"Sydney."
"Jarod." Quiet joy on one end of the line that was missing from the other. "I haven't heard from you."
"Do you ever think about it, Sydney? All the things we've built, and broken?"
Hesitation. "I'd like to think the former outweighs the latter."
"I know that it doesn't."
"What are you talking about, Jarod?"
"Trust."
A pained breath, too quiet for the younger man to hear; he seems to know, anyway. The psychiatrist gathers himself enough to ask the question. "Whose trust, Jarod? Yours?"
It is ignored, as he knew it would be. "It's everywhere. I had no idea."
Sydney waits, a tense silence.
"School bus drivers, entrusted with the lives of the children they ferry back and forth. Doctors, nurses, EMT's, police, firemen – but others too. Trust that those who work in the grocery stores are not contaminating the food they sell. Trust in automobile manufacturers not to skimp to save lives. Trust, in every aspect of every shade of life. I had no idea."
"It's not something many people recognize, Jarod." Gentle, soothing to the hurt bewilderment in that voice.
"It crosses my mind, Sydney, that every pretend I have ever done is centered around a breach in trust," Jarod admits. "It is . . . a vulnerability."
"To abuse someone's trust is an awful thing," Sydney says quietly.
"Yes." Bitter accusation, not undeserved. "You see, Sydney, when you lie to someone, they don't know what to expect from you. And when they don't know what to expect, they believe you capable of anything. Miracles . . . or monstrosities."
"I am not perfect, Jarod." A pause, a whispered confession. "But I'd like to believe that there have been more miracles in my life than monstrosities."
"Do you really, Sydney?"
Soft sarcasm, but he knows the pretender well, hears it for the plea it is. "Yes." Courage, here. "You, for one."
A short breath, surprise. Click.
"Jarod?"
Silence.
Fin