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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Part 8
"Freedom is from within."
Frank Lloyd Wright
Living
June 26, 2000
37 weeks to go.
Jarod scratched another mark off the wall and sat with his legs pulled up to his chest and a smile on his face. He had found that there were things you could learn even in jail, if you were willing to get involved. It had taken a few days, but he was nearly back to the strength and energy that he had had during his first few days in the cell, before it had been worn away on pointless activity and extreme emotion. Simply recalling those first few days wiped the smile from his face and created a pucker on his forehead. His anger, directed at himself and his situation, created an unpleasant and unreasonable memory to look back on.
He had been close to admitting the truth about the con to anyone who would have listened and walked free. At the memory, Jarod reached into a small pouch that lay on the chair beside the bed and pulled out a folded photo. Looking at it, Jarod examined each of the six figures in the photo, the young couple and their four young children, and hardened his resolve to stay where he was.
Escape had, of course, been an option. He had thought about it almost constantly for the first few days. There were several strong arguments, though, for him to remain where he was. An escape attempt would be more difficult than in the Centre. There he had an intricate knowledge of everything to do with the place. Here, he knew only his immediate area.
Also, an escape attempt, even if not successful, could result in publicity, which might bring the Centre to him. Having adopted a new identity, including, for once, a new Christian name, he knew that he would be almost impossible to track down. But his photo in the paper would end all that.
Finally, the more he made himself known to the authorities, the greater the likelihood that his fake identity might be uncovered and the man in the photo would be torn away from his family.
Jarod had enough experience of that himself to know what it could do and the thought that an innocent man and his family would all suffer was enough to keep Jarod quiet about the truth.
June 28, 2000
Parker stared at the fragments of the mirror on the desk. Somehow it had seemed important to keep every piece, no matter how small. She had gathered them carefully, while Sydney watched, and had then left the room without speaking.
Something had drawn them both to that place, but she didn't want to admit to herself or anyone else that it might have been concern. Still she fought her own feelings, as she had been doing for years, and fighting to hide them under the hard exterior that seemed to become more brittle every day. One day it would crack and break, exposing all of the pain that was underneath. The thought of that was her deepest fear. Especially now, when she had no one to turn to for help.
She still wrote the reports to her father every week. Initially he had responded, just a short message but it made her feel loved and wanted. Slowly they had become less frequent, until finally, they had stopped altogether. In that way had she been abandoned. By Jarod, by her father and even by Sydney.
They hadn't spoken since the scene in Jarod's old room, as if by some mutual agreement. Even in the moments when she had wanted to speak, she had found that she was too scared to face Sydney. Her fear that he would understand what she had difficulty saying was as great as the fear that he wouldn't.
June 30, 2000
Sydney sat down in the chair. After coming every day to the same place for more than a week, he didn't need the lights to show him where to go. He couldn't explain why he made the pilgrimage down to this place every day, nor why he performed such a ritualistic act, pausing to look down the long-abandoned corridors and then pausing as the door opened, as though expecting to hear the shatter of breaking glass, as he had when Parker had dropped the mirror.
He made his way, always around the left side of the desk, until his foot hit the chair. Then he turned and cautiously sat himself in it. It was possible, in such a situation, to feel as if you were entirely alone in the world and Sydney could never decide whether it was a feeling he liked or not.
He pulled out the note Jarod had sent him. He had no need to see it - the words were engraved on his memory and heart. It was the thing he had asked for so long ago and which the Pretender had not been willing to give. Jarod's forgiveness. But now, finally, when it had been given, it couldn't be accepted. The magnitude of the past, now finally coming home to haunt Sydney, determined that.
