11: Mysteries

Got a secret
Can you keep it?
Swear this one you'll save
Better lock it, in your pocket
Taking this one to the grave
'Secret' ~ The Pierces

The next day

The bell jingled on the door of the Records office. Victor looked around the small room that smelled like paper and old things. He raised an eyebrow, and rang the bell on the desk to summon the clerk.

"Hmm?" An old frail walked out of an inner office. The man was at least sixty, balding and probably hard of hearing. "What can I do for you?"

"I'd like you to look up some things for me."

"Shoot." The man licked his pencil and grabbed a pad of paper.

"Birth Certificate for Valiant Fortitude Drake, and death certificate for Rue Saffron Drake." Victor had an inkling of how Stryker operated, based on the other mutants he had captured. He wanted all his bases covered; the cub was his, *#$ it.

The old man jotted this down. "I'll go see." He disappeared into the back room again.

Victor disliked paperwork. It made things altogether too complicated. In this world, however, paper governed everything. So he had to get the papers to prove his claim on the cub.

"Here they are," the frail said, handing him the certificates. Victor looked at the birth certificate and smiled, showing the tips of his fangs. Good girl, Rue. She hadn't given the kid his name, but he was on the certificate as her father. The death certificate said Rue had died in a car crash and had been pronounced DOA, dead on arrival.

"Do you keep newspapers?"

"No; if you want them, they'd either be at the library or the newspaper office."

Victor nodded and gathered up the papers. "Hold on, now," the frail said, "the records stay in the record office." Victor frowned ominously, his eyes growing dark. "But… I can make copies for you."

"You do that," Victor said, on the verge of growling.

"Costs a buck per copy."

Victor narrowed his eyes and considered just killing him outright, but he didn't need the cleanup problems right then. The whole point was to get done fast. He pulled out his wallet and showed the man two dollars. "Then copy, old man."

With two copies in his pocket, Victor headed over to the library, the closer of the two locations. It was practically deserted at noon, and the old woman behind the desk looked up eagerly for something to do.

What the *#$, is this whole town full of frails? Victor wondered inwardly, but reminded himself how much time the cleanup would take if he killed her. "Where do you keep old newspaper records?"

"Oh, they would be on the microfilm down in the basement. What year do you need?"

"Pretty much everything since about 1959." He followed the woman down to the basement and she showed him where everything was and got him the film.

"Let me know if you need anything else," she said helpfully. Victor nodded curtly and threaded the microfilm machine carefully.

There was a small announcement about his cub's birth, but that was all the information having anything to do with Rue and Val for a long time. The scrolling was tedious and Victor was very sure that anybody else besides him would get a monstrous headache and eyestrain. As it was, he was just bored stiff, but he kept at it, skipping up to two years ago, when the death certificate was dated.

Ah, here was the obit for Rue. Victor frowned. It didn't say a whole lot more than the death certificate. Car crashed, and she died. Buried in the cemetery, yada yada yada.

Hold it…

Victor pulled the death certificate out of his pocket and took a closer look.

Place of Disposition: _Burial _Entombment _X_Cremation _Donation _Removal From State _Other

He growled; something was definitely wrong.

"… NO, we only pretended to bury her…"

His cub had said something about burying. The newspaper said something about a cemetery. But the death certificate said cremation. Someone had either made a big mistake, or they had done a rotten job of covering their tracks. But right here was the name of the certifying physician and the signature of the funeral service licensee. Creed smiled. He was finally getting somewhere.

Back in his hotel room, he called the number of the realtor from the for-sale sign yesterday.

"Hello?"

"Hello, I'm calling about the corner house on Spruce Drive –"

"Are you interested?"

The woman on the other end sounded ecstatic with hope. He'd shoot that down right now. "No. I called to see if you knew what happened to the belongings of the woman who lived there previously."

"…It's all been put into storage... Excuse me, who is this?"

"Detective, ma'am," Victor lied, "Ms. Drake's relatives would like to reclaim her belongings."

"Well, I've got a key to the storage building…" the woman seemed unsure.

"I'll come over to your office and get it." By hook or by crook. Creed hung up.

Victor turned the key in the stiff lock, pulling open the storage unit. Flipping on the lone light bulb, he stared around at the dusty cardboard boxes and a few pieces of cloth-covered furniture. Well, what had he expected?

He began going through boxes, not sure what he was looking for. He found an old photo album that said Our First Year on the cover. Turning the pages slowly with his claws, Victor stared at the fist picture. It was a tiny red baby whose hospital cap had not managed to cover the abnormal ears, even then. There was another picture, with a tired but proud Rue holding the baby –Val. He skipped the next couple of pages to the middle. There was Rue and a bigger and less red Val, proudly displaying her first tooth. Victor smirked slightly. It was a baby album. He put the book down and dug deeper into the box. Photographs of Rue and Val together, her light blond hair mixing in with Val's darker gold, and reels of film for a projector. He began to hunt around for the projector, his night vision making it easy, even in the dim light. He finally found it in a corner, hidden by a chest of drawers. He took the box of pictures, the film, and the projector, closing the door of the storage unit behind him.

People reading this story -sorry there's no Val-action! More coming soon :)