It is white, the colour of my suit, pure, silk, but there is crimson red at the edges seeping out and his breath is so cool on my face. I feel his arms close around me, the fumbling, the confusion. I, I don’t like the dark. I don’t want him to let go and abandon me to it, but my mind clings to the ragged edges of his thoughts and their slipping from me to his freedom that is slipping away, His father, His hope. I can’t blame him really, I know I shouldn’t I won’t I…, all the same I wish he would care, that someone would. That he wouldn’t let me slip to the cold concrete, I try to grasp his hand as it is whipped away a cold harsh reality along with the pain. His footsteps pound to distance and my father is behind me but his attempts at comfort feel false. His breathing is relief. He’s fine, Safe again, he has survived. I wish Sydney would look at me and not at Jarod I wonder why I know where Sydney is looking and realise I seem to have drifted out and above myself to survey the drama. I see Jarod speeding on a motorbike, I see my brother and Brigitte, their cruel grins as he crashes and slips to the ground. I don’t feel sorry he is caught,  I should, it is mean spirited of me but he doesn’t look in my direction, His only thoughts are for himself. Where would my thoughts be if we swapped places. I would never admit it  but they’d be with him. Why could he never care for me like I have always cared for him. Why should I expect anyone to care. I feel my Fathers hands slipping, he’s ready to give me up for dead. He is sighing and preparing himself to grieve. He wants to move on, See to business, He’s feeling held back. I linger between seeing and experiencing, as I feel his presence fade apart I feel myself knocked firmly back into my body and the pain, oehh, the pain, it is blinding, all encompassing. Sydney’s attention is half with me. Can do nothing for Jarod so I guess he might help me now. I resent them all, I’m bitter against every one of them. For Jarod for caring more about himself, for everyone for caring more about him. I suspect my mother died trying to save him, I could almost hate her too. I think the only genuine friend I have is Broots. Only geeks know how to be genuine. His hand grips mine I know it is his hand, smooth, cool, finally something to hold on to. Someone to hold me back from the edge. I don’t want to die. I try to tell myself that, his touch is the thin thread I’m focusing all my energy on. Nobody else cares, Nobody else is worth not dying for. But would he be better off if I passed away now. Maybe it would jolt him into leaving with his daughter, maybe, maybe it is selfish to hold onto physical life, emotionally I am already dead.

Lyle grinned evily at the pretender, He’d perfected the mask but his mind wasn’t with it, It was ragged and stressed and looking back towards his sister floating alone with no one. He risked a glance and saw Broots was holding her hand but Sydneys attention was with the pretender. His heart, what was left of it, went to her. There was a glimpse of anguish in his eyes, as jolted his head back. Mr Parker had slipped away. There was a dark stain on her pure white suit that was getting darker. There were so many around him, preventing reaction. It was agony to have to slowly make his way to her side. To act like arranging help for her was a burden to him. He wanted to shout out, hold her hand, shoot who had done this, shoot their father. That thought he could get away with. He arranged the ambulance and wondered discreetly over to where the other man was chatting on his phone, completely unconcerned now that his daughter lay dying. His hand gripped his gun, But he couldn’t do it, not now. There were too many around, and no security. He backed away and felt Jarods eyes blazing flame into his shoulders he turned but his mask was temporarily out of place and Jarod frowned puzzled at the man’s raw emotion, Lyle tossed caution to the wind and hoped Jarod wouldn’t make the link as he briskly approached his sisters side. An ambulance had been called, He reached discreetly for her hand as she was lifted into it and climbed inside gesturing the others to look after Jarod. Panic ran through Jarod and Sydney’s expressions the thought of Lyle alone with his sister at her most vulnerable blind panic to them. He used their assumptions to get away with it.

Where’s Parker Sydney?

Jarod demanded under his breath as the older man leaned closer in the cell putting his arm around the younger man for support. Where has he taken her.

I’ve no idea Jarod, I went to see him today, he gave no hints, Broots may have turned up a possible link at St Catherines Hospital, Where going to look into it now.

If he’s…

Mr Lyle is not a man you underestimate, but he is her brother, if blood means anything…

Jarod’s shoulders hunched tiredly. He dreaded to think what blood meant to Mr Lyle.

Lyle looked down at his sister. He’d told the nurses to keep her drugged, The wound had been deep, he feared if she woke she’d refuse to rest and was taking what opportunity he could to ensure when she did regain consciousness her body was strong enough to withstand the demands she would place on it. He put his hand out and touched hers. In her sleep she gripped it. He channeled all his strength into the contact, Willing her to be alright.

You’re all I have Parker, please don’t let go.

Sydney and Broots pushed their way through the hospital. Syd gasped under his breath when he saw Parker on the bed, so pale, too pale. So fragile. He quickened his step checking her pulse as he approached. She stirred and began to wake peering up into his eyes. Steeling herself for the strength that waking forced her to display.