Chapter Four

'The Island' - Cell #3 - 4/25/89 - 2:00pm

Oscar sat wordlessly on the floor of his cell. By his count, Jaime hadn't been returned to her cell in nearly a week. The first night, he'd assumed they were trying some form of brain-washing or indoctrination. That was bad enough; Oscar's heart broke as he thought of what they were likely to be putting her through.

When another 24 hours went by, he thought they'd probably injured her somehow, accidentally or - more likely - on purpose. They could also have been keeping her somewhere else, to manipulate him. The guards who usually cut him very little slack were virtually ignoring him. Now, he had spent the last two days or so with a horrible, gnawing certainty that Jaime was dead.

The guilt Oscar felt was suffocating him. He knew he couldn't have saved her from this place, but he wished with every fiber of his being that he'd taken the risk and told her how he really felt about her. She knew he loved her - like a daughter - but his true feeling were so much stronger. He'd always held back because he had been her boss and he'd felt she belonged with Steve. But Steve had effectively given Jaime up for good when he accepted his new position. The thought that Jaime had died without ever knowing how he felt was simply more than Oscar could bear.

"Goldman! On your feet. They need you upstairs." Oscar continued to stare at nothing in stony silence. "Now! It's about your friend."

Oscar slowly stood up, aware it could be just another manipulation, but his heart was pounding hard and fast. Was Jaime alive? They had no tasers and their guns were not drawn, but Oscar still followed them without a fight, well aware it could all be a trap. Still, he had to know...

'Island' Medical Ward - 4/25/89 - 2:15pm

Oscar followed the guards up to the fifth floor, where a sign read 'Medical'. They led him through a doorway into one of the wards, leaving the door open and unlocked. There were four beds but only one was occupied. Oscar saw her long, blonde hair from the doorway and rushed to her bedside to see if it was really true. It was! The patient in the bed was Jaime. Was she alive?

Her skin was a ghastly shade of greyish-white and her lips nearly blue. She wasn't moving. Her weak, barely perceptible breathing was the only indication that she was still living. Oscar turned toward the guards, angier than he'd ever been in his life. He no longer cared what might happen to him.

"What the hell did you do to her?" Of course, no one answered him, but they didn't attack him either. Two men emerged from a small anteroom: one in a lab coat and the other in a suit and tie. The medical-looking one walked to the bed, glanced at Jaime's still form without actually examining her, and turned to Oscar.

"Mister Goldman, my name is Doctor Peter Tessler, and this is Jonathan Pratt, the head of our little 'indoctrination community.'

No one shook hands. Oscar, with boiled-over fury in his eyes and malice in his heart, drew back and used all the strength he had left to punch Pratt square in the face. The guards moved forward, drawing their guns, but Pratt shook his head. "Leave him alone." He looked at Oscar. "Normally, you'd be shot for that, but we need your assistance to help your friend here. We were initially going to let her die, but her special abilities make her extremely valuable to the government and to us."

"Mister Goldman, what can you tell us about her bionics that might aid us in treating her?" Doctor Tessler asked.

"Medically, not much."

"What about the scientist who made her bionic?" Pratt inquired. "Can you get him here?"

Oscar sighed inwardly. I'm sorry, Jaime, he thought. "And let you make him a prisoner too? I don't think so."

"Miss Sommers will die without the appropriate treatment," the doctor told him.

"I'll give you the phone number of my replacement at the OSI. Colonel Austin may be able to help you." Pratt handed him a piece of paper and Oscar wrote down the number.

Pratt looked toward the guards. "You will be returned to your cell while we make the call," he told Oscar.

"No," Oscar said flatly, pulling a chair close to Jaime's bedside. "I will be staying right here."