AN: I've outlined the story up to chapter 14 and I just wanted to warn everyone that Jarod's appearances after Chapter 10 are rare until Chapter 15. You'll see why when we get there. I just wanted the Jarod fans to know that he hasn't been written out or anything he'll just be laying low waiting to make his move. As for the Jarod/Parker shippers out there, I haven't forgotten our favorite couple, either. Their next face-to-face meeting will be accompanied by fireworks… and not necessarily in a good way! Parker will still be smarting from Jarod's perceived betrayal with Zoë. So Jarod getting to finish what he tried to tell Parker prior to Dominatus imploding is contingent on whether she'll hear what he has to say about Zoë.
LJP: He does have Pretender genes, after all. Lol. Or does he? Hmmm, maybe Raines lied about that, too… With Cox off his back, Lyle has the time to take a little side trip. Of course, this isn't really a pleasure trip…
NYT: I'm glad you enjoyed it! Yes, Lyle telling Mario to call him Robert is a step in the right direction. But the road to Redemption is a long and rocky one and there will be major obstacles along the way.
Imag1ne: Thank you for letting me know I'm still writing Lyle well. Sometimes, it's hard to tell! No, Kip's really not all that sharp; he's very, very naïve. Lol. Though something tells me that he's going to get wise very quick… if he makes out of all this. Oh, and that confrontation you were looking for between Lyle and Jarod- it begins in this chapter.
Gemini: Kip will certainly be sobered up quickly, that's for sure. As for Gogo, I don't know why but when you mentioned her possibly being a Salsa instructor for Raines, it made me think of one of the last scenes in "Cold Dick". Yeesh! I'm still trying to get that image of Raines out of my head! Lol Talk about something that'll give you nightmares…
Nans: Glad I could accommodate. Sydney won't appear much in this chapter, but he plays a critical part in the following chapters.
As for the Kill Bill reference: Gogo was named after Go Go Yubarithe ball and chain wielding seventeen-year-old schoolgirl who served as Oren Ishii's bodyguard.
Thank you so much to everyone who is reading and to those who are also reviewing. Reviews are so very much appreciated.
Lyrics by Madonna and the Police
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
…You make me wanna hang my head down and cry… If you gave me half a chance you'd see, but you choose to look the other way…
The darkness of the luxury suite was all encompassing. Amelia lay tangled in the sheets of the custom fretted king sized bed but still felt a lonely chill. She should have been content and satisfied. After leaving her grandmother and brother, Lyle had taken her on whirlwind tour of her home city before bringing her to the Plaza, which was best known as the home of Eloise- her favorite children's book heroine, or so her husband told her. That was yet another memory that eluded her. The night had been filled with romance: a trip to the Plaza's in-house art gallery, an exquisite diamond necklace and matching bracelet from Tiffany's, dessert from Neuchatel Chocolates, and a performance of Phantom of the Opera at the Majestic Theatre; all that and Amelia was left feeling empty. As nice as all of that was, the one thing she wanted she did not get- her husband. Physically, he was there, but mentally he was far away. Just as he was now.
He had left their bed around twenty 'til midnight, dressed in his finest suit, and disappeared, leaving her imagination to run wild as to where he might be. Unhappily, she lay awake envisioning the faces of the women he might be dallying with. So much for a second honeymoon, she had thought.
He had returned shortly after 1:00am and slipped back into bed. She had repressed a distressed sigh. Barely an hour gone- was that enough time for a fling? She had no experience in the area- or so she could recall- and was uncertain. Intuitively, she felt she was being foolish for assuming that he had been cheating on her, yet she could not imagine what else would have taken him out so late.
I think that you're afraid to look in my eyes… You look a little sad, boy, I wonder why.. I follow you around but you can't see; you're too wrapped up in yourself to notice…
Under the pretense that she was and had been sleeping, Amelia watched him toss and turned restlessly, fighting for a position adequate enough to rest in.
His tension and unease was palpable. She worried about the source of such distress- he seemed to be caught in the midst of insomnia and a nightmare. Several minutes passed before he briefly settled on his back and a frustrated sigh indicated that he was still awake.
Well, I've got something to say: don't try to run I can keep up with you… Nothing can stop me from trying…
Carefully, as not to startle him, she slipped closer to him to bridge the space between them. Gingerly, she wrapped her fingers around his forearm and pressed her lips lightly into his shoulder. Though wearing silk pajama bottoms, he had failed to change out of his dress shirt- it was still fully buttoned and even tucked into the waistband. He stirred at her touched. Several moments later, he turned towards her enough to rest his cheek on the top of her head.
Open your heart with the key- one is such a lonely number…
They lay there for over an hour as she massaged his exposed left hand, pausing every so often to play with the ring on his finger. Only when his breathing eventually evened out and he drifted off in slumber, did she, too, finally rest.
I'll give you love if you turn the key…
Kip was unaccustomed to such extravagant dwellings, especially in a hotel. Until this moment, the nicest place he had stayed was a Courtyard by Marriott. The Plaza was more like a palace. He couldn't believe Mr. Lyle actually put him up in a room of his very own. Mr. Lyle had said it was the least he could since he had Kip out so late. He couldn't wait to tell Anthony and Sierra about this!
The anxiety and fear that accumulated over the past week left him drained and exhausted; Kip fell asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.
Morning came sooner that he expected. An 8 am wakeup call from the front desk informed him that Mr. Lyle was expecting him for breakfast in the Palm Court in half an hour. While he hurried to make himself presentable, Kip mulled over the strange meeting and subsequent drive to the Plaza. From his time with Mr. Lyle, he could see nothing deviant about the man. He was quite the self-effacing host, genial, sociable. Kip particularly enjoyed talking with him, though Mr. Lyle did not reveal much about himself.Kip could notgather how long he and Amelia had married, how they met, or if they had children and he found himself unable to ask such personal questions. He did, however, ask about Mr. Lyle's occupation, as he was curious as how the man obtained his wealth. Again, his host was vague saying only that he was in the "family business".
Kip felt himself warming even more to Mr. Lyle when conversation turned to Kip's interests and ambitions. His host was fully supportive of his acting pursuit and did not laugh or condescend him for it. It was a welcomed change from the derisive remarks and patronizing looks he usually received upon informing people of his theatre major.
The concierge, courtesy of Mr. Lyle, had brought up a fresh set of clothing. Kip was pleasantly surprised to find the designer labels that accompanied each article.
With all that had happened in a few short hours, Kip had all but forgotten about his fairytale ending with Amelia.
There's a little black spot on the sun today It's the same old thing as yesterday…Hehe…
They were chattering again after six months of silence and they had much to say.
Look, they booed, Beauty found her prince… oh, no, wait, she only found you. Feh! What good is that?Their incessant berating would not allow him rest. The more restless he became the more they harassed. For a very short period they were hushed- gagged by her touch. But when morning broke, their jeering rudely awakened him.
Beauty and the Beast- how sweet- only no kiss will ever turn you into a prince, they hissed. She'll remember what you are and when she does there'll be no happy ending for you!
Their mocking laughter reverberated in his ears setting him on the outskirts of sanity. And worse, the voices distinctly sounded like those of Lyle Bowman and Raines.
Amelia was not happy with him for leaving her behind. Something told him that she knew he had left in the wee hours and that added to her unhappiness with him. But ifthat was it, she did not say and wastoo exhausted to argue.She curled up on his side of the bed,asleep before he left the room.
He sighed despondently. As he much as he would have preferred to stay with her, he had a snoop to dispose of.
I have stood here before inside the pouring rain… With the world turning circles running 'round my brain… I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign… But it's my destiny to be the king of pain…
In the Palm Court, he reclined at a table in a far corner of the restaurant, half-obscured by one of the trees that gave the Court its name. He held a cup of coffee in his good hand, every so often lifting it to his lips only to set it down again without drinking any of the beverage. Eventually, he released the cup and settled for toying with the bandage around his left hand. It was rare that he left that hand exposed- he hated the gawks and rude questions it drew. However, he grimly noted, the white bandage drew far less attention than did the glove.
Petulantly, he studied his injured hand and its casing, wondering what the boy's reaction to it would be; he had yet to decided whether he was going to play it for sympathy or coercion.
There's a little black spot on the sun today- that's my soul up there… It's the same old thing as yesterday… There's a black hat caught in a high tree top- that's my soul up there…
Kip arrived in the Palm Court right on time which came as a surprise to Lyle- college kids were not known for their punctuality. Breakfast was served shortly after being ordered and Lyle was forced to engage in mundane small talk as Kip chattered on relentlessly from either nerves or a personality quirk.
During the conversation, Lyle couldn't help but notice how naïve the young man was- green all the way through. The boy was little more than another starry-eyed youth who, given a few years in the real world, would become an embittered, jaded old man. The idea was darkly humorous to Lyle who delighted in seeing the dreams of others shattered as his had been and the crueler the shattering the more satisfying it was.
Once the meal was over, Lyle, tired of mindless drivel, got down to the business at hand.
"Kip," he began with a engaging smile, "I realize that our first meeting was… peculiar, to say the least and I'm sure you have a lot of questions for me."
"Well, yes," he admitted a tad guiltily. "Quite a few actually."
"Ask." The older man spread his hands out in a gesture of openness.
"Well," the boy's gaze caught on his host's left hand. Though curious about the bandage, he refrained from commenting on it, as he did not want to be perceived as rude. "The whole amnesia thing still bothers me."
"It bothers me as well. My wife has a history of pulling stunts in order to get my attention, but nothing quite as big or as public as the amnesia thing. She's quite the actress, isn't she?"
Kip nodded uncertainly. She would be quite the actress if it really had been an act. "She seemed really afraid of you… of everyone. She didn't have any identification on her or even a purse. Anyone could have shown up and claimed her."
A tight smile stretched over Lyle's lips. "I see you still believe her claim- all right. Yes, it is true that anyone could have claimed her. And I know what you're getting at. You want to know if I'm really her husband or a serial killer with a penchant for young women."
Kip let out a discomfited laugh. "I wouldn't put it in those terms exactly."
"I'm not offended, honestly," Lyle chuckled, strategically placing his left hand on the table so that the youth could get a better look at the deformity. "But the very best I can do is show you ID and give you my word that I am who I say I am."
"I'd feel better if I heard that from Amelia herself." Kip did not want Mr. Lyle to think he was dealing with a child and tried to feign an air of authority as he accepted the driver's license that he was offered. He saw nothing usual about the identification and noted that his host's surname was Parker.
"You're smitten with her, aren't you?" Lyle watched him with a sly smirk. Though his tone was still light and good-humored there was a manner of entrapment underlying the jab.
Stunned at being called out, Kip was caught so off guard that he had no response.
"Come on, Kip," Lyle cajoled,chuckling at the boy's ashen features. "What? You don't think I understand?"
Kip's embarrassment reached all the way to his toes. "I didn't think it was that obvious," he muttered.
"Not that obvious!" This garnered an irreverent bout of laughter from the older man. "Please! I could tell you were head over heels the moment I saw you with her. Nothing could have been more obvious."
Kip desperately wished that the ground under him would open up and swallow him, saving him from having to face Mr. Lyle any further.
"I'm sorry," Lyle apologized, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "Don't be embarrassed. I'm used to men falling for my wife. It happens daily. Oh," he said, suddenly remembering something Kip had said earlier. "You can speak to her later. She's still asleep at the moment."
"Oh, late night out?" Kip remarked lamely, urgently trying to take the focus off himself.
This brought a different type of smirk to Lyle's face. "No," he returned surreptitiously, "late night in."
Kip's blush deepened. At the same time, envy began to creep into his consciousness. Just as his discomfort peaked, Lyle got down to the serious business.
"You said on the phone that there was someone looking for my wife." His smile evaporated and merriment dissipated from his eyes.
"Someone who looks like her," Kip clarified. He had almost forgotten about the story that had brought him to this moment. Quickly, he slipped into character and summoned up his monologue. "The guy's a Broadway producer and he's looking for his fiancée. The photograph he showed me looked exactly like Amelia. So when she showed up in the Park with amnesia I thought that she could very well be the missing fiancée. I needed to make sure, you understand."
"Of course," Lyle smiled thinly. It was apparent that the story was rehearsed, which made him anxious about who was really looking for Amelia. Only a handful of people came to mind. "Tell me," he said, testing the boy's tale for the breaking point. "What's the girl's name?"
Oblivious to the other man's suspicions, Kip barreled on with the script. "Sierra Whittaker. She's a dancer in Broadway shows."
"That's interesting. You know, my wife is a big Broadway fan. What show is the girl in?"
He hesitated, unprepared for the query. "Uh, I believe she was between jobs when she disappeared."
Lyle studied him with an oblique expression. "I haven't seen anything in the news about the disappearance," he challenged. "I'm sureMia would have heard something about it as into the theatre scene as she is."
"The producer wanted to keep it quiet," He yipped too quickly. Kip's mouth began to dry out as his story weakened and began to crumble. "Until he was sure she wasn't just trying to scare him. I guess they had a fight or something."
"Why didn't you go to the police? Why did you agree to meet with me first?" Each question knocked another legout from underKip's story.
"Well, I mean why complicate things unnecessarily? I figure I could ask and maybe talk to Amelia. I certainly didn't want to get the police involved if she really is your wife. It could just be coincidence that the two look alike."
Stupid, stupid boy, Lyle thought. "That would be quite a coincidence," Lyle agreed forebodingly. "What's the name of this producer?"
The question rattled Kip immensely. In all his carefully planning, he never named his fictitious character and now he had to scramble for a name- any name. "Jarod," he said, using the first moniker that came to mind.
A shady veil descended over the other man's azure eyes. A distinctly dark change occurred in his demeanor. "Last name?"
"Macintosh." Internally, Kip cringed at the stupid choice of surnames. Macintosh was too famous a name to be plausible.
As in Cameron Macintosh, Lyle groused mentally. How very Jarod like. He fought the urge to spit as the name left a pungent taste in his mouth.
As quickly as it had departed, the genial attitude returned as Lyle pushed himself away from the table. "Let me call my wife and see if she's up yet," he excused himself. "Then we can settle this matter once and for all."
Kip smiled wanly, feeling as if he had just weathered a major catastrophe. He was beginning to rethink his career choice. So far it had caused him nothing but trouble.
The last thing she wanted was a visitor, but he had insisted. Without giving her any clue to the person's identity, he gave her fifteen minutes to get up and dressed. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a black cashmere sweater, Amelia wondered why he even bothered to bring her with him as it seemed obvious that he didn't want to spend any time with her.
A key card in the suite door alerted her to her husband's return. She greeted with the perfunctory kiss and politely greeted his guest with a kindly smile, despite feeling antisocial.
"Mia," Lyle slipped a possessive arm around her waist with more affection than he'd shown in the last twenty-four hours, "this is Kip Buchanan. He's been asking to meet you."
She shot her husband a quizzical look before taking Kip's outstretched hand. "It's very nice to meet you, Kip," she said, her smile faltering a bit at the boy's reluctance to return her hand to her. The hungry way he looked at her made her extremely uncomfortable. "How can I help you?" she asked civilly while thinking And how can I get you out of here the quickest?
Kip's grin quickly faded when he realized that she didn't recognize him. "We met in Central Park four days ago. Don't you remember?"
Amelia tipped her head to the side and studied him seriously. Kip expanded his broad chest a bit as though that might somehow help her remember him. Finally, she shook her head contritely, "No, I'm sorry. I don't."
Kip looked absolutely devastated and she felt badly for him. However, she was at a loss as to what to do and looked to Lyle for help.
"Mia," Lyle explained, "Kip was the one who helped you during that, uh, amnesia scare. You see he believes that I kidnapped you, subjecting you to God knows what and that you're really the fiancée of a Broadway producer."
Itwasn't until Lyle's retelling that Kip realized how absurd his story really was.
Amelia pressed her lips firmly together, trying not to laugh. "I'm sorry, Kip," she said amusedly. "But I'm afraid you're mistaken. I wasn't kidnapped and Bo- Lyle is my husband. I'm not the girl you're looking for." At the embarrassed and confused look on the youth's face she added, "I'm sorry you went through so much trouble, but I really appreciate your concern. You're really sweet."
I don't want to be really sweet, Kip thought disconsolately. This isn't how things are supposed to turn out!
Then suddenly he thought of something that renewed his vain hope. "Could I speak to Amelia alone?" he addressed Lyle sternly. His request was based on the reasoning that she was only collaborating with Lyle out of fear. She might confide in him if they were away from the imposing figure of her "husband". "If everything you've told me is true, then you won't object to me speaking with her about it in private."
There's a butterfly trapped in a spider's web- that's my soul up there… I have stood here before inside the pouring rain with the world turning circles running 'round my brain…
Flabbergasted, Lyle glowered viciously at Kip, unable to believe what he was hearing. How dare this impudent stupid child confront him!
Next to him, Amelia's brow furrowed in annoyance as she couldn't fathom what this Kip wanted with her and why he was challenging her husband's integrity. She insinuated from his story and Lyle's that she had no prior relationship to Kip other than a chance meeting in Central Park. And she also gathered that Kip wanted to change that, regardless of her marital status.
"Come on, Amelia," Kip urged, reaching out a hand to her. He was becoming more confident that his gut was right about something being wrong with their relationship. "Let's go to the Palm Court and talk."At this point, he thought going to the police would be wiseand had very intention of taking Amelia and bypassing the Court, going straight to the front desk for help.
She stared at him with a strange expression as thought she wasn't quite sure what to make of him. The only move she made was to sink further against the man beside her.
"No." Lyle's voice froze the air around them. He grabbed the hand stretching for his wife with his left hand, relishing the horror that scrawled across the boy's face as he realized the hand that held him was missing its thumb. A plan had been boiling in the back of his mind for some time and at that moment of contact, the details became vividly clear as how to rid himself of two thorns in his side at the same time.
There's a king on a throne with his eyes torn out… There's a blind man looking for a shadow of doubt… There's a rich man sleeping on a golden bed… There's a skeleton choking on a crust of bread…
It's my destiny to be the king of pain…
Dr. Jarod Caceres from the University of Chicago' s Department of Surgery was feeling grateful and content after performing, with a team of elite specialists, a successful laparoscopic adrenalectomy on the infant who had been stabbed in the abdomen near Central Park. The child was currently resting in recovery with her relieved parents and babysitter nearby. To make good news better, the police had apprehended the suspect responsible for the crime when he attempted to hide in a group home for the mentally handicapped. Thomas James, the man who had also helped the babysitter, was able to identify the man from a police lineup, which putthe manbehind bars.
The Pretender yawned as heheaded across an intersection. He was weary from the long surgery, but satisfied nonetheless. Once, he checked in on Kip, he promised himself some much needed rest. As Strawberry Fields came into view Jarod scanned the area for Kip's cart. He located the concession stand easily, but discovered that he did not know any of the staff working it. One of the girls, however, did know Anthony and was able to give Jarod his dorm number.
Anthony was enormously relieved to hear from the Pretender and also very worried about their mutual friend. He invited Jarod over to his dorm room in order to discuss with him a "very urgent matter".
Back in his lair, Jarod was not able to rest. If anything, he was wired awake by adrenaline. His meeting with Anthony had revealed disconcerting information. Kip, he learned, had still withheld the truth from him. While he may not have called Lyle's office himself, he had not told the Pretender that Lyle had called him. Though disgruntled with the foolish boy, he was too concerned to be angry with him.
Anthony had not known the specifics of the meeting he just knew that Kip had not contacted anyone as he said he would afterwards. And that distressed Jarod more than anything.
Picking up the phone, the Pretender called the one person who could help.
"This is Sydney."
Immediately, Jarod hear incongruity in the psychologist's voice.
"How are things at the asylum?" he joked with more humour than he felt. A dark sense of foreboding loomed over him.
"Jarod." The word came out sounding disconnected as though there was little recognition behind it. "Things here are as you would expect."
He felt like he had interrupted the doctor at an inopportune time and that the disruption was unwelcome. "Have you seen Lyle lately?"
Silence answered him. He couldn't even hear any breathing on the other end of the line. "Sydney?" Intense worry permeated his query.
"No, Jarod," he answered flatly. "If you'll excuse me, I have some work to attend."
That was it. A dial tone buzzed irritatingly as he continued to hold the receiver up to his ear. Hurt and rejection mingled with shock in his gut. He couldn't believe Sydney had just hung up on him.
He almost called Parker to inquire of her brother's possible whereabouts after the unsettling call to his former handler, but he did not for two reasons. The most pertinent was time, which there was little of. The second boiled down to avoidance of an issue that lingered between the childhood friends. Jarod justified putting off calling her to himself by reasoning that he would just ended up wasting timeby trying to getinformation out of her and that she would try to get his whereabouts out of him. However, Jarod was also acutely aware that he could terminate the call at anytime if it became fruitless and that it would be simple to mislead her regarding his location. The truth of the matter wasthat he was afraid. The concept was bemusing. He had not made a personal call to Parker since the anniversary of Thomas' death and he was worried that, without that eventto shield him, he might be confronted about the last real conversation they had- the one Zoë had so untimely interrupted. It wasn't that he was afraid of that as much as it was that he was afraid she was still angry with him for a deception he wasn't sure he had comitted.What she percieved as deception still puzzled him- he had never intentionally misled her. Avoidance was what had landed him on the stoop of Gianina Micelli's new Brooklyn residence, though he most likely would have ended up there anyway as Amelia seemed to be at the heart of the current trouble.
The doorbell was finally answered and the door cracked opened as far as the chain lock would allow.
"Che cosa desiderate?" the older woman inside demanded. Amelia's grandmother was not incapable of speaking English- in actuality she was fluent in the language- she simply spoke it when it suited her. And it did not suit her at the moment.
"Sig.ra Micelli?" Jarod smiled engagingly. A Brooklyn accent tainted his words. "Sto cercando Mario. È domestico?"
Gianina was now undoubtedly more suspicious of an Italian-speaking stranger she knew was her family was not related to.
It was then that the Pretender realized Gianina did not recognize him as they had only met briefly once. "I'm a friend of Mario and Mia's," he explained reverting back to English. "I'm Jarod."
"Jarod chi?" She barked eying him suspiciously.
"Ciccone," he said without missing a beat.
Gianina sniffed contemptuously, even though she was softening just a bit towards the handsome young man. She knew many of Mario's friends, but few of Amelia's, and could not recall either of them ever mentioning a Jarod Ciccone, though she herself knew quite a few Ciccones.
"Mario's not here," she finally responded in heavily accented English. "He's in Queens running some errands for the restaurant. He won't be back until late. Mia's not here either."
"Do you know where I might catch up with her?"
"They are notstaying with us."
Jarod looked puzzled. "They?" Then it hit him. "Bobby's with her? Bobby Bowman?"
The woman's eyes narrowed. "You know Bobby?"
"Yeah," he agreed amiably. "Sure we go way back. Haven't seen him in ages though. Do you know where they're staying? I'd love to catch up with him."
Gianina felt there was something inherently wrong with the situation. Just a few short months before, a rash of strangers all claiming to know Amelia showed up on her doorstep and left nothing but trouble behind. Despite his kind eyes and sweet demeanor, it did not change the fact that she did not know him and thus did not trust him.
"No, I don't," she told him, but thought: I don't know that they are staying at the Plaza in Room 233. "Scusilo. Ho lavoro da fare."
Jarod stared at the door that had been closed in his face. It was the second time in a few hours that he had been given the excuse that someone had work to do and had the feeling that someone was hiding something from him.
Even more discouraged than before, Jarod returned "home". It looked like he was going to have to make that call to Parker after all. He switched on his laptop before reaching for the phone. Just as he was about to dial her number the computer alerted him to a new email. Jarod frowned. The sender's address was unrecognizable and the file contained a video attachment. Who knew where to contact him? Sydney? His father? A small beacon of hope broke through the gloom as he opened the file.
A wave of despair overwhelmed him at the sight that greeted him.
A young man bound, gagged, and unconscious in a chair in a dark room- Kip. It was crystal clear whose calling card this was- Lyle's signature was all over it.
Sure enough, his archenemies appeared on screen standing behind the boy with a self-satisfied smirk.
"Jarod!" he greeted him jovially. "How are you doing? It's been awhile."
A light flipped on, illuminating the room that looked like the interior ofa shed.
A sense of déjà vu hit Jarod in the stomach as he could now see the jumper cables in Lyle's right hand and the battery they were attached to.
Lyle grinned as though he intrinsically knew were Jarod's gaze would go. "Remember these?" he asked crassly, straightening up. He clashed the conductor heads together demonstrating that the battery was indeed alive.
"How great is this?" Lyle cooed, positively delighted with whatever scheme he had cooked up. "I came to the City with my beautiful new bride and now I'm going to leave with both her and… you!" He let the weight of his words sink in, waving the cables in small circles around Kip's limp figure. "I'm sure you're wondering how I plan on doing that. It's simple really."
Lyle stopped and stared directly into the camera. His face was dark and deadly. "I know you know Kip and I know you're looking for Amelia. I also know you have the propensityto help the weak and abused, which is exactly what Kip, will be if you don't comply with my terms. It's you for him. And the conditions are these: if you don't meet me at the East River Docks at ten tonight, I'll kill the boy. If you try to find Amelia or get near her, I'll kill him. And if you try to play the hero, I'll kill him." He paused in the morbid discourse long enough to give the Pretender a demented wink. "After I torture himfirst, of course." The cables sparked dangerously close to Kip's head. "You for him. Ten o'clock tonight. East River Docks. Don't be late."
Lyle moved forward to end filming, but before he did, he bent down and issued Jarod a farewell. "Enjoy you last few hours of freedom. I'll see you soon."
I'll always be king of pain…