Author's note:

Hey guys,

Here's my second ever fic and my first attempt at a long-running series. I'll do my best to keep this going until its conclusion. But, as of right now, I only have until Chapter 5 all planned out. The rest of the story is still in debate, with the exception of the ending I've decided to give it. This is again an attempt at rekindling a childhood interest in writing. This time, I've chosen a show I recently re-watched and find to be very good still! I hope you enjoy and all reviews are appreciated!

Edit: I've made a few edits here and there. Hopefully, it flows better this time!

A soft, cool breeze blows past my hair, making it go over my eyes. I grab those pesky loose locks and put them behind my ear with a sigh. I take out my phone. It has been 15 minutes. I've been sitting here in this park, in this city that I haven't been to in years. And instead of going over the places I used to frequent so often and remembering the good old days, I'm waiting for someone. Well, that is, if that someone actually does come, and this isn't come kind of set-up. I grab my purse and, for what seems like the 20th time today, I take out a brown envelope – inside of which is a note. I read it to myself again, making sure I have it right.

On the 14th of May at 7pm, come to Retroville park alone. You will not be harmed; I am someone you know.

I make sure to go over and double check that I've replaced the seemingly random bits of dots and lines correctly; and that the corresponding result of jumbled letters have all been shifted two spots accordingly. Everything fits, I confirm once again. I smile. A relatively simple code to crack a relatively simple message. Whoever made this either didn't think much of my intellect or just couldn't do better than this.

Still, the contents of this message are quite ominous. Being here today, and alone, is just asking for trouble. No sane person would ever consider it, and I certainly am no fool. I remember I had been just about ready to ignore it until I cracked the last sentence. Five words only. A small insignificant phrase. Yet, one that held a stronger grip on me than any chokehold I was put upon in Judo practice.

I know what happened to him.

It's been 3 months since I received this envelope in my doorstep, and I haven't been able to sleep well since. I've been waiting for this day, and I can't leave without an answer. Maybe this can finally bring me the closure I've so desperately sought since he…

A shadow passes by me while I was deep in thought and I instinctively reach into my purse again. I don't rummage long until I feel that familiar cold metal handle, and I can't help the small amount of relief it gives me. Yet, that doesn't stop a bead of sweat to roll down my forehead as he stops, just a few feet from my bench. This is it, I tell myself. Calm yourself, Cinthia. He's right in front of you. I have a gun. In case this goes sour, I can still easily subdue him. I don't have a black belt in two martial arts for nothing. I slowly shift my body to face his and get a feel for the pepper spray in my pocket. That's plan C, if all else fails. I should be pretty confident, but the fact that he's just standing there with his back to me is a little off-putting. I take this time to examine what I can.

Definitely a man. Not a large build yet seems to be in shape. Slightly above average height – around 5'11. He's wearing a gray hoodie with red stripes on the sleeves, blue jeans and white running shoes. Can't distinguish skin color as both hands are in his jacket pockets. Can't tell what his hair looks like because it's hidden under a black beanie. Makes sense considering it's a bit chilly today, but that doesn't make me feel any less uneasy.

Why won't he turn? I start pulling the gun out of my purse. Better safe than sorry.

"Cindy, wait", a grave voice calls out to me. A sound so familiar, I almost release my gun. He slowly removes both hands, revealing them to be fair, from his pockets and holds them up, palms open. "I mean no harm, promise".

I'm trying to put the pieces together in my head. Who is this person? After a few moments, I realize I haven't said anything yet: "Turn around. Slowly".

My grip on the handle gets tighter as a pair of unfamiliar brown eyes meet mine. He holds them in place for a few long seconds, neither willing to break away first. I can feel a second bead of sweat rolling down my face. I see him move his eyes down toward my hands, one hidden in my purse in a not-so-subtle way. Realization hits him and he furrows his brow, worry clearly showing. I don't care, he is a stranger. He'd better hope this isn't some kind of sick joke.

"Who are you?"

His eyes meet mine again, this time I decide to get a better look. Fair skin, slightly bigger than average head, chiseled jawline, 5 o'clock shadow, slightest hint of bags under his eyes – about the only thing we seem to have in common. What strikes me the most now is his expression. All signs of worry are gone, like he didn't just see I'm ready to shoot him if he tries anything funny. Maybe he's decided I won't be able to do it – a poor judgement. Whatever the case, he slowly lowers his hands, palms still open, toward his head. I don't hesitate to pull the gun out completely and point it right at his skull. His eyes still tranquil, he grabs his beanie and slowly pulls it out, reveling short, messy brown hair. He looks at me, his face expecting me to react to that. I have nothing to say.

After a few seconds, my curiosity gets the better of me and I break the silence.

"I don't-"

"It's me, Cind", he interrupts and an all-knowing smirk appears on his face. It almost reminds me of-

A numbness starts creeping itself over my body like a snake. I'm struggling to process what is even going on.

This man, he says he's…

I try to open my mouth, but no words come out. It seems I can't make a retort. I usually pride myself in my ability to never let someone one-up me, be it at court or at any other difficult situation. I always have a response ready, and a cool head. Time has made me a stronger person. And yet…

I force myself to leave this line of thought and look to my outstretched hands. They are shaking.

You need to get it together, Cinthia! My resolve increases. I grit my teeth and I cock the gun's hammer all the while leering at him with as much intensity as I can.

"Listen here, you sick fuck". His face contorts back to a look of worry, his eyes not once leaving mine. "I don't know what sort of game you're playing, but if you know what's good for you, you will-"

"Cind, it's me" he pleads again, those unfamiliar eyes wide. A nostalgia washes over me.

I wasn't having it. The fact that he's using my old nickname makes it worse. "One… more word out of your mouth".

He remains silent for a second. His eyes start darting from side to side, considering his next choice of words. A realization suddenly appears. "I wasn't born here!" He suddenly shouts "I moved to Retroville in 2002. We were neighbors! My dog's name was Goddard. My best friends were Carl, Sheen, Libby and you!"

"Stop!" This bastard is testing me. I quickly shut down the waves of memories those names threaten to bring out. "Those things are common knowledge to everyone who knows about him!". My vision is starting to get foggy.

"We started a relationship soon after 5th grade", he continues, softly now. "I kissed you after that whole news anchor situation with Libby" his smile returns. "I'd liked you even before then. Cind, please-!"

I don't know what came over me. As soon as I heard that, I dropped the gun and flew straight at him. I tackled him to the ground, grabbing his left arm and pressing it against his head, then swiftly holding both together with my right. I put my weight on him to complete the grapple. I had him pinned, my chokehold clean. I purposely made it as painful as I could, and felt satisfaction at hearing him struggle to breathe.

He is slurring his words now, I hold him with enough pressure to give him a hard time, but not enough to knock him out. It's my turn to talk.

"You're that damn clone! Why did you come back? How do you know all these things? Have you been spying on us this whole time, you bastard?!"

"Y-you-you…". I can't see his face from this angle. If he continues to struggle, he'll faint from lack of oxygen.

I release a little pressure so he can speak clearer. There was no way he could escape. I move my eyes to look at his wrists. No watch. Good.

"You have a…" I can feel my arm becoming wet. He was crying. "You have a mole… underneath your left breast".

He took a long and raspy breath of air as I let go of the chokehold. I lost all strength. For the second time today, my body goes limp and I can only struggle to process what was just said. I don't fight as he grabs me and pulls me into him. I don't care if this is a trap anymore, I don't resist as he puts his arm around me and his hand on my head.

Instead of the feeling of breathlessness I expected, I only feel his hand run up and down the back of my head, caressing me.

What he just said. There is no way in hell anyone would now that. Not unless he actually was…

My arms slowly go around him as I return the hug. I cried all the tears I had been able to hold back so far – not just for today, but the last 5 years. I don't know how long we are like this.

"J-Jimmy…" is all I am able to muster. How can it be really him?

"I'm so sorry, Cind".

"B-but… you…".

I must be dreaming. It's been a while since I had one of these. I allowed the memories to return to me. Memories of us holding each other in peace, letting out all our pent-up energy from a day spent fighting each other over such silly things. It almost felt like we were teenagers again, like the last years of our lives hadn't really happened. I'll surely wake up soon, as I always did after that - body sweating, face hot and heart still broken.

"But, you're supposed to be dead."