Jarod looked up at the clock and realized he had blanked out again. He was still sitting at the desk with the laptop, but it was four and half hours had passed. His mind was a scramble again. A quick look at the phone book cover told him he was in Philadelphia and looking at the calendar on the computer told him the date. But for the life of him, he couldn't figure out where Philadelphia was and didn't really care about the date.

He stumbled over to the window and threw open the heavy drapes. Weak sunlight filtered into the room from the barely risen sun. Was it too early to call Sydney, he wondered. But he didn't call Sydney. Something was telling him not to. A voice in the back of his head, the same one that warned him when the team was getting too close. Instead, he picked up his cell and dialed another number.

"What!" demanded a sleepy voice.

"Where's Lyle?" Jarod asked Parker.

Parker groaned as she gave the clock at her beside a bleary glance. It was barely six am, but several hours later than any taunting phone call she had ever received from the pretender.

"What's wrong Jarod, decided to spare me the late night roll call?" She asked sarcastically, habitually reaching to the bedside table, forgetting for a few blissful moments that she hadn't quit smoking. The pretender remained silent, only his breathing indicating that the connection was still open.

Parker frowned, "Do I look like his baby-sitter? But I'll tell you what Jarod, because I'm feeling generous this morning, likely because that for once in my life was able to enjoy a full night's sleep, I'll make you a trade - your location for Lyle's."

Jarod slammed the phone down. Usually calling Parker helped relieve some of his anxiety, but for some reason her final remark increased his tension. Not that what she said was different from what she always said, it just affected him differently this time.

Suddenly, an image flashed through his brain. Then another. And another. Seemingly random, he couldn't place them from any time at the Centre that he could remember. But the last time this happened is when he remember the cryrogenics experiment of Raines'. But the quickly fled as more and more agonizing images assaulted him.

With a cry, Jarod found himself curled up in a corner, rocking back and forth and hugging his knees. The blankness was leaving, but the new images made no sense. Even more terrifying, the images brought forth pain. Pain that shot through his head like a bullet, pain that brought such nausea that he thought he would be sick right where he lay.

He knew he needed help. But would that much needed calm accented voice help him heal or help him back to the Centre? At this point, Jarod didn't really care. He crawled to the table and picked up his cell phone.

"Refuge. Please, refuge. Refuge. Refuge."

"Jarod!" Sydney straightened in his chair instantly, "Don't hang up. Please let me help you. I know something's wrong." Hearing nothing but sporadic breaths, Sydney continued in hopes of persuading his young pretender. "Tell me where you are, Jarod. I'll come to you and we'll sort whatever this is out and nobody has to know."

He felt as if he would always be begging and re-begging Jarod for his trust again, and he wondered if he would ever gain it. For now though, his only concern was helping him. It would be a start in the right direction at least.

"Jarod?" he prompted in a strained whisper.

The sound of Sydney's anxious voice finally roused Jarod from his stupor.

"Refuge, Sydney. Please, help me. Make it stop, please. Make it stop."

"Tell me where you are," came the response.

"I don't know where I am. But make it stop. Oh God, please make it stop."

Images and pain once again shot through Jarod and he helplessly dropped the phone. Gravity did the rest and the phone snapped shut on its own.

---

Lyle opened the door, his eyes taking in the luxury of the penthouse room. He stepped over the crumbled form in the middle of the room, picking up the phone and scanning through the last numbers called. He smiled slightly when he saw his sister’s number.

So, wonder boy still believes in her ‘goodness’.

One of the sweepers with him closed the door while another started to meticulously gather all of the pretender’s things. Weighing the phone in his hand, he stepped over to the table and the still open laptop. He didn’t touch it, instead browsed through the blue notebook that had lain next to it.

I’m nothing. I’m worthless. I’m not in control.

This filled the book from cover to cover, written repeatedly. He didn’t turn when the door opened again behind him.

“I’m impressed.”