Chapter I: Prelude Part 1
Thursday, May 23rd, 10.05 p.m.
The bus of the Greyhound lines was old, but still comfortable. While travelling by night on the endless asphalt ribbon, the man sitting alone on one of the front seats dozed uneasily, his long legs stretched out in front of him, ignoring his fellow travellers.
He was a handsome man on his early forties, very tall and with a well-built body; a short mop of brown hair framed his face, which features were at the same time sweet and strong; under a broad forehead, two intelligent, almond-shaped eyes shone, shaded by long black lashes and now veiled by the lowered lids. Two young women, who were journeying together, cast him now and then inviting glances but, to their great regret, he never lifted his gaze.
Jarod was tired. Tired to the point he was feeling all the years of the world on his shoulders. Physically tired, but above all morally. Tired of his endless run from the hounds of the Centre, tired of fixing things, hunting down criminals, constantly worrying about other people. Sure, it was in his nature to act as he acted; but he felt the need of a break, of an interlude during which he could think only about himself, restore his strength and renew his energies. For this reason, the day before he had sneaked away from his last lair unusually leaving no hints to Miss Parker and her team, who were hunting him for almost six years. For the same reason, he had chosen to travel on a bus instead of taking a plane, buying the ticket at the last moment so he hadn't to give his name and address. In this way, he would make them lose his trail for some time, so that he could devote himself a little to his own life, without having to worry about his neighbour, without having to look for his family, from which the Centre had taken him at the age of four for his skills as a Pretender.
His family...
His mother Margaret, first of all, a beautiful and sweet woman; and his sister Emily. He had been hardly able to catch a glimpse of both of them almost five years ago, but he had been forced to run immediately without giving them even a hug because of the Centre's sweepers, who had singled them out. He could still clearly remind his mother, sitting in the cab that was taking safely away her and Emily, weeping and silently spelling out "I love you"...
Some months later, he had discovered he had a brother, Kyle, who, too, had been kidnapped by the Centre and transformed into a killing machine by the nefarious Mr Raines; but Jarod had been able to return Kyle his humanity, to such a point that the young man had sacrificed his own life to save his brother's. Or so Jarod had believed for about a year: actually, Kyle had been able to get away and had managed to meet his brother again, but the wicked Mr Lyle had killed him, and this time for good, as once again he had saved Jarod's life. And not only his: from Jarod's will, Kyle's heart was donated to a dying boy, who now was living safe and sound.
Three years before, to his great joy, Jarod had met his father, Major Charles Russell. At the same time, he had found out about the existence of a thirteen-years-old clone of himself, created by the Centre to have a spare tire in case something happend to him, Jarod... He wondered if they had ever thought about the possibility he could escape. No, he believed not, they were too arrogant, too self-sure. With his father, Jarod devised a plan and rescued the clone, whom they had called Jay and adopted as a brother and a son; but Jarod had to part from them to make the flight succeed.
He had met Emily again almost two years earlier, saving her from Lyle; in that occasion, he had seen again also his father. Emily told them she had made a disturbing discovery: she and Jarod had a half-brother, Ethan, son of their father and of Miss Parker's mother. The Centre had impregnated Catherine Parker with Charles Russell semen without their consent or knowledge. As she had realised it, Mrs Parker had fled, staging her suicide with Raines' deceptive help, as she wanted to give to the innocent child a future away from the Centre. Vain hope: after she had given birth to the child, Raines had killed her in cold blood; then he had entrusted Ethan to a couple and turning the child to exploit it, for Ethan had inherited from his mother the Inner Sense, which was the ability to hear inside his mind voices that could give him advice and assistance. After his dramatic meeting with Jarod and Miss Parker, for some time Ethan had stayed with his half-brother, then he had disappeared, and since then, there had been no news of him.
Jarod took his mind off these thoughts, because they troubled him, and now he needed to relax.
With a sigh, he shifted to find a more comfortable position, and tried to sleep.
OOO
Erin De Rossi yawned, feeling drowsy. She had been driving for too long, she thought: at the next gas station, she would stop and sleep. In the meantime, to keep herself awake, she chose a CD of Shania Twain, her favourite singer, and set it at a quite high volume, beginning to sing along with her beautiful half-soprano voice.
Singing was only one of the young woman's many interests. At thirty-seven, she had collected an amazing quantity of experiences, mostly during her teen-age and early youth, thanks to her father, Frank De Rossi, who was a security expert working for CIA. With him, her mother Maureen and her big brother Sean, she had lived in several US States and even abroad, where her father oversaw the security systems of governative buildings such as palaces of justice, embassies, consulates, parliaments. In all these places, she had learned something peculiar, often but not always along with Sean: ice-skating in Moscow, kung fu in Hong Kong, Caribbean dances in Puerto Rico, flamenco in Barcelona, riding in Dallas, ski in Norway, surf in San Diego, street motocycling at the Estoril in Portugal, diving in Cairns, Australia, car racing in Monza, Italy, poker in Las Vegas, billiard in Marseille, and then fencing, shooting – both gun and bow – computer, swimming... So many things, she lost track.
Finally, they assigned his father to a sedentary job for the CIA branch-office in San Francisco and the family stopped at last. At twenty-three, Erin had decided it was time to become independent; among all her interests, she chose to use her love for sport, therefore she had created a gym centre where it was possible to practice almost everything, from fitness to swimming, from martial arts to bow-shooting, from fencing to modern dancing. Thanks to her innate business sense and to her father's generous investments, in a short time she had become a wealthy woman.
A few years earlier, Frank De Rossi had retired and chosen to settle down in the country, in a ranch about half an hour driving off the town where Erin lived.
Now, Erin was returning from a two-weeks-holiday in Mexico, where she had driven about on her bike, a red Honda VFR 750, enjoying the sun of Baja California. The recent memory made her smile: this had been the third time in eighteen months she had gone off alone, something unthinkable, before. Yeah, before... before her ex husband decided to leave her without a reason on Earth. Erin had suffered the hell through, unable to accept the end of her marriage, refusing to do so. She had put her all in this relationship, and for six long months, she had tried everything to recuperate it, but from the other side there had been no correspondence. In the end, Erin had given up. By now, divorce was done, and the only satisfaction she had had out of it had been to make her ex pay for the whole thing. If you want divorce, you manage it alone, she had told him, I won't pay a dime nor move a finger. Luckily, being far-sighted, she had had the good sense to make a prenuptial agreement, so her ex couldn't demand anything. Besides, even more luckily, from the marriage had come no children: at least, there were no innocents to pay for the adults' mistakes.
Al last, the terrible pain she was feeling subsided and stopped, and one day, suddenly, by her own amazement she had discovered that she had grown two big attributes or, more likely, they had always been there, but not knowing it, she had never used them. With unsuspected strength of character, she had thrown herself in her new life, daring things she had never dared before, like for instance travelling alone, and discovering she liked being psychological independent from everything and everyone. Yes, she felt really better alone than with her ex husband. However, with the merciless honesty to herself characterising her, Erin admitted that, sometimes, the loneliness of the heart was hard to bear, and she had begun to wish for her to meet someone. But, at the same time, she knew she was terrified of the idea she could maybe have to endure again the trial she had already gone through; not of the risk in itself – she understood very well that every relationship involves it – but of the possibility to be unable to bear again that tearing pain...
In front of her appeared the rear-lights of a Greyhound bus. Erin slowed down gradually, adjusting her speed: her motorhome, towing a trolley with her motorcycle, couldn't pass it easily, and anyway the next gas station was only a few miles away, so she could wait.
Keeping the right distance from the heavy vehicle ahead of her, Erin went on driving and singing.
OOO
A sensation of imminent danger tore Jarod out of his doziness. He jumped up sitting to look outside the window, but there was absolutely nothing to see: in the silvery gleam of the almost full moon, the Californian vast countryside was completely deserted and there was not even a single light to see. His gaze moved forwards, in the direction where the bus was going: the lights of a big truck were coming from the opposite lane.
Then, everything happened at dreadful speed.
The truck suddenly skidded and invaded the opposite lane. The bus-driver braked hard and steered sidewards, but it was too late: the two big vehicles collided violently and the bus was pushed off road. The passengers yelled in sudden terror, flung out of their seats in every direction.
Jarod felt a sharp pain in his hip, but moving cautiously he realised he had no broken bones. All around him, he heard moans and calls of hurt people. With an effort, he got up sitting; he knocked his head against a contorted piece of bodywork and uttered a cry of pain.
"Help me... help me..." a female voice was imploring next to him. Jarod turned and saw an elderly woman, her forehead stained with the blood of a superficial cut, lying limp on the seat behind his.
"Don't move", he exhorted her, "I'll take you out of here."
He crawled towards the driver, but he saw immediately that there was nothing to be done for him: a shard of the windshield had deeply pierced his head, killing him.
The bus was heavily sloped on its right side; Jarod tried to operate the door opening, but it was blocked, so he took off his leather jacket, wrapped it around his arm and hit the window with his elbow; the glass shattered in thousand pieces. Fumbling with the outer handle, he finally managed to open the door.
He went back to the wounded woman.
"Come on, hold on to me", he told her. The elderly woman moaned and grasped his arms; gently, Jarod lifted her and helped her to gain the exit.
"You're an angel", the old lady murmured, as he helped her sitting down on the grass. Jarod gave her a reassuring smile, then returned back: who knows how many more other injured people were there, needing his help to get out...
OOO
Horrified, Erin witnessed the crash. She braked hard, operating the ABS; weighted by the trolley, the motorhome skidded, but thanks to the young woman's driving skills it stopped in time.
She unfastened the security belt and jumped off, running at breakneck speed towards the truck cockpit. The driver was pinned by the air bag and looked under shock; Erin opened wide the door:
"Are you hurt?" she asked. The man stared at her with glassy eyes, unable to understand what she was saying; she stood on the footboard and slapped him to call him back. He jerked and blinked.
"I'm fine", he grumbled, "I'm fine..."
"Okay", Erin said, "Get off from here and come help me, if you can."
She jumped down and headed for the bus, which had landed askew a little hillock and was very sloped on one side. Through the windshield, she caught the unlucky driver's bloody face and looked away, in pity and horror. Addressing a prayer to God for the poor man's soul, she reached the door, which someone had opened already, the same moment a very tall man was emerging from the inside, holding a boy of maybe six years in his arms.
Erin felt as if a hammer hit her head and, for a second, her sight became foggy. She shook her head to clear it and stretched out her arms:
"You need help?" she asked. The man seemed to hesitate, staring at her for a long moment; then he handed over his burden.
"Thank you", he said, going back into the vehicle. The young woman moved away swiftly, while the child was weeping desperately.
"Good boy, good boy, it's all over", she whispered in a soothing way.
"My mommy!" the boy sobbed, "Where's my mommy?"
"Give it to me, miss", she heard a voice. Turning around, Erin saw an elderly lady sitting on the ground and beckoning her. She walked over to her and entrusted her the child; the old woman sweetly reassured the boy:
"You'll see, our guardian angels here will soon take your mommy to you..."
Erin returned hastily to the bus door and was about to get in, but seeing that the former man was coming back, this time with a woman, she gave him priority.
"There are more people", said Jarod, looking at the beautiful brunette who had come to their aid, "Be careful, she's very weak", he recommended her, speaking about the woman he was supporting, who was staggering and could barely stay on her feet; he made sure that Erin could carry her away, then went inside again. A youth of about twenty years had one leg bent in an innatural way, stuck under one seat.
"Has to be broken", said the youngster, gritting his teeth. From the paleness of his face, Jarod realised he was suffering a lot, and regretted having to inflict him more pain.
"I must get your leg off... it will hurt", he warned him, "Sorry."
He pulled and pushed the seat, trying to root it out or at least to move it, but he didn't succeed. Erin came up behind him.
"I will pull him out", she said, "You try to keep the seat elevated."
Jarod propped his feet on the floor and pulled the seat with all his strength; Erin grasped the youth under his arms and dragged him away. The movement made him shout in pain, but at least he was free. Jarod took him gently by the knees and, with Erin, he carried him outside, where they laid him down on the grass.
Meanwhile, the truck-driver had arrived, and he was looking at the disaster in shock.
"Oh my God..." he whispered, shaken.
"Don't stay there gaping!" Erin addressed him roughly, wanting to shake him, "Help this man", she pointed at Jarod, "There are injured people to take out from the bus."
Jarod fished his cell phone out of his pocket – luckily he didn't crush it while smashing the glass – turned it on and threw it to Erin:
"Call 911."
The young woman caught the phone and quickly dialled the number. She reported accurately what had just happened, asking for intervention of ambulances and firefighters, and they answered her that aid would be on site within eight minutes. Then, Erin stored the phone in her pocket – it was a very modern and expensive satellite phone – and went back to help Jarod and the truck-driver while taking off people from the bus. They determined that there were unfortunately two more dead, beside the driver: a middle-aged mand and a teenage girl.
A little later, they heard in the distance the sirens of several emergency vehicles. In a few minutes, doctors, paramedics, firefighters and police officers turned up, taking over the situation with great efficience. Jarod, Erin and the truck-driver got out of the way, leaving the aid operations to the experts.
A few minutes later, they heard the noise of a helicopter approaching, a big spotlight on the site of the accident. Erin lifted her gaze and, in the moonlight, caught the initials of a network.
"Damned reporters!" she swore, annoyed, "They're constantly listening on the frequencies of police and hospitals, ready to jump like vultures on things!"
Jarod, who once had pretended to be a cameraman in order to help another one who had had a paralysed arm because of the lack of scruples of a so-called assault newsman, substantially agreed with her, of course with the due exceptions. Right now, he had to avoid at any cost to be filmed, otherwise the Centre, constantly monitoring the media transmissions, would spot him immediately. He moved towards the truck, hiding himself from the helicopter.
Erin noticed his move and shot him a piercing glance. She guessed he didn't want to be filmed and, because she didn't like it either, she followed him. Jarod watched her in surprise as she beckoned him to go with her. He followed her to a large motorhome on three axles, where she invited him to climb on, taking shelter from prying eyes.
"Thank you", Jarod told her, "I hate cameras", he added as an explanation.
Erin turned on the light and returned his gaze with an impenetrable face:
"I'm sure you've got your good reasons."
He realised his justification hadn't been convincing. Odd, because people usually took his words, it was one of his best Pretender skills...
"That's right", he admitted therefore, cautiously, "Anyway, I can guarantee you on my honour that I am not a criminal, Miss...?"
"Erin De Rossi", the young woman answered, "If I had only the smallest suspect you could be a criminal, I wouldn't help you for sure, Mister...?"
"Jarod", he introduced himself, extending his hand, "Jarod O'Donnell."
He didn't know why he had picked up precisely an Irish name, right on the spot; a choice he thought casual, but later it would taste like predestination. Anyway, he took it with the spontaneity due to his consolidated habit to adopt false names to divert the hounds of the Centre, and also because until not too long ago he hadn't even known his family name, Russell.
Surprise flickered on Erin's face and, for a moment, Jarod feared she had guessed he had given her a false name; but then she smiled and shook hands with him:
"Nice to meet you, Mister O'Donnell, even if the circumstances are not the best."
"Only Jarod", he invited her, because in any case he wanted to use as little as possible the false names he took, "My pleasure."
The hand she had given him was small and tapered and looked delicate, but her handshake was strong and resolute like a man's one. Jarod felt that the young woman in front of him, wearing jeans and T-shirt, was a girl full of surprises. Now that he could take a good look at her, he discovered that she was really beautiful: not very tall, a really female, hourglass-shaped body, very long hair of a shiny brown, thick and smooth, picked up in a high ponytail, long eyes of a warm walnut colour, pleasantly tanned complexion.
He realised that he was holding her hand far too longer than needed; but anyway, she didn't make a move to withdraw it either. Slightly embarrassed, he let it go.
"I need something strong", Erin said, "Do you want a drink, too, Jarod?"
"Whisky, thank you", he accepted; now that the adrenaline in his blood was returning to a normal level, he felt a little stunned, and a little alcohol would cheer him up.
"Good", she said, then she reminded something, "Here, your cellphone."
She gave him back his mobile, then she moved towards the centre of her motorhome, where the kitchenette was located; she opened a small cupboard and took out a bottle of an amber liquid, and two glasses. She placed everything on the table and signalled to Jarod to take a seat, doing it herself before pouring the whisky. Jarod noticed that it was Jameson's, an Irish brand, instead of classic American bourbon. Looking at the interior of the motorhome, he saw that it could accommodate up to seven people, and wondered why Erin was journeying alone in such a big craft. He would learn later that it was because she loved to be very comfortable.
"You were moving around with great efficience", Jarod declared, after the first sip, "Did you have similar situations already?"
"Far too many times", Erin answered with a wry face, "I volunteered on ambulances for six months, a few years ago. Car accidents were the most frequent reason of intervention."
She had found this experience very useful under many points-of-views, first of all the human solidarity. It had enriched her much as a person.
Someone knocked at the motorhome door.
"Who's there?" Erin asked.
"The police", was the answer, "We would like to ask you a few questions."
The young woman crossed to the door and opened it; two police officers, a male and a female, came in. Seeing Jarod, they greeted him with a nod.
"Which one of you was driving?" the policewoman asked, producing a pen and a notebook, evidently thinking that the two were travelling together.
"I was", Erin answered, not worrying about the officer's supposition.
"What did you see, ma'am?"
"Little or nothing: the truck suddenly skidded, I think because the driver was sleepy, and I immediately braked. Then I heard a deafening crash, and realising what had happened, I stopped to help."
"And you did a really good job", the policeman smiled, "There's a lady talking about two brown angels: I think she's referring to you two."
Erin smiled, recalling the elderly woman to whom she had entrusted the child Jarod had handed her over.
"We only did our duty as responsible citizens", she said humbly. The policewoman, too, smiled in appreciation, and turned to Jarod:
"And what did you see, sir?"
"I was travelling on the bus", Jarod answered, to explain the situation: he guessed they were thinking he and Erin were husband and wife, or at least fiancés, "I, too, saw the truck slipping and coming toward us; our driver braked and steered, but it wasn't enough to avoid the impact, and the bus went off road. I realised at once that the poor man was dead, and I began to help the injured people. Miss De Rossi arrived immediately afterwards and helped me, and the truck-driver, too, gave a hand."
The policewoman wrote swiftly and ended soon her report.
"I need your names and phone numbers", she said then. Erin gave her name and family name and her cell number. When it was his turn, Jarod declared the false name he had already used for Erin and invented on the spot a phone number.
"Thank you, ma'am, sir", the policeman said, "Mister O'Donnell, are you sure you don't need any medical assistance?"
"I'm fine", he answered, even if his hip was actually still hurting.
"Very well, then that's all for the time being", the officers took their leave. Erin walked them to the door, then came back and sat again.
"Where are you going, Jarod?" she asked casually, picking up her glass.
"In no particular place", he answered, "Northwards."
Erin stared at him with that piercing gaze of hers and Jarod felt uneasy, as if she was reading inside of him.
"You cannot run forever from your past", she said in a low voice, almost as if speaking to herself. He felt the urge to tell her that he was not running from his past, on the contrary, he was desperately searching for it... but he couldn't tell her anything of this.
"It's true, but sometimes you need a rest", he said instead. Erin thought about that for a moment, then nodded:
"Yes, you're right. Well, it's clear that you cannot go anywhere on that bus now. I'm going to San Francisco: do you want a lift?"
Her suggestion caught him by surprise.
"And you would trust a perfect stranger to journey with you?" he inquired, not hiding his perplexity. Erin grinned mischievously:
"At the first discourtesy, I'll push the eject button", she assured him, and he chuckled amused.
"But aren't you afraid that I may rob you?" he insisted, sobering, "Or worse..."
"Would I've been afraid of this, I wouldn't have offered you to travel with me", she anwered him, shrugging, "But know this: I have a gun and I can use it very well; furthermore, I am kung fu black belt."
Jarod laughed heartly:
"Well, now I'm sure that you don't need to worry about anything!"
"I see you got it", she commented, amused, "So, what about it?"
Jarod thought quickly of the advantages he could have travelling with Erin: point one, restarting the trip with Greyhound would mean, this time, giving them his complete datas, true or false they may be, because being involved in an accident the bus company would be forced to call in the insurance for the indemnity. He wasn't interested in receiving a reward for the suffered discomfort; it was far more important not to attract the attention of the authorities, for in this case the Centre would easily spot him. Accepting Erin's proposal would save him many problems... not counting that he was sure her company would be very pleasant.
"That's fine, Erin: I accept gladly", he told her, "but only if you'll share the costs."
"You don't need to..."
"I insist."
She shrugged:
"Okay, as you wish."
"Fine. So, I go and take my luggage."
He went off the motorhome and Erin was alone for some time. She wondered absent-mindedly what could have convinced her to invite him to join her: she didn't know him at all, and she was sure like hell that he was hiding something. However, somehow she felt that she could trust him, and usually her instinct didn't deceive her. Anyway, she could sleep with her gun under the pillow, just as a precaution...
Jarod returned a few minutes later with a metallic case and a travel bag. Erin showed him where he could store them, then invited him to sit on the passenger seat and got back behind the steer. The truck had been moved aside, enough to restore the traffic on an alternate one-way, so they could pass.
"Before the accident, I was thinking to stop for the night", Erin said, "but after what happened I'm not sleepy any more."
"Now I couldn't sleep a wink, either", Jarod confirmed.
"Good, we'll go on for a while, and then you can drive, or we'll stop to sleep."
They travelled for some time, then at about one o'clock in the night Erin began to feel her eyes grow heavy.
"Tengo somno", she muttered in Spanish, the language she had used until that very morning, and yawned. Even if she had spoken more to herself than to him, Jarod heard her and smiled:
"Yo tambièn", he said, in the same language, "You speak Spanish, I see."
"Yeah", she answered shortly, "Better stop and sleep, I'd say."
A little ahead, she found a layby, pulled over and turned off the engine.
"Come, lets prepare your bed", Erin exhorted Jarod. He glanced at the backside of the motorhome.
"Aren't you afraid someone could take away your motorcycle, or even the whole trolley?" he asked. She smiled, thinking it was kind of him to worry about the security of her belongings:
"Never fear: to cut the trolley bolt they'd need an oxy-hydrogen flame, and if they touch my bike, in here an alarm would ring that would wake up the dead."
Jarod returned her smile:
"I see you don't forget anything."
"When a woman travels alone, she has to prevent every even potential dangerous situation", she said as she rummaged through a chest, avoiding to explain that the long intimacy with the security measures in the places she used to live had prepared her almost to everything, "Here we are", she said then, handing to Jarod sheets, blanket and pillow. He took them, walked over to the single bed on the right side of the motorhome, in front of the entrance, and started to prepare his bed.
"Tomorrow morning you can store your things in this closet", Erin said, showing him the piece of forniture to the right side of the entrance, "And there's the bathroom."
It was a small room of about 8' by 4'4" (author's note: m 2.50 by 1.30), placed behind the cockpit, containing a shower box, a toilet and a washbasin.
"If you want to take a shower, you have to settle for cold water", she told him, "We'll have hot water only when we'll stop on a camping place."
"For one night I won't die", Jarod smiled.
"Very well", she smiled him back, "I'll brush my teeth and go to bed."
She did so, then she withdrew to the opposite end of the motorhome, where the double bed in which she slept was located. To preserve privacy, it was provided with a sliding wooden panel isolating the niche; having so far always journeyed alone, Erin had never used it, but now she closed it, because she had no intention to take off her clothes in front of a stranger, nor to see him take off his. Well, this wasn't exactly true, she had to admit to herself, with the frankness characterising her: Jarod looked very well built, and surely seeing him half naked would have been an eye-candy. Laughing at herself, she put on her short pyjamas, suitable to the hot climate of southern California, and went to sleep.
