Crespins law of observation: the probability of being observed is in direct proportion to the stupidity of ones actions
"This might sting a bit."
The liquid bubbled as it hit her hands, sending a cold, burning sensation up her arms, feeling like liquid fire. She sucked her breath in with a hiss, and jerked her palms away immediately to avoid the peroxide.
"Riley, I need to clean these." Jarod calmly took her hands back, running them under the warm tap water. Riley glared at him sullenly from where she sat on the toilet seat in the motel bathroom, surrounded by peeling, flowery wallpaper, and cracked linoleum. The alcohol-soaked cotton ball he pulled away from her palms was stained bright red. The light bulb flickered overhead. The pain in her hands had receded back to a dull throbbing, her palms covered in a hot feeling beneath the skin that felt like fever. It made her hands itch and forced her to ignore the immediate reaction to rub them on her pant legs. The whole affair was a disagreeable experience in her mind. She had had cuts cleaned before of course, in the infirmary, but she couldn't seem to remember them ever being this much of an irritant before.
"Relax; I'm not trying to hurt you." Jarod said quietly as he released her hands and turned around to grab something from the first aid kit at his side. "You're lucky those haven't been infected yet, with all the dust in those vents." He told her, rummaging around the kit distractedly, "Those gashes are pretty deep." He turned back around holding gauze and some medical tape. Jarod wound the gauze strip around her palms, and it seemed so odd in her mind that he was capable of being this gentle. She knew this thought was illogical--knew from her simulations that Jarod was not a violent man, but it seemed strange despite this. After all, she also knew that Jarod could be pushed to a point where his emotions would get the best of him, and if anyone could make Jarod cross that line it was the Centre. Why then, was he helping her, when she had been the one working so hard to capture him?
Mr. Raines had told her that Jarod was not to be trusted; that he tried to twist the perceptions of people, and lied to everyone he met. That must be what Jarod was doing now; he was trying to get her to trust him. Why? Riley didn't know, but she could work on figuring that mystery out later. She tugged her hands out of his the instant she saw him finish, watching the hurt look as it crossed his face before he reigned in his expression. As she walked out of the room, keeping her eyes fixed determinedly on the floor, she heard him give a soft sigh behind her. Good riddance, she didn't need another person lying to her.
Mr. Raines didn't lie. (Yes he did.) Mr. Lyle didn't lie. (Shut up!)
Riley sank down to sit on the bed, allowing her aching muscles some respite. Her legs felt as though they were on fire, burning even worse now than they had during her actual run through the woods. Her lungs weren't in much better shape, she felt even now as though she should start breaking into a coughing fit every time she inhaled. She ignored the soreness in her legs, inwardly snarling at the mental voices which continued to whisper bitter resentment into her ear, disparaging Mr. Lyle and Mr. Raines and slowly second guessing everything they had ever told her. (Shut up! Just Shut! UP!)
She faced the dark window, slowly studying the reflection she found there. When she had first seen herself in the side-mirror of the car she had been startled, breathing deeply to fill her lungs after her haphazard run through the Blue Cove woods; the scared whites of her eyes and teeth gleaming while the rest of her was pale, as though all the blood in her body had simply disappeared. Riley had turned away from the small mirror immediately and kept her eyes straight forward as Jarod maneuvered the vehicle off Centre property. She hadn't looked again. Now, she studied herself. Sitting on the bed, lit from behind by a lamp on the nightstand, the colors muted slightly in the windowpanes. A dark bruise had formed below her left eye, surrounding a short shallow cut. Jarod had taped it over with medical strips. She had Zurbin's horrible aim to thank for that she knew, a scar that would stay with her for the rest of her days, which was still better than dead, she had to remind herself. Dead was what she have been had that bullet been launched off only an inch in the opposite direction.
Her eyes were a barely discernable dark brown, she could hardly tell where the pupil ended and the iris began, and she hated to think that they were very much like Jarod's... odd that. A thin, straight nose and lips that seemed unremarkable, long eyelashes and high cheekbones, a small dark mark set just beneath her eye. Dark brown hair styled in a simple straight cut that hung just above her shoulders. Her skin was an almost ghostly pale, having never acquired a tan in her life, which made her inky eyes and dark hair stick out in even sharper contrast than would be normal. Her clothes were outsized, but that hardly mattered to her--a long sleeved black shirt that she had had to roll five times to gain the use of her hands, and jeans that Jarod had tailored because she couldn't get further than two steps without tripping over the foot or more of extra material. The ragged hems of the cut-offs dangled loosely over the tops of her Centre-issue slip-on shoes. Jarod had insisted that she take some of his clothing when he had seen the bloodstained front of her shirt and pants. She knew Jarod was curious when he saw the splatter, but she never explained about the sweeper in renewal wing. She never planned to either.
She could still taste the coppery tang of blood in her mouth, and some dark corner of her mind liked that reminder. The other part shuddered in horror.
She got up and grabbed a cup up from the small counter off to the side of the room, filling it with water from the sink. She swished the water around her mouth a couple of times until she could no longer make out the trace of blood between her teeth and spat it back out into the basin. Riley knew the blood was gone, as gone as she could make it that was, but her brain kept telling her she could still taste it, still feel it pouring hot into her mouth from the man's finger. She could have bit down harder, just a bit harder, and his bones would have snapped, cracked like a broken pencil. It would have been quick work after that to detach the whole digit. She wished she could have seen his face had she done it. A stiff shocked look as he gaped at the empty knuckle of his trigger finger.
Her stomach roiled a bit at the images her brain was supplying her with, but she squelched it down.
He deserved what he got.
-
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Lyle stepped into the room, self-satisfied smirk firmly in place, every aspect of his presence meticulously well kept, flawless. He was the picture of confidence, and he knew it. Of course, the description in itself was enough to stir his own wry sense of humor, for among the long list of words he would use to describe himself at that moment, confident was most certainly not among them. No person could truly be confident while walking into a meeting with the Triumvirate
Really, it wasn't so much a meeting as a poorly disguised interrogation. 'An inquiry' they called it. That was laughable! Though Lyle had to admit, they had gone to some great lengths to make it seem like nothing to worry about, just a looking-into of recent events. Lyle knew better though; nothing that included the Triumvirate was so casual.
The room he walked into was like any other corporate meeting room you could find across the country. Carpeted floor, good lighting, a large wooden conference table in the center with desk chairs set all around, a phone pushed off at one end. The only exception to the rule was the apparent lack of windows. Then again, he was 13 levels below the ground. What did he expect? Wall-to-Wall picture windows opening onto a wonderful view of cinderblock? The absence of windows was not the part that was bothering him in any case, that was something a person became accustomed to when working for the Centre. It was the fact that this was taking place on a sublevel in the first place that set him on edge; a sublevel where a person might be detained and kept for indeterminable lengths of time without any say in the matter. It was a subtle message the Triumvirate was sending, but one that he caught on all the same, 'we can make your life hell if we so choose'.
The room was empty save Lyle himself; two sweepers had 'escorted' him here however, so he could only assume he would see someone shortly. Or rather, he could only hope he would see someone shortly, because that was how the Triumvirate worked, the longer they made you wait, the more they wanted you to squirm. The longer you had to wait, the more you would think about what had landed you at this 'inquiry' in the first place, and the more your imagination would wander, dredging up horrible ideas of what they would do to you when they showed up. And that was a much more effective way of reminding people of the power those crazy Zulus held over their lives than any manner of actual physicality. Naturally, if they did not make you wait, it meant that you were still of some value to them. It meant that you weren't entirely in the doghouse yet. Lyle knew about the Triumvirate's methods, all of them. He knew exactly what to expect, and that made waiting all the worse.
At this point, Lyle was merely glad he hadn't been shipped off to Africa, as Raines had. Lyle knew better than to get his hopes up though, the 'good doctor' would weasel out of the situation as he always did, probably landing the blame on someone he considered beneath him... Lyle only hoped that the fiasco had not been pinned on himself. It would have been easy enough to fabricate, with his record of near coup attempts and subsequent falls from grace the Triumvirate might be swayed in their decision, not that Raines wasn't without his own faults...
Still, Lyle couldn't help but notice that Raines was carted off to Africa and hardly a week later Lyle found himself physically removed from his office by two goons that looked as though they had missed a step in the evolutionary process, all under the pretense of a meeting with the Triumvirate. That didn't bode well at all.
-
-
It was long past the time when the lights had gone off and she had been ordered to sleep, when Sarah opened the door to her room and shook her awake. She beckoned Riley to follow her, and Riley did, never even thinking to question why Sarah was here so long after the building was shut down for the night. As her mentor led the way down long corridors and up several flights of stairs that left Riley's groggy mind ready to drift off at any moment, she was constantly looking both left and right, giving off a sense of anxiety that was nearly palpable. Riley noticed the worry, but didn't give it much of a second thought.
She was much too tired.
There was something weird about that night which Riley couldn't really explain to herself until perhaps years later. She hadn't really understood what was going on. No one had ever done anything with her that hadn't been authorized beforehand by the board members. Natural that she didn't think this case was any different.
No one had been in the halls of the Facility at all: no janitorial service, no computer technicians working on late night assignments, no one. The lights were all off, and the cameras weren't tracking her movements like they normally did. Riley knew now that the trip would have never received the stamp of approval. The board would have thought it was superfluous; it had no practical application for her education. Mr. Raines would have shot the idea down without a second thought. The idea of her going anywhere that wasn't a SIM lab would have made him nervous. He didn't like putting her in situations he didn't have all the control over.
After navigating several dusty back routes through the hallways, some that Riley had not even known existed; Sarah had finally stopped outside a plain steel door. She had taken out a metal key ring and quietly unlocked it, gently tugging Riley forward until she stood outside.
Riley remembered it being cold, making the hairs on her arms stand on end. Sarah had called them 'Goosebumps'. The night had felt different from anything she had ever experienced. Riley had never been cold in her life; the sublevels were kept at a specific temperature at all times. She remembered shivering too, and that Sarah had picked her up and held her; tucking her inside her coat. Riley thought that had been a new experience as well. She had never been held like that before; sidled on one hip with another person's arms around her; at least, if she had been she couldn't remember it. Sarah had been warm and Riley had been tempted to fall asleep, but she had been sure that wouldn't be allowed. Her eyes had itched with tiredness, but she had kept them open.
They hadn't been able to stay long, and when Sarah was finally able to drag Riley away from the sight of bright pinholes punched in blue velvet sky, it was only on the terms that she would take her out to see them again soon.
"Don't worry, I'm gonna get you outta here kiddo; and then you can see the stars every night if you want."
Riley hadn't understood what she meant, but she had liked the sound of it. What a luxury; to be able to come and see these whenever she wanted.
Riley drew a picture that night, full of carefully placed constellations; she worked hard, wanting to show Sarah how much she had enjoyed the trip, and selfishly hoping her eagerness to go back would not be denied for long. But the next day, Sarah left.
Riley shook herself from her reverie, listening to the purr of the engine and whistling white noise of wind passing beneath and around the car. They were driving again. They had been driving for a while. Riley sat motionless, silent as before, glancing periodically at the scenery that passed far too quickly for her to really absorb anything more than color and general shape and size. It blurred in her mind and she was glad. The mere walk from the hotel room to the car that morning had been terrifying enough to nearly make her hyperventilate; she hated being outside. The light hurt her eyes and the sounds were disorienting. The whole experience of it all made her feel as though she had been spinning around in fast circles, like she did when she was little, until her head ached and she couldn't breath fast or hard enough to take in air and she stumbled to the ground dizzily. That child's game wasn't terrifying though, it had been a game, a distraction while she waited for Mr. Lyle to show up in the SIM lab. But being outside made her want to scream, and all she could think of was that she wasn't supposed to be out here, she would be caught. Mr. Lyle would be disappointed, and Mr. Raines would be angry and she would be in so much trouble.
The folder from the vents was tucked up by her feet, placed there mutely at some point during the escape getaway. She had tucked the disks into their small pockets in the folder, all save one. The disk she had touched and heard someone screaming on. She had slipped that one into her pocket, and fully planned on 'losing' it the instant she could.
She knew what was on that disk even if she preferred not to watch it, or think about it, or remember it, or allow anyone to see it... or anything.
'Where are we going?' she wanted to ask, but couldn't bring herself to speak with Him.
She provided the answer herself, positive that if she had spoken aloud His answer would be no different. 'Someplace safe.'
'What do we do when we get there?'
'Nothing that will attract the Centre'
'Why do you keep running?'
'Because they keep chasing me'
'Why don't you stop sending clues?'
'Because I'm a pretentious, pompous, pedantic, presumptuous, prodigy; arrogant that my tremendously high IQ and natural charm will never allow anything terrible to happen to me no-questions-asked'
So perhaps that wasn't what he would actually say, but it didn't make the answer any less satisfactory.
-
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Raines stalked around the small cell slowly, taking in the grey cinderblock walls and prison-stylized amenities. The broken chair had been replaced, and now bolted to the floor to discourage the girl from using it as a weapon again. The bookshelves had been organized, the bed made, and the desk straightened up. Various drawings that had hung on the walls were now stacked neatly on a corner of the desk next to the other items procured from the search Raines had ordered of the room.
One green notebook.
One textbook on criminal psychology, found lying open on the bed.
One large hunting knife.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out one final item; a necklace pendant found tied up underneath the bed.
Raines had already been through the contents of the notebook, and the grisly words found there had been enough to force a smugly satisfied look onto his face. The textbook itself had been no mystery; it had been a book from his own personal library actually; and he had given it to Riley years before. The knife had been found beneath the girl's pillow. Fitting, he thought. The room would be ready for her when she came back; and Raines knew that she would come back. It was a simple matter of time until Riley contacted them, begging forgiveness and permission to come home, he was certain of it. He picked up the neatly stacked drawings from the edge of the desk as he left the room. That privilege would be revoked once she returned. Riley would find that there would be many changes made in her life once she returned.
-
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The door opened whisper-silent, and a man stepped into the room. Graying hair, transparent blue eyes, wire rimmed glasses, grey suit, white shirt, thin black tie. Cheap looking shoes. He was hugging a typewriter to his chest. Lyle's first coherent thought as he looked at the man was 'where the hell did they dredge this loser up?' He was followed inside by another man, this one looking more like what Lyle had been expecting, which was to say, very sinister and menacing with a nice glare on his face that said quite clearly, 'would you like to lose another digit?' His ...typist... Lyle was hesitant to place a name on the man, was setting up noisily in the corner, and Lyle had to wonder if he had ever heard any employee of the Triumvirate draw that much attention to themselves before.
Unlikely.
He was exactly the sort of man that Lyle would have labeled a push-over were he meeting him under different circumstances- someone he could manipulate, a man to be used and then discarded. Lyle didn't try typecasting his boss. He gave him a subtle once-over, trying to guess the likeliest place where he would hold a gun. No sweepers had followed them into the room, and no person was stupid enough yet to enter a room with Lyle unarmed, particularly if they knew of his reputation beforehand. A shoulder holster, he decided, would suit this man perfectly. The man was large enough however, that any small bulge was hidden easily and Lyle had no way of knowing if his guess was right, unless he provoked him to draw it... no, no he probably shouldn't. It wouldn't do to make the Triumvirate angry with him, not any more than they already were.
Lyle gave a discreet look at his watch as the man turned his back to find a seat at the table in the center of the room. Half an hour passed since he had been led in here. Okay, he could get the message, the Triumvirate wasn't pleased with him, but he could make them see the error of their convoluted ways. The game had only just begun after all. The big man seemed to find a seat at the table that suited him, halfway along the length, on the side closest to the door. He rested his hands on the back of his seat, but remained standing behind it. The shiny gold watch around his beefy wrist flashed as it caught on the lights overhead; Lyle thought it looked to be a Rolex. He had a fuzzy goatee growing along his chin and slightly up his jaw line, and a faint scar ran across the bridge of his nose, a faded remembrance of a breakage from long-ago. The lights reflected dully off his cue-ball bald head. He gestured across the table to the seat in front of him. "Mr. Lyle, so glad you could make it."
Lyle pushed himself away from where he was leaning against the wall, hands hidden in his pants pockets. "Well, it was an invitation I just... couldn't pass up."
Especially as I was being frog-marched out of my office
The stenographer gave a high nervous titter that turned into a cough halfway through. He cleared his throat, shuffling his papers as though trying to look like he knew what he was doing. Lyle hooked an eyebrow in his direction, taking his seat.
Pea-brain shuffled his papers again.
"You know why you are here, correct?" Lyle's attention was directed back to the man in front of him, deep salt-and-pepper voice grating against his ears.
The typewriter started clicking away just outside his vision. Lyle bit back the instinct to turn towards the crisp noise, keeping his eyes trained on the man in front of him instead. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he heard the carriage hit a hard return. "Why don't you enlighten me?" He asked, hardly keeping the sarcasm from his voice.
The man gave him a steely look at that last remark. "Mr. Lyle, what are your recollections of the night of November the 23rd?" Lyle returned the rigid stare and didn't answer. If the Triumvirate wanted to pin this whole affair on him, he certainly wasn't going to help them. "Mr. Lyle, you do know the events of the day I'm speaking of, do you not? I'm afraid I require an answer." His interrogator continued with the air of a man talking to a slow child. The typist keyed this question into the report in the same noisy manner that he had all of the previous ones. Lyle waited to give his response until silence had been restored to the room.
"Everything I could possibly tell you was already sent in my report." Lyle told him, sitting back in his chair, ready to stick it in for the long haul. There was only one possible reason that the Triumvirate would want a statement from him- they were hoping to catch him in a lie. He wouldn't give them the chance.
"I require it in your own words, Mr. Lyle." The man reiterated, and Lyle could see he was beginning to grate on him.
"My report was in my own words."
-
-
This was their second night spent in a hotel room, though they had left Delaware and all that entailed far behind them. Riley knew where they were going now- Colorado. Jarod had bought a road map in a small service station, the sign above it designating it a "Mini Mart" whatever that was... He had plotted a route in bright red pen and circled a small area on the outskirts of a town. Riley didn't know what was there, though the surrounding area seemed to hold a green patch of dense wood and some cross between a pond and lake, neither small nor large enough to truly be called either. He had thrown the map book onto the dashboard in front of her casually, but Riley could tell that the move was rehearsed. She also couldn't help but notice that they were taking an incredibly indirect route. And she happened to know for a fact that Jarod could go days without sleep, and yet, they had been stopping each night in some roadside inn, a 'Travel Lodge' or 'Motel Six'. Jarod had then stayed up for only an hour or more before dropping onto one of the two beds.
Jarod was doing this on purpose, she knew. He was trying to give her time to open up before they reached their destination. Why though? Why? Why did he need her to trust him by the time they arrived and why did he expect her to in the first place? She was more confused by the man next to her than she had ever been by anything before. She wanted to talk to Mr. Lyle. She needed help. She needed to find a way to pull the Triumvirate's termination order off her. She needed to know about Sarah's murder. She needed to know why Mr. Lyle had been removed from her project. She needed to talk to people she could trust. But how? How could she possibly get her life back? In any case, the life she would go back to if she returned to the Centre would not be the one she had left; she was hardly capable of erasing the past after all. If she went back she would be taken to Africa (not good), and most likely placed once again on the pursuit of Jarod (ditto), after some retraining (of course). She would be under Mr. Raines' direction (oh, bad), and she would never get to know the truth. There was not much to look forward to in that scenario.
She couldn't make a deal with the Triumvirate; she didn't trust them enough to believe that they wouldn't renege on their promises the instant she was back in custody. And she couldn't try trading in Jarod, that wouldn't change anything. It would only mean that The Triumvirate would have two pretenders instead of one. It didn't secure her position at all. The problem kept showing up every time that she simmed a possible situation; the biggest problem with returning to the Centre was that her influence in anything that happened afterward was nil. What was she going to do? Thinking that hypothetically she ever did get back to the Centre, when the Triumvirate ordered that she find Jarod, what was she supposed to do? Tell them that wasn't part of their deal?
Oh, yes, that sounds like an excellent plan Riley, because of course the Triumvirate is going to listen to you! She scoffed inwardly More likely to shove me back in the renewal wing and tell me to do as I'm told like a good little girl...
No, there was no going back to her old life. Not without some sort of help, in any case.
She stole a passing glance outside her window, instantly regretting the decision as she took in the vast expanse of nothing but white wheat fields, tinged bright silver in the sun, and not another person in sight for miles. It was huge. A trembling shudder seemed to quake from somewhere in the region of her stomach and Riley hunkered down in her seat, pretending what she had seen was not real. Closing her eyes and pretending she was back in her room; she was back in her room surrounded by four concrete walls and her desk and bookshelf and bed and the door that had a knob on the outside but not on the inside and that didn't matter because she never wanted to leave.
-
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"Mr. Lyle, we have had assurances for the past 15 years that this project would not run away, and yet she is gone. How do you explain this?"
Lyle paused before answering as the stenographer keyed in the question, pounding out the keys noisily, as he had been for the past three hours. "With all due respect, I wasn't even around for the 72 hours prior to her escape." He responded, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.
"Yes, but eleven years of working with the girl outweighs such a limited time period, wouldn't you agree?"
I plead the fifth your honor...
"The Triumvirate was told that she had been trained against this sort of occurrence, by you. Can there have been any mistakes made in the course of that training?" His interrogator, who he had yet to learn the name of, grilled him, strolling around the room like a man in the park. He had been doing this through the entire examination, asking questions as though he were commenting on the weather.
"No. The pretender I worked with for eleven years would never have run-" Lyle started, but he was interrupted halfway through his explanation.
"Mr. Lyle, you were removed from this subject's program because you had become too attached, correct?"
"Yes, but you should know that that assumption is incorrect-" Lyle clenched his teeth together as the man cut him off once more.
"According to Mr. Raines you were often too lenient with the girl; you allowed her disciplinary program to slide over the years. The Triumvirate believes that this leniency may be the cause for her escape."
So you feel that she is more likely to run away from a person she likes than a person she doesn't... hmmm... I can see your logic perfectly. Lyle was sorely tempted to voice his thoughts, but quashed them down as he waited for the damn typewriter to stop entering the question into the report. "I understand that Sir, but,"
"You claim there was no attachment between yourself and the subject, and yet Miss Zurbin alleges to have watched as you disobeyed a direct order for termination of the subject. How do you explain your actions in SL-27? If not through emotional attachment?" The man fired off another question before Lyle could respond fully.
Lyle ground his molars together as the grating noise of the typewriter met his ears again. Good God this was driving him insane. "There is no emotional attachment between myself and the subject. I was hoping to protect a Triumvirate investment. She can do a lot more for this company alive than she can dead." He answered, once more cut off before he could finish fully.
"The subject was out of control." The man stopped his stroll around the room, looking at Lyle pointedly.
Was there a question in there somewhere? "It took me less than five minutes to get her back under control." Lyle responded. "In the time it took for Miss Zurbin to order her termination, I had stopped her escape and was well on my way to having her return to us of her own accord." He argued.
"And yet she didn't."
No shit Sherlock. "The only reason why she did not was because The Triumvirate representative, Zurbin, decided to shoot at her. And not only did the subject not try to retaliate; she disarmed only the people with intent to harm her, and then apologized for it. Upon a medical examination none of the sweepers had anything more than a flesh wound, and no one else was hurt." Lyle told him, trying and failing to keep an accusatory tone out of his voice.
"She threatened at least five people at gunpoint Mr. Lyle; do you not call this hostile behavior?" The man asked incredulously.
Define "hostile."
"Prior to her termination order and subsequent escape, the girl was insisting she be allowed to speak with you, correct?" His interrogator tried a different line of questioning, coming around to stand behind Lyle so that he couldn't see his face or movements, which was unnerving to say the least.
"As far as I know, Sir." Seeing as no one told me...
The examiner paused before speaking, waiting as his typist reloaded a new piece of paper into the carriage. Hard return. Space. Space. Space. "Did you ever encourage an emotional attachment in the subject towards yourself?" Clickitty clack went the typewriter and Lyle swore he was in Hell. He didn't answer. It went without saying that Riley had an emotional attachment towards him-- misguided as it was.
It's called Stockholm syndrome you twit...
"Mr. Raines feels that you may have encouraged a friendship with the Pretender in order to take control of the project away from him. It isn't an outlandish claim Mr. Lyle. The subject, out of all the Centre employees chasing her, only responded to you. Upon your removal from the project, she began to show signs of disobedience and hostility. And, down in the Sub-level, I believe you were the only person she did not threaten with a gun in her hand. Do you have an explanation for that, Mr. Lyle?"
Lyle barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. "If I were granted access to the surveillance tapes of her time prior to the escape, I might have an answer for you. But I would like to point out; that Mr. Raines has managed to, in some way, corrupt every Centre project he has yet been granted custody of to this date. And it wasn't until my removal from the project, that Riley began acting out."
"You feel this escape is Mr. Raines' fault?" The man asked him.
Lyle sneered. "I know it wasn't mine."
-
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Riley listened as the car crunched over gravel, negotiating the long drive of the house Jarod was leading them to. It was large, painted white with dark green shutters, a wide porch wrapping its way around the portions of the structure she could see. Once a grand piece of property, it was easy to see even for Riley's untrained eye that it had been allowed to fall into a mild state of ruin over the past decade or more. The paint was dirty and peeling, the windows were unwashed, and the varnish on the porch had peeled in places, and allowed the wood to rot slowly over time. It looked inhabitable, despite its dilapidated exterior, and Riley could also see that certain parts of the house seemed to have been repaired recently.
A window slat snapped down in one of the front windows, and Riley caught a glimpse of a boy's face before the blind landed back against the sill. Seconds later, an older man walked out onto the porch. He gave a curious glance to Riley in the front passenger seat before directing a brilliant smile toward the car as he caught a glimpse of the man sitting behind the steering wheel.
Riley scowled; The Centre hadn't told her Jarod had found his father.
Jarod pushed the car door open and stepped out, embracing his father in a familiar sort of gesture, arms wrapped tightly around the older man's back. A spark of jealousy flared for only a millisecond before she silenced it with long-practiced ease. Riley watched with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation; she hoped that Jarod's father wouldn't try to greet her in the same way. She made no move to get out of the car. Jarod hadn't told her what to expect, she hadn't asked. Riley suspected that he wasn't going to go handing out information to her. If she were going to find out anything useful, she would have to ask for it. Riley had news for him; it would take a lot more than that to get her to talk to him.
Riley watched as the shade was pulled up in a different part of the house, the boy dropped it again once he noticed she was watching though, and she couldn't really get a good picture of his face; just a blur of dark features that muddled together and forgot themselves. Jarod turned away from his father after a moment, giving a glance back in Riley's direction. His face wore a look of worried consternation, but it changed instantly to a smile as he turned back to the older man. He looked truly happy to be back with his family. Riley almost felt sorry for luring him back to the Centre, but that didn't make any sense; she couldn't feel sorry, it had been her job. And it was Jarod's job to work for the Centre as well. That was his life.
Riley looked out the windshield towards the older man again, watching him as he fixed a puzzled gaze on his son and then on her, his mouth moving as he said something she couldn't hear. This was Jarod's life too, and one he obviously preferred. Riley pushed her palms into her eyes, blocking out her view of the world. This whole mess was frustrating.
She tried factoring Jarod's father into the equation of how to get herself back home. Would the Triumvirate accept his location as a worthy bargaining chip, a testament of loyalty perhaps? Jarod's weakness was his family, if the Triumvirate were to get a hold of Jarod's father, they could very well coerce him into working for them again. It would make certain that Riley wasn't placed on Jarod's pursuit any longer, if the Triumvirate already had him, and had his father to stop him from acting out again. Would it work? She was sure Jarod would work if the Triumvirate was holding his father, but what would happen if either of them managed to escape? Holding on to Jarod once caught was like trying to keep water in cupped hands. Jarod would recognize soon enough that the Triumvirate could never mortally wound his father; they needed to keep him alive if they wanted Jarod's cooperation. They could use that to their advantage of course. Forcing Jarod to watch as his father suffered interminably would be unbearable for him. The Centre would be able to persuade him into doing anything for them. It was a good plan, she thought. There were definite risks if the major died, or if either man managed to escape. But she doubted the older man would be able to break away from a fortress such as the Centre. And Jarod's first course of action, were he to escape, would be to rescue his father. They could use that predictability to their advantage if he ever got loose again. Yes, it had flaws, but if they could anticipate them, it was the best plan they had.
Turning back from his father Jarod walked over to the car, ducking his head in the open door with a smile across his face. "Do you plan on sitting in the car all day?"
It's not out of the question... Riley wasn't sure how to answer. If it had been Mr. Lyle or Mr. Raines asking her, she would have known the question was rhetorical. If it had been a sweeper she would have known it meant 'get up before I make you'. If it had been anyone but Jarod she would have known exactly how to respond. But it was Jarod, and he was giving her a choice, and Riley had never responded well to having to make decisions.
Jarod's smile faded a bit. "Riley, you're going to have to talk to me at some point."
Shows how much you know...
Jarod ran a hand through his hair before pushing himself away from the car and walking back over to his father. The old man's lips moved and Riley didn't bother to read them, Jarod gave a shrug in return. Riley turned back to watching the house, but no blinds fluttered this time.