Chapter 4: Lonely In Your Nightmare

Men fear death as children fear to go in the dark; and as that natural fear in children is increased with tales, so is the other. "-Francis Bacon

The hall was dark. It was difficult to see much of anything. There was eeriness to it all. Mia shuddered as she fumbled for the light switch. Her fingertips grazed the switch plate. Light swathed the narrow corridor. She was embarrassed to have him see where she lived.

The apartment was cramped quarters even for one person. There was no distinction between the living room and kitchen, which only had a stove and oven, and a short refrigerator and a minute icebox. In the living room that was little more than open space were a cot, three folding chairs, a wooden chest, and small television. The walls were dinghy and where there was wallpaper, it was cracked and peeling. No matter how much she cleaned, the place was always dirty.

Mia was more than a little worried about having a strange man in her apartment. A thousand thoughts flew through her head and the ones about the recent string of killings lingered longer than the others. She hadn't expected him to come in...but he did. She hadn't expected him to stay...but he was.

Lyle's thoughts were still on the encounter with the man outside and barely noticed the state of disrepair around him. At length, he turned his knife-like gaze on her and noticed her nervousness. He smiled at her- a long, closed-lip smile- an inviting, safe, affable smile- one that gave her every reason in the world to trust him.

Jarod isn't the only one who can pretend...

If the dearth of her home bothered him, he was gracious enough not to say so. He lounged against a wall in the kitchen, arms folded over his waist and one foot crossed over the other.

"Mia," he said, letting her name roll over his tongue as though it were sweet wine. "Mia...is that short for Amelia?" Cleverly, Lyle sought to confirm her identity as the Seventh Member by disguising his inquisition in small talk.

Mia seemed to sag against the stove, ashen and cold. She started to shake her head "no", then stopped, looked at him helplessly, and shrugged.

"I don't know," she admitted.

Lyle raised his eyebrows. He couldn't say honestly that he was surprised. The Centre was rather keen on only giving projects first or last names, never both. The stripping of one's identity was the first step in assuming control.

"Last name?" he queried, already knowing the answer.

It was that moment, when she looked up at him, that he first truly noticed her eyes. They were mammoth and stormy gray like the sea in dire weather. And in those eyes was all the sadness of the world. To his surprise, Lyle discovered that he could not look long into her gaze for fear he would drown.

"I can't remember," she said in a hushed tone. "I must have one...everyone does."

Not everyone...

"What about family?"

She looked away from him, her features marred in concentration. Finally, she spoke.

"I do have a family," she sounded a bit uncertain as though minutiae were hard to recall. "I know my father is in prison. And my mom had a breakdown when he was convicted- she's been in Bellevue State Hospital ever since..."

How convenient...He mused. I wonder what role the Centre played in all that.

"I have a brother," she went on, sounding even more doubtful than before. "And maybe a sister. But I have no idea where they are."

I'll bet the Centre does...

"You must think I'm stupid for not knowing my own past."

He heard something in her voice break. He found himself suddenly by her side.

"Not all," he declared, in complete honesty, "I can sympathize actually."

She stared at him in disbelief. "Really?"

He inclined his head slightly. His fingertips brushed her cheek. "I only have one name myself."

Even after discovering my parentage, I wasn't allowed to claim the name Parker, he thought bitterly. His sister's image flashed into his head. He could feel the anger burning within- that old familiar feeling of hate began to boil again.

He turned his thoughts to the pretty thing before him.

"How long have you been having these memory failures?" he asked, removing his hand from her face and returning to his place by the wall.

Mia, who had been unable to breathe while he had been so close, inhaled a gulp of air.

"Dunno. I can remember my childhood up to eight shortly before my dad was arrested. Then some things here and there, but it's like there are large chunks of time that are missing. Black gaps that I can't fill in. Some times I wake up in places and I don't know where I am or how I got there."

She noticed his gaze continually shifting to the window and outside world. She watched as he moved to the portal and peered out through the broken, dust-laden blinds.

"They're always there," she informed him solemnly and suddenly.

He whipped around as though she had startled him. She saw the flash of metal under his jacket- it didn't faze her.

Maybe he's cop...It was possible. They had come after her before because of an interest in her father...not that she could tell them anything, though.

"Where?" he asked, still looking out of the window.

"Everywhere. At work, at school, here. Everywhere. Always lurking outside of wherever I am."

"How long?"

"Always." She paused then joined him at the window.

It was a peculiar sensation to her to be so close to another living, breathing being. She could smell the spice of his cologne, hear his steady breathing, and feel the warmth of his body. Warmth...that was that strangest sense of all- to feel warmth in her world where it was always cold and always night.

"You can see them, too?" she sounded amazed.

He nodded. She sighed in relief.

"I thought I was crazy...seeing boogey men."

His expression was dour, his brow knit together in apprehension.

"Maybe we're both crazy."

When she saw that he was serious, Mia felt something deep down inside stir. It felt like something rolling, prodding, searching, and reaching to break out. It was not an uncommon feeling. After awhile, it settled. Mia rested her cheek against his shoulder- he was nearly a head taller then she. The dark surrounded them- the lights inside flickered and danced and finally went out. For once in her short life, Mia did not feel alone.

The clicking of leather shoes against the tile floor echoed in the corridor of the morgue. Jarod stopped in front of an older man who was standing at the end of the hallway, looking impatient. His chestnut brown hair was graying and his thin face tattled on his age, but his green eyes were sharp and intelligent. He was dressed identically to his younger counterpart- dark blue suit, pale blue dress shirt, and dark tie.

"Good evening, Chief," Jarod nodded cordially.

Chief Inspector Calvin McNamara eyed him.

"You're late," he barked.

That was news to Jarod and the surprise showed in his eyes.

"Really?" he frowned and glanced at his watch. "According to my watch, I'm-"

McNamara waved his hand dismissively. He turned his back on the Pretender.

"Follow me."

Jarod followed the Inspector into a titled room where several bodies lay covered in stark white sheets. Two other men joined them. One was the coroner, a thin grim-looking man in his forties, and the other a chubby, red-faced forensics man.

The coroner, James Mooreland, shook each of their hands.

"Gentleman," he nodded with a weary sigh. "I see you're running ahead of schedule tonight."

McNamara gave a disgruntled grunt and shot an annoyed look at Jarod.

"Please," Mooreland said, gesturing to the room, "make yourselves at home."

The Inspector ignored the coroner and began to pace the rows of corpses. Jarod followed close on his heels.

Without warning, McNamara stopped, causing Jarod to nearly crash into him. The Inspector wordlessly threw back the covers to reveal two hideously mutilated bodies.

"We know very little," he told Jarod dismally. "We believe the killer to be either a very small male or a female- there's not enough evidence to be positive which it is. Whoever it is, they like to cut 'em." He pointed to the deep cuts that covered the bodies. "Always the type of blade- a match in each case."

He recovered the victims and uncovered another- a woman in her early fifties.

"Incisions were made to her jugulars," McNamara explained. "And she was strung up by her ankles..."

"To drain the blood," Jarod finished, grimacing at the brutality of the crime. He looked away.

"Yeah, then she was dumped in the East River."

McNamara turned to face Jarod.

"Sussex there," he nodded to the man talking to the coroner a few feet away, "is the new chief of Forensics. You'll be seeing a lot of him."

The Pretender nodded as the other man walked up to them.

"Stanley Sussex," the Inspector introduced the men to each other. "This is Jarod Wayne. He'll be heading this case."

Sussex took Jarod's extended hand and they shook.

"Say," Sussex gave him an inquisitive look, "didn't you use to be a Forensics photographer just a while back?"

Jarod smiled slightly. "I got promoted," he elucidated with a shrug.

Sussex raised an eyebrow. "Some promotion," he muttered under his breath.

Jarod turned to back to the Inspector.

"What about Grayson, sir?" he asked with sincere concern in regards to the man originally assigned to the case. "I thought this was his deal."

McNamara rubbed at his nose. "Grayson's had some sort of breakdown...something."

"Oh," Jarod seemed stunned. "I didn't know."

"I though it best that he take an extended break, pull himself together. This case is your responsibility now." He turned abruptly, not allowing Jarod a chance to question him.

"All yours now, doctor," he told Sussex, who nodded before he began his examinations.

"Let's go," McNamara snapped at Jarod. "We've got a lot of work to do."

The hall was quiet. Too quiet. Miss Parker didn't trust quiet Centre hallways. The click of her heels sounded thunderous and echoed in her ears. Her face twisted into an annoyed frown.

A shadow moved.

Miss Parker whirled around, almost knocking herself off balance. There nothing in the passage that wasn't suppose to be there.

Parker cursed at her tenseness. She resumed her course to her father's office, cool and collected, but her pace was quicker.

The space near the door to her father's office seemed shady, despite being in a well-lit area. The closer she got the darker it got. Suddenly, the shadows converged and three figures emerged.

They were Broots' boogeymen. Parker involuntarily took a step back. They towered over her, slowly advancing and encompassing her.

"What the-"Parker was completely surrounded. Anger churned within her. They were trying to intimidate her- whoever they were- and she didn't like it.

"Get out of my way," she snarled as she tried to push her way past them. An impenetrable wall of black coats met her.

"We think that is it not possible," one said.

"Look, I don't know who you are, but you'd better move!" She crouched down slightly in a defensive posture, ready to fight if she had to.

"You are here to see Mr. Parker, no?"

She straightened up- she could be menacing as well as they could.

"Yes." She gave her jacket a sharp tug.

Their faces remained smooth, devoid of emotion. "Mr. Parker is not taking visitors now."

"Visitor!" she spat. "I'm his daughter."

Parker had had enough of this farce. If she couldn't push her way out, she sure could shoot her way out.

The one in front of her took hold of her wrist as she reached for her gun. Her mouth drop open in shock- his hand was like ice. His gaze bore into her through his sunglasses.

"No exceptions."

Water filled the sink, roaring as swirled down the drain. He leaned over the faucet watching the liquid disappear into the sewers of the City. The sound of the running water should have been soothing, but instead it put him on edge.

Violently, he slammed the valve off. Breathing heavily, he slowly lifted his head until he could see his image in the mirror that was crudely tacked onto the wall. He stared at his reflection- avoiding his own eyes. Water droplets trickled over his features, trailing down his chin. He lifted a custom tailored sleeve and wiped the moisture away.

He had won this phase of the game- she was his now, completely under his spell. Convinced that he was a kind-hearted soul, a possible kindred spirit, she would do anything he asked. All he had to do was decided what he wanted her to do.

"LYLE!" The scream of terror ripped through the still air like a missile.

He reacted without thinking, bolting out of the bathroom and into the main room of the apartment.

Mia stood with her back against the window. Her face was even whiter than normal and her eyes impossibly large with horror.

He saw the source of her terror- the man from the street and he had brought three of his friends. Instantly, he was at her side. Whoever they were, he wasn't about to let them steal his prize.

She clung to him as though he was a lifesaver, unaware that she was in as much danger with him as with the others in the room. He gripped her tightly in her left arm...too tightly. His nails dug into her back- pain raced up her spine.

She squirmed in his grasp- he didn't mean to hurt her, but at the moment he couldn't be concerned with it. He pulled his gun out with his free hand and leveled it at the men. They were not effected by it.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"It is not your concern," one informed him in a still even timbre.

"I beg to differ," he spat back.

Mia trembled against him. The rage in his voice scared her nearly as much as the men in black coats.

"We have come for you," the second one motioned at them both.

Lyle didn't quite understand what he meant and he didn't care. He was not going to lose the Seventh Member to them- over his dead body- and he'd survived death several times.

"Come quiet and all will be well, no?" said the third.

"We no harm," the fourth stepped forward.

An odd metallic taste flooded Lyle's mouth. He swallowed. Blood...in his fury he had bitten his tongue. The taste had a bizarre effect on him. Turned the weapon on the one who had advanced on them.

"Yeah, well, I will!" He grinned sadistically and fired off three rounds into the Black Coat.

The man shuddered and stumbled backwards. His associates turned their attention to their fallen comrade. It was enough of a diversion for them to escape.

Lyle roughly shoved Mia in front of him and through the front door.

"Run!" he commanded.

She ran.