Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Thank you for the reviews.

To learn

Unknown area

Lyle woke to the early-morning birds chatting away in the trees. Sitting up, he stretched. Looking towards where he had left the pretender, he smiled. The other must have spent an uncomfortable night. Exhaustion has finally overcome him because from where he sat it looked like Jarod was fast asleep. Going down to the stream, he washed his face before filling the coffee kettle. Rekindling the fire, he started to boil the water. He took a cup from his bag and threw some coffee powder and sugar in it.

Jarod jerked awake when the ropes were loosened around his elbows. He grimaced when the pins and needles followed the flow of blood down to his hands. It was painful but manageable. A hand gave a brief tap on his biceps and for a brief moment he failed to understand the signal. He was roughly grabbed and pushed into a kneeling position. His abused muscles protested violently and he felt the bile rise. Swallowing, he tried to compose himself. His nausea abated a bit and then his gag was removed.

He had never imagined how good coffee smelled. He waited with baited breath, not wanting the disappointment of not receiving any sustenance. The cup was pushed against his lips and he sipped. The warmth filled him, helping to dissipate the chill of the night. He was allowed to finish the coffee, careful to follow the subtle signals of the other’s hand on his neck. The gag was left off when his captor moved away. Not questioning, he hoped it would not be replaced.

Jarod stayed where he was. He lived in his own world, concentrating on what he and Parker would be doing. He imagined the early morning breeze that wafted through the open windows. He could feel her light touch on his arm, reminding him that ice cream was not recognised as breakfast. He heard Sydney’s laughter at his logic while she would firmly take the dessert and put it away again. He pretended his way into a shower, feeling the hot pellets of warm water hit his skin.

Lyle rummaged in his bag, keeping one eye on the pretender. It was time to deepen the pretender’s despair. He couldn’t reveal himself yet. If Jarod knew who his captor was, he would fight Lyle with all the knowledge he had and Lyle didn’t want that. He had debated this particular dilemma long and hard while he had been held in the bowels of the Centre as Raines’ plaything.

How to torment Jarod without saying a word?

And it had dawned on him one time when he had lain in the corner, shivering with a drug induced fever. He took out the cards he had carefully packed away and stepped towards the pretender.

Jarod will learn.

Miss Parker came dressed for the part. Her feet were encased in hiking shoes and she wore shirt and jeans. More importantly, her 9mm was in her hand and leading her inside the cabin. Behind her came the major, also armed and wanting Lyle dead.

She eyed the closed front door. Something didn’t sit right. She stopped Charles from touching the door handle.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like this. My brother was never an idiot. Insane maybe but not an idiot.”

“He could have Jarod inside.”

She sighed and replied, “I know.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, she tried to think. Her headache was increasing with each passing minute, aware of what Lyle is capable of and the amount of time that he had Jarod.

She took her belt of and wrapped it around the door handle. Making sure they were standing out of the pathway, she slowly pulled the door open. A bang nearly deafened her and she watched part of the porch railing disintegrate under the barrage of shotgun pellets. Major Charles smiled nervously before glancing inside.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t came alone.”

Miss Parker nodded, following him inside. The smoking barrels indicated the shot gun and she followed the rope tied around the trigger towards where it had been tied to the door. “There could be more traps,” she warned, indicating that she would take the left side. Charles only grunted before moving right, his eyes searching the dim interior.

Five minutes later they met by the cooling shotgun.

“Nothing. And you?”

“My brother left me this,” Miss Parker replied, handing it over to the Major. He frowned. “Cold? What does he mean?”

“It means that we’re no closer to Jarod than when we were home. And Lyle wants us to look for him.”

Jarod was interrupted in his thoughts when he became aware of the presence of his captor. He tensed; his muscles in tight knots. A hand grabbed him by the neck and pushed down. He shuddered, tried to resist. His back protested and a moan left him involuntarily as the beating of last night ran vividly in is mind.

What did I do wrong?

His fear gave him strength and he managed to get back into an upright position. He didn’t end there. Surging upwards, using his aching leg muscles, he jerked his head backwards and was satisfied when he felt something soft crunch beneath him. A body brushed against his, nearly unbalancing his already precarious stand. Spreading his legs slightly, he could feel the warmth of his captor on the left side of his leg.

Now what?

Possibilities ran through his mind in instances. He could still smell the slightly acrid odour of the fire. The body by his foot was quiet. The metallic tang of blood was added to the other smells. Knowing that he had no idea how long his captor would be unconscious, he went down on his knees again. He turned, his fingers clumsily trying to tug at the man’s clothes. The warm breath shifted over his hand and he froze. For what seemed an eternity, he didn’t move until his thoughts shifted through all the possibilities and he realised that he must have shifted the body when he had grabbed the man’s shirt. A grim smile settled on his lips while he tried to get a better grip and continued awkwardly to search for any tool that might him to get rid of the ropes.

No such luck. He had to find another way. He shifted around again till his knees touched the body. The acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils again and another idea formed. Rising slowly, he edged his way closer to the smell. His foot touched something and he stopped and knelt again. The warm glow was welcome on his chest. Turning, his hand touched the stones that marked the border.

Now came the hard part. Biting his lip, he could feel sweat start to form on his brow at the thought of what he was about to do. But he couldn’t see any other choice. Shifting backwards until he had himself in position, he finally settled. Telling himself that it would be brief, he shut his mind to the pain and plunged his hands into the fire pit.

“Broots, I want you to check the Centre archives. I want to know what mountains my brother visited when he went on his excursions.”

Miss Parker snapped the phone close and continued her pacing.

“Do you think Broots will find anything?”

Miss Parker didn’t answer. She needed Broots to find that information.

The pain was intense, almost paralysing. Every nerve in his body sizzled with the agony. He could smell burning flesh and then he jerked forward, a piece of wood between his fingers. He seared his skin around his wrists but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t think past getting the ropes off. It took two excruciating minutes before he felt the rope fibres give. A sob of agony spilled from inside and he dropped the branch. Panting from the pain and fear that his time was running out, he gathered his remaining strength. He bunched his muscles and tried to burst the bindings. Blood, warm and sticky, ran down his hands. And with a jerk, his hands were free.

Trembling muscles protested as he brought his hands to the front. He grimaced, feeling blood well from where he had bit through his lip. Aware that he was still not free, he forced his hands upwards and tucked at the cloth that was tied over his eyes. His fingers slipped off the slick material and a groan of frustration left his lips. Forcing himself not to panic, he tried again, this time more slowly. He couldn’t get a grip on the front. Aware of his protesting and aching muscles, his fingers now sticky with his own blood, he reached behind at the knot and pushed upwards. It felt like he was squashing his eyeballs into his head but he continued until the cloth finally slid off.

He needed to see, it was a burning inside him but he kept his eyes closed, waiting for the dim red flaring to adjust. As he waited he removed the plugs, and the sound of wind rushing through leaves filled him with wonder. He could hear a stream nearby and the crackle of the wood expanding and dying in the fire. He could also hear the wet breathing of his captor and from the sound he guessed he had broken his nose.

Good.

Placing his hand over his eyes, he opened the slowly. Even in the darkness created by his hand, his eyes still burned and tears ran unchecked down his cheeks. He was running out of time. He had no idea how he knew, but he knew. Dropping his eyes, he opened his hand slightly and saw his dusty jeans. The light was still too bright but he had no choice anymore. Rising to his feet, he gave a quick look around. Everything was fuzzy. He couldn’t make out any detail but hazy browns, greens and blue.

His captor was still on his side, facing away from him. He could just make out the body and he needed to make his escape. Blinking away the tears, he turned away from the body and started towards the bag he had noticed. As long as he could hear the slightly nauseating wheeze from his former captor he would be all right.

“This is all my fault. Don’t you understand?”

Dr Brown didn’t answer. He sat back and watched J tuck at the sleeves of his shirt. The boy was angry at himself for allowing Lyle to manipulate him. He was frightened for his brother and his fear extended to the belief that his family will reject him because of what he had done.

“It’s my fault,” came a second time, more softly.

“J, where do you see yourself in five years?”

J looked up, unsure. He was now fingering the bandage that covered his wrist. He looked down again, scratching at the edges. Dr Brown prompted him again and then waited. J sat like a statue, unmoving for a full minute before he shifted slightly.

“I don’t know.”

“I want you to think about it. If you could do anything, be anyplace, what would you like to do?”

J looked up, meeting Dr Brown’s eyes coldly. Dr Brown didn’t like the answer when he got it, but he did understand it.

“That’s easy. I’ll kill Lyle.”

Jarod concentrated, trying to decipher between the colours. He still couldn’t make out any individual items. He glanced backwards, satisfied that the man was still out cold. Upending the bag in the end, he sorted between the items. The man had packed light, mostly foodstuffs, a hunting knife and three shirts. He took one and put it on, glad to feel material against his skin once again. He started to rise when he realised that the wheezing sound had changed position. He turned, knife in hand and was too late.

An indistinct blur rose and then pain exploded in his head. Instinctively, his knife hand lashed upwards, drawing a grunt and blood. A fist exploded against Jarod’s head and darkness edged into the corners of his already burning eyes. Stunned for a moment, he kept hold of the knife while he tried to make out where his foe was.

Lyle tried not to breath through his nose that continued to throb. Added to that was the stinging from his chest where the pretender had managed to cut him. It wasn’t deep but nevertheless bled freely. Watching the pretender carefully, he moved slightly and noticed that Jarod had difficulty focusing. He allowed a small smirk to centre on his face before his grabbed the pretender’s wrist. Jarod screamed, his face twisted in agony and Lyle continued to squeeze the burns until his captive had no choice but to let the knife go.

He let go of the hand and watched Jarod curl tight around his arm. The pretender went still and then launched himself at Lyle. He had expected as much and he was ready. His right fist sank into Jarod’s unprotected side but Jarod still managed to bring them both to the ground. An elbow smashed into Lyle’s face and agony increased ten fold when his nose shifted again. Grunting, Lyle rolled away and got to his feet, watching Jarod rise slowly. He was holding onto his side, turning it away from Lyle. The chairman’s son felt the blood gushing down his face from his broken nose, increasing his anger. The pretender will pay.

Jarod turned, warily watching the blob before him. Blinking, he tried to clear his vision and failed. He detected movement and lashed out with his foot. He made contact, feeling his foot sink into the stomach of his captor. The only problem was the hand that closed around his ankle and before he had time to think, he felt a jerk and he crashed forward. He rolled, getting to his knees when a hand crashed onto his head.

Lyle struck Jarod again and again – savage, vicious blows that began to bruise and batter skin and bone. Jarod’s face was smeared with blood. He was half-blind, stunned, could do little to halt the brutal attack. A vicious kick sent him reeling backward. He fell and lay unconscious.

Lyle panted, watching the pretender closely. Bringing his breathing under control, he opened and closed his hands. Pushing a foot under Jarod’s body, he flipped him over. Kneeling beside him, he grasped hold of Jarod’s chin and turned his face into the light. Touching his own nose gingerly, he took his hand away, looking at the blood.

I will not underestimate you again, Lyle promised the unconscious pretender silently. He rose and fetched the knife. Cutting the shirt from Jarod’s body, he turned the pretender over. Grabbing the rope he had used to tie Jarod to the tree, he proceeded to bind his hands tightly.

“He shouldn’t be left alone.”

Margaret glanced towards the door that led her son’s bedroom. Her worry increased for J’s safety. “Do you think he’ll try again,” she asked fearfully. Dr Brown smiled and shook his head.

“No. I don’t believe so. What I do think is that your son might go after Lyle and for his mental health it would not be a good choice.”

“But J doesn’t even know where to look.”

“Your son is resourceful, Mrs Russell. I’m sure that he is more than capable of finding Lyle”

Margaret nodded and then thanked the doctor. A determined look settled on her face. J will stay put. She will make sure of it.

Consciousness forced itself onto Jarod. His mind drifted on a cloud of agony and weakness. Despair filled him when he became aware of the tightness around his eyes and the silence around him. His body hurt. A bone grated in his side. He remembered the fist sinking into his side, snapping his rib. He tasted blood and ran a tongue over his lips. He was thirsty, parched beyond belief. He couldn’t sense his captor and he lifted his head. Every movement was fraught with pain. He gagged; wretched and rolled away, aware that the likelihood of concussion was very real. Sweat rolled down his face and he suppressed an agonised cry when the rope shifted into his burns.

Slowly, gradually his memory of the fight returned. He had missed a vital chance to escape and he could only blame himself. At least he had the small satisfaction to know his captor was hurting although that would probably not bode well for him. His insides churned and he just managed to keep it down. He swallowed, aware of the breeze against his hot skin. Coldness filled him when a hand touched him, sliding beneath his shoulder. He mumbled a negative, his body tense. Strong hands supported him and eased him into a sitting position. A spout was pushed against his lips and he drank, wondering why he wasn’t being punished. When he had his fill the spout was removed. Jarod shivered, trying to make sense.

“Why are you doing this?”

He had not meant to ask. His answer came soon enough. A hand held him by neck and then the cold point of the knife edged into his skin. It didn’t break the skin but he could feel it gliding over his back.

You owe me

The hand dropped from his neck and the knife point disappeared. Jarod didn’t move, trying to decipher the meaning behind the words. Who hated him so much? The hand returned, this time straightening his fingers. Suddenly afraid, remembering Lyle’s effort once to cut of his thumb, he curled them tighter, ignoring the pain from his burns. He shook his head, feeling desperation cloud his mind.

Lyle was tiring of the game. Taking out his Zippo, he flicked the flame on and brought it to Jarod’s hands. The pretender moaned and then screamed. He watched the fingers spread open. Jarod was doubled over, gasping in pain. Grabbing the cards from earlier, he placed the first line underneath his fingers, helping him guide it over the raised areas. He had to run the first line three times before Jarod understood that what he was feeling was Braille. He smiled when Jarod’s breathless denial sounded.

Miss Parker threw the jeep around the corner, ignoring the sheer drop by her side. Charles was hanging on grimly, his hand white where he gripped the door handle.

“How long do you think it’ll take us?” he asked, his word jarred from his mouth by the potholes strewn across the road.

“Eight to ten hours,” she replied, shifting down to help brake as she went around another corner.

“If Broots is right,” the Major muttered under his breath and held on when the right front wheel spun briefly in a pothole the size of coffee table and then managed to grip the road again.

And if he survives her driving.

You should have heard your mother’s screams…

And he did. He couldn’t deny his senses. As his fingers were manoeuvred over the page, he sank deeper and deeper until he became part of the nightmare that was his life. The nightmares that he had buried deep within and had never shared.

“Mom?”

His question hung in the air, visible between where he was held immobile to where his parents were huddled together. A menacing figure circled them, a hunter toying with its prey.

“Don’t hurt them, you bastard!”

The figure grinned, white teeth showing while the rest of his face was obscured. A knife glinted in the moonlight and then plunged down into his mother’s arm. She screamed and his father shouted, grabbing for the attacker. He knocked his father down and dragged him towards the heater set in the wall. Cuffing him to the pipe, he returned to Jarod’s mother.

“Stop it. Please. Don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.” Jarod wasn’t even aware of his pleading. He was jerking with all his strength against the bindings, unaware of the deep cuts he was inflicting on himself.

The figure ignored him and Jarod could do nothing but watch.

J feigned sleep. Regulating his breathing was easy. He heard the door open and someone tiptoe into the room.

“How is he?”

He heard Broots’ whisper clearly. His mom’s reply was muffled and he had to remember to continue breathing deeply while he tried to listen.

“Sydney’s still in ICU. They can’t give me an answer on when his condition will improve.”

His mother must have shifted her face to his side for he could hear her reply this time.

“For Jarod’s sake I hope he recovers. I’ll look into him later. Is there any more news from Miss Parker?”

They’re on their way to one of Lyle’s sites in the Appalachian Region. They should reach it in eight hours.”

J smiled inwardly. He had a location. Well, part of a location anyway. Now all he needed to do is figure out a way of eluding his mother.

You’re brother tried again…and this time you weren’t there.

Sydney died of his wounds…you weren’t there to help him.

Sydney, his parents and J. He didn’t want to know the rest. It was lies. Nothing but lies constructed to break his defences. He was dimly aware that he was rocking, the words from his nursery song echoing in his head. Trying to bring comfort. Trying to tell him that this nightmare was not real.

He was cold when he finally came to his senses. He was tired, emotionally and physically. He shifted, moved into a kneeling position, keeping his head lowered submissively. He sensed his presence and waited.

Lyle was suspicious. He looked down at the kneeling pretender, head slumped in defeat. He had known that Jarod’s Achilles heel was his family but he had not thought Jarod would give in that easily or buy the lies he had spin. What he did think was plausible was that Jarod thought by being cooperative, his family would be spared. Lyle smiled, deciding that he would reward his captive. Despite his injuries he had received from Jarod, he was the one still in control and Jarod was still unaware of who he was. That reason alone kept him in a good mood.

It wasn’t long before the presence was gone and soon the smells of food drifted towards him. A spoon was pushed against his lips and he ate, careful to follow the signals. A questioning hand on his bicep and he understood.

Enough?

He nodded and the food was removed. He stayed where he was, kneeling while the flames of the fire warmed his chest. The burns on his hands and wrists were a blue fire in the coolness of the evening wind. His body hurt from all the cuts and bruises he had received in the fight but he ignored it all. He had finally calmed, shifting coldly through all his options. He needed to let his captor think he had won. He needed to gain his trust.

And then…then he will kill him.

It was the only way to keep his family safe.