Disclaimer: The Pretender is not mine.
The story is the same. I've just been doing some editing/correcting.
"Are you sure about that?" The female voice was quiet, unobtrusive sounding even, but the fact that he was hearing any voice at all was enough to make Jarod jerk upright from the small, kitchen table his unusually substance influenced brain had thought would make a good pillow.
There should not be any voices in this room for the simple reason that there should not be any other people in this room. Jarod should be alone - blissfully, utterly alone and, therefore, shrouded in silence. The fact that the silence was being interrupted meant that something had gone horribly wrong, which, he reflected, just meant that this day was ending on the exact same note on which it had begun.
He swung around to locate the origin of the voice and managed to hit the bottle he had left sitting on the edge of the table with his arm in the process. The laws of physics asserted themselves as it lost its precarious balance and shattered spectacularly when it met the floor. Broken pieces of glass bounced and scattered across the pale tile. The sticky liquid (dark in comparison) within ran out and pooled on the floor, but the puddle was small - an indication that most of the bottle's contents had already been ingested by the man now furiously scanning the room.
He was not sure who he had been expecting to see, but a young blond woman he was positive he had never seen before was not it.
"It doesn't matter now. I'm already here." She continued as if he had responded to her first statement. She looked down at the broken pieces of glass that had once formed the bottle and the liquid that surrounded them. A vaguely amused expression crossed her features as she looked back up at him. "Whoops," she commented in a tone that was anything but apologetic. She shrugged her shoulders before crossing her arms and leaning back as she coolly surveyed him.
Years of running had a few advantages he grudgingly admitted to himself. All that practice allowed him to assess the situation in the room before she had finished speaking. This place had been a bad choice. Scratch bad, this place had been an imbecilic choice. He had even been aware of that when he first entered, but he had not really cared at that point in time. The only thing that had mattered to him those few hours before had been getting into some place where he could be alone. He never would have stayed in a place without a contingency plan under normal circumstances, but he had been so rattled. He had just wanted to drown himself in the liquor and make himself forget the conversation he had just been through. Contingency plans had not even been on his radar. He had not cared enough to make one.
He was going to pay for that now. The never ending game he was trapped inside had hard and fast rules, and the first rule was that they never offered anyone any slack. They were always waiting, hovering, watching for you to make a mistake. Then, they pounced. It was so unfair. He had to be vigilant all the time. They only needed him to make one mistake. He was so tired of never being able to let down his guard. It almost was not worth it.
He shook off that thought. The list of things he had decided that he was no longer going to care about was long, but his freedom was not one of the items included on it. His life might be pathetic and miserable, but it was going to be pathetic and miserable out here in the real world where at least there was ice cream to offer a little comfort.
He refocused on his assessment of the room. It was a bleak prospect. She noticed his eyes darting back and forth across the space and commented on it. "You can't run away from me, Jarod."
Sadly, she was correct. That was why his eyes had still been searching. He had been hoping that he had missed something that would prove useful. There was only one door that led to the hallway, and the blond was standing in front of it. She was, in fact, leaning against the door frame as if she had been standing there since the beginning of time. He would have to make it to the opposite end of the room to get to the window, and while it could hardly be classified as a large room, he would still never make it if she was armed. He could not count on any unwillingness to shoot him if he made a run for it. He also had no clue what kind of backup she had brought with her. Her being arrogant enough to come alone was a possibility, but one whose chances were far too slim to even make exploring the option worth his time.
Pretending and being a quick study at finding solutions to problems were useful skills, but they had their limits. The problem with simming situations was that the outcomes you received were only as good as the information that you had to plug into the scenario. He was not even sure what scenario he was in, and this new person was a variable that needed to be defined. There were too many holes in his available intel that needed to be filled in before he could come to any conclusions. He needed more information before he made a move.
"Are you supposed to take me back?" She, the blond, was the best source for information available to him at the moment, and he needed to get her talking. He hated that his voice sounded so weak (any signs of weakness were sure to be exploited and used against him by whoever had caught up to him), but he was just so tired. It was more effort than he could convince himself to muster to mask his fatigue. She was new; she might actually think he needed less watching because of it.
Besides, he could blame the lapse on the hangover. Hangover? That was odd. Now that he stopped to think about it, he did not feel as though he was hung over (not that he had much basis for comparison). Shouldn't he be feeling groggy? Lethargic? Have some massive cranial pain? Something? He was confused and worried about the mess he had gotten himself into, but he felt otherwise normal. He gazed down at the mess on the floor. He had finished off the majority of that bottle, had he not?
The woman noticed the direction in which he was looking and chuckled softly to herself. He was surprised at how pleasant and good humored the sound was. Jarod would have expected it to be harsher or mocking. It was disconcerting to him somehow that it was not. She seemed as though she were someone who was difficult to read, and he did not like not being able to fit her into his established protocols. Her voice was not harsh or mocking either. It was friendly even (as if he was going to fall for that).
"I don't think you are off the hook for that. I imagine you are still going to be one very uncomfortable man come morning. You know," she continued in that same conversational tone of voice, "my sister-in-law is fond of saying that drinking is an exercise in futility. She always insists that your problems are still going to be waiting for you when you are done. If you are going to have to face them, why do it with a headache and nausea? Just between you and me, she is a bit of a goody goody."
She looked at him appraisingly as she paused. "I, on the other hand, am almost happy that you decided to spend your evening in a drunken stupor. That chronic insomnia of yours was starting to make me think that we were never going to get the chance to pursue this little adventure together. Have you bothered discussing that sleeping problem of yours with anyone? It can't be healthy, and they do have specialists for that."
While she was monologueing, Jarod attempted to scan the background noise to see if any of the inevitable sweepers would give away their position. They tended to do that if you knew what you were listening for - they were a collectively clumsy group (which was strange if you considered that their profession was one in which stealth should have been an asset or even a prerequisite). The only problem was that he could not detect any signs of sweepers in the background noise because now that he was focusing on hearing the sounds, he realized that there was not any background noise. Everything beyond himself and the blond was silent.
There should have been something - the sounds of passing traffic, the noise of neighbors through rather thin walls, any of the sounds that were requisite when you were in the midst of a few thousand other people should be audible, but there was nothing. He could not even hear the tell tale hum from the running of the refrigerator.
His already tense body tightened even further as a little bit of panic tried to force its way into his system. The lack of ambient noise was very, very wrong. It was like everything in the vicinity had been shut down. He had no reason to trust places that shut out the outside world. Was he already back at the Centre? Had they gotten to him while he was passed out at that table? Had there been enough time for that? How long, exactly, had he been out?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the blond's still friendly voice. "I am not from where you think I am from, and I am not here to hurt you. Honestly, why would I have even bothered to wake you up if that was why I was here?"
Jarod could think of a multitude of reasons for that particular course of action (sadism and gloating topping the list), but he figured that her question had been rhetorical in nature. Even if it had not been, he was not about to stand here making small talk. She could try to sound nonthreatening all she wanted; he was not going to forget that he was in danger. He also had not forgotten that she had dodged his earlier question about whether she was here to take him back.
Maybe because he already was back? Did she really think that he would simply take her word for it that she was not from the Centre? How would she even know where he was thinking she was from if that was not why she was here? She was looking at him expectantly. What was she expecting? He was the one who needed answers.
"Who are you?" His voice sounded steadier now, and that pleased him. He was not going to have to work at shaking off the exhaustion. The adrenaline was going to do it for him. The question seemed a safe enough way to reopen the conversation. He still needed her to talk. Hopefully, she would start slipping and grant him some details.
She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him in response, and shook her head slowly before she spoke. "That is an interesting question, Jarod, but don't you think a more pertinent question for the situation at hand would be what am I doing here?" She went back to her expectant expression and waited.
Why did people always do that to him? Why was everyone always expecting something from him? They even expected him to provide the questions that they wanted the answers to before he answered them. No one ever answered questions for him. They dangled puzzle pieces just beyond his grasp and never let him see the finished picture. He was always supposed to be the one who figured everything out. Why was that? Oh, right, because he was the genius. There was no pressure there.
"I saw that eye roll." She commented still not moving from her position blocking the door. "I am glad to see it. It tells me that you are better off than I was afraid you were. People who have given up don't usually bother with sarcasm. It's too much trouble. It requires something like caring to conjure."
She paused, but Jarod chose not to respond. He expected her to continue talking when he did not answer her, but she surprised him. She simply held her stance in the doorway and waited. He was so tired of the games that everyone kept playing with him. He was done playing their games. He was not going to play any more. She could just deal with the silence.
Unfortunately, the silence did not seem to be bothering her at all. Her staring, on the other hand, was grating on Jarod's already frazzled nerves. He was tired, he was confused, and he just wanted this to be over. He could maintain his silent, untouchable high ground, or he could play a couple of rounds and get enough information to get himself out of this mess. It was capitulation, and he knew it. He hated that, but if it was the alternative to a one way ticket back to Delaware (or an extended stay if he was, in fact, already back in Delaware), then he was going to have to choose to play. It was inevitable like so many of the other aspects of his life that never seemed to come completely under his control. The sooner he figured out what was going on here, the sooner he could get back to what passed as an excuse for his life and whatever it was that he had been doing before.
He told that voice in the back of his head that whispered "wallowing in self-pity" to shut up and forced himself to make eye contact with the blond. Referring to her like that was getting old, but it was the most obvious descriptor to use for now. He gave her a once over in an attempt to gain any useful information.
Her clothes screamed designer label. He noted that her hair, make up, and nails were as immaculate as if she had just come sailing through the front doors of a salon. Her posture hinted at elegant, and there was something almost regal about the way she was standing there waiting for him to make his next move. It actually looked a little like she was a queen being forced to wait for a particularly slow peasant to catch on and complete his assigned task. That observation could have caused him to feel rather offended, but he was too busy trying to keep a smile off of his face.
Finally, something about this whole situation made sense. Ice queen was something with which he knew how to deal. At least, he used to think that he did. He pushed that thought away. He was not going to go there. He could not afford to get distracted right now. Besides, he was finished caring about that situation. Okay, he was not yet, but he would get there. It would just take some time. He would play this game her way for the moment.
He sighed and managed to push the words past his lips, "Why are you here?" He noticed that his voice once again sounded tired, but he seemed to have asked the right question to make the woman happy.
She clapped her hands together excitedly like a little girl and grinned at him as she finally stepped away from the doorway and into the room. Something about the way she wore the expression implied that she was not a person who chose a grin over a smirk very often, and he wished she had not chosen to make an exception on this particular occasion. Jarod did not like the way the grin fit her.
It was another one of those disconcerting pieces that did not mesh with the profile he was trying to create for her in his head. It made her look younger and almost innocent somehow. (Which might be why she did not do so very often, he found himself thinking? Looking innocent probably was not an asset when you were convincing someone to hire you to hunt people down like they were animals. Or maybe it was, it could fall into that category of lulling the prey into a false sense of security and all that. Kind of like she was doing with her whole 'I'm your friend just stopping by for a chat' tone of voice thing she was trying to pull. But would an innocent look inspire any confidence in the person that was doing the hiring? Wouldn't they want something a little more brutal?)
"Stop it!" He commanded himself so intensely that the words almost slipped passed out loud. They hadn't, had they? If they had, she was not saying anything to indicate that she had heard.
Couldn't he ever stop analyzing things? Couldn't his brain ever just shut down? He was not going to start wondering about this person who had come chasing him. She was hunting him. She had invaded his privacy. She had disturbed his solitude. She was a nonentity obstacle to be overcome. That was all. He would only ever know enough about her to help him get away from her. There would be no wondering. Wondering led to caring, and he was all done with caring. He would just play along and get his needed information and be on his way.
Hadn't he already decided that? Was he repeating himself? Was that a common side effect of drinking copious amounts of alcohol? Maybe he should ask the next time he called . . . No!
There was not going to be a next time. There was not going to be another phone call. There was not going to be any more her. That was just another thing in his life with which he was done.
"It's not going to work." Her voice was soft with an almost pitying inflection. Jarod merely lifted his head and looked at her. She interpreted his look as a question.
"I mean the trying to convince yourself that you don't care. It's not going to work, but we'll leave that conversation for later. Now that you are asking the appropriate questions we can get down to business. The answer to your question is very simple, Jarod, I am here to help you."
She paused again and looked at Jarod for a moment as if she was not sure how to phrase the next words that she was going to say to him. If she was thinking that there was something she could say that was suddenly going to set Jarod at ease with the situation, she was sorely mistaken.
The pitying inflection grew as an undercurrent in her voice in a way that Jarod found deeply annoying (or some of the things she was saying were hitting a little too close to home, but there was no way that he was going to admit that).
"I know that trusting people doesn't come easily for you. I get that. I get that better than you would ever dream that I would, but I am here to help. Do you even realize that you need help? When I first noticed you, I had hoped that things wouldn't have to spiral this far down. I'm thinking now, though, that you probably needed to hit rock before you were going to be ready to see any of the things that I am going to show you. You aren't in a good place right now, and that's okay. It happens to all of us. The important thing is that you have someone around to help pull you up when you fall. You seem to be lacking in that area at the moment. That is why I am here. You weight of the world on your shoulders hero types never seem to know when to ask for help. You seem to think that you aren't supposed to need it. It's like you think that the problem solver is never supposed to have problems. It's something in the way you all are wired that needs correcting. I should know. I've lived with one of you my entire life. I knew you wouldn't do any asking, so I eliminated that step for you. There's no need to ask for help. I'm just going to provide it. I don't know for sure if you are ready for this. I don't even know if it will make a difference. You may walk away from this experience without ever using anything that you learn. I hope it doesn't turn out that way, but I'm going to have to be okay with it if it does. I'll know that you had the chance at least. That's why I'm here - to give you the opportunity. What you decide to do with it is up to you."
Jarod pushed away the phrases that left him feeling uncomfortable and instead focused on the fact that much of what she said did not make any sense at all. What was wrong with her? Were they sending mental patients after him now?
Her voice became softer as she continued. "People tend to think that they have so much time, Jarod. The problem is that they don't always have nearly the amount of time that they think they do. I hate to see people wasting time. I hate to see people hurting because they don't realize that they are wasting time. I wasn't really sure how I was going to do this once I got here, but your conversation earlier gave me an idea. Do you remember that conversation?"
Jarod was so busy trying to block said conversation from replaying in his mind that it didn't occur to him to wonder how it was that she knew that it had taken place. He found himself nodding in reply to her question.
"Do you remember what you wished?" Again, he nodded. "I am here tonight, Jarod, to grant you that wish."