Inspired by a mix of David Bowie, late night TV and a very rainy summer...

The sandwich was green. It was particularly green around the crusts which Stan thought quite odd, he would have bet the centre would rot first because of the curdling filling. If he cut the crusts off he could probably eat it, he could see the lettuce and bacon filling was still perfectly normal looking. A rule he had established since living away from home was that if there wasn't anything growing on it, it was good enough to eat. As he flicked up the blade on his Swiss army knife he suddenly paused, who was he kidding? He didn't put salad on sandwiches. The whole thing was rotten. He'd found it under a stack of phone directories balanced precariously on his desk for two months, he'd thought the funky smell was Officer Grundy's cologne. Nonetheless Stan picked up the plate, walked past the trash can and placed it on top of his filing cabinet instead. Who knows, he may need it again someday.

Hands on his hips he sighed and looked out his window on to Main Street. His office had a big window overlooking the street, which initially Stan had been uncertain about.

"Can't we get it frosted or something?" He had asked Sargent Chbosky. "What P.I has a big hole looking in to his office? I like to think I can offer clients some privacy."

The Sargent had sneered in bemusement. "And I like to think one day Mayor Donovan won't invest town funding in to a useless P.I sector when we have a perfectly adequate police force who are capable of adding two and two together." He scoffed. "Kid you're lucky you're even in this station, I wanted to shove you in with senile Barbrady at the old county jail." He had stormed out of Stan's office with a scowl. "Private investigator, what needs investigating in South Park?"

It took Stan less than a month to realise he was right. Growing up South Park seemed a whirlwind of weird, a cacophony of the bizarre and carnivalesque. But it all had been his precocious child's imagination it seemed, now he was an adult Stan realised South Park was in fact a very boring and sad place. The biggest mysteries he solved was tracking down lost heirs and family members. He was twenty six years old and tired with life. No wonder all his friends had high tailed it out of here as soon as they could, leaving nothing but a trail of smoke behind them. They all seemed to have had a unanimous epiphany about the Podunk cess pit that was South Park; one that had eluded Stan, who was bogged down with delusions of grandeur. He was a star player of quarterback at South Park High, with a swoon worthy smile and the prettiest girl on his arm. He thought he would marry Wendy Testaburger. They were going to have three kids, two cars and one dog. He would be a sports journalist and she an estate agent. She got accepted to Yale and never looked back. The rest of his peers swiftly followed. Token, Kevin, Thom and Craig were scattered across the country in new lives. Lives that didn't involve South Park. Once they were gone Stan also realised he didn't much like the ones who stayed.

The one that hurt the most, more than Wendy weirdly, was Kyle. His super best friend didn't think twice about accepting his place at MIT. In one foul swoop he lost his girlfriend and best friend to prestigious institutions where he had no chance of following them. Kyle proved himself to be an engineering prodigy during his freshman year, which Stan thought peculiar as throughout his final years of high school the red head had been constantly buried in medical and anatomy books and he never stopped scribbling for even a minute in biology class. He pursued these interests to the extent that Mrs Broflovski bragged to anyone who would listen that her eldest son was going to be a doctor or surgeon. Not that she could profess to being disappointed, by his senior year Kyle had achieved global recognition as the student who had developed a prototype machine for neurosurgeons everywhere that increased success rates in extra-cranial cerebrovascular surgery by seventy percent. Or something like that. Stan was only quoting the article he had read in the South Park Gazette. He hadn't actually spoken to Kyle in over three years.

"I wouldn't take it personally Stanley, Kyle rarely bothers to call me even." Mrs Broflovski had sniffed one afternoon while having coffee with his own mother. "Nobody hears from Kyle except that McCormick boy, goodness knows why Kyle calls him!" She seemed to take it very personally. "And now Ike is showing similar behaviour! You're lucky Sharon to have your boy at home, if I'd known-"

Why would Kyle only call Kenny? They had been friends of course, but Stan was his super best friend. Was being the operative word. Stan even went as far as to take Kenny out for a beer or five and quiz him.

"Stanley I do believe you're interrogating me." The blond grinned, knocking back his sixth beer nonchalantly. "Look I know it sucks man, but what can I say? Go away Kyle? He's just been asking my advice on the ladies is all, apparently those MIT chicks are prudish- like that's a surprise!" He cackled.

"I could have given him advice." Stan murmured.

"You know Kyle Stan, he'll call eventually. He's got a lot on his plate at the moment." Kenny attempted to assuage him. That plate must have been huge, because Kyle never did call. And Stan lost any second hand information on him when Kenny died last year in a tragic hiking accident. There was no body to bury for a proper funeral, but Kyle never even came to the memorial service. Kyle hadn't merely cut himself off from South Park, he'd violently severed.

At five seventeen pm Stan rubbed his eyes wearily and decided to call it a day. This is why he never liked delving in to the past too much, it put him in a terrible funk for the remainder of the day. He pulled his coat on and tucked two creased files under his arm to mull over that night. He went to toss a stack of nonsensical junk mail in the trash, then thought better of it and stacked them with yesterday's pile next to his wilting plants. He would look over them tomorrow. Out in the parking lot the sun began to dip behind the mountains keeping watch over South Park, as if vigilance was needed. Nobody ever did anything interesting any more Stan thought, fiddling with his car keys. Just once, couldn't somebody get violently murdered or kidnapped? Wouldn't life be that bit spicier, if a sobbing citizen came to him with a cryptic ransom note? Ideally it would comprise of cut out magazine letters to make things trickier, like on TV. What was everybody doing if they weren't murdering or kidnapping?
He climbed in to his beaten up Trail Blazer, a relic of 1989. If the past was going to torment him today he may as well go all out. Stan pulled open the dashboard compartment and began rifling through it, thrusting aside empty cans of anti-freeze and broken ice scrapers. At the back he found it, a small cassette case whose cover read 'Happy 18th Birthday you old son of a bitch' scribbled on it in marker pen. Kyle had made this for his Stan's eighteenth birthday and it was the best gift Stan had ever received. It was filled with synth music of the 1980's that Stan adored, but was somewhat self-conscious of listening to openly. Duran Duran, the Thompson Twins and so forth. Kyle scoffed at this notion, as he had never been one much bothered by peer pressure. However he made this especially for Stan's car, so they could listen to it in the safety of old Betsy (though Stan couldn't bear to call her by the name Kyle had christened her with any more).
Stan shoved the tape in to the player and David Bowie's voice quickly filled the car. Stan closed his eyes as his hands gripped the wheel tightly, goose bumps rising along his arms and up the back of his neck. Stan had forgotten that cassette tapes would pick up right where you last switched them off. Was the last time he played this really that night? Time really did fly, even if you weren't having fun.

He shook off the goose bumps and started the car, he had to stop being ridiculous. Besides, he was living in the present and right now he was running late to meet Heidi for dinner. Heidi Turner, who Stan had never looked at twice during high school, was now his girlfriend. She too had missed out on the apparent evacuation of their peers and was now a kindergarten teacher at South Park Elementary. Like Stan she didn't really have an agenda in life and was generally contented with sleepy town life. It was these factors that made Stan suspect their relationship was more emotional support than actual romance. They got along well, Heidi was nice and pretty and his mother liked her well enough. The lack of a spark seemed unimportant as Stan got older.

The Three Pines diner was overshadowed by South Park's domineering pine trees, if the town council cut them down you would have a clear view right across the mountains from any seat in the diner. He knew it was a dangerous job for the sake of aesthetics, but Stan couldn't help but be overcome with moroseness sat in a musty mountain town diner with artificial light. When he came here in high school at least the trees were trimmed on an annual basis, and authentic sunlight streamed through the windows. That made the early mornings a dozen times more bearable in those days, every morning he would pick Kyle up in his car and then Wendy because her house was off of Greenvale Boulevard, and they would meet the whole gang here. He would split a stack of maple pancakes with Kyle and order a jumbo Java to go, and he could still remember the feeling of walking out in to the parking lot when they all high tailed it to school. The fresh morning mountain air would prick his skin and his breath would dance in the air as he laughed at his goof-ball friends, the coffee in his hands burning through any thickness of gloves. Then every night his mom would nag him for spending all his weekly allowance at the diner, but he was seventeen and had no fake ID, what else was he going to spend it on? His mom would shake her head and mutter: 'Oh Stan…'

"Stan."

He jumped, finding himself back in the dark diner seven years later. Heidi stared at him with a look of concern on her face. "Aren't you hungry?" She asked. In front of him was his usual order, a juicy chicken burger with a side order of fries and onion rings. There was a small cup of coleslaw on the side too, Stan loved coleslaw. He didn't remember ordering though.

"Wow sorry I'm a little out of it, I don't even remember ordering." He sighed. Heidi smiled weakly.

"You didn't. You were in such a funk I ordered for you, is that okay?" She answered.

"Yeah of course, thanks." Stan blinked heavily as if checking he was really here and that it all wasn't another daydream. Slowly he began to pick at his food, but everything tasted so bland today. He could sense Heidi watching him, even as she picked at her fries or sipped her soda.

"Did you have a nice day at work?" She asked.

"Nothing new." Stan answered through a mouthful of food. "I tried to call back some clients with some leads, but nobody answered-again."

"Easy money, huh?"

Stan frowned. "I didn't become a P.I for easy money Heidi, I genuinely thought I might make a difference somehow."

"Of course you do," Heidi objected. "Everyone makes a difference whether they realise it or not."

"That's easy for you to say, if it weren't for you kids would be running around singing their ABK's and sticking their fingers in plug sockets." Stan retorted to which Heidi raised an eyebrow before returning to her food. They finished their dinners in silence, something that didn't really bother Stan. He picked at every last strand of coleslaw and slurped his soda to very bottom of the cup so that the ice rattled and air shot loudly up and down his straw. Lost in the rush of noise Stan didn't notice the sideways glances from nearby tables until Heidi reached over and forcibly pulled his cup back on to the table.

"Stan it's finished, you've finished the soda." She snapped, suddenly reaching for her bag and withdrawing from it two bills, which she slapped on to the table. Before Stan could even think to reply she had gotten up and left the diner.

"Aw shit." Stan muttered under his breath, suddenly painfully aware of the awkward glances. He jumped up and grabbed his jacket before following her out in to the parking lot. Heidi was stood with her back to the passenger side of the truck, arms folded and rubbing her heel in to the ground. Stan fumbled with his keys before unlocking the car.

Inside the cab Heidi immediately reached for the heater and began fiddling with all its dials and switches. "Are you alright?" Stan asked, observing her as he revved up the engine.

"No Stan I'm freezing, it's October on Friday and your heater sucks. By the time it gets going we'll be home, why don't you get it fixed?" She answered quite sharply.

"It isn't broken." Stan murmured.

"Why do even keep this thing?" Heidi continued. "It's a hunk of junk and you know it, it's 1999 Stan, there are better cars, more innovative with engines you don't need to let heat up for ten minutes."

"Five minutes." Stan corrected her defensively, dismissing the coughing of the engine as he forced it into motion. "It's a 1989 model, hardly some 50's contraption. Cars should be built to last not exchange for something fancier every decade."

"Yes you're right, but your high school car? Why not something that shows your success, get something that marks the…adult you."

As they pulled up at some traffic lights Stan tapped his fingers against the steering wheel irritably. "If you're embarrassed to be seen in my car then why don't you learn to drive? You can chauffeur me everywhere for a change."

"Oh Stan I'm not embarrassed! I didn't say that." Heidi searched for a more subtle expression before giving up with a sigh. "You know that I want to settle in South Park right? We both said similar when we started dating."

"I remember." Stan nodded though he didn't have a clue where she was going with this conversation. He thought she was pissed about dinner and then the car, but now she was on another topic entirely. Stan suddenly didn't feel bad any more, he felt confused and irritated. Why did these lights take so damn long to change?

"Well I want to get married and have a family someday." She carried on. "And I know you said you would be that man and goodness knows I want you to be. But I can't plan a future with somebody who's stuck in the past."

The last sentence caught Stan's full attention and he turned to her.

"What?" He frowned. "I'm not stuck in the past! It's a car for crying out loud."

"I'm not talking about the car any more Stan! You're always in the past, you were all dinner. I see it in your face when it happens and you're so absent. At first I didn't think anything of it and I didn't expect it to be a problem but…You're always there Stan. In your head its 1992 isn't it? You're seventeen and you spent the summer saving up for this thing and it's exciting because you're mobile now. You can pick Kyle up late at night and the two of you go in to Denver for those all night concerts you never shut up about, or you and Wendy can drive up Winnat's Pass and fool around in the back in the dark. And memories are great, they really are. But that was seven years ago and high school is over. I'm not Wendy Testaberger and Kyle left, they're both gone. You have to let go Stan or those things will ruin your future."

Stan was glad the light in his crappy fucking car was broken, or Heidi would have been able to see his scarlet cheeks. He realised he'd missed the green light after all and the red one had returned to blaze tauntingly at him. He wet the inside of his mouth which had become oddly dry.

"My mom wants to know if we wanted to go to dinner tomorrow, late afternoon." He said, unable to hide the dryness in his voice as he stared ahead.

"That would be great, tell her I'll bring dessert." Heidi answered from the darkness. The moment the red light extinguished itself, Stan floored the accelerate pedal.
-

As they drove to dinner at Stan's parents the next day, he continuously made mental notes to himself to remain in the present. Heidi's soliloquy the previous evening had embarrassed the heck out of Stan even if he couldn't really explain why. At 2807 Peakview Drive Stan was comforted by a familiar sight that really hadn't changed since he was seventeen. Randy Marsh sat on the couch in front of a baseball game, beer belly protruding from under his work shirt. He raised his beer can in way of greeting the two.

"Stan sit down and watch this with your old man, it's gonna' be super close."

"In a moment dad." Stan dismissed him and headed for the kitchen, ignoring his father's whiny wail: "Staaaan!"

"Hi sweetie!" Sharon greeted him as he entered. "Hi Heidi, sit down won't you?"

Stan perched on a stool at the breakfast bar and flipped through the mail on the counter on the off chance any might be for him. After mundane chatter Sharon turned away from Heidi and eyed her son curiously.

"Have you heard off of your sister lately Stanley? I tried calling her the other day but there was no answer as usual. I left a message, as usual. It would be nice of her to call for something other than money."

"When will you realise that I'll always have the same answer ma?" Stan said boredly. "Even when we're in the same room at Christmas Shelley and I don't exist to one another."

"Oh Stanley." Sharon scolded. He was only being honest. Stan and Shelley hadn't gotten along since the day he was born and he didn't miss the Wicked Bitch of the West in the slightest. She was like chilli sauce on fudge ice cream, or the Laurie Foreman to his Eric. He wouldn't have been able to cope if it hadn't been for Kyle, his amigo, his Hyde. An unofficial adoptive brother, Kyle practically lived at the Marsh house much to his mother's chagrin. He wasn't afraid to speak to Shelley the way she deserved. Stan's personal favourite was the time Shelley came down to breakfast and scowled at the sight of Kyle at the breakfast table.

"Don't you have a home?" She seethed as she reached for the coffee. "Go annoy someone else's family."

"We've adopted him." Stan said without looking up from his breakfast. "To replace the defective child."

"Rather whatever that is than adopted." Shelley sneered. Prone to text talk and a dozen 'and I was like' in every conversation, vocabulary had never really been her forte.

"Oh I don't know about that, defective is irreparable. Adoptive means your parents wanted me, they're stuck with you." Answered Kyle and provoking Shelley's wrath.

"Shut up turds! DAAAD!"

Stan shook off this reverie however, he had promised Heidi he would stop living in the past. He tried to interest himself in a sports catalogue that sat atop the junk mail pile, phasing in and out the 'who has a funnier work anecdote' chatter between his mother and girlfriend. The smell of beef brisket cooking made his stomach twist in hungry anticipation and all of a sudden Stan was gripped with resentment. He'd always wanted to settle in South Park, but how many more Friday night dinners full of the same conversation could he handle if he was bored already? He hadn't wanted this, he'd wanted the friends that came with that life. But all of them were gone, Kenny, Token, Wendy, Kevin, Craig, Kyle. He recited their names in his head like a hit man's list, they'd all fucked off and left him behind. What the hell Kyle? Where was he when Stan needed him and his council more than ever? Every one of his pals had decency to call, except the one who had supposedly meant the most. The next time Stan saw his best friend he was going to kick Kyle's ass on behalf of everyone the red-head had spurned. Amidst this promise Stan was making to himself, the bewildered voice of Randy Marsh filled the room.

"Uh, Sharon, Stan, Haley, I think everybody should come and see this right now."

Sharon and Stan glanced at each other painfully.

"Alright dear, myself, Stan and Heidi are coming." Sharon called as the trio walked through to the living room.

"What is it dad?" Stan withheld his usual sigh, glancing between his father and the TV screen which had changed from the baseball to the South Park News Channel.

"Listen!" The older man commanded and the family hushed as the yellow BREAKING NEWS banner flashed across the screen. Local news anchor Lindsey Logan appeared looking grave, and for once Stan wasn't distracted by her bust.

"This just in, a crisis very close to the hearts of our community." She began, scarcely pausing for breath. "Acclaimed inventor Kyle Broflovski has been reported by Denver police as missing. An alumni of South Park High and then the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, concerns over Mr Broflovski were initially raised by his workplace after he failed to turn up to work three days in a row. The police force have confirmed that his home has been checked and while it was in disarray, no sign of a struggle seems to have taken place, therefore police are presently investigating the case as a missing persons report." The woman finally took a pause for breath, during which Sharon Marsh voiced everyone's internal thoughts:

"Oh my goodness."

Well, Stan's had been more explicit than that. But he felt too numb to vocalise it, eyes glued to the TV screen as Lindsey Logan began discussing Kyle's academic endeavours and success.

"Should I call Sheila?" Sharon added, eyes darting to the phone. "Do you think she knows? She hasn't watched SPNC since they interviewed Barbra Streisand."

"If they're watching TV they'll know, this thing cut off the game." Randy answered.

"Stan are you alright?" Heidi whispered over the din of his parents. But Stan couldn't talk, he couldn't even glance away. For some bizarre and illogical reason that Stan couldn't even begin to try and make sense of, one name was on his lips though he daren't say it.

Cartman.

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