Disclaimer in part 1

Guilty

by imagine

Part 15/?

Jarod sat on the edge of the bed with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and waited patiently for his mother to speak. It had been almost ten minutes since Sydney left them alone. During that time, the only thing she had said was that she was glad he was all right.

Her eyes touched almost everything in the room before she sat in the chair beside the bed. When she took his hand and openly began to study the lines on his face, Jarod realized, for the first time, that they were strangers. Except for the years he barely remembered, they only had the events of the past few days in common.

"I have dreamed of having you back for so long, I'm still having trouble believing it's true."

"I know the feeling. When Kyle was killed," he admitted, "I was afraid the Centre would never let us be a family. But, then I found Dad, and he found Emily, and, now you're here. It's almost like a dream come true."

"Yes, it is," she grinned. Then, glancing at the door, she said, "It's almost perfect."

"Mom, I've told you before, they're my friends," he said. "They were there for me when . . ."

"I wasn't."

"That's not what I was going to say."

"Maybe not," she sighed, "but, it's the truth."

He opened his mouth to protest but she silenced him with a shake of her head.

"I made some bad choices - no - some horrible choices that had horrible consequences for all of us but, especially, for you and Kyle. I never stopped searching for both of you," she announced, abruptly bringing her eyes up to his. "You know I looked for you, don't you? You know that I tried to keep you safe?"

"Yes, of course I do and Kyle knew it, too," he said. "We never blamed you, or Dad, for what happened. All we ever wanted was to find you and be a family again."

Oblivious to her son's worried expression, Margaret released a sigh and glanced over her shoulder at the slightly open window. He followed her line of vision and frowned, instinctively knowing what she was thinking about. Leaning over, he slipped his hand gently under her chin and turned her attention back on him.

"We are a family," he told her, "and, soon, we'll all be together again. Concentrate on that, on how happy we will be, not on the things the Centre did to us."

"Do you remember anything from . . . before?"

Straightening up, Jarod nodded and shrugged at the same time. "A little."

"Do you remember the night they took you?"

Her voice was soft and hesitant and, for a brief moment, Jarod considered lying to his mother. Though his kidnapping was not a new memory, it haunted him more than any other and he did not want to relive it. Not now. Not when he was so close to finding the life the Centre stole from him.

"It isn't my only memory," he finally answered, "At least I don't think it is. I have dreams of me, as a boy, playing with a toy airplane while you hang sheets on a clothesline."

In an instant, her eyes began to sparkle. "You loved that plane. You carried it almost everywhere."

"So, it was real? The memory is real?"

"Yes," she assured him, smiling at the relief that flooded his face. Laying her free hand on top of the one he used to hold the other, she said, "Your father gave it to you for your third birthday. He hoped it might make you feel more secure when he was away."

He considered her last comment for only a moment before asking, "Dad was away a lot, wasn't he?"

"More than either of us would have liked."

"It must have been difficult for you to raise two small boys alone."

"I had family and friends and, even when he was away, I had your father," she said. "I was never alone, Jarod. My life did not become difficult until my children were no longer a part of it."

Dropping his eyes, he nodded and wondered why he had the sudden urge to apologize. When his mother moved from the chair to the bed and sat beside him, he looked up slowly.

"The life your father and I had was right for us," she told him Still holding one hand, she used the other to softly stroke his hair. "I understood that what he was doing was important and why, but you were too young. All you knew was that he was seldom home and, naturally, that was very upsetting for you. You used to wake up from a sound sleep, calling out for him. When you found out that he wasn't there, you would tell me you were never going to see him again"

The fact that he had nightmares, before he was brought to the Centre, startled Jarod. As soon as she spoke the words, he dropped his eyes and tightened his grip on her hand. He had always believed the simulations and experiments he'd endured inside the Centre were responsible for his dreams. Now, suddenly, the idea that they may have begun as a result of his father's long absences was seeping into his mind and Jarod was desperate to keep it at bay.

Watching his expression shift from confusion to doubt and back again, Margaret ran her hand across his shoulders then, gently, drew her son toward her. Kissing his forehead, she murmured he shouldn't worry.

"All children have bad dreams, Son," she promised. When he sighed and pulled away, she added, "Yours tapered off after your father gave you the airplane. I think it calmed you because your father told you it was a replica of the plane he flew. And because he gave it to you, of course."

Jarod looked at her, skeptically.

"Don't give me that look," she scolded with a laugh. "You idolized your father. When he was home, you followed him everywhere, imitating his movements. And, when he was with you, your father was in his glory. I used to say that your smiles, and his, were always brightest when he was holding your hand."

The lightness in her voice made Jarod smile but it faded as he began to search his memory for something that resembled what she was telling him. When nothing came, and he felt her hand brush the side of his cheek, Jarod closed his eyes and whispered, "I wish I could remember."

"I know you do, Baby."

After a moment of silence, he asked, "What happened to the airplane?"

Jarod's heart sank as Margaret averted her eyes and moved away from the bed. Her actions were quick and more decisive than they had been. By the time Jarod made it to her side, Margaret had pushed away the heavy curtains and pulled the window closed.

"When I came into your room - that night, I found it, in pieces, on the floor. I spent days trying to fix it because I knew that, when you came home, you would look for it and . . . "

As her words faded, Jarod reached out and gently placed his hand on her arm. When she didn't resist, he stepped closer and pulled her hand from the window latch. Softly sliding his hand into hers, Jarod maintained the heavy silence for almost a full minute before dropping his eyes to their intertwined fingers.

"I don't remember following Dad around, or how important that toy plane was to me," he confessed, "but I never forgot how it felt to have my hand in yours."

Margaret faced the window, trying to hide the tears that had welled in her eyes.

"You always made me feel safe."

"It was your father who made you feel safe."

"No," he insisted, squeezing her hand. "I remember walking with you to school. In one hand, I held the lunch box you bought me. The other was tucked tightly inside yours. I was happy, Mom, and I was safe."

"But you weren't," she answered, pulling her hand away. Her voice cracked as she fought the urge to face him, but Margaret kept her gaze on the falling snow, "I selected that school. I let them test you. You weren't safe, Jarod, because I did everything wrong."

"No, I will never believe that."

Wiping her eyes with both hands, she asked, "Do you remember the car?"

Jarod's brows furrowed at the question. "What car?"

"The car that was parked outside the school," she said, quietly.

Taking a deep breath, Jarod closed his eyes at the memory. He did remember the car and the men who watched them, from inside. Now, he knew they were from the Centre. Then, all he knew was that the car was big and shiny and he had never seen one like it before.

"You pointed them out to me and asked why they were there, but I was in too much of a hurry to turn and look," she continued. "We were running late. I was too focused on the things I promised to do at the school, and the errands I had to run before I had to pick you up. I told you the men were waiting for someone we didn't know and, when you stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, I told you to pay more attention to what you were doing."

"Mom, you were distracted, that's all."

"No. I was negligent. If I had looked at the car," she hissed, finally swinging around to face him, "I might have recognized the faces and told your father. He might have come home early, or I might have locked your window that night and spent the night in your room. Instead, I dismissed them. I dismissed you."

"You're wrong," he whispered, pulling her to his chest, "The Centre would have found a way, no matter what you did that day. What happened wasn't your fault."

Miss Parker paced impatiently in front of the door. Her arms were folded across her chest and her eyes were trained angrily on the man blocking her path. Periodically, he glanced at his watch and then momentarily met her gaze, but he said nothing.

"Sydney, this is ridiculous," she spat. "You can't stand there all night."

"Maybe not," he replied, "but I can stand here long enough to give them the privacy they deserve."

"You know I could knock you aside without breaking a sweat."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You could try but I think your time would be better spent helping Broots and Debbie."

Glancing at the two huddled around the laptop, she shook her head. "They have things under control. Considering how often they've done it already, accessing the Centre mainframe should be a piece of cake, but Broots does not expect to be able to hack into the Police Department's system for a few hours."

"And when he does, what is it you hope to find?"

"The box," she answered, turning to face the hackers, "We need to make sure the police still have it in their possession. If Alex or Cox, or anyone else from the Centre, gets to it before we do, the game is over."

"The game?"

She sighed and faced the stern man. "A figure of speech."

"Why is this box so important?"

"It's not," she sighed. "The contents that are what is important."

Tilting his head to one side, the psychiatrist asked, "And what might those contents be?"

"As soon as you let me talk to Jarod and his mother," she snapped, "I'll tell you."

Pulling from her son's embrace, Margaret wiped her eyes and moved toward the bed. Lowering herself to the edge, she watched Jarod take the seat beside her and sighed at his obvious concern.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I did not come in here to dump my guilt on you."

"It's been a stressful couple of days. Once you get some rest, you will feel better."

"No, Jarod, I won't," she whispered, taking his hand. "You need to know what I've done so that you can . . ."

"You haven't done anything."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Jarod, I did. I didn't do it intentionally but I did endanger both you and your brother. If it hadn't been for me, the Centre might never have found you."

When he was silent, Margaret took a deep breath and shifted on the bed so she and Jarod were facing each other. She saw his anxiousness and felt his hand begin to tremble but forced herself to speak in a calm, even voice.

"Your father and I had trouble conceiving. For years, we went from doctor to doctor, looking for someone that could help us. Finally, on the recommendation of one of the specialists we'd seen, we found ourselves at a clinic in Atlanta."

"Nugenesis."

"You know about Nugenesis?"

Though Jarod wanted to tell her what had led him to the fertility clinic, he responded with only a nod of his head. Something inside of him was insisting he let his mother tell her story, first.

Understanding his silence, Margaret did not question him further. "The people there were the best in their field. They had all the latest equipment and were aware of all the medical advances. Your father was unsure about meeting with them, and submitting to their tests, but he agreed because I asked him to. Nugenesis was our last hope and I wanted children so badly, Jarod, I would have done anything they asked."

He heard the tone in her voice shift from explanation to desperation. She not only wanted him to understand, she needed him to.

"Six months later, I was pregnant and, when you were born, you were perfect," she grinned. When he blushed and dropped his gaze, his mother laughed and took his hand. "You made everything - all the tests, all the tears, and all the pain - worthwhile."

He listened as she told him about his birth and smiled shyly at the stories she told about his inquisitiveness and intelligence, all while watching her face light up with the memories. The things she told him were things he had always wanted to hear, little things he had wondered about over the years. But, now, Jarod found he was nervous. There was something lurking in the shadows of her voice, something he was not sure he wanted revealed.

"Your father and I went back to Atlanta several times over the course of a year," she continued. "Sometimes we went together, sometimes we were alone, but we submitted to strings of tests and followed the protocol that was outlined for us because we wanted another child. Kyle was born when you were almost two and a half. He was just as perfect as you were. The two of you were the most important people in the world, to us and we would have done anything for you."

"We were a family."

"Yes," she beamed. "Kyle was still an infant when you started showing signs of being gifted. Your father thought I was being biased. He said it was natural for me to think you were of above intelligence. After almost a year, when Kyle started showing the same traits, he finally indulged me and agreed to have you both tested."

Jarod smiled. "Did you gloat much when the results came back?"

"Every chance I got," she replied, matching his grin. Then, suddenly, the smile faded. "Because of those tests, I persuaded your father to let me enroll you at the same school that had conducted the tests. It was within walking distance of the house and, though he wasn't happy with the idea because you were only four, your father he agreed. Two weeks later, you were gone. A year later, they took Kyle."

"What are you saying?"

Margaret forced herself to look at her son and spoke in a calm, even voice, "After you were taken, we discovered that the school was connected to Nugenesis and, in turn, to the Centre."

"Even if that's true," he said, straining to keep the emotion from his voice, "it's not your fault. You did what you believed was right. You had no idea that the school would report my test results to Nugenesis, or anyone else, that could hurt me."

"I should have," she said, "I should have known because I knew they were sending mine."

"What did you find out?"

Broots looked up at the woman, a big grin plastered across his face. "I found out my daughter is an experienced and highly skilled hacker."

Glancing at the girl, who smiled shyly then nervously dropped her eyes, Miss Parker turned back on the tech and raised an eyebrow. "I'm happy for you both," she snapped, "Now, concentrate, Broots. The box. I need to know what you found out about the box."

Instantly, the man's smile slipped but, as he turned back to the monitor, he shot a quick wink at his daughter. "Well, um, Debbie managed to get into the mainframe without any trouble. Getting into the databases that hold evidence information and case reports, however, proved to be a little trickier. Individual firewalls and passwords were set up to protect the information."

"Cut to the chase. Did you get the information or not?"

"We got it," Debbie interjected. Sensing Miss Parker's impatience, she forced herself to continue with confidence, "The box is still there and, according to the files, no one has tried to claim it yet. After they brought it to the hospital, and found out Jarod was gone, they locked it up and haven't looked at it since."

"So no one has opened it?"

"According to the records, they tried," the girl answered, "but they couldn't break the lock or figure out the combination."

"What about the Centre?" Miss Parker asked, looking at Broots, "Do they know about the box or what Alex and Cox are up to?"

"I couldn't find anything to suggest they even know Alex is alive," he shrugged.

"But?"

"But, well, I did find something odd. Well, to be honest, it's what I didn't find that was odd."

Annoyance seeping into her voice, Miss Parker hissed, "And that was?"

"Cox told you he had been working on finding Margaret for the Centre, right?"

She nodded.

"Well, there's nothing in the mainframe to support that claim," he said, motioning toward the monitor. "According to what I found, teams were put in place to find Margaret and Major Charles right after Jarod escaped. Cox was not part of any of the teams and they were all dissolved a year later, due to funding."

"You told me the safe house Cox was using was being used as headquarters for Operation Prophecy. Are you telling me, now, that the project doesn't exist?"

He shook his head. "No, the project exists, but it has nothing to do with finding Margaret. At least, not in the sense that the Centre wanted to use her to find Jarod. According to what Debbie and I found, Operation Prophecy is charged with locating and authenticating the scrolls."

A myriad of expressions crossed her face then, with a sudden and throaty, "I knew it!", Miss Parker turned on Sydney. "Out of my way, Freud," she snapped, "I have questions and there's only one person in this cabin that has any answers."

"They were sending yours? I don't understand."

Reaching around him, Margaret tugged at the blanket he had discarded and pulled it back over his shoulders. When he took her hands, and asked her what she meant, she slowly continued her story.

"When I brought you for testing, the school informed me that they were conducting a study and asked me to participate."

"What kind of study?"

"They were trying to determine the genetic markers in a parent that decided the intelligence level of the children."

Jarod thought about the gene he carried that identified him as a pretender and wondered, briefly, if his mother was aware of its existence. More importantly, though, he wondered if the school's study determined he inherited it from her. Just as he was about to explain his thoughts, the door opened and Jarod turned to find Miss Parker standing at the threshold.

"As much as I hate to break up this family reunion," she said, moving into the room, "I think it's time all of us have a serious discussion."

"Parker, not now," he said, tiredly. "Please. We're in the middle of something important."

"Is that so? And does this 'something important' have anything to do with the metal box the police found in the trunk of your car?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he snarled, "the DSA's are nowhere near here."

"I am not referring to the DSA's," she replied. Crossing her arms, Miss Parker turned her gaze on Margaret. "Am I?"

The older woman took a deep breath and, sliding her hands from her sons, she stood and crossed to where Miss Parker stood. The two glared at each other, Margaret silently cursing Miss Parker for interfering and the brunette silently daring Jarod's mother to tell the truth. It wasn't until Jarod called their names that the women looked away, each taking a step back.

"What are you talking about?" Though the question was not directed, specifically, to either one of them, he let his gaze fall on Parker.

"Broots spoke with Emma yesterday. He said she told him the police came to the hospital with the metal box, looking for you."

"Who is Emma?"

"The nurse who took care of me," Jarod answered, glancing at his mother. When the woman dropped her eyes and moved from the bed, he frowned. "What do you know about this box, Mom? Is it something important?"

Rubbing her forehead, the woman nodded. "I need to get it back as quickly as possible."

"Why? What's in it?" Miss Parker demanded.

Raising her eyes to the brunette, she answered, "The scrolls."

"That's impossible. My father took them with him when he jumped out of the airplane. They're at the bottom of the ocean."

"Your father took forgeries with him, when he jumped. I've had the originals for years." Then facing her son, she added, "They're the only thing I had to keep you safe. Without them, our entire family may be in danger."

"You've had them?" Miss Parker spat, grabbing Margaret by the arm. "How is that possible?"

The moment Miss Parker put her hands on his mother, Jarod saw Margaret's hand clench and he was on his feet. Stepping between them, he shot a warning look at his mother then placed his hands gently on Miss Parker's shoulders. Bringing his eyes to hers, he told her, softly, that she would get her answers.

"Right now, though, I want you to go into the other room. I need to talk to my mother."

"I'm not leaving until she tells me how she got those scrolls, Jarod. My father died because of them."

"I know. I promise, you'll get all your answers. Just give me a few more minutes with my mother."

Miss Parker looked over his shoulder at Margaret then back at the dark, pleading eyes of the Pretender.

"You trust her, don't you?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Why? And, don't tell me it's because she's your mother."

Rewarding her demand with a lopsided smile, he ushered her to the door and answered, "I trust her for the same reason I trust you, Parker. I don't have any other choice."

TBC

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