Entry 46

Six months have passed when another phone call comes from Dixon.

The sound of his voice follows me in the car, to the hospital and down the corridors. I had dreaded that phone call for so long… Because the more time passed, the more likely it became that it would announce Sydney's death.

And as horrible as being in the dark is, it still means there is a glimmer of hope that she could come back.

I open the door, and she is back.

Unconscious, hooked up to machines and IVs.

Her lips are so pale. Her lips are so pale. Her lips…

It's like my brain has the hiccups and only one coherent thought can make it through. At some point, Dixon walks in and gently nudges me to a chair. I don't remember sitting down, but suddenly he is sitting near me, talking, explaining.

"She's been through a lot. We found her outside an abandoned farm in Tuscany. A team had been dispatched to do some recon, and she was there, laying unconscious in a covered area near the house. When she came to, she explained she'd been captive of the Triumvirate for several months, but she had managed to escape." Dixon pauses for a second, as if what he is about to say deserves a drum roll. "She didn't escape empty-handed, Eric. She had a book with her. Rambaldi's Memoirs."

I look up, wondering if I truly understood right. I must have, because Dixon, who's now in charge of all Rambaldi-related research at Langley, is here.

Dixon smiles. "Yes. She got the Key." That's the nickname given to the Memoirs as they are supposed to contain a comprehensive inventory of all the Rambaldi inventions as well as their use and different hiding places throughout the world. Whoever possessed the Key would ring End Game for all the other players. And Sydney got it. The chase was over. Finally over.

Dixon checks his cell phone. He excuses himself as he goes into the corridor to take the call.

I stare at my wife's unconscious body just laying there, covered by a white sheet.

I don't even dare to touch her in case she dissipates like a dream. One of those dreams I've had for months where she smiled while she slowly dissolved into a shapeless cloud.

"Did they really disfigure me?" I hear this whisper that's barely audible above the humming of the machines.

I'm up and near her in a second. "What?"

"They must have done a real number on me if I'm so ugly you won't touch me."

It takes me a second to realize she's joking. "You're the most insane woman I've ever married."

Her left hand is moving slightly. I take it. The feel of her skin knocks the breath out of me. Her eyes are closed. Still, an uneven tear painfully winds its way down her cheek. "I don't regret marrying you, sorry."

I croak out a laugh and I know the tears are running down my cheeks as well. I weep silently as sleep claims Sydney again.

I don't leave her bedside or let go of her hand for the next three days.

.

Logged September 9, 2011

.

Entry 49

The house has been very quiet. It's often that way these days. The kids and I are still tiptoeing around Sydney, which she says is driving her crazy.

The thing is, she's not like she was "before."

Not that I expected her to be unchanged. I knew there would be consequences, even more so than the last time. Bad as it was, the fact that the two years of her "death" were erased from her memory turned out to also be a sort of blessing in disguise: can't re-live the same ugly moments over and over if you don't remember them.

No such luxury this time, and it shows. It's like Syd is spending all her energy keeping the memories at bay.

She's been on extended leave since her return. She stays at home all day. Doesn't train, doesn't show interest in CIA business, doesn't make projects, hasn't even opened one of her beloved books that take up an entire wall in the family room. She barely keeps up with daily chores, only picking up the kids from daycare and school because I can't do it. I can see she's carrying a world of pain around with her, but I can't share in it. Sometimes, I'll come home and find her sitting still in the dark. I try to sit with her and be present in her silence. Then I risk a couple of questions, but she won't… can't, really, I think, answer back.

She never talks about what she went through. Not to me, not to the CIA shrink. Not even to her father or Dixon. I know, 'cause out of desperation, I asked all of them. Each time, I got the same advice: be patient, let her get to it on her own terms.

Oh I've got the patience. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. But I'm not so sure that Sydney has the fortitude to go on like this. I know she can withstand a lot of stress. But I also know that she has a tender mind, and eventually she needs to share at least some of the darkness. Even if in disguise, she has to confide in someone.

I'd like that someone to be me, but at this point, I would take a confession to the Pope. Because this silence is slowly killing her. She's lost weight. She makes an effort for the kids, but even Lila can't get her to smile a true, honest to goodness, happy smile.

I look up from my computer when I hear an angry voice darting out of the family room.

I leave my small office and take a peek. Lila is standing in the middle of the room, big tears threatening to spill.

This can't go on. I walk in.

"Lila, sweetie," I kneel down in front of her. I kiss her and give her a hearty hug. The tears have almost vanished when I pull back and look at her. "Mommy is a little tired. She didn't mean to yell at you, you know that, right?"

"Yes, but it scared me."

I squeeze her little hands and kiss them. "Why don't you go to your playroom. I'll talk to mommy, ok?"

"Ok." She looks at me with sad eyes. "Will you fix mommy, dad? Will you make her happy again?"

Did I mention this child is scarily psychic? "I'm going to try, pumpkin. I promise you that." I kiss her cheek and send her on her way.

Then I stand up, brace myself, and turn back.

The sight isn't pretty. Sydney is scrunched up in the blue armchair, knees drawn up, rocking lightly while tears slip down her face.

I'm trying to be cool, not accusatory. "Look, Syd, I don't want to pressure you. But when it comes to the kids, I've got to step in…"

"I know, I know…" She murmurs, sniffling. "Will you hold me?"

Well, that's new. Since her return, she hasn't allowed any contact other than casual hand touching. No full body contact, and certainly no hanky-panky. I can't say these have been the best six months I've ever had, but I can deal with that. It still beats thinking she was laying dead somewhere.

I take her hands and help her up. I gently nudge her towards the couch. I sit in the corner and let her find her place against my chest. I have dealt with our lack of physical contact, but God, this feels good. So right to have her in my arms again.

We just sit there in silence for a long while.

Finally, she starts. Her voice is so tiny at first, I have to strain to hear her.

"I'm sorry…"

"It's ok…"

"No, it's not ok. I've never… I can't believe I just yelled at my daughter."

I don't answer. I just let her weigh her own words.

"I don't… I can't…" She chokes on the syllables.

I hold her closer, trying to make her feel I'm here. She doesn't have to do this alone. I caress her hair with light strokes, just like when Lila has one of her bad dreams.

"I read the Memoirs. They gave them to me to read. I thought they were going to kill me. But they just kept…"

She brings her hand up to her belly. A feel of dread coagulates in the pit of my stomach. I wasn't able to access her medical records. Classified Omega-17, way above my clearance. What the hell had they done to her?

"I think they were trying to make me produce the Rambaldi Heir."

Torture, maybe rape… I didn't want to imagine it, but I knew it was possible. Even likely. But this? Sydney reduced to a live incubator… The feeling of dread rises in my throat along with the nausea. I swallow it back and take a silent breath. I mull things over for a few seconds, trying to keep it together, and I ask very softly. "But they must have known you already had children?"

"They did. The thing is… According to the Memoirs, the father..." The words are coming out slowly, as if she's afraid they might break everything in the room if they're let out too fast. "I think they were trying to inseminate me as if I hadn't gone missing for two years."

I'm beginning to understand why she wouldn't talk about this. "Did they get Vaughn too?" It's been eight years since the one email he sent me. I still wonder about him at times. Where he is, what has become of him… I miss my friend. But then some drama shakes our lives. His name comes up and I remember why he left, how, and what came of it… And I just don't know what to think anymore...

Syd is quiet. Finally, she gives me this sad, far-away look. "I never saw him. But it stands to reason that he would have been the sperm donor. In the Rambaldi Memoirs, there's no doubt that he was supposed to be… with me." She stops and concentrates for a second, trying to recall the exact words. And she cites from memory: "He who will help the Passenger shall watch over her with the green eyes of my ancestors, and none will be able to pass his guard. He alone will possess the liquid emerald and the true seeds of her destiny, his secret path the bond that will bind time and heritage. Their union inevitable, her womb will become the Vessel. Under his protection, the Heir will come to be."

That pompous ass of Rambaldi… Somebody should have confiscated his quill and ink for torturing words like that. I frown, not sure how to ask what's eating me. Eventually, I just come out with it. "So… did it work?"

She shakes her head. "No." She murmurs. She almost looks shy. "I did everything I could so it wouldn't."

I look at her for a second, wondering exactly to what extremes she went to accomplish that. "You… didn't harm yourself, did you?" I can't say what I'm more afraid of: my speculations or her answer.

"No. Nothing permanent…" That's all I'm going to get. At least for now. I see the worry lines on her forehead and even though I'd like to know more, I just forget about it for the moment and give her a reassuring smile.

I see the tension ebb away from her neck and shoulders. It's like, since she came back, she's been rigid with apprehension of what my reaction might be. Now that it's all out and I'm still talking to her… She's coming alive again. And I'm grateful that I was able to shut up and put on a brave face despite it all. Small price to pay to see her finally let go of the anguish.

She smiles back, just a little, and suddenly hugs me fiercely. I love that she needs the closeness and that she will at long last allow it between us, but after a full minute, I'm about to ask for mercy since I can't breathe. I don't have to. As if she sensed my growing discomfort, she releases her hold, her right hand coming to rest on my chest.

I look down. I feel prickles in my eyes. This used to be Syd's favorite snuggle position. I haven't felt her hand on my chest in almost a year. I savor the instant. I don't know if this will last, but I've missed it. I've missed her so much. I've missed the light she brings me. Everything is so dark without her. I reach out with my hand and almost touch hers, but not quite. I'm just offering here. And waiting. I want to let her take the lead. Do everything at her pace.

She doesn't reject me.

"I think they gave me the book to see if I would come up with a different interpretation. After all, I had plenty of incentive to do that… What I deducted, I never told them." She takes in a shaky breath, like she's about to reveal some earth-shattering news. "The Memoirs are a collection of what looks like predictions. Only, I don't think that's what they really are."

I can tell she's afraid I won't believe her. She's probably right. After all, this is a Rambaldi tale: none of it is supposed to have been possible.

To give her the confidence to go on, I bring her hand up and lightly kiss it before returning it to my chest. Her body wiggles closer to mine. A small whimper escapes me. She smiles briefly. She's always liked having the power to make me lose control, and I've always loved to let her know just how much she affects me. Little hints like breadcrumbs to her heart.

The moment passes. Soon, she's gathering her courage and drops the bomb. "I think Rambaldi somehow gained access to a source as diverse as the internet and downloaded information… so to speak. I don't know how it could be, but it's the only logical explanation. Either that or I have to start believing in fortune telling."

I know better than to laugh at her theory. If she's come to this conclusion, so be it. As far as I'm concerned, the whole Rambaldi thing is a bunch of baloney; some sort of elaborate hoax. So downloading info? Why not… I want to hear her out before I say anything.

Since I'm still listening, she carries on. "Reports, maybe newspaper accounts, cold facts. Rambaldi must have used his logic and imagination to extrapolate, to fill in the blanks in the lives of everyone involved. And he got it right, most of the time, except that he didn't know the situation between Vaughn and I. He didn't know about SD-6, and the hiding, the two-year disappearance. It's like he only got partial information about me. The 'official' version of my life. According to that, I would have met Vaughn when I got recruited in the CIA. Somehow, probably through some followers, Vaughn would have come into possession of the Rambaldi serum and the predictions. He would have been the one fulfilling the prophecy. Sloane would never have interfered. But…" She sighs. "… Sloane did interfere. He recruited me into SD-6. I know he was behind my 'death.' That was his big mistake, my death. He had learned about the Passenger and intercepted the Rambaldi serum. But he didn't put two and two together until after he'd had me 'killed.' Then when I came back, he couldn't get to me immediately…"

"But he found out he had fathered Nadia and decided to keep things in the family. He didn't need you anymore…" I whisper.

She nods. "In the predictions, I'm the Passenger. I fit the description to a 'T' up until my 'death.' After that, it becomes less clear. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I think both Nadia and I probably carry some unique genes that Rambaldi thought would match his family's genetic make up perfectly…"

"His family's? You mean Vaughn is related to him?"

"He would have to be, or none of this makes sense. Vaughn once told me his mother was from the south of France, near the Italian border. She must have been a descendant. I'm not sure Nadia and I aren't descendants as well... It would make sense too..." Sydney gets quiet for a moment, contemplating what she just uncovered for me. "Vaughn and I were the perfect biological match to fulfill Rambaldi's dreams of eternal life through rebirth. I still can't understand how a fifteenth century inventor could have known anything about our lives, who to put in his 'predictions,' or how he could have figured out DNA and transfer of consciousness. But…" Her voice trails, nervous exhaustion straining it. "Somehow, he did. It's just that something went wrong… The predictions went off track… Every organization started to see Nadia and I as interchangeable. When she dropped off the face of the planet, they turned to me again…"

I shake my head, almost speechless that people could buy into this crap... "This is insane." I finally mutter. "Who the hell listens to a guy who gets half of his 'predictions' wrong?"

Sydney has a sad smile. "Apparently a lot of people. Sometime in the last few years, the Triumvirate acquired the Memoirs. Since Nadia had vanished with her father, they decided I was the next best chance to produce the Rambaldi Heir. They tried to make the predictions come true."

I take it all in. I still have a hard time accepting that we are all puppets in some mad scientist's game. I don't want to ask the next question, but I have to. "Where do we stand in all this, me and the kids?"

Sydney looks like she's about to jump her biggest hurdle yet. "I'm not sure. If we accept that Nadia and I are able to pass on the Rambaldi genes… and if everything was really orchestrated so that only a genetically compatible father, only Vaughn, would enable the creation of a child genius, of the Heir to Rambaldi, then clearly, it failed. But I think that, in the absence of the perfect match, at least some traits would persist. You know how Lila is so perceptive. And Sean is already way ahead in logical games. He's very inventive too…"

I can't say I like the sound of this. I don't believe in it, but that others might. "You think they still are the Heirs? They're gonna need protection…"

For the first time in months, I see a glint of amusement in her glance and a smirk curving the corner of her mouth. "The gene pool might have been a little watered-down, but basically, yeah, they're like semi-Heirs, if you will…" That's not helping much with my worries. She sees that and becomes more serious. "But they wouldn't be what Rambaldi had in mind. They wouldn't be 'pure' enough to interest anyone."

The kids are safe. Mostly. I breathe a sigh of relief. I take in the sight of Syd smiling gently. Her reasoning sounds correct, and if she can joke about this, I know she's not too worried about the kids' well being. She may not be the most hands-on mother, but she's fierce as a lioness when her pride is in danger. I play along. "This must be the only time in history a father is happy to have produced children that are not as intelligent as they should be."

Sydney laughs, which I immediately rank again at the top of all soothing sounds in the world. "Yes. Thanks to your only slightly higher than average IQ and completely normal DNA, the kids will probably be safe from the Rambaldi curse."

I tilt her chin up. "If you call me dumb next, I might have to make you eat your words." Another smile. This is better than Christmas and Hanukah combined. I ask softly, trying not to show how much it still stings, "Why didn't you tell me before? I know you must have wanted to. Why tell me now?"

She glances up at me. It's so good to see her relief, like the heaviest of burdens has been lifted off her shoulders. I think I know what she's about to say before she speaks. "I couldn't postpone it any longer. Even if it meant… I just couldn't risk hurting Lila or Sean." She looks away. "I was afraid…" Her face scrunches up. She swallows hard, trying not to cry. As usual, she loses the battle and the tears roll down and wet my shirt. "… that you wouldn't want me anymore. That you'd think I was a danger to you and the children. And I feel so dirty all the time…"

Dirty all the time… I suddenly understand the mystery of the water bills that have more than doubled. I thought someone had tapped into our water pipe. I kick myself mentally for being so thick-headed that I didn't see through this one. Syd must have taken several showers a day while I wasn't around, trying to 'clean off.'

I'm angry. Not at Sydney; at the CIA for not letting me know earlier that my wife had been subjected to this kind of abuse. The last months of misunderstandings and stiflingly cautious conversations would have been radically shortened if I had known what really happened.

I want to set it right.

I pull her up so that her face is near mine, her sad eyes looking straight at me. "I'd tell you you're a fool, but I think you're beginning to get that yourself. Sydney…" I pause and try to let my gaze do the 'convincing her I still love her and want her around, not matter what...' But then, I decide this needs words to drive it home. "I don't care if you're Rambaldi himself. Except I think you're probably a lot cuter than he ever was." A wet sound between a whimper and a chuckle breaks away from her emotional silence.

These days, I live for small victories. I smile at this woman who means the world to me. I wish I could warm her tired soul with the hope and optimism I've been blessed with. Now that she's let her guard down and put her faith in me, I want my answer to be honest enough, strong enough that she will never doubt again.

So I do something unusual for me: I become dead serious. "I've been in love with you since the day I was called in the CIA conference room to keep watch over you and your ridiculous clown hair. There is NOTHING on this Earth, in the past or the future that can change that, ok?… Ok?" I insist when I don't get an immediate answer.

She chuckles, tears of what I hope is relief, lazily sliding down the smooth curve of her cheeks. "Ok."

"And for the record, I have missed you so much…" I push a few strands of her hair away from her beautiful face. "So… I was wondering… Can I hug you?"

She giggles briefly that way she does when she's just realized she's had a little too much to drink. She moves closer and my arms engulf her slender body.

"And… can I kiss you?"

I don't need to say anything after that because nature takes its course. The stars are aligned right again. Kismet is on my side at last. Fate. The Future. Whatever it's called… I know it's going to be fine.

Sydney has come home.

.

Logged February 22, 2012