Mindgames – Part 5
by Pangur Bàn
Rating
(PG, PG13, R) : PG13
Spoilers : probably
Disclaimer: Steven Long Mitchell & Craig W. Van Sickle created the characters of the television series "The Pretender." This fan fiction is purely for entertainment purposes (chiefly my own, admittedly.) No profit is being made here. No infringement is intended.
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They banished Jarod from the vicinity for the rest of the evening. Sydney stayed to help, at Grace's request. He induced a light hypnotic state, a means to a level of relaxation she could not achieve for herself. They gave her time to recover from this latest battle while they discussed what would come next.
Sydney watched, fascinated. The room was dimly lit, drapes pulled against the last of the autumn evening. He stood a little distance off as Jon pulled a chair next to the sofa upon which Grace lay. Even in the faint light, he saw their breathing slow and lock step, their shoulders rising and falling in unison. Jon spoke softly for a moment, his words indistinguishable. Then talking ceased.
The psychologist thought they both began to pale, then realized with a shock that their washed-out countenances were actually glowing weakly with a diffuse pale green aura. He held his breath, not wanting to disturb the delicate situation.
Jon had warned him that this would quite likely cause Grace some distress. "It'll get worse before it gets better. Hopefully, it won't last too long, but in order to bury these images, I first have to 'dig a hole', then go hunt all of them down. Grace is by nature a private person. Even though she and I are very close and she will be cooperating, this will not be comfortable for her."
"Like excising a tumor. Or many tumors. Without anesthesia," Sydney observed.
"Mmmh." Jon rumbled concurrence.
Grace groaned lightly as Jon began feeling around her mind. He located a likely spot where he could funnel the troublesome images, and erected a wall of unpleasant sensations around it. Grace would instinctively avoid that area.
Now for the bad part. Jon emerged from his deep concentration and looked up at Sydney. "Stay close, now. This will be hard on her." Sydney nodded and moved to stand behind the sofa. Jon once again sank into their conjoined minds. A moment later, Grace's face contorted with pain and effort. Jon had begun locating Jarod's memories, carrying them one by one through the barrier he had built. He had been concerned about creating new problems as he removed the old. The only other time he had done this was to remove a traumatic experience from the mind of his late wife, and the resulting "hole" he left behind had left her disturbed for months, until he figured out what he had done. To fill it, he had created a false and benign image for her. He was relieved to see that this was different. When he was to think about it later, he would decide that removing an foreign image that was overlaying one of her own must be different than removing an image of something that she had experienced in her own life.
As the evening became night, the task became harder and harder. Grace was rebelling against the penetration of the barrier as Jarod's memories were deposited. This was both good and bad. It was a good sign that once all the memories had been locked away, she would not easily retrieve them. But the pain of the moment was increasing drastically. Several times they had to pause while Sydney stepped in to help her relax. The respite during these intervals gave the older man a chance to catch his breath, and to strengthen his flagging resolve. He was horrified and sickened to see what the Centre had done to Jarod, to her, and to their families. She had never told him how her family had died, simply that she was an orphan. He carefully locked up his own memories of his dealings with the Centre, lest she somehow see them in his mind. How much could she take, he wondered. Would he destroy her mind in an attempt to save it? There was no path but forward, however. The die was indeed cast.
It was very late before Jon drew a shallow and shuddering breath. He could find no more signs of foreign images in her mind. Exhausted, he released the link after offering what little comfort he could. They were both wringing with sweat. He opened his eyes, distantly surprised to find Sydney kneeling next to him, concern evident on his visage. "It's over." Jon's voice was barely audible. Without asking, Sydney picked him up bodily and carried him into his bedroom. Depositing the old man on the bed, he removed Jon's shoes and left him to sleep. He stepped into the bathroom and wet a washcloth. Returning to Grace's side, he lightly wiped her clammy face and neck. He stood a moment, making sure she was breathing, and then moved a few feet away to the window, flipping open the cell phone Jarod had given him earlier that day.
Jarod answered on the first ring. "How are they?"
"Exhausted. They're both asleep."
"How did it go?" he asked a little fearfully.
"We won't know until tomorrow. You're to return in the morning. Call before you do, so we're ready. Will you be all right tonight?"
"Don't worry about me. Sydney – was it...very bad?"
Sydney closed his eyes. "It was a difficult process for them both. But the alternative was certain insanity."
"God help them." Jarod broke the connection as he folded the phone shut. "God help us all," he said to the empty room.
"God help us all," replied Sydney to no one. He went into Grace's room and pulled the sheet off her bed. He folded it in half as he returned, covering her with it. He then sat down in the chair to keep vigil, and to pray.
*** *** *** *** ***
Jon insisted on ordering breakfast, although no one was hungry. Juice and toast was mandatory, he commanded, tea optional. "Coffee," Grace countered. Breakfast arrived in short order, and spirits were cautiously high.
Grace had awakened without a headache. For the first time in days, she was neither dizzy nor nauseous nor in pain. The relief was palpable, and her barely-contained giddiness alternately concerned and amused the two men. As they ate, they discussed what they had done. Tentatively at first, then with more confidence, Grace searched her mind, like a tongue probing cautiously at the empty socket where the aching tooth had been. There was no sign of Jarod's experience. The real test was soon to come.
Jarod phoned at eight. He spoke with Sydney, who told him to come. Grace stood in front of him and held out her hand for the phone.
"Good morning, Jarod. What would you like for breakfast? I'll order it up for you."
Jarod smiled into the phone. "Whatever you're having is fine. I'll be right over."
"Hurry," she said, her voice perfectly confident in spite of the twinge of trepidation she felt.
Jarod arrived twenty minutes later. Grace's face was alight with surprise and pleasure. "I didn't feel you coming," she said victoriously. Jon and Sydney beamed.
"I believe you owe me a hug," she said. Jarod paused for a moment, cautious, but carefully folded her into his arms. She held him stiffly at first, but soon relaxed and held tight, her face buried in his chest. He kissed the top of her head, and she looked up, laughing tears brimming over. "Hi, I'm Grace. I'd like to get to know you. A little at a time."
She turned to smile broadly at the others. "No leftovers. We got them all." Jarod stood behind her, his arms still around her. His vast relief was evident on his face. The idea of his life being the source of such pain for another person, and his presence being the trigger, was abhorrent to him. Had this not worked, he had decided he would leave. His first stop would be the Centre. He had lain awake all night, murdering Raines over and over in his mind. None of his multitude of plans had anything to do with his escape afterwards, he would later realize. The satisfaction of the act was all he could think about.
*** *** *** *** ***
After breakfast, a small war ensued. Grace fell back into her usual position on things.
Jon took a hard line. "Grace, you know this won't last forever. You need to learn to deal with this..."
"I am dealing with it..."
"Which means developing your ability, learning new skills..."
"Which means being able to turn it off."
"That didn't work the last time."
"It worked for nine years."
"And then look what happened."
"It's under control now."
"This won't last."
"Then I'll demand a refund."
"God damn it!" Jon's rare forays into profanity were never particularly colorful, but always indicative of extreme provocation and frustration. He threw up his hands and stormed across the room. Sydney stepped aside to let him pass. "She must be feeling better," Jon growled. "You talk to her."
Grace's was in fine humor. She faced Sydney, challenge evident in her expression.
Sydney raised his eyebrows. "I'm relieved you're feeling better." She dipped her head slightly with a smile, never once taking her eyes off him. Bring it on, her attitude said clearly. He complied, but his words were not what she anticipated.
"I gather I'm supposed to convince you that this curse of yours is actually some sort of 'gift.'" Grace regarded him, suspicious and amused, and waited. "I won't do that." Behind him, Jon exhaled forcibly. Sydney didn't turn. "It's a real cross for you."
Satisfied, she nodded sharply. "You have no idea."
"I can't imagine dealing with it myself." He laughed softly. "I have enough problems sorting out my own thoughts and emotions." Triumphantly, she looked over Sydney's shoulder at Jon, who refused to turn around. Jarod watched the exchange curiously from across the room. He knew Sydney well. He was leading up to something with this, but what?
"Do you think you can ever be totally rid of it?" Sydney asked softly.
Grace stopped, her elation abruptly deflating. Her face answered for her. "I hate it. I truly hate it," she breathed.
"Yet it's a part of you. It defines who you are, in part."
"So does my weight," she attempted to make light of it, "but I'm not interested in expanding that, either."
Still facing the window, Jon allowed himself a small smile. She always had been able to do that, inject humor into the gravest situations. Damn and blast!
Sydney paid her with a half smile, but continued gently. "These skills Jon speaks of. Do you think that learning to use them means you might be tempted to misuse them?"
She closed her eyes. "No. I'm not sure," she faltered, then looked up at him with conviction. "No. I'm not afraid of that. Jon doesn't misuse them. But he's not...I'm not like him. I can't stand the intrusion. Others' thoughts, others' feelings taking me over. Threatening to submerge me, until I can't tell where I end and they begin."
"Like Angelo." Sydney dropped the name like the blade of a guillotine. Aha, Jarod thought, now understanding where his mentor was going with this. He got up and approached Jon.
"Angelo lives at the Centre," Jarod began, addressing Jon, but in reality for Grace's benefit. He suspected that Jon had at least seen all this in Grace's mind, even if he hadn't absorbed it himself. "As a child, he was – altered – by Dr. Raines. His mind was destroyed, using many of the same methods that Raines used on Grace."
Jon's eyes grew hazy with pain. As Jarod continued, Sydney paid close attention to Grace's countenance. It was frozen with guilt-tinged grief, but behind that, he knew, the wheels were turning...
"Angelo is special," Jarod was saying. "His gift is empathic. He is like a sponge, able to absorb emotional impressions from people and things around him. Unfortunately, the price he paid for this gift was the loss of a little boy named Timmy. Raines wiped out Timmy's personality in the process of creating Angelo."
Jon felt ill. Jarod's narration had not been lost on Grace, either. Sydney breathed a silent prayer that it was the right moment, and spoke her name.
"Grace?" She looked at him, her eyes brimming. "Might you be able to use those skills to help Angelo?"
She closed her eyes and a tear squeezed out. It was exactly what she'd been thinking. Opening her eyes, she sought Jon. He nodded to her. She looked back to Sydney and spoke unevenly but with resolve. "I want to help him." After a brief pause, her voice was stronger. "Jon, help me, please. Show me what to do."
Jon felt no sense of victory, just relief. And Grace felt no sense of defeat. Rather, she now had the hope of some good to come from all this anguish. Finally, a purpose to her rare and treacherous...gift? No, she still couldn't think of it as that. But for the first time, perhaps "curse" wasn't quite right, either. What had Sydney called it? A cross. "Crosses are burdens; not curses, but blessings." Where had she heard that? It had never sounded like anything but a simpering, flowery platitude before. But now...?
*** *** *** *** ***
That afternoon, while Jon and Grace worked together, Sydney and Jarod turned their attention back to other business. It would soon be time for Sydney to return to the Centre. His prearranged alibi, a John Doe admission to a Philadelphia hospital (courtesy of Jarod's actor friend) would shortly be coming out of his coma following a mugging. Sydney would leave the following evening for Philadelphia, there to climb out of a hospital bed and resume his role at the Centre. They needed an insider to keep an eye on things for a while longer, and to arrange Angelo's escape. The risk he would be running was extraordinary, but would be short-term, if all went well. A private plane was chartered for an anonymous flight the next night. Tonight, though, they planned a celebration of sorts. After all she'd been through and was now taking on, Grace deserved at least a party, if not a medal, Jarod said.
*** *** *** *** ***
Back in the hotel, Grace was making great strides in the basics of the mental disciplines she would need to practice to mastery. Jon thought it nothing short of astounding, how she switched gears from absolute refusal to complete dedication to learning these skills. When he suggested a break she had overruled him. When he had insisted on the next, he returned to find her meditating, concentrating on the last exercise he'd given her.
Recognizing that she would not be swayed in her zeal, he proposed a change of scenery. A walk in the park would serve both to stretch their legs and her wings, he joked. She laughed, surprising herself at the easy sound of her own laughter. She hadn't heard that note for far too long.
The late afternoon was crisp and invigorating. The smell of autumn leaves underfoot was an unparalleled favorite in her book. Her spirits were high, and she was anxious to try a few "short reaches," as Jon called them. Not a full-blown mind tap, but merely a brushing-by. Her goal was to obtain an impression without actually penetrating a thought image. She was nervous as they discussed her task.
She balked at her first attempt. The man walking by made eye contact and smiled at them. When he looked her in the eye, she was suddenly afraid that she might not be able to stop the process at a brushing. He passed without incident, and she was annoyed with herself. Jon calmed her down, and encouraged her to try again.
The next passerby was a woman. Once again, eye contact made Grace pause, but she gathered herself and reached. After she had passed, she turned to Jon. "I think I got that one. Something like, oh, isn't that nice."
Jon told her she was on the right track. "Now, what do you extrapolate from that?"
"I didn't get enough information to..."
"No, Grace, stop analyzing. This isn't so much of an analytical process as a creative one. Trust yourself. Create the rest from what you feel about the contact."
Grace's brow furrowed. Create it? Make it up? Might as well be writing a fairy tale if...
"Grandfather and granddaughter!" she blurted out. She had no idea that concept was coming, but Jon grinned. "That's right," he said, laughing at the expression of surprise on her face. "She thought you were my granddaughter, perhaps spending the afternoon with me."
Grace laughed delightedly. She had taken her first step, and it hadn't knocked her flat.
*** *** *** *** ***
At last, life seemed to be returning to some semblance of normalcy, insofar as one could call their lives "normal." Returning to the hotel, they were surprised to find balloons and flowers waiting for them. Laughing, they read the card: Jarod and Sydney's way of inviting them to meet them for dinner. While Grace cleaned up, Jon made a few phone calls to check on business back home.
And unknowingly signed his death warrant. The Centre, unable to track him past his arrival in Chicago, had been doggedly waiting to once again pick up his trail. Phone taps were a tedious job, but once they paid off, wheels at the ominous fortress in Blue Cove were set in motion with deadly intent. A sweeper team was dispatched to Milwaukee.
Returning from their light-hearted dinner, the quartet made their way to the suite. Jarod got off at his floor to retrieve his laptop and DSA reader for further work with Sydney that evening. He exited the elevator to meet Jon at the ice machine.
"Thank you for the distraction this evening," Jon said, referring to Grace.
"We all needed it," Jarod replied. Jon reached for his key card as they approached the first door of the suite. Neither turned as the elevator doors reopened. Jon held the door for Jarod, whose hands were full. Jarod passed through the door as shots shattered the hush of the hallway.
Jarod turned back as the ice bucket hit the floor, cubes bouncing on the carpeting. Among them lay Jon, his chest exploded in a mass of red. "No!" shouted Jarod. He took a step toward the old man, but was driven back by the shots of the sweeper team, advancing on the downed man, still firing into his already obviously dying body. Retreating into the suite, he closed the door behind him.
Inside, Grace was on her knees, her hands clutching her chest. Sydney, on his knees at her side, looked up as Jarod charged into the room. "Sweepers! We've got to get out! Jon..." Sydney understood the rest.
Grace was unresponsive but allowed herself to be helped up and bundled into the next room. Jarod gave Sydney the DSA case and pulled a gun from behind his back. He readied himself at the far door to the suite, then burst through it, immediately targeting the two agents down the hall. They both went down, one dead, the other severely wounded.
The three rapidly made their way to the stairwell. Ushering Grace down the first flight was taking too long. Jarod handed Sydney the gun and shouldered Grace in a fireman's carry, practically flying down the stairs. Eight stories below, he released Grace to Sydney and preceded them into the underground parking garage. He quickly surveyed the area for danger. At his signal, Sydney hustled Grace to the car and unceremoniously pushed her into the passenger front seat. She leaned against the glass.
"Get in, Jarod!" Sydney shouted, cranking the engine over. Jarod yanked open the back door and threw himself into the car, somehow avoiding landing on the computer bag he wore over his shoulder. The squeal of tires echoed in the cavernous garage. As they fled, Sydney bounced the car off a concrete pillar, doing a fair amount of damage. Grace's head bounced against the window. "Merde!" the driver muttered, pushing the electronic lock control on his door. It would have to do for now – there was no time for seatbelts.
Jarod scanned wildly, highly keyed up as Sydney dodged and weaved through the evening traffic, drawing more than one angry look, horn, or gesture. They saw no pursuit, but knew they had left enough evidence behind for the Cleaners to indicate that Jarod had been there. If the second Sweeper survived, he might identify Sydney as well. Sydney could no longer return as planned. They were all in danger now.
They headed north at random, then turned west. They drove into the night, stopping only for gas. Daylight chased them into Mitchell, South Dakota. The prolonged adrenaline rush had waned, leaving both men fatigued. Grace now occupied the back seat. They hadn't been able to get more than a few words out of her all night, but it was clear that she not only understood what had happened, but that she had actually felt Jon die.
They topped off the gas tank before finding a place to hole up for some much-needed rest. The small motel was nondescript, and the desk clerk asked no questions when they asked for one room for the three of them. They would take no chance of being separated today. The two men debated briefly about who would take the first watch while the other slept.
"I slept some in the car," Grace lied. "I'll do it." The two acquiesced tiredly. They quickly dropped off. Grace sat quietly at the scarred, cheap table next to the window where the daylight seeped around the edges of the dingy blackout curtains. She meditated grimly, pushing aside the grief which threatened to overwhelm her. After a short time, she was able to calmly and purposefully begin to reach with her mind, looking for any sign of dangerous intent approaching. She would protect the two men who slept a few feet away from her by any means necessary.
*** *** *** *** ***
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