Absolute shock. Jarod's body shook horribly, he struggled against the wrenching in his guts, thankful that he'd been denied food and water on the flight to Blue Cove. Jarod's gratitude ended there however.

What have I done?
"What have I done?" He whimpered tearfully. The whimpers becoming louder when he saw the stains on his hands. Blood. Blood on his hands. Hers. No. Not this. A billion scenarios had played out in his brain over the years but never this one. Never. His blood on her hands? Why yes. Of course. But this. No. His mind rewound to another time, not very long ago, another place, another scenario. Blood. Hers. Staining his hands. The tarmac, the bullet she'd taken for Mr. Parker. He had tried to save her, only to discover that he couldn't even save himself but the stains had remained, served as a reminder. Sam had pressure washed Parker's blood from Jarod's hands. This was different, wrong. This time, Jarod had inflicted the damage.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my..." And then he grabbed up some composure. If there's this much blood on my hands, her blood on my hands then...
His head snapped around to the other victim in the cell. I have to help her.

He stared at the form on the floor. Unmoving. She was still tied to the bars of the cell. Her wrists obviously injured, the bloodied fabric embedded deep beyond the epidermis. Blood covered her hands and arms and he wasn't sure if there was more than one source of bleeding. And he wasn't sure that he wanted to investigate further. But he had no choice. He was her only hope, possibly the only person that stood between her life and her...no. I'll never let her die.

He chocked on bile as he crawled towards her, a fear so gripping that it prevented him from drawing breath. She's dead. I've killed her. He moved to untie her wrists.

Parker suddenly sprang to life, kicking, thrashing wildly. And screaming at him.
"I have to." He whimpered, forced more composure upon himself. "Shh.. it's alright. I'm going to help you."
She was showing no sign of calming.

"It's alright, it's alright." A lie whispered soothingly as Jarod took inventory of the supplies which had been brought in. No sedatives.
"Lyle!" Jarod yelled angrily. "I need sedatives, anything you have!'
There was no response, no acknowledgment whatsoever. "Damn you! I need sedatives. Please! Please! Please!"

He chose a vial of morphine, hoped that it would alleviate the worst of her suffering. His unsteady hands worked to hold the syringe, prepare the dose. His mind already thinking ahead to the next step. He'd have to physically hold her still to prevent the needle from snapping off.

Why hadn't I forced her to listen, to run, to leave me alone?

The answer didn't matter anyway, not now.

"I'm going to give you an injection. Morphine to-"
"N-no! S-s-stay!" She screamed with all the coherency she could manage but was unable to complete the request.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." He whispered tearfully as he shifted, pinned her with his weight, trying not to inflict further injury, physical or otherwise, as she bucked and fought, cried and cursed him. Jarod emptied the contents of the syringe and shifted back onto the floor.
Her body continued to fight, convulsed. It was agonizing to observe, to see her broken this way, to know that he had caused this.

Jarod began taking note of every bruise, every laceration, each injury he'd caused and then he prepared the supplies accordingly. The wrists would need sutures. Fifteen, possibly more. Her elbow appeared to be badly bruised, the arm above possibly fractured and as the memory slowly came filtering into his mind, he could see her struggling, could see the back of her head, she was face down, her elbow pinned behind her back, his body weight holding her, tying each wrist. That would also explain the scrapes and bruises littered across her face as well as the mild abrasions along her entire body. His mind held him in the past, his body on hers, the grip on the back of her neck as he tore through every shred of resistance her body had offered.

He couldn't suppress the sob that tore loose from his throat, his own screams joining hers in the damp, stale air.

Her movements slowed, the hoarse screams of terror quietened. The drug, coupled with exhaustion finally began to wear her down.

Both condemned to a fate worse than death, the bowels of hell, he succumbed to grief, all his hopes, dreams dissolved to tears. He and Parker both were now mere possessions, the property of the Centre. And it was uphill climb from here, though really, it was useless to fight.

When she was still again, Jarod caught his breath, moved slowly, cautiously stealing a glance at her as he did. Jarod untied her wrists, gathered her into his arms and lifted her onto the exam table. He then began cleaning the scrapes scattered across her body. She flinched once, then became still, only silently crying, her body shaking slightly as the the tears slipped past tightly clenched eyelids to stream down the sides of her face, past her ears and onto the exam table beneath her.

He pretended it all away as he cleaned, sutured and bandaged. She was some cruel sex offender's victim, some woman he'd never met. But this couldn't be Miss Parker and she could not be his victim. Never his victim.

Moving slowly, he realized when he placed her left foot into the stirrup that he'd need the shackles and restraints after all. She was flailing wildly again, and the struggled increased ten fold when he began to attach the soft restraints. They were barely enough against her thrashing but there was no shortage of restraints. This was the Centre after all.

The feet were placed in stirrups, shackled. He then reached for the gloves, put them on quickly, wanting to get this over with for her benefit. The sobbing and screaming continued, making the task at hand all the more difficult for him.

Her thighs were covered with superficial wounds, scratches, finger nail indentations, the few internal tears wouldn't require sutures. But she'd need a follow up examination to ensure that she was indeed healing, that there was no sign of infection. Damn it. He tossed the speculum and the pen light into a garbage bad to get them out of her sight should she happen to look up. By now, she'd finally given up the fight, succumbed to her fate. Eyes squeezed tightly, the tears slipped through her eye lashes. She was perfectly still, aside from the silent sobs that shook her body, the gasps of pain and shock at each intrusion. It was difficult to believe that this very woman had pistol whipped him less than twelve hours earlier, a portrait of calm and coolness, she'd always felt like she was in control though she'd never been and now, she knew it, the fact had been confirmed now. Life as she knew it was over, and the little control she'd had was all gone.

Jarod tossed the gloves aside, gathered up every towel and blanket he could find and placed them on the small bare mattress in the right corner of the cell and tried his best to ensure that she'd be comfortable once there. He then returned to Parker, still sobbing quietly, her eyes still refusing to open. Undoing the restraints carefully, he gently covered her with a blanket, gathered her into his arms and lowered her onto the pitiful excuse for a bed.

She immediately scurried away, towards the wall, as far as she could get from him, all the while her throat forming sounds, sounds of fear, pain. It sickened him. He crouched down, backed away. He turned towards the cell, pressed his face against the bars. It was as far away as he could get from her. And he wasn't certain it would be far enough.

Hours passed, or so he guessed. He had turned his head just enough so that he could see her in his peripheral. She had finally settled onto her side, though obviously she was in pain and every time she dozed off, she immediately whimpered or screamed and jerked awake.

The stains remained on his hands. There wasn't enough water and soap in the world to ever undo this misdeed.

Lyle was going to pay for this. Now, rather than later. Jarod couldn't wait to exact his revenge. He rushed to the medical supplies, quickly located the morphine and a syringe.
You son of a bitch, stupid son of a bitch, you think you can control me. You can't. You won't hurt her again to get to me, not because of me. Never!
He filled the syringe, a lethal dose. Jarod smiled. I won't have to face her now, she won't have to see me. Yes. The answer to both their problems.
Jarod thrust the needle into his arm and then watched in awe as the syringe went flying across the room.
"You weren't thinking of abandoning Miss Parker now were you, Jarod? Willie, get the syringe and remove all of the supplies."
"Sedatives. Please, Lyle."
"No, Jarod. You did this, now you must fix it."
"Bastard!" Jarod lunged for the man but was restrained by two sweepers.
Lyle smiled then turned to Parker, lying lifelessly on the bed. "I'm not usually one for sloppy leftovers but I am really looking forward to having her when you're done."
"When I'm done?"
Dr. Cox sauntered into cell.
"That's right."
"Cox." The name left a bad taste in Jarod's mouth.
"We want our little pretender first."
"You people disgust me."
"Careful Jarod. You are one of us now."
"No. I'm not."
Cox knelt beside the mattress, a syringe in his hand.
"Get away from her!" Jarod yelled.
"I will. As soon as I draw some blood. She could be with child right now. Imagine, Jarod, the miracle of life, cell division. It could be happening now."
"You bastard!"
"Jarod, you can't be that surprised. The rape of Catherine Parker which resulted in our half brother, the frying of Timmy's brains which resulted in Angelo, the murder of Catherine Parker, the murder of Thomas Gates, cloning you, the attempt on Mr. Parker's life. It just goes on and on. This was the next eventual step. We don't have Ethan or the clone. And we may not always have you. But we will the child."
"On my life, you're going to pay! You will all pay for this!"
"No. We've won." Lyle smiled. "Dr. Cox and I will leave you two for now. When will she be ready again?"
"What?" Jarod asked.
"If the test is negative. Tomorrow? Two days?"
"A month. Maybe longer."
"That's no good for me. Or the Centre."
"Well you should have thought about that before you drugged me and..."
Lyle interrupted.
"You're right. Next time, we won't drug you. I'll hold a gun to her head and you will perform."
"Perform?"
"You're a genius. Figure it out. She has five days to... recover."
The cell shut with a bang.
"Oh. It looks like her wrists are bleeding again. I'll have the suture kit returned. No more drugs for big sissy."

Jarod turned to see Parker lying on her side, pulling the sutures out, digging into her wrists with her fingernails.

He approached cautiously, was halfway to her when a clatter caused him to turn. The suture kit landed at his feet.
Jarod gathered it up and continued towards her, expecting a fight. But she was fresh out of fight. She cowered, flinched at every touch, every word but she didn't dare fight.

"You are not going to do this to yourself. You're going to survive. Do you hear me?" He whispered. "I'm going to get you out of here. Even if it kills me. I swear to you. I swear."

"P-p-p-please..." Her eyes still squeezed closed, she half stuttered, half sobbed out the only word she could force from her hoarse throat.

He knew what she wanted. Just kill me. Kill me. Let me die. Just let me bleed out. All you have to do is... nothing. Do nothing, Jarod. For once, don't help.

"No. There is life after this, there is. You're going to be alright. I promise."