Mindgames – Part 8
by Pangur Bàn
Rating
(PG, PG13, R) : R
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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Snow fell for two days. Drifts piled up against the cabin, and frequently they made token attempts at clearing the porch and the dooryard as far as the garage, but there was no reason for them to try to get out of the driveway. Truth be told, there would be nowhere to go if they did – local roads were not to be cleared for another two days. The decision to lay in supplies had been a good one, worthy of one born to this country.
Angelo and Timmy were of course the focus of attention. Timmy made a few sorties during the following days. At first it was only when Grace was at hand; he seemed to prefer to have her nearby, although he was willing to talk with the others, and upon occasion would even continue talking with them after Grace left the room. It was the third day, however, before he came forward alone to Sydney.
The two were shoveling in the yard, and Sydney had paused to catch his breath. Unwilling to say anything about it, he at least had to acknowledge to himself that the uncomfortable tightness around his chest was not something to push too far. Planting his snow shovel, he leaned on the handle and wiped his face with the back of his mitten. He noticed the other looking at him. Fearing a snowball fight coming on (another one of Jarod's contributions to Angelo's "Outside (of the Centre) Experiences"), Sydney held up his hands in mock surrender. He was greeted with an easy laugh. "Don't worry. I won't hurt you." It was the more fluid grammar that they had come to recognize as Timmy's.
"Hello, Timmy," Sydney smiled broadly, pleased at the appearance. "I'm happy to see you again. Tell me, who has been doing all this shoveling with me, you or Angelo?"
"Me, for most of it," Timmy bragged.
"Well, thank you, both of you. This is hard work. It's nice to have friends to help me."
Timmy smiled at the compliment, and then asked, "Do you think we could take a break? I'd like to talk to you."
Sydney nodded. "I think that's a good idea. I don't want to overexert myself. I'm not as young as I used to be."
Timmy furrowed his brow at the expression. "No, you're not," he deadpanned. "And you're a lot older than me."
Sydney chose to let that one pass, unsure if Timmy was joking or serious. "Shall we go inside?" he offered.
Timmy shook his head. "Can we go for a walk instead?"
Once they busted through the drifts near the tree line, the woods were actually quite pleasant, and the walking not too difficult, at least for a little way. They made their way a few dozen yards into the woods, and then found a seat on a windfall. They talked for nearly an hour before noticing that feet and hands had become numb. Carefully they picked their way back.
The smell of stew rushed out the door to meet them, and Sydney became aware of his great hunger. As usual, Timmy was tired after the prolonged session, and Angelo reemerged, heading off for a nap. Jarod, Sydney, and Grace sat down at the table. Sydney ate quickly, outlining those things Timmy had told him which were for the others' ears as well.
"There was a significant step today," he said. "He told me he wishes us to call him 'Tim," now, rather than 'Timmy.' It marks a progression of self-identity beyond his time at the Centre."
"Syd, how old is he?" Grace asked.
"That's a good question. As best I can tell, he is, for all intents and purposes, as old as Angelo. He seems to have been observing almost all of Angelo's experiences, making them his own. He is remarkably well adjusted in relating to others, considering his lack of practical experience. I suspect that at least some of Angelo's empathic abilities are subconsciously present in Tim. Of course, we have only seen him interacting with the three of us, with whom he feels safe. I'm anxious to see how he relates to others."
Grace excused herself to go to the bathroom. When she came back, Jarod was standing by the table and Sydney was still seated; both were apparently done eating. She began to clear the table when Sydney reached for her wrist. "Grace. Let that go for a moment." She looked at their sober faces. "Sit down," Sydney said. Jarod held a chair for her.
"Tim told me something that will be hard for you to hear," he said in his gentle and sensitive manner. Grace quelled her racing thoughts and waited. "You know how Angelo was uniquely plugged into the Centre. He had an inexplicable amount of knowledge about Centre activities." She nodded, still listening.
"Several months ago, Angelo saw that the Centre was tracking someone who had posed a possible threat to them. He kept tabs on their proceedings, even after he found out that it was not Jarod, this time." Grace looked at Jarod, who remained silent, his eyes intently on her.
"Who were they tracking? You, Syd? Me?" Was it possible that they had found her again?
Sydney reached for her hand with both of his. "Grace – they were looking for Jon."
The words hit her with a physical force. She welcomed the shock – she did not particularly want to think this through. Sydney kept talking, however.
"The night he was killed, he made a call before we went out to dinner."
Grace shook her head, remembering. "Yeah, he – he called home, to check on some business dealing or other."
Jarod found his voice. It was dark and menacing. "The Centre had tapped his phone and traced the call back to the hotel."
She swung her head to look at Jarod flanking her other side. "But, that makes no sense. Why follow Jon? How could they have known he was associated with you?"
Sydney's voice cracked with emotion. "The Centre wasn't after Jarod that night, or me, or you. They were after Jon."
She was stunned into silence. Jarod railed silently, furious with himself for the unavoidable relief he felt even in the face of Grace's pain. He, like the others, had assumed that Jon's murder had been a direct result of his involvement with Jarod, and that Jon had simply been in the way. Knowing that Jon was their primary target, and that he, Jarod, had been there as a bystander relieved him of that guilt. The absolution carried with it a sense of undeniably selfish pleasure, which disgusted him.
When Grace was able to speak, she managed a single weak word. "Why?"
"Tim said Angelo found evidence that Jon had hired the Centre a few years ago to engineer the collapse of an small English investment company, which they did." Grace was confused. That did not sound like the ethical friend she had known and loved. "Then, about the time you met Jarod, he started making inquiries about the Centre again. That triggered certain – precautions – at the Centre. When he abruptly dropped out of their sights, activities came to frenzy. The Centre discovered that the company they had toppled for him was Jon's own. More digging uncovered hints of Jon's mental abilities. At that point, Raines attempted to persuade the Triumvirate to bring Jon in to the Centre, but they determined that Jon posed too great a hazard to them. They lost him when he came to us, but picked him up again when he called home that night."
Sydney stopped talking. He could see the intense grief in Grace's eyes. Jarod himself was dangerously close to exploding. Sydney warned Jarod mutely – not now, she needs us. Jarod understood.
Grace stood and picked up a bowl. She carried it wordlessly to the sink, leaning on the counter. The two men watched her with concern. They stood and approached softly. Without turning, she said in little more than a whisper, "Will it ever end?"
They led her to the couch. Sydney sat next to her, his arm around her. Jarod sat on the arm, holding her hand, feeling helpless rage at the Centre. Not content to destroy yet another life that inconvenienced them, they had to hurt those left behind again and again.
Grace spoke quietly, maintaining control of her voice with difficulty. "When I first came to Jon, I told him very little about the Centre. He knew they had abducted me, and that they had done this to me. Eventually he came to know about Raines, but he always respected my privacy about this. He never forced me to tell him anything, and never pried beyond what I wanted or needed to tell him.
"At first I didn't want to tell him about the Centre because I wanted that to be private – to shelter that part of my life from everyone, Jon included. Later, after I found out what really happened to my family, I wanted to shelter Jon from the Centre. I never told him the truth. I knew that if he found out, that he would try to bring the Centre to justice, and then they would kill him."
"Apparently, he decided to look into the Centre for himself," Sydney said.
"And they killed him for it," Jarod said.
"All because he knew me," Grace said.
"Grace. You mustn't blame yourself. This was the Centre's doing," Sydney tried.
"I was the link," she said. Neither man could think of anything to say. It was the same brick wall which each of them had hit in thinking about their own involvement with the Centre. There was never a satisfactory answer to it – no way around it. All three sat in silence. Grace allowed her head to lie on Sydney's shoulder, but her eyes refused to close.
Angelo emerged from his room a few minutes later. He walked directly to Grace and sat on the floor at her feet, laying his head in her lap. She understood the expression of his regret and camaraderie, and stroked his head quietly. The Centre had done so much to the four of them; they were a family joined in tragedy and in purpose as well as in friendship.
*** *** *** *** ***
Tim made more appearances, staying longer each time. One bright afternoon while Jarod was working on the computer, he approached Sydney who was stirring a pot at the stove, peering out the window at Grace on the porch.
"Tell her."
Sydney started. He had to look twice at the man standing behind him. Yes, it was Tim – he was becoming easier to recognize now. But damn if his empathic ability didn't spook them from time to time. Unlike Grace, he had no qualms about using this sense of his like any of his others, and was seemingly oblivious to the discomfort it could cause now and again.
"Tell her what?" Sydney attempted stupidly. Tim snorted and walked away.
*** *** *** *** ***
Sydney was acutely aware of Tim and Angelo watching him around Grace over the next couple of days. It seemed like he was always finding himself alone with Grace, and would quickly find an excuse to be elsewhere occupied. Once she noticed it, Grace was at first puzzled, then annoyed. She finally took the bull by the horns one evening.
"Sydney, this has gotten ridiculous. It's a small cabin, and we're bound to step on each others' toes sometime, but I honestly have no idea why you're peeved with me."
He retreated calmly, although his heart was pounding. "I don't understand what you're talking about."
"Baloney. You know darn well that you take off whenever I'm around and no one else is."
"I'm sure you're mistaken," he said infuriatingly pleasantly. "Now if you'll excuse me... nature calls. Please don't be insulted." He turned and left the room.
Grace was irate, and grabbed a coat. She left for a little of her own company. Unwilling to stand in the wind for long, she sought asylum in the garage. She was surprised to see Angelo seated in the backseat of the car. The other backseat door was open, like an invitation. She supposed it was entirely possible that he was waiting for her. She stuck her head in the door.
"Hi. What are you doing out here?"
"Waiting." Angelo looked at the seat next to him.
She thought it only fair to warn him. "I'm afraid I'm not very good company right now."
He looked at the seat again. She sighed and climbed in, managing to smile in the process. "Okay, if you think you can stand me."
She closed the door behind her. Angelo promptly opened his door, got out and left the garage. Slightly surprised, she muttered "Wise move," and laid her head back, closing her eyes.
A few minutes later she heard him reenter the garage. She felt the Expedition jounce as he got in and closed the door. Eyes still closed, she said, "Back for more, huh? Glutton for punishment, kiddo?"
"I guess so," came the accented reply. She opened her eyes to Sydney seated next to her, facing the front seat. She gave a short and good-natured laugh. "I thought you were Angelo coming back."
"Angelo? I just spoke with Tim. He told me to come out here. He was most insistent, actually."
She let that slide for the moment, choosing safer ground. "We're seeing a lot more of Tim now, aren't we? I mean, more spontaneously, more casually."
"I think Tim is moving toward becoming the dominant personality."
"Sydney, I know that the sum total of my knowledge of multiple personality disorder is a short paragraph, and is soundly based in what I've seen on the soap operas..." Sydney laughed quietly through his nose. "...but I'm wondering – what happens to Angelo if Tim re-emerges – becomes the dominant personality? Will Angelo disappear?"
Sydney shifted in the seat to face her, his back to the door. "It's possible, yes. Angelo is a personality Timmy's psyche created to protect him from Raines. Tim is starting to feel safe without Angelo's being between him and the world. One day he will be willing to fend for himself. At some point, Angelo may no longer just be submerged, but may actually cease to be. We can't be certain, of course, but it's a good possibility."
Grace was quiet for a moment. "If that happens, I will mourn him. I've come to really love him."
Sydney agreed. "I think we will all miss Angelo, and even grieve for him. But we must remember that this is a healing process for Tim. And Angelo's experiences are very much integrated into Tim already. When his 'we' becomes 'I,' he will still remember his life as Angelo in the Centre, but it will be a signal that he feels ready to deal with those memories as Tim."
She nodded quietly. "Thank you for that. Keep me on track if I lose sight of that, will you? I don't want my affection for Angelo to stand in the way of Tim's healing."
"I'm sure it won't." They fell quiet, and felt the recent awkwardness begin to reassert itself.
Grace sighed. She did her best to keep her voice calm and non-confrontational. "Look, Syd, I'm not sure what's up with us, and if you don't want to discuss it, that's okay with me. But you've got to figure out a way to get over it and get on with it. We've got too much to do to let the little piddly stuff get in our way," she said kindly. "What do you say?"
He spoke slowly. "I don't think I'm going to "get over" this." He turned to look at her, and was touched by the concern on her face.
"Let me help," she said. "Whatever it is."
He smiled and shook his head. "I don't think I want to get over this," he said softly. "Tim is right. I need to tell you what I'm feeling." He looked at her openly, hiding nothing. "How I feel about you. I love you, Grace."
She said nothing, merely closed her eyes and smiled. When she opened her eyes again, she looked at him as honestly and openly as he did. He knew her answer, and gathered her into his arms.
*** *** *** *** ***
"Grace! Grace! My God, wake up! Grace!" Sydney's urgency slowly penetrated her veil of deep, deep sleep. She struggled to awaken as he shook her by the arm, gripping so tightly in his panic that bruises would arise in another day.
She pulled her eyes open to the fading look of dread on his face. "What is it?" Grace strained her ears for sounds of danger even as she searched his face. Reach, she told herself, foggily striving to sense danger in the minds around her. She checked herself as she watched his face start to relax.
"Nothing, it's all right, everything's all right," Sydney said. "I just... You were sleeping so deeply, I couldn't seem to wake you. I was a little frightened."
"Oh, Syd. I'm sorry. C'est tout de ma faute. I put myself out like that, a sleep-meditation thing. I didn't tell you. I didn't want you to worry," she smiled wryly, tiredly. She was still groggy. "I didn't want you to feel you had to stay awake, en garde."
The slipped back and forth from English to French easily. She was glad for the chance to practice the language, and they both enjoyed the absolutely false sense of added privacy it gave them. Jarod, of course, spoke like a native, and Angelo understood the sentiments as clearly as the spoken English word. Perhaps intimacy was a better word; le mot juste.
Grace put her hand on Sydney's cheek. "I'm so sorry, Chou. I won't do that again."
He smiled into her eyes, and her heart leapt. "At least not without telling me."
"Promise," she said, sealing it with a kiss.
Sydney was up on one elbow. They were in her bed, he clad in pajama trousers, she in a large nightshirt and panties. He had joined her there after the others had retired. After just having confessed his feelings for her, he needed to be near her, if only to hold her. They had lain together, talking in low tones until he had dropped off, happy with her closeness. When he had awoken, she lay stone-still at his side. He had smiled, thinking to awaken her with a kiss. When she didn't stir at his lips, he had kissed her again. Puzzled at the lack of response, he thought to himself, I must be losing my touch. He picked up her wrist to hold her hand. Her arm was limp and cool to the touch. Fear rising in his throat, he looked at her chest, staring hard until he saw the very slight rise of her breathing. Her pulse was steady and slow. The horrible, irrational image of finding her dead, so soon after first admitting their love for each other, receded like a nightmare. Still, like a nightmare, the after-taste of terror prevented his settling back into sleep. He spoke her name quietly into her ear, and then shook her arm gently, then more forcibly as the dread rose again.
But it was all right now. She was awake, smiling, whispering French endearments. He kissed her softly, and she responded in kind. Tiens, que tu t'endormes, il fait toujours tot, she said. He nodded, kissing her again, but rather than returning to sleep, he drew back for a moment, then returned to her lips. Thoughts of sleep evaporated in a pleasant haze of passion. Their kisses became deep and languorous, tenderly taking their time as they explored each other with lips and tongue. Sydney moved his hand from her neck to her breast. He watched her eyes for signals. Too much, too soon? Her eyes said it wasn't. He smiled. Tu es sur? he asked. She nodded, her eyes closing as she exhaled. Their faces were inches apart. "Syd," she said, opening her eyes and finding his fully attentive. Ca fait longtemps – douze ans, au moins – depuis que... que je me suis couchee avec un homme. Et ca n'etait qu'une seule fois. She smiled and laughed a little. 'Sais pas comment faire, she admitted. His heart swelled with love for her. He wanted to protect her forever. He kissed her eyelids gently. On apprendra ensemble, tous les deux, he said.
He listened to her altered breathing and to her tiny sounds as his lips explored further what his fingers had found. His fingers discovered other tender, sensitive areas to explore.
After a few minutes, he returned to her neck and lips. Lying on their sides, face to face, she put her mouth to his ear. Et toi? she breathed. Qu'est-ce que tu veux que je fasse? He thrilled to the feeling of her warm breath so close to his ear as she nibbled and kissed. He unthinkingly moved his lower trunk toward her, their legs entwining, the pressure against his genitals exquisite. She wrapped her arm around his lower back, pulling herself tighter against him in reply. Tu aimes ma jambe tout contre toi? she said. He responded wordlessly. Et puis, quoi d'autre? she continued. Tu vuex mes doigts, peut-etre? She slid her hand over his hip and found what she sought. Time slowed as he warmed to her touch. Ou bien, mes levres? He opened his eyes, a little surprised to discover that he had closed them. He looked at her with such tenderness and vulnerablility, his desire silent and clear. Her whisper continued with a smile. Tu es trop grand, trop gros, pour te prendre entierement dans la bouche... mais je veux essayer...
Her hair tickled as her lips traced a path down his chest. Time stood still. The warmth Sydney felt became heat, became burning. His fingers tangled in her hair, urging them both onward. He moaned, lowly and gutturally. "Chou – it's been so long... apres tout ce temps... j' peut pas..." He cleared his throat hoarsely afterward, chagrin and pleasure at once evident in his smile. She nestled into the hollow of his shoulder.
J'suis desole, he murmured. She laughed lightly and quietly. Pas moi, she assured him with a kiss on his neck, just under his chin. "I hear that the winters in Idaho can be very long – and cold," she said mischievously. He held her close. Pas dans ta chaleur, he whispered.
They slept in each others' arms, blissful and content. Well before dawn, Sydney awoke with the need to use the bathroom. She opened her eyes as he stirred. "Morning, Chou," he said. "Mmm," she replied sleepily. He looked at her apologetically. "Grace, I think I... I'd better head back to my room." She smiled her understanding. He kissed her lovingly, hating to leave her. "Go back to sleep. I'll see you in a few hours," he promised. She burrowed down, claiming the warmth his body had left behind. He retrieved his pajama top from the chair, smiling as she immediately began snoring gently. Regretfully closing the door behind him, Sydney padded down the hall to the bathroom.
Lost in his memories of the previous night, he bumped into Angelo on his way back to his room. "Ah! Excuse me, Angelo. Good morning," Sydney said. Angelo had noted the man's smile and was reflecting it. "The bathroom is free. I'm going back to bed for awhile." Sydney touched the younger man on the arm as he passed by, thinking, Angelo certainly looks relaxed this morning. Funny - Angelo was thinking the same thing about him.
*** *** *** *** ***
All during the previous night and the day that followed, the skies had brought more snow; fat, wet flakes, which clung to the cabin walls and broke tree branches with their weight. It snowed all day long, piling high and heavy. Perfect for snowmen, impromptu battles and walks in the silent woods, little headway in clearing the yard was made when all four declared a snow day of sorts. Spirits were high and the relatively warm day had them all playing out of doors until cold and hunger drove four tired people inside.
After supper, the warm living room invited all to laziness. Soft music played – Grace was quick to drop off. Jarod pulled himself out of the armchair with an effort and turned his attention to his computer once again. Angelo sat beside him; his innate talent and intuition were invaluable in Jarod's electronic forays into the Centre and elsewhere. Sydney, unwilling to nap himself, watched Grace for a few moments. Memories of the previous evening and thoughts of the coming night made him smile. He shook himself mentally. Needing a physical distraction, he pulled on boots and coat. He retrieved his still-damp mittens from the top of the woodpile near the stove, grimacing as he pulled them on his hands. "I'm going to go out and shovel for a little while," he said quietly. Jarod nodded absently, barely hearing him as he watched, fascinated what his partner was doing on the computer.
Exiting the cabin, he picked up one of the shovels leaning against the rail. He stood at the top of the porch stairs, surveying the dark yard. The immediate area was illuminated by the cabin's light. The snow had practically stopped. He picked his way down the stairs and across the yard to the garage. Once his eyes dark-acclimated, there was just enough light for him to work by. He dug in, quickly becoming short of breath as his shovel bit into the heavy snow. He was somewhat annoyed that they had forgone this chore earlier. Still, he had thoroughly enjoyed the sneak attack he had launched on Jarod earlier that afternoon. Considering the level of stress that was now integral in their lives, a little play was a good thing. But now it was back to responsibilities.
His head began to ache as he lifted load after load of the sodden snow. His ears ringing, he pushed himself onward, determined to at least clear this area before calling it quits. He bent to lift another shovel-full when a searing-hot pain wrapped him in a vicious bear hug. He struggled to remain upright, leaning on the shovel handle. Losing strength in his hands, the shovel dropped silently into the snow. Sydney followed suit.
He lay there, unaware of the cold, concentrating on his racing, erratic heartbeat. He tried to will it to slow down and even out, cursing himself for his stupidity. Just as the pain seemed to be abating, a fresh wave hit. Its clutch was unrelenting; Sydney could make no noise other than a quiet groan. The world was growing more and more distant as his hearing and sight disappeared. He cried in his mind, No, not now, please, not now...
*** *** *** *** ***
Angelo looked up, agitated. Jarod was engrossed in what he they were doing on the screen. Angelo grabbed him violently. Jarod was startled by the interruption, and then again by his friend's expression. "Hurt!" Angelo said urgently.
"What is it?" Jarod asked. Angelo, with no more words at his disposal, replied with a distraught vocalization and knocked over his chair as he bolted up and out the door. Jarod followed with deep concern.
It took Jarod a moment to locate Angelo. He was kneeling in the shadows near the garage, cradling Sydney's head awkwardly in his lap. "God, no. Sydney!!" Jarod shouted, stumbling and slipping as he raced across the yard. He slid to his mentor's side, hesitating, unwilling to confirm what he already suspected. He reached for a pulse and found none. Jarod hyperventilated as he looked at his Sydney's pallid face and blue lips, shaking his head as he denied the truth.
"No!" The cry echoed dully off the buildings and was quickly muffled by the snow-laden surfaces. Pushing Angelo fiercely back into the snow, he tilted Sydney's head back and delivered two forceful breaths into the older man's cold mouth. Quickly shifting positions, he began chest compressions. He counted to fifteen, delivered two more breaths, then returned to the chest. "Come on, damn it! Don't you die on me! Don't you leave me! Don't you leave me!" Jarod continued CPR, unaware of the passing of time, oblivious to the cold, unmindful of his own sobs as he furiously and vainly tried to beat life back into the body beneath him.
When he finally leaned back, drained and done in, he slowly came to recognize that Grace and Angelo knelt beside him. Jarod looked at her, no words possible, his face shattered in grief. She looked silently from him to the still form. Her heart, too, was in pieces. She picked up Sydney's hand, peeling off the wet mitten, holding the icy fingers to her cheek. He was gone; she had realized it as soon as Angelo led her outside.
*** *** *** *** ***
Jarod retrieved the pick and shovels. The final betrayal, he thought. One last thing I should have been able to do for you, and I let you down, even in death. You should be lying next to Jacob, in the place you loved. I am so sorry, Sydney. For all of this.
Slowly he turned to look at the others standing at the gravesite in the frozen woods. Angelo stood off a little way, hugging himself. Grace's hands hung empty at her sides.
Swallowing a lump, Jarod approached Grace. She looked at him vacantly, her face showing nothing but distant pain, and nodded. She turned and made her way out of the tiny glen, leaving behind her the unmarked grave where Sydney's body lay hidden. They might never be able to move him from this site, they both knew. It hurt too much to think of the crude tomb they made for him being permanent. They didn't speak of it.
Jarod replaced the tools in the garage and climbed the porch stairs heavily. He washed his hands in the kitchen sink. Grace was stunned to see him sit down at the computer and turn it on.
"What are you doing?" she asked in disbelief.
He knew exactly what she meant, but answered her question literally. "I'm searching for records of the Centre's dealings with eastern-European regimes in the late 1970's and early eighties..."
"Now?" she questioned, her anger rising. "We just buried him."
"Do you have something else you want me to do?" he asked cruelly.
Grace opened her mouth, then closed it, unable to speak. She glared at him. Turning, she left the room, shutting her bedroom door behind her.
Jarod pounded his fist on his thigh, fuming at himself and at her. Most of all, he was furious with Sydney. You shouldn't have left us, he cried out silently. What are we going to do without you? What will I do?
Angelo sat unobserved in a corner of the kitchen. He felt helpless here. If only he had his files, his DSA's, he could give Jarod what they needed. That would make everything better, he reasoned. But that meant going back to the Centre. He was not afraid of recapture as such. He had only the faintest concept of freedom versus captivity from a personal stand. Those ideas really only applied to others, not to him. For Angelo, it was only danger and safety in terms of pain that was really important. He rubbed his temples as the memory of the pain resurfaced as a real sensation. He whimpered, unnoticed by Jarod.
*** *** *** *** ***
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