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Lord, Grant Me The Freedom…
Part 9


"The outward freedom that we shall attain will only be in exact proportion to the inward freedom to which we may have grown at a given moment. And if this is the correct view of freedom, our chief energy must be concentrated on achieving reform from within."
Mahatma Gandhi


Admitting

July 3, 2000
36 weeks to go.
Sitting on the bed, the last rays of the sun lighting the room, Jarod looked around the room. For some reason, this was his favourite time of day. It was always peaceful, for some reason. Jarod liked to believe that the setting sun, often turning the blank walls a pale pink, had something to do with it.

This had always been his favourite time of day, especially when the weather was so lovely. Even in the Centre, he had liked to remember the few sunsets he had seen through the barred windows of his cell, before they moved him into his larger room, with no windows at all. Upon his escape, he had tried to always find time to enjoy the setting sun. He found it incomprehensible that people could just walk past it without caring. It wasn't something that he could ever ignore.

Suddenly the wind changed direction and began blowing gently through the bars and into the cell. Jarod closed his eyes and lifted his head slightly, appreciating the warmth that came with it. The summer had been unusually cold that year, with almost wintery weather replacing the usual warmth. Now, with the breeze, came the faint sound of music.

Leaning over, Jarod flicked on the small radio, a new possession he had placed next to the bed, and switched it on. After a second or so, he found the station and listened, numbly to the words.

"A winter's day
In a deep and dark December
I am alone
Gazing from my window
To the streets below
On a freshly fallen shroud of snow
I am a rock
I am an island..."


July 3, 2000
Miss Parker looked down at the report. One small explosion. That had been all. But it was more than enough. 'Sometimes you look so like your mother.' The final words. The last ever sentence. But there were no tears and no pain. She recalled the agony of her mother's death. The pain from that ran as deep as it ever had. But this was different and she couldn't explain it. So she didn't try. It was funny, but the one thing that hurt most was the fact that it hadn't been Jarod who had told her first. She was getting used to him providing the information that was always verified later. But now there was just a single piece of paper - a report of the Centre Office in Washiington, with the death of all members of staff.

Suddenly the oppressive silence of her office was too much to bear. She began to feel as though the walls were closing in and, in desparation, she reached over and turned on a small radio she kept near her desk. The music of a song flowed into the room, seeming to destroy the silence. Miss Parker paid little attention to the first verse, but the second...

"I've built walls
A fortress deep and mighty
That none may penetrate
I have no need for friendship
Friendship causes pain
It's laughter and loving I disdain
I am a rock
I am an island..."


July 3, 2000
Sydney continued to sit in the chair in Jarod's old apartment. For once, he had turned on the light and he looked around the room out of eyes that seemed to have age during the past three months. He had fought the idea that he was worrying. What, after all, was Jarod? Nothing more than a project, a lab rat as Miss Parker had so often dubbed him. It was Nicholas who should have meant more to Sydney.

That was why he had removed Jarod's photo from his desk and replaced it with one of his son. His real son. Revealed to him by another son. But that wasn't right. There was no connection, and there would never be a connection. Especially now, when the frail strands that bound them together had obviously been completely destroyed. Jarod had, no doubt, become so immersed in the outside world that he had forgotten Sydney completely, remembering only once in three months, to send him a message.

And it was so final, so complete. It ended the circle that had begun more than forty years earlier. And now Sydney was alone. His son was friendly enough but there was no real connection and the older man knew it. Nicholas would be unlikely to spare many thoughts for the man who had never even seen him grow up into adulthood. Sydney had watched another grow, seen him develop, and then lost him forever in a moment's oversight, when the boy, after becoming a man, had taken his chance and fled. And suddenly Sydney didn't want to be alone. He stared blankly at the radio on the desk for a few seconds without knowing what it was before the information slammed into his brain and, for lack of anything else to do, he switched it on.

"I have my books
And my poetry to protect me
I am shielded in my armor
Hiding in my room
Safe within my womb
I touch no-one and no-one touches me
I am a rock
I am an island
And the rock feels no pain
And the island never cries."


*Lyrics from Simon and Garfunkel’s “I Am A Rock”









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