Chapter 6

                He awoke in darkness.  Panic gripped him, but only briefly, as he quickly remembered where he was.  That’s when the hopeless dread set in.

            He was back at the Centre. 

Jarod clearly recalled being at the cemetery on Friday.  He could still see the stark black of Miss Parker’s dress and the bright yellow of the tulips clustered on gravesites.  He could still smell the sweet scent of freshly-cut grass.  He could even hear the birds that chirped high in the trees where he had hidden.

And he could also still see the electric blue of Brigitte’s blazer, the triumphant gleam in Lyle’s eyes, and the sunlight glinting off the gun he’d aimed at Miss Parker.

After that, things got a bit cloudy.  He remembered Willie roughly ushering him to the car, shoving him into the backseat.  Brigitte had gotten in next to him and leaned in close, the smell of her perfume overpowering… followed by a sharp prick of pain in his arm and then… nothing.

The next span of time – hours?  days? – contained only disjointed images that swam in and out of his consciousness.  He thought he’d been in the Centre infirmary, mainly because a woman in a white coat kept appearing in his mind’s eye.  She wore glasses and had short dark hair or long hair pulled back, and she wasn’t anyone he knew.  She’d spoken a few times, but the words had been muffled by the surgical mask she wore, and the drugs they’d given him prevented him from remembering anything she said.  He thought Lyle had been there once or twice and maybe Mr. Parker, but he didn’t recall seeing Sydney or Miss Parker.

As to what they might have done to him while he was in the infirmary, well, that was anyone’s guess.  He still broke out in a sweat when he remembered how Lyle had stopped his heart to test an experimental medication.  He didn’t think anything that drastic had been done to him this time, but he really had no way of knowing.

Although his limbs still felt too heavy to move, this was the first time in a long time that he seemed to be thinking clearly – albeit with a throbbing headache – so he decided to take stock of his situation.  His eyes had adjusted somewhat to the darkness, but he still couldn’t see where he was.  So he took a deep breath and allowed his eyes to close again, while he reached out with his other senses.  He lay on some sort of bed or cot, but the mattress felt too thin and lumpy to be in the infirmary.  He also didn’t hear any beeping of machines or murmurs of personnel, so he presumed he’d been moved during his last span of unconsciousness.  But to where?  Not his old quarters and not the cell where Lyle had kept him the last time he’d been a prisoner of the Centre.  Maybe the Renewal Wing?  But he didn’t hear anything, and important as he was, he couldn’t imagine they would have cleared out a whole section of the building for him.  Perhaps they’d stashed him in a corner of SL-27 that hadn’t been completely destroyed when Sydney set off the bomb a couple of years ago, but he didn’t notice any lingering smell of smoke so he doubted he was on Raines’ old stomping ground. 

But he was in some other forgotten black hole of the Centre, of that much he was certain.  Having spent a considerable amount of time in sensory deprivation chambers, he felt disappointed and a little embarrassed that he wasn’t able to benefit from that experience.  He wasn’t asking for a vision of his future; he just wanted a clue as to the here and now.

Time to get a little more aggressive.  He opened his eyes again, let them adjust to the darkness, and turned his head back and forth, being careful to make small movements so as not to make his headache worse.  He thought he noticed a tiny red light high up near where the ceiling presumably was, which meant there was a camera on him.  So he was being watched; what else was new at the Centre?  Surprisingly, he took comfort in this fact; at least he hadn’t been left to rot.  He knew the very idea was irrational, but when just waking up from a drug-induced state, logic was not in control. 

His body was starting to wake up now, too, and the empty feeling in his stomach told him that it had been a long time since he had any real food.  Time to move around a little, let whomever was monitoring the camera feed know that the prisoner was awake; maybe someone would bring him a meal.

He tried not to think about who that someone could be and what they might bring besides food, but the memory of Lyle and his jumper cables kept flashing through his mind.  Instead he focused on his body and tried to assess his ability to sit up.  He realized his hands were cuffed in front of him, but he wasn’t nearly agile enough yet to do his magician’s escape.  He slowly raised himself up off the mattress and swung his legs around.  A pressure around his ankles let him know that his feet also were shackled.  He stood up, and once he felt he had his balance, he took a cautious step forward in the darkness.  Maybe he could pace out the room and determine its size.  He had only taken three shuffling steps when he found he could move no farther; chains were attached to the manacles on his hands and feet. 

So much for exploring his prison.  He sank back down on the cot and stared into the blackness.  Until he had more information, trying to formulate an escape plan would be senseless.  Lyle had cut off his preferred route the last time he’d been here, so he’d have to map out a completely new path.  And he was probably going to need some inside help to do it.

With a sigh, Jarod lay down again and tried to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress.  He had a feeling he was in for a long stay this time.   Better get some rest before the real fun began.  He pushed away thoughts of the forced simulations and torture that awaited him in the days ahead.  After doing a few advanced algebraic equations in his head to take his mind off his dismal future, he finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

Sydney was growing desperate.  It had been almost a week since Jarod had been back at the Centre, and he still hadn’t been allowed to see him or even told his exact location in the giant complex.  He knew he’d been in the infirmary at first – a fact which just made him more concerned, no matter Lyle’s claims that Jarod was just undergoing a ‘thorough physical’ – but he’d been moved on Monday.  His pleas for access to Jarod fell on deaf ears when he’d approached both Lyle and Mr. Parker; they’d insisted that the orders for Jarod’s solitary confinement came directly from the Triumverate.  They had also assured Sydney that he’d be reunited with his star pupil at some point in the near future, but he knew irreparable damage could be done to Jarod – mentally, if not physically – in a short period of time at the Centre.  Jarod’s unique genius meant he was not susceptible to brainwashing, but he could be emotionally damaged.  Sydney’s greatest hope was that he could someday help heal the scars Jarod still carried from his childhood in captivity; his greatest regret was that he was partly responsible for inflicting those wounds.

After his latest futile attempt to get Lyle to tell him where Jarod was, Sydney had retreated to his subterranean office, hoping to do some work on the twin project – that damn project that had caused him to be out of town when Jarod was brought in.  After learning that both Miss Parker and Broots had been away from the Centre during the same period of time, he had agreed with Miss Parker’s theory that Lyle had carefully coordinated the absence of all three of them so he’d have freedom to spring his trap on Jarod.  It galled him to have been so easily lured away and to have one of his most precious areas of study used against him.

Which was why he should give it the attention it deserved while he still had time on his hands.  But he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t do anything but imagine the personal hell Jarod must be in at this very minute.  So he found himself pacing the floor of his office and having the sudden thought that Jarod – wherever he was being held – was probably doing the same thing, as restless as a caged animal.

This was intolerable!  Sydney stopped pacing and slammed his palms down on the front of his desk.  He bent over the Newton’s cradle  – the set of tiny silver spheres – that rested on the corner of his desk and set the pendulum in motion, hoping that the hypnotic movement would serve to calm him.  The device was much more than a common executive desk toy to Sydney; it  had often helped him gather his thoughts  in times of stress.  Now he watched the shiny balls swing back and forth, back and forth, for only a minute before the desperate need to do something overwhelmed him again.  With a string of French curse words, Sydney swept the pendulum off his desk in one violent motion.

Miss Parker stepped into his office just in time to see the spheres arc through the air and land in a tinkling heap at her feet.  “Whoa, Syd,” she said.  “Let’s not lose control, okay?”

“Control?” Sydney let loose a derisive laugh.  “Do you actually believe you or I have any control?  Haven’t you heard?  The Triumverate – all the way from Africa – is in control of everything at the Centre.”

“Let’s just hope they stay in Africa and not decide to send a representative here.  Although I think Lyle is already filling that role quite nicely,” she added grimly, carefully stepping over the pendulum.  She walked behind his desk and pulled out the bottle of Cognac he kept stashed in his bottom drawer.  He wondered idly how she had known it was there.

He watched her pull out a brandy snifter, look deeper into the drawer, then glance around his office.   She sighed.  “Only one glass, Syd?”  Her pitying look said it all, clearly expressing her disapproval of his habit of drinking alone.

As she poured the drinks, using the coffee mug on his desk for the second one, he took advantage of the time to calm his breathing and was pleased that his voice was steady when he finally said, “I take it you had no luck with your father.”  He knew she had gone to lunch with Mr. Parker today, hoping that she’d be able to learn more about Jarod’s current status if she addressed the subject away from the forbidding confines and the prying electronic eyes of the Centre.  He noted that she was dressed in more conservative attire than usual – a navy blue dress with a hem line that actually reached her knees and a thin strand of pearls.  The outfit was probably picked to make her father feel more at ease, but Sydney wondered if Miss Parker was consciously or unconsciously trying to look more like her mother than ever.

She handed him the mug and took a hefty swallow of her own drink before answering.  “I got the same line we’ve been hearing all week: ‘Jarod is being kept in isolation during this time of readjustment.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

Sydney had a feeling that she knew as well as he did that ‘readjustment’ meant torture via whatever suited Lyle’s sick fancy.  He took a gulp of his own drink, hoping the smooth and mellow libation would soothe his nerves.

Which weren’t helped by the abrupt appearance of Broots, who immediately stumbled over the pendulum upon entering the office, sending it into a jangling tailspin across the floor.  “Oh, sorry!” he exclaimed, retrieving the device and setting it on the desk.

Looking like she’d developed a sudden headache, Miss Parker sank down into Sydney’s desk chair and closed her eyes.

“Sydney, Miss Parker, I’m glad you’re both here,” Broots said.

“You have something new to report?” Sydney asked with a glimmer of hope.

“Yes!  I mean no, I mean nothing really earth-shattering, but I thought it could be important, so-”

“Broots,” Miss Parker growled threateningly, still with her eyes shut, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, right!  Sorry,” Broots said, nervously plucking at the hem of his crookedly-buttoned shirt.  He cast a furtive glance around the room.  “Is it safe to talk?”

“As safe as it can be at the Centre,” Sydney answered.  “I swept for listening devices this morning – all clear.  Just stay in here; the cameras are always on in the lab.” He indicated the cavernous “pit” in full view of his elevated, glass-fronted office.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Broots took another nervous step farther into the room.

“Have you learned something new about Jarod’s whereabouts?” Sydney prompted, trying not to sound too impatient and failing miserably, he knew.

“No, sorry, I still can’t pinpoint his location.  I’ve tried hacking into the surveillance cameras, but wherever they’re keeping him, there’s no video of it.  At least not anything I can access.” Broots sounded disappointed, Sydney noted, like he couldn’t believe he had failed to unearth a secret held in the Centre’s mainframe.  “And there haven’t been big clusters of security anyplace like the first few days Jarod was here and they had him in the infirmary,” Broots added.

“Lyle’s not going to make that mistake again,” Miss Parker muttered.  She pensively swirled the golden amber liquid in her glass.

            “But my friend Cindy from accounting did have something interesting to tell me,” Broots went on hurriedly.

Miss Parker abruptly focused on him..  “She’s the one who told you last week about the calls Lyle’s been making to Africa?”

That was news to Sydney.  He leaned one hip against the corner of his desk and concentrated on Broots.

Who stood a little straighter now that he had the undivided attention of his colleagues.  “Right,” he confirmed.  “Well, she told me that the Centre has added a ton more security personnel to the payroll.”

“That’s not news.  You can’t walk fifty feet in any direction in this place without bumping into one of those rent-a-cops,” Miss Parker said.

“I know!  It took me forever to get in this morning, what with having to show my photo I.D. at the main gate and then again when I got off the elevator from the parking garage.  One of the new guards was there, that big woman with the curly black hair and the tattoo on her arm.  She acted real suspicious of me,” Broots said in wonder, as if he couldn’t imagine anyone seeing him as a threat but feeling a little proud that they did, Sydney guessed. “For a minute I thought she was going to frisk me!”

“Well, that must have jumpstarted your day,” Miss Parker commented dryly. 

“Yes, well…” Broots looked uncomfortable as he always did when Miss Parker teased him.

“Did Cindy tell you anything else?” Sydney interjected, hoping to steer the conversation back on track.

“Yes!  She said there were some recent invoices for electrical work, nothing specific, but all of the work orders were approved by Mr. Lyle.”

“They’re not renovating SL-27 again?” Miss Parker asked sharply.

Sydney shook his head.  “That’s one of the first places I looked after Broots told me Jarod had been caught.  Nothing’s changed down there.”  He’d been relieved to see it was still in charred shambles; he would never regret setting the bomb that had destroyed that hellish dungeon.  He took another sip of his drink, welcoming the warmth that the drink was starting to spread through his body.  Eyeing his mug, he mused that maybe a shot of Cognac in his morning coffee would be a good way to start each day at the Centre on an even keel.

Broots looked eager to continue his report.  “Cindy also told me about a large sum of money that has been paid to a woman by the name of Dr. Jane Archer.  I did an online search and discovered she’s an expert in nanotechnology.”

“Nanotechnology?  That only exists in sci-fi flicks,” Miss Parker scoffed.

“No, nanotechnology is being studied by a growing number of eminent scientists, doctors, physicists, and molecular biologists,” Sydney said absently, trying to figure out why the Centre would employ an expert in that field.

“It’s about manipulating matter on an atomic and molecular scale,” Broots explained to Miss Parker.  “Nanotechnology could be used in electronics, energy production, or even medicine.”

“Medicine?” Miss Parker leaned forward in her chair.  “Jarod was in the infirmary for three days.”

Broots nodded.  “I know, and this Dr. Archer received her payment last Friday, the day Jarod was brought in!”

“What does this mean, Syd?” Miss Parker asked, frowning. 

“I wish I knew.”  Whatever it meant, it couldn’t be good.

“Cindy also told me that because the check made out to Dr. Archer was so large, two senior-level employees of the Centre had to sign it.”  Broots paused.  “Lyle and Mr. Parker,” he finished quietly.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Miss Parker said, but Sydney noticed her hand was shaking slightly as she lifted her glass to her lips.

Sydney had an uncomfortable thought.  “Broots, this friend of yours in accounting is sharing a lot of sensitive information with you.  Are you certain you have not been overheard?”

“Oh, no, we’ve been careful,” Broots assured him.  “Except for that first time last week in the break room, we haven’t talked about any of this at the Centre.  Cindy passed me a napkin with her phone number on it the other day.  The note also said she had more information for me.  So I called her back – from home on a cell phone I just bought,” he hastened to add, “and we made arrangements to meet at the movies.  That way it just looks like we were on a date and it would be hard for anyone to eavesdrop on us.”

“I’m impressed, Broots,” Miss Parker said grudgingly.

The techie shrugged.  “It was mostly Cindy’s idea.  She’s really into this cloak and dagger stuff.”

Sydney was concerned about the potential peril this informant might face.  “Broots, couldn’t you just hack into the Centre’s expense accounts?  Do you really need to involve someone else?”

“Oh, where’s the fun in that, Syd?  Broots here might be enjoying the fringe benefits of playing secret agent man,” Miss Parker suggested slyly.

As Broots flushed, Sydney said sharply to him, “This isn’t a game!  Does your new friend understand that she could be in danger if the Centre learns about the information she’s given you?”

Broots blinked rapidly.  “She, she knows that.  That’s why we, we’ve been so c-careful,” he stammered.

Sydney regretted his tone when he saw how he had caused his perpetually-nervous friend even more distress.  Of the three people in the room, he was the one expected to always project a calming influence.  That was the curse of being a psychiatrist, he thought ruefully; you always had to appear cool and composed. 

He started to lift his mug for another fortifying sip of brandy but then changed his mind.  He noticed Miss Parker had finished her drink and was reaching for the bottle for a refill.  “Miss Parker, did you and your father have drinks with lunch?” he inquired casually.

“Well, I had to try to loosen him up, didn’t I?” she replied, a trifle defensively.

“Hmm.”  Sydney stood, firmly set his mug down, and took the bottle of Cognac out of a shocked Miss Parker’s hands.  She stared at him as he came around behind the desk and returned the alcohol to his bottom drawer, which he closed with a decisive click.

“I think we should keep clear heads right now, don’t you?” he suggested mildly.

She opened her mouth then shut it again, her lips pressed together firmly.  She pushed back her chair – his chair – and stood up.  “Look at the three of us.  We’re pathetic,” she said in disgust.  “Jarod’s been caught and we’re still hunting for him.  We should be celebrating!  The all-consuming search for Jarod is over.  You, Syd, can spend more time experimenting on your twins, Broots and Chatty Cathy can hang out in the break room together…”

“Cindy,” Sydney heard Broots mutter under his breath.

“…and I can finally take a long overdue vacation far away from this place!”

Sydney knew there was a lot in that outburst that he should analyze, but right now he was using all his psychiatric skills to keep himself together and didn’t have the energy to work on anyone else’s problems.

As he opened his mouth to at least offer a placating platitude, a faint but distinctive scream sounded from somewhere in the vicinity.  It was short but terrifying, with echoes of it seeming to reverberate through the air. It was impossible to determine if it had come from a man or woman, but it definitely was a being in agony.

“What the hell was that?” Miss Parker looked around wildly, automatically reaching for her gun that was not there.

Broots looked like he might faint.  His face took on a greenish tint that wasn’t just from the garish light slanting through the wooden blinds behind the desk. 

Sydney had the crazy thought that the very bowels of the Centre were crying out in pain, the complex no longer able to contain the suffering endured within its walls.

And then he thought, eyeing his desk drawer, maybe one more drink won’t hurt.