Note: Thank you to everyone who has patiently awaited this chapter. I know I promised it beginning of last week, but some of you know why it was so late. I just wanted to dedicate this chapter to Maestra and Mickey for all your support and brainstorming with me. I also want to dedicate this one to k.g., you're the best kiddo, hope you know that.
The characters don't belong to me, but I like to play with them like I used to play with my dolls. Mwahahah! *twink* Enjoy!
Chapter Six
With tears in his dark eyes, Jeremy looked back and forth between Trista and Jarod, as if in a panic. Jeremy honestly didn't know what to do, he was scared. This was not something he was prepared for.
"I-I…" he stammered, knowing both pairs of eyes were watching him as intently as the Centre ever had, waiting for answers to their questions. Answers he wasn't certain he could give.
He felt out of his element here, unsure of himself. He had always had a purpose, something he had to accomplish, be it the end results of a simulation or some mission he had been ordered to fulfill. Now he felt lost and all alone.
"Where would they have taken Caitlyn, Jeremy?" Jarod tried again.
Trista waited, praying silently for Jeremy to acquiesce and tell them where her daughter was. He was their last hope for finding her daughter. Everything else Jarod had tried, had failed. Trying to crack the code he'd downloaded from the Centre's computer was impossible. He would have to break back into the Centre and access the computer it had originated from. A fact he'd finally discovered this afternoon.
He'd even put in a call to one of his other Centre contacts earlier in the day, knowing they'd search just as frantically after the trail of breadcrumbs left by Jeremy's mysterious handler.
Darkness was falling rapidly now, Jeremy had stalled for time for the last twelve hours and Trista's nerves were frayed. How much longer could she sit here and do nothing while Jarod tried his best to crack the man? Even Jarod's patience was running to an end.
She waited again as Jarod asked Jeremy three more times where her daughter was, each time, Jeremy would choke up as if he wanted to say something and just couldn't. She'd had enough. This wasn't getting them anywhere.
Jumping up, she went over to kneel before him; he was sitting on the bed he'd woken up in hours ago. She looked up at him, her eyes beseeching. He was her last hope; she didn't know what else to do.
"Jeremy, please," she whispered, her voice already cracking under her strain, "I don't know what they did to you in that awful place, but I can see it was horrible. Don't let our daughter suffer that way, Jeremy. Please tell me where she is, please Jeremy.
Looking away before she began outright pleading and bargaining with the silent man before her, she bit her lip and tried to control her volatile emotions. Was he made of stone? Why wouldn't he just tell them?!
She looked up at the father of her child again, seeing nothing in his eyes. Jarod had said to be patient, but she couldn't sit here any longer, not while some maniac had her child and was doing God only knew what to her precious baby. Her anger at everything began to rise. At herself for her inability to protect her daughter, at Jeremy for being such a pigheaded, stubborn male, at the Centre who had wrecked so many lives and at the situation for even existing in the first place.
Rising slowly, she looked Jeremy dead in the eye and pulled her hand back and slapped him hard. Everything stopped in that instant as Jeremy's face turned to the side with the force of her blow.
"Tell me! Tell me where my daughter is, you son of b-" she felt Jarod's arms go around her and begin to pull her away from Jeremy. She struggled to get away from Jarod, screaming at both of them.
Jarod was exhausted, but he couldn't let Trista's anger undo everything. He dragged her to the other side of the room and calmed her down by just holding her as he always did and letting her give vent to her frustrated feelings. She ended up crying again and he knew he had to get Jeremy out of there. He scooped her up and laid her on her bed and ordered her to rest.
"Wait," she cried, sitting up in a panic, "Where are you going?"
Jarod had thrown a sweater at Jeremy and told him to put it on. He turned back to Trista and smiled gently for her benefit, "You need to rest, we're going for a ride. We'll be back, don't worry," he assured her.
Trista scrambled off the bed, "You can't leave me here again, Jarod, I'm going to go crazy with worry," she sounded like a child in that moment and Jarod wasn't sure if he could deal with this anymore.
He threw a warning look at Jeremy and stepped closer Trista, looking her in the eye, "Listen, he's scared. He doesn't know what to do and you're not helping the situation by becoming emotional. I know you just want to help, Trista, but he isn't sure who to trust right now. Trust me, alright?"
How many times had he said that to her, she wondered? But he was right, she realized in an instant, she had only made everything worse with her outburst. Her face turned a dull red, "I'm sorry," she murmured.
He caught her eye again, "It'll be alright. He'll tell us soon, I'm certain of it," he whispered.
She nodded and went back to the bed and watched them leave her behind. Again damn it.
Broots had known she would be back to find out if he'd found anything about Lyle's son. Yet, again, he had nothing to give her. There were just no records on such a person.
But instead of Miss Parker's clipped tones, he heard a soft spoken accented voice, and he relaxed somewhat, realizing it was Sydney, not Miss Parker come to torment him with more demands and requests.
"Good evening, Mr. Broots," Sydney greeted pleasantly.
"Hello Syd," Broots looked up from his computer screen.
"Miss Parker told me about Jarod's phone call earlier today. Have you found out anything?"
Broots shook his head, "No, there is just nothing to find. If Mr. Lyle has a son, there are no records of it that I can find."
"That's probably because you're looking in the wrong place," a new voice said from behind Sydney.
Broots blanched as Mr. Lyle came into view, his father close on his heels.
"Good evening, Lyle, Mr. Parker," Sydney nodded to each man in turn, while Broots could only sit there and stare at the two men in shock.
"As much as we hate airing our dirty laundry in public, it has come to our attention that Lyle does indeed have a son," Mr. Parker began.
Sydney crossed his arms and looked thoughtful, "Why was there no knowledge of this person before now?"
Lyle stepped forward to answer that, "Because I had totally forgotten the incident until my sister brought the information to me earlier today. It seems while I was in high school, I made the mistake of getting my girlfriend pregnant. She disappeared a few weeks later and I assumed she had been lying to me and run off with the baby's real father."
"We have only just learned that someone from the Centre kidnapped the girl and killed her once the child was born, then introduced him into our very midst without anyone's knowing who the child belonged to," Mr. Parker continued.
"Do we know this child's identity?" Sydney inquired.
"From what we've been able to gather, his name is Jeremy-"
Broots began coughing, his eyes watering as he gasped for air.
Sydney only shot the tech a warning look before turning back to the Parkers.
Lyle glanced in annoyance at Broots and then continued, "As I was saying, it seems he has escaped from the Centre and no one knows where he is."
"Sounds familiar," Miss Parker inserted, sarcasm dripping from her words as she strolled into the room.
"Ah, Angel!" Mr. Parker greeted his daughter warmly, smiling at her, "You're just in time."
"So, Lyle, how does it feel to find out you're not only a father, but a grandfather, and all in one day, as well?" Miss Parker asked, her voice still oh-so-sweet.
Lyle shot his twin a dark look before answering just as pleasantly, "I am thrilled to know I have a son."
"And your newfound granddaughter?" Miss Parker persisted.
"That has yet to be confirmed," Mr. Lyle shrugged.
If looks could kill, Lyle would have been dead a thousand times over. His attitude about his "supposed" granddaughter grated against her nerves and he knew it. She threw him a disgusted look before turning to her father.
"So what are we planning to do about Jeremy?" she asked.
"Lyle will be heading the search for Jeremy to bring him back into the fold. I want my grandson to have the opportunity to realize the fullness of his heritage. Someday, God willing, he will run the Centre. It would be in Jeremy's best interests to find him and bring him back here so he can begin preparing himself for that eventuality."
Parker sighed, knowing it would be useless to argue with her father, even though she was dying to meet Lyle's son and find out exactly how Lyle was going to treat his little spawning. She merely shrugged as if it didn't matter to her one way or another.
"Why is it we're just now learning about Lyle's son?" Sydney asked, still wondering how such an enormous secret could have been kept for almost a quarter of a century.
Lyle frowned, "It seems one of our colleagues was keeping this information from us," he looked very disturbed by this thought.
It was Syd's turn to frown, "Who might that be?"
Mr. Parker interrupted, "It doesn't matter who it was, he will be dealt with by the Tower, personally." He turned to his daughter, his version of a soft smile lighting his pinched features, "I want you to concentrate on finding Jarod as soon as possible. I have had word that he was in Blue Cove's vicinity as of two days ago, and I doubt he'll be going far. Find him, Angel."
Parker nodded, "Of course, daddy," she opened her mouth to ask him another question, but her father turned and walked out of Broots' office without a backward glance.
"Mr. Broots," Lyle barked, making the tech jump.
"Y-yes, Mr. Lyle," he asked.
"I want you to find my son," he pulled a picture out of his pocket and tossed it on Broots' desk, "This is what he looks like."
Broots nodded, "Right away, Mr. Lyle," glancing down at the photo, seeing the clear resemblance to Lyle and even Miss Parker.
After Lyle had walked away, Parker picked up the photo of the young man and stared at it, wondering once again who had hidden him from her family.
"Broots," she barked, making the computer tech jump at her voice, "While you are searching for the whereabouts of my nephew, see if you can't find out who his handler here was and why they felt the need to hide him away for all these years," she ordered, though her voice was much softer. She looked thoughtful as she gazed into the picture.
Broots opened his mouth, "Uh … Miss Parker, perhaps you should see this," the computer tech intoned, catching her attention.
Parker came to stand behind Broots and watched as the man brought up the memo he'd passed along to Jarod.
"Z?" Miss Parker asked, a frown creasing her brow, "Is that an initial or something?" she wondered.
Broots could only shrug, "I have no clue, Miss Parker."
It was Sydney's turn to explain all to her, "Several days ago, I received a call from Jarod asking me to find out whatever I could on a young man named Jeremy. I had no idea at the time that he was Lyle's son. When we ran the search, this memo was all we could find."
A heated breath hissed through her pinched nostrils and anger flared in her blue eyes, "Why the hell am I just learning about all of this? How did Jarod learn of Jeremy's existence in the first place?" she seethed.
No could answer that, except for maybe Jarod.
Suddenly a memory came back to her, piercing green eyes and a smug, secretive smile playing about bronzed lips.
"Did we ever find out the identity of our mysterious green-eyed man, Broots?" Miss Parker demanded.
Again, Broots shook his head, "No, not yet, Miss Parker."
She wanted to stamp her foot and demand answers from someone in a petulant voice, but Parkers did not do such things. A Parker would demand answers from the only person who could give them.
"Well, get back to work Broots and see what you can dig up. I have some questions for our mystery man," she smiled in a purely predatory fashion, ignoring the look of panic that crossed Sydney's face for an instant.
Jarod gripped the steering wheel in slick palms and wondered how he was going to reach this stone hewn man sitting next to him. Nothing he'd said had cracked even a dent in the man's defenses.
An inspired idea came to him; he smiled his little smile and turned to look over at the brooding figure of Jeremy, hunched over and huddled against the passenger side door as if he could shrink into the shadows.
"Do you remember much about your childhood, Jeremy?" Jarod asked nonchalantly.
Jeremy turned to give Jarod a suspicious look, wondering where this line of questioning would lead. He finally nodded, "A little."
"I don't suppose the Centre allowed you the luxury of knowing anything about the outside world, of experiencing American Pop Culture?"
He received a sullen glare from Jeremy this time, "Not really."
"Did you resent it? Learning about things like ice cream and cookies and pez when you should have been able to take them for granted? By the way," Jarod reached into his leather jacket's pocket and pulled out a pez dispenser and offered it to Jeremy, "They're very good, you should try some."
Jeremy eyes the cartoon head of bugs bunny with something akin to either disgust or suspicion, grabbed the plastic from Jarod's hand and tried to figure out how to make it work. As Jarod watched from the corner of his eye, he saw not Jeremy sitting there, but his brother, as he finally gave up and ripped Bug's head off with his teeth and poured the entire supply of pez into his mouth.
Jarod's obsidian eyes misted over for a moment before he was able to bring his emotions under check. The Centre had taken so many people from him, claimed enough casualties to last him several lifetimes. He wished he could give Jeremy back what the Centre had stolen from everyone. Their faith, their innocence and most of all, their lost childhood.
"Thanks," Jeremy mumbled around crushed sugary pellets, crunching the rest and swallowing. He leaned back against the seat of the car and sighed as if he'd just received a dose of some drug he'd been craving.
"You can't allow them to do to Caitlyn what they did to you, Jeremy. She deserves better than that, especially from you. You're her father, Jeremy, and fathers protect their children. Trista especially doesn't deserve to live a lifetime wondering where her daughter is. Could you live with yourself if you just allowed the Centre to win?"
Silence reigned in the car for a very long time as Jeremy contemplated Jarod's words. He was at war with himself. A lifetime of training, conditioning and protocols weren't easily broken. He swallowed heavily thinking about the brief time he'd been allowed to see his daughter. She had been so perfect, so very beautiful. An innocent cherub who needed protecting from the world's evils
The conflict left a bitter taste in his mouth that not even another mouthful of pez could erase, "There's a beach cottage seven miles down the coastline south of the Centre …" Jeremy began, unsure if he was indeed doing the right thing.
Jarod's heart soared as Jeremy explained to him where Caitlyn most likely would have been taken.
"Let's go get Trista," Jeremy told him, a small light dancing in his eyes.
"Of course, I couldn't leave here without her."
Broots had dissected the files he'd copied and finally figured that the only way to break the code was to go back to the original terminal from which he'd accessed them. So, here he was again, making his way to the office. His skin was beginning to crawl, and he knew this time the stakes were that much higher.
He slipped through the door and seated himself at the terminal, put the disk into the drive and began searching for the key to break the code. It had to be in there somewhere.
After fifteen minutes of fruitless searching, Broots was almost about to give up when he noticed an innocuous little file that he'd overlooked before. He clicked on it and knew he'd found what he'd been looking for.
He accessed the files again and began reading what was written there and paled noticeably, even for a man who hardly ever saw the sunlight for the hours he spent in front of a terminal.
"Oh my God," he breathed.
"I seriously doubt that God can hear you," a pleasantly feminine voice intoned behind him.
Spinning in surprise, Broots saw only the gun, a 9mm, standard Centre issue pointing at his bald and shining pate. Behind the gun, was a beautiful, but deadly serious woman.
"Stand up, Mr. Broots," she ordered her voice no less pleasant.
Shaking visibly, Broots did as she bid him, overcome to the point where he was certain he might just collapse in terror and bawl like a baby.
"I admire someone with the brains to discover my husband's plans, but it is unfortunate that we will never know what else that brain of yours will produce," she told him.
As her words sunk in, Broots began to stammer, but before he could even form one word, she attacked him and Broots' world went dark.