LJP: Thank you. It makes me feel better knowing that you're still interested even though I'm slow in updating.
NYT: I'm going to try to make all the chapters from here on out as long and juicy as this one. Especially since I'm making you all wait so long to get the new chapter.
Gemini: Cox in hot water conjured up the image of him being boiled in a cauldron! Hehe… I'm glad you liked the interlude.
+ Jarod's new pretend is based on a September 8, 2005 incident in New York City that was reported by Florida's Sun Sentinel. Names, locations, and details have been changed accordingly. Only the basic premise of the original case has been used.
Chapter 8: Midnight in the Garden of Darkness
"Do you not know that tonight, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway?" –Dracula, Bram Stoker
She was teasing him again with her recently remembered Italian.
"Perchè così misero, il mio cuore? La vita non può essere così disperata."
He stopped packing long enough to glare severely at her, before returning to his task with renewed hostility. Unnecessary ritual packing was. On solitary trips, he took nothing with him, opting instead to either buy what he needed once he arrived at his destination or to charm it off of lovesick women with too much money and not enough sense. Mercifully, his position as son of the Centre's Chairman allowed him direct funding, relieving him of having to deal with stupid women and the emotional web they tried to ensnare him in. No, now he just had the one female to deal with and he packed for her so that she continued to believe that their trip to New York was a social one to renew their relationship- a second honeymoon, so to speak. Not that there was ever a first, but she was not aware of that.
Lyle cast a discreet glance at his young wife who was perched atop her already packed suitcases, which lay on the bed. On the subject of the foolish women, the one he was married to was not half as naïve nor as silly as she looked for he knew her to be a little viper at times, even without any Centre programming. Though suffering from acute amnesia, she still knew precisely which buttons to push elicit certain responses in him and he despised it. He abhorred the idea that anyone one could know him so intimately that they could manipulate him in such a manner.
Amelia continued on, gently kidding him with witticisms he did not understand, but he judged from her expression and tone of voice that he would not find them nearly as humorous as she, if he were capable of translating.
"Chi sono noi che visitiamo ancora, innamorato?
"If you want me to answer," he growled through gritted teeth. "Speak English."
She smiled pleasantly, unaffected by his foul mood. "Who are we visiting again, sweetheart?" she said again, unnecessarily enunciating the words. Gently, she prodded him out of the way and took over his packing as he had been folding the same pair of pants over for past few minutes.
"Your brother and grandmother," he replied, watching with fascination as she neatly folded the clothing he had struggled with in a manner of which he actually approved.
"Do they know that I've been having trouble with my memory?" As she reached for another shirt a small frown creased her face.
"Yes," he replied. "And they've been through this before, so it's not exactly a big shock."
If she heard his response, she wasn't listening. Instead she was still staring at his shirt with a curious scowl.
"Why aren't you taking any casual shirts?" she queried after a moment. All that had been packed were precision pressed, button-down shirts in solid hues with the exception of a blue plaid that laid obtrusively in the collection. He was also taking along several ties.
"Those are my casual shirts," he snapped, sounding offended.
"Okay, okay," she laughed, flipping her long locks flirtatiously over her shoulder. "Lighten up, Bobby baby. This trip is supposed to be fun, remember?"
He sighed, knowing he was not doing a good job playing "house". He said nothing and did not offer to help her close the baggage.
"Bobby?" Amelia fidgeted with the handle of the suitcase with a distressed expression.
"What?"
"Will you tell me about our wedding now?"
He coughed slightly and advert his eyes from her intense gaze. "I can't," he muttered, wiping his damp palm on the thigh of his jeans.
"Why not?"
"Because." He continued to shift in discomfort. Finally, he settled for crossing his arms over his stomach. "You remember the doctor I told you about?"
She nodded slowly, her attention riveted to her packing. "The one you made me an appointment with."
"Right," he affirmed. "He advised against telling you anything you don't remember like…" he hesitated as though the subject was an unpleasant one. "The wedding. He wants your memories to be your own and not something I've told you."
"Oh," was all that she said. Shrugging her shoulders, she made her hair fall around her shrouding her face. All the mirth of earlier was gone.
He watched her, disheartened, regretting he hadn't tried to play with along her gleefulness. Now she was so withdrawn and somber that it brought back memories of their first meeting and subsequent series of events, none of which he cared to dwell on.
She brushed by him on her way to replace some hangers in the closet. On her way back, he caught her by the waist good-naturedly, trying to make amends for spoiling her cheerful mood.
"Bob-bee," she whined, struggling against him.
"Lighten up, Mia baby," he chided her own words against her. "This is supposed to be a fun trip, remember?"
The playfulness in his voice restored life to her. Giggling, she turned in his arms and buried her face against his chest. Unable to resist the infectious nature of her laughter, he found himself chuckling along with her.
Well, he thought as Cox's unfriendly gaze and stern visage came to mind. The good doctor never said I couldn't have a little fun with this Project.
The light in his office seemed dull even though all sources of illumination were lit. The atmosphere was weighty as if much tension and negativity had recently been released in the area. He sat, lost in troubled thought, behind the desk upon which documents and files lay in organized disarray. His expression was unreadable as a hand pressed against his temple in a gesture of anxiety obscured his features. He leaned over the desktop in aberrantly poor posture; his shoulders slouched as though unable to straighten.
It was strange to see him in such a state.
She stepped further into his sanctum; the click of her heels announced her arrival in the noiseless room. She cleared her throat lightly yet he took no notice of her.
"Mourning the anniversary of Freud's death, are we, Syd?" she asked, testing his emotional state.
The sound of her voice jostled him from the mire of his thought with a start. "Miss Parker," he recovered poorly, hastily pushing some of the files into a drawer.
Her eyebrows arched in curiosity at his behavior, but she said nothing.
"Miss Parker," he said again. He seemed to have forgotten that he said her name already. "What I may I help you with?"
Though his doctor's demeanor was in place once more, Parker was not fooled by it; she could see in his disturbed eyes that his thoughts were elsewhere. Surprised that he was asking such a thing, she did not let him in on her astonishment. "An explanation would be appropriate."
He looked at her blankly. "Pardon me?"
"You were supposed to meet Broots and me three hours ago," A frown flickered over her features. "You know, to search for Jarod."
The missed meeting did not seem to register with him. "I apologize, Miss Parker," he said pleasantly. But there was an air of disassociation in his words. He sounded like he was speaking to a patient or a receptionist and not to the woman he had known since she was a child. "But I had some work to do."
"You had work more important than Jarod?" she asked incredulously.
"Yes."
"And?" Parker's suspicion was rising.
"And what, Miss Parker?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Syd," she snapped, leaning on her knuckles over the desk. "What's going on?"
Sydney blinked. "I had a new patient to prepare for," he said after a brief hesitation.
Rather than satisfying her, the answer only wetted her inquisitiveness. "Care to expound on that?"
"It's just a counseling session," he explained, as shades of his old self seemed to reemerge. "Similar to the kind I used to do for your mother." He paused, and then added, "Though not nearly as important. It's nothing really."
"Who's the patient?"
He wasn't prepared to answer that question and it showed. Internally, he was in turmoil over the situation he had been forced into as Lyle's chilling threat came back to him: "Tell so much as a cockroach about this and you can forget about ever getting to know your son." The younger man who had so rudely commandeered his time several hours earlier had essentially bullied the doctor into aiding him by threatening his son- a son he was still trying to build a relationship with. Sydney inhaled deeply before answering Parker.
"It's really nothing," he reiterated with a shrug. "It's just a Centre employee under more stress than they can handle. Since they didn't want to develop an ulcer, they came to me."
Parker heard the light jab as he was forever trying to get her into one of those "counseling" session. But she didn't take the bait. She straightened up and crossed her arms over her waist.
"Right," she responded, unconvinced. As she turned to leave, she threw a grim look over her shoulder, "Well, when you can spare the time, Broots and I are still waiting."
The doctor stood, prepared to follow her, but as she left the room, he paused and opened a desk drawer. He stared at the contents of the file he removed from it. Once again, he was submerged in his earlier melancholy.
Lyle… Lyle was the one who had put him in this position. Lyle was the one who put a wedge between him and Parker by blackmailing him into secrecy. Lyle was the one who once again put Nicholas at risk.
Nicholas! Despair washed over him as he thought of his son. Immediately after the meeting with Lyle, he had called Michelle to check on Nicholas, only to learn that their son was out of state doing volunteer work. For all he knew, Lyle had Nicholas hidden away in some God-forsaken place, torturing him as he had Jarod before.
The doctor cursed the Chairman's son, but above all he cursed the Centre.
Outside of the doctor's office, Parker was in discussion with Broots about their friend's peculiar behavior.
"You run with the regular staff, don't you?" She asked the technician.
Broots frowned. "I wouldn't say I 'run' with them," he responded, a bit uncertain about what she meant by "regular" staff. "But I know a lot of them… most of them, I guess."
"Do you know of any who might be under enough stress to need a shrink?"
He mulled it over before answering. "No-o-o," he said slowly, shaking his head. "Outside of myself, the only one I can think of is…"
"Who?"
The corner of Broots' mouth turned up. "You."
Parker shot him an exasperated glare. "Yeah, well I think we can safely cross me off the list."
"Is Sydney coming? I think I might possibly have a lead on Jarod."
Parker shrugged. "Who knows? Apparently the new patient is more important."
"Than Jarod?" he gasped with the same disbelief Parker had felt.
"Mmhmm."
"I wonder," Broots thought aloud. "If it has anything to do with Lyle?"
Parker's turned on him suddenly with a cold glare. "What's Lyle got to do with this?"
"I don't know," he said quickly. "I really don't. It's just that I saw Lyle go into Syd's office a few hours ago. But it could be a coincidence."
"I thought Lyle was out of town."
Broots could tell that her attention had shifted from Jarod as well; she had a new mission for the time being.
"As of," he glanced at his watch, "four hours ago he wasn't."
"Find out for sure," Parker instructed him. "I want to know what my baby brother is up to."
"Sure, Miss Parker. You really think he's somehow responsible for Sydney's new patient?"
"I'd bet the farm on it."
He shifted uncomfortably as they waited for the chime of the doorbell to be answered. Giddily, she clung to his disfigured hand, interlocking her fingers with his, unperturbed by his missing appendage.
The door was suddenly flung open and an elderly woman with silver hair tied in bun greeted them with outstretched arms. She clutched Amelia tightly, crying loudly in her native tongue as tears sparkled in her dark eyes. The woman turned to him next and he braced himself for the less than enthusiastic reception he was sure his presence would cause. Gianina caught her grandson-in-law by complete surprise by embracing him with as much fervor and happiness as she had her granddaughter. Stretching up on tiptoes, she took his face between her palms and kissed him affectionately on both cheeks several times.
As she ushered them inside, Lyle discovered he had temporarily lost the ability to control his jaw muscles- shock had left them slack. However, those same muscles directly stiffened, grinding his teeth together, when he saw Amelia's brother, Mario standing on the other side of the door. The young man did not look happy to see his brother-in-law.
"Mario!" Gianina exclaimed, clapping her hands together with joy. "Sguardo che è venuto a casa!"
Ignoring Lyle, Mario swept his sister into hug and spun her around in circles.
"Li abbiamo mancati, Fioretta," he whispered in her ear. "Sto cominciando a pensare che desideriate guidarli pazzeschi con la preoccupazione."
"I know," she said sheepishly. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
He shrugged as he let her go. "Doesn't matter anymore. You're here now." His vision caught on her glittering engagement ring and diamond band on her wedding finger bringing a pensive look to his features. Gianina took Amelia away before he could question her about it. The two men were left standing in the small living room alone.
They stared at one another, each suspicious of the other; for a long moment neither breathed. Finally, Mario took a step forward.
"So… Is the marriage the real deal this time? Or elaborate concoction in another bizarre story?" He folded his arms across his chest to further punctuate his skepticism.
Lyle's hand went to his collar to adjust a tie that wasn't there. "It's real," he answered after a several second pause. "Unfortunately," he confided without thinking. "That doesn't mean that the story isn't strange."
Mario nodded darkly, then shrugged. His countenance cleared and he dropped his hands to his side. "Maybe you can tell the story later. Right now Nonna's got a meal cooking that she's convinced will bring Mia's memory back." He turned in the direction of the kitchen, but stopped as he reached the doorway. "Oh," he remarked off-handedly, "welcome to the family." He then added, slightly embarrassed, "By the way, what name do you want me to use?"
Lyle smiled wanly. "Ly- no, call me Robert," he decided. "I prefer Robert."
As he followed Mario into the kitchen a disturbing thought that had been nagging him for the past few minutes now surged to the forefront of his mind. The marriage was real, he had told Mario because that's what he believed. However, Lyle could not recollect ever signing a marriage license.
The day was pleasant as Jarod walked through the City on his way to visit his new friends in Central Park. He had spoken earlier to a self-effacing Kip who had assured him that he had not called Mr. Lyle's office any further. Still, he felt it wise to pay Kip a personal visit to make sure the boy was over his puppy love.
Traffic was heavy and fierce at the last intersection he needed to cross to reach the Park. A young woman in her early twenties struggled to maneuver a stroller through the throng of people. The instant the mass was able to cross the intersection, something resembling a mass exodus occurred, sweeping the girl and stroller along with it. Jarod kept one eye on her and one on the vehicles impatient to cross. Suddenly, the stroller pulled out of the girl's grip. Automatically, the Pretender caught hold of the buggy by the handle and guided it to safety and to the very grateful babysitter. The girl thanked him profusely, but declined any further assistance.
He wasn't half a block away from the intersection when he heard a gut-wrenching scream pierce the din of City life. A sickening feeling flooded him as he rushed toward the continued screaming. Fleetingly he wondered why more people weren't at least investigating the cause of the distress. A several passersby stopped to stare, a few milled around the scene with lost looks, and one man was standing over the screamer.
"What happened?" Jarod asked, trying to catch his breath.
A middle-aged African-American man gave him a puzzled look. "I don't know," he answered helpless. "Some guy rushed by here and she started screaming. I thought he stole something from her, but I couldn't run him down."
"Miss?" Jared knelt down besides the terrified young woman and inhaled sharply when he realized it was the same girl he had helped across the intersection.
She stared up at him with unseeing eyes, her mouth still open but no sound emanated from her throat. It was then that Jared could see the source of her agony. Clutched to her chest was the child- still, jaundiced, and silent. A deep crimson stained the child's clothes around her abdomen.
"Oh, my-" the man beside them swore, in shock at the blood draining from the child.
"Do you have a cell phone?" Jarod asked sharply, taking the child from the shaken sitter. The man nodded. "Good, call 911. Then stay with her."
"No, problem." The man was about to comply when he paused and gave Jared a curious look- the Pretender was already beginning to tend to the child. "You a doctor?" He was concerned that the man might do more damage to the infant.
"Dr. Jarod Caceres, pediatric endosurgery," he answered absently. They had minimal time to save the child and couldn't linger on petty details.
"Must be the luckiest kid on earth," the man murmured as he dialed the emergency number. "To have just the right surgeon come running to help."
The Centre's lead computer technician had, as of late, acquired the unwelcome knack of discovering something bizarre within the Centre while searching for something else entirely. Broots was beginning to wonder what he done to bring such an undesirable ability upon himself and if there was anything he could to reverse the curse.
Miss Parker had directed him to retrieve Sydney from whatever "preparations" he was in the midst of as she was tired of waiting on him to come of his own volition and on his way to the doctor's office he passed by an exquisite Asian woman. She was about 5'4" with long black hair tied behind her shoulders in a simple ponytail. There were two things that stood out to Broots as inherently peculiar about her. First was her abnormally frail appearance- she didn't look strong enough to open a door or do anything more taxing than make a bed. The second was her attire: an all black jumpsuit with a black belt secured around her small waist, black gloves, and black boots.
She noticed Broots immediately, stopped, and turned to him with a curious expression. "Excuse me, sir," she said in crisp, unaccented English.
"No, excuse me," Broots smile apologetically. His cheeks burned crimson when he realized he was staring at her. She returned his smile with a sweet, benign one of her own. "My name is Broots," he offered suddenly, remembering his manners. "Is there something I can help you with?"
The smile deepened with shades of something he could not place. "Perhaps," she said demurely. "My name is Kane Michiyo, but you may call me Gogo, Mr. Broots. I am looking for an particular office."
"Oh," he said, still curious about her unusual nickname. "Sure. Whose office?" It never once occurred to him that she would be looking for any office than Lyle's.
"I am looking for Mr. Raines' office."
"M-m-mr. Raines?" the technician was taken aback momentarily. "Well, you're on the wrong floor, first of all."
"Perhaps you could escort me to his office, Mr. Broots." Her chaste expression was contradicted with the cunning ire smoldering in her dark eyes.
"Yeah, sure." Broots swallowed hard. He had the disturbing presentiment that something was terribly amiss. And besides, Raines' office was the last place he wanted to go.
He planned to take her to the appropriate corridor, point the door out to her, and leave as swiftly as possible, but Gogo insisted that he take her up to the door and wait until she was inside. Protesting did him no good; she was much stronger than she appeared.
Willie answered Gogo's knock and Raines was waiting expectantly for her inside. Upon seeing Broots, Raines stood and approached him with his lips curled in manner that Broots assumed were supposed to be a smile.
"Thank you, Mr. Broots," the man hissed, stepping in front of Gogo. "I appreciate you bringing my new guard to me."
Guard? Broots gulped. "S-sure, Mr. Raines. It was no trouble." He waved weakly, praying that he would not be asked inside the room.
He was not. The door closed and Broots was alone in the hall.
I did not lie. I did not lie.
That was Kip's new mantra. When Jarod called earlier in the day to inform Kip that he was back from his business trip, he had specifically asked if there had been any further calls placed to Mr. Lyle's office. Kip said there hadn't been. And it was true- he hadn't called the office again, not even once. Jared had not asked if he had received any calls from Mr. Lyle himself, therefore he was exonerated of perjury. Right?
I did not lie. I did not lie. He called me. I did not call him. I did not lie.
Kip stood under the eaves of The Garden, a strange little all-night café that look like, well a garden. It was five minutes until midnight and he was having serious reservations about meeting Mr. Lyle so late at night.
I wish I had thought this out more!
He began to rehearse his script in head, but to his dismay found the details difficult to capture. Each time he went through the story, something changed. His play was unraveling before it had even begun.
The pace of the City had not diminished as one might have expected; it just evolved into a more mysterious ambiance. Ordinarily, Kip would have enjoyed watching the City nightlife, but not tonight- every movement, every footstep, every breath made him jump and put him more on edge. Ephemerally, he wondered if he was too young to have an infarction.
Minutes passed and midnight neared. Kip prayed that Mr. Lyle would not keep his appointment and he would be free to go. If that happened, he would put Amelia out of his head somehow and never call that number again. It also occurred to Kip that he could have simply stayed home, but all the "shoulda, coulda, wouldas" in the world were useless to him now. Midnight chimed and Kip felt hot breathe on his the back of his neck.
The youth spun fearfully around and found himself staring into bottomless artic eyes.
The man from the Park! Kip felt his blood turn to ice. There was something terrifyingly ominous about the man in the shadows.
"Kip Buchanan?" The man's voice was as frigid as his eyes and laced with rancor.
Kip found he had swallowed his tongue or at least it felt like it. He struggled to say something beyond dim-witted stammerings. "Mr. Lyle?" he finally managed, sounding like a five-year-old. He could not put any strength into his words.
The man stepped forward into light and as he did his lips curled over white teeth in a snarl. When he entered the ring of light Kip stood in, the boy saw that the man was not snarling as he had thought, but was smiling pleasantly. There was no trace of the sinister man of the shadows. The Mr. Lyle before him could not have been more affable or amenable. He gripped Kip's hand firmly when they shook hands; Kip was still trembling from nerves and more than a little bewildered. If Mr. Lyle noticed the boy's fear, he ignored it.
"It's nice to meet you, son," Lyle said earnestly. "I'm sorry to have you out so late, but I really couldn't get away from the office any sooner."
"N-no problem," Kip said, relaxing only slightly. The forewarnings of earlier still lingered in his gut. "It's not so late."
Lyle chuckled. "No, I guess not for the young it isn't." His right hand now gripped Kip's shoulder making the youth squirm. "Look, this really isn't a safe place to sort this matter out. I'm staying at the Plaza. Why don't you come with me? We can talk and you can see for yourself that my wife is fine. You'll see this has all been a misunderstanding."
Kip nodded shakily, unsure of what to do. He was afraid to agree to the man's terms and afraid to refuse at the same time. "It's a long walk to the Plaza from here," he pointed out weakly, hoping to find a way out the mess he was in.
The man chortled again, but there was a dark edge to the laugh. "We'll take the car," he said, gesturing to the street next to them.
Kip blinked. Where there had been nothing before, a black town car now idled by the curb. He was directed to the vehicle by the iron grip on his shoulder and faceless chauffer drove them away.
It was then that Kip's infatuation-induced haze vanished. Oh, how he wished he had listened to Jared!
Next:
Chapter 9: Surviving'Til Morrow
"Woe to those who trust the charming and are beguiled by handsome appearance. For once ensnared in the serpent's trap, charm turns to wickedness and handsome visage to the countenance of evil." – Mercedes Aria
AN: Anyone catch the Kill Bill nod? ;p