It always started early in the morning when the alarm went off beside his bed, and habitually ended when he parked in his usual spot right outside the building where he worked. As always, he would resist that urge to hit the snooze for a fifth time and begrudgingly hit the showers. Then he'd fight the craving to get off the highway several times, to avoid driving himself to work. Each exit closer was a greater struggle, but he carried on. Now, parked before the building where he made his living, the inner conflict returned; he was fully aware of what he had to do. Deep down inside he wanted to go back home, veg on the couch with Meredith and make fun of her soaps while she tried to watch them, munching loudly on cheesy puffs. Yet today that was not an option, and he knew it. Not when Tuck had a few new clients coming in to plead their case and barter them down to a good price for their services.

Being a private investigator wasn't the most glamorous job these days, but he knew it paid the bills. And no one in his work place was better at squeezing a client for every penny they could get, so it was essential that he be present for these meetings. Even though Edgar Willis was very good at what he did, that didn't mean he always enjoyed his work. He was just like everyone else: one miracle lottery ticket away from retirement, and this mundane job was the fall back plan. Things could always been worse, he thought to himself. At least he still wasn't on the force. If he were, then he would definitely be late and likely to get another rip from the staff sergeant. That was one thing he didn't miss since leaving the force; those early morning rants from that fat, donut munching bastards that hadn't seen the street in years. He often wanted to punch those ignorant sergeants in the nose, which instigated his desire to make detective as quickly as he possibly could, but that only led to more political bullshit rather than less, and that's what caused him to eventually burn out and quit.

Deep down Edgar liked the force and even missed it sometimes, but then he's remember all the politics and ass kissing and those feelings would fade. He was envious of his Dad and the times he had served the people. The bullshit wasn't as obvious, and it made ignorance truly worthy of being considered blissful. Today that bullshit was in your face too much to be ignored, as party lines were clearly drawn in the sand. People were being forced to pick sides, even though black and white never really worked that well in a high definition world. Working privately gave him the freedom he'd never had on the force. In Washington D.C., the capital of all things political, it was easy for a PI to flourish and make a good penny. There were always politicians, lobbyists and other layers of scum in the city that wanted him to do their dirty work. While he had the power to dictate what did or did not qualify as a good job, the money made some of the jobs easier to tolerate.

Thinking of those bills and all the alimony he still had to keep shelling out was more than enough to make Edgar think better of his potential day off and get out of the car. He was only a robust thirty-eight, but still managed to give a deep huff as he heaved himself out of the car. Being behind the desk had made him a little lazy but it was what he did now. He had his own people to do the grunt work now that he and his partner were in charge of operations. That didn't mean he wasn't willing to do a little grunt work, but he got to pick which he felt like doing and delegate whatever bull he wanted to avoid.

It was sunny outside and the day was looking to be a scorcher, so Edgar showed up for work wearing only a casual dress shirt and some beige colored trousers. He had a jacket but carried in with him as it was too hot to wear. He had no intention of going into the field today and would be content to rest in the cool confines of his air-conditioned office. Today was going to be a typical Monday: talk to a few potential clients, listen to them and their lame stories, and then decide if any of them were capable of financing the operations they were demanding out of them. Only those close to him knew that he had an uncanny ability to tell which ones were going to be able to pay up and which ones were going make the effort to stiff them. This led to good business deals as Edgar's people never questioned his instincts, because they all liked having a payday every now and then. His gut was the deal breaker when it came to any business transaction, and he learned a long time ago to never question his gut. If he wasn't feeling right about any job, it just didn't happen. Period.

As he was stepping into the elevator, Edgar watched a young man darting to get inside the doors before they closed. Always in the mood to collect a little good karma this early in the week, Edgar held the elevator door open for the young man.

"Thank you," the young man huffed, stumbling into the elevator.

"What floor are you looking for, son?" Edgar inquired.

"Third, please." the young man gasped, trying to catch his breath.

Same floor as me, Edgar thought to himself as he hit the button, pretending it wasn't already pushed. Wondering what the young man was there for, Edgar remained calm and kept watching as the young man exited the elevator first. Keeping a distance, he strolled a few steps behind him while watching the young man walk through the door to his place of business. There wasn't a front desk receptionist, but rather a handful of workers who did all that kind of work collectively. They all used to be cops that were used to doing their own paperwork, and he and Tuck preferred to keep it that way. Not having an official receptionist saved them a bundle on payroll, which meant more for them to split. Yet not having someone at the door also meant people could walk in at any time, welcome or not. Something they'd likely have to address in the future, Edgar thought, as he watched the young man walk into the large room and stop before the small clutter of desks

"I'm looking for an Edgar Willis." he asked out loud.

"Present," Edgar called from behind, swiping the brown envelope right out of the young man's hand. "I assume this is for me?"

"Yes, it is." The young man answered, as he wasn't used to be people stepping up willing to accept their summons. "You've been served."

"I know the drill, sport." Edgar said, "Thanks for your efforts and have a good day."

The young man was stunned for a moment, and then immediately vacated the office. Once inside his own office, Edgar set his warm coffee down on the desk and carefully started to open the brown envelope.

"What is it boss?" one of his worked called from his desk, "Are we being sued again?"

"Not this time," Edgar responded, examining the contents. "We got a little sloppy with our surveillance. It's a restraining order."

"From who?" the man asked.

"Whom," Edgar corrected, as he enjoyed being an occasion grammar tyrant. "It doesn't matter, this case is pretty much over anyway. The client isn't paying us anymore. Get back to work, Davis!"

Startled, Davis quietly turned back to his desk and returned to work. Edgar didn't like to be harsh with him but sometimes it was necessary when he got a little nosey. Edgar sat down and sipped his coffee while reading the fine print of the restraining order. He always loved looking for loop-holes that would allow them to continue their work whenever they were paid enough to go that far. He knew there was always a way to get around everything and he could tell what kind of lawyer the person had by how the order was written prior to approval. Some were works of art, iron clad and tougher to crack thank a safe. Others were like Swiss cheese: full of holes and easy to eat up. Reading it was almost as fun as a morning crossword, and as Edgar was sitting there looking it over as his business partner came into the room.

"Restraining order?" the man said, quite aware of what was going on.

"That would be an affirmative," Edgar replied.

"Do we need to get around it?" Tuck asked.

"Not need." Edgar said, "It's for the Jordan case."

"Then no harm, no foul." his partner said, strolling to the other side of the room. Allen Joseph Tucker, known to all his buddies as Tuck, was an ex-cop just like of the other guys there. He also couldn't stomach any of the politics he'd witnessed in the force either, as his superiors were always too busy kissing ass and trying to protect their precious careers rather than trying bust the bad guys and make the city a better place to live. Tuck eagerly quit the force soon after Edgar because Edgar made him an offer he couldn't refuse. Tuck also liked being his own boss, and despite Edgar's occasional gut feeling, they were partners with an equal say in how things were run around there.

"Is there anything else?" Edgar asked, putting down the legal paper for a moment.

"Yes," Tuck replied, "We have a few potential clients coming in today, and I was hoping you would do us the honor of sitting in and helping us land a few new accounts. You know, to keep the lights on."

"How many appointments do we have this morning?" Edgar asked.

"Only two," Tuck answered, "But the second has a rather deep pocket."

"Then why is he coming to us?" Edgar asked cheekily.

"Hey, be good today," Tuck said, standing up to leave, "I know we're not starving, but we could use the new clients to make sure we never become desperate and have to some cases we all hate doing."

"I'll do my best, pops." Edgar said, giving him a faint smile.

"That's all I ask," Tuck acknowledged, "We could use a few new clients rather than the same old guys asking for the same old jobs."

Tuck was always eager every time a new person came in looking for their services. Edgar didn't care; he would hear out the potential new clients out and then decide if each case is worth taking or not. As it turned out, the two clients that came in were just the same old guys looking for the same old jobs. Despite his early desire to toss both clients out on their duff, Edgar agreed to Tuck's request to take some time, think about it and weigh their options carefully. Edgar wasn't a fool, and knew that they couldn't turn everyone out if he wanted paychecks to pay the bills, buy the groceries and keep the loud, ear-splintering ex-wife from harping to her lawyer about missed alimony payments. The same old jobs might not be everyone's cup of tea, but they did the trick and kept everyone busy until something really juicy and unique came along. That rarely happened, and Edgar didn't mind the space between them because those good cases always turned out to be charity cases. Charity definitely didn't go well with alimony, so he tried to distance himself away from those cases as often as possible despite the flair they had for originality.

Edgar was just about to call for a lunch run when a young woman who looked to be around twenty-something showed up without an appointment. The detective could smell a charity plea a mile away, and she was reeking of it. Edgar immediately bolted out of his office, to cut anyone off from being lured in by her bleeding heart. He motioned to one of his men to back off as he quickly approached the young lady. She seemed like a decent person, but there was something that led Edgar to believe she was here for something important and likely expensive to investigate.

"Hey there," he called out to her, "Can I help you?"

"Yes, please." she softly replied, trying to greet him with a smile, "I'm looking to hire a private investigator."

"You seem too young to be married," he started with a smirk, as he continued to analyze her with a quick glance. "And I don't see any rocks on your hand, so I doubt this is one of those 'I think my fiancé is cheating can you take some pictures of him going to the Ritz with his secretary' kind of case."

"Quite right," she confirmed, "No husbands or fiancés here just yet. My name is Jessica Johnson - and you are?"

"The guy in charge of this outfit," Edgar sharply responded as he motioned his partner to keep his distance and go back to his office, "I'm getting the vibe that this isn't going to be a vanilla, run of the mill case."

"I need to hire someone to find a missing person." Jessica quickly answered.

"When did he or she go missing?" Edgar asked, trying not to seem too eager to get information.

"The same day she was declared dead." Jessica answered.

Edgar could tell that many people in the room were interested in the case and were hanging off of every word.

"Who declared her dead?" Edgar inquired.

"The government." Jessica said.

"And let me guess," Edgar continued, "Her body was never found?"

"Her remains were never found nor positively identified." Jessica added.

"Why would the government declare her dead?" one of Edgar's younger cohorts suddenly asked. The whole room at this point had stopped working and were all curious to hear more. Edgar felt this was the time to relocate the conversation.

"That is indeed an interesting question," Edgar started, "But not one you're going to get an answer to. Ms. Johnson, if you please."

Edgar made a motion to his office, where they could continue away from the prying ears of his people. As Edgar strolled into his office and closed the door behind him, away from prying ears that had cases that required their attention.

"Does this mean you're going to take my case?" Jessica asked, eagerly hoping this was a good sign.

"No," Edgar answered, walking over to his desk and huffing as he sat down into his leather captain's chair. "I just have a habit of wanting to know all the facts before I make a decision. Now you said the government declared this person dead. This only occurs when the death in question is part of an event that is declared a federal disaster. So which one was it? Are we talking about a killer twister? Earthquake? Hurricane Katrina?"

"The crash of a commercial airliner," Jessica replied.

Edgar leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath "Makes sense. F.A.A. is a federal agency so they would declare passengers dead, especially if the flight had no survivors. Do you think this person survived the crash and just didn't remember where he or she came from? Or is this a case of the person not making the flight in time, and the passenger's name wasn't removed from the official manifest?"

"I don't claim to know how she managed to survive the crash," Jessica replied, as her eyes began to tear up. "All I know is that she did, and I need someone to find her for me."

Edgar didn't know what was going on exactly, but he was sure the young woman genuinely believed her own story and wanted to find this person. Rather than patronize her just yet, he handed the young woman a Kleenex box and returned to his seat.

"How do you claim to know this?" Edgar knew it was a tough question, but there was a reason why she was sitting in his office and Edgar was eager to know it.

"I saw her," Jessica told him, "We were at the same anti-war vigil and I just bumped into her. All this time I thought she was dead and lost to me forever. It was a little shocking to suddenly bump into her after so much time had passed."

"I can only imagine." Edgar responded, searching for any signs of a fraud. He couldn't find any. "Let's talk about the alleged death that has suddenly lost its credibility. I need to know the details. When and where did this occur?"

Jessica took a deep breath. "September 11th."

That stopped Edgar dead in his tracks. He paused, needing a little time to digest the impact of that statement, as he also noticed that Jessica was nice enough to give him that moment to let it sink in. After scratching his four day old scruff about it for a few moments, Edgar also took a deep breath. "I assume you're talking about the same September 11th that I think you're talking about, correct? The September 11th, right? "

"Yes, I am." Jessica quickly confirmed, "My mother was on American Airlines flight 77 that day. My family was told by the government that she was onboard the plane that was used to attack the Pentagon."

Edgar was stuck. For a rare moment he was tongue-tied and wasn't sure what to say. He collected his thoughts and tried again.

"Alright," Edgar started as he resumed scratching his scruff "Let's try this again. Are you sure there isn't a chance she might have missed the flight and not told anyone about it?"

"No." Jessica immediately replied, "She was on that flight. Back then security was completely lax and we were able to walk her right to the gate."

"We?" Edgar repeated.

"My brother was with me." She replied, "We both walked her right to her gate and watched her get on board. She was on the plane; that much I know. She didn't jump off the ramp at the last second or hide until the plane left. She was excited to get onboard because she was going to visit her sister for the first time in almost a year."

Edgar was suddenly relieved he had brought her into his office. Something like this would have set the lobby on fire. No one would have been able to get any work done without talking about 9/11 conspiracy theories all day. Edgar might as well send everyone home at that point cause nothing was getting done. Edgar was fighting an urge to replace his coffee with something stronger, but instead he collected himself and chose to carry on, regardless of the situation and how damn ridiculous it seemed.

"But if she survived the crash," Edgar continued, "Then why didn't it make the news? I mean, every network was pretty much unanimous regarding survivors. If she was on the plane, how the hell did she manage to get out of it alive?"

"I said I don't know!" Jessica repeated, "That's why I need your help."

"That's an understatement," Edgar whispered to himself, believing that Jessica might need a different kind of help but didn't say it out loud.

"We have to find her," Jessica added, "When we do, feel free to ask her about it as much as you want. I don't care about the why, I just want her back!"

"I have a theory," Edgar started, as his patience was wearing thin, "I think she used a blanket the steward gave her as a parachute to float to safety just before the plane smashed into the Pentagon. I'm surprised no one else thought of this before now."

His gut was starting to give him the impression this might not be the kind of case he could afford to take on, both physically and mentally.

"There's no need to make fun of this," Jessica said, her frustration apparent, "I'm trying to hire you to find my mother."

"Well I have news for you sister, you're not hiring anyone." Edgar sensed it was high time for a reality check. "Not only do I suspect this isn't the first private agency you've approached about this, I'm curious to know how the police reacted to this story when you passed it by them. Were you laughed out of the building, or just told to take off and stop wasting their time?"

"How do you know I went to the police?" she quietly asked.

"Because despite having your life savings in your pocket, which I doubt is anymore than a few grand, you were hoping someone at the station would take up the case for free and put this on the people's dime." He paused for a moment, realizing how much he was upsetting her. The truth was more hurtful than insults when told the right way. "I'm not trying to question what you think you saw at the rally, but you have to admit what you're asking us to believe is really out in left field. That plane hit the building and blew up! Nobody on board could have survived that! I don't know what you want me to do about it. Even if I took the job to find your mother, you can't afford that kind of manhunt. The last time I checked P.I. doesn't stand for good will."

"So you won't help me?" Jessica asked, trying to hold back tears.

"I don't think I'm capable of finding the answers you want," Edgar answered, "I don't think anyone is."

Edgar wasn't being fully honest about that, but the kind of search she was asking for was going to be very expensive and there was no way she could afford it. He also wasn't prepared to give up time, money and manpower to pursue it, not for a story this fucked up either.

"I'm sorry to have wasted your time." Jessica picked up her coat and angrily stormed out of the office. Edgar noticed as she left that her shoulders were slouched a little, the kind of posture of someone who'd gone a few rounds in the ring and was almost ready to toss in the towel. Edgar didn't like being the bad guy for cases like that, but no one else in the building had the backbone to do it. It was an ugly thing to do, especially to someone reaching out for help, but good intentions doesn't pay the bills.

Tuck watched the young lady leave, then strolled into the office with a disapproving look, "I realize this is probably a case we didn't want, but did you have to make her cry?"

"Sorry about that, Mr. Rogers." Edgar sarcastically replied as he took a large slurp of his coffee. "I could have served it with milk and cookies and it still would have upset her. It was the rejection itself that turned on the ducts, not my delivery of it."

"What the hell was that about anyway?" Tuck asked.

Edgar took a few moments to explain the case, but when he mentioned 9/11, Tuck loudly interrupted.

"Whoa, now that's what I call a serious nut job." Tuck said, rubbing his temples, "Thank goodness you had the ability to resist the mystery and show her the door. Do you think she'll find someone to take up her cause?"

"I don't know." Edgar said as he stood up and walked over to his window. "I doubt it, unless they had their own reasons.

Edgar watched from his window as Jessica leave the building and cross the street. She paused for a moment at the corner and the started to walk away. As Edgar watched her fade into the crowd he wondered if there was someone out there willing to hear her out or worse, if there was someone out there who would believe her.