this is a lot of chapts put togather, hope you like, PLEASE review! thanks
Sark pulled on his lip thoughtfully. It felt as if a shadow was hovering over his heart, spreading an immense coldness through out his body. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to stop the pounding through out his body. Exhaling slowly, he watched the castle approach. The memories he'd worked so hard to forget came flooding back with a vengeance. The levy he built long ago to block the memories and the pain started to crumble then disintegrated completely.
"What was this place?" Sydney questioned, deciding to find out what she could until an opportunity for escape presented itself.
"It's not important; some old property belonging to your mother." It was the truth, to a degree.
Sydney debated whether it was the truth or not. Perplexed, she couldn't decipher his expression.
"You're a bad liar, Sark" She tried to sound convincing.
"So are you." He smirked.
So she didn't come off very convincing; she'd figure out what this place was soon enough.
"It looks so peaceful," she added, trying to get more information.
"It was anything but peaceful, Ms. Bristow."
Prepared for sarcasm, the truth in his voice unsettled her.
The car pulled behind the castle. The grounds were in flawless condition, confirming Sark's suspicions. He half-heartedly instructed Sydney to stay in the car, knowing she was in no position to do otherwise. He opened the door and got out, waiting to identify who was at the castle. A tall man, elegantly dressed, walked out cautiously.
"Welcome home, Sark!" The tall man spoke. Sark looked up at him threateningly. He had no idea Irina had allowed them to stay.
"Irina did tell you we were here?" He asked, reading Sark's expression.
Sark urgently confronted his once most trusted confident whom he hadn't seen in over a decade. "Ben, are you loyal to Irina Derevko?"
"No sir, I am not."
Sark reached secretly for his gun, "If not to her, than who?"
"My loyalty lies only with you, Sark."
Sark nodded gratefully.
"The woman in the car over there, Sydney Bristow, is a CIA agent. She had no idea regarding what this place is. Do you understand? Do not refer to this as my home."
"The woman Irina told us to expect?"
"She told you we were coming? When?" Sark looked around bewildered.
"We've know you were coming for months now."
"Months?" Sark yelled.
"She contacted us again a couple of days ago to confirm that Sydney would be with you."
"It's not possible," he said slowly, "She has been in hiding for months now."
"Sir, I swear on my life it's true!"
"Ben, she set all this up, I have no idea how or why. Days ago, Intel went out that I was a CIA agent. Every one of my contacts believes I betrayed them. I knew Irina set it up; I assumed it was because I was still pursuing Rambaldi artifacts, against her will. But all of this, I don't understand."
"Sark," Ben began, "There's more, the Rambaldi artifact came but Luke also sent another artifact with a note in it. I think you need to see it."
Sark looked around helplessly, realizing that he had truly been a pawn in Irina's games for months now, if not more.
"I'm bringing in Sydney Bristow. Remember, she thinks this is just some old property." He paused and looked back at Ben. "Honestly I don't know what she thinks but just watch what you say."
Sark walked up to the car and pulled Sydney out, cautious of her ankle. He forcefully pulled her by her shoulders behind the car. Face inches away from hers, he whispered, "My most trusted operative is here so don't bother trying to escape."
"What the hell are you doing this to me for?"
"Agent Bristow-"
"Save the Agent Bristow, Sark. I'm sick of you patronizing me." She struggled to keep eye contact.
"Alright Sydney, what makes you think I owe you any explanation?"
It was all she needed, she dove at him with all her pent up anger and frustration. She kicked his knee with her good leg. She struggled to wrap the chain from the handcuffs around his neck. He slammed his elbow into the side of her head. She staggered back, struggling to regain her balance. Sark grabbed her wrist and twisted it painfully behind her head, then kneed her in the stomach.
Sprawled on the ground, she gasped for air. Sark cockily leaned over her. She instinctively punched him in the face.
"Damn it, Sydney!" He held his nose, trying to stop the blood from dripping on his already ruined shirt. She grabbed his gun and pushed it into his neck as hard as she could. Throwing him against the car, she reached into his pockets, searching for the keys. Ignoring his smirk, she reached into his back pocket and grabbed the key. She unlocked the handcuffs and threw them as far as she could.
"I'll ask you again," she paused, breathing heavily, "what the hell is going on?"
"Like I said-" he began.
She slammed his head into the hood of the car, glaring at him menacingly, "Answer me, the truth, damn it!"
Sark tilted his head slightly and grinned at Sydney, "I think you are strongly mistaken Sydney. I tell you what I want," He paused and kicked her in the ankle. She fell to the ground. Pinning her to the ground, he finished, "When I want!" ~~~~ The room was quiet, but she knew she wasn't alone. Cautiously, she felt the gash on her head. Dry blood was entangled in her hair but the cut was no longer bleeding. Silently, she cursed herself for wasting her time questioning Sark's intentions instead of leaving when she had the chance. Holding her head, she started to stand. A wire immediately pulled her down. She stared furiously at the band around her ankle connected to the short wire anchored to the wall. She slumped down in defeat. The metal door, slightly open, let in a thin beam of light exposing the stone walls and dirt covered floor. Sark's operative was sitting outside the door, watching her. Someone came down the hall and passed the room. Exactly how many people were in the castle? Another person walked down the hall but stopped outside the room.
"Ben, is she awake?"
"I believe so, Sir. I was just about to alert you. Sir?" Ben hesitated, "Are you sure she doesn't need medical help? Her head wound was bleeding severely not to mention that she was unconscious for the last 3 hours."
"Head wounds bleed profusely," Sark answered, his voice void of any emotion.
"Sir?" Concern was etched in Ben's voice..
"I'm not worried," Sark answered sharply, "She is the most resilient person I've ever fought."
Sark pushed the door open and was welcomed by a furious Sydney.
"Was slamming a gun into my head really necessary?" Slumped against the wall, she dared him to answer.
"Glad to see your fairing fine, besides, you didn't leave me many options," he answered. He had changed into a clean white cotton shirt and khaki slacks. His hair was still damp from his shower.
He squatted down in front of her. Mouth set in his usual half frown, his heart raced. Even in the shadows, he could see why Ben was concerned. She looked like she'd been through hell and back, he thought guiltily. Blood covered the side of her head. Cuts and bruises covered her arms most likely from the accident and the hike to the plane. Her appearance looked even worse now against his clean clothes and freshly showered body. His leather coat was still wrapped around her tightly, covered in dried mud. Her eyes lacked the fight he admired so much.
Determined to bring it back, he began, "Sydney, I assure you escape is futile. I will personally guarantee you'll have nothing to return to."
"You son of a bitch," she leaned forward, pulling on the wire with every ounce on anger she possessed.
"Will, Francie, your father," he began, knowing that the old Sydney Bristow was back, "Vaughn."
"What the hell gives you the right to do this to me?" she asked, speaking through her teeth, "Why do you even want me here?"
"I don't want you anywhere Sydney, and I sure as hell don't want you here. That's the bloody problem. Irina destroyed it all, everything I worked for." Running his hands through his tousled curls, he continued, "I have no alliances, no favors to rely on, nothing."
"A tragedy Sark, really, yet I fail to see what I have to do with it."
"Don't you get it? You have everything to do with it. Sydney, you are the only one out there who can even put up a fight against me. You don't just give up when the awful Mr. Sark walks in."
Sydney stared at him, furiously trying to understand why he was telling her this, trying to find his true motivation for keeping her here.
Sark just watched her, then his voice filled with hesitation, he continued, "How could I possibly go into hiding and expect to return to anything if I allowed you to remain at the CIA uncompromised?"
"I don't understand.." she lied, the impact of his words sinking in.
Sark glanced up, solemnly, "Yes, you do."
"Who's he?" she asked softly, pointing to the shadow in the doorway.
"Ben," he answered, sick of the questions and weary of the fact that he was answering them. "Lets go."
"To where?" she asked.
"Your room." Cautiously, he leaned past her body slumped against the wall. Avoiding her eyes, he unhooked the wire from the ball and took off the band from her ankle, inadvertently brushing her skin.
Her body shivered involuntarily against his warm touch. Glancing up, she met his cold blue eyes. "The cold," she began.
"Indeed."
~~~~~~~~~~
The castle was even more stunning on the inside. Leaving the cell, the stone paths transformed in to the halls of the castle, becoming increasingly more beautiful as they walked. But it was a sad kind of beauty, worn down to a dull luster. Years of dark shadows and solitude had taken their toll.
Sark walked behind her in silence, lost in his own memories, speaking only to direct her down the labyrinth of halls. The sound of her crutches filled the halls with an eerie thudding. He stopped in a large hall. The one wall was covered in a gorgeous stained glass mural. The image of angels rose up to the ceiling, giving the room a reverent ambiance. Below the angels was the image of a bed of roses in every color, climbing to greet the heavens Sydney stopped beneath the window in awe. The subtle beauty of the picture, inexplicable created a feeling of hope. She leaned back on the crutches, studying the ceiling. The domed ceiling was gorgeous. Gold crown molding lined the edge of the ceiling. Gorgeous chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the crystal sending specks of light dancing across their faces. The floor was a mosaic of small marble chips, scattered with no apparent design. Staring at it though, she noticed a design that looked somewhat like the eye of Rambaldi. Dismissing it as a coincidence, she shivered just the same.
"They are 48 rooms in the castle. You have access to 47 of them." He pointed down the hall to the left, "That hall is restricted."
"Why?"
"I don't suggest pressing the matter. Your room," he pointed down the hall next to the forbidden wing, "is down there. I have been assured you will find everything you need already there."
She stood there, leaning on the crutches, waiting for him to finish speaking. To her surprise, he turned and walked down the forbidden wing without a second glance back at her.
~~~~~
The hall was dark and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. He breathed heavily as he walked down the hall, memories screaming in the silence, flooding his ears. Shadows hid in every corner, unveiling yet another memory he tried so hard to forget. His hand shook slightly as reached to push the heavy door open. The room looked exactly how he knew it would; no one dared to pick up the destroyed furniture, clean up the broken decorations, fix the ripped pictures. Walking slowly into his room, a lone tear escaped, tracing the jagged line of his broken heart down his cheek. Visions from that cursed night filled the room; the blood, the tears, the pain. If the promise of the mirror and the mysterious artifact weren't waiting on the other side of the room, he never would have had the strength to enter it again. Even now, he questioned if he had the strength to make it through the room.
He almost made it to the desk in the corner where the artifacts sat with out losing it. Bumping into his bed, a crumpled picture fell to the ground. A smiling boy hugging his mother and sister stared up at him. Leaning to pick it up, two more slid off the bed to the ground. More shining blue eyes watched him. One picture was of him, dressed up as an American cowboy, rescuing his sister. Another tear wound down his cheek and splashed on the ripped photo of his father. He picked it up, along with the others, grateful that the head was torn off the photo, sparing him the pain of having to look into those eyes again. Laying them on his bed, he walked to the desk.
His stomach lurched and his throat began to tighten, the same as always when he approached the work of Rambaldi. He picked up the mirror first. Trembling, he took a small vile of burgundy liquid and poured it onto a cloth. He wiped it over the tarnished metal and it immediately became a mirrored surface. He looked behind him, feeling foolish. He leaned closely to the mirror and whispered, "Irina Derevko". The mirror turned black. He stood there shaking, knowing he was so close to finding the placewhere Irina was hiding, and still capable of controlling his life. Colors swirled around on the metal, forming the hazy image of Irina standing on a roof. He smiled, relieved that his worse suspicions weren't true. She hadn't betrayed him, she truly was just in hiding, as she had told him. He looked closer at the image, looking for clues to discover her whereabouts. He nearly dropped the mirror, when he saw that the armed men in the background, were not her guards, but were holding their gun at her. He tried to read their uniforms, but couldn't, but the American flags on their shoulders was all he needed. The black market intel was true, Derevcho really had turned herself in to the CIA. The ultimate betrayal. He couldn't understand why. Everything she told him was a lie. The horror of her betrayal lessened the thrill that Rambaldi really had made the ultimate device. A mirror that could look into any person's lives. Taking the rag, he wiped it over the glass surface. It returned to a tarnished metal surface immediately.
Pocketing the vile, he picked up the small chest sitting next to the mirror. The chest was split into two sections. An ancient, yet sturdy wooden lid covered each compartment. Two locks held the lids on tight. An envelope was sitting next to the chest. Running his finger under the seam, he ripped a small hole in the envelope. A small skeleton key fell out, but no note was there to reveal the sender of the strange gift. He put the key in the first lock, but it didn't fit. Shaking slightly, he put it in the second lock. Turning it slightly, the lock opened and fell to the ground. The lid opened easily. Golden cloth filled the small compartment. Gently taking out the bundle of cloth, he felt a heavy object inside of it shift. Slowly, the gold silk slid off revealing a small glass box. Inside of it was a perfect red rose, it looked as if it was picked moments ago but he knew that was impossible. He placed it back in the box carefully, covering it with the gold silk.
He closed and locked the box, in a reverent manner, and left the room to go tell Ben what had just happened. ~~~~~~~~~ Even with the bedroom curtains closed, rays of sunshine sneaked in, dancing across Sydney's face. She was sound asleep on the huge canopy bed, wrapped up in a crimson down comfort. A mound of ivory and crimson pillows surrounded her. Next to her bed, sat a small wood table. It was piled high with lavender scented towels, soaps, delicious smelling perfumes, and every toiletry item she could possibly need. True to his word, Sark made sure she had everything she would need.
Slumped in an overstuffed chair, Sark noticed irritably that nothing had been used. His leather jacket lay in a crumpled heap next to the table. Waiting for her to wake, he went over every possible way the confrontation could play out to his favor. He studied her with fury still blazing in his eyes. All his anger and hurt from Irina's betrayal, he transferred to Sydney. He should have interrogated her immediately. He was foolishly ignoring his instincts. He was too confident that he had Sydney all figured out, that he knew every aspect of her life. Somehow he managed to ignore the signs that Irina was once again in contact with Sydney.
Movement across the room caught his attention. Sydney sat up slowly, the down blanket sliding down around her waist. Clad only in her torn t-shirt and jeans, she leaned forward groggily, pulling her knees in front of her chest.
"How long has Derevko been in CIA custody?" Sark questioned, unable to contain his rage.
Sydney ignored it all: the severity of Sark's question and all it implied, the unrepressed fury in his voice, the fact that Sark had been in her room, watching her sleep.
Staring at him, she began speaking. "I fell asleep last night praying this was all just a f***ed up dream." She said it not in anger or desperation, but with a solemn sense of acceptance and surrender. "I was desperate to fall asleep and to just wake up back in my own bed. But I didn't," She laughed coldly, "I woke up to a question like that. I woke up to you and your god damn games."
Sark leaned back, speechless. He hadn't expected to lose control that fast. He had been expecting her to scream at him, for her to be angry, or at least for her to be afraid. He needed to feed of those emotions, to break her down. Frantically he searched for the perfect line, a way to gain the control back.
"I-" Sark began, but stopped abruptly. Ben stood in the doorway, holding a small envelope.
"Sark I think-" Ben rolled back on his heels, barely containing his excitement.
Sark walked towards Ben and grabbed the envelope out of his hands. He turned back to Sydney. "This is isn't over."
"Is it ever?" she questioned softly before sliding back under the covers.
"I think it's the second key," Ben began excitedly, following Sark down the hall. "The key to the second Rambaldi compartment."
Ben shivered slightly but followed Sark as he entered the room. Carefully he wound his way past the crumpled pictures and destroyed furniture, joining Sark in front of the ancient chest. Sark ripped open the envelope and an oddly shaped skeleton key fell out. Once again, no note or address hinted to the sender's identity. He tried to put it in the second lock but it wouldn't fit.
"I don't understand," Sark whispered in disbelief, "It should fit."
Ben reached for the key. "Perhaps," Ben turned the key so that it was sideways. A small rod Sark hadn't noticed before stuck out. "Try it this way." Ben instructed, handing the key to Sark.
Sark tried it again with the key turned sideways. The lock opened and fell off with a small thud.
Ben grinned triumphantly. "Glad to know I can still kick your ass at something every once and awhile."
Sark wasn't listening. He opened the lid carefully, his eyes glowing a brilliant blue. Rolled up in the bottom of the compartment was a small piece of parchment. Sark recognized it immediately as the work of Rambaldi. He unrolled it carefully, smoothing the crumpled corners, marveling at the pristine shape it was in. Curvy script covered the paper.
"Ben.." Sark stared at the paper in awe. "It cant be."
"Cant be what?" Ben asked, his voice cracking in anticipation.
"It's the Rambaldi prophecy. It has to be." Sark solemnly handed the paper to Ben.
Ben stared in bewilderment. Sark's face filled the background of the parchment. "The man depicted will bring forth my greatest works, gaining the power to render the greatest power of either good or evil to utter desolation. The choice is his, but not his alone. A woman possessing unseen marks can quell his fire through love. Together they shall bring down the greatest evil. If, by his 30th birthday, this man cannot learn to love, then the greatest power of good and all it stands for is doomed."
"But I thought the prophecy was about Bristow?" Ben asked.
"The CIA could never prove it was. All the signs didn't fit together." Sark answered automatically. "Now I see why. It wasn't the real prophecy.." Sark trailed off, the full realization sinking in.
"Who set up Bristow?"
"My mother." Sydney answered, stepping forward from the shadows.
Sark hand dropped to his side, ready to grab his gun. "You shouldn't be in here, Sydney. Get out!"
Ben moved next to Sark. His warm green eyes flashed dangerously.
"My mother set it up. It all makes sense now. The CIA still thinks the prophecy is about my mother. She managed to show me that she was still alive by changing the prophecy and it made her life valuable to the CIA."
"I said get out." Sark ordered, knowing it was too late. She'd already seen the product of his weakest moment.
" You want to know how long my mother's been in CIA custody? Long enough to destroy what little closure I had over my mother's death. Long enough for me to question if she still loves me. I even began to hope she gave it all up for me. But now," she whispered, "I know the truth."
Sark stared her in the eyes. Anger, hurt and somehow envy shown in them, despite her attempts to hide it.
"The truth?" Sark asked, still unsure what started her outburst.
"I don't mean s*** to her. She changed the prophecy to protect you, she didn't care about what was going to happen to me if she changed it. She forced you in to hiding to protect you."
"What is wrong with you? You think she is protecting me? I didn't even know she went to the CIA! I don't need her to protect me."
"Apparently she thinks other wise."
He couldn't believe it. "Get out."
"What?"
"Get out! Just leave." Sark walked toward her, barely able to contain his rage. He pulled his gun out and shakily pointed it at her.
"Get out!" He fired at the wall behind her.
She ran as fast as she could down the hall. Her ankle buckled under her weight but she didn't stop. ~~~~~~~~ Vaughn walked quickly down the hall, weaving between nurses and hospital equipment. His heart quickened with every step he took. Hand hesitating on the door handle, the hospital bustle seemed to stop around him. Taking a deep breath, he entered the dark room. He walked slowly, dreading Jack's solution. No matter what, it wasn't going to be easy.
Jack turned, watching Vaughn. Stitches covered the left side of his face. His right eye was swollen shut. Jack caught Vaughn staring at him. "Looks worse then it feels."
"I, Alice sent these." Vaughn held a small flower arrangement out uncomfortably. "She overheard me talking to Weiss about visiting you in the hospital so she went and got these."
Jack pointed to a already growing pile of flowers and cards on his bed side table.
"Popular guy." Vaughn joked, pulling a chair up next to the bed. "Can I get you anything?"
"I only need one thing." Jack answered.
Vaughn looked down, waiting a moment before bringing up the question of how to create an alliance with LSoane. "So I was-" Vaughn began.
"Vaughn, we don't have much time." Jack interrupted. Gritting his teeth, he reached for a pad of paper and a pen. "I informed Sloane after speaking to you that there had been an accident involving me and Sydney. I purposely left out details."
He wrote down numbers on the pad of paper. "Located in this CIA file cabinet is a copy of your CIA profile, except you aren't Sydney's handler and all you do is desk work. Follow that as your cover."
He looked up to make sure Vaughn was following. "Take it to Sloane, he'll be expecting you. Also in the folder is a letter explaining that I have been keeping tabs on you for years as a possible SD-6 agent but the CIA got you first. Tell him that before the accident I approached you, telling you that a division of the CIA was interested in you."
"How is this going to help Syd?" Jack ignored him and started writing on the paper again.
"If he shows interest in you, give him this." He folded up the paper and motioned for Vaughn to take it. "This tells the details of "my accident". Sark's men attacked Syd and me. She is assumed to be in Sark's custody. It promises him Sark in return for his help, as well as any Rambaldi artifacts found. I also suggest that you would be a valuable asset to the search and his operations."
Vaughn ran his hands through his hair, terrified at the thought of bargaining with Sloane. "What if he doesn't show..interest?"
"Run like hell."
"Right."
A cheerful nurse walked in, opening the blinds so that a blast of light filled the room. "Mr. Bristow, how are we today?"
Jack said nothing. The nurse walked to the IV, and injected a small amount of medicine into the line. "Morphine to the rescue, right?" she smiled.
Jack turned to Vaughn, "he's expecting you at four, good luck." ~~~~~~~~~~ Sydney ran with the image of Sark's blue eyes, full of fury and rage, seared into her mind. Sleet stung her face and her ankle buckled from the effort, but she only ran harder. She slowed to a frantic jog only once the castle faded into the stormy haze. Her shoulders shook with sobs of pain, physical and mental. She had been so mistaken about her mother Her desperate need to have a mother figure back in her life blinded her from what Irina truly was: a heartless being who didn't deserve to live. Her father had been right all along. A heave cold settled in her bones, a stark contrast to the burning pain in her heart.
She stumbled onto the gravel path the car followed to the castle. She kicked a rock into the mud. She had no where to go. She couldn't go back to the castle and confront Sark, she knew he'd kill her. The CIA had no idea where she was, she doubted they even knew what continent. Vaughn didn't need her as terribly as she needed him and she had no mother. Jack could be dead for all she knew. The winter storm raged around her, the temperature was dropping every moment she stood on the road doing nothing. She looked down the road. In the distance she could see the jagged cliffs by the water, like fingers trying in vain to hold the water back. She could vaguely make out a dark shadow on the horizon. She smiled in spite of it all. Perhaps luck was still on her side.
Hurriedly, she leaned down, tucking her damp hair out of her face. She felt her ankle, relieved the swelling was going down. She knew it would worsen from running on it, but still, it was improving, Standing slowly, she glanced back at the castle one last time before jogging down the road. If she was lucky the plane would still be on the runway.
~~~~~~~~
"No Ben," Sark argued warily, anger flashing in his eyes. Sark distractedly rearranged the logs in the fireplace. Grabbing a sheet of old newspaper, he wadded it up and shoved it under the logs. He paused, saddened by the memory of his father teaching him how to build a fire, while his sisters laughed behind him when it wouldn't light.
A small old women walked into the room , carrying a tray of tea. "You boys got that fire started yet? It's getting awfully cold in the blasted castle."
"Working on it, Mel." Ben smiled warmly. Mel sat the tray down on a end table and left.
Ben walked over and squatted down next to Sark. "It's not right, leaving her out there." Lighting another match, he tossed it into the small fire.
I fail to see when that has ever stopped us in the past?" Sark's icy indifference was a stark contrast to Ben's emotional pleading.
"Sark, she's the prophesy! You can't just let her get away, not yet. We don't understand anything, the rose, the page, none of it."
"She wont get anywhere," Sark answered, "Not in this storm."
He got up and crossed the large living room. The fire softy lit the dark red wallpaper and elaborately carved mahogany furniture. Shadows danced across Ben's anguished face as he watched Sark get a cup of tea. He sat in a chair across from Sark.
"You've changed," Ben stated flatly, not as an accusation, just in acceptance.
"I believe you have as well," Sark replied, his voice was calm but its tone warned Ben to tread lightly.
"A normal life can do that to you," Ben laughed bitterly. Studying Sark he continued, "I should have expected you wouldn't be the same person I used to know so well, but still, when Irina contacted me to await your arrival here, I foolishly hoped it would be like old times."
"Those days are gone Ben. I was foolish back then, full of a vengeance and anger that did nothing but hold me back."
"But you say you've changed for the better?" Ben questioned, grinning slightly.
"Yes," Sark answered coolly, remembering how great at mind games Ben was.
"And yet you behaved like that in front of Ms. Bristow? The anger that you don't have anymore, managed to lose us a valuable asset." Ben concluded, triumph shining in his eyes.
"A valuable asset Ben? I have more respect for Agent Bristow's skills as a spy then anyone but an asset?" Sark asked skeptically.
"You're forgetting why you're held up in the god forsaken place to begin with. Irina trashed your reputation, and what better way to prove your loyalties then to have the CIA's strongest agent in your custody. Offer her as, shall we say, a token of good will." Ben looked up hopefully, "Well?"
"I see your point but-"
"And further more, the Sark I respected and admired, no matter how cunning and powerful he was, would never leave Agent Bristow stranded in this storm injured. It's not a fair fight. You can't convince me you've changed that much."
"It's different now. I have nothing to lose. It's just me, alone."
"You were never alone." Ben's eyes flashed dangerously. "I've heard the tales of the merciless Mr. Sark, but I don't believe them. Yes, you've followed orders, but I can see it in your face, your eyes, your hearts not in it. Your not just some assassin running around just for the love of the kill You have a good soul Sark, you've just forgotten ."
Running his hands through his hair, Sark began to speak.
"Don't tell me I'm wrong," Ben warned, his voice shaking slightly, " I sacrificed everything to help you. Everything! Don't tell me I did it for a man that became the very thing I was fighting." Ben stood up and wiped his eyes awkwardly, before walking out of the room.
Sark leaned back into his chair. Ben's words left a coldness in him he couldn't warm. Memories he had tried hard to forget surfaced with a vengeance. He wanted desperately to forget the way things used to be, the way he used to be . He spent so many sleepless nights distorting and twisting his past into something that justified what he had become, but Ben unraveled all of it. There was no justification. And more, for the first time in such a long time, he realized someone had faith in him as a person, someone hadn't given up on him.
He walked slowly out of the room and grabbed his coat. He followed the cold hall to Ben's room. He knocked lightly on the door. Ben opened it, his green eyes looked tired and old.
"I never said you were wrong," Sark whispered, as he struggled to conceal the raw pain in his voice. "You coming then?"
Ben shook his head.
"You work so hard to convince me to get her and then aren't coming?" Sark asked, bewildered.
"You'll be fine without me, I need to keep an eye on things here. I can't leave the artifacts for one. Hurry Sark, it's really getting bad out there." Ben ended, leaving no room for protest. He knew it wasn't his place to go save Syd, only Sark could do that.
~~~~~~~
Sydney stumbled towards the plane, a mixture of snow and sleet whirled around her, mixing with the icy ocean mist. Every part of her body was freezing and she was beginning to shiver. She could see the plane in the distance, like a beacon of hope. She was getting closer. Finally she reached it, as cold and miserable as when she found it in LA. She rattled the handle but it wouldn't open. She went to the side and tried to open the back, but it to was locked as well. She looked around for a branch or large rock to break the window with but she found none. Finally she grabbed a small rock from the ground and hurled it into the window. The rock collided with the window but it didn't break. Thousands of cracks filled the window, but when she pushed on it, the glass wouldn't give. She slammed the rock into it, but between the size of the rock and her exhaustion, she couldn't break the sturdy glass.
Desperate to escape the cold and the storm, she ran around the airplane trying to find shelter from the wind. The way the plane was positioned on the field, the wind came at her from all directions. There was no shelter to be found. Pulling the shreds of her shirt around her tightly, she went towards the cliffs in hopes of finding shelter there. The grass faded into gravel and eventually the cliffs. They were dangerously slippery from the snow. Carefully she stepped onto them. She followed a crevice downward, all the while weary of the ocean, a long drop below. She made her way to a small overhang in the steep cracks between the boulders. She found a small amount of shelter from the wind and snow in a small dugout beneath the overhang. She curled up tightly to stay warm and waited for the night to come.
Sark's car sped along the slippery road to the airplane. Rapping his coat around him tightly, he approached the airplane. One window was shattered but, as he expected, it wasn't broken. Good to know the bullet proof glass worked, he thought grimly. "Sydney!" He yelled, still amazed Ben had convinced him to come out here to rescue the enemy.
She faintly heard a voice but wrote it off as the wind. She shivered, wishing she still had Sark's jacket. Nothing seemed to matter now. The prophesy, all her anger and resentment towards her mother, it seemed so trivial now.
Sark walked towards the ocean, looking for her. He was beginning to agree with Ben. It was freezing and the cold seemed to penetrate to his bones. "Sydney!"
She defiantly heard a voice this time. She looked out of her small shelter but saw nothing. The fog and snow were getting so bad she couldn't see anything but the rocks and the waves breaking below her. She was beginning to imagine things, she worried.
"Sydney!" He yelled, walking along the rocks. He had no idea why she would be at the cliffs but if she was desperate enough, she could find shelter there. He knew the old hide outs from when he was young and used them to hide from his sisters. "Sydney!" he yelled again. "Sydney!"
She sat up at the sound of her name and looked quickly around the rocks but couldn't see anything. Past the shelter, all she could see was the steep rocky slope dropping off into the ocean below it. She curled back up in the corner of the shelter and listened to her name being called over and over. She was losing it from the cold faster then she thought.
Sark stumbled on the rocks, they were now slippery with snow and the puddles from the rain earlier were freezing over. Almost on his hand and knees he crept towards the largest hideout in the rocks. "Sydney!"
There was defiantly a British accent calling her name. It couldn't be Sark though. She heard her name again, louder this time. "Sark?" She yelled, looking around in the haze.
She could see him, a dark figure moving awkwardly across the rocks. Why did he come for her when he sent her away? It didn't matter why, he held the promise of shelter and warmth, even the cold cell was better than this wintry hell. "Sark!" She yelled desperately.
He heard her. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He watched her crawl out awkwardly from the shelter. He stumbled carefully forward towards her. He looked down past the shelter. A steep drop off was next to it. Slowly he went over the rocks to her. "Sydney!" he yelled.
She never thought she would be so happy to see Sark. His eyes blazed blue with uncertain emotion. He met her in front of the shelter. He stood there calmly but she held onto the rocks, not trusting the loose gravel she stood on. One false step and she knew she'd be over the edge.
Her mind raced with a million scenarios explaining his presence. None of them ended well. "Why are you here?" She asked, her brown eyes weary and full of fear as she looked at the ledge only a few feet away.
He shook his head. "Not now. Let's go, I'll follow you out."
She gingerly stepped on her ankle, hoping it was still holding up. She grimaced but began to half walk, half crawl, across the cliffs. Sark began to follow her. Before he realized what happened, he stepped on a lose rock and the gravel started sliding off the edge, taking him with it. He desperately tried to hold onto the rocks around him, but everything was falling. The crashing of the waves was a dull roar in his ears as he slid towards the edge. "Sydney!" he yelled hoarsely, clutching at the rolling gravel.
She came back cautiously as soon as she heard the rocks falling. Sark was sliding over the edge. She got as close as she could to him without making the rock slide worse. She could barely see anything, the wind and snow were blowing so fiercely. "Hold on!" She reached for him but he was too far down. His feet were already over the edge. She reached again, bracing herself against the shelter. She grabbed his cold hand tightly and began pulling him back. He looked back at her, his eyes full of fear and helplessness. She screamed in horror as a large rock broke lose and collided into Sark's head. His hand went limp in hers. She pulled him up to safety, cradling his head in her lap. Blood already covered the wounded side of his face. She wiped it out of his eyes. "Don't be dead," she pleaded, she couldn't handle the thought of being responsible for yet another death in her life. His body lay limp on the ground, his head was a dead weight in her lap.
Sydney gently felt Sark's neck. A weak pulse was still there. Adrenaline rushing through her veins, she lifted him out of her lap and stood up, slowly made her way off the cliffs. His black car stood waiting by the plane. She put him down next to the car and opened the door. She pulled him in, smearing blood and melting snow across the expensive leather.
She drove recklessly back to the castle, nearly skidding out of control twice. She jumped out of car in front of the castle. "Ben! Ben!" She yelled frantically, pulling Sark into her arms. Ben came running to her, and grabbed Sark from Sydney. "What happened to him?" Ben yelled.
"He slipped and a rock.." Syd stuttered, shivering uncontrollably. Mel met them at the door and wrapped blankets around them. "My god, I knew it would come to this." she muttered, guiding Sydney to her room. "Come dear, lets get some dry clothes on you."
Sydney entered her room in a daze. Mel started a warm bath for her and laid out warm clothes for her. "Warm up and get some rest, dear." She smiled sweetly before hurrying down the hall to help Sark. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was still dark when she woke up in navy sweat pants and a warm thermal shirt. A soft cast had been put on her ankle. She barely remembered how she ended up in the bed. Scenes from earlier that night came flashing back. The storm, the cliffs, Sark barely alive, laying in her arms. Slowly, she slid from the warmth of the blankets. Heart pounding, she left her room, knowing what she had to do. The castle was quiet around her. Silently, she walked down the dark hall to where she figured Sark was sleeping. Reluctantly, she approached the nightmarish room where she saw the Rambaldi artifacts and heard the prophesy. Ben was asleep in a chair outside the room and the old women, she vaguely recalled as Mel, was no where to be seen. She opened the heavy wood door, and gasped.
Sark lay motionless on the bed. His face was bruised and a large gauze bandage covered the gash from the rock. Small bruises covered his arm that wasn't hidden beneath the sheets. Someone had started a morphine drip. He truly looked dead, she thought grimly. There was no color in his face and his breathing was shallow. His hair was tangled around his head.
The destruction in the room, that so vividly showed the pain the demolisher must have felt, was cleaned up slightly. Order had been restored with the furniture. A small chest sat beneath a window and a dresser was against the opposing wall. The wooden Rambaldi box she glimpsed earlier was put away, but a mysterious flower was rapped in a cloth on top of the chest. She walked over to it. How odd for a rose to be alive in winter. Even in the dark room, she could tell it's petals were blood red and the stem was the purest of greens. She reached to touch it but stopped, midair. She felt a sense of foreboding surrounding the flower, as well as a reverence she didn't want to disturb. She backed away.
There was a small pile of papers sitting on the dresser. Not yet ready to face the body laying on the bed, she continued to creep around the room , following her instincts. She shifted through the papers. Three crumbled pictures fell out. Sark was dressed in a cross between a cowboy from a John Wayne movie and Davey Crocket. His sister stood beside him, blue eyes twinkling. Another picture was of him and his sisters. The third was ripped in half, the long torso and legs of a man was all that was left. She closed her eyes, clutching the pictures. The images of Sark as anything but a cold blood killer unnerved her. It threatened to destroy the image of Sark she had. The pictures were bringing up other sides of him she didn't want to face, to factor into her definition of Sark.
She jumped when Sark shifted in the bed. What was she doing? He was the enemy, she should be upset he didn't die. He was saving you, a small voice answered. She walked quietly to the edge of his bed. She sat on the side cautiously watching him. Before she realized what she was doing, she reached forward and took his hand in hers. It was so cold. She stood up to get another blanket. He shifted as soon as she let go and moaned softly. She grabbed a blanket off his dresser and covered him with it. She went to the table next to his bed and grabbed a new pad of gauze. Carefully she took off the medical tape and the pad. Her stomach lurched. A larch gash was above his ear, the side of his head was puffy and bruised. She smoothed his hair away from the wound. He looked so fragile. She gently taped the new pad of gauze over the gash. Looking back at the door, she walked back to the side of his bed and sat back down, reaching for his hand immediately. "Hold on Sark," she whispered, squeezing his hand.
Ben walked in quietly and smiled in spite of the fact that Sark was barely hanging on. Sydney was sound asleep on the bed, holding Sark's hand in her own. He tapped her shoulder slightly. She stood up quickly, embarrassed.
"You're fine." Ben smiled. "I just wondered if you needed anything."
"Coffee would be great," she smiled.
"Exactly what I was on my way to get for myself. Care to come down to the kitchen with me? I don't want to wake Mel She's had a long night."
She smiled and followed Ben out of the room.
The kitchen was surprisingly small. It was dark yet cozy in the dim light. Smells of delicious foods wafted around them. It was fairly modern though. It had dark granite counters and a stainless steel appliances.
They sat at the counter, waiting for the coffee to be done.
"So what's your story? You don't look like you belong in the business." Sydney asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence between them. "How do you know Sark anyway?"
"His dad and my dad were...business partners."
"Really?" She asked, getting up to grab the pot of coffee. "With what?"
"Oh, illegal arms trading, blackmail, the works," Ben laughed, "top shelf," he added.
"Thanks." She reached up and grabbed two coffee cups and brought them back to the counter.
"So how is it you guys ended up together, and in France?"
"My father died in plane crash when I was ten. Sark's family took me in. We left England, and moved here. It was closer to Sark's father's business. His mother was a good person. She gave up everything for Sark's father," he added sadly.
"What happened to his family? I saw the pictures in his room. They were beautiful children." And why the hell was a picture of a man ripped up?
"It's not my story to tell, Ms. Bristow. Just remember, circumstance can make a person become something they are not. People change but their hearts don't. I truly believe Sark has a good heart."
Sydney sat her empty cup in the sink. "And you may be the only one, Ben. Thanks for the coffee."
"He saved your life Ms. Bristow," Ben added. Sydney was half way down the hall when he said that, but he saw her slow a bit before walking briskly back down the hall.
Sark pulled on his lip thoughtfully. It felt as if a shadow was hovering over his heart, spreading an immense coldness through out his body. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to stop the pounding through out his body. Exhaling slowly, he watched the castle approach. The memories he'd worked so hard to forget came flooding back with a vengeance. The levy he built long ago to block the memories and the pain started to crumble then disintegrated completely.
"What was this place?" Sydney questioned, deciding to find out what she could until an opportunity for escape presented itself.
"It's not important; some old property belonging to your mother." It was the truth, to a degree.
Sydney debated whether it was the truth or not. Perplexed, she couldn't decipher his expression.
"You're a bad liar, Sark" She tried to sound convincing.
"So are you." He smirked.
So she didn't come off very convincing; she'd figure out what this place was soon enough.
"It looks so peaceful," she added, trying to get more information.
"It was anything but peaceful, Ms. Bristow."
Prepared for sarcasm, the truth in his voice unsettled her.
The car pulled behind the castle. The grounds were in flawless condition, confirming Sark's suspicions. He half-heartedly instructed Sydney to stay in the car, knowing she was in no position to do otherwise. He opened the door and got out, waiting to identify who was at the castle. A tall man, elegantly dressed, walked out cautiously.
"Welcome home, Sark!" The tall man spoke. Sark looked up at him threateningly. He had no idea Irina had allowed them to stay.
"Irina did tell you we were here?" He asked, reading Sark's expression.
Sark urgently confronted his once most trusted confident whom he hadn't seen in over a decade. "Ben, are you loyal to Irina Derevko?"
"No sir, I am not."
Sark reached secretly for his gun, "If not to her, than who?"
"My loyalty lies only with you, Sark."
Sark nodded gratefully.
"The woman in the car over there, Sydney Bristow, is a CIA agent. She had no idea regarding what this place is. Do you understand? Do not refer to this as my home."
"The woman Irina told us to expect?"
"She told you we were coming? When?" Sark looked around bewildered.
"We've know you were coming for months now."
"Months?" Sark yelled.
"She contacted us again a couple of days ago to confirm that Sydney would be with you."
"It's not possible," he said slowly, "She has been in hiding for months now."
"Sir, I swear on my life it's true!"
"Ben, she set all this up, I have no idea how or why. Days ago, Intel went out that I was a CIA agent. Every one of my contacts believes I betrayed them. I knew Irina set it up; I assumed it was because I was still pursuing Rambaldi artifacts, against her will. But all of this, I don't understand."
"Sark," Ben began, "There's more, the Rambaldi artifact came but Luke also sent another artifact with a note in it. I think you need to see it."
Sark looked around helplessly, realizing that he had truly been a pawn in Irina's games for months now, if not more.
"I'm bringing in Sydney Bristow. Remember, she thinks this is just some old property." He paused and looked back at Ben. "Honestly I don't know what she thinks but just watch what you say."
Sark walked up to the car and pulled Sydney out, cautious of her ankle. He forcefully pulled her by her shoulders behind the car. Face inches away from hers, he whispered, "My most trusted operative is here so don't bother trying to escape."
"What the hell are you doing this to me for?"
"Agent Bristow-"
"Save the Agent Bristow, Sark. I'm sick of you patronizing me." She struggled to keep eye contact.
"Alright Sydney, what makes you think I owe you any explanation?"
It was all she needed, she dove at him with all her pent up anger and frustration. She kicked his knee with her good leg. She struggled to wrap the chain from the handcuffs around his neck. He slammed his elbow into the side of her head. She staggered back, struggling to regain her balance. Sark grabbed her wrist and twisted it painfully behind her head, then kneed her in the stomach.
Sprawled on the ground, she gasped for air. Sark cockily leaned over her. She instinctively punched him in the face.
"Damn it, Sydney!" He held his nose, trying to stop the blood from dripping on his already ruined shirt. She grabbed his gun and pushed it into his neck as hard as she could. Throwing him against the car, she reached into his pockets, searching for the keys. Ignoring his smirk, she reached into his back pocket and grabbed the key. She unlocked the handcuffs and threw them as far as she could.
"I'll ask you again," she paused, breathing heavily, "what the hell is going on?"
"Like I said-" he began.
She slammed his head into the hood of the car, glaring at him menacingly, "Answer me, the truth, damn it!"
Sark tilted his head slightly and grinned at Sydney, "I think you are strongly mistaken Sydney. I tell you what I want," He paused and kicked her in the ankle. She fell to the ground. Pinning her to the ground, he finished, "When I want!" ~~~~ The room was quiet, but she knew she wasn't alone. Cautiously, she felt the gash on her head. Dry blood was entangled in her hair but the cut was no longer bleeding. Silently, she cursed herself for wasting her time questioning Sark's intentions instead of leaving when she had the chance. Holding her head, she started to stand. A wire immediately pulled her down. She stared furiously at the band around her ankle connected to the short wire anchored to the wall. She slumped down in defeat. The metal door, slightly open, let in a thin beam of light exposing the stone walls and dirt covered floor. Sark's operative was sitting outside the door, watching her. Someone came down the hall and passed the room. Exactly how many people were in the castle? Another person walked down the hall but stopped outside the room.
"Ben, is she awake?"
"I believe so, Sir. I was just about to alert you. Sir?" Ben hesitated, "Are you sure she doesn't need medical help? Her head wound was bleeding severely not to mention that she was unconscious for the last 3 hours."
"Head wounds bleed profusely," Sark answered, his voice void of any emotion.
"Sir?" Concern was etched in Ben's voice..
"I'm not worried," Sark answered sharply, "She is the most resilient person I've ever fought."
Sark pushed the door open and was welcomed by a furious Sydney.
"Was slamming a gun into my head really necessary?" Slumped against the wall, she dared him to answer.
"Glad to see your fairing fine, besides, you didn't leave me many options," he answered. He had changed into a clean white cotton shirt and khaki slacks. His hair was still damp from his shower.
He squatted down in front of her. Mouth set in his usual half frown, his heart raced. Even in the shadows, he could see why Ben was concerned. She looked like she'd been through hell and back, he thought guiltily. Blood covered the side of her head. Cuts and bruises covered her arms most likely from the accident and the hike to the plane. Her appearance looked even worse now against his clean clothes and freshly showered body. His leather coat was still wrapped around her tightly, covered in dried mud. Her eyes lacked the fight he admired so much.
Determined to bring it back, he began, "Sydney, I assure you escape is futile. I will personally guarantee you'll have nothing to return to."
"You son of a bitch," she leaned forward, pulling on the wire with every ounce on anger she possessed.
"Will, Francie, your father," he began, knowing that the old Sydney Bristow was back, "Vaughn."
"What the hell gives you the right to do this to me?" she asked, speaking through her teeth, "Why do you even want me here?"
"I don't want you anywhere Sydney, and I sure as hell don't want you here. That's the bloody problem. Irina destroyed it all, everything I worked for." Running his hands through his tousled curls, he continued, "I have no alliances, no favors to rely on, nothing."
"A tragedy Sark, really, yet I fail to see what I have to do with it."
"Don't you get it? You have everything to do with it. Sydney, you are the only one out there who can even put up a fight against me. You don't just give up when the awful Mr. Sark walks in."
Sydney stared at him, furiously trying to understand why he was telling her this, trying to find his true motivation for keeping her here.
Sark just watched her, then his voice filled with hesitation, he continued, "How could I possibly go into hiding and expect to return to anything if I allowed you to remain at the CIA uncompromised?"
"I don't understand.." she lied, the impact of his words sinking in.
Sark glanced up, solemnly, "Yes, you do."
"Who's he?" she asked softly, pointing to the shadow in the doorway.
"Ben," he answered, sick of the questions and weary of the fact that he was answering them. "Lets go."
"To where?" she asked.
"Your room." Cautiously, he leaned past her body slumped against the wall. Avoiding her eyes, he unhooked the wire from the ball and took off the band from her ankle, inadvertently brushing her skin.
Her body shivered involuntarily against his warm touch. Glancing up, she met his cold blue eyes. "The cold," she began.
"Indeed."
~~~~~~~~~~
The castle was even more stunning on the inside. Leaving the cell, the stone paths transformed in to the halls of the castle, becoming increasingly more beautiful as they walked. But it was a sad kind of beauty, worn down to a dull luster. Years of dark shadows and solitude had taken their toll.
Sark walked behind her in silence, lost in his own memories, speaking only to direct her down the labyrinth of halls. The sound of her crutches filled the halls with an eerie thudding. He stopped in a large hall. The one wall was covered in a gorgeous stained glass mural. The image of angels rose up to the ceiling, giving the room a reverent ambiance. Below the angels was the image of a bed of roses in every color, climbing to greet the heavens Sydney stopped beneath the window in awe. The subtle beauty of the picture, inexplicable created a feeling of hope. She leaned back on the crutches, studying the ceiling. The domed ceiling was gorgeous. Gold crown molding lined the edge of the ceiling. Gorgeous chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the crystal sending specks of light dancing across their faces. The floor was a mosaic of small marble chips, scattered with no apparent design. Staring at it though, she noticed a design that looked somewhat like the eye of Rambaldi. Dismissing it as a coincidence, she shivered just the same.
"They are 48 rooms in the castle. You have access to 47 of them." He pointed down the hall to the left, "That hall is restricted."
"Why?"
"I don't suggest pressing the matter. Your room," he pointed down the hall next to the forbidden wing, "is down there. I have been assured you will find everything you need already there."
She stood there, leaning on the crutches, waiting for him to finish speaking. To her surprise, he turned and walked down the forbidden wing without a second glance back at her.
~~~~~
The hall was dark and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. He breathed heavily as he walked down the hall, memories screaming in the silence, flooding his ears. Shadows hid in every corner, unveiling yet another memory he tried so hard to forget. His hand shook slightly as reached to push the heavy door open. The room looked exactly how he knew it would; no one dared to pick up the destroyed furniture, clean up the broken decorations, fix the ripped pictures. Walking slowly into his room, a lone tear escaped, tracing the jagged line of his broken heart down his cheek. Visions from that cursed night filled the room; the blood, the tears, the pain. If the promise of the mirror and the mysterious artifact weren't waiting on the other side of the room, he never would have had the strength to enter it again. Even now, he questioned if he had the strength to make it through the room.
He almost made it to the desk in the corner where the artifacts sat with out losing it. Bumping into his bed, a crumpled picture fell to the ground. A smiling boy hugging his mother and sister stared up at him. Leaning to pick it up, two more slid off the bed to the ground. More shining blue eyes watched him. One picture was of him, dressed up as an American cowboy, rescuing his sister. Another tear wound down his cheek and splashed on the ripped photo of his father. He picked it up, along with the others, grateful that the head was torn off the photo, sparing him the pain of having to look into those eyes again. Laying them on his bed, he walked to the desk.
His stomach lurched and his throat began to tighten, the same as always when he approached the work of Rambaldi. He picked up the mirror first. Trembling, he took a small vile of burgundy liquid and poured it onto a cloth. He wiped it over the tarnished metal and it immediately became a mirrored surface. He looked behind him, feeling foolish. He leaned closely to the mirror and whispered, "Irina Derevko". The mirror turned black. He stood there shaking, knowing he was so close to finding the placewhere Irina was hiding, and still capable of controlling his life. Colors swirled around on the metal, forming the hazy image of Irina standing on a roof. He smiled, relieved that his worse suspicions weren't true. She hadn't betrayed him, she truly was just in hiding, as she had told him. He looked closer at the image, looking for clues to discover her whereabouts. He nearly dropped the mirror, when he saw that the armed men in the background, were not her guards, but were holding their gun at her. He tried to read their uniforms, but couldn't, but the American flags on their shoulders was all he needed. The black market intel was true, Derevcho really had turned herself in to the CIA. The ultimate betrayal. He couldn't understand why. Everything she told him was a lie. The horror of her betrayal lessened the thrill that Rambaldi really had made the ultimate device. A mirror that could look into any person's lives. Taking the rag, he wiped it over the glass surface. It returned to a tarnished metal surface immediately.
Pocketing the vile, he picked up the small chest sitting next to the mirror. The chest was split into two sections. An ancient, yet sturdy wooden lid covered each compartment. Two locks held the lids on tight. An envelope was sitting next to the chest. Running his finger under the seam, he ripped a small hole in the envelope. A small skeleton key fell out, but no note was there to reveal the sender of the strange gift. He put the key in the first lock, but it didn't fit. Shaking slightly, he put it in the second lock. Turning it slightly, the lock opened and fell to the ground. The lid opened easily. Golden cloth filled the small compartment. Gently taking out the bundle of cloth, he felt a heavy object inside of it shift. Slowly, the gold silk slid off revealing a small glass box. Inside of it was a perfect red rose, it looked as if it was picked moments ago but he knew that was impossible. He placed it back in the box carefully, covering it with the gold silk.
He closed and locked the box, in a reverent manner, and left the room to go tell Ben what had just happened. ~~~~~~~~~ Even with the bedroom curtains closed, rays of sunshine sneaked in, dancing across Sydney's face. She was sound asleep on the huge canopy bed, wrapped up in a crimson down comfort. A mound of ivory and crimson pillows surrounded her. Next to her bed, sat a small wood table. It was piled high with lavender scented towels, soaps, delicious smelling perfumes, and every toiletry item she could possibly need. True to his word, Sark made sure she had everything she would need.
Slumped in an overstuffed chair, Sark noticed irritably that nothing had been used. His leather jacket lay in a crumpled heap next to the table. Waiting for her to wake, he went over every possible way the confrontation could play out to his favor. He studied her with fury still blazing in his eyes. All his anger and hurt from Irina's betrayal, he transferred to Sydney. He should have interrogated her immediately. He was foolishly ignoring his instincts. He was too confident that he had Sydney all figured out, that he knew every aspect of her life. Somehow he managed to ignore the signs that Irina was once again in contact with Sydney.
Movement across the room caught his attention. Sydney sat up slowly, the down blanket sliding down around her waist. Clad only in her torn t-shirt and jeans, she leaned forward groggily, pulling her knees in front of her chest.
"How long has Derevko been in CIA custody?" Sark questioned, unable to contain his rage.
Sydney ignored it all: the severity of Sark's question and all it implied, the unrepressed fury in his voice, the fact that Sark had been in her room, watching her sleep.
Staring at him, she began speaking. "I fell asleep last night praying this was all just a f***ed up dream." She said it not in anger or desperation, but with a solemn sense of acceptance and surrender. "I was desperate to fall asleep and to just wake up back in my own bed. But I didn't," She laughed coldly, "I woke up to a question like that. I woke up to you and your god damn games."
Sark leaned back, speechless. He hadn't expected to lose control that fast. He had been expecting her to scream at him, for her to be angry, or at least for her to be afraid. He needed to feed of those emotions, to break her down. Frantically he searched for the perfect line, a way to gain the control back.
"I-" Sark began, but stopped abruptly. Ben stood in the doorway, holding a small envelope.
"Sark I think-" Ben rolled back on his heels, barely containing his excitement.
Sark walked towards Ben and grabbed the envelope out of his hands. He turned back to Sydney. "This is isn't over."
"Is it ever?" she questioned softly before sliding back under the covers.
"I think it's the second key," Ben began excitedly, following Sark down the hall. "The key to the second Rambaldi compartment."
Ben shivered slightly but followed Sark as he entered the room. Carefully he wound his way past the crumpled pictures and destroyed furniture, joining Sark in front of the ancient chest. Sark ripped open the envelope and an oddly shaped skeleton key fell out. Once again, no note or address hinted to the sender's identity. He tried to put it in the second lock but it wouldn't fit.
"I don't understand," Sark whispered in disbelief, "It should fit."
Ben reached for the key. "Perhaps," Ben turned the key so that it was sideways. A small rod Sark hadn't noticed before stuck out. "Try it this way." Ben instructed, handing the key to Sark.
Sark tried it again with the key turned sideways. The lock opened and fell off with a small thud.
Ben grinned triumphantly. "Glad to know I can still kick your ass at something every once and awhile."
Sark wasn't listening. He opened the lid carefully, his eyes glowing a brilliant blue. Rolled up in the bottom of the compartment was a small piece of parchment. Sark recognized it immediately as the work of Rambaldi. He unrolled it carefully, smoothing the crumpled corners, marveling at the pristine shape it was in. Curvy script covered the paper.
"Ben.." Sark stared at the paper in awe. "It cant be."
"Cant be what?" Ben asked, his voice cracking in anticipation.
"It's the Rambaldi prophecy. It has to be." Sark solemnly handed the paper to Ben.
Ben stared in bewilderment. Sark's face filled the background of the parchment. "The man depicted will bring forth my greatest works, gaining the power to render the greatest power of either good or evil to utter desolation. The choice is his, but not his alone. A woman possessing unseen marks can quell his fire through love. Together they shall bring down the greatest evil. If, by his 30th birthday, this man cannot learn to love, then the greatest power of good and all it stands for is doomed."
"But I thought the prophecy was about Bristow?" Ben asked.
"The CIA could never prove it was. All the signs didn't fit together." Sark answered automatically. "Now I see why. It wasn't the real prophecy.." Sark trailed off, the full realization sinking in.
"Who set up Bristow?"
"My mother." Sydney answered, stepping forward from the shadows.
Sark hand dropped to his side, ready to grab his gun. "You shouldn't be in here, Sydney. Get out!"
Ben moved next to Sark. His warm green eyes flashed dangerously.
"My mother set it up. It all makes sense now. The CIA still thinks the prophecy is about my mother. She managed to show me that she was still alive by changing the prophecy and it made her life valuable to the CIA."
"I said get out." Sark ordered, knowing it was too late. She'd already seen the product of his weakest moment.
" You want to know how long my mother's been in CIA custody? Long enough to destroy what little closure I had over my mother's death. Long enough for me to question if she still loves me. I even began to hope she gave it all up for me. But now," she whispered, "I know the truth."
Sark stared her in the eyes. Anger, hurt and somehow envy shown in them, despite her attempts to hide it.
"The truth?" Sark asked, still unsure what started her outburst.
"I don't mean s*** to her. She changed the prophecy to protect you, she didn't care about what was going to happen to me if she changed it. She forced you in to hiding to protect you."
"What is wrong with you? You think she is protecting me? I didn't even know she went to the CIA! I don't need her to protect me."
"Apparently she thinks other wise."
He couldn't believe it. "Get out."
"What?"
"Get out! Just leave." Sark walked toward her, barely able to contain his rage. He pulled his gun out and shakily pointed it at her.
"Get out!" He fired at the wall behind her.
She ran as fast as she could down the hall. Her ankle buckled under her weight but she didn't stop. ~~~~~~~~ Vaughn walked quickly down the hall, weaving between nurses and hospital equipment. His heart quickened with every step he took. Hand hesitating on the door handle, the hospital bustle seemed to stop around him. Taking a deep breath, he entered the dark room. He walked slowly, dreading Jack's solution. No matter what, it wasn't going to be easy.
Jack turned, watching Vaughn. Stitches covered the left side of his face. His right eye was swollen shut. Jack caught Vaughn staring at him. "Looks worse then it feels."
"I, Alice sent these." Vaughn held a small flower arrangement out uncomfortably. "She overheard me talking to Weiss about visiting you in the hospital so she went and got these."
Jack pointed to a already growing pile of flowers and cards on his bed side table.
"Popular guy." Vaughn joked, pulling a chair up next to the bed. "Can I get you anything?"
"I only need one thing." Jack answered.
Vaughn looked down, waiting a moment before bringing up the question of how to create an alliance with LSoane. "So I was-" Vaughn began.
"Vaughn, we don't have much time." Jack interrupted. Gritting his teeth, he reached for a pad of paper and a pen. "I informed Sloane after speaking to you that there had been an accident involving me and Sydney. I purposely left out details."
He wrote down numbers on the pad of paper. "Located in this CIA file cabinet is a copy of your CIA profile, except you aren't Sydney's handler and all you do is desk work. Follow that as your cover."
He looked up to make sure Vaughn was following. "Take it to Sloane, he'll be expecting you. Also in the folder is a letter explaining that I have been keeping tabs on you for years as a possible SD-6 agent but the CIA got you first. Tell him that before the accident I approached you, telling you that a division of the CIA was interested in you."
"How is this going to help Syd?" Jack ignored him and started writing on the paper again.
"If he shows interest in you, give him this." He folded up the paper and motioned for Vaughn to take it. "This tells the details of "my accident". Sark's men attacked Syd and me. She is assumed to be in Sark's custody. It promises him Sark in return for his help, as well as any Rambaldi artifacts found. I also suggest that you would be a valuable asset to the search and his operations."
Vaughn ran his hands through his hair, terrified at the thought of bargaining with Sloane. "What if he doesn't show..interest?"
"Run like hell."
"Right."
A cheerful nurse walked in, opening the blinds so that a blast of light filled the room. "Mr. Bristow, how are we today?"
Jack said nothing. The nurse walked to the IV, and injected a small amount of medicine into the line. "Morphine to the rescue, right?" she smiled.
Jack turned to Vaughn, "he's expecting you at four, good luck." ~~~~~~~~~~ Sydney ran with the image of Sark's blue eyes, full of fury and rage, seared into her mind. Sleet stung her face and her ankle buckled from the effort, but she only ran harder. She slowed to a frantic jog only once the castle faded into the stormy haze. Her shoulders shook with sobs of pain, physical and mental. She had been so mistaken about her mother Her desperate need to have a mother figure back in her life blinded her from what Irina truly was: a heartless being who didn't deserve to live. Her father had been right all along. A heave cold settled in her bones, a stark contrast to the burning pain in her heart.
She stumbled onto the gravel path the car followed to the castle. She kicked a rock into the mud. She had no where to go. She couldn't go back to the castle and confront Sark, she knew he'd kill her. The CIA had no idea where she was, she doubted they even knew what continent. Vaughn didn't need her as terribly as she needed him and she had no mother. Jack could be dead for all she knew. The winter storm raged around her, the temperature was dropping every moment she stood on the road doing nothing. She looked down the road. In the distance she could see the jagged cliffs by the water, like fingers trying in vain to hold the water back. She could vaguely make out a dark shadow on the horizon. She smiled in spite of it all. Perhaps luck was still on her side.
Hurriedly, she leaned down, tucking her damp hair out of her face. She felt her ankle, relieved the swelling was going down. She knew it would worsen from running on it, but still, it was improving, Standing slowly, she glanced back at the castle one last time before jogging down the road. If she was lucky the plane would still be on the runway.
~~~~~~~~
"No Ben," Sark argued warily, anger flashing in his eyes. Sark distractedly rearranged the logs in the fireplace. Grabbing a sheet of old newspaper, he wadded it up and shoved it under the logs. He paused, saddened by the memory of his father teaching him how to build a fire, while his sisters laughed behind him when it wouldn't light.
A small old women walked into the room , carrying a tray of tea. "You boys got that fire started yet? It's getting awfully cold in the blasted castle."
"Working on it, Mel." Ben smiled warmly. Mel sat the tray down on a end table and left.
Ben walked over and squatted down next to Sark. "It's not right, leaving her out there." Lighting another match, he tossed it into the small fire.
I fail to see when that has ever stopped us in the past?" Sark's icy indifference was a stark contrast to Ben's emotional pleading.
"Sark, she's the prophesy! You can't just let her get away, not yet. We don't understand anything, the rose, the page, none of it."
"She wont get anywhere," Sark answered, "Not in this storm."
He got up and crossed the large living room. The fire softy lit the dark red wallpaper and elaborately carved mahogany furniture. Shadows danced across Ben's anguished face as he watched Sark get a cup of tea. He sat in a chair across from Sark.
"You've changed," Ben stated flatly, not as an accusation, just in acceptance.
"I believe you have as well," Sark replied, his voice was calm but its tone warned Ben to tread lightly.
"A normal life can do that to you," Ben laughed bitterly. Studying Sark he continued, "I should have expected you wouldn't be the same person I used to know so well, but still, when Irina contacted me to await your arrival here, I foolishly hoped it would be like old times."
"Those days are gone Ben. I was foolish back then, full of a vengeance and anger that did nothing but hold me back."
"But you say you've changed for the better?" Ben questioned, grinning slightly.
"Yes," Sark answered coolly, remembering how great at mind games Ben was.
"And yet you behaved like that in front of Ms. Bristow? The anger that you don't have anymore, managed to lose us a valuable asset." Ben concluded, triumph shining in his eyes.
"A valuable asset Ben? I have more respect for Agent Bristow's skills as a spy then anyone but an asset?" Sark asked skeptically.
"You're forgetting why you're held up in the god forsaken place to begin with. Irina trashed your reputation, and what better way to prove your loyalties then to have the CIA's strongest agent in your custody. Offer her as, shall we say, a token of good will." Ben looked up hopefully, "Well?"
"I see your point but-"
"And further more, the Sark I respected and admired, no matter how cunning and powerful he was, would never leave Agent Bristow stranded in this storm injured. It's not a fair fight. You can't convince me you've changed that much."
"It's different now. I have nothing to lose. It's just me, alone."
"You were never alone." Ben's eyes flashed dangerously. "I've heard the tales of the merciless Mr. Sark, but I don't believe them. Yes, you've followed orders, but I can see it in your face, your eyes, your hearts not in it. Your not just some assassin running around just for the love of the kill You have a good soul Sark, you've just forgotten ."
Running his hands through his hair, Sark began to speak.
"Don't tell me I'm wrong," Ben warned, his voice shaking slightly, " I sacrificed everything to help you. Everything! Don't tell me I did it for a man that became the very thing I was fighting." Ben stood up and wiped his eyes awkwardly, before walking out of the room.
Sark leaned back into his chair. Ben's words left a coldness in him he couldn't warm. Memories he had tried hard to forget surfaced with a vengeance. He wanted desperately to forget the way things used to be, the way he used to be . He spent so many sleepless nights distorting and twisting his past into something that justified what he had become, but Ben unraveled all of it. There was no justification. And more, for the first time in such a long time, he realized someone had faith in him as a person, someone hadn't given up on him.
He walked slowly out of the room and grabbed his coat. He followed the cold hall to Ben's room. He knocked lightly on the door. Ben opened it, his green eyes looked tired and old.
"I never said you were wrong," Sark whispered, as he struggled to conceal the raw pain in his voice. "You coming then?"
Ben shook his head.
"You work so hard to convince me to get her and then aren't coming?" Sark asked, bewildered.
"You'll be fine without me, I need to keep an eye on things here. I can't leave the artifacts for one. Hurry Sark, it's really getting bad out there." Ben ended, leaving no room for protest. He knew it wasn't his place to go save Syd, only Sark could do that.
~~~~~~~
Sydney stumbled towards the plane, a mixture of snow and sleet whirled around her, mixing with the icy ocean mist. Every part of her body was freezing and she was beginning to shiver. She could see the plane in the distance, like a beacon of hope. She was getting closer. Finally she reached it, as cold and miserable as when she found it in LA. She rattled the handle but it wouldn't open. She went to the side and tried to open the back, but it to was locked as well. She looked around for a branch or large rock to break the window with but she found none. Finally she grabbed a small rock from the ground and hurled it into the window. The rock collided with the window but it didn't break. Thousands of cracks filled the window, but when she pushed on it, the glass wouldn't give. She slammed the rock into it, but between the size of the rock and her exhaustion, she couldn't break the sturdy glass.
Desperate to escape the cold and the storm, she ran around the airplane trying to find shelter from the wind. The way the plane was positioned on the field, the wind came at her from all directions. There was no shelter to be found. Pulling the shreds of her shirt around her tightly, she went towards the cliffs in hopes of finding shelter there. The grass faded into gravel and eventually the cliffs. They were dangerously slippery from the snow. Carefully she stepped onto them. She followed a crevice downward, all the while weary of the ocean, a long drop below. She made her way to a small overhang in the steep cracks between the boulders. She found a small amount of shelter from the wind and snow in a small dugout beneath the overhang. She curled up tightly to stay warm and waited for the night to come.
Sark's car sped along the slippery road to the airplane. Rapping his coat around him tightly, he approached the airplane. One window was shattered but, as he expected, it wasn't broken. Good to know the bullet proof glass worked, he thought grimly. "Sydney!" He yelled, still amazed Ben had convinced him to come out here to rescue the enemy.
She faintly heard a voice but wrote it off as the wind. She shivered, wishing she still had Sark's jacket. Nothing seemed to matter now. The prophesy, all her anger and resentment towards her mother, it seemed so trivial now.
Sark walked towards the ocean, looking for her. He was beginning to agree with Ben. It was freezing and the cold seemed to penetrate to his bones. "Sydney!"
She defiantly heard a voice this time. She looked out of her small shelter but saw nothing. The fog and snow were getting so bad she couldn't see anything but the rocks and the waves breaking below her. She was beginning to imagine things, she worried.
"Sydney!" He yelled, walking along the rocks. He had no idea why she would be at the cliffs but if she was desperate enough, she could find shelter there. He knew the old hide outs from when he was young and used them to hide from his sisters. "Sydney!" he yelled again. "Sydney!"
She sat up at the sound of her name and looked quickly around the rocks but couldn't see anything. Past the shelter, all she could see was the steep rocky slope dropping off into the ocean below it. She curled back up in the corner of the shelter and listened to her name being called over and over. She was losing it from the cold faster then she thought.
Sark stumbled on the rocks, they were now slippery with snow and the puddles from the rain earlier were freezing over. Almost on his hand and knees he crept towards the largest hideout in the rocks. "Sydney!"
There was defiantly a British accent calling her name. It couldn't be Sark though. She heard her name again, louder this time. "Sark?" She yelled, looking around in the haze.
She could see him, a dark figure moving awkwardly across the rocks. Why did he come for her when he sent her away? It didn't matter why, he held the promise of shelter and warmth, even the cold cell was better than this wintry hell. "Sark!" She yelled desperately.
He heard her. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He watched her crawl out awkwardly from the shelter. He stumbled carefully forward towards her. He looked down past the shelter. A steep drop off was next to it. Slowly he went over the rocks to her. "Sydney!" he yelled.
She never thought she would be so happy to see Sark. His eyes blazed blue with uncertain emotion. He met her in front of the shelter. He stood there calmly but she held onto the rocks, not trusting the loose gravel she stood on. One false step and she knew she'd be over the edge.
Her mind raced with a million scenarios explaining his presence. None of them ended well. "Why are you here?" She asked, her brown eyes weary and full of fear as she looked at the ledge only a few feet away.
He shook his head. "Not now. Let's go, I'll follow you out."
She gingerly stepped on her ankle, hoping it was still holding up. She grimaced but began to half walk, half crawl, across the cliffs. Sark began to follow her. Before he realized what happened, he stepped on a lose rock and the gravel started sliding off the edge, taking him with it. He desperately tried to hold onto the rocks around him, but everything was falling. The crashing of the waves was a dull roar in his ears as he slid towards the edge. "Sydney!" he yelled hoarsely, clutching at the rolling gravel.
She came back cautiously as soon as she heard the rocks falling. Sark was sliding over the edge. She got as close as she could to him without making the rock slide worse. She could barely see anything, the wind and snow were blowing so fiercely. "Hold on!" She reached for him but he was too far down. His feet were already over the edge. She reached again, bracing herself against the shelter. She grabbed his cold hand tightly and began pulling him back. He looked back at her, his eyes full of fear and helplessness. She screamed in horror as a large rock broke lose and collided into Sark's head. His hand went limp in hers. She pulled him up to safety, cradling his head in her lap. Blood already covered the wounded side of his face. She wiped it out of his eyes. "Don't be dead," she pleaded, she couldn't handle the thought of being responsible for yet another death in her life. His body lay limp on the ground, his head was a dead weight in her lap.
Sydney gently felt Sark's neck. A weak pulse was still there. Adrenaline rushing through her veins, she lifted him out of her lap and stood up, slowly made her way off the cliffs. His black car stood waiting by the plane. She put him down next to the car and opened the door. She pulled him in, smearing blood and melting snow across the expensive leather.
She drove recklessly back to the castle, nearly skidding out of control twice. She jumped out of car in front of the castle. "Ben! Ben!" She yelled frantically, pulling Sark into her arms. Ben came running to her, and grabbed Sark from Sydney. "What happened to him?" Ben yelled.
"He slipped and a rock.." Syd stuttered, shivering uncontrollably. Mel met them at the door and wrapped blankets around them. "My god, I knew it would come to this." she muttered, guiding Sydney to her room. "Come dear, lets get some dry clothes on you."
Sydney entered her room in a daze. Mel started a warm bath for her and laid out warm clothes for her. "Warm up and get some rest, dear." She smiled sweetly before hurrying down the hall to help Sark. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was still dark when she woke up in navy sweat pants and a warm thermal shirt. A soft cast had been put on her ankle. She barely remembered how she ended up in the bed. Scenes from earlier that night came flashing back. The storm, the cliffs, Sark barely alive, laying in her arms. Slowly, she slid from the warmth of the blankets. Heart pounding, she left her room, knowing what she had to do. The castle was quiet around her. Silently, she walked down the dark hall to where she figured Sark was sleeping. Reluctantly, she approached the nightmarish room where she saw the Rambaldi artifacts and heard the prophesy. Ben was asleep in a chair outside the room and the old women, she vaguely recalled as Mel, was no where to be seen. She opened the heavy wood door, and gasped.
Sark lay motionless on the bed. His face was bruised and a large gauze bandage covered the gash from the rock. Small bruises covered his arm that wasn't hidden beneath the sheets. Someone had started a morphine drip. He truly looked dead, she thought grimly. There was no color in his face and his breathing was shallow. His hair was tangled around his head.
The destruction in the room, that so vividly showed the pain the demolisher must have felt, was cleaned up slightly. Order had been restored with the furniture. A small chest sat beneath a window and a dresser was against the opposing wall. The wooden Rambaldi box she glimpsed earlier was put away, but a mysterious flower was rapped in a cloth on top of the chest. She walked over to it. How odd for a rose to be alive in winter. Even in the dark room, she could tell it's petals were blood red and the stem was the purest of greens. She reached to touch it but stopped, midair. She felt a sense of foreboding surrounding the flower, as well as a reverence she didn't want to disturb. She backed away.
There was a small pile of papers sitting on the dresser. Not yet ready to face the body laying on the bed, she continued to creep around the room , following her instincts. She shifted through the papers. Three crumbled pictures fell out. Sark was dressed in a cross between a cowboy from a John Wayne movie and Davey Crocket. His sister stood beside him, blue eyes twinkling. Another picture was of him and his sisters. The third was ripped in half, the long torso and legs of a man was all that was left. She closed her eyes, clutching the pictures. The images of Sark as anything but a cold blood killer unnerved her. It threatened to destroy the image of Sark she had. The pictures were bringing up other sides of him she didn't want to face, to factor into her definition of Sark.
She jumped when Sark shifted in the bed. What was she doing? He was the enemy, she should be upset he didn't die. He was saving you, a small voice answered. She walked quietly to the edge of his bed. She sat on the side cautiously watching him. Before she realized what she was doing, she reached forward and took his hand in hers. It was so cold. She stood up to get another blanket. He shifted as soon as she let go and moaned softly. She grabbed a blanket off his dresser and covered him with it. She went to the table next to his bed and grabbed a new pad of gauze. Carefully she took off the medical tape and the pad. Her stomach lurched. A larch gash was above his ear, the side of his head was puffy and bruised. She smoothed his hair away from the wound. He looked so fragile. She gently taped the new pad of gauze over the gash. Looking back at the door, she walked back to the side of his bed and sat back down, reaching for his hand immediately. "Hold on Sark," she whispered, squeezing his hand.
Ben walked in quietly and smiled in spite of the fact that Sark was barely hanging on. Sydney was sound asleep on the bed, holding Sark's hand in her own. He tapped her shoulder slightly. She stood up quickly, embarrassed.
"You're fine." Ben smiled. "I just wondered if you needed anything."
"Coffee would be great," she smiled.
"Exactly what I was on my way to get for myself. Care to come down to the kitchen with me? I don't want to wake Mel She's had a long night."
She smiled and followed Ben out of the room.
The kitchen was surprisingly small. It was dark yet cozy in the dim light. Smells of delicious foods wafted around them. It was fairly modern though. It had dark granite counters and a stainless steel appliances.
They sat at the counter, waiting for the coffee to be done.
"So what's your story? You don't look like you belong in the business." Sydney asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence between them. "How do you know Sark anyway?"
"His dad and my dad were...business partners."
"Really?" She asked, getting up to grab the pot of coffee. "With what?"
"Oh, illegal arms trading, blackmail, the works," Ben laughed, "top shelf," he added.
"Thanks." She reached up and grabbed two coffee cups and brought them back to the counter.
"So how is it you guys ended up together, and in France?"
"My father died in plane crash when I was ten. Sark's family took me in. We left England, and moved here. It was closer to Sark's father's business. His mother was a good person. She gave up everything for Sark's father," he added sadly.
"What happened to his family? I saw the pictures in his room. They were beautiful children." And why the hell was a picture of a man ripped up?
"It's not my story to tell, Ms. Bristow. Just remember, circumstance can make a person become something they are not. People change but their hearts don't. I truly believe Sark has a good heart."
Sydney sat her empty cup in the sink. "And you may be the only one, Ben. Thanks for the coffee."
"He saved your life Ms. Bristow," Ben added. Sydney was half way down the hall when he said that, but he saw her slow a bit before walking briskly back down the hall.