A/N – Now, see, I wasn't gonna keep you in suspense like that for long! Well, this wraps up the story. I have had a blast writing it. And the feedback that I've been given has been amazing. It has really kept me going so MANY THANKS to those who took the time to read this story and to drop me a note! I hope the ride was worth it for you! :)
And a very special thank you to Claudia – who through her kindness, ceaseless enthusiasm for my writing and good humor has been inspiring and a great help in conquering some truly fearsome writer's block. I'm so very glad that we've forged a brand new friendship through my little story. :)
Oh and finally, if anyone would like to archive this story, just let me know!
So without further adieu. . . .the CONCLUSION to "Time Out of Mind". . . .
[ ] denotes Sydney's thoughts
********Rome, Italy, Sloane's Hideaway, May 12, Morning********
She didn't know how much time had passed.
To her, it felt like an eternity.
All that she had been aware of was Vaughn's lifeless body, crumpled on the ground, a bullet hole in his chest, and blood pooling around his body.
She had barely been aware of Sloane calmly instructing his bodyguards to take her father and go. She had been barely aware of him murmuring his apologies to her before he left. All she could do was stare at Vaughn.
And then, just as suddenly, she seemed to snap out of her fog. She began to struggle against the cuffs anew. This time with a rabid, blind determination. She jerked at the cuffs repeatedly for several minutes, before conceding that it wasn't going to give. Then, letting her spy training kick in, she looked around the room, to see if anything could be used to aid her escape. Seeing nothing immediately, she turned her attention to the chair that she was cuffed to. It was an antique, but sturdily built. But from a quick study of it, she knew that the chair could be broken. The question was. . .how?
She glanced around the room again and looked at the heavy wooden doors. She grabbed the chair and picked it up and edged over to the door. She checked the handle. Locked. She pressed her ear to the door and listened. She couldn't hear anything from the other side. But that didn't mean that Sloane's guards weren't standing there.
[Still, if they were out there, they would have heard the commotion I've been making and come in by now.]
She studied the doors once again. A strategically placed blow with the chair should accomplish two things. Break the chair so that she could be freed and knock open the doors at the same time. It would take quite a lot of force, but she was confident that her years of training and fieldwork had equipped her to do what was necessary.
She looked at the chair again and decided that the best place to strike it was at the base of the leg, opposite the arm that bound her. She spent a few seconds working the cuffs to the best position and then a few more to pick up the chair and to hold it in a way that a quick, strong, decisive blow would shatter it the way she wanted. She positioned herself to best avoid any flying debris. Gripping the chair in her hands tightly, she eyed the place on the doors that she wanted to hit for several seconds, internally working herself up to deliver the blow.
[Okay. . .here we go. . .three. . .two. . .one!]
*BANG!!*
The chair crashed against the door loudly and she felt it buckled in her hands, but it was still intact. She gritted her teeth, tightened her grip and swung the chair again. This time exerting as much force as she could, given her awkward position.
*BANG!!*
Again, she felt the chair buckle. She glanced at the door. There was a sizable dent in it from where the chair had impacted, but the doors and lock held steady.
She inhaled, re-adjusted her grip and then swung again. This time she put all of her anger and hatred for Sloane into her swing.
*CRACK!*
She didn't think she'd ever heard so satisfying a sound, or felt such relief when the chair seemingly crumbled in her hands. She looked down at the remainder of the antique chair and saw that it broken into three pieces. The seat had broken apart from the legs, which laid splintered on the ground. However, the armrest that she had been cuffed to was still intact, along with a jagged piece of the chair's backrest. She looked at the broken piece dangling from her wrist. She gripped the armrest tightly and then swung the piece into the door one last time.
There was a dull thud and then she felt the cuff on her wrist go limp as it was finally free of the weight of the chair. There was still a small piece of wood lodged into the cuff loop, which she dispensed with quickly.
She looked at the door. A bit more dented and damaged, but still stubbornly shut and unyielding.
Escaping, however, wasn't her first priority. She raced over to Vaughn.
She felt a tremendous sense of relief upon discovering that he still had a pulse. It was weak, but he was still breathing. Still alive. Vaughn was still alive.
She ripped open his shirt and involuntarily gasped at the bloody bullet wound in the middle of his chest. Glancing around quickly, she eyed the white tablecloth on the buffet table. Unceremoniously, she yanked at it, causing plates and dishes to crash to the ground.
She bunched up a section of the tablecloth and pressed it firmly on the wound, ignoring the sight of Vaughn's blood staining the white fabric. She was letting her training, including the emergency medical training that she had received, take over.
Keeping one hand on the wound to maintain pressure, she used the other one to touch Vaughn's face. He felt clammy. . a sign of shock. Jumping up, she ran over to the window and yanked down one of the curtains. She grabbed a pillow from one of the sofas on the way back to him. Gently, she eased the pillow under his head and then draped the curtain over his body to keep him warm.
She then resumed applying pressure to the wound. Just then, Vaughn uttered a low, painful groan before he opened his eyes slowly. He blinked several times and stared at her blankly as if he was having trouble seeing her.
"Syd?"
She tried to smile reassuringly. "Hi. How are you feeling?"
He grimaced. "Not too good."
"You'll be O.K.," she said, not really believing her own words. "Just hang on."
He drew in a shaky breath. "Sloane?"
"Don't worry about him," she said soothingly. "Just take it easy."
"Sydney." His voice was still barely above a whisper, but she couldn't miss the urgency in his tone. She inhaled deeply and then met his eyes. "You need to go. You have to go after Sloane. That's the whole point of. . .that's why you're here."
She shook her head. "I can't. . .I won't leave you."
He looked at her for a long moment. "You know you have to."
"Vaughn-"
He reached up and placed his hand on top of hers. The ones trying to stem the flow of blood. "We both know how this ends." He gasped softly.
"Am I hurting you? I'll-"
He exerted a gentle pressure on her hands, stopping her. "In the. . .in the motel. . ." He struggled to get the words out as his breathing became more ragged and shallow.
"Don't try and talk!" She looked at him anxiously. He had grown so pale in the few minutes that he had been conscious.
He shook his head. "You. . .you have to. . .find your way. . .home." He drew in a shaky breath and shut his eyes.
"Vaughn!"
He opened his eyes and there was naked pain in them. But whether that pain was from his injury, she wasn't really sure. "Not here. . .you can't stay here. You have to. . .to go after. . .S-Sloane."
"I can't leave you!" she cried, growing frantic.
"You have to go. . .back to. . .him. . .to *your* Vaughn." He smiled, and his expressive green eyes conveyed his understanding and acceptance. "If he's like. . .like me. . .I know he's. . .waiting."
"You are Vaughn!" Tears were streaming down her cheeks now. She had never felt so helpless in her entire life. "That's why I'm not leaving you!"
"You need. . .to go."
She shook her head stubbornly. "No! Vaughn, just hang on! Please!"
His breathing had grown labored, sounding as if each shallow breath he drew was causing him intolerable pain. "Go after Sloane!"
The words caused her to experience a strange sense of deja-vu. The last time those words had been directed at her, and just as forcefully, had been in Mexico City. By her mother. She hadn't obeyed then, and had found herself in her current predicament. She was going to ignore Vaughn's command as well, but something in her gut told her that she needed to do what he was asking. . .what he was ordering her to do.
"I-I. . ." she faltered.
"Go," he said softly. He stared at her for a beat before his eyes drooped shut.
"Vaughn!" She frantically checked for a pulse and felt intensely relieved when she found it. She touched his face with a shaky hand, caressing his cheek for several seconds. If she didn't know better, he looked as if he were sleeping. He looked so peaceful. She bit down on her lips to stop a sob from escaping and then slowly, she lowered her head and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.
"I'm sorry," she whispered against his lips. Then drawing in a deep breath, she resolutely rose, walking towards the door. Once there, she studied the door again, assessing the damage that she had inflicted on it earlier. Though damaged, the door and lock still held steady.
She delivered a forceful kick against the lock and handle. She felt a pain shoot up her leg, but ignored it. She kicked at the door several more times before conceding that she needed a little help. She glanced around the room, deliberately avoiding the area where Vaughn laid, unconscious and bleeding. Her eyes finally rested on a large silver serving spoon lying haphazardly on the floor, amongst the debris of the buffet breakfast.
She rushed over and grabbed the spoon, already working on bending it long before she returned to the door. She studied the lock and handle and then the spoon. Making some quick judgments, she knelt down, pressing her foot on the curved side of the spoon. She then exerted as much pressure as she could, attempting to flatten the spoon's face. When her foot didn't accomplish the task, she picked up another one of Sloane's antique chair and began to pound the spoon with one of the heels of the chair. After a few blows, the spoon's face was sufficiently flattened to her liking.
She picked up the altered spoon and placed the flattened head between the two doors, as close to the lock as possible. Stepping back, she took a deep breath before she aimed a kick at the spoon's handle, jutting out from between the doors. There was a dull 'thwack!' and she felt the spoon handle bend. She bent down to inspect the lock and was relieved to see that her idea had worked. The lock holding the two doors together had been damaged from her kick and the spoon. One end of the lock was twisted and jarred from its place in the door's frame. The backed up and kicked the spoon handle again. The lock was giving away. She kicked the spoon handle one last time before twisting it out from between the two doors. Then, studying the damaged lock again, she picked up the chair and aimed a blow directed at the most damaged part of the lock. At first the doors creaked and stretched in protest, but stubbornly remained shut.
She inhaled and aimed another blow at the door's lock. This time, a dull crack sounded and one of the doors hung crookedly against the other. She glanced at the lock and then grabbed the door's handle and gave a mighty tug. The sound of breaking wood was followed by the doors blessedly swinging open. She instantly was on guard and in fighting position. But there was no one in the hallway.
She cautiously stepped out from the room, not sure what to expect, but nothing happened. And no one was in sight. She stopped, remaining absolutely still and listened. Nothing. It was as if the house was completely abandoned. But she hadn't heard the sound of any cars driving away, nor any other sound of departure. She wondered if Sloane was still here, or if he had taken her father and made yet another getaway.
She cast one last look at Vaughn before she made her way slowly down the hallway. She walked around the house cautiously and found it eerily empty. No sight of anyone, and no sound of any inhabitants at all. She located the front of the house, and the front door, relatively quickly. She unlocked the door slowly and braced herself for the sound of a pealing alarm when she opened the door. But again, she was met with deafening silence. She walked out of the front door, staying against the frame of the house in case there were any guards outside with orders to 'shoot to kill' upon sight of her. Again, nothing. She tentatively stepped out on the grounds and walked down the long driveway.
Sloane's cars were still parked there. The hoods of the cars were cold. She walked further down, and got as far was the end of the driveway, which led to a small dirt road that seemed to go on forever. No other homes or people were visible.
[What the hell is going on? Where is Sloane? His guards? Is he just letting me go? If he isn't, why isn't anyone trying to stop me?]
But no sooner had she asked the last question that she knew the answer. Sloane knew she wasn't going to escape. For one thing, she had no idea where she was. She could be miles and miles away from the next home or town. But more importantly, it wasn't a matter of Sloane letting her go. It was a matter of her letting him go. And she wasn't about to do that. No matter what it took, she was going to get to Sloane. And make him pay.
Inhaling the fresh air deeply, she jogged back into the house, shutting the door behind her. She made her way back into the house, this time heading for the basement level where she was held. She made a guess that Sloane kept all his prisoners there, which would mean she had a shot at finding her father. She knew her odds were slim, but it was worth a shot.
When she was almost back down to the basement level, a loud crash coming from the front of the house caused her to freeze in her tracks. Listening closely, she heard urgent voices and running footsteps. Footsteps that seemed to be running right at her. Instinctively, she ducked into one of the many rooms and shut the door quietly.
She pressed her ear to the door and listened intently. The footsteps were no longer running, but they were moving quickly. And then she heard it. That distinctively accented voice. Without thinking, she yanked open the door she was hiding behind.
"Mom?!"
Her mother wasn't alone. A big, masked man, dressed in fatigues and carrying a small machine gun whirled at the sound of her voice, aiming his weapon directly at her. Instinctively she held up her hands.
"It's OK!" her mother said firmly, holding up her hands and moving slightly so that she placed her body at an angle between the barrel of the machine gun and Sydney. "Sydney."
She looked at her mother. . .also dressed in fatigues with her long hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her mother was carrying a semi-automatic in one hand, and a small walkie-talkie in the other. On one thigh, a gun holster held another semi-automatic. "W-what. . ."
"Sydney," her mother moved to her, looking concerned. "Are you all right?"
"W-what's. . .why are you. . .what's going on?"
"Are you all right?" her mother repeated firmer. She saw her mother's eyes go to the arm that hand been handcuffed. Her gaze followed her mother's and she was stunned to see blood along her entire arm. Her wrist was bruised and swollen, and her hands were scratched and bleeding. Oddly, she didn't feel any pain at all.
"It's fine," she said, staring at her mother in disbelief. Her mother reached out and took her arm, inspecting it. She impatiently jerked her arm away. "I said I'm fine. What's going on?"
"Please," her mother said softly, indicating her arm.
She stared at her mother for a moment before she relented and held out her injured arm. The bloodstained cuffs dangled limply from her wrist. Her mother examined the cuffs for a few seconds before she reached into one of the pockets on her pants and pulled out a small key. She inserted it into the lock of the cuffs, gave a few quick twists, and then the lock plopped open. Her mother removed the cuffs from her wrist gently, and placed the cuffs into her pocket.
"Thank you," she said softly. Her mother nodded. "What are you doing here?"
"Where's Sloane?" her mother demanded. She shook her head. If she knew the answer to that, she wouldn't be standing here. "Your father?"
"Tell me what's going on!" she exclaimed loudly. She was more than weary of the lack of answers that she had been getting since waking up in this nightmare. "NOW."
Just then, the walkie-talkie in her mother's hand squawked softly. "Shadow Leader? This is Shadow 1, we have a wounded in the front sitting room. But no sign of Target."
"Who's the wounded?" her mother asked into the walkie-talkie.
"Vaughn," she said softly.
Her mother turned to her. "What?"
"It's Vaughn. Sloane shot him. I don't know if he's still alive. He was in pretty bad shape when I left him."
Her mother looked at her for a beat before she held the walkie-talkie up to her mouth and said tersely,
"Status of the wounded?"
"Alive, but extremely critical."
[Thank God he's still alive. But for how much longer?]
"You have to get Vaughn out of here and to a hospital!" she said to her mother urgently. "Please! If you're here to take me into custody, then I'll go. I'll cooperate. I don't care. Just please, get Vaughn some help!"
"Sydney," her mother said calmly.
"Please! Just get him some help!"
"Sydney!" This time it was a command. "I'm not here to take you into custody. And Agent Vaughn will be given the medical attention he needs. You don't have to worry."
"Thank you," she said, feeling relieved. [At least he has a chance now.] The rest of what her mother had said suddenly sunk in. "You're not here to take me into custody?"
"Of course not," her mother said, gesturing to her to follow as she resumed following her heavily armed companion down the hall. The man was still masked and checking each room as they passed by.
"So. . .these men. . .they're not CIA?"
Her mother shook her head. "They're freelance operatives. Mostly retired from the Special Forces. They take on special assignments. . for a price, of course."
"Mercenaries?"
Her mother cast her look. "Your father and I have used them before. Mostly in our search for you."
"So, if you're not here as a federal agent. . .then as what?"
"Your mother," she said, glancing into the room that the man had just gone into. "You have no idea where Sloane is?"
She shook her head. "I think he's still here but I don't know. I checked through the house quickly. . .outside too. . ..there's no sign of anyone."
Her mother stopped and bit her bottom lip. She stared at the ground for several seconds before she finally looked up and said softly,
"He couldn't have done it. Not without you."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"The Rambaldi device," her mother said, now heading down the flight of stairs that she knew would take them to the basement level. "I have reason to believe that he's planning to activate it again. Today."
She stopped, the implication of her mother's words sinking in. "Sloane is going to activate the Rambaldi device?" Her mother nodded, her expression grim. "B-but. . .why?"
Her mother sighed and stopped at the top of the stairs. She nodded at the man and he proceeded down the steps without her. "I still don't understand it all, Sydney. For the past two years. . .ever since you. . .disappeared, your father and I have worked relentlessly to figure out the Rambaldi prophecy. We've been successful. . .but only to an extent. There's still much that we haven't been able to figure out."
"So how do you know he's going to activate it today?"
"Because of you."
"So it was your plan all along to lead me right to him?" she demanded, angry.
"No, of course not!" Her mother sighed, and leaned against the railing of the stairs. "Sydney, my goal in sending you here was to reunite you with your father. I knew it was a risk since Arvin keeps such a close eye on Jack. But we were confident that we could get you to Rome and to meet with your father, *without* Arvin finding out." Her mother glanced down the stairs for a beat. "It was an incredible risk. . .but we had to take it."
"Why?" she cried. "You just walked right into his trap! You walked *me* right into his trap! And you got Vaughn shot. . .probably killed!"
"I understand that you're angry," her mother said, calm in the face of her increasing anger. "But I told you, we had to take the risk. Because in the end, while Arvin needs you to activate the device, you and you alone can destroy it."
"W-what?"
Her mother nodded. "The prophecy, Sydney. 'Unless prevented at vulgar cost, this woman will render the greatest power-"
". . .onto utter desolation," she finished dully.
"Yes," her mother said quietly.
"So the Rambaldi device is 'the greatest power'?"
Her mother nodded. "It would make sense, wouldn't it? The ability to manipulate the fabric of time? To change events to one's liking? To gain knowledge to things that have yet to be? Arvin possesses the means by which to influence the lives of millions. There's no power greater than that." She was horrified by what her mother said.
[That kind of power in the hands of someone like Arvin Sloane? The world didn't stand a chance.]
"Sydney," her mother said, her voice urgent. "I understand that you have a lot of questions, but there's no time. We need to find Sloane and your father, *now.* Agents from the Task Force, along with several dozen Roman police, are on their way here."
"What!"
Her mother nodded. "The Task Force was tipped off late last night. I barely made it out of the States ahead of the Strike Team."
"But. . ."
"I think Sloane tipped them off."
"What. . .why?"
Her mother shook her head, once again glancing down the stairs. "I don't know, but it all looks like a part of his plan. . .to make you activate the device I think."
Just then, the walkie-talkie in her mother's hand squawked to life. "Shadow Leader, Eagle here. We have a visual on the CIA Task Force. ETA 15 minutes."
Her mother looked at her in dismay before she said into the walkie-talkie,
"Copy. Initiate preliminary security measures." Her mother sighed heavily and turned to her, un-holstering the semi-automatic as she did so. "Here. Take this."
She took the gun, and instinctively chambered a bullet. "What preliminary security measures?"
"We'll try and buy you some time." Her mother held the walkie-talkie up to her mouth once again. "Shadow Team, preliminary security measures have been activated. Begin evacuation now."
"You're going?"
Her mother looked at her for a long moment. "I have to. I'll try and hold the Task Force off as long as possible. If you don't find Sloane within 10 minutes, go out the back and into the woods. About 2 miles north of there, I have a man stationed for extraction if necessary."
The man who had accompanied her mother ran back up the stairs. "Ma'am?"
Her mother nodded at him. "Go. I'll be at rendezvous mark in 5 minutes."
The man ran off, and she looked at his retreating form as a panic grew within her. "I-I. . .I don't know what to do! I don't even know if Sloane is here! What am I supposed to do?"
Her mother placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I don't know either. But. . .I think you'll know when it happens. Just follow your instincts. Whatever you do, you have to know that Sloane has to be stopped. No matter what."
She looked into her mother's eyes, gaining confidence from the strength she saw in them. She nodded. "I just. . .if Sloane. . .if it works. . .everything changes again, doesn't it?"
Her mother nodded and smiled. Her smile was sad, but yet, also full of pride. She touched Sydney's face gently for a brief, emotional moment. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "You grew up to be so beautiful sweetheart. Whatever happens. . .no matter where you find yourself. . .or me. . .know that I love you."
Tears pooled in Sydney's eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She gave a silent sob and then grabbed her mother in a tight embrace. Her mother returned her embrace for several beats before she pulled back. With an encouraging smile, she nodded and then said quietly,
"Go."
******AND. . . .no, I'm not making y'all wait anymore. For length purposes, I had to split this into 2 postings so do as SpyMommy told you and GO to Part 3 of the Conclusion. See you there! :)********