Chapter 10 – The Last Straw

Sam strode down the hall to the sweeper's locker room, where he knew that all the recent assignment changes were posted to the bulletin board. With luck, the person assigned to take care of the termination order on Jarod wouldn't have seen the board yet – and with a little more luck, nobody would be in there to see Sam switch assignments so that HE was officially in charge of taking Jarod for his 'last walk.' He had an idea – it remained to be seen whether or not it was workable.

He pushed through the door to the locker room with enough force that the door banged up against the wall and left a mark in the cinderblock, but he didn't care. He homed in on that bulletin board and studied it carefully. Yes! There it was – Greg, a relative newcomer, had been given the 'make bones' order. Sam frowned. Obviously they were skipping over his 'Jerry' for some reason – probably not taking chances that 'Jerry' laying eyes on Jarod would cause a dramatic memory return. Oh well – so much for their thinking they were smart. Been there, done that, already recovered from the nausea, he thought to himself wryly.

A careful application of a fingertip erased Greg's assignment to termination duty and 'Jerry's' assignment to outer Tower security, and a quick hand with the dry-erase pen filled in those blanks with the opposite names. Shift change would happen in fifteen minutes – so Greg would come in, read the board, and head for the Tower elevator.

He hoped.

He moved off into the restroom area and slipped into a stall, pulled down his trousers in case somebody decided to come along and check, and then sat down to wait the time out in privacy. He'd been in on a couple of termination orders before he'd been assigned to Miss Parker – moments in time that previously he would just as soon forget ever happened, but could use now as models around which to build a lifesaving variation. He would head to the sweeper's office, collect the termination order, then go down to where they were keeping Jarod and collect him. Then he would walk Jarod to an elevator and take him deep into the Centre to the back side of the incinerator, put a bullet in the man's brain and then slip the body into the 3000 degree fire where it would vaporize under his watchful eye.

At least, that's how it was SUPPOSED to happen, according to accepted policy.

But an associated and now very convenient piece of knowledge that he had was that there was always a backlog of bodies from the Renewal Wing and the morgue waiting for disposal. Raines' tenure in the Chairman's seat had meant an increase in 'research subjects' being taken from the streets of large cities like New York and Boston – cities where they would never be missed – and then subjected to human experimentation that often resulted in death or severe disfigurement. These discarded human dregs were regularly piled in the corridor near the back side of the incinerator, awaiting some sweeper on an alternative-to-occupying-a-body-bag shit-duty to spend the multiple consecutive shifts necessary to nurse any number of corpses through the incinerator.

That inevitable and hopefully sizeable backlog of bodies was going to be Jarod's salvation – because while Jarod could be climbing through the air conditioning system with Angelo in the lead, HE could be nursing one of those backlog corpses in the incinerator – after he had removed it from its body bag and conveniently put a couple of bullets in it in case somebody would make him slide the platform out and check his work. There were no surveillance cameras down next to the incinerator – somebody in upper management had decided that the less evidence of what went on in the Centre, especially the after-effects of what went on, the better – so any 'quality assurance' was done first-hand. Sam could handle that…

Greg's voice was distinctive – he refused to let go of his wide Texas drawl – and Sam smiled and began pulling himself together when he heard the husky Texan grumble, "Tower duty again? They said I was gonna get somethin' INTERESTING today!" He flushed the toilet and came innocently out to face three other of his sweeper colleagues and Greg.

"You got shit-duty this time, Jerry," Calvin grinned from the end of the locker row, where he was seated and pulling on a pair of clean socks. "Termination order has your name on it."

"Oh, yeah?" Sam assumed an astonished look and hurried over to the bulletin board. "I'll be damned!"

Fred shrugged and bumped past him sympathetically. "Hey! We all end up having to do one or two of these eventually."

"Better get to it," Miguel advised the huge man still gaping at the bulletin board. "If things run to normal, the brass in the Tower are probably eager that you help them rid themselves of a nuisance. The sooner you get things done, the better it looks for you."

"How do I do this?" Sam feigned ignorance.

Armed with directions he didn't really need, Sam walked briskly to the office to pick up the termination order. The sweeper in charge didn't even blink, but handed him the paper without a glance at his face. Sam headed out of the office and down the hall toward the elevator before the man had a chance to change his mind. Then it was a long, nerve-wracking ride down to SL-15, where he'd have to locate Cell 47-C and drag Jarod out. He showed the termination order to the sweeper at the end of the hallway, and was escorted down the corridor to 47-C where the guard punched in the security code and unlocked the door.

Inside the cell, Jarod was sitting on the edge of the pallet with his head hanging low, hands dangling limply from wrists resting on his knees. At the commotion of his door opening, the Pretender looked up – and Sam had to work hard to swallow back a gasp. The dark chocolate eyes that had always danced with intelligence and mischief in his experience were blank and empty. "Yes?" the Pretender asked politely, not rising. "Can I help you?"

The guard behind him snickered coldly, and Sam had to force himself to stalk into the cell and drag Jarod to his feet by the scruff of the neck. "You need to come with me," he stated harshly and gave the Pretender a none-too-kind push to head him out the door.

Jarod didn't complain or balk, but merely regained his balance and did as the angry-looking man behind him wanted him to. "Do I know you?" he asked in a small and hopeful voice.

"Move it!" Sam ground out and gave him another small shove that looked rough but wasn't. He had Jarod's elbow securely in hand while they waited for the elevator, and then as they rode the little metal box down deeper into the bowels of the Centre. When the doors slid open, Sam again shoved Jarod roughly forward. "That way!" he ordered for the benefit of the security camera in the elevator car. There was one more camera to get past, and he made sure the show that he was putting on with Jarod in tow was adequate for the deed supposedly happening.

It wasn't until he had Jarod safely inside the incinerator area and was moving him along the black-bag-lined corridor behind the roaring flames that his grip on Jarod's elbow eased significantly. Finally, in front of the heavy metal access door and a sterile-looking metal slide, he pulled the Pretender to a halt.

"Listen to me!" he said with a quiet and desperate tone. "I want you to get in there." He pointed to the grating on the wall. "Go forward until you meet someone – they'll show you the rest of the way out."

"Why are you doing this?" Jarod's eyes were wide and frightened. "I didn't do anything…"

"I know you didn't, buddy. That's why you're going in there, and NOT in there." This time his finger pointed to the door behind which the white-hot flames roared. "We don't have a lot of time for you to discuss this – so get moving!"

"Do I know you?" Jarod asked again, still without moving.

"Yeah, you do – and that's why I'm here," Sam replied, taking Jarod by the elbow again and leading him to the vent by force. He jerked the grate open – and then reached into Jarod's collar and pulled the identification tag from the shirt that would support his claim to have 'taken care of' the termination order. "Get in and get going!"

Jarod blinked and then folded his tall frame to do what the angry man asked of him. He'd crawled forward only a pace or two when he heard the metal grate slam shut after him. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath and began to move forward again, wondering just where this passage led and who it was that was supposed to meet him.

Sam walked back to the corridor and hefted one of the body bags over his shoulder and carried it to the back side of the incinerator. Steeling himself, he unzipped the body bag and tumbled the corpse onto the metal slide with a slightly sloppy sound. Almost done, he thought to himself as he pushed the button that opened the huge incinerator door. He tossed the body bag into the flames and then grimaced – this was the part he hadn't been looking forward to. He forced himself to reach down to the corpse's head and pull it up off the slide just enough that he could angle a bullet into the brain that flew all the way through and into the incinerator – as was the policy. He dropped his hold and then gave a mighty shove that propelled the slide into the glowing maw. A push of another button retracted the slide and closed the heavy door, leaving the corpse just within view on a special grate.

Sam walked over to a utility sink and carefully washed the disgusting corruption from his hands and then settled down onto a folding chair to watch the corpse begin to bubble and char through the thick window. It was done – to the best he could accomplish on short notice. Jarod's ID was in his pocket to be turned in as duly terminated – and the substitute corpse was rapidly reaching a state where it would be impossible to tell that it wasn't the Pretender himself in there.

As he watched the body slowly vanish, he made up his mind that the time had come for him to work closely with Broots. They had to get Miss Parker out, and get her out quickly. He had an idea about that too – one that would eventually have to get run past both Broots and Sydney, since it involved Debbie. Like before, the risk was high – but this time, the consequences would be exactly what they all wanted eventually.

But time was running out. Things had to start happening – NOW.

oOoOo

By now Jarod was beginning to get confused. It was very dark in that ventilation duct and impossible to know exactly in which direction he should be heading. For all he knew, he could have doubled back on himself and was heading back to that room – with the angry man who'd almost pushed him into this thing…

A light flickering in the metal tunnel ahead stilled his worries a bit, and he held still until the smaller man with the flashlight in his teeth had come close enough to actually see. Vivid blue eyes gazed at him happily from beneath bushy brows and a mop of wildly messed hair. "Friend follow Angelo now. Angelo show you the way…" the little man said in a strangely abbreviated but understandable way of speaking. "Come…"

"Wait…" Jarod touched the man's arm as he began to swing away to turn around. "Do I know you?"

Angelo turned again, pushing his back against a wall and seating himself in an almost comfortable-looking position, and smiled. "Friends a long time," was the answer.

"Who are you?"

"Angelo."

"Do you…" Jarod swallowed hard. "Do you know who I am?"

The smile grew wider and very understanding. "You're Jarod."

Jarod turned the name around in his mind and decided that it did indeed feel almost familiar. "Jarod…" he whispered, handing himself a sliver of self-knowledge after floundering with insecurity and fear of being in a strange place and not knowing even his own name. Even if it WASN'T his real name, it would do for now…

"Come now – Sydney waiting." Angelo moved off, and then waited until he could tell that the confused Pretender was following him.

Sydney? Jarod turned this new name over in his mind while trusting that the little man in front of him knew exactly where he was going. Did he know a Sydney? Was that a man's name or a woman's name? He would have called forward his question, but he was quickly discovering that crawling through this tight, metal tunnel was physically draining, and he was becoming winded. There would be time for questions when Angelo stopped – or they reached the end of the tunnel – whichever came first.

He groaned when the tunnel ended at a vertical drop – and he saw that Angelo had climbed out onto a ladder and was moving steadily upwards. What did Angelo think he was – a gymnast? A vague scene floated almost to the surface of his mind – of reaching for metal bars and feeling the freedom of moving smoothly through the air high above the… The scene faded, and yet left him with the security of knowing that his hands were able to hold him and pull him upwards more than he'd thought possible. He reached for the rung next to the opening and carefully pulled himself out onto the ladder and began climbing.

oOoOo

Sydney crept along the trees next to the Centre lawn and then extinguished his flashlight when he saw that the shack was clearly visible in the moonlight. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted across the grass and into the shadow, and then worked his way around the end so that he could dislodge the padlock and pull the door open. Once in, he pulled the door closed again and reached for the flashlight hooked on his belt.

There was no sign that anybody had been there since he and Sam and Debbie and Broots had been there weeks ago. Dust on the floor was undisturbed except for his own shoeprints, and the grate was shut the way it was supposed to be. Sydney put out the flashlight after finding a nice place in a corner where he could pace without stubbing a toe or tripping over machinery.

He tipped his wrist and pushed the button on his watch to get the dial to glow – it was nearly midnight. Anxiously he looked in the direction he knew the grate was in and wished that he could hear the sounds of someone moving through the metal passage – but all was silent still.

Where could they be? The email had been urgent – demanding an immediate response – you would have thought…

There it was, the sound of soft sliding that he recognized from having made that noise enough himself of late. He flipped the flashlight back into life and moved to the grate to open it. Shining the beam of light down the duct, he caught sight of Angelo's face – and of a shadow moving steadily behind him. "Jarod…" he breathed in relief, and then was reaching into the duct to assist Angelo in extracting himself.

As Angelo moved aside, Sydney reached into the duct once more and grasped the Pretender's elbow to help give him balance to push himself out into the room. Once Jarod was out of the duct and on his feet, Sydney pulled his former protégé into a tight hug. "Jarod! Thank God!"

Jarod suffered the embrace without complaint – this Sydney must know him well to be this excited and happy to see him. He only wished he could remember either of these people. When he finally was pushed back so that Sydney could assess his former student's condition, he studied the face of the aging man in front of him. "Do I know you?" he asked softly.

Sydney's face fell the moment the words left Jarod's lips. "Yes," he replied sadly, clasping Jarod's shoulder still in warm welcome, "you know me verrry well."

Jarod frowned. Something about those words tweaked at his mind as if they were extremely familiar – and then the feeling evaporated again. He shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs and gazed at his mentor with an equal measure of sadness and confusion. "I wish I could remember…"

"We'll be working on that, my boy," Sydney assured him and then turned to Angelo. "I've got him – I'll take it from here."

"Daughter come soon," Angelo told the mentor with a quick frown. "Be ready. Sam will ask – you must agree."

Sydney's brows furled as the little empath's statement was more convoluted and less intelligible than normal. "What will Sam ask?"

"Watch email. You must agree," Angelo said and then dove for the ventilation duct.

"Does he always talk that way?" Jarod asked in confusion.

Sydney nodded and moved to close the grate after him. "Come on," he urged, extinguishing the flashlight again. "We have to get you away from here."

"Everybody keeps saying that," Jarod commented in confusion, but prepared himself to follow instructions again. This Sydney seemed to know what he was doing and where he needed to go – and it was better than sitting around in that tiny little cell with nothing else to do…

oOoOo

Sam stood while the duty sweeper examined the ID tag that he'd removed from Jarod's collar. There was blood on the tag – Sam had taken his knife and given himself a tiny cut on the side of the leg near the ankle and then dabbed some of his own blood on it to make it look as if it had been retrieved AFTER the bullet to the brain. "Good work, Silva," was the satisfied word. "Consider yourself excused for the rest of this shift – and be ready for something better than simple guard duty when you come back next time."

"Thanks!" Sam beamed and then made quick tracks out of the office. From the looks of things, they had bought the ruse – and with any luck, Angelo had delivered Jarod to Sydney and the two of them were on their way back to Dover and the safe house. The plan had worked out even better than he'd hoped – but now to cobble one together that would see Miss Parker free of this place. That would be much more difficult.

Seemingly nonchalantly, Sam strolled toward the Computer Technology Department. This late at night, there would be few in the corridors – and by remaining dressed in the duty-specified black suit, he wouldn't call much attention to himself as being out of place. The door to the department's computer lab was standing open – and Broots was on his feet and leaning against the wall at the back of the room, downing a carbonated drink.

Sam waited until the movement in the doorway caught Broots' attention, then mouthed the word 'rest room' to him and moved away. Broots choked on the very next swallow of his drink, but recovered and threw the can in the recycling receptacle nearby and headed off in the direction of the nearest rest room.

"What?" the technician demanded after the door had finally swung closed on the two of them apparently alone.

Sam checked each stall, and then glanced up to check the condition of the surveillance camera. Centre security ran random surveillance of the rest rooms – but tended not to leave the cameras on for any length of time so as not to tempt an invasion of privacy lawsuit from one or more of the lower employees who were still naïve enough to think they worked for a 'regular' corporation. As luck would have it, the camera in this rest room on that night was turned off – and Sam disconnected the lead wire to it, just in case it was scheduled to come on anytime soon. "I just got Jarod out," he told the tech in a terse voice, "when I found out he was scheduled for termination."

"Termination?" Broots' pale face faded away by another shade again. "I thought he'd be valuable…"

"Only as a sperm donor," Sam grumbled in disgust, "and evidently they have all of THAT they think they'll need. Angelo and I took care of it – but it's time to start thinking of finding Miss P."

Broots shook his head. "I've been peeking off and on – but nothing with her name on it has come past lately."

"Look harder – look deeper," Sam growled at him. "If they're ready to terminate Jarod, God only knows what they're willing to do to her."

"Jeez…"

"And that reminds me," Sam remembered and moved closer to his cohort. "Until or unless Jarod remembers who the hell he is and what he can do in time to come up with another plan, I have one – but it involves Debbie…"

"Now you wait just a minute." Broots' face grew hard. "Risking my own neck is one thing, but I don't want her involved…"

"I'm thinking that she might be the key to bringing this whole place down, Broots," Sam insisted fervently. "You know what they're trying to do with that damned amnesia formula – do you REALLY want them to have the chance to put that stuff in the hands of terrorists?"

"No, but I don't want Debbie in danger for one minute either," Broots retorted.

"If things go as I intend them to, she won't be," Sam assured him, "because we'd time it just right so that she'd be with me the whole time – and I'll make sure to keep her safe."

Broots looked at the sweeper skeptically. "Just exactly what is it that you have in mind?"

oOoOo

"Sydney!"

The psychiatrist quickly put out his arms and gathered the girl who threw herself at him as he walked through the door to him. "I'm here, cheri," he murmured to her, concerned that she was trembling so badly. "I came back – and look what I brought with me!"

Debbie raised her head from Sydney's chest and looked beyond him as he turned. "Jarod!" She smiled and leaned back against the man who had been her guardian for so long now. "They got you out in one piece!"

Jarod's face folded in confusion. This setting had the stamp of a family unit – one to which it seemed possible he might belong. "I guess they did," he said in a hesitant voice.

"Come now, cheri, Jarod's probably hungry," Sydney soothed at Debbie until she released her stranglehold on him after giving him a noisy bus on the cheek. He turned to his former student. "Are you hungry?"

Jarod shrugged. Was he hungry? Did he know how he could tell such a thing? "I suppose," he said noncommittally. The one meal he did remember was a tasteless goo that looked even worse than it tasted. He worked his mouth, finding that one of the only memories he could actually claim was the attempt to get the taste of that horrid stuff out of his mouth with water from the sink over the commode in his cell.

Sydney smiled at the expression. "Whatever it was they fed you in there – we have much better out here!" He swept a fond hand over Debbie's close-shorn locks. "Why don't you heat him up some of that casserole we had for supper?" he suggested.

Debbie smiled up at him and then headed over to the refrigerator to make a quick meal for a hungry man. She spooned a healthy portion of the evening's meal onto a plate and slipped it into the microwave. Meanwhile Jarod, feeling completely out of place in this thoroughly domestic setting, slid into one of the kitchen chairs and tried to make himself inconspicuous – although he had to admit to himself that this was much preferable to the way that angry man had treated him before…

Sydney seated himself across the table from his former student and studied his face carefully. This memory-bereft Jarod's emotions were on the surface and easily understood by anybody who cared to observe. "You're safe here," he reassured the tall man in a melodious voice. "I know things must be very confusing to you right now…"

Jarod looked at the older man with muted frustration. "Everybody says that they know me – that I know them – but I Just… Can't… Remember!" His hands closed into fists and he pounded very lightly on the tabletop, as if afraid that any sign of rebellion would result in regrettable backlash.

"We just need to find a key to trigger your memories to return," Sydney told the anxious young man in a calm voice designed carefully to soothe. "But we have plenty of time for that now – I hope. Right now, just enjoy your meal and know that you're safe."

"Where was I – and why was everybody so anxious to get me out of there?" Jarod eyed the plate that Debbie was setting down in front of him cautiously until he got his first whiff of the food. Sydney watched him pick up his spoon and cautiously slip a very tiny taste into his mouth and roll it over his tongue. "It's very good!" he commented in surprise and smiled, and then dug in with gusto.

"We needed to get you out of there because you were scheduled to be killed," Sydney explained patiently, nodding when Jarod looked up at him with wide and startled eyes. "That's what Sam – the man who got you to Angelo – was supposed to be doing."

Suddenly Jarod understood Sam's statement about, 'That's why you're going in there," referring to the ventilation ducts, 'instead of THERE,' referring to the roaring flames in the huge furnace. "He was supposed to kill me?" Sydney nodded. "Why?"

"I would imagine you'd outlived your usefulness," the psychiatrist replied candidly and sadly. "I wouldn't worry about it much right now. Eat your supper," he pointed at the food, and Jarod dug in again without hesitation. "We'll work on your memory in the morning – when we're all more rested."

Jarod ate with quiet concentration until the plate was absolutely clean, and then looked up. "You were right," he stated with the beginnings of a happy smile, "the food is MUCH better out here."

Sydney nodded with a small smile of gratitude. "I'm glad you liked it. But it's late – and I'm exhausted, and no doubt you're tired as well. I'll show you to your room…"

"MY room?" Jarod's eyes bulged. "Have I been here before?"

Debbie giggled. "This is YOUR house, Jarod – at least, that's what you told me."

Jarod turned startled eyes back to Sydney, whom he was rapidly coming to view as the one person with the roadmap to his sanity. Sydney nodded. "It's true," he affirmed gently.

Debbie bent and gave Sydney a hug about the neck. "I'm pooped – and I'm going to call it a day. Besides, I have morning shift tomorrow…"

"Debbie…" Sydney's eyes had narrowed warily. "I'm not sure if this is a good time for you to be out…"

Her shoulders slumped. "Oh, please don't let us argue about this again, Sydney. My hair's short, it's a different color, the name on my ID and on my employment record is Geert, and supposedly I'm eighteen. There's nothing that would lead them to me."

"I just worry about you, ma petite," he responded, turning to her and hugging her back. "I promised your father that I'd take care of you as if you were my own – and right now, I'm not exactly feeling very secure."

"That's my fault," Jarod mumbled, not intending to be heard.

"No, it's not your fault," Sydney corrected his former student. "It's just the consequence of the situation at hand. If the Centre finds out what we've done – granted that's a fairly big IF – then they're going to be out in force looking for the three of us again."

Jarod looked up. "Again?" he repeated.

"I promise I won't call any attention to myself," Debbie promised in a slightly wheedling voice. "I've kept my promise so far, haven't I?"

Sydney looked at her. "No side trips on the way over or back," he bargained with her. "You go straight to work and come straight home."

"I can do that," she hugged him again. "I'll see you in the morning." She accepted a kiss on the cheek and then turned to wave at Jarod. "See you in the morning, Jarod."

"See you…" Jarod mimicked the farewell, then turned confused eyes on Sydney. "Will I ever fit in again?"

"Come on," Sydney told him, rising and extending his hand to give Jarod a boost to his feet. "You'll feel better in the morning."

Jarod followed the older man as he led him through the house and then up the stairs. "The door at the end of the hall is your room," Sydney stated, pointing. "Bathroom is to the left. Sleep yourself out – you've earned it."

"Thanks, I guess." Jarod moved slowly down the hallway, hearing Sydney head back down the stairs behind him. Cautiously he put out his hand and slowly opened the door to the room designated as 'his' and reached around the corner almost automatically for the light switch.

The room wasn't as neat as the rest of the house – there were clothes tossed on some of the furniture, and the bed looked as if the sleeper had just climbed out of it. Jarod moved about the room, looking and cautiously touching things without picking anything up or moving it. It was like walking into somebody else's life – and the fit wasn't all that good yet.

He really was tired – the long crawl through the metal ductwork and the long climb up that ladder that seemed virtually endless had taken a lot out of him, and the stress of being a known quantity by everybody around him but himself was taking its toll as well. With a sigh, he landed on the edge of the bed on the side that had been slept in – funny how he was drawn automatically to that side of the bed. Without even really thinking about it, he toed off his shoes, finding the thunk as each one hit the floor remotely comforting. Where he had been the floor had been cement – and no sound had been made by his shoes hitting that solid surface.

One more time he looked around the room, and then his eyes lit upon the fact that the drawer to the nightstand right by his pillow was slightly pulled out. Feeling a bit like a voyeur – and then wondering where he would have learned such a concept to begin with – he pulled open the drawer, and then stared. Inside was a plastic head of a rabbit, done in grays and whites, stuck to a straight container of some kind that was about six inches long.

He couldn't resist – this had the look and feel of something that perhaps a child would enjoy. He tinkered with it – turning it first this way and then that, trying to figure out a way to see what was in the long container. Then, accidentally, he brushed the head just right and it tipped back – exposing a small rectangular block of something that protruded slightly.

Jarod frowned slightly and carefully pinched the little block from its place – whereupon the head flopped back into place. He lifted the little block to his nose and sniffed at it, and an enticing odor wafted from it. Evidently it was a food, and was meant to be eaten. Slowly he placed the little block on his tongue and then drew it in where it could begin to dissolve.

It was incredibly sweet – with a fruity tang that was so familiar. I know this taste, Jarod thought to himself in astonishment. This is… Pez! With that, his world seemed to tip and spin out of control for a moment, while voices seemed to come at him from every direction:

"My name is Sydney, and I'll be taking care of you for a while."

"It's still 'you run, I chase,'"

"…and you shot and killed both women didn't you – DIDN'T YOU!?"

"What?"

"Have you ever been fishing, Sydney?"

"Focus, Jarod – see what the pilot saw. What do the controls tell you?"

"Are you a doctor?"

"I am today…"

"You will do as you are told – and you will do only that."

"Have a drink with me, Jarod, while I'm still buyin'…"

"Don't be stupid, Jarod – I know things… things about your family…"

"Hello, Jarod. My name is Sydney…"

"Hey, there, Jay-Rod…"

"Jarod, STOP!!"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can still remember the girl who gave me my first kiss…"

Jarod opened his eyes and found himself lying prone on the bed, bedclothes clutched tightly in his hands. As he did, it was as if the floodgates were opened, and the events and memories of a lifetime filled his mind to overflowing. Who he was, where he was, what he was, and…

His brows furled. Now he could remember what had happened in the Centre in relation to the rest of his life – and the anger surged within him. They had stolen his life – again! Only this time, they'd tried to make a robot out of him, then tried to make him into a Pretender without a soul, and then stolen what little memory he had when things began to click the last time.

This was the final, the very last straw. The Centre had interfered in his life for the last time. When he got up the next morning, he'd demand to talk to Miss Parker and see what could be done to put an end to the madness once and for all.

The thought of Miss Parker suddenly brought him to a stand-still. SHE was trapped in the Centre – THAT was why he'd been caught! He'd been trying to get to her.

They'd pay, he decided with a flush of cold fury. They'd finally gone too far – and they'd pay. And God help anybody who got in his way of giving Raines and Lyle and Willy and all of them the well-deserved payback that they had coming to them.

And with a sigh of utter relief and thankfulness for not being lost anymore, Jarod closed his eyes and put his arm across his face – and for the first time in recent, and past, memory, slept soundly until long after dawn.