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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Part 4
"The basic test of freedom is perhaps less in what we are free to do than in what we are free not to do."
Eric Hoffer
Suffering
May 3, 2000
Jarod curled up on the bed, his chin resting on his knees, and allowed his thoughts to flow freely for the first time. Most painful to him was his current surroundings, the worse because he had done nothing to deserve them and he knew that. But to admit to his deception would also result in an innocent man going to jail, and this innocent man had a family who needed him to support them and keep them alive. Whereas he, Jarod, had no one. He thought about the people that he considered family - and wondered if they would want to know him with the stain of prison on him. It was something that he could hardly bear on himself.
Suddenly Jarod sat upright and stared out of the window. He had lasted for two months without contacting them but suddenly his brain screamed that it couldn't wait any longer. His action caused the small window in the large, bolted door to open and the guard looked in, a curious expression on his face. Jarod ignored the expression and asked the question that now filled his mind.
"Am I allowed to write? Letters, I mean."
Just in time he remembered to use the slightly deepened voice of the man he was pretending to be. The guard, whose interest in the prisoner had been increasing daily since his arrival and was now pleased to see him interested in something other than himself, smiled and unlocked the door.
"Sure." He handed over a small pad of paper that sat on a table outside the cell and pulled a pencil out of his pocket. "I have to stay here while you do it, but I'll sit over here," the tall man pulled the chair over into corner and, rocking back on it, looked out of the small, barred window. "That will give you some privacy to do it."
Jarod smiled his appreciation and, seizing the pencil, quickly jotted down the brief messages he had in mind. Then he folded over the pages and scribbled the relevant address on both.
"Is it possible to send these without an address?"
"Sure, if that's the way you want to do it." The guard grinned and took the papers and pencil from the eager hand. He turned and left the room, looking once back over his shoulder. The grin dropped from his face as he saw that the prisoner had resumed his former position, with no sign that he had ever moved.
May 18, 2000
Miss Parker looked down at the small piece of paper on her desk bearing only three words. 'Cherish your freedom.' No signature but, after four years of such messages, she hardly needed one. It had been impossible to work out what she felt when Broots had dropped it onto her desk. The impossibility, however, had only been a personal one as she refused to accept the relief within her that he had contacted them again.
She had seen Sydney's reaction when the small note was delivered to the office and she had seen the speed with which he had torn it open and quickly read the short message it contained. Although she had tried, it had been impossible for her to read any of the three words which constituted Sydney's note. Despite sending Broots to look for it, she hadn't managed to find it and wondered whether it meant so much to Sydney that he carried it on his person.
Parker picked up the envelope that also lay on the desk and held it up to the light. There were no other hints hidden in the envelope, as she had first supposed, and she now held up the small scrap of paper to the bright overhead light and carefully examined it.
"Always suspicious, Angel."
Parker looked up in time to see her father walk in through the door and stood up, walking around the desk for his expected kiss.
"Daddy, what a suprise. I haven't seen you for such a long time."
"Well, I've been busy."
May 18, 2000
Broots flipped through the many pages of text that filled the screen, searching for any sight of the familiar name. The figure standing behind him acted as an incentive to ensure that he wasted no time with questions or other interruptions.
"There's nothing here, sir."
"There must be. Keep looking." The voice rasped the words, just above his head, and the technician kept his eyes firmly fixed on the screen. There was another long period, during which Broots desperately scanned the pages and searched for something, anything that might get Raines out of the room. Finally, with an impatient wave of his arm, one of the most feared people in the Centre swept the younger man off his seat and allowed another figure to take his place.
"Angelo, find me something. Anything. Find the details that this idiot overlooked."
Broots stood, hesitantly, at the back of the room, not wanting to leave but terrified to stay longer than he had to. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to the terrified figure, Raines turned to him.
"Are you still here?"
"No," replied Broots, and then he wasn't, going to obey the other set of orders, given to him by Miss Parker to report to her everything that he had done and Raines had said…
