*Author's note: takes place at the end of the third season finale where Jarod is captured. Sorry NBC and TnT...
Purgatory: Part VI
Jarod was alone. Silence was his
invisible companion. Sight was his lost friend. He was sad for the losses:
freedom, vision. Both were gone, but the memories, the memories. They returned.
They were all he had left. All he had lost. The memories. He thought he would
never succumb to them, but the memories of David trickled back to mock him. So
abrupt was the return. The memories…
Fingers brushed the fold of his
arm. The skin burned under the vile touch. The demon's touch felt as hot as hell
in his mind. He felt leather gloves on his skin, Lyle. He shivered. A liquid ate
its way into his veins. The gloves clasped his hands. Jarod felt a heavy weight
pressed forced into his grasp. He held it, but the gloves did not release him.
Lyle guided the weight. Jarod let his fingers trace the outline of it. It was a
gun. He slipped his finger into the trigger, but Lyle's did not allow him to
move the aim.
"Jarod," he whispered into his ear. "I want you to kill."
Jarod balked, releasing the weapon. Lyle forced him to take hold of it
again. "I want you to kill. I want you to murder."
"No, I won't, I won't
do it."
Lyle encircled Jarod; his arms rested on Jarod's. He forced
Jarod to aim straight ahead. "I want you to kill," he repeated harshly.
"I won't help you!"
Lyle pressed his chest into Jarod's back. He
rested his cheek on Jarod's neck, his chin on Jarod's shoulder. Jarod struggled,
but Lyle continued repeating and held Jarod fast. Lyle ran one hand through
Jarod's chocolate hair. He grabbed a fistful and pulled. Jarod winced, throwing
his head back. There was a shark prick on his neck and he sensed a warm
relaxation bubbling through his system. He shook his head to keep his thoughts
lucid as the relaxant numbed his mind. Lyle eased him to his knees and whispered
in his ear, "Kill."
"The only person I would kill is you, Lyle."
Lyle stood and walked in front of Jarod. "Then go ahead, Jarod, no one's
stopping you."
"Give me back my sight!"
"You can't do it, you
know that. You couldn't kill me."
"Then you know I won't kill them."
Jarod heard a faint moan in front of him. "Who is it? Who's there?" he
called. Another moan echoed the first. It was a younger tone. A fearful tone.
One void of understanding, rich in the innocence of youth. The innocence that
was to be corrupted, no doubt. This was, after all, the Centre. "They are
choices. Each has its benefits; each has its costs.
A gruff voice called
to Jarod from across the room.
"Don't give him anything. Jarod, stay
strong!" Jarod recoiled in horror as the voice was silenced. He opened his lips,
but words of protest held fast to his tongue. He shook his hand mutely.
Lyle spoke for him, "It's impossible, right, 'they escaped!' Daddy and
the clone. Take your pick."
Jarod's eyes snapped open. He was
lying in a bed; he could feel the sheets twisted around him. "No," he muttered,
grief stricken. Oh, God let it be a dream. Was it real?
He
screamed at the cameras he knew were there, "Sydney! Miss Parker!" "Was it real?
What did you do to me?"
"What did I do, what did I do?" he sobbed; he
poured out his soul to the empty room. But only the deaf heard his cries, only
the blind saw him weep.
TO BE CONTINUED