Disclaimer: "The Pretender" is a protected trademark and I’m just playing with the characters. No harm intended.

A/N I wrote this story almost five years ago and the parts range from PG to a very strong R. It won a fanfic award and, the reason I’m posting it again, is because I am currently working on the sequel. However, if you don’t like Jarod abuse or are under 17 you should not read this story because the things that happen to J may not be your cup of tea.

For that reason, I am only posting the first part here. The remaining 13 parts (yes, it’s an epic) can be found at my website.

Survival

Second week of July, 1999 - the Centre

Sydney walked quickly down the long marble-floored hall, repeatedly glancing at his watch. He passed secretaries, computer technicians, accountants and sweepers but acknowledged none of them. Stepping into the open elevator, he punched the button and glanced at his watch again.

He had been naive enough to believe that he would be given access to the Pretender whenever he wanted, and it had been a hard pill to swallow when the Triumvirate advised him otherwise. The last time he had seen Jarod, was shortly after he was brought back to the Centre and the young man, as expected, had been argumentative, obstinate, and sarcastic; even more so when he was told his fate. As much as Sydney hoped Jarod’s attitude was still in tact, he knew the chances were slim.

He told himself, for what seemed like the millionth time, that Jarod was a strong man and hopefully had developed the skills necessary to survive anything that Raines could throw at him.

In the weeks that had passed, Sydney begged, cajoled and bargained with anyone who had the authority to repeal the directive. Though Raines and Lyle had been vocal with their objections, Sydney was granted a short one hour visit with the Pretender, courtesy of Mr. Parker. He would have preferred a much longer stay, but knew better than to press his luck.

When the car stopped, he glanced at his watch, quickly exited and started down the long hall. The two sweepers flanking the solid iron door glared at him as he approached. Releasing a sharp breath, Sydney quickened his pace and stopped abruptly in front of them. Handing the larger man the authorization letter, Sydney waited while the sweeper reviewed it and then nodded and stepped away from the door. The second man inserted the key and swung the door inward, shooting the psychologist an amused glance.

The light in the room was low, and the beam from the hallway barely reached the far corner. He stepped inside, stopping just beyond the threshold and waited for his eyes to adjust. The door slammed behind him, it’s metallic clatter echoing angrily off the cement walls before the room finally became silent. He cautiously stepped deeper into the chamber and turned slowly.

“Jarod?”

He turned and saw Jarod sitting dutifully at the computer. When Sydney stepped behind him, Jarod immediately ended the electronic chess game and faced his visitor.

“Who are you?”

“Jarod, it’s me -- Sydney.”

“Is your name supposed to mean something to me?” he asked, tensely, moving from the desk to the dark corner, “What do you want?”

“I just . . I used to take care of you,” Sydney said, startled by the questions, “I want to make sure you are all right.”

Taking a deep breath, the Pretender waited a moment before he spoke again, his voice filled with confidence, “You never took care of me. I would remember.”

“You have been through a lot,” Sydney offered, after a long silence, “Maybe, if we talk awhile, it will come back to you. Would it be all right if I stayed?”

Jarod looked away, nodding his head hesitantly in response.

Their conversation was forced, and awkward, but Jarod listened intently as Sydney told him events they had shared while in the Centre. He moved away from the older man several times, pacing nervously as he processed the information, but always came back with questions. It did not take long before it became obvious to Sydney that Jarod was confused and, at least emotionally, exhausted. As they sat on the edge of the bed, he placed one hand on Jarod’s shoulder. The Pretender flinched, but as the older man began slow circular motions down his back, he soon relaxed. Slowly, moving his free hand across the front of Jarod’s body he pulled the younger man close.

They sat in silence, Sydney’s chin resting against the back of Jarod’s head and Jarod’s arms folded tightly between the two bodies, forming a protective barrier. Sydney rocked slightly, remembering how many times he had wanted to do this when Jarod was a child, to comfort and reassure him.

As a boy, Jarod had been protected while under his care; but, Sydney had doubts about how safe he was as a man.

He watched the interaction between Jarod and Sydney from the newly installed monitor in his office. Although he could not quite make out their words because they spoke so softly, his hands clenched at the obvious closeness of the pair. Sydney was a liability. He had the power to undo everything that had been achieved.

This will not do, he thought, the bond must be broken.

Miss Parker stepped delicately toward the bed, cursing loud enough for the nurse to hear.

“Complaining won’t change anything,” the nurse informed her, in a tone that made Miss Parker want to scream.

The older woman moved closer to her patient, offering her arm for support. Miss Parker waved the woman away with a look of disgust, biting back the fact that the complaints were not due to pain, but because she had found the nurse standing guard outside her bathroom door.

“Miss Parker, you’re up. That’s great!”

Startled by the enthusiasm of the voice, she turned suddenly and grabbed the wall for balance.

“Broots, you should know better than to sneak up on me like that,” she warned, “I might have taken your head off,” then, remembering her condition, added, in a softer tone, “If I was allowed access to my gun, that is.”

He smiled as he approached, “I’m sorry if I startled you. It’s just that I . . everyone has been so worried about you. Do you need help?”

She took another step, “As a matter of fact, you can get rid of Florence Nightingale over there,” she said indicating the nurse with her chin, “She’s tap dancing on my last nerve.”

He glanced at the annoyed attendant and smiled, “I somehow think that the feeling is mutual.”

“Whatever,” she breathed, moving closer to the bed, “Just get rid of her.”

She watched as he stepped toward the older woman and said something. The nurse glanced at Miss Parker, then nodded and left the room. Miss Parker sighed in relief and continued toward the bed, knowing that Broots was watching her closely.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning against the mattress, “I feel better already.”

Jarod stared at the door, long after Sydney had passed through it, alternating between wishing his new friend would reappear and fearing that he had been a figment of his imagination. In the past, when he had asked Mr. Raines about people he thought he remembered, he had lectured him about not controlling his overactive imagination.

--“We must be giving you too much free time,” Raines had decided, “if you are able to conjure up so many imaginary friends.”--

Jarod shook his head, recalling the viciousness of the back to back simulations he had been assigned, as a result of that conversation, and decided to keep Sydney’s visit to himself.

“It’s beautiful. She must have worked very hard on this,” she commented.

“Yeah, she made about half a dozen different cards before she finally decided this was the right one.”

“She did?” Miss Parker asked, unable to hide her astonishment.

He nodded, “It was very important to her that you like it.”

“I would have liked . .”

“I know,” Broots smiled, “but she had to like it, too.”

He watched them from the doorway as they spoke easily with one another. He knew it would happen eventually; whether they realized it or not, the two of them had formed a bond years before.

“So, are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to come in?” she demanded, looking up from the hand made card.

Broots turned and stood, taking two quick steps from the bed. He knew he was blushing, and was not sure why he was acting as if he had gotten caught doing something wrong.

Sydney took a step into the room and smiled at the two, “You seemed engrossed in something. I did not want to interrupt.”

Miss Parker held the card toward him as he approached, “Debbie made me a card. Wasn’t that sweet?”

“She is a sweet girl.”

He held the construction paper heart and smiled. Inside, a mass of geometric designs bordered the words ‘Get Well’ with the girl’s signature neatly displayed below.

Miss Parker laid her hand on top of his as he sat beside her, “You went to see Jarod today, didn’t you?”

Sydney sighed heavily and looked away, “Yes.”

“Is he all right?” Broots asked nervously.

“No, he is not.”

“He looks so pitiful,” Raines wheezed, “Why is that? Is he being denied more sleep than necessary?”

“You are imagining things,” he replied, as he stopped the playback on the DSA reader, “There was no sign of recognition on Jarod’s face. The visit was a stroke of genius; if there was anyone he would remember, it would be Sydney.”

“Jarod may have been pretending,” Raines warned.

Lyle grinned menacingly as he viewed the recording again, “Even Jarod isn’t that good.”

He was silent as the young man viewed the DSA for the second time. Admittedly, the plan did appear to be working, but he knew Jarod too well to underestimate him. If anyone would be able to resist the hypnosis and mind control techniques, it would be Jarod.

He looked up as Lyle picked up the telephone receiver, “What are you doing?”

“Mutumbo needs to know how well we are advancing,” he answered, “In a few short days, Jarod will again be an asset to the Centre but only while under your control.”

“Not yet,” he ordered, grabbing the receiver and placing it back in its cradle, “there are still things to be done.”

The old man turned away without noticing the hardening of Lyle’s eyes, and the grin that had started to appear on his face.

Early the next morning, Jarod’s room - SL27

He stepped from the shadows, pulling the syringe from his pocket as he gazed longingly at his prey. Sitting on the bed, he took Jarod’s muscular arm gently in his palm, and slid the needle effortlessly into the vein. Jarod’s muscles tensed and his eyes snapped open, staring blindly at his masked attacker. The drug took effect quickly and Jarod’s dark brown eyes soon disappeared behind their heavy covers. Removing the hypodermic, he bent the Pretender’s arm at the elbow, and held it in position, letting his free hand linger on the well defined chest until he was sure his victim was still.

The intruder retrieved the chair quietly from the passageway and positioned it beside the bed. Locking the wheels in place, he pushed the restraints to the side and then moved to the bed. It took three attempts, but the unconscious man was finally arranged in the chair and the leather belts buckled tightly around his arms, chest and legs.

Placing his hand between Jarod’s chin and chest, he leaned over the body and raised the serene face so that it was level with his. Satisfied his charge was completely sedated and secured, he let the head drop forward and propelled the chair into the dark passageway. Once inside, he glanced at the still cameras and punched the security code into the panel on the wall. A moment later, the red button at the top of the surveillance equipment lit up and the partition silently closed.

Later that day - Mr. Parker’s office:

“You are no longer authorized to visit him, Sydney, you know that.”

“Jarod has been through a lot,” he reasoned, “He needs . . .”

“Sydney,” Mr. Parker interrupted condescendingly, “we’ve been through this several times. Only certain qualified personnel are allowed access to Jarod during his retraining. Once that is complete, he will again be your responsibility. In the meantime, stay away.”

“Retrained,” Sydney repeated disdainfully, “You make it sound like you’re housebreaking an unruly pet.”

“Stop wasting my time, Doctor,” the larger man said, ignoring the analogy, “I’m beginning to think that allowing you to see him was a mistake. Jarod’s retraining is not your concern.”

“Jarod will always be my concern,” he challenged.

Sydney leaned menacingly over the mahogany desk, staring at his superior with visible determination. After all the searching and worrying he had done, Sydney was not about to let Jarod disappear within the Centre walls again. It took three years for Sydney to realize that the Centre was a lot less safe for the young man than the outside world could ever be.

Mr. Parker circled Sydney, meeting his glare the entire way, “I am not going to repeat myself again, Sydney, stay away from Jarod.”

“And if I don’t?” Sydney dared, watching the other man move toward the door.

There was only a slight hesitation and then, “I will see to it that he is moved to another facility and you will never see him again. Now, if you don’t mind,” he opened the office door, “I have an appointment. Good day, Sydney.”

Miss Parker’s room- The Renewal Wing

They kept him bound to the chair and made him view the clips of the shooting, repeatedly telling him he was one of the assassins. They wanted to know how and where he had built the bombs and where he had gotten the automatic weapons. They wanted to know how he had gotten them into the school. Then, they asked him what his ultimate goal was and what should have been done to insure that the plan did not fail.

Jarod obviously tried to resist the simulation, and the hate, as long as he could, but after a full day of being restrained while videos and barbed questions bombarded his senses, the small cell seemed to close in on him. He demanded to be brought to his room and Lyle countered that he could go back, once he gave them their answers. He pulled at the metal handcuffs in protest, knowing full well that they would not give.

When Raines began wheezing heavily, a sign that he was getting upset, Jarod tensed and his eyes cautiously followed the ailing man around the room. By the time he submitted, and angrily gave the information they demanded, Jarod was emotionally and physically drained. So much so, that he had to be supported on either side by sweepers during the walk back to his room.

They deposited him wordlessly on the thin mattress and left. Once he was alone, Jarod pulled the blanket around his shoulders and burrowed against the wall.

Miss Parker removed the DSA and glanced at Broots then at Sydney as he moved from the table. She knew watching Jarod as he acted out these types of simulations was hard on the psychologist and searched for something to say that would comfort him. When the words refused to come, she pushed her chair away from the thick table and stepped slowly beside him.

“If this is any indication of what his daily routine has been,” Sydney said, without turning around, “we have to hurry if we are going to help him.”

The next day - Jarod’s room

Jarod woke up in his own bed, covered in sweat, his heart beating rapidly. Sliding his legs over the edge of the mattress and sat upright, trying to convince himself that it had been a dream. A horrible, seemingly never ending, explicit dream.

He took the photos from the headboard, with shaky hands, and gazed at the familiar faces in the soft light. Suddenly, violent images and sounds attacked his senses. Mr. Raines. A gun shot. Blood. Screaming. Sydney. Another shot. More screaming. Blood. His father. His brother. More blood.

“No!”

The sweepers rushed through the door upon hearing him cry out. They found Jarod on the stone floor, trembling uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face, and grasping both photos tightly.

Sydney’s office:

Broots rushed into the office, a look of sheer panic reflected in his face. Sydney stood immediately and stepped closer to the agitated man.

“I was talking . .” he gasped, “with Miss Parker and . .”

“Did something happen to Miss Parker?” Sydney asked urgently, “Is she in her room?”

“No, she’s fi. .” Broots stopped short and took a deep breath, “Miss Parker is fine. She followed him.”

“Followed who? Broots, what are you talking about?”

“Jarod. We saw him being wheeled to the infirmary.”

Sydney pushed past the technician before he had finished the sentence. Rushing into the infirmary, with Broots close behind, he ignoried the nurse at the desk, ran past Miss Parker and pushed into the examining room. Jarod lying face up on the table, bathed in sweat and breathing heavily, turned toward the door as Sydney entered.

“Jarod? What happened? Are you all right?”

It took both sweepers to hold Jarod against the metal table as he struggled to sit up. His eyes never leaving Sydney’s, he told them angrily to let go of him. When they refused to obey, his repeated command was more demanding. Sydney glanced at the doctor as she prepared the syringe.

“Jarod, calm down, before you hurt yourself,” he said, attempting to keep his voice even.

“I don’t want you here,” he commanded, “Get out.”

Sydney felt the color drain from his face as the tone registered. The sweepers, still struggling to hold Jarod down, yelled for him to leave. It took three commands, and urging from Miss Parker and Broots, before Sydney could make himself back slowly out of the room.

Jarod’s voice called out, “Don’t come back.”

He watched the entire episode on the monitor. Though he was pleased that Jarod’s connection with Sydney had effectively been damaged, he had not intended for the Pretender to have such a violent emotional reaction.

He would have to be more careful with the last treatment. As much as he enjoyed watching Jarod in pain, the execution of the final phase was more important. There was time to torture Jarod later.

A small cottage in New Hampshire:

Major Charles pulled the blanket around the boy’s shoulder and sat at the edge of the bed taking comfort in the fact that he was sleeping so peacefully. When Jarod told them to leave without him, the boy had become withdrawn and was haunted by nightmares every time he closed his eyes. It had taken almost a week before the boy would speak to him, but always adamantly refused to discuss the dreams. Now well into their second month together, the boy seemed more secure, and claimed that the nightmares had been reduced to once or twice a week.

Meanwhile, the Major’s demons continued to torture him. His fears for Jarod had escalated, knowing that the Centre would attempt to increase its control over his son. He had viewed the DSA’s several times, and on each occasion was thankful that Jarod had insisted they rescue the clone. However, at the same time, could not help wishing, guiltily, that he had gotten Jarod away from the Centre before they had discovered Donoterase.

Donoterase. Gemini. Human life being replicated for no other purpose than greed. He shook his head appalled at the thought of what the organization in Blue Cove was capable of and to what depths they would sink for the all mighty dollar.

The boy shifted restlessly under the sheets, muttering incoherently, until he felt the calming caress on his face. The Major waited until the boy relaxed before he drew his hand away.

He had suggested several possible names to the teenager, hoping he would pick one for himself. But, the boy had refused, insisting they wait until Jarod was back with their family. Deciding the stubbornness was the boys way of feeling in control, the Major had backed down and agreed to the delay.

Sydney had not given him any new information about his son since Jarod had been recaptured. The only consolation was that, in addition to Jarod’s computer and cell phone, the DSA’s had been on the airplane when they left North Carolina; at least he had a bargaining chip. He sighed heavily, kissed the child on the forehead and moved toward the door.

“Sleep well, Son,” he whispered, casting one more look at the sleeping child. Then, found himself saying a silent prayer that both his sons would be free from their nightmares tonight.

He moved through the short hallway and into the living area, where the lap top was already set up. The boy had broken through Jarod’s security in the first week; which, although it shouldn’t have, impressed the Major so much that he wondered if it were his or Margaret’s gene’s that made the boy and Jarod who they were. Once the security was

compromised, the boy quickly programmed another set of access codes to lock out any hackers that may stumble upon the system.

As the Major logged on with the new commands, he found his thoughts were heavily on Sydney and fought to keep them at bay as he eased his way through Jarod’s files. After about fifteen minutes, he resigned himself to making the telephone call that Sydney would not be expecting the until tomorrow. He hoped the psychologist would not be put in an awkward position because of the deviation.

“Sydney, it’s me,” he said when the line was connected, “do you . .”

Sydney cut him off immediately upon recognizing the voice. Major Charles hung on every word spilling rapidly out of the other man’s mouth and tried to control his emotions. By the time the one-sided conversation ended, the Major was pacing the living room like a caged animal.

The hallway outside Jarod’s room - SL27:

Miss Parker paced slowly in the long empty hall, waiting for Broots’ signal. How long could it possibly take to do what she asked? She rubbed the small of her back, hoping to ease the strain. Though she felt completely healed, her body was still taking it’s time.

After being threatened that he would be removed by force, Sydney had retreated to his office and refused to let either her or Broots enter. They wandered back to the infirmary, hoping one of them could get some information for their friend, and witnessed an even angrier attack by Jarod on Raines. This time, though, the outburst included a death threat.

Confused by Jarod’s about face in personality, she had remembered his penchant for keeping a journal. Insisting that the technician help, she decided to confiscate the book and assured the nervous man that it would hold a clue to Jarod’s behavior.

She felt the pager vibrate against her waist. Finally.

Letting herself into the small room, she glanced at the camera facing the door, hoping that she had given herself enough time. Thirty minutes seemed like plenty when she had told Broots to loop the image of the vacant room; now she wasn’t so sure. Moving across the stone floor, she began by searching the desk and bed stand, then systematically examined the ground for a nearby loose stone. He would hide it in a convenient place, she reasoned as she pushed at the pillow and bed coverings.

Ten minutes later, she was beginning to feel desperate and surveyed the cell broadly for a possible hiding place. Her eyes rested on the small computer in the corner while she considered the option.

When we were kids, he did not have the benefit of a PC in his room, she rationalized.

Sitting at the glowing monitor, she began searching the hard drive, and found a few potential files but was frustrated upon discovering that Jarod had secured them with a password. Releasing a heavy breath, she leaned back in the chair and stared at the computer and its related paraphernalia as if the evil eye approach would work with electronic equipment.

When her pager went off again, she pulled it from her belt and stared at the code before placing it on the desk. Fifteen minutes left. She made two more attempts at the password before getting to her feet, feeling completely defeated. Inadvertently knocking the pager to the floor, she bent down to retrieve it and found the treasure peeking from below the lap drawer.

“Bingo,” she whispered as she pulled the tape from the disk and inserted it into the drive.

The monitor quickly filled with the familiar symbols and numbers she was expecting, and Miss Parker found herself grinning freely. Glancing at her watch, she entered the command for the computer to print the contents of the disk. While the PC clicked obediently, Miss Parker began neatly forming her own series of symbols on a blank sheet of paper. By the time the printer stopped, she had finished her markings, folded the paper and slid it under Jarod’s pillow.

Replacing the disk to it’s hiding place, she took the hard copy and left the room. The pager went off one last time, signaling that the camera’s had been reactivated, as she entered the elevator.

Very late, the same night - A motel outside of Blue Cove:

He looked uneasily at the boy as they stepped into the tiny motel room. He had no idea what to say to reassure him.

“You understand why we’re here, don’t you?” he asked, closing the curtains.

The boy nodded and sat nervously on the edge of the bed furthest the door, “Yes.”

“Are you are all right?” the Major asked, pulling the wooden chair in front of the bed.

“I’m fine, Dad,” he answered softly, “but . .”

The Major waited patiently for the teenager to complete his thought, hoping that he was not feeling betrayed. The last thing he wanted was for his youngest child be frightened or feel insignificant. When the room was quiet for what seemed like a long time, the Major reached over and placed his hand on the boys.

“Jarod is in a lot of trouble,” he explained, “I have to do this; but, you don’t. I told you before, I can arrange for you to stay with some friends in Maryland until I free Jarod. You would be a lot safer.”

The boy shook his head, “No, I want to help. It’s just, well, what if something goes wrong?”

“It won’t.”

“But, what if . .”

“Son, I promise,” he squeezed the boy’s hand, “I will not let anything bad happen.”

Trying to hold back the tears, he looked at the Major and attempted a smile. As soon as their eyes locked, though, he lost control. He heard his father whisper that everything would be all right as he moved to the bed and wrapped him in his arms. Placing his open palm over the older man’s heart, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to be comforted by the rhythm.

Not moving away from his father’s chest, the boy stated, “If Jarod had not taken the chance to help me, I would not be here. We’re family.”

Early the next morning - Miss Parker’s house:

“Parker, why is it you knew how to decipher this and I didn’t?”

“Jarod made up the code when we were kids. He used it to keep you, and the Tower, from reading his journal,” she looked at him, “He taught it to me when I was about ten, so that we could communicate secretly,” she smiled at the memory, “I would not forget something this important, Syd.”

He read the page again, “Lucky for us.”

“He talks a lot about a recurring dream,” she said, “One where he’s tied in a room and images are flashing around him.”

“He could be dreaming about the sims,” Sydney answered quietly, “The DSA’s show that he’s bound to a chair during some of the more violent ones.”

She shook her head, “Maybe, but I don’t think so. He talks about the sound and images surrounding him, and that the noise is unbearable. The sims we watched were nothing like that.”

Sydney considered her point, then said, “Some brainwashing techniques include disorientation and lack of sleep to control their victims.”

“Well, he definitely has not been sleeping,” she answered, “You said yourself that he appears exhausted.”

“But, Jarod is currently Raines’ project,” Sydney countered, “I could understand him using such techniques to turn Jarod against me -- but that does not explain Jarod’s threats against Raines.”

“Maybe Jarod is coming around and is just really confused right now,” she offered, “Or maybe Raines’ experiment backfired,”, she stood and stretched as Broots entered, “Did you find anything on the other DSA’s?”

“Actually, yes,” Broots smiled, “take a look at this.”

“It’s a video of Jarod sleeping, so what?”

“Watch.”

She stared at the screen, listening to Jarod murmur softly. The room was dark, but the cameras were advanced enough to pick up all movement, no matter how small. Suddenly, Jarod’s body shifted on the bed.

“Did you see that?” Broots asked excitedly.

“What? He turned over.”

“No, he didn’t,” the technician grinned, “look again. He start’s out on his back, now . .”

After another viewing she stepped back, “He’s on his side. I’ll be damned. Someone stopped the film.”

“There are gaps like that in a lot of the DSA’s. It happens once, maybe twice, a week. Oh, and, there’s more,” Broots announced, “look over here,” he pointed to the edge of the screen, “right before Jarod’s body shifts there is a brief flash of light.”

“Can you enhance it?” Sydney asked.

He handed the older man a photo, “I’ve already blown it up as much as I can.”

Sydney stared at the photo from every angle, trying to make out the image. After a few minutes, he stepped to the desk and held it under the small lamp. The threesome crowded around the picture, hoping for some recognition.

“Here,” he said, “it looks like this narrow area is darker than the rest of the wall. Could it be an opening of some kind?”

Miss Parker moved for a closer look at the image, “This looks like a metal box.”

“A metal box?” Broots repeated, stepping from the desk to the door way, “Like this?”

Sydney and Miss Parker looked up from the desk to see Broots pointing to the alarm panel. In unison, they looked back at the photo and then at the panel.

Miss Parker smiled, “Broots, I want you to find out what runs behind Jarod’s room, and where it leads. My guess is there is some kind of secret passage. Sydney, see if you can reach the Major and set up a meeting for late this afternoon.”

“Where are you going?” Sydney asked.

“I’m going to have a chat with my father.”

Jarod’s room - SL27

The doctor had told him he had experienced an extreme panic attack and told him that if his vitals did not improve, he would be forced to prescribe a sedative. After a few hours, Jarod managed to lower his blood pressure and control his breathing by sheer concentration; a feat that surprised him tremendously when it was successful.

His happiness was short lived when they informed him he would be spending the night, shackled to the bed, in the infirmary. Jarod found himself afraid to close his eyes and spent the evening counting the ceiling tiles and listening to the scraping sounds in the wall.

The sweepers helped him back to his room the next morning, wordlessly, then turned and left him sitting on the edge of the bed. He watched them leave, waiting until the heavy door was closed and locked, before allowing himself to relax.

As he stretched out on the bed, longing for some solid sleep, his hand brushed something under his pillow. Rising, he pulled the paper from it’s hiding place and stared at it in confusion. The markings were familiar, though he knew they were not of his doing.

--Jarod, be careful.--

The note was signed ‘MP’.

Moving to the computer, he checked to make sure the disk was where he left it, and then began tapping furiously on the keyboard. Someone, presumably ‘MP’, had attempted to access a few of his files. Unable to identify his password, they decided to print the contents of the disk instead.

Damn! They took the only bit of privacy he had left.

He felt the anger rising quickly and fought to keep it under control. In the last two weeks, he had noticed his temper flaring at the slightest provocation, and he did not like it. He had to be able to stay calm if he was ever going to get out of the Centre again.

Again?

Sydney’s office:

She entered the office triumphantly and smiled at both men.

“Well, I got permission to see Jarod in the morning,” she announced, “I wanted to see him today, but my father would not budge. What did you two find?”

Sydney glanced at Broots and then said, “The Major is suspicious, but has agreed to meet with us at three o’clock in the park. He assured me that the boy will not be with him.”

“I can’t blame him for being cautious, Syd,” she nodded, “but I have no intention of bringing that child back here. You did tell him that, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but he still . .”

“I understand,” she took a deep breath and looked at Broots, “What about you? What did you uncover?”

He stepped to the computer monitor and pulled up the Centre blueprints. Tapping the keyboard again, the diagram was reduced to a three dimensional layout of SL-27.

“I had to do some digging but I finally found this version of the blueprints buried deep within the system,” he explained, “I accessed it about a half hour ago, for the first time, but it looks to me like you were right,” he pointed to the screen, “there is a corridor behind Jarod’s room that spiders through the Centre.”

“What’s this?” Sydney asked, indicating a code on one of the drawings.

“An elevator, believe it or not,” Broots answered, “There are connecting passages on several of the Sub-Level’s.”

“Do any of them lead out of the Centre?” Miss Parker asked, “Could they have been the way Jarod was sneaking in and out?”

“I haven’t searched the file closely yet,” he admitted, “but I did find one outside exit.”

“Jarod has not snuck into the Centre since the explosion,” Sydney countered, “How do we know that these blueprints were not replaced with another set and that the secret entrances were not destroyed in the blast?”

“These diagrams were definitely downloaded after the blast,” Broots confirmed, “We finished upgrading our system six months ago, adding more memory and completing the Y2K compliance. If these blueprints had been in the database during the upgrade, I would have known about them.”

“It is possible, Syd, that Jarod either snuck in and out of the Centre in the last year, without any of us knowing about it,” Miss Parker stated, “or had no reason to come back. Either way, according to these plans, his secret entrances are still in tact.”

Sydney thought about what she said and replied, “If that’s the case, Jarod would have escaped by now.”

“Exactly,” Miss Parker responded, as he stepped to the ringing telephone, “so that means that someone, or something, is stopping him.”

“He didn’t remember you, Syd,” Broots pointed out, “maybe he doesn’t remember about the entrances.”

He nodded thoughtfully as he picked up the receiver, “Yes, this is Sydney.”

“What? When?”

Broots and Miss Parker stepped closer to the desk as Sydney’s voice became more excited. They waited patiently as he listened to the caller and began pacing as far from the desk as the cord would allow. When he finally hung up, his eyes were moving quickly around the room.

“It seems Jarod remembers more than we thought. That was your father,” he said slowly, “there is an extensive search underway. Jarod is missing and assumed to have escaped sometime within the last couple of hours.”

Somewhere in the Centre:

He had been at the computer, searching for compromised files, when he was attacked from behind and a mask slipped over his face. He had struggled and called out for help, but no one had come to his rescue and soon he felt the prick of a needle in his arm. Thrown across the room, over a high threshold, he tripped and banged his shoulder against a barrier as he fell. The soft beeping of a security panel caught his attention, and a door slid shut before his kidnapper wordlessly pulled him into a chair.

Wheeled through the bumpy corridor, they came to a stop as the drug surged through his body, numbing his mind. There was a whirring of a motor and then the floor began to move upward. He was not bound, physically, but by the time the elevator car came to a halt, Jarod was unable to command his body to move. He was pushed across a smoother surface and another high threshold before the mask was removed. The room was sheathed in blackness as deep as a well and as he was surrounded by deafening silence. Dumped unceremoniously on to the cold floor, Jarod found himself completely incapable of movement.

As he resigned himself to being helpless and at the mercy of his abductor, his paralyzed body was rolled to his back. His eyes, adjusting slowly to the darkness, stared at the form hovering above him menacingly.

“We won’t need the restraints tonight, will we?” the voice asked.

Too much effort and concentration was required for him to respond, so Jarod stayed motionless, trying to identify the voice. The man stepped over Jarod and moved out of his line of vision. Suddenly, images swirled uncontrollably around him, giving Jarod the sensation of falling into a bottomless abyss. Though he knew it was an optical illusion, he gripped the floor around him and closed his eyes.

“The final phase of your retraining is tonight,” he continued, “Your loyalty to me will be tested. Open your eyes.”

His fingernails dug deeper into the cracks of the stone floor as Jarod complied.

“Very good,” the voice praised, “Now tell me your name and purpose.”

The images came to a halt and Jarod let out an audible sigh of relief. Slowly, Jarod formed the words, his voice shaky and hesitant.

“My name is Jarod,” he whispered, “My pur-purpose is to do as I am told.”

“Who is your Master?”

“You are.”

“Very good. Now let’s begin.”

Once her father explained the situation, she requested a copy of the DSA covering the last ten hours of Jarod’s room. Mr. Parker stared at her daughter questioningly, but handed her the disk.

“There was a malfunction in the cameras,” he offered, “so the last view we have is of Jarod retrieving a hidden disk and then accessing files on the hard drive. He seems extremely upset.”

She watched Jarod read her note, paying close attention as his expression changed from disbelief to confusion. He checked the files she had attempted to access, and read the note again, the confusion mounting.

He doesn’t understand why anyone else would know the code, she thought to herself as the office door opened. She glanced at Brigitte, noting the sense of urgency in her step when she entered, and then back to the DSA reader.

“Here,” Miss Parker exclaimed, stopping the playback, “What’s this, Daddy?”

She pointed to bit of glare at the edge of the screen and looked up at him, hoping he would tell her the truth.

He stared at the light and then back at her, “I don’t know, Angel,” he admitted, “It appears that the camera was starting to malfunction at that point. A few seconds later, the room is empty.”

“Is that all?”

“What else could it be?” he asked.

“You look tired, Miss Parker,” Brigitte commented in a syrupy voice, “Why don’t you get some rest and let the rest of us worry about Jarod?”

She turned slowly toward her step-mother, her swollen belly accented by the black spandex, “I know Jarod better than any of you,” she countered, “if anyone is going to find him, it will be me.”

“Sorry, Luv,” Brigitte grinned, “we don’t have three more years to wait.”

Several hours later - Somewhere in the Centre:

Jarod stood mutely in the center of the room, staring blankly at the images around him, the gun and it’s cartridge lying on the table within arms reach. He had long since stopped resisting the violence of the news clips that were forced upon him; the school massacre, the embassy explosion, the plane crash, the suicide, the screams and the blood had become part of his life, both asleep and awake.

“Jarod, are you paying attention?” the voice asked sharply over the intercom.

He nodded, reaching for the gun, “Yes, Sir.”

He watched the screens, his eyes moving quickly from one to the next, waiting for his victim to appear like a duck in a carnival game. Suddenly faces flashed in front of him, but they were the wrong faces; finally, he fired. A few seconds later, he fired again. And again, oblivious to the opening door.

“Jarod! What are you . .”

He turned and fired. The man dropped to the ground, pulling the metal tank with him.

She sighed and waited at the entrance with Broots. After her brief conversation with her father and step-bimbo, she had decided that Jarod’s disappearance was more than an escape. It had not taken her long to convince Broots and Sydney to accompany her on the expedition into the secret passages, but there had been minor delays throughout the journey. She reached out and took Sydney by the arm as he stepped into the passage, then guided him into the stone and gravel corridor.

Broots smiled to himself as he followed closely; happy that someone other than himself was feeling the brunt of her impatience.

“Uh, Miss Parker,” he said, stopping short, “I think we should have turned back there.”

“Only if we wanted to end up in the Centre hallway,” she snapped, then taking a deep breath said, “Look, we know Jarod went through the panel in the wall. I doubt that, even he would have then gone into a main corridor and expect to go unnoticed.”

“I’m afraid she’s right, Broots,” Sydney replied, “besides, look at the markings on the ground. Someone has been through here very recently.”

“How can you tell?”

He bent down and pointed to the scrapings in the gravel, “Granted it isn’t clear, but there are some definite indications that something was wheeled through the little bit of gravel.”

The three glanced at one another, then continued down the passage, following the light trail. When they reached the elevator, they stopped.

“Now what?” Miss Parker asked.

“Well, we know we’re on the bottom floor,” Broots offered, “so we can’t go down.”

“Brilliant,” she snapped, reaching behind and rubbed her back, “so how many floors do we go up?”

“I say we take one at a time,” a voice responded.

They turned suddenly and found the Major standing at the end of the hall.

“How . .?”

“Calm down, Miss Parker,” he said, stepping toward her, “I have access to Jarod’s laptop, remember? He had the blueprint stored on his hard drive. After no one showed up for the meeting you arranged, I decided to take a chance.”

“Where’s the boy?” Sydney asked.

“Safe.”

Sydney nodded, understanding the other man’s protectiveness. Turning back to the elevator, he noticed Miss Parker leaning against the wall.

“Are you all right?” he asked worriedly.

She nodded, “I’m just a little tired. Lets go.”

The three men watched her enter the elevator, then followed slowly. As the car went up one floor, she felt their eyes still upon her and glared at each one in turn.

“What?”

“Are you sure you are all right, Miss Parker?” Broots asked, “You don’t look so good.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“He’s right,” the Major added, “you’re pretty pale. Maybe you should go back . .”

“Not on your life,” she shot back, “Jarod is here because he . .”

Sydney and Broots looked away, awkwardly as her voice trailed off.

“Miss Parker,” the Major offered, “it is not your fault that Jarod is here. He made the choice to not get on that plane,” his voice was tender, “and I believe, given the same circumstances, he would do the same thing.”

She shook her head, and stepped out of the car, but did not respond. Looking to her left, she stopped suddenly, causing all three men to exit the elevator and follow her line of vision. At the end of the hall they saw a set of legs peering crookedly out of an open door. As the sight registered, all three quickened their pace until they were about ten feet away.

“That isn’t Jarod,” she whispered, as they approached cautiously, “look at the pants. He was wearing a sweat suit.”

“Oh, my God,” Sydney breathed, when he saw the wheel of the oxygen tank, “it’s Raines.”

“Well, I’ll be . .,” she answered, allowing the grin to cross her face.

Miss Parker was the first to step into the doorway, her gun drawn, and came face to face with Jarod. He was staring coldly, his firearm still pointed at his victim on the ground, oblivious to the new arrivals.

“Jarod?” the Major stepped around Sydney, who had bent down to check for a pulse on the downed man, “Jarod, put the gun down.”

His eyes moved slowly toward the voice, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath, and began to back away. Shaking his head slightly, his eyes moved from the Major to the balding man behind him, to the woman who was stepping closer.

Still on the ground with Raines, Sydney stood slowly and started toward Jarod. As recognition flickered in the young man’s eyes, he began to lower the gun. As the four were about to let out a collective sigh of relief, Jarod raised the automatic again and pointed it at Sydney, his hands shaking.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I . .”

“Jarod, put the gun down,” Miss Parker repeated, circling him slowly, “I don’t want to have to shoot you.”

“Please,” he whispered, without moving, “it’s the only way.”

“No, it’s not,” she said, trying to hide the fear in her voice, “put the gun down. Please.”

Sydney, who had come to a standstill when Jarod raised the weapon, began moving slowly into the room. Keeping eye contact at all times with the Pretender, and keeping his voice low, Sydney whispered to Broots to drag Raines from the room. The old bastard was still breathing and, even though something told him that he was at least partly responsible for the situation, did not want him to be injured again.

“Jarod,” Sydney said calmly, “I do not want to hurt you. You know that.”

“You . .,” Jarod answered, indicated Raines as he was pulled from the room, “You and he hurt my family. You have to pay.”

“Jarod, what are you talking about?” the Major asked, “How did Sydney hurt your family?”

“He killed them,” he responded, staring straight ahead.

The Major stepped in front of Sydney, “Jarod, look at me,” he said, trying to keep his eyes from following Miss Parker, “You know me. Who am I?”

Once Sydney was hidden from view, Jarod stared at the other man, lowering the weapon slightly, “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do, Son,” he said softly.

Jarod blinked, and shook his head, something was wrong. He glanced at the man again, lowering the gun more, “This is a trick. You aren’t here.”

“Of course I am,” he said, “the Centre lied to you.”

He shook his head again, “No.”

Before the Major could respond, Miss Parker let out a yell and extended her right leg with amazing force, pushing Jarod sideways. Surprised by the blow, Jarod dropped the gun as he fell to the ground. Kicking the gun from his reach, the Major knelt beside Jarod and wrapped him in his arms.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, pulling his son close, “It’s okay.”

She stepped hesitantly toward Sydney, “Are you all right?”

He nodded, watching the embrace between father and son, “I’m fine,” he answered turning toward her, “are you?”

She nodded, and asked bitterly, “What about Raines?”

“He’ll be fine,” Sydney answered, “I told Broots to go get help. He should be back soon so we have to get them out of here.”

She stepped in front of him, and indicated that he should stay put, then moved quietly to the pair on the floor. The Major, his arms still pulled around Jarod, looked up as she approached, tightening his grip.

“Major,” she said softly, “we have to get him out of here. Sweepers are on their way to help Raines.’

The man pulled away from his son and looked into the blank eyes, “Jarod, can you stand? It’s time to go.”

Jarod shook his head, “I can’t leave.”

“Jarod . .”

“No,” he looked at his father, his voice barely a whisper, “he told me I have to stay. I have to finish my job or he’ll be angry.”

The Major looked into the brown eyes, glistening with tears, and his heart sank, “Jarod, who told you that you have to stay?”

“Lyle.”

Upon hearing her brother’s name, Miss Parker knelt in front of Jarod, “What exactly did Lyle tell you to do?”

“I have to prove my loyalty to the Centre,” he whispered, his voice almost robotic, “I have to kill Mr. Raines,” he glanced at the psychologist, “and Sydney, if he gets in the way.”

“Why?” she asked, swallowing her anger.

Jarod looked at his father, his eyes red and swollen, “They didn’t hurt you?”

“No,” the Major grinned, “I’m fine, and so is the boy. He’s waiting for us.”

Miss Parker stood and stepped abruptly away as the Major helped Jarod to his feet. Lyle and Raines had been in charge of Jarod’s retraining, obviously her brother had decided he wanted them both gone. She knew he hated Jarod, but it was the attack on Raines that had her stumped. Lyle and Raines had seemed to develop a partnership over the last year, why would her brother suddenly do an about face?

“Jarod,” she said, turning back, “If you go, now, with the Ma . .your father, no one will stop you.”

He looked at her skeptically.

“It’s okay,” she assured him, “you can go. But I need to know why Lyle told you to kill Raines.”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you guess?”

After a few seconds, Jarod stepped toward her and ran his hand along her back, resting lightly on her wound. Leaning into her, he kissed her softly on the cheek and whispered, “Retribution.”

The End