The Displaced Detective - Epilogue free porn video

The Displaced Detective - Epilogue by Limbo's Mistress Three Years Later .... My leg jiggled up and down as if a tiny jackhammer had replaced the bones inside it. If the man behind the lectern, the one who'd been droning on for the past fifty minutes, didn't shut up soon, I was going to be in serious trouble. Though, it was probably my fault since I really should have had the foresight to, like, go to the bathroom before everything got started. Trying to take my mind off the warning being broadcast by my bladder, I turned my head to the left, scanning the sea of faces watching the proceedings. It took me a few minutes, but I finally manage to locate Matthew. He was sitting halfway up the stands, right behind a couple of other friendly faces. When he saw me staring in his direction, he lifted his hand in a tiny, almost imperceptible wave. I didn't want to wave back, which would totally draw attention to myself, so I settled for giving him a huge smile. Then I grudgingly turned back around to face the front as I continued to endure what had to be the most boring speech in history. It was hard to believe that, after everything that had happened, everything we'd been through, this was where we ended up. * * * * * * * * * * As we walked out of the field toward the farm house, I glanced back over my shoulder at the lifeless body lying on the ground. A shudder passed through me, and I asked Matthew what he planned to do about Signe. "I'll come back in a bit and bury it," he said. "We don't know who she really was before Signe hopped into her. If she was really working for the Order, her civilian identity will have been scrubbed clean. I'll also wipe down the chopper to get rid of our fingerprints. I doubt the Order will let it fall into the hands of the police, but better safe than sorry." Once inside the house, I plopped down on the couch, feeling my energy waning. Matthew got me a glass of water, then rummaged around in the cabinets for something for me to eat. At first, I felt a bit ill about eating the food of a woman I'd just watched die, but Matthew reminded me that it hadn't been Signe's house. Not really. Nor had it been her body that died. Just the malicious soul that had ruined lives and dreams for centuries. After we ate, Matthew found a shovel and went out into the darkness to do what he needed to do. Exhausted, I fell asleep. I didn't wake until the first rays of the morning came in through the window and landed on my face. Sitting up, I realized that my shoes were on the floor next to the sofa, and a blanket had been thrown over me. I sat there on the sofa, watching the sunrise, until Matthew came down the hall and sat next to me. "I'm surprised we didn't wake up to company this morning," I said to him. "Even with Armitage dead, you'd think the Order would come after us. Or at least, after their helicopter." "Oh, I pulled the tracker out of the dash when I was ... you know. It's under six feet of dirt now. I'm sure they'll send someone to check out the farm before too long. However, Herman had his hand on nearly everything the Order did. With him gone, not to mention the hellacious mess we left behind, it'll be a while before they come after us." I nodded. "That's pretty solid thinking, Matthew. I doubt I could have done better." "Of course, we still have a huge mess to sort out, Jack," he said, frowning. "I hope you weren't kidding when you said you had a plan." I turned to look up at him. "I do, but it will take both of us to pull it off. Our stories have to be spot on, and once we get started down this path, we'll have to, like, totally stick with it until the end." Then I sighed and gave a little shrug. "We should probably start with the important stuff. So we can get used to it." "Get used to what?" I forced a tiny smile on my face. "Like, calling me Sasha, for starters." "Sasha?" His brow crinkled in confusion. "Yes, Jack," I said, putting emphasis on the name. "From this moment on, I'm only Sasha." Over the next four hours, during which we ate breakfast and went about removing all traces of our visit to the farmhouse, I laid out my idea. At first, he was vehemently against what I had planned. Words like "dangerous", "crazy", and "insane" kept being tossed about. However, the more I calmly explained the reality of things, reiterating the permanence of my new situation, he slowly came onboard. By the time we were in the SUV and headed back to the city, he had agreed that my plan was the best hope for us both and promised to stick with it, and me, until the end. Our return was a media sensation. At first, the authorities detained us, shuffling us both into separate interrogation rooms to be bombarded with an endless barrage of questions. Of course, Michael Dellinger, and the expensive lawyer he kept on retainer, had me out of police custody in less than thirty minutes. Jack, or rather Matthew, remained in questioning for nearly ten hours. The tale we both spun was this. I, Sasha Dellinger, had witnessed a man being abducted right in front of me while on my way to school. When the kidnappers realized there was a witness to their deed, they chased after me. My panicked flight led me to cross paths with one Detective Jack Hamilton, who saved me from my pursuer. Cue the upset teen's grateful waterworks. Since I was a Jane Doe, the good detective sat next to my hospital bed, waiting for me to awaken so he could get some information about the incident. It was then that he overheard a couple of suspicious men asking about a girl and a man who had recently been brought in. He observed, being the profession he was, that both men were armed and behave in a manner that he felt was threatening to the safety of the unconscious girl, and the other patients in the building. Not want to risk getting into a shootout, Jack spirited me away, planning on taking me to the safety of his precinct. Along the way, I told him who I was. As well as who my father was. When he realized we were being followed by a pair of black SUVs, he assumed that the men after me were Michael Dellinger's enemies. Since it wasn't impossible that someone at the station might rat us out, Jack went to a friend's house. The intention being to hole up until he could contact someone he knew he could trust. This was where Sasha supposedly mentioned to Jack that she heard one of the men use the phrase "Order of the Dawn". The name "reminded" Jack of something one of his FBI contacts had also mentioned. Luckily, Matthew had a fellow Hopper working at the Bureau. While she wasn't exactly thrilled to help perpetuate our lie, when she learned that we had dealt a pretty big blow to their operation, including eliminating one of the leaders, her attitude flipped like a switch. Anyway, while Jack was doing so research into this Order-thing, Sasha, who was still borderline hysterical, decided she needed to change her appearance so the bad men couldn't find her. She went upstairs, found some scissors and hair dye, and went about trying to disguise herself. Side note here. The second Michael Dellinger got his daughter home, he called the woman who normally styled Sasha's hair and demanded she come over immediately and fix the damage. By the time I finally went to bed that night, I was blonde again. Unfortunately, at least according to our story, the mysterious men somehow managed to locate our hideout. Jack and Sasha tried to run, but we couldn't shake our pursuers. This led to the incident at the convenience store. From there, we made it as far as the town outside Signe's farm before they caught up with us. Although, we left the farm itself, and the woman who had lived there out of the story. The Order managed to capture us right after we arrived. They loaded us into their vehicles to take us to their headquarters. Jack, using his years of professional training, managed to facilitate our escape. I honestly thought Michael Dellinger was going to shit a solid gold brick when he heard the words "Order of the Dawn" come from Jack's lips. From his reaction, I could only assume that Armitage had made his offer to save Sasha a bit prematurely. The way we spun the story made it appear the Order had been behind my attempted abduction from the very beginning. Obviously in the hopes of currying favor by resolving the situation they had instigated. Additionally, a few of the higher-ups in my, in Jack's, department looked a little nervous at the announcement. Probably wondering what kind of blowback might land on them should it be discovered they were associated with Armitage and his group. We returned to the city, turning ourselves into protective custody. From there, Matthew's friend, as well as Dellinger's connections, led to the FBI being involved. Turned out the Bureau did have files on the Order of the Dawn, but nothing more than scant incident reports and recorded complaints were all they had managed to gather. But it was more than enough to support our paper-thin explanation. After that, things sort of settled down. Sasha returned to school and her life as the spoiled daughter of a dangerous mobster. There was bittersweet irony in what Zimmer had attempted to do to me. Even though I still knew who I really was, I had been provided with enough of the real Sasha's memories that acting like her was a breeze. Anything I did that might have seemed suspicious was simply written off as the effects of a mild case of PTSD. Jack Hamilton was placed on administrative leave for almost a month, while IA conducted their investigation into his actions. His refusal to follow proper protocols and his willful endangerment of a minor were the focus. He responded with the excuse that he didn't know who in his precinct he could actually trust. Later, when it was discovered that the Chief of Police himself, a guy I had never really liked, was associated with the Order, IA agreed that Jack had done the right thing. He was cleared of all charges and reinstated to active duty. He retired about a month later, stating that the whole incident had convinced him it was time to hang up his badge. Dellinger actually had a small retirement party for him. As a favor to Sasha, of course. Jack moved down to southern Florida, bought a little house near Port Richie, and enjoyed a life of well-earned relaxation. For about three months. A mysterious fire claimed the life of the heroic detective. Arson was suspected, but never actually proven. Sasha Dellinger, however, was busy with surreptitious work of her own. Though dangerous and time-consuming, I managed to gather quite a bit of damning evidence about Michael's illicit dealings. I discovered names, dates, and contacts. Everything I uncovered was photographed with the brand new smartphone Daddy had bought me, and stored on an encrypted flash drive kept hidden in my underwear drawer. One fall day, about six months after Jack's death, I skipped school and hopped on a bus that took me two states away from home. There, I went to the nearest FBI office and spent the next five hours telling the folks in the Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services branch everything I knew. When I handed them the flash drive and informed them that I was willing to testify, they looked like they had just won the lottery. By the time Michael Dellinger returned home later that evening to find his living room contained a flock of federal agents with multiple search warrants, I was eating take-out Chinese in the kitchen of an FBI safe house. The information I'd provided also told them every hiding place in the house where my father kept incriminating documents. At the trial, I kept my promise and testified against him. As well as some of the guys on his payroll. I told the jury about the conversations I'd overheard. Conversations about having this person or that killed. Conversations about which lawman or politician needed to be reminded of who they really worked for. Conversations that would have been dismissed as the delusions of a traumatized young girl. You know, if I hadn't also recorded them in high def. For the most part, Dellinger sat in the courtroom in shock. Obviously unable to understand why his 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 Jack Hamilton 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. 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. Before the bailiff removed him from the room for transport, I stood up and walked over to him. I have to admit, some part of me ached at the look etched on his face. 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. Of course, I also fully remembered who I had originally been, even if there were huge gaps in my past. Holding onto those allowed me to say the one thing I had been wanting to say since the evening he had ushered me out of the police precinct and into an awaiting limo. "Just want you to know," I said in a whisper only he could hear. "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 it was possible that some of Dellinger's associates, ones who weren't initially indicted, might come after me just to make sure I didn't do anything to jeopardize their freedom. Apparently my concerns were believable enough, because I was whisked out of the state, given a whole new identity, and then placed with in a foster home with a couple who had no knowledge about my true parentage. As far as they knew, I was orphaned in a horrible car accident and had no other family. They eagerly took in the poor teenager and welcomed her with open arms. The formal adoption took place a year later. * * * * * * * * * * The man behind the lectern finally stopped his mind-numbing monologue. He stepped back so that another man, this one more familiar to me, could take his place. Principal Daniels adjusted the glasses perched on the end of his nose, smiled at all of us wearing caps and gowns, then began calling out names. "Steven David Alexander." I squeezed my legs tightly together, mentally hurrying the administrator to get through the alphabet. To take my mind off the wait, I glanced over at where Matthew sat again. This time, the couple in front of him were turned around, talking to him, When he noticed me staring his way again, he said something to them and nodded his head. The three of them all turned to look at me. The woman, her dark brown hair just starting to show strands of gray, waved wildly. "Brittney Jean Collins." * * * * * * * * * * Originally, I felt going back to school a waste. I'd maintained the ruse while gathering my evidence against Dellinger. But that had only been because it would have drawn undue attention otherwise. Now that I was done, I didn't see any need in pretending any longer. However, I had to accept the fact that I couldn't very well tell Brad and Holly that I didn't need an education because I, like, already had one. Two, actually. High school and college, and I likely got my diplomas before either one of them. They would have thought me to be totally insane. So, I went back to school as an ordinary sixteen-year-old named Jackie Matthews. At first, I was worried that people might recognize me from all the news coverage. Both from my kidnapping and the rather public trial. However, teenagers live in a world of sound bites and thirty-second media blips. Some rich girl getting kidnapped only has a shelf life of about a week with them. Lengthy court cases involving a mobster on the other side of the country goes stale even faster. There was also the fact that my hair had grown quite a bit since the day Jack Hamilton and Sasha Dellinger's lives had intersected. It was also colored a dark chestnut brown, rather than its natural blonde. I missed the golden shade at times, but the new hue had fully grown on me. Of course, just because no one knew my true identity didn't mean I wasn't the subject of a lot of unexpected attention. Being the new person in a high school, especially when arriving a few weeks after the start of the year, causes people to notice you. Being a pretty girl only seemed to double the number of looks I got on my first few days. Even though I couldn't exactly remember all of my army deployments, I felt more terrified that first day in the cafeteria than I probably ever felt in combat. Coming under enemy fire was nothing to dealing with the snide expressions of the mean girls and the leering stares of almost every individual possessing a penis. Particularly since, to my utter dismay, my chest had continued to grow past the budding mounds I'd sported when I first awoke in my new body. Now I had the fun and occasional embarrassment of dealing with what felt like a couple of overripe cantaloupes stuffed in my bra. Eventually, I was designated to be not threat to the current school hierarchy and actually made quite a few friends. As the days passed, I found that I enjoyed going to class, learning new things. I discovered that my previous schooling hadn't taught me everything. Then there were the extracurricular activities. No, I didn't run out and join the cheer squad. Even Sasha had possessed no inclination to jump around and shake her pom-poms. I did, however, try out for the girls' soccer and volleyball teams, making both junior varsity teams my sophomore year. It was fun to be part of a group training hard together with a common goal in mind. It provided me with a sense of grounding. Particularly during those occasions when Sasha and Jack were at odds inside my mind. Then there were the boys. Despite my reactions to both the boy in the truck and Jerry's power, I adamantly tried to convince myself that I was not attracted to anyone of the male gender. That the flutters and warmth I felt when a cute boy's eyes drifted my way was just a biological reaction based on the flood of female hormones flowing through me. Eventually, though, I finally had to give in and accept the truth. I was now a female. A heterosexual one. To fight against that would have been as futile as trying to fight against having a period (which, thankfully, I had memories of dealing with) or ever-widening hips. However, Holly and Brad had strict rules about boys, which I'm sure would have been seen as chafing to another young girl. For me, it provided a little extra time to get accustomed to the idea. Keeping me from jumping headfirst into the dating pool. * * * * * * * * * * "Carolyn Finkle." I returned Holly's wave. Mainly because I knew she would be a little put out if I didn't. She was a great mom, always putting my needs before her own. Although, she could occasionally be a bit insecure about how I truly felt about living with her and her husband. I guess she couldn't believe that a teenage girl could be mature enough to handle the tragedies I had and not carry around a humongous chip of resentment on her shoulder. I guess she always wondered if I was going to blow up one day and unload everything on her in my anger. Brad said something to Matthew, and my closest friend laughed and nodded his head. * * * * * * * * * * When I had heard the news about Jack Hamilton's death, I felt numb and empty for almost a week. I harbored no illusion that the Order had gotten him. Somehow, they'd retained enough power and resources to track him down to his retirement oasis and get their revenge. I began to wonder if they would try coming after me again. Then, about three weeks later, I received a card in the mail. It had no return label and was addressed to "Miss Sasha Dellinger." When I opened the envelope and pulled out the thick stock inside, there was only a single message comprised of three words written in block letters. Intense Copper Red. The very same color Matthew had purchased for our disguises. He was alive and wanted to let me know in a way that would ensure that no one who might intercept the note would be able to decipher the message. I destroyed the note and the envelope in the fireplace, barely able to prevent myself from dancing around in a celebration of joy and relief. Two months after the card's arrival, I received another message. This one was similarly addressed, and contained the same rectangular card inside. Only this time, there was a URL listed on the front. When I entered the address into the browser on my laptop, it took me to a public message board hosted by an Arizona university. I scrolled through at least a thousand posts, seeing nothing that I might suspect to be a message from Matthew. Just as I was about to give up, inspiration struck. Clicking on the search bar, I typed in "Intense Copper Red". There was one result. Steeling myself as I held my breath, I clicked on the message's link. "Hey, Jack. All's well here. Don't believe what you heard." I nearly squealed aloud. With shaking hands, I typed my response. "Glad to hear. Working on our project. Miss you." We communicated like that right up until I went to the FBI. Afterwards, it was far too dangerous. There was always the chance the defense might want to examine my laptop to see if I had been compromised or coerced into making my accusations against my father. Not talking to Matthew for almost half a year nearly drove me insane. Once the trial was over, though, and I was gathering some of my personal effects from the house to take with me to my new life, I decided to risk one more message. "Going with WITSEC. Talk soon. J." When I got settled in with my foster family, I waited until they were asleep one night before reaching out to Matthew. In the darkness of my room, illuminated only by the glow of the screen on my lap, I logged into the message board. To my dismay, there was no response to my last message from four months prior. Had he decided to move on? Had the Order caught up with him again? Was he dead? With tears streaming down my face, I added another message onto my last. The name and state of my new home and the name of the high school I was attending. Then, feeling more alone than I had in months, I closed the lid of the computer and cried myself to sleep. * * * * * * * * * * "Benjamin Antonio Ingram." God, I didn't think it was ever going to be my turn. I tried to remember what it had been like my first time. Unfortunately, the decades between then and now did more than Zimmer could have to fade the memory. Chances were, I'd probably needed to pee really badly then, too. * * * * * * * * * * Three months after my last attempt to reach Matthew, I was standing in an aisle at the local bookstore, trying to choose something on which to write an upcoming English paper. Holly was in line at the coffee counter, waiting for the barista to take our order. Just as I began to reach for a copy of Wuthering Heights, I sensed someone move in to stand behind me. My heart began to totally jackhammer in my chest. My first thought, amazingly enough, was not that the Order, or even my father, had found me. It was that some random creep had gathered the nerve to approach a girl by herself in a bookstore. Before I could turn around and punch whoever it was in the solar plexus, he spoke. "You've grown, Jack. In more ways than one." I spun around as my brain processed the fact that the man had called me "Jack". Not "Jackie". The person smiling down at me was in his late-thirties, with dark black hair and a slightly Asian flair to his features. He glanced at my closed fist for a moment, then brought his gaze back up, his grin widening. "Not going to punch an old friend are you?" "Matthew?" I whispered, covering my mouth with my fingers. He nodded. "Still the intrepid investigator, I see." I threw myself against him, hugging him tightly. He put his arms around me in return, giving me a quick squeeze before extracting himself from my embrace. His smile remained firmly in place, but his eyes had turned serious. They looked from me to my foster mother, currently paying for our beverages. "We should probably refrain from being too happy to see each other. I'm not sure Holly would take kindly to a virtual stranger manhandling her daughter." I started to ask him what he was talking about when Holly came around the corner of the stack, carrying a pair of coffees. She stopped when she saw us, her mouth opening in shock and surprise. "Jeremy? This is an unexpected treat." Matthew nodded, flashing a quite-charming smile at her. "Hello, Holly. How are you?" I held up my hand, completely lost as to the dynamics of what was happening. "Anyone want to bring the clueless teen, like, up to speed?" My foster mother laughed. "Oh, that's right. You haven't met Jeremy yet. He bought the Mitchells' house. You know, the one across the street?" My head whipped back around to Matthew so fast I was sure it would pop right off my neck. "You did?" He nodded, then stuck out his hand. "Jerome Hu." When I put my smaller hand into his, he tilted his head slightly to the left. "And you're ... Jackie, right?" I nodded. "Jackie Hamill." "For now," Holly said in a mysteriously knowing tone. It took a week or two of careful conversations, but eventually I found out that the Order had come after Jack Hamilton in Florida. He managed to Hop into one of the newer agents. One who had forgotten to wear his mirrored shades. After killing the others, including the one in my old body, he had set the fire to cover his tracks and skipped town. From there he remained on the move, staying in the same body even though not the same place. He would occasionally check our message board, but avoided visiting it too much just in case he was discovered. Almost a year after sending Michael Dellinger to prison, Matthew had crossed paths with a Hopper who was tired of centuries of living and stealing others' lives. In what Sasha-Me considered the weirdest agreement ever, they swapped bodies. Then the Hopper in the body of former Order agent went to a seedy motel, wrote a note that explained how tired he was of it all, then hung himself in the shower. "Richard could be a dick at times," he told me. "But in the end, he decided that if he was going to die anyway, he should go out helping an old friend." "So, think the Order will stop hunting you?" He shrugged. "Maybe. But I'm not going to spend the rest of my life worrying about it." Then he reached over and bopped me on my button nose. "And neither should a girl with her whole life in front of her." As the months went by, Jerome Wu became a close friend of my family. In fact, when Holly and Brad had taken me out to dinner to formerly request my permission for them to legally adopt me, Jerome was the one who threw the celebration party. If my folks ever thought something untoward was taking place between myself and the man across the street, they never said anything. I like to think that they trusted Jerome to be a good neighbor and better friend. * * * * * * * * * * "Jaqueline Renee Jameson." Finally! I stood up and made my way down the aisle to the steps leading up onto the small stage. A cacophony of whoops and claps followed me as I crossed to where Principal Daniels waited. I shook his hand as my other accepted the rolled parchment, which was held closed with a piece of green ribbon. Then I descend the other set of stairs and returned to my seat as a graduate of Santa Marlena High School. When I looked over at my family again, Brad was giving me a double thumbs-up while Holly had her phone in front of her face, taking like a gazillion photos. Matthew, however, simply nodded his approval and gave me a smile. After all we had been through together, I knew he was mostly proud of the fact that I had survived being trapped between two people. And had come out stronger for it. The rest of the ceremony passed quickly, and soon I was standing outside with the three of them. I had to pose for pictures with each separately. Then in staggered groups. Eventually, I was rescued from all the family fun by a tall, handsome young man in a cap and gown that matched mine. "Hey," Tyler said as he gave me a hug, followed by an extremely chaste kiss. We might have been a steady couple for a few months now, but he still worried about getting on Brad, or Jerome's, bad side. I kissed him back, then waited as he accepted heartfelt congratulations from the three adults. Red-faced, he finally turned back to me. "Ronnie, Sarah, and some of the others want to get a couple of group photos. You know, the last gathering of the gang. Think I can steal you away for a little while?" Brad cleared his throat. "Fifteen minutes, Tyler. Then we're all going to lunch. Okay?" "Yes, sir, Mister Jameson." I laughed at the formality and rolled my eyes. "You know he likes keeping you on your toes, babe." The blush in the basketball star's cheeks reddened. "Yeah, I know." I kissed him again. "Go on over. Tell them I'll be there in minute." He nodded and walked away backwards, continuing to beam adoringly at me. "So, Jackie," Matthew said as he turned from watching Tyler to looking at me. "What are your post-graduation plans?" I smiled, shrugging my shoulders as I looked at him. "Not completely sure," I said. "I was maybe thinking about going to the police academy." He laughed and shook his head. "Something tells me you would make a pretty damned good detective." Author's Note: I started this little tale over a year ago. I knew from the beginning how I wanted it to end, but the path getting there hit a few rough spots. Thanks to everyone who stuck through the long, dry spell. I hope it was worth it in the end. This will likely not be my last story involving the Order of the Dawn, or with Body Hoppers. It is, however, the end of Detective Jack Hamilton's story. As always, comments, be they good or bad, are appreciated. Either here or at [email protected].