It seemed as though everywhere Derek went he ran into someone he knew. It was common to leave the PD and say good morning to fifty people in the first half hour of his shift, but take off his uniform and no one knew him. But this morning in the Mini-Mart is was a regular high school reunion. He recognized the girl behind the register wearing the Hornets shirt as Jessica Ryan from school. She was giving him the eye in the mirror. Quickly he thought of Charlie, knowing that in another world, if things were different, he'd do her.<br/><br/>He bumped into Jeremy, a local DJ he knew as a freshman his final year in school. The kid was a fairly decent running back, scoring a touchdown against Desert Vista in Phoenix for the State Championship win that last year. Derek always admired Jeremy for this, primarily because he was so small, but quick. "Yea, patrolling the eggs. Keeping the foxes out of the hen house," Derek smiled at Jeremy offering a fist bump as they headed to the register.<br/><br/>"Good morning, Ms Wilkinson," Derek gave a quick salute to his forehead as he passed Debbie. He gave Jeremy a knowing smile. They knew it seemed odd to be speaking so formally to someone they went to school with.<br/><br/>Dr. Alhajri was an impressive man. He played wide receiver on the football team, scoring two touchdowns in the game against Desert Vista. Hussayn was fast and always seemed to have the right moves when faking out defenders. Lord knows he had faked out Derek several times during practice. The kid had gone on to become a doctor. Derek knew he was smart, honor society and class valedictorian. Derek was happy for him, especially with the unnecessary abuse he had to tolerate in elementary and middle schools. It couldn't  have been easy.<br/><br/>It was with a happy heart Derek responded to Hussayn's greeting, "Good morning to you as well, Hussayn. An officer's job is never finished and I'm heading home to bed!" Derek was tired, but still in good mood.<br/><br/>They arrived at the register and paid  for their food. Derek said good bye to Jessica. He always enjoyed looking at her curves. Just as Derek and Jeremy were walking out the door, he overheard her mutter,<span style="font-style: italic">"So have to get out of this place."</span><br/><br/>Jeremy and Derek chatted for a few minutes outside the Mini-Mart before heading to their next destination. A bright flash exploded about a hundred yards from them; a bolt of<span style="font-style: italic">white</span>lightning, with an extremely loud report. It was dazzling in its brilliance, lighting up the otherwise darkened sky. It was enough to bring Jessica Ryan out from behind her register. She rushed outside with Dr. Alhajri and Debbie Wilkinson. The five of them stared at the tree, now shredded from the lightning strike. Mr. Star stood in the window yelling something at Jessica Ryan. No one could hear him.<br/><br/>Within the span of only a few seconds, another bolt of lightning struck, surprisingly much closer to the five Springfield High graduates. But oddly enough, this bolt had a purplish hue to it, more like the color of amethyst. A light pole appeared to have attracted the oddly colored bolt, crackling, popping at a significantly lower volume than the previous bolt. Tentacles from the strike reached out, walking across the pavement, tickling a guard rail, stroking a few cars and then each of the five people standing outside the Mini-mart' Derek, Jessica, Jeremy, Debbie and Husseyn.<br/><br/>A sensation of shock embraced them. That electric feeling raced through their bodies, warming them, causing them to fall to the pavement, unconscious for less than 30 seconds.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://www.lespetitesgourmettes.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/flag-of-Mexico.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/><br/>When Derek arose, he scanned his surroundings. Something was different. He felt odd about the world around him. This was not the Springfield, Arizona he grew up in. "What the fuck!?" Derek muttered aloud. The pavement was gone, replaced by gravel covered in tire tracks. He got to his feet looking around, spinning 360 degrees with a distraught expression. A man, not Mr. Star stood in the doorway wearing a white shirt, white pants and an apron. He had black hair and a black mustache. The man yelled in Spanish at them. Derek didn't understand a word the angry man said, but he did manage to catch the word, "Gringos".<br/><br/>The cars in the parking lot were different as well. Where a blue 2012 Chevrolet Malibu once parked, now stood a 1976 Dodge Charger colored, black, covered in rust with more than one broken window. His own bright red Ram 1500 which he bought in 2010 was now replaced with a 1972 Ford F250 pick up truck, again colored black and rusted out.<br/><br/>A woman, appearing of Mexican descent strolled past the five people with three children in tow. She smiled apprehensively at the group who all returned her stare with curiosity. "Wait here," Derek spoke and ran back into the store. He picked up the newspaper. Instead of reading<span style="font-style: italic">Springfield Transcript</span>, it now read,<span style="font-style: italic">Mesa Verde Periódico</span>. But surprisingly, the date on the newspaper was today's date.<br/><br/>A strange looking gentleman wearing jeans, cowboy boots, a white shirt and black leather jacket approached Derek as he walked outside, rejoining his friends. "Senor," the man casually addressed him. "Jew look loss, no?"<br/><br/>Derek eyed the man slowly. They were about the same size. He spied a pistol at his right waste and a badge attached to his front left belt. "Lost?" Derek looked around, "yes". He was panicky. "Who are you?"<br/><br/>"Perdoneme, Senor," the Spanish-speaking detective introduced himself. "I am detective Roberto Valenzuela of the Mesa Verde Department of Police. And jew?"<br/><br/>Derek wore the dark blue trousers, worn by the Springfield Police Department, a white T-shirt and a similar black leather jacket. He typically wore the jacket, to cover his .40 caliber Smith & Wesson hand gun holstered at his right side. He also had a pair of highly polished black combat boots on. "I am Derek, Officer Derek Hawkins of the Springfield, Arizona Police Department."<br/><br/>Roberto Valenzuela was taken aback. He had noticed the hand gun on Derek's hip, which is why he took interest in the man. "Policia? donde? Springfield, Arizona?" Detective Valenzuela was surprised. "I am very sorry senor. I have never heard of this place." The Mexican Police detective thought a few seconds. "Jew mean<span style="font-style: italic">Are-eet-son-ah?</span>" The detective pronounced the province's name in his native language.<br/><br/>"I reckon you could call it that. Yea, sure."<br/><br/>"Amigo, I have never met a gringo police officer in all of Arizona." Roberto became agitated and demanded a truthful answer, "tell me who jew are and where jew are from this instant or I am taking jew in!"