Disclaimer: See chapter 1.
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Burden of Truth Part8
By Phenyx
06/28/05
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"You're still bleeding," Nicholas said warily.
"It isn't bad. But I need to get the bullet out." Jarod's reply was calm and flat. His jaw clenched against the pain but he revealed nothing in the tone of his voice. Jarod sat on the counter next to the sink. His hair was wet and his skin still damp from the cold but rejuvenating shower he'd taken. His torn shoulder oozed blood that mixed with the droplets of water on his chest. The resulting thin liquid ran in rivulets down his body.
Around his waist, Jarod wore one of the plain white towels the motel had provided. The towel was thin and had seen it's share of washings but it seemed clean enough. Jarod had the terrycloth wrapped around his midsection, strategically positioned to cover his nakedness while still leaving the wound in his hip exposed.
As Nicholas watched, Jarod rummaged through the first aid and pulled out an assortment of items. Jarod opened a square packet, releasing the distinct odor of alcohol into the air. The alcohol swap was used to thoroughly scrub a long metal instrument that resembled a huge pair of tweezers. Nicholas gaped in astonishment as Jarod began to dig at the wound on his side with the stainless steel forceps.
Jarod worked wordlessly, gritting his teeth and frowning with concentration. It took just over a minute before he found the foreign object and yanked it from his flesh. Jarod tossed the bloody bullet and the forceps aside, allowing them to clatter hollowly into the sink. With a gasp, he quickly pressed a gauze pad against the wound and, panting heavily, he slumped against the wall.
"Isn't there anything I can do for you?" Nicholas asked.
Jarod gazed at the younger man. "Go home," he answered.
Nicholas shook his head.
"Your mother will be worried about you," Jarod told him.
Nicholas smiled. "I'm a big boy Jarod. I don't live at home anymore. Besides, my mother is in Seattle visiting my aunt." He shrugged. "She's been working hard to stay in touch with my father's family."
"Someone will be missing you," Jarod argued. "Friends, neighbors?"
"I doubt it," was the reply. "They'll all assume I've gone somewhere, especially with it being a long weekend. No one will be alarmed until I miss class on Wednesday."
"Well, that's depressing," Jarod said. He eyed the younger man curiously. "Surely there's a girlfriend or something."
"I'm working on it," Nicholas answered with a smile.
Jarod nodded solemnly, as though he had just been entrusted with some piece of sacred knowledge. He then turned his attention back to the first aid kit. "Are you squeamish?" he asked the younger man.
"Even if I was," Nicholas answered in a droll tone. "The last several hours would have forced a cure."
"Good. Pay attention."
Working calmly, Jarod peeled open a suture packet. He pivoted his body on the faux marble counter top so that he was facing the mirror. Jarod then proceeded to stitch the knife wound on his shoulder.
Despite his claims, Nicholas winced each time Jarod pulled the thread taut. The needle piercing the skin on each side of the cut had to hurt. But Jarod seemed unfazed. Only the sweat beading on his brow gave any indication of pain.
When the wound was closed, black thread struck a stark contrast against Jarod's pale skin. With a sigh, Jarod leaned forward, resting his forehead against the mirror. He panted for a moment, letting the throbbing of his injuries overwhelm him for a short time.
"Jarod?" Nicholas asked. "Are you alright?"
Jarod opened his eyes and straightened. In the reflection of the mirror, Jarod's gaze found Nicholas'. Without a word, Jarod lifted his hand, offering the needle and additional thread to Nicholas. It took only a heartbeat of time before the younger man picked up on Jarod's meaning.
"You're kidding," Nicholas gasped.
"The knife went all the way through," Jarod explained. "I can't reach the exit wound well enough to suture it."
Nicholas shook his head frantically. "I'm not a doctor. I don't know how!"
"It's easy," Jarod assured him. "Haven't you ever bought a new pair of shoes?"
"Shoes?"
Jarod nodded. "It's just like threading new shoelaces."
"Somehow I doubt that," Nicholas said.
"Not exactly what they teach at the Mayo Clinic," Jarod added with a shrug. "But it will do the job."
Nicholas nervously took the needle. His hands shook visibly as he hunched in position over Jarod's shoulder blade. Looking up, Nicholas glanced into the dark eyes that watched him from the mirror.
"I don't want to hurt you," Nicholas said.
"Don't worry about it," Jarod replied. "I have a very high tolerance for pain."
Indeed, Jarod seemed completely unaffected by Nicholas' ministrations. He didn't flinch or gasp or in any way display discomfort as Nicholas worked. Nicholas stitched the wound as quickly as he dared yet it still took several minutes to finish the job.
"Done?" Jarod asked.
With a nod Nicholas eyed his work critically. "There will be an ugly scar I'm afraid."
"It will make a fine addition to my collection," Jarod replied in a caustic tone. "Tape some gauze over it."
Nicholas did as he was told. He then followed Jarod out of the bathroom, watching as the injured man limped across the room to flop wearily onto the bed. Jarod lay there for several minutes with his good arm thrown across his eyes.
After a while Jarod lifted his head and eyed Nicholas. "You aren't leaving," Jarod observed.
"I can't," Nicholas said. "Not yet."
"I'll be fine," Jarod promised.
Nicholas frowned and chewed thoughtfully at his lower lip. "Tell me about The Centre."
"You don't want to know."
"Yes I do," Nicholas argued.
"Dragging you into the game will change your life forever," Jarod told him. "Just as it changed your mother's."
"What does my mother have to do with this?" Nicholas frowned.
Jarod shook his head and gazed woefully at the younger man. "Did you never wonder how your parents met?"
"She was at The Centre," Nicholas said.
Jarod nodded. "She worked there for a time."
"What did she do?"
Jarod's dark gaze studied Nicholas in silence. For a full minute Jarod seemed to be searching for something. It was as if he could look hard enough to see into Nicholas' soul and examine the younger man's fate. "Are you sure about this?" Jarod asked softly. "It may affect your image of her."
Nicholas felt an abrupt shudder of apprehension rush through him and goose bumps rose on his flesh. For a moment, Nicholas wanted to pull back; to cower from whatever terrible things Jarod was about to say. Like a child afraid of the dark, Nicholas wanted to hide from the shadows that seemed to threaten him. But he wasn't a child. Nicholas was old enough to understand that the imagined fear was rarely genuine. Unknown, unseen dangers were far more sinister.
"I'm sure," Nicholas answered.
With a single nod, Jarod laid his head back against the pillow and covered his eyes with one forearm. He paused and seemed to almost have fallen asleep, before he finally spoke. "I don't know what she did exactly, " Jarod said softly. "She worked with Sy… She helped your father."
"You knew her," Nicholas added.
"I remember her," Jarod corrected. "Though she and I never interacted. My…" Jarod paused as he searched for the appropriate words. "My involvement with others was strictly limited. No mere assistant was allowed on the very short list of people I was permitted to speak to."
Jarod remained motionless on the bed, his arm tossed casually across his eyes. His body seemed completely relaxed as if he were lying on a beach in the sun. Nicholas did not know him well enough to understand how practiced and misleading Jarod's body language could be.
"Outside influences could taint the experiment, you see." Jarod continued to explain. "My work had to be unaffected by social conformity, untarnished by convention."
"Were you completely isolated?" Nicholas asked.
"For the most part," Jarod agreed. "For weeks, even months, at a time, Sydney was my only source of human contact. He told me when to eat, when to sleep, when to sit, when to stand, when to breathe and when to stop. Everything I did, I did because he allowed it.
There were a handful of others. Some whose arrival I dreaded. Yet even they provided a small measure of what I so desperately needed. I was denied the touch of another for so long, that even a beating provided something I craved. Physical contact."
Jarod paused, allowing Nicholas' stunned silence to fill the room.
"I do remember your mother," Jarod finally continued. "I didn't know her name at the time. She was just another observer in a white coat, hovering at the edges of the Sim lab one day."
"Sim Lab?" Nicholas asked.
"Simulation laboratory," Jarod explained. "Something like Dr. Frankenstein's lab but without the lightning."
"Complete with a monster and severed body parts?" Nicholas vainly tried to bring some levity to the conversation.
"There was more than one monster in that dungeon," Jarod answered. "Probably more than a few body parts hidden away as well. I know for a fact there's at least one thumb."
"I don't believe you." Nicholas shook his head in denial. "My mother would never be a part of such a place."
Jarod lowered his arm and lifted his head slowly. His dark eyes bored into Nicholas' lighter ones. "Shall I tell you about the dress she had on that day? Does she still wear Fleurs de nuit perfume? I only saw her the one time, but she was most definitely there."
"Perhaps you're mistaken," Nicholas tried hopefully. "It was years ago. You may not remember correctly."
"I remember," Jarod assured him. "She made a lasting impression."
Nicholas frowned. "How is that?"
"She smiled at me," Jarod replied with a shrug. "That was probably the reason she was never allowed back in the Sim lab. Smiles were few and far between. I cherished each one I received."
"I don't understand." Nicholas sighed. He sat on the edge of the bed in deflated confusion. "Why would she work in such a place?"
"She didn't stay long," Jarod said. "She left. To protect both you and the man she loved, she left."
The two men stared at each other in silence for a moment.
"How long were you kept there?" Nicholas asked abruptly.
Jarod lay down, covering his eyes as he had before. "I was taken from my family when I was four," he said in the same calm tone. "I escaped a little over six years ago."
Nicholas gasped. "Your entire life! You're telling me that The Centre held you in isolation for most of your life!"
"Pretty much," Jarod agreed.
"And those people we left at the warehouse want to lock you away again?"
"In their minds," Jarod explained. "I belong to them."
Nicholas shook his head. "It's too farfetched. I don't know how to believe you," he said.
"Good." Jarod's tone grew hard and cold. "You'll be safer if you don't believe me." With that, Jarod rolled over onto his good side. He punched the pillow a couple of times before tucking it under his head. "Now," Jarod added. "If you insist upon hanging around, why not make yourself useful and get us something to eat? I'm starved."
"But we aren't done talking about this," Nicholas argued.
"Yes, we are," Jarod told him. "If you can not accept the fundamental premise, there's no way you'll believe anything else I tell you."
"You don't have to be a bastard about it," Nicholas grumped.
Jarod sat up with a speed that made Nicholas flinch with surprise. "I'm being a bastard?" Jarod growled. "I'm not the one who just tossed aside your existence. It may be farfetched but it happened, damn it. I lived it! I am REAL!"
Nicholas shrank away from the fury in Jarod's voice. The tension in the other man's body was like a live thing making Nicholas concerned for his own safety. But then, Nicholas' eyes met the dark gaze of his enraged companion. There was something else shimmering in those deep brown eyes. The hard flat glare Nicholas had found in Jarod's eyes earlier was now gone. Instead, Nicholas could see desperation, fear and pain all struggling for dominance.
Suddenly, Nicholas believed every word Jarod had said.
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End part 8