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I NEED REVIEWS!!!
Chapter 2
Old housing district, Michigan
He was waiting for him when he came into the room at nightfall. The man's mind must have been on something else for he had not expected him. Surprise and frightened by his appearance, the man flinched and cried out when he detached himself from the shadows against the wall. Murmuring smooth words, he waited for the other to acknowledge who he was.
His gaze was fixed on the man in front of him. A man of no importance, a low life that he had been forced to use. Shifty-eyed, thin to the point of starvation with nervous habits he would have never allowed himself to show. Breathing shallowly, to avoid the stink of the other, he took another step closer. His voice was no more than a whisper, but it conveyed danger and menace if ignored.
“Where's the boy?”
The other stuttered his answer, never making eye contact once.
“I...I need m...more. T...there was c...compli...complications.”
Trailing to silence, he shifted from one foot to the other. He smiled coldly, watching the sweaty hand wiping at his left hand pocket. Probably a knife or other such item hidden there, and hoping it would bring comfort.
Idiot.
“How much?”
He could see the surprise on the other's face, not having expected the question. Drifting his stance into readiness, he smirked. It annoyed him that he had to negotiate with this creature, but for now it would do. What happened after he had the boy, well, that could be appeasement enough. His eyes, dark as the night, held the other's gaze fixed on him, waiting for the words in the jumbled mind to get to the mouth and be uttered in numbness.
“F...five,” he watched the other close his eyes, swallowing, before dragging courage from some pit and reassessing the boy's worth, “no, wait, ten thousand more.”
“Very well, you have it. Now, where is the boy?”
He followed the man, a cat-like grace to his walk. No sound left his feet as he placed them on the tile floor, his breathing steady. The hallway ended at a closed up room, the wooden planks long since knocked into place to keep undesirables out. The man bent down, scurrying through a hole made on the right hand side of the blocked up doorway. It was just big enough to crawl through. Deciding that the other had too much to loose by killing him, he bent down and crawled through quickly and efficiently. Allowing his eyes to adjust, he could see only dim outlines of discarded items. He could hear the other, moving a crate, opening another darker hole. Following, he allowed another brief smile to linger on his face.
The tunnel meandered for about two hundred meters before it came to an abrupt halt. Twisting at the wall, the other slid the concealed door open. When he stood up, he found himself in a square room, moonlight entering through slats built in the wall. Somehow, they had ended up in an old power house station. Huddled in the corner was the boy. Hands were tied cruelly behind his back, a black hood covering the face. Satisfied, he turned to the other, his hands emerging from his jacket. He watched the other's eyes widen in fear, before his silent scream started to echo around the room.
**************
The Centre – Sydney's office
Taking his jacket from his stand by the door, Sydney turned off the light, getting ready to go home. Miss Parker had phoned earlier to say that they had a possible lead on Jarod and would leave tomorrow morning when Lyle and the Jet returned to Blue Cove. He was about to close the door when he heard the familiar ring of his phone. Frowning slightly, he dropped he jacket on the chair facing his desk. The ringing still persisted and he picked up the phone on the sixth ring.
"This is Sydney."
He could hear ragged breathing on the other side, like the person was on the verge of breaking down and trying valiantly not to. His frown deepened and a question mark hangs in his voice when he softly said.
"Jarod?"
He could hear the person draw a deep breath, and then another. Patiently, he waited for the other to compose him or herself although he was fairly sure now that it was his wayward prodigy.
"I remember."
Sydney's concern increased, wondering what Jarod was referring to. Walking around the desk, he slowly sat down in his leather chair. He waited for the other to elaborate.
"I remember what Raines did to me when I was eight. And you didn't stop him."
He could hear the accusation in the voice, while he tried to think back to Jarod's childhood and that particular time. His memory failed him, and he answered Jarod with another question.
"What do you remember, Jarod?"
He could here the other swallow, a brief pause before he whispered over the line.
"Raptus"
**************
Jarod looked at the phone in his hand, his mind fogged by fatigue and his emotional turmoil. He wasn't entirely sure why he wanted to phone Sydney anymore. Dropping it back into his jacket pocket, he grabbed his case and prepared to leave. The office was closing in on him, he needed space to think and he knew exactly where to go do that. Taking one more look around, he turned and left.
**************
His body stretched as he dove for the falling vial. His fingers couldn’t quite reach and he watched in disbelief as it shattered into pieces on the wooden floor, the golden liquid spreading outward in an ever widening pool. He felt helpless, defeated, knowing that there was nothing he could do for the boy. By the time he had made a new batch it would be too late, the new neural pathways would be set.
“What can we do?”
Slowly rising he answered Miss Parker's question.
“Nothing.” Looking at Davey, he finished, “Its over.”
“No, its not.”
Angelo's voice filled the silence with hope and also sadness. Looking at the empath, he knew it was a choice but one that he was almost reluctant to make.
“Angelo, that's your last treatment. Without it you...”
“He's a boy.”
Silence filled the room for a few seconds before Angelo continued.
“Let him be a boy.”
Jarod watched Angelo put the vial in his hand, closing his fingers over the serotonin. His eyes pleaded as he said, “Please.”
Jarod woke with his head on his arms, his feet hanging over the side of the bed. Wiping his eyes with his hands, his mind struggled to bring him back to the present. Sunlight filtered through the closed curtains, and he tried to figure out how long he had been asleep. He remembered vaguely leaving the park earlier this morning to get some rest, falling into bed at four am. Grabbing his watch from the bedside table, he blearily eyed the twitching second hand of his watch. It took him almost a full minute before he realized that he was still staring at the second hand. Pulling himself upright, he placed his feet on the cold floor, before moving towards the bathroom. Splashing the cold water on his face seemed to help a little, clearing the cobwebs from his brain. Staring into the mirror above the sink, he looked at the face that stared back at him. His eyes were bloodshot, his beard dark where the stubble had formed during the past few hours. He watched the water drip from his chin, and for a moment he thought he saw another face next to his. It was a black and white mirror image of him when he was eight. The boy's eyes were full of tears, fat drops making its way down his cheeks. It startled him enough that he looked behind him, before admitting to himself that he was alone. His gaze returned back to the mirror to find the normal reflection of the room staring back at him.
**************
The Centre – early morning
Sydney knew that according to Centre policy he should tell Miss Parker about the call from Jarod. Making his way down the corridor, he tried to analyze the conversation he had had the previous night. Something was definitely wrong with the pretender; he could hear the fatigue and anguish in the other's voice. He was worried, wondering what nightmares Jarod was referring to and why it was relevant now. Entering the tech lab, he noticed Broots at his workstation. Making sure that Miss Parker wasn't around; he made his way over to where Broots sat, leaning over the balding technician.
"Uh, Sydney, morning."
Smiling, he placed a small piece of paper on his lap, before straightening.
"I need you to do a little research for me as a favor."
Broots looked at his lap, his fingers opening the small piece of paper. One word was written on it, and he frowned. He was about to comment when the loud staccato of Miss Parker's heels sounded through the doorway. Jumbling it into a ball, he pushed it frantically into the pocket of his pants. He ended up having to rise to push it in, his hand halfway out of his pocket when she entered his eyesight.
"There's no need to get excited, Broots."
"M…Miss Parker, I…uhm"
Stammering, he blushed while he tried to extricate his hand from his pocket. Finally succeeding, he tucked in his shirt that had loosened and escaped the confines of his pants. He watched her lift an eyebrow, her gaze moving from him towards Sydney.
"Anything I should know, Sydney?"
Shaking his head, Sydney said nothing while he pushed his hands into his pockets. He watched her eyes narrow as she took in Broots' guilty stance and his own nonchalant one. Meeting her gaze, he waited for her to state the reason she was there, hoping that she wouldn't delve further into his reason for being here so early. Turning on her heel, she spoke over her shoulder as she walked away.
"We leave in an hour." Stopping at the doorway, she turned and smiled at the two men who still stood by the desk, "With luck the lab rat will be back in his cage this time tomorrow and we can get back to our normal lives."
**************
Lyle smiled as he proceeded down the hallway. Entering his office, he closed the door before making his way towards his desk. He was about to seat himself when he became aware of another presence in the room. Looking up in annoyance, he stiffened when he noticed who it was.
"We had an agreement."
"And it still stands." Stepping into the light, Cox allowed a cold smile to linger on his lips. Ignoring the other's anger, he continued to stroke the preserved squirrel he had in his hand. Looking into the glass eyes, his voice came soft and smooth.
"Things are proceeding as planned?"
"Yes, we should have results within the designated time line."
Lifting his gaze to Lyle, Cox warned quietly.
"Do not disappoint me, Lyle. It will not bode well for you."
Lyle watched Cox disappear as quietly as he appeared. Lifting his phone, he proceeded to dial an eight digit number. He waited for the other to answer, before giving one short command.
**************
Police station, Blue water
Jarod put the phone back on its cradle before leaning his head into his hands. Things were not looking good. Nothing could be gleaned from the house and any tire tracks that could have been left had been washed away by the previous night's storm. He was helpless, having no idea where Davey could be, or why he had been taken. The inept murder had convinced him that whoever had been at the house had not been the Centre. They never left things that messy, rather specializing in taking children in the middle of the night under their parents noses. Flashes of his own abduction seeped through despite his attempts at trying to stay objective, once again bringing with it the fear he had experienced. Wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands, he spread the papers that lay strewn across his desk. Focusing on the words, they swam in front of his eyes in dark squiggly lines. He was relieved when a knock on his door interrupted his thoughts, bringing with it some distraction from the helplessness he felt.
"Come in."
Murray entered the office, walking over to the desk and seating in one of the chairs. It creaked slightly from his weight, reminding him again that his wife wanted him to loose a few pounds. He noticed the tired eyes of Jarod that stared back at him and he wondered about the agent. Who was he and why was he so interested in this particular case. It wasn't as if there weren't other abduction cases. Settling his hands on his stomach, he leaned gingerly back into the chair.
"Can I help you?"
Smiling, to take the sting out of his words, Jarod did not feel like having a chat with a lonely cop.
"I want to know what your relationship with the Brewster family is or was."
Jarod looked at the seemingly disinterested man that sat across him. He was on dangerous ground. This man was far too perceptive just to spin a story for. Sighing, he emulated the other, leaning back into his chair.
"Am I a suspect, then?"
"Are you saying you should be?"
He could feel the other's blue eyes gazing on him. Suddenly he felt self-conscious. For a brief moment he wondered why his emotions were taking such a roller coaster ride and then dismissed it again. Rising, he walked towards the metal file cabinet that stood against the wall. Closing the partially open top drawer, he turned towards the detective who still sat in the chair, his gaze still following his actions. Feeling more composed, he allowed his pretend to dictate his actions. Smiling, he answered the other's question.
"No, I'm sorry detective but I'm just a bit overworked. I just need to get some sleep and I should be more sociable."
The other imitated his smile, but still not budging from his seat. His voice was firm when he said.
"Agent Kennett, you still haven't answered my question? I want to know what your relationship was with the Brewster's."
Jarod gazed into the other's eyes, aware of the pounding in his heart. He knew that the Murray will not let it go till he was satisfied. Another flashback came viciously, and it shook him. Grabbing hold of the desk, he was dimly aware of the other's questioning voice before he felt his arms support him. He was lead to his chair in which he nearly collapsed like a rag doll. Riding the memories, he swallowed the water from the glass that was pushed against his lips. It took him another minute or so before he felt able to face the man that stood by his side.
"I'm fine. Thanks."
Murray watched the color return to Jarod's face, satisfied that the agent isn't about to collapse on him. Seating himself again in the chair, he waited for the other to compose himself. He watched Jarod smile ruefully before saying.
"Sorry, I haven't eaten yet. If you'll excuse me, I think I will get myself some breakfast."
Jarod rose a bit shakily, aware of the other's gaze on him. Grabbing his jacket, he felt the walls close in again. Swallowing, he made another excuse before leaving the detective in his office.
**************
Private airport, Detroit, Michigan
Miss Parker stepped from the jet, ignoring the cold wind that was swirling around her. Wiping the hair from her face, she stared into the distance. She heard Sydney clear his throat, prompting her to turn.
"Miss Parker, is something wrong?"
Shaking her head, she waited for Sydney to join her on the tarmac, while the Centre issued town car drew up to the plane.
She seated herself in the back with the psychiatrist, Broots taking the front with Sam.
"Sam, how long will it take us to get there?"
"Three, maybe four hours, Miss Parker."
"Let's go. I want to catch Jarod napping for once, and I don't think he knows that were on to him."
Staring at Broots, she finished,
"That is if your information is correct, for once."
**************
Freedom Park, Blue water
Laying his head onto the back seat of the bench, he allowed the warm feel of the sun to play across his face. There was crispness in the air, forcing him to keep his jacket on but he didn't mind. Not a lot of people were in the park this early, leaving him alone on the bench. Spreading his arms to rest on the top, he allowed his body to relax slightly. Listening to the chirp of the early morning birds and the sounds of the few people who walked pass he could almost believe that his nightmares never happened. There was a darker edge to his dreams of late, throwing his already diminished sleep patterns in disarray. That, coupled with his memories that were resurfacing regarding his time with Raines was keeping him off balance and emotionally spent. He badly needed to speak to someone, but when he had phoned Sydney he had found that he couldn't. His throat constricted, his muscles tightened, keeping all the words inside. He only hoped that Sydney would do a search on the project name he had found on one of his forays into the Centre archives.
Feeling slightly better, he shifted in his seat and took out the familiar red notebook he kept on all his Sims. Opening the first page, he read the captioned words of the heading, wondering again why Davey would be taken by anyone other than the Centre. The Brewster's were not rich; they had enough to provide a comfortable living to them and the boy but definitely not to ensure that they were noticed. He had been in the area for another sim that he had just completed, and he kept his identity he had created, using it to gain access to the crime scene. He knew that the Centre was on its way, but he couldn't leave Davey in the kidnapper's hands any more than he could stop himself from breathing. His ringing phone interrupted his thoughts. Taking his cell phone from his pocket, he answered it with a brief greeting.
"Agent Kennett, we might have a lead on the identity of the murderer. The neighbor had identified a possible suspect from one of the photo books we had him page through. Can you be at the old housing district in half a hour?"
Jarod eyed his watch, mentally calculating the time it would take him from the park to his destination.
"I should make it, where are we meeting?"
"Corner of St Peter's Place and Jameson. Do you know where it is?"
"Yes, and Murray, thanks."
Closing his connection, he rose and walked at a rapid pace to where he had parked his car. He could only hope that Davey was unharmed.
**************
Old housing district
Jarod stood with detective Murray behind the squad car while the swat team stormed the building. Three minutes later the all clear sounded and they entered the broken-down house from the south side. He had read the file of the man they were hunting, a desperate thief on the lowest rung of the criminal ladder. He had enough information to sim his way into the other's persona and he could feel the anxiety that permeated the room like perfume. He understood that the murder had been unplanned. It had been done in the heat of the moment and a decision that had been taken without thought to the possible consequences. Looking around the room, he followed his instincts, his steps almost mimicking the thief's as he walked down the hallway to the closed up room. He was aware that Murray was following him, probably wondering what he was doing but he ignored the other's presence.
Stopping at the doorway, he looked down to notice the hole that was big enough for a man to crawl through. Asking for a flashlight, he studiously shifted his unease to the background while he crawled through the small space. The next room was dark except for where the light shone through the slats that closed off the door. Shining the flashlight around the room, he noticed the discarded furniture and boxes that littered the floor. A crate was pushed against one wall and it immediately made him suspicious. It seemed out of place with the rest of the stuff in the room. He heard the grunt from the men behind him as they tore the wood from the lintel, opening the doorway to others. Stepping closer to the crate, he waited for the detective and two uniformed policemen to join him. He took out his gun, before moving the crate aside with his foot. A dark hole stared back and he lifted his flashlight, allowing his gun-hand to rest on his arm as he shed light on the entrance. It was an old storm tunnel, built around the 1960s. Glancing at Murray, he entered at the nod from the other.
They ended at a dead end, the tunnel abruptly ending in a wall. Looking closely, Jarod noticed a small crack on one corner where the wall and the side of the tunnel met. Fingering the small sliver he could feel the stirring of cold air. Feeling around he finally managed to find the latch, sliding the door to the side. The two policemen entered first, their flashlights throwing shadows against the wall. The light was diffused that entered through slats in the wall, rendering the room in deep twilight. He heard one of the policemen gag, prompting him to look inside. He had to swallow hard to keep the bile from rising. Hanging from the ceiling was the man that they had sought, gutted like an animal, his entrails hanging from his stomach. He could see clearly the agony the other must have been in, the blood splattered around the small room. Holding his hand in front of his nose, he gave a quick look around the room. He almost missed it, but when his hands closed on the silky material, he could feel another flashback force its way forward. Ignoring his own feelings, he mini-pretended his way out of the strong emotions that were cascading through his body. Pushing the black hood into the pocket of his jacket, he made his way out of the room, back towards the outside.
The sunshine seemed to bring some small relief, and he waited for Murray to catch up. The other was white, drawing ragged breaths in the cool air.
"I have never seen anything like that in all my years on the force."
Looking into the eyes of the other, he nodded in agreement. He still didn't trust his voice, the silky feel of the cloth against his fingers increasing his anxiety and worry for the boy. He needed time to think and the more he thought about it the more he knew it was a luxury that he or the boy didn't have.
**************
Reviews make me smile...;-) and write faster...no blackmail implied...
I NEED REVIEWS!!!
Chapter 2
Old housing district, Michigan
He was waiting for him when he came into the room at nightfall. The man's mind must have been on something else for he had not expected him. Surprise and frightened by his appearance, the man flinched and cried out when he detached himself from the shadows against the wall. Murmuring smooth words, he waited for the other to acknowledge who he was.
His gaze was fixed on the man in front of him. A man of no importance, a low life that he had been forced to use. Shifty-eyed, thin to the point of starvation with nervous habits he would have never allowed himself to show. Breathing shallowly, to avoid the stink of the other, he took another step closer. His voice was no more than a whisper, but it conveyed danger and menace if ignored.
“Where's the boy?”
The other stuttered his answer, never making eye contact once.
“I...I need m...more. T...there was c...compli...complications.”
Trailing to silence, he shifted from one foot to the other. He smiled coldly, watching the sweaty hand wiping at his left hand pocket. Probably a knife or other such item hidden there, and hoping it would bring comfort.
Idiot.
“How much?”
He could see the surprise on the other's face, not having expected the question. Drifting his stance into readiness, he smirked. It annoyed him that he had to negotiate with this creature, but for now it would do. What happened after he had the boy, well, that could be appeasement enough. His eyes, dark as the night, held the other's gaze fixed on him, waiting for the words in the jumbled mind to get to the mouth and be uttered in numbness.
“F...five,” he watched the other close his eyes, swallowing, before dragging courage from some pit and reassessing the boy's worth, “no, wait, ten thousand more.”
“Very well, you have it. Now, where is the boy?”
He followed the man, a cat-like grace to his walk. No sound left his feet as he placed them on the tile floor, his breathing steady. The hallway ended at a closed up room, the wooden planks long since knocked into place to keep undesirables out. The man bent down, scurrying through a hole made on the right hand side of the blocked up doorway. It was just big enough to crawl through. Deciding that the other had too much to loose by killing him, he bent down and crawled through quickly and efficiently. Allowing his eyes to adjust, he could see only dim outlines of discarded items. He could hear the other, moving a crate, opening another darker hole. Following, he allowed another brief smile to linger on his face.
The tunnel meandered for about two hundred meters before it came to an abrupt halt. Twisting at the wall, the other slid the concealed door open. When he stood up, he found himself in a square room, moonlight entering through slats built in the wall. Somehow, they had ended up in an old power house station. Huddled in the corner was the boy. Hands were tied cruelly behind his back, a black hood covering the face. Satisfied, he turned to the other, his hands emerging from his jacket. He watched the other's eyes widen in fear, before his silent scream started to echo around the room.
**************
The Centre – Sydney's office
Taking his jacket from his stand by the door, Sydney turned off the light, getting ready to go home. Miss Parker had phoned earlier to say that they had a possible lead on Jarod and would leave tomorrow morning when Lyle and the Jet returned to Blue Cove. He was about to close the door when he heard the familiar ring of his phone. Frowning slightly, he dropped he jacket on the chair facing his desk. The ringing still persisted and he picked up the phone on the sixth ring.
"This is Sydney."
He could hear ragged breathing on the other side, like the person was on the verge of breaking down and trying valiantly not to. His frown deepened and a question mark hangs in his voice when he softly said.
"Jarod?"
He could hear the person draw a deep breath, and then another. Patiently, he waited for the other to compose him or herself although he was fairly sure now that it was his wayward prodigy.
"I remember."
Sydney's concern increased, wondering what Jarod was referring to. Walking around the desk, he slowly sat down in his leather chair. He waited for the other to elaborate.
"I remember what Raines did to me when I was eight. And you didn't stop him."
He could hear the accusation in the voice, while he tried to think back to Jarod's childhood and that particular time. His memory failed him, and he answered Jarod with another question.
"What do you remember, Jarod?"
He could here the other swallow, a brief pause before he whispered over the line.
"Raptus"
**************
Jarod looked at the phone in his hand, his mind fogged by fatigue and his emotional turmoil. He wasn't entirely sure why he wanted to phone Sydney anymore. Dropping it back into his jacket pocket, he grabbed his case and prepared to leave. The office was closing in on him, he needed space to think and he knew exactly where to go do that. Taking one more look around, he turned and left.
**************
His body stretched as he dove for the falling vial. His fingers couldn’t quite reach and he watched in disbelief as it shattered into pieces on the wooden floor, the golden liquid spreading outward in an ever widening pool. He felt helpless, defeated, knowing that there was nothing he could do for the boy. By the time he had made a new batch it would be too late, the new neural pathways would be set.
“What can we do?”
Slowly rising he answered Miss Parker's question.
“Nothing.” Looking at Davey, he finished, “Its over.”
“No, its not.”
Angelo's voice filled the silence with hope and also sadness. Looking at the empath, he knew it was a choice but one that he was almost reluctant to make.
“Angelo, that's your last treatment. Without it you...”
“He's a boy.”
Silence filled the room for a few seconds before Angelo continued.
“Let him be a boy.”
Jarod watched Angelo put the vial in his hand, closing his fingers over the serotonin. His eyes pleaded as he said, “Please.”
Jarod woke with his head on his arms, his feet hanging over the side of the bed. Wiping his eyes with his hands, his mind struggled to bring him back to the present. Sunlight filtered through the closed curtains, and he tried to figure out how long he had been asleep. He remembered vaguely leaving the park earlier this morning to get some rest, falling into bed at four am. Grabbing his watch from the bedside table, he blearily eyed the twitching second hand of his watch. It took him almost a full minute before he realized that he was still staring at the second hand. Pulling himself upright, he placed his feet on the cold floor, before moving towards the bathroom. Splashing the cold water on his face seemed to help a little, clearing the cobwebs from his brain. Staring into the mirror above the sink, he looked at the face that stared back at him. His eyes were bloodshot, his beard dark where the stubble had formed during the past few hours. He watched the water drip from his chin, and for a moment he thought he saw another face next to his. It was a black and white mirror image of him when he was eight. The boy's eyes were full of tears, fat drops making its way down his cheeks. It startled him enough that he looked behind him, before admitting to himself that he was alone. His gaze returned back to the mirror to find the normal reflection of the room staring back at him.
**************
The Centre – early morning
Sydney knew that according to Centre policy he should tell Miss Parker about the call from Jarod. Making his way down the corridor, he tried to analyze the conversation he had had the previous night. Something was definitely wrong with the pretender; he could hear the fatigue and anguish in the other's voice. He was worried, wondering what nightmares Jarod was referring to and why it was relevant now. Entering the tech lab, he noticed Broots at his workstation. Making sure that Miss Parker wasn't around; he made his way over to where Broots sat, leaning over the balding technician.
"Uh, Sydney, morning."
Smiling, he placed a small piece of paper on his lap, before straightening.
"I need you to do a little research for me as a favor."
Broots looked at his lap, his fingers opening the small piece of paper. One word was written on it, and he frowned. He was about to comment when the loud staccato of Miss Parker's heels sounded through the doorway. Jumbling it into a ball, he pushed it frantically into the pocket of his pants. He ended up having to rise to push it in, his hand halfway out of his pocket when she entered his eyesight.
"There's no need to get excited, Broots."
"M…Miss Parker, I…uhm"
Stammering, he blushed while he tried to extricate his hand from his pocket. Finally succeeding, he tucked in his shirt that had loosened and escaped the confines of his pants. He watched her lift an eyebrow, her gaze moving from him towards Sydney.
"Anything I should know, Sydney?"
Shaking his head, Sydney said nothing while he pushed his hands into his pockets. He watched her eyes narrow as she took in Broots' guilty stance and his own nonchalant one. Meeting her gaze, he waited for her to state the reason she was there, hoping that she wouldn't delve further into his reason for being here so early. Turning on her heel, she spoke over her shoulder as she walked away.
"We leave in an hour." Stopping at the doorway, she turned and smiled at the two men who still stood by the desk, "With luck the lab rat will be back in his cage this time tomorrow and we can get back to our normal lives."
**************
Lyle smiled as he proceeded down the hallway. Entering his office, he closed the door before making his way towards his desk. He was about to seat himself when he became aware of another presence in the room. Looking up in annoyance, he stiffened when he noticed who it was.
"We had an agreement."
"And it still stands." Stepping into the light, Cox allowed a cold smile to linger on his lips. Ignoring the other's anger, he continued to stroke the preserved squirrel he had in his hand. Looking into the glass eyes, his voice came soft and smooth.
"Things are proceeding as planned?"
"Yes, we should have results within the designated time line."
Lifting his gaze to Lyle, Cox warned quietly.
"Do not disappoint me, Lyle. It will not bode well for you."
Lyle watched Cox disappear as quietly as he appeared. Lifting his phone, he proceeded to dial an eight digit number. He waited for the other to answer, before giving one short command.
**************
Police station, Blue water
Jarod put the phone back on its cradle before leaning his head into his hands. Things were not looking good. Nothing could be gleaned from the house and any tire tracks that could have been left had been washed away by the previous night's storm. He was helpless, having no idea where Davey could be, or why he had been taken. The inept murder had convinced him that whoever had been at the house had not been the Centre. They never left things that messy, rather specializing in taking children in the middle of the night under their parents noses. Flashes of his own abduction seeped through despite his attempts at trying to stay objective, once again bringing with it the fear he had experienced. Wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands, he spread the papers that lay strewn across his desk. Focusing on the words, they swam in front of his eyes in dark squiggly lines. He was relieved when a knock on his door interrupted his thoughts, bringing with it some distraction from the helplessness he felt.
"Come in."
Murray entered the office, walking over to the desk and seating in one of the chairs. It creaked slightly from his weight, reminding him again that his wife wanted him to loose a few pounds. He noticed the tired eyes of Jarod that stared back at him and he wondered about the agent. Who was he and why was he so interested in this particular case. It wasn't as if there weren't other abduction cases. Settling his hands on his stomach, he leaned gingerly back into the chair.
"Can I help you?"
Smiling, to take the sting out of his words, Jarod did not feel like having a chat with a lonely cop.
"I want to know what your relationship with the Brewster family is or was."
Jarod looked at the seemingly disinterested man that sat across him. He was on dangerous ground. This man was far too perceptive just to spin a story for. Sighing, he emulated the other, leaning back into his chair.
"Am I a suspect, then?"
"Are you saying you should be?"
He could feel the other's blue eyes gazing on him. Suddenly he felt self-conscious. For a brief moment he wondered why his emotions were taking such a roller coaster ride and then dismissed it again. Rising, he walked towards the metal file cabinet that stood against the wall. Closing the partially open top drawer, he turned towards the detective who still sat in the chair, his gaze still following his actions. Feeling more composed, he allowed his pretend to dictate his actions. Smiling, he answered the other's question.
"No, I'm sorry detective but I'm just a bit overworked. I just need to get some sleep and I should be more sociable."
The other imitated his smile, but still not budging from his seat. His voice was firm when he said.
"Agent Kennett, you still haven't answered my question? I want to know what your relationship was with the Brewster's."
Jarod gazed into the other's eyes, aware of the pounding in his heart. He knew that the Murray will not let it go till he was satisfied. Another flashback came viciously, and it shook him. Grabbing hold of the desk, he was dimly aware of the other's questioning voice before he felt his arms support him. He was lead to his chair in which he nearly collapsed like a rag doll. Riding the memories, he swallowed the water from the glass that was pushed against his lips. It took him another minute or so before he felt able to face the man that stood by his side.
"I'm fine. Thanks."
Murray watched the color return to Jarod's face, satisfied that the agent isn't about to collapse on him. Seating himself again in the chair, he waited for the other to compose himself. He watched Jarod smile ruefully before saying.
"Sorry, I haven't eaten yet. If you'll excuse me, I think I will get myself some breakfast."
Jarod rose a bit shakily, aware of the other's gaze on him. Grabbing his jacket, he felt the walls close in again. Swallowing, he made another excuse before leaving the detective in his office.
**************
Private airport, Detroit, Michigan
Miss Parker stepped from the jet, ignoring the cold wind that was swirling around her. Wiping the hair from her face, she stared into the distance. She heard Sydney clear his throat, prompting her to turn.
"Miss Parker, is something wrong?"
Shaking her head, she waited for Sydney to join her on the tarmac, while the Centre issued town car drew up to the plane.
She seated herself in the back with the psychiatrist, Broots taking the front with Sam.
"Sam, how long will it take us to get there?"
"Three, maybe four hours, Miss Parker."
"Let's go. I want to catch Jarod napping for once, and I don't think he knows that were on to him."
Staring at Broots, she finished,
"That is if your information is correct, for once."
**************
Freedom Park, Blue water
Laying his head onto the back seat of the bench, he allowed the warm feel of the sun to play across his face. There was crispness in the air, forcing him to keep his jacket on but he didn't mind. Not a lot of people were in the park this early, leaving him alone on the bench. Spreading his arms to rest on the top, he allowed his body to relax slightly. Listening to the chirp of the early morning birds and the sounds of the few people who walked pass he could almost believe that his nightmares never happened. There was a darker edge to his dreams of late, throwing his already diminished sleep patterns in disarray. That, coupled with his memories that were resurfacing regarding his time with Raines was keeping him off balance and emotionally spent. He badly needed to speak to someone, but when he had phoned Sydney he had found that he couldn't. His throat constricted, his muscles tightened, keeping all the words inside. He only hoped that Sydney would do a search on the project name he had found on one of his forays into the Centre archives.
Feeling slightly better, he shifted in his seat and took out the familiar red notebook he kept on all his Sims. Opening the first page, he read the captioned words of the heading, wondering again why Davey would be taken by anyone other than the Centre. The Brewster's were not rich; they had enough to provide a comfortable living to them and the boy but definitely not to ensure that they were noticed. He had been in the area for another sim that he had just completed, and he kept his identity he had created, using it to gain access to the crime scene. He knew that the Centre was on its way, but he couldn't leave Davey in the kidnapper's hands any more than he could stop himself from breathing. His ringing phone interrupted his thoughts. Taking his cell phone from his pocket, he answered it with a brief greeting.
"Agent Kennett, we might have a lead on the identity of the murderer. The neighbor had identified a possible suspect from one of the photo books we had him page through. Can you be at the old housing district in half a hour?"
Jarod eyed his watch, mentally calculating the time it would take him from the park to his destination.
"I should make it, where are we meeting?"
"Corner of St Peter's Place and Jameson. Do you know where it is?"
"Yes, and Murray, thanks."
Closing his connection, he rose and walked at a rapid pace to where he had parked his car. He could only hope that Davey was unharmed.
**************
Old housing district
Jarod stood with detective Murray behind the squad car while the swat team stormed the building. Three minutes later the all clear sounded and they entered the broken-down house from the south side. He had read the file of the man they were hunting, a desperate thief on the lowest rung of the criminal ladder. He had enough information to sim his way into the other's persona and he could feel the anxiety that permeated the room like perfume. He understood that the murder had been unplanned. It had been done in the heat of the moment and a decision that had been taken without thought to the possible consequences. Looking around the room, he followed his instincts, his steps almost mimicking the thief's as he walked down the hallway to the closed up room. He was aware that Murray was following him, probably wondering what he was doing but he ignored the other's presence.
Stopping at the doorway, he looked down to notice the hole that was big enough for a man to crawl through. Asking for a flashlight, he studiously shifted his unease to the background while he crawled through the small space. The next room was dark except for where the light shone through the slats that closed off the door. Shining the flashlight around the room, he noticed the discarded furniture and boxes that littered the floor. A crate was pushed against one wall and it immediately made him suspicious. It seemed out of place with the rest of the stuff in the room. He heard the grunt from the men behind him as they tore the wood from the lintel, opening the doorway to others. Stepping closer to the crate, he waited for the detective and two uniformed policemen to join him. He took out his gun, before moving the crate aside with his foot. A dark hole stared back and he lifted his flashlight, allowing his gun-hand to rest on his arm as he shed light on the entrance. It was an old storm tunnel, built around the 1960s. Glancing at Murray, he entered at the nod from the other.
They ended at a dead end, the tunnel abruptly ending in a wall. Looking closely, Jarod noticed a small crack on one corner where the wall and the side of the tunnel met. Fingering the small sliver he could feel the stirring of cold air. Feeling around he finally managed to find the latch, sliding the door to the side. The two policemen entered first, their flashlights throwing shadows against the wall. The light was diffused that entered through slats in the wall, rendering the room in deep twilight. He heard one of the policemen gag, prompting him to look inside. He had to swallow hard to keep the bile from rising. Hanging from the ceiling was the man that they had sought, gutted like an animal, his entrails hanging from his stomach. He could see clearly the agony the other must have been in, the blood splattered around the small room. Holding his hand in front of his nose, he gave a quick look around the room. He almost missed it, but when his hands closed on the silky material, he could feel another flashback force its way forward. Ignoring his own feelings, he mini-pretended his way out of the strong emotions that were cascading through his body. Pushing the black hood into the pocket of his jacket, he made his way out of the room, back towards the outside.
The sunshine seemed to bring some small relief, and he waited for Murray to catch up. The other was white, drawing ragged breaths in the cool air.
"I have never seen anything like that in all my years on the force."
Looking into the eyes of the other, he nodded in agreement. He still didn't trust his voice, the silky feel of the cloth against his fingers increasing his anxiety and worry for the boy. He needed time to think and the more he thought about it the more he knew it was a luxury that he or the boy didn't have.
**************
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