Chapter 12

            Jarod spotted several means of escape within the first minute of entering the room.  It was a well-equipped laboratory, complete with various chemicals that when combined could distract or incapacitate the Sweepers standing guard inside and outside the door.  An unexpected bonus was the fact that his leg shackles and handcuffs had been removed.  Lyle must really want him to be unencumbered when working on the antidote for the African virus.

            Of course, he had no intention of doing any such thing.  Jarod absently massaged the tender skin on his wrists as he considered his options.  While it would be simple enough to whip up something – a smokescreen or tear gas – to get him out of this room, successfully escaping the confines of the Centre itself was decidedly more difficult.  He had yet to solve the problem of the “invisible fence” that shocked him when he set foot outside.  Until he could figure out how to neutralize his implant, there was no point in making a break for it.

            He gazed with regret at the myriad of chemicals arrayed on the shelves within the glass-fronted cabinets.  There had to be a way he could still use what was available to him; he just had to figure out what would benefit him most.  Perhaps he could smuggle a small vial of a mace-like substance out of the lab and hide it somewhere in his cell to be used at a more opportune time in the future.  He wondered if the Sweepers would search him when he left this room.

He settled on the stool next to the long stainless steel laboratory table.  Maybe he should “pretend” to work on a cure for the virus but ultimately “fail” to find one.  At least he’d be able to spend some time in a more pleasant environment than his cell.  The added benefit of supposedly working with hazardous materials was that his guards would be leery about getting too close to him, which meant he might just be able to slip a small vial of something in his pocket and have no one find it.  He just had to make sure the ever-vigilant surveillance camera didn’t catch him doing it.

Jarod felt the guilt of his decision not to seek an antidote weigh fresh upon his conscience as he considered faking a search for a cure.  He tried to tell himself that the lives of those innocent men, women, and children half a world away were not his responsibility, that he wasn’t belittling their plight by the sham he was contemplating.  He hoped with all his heart that real virologists with the proper world health agencies would find an antidote soon, an antidote that wouldn’t be sold to the higher bidder as it would be if he were to come up with one.  Ever since Lyle had shown him photos of the victims of the virus he’d seen their faces in his nightmares, heard them calling out to him in his restless slumber.  Jarod knew his decision was the right one, the one that would cause the least deaths in the long run, but he still agonized over it.

The door to the hallway opened.  Jarod glanced up to see Lyle standing there, looking entirely too pleased with himself.  “Ah, good, I see you’re settling in.  What do you think of this new laboratory, Jarod?  The Centre’s research facilities needed updating, and we spared no expense in creating this work space especially for you.”  Lyle sounded as cheerful as he appeared.

Jarod slid off the stool and took a step back from the counter; if Lyle got the urge to zap him, he didn’t want to inadvertently knock over any bottles of chemicals that could cause a toxic reaction if spilled.

“What, no comment?  Doesn’t the lab meet with your approval?” Lyle put on a frown and looked around the room, as if searching for flaws.  Then understanding seemed to dawn.  “You’re right, there is something missing.”  Lyle took a step to the side and called, “Tony!”

The burly Sweeper entered the room, carefully carrying a cylindrical canister with large red warning labels on the side.  His beefy hands shaking slightly, he gently placed the container on the lab table and quickly retreated to the hall.

Lyle gestured grandly at the canister as if he was offering a treasure.  “There you go.  Just what you need to really get started on this project.”

“What’s in there?” Jarod asked in a low voice, fearing he already knew the answer.

“Blood samples from the latest victim of the virus.”

Jarod winced inwardly, knowing that this tangible evidence of the illness would make it all the more difficult for him to refuse to help.  But then he noticed something.  “Are these from Africa?”  The container should have been in a cooler or some sort of refrigerated unit if it had traveled such a distance.

“No, the most recent victim is right here in the United States.”

“The virus has spread?” Jarod asked in alarm.

“Just one case.  And the patient is right here at the Centre where we can keep her isolated from the general population.”

If Lyle had seemed in a good mood when he first entered the lab, by now his demeanor was positively screaming “the cat who swallowed the canary.”  Tiny warning bells started going off inside Jarod’s head.

Lyle looked out in the hall again, this time calling for Willie, who briskly strode into the room with a laptop computer under his arm.  He put it on the lab table, a short distance away from the canister, and took up position in the doorway.  Lyle flipped open the computer, tapped a few keys, and moved out of the way as an image came up on the monitor.

Jarod could see it was the isolation ward in the Centre infirmary.  A cold knot of dread formed in the pit of his stomach as he stepped closer to see the patient who lay in the bed.

It was Miss Parker.

“What have you done?” Jarod cried, rounding furiously on Lyle.

Willie started to step forward, drawing his gun, but Lyle put up a hand to forestall the Sweeper and answered Jarod, “What I had to do to give you the incentive to complete your assignment.”  There was no joy in his voice.

            The knot had become a tightness in his chest, making it hard to breathe and impossible to speak.  He could only stare in disbelief at Lyle, who met his gaze unflinchingly, a cold triumph shining out of his pale blue eyes.

Jarod turned back to the computer and gripped the edges of the screen.  He studied the image of Miss Parker lying motionless in the hospital bed, noticing how her long dark hair stood out in stark contrast to the white linens and her pale, pale face.  “I need to see her,” he managed hoarsely, then quickly added, “to assess her condition.”

“Here are her latest vital statistics.” Lyle placed a file on the lab counter.  “You’ll be given regular updates, but you need to stay here.  Your place is in the lab.”

Jarod felt his jaw clench as he bit back a curse.  “I’m not a virologist,” he said.

“But you can be.” Lyle sounded unconcerned.

The difficulty of the task and the very real possibility that he could fail washed over him, leaving him feeling swamped by hopelessness.  “There’s no guarantee that I’ll be able to find a cure,” he said desperately.  “Experts in medical research can spend years trying to find a viable treatment for diseases.”

“Then you’d better get started, hadn’t you?  We’ll leave you to it.  Willie?”

The Sweeper stepped up to the lab table and wrested the computer from Jarod’s white-knuckled grasp.  He snapped the lid closed and backed away, keeping a wary eye on the Pretender.

Jarod couldn’t have made a sudden move if he wanted to.  He felt numb.  His eyes fell upon the canister holding the infected blood samples.  Her blood.  This was real.  If he didn’t find an antidote, Miss Parker would die.

He’d known Lyle was a killer, but he’d never expected this.  He whirled to face the psychopath.  “Damn it, Lyle,” Jarod rasped.  “she’s your sister!”

Lyle paused in the doorway to look back.  “It doesn’t matter what she is to me,” he said coolly.  “What’s important is what she is to you.”

Everything.

That one word blazed through his mind like a comet and rocketed straight to his heart.  Jarod had to grab the edge of the lab table to steady himself, but he knew his world had just shifted forever.

This was all wrong.

She should have been striding into the tech lab and demanding that he perform some complicated computer search that would take forever but that she wanted done instantly, which of course, he’d manage by some small miracle to accomplish.  She should have been cornering him in the hallway and coercing him to risk life and limb by breaking into someone’s office, which, again, he’d somehow manage to do successfully.  Or she should have been mercilessly teasing him about being too timid, too nerdy, too bald.

She should not be lying in a bed in the Centre infirmary, in isolation where only medical personnel could get to her.  She should not be hooked up to bags of medicine and monitors that beeped with every beat of her heart.  She should not be… dying.

No!  No, no, she wasn’t dying, she couldn’t be dying.  She was strong, she was fearless, she was a force of nature, she was… well, she was…Miss Parker.  And she had to survive.  She just had to!

She was going to be fine, everything was going to be fine, because… well, because… Jarod!  Jarod would find an antidote and save the day and save Miss Parker and everything would be okay again.  He would save her, right?  He was a genius, if anyone could find a cure, it would be Jarod.  He’d find a cure, he would, he would, he had to, right?  He had to!

“Don’t worry, Broots, Jarod will discover an antidote.”

Sydney’s response startled him, not only because he wasn’t aware he’d voiced his fears aloud (or had the astute psychiatrist read his mind?) but also because he’d almost forgotten he wasn’t alone in the observation gallery overlooking the isolation ward of the infirmary.  Both of them had been standing in silence for some time, lost in their own thoughts as they stared down at their co-worker and friend.

Friend.  He wanted her to be more than just a friend, but he knew Miss Parker didn’t feel that way about him, and who could blame her?  He tried to console himself with the fact that workplace romances rarely succeeded.

Whatever their relationship, she was an important part of his life, and he couldn’t stand the thought of losing her.  Did Sydney truly believe his calm assertion that Jarod would come up with a cure?  Psychiatrists were trained to maintain a serene demeanor, especially around their patients, so Broots wondered if his cool and collected façade was just for his benefit.  Well, he didn’t want to be coddled.  This was too important.  He needed to know the truth.

Broots cleared his throat.  “Well, um, Jarod’s been in the research lab for two straight days now.”

“Mm, yes.”  Sydney nodded thoughtfully, still gazing down at Miss Parker.  “These things take time, Broots.”

“Oh, I know, I mean, of course they do, if it was easy to find cures, there’d be no disease, right?”  He laughed weakly.  “But, um, it’s just that Miss Parker keeps getting worse, and I know some of those poor people in Africa have already died, and we don’t know exactly how long Miss Parker has had the virus so we can’t know how long she has left, so-”

Sydney turned to look at him.  “Breathe, Broots, breathe.”

“Oh!  Yeah, okay.”  He took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly, trying to remember the anti-anxiety techniques Sydney had taught him.  Breathe in through your nose, hold it, then let it out slowly through your mouth.  The part about holding it was very important; otherwise, he could breathe in and out too fast and hyperventilate.  Been there, done that, didn’t want to do it again.

After he had done the breathing sequence three times, he felt slightly more calm.  Enough so to ask, as coherently as possible, “What if Jarod can’t find an antidote in time to save Miss Parker?” He wasn’t sure if he wanted an honest answer or one meant to make him feel better.

Sydney studied him for a moment, as if uncertain himself which answer to give.  Finally, he said, “Let’s not think about that right now, Broots.  Let’s try to focus on the positive, shall we?”

So, he wasn’t going to give him an answer.  Instead, he was pulling a typical evasive maneuver favored by shrinks – answering a question with a question, like when a patient asks “how should I feel about this?” and the response they get is “how do you feel?”  Broots was a little disappointed that Sydney would resort to tricks of the trade at this time, but he figured he’d cut him some slack since he cared about Miss Parker, too, and was also probably having a hard time coming to terms with her illness.

Okay, focus on the positive.  The positive, the positive.  Broots thought for what seemed like an eternity before he was positive he couldn’t think of one good thing about this situation.  He must have looked stricken, because Sydney took pity on him and supplied, “First, Miss Parker is young and healthy and a fighter – all things that work in her favor in battling this virus.”

An image of Miss Parker clad in black leather armor with a sword in her hand flashed through Broots’ mind.  If the disease had been a person, he knew she would have kicked its butt by now.

“Second,” Sydney continued, “she’s receiving the best care possible here at the Centre.”

Broots fidgeted, tugging at the collar of his regrettably pink shirt that was the end result of his daughter Debbie’s first attempt to do the laundry (how he wished Miss Parker was here to make some acerbic remark about his attire), and tried in vain to squelch the feeling of guilt welling up inside him. 

Sydney noticed.  “What is it, Broots?”

“Well, um, I wonder if, that is, if I made the right decision in bringing Miss Parker here, to the Centre infirmary, and not taking her to a regular hospital,” he said miserably.  When she’d collapsed in her office on Monday morning, he’d panicked – of course – and yelled for help.  Sam had shown up and carried her to the infirmary.  How he wished he’d called 9-1-1 instead and gotten real paramedics involved.  He knew the cardinal rule of keeping Centre business internal, but this was Miss Parker’s life! 

“No, you did the right thing, Broots.  We can’t risk infecting the general population with this virus.  It’s much easier to contain it here.”

Broots cast a furtive glance around the room, which amazingly had no security cameras in it, before leaning close to Sydney and saying quietly, “And easier to contain the fact that Lyle was the one who brought the virus here from Africa.  He infected his own sister!”  He was still speaking in low tones, but he couldn’t keep the hysterical edge from his voice.

“We don’t know that for certain,” Sydney soothed.

“How else could she have gotten it?”  Broots found himself shaking with impotent fury, wishing he had the guts to confront Lyle with what he’d done.   Breathe in, hold, breathe out.

“Lyle is a very disturbed individual,” Sydney acknowledged.

Disturbed?  Disturbed?  What about insane, psychotic, evil?  Sydney’s understated, analytical manner was really starting to tick him off.  This was Miss Parker they were talking about!  Couldn’t Sydney at least show a little emotion?

Again, Sydney seemed to sense what Broots was feeling.  “I know it’s very upsetting to think that Lyle is capable of doing something so heinous to his own sister, but dwelling on his actions will do nothing to help Miss Parker.  What’s done is done.  We need to focus all our energy on helping her get better.”

He knew what Sydney said made sense, but it just made Broots feel more inadequate than ever.  “But how can I help her?” he moaned.  “I’m not a doctor or a scientist.”

“You’re her friend,” Sydney pointed out kindly.  “She’ll need a true friend during her recovery.”

“If she recovers,” Broots murmured and instantly hated himself for voicing his fears aloud, as if just putting that thought out in the universe would give it power. 

Just then an alarm sounded in the room below them.  No!  I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it, Broots thought frantically as he stepped close to the glass window to get a better view of what was happening.  He saw a nurse hurry into the isolation area and go over to Miss Parker’s bed.  She fiddled with something on her patient’s hand, and the obnoxious beeping returned to its monotonous pattern. 

Broots felt his own heart slowly return to its normal rhythm.  Breathe in, hold, breathe out. He heard a loud exhale near his ear and realized that Sydney had joined him by the window.  “Her pulse-ox monitor must have slipped off her finger,” the older man said quietly.  The slight tremor in his voice revealed his relief.  Broots felt oddly comforted that even Sydney couldn’t completely cover up his emotions at this moment.

As he watched, the nurse checked Miss Parker’s IV bag then left the room.  Broots wanted to call her back, ask her to stay with her patient a little while longer.  “I wish they’d let us in to see her,” he said.  “She shouldn’t be alone right now.  No one should be alone at a time like this.”  The feeling of déjà vu came from a real memory; those were the exact words he’d said a few years ago when Miss Parker had been recovering from emergency surgery for a perforated ulcer.  He’d been thankful then that he’d had the chance to sit with her and tell her how much she meant to him, even though she’d been unconscious and never heard a word he said (which is probably why he’d had the courage to reveal his feelings).

But right now he’d muster that courage again if only she would wake up and look at him with those deep blue eyes.  He’d tell her how important she was to him, how much he needed her in his life – and he wouldn’t care if she laughed in his face.  He just wanted his Miss Parker back.

“What can we do, Syd?” he whispered helplessly, reaching out to lightly touch the window and wishing she could somehow sense that he was there watching over her.  Then he let his hand fall back to his side as he realized the futility of it all.

He felt Sydney’s hand on his shoulder.  “There is something you can do, Broots,” he said.  “I need to talk to Jarod in private, and I could use someone with your technical expertise to make that happen.  Can you help me?”

Broots stood a little straighter as ways to fool the security cameras started to form in his brain.  He busily sorted through the possibilities until one clicked.  “I can do that,” he breathed.

Sydney checked his watch as he hurried towards the sim lab.  For Broots’ plan to work, he had to be in place at exactly the right moment.  As he neared the cavernous room, he was glad to see that Jarod was already there.  He wasn’t happy to see that his former pupil was pacing back and forth in a highly agitated state.

Sydney quickened his pace as he descended the metal stairs from the elevated walkway.

Jarod rounded on him instantly.  “Why have you brought me here?” he shouted.  “I should be in the research lab!”

Sydney came to a sudden halt as if he’d run into a wall.  Sam started towards Jarod, his hand going to his gun.

He waved him back.  “Jarod, you’ve been in that lab for forty-eight hours straight.  You need a break,” he said in as reasonable a tone as he could muster, hoping to defuse the powder keg that was getting ready to blow right in front of him.

Jarod lowered his voice, but it still shook with intensity as he replied, “I don’t get a break.  Miss Parker is running out of time!”

It was just as he’d feared.  Jarod’s emotions were out of control.  Sydney knew he needed to get him back on an even keel – and fast – or he wouldn’t have a clear enough head to create an antidote for the lethal virus.

“When was the last time you ate?  Or slept?” he added, observing the shadows lurking under Jarod’s eyes and the dark stubble covering the lower half of his face.

“I’m fine,” Jarod said dismissively, but he seemed to be holding himself upright through sheer force of will.  With his hands cuffed as usual, maintaining his balance must have been even more difficult.

“You need rest,” Sydney insisted.

Jarod shook his head.  “I need to get back to the lab.”

“Not until we’ve had a chance to talk.  Sit down, Jarod.”  He gestured to a chair at the table.  When Jarod didn’t move, Sydney added reluctantly, “Should I ask Sam to help you sit?”

Jarod’s eyes widened slightly at this unexpected betrayal, but the implied threat had the desired effect; he stiffly, but obediently, sat down.  His clenched, cuffed hands on the table showed that he hadn’t relaxed.  “So, are you going to tell me why you felt it necessary to pull me away from my critical research?” he asked sullenly.

Sydney pulled a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his gray tweed blazer and placed it in front of Jarod.  “Miss Parker’s latest vitals,” he said, then took a seat across the table and checked his watch one more time.  Good, they were in place right when they needed to be.

Jarod had eagerly perused the sheet of paper, and now he looked up, his brow creased in confusion – no doubt by what he’d read: BROOTS IS LOOPING THE CAMERA FEED. WE HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO SPEAK WITHOUT BEING RECORDED.

“Starting now,” Sydney confirmed quietly with a nod.

Jarod studied the note thoughtfully.  “I wondered why I only had one guard, and it’s not Willie.”

“Sam is loyal to Miss Parker, and he wants what’s best for her.”

“Really?  And how is having a private chat with you going to help Miss Parker?”

Sydney was jolted by the cynicism in Jarod’s voice, but he kept his own tone mild as he replied, “I’m here to help you, Jarod.”

“Oh?  Unless you can magically produce another piece of paper with a cure for the virus neatly outlined on it, I don’t see how you can be any help to me.”

“I’m not a virologist.”

“Neither am I!” Jarod responded with another flare of emotion, crumpling the paper in front of him into a tiny ball.

“But you can be.”  Sydney recalled a “pretend” from Jarod’s first year out in the world and added, “In fact, you have been.”

“But I wasn’t at that infectious disease lab to do any actual research. The only discovery I made was that the missing virologist had been killed by his colleague.  I certainly never made a scientific breakthrough, just found another example of what man is capable of doing to his fellow man.”  There was an infinite weariness in his voice.

“But you are capable of doing good, Jarod, in so many ways.  Medical research is just one of your talents.  After all, you were the one who developed the treatment for my brother Jacob that helped bring him out of his coma.”

Looking off into the middle distance, Jarod didn’t respond.

Sydney was growing more concerned.  Yes, he’d hoped that turning off the cameras for a few minutes would encourage Jarod to let down his guard a bit, but these swings of emotion he was seeing were disturbing.  He had to help Jarod regain control.

He thought back to the times many years ago when he had to coax a brooding, teenage Jarod out of a funk so that he could complete an assignment.  Would the same method work?

“Jarod, do you remember what I used to tell you as a boy when you felt overwhelmed?”

The adult Jarod shifted his eyes slightly to give him a dull stare.

“Work the sim, Jarod, work the sim,” Sydney said with intensity.

That got a reaction.  “This isn’t a simulation, Sydney!  This is real!”  He looked down at the table and added, almost to himself, “As real as it gets.”

“And why is that a problem?  I once believed you were never meant for the outside world, but I was wrong.  You’ve been out in the real world for several years now, working “without a net,” as it were.  And you’ve made a positive difference in the lives of many people.”

“This is different!”

“How?” Sydney pressed.

“Those people weren’t – I didn’t know them like – They were just names, faces, stories in the newspaper.”

“Something about their stories made you care enough to want to help them.  On some level, you got emotionally involved.”

“But not like this!  This – this is Miss Parker!”  Jarod made an inarticulate sound of frustration and stood up.

Just say it, Jarod, Sydney silently urged.  Tell me how you really feel about her.

Jarod began to pace back and forth.  Sydney had to struggle to maintain a clinical calmness in the presence of so much desperation.  “Would it have been better if Lyle had never told you that was Miss Parker’s blood sample?” he asked.  “If he’d let you believe it was from one of those African villagers?”

“No!”  Jarod stopped pacing and turned a horrified gaze on his former teacher.  “Then I wouldn’t have even tried.  I was planning to “pretend” to search for a vaccine but eventually fail to find one.”  He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.  “How’s that for irony?  Now I could really fail to discover a cure.  Only it won’t just be some nameless strangers half a world away who die, it will also be Miss Parker, right here in the Centre infirmary where I can watch it happen in excruciating detail.”  He swallowed hard as his gaze seemed to turn inward.

 “Jarod!” Sydney spoke sharply to snap his protégé out of it.  “Thinking like that is not productive.”

Jarod came back to the here and now, but he was obviously not in a better place as he cried, “Nothing I’m doing is productive!  As you said, I’ve been in that lab for forty-eight hours straight and I haven’t come up with anything that will work to stop or even slow down this virus!  I don’t know if I can do this, Sydney!”  The look in his eyes was wild and desperate.

Sydney quickly stood and placed his hands on Jarod’s shoulders in a clumsy attempt to comfort him.  “Jarod, try to calm down,” he said in as soothing a tone as he could muster.  It was not easy.  His own nerves were jangling just from being in such close proximity to such extreme emotions – nothing new for a psychiatrist, but the source of these emotions was surprising.  Jarod usually could contain his feelings. 

But not right now.  In a broken voice he said, “Sydney, I also remember what you told me to do as a boy when a simulation became too frightening…” He swallowed hard.  “You said all I had to do was use the code word ‘refuge’ and you’d make it stop.”  He paused again then said in a tone so low it was barely audible, “But there is no refuge for me this time, is there?”

Sydney couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat.  He took a deep breath and let it out in a long, shuddering sigh, trying to regain his composure.

He had to say something.  “You need to remain objective while you’re looking for the cure,” he finally suggested.  “Stay focused on the task at hand and try not to think about Miss Parker and the other people infected with the virus.  You know that doctors need to maintain an emotional distance from their patients to be effective…”  His voice trailed off as he saw that he was not getting through to Jarod.  His former pupil still looked lost, a mute plea for help in his brown eyes. 

And he suddenly morphed into young Jarod, the innocent boy who would willingly look to his teacher for advice.  The ghosts of the past hovered near the surface in this room where so much pain – simulated and real – had been expressed – or more often suppressed - over the years.  Now, as then, Sydney felt ill-equipped to offer comfort to this incredible person he’d had the honor to raise. 

While briefly a prisoner of the Centre, Major Charles – Jarod’s father – had thanked Sydney for helping Jarod become the man he was.  But Sydney was amazed by the capacity Jarod had to show compassion.  He’d tried to teach young Jarod right from wrong, but he’d been careful to remain detached from his student, offering lessons in place of love.  Yet somehow, even without the nurturing care of a family in his formative years, Jarod had grown into a caring, thoughtful man who devoted his life to helping people.  Sydney knew he couldn’t take credit for that. 

And here he was, trying to get Jarod to suppress those very emotions that made him the extraordinary man he was today.  Sydney suddenly realized how very wrong that was.  Yes, doctors needed to stay detached, but the best physicians were the ones who cared about their patients and treated them with compassion and respect.  The trick was in keeping the balance.  If anyone could do that, Jarod could.  In fact, he’d been doing something similar for years – helping people but remaining distant so that he could quickly move on (a necessity while on the run from the Centre).  His feelings weren’t a hindrance; they were an integral part of what made Jarod so effective at what he did.

Unless he allowed himself to be overwhelmed by them.  Sydney knew that every day of his life on the run was a strain on Jarod’s psyche, and the last few weeks had been especially traumatic.  To be captured, thrown into solitary confinement, physically restrained for days on end, then given an impossible assignment that would cause a tremendous amount of guilt no matter what he did – all of these factors had coalesced to create Jarod’s current precarious emotional state.  And then to be put into the position of having to save Miss Parker, a woman who he – well, a woman about whom he had unresolved feelings…

Sydney could feel Jarod’s muscles tightening under his hands as if he was preparing to pull away.  “Jarod, forget what I just said,” he declared, earning a startled look from the younger man.  He’d surprised himself, as well, and continued, certain he was on the right track with this new way of thinking.

“You can’t shut off your emotions, and I shouldn’t ask you to.  Your feelings fuel everything you do – from helping complete strangers to continuing your quest to find your family.”  He paused.  “You’ve even helped those of us at the Centre who don’t deserve your compassion.  You saved Broots’ life, you helped my brother Jacob and saved my son Nicholas, and you even helped Miss Parker save her father when Brigitte was ordered to kill him.  And it’s all because you care!”

Jarod wouldn’t meet his eyes.  “Compassion won’t find help me find a cure for this virus,” he said bitterly, his lip curling in disgust.

“Your emotions are not a weakness, Jarod,” Sydney insisted.  “As long as you don’t let them overwhelm you, you use them to give you purpose, energize you.”  He felt some of the tension leave Jarod’s shoulders and knew he was finally getting through to him.  “You are a genius, yes, but the strength of your heart matches that of your mind and makes you capable of accomplishing anything!”  Sydney gave Jarod a little shake for final emphasis then dropped his hands, feeling suddenly drained after the intensity of the last few moments.

The last few moments!  Sydney checked his watch and saw their window was about to close.  He took his seat at the table and urged, “Jarod, sit down.  The cameras are about to go live again and we need to be in the same positions we were before.”

Thankfully, Jarod complied immediately and even smoothed out the crumpled note so that it wouldn’t appear different.  Sydney was glad to see him thinking clearly enough to remember that detail.

As the final seconds ticked away, Jarod said, “Please thank Broots for giving us this chance to talk off camera.  It feels good knowing that not everything I say and do will be analyzed.”  Then a small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.  “Except by the shrink I’m talking to.”

Sydney felt a tremendous sense of relief that Jarod seemed to have regained his equilibrium.  He looked at his watch once more.  “Time’s up,” he reported quietly.

And hoped with all his heart that Jarod would now be able to somehow find a way to prevent that from being true for Miss Parker.