Notes

All characters (outside my own creations) belong to Craig W. Van Sickle & Steven Long Mitchell. This is written purely for entertainment purposes.

The Centre

Blue Cove, Delaware

The heavy click of Miss Parker's heels punctuated the implied menace of her approach. She strode, briskly, through the open doorway of Sydney's office; the psychiatrist glancing up. He noted, seemingly unsurprised by the intrusion, the absence of Broots behind her. The late hour only confirmed his suspicions as to the nature of their coming discussion. Slipping the file he was holding into his briefcase, he greeted her with, "Something I can do for you, Miss Parker?"

"Well, I certainly hope so, Sydney." The sound of heels came to a stop at the edge of his desk. "In case you hadn't noticed, it's officially been six months."

The psychiatrist nodded, humming to himself. He had, of course, noticed. Marked the date in his personal calendar a little over three weeks prior despite the vague hope it might end up being meaningless. Hoped, against hope it seemed, that Jarod would contact him within that time; but the pretender had not. No one at the Centre, in fact, had seen or heard from Jarod since their last attempt to capture him.

Miss Parker continued; her face contorted into a tight smile made sharper in the room's low lighting. "Six months and not one word, clue, or annoying prank from boy wonder. Any idea why that is?"

The psychiatrist smirked. Turning absently to the chair behind him, he pulled it into place behind the desk before bracing his arms against the back of it. Favoring the woman standing across from him with an almost paternal smile, he said, "If there is something you wish to accuse me of, Miss Parker, then just say it."

Her blue eyes flashed like ice chips as her own smile dropped. She leaned across the table towards him, each word carefully enunciated in her reply. "Have you been in contact with him?"

He met her gaze. A silent war of wills sprung between them as it often did when the topic of Jarod came up. Like so many times before, after a moment, Sydney gave the appearance of concession with softly spoken, "No."

"And I'm just supposed to believe you?

"Believe what you want. I have no reason to lie."

"Today at least."

An exasperated sigh broke past him. An actual victory on her part that they both immediately recognized. She straightened, something like concern making the smallest crack through her air of professionalism. "Syd, if you know something."

"I don't know what other information you believe I can provide, Miss Parker." He cut her off hastily, scrambling for a reason he didn't quite understand, to regain control of the conversation. "Other than my repeated warnings to you and others that angering Jarod would lead to him breaking contact permanently."

And anger him, they had, the last time Jarod was in their sights. Mr. Lyle, in his eagerness to improve his position within the tower or subvert his sister's by catching the pretender first, had sprung their carefully planned trap a day early, resulting in a car accident which almost killed the young mother and son Jarod had been assisting. While he, Sydney, and Miss Parker had managed to catch on to Lyle's scheme and get the woman to a hospital in time, Broots keeping the miraculously unharmed boy calm; Jarod had been forced to flee Lyle's sweeper team. Sydney had received a brief, furious admonishment from Jarod that evening, after assuring the pretender of the woman's survival. It was the last time either of them had spoken.

What worried Sydney most was the apparent lack of concern shown by Jarod for the woman and boy after. To his reckoning, no mysterious donations or thefts from the Centre's funds were made attempting to pay for the woman's medical bills. Lyle, in a rare show of remorse or more likely on orders from his father, had been the one to see the funds were fully remitted. Ongoing Centre surveillance on the woman, her phone, and mail revealed no further contact from Jarod. And Sydney had begun to fear the cause of such absence.

"Please." Miss Parker's voice dragged him from his revery to find her posture had finally begun to relax. With her father's directive now met, the mask of authority she wielded like a sword and shield was tucked away for use on another battlefield. In its place, and in the relative safety of their surroundings, she allowed the barest sliver of fear to peek out from behind her eyes. "You and I both know The Centre has done far worse in our pursuit of him; and Jarod has still always maintained contact. We have what he wants."

"Or so some would have us believe," Sydney replied coolly, moving to organize the remaining pile of folders on his desk. Miss Parker watched, eyes flitting once to the unclosed briefcase between them. "But you're right. This is an unusually long period for him to go without reaching out."

"I don't like it, Syd. It's not like Jarod to just disappear. Not this long. Not when he-" A brief pause drew his attention to her again. Her eyes were closed in a pained expression. "When he lives to torment me."

She opened them to find a genuine smile on the older man's face. A smile that graciously dropped at her immediate glare.

"Torment may be a strong word." he replied, trying to reassure her. I'm worried about him, too.

"Is it possible he-," Her voice dropped. The thought, voicing it and its implications, chilled her to the core. "Could he have found his family?"

Sydney tilted his head to the right, considering the question for a moment; then shrugged. "Anything's possible. But I doubt even finding them would lead to his total absence. Not immediately at least." He paused. "Not with the questions you still have left unanswered."

Her mother's death. Her father's duplicity. The yawning chasm of her family's drama and Jarod's knowledge of it was not something Miss Parker was in the mood to examine. Here, now, or anywhere else. Besides, she reasoned to herself, finding Mommy and Daddy would nullify the need for the arrangement Jarod so often tried to convince her to agree to.

"Changing the subject." Her tone brokered no argument as her gaze turned to his still open briefcase and the small pile of folders therein. "Taking work home with you?"

"I've found an occasional change of scenery allows for a fresher perspective," Sydney relented, as if recognizing how far down that train of thought she had already pushed herself. "I've begun running an experiment on traumatic memory recall-."

She held up a hand to stop him, "As fascinating as that may be, I honestly don't care. My job for the day is done. If you hear anything from Jarod, call me." She turned to leave. "Have a good night, Syd."

"Good night to you, too, Miss Parker."

Sydney's townhouse had been in his possession for approximately seven years now. Originally a temporary rental, he had grown attached to the structure; or as attached as he ever allowed himself to any location he'd called home since the war. When his original landlord, a lovely woman in her nineties, had passed; he'd bought the property from her granddaughter, who seemed more than willing to be rid of it. Thirty minutes from the care center he had hidden Jacob in, it once provided the closest proximity to his brother he could afford while his twin was still alive. Even now, the irrational debt of that proximity kept him from moving on.

It did not, however, prevent him from noticing the scratches around the lock of his front door. Tracing the three slashes with his finger, obvious even in the dim light from his porch lamp, he pulled out his house key and turned it in the lock. Whoever had tried to break into his home either failed or was smart enough to remember to re-lock the door. Meaning they were potentially still there. Glancing over his shoulder at the Centre driver watching him from the sedan parked at the bottom of the townhouse's front steps, he debated alerting the sweeper to the possible break-in. The only thing stopping him was the faint hope of the intruder's identity. Giving the driver a brief, conciliatory wave, Sydney made his choice and stepped into the house's dark hallway.

"Jarod?" He called out in a half-whisper, not trusting any of the Centre authorities to not have the place bugged. "Jarod, are you here?"

Just in case, he reached for the small handgun he continued to keep on his person. Holding his breath, he listened. There was nothing at first. No ominous creak of sound of movement to suggest he was not the only occupant in the building. Cautiously, he flicked on the hallway lights, half-remembering the sweeper outside might still be watching. A shuffle of footsteps sounded from his study.

Sydney made for the room, finding the door closed but unlatched. Pressing the tips of his free fingers gently against the pane of wood, he allowed it to swing open wide enough to reveal a shadowy figure sitting in the room's far corner.

"Jarod!"

"Guess again." The voice was young and female. The shadow flickered as a hand reached up to pull the lamp chord. Yellow light streamed across the far corner of the room, revealing young brunette woman sitting cross-legged in the grey wing chair tucked beside the lamp. The nine-millimeter in her left hand remained confidently pointed in his direction.

"Who are you?" The psychiatrist demanded.

"Sydney, isn't it?" Her green eyes passed over him, assessing him and the gun in his hand. "First, lose the pistol. Second, Let's just say I'm a…friend of Jarod's. He needs your help."