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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Part 47
By jojarod50 9/9'03
Disclaimers – see previous parts. I don't own them – TNT
won't use them., but I'm going to see to it that the memory stays
alive.
St. Fransais Hospital
Down town Yellow Bird Island
5:44 A.M. Room 502
Jarod awoke abruptly, startled by a deafening clap of thunder
triggering a horrendous flashback of his clone being riddled with
searing bullets tearing into his flesh, as he curled into a ball
trying to protect himself. While struggling to catch his breath,
another loud clap of thunder nearly sent him over the edge again.
Mercifully this time, he was able to hold his own. Willing himself to
calm back down, he listened as the thunder dissipated into a low
rolling rumble, and heavy rain started pelting the large plate glass
window across the room.
Repositioned his pillow he tried to relax, feeling decidedly anxious,
but strangely enough, unbearably drowsy. Between the pain medication
and the sedative he'd reluctantly been persuaded to take, he felt the
undercurrent of extreme exhaustion pulling him under as he lapsed
into a deep sleep again.
St. Fransais Hospital
Room 502
8:00 A.M.
"Good morning, Agent Charles," the nurse began cautiously,
disappointed that she was unable to avoid startling the hyper-
vigilant young man from his sleep.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she apologized, hating
that she had inadvertently caused her new patient to have an anxiety
attack
Explaining that he no longer needed his I.V., she removed it,
replacing the needle with a smiley face Band-Aid. "There you go. I
hope you'll be able to go back to sleep," she offered
sympathetically.
"Struggling to slow his rapid breathing, Jarod watched as the lady
exited the room, grateful that he would no longer have to endure
being partially ensconced by his I.V. and having an uncomfortably
cold hand.
After rubbing it briskly for a moment or two, he tucked it under his
scanty blanket, and drifted back to sleep.
8:35 A.M.
Mr. Charles, I'm sorry to disturb you, but your breakfast is here,"
an obviously overworked person from dietary encouraged, placing his
tray on his bedside table, and swinging it over his lap.
"Thank you," Jarod managed with a slight smile, as he hit the
up control-button along side his bed allowing himself to be in a
seated position.
Disregarding the Jell-O, chicken broth, and dry toast, he tore open a
couple of sugar packets and dumped them in his coffee. After a quick
stir, he drank it right down, hoping to become more alert.
10:30 A.M.
"Jarod? How are you feeling today?" Sydney asked as he entered the
room, noticing that his charge was less responsive then the day
before.
The pretender slowly opened his eyes at the sound of his
mentor's voice, puzzled that he had fallen asleep after having his
shoulder rebandaged, remembering that he'd been reasonably alert.
"I'm extremely tired, Sydney. I think I'm being severely over-
medicated. Would you consider lowering the dose of the tranquilizer
so I don't sleep my entire life away?" he asked sarcastically,
rubbing a hand over his unshaven face feeling disturbingly
disoriented.
"Of course you're exhausted, Jarod. You've suffered a severe
gunshot wound and deep psychological trauma. Aside from that, you've
been running on pure adrenaline, baring a few hours sleep here and
there over the past few days. I know you don't want to hear this but
you're very run down," he explained, noticing that he had irritated
the younger man, who gave him a disgusted look, before tossing his
covers aside.
Leaving his bed, the pretender went to the window viewing the
impressive lightening display through the streams of water flowing
down the windowpane trying to defuse his overwhelming anger over his
current situation.
Another clap of thunder suddenly exploded over head, sending him into
a tailspin again. Enduring another flashback, he kept his back toward
his psychiatrist, knowing his difficulty would under-mind what his
was about to say.
"Why don't we skip all this nonsense, Sydney," he said suddenly
turning around.
"Let me go home. Sieble knows that my family is here on Yellow Bird
Island, somewhere. It's only a matter of time before one of his
cronies discover our exact location. I need to be with my family
right now. I'm still lucid. You had no right to coerce me into being
hospitalized."
"Jarod, we've already been through that," he pointed out, suspecting
he was using all the skills at his disposal to avoid facing what he
had gone through, and was hell bent on avoiding discussing it any way
he could.
"The DOA and FBI know their jobs as well as you do. You're
experiencing dimished capacity right now. Frankly, you're a liability
to your family's safety. The best place for you is on the psyche-ward
until we get you stabilized."
"Quit trying to control me, Sydney," Jarod spit, pacing the floor
nervously cradling his injured left arm, trying to formulate another
approach, desperate to leave the facility.
"Tell me, what went on between you and Hans the moment of his death?"
Sydney asked pointedly, hoping his patient would realize he had an
enormous amount or work to do.
The pretender stopped pacing and returned to the window observing the
people scurrying to and from their cars in the pouring rain,
purposefully trying to clear his mind.
"I've known you since you were a little child, Jarod. You've always
been willing to discuss matters of deep concern with me. Why won't
you talk to me now?"
The pretender turned around and glanced at his mentor unable to mask
his intense fear, as another clap of thunder sounding eerily like a
gun shot further undermined his declining stability.
"I…can't," he confessed, sinking to one of the chairs by the window
and cupping his face in his hands in defeat.
"I'm sorry, Jarod. You have my deepest apology. I wasn't trying to
manipulate you. Take as much time as you need," he offered
compassionately, increasingly concerned by the pretender's inability
to discuss what he had gone through.
"The night nurse charted that you had multiple nightmares and that at
one point you became so highly agitated that he called for the doctor
on call, who insisted that you take a sedative. Can you share with me
the content of any of your nightmares?" he asked, disheartened that
his patient seemed to be unable to discuss that either.
Wrapping his arms tightly around himself, Jarod started
rocking himself slowly, oblivious of the older man who had joined his
at the other chair.
"Tell me how can I help you?" his psychiatrist asked, placing his
hand on his shoulder, purposefully stopping the pretender from
withdrawing into himself.
Jarod opened his eyes and shook his head as if to clear it, avoiding
his doctor's eyes.
"I don't think you can."
"Try me, Jarod. At least give me a chance."
After a prolonged silence, he reluctantly began to share a portion of
what he had gone through.
"I felt every…bullet… piercing his body as he lay there writhing in
pain…He was so frightened, oh God," he said, beginning to sob.
"He was painfully aware that he had miscalculated and that his deadly
adversary had tricked him into staying on line…until the…shooters…had…
arrived," he managed, falling silent, unable to stop the tears.
"Jarod, that wasn't your fault," Sydney tired to reassure him, but
his words seemed to fall on deaf ears.
"He experienced unspeakable agony as he continued to bleed out and
lapsed into hemorrhage shock. I could see the shooters jeering at him
through his eyes," he continued with a sick look on his face,"
unwilling to lift a finger to help him… as he lay there dying in a
pool of blood…but…it didn't stop there."
"What do you mean, Jarod?" he encouraged gently, knowing it would be
best for his patient to finish sharing what had happened to him.
"I had to go to the "safe place" in my mind to preserve my sanity,"
he confessed breaking his silence again.
"Your sanity? I don't understand."
"That must have been when I fell against my chair," he offered,
rocking himself slightly, opting for self-preservation, beginning to
retreat into himself again.
"Jarod, stay with me," he encouraged, debating whether or not to
pursue it any further, considering his patient's increasing
instability.
"The soul doesn't cease to exist at death you know…" he continued,
after an uncomfortably long pause, suddenly drained of his coloring.
"What are you saying?"
"Do you believe in the after life, Sydney?" he asked nervously, his
dark eyes purposely darting away from his mentors.
"Yes, Jarod. What are you getting at?" he asked, feeling the hairs on
the back of his neck standing on end.
"After Hans gasped his last breath…." Jarod broke off shaking his
head as his voice faltered.
"Jarod, I know this is very difficult for you, but if you can, it
would be very beneficial for you to verbalize the rest of what
happened to you."
Jarod let out a halting sigh as he straightened up in his chair. " I
swore I would never use my abilities to harm anyone again, and yet, I
committed the ultimate offense against another human being," he
stated fatalistically, staring across the room.
"What on earth are you talking about? You've done nothing wrong," he
reiterated in frustration, knowing his charge was being totally
unfair with himself.
"You're wrong, Sydney," he said heatedly closing his eyes and
shaking his head. "He screamed hysterically as he slipped into hell.
God help me, no matter how hard I try to silence his voice, his
screams keep echoing in my mind," he said, burying his face in his
hands.
"My God," Sydney breathed under his breath in horror, wondering if it
could be true or if Jarod had become psychotic again.
Flipping open his patient's chart, he reviewed the medications he'd
been given prior to breakfast, noting that he'd already had one dose
of his antiemetic and antidepressant and that his anxiety pill was
scheduled within the hour.
"Nurse, this is Dr. Green." he said, crossing the room and hitting
the call button.
"Yes doctor?"
"I need for you to bring Jarod Charles' Xanax and another dose of his
antiemetic to his room immediately, along with a seven-up."
"Yes, sir."
*
"Come on, Jarod, I think it'd be best if you'd lie down for a while,"
he said sadly, reaching for his good arm and helping him up.
Once in bed, the pretender ran a trembling hand over his
bloodshot eyes, feeling completely exhausted and deeply embarrassed
for breaking down in front of the other man.
"Jarod, listen to me. You can't take on the responsibility for what
happened to Hans," he said firmly. "Your assignment was to defend the
integrity of our government's level 5-security system against a
hostile intruder and you did. You mustn't feel guilty for doing your
job."
"You'd only had a couple of days of recovery time from the trauma of
being shot yourself, when Bailey called you down to the Yellow Bird
office. Considering your dubious emotional state at that time, you
might have been seriously mistaken concerning what happened to your
clone."
"I wish that were true. That would make things so much easier," he
said, still clearly distressed.
"Even if what you are saying is true, consider this. Details on Han's
activities are virtually non-existent. None of us has any idea what
kind of man he was. He might very well have deserved what ever
happened to him. I believe God is a compassionate and just God," he
reassured him, noticing that Jarod seemed to be carefully listening
to him, seemingly desperately wanting help.
11:49 A.M.
The pretender glanced nervously at the door as it opened and an older
woman dressed in white entered the room. Wishing he was invisible, he
closed his eyes, feeling deeply humiliated that he was suffering
acute emotional difficulties again.
Excuse me, Dr. Green. Here are your patient's medications."
"Thank you nurse. If you would, see to it that Agent Charles'
dinner is held back until I give you a call," he said glancing at his
watch.
"Yes sir," she said professionally with a nod, quickly
exiting the room.
" Jarod you need to sit up for a little bit," he said, waiting for
him to hit the up button on his bed before passing him his drink and
a little paper cup.
Fumbled with his drink and medications, he was barely able to hold
his hands steady enough to medicate himself without assistance. After
another small sip of his 7-up, he handed it back to his mentor and
fell back against his pillow feeling unbearably weak.
"You must be exhausted, Jarod. Why don't you sleep for a little
while? I can't imagine what it took for you to share the specifics of
what you experienced during Han's death with me," he admitted,
beginning to write at length on his patient's chart. Jotting down
extensive notes on their conversation, he occasionally glancing at
his patient who had subsequently fallen asleep, wondering if what he
had revealed to him were true or if he had become psychotic again,
needing a specific anti-psychotic medication.
Dr. Forums' office
Room 142
1:30 P.M.
"I have some very promising news for you, Andrea," Sydney announced,
knowing she needed to hear something positive about her husband right
now.
"Is Jarod coming home?"
"Not yet, but he's made substantial progress today. He's finally
begun a dialogue with me concerning his encounter with his clone," he
said, trying to minimize the horrendous psychological ordeal her
husband had been through. " I believe he genuinely desires to receive
counseling now. As he continues to open up, it'll be only a matter of
time before things become more manageable for him."
"Sydney, I'm counting on you. You better not screw up and let him
become psychotic again," she warned her tone sounding more like an
open threat.
"Andrea, Jarod is a tenacious fighter. You're going to have to
believe in him. I promise you, he is going to make it though this and
be restored again," the psychiatrist assured her, purposely
sidestepping the fact that her husband might already be psychotic
again.
"I'm sorry, Sydney…it's just that…I don't know what I'd do without
him."
"You don't need to apologize to me. Jarod is extremely worried about
you, as well. He'll be pleased to know that you're doing just fine."
"Tell him I love him," Andrea said, clicking the off button, and
giving one of the D.O.A. agents facing her way a dirty look.
"What the hell are you staring at, you low brow? Why don't go find
some cartoons on TV to watch," she spit, turning on her heel and
heading upstairs to her bedroom, fed up with the safe house and the
D.O.E. agents, desperately craving some privacy.
St. Fransais Hospital
Down town Yellow Bird Island
Room 502
2:00 P.M.
"Jarod, are you hungry?" Sydney asked, reentering his room, surprised
to find his patient awake.
"Not really," he confessed uncomfortably, laying the book he was
reading aside.
"I'm sure you're already aware that your avoidance of nourishment is
part of the reason you're here. I expect you to apply some effort in
that area," he admonished stepping to the intercom and asking the
nurse to have dietary bring in his tray.
"The Bible, that's always a good choice for reading," he began taking
a seat beside his bed, hoping to facilitate another conversation with
him.
"I found it in the drawer," he said quietly, after a lengthy pause.
"I've always found the psalms particularly comforting during times of
extreme duress," he offered, realizing his patient wasn't in the mood
to talk.
"Dr. Forums will be in to see you in about an hour," he explained,
glancing at the door as a woman from dietary brought in the tray.
"Excuse me, I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"No, you're fine," Sydney said, as she sat the meal on the table and
swung it over Jarod's bed.
"Thank you," the pretender said quietly, taking the napkin and
dropping it in his lap.
"The antiemetic seems to be working well for you. Your orders have
been changed to begin solid foods again.
"A hospital hamburger," he announced with false enthusiasm, as he
lifted the metal cover from the dish and glanced at his mentor with a
wane smile.
"I know, Jarod, just do the best you can," he said noticing that his
patient was going for the coffee first, loading it up with an
inordinate amount of sugar.
"Do have enough sugar there?" he asked in amusement.
"Are you going to sit there and watch me eat?"
"I talked to Andrea while you were sleeping. She was relieved to hear
you're making progress."
"How is she doing?" he asked brightly, taking a bite of his hamburger
and making a sour face.
"She's understandably anxious for you to come home," he said,
watching the pretender busily drowning his sandwich in several
packets of ketchup and mustard, before giving it another try.
"Progress? When are you going to discharge me?" he asked,
unceremoniously covering his burger with his napkin, and eagerly
drinking his water.
"Why don't you try to at least eat your apple sauce," his doctor
suggested, dishearten that he was giving up so soon.
"You didn't answer my question," Jarod said, letting out a frustrated
sigh, as he tried to keep his trembling hand steady enough to use his
spoon.
"As soon as you're eating and sleeping normally on a regular bases
and have become convincingly stabilized, you'll be able to go home.
That will require that you participate in several more sessions like
the one we had this morning."
Jarod redoubled his efforts to make headway with his applesauce,
reluctantly eating three soggy fries for good measure, reduced to
being a child at the Centre again looking for approval from his
mentor, this time desperate to rejoin his wife.
3:00 P.M.
Room 502
"Jarod, how are you feeling this afternoon?" the imposing staff
psychiatrist asked gently, taking a seat by his bed.
"Just give me a moment," he mumbled, hitting the up button on his
lower rail, having just awakened from a short nap.
"You seem very tired," he noted sympathetically having just read his
chart, knowing he'd had an emotionally strenuous morning, and that
there was a possibility he might be psychotic.
"No, not really, I was just…" he began, "I'm sorry, what did you
ask," he admitted, losing tract of his thought.
"No need to apologize, Jarod, you've been under an extraordinary
strain since your clone's death," he suggested, hoping his patient
would be willing to discuss it with him.
"I already went over that this morning," he confessed uncomfortably,
feeling terribly venerable, wondering what Sydney had written on his
chart.
"You're right. Why don't we discuss your experience prior to that,
when you were shot?"
"It all happened so fast…" he broke off, working the fringe on his
bedspread. "I haven't really spent any time thinking about it," he
hurriedly added, reaching for his water and nearly spilling it.
"This topic seems very disturbing to you," he said, trying to help
him get in touch with his feeling.
"No, I've been shot before. It's never been an issue for me," he said
raking his fingers nervously through his hair.
"Perhaps something was different this time."
"Excuse me. I feel extremely uncomfortable," he said, leaving the bed
and taking a seat by the window, creating a more acceptable distance
between the two.
"How long have you been married, Jarod?"
"What? Oh…not very long."
"Being shot when you have a new bride and a baby on the way,
certainly changes the whole landscape of that experience, wouldn't
you say?"
"I was only shot in the shoulder."
"Yes, but by the time the paramedics had arrived you had gone into
hemhorragic shock. You could have died."
"Don't you dare tell my wife that," he spit, leaving his chair
becoming highly animated, pointing a finger at him. "She's under
enough pressure as it is."
"Pressure? How does she feel about you being hospitalized on a psyche-
ward?"
"She's very emotional because of her pregnancy," he offered not
really addressing the question at all, obviously deeply upset.
"Have you shared with her the extent of the trauma you've been
through?"
"You don't understand. She's been through so many disappointments in
her life. She deserves to be happy now, not hold up in a safe house
while her husband is…" he broke off sinking to his chair and burying
his face in his hands unable to say any more.
"Jarod, you care very deeply for everyone around you, but what about
you? Have you even permitted yourself to take a hard look at the
trauma you've gone through?"
"That doesn't matter. I'm a pretender. This is what I've been trained
for since I was a child," he said defensively. " Don't look at me
that way."
"Oh, but it does matter, Jarod. I've read extensively about what was
done to you at the Centre. Maybe that is why you fail to realize the
injustice being done to you, by your own personal omission of need."
"What are you talking about?"
"Jarod, you've been so busy protecting everyone surrounding you from
having to deal with your trauma, that you've denied yourself the very
support you've desperately needed. How on earth is that good for you?"
Jarod remained silent, staring at the floor.
"Your genus is so substantial, that it's actually immeasurable. What
do you think your child's IQ will be?"
"How dare you. You leave my child out of this."
"It's understandable that you are very protective of your unborn
child. Unethical German scientists were trying to kidnap your
pregnant wife when you were caught off guard and shot. That must have
seemed eerily like your memory of being taken as a small child.
Jarod, put his arms around himself and began rocking slowly, tears
streaming down his cheeks." I couldn't protect her," he began, racked
with tears.
"Nor could your parents protect you. That wasn't your fault.
Everything turned out just fine. Your wife and child are safe now. We
need to concentrate on getting you well. It's all right to spend time
on Jarod right now."
TBC Writing without feedback is like stumbling in the dark
jemac@... or jojarod50@...
By jojarod50 9/9'03
Disclaimers – see previous parts. I don't own them – TNT
won't use them., but I'm going to see to it that the memory stays
alive.
St. Fransais Hospital
Down town Yellow Bird Island
5:44 A.M. Room 502
Jarod awoke abruptly, startled by a deafening clap of thunder
triggering a horrendous flashback of his clone being riddled with
searing bullets tearing into his flesh, as he curled into a ball
trying to protect himself. While struggling to catch his breath,
another loud clap of thunder nearly sent him over the edge again.
Mercifully this time, he was able to hold his own. Willing himself to
calm back down, he listened as the thunder dissipated into a low
rolling rumble, and heavy rain started pelting the large plate glass
window across the room.
Repositioned his pillow he tried to relax, feeling decidedly anxious,
but strangely enough, unbearably drowsy. Between the pain medication
and the sedative he'd reluctantly been persuaded to take, he felt the
undercurrent of extreme exhaustion pulling him under as he lapsed
into a deep sleep again.
St. Fransais Hospital
Room 502
8:00 A.M.
"Good morning, Agent Charles," the nurse began cautiously,
disappointed that she was unable to avoid startling the hyper-
vigilant young man from his sleep.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she apologized, hating
that she had inadvertently caused her new patient to have an anxiety
attack
Explaining that he no longer needed his I.V., she removed it,
replacing the needle with a smiley face Band-Aid. "There you go. I
hope you'll be able to go back to sleep," she offered
sympathetically.
"Struggling to slow his rapid breathing, Jarod watched as the lady
exited the room, grateful that he would no longer have to endure
being partially ensconced by his I.V. and having an uncomfortably
cold hand.
After rubbing it briskly for a moment or two, he tucked it under his
scanty blanket, and drifted back to sleep.
8:35 A.M.
Mr. Charles, I'm sorry to disturb you, but your breakfast is here,"
an obviously overworked person from dietary encouraged, placing his
tray on his bedside table, and swinging it over his lap.
"Thank you," Jarod managed with a slight smile, as he hit the
up control-button along side his bed allowing himself to be in a
seated position.
Disregarding the Jell-O, chicken broth, and dry toast, he tore open a
couple of sugar packets and dumped them in his coffee. After a quick
stir, he drank it right down, hoping to become more alert.
10:30 A.M.
"Jarod? How are you feeling today?" Sydney asked as he entered the
room, noticing that his charge was less responsive then the day
before.
The pretender slowly opened his eyes at the sound of his
mentor's voice, puzzled that he had fallen asleep after having his
shoulder rebandaged, remembering that he'd been reasonably alert.
"I'm extremely tired, Sydney. I think I'm being severely over-
medicated. Would you consider lowering the dose of the tranquilizer
so I don't sleep my entire life away?" he asked sarcastically,
rubbing a hand over his unshaven face feeling disturbingly
disoriented.
"Of course you're exhausted, Jarod. You've suffered a severe
gunshot wound and deep psychological trauma. Aside from that, you've
been running on pure adrenaline, baring a few hours sleep here and
there over the past few days. I know you don't want to hear this but
you're very run down," he explained, noticing that he had irritated
the younger man, who gave him a disgusted look, before tossing his
covers aside.
Leaving his bed, the pretender went to the window viewing the
impressive lightening display through the streams of water flowing
down the windowpane trying to defuse his overwhelming anger over his
current situation.
Another clap of thunder suddenly exploded over head, sending him into
a tailspin again. Enduring another flashback, he kept his back toward
his psychiatrist, knowing his difficulty would under-mind what his
was about to say.
"Why don't we skip all this nonsense, Sydney," he said suddenly
turning around.
"Let me go home. Sieble knows that my family is here on Yellow Bird
Island, somewhere. It's only a matter of time before one of his
cronies discover our exact location. I need to be with my family
right now. I'm still lucid. You had no right to coerce me into being
hospitalized."
"Jarod, we've already been through that," he pointed out, suspecting
he was using all the skills at his disposal to avoid facing what he
had gone through, and was hell bent on avoiding discussing it any way
he could.
"The DOA and FBI know their jobs as well as you do. You're
experiencing dimished capacity right now. Frankly, you're a liability
to your family's safety. The best place for you is on the psyche-ward
until we get you stabilized."
"Quit trying to control me, Sydney," Jarod spit, pacing the floor
nervously cradling his injured left arm, trying to formulate another
approach, desperate to leave the facility.
"Tell me, what went on between you and Hans the moment of his death?"
Sydney asked pointedly, hoping his patient would realize he had an
enormous amount or work to do.
The pretender stopped pacing and returned to the window observing the
people scurrying to and from their cars in the pouring rain,
purposefully trying to clear his mind.
"I've known you since you were a little child, Jarod. You've always
been willing to discuss matters of deep concern with me. Why won't
you talk to me now?"
The pretender turned around and glanced at his mentor unable to mask
his intense fear, as another clap of thunder sounding eerily like a
gun shot further undermined his declining stability.
"I…can't," he confessed, sinking to one of the chairs by the window
and cupping his face in his hands in defeat.
"I'm sorry, Jarod. You have my deepest apology. I wasn't trying to
manipulate you. Take as much time as you need," he offered
compassionately, increasingly concerned by the pretender's inability
to discuss what he had gone through.
"The night nurse charted that you had multiple nightmares and that at
one point you became so highly agitated that he called for the doctor
on call, who insisted that you take a sedative. Can you share with me
the content of any of your nightmares?" he asked, disheartened that
his patient seemed to be unable to discuss that either.
Wrapping his arms tightly around himself, Jarod started
rocking himself slowly, oblivious of the older man who had joined his
at the other chair.
"Tell me how can I help you?" his psychiatrist asked, placing his
hand on his shoulder, purposefully stopping the pretender from
withdrawing into himself.
Jarod opened his eyes and shook his head as if to clear it, avoiding
his doctor's eyes.
"I don't think you can."
"Try me, Jarod. At least give me a chance."
After a prolonged silence, he reluctantly began to share a portion of
what he had gone through.
"I felt every…bullet… piercing his body as he lay there writhing in
pain…He was so frightened, oh God," he said, beginning to sob.
"He was painfully aware that he had miscalculated and that his deadly
adversary had tricked him into staying on line…until the…shooters…had…
arrived," he managed, falling silent, unable to stop the tears.
"Jarod, that wasn't your fault," Sydney tired to reassure him, but
his words seemed to fall on deaf ears.
"He experienced unspeakable agony as he continued to bleed out and
lapsed into hemorrhage shock. I could see the shooters jeering at him
through his eyes," he continued with a sick look on his face,"
unwilling to lift a finger to help him… as he lay there dying in a
pool of blood…but…it didn't stop there."
"What do you mean, Jarod?" he encouraged gently, knowing it would be
best for his patient to finish sharing what had happened to him.
"I had to go to the "safe place" in my mind to preserve my sanity,"
he confessed breaking his silence again.
"Your sanity? I don't understand."
"That must have been when I fell against my chair," he offered,
rocking himself slightly, opting for self-preservation, beginning to
retreat into himself again.
"Jarod, stay with me," he encouraged, debating whether or not to
pursue it any further, considering his patient's increasing
instability.
"The soul doesn't cease to exist at death you know…" he continued,
after an uncomfortably long pause, suddenly drained of his coloring.
"What are you saying?"
"Do you believe in the after life, Sydney?" he asked nervously, his
dark eyes purposely darting away from his mentors.
"Yes, Jarod. What are you getting at?" he asked, feeling the hairs on
the back of his neck standing on end.
"After Hans gasped his last breath…." Jarod broke off shaking his
head as his voice faltered.
"Jarod, I know this is very difficult for you, but if you can, it
would be very beneficial for you to verbalize the rest of what
happened to you."
Jarod let out a halting sigh as he straightened up in his chair. " I
swore I would never use my abilities to harm anyone again, and yet, I
committed the ultimate offense against another human being," he
stated fatalistically, staring across the room.
"What on earth are you talking about? You've done nothing wrong," he
reiterated in frustration, knowing his charge was being totally
unfair with himself.
"You're wrong, Sydney," he said heatedly closing his eyes and
shaking his head. "He screamed hysterically as he slipped into hell.
God help me, no matter how hard I try to silence his voice, his
screams keep echoing in my mind," he said, burying his face in his
hands.
"My God," Sydney breathed under his breath in horror, wondering if it
could be true or if Jarod had become psychotic again.
Flipping open his patient's chart, he reviewed the medications he'd
been given prior to breakfast, noting that he'd already had one dose
of his antiemetic and antidepressant and that his anxiety pill was
scheduled within the hour.
"Nurse, this is Dr. Green." he said, crossing the room and hitting
the call button.
"Yes doctor?"
"I need for you to bring Jarod Charles' Xanax and another dose of his
antiemetic to his room immediately, along with a seven-up."
"Yes, sir."
*
"Come on, Jarod, I think it'd be best if you'd lie down for a while,"
he said sadly, reaching for his good arm and helping him up.
Once in bed, the pretender ran a trembling hand over his
bloodshot eyes, feeling completely exhausted and deeply embarrassed
for breaking down in front of the other man.
"Jarod, listen to me. You can't take on the responsibility for what
happened to Hans," he said firmly. "Your assignment was to defend the
integrity of our government's level 5-security system against a
hostile intruder and you did. You mustn't feel guilty for doing your
job."
"You'd only had a couple of days of recovery time from the trauma of
being shot yourself, when Bailey called you down to the Yellow Bird
office. Considering your dubious emotional state at that time, you
might have been seriously mistaken concerning what happened to your
clone."
"I wish that were true. That would make things so much easier," he
said, still clearly distressed.
"Even if what you are saying is true, consider this. Details on Han's
activities are virtually non-existent. None of us has any idea what
kind of man he was. He might very well have deserved what ever
happened to him. I believe God is a compassionate and just God," he
reassured him, noticing that Jarod seemed to be carefully listening
to him, seemingly desperately wanting help.
11:49 A.M.
The pretender glanced nervously at the door as it opened and an older
woman dressed in white entered the room. Wishing he was invisible, he
closed his eyes, feeling deeply humiliated that he was suffering
acute emotional difficulties again.
Excuse me, Dr. Green. Here are your patient's medications."
"Thank you nurse. If you would, see to it that Agent Charles'
dinner is held back until I give you a call," he said glancing at his
watch.
"Yes sir," she said professionally with a nod, quickly
exiting the room.
" Jarod you need to sit up for a little bit," he said, waiting for
him to hit the up button on his bed before passing him his drink and
a little paper cup.
Fumbled with his drink and medications, he was barely able to hold
his hands steady enough to medicate himself without assistance. After
another small sip of his 7-up, he handed it back to his mentor and
fell back against his pillow feeling unbearably weak.
"You must be exhausted, Jarod. Why don't you sleep for a little
while? I can't imagine what it took for you to share the specifics of
what you experienced during Han's death with me," he admitted,
beginning to write at length on his patient's chart. Jotting down
extensive notes on their conversation, he occasionally glancing at
his patient who had subsequently fallen asleep, wondering if what he
had revealed to him were true or if he had become psychotic again,
needing a specific anti-psychotic medication.
Dr. Forums' office
Room 142
1:30 P.M.
"I have some very promising news for you, Andrea," Sydney announced,
knowing she needed to hear something positive about her husband right
now.
"Is Jarod coming home?"
"Not yet, but he's made substantial progress today. He's finally
begun a dialogue with me concerning his encounter with his clone," he
said, trying to minimize the horrendous psychological ordeal her
husband had been through. " I believe he genuinely desires to receive
counseling now. As he continues to open up, it'll be only a matter of
time before things become more manageable for him."
"Sydney, I'm counting on you. You better not screw up and let him
become psychotic again," she warned her tone sounding more like an
open threat.
"Andrea, Jarod is a tenacious fighter. You're going to have to
believe in him. I promise you, he is going to make it though this and
be restored again," the psychiatrist assured her, purposely
sidestepping the fact that her husband might already be psychotic
again.
"I'm sorry, Sydney…it's just that…I don't know what I'd do without
him."
"You don't need to apologize to me. Jarod is extremely worried about
you, as well. He'll be pleased to know that you're doing just fine."
"Tell him I love him," Andrea said, clicking the off button, and
giving one of the D.O.A. agents facing her way a dirty look.
"What the hell are you staring at, you low brow? Why don't go find
some cartoons on TV to watch," she spit, turning on her heel and
heading upstairs to her bedroom, fed up with the safe house and the
D.O.E. agents, desperately craving some privacy.
St. Fransais Hospital
Down town Yellow Bird Island
Room 502
2:00 P.M.
"Jarod, are you hungry?" Sydney asked, reentering his room, surprised
to find his patient awake.
"Not really," he confessed uncomfortably, laying the book he was
reading aside.
"I'm sure you're already aware that your avoidance of nourishment is
part of the reason you're here. I expect you to apply some effort in
that area," he admonished stepping to the intercom and asking the
nurse to have dietary bring in his tray.
"The Bible, that's always a good choice for reading," he began taking
a seat beside his bed, hoping to facilitate another conversation with
him.
"I found it in the drawer," he said quietly, after a lengthy pause.
"I've always found the psalms particularly comforting during times of
extreme duress," he offered, realizing his patient wasn't in the mood
to talk.
"Dr. Forums will be in to see you in about an hour," he explained,
glancing at the door as a woman from dietary brought in the tray.
"Excuse me, I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"No, you're fine," Sydney said, as she sat the meal on the table and
swung it over Jarod's bed.
"Thank you," the pretender said quietly, taking the napkin and
dropping it in his lap.
"The antiemetic seems to be working well for you. Your orders have
been changed to begin solid foods again.
"A hospital hamburger," he announced with false enthusiasm, as he
lifted the metal cover from the dish and glanced at his mentor with a
wane smile.
"I know, Jarod, just do the best you can," he said noticing that his
patient was going for the coffee first, loading it up with an
inordinate amount of sugar.
"Do have enough sugar there?" he asked in amusement.
"Are you going to sit there and watch me eat?"
"I talked to Andrea while you were sleeping. She was relieved to hear
you're making progress."
"How is she doing?" he asked brightly, taking a bite of his hamburger
and making a sour face.
"She's understandably anxious for you to come home," he said,
watching the pretender busily drowning his sandwich in several
packets of ketchup and mustard, before giving it another try.
"Progress? When are you going to discharge me?" he asked,
unceremoniously covering his burger with his napkin, and eagerly
drinking his water.
"Why don't you try to at least eat your apple sauce," his doctor
suggested, dishearten that he was giving up so soon.
"You didn't answer my question," Jarod said, letting out a frustrated
sigh, as he tried to keep his trembling hand steady enough to use his
spoon.
"As soon as you're eating and sleeping normally on a regular bases
and have become convincingly stabilized, you'll be able to go home.
That will require that you participate in several more sessions like
the one we had this morning."
Jarod redoubled his efforts to make headway with his applesauce,
reluctantly eating three soggy fries for good measure, reduced to
being a child at the Centre again looking for approval from his
mentor, this time desperate to rejoin his wife.
3:00 P.M.
Room 502
"Jarod, how are you feeling this afternoon?" the imposing staff
psychiatrist asked gently, taking a seat by his bed.
"Just give me a moment," he mumbled, hitting the up button on his
lower rail, having just awakened from a short nap.
"You seem very tired," he noted sympathetically having just read his
chart, knowing he'd had an emotionally strenuous morning, and that
there was a possibility he might be psychotic.
"No, not really, I was just…" he began, "I'm sorry, what did you
ask," he admitted, losing tract of his thought.
"No need to apologize, Jarod, you've been under an extraordinary
strain since your clone's death," he suggested, hoping his patient
would be willing to discuss it with him.
"I already went over that this morning," he confessed uncomfortably,
feeling terribly venerable, wondering what Sydney had written on his
chart.
"You're right. Why don't we discuss your experience prior to that,
when you were shot?"
"It all happened so fast…" he broke off, working the fringe on his
bedspread. "I haven't really spent any time thinking about it," he
hurriedly added, reaching for his water and nearly spilling it.
"This topic seems very disturbing to you," he said, trying to help
him get in touch with his feeling.
"No, I've been shot before. It's never been an issue for me," he said
raking his fingers nervously through his hair.
"Perhaps something was different this time."
"Excuse me. I feel extremely uncomfortable," he said, leaving the bed
and taking a seat by the window, creating a more acceptable distance
between the two.
"How long have you been married, Jarod?"
"What? Oh…not very long."
"Being shot when you have a new bride and a baby on the way,
certainly changes the whole landscape of that experience, wouldn't
you say?"
"I was only shot in the shoulder."
"Yes, but by the time the paramedics had arrived you had gone into
hemhorragic shock. You could have died."
"Don't you dare tell my wife that," he spit, leaving his chair
becoming highly animated, pointing a finger at him. "She's under
enough pressure as it is."
"Pressure? How does she feel about you being hospitalized on a psyche-
ward?"
"She's very emotional because of her pregnancy," he offered not
really addressing the question at all, obviously deeply upset.
"Have you shared with her the extent of the trauma you've been
through?"
"You don't understand. She's been through so many disappointments in
her life. She deserves to be happy now, not hold up in a safe house
while her husband is…" he broke off sinking to his chair and burying
his face in his hands unable to say any more.
"Jarod, you care very deeply for everyone around you, but what about
you? Have you even permitted yourself to take a hard look at the
trauma you've gone through?"
"That doesn't matter. I'm a pretender. This is what I've been trained
for since I was a child," he said defensively. " Don't look at me
that way."
"Oh, but it does matter, Jarod. I've read extensively about what was
done to you at the Centre. Maybe that is why you fail to realize the
injustice being done to you, by your own personal omission of need."
"What are you talking about?"
"Jarod, you've been so busy protecting everyone surrounding you from
having to deal with your trauma, that you've denied yourself the very
support you've desperately needed. How on earth is that good for you?"
Jarod remained silent, staring at the floor.
"Your genus is so substantial, that it's actually immeasurable. What
do you think your child's IQ will be?"
"How dare you. You leave my child out of this."
"It's understandable that you are very protective of your unborn
child. Unethical German scientists were trying to kidnap your
pregnant wife when you were caught off guard and shot. That must have
seemed eerily like your memory of being taken as a small child.
Jarod, put his arms around himself and began rocking slowly, tears
streaming down his cheeks." I couldn't protect her," he began, racked
with tears.
"Nor could your parents protect you. That wasn't your fault.
Everything turned out just fine. Your wife and child are safe now. We
need to concentrate on getting you well. It's all right to spend time
on Jarod right now."
TBC Writing without feedback is like stumbling in the dark
jemac@... or jojarod50@...
