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.