"What do you mean you didn't kill him?"
"I didn't get the files, or the DSA, and as long as he has them, we can't do a thing to him, and he knows it."
"Yes," Raines wheezed, "but as long as the files exist, we still have a chance to alter the experiment. But, if he ever turns truly altruistic, he might destroy them to protect her, despite the consequences to himself."
"I don't think so; over the past thirty years, Sydney has always managed to cover his own ass." Raines frowned, thinking, and Parker's timbre showed his annoyance. "What?"
"Over the years I've often wondered if it's Sydney who's covering his own ass or someone else."
"Someone else?"
A sickening smile tugged at the bald man's lips. "Perhaps he has some kind of guardian angel..."
Parker shivered as the squeaky wheels of the oxygen tank intertwined with the laughter of its owner as he exited the room. He couldn't shake the memory of white roses mixed with China mums sitting in a vase on his dining room table; it was as if it had seen them yesterday. Parker shoved the remembrance aside; a ghost was far too unlikely an ally.
Sydney held the old file folder and three DSAs in his hand. He opened the folder and glanced down at the words he knew she must never read. Taking a deep breath, he held the items slightly away from him, struck a match, held it to the paper until the flames flared, and without another thought, tossed the burning debris into the metal trash can on the floor. He watched as the flames danced above the rim of the small wastebasket. Let Parker and Raines come after him; let the Centre eat him alive - as long as the truth that shouldn't be spoken was permanently silenced - he no longer cared.
And then it was there, that overwhelming sense; the one voice within that he could not quiet. And he knew he owed her an explanation...