The Past Never Dies Quietly

By Didi

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and don't know anyone that does. Suing me will probably get you the 38 cents in my pocket now and nothing more than that.

Summary: Tasha takes steps to confirm a rumor.

Acknowledgement: This story is written following a conversation with Wizard13. Thanks kid for the inspiration. I hope you enjoy this story as I try to write it. No nagging e-mails though.



The light could barely be registered under the thick oak door. The inch and a half of solid wood was strong enough to stop a bullet at close range. Perhaps the steel frame over the edge of the sides were overkill but it didn't seem to matter to the woman that occupied the small, slightly stifling apartment that dwell in the sublevel of the six story apartment building in the heart of Beverly Hills. No one would have thought that anyone would choose to live below ground level in a city where the view from one's living room equivocate the worth of the property. But not everyone has lived a life as complicated as this particular woman.

The apartment was spuriously decorated, with hardly any mementos to personalize the living space. In fact the only visible signs of the place being inhabited was the three photos that decorated the a bookshelf filled with what appeared to be military training manuals and old classics that most high school students dread to read. And of course the magnificent collection of guns, knives and assortment of deadly weapons of war that lined the wall generously. The ruffled edges of the soft beige bed should have looked out of place in this otherwise masculine d├ęcor, but seemed to fit itself in nicely.

Oh and of course there was the ringing telephone hung over the breakfast nook. How many people knew this particular number? Let's just say one can count off the number on the fingers of a hand with two missing digits. After seven rings, the sophisticated answering machines that screen calls, scrambled caller IDs and misdirect phone traces picked up with simply a beep.

"Tasha? It's David. If you're there and screening your call for no apparent reason, pick up the phone, this is important. If not, I'll be at the El Captain at midnight tonight. I need to talk to you; it's about your ex-husband number one and three. Show up alone as always. If I don't see you at midnight, I'll assume you don't want to know and drop this. Until then."

The click indicated the line going dead, then the apartment was once again silent.