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Chapter or Story
FOLLOWING MORNING-- BLUE COVE:
Fuming, Mister Parker stared at the ringing phone, deeply resentful at the interruption to his work. Although he was strongly reluctant to answer it, he knew who was on the other end and also knew the consequences if he didn't pick it up. He allowed the annoying device to buzz once more, then threw down his pen and grabbed the handset, carefully tempering all irritation from his voice before he spoke.
"Good morning. What can I do for you?"
"That's gracious of you, but I think you've done more than enough for me and to me already, don't you?" Jarod responded lightly.
"Jarod? What the..."
"Very good. I didn't really expect you to recognize my voice. We never saw each other all that much."
"Sydney and my daughter may tolerate your games, son, but I'm not them. Can I take this call to mean you've seen the error of your ways and you're ready to come home?"
"You know better than that. I hope you also know better than to try and trace this call. It won't do you any good."
"Yes. I know that all too well." he tossed back, his hand halted in mid-air, halfway to the button that would have begun the futile trace. "Look, my boy. If you haven't changed your attitude, then get to the point would you? I have work to do."
"I imagine you do." Jarod replied darkly. "I just wanted to let you know that she's alright. She'll be out of contact for another few days, but she's alive and whole and I promise you she'll stay that way."
The hair at the nape of his neck suddenly stiffening, Mister Parker straightened in his chair, his full attention now on his caller.
"She? Who are we talking about, Jarod?"
"Now who's playing games? I've done my duty. You'll get another call once she's on her way back to you."
Jarod disconnected without another word, leaving the Centre's CEO arguing with the dial tone and studying the receiver numbly. After several minutes of stunned silence and bewilderment, he shook himself out of his lethargy, dug out a small black personal phone directory and began to dial.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SEACOUVER: MID-AFTERNOON
Late that afternoon, Parker woke to the sounds of a heating system kicking in somewhere in the walls of the room where she lay waiting for full consciousness to re-establish permanent residence in her brain.
Gradually her senses whirred back into gear and began giving her a better sense of where she was and what was happening. Carefully sliding her eyes open, she quickly realized that she was still in the silk penoir set she had worn the night before, but someone had thoughtfully added a velvet robe and heavy socks to her ensemble. Pushing herself upright on the firm mattress she threw off the heavy quilt that had been laid over her and proceeded to make a thorough search of the vaguely familiar room in which she had awakened.
It took only a few moments to complete a circuit of the tiny space. She found nothing that would give her any clue to how she had gotten there; the room contained only her bed, a chair, a large table and a nightstand with a cell phone, screened off bathroom facilities and her luggage neatly tucked into a corner. A full set of clean clothes had been laid carefully over the back of the chair and the outfit she had worn on the plane was nowhere to be found. In deference to the mild hangover that was just starting to announce its presence, she took one last look around, then walked back to the bed and sat down heavily.
When her stomach and head finally stopped whirling, she rose cautiously and wandered over to the door, intending to make her way into the main house and find a few answers and a bathroom with a medicine cabinet. After closely examining the door, however, she immediately realized that an upset stomach was by far the least of her problems.
Panic just beginning to surface in the nether regions of her mind, Parker mentally stomped it flat and quickly ran her hands over every inch of the smooth surface she could reach, searching for a tiny crack, flaw or defect that might be the key to her release. Finding nothing, she stepped back, turning in a slow circle. Though she fought against it with all the hate and anger she possessed, the realization of why the room had, at first, seemed subtly familiar finally hit her. She had stood in one like it many times before. With the understanding came a rage and a terror such as she had never felt before.
For several minutes she stalked the room, punching, pounding and kicking her helplessness and fury into the walls and door until she ended up crouched in the middle of the small space, head down, cradling bruised hands and recovering her breath. Her rage now consumed, the fear took over. Suddenly thrust into the reality of a world she had always felt a part of as a girl, but had never truly been allowed to touch, her conscious mind recoiled then shut down completely. Backing into the edge of the bed frame, her knees failed her and she collapsed. Scrambling fully onto the bed, her legs tucked close to her body, she clutched for the discarded quilt, wrapped it loosely around her and allowed her eyes to close as she tried to control the shivering that wracked her body.
Somehow, Jarod had recreated a detailed replica of the Centre cubicles where he and hundreds of other Pretenders had slept, eaten and simulated their way through the past thirty or so years. Somehow, he had learned about her encounters with the enigmatic martial arts master and had used the information to tease her into walking into a situation of his making; one where he felt he might finally regain some small measure of what had been stolen from him by stealing her freedom from her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Good afternoon. Hello? Is anyone there? Jarod?"
"Hello, Sydney. I suppose you've heard by now."
"Of course. I won't ask for an explanation. I trust you have your reasons and I know you won't harm her."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"I should warn you; the intensity of the search for you has been stepped up considerably. If anything does happen to her..."
"You said it yourself, Sydney. I could never hurt her. Besides, I'm working with a professional."
Curiosity sparking in his voice with each word, Sydney gave in to the demands of his ever-inquisitive mind.
"I know I said I wouldn't ask, but..."
"It's alright. You were always the only one I told my secrets to. Why stop now? It's all a matter of holes, Sydney. Gaps in the soul. Slowly but surely, I'm filling in all mine. It's only right I do the same for her."
"You've been helping her immensely from a distance for years now. What changed?"
"Everything. I found out that our Miss Parker isn't what, or who, she thinks she is. Once I fill in a few of those holes, she'll understand. After that, we'll just have to wait and see."
"I think I need a translator." Sydney joked, chuckling lightly. "For once, you're being too cryptic even for me."
"New information requires a new battle plan, Sydney. Keep an eye on your mail and keep trusting me. Give my regards to Broots."
"I will. Take care, my friend."
"Always."
Flipping his cell phone closed, Jarod turned to the lean dark Scot sitting beside him and studied him for a long moment, assessing his mood.
"Last chance. You're positive you can do this?"
"Absolutely. Has she calmed any yet?"
"Some, but not as much as I'd like. We'll give her another ten minutes." Jarod replied, glancing briefly at the monitor carrying the camera feed from the cubicle. "It's strange to see her like this. I was ready for the anger, but..."
"Fear is a powerful weapon. Thank God she's had survival drilled into her almost from birth. Waking up in there could have turned anybody's mind into so much shredded wheat."
"Anyone but her."
"We hope. I think I know her pretty well, now. I just wish... I hate to ask, but can I see it again?"
Absentmindedly Jarod reached for the case that held his collection of DSA's and the viewer, but hesitated at the last moment, old shame and his own fears rearing their ugly heads. Reminding himself that Macleod had already seen some of the most horrifying disks of the lot, Jarod pushed away the memories and pulled the case up onto the table, opening it and turning it so that his friend would be able to see clearly, but the images would be hidden from his view. Pressing a nearly invisible latch he swung the side of the case open, revealing a single DSA resting in a small niche. Slipping it into the activation slot, the younger man rose and walked away from his recent discovery, trying to block out the audio, as well as the video, that the machine was producing, fresh pain and anger for the young girl on the screen piercing his heart.
[ "What is she doing here, Catherine? She should have been delivered to SL27 long ago. I wanted her settled in by now."
"Was the Tower's directive not clear enough for you?"
"I understood every word, *Doctor* Raines, but I refuse to allow my daughter to become part of whatever repugnant, sadistic experiment you happen to be conducting at the moment. My husband may have to grovel at the feet of the Triumvirate, but I don't. She stays with me."
"I trust you read the report. Of course you did or you wouldn't be here now. The results were conclusive. Your daughter is one of the most promising candidates I've ever seen. In time, I think she could even outshine that wunderkind Sydney's been working with, but her potential can only be developed here. You can take her to her room, Mrs. Parker, or I can have her escorted there. Either way, she's Centre property now. She has no choice in the matter, and neither do you. What will it be? Will you see her to her new home or not? I should think she'd much prefer to go with you than with Security, but it's your choice of course."
"I told you. She isn't going anywhere."
"Catherine... The matter is settled, angel..." ]
Still as affected as ever, watching for the fourth time in two days, Macleod forced himself not to turn his eyes away as the final scene on the disk played itself out.
On the other side of the room Jarod leaned into a wall, tensing as his emotional revulsion became physical, struggling against the bile rising in his throat as the images he already knew so well ran through his head once again.
Catherine Parker asking to have her daughter brought to her, begging to be allowed to say goodbye.
Catherine Parker professing her everlasting love for her child, then thrusting that same child into the arms of her husband, her voice deeply bitter as she demands that he be the one to collect the thirty pieces of silver for the proposed sacrifice of his own flesh and blood, her heels clicking as she runs from the office.
Abruptly, the sounds of the actual recording broke into Jarod's reverie.
[ "Sweetness, you wait outside for Daddy alright? I'll be through here in just a few minutes, and then we'll have that adventure I promised."
"Okay, Daddy."
"Good girl. Close the door. She'll never survive here, Raines."
"The tests are conclusive. There's nothing more to say."
"To hell with the tests! Use common logic, man. It will never work. She and Catherine are too close. Catherine will never let her go while there's a breath in her body."
"I believe that problem is being solved as we speak." ]
Hands fisted at his sides, Jarod decided he wouldn't let the disk finish this time. Stalking quickly back to the table, he pulled the DSA from the slot and restored it to its hiding place before either of them could once more be subjected to the sharp report of the gun or the deeply disturbing image of a fierce young girl struggling against arms much larger and stronger than she.
Glancing at the other man, Jarod saw only his friend's broad back. Despite his resolve, Macleod had been unable to keep his eyes on the small screen, anticipating the same ending he had experienced three times before. Deeply relieved that he would not have to listen to the last few seconds of audio again, the Scot drew a deep, quiet breath and swiveled back around in the chair.
"I still can't decide whether to be more grateful I knocked this thing off my kitchen counter and sprung that panel, or more nauseated over what we found. At the moment, nauseated's winning."
"I told you, I'm glad it happened. It gives me an edge I didn't have before; with her and after this is over. If it doesn't succeed, I'll still have the disk. I can try something else."
"I'm glad you're glad. I'm trying to get there. I just can't, yet."
"Don't bother. Just make sure you're ready. It's past time to get things started." Jarod prompted, gripping the other's shoulder for a moment on his way to the kitchen.
"Right. You'll be watching?"
"Off and on. I'll study the tapes later. For now, it's your show. I'll have dinner and a beer for you when you're done."
"Make it two."
"Two it is."
Halfway out of the room, Macleod halted and turned when Jarod called his name from the kitchen doorway.
"Did I forget something?"
"No. I did. I've only found a handful of people in my life I trusted. I mean, really trusted with things that were precious to me. I trust you, Duncan Macleod. You've seen the ledge she's standing on. Don't let her fall."
Caught off guard, Macleod started to speak, to thank his new companion for his faith in him, but found his own demons choking off his words; the demons that reappeared each time he dared to befriend one not of his own kind. They gleefully reminded him that he had accepted the trust of many men and women before, mortal and immortal, and taunted him with the memory of his one great love, whispering that he had utterly failed her at her moment of greatest need.
Knowing Jarod would, someday, become as ageless as he was did nothing to ease the constriction in his throat; he understood all too well the additional commitments and stresses immortality would place on a young man who already bore a great number of unspeakable burdens. Part of him wished he could be there when his new friend finally learned the truth, to witness what a rare being like him might make of the next hundred years or so, but the greater part didn't envy Jarod in the slightest.
Unable to articulate his gratitude for Jarod's trust in him, the Scot simply smiled lightly, nodded and strode off to begin his work with their beautiful captive.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Checking a second monitor just outside her cell, Macleod was surprised to note the changes she had made in just the few minutes that he and Jarod had been distracted with the DSA viewer. She was now fully dressed and had artfully arranged herself in the chair that sat by the larger table.
Arms crossed over her chest, her arresting face devoid of emotion, she struck him as nothing more than a successful business executive, suffering the imbeciles of the world with quiet dignity as she waited serenely for the next opportunity to present itself. Whether she was expecting a cross-town bus or the end of the world, however, was something one would never be able to tell by simply looking at her.
Retrieving the basket he had placed by his feet, he pulled a keyless remote from his pocket, entered the unlock code, replaced the device and entered the room, pushing the door closed again behind him.
Sensing his slow approach from across the room, Parker stole a glance through her lashes at the man she had held such high hopes for only twenty-four short hours ago. Realizing, now, that he must have had a hand in her abduction from the start, she lowered her gaze and smoothed all expression from her face.
As he drew close, to her chagrin and profound surprise, she began to experience a much more modest repeat of the sensation that had stricken her at the airstrip, this time marked chiefly by an abrupt deepening of the pain centered behind her eyes and a significant increase in the roiling in her stomach. As the Centre had trained her to do in such situations, she drove her discomfort as far down as was necessary for her to be able to think clearly and logically, and focused instead on the over six-foot tall question mark that had plopped himself down not five feet from where she sat.
Perched on the edge of the table, Macleod placed the basket in front of her and did his best to mirror her self-possessed, aloof facade. Through the next ten minutes he remained calm, remained silent, knowing his patience was the key to opening her up and, ultimately, to the success of Jarod's plan for her.
Thanks to Methos' urging, he had studied the woman before him as deeply as his information would allow. He knew that every step she would take on the road ahead had to be hers alone. If he made even one decision for her, if he rushed her through one blind curve that she wasn't yet ready to face, she would pull back, perhaps even turn and run in panic, and he would have to begin again. Given the limited number of days he had to work with her, that was one mistake he couldn't afford. So he sat with her. He was quiet. He allowed her to dictate what would happen next, and when. He waited.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BLUE COVE:
"Well. Good afternoon. I was just beginning to wonder where you'd got to." Sydney greeted a very late arriving Broots, adding a bright smile to make sure his friend and assistant knew he was in no trouble.
"I know you won't tell anyone, Sydney. You won't will you?"
"Of course not. Is something wrong at home? If it's anything I can help with..."
"Home? No... No. Not exactly." Broots explained, his voice low as he made his way to Sydney's desk, throwing glances back over his left shoulder every ten seconds all the way there. "It's just that this is the first time all day that either Lyle, Raines or Mister Parker haven't been in front of your door or somewhere within five feet of it. I saw my chance to get this to you, so I took it."
Slipping a small package from his pocket, he slid it to Sydney across the desk. "This was in my mailbox this morning. It's got your name on it. Is it..."
"Oh, yes. I meant to thank you for ordering that for me. I know it's silly to be embarrassed, but it's also silly for a man my age to have become addicted to a child's miniature video game. I'm grateful that you were willing to put it in your name and protect my reputation."
Noting Sydney's surreptitious glances at the corner where the security camera hung, Broots swiftly got the point and played into the fairy-tale his boss was spinning.
"Hey. I said I was sorry. How could I know you'd get hooked on it so fast? This is the one you wanted right? It has all the latest features."
Staring at his watch, Sydney's face brightened.
"I have a marvelous, idea. I was just about to leave all this and go out for an early dinner. Why don't you join me? You can show me all those new features you mentioned." Sydney offered, standing and slipping the package into his pocket.
Growing more and more intrigued by the game Sydney was running on the eyes and ears that tracked their every move, Broots gladly kept it up as they strolled out of the office and towards the elevators.
"Sure. All I'm doing is the same old scut work anyway. It can wait 'till morning. Hey. Did you manage to find the brass key for level twelve yet? You can't complete the level without it and I've looked everywhere."
"Not everywhere, apparently. It was in the treasure chest that's on your left as you finish stage eleven. I'll show you in the car."
"The chest? Man, I swear I checked that. I must have missed it."
"Most people would have, my friend. I do believe most people would have." Sydney replied sagely, smiling a tight, secret smile as the doors clicked shut in front of him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Not long after passing through the gates of the Centre, the two friends sat in Sydney's car in a rest stop off the highway, Broots wearing an expression of frustrated curiosity.
"Hurry up, would you Sydney? The suspense is driving me nuts."
"If this is from Jarod, it could have any number of traps attached that will destroy the contents if I don't do this correctly, in exactly the manner he expects me to." Sydney responded distractedly. "Give me another minute or two. Whatever it is, I won't hide it from you, I promise. One more piece of tape and I think... Yes. Now let's see what we have here."
Gently prying up the end flap of the small box, Sydney tipped the contents, two tiny disks wrapped in tissue, into his right hand.
"DSA's? I don't understand, Syd. He's always insisted that these things were the key to his past. Why is he giving them up all of a sudden?"
"He did it for a reason. Perhaps these aren't what we think they are." Looking them over carefully, he noticed something missing on the reverse side of one and grinned. "Look at this, Broots. Do you see what I see; there on the back?"
"The code number's missing. It's a copy."
"Precisely, but of what? Would you do me a favor?"
"Sure. Anything you need, just ask."
"There's a leather suitcase in the trunk. If you'd retrieve it for me we can solve this mystery. It's quite heavy, so watch yourself." He advised as he handed his passenger the keys.
A few minutes later, grunting all the way, Broots returned with the case and thumped back into his seat, grateful to let Sydney take the weight from him.
Sliding it gently into his lap, Sydney rapidly dialed in the correct numbers on the lock holding the case closed, unzipped the leather shell and flipped open his personal DSA player, shocking his friend in the process.
"Security checks your trunk every other day! How did you ever keep them from finding this?! The last guy that got caught taking one home overnight..."
"I know. I sewed lead weights into the lining of the outer case. It can't be X-rayed and it's so heavy that security rarely bothers trying to examine it. I always keep it locked, and I change locks periodically. If they decide to be obstinate about it, I simply plead that I brought the wrong set of keys or don't have the time to try and remember the combination." he explained as he picked up the disks again, looking for some sign of which to play first.
"That won't keep them off your back much longer. They're paid to be suspicious."
"I know that too. I'm working on a new strategy as we speak. I just hope I can finish the fine details in time. Can you find anything about these that would indicate whether one should be played before the other?"
"Let's see. Yeah. Here it is. It's really hard to read, but I think it says Disk 1."
"Alright. Disk 1 it is." Sydney replied, slipping the DSA into place.
[ I have to be brief with this little introduction, Sydney. As you're already aware, I'm a little busy at the moment. I found the original of that second disk you're holding in a hidden compartment of my DSA viewer. Sorry. I should have said our viewer, since it was yours before I borrowed it. It really makes me wonder if you knew all along, Sydney, and I don't like wondering about my friends. I need to get going. So much to do. You know how it is. I'd say enjoy the show, but... when you see it, you'll understand. Be careful. I'll call soon. ]
"All along? If I didn't know better, I'd swear Jarod was on the verge of accusing me of something."
His innate curiosity peaking once more, Sydney removed the first disk and inserted the second. It lasted only eleven minutes, but by the time it had finished, Broots was convinced he had spent hours in that tiny space, struggling to breathe air that suddenly seemed toxic and far too heavy to draw into his lungs. Door now wide open, his feet on the asphalt surface of the parking lot, he sat, doubled over, fighting to keep the remains of his day's meals where they belonged.
Deep in his own misery, he only partially registered the pain of the leather case slamming into his low back as Sydney shoved the viewer and its contents away from him and battled his way out the driver's side of the car, half running, half stumbling in a desperate effort to put distance between himself and what he had just experienced.
After a long while, and several hundred deep calming breaths, Sydney forced himself to return to the car to check on Broots who, he feared, would still be nearly incapacitated when he returned. To his great surprise, his friend had not only recovered, but had had the foresight to repack the viewer and the DSA's and replace them in the trunk. As he approached, Broots had just started to walk in a tight circle around the car, in obvious pain, but trying to appear as if everything were normal.
"Broots? What's wrong? What happened?"
"Nothing. I'm fine."
"You're in pain. Tell me what happened."
"I'll be alright, really. It's not your fault. I probably would have done worse to that thing if I'd been.... Like I said, it's fine."
Going back to the few moments just before he'd rushed out of the car, Sydney recalled violently pushing the case off his legs in the direction of his friend.
"My God. I'm so sorry, Broots. I didn't intend... I was panicked, in a fog. I had no idea..."
"I know. It's okay."
"No it isn't. But it will be, I think. Where did it hit you?"
"Lower back."
"Turn round."
Gently lifting the hem of Broots' shirt, Sydney found a large area already covered by various shades of red and dark brown.
"It's badly bruised, but I think that's the extent of the damage. I'd say you have yourself a few days off."
"Thank God on both counts. After that real life horror movie... I can't go back there today, Syd. All it would take is one look in my eyes and even the gerbils in the labs would know somethin' was up."
"I know. We both need time away. What would you say to a hit and run with minor injuries for you and a bad case of food poisoning for me?" Sydney threw out as he helped his friend back into the car.
"Sounds good to me. I just hope they buy it."
"Oh, I think they will. I can be quite convincing when the need arises." Sydney replied as he climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.
"Don't I know it. That bit about the video game was inspired. Where are we headed now?"
"Do you mind staying on my couch for the night? I can call the Centre from there and treat your back as well."
"I don't mind, you know that, but you don't have to. I should go home."
"Nonsense. Panicked or not, I caused those bruises. It's my responsibility to keep an eye on you tonight and make sure the injury doesn't go deeper than what I can see on the surface. Besides. I... I'd rather not be alone tonight. I don't think the tremors have quite stopped yet."
"Mine either. Yeah. I think company tonight is a great idea. Just one thing, though."
"What's that?"
"When the nightmares hit, I can sleep in the hallway outside your door, right?"
The sudden burst of laughter brought on by Broots' question relieved much of the tension Sydney had been holding onto for the past forty minutes and made him extremely grateful that, after all that had been asked of him and all he had risked, the man sitting beside him was still around and still courageous enough to want to be his friend.
"Never mind the hallway or the couch. I've got an air mattress and a heavy sleeping bag. I'll set them up on the floor of my room."
"I can't let you go to all that trouble. It's too much work...
"It's for my benefit as much as yours, my friend. Something tells me you won't be the only one having nightmares."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Really, Sydney. I don't think I want or need to hear this."
"You do. If something happens in the next day or two, instead of tonight, I might not be there to help. Just listen, alright? These bruises are bound to stiffen up. There will obviously be some pain, but if it becomes so strong that you feel as if you're on the verge of blacking out, or if you see even the faintest sign of blood when you..."
Cringing, Broots held up his hands for emphasis as best he could while lying face down on his friend's couch.
"I get the point, Sydney. I get the point."
"I hope so." the older man chided, refolding the damp cloth in his hands. Finding a cooler surface, he gently reapplied the compress to his friend's lower back. "My guilt over having caused this is deep enough. I can't imagine what I'd do if it turned out...."
"I told you a million times on the ride here, I don't blame you. It just happened. Forget it. Bruises heal, Sydney."
"Yes, well... I think the cold compresses have done all the good they're going to." Sydney replied, dropping the cloth back into the bowl of water on the floor as he stood and stretched tight muscles in his own back. "How would you feel about something to eat?"
"Yeah, that would be great. We never did get to dinner. Man, I didn't think my appetite would find its way back this fast. Not after..."
"Nor mine, but injury and sudden shock have ways of making one ravenous. Can you sit up?"
"I think so. Just let me..."
Broots grunted, reaching for the sofa arm and using it to slowly and cautiously pull himself back to an upright position. "There. Okay. Now, did I hear food mentioned?" he asked, raising his voice a bit as Sydney was already in the kitchen.
"Indeed. How do rare roast beef sandwiches sound?" the older man offered, his voice slightly muffled due to his head being thrust deeply into the refrigerator.
"Like heaven on earth."
"You will want dijon mustard I assume. And German potato salad? I think there's just enough left in here for two servings."
"That sounds perfect, Syd. Let me give you a hand."
Sydney raced back into the living room just in time to prevent Broots from trying to rise from his seat.
"Absolutely not. You're supposed to be resting. You stay where you are. I'll bring trays."
After a brief struggle he knew he wouldn't win, Broots assented to Sydney's wishes. When the aroma of the food reached his nostrils some minutes later, he rapidly forgot to care who had done the work.
"It smells great." he declared as Sydney set the tray in his lap.
"Yes. I make the potato salad myself. I hope you enjoy it."
His mouth already full of the salad, his expression rapturous, Broots could only nod and smile. "I see I don't need to worry about that." Sydney chuckled softly.
Forty minutes later, trays put away, dishes in the sink, Broots sipped his second glass of beer as he worked up the courage to ask the question he'd been avoiding since he and Sydney had arrived.
"Look. I don't wanna ask, but it's been bugging me. The way you reacted back there, I kinda know the answer... but I kinda don't."
Setting his glass on the table beside him, Sydney rose and walked to the window that faced his front yard, staring out at the brown grass and empty flowerbeds, seeing everything as it would be again when spring returned.
"Did I know? Not what was on that DSA, no. My god, if... I knew she had all the earmarks of being the most remarkable natural Pretender we'd ever found. I did the majority of her testing, but they wouldn't let me go any further. They claimed I was too close to her; that I could not possibly maintain my... "objectivity". At the time of Catherine's death, I was still lobbying the Tower to allow me to train Parker. Instead they insisted on handing her over to... him."
"I get sick all over again just thinking of what might have happened to her in Raines' hands."
"As did I. That's why I was fighting so hard to keep her from him."
"But you didn't get her either, right? I mean, if she'd been put in the program, wouldn't she still be there?"
"Just days after her mother's death, she was suddenly declared no longer a fit candidate. Noone ever told me why, and I was never able to learn the answer on my own. She'd always been an observer, even a catalyst in some of Jarod's early training. After her termination from the program, her father wouldn't even let her be that. From that time until Jarod's escape, I saw her rarely, if at all."
A sudden gasp from the couch pulled Sydney's attention in Broots' direction. The paleness of his friend's face brought him running to the rescue.
"What is it? Are you in pain?"
"No, but Daddy Parker sure will be."
"I don't understand. What do you mean?"
"I just realized why Jarod took her. Oh, my God. I have to get back to the Centre, and right now. We have to find her, Sydney. We can't let him..."
Forgetting, in his agitation, that he had ever had a back injury, Broots jumped from the sofa and headed for the door, but was halted mid-step and mid-sentence by the pain that lanced up his spine and down the back of his legs.
After being helped back to the couch, it was several minutes before he could even speak.
"I have to go..."
"You're not going anywhere just now. You rest. I'll be back in a moment with some ibuprofen."
"It can wait. She's gonna kill him, Syd. She may not mean to, but it'll happen just the same. You have to stop Jarod. You have to."
"Stop him from doing what? I don't understand."
"He thinks he's found a way to cut the Centre's pursuit off at the knees. He's put her back in the program, Sydney. He's training her."
Kicking himself for not understanding earlier, Sydney began to pace the room, finally seeing the pieces fall together and coming to the same conclusion that Broots had.
"My God. That's exactly why he did this. He plans to turn her into an ally instead of an enemy. You have to admit, Broots; it may be doomed to ultimate failure but it is brilliant. He's doing exactly what I always taught him to do; turn obstacles into challenges to be overcome and turn adversity into opportunity. It's nice to know all my lessons didn't go to waste." Sydney chuckled, grinning and becoming more excited with every minute.
"How can you be laughing? This is serious! By now Miss Parker's probably either shot him in the head or beat him half to death and she's on her way back as we speak."
"I seriously doubt either one of those scenarios has come to pass. Jarod said he wasn't working alone and two people are much harder to subdue than one."
"I can't believe this. You know better than almost anyone what she's capable of and you aren't even a little worried?!"
"I was at first, but not now. Don't you see? This could be the best thing that's ever happened to her. She was never meant to grow up the way she did. When she was barred from training, her life took a different course than it should have. She deserves a second chance to see where that other path would have led."
"It wasn't that bad a choice, Sydney. It kept her away from Raines."
"Agreed, but she was left to the less than tender mercies of her father without Catherine's humanity and compassion to balance the scales. Therefore she became our miss Parker instead of the one she could, or should, have become. If anyone can make a success of a mad scheme like this, it's Jarod. I almost hope he does. I just wish I could be there. I'm missing his ultimate pretend."
"Which would be?"
"Me."
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