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Chapter or Story
Part 2/Chapter 2---
FOLLOWING MORNING:
"I want you back here today, Sydney."
"I'm very sorry, sir, but I'm still quite ill and Broots' injury is worse than I first thought. He woke last night in severe pain. If I hadn't given him some strong medication, he wouldn't have slept at all. As a matter of fact, he should be waking soon. I should... check on... him. You'll excuse me sir. I think I sense this morning's toast and tea being rejected... You have my word to get back in touch when... when I've... Oh dear..." Sydney moaned, feigning imminent illness as best he could in order to give himself a quick, but plausible, way off the phone.
"If you can't... or won't come to work, I'll come and see you. After lunch, properly dressed whether you're sick or not."
"Of course, Sir. After lunch. See you then." he said, trying to infuse suffering, weakness and fragility into his tone all at the same time. Hanging up, Sydney strode to his closet, searching for anything that might fit Broots when and if the younger man ever decided to rise and shine. A glance at his watch told him time was shorter than he'd thought and he moved back to the air-bed to wake his friend, dropping back into the position he sat in the night before and reaching out to gently vibrate Broots' shoulder.
"Broots. You need to get up. Terri will be here any minute and Mister Parker is paying us a surprise visit later. Please. I know it won't be easy, but you must."
Eyes still closed, Broots tossed halfway onto his left side, and spoke.
"No... you don't know... what did you do..."
The low tone and the evident fear the words contained told Sydney his friend was in the throes of an intense nightmare. Just as he began to reconsider waking him, Broots made the decision for him. Before Sydney could react, Broots had pushed off the air mattress and clambered into his arms, terror widening his eyes, his entire body trembling.
"Broots. Talk to me please. What's happened? What's wrong?" Sydney pleaded quietly, moving his friend into a seated position on the floor next to him.
"I can't... I mean, it wasn't... I'm sorry, Syd. Really sorry. I saw something... I thought I did anyway. Just before I fell asleep last night, the whole room changed. I..."
Unable to explain his vision properly, Broots stopped, his head
lowered, gathering energy to try again. "It was the worst nightmare I've ever had, only it wasn't. I know I was still awake. I know I was."
"Tell me."
"They found Jarod; brought him back. He wasn't... right, though. He was in a wheelchair, wearin those blue clothes like surgeons do. He looked like a zombie and acted about ten miles lower on the food chain than Angelo. He just sat there for a long time... then he looked up, right at me, and started saying 'you helped them, you put me here. you helped them, you put me here...' over and over. God, Syd. I wanted to start screamin', but the drugs were working too fast. I can't get that picture out of my head. It was like I was remembering something I'd seen instead of dreaming. It was so real."
"I know. Sydney empathized, "It was a dream. You have to believe that. Powerful medication can have all kinds of consequences, especially if you aren't accustomed to it. Vivid dreams and nightmares are a common side effect. How's your back this morning?"
"Better; a little."
"Shall I send Terri home?"
"Absolutely not."
"I thought as much. Speaking of Terri, she should be..."
Hearing the bell on the back door, Sydney left the thought incomplete, rose and walked to the intercom by the bedroom door. "Terri?"
"In the flesh and at your service."
"I'll buzz you in. Come straight back to the bedroom."
"On my way."
A few minutes later a tall, rangy brunette strode into the room carrying two gym bags full of equipment as if they contained nothing at all. Dropping them near the air-bed, she embraced Sydney tightly.
"How are you, Abe?"
"Fine. It's good to see you again. It's been far too long since our last session."
"Yes, it has. That ankle will start seizing up on you again if you don't get back to the office soon. This must be your friend with the bad lumbar."
"Hi. Look... I'm sorry... with the shot Sydney gave me... I slept so long I didn't have time to dress or anything..."
"It's okay." she assured him, dropping to her knees by the bags she'd brought. "Shirt and shorts is better for my purposes anyhow. Terri Simonson." she announced, sticking out her hand.
"Broots."
Appraising him carefully with only one eye open, Terri shook her head.
"Can I, Abe?"
"Certainly. Go ahead."
"Herbie? Uh-uh. Not Stewie either. It's a y, not an ie. Ahh. That's it. Just right. Petey."
"Why Petey?"
"He's a cross between Pete Townsend from the Who and the dog from the Little Rascals."
Sydney burst into restrained laughter, while Broots, his expression a mixture of mild fear and total disbelief, slid a few inches further away from the newcomer than he had been sitting.
"How did you know that?"
"You've done it again, Terri." Sydney put in. "It's just something she does, Broots. I've never known quite how. She's never failed that I know of. Who gave you the name?"
"My little sister. She said the same thing; pretty much to the word as a matter of fact."
"Quit trying to scare him, Abe. It's a party trick, that's all. If you'll lay on your stomach, Mr. Broots, I'll see what I can do."
Reluctantly, Broots did as she had asked. Lifting the hem of his shirt, Terri examined the bruises briefly then gave out with a low whistle. "What did you do; tie him to the grill of an eighteen wheeler and ram it into a cement wall?"
"It would take too long too explain."
"The old out. Okay, okay. I'll accept it like I always do. Until I get the alignment right, this will hurt worse than it has since it happened, so bear with me. It should be a quick adjustment, but you never know."
"Her bedside manner's about as good as yours, Syd."
"That's why we like each other so much."
"Again with the jokes. Who ever told you you were funnyyyyy!"
His sentence degenerating into a scream that shredded as it was forced through clenched teeth, Broots arched his body briefly in reaction to the promised pain, then settled back, tense and wary, waiting for the next flash of agony and trying to prepare.
"Lay still, okay? Can I get you another shot?"
"Oh, no! I never want to hear that word again. Never again. Don't even think about it!"
Gazing quickly at Sydney, Terri received a look that said he would answer her questions later. As she had for years, she let him have his secrets, whether temporary or eternal, and went back to her work.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I haven't decided."
"What is there to decide? This is mine. I'm eminently qualified and I'm also the only one who can do it."
"No. You aren't. Be that as it may..."
"I am. You'll never find her. I can. I can find her and him and lay them both at your feet."
"You talk as if your sister participated in her own abduction."
"Didn't she? She walked in here, presented you with an agenda but no details and walked out again. That tells me she knew more than she was saying to anyone. Don't forget; you're the one who let her go. Any tragedy is on your shoulders. I've already spoken to Dr. Raines. If you refuse to do anything about Jarod's crimes, he will, and I'll be right beside him when he does."
"Will you?"
"In a New York minute... if you leave me no other choice. He's offered me, shall we say a very.... attractive post in his division. It seems like whether or not I take it is up to you."
After a long, pensive silence, hands folded on his desk as he gazed at his son, Mister Parker finally spoke.
"No, son. It's up to you. If you'd be happier working under Dr. Raines, then by all means I'll initiate the transfer as soon as possible. I would never force you to stay where you don't feel you're accomplishing anything."
For several minutes, Lyle gave his father his own version of the silent treatment before realizing it was having no effect. Smoothing invisible wrinkles from his suit jacket in order to keep his hands from clenching, Lyle drew in a deep breath through his nose and released it the same way before leaving a parting shot for his father and stalking from the room.
"I will find my sister, Jarod and whoever helped him do this, I will bring them here and then they, and you, will pay dearly for betraying the Centre."
When his son had cleared the room, slamming the door nearly hard enough to split the hinges in half, Mister Parker picked up the phone and dialed a long series of numbers.
"You were right."
"You knew. I shouldn't have had to push your nose in your mistake."
"We can't afford to lose him. He's still valuable to..."
"Noone is valuable forever. The sand is rapidly running through his hourglass... and yours. Let one warning be sufficient."
"You don't dare to threaten my position here....."
"You threaten yourself." he was reminded curtly, then swiftly hung up on.
This time, the dial tone seemed to draw out of him a far more powerful rage than even the call from Jarod had. He dropped the receiver back into its cradle as if his hand had gone numb, oblivious when the curved piece of plastic bounced away from its intended goal and clattered to the floor.
Gliding his chair back from the desk, he stood, but remained still, as if he had forgotten what he'd started out to do, myriad expressions crossing and re-crossing his face. For a long time, he simply stared his hands, first the palms, and then the backs, turning them over again and again, as if he expected to discover all the answers to his problems there but had found only blank space; further disappointment and frustration.
Glancing up, his eye caught the glass table in front of the new sofa. Walking to the corner where the majority of the of the furniture in his office sat, he dropped to the couch, retrieving his wife's picture, but gazing at it only briefly before relegating it to the cushions beside him. Placing his palms flat on the translucent surface, he slid them back and forth, as if he were trying to absorb the coolness and clarity of the glass through his pores.
Mercifully for him, his conscious mind retreated when, moments later, he slammed both palms through the glass with all the force he possessed. Only when the self-induced amnesia faded back in to an image of the glittering ruin of his table, the shards now spattered with the blood from his sliced and broken hands, did he begin to feel the full effect of the damage he had done to himself.
His senses restored, the blankness in his eyes now utterly banished in favor of a grimace of pain, Mister Parker stood and moved into his private bath to rinse his wounds and determine how badly lacerated and broken his hands actually were. He was still assessing his injuries when his son, having heard the crash, rushed back in followed by two security guards. Hearing the water running, he assumed his father was at least alive, if not particularly alright judging by the coffee table, and dismissed the other men. Hearing the phone receiver softly buzzing out a busy signal, he moved to replace it then joined his father in the small washroom.
"What happened?"
"An accident. I obviously can't drive now, so you'll have to take my afternoon appointment for me."
"Me? Since when did I become worthy of doing your errands again?"
"You are still a member of this organization, you are still under my orders and you will follow them without sarcasm and without question. Is that clearly understood?"
"Clear as glass. Who's the appointment with?"
"Sydney. I had arranged to meet him at his place after lunch, but..."
"The "accident." I get it. You're not going to tell me what really happened, are you?"
All Lyle received for his badgering was a stern glare and more commands.
"Be there by one. No later. Seeing you will be a surprise. Use that to your advantage. Find out what he's hiding about your sister's disappearance and confirm that Broots was actually injured. I'm not sure whether to believe either of their stories. Get me the truth."
"As only I can. You will be okay, right?"
"Fine. Go eat. Don't be late for your appointment."
"I won't. See you when I get back."
"I'll want a detailed report."
"Of course." Lyle tossed over his shoulder as he left.
Only a step or two behind, Mister Parker followed him out, headed for the infirmary to have the wounds he didn't remember receiving stitched and dressed, planning as he walked how to avoid bothersome questions and quietly dispose of the remains of his office coffee table.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Mr. Lyle. I was expecting Mister Parker." Sydney said on opening the door to the wrong official visitor. "Please. Come in."
"My father had other business come up at the eleventh hour. He sends his regrets."
"Can I get you coffee?"
"Whiskey neat, if you have it."
"Of course. Any particular favorite brand?"
"Anything will do. Just put it in a tall glass and bring it."
"Right." Sydney replied, moving slowly to the liquor cabinet on the far wall. "I've been sipping warm brandy for the past hour or so. It seems to be the only thing I can keep on my stomach."
"Really. Where was it you said you got this monster case of food poisoning again?"
"It wasn't that bad. A severe case would have put me in the hospital. All the same, it's been bad enough." Sydney commented as he walked to where Lyle stood gazing out the window that faced on the back yard. Handing the other man his drink, Sydney grabbed his own snifter of amber liquid and sank into a chair. "It was a place called Samuels, down by the water. I was rather shocked, actually. I've been there many times and never even the hint of a problem. I trust they had no idea, themselves, that the seafood had gone off. I ate it, and I couldn't tell there was a thing wrong. Until later of course."
"And the accident?"
"Broots was waiting for me in the car across the street. I must have looked dreadful when I left the restaurant. I certainly was beginning to feel that way. He took one look and rushed across the street to help me, ignoring the traffic, unfortunately. The first car brushed him and turned him around. The second tried to stop but managed to strike him in the lower back regardless. The injury wasn't crippling by any means, thank the Lord, but he's still in considerable pain."
"Where is he now?"
"Asleep in the bedroom. I think he's still groggy from the dose of medication I gave him last night."
The momentary look of panic and fear on Lyle's face when he whirled to face Sydney shocked and confused the older man, though it was there and gone so fast he wasn't sure it had ever been.
"What did you give him?"
"Pardon me?"
"Open your ears, doctor. What did you give him?"
"A low dose of demerol mixed with liquid acetaminophen. Why?" Sydney questioned, all his instincts snapping to full attention. "The combination is perfectly safe..."
"I'm sure it is. I need to see him."
The hairs at the nape of his neck rising, Sydney suddenly felt compelled to safeguard Broots from Lyle. Even though he had no real reason to fear for his friend's life, he found himself doing just that.
"That wouldn't be wise just now. He needs all the rest he can get."
"I don't intend to wake him up. My orders are to confirm that he was actually injured. As soon as I've done that, then you and I can sit down with our drinks... and have a long productive conversation. Lead the way."
"I'm sorry... sir. I can't allow him to be disturbed. We should both be back at work by tomorrow. If he wishes to let you examine him then, I won't interfere. Right now, he's practically unconscious. I wouldn't let anyone in to see him in such a vulnerable state."
{Especially not you,} he thought, {and especially not the way you're acting right now.}
"I'm not anyone... doctor. My orders come from your direct chain of command superior, and that makes me as much your superior as he is. You will do as you've been told. I'm sure you've witnessed what happens to those who don't."
"Far too often, actually." Sydney replied in a low tone, rising slowly from the chair. "Alright. You're not to touch him. I'll show you what you want to see, then we leave him alone."
Walking slightly ahead of Lyle, Sydney took only a step or two before being hauled roughly backwards by his elbows, both arms held tightly behind him and Lyle whispering gutturally in his right ear.
"Listen very closely. I barely tolerate taking orders from my father anymore. I'm certainly not taking them from you. Are we absolutely clear on that point?"
"Perfectly, but if I even sense that you intend to harm him, I'll see that you answer to a power higher than your father, the Tower or the Triumvirate."
"We have quite a high opinion of ourselves, don't we?"
"Oh, no. Not myself. If you harm either one of us I'll send you to meet God without an ounce of regret. Let him be your final judge."
No longer so smug or in control, Lyle released Sydney abruptly, shoving him forward at the same time.
"Go. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you and I can get down to our business."
Rubbing his arms where Lyle's hands had clutched him, Sydney walked down the short hall off the living room that led to the more private areas of the house, including the bedrooms, thinking all the while that he might just make good on his threat, regardless of what might happen in the next few minutes.
When he entered the room where Broots lay buried under a comforter, deeply asleep, Lyle remained in the doorway.
"Come in, as long as you keep in mind..."
"If I wanted to, I would. Lift up the quilt so I can get a good look."
Moving slowly, to avoid even the slightest chance of awakening his friend, Sydney rolled the near edge of the spread toward himself just enough for Lyle to see that Broots' bruises were genuine, then replaced it. Gazing calmly at Lyle, Sydney gestured out the door.
"If you're satisfied..."
"Never, but it'll have to do. Shall we have that discussion now?"
"Actually, no. Whatever it was will have to wait until I return to work. It's been a very tiring morning, and I was already ill, as I believe I said earlier. I'd prefer you leave. I'll walk you out..."
As the other man passed him, Lyle grabbed him by his already tender forearm and dragged him back into the living room.
"Your preferences are worth about as much as your life will be if I don't get some straight answers and pretty damn fast. Sit." he growled tossing his captive into a nearby chair. "You know more about what happened to my sister than you've told anybody yet. Well now you're going to tell me. I want everything; every expression on her face, every word she said, everything."
"Do you? I wouldn't be so sure."
Sliding his pistol from his waistband, Lyle chambered a bullet then let his gun hand rest at his side.
"Answer me, or sleeping beauty will have to call the coroner and a maid with a real strong stomach when he wakes up."
"A weapon is no incentive to cooperation or truth."
His face contorted with frustration, Lyle covered the foot or two that separated him from Sydney in a flash of movement. The gun found its way to the older man's temple even faster.
"I don't want Aristotle and Plato. Give me one straight answer... just one... and maybe I won't spread that brilliant mind of yours all over your pretty drapes."
"You already know everything relevant. She went willingly. She wanted to be there. Jarod simply changed the rules of the game."
Though he tried to hide his fear, Sydney tensed visibly when the weapon against his skin impressed itself deeper.
"More."
"She was happy. It was the first time in weeks I've really seen her smile. She made a call or two, tidied up her desk and left."
"Calls to who?"
Gazing up past the steel barrel, Sydney answered testily, his anger beginning to get the best of him.
"I wasn't on the other end of the phone."
Lips tightening in rage, Lyle brought his pistol up and down faster than Sydney's eyes could follow it, using the butt to strike the older man a solid blow on the top of the shoulder. Pain roaring through his neck and right arm, Sydney slumped a few inches lower in the chair, his eyes squeezing shut, his mind fighting off the shock of the sudden assault.
"Do you even understand the concept of a straight answer?! I really hope so, otherwise you and Broots may both end up in the morgue at the Centre with lots of doctors in white coats wondering how I turned you inside out. Now... sit up... and talk to me!" Lyle screamed, lifting Sydney roughly by his injured arm, forcing him to comply. "Did she say where she was going?"
"She didn't... know. I... I think that was... all part of the game. I asked, but... she didn't seem to want to know. Too much fun... leaving it a surprise."
"Has she called you?"
"Of course not. Jarod would never allow it."
"So you have had contact with him."
"You already know I have. Jarod and I communicate frequently."
"That won't last much longer if I have my say."
"You... you have to know you'll never truly capture Jarod now. Don't you see that? Even if we drag him back in, he would be of no use to us. His experiences in the world have tainted his objectivity. He'd starve himself before he'd do any more sims, and he can't do anything hooked up to IV fluids. You'd end up killing him. Why bring him back if that's the only possible ending?"
"Smart as you are, you still don't get it do you? This isn't about Jarod anymore. It's about redeeming the reputation of the Centre. He's dumped humiliation on all of us for years, but this time... He's taken it one step beyond. Noone... noone, including and especially Jarod, comes after my family and gets off. One way or the other, he will pay for his crimes."
The pain in his right side still raging, sensing that no matter what he said his life would be forfeit, Sydney spoke from his heart and his conscience, intent on keeping Lyle's attention on him and away from Broots; not quite believing the words that came out of his mouth, but receiving renewed strength simply from the saying of them.
"And yours? Who, besides God almighty, will pass judgment on you for the inhumanity and evil you've committed in the name of your sick, twisted thoughts or the Centre's edicts?"
Strolling slowly around the back of the chair, Lyle grinned as he laid the business end of his pistol at the base of Sydney's neck.
"Don't hold back, Syd. Tell me what you really think."
"You've always known that. I don't need to tell you anything."
Sitting straighter, Sydney kept his eyes forward and waited for his own judgment to come, praying the end would be as swift and as painless as he'd always heard gunshots to the head could be.
Suddenly, as abruptly as the cold steel had first touched his skin, the contact vanished. The solid thump of Lyle hitting the floor sent Sydney sprinting out of his chair, despite his injury, and around the back of the chair to determine what had happened.
He found Broots standing over a deeply unconscious Lyle, a wooden meat pounder from the kitchen in his hand, the tool still wet with the blood from a fresh wound on top of the other man's head.
"Broots! What could have possessed you to..."
"He was ready to shoot you." Broots replied quietly, unable to tear his eyes from Lyle's blood as it dripped back onto the one it had come from.
"Broots. Look at me. I need you to look at me. Put that down."
Finally seeming to understand what he was holding, Broots dropped the wooden tool as if it were toxic and burning his skin and refocused his attention on Sydney. "Good. Now.... how could you possibly know what was going on out here? The last I saw of you, you were deeply asleep."
"It was just like last night. I was just wakin' up and the whole room vanished again. I saw you lying on the carpet in front of this chair... you were dead. Lyle laughed down at you, turned back, chambered a bullet and... and headed for the bedroom. You have to stop this, Syd. I couldn't take another repeat of this stuff. Make it stop, Syd, okay?"
Feeling tears begin to slide from one eye, Broots turned away, but Sydney turned him back.
"We can try to figure this out later, my friend, whatever is happening. Right now, he's our first concern. I think I know the solution, but we don't have much time to implement it, so you have to help. Can you put your fear aside for the moment? I understand it won't be easy. I'm sorry if I seem insensitive, but..."
"No. I can do it, as long as you promise me you'll try and fix me after. This really scares me."
"I know. Please go and get the coil of climbing rope in the garage. Before we can do anything, I need to make sure he won't be leaving unless I want him to."
"And what will you be doing?"
"Gathering a few things from my medical bag."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You're sure?"
"As sure as my Boy Scout training can make me. He's goin' nowhere."
"Let's hope so. One sudden move and the needle could break under his skin. Removing it would require surgery, leaving scars... I'd really rather not send him out of here with any sign of injury except the head wound."
"What are you giving him anyway?"
"This first is a mild hallucinogenic. It should make him suggestible enough for my needs. That way the second will be more effective."
"And the second is..."
"Styx-15."
When Sydney spoke the words, Broots paled, his eyes popping as he stumbled backwards away from his friend.
"What... how... noone is supposed to have access to that except Raines and his research team!"
"And I have a DSA player in my trunk. Someday I'll share more of my deepest secrets with you, but right now, I need your help, so please come back over here."
"What can I do? I already knocked him out. I did my part."
"You did fine. Just for safety's sake, I want you to kneel on his hand. He'll be coming around soon, and he'll be furious. I can't take even the slightest chance."
"You better hurry with that first shot." Broots warned, watching Lyle's eyelids begin to flutter.
"I'm ready." Sydney responded, tapping the barrel of the syringe and releasing a tiny amount of the amber liquid to be certain no air remained in the barrel or the needle. He had just begun to swab the inside of Lyle's elbow with alcohol when Mister Parker's strong right hand awoke, his face suffusing with total rage as he finally understood his situation.
"You... what the hell do you think you're doing?!"
"Assuring our safety and your potential redemption. This is much more than you deserve. I trust that somewhere, very deep inside yourself, you know that. There are any number of drugs, here and at the Centre, that I could have given you and been sure your eyes would never open again. Instead, I decided to offer you what I believe Jarod is offering your sister; a second chance to choose the direction your life will take. I can only pray that the evil in you hasn't become so deeply rooted that it will prevail despite what I'm about to do. Broots. Now, please."
Broots obeyed and the first injection was successful.
"When I tell my father and the Triumvirate about this..."
"If luck is with us, they'll never know what happened to you. I think it must be, since Broots was able to save not only my life but also his own by knocking you unconscious before you could shoot either one of us. You were going to shoot him as well? No need to answer. I know what you were going to do."
"Answer one for me then."
"If I can."
"How the hell did the weasel get the drop on me? I always know he's there."
"Since you won't remember any of this conversation in a few moments anyway, I suppose it won't do any harm." Sydney replied, preparing the second syringe. "Since I gave him the painkiller last night, he's begun experiencing pre-cognitive visions; the result, I assume, of an unauthorized experiment you've been running out of Blue Cove hospital?" The terror and fruitless outrage Sydney found creeping into Lyle's expression told him he was right. "He saw what you were going to do beforehand and had the tremendous courage to come out and stop you. I've already commended him. You didn't hear him because he'd been asleep. Bare feet."
"Broots...You have to get back to the Centre... let the med teams and the psych staff help you... damn..." Lyle swore quietly, desperately trying to shake off the effects of the head wound and fight the drug dragging him down into a sea of dark water and white noise. "I can tell you who to go to for help..."
"Sure. I vanish and your butts are covered. No, thanks. I've got Syd. He's all I need."
"But... you don't understand... what it is... you were given."
"I don't wanna know. I didn't ask for this. How could..."
Broots stopped himself, censoring the unaccustomed angry words flowing through his mind, intensely disliking the hostile sensations Lyle created in him.
"Broots." Sydney urged. "Go make me up an ice bag and a pot of hot tea would you?"
"But..."
"Please. I've seen this part. It's nasty and ugly. You shouldn't have those images to deal with for the rest of your life."
"Like you do?"
Sydney kept his silence. "I'll be right back." Broots conceded, walking into the kitchen, afraid to leave Sydney alone with someone so dangerous, but more afraid of witnessing the effects of the Styx-15.
"Sydney..."
"This is necessary. I'm sorry."
Drifting in and out of reality, Lyle gathered the strength to ask one final question.
"What... is that?"
"Styx-15. I'm hoping it, and my skill at post-hypnotic suggestion, will be all you need to make a change in your path."
"Sty... No! Oh, God, no! Sydney... stop!"
His pleas going unanswered, Lyle finally lost the battle against the hallucinogen, his gaze swimming around the room, head slipping slightly to one side as Sydney administered the second shot.
"Listen very carefully. In a moment, you will hear a sentence beginning with the words "the key is". When I complete this sentence, all you know of your past will be erased from both your conscious and sub-conscious mind. What you are now, what you have been, will be irretrievably gone, leaving only space to be filled by the moments, hours, and days after you awake. After you regain consciousness, this sentence will have no effect on you. The key is refuge."
As he had to do with nearly all the children and adults, except Jarod, that he'd seen subjected to Styx, Sydney had to turn away from the twitching, writhing body and tortured expression of his enemy.
Jarod had been the first one he'd ever seen be given the drug. There were still times, even now, when the memory haunted his nights, refusing him sleep, his own heart indicting him for not doing something to stop the torture and mental rape of a child he had already come to love.
Though he knew that what he had done was the only humane solution, and a great deal better than he had been tempted to do for him, Sydney still couldn't bring himself to watch as Lyle fought the commands he'd been given and the chemical compound reinforcing them. Only when Lyle had quieted did Sydney rise, favoring his injured shoulder badly, and make his way to the kitchen to join Broots.
"Is it over?"
"Yes. For now. There's still a bit of work to do, unfortunately. I'll need your help again. At best this shoulder is only dislocated, at worst..."
"It's swelling pretty bad. I don't think "at best" is an option. You know I'll help, Syd. We owe each other everything now." Broots reminded his friend, placing the ice bag gently on Sydney's shoulder and a cup of hot, sweet tea in his hands. "So what's first?"
"In the bedroom closet, there's an old costume, a monk's robe. You'll need to go to the costume shop downtown and get one to fit yourself. The sandals should be in the closet as well. I think the smaller pair should fit you. I'll explain the rest when you get back."
"How long will he be out?"
"The effects will last at least twenty-four more hours, possibly longer. We'll have all the time we need."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"But... he should have been... back long ago. If anything had... happened or... gone wrong, he would have made contact." Mister Parker grumbled, his sentences sprinkled with hesitations as the suture needle moved in and out of his skin.
Gazing over his shoulder at the man behind him, he considered ordering him to help, but immediately quashed the thought, knowing he always got more cooperation from Raines when the ghoul believed the idea to act had been his own.
"I warned you when you first presented your absurd proposal to the Tower. I told you then that Melissa was not Centre operative material. If you had only allowed..."
"Molly. Her name is Molly."
"You know I despise nicknames for children. They undermine proper discipline. Children must always be called by the Christian names they were given at birth."
"Really? Mind telling me what I should call Jarod, then, when he calls next?"
"Getting a little spirited in our free speech, aren't we? What you call him is beyond irrelevant. Just show me someone who can succeed where you've failed and find him!"
"We don't need anyone else. She'll be back soon. Jarod may delight in playing his little head-games with the Centre, but I've learned he's a man of his word. He'll return her."
"In what condition?" Raines purred, low, rough and close to Parker's ear, then moved slowly out of the infirmary cubicle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I feel stupid, Syd. I may have the sex life of a monk, but this is going too far...
"It won't be much longer. If anyone happens to see us helping him into the abbey, they'll assume we belong here. Come. Help me get him out of the car."
Moving to join Sydney at the passenger's side of the car, Broots slipped an arm around Lyle's shoulder and together the two friends lifted the lifeless body and walked it to the back door of the monastery, where friends of Sydney's, who were actual monks, waited to receive the unusual delivery. Passing Lyle off to the men behind him, the abbot then turned back and embraced Sydney carefully, but with much affection.
"So good to see you, Abe! You can't stick around, though. We'll take good care of whoever he is. Go quickly, now, before you're spotted."
"See you early in the morning."
"Yes. It'll be wonderful to have you back, even if only for a short time."
"If it were my choice..."
"I know. Please go. Being seen here would put you in a great deal more danger than it would us."
"Until tomorrow, Micheal."
"Yes. Until. Go!"
As Sydney slid gingerly into the passenger's side of the car, he caught an openly curious look from the man behind the wheel.
"I did promise, and I'll fulfill it. Just not now. Let's get home. You have some things you have yet to tell me as well, don't forget. Motorcycles I believe it was?"
"Did you say home? Sounds like a great idea. Let's go."
Smiling at Broots avoidance of the subject, Sydney sat back and wound down as much as he possibly could on the short trip back to his house.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Twice in one day? Did you and Petey join the NFL or something?"
"Please. No..."
"I know. No questions. Right shoulder?"
"Yes." Sydney confirmed, hissing in pain as Terri examined and gently manipulated the joint.
"Definitely dislocated. There could be rotator cuff damage too. It's impossible to tell without an MRI."
"What can you recommend as a stop-gap measure?"
"Not much. Without knowing if the rotator cuff is torn, I don't dare try to reseat the shoulder. How long do you plan to put off treating this thing?"
"Only a day or two."
"You can keep it in a sling that long. No longer, or you'll need physical therapy to restore full function."
"I understand."
"You should. You waited almost twenty years to go to anyone about that ankle. Why, I'll never know."
"That's right." Sydney replied, smiling sadly at Terri as she deftly twisted a long strip of white cloth from her bag into a properly sized sling and slid his arm into it just as an unexpected knock on the door startled them all momentarily.
Strolling to the living room intercom panel, Sydney touched the send button, simultaneously adding the weak, ill tones back into his voice. When his visitor responded, Sydney found himself feeling extremely grateful he had.
"Afternoon, Sydney. Open the door."
"Dr. Raines. Of course, sir. Hold on just a moment, won't you? I'll be right there."
Shooing Broots into the bedroom and Terri out the back door, Sydney moved slowly to the door, using the thought of what could have happened to Miss Parker in Raines' hands to achieve the sickly, pale look he needed the man outside to see.
"Good day, sir. Please come in. I wasn't aware we had an appoi..."
"Mister Parker had an... accident. Where's Lyle?"
"Mr. Lyle? He hasn't been here today."
"He sent Mr. Lyle in his place. Are you asking me to believe he never showed up?"
"It's the truth. I haven't heard from or seen him since Monday."
"Broots?"
"Asleep. His back is still bothering him a great deal."
"And you?"
"Me, sir?"
"The sling. Did you contract some new strain of food poisoning that has side effects I haven't heard about?"
The slight undercurrent of genuine interest beneath Raines' words made Sydney want to shudder, but he hid it well and concocted a cover story off the top of his head.
"No. Of course not... sir. I've been so weak that I slipped getting out of the shower and rammed this arm and shoulder dead on into a towel rack."
"Not having a lucky week are we?"
"It appears we aren't. How bad is Mister Parker's injury?"
"Not severe. A few lacerations and stitches. I'll only ask this once more, Sydney. I wouldn't advise lying. If you know where Lyle is, tell me now. It will go easier on you when you stand before the Triumvirate."
His gaze steady, his expression never wavering from the vaguely interested, deeply weary one he'd worn since his visitor had entered, Sydney responded quickly. His voice was quiet, but with such an undertone of steel that it would have backed anyone but Raines off at least two steps, if not more.
"As I said, he hasn't come to the house today. I didn't even see him Monday, actually. I only spoke to him on the phone. I give you my word of honor. If he had been here, I would tell you."
"I don't believe you, Sydney. I think you have the information I want. You know precisely where both the Parker children are. If you can't... or won't tell me, I think I know who you will tell. With a little... persuasion, of course."
"That won't be necessary." Sydney replied, the conviction in his voice even stronger now than it had been.
"If I want Lyle back, I have a distinct feeling it is. Since you obviously can't drive yourself, shall we ride to the Centre together?"
"I'll be staying here with Broots. He's on fairly heavy pain meds and I can't leave him unattended."
"I believe this is the first time you've ever defied me... doctor. Openly, that is. Privately is another matter. I can't know everything, of course. Fine. You stay." Raines announced, turning to go. "Once my discussion with the Tower is concluded, someone will be by to... invite you to your hearing."
His heart racing, Sydney found himself fighting off a sudden urge to call the other man back and confess all his sins from kindergarten forward. He won the battle at the last minute by focusing on an almost inaudible voice speaking from the depths of his mind, one he hadn't allowed himself to hear in a long time. It hit him, for the first time that the familiar, dark voice was no longer his alone, but had become a combination of his and Jarod's.
//It's alright, Sydney. Soon it won't matter. None of it will matter. Concentrate on keeping Broots and yourself alive. The rest will be what it will be...\
Hearing Raines' car start, Sydney snapped back from his reveries and moved as quickly as he could to consult with Broots on how their plans might have to be altered now that Raines had decided to involve himself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
FOLLOWING MORNING:
"I want you back here today, Sydney."
"I'm very sorry, sir, but I'm still quite ill and Broots' injury is worse than I first thought. He woke last night in severe pain. If I hadn't given him some strong medication, he wouldn't have slept at all. As a matter of fact, he should be waking soon. I should... check on... him. You'll excuse me sir. I think I sense this morning's toast and tea being rejected... You have my word to get back in touch when... when I've... Oh dear..." Sydney moaned, feigning imminent illness as best he could in order to give himself a quick, but plausible, way off the phone.
"If you can't... or won't come to work, I'll come and see you. After lunch, properly dressed whether you're sick or not."
"Of course, Sir. After lunch. See you then." he said, trying to infuse suffering, weakness and fragility into his tone all at the same time. Hanging up, Sydney strode to his closet, searching for anything that might fit Broots when and if the younger man ever decided to rise and shine. A glance at his watch told him time was shorter than he'd thought and he moved back to the air-bed to wake his friend, dropping back into the position he sat in the night before and reaching out to gently vibrate Broots' shoulder.
"Broots. You need to get up. Terri will be here any minute and Mister Parker is paying us a surprise visit later. Please. I know it won't be easy, but you must."
Eyes still closed, Broots tossed halfway onto his left side, and spoke.
"No... you don't know... what did you do..."
The low tone and the evident fear the words contained told Sydney his friend was in the throes of an intense nightmare. Just as he began to reconsider waking him, Broots made the decision for him. Before Sydney could react, Broots had pushed off the air mattress and clambered into his arms, terror widening his eyes, his entire body trembling.
"Broots. Talk to me please. What's happened? What's wrong?" Sydney pleaded quietly, moving his friend into a seated position on the floor next to him.
"I can't... I mean, it wasn't... I'm sorry, Syd. Really sorry. I saw something... I thought I did anyway. Just before I fell asleep last night, the whole room changed. I..."
Unable to explain his vision properly, Broots stopped, his head
lowered, gathering energy to try again. "It was the worst nightmare I've ever had, only it wasn't. I know I was still awake. I know I was."
"Tell me."
"They found Jarod; brought him back. He wasn't... right, though. He was in a wheelchair, wearin those blue clothes like surgeons do. He looked like a zombie and acted about ten miles lower on the food chain than Angelo. He just sat there for a long time... then he looked up, right at me, and started saying 'you helped them, you put me here. you helped them, you put me here...' over and over. God, Syd. I wanted to start screamin', but the drugs were working too fast. I can't get that picture out of my head. It was like I was remembering something I'd seen instead of dreaming. It was so real."
"I know. Sydney empathized, "It was a dream. You have to believe that. Powerful medication can have all kinds of consequences, especially if you aren't accustomed to it. Vivid dreams and nightmares are a common side effect. How's your back this morning?"
"Better; a little."
"Shall I send Terri home?"
"Absolutely not."
"I thought as much. Speaking of Terri, she should be..."
Hearing the bell on the back door, Sydney left the thought incomplete, rose and walked to the intercom by the bedroom door. "Terri?"
"In the flesh and at your service."
"I'll buzz you in. Come straight back to the bedroom."
"On my way."
A few minutes later a tall, rangy brunette strode into the room carrying two gym bags full of equipment as if they contained nothing at all. Dropping them near the air-bed, she embraced Sydney tightly.
"How are you, Abe?"
"Fine. It's good to see you again. It's been far too long since our last session."
"Yes, it has. That ankle will start seizing up on you again if you don't get back to the office soon. This must be your friend with the bad lumbar."
"Hi. Look... I'm sorry... with the shot Sydney gave me... I slept so long I didn't have time to dress or anything..."
"It's okay." she assured him, dropping to her knees by the bags she'd brought. "Shirt and shorts is better for my purposes anyhow. Terri Simonson." she announced, sticking out her hand.
"Broots."
Appraising him carefully with only one eye open, Terri shook her head.
"Can I, Abe?"
"Certainly. Go ahead."
"Herbie? Uh-uh. Not Stewie either. It's a y, not an ie. Ahh. That's it. Just right. Petey."
"Why Petey?"
"He's a cross between Pete Townsend from the Who and the dog from the Little Rascals."
Sydney burst into restrained laughter, while Broots, his expression a mixture of mild fear and total disbelief, slid a few inches further away from the newcomer than he had been sitting.
"How did you know that?"
"You've done it again, Terri." Sydney put in. "It's just something she does, Broots. I've never known quite how. She's never failed that I know of. Who gave you the name?"
"My little sister. She said the same thing; pretty much to the word as a matter of fact."
"Quit trying to scare him, Abe. It's a party trick, that's all. If you'll lay on your stomach, Mr. Broots, I'll see what I can do."
Reluctantly, Broots did as she had asked. Lifting the hem of his shirt, Terri examined the bruises briefly then gave out with a low whistle. "What did you do; tie him to the grill of an eighteen wheeler and ram it into a cement wall?"
"It would take too long too explain."
"The old out. Okay, okay. I'll accept it like I always do. Until I get the alignment right, this will hurt worse than it has since it happened, so bear with me. It should be a quick adjustment, but you never know."
"Her bedside manner's about as good as yours, Syd."
"That's why we like each other so much."
"Again with the jokes. Who ever told you you were funnyyyyy!"
His sentence degenerating into a scream that shredded as it was forced through clenched teeth, Broots arched his body briefly in reaction to the promised pain, then settled back, tense and wary, waiting for the next flash of agony and trying to prepare.
"Lay still, okay? Can I get you another shot?"
"Oh, no! I never want to hear that word again. Never again. Don't even think about it!"
Gazing quickly at Sydney, Terri received a look that said he would answer her questions later. As she had for years, she let him have his secrets, whether temporary or eternal, and went back to her work.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I haven't decided."
"What is there to decide? This is mine. I'm eminently qualified and I'm also the only one who can do it."
"No. You aren't. Be that as it may..."
"I am. You'll never find her. I can. I can find her and him and lay them both at your feet."
"You talk as if your sister participated in her own abduction."
"Didn't she? She walked in here, presented you with an agenda but no details and walked out again. That tells me she knew more than she was saying to anyone. Don't forget; you're the one who let her go. Any tragedy is on your shoulders. I've already spoken to Dr. Raines. If you refuse to do anything about Jarod's crimes, he will, and I'll be right beside him when he does."
"Will you?"
"In a New York minute... if you leave me no other choice. He's offered me, shall we say a very.... attractive post in his division. It seems like whether or not I take it is up to you."
After a long, pensive silence, hands folded on his desk as he gazed at his son, Mister Parker finally spoke.
"No, son. It's up to you. If you'd be happier working under Dr. Raines, then by all means I'll initiate the transfer as soon as possible. I would never force you to stay where you don't feel you're accomplishing anything."
For several minutes, Lyle gave his father his own version of the silent treatment before realizing it was having no effect. Smoothing invisible wrinkles from his suit jacket in order to keep his hands from clenching, Lyle drew in a deep breath through his nose and released it the same way before leaving a parting shot for his father and stalking from the room.
"I will find my sister, Jarod and whoever helped him do this, I will bring them here and then they, and you, will pay dearly for betraying the Centre."
When his son had cleared the room, slamming the door nearly hard enough to split the hinges in half, Mister Parker picked up the phone and dialed a long series of numbers.
"You were right."
"You knew. I shouldn't have had to push your nose in your mistake."
"We can't afford to lose him. He's still valuable to..."
"Noone is valuable forever. The sand is rapidly running through his hourglass... and yours. Let one warning be sufficient."
"You don't dare to threaten my position here....."
"You threaten yourself." he was reminded curtly, then swiftly hung up on.
This time, the dial tone seemed to draw out of him a far more powerful rage than even the call from Jarod had. He dropped the receiver back into its cradle as if his hand had gone numb, oblivious when the curved piece of plastic bounced away from its intended goal and clattered to the floor.
Gliding his chair back from the desk, he stood, but remained still, as if he had forgotten what he'd started out to do, myriad expressions crossing and re-crossing his face. For a long time, he simply stared his hands, first the palms, and then the backs, turning them over again and again, as if he expected to discover all the answers to his problems there but had found only blank space; further disappointment and frustration.
Glancing up, his eye caught the glass table in front of the new sofa. Walking to the corner where the majority of the of the furniture in his office sat, he dropped to the couch, retrieving his wife's picture, but gazing at it only briefly before relegating it to the cushions beside him. Placing his palms flat on the translucent surface, he slid them back and forth, as if he were trying to absorb the coolness and clarity of the glass through his pores.
Mercifully for him, his conscious mind retreated when, moments later, he slammed both palms through the glass with all the force he possessed. Only when the self-induced amnesia faded back in to an image of the glittering ruin of his table, the shards now spattered with the blood from his sliced and broken hands, did he begin to feel the full effect of the damage he had done to himself.
His senses restored, the blankness in his eyes now utterly banished in favor of a grimace of pain, Mister Parker stood and moved into his private bath to rinse his wounds and determine how badly lacerated and broken his hands actually were. He was still assessing his injuries when his son, having heard the crash, rushed back in followed by two security guards. Hearing the water running, he assumed his father was at least alive, if not particularly alright judging by the coffee table, and dismissed the other men. Hearing the phone receiver softly buzzing out a busy signal, he moved to replace it then joined his father in the small washroom.
"What happened?"
"An accident. I obviously can't drive now, so you'll have to take my afternoon appointment for me."
"Me? Since when did I become worthy of doing your errands again?"
"You are still a member of this organization, you are still under my orders and you will follow them without sarcasm and without question. Is that clearly understood?"
"Clear as glass. Who's the appointment with?"
"Sydney. I had arranged to meet him at his place after lunch, but..."
"The "accident." I get it. You're not going to tell me what really happened, are you?"
All Lyle received for his badgering was a stern glare and more commands.
"Be there by one. No later. Seeing you will be a surprise. Use that to your advantage. Find out what he's hiding about your sister's disappearance and confirm that Broots was actually injured. I'm not sure whether to believe either of their stories. Get me the truth."
"As only I can. You will be okay, right?"
"Fine. Go eat. Don't be late for your appointment."
"I won't. See you when I get back."
"I'll want a detailed report."
"Of course." Lyle tossed over his shoulder as he left.
Only a step or two behind, Mister Parker followed him out, headed for the infirmary to have the wounds he didn't remember receiving stitched and dressed, planning as he walked how to avoid bothersome questions and quietly dispose of the remains of his office coffee table.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Mr. Lyle. I was expecting Mister Parker." Sydney said on opening the door to the wrong official visitor. "Please. Come in."
"My father had other business come up at the eleventh hour. He sends his regrets."
"Can I get you coffee?"
"Whiskey neat, if you have it."
"Of course. Any particular favorite brand?"
"Anything will do. Just put it in a tall glass and bring it."
"Right." Sydney replied, moving slowly to the liquor cabinet on the far wall. "I've been sipping warm brandy for the past hour or so. It seems to be the only thing I can keep on my stomach."
"Really. Where was it you said you got this monster case of food poisoning again?"
"It wasn't that bad. A severe case would have put me in the hospital. All the same, it's been bad enough." Sydney commented as he walked to where Lyle stood gazing out the window that faced on the back yard. Handing the other man his drink, Sydney grabbed his own snifter of amber liquid and sank into a chair. "It was a place called Samuels, down by the water. I was rather shocked, actually. I've been there many times and never even the hint of a problem. I trust they had no idea, themselves, that the seafood had gone off. I ate it, and I couldn't tell there was a thing wrong. Until later of course."
"And the accident?"
"Broots was waiting for me in the car across the street. I must have looked dreadful when I left the restaurant. I certainly was beginning to feel that way. He took one look and rushed across the street to help me, ignoring the traffic, unfortunately. The first car brushed him and turned him around. The second tried to stop but managed to strike him in the lower back regardless. The injury wasn't crippling by any means, thank the Lord, but he's still in considerable pain."
"Where is he now?"
"Asleep in the bedroom. I think he's still groggy from the dose of medication I gave him last night."
The momentary look of panic and fear on Lyle's face when he whirled to face Sydney shocked and confused the older man, though it was there and gone so fast he wasn't sure it had ever been.
"What did you give him?"
"Pardon me?"
"Open your ears, doctor. What did you give him?"
"A low dose of demerol mixed with liquid acetaminophen. Why?" Sydney questioned, all his instincts snapping to full attention. "The combination is perfectly safe..."
"I'm sure it is. I need to see him."
The hairs at the nape of his neck rising, Sydney suddenly felt compelled to safeguard Broots from Lyle. Even though he had no real reason to fear for his friend's life, he found himself doing just that.
"That wouldn't be wise just now. He needs all the rest he can get."
"I don't intend to wake him up. My orders are to confirm that he was actually injured. As soon as I've done that, then you and I can sit down with our drinks... and have a long productive conversation. Lead the way."
"I'm sorry... sir. I can't allow him to be disturbed. We should both be back at work by tomorrow. If he wishes to let you examine him then, I won't interfere. Right now, he's practically unconscious. I wouldn't let anyone in to see him in such a vulnerable state."
{Especially not you,} he thought, {and especially not the way you're acting right now.}
"I'm not anyone... doctor. My orders come from your direct chain of command superior, and that makes me as much your superior as he is. You will do as you've been told. I'm sure you've witnessed what happens to those who don't."
"Far too often, actually." Sydney replied in a low tone, rising slowly from the chair. "Alright. You're not to touch him. I'll show you what you want to see, then we leave him alone."
Walking slightly ahead of Lyle, Sydney took only a step or two before being hauled roughly backwards by his elbows, both arms held tightly behind him and Lyle whispering gutturally in his right ear.
"Listen very closely. I barely tolerate taking orders from my father anymore. I'm certainly not taking them from you. Are we absolutely clear on that point?"
"Perfectly, but if I even sense that you intend to harm him, I'll see that you answer to a power higher than your father, the Tower or the Triumvirate."
"We have quite a high opinion of ourselves, don't we?"
"Oh, no. Not myself. If you harm either one of us I'll send you to meet God without an ounce of regret. Let him be your final judge."
No longer so smug or in control, Lyle released Sydney abruptly, shoving him forward at the same time.
"Go. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you and I can get down to our business."
Rubbing his arms where Lyle's hands had clutched him, Sydney walked down the short hall off the living room that led to the more private areas of the house, including the bedrooms, thinking all the while that he might just make good on his threat, regardless of what might happen in the next few minutes.
When he entered the room where Broots lay buried under a comforter, deeply asleep, Lyle remained in the doorway.
"Come in, as long as you keep in mind..."
"If I wanted to, I would. Lift up the quilt so I can get a good look."
Moving slowly, to avoid even the slightest chance of awakening his friend, Sydney rolled the near edge of the spread toward himself just enough for Lyle to see that Broots' bruises were genuine, then replaced it. Gazing calmly at Lyle, Sydney gestured out the door.
"If you're satisfied..."
"Never, but it'll have to do. Shall we have that discussion now?"
"Actually, no. Whatever it was will have to wait until I return to work. It's been a very tiring morning, and I was already ill, as I believe I said earlier. I'd prefer you leave. I'll walk you out..."
As the other man passed him, Lyle grabbed him by his already tender forearm and dragged him back into the living room.
"Your preferences are worth about as much as your life will be if I don't get some straight answers and pretty damn fast. Sit." he growled tossing his captive into a nearby chair. "You know more about what happened to my sister than you've told anybody yet. Well now you're going to tell me. I want everything; every expression on her face, every word she said, everything."
"Do you? I wouldn't be so sure."
Sliding his pistol from his waistband, Lyle chambered a bullet then let his gun hand rest at his side.
"Answer me, or sleeping beauty will have to call the coroner and a maid with a real strong stomach when he wakes up."
"A weapon is no incentive to cooperation or truth."
His face contorted with frustration, Lyle covered the foot or two that separated him from Sydney in a flash of movement. The gun found its way to the older man's temple even faster.
"I don't want Aristotle and Plato. Give me one straight answer... just one... and maybe I won't spread that brilliant mind of yours all over your pretty drapes."
"You already know everything relevant. She went willingly. She wanted to be there. Jarod simply changed the rules of the game."
Though he tried to hide his fear, Sydney tensed visibly when the weapon against his skin impressed itself deeper.
"More."
"She was happy. It was the first time in weeks I've really seen her smile. She made a call or two, tidied up her desk and left."
"Calls to who?"
Gazing up past the steel barrel, Sydney answered testily, his anger beginning to get the best of him.
"I wasn't on the other end of the phone."
Lips tightening in rage, Lyle brought his pistol up and down faster than Sydney's eyes could follow it, using the butt to strike the older man a solid blow on the top of the shoulder. Pain roaring through his neck and right arm, Sydney slumped a few inches lower in the chair, his eyes squeezing shut, his mind fighting off the shock of the sudden assault.
"Do you even understand the concept of a straight answer?! I really hope so, otherwise you and Broots may both end up in the morgue at the Centre with lots of doctors in white coats wondering how I turned you inside out. Now... sit up... and talk to me!" Lyle screamed, lifting Sydney roughly by his injured arm, forcing him to comply. "Did she say where she was going?"
"She didn't... know. I... I think that was... all part of the game. I asked, but... she didn't seem to want to know. Too much fun... leaving it a surprise."
"Has she called you?"
"Of course not. Jarod would never allow it."
"So you have had contact with him."
"You already know I have. Jarod and I communicate frequently."
"That won't last much longer if I have my say."
"You... you have to know you'll never truly capture Jarod now. Don't you see that? Even if we drag him back in, he would be of no use to us. His experiences in the world have tainted his objectivity. He'd starve himself before he'd do any more sims, and he can't do anything hooked up to IV fluids. You'd end up killing him. Why bring him back if that's the only possible ending?"
"Smart as you are, you still don't get it do you? This isn't about Jarod anymore. It's about redeeming the reputation of the Centre. He's dumped humiliation on all of us for years, but this time... He's taken it one step beyond. Noone... noone, including and especially Jarod, comes after my family and gets off. One way or the other, he will pay for his crimes."
The pain in his right side still raging, sensing that no matter what he said his life would be forfeit, Sydney spoke from his heart and his conscience, intent on keeping Lyle's attention on him and away from Broots; not quite believing the words that came out of his mouth, but receiving renewed strength simply from the saying of them.
"And yours? Who, besides God almighty, will pass judgment on you for the inhumanity and evil you've committed in the name of your sick, twisted thoughts or the Centre's edicts?"
Strolling slowly around the back of the chair, Lyle grinned as he laid the business end of his pistol at the base of Sydney's neck.
"Don't hold back, Syd. Tell me what you really think."
"You've always known that. I don't need to tell you anything."
Sitting straighter, Sydney kept his eyes forward and waited for his own judgment to come, praying the end would be as swift and as painless as he'd always heard gunshots to the head could be.
Suddenly, as abruptly as the cold steel had first touched his skin, the contact vanished. The solid thump of Lyle hitting the floor sent Sydney sprinting out of his chair, despite his injury, and around the back of the chair to determine what had happened.
He found Broots standing over a deeply unconscious Lyle, a wooden meat pounder from the kitchen in his hand, the tool still wet with the blood from a fresh wound on top of the other man's head.
"Broots! What could have possessed you to..."
"He was ready to shoot you." Broots replied quietly, unable to tear his eyes from Lyle's blood as it dripped back onto the one it had come from.
"Broots. Look at me. I need you to look at me. Put that down."
Finally seeming to understand what he was holding, Broots dropped the wooden tool as if it were toxic and burning his skin and refocused his attention on Sydney. "Good. Now.... how could you possibly know what was going on out here? The last I saw of you, you were deeply asleep."
"It was just like last night. I was just wakin' up and the whole room vanished again. I saw you lying on the carpet in front of this chair... you were dead. Lyle laughed down at you, turned back, chambered a bullet and... and headed for the bedroom. You have to stop this, Syd. I couldn't take another repeat of this stuff. Make it stop, Syd, okay?"
Feeling tears begin to slide from one eye, Broots turned away, but Sydney turned him back.
"We can try to figure this out later, my friend, whatever is happening. Right now, he's our first concern. I think I know the solution, but we don't have much time to implement it, so you have to help. Can you put your fear aside for the moment? I understand it won't be easy. I'm sorry if I seem insensitive, but..."
"No. I can do it, as long as you promise me you'll try and fix me after. This really scares me."
"I know. Please go and get the coil of climbing rope in the garage. Before we can do anything, I need to make sure he won't be leaving unless I want him to."
"And what will you be doing?"
"Gathering a few things from my medical bag."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You're sure?"
"As sure as my Boy Scout training can make me. He's goin' nowhere."
"Let's hope so. One sudden move and the needle could break under his skin. Removing it would require surgery, leaving scars... I'd really rather not send him out of here with any sign of injury except the head wound."
"What are you giving him anyway?"
"This first is a mild hallucinogenic. It should make him suggestible enough for my needs. That way the second will be more effective."
"And the second is..."
"Styx-15."
When Sydney spoke the words, Broots paled, his eyes popping as he stumbled backwards away from his friend.
"What... how... noone is supposed to have access to that except Raines and his research team!"
"And I have a DSA player in my trunk. Someday I'll share more of my deepest secrets with you, but right now, I need your help, so please come back over here."
"What can I do? I already knocked him out. I did my part."
"You did fine. Just for safety's sake, I want you to kneel on his hand. He'll be coming around soon, and he'll be furious. I can't take even the slightest chance."
"You better hurry with that first shot." Broots warned, watching Lyle's eyelids begin to flutter.
"I'm ready." Sydney responded, tapping the barrel of the syringe and releasing a tiny amount of the amber liquid to be certain no air remained in the barrel or the needle. He had just begun to swab the inside of Lyle's elbow with alcohol when Mister Parker's strong right hand awoke, his face suffusing with total rage as he finally understood his situation.
"You... what the hell do you think you're doing?!"
"Assuring our safety and your potential redemption. This is much more than you deserve. I trust that somewhere, very deep inside yourself, you know that. There are any number of drugs, here and at the Centre, that I could have given you and been sure your eyes would never open again. Instead, I decided to offer you what I believe Jarod is offering your sister; a second chance to choose the direction your life will take. I can only pray that the evil in you hasn't become so deeply rooted that it will prevail despite what I'm about to do. Broots. Now, please."
Broots obeyed and the first injection was successful.
"When I tell my father and the Triumvirate about this..."
"If luck is with us, they'll never know what happened to you. I think it must be, since Broots was able to save not only my life but also his own by knocking you unconscious before you could shoot either one of us. You were going to shoot him as well? No need to answer. I know what you were going to do."
"Answer one for me then."
"If I can."
"How the hell did the weasel get the drop on me? I always know he's there."
"Since you won't remember any of this conversation in a few moments anyway, I suppose it won't do any harm." Sydney replied, preparing the second syringe. "Since I gave him the painkiller last night, he's begun experiencing pre-cognitive visions; the result, I assume, of an unauthorized experiment you've been running out of Blue Cove hospital?" The terror and fruitless outrage Sydney found creeping into Lyle's expression told him he was right. "He saw what you were going to do beforehand and had the tremendous courage to come out and stop you. I've already commended him. You didn't hear him because he'd been asleep. Bare feet."
"Broots...You have to get back to the Centre... let the med teams and the psych staff help you... damn..." Lyle swore quietly, desperately trying to shake off the effects of the head wound and fight the drug dragging him down into a sea of dark water and white noise. "I can tell you who to go to for help..."
"Sure. I vanish and your butts are covered. No, thanks. I've got Syd. He's all I need."
"But... you don't understand... what it is... you were given."
"I don't wanna know. I didn't ask for this. How could..."
Broots stopped himself, censoring the unaccustomed angry words flowing through his mind, intensely disliking the hostile sensations Lyle created in him.
"Broots." Sydney urged. "Go make me up an ice bag and a pot of hot tea would you?"
"But..."
"Please. I've seen this part. It's nasty and ugly. You shouldn't have those images to deal with for the rest of your life."
"Like you do?"
Sydney kept his silence. "I'll be right back." Broots conceded, walking into the kitchen, afraid to leave Sydney alone with someone so dangerous, but more afraid of witnessing the effects of the Styx-15.
"Sydney..."
"This is necessary. I'm sorry."
Drifting in and out of reality, Lyle gathered the strength to ask one final question.
"What... is that?"
"Styx-15. I'm hoping it, and my skill at post-hypnotic suggestion, will be all you need to make a change in your path."
"Sty... No! Oh, God, no! Sydney... stop!"
His pleas going unanswered, Lyle finally lost the battle against the hallucinogen, his gaze swimming around the room, head slipping slightly to one side as Sydney administered the second shot.
"Listen very carefully. In a moment, you will hear a sentence beginning with the words "the key is". When I complete this sentence, all you know of your past will be erased from both your conscious and sub-conscious mind. What you are now, what you have been, will be irretrievably gone, leaving only space to be filled by the moments, hours, and days after you awake. After you regain consciousness, this sentence will have no effect on you. The key is refuge."
As he had to do with nearly all the children and adults, except Jarod, that he'd seen subjected to Styx, Sydney had to turn away from the twitching, writhing body and tortured expression of his enemy.
Jarod had been the first one he'd ever seen be given the drug. There were still times, even now, when the memory haunted his nights, refusing him sleep, his own heart indicting him for not doing something to stop the torture and mental rape of a child he had already come to love.
Though he knew that what he had done was the only humane solution, and a great deal better than he had been tempted to do for him, Sydney still couldn't bring himself to watch as Lyle fought the commands he'd been given and the chemical compound reinforcing them. Only when Lyle had quieted did Sydney rise, favoring his injured shoulder badly, and make his way to the kitchen to join Broots.
"Is it over?"
"Yes. For now. There's still a bit of work to do, unfortunately. I'll need your help again. At best this shoulder is only dislocated, at worst..."
"It's swelling pretty bad. I don't think "at best" is an option. You know I'll help, Syd. We owe each other everything now." Broots reminded his friend, placing the ice bag gently on Sydney's shoulder and a cup of hot, sweet tea in his hands. "So what's first?"
"In the bedroom closet, there's an old costume, a monk's robe. You'll need to go to the costume shop downtown and get one to fit yourself. The sandals should be in the closet as well. I think the smaller pair should fit you. I'll explain the rest when you get back."
"How long will he be out?"
"The effects will last at least twenty-four more hours, possibly longer. We'll have all the time we need."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"But... he should have been... back long ago. If anything had... happened or... gone wrong, he would have made contact." Mister Parker grumbled, his sentences sprinkled with hesitations as the suture needle moved in and out of his skin.
Gazing over his shoulder at the man behind him, he considered ordering him to help, but immediately quashed the thought, knowing he always got more cooperation from Raines when the ghoul believed the idea to act had been his own.
"I warned you when you first presented your absurd proposal to the Tower. I told you then that Melissa was not Centre operative material. If you had only allowed..."
"Molly. Her name is Molly."
"You know I despise nicknames for children. They undermine proper discipline. Children must always be called by the Christian names they were given at birth."
"Really? Mind telling me what I should call Jarod, then, when he calls next?"
"Getting a little spirited in our free speech, aren't we? What you call him is beyond irrelevant. Just show me someone who can succeed where you've failed and find him!"
"We don't need anyone else. She'll be back soon. Jarod may delight in playing his little head-games with the Centre, but I've learned he's a man of his word. He'll return her."
"In what condition?" Raines purred, low, rough and close to Parker's ear, then moved slowly out of the infirmary cubicle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I feel stupid, Syd. I may have the sex life of a monk, but this is going too far...
"It won't be much longer. If anyone happens to see us helping him into the abbey, they'll assume we belong here. Come. Help me get him out of the car."
Moving to join Sydney at the passenger's side of the car, Broots slipped an arm around Lyle's shoulder and together the two friends lifted the lifeless body and walked it to the back door of the monastery, where friends of Sydney's, who were actual monks, waited to receive the unusual delivery. Passing Lyle off to the men behind him, the abbot then turned back and embraced Sydney carefully, but with much affection.
"So good to see you, Abe! You can't stick around, though. We'll take good care of whoever he is. Go quickly, now, before you're spotted."
"See you early in the morning."
"Yes. It'll be wonderful to have you back, even if only for a short time."
"If it were my choice..."
"I know. Please go. Being seen here would put you in a great deal more danger than it would us."
"Until tomorrow, Micheal."
"Yes. Until. Go!"
As Sydney slid gingerly into the passenger's side of the car, he caught an openly curious look from the man behind the wheel.
"I did promise, and I'll fulfill it. Just not now. Let's get home. You have some things you have yet to tell me as well, don't forget. Motorcycles I believe it was?"
"Did you say home? Sounds like a great idea. Let's go."
Smiling at Broots avoidance of the subject, Sydney sat back and wound down as much as he possibly could on the short trip back to his house.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Twice in one day? Did you and Petey join the NFL or something?"
"Please. No..."
"I know. No questions. Right shoulder?"
"Yes." Sydney confirmed, hissing in pain as Terri examined and gently manipulated the joint.
"Definitely dislocated. There could be rotator cuff damage too. It's impossible to tell without an MRI."
"What can you recommend as a stop-gap measure?"
"Not much. Without knowing if the rotator cuff is torn, I don't dare try to reseat the shoulder. How long do you plan to put off treating this thing?"
"Only a day or two."
"You can keep it in a sling that long. No longer, or you'll need physical therapy to restore full function."
"I understand."
"You should. You waited almost twenty years to go to anyone about that ankle. Why, I'll never know."
"That's right." Sydney replied, smiling sadly at Terri as she deftly twisted a long strip of white cloth from her bag into a properly sized sling and slid his arm into it just as an unexpected knock on the door startled them all momentarily.
Strolling to the living room intercom panel, Sydney touched the send button, simultaneously adding the weak, ill tones back into his voice. When his visitor responded, Sydney found himself feeling extremely grateful he had.
"Afternoon, Sydney. Open the door."
"Dr. Raines. Of course, sir. Hold on just a moment, won't you? I'll be right there."
Shooing Broots into the bedroom and Terri out the back door, Sydney moved slowly to the door, using the thought of what could have happened to Miss Parker in Raines' hands to achieve the sickly, pale look he needed the man outside to see.
"Good day, sir. Please come in. I wasn't aware we had an appoi..."
"Mister Parker had an... accident. Where's Lyle?"
"Mr. Lyle? He hasn't been here today."
"He sent Mr. Lyle in his place. Are you asking me to believe he never showed up?"
"It's the truth. I haven't heard from or seen him since Monday."
"Broots?"
"Asleep. His back is still bothering him a great deal."
"And you?"
"Me, sir?"
"The sling. Did you contract some new strain of food poisoning that has side effects I haven't heard about?"
The slight undercurrent of genuine interest beneath Raines' words made Sydney want to shudder, but he hid it well and concocted a cover story off the top of his head.
"No. Of course not... sir. I've been so weak that I slipped getting out of the shower and rammed this arm and shoulder dead on into a towel rack."
"Not having a lucky week are we?"
"It appears we aren't. How bad is Mister Parker's injury?"
"Not severe. A few lacerations and stitches. I'll only ask this once more, Sydney. I wouldn't advise lying. If you know where Lyle is, tell me now. It will go easier on you when you stand before the Triumvirate."
His gaze steady, his expression never wavering from the vaguely interested, deeply weary one he'd worn since his visitor had entered, Sydney responded quickly. His voice was quiet, but with such an undertone of steel that it would have backed anyone but Raines off at least two steps, if not more.
"As I said, he hasn't come to the house today. I didn't even see him Monday, actually. I only spoke to him on the phone. I give you my word of honor. If he had been here, I would tell you."
"I don't believe you, Sydney. I think you have the information I want. You know precisely where both the Parker children are. If you can't... or won't tell me, I think I know who you will tell. With a little... persuasion, of course."
"That won't be necessary." Sydney replied, the conviction in his voice even stronger now than it had been.
"If I want Lyle back, I have a distinct feeling it is. Since you obviously can't drive yourself, shall we ride to the Centre together?"
"I'll be staying here with Broots. He's on fairly heavy pain meds and I can't leave him unattended."
"I believe this is the first time you've ever defied me... doctor. Openly, that is. Privately is another matter. I can't know everything, of course. Fine. You stay." Raines announced, turning to go. "Once my discussion with the Tower is concluded, someone will be by to... invite you to your hearing."
His heart racing, Sydney found himself fighting off a sudden urge to call the other man back and confess all his sins from kindergarten forward. He won the battle at the last minute by focusing on an almost inaudible voice speaking from the depths of his mind, one he hadn't allowed himself to hear in a long time. It hit him, for the first time that the familiar, dark voice was no longer his alone, but had become a combination of his and Jarod's.
//It's alright, Sydney. Soon it won't matter. None of it will matter. Concentrate on keeping Broots and yourself alive. The rest will be what it will be...\
Hearing Raines' car start, Sydney snapped back from his reveries and moved as quickly as he could to consult with Broots on how their plans might have to be altered now that Raines had decided to involve himself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
