If Jack had expected Bridge to find the ex-boyfriend of the deceased Amber Maitlin, he was sadly mistaken. Bridge led the way to an apartment complex, climbed three flights of outdoor stairs, and stopped before a door with a crooked wreath hanging perfectly centered around a gold-rimmed peephole. Dutifully, Jack knocked on the door.
A dark eye peered through at him, then the door was opened a crack, bound by a chain near the top.
"I don't want any," a masculine voice told him sternly.
"We're not selling anything," Jack replied, "We're SPD."
"Oh. Well. Then I guess you'd better come in."
The door slammed hard, the chain rattled, and a second later a man in his forties filled the doorway. He had to have been at least six and a half feet tall, built like a heavyweight boxing champion, yet when he stood aside, he seemed less imposing and more shy.
Jack stepped across the threshold warily, eyeing not only the man's arms which seemed about to burst out of the t-shirt he was wearing, but also the burn scarring on the right side of his face and the big tattoo of a black dragon climbing down his right arm, front claws seeming to balance on his elbow.
Syd and Z hung back, but Bridge showed no such hesitancy.
The interior of the apartment was starkly decorated, a single painting on the wall, a few pieces of second-hand furniture, an old television set. It would have looked like a bachelor pad, except that there was no mess. This bachelor left no pizza boxes, no dirty dishes, no half drunk cans of soda, nothing. It was clean enough for someone with mysophobia to live in.
"I ain't never been in trouble with the law," the man said, his square-jaw softened not at all by the dark stubble lining it or the crew cut hairstyle sitting above his broad forehead.
"I'm sure that's true, sir," Jack said, drawing on every bit of etiquette he could recall from the SPD handbook, wishing desperately for Sky because he would know the precise thing that officers were meant to say in situations like this, "We're looking for someone, and we have reason to believe you may know something that could help," he was only half-lying.
"Well, it ain't never been said that Shane Wilcox was ever much use to anybody, but I'll help if I can," the man, presumably Shane Wilcox, said and gestured towards the open area that might have been a living room if it had possessed more than a single broken down chair, "I'd invite you to sit, but you can see for yourself I haven't got enough chairs."
Bridge had again wandered away from the host, to the other side of the room, crossing onto the pale yellow tiles that denoted the space reserved for kitchen related activities. He seemed drawn to a small, slightly crumpled refrigerator. It was the only thing in the entire visible apartment that wasn't neat as a pin, for it was literally buried under post it notes and sheets of paper held on with magnets.
"Bridge!" Jack snapped, "Do not touch the man's filing system."
"Ah, don't worry about it," Mr. Wilcox said, waving a dismissive hand towards Bridge, then he smiled, "Them notes fall off all the time. There's no order left to 'em, most are trash now anyhow."
Based off of Penny's apparent age, this guy could be her father. But something about the spartan décor, and the bashful, socially awkward way Wilcox stood, not quite meeting Jack's gaze, sort of looking at the floor... he didn't strike Jack as someone able to convince a headstrong girl to live with him. He was too shy. More than that, though his first impression was of a threatening man what with the height and the muscles and the tattoos, he seemed on the second look to be a big teddy bear, hardly capable of running out on a young mother and baby. And his smile had that same bittersweet joy Penny and her mother possessed, a happiness tinted by some secret sadness that only served to make the joy more profound, the smile more comfortable because he knew what it was really for.
Still, Jack had to ask a question and 'have you got any relatives who were killed by aliens?' seemed like exactly the wrong sort of thing to lead with.
"Does the name Amber Maitlin mean anything to you?" Z asked, seeming to sense what Jack was going to say, evidently eager to get out of here as soon as possible.
"No," he said, after a suitable pause during which he seemed to search his memory for any slightest awareness of the name, "I can't say as it does."
For the sake of thoroughness, Jack specified the time during which Amber Maitlin had lived with her boyfriend and asked Mr. Wilcox if he'd had a girlfriend at that time.
"No. I scare women," Wilcox admitted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and looking at the floor abashedly, "I don't mean to, but look at me. I'm a monster."
It was obvious that Z's heart cracked, just that little bit. She herself had been called a monster before. Like all of them, she had been shunned by 'normal' people, who were disgusted by or afraid of what she could do. As though compelled by something indefinable, Z stepped closer and laid a gentle hand on an arm as big around as she was, covering the flame-spewing dragon's head as she did so.
"Why? Because you're tall and strong?" Z asked, "That's nothing to be ashamed of."
"My face ain't so pretty, either," Wilcox said, daring to look at Z for just a fraction of a second before looking at the floor again, "A face only a mother could love."
"We all have scars, Shane," Z said, provoking a startled look from him.
This time he managed to hold her gaze for about five seconds. Jack noticed he hadn't pulled away from Z, but he was tense, like he was afraid she might suddenly claw him with her fingernails or something.
"You don't have to hide just because some people can't see past the scars. Those people aren't worth thinking about."
"My scars ain't so easy to ignore," Wilcox said quietly.
Before Z could reply, Bridge made a pronouncement from the other side of the room.
"Bobby Wilcox," Bridge said, standing back and studying the fridge.
Shane stiffened under Z's hand, but she didn't pull away from him.
"Who's Bobby Wilcox?" Jack asked, "Is it possible that he knew Amber Maitlin?"
"I doubt it," Shane said, his voice thick with emotion, "Bobby was my little brother. When he was only... only four... such a sweet little kid... he... uh... well..."
"Died," Bridge filled in, "Casualty of an alien attack."
Shane Wilcox stared at Bridge, seeming to forget his shyness, eyes big. Bridge looked back steadily, calmly, as if he had just made a polite comment about the landscape painting hanging on the wall.
"How could you possibly..." Shane shook his head, "I mean, you're right. That's how I got burned. I was eight, Bobby was four. We were both trapped when a building collapsed. A fire. Bobby... he died. I tried to get him out... I really..." he choked back a sob.
His obvious anguish moved Z to come closer. As if he were a little kid instead of a hulking giant, she hugged him and leaned into him, offering silent support as tears sprang into his eyes even as he fought them back. Jack and Syd stood awkwardly, but Bridge seemed unmoved.
"You were saved," Bridge said quietly, "Pulled from the burning building by Red Ranger."
Shane nodded, but couldn't find his voice. When he returned Z's embrace, she practically disappeared in his arms. They stood like that for a long time, Shane trying to get his blubbering under control, Z standing stolidly at his side, letting him cry out this old grief.
"Jack," Syd whispered, "If Shane Wilcox was eight years old when this happened, it couldn't possibly be the same attack that caused Amber Maitlin's death. This would have had to be at least ten years before she was killed. Could it really be the same alien?"
The worn photo of little Bobby Wilcox was the first to be thrust into Sky's face. The four-year-old smiled into the camera, his thatch of dark hair seeming too big for him and his almond-colored eyes too wise for his youthful face. In the same way that you can sense when a house is empty, Sky knew that the boy in the photo was dead before his captor said so.
"Bobby Wilcox," was the proclamation, "Four years old. Do you remember him?"
"I've never-" Sky had to stop and clear his throat of mucus or blood or worse, "-seen him before."
"Liar!" the back of a strong hand smacked across Sky's face, stunning him, "It's your fault! Your fault that he's dead! You don't remember the boy you killed!?"
"Who..." Sky's mind stumbled, righted itself, "Who was he?"
"Just collateral damage to you. You don't even remember his face!"
The photo was thrown at him. It landed against his chest, then fluttered down to the floor. Sky watched it fall through blurred vision, struggling to figure out what this dead child had to do with him. He almost felt guilty, like maybe he was responsible, but he couldn't remember the name or the face. He couldn't feel guilty about someone he hadn't even known had ever existed before this very instant.
"Bobby burned," snarled the dark figure before him, "He burned... because of you!"
Sky sensed the hot iron before it flashed out of the dark and caught him in the left side, just below the ribs. As he felt the red heat burning into him, Sky grit his teeth, preventing a scream from escaping.
It was only a few seconds at most, but it felt like an entire lifetime, the agony of burning cut through him, through his thoughts and willpower until he finally did cry out, and only then did it stop pressing into him, but the feeling remained, digging at him like the pain itself had claws of its own.
"Why!?" Sky yelled, "Why are you doing this?"
"Someone's got to pay," was the answer, cold as ice, hard as the iron, "It might as well be you."
The iron came at him again, carving a line into his left forearm from elbow to the strap holding down his wrist, wringing another cry of anguish from him, the white hot pain leaving his mind blank, shutting everything out but unable to escape the burning agony of it.
After they left the apartment of Shane Wilcox, Jack put in another call to Kat. She had some news relating to their previous request for information. The name Bobby Wilcox meant nothing to her.
"The alien responsible for the attack that killed Amber Maitlin and six other innocent bystanders is still in prison. I called the penitentiary myself and had someone check. He's still there. The ex-boyfriend was Harrison Jacobs. He committed suicide after seeing the news report on Amber's death."
"Great," Z shook her head, looking at Bridge, who seemed unperturbed, "So we're out of suspects."
"I never said they were suspects," Bridge replied neutrally.
"You never said they weren't, either," Syd reminded him, hands on her hips, "Look, if we're going to keep following you around, you've got to stop making us waste our time."
"I just looked up Bobby Wilcox," Kat's voice on the radio crackled briefly, "You're right, the attack that killed him wasn't the one Amber Maitlin died in. But, listen, Sky's father was not Red Ranger at the time Bobby Wilcox was killed. He became Red Ranger five years after the fact. Sky's father was in the academy when Bobby Wilcox was killed... guys... he was nowhere near the attack. He had absolutely nothing to do with Bobby Wilcox's death, even indirectly."
"Then what the hell does Bobby Wilcox have to do with Sky's disappearance?" Jack wondered.