Author's Note: I'm still on those last couple of weeks of break before the fall semester starts, so I actually had enough free time to put the next chapter together a little earlier than anticipated. Unfortunately, this sort of thing won't happen often.

Hetalia is not mine. Hence the term 'FAN'fiction.


When things had quieted down, America, and agents Talley and Jameson resumed their investigation of the alley. They had made doubly sure that absolutely no one other than the three of them had access to the area, with plenty of yellow 'Police Line: Do Not Cross' tape, and police standing by in case anyone chose to disregard the warning.

America went back and stood on the exact spot where the injured man had been lying.

"Are you guys able to predict when the sounds start?" America asked.

"Not reliably," Talley replied. "They usually come several times a day, but not always at the same time. All we do know is that within five minutes of the sounds starting, a musket ball appears on the ground. Every single time."

America started to walk around, at first staying close to his original spot, but eventually walking all over the whole floor of the alley.

"It's gone," he said. "So, what do we do, sit here twiddling our thumbs until it starts up again?"

"No," Jameson said. "We still need to figure what this is, and, hopefully, how to make it stop."

Well, I have no idea what it is, or what to do about it… America thought. I think I'm going to have to give England a call.

America excused himself and left the alley. Leaning casually against the FBI vehicle, he pulled out his phone and entered in England's number. To his surprise, England responded immediately.

"America? What is it?" England asked.

"Um, well, there's something weird going on in South Carolina, and I'm gonna need your help," America said.

"'Something weird'?" England repeated, clearly confused. "Please elaborate. What is happening over there?"

America sighed, trying to think of how best to sum it up. He decided to go ahead and tell England everything, starting with the strange sounds, and the mystery bullets that were appearing, and ending with the man who disappeared, then reappeared with a gunshot wound in the chest.

"Any idea what it might be?" America asked hopefully.

England was silent for a long time as he mentally ran through the possibilities.

"The sounds repeat regularly?" England said at last. "And it sounds exactly the same way every time?"

"Yes," America replied. "Why?"

"I can't say for certain, but it sounds like some kind of glitch in space-time," England began.

America laughed. "Seriously?" he said. "That sounds like something you'd hear on Star Trek, or Doctor Who, or something."

"I wasn't joking," England said tersely. "I can't really think of anything else it could be, either."

"Okay," America said, still trying to suppress a few last chuckles. "What do we do about it, then? I don't exactly have a sonic screwdriver to fix it with."

"We don't need a bloody sonic screwdriver!" England snapped. "However, I can try to fix it with my magic. I'll be over there as soon as I can."

"Sure thing," America said.

"However, I'm also going to contact Norway and Romania and see what they think," England added. "They know magic as well; they may be able to help."

"Right."

The two nations hung up on each other. America put his phone away, looking up just in time to see Talley and Jameson leaving the alley. The three men gathered around the car to discuss what to do next.

"I just called in a friend of mine; he's got expertise in what we're dealing with," America said. "He'll most likely be here within a day or two."

Talley nodded. He unlocked the car, and he and Jameson climbed inside; Talley on the driver side, Jameson on the passenger side. While the two agents sat in the car and fiddled with their equipment, America left the car. On a whim, he went back into the alley.

He wandered around aimlessly, not quite sure what he was looking for. It was unnervingly still and quiet in the alley; the only sounds America could hear were the distant sounds of traffic outside, and his own footsteps. Eventually, America gave up and took a seat on the ground, staring ahead at nothing in particular.

(-)

When he hung up, England set his phone down on the desk and spent the next few minutes staring contemplatively at the wall.

It should be easy enough to fix with magic, England thought. Do Norway and Romania really need to get involved?

He reached for the phone again anyway; he'd told America he would contact them, so contact them he would. England entered Norway's number first.

Norway never answered the phone. Instead, after several rings, England heard a recorded message telling him that Lukas Bondevik was indisposed; please leave a message, he'll reply as soon as he can. Heaving a frustrated sigh, England went ahead and left a message requesting Norway's assistance in an investigation of a magical disturbance in the United States.

After he finished leaving his message to Norway, England then tried to call Romania. Someone picked up, but it wasn't Romania, it was one of his higher ups. The official informed England that Romania was at a conference, and was not due to return for several days. England thanked the official, and that was the end of that conversation. Cursing under his breath, England put his phone away.

"Looks like neither one is available," England muttered. "Fine. I'll just have to do it myself."

England got up from his desk and headed downstairs and toward the basement, where all his spellbooks were kept. Only a few of these books would actually be needed, so England made sure to carefully select each one, rather than try to take all of them with him. He took books off the shelf one by one, skimming through the contents to check if this spellbook had anything he would find useful for his investigation. If he saw nothing useful, the book went right back on the shelf.

Eventually, England finished sorting through all of his spellbooks, and returned upstairs with just three books in hand, as well as a small wooden box containing various spell components. These items were packed in a suitcase along with everything else England would need for the trip. Leaving the suitcase on his bed, England returned to his study, booting up his computer so he could go online and book a flight to the US.

As luck would have it, England was able to book a flight scheduled to leave within the next few hours. He grabbed his wallet, car keys, and suitcase, then headed for the garage. The suitcase went in the trunk, then England got into the driver's seat, turned the key in the ignition, and backed out of his driveway. He shifted the car into drive and made his way down to the London Heathrow airport.

England spent the next couple of hours battling London traffic, going through airport security, and waiting in the terminal before he finally boarded his flight. During the wait for the airplane to arrive at the gate, England sent a text to America, telling him what time his flight was scheduled to arrive in New York. As the flight was boarding, England got a reply text, telling him the address in Camden where the strange activity was happening. England read the text, committed the address to memory, then turned his phone off and boarded the plane.

Once the flight was finally airborne, it would be another seven and a half hours before the plane landed. Fortunately, England had brought some of his favorite fantasy books to read during the flight. He pulled one out of his carry-on bag and began reading.

(-)

Meanwhile, in South Carolina, America was growing restless. There was nothing further he could do as far as investigating the alley was concerned, so he went back to his car, which was parked just behind the FBI car. As he sat in the driver's seat, keys still in his hand, America contemplated what to do next.

I wonder how that man is doing, America thought. Which hospital was he taken to? I should check on him; he may have information that could help in the investigation.

America got out of his car and walked over to the FBI car. He gestured for one of the agents to lower the window and talk to him. Jameson lowered the passenger side window.

"What is it, Mr. Jones?" he asked.

"Which hospital was that man we found taken to?" America asked. "When he recovers, I need to ask him a few questions about what he saw."

"Given the severity of that wound he had, I'd say he's at the nearest level one trauma center," Jameson said. "Give me a moment, and I'll find it for you."

Jameson began fiddling with a small laptop computer that had been sitting on the dashboard of the car. Within minutes, he found what he was looking for, picked up the computer, and held it so that America could see the screen clearly.

"There's the address," Jameson said. "There's also a phone number down here…" he scrolled down and pointed.

America took a quick glance at both the address and the phone number.

"Thanks," he said.

Jameson set the computer back on the dash. America headed back to his car, climbing back into the driver's seat. He briefly debated calling the hospital first, but ultimately decided he may as well drive over there. It wasn't terribly far.

As he turned the key in the ignition, America noticed Talley had gotten out of the FBI car and was headed his way. America lowered the driver's side window, and Talley came to a halt beside the driver's side door of America's car.

"Are you coming with me or something?" America asked.

"Might as well," Talley replied. "Jameson's going to stay here and analyze those recordings until we come back."

America shrugged and unlocked the passenger side door. Meanwhile, Talley walked around to the passenger side and let himself in. America shifted the car into drive and took off while Talley fastened his seat belt.

"Um, quick question though," America said as he drove.

"What is it?"

"The guy we're looking for," America said. "Do you happen to have his name?"

"According to the individual who reported him missing, his name is Jonathan Hayes," Talley replied.

"Okay," America said, nodding slightly. "We just go in and ask for Jonathan Hayes. Got it."

Not twenty minutes later, they arrived at the hospital they were looking for. They went inside, Talley leading the way. Although they probably wouldn't need them, both America and Talley had their government ID's at the ready when they entered the building.

They went in and asked if they could see Jonathan Hayes. The nurse they asked went to look up the name, and told them that it might take a minute. She came back two minutes later with a grim expression on her face.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen," she said. "But Mr. Hayes was reported DOA when the ambulance brought him here about thirty minutes ago."

Dead on arrival, America thought, a sickening feeling rising in his stomach. Damn it…

"We'll have the body autopsied," Talley whispered in America's ear. Turning to the nurse, Talley said, "Is he at the morgue then?"

"I believe so," the nurse said. She glanced back and forth between America and Talley, idly wondering why neither man looked particularly upset at their apparent friend's death. She supposed they were probably just trying to hide their grief in front of others. A lot of friends and family of patients would do that.

Giving the nurse a brief 'thank you' for her time, Talley then promptly turned around and left. A nonplussed and frustrated America followed him. Not a word was exchanged between the two until they got back in America's car.

"Now what?" America asked.

"I told you; we retrieve the body and have it autopsied," Talley replied.

"How will that help? We already know what killed him; that gunshot wound in the chest he must have gotten after disappearing in that alley!"

"It's better than trying to go on nothing," Talley countered. "Besides, the autopsy may reveal more than just simply how he died."

America blinked. "What do you mean?"

"It's obvious that he got teleported somewhere while in that alley," Talley said. "Perhaps he brought something back that can give us clues."

America leaned back in the seat and heaved a frustrated sigh. It got uncomfortably quiet inside the car for a few minutes, but eventually America gave up, leaned forward again and turned the key in the ignition.

"Where is the morgue?" he asked.