Season 2, Lyle’s statement to Miss Parker.

“He almost found his family, Miss Parker. Imagine the ramifications.”

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The Centre, SL – 10, 11:55 a.m.

She was aware that she was teetering on the edge of a precipice, her energy depleted, and her breath coming in painful gasps. Despite all of this, her determination to stay alive was as strong as ever; she even managed a small grin that stopped Lyle in his tracks, a few feet away from her.

“Parker, don’t be a fool.”

She managed to raise an eyebrow and although the gun in her hand was barely controllable, she still found the strength to keep it fairly steady on her brother.

“Any…last request?”

Lyle regarded her with cold fury, his body tense with animosity. “You don’t want to do this, Parker. You need me……together we…”

“Oh, spare me the rhetoric, Lyle. It got old a long time ago.”

“All I have to do is wait until you pass out, Parker. Which obviously won’t be long? Although I must admit, I admire your strength. But then again, you are a Parker and Parkers are survivors,” Lyle said while keeping his eyes focused on his sister, as he endeavored to take one small step closer to her.

“Hold it there, Sparky. Any further movement and I start taking pot shots.”

There were a few seconds of silence, broken by her jagged breathing, as they glared at each other. She had no doubt that she’d have the strength to pull the trigger but she was weak and she could feel the last reserves of her strength ebb away with each second. She couldn’t dare to take her eyes off Lyle, couldn’t dare to take even a second to search for Sydney.

She remembered the ghastly sound of Sydney’s head hitting the wall; she remembered the disconcerting silence after that.

“You’re not going to shoot, Parker.”

She blinked, hearing Lyle’s words through sudden static in her ears, as her vision started fading to white. She knew she was close to passing out once more, leaving her under her twin’s control again, without a second chance.

Her vision clouded and she saw Lyle give a Cheshire grin as he started towards her.

She pulled the trigger.

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The Tower, 11:55 a.m.

Jarod knew of only once that he had been in the Tower before. He had been 10 and he remembers his fear. Sydney had gone to a symposium and Mr Raines had come to fetch him from his room in the middle of the night. All previous memories at that stage of Mr Raines had been frightening. His heart in his throat, he had watched the numbers flash in the elevator, opening onto a dimly lit hall on one of the top floors. He had thought he had done something wrong but had been too scared to ask Mr Raines what it was as they had entered one of the board rooms. Three people had sat at the head of the table and he had known that they were the Triumvirate without needing to ask.

He remembered all the questions they had asked him.

He remembered all the answers he gave them.

And he remembered the old man sitting at the head of the table; eyes cold and calculating making him feel uncomfortable and edgy. Making him afraid. Even more afraid than he had been of Mr Raines.

No need to sim that fear.

He felt it. But not only for himself. For Parker too.

The sweeper on his right grunted a terse command. He tried to follow the command, tried to will his body to move but in the end he was too slow. His ribs protested when they jerked him forward. He was herded towards a door where another sweeper stood, big and imposing – square jawed and looking like he knew every technique devised to defend himself. Jarod dropped his eyes, focused on the floor and the luxury carpet that softened their footfalls. It was a striking burgundy red colour, perfect for camouflaging blood stains until washed out.

He watched the sweeper knock and as the door was silently opened, he was forcefully ushered inside. He vaguely heard a woman gasp somewhere behind him. Half turning, he hoped to get a glimpse of who it was. He couldn’t move as the sweepers tightened their grips on his arms, forcing him to take another step forward. He lifted his head, lifted his eyes and saw a very old man silhouetted against the window. He frowned, wondering who the man was and then his memories of another meeting at another time forced their way back to consciousness.

He was 10.

His first meeting in the tower.

And he knew instinctively who was staring at him with those empty, cold and calculating eyes.

The head of the Triumvirate.

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The Centre, SL – 10, 12:00

Sydney was confused. He blinked, staring at the face of Angelo above him. He felt the growing bump on the back of his aching head and winced when a sharp pain registered at his touch. From somewhere distant he thought he perceived voices, but couldn’t make out the words…

“Daughter hurt.”

A gentle touch on his arm and he opened his eyes. Two circling Angelo’s were looking at him with concern.

“Daughter hurt. Sydney help.”

Angelo’s words finally seemed to register. As alarm filtered through his still aching head, Sydney sat up, grabbing at one of Angelo’s arms when his equilibrium started to swing madly. Breathing through his nose, eyes closed, he waited for the dizzy spell to pass.

It took three tries before he made it as far as his feet and then another minute before he reached Miss Parker. If Angelo hadn’t been there, he didn’t think he would’ve managed.

Miss Parker didn’t look good. Her cheeks were whiter than any powder with twin blushes of fever providing the only colour. His gun was clasped in her hand and he suddenly realised why he had come.

Then he noticed Lyle. He must have walked right past the man’s body. Hadn’t even seen it in his concentration to stay on his feet and reach Miss Parker. The Chairman’s son was dead, lying sprawled just two feet short of reaching his sister.

Ignoring Lyle, he turned back towards Miss Parker. Tried to remember the rudimentary first aid he had learned when he had studied for his degree.

Check for breathing.

Gave a small sigh of relief when he noticed her chest moving. With Angelo’s help, he shifted her onto her back. She gave a small moan in protest but stayed unconscious.

Sydney knew there was nothing he could do. He had no first aid kit, no bandages, no magic wand to make everything better all at once. He felt his age, felt the creak of his bones and the lingering concussion that threatened to send him back to oblivion. He felt helpless and old.

“Sydney help.”

In spite of his better judgment, he gently tapped one of Miss Parker’s cheeks, calling her name softly.

There was no response.

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The Tower, 12:00

“Hello Jarod.”

The voice crackled, thin with age and thick with evil. Jarod shuddered, his stomach in knots and he knew that this was the man responsible for his tenure at the Centre. The man gestured to the sweepers and their hands fell away. A moment later the cuffs were released. Warily, he eyed the old man as he brought his hands forwards, massaging the life back into them.

He heard movement behind him. The old man was watching with amusement.

“Jarod.” The voice was layered with such a diverse array of emotions - tentative yet somehow radiating affection, hopeful but at the same time clearly also filled with fear and anxiety. It was feminine. It wasn’t Miss Parker; he hadn’t expected to see her here. She was probably somewhere in the sublevels and in Lyle’s “care.” Even now, with these lightening fast thoughts, he wouldn’t let his mind go there.

Jarod turned, the sweepers still practically glued to his sides but allowing him the movement.

His mother stood partially hidden behind a chair, one hand lingering on the back of it. Grounding her.

“Mom?”

She nodded, glancing behind him towards the Triumvirate head. Jarod instantly went cold. Somehow, he knew.

“Why?”

His question hung in air fraught with nervous tension.

“Why don’t you tell him, Maggie?”

Jarod watched as his mother paled and seemed to wither before his eyes. Eyes dulled with a hidden pain for which he couldn’t see the etiology. If possible, Margaret’s hand clenched the chair’s fabric even more desperately.

“Please, don’t do this.”

Silence met her appeal.

Unsure, Jarod took a step towards her. The sweepers closed ranks and he stopped, watching his mother with concern and apprehension.

Margaret took another ragged deep breath, seemed to gather herself up and said, “Jarod, this is the head of the Triumvirate.” She gave a small defeated sigh and paused once again. With her heart full of shame and her eyes full of sorrow, she added, “and…..your grandfather.”

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