Flick, flick, flick.
Jarod walked down the hallway, escorted, followed, by two Sweepers who were keeping their eyes on him at all times, their hands hovering over their weapons in obvious anxiety. It was almost amusing. Almost.
Flick, flick, flick.
He played with the collar that Lyle had fastened around his neck the day before. He had spent approximately two minutes, during his sleepless night, examining it. It was a typical Lyle production, full of bluster and without substance. Jarod figured a paperclip and a mirror and the collar would be history. There were always paperclips to be found in the Centre. He glanced at his feet as the little coils of silver winked at him from the baseboards.
It surprised him that no one had thought to put him through the trouble of removing a tracking chip yet, but he wasn't going to be the one to bring it up.
Flick, flick, flick.
Click, click, click.
"Hi Jarod, I'm Dr. George, I'll be taking care of you for a while," the elderly man in the ubiquitous white coat greeted Jarod.
"Why? Where is Sydney?" Jarod asked, feeling a sick sense of deja vu.
"Sydney is . . . unavailable," Dr. George replied uncomfortably. He fidgeted with his pen, clicking it and unclicking it several times in succession.
Click, click, click.
"What do you mean unavailable?" Jarod questioned, his nausea increasing. Had they done something to Sydney? He felt his world tilt and staggered a little, bracing his legs apart to help keep his balance.
"I don't know what it means," Dr. George peered at him curiously. "Are you all right?" he asked, making a note of Jarod's reaction.
The Pretender frowned, noting the action and took a closer look at Dr. George. The man had the typical abstract expression in his eyes, the same expression an Etymologist has as he peers into the microscope.
"What are you supposed to be doing with me?" Jarod asked warily.
Click, click, click.
Tic, tic, tic.
The steady tempo of Miss Parker's high heels echoed throughout the hallway, Lyle's soft scuffing accompaniment all but lost to his dominant sister's presence.
"What is this security leak?" she asked briskly, striding toward the Renewal Wing.
Lyle sighed, almost missing the old days when it would automatically be assumed that Jarod was up to something whenever anything went wrong at the Centre.
Tic, tic, tic.
Angelo tugged on his sideburn and rocked slowly back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Lyle was leaving him alone, but in a way he regretted it. Now that he was not trying to empath where Jarod was or attempting to escape from Willie and Lyle's pet sweepers, he had time to think. Too much time and too much thinking. He could sense Daughter. She was far away, but here. He watched her stride along past his duct, but she was far away, further away than just grating.
Tic, tic, tic.
Clickety-click, clickety-click, clickety-click
Broots hunched over his keyboard, his fingers flying as he searched the Centre surveillance files. Something had to be happening here, to her. He paused. His fingers mid-clickety. Is this when he admitted to himself that despite all the help Jarod had rendered him in the past and all the abuse Miss Parker had heaped on him, he was more concerned for her than Jarod? He stopped, his gaze unfocused as he contemplated the reality of the situation.
Clickety-click, clickety-click, clickety-click
"This is Sydney."
The sound of someone breathing echoed eerily through the telephone line.
"Jarod? Jarod is that you?" Sydney questioned, his absorption on twin reactions gone, replaced by anxiety.
"No," a male voice whispered, indistinct and quiet, too quiet. A throat discreetly cleared. "This is Ethan, do you remember me?"