Balancing The Scales - Part 10
by MMB
"Hello, boys. Miss me?"
Jarod's voice upon entering the metal living quarters in the middle of the wrecking yard had a barely controlled element of fury in it. Willy merely glared at him from his chair where he'd been trapped for the entire night and now into the morning, while Vernon merely twisted on the bed against his handcuffs without answering.
Ignoring Vernon for the time being, Jarod sauntered lazily over to Willy - then reached out and swiftly ripped at the piece of duct tape that had been holding the sweeper's mouth shut, then extracted the shop towel that it had covered. "I'm wondering how you're doing this morning, Willy," the Pretender asked with a decidedly menacing tone.
"Fuck you, Jarod!" Willy managed to barely whisper, his mouth desperately dry from the absorbent shop towel.
"Oh! Wrong answer, big boy," Jarod's tone became derisive, and he headed in the direction of the kitchenette. "I'm thinking that you've been stuck in that chair for - what? - damned near twelve hours now, without a single break. So it occurs to me that either you have a cast-iron bladder, or you've GOT to be getting just a LITTLE uncomfortable." He turned on the kitchen faucet and let one hand play in the water so that it made splashing noises in the sink.
Willy's face quickly became very focused, very tight.
"So," Jarod continued, once more in his menacing tone, "I'm wondering how much trouble I'm going to have with you today." He turned the water on just a little harder, so that the splashing sounded just that much louder. "Then again, maybe you're thirsty?"
The dark sweeper was starting to squirm, as the very real possibility that the Pretender would give him cause to humiliate himself came home to him. "Jarod... Please..."
"Ah!" Jarod emoted a false surprise and turned the faucet off after filling a glass with water. "That sounds like you're ready to be a little more reasonable. Am I going to have any trouble with you?" he repeated.
"No," the sweeper answered, squirming again as Jarod walked towards him gently sloshing the water in the glass back and forth. What had been discomfort was rapidly become dire need.
"So if I let you... um... relieve yourself, you'll not give me any trouble afterwards?" Jarod insisted, sloshing the water a little more and watching Willy get just that much more desperate.
"No! C'mon..." Willy's voice had finally found that pleading note Jarod had been waiting for.
Jarod set the water glass on a small end table then took something out of his pants pocket and flicked open the small and extremely sharp switchblade. Standing to one side, just in case the sweeper should decide to kick out at him, he snicked the blade down one leg to free it from its bond, then moved behind the chair and cut the other. "Pull 'em lose," he directed tersely, then watched as Willy very cautiously pulled the material of his trousers loose from the adhesive. The next flick of the dangerous little blade severed the tape around Willy's chest, and Jarod himself pulled the tape from one side to the other to separate clothing from adhesive.
Then the Pretender reached down for the glass of water again. "Open up," he directed the sweeper with a smile. Willy's eye's opened, and he closed his mouth tightly and shook his head. "Fine. Whatever." Jarod slowly dumped the water over Willy's head. The result was the same - Willy's desperation hit critical, and at that point Jarod cut the tape holding his hands down to the legs of the chair. "Restroom's straight ahead," Jarod mentioned and watched the sweeper stumble as fast as his cramped legs could carry him.
But after the door had been closed only a moment or two, and Willy was at last feeling the relief of draining his overly-full bladder, he hear the snick-snick of a semi-automatic chambering a round, and a cold metal O pressed into the back of his neck. "Feeling better?" Jarod asked in a lethally quiet voice.
"Y...yes."
"Good. Then you just keep hangin' on to what you've got hold of for a minute while I take care of business..." Jarod grabbed the man by the back of his shirt and jacket neck and dragged him backwards, off-balance, until the seat of the chair hit him in the knees hard and he sat down quickly. Before Willy could recover, Jarod had the duct tape going around the chest again twice, three times, pinning his forearms down where they could do little harm. "OK. Tuck it in, zip yourself up again, and then put your hands back down again."
"I helped you," Willy complained bitterly even as he complied, knowing that he was far too stiff to be able to effectively challenge the physically fit Pretender even were he free.
"I know. That's why you're alive." Jarod's voice was very matter-of-fact as he wrapped tape tightly around ankles and chair legs. "And you stand a good chance of staying that way if you can start talking and tell me what Raines could possibly have wanted to kidnap Miss Parker for - and where he'd be keeping her."
"He kidnapped Miss Parker?" The sweeper sounded genuinely surprised. "He's talked about it several times - mostly in relation to Redux - but he knew she was in the Triumverate's pocket. He didn't dare move against her."
"Well, he did." Jarod finished fixing the man's hands to the chair again, then reached once more for the glass of water. "Thirsty?" Willy looked at him askance, and he shrugged. "Makes me no never mind, but if you want it, better let me know now..."
"Yeah." Willy swallowed his pride along with the cool water that restored his throat and mouth and voice. "Thanks."
"What about me?" Vernon whined from the bed.
Jarod turned and looked at Shadow's mentor with something less than sympathy in his eyes. "You've had plenty of trips to the can before Sam tied you up. You should be good for another hour or so yet. Forget it."
"You don't think he took her down to Renewal, do you?" Willy offered, knowing his captor had meant every word he'd said about increasing his chances of survival. "To take more of her..."
Jarod shook his head. "Usually, women undergo at least one month of chemical preparation so that they release more than one ova at once." He sighed. "I don't get it. It makes no sense..."
"Remember, the man's gone just more than a little nuts-o," Willy shook his head. "I mean, does a sane man sanction all the project members?"
"You have a point," Jarod agreed reluctantly, just not mentioning that the point didn't bode well for Miss Parker if the sweeper was right. From behind a chair, he fetched out his laptop and quickly hooked it up and turned it on. Moments after he'd booted it up, he'd discovered the backdoor that he'd asked Broots to leave open for him and had established a connection into the Centre mainframe. Once in, he whipped out his cell phone and dialed Broots' extension at the Centre.
"Man, you should see what's going on around he..."
"Talk to me, Broots. Have you found anything?"
"No, but Jarod, the Triumverate landed here this morning, and I think they brought the whole damned African continental army with them." Broots' voice was lowered, so that the man standing watch only a few paces from his office door couldn't hear him. "The whole place is crawling - and my IT friend told me in IRC that Raines has a visitor: Ngawe."
"Willy here tells me that maybe Miss Parker got taken to Renewal. Can you check that out?" Jarod asked, looking over at the dark-faced sweeper and watching him nod yet again silently.
"Hang on..." The Pretender could hear Broots' fingers typing madly on the keyboard, then pause, then type again, then pause, then... "Got her!"
"Where!" Jarod's voice rose several notes in pitch in his excitement.
"Right where Willy said she'd be: Renewal... Oh man!" Broots' voice had now dipped into the extremely worried tone.
"What now?!"
"It says here that she's scheduled for gynecological surgery in about an hour..." Broots' voice sputtered to a halt. "Geez, Jarod, what are we going to do?"
Jarod ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He had to think, and think fast - Miss Parker's health and maybe life depended on his coming up with a solution FAST.
"OK. You said the Triumverate are there? Ngawe is there? I'll bet you dollars to donuts that he's going to be wanting to speak to Miss Parker soon. She works for the Triumverate and not the Centre, after all. I want you to print out the surgery orders, the admission order, and any other paper trail you can find in the next ten minutes - and then I want you to head for the Tower and demand to speak to Ngawe himself. Raines has overstepped himself, and it would be only logical that one of Miss Parker's friends would be willing to call him to task for going that one step too far."
The silence on the other end of the line was profound.
"Broots? You still with me?"
"You want me to... go face..." Broots was stammering like he hadn't in years.
"You're her assistant, right?" Jarod demanded, knowing there really wasn't time for this discussion.
"Yeah. So?"
"Her assistant would know if she were ill enough to need surgery, wouldn't he?"
"Yeah..." That answer came a little slower, but it came.
"Wouldn't an assistant be concerned if something like this were to happen without any apparent warning? Especially if he knew that she went home last night in good health and wasn't even SEEN entering the Centre this morning?"
"OK! OK!" Broots capitulated. "Maybe they'll start hunting for her before I get there..."
"You can hope. Get to it, and let me do what I need to from this end." Jarod disconnected the call quickly and began typing into his laptop furiously.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Mr. Raines had been unceremoniously displaced from behind the massive carved desk that was his domain as Chairman of the Centre and dumped into one of the slightly less comfortable stuffed chairs in front of the desk, while Ngawe had calmly moved into the power seat. The two men at his side each had thick zipped binders which had come open the moment the undisputed head of the Triumverate had taken his seat, and now each man alternately were handing their boss document after document - all about Shadow.
"Now this," Ngawe continued with a sigh of frustration, "this is a record of all the sims that this Pretender Shadow ran in the last five years. We have transcripts of exactly what types of situations were given. Perhaps you can explain what you were doing running these kinds of sims time after time after time - especially since the Pretender project had been shut down officially?"
Raines straightened in his chair and stared at the black man with undisguised disgust. "My loyalties have always been to the Centre, and no short-sighted order from a group of accountants was going to strip me of the best source of financing..."
"Ah. But there we have a problem," the elderly black man lifted a finger, and again the heavy dark hands landed on Raines' shoulder to silence him. "We have reports here, filed by Miss Parker at our request she do some digging, that show... well... why don't we just call her in here to explain what she put in her reports."
Ngawe gave a casual flip of a forefinger, and immediately one of the men behind him punched the intercom button. "Have Miss Parker brought to the Tower office," the bodyguard ordered.
"Miss Parker has not come to work this morning," came the answer from the outer office only moments later from Raines' terrified secretary.
"Then call her at home and ask her to come in immediately," came the quick response.
Again the intercom buzzed. "Miss Parker isn't answering her home phone."
Ngawe was starting to frown. "Do you know where Miss Parker is?" he asked Raines suddenly, making the bald man jump.
"Why should I know where she is?" gasped Raines, worried that if he started to break out in any more of a sweat, the Africans would know something was up. He glanced down at his watch - thirty-five minutes had passed since he'd given the order to have her undergo surgery. She should be pretty well sedated by now, if not already on the operating table.
The was a commotion suddenly outside the closed glass doors that brought everybody's head around in the office, and then one of the bodyguards posted outside came in the door and headed up to his boss. "There's a young man outside who demands to see you, sir - says that he has important information that he can give ONLY to you."
"Does this young man have a name?" the elderly head of the Triumverate asked quietly.
"Broots, sir," the bodyguard stated, and Raines, hearing the name, felt as if he'd just heard the toll of a bell sounding the end of his career for sure.
"Well, don't keep the man waiting. If we remember correctly, Miss Parker told us once that her assistant was named Broots. Maybe HE can shed some light on his absent superior." Ngawe motioned. "Bring him in."
Broots, a file folder emblazoned with the Centre logo clasped tightly to his chest, slipped shyly into the room and immediately blanched three shades whiter. Shaking in his boots, he slowly made his way down the pathway between African bodyguards, past a glaring Raines seated in a subservient chair in front of the Chairman's desk, until he was facing the distinguished gentleman behind the desk.
"We are Ngawe, Mr. Broots. We understand you have information you wanted to share with us?"
"Uh... yeah..." Broots looked around against, obviously nervous. "I... uh... heard that you were looking for Miss Parker."
"Word travels fast here at the Centre, it seems," Ngawe commented gently, then leaned forward. "Do you know where she is?"
"Uh... yes, sir... she's..." Broots extended the file folder to the head of the Triumverate. "She's down in Renewal, being prepped for surgery... on Mr. Raines' orders." Broots saw Ngawe's eyes widen and then turn downward to peruse the documents he'd brought. "The top on is the admissions form, signed by Mr. Raines admitting her..."
Ngawe held up his hand. "We need hear no more." He turned to the bodyguard on his right. "Go down to Renewal with a sizeable team. Bring Miss Parker to us here. Stop whatever procedure may be ongoing at whatever stage it's at, and have her revived." Now he turned to Raines. "And you said you didn't know anything."
"I..." Raines was now visibly sweating and pulling oxygen only with great difficulty. Here he sat, in the office he had coveted for so long, helpless and now accountable for wanting only to use the knowledge base that had been the Centre's purview for decades against the wishes of the financial suits who controlled the purse strings. And he couldn't even blame Jarod for the events that had landed him in these straights - Jarod had been gone for far too many years to be to blame for any of this.
Damn it.
"We see here that the procedure you ordered performed on her was a gynecological one, collection of an ovum." The aged ebony eyes lifted, and this time they were hard. "What do you think you were doing, taking a woman's egg from her body? Or do we really have to ask?" He summoned the other man with the bulging binder to approach, and he sifted through the documents until he found the one he was after. "There was another project that we received a great deal of information on - a project in another area of research we very specifically warned you away from, and to close down all active projects long ago. We believe it was called Redux?"
And the bottom fell out of Raines' world.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Stop! Immediately!" Huge men burst into the operating theatre and surrounded Dr. Warner as he stood over his patient, scalpel in hand.
"Get out of here!" he shouted at them futilely as they hauled him back away from the table. "You'll contaminate the field!"
"You're not operating today, Doctor - and not on this patient," the man who had his left arm announced firmly, then spoke to the anesthesiologist. "Bring her out of the anesthesia NOW."
The technician, thoroughly cowed by the size and attitudes of the men who were now filling the operating room, quickly adjusted the mixture of gases he was giving his patient. One very tall man came over to stand directly over him. "Make no mistake, sir. If anything happens to Miss Parker before she's able to be on her feet again, it is YOU who will be held directly responsible."
The bodyguard by the door picked up the telephone and dialed an extension. "Mr. Ngawe, sir, we found her. No, she's unconscious right now - the doctor was just getting ready to cut into her." He paused to listen closely, then nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll let you know the moment she's coherent." He hung up the phone and nodded to his companions.
"You'll come with me, now, Doctor," the bodyguard on Warner's left stated in a firm but polite tone that offered no flexibility for compromise. "Mr. Ngawe will want to talk to you."
The anesthesiologist was now busily removing ventilation tubes from Miss Parker's throat while keeping an eye on pulse and oxygenation rates. His hands were shaking, and he felt as if he were going to throw up soon if the tension in the room didn't lessen, but he persisted in doing his job properly. He removed the shower cap from Miss Parker's head and absently smoothed back some of the dark hair. * Pretty lady, Miss Parker, * he thought to himself. * What the hell is going on that first they want us to operate on you, then they stop us? *
"I need to take her to Recovery now," he said in a very small voice to the guard at his elbow. The tall man nodded silently and eventually lent a hand in pulling the gurney with the sleeping woman out of the operating room and into a smaller, less machine-stuffed room.
"How long before she comes around?" the bodyguard asked, again in a polite tone.
"Give her an hour or so, and she should start being responsive," the technician stated in a voice that sounded more like a squeak. "Depending on her sensitivity to the drugs, she might even be on her feet as soon as an hour after that."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Jarod shut down his computer and commenced disconnecting all its various wires, then thrust it into its carrier and threw the strap of the baggage over his shoulder. "I hate to type and run, boys, but I don't intend to be here when your 'rescuers' arrive. I'm sure you'll both have an interesting rest of the day waiting for you when they do."
"Jarod..." Vernon called angrily from the bed. "At least let me up..."
"I don't think so," the Pretender hissed. "You kept Kevin down for a long time - consider this a taste of the kind of payback you deserve."
"What about me?" Willy asked him as he walked past his chair.
"When I told the Triumverate where you were, I mentioned that you had decided to trade your information for your continued survival. I can't be responsible if they decide not to honor that agreement, but I've done for you what I can." Jarod shrugged. "Good luck, I suppose."
"For what it's worth, Jarod, I'm sorry," the sweeper said quietly as the door opened.
"Right," Jarod came back in a tone that clearly conveyed his disbelief. "Pardon me if I hope we never see each other again."
"You're a real asshole, you know," Vernon called out in an angry tone.
For the first time in a long time, Jarod felt the urge to respond in a childish manner - maybe because it was so apropos. "It takes one to know one," he spat back, and turned away from both of his captives for the last time.
He closed and locked the door behind him, knowing that he had maybe fifteen minutes before the Triumverate cavalry descended on the auto wrecking yard. More than enough time to re-establish himself at Miss Parker's.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Miss Parker astounded the anesthesiologist by beating his estimated time between starting to wake up and being on her feet by nearly half. Almost the first moment she cracked her eyes open, she demanded to be provided with clothing - her silken pajamas having managed to vanish somewhere between Raines' office and the operating room. Once comfortably clad in surgical blues, she chafed until she was steady enough on her feet that she felt she could make it with the help of the very attentive African bodyguards who now stood silent and stalwart watch over her. Then, triumphant and untouched, she walked, unsteadily and leaning heavily on both men at her sides, out of Renewal and into the elevator that would take her up to the Tower.
The moment the glass door opened in front of her to admit her to the inner sanctum, all conversation in the room ceased. Taking a deep breath she pulled her arms from the keeping of her bodyguards and walked unaided into the room. To one side she saw Willy and another man, neither of which looked like they'd had a chance to freshen up that morning at all. She nodded at Willy, whose eyes widened in almost frantic hope at the acknowledgement. Not far from them stood a very worried-looking Broots, whose brows furrowed deeply when he saw the state she was in. She held out a hand to him, which he took just briefly before letting her go again, feeling just a bit reassured.
Then she stepped past the chairs in front of the carved desk, seeing a positively ill-looking Raines sitting very uncomfortably and drawing with great difficulty on his oxygen tank. She stopped and turned to him, her face a study in controlled fury. "They didn't touch me, you bastard!" she hissed, then spat into his face and turned away so she didn't have to watch him struggle to maintain any semblance of dignity while cleaning himself with a kerchief.
Last but not least she found herself facing a kindly-looking elderly African gentleman with a striking shoulder sash, and she knew she'd come to the end of this little trek. "Mr. Ngawe?"
The silver-headed dark face before her nodded in almost a bow. "Miss Parker. It is GOOD to see you, hale and hearty."
"Thank you, sir." She swayed and caught herself on the edge of the desk. "I'm sorry I'm... not exactly at my best..."
"Utterly unnecessary, Miss Parker. These three gentlemen," Ngawe's hand waved in the direction of Broots, Willy and Vernon, "have been filling in a great many gaps in information between what you supplied us and what our unnamed informant has given us. We look forward to being able to question you on details of your reports, but, we think, that would best be left for another time."
"I appreciate the consideration, sir." She would have bowed, but she was already more dizzy than she wanted to admit.
"We will have you taken back to your home now, and we wish that you take the rest of the day to rest and recuperate from your most unfortunate encounter." Ngawe's expression grew stony. "We're sure that with the help of your able assistant, Mr. Broots, we shall be able to fill even more of those gaps I mentioned." Ngawe motioned, and the two bodyguards who had accompanied her so far immediately moved up to gently take her arms. "Please accept our apologies for your ill treatment. We will speak in the morning, provided you are feeling better."
"Again, thank you, sir," she said and began to turn, only to feel her legs turn to jelly. Only the quick reflexes of her two African bodyguards prevented her from collapse.
"Ah, Miss Parker, one question before you go..."
The bodyguards helped her turn again to face the desk.
"We don't believe that we know an appropriate place to house Mr. Raines and his associates in this facility until a decision is made about their futures. Do you have any suggestions?"
Miss Parker's gaze came to slowly land on Mr. Raines again, and suddenly she was reminded of the last time she'd seen him in what SHE'D consider an 'appropriate' setting. "There are detention cells down on SL-25. I think Mr. Raines will remember his last tenure in one of them. As for the others, the residencies used for the Pretender subjects are on SL-17, not far from the Sim Lab. I think the other two would fare well there." She blinked, then decided that fair was fair, and a deal was a deal. "But before I go, I should point out that Willy, there, risked his own life to help prevent a massacre at Mr. Raines' orders. And even though he's done some pretty bad things over time, he's earned a little consideration lately." She looked at Ngawe, who was watching her closely. "I just thought I'd speak on his behalf just a little."
"Your input is valued, Miss Parker. Now please, go rest."
No longer caring whether she was protecting her dignity or not, she leaned heavily on her African escort as they helped her most solicitously from the office.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Jarod ducked out of sight the moment he saw the huge black town car come into view on the rural road and pull into Miss Parker's driveway. He looked and saw that he'd left his laptop case sitting on the end of the couch, where he'd left it the moment he'd gotten to the house. Considering the circumstances, he knew he had no choice but to leave it there and hope that whoever it was would think it a normal part of the décor.
A load fell from his heart and shoulders when he heard Miss Parker's voice outside, arguing with someone that she DIDN'T need to be escorted all the way into her house. "Really," she was insisting.
"Mr. Ngawe will want us to be sure you're safe and securely delivered home, Ma'am," stated one extremely deep and musical African voice.
"You have. I have no complaints at all. I just want to be left alone now, if you don't mind. It's been a very difficult day." Jarod winced. He could hear the fatigue in her voice from here. He was amazed she was still on her feet. He stealthily made his way from the darkness of the kitchen to just behind the front door.
"If you're absolutely sure, Ma'am. We'd be most happy to..."
Miss Parker shook her head. "You go on back. I'm fairly sure I don't need any standing security guards outside my house, considering. Thank you so much for all your help, but I'll be OK from here."
She stood firm and unmoved, and finally the Africans decided that she wasn't going to change her mind. They quickly climbed back into their town car and sped off around the rest of the circle drive back to the rural lane that led back to the Centre.
Miss Parker breathed a heavy sigh of relief and bone-aching fatigue, and turned finally to open her front door and walk back into the house from which she'd been stolen only hours before. As the door closed, she heard a well-remembered voice speak behind her. "Are you OK?"
She turned slowly and reached out to him, then sagged into Jarod's arms in a faint when her supply of adrenaline upon which she'd been functioning finally ran out.
Jarod crushed her to him, desperately relieved that she was back, safe and sound, after all. Tenderly he lifted her and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom and deposited her back in the bed she'd been torn from earlier. He pulled the covers over her, tucked her in carefully and watched her settle down for a few moments. Knowing there were others that needed to know, he stepped out into the hallway, pulled the door, then pulled out his cell phone and punched in a couple of buttons.
"This is Sydney."
"She's home, and she's safe," he said, knowing that was all that really needed on that end for the time being.
"Oh, thank God!!" The relief in Sydney's voice was palpable, and the silence that followed as the older man struggled against and overwhelming sense emotional release thoroughly understandable. "Thanks, Jarod. I'll pass the word here. You rest some too, now."
"I will, Syd. Thanks. Talk to you later..."
He folded the phone and put it back in his pocket before re-entering the bedroom. Then he carefully settled down on the other side of the bed to await her next, far gentler, awakening.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Raines checked the gauge on his oxygen tank - the African goons hadn't thought to make sure to send him into this hellhole with an extra tank. If he sat very still and didn't exert himself much, maybe even turned down the flow a bit, he MIGHT be able to convince the tank to last the night. IF the tank had been refilled properly, that was - and several times lately he'd discovered that the tank hadn't been.
His eyes automatically sought out the dark spot on the cement floor where, years before, a suspicious Mr. Parker had shot him in the shoulder to keep him from telling Miss Parker about the scrolls and her mother's 'plan'. In the years since that blood was shed, Mr. Parker had committed suicide, Jarod had fallen off the face of the Earth, and the Centre had become a wholly-owned subsidiary of the Triumverate. Not a good legacy to leave after himself, he thought morosely.
There was little doubt as to what his fate would be. The Triumverate might be all light and legal on the surface, but Ngawe had a reputation for being tough and sometimes cruel in dealing with problems. In the years since M'tumbo's assassination and the unfortunate demise of Ngawe's immediate rival to the Chairmanship of the Triumverate just before the plane crash, his name had become both respected and feared. For having had the balls to deliberately violate not only one Triumverate directive but two, his life - what little was left of it - was forfeit.
The only thing left was finding out when, where, and how. And whether or not it would be at his own hand or at the hands of another.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Miss Parker turned in her sleep, roused slightly as she encountered the solid obstacle of another warm body, then put her arm across it with a contented sigh. Jarod reached across her and pulled the covers back up over her exposed shoulder again, then with a very gentle finger moved an errant tendril of dark hair away from her mouth before it could tickle her.
The arm across his lap tightened slightly. "Mmmmmm... Jarod?"
"I'm here, Parker," he said softly, running his hand down her arm and over her back in a slow, soothing gesture. "Go back to sleep."
She blinked in the late afternoon light and then raised her head to look over at the alarm clock on the nightstand beyond Jarod. She then dropped her head to her pillow with a groan. "I feel like I've been run over by a semi."
She felt Jarod's fingers stroke through her hair, straightening it as he did. "It will take a while for all the anesthesia you were given to work its way out of your system," he replied gently. "I'm surprised you were even on your feet at all. Right now, though, the best thing you can do for yourself is just sleep."
She grunted and rolled away from him again to look out her bedroom door. "Where's Davy?" she asked suddenly in sleepy concern.
"With Sydney and Debbie and Kevin and Sam in a safe place."
"Where?"
"Ben's. Don't worry." Jarod's hand smoothed against her forehead. "They're OK, you're OK. Go back to sleep. Everything's under control."
Miss Parker rolled back towards him, then reached up and looped a hand around his far shoulder and pulled until he found himself forced to slip down to lie prone next to her. At that point she curled into his side, one arm stretched across his waist, and rested her head on his chest with a contented sigh. "Better," she murmured, eyes closed. "Much better."
"Parker..." he began in a warning tone, then sighed and once more pulled the covers back over her and wrapped an arm about her shoulders to hold the covers in place. No, he admitted to himself reluctantly, to hold HER in place.
She snuggled in closer. "I could get used to this," she commented softly, "very quickly."
"I know," he replied in the same tone, finally succumbing to the urge to wrap his other arm around her too and cradle her against him. This was exactly the point that he was at in his own thoughts only a couple of nights ago, and he was no closer to figuring either himself or his feelings out. "This complicates things," he commented, knowing it needed saying but wishing it didn't have to be him saying it.
"Just letting things happen between us?" she asked.
"Mmmm-hmmm."
She lay quietly in his arms for so long that he thought that maybe she'd managed to go back to sleep after all, but then: "It could simplify things too, you know..."
"For you, perhaps, but not me." He tightened his hold on her and buried his nose in her hair, knowing that by doing so he was only torturing himself and her but being unable to stop himself. He'd wanted to do that for so long... "I have..."
"A life of your own to return to, I remember." She stirred and tightened her arm around his waist. "But what about your life HERE?"
"Don't you see? My so-called 'life' here is just me visiting your life here. Now, I'm not going to lie to you and say that I don't have loved ones here that I'm going to miss desperately - including you. But MY life - everything that I've worked very hard over the last seven years to achieve - is in California."
"What about Davy?" she asked softly, knowing that was the one trump card he couldn't just push away.
"Parker..." he sighed, exasperated. "You know as well as I that it wouldn't be fair to you or me OR Davy for me to stay JUST for him. As pleasant as that alternative might seem," he added under his breath.
He shifted, making himself more comfortable so that she could nestle against him better. "Did I ever tell you," he began, "that one of my patients is this absolutely darling little seven-year-old girl who was so abused in foster care that she's completely withdrawn? Just before I left to come here, she was starting to actually interact directly with me - she'd even given me a name: DaJuJu, probably her way of saying "Doctor Jarod" right now." His hands moved on her back slowly and comfortingly. "Ethan has been chewing me out every time I call him, because she's regressing again. My mother is in a deep depression from my father's death - and Jay tells me that part of what keeps her down is knowing I'm playing footsie with the Centre again."
"No, you hadn't told me much about your life, Jarod," Miss Parker answered, shifting her head from his chest to his shoulder so that she could look him in the face as he lay next to her. "But do you remember the last time we talked about this at all?"
Jarod found it way too easy to become lost in her grey eyes, but couldn't pull his gaze free. "Yes," he answered very softly, "I remember."
"Do you remember how we each asked the other whether we wanted to become emotionally... involved?" she persisted.
"Yes."
Her hand moved then from his waist to stroking his beard softly. "I've decided what I want," she announced with a hitch of trepidation in her voice. "I want to try." Her fingers stroked through his hair near his temple. "I want..."
"A father for Davy?" he asked her gently, closing his eyes against the feelings her gentle fingers caressing his face were arousing.
"That too," she admitted honestly, "but not only that. Jarod..." she called softly until finally his warm chocolate eyes were diving into hers again, "I want you to finish what you started at Ocee's, all those years ago. Do you remember?"
Jarod swallowed hard. Did he remember? How could he forget the first time she had let him close - let him in - since they were children? How could he forget his intense feeling of disappointment that Ocee had chosen just the very moment their lips were going to touch to burst in on them - blind or not, her interruption had shattered the moment and the mood. That unresolved moment was the entire reason he hadn't wanted to tell her goodbye in person seven years ago, when he stood on the verge of stepping out of her life entirely. He knew that just being with her evoked echoes of that lost moment, and that he'd never be able to truly leave her completely, in every sense of the word, with that moment left unfinished between them.
Lost in her grey eyes, he felt her fingers slowly slip around to catch the back of his neck and pull his face closer to hers until, at long last, their lips brushed, then connected more surely. The kiss was gentle, tender and very tentative, and sent a tingle down every nerve ending either of them possessed. And yet, as Miss Parker would have invited him to deepen the kiss, Jarod pulled back and, with a hand cradled around the curve of her skull, kissed her forehead tenderly and simply held her to him.
"Well, isn't this a helluva note," she commented, her voice sharper than before with disappointment. "All this time remembering how you were putting the moves on me in front of that fireplace - now that the tables are turned, you don't want..."
"It isn't that, Parker, and you know it," he shot back, pulling back slightly so as to be able to look at her face. "Don't go all defensive on me at this late date."
She began struggling against him, pushing him away. "What the hell do you expect me to do? Here I am, in BED with you, for God's sake, kissing you and giving you all the right signals that it's OK to proceed, and all I get is a friendly kiss - just a "nice" kiss - like you don't even..."
Suddenly Miss Parker found herself dumped onto her back and into her pillows with Jarod leaning heavily on top of her, his face close to hers and his chocolate eyes nearly black with intensity. "Do you have the slightest idea how ridiculous you sound? After all these years, do you honestly think that I DON'T... Aw, Hell..."
And with that, he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her the way he'd dreamed of being able to kiss her for years, letting loose every iota of pent-up passion he'd been zealously guarding. Her lips parted easily under his determined onslaught, and he deepened the kiss immediately, stealing her breath and her ability to think or feel anything but what he was doing to her. His hand came up and held the side of her head briefly, then his fingers tangled themselves in her hair and held her firmly beneath his searing kiss. A hand that Miss Parker had put between them in instinctive self-protection moved to twine about his neck and then, when the other came up to join it, pull him even tighter to her.
And then the kiss was ending, and when Jarod pulled back, he could see that Miss Parker's eyes were nothing but grey-edge black with desire, and both of them were breathing very hard. He closed his eyes and took three long, deep breaths to get control of himself again. Opening his eyes again, he leaned down and kissed her again, sweetly and tenderly this time, then pulled back again and gazed deeply into her eyes. "Don't you DARE think I don't want you, Parker," he ground out with a voice made rough with his own, still smoldering, desire. He let himself fall back into the pillows on the other side of the bed, and then reached out and pulled her back into his side with her head once more pillowed on his chest.
"What is it then?" she asked softly, still breathless from the assault he'd launched on her lips and her psyche. Her lips felt positively pummeled, and her heart was racing as if she'd run a long distance.
"Making love with you, no matter how wonderful it would be or how much I want to, won't resolve my dilemma," he sighed, wrapping his arms tightly and possessively around her again. "Like I said, all of this only complicates things for me. I've loved you for so long I've forgotten what it's like NOT to love you - but you've always been... unattainable, out of reach."
"I'm not out of reach anymore, Jarod," she offered, her arm snaking back across his waist to hold him back.
"No shit," he said, then bent so that she could see the smile that went with the comment. "Now you're so close it's scary." He was silent for a while, organizing his scattered thoughts into a reasonable explanation. "To me, Parker, making love to you would be tantamount to both of us making a physical commitment to each other as binding as our putting rings on each other's fingers. And as pleasant and inviting as both of those courses of action might be to consider, I'm just not sure yet that going that route is the right decision for me."
She sighed, accepting for time being, at least, that he simply wasn't ready to make a decision yet. She nestled into him as closely as she could and closed her eyes once more, feeling her heartbeat slow again from the trip-hammer pace Jarod had managed to bring it to. "What are we going to do, then? Raines is in a cell, Lyle is dead, the Triumverate has done exactly what we hoped they would. Your job is done, Superman. What happens now?"
He sighed again. "Now you're going to go back to sleep, if you can after... that," he said, kissing her forehead gently, "while I lie here and stew and try to come to some kind of understanding."
"Understanding of what?"
"Myself," he began with ruthless honesty, "and what I really want. I need to figure out where I want to be and WHO I want to be. And most importantly," he looked down at her and marveled that he'd been able to stop himself when he had wanted her for so long, "whether I'll be able to live with myself afterwards."
Miss Parker turned her head and deposited a kiss on his chest, then snuggled in and made herself comfortable against him. "Don't stew too much, Jarod. If I've learned anything from the last seven years as compared to my life before then, it's that sometimes the head leads one way and the heart leads another - and it usually doesn't pay in the end to follow the head." She was quiet for a long moment. "And for what it's worth, I think I'm falling in love with you. I just thought you should know."
Jarod closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "I love you too, Parker," he whispered as he heard her breathing even out and amazingly slow into slumber after all. "I fell in love with you a long time ago, and I love you now more than you'll ever know."
She was right. What he'd come back to Blue Cove to do was now, for the most part, apparently finished. And now he faced the hardest questions of his life: could he leave her again to return to his own life when the time came - did he even want to leave, and what about his other life if he decided to stay?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sydney unbuttoned his shirt and carefully removed it so that Kevin could get at his bandages. The young man hadn't said much more than a few words to him so far, but instead had watched him warily from a distance without approaching. Until the time came that Jarod had appointed his surrogate to do his medical bit, that was. Then he came close - he had no choice if he were to fulfill the job Jarod had given him.
The hours in the car driving north had been tense ones, with all five silent and brooding and generally uncommunicative. Even Ben's reception had been a muted one, and Sydney realized that this man was as worried about Parker as the rest of them were. Kevin had even tried to give Sydney his pain medication on schedule, only to be rather tersely rebuffed when Syd refused to take anything that would cloud his mind until he knew whether Parker was safe again. Since then, however, there had come the elation after his broadcasting Jarod's news that Miss Parker was back safely from wherever it was she'd been taken, an elation that Kevin hadn't shared. He had stood back and merely watched as five people hugged each other and chatted excitedly all of a sudden, and it was obvious to anyone who had paid attention that the young man, at that point, felt very much the outsider.
The depressive mood broken at last, Sam had taken Davy and Deb out to the sprawling lawn to practice self-defensive moves to get rid of some of their bottled-up energy. Meanwhile, he and Kevin had retreated to the library and made use of the inn's amazingly eclectic collection of books and magazines. He had been aware of the young Pretender's continuing to look up every once in a while from his reading material to quietly observe him. He had tolerated the study patiently, not giving any sign that he knew he was being observed, realizing that the young man was probably curious about having another Centre mentor in the room under a more informal situation.
The fingers that now worked diligently to remove the medical tape from his chest hairs without pulling were very gently, very thorough. Jarod could not have done as well. "You're very good at this," Sydney commented quietly as the first bandage came away in the young man's hands without the slightest painful tear on the skin, "and I really need to apologize for being so short with you earlier. I know you were only doing what Jarod asked."
Wary and startled ice-blue eyes flicked up to meet warm and friendly chestnut. Kevin's brows pinched together so briefly that, if he hadn't been watching, Sydney wouldn't have seen the fleeting expression of confusion and awkwardness.
"It's customary that when someone apologizes for their behavior, you at least respond by letting them know if their apology is acceptable'," the Belgian added in a non-judgmental tone, after waiting for a long moment in total silence.
The young Pretender's startled gaze touched Sydney's again, and then the young man's head bobbed as he looked back to his work. "It's OK," he mumbled.
"I'm glad." Sydney looked down at himself curiously. "Well, Kevin, will I live?" When the blue eyes came up again, only this time filled with complete confusion, Sydney smiled at him. "What I mean is, are my wounds healing properly?"
"Oh, yeah," Kevin responded, chagrined to be so tongue-tied in front of Jarod's mentor and desperately afraid of appearing like a complete idiot. "There's... um... no sign of infection at all, and the edges of the wounds are already starting to close in." He looked back down at his work and focused there, aware that his face was feeling very warm. He could hardly believe he was actually having a conversation - a normal conversation - with a mentor.
Sydney tipped his head and watched the young man working so diligently with interest. "Kevin?" Again, the expression in those beautiful blue eyes was wary and guarded. "Is there something wrong?"
"Huh?" The expression on the face was suddenly frightened. "N...no, why?"
"Have I insulted or offended you in some way? Is that why you are answering me in monosyllables?"
Kevin gently pushed the new bandage into place with one hand, then carefully made sure all of the tabs of medical tape adhered properly to his patient's skin. Then, once he was finished with the front, he had no reason not to look up again at Sydney's face. He took a deep breath, as if it would take his heart out of his throat and put it back in his chest where it belonged. "I... uh... don't know how to..."
"How to what?" Sydney's voice was smooth, the accent lending to the hypnotic tone that he hoped would ease the young man over whatever difficulty he was encountering.
The young Pretender's hands moved in ineffective circles. "I mean... you're Jarod's mentor, after all, and..."
"I think the key concept there, which you have forgotten, is that my mentoring Jarod is something that happened a very long time ago," he informed the young man as his brows climbed his forehead. "But even so, what difference does it make now?"
Kevin's gaze came back up completely confused again. "But... Mentors don't just... talk to folks... like regular people... do they?"
Sydney's mouth dropped open, and he would have burst out laughing had he not seen for himself how serious this particular point was to the young Pretender taking care of him. "Mentors are just human beings, Kevin," he informed him gently. "They're just as capable of holding a normal conversation..."
"Mine never did," Kevin cut Sydney off abruptly, his face warming again. He moved to the exit wound in Sydney's back and began to carefully remove the medical tape from the skin.
"Vernon Grey never spoke to you man to man? Never answered your questions?" Sydney was aghast. He started to twist around to look at Kevin, but a stitch in his side quickly convinced him otherwise. "What DID you talk about, when you did speak to each other?" he asked, knowing Kevin was at least listening and talking now.
"I only saw Vernon when I was running sims, we only discussed THEM," Kevin's voice was flat, emotionless. "When I wasn't working, Vernon didn't speak to me. Ever."
Sydney's heart went out the young man, deprived not only of a normal life but even the pretense of a family Jarod had created for himself within the prison he'd been kept so long. No wonder Kevin was so uncomfortable "just talking" to him - that violated the very definition of 'mentor' for the lad that had been built over his internment encounter by estranged encounter. "And because I was Jarod's mentor, you expect that I'd behave the same toward you because YOU are a Pretender too?"
"Well..." Kevin hedged. He remembered Jarod telling him that this man, this mentor, had been like his father until he'd found his real one. Obviously, not all mentors were like Vernon, because he couldn't wrap his mind around the concept of 'father' as he understood it being anything like Vernon. And this Sydney DID seem far more approachable and congenial. Still... "I suppose. It's all I'm used to, you know?"
Sydney nodded sadly. "But did you have nobody else... to just talk to... all this time?"
Kevin shrugged, even though Sydney couldn't see him. "Like I told Jarod - when Vernon was sick or out, I'd sometimes play cards with the research assistants. And when the cook and his wife would fight, sometimes he'd come and talk to me. But other than that..."
"That must have been a terribly lonely existence," Sydney's voice couldn't manage to get much more than a whisper. The things that had been done to Jarod had been indeed horrid, but this calculated neglect and emotional deprivation could be almost as scarring. "My God!"
Gentle fingers now pressed the back bandage into place and smoothed down the next set of tabs firmly onto the skin. "Done," Kevin announced, picking up the used bandages and other supplies. He made it almost all the way out of the door before he was compelled to turn around. "Can you answer a question for me?" he asked, obviously uncomfortable in the asking.
"Sure, I'll tell you whatever you want to know," Sydney replied kindly, shrugging once more into his shirt and beginning to do up the buttons. "What is it?"
"Why did YOU do it - help keep Jarod locked up and running sims all his life?" Kevin shuffled his feet nervously. "I mean... you seem like a nice enough person... How could you?"
Sydney's fingers slowed at their task, and he suddenly found that he couldn't bring himself to face the young Pretender. "It's complicated," he hedged in his turn. "The easy answer for me to offer is because I was blind to the entire process and eager to train Jarod to use his mind to help humanity in such a very special way. But in reality, that's no excuse - I had been in a similar situation to Jarod's in my own childhood; I knew better than most that not all forms of abuse leave bruises."
He sighed as he rose to tuck his shirttails back into his trousers and ease the suspenders back over his shoulders. "Then there are the more complicated parts of the story. For example, there was another doctor at the Centre who very much wanted control of Jarod - but to do the kind of experiments that are the stuff of nightmares. When I would be ill, or called away, this doctor would jump at my absence and do horrible, obscene, things to Jarod - and when I'd come back, I'd sometimes have to nurse him back to health before he could even run sims again. After that happened several times, I began to see myself as Jarod's protector against a much less desirable fate." Sydney's eyes grew distant. "I was afraid for him. If I weren't there, God only knows what might have happened to him; and even though I couldn't show it, I cared about Jarod's wellbeing in my own way enough that I couldn't just walk away."
"Jarod said..." Kevin ground to a halt, then he raised his blue eyes, swimming with tears he'd never been truly allowed to shed before. "Do you think that maybe Vernon wouldn't ever... just talk to me because I'm not... the kind of person... people like?"
Sydney stepped as quickly as he could until he was directly in front of the young man, and then took his shoulders firmly in either hand. "No. I do NOT think this at all. From what I've been able to gather in talking to you just now, you are a very personable young man - VERY likeable." He shook his head sadly. "Vernon must have been deliberately blind and criminally self-absorbed not to see you for the very kind and gentle and intelligent young man you really are."
And then, very carefully, as if knowing this was quite possibly the first time any other human being had offered this exceptional young man any comfort whatsoever, Sydney reached out and pulled Kevin toward him, wrapped his arms around him and held him close. Kevin trembled. "I wish... you had been MY mentor... Sydney," he managed finally in a very small voice.
Sydney had no idea how to reply to that, so he just let the young man lean his head on his shoulder and take what comfort he could from a stranger.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Hey Kevin! You gonna sit inside all afternoon?" Debbie's voice called from the door to the library. "Or has Grandpa got you nailed to the chair to keep him company?"
Kevin looked up from his reading, checking quickly to his left and the reaction of the older man she'd referred to so irreverently. For the first time since Jarod had sent him off with Sam and all these others, he was feeling safe and comfortable - a state easily disrupted, it seemed, especially by the pretty 'granddaughter' of this much kinder mentor.
"Debbie Broots! You know better!" Sydney smiled, put down his reading, looked over the top of his glasses and joined easily into their customary banter. "I don't nail people to chairs - that hurts. I tie them down securely and then SIT on 'em! I've done it to you often enough..."
Debbie sauntered into the room with an exaggerated swagger, then bent over her grandfather in such a way that she could make her long and heavy braid fall forward and thwap the man softly on the chest and chin. "You're just SUCH an ogre, you know," she quipped, then deposited a kiss on the tip end of Sydney's nose. "All I want to do is steal Kevin from you for a while. Can I do that? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?"
Sydney reached up a hand and tweaked the tip of Debbie's nose very gently. "Only because you ask SO politely, ma petite..."
Debbie bent further and put her arms around her grandfather's shoulders for a quick hug. "Not to mention that, when it comes to being an ogre, you're really just a great big marshmallow."
"Oh, horrors! My secret's out! Whatever shall I do now?" he smirked and kissed her quickly on the cheek before she could escape. He looked over at Kevin and found the young man with his jaw on the floor in surprise. "Oh, don't mind us - we pick on each other all the time, don't we, cheri?" He looked up at Debbie fondly.
Debbie looked over her shoulder at the young Pretender and burst out laughing at the expression on his face. "Oh, c'mon, Kevin! You don't think Grandpa REALLY ties people in chairs, do you?"
Sydney took pity on the young man as a thoroughly confused look spread across Kevin's face. He tugged gently in admonishment on the conveniently handy braid still dangling in front of him. "Be nice, Deb, and don't laugh. Kevin has lead a very sheltered life - our little fun is something he's never had a chance to observe before, much less participate in. He has no reason NOT to believe exactly that."
While Kevin struggled to wrap his mind around Sydney's gentle defense of him and his inexperience, Debbie straighten and sobered in chagrin. "Say, Kev, I'm sorry I laughed. I didn't mean it..."
The young man looked at the bouncy, active girl with real trepidation. "I... It's OK. But if you don't mind... I think I'll..."
Sydney tugged on the braid, now hanging down Deb's back, to get her attention again. He wasn't surprised she was looking disappointed when she turned. "Give me a moment, OK? Maybe I can convince him..."
Debbie nodded and then moved toward the door. "I really am sorry, Kevin. And I still think you'd enjoy coming outside with us. Sam and Davy and I were going to jog around the grounds - and we thought you would like to spend some time in the open air for a change. You don't want to stay cooped up in the house all day, do you?" She left with her wistfully hopeful invitation ringing in Kevin's ears.
The young Pretender waited until Debbie had closed the front door behind her before he turned to Sydney with frantic eyes. "What do I do? I've..." He looked completely lost.
Sydney gazed at the young man, his unperturbed mien sending out a message of calmness that he hoped would steady the confused lad. "It really is up to you," he began, then leaned forward, "and it IS a pretty day outside. You've been in here with me ever since you got here. You could probably use the run, you know..."
Kevin was calmer, but felt no more secure than before. "Tell me what to do, Sydney..."
"No." Sydney's voice was soft and gentle and understanding, but firm. "You need to start remembering you don't HAVE to either wait for instruction or ask permission, Kevin. Not from me, and most definitely not about something like this."
"But..." The young man's face was pale, his mind bouncing from one scary issue to the next, "...what if they don't like me..."
Sydney shook his head. "They seem to like you well enough to invite you to come with them, don't they?"
That response made him think, but Kevin's insecurities were still many and acute. "What if I screw up and make one of them angry?"
"That's the risk you take being free, Kevin. You aren't going to be able to please everybody, so don't even bother trying - you'll only cause yourself heartache." Sydney leaned forward with great care - his chest was very achy from all the activity that day, and the pain medication hadn't kicked in completely yet. "Think about it for a minute, then tell me: what do you WANT to do?"
Kevin looked toward the front door, and Sydney could see the longing on the young man's face. "I..." He swallowed hard. "I always wanted to know what it was like to jog..."
"So go, then!" Sydney urged then, waving in the direction of the door and sitting back in his comfortable chair with a relaxing sigh. "Enjoy yourself." He smiled at the young man. "You've earned it."
"Thanks, Sydney," the young man said with a cautious smile of anticipation on his face, and then stood and walked out of the room towards the front door with the beginnings of a spring in his step.
Sydney watched Kevin's exit with a combination of amusement and concern. So THIS was the kind of shy naivete that Jarod had had to go through immediately after his escape. Granted that Kevin's social skills were far more lacking than Jarod's had been, still Sydney could see the way the hugeness of the world outside was intimidating and yet enticing to the formerly sequestered young man. It was just as well, he decided, that THIS Pretender had landed on the 'outside' amid a whole cloud of people around him who not only were his friends by default but who understood him a bit and could hopefully shepherd him safely into a more confident approach to his new freedom.
He stood carefully and then made his way to the window to watch as Sam and Davy both greeted Kevin with gusto, Debbie with a little chagrined shyness after her faux pas. It wasn't long, however, before the quartet trotted off across the lawn - Sam and Davy in the lead with Kevin keeping pace with Debbie. Sydney smiled. This was EXACTLY what that young man needed.
He returned to his comfortable chair and reseated himself, pushed his glasses up on his face again, then, and returned to the current issue of Psychology Today and the article he'd been skimming.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Gomen nasai, [Please excuse me,] Tanaka-sama," Fujimori bowed deeply as he interrupted his boss' meditative gazing out the porthole of the Leer jet.
Tanaka bobbed his head in response, then aimed a cold ebony eye on his associate. "Yes?"
"I spoke to our contacts in New York City, and they will have a man meeting your criterion meet us at the airport there on our arrival. Ikeda-san reports that this man is very well known in certain circles as being a true artist." Fujimori was smiling. It wasn't often that arrangements for something this big could be put together with as few obstacles as he was meeting today.
"Good," ground out Tanaka, turning his eye back to the clouds below them. "I want this over NOW, and nothing less than complete success will be satsisfactory for anyone involved. Is that clear?"
"Hai!" Fujimori bowed deeply again and backed away, not sure whether to be excited or just a little apprehensive.
The only thing he DID know for sure was that the next day was going to be very interesting.
Feedback, please: mbumpus_99@hotmail.com
by MMB
"Hello, boys. Miss me?"
Jarod's voice upon entering the metal living quarters in the middle of the wrecking yard had a barely controlled element of fury in it. Willy merely glared at him from his chair where he'd been trapped for the entire night and now into the morning, while Vernon merely twisted on the bed against his handcuffs without answering.
Ignoring Vernon for the time being, Jarod sauntered lazily over to Willy - then reached out and swiftly ripped at the piece of duct tape that had been holding the sweeper's mouth shut, then extracted the shop towel that it had covered. "I'm wondering how you're doing this morning, Willy," the Pretender asked with a decidedly menacing tone.
"Fuck you, Jarod!" Willy managed to barely whisper, his mouth desperately dry from the absorbent shop towel.
"Oh! Wrong answer, big boy," Jarod's tone became derisive, and he headed in the direction of the kitchenette. "I'm thinking that you've been stuck in that chair for - what? - damned near twelve hours now, without a single break. So it occurs to me that either you have a cast-iron bladder, or you've GOT to be getting just a LITTLE uncomfortable." He turned on the kitchen faucet and let one hand play in the water so that it made splashing noises in the sink.
Willy's face quickly became very focused, very tight.
"So," Jarod continued, once more in his menacing tone, "I'm wondering how much trouble I'm going to have with you today." He turned the water on just a little harder, so that the splashing sounded just that much louder. "Then again, maybe you're thirsty?"
The dark sweeper was starting to squirm, as the very real possibility that the Pretender would give him cause to humiliate himself came home to him. "Jarod... Please..."
"Ah!" Jarod emoted a false surprise and turned the faucet off after filling a glass with water. "That sounds like you're ready to be a little more reasonable. Am I going to have any trouble with you?" he repeated.
"No," the sweeper answered, squirming again as Jarod walked towards him gently sloshing the water in the glass back and forth. What had been discomfort was rapidly become dire need.
"So if I let you... um... relieve yourself, you'll not give me any trouble afterwards?" Jarod insisted, sloshing the water a little more and watching Willy get just that much more desperate.
"No! C'mon..." Willy's voice had finally found that pleading note Jarod had been waiting for.
Jarod set the water glass on a small end table then took something out of his pants pocket and flicked open the small and extremely sharp switchblade. Standing to one side, just in case the sweeper should decide to kick out at him, he snicked the blade down one leg to free it from its bond, then moved behind the chair and cut the other. "Pull 'em lose," he directed tersely, then watched as Willy very cautiously pulled the material of his trousers loose from the adhesive. The next flick of the dangerous little blade severed the tape around Willy's chest, and Jarod himself pulled the tape from one side to the other to separate clothing from adhesive.
Then the Pretender reached down for the glass of water again. "Open up," he directed the sweeper with a smile. Willy's eye's opened, and he closed his mouth tightly and shook his head. "Fine. Whatever." Jarod slowly dumped the water over Willy's head. The result was the same - Willy's desperation hit critical, and at that point Jarod cut the tape holding his hands down to the legs of the chair. "Restroom's straight ahead," Jarod mentioned and watched the sweeper stumble as fast as his cramped legs could carry him.
But after the door had been closed only a moment or two, and Willy was at last feeling the relief of draining his overly-full bladder, he hear the snick-snick of a semi-automatic chambering a round, and a cold metal O pressed into the back of his neck. "Feeling better?" Jarod asked in a lethally quiet voice.
"Y...yes."
"Good. Then you just keep hangin' on to what you've got hold of for a minute while I take care of business..." Jarod grabbed the man by the back of his shirt and jacket neck and dragged him backwards, off-balance, until the seat of the chair hit him in the knees hard and he sat down quickly. Before Willy could recover, Jarod had the duct tape going around the chest again twice, three times, pinning his forearms down where they could do little harm. "OK. Tuck it in, zip yourself up again, and then put your hands back down again."
"I helped you," Willy complained bitterly even as he complied, knowing that he was far too stiff to be able to effectively challenge the physically fit Pretender even were he free.
"I know. That's why you're alive." Jarod's voice was very matter-of-fact as he wrapped tape tightly around ankles and chair legs. "And you stand a good chance of staying that way if you can start talking and tell me what Raines could possibly have wanted to kidnap Miss Parker for - and where he'd be keeping her."
"He kidnapped Miss Parker?" The sweeper sounded genuinely surprised. "He's talked about it several times - mostly in relation to Redux - but he knew she was in the Triumverate's pocket. He didn't dare move against her."
"Well, he did." Jarod finished fixing the man's hands to the chair again, then reached once more for the glass of water. "Thirsty?" Willy looked at him askance, and he shrugged. "Makes me no never mind, but if you want it, better let me know now..."
"Yeah." Willy swallowed his pride along with the cool water that restored his throat and mouth and voice. "Thanks."
"What about me?" Vernon whined from the bed.
Jarod turned and looked at Shadow's mentor with something less than sympathy in his eyes. "You've had plenty of trips to the can before Sam tied you up. You should be good for another hour or so yet. Forget it."
"You don't think he took her down to Renewal, do you?" Willy offered, knowing his captor had meant every word he'd said about increasing his chances of survival. "To take more of her..."
Jarod shook his head. "Usually, women undergo at least one month of chemical preparation so that they release more than one ova at once." He sighed. "I don't get it. It makes no sense..."
"Remember, the man's gone just more than a little nuts-o," Willy shook his head. "I mean, does a sane man sanction all the project members?"
"You have a point," Jarod agreed reluctantly, just not mentioning that the point didn't bode well for Miss Parker if the sweeper was right. From behind a chair, he fetched out his laptop and quickly hooked it up and turned it on. Moments after he'd booted it up, he'd discovered the backdoor that he'd asked Broots to leave open for him and had established a connection into the Centre mainframe. Once in, he whipped out his cell phone and dialed Broots' extension at the Centre.
"Man, you should see what's going on around he..."
"Talk to me, Broots. Have you found anything?"
"No, but Jarod, the Triumverate landed here this morning, and I think they brought the whole damned African continental army with them." Broots' voice was lowered, so that the man standing watch only a few paces from his office door couldn't hear him. "The whole place is crawling - and my IT friend told me in IRC that Raines has a visitor: Ngawe."
"Willy here tells me that maybe Miss Parker got taken to Renewal. Can you check that out?" Jarod asked, looking over at the dark-faced sweeper and watching him nod yet again silently.
"Hang on..." The Pretender could hear Broots' fingers typing madly on the keyboard, then pause, then type again, then pause, then... "Got her!"
"Where!" Jarod's voice rose several notes in pitch in his excitement.
"Right where Willy said she'd be: Renewal... Oh man!" Broots' voice had now dipped into the extremely worried tone.
"What now?!"
"It says here that she's scheduled for gynecological surgery in about an hour..." Broots' voice sputtered to a halt. "Geez, Jarod, what are we going to do?"
Jarod ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He had to think, and think fast - Miss Parker's health and maybe life depended on his coming up with a solution FAST.
"OK. You said the Triumverate are there? Ngawe is there? I'll bet you dollars to donuts that he's going to be wanting to speak to Miss Parker soon. She works for the Triumverate and not the Centre, after all. I want you to print out the surgery orders, the admission order, and any other paper trail you can find in the next ten minutes - and then I want you to head for the Tower and demand to speak to Ngawe himself. Raines has overstepped himself, and it would be only logical that one of Miss Parker's friends would be willing to call him to task for going that one step too far."
The silence on the other end of the line was profound.
"Broots? You still with me?"
"You want me to... go face..." Broots was stammering like he hadn't in years.
"You're her assistant, right?" Jarod demanded, knowing there really wasn't time for this discussion.
"Yeah. So?"
"Her assistant would know if she were ill enough to need surgery, wouldn't he?"
"Yeah..." That answer came a little slower, but it came.
"Wouldn't an assistant be concerned if something like this were to happen without any apparent warning? Especially if he knew that she went home last night in good health and wasn't even SEEN entering the Centre this morning?"
"OK! OK!" Broots capitulated. "Maybe they'll start hunting for her before I get there..."
"You can hope. Get to it, and let me do what I need to from this end." Jarod disconnected the call quickly and began typing into his laptop furiously.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Mr. Raines had been unceremoniously displaced from behind the massive carved desk that was his domain as Chairman of the Centre and dumped into one of the slightly less comfortable stuffed chairs in front of the desk, while Ngawe had calmly moved into the power seat. The two men at his side each had thick zipped binders which had come open the moment the undisputed head of the Triumverate had taken his seat, and now each man alternately were handing their boss document after document - all about Shadow.
"Now this," Ngawe continued with a sigh of frustration, "this is a record of all the sims that this Pretender Shadow ran in the last five years. We have transcripts of exactly what types of situations were given. Perhaps you can explain what you were doing running these kinds of sims time after time after time - especially since the Pretender project had been shut down officially?"
Raines straightened in his chair and stared at the black man with undisguised disgust. "My loyalties have always been to the Centre, and no short-sighted order from a group of accountants was going to strip me of the best source of financing..."
"Ah. But there we have a problem," the elderly black man lifted a finger, and again the heavy dark hands landed on Raines' shoulder to silence him. "We have reports here, filed by Miss Parker at our request she do some digging, that show... well... why don't we just call her in here to explain what she put in her reports."
Ngawe gave a casual flip of a forefinger, and immediately one of the men behind him punched the intercom button. "Have Miss Parker brought to the Tower office," the bodyguard ordered.
"Miss Parker has not come to work this morning," came the answer from the outer office only moments later from Raines' terrified secretary.
"Then call her at home and ask her to come in immediately," came the quick response.
Again the intercom buzzed. "Miss Parker isn't answering her home phone."
Ngawe was starting to frown. "Do you know where Miss Parker is?" he asked Raines suddenly, making the bald man jump.
"Why should I know where she is?" gasped Raines, worried that if he started to break out in any more of a sweat, the Africans would know something was up. He glanced down at his watch - thirty-five minutes had passed since he'd given the order to have her undergo surgery. She should be pretty well sedated by now, if not already on the operating table.
The was a commotion suddenly outside the closed glass doors that brought everybody's head around in the office, and then one of the bodyguards posted outside came in the door and headed up to his boss. "There's a young man outside who demands to see you, sir - says that he has important information that he can give ONLY to you."
"Does this young man have a name?" the elderly head of the Triumverate asked quietly.
"Broots, sir," the bodyguard stated, and Raines, hearing the name, felt as if he'd just heard the toll of a bell sounding the end of his career for sure.
"Well, don't keep the man waiting. If we remember correctly, Miss Parker told us once that her assistant was named Broots. Maybe HE can shed some light on his absent superior." Ngawe motioned. "Bring him in."
Broots, a file folder emblazoned with the Centre logo clasped tightly to his chest, slipped shyly into the room and immediately blanched three shades whiter. Shaking in his boots, he slowly made his way down the pathway between African bodyguards, past a glaring Raines seated in a subservient chair in front of the Chairman's desk, until he was facing the distinguished gentleman behind the desk.
"We are Ngawe, Mr. Broots. We understand you have information you wanted to share with us?"
"Uh... yeah..." Broots looked around against, obviously nervous. "I... uh... heard that you were looking for Miss Parker."
"Word travels fast here at the Centre, it seems," Ngawe commented gently, then leaned forward. "Do you know where she is?"
"Uh... yes, sir... she's..." Broots extended the file folder to the head of the Triumverate. "She's down in Renewal, being prepped for surgery... on Mr. Raines' orders." Broots saw Ngawe's eyes widen and then turn downward to peruse the documents he'd brought. "The top on is the admissions form, signed by Mr. Raines admitting her..."
Ngawe held up his hand. "We need hear no more." He turned to the bodyguard on his right. "Go down to Renewal with a sizeable team. Bring Miss Parker to us here. Stop whatever procedure may be ongoing at whatever stage it's at, and have her revived." Now he turned to Raines. "And you said you didn't know anything."
"I..." Raines was now visibly sweating and pulling oxygen only with great difficulty. Here he sat, in the office he had coveted for so long, helpless and now accountable for wanting only to use the knowledge base that had been the Centre's purview for decades against the wishes of the financial suits who controlled the purse strings. And he couldn't even blame Jarod for the events that had landed him in these straights - Jarod had been gone for far too many years to be to blame for any of this.
Damn it.
"We see here that the procedure you ordered performed on her was a gynecological one, collection of an ovum." The aged ebony eyes lifted, and this time they were hard. "What do you think you were doing, taking a woman's egg from her body? Or do we really have to ask?" He summoned the other man with the bulging binder to approach, and he sifted through the documents until he found the one he was after. "There was another project that we received a great deal of information on - a project in another area of research we very specifically warned you away from, and to close down all active projects long ago. We believe it was called Redux?"
And the bottom fell out of Raines' world.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Stop! Immediately!" Huge men burst into the operating theatre and surrounded Dr. Warner as he stood over his patient, scalpel in hand.
"Get out of here!" he shouted at them futilely as they hauled him back away from the table. "You'll contaminate the field!"
"You're not operating today, Doctor - and not on this patient," the man who had his left arm announced firmly, then spoke to the anesthesiologist. "Bring her out of the anesthesia NOW."
The technician, thoroughly cowed by the size and attitudes of the men who were now filling the operating room, quickly adjusted the mixture of gases he was giving his patient. One very tall man came over to stand directly over him. "Make no mistake, sir. If anything happens to Miss Parker before she's able to be on her feet again, it is YOU who will be held directly responsible."
The bodyguard by the door picked up the telephone and dialed an extension. "Mr. Ngawe, sir, we found her. No, she's unconscious right now - the doctor was just getting ready to cut into her." He paused to listen closely, then nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll let you know the moment she's coherent." He hung up the phone and nodded to his companions.
"You'll come with me, now, Doctor," the bodyguard on Warner's left stated in a firm but polite tone that offered no flexibility for compromise. "Mr. Ngawe will want to talk to you."
The anesthesiologist was now busily removing ventilation tubes from Miss Parker's throat while keeping an eye on pulse and oxygenation rates. His hands were shaking, and he felt as if he were going to throw up soon if the tension in the room didn't lessen, but he persisted in doing his job properly. He removed the shower cap from Miss Parker's head and absently smoothed back some of the dark hair. * Pretty lady, Miss Parker, * he thought to himself. * What the hell is going on that first they want us to operate on you, then they stop us? *
"I need to take her to Recovery now," he said in a very small voice to the guard at his elbow. The tall man nodded silently and eventually lent a hand in pulling the gurney with the sleeping woman out of the operating room and into a smaller, less machine-stuffed room.
"How long before she comes around?" the bodyguard asked, again in a polite tone.
"Give her an hour or so, and she should start being responsive," the technician stated in a voice that sounded more like a squeak. "Depending on her sensitivity to the drugs, she might even be on her feet as soon as an hour after that."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Jarod shut down his computer and commenced disconnecting all its various wires, then thrust it into its carrier and threw the strap of the baggage over his shoulder. "I hate to type and run, boys, but I don't intend to be here when your 'rescuers' arrive. I'm sure you'll both have an interesting rest of the day waiting for you when they do."
"Jarod..." Vernon called angrily from the bed. "At least let me up..."
"I don't think so," the Pretender hissed. "You kept Kevin down for a long time - consider this a taste of the kind of payback you deserve."
"What about me?" Willy asked him as he walked past his chair.
"When I told the Triumverate where you were, I mentioned that you had decided to trade your information for your continued survival. I can't be responsible if they decide not to honor that agreement, but I've done for you what I can." Jarod shrugged. "Good luck, I suppose."
"For what it's worth, Jarod, I'm sorry," the sweeper said quietly as the door opened.
"Right," Jarod came back in a tone that clearly conveyed his disbelief. "Pardon me if I hope we never see each other again."
"You're a real asshole, you know," Vernon called out in an angry tone.
For the first time in a long time, Jarod felt the urge to respond in a childish manner - maybe because it was so apropos. "It takes one to know one," he spat back, and turned away from both of his captives for the last time.
He closed and locked the door behind him, knowing that he had maybe fifteen minutes before the Triumverate cavalry descended on the auto wrecking yard. More than enough time to re-establish himself at Miss Parker's.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Miss Parker astounded the anesthesiologist by beating his estimated time between starting to wake up and being on her feet by nearly half. Almost the first moment she cracked her eyes open, she demanded to be provided with clothing - her silken pajamas having managed to vanish somewhere between Raines' office and the operating room. Once comfortably clad in surgical blues, she chafed until she was steady enough on her feet that she felt she could make it with the help of the very attentive African bodyguards who now stood silent and stalwart watch over her. Then, triumphant and untouched, she walked, unsteadily and leaning heavily on both men at her sides, out of Renewal and into the elevator that would take her up to the Tower.
The moment the glass door opened in front of her to admit her to the inner sanctum, all conversation in the room ceased. Taking a deep breath she pulled her arms from the keeping of her bodyguards and walked unaided into the room. To one side she saw Willy and another man, neither of which looked like they'd had a chance to freshen up that morning at all. She nodded at Willy, whose eyes widened in almost frantic hope at the acknowledgement. Not far from them stood a very worried-looking Broots, whose brows furrowed deeply when he saw the state she was in. She held out a hand to him, which he took just briefly before letting her go again, feeling just a bit reassured.
Then she stepped past the chairs in front of the carved desk, seeing a positively ill-looking Raines sitting very uncomfortably and drawing with great difficulty on his oxygen tank. She stopped and turned to him, her face a study in controlled fury. "They didn't touch me, you bastard!" she hissed, then spat into his face and turned away so she didn't have to watch him struggle to maintain any semblance of dignity while cleaning himself with a kerchief.
Last but not least she found herself facing a kindly-looking elderly African gentleman with a striking shoulder sash, and she knew she'd come to the end of this little trek. "Mr. Ngawe?"
The silver-headed dark face before her nodded in almost a bow. "Miss Parker. It is GOOD to see you, hale and hearty."
"Thank you, sir." She swayed and caught herself on the edge of the desk. "I'm sorry I'm... not exactly at my best..."
"Utterly unnecessary, Miss Parker. These three gentlemen," Ngawe's hand waved in the direction of Broots, Willy and Vernon, "have been filling in a great many gaps in information between what you supplied us and what our unnamed informant has given us. We look forward to being able to question you on details of your reports, but, we think, that would best be left for another time."
"I appreciate the consideration, sir." She would have bowed, but she was already more dizzy than she wanted to admit.
"We will have you taken back to your home now, and we wish that you take the rest of the day to rest and recuperate from your most unfortunate encounter." Ngawe's expression grew stony. "We're sure that with the help of your able assistant, Mr. Broots, we shall be able to fill even more of those gaps I mentioned." Ngawe motioned, and the two bodyguards who had accompanied her so far immediately moved up to gently take her arms. "Please accept our apologies for your ill treatment. We will speak in the morning, provided you are feeling better."
"Again, thank you, sir," she said and began to turn, only to feel her legs turn to jelly. Only the quick reflexes of her two African bodyguards prevented her from collapse.
"Ah, Miss Parker, one question before you go..."
The bodyguards helped her turn again to face the desk.
"We don't believe that we know an appropriate place to house Mr. Raines and his associates in this facility until a decision is made about their futures. Do you have any suggestions?"
Miss Parker's gaze came to slowly land on Mr. Raines again, and suddenly she was reminded of the last time she'd seen him in what SHE'D consider an 'appropriate' setting. "There are detention cells down on SL-25. I think Mr. Raines will remember his last tenure in one of them. As for the others, the residencies used for the Pretender subjects are on SL-17, not far from the Sim Lab. I think the other two would fare well there." She blinked, then decided that fair was fair, and a deal was a deal. "But before I go, I should point out that Willy, there, risked his own life to help prevent a massacre at Mr. Raines' orders. And even though he's done some pretty bad things over time, he's earned a little consideration lately." She looked at Ngawe, who was watching her closely. "I just thought I'd speak on his behalf just a little."
"Your input is valued, Miss Parker. Now please, go rest."
No longer caring whether she was protecting her dignity or not, she leaned heavily on her African escort as they helped her most solicitously from the office.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Jarod ducked out of sight the moment he saw the huge black town car come into view on the rural road and pull into Miss Parker's driveway. He looked and saw that he'd left his laptop case sitting on the end of the couch, where he'd left it the moment he'd gotten to the house. Considering the circumstances, he knew he had no choice but to leave it there and hope that whoever it was would think it a normal part of the décor.
A load fell from his heart and shoulders when he heard Miss Parker's voice outside, arguing with someone that she DIDN'T need to be escorted all the way into her house. "Really," she was insisting.
"Mr. Ngawe will want us to be sure you're safe and securely delivered home, Ma'am," stated one extremely deep and musical African voice.
"You have. I have no complaints at all. I just want to be left alone now, if you don't mind. It's been a very difficult day." Jarod winced. He could hear the fatigue in her voice from here. He was amazed she was still on her feet. He stealthily made his way from the darkness of the kitchen to just behind the front door.
"If you're absolutely sure, Ma'am. We'd be most happy to..."
Miss Parker shook her head. "You go on back. I'm fairly sure I don't need any standing security guards outside my house, considering. Thank you so much for all your help, but I'll be OK from here."
She stood firm and unmoved, and finally the Africans decided that she wasn't going to change her mind. They quickly climbed back into their town car and sped off around the rest of the circle drive back to the rural lane that led back to the Centre.
Miss Parker breathed a heavy sigh of relief and bone-aching fatigue, and turned finally to open her front door and walk back into the house from which she'd been stolen only hours before. As the door closed, she heard a well-remembered voice speak behind her. "Are you OK?"
She turned slowly and reached out to him, then sagged into Jarod's arms in a faint when her supply of adrenaline upon which she'd been functioning finally ran out.
Jarod crushed her to him, desperately relieved that she was back, safe and sound, after all. Tenderly he lifted her and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom and deposited her back in the bed she'd been torn from earlier. He pulled the covers over her, tucked her in carefully and watched her settle down for a few moments. Knowing there were others that needed to know, he stepped out into the hallway, pulled the door, then pulled out his cell phone and punched in a couple of buttons.
"This is Sydney."
"She's home, and she's safe," he said, knowing that was all that really needed on that end for the time being.
"Oh, thank God!!" The relief in Sydney's voice was palpable, and the silence that followed as the older man struggled against and overwhelming sense emotional release thoroughly understandable. "Thanks, Jarod. I'll pass the word here. You rest some too, now."
"I will, Syd. Thanks. Talk to you later..."
He folded the phone and put it back in his pocket before re-entering the bedroom. Then he carefully settled down on the other side of the bed to await her next, far gentler, awakening.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Raines checked the gauge on his oxygen tank - the African goons hadn't thought to make sure to send him into this hellhole with an extra tank. If he sat very still and didn't exert himself much, maybe even turned down the flow a bit, he MIGHT be able to convince the tank to last the night. IF the tank had been refilled properly, that was - and several times lately he'd discovered that the tank hadn't been.
His eyes automatically sought out the dark spot on the cement floor where, years before, a suspicious Mr. Parker had shot him in the shoulder to keep him from telling Miss Parker about the scrolls and her mother's 'plan'. In the years since that blood was shed, Mr. Parker had committed suicide, Jarod had fallen off the face of the Earth, and the Centre had become a wholly-owned subsidiary of the Triumverate. Not a good legacy to leave after himself, he thought morosely.
There was little doubt as to what his fate would be. The Triumverate might be all light and legal on the surface, but Ngawe had a reputation for being tough and sometimes cruel in dealing with problems. In the years since M'tumbo's assassination and the unfortunate demise of Ngawe's immediate rival to the Chairmanship of the Triumverate just before the plane crash, his name had become both respected and feared. For having had the balls to deliberately violate not only one Triumverate directive but two, his life - what little was left of it - was forfeit.
The only thing left was finding out when, where, and how. And whether or not it would be at his own hand or at the hands of another.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Miss Parker turned in her sleep, roused slightly as she encountered the solid obstacle of another warm body, then put her arm across it with a contented sigh. Jarod reached across her and pulled the covers back up over her exposed shoulder again, then with a very gentle finger moved an errant tendril of dark hair away from her mouth before it could tickle her.
The arm across his lap tightened slightly. "Mmmmmm... Jarod?"
"I'm here, Parker," he said softly, running his hand down her arm and over her back in a slow, soothing gesture. "Go back to sleep."
She blinked in the late afternoon light and then raised her head to look over at the alarm clock on the nightstand beyond Jarod. She then dropped her head to her pillow with a groan. "I feel like I've been run over by a semi."
She felt Jarod's fingers stroke through her hair, straightening it as he did. "It will take a while for all the anesthesia you were given to work its way out of your system," he replied gently. "I'm surprised you were even on your feet at all. Right now, though, the best thing you can do for yourself is just sleep."
She grunted and rolled away from him again to look out her bedroom door. "Where's Davy?" she asked suddenly in sleepy concern.
"With Sydney and Debbie and Kevin and Sam in a safe place."
"Where?"
"Ben's. Don't worry." Jarod's hand smoothed against her forehead. "They're OK, you're OK. Go back to sleep. Everything's under control."
Miss Parker rolled back towards him, then reached up and looped a hand around his far shoulder and pulled until he found himself forced to slip down to lie prone next to her. At that point she curled into his side, one arm stretched across his waist, and rested her head on his chest with a contented sigh. "Better," she murmured, eyes closed. "Much better."
"Parker..." he began in a warning tone, then sighed and once more pulled the covers back over her and wrapped an arm about her shoulders to hold the covers in place. No, he admitted to himself reluctantly, to hold HER in place.
She snuggled in closer. "I could get used to this," she commented softly, "very quickly."
"I know," he replied in the same tone, finally succumbing to the urge to wrap his other arm around her too and cradle her against him. This was exactly the point that he was at in his own thoughts only a couple of nights ago, and he was no closer to figuring either himself or his feelings out. "This complicates things," he commented, knowing it needed saying but wishing it didn't have to be him saying it.
"Just letting things happen between us?" she asked.
"Mmmm-hmmm."
She lay quietly in his arms for so long that he thought that maybe she'd managed to go back to sleep after all, but then: "It could simplify things too, you know..."
"For you, perhaps, but not me." He tightened his hold on her and buried his nose in her hair, knowing that by doing so he was only torturing himself and her but being unable to stop himself. He'd wanted to do that for so long... "I have..."
"A life of your own to return to, I remember." She stirred and tightened her arm around his waist. "But what about your life HERE?"
"Don't you see? My so-called 'life' here is just me visiting your life here. Now, I'm not going to lie to you and say that I don't have loved ones here that I'm going to miss desperately - including you. But MY life - everything that I've worked very hard over the last seven years to achieve - is in California."
"What about Davy?" she asked softly, knowing that was the one trump card he couldn't just push away.
"Parker..." he sighed, exasperated. "You know as well as I that it wouldn't be fair to you or me OR Davy for me to stay JUST for him. As pleasant as that alternative might seem," he added under his breath.
He shifted, making himself more comfortable so that she could nestle against him better. "Did I ever tell you," he began, "that one of my patients is this absolutely darling little seven-year-old girl who was so abused in foster care that she's completely withdrawn? Just before I left to come here, she was starting to actually interact directly with me - she'd even given me a name: DaJuJu, probably her way of saying "Doctor Jarod" right now." His hands moved on her back slowly and comfortingly. "Ethan has been chewing me out every time I call him, because she's regressing again. My mother is in a deep depression from my father's death - and Jay tells me that part of what keeps her down is knowing I'm playing footsie with the Centre again."
"No, you hadn't told me much about your life, Jarod," Miss Parker answered, shifting her head from his chest to his shoulder so that she could look him in the face as he lay next to her. "But do you remember the last time we talked about this at all?"
Jarod found it way too easy to become lost in her grey eyes, but couldn't pull his gaze free. "Yes," he answered very softly, "I remember."
"Do you remember how we each asked the other whether we wanted to become emotionally... involved?" she persisted.
"Yes."
Her hand moved then from his waist to stroking his beard softly. "I've decided what I want," she announced with a hitch of trepidation in her voice. "I want to try." Her fingers stroked through his hair near his temple. "I want..."
"A father for Davy?" he asked her gently, closing his eyes against the feelings her gentle fingers caressing his face were arousing.
"That too," she admitted honestly, "but not only that. Jarod..." she called softly until finally his warm chocolate eyes were diving into hers again, "I want you to finish what you started at Ocee's, all those years ago. Do you remember?"
Jarod swallowed hard. Did he remember? How could he forget the first time she had let him close - let him in - since they were children? How could he forget his intense feeling of disappointment that Ocee had chosen just the very moment their lips were going to touch to burst in on them - blind or not, her interruption had shattered the moment and the mood. That unresolved moment was the entire reason he hadn't wanted to tell her goodbye in person seven years ago, when he stood on the verge of stepping out of her life entirely. He knew that just being with her evoked echoes of that lost moment, and that he'd never be able to truly leave her completely, in every sense of the word, with that moment left unfinished between them.
Lost in her grey eyes, he felt her fingers slowly slip around to catch the back of his neck and pull his face closer to hers until, at long last, their lips brushed, then connected more surely. The kiss was gentle, tender and very tentative, and sent a tingle down every nerve ending either of them possessed. And yet, as Miss Parker would have invited him to deepen the kiss, Jarod pulled back and, with a hand cradled around the curve of her skull, kissed her forehead tenderly and simply held her to him.
"Well, isn't this a helluva note," she commented, her voice sharper than before with disappointment. "All this time remembering how you were putting the moves on me in front of that fireplace - now that the tables are turned, you don't want..."
"It isn't that, Parker, and you know it," he shot back, pulling back slightly so as to be able to look at her face. "Don't go all defensive on me at this late date."
She began struggling against him, pushing him away. "What the hell do you expect me to do? Here I am, in BED with you, for God's sake, kissing you and giving you all the right signals that it's OK to proceed, and all I get is a friendly kiss - just a "nice" kiss - like you don't even..."
Suddenly Miss Parker found herself dumped onto her back and into her pillows with Jarod leaning heavily on top of her, his face close to hers and his chocolate eyes nearly black with intensity. "Do you have the slightest idea how ridiculous you sound? After all these years, do you honestly think that I DON'T... Aw, Hell..."
And with that, he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her the way he'd dreamed of being able to kiss her for years, letting loose every iota of pent-up passion he'd been zealously guarding. Her lips parted easily under his determined onslaught, and he deepened the kiss immediately, stealing her breath and her ability to think or feel anything but what he was doing to her. His hand came up and held the side of her head briefly, then his fingers tangled themselves in her hair and held her firmly beneath his searing kiss. A hand that Miss Parker had put between them in instinctive self-protection moved to twine about his neck and then, when the other came up to join it, pull him even tighter to her.
And then the kiss was ending, and when Jarod pulled back, he could see that Miss Parker's eyes were nothing but grey-edge black with desire, and both of them were breathing very hard. He closed his eyes and took three long, deep breaths to get control of himself again. Opening his eyes again, he leaned down and kissed her again, sweetly and tenderly this time, then pulled back again and gazed deeply into her eyes. "Don't you DARE think I don't want you, Parker," he ground out with a voice made rough with his own, still smoldering, desire. He let himself fall back into the pillows on the other side of the bed, and then reached out and pulled her back into his side with her head once more pillowed on his chest.
"What is it then?" she asked softly, still breathless from the assault he'd launched on her lips and her psyche. Her lips felt positively pummeled, and her heart was racing as if she'd run a long distance.
"Making love with you, no matter how wonderful it would be or how much I want to, won't resolve my dilemma," he sighed, wrapping his arms tightly and possessively around her again. "Like I said, all of this only complicates things for me. I've loved you for so long I've forgotten what it's like NOT to love you - but you've always been... unattainable, out of reach."
"I'm not out of reach anymore, Jarod," she offered, her arm snaking back across his waist to hold him back.
"No shit," he said, then bent so that she could see the smile that went with the comment. "Now you're so close it's scary." He was silent for a while, organizing his scattered thoughts into a reasonable explanation. "To me, Parker, making love to you would be tantamount to both of us making a physical commitment to each other as binding as our putting rings on each other's fingers. And as pleasant and inviting as both of those courses of action might be to consider, I'm just not sure yet that going that route is the right decision for me."
She sighed, accepting for time being, at least, that he simply wasn't ready to make a decision yet. She nestled into him as closely as she could and closed her eyes once more, feeling her heartbeat slow again from the trip-hammer pace Jarod had managed to bring it to. "What are we going to do, then? Raines is in a cell, Lyle is dead, the Triumverate has done exactly what we hoped they would. Your job is done, Superman. What happens now?"
He sighed again. "Now you're going to go back to sleep, if you can after... that," he said, kissing her forehead gently, "while I lie here and stew and try to come to some kind of understanding."
"Understanding of what?"
"Myself," he began with ruthless honesty, "and what I really want. I need to figure out where I want to be and WHO I want to be. And most importantly," he looked down at her and marveled that he'd been able to stop himself when he had wanted her for so long, "whether I'll be able to live with myself afterwards."
Miss Parker turned her head and deposited a kiss on his chest, then snuggled in and made herself comfortable against him. "Don't stew too much, Jarod. If I've learned anything from the last seven years as compared to my life before then, it's that sometimes the head leads one way and the heart leads another - and it usually doesn't pay in the end to follow the head." She was quiet for a long moment. "And for what it's worth, I think I'm falling in love with you. I just thought you should know."
Jarod closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "I love you too, Parker," he whispered as he heard her breathing even out and amazingly slow into slumber after all. "I fell in love with you a long time ago, and I love you now more than you'll ever know."
She was right. What he'd come back to Blue Cove to do was now, for the most part, apparently finished. And now he faced the hardest questions of his life: could he leave her again to return to his own life when the time came - did he even want to leave, and what about his other life if he decided to stay?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sydney unbuttoned his shirt and carefully removed it so that Kevin could get at his bandages. The young man hadn't said much more than a few words to him so far, but instead had watched him warily from a distance without approaching. Until the time came that Jarod had appointed his surrogate to do his medical bit, that was. Then he came close - he had no choice if he were to fulfill the job Jarod had given him.
The hours in the car driving north had been tense ones, with all five silent and brooding and generally uncommunicative. Even Ben's reception had been a muted one, and Sydney realized that this man was as worried about Parker as the rest of them were. Kevin had even tried to give Sydney his pain medication on schedule, only to be rather tersely rebuffed when Syd refused to take anything that would cloud his mind until he knew whether Parker was safe again. Since then, however, there had come the elation after his broadcasting Jarod's news that Miss Parker was back safely from wherever it was she'd been taken, an elation that Kevin hadn't shared. He had stood back and merely watched as five people hugged each other and chatted excitedly all of a sudden, and it was obvious to anyone who had paid attention that the young man, at that point, felt very much the outsider.
The depressive mood broken at last, Sam had taken Davy and Deb out to the sprawling lawn to practice self-defensive moves to get rid of some of their bottled-up energy. Meanwhile, he and Kevin had retreated to the library and made use of the inn's amazingly eclectic collection of books and magazines. He had been aware of the young Pretender's continuing to look up every once in a while from his reading material to quietly observe him. He had tolerated the study patiently, not giving any sign that he knew he was being observed, realizing that the young man was probably curious about having another Centre mentor in the room under a more informal situation.
The fingers that now worked diligently to remove the medical tape from his chest hairs without pulling were very gently, very thorough. Jarod could not have done as well. "You're very good at this," Sydney commented quietly as the first bandage came away in the young man's hands without the slightest painful tear on the skin, "and I really need to apologize for being so short with you earlier. I know you were only doing what Jarod asked."
Wary and startled ice-blue eyes flicked up to meet warm and friendly chestnut. Kevin's brows pinched together so briefly that, if he hadn't been watching, Sydney wouldn't have seen the fleeting expression of confusion and awkwardness.
"It's customary that when someone apologizes for their behavior, you at least respond by letting them know if their apology is acceptable'," the Belgian added in a non-judgmental tone, after waiting for a long moment in total silence.
The young Pretender's startled gaze touched Sydney's again, and then the young man's head bobbed as he looked back to his work. "It's OK," he mumbled.
"I'm glad." Sydney looked down at himself curiously. "Well, Kevin, will I live?" When the blue eyes came up again, only this time filled with complete confusion, Sydney smiled at him. "What I mean is, are my wounds healing properly?"
"Oh, yeah," Kevin responded, chagrined to be so tongue-tied in front of Jarod's mentor and desperately afraid of appearing like a complete idiot. "There's... um... no sign of infection at all, and the edges of the wounds are already starting to close in." He looked back down at his work and focused there, aware that his face was feeling very warm. He could hardly believe he was actually having a conversation - a normal conversation - with a mentor.
Sydney tipped his head and watched the young man working so diligently with interest. "Kevin?" Again, the expression in those beautiful blue eyes was wary and guarded. "Is there something wrong?"
"Huh?" The expression on the face was suddenly frightened. "N...no, why?"
"Have I insulted or offended you in some way? Is that why you are answering me in monosyllables?"
Kevin gently pushed the new bandage into place with one hand, then carefully made sure all of the tabs of medical tape adhered properly to his patient's skin. Then, once he was finished with the front, he had no reason not to look up again at Sydney's face. He took a deep breath, as if it would take his heart out of his throat and put it back in his chest where it belonged. "I... uh... don't know how to..."
"How to what?" Sydney's voice was smooth, the accent lending to the hypnotic tone that he hoped would ease the young man over whatever difficulty he was encountering.
The young Pretender's hands moved in ineffective circles. "I mean... you're Jarod's mentor, after all, and..."
"I think the key concept there, which you have forgotten, is that my mentoring Jarod is something that happened a very long time ago," he informed the young man as his brows climbed his forehead. "But even so, what difference does it make now?"
Kevin's gaze came back up completely confused again. "But... Mentors don't just... talk to folks... like regular people... do they?"
Sydney's mouth dropped open, and he would have burst out laughing had he not seen for himself how serious this particular point was to the young Pretender taking care of him. "Mentors are just human beings, Kevin," he informed him gently. "They're just as capable of holding a normal conversation..."
"Mine never did," Kevin cut Sydney off abruptly, his face warming again. He moved to the exit wound in Sydney's back and began to carefully remove the medical tape from the skin.
"Vernon Grey never spoke to you man to man? Never answered your questions?" Sydney was aghast. He started to twist around to look at Kevin, but a stitch in his side quickly convinced him otherwise. "What DID you talk about, when you did speak to each other?" he asked, knowing Kevin was at least listening and talking now.
"I only saw Vernon when I was running sims, we only discussed THEM," Kevin's voice was flat, emotionless. "When I wasn't working, Vernon didn't speak to me. Ever."
Sydney's heart went out the young man, deprived not only of a normal life but even the pretense of a family Jarod had created for himself within the prison he'd been kept so long. No wonder Kevin was so uncomfortable "just talking" to him - that violated the very definition of 'mentor' for the lad that had been built over his internment encounter by estranged encounter. "And because I was Jarod's mentor, you expect that I'd behave the same toward you because YOU are a Pretender too?"
"Well..." Kevin hedged. He remembered Jarod telling him that this man, this mentor, had been like his father until he'd found his real one. Obviously, not all mentors were like Vernon, because he couldn't wrap his mind around the concept of 'father' as he understood it being anything like Vernon. And this Sydney DID seem far more approachable and congenial. Still... "I suppose. It's all I'm used to, you know?"
Sydney nodded sadly. "But did you have nobody else... to just talk to... all this time?"
Kevin shrugged, even though Sydney couldn't see him. "Like I told Jarod - when Vernon was sick or out, I'd sometimes play cards with the research assistants. And when the cook and his wife would fight, sometimes he'd come and talk to me. But other than that..."
"That must have been a terribly lonely existence," Sydney's voice couldn't manage to get much more than a whisper. The things that had been done to Jarod had been indeed horrid, but this calculated neglect and emotional deprivation could be almost as scarring. "My God!"
Gentle fingers now pressed the back bandage into place and smoothed down the next set of tabs firmly onto the skin. "Done," Kevin announced, picking up the used bandages and other supplies. He made it almost all the way out of the door before he was compelled to turn around. "Can you answer a question for me?" he asked, obviously uncomfortable in the asking.
"Sure, I'll tell you whatever you want to know," Sydney replied kindly, shrugging once more into his shirt and beginning to do up the buttons. "What is it?"
"Why did YOU do it - help keep Jarod locked up and running sims all his life?" Kevin shuffled his feet nervously. "I mean... you seem like a nice enough person... How could you?"
Sydney's fingers slowed at their task, and he suddenly found that he couldn't bring himself to face the young Pretender. "It's complicated," he hedged in his turn. "The easy answer for me to offer is because I was blind to the entire process and eager to train Jarod to use his mind to help humanity in such a very special way. But in reality, that's no excuse - I had been in a similar situation to Jarod's in my own childhood; I knew better than most that not all forms of abuse leave bruises."
He sighed as he rose to tuck his shirttails back into his trousers and ease the suspenders back over his shoulders. "Then there are the more complicated parts of the story. For example, there was another doctor at the Centre who very much wanted control of Jarod - but to do the kind of experiments that are the stuff of nightmares. When I would be ill, or called away, this doctor would jump at my absence and do horrible, obscene, things to Jarod - and when I'd come back, I'd sometimes have to nurse him back to health before he could even run sims again. After that happened several times, I began to see myself as Jarod's protector against a much less desirable fate." Sydney's eyes grew distant. "I was afraid for him. If I weren't there, God only knows what might have happened to him; and even though I couldn't show it, I cared about Jarod's wellbeing in my own way enough that I couldn't just walk away."
"Jarod said..." Kevin ground to a halt, then he raised his blue eyes, swimming with tears he'd never been truly allowed to shed before. "Do you think that maybe Vernon wouldn't ever... just talk to me because I'm not... the kind of person... people like?"
Sydney stepped as quickly as he could until he was directly in front of the young man, and then took his shoulders firmly in either hand. "No. I do NOT think this at all. From what I've been able to gather in talking to you just now, you are a very personable young man - VERY likeable." He shook his head sadly. "Vernon must have been deliberately blind and criminally self-absorbed not to see you for the very kind and gentle and intelligent young man you really are."
And then, very carefully, as if knowing this was quite possibly the first time any other human being had offered this exceptional young man any comfort whatsoever, Sydney reached out and pulled Kevin toward him, wrapped his arms around him and held him close. Kevin trembled. "I wish... you had been MY mentor... Sydney," he managed finally in a very small voice.
Sydney had no idea how to reply to that, so he just let the young man lean his head on his shoulder and take what comfort he could from a stranger.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Hey Kevin! You gonna sit inside all afternoon?" Debbie's voice called from the door to the library. "Or has Grandpa got you nailed to the chair to keep him company?"
Kevin looked up from his reading, checking quickly to his left and the reaction of the older man she'd referred to so irreverently. For the first time since Jarod had sent him off with Sam and all these others, he was feeling safe and comfortable - a state easily disrupted, it seemed, especially by the pretty 'granddaughter' of this much kinder mentor.
"Debbie Broots! You know better!" Sydney smiled, put down his reading, looked over the top of his glasses and joined easily into their customary banter. "I don't nail people to chairs - that hurts. I tie them down securely and then SIT on 'em! I've done it to you often enough..."
Debbie sauntered into the room with an exaggerated swagger, then bent over her grandfather in such a way that she could make her long and heavy braid fall forward and thwap the man softly on the chest and chin. "You're just SUCH an ogre, you know," she quipped, then deposited a kiss on the tip end of Sydney's nose. "All I want to do is steal Kevin from you for a while. Can I do that? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?"
Sydney reached up a hand and tweaked the tip of Debbie's nose very gently. "Only because you ask SO politely, ma petite..."
Debbie bent further and put her arms around her grandfather's shoulders for a quick hug. "Not to mention that, when it comes to being an ogre, you're really just a great big marshmallow."
"Oh, horrors! My secret's out! Whatever shall I do now?" he smirked and kissed her quickly on the cheek before she could escape. He looked over at Kevin and found the young man with his jaw on the floor in surprise. "Oh, don't mind us - we pick on each other all the time, don't we, cheri?" He looked up at Debbie fondly.
Debbie looked over her shoulder at the young Pretender and burst out laughing at the expression on his face. "Oh, c'mon, Kevin! You don't think Grandpa REALLY ties people in chairs, do you?"
Sydney took pity on the young man as a thoroughly confused look spread across Kevin's face. He tugged gently in admonishment on the conveniently handy braid still dangling in front of him. "Be nice, Deb, and don't laugh. Kevin has lead a very sheltered life - our little fun is something he's never had a chance to observe before, much less participate in. He has no reason NOT to believe exactly that."
While Kevin struggled to wrap his mind around Sydney's gentle defense of him and his inexperience, Debbie straighten and sobered in chagrin. "Say, Kev, I'm sorry I laughed. I didn't mean it..."
The young man looked at the bouncy, active girl with real trepidation. "I... It's OK. But if you don't mind... I think I'll..."
Sydney tugged on the braid, now hanging down Deb's back, to get her attention again. He wasn't surprised she was looking disappointed when she turned. "Give me a moment, OK? Maybe I can convince him..."
Debbie nodded and then moved toward the door. "I really am sorry, Kevin. And I still think you'd enjoy coming outside with us. Sam and Davy and I were going to jog around the grounds - and we thought you would like to spend some time in the open air for a change. You don't want to stay cooped up in the house all day, do you?" She left with her wistfully hopeful invitation ringing in Kevin's ears.
The young Pretender waited until Debbie had closed the front door behind her before he turned to Sydney with frantic eyes. "What do I do? I've..." He looked completely lost.
Sydney gazed at the young man, his unperturbed mien sending out a message of calmness that he hoped would steady the confused lad. "It really is up to you," he began, then leaned forward, "and it IS a pretty day outside. You've been in here with me ever since you got here. You could probably use the run, you know..."
Kevin was calmer, but felt no more secure than before. "Tell me what to do, Sydney..."
"No." Sydney's voice was soft and gentle and understanding, but firm. "You need to start remembering you don't HAVE to either wait for instruction or ask permission, Kevin. Not from me, and most definitely not about something like this."
"But..." The young man's face was pale, his mind bouncing from one scary issue to the next, "...what if they don't like me..."
Sydney shook his head. "They seem to like you well enough to invite you to come with them, don't they?"
That response made him think, but Kevin's insecurities were still many and acute. "What if I screw up and make one of them angry?"
"That's the risk you take being free, Kevin. You aren't going to be able to please everybody, so don't even bother trying - you'll only cause yourself heartache." Sydney leaned forward with great care - his chest was very achy from all the activity that day, and the pain medication hadn't kicked in completely yet. "Think about it for a minute, then tell me: what do you WANT to do?"
Kevin looked toward the front door, and Sydney could see the longing on the young man's face. "I..." He swallowed hard. "I always wanted to know what it was like to jog..."
"So go, then!" Sydney urged then, waving in the direction of the door and sitting back in his comfortable chair with a relaxing sigh. "Enjoy yourself." He smiled at the young man. "You've earned it."
"Thanks, Sydney," the young man said with a cautious smile of anticipation on his face, and then stood and walked out of the room towards the front door with the beginnings of a spring in his step.
Sydney watched Kevin's exit with a combination of amusement and concern. So THIS was the kind of shy naivete that Jarod had had to go through immediately after his escape. Granted that Kevin's social skills were far more lacking than Jarod's had been, still Sydney could see the way the hugeness of the world outside was intimidating and yet enticing to the formerly sequestered young man. It was just as well, he decided, that THIS Pretender had landed on the 'outside' amid a whole cloud of people around him who not only were his friends by default but who understood him a bit and could hopefully shepherd him safely into a more confident approach to his new freedom.
He stood carefully and then made his way to the window to watch as Sam and Davy both greeted Kevin with gusto, Debbie with a little chagrined shyness after her faux pas. It wasn't long, however, before the quartet trotted off across the lawn - Sam and Davy in the lead with Kevin keeping pace with Debbie. Sydney smiled. This was EXACTLY what that young man needed.
He returned to his comfortable chair and reseated himself, pushed his glasses up on his face again, then, and returned to the current issue of Psychology Today and the article he'd been skimming.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Gomen nasai, [Please excuse me,] Tanaka-sama," Fujimori bowed deeply as he interrupted his boss' meditative gazing out the porthole of the Leer jet.
Tanaka bobbed his head in response, then aimed a cold ebony eye on his associate. "Yes?"
"I spoke to our contacts in New York City, and they will have a man meeting your criterion meet us at the airport there on our arrival. Ikeda-san reports that this man is very well known in certain circles as being a true artist." Fujimori was smiling. It wasn't often that arrangements for something this big could be put together with as few obstacles as he was meeting today.
"Good," ground out Tanaka, turning his eye back to the clouds below them. "I want this over NOW, and nothing less than complete success will be satsisfactory for anyone involved. Is that clear?"
"Hai!" Fujimori bowed deeply again and backed away, not sure whether to be excited or just a little apprehensive.
The only thing he DID know for sure was that the next day was going to be very interesting.
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