Displacement
A/N: This was inspired by the X-Files fic "Peal of Thunder". I borrowed, with permission, a couple of ideas from that story that I absolutely could not have written better myself; if you've read it and something sounds familiar, that's why. Also, Keyser, WV, is a real place, completely fictionalized here. Finally, this is your warning for major spoilers for every produced episode (through "What's the Frequency, Kolchak?") and the entire series as a whole. All insights provided in the DVD commentaries are also fair game. If you don't have the DVD and don't want anything ruined for you, then don't read.
Timeline: Mostly set between "Timeless" and "What's the Frequency, Kolchak?". Having seen those episodes is not necessary for understanding. Later (likely in a sequel) this will be post-"Frequency".
Disclaimer: If I owned it, do you really think it would have been cancelled? I think not.
Chapter One: Arrival
The sun has long since set on Keyser, West Virginia. All its sane inhabitants are doubtless asleep. Which would, being truthful, explain why I haven't yet left the couch to even begin to contemplate the idea of rest.
Rather, I remain transfixed before the television, on which a new DVD plays before my tired gaze.
Five more minutes and the episode will be over and I'll go to sleep, I promise myself. Five more minutes. Meanwhile, my eyelids are growing heavy, my eyes drifting shut. Just as the show ends, my breathing begins to gradually even out, and I know I am slipping into sleep.
Jerking awake, I look around, expecting to see with my exhaustion-blurred vision the credits rolling across the screen, accompanied by the familiar music.
I don't even see my living room. Instead, the shadowy wall of some building or another is before me as though it had always been there. The couch, too, is gone, replaced by the dirty, half-paved ground of an alleyway. A few yards down, a drowsy homeless man stares at me for a second, rubs his eyes in seeming astonishment, and then rolls over and goes back to sleep.
It strikes me that I should feel afraid, and yet I don't. I'm far too stunned and confused to be frightened.
I get to my feet slowly, dusting myself off and considering my predicament. Grateful necessity has woken me sufficiently, I walk from the alley onto the sidewalk and take in my surroundings. I don't recognize the buildings or the streets, and I finally feel a moment of fear.
Where am I?
As I stand still at the mouth of the alley, uncertain, my mind is whirring. An idea comes to me and I look out at the street again, this time focusing my gaze on the cars. I note California license plates on each as they pass and my blood chills. If I hadn't been awake before, that sight would have done it.
The only thing I'm grasping is that nothing is making sense anymore. I can come up with nothing to explain my sudden cross-country relocation, or what I should or can do about it.
The night is warm, but I'm shaking.
Finally, my common sense returns. Wherever I am, I need a place to sleep, and I doubt home is nearby.
I start off down the sidewalk. The streets don't feel terribly safe, and I walk as one paranoid, looking over my shoulder intermittently and giving the shadows a wide berth as much as I can.
Luck is with me, for it isn't long before I see bright lights illuminating what is clearly a hospital. I'm flooded with relief and jog to the doors, praying that the people here will be able to help me sort out and put back together the pieces of my reality.
---
At first, the hospital staff seems confused by my presence; I had not been injured and was not in pain, so what was I doing there?
My explanation is so fractured and lacking, though, that they are quick to agree I'm at the right place. And at long last, I am given the chance to sleep.
When I wake in the morning, I'm disappointed to find myself still in this unfamiliar world. I'd been half-hoping it would all have been a dream. But the luck of last night has run dry, it seems.
As I'm thinking about these things, a nurse enters the room. "Leah?" she says. I turn to look at her.
"There's something I think you should know," she continues. "We...well, we haven't been able to find any record of you."
"What?" I stammer. It shouldn't be surprising, given how I had arrived here, but it is nonetheless.
"As far as our records, and those in West Virginia, are concerned – you, Leah Simmons, do not appear to exist."