The old Gothic citadel sat alone and abandoned in the middle of a suburban neighborhood. The houses across and to the side were empty, with sun-baked 'For Sale' signs staked into the hardened lawns. The street directly out front was covered with black streaks and melted rubber, neither of which extended far past the property's borders. The grassy lawn was overgrown, torn up in sections, and dirt had been scattered across the sidewalk. It was onto this messy patch of concrete that Dan appeared, sneakers crunching against compacted earth.
His house was still standing. The sight sent a wave of relief through Dan, nullified slightly by the building's squalid shape. It had been almost three weeks since he'd left, and he hadn't done much maintenance before his departure. His lawn looked like shit, scuffed in places from where police officers' boots had trampled the grass. His neighbors would've been giving him dirty looks if he had any neighbors to speak of. This area had no Homeowner's Association for him to answer to, but the sight of his neglected house made something inside him clench up.
Merrill scurried out of his pocket, down his trousers, and across the lawn. Dan ambled after her, trusting the little creature's senses. Trust, but verify. His veil slipped out, following in her wake. He paused on his front step, dropping his luggage beside him. His veil swept the door frame, the lock, the knob. He unlocked it, cracking it open and allowing the mouse inside. Dan stood there as she skittered past him; he stood motionless in the entrance, lost in his sixth sense. He traced the lines of his concrete foundations, traced the wood latticework and the panes of glass and the aluminum vents. He searched his hidden basement, his attic, his backyard. He examined every inch of every room until he was satisfied that it was safe.
Dan stood there for nearly an hour. He must have made for a strange sight, but there were no passerby to see. His neighborhood had become even more empty than before. No cars crossed the street behind him as he searched, no people stepped out of their homes, no children or animals played in the yards down the street. Quiet and empty, that was this neighborhood. All it needed was a tumbleweed blowing in the wind to complete the picture. Dan made an idle note to check property values in this area.
His search came up empty, and Merrill returned unperturbed. Dan entered his house for the first time in weeks and breathed in the stale air. He made for the thermostat, and clicked on his air conditioning. He heard it groan into motion, felt freezing air begin to circulate, felt life breathe back into the empty home. He smiled to himself, just a small, hopeful thing. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start.
He spent the rest of the morning with a bucket of soapy water and a sponge. He wiped down every surface he could reach, and several he couldn't. He mopped his floors, polished the tiles in his kitchen, vacuumed his rugs and emptied his fridge. He ran the taps, letting stale water empty into the drain. He checked that his television was still working, checked the internet connection and, after a long moment's consideration, ripped out his modem. Bartholomew didn't seem like any sort of cyber-sleuth, but Dan knew nothing about network security in Dimension A. He'd arrange for an entirely different internet service and equipment.
He made his way outside. His backyard was in decent shape, but his front was in shambles. The men he had paid to mow his lawn had clearly not come by. Dan couldn't blame them. He took a jaunt to the nearest hardware store, bought a cheap lawnmower and weed whacker, then returned home. He spent an hour repairing his lawn, making it look as normal as he could; he swept the sidewalk and trimmed its edges and his hedges. He raked up dead leaves and threw them into a garbage bag. He acted like a normal homeowner again, instead of a hounded, hunted, desperate man with something to lose and something to protect.
He stored his tools in his garage and made his way upstairs. Dan dusted his bedroom, changed his covers, and cleaned his bathroom. He emptied his luggage, filled his closet back up with his meager wardrobe, and returned his emergency duffel bag to its rightful place. He took a shower, washed the sweat and gasoline from his body, and let the water scald away the soreness of his muscles. He changed clothes, shrugging on a simple polo and jeans. He made his way downstairs and collapsed on the couch. He stared up at this ceiling and counted the wooden beams, the cracks, the spider webs. He breathed in and out, listened to the erratic drumbeat in his chest, and waited until it evened itself out.
Dan checked the time. Abby's flight should be arriving within an hour. The house was as clean as it was going to get. Abby was nervous about returning to the city, that much was obvious. Returning to their shared home and finding it intact and unharmed would hopefully inject a much-needed dose of normality back into their lives. Dan hoped so. He didn't have big dreams anymore; he had little ones. They all started here. Whatever the future would bring, he wanted to face it here.
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This afternoon, they'd go to Gregoir's promotion ceremony. It was a big, overblown thing. There would be press, there would be politicians, there would be parasites. It would be a clandestine affair for Dan and Abby. No mingling with anything other than close friends. It was too much to hope that not a single person would recognize the Summers' heiress, no matter how out of the spotlight she lived her life. Big names would be present, big jobs, big titles. No need to risk Abby's anonymity for any longer than they had to.
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"Abigail! You look stunning!" Freya greeted warmly, embracing the older woman in a tight hug. Connor walked in beside her, giving Dan a cordial nod. They met each other in a small sitting area, enclosed from the public but open air, overlooking a wide podium. Box seats, secured by Gregoir.
The APD had rented out what appeared to be a theater hall, and repurposed it for the promotion ceremony. While Gregoir's fights with Cannibal and Coldeyes had propelled him to celebrity status, there were other officers who had distinguished themselves enough to earn a promotion. The platform was large enough to accommodate them all, plus the mayor, and the governor, and a few people Dan didn't recognize. They milled about in small groups making final adjustments and networking with each other. One of them bore familiar features, and Dan nodded down at the stage.
"That your dad?" he asked Connor.
The young officer glanced up at the stage and found the shock of greying blonde hair that Dan had indicated. He nodded to Dan, pursing his lips slightly.
Dan followed with, "How's Cornelius?"
"Awake," Connor replied, as Freya and Abby pulled away to chat. Dan's gaze followed them for a time. Reporters lined the sides of the concert hall, the flashing lights leaving spots in Dan's eyes. He winced and turned away.
"He wanted to come," Connor continued. "He'll be fitted for prosthetics in a few days."
The smile on Dan's face dimmed. "How much did he lose?"
"Both legs below the knee. A few fingers. Nothing important." Connor kept his voice neutral. He tried to shrug it off. "Prosthetic limbs have come a long way. He won't be quite as strong as before, but he'll be close. He can still do his job."
"That's..." Good wasn't the right word here. "That's something."
"It could have been much worse." This time Connor did shrug. "Uncle Cornelius got off light compared to some of his men. Our SPEAR Teams are all but destroyed. The APD will be looking for replacements."
Dan eyed his friend. "You're looking to volunteer," he guessed.
Connor shrugged again. "It crossed my mind. But, no. I'm focusing on something closer to the ground."
"Meaning?" Dan prodded.
"Some kind of community policing," Connor explained. "Officer Pierre-Louise is still working out the details."
"Gregoir?" Dan echoed incredulously. "They're putting him on community policing? I figured he'd be leading a SPEAR Team or something else similarly flashy and obvious."
"He insisted," Connor explained, "and he was right. SPEAR Teams intimidate people. It's basically their purpose."
"Tell that to your uncle," Dan snorted. "He prances around every bar in town with that badge around his neck. Nobody shies away."
Connor shook his head. "That's just Cornelius. He's always been like that, according to my father. Outgoing and charismatic. Besides, I happen to know which bars he frequents. College students aren't known for their decision-making prowess, nor for their caution."
Dan regarded him blankly. "Dude, you graduated like six months ago."
Connor huffed. "You're ignoring the point. Given recent events, trust in public servants is at an all-time low. The APD is trying to create a civilian outreach program with Officer Pierre-Louise as its figurehead. I don't know all the details yet— They haven't even hammered them all out—but Officer Pierre-Louise invited me to join and I believe I will accept."
Dan held in a laugh at the explanation. Asking someone to join something that didn't even exist was pinnacle Gregoir.
"What does Freya think about it?" he asked.
Connor's gaze flicked towards his fiancée. His face slackened and warmed. His lips curled at the corners and his eyes warmed. "I think she's more excited about it than I am. Seems to think it'll keep me out of trouble."
"Is that possible?" Dan queried innocently.
"You're one to talk."
"Hah!" Dan leaned back in his seat, kicking one foot over his knee. "So I guess she'll be joining you on this... whatever it is?"
"She is my partner," Connor agreed. A pause, then almost hesitantly he added, "Though she might try out for the SPEAR Teams as an auxiliary."
Dan's brow rose up high. Freya had an excellent upgrade, but it was hardly combat oriented. She could perfectly understand and communicate with anyone. It had something to do with micro expressions if Dan remembered correctly.
"I thought you had to have one of those special-class upgrades to be a SPEAR Team member."
"Her upgrade is the same class as mine," Connor replied. "It's not combat oriented, but SPEAR Teams are occasionally called upon for hostage negotiations. She would be an invaluable asset."
"I'll take your word for it," Dan replied with a shrug.
"As you should," Connor replied haughtily. His eyes lit up as Freya and Abby returned. The ladies took their seats, settling in.
"Quiet now boys," Freya chided, leaning forward and looking down at the stage. The lights went dim, one by one, until only a single spotlight on the podium remained. "It's about to begin."