Chapter 8 – Playing the Waiting Game
(Six weeks later)
Sydney sighed and hefted his bag up onto the bed of the motel room and then sat down heavily next to it. Debbie was no doubt doing much the same in the connecting room adjacent to his. It was a pattern to which they were both reluctantly becoming all too accustomed – pulling into yet another small town in Delaware or Maryland and settling into a motel room until they could rent a small apartment or house. They'd stay there, a young woman and her grandfather in the eyes of everybody they met, until an email from Angelo would tip them off that Lyle had stumbled across their trail again – whereupon they'd pack in the course of an hour and be long gone by the next morning. They'd moved four times already, including this latest. It was getting very old.
Despite his effort to try to keep Debbie's spirits up, he could tell that the extended time away from her father and the knowledge of Miss Parker's and Jarod's detention were beginning to take a toll. He kept up her studies as best he could – much of the material was stuff he'd drilled into Jarod very early on, and thanks to his remarkable memory, he could still pull historical facts from the hidden corners of his brain with the same ease that he pulled the next hypothesis in geometry. And like Jarod before her, Debbie was turning into a very quick study – and he had good reason to doubt that it was because he was such a good teacher.
The two of them had become very close in the weeks since they'd been thrown so abruptly together. After Sam's rescue and return to the Centre, Debbie had started to come out of her shell a little – talking about her life with her father and, on very rare occasions, the difficulties of her life with her mother in the years before that. Sydney discovered that many of those early events Debbie had never shared with her father – never shared with anybody until she'd shared them with him – because she'd never felt comfortable talking about her mother in less than defensive tones. She'd also been open about her relationship with Miss Parker – how the two of them had settled their differences that first, difficult time and then how the relationship had deepened and strengthened between them over time. That she missed her surrogate mother desperately – almost as much as she missed her father – was very apparent.
Debbie wasn't just a tiger on the checkerboard – one of the first things Broots had taught his bright little girl after gaining custody of her was to play chess, and to play chess against a computer and win. Sydney quickly discovered that Debbie was a talented strategist in her own right – and almost his equal on the chessboard. A small chessboard had been purchased very soon into their trek together and was by now well-used.
In turn, Sydney had opened to Debbie in a way that he'd not allowed himself to open to anyone since Jacob's accident almost thirty years earlier. When the topic of the Holocaust came up in her history studies, he carefully offered her the benefit of first-hand knowledge – both of what went on in the death camps and of the aftermath of the war. But what she liked for him to do most was to speak of his life before the war – of his parents and his beloved grandmother, of his high jinks with his twin brother on the banks of the Seine. She could listen to his stories for hours and had quickly come to prefer sitting and exchanging stories with the old psychiatrist to watching TV.
What neither of them ever discussed, except when talking about the contents of one of Angelo's or Sam's cryptic emails, was the Centre and the people trapped there. At this point, they both knew that neither of them could do anything – and dwelling on the subject would do no good at all.
This latest move had come very soon after the previous – and Sydney was beginning to suspect that they would have to ditch the little coupe they were now driving very soon in favor of another, less expensive and less conspicuous vehicle. The mini SUV had been traded away weeks before for the coupe, registered under Sydney's real name. It had served them well – but had apparently served its purpose and now needed to go.
At a knock on the connecting door, Sydney sighed and heaved himself off the bed next to his bag. "Getting hungry?" he asked the young woman who walked through the door and plopped herself into the uncomfortable easy chair near the window and immediately slumped in the manner of disenchanted youth.
"Getting tired of this," she replied, playing with a long tendril that had escaped the braid that trailed down her back. "Are we always going to be running from now on?"
Sydney seated himself on the edge of the bed again. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "A lot depends upon whether we decide to give up and genuinely start a new life somewhere else – or whether we hang around more or less close to Blue Cove on the hope that one day we'll be called to help rescue your father or Jarod or Miss Parker."
"I miss school," she stated mournfully. "I miss my friends. I miss catching the bus on a Saturday with a whole bunch of us and going into Dover to hang around the malls."
"I'm sorry," the psychiatrist replied. "Right now, that would be an invitation to be taken into the Centre…"
"I know that," Debbie flounced up and over to the window to push aside the heavy draperies and peek out. "I understand why we're doing this – it's just that understanding doesn't mean I LIKE the way we have to live, or that I don't miss my real life." She leaned against the cool glass. "It's been a long time now, Sydney…"
The Belgian rose and came over to the girl at the window and put a comforting arm around her. "I know it has, cheri. I know it has." He put gentle hands on her shoulder and turned her to face him. "Tell me what you'd have me do, Debbie… Do you want to quit this and establish ourselves elsewhere on a more permanent basis?"
"Leave Dad and Miss Parker and Jarod in the Centre?" Blue eyes looked away. "No, I don't think I could live with myself…" She leaned forward and landed her forehead on his chest, and then sighed as he closed his arms around her. "I'm just tired of running."
Sydney bent to drop a kiss on the top of her head and held her a little tighter. "I know, cheri. I'm tired of running too. Every day I wake up thinking that we can't go on like this – that something will come from Sam or Angelo, and we'll be called back to help out getting someone out." He swayed a little with her in his arms as if he was rocking her. "We just have to be patient, Debbie. Something's got to give sooner or later – and when it does…"
oOoOo
Sam rolled the cart up to the incinerator and began handing packets of documents to his partner to thrust into the glowing flames. For all the promise of being a part of an 'elite unit', his duties had become annoyingly monotonous. Each of the unit took turns being paired with Willy when Mr. Raines decided to go somewhere – from the grocery store or restaurant on the outside or to the Renewal Wing or deeper levels within the Centre itself. The old man was never without two of his 'elite' – and Sam suspected that it was this show of force that was keeping the old man in his position more than his innovative way of running things. But in the meanwhile, if there was a shit-duty roster, everybody in the entire 'elite unit' had their name on it more often than not – everybody, of course, with the exception of Willy. The position of 'personal sweeper' always had had its perks – one of them being NOT on any shit-duty list, ever. Sam missed those days.
Lyle had been relegated to Miss Parker's old position of being the nominal head of a team hunting for fugitives – in this case, Sydney and Deborah Broots. Sam knew of several occasions that he'd inwardly held his breath when word would leak through to the general sweeper population about a sighting of an old man and a young, blonde girl. As yet, each of those sightings had officially either been cases of mistaken identity or the report had arrived at the Centre too late. He himself had sent a couple of carefully worded warnings under a fraudulent email user name that Sydney was bound to recognize – having been handed Jarod's email address by a skittish Angelo in passing one day. Evidently the warnings had worked, for Sydney and Debbie were still eluding discovery.
But now, as he stood patiently handing packet after packet of documents Raines had decided were either useless or too dangerous to keep, Sam was having trouble holding still. In bringing the cart down to the incinerator, he'd seen something he probably wasn't supposed to see – and for the first time since he started this charade, he was feeling hopeful. Broots was alive – and well – and now HE knew where the missing tech was.
It was a passing encounter. Sam – or 'Jerry' – had arrived as ordered to pick up the cartload of stuff to be incinerated and just glanced into one of the open doorways as he pushed the cart back down the hall toward the elevator. His eyes had been drawn by the sound of raised voices – and he'd peeked in to see Broots being chewed out by another nameless computer geek-type, being called 'Frank'.
There was a computer terminal in the sweeper's break room – when he was done with his shift, and provided there was nobody else there to observe what he was up to, he'd search out 'Frank' in the Computer Technology Department and send word to Sydney. Then he'd have to scare up Angelo somehow – Angelo knew the way in and the way out again, and would probably have the drug that had been used on him during his own rescue. The thought of Broots having the same nausea and disorientation that he'd had made him grimace inwardly – but it couldn't be helped.
Broots would have to do the same thing he had – have his memory restored and then return to his duties as this 'Frank'. But with Broots' intelligence and creative way with the Centre computers, and with his personal access to the upper echelons on a somewhat regular basis, Sam was certain that they would soon have a line on Miss Parker or Jarod.
He just had to be patient a little while longer.
He reached into the cart and pulled out the next plastic-wrapped bundle and handed it over. He hated this job. When or if he ever got Miss Parker out of here, he'd never come back to this god-awful place again. He'd sit in a security guard's kiosk in front of swanky homes bored out of his skull before he'd ever work for the Centre again.
Just a few more bundles…
oOoOo
The tall, brunette woman carefully slid her feet over the edge of the bed into the waiting slippers and stood up, grabbing her robe and pulling it over the hospital gown that was just too revealing in the back to be tolerated anywhere but in bed. Dr. Abrams had advised her to take walks – that it would be better as her pregnancy progressed if she got herself back into some form of shape physically. Walking the corridor outside her room was one way of doing that – and the only one that had been allowed her as yet.
He called her 'Parker' – and told her she'd been in a coma after an accident that had claimed the life of her husband. She'd been lucky, however, not to have lost the baby she was carrying – and all of her therapy now would be centered around making sure her recovery continued to be healthy both for her and her baby. Hands with long and graceful fingers spread across her middle – she still wasn't showing yet, and yet she longed for the day that her condition became real to her. She'd been longing for this child for years – at least, that's what she'd been told. No matter, she was excited and pleased at her condition now.
There had been a psychiatrist to visit her a few times – a gaunt and unhealthy man by the name of Raines – when it was discovered that she had amnesia. And despite his leading her through hypnosis and other psychiatric therapies, she hadn't been able to regain either her personal history or any memory of her husband's face or name. Something with J was the thought that lingered at the fringes of her consciousness, but because it was so nebulous, she'd never mentioned it either to the shrink or to Dr. Abrams. Lost, she'd been content within her white-curtained refuge – although she would have liked there to be windows. She missed the feel of the breeze against her face – although she couldn't remember where or why she would have experienced that before.
She could remember, though, the first time she'd awakened – at least she THOUGHT she remembered the first time she awakened – to the sound of another man's voice. He'd stood over her bed with glowing blue eyes and said words that even now rang in her fractured memory: "My name is Lyle – and I'll be taking care of you for a while." She hadn't seen him since that short visit weeks earlier, before she'd slipped back into the coma – and although she'd asked about him to the nurses and Dr. Abrams, nobody seemed to remember who he was or why he would have said such a thing to her.
She still wasn't too steady on her feet, and she tended to lean into the wall of the corridor to her right – staying carefully out of the way of the bustling medical personnel. There were double doors at the end of the corridor she'd been advised to keep behind – that there were dangerous mental patients housed beyond that she didn't want to run into by herself. Fran, her evening nurse, had confirmed that the area beyond those doors would be dangerous for her – and Fran was so nice and sympathetic and compassionate that Parker couldn't imagine her telling her something that wasn't in her best interest.
Still, the walking tired her. She'd been bedridden, she'd been told, for over six weeks now – more than enough time for some of her muscle tone to atrophy. Already, halfway down the corridor, she was beginning to wilt.
"Are you sure you should be out of bed and this far away from your room?" a voice sounded next to her, and a very handsome black man took gentle hold of her elbow. "You're looking tired, Parker," he continued.
"I walked further than I thought I did," she replied apologetically, leaning into his strong arm gratefully.
"Let me help you back to your room then," Willy told her and then walked her slowly back down the corridor and into her room. "You'd better check with Dr. Abrams about this weakness you have."
Storm-grey eyes gazed up into his finely sculpted face with innocent curiosity. "Are you one of the doctors here?"
"No, ma'am," Willy replied with a smile, amazed at the thoroughness of the drug's mind-altering effects. The Miss Parker he knew would never have let him touch her, much less let him escort her down a hall and into a bedroom. "I work for the people that run this place, though."
"Well, whoever you are, thank you," she offered graciously. "At least tell me your name…"
"Will… Will, ma'am," Willy shortened his name, just in case the sound of the normal diminutive would trigger her memory to return.
"Thanks, Will," she repeated and moved slowly and carefully to the easy chair that sat near her bed.
"You take it easy, Parker," Willy nodded and left her sitting in her chair and reaching for the mystery novel that she'd been reading at for the past few days. He'd have to report on this to Mr. Raines – it should help the old man's day be a little brighter to know that Formula 837A had been an unmitigated success in her case…
oOoOo
Angelo moved carefully through the ducts until he'd arrived at the sweeper's break room and then settled down against the metal wall of the vent to wait. Sam would be here soon, and he needed to talk to him about Daughter's Friend Broots. He'd felt the recognition that had flooded the sweeper from three levels down – and the time was approaching for things to once again begin to happen.
He'd found Daughter himself weeks ago – and then wept when he realized what all had been done to her. She was lost, with the only thing that was genuinely hers still in her possession being the name by which everyone had called her. He'd found Friend too – and been angered by the way that they had stolen what had made him unique and different. Listening to Friend's thoughts was like listening to a static hiss. They'd taken away his soul and turned him into a robot, and then put him to work in the kitchens peeling potatoes and slicing carrots for the cafeteria fare. They hadn't even given him a name – told the others around him to call him 'Boy' and not talk to him directly except to give him orders.
It was time for things to happen – before the danger that loomed on the horizon got any closer. Sydney and the girl needed to be told to come back – to move into Jarod's old safe house in Dover that had never truly been discovered. They'd be safe there for as long as they needed to be… They needed to know this…
The door to the break room opened, and Sam and another sweeper stepped inside. Sam was excited, the little empath could tell easily. His movements were less considered, more abrupt and sudden. Still, he had to play his part – and he joked and talked to the other sweeper for a long time before the other finally left to go back to his duties.
"Sam…"
Sam fought hard to keep from startling at the sound of the soft whisper and calling the attention of the surveillance team to his actions. Eventually he looked around the room, apparently bored, until he could make out the shadow of Angelo against the ventilation grate. The whisper that had caught his ear would probably not have been heard by the surveillance camera above – but he'd have to be careful in making his way to close to the vent to hear what the little man had to say.
He wandered about the room, getting himself a cup of coffee and fiddling with some of the girlie magazines in such ready supply before selecting one and moving to the couch directly below the grate.
"Broots work late most nights," he whispered down to the dark-haired sweeper, who he knew was listening carefully. "Always in same place – where you saw him. Keep him apart from most others, so easy to get to him. Be ready tomorrow night – meet Sydney at ventilation shack nine o'clock. Angelo be there too – we get Broots out, help him remember."
The dark head below him nodded slowly, and then Sam moved the magazine as if he were checking out one of the centerfolds it held. "Nine o'clock tomorrow," he heard whispered back through the rustling of the magazine. "Gotcha."
As Angelo made his way back through the ducts, he knew that Sam would be going to the computer terminal and seeing what he could find. He wouldn't find much – only a name he already knew – but it was a beginning.
The time of waiting was almost ended.
oOoOo
As was his habit before going to bed, Sydney set up Jarod's laptop and hooked the telephone line into the modem. The computer had an interesting feature that made telephone calls out on normally monitored lines without attracting attention to the call at all – which made things easier and a whole lot more secure. All he had to do, he'd discovered, was to start the Centre-designed email client, and the additional programming that Jarod had added would log the system into the mainframe and pull secure email that The Powers That Be would never know existed under their noses.
"Debbie!" he exclaimed, reading the list of unread mail, "there's something here from Angelo!"
He could hear the sound of Debbie scrambling out of the bed she'd just crawled into, and she trotted into his room without even bothering to stop and pull on her robe over her flannel pajamas. "What does it say?" she demanded. "Haven't you opened it yet?"
"I was waiting for you, cheri," he replied and then clicked on the message and began to read aloud: "'Broots found – meet Sam at the shack nine o'clock tomorrow night."
"They found my dad?" Debbie seemed stunned and almost incapable of believing the good news.
"We still need to go into the Centre and bring him out," Sydney cautioned. "We'll play it just like last time – with you waiting with the car, ready to head to the police department if I'm not back with your dad by sunrise…"
Debbie shook her head. "Not this time, Sydney. I need to go in with you."
"Absolutely not!" Sydney shook his head vehemently, and his accent grew thicker. "I'm sure that if your father were here, he'd forbid…"
"Remember how things went with Sam?" Debbie frowned at him. "How much do you want to bet that the reason the Centre's been after me all this while is because the chances are pretty good that seeing my face might be one of the things that makes him remember. Maybe seeing Miss Parker would do it too – but they've got her and probably know how to keep her away from him. So seeing me would be Dad's best shot…"
"That still isn't a good reason to bring you along!" Sydney was still shaking his head. "Your father can see you in the car AFTER we get him out…"
"Dad has to go back into the Center and stay in his role, like Sam did, doesn't he?" the girl pointed out. "I remember what a hurry it was for you to get Sam back to where he belonged in time after he remembered. If I were closer, so I could see my dad right away…"
"Debbie, you can't come into the Centre and help your dad remember that way," Sydney tried once more to reason with her. "There are cameras everywhere – and we need to work with your dad where we won't be seen."
"But if he leaves the Centre, he'll be missed – and then when they find him again, they'll dope him back up and he'll forget!" Debbie was adamant. "You need me – I'm coming."
"I tell you what," Sydney sighed, pushed into a compromise he hadn't wanted to have to make. "You can come with me to the shack – but if Sam says that it's too dangerous for you, then you stay IN the shack until we get back out again. Fair?"
Debbie's blue eyes glittered. Sam was a marshmallow – he'd let her come along, she was sure of it. "Fair."
"Now back to bed with you," Sydney told her with a jerk of his nose over his shoulder toward the door to her room. "If you're going along, I want you well rested."
Debbie's smile was brilliant, and she dropped a kiss on the older man's cheek impulsively. "You won't be sorry, Sydney," she beamed. "I'll see you in the morning."
Sydney began typing a reply to Angelo – hoping that the empath could warn Sam of the change in plans. Even though he understood Debbie's drive to be a part of her father's rescues – especially since that rescue would be followed in very short order by her father going as deeply under cover inside the Centre as Sam had. Still, he felt obligated to try to defend Broots' daughter against all the danger the Centre represented, and against herself when she started to get too daring for her own good.
Hopefully Sam would know what to say to convince her that staying behind was in everybody's best interests.
oOoOo
"Absolutely not!"
"But Sam…"
Sam was adamant, and glowered at the girl. "You haven't got the slightest idea what you'd be getting yourself into, Debbie. I know you want to help, but this isn't the way…"
Angelo pulled Sydney aside. "Can't go," the empath stated emphatically, staring at the young woman who was still arguing with Sam. "If she goes, we all get caught."
"Debbie," Sydney's voice cut through the argument on the other side of the room. "Angelo says that if you go, we all will be caught. I happen to think he's probably right – and not just because he tends to be uncannily accurate with such things."
"But…"
"What's more important to you, being a part of this, or getting your father out in one piece in the end?" Sam demanded finally.
Debbie knew she was outvoted – and she really didn't want to endanger the others. "I just want to see my dad," she stated sadly. "I miss him so…"
"We know you do, cheri," Sydney soothed. "And you'll see him tonight – for a little while." He looked at Sam. "We can do our memory-tinkering here in this shack, can't we?"
Sam looked at Angelo and then shrugged. "I suppose…"
Sydney nodded in satisfaction and then looked at the girl. "So – slight change in plans. You wait HERE for us – same conditions apply. If it's getting too close to five in the morning and we aren't out yet, head back to the car and go to the police."
"Besides," Sam crouched down so that he was more at her eye level – even a little lower, now that she'd grown so much, "we already make an awful lot of racket going through those vents. One more person might be the straw that breaks the camel's back – and calls attention to what we're doing. It isn't that we don't trust you, Squirt," the sweeper added at the skeptical disbelief that was flooding her face, "it's that we need this to work – and the stakes are just too high to take unnecessary chances."
"I hate being left behind," Debbie glowered. "He's my father…"
"I know, Deb, I know." Sam straightened and reached down to pat her shoulder gently. "Sometimes it sucks being a kid. But trust me – the less you know about this place, and the less time you spend in it for any reason, the better! I know for a fact that your dad believes that just as much as I do."
Even Angelo moved closer and touched the girl's hand to catch her attention. "You wait here – we bring him to you. Promise."
"OK, OK, I stay here!" Debbie was frustrated and angry at being kept out of the loop, but wasn't about to jeopardize her position now – which was better than it had been the last time around. She gazed up into Sydney's face with something bordering on frantic worry. "You just be careful! I don't want to have to go to the police…"
Sydney slipped an arm around her and pulled her tightly against him. "I'll be all right, and I'll be back with your father as soon as I can."
"I don't want to be left alone," she told him with quiet vehemence. "Don't leave me alone."
"Only for a little while. I won't be long," he promised and kissed the top of her head. He could tell Sam and Angelo were anxious to get moving, so he kissed her cheek and pushed her away. "Be very quiet and don't leave the shack until either I get back or it's five in the morning – remember?"
"I remember." Debbie backed away and wrapped her arms around herself after taking possession of Sydney's flashlight, and then she watched her latest guardian fold his body so that he could begin to crawl through the ventilation ducts.
"Close the grate after us, Squirt," Sam called as he ducked to fit his hulk into the narrow metal tunnel yet again.
Debbie waited until Sam's feet were out of the way before moving to snap the grating closed. With that, she moved to the corner of the shack closest to the grate and sank to the floor. She turned off the flashlight to preserve the battery life and closed her eyes. The alarm on Jarod's watch was once more set to five o'clock, and it would wake her if the sounds of Sam and Sydney returning with her father hadn't done so already.
But she doubted she'd get much sleep.
oOoOo
Broots turned to the next document and began typing it into the computer. He was bored – all of these documents had to do with the sale of some formula to some Arabs in Saudi Arabia – and he wished that he could experiment a little with the computer itself. He was fascinated by the idea that he could type the entire hardcopy document into the terminal, and then use a hand-scanner to scan in the handwritten signature at the bottom of the letter and… voilá… he'd have a near-perfect digital copy of the document to store in the mainframe. Then he'd type his initials into the information data fields that each and every document stored kept regarding who did the entry, when, and at which terminal, save the thing and go on to the next one.
There was an easier way to do this, he was certain – and if his superiors would just give him the time and the permission, he was certain that he could discover it in no time. If they could scan in a signature, surely they could scan in the whole document… But no… his superiors were quite firm about wanting things done just THIS way. This was what he'd been hired to do, he was reminded time and time again – and if he wanted to continue with his job, this was what he'd have to keep on doing. And he had night duty because that was when the higher security documents were to be entered – so that was why he worked when everybody else was resting an vice versa. That part sucked, as far as he was concerned.
But Broots had used his fast typing skills to give himself the time to tinker and investigate quietly on his own anyway – it paid to be a very fast typist with a relatively low work load expectation. He'd quickly found the hidden games that were just few keystrokes away and enjoyed relaxing between boring documents, shooting at the blocks on the screen and seeing just how high a score he could get. Already he had his FNB initials on the top ten scoreboard… There – he'd just added fireball capabilities…
He never heard the trio of men come up behind him – he only knew he had company when his arms were suddenly seized from behind and a handkerchief with some truly foul smelling substance was thrust into his face. Suddenly the world got very blurry and then went black…
Sam slipped the rag with the chloroform back into the plastic bag it had come out of and sealed it again before any of the fumes started to influence any of the rest of them. "This is going to be fun," he remarked in a sarcastic whisper as he picked up the dead weight of the computer tech and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
The trip back through the ducts went considerably slower with an unconscious man being pulled and pushed through the metal tunnel between Sam in front and Sydney in back. When they came to the vertical shaft, Sam moved carefully onto the ladder and then had Sydney help him get Broots once more into a fireman's carry that would be more secure for the both of them. Sam was in good physical condition, but carrying a dead weight of over a hundred and fifty pounds up a vertical ladder for ten floors was more than he was used to – and by the time he felt Angelo reaching down to help slip Broots into the lateral duct at the top of the shaft, he was fairly winded.
Once more, Broots was pulled and pushed through the ducts until Angelo's feet hit the grating in the shack hard enough that they flew open with a bang – waking Debbie up with a shriek. Her flashlight beam careened about the interior of the windowless shack madly for a moment, and then settled on Angelo pulling her father's head and shoulders through the grating and easing him to the floor with a minimum of bruising.
"Daddy!" she exclaimed, and then stood back so that Sydney and Sam could get through the grate and straighten up – each with an appreciative groan and hand to the lower back.
"I'm getting too old for this," Sydney grumbled to Sam, who nodded.
"Trust me – this ain't my idea of a picnic either," the sweeper replied sotto voce and then looked down at the sleeping man they'd just worked so hard to bring to this place. "He's all yours, doc – do your stuff."
Sydney reached into his shirt breast pocket and fumbled a bit for the small ampoule he'd secreted there before coming to the Centre again. Once he found it, he crouched down next to Broots and snapped it in two beneath the man's nose. Almost immediately, Broots began to cough and wheeze and wave his hand around wildly, and finally looked up at Sydney with eyes streaming with tears. "Who are you and why'd you have to do that?"
"Daddy…" Sam moved aside and pulled Angelo away so that Debbie could make her way to her father's side. "Daddy…"
Broots stared at the girl in confusion for a moment, and then voices began ricocheting in his mind as his entire world seemed to tip and spin…
"It's a girl!"
"Hi, Daddy…"
"The court grants custody to Linda Broots…"
"Daddy, don't make me go back! I wanna stay with you!"
"How dare you!"
"The court grants custody to Lazlo Broots…"
"I love you, Daddy…"
"Do it, Broots – do it for yourself. Do it for Debbie."
"Your name is Frank Nathan Brodrick…"
"I love you Daddy…"
"Hello, Mr. Broots…"
"Jarod!"
"Broots! You lovable moron…"
"Your name is Frank…"
"Daddy, I love you…"
Slowly his eyes cleared, and he reached out a shaking hand. "D…d…debbie? What are YOU doing here?"
With a soft cry of happiness, Debbie flew into her father's arms and snuggled tightly against him. "I thought I might never see you again," she whimpered, her face buried in his neck.
"Debbie." Broots wrapped his arms around his little girl and felt his world suddenly right itself again. This was what had been missing – a whole lifetime that had been taken away from him – and all of it wrapped up in a slender body that was clinging to him now as if afraid to be torn away again. "It's OK, I'm here, Sweet Pea, I'm here," he soothed softly. "I love you."