[B][center][h2]Coleman St. John[/h2][/center][/b]

After the accident, the doctors at the clinic told him certain things would come back quite naturally while others may take time or even have to be relearned completely. Things like remembering where things were in the grocery store, the channels for the news or how to shift the gears on his bike came very naturally, like nothing had happened, but even over a year later he couldn’t recall where the title to the bike was or who he had bought it from. Driving along he glanced at the passing cars while the station played [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2wG4CpiA-A]a song[/url] he knew he was tired of hearing, but still liked just enough not to change. The GPS in the dash gave a chipper reminder that his exit was approaching and his hand rolled over the turn signal as he left the freeway, thankful to exit the choked artery of afternoon traffic. 

The cases over the last several months hadn’t been anything particularly exciting, but the folder in the passenger seat next to him represented solid casework- something else that came back as naturally as hitting the ball with the bat. He was proud of it and derived a certain level of satisfaction just glancing over briefly at the size of the neatly tied legal file as he drove along. The Los Angeles area was never short on work for a private investigator and the pages therein included recommendations from lawyers, clients and police as well as meticulously concluded files that covered everything from cheating spouses to the run of cigarette boats coming up from Mexico. The money wasn’t making him rich, but he was getting along well enough to eat out at places that didn’t include a drive-thru when he wanted. With the inevitable Fall slow-down approaching, he was thinking about expanding his scope of business and was the reason for his current drive.

The ad placed by the Ashford Institute wasn’t particularly large or attention grabbing and seemed, at first glance, a little out of place when Cole first noticed it in the local paper accepting resumes for a “Security Analyst”. Not thinking he’d get any sort of reply in light of the numerous ex-military types and more established offices in the area, he went ahead and sent in his CV just out of curiosity and to his surprise, received a call back from a Professor named Everose who wanted a face to face interview. Something about her voice through the phone felt [i]searching[/i] as if she was gathering some sense of him just between their voices. He hung up the line at the end of the call with slight reservation, but decided to go to the interview nonetheless. The Institute had developed a particular sort of mystique around it in the local community. No one really seemed to know a lot about it, though everyone knew the name. 

One thing that was for certain, by all accounts and research, was that they were [i]very[/i] particular about their screening process and the “gifted” moniker was a catch-all for their particular clientele. He nodded to himself with a tiny smirk  thinking about it as turned off a few surface streets towards a long rural stretch, [i]he could be rather particular himself[/i]. It had been over a week since he last made a ride, but over the course of several months, the feeling became more like an instinct or a [i]calling[/i]. He could feel it in his chest, like a fist reaching and grasping the inside of his heart, tighter and stronger with each moment he held back. Embracing it felt completely natural. The rush of wind over his shoulders, the unbridled focus, like his whole aura was pouring out from his soul in a path of fire and scorched earth. He wasn’t expecting anything too exciting from the school or a bunch of stuffy academic types, but as he approached the gate, he couldn’t deny the distant flame of suspicion in the back of his mind.

Cole placed the legal file in a small backpack and thumbed the keyfob a couple times giving the alarm a couple short notes as he stepped away from the completely inconspicuous grey Explorer he used for his PI work among the other cars in the small lot. Miss Everose had told him to call when he arrived and she would let him through the main gate. Looking around at most of the fairly new construction, he made a few mental notes to himself as he pulled up her number and sent the call. 

 
[@Almalthia]