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Chapter or Story
NEXT DAY:
"Necessary? What does necessary have to do with anything? It's five a.m., I'm awake and I'm back in the Friar Tuck outfit. Ughhh. Sneaky stuff is for morning people."
"It shouldn't take long. I need to be present when he comes around. Just in case."
"You said this method should be practically foolproof." Broots replied, sliding the car slowly into a spot behind the abbey where it would be less likely to be sighted.
"Practically is the important word. Nothing's perfect. If he should recognize either of us, I'll have to re-sedate him and return with supplies to maintain him in that state indefinitely."
"Indef... you mean put him in a coma?"
"A chemically induced one, yes."
Though he shuddered inwardly at the thought, Broots managed to keep his expression from showing it as he opened Sydney's door and helped him out of the car.
"Whatever you have to do, Syd, I'm right here for you. You know that. I'll help however I can."
"I'm grateful. I couldn't have gotten through any of this if..."
"Oh, no. We both know the truth, Syd. You wouldn't be in any of this if it hadn't been for me." Broots countered as the two walked to the side door of the abbey.
"We'll discuss your overblown guilt complex later. Let's just finish this, shall we? Then we can both go home and get some sleep."
When his friend's grip on his good arm faltered slightly, Sydney glanced quickly at Broots, but found nothing but a small, tight smile covering a lot of grim determination, and decided to let it go.
"Abe. Welcome. Get in here, and put a wiggle on it! One or two of the brothers reported seeing a lot more dark suits and sunglasses in town this morning than there should be."
"They haven't gotten near the abbey?"
"Not so far. I think we kind of intimidate them. Even if they did dare, there's always the vow of silence routine."
"They wouldn't believe it. They can't afford to. Our... assault victim is too important to them. Hopefully..."
"It's alright, Abe. He's on the isolation floor. Noone who didn't know this place intimately would ever suspect it even exists."
"I remember. How was he this morning?"
"Out cold last I knew. Peaceful and calm."
"He won't be that way much longer. Perhaps we'd better..."
"I've got a 'round the clock watch on him. We have time for a cup of herbal. C'mon." The abbot encouraged, leading the pair down a short flight of stone steps into a simple cozy, kitchen, warmed and lit by an enormous fireplace.
"Wow! My dream kitchen. Look at that stone bread oven! Man, if I had this set-up I'd be baking and doing soups and stews every day, all day long." Broots enthused quietly.
Surprised, Sydney questioned Broots as the other took a seat across from him at a long wooden table.
"You cook?"
"Oh, yeah. Well, taking care of Debbie on my own, I had to learn. I took a few classes then went from there. I make a pretty decent cinnamon-swirl bread."
"Yes? You'll have to bring some to the house. That's one of my favorites with my coffee in the morning, but I haven't found one made in the U.S. that I like." Sydney replied, smiling lightly as he accepted a stoneware mug of tea from the abbot and passed one to Broots.
"You haven't really introduced me to your friend, Abe."
"Goodness, you're right. Abbot Michael Fredrickson, Chris Broots."
"Everybody just uses my last name." Broots added hastily, shaking Michael's hand then hiding behind his mug of tea.
"Christopher?"
No... actually. It's short for Christian."
"A name to be proud of, young man."
"I guess so. I never thought about it. I've just been Broots for such a long time."
"I've tried for years to get him to use his given name, but I've had no luck. I keep telling how much I like it..."
"Well, I don't, so..."
Broots lost his train of thought as one of the other monks came striding into the room, spoke quietly with Michael, then rushed out again.
"Grab your tea, gentlemen. Time to go."
"He's awake?"
"Getting there."
"Has he spoken?"
"A few words."
"And?"
"Paulo didn't say, and I don't read minds. Relax, Abe. I know how important this is for you. When we get to isolation... we'll see."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To Sydney's frustration, Michael forbid either man to go near Lyle until the medical staff had been consulted. When he returned, he explained that, although he had received a real status report, the wait was also part of the illusion.
"He's been told he's in a sort of isolation ward. I didn't want him thinking I'd just let you in without the approval of the doctors."
"Can we see him now?"
"Of course. Medically, he seems to be alright. He'll have a whopper of a headache."
"Syd, wait. I just realized. Why am I here?" Broots asked.
"Compassion. Hold his hand, make comforting noises, things like that. Besides, one man could never have gotten him into the building alone. Everything has to look just right." Sydney answered as he and Broots walked to the bed and watched Michael begin to try to get a response from Lyle.
Broots, playing his part to the hilt, immediately knelt on the floor, grabbed a damp cloth from the bowl beside the bed and began stroking it over Lyle's brow and cheeks, clucking and trying to sound deeply sympathetic without using actual words.
"Sir. Can you speak to me?"
"Wh... who are you? What's happened?"
"Well. Good morning. How are you feeling?"
"Fuzzy. My head's killing me."
"That's about right. You have quite a scalp wound. It isn't serious, more superficial than anything, but it will take a while to heal and it's going to hurt like the devil while it does. Otherwise you seem to be fine."
"Where am I? How did I... end up here?"
"You're in St. Marks Abbey. These two brothers found you laying in the alley just outside our doors. You were unconscious and bleeding badly."
"How long?"
"Three days. Almost four, actually. You were starting to worry us a little. Do you feel up to a few questions? Brother Abraham just had one or two."
"I... I suppose."
"Hello. Welcome back to the world. What's the last thing you remember clearly before you were attacked?"
His brow furrowed, eyes closed for several moments, Lyle pushed and dug in his mind but could find only blankness.
"Nothing. There... there's nothing there. I don't understand... why can't I remember?"
"You will. Try once more. How about your name?"
"No. I mean... I don't seem to..."
"It's alright. Memory loss is common with head injury. It's only temporary, I'm sure. Unfortunately, Brother Christian and I found no identification among your clothing. We have to call you something unique. ' Hey over there' has applied to everyone in the abbey at some point. I'd say... yes. He looks like a James. What would you say Abbot?"
"Hmmm. James suits him. How about it, son? Would James be alright for the time being?"
"James? I... it would be fine... I guess. Yeah. James. I like it."
"Good. We'll let you rest, now. Oh, by the way. Since your tests show you aren't ill, we'll move you out of isolation tomorrow."
"Why the wait?"
"The doctors want to be absolutely sure the head injury isn't worse than it seems. Trust me. Their caution has saved dozens of lives."
Broots had abandoned the cloth and now had a gentle grasp on "James' " left hand, caressing and patting while continuing the meaningless sounds of solace.
"Doesn't he speak?"
"No, actually. He's been a mute most of his life. He's been so distraught since he and Brother Abraham found you. He kept signing to us that he felt if he'd been out there a few moments earlier, he might have prevented your injury. For his sake... for all our sakes, I'm very glad you're alright."
"No more than I am."
"I'm sure that's true. Get some rest, James. I'll be back to see you after lunch."
After tugging "Brother Christian" away from James' side, Michael walked Sydney and Broots back to the concealed elevator that had brought the three of them to the isolation level. Sydney and the abbot barely managed to suppress their laughter until the elevator doors closed.
"That was wonderful, Chris! You were so convincing, *I* almost bought into it!" Michael crowed.
Blushing heavily, Broots smiled, accepted the praise and began to work out how he was going to explain to Sydney about his plan to never sleep again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
FOUR HOURS LATER- SEACOUVER:
"Hey. It's your wake-up call. Breakfast is here."
"I'm up." Parker called from behind the screened-off facilities in the corner. "Put the tray on the bed."
Methos, a wicked grin on his face, placed the tray then walked quietly to within a foot or two of the screens and spoke softly.
"Your eggs Florentine are getting cold."
Shocked to hear his voice so close by, when the feeling that signaled his approach was still so faint, Parker rushed out carrying one high heel and wearing the other.
"What the..."
"No alcohol, no sedative. The sensation has gone back to what it should be; a doorbell instead a combination car alarm and foghorn."
"Doorbell... The question I asked at the airport; would I get a straight answer now if I asked again?"
"Not yet. Go eat. Cold spinach and eggs is rather disgusting."
Taking his seat on the far side of the long table, Methos was pleasantly surprised when Parker retrieved the tray, brought it to the table and dropped into a chair across from him. Recognizing progress on her part when he saw it, he took the fortune that had fallen to him and let her eat without trying to pull her into a conversation.
Even after she'd finished and pushed the tray down the table, Methos stayed silent, contemplatively sipping a cup of lukewarm coffee and watching her, willing to leave the decisions up to her. Finally, growing mildly frustrated, she made the first move.
"You haven't said a damn word since you sat down."
"Would you like me to?"
"Anything's better than breakfast with Marcel Marceau."
"Alright. What shall we talk about?"
"You're asking me? This is your game."
"It isn't, though. Games have no real purpose or meaning. Your being here does."
"And I find out what that is..."
"Tomorrow, maybe the day after. We'll see. Anything else on your mind?"
"Again. Why ask me?"
"Okay. I was wrong to think that a reasonably intelligent woman could produce a topic of conversation off the top of her head. Guess that leaves it up to me. What were you and my predecessor talking about last time he was here?"
Her expression darkening and shutting down, Parker responded without hesitation.
"Out of bounds."
"Really? Mind telling me why?"
"That would mean telling you what, and I said... that's out of bounds."
Unwilling to let Parker opt out, Methos waited several minutes, giving her every chance to rejoin him on her own, then gently began enticing her back into the delicate, deliberate waltz he was creating as he went along.
"You did have an agreement with my partner. Right or wrong?"
When no response came, he tried again. "Well? Did you or didn't you? I wouldn't want to hold you to something you never said yes or no to."
"Yes. We had a... bargain."
"The jist of which was..."
"Total honesty for total honesty."
"Yeah? Okay. I'm willing to continue with that. You plan on keeping up your end?"
"I don't renege on agreements."
"Is that the only reason you're still with the Centre?"
Met with more stony silence, Methos gave her a warm smile in return and continued. "Hmmm. We'll get back to that. So. What were the two of you discussing?"
After a long, intense stretch of time spent staring deeply into Methos' eyes, Parker rose, walked to the bed, sat and swung her legs up, pulling her knees to her chest.
"The jackass. I told him I don't have any solid memories before the age of seven or eight. He insisted I was wrong. He bet me he could find them, and like an idiot... I called his bluff. He tried to make me think it was just some kind of... visualization. I don't think I'll ever know exactly how, but at the end... he tricked me... turned it around on me. I was so confused I didn't know up from down, never mind fantasy from reality. I... I was seeing... I don't know what, really, but that... that ass almost had me believing it had some connection to me, to my past."
"You must have been furious."
"Livid. Only Jarod's ever been able to get me that angry. Not anymore, but once..."
"Why not?"
"I wasn't thrilled with the results of that level of negative emotion on my health."
"Uh-uh. Psychobabble. Say it how you really wanted to say it."
"I don't like what happens when I get that mad."
"Better. What is it that you don't like? What happens when you let your anger get that far beyond you?"
"Nothing. It's... it's really nothing. It hasn't happened in years."
"Until yesterday."
After a few tense, very quiet minutes, during which Methos could clearly see on her face the internal debate Parker was conducting with herself, she responded to his prompt.
"When I get that... wild, that enraged, I blank out. I just... go away somewhere, like slipping into a T.V. screen filled with snow. When... when it's..."
"When it's safe, you come back."
The look Methos received held no agreement or dissent; merely cool appraisal and mild curiosity.
"I still get angry. I've just learned to keep it under strict control. I haven't had a "white noise" episode in a long time."
"Until yesterday." Methos repeated softly, his genuine concern and empathy drawing her further into the step and tempo of the dance.
"I'm not so sure."
"Yesterday was different? How?"
"It used to be I'd remember the exact moment the static pulled me in. Yesterday... the where and how got lost."
"And that concerns you."
"It concerns me that it happened at all. Like I said, I had this under control. If he's started it up again, I will personally hang his pretty Scottish guts from the chandelier in the dining room, turn the rest into mulch and spread him on the lawn."
"Ugggh. He said you had a slasher movie imagination. Where'd you ever pick up that nasty thinking, anyway?"
"It comes with the territory of being able to protect myself at all costs."
"Well, can we make a pact?"
"Possible."
"You're as safe here as you can be. Noone can get to you, harm you or take anything from you. See if you can put away the twenty-four/seven/three-sixty-five defense system, okay? I'm not asking you to dismantle the thing, just shut it down for a while. Turn off the blood and gore dispenser and see how it feels to live without the bitterness and bile filling up your head all the time. You might find it the vacation you thought you were getting when you started this whole thing."
"That easy, hmmm? Just... shut it down." Parker laughed sarcastically.
"Not easy, no. It can be done."
"Fine. You do it, hypocrite."
"Hypocrite? Where'd that come from?"
"Do you really think I can't recognize one of my own kind? You've been fighting off the world for most of your life, just like I have, and you hate the world for it, just like I do. Show me your trusting nature, little man. Tell me what you are."
"Oh, no. Most of the world I trust, sweetheart. You're a different story. I give up my hole-card now, you go hot-footing back to daddy with it, and I, and maybe a lot of my friends, will end up running from that human misery factory you call a workplace for the rest of our lives. Sorry. Not yet. I don't fold as easy as all that. So do I show you how to release the security lock-outs or not?"
"Great. A Star Trek fan. Just what I really need."
"So must you be if you recognize the reference. Answer the question."
"Go ahead and try, but if you do to me what he did..."
"No tricks, I swear. You do have to close your eyes again, though."
"Yeah, yeah. Like I believe your promises any more than I'd believe his. Just remember that I can get close enough now to rip off your ears and stuff one down your throat and one up your..."
"I get the point. Close the eyes."
It took Parker several seconds to comply as her eyelids went to half-mast, then to slits that Methos swore were producing fiery sparks, all aimed in his direction. After a swallow or two to relieve the sudden dryness of his tongue and palate, Methos continued. "You're walking slowly down a dim hallway. A few feet in front of you, the door to a brightly lit room is opening. Focus on the doorway. As you get there, look up. There's a sign hung over the door. See if you can read it for me."
"No chance. It's too high. Wait. I think... Yeah. The same thing seems to be written on the glass panel in the door. It says Security Office: Head of Security... there's no name. Other than the first two lines, the panel is blank."
"Walk in. Tell me what you see."
"The place is wall to wall with computers and monitors. Not much light. It's hard to see anything."
"Take a good look around, find the most clearly marked button and tell me what it says."
"There are two. Armed and... secure? That makes no sense."
"That's okay. It doesn't have to. Push one."
"Which one, smart guy?"
"No matter. Whichever you feel will shut the system down. Your choice."
Stretching out her right hand, in her mind and in reality, Parker punched the switch marked secure, watched every light before her, except the room lights, go dark and had to fight a long moment of near panic. When she had resumed control, she spoke to Methos, realizing that he had given her no further instructions.
"Well? Hello? I pushed it. Systems non-functional. What now?"
After several seconds with no response, Parker opened her eyes to discover that her conversation-mate had slipped from the room during their final few exchanges, taking her used dishes with him and leaving her with nothing but a somber vision of mute, lifeless computers and video screens, and a rapidly increasing host of troubled thoughts flooding her heart and mind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I'm this close. A little farther and she won't be able to back out. She's studying the hook. She just can't decide if it's in her best interests to bite."
"She knows the hook will drag her into a world she isn't ready for." Macleod responded quietly as he dried the last of the breakfast dishes and replaced them in their proper cabinets and drawers.
"Jarod's breakdown still getting to you too?"
"How could it not? I don't have the words for the way I feel, and that's not like me. It's strange. I don't like it."
"The words for abuse that pervasive haven't been invented. I'm not sure he isn't right. He may never get rid of it completely. Is he still upstairs?"
"Yeah. Whether he's sleeping or hiding is another story."
"If it were me, I'd be in my shell for the duration."
"Me too, but we aren't as strong as he is. Not by half."
"If wishes were horses..."
"and dropped from the sky, they'd be terribly messy, for horses can't fly." Jarod joked groggily as he shuffled slowly into the kitchen and dropped into a chair. "Sorry. It's a rhyme Parker taught me when we were children. She's about the only good memory out of the ones they left me."
Moving to the table, Methos laid a hand on Jarod's shoulder briefly, then reached the same hand out to tip up the chin of the younger man.
"I sense an apology on the tip of your tongue. Don't bother. You waited way too long for what happened, I think. Maybe now you'll believe you need as much help as she does. Help of a little different kind, but needed just as badly."
Gently pulling away from the touch of his friend, Jarod scrubbed his eyes quickly, sighed and gazed up at Methos.
"The words were right. In some small way, they worked. I'm just not... ready yet. Give it time. Let's finish this first. Parker is the priority now."
Walking away, Methos' face grew worried and slightly discouraged.
"I know. She's doing well. She's keeping to our schedule, even if she doesn't know it. After you down some of that swill Mac calls coffee, would you skim the tape of the session I just had with her? I could use an opinion on how close she really is to where she needs to be."
"Sure."
"Swill?! That happens to be the best the gourmet store had. It's top-grade Columbian." Macleod protested.
"Yeah, well I was hoping for decent coffee, not world-class cocaine. Columbian doesn't mean a thing, despite what all their commercials say. I could have got better tasting stuff out of the oil pan in my car."
"Columbian coffee is the best there is. You just have no taste."
"Ha! How many times do I have to tell you, you have to go to Chile for acceptable beans and drinkable coffee."
"Chile? You want chilly, I can stuff you in the freezer. Maybe it'll improve your disposition!"
Though he badly wanted to burst out laughing, Jarod rose and stepped between the two, not wanting an argument over coffee to come to blows immortal style.
"Guys. Okay, okay. Hold off. I'll make the coffee from now on. I know a few tricks."
"Ohhhh no. Not in my machine..."
"I could just put instant and a filter over a cup and pour hot water through it, but that wouldn't taste much better than yours." Jarod retorted calmly then paused to let the other two catch up.
Macleod glared at Methos for a few more seconds, then the insult hit and both gave in to laughter, joined by Jarod a minute later.
"Alright. You get a one day trial."
"That should be all I need. You did save me some breakfast, right?"
"Absolutely." Macleod answered, sliding a baking sheet out of the oven with Jarod's dish on it. "Four slices of French toast and a western omelet. Syrup and butter on the table. Milk and fresh squeezed juice in the fridge."
"Thanks." Jarod said, hissing as he accepted the hot plate and hurrying to set it down on the table. "How is she?"
"Surprisingly cooperative. I got a lot more info than I thought I might. She came out with some interesting stuff."
"Good. Is it okay if I eat in there? The sooner I watch the tape, the sooner I can give you feedback, and..."
"Of course. Go ahead."
His expression sliding into mild concern, Methos waited until Jarod had settled in the living room with the monitor headset on before he spoke again to Macleod.
"Should we let him get away with it?"
"What? The avoidance thing? They're his emotions. If he chooses not to make a huge deal of what happened, that's his prerogative."
"Yeah, but, eventually, it's gonna be a T-Rex sized deal. All the anger and resentment will sneak up and cut his knees out from under him one of these days."
"We just have to hope he trusts us enough to let us help him if it happens. It might not. He's got through so much..."
"Stonehenge has survived for thousands of years, but there are still people who say that if you push in the right spot or kick out the right pebble, the whole thing'll go down like dominoes in about a minute and a half."
"They say. Let him be for now. Last night was a step. He'll come to us when he's ready for the next, if he ever is." Macleod countered.
Sipping a cup of coffee, he turned from watching Jarod to staring out the window over the sink, considering whether to ask the younger man what he found out there at night that gave him peace.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"So? Where is she?"
"Closer than I thought she would be in this short amount of time. She added unsolicited detail to the beginning sim you gave her. I didn't do that until eight months after I started."
"You were also a frightened child, and you knew what you were doing. She doesn't fall into either category. Maybe that's partly responsible for her slipping into the simulation so easily."
"She's also a natural Pretender. It could just be her inborn skill kicking in." Jarod proposed as he began to scrub his plate and silverware.
"True." Methos mused. "We're all still on the same page about tonight and tomorrow, right?"
"I never said that. I said I understand the necessity of it and I won't interfere."
"I wish you could see... I'm doing this to save her. At this point it's to save Mac and myself as well. She's sniffing around the truth of what we are, and she *will* track it down. That I guarantee. If we can't bring her around by then, the two of us, and maybe thousands of others, will be fighting your battle as well as our own."
His soulful eyes locked to Methos', Jarod swallowed hard, his expression suddenly desolate.
"The Centre can't be allowed to capture an adult immortal. I've seen sections of that place... soul-killing doesn't come close. It doesn't even begin to cover it."
"Okay then. This is our one chance to pull it off. We have to follow the plan exactly as we've laid it out. Missing a meal tonight and two tomorrow won't really hurt her, but it will get her hunger raging, which is essential for the immersion treatment."
Jarod's quicksilver, ever-changeable expression now clearly said that part of him was as uncomfortable with the immersion as with the rest of the plan, but he kept silent about his concerns and marginally changed the subject.
"When can I see her?"
"Just before the treatment. All we'll be doing right up to then is interrogating her, trying to pull every bit of information out of her we can so she'll keep moving in the direction we want her to go. She'll be desperate for a friend. That's you."
"Miss Parker and I may be a lot of things, but friends isn't one of them."
"By the time day after tomorrow rolls around, she won't see it that way."
A smile suddenly flowing onto Jarod's face, he turned to face Methos.
"If I can give you a reasonable compromise that will keep the immersion on track, will you consider it?"
"Of course."
"Good. Let's all go hit the gym for a workout and we'll talk about it."
General agreement came from the other two and all headed to separate bedrooms to change and grab towels.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
