Break point

Donoterase, Miss Parker to her father

“Is there no depth to which we won’t sink?”

****************

The Tower, 12:01 p.m.

For the very first time in his life Jarod fully grasped how Miss Parker must have felt when he revealed her family secrets to her. It felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. His legs could barely hold him upright as he fought the devastation that the words had brought.

I am part of the Centre.

My family is responsible for the death and destruction of thousands…

My mother…my mother

He wouldn’t dare complete the thought.

Couldn’t bear to think of the ramifications.

Couldn’t even begin to fathom what it all meant.

“It’s a lie,” was all he managed to utter, denial still very much evident in his features. With desperation in his eyes, he willed his mother to tell him that she’d been under duress and was forced to say those hateful words. When she stayed silent, he shook his head. “Please...” the words dried up beyond that plea. He couldn’t ask her again. He wiped his face with a trembling hand, wanting to vanish completely, wanting to banish this moment to oblivion.

Oh God, who am I?

His mind seemed to slow down and accelerate all at once.

“I’m the proudest mommy in the world...”

“Hello Jarod, my name is Sydney. I’ll be taking care of you for a while.”

“Where are my mom and dad?”

“I’m not doing the sim.”

“The Centre owns you, Jarod. They will never let you go.”

“Why did you try to kill me?”

“I know about your family, Jarod. Things that only I can tell you...”

“I can be a doctor, an engineer, a fireman but I don’t know who I am?”

“I’m the proudest mommy...”

The window was left open.

When they took him, the window to his room had been left open.

No.

He dismissed the thought. His mother loved him. It had been a warm night and the breeze had been cool on his skin. She had kissed him goodnight.

But the window had been open...

No.

She must have known he was at the Centre. How could she not? Why didn’t she rescue him? Why had she left him here, abandoned and alone?

All those years of loneliness, all those years of pain. All those years of hope and unanswered prayers.

No!

Not true.

She loves me.

The window had been open...

The force of the betrayal hit like an express train. He so desperately wanted to believe the fantasy he had created of his mother in his mind. He had searched for that love, had yearned for it as only a lost child could.

That night they took him she had kissed him goodnight.

Not goodbye.

Goodnight.

Everything was frozen. He was paralyzed by the images and thoughts that flashed uncontrollably through his mind. He closed his eyes tightly but it didn’t stop the swirling motion . Didn’t stop the nausea. Didn’t stop the image of his mother’s face as she bent over his bed to give him a kiss on the forehead.

Didn’t stop the image of those men climbing in through the open window.

Mom?

His first meeting with Sydney. His terror. His sobs. His quest for love. A hug. A smile. Instead, dark days locked away waiting for Sydney to come back from conferences. Dying. Pain. Agony. Torture.

“I’m burning!”

“I can save him...NO!”

“No, don’t...no, no...”

“I can’t accept this, Jarod.”

“We have work to do...”

“I’m burning...”

****************

The Tower, 12:08 p.m.

Gradually he became aware that he was on the floor, a knee angrily pressing down between his shoulder blades. He couldn’t see his mother. His face was pressed into the freshly cleaned carpet, hard enough to make it suffocating. Suddenly claustrophobic, Jarod started fighting, ignoring the protests from his sore ribs. For a moment the pressure on his back remained and then, all of a sudden, he was free and fighting with himself. Taking in panting gasps, he pushed himself from the floor into a sitting position.

He had to get out of here.

Had to get away from this nightmare.

And then soft hands were on his face, touching him tentatively. For just a second he relaxed, took a deep breath and let it soothe him. Let it heal.

“I’m so sorry, Jarod. I...”

That was it. The gaping chasm in his chest tore open again. He wrenched his head away and pushed her from him. He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge her. The hurt was too real and too painful.

“It’s not what you think?”

“How the fuck would you know what I think?”

He surprised himself by his outburst. By the violence in his voice. He wanted to take it back, but this duplicity was too close and too new and he allowed the some of the rage that he had always kept at bay to escape a little. On some distant plane Jarod was aware that the old man was still watching them with interest; he couldn’t concentrate, as he was consumed by his mounting fury. He rose, turning his back on his mother. The two sweepers had drifted away, standing against the wall just to the side of him. Close enough to intervene if he’d try anything. Not that it mattered anymore.

“Tell me you didn’t know.”

They both understood what he meant. That she hadn’t known about his captivity at the Centre. That she had been searching for him all these years. That she had been running just as hard as he had to get out of the clutches of this place.

“Tell me!”

“I...”

“Tell me!” He growled again as he lost what little patience he had to begin with, clenching his fists. His chest was tight, the tension slowly building inside him towards a breaking point that he knew he wouldn’t be able to prevent.

“He would’ve killed you.”

He gave a short bark of laughter, his voice rough and hard in the silence of the room. He felt the tears trickle down his face as he stared out the window at the storm blowing outside.

“That first night...after you were taken, I came. I came with Catherine and found you locked in a room.”

The tears didn’t stop. His chest tightened further and he wondered how long he’d be able to go without being able to breathe.

“They found us.” He heard her swallow. “Your...grandfather was there. Even then he was a powerful man. He told me that if I tried...if I tried to find you again that he will kill you in front of me.”

He had no words to reply, no words to say. He was robbed of breath and all he could do was stare at the snow as it fell past the window. Effortless and slow, dancing on the wind.

His life was falling apart.

“I’ve been searching for a way to get you out. Jarod, you have to believe me. All these years...”

The silence thickened, became palatable. He thought he could taste it, taste it as sure as he tasted his tears. His blood.

“When I heard that you’ve escaped, I tried to find you.”

“Why should I believe you?”

He heard her clothes rustle and then she was touching his arm. His body went rigid and the tears stopped. He could feel his eyes drying, burning but he still didn’t move. He couldn’t. Her hand curled around his bicep and then tightened as if she had made a decision.

“Don’t think for one second that I don’t run scenarios in my mind on what I could’ve done differently. That I play that day at the Centre over and over in my mind. Trying to find other angles, trying to find ways to have gotten you out. There are a lot of things I regret about my life, Jarod but don’t think for one second that I haven’t tried everything to get you out of this place.”

He wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that she was sincere, wanted to believe her more than anything his whole life. And then - the old man spoke. It was as if he read Jarod’s mind, as if he had seen inside his soul and he knew the exact words to say to destroy the tentative line of trust that his mother had started to weave.

“Tell him about the promise you made me so long ago, Margie. On that day you left me.”

Jarod’s breath hitched.

A moment later his mother dropped her hand from his arm and stepped away.

“No.”

He heard so much in that one word. Panic. Sorrow. Anger. Determination. Fear. He turned and faced his mother. He was numb inside except for the pool of molten lava that was slowly building.

“Tell him.”

He glanced at his grandfather and then back at his mother.

“There was no promise. Just lies to get away from you.”

The old man laughed; an eerie cackle that seemed to fill the room. And then there was a gun in the Triumvirate member’s hand, pointed right at Jarod. There was malice and coldness in his voice that made it quite clear that he wouldn’t tolerate any further disobedience.

“Don’t think for one moment that I won’t make good on my promise.” The old man paused long enough for the words to sink in and then he said, “ Now tell him.”

His mother’s gaze locked with him. She opened her lips and closed them again. In the silence the distant boom of surf seemed loud.

“You need him.”

Somehow his mother had found her voice and courage. Anger flashed in the octogenarian’s eyes. Two steps later and a slap sounded and Jarod could only watch his mother stagger back, her hand immediately going to her cheek. The old man was heaving, the gun still in his hand, a finger curled dangerously around the trigger.

“Why do you continue to defy me?”

Margaret’s hand slowly dropped from her cheek, leaving a red mark where her father had hit her.

“Tell him!”

Spittle flew from the corners of her father’s mouth as he kept screaming at her. When she didn’t comply, he grabbed Jarod and placed the gun against the Pretender’s head.

And Jarod saw his chance.

He opened the floodgates and allowed all the anger he had been bottling up over the years to flow. The glimpses he had allowed those men and woman to see that he had gone after when he had been outside was nothing compared to this moment.

Darkness filled his mind.

And then he was aware that he was moving...

******************

The Tower, 12:10 p.m.

The smoke was acrid in his nostrils, stinging them with sulfuric acid. The gun was heavy in his hand; he could feel the weight pulling on his muscles, as he stared in shock at the scene in front of him. Somehow through the heavy pounding in his ears he heard his mother give a small whimper. Finally the darkness in his mind cleared and he could think again. Feel again. See again. The first thought that entered his pristine mind was, “What have I done?”

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