek down the street from my house while trying to catch an enormous toad. Memories that were solidly mine. The summer after second grade was also filled with memories. Learning to ride a bike. Fishing with my father. The fistfight with Jordan McGee in Old Man Logan's vacant lot 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 to Sasha Dellinger. Nausea punched me in my insubstantial stomach. I felt as if my legs were going to collapse beneath me. Zimmer's actions hadn't just altered my memories. He'd replaced them. Thoroughly. "Now you understand," Armitage said, stepping closer to me. "It's not enough for you to simply believe you are Miss Dellinger. By the time Otto finishes his work, you will be here. Completely and totally." 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." Zimmer nodded. "Not quite." He held up the book in his hand. The one that contained my second grade memories. "When a Hopper enters a body, their experiences replace that of the hosts. The person they were pushes the previous owner's memories to the back." He returned the book to the shelf, shoving the pink one backward. Instantly, I could recall my own memories again. As well as those of Sasha. However, there was a heavily muted quality to hers. Dulled. As if they were something I'd seen in a movie or read in a book. If I thought about it, I could have answered any question correctly. Zimmer gestured to the bookcase. "This is your mind as it is now. The policeman's memories in the front, the schoolgirl's in the back. Of course, the pieces aren't completely separated. As I'm sure you have noticed from time to time. Mannerisms and such that would never belong to an adult male." I thought about all the Sasha things I'd done over the past two days. Changes in vocabulary, attitude, as well as little idiosyncrasies that only a teenage girl would possess. "Shit." I couldn't think of anything else to say. Armitage smiled. "If we were preparing you for a mission, we could simply push some memories to back. Replacing them with others which would be more conducive to the task at hand. Unfortunately for you, we no longer have any need for Detective Jack Hamilton. Keeping your memories intact presents a special risk." "Risk?" Zimmer nodded. "It's possible, however unlikely, that there might be a shuffling. The girl could be walking down the street one day and suddenly remember being at the police academy. Or the military. That would lead to questions best not answered." "We prefer to mitigate the risk," Armitage said. "Eliminate it altogether." Zimmer pulled my second grade memories from the shelf again, causing my brain to hum and buzz furiously for a moment. Then he turned around and tossed the tome into a roaring fireplace I knew hadn't been there a second ago. The cover and pages ignited as if they had been soaked in kerosene." "No!" I screamed, running across the room to save the burning book. I attempted to reach into the flickering flames, unconcerned about the potential for being burned. However, my hands wouldn't pass any closer than the threshold of the fireplace. As if there were some invisible barrier keeping me out. "A futile attempt," Armitage said from behind me. "The fire, Detective, like everything else here, is just an illusion. A mental metaphor. You cannot prevent what is happening here in the slightest." My eyes darted over to the nearby bookshelf, and I started to move in that direction. I only manage to get within a yard of the shelf, and the man standing next to it, before I encounter that same invisible barrier. "Nor can you safeguard your memories." He continued. "In fact, the only thing you can do is watch, utterly helpless, as the person you are dwindles away to oblivion." I turned to face him, feeling the hot, wet tears spill out of my eyes to slide down my cheeks. Though a wave of hopelessness washed over me, there was a surge of anger beneath the distress. Anger at Armitage and his fucking Order. Zimmer, taking such pleasure in destroying lives. I was even pissed at Sasha Dellinger. Mainly because I'd inherited and her penchant for crying at the drop of a hate. While I'd never been one of those jerks who equated tears with weakness, I sincerely hoped when I was erased from her mind, she would finally stop weeping over the smallest things. I wiped at my cheeks with the back of my hands, glaring at Armitage. "Let's get on with it then! No need to drag it out!" I waved my hand at the bookshelf. "Just scoop everything that is Jack Hamilton into the fire and be done with it. Surely you have better things to do." I narrowed my eyes. "Protecting the common good and all that other horseshit!" "Unfortunately," Zimmer said, reaching for another book. "That would have disastrous results." He glanced at the title on the spine, which I couldn't make out from where I was stuck, then looked back at me. "It is a delicate process, completely replacing a person's life experiences. If one is not careful, severe psychoses can be inflicted." "I do not plan to return Mr. Dellinger's daughter to him in any condition that is less than perfect." Armitage said. "Besides, I'm going to enjoy watching you vanish bit by bit. Watching that smug arrogance devolve into panic and desolation as everything that was you fades away." "You're a monster," I spat, stalking toward him. "If we were in the real world, I'll strangle you to death with my bare hands." Armitage stood his ground as I approached, showing no sign of worry. I swung my tiny fist toward his nose, putting every ounce of rage behind the strike. My hand passed harmlessly though him. "We're in your head, Detective. As I said, this is all illusion." Another screeching buzz filled my thoughts, drowning out everything else. Then, just as quickly, it stopped. I spun around to look at Zimmer, my mouth agape. His smile could have frightened a shark. "Guess who just got a brand new thirteenth birthday party?" At his words, the crystal clear memory of a very particular 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 maid, had made sure to lay out my clothing the night before in anticipation of my big day. Including a custom-made, pink silk tea-length dress. After a long, relaxing bath, I sat patiently while Roman, the stylist who had been hired by Daddy to make sure I was perfectly coiffed for my party, went to work on my blonde tresses. When he was finished with my hair and applying my makeup, I looked and felt like an actual fairy princess. Albeit, a grown up one. Then, right in the middle of the party that afternoon, Darla Chambers spilled chocolate ice cream all down 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. As well as my buoyant mood. 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 stared at them, feeling the cold wetness seeping through the front of my outfit, the hotter my cheeks became. Darla looked up to me from the nearly empty bowl in her trembling hands. Her blue eyes full of tears and worry. Her lower lip quivered violently. "I'm so sorry, Sasha. I didn't mean to." A few titters, obviously stronger than the restraints holding them back, rang in my ears. The sound only served to fan the flames of the utter humiliation I felt. This was supposed to be my Big Day. The day I stopped being a little girl and became a young woman. Practically an adult. Instead, it had become a disaster. Granted, I had been the one to run into Darla on my mad dash to get to the head of the table, where my own bowl of ice cream awaited. But the notion that the fault for the accident was mine, rather than the girl who was quite likely my best friend, was completely unfathomable. Darla was to blame here, not I. Bawling un controllably, I ran out of the gigantic dining room, flying up the stairs to my bedroom, where I threw myself on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably with a mixture of shame and fury. A few minutes later, Daddy entered the room. He sat down on the floor beside me, rubbing my back soothingly. The caress was something he'd done all my life. Whenever I was upset, the gentle touch of compassionate strokes across my upper back always managed to calm me down. He sat there silently, simply rubbing my back, until I'd regained enough composure to tell him what had gotten me so upset. "Well," he'd said in a soft voice. "It seems that Darla Chambers is as much a clumsy idiot as her father. Then he stood up, brushed of his pants, and looked down at me. "Now, wipe those tears, fix your makeup, and go downstairs and show those girls that you're a Dellinger. This is your party." He smiled. "Remember, sweetie, you must never show your enemies weakness. Or they will use it against you." So, I did what he said. 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. Eventually, their bad manners would come back to bite them in the ass. I just knew it. Darla was the only one who didn't join in with 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 not on my list. The rest would find out soon enough that laughing at me 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. I dropped to my knees with the revelation that Sasha Dellinger was every bit her father's child. She may have been innocent in the incident that robbed her of her life, but she was no innocent in anything else. Zimmer turned back to the shelf, tapping his finger as he scanned the books. What would he steal from me this time? My education? If he burned my senior year, when there was nothing from Sasha to replace it, would I forget everything I had learned that year? Or would I still have the skills, just without any memory of having learned them? As if the information was a gift from the void. Armitage sighed behind me. "I'm afraid I must depart for now, Detective. Otto, please feel free to continue. I only ask that you draw it out. And do not remove his identity until I return. I want to see him broken before that final switch is flipped." "As you wish." Flashing me a smile promising plenty of pain, anguish, and misery, Armitage vanished. One moment there, the next gone. I whirled around back to Zimmer, holding up both hands. "Please," I said, trying not to sound like I was begging. "Don't do this. I can help you get away from the Order. I can get you free." "Free?" He arched a brow at me. "Do you think me a captive? A prisoner?" He laughed, shaking his head. "No, my good fellow. I was recruited by them. They actually freed me from facing a firing squad." He smiled, then turned back to the shelf. "Plus, they allow me access to the most delicious minds. You could never know the power of taking someone apart. Removing the things that make them who they are and replacing them with something else." He glanced back at me again. "It's is more than simply removing these books and letting Miss Dellinger's memories take their place. I could conjure completely new experiences, stick them in your pretty head, and you would believe them to be one hundred percent true." I shook my head. I was trapped. Physically and mentally. Being in this place, in my head, I couldn't fight with my fists or my feet. My mind, still my own at the moment, might save me, but I couldn't fathom how. I didn't know the first thing about mental domination or manipulating memories. I'd always dealt in facts. Observations. Noticing things others missed. Here, I was nothing but an amateur. Zimmer chuckled to himself as he tapped the top of one very thin text. "This should be rather interesting he said as he looked over at me, a maniacal gleam in his eyes. "Ready to mis-remember your very first kiss?" Before I could respond, he yanked the book from the shelf.