Chapter 6 – Holding On

I roused to the sound of low speaking and looked around me. Sydney had deposited me onto his couch this time – and during the time I'd been asleep, evidently had built a fire in the fireplace to warm the room. It was no longer morning – as a matter of fact, I wasn't sure what time it was. The flicker of the flames reflected in the finish of the wood and the brass trim gave the room an established, safe appearance that defied second-guessing the hour. I pushed back the afghan and sat up, amazed that I'd managed to actually sleep without nightmares. That thought brought memories near the surface with it – but I managed to shove them back down into the darkness before they could trigger anything new.

I'd been utterly exhausted by the time Sydney finally helped me from the kitchen and into the living room to lie down. I'd already completely lost track of time, sitting there with my one hand held tightly and with calming, steady, quiet words in my ear to keep me from being carried off by the panic again. I'd finished my tea – twice – and finally been allowed to finish the whole slice of toast. Three times the panic had tried to overwhelm me again – three times I'd been talked back into a state of numb obedience. When I'd finally closed my eyes while being tucked in on the couch, I'd fallen into a deep, dark hole with not a single feature to cling to.

Still, I was awake now and curious about whom Sydney was talking to. I rose – glad that my feet were still clad only in the warm stockings I'd been given earlier – and followed the voice until I stood just outside the kitchen. It soon became evident who Sydney was talking to – or rather, lecturing fairly vehemently.

"Jarod – I'm telling you that this was a full-blown panic attack, complete with hysterics, emesis, hyperventilation, physical and emotional withdrawal from reality…" He paused, listening, and then added, "No, I seriously doubt this is the first time. She assumed a very defensive posture when I first tried to get her to talk – I'm assuming someone has attempted to comfort her out of at least one in the past in a completely inappropriate manner."

I riled – Dan had tried hard – but then bit my tongue. Sydney's tone was more that of a clinician, discussing a case with another professional. He was giving Jarod information about my situation – letting him know the state I was in for when Jarod was the one who would have to deal with me. Perhaps that would work out well when I began to insist that I be given a new life – one where I didn't have to watch over my shoulder all the time.

"Well, I'll do what I can here to get her stabilized – but I suggest that she not be placed in any more situations where her fight-or-flight mechanism needs to be triggered. I suspect she has been suffering for several years from a certain amount of chronic PTS from living a life perpetually on the run – and combined with the close call this time, her threshold for a psychotic break has been approached." He listened again. "No, I know… She's strong, Jarod – and I suspect that's the only reason she's managed to keep her wits about her this long. I just don't want to see her have to test that strength anymore. She's suffered enough – more than anybody will probably ever know. She deserves better."

I was touched. Sydney was pleading my case for me! Here and I'd once thought this man a monster! How wrong I'd been!

"I'll take good care of her for you, I promise," Sydney continued – obviously the discussion was winding down now. "She's asleep right now – I'll see if I can get her to open up a bit and work out some of the worst of it…" He paused. "Yes, that's what I was afraid of. Are you sure?" He paused again, listening. "That would be better, Jarod. She's going to need help – although if you don't want to leave her here with me, or if you don't dare, then you'll have to do it yourself. The problem with THAT is that you're her son – you'll be too close to the problem – not to mention that this is NOT going to resolve with a quick fix…"

It bothered me to think that Sydney was genuinely worried about me in that way. I liked to think of myself as a strong and independent woman, perfectly capable of handling whatever the Centre tossed in my direction. Of course, thinking that brought back the slightest whiff of musty, mildewed clothing – which made my heart speed up in my chest. No, Sydney was right – this time, I was going to need help, REAL help. In a way, it was too bad that Jarod was coming for me tomorrow evening, for I had a suspicion that Sydney was a good enough therapist that he'd be able to help me learn to cope with my fears – IF he had enough time, that was. I wondered if he could be convinced to try.

I moved into the kitchen now, letting him know that I was up and listening. He smiled at me. "Jarod, she's up and in the kitchen with me now. I'll talk to you later. Would you like…?" He nodded and held his cell phone out to me. "He wants to talk to you."

I took the device from him. "Jarod?"

"Mom?" Jarod sounded worried. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been chased by the hounds of Hell themselves," I told him frankly. "I don't know how they didn't see me, honey…" I began to shake again. "I can't go back to that place…"

I felt a hand fall gently on my shoulders again from behind me – just enough support from Sydney to keep me from spiraling out of control again. And then the touch was gone – just a gentle reminder to hang on, breathe… I took a deep breath, and the panic subsided some.

"I'm working on it, Mom – I promise. Sydney doesn't want you back in any kind of a stressful or precarious situation again – and from the sounds of it, I don't think I do either. The thing is, a completely new life – one that will survive Centre scrutiny undetected to the point that you don't have to live with one ear to the ground constantly – is going to take some time to put together. If you want to get away from Blue Cove immediately…"

It was an opening I couldn't resist. "Jarod – what if I stayed here for a while?" I glanced over my shoulder at my host, who had been startled enough to turn and look at me with raised eyebrows. "Sydney has helped me a lot already in a very short time. If he doesn't mind putting up with a house guest for a while longer, it would give YOU the time you need to do things properly and maybe give him the chance to help me some more too." I lowered my voice. "I just can't live on the run anymore, Jarod – alone or even with you. I can't handle it anymore."

"OK, Mom, it's OK." Even Jarod sounded relieved. "Let me talk to Sydney and see how long he thinks things on your end will take – and I'll get moving on finding you a life that you can honestly live with. No more Pretends for me until you're settled properly this time, I promise."

I felt as if a load had dropped away. "Thank you, Jarod," I sighed.

"And I'm really sorry that this had to happen to you," he replied, his voice shimmering with regret. "I honestly thought that you would be safest there."

"I know, honey – but I survived. That's the important thing. Let me give you back to Sydney then." I held out the phone to its owner. "He wants to talk to you again."

He took the phone. "Jarod?" He listened, nodding. "Agreed." Again he listened. "Well, granted that I'm going to have to go to work at the Centre throughout this time, I'm estimating at least a week to ten days of intensive evening work everyday just to…" He listened and nodded again. "Fair enough. What?" He shook his head. "No, of course I don't mind." His eyes opened and he looked directly at me. "Your mother is a delightful lady – it will be a treat to have her as a guest in my house for more than just a day or so."

I smiled – to myself and to him – and walked over to the arcadia door that opened onto the back yard to look outdoors. I saw a snow-encumbered fountain, a plastic-covered lathe house near edge of the patio slab, several trees which in summer probably shaded a goodly portion of the yard, and a broad expanse of what would be lush grass in better season. There were no houses behind him, so I could see low fields stretching beyond the back fence. No wonder it was so quiet here – I was on the very edge of the hamlet.

It had become silent while I'd been observing the outdoors, and I felt movement at my elbow – Sydney moved to stand on the other side of the door. "Provided that you can handle being in Blue Cove for a while longer, Jarod agrees that it would be best you stay here – for a week at least, maybe a bit longer."

"It won't put you out?" I'd actually invited myself – I needed to make sure that he wasn't just being kind.

He smiled and shook his head at me. "Not at all – you'll just need to keep a very low profile during the day when the house would normally be unoccupied because I'm at work." He took in the way my face paled slightly. "And I can show you the best places to hide yourself here IF the situation should arise – even though I doubt it will."

"Do you honestly think they won't suspect…?" I worried at him, my heart beating faster.

"Peg," he soothed, reaching across the distance and taking my hand again. "Do you really think I would have brought you into my own home if I thought that they'd figure anything out?"

I still wasn't convinced – even though I wanted so much to believe him. "Jarod was so certain the cottage would be safe too…"

"True," he dropped my hand and shrugged, "but you aren't quite so isolated here as you were in that cottage. If nothing else, if the Centre decided to break in here and search the place during daylight hours while I'm away, or even in the evening, it would cause the neighbors to talk – something the Centre does NOT like to have happen. The Centre functions best when their "need to know" standards can be kept quite high."

"I do need help, don't I?" God, that was hard to ask! I could admit it to myself – but to say it openly to another…

I'd never seen such an expression on a man's face before – a combination of deep worry, sadness and hope rolled into an emotional collage. "What do you think?" was his soft question back at me.

I knew the mess I'd made of myself that morning, and I could feel the warmth of my embarrassment fill my cheeks. "I was a basket case."

"You were very upset – and with what I suspect is good reason," he told me gently. "What I need to know now, however, is whether you want my help or not." Sydney's voice was soft. "If you don't, then I don't want to go about upsetting you again by asking you questions you don't want to answer; and if you think just resting and staying quiet and secure for a stretch of time will do the trick…"

"I heard you talking to Jarod, Sydney," I confessed, my cheeks still burning. "Do YOU believe that my just resting and staying quiet and secure would do the trick?" I could see from the expression on his face how little he believed that. "So I DO need the help – and I think I want you to try." I shook my head at my own thinking. "I never thought I'd be saying this, but I think I trust you."

"It's only fair to warn you," he turned serious, "this isn't going to be easy or fun, Peg. I'm not going to lie to you. You'll no doubt be furious with me at least several times between now and when Jarod comes – for prying into matters you'd rather keep private…."

I swallowed hard. ""No pain, no gain" – isn't that what they say in weight-lifting?" I joked. "How much do you want to bet that by the time this is over, you'll have been furious with me at least half as often as I have with you – because of some of what you'll end up hearing me say?"

He wasn't laughing. "I sincerely hope not."

oOoOo

Sydney's tour of his home that afternoon – after a nourishing but light lunch of chicken broth and buttered toast, accompanied by more of that delicate tea - had been very thorough. He'd left not one corner of it out due to modesty or even a need for privacy – and I now knew at least three very clever places to hide myself should I ever feel threatened or in danger of discovery. He'd been very frank about the whole matter, and in so doing helped me to feel slightly more in control of my life again. It was a real relief to not having my fears made into things to be dismissed lightly or ridiculed, but rather hearing another speak of them as serious obstacles that deserved and would be given their proper due in time.

Over lunch, we'd discussed his normal working schedule so that I was fully aware of what time things in this house would have to close down and appear unoccupied. He'd given me permission to browse his own, prodigious library for reading material to occupy my time while he was away. As with Jarod's library at the cottage, I had plenty of opportunities for self-entertainment at hand for the choosing.

He insisted that I retire again for an hour or so, later in the afternoon, for yet another nap – telling me that a goodly part of the reason I was so easily upset-able still was that my sleep patterns over the years had deteriorated badly. A morning and an afternoon nap every day for a while, long enough to refresh without oversleeping, would help combat that chronic fatigue. He took me into the kitchen and showed me where he kept his sizeable collection of herbal teas, taking down one box in particular and voicing his preference that I restrict my intake to just that one – the one he'd given me twice now. I insisted on at least helping him prepare the evening meal – a hearty and nourishing stew that he had made previously and frozen for later, as well as warmed-up French bread with butter.

In our time together over the course of the afternoon, I discovered that Sydney was a quiet, introspective man given to long silences. The lack of communication didn't feel like our discussion had just died for lack of intent or mutual interest – merely that he was both giving me space to think things through for myself and claiming the right to do the same as well. Far from making me feel uncomfortable, the silences helped me to relax even more – there was nothing so pressing as for either of us to need to break the silence, which in itself was a huge relief.

With another pot of tea in hand – and a fresh box of tissues – Sydney escorted me back into the living room once the supper clean up was finished.

"How are we going to do this?" I asked, suddenly a little nervous. "Shall I lie down on the couch while you pull one of the chairs over behind me?"

Sydney set the tissue box on the coffee table even as he shook his head. "Nothing quite so stereotypical," he replied, pointing for me to put the teapot on a small trivet that had somehow appeared on the coffee table as well. "You sit on one end of the couch, I sit either on the other or in one of the chairs – and we talk."

"OK…" I offered, sitting down on the nearest end of the couch and folding my hands in my lap. I watched silently as he walked over to one of the bookcases, pulled a small spiral notebook out of a desk cleverly hidden disguised as more books, and then came back over to the other end of the couch from me. "Shall I pour the tea now?"

"I'm fine," he shook his head and opened the spiral book to the first, evidently blank page. "This what we're going to do for this evening, at least. I'm going to ask you questions, and I need you to give honest and as complete answers as you can. If what I ask makes you uncomfortable, I want you to tell me exactly that." His brown eyes rested on me steadily. "How does that sound?"

"Scary," I admitted, my fingers seeking out the hem of my blouse and tracing the stitching nervously, "depending one what you ask questions about."

"Let's start back when you felt you had to start running from the Centre – when was that?"

That was easy. "After Emily was born. There was a nurse I recognized from NuGenesis at the hospital when I went into labor – Dan kept an eye on her rather than doing his nervous father routine in the waiting room." I tried to smile, but this wasn't a good memory for me so the joke fell flat. "The minute the doctor had done all the necessary tests on her, we signed Em and me out against medical advice and took off for the farm of a mutual friend of Catherine's and mine from our Catholic School days."

"Harriet Tashman," Sydney nodded.

"We stayed there for a couple of months. Dan had been in contact with Catherine, and the two of them were planning to free several children who'd been taken by the Centre – Jarod and Kyle included – with some inside help from a couple of men at the Centre that Catherine felt could be trusted." I fidgeted. "Only one of the men from the Centre betrayed them all – and Catherine ended up dead with Dan sought for her murder."

"Meanwhile the rest of us were given to understand that she'd committed suicide," Sydney added softly. "It was a bad time for everyone."

My eyebrows shot up. "Suicide? Catherine??"

Sydney shook his head at me. "We'll discuss that another time – right now let's stick to matters at hand, shall we? Go on – your husband was sought by the Centre for supposedly murdering Catherine…"

I nodded. "Dan and I tried to stay together – but it seemed that every time we tried to settle somewhere new, and Dan started looking for a job, the Centre came along about two or three weeks later." My voice was soft. I hated having to think of those days – the last days I'd been able to think like or behave like a happily married woman, albeit in an extreme situation. "We decided after about six months of never being able to rest that it would be better if I took the baby and Dan led the Centre away from us."

Sydney nodded. "Did that make life easier for you?"

I shook my head. "No. I was alone with a eight-month-old child and afraid to fill out an employment application with my real name or credentials. It was a very difficult time – especially because Dan and I didn't dare make contact." It was worse than a difficult time – it was when my constant worry was having enough money to feed my daughter, and sometimes failing even at that.

"At all?"

I shook my head. "At first it was a case of I was afraid to contact him – but later, after the one time I did try so that he could at least talk to Emily on her first birthday, I realized I didn't know HOW to contact him anymore. We never made a failsafe contact point, where we could leave messages for the other no matter what."

Sydney gazed at me. "How did this make you feel?"

I frowned back at him. "How do you think it made me feel? I was frightened – I never knew when the Centre would come out of the woodwork and I'd have to pray I had money for bus fare to the next town. I was hungry – when money was short, it was Emily I made sure got the food."

"So you were… angry?"

"I didn't have time to get angry – and I had nobody to get angry AT."

"Not even Dan, for having been part of a plot that ended up getting a bulls-eye painted on his back AND yours?"

I shook my head. "I knew we were targets when they took Kyle the same way they took Jarod – and when Dan saw the NuGenesis nurse when I was having Em. What happened with Dan and Catherine was just a final straw."

Sydney nodded encouragingly. "Very well – so what happened then?"

God, this was so hard! "I learned that it was easier to tell when the Centre was getting close by staying in the really small towns, you know? Places where you get very used to the few faces that belong – and where strangers stand out."

"How long did you manage to stay in one place?" was the next, calm and implacable question.

I sighed. "Never more than three or four months at a time," I told him. "I would rent a room on credit – barter my services as a maid for the boarding house for room and board until I could be there long enough to get a real job and pay for the room properly. But the Centre never quit – never stopped looking…"

oOoOo

I was exhausted by the time Sydney declared that we'd done enough for one evening – exhausted and emotionally drained from being required to relive those horrible years with Emily as a small child and then a teenager all over again. But I'd not been SO exhausted as to oversleep the next morning and miss having breakfast with my host before he drove himself into the Centre.

"I recommend that you pack yourself something for lunch, select your reading material for the day, and stay upstairs until I get back," Sydney told me as he collected his coat and briefcase. "The less movement through the house – especially downstairs – the better. We don't want even the neighbors suspecting that you're here."

"I remember," I told him obediently. "I've already made another pot of your tea. I'll be good – I promise."

He gave me a wide smile – one that I'd not seen before and decided would be wonderful to see more often. "I have no doubt about that," he said, wrapping his scarf about his neck. "If I'm to be late, I'll call. When I'm on the way home, I'll call to warn you I'm coming. Keep the cordless handset from my bedroom with you at all times."

"Yes, sir." I smiled back at him. "Have a good day."

He gave me a quick grin, set his beret firmly over his silvered head and walked out into the garage. I closed the door behind him firmly and was on the way up the stairs with a mug to go with the tea when I heard the low hum of his car's engine and the rough growl of the garage door opener. I was on my way back downstairs for a Tom Clancy novel I'd seen amid a collection of paperbacks and the sandwich I'd made from cheese and left-over French bread when the garage door opener growled a second time – telling me that the house was now officially SUPPOSED to be unoccupied.

Sydney had given me a small, wind-up travel alarm clock and clear instructions about taking my mid-morning and mid-afternoon naps. I was amazed to discover that even though I didn't feel sleepy when I forced myself to lie down, it never failed that my eyes would close and it would take the alarm to rouse me after my specified hour. By the time the phone rang at five-thirty that night, telling me that Sydney was on his way, I was feeling more rested than I had been in a very long time.

As I crept down the stairs and into the unlit kitchen to await Sydney's return, I reviewed what had transpired the evening before. I had told Sydney everything, as he'd requested – all about the budding friendships I'd learned to leave behind without a backwards glance, all about the temper tantrums Emily would throw when told that she was going to have to do the same, all about how the look on Emily's face made me feel like the worst mother in the world when I told her that we had to keep moving because "bad men were chasing us," and all about deciding not to put Emily in the public school – as much not to call attention to the vagrant life style she was leading as to hide her prodigious intelligence – and teaching her to be extremely quiet, well-behaved and content at home, alone, while I worked in order not to cause attention to herself or us that would summon the "bad men" again. I'd talked about learning to distrust everyone around me – except for Emily. And I'd talked about how, at times, it had become increasingly difficult to distinguish the real Centre threat from innocent strangers like myself – and the many times I'd picked us up and moved to a new town or city without being absolutely certain it was the Centre that had come to town, how my fear began to prey on me.

Tonight I would have to begin to talk about what had happened when Dan and I reconnected – thanks to Jarod – and about my reaction to hearing what little I knew about what the Centre had done to my sons. I wasn't looking forward to the "talk" to come.

What I WAS looking forward to, however, was having living, breathing companionship again. The day had been long and quiet, filled with napping and reading and a light lunch that more than satisfied – but it had been a lonely day. It had taken being put in a small cottage by myself in the middle of the Centre's back pocket to realize that I NEEDED to have people around me – even if I didn't trust them or even if I did. I had to really discipline myself not to get up from my chair and throw my arms around Sydney's neck in welcome when he walked through that kitchen door again – so ready was I for human contact again.

"You look rested," was his first comment after turning on the kitchen light and looking genuinely pleased to see me sitting there waiting for him.

"I'm feeling more rested," I admitted. "How was your day?"

Sydney shrugged, as much to shed the heavy coat as to answer my question. "Miss Parker is making noise about a possible sighting in Baltimore that may require us to head in that direction – whether she decides it's credible or not enough to warrant filing an expense report is another question. Other than that, I have a research project involving twins…"

"Sydney, Jarod HAS been in Baltimore since I've been in Blue Cove," I told him quietly, much of my good mood having evaporated on the spot.

"I know that, Peg – and if I know Jarod at all, he's NOT where he was during the Pretend anymore. Remember?" Sydney gave me a quick smile and a pat on the shoulder while carrying his briefcase to its customary place on the kitchen desk. "He said he was going to concentrate on building you a more permanent identity off the Centre radar. IF we end up going to Baltimore, I'm willing to bet you that all we find is the usual – a slightly messy and thoroughly abandoned lair and a red notebook detailing exactly what he accomplished this time around, along with some oblique clues either meant for Miss Parker or hinting at something he MAY be considering doing in the future."

"You're certain?" I was worried now.

Sydney took another look at my face and nodded gently on his way to the refrigerator. "Peg. Jarod is verrrry good at what he does – and at keeping a close eye on what the Centre is up to in the meantime. If we're only now hearing about Baltimore – and you and I know that Jarod has already moved beyond that Pretend – then you can be certain that he's already far out of harm's way."

I could only hope that Sydney's experience in watching first hand as the Centre struggled to catch up to Jarod made his prediction come true. The mere idea that the Centre was taking a step ahead in its pursuit – even though it was Jarod that was the target and not me – was enough to have my heart beating faster. It was getting difficult to breathe…

"Peg?"

I looked up – had he been speaking to me? "I'm sorry…"

He closed the fridge door and moved over to the kitchen chair nearest me and sat down. "You look pale. What's going on?"

I shook my head. My fears were irrational – they had to be. I wasn't the one in danger, so there was no reason for me to react this way. "I'll be fine," I told him after struggling to take a deep breath.

Sydney shook his head and reached for my hand as it lay in my lap, and then carried it to the table. "Talk to me, Peg. This is important – this is part of what we're trying to work through – remember?"

"I feel…" I could feel the burn starting in my cheeks – this was ridiculous! "It's as if getting closer to Jarod brings the Centre closer to me." I tried to laugh off the feeling and ended up sounding close to tears. "How selfish is that of me?"

"Deal with the feelings – don't judge yourself," Sydney advised me quietly. "This is only a sign of hypersensitivity – not selfishness. You are personalizing the hunt for Jarod and impressing it into your own situation. That's merely another symptom of Post-Traumatic Stress."

"How can I stop doing that?" I demanded, half angry at myself now. "It's like I just HEAR a mention of the Centre, and I'm ready to climb the walls!"

Sydney nodded sympathetically. "And that reaction, in many ways, is how you see yourself having kept out of their reach for a very long time, is it not?"

He may have been correct, but it didn't help. "Or making my own life more chaotic for no good reason…"

"Perhaps," he allowed, "but we're not dealing with the past here, Peg. This is now – this is your reaction to things happening around you NOW. If you can begin to see why you begin to go through a certain sequence of responses, you will eventually be able to take more control over which sequence of responses you choose – out of a larger number of options." He squeezed my hand. "Give me a list of symptoms you're feeling right now – heart beating faster?"

I nodded.

"Dizzy, nauseated?" I shook my head – it wasn't that bad, at least, not yet. "Feel like you need to jump up and do something?" I nodded slowly – it was more a sense of perhaps the time had come for me to move on. "Feeling insecure?"

"Yes!"

Sydney nodded. "And yet, here you sit in my kitchen. Your heart is beating hard, you're not quite hyperventilating - but you're not running. Why is that?"

I glared at him. "Because you're hanging onto me for one thing, and…" I hesitated as his hand dropped mine immediately – and I regretted my hasty words. "…and because you're telling me that Jarod is in no real danger, and because…" I hung my head now. "…because I suppose I took the time to realize that Jarod's troubles are not necessarily my own."

"Verrrry good." Sydney rose and left a gentle hand on my shoulder for a brief moment – both a congratulations and a comforting gesture. "In this situation, at least, you are giving yourself options for your responses – and you are choosing to go with your head, and not your adrenaline."

I looked up at his face and found him looking at me with an expression that he quickly shrouded behind gentle concern. "Is that good?"

He nodded. "It's progress." He moved back to the fridge and opened it again. "And we'd best get a good meal into us now, so that we can continue progressing this evening, yes?"

oOoOo

It was a good thing Sydney had plenty of tissues in that box that night, because I made use of a goodly share of them. His questions were always asked in a gentle and non-threatening manner – but most of them ended up prying into the parts of my latter day relationship with my husband that I tried to avoid thinking about much. He eventually managed to get me to talk about the way Dan reacted to my panic attacks. I was hard-pressed to look the man in the face as he insisted on my describing how I felt when pressed, in the middle of fearing for my life and having trouble breathing and thinking clearly, to have sex. I could have screamed at him – and did, a little, in humiliation and a desire to run away and hide – but as he pressed further and further into that, I began to see how those incidents had been real turning points in the way I thought about my own panics.

I was beyond exhausted that night by the time Sydney called our "talk" finished for the time being. I barely had the energy to wish him "good night" before I stumbled up the stairs to bed – and then the dreams began. They were more nightmares than dreams – nightmarish memories of the way Dan's face would look as we would settle ourselves into some nondescript motel after driving three or four hundred miles like bats out of Hell. Why had I never seen how flushed and… excited… Dan had looked when resting after escaping the Centre yet again?

I jerked myself out of sleep when it occurred to me that, to Dan, our narrow escapes had become a form of aphrodisiac – and that his urges had ruled his head when my fears were ruling mine. Yes, he'd tried to comfort – but he was already stimulated and aroused, and so the inevitable conclusion of his trying to help me was easy to predict. No wonder I had begun to find reasons to avoid meeting with him for more than a day or so.

I was sickened by the thought, and I threw on my robe and slippers and opened the bedroom door.

But what was I looking for?

I went to the top of the stairs and looked down – and sagged against the banister when I saw that the light was still on in the living room. Sydney was still up. HE was what I was looking for – and this time, not for psychoanalysis, but comfort.

What the Hell did I think I was doing?

But my need for human touch, for perhaps a warm shoulder and arms around me was driving me now. I came down the stairs quietly and peered into the living room to find Sydney still at the end of the couch, glasses perched on the end of his nose, reading. The magazine dropped, and the glasses came off as I walked around the end of the couch and seated myself next to him – much closer than at the opposite end of the couch.

"What's this?" he asked kindly and a little tiredly, leaning forward to put glasses and magazine on the coffee table next to the empty teapot and two mugs that were still there.

"Am I…" I began, embarrassed to even have to ask the question, "…am I so damaged that Dan had to use the excitement of close brushes with the Centre to feel…"

"I doubt that had anything to do with you, Peg," he answered softly. "The adrenaline rush that comes with danger can become addictive to some people."

"But he would hardly even touch me if we weren't just running…" It was, I think, the hardest admission I'd made. "I'm not sure that he didn't bring the Centre to us just so that our time together could include…"

I felt a gentle finger beneath my chin, lifting my head so that I was looking at him directly. "That still says nothing about you – and quite a bit about the emotional state of your husband. You each spent nearly thirty years playing hide-and-seek with the Centre – and you each responded to the precariousness of your lives in different ways. Dan, from what you've said, seems to have become addicted to the rush and needed that rush to assist him in…" He paused, probably trying to figure out a diplomatic way to tell me that I'd lost my ability to stimulate my husband sexually without the assistance of the thrill that came from eluding the Centre.

"I wasn't enough any more," I told myself sadly. "I knew there were other women." I lifted my chin from Sydney's hold and looked down again. "There were little clues in his belongings – tee shirts that would smell of a woman's perfume. And I could see it in the way he'd react and behave with the people around him – even strangers. I was being so careful, and he was out-going."

"I'm surprised, considering this history, that you even attempted to open a dialogue with me by email when Jarod brought you to that cottage," Sydney shook his head gently, his hand falling into his lap.

"I was alone," I told him honestly, "and Jarod gave me your email address, as much as an answer to a dare as anything else. You'll never know how hard that first email was to write. I thought I was writing to a monster."

Sydney's face folded sadly. "I AM a monster from a certain perspective."

I shook my head and put my hand on his arm. "No," I replied. "You're not."

His eyes swept my face intently. "And you are not unattractive, Peg – despite the way your husband behaved." I blinked – how could he have known that was what I was thinking? "Just because Dan had issues – or used close calls with the Centre as means to arousal – doesn't mean that another man would need more than just your proximity to feel… very…" He paused, and his gaze caught and held mine – and we seemed to move toward each other as if drawn by an irresistible force.

I felt as if I was being given a glimpse into the soul of the man – just for a moment – and finding him just as lonely, just as damaged, just as in need of human contact and affection – and just as much on the brink of reaching out for comfort and whatever might follow as I was. And then, as quickly as that connection had been made, his heavy eyelids closed for a long moment, and the connection was severed.

"We can't do this," he told me gently, sitting back slightly, "I can't do this – not to you, and not now."

I shifted closer to him, drawn by the conflict in his voice and his eyes once they opened again. "Can't do what?"

"Take advantage of you," he replied, his voice almost a whisper. "We've created a sense of intimacy between us with our "talks" – one that holds as much potential for harm as anything else if that intimacy is abused. I've seen the consequences of ignoring the warnings, Peg – I wouldn't wish them on you, or me, for that matter. There's a damned good reason that mental health professionals aren't allowed to fraternize with their patients."

"Sydney…" I couldn't forget what I'd seen in his eyes, and I wanted a chance to answer it, to soothe it away. I knew how it felt all too well…

He cupped my face in his hand. "Do NOT think I'm rejecting you – because I'm not. If the circumstances were different, we wouldn't be having this discussion – in fact, there's a good chance we wouldn't be speaking at all at the moment, much less sitting here side by side on the couch…" He let that statement hang for a long moment of silence, knowing that I would know exactly where he'd intended it to go. I blushed, but I didn't look away. He was right – were it not for his decision, we would more than likely be VERY intimately entangled, either here on the couch or upstairs in bed – and it was what we both wanted very much.

"The problem is that, at the moment, I need to be your therapist to help you deal with your panic attacks and fears – and to do that properly, I have to maintain a certain measure of emotional distance from you. You want comfort tonight, I know – but if I try to comfort you tonight in the way we both know that you want, there is a line that will blur for the both of us that will make the therapy all that much more difficult." His hand caressed my face with a delicate touch, as if memorizing my features. "You've already had so many of your boundaries ignored and violated as the result of inappropriate ways of giving comfort, Peg – I refuse to be a party to abusing you as well."

"Even if this time I don't mind?" I asked softly, drawing up all my courage and moving my hand from his arm to his chest and leaning into him a little more.

"Especially because you don't mind," he breathed, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "You are so vulnerable tonight – so uncertain of your own value as a woman – and you are so very beautiful, Peg, so very desirable. And yet, if I touched you tonight the way we both want right now – and then tried to address some of what we uncovered this evening tomorrow – you'd end up feeling betrayed and used. And you'd be right."

"Please…"

He bent his head forward and kissed my cheek – holding me so that I couldn't turn my face so that our lips would meet. "Go back to bed, ma belle – and know that I would be there beside you if this were another world and time, giving you everything you wanted and maybe even more. And I swear to you – on my parents' and brother's graves – that when I'm no longer your therapist and when the Centre is no longer a threat to you, AND if you are still interested and not involved otherwise, I will come to find you and we WILL revisit this topic again. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I understood – I didn't like it, but I understood it. If anything, I was touched even more deeply by his willingness to risk my suffering the feeling of rejection in order to protect me from myself and my wayward urges and his own weakness. What was more, he was offering me a branch of hope – something to hold onto and take with me into a future that would necessarily not include him. Whether or not anything could come of what he was insisting that we both walk away from tonight and leave for a distant future was a matter for another time – as he said, another life.

I turned and kissed the palm of the hand that still held my face – and then rose and went back up the stairs to my solitary bed, as he directed me. I hadn't found what I'd come downstairs looking for – but I wasn't disappointed. What I HAD found made it possible to sleep the rest of the night and all the rest of the nights I spent in that house.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jarod held his hand out to Sydney. "Thanks, Sydney – I appreciate everything that you've done for her – for us."

Sydney took the hand and pulled my son – OUR son in so many ways, as we had decided one afternoon not long before – into a tight hug. "Thank YOU, Jarod, for giving me a chance to make better a little of what the Centre has so thoroughly made wrong."

Jarod distanced himself from the hug quickly, as if any display of emotion from his former mentor was distressing. He had my computer and suitcase already in hand, and he turned to me. "Is this it?"

I nodded, clasping my purse tightly. "Give me a moment?" I asked, as he signaled that we should head off into the darkness outside the house. He glanced at Sydney and then back at me, and then nodded and slipped out the front door to where his dark colored SUV – a new one – was parked in the shadow of one of the huge elm trees that lined Washington Street.

I looked at the man who had taken me in, fed me, sheltered me, and over the course of two very long, very difficult and very emotional weeks had given me back a part of me that I'd never even realized had been missing for a long time. I was suddenly not at all happy about leaving what had become, for me, my first real refuge from the Centre and all its evil. I had been safe here – safer than I'd been for a very long time. "I'm going to miss you," I told him in a shaky voice.

"And I you," he responded in an equally shaky voice. "More than you'll ever know."

I frowned, trying very hard not to cry. "I'm going to hold you to your promise, you know."

His face went blank for a very short moment, and then he smiled at me – that warm and wide smile that I'd hoped to see more often and had thus far only managed to see twice. "You are, are you?"

"Jarod will know where I am – when the time comes." I pressed. I was going to believe that the Centre would eventually falter – or that the time would come when it would no longer threaten me or mine. I had to. I had a younger son I had to convince of that as well. I could only pray that it happened sooner, and not when my children and my children's children were old.

"We still will have email," he offered, putting a hand out to me.

I had no interest in just holding onto a hand I'd held tightly many times in the past. With Jarod's coming, Sydney had ceased to be my therapist – and I had no intention of letting that event pass unmarked. I stepped up to him past that outstretched hand and wrapped my arms tightly around his waist – and breathed a deep sigh as I felt his arms wrap around me just as tightly. "You'd better write me email," I insisted, my face pressed against his chest. "I'll need to know that you're all right too."

"Goodbye, Peg," Sydney said softly and – as I had hoped he would – tipped my face up with a gentle finger as he finally bent and pressed his lips against mine. I clung to him and gave back every inch of the emotion I'd held in check since that desperately lonely night, knowing that our embrace now would have to last us both for a very long time indeed. He deepened the kiss abruptly – letting loose with everything that he'd been holding back for just as long – and for a long moment, the entire world faded until the only thing that was real was the two of us, together.

And then he had released me and was stepping back – with the only point of contact being his hand at my face. "Go now," he urged, his hand finally dropping away. "Be safe in your new life – safe and happy."

"Goodbye, Sydney," I whispered and spun on my heel and flew down the walk to where the passenger door of the SUV stood open, waiting for me.

"Ready?" Jarod asked as I snapped the seat belt across my lap and settled my purse – with its two new precious photographs safely stored inside with the others – between the front seats behind the shift lever.

"Ready," I replied, casting a long last look at the figure silhouetted in the open front door of his house.

Without another word, Jarod put the vehicle in gear – and we sped off into the night, away from Blue Cove, away from the Centre, away from all of the rest of it.