Mindgames – Part 1
by Pangur Bàn
Rating (PG, PG13, R) : PG13
Spoilers : probably
Summary: Jarod runs into someone who knows him well.
Disclaimer: Steven Long Mitchell & Craig W. Van Sickle created the characters of the television series "The Pretender." This fan fiction is purely for entertainment purposes (chiefly my own, admittedly.) No profit is being made here. No infringement is intended.
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Jarod didn't have time to yell, or even to think. He spun the wheel hard to the left, narrowly missing the little girl who had appeared out of nowhere. His small car teetered on the outside wheels, but slammed back down to earth with a molar-pounding jolt. He grunted as he bounced around behind the wheel, trying to bring the beast to a halt. The girl's shrill scream didn't even register as he fought for control of the vehicle. The car slammed up a curb and spun onto the sidewalk, coming to rest – finally – in the midst of a cafe's tiny outdoor seating area. With sickening certainty, he pried himself from the car and raced to the person who had been thrown against the wall by the impact.
It was a woman, trying with little success to get her arms to push her to a semi-seated position. He quickly knelt beside her, grasping her upper arms gently but firmly. "Just take it easy," he started, and then stopped. The look of astonishment and fear on her face stunned him. She froze for a moment, then did her best to scramble backwards into the brick facade, away from Jarod.
Jarod released her arms immediately, holding his hands up. "Hold on, I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help." Her eyes locked on his face, and he had yet to see her draw a breath. He tried again. "You need to hold still." Her eyes grew distant, then closed out the world.
*** *** *** *** ***
Jarod paced the area just outside of the emergency room curtain area. She was conscious and stable. A nice concussion made it hard to concentrate, but she seemed to have escaped more serious injury.
Jarod had lied to the EMT's and the hospital staff, telling them he was her friend. He had just barely managed to overhear enough of the information the crew had dug out of her purse to get her name and hometown. No one else had come forward at the scene, and Jarod had quite uncharacteristically panicked. He was responsible for her injury and needed to stay near. He admitted readily to being the driver of the car and climbed in the ambulance with her. At the hospital, he cooperated with the police, giving them enough information to satisfy them for the moment. They took him at his word when he rapidly invented lie after lie, fabricating a slightly incoherent but believable story. They figured he was distraught at having injured his friend, and would continue the interview a little later.
For now, Jarod was on pins and needles. He hovered just outside the curtain, listening to the exam proceed. Each new report to the doctor increased his sense of relief. No broken bones, skull series negative, neuro exam was encouraging, labs looked reasonable... He was itching to get in and see her himself, but was afraid of her possible reaction to the sight of him. "Come on, come on," he muttered to himself, willing the medical personnel out of the exam room.
As if in response, the speaker from the dispatcher phone came to life, announcing the pending arrival of a critical case. MVA, PNB – Jarod's mind translated without thinking, motor vehicle accident, pulseless non-breathing. He only half-followed the recitation of vital signs, watching the curtain closely. Personnel erupted from the room as rapid preparations for the new trauma got underway.
Jarod slipped behind the curtain, unnoticed. The woman was half-reclined on the gurney, her eyes closed. She turned her head toward him as he entered, and opened her eyes to a squint.
"Hello. My name is Jarod," he said.
The woman smiled weakly and said "Hello. I'm Grace."
"I know. I was with you when they brought you in." He hesitated, then continued. "I was driving the car that hit you. I am so sorry."
"Yeah, I recognize you. I know it was an accident. They told me that you swerved to miss a child."
"That's right." Jarod's throat closed around the words.
"They said she's all right, right?"
He swallowed and nodded. "Yes," he barely managed.
"Thank God." Grace closed her eyes and turned her head back to center. "Are you all right?" she asked.
"I'm fine. Grace, I..."
She smiled. "It's okay, Jarod. I'm glad you missed the girl. I'll be fine. Hit my head, I have a whopper of a headache and will probably see a black eye, but no major physical damage. Of course, it'll probably be a while before I get the urge for a cup of coffee again."
Finally, Jarod smiled in return. "A concussion," he said. She nodded, a small movement – any motion made her dizzy and nauseous.
"I appreciate your having stayed to make sure I'm all right," she said. "Thank you."
"Is there someone I can call for you?" he asked.
"No, thank you, though. I'm from out of town."
"New London, I know." She turned her head sharply to look at him, and regretted it immediately. She closed her eyes against the two of him and the spinning room. "The paramedics found your ID."
A nurse scurried in to check on her. "How are you feeling?"
Grace smiled, not wanting to admit her queasiness. "Tired."
"We don't want you to sleep just yet. Can your friend stay with you for a while? It's going to get pretty busy in a minute, and we don't have time to admit you right now."
"I can stay," said Jarod. "I know what to do for a concussion." He succinctly outlined the course of observation and indicator signals. The nurse was impressed. "I used to work neuro trauma," he told her. The nurse paused to take a second look at him, and made a mental note to try to duck back in shortly. She made a show of arranging Grace's blanket and plumping her pillow, which had the patient fighting down yet another wave of nausea. The nurse, her eye on the handsome stranger across the bed from her, never noticed.
The doors to the ambulance bay banged open on their pneumatic tracks, and chaos erupted. The nurse smiled one last time at Jarod and left the curtain area. Grace opened one eye tentatively. "Is it safe?" she asked weakly.
Jarod laughed quietly. "She was a bit – enthusiastic, wasn't she?" He pulled the curtain shut, as if to help with noise abatement, then reached for the low stool. He explained that she needed to stay awake for a little while, and they talked in low tones. Her head continued to pound, but mercifully the nausea subsided somewhat. They were both startled when the curtain was flung back and a strange doctor bustled in.
"Okay, Ms... Hanover, I'm Doctor Richardson," she said. "I've been called in to help out. Looks like a concussion, huh?" She walked around the head of the gurney, scanning the chart as she moved. Dropping the metal clipboard on Grace's legs, she pulled a small light from her coat pocket and rapidly examined the patient's eyes, then moved her finger up and down, side to side, in front of Grace's nose. "How is she doing, Mr. Hanover?"
"He's not my husband," Grace said.
"I'm a friend," Jarod said. He quickly reported out all the salient facts. The doc was satisfied. Are we releasing her to you?" she asked.
Jarod didn't miss a beat. "Yes. I'm taking her home, I'll watch her tonight." Grace started to protest, but the doctor was already on the way out of the room. "I'll get her discharge instructions..." The rest was lost as the MD was already on her way into the next curtain area.
"Jarod, you don't have to do this. You've already been a big help," Grace said.
"Would you rather spend the night in the hospital?" he asked kindly. She hesitated, and he continued. "Don't worry. I'll be a perfect gentleman."
She already knew enough about him to recognize he would not hurt her. She was too tired to offer more than a token protest. "I'm not your responsibility."
He dropped his voice. "Please, let me do at least this. I want to. Really."
*** *** *** *** ***
As instructed, he woke her every half hour to check on her responses. It got old very quickly. By the third time he woke her, she had gone from thinking him a sweet and generous man to understanding a little of why Miss Parker so enjoyed hunting him like a dog. She begged for a reprieve – just a couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep. He was encouraged by her status, and relented a bit.
By morning, she felt a little more rested, if not refreshed. Jarod made sure she was doing all right before leaving her apartment for a few hours. He promised to return that afternoon to check on her. Grace tried to convince him that he needn't bother, but he cheerily waved her off as he left. She sighed and moved slowly to the bathroom, trying without any measure of success to shake off the nightmares that were not her own.
*** *** *** *** ***
The midday sun lit the room to an uncomfortable brightness, and Grace pulled the shade. She returned to the couch, tapping the end of the cell phone against her hand. After a morning of debating the pros and cons of the situation, she made her decision. Punching up the overseas number, she listened patiently for the connection to be made. After a moment, a voice greeted her.
"Hello, is Mr. Carriveau available, please? Grace Hanover calling.... Yes, thank you."
Jarod let himself in and heard her on the phone. He put his bag down on the kitchen counter and heard her side of the conversation continue.
"Hello, Jon... No, I'm not at the airport. I'm still in the States.... Jon, listen – I'm not coming this weekend... I know. Something's come up here. I've met this man..." She paused, then laughed. "No, Jon, not like that. Listen. I've had a small accident... No, I'm not hurt badly. I... a concussion, but I'm doing fine. No other injuries – but listen, Jon... No, I don't want you to come over. Jon, listen!"
She paused and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "The man who helped me right after the accident – he needs help. He's looking for his family. Thirty years ago, he was stolen from them as a child, and was told they were dead. He only recently found out the truth about the people who have held him all this time... I know it does, but... No, Jon, he didn't tell me this. I – I saw it. It's happening again, Jonnie."
Jarod had come around the corner to announce his presence, but she kept her eyes closed and hadn't seen him. Now, stunned, he faded back a step, listening. He glanced around quickly, looking for danger. How could she know this? Was she from the Centre? If so, to whom was she talking, and why?
Grade continued, her voice deep with emotion. "It must have been the head injury. When he touched me, I – I wasn't ready for it, after all this time. It just flooded in. I couldn't stop it in time. It was pretty bad, Jon."
She listened briefly, rubbing her head absently. "No, I'm getting it under control. I'm doing all right, really. But I need to stay here. I need to help him. There's more to it than I can explain right now, but trust me, Jonnie – I need to do this as much for me as I do for him. More so." She paused again. "Yes, I remember...Yes, I'm sure... Try not to worry, Jon. I'll call you again in a few days... I know you are, but try not to be, okay? I'll be careful, I promise. Call Peter and Tony for me, and make some excuse... Yes, I'm sure. I'll call you. 'Bye, Jon."
She broke the connection and exhaled, pulling at the muscles at the back of her neck. Her eyes snapped open at Jarod's voice. "Hello," he said darkly.
"Jarod. I didn't see you there." She smiled at her private joke, and he tensed at the smile.
"You're from the Centre," he accused.
Her smile disappeared as she understood he had heard her phone conversation. "No, Jarod, I'm not. At least, not like you're thinking."
He refused to be distracted. "Who sent you? Raines? Lyle?"
"No. I'm not here to hurt you, or bring you in. Jarod, this is going to be hard to explain."
"Start with telling me who you are."
Grace looked at him closely. He was suspicious and jumpy. She would be too, given the threat he perceived. "How about we start with this? There's a gun in that drawer on your right." She usually put it somewhere near her bed, but this morning had moved it, feeling better to know that it was a few steps closer. She stopped herself from carrying it with her around the apartment, only because her frequent dizzy spells gave her pause to fear an accident with the firearm.
Jarod squinted at her, and carefully pulled the drawer open. He started to close the drawer, then took the gun.
"It's the only one. Feel any safer?" she asked.
"Start explaining." He thought he was in tight control of his reactions, but was in no way prepared for her next words.
"I escaped from the Centre, too."
*** *** *** *** ***
Of course, he was prudently skeptical. And all things considered, his response was reasonable, if not particularly eloquent. "What?"
"I was stolen as a child, like you were. I was four. I was put in Dr. Raines' – 'custody'. He was allowed to... use me in his experiments." She paused, trying to decide what he needed to hear next. "Jarod, this is going to be a little hard to believe, but it's the truth. Raines was doing some pretty unorthodox, and unethical, things to the children under his control. He had no morals when it came to using and destroying people if it served to further his work."
"What did he do to you?" Jarod asked, still not convinced.
Grace took a deep breath. "Psychic experiments. He was concerned with developing the intuitive faculties. His specific interest was in telepathic abilities. He was trying to 'improve on' the remote viewing training experiments of World War II."
"Remote viewing – as in a subject envisioning the particulars of a target area somewhere else."
"Right. It was not particularly successful sixty years ago, but Raines thought he had a few 'modifications' that would work. Particularly barbaric modifications. Electroshock, psychopharmaceuticals, emotional/behavioral 'adjustment'... as you can imagine, nothing he'd want to publish along the lines of professional research."
Jarod could imagine. He thought of how Raines had effectively erased Timmy's personality. "Angelo," he said.
Grace nodded painfully. It was through Jarod that she had discovered Timmy's fate, and she had been devastated. "Timmy was brought to him just before I left."
"You said you escaped? When? How?"
"Twice. Once, with help, when I was eight. I couldn't handle it, however, and returned voluntarily. Then again three years later."
Jarod narrowed his eyes. A child of eleven, outwitting Centre security? Grace took a deep breath and said, "Jarod, I know this sounds crazy, but – you want to know how I know about you. It's because I read your mind."
She let the words hang there in space, giving him time to think. She was a little surprised that he responded fairly quickly. "Telepathy?" Grace raised her eyebrows and nodded. "That's pretty unusual. Why should I believe you?"
Grace said, "I can't answer that. I can only tell you that it's true."
"Then tell me more about yourself. You're implying that Raines taught you how to read minds."
"Inadvertently, yes. He was actually trying to train me as a remote viewer, but I had a few unanticipated 'side effects.' At first I didn't realize myself what was happening to me. I spent so much time trying to please Dr. Raines, to achieve what he wanted me to, that I suppressed – and actually hid – this new ability. I thought that I was 'doing it wrong,' and that he would be angry. The last thing I wanted was to make him angry, so I didn't tell him about the pictures I was able to see. Instead, I tried to use these images to figure out what I was supposed to see – my targets. It only worked when my target was known to my testers. I knew I was 'cheating,' and was terrified that Dr. Raines would find out. My hit-and-miss record upset him, but gave him enough encouragement to continue his work – and my treatments."
"You said you escaped with help when you were eight." Jarod sat down across from her, still holding the gun on his lap.
"A woman who worked at the Centre found out about the shock treatments, and took me out of there one night. It was a disaster – I spent a wild two days, uncontrollable and miserable. I was flooded with images – thoughts – of everyone I encountered. I had no way to cope with it all. At the Centre, I was only exposed to a few people at a time, but outside... I was practically insane, and begged to be taken back. She thought I was mentally disturbed -" Grace laughed a little, "- I guess I was. She finally took me back, and I was 'found' hiding on another level. It was assumed I'd been there all along, and nothing more came of it."
"And the second time?"
"Three years later. By then I had learned to hide this ability pretty well from others. I never let on to Dr. Raines that I could do this. I spent the better part of the last year reducing my 'successes' in remote viewing, convincing Dr. Raines that the experiment was failing. At the same time, I was picking up another skill – the ability to plant a suggestion in someone's mind, making them think it was their own thought."
"That's how you got out."
"Yes. I had Dr. Raines thinking that my usefulness was ending, and it was time for him to get rid of me. On the night I left, I gave him the thought that he had resolved the problem of how to do it, without his actually realizing that he hadn't. I left him with a vague notion that it was taken care of."
"And you made the guards look the other way as you walked out?"
"That pretty well sums it up."
"A child of eleven out on the streets, alone."
"A particularly talented child of eleven. Remember, I could influence people as I needed to. I tried to keep the criminal stuff to a minimum – making people give me things I wanted – food, clothing – and spent a lot of time hiding from people."
"Hiding?" Jarod was starting to believe her, and was fascinated by the story she was telling.
"You've got to understand, I was still seeing other people's thoughts at every turn. It's something I grew to hate, and still do. It's so – naked. I heard people saying one thing, and saw that they meant another. People think very ugly things in the privacy of their own minds, Jarod. I hated them for thinking what they did, and grew to hate myself for knowing it. I spent the next decade trying to avoid knowing people, mostly unsuccessfully. I was depressed and antisocial, and miserable. Eventually, I was suicidal."
"What did you do?" Jarod was now totally immersed in her narrative.
Grace smiled at him. "I tried to kill myself." Jarod drew in a sharp breath. She continued, "Or at least, I started to. I was standing on a train platform, waiting for the next train, ready to jump."
"But you didn't."
"A thought popped into my head. 'Grace, don't do this.' It took me a minute to realize, it wasn't my thought."
Jarod stared. "What do you mean?"
Grace continued. "Someone else had put that thought into my head, as clearly as if it had been spoken. For a minute, I thought that there was another woman named Grace about to do the same thing, and I looked around for her. But there was no one else near the edge of the platform, and I was confused. Then another thought. 'You're not alone, Grace. I'll help you. Don't do this.' I took a step back as the train pulled up, and just stood there as the passengers got on and off. When the platform emptied, there was just me and one other man there."
Jarod had a sudden flash of insight. "Your friend Jon."
It was Grace's turn to stare, startled. She shook her head, and winced at the dull roar that erupted from the constant headache she had. "How did you get that?!"
Jarod grinned. "A lucky guess."
She laughed a little shakily with the pain. "Yeah. It was Jon. He spoke to me, called me by name. We sat on that bench and talked for hours. It was freezing, and I damn near got frostbite in my feet, but I didn't care. It was the first time I felt like someone really knew me and understood what I was feeling."
"He had the same talents. He could see your thoughts, too."
"I had honestly thought that I was either insane or the only one who could do this. Jon let me know this wasn't so. He saw how completely miserable I was, took me in. He taught me how to handle this. I spent years learning to suppress it."
"That must have been difficult. Like learning to ignore your sight or your hearing."
"Very difficult. I had some memorable slip-ups, but over a period of time, I got a pretty good hold on it. The stray thoughts of others became a dull whisper, like static, and I learned to tune it out with ease."
"Jon sounds like a good friend."
"My best friend. He not only taught me how to survive with this, he taught me how to live again. He gave me a job I could handle during all this, made me feel useful, and not alone. He never pushed it on me, but let me know that others, including he himself, had this ability under control and lived with it. He offered to teach me how to use it, but all I wanted was to turn it off. And, eventually, I did."
"You turned it off altogether?"
"Until yesterday, Jarod, it's been more than nine years since I've even heard the static. I really thought I had lost the ability altogether. I hoped that the effects of Raines' treatments had worn off, that I had healed, to some extent. I didn't expect it to happen any more. That's why I wasn't ready for you – why I saw inside your head."
"You said to Jon that it flooded in when I touched you."
"It's been so long, Jarod, I wasn't able to shut it down soon enough. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen, but... I'm sorry, Jarod."
"It was an accident, wasn't it?"
She hung her head, and said quietly, "That doesn't change the fact that I invaded your privacy."
"Or that I hit you with my car."
"It's not the same thing."
"No, I suppose not." Jarod grew quiet for a minute, replaying the memory of the look on her face when he touched her. Astonishment and fear. Her retreat from him, from his touch. Suddenly understanding something else, he said, "Grace, I'm sorry I invaded your privacy, too."
Grace jerked her head up, surprised. He spoke softly. "Just like I need my privacy of thoughts, so do you. I invaded your thoughts with my own. I'm sorry."
Tears began to spill down her cheeks. "It's not your fault, Jarod."
"No. Neither was it yours. Raines is the perpetrator here. We are both his victims."
She nodded briefly, grateful for his words. Unable to speak, she cried silently. Jarod rose without a word and replaced the gun in the drawer.
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