Chapter 34

            “Good to see you again, Miss Parker.”

            She’d expected him to act differently but was unprepared for the sharp pang she felt when he greeted her like the cold and remote Jarod from his early days on the run.  She hadn’t realized until this moment just how accustomed she’d become to the warm and genuine man she’d gotten to know this summer.  She told herself it was best he’d addressed her in this annoying manner; it helped her to keep her distance, which was absolutely necessary for a few minutes until Broots did his trick with the camera.

            Jarod was sitting cross-legged on his cot, arms resting lightly, palms up, on his knees.  Perhaps he’d been meditating before she’d arrived?  He cocked his head slightly to one side.  “Although after all we’ve been through together, perhaps I should call you by your first name?  Would you like that, Mi-” He paused, a small smile touching his lips.  “No, I suppose you’re still entitled to a few secrets.”

            Thrown off guard by this petty threat, she had to collect herself before coolly replying, “And exactly who I am I speaking to?”  She stepped away from the door and squarely into the line of the surveillance camera’s sight.  Show time.

            He didn’t move from his relaxed posture, and the smile didn’t leave his face, but she thought she detected a stiffening of his body before he answered.  “Contrary to popular opinion, I didn’t come back from Africa as an entirely different person.  I’m still Jarod… just a new and improved version.”

            “Oh?  How so?”

            “I realized I need to stop being afraid to use my unique ability.”

            That surprised her.  “Afraid?  You’ve been using your Pretender skills almost your whole life, most recently to help people.”

            “By wandering around the country, randomly selecting some poor saps who’ve been victimized?” he said scornfully.  He unfolded his body and stood up.  “It’s a big world, Miss Parker, and if I use my genius correctly, I could affect real change.”

            He didn’t miss the skeptical look she gave him; nor would the camera.  “No, I’m not having delusions of grandeur,” he went on.  “In fact, I’m humbled by the scope of the problems around the globe.  But I know now that I have to do what I can to make a difference.”

            “And you think the Centre can help you do that?”

            He seemed to take no offense at her cynical tone.  “The Centre has the resources and power to make the most of my genius.  After all, it raised me and helped me to develop my special talent.”

            “Raised you?” she choked out.  “The Centre stole you from your parents, experimented on you, threatened your loved ones, tortured you… why in the hell would you trust them now?”

            His face and voice remained stubbornly impassive.  “I can’t deny my special ability any longer.  I have a responsibility to use it.”

            “To do what’s right,” she prompted, trying to make it seem like she was trying to reach the real Jarod.  He was playing the role of reprogrammed Centre drone so well – too well – that she had no trouble arguing with this “new and improved” version.

            “To do what’s necessary,” he said.

            “So it was necessary for the Triumverate to kill people with the virus you were forced to create?”  She regretted her words instantly; she hadn’t planned to bring up such a painful subject.

            But he didn’t even flinch, and his tone was slightly patronizing as he said, “You don’t know the situation in Africa, Miss Parker.  Mutumbo’s trying to operate in the middle of a war zone.  At times he is forced to take drastic measures to neutralize his enemies.”

            The callousness of his response drew a heated reply from her.  “Innocent people died, Jarod!  You’re telling me that you’re fine with that?  Children dying because of what you thought up?”

            For the first time since she’d entered his cell, he seemed unsure of himself, looking away as he said quietly, “Of course not.  But… but I understand that sometimes sacrifices have to be made.”

            “Why?  For the greater good?  What ‘good” did the Triumverate achieve by killing those innocent villagers?”

            Now he met her fierce gaze, calm again in the face of her anger.  “You don’t understand,” he said.  “The Triumverate needs to do whatever is necessary to hold on to its power.  Then they can continue to fund all sorts of projects that benefit people, far more people than I could ever help by blundering around on my own.”

            She couldn’t take much more of this.  Jarod was too convincing as a loyal Centre operative; she was starting to feel sick to her stomach.  She checked her watch to see if it was time for Broots to manipulate the camera feed.

            “Is there some place you need to be?” Jarod asked.

            “Anywhere is preferable to here if I have to listen to you regurgitate Centre dogma that you were force-fed in Africa.  Hope you enjoy being their puppet; that’s something you’ve never done before.”  She turned and left in a huff, hoping her exit would look dramatic on camera.

            She swept past Tony, the Sweeper on guard duty, but stopped halfway down the narrow corridor and turned back.  “That’s not Jarod,” she muttered, as if to herself.

            Tony took a peek through the small opening in the door.  “Looks like Jarod to me,” he said with a shrug.

            Refraining from checking her watch out here in the hall, she hoped enough time had passed by now for Broots to have captured the image of whatever Jarod was doing in there (hopefully standing or sitting still) and started playing it on a feedback loop.  Time for her to get back in there and have a real conversation.

            She made it appear that she’d just come to a decision.  “I can’t leave things like this,” she declared and strode back to the door.  When Tony seemed like he was going to refuse to unlock it, she gave him her most imperious look, and he opened the door without argument.

            Jarod was still standing where she’d left him.  He looked surprised to see her re-enter.

            Before he could say anything, she rushed to explain.  “Look, Jarod, we don’t have much time.  Broots is looping the security feed, but he can only give us ten minutes.”

            Seemingly unaffected by her urgency, Jarod flicked a lazy glance at the camera in the corner then quirked a half-smile at her.  “Good old Mr. Broots,” he drawled.  “He’s the most nervous man I know, but he’s always willing to risk his neck to do your bidding.  When will the poor guy finally accept the fact that he has no chance with you?”

            Miss Parker squirmed a bit at this crass but accurate assessment of her relationship with her co-worker.  “Are we really going to waste time talking about Broots?” she snapped.

            “You’re right; we have better things to do.”

            The kiss took her by surprise, but even as her mind tried to warn her that it was neither the time nor the place for this, Miss Parker’s body eagerly responded to Jarod.  It felt so good to be in his arms again, to feel his lips on hers, his warm hands against her skin… A cascade of delicious sensations swept through her body, and she realized how much she’d been craving his touch.

            When they finally came up for air, however, she reluctantly groaned, “Jarod, stop, we can’t…”

            “What’s wrong?” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.  “Do you want to wait until the camera’s back on?  Give the guys in security a show?”

            The uncharacteristically crude suggestion made her pull back, but instead of questioning his comment, she found herself blurting out, “Like you and Bridget did the other day?”

            “You saw that.”

            He didn’t sound surprised.  Or ashamed, but she responded as if he’d offered the apology she’d expected.  “It’s okay, Jarod, I understand you had to react that way to her advances to keep in character.  You obviously passed their tests in Africa, or they wouldn’t have sent you back here, but Sydney said they still want to see how you’ll interact with people you know.  So, of course, you had to do… what you did with Bridget.”  She stopped, aware she’d been talking too fast.

            Jarod had a bemused expression on his face.  “Let me get this straight,” he said.  “A beautiful woman threw herself at me, and because I responded like most men would, I’ve proven myself to be…what?  A bad guy?”

            Why was he acting like this was all a joke?  “No, just not the Jarod I know,” she said.  “That tramp’s not your type.”

            “Really?  Brigitte is a smart, strong, sexy woman with killer legs that she likes to show off…”

            Miss Parker ignored his appreciative glance at her brown leather mini skirt.  “She’s also been working for the Centre for years to catch you.”

            Jarod merely arched an eyebrow.

“She tried to kill my father!  She tried to kill me!”

            “You killed your own brother.”

            She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach and found herself taking a step back as if she’d actually been physically assaulted.  The Jarod she knew would never have brought up such a painful subject just to score a point in a meaningless argument.

            So maybe this really wasn’t the Jarod she knew.

            She had a sick feeling as, for the first time, she let herself believe that the man standing in front of her could be a stranger.  “The clock’s ticking,” she said, annoyed to hear the slight tremor in her voice.  She took a breath and went on briskly, “If you have a plan to escape, you’d better let me know about it now while the camera’s off.”

            He cocked his head slightly, a move reminiscent of his early days on the run when confronted by something new.  “Why would I have an escape plan?”

            She tamped down the surge of unease his question produced.  “Because that’s what you do, Jarod.  Besides helping strangers, devising ingenious ways to get out of here is what you do best.”

            He was shaking his head.  “No, I-”

            She didn’t let him finish.  “That’s okay, I’ll work on it with Sydney and Broots.  We’ll figure out something.” 

            “No, you don’t understand.  I don’t want to escape.”

            The bottom fell out of her churning gut.  “What are you talking about?  After everything the Centre’s done to you, after everything they’ve made you do…”  Her voice was rising.  She paused to take another calming breath, pull back from the edge of hysteria.  “The Jarod I know would do anything to be free of this place.  You even faked your own death!”

            Was that uncertainty she saw flicker in his eyes?  “I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he said slowly.  “There was something wrong with my brain… I told you that.  In Africa they… they fixed the problem.”

            “How?  Torture?”

            “Nothing so crude.”

            She remembered what Sydney suspected.  “Drugs, then?”

            Jarod nodded.  “Yes, they used a special drug protocol formulated specifically for me,” he said.  “In conjunction with a minor procedure.”

            “Brain surgery?” She couldn’t keep the alarm from her voice, although the fact that she didn’t see any evidence of an operation – no scar, no shaved area on his head – did slightly allay her fears.  She tried not to think about Lyle’s tiny torture device that had been implanted at the base of his skull, barely leaving a mark; who knew what Mutumbo could do in his state-of-the-art facility?

            “No, nothing invasive like that.  They performed electrical stimulation of a targeted area of my brain.”

            It took her a few seconds to interpret what he’d just described. “They gave you electroshock therapy?” she gasped.  So, no fancy implant; Mutumbo had just zapped Jarod the old-fashioned way.

            “It can be a very effective treatment.”

            His matter-of-fact tone as he told her about the “procedures” he’d recently endured was really starting to get on her nerves.  And scare her.  “But there was nothing wrong with you!”

            “You don’t understand-”

            “I understand that Mutumbo is feared by everyone here at the Centre, including my father!  I understand that the Triumverate’s base of operations in Africa is the last place anyone wants to go!”  She was starting to shake and had to struggle to keep her voice steady when she said, “What I don’t understand is how you can come back from Africa and claim Mutumbo and his minions actually ‘fixed’ you.  Looks to me like they experimented on you and created their own Frankenstein!”

            “So now I’m a monster?” Jarod spoke quietly, but she could hear the underlying anger, see the tightening of his jaw.  “Exactly what have I done to make you think that?”

            “It’s what you will do that scares me,” she responded just as quietly, and with equal intensity.  “Jarod, I know what you’re capable of.  If Mutumbo has managed to turn your ethical switch off, then you’ll be willing to do anything the Centre asks of you.”  She paused then added bitterly, “It’s too bad Raines isn’t here.  He’d be so proud to see you’ve finally become the Pretender he always wanted.”

            Jarod grabbed her arm.  “Don’t say that!  Raines is the one who’s the monster!  He destroyed my brother’s life!  He was so jealous that Sydney had been given control over the Pretender project – over me – that he was desperate to create his own Pretender first.  So he took shortcuts, used crude techniques, and left Kyle dark and twisted, a broken human being.  If I could just get my hands on Raines…”

            Miss Parker shared his sentiments, but right now the only thing within Jarod’s reach was her, and his grip on her arm had steadily tightened throughout his outburst.  She tried to pull free, but his hand was clamped like a vise above her left wrist.

            She felt the first stirrings of panic.  “Jarod, let go,” she said sharply.

            He didn’t seem to hear her, his gaze focused inwards on some grim vision, eyes dark with fury.  Perhaps he was imagining his hands around Raines’ throat.  The problem was that she had become the stand-in victim in the current simulation.

As the pressure continued to increase on her arm, she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out in pain.  “Jarod, you’re hurting me,” she said quietly, hoping a calm voice would disrupt his violent fantasy.

            He blinked, and the dark cloud started to clear from his face.  Looking down, he released his hold on her at once, and Miss Parker quickly backed up a step, instinctively cradling her throbbing wrist against her stomach. 

Looking slightly shaken, Jarod retreated to his cot, where he sank down on the edge and bowed his head.

He was utterly still as he stared at the floor, but she could feel the intensity of his roiling emotions.  Wanting to go to him and take him in her arms, instead she forced herself to make the most of this opportunity.  “Look, Jarod, you know I agree with you about Raines.  Don’t forget; I was one of the first people to recognize what an evil bastard he is.  It makes me sick knowing that he’s still out there somewhere.  How the hell could Mutumbo just let him go?  He ‘fixed’ Raines by helping him find Jesus and then sending him on his merry missionary way?”

Jarod continued to look down as he said heavily, “Perhaps the Triumverate believed that was a fitting way for Raines to atone for his sins.”

“So he got religion and you got electroshock therapy?  How is that fitting?”

He still wouldn’t look at her.  “The treatment was necessary to fix a defect in my brain.”

Damn it, they were just going in circles.  They didn’t have time for this!

Miss Parker quickly crossed to Jarod and dropped into a crouch in front of him so she could look him in the eyes and read his first (and hopefully unguarded) reaction to what she was about to say.  “Jarod, listen to me, you can fight this,” she said with intensity.  “Maybe Sydney could hypnotize you or something, find a way to undo whatever the hell they did to you in Africa.  Trust me on this, Jarod.  You’ll never forgive yourself if you start hurting people on the Centre’s orders.” 

He was listening, but she could tell that he wasn’t taking her seriously.  Which might be a good thing, she reflected, since she really didn’t want him to report their conversation to the powers-that-be.  But that was a risk she’d have to take; she needed to know she’d done everything she could to reach him.  What would work?  No fairy tale kiss; their earlier embrace proved he still was attracted to her, but she needed find a way to go beyond the physical, determine if they were still connected on an emotional level.

“I can help you, Jarod, but only if you let me.”  Miss Parker took a deep breath.  “Do you remember what you said to me on our last afternoon together in New York?”

The question took him by surprise.  She watched him search for the memory, saw how his eyes softened when he found it.  “I told you I loved you,” he said slowly.

Hope surged through her.  Maybe her Jarod was still reachable…

“I remember you didn’t say it back,” he added, his voice and eyes gone hard and flat.

The accusation stung like a slap.  Just like a couple of months ago, she didn’t know what to say.  If she hadn’t been able to return the sentiment then, there was no way she could bare her soul to the man in front of her now.

“Instead you ran away,” Jarod went on mercilessly, “and I had to come rescue you.”

The blows just kept coming.  She instinctively felt a spark of anger, but it was quickly smothered by guilt, the guilt that had been building inside her for weeks.  How many times had she wished she could apologize?  But now that her chance had finally come, she felt a flush of uncertainty.  How would this Jarod react?

 Now she was the one unable to face him.  Miss Parker abruptly rose and retreated to the other side of the room.  She had to try to explain, if only for her own peace of mind.  With her back to him, she began, “I had to see my father…”

“Who betrayed you.”

Harsh but true.  No need to add the “I told you so;” she imagined she could hear the echo of those words hanging heavily in the silence between them.  “I’m sorry,” she tried again.

“Don’t be.  What happened was for the best.”

Confused, she turned to look at him.  “You’re not serious,” she said.

“This is where I belong, Miss Parker.  I was a fool to ever think otherwise,” he said, looking and sounding as earnest as he had in some of their most intimate moments.

Well, this meeting had certainly not turned out like she’d hoped it would.  She envisioned future futile encounters in this windowless, subterranean cell and felt queasy at the thought.

“Oh, Jarod,” she groaned.  “Why couldn’t you be pretending?”

He tilted his head, a simple gesture of curiosity and nothing more.  “You really do love him, don’t you?”

His use of the third person was final confirmation that this Jarod was someone she didn’t know.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said wearily.  “He doesn’t exist anymore.”

Miss Parker headed for the exit on shaky legs, not bothering to check her watch.  She knew their time was up.