Chapter 1 – Near Miss

The day started out like so many other days, with me sipping at my morning coffee and throwing a glance at the calendar. Today, however, it suddenly occurred to me that I had been at this job for nearly three months now – the longest I'd stayed in one place since…

No. I wouldn't think of that. I had ten minutes before the first bell would ring, and nearly three hundred elementary school children would thunder past the door of the school office on their way to yet another day of learning. Soon enough I'd have a delivery of about thirty hand-written excuses for absences in recent days – brief notes scrawled on anything from formal note paper to pieces of toilet paper that would need to be matched up against the individual student attendance records at the same time as I would mark down the new absences for the day. I was frankly surprised that the telephone wasn't already ringing – in my admittedly short experience, few days started out with a quiet cup of coffee…

"Morning, Peg," Clive Hudson, the principal, greeted me as he moved beyond my desk to the door to his private office. The corners of his green eyes were gathered together in laugh lines that seemed to etch themselves deeper into his bearded face every day. His wavy dark hair was mussed from being covered and then uncovered by a parka – winter had yet to entirely let go of the weather and was gifting us with another snowstorm. "Another day, another dollar…" he commented as he unzipped his parka and peeled the garment from his tall and lanky frame and then dangled it from an extended forefinger.

"Morning, Clive. Anything going on today special?" It was the same question I asked him everyday – mostly because I was new enough in the position that it helped to be warned of things a little in advance. The previous school secretary had taken a prolonged maternity leave – declaring that she intended not to return to her job until the beginning of the next school year. She'd briefed me on the major duties expected of me – but nothing could have prepared me for life as a school secretary.

"Nope – not even a fire drill's on the agenda." He chuckled at my look of relief. "Oh c'mon, Peg – you have to admit that we all need a little excitement in our lives at one time or another…"

"I've already had my share of excitement in my life, thank you," I told him perhaps a little more seriously than usual today, thanks to that little bit of revelation a moment earlier. "I'm ready for a nice long period of status quo."

"Why Margaret Charles!" he exclaimed as he opened his office door, turned on the light and deposited his briefcase on the chair just inside the door. "You've been holding out on me. Here and I thought you were just another mild-mannered but talented soccer mom needing to make pin money." He came up on one side of my desk and leaned down. "Maybe now is a good time to ask again if I could buy you dinner after work today so you can tell me all about this excitement of yours?" Those green eyes danced. "I've wanted to get to know you better ever since you took this job, you know…"

Quickly I shook my head. "I need to get home," I lied quickly. "I'm expecting a phone call from my son and I don't want to miss it."

I breathed yet another sigh of relief when Clive straightened. "One of these days you're going to give me a chance to get to know you a little better," he promised me – and I knew that I was in for one invitation after another until I finally relented if I didn't do something quick. Unfortunately, I was out of discouraging ideas at the moment.

"I don't think so," I said lamely and then shook my head at him and looked away. How could I tell him that I wasn't interested – that I was still mourning the death of my husband a year ago?

It had been Jarod who had finally found me and told me the news. Dan had had a heart attack, Jarod told me, while working as an airplane mechanic at another small, nameless airstrip – he had been fine one moment and then in the next…

It had been a very difficult way to truly meet my first-born son again for the first time in nearly thirty years – but we'd been able to cry on each other's shoulders for at least one evening before Jarod declared that he couldn't stay and that I should think of moving on as well before the Centre tracked me down. I'd packed my bags, phoned in my resignation the very next morning and evaporated in the opposite direction from my son.

I also had learned that horrible, tragic night that my family had increased by two through no effort of my own – that Jarod now had what he insisted would be best thought of as a younger "twin" who went by the name of Jeremy David or JD and that Dan's genetic material from NuGenesis had been used to conceive another young man named Ethan. These two had been with their father – also working at odd jobs, mostly in the field of computers. They now had gone even deeper into hiding together to evade the Centre, in case news of Dan's death caught the eye of someone and resulted in sweepers descending on the little town where they'd been staying. I worried about my daughter too, but Jarod assured me that Emily's job at the Philadelphia newspaper had become quite high-profile in recent months, in a perverse way making her far less vulnerable to Centre machinations. As for Kyle, he was dead too – and my grief that terrible, unforgettable night was almost unbearable.

I had drifted for the next six months, never staying more than three weeks in any one place until the small fortune Jarod had given me was beginning to seriously dwindle. In that time, I'd worked as a waitress, a hotel maid, a grocery store checkout, among other things – all low-profile jobs that would tend not to garner attention. That changed – in order to make ends meet, I had to choose employment prospects that were a little more in keeping with my education and training. For the next three years, Jarod had called from time to time on a very rare basis– twice to warn me of the Centre somehow managing to get a lead on my current location. Now, realizing that I'd been in one place for a whole three months, I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck beginning to crawl. How much longer would I be safe here? When was the last time Jarod had called? I couldn't remember…

"We'll see," Clive responded gamely, shattering my quick reverie. "I can be a very persuasive and patient man." I merely let my eyebrows raise in skepticism as a response and turned gratefully to the first phone call of the day with my own worries at the front of my mind. Three months in one place was too long. It was time for me to move on – whether Jarod called with another warning or not. He had my cell phone number – he could always find me now, if he wanted to. My God, though – what if I'd finally given the Centre enough time to track me down, and Jarod didn't know about it.

I'd been here too long. I knew better.

I dealt with the mother on the phone wanting to get copies of her child's transcript and then hung up to find that Clive hadn't retreated to his office yet. "Peg – are you OK?" he asked with what looked to be genuine concern on his face. "You've gone pale."

"I'm fine," I lied to him again, waving my hand dismissively in hopes of chasing him into his office and finally to work. "I'm just courting a headache, that's all."

He finally walked away as I'd hoped, with much the same expression on his face that I could remember Dan sometimes giving me during those rare weekends we would meet while trying to stay below the Centre's tracking efforts. Whatever I'd said, Clive, like Dan in similar situations, hadn't believed me but was going to let me have the last word nonetheless to avoid confrontation. I deliberately tried not to think of how easily and often I found myself lying to the handsome principal of Oakridge Elementary School now – especially since he'd started indicating his interest in me.

I knew that Clive was a good man – a widower himself that had every spinster and divorcee in town drooling and primping. Had it been another time, another world, I might have been convinced to trust him with my secret. It had been a very long time since I'd been able to have a serious discussion of my situation with someone my age who might be able to understand. Suddenly I missed Dan – even though we'd been living apart for more than twenty-eight years now and our relationship was defined by quick and poignant weekends in odd and secluded spots from time to time in the last two years since we'd reconnected, I missed him dreadfully for a sharp and agonizing moment. It wasn't fair that we had never been able to put our lives back together in a more normal manner before death had stolen him from me.

But then, I was getting used to life being completely and mercilessly unfair.

oOoOo

"Margaret Charles?"

After a quiet day with few emergencies, disciplinary issues or special events, I almost welcomed the sound of Jarod's voice in my ear – even though his mode of address left me confused as I swiveled in my chair to look up at him. But rather than being in what I'd come to think of as his customary black leather attire, he was wearing the uniform of a local police officer. Only his eyes showed that he knew me – they were wide and anxious and flicking up to the closed door to Clive's office nervously. Pretend along with me, they told me silently.

"Yes?" I answered in my most officious and neutral tone.

"You need to come with me, ma'am," Jarod continued, his policeman's act quite convincing. "There are some questions we need to have you answer."

"Now?!" My surprise and consternation were real now. "I can't just leave…"

Jarod's voice was implacable – something must be seriously wrong for him to pull this. "I can always arrest you, ma'am…" he answered in a quiet and calm voice that belied the urgency in his gaze.

I gathered my purse from my desk drawer hurriedly. "Let me call my principal…"

"You don't have time for that…" Finally Jarod was starting to sound like himself – and as if he was on the verge of panic. "You need to come with me NOW."

I grabbed a blank piece of paper and scrawled "Sorry" on it, then left it in the middle of my blotter as I rose, grabbed my winter coat and followed my son out the front door of the school and down to where a squad car waited. As I climbed in, I could see Clive's face in his office window – a study in disbelief and alarm – but his mad dash to try to catch us before the car moved away from the curb was too slow and too late. We left him standing at the curb, one hand at his hip, the other at his ear as he obviously was calling the police department to demand an explanation.

I wanted one too.

"Jarod…"

"I'm about fifteen minutes ahead of the Centre, Mom," Jarod told me without taking his eyes from the road. "We have about five minutes more than that for me to ditch this car and disguise and get you out of here."

"How…"

"Did you HAVE to use your real name on the employment application?" His voice was filled with frustration and dismay.

I sighed. "I figured they'd assume I'd always be using an alias now – and so not be looking for a Margaret Charles." I could see now, in retrospect, how foolish such an assumption on MY part had been. "I didn't think…"

"This was just too close. You're going to have to go into hiding for a while – for real this time," he told me in a firm tone. "No employment, no leaving the safe house…"

"No! I refuse to live like a prisoner," I fired back. "I'll have you know that for the last thirty-some years, I've done quite well at avoiding…"

"Yeah, but they're looking harder for you now," he informed me, already starting to unzip the uniform jacket with one hand while driving with the other. "Your face is all over the Internet – with a sizeable reward for tips on your location. The Centre isn't being coy anymore – they want you because they know that they can get to me THROUGH you."

"I think they've known that ever since you escaped, honey," I reminded him, leaning forward to put a hand on his shoulder. "I do appreciate what you did, though – pulling me out of that office before…"

His hand came up and quickly covered mine, then it dropped away again and began shrugging the jacket from his body. "Yes, but Raines is getting desperate now. Ever since we… missed connections at Scotland three years ago, I've stayed below their radar – not leaving any clues for them to follow or much contact with any of them at all anymore. I'm getting tired of running…"

"I am too." I hadn't realized how tired I was getting of never being able to completely relax – of never being able to make good friends and know myself safe in anonymity. "Maybe that's part of the reason I used my real name this time – I was hoping…"

Jarod nodded, and he sounded more understanding at last. "I know, Mom. I wish we all could just fade into the woodwork and then reform as a family and not have to pretend to be someone else – but the Centre has eyes everywhere. And lately, those eyes are looking for you and Dad as hard as – if not harder - than they're looking for me."

I sighed and leaned back against the cushion, trying to ignore the odd smells that wafted into my nostrils or think about what could have happened in this back seat to leave them behind. "So now what?"

"We're going to have to find you a deep hole – somewhere the Centre would never dream of looking for you…" his voice trailed off as he finished shrugging off the shirt and began to think. I glanced at his face in the rearview mirror and got a shiver of apprehension. His face was hard and calculating. "I have to make a call," he said suddenly.

"We have to ditch the car and uniform, you said," I frowned.

He gave a quick nod. "We'll do that first – but then I'll have to make a call the moment I know that we're in the clear for the time being."

"Who are you going to call?" I asked curiously.

Jarod's dark eyes met mine in the rearview mirror at last. "Someone I hope I can trust," was all he would say.

oOoOo

Ditching the police ruse was easier than I'd thought it would be. Jarod very quietly drove the sedan to the side of the road in a secluded spot just outside of town and then opened the door for me to get out. From a briefcase he pulled out of the car, he took a rag and a bottle of cleaner and wiped down the interior and exterior of the vehicle until he was certain neither of us had left any fingerprints or other clues to our identity behind. The uniform clothing he'd been wearing – including the heavy gun belt and weapon that looked altogether too real – he rolled up and threw into a duffel bag that he pulled from the trunk of the car. He then finished up by wiping down the key he'd used in the ignition and the trunk lock and tossed it into the trunk as well before slamming the trunk down with his hand still wrapped in the rag.

We only walked a few hundred paces down the pavement – Jarod told me to not step in any of the soft snow on the shoulder to give away our direction. Then he was pulling another set of keys from his trousers and opening the back end of a nondescript silver mini SUV that had been parked on the side of the road, just as the police car was. "We'll have to get you a wardrobe on the fly," he told me regretfully as he tossed both the duffel bag and briefcase into the back and then unlocked the car so we could both climb in through the driver's door. "I don't think it would be wise to go back to your apartment and get your stuff before the Centre gets to it."

I nodded at him, wishing it were otherwise. I'd managed to collect a rather nice set of clothing that was as comfortable as it was practical – but this wasn't the first time I'd managed to elude the Centre with virtually nothing but the clothes on my back. Any photographs with real sentimental value were in my wallet, NEVER to be left behind anywhere. "It's OK," I told him as I settled into the passenger seat next to him. "There's nothing that would give them any information they don't already know."

We drove for the next hour in silence, each of us wrapped up in thoughts and plans and what-if's, until Jarod finally pulled over at a rest stop. "Here," he said, handing me three twenties from what looked like a very substantial roll of money. "Get us some food and drink to keep us going for a fairly long trip while I make that call I was talking about."

"Are you going to tell me who?" I asked, tucking the money into my blouse pocket before reaching for the door handle.

"As soon as I'm sure of our plans," he replied cryptically and then turned one of his prize-winning smiles on me. "Trust me, Mom."

"I do, honey," I answered him with a sudden feeling in my gut that reminded me – and not for the first time – that this man who was my son was still virtually a stranger to me. His means and agendas were completely unknown to me. All I had to go on were memories of a loving five-year-old and the fact that despite the decades of separation, he apparently felt a deep responsibility for my welfare and was willing to go to great lengths on my behalf – all gained in conversations and meetings so brief and rare that I could count them on two hands with fingers left over. Jarod loved his mother – at least, I was fairly certain he did – and it was in that I could trust. Beyond that, however…

I climbed from the car and walked into the little convenience store that doubled as a truck stop and gas station and put the sixty dollars he'd given me to good use. I bought bottled water and caffeinated drinks, prepackaged cheese and cracker snacks, plastic utensils, several cup of soups, hand wipes, chips, cookies, and finally a thermos that – with a little feminine persuasion aimed at the clerk – I then filled with hot water from the coffee dispenser to use with the soups.

Jarod was just finishing putting gas into the SUV, and by the time I had the haul from the store stowed between the driver's and passenger's seats, he'd paid for his gas and was climbing behind the wheel again. "Are you sure you don't want me to take a turn driving?" I asked him.

"I'm fine," he answered absently. "We need to get on the toll road and head south now."

"South?" South of us was Maryland – and Delaware beyond that. My stomach twisted into a knot at the mere idea. "Where are we going?"

"I told you," he sighed, "the last place the Centre would ever dream of looking for you."

"Jarod." I put out my hand and covered his at the ignition, preventing him from turning on the engine. "I think it's time you told me what your plans are."

He at least had the courtesy of looking chagrined. "I'd really rather not – not yet, anyway. I'd rather we not fight for the next few hours. I see you so seldom as it is…"

"Where are we going?" I asked again – this time in my best mother's no-nonsense tone.

"A place just outside Blue Cove," he replied very softly, not looking at me at all. "I spent most of the time driving to pick you up doing the SIM of your going there, just to make sure – and I was right. The best place for you to hide right now is right under the Centre's nose."

"My God, Jarod! Are you mad?" I couldn't believe it!

"Mom…" He gave a deep sigh and his shoulders drooped. "I told you – they've turned up the intensity of the search for you and the others. They have their computers and their consultants scouring the Internet and databases looking for the least hint of your whereabouts. How they managed to miss you working under your own name for as long as they did…"

"That doesn't mean that I'm safest in their back pockets!" I snapped. "I could leave the country…"

"And if you did, I couldn't get to you fast enough to protect you if their allies – and they do have them over there – spot you and turn you in for the reward!" he barked back at me and then took a deep breath to try to calm himself. "But one thing I have learned about the Centre is that while they may be lethally efficient, they tend to be criminally myopic." Finally he faced me, and his face was relaxed and almost jovial. "Did I ever tell you that my favorite place to rest between Pretends that have them spending their frequent flier miles is a seaside cottage about four miles outside the Centre perimeter? I've been coming and going from Blue Cove for almost eight years now – staying in that little cottage often for weeks at a time – and they still haven't got a clue."

I gaped – half in astonishment, and half in awe. "Jarod!"

"I got it from a relative of a friend I helped out, way back when I first escaped. She was looking to sell – I was looking for a place I could call my own where I wouldn't' call attention to myself." His smile widened. "You'll love it, Mom – it's far from the roads and far enough from the fence around the Centre that you can almost forget it's so close. You'll have your own private beach…"

"You think I'm going to be happy stuck in a countryside cottage that's half-buried in a snowdrift right now and close enough to the Centre that if they listen carefully, they'll hear me sneeze?" I gaped at him. "And what about supplies? I can't go into town – your father and I had good friends in Blue Cove, I'd be recognized…"

Jarod reached out and patted my hand. "Trust me, Mom."

"I'm trying to, Jarod – it's just…" I stammered into silence. How was I supposed to tell my first-born son of the sense of foreboding I got just crossing the Delaware state line, much less taking up residence on the Centre's front porch? "Where will you be?"

Uh-oh – he couldn't look me in the eye anymore. "I don't dare stay in the area," he said with a touch of real remorse. "I have a project that I'm going to start in a few days – I'll be just a couple of hours away. And if there's anything that comes up, my friend knows a couple of other places to take you that will be just as good and will take you there – and then let me know."

"You must trust this friend greatly to not be tempted to blab to the Centre," I observed, making my skepticism plain.

"Guilt can be a wonderful motivator, when used properly," Jarod quipped and then fell silent again, leaving me to ponder his remarks for the next few hours.

We made a very late afternoon stop in Baltimore at a Wal-Mart on the outskirts of town, where Jarod gave me more money and sent me in to replenish my wardrobe. It didn't take me long to purchase a nightgown, bathrobe, slippers, underwear, comfortable running shoes, several pairs of warm trousers, sweaters and blouses, a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant and a hairbrush – all in all not so very different from what I'd left behind in my little apartment – and then find a suitcase to hold it all, as well as sheets, pillows, pillowcases and several blankets. When I returned to the car, he helped me remove tags and fold the garments into the suitcase – which was then deposited in the back with his duffel bag and the bags of bed linen before we once more found the turnpike.

As the darkness fell, I leaned my seat back and tried to nap – but my mind was running too fast to allow me to rest well. I couldn't help thinking about Clive and the mess I'd probably left him in by bolting out of the school like I did – although I pacified myself with the thought that he was going to have been left with a mess one way or the other, so better it be the one in which I retained my freedom than the one in which the Centre hauled me away. I once more allowed myself to think of Dan – to regret the fact it wasn't him sitting in the driver's seat taking me to safety rather than Jarod. Then I felt guilty about wishing the son to be the father – I'd seen neither often enough in my life to be choosy.

I was surprised when a gentle hand nudged at my shoulder. I must have fallen asleep after all. "We're almost there, Mom," Jarod announced – and I sat up and looked around to see very familiar surroundings. Too familiar – we were cruising calmly past the front gates to the Centre itself. I could see the Tower in the distance, the lights on the white stonework making the place seem even more oppressive and threatening than usual. "It's OK," Jarod soothed, patting my shoulder again as if he could sense my alarm, "they have no idea how close we are. That's the beauty of this."

It was in that moment that I decided that I had only two options – to trust in Jarod's abilities blindly, banking on the fact that the Centre wouldn't want him so badly if his SIMs hadn't proven useful over and over again in the past, or jump from the car and take my chances in the dark by myself – once more reduced to nothing but the clothes on my back. I looked at his face, reflected in the dim light from the SUV's controls, and could see that he wasn't stressed at all – and decided that the time had come to put myself in my son's hands. It was hard to relinquish control like that – but I had no choice.

"How much further?" I asked instead, straightening the seat and trying to get my bearings in a countryside I hadn't visited for over thirty years that was blanketed in snow that hid many of the smaller landmarks I might have recognized otherwise.

"We're almost there," he replied, slowing the SUV down after another mile or so had gone past and then turning onto a narrow lane. Overhung with barren branches of dormant trees, I could see how in the fullness of summer, this could be an ideal setting for a hide-out. The lane wound slowly around until Jarod once more turned off into what was nothing more than a set of indentations – ruts that the late winter's snowfall had nearly obliterated. I wondered that he'd even known where to look.

"They'll see the tracks," I worried at him.

"Mom," Jarod sighed indulgently at me, "they don't get out this way – they've no reason to. Stop worrying."

The cottage itself only gradually became visible through the tangle of barren trees and bushes in the early evening gloom – a two-storied structure with weathered white clapboard siding that nearly blended with the snow on the ground to make an eerie winter scene in the moonlight. The windows were black in the darkness, empty of any life. The SUV pulled to a halt in front of a small shed that must serve as a garage that stood just a few paces from the narrow stairs and screened in back entry to the cottage.

We both pulled on our winter coats before leaving the SUV – the branches of the bushes were moving in the force of a healthy and chilling wind blowing in from the ocean. Jarod handed me his keys with one in particular selected – and then went around to the back of the SUV where the trunk door was already open while I hurried up the wooden steps to the back porch with my purse and the rest of our travel supplies. I stamped my feet to get rid of the snow from my trousers in the screened-in entryway that was half-filled by a long chest freezer and then applied the key to the lock.

It wasn't exactly warm in the house as I stepped through the door, my right hand reaching in and around the corner for the light switch, but the lack of wind was a relief in itself. The kitchen was revealed to be a relatively old-fashioned one, with white enameled cabinets and linoleum on the floor and appliances that looked like they'd come out of a 50's movie set. A Formica table with aluminum accents and legs sat off to one side and against a wall, with three matching aluminum and vinyl chairs neatly tucked into their places. On the table sat a toaster oven and the traditional napkins and salt and pepper shakers.

I put the plastic sack with the remains of chips, cookies, cheese and crackers, utensils and cups of soup on the table and shivered as Jarod came through the door fully loaded with luggage and Wal-Mart bags amidst a blast of cold night breeze. "Your friend didn't warm the place up any for you," I commented wryly.

"He hasn't been here," Jarod replied. "I'll light the furnace in the morning – and we can make do with the little electric heaters in the bedrooms until then."

I opened the refrigerator and found it empty – as I suspected. "He's coming with groceries for us, I hope…"

"No – I'll drive back into Dover for them after we both get a good night's rest and you make me a shopping list. For tonite, we snack if we get hungry and finish off what you bought for us earlier." He handed me my suitcase and one of the bags of bedclothes. "C'mon – let me show you the rest of the place. I'm thinking we both need to sleep ourselves out – get rid of the nerves from your close call."

The one bathroom to the place was near the back – just off the kitchen. The living room surprised me by having a fireplace – but, "if we use the furnace, and keep the lights to a minimum at night, it will be hard for anyone to suspect that there's anyone here," was his response to my query about a supply of firewood. The floors were polished hardwood – although the living room furniture was arranged on what looked like a Persian rug in fairly good condition. A thin film of dust covered almost every horizontal surface – evidently Jarod hadn't been in residence here for a while, or else hadn't cleaned well the last time he'd landed here.

It would give me something to do for the first day or so at least, I thought. It had been a while since I'd had a whole house to clean – the work would do both me and my mental state good. There was a rather modern entertainment center, with television, DVD player and expensive-looking stereo set in a far corner – and a computer desk complete with computer and monitor in an opposite corner. The couch and chairs were arranged in a semi-circle in front of the hearth, with a heavy oaken coffee table as centerpiece for them all. The other wall was lined with books – and I knew that at least some of my time once Jarod was gone would go into seeing just what kind of library my son would take the time to collect for himself.

"Did you buy this place furnished?" I asked as I took the first step to following him up a very narrow flight of stairs that turned ninety degrees to the left from a landing three steps up and headed into the darkness above.

"My friend's aunt died and left it to her – and she just wanted to get rid it. She was glad when I told her I'd take it as is," Jarod replied over his shoulder, his left hand seeking and then finding the light switch to the upstairs hall. A doorway faced down the stairs, but he made no move to enter. "I couldn't see any benefit in replacing stuff that worked, although I've added a few things here and there…"

The master bedroom, across the hallway and a few steps down from the door I'd seen coming up the stairs, was nearly as long as the cottage was wide – with two old-fashioned casement windows that looked out over the roof of a broad front porch and in the direction of the ocean. There was a small chest of drawers opposite the queen-sized bed – and a vanity with a huge round mirror dominated the space between the windows. I opened a narrow door and found the room had a walk-in closet that was much bigger than I'd suspected. "Nice," I nodded as Jarod pulled the plastic sheet from the bed and deposited my suitcase in the middle of it. "A little dusting, and this will be just fine.

"There's a small space heater here," Jarod pointed out the little box in a corner near the chest of drawers as he finished folding the plastic from the bed. "It should help take some of the chill from the room for the time being."

"And you? Where are you going to sleep?" I asked, too awake now to really want to settle down yet.

"My room's at the end of the hallway," he replied.

"What's behind that door at the top of the stairs?" I wanted to know.

"Storage," he answered, "closet space for unseasonable clothing, Christmas decorations and all sorts of stuff." He flashed me a wistful smile. "I've had all kinds of fun going through all the boxes in there over the years – imagining what would have needed to happen for the stuff to have ended up there." His smile faded slightly. "It gave me the feeling that even though the memories that belonged with the stuff in the boxes didn't belong to my family – to me – that I was protecting family memorabilia." He shook himself, almost as if he were embarrassed by the emotional neediness such a confession exposed. "God, I must be more tired than I thought! This is my room," he added, leading me down the hall.

I followed him into the second bedroom and found it furnished very much as my room had been – although the size was considerably less. It too had a walk-in closet and a small space heater tucked into an inconspicuous corner. He dropped his duffel bag in the middle of the bed after pulling off the plastic sheet again, but carried his laptop case – which must have been in the back of the SUV all along – to the top of the chest of drawers. Again he folded the plastic sheeting expertly and dropped it on top of the chest of drawers next to the black canvas laptop case.

"Get some sleep, Mom," he urged me gently, stepping close and dropping a kiss on my forehead. "We'll talk more in the morning."

I smiled at him and let him shoo me out of his room after we divided up the bed linens – although I had my doubts about our talk in the morning. If we couldn't find anything to chat about to occupy the hours we'd been driving to get here, I wasn't sure we had anything to fill the time any better with the sun up other than questions and answers that could cause arguments. I made up my bed, turned on the little heater, changed quickly into my nightgown in the cold and climbed into bed. Surprisingly, I think I was asleep only two moments after my head hit the pillow.

oOoOo

I'd been tired, and I was surprised that I was able to rest as well as I did in a strange bed with linens that still had the manufacturer's sizing in them. The little space heater had done its job well – my bedroom may not have been toasty warm when I got up, but from the looks of the fresh snowfall from my window, it would have been downright freezing otherwise. I had chosen a warm robe and slippers at the store – and I was glad for them as I walked down a hallway to the stairs that was easily as frozen as my bedroom would have been.

I thought I was the first to arise, but I was mistaken. Halfway down the stairs, my nose could smell the wonderful aroma of freshly brewed coffee. "You're up early," I commented from the bathroom door in the direction of my son's back as he stood at the stove doing something I couldn't see but could smell behind the coffee scent.

"I thought we both could do with some warm food this morning," Jarod replied, turning his head to give me a smile that reminded me so much of Dan's smile it hurt. "Hurry up," he urged with a nudge of his nose toward the bathroom, "this should be just about ready when you get out."

I hurried, and wasn't surprised that by the time I exited the bathroom, I could smell cinnamon and apples. On the counter was a box of instant flavored oatmeal – which was better than making a breakfast out of the left-over chips and other snacks from the trip. "At least you know the advantages to a good breakfast," I smiled at him as I put a hand on his shoulder from behind.

He looked back and over his shoulder at me with a wide smile. "The advantage lies entirely with the breakfast being edible and tasty as well as nutritious," he corrected me as he twisted to bend and drop a kiss on my cheek. "There are mugs next to the stove for coffee – help yourself."

I poured myself some of the wonderful-smelling brew from the old fashioned percolator on the stove and carried it back to the kitchen table. "So," I began as I sat down in a chair from which I could continue to watch what he was doing, "are you feeling rested this morning?"

Jarod had two bowls of steaming oatmeal in his hands as he turned away from the stove, and he set one of them in front of me. "Sorry there's no milk yet. We'll have to put that on your shopping list for this afternoon." He turned back to take the pot in which he'd cooked our breakfast into the sink and fill it with cold water and then returned to the table with a full cup of coffee. "Yeah, though – to answer your question, I'm feeling a lot better now that I know we're safe for the time being."

I waited until he'd sat down and sipped long at his coffee. "Talk to me, Jarod," I insisted after tasting the oatmeal and nodding my approval of his efforts. "Just how long do you think I'm going to have to stay stuck here?"

"Mom…"

"Look," I told him, leaning toward him and putting my hand on his arm, "don't think I'm not grateful for your timely help staying out of the Centre's clutches. But I'm not accustomed to staying in one place for very long at all, much less being cooped up in a single building all alone out in the middle of blessed nowhere for days and weeks on end. Throw me a bone here!"

"OK…" he sighed, very obviously not happy about my not wanting to just do as he wished without question. "I figure that it will take about three weeks for your trail to grow completely cold. After that, it might take another week or so to find a good place for you to hide in the open WITHOUT giving away your identity in the bargain. So, best guess-timate, you'll be here about a month."

I nodded, eating my oatmeal placidly and working to mentally digest his plans for me. "And what will you be doing – and where will you be doing it – while I'm stuck here?"

Jarod looked at me sharply. "I'll be in Baltimore," he told me a little reluctantly. "I think I should be able to slip down once a week to shop for you in Dover and then visit for a day or so on weekends…" He took several mouthsful of oatmeal in succession, unnerved, I think, by my continued silence. "There's a situation going on there, Mom, that I have to take care of…"

"Will you be there the whole time I'm here?"

He nodded as he sipped at his coffee. "I think so. There's a lot of foundation-laying and situation-building that I'll have to do before anything meaningful can happen."

"Will it be dangerous?"

"Mom…"

I didn't let his look of frustration put me off. "It's a simple question, Jarod…"

"I've done this for the better part of the last ten years, Mom – I can take care of myself," he answered instead and stuffed a spoon laden with oatmeal into his mouth unhappily.

"You don't believe ME when I say I can take care of myself – so I don't think I'm out of line in not exactly believing it from you either," I shot back angrily. "For your information, I've been staying two steps ahead of the Centre for a helluva lot longer than you have, Mr. Russell – just because I goof now and again doesn't mean I can't continue to do so. Tell me YOU haven't ended up too damned close to them from time to time when you miscalculate…" I waited, but a slow-rising flush beginning at his collar told me I'd nailed him. "Enough said then. Answer the question – will it be dangerous?"

When he looked up at me, his dark eyes were snapping. "Yes, Mother, it will be dangerous to a certain extent. People who are doing bad things to other people generally aren't happy to have their little schemes disrupted."

I lifted my coffee, not letting my hand shake, and nodded at him. Who was I kidding? I had very little maternal weight to throw around this stranger-son of mine to bring him to my point of view – and pushing him too much NOW might not be a wise move. "Thank you for your honesty," I told him calmly and sipped at my coffee, barely tasting it. "And please pardon the Twenty Questions, but…" I steeled myself for another confrontation, "…in case something unexpected happens, and you are out of the picture for whatever reason, how will I know when to move on – and just who were you talking to that you think you can trust with my whereabouts?"

Jarod sighed and dropped the spoon in his bowl of oatmeal before reaching for his coffee again. "I told you, three weeks will give us enough time to make sure whatever trail you might have left behind for the Centre has grown cold and useless – another week after that and it should be safe for you to move on, with or without my help. As to the call…" He sipped for a long moment at his mug. "Sydney's the only one I can trust not to turn you in to the Centre at the drop of a hat – and he's also capable of helping you move to a different safe house should the need arise."

"Sydney!" No wonder Jarod had made the crack about guilt being a good motivator earlier! Of all the names I'd expected him to toss at me, the LAST one I'd expected was that of the man who had held him prisoner and made him do terrible, horrific things for years on end.

Jarod was nodding. "He knows where you are, and what to do if you should happen to have to call him one day." His eyes flicked up to meet mine and then dropped their gaze back into the oatmeal bowl. "His phone number is underneath the telephone – over there." His finger indicated the old-fashioned slim-line telephone on the end of the kitchen counter. "If I don't come every Saturday afternoon – or if I call to tell you that I can't make it – call Sydney. He'll help you get groceries – and, if necessary, get you to someplace safe if you need to move."

"And you think I can trust this man?" I was still incredulous. "Jarod, he kept you locked away from the world for thirty years…"

"Sydney has a lot to answer for, I agree," Jarod nodded at me, "but he's a victim too…" He seemed to debate explaining himself, but then apparently decided against it. "Since my escape, he's found ways to help me – small but relatively important and effective ways to keep me free. There is one other whom I COULD tell, but I don't think he's in any position to be of help since he has a teenaged daughter's welfare to think of. For what it's worth, I trust Sydney about as much as I trust anybody in this world..." his eyes again flicked briefly at mine, "…including you."

I wasn't exactly certain whether I should feel insulted that Jarod didn't trust me anymore than he trusted his former jailer – or encouraged that he was entrusting my safety to the one person he trusted as much as he trusted me. Either way, I knew that I now had asked all the hard questions and, for better or worse, gotten as many of the answers as were going to be forthcoming. "This shopping list you want me to put together," I threw out, knowing it to be a far safer subject than any of the others so far that morning, "how far in advance do you want to buy?"

"At least a week," he answered, looking almost as relieved as I felt. "There's a box freezer on the back porch, in case you didn't notice, that you can keep any cuts of meat. I don't know how much REAL cooking you want to do just for yourself…"

I smiled at him and reached for my spoon again. "I've been living off of TV dinners and pre-packaged meals for months now – working at that school office was fun, but tiring. I think I'd like to have to think through a menu and plan for a week's worth of groceries again." I found myself chuckling at the very idea even as I lifted a spoonful of rapidly cooling breakfast. "Imagine – going back to something resembling a "normal" lifestyle…"

"Yeah," Jarod chuckled too, with just a hint of bitterness. "Who'd ever think how unnatural "normal" is for us, huh?"