A/N: My apologies for the delayed update. 2020 has been a cursed year. This chapter digs into the growing desire between Sarah and Jary King but his impatience with Sarah's amnesia turns into a bit of mood killer. Can Jary King be trusted or is he legit coocoo bananas on crazy town lane?

I had never hated the sunshine more. It seemed to come from every conceivable direction and stab past the wet globular layers of my eyes, past the sensitive retinal cells straight into the ice pick migraine territory of my brain so that I had to hunch over my knees to still myself from gagging. The motion discarded a resiliently cool, moistened washcloth onto my sheet wrapped lap, making me shiver.

"Ah, the legend wakes," I followed the familiar, droll voice to my right and felt a mixture of embarrassed, disturbed and surprised to find Jary King lounging casually against the open door frame, a tray in hand of what looked to be dry toast, tomato juice and tea along with a menagerie of colored pills. "It's about time you got some food and liquids in you."

I said nothing as my gaze measured over Jary's soft expression, the bedroom that struck a note of both dark masculinity and luxurious quaint, as well as the oversized men's oxford I appeared to be wearing. There was no reassuring fabric constricting the perimeter of my privates as I tensed my thighs together and shrugged my chest. It was obvious Jary had been not only forced to undress me himself but host me personally in his home. My roiling gut tightened as I forced out all my breath.

"Oh god," I half-whispered to my hands in my lap. "I'm in deep, aren't I?" My memory, that fair-weather friend at best, would only show me flashes of sensual remembrances and snippets of gushing conversation that confirmed no clear plot I could analyze past the fact that Jary and I had made shameful idiots of ourselves in the Dark Turnabout virtual reality. Something to do with a glass of spiced peach wine and testy disbelief.

Jary set the tray on a black nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. "There's no shame in going out on the lash with friends. Making a fool of yourself and gushing emotional baggage is a rite of passage for all young people."

I blinked at his odd phrasing of our drunk night and his referring to us as friends. The assumed intimacy tore me in two directions in my heart. I couldn't afford to be so personal with the man who was supposed to be my boss and mentor. I couldn't permit myself to dwell on what he tasted like when we kissed on the floor and the table like animals or the thrill he had sent through me when we danced. My life was supposed to be on track for socialization and independence, not more irrationality and confusion.

"No shame you say," my voice shook with sickness and dishonor. "It's only my third day out of the institute and I'm in my boss's bed recovering from my first hangover at twenty-five."

Jary's smile was sly and lopsided. "I thought you hadn't decided yet whether or not you were going to work for me."

"That was before I entered the damn matrix! I didn't know it was going to be..." I hunched forward and pressed my hands to my pounding temples. "...like that. I don't think I could convince anyone I wasn't beyond therapy or help if I told them what I witnessed and just how real it all felt."

"Why should they be privy to that information anyway?" He shrugged dismissively. "All your parents care to know is whether your succeeding or failing the job program. I give you full license to exaggerate, distort or full out lie about what goes on at Dark Turnabout Inc's office if it enters into the sphere of small talk over dinner casserole."

He had a point. I couldn't picture Richard and Linda going beyond feigned interest in my internship. I would only be under their roof temporarily and then it would be my own life to live and my own boundaries and secrets.

Of course, that was under the condition that they weren't freaking out right that moment over where I was. My blood turned hot and clammy at once with the thought of Linda giving me a justified side-eye. The idea that she could have a legitimate reason to look down on me like dirt under her fingernails or that Richard might take to an uneasy silence in my presence instead of his usual forced small talk made the ready bile begin to climb my throat.

I felt like an idiot for not asking about how they were handling my overnight absence outright. "Have you checked in with my parents about where I am?"

"Yes, I've made a few calls. Everything's shipshape at home," he reassured, touching his forehead slightly in a mock salute. "On my honor, you have no reason to worry about anything past getting better."

I frowned at his glibness. Nothing was that simple where broken curfew was involved, particularly for my second day outside of guarded walls. "How did you phrase it though? Do they know I got blackout drunk or did you lie?"

He hesitated, measuring me for a moment. "I told a preferable version of the truth and worked a bit of my charismatic magic. There was nothing to it."

A warning voice whispered in my head that he was hiding something but my body was more dominantly fragile. The foul bile had to have its moment and it couldn't wait any longer. Jary was capable of more of an astute eye than I gave him credit for because he jerked an unseen trash bin from the foot of the bed to me before I could make a mess of myself or his wood floor.

Five, cramping gut punches, a half-full, unsightly bin, and I was reduced to the by far worse substitute dry heaves and Jary intermittently holding back my hair and massaging my back. There was no helping my disgraceful dependency as the last few molecules of H20 and nutrition left in my body abandoned me to chills and fatigue. No words were exchanged between Jary and I or pressed from me as he cleaned my face and fed me diminutive sips of ginger tea, or when he stepped away to run me an Epsom salt bath in his giant, marble adjoining bathroom. In privacy, he left me to undress and sink into the hot water and gather my thoughts.

My life up until his eccentric entrance had been, with the exceptions of shared laughs in the recreation room with Chase and Emily, hollow and lifeless. Jary King had cast a spell on me and my life by throwing me through so many crazy firsts I didn't know I wanted or needed. First jobs, first out of body experiences, first "prom", first alcoholic drinks, and of course, first kisses and embraces. There was a tingling in the pit of my stomach and heat in my cheeks that had nothing to do with my hangover when I remembered his open-mouthed kiss that took and explored until we were both panting on that dance floor with abandon. Until him, I had never been involved with the opposite sex in any romantic or erotic fashion. It wasn't impossible to get away with at the institute if you had cigarettes to trade with the right night duty guard and determination, but the grey walls and sterile, isolating routine sucked any spark of inspiration there might have been for me to explore my baser instincts. My hand down the front of my drawstring pajama pants at night in bed dulled the rare itch well enough and I hadn't had enough choice or imagination to dwell on anyone in particular. All my sexuality had consisted of was an awkward climb to an impalpable cliff's peak and then waiting out the quiet shuddering and cramps below my belly. With so little primer, I feared that Jary would be imprinted on my imagination and desire until I blighted him out with someone new. If my hand was ever tempted to trail again beneath the hem of my underwear it was likely that I would imagine it was his long, slender fingers probing and caressing. It would be too easy to picture his burning mismatched eyes holding my spread legs captive.

An abrupt knock on the bathroom door shocked me out of my sensual fantasies, making me jostle the water into a loud spray.

"Are you doing alright in there?"

I couldn't facepalm hard enough. "Y-yeah I'm fine!"

The door muffled Jary's voice somewhat, but I could pick up the amusement in it. "Glad to hear it. Don't forget my bathtub is not a swimming pool."

His whirlpool tub needed an entire metallic tiled backsplash wall to meet the width and had its own stone, elevated terrace. For how modest his front office was and how little attention he implied Dark Turnabout was experiencing in its early beta testing stages, I wondered at Jary's financial background. There had to be an investor or a family fortune or possibly an extensive background of technological work he had valued to the IT market. "You could've fooled me."

His laugh rippled through the door and into the room. "If you are set on making like a mermaid, I've got an inground pool out back, but not until you're well."

Obviously, I didn't have a swimsuit packed with me, and despite the fact that Jary likely wasn't meaning to send my mind coiling in a suggestive direction, it made my cheeks burn even worse. My mind's eye involuntarily painted a picture of me making Esther Williams-esque laps in a straight line, my dark hair, soaked and glossy down my back and my body bared through the prismatic water surface and moonlight to Jary's landside gaze- one that caressed my backstroke with lusting, invisible fingers.

"Sarah?" Jary's voice broke in through the lustful stillness of my mind. Fatigue and sickness had dulled my brain into momentarily neglecting that he might still be on standby at the other side of the door.

I puckered my lips with annoyance and dunked my head under the warm jets for a brief, silent scream. Down there the thundering jets pounded me out from hearing myself either and I would have given anything to have grown gills and become a part of the harmonic white noise. For all the physical stirrings Jary King inspired, I had no reason to be anything but wary. I couldn't allow myself to become one of those impulsive, stupid, lovesick girls that lose their reservations to the first guy that shows them any attention. If I pushed aside the forced intimacy of the shared VR experience and our drunken spell together, everything on paper said he was sketchy. How could I forget that he had toyed with me from the first moment I stepped in his office? Pretending to be some sort of scatter-brained receptionist and jarred me with his big executive reveal. It had worked too, along with his attempts to trip me up on my first interview with him and leave me more disillusioned with Dr. Myers and the expose that I was a cog who was bought with a grant check in the last system that should be broken. Disclosures that were more mean-spirited than he claimed because he seemed to want to groom my resonant fragility and sense of isolation to a breaking point.

He needed me to need him. He wanted my trust before I could mull any decision over. A sinking feeling entered my stomach at how the theory lined up too well like all inconvenient truths. I felt so heavy that I might anchor to the porcelain tub bottom. Dully, I wondered what master plan of Jary's might be irked if I were to stay there and drown myself. He had dodged directly answering what his connection was to me before I was locked away. He had to be holding back crucial pieces of whatever trauma had set me off and frightened my parents and the perceptible age gap between us along with his constant flirtation implied a disturbing relationship I wanted to be defined as much I wanted to avoid being confirmed.

No, I wouldn't hold myself under any longer. That's exactly where he wanted me. In the dark.

I sputtered back into the dry air sputtering the excess water from my mouth and smoothing back my hair. "Sorry," I said, "I dozed off for a second. I'm getting out in a little bit."

"Nice to know my voice has such a lulling effect. Or would boring be the operative word?" When I didn't immediately back up his self-deprecating wit, he added, "There's a couple turkish blends for you on the towel warmer by the vanity when you're ready to dry off."

"Thanks."

The towel was as copious and comforting as an upscale electric blanket and the unassuming white robe was heavy and reached to my ankles like a wearable hug. The coziness didn't provide enough fortitude for the sour feeling that dwelled in my gut and head or the conflicted feelings that I had no idea what I was going to do with. I leaned my head against the door, my hand tensed around the knob and took a deep breath. I told myself that if I was under enough mental clarity to turn a critical eye on Jary and ponder his intentions, and I could carry on keeping my doubts covert, then I would be the one with the advantage. If he was playing a game or manipulating me in some unseen way, I had enough patience and sense to watch for clues and figure him out or at least think up some sort of procedure that would rid me of him and his sense of entitled control over my life. My "job" at Dark Turnabout Inc. was hardly legitimate anyway if it had to be bought with greed and power. The best thing I could do for myself was take an unpathed road for once and learn from my own mistakes. There had to be other jobs where my mental health background was eligible and I could make Richard and Linda come around to it eventually.

I re-entered the bedroom and it was as if a spirit had snuck up behind me and stripped me of more than half of my decided composure. Jary wore a long black duster that flipped up into a high neck as the collar wrapped around the back, with a charcoal colored thermal half-unbuttoned to the cleaving ridge of his defined chest and a pair of grey and white plaid lounge pants. He was splayed out on the bed, patting the empty side for me to join him, and like a victim of dumbfounded enchantment, I met the smile and the place beside him that was offered.

"Feeling any better?" he turned on his side, facing me, his head resting into the angled palm of one hand.

"Your bathroom is set up pretty cozy, but I've still got a migraine." I caught how that could be taken as whiny and added quickly, "Of course, any progress over the hellish feeling I woke up to I count as a success. Thanks for your help."

His eyes and smile turned warm and subdued. "My pleasure. Running a business doesn't leave me much time to enjoy company. I have access to all the comforts and privileges a man could desire, but a mortal man can only divide himself and his schedule so much. Legacy and successful futures are built on sacrifice of the one thing we can't have back and no amount of money can buy."

I could already feel him steering the course of conversation toward the esoteric and intimate. It was another facet of Jary King I was learning to be both absorbed and unsettled by: his ability to be facetious, personal, or solemn at the drop of a hat with no reservation.

If he felt so oppressed by limited time like he was suggesting, then it made me wonder if Dark Turnabout's total immersion escapism aspect was inspired by him wanting to forget his mortality.

"Is it death you're afraid of or the thought of time slipping through your fingers?" I asked, mirroring his one arm propped repose.

"The passing of time has no standard experience. It is dependent on the person and what they consider a joy or a torment, but I can say there have been times in my life when years felt like seconds because I had hope to go on and a vision of what I wanted. I had an idea that even if what I desired for myself was out of grasp, it wasn't yet impossible. But then there were moments where I had to watch someone I loved get hurt with little to no options for me to intervene and every day was a century."

Someone he loved? Could that have been a veiled reference to our past relationship? I had to know. "Was there a Mrs. King at one time?"

His whisper of a smile grew on one side, but the warmth in his eye seemed to douse to something tinged with grief. "I had offered as such, but the woman I loved wasn't ready."

I had to repress rolling my eyes. He couldn't be more obvious. "It was me, wasn't it?"

"Yes." He confirmed my suspicions with a detached sort of inevitability. "You're beyond letting me get away with a little bit of suspense. Such a pity."

Such a pity. Another one of those unplaceable idioms that hovered for a few seconds more in my consciousness than it needed to. He was right about it being too late for suspense. I didn't think I could stand much more theorizing and being led around blind. Ten years in a padded hole had paid my dues for patience. There was something very messed up about the relationship he was romanticizing. "Even ten years ago, you had to be old enough to know better than to show romantic interest in a minor. What is your hangup and how did we even meet?"

A silence stretched out between him and me, making me uncomfortable. Lines of tension were drawn on Jary's face and his eyes broke from mine. My nerves tightened immediately when his voice thawed.

"Would you think me mad if I said that you have always been my superior?"

"I'd say you're delusional," I frowned. Was this wishful thinking on his part? Did he tell himself that I was 'mature' for my age back then to groom me or something awful like that?

"I'm telling the truth. You're much older than me in every sense. You've just forgotten." His expression was one of grave sincerity. He either believed what he was telling me or he was playing deadpan for a waiting punchline. Inwardly I crossed my fingers for the latter.

I sat up and pulled my legs into myself. "Ah-huh...I hope you're being metaphorical or something because you're old enough to have crows feet, dude. I've still got baby fat in my cheeks."

His serious demeanor didn't buckle or change. "The mortal time-space continuum has more of an accelerated effect on me. I can only be immortal in the Labyrinth, whereas you are impervious to any kind of deterioration you don't want."

The term Labyrinth was a fire poker in my brain. A high screech of dial tone that squirmed down my spine like an unwelcome insect. There was no rhyme or reason for the discomfort it evoked, but my reaction only clarified the unease that had slipped under my skin. I told myself he was putting me on for a laugh. He was trying to come off as crazy to yank my chain about the institute for the millionth time. It was just another game or trick. It had to be.

I let my own voice go deadpan cold in turn and pinned Jary with my eyes. "Ha ha. You didn't have to degenerate into hokey bullshit to avoid answering my question you know. If you're a creep with a thing for young girls, then own it and let me leave in peace."

Without warning, Jary seized my arm and squeezed. His gaze was nearly inward and glossy but his brows were closed in together in fierce aggravation. "I need you to remember who you are, dammit! You can't tell me that some shock treatment is enough to make you forget. You may want to forget, but I won't let you linger with the wool over your eyes forever."

"You're hurting me!" I only meant to yank my tendered arm out of his grasp, but I must have caught him off guard enough to throw off his balance because Jary fell forward with enough momentum to slam to the floor. For a second he lingered in a semi-planked position, stiff with what could have been regret or physical pain while I breathed and stared at his shameful position. "What the fuck has gotten into you Jary? You're talking nonsense."

Finally he turned over, a bead of blood at the corner of his mouth and his eyes even glossier and tinged with red in the corners. "I love you."

My lips were trembling too much to answer right away. Only a smirk or a sudden punchline could save the picture Jary was drawing of himself and he hadn't crumbled into joviality. Somehow I knew his conviction was sincere and that made my being in bed with him, my having been unconscious and vulnerable in his care, my having almost agreed to work under him, my...having kissed him and wanted him a stomach-turning notion. Jary King was sick. Like truly, truly unwell and erratic in a way that was no longer quirky or endearing and I no longer felt safe to be in his presence.

"You need serious help," I spat, rising to gather my folded clothes and cell phone. "Dr Meyer or no Dr. Meyers, I'm reporting your ass and Dark Turnabout Inc. to the institute."

Jary just watched, slack faced, as I left the bedroom and found my way to the front door. He never came after me as I dialed for a taxi and slipped into a ride home. The raindrops that wavered down the passenger windows were magnifiers for the neon lights of a storm darkened Amherst and their multi-colored brilliance against the black sheen reminded me of the rough awakening in Jary's VR. It was tragic that such technological genius could exist in a mind of madness.