Sarge Mahoney whistled as he walked to his desk. Today was going to be a very good day. He felt it in his bones. Now he just needed to find the time to go up to the hospital to visit Jack, Jr.

"Hey, Sarge! You've got some visitors," someone said as he walked by. "They're at your desk right now. Chief says you're to help them out as much as possible."

"What's their story, Sal?" he asked, slowing down some. His chipper mood had not dimmed any.

"Missing person's case," Sal replied, rubbing his dark eyes. "Kid took off a year ago and parents haven't heard from him since."

"How old?" Sarge shrugged off his jacket.

"Around twenty now. Really not much we can do but the parents want us to try and at least see if he came through last year."

Sarge snorted. Like that would be an easy job!

"Anyway, they're waiting for you at your desk. And good luck with Jack, Jr."

The older officer just smiled as he made his way to his desk. Everyone knew that he had a soft spot for that kid. As Sal had predicted, the parents of the missing young man stood by his desk, along with an out-of-state officer.

'This is going to be one helluva day,' Sarge thought as he approached them.

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"It was right around here," Sparky said, pointing to the Bank Street Court complex. "They were looking underneath the hood of a truck."

Racer X nodded as they stood on the opposite side of the street and plotted his next course of action. While his parents were at the police station, enlisting the aid of one Sergeant Mahoney, he and Sparky had decided to check out where the look-alike had been seen. Now the trick was to figure out whether or not the look-alike lived here and, if he did, which apartment he lived in.

"Is there anything else you remember about that day, Sparky?"

The Go Team mechanic's face scrunched up in thought. Rex waited patiently for him to say something.

"Yeah . . . there was a blonde-haired lady sitting in front of the building, watching them. She had blue and purple streaks in her hair and, when they were done looking under the hood of the truck, she kissed the guy that looked like Speed."

Rex nodded. "Did you tell Speed that part?"

"No," Sparky shook his head. "I only saw that when I did the double-take but paid no attention to that."

"How did she kiss him?"

"On the cheek, like she was grateful about something. That was when Mr. Prescott's car turned the corner and I didn't see anything else after that."

'It isn't much to go on,' he thought, 'but it's better than nothing. Maybe I can find out who the woman is. Given the dyed streaks in her hair, the owners can at least tell me who she is. But not now. Not with Sparky here. Better take him back to the hotel.'

"Let's go, Sparky."

"Are we going to tell Inspector Detector and that Sergeant Mahoney about this?" Racer X nodded as they climbed into the car. What Sparky didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

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His stomach growled at the smell of food but he couldn't eat. He couldn't even drink. Despite the appealing aroma of the food, it looked horrible and tasted even worse, something the nursing assistant didn't seem to understand.

"Come on, sweetie," she purred. "Take a bite for me. Please? It's good stuff."

A strange sound emanated from the other side of the room, like his roommate had choked on something. She turned her head to glare at the offending noisemaker.

"Robert Johnson, that's enough! He doesn't need any encouragement from you!"

To that, Robert Johnson laughed out loud.

"Oh, please, Marissa! You and I both know that pudding-thick liquids do not satisfy one's thirst and pureed food is not that delicious! Poor guy probably wants some real food and drink, doncha?"

He nodded as best he could. He still didn't know why he couldn't move his head around much, though he was certain something was holding him in place. Marissa sighed.

"Look, I can't help it. This is what the doctor's ordered. Pureed and mechanical soft foods. That's it. Can't do anything about it until they do a swallow test and that won't be until tomorrow. He has been in a coma for a year, y'know." She turned her attention back to him, her cheeks red from frustration. He felt sorry for her but he couldn't help it. He simply was not hungry enough to eat, and that made her job a little more difficult. "Now . . . let's take a bite . . ."

Shaking his head 'no,' he clamped his jaw tighter. He would have liked to have fed himself but, because his arms had been inactive for a long period of time, he suffered from severe atrophy. He couldn't even lift his arm up and keep it up, let alone a spoon.

Marissa sighed and tossed the spoon onto the plate.

"They're going to stick an I.V. in you if you don't eat or drink, y'know."

He shrugged in response. She sighed once more.

"I give up." She picked up the tray and stalked out. A sigh escaped him.

"You really should try eating something . . ."

"I know, Robert . . . but every time I do, I feel like puking."

That brought a chuckle out of Robert.

"Yeah . . . Disgusting, isn't it? People in prison eat better than people in hospitals."

"That is bad," he agreed, his eyelids drooping slightly. In spite of being in a coma for a year, he still tired easily. As he drifted off to dreamland, he wondered if he'd ever have the strength to do anything beyond sleeping or if he'd ever remember who he was.

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Pops Racer looked at the officer who drove them to Bank Street. The man looked vastly irritated but he didn't care. He wanted to find this look- alike more than anything, hoping he'd be able to tell them what had happened to his son. Pops wanted to find his son alive.

"You sure this is the place, kid?"

Pops blinked as the car came to a stop and Sergeant Mahoney addressed Sparky. Sparky nodded.

"This is the place."

"All right." He climbed out of the car and they had to hurry to catch up with him. Pops didn't even pay any attention to the building or its interior as they made their way to the fifth floor, where the young woman resided.

They had learned that her name was Victorea Cronkhite and that she had resided at Bank Street Court for several years. The landlord had called her eccentric. Pops thought that any thirty-something dying her hair blue and purple would have to be eccentric.

Sergeant Mahoney knocked on the door and Pops noticed his wife holding her breath. One year. One year and they were coming a little closer to finding some answers and, hopefully, their son. He took her hand in his and squeezed it. Sparky's face lit up with excitement. Sergeant Mahoney, Inspector Detector, and Racer X were the only unreadable expressions.

A dog started barking and was joined by a few more. The sound of a lock sliding out of place greeted them.

"Who is it?"

"Sergeant Mahoney from the Philadelphia police department. We'd like to ask you a few questions, ma'am."

The door cracked open wide enough for a set of brown eyes to gaze at them. She then nodded and opened the door the rest of the way, making sure three large dogs and two little ones did not sneak out.

"Come in," she said dully. Pops noticed her eyes were red and droopy, like she'd been angry or crying about something.

"This won't take long, Ms Cronkhite," Mahoney stated, as if trying to assure her. Pops felt that he shouldn't be. "These people are looking for their son. We were hoping maybe you could help us out."

"Help out? How?" she asked, closing the door. She looked at Racer X, giving him an odd look.

'She's nervous around him,' he thought. 'But why? She must know who he is!'

"This is the guy!" Sparky suddenly exclaimed, pointing to a picture on the wall. They crowded around it to see for themselves and, sure enough, there was a picture of a young man with dark hair and blue eyes. In his arms, he cradled a black cat. "This is the guy that looks like Speed!" Even Sergeant Mahoney looked at the picture.

"What?"

Pops glared at her. How could she sound so dazed and tired when she was dating his son's look-alike!

"This man," Mrs. Racer said, pointing to the picture. "He looks like my son. Do you know where he is?"

Tears welled up in Ms Cronkhite's eyes and she turned her head. Pops wanted to shout at her and demand what had happened, what did they do their son, but refrained. She could have him arrested and he felt Sergeant Mahoney would do it in a heartbeat.

"I know where he is," Mahoney piped in, a sad tone. "Thank you, Torie. Sorry to have disturbed you."

"It's okay, Sarge," she whispered, smiling weakly. Before anything more could be said, Sergeant Mahoney had ushered them out of her apartment and onto the street. Once they were in the car, Pops exploded.

"Sorry to have disturbed her!" he shouted. "She may know where my son is and you're sorry that you had to disturb her! I want to speak with that man! I want to know who he is and everything!"

"You can't speak with him, Mr. Racer," Sergeant Mahoney answered. "He died in a car crash two weeks ago."

Pops felt like he'd been hit by a car himself. His son's look-alike? Dead?

"His name was Ryan O'Connell," Mahoney continued. "That was his fiancé, Torie Cronkhite. Their engagement announcement had been in the paper the day before the accident. Had I known that, I wouldn't have brought you here. Poor girl was in the truck with him that night. He never knew what hit him."

Sergeant Mahoney started the car and took off. In stunned silence, they rode.