Chapter Four: Home, Sweet Home?

Wordy pulled into his 'twin's' driveway and looked up at the dark house. Between Parker's pathetic excuse for a briefing and staying late in the locker room, he was arriving well after the girls' bedtime. He reached up, hit the garage door opener and pulled the car into the garage.

Wordy was careful to make as little noise as possible. Waking Shelley and the girls this late at night wasn't something he would do at home; he wasn't going to do it here. Long practice let the SRU officer sneak into the kitchen for a little dinner. Wordy popped some of the 'other' Shelley's leftovers into the microwave and, when the microwave was almost done, stopped the timer before the machine could beep.

He left the meal to cool and retrieved several blankets and a pillow to make up the couch. Inwardly, he wondered if his real team had caught onto his 'twin'; judging by this Team One, Shelley and the girls were in for a rough night if his team hadn't caught his 'twin'. Wordy ground his teeth together at the thought of Shelley greeting his 'twin' and being treated the way Wordy himself had been treated by Edward.

The image was enough to make him gag, but he didn't dare…the last thing he wanted right now was to meet the 'other' Shelley…morning would be soon – and bad – enough. Instead, Wordy focused on making sure the couch was fit for a couple nights worth of sleeping on it; somehow, he didn't think he was going to be able to just 'pop' home in the morning, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

Finished with the couch, Wordy went back to his dinner. He picked at his meal, grimacing at how much pepper his 'twin' seemed to like, though that probably did explain the almost empty bottle of chili sauce in the 'fridge. Even so, he was hungry enough to ignore the spiciness of the meal and polish it off in relatively short order. Once he'd finished and put the dishes in the dishwasher, the exhausted constable retreated to the couch.


Dawn came far too early, at least in Wordy's opinion. He woke with the sun in his eyes and groaned. "Shell…" he complained, turning to avoid the bright light. A thump and a yelp later found the startled man on the floor, squinting at the couch instead of his bed.

Oh, rats! Wordy moaned to himself. I was hoping it was just a nightmare. Not bothering to get up off the floor, Wordy shifted and reached for the pocket-watch he'd left on the nearby table. With a silent prayer, he flipped the watch open. Aside from a touch more exhaustion, nothing happened. Wordy's shoulders slumped, but he didn't panic the way he had the night before. Okay, Wordsworth, you can do this…it's just for another day or so…I hope.

Internal pep talk given, he pushed himself up and headed upstairs to retrieve clothes for the day. He opted for a stealth entry into the master bedroom and relied on the ambient light to see and choose his clothes. Fortunately, the bedroom setup was, while not identical, close enough to what Wordy was used to that he managed to navigate without falling over the bed or waking up Shelley. A bit of scouting netted him the upstairs laundry basket and he was back downstairs in short order. The pocket-watch went back into his jeans pocket and the constable breathed a sigh of relief to have it safely out of sight.

Heading into the kitchen, Wordy browsed through the 'fridge and freezer for breakfast options. He snagged the frozen waffles and pulled the bottle of syrup off the kitchen counter. Simple enough and, he hoped, much the same as back home. Also, not something his 'twin' could leave ungodly amounts of pepper and spice on. At least, that was the idea…

The still tired constable didn't bother keeping the kitchen sounds down; Shelley would probably be up soon anyway and the girls could sleep through a storm, so he wasn't worried about waking them up. He read the waffle instructions, frowning at the slight differences between the box in front of him and the boxes he remembered from his own freezer. With a tiny shrug, Wordy opted to go with the lower end of the recommended toaster setting.

As the waffles cooked, Wordy poured a glass of orange juice; when the toaster finished Wordy flipped the hot waffles onto his plate and settled at the kitchen table with his breakfast, pouring a liberal amount of syrup over the waffles. To his great relief, the juice and waffles tasted the same as he was used to, a minor blessing. Footsteps sounded in the hall and Wordy ducked his head and tucked into his food. Judging by the twisted Team One he'd encountered, this Shelley was probably a screeching banshee.

Shelley trudged into the kitchen and headed for the sink. She looked the same, if with far more defeat in her posture than Wordy was used to. The constable studied her posture, frowning to himself; she acted like his Shelley had acted, back when Shelley had been married to an utter louse and she'd been hiding bruises and injuries under her long-sleeved shirts and scarves and even under her bracelets. The constable shook away the memories, then watched as this Shelley looked in the sink, cringed, and turned to the dishwasher. His brows went up as she opened the 'washer and started examining the dishes.

"Problem, Shel?"

Shelley gave a little shriek and spun toward him. Wordy froze. Bruises littered her face and he could see a split lip from where he was sitting. Her left eye was black and fear radiated from her as she flinched away from him. The constable felt himself shudder; his eyes locked on Shelley's injuries and if he could have, he'd have given his 'twin' more than just a piece of his mind.

"Shel?" Wordy repeated, his stomach twisting at her appearance; he forced his voice to stay level and even, no hint of his internal anguish or anger breaking through.

Shelley's gaze darted to his breakfast plate and she let out a little sob. "Kevin, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"I should've been up earlier. You shouldn't have to make your own breakfast." Shelley swallowed and pleaded, "Please, I'll do better." She trembled, waiting for his response, obviously expecting him to lash out.

The big, tough constable almost fled; for Shelley to treat him with such fear…it hurt and he had to remind himself that this wasn't his Shelley. He shook his head and, again, forced himself to stay perfectly still and his tone gentle. "It's okay, Shel. I just got up a bit earlier than usual and I fixed myself breakfast instead of waking you."

Shelley stared at Wordy as if he'd spoken in Latin. "You-you're not mad?"

"Nope."

Wordy dropped his gaze and went back to his breakfast, watching Shelley out of the corner of his eye. Shelley stared at him for almost a minute, gaping in shock, then she turned to the dishwasher. She examined every dish and only when she was done did she make her own breakfast. With a barely there tremble, she joined Wordy at the kitchen table. Wordy kept his head down and focused on his plate. Despite his efforts, Shelley trembled all through her meal and it was painfully clear that she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to 'revert' to his 'usual' behavior.

Suppressing a sigh, Wordy rose and collected his dishes. Shelley started and made an abortive reach for the plate and glass, fear and panic glowing in her eyes.

"I've got it, Shel," Wordy said as he whisked both dishes out of reach and took them to the dishwasher. "You just enjoy your breakfast," Wordy added, keeping his gaze away from her.

Shelley stared, shocked at the sudden change in her husband's behavior. The longer Wordy kept his gaze away from her, the better she felt and she managed to relax a bit. Wordy busied himself with the dishwasher, putting his breakfast dishes inside and snagging a fresh glass from the cabinet; he filled it up halfway with water. When Wordy brought over the glass he'd just poured, she jumped, but took the glass.

"Kevin?"

"Just a moment, Shel," Wordy replied and ducked out of the kitchen. The first-aid kit was in the bathroom, well used. He ground his teeth at the fact, at the fresh reminder that this Shelley lived in fear of his 'twin', and took the kit back to the kitchen. Shelley gaped in amazement as he came back in, set the kit on the table, and opened it up. "Hold still, Shel," Wordy requested.

Shelley all but froze in place as Wordy cleaned the cuts and bruises; the constable worked as carefully as he could, doing his best to avoid hurting her any more than she'd already been hurt. She restrained her flinches from the unavoidable pain and the fear his nearness caused; wonder entered her eyes as he bandaged the cuts. When he was done, Wordy avoided her eyes as he cleaned up the mess and repacked the kit.

Wordy drew a breath to speak, but a sound from the door drew his attention.

"Daddy?" Claire asked, her eyes wide as she gazed at him. Wordy couldn't respond, couldn't even pull in a breath. She and Lilly both had bruises on their faces.


"Kevin?" Shelley called, tapping on the bathroom door. Wordy stared at his reflection in the mirror and resisted the urge to punch it. His jaw clenched, the teeth grinding as he wished, bitterly, that none of this had ever happened, that he hadn't had to find out about his 'twin' at all, much less that his 'twin' was worse than his Shelley's ex-husband.

How could he? How could he do that to his wife? To his kids? Wordy swallowed hard, suppressing his gag reflex with sheer willpower and reminding himself that he couldn't just hide in the bathroom forever; like it or not, he had to face the mess his 'twin' had created. She's not my Shelley. But I'll be damned before I let that stop me from helping her. Or helping the girls.

Wordy pulled the bathroom door open and flinched as Shelley automatically cringed away from him. "Shel…" He trailed off as he spotted two curious pairs of eyes peeking out from the kitchen door; the girls did not need to hear what he was about to tell their mother. He grabbed Shelley's arm and tugged her into what was, in his world, the girls' playroom. In this world, the room looked like it was his 'twin's' room, designed solely for male interests. Shelley's eyes went wide and she started breathing harder, panic rising; belatedly, Wordy realized his 'twin' probably pulled her in this room to punish her. No way to help his misstep now, he'd just have to work with it.

"Shelley, I'm not going to hurt you."

Shelley tugged free and backed up against the wall. Wordy followed her and closed the door so the girls couldn't eavesdrop. This wasn't going to be an easy conversation, but he had to do something.

"Shel," Wordy pleaded, crouching down as Shelley slid down the wall, almost hyperventilating as her eyes fixed on him, still wide with terror and a hint of betrayal. "Shel, please, I promise I won't hurt you."

"You…you always say that," Shelley managed, her body quivering and trembling as she wrapped her arms around her torso, hugging herself.

Wordy backed off, trying to let Shelley calm down a bit. He looked up at a clock on the desk. Gotta do this fast. Can't let the other Team One find out what I'm doing. "Shelley," he said firmly, "You can't keep letting me do this." He cringed at the phrasing, but Shelley didn't need to know the truth. "It won't get better, Shel."

"No, no, you just promised," Shelley protested.

"You already said it, Shel. I 'always say that', remember?"

Wordy forced himself to wait until Shelley nodded.

"Don't wait for this to happen again, Shel. I want you to pack bags for yourself and the girls. Take everything you need and leave. Don't even worry about the dishes, Shel. Take the girls and run. Run as far and as fast as you can, Shelley."

"Wh-what?" Shelley's expression was a picture-perfect 'deer in the headlights' look, confusion radiated from her as she gawped at his insistent plea.

"Tell me, Shel, what are you going to do today?" Wordy kept his tone firm, no give whatsoever. If he even hinted at an option, she would stay, regardless of whether it was good for her and the girls or not.

Shelley cringed and tried to curl in a ball, hiding from him, from his demands, and what she feared he would do to her. Wordy closed his eyes, clenching his fists before forcing them to open back up. The constable waited, his eyes expectant, his expression resolute. After a minute of silence, she peeked at him.

"Tell me, Shelley," Wordy demanded.

"Take the girls and run," Shelley whispered.

"Good, Shel." Wordy sat back on his heels, then leaned forward again as one last thought struck him. "Promise me something, Shelley."

"Promise?"

"Yeah. Promise me you won't look back. No calls, no letters, no e-mail, not even a text message. Dump your phone as soon as you get a new one."

Shelley stared at Wordy, jaw working. Finally, she ducked her head and replied, "I promise."

Wordy nodded to her and pushed himself up. He left the room and ducked into the living room to farewell the girls. He hugged each girl, careful to avoid the bruises. The grim and saddened constable headed for the car and pulled out of the driveway, hopeful that he'd given Shelley a chance for freedom. It was up to her now.


Wordy hurried into the locker room. His early start had all but evaporated with helping Shelley, but he didn't regret it. As he came in the door, he almost slid to a stop in shock. No one was in the locker room yet, even though it was only five minutes to the start of their shift. With a roll of his eyes at Hell Team One's lack of professional standards, Wordy made a beeline to his 'twin's' locker and changed into his uniform. Wordy paused long enough to rest a hand on his SRU patch, silently repeating his promise to get home, somehow. Then the pocket-watch went on the upper shelf while he changed; when he was changed, he tucked it back into the inner pocket he'd used the day before. His bullet-proof vest went on over his uniform, then he wriggled into his equipment vest, fastening it in place and double checking his equipment.

With an affectionate pat to the SRU patch on his sleeve, Wordy left the locker room and snagged a spare newspaper someone had left at the dispatcher desk. Normally, he'd head for the workout room, but here and now, he much preferred to keep a protective layer in place; he didn't trust anyone in this world, at all. The rest of Hell Team One didn't straggle in until half an hour after the shift started.

"Good morning, Wordy," Parker greeted the burnet, flask already in hand. Judging from Parker's face and eyes, if he was ever sober, it was very, very rare, and he'd probably already drunk enough alcohol to drop any other member of the team.

"Morning, Sarge."

"Quite the eager beaver this morning."

Hearing a note of suspicion, Wordy scowled and packed a pound of bitter into his tone. As much as he disliked lying, letting Hell Team One find out he wasn't their Wordy would not be a good idea. "Shelley woke me up early this morning," he lied.

"Women," Parker offered knowingly, as he drank from his flask. The suspicion in his eyes ebbed; Wordy shuddered internally as the cold and uncaring look on Parker's face.

The two men entered the briefing room and Wordy settled into a chair, wishing fervently for his team, his world, as this group of sloppy, likely corrupt cops finally assembled.

Parker rose from his seat once Hell Team One was all in the room. "Patrol today," he announced to a chorus of groans. Wordy was a beat behind, but he doubted anyone noticed.

"The citizens of our fair city are getting complacent," Parker continued, "and they require a reminder of what's due us as officers." His smile was more than a trifle nasty as he went on, "Edward, you're still team leader today. You and Wordy will be patrolling together." He turned toward Wordy. "Play nice." Wordy played up and shot Edward a wordless snarl, forcing his eyes to go hard and angry.

"Me 'n' Jules?" Sam drawled, expectation heavy.

"And Mike will remain with me," Parker finished, not bothering to contest Sam's assertion.

Wordy followed Edward to the trucks and got in on the shotgun side, biting back the intense longing for yesterday when he'd been home and not in hell. He'd take a prickly Ed over the cold, nasty, and likely corrupt Edward any day. Edward hopped up to the driver's seat and slammed his door, drawing a jump from his passenger. "Problem there, Kevin?" he demanded, a sneer on his face as he regarded Wordy.

"Only if you've got one," Wordy bit back.

Neither man spoke further as Edward pulled out and set a course for their assigned area. Wordy kept his attention outside, pretending to search for citizens to harass. The kilometers ticked by quickly and soon the two men were both searching for targets; Wordy was relieved when Edward never spotted any. Silence hung in the truck, uneasy, tense, and full of unspoken barbs. The first hour and a half of their shift ticked by without a word.

"You hear the news?" Edward asked abruptly, a touch of fear just under the surface.

"What news?"

"The Ghostbusters. They're in town."

"What? Why?" Wordy demanded, though his hand drifted toward the hidden pocket-watch.

Edward snorted. "Who knows why they do even half of whatever it is they do. Guy who told me said something about how Spengler got some 'interesting' readings and they came runnin'."

"Huh."

"I just hope they stay away from us…even you don't deserve what they'd do to you Kevin."

"Gee…thanks." Wordy eyed Edward as the other man shuddered. He's actually scared of them.

Silence fell as both SRU officers kept their eyes outside. To Wordy's vast relief, again, nothing attracted Edward's attention as the kilometers and minutes continued to tick away. Wordy was just about to suggest a lunch break when his phone rang.

Edward looked over, one brow rising as Wordy pulled the phone free and up to his ear. "Wordsworth."

"Kevin?"

Shelley! Wordy kept his gaze forward, his face expressionless. "Yeah, what's up?" It wasn't what he wanted to say, not even close; but he didn't trust Edward any further than Claire could throw him.

"Kevin, please…help," Shelley pleaded.

"Talk to me," Wordy pushed; only by a force of will did he keep the worry and concern out of his voice. He couldn't let Edward know there was trouble, couldn't put Shelley or the girls in more danger.

"They're in the house, hel…" Shelley's voice cut off as the phone was knocked away from her. Wordy heard glass shatter and angry male voices in the background. Closer to the phone, the girls screamed. The click in his ear as the call cut off was loud and ominous.