The Other Side of The War.

heaven's denial

Although they were destined to be played with by one another, there was still strings left loose.

Striker kept that thought in mind, setting up a large billboard on the wall in front of him. Thumbtacks and colored strings at the ready, with photos to provide his pondering ideas.

Anything he wanted could just pop out of thin air—objects, of course—but it was like casting a spell; you had to be specific.

This was just to answer questions. No obsessions or anything, just pure conspiracies that crossed his mind. Like everyone, there was something you were very curious about, and smaller dinky things in the back.

Why didn't Timber die in the electric chair
like she was supposed to?

Striker started hanging photos of Roco, Timber, Kya, himself, and plenty of other officers on the board.

Connecting the dots like little puzzle pieces was so hard, each outcome kept redirecting itself back to the start. What did Timber's medical records look like when she was younger?

Thoughts answering themselves, he held up her medical records from the moment she was born to the moment she died. As a trained cop, he knew what to look for in records and things that would stand out.

,, Fox DNA " at age 7,
,, Low Iron Deficiency " age 11,
,, High Pain Tolerance from Unknown Source "
age 15,

Striker paused, flipping back to that file and inspecting further. Eyes scanning over the paper with no ends, carving it into his mind at that rate, he obtained information. Good. That only put him so far on track.

Timber had gone to get her blood tested again when she was 15–to make sure her iron had improved, which it had not—and doctors found she had a high pain tolerance that was abnormal. So Rocori wasn't lying, He thought, humph-ing in disbelief.

"Timber is alive. I've seen her with my own two eyes." Striker scolded, fists tightening. "How the fuck could she possibly be alive..! Where did you 'see' her?!" Roco wailed with the little energy she had. "At the bar."

"Timber doesn't drink at public bars! She only drank with me or her friends! Never at a public bar!"

"Well then she's changed," He shouted, silencing her denies of 'no, no, no'. "Her whole aura towards me. Changed. But that's still Timber." Roco's eyes widened, tears breaking down her cheeks. "My father ..."

His head perked up, now this he was interested in.

Striker traced a line of string to Roco, and her deceased father, then to the cat named Zoran—who disabled the jewelry store alarms when they were 14 and being idiotic?—with ease. Witchery and strange ancestry ran in the Louvremont family, to the time of cavemen to the times of Kings and Queens, and Monarchs and Republics.

Power was one of them. Zoran wasn't the everyday cat, that was clear enough after the robbery almost a decade ago. She was almost like a lab-cat to Mr. Louvremont, if that's what you could call a gifted animal.

In any case, Rocori's father left Roco with one gift before his 'mysterious' disappearance. He called it Heavens Denial. Initially, it was intended for his daughter to have a second chance at life if she did anything stupid, eg; if she was in a very bad car accident, she would live.

But, Roco being Roco, she gave it to Timber—without her knowing. She injected it into her knowing she wouldn't willingly drink it.
Heavens Denial was the reason why she survived the electric chair.

"There's side affects to it," Roco sniffed, wiping her nose as she sat on the cold grass, leaning against the concrete wall. "It only works once. And the other is—"

"Memory loss." Striker finished for her.

"If you want that shot, pay up."
"Oh, I don't drink."

"Yes. Memory loss." Roco muttered.

Striker stepped back, admiring the wall of lies and mysteries. That was one of the few cliffhangers he needed answers for.

Footsteps started behind him. "Well look who it is."

A grin tugged his cheeks, turning around.

"Timber Alpharo, you look beautiful as always. How may I help you?"

She gave a cold expression, sighing from her nose.