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Disclaimer: The characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots etc. and the fictional Centre, are all property of MTM, TNT and NBC Productions and used without permission. No infringement is intended and the story is for personal entertainment only with nothing for profit. The words, however, are mine. Please don’t take them without asking. Thanks. Author’s Notes: Part one describes Jarod being retrieved by Lyle and a sweeper crew. I wondered how the other characters in the story might respond to the same event. In season four (Donoterase and The World is Changing), the characters all rushed to Jarod’s side. I wondered if real life might be less noble and have a more “survival of the fittest” feel. Part two explores that idea.
Moments in Time
part 1
by TerriH
Jarod had become accustomed to the narrow escapes and fast thinking required to evade the sweepers whenever The Centre got too close. More than once he’d had to take a back door or dash down an alley being chased and under a fog of bullets. Over time he’d learned how to keep distance between himself and those who chased him. But…a man who’s hunted always fears one moment.
Chicago, IL
Jarod’s lungs burned as he crashed through the bank doors and into the freezing air of midtown Chicago in January. He stumbled on a slick spot in the sidewalk and then hurled himself ahead of the sweepers whose footsteps were just behind him. He knew the street and had mentally noted his escape route before going to the Chicago Savings and Investment Bank. His eyes focused on the corner and an alley he was running toward. He knew it would have cover, and he needed to get out of view. If he could misdirect the sweepers, it would be easier to get away.
It had been a calculated risk. He’d located Catherine Parker’s safety deposit box using The Centre’s mainframe and information that was in a relatively unprotected file. He knew that Mr. Parker and Raines were aware he had penetrated the computer’s memory files. He had to assume they might leave him some false leads. The file seemed to indicate that Catherine had collected Centre files on the taken and placed them in the safety deposit box just before she was murdered. He hoped to find a trace of his family. That hope evaporated when he spotted the sweepers inside.
Jarod’s mouth was dry and his lungs screamed in pain as the cold air rushed through his lungs. His legs burned as they pumped up and down, moving him closer to the edge of the building. He could hear the shouts of the sweepers behind him. He could hear the sound of his own heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through his body.
Jarod had faced moments like this before. He’d always managed to be a step ahead. He’d always managed to spot the trap before it could be sprung. He knew how Parker and Sidney thought. He knew how to anticipate their traps. He had less experience outwitting the Tower. He’d been their pawn, but he’d not had many opportunities to understand them the way he understood Parker.
Jarod’s right foot slipped as his foot caught the edge of a snowbank. He rounded the corner, half falling. His eyes, focused on the sight of a man in a suit running up the alley. A sweeper. Jarod’s forward momentum stopped, but before he could turn, he was tackled from behind. His knees buckled under as he toppled forward, face down on the wet asphalt. Jarod’s left knee twisted as he fell, instantly full of fire as the tendons screamed. Before he had time to react, another sweeper pilled on top, pinning his remaining leg and torquing his arm back and up past his spine in a submission hold.
So many times… so close, so many times he’d managed to get away… Tears burned in his eyes, tears he couldn’t let free. Anger and fear rose in him. His muscles burned and he felt a sharp tearing heat in his shoulder as he tried to will his muscles to be stronger, as he tried to fight his way free of his tormentors.
“No! No…” His voice was horse, more a scream and a plead than a statement. His eyes came up in time to see the sweeper from down the alley level a large caliber handgun at his brow. His eyes focusing involuntarily down the dark center of the barrel.
“Time to go home, Jarod.” The sweeper behind him laughed. Jarod felt the smooth plastic of a quick tie loop going over his wrists. His head was pounding. Tears came fast, despite his effort to hold them back. He felt cold seeping into his clothes, into his skin.
Jarod heard the screech of tires to his right as a dark sedan lurched to a stop at the mouth of the alley. He glanced to the side. One of the sweepers jerked him upright by wrenching back on his shoulder. The pain caused his vision to momentarily blank out. His arms were pinned behind him, but he was at least on his feet again. He could feel the breath of one of the sweepers on his neck. Two more stood at each side, controlling his movement.
“You can’t do this….” Jarod’s eyes were wide, afraid, frantic. His voice was pleading and horse. Jarod flexed his shoulders and bent at the waist, attempting to shift his weight forward and sprint free of the sweepers flanking him. He managed to shift side to side, but couldn’t evade all the bodies and hands there to contain him. Fire raged up his leg from his injured knee. He knew it was pointless. He couldn’t get past them. Sights and sounds of the street swirled around him. He fought to contain his panic, to think past it. The world was closing in, collapsing, or so it felt. Despair began to settle inside his muscles, and he stopped fighting.
Jarod was pushed toward the sedan that had pulled into the alley. The car door opened. Jarod saw a gray suit and polished leather shoes as someone stepped out onto the street. He saw the gloved hand before his gaze rose to Lyle’s face. Jarod’s heart seemed to freeze in his chest. In his mind, one word repeated, “No. No. No.” Lyle smiled smugly and pointed at the trunk. The sweeper team began shoving Jarod toward the rear of the car.
“You can’t do this!” Jarod locked eyes with Lyle, knowing it was a futile effort, but commanding Lyle to listen. Jarod’s desperation increased as the trunk door popped open. He was shoved forward, controlled by the pain in his shoulders. He looked from right to left, frantically looking for some means of escape.
Jarod was off his feet before he had a chance to register that he was being thrown into the trunk. He struggled against the hands pushing him down into it. Kicking with his left leg, he struck the side of the car, sending tingling jolts of pain up into his calf.
“Lyle, don’t do this!” Jarod’s eyes connected again with Lyle’s. Lyle stood, gloved hand in his pocket, grinning. Jarod’s despair and panic grew.
“They said it couldn’t be done, Jarod.” Lyle shifted his weight from one foot to the other, making a quarter turn as if he was looking over his shoulder to an audience. “But, I guess all those brain cells don’t give you so much advantage after all, do they.” Lyle smiled. Jarod continued to struggle against the sweeper keeping him pinned inside the trunk of the car, his face flushing red in anger. Lyle brought his finger to his lips. “Now, now, Jarod. Let’s just enjoy the moment.”
Lyle turned to the sweeper beside him. “Hold him still while I make sure our prize doesn’t fly the coup.” The two sweepers flanking Lyle moved in, controlling Jarod’s arms as the other sweeper moved to pin his legs. Lyle extracted a silver case from his jacket pocket. He flicked it open revealing a small syringe of clear liquid. Picking it up between thumb and index finger, he removed a plastic safety cap and pointed the needle toward Jarod.
“They tell me this works rather quickly. I understand it will leave you quite incapacitated.” Lyle looked giddy. Jarod tried to move away, to roll back and avoid the needle, but he was being held too tightly. The needle penetrated his arm and he felt the hot burning sensation spread through the muscle.
The sweepers hands released him, but Jarod had no time to escape. His last view of freedom was the gray Chicago sky being cut away by the closing of the trunk door. He heard the latch catch and was engulfed in darkness. His heart was still pounding…his breath still fast. Tears burned in his eyes. This was the day he’d waited for. He’d expected it for nearly 4 years. Bitterness crept into his mind. This can’t be happening. Not to me. Somewhere inside his mind, Jarod heard the cries of a child and the call of despair beckoning him to a familiar place inside his nightmares. “No…..” was all he managed before the strong sedative engulfed him.
Blue Cove, DE – Centre Receiving Warehouse 2
Jarod was aware of vibrations and movement around him, but as his mind floated in the darkness, he couldn’t quite remember where he was. Some part of his mind signaled danger, but he couldn’t isolate why or what the danger was. Instead he kept getting lost among dream images and sounds that were familiar yet distant.
The fog began to clear when Jarod’s eyes were flooded with light as the trunk of Lyle’s sedan came up. Jarod felt hangover and groggy, but he forced himself awake. He noticed tingling in his right arm and made a note that his arm must be asleep. He tried to sit up, brace himself for whatever he’d see, but his body was sluggish and unresponsive. Jarod blinked hard, trying to refocus and remember what was happening.
A shape in a dark suit appeared in front of the open trunk. Jarod shook his head, blinking, and trying to make is eyes focus. Another shape appeared and suddenly Jarod felt himself being dragged out of the trunk and along a bare concrete floor. He heard a strange sound and registered a moment later that it was the sound his own voice as he protested against being pulled along. He wasn’t yelling or crying out. It was the a sound of fragmented pleas.
Something about the bay Jarod found himself in, was familiar. All at once, it felt as if he’d been struck by a train going 70 miles an hour. He knew this place. The Centre. Jarod’s memory was foggy, but he was certain he knew exactly where he was. It was a Centre receiving warehouse just west of the main complex.
His adrenaline kicked in and Jarod managed to get to his feet, trying to catch his balance, though a sweeper still held him by each arm. They continued to force him forward. A man in a lab coat rolled a stretcher out of a waiting service elevator in front of them. Jarod realized the stretcher was for him. They’d expected him to still be too groggy to walk.
Jarod shifted his weight backward and brought is legs up, jumping at the stretcher and kicking out, causing the stretcher to plow into the wall. It plowed into the attendant and he dropped to the floor, doubled over. Jarod ripped his shoulder side to side, trying to shake off the sweepers who were pushing him toward the elevator faster now.
“Let’s go, Jarod.” The sweeper on Jarod’s right seemed to expect resistance and wasn’t phased by the pretender’s opposition. Jarod’s entire being focused on not getting into that elevator, not going there. Nothing else existed. He gritted his teeth and fought harder.
Behind Jarod, Lyle looked annoyed and slipped one hand under his suit coat, reaching for something. Suddenly, sharp pain filled Jarod’s head. The world faded to blackness as the butt of Lyle’s .9mm thudded against his skull. The pretender collapsed onto the floor of the warehouse. His limp body was dragged to the elevator and dropped in a heap. Jarod lay helpless, motionless on the floor.
“He always makes things so difficult.” Lyle said to no one as he stepped over Jarod’s body, moving to the rear of the elevator. He slipped his pistol back in the holster and pressed the button for the 9th floor. The elevator doors glided closed and it began its journey down into the substructure beneath the warehouse.
The receiving warehouse above was only the public face of the acquisitions department. The lower levels housed a small infirmary and several specialized labs. Sublevel 9 also had a corridor bridging the West complex with the Main Centre grounds a quarter of a mile away. Lyle often preferred to bring in the components of his special projects this way to avoid curious corporate eyes.
Lyle straightened his tie. Anything related to Jarod always seemed to involve getting ones hands dirty. He didn’t mind that, but he preferred a less public display. He glanced at the sweeper beside him who stared at his hand. Lyle let his hand drop to his side. Lyle was self conscious about his apprehension that something might still go wrong. He’d just done what no one else had managed. He’d brought home the prize. He had nothing to be worried about. Uneasiness settled in his stomach.
Lyle crossed his arms and smiled at himself, chasing away his inner demons. I always knew I was this good. He rocked back and forth on his heels with a slight smile, admiring the sight of the pretender sprawled semiconscious on the floor.
The elevator announced its arrival at the 9th floor with a subdued bell. Jarod glanced up from the floor, at first seeing only polished fuzzy black leather shoes and dark suits. Lyle squatted down, grabbing Jarod’s hair and forcing his head back bringing the two men nose to nose. Jarod struggled to get his eyes to focus on Lyle’s face.
“Jarod, welcome home.” Lyle’s eyes sparkled. He’d been waiting for nearly 4 years to say that. Jarod’s heart skipped a beat. He felt as if he couldn’t breath. His world was spinning, falling. There were too many emotions at once and his brain was too full of fog. Jarod couldn’t think, couldn’t accept what was happening, couldn’t respond. His face clouded with emotions, but he remained silent. He let his eyes drop to the floor.
Lyle stood, rubbing his hands together as if wiping something off of them. The elevator doors opened and Lyle stepped over Jarod into the corridor. He called out instructions leaving his back to the sweepers and Jarod. He had more important people to talk to.
“Sam, take him to Lab 3 and prep him.” Lyle said, pulling at his shirt cuff, straightening it. “I have good news to deliver.” Lyle grinned to himself, feeling triumphant. He strolled down the corridor and out of sight.
Jarod allowed himself to stay relaxed. He might be dragged back to a Sim lab, but he wasn’t going to help anyone take him there, much less walk there on his own two feet. Not helping them take him to the lab was one thing he could control. It was only a small inconvenience to the sweepers to drag him down the hall, but the single act of defiance was the only one he had left.
A sour taste gathered in Jarod’s mouth. It was adrenaline. Jarod has been taken to many different labs during his time at the Centre. He knew what to expect. A familiar knot in his stomach reminded him that the worst was yet to come. Jarod tried not to think about it and cleared his mind. He needed to marshal his strength. He’d need it soon enough.
Jarod closed his eyes. He’d seen corridors like this hundreds of times, gray industrial paint and tile, cold fluorescent light buzzing overhead. It felt in the same moment both sterile and cruel. If he’d been able to connect with his emotions, he’d have wept. Instead, his eyes were distant. He felt the numbness of suppressed rage and fear combined. The Centre owned him again. Being owned is a distinct feeling, one not easily forgotten.
part 1
by TerriH
Jarod had become accustomed to the narrow escapes and fast thinking required to evade the sweepers whenever The Centre got too close. More than once he’d had to take a back door or dash down an alley being chased and under a fog of bullets. Over time he’d learned how to keep distance between himself and those who chased him. But…a man who’s hunted always fears one moment.
Chicago, IL
Jarod’s lungs burned as he crashed through the bank doors and into the freezing air of midtown Chicago in January. He stumbled on a slick spot in the sidewalk and then hurled himself ahead of the sweepers whose footsteps were just behind him. He knew the street and had mentally noted his escape route before going to the Chicago Savings and Investment Bank. His eyes focused on the corner and an alley he was running toward. He knew it would have cover, and he needed to get out of view. If he could misdirect the sweepers, it would be easier to get away.
It had been a calculated risk. He’d located Catherine Parker’s safety deposit box using The Centre’s mainframe and information that was in a relatively unprotected file. He knew that Mr. Parker and Raines were aware he had penetrated the computer’s memory files. He had to assume they might leave him some false leads. The file seemed to indicate that Catherine had collected Centre files on the taken and placed them in the safety deposit box just before she was murdered. He hoped to find a trace of his family. That hope evaporated when he spotted the sweepers inside.
Jarod’s mouth was dry and his lungs screamed in pain as the cold air rushed through his lungs. His legs burned as they pumped up and down, moving him closer to the edge of the building. He could hear the shouts of the sweepers behind him. He could hear the sound of his own heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through his body.
Jarod had faced moments like this before. He’d always managed to be a step ahead. He’d always managed to spot the trap before it could be sprung. He knew how Parker and Sidney thought. He knew how to anticipate their traps. He had less experience outwitting the Tower. He’d been their pawn, but he’d not had many opportunities to understand them the way he understood Parker.
Jarod’s right foot slipped as his foot caught the edge of a snowbank. He rounded the corner, half falling. His eyes, focused on the sight of a man in a suit running up the alley. A sweeper. Jarod’s forward momentum stopped, but before he could turn, he was tackled from behind. His knees buckled under as he toppled forward, face down on the wet asphalt. Jarod’s left knee twisted as he fell, instantly full of fire as the tendons screamed. Before he had time to react, another sweeper pilled on top, pinning his remaining leg and torquing his arm back and up past his spine in a submission hold.
So many times… so close, so many times he’d managed to get away… Tears burned in his eyes, tears he couldn’t let free. Anger and fear rose in him. His muscles burned and he felt a sharp tearing heat in his shoulder as he tried to will his muscles to be stronger, as he tried to fight his way free of his tormentors.
“No! No…” His voice was horse, more a scream and a plead than a statement. His eyes came up in time to see the sweeper from down the alley level a large caliber handgun at his brow. His eyes focusing involuntarily down the dark center of the barrel.
“Time to go home, Jarod.” The sweeper behind him laughed. Jarod felt the smooth plastic of a quick tie loop going over his wrists. His head was pounding. Tears came fast, despite his effort to hold them back. He felt cold seeping into his clothes, into his skin.
Jarod heard the screech of tires to his right as a dark sedan lurched to a stop at the mouth of the alley. He glanced to the side. One of the sweepers jerked him upright by wrenching back on his shoulder. The pain caused his vision to momentarily blank out. His arms were pinned behind him, but he was at least on his feet again. He could feel the breath of one of the sweepers on his neck. Two more stood at each side, controlling his movement.
“You can’t do this….” Jarod’s eyes were wide, afraid, frantic. His voice was pleading and horse. Jarod flexed his shoulders and bent at the waist, attempting to shift his weight forward and sprint free of the sweepers flanking him. He managed to shift side to side, but couldn’t evade all the bodies and hands there to contain him. Fire raged up his leg from his injured knee. He knew it was pointless. He couldn’t get past them. Sights and sounds of the street swirled around him. He fought to contain his panic, to think past it. The world was closing in, collapsing, or so it felt. Despair began to settle inside his muscles, and he stopped fighting.
Jarod was pushed toward the sedan that had pulled into the alley. The car door opened. Jarod saw a gray suit and polished leather shoes as someone stepped out onto the street. He saw the gloved hand before his gaze rose to Lyle’s face. Jarod’s heart seemed to freeze in his chest. In his mind, one word repeated, “No. No. No.” Lyle smiled smugly and pointed at the trunk. The sweeper team began shoving Jarod toward the rear of the car.
“You can’t do this!” Jarod locked eyes with Lyle, knowing it was a futile effort, but commanding Lyle to listen. Jarod’s desperation increased as the trunk door popped open. He was shoved forward, controlled by the pain in his shoulders. He looked from right to left, frantically looking for some means of escape.
Jarod was off his feet before he had a chance to register that he was being thrown into the trunk. He struggled against the hands pushing him down into it. Kicking with his left leg, he struck the side of the car, sending tingling jolts of pain up into his calf.
“Lyle, don’t do this!” Jarod’s eyes connected again with Lyle’s. Lyle stood, gloved hand in his pocket, grinning. Jarod’s despair and panic grew.
“They said it couldn’t be done, Jarod.” Lyle shifted his weight from one foot to the other, making a quarter turn as if he was looking over his shoulder to an audience. “But, I guess all those brain cells don’t give you so much advantage after all, do they.” Lyle smiled. Jarod continued to struggle against the sweeper keeping him pinned inside the trunk of the car, his face flushing red in anger. Lyle brought his finger to his lips. “Now, now, Jarod. Let’s just enjoy the moment.”
Lyle turned to the sweeper beside him. “Hold him still while I make sure our prize doesn’t fly the coup.” The two sweepers flanking Lyle moved in, controlling Jarod’s arms as the other sweeper moved to pin his legs. Lyle extracted a silver case from his jacket pocket. He flicked it open revealing a small syringe of clear liquid. Picking it up between thumb and index finger, he removed a plastic safety cap and pointed the needle toward Jarod.
“They tell me this works rather quickly. I understand it will leave you quite incapacitated.” Lyle looked giddy. Jarod tried to move away, to roll back and avoid the needle, but he was being held too tightly. The needle penetrated his arm and he felt the hot burning sensation spread through the muscle.
The sweepers hands released him, but Jarod had no time to escape. His last view of freedom was the gray Chicago sky being cut away by the closing of the trunk door. He heard the latch catch and was engulfed in darkness. His heart was still pounding…his breath still fast. Tears burned in his eyes. This was the day he’d waited for. He’d expected it for nearly 4 years. Bitterness crept into his mind. This can’t be happening. Not to me. Somewhere inside his mind, Jarod heard the cries of a child and the call of despair beckoning him to a familiar place inside his nightmares. “No…..” was all he managed before the strong sedative engulfed him.
Blue Cove, DE – Centre Receiving Warehouse 2
Jarod was aware of vibrations and movement around him, but as his mind floated in the darkness, he couldn’t quite remember where he was. Some part of his mind signaled danger, but he couldn’t isolate why or what the danger was. Instead he kept getting lost among dream images and sounds that were familiar yet distant.
The fog began to clear when Jarod’s eyes were flooded with light as the trunk of Lyle’s sedan came up. Jarod felt hangover and groggy, but he forced himself awake. He noticed tingling in his right arm and made a note that his arm must be asleep. He tried to sit up, brace himself for whatever he’d see, but his body was sluggish and unresponsive. Jarod blinked hard, trying to refocus and remember what was happening.
A shape in a dark suit appeared in front of the open trunk. Jarod shook his head, blinking, and trying to make is eyes focus. Another shape appeared and suddenly Jarod felt himself being dragged out of the trunk and along a bare concrete floor. He heard a strange sound and registered a moment later that it was the sound his own voice as he protested against being pulled along. He wasn’t yelling or crying out. It was the a sound of fragmented pleas.
Something about the bay Jarod found himself in, was familiar. All at once, it felt as if he’d been struck by a train going 70 miles an hour. He knew this place. The Centre. Jarod’s memory was foggy, but he was certain he knew exactly where he was. It was a Centre receiving warehouse just west of the main complex.
His adrenaline kicked in and Jarod managed to get to his feet, trying to catch his balance, though a sweeper still held him by each arm. They continued to force him forward. A man in a lab coat rolled a stretcher out of a waiting service elevator in front of them. Jarod realized the stretcher was for him. They’d expected him to still be too groggy to walk.
Jarod shifted his weight backward and brought is legs up, jumping at the stretcher and kicking out, causing the stretcher to plow into the wall. It plowed into the attendant and he dropped to the floor, doubled over. Jarod ripped his shoulder side to side, trying to shake off the sweepers who were pushing him toward the elevator faster now.
“Let’s go, Jarod.” The sweeper on Jarod’s right seemed to expect resistance and wasn’t phased by the pretender’s opposition. Jarod’s entire being focused on not getting into that elevator, not going there. Nothing else existed. He gritted his teeth and fought harder.
Behind Jarod, Lyle looked annoyed and slipped one hand under his suit coat, reaching for something. Suddenly, sharp pain filled Jarod’s head. The world faded to blackness as the butt of Lyle’s .9mm thudded against his skull. The pretender collapsed onto the floor of the warehouse. His limp body was dragged to the elevator and dropped in a heap. Jarod lay helpless, motionless on the floor.
“He always makes things so difficult.” Lyle said to no one as he stepped over Jarod’s body, moving to the rear of the elevator. He slipped his pistol back in the holster and pressed the button for the 9th floor. The elevator doors glided closed and it began its journey down into the substructure beneath the warehouse.
The receiving warehouse above was only the public face of the acquisitions department. The lower levels housed a small infirmary and several specialized labs. Sublevel 9 also had a corridor bridging the West complex with the Main Centre grounds a quarter of a mile away. Lyle often preferred to bring in the components of his special projects this way to avoid curious corporate eyes.
Lyle straightened his tie. Anything related to Jarod always seemed to involve getting ones hands dirty. He didn’t mind that, but he preferred a less public display. He glanced at the sweeper beside him who stared at his hand. Lyle let his hand drop to his side. Lyle was self conscious about his apprehension that something might still go wrong. He’d just done what no one else had managed. He’d brought home the prize. He had nothing to be worried about. Uneasiness settled in his stomach.
Lyle crossed his arms and smiled at himself, chasing away his inner demons. I always knew I was this good. He rocked back and forth on his heels with a slight smile, admiring the sight of the pretender sprawled semiconscious on the floor.
The elevator announced its arrival at the 9th floor with a subdued bell. Jarod glanced up from the floor, at first seeing only polished fuzzy black leather shoes and dark suits. Lyle squatted down, grabbing Jarod’s hair and forcing his head back bringing the two men nose to nose. Jarod struggled to get his eyes to focus on Lyle’s face.
“Jarod, welcome home.” Lyle’s eyes sparkled. He’d been waiting for nearly 4 years to say that. Jarod’s heart skipped a beat. He felt as if he couldn’t breath. His world was spinning, falling. There were too many emotions at once and his brain was too full of fog. Jarod couldn’t think, couldn’t accept what was happening, couldn’t respond. His face clouded with emotions, but he remained silent. He let his eyes drop to the floor.
Lyle stood, rubbing his hands together as if wiping something off of them. The elevator doors opened and Lyle stepped over Jarod into the corridor. He called out instructions leaving his back to the sweepers and Jarod. He had more important people to talk to.
“Sam, take him to Lab 3 and prep him.” Lyle said, pulling at his shirt cuff, straightening it. “I have good news to deliver.” Lyle grinned to himself, feeling triumphant. He strolled down the corridor and out of sight.
Jarod allowed himself to stay relaxed. He might be dragged back to a Sim lab, but he wasn’t going to help anyone take him there, much less walk there on his own two feet. Not helping them take him to the lab was one thing he could control. It was only a small inconvenience to the sweepers to drag him down the hall, but the single act of defiance was the only one he had left.
A sour taste gathered in Jarod’s mouth. It was adrenaline. Jarod has been taken to many different labs during his time at the Centre. He knew what to expect. A familiar knot in his stomach reminded him that the worst was yet to come. Jarod tried not to think about it and cleared his mind. He needed to marshal his strength. He’d need it soon enough.
Jarod closed his eyes. He’d seen corridors like this hundreds of times, gray industrial paint and tile, cold fluorescent light buzzing overhead. It felt in the same moment both sterile and cruel. If he’d been able to connect with his emotions, he’d have wept. Instead, his eyes were distant. He felt the numbness of suppressed rage and fear combined. The Centre owned him again. Being owned is a distinct feeling, one not easily forgotten.
