As It Was - Dean Winchester

Part 19

"So, I ran your prints through AFIS," the man in front of me spoke. He had introduced himself earlier. I think he said Sheridan, not that it mattered. He was dressed in a suit that didn't seem to fit him right, and he had that arrogant look on his face that made me hate cops. I didn't feel worried, though.

I smirked, leaning over the interrogation table as if I was curious. Not saying a word.

"It came up empty. In fact, I ran every check there is to try and find out who you are. Nothing. Zip. Nada."

I feigned surprise but couldn't help my cocky smirk. All I heard was that I was good at what I was doing.

"No credit cards at all, all your IDs are obviously fake, and I have a feeling that even if I ran your DNA through the database, it would come up empty. If I ask the computers, you simply don't exist," Sheridan told me. "That's what I thought, at least until I placed a call to a friend of mine over at the FBI." He slammed a thick folder down on the interrogation table.

"Willow Wren Price," he started over, reading from the first page. It was a picture of me when I was a kid, next to my name. It was apparent the page had been printed and faxed over, which meant that there was more than one copy of the file. "Born in Abilene, Texas on July 20th, 1980. You didn't live there, though. Your parents moved around a lot; Abiline was just one of many stops. Despite constantly changing schools, you were a wonder child, described as a genius by teachers and old neighbors, tested 190 on an IQ test when you were thirteen. Excelled physical sports, won a state championship in boxing that same year." He studied my face, and I knew I still had some bruising from the previous week's fights. Sheridan took a breath and turned the page.

I shot back in my chair and looked away, shocked by the pictures from my parent's crime scene. Memories flashed in my mind, and I felt sick to my stomach.

"Your parents were brutally murdered when you were seventeen. First responders described the scene as the stuff from nightmares. The one I spoke to says it still haunts him to this day." The cop spread the pictures over the table, and I made a point of looking up into the ceiling. "This picture right here, your mother, right? It must have been hard finding her like that. Tied upside down, hanging from the ceiling, head a meter further down than supposed to. And your dad..."

He gave a low whistle. "My rapport says he still was alive when you found him. He died in your arms waiting for the ambulance. What happened to him... It's nothing short of torture. Your brother William gained custody of you. That was when you disappeared for the first time. Gone for two years before you show up at MIT. Feel free to stop me if I get anything wrong."

I stared at the ceiling, chewing on my lip. I wasn't going to say shit. Sheridan turned a few pages without gathering the crime scene photos.

"You were kicked out for fighting and having weapons on campus. Pentagon tried to hire you, but due to security issues, you were fired, the rest of pentagons file is classified. Your anger issues seem to get the best of you, time and time again." I smirked at the annoyance in his voice. He sighed deeply. "That's the second time you dropped off the face of the earth, yet, here you are," he concluded.

I raised a brow. Did he expect me to begin to talk just because he did a re-make of 'This is your life'?

"My friends at the FBI seemed very interested in meeting you. Apparently, they've been trying to find you for quite some time. I was told you've made it hard for them, deleting every trace of yourself on the internet. They have to keep everything off the web and print whatever they can before the information magically disappears. They made things easier for me, though; your prints came up empty in AFIS, but this file contains some of the many crimes where they could find your prints, ranging from petty theft to murder charges."