[a quarter of a century woo]
She'd had the idea, watching a few of the other patients in Dr Conley's office, that maybe she'd had a journal. A diary. Before the park, before the past four years. Something that could or would fill in the gaps in her memory. Help her recover things she couldn't remember about herself, about John.
About her family.
After four years, she still wasn't great at computers, but she could certainly perform searches. Find things. She'd found Kyle Reese, after all. In a manner of speaking, anyway.
It took her a few days, but she found what she was looking for. It would've taken less time, she thought, if she'd asked John for help, but she wanted to do this on her own. In case she was disappointed. In case there was nothing to find.
She didn't want him to have to deal with that.
It took her a few days. But she was able to find out that all of Allison Young's personal effects, all of her personal effects, had been siezed as evidence after the bank robbery. Apparently that had made them wonder about her connection to Margos Sarkassian. To Sarah Connor.
They hadn't found anything, no connection to Sarkassian and the most tentative to Sarah. John. So after two years, and apparently a hell of a lot of paperwork, her effects had been released to a Phillip Brubaker of Albuquerque, NM.
So that was weird. Weird because she had absolutely no idea who Phillip Brubaker was. She'd never heard the name. Ever. She'd never even been to Albuquerque, other than passing through on the way somewhere else with Sarah and John.
So why the hell did he have her things. A friend of her dad's? Her mom's?
Another day of research. Because there was one listing for a Phil Brubaker, and he was barely 20 years old. Had never even been to Palmdale. There were plenty of P. Brubaker's however, so she started at the top. Bought four throwaway phones and sat in the bathroom during the day shift at the store, making calls.
Worked her way down the list.
First: Paulette
Second: Phyllis
Third: disconnected
Fourth: fax machine, and wasn't that annoying as hell.
The fifth through the seventh were also a bust. If she were any other person, she would've stopped at four. But she was Allison. Allison Young. Allison Reese. Allison Young. She was stubborn, no matter who she was.
So she dialed the eighth, and she let it ring. Four rings, and onto a fifth before anyone picked up.
"Hello?" Cheerful. Perky. But sad. A girl, maybe ten years old. A girl, maybe ten years old and she knew that voice. She knew that voice and she hung up.
Hung up, and her hands were shaking. Her ears were roaring. She hung up and almost immediately the phone rang back. *69.
She couldn't think. Couldn't react. She pulled the battery out of the back of the phone and just stared at it.
Because she knew that voice.
About her family.
After four years, she still wasn't great at computers, but she could certainly perform searches. Find things. She'd found Kyle Reese, after all. In a manner of speaking, anyway.
It took her a few days, but she found what she was looking for. It would've taken less time, she thought, if she'd asked John for help, but she wanted to do this on her own. In case she was disappointed. In case there was nothing to find.
She didn't want him to have to deal with that.
It took her a few days. But she was able to find out that all of Allison Young's personal effects, all of her personal effects, had been siezed as evidence after the bank robbery. Apparently that had made them wonder about her connection to Margos Sarkassian. To Sarah Connor.
They hadn't found anything, no connection to Sarkassian and the most tentative to Sarah. John. So after two years, and apparently a hell of a lot of paperwork, her effects had been released to a Phillip Brubaker of Albuquerque, NM.
So that was weird. Weird because she had absolutely no idea who Phillip Brubaker was. She'd never heard the name. Ever. She'd never even been to Albuquerque, other than passing through on the way somewhere else with Sarah and John.
So why the hell did he have her things. A friend of her dad's? Her mom's?
Another day of research. Because there was one listing for a Phil Brubaker, and he was barely 20 years old. Had never even been to Palmdale. There were plenty of P. Brubaker's however, so she started at the top. Bought four throwaway phones and sat in the bathroom during the day shift at the store, making calls.
Worked her way down the list.
First: Paulette
Second: Phyllis
Third: disconnected
Fourth: fax machine, and wasn't that annoying as hell.
The fifth through the seventh were also a bust. If she were any other person, she would've stopped at four. But she was Allison. Allison Young. Allison Reese. Allison Young. She was stubborn, no matter who she was.
So she dialed the eighth, and she let it ring. Four rings, and onto a fifth before anyone picked up.
"Hello?" Cheerful. Perky. But sad. A girl, maybe ten years old. A girl, maybe ten years old and she knew that voice. She knew that voice and she hung up.
Hung up, and her hands were shaking. Her ears were roaring. She hung up and almost immediately the phone rang back. *69.
She couldn't think. Couldn't react. She pulled the battery out of the back of the phone and just stared at it.
Because she knew that voice.