Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

-Author's Note: Summer is over. The children are all back in school. I figured it was about time I quit messing around and finished this story already.

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Burden of Truth Part9

By Phenyx

08/28/05

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Parker was tired. Her body ached with fatigue. For one fleeting moment she wished that Jarod had not taken his jacket when he'd left. She wanted nothing more than to curl up under the leather-scented warmth and drift to sleep once again. But there was no way she could sleep now. Hell would freeze over before she lowered her guard while Lyle was in the room.

It wasn't that Parker feared her twin. She simply knew better than to allow him any leeway. Lyle was a power-hungry psychopath who would love to see her dead. And yet, Parker knew that Lyle wasn't going to hurt her. Not today. She'd seen her brother's reaction to their earlier conversation. Lyle had no doubt about her ability to haunt him from the afterlife. Even though Parker had no clue how she'd go about it.

It didn't really matter. If Lyle ever succeeded in his attempts on Miss Parker's life, she would carry out her threat if she could. If she couldn't, well she'd be dead and wouldn't care anyway. Lyle would suffer, of that much Parker was confident. Her spirit wouldn't need to do a damn thing. Her self-appointed guardian angel would smite her killer with a vengeance never before imagined.

Thinking of her exasperatingly persistent champion, Parker sighed and ran one hand through her hair. Caught somewhere between irritation and concern, Miss Parker did her best to fuel the anger. She didn't want to be worried. She didn't want to consider the dark red blemish that smeared across the floor. She tried to ignore the stain she knew to be type AB negative blood.

Hours had past since Jarod had limped from this room. He'd been pale and near shock, bleeding badly. Parker hoped that Nicholas knew something about first aid. She hoped that the young man had not left Jarod behind. Parker's mind treated her to a graphic image of Jarod lying in a ditch somewhere as his life oozed from his body to seep into the soil.

"Damned fool," Parker hissed under breath, letting the anger flow. She didn't want to be worried. She'd never admit that she was.

"Miss Parker?"

Parker snapped to attention at the sound of the faint voice. With a quick glance at her companions, Parker could tell that Lyle and Sydney had heard it too.

"Miss Parker?"

"Broots!" Parker went to the door and pounded on it with one fist. "Broots, you moron, get us out of here!"

"Miss Parker." Broots' voice was muffled but easily recognizable. "We'll have you out of there in a jiffy."

Parker turned toward Sydney and grinned, forgetting for the moment that she was angry with him. Broots' presence and their impending rescue meant that Jarod had escaped. He'd gotten away and had called Broots, telling the balding technician where to find them. Jarod was alive.

Jarod was alive, in spite of the fact that he'd taken a bullet meant for Miss Parker. He had saved her life. Again. No doubt he'd be calling in the middle of some night in the very near future to remind Parker of that fact.

"Damn," Parker muttered to herself. This time, irritation overrode concern with no trouble at all.

-

The rustle of a paper bag and the tantalizing aroma of French fries woke Jarod. He was lying on the sagging old motel bed, wearing nothing but the towel he'd donned earlier. For a moment he watched Nicholas move quietly around the room.

"Sorry," Nicholas said when he noticed Jarod's gaze following him. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay," Jarod answered. "I want those fries more than I want to sleep." Reaching over his head with his good arm, Jarod grabbed the metal post on the headboard. He hauled himself into a sitting position, no easy feat considering the stiffness that had worked through his right side.

"Jarod?" Nicholas asked.

"I'm okay," Jarod reassured him. "Sore as hell, but okay."

For the next several minutes, the two men ate in silence.

"The cash machine worked just like you said it would," Nicholas said. When Jarod made no reply the younger man frowned. "Where would you learn about something like that?"

"It was designed that way," Jarod answered around a mouthful of cheeseburger. With a shrug he added, "Sometimes, when I got really bored with a sim, I'd plant little puzzles or pranks within the code. No one ever found that one." He shrugged again. "It's rather handy on occasion."

Nicholas eyed Jarod for a moment. "You're not kidding," he said. When Jarod remained silent, Nicholas continued in disbelief. "You found a way to plant hidden code into every ATM machine in the country?"

"No," Jarod sighed. "Only one."

"I don't understand."

"Automated teller machines have become more sophisticated over the years, but the basic foundation of their function has remained constant from the very beginning," Jarod explained as he stuffed french fries into his mouth. "I planted the bug in the first one. The others were simply copied."

Nicholas tossed his unfinished burger onto the table, appetite gone. "I find it hard to believe that you invented the cash machine, Jarod."

"I didn't," Jarod answered. "It was invented in 1939 by a man named Luther Simjian. I was tasked with making the idea work efficiently enough to mass-produce them."

Feeling as though his legs were made of jelly, Nicholas sat heavily on the mattress at the foot of the bed. "That must have been ages ago," he said in a whisper.

Jarod shrugged. "I was eight, maybe nine. Are you going to eat that?" he added with a gesture toward the abandoned cheeseburger.

Nicholas shook his head. He leaned over and pushed the sandwich in Jarod's general direction.

"You begin to understand," Jarod said as he took in the troubled look on Nicholas' face.

"Not really," Nicholas replied. Gazing up at Jarod, younger man pleaded, "You have to tell me what I've gotten dragged into, Jarod. Please. There are so many questions running through my head right now and you are the only one with the answers."

Jarod scoffed. "What I know will only cause more questions. And it will affect your relationship with Sydney, possibly with your mother as well."

Shaking his head Nicholas argued, "I need to know. Put yourself in my shoes, Jarod. Wouldn't you want the same, no matter what the cost?"

"Yes," Jarod admitted. He stared intently at the younger man for a long moment, fully aware of the potential danger he was bringing into Nicholas' life. Swallowing hard, Jarod sighed. The boy's life was already changed forever. There was nothing Jarod could do to reverse that. But in revealing the secrets of The Centre, Jarod would be drawing Nicholas into the circle of lives for which he was directly responsible.

Jarod balled up the empty fast-food wrappers and tossed the wad across the room. Running one hand through his hair, Jarod took a deep breath and began, "I'm a pretender. I can become anything I want to be." With a wry smile he confessed, "I don't need to imagine how you feel right now. I know. In my mind I can place myself in your position and know exactly what thoughts are running through your mind.

It is an inherent skill. I was born with it just as I was born with an advanced intellect. It is a talent much desired in some circles. When I was very young, I was taken from my family and raised by people who wanted that skill."

"Taken by my father," Nicholas interrupted.

"Evidently," Jarod nodded. "He raised me, studied me and trained me. I was isolated from the world so that I could focus on my gift. Through simulations I invented new technologies, designed better buildings, built stronger bridges. I drafted negotiations, swayed political campaigns, influenced economies and even fed the hungry.

We did great good together, Sydney and I," Jarod said woefully. "That's what I was told anyway. I believed them for a long time. When I finally realized the truth, I began to understand what I had really become."

"The truth?" Nicholas asked.

Jarod nodded. "My work was sold to the highest bidder regardless of the client's intent. The results were corrupted, used to harm, to hurt and to maim." Jarod plucked at a stray thread on the bedspread and did his best to keep his voice steady. "People died, Nicholas. Even as small boy, I was dreaming up things that have killed thousands. The blood on my hands is incalculable."

"You couldn't have known," Nicholas gasped. "You were only a child."

"Ignorance is no excuse for murder," Jarod replied.

"How did you escape," Nicholas asked after a brief pause.

"When it became apparent that they were never going to release me," Jarod explained. "I simply left." He laughed in self-depreciation. "There was really nothing simple about it. Getting out was the easy part. You see, I could not remember ever seeing a bird, an autumn leaf or a rainbow. Nothing in the real world was quite real, if that makes any sense. I didn't know the rules, couldn't drive a car. Things as mundane as escalators and revolving doors were new to me. I spent months in a state of fascinated wonder, too naive to understand how frightening it all was."

Jarod smiled sadly at his young companion. "To this day, there are things I don't understand, occasional references to a past that the rest of society takes for granted. I live an odd kind of life, free and yet not. The Centre hunts for me so that I am always on the run. At the same time, I search for the family that I was taken from so many years ago."

"There must be a way," Nicholas began. "The F.B.I."

"No," Jarod cut him off. "The government is one of The Centre's best clients. Even if I could get to someone who would listen, no one will believe me. In the best-case scenario, they'd have me committed to a mental institution. Worse yet, they could believe just enough of my story to declare me a terrorist threat." Jarod gazed woefully at his companion. "I am a dangerous man, Nicholas. In the struggle to survive, I can be very dangerous indeed."

With a muffled groan, Jarod carefully slid to the edge of the bed and hauled himself to his feet.

"There has to be a way to expose them," Nicholas continued.

Jarod shook his head. He limped across the room to where his jeans hung over the back of a chair. "Expose who?" He asked. "Sydney would be the one to suffer if I tried anything like that. The Centre's upper echelon would see to it that Sydney was their sacrificial lamb." As Jarod talked, he tossed aside the towel he wore and proceeded to put on his pants.

It took a few moments, but Jarod got the denim over his bandaged hip. The jeans were still damp, uncomfortably so along the inseams. Jarod had been forced to wash the pants in the sink in order to remove the blood. He picked up his shirt and eyed it ruefully. Even though the bloodstains had been removed, the garment was a complete loss. The two tears in the shoulder, front and back, had nearly ripped the sleeve away.

"You're protecting him," Nicholas said.

"I suppose you could call it that." Giving up on the shirt, Jarod balled up the cotton and tossed it aside as he had done the with food wrappers a short time earlier. Instead, he grabbed up his jacket and gingerly pulled it on. He zipped the leather closed over his bare torso and turned toward Nicholas expectantly.

"What?" the younger man asked.

"Give me the keys to the car," Jarod ordered.

Nicholas obediently tossed the keys to Jarod. "Where are we headed?"

Jarod did not reply. He gazed silently at the younger man until his meaning was quite clear.

"No," Nicholas gasped. "You can't tell me all this and then just leave."

"Go home, Nicholas," Jarod told him.

"You expect me to go back to my ordinary average life, knowing what I know now?"

"I don't expect anything," Jarod said. "But I can hope. I hope you have an ordinary life. For the sake of those of us who can never understand what that means."

Nicholas slumped in resignation. "What do you want me to do, Jarod?"

Jarod limped to the younger man's side and placed a hand on Nicholas' shoulder. "Go home," Jarod urged kindly. Pulling his hand away Jarod straightened. As he continued, his tone lost its gentle warmth and grew hard. "Buy yourself a gun. Learn how to use it. Protect that ordinary life of yours, Nicholas. Treasure it."

Jarod turned and began to walk away. When he reached the door, Nicholas called to him once more. "Jarod, what shall I say to Sydney? How do I face him, knowing what he has done?"

With his hand on the doorknob, Jarod stared at the blank panel before him. He didn't move, keeping his back to Nicholas. "I wish I knew," he said softly.

A moment later the door was closing and Jarod was gone.

-

End part 9