Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
BANG! A shot rang out through the humid air that rushed past Jarod as he flew across the road in a desperate, futile race against time. He leaned forwards on the motorcycle, weaving to avoid the shots. Another shot followed, and a third. The back tire exploded and he tumbled onto the unforgiving pavement, the impact forced the air from his chest. As the tar burned across his skin, he knew that this race was finished – and lost. He struggled to his knees as a car full of the despised hunters swerved in front of him. Brigitte hopped gleefully out of the car, her gun drawn, with Lyle in pursuit. Jarod looked sadly up at the pair and gave up his pointless attempt to rise. Brigitte spun the lollipop in her mouth. She smiled with childish joy at the sight of Jarod’s bruised and broken body lying in front of her. The helicopter landed neatly behind them. Raines walked purposely around him. Jarod glared at the pale corpse with white-hot hatred.
“Welcome back to the Centre, Jarod,” he said, not even trying to contain his sickening satisfaction.
Jarod lowered his head, excepting his fate.
The sweepers that flanked Raines sprung forward and lifted him up to his feet dragging him towards the helicopter. They paused when Raines approached Jarod, leaning his ashen face close. “Welcome back to your hell,” he whispered.
The sweepers pulled him into the helicopter, and handcuffed him to the handle of the chair where they had tossed him. Jarod passed out.
Jarod felt a warm, thick cloth pressing against his face. The loud beat if a helicopter drowned out his moans of pain. He could not breathe; he started to panic. He felt extremely disoriented. Where was he? What had happened? Someone pulled his head back by his hair. He faced a huge and powerful-looking sweeper. Sam. He shouted something to him but, over the drone of the helicopter and the pounding of his head, Jarod could not make it out. When Sam let go of him, he fell back against Sam. Sam grabbed his hair again, snapping his head back. “Get up!” He ordered and released him. Jarod fell to the floor cradling his neck. He coughed weakly and raised his head. Lyle crouched in front of him clasping his hands. When Lyle reached out to Jarod, he jerked backwards in surprise, sending spasms of pain down his back. “Get up,” Lyle ordered. Jarod lashed out at him weakly. Lyle agilely caught his arm mid-swing, pulled him up, and spun him around. Lyle bent Jarod’s arm back until he cried out. Jarod shuttered and tried to pull his arm free. Lyle flicked a knife out from his pocket and slit it across the pretender’s arm. Jarod twisted in agony and squeezed his eyes shut. “Please,” he whispered, “Please stop.”
“That’s it, Jarod, I want to hear you beg. Beg me to not hurt you.”
“Screw you,” Jarod replied.
Lyle released his arm and turned Jarod so he faced him. A fine stream of blood trickled down his arm, soaking into his torn shirt. “You will be back at the Centre soon,” Jarod flinched slightly, “Shhh, stop it, there’s no changing that Jarod. You will be under my direction. I want you to follow all my instruction, no matter what I tell you to do.”
“I will never help you,” Jarod spat.
“Oh, I think you will, Jarod. You don’t want me to hurt Daddy or the boy, do you?”
“They escaped.”
Lyle grinned, “That’s what you saw, yes.”
When the helicopter landed on the pristine lawn near the Centre, several sweepers surrounded it. Sam pulled Jarod out and into the arms of the sweepers. “Bring him inside,” Lyle ordered over the whirring of the blades. Jarod weakly fought against the people dragging him towards a set of metal doors. They hurriedly pushed him through, despite his attempts. A shiver ran down Jarod’s spine, the cool air was not entirely the cause. The double doors lead to a dim hallway. At the end of the hall sat an elevator.
They entered the elevator with Lyle and Sam. Lyle’s gloved hand pressed the round white button that read: “SL-27.” Jarod shifted anxiously between the two sweepers holding him. The movement seemed to give Lyle an idea. “Okay, Jarod, don’t want to go yet?” He stopped the elevator’s closing doors. “Out,” he barked and stepped back into the hallway. The three sweepers followed with Jarod in tow.
“I think that the rest of the Centre should know you’re here.”
They marched down another hallway, which lead them into a comfortable looking lobby. Dozens of people were walking around going off on their business; some giving strange looks at Lyle. Others, that seemed to recognize Jarod, started whispering excitedly among each other. Lyle stopped in the middle of the lobby.
“Attention, please!” He shouted and beckoned the sweepers forward. They dragged Jarod to Lyle. People around them stopped and looked expectedly at Lyle who grabbed Jarod and held him tightly. He turned so everyone could see as he spoke. Jarod lowered his head in shame. He went limp, submitting to Lyle’s control, hating himself for it. Lyle continued. “We are back in business!”
The gathering crowd looked confused, but took the hint from Lyle’s actions and began clapping. Jarod looked at them in disgust. Lyle whispered to Jarod, “They’re clapping for you, you’re home now.”
Lyle spent several hours parading the humiliated pretender around the Centre. Jarod’s body ached from the crash and he was exhausted from struggling with the sweepers by the time Lyle dragged him into Mr. Parker’s office. Mr. Parker did not speak for several minutes; he just stared at Jarod, thinking, with his eyes slightly squinted. Jarod gratefully sat down in the chair across from Mr. Parker. Lyle cleared his throat. Finally Mr. Parker spoke.
“Good work, son.”
Lyle seemed annoyed at his lack of reaction. He was about to say so when Mr. Parker silenced him.
“You may leave, I would like to talk with Jarod alone.”
Lyle stormed out of the room.
Mr. Parker turned his attention back to Jarod who was looking around the room muttering.
“Glad you’re back.”
Jarod kept muttering, but shifted his gaze to Mr. Parker. “I know you’d rather…”
“Rather, Mr. Parker? I’d rather what? Be free, live my own life, be with my family, get my stolen life back?”
Mr. Parker regarded him. “My daughter will live,” he offered.
Jarod straightened at the news.
“You did an honorable thing out there, you saved her life.”
“Do I get mine in return?” Jarod asked bitterly.
“Jarod, you know you belong here. We need you to help us with projects and…”
“You know that bullet was meant for your head not her back.”
Mr. Parker winced. Realizing their conversation was going nowhere. He picked up his telephone. “Yes, send him back in.”
Moments later, Lyle stocked haughty through the glass doors with Sam. Sam strode over to Jarod and tore him from the chair. Jarod collapsed and Sam shifted to better support him.
“The Centre owns you Jarod. That is what gives us the right. We created you,” Mr. Parker said.
Jarod swung his right fist back into Sam’s face. Sam fell back, surprised, allowing Jarod to dash to Mr. Parker. He grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the back wall. “YOU DO NOT OWN ME!”
Lyle, who had been standing out of the way drew his gun and aimed it a Jarod. “Let him go,” he said. Jarod did not move; his eyes burned. Lyle fired, missing Jarod by raw inches. Jarod glared at Lyle but let go. Sam grabbed his arms, handcuffing him. He spun the pretender around and punched him across the face. Jarod felt the impact, but all he saw was the floor rush up to meet him.
Ice cold water splashed across his face and dripped onto his bare chest. He spat the water out of his mouth at the sweeper holding the bucket. The sweeper slapped him across the face. He looked around the dark room, shivering.
Lyle’s soft voice came from the darkness that surrounded him. “One week age, a fourteen year-old boy named David Gemly was walking through the woods.” Jarod heard a loud grating sound and a spotlight overhead turned on; its beam directed on him. He squinted. By its light, he could barely discern strange shadows that twisted in the murky darkness. “It was a cold night. He had lost his way in the woods. He fell, tearing his shirt.” The sweeper shoved him forward, off the chair. He fell to his knees. “No,” he begged, trying to resist the pretend.
Lyle continued, “The rain started to fall as he continued. David noticed two figures ahead of him.” Two sweepers advanced out of the shadows. The blades of their knives glinted in the light. “He begged for mercy as they approached.”
“Help me, somebody!” Jarod shouted.
“They attacked!”
“NO!” Jarod screamed as the sweepers descended. They ripped at his hands and arms as he cried in pain.
“David!” Lyle shouted, “David, they left you for dead!” The sweepers backed away into the darkness. “You crawled off the path but where did you go, David? The police cannot find you!”
“No! No, I won’t help you!” Jarod dragged himself blindly out of the light. He cradled his slashed arm, kneeling in the middle of the floor. “My name is Jarod!” he shouted.
Lyle stepped close to the light. It cast eerie shadows across his face. “David, your mother cries for you each night. The town prays for your return. Answer their prayers, David. Tell me where you are.”
Jarod screamed.
“Save yourself, David! Tell me where you are. You walked the path by the lake. It’s so cold, David. Did you go to the water, David, did you crawl to the water?”
Jarod let out a weak sob. His voice wavered, “It- it hurts so much. I can’t think. I can’t see.”
Lyle stepped completely into the light. “I can help you, David. Just tell me where you are.”
“I crawl to the water. I, I could swim to the island. It’s not to far. They can’t reach me there. It’s so cold as I start out. I can’t swim well, my arms are numb; I can’t stay up. I CAN’T BREATHE!” Jarod screamed, clawing at his throat.
“David what’s happening?”
“I’m drowning. Help me! I DON'T WANT TO DIE! SOMEONE HELP ME!”
Jarod started to cough violently. His breaths were ragged gasps. He moaned and collapsed to the floor. Lyle heard a loud clatter. Jarod screamed. Lyle motioned for the sweepers to turn on the lights to the rest of the gigantic room.
Jarod lay in a puddle of water near the bucket that the sweeper had used. He shuttered. He reached his hand out to Lyle.
“Refuge, please,” he whispered.
Lyle picked up another bucket. “You’re dead.” He splashed the water over the pretender.
Jarod closed his eyes. His body fell limp.
“Welcome back to the Centre, Jarod,” he said, not even trying to contain his sickening satisfaction.
Jarod lowered his head, excepting his fate.
The sweepers that flanked Raines sprung forward and lifted him up to his feet dragging him towards the helicopter. They paused when Raines approached Jarod, leaning his ashen face close. “Welcome back to your hell,” he whispered.
The sweepers pulled him into the helicopter, and handcuffed him to the handle of the chair where they had tossed him. Jarod passed out.
Jarod felt a warm, thick cloth pressing against his face. The loud beat if a helicopter drowned out his moans of pain. He could not breathe; he started to panic. He felt extremely disoriented. Where was he? What had happened? Someone pulled his head back by his hair. He faced a huge and powerful-looking sweeper. Sam. He shouted something to him but, over the drone of the helicopter and the pounding of his head, Jarod could not make it out. When Sam let go of him, he fell back against Sam. Sam grabbed his hair again, snapping his head back. “Get up!” He ordered and released him. Jarod fell to the floor cradling his neck. He coughed weakly and raised his head. Lyle crouched in front of him clasping his hands. When Lyle reached out to Jarod, he jerked backwards in surprise, sending spasms of pain down his back. “Get up,” Lyle ordered. Jarod lashed out at him weakly. Lyle agilely caught his arm mid-swing, pulled him up, and spun him around. Lyle bent Jarod’s arm back until he cried out. Jarod shuttered and tried to pull his arm free. Lyle flicked a knife out from his pocket and slit it across the pretender’s arm. Jarod twisted in agony and squeezed his eyes shut. “Please,” he whispered, “Please stop.”
“That’s it, Jarod, I want to hear you beg. Beg me to not hurt you.”
“Screw you,” Jarod replied.
Lyle released his arm and turned Jarod so he faced him. A fine stream of blood trickled down his arm, soaking into his torn shirt. “You will be back at the Centre soon,” Jarod flinched slightly, “Shhh, stop it, there’s no changing that Jarod. You will be under my direction. I want you to follow all my instruction, no matter what I tell you to do.”
“I will never help you,” Jarod spat.
“Oh, I think you will, Jarod. You don’t want me to hurt Daddy or the boy, do you?”
“They escaped.”
Lyle grinned, “That’s what you saw, yes.”
When the helicopter landed on the pristine lawn near the Centre, several sweepers surrounded it. Sam pulled Jarod out and into the arms of the sweepers. “Bring him inside,” Lyle ordered over the whirring of the blades. Jarod weakly fought against the people dragging him towards a set of metal doors. They hurriedly pushed him through, despite his attempts. A shiver ran down Jarod’s spine, the cool air was not entirely the cause. The double doors lead to a dim hallway. At the end of the hall sat an elevator.
They entered the elevator with Lyle and Sam. Lyle’s gloved hand pressed the round white button that read: “SL-27.” Jarod shifted anxiously between the two sweepers holding him. The movement seemed to give Lyle an idea. “Okay, Jarod, don’t want to go yet?” He stopped the elevator’s closing doors. “Out,” he barked and stepped back into the hallway. The three sweepers followed with Jarod in tow.
“I think that the rest of the Centre should know you’re here.”
They marched down another hallway, which lead them into a comfortable looking lobby. Dozens of people were walking around going off on their business; some giving strange looks at Lyle. Others, that seemed to recognize Jarod, started whispering excitedly among each other. Lyle stopped in the middle of the lobby.
“Attention, please!” He shouted and beckoned the sweepers forward. They dragged Jarod to Lyle. People around them stopped and looked expectedly at Lyle who grabbed Jarod and held him tightly. He turned so everyone could see as he spoke. Jarod lowered his head in shame. He went limp, submitting to Lyle’s control, hating himself for it. Lyle continued. “We are back in business!”
The gathering crowd looked confused, but took the hint from Lyle’s actions and began clapping. Jarod looked at them in disgust. Lyle whispered to Jarod, “They’re clapping for you, you’re home now.”
Lyle spent several hours parading the humiliated pretender around the Centre. Jarod’s body ached from the crash and he was exhausted from struggling with the sweepers by the time Lyle dragged him into Mr. Parker’s office. Mr. Parker did not speak for several minutes; he just stared at Jarod, thinking, with his eyes slightly squinted. Jarod gratefully sat down in the chair across from Mr. Parker. Lyle cleared his throat. Finally Mr. Parker spoke.
“Good work, son.”
Lyle seemed annoyed at his lack of reaction. He was about to say so when Mr. Parker silenced him.
“You may leave, I would like to talk with Jarod alone.”
Lyle stormed out of the room.
Mr. Parker turned his attention back to Jarod who was looking around the room muttering.
“Glad you’re back.”
Jarod kept muttering, but shifted his gaze to Mr. Parker. “I know you’d rather…”
“Rather, Mr. Parker? I’d rather what? Be free, live my own life, be with my family, get my stolen life back?”
Mr. Parker regarded him. “My daughter will live,” he offered.
Jarod straightened at the news.
“You did an honorable thing out there, you saved her life.”
“Do I get mine in return?” Jarod asked bitterly.
“Jarod, you know you belong here. We need you to help us with projects and…”
“You know that bullet was meant for your head not her back.”
Mr. Parker winced. Realizing their conversation was going nowhere. He picked up his telephone. “Yes, send him back in.”
Moments later, Lyle stocked haughty through the glass doors with Sam. Sam strode over to Jarod and tore him from the chair. Jarod collapsed and Sam shifted to better support him.
“The Centre owns you Jarod. That is what gives us the right. We created you,” Mr. Parker said.
Jarod swung his right fist back into Sam’s face. Sam fell back, surprised, allowing Jarod to dash to Mr. Parker. He grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the back wall. “YOU DO NOT OWN ME!”
Lyle, who had been standing out of the way drew his gun and aimed it a Jarod. “Let him go,” he said. Jarod did not move; his eyes burned. Lyle fired, missing Jarod by raw inches. Jarod glared at Lyle but let go. Sam grabbed his arms, handcuffing him. He spun the pretender around and punched him across the face. Jarod felt the impact, but all he saw was the floor rush up to meet him.
Ice cold water splashed across his face and dripped onto his bare chest. He spat the water out of his mouth at the sweeper holding the bucket. The sweeper slapped him across the face. He looked around the dark room, shivering.
Lyle’s soft voice came from the darkness that surrounded him. “One week age, a fourteen year-old boy named David Gemly was walking through the woods.” Jarod heard a loud grating sound and a spotlight overhead turned on; its beam directed on him. He squinted. By its light, he could barely discern strange shadows that twisted in the murky darkness. “It was a cold night. He had lost his way in the woods. He fell, tearing his shirt.” The sweeper shoved him forward, off the chair. He fell to his knees. “No,” he begged, trying to resist the pretend.
Lyle continued, “The rain started to fall as he continued. David noticed two figures ahead of him.” Two sweepers advanced out of the shadows. The blades of their knives glinted in the light. “He begged for mercy as they approached.”
“Help me, somebody!” Jarod shouted.
“They attacked!”
“NO!” Jarod screamed as the sweepers descended. They ripped at his hands and arms as he cried in pain.
“David!” Lyle shouted, “David, they left you for dead!” The sweepers backed away into the darkness. “You crawled off the path but where did you go, David? The police cannot find you!”
“No! No, I won’t help you!” Jarod dragged himself blindly out of the light. He cradled his slashed arm, kneeling in the middle of the floor. “My name is Jarod!” he shouted.
Lyle stepped close to the light. It cast eerie shadows across his face. “David, your mother cries for you each night. The town prays for your return. Answer their prayers, David. Tell me where you are.”
Jarod screamed.
“Save yourself, David! Tell me where you are. You walked the path by the lake. It’s so cold, David. Did you go to the water, David, did you crawl to the water?”
Jarod let out a weak sob. His voice wavered, “It- it hurts so much. I can’t think. I can’t see.”
Lyle stepped completely into the light. “I can help you, David. Just tell me where you are.”
“I crawl to the water. I, I could swim to the island. It’s not to far. They can’t reach me there. It’s so cold as I start out. I can’t swim well, my arms are numb; I can’t stay up. I CAN’T BREATHE!” Jarod screamed, clawing at his throat.
“David what’s happening?”
“I’m drowning. Help me! I DON'T WANT TO DIE! SOMEONE HELP ME!”
Jarod started to cough violently. His breaths were ragged gasps. He moaned and collapsed to the floor. Lyle heard a loud clatter. Jarod screamed. Lyle motioned for the sweepers to turn on the lights to the rest of the gigantic room.
Jarod lay in a puddle of water near the bucket that the sweeper had used. He shuttered. He reached his hand out to Lyle.
“Refuge, please,” he whispered.
Lyle picked up another bucket. “You’re dead.” He splashed the water over the pretender.
Jarod closed his eyes. His body fell limp.
