Mindgames – Part 11

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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Much later that morning, Jarod emerged from his room.  He walked past Tim without a word and out of the door.  He went to the garage, intending to get the Expedition and go into town, mainly to get away from Grace for a while.  He stopped when he saw her standing next to the vehicle.

"Excuse me," he said menacingly, trying to move between her and the driver's door.

"Jarod," she began.

"Don't.  Just don't.  I can't talk to you right now."

"I know."

He whirled on her.  "You know what?  What I'm thinking right now, maybe?  Or maybe you just 'suggested' to me that I come out here, huh?"

"No," she said quietly. 

"How can I trust you now?"

She looked at him, pain evident on her face.  "I suppose you can't.  I'm sorry."

"I don't care.  Get out of my way."

"Jarod."  She put a hand on his arm.  He shook it off angrily.

"Don't touch me!"  He pushed past her, getting into the SUV and starting it with a vengeance.  He backed out of the garage and left her standing in the garage, too tired to cry for the friend that she knew she had just lost.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

He stayed away all day and night.  He had no intention of abandoning them, but couldn't bring himself to be near Grace for the time being.  The following morning he called.  Grace answered, relieved to hear his voice.

"Let me talk to Tim," was all he said to her. 

She handed the phone to Tim, who listened attentively, watching Grace.  He handed the phone back to her.  She put the phone to her ear, knowing as she did so that she would hear he had already disconnected.  Putting the phone down on the table, she sighed silently. 

"He's coming back," Tim said.  Grace nodded. 

"Tim, I need to talk to you," she said.  They sat at the kitchen table.  Before she could speak, Tim's eyes grew bright with unshed tears.  "Don't go," he said.

Grace felt terrible.  "I have to go.  At least for a while.  He can't be near me right now.  If he is, he'll come to hate me.  If he doesn't already."

Tim understood only that he was losing Grace.  It was she whom he had trusted first.  "Grace – I still trust you.  I'm not angry with you."

"I know."  She put her hand over his.  "I feel it from you," she smiled.  He smiled back, just a little.

"Will you come back?" he asked simply. 

"I don't know," she answered honestly.  Tim followed her to her room, watching her pack a small bag.  "You'll be okay until Jarod gets here.  I'll call you to make sure."  Tim knew how to keep the woodstove fed, and would probably only be alone a few hours. 

"I have to leave now," she said.  Tim nodded, tears finally spilling.  She embraced him warmly, missing him already.  She looked at him closely.  "Can I say goodbye to Angelo, too?"  Tim nodded, and Angelo surfaced.  He didn't speak, but clung to her tightly.  She held him for a long moment.  "Thank you for being such a good friend," she whispered.  "I'll miss you."  She let him go slowly, and picked up her bag.  She paused at Sydney's door, looking into his room quietly.  There was nothing from there she would take, she knew, but his memory. 

At the door, she set down her bag and stepped into her boots.  When she straightened up, Angelo was holding a coat for her.  Sydney's parka.  She smiled in gratitude, and slipped into it.  "Take good care of each other," she said.  She kissed him softly and left.

The third vehicle that approached her picked her up.  She climbed in and quickly brushed his mind.  No threat there.  She settled into the seat for the ride into Spokane.  It was only after several miles that she discovered the small ceramic cat in the deep pocket of the parka.  Angelo had slipped it in there for her, she realized.  She smiled.  Thank you, my friend.  I'll take good care of it.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Jarod pulled into the garage, bracing himself for the encounter he knew was coming.  He was determined to stay in control of his emotions this time.  His anger had not disappeared, but he knew he could not stay away forever. 

Inside the cabin, he found Tim – no, this was Angelo – lying on his stomach on the couch, drawing with fierce concentration.  Angelo looked up as Jarod walked in.  He smiled briefly to let Jarod know he was glad to see him back and returned to his task.  A brief glance around to make sure Grace was not in sight, and then Jarod approached his friend.

"Hey, there, Hoss – what are you drawing?"

Angelo handed him the legal pad and rolled over on his back.  Jarod felt a chill as he recognized the looming stone edifice of the Centre.  Swallowing, he chose to ignore it for the moment.  "I'm hungry.  Have you eaten yet?"

Angelo shook his head.  "Hungry." 

"Let's see what we can rustle up for ourselves," Jarod said, and led the way to the kitchen.  He began opening cupboard doors, pulling out plates and glasses.  He turned to see Angelo pulling things out of the refrigerator:  a large plate of sandwiches and dishes of pudding.  Apples sat nearby.  "Well.  That was quick."

Jarod deliberately set two places at the table.  Grace would get the message, with or without benefit of her "special ability."

Angelo sat down and dug into his pudding.  They ate, Jarod saying little, Angelo saying less.  They had finished their meal and put plates in the sink before Jarod finally asked, "Is Grace in her room?"

Angelo looked down and jerked his head sideway.  "Gone."  He looked at the door.

"Gone for a walk?"  Jarod presumed she would be in the woods, probably at Sydney's grave.  He looked at the door too, and didn't see Angelo shake his head.

"Well, I think I'll take a shower.  See you in a bit."

Angelo returned to the couch where Jarod had found him, chewing on the pencil already covered with tooth marks.

Jarod showered slowly, in no rush to confront Grace.  When he emerged, the late afternoon darkness of winter was well established.  He looked around curiously.  Grace was not in evidence.  He looked at her bedroom door; it was closed.  He wondered if she was in there, but was loath to knock.

He picked up a book and settled into the armchair.  Angelo was toying with the cell phone, spinning it on the coffee table with the pencil.  Jarod read a few pages, but was uninterested.  He was uneasy, not knowing where Grace was.  He finally asked, "Did Grace get back from her walk?"

Angelo didn't look up from his pass time.  "Gone," he said.

This was not good.  It was well below freezing, and going to stay that way.  He rose angrily.  "Stupid, stupid... she knows better than this."  He supposed he had to go look for her.  "Angelo, you stay here.  I'll go find her."  Muttering all sorts of profanities under his breath, he set off for the edge of the woods.  He did not hear the phone ring in the cabin behind him.

During the next half hour, Jarod's anger was superceded by growing concern.  It occurred to him that this might not be his idea, but Grace may have planted this in his mind.  This refueled his anger briefly, but another quarter hour's searching brought the concern to the forefront once again.  There was no sign of her in the woods.  Jarod returned to the cabin.  "Is she back?" he asked.

Angelo shook his head. 

"Angelo, did she say where she was going?"

Angelo looked at him.  "Gone.  Gone away."

"What?"  Jarod stood still for a moment before thumping across the cabin floor in his snow-laden boots.  He flung open her bedroom door to find the room empty.  He turned around; Angelo was just behind him.

"Angelo – where did she go?"

"Away," he said plaintively. 

Slowly, it sunk in.  She had left.  My God, she had left.

Jarod asked, "When?"

Angelo didn't answer.  He turned back toward the living room.  Jarod followed him, removing his boots and coat.  He noticed Sydney's parka was missing from the peg next to her coat.  They sat down, watching each other.

"Angelo – can I talk to Tim now?"  Angelo looked at him for a long minute.  At first, Jarod thought he would refuse.  Slowly, though, he complied.

"She left, Jarod," Tim said.  "This morning, after you called."

"Did she say why?" Jarod asked.  He was pretty sure of the answer.

Tim nodded.  "She said you two had to be apart so you wouldn't hate each other."

Jarod nodded.  "I'm sorry, Tim.  Will she be back soon?"

"She doesn't know.  She called a little while ago, when you went out.  She wanted to make sure you had gotten back all right and that we were okay."

"Where is she?"

"She didn't say, and Angelo didn't ask."

Jarod spoke quietly.  "I'm sorry she had to leave, Tim.  Maybe in a little while she can come back."

"She's sorry she had to leave, too," Tim said sadly.  He got up to put a few sticks of wood in the stove.  Closing the stove door, he wiped his hands on his pants and turned to Jarod.  "I'm going to bed."

"It's still early."

"I know."  Tim started down the hall.  He stopped and turned when Jarod called his name. 

"You don't have to worry about us, Tim.  I'll take care of you, and Angelo.  We'll all take care of each other."

Tim looked at him plainly.  "I'm not worried about us."  He closed the bedroom door behind himself.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Grace had spent the night in the first cheap motel she found.  She had eaten in a nearby restaurant, Chinese food.  While waiting for her order, she glanced around.  Typical Chinese restaurant decor, from the shell pictures to the tasseled light fixtures... her breath caught.  It was a painted fan.  On it was the figure of a cat, sitting upright, it's paw raised as if in greeting.  She reached into the pocket of the parka on the seat beside her. She withdrew the little ceramic cat Angelo had given her.  It had the same raised paw.  Was it a coincidence, she wondered.

"Maneki neko."  The waitress set a pot of tea down in front of her.  "Excuse me?" Grace smiled.  The waitress indicated the figurine.  "Your cat.  Maneki neko – the beckoning cat."

Grace looked up, excited.  "This was a gift.  Can you tell me about it?"

The young waitress laughed.  "Sure.  The maneki neko symbolizes wealth and good fortune.  He is telling customers to come in.  There are legends connected with it – something about saving an emperor's life and a temple.  I don't remember the story any more."  She dropped her voice, conspiratorially.  "Actually, it's Japanese, not Chinese.  But it adds to the atmosphere, I guess."  She looked around at the brightly colored bits and pieces of "atmosphere," grinning.  She noticed another customer ready to order, and excused herself. 

"Maneki neko," Grace repeated to herself, and carefully secreted the small statue once again in Sydney's pocket. 

She called Angelo from the motel room.  "Hi, Angelo, it's me."  Angelo was pleased to hear her voice, she knew.  It was odd, but she seemed to feel him pretty well over the phone line.  A little clearer than in person, as a matter of fact.  Less – confusing images. 

"How are you doing?  Did Jarod get back?"

"Jarod's back."  Grace felt for images again.  It was certainly easier to communicate with Angelo this way, given his tendency for limited words. 

"You guys ate, right?  And he's out in the woods now?"

"Looking for you."  Grace was a little startled at that.  "He doesn't know I've left yet?  Angelo, you have to tell him when he gets back, okay?"

"Tell."

"I found the cat.  Thank you, Angelo.  I would have forgotten it."

"From Sydney.  Don't forget."

She spoke softly.  "I won't."

Grace hung up the phone, surprised at how tired she was.  One last reach around to make sure there was no danger, followed almost immediately by sleep.  And dreams, of course.  The morning found her awake and, if not rested, at least ready to get down to work.  She knew she had a lot to do before she was ready to go back to the Centre.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

The next several days were spent mostly in public places.  Grace was learning more and more about manipulating minds.  She refused to think about the ethics of the situation.  She had never believed the old "ends justifies the means" business, anyway.  It was bound to be a losing battle, so she simply buried herself in her task and ignored the nagging, accusing whispers of her conscience. 

By day she was occupied with pushing people around, as she thought of it.  She found it relatively simple to plant a suggestion in someone's mind, if she were only concerned with trying to affect one person: turn a corner, pick up an item.  Suggesting the same thing to two or three, however, proved to be extremely difficult.  Her first few attempts were badly botched, and left her subjects a little dazed and uncomfortable.  Slowly, though, she began to see more and more success for her efforts.

At the end of the day, she'd return to the motel room, mentally exhausted.  The first nights were fraught with headaches and nausea; the next few nights she had only headaches.  As her successes became more and more consistent, she suffered less and less. 

After six days of experimenting on Spokane, she felt ready to attempt a much greater test. 

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

The department store was gaily lit, but the holiday shoppers were full of anything but holiday cheer.  Grace was elbowed, pushed and sworn at as harried people tried to get their selections rung up before the store closed. 

Sweating a bit inside the parka, she realized that she was fidgeting.  This will not do, she told herself firmly.  Forcing herself to slow her breathing, she strove to calm her thoughts. 

The store had announced its closing fifteen minutes ago.  Grace had watched as the people around her rushed to get everything to the checkout counters.  Taking a deep breath, she launched herself into her task.

The woman headed directly toward her did not see her.  Grace saw to that.  The problem was not in making the woman ignore her, but in making herself inconsequential.  Grace didn't want to be knocked down, after all.  The woman shopper loomed large; Grace ignored the instinct to step out of her way.  At the last moment, the woman stepped around Grace with no second thought about why she might be swerving in her path. 

Okay.  That's one, Grace told herself.  You knew you could do that.  But now it gets a lot harder.  Mentally steeling herself, she widened her focus.

At first she stood to the side, subconsciously directing various activities.  A sour clerk made the wrong change, a young woman laughed for no reason at all.  Soon, she began to move among them, directing and redirecting attention as the crowd thinned.  Standing in plain view, she watched as the store's doors were locked and the clerks went about securing cash drawers and perfunctorily straightening displays.  They left in two's and three's, a security guard letting them through the door.  Less than an hour later, she was left standing on the sales floor; the guard was oblivious to her presence.  She moved about freely for a few minutes before she felt satisfied.  She suggested to the guard that he wanted to open the door and check outside briefly.  He took no notice of her as he held the door for her.

On the street, she stood still for a moment.  Her hands were shaking badly, but she was elated.  Jon had been right after all – her potential for these kinds of skills far exceeded what she would have believed.  The mile walk back to her motel room flew by unnoticed as her head spun.  She felt slightly drunk with the effort, and with her success. 

That night, she slept, deeply and dreamlessly.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Jarod was irritable.  Angelo had become more and more withdrawn as the week had worn on; Tim appeared rarely.  Jarod would not admit to being concerned about Grace's safety.  He told himself instead that she was irresponsible for leaving Angelo like she did.  Angelo and Tim needed her, and she was letting them down.  Neither would he admit to his share of the blame; it was his unmitigated anger with her that prompted this separation.  It only occurred to him that she was being childish and vindictive, and hurting Angelo and Tim. 

Jarod had not visited Sydney's grave since looking for Grace the day she had left.  He had no one to turn to for support and reassurance; nothing he was doing seemed to be helping his friend.  He waited for the phone to ring, rehearsing what he would say to her.  He planned to give her a piece of his mind, and not one that she would have wanted to take, either.

He resisted the temptation to track her down.  Let her stew, he thought.  When she finds out the damage she was causing, her regret would serve her right. 

Jarod wandered into Angelo's room.  The walls were covered with his drawings of the Centre.  The past few days had produced a profusion of pictures of the place, both exteriors and interiors.  Angelo was hard at work on another one.

"Hey, Angelo..."  The artist didn't look up, but Jarod knew he was listening.  Getting down on one knee beside the bed, he fought for Angelo's attention.

"Angelo, look at me."  Capturing his eyes, Jarod smiled.  "What do you say we go for a drive?  We need some supplies." 

Angelo returned to his drawing.  Frustrated, Jarod reached for the pad and pencil.  "You can do this later.  Come on."  Angelo's eyes followed his things as Jarod laid them on the bed, but rose to follow his friend.

The trip to Coeur d'Alene was quiet.  Roads were in fair winter driving condition in spite of the wet snow falling, and the shopping was uneventful.  Angelo watched Jarod scanning the crowd as they shopped.  He knew that Jarod was hoping to see Grace; he knew as well that Grace was not there.

Back at the cabin, Angelo went directly to his room.  Jarod's frustration mounted.  He put away the supplies alone and sat in the armchair, trying to come up with some solution to Angelo's current state.

The ringing phone galvanized him.  Angelo appeared like magic, looking at the phone expectantly.  Jarod forced himself to count to five rings before picking it up.  He gave no greeting, simply waited for her to speak.  No one else knew this number, after all.

"Hello, Jarod," Grace said.  Oddly, Jarod could not think of what he had planned to say to her.  He was surprised to find his anger was less than he thought it would be.

"Grace.  How did you know it was me and not Angelo?" he asked, surprising himself yet again.  It was supposed to be an accusation, but did not come out that way.

He heard her smile into the phone.  "Your breathing.  It whistles when you have a cold.  Been playing outside?"

He smiled in spite of himself.  "We went into town today," he told her.  "We were getting low on chocolate milk."

Grace was encouraged and relieved by his tone.  "How are you doing?"

"We're getting along..."

"I meant, how are you doing, Jarod?"  The pause was pregnant and honest.  "We left things pretty bad between us."

The rest of Jarod's anger seemed to evaporate.  "I was very hurt by what you did to me, Grace."

"I know.  It wasn't right.  I'm truly sorry, Jarod."

"I know you are."

"Are you still mad?"

"Can't you tell?"  Maybe not all the anger had disappeared, after all.

"I'm asking you."

He sighed.  "I'm sorry.  Maybe a little.  More hurt, I guess."

She was quiet.  "It's my fault.  I had no right to do what I did."

"Are you coming back?"

Grace didn't want to answer that, just yet.  Instead, she asked, "How are Angelo and Tim?"

Jarod looked at the young man watching him closely, a half-smile on his face.  "Standing right here.  Want to say hi?"

"In a minute.  First, I want you to tell me how they are."

"Very quiet.  Almost non-communicative.  I haven't seen Tim more than two or three times since you... since I got back.  I don't seem to be helping either him or Angelo much."  This was not an accusation, either.  "We need your help."

At her end, Grace closed her eyes.  "Let me speak to him."

Jarod handed the phone over.  Angelo took it happily, more animated than he had been in many days.  Jarod watched him closely, thinking, come home, Grace, we all need you here.

Angelo turned and scurried into his room with the phone.  The abruptness of it left Jarod amused.  "Well, if you wanted a little privacy, all you had to do was ask," he called after him.  Settling back into his chair, he waited.  Please don't hang up, Grace, he said silently. 

Angelo stayed in his room with the phone for more that ten minutes, and Jarod had begun to think that they had indeed disconnected when Angelo returned, holding out the phone.  Jarod took it eagerly.  "Grace?"

"I'm here."  Her voice was welcomed on the other end.

"Where are you, Grace?  We'll come get you."

He heard her sigh lightly.  "Not quite yet.  Maybe in a little while."

"If it's because of me..."

"No, it's not that, Jarod."

"...we'll work it out.  They need you, Grace."  He paused.  "We all do."

"I need you guys, too," she replied.  His heart warmed.  "But there's something I have to do first," she continued.

"Whatever it is, we can do it together.  Don't let what happened stop you from coming back."

"Jarod, nothing makes me happier than to hear you say that.  But I don't think I deserve that kind of consideration from you, not yet."  Her tone was dark and tinged with pain.  Jarod wondered what she meant.

"Take care of yourselves, Jarod.  If all goes well, you should be hearing from me soon."

"What do you mean, if all goes well?  Grace, are you in some kind of danger?"  His heart beat faster as he spoke.

"Don't worry about me, Jarod.  I have to go.  I love you guys."

"Grace, wait..." she heard him saying as she hung up.  Pulling at the tense muscles in the back of her neck and shoulders, she turned to the dresser and began packing her few things in her bag.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Jarod looked at Angelo.  "She says she misses us," Jarod said.  Angelo turned away from him, a quiet moan escaping.  Jarod stood and put his hand on Angelo's shoulder.  "She's worried about you both.  I hope she'll come home soon."  Angelo's shoulders hitched convulsively.  Jarod turned him around gently, and was shocked to see the torment Angelo's face.  "Angelo, what is it?" he asked, searching.

Angelo's face grew angry.  He tried to throw Jarod's hands off his arms, but Jarod held on.  He fought wildly.  Jarod remembered the broken window, and restrained him in a bear hug.  "Angelo!  Angelo, don't!"  Slowly, the young man grew quiet, and Jarod pulled back to see tears streaming down his cheeks.  "Angelo... what is it?" he asked again. 

"Don't go," Angelo mumbled.  Jarod did not understand.  "Go where?  Who?  Talk to me, Angelo."  Slowly, almost reluctantly, Angelo dug a folded and crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket.  Jarod took it from his hand.  It was another of his drawings of the Centre.

"The Centre?  What..."  Awful realization dawned on Jarod.  "Angelo, is Grace going to the Centre?" Angelo looked at him wretchedly, miserably. 

"She's going to get the files you hid there, isn't she?  That's what you two were talking about in your room.  She's going to try to walk in there and walk out with them."

"Angelo told her where they are."  Tim looked at Jarod, speaking quietly.  Jarod nodded, trying to think.  They had to find her and stop her. 

"So you wouldn't have to go back," Jarod said.

"He doesn't want her to go back either, but..."

Jarod looked at Tim.  "I know.  Angelo is protecting you.  Now we have to protect her.  Tim, do you have any idea where she is?"

Tim shook his head.  Jarod's mind worked furiously as he pivoted on his heel and dashed into his room.  He opened his laptop and waited impatiently for the few seconds it took to boot up. His fingers flew over the keys.  Tim watched over his shoulder as Jarod hacked into cell phone records, tracing the last call they had received. They had their answer in a few minutes, and quickly dialed the number. 

The phone rang several times before it was answered.  "Spoke-Inn Motel." 

"Grace Hanover's room, please."

"Sorry, you just missed her.  She checked out not ten minutes ago."

"This is an emergency.  Did she say where she was going?"

"Airport.  Called the cab for her myself."

Jarod hung up, breathing heavily.  Once again he tackled the computer, searching for airline reservations...

"There!  Flight 647 to Boise, change planes to Salt Lake City, then Minneapolis..."  He looked up.  "Tim, we have to stop her.  We have to get to Delaware before she does."  Tim nodded.  Jarod returned to the keyboard one final time, figuring flight times, connections...it would be close, very close.  If they chartered a plane to  Denver, they might be able to beat her into Wilmington.  He called the airport in Coeur d'Alene and was told that the one charter jet based out of there had already left, but it was be a short hop, and would be back later this evening...

"Where is it going to?"

"Missoula.  Emergency medical run..." 

Jarod interrupted.  "Radio the pilot.  Tell him to refuel and wait for us.  We'll meet him there." 

"Sir, if you'll give me your number, I'll be glad to relay your request and..."

"This is an emergency.  We have to get to Denver immediately."

The voice on the other end spoke calmly.  "Give me your number and I'll call you as soon as I can confirm with the pilot," she said. 

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

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