LJP: It is getting very serious indeed!
NYT: Let me just say that I have a soft spot for Bobby. :)
Topanga: Thank you for the review and critique. I don't have a beta reader, actually. I figure that as a former English major I ought to be able to do that myself, though I do get careless in proofing when I'm in a hurry to get a chapter out. I do, though, really appreciate you catching my errors and letting me know.
Pop Culture reference in Chapter 9: I just finished watching the season 2 Pretender DVDs and realizing I had been ignoring for the most part the pop culture reference that were frequently apart of Jarod's pretends. In chapter 9, the last name that Jarod used as a surgeon, Caceres is the real last name of a surgeon from the University of Chicago who specializes in pediatric surgery and the particular operation that Jarod performed. Also, the Italian name he used when speaking to Mia's grandmother, Ciccone, is Madonna's last name.
AN for Part 2: Many of you reading maybe thinking that the story is interesting and exciting and all that, but where are Miss Parker, Sydney, and the others? Hang on for just a bit longer as soon (next chapter soon) they will be fully embroiled in this lovely mess, too.
Again, thank you to everyone who is reading and also to those who are reviewing.
JLC: I will try to update more frequently as midterms are now over. I'm glad you are enjoying it:).
Topanga: I am very impressed with your grammatical knowledge. As a former English major (now Elementary Education), nothing is more irritating that misuse or abuse of languages. However, I would like to mention that I took a creative license and purposely used a double negative to illustrate a point. In the preceding sentences I was hoping to convey that Jarod had walked into a situation that was abnormal because there was nothing around him to indicate that he was walking into a set up- that was what so disturbed him. I couldn't say "he didn't trust anything" because that would not be accurate. I was trying to imply that it was the "nothing" he did not trust. I am sure there is probably a far better way to word this idea, but it is simply out of my reach for the time being. Though if you can offer a suggestion, I'd be very grateful. I do want to allay your fears concerning poor grammar, though, because I, too, cringe when I come upon it. It's like nails across a chalkboard, isn't? ;)
Gemini: Ah, so many questions! Here are some of the answers brought to you as soon as I possibly could.
NYT: I fear this chapter, too, will be short. However, these upcoming ones will be much meatier.
Imag1ne: I'm happy to know that Lyle hasn't become predictable because as soon as that happens… well, there really is no point in continuing is there? Kidding…
LJP: You're not the only one hoping that- Jarod and Kip both are hoping he'll be restored to his "normal, psychotic self." I love that description, by the way. As odd as it sounds, it is completely accurate.
Lyrics by Evanescence
Chapter 10: Night of Nights- Part 1
"We have now reached the evening that was to be known among them as the Night of Nights, because of its adventures and their upshot. The day, as if quietly gathering its forces, had been almost uneventful, and now the redskins in their blankets were at their posts above, while, below, the children were having their evening meal…" –Peter Pan, J.M. Barrie
Amelia instantly knew that something was terribly wrong when Lyle declared he'd had enough of Kip and was going to turn him over to the authorities. Her first indication that something was off came at the assertion of personally escorting Kip to the police station. It seemed to her that common sense would dictate that they call Plaza security and let them handle the situation if it was that dire. Perhaps, though, the most condemning piece of evidence that something was amiss was in the kiss he gave her prior to leaving.
To Kip it surely appeared deep and passionate, but to her it held disturbing insight into her husband's mental state. There was no positive emotion in the kiss- she could practically taste his desperation, anxiety, fear. Churning below that, she felt jealousy, rage, hurt, and… deep instability. She could not console him even slightly.
He pushed her away forcefully. Just before he turned away, she saw the intense sadness in his eyes that belied the cruel expression on his face. She feared for him and for Kip and for anyone else unfortunate enough to cross their path.
Whatever he was going to do with Kip, wherever he was going to take him- Lyle did not want her to be party to it. He sent her into the bedroom and, after removing the phone, jammed a chair under the door handle, locking her in. A brief scuffling occurred outside of the bedroom door as Kip protested his rough handling. A choked cry of pain was the last thing she heard before the exterior door clicked shut.
There was nothing she could do at point that except worry… and pray. She tested the door and discovered that she could get out if she really wanted to- the chair was not tightly secured. But she had nowhere to go once she was out and no clue where Lyle might actually be. The idea to report the entire to the police flitted across her mind, but she immediately discarded it. She was not going to anyone until she figured out exactly what was going on. However, it looked like that was going to take awhile. To prevent herself from going crazy with distress, Amelia began to search the bedroom for something that might clarify her memory. She had the sense that this situation or one like it had occurred before and that her husband's mood shifts were not uncommon. Ghostly images haunted her consciousness, always floating on the periphery of her psyche, just out of reach.
Her search was fruitless except for a pocketknife, which she slipped into her jeans pocket. Even though she wasn't quite certain what she might need it for, she felt it best to err on the side of caution. Just as she was about to give up, she spied Lyle's luggage beneath the bed. There was nothing unusual in the suitcase as she had packed most of the contents herself, but as she went to close the bag, the top slipped from her gasp and thumped against the floor, knocking loose a black velvet case that has been concealed within the interior pocket.
Curious, Amelia opened the heavy case. Inside lay three hypodermic needles filled with a tar-like substance. Slack-jawed she stared at the syringes.
-Shadows tripped across the walls of the motel room. The only light in the place was from a dimly flickering fluorescent light in the bathroom. With each flicker of the light a broken glass syringe was illuminated. Water filtered into the living room from the bathroom.
In the bathroom, water poured over the edge of a grimy porcelain tub with a flow fed by the running facet. Strands of scarlet hair floated to the surface of the liquid that was contained in the bathtub. She lay completely submerged in frigid water.-
A floodgate was instantly opened, flooding her with strange recollections.
-The cell was tiny and disorganized; everything was covered in a fine layer of grim. Her gaze was drawn to the center of the room where the tub stood. Bizarrely, the basin struck a familiar chord within her. But confusion was thrown to the wayside when she saw him lying on the floor next to the bathtub.-
In her mind the memory changed abruptly and she was in an old, dark corridor with her husband and two other people- Lyle's sister and a dark-haired man.
-She leaned in close to him. "Bobby, please," she whispered in his ear. "Please stop provoking them."
"I'm not afraid of them any more." He turned his attention back to his sister and the Pretender. "Soooo…" he grinned at them. "We just gonna stare at each other or what?"
Mia stared at him disbelief.
Is he crazy? What is he doing?
Jarod stepped slightly ahead of Parker once she lowered her weapon.
"Like it or not, Lyle," he said advancing on the pair at the end of the corridor. "This is it."-
Again the scene shifted and this time she was strapped into chair facing a disturbed looking old man.
-"You're mad," she breathed with disgust.
He smiled in amusement as he finished tightening the restraints. "That's what all mental patients say about their doctor now isn't, Amelia?" He put the gun down in favor of a black liquid-filled hypodermic needle. There was a deranged smile on his visage. "I am going to show you things, Amelia- Things that you don't know. Look at the syringe."
She looked at him blankly. "Why?"
"Do it!"
She looked. "So?"
"Focus on the Serum inside," he instructed. An eerie glow lit his eyes as he stared at the injection. "Do you know what you're looking at?"
"No," she responded sardonically, looking away.
"Within this syringe," he went on, ignoring her attitude. "Is the capability to be anyone… to do anything…" Do you understand, Amelia?"
She remained silent, grounding her teeth together. There was something incredibly annoying in hearing her name repeated over and over.
"It's not been perfected yet," he said with a tinge of sadness in his voice. "It's far from being perfect actually. It's limited in its capability to create alter egos, but the potential is there." He turned his hungry eyes on her. "Do you understand now?"-
Snapping the case shut, she tossed it on the bed and went to the closet. An intense feeling of urgency overcame her and she knew that she had to find a way to Lyle. In the closet, she found a gray jacket and threw it on. After carefully securing the black case in the coat's interior pocket, Amelia turned her attention to the blocked door. It was fairly simple to jar the chair out from under the handle. As soon as she was out, she began an intensive search of the room, looking for any clue as to where her husband might be.
Time passed quickly- too quickly. Without warning, the knob of the exterior door began to turn. Lyle was back! She froze. Her mind frantically sought a plausible excuse for out of the bedroom. Nothing came to her and there was no time to run back to the bedroom. A stream of cursing followed the agitated rattling of the handle, then there was silence- he had forgotten his key. As she hurriedly returned to her room, she saw the key laying on the dining table. It wouldn't be long before he returned with another copy.
There was no way for her to replace the chair from the inside, but she was gambling that, in his disturbed state, he would not notice. She scrambled onto the bed, enveloping herself in the sheets and feigning sleep. Though the wall separating the rooms of suite muted her ability to perceive sound, she could hear the rustling and scuffling of movement in the other room but could not get a sense of what was going on. After a near eternity, the bedroom door cracked open. He entered the room and she could hear his steady breathing from somewhere above her. Gently, his fingers entwined in her hair and slowly ran down the length of the lock. She heard him mutter a jumbled apology for something and then he was gone.
Amelia sprang into action once the bedroom door closed again. Time was essential as each moment that passed allowed him to get further ahead of him. As soon as she heard the outer door click, something shifted within her psyche almost as though her body was operating independently of her mind. She forced the door open once more and was on top of the second door in a second. Cautiously, she opened the exterior door and examined the hall. It was empty. She grabbed the "Do Not Disturb" sign and hooked it on the outer handle as a precaution. Once on the outside, she caught one last look at the interior of the room. On the dining table sat a laptop computer connected to a video camera.
Apparitions skulked the streets hiding from the beams of the light that escaped from the betwixt the gangly fingers of the clouds that held the insipid moon hostage. He empathized with the captive satellite, knowing that he was about to suffer the same fate. A chill penetrated the air with a foreboding premonition of what was to come. Jarod shivered and pill his leather jacket closer to his body.
The East River Docks loomed ahead of him and he slowed his approach to a snail's pace to better study the trap he was about to enter. His mind sped through every possible scenario and calculated every probable outcome, searching for a satisfactory solution that would keep Kip unharmed and himself free.
Five minutes until ten pm. Jarod sigh heavily. He first had to face Lyle and determine his opponent's strength and weakness before arriving at a final answer.
Three minutes until ten. The Docks was not a restaurant of shop or a business- it was exactly what its name implied: waterfront of the East River. A ball of ice, cold and heavy, settled in his gut. He did not where on the docks he was suppose to meet Lyle. Cautiously and with great apprehension, he made his way to the center of the dockyard.
Ten o'clock. An eerie air swathed him from head to toe. His fingertips tingled from a heightened sense of awareness. He was determined not to be caught off-caught. There might be a chance that he could gain the upper hand.
Ten o' one, ten 'o two, ten 'three… The minutes past ten o'clock ticked by. The depth of silence increased with each passing second. The fishy aroma that wafted up from the water and wrapped around him, embedding itself in every fabric of his clothing. He inhaled deeply, not noticing the stench of the water, trying to clear his mind, but his psyche was too manic to be cleared.
Lyle had not shown. Something was wrong.
Jarod turned his back to the water and scanned the surrounding docks for something suspicious.
Where is Lyle?
Ten o' ten. No sweepers, no Centre choppers. Nothing; the night was dead. He didn't trust nothing.
Ten fourteen. The sound of a distant motor running made his stomach plummeted as he whirled around to face the disturbance. In that instant, something solid and weighty struck him in the back of the head.
Ten fifteen. The Pretender slumped to the floor of the port.
The entire world was dark, watery, and resembled the interior of a small garage.
His head throbbed mercilessly, screaming outrage at him for the recent abuse it had sustained. He tried to tell his body that he was not the one to blame, but his body refused to listen and continued toassault him.
He blinked several time trying to either clear the water from his eyes or to better see through it. He was feeling light-headedand that further hindered his sight. A burning sensation in his lungs informed him that he needed to breathe and the impending threat of drowning invaded his mind as he struggled to worm his way above the water's surface. However, he was chained to impossibly heavy chair or so it seemed. Finally, biological need overtook psychological will and he was forced to inhale through his nose. Shockingly, it was air that filled his lungs not water.
The darkness that pervaded the room was thick, making it difficult to see what was in the room with him. One thing that was in the area was a pungent, acrid odor that burned his nose and stung his eyes. It was so vile that it forced him to ingest oxygen through his mouth. His lungs screamed but an immovable substance blocked his lips. He had no choice but to inhale the putrid atmosphere through the only passageway that was not blocked.
Panic exploded over him in a series of rapid-fire shots. In terror his eyes darted frantically about the room searching for some sort of explanation for this calamity. Across the room form him was mirror, or so it appeared, for he saw a masculine shape bound to a chair. The silhouette was familiar, but not his. Suddenly, the figure's head jerked slightly as consciousness tried to return.
He watched with the figure with macabre interest. His gaze drifted down the length of the reflection trying to determine whom the profile belonged to. At the figure's shackled feet lay a car battery. Cables ran from the battery and into the shadows. With an intense frown he looked back at the face of the figure and the once obscured visage became clear…
Jarod!
"Wake up, sweet prince…"
He wrapped his fingers in the unconscious man's dampened hair and brutally jerked it backwards at an excruciating angle. He smiled delightedly, knowing what a terrible surprise it would be for Jarod to wake up and see him.
He had always loathed the Pretender.
"Well. Well. Well." He clipped spitefully. A maelstrom of detrimental emotion swirled within him, digging in and entrenching itself into his already frayed sanity. "The Golden Boy awakens."
He watched Jarod's lips curl back in a fierce snarl. He had not gagged the Pretender as he had the boy; he wanted the man to argue and fight him. That way, destroying him would be more satisfying.
"Where's Kip?"
A baleful laugh gurgle up and escaped from him as the shackled man tried to assert authority he did not have. Genially, Lyle stepped to the side to allow Jarod view of the bleary-eyed youth. His smile broadened at the dismay that swathed both of their faces.
Jarod glared hatefully up at him. "You've got me, Lyle," he spat angrily. "Let him go."
Lyle pretended to consider the statement before almost gleefully responding, "No."
"We had a deal," he argued. Defeat tainted his words- he knew there was never a deal.
"Yes, yes, I suppose, in manner of speaking, we did. You see I simply haven't decided yet if adhering to that is most beneficial to me." He winked devilishly at Jarod. "I'm sure you figured out long ago that if I let our young wannabe-hero go, he could still go poking his nose where it doesn't belong. Worse still is that he could go to the authorities." He leaned in close to his captive, the tone of his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "We both know what would happen if the police ever became involved in Centre business."
Lyle tipped his head to the side studying the still woozy Pretender with a pensive smirk. The way the man glared so venomously at him stuck him as hilarious given the situation and he did not attempt to hide his amusement.
Jarod lifted his chin,the physical agony evident in his eyes. "Where's Mia?" he demanded. "What have you done to her?"
Lyles'ssmile broadened, but he felt ill at ease with the questions. "Asleep," he said and did not expound.
"So how'd you do it, Lyle?" the Pretender's voice regained its strength and anger. "Did you do to her what you did to the others?"
His face darkened in confusion- he did not comprehend what was being implied. What others? In a moment's clarity he understood and his expression blackened into rage.
"I didn't do anything to her, genius," he grounded out bitterly, feeling defensive. "She is asleep. It's been a long weekend and she was tired."
"I'm sure she is tired," For the first time the corners of Jarod's mouth turned up. A subtle jeer edged his words. "Tired of you. I saw her grandmother today. She was awfully protective of you. Tell me, Lyle, what is it you're using to control them with? What terror tactic are you using on Mia?"
"Shut up," he hissed vituperatively. His ears were engulfed in belittling clamor. The muscles in his jaw twitched as they forced his lower teeth painfully intohis upper ones. His hands clenched into fists, aching to lash out and strike something. "I'm not- nothing... she's with me by choice."
The Pretender seized the opportunity towound his enemyand struck Lyle quick and hard in the heart. "Do you think she would actually tell you differently? Of course not! She's afraid of you, Lyle. That's the only reason why she stays with you- she's afraid!"
We told you so, we told you so! The voices cackled mercilessly. We told you she doesn't really love you. We told you that you scared her! Hehehehe…Monster!
"Shut up!" he cried out in almost a yelp. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Each cry was more fraught than the last. He doubled over as though in pain and clamped his hands over his ears. Then suddenly, a switch was flipped and he straightened up with a wild, unhinged gleam in his eyes. He locked onto the Pretender with a spite-filled visage. Ignoring the jumper cables at his feet, he reached for the crowbar that stood propped against the near wall. He circled Jarod, continually muttering "shut up". Once behind the other man, Lyle raised the bar and, with all his quickly fleeting strength, slammed it into Jarod's bound hands.
"It was not, she knew, that night had come, but something as dark as night had come. No, worse than that. It had not come, but it had sent that shiver through the sea to say that it was coming. What was it?
...They gathered round him, all eyes averted from the thing that was coming aboard. They had no thought of fighting it. It was Fate.
Only when Hook was hidden from them did curiosity loosen the limbs of the boys so that they could rush to the ship's side to see the crocodile climbing it. Then they got the strangest surprise of the Night of Nights; for it was no crocodile that was coming to their aid. It was Peter..." -Peter Pan by Sir J.M. Barrie
A violent rush of air expelled between the teeth of the man who had been so viciously hit.
Why? Why? Why?
A vestige moved in the shadows above them, lurking in the gloom: watching, listening, waiting….
Why? Why? Why?
"Now how are you going to save yourself?" The one holding the crowbar hissed. He pulled the weapon back, preparing to strike again. He paused with a look of fury upon his jaded features. The crowbar then clanged harmlessly at his feet.
From the rafter's vantage point, it could be clearly seen that all of the damage that had been intended had not actually been inflicted upon the bound man's hands. The metal instrument had slammed into hastily balled fists and not limp fingers, thus partially protecting the phalanges from extensive injury. The bulk of the damage had been done to the thumb of the left hand, which was smashed, bleeding, and broken- unusable.
Who is he? Who is he? Who is he?
He is Jarod, her memory answered and then was silent. It did not know more than that.
Lyle paced the limited floor space restively- overwrought and beleaguered by disembodied voices that gave him no repose.
Images from vague recollections played in her mind's eye, gaining strength and clarity with each frame that passed.
She knelt in front of him, watching him assiduously. There was something wrong- he had not collapsed from being out of shape or anything of that nature, but from something much worse. He seemed to be in such agony. He held his head between his hands as though his head would fall apart if he did not. He rocked back and forth like a child in fear, his back slapping the hard brick wall behind him with each rock. His mouth twisted in anguish- she could hear his teeth grinding together…
"Bobby."
She saw surprise register in his eyes and she was surprised that he that he thought she'd left him. It greatly disturbed her to see him in such grief, but her experience with things of this nature was so limited that she didn't know quite what to do. Almost unconsciously she reached out for his left hand and pulled it away from his face. She wiggled her nose thoughtfully; she wasn't sure why she always took his left hand. Perhaps it was the way he always kept it in his pocket, hidden away from prying eyes. She could only imagine the insensitive reactions the sight of his hand must spark. She sighed miserably. Things couldn't get much worse for either of them.
She hated this place… that was about the only thing that she was sure of. She absolutely despised the Centre and everything associated with it.
"Get out," he said despondently. "I don't want you here."
She frowned at the change in his demeanor and it reminded her of something… Her memory suddenly jarred and she saw herself with her mother. Her mother had the same glazed-over look in her eyes and what she was saying made no sense; her movements became sporadic and her mood swung drastically between extreme highs and lows- all symptoms of a psychotic episode beginning.
She glanced worriedly at him. He tightened his grip on her hand as much as he could all while telling her to leave him alone. She had no intention of leaving, but she thought if she gave him some space it would help. As she stood, his mood changed…
It's happening again! But she did not know what "it" was, only that "it" was happening again.
"Let the boy go." The words that fell from Jarod's lips were difficult to hear. She leaned as far forward as she dared, but he was positioned at such an angle that she could not see his face.
Lyle mulled over the idea with a grim scowl. He turned his back to the Pretender and glared murderously at the quivering youth before him. The scowl deepened.
"Fine," he said abruptly, dropping his hands to his side. His mood alleviated inexplicably. With a casual air, he freed Kip from his shackles and retreated to a far corner of the shed.
Thoroughly confounded, Kip was frozen to the chair from which he had been released; he appeared to be on the brink of passing out. His unfocused eyes found Jarod, who directed him to leave with a crisp nod of his head. Shakily, he obeyed and staggered to his feet.
There was no way either of them could have seen what was coming next, but from her position she saw it all. With the swiftness and agility of a cat, Lyle was on the boy and crashing a long, splintered shaft of lumber into his upper back. Kip fell hard onto his knees. He wasn't given a chance to recuperate- the blows fell fast and hard- and he could not cry out as the tape gag had never been removed.
Once the youth had been sufficiently incapacitated, Lyle dropped his weapon and stood over the boy.
"Let's see you be the hero now," he sneered grotesquely. Without another glance at Kip, he refocused all his anger back on Jarod.
Why? Why? Why?
Why is this happening? Her mind could not make sense of anything. Who is Jarod? Who is Kip? Who is... Lyle? Her body trembled with a vertigo that was not induced by her high seat.
The Centre...
It was the only reoccurring theme she had picked up on. Everything returned to the Centre.
The Centre...
Tearing her eyes away from the scene below her, she began to search for a way down to their level.
I'm in the Twilight Zone, he thought. I have to be... it's the only explanation that makes any sense. The Twilight Zone...
A cough vitriolically reminded him that whatever reality he was trapped in, he had still been rancorously maltreated for reasons he had long ago stopped trying to understand. Numb, both physically and mentally, Kip rolled onto his back, inhaled a sharp breath, and looked around at his surroundings.
His captor circled Jarod with sanguineous derangement, spewing a rambling tirade against the fettered man. Keeping his eyes on the two men, Kip very cageyly raised himself up into a sitting position. Even more warily, he turned his body to face the others.
Neither men paid any attention to him. The more Kip moved the more he discovered that, despite the pain and superficial injuries, he was not terribly damaged. He rose to his feet without drawing the slightest amount of attention to himself- the other two were engaged in a abysmally inflamed shouting match.
At this point, Kip understood that he faced a serious dilemma. He could not, under any circumstances, leave Jarod behind, and yet he was not certain that he could take Lyle on in his weakened state. Reinforcement, preferably from the police, would have been best, but Kip worried that even if he could get away to alert the authorities, Jarod would not survive until he returned.
A small glint of light reflecting off a metallic object in a corner caught his attention. The crowbar that had earlier been used break Jarod's hands, lay discarded on the floor nearby. Kip took a step back, enveloping himself in darkness.
He was afraid- afraid of Lyle, afraid to move too soon, and afraid to move too late. He was afraid that somehow Lyle would smell that fear and come after him. Luck, however, seemed to favor him for once, and as Lyle bent down to seize the jumper cables he turned his back completely to Kip. As quickly as his body and nerves would allow, Kip snatched the metal tool stealthily. Lyle was standing once more and advancing on Jarod as Kip raised the bar and advanced on Lyle. Like a baseball player gearing up to connect with a ball for a home run, Kip prepared to swing the crowbar. Just before the moment of impact, a young feminine voice cried out a warning to Lyle, who barely managed to duck the blow. Rattled by the exclamation, Kip lost his grip on the tool.
I've been watching you from a distance… The distance sees through your disguise…
Chaos took control of the situation as the crowbar struck a shelve full of various tools and chemical bottles. The ear-splitting cacophony of metal slamming the concrete and shattering of various bottles fully disarmed the men. A pungent, sallow gas filled the contained area as various chemicals combined into noxious fumes.
There was little time to properly assess the situation. There was no possible way the rapidly spreading gases were not harmful. A quick inventory told her that Kip was the most capable of getting out the building, if only he would wake up and do so, and Jarod only needed to be released from his chains. Lyle, however, was the most affected by the exhaust as the chemic pooled under his feet. He was immobilized where he stood, either incapable of or simply not moving.
All I want from you is your hurting… I want to heal you… I want to save you from the dark…
Once the assessment was completed, her mind seemed to step aside and let her body take over in managing the crisis.
Her hands constructed a makeshift gasmask by wrapping her Rapunzel-like locks over her mouth and nose twice and tucking the ends into the collar of her shirt. Then her legs carried her into the bedlam.
As her hands busied themselves with releasing Jarod, her mind was free to think of whatever it chose to. Amelia sensed that this was abnormal; she had heard of people doing extraordinary things in times of crisis, but with no body/mind connection? Was such a thing possible?
Even with freedom, Jarod was slow to move and Amelia recognized that the fumes must be affecting him. She struggled to pull him out of the chair and shove him out of the door. On the difficult journey to the exit, they passed close to Kip, who was only just beginning to come out of his stupor. She snagged him by the arm and the little girl attempted to steer two men twice her size into the safety of the night.
Give unto me your troubles… I'll endure your suffering… Place onto me your burden… I'll drink your deadly poison…
The moment they were outside, she abandoned them and went back in for the most important person.
Catatonia was the only way to describe the state he was in. He would not or could not respond to her. All her attempts to educe some sort of reaction were fruitless. Finally, she tried to move him on her own- a nearly impossible task. She managed to tug at him hard enough to pull him out of the chemical spill. Her efforts landed them both on the floor.
She grunted in extreme frustration. Her strength and energy were quickly depleting and the door was still a long distance away. To make matters worse, her hair was unraveling and allowing the fumes into her lungs, choking the air out of them.
With silent prays, she managed to get them a few feet closer to the exit, but it still wasn't enough. She simply could not drag him any further without some help from Lyle himself.
"Bobby!" she cried abjectly, using what little precious oxygen she had left to appeal to him. "Please, help me. I can't do this alone!"
Her words, at first, did not seem to have much effect on him. But slowly he began to come around enough to be of some aid. She still had to shoulder the brunt of the work as he moved so heavily and sluggishly, but at least some of the weight had been eased.
The door was at last within in reach. Amelia nearly collapsed with relief when she pulled him out into the open. But they were not as free as she thought. The moment she released Lyle and let him sink to the ground, someone grabbed her from behind.
Mind and body, which, until that instant, had been reconnecting, quickly separated themselves again. Body sprang into motion and flipped the offender over her shoulder. Crouched defensively and ready to kill if necessary, Amelia found herself staring into the bewildered eyes of Kip.
She spat at him in Italian.
"What'dya do that for?" Kip wheezed. He grimaced from the additional injury that his person had sustained.
"I could ask you the same thing!" she snapped, gnashing her teeth at him. "What is wrong with you?"
Unable to pull himself up, Kip remained flat on his back as he attempted to explain. "I was trying to save you."
She glared at him in annoyance. "Save me from what?" she scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "You were the one who had to be saved."
The young man sighed and closed his eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I was just trying to help."
"Well, stop trying," she scolded, clearly irate with him as well as the situation. "All you've done is made things worse! This whole mess is your fault!"
Having no sympathy for the prone man, she stepped over him to reach her husband. Lyle, however, was nowhere in sight.
Jarod stood a few feet away from her with his dark gaze locked onto to something. Judging from his glare and the predatory air of his gait, she surmised that he was locked onto Lyle. Shadowing the Pretender's movement, she eventually saw what he saw- Lyle propped up against the side of garbage bin, addlepated and drained. Unsure of what the man intended to do and unable to wait to see, Amelia sprang in front of Jarod, forcing him to check up.
Why should I care if they hurt you? Somehow it matters more to me than if I were hurting myself … I'll save you…
At first neither said a word, they simply stared at each; Jarod's curious, concerned gaze against her defensive, agitated one.
"Mia." Her name was exhaled in a whisper and she frowned.
"Look," she said tightly, "I don't know what's going on, but I suggest that you take your friend and get out of here."
He blenched a bit and puzzlement crept into his features. "Mia," he said again as though the sound of his voice would remind her of their association.
She reacted to his advancing on her; though benignant enough, she still whipped out the pocket knife and flicked the blade at him.
"Leave us alone."
Baffled, Jarod obeyed her warning and backed up a step.
"Mia, it's Jarod." Even as he said it, he knew she did not know him. Not even a hint of recognition registered in her eyes.
"Leave," she reiterated. "Please." In her periphery vision she saw the damage his hands had sustained and it troubled her greatly. "You really ought to see a doctor."
His gentle eyes stared at her steadily and she instinctively knew him to be a good person, yet she could not risk trusting him for the only memory she had of him was as Jarod, the man who had been in the hall with her sister-in-law, Parker.
"Yes," Jarod avowed, and took another step back. He began to turn away, then paused. "Will you be alright?"
She nodded and frowned, still watching his hands. "I'm sorry," she said in a rush.
He smiled sadly. "It's not your fault. I'm sorry, too."
"For what?"
"For failing you."
"What?"
Jarod said no more. He turned and walked back to Kip, who had finally careened to his feet. Amelia watched the men disappear into the darkness, before turning to her husband.
"Bobby?" she called softly, kneeling beside him. She reached into her jacket and pulled out the black case.
His head turned in the direction of her voice, but his eyes could not focus on her face.
"Baby?" She held his face in her free hand trying to hold his focus. "Bobby? Do you need this?"
The case was inched in front of his face but it might have well been miles away- he reached for it but could not come close to grasping it.
"Do you need this?"
Finally, he managed to nod affirmatively. His hand fell to his thigh.
She coughed brusquely, still trying to expel the fumes from her lungs. Her fingers shook from both the coughing and from anxiety as she took a hypodermic needle from the case and prepped it for injecting.
His eyes had closed again, enervation permeating his being. She sighed heavily, running her thumb over his chapped lips. She leaned her forehead against his momentarily as she gathered her courage; she had never been particularly fond of needles. As quickly and mercifully as possible, she tried to injected the liquid into his veins; if it pained him any, he did not react. Once it was done with, she discarded the syringe in the dumpster, closed the casing, and put it back in her coat. Finally, she settled against him, waiting... for what- she didn't know...
Give unto me all that frightens you… I'll have your nightmares for you if you sleep soundly …
Spoilers of sorts:
- Lyle's control over Sydney may be the result of a bluff.
-A confrontation between the Parker twins leads to one of them being physically assaulted.
-Lyle's marriage may not be real.
-Amelia's position as the object of Lyle's affection is in jeopardy courtesy of Raines' new Oriental bodyguard.
-The chain-of-power within the Centre is turned upside as the investigation into Mutumbo's murder continues.
-Another assassination within the Centre brings things inside the corporation to a grinding halt.
-And one of the current Centre Projects commissioned by Raines may be the Parker family's undoing.
-Jarod's attempt to reconcile with Parker is thwarted by Zoë, which leads the Pretender to choose between the two women.