Disclaimer: I do not own anything relating to the Terminator franchise, and this work of fiction is not written for any monetary gain.
Right: assumptions. Always declare your assumptions before beginning an explanation.
- The use of the time machine wouldn't damage the vault. I'm basing this on the use of the time machine by John Henry in 'Born to Run', where the use of the TDE didn't leave any damage to the room Henry lived in. Therefore, law enforcement and Ellison would've had access to the vault.
- Going on from this, Cromartie's head wouldn't have travelled in time. Here's why: When John Henry, John Connor and Catherine used the TDE, Cameron, with her endostructure exposed, didn't go, so anything using the TDE would have to be fully enclosed in living flesh - which Cromartie's head presumably wasn't, among other things.
"You know them?"
James Ellison grimaced as he watched the bank hold-up unfolding on the television.
"Less and less, all the time."
1999
He came to slowly, his mind first registering the soft murmur of voices and the beeps of medical equipment around him, then the dull pain that seemed to ripple through his whole body. He hissed softly, and then gave himself a limb-and-digit count, discovering the button for the painkillers in his hand at the same time. He gave it a press and lay still, counting the seconds until the edge was taken off the pain. Only then did he try to open his eyes.
To his absolute non-surprise, it seemed that he was in a hospital room, just a general ward instead of anything like an intensive-care unit. He released some of his internal tension at this discovery; it didn't seem like he was that badly injured after all. But for the life of him, he couldn't remember what caused him to end up in hospital at all….
Propping himself up slowly and looking around, he discovered that the murmuring was coming from a TV set placed on a table nearby, which was currently set to CNN. Still fuzzy from regaining consciousness and the painkillers in his system, he stared blankly at the set until a particular news item caused him to pay more attention. It was about the raid on the bank by the Connors.
Memories lit up in Agent James Ellison's head like a switch had been thrown. He'd been in the vault, trying to figure out what the Connors had been up to…
But that couldn't be right. The TV was now showing still photos of a blackened room, one that had obviously contained an explosion, one so powerful that it had torn the door of the vault off it's hinges and knocked off all the handles and wheels.
Except he remembered being in a near-pristine vault, and the damage done to that door…
"Agent Ellison!"
"Huh?" His shaky concentration broken, James' head whipped around to look at the nurse who had called his name; not a good idea, as his brain protested at such a sudden change in aspect. He allowed himself a soft groan in response as the nurse bustled over and fussed around him, apologising all the while for not realising that he had regained consciousness. Giving in to the pressure on his shoulders, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax. He was patient; he would have plenty of time to solve the mysteries of his memories.
"Special Agent Ellison, you are one tough son-of-a-gun," remarked Special-Agent-in-Charge Tim Wehner, as he stood at the foot of James' bed, hands jammed into the pockets of his rumpled suit.
James chuckled at his boss' remarks. "We learnt how to take a hit or two down in Georgia, being a double insult to the Klan – black and Catholic."
"I believe that, seeing you awake after that shock. But I still can't wrap my head around this," Tim said, gesturing at the case files piled up on the table beside the bed. James had requested them as soon as he could stay awake for most of the day. He gave Tim a grin.
"They also taught us the value of persistence," James said, reaching for a new case file. "It's something I've called on many a time with the Connor case, and this is no exception."
Tim shook his head. "They've really flipped you the bird this time, haven't they? Disappearing like Copperfield from an exploding bank vault!"
"And we still don't know why they were in there in the first place. Based on their past history, they should've targeted a technology company first. So why this bank? Was there something in that vault that they thought they had to destroy, and they got caught in the blast?"
Tim gave a shrug. "It's the Connors, who knows what act's next in their travelling circus? The LAPD are just happy that the body count was low and they weren't embarrassed again. We got a lead on the young lady though."
"Oh?"
"Yep. Cameron Phillips, registered at Red Valley High School, New Mexico."
Lights went off in James' head again. "The school that Connor went to… uh, escaped from?" He wasn't game to bring up the robot-legged shooter.
"The same. Match was through photo ID, haven't got her prints on file. However, when we tried to track down the parents, the address led us to the house of an unmarried couple in their twenties, who had no knowledge of the lady." Tim sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "You wouldn't believe the shit that we got when her photo was posted though. More'n the usual – people have claimed to see a lady just like her all across the West. Not to mention the damn college pranksters."
Whatever Tim was about to say next was interrupted by his beeper. He didn't even look at it before giving James an apologetic grin. "Sorry; I'd stay until your missus turns up, but I've got to deal with the next crisis. Don't push yourself too hard, Ellison, you're supposed to be resting." James gave him a dismissive wave in response, which made Tim laugh as he left the room, pulling his pager off his belt. James could hear his curse halfway down the hall.
Only after he heard the bell of the elevator, did James flick through the stack of files to the one on the bank vault. The description of the vault's condition matched the images seen on the news – massive damage consistent with a large explosion within. No other recoverable evidence – nothing from when the Connors were locked in the vault.
James skimmed through the file, pausing when he came across a previous image of the undamaged vault. As he stared at it, his mind filled in the missing details: the unusual weapon to the left, the electronic paraphernalia behind the façade of safe-deposit-box doors, the piles of clothes in the middle of the room (and James couldn't even begin to figure out why they were there), the headless torso of the thing which had ripped apart the safe door, with the gleaming, grinning skull up against the far wall…
Had there been some sort of explosion that occurred after he had been electrocuted, something that had obliterated all this evidence afterwards? No, couldn't be; the LAPD SWAT team had been in the vault first, followed by LAPD Forensics. There had to have been somebody other than him who had seen the inside of the undamaged vault; Forensics had to have recovered some prints. Where was this information? James continued to mull this over as he flicked through the other files, pausing in the process as he realised something.
Tim had said that the Connors had disappeared.
Not died, or had been destroyed; disappeared like Copperfield. Like magic.
Seized by a sudden intuition, James quickly pulled out the file on the bank vault. There it was: No recoverable evidence.
As in, no material whatsoever – no organic residue from bodies caught in the explosion. No metallic remains from phones or belt buckles. No gun remnants – because Ms. Phillips had clearly been carrying the gun she had coolly taken off the bank security guard when she was locked in the vault.
Stunned by the realisations, James put the file back on the stack and sat back in the bed, deep in thought. Implications and accusations whirled through his mind, all of it utterly preposterous and so unthinkable, he was left questioning his memories. Had it all been some fantastic dream that his mind had conjured up while in the depths of unconsciousness? Except he couldn't forget what he saw, especially not the grin on the skull which loomed large in his mind's eye now, as if it found Ellison's situation some wonderfully clever, fantastic joke.
James was beginning to think that the joker was the universe, and that the joke was at his expense.
His recollections were interrupted once again, but this time by a far more pleasant surprise, his wife Lila, and he banished his disturbing thoughts from his mind for now.
For the 'damn college pranksters', please read 'Cameron's Arrival' by TermFan1980.