#6 - "Is This Real or What?"

"AW MAN!", Jim Sculley nearly shouted. He found himself once more in the apartment of Whitney Parks, an old flame from his college days, waking up in her guestroom.

"James? What's wrong?" Whitney regarded Jim with a puzzled expression. She removed her glasses and set them on the nightstand next to the bed. Whitney had platinum blonde hair that fell past her shoulders. She had a classy look about her even dressed as she was in an oversize sweater and faded blue jeans.

"Genocide again...", Jim muttered in disgust. "It has to be. Nothing else makes sense."

Just the day before, Jim in his costumed identity of Spectrum had escaped from the mutant-hating organization. He, along with almost a dozen other mutants were trapped in some sort of mentally shared world. Jim's experience there had begun with his waking up in the apartment of Whitney Parks. It was happening all over again.

Jim got out of the bed with a frantic leap. He, Icicle, and the sensual Shadow Queen had escaped the Genocide base before its destruction and made their way to Denver. Once there, they acquired cash and clothing. The next day the trio took a flight to Los Angeles. However, the plane never arrived. Jim could vividly remember the cabin being plunged into darkness and the sensation of crashing. Then there was nothing, just darkness... until now.

"I've gotten out of here before," he shouted to no one in particular. "I'll get out again!"

Whitney was becoming very concerned. "Jim, you're frightening me. What's wrong with you?" She stood up and backed away a few steps.

"What's wrong with me?" He turned to regard his old girlfriend. "I'll show you what's wrong with me!"

Jim grabbed Whitney's wrist and dragged her to the window.

"You're hurting me!"

He continued to ignore her, but did release her wrist. Jim next opened the window and gestured out. "This is what's wrong!"

More confused than ever, Whitney looked out and found nothing amiss. "It's Santa Monica... What's wrong with that?"

Now it was Jim's turn to be confused. He ducked his head out of the window and looked around. True to her word, it all seemed like Santa Monica. No out of place landmarks could be seen. But it was much more than that. There were the sounds of people passing by below, cars moving up and down the street. It was all the sights, sounds, and smells of a real city. Jim stared at it for a few moments dumbfounded.

Finally, he came back in. A concerned Whitney stood close by. "Jim, what in the world is going on?"

"I-- I'm not really sure." He was at a loss for words and visibly shaken. "It must have been a really bad dream. I'm sorry I frightened you. This whole situation is weird." Jim sat back down on the side of the bed and held his head in his hands. Maybe he was going crazy.

"Tell me about it. I came home last night and found my old boyfriend unconscious on my doorstep. What's going on? And why did you show up here?"

"I don't know. I can't remember... everything is a blur." Jim caught himself before he mentioned anything about what happened in Denver. That was better left unsaid for the moment.

"I see," Whitney said thoughtfully. "What do you remember?"

"I know my name, and I know your name. I recognize the city. After that, not a whole lot." He thought better of mentioning his costumed alter ego, especially if the world considered him to be a criminal.

Whitney sat down next to Jim and took a hold of his hand. "No wonder you are so confused. It must be horrible not being able to remember anything."

"It's not the greatest."

"Maybe you were mugged and hit over the head or something," Whitney offered. "Its not like that never happens in LA."

"Could be."

"It fits the circumstances. I found no form of identification on you, no money, not a thing. You may have wandered around for a while, located my apartment and collapsed outside my door."

"It makes sense, I guess." It certainly made as much sense as any other theory at the moment. Maybe the bit about Spectrum was really only a dream?

"The only problem," Whitney continued, "is that I found no sign of head trauma. Some cuts and bruises, but nothing overly suspicious."

"You're very thorough, Whitney."

"Oh, that's right, you don't remember. I'm a private investigator now."

"Is that what you took at UCLA?" Jim paused after saying that, realizing just what he said. "I remember that I went to UCLA. That's where I met you."

"I'm pleased that you at least remember that," she said with a smile. "Those were good times, but things change."

"Yeah."

"As I recall, you had your career and I had mine. We just drifted apart."

"What do you know about my career?" Jim was afraid that Whitney might know that he was really Spectrum. Assuming that Spectrum even existed.

"I used to come across your stories in the Times quite often." Seeing Jim's confusion, she added. "You were a good reporter."

"That's a relief." He had been afraid that she was referring to Spectrum's criminal activities. "I guess I took Journalism at UCLA."

"That's right. But you always wanted to be a writer, not a reporter. About a year and a half ago, I stopped seeing your byline. I figured that you just moved on to another city, another paper."

"A year and a half ago?" Jim was shocked again. If Denver had been only a year removed from his disappearance, what date was it now? "This might seem odd, but what's today's date?"

Whitney glanced at her watch and then said, "It's Friday, February 21st."

"What year?"

"The year? Oh, sorry. James, it's 1986."

"Okay..." If what happened in Denver really did occur, then it happened over four months ago. It was possible that he made his way from the plane crash to Los Angeles during that time. Or maybe his evil nature had resurfaced. Or maybe it was one of a hundred other possible scenarios. "It's 1986... That means I've lost about a year and a half of my life. Lovely."

"Tell you what," Whitney said. "I'll make us some lunch, then we can go down to the Police Department."

"The Police Department!?"

"Well, if you did disappear back in 1984, then they should have a Missing Person's report out on you. We'll need to report you as found. Additionally, they may have data on just what did happen."

"I guess that makes sense," Jim said after a time. He wasn't pleased at the thought of going to visit the local law enforcement, but Whitney was right. They may know something that he didn't. She didn't seem to know anything about his connection with Spectrum, so he reasoned that the police probably didn't either. "It sounds like a plan. Thanks for everything that you're doing for me."

"My pleasure." Whitney stood up and made her way out of the room. "The bath's over there if you want to get freshened up first."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea." For the first time, Jim realized that he had a full unkempt beard and mustache. He imagined that the rest of him looked just as bad. He also realized that he had been prancing around in his underwear. "Gee, I must have made a great impression laying like this on Whitney's doorstep," he thought to himself.

Entering the bath, Jim first took a shower and removed the first few layers of grime. "Man, it looks like I've been rolling around in the mud. Or worse." The shower felt good, but Jim simply wanted to soak for a while and took a bath as well. As far as he knew, the last bath he had taken was back in Denver. His mind was a whirl of conflicting thoughts and theory. None of them made much sense.

After the bath he shaved the beard and mustache off. "That looks much better. I feel like a human being again." Jim finished washing up and then had a thought. He checked to door to make sure that Whitney was not close by. Not seeing her in the adjoining room, he closed the door and turned back to the mirror. Facing the mirror, he concentrated and instantly the colorful costume of Spectrum appeared on him!

"Well, that solves one mystery," he thought to himself. "Spectrum is not a figment of my imagination." Jim experimented and willed the light waves to go around him, effectively making him invisible. His image faded in the mirror. "If Spectrum is real, then what happened in Denver might be real too. Great, I was an accomplice in a bank robbery. I wonder what happened to Shadow Queen and Icicle?"

Hearing Whitney in the outer room, Jim quickly willed himself visible and changed back into his under garments. "James?", he heard Whitney say through the door. "My brother left some clothes here from his last visit. You should be able to fit into them. What you were wearing was badly damaged."

"Okay, thanks, Whitney." Jim began to wonder just why he and Whitney had grown apart. She seemed like a wonderful woman. Of course there were things about their relationship that he couldn't remember and the present circumstances could be influencing her behavior.

The clothes that Whitney laid out hung loosely about Jim's frame. Turns out her brother was a bit taller and wider. Still, they fit well enough for Los Angeles where fashion trends were set and forgotten as fast as they came.

"Not bad," Whitney said with a smile after seeing Jim dressed and cleaned up. "Now that's more like the Jim that I knew."

"Thanks."

After a light lunch, the two were in Whitney's car, a white Turbo Conquest TSi, driving towards the nearest police station.

"You must be doing pretty good for a private eye," Jim observed eyeing the sports car.

"I can't complain. It's an interesting job at any rate."

"No doubt."

The two chitchatted the rest of the way to the local Police Branch. Whitney explained the situation to the officer at the front Desk. He, in turn, showed them to the desk of Detective Norman Johnson. Detective Johnson was an older man, light brown hair beginning to thin out, and was a bit overweight. He regarded the pair and their story skeptically, as he puffed on his cigarette. However, fingerprints lifted from the apartment of one Jim Sculley did match those of the man seated before him. Whitney's sworn statement backed this claim up.

"So, Mr. Sculley, you claim to have no memory about anything over the last eighteen months?"

"That's correct, officer."

Detective Johnson turned toward his desktop computer and began to slowly hunt and peck away. "I hate these damn things," he muttered under his breath.

Eventually, he was able to bring up the Missing Persons report for a James Christopher Sculley that dated back to August of 1984. "According to this report, you were reported missing by Jordan Sculley on August 29th."

"Jordan Sculley?" Jim wasn't familiar with the name.

"Your father, James. At least that's what you told me. You two didn't get along very well after your mother died," Whitney explained.

"I see..." Jim hadn't even considered that he might have family who were missing him. Finding out that his mother was no longer alive was saddening. "Do I have any other family?"

"A sister for sure. I think you have a brother as well."

"Anyway," Detective Johnson interrupted, "the case was investigated and it was determined that sometime on August 17th, Jim Sculley simply seemed to drop off the face of the Earth."

"Until now," Jim added.

"Until now," Detective Johnson repeated. "And you claim that you cannot shed any light on where you've been and what you were doing during this time?"

"No, detective. I'm sorry I can't be of any help."

The detective shrugged. "Amnesia's a tricky thing. You may get your memory back in time. You probably should see a doctor about that. Anyway, I'll register you as being located, Mr. Sculley."

"Whatever did happen, robbery was clearly not a motive. The apartment had no indications of a break-in. Your wallet was untouched, as well as your checkbook. They were confiscated as evidence. You can retrieve them from the lock-up down in the basement."

"Thanks." Jim stood and shook hands with Detective Johnson.

After a quick stop at the police lock-up, Jim and Whitney made their way back out to her car. "That went rather smoothly," Whitney remarked.

"Yeah. I don't know why I was so nervous."

"Maybe you had a bad experience with the police while you were missing? That could explain why you are uneasy around them."

"That could very well be true." Of course, being a wanted super villain could bring about the same reaction! Jim didn't dwell on that point. In spite of what he may have done as Spectrum, he still had a private life and a family. Right now learning about his past was far more important than Spectrum.

Jim looked through the contents of the evidence envelope as Whitney made her way through the heavy Los Angeles traffic. Everything seemed intact, not to say that Jim would have necessarily noted anything missing or not. The wallet held $160 dollars in cash, his drivers' license, and a couple of credit cards. A small list of names and phone numbers was there as well. Along with a picture of Whitney.

"So where do you want to begin?" Whitney glanced over at Jim while they waited at a traffic light.

"Look, you've done a lot for me and I really appreciate it. But you don't have to waste all your time on me. Don't you have a case or something to work on?"

"Don't be silly, James," Whitney said with a smile. "After all that we meant to each other, I'm more than happy to help you out. I have no open cases at the moment anyway. Besides, with your fuzzy memory you need someone around to help you out."

"I know... I just don't want to be a bother."

"Mister Sculley, you've never been a bother to me. You might as well stay at my apartment for the time being. The guestroom is all yours. It's not like you've got anywhere else to go. Maybe together we can get to the bottom of all of this. Besides this looks like a challenging mystery. I always was a sucker for mysteries."

Whitney reached over and took a hold of Jim's hand and smiled. He smiled back. Whatever they had must have been special for him to be feeling so good right now. "You're a special lady, Ms. Parks."

"It's about time you realized that." With a laugh, Whitney hit the gas and sped the car further into Los Angeles.

Over the next several hours, the couple traveled all over the City of Angels. Jim's bank account was checked on and he found that he now had just over nine thousand dollars in it. Strangely enough, there had been a deposit once a month, for the last year. They had all been dropped off at an ATM machine, but the deposit slip and signature were all valid. The deposits added up to exactly seven thousand dollars in cash and none of the bills were on the hot list.

"It's the money from the bank robbery!", was all Jim could think of. Apparently he was far from destitute, as his account fluctuated between two to four thousand on average. Jim was uncomfortable with what he considered to be tainted money. However, the bank did clear it from being stolen. He still wondered just where it came from.

The next stop was his old apartment complex. His apartment had long been rented out to another tenant. The apartment manager explained to the pair that once Jim stopped paying rent, he violated his lease. Much of his furniture was sold off to cover the bills. His father had collected some of the smaller, more personal items.

"Oh well," Jim said as they walked back to the car. "It was a vain hope to think that my stuff would still be around after all this time. Not like I remember what I had anyway."

"Still, some of it might have triggered some of your lost memories. Do you want to run out to your father's house?" While Jim had been busy with his errands, Whitney took the opportunity to look up Jordan Sculley in the phone book. His current phone number matched one of the numbers in Jim's wallet. More than likely he had not moved while Jim was missing. At least that was the hope.

"If you don't mind," Jim replied. "How about some dinner first?" They had spent virtually all afternoon running the errands and it was now past six o'clock. "My treat."

"Works for me, James. I sometimes lose track of time while on a case and forget to eat. Where do you want to go?"

"Well how about--- Uhm, I don't really know. Why don't you pick?"

"Sorry," Whitney said apologetically. She hit the accelerator and added, "I know just the place."

"Great pizza," Jim said as he grabbed another slice. Papa Luigi's Pizzeria was packed on a Friday Night. Being located close to the UCLA campus, it was a favorite spot of the students. The jukebox was blaring out 'Walking on Sunshine' by Katrina and the Waves.

"This always was one of our more favorite places while in college."

"I wish I could remember that. Sounds like we had some good times." Jim looked deep into Whitney's eyes for a time. Even without remembering their previous time together, he was beginning to fall for her all over again.

"The best, James, the best."

Jim considered what to say next. He wanted so say just how strongly he felt about her. How much that he'd like to try again. Or even ask her about her private investigator career. Or even about the weather. But the words wouldn't come out. Some writer he was, couldn't even talk to his old girlfriend. No wonder most romance writers were women instead of men...

It was nightfall by the time they reached the Van Nuys house of Jordan Sculley. All phone calls to the place went unanswered. There were no lights on inside. The ringing of the doorbell brought no response.

"Maybe he's not home," Whitney offered. She peered through a dirty window but couldn't make out any details.

"That could be. It doesn't look like the place has been kept up very well." The house was in desperate need of having its trim painted. The lawn was overgrown and choked with weeds.

"Not at all. However, someone has been here. Notice that the mailbox is empty," Whitney observed.

Jim pounded on the door. Unexpectedly, the door swung open. "It wasn't even locked," he remarked. Jim pushed the door open and looked inside. In spite of the darkness, Jim could see normally. He had noted back in Denver that darkness wasn't an obstacle to him seeing. Having light-based powers must carry over to his vision, allowing him to see in other bands of the light spectrum.

The front room of the house held the basic furniture, but the whole was unkempt in appearance. Old newspapers were discarded carelessly about the room and were mixed in with old beer and whiskey bottles. The odor was 'interesting'.

"What a mess."

"You've got some sharp eyes there, James. I can't see a thing." Whitney felt along the wall and located a light switch. Flicking it down, the room was dimly illuminated. "But I would have to concur with your assessment of the place." Whitney shut the outside door behind them.

"Dad!? Are you here?" Jim suddenly felt that there were eyes on him. He spun to his left, but could not see anything out of the ordinary. Not even with his special vision. "I wonder what happened. He must have taken mom's death really hard."

"And the unexplained disappearance of his son as well."

The two wandered the front room. In spite of the mess, many pictures were liberally sprinkled about the room. Jim was drawn to a family portrait in particular. There he saw what he assumed to be his mother, father, brother and sister along with himself in much happier days. How he wished he could have remembered just who these strangers were.

A search of the rest of the house followed. It was found to be in the same poor shape as the front room was. Jim's father was not to be found, but it was clear that he had been here recently. "Perhaps he went out for the evening," was Whitney's theory.

In one of the spare bedrooms, they found a pile of boxes stacked on the floor. A quick look revealed that they were Jim's personal effects from his apartment. "This looks like my stuff all right. I only wish Dad were here."

"It's hard to say when he'll be back. Maybe we should take it with us?"

"That's a good idea," Jim said as he picked up a box. "I'll have to swing by tomorrow and see if he's around."

In short order, the boxes were crammed into Whitney's car. Jim took the time to write a long note to his father, explaining what happened and why he had been away so long. Jim left Whitney's number so that his father could contact him when he got in.

Once that was done, Jim shut the front door once more and slowly made his way to Whitney's car. He looked back for a moment and then entered the vehicle. The machine powered to life, took off down the street and was soon out of sight.

Back inside the house, one of the shadows in the front room suddenly moved and changed into the shape of a man. The shadow moved to the front window and caught sight of the car as it sped down the street. It stared after them with hate filled eyes...