Disclaimer in part 1
Guilty
part 2
by imagine
The constant clicking of the room's heater and the curtains that fluttered around the window were proof that warm air was being circulated, but neither her body nor her soul seemed able to thaw. She burrowed deeper under the blankets, hugging herself for warmth while images of her son, laying alone and helpless in the storm, chilled her heart.
"He's all right," she told herself, "They found him and he's all right."
Shortly after she arrived at the motel, the storm's intensity increased. Pockets of high winds and hail were sweeping through the area, damaging homes and businesses within a fifty mile radius. Lightening scorched the sky at regular intervals followed closely by thick vibrations of thunder. Phone lines were down, streets were flooded and the sounds of sirens seemed to rise from every direction.
Pulling herself from the bed, Margaret wrapped herself in one of the blankets and moved to the window. She watched the downpour, mesmerized and slightly frightened by the force of the icy pellets as they slapped against the pane. The last time she'd seen a storm so violent was on Carthis and, as her mind floated back to the island, Margaret pulled the blankets tighter.
"Please, let him be all right."
*********
Jarod's eyes fluttered open as the woman stepped away from the bed. He watched her note something on his chart and, when she looked up, met her smile with a confused gaze.
"Hi," she said, moving to his side.
"Where .. am I?" he managed, surprised at the amount of effort the three words required.
"Good Samaritan Hospital."
She reached for a small plastic cup and spoon on the bed stand. His brow furrowed, considering her reply as he accepted the serving of ice she offered. The chips were cool and soothing, and, when she offered another spoonful, he readily accepted.
"I'm Emma," she told him, when he refused a third helping. Placing the cup and spoon back on the table, she picked up the medical chart she'd been reading earlier. "Do you know your name?"
He swallowed the last of the ice and leaned back into the pillows. "Jarod."
She hesitated, then asked, "What's your last name?"
"I don't know," he admitted.
The woman frowned and scribbled in his chart. He knew she was documenting his response, believing he had amnesia, and chastised himself for not making up a last name. If the hospital thought his injuries were more severe than they really were, they would detain him longer and something told Jarod he needed to be somewhere else.
Glancing around the room, he listened patiently while she explained the IV that snaked its way into the vein in his left hand was just a means to bring down his fever and nothing to worry about. Jarod stared at the tube invading his body, a little longer than necessary, wondering if it was the cause for his exhaustion.
"The doctor on duty also prescribed pain medication, if you need it," Emma told him.
Looking up, he shook his head at the offer. The last thing he needed was more drugs.
With a slight nod, Emma removed a thermometer from the pocket of her uniform, and quickly slipped it under his tongue. He remained still, mindlessly studying an imaginary spot on the wall until the device was removed.
"100.8," she sighed, returning the thermometer to her pocket, "It's not great, but it's the closest to normal it's been since you were brought in."
Bringing his hand over his mouth, Jarod stifled a yawn and asked, "When was that?"
"Last night, around midnight," she answered, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Do you remember how you got here, Jarod?"
"By ambulance, I would assume."
"Not exactly the answer I was looking for," she smiled, raising her right eyebrow, "Care to try again?"
When her patient disappointedly turned his attention on the blinds that blocked his view of the storm, Emma slipped from the bed. She watched him absently study the dingy vinyl slats being illuminated by the lightening, then quietly stepped back, into the shadows of the room, whispering that it was okay.
"It was raining," he said, hesitantly, as her hand reached for the door, "I was driving."
Moving back to his side, a small, expectant smile emerged on her face though Jarod did not see it. "Anything else?"
He was suddenly aware that there was a blank space where the rest of the memory should be so, keeping his back to her, Jarod shook his head. Admitting that there was a piece of his recent past that was a mystery to him frightened him more than admitting he didn't know his last name and Jarod refused to let her see his fear. A few seconds later, however, he turned abruptly toward the nurse, his eyes widening while he desperately searched her face.
"Did I .. did I hurt anyone?"
"No," she promised, patting his hand, "The only one who got hurt was you, but you're going to be fine."
Jarod nodded slightly and was about to turn away again, when the door opened. His eyes slowly narrowed in suspicion as they fell upon his visitor and, more out of habit than anxiety, his body stiffened, making the muscles in his jaw so taut he was barely able to speak her name.
"Parker."
"Well, it's about time you decided to join the living." she remarked in an equally tight voice. The relief that had washed over her, when she found him alert, disappeared the second she read his body language. Instinctively, she became defensive, and, as a result, her tone was icier than she intended. She motioned for the nurse to leave then stepped to the bed and stared at him.
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm not a candidate for the Renewal Wing, if that's what you're thinking," he growled, "How did you find me?"
"You left a trail a blind man could follow."
"Funny, that never worked to your advantage before."
Though her eyes weren't quite comforting, they were less antagonistic than he expected, and the longer they were locked on his, the more uncomfortable he felt. Finally, Jarod awkwardly shifted his attention from Parker to the window.
"I'm not going back with you," he informed her.
"In case you missed it, Jarod, I'm in the driver's seat. You're just along for the ride."
A crack of thunder interrupted the Pretender's barbed retort and he pulled back, instinctively shielding his eyes with his arm just as a flash of lightening filled the room. Simultaneously, the lights dimmed and, somewhere outside, a car alarm mixed with an ambulance siren. It was a woman's screams of terror echoing from the hall, however, that made Jarod bolt upright and caused his breath to quicken. He looked down to find his hands were shaking then flinched and looked up, wide eyed, when Parker rested her hand on his shoulder.
"Is she all right?" he gasped.
"Who?"
"My mother," he whispered, "I heard her scream. I heard my mother scream."
Lightening flashed again and, as his eyes adjusted, Jarod attributed her softening features to a trick of the light. When Miss Parker sat beside him on the bed, her hand sliding gently from his shoulder to his wrist, his own mask of defiance gave way to frustration and, finally, confusion.
"No," she replied in a quiet voice, "It wasn't your mother, Jarod. You heard a patient down the hall scream. The storm . ."
"My mother was in the car, Parker. She was next to me when we went over the bridge." Despite the firmness of his gaze, his voice deteriorated with each word, and Jarod found he did not have the will to fight to keep it strong. "I heard her scream. I heard her scream my name."
Though Miss Parker saw the pain in his eyes, a moment before he turned his head, she stood and moved away from the bed. Ignoring everything inside of her that screamed she should be doing just the opposite, she crossed the room and leaned against the tiny windowsill, gripping it tightly with both hands.
"She was next to me when we went over the bridge," he repeated, "I didn't imagine her."
"Jarod . ."
"I was taking her to my father. We were finally going to be a family," he whispered, dropping his eyes, "We'd only been driving a few hours and I wanted to keep moving, but, because of the rain, I decided to stop for the night. We were half way across the bridge when someone hit us from behind."
Tilting his head to one side, his attention shifted to the section of sheet that covered his legs and Jarod's mind showed him the accident as clearly as if it were being projected on to the linen.
"I told her everything was all right. I thought that if I got to the exit ramp, I could get her someplace safe but, before I could get us off the bridge, they hit us again and . ." Jarod's words faded and he looked up at her, his eyes suddenly hardening. "It was a Centre car, wasn't it? It was a Centre car that ran me off the road."
"The Centre wants you alive," she countered, not bothering to directly deny the accusation. Though she had no knowledge of another team pursuing him, it wouldn't surprise her. Pushing herself away from the window, she took two steps toward him. "If it was them, you wouldn't be here right now and you know it."
"I would if I was too injured for them to move, or if someone interrupted them, or if they wanted to control me on the outside," he declared, his voice gaining strength from the accusation, "What better way to ensure my cooperation than by kidnapping my mother? Tell me, Parker, were you sent here to be my baby-sitter?"
"I'm going to get the nurse. Your fever must have fried your brain because you're not making any sense. What possible reason could the Centre have for leaving you on the outside, and taking your mother away?"
"I don't know," he admitted, harshly, "but we both know they don't want me to be with her, don't we?"
"You've lost your mind," she muttered, reaching for the door.
"Wouldn't that be a kick in the ass?" he laughed humorlessly, "After all this time, it would serve them right if I did just that, but we both know the truth, don't we? We know they're capable of doing this, Parker."
"Capable, yes," she snapped, releasing the handle and pivoting toward him, "but, what you're suggesting isn't logical, Jarod. Their priority is to bring *you* back, not your mother."
"Priorities change," he growled, sinking back against the pillows. Keeping his eyes on her, he watched the woman return to his side then, after releasing a deep breath, Jarod softly said, "Tell them they win."
"What?"
"Tell them I'll do whatever they want but . ."
"Jarod, listen to what you're saying."
"I promised I would keep her safe," he continued, talking over her interruption in an eerily calm voice, "Tell them that if they hurt my mother, I'll destroy them, one at a time."
*********
In the two hours since his conversation with Miss Parker, the psychiatrist had managed to do a multitude of tasks, including retrieving a substantial amount of cash, false identification, and credit cards from a safety deposit box he kept in Wilmington.
After Jarod's escape, almost seven years prior, Sydney began preparations for leaving the Centre, telling himself he would drop out of sight when he was confident his protege was safe. Though that day had not yet arrived, he had made a point of using the identification and credit cards a handful of times over the years, to ensure their effectiveness. In addition, they added to the history he created for Sydney Higgins that included a mortgage for a two bedroom townhouse in Chicago and a timeshare with the Marriott on Hilton Head. Some day, he hoped to use them both.
With Broots' help, he fabricated a clue that put Jarod at a medical conference in San Francisco, contradicting Lyle's lead that put the Pretender in Milwaukee. Confident in his own information, Parker's twin had no recourse but to allow the psychiatrist and computer technician to investigate the California sighting on their own.
Using the phony credentials, he booked the first flight to Minneapolis as well as a luxury rental car while Broots cared for establishing the trail to San Francisco. If things went according to plan, he calculated his time of arrival at Good Samaritan Hospital, and Jarod's side, shortly before three o'clock. Once he had a chance to personally examine his protege, Sydney would decide on the next step of his plan to protect Jarod.
Letting his magazine drop to his lap, Sydney shifted in the seat and stared out at the darkness, hoping he had done everything necessary to cover his trail. He needed to concentrate on Jarod.
*********
"Tell me what you know about Jarod's accident," Miss Parker said, motioning toward the bench that sat outside Jarod's room.
Emma took a seat beside the brunette, and shook her head. "I don't know much," she admitted, "I wasn't here when he was brought in, but, from what I understand, his car went through the guard rail on the Route 3 bridge. When the paramedics found him, he was unconscious, suffering from exposure and loss of blood."
"Was there anyone with him?"
She shook her head.
"Who called 911?"
She shrugged. "A passerby, I suppose."
"What about the car? Did they find anything inside?"
"I know a few things floated to the bank .. a small cooler, a pair of sunglasses .. the police brought them in early this morning; but the car hasn't been recovered yet. They have to wait until the storm dies down a bit before they can send divers, or pull the car up. There were skid marks on the bridge so they think Jarod was intentionally forced off the road. As soon as they're aware he's awake, they'll probably send someone to question him."
"Did he have anything with him, when they brought him in?"
"Just the clothes on his back and, trust me, that wasn't saying much. He was wearing a long sleeved T-shirt under a wool work shirt, jeans and boots."
"No coat? No gloves?"
"Not his, anyway. The police think his coat and ID are probably still in the car," she explained, "but they found a jacket draped over him. It was just as wet as he was, and much too small to offer any real protection, but it probably made the difference between life and death. No one has been able to figure out who it belongs to."
"Where is it?"
Emma shrugged and pointed toward Jarod's room. "In the closet, I suppose, with his clothes."
Miss Parker glanced over her shoulder toward the closed door, then turned her attention back on the nurse. "They searched and found nothing else? Nothing to explain where the coat came from?"
Emma shook her head. "Most people are just assuming that whoever dialed 911 covered him."
Anxiously, Miss Parker rose from her seat and began pacing, shaking her head as her hand moved to the back of her neck. After a few passes in front of the nurse, she stopped and faced the woman with a blank stare. Her mind was struggling to put the fragments of information in some logical sequence, but it seemed she was missing too many pieces.
"Jarod thinks his mother may have been in the car with him," she said, more for her own benefit than for the nurse's.
"His mother?" Emma repeated, "That can't be. What kind of a mother would leave their child in that condition? He could have died."
"Is there a public phone near the bridge?"
"Not that I know of."
"If she had a cell phone with her, it probably wasn't working, either because of the storm or the accident," she continued, pacing in front of the bench, "She might have had no choice but to leave to find help. It's possible that the coat they found belonged to her."
"If that's the case, why hasn't she turned up here, looking for him? Do you think she's been hurt? We should tell the authorities. If she's out there somewhere, they need to be looking for her."
"Possibly," Miss Parker sighed, stopping in front of the woman, "or, maybe Jarod was hallucinating and she was never in the car. Maybe someone else covered him and called 911. Hell, I don't know! There are all kinds of possibilities," she spat, suddenly pacing again, "Maybe Margaret was found and taken to another hospital or maybe she never made it to shore or . ."
"NO!"
Startled by the deep voice, Miss Parker turned and Emma rose from the bench. With barely enough strength to keep himself upright, Jarod was leaning heavily against the frame, his body keeping the door from closing and his dark eyes trained accusingly on his childhood friend.
"She's not .. she's not .. dead," he hissed in a trembling voice. "My mother is still alive."
Instinctively, the women reached for the Pretender as he slid toward the floor, hesitating only when he angrily waved them away. With his hands still gripping the door frame, Jarod rolled forward, letting his forehead and knees rest against it as well.
"She can't be dead, Parker," he whispered, looking into her blue eyes as she knelt beside him, "She can't be."
"Calm down," she replied, softly wiping his cheek with her thumb, "We don't know everything that happened. Your mother might be fine. She might be looking for you."
"Don't do that," he murmured, shaking his head sadly as he lowered it to his knees again, "Don't patronize me. I heard what you said. You think . ."
Sliding her hand under his chin, she took hold of it and turned him to face her. Jarod flinched and fell silent when their eyes met, but did not pull away and Miss Parker congratulated herself. She needed him not to question her.
"You've been through a lot and your mind is mush right now," she told him firmly, "so I'm going to cut you some slack; but, for the record, I have never ... ever ... patronized anyone, let alone you. If I tell you I think there's a chance your mother is still alive, you don't have the right to doubt me, is that understood? I will find her, Jarod. One way, or another, I'll find her."
For a few seconds, he didn't move but continued staring at her with a blank expression. Just as she was beginning to feel unnerved, though, Jarod turned away. Slowly, the muscles in his arms and shoulders rippled with tension as he tried to use the door frame to pull himself to his feet. Automatically, Miss Parker slipped her body beneath one arm while Emma did the same with the other, each woman glancing at the other in surprise when Jarod did not resist.
After positioning him safely on the mattress, Emma quickly took his pulse and temperature, frowning at the results of each before reattaching the IV and telling him he needed to rest. The man curled on the bed and, when Jarod closed his eyes and rolled away, turning his back on them, Miss Parker knew it wasn't because he wanted to sleep.
Telling the nurse to leave them alone, the brunette slid on to the bed and placed her hand on Jarod's shoulder. He lifted his head slightly at the touch, then let it fall back to the pillow without a word.
"Sydney is on his way," she said, pulling her hand back to her lap, "He's better at these kinds of things than I am. You'll feel better after you've talked to him."
"I don't need Sydney," Jarod murmured, his voice slurring and becoming more childlike as the medication entered his blood stream, "I need my mother."
*********
TBC
Guilty
part 2
by imagine
The constant clicking of the room's heater and the curtains that fluttered around the window were proof that warm air was being circulated, but neither her body nor her soul seemed able to thaw. She burrowed deeper under the blankets, hugging herself for warmth while images of her son, laying alone and helpless in the storm, chilled her heart.
"He's all right," she told herself, "They found him and he's all right."
Shortly after she arrived at the motel, the storm's intensity increased. Pockets of high winds and hail were sweeping through the area, damaging homes and businesses within a fifty mile radius. Lightening scorched the sky at regular intervals followed closely by thick vibrations of thunder. Phone lines were down, streets were flooded and the sounds of sirens seemed to rise from every direction.
Pulling herself from the bed, Margaret wrapped herself in one of the blankets and moved to the window. She watched the downpour, mesmerized and slightly frightened by the force of the icy pellets as they slapped against the pane. The last time she'd seen a storm so violent was on Carthis and, as her mind floated back to the island, Margaret pulled the blankets tighter.
"Please, let him be all right."
*********
Jarod's eyes fluttered open as the woman stepped away from the bed. He watched her note something on his chart and, when she looked up, met her smile with a confused gaze.
"Hi," she said, moving to his side.
"Where .. am I?" he managed, surprised at the amount of effort the three words required.
"Good Samaritan Hospital."
She reached for a small plastic cup and spoon on the bed stand. His brow furrowed, considering her reply as he accepted the serving of ice she offered. The chips were cool and soothing, and, when she offered another spoonful, he readily accepted.
"I'm Emma," she told him, when he refused a third helping. Placing the cup and spoon back on the table, she picked up the medical chart she'd been reading earlier. "Do you know your name?"
He swallowed the last of the ice and leaned back into the pillows. "Jarod."
She hesitated, then asked, "What's your last name?"
"I don't know," he admitted.
The woman frowned and scribbled in his chart. He knew she was documenting his response, believing he had amnesia, and chastised himself for not making up a last name. If the hospital thought his injuries were more severe than they really were, they would detain him longer and something told Jarod he needed to be somewhere else.
Glancing around the room, he listened patiently while she explained the IV that snaked its way into the vein in his left hand was just a means to bring down his fever and nothing to worry about. Jarod stared at the tube invading his body, a little longer than necessary, wondering if it was the cause for his exhaustion.
"The doctor on duty also prescribed pain medication, if you need it," Emma told him.
Looking up, he shook his head at the offer. The last thing he needed was more drugs.
With a slight nod, Emma removed a thermometer from the pocket of her uniform, and quickly slipped it under his tongue. He remained still, mindlessly studying an imaginary spot on the wall until the device was removed.
"100.8," she sighed, returning the thermometer to her pocket, "It's not great, but it's the closest to normal it's been since you were brought in."
Bringing his hand over his mouth, Jarod stifled a yawn and asked, "When was that?"
"Last night, around midnight," she answered, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Do you remember how you got here, Jarod?"
"By ambulance, I would assume."
"Not exactly the answer I was looking for," she smiled, raising her right eyebrow, "Care to try again?"
When her patient disappointedly turned his attention on the blinds that blocked his view of the storm, Emma slipped from the bed. She watched him absently study the dingy vinyl slats being illuminated by the lightening, then quietly stepped back, into the shadows of the room, whispering that it was okay.
"It was raining," he said, hesitantly, as her hand reached for the door, "I was driving."
Moving back to his side, a small, expectant smile emerged on her face though Jarod did not see it. "Anything else?"
He was suddenly aware that there was a blank space where the rest of the memory should be so, keeping his back to her, Jarod shook his head. Admitting that there was a piece of his recent past that was a mystery to him frightened him more than admitting he didn't know his last name and Jarod refused to let her see his fear. A few seconds later, however, he turned abruptly toward the nurse, his eyes widening while he desperately searched her face.
"Did I .. did I hurt anyone?"
"No," she promised, patting his hand, "The only one who got hurt was you, but you're going to be fine."
Jarod nodded slightly and was about to turn away again, when the door opened. His eyes slowly narrowed in suspicion as they fell upon his visitor and, more out of habit than anxiety, his body stiffened, making the muscles in his jaw so taut he was barely able to speak her name.
"Parker."
"Well, it's about time you decided to join the living." she remarked in an equally tight voice. The relief that had washed over her, when she found him alert, disappeared the second she read his body language. Instinctively, she became defensive, and, as a result, her tone was icier than she intended. She motioned for the nurse to leave then stepped to the bed and stared at him.
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm not a candidate for the Renewal Wing, if that's what you're thinking," he growled, "How did you find me?"
"You left a trail a blind man could follow."
"Funny, that never worked to your advantage before."
Though her eyes weren't quite comforting, they were less antagonistic than he expected, and the longer they were locked on his, the more uncomfortable he felt. Finally, Jarod awkwardly shifted his attention from Parker to the window.
"I'm not going back with you," he informed her.
"In case you missed it, Jarod, I'm in the driver's seat. You're just along for the ride."
A crack of thunder interrupted the Pretender's barbed retort and he pulled back, instinctively shielding his eyes with his arm just as a flash of lightening filled the room. Simultaneously, the lights dimmed and, somewhere outside, a car alarm mixed with an ambulance siren. It was a woman's screams of terror echoing from the hall, however, that made Jarod bolt upright and caused his breath to quicken. He looked down to find his hands were shaking then flinched and looked up, wide eyed, when Parker rested her hand on his shoulder.
"Is she all right?" he gasped.
"Who?"
"My mother," he whispered, "I heard her scream. I heard my mother scream."
Lightening flashed again and, as his eyes adjusted, Jarod attributed her softening features to a trick of the light. When Miss Parker sat beside him on the bed, her hand sliding gently from his shoulder to his wrist, his own mask of defiance gave way to frustration and, finally, confusion.
"No," she replied in a quiet voice, "It wasn't your mother, Jarod. You heard a patient down the hall scream. The storm . ."
"My mother was in the car, Parker. She was next to me when we went over the bridge." Despite the firmness of his gaze, his voice deteriorated with each word, and Jarod found he did not have the will to fight to keep it strong. "I heard her scream. I heard her scream my name."
Though Miss Parker saw the pain in his eyes, a moment before he turned his head, she stood and moved away from the bed. Ignoring everything inside of her that screamed she should be doing just the opposite, she crossed the room and leaned against the tiny windowsill, gripping it tightly with both hands.
"She was next to me when we went over the bridge," he repeated, "I didn't imagine her."
"Jarod . ."
"I was taking her to my father. We were finally going to be a family," he whispered, dropping his eyes, "We'd only been driving a few hours and I wanted to keep moving, but, because of the rain, I decided to stop for the night. We were half way across the bridge when someone hit us from behind."
Tilting his head to one side, his attention shifted to the section of sheet that covered his legs and Jarod's mind showed him the accident as clearly as if it were being projected on to the linen.
"I told her everything was all right. I thought that if I got to the exit ramp, I could get her someplace safe but, before I could get us off the bridge, they hit us again and . ." Jarod's words faded and he looked up at her, his eyes suddenly hardening. "It was a Centre car, wasn't it? It was a Centre car that ran me off the road."
"The Centre wants you alive," she countered, not bothering to directly deny the accusation. Though she had no knowledge of another team pursuing him, it wouldn't surprise her. Pushing herself away from the window, she took two steps toward him. "If it was them, you wouldn't be here right now and you know it."
"I would if I was too injured for them to move, or if someone interrupted them, or if they wanted to control me on the outside," he declared, his voice gaining strength from the accusation, "What better way to ensure my cooperation than by kidnapping my mother? Tell me, Parker, were you sent here to be my baby-sitter?"
"I'm going to get the nurse. Your fever must have fried your brain because you're not making any sense. What possible reason could the Centre have for leaving you on the outside, and taking your mother away?"
"I don't know," he admitted, harshly, "but we both know they don't want me to be with her, don't we?"
"You've lost your mind," she muttered, reaching for the door.
"Wouldn't that be a kick in the ass?" he laughed humorlessly, "After all this time, it would serve them right if I did just that, but we both know the truth, don't we? We know they're capable of doing this, Parker."
"Capable, yes," she snapped, releasing the handle and pivoting toward him, "but, what you're suggesting isn't logical, Jarod. Their priority is to bring *you* back, not your mother."
"Priorities change," he growled, sinking back against the pillows. Keeping his eyes on her, he watched the woman return to his side then, after releasing a deep breath, Jarod softly said, "Tell them they win."
"What?"
"Tell them I'll do whatever they want but . ."
"Jarod, listen to what you're saying."
"I promised I would keep her safe," he continued, talking over her interruption in an eerily calm voice, "Tell them that if they hurt my mother, I'll destroy them, one at a time."
*********
In the two hours since his conversation with Miss Parker, the psychiatrist had managed to do a multitude of tasks, including retrieving a substantial amount of cash, false identification, and credit cards from a safety deposit box he kept in Wilmington.
After Jarod's escape, almost seven years prior, Sydney began preparations for leaving the Centre, telling himself he would drop out of sight when he was confident his protege was safe. Though that day had not yet arrived, he had made a point of using the identification and credit cards a handful of times over the years, to ensure their effectiveness. In addition, they added to the history he created for Sydney Higgins that included a mortgage for a two bedroom townhouse in Chicago and a timeshare with the Marriott on Hilton Head. Some day, he hoped to use them both.
With Broots' help, he fabricated a clue that put Jarod at a medical conference in San Francisco, contradicting Lyle's lead that put the Pretender in Milwaukee. Confident in his own information, Parker's twin had no recourse but to allow the psychiatrist and computer technician to investigate the California sighting on their own.
Using the phony credentials, he booked the first flight to Minneapolis as well as a luxury rental car while Broots cared for establishing the trail to San Francisco. If things went according to plan, he calculated his time of arrival at Good Samaritan Hospital, and Jarod's side, shortly before three o'clock. Once he had a chance to personally examine his protege, Sydney would decide on the next step of his plan to protect Jarod.
Letting his magazine drop to his lap, Sydney shifted in the seat and stared out at the darkness, hoping he had done everything necessary to cover his trail. He needed to concentrate on Jarod.
*********
"Tell me what you know about Jarod's accident," Miss Parker said, motioning toward the bench that sat outside Jarod's room.
Emma took a seat beside the brunette, and shook her head. "I don't know much," she admitted, "I wasn't here when he was brought in, but, from what I understand, his car went through the guard rail on the Route 3 bridge. When the paramedics found him, he was unconscious, suffering from exposure and loss of blood."
"Was there anyone with him?"
She shook her head.
"Who called 911?"
She shrugged. "A passerby, I suppose."
"What about the car? Did they find anything inside?"
"I know a few things floated to the bank .. a small cooler, a pair of sunglasses .. the police brought them in early this morning; but the car hasn't been recovered yet. They have to wait until the storm dies down a bit before they can send divers, or pull the car up. There were skid marks on the bridge so they think Jarod was intentionally forced off the road. As soon as they're aware he's awake, they'll probably send someone to question him."
"Did he have anything with him, when they brought him in?"
"Just the clothes on his back and, trust me, that wasn't saying much. He was wearing a long sleeved T-shirt under a wool work shirt, jeans and boots."
"No coat? No gloves?"
"Not his, anyway. The police think his coat and ID are probably still in the car," she explained, "but they found a jacket draped over him. It was just as wet as he was, and much too small to offer any real protection, but it probably made the difference between life and death. No one has been able to figure out who it belongs to."
"Where is it?"
Emma shrugged and pointed toward Jarod's room. "In the closet, I suppose, with his clothes."
Miss Parker glanced over her shoulder toward the closed door, then turned her attention back on the nurse. "They searched and found nothing else? Nothing to explain where the coat came from?"
Emma shook her head. "Most people are just assuming that whoever dialed 911 covered him."
Anxiously, Miss Parker rose from her seat and began pacing, shaking her head as her hand moved to the back of her neck. After a few passes in front of the nurse, she stopped and faced the woman with a blank stare. Her mind was struggling to put the fragments of information in some logical sequence, but it seemed she was missing too many pieces.
"Jarod thinks his mother may have been in the car with him," she said, more for her own benefit than for the nurse's.
"His mother?" Emma repeated, "That can't be. What kind of a mother would leave their child in that condition? He could have died."
"Is there a public phone near the bridge?"
"Not that I know of."
"If she had a cell phone with her, it probably wasn't working, either because of the storm or the accident," she continued, pacing in front of the bench, "She might have had no choice but to leave to find help. It's possible that the coat they found belonged to her."
"If that's the case, why hasn't she turned up here, looking for him? Do you think she's been hurt? We should tell the authorities. If she's out there somewhere, they need to be looking for her."
"Possibly," Miss Parker sighed, stopping in front of the woman, "or, maybe Jarod was hallucinating and she was never in the car. Maybe someone else covered him and called 911. Hell, I don't know! There are all kinds of possibilities," she spat, suddenly pacing again, "Maybe Margaret was found and taken to another hospital or maybe she never made it to shore or . ."
"NO!"
Startled by the deep voice, Miss Parker turned and Emma rose from the bench. With barely enough strength to keep himself upright, Jarod was leaning heavily against the frame, his body keeping the door from closing and his dark eyes trained accusingly on his childhood friend.
"She's not .. she's not .. dead," he hissed in a trembling voice. "My mother is still alive."
Instinctively, the women reached for the Pretender as he slid toward the floor, hesitating only when he angrily waved them away. With his hands still gripping the door frame, Jarod rolled forward, letting his forehead and knees rest against it as well.
"She can't be dead, Parker," he whispered, looking into her blue eyes as she knelt beside him, "She can't be."
"Calm down," she replied, softly wiping his cheek with her thumb, "We don't know everything that happened. Your mother might be fine. She might be looking for you."
"Don't do that," he murmured, shaking his head sadly as he lowered it to his knees again, "Don't patronize me. I heard what you said. You think . ."
Sliding her hand under his chin, she took hold of it and turned him to face her. Jarod flinched and fell silent when their eyes met, but did not pull away and Miss Parker congratulated herself. She needed him not to question her.
"You've been through a lot and your mind is mush right now," she told him firmly, "so I'm going to cut you some slack; but, for the record, I have never ... ever ... patronized anyone, let alone you. If I tell you I think there's a chance your mother is still alive, you don't have the right to doubt me, is that understood? I will find her, Jarod. One way, or another, I'll find her."
For a few seconds, he didn't move but continued staring at her with a blank expression. Just as she was beginning to feel unnerved, though, Jarod turned away. Slowly, the muscles in his arms and shoulders rippled with tension as he tried to use the door frame to pull himself to his feet. Automatically, Miss Parker slipped her body beneath one arm while Emma did the same with the other, each woman glancing at the other in surprise when Jarod did not resist.
After positioning him safely on the mattress, Emma quickly took his pulse and temperature, frowning at the results of each before reattaching the IV and telling him he needed to rest. The man curled on the bed and, when Jarod closed his eyes and rolled away, turning his back on them, Miss Parker knew it wasn't because he wanted to sleep.
Telling the nurse to leave them alone, the brunette slid on to the bed and placed her hand on Jarod's shoulder. He lifted his head slightly at the touch, then let it fall back to the pillow without a word.
"Sydney is on his way," she said, pulling her hand back to her lap, "He's better at these kinds of things than I am. You'll feel better after you've talked to him."
"I don't need Sydney," Jarod murmured, his voice slurring and becoming more childlike as the medication entered his blood stream, "I need my mother."
*********
TBC