Disclaimer: I do not own The Pretender or anything affiliated with it. The show and all its characters are property of NBC, TNT, and Steve and Craig. No profit is being made. Please don’t sue.

Spoilers: "The World’s Changing"
Author’s Note: I guess this could be considered a sequel to Thumbless in the Desert and Final Thoughts. Then again, not really. If you want to think of it that way, you can. It might make more sense if you read those two first, but it doesn't really matter. So don't worry about it.

Summary: With Mr. Parker, Mr. Raines, and Miss Parker out of the way and Jarod recaptured, how will Mr. Lyle deal with his newfound power? More importantly, how long will it last?

Nothing’s Forever
by: chopsticks
p g – 1 3

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"Nothing's forever."
—Mr. Lyle ("Red Rock Jarod")

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I watch from the shadows in front of the cell as Jarod is dragged into his cell by Sam and another sweeper, Chris. I'm wearing one of my favorite suits: a snow white one. Nothing like a little symbolism to start the day off right!

The lab rat is tossed into the cell haphazardly by the sweepers, who seem to be just a little bit pissed. I crouch down in front of him, a sneer lingering on my face. I think I smell something, so I sniff the air. Yep, definitely B.O.

"He still stinks," I say in annoyance, turning to glare at the sweepers. Chris visibly shrinks back underneath my glare, but Sam, who is used to constant cold looks from his former mistress, meets my gaze levelly.

"On the way to the showers he freaked. I thought he was gonna chew my heart out!" Sam explains, glaring evilly at Jarod, and then glancing toward his jacket, which appears to be missing a button. Perfect. The moron is falling right into my little trap and doesn't even know it. "Took a little swipe from the Motivator to calm him down."

I grab Jarod by the scruff of his neck to get him to look at me. Because, you know, God forbid he do something simple like raise his own fucking head. I have to do nearly everything for him, I swear! The idiot groans in some sort of weird way, making it hard to define just what point there was to it. Typical Lab Rat.

"If you don't wanna go to the showers, we'll bring the showers to you," I say patiently, as if explaining it to a child. Oh, wait a minute! Jarod is a child, just a really large one!

Jarod decides this is the best time to spit in my face. Yes, that's right. He just spat in my face. Figures. You do something nice for him, and he spits in your face. Same thing happened in that little town in the middle of nowhere.

I slam his head onto the concrete. Teach him to be so insolent. You'd think he'd manage to figure out that when you're locked in a cell with two guards standing right behind me, it might not be the best time to piss your captor off. Teach me to assume that he has an IQ larger than his own shoe size.

I walk out of the cell to a safe distance. This is, after all, one of my favorite suits. I'm not willing to get a dry-clean only suit tainted by even one little droplet of water. The sweepers grab the fire hose I had placed down here and turn it on him. It's rather comedic watching Rat Boy squirm around, trying to get away from the spray of water. I make a slight motion with my hand, signaling the sweepers to fry the cheapie camera stuck up in the corner. It's not really linked anywhere, just to the TV in the next room. It's all a part of the plan.

After Jarod has been thoroughly tossed around by the water and the entire area is drenched, I decide it's time to move on to the next portion of my little devious plan.

"Enough!"

As soon as the water is shut off, Jarod instantly collapses to the ground. Seriously. Having water sprayed on him is apparently an enormous physical activity for him. I privately wonder how he's managed to remain so skinny if he's already winded. Note to self: Schedule time in the gym for him, preferably with Thor, the personal trainer who thinks that five hours is a short workout.

"We don't want him dead," I roll my eyes in my head at this comment, because damned if I don't want the bastard dead, especially after what he did to me in that cabin last year. "Just less odiferous." I toss Stinky here a bar of white soap (It had to match the suit, you see. Symbolism in its grandest form!), and he glares at it warily, like he thinks it's going to jump up and bite his nose off or something. While that would be amusing to see, it's even more amusing to see him afraid of a bar of soap.

"Clean the filth off yourself. And then," I pause and glance around. I never noticed just how dirty these cells are. It's quite disgusting, if you ask me. "Do the walls."

Oh, oh, oh! Is that. . .? Why, yes, I think it is! It's disgust on Ratty's features! Wow, never saw that one before! He actually looks at the wall to his left, and I'm pretty sure that his expression just changed. I wouldn't be surprised if he's thinking "Looks like home." God knows he's lived in enough dirty little rat holes.

His inspection of the wall complete, he picks up the soap and tosses it back to me. I, of course, catch it. Why wouldn't I have?

"You clean it."

See, now, there's that insolence again! Honestly, what is so hard to understand about not talking back to your captor? I mean, come on!

I restrain the urge to roll my eyes at his idiocy for about the billionth time in my life and crouch down in front of him again, smirking slightly. This is going to be fuuuuuuuun.

"The world is changing. Mr. Parker is gone. Mr. Raines is gone. Miss Parker is. . ." I pause here for dramatic effect, knowing this will, without a doubt, cut right through that big, bloody heart of his. ". . .God only knows where." A flash of triumph echoes throughout me as Jarod, ever concerned about his precious Miss Parker, glances away and tries to prevent the look of worry and sadness that is so blatantly taking possession of his face. He never was very good at hiding his emotions, stupid git.

"But you and I are here. And I'm in charge." I sincerely hope I didn't let the giddiness that I'm feeling permeate my voice. I'm in charge of The Centre! Me! I told him back in Dry River that I would be in charge, and lookie see: I'm in charge! Ha!

Jarod glares at me again, which is, of course, nothing new. I never get any credit around here. I could swear that his face just became darker, but that might just be the truly awful lighting we have in the cells. I'm going to have to do something about that. And the walls too. A bit of white paint and some harsh fluorescent lighting will cheer the place up!

After a few seconds, the staring contest ends, and I'm the obvious winner. Hee. I love winning. I drop the bar of soap in front of him while standing up, showing my superiority.

Yep. After all, I can see the future. I know exactly what that little lab rat is going to do as soon as we leave, which I make sure Sam and I do quite promptly. I hear the door slam closed behind me and grin to myself, since I know that Sam is making a show of being angry about his missing button. I would be too, if it weren't a cheap coat I gave him about half an hour ago.

Chris, Sam, and I go and wait in the room Jarod will eventually end up in. I know it'll take him quite a while to work his way through the system to what he thinks is an exit (Well, it was at one point, before I figured out that was how he was always escaping and made the current addition to the end of the route.) I figure it should take him about ten minutes to work his way to the cage, but I was also assuming that he was able to withstand the blast from a fire hose without becoming winded, so it might be a bit longer.

Or a lot longer. Nearly twenty minutes have passed and he still hasn't shown up. I'm starting to get annoyed. If he's dead in the ducts somewhere, that is not going to reflect well on me with Mutumbo. Just as I'm about to send Chris in after him, there's a rattling from above. Finally! I motion for Chris to move over by the light switch and prepare to flick on the fluorescents. This is going to be sweet!

A few seconds later, Jarod drops down into the cage and runs headlong into the chain-link fence. Chris switches the lights on and I'm standing there, in my stark white suit, grinning malevolently. I wish I had a picture, because this truly is a Kodak moment.

"Like I said, the world is changing." I smirk at him, just a little bit, and he freaks out on us, running around screaming at the top of his lungs and trying to shake the fence loose. Good luck there, Wonder Boy. He gets in a curse or two at me, but nothing more significant than, "You bastard!" Trust me, I've been called far worse things by far better people.

He finally collapses against the side of the fence and screams for one last time. Thank God that little drama routine is over. Oh well, it was needed to begin the process of controlling him. And, oh, how much fun I'm going to have doing this! If only the Lab Rat knew what I had in store for him!

I have Sam and Chris drag him out again, handcuffing him to be safe, though I doubt he'll try to cause any problems for a little while. He's been beaten, but not broken. At least, not yet.

For Jarod, there is nothing he wants to see more than his family. That and making sure his precious childhood friend Miss Parker is alive and safe. I am going to use this to my advantage. After all, he'll do anything for family, won't he? Especially if he believes that I have them in my custody.

The next three weeks should prove very interesting, especially if everything goes according to plan.

-----

There's a knock on my office (new office, mind you) door, and I know exactly who it is, because he has been stopping in every other day for the past two weeks. Frankly, it's getting rather tiring. Hopefully, this time will be a bit different. I have something to show the good doctor!

Sydney enters soon after the knock, and I beckon him over. Might as well not waste time. I have an important meeting in a few minutes, and Sydney can not be present, no matter what.

"Lyle, I need to talk to you-"

"Yes, yes. I know. About Jarod. Same as always." I flip on the DSA of Jarod's arrival and subsequent duping, and angle it toward Sydney, who is now standing next to me. He assumes his typical "doctor pose" of his right fist held up underneath his chin, as if his neck needs the extra support to hold up the weight of his giant brain. Mentally, I roll my eyes. And people call me conceited.

"What's this?" he queries as the picture springs up on the screen.

"Just watch," I reply, preparing to bask in my own sheer genius. Sometimes I have the best ideas. "That was three weeks ago. Since then we've been working on making him more . . ." I pause and tilt my head from side to side, looking for the word I want that will have the least shock value. ". . . manageable."

"Why haven't I been allowed to see him?" he asks, that hand supporting his head falling slightly, as if speaking makes his brain that much heavier. Not to sound too much like a teenage girl, but please! I might be able to believe it if the question he asked required more thought than a rat needs to know that cheese is tasty.

"Look at him. He was out of control.” I fast-forward through some of the DSA, getting random images of Jarod bitching about one thing or another. I’m about to prove my point, damn it, and I need a video to back it up.

"Was?" Sydney asks in confusion, a typical state for him, and looks toward me.

"The world is changing, and so is boy wonder." Ahhh, yes, here it is. The perfect shot. I absolutely love this part of the disk. The screen is stopped at an image of Jarod chained up in his cell, soaking wet and shirtless. There are jumper cables being held up and one of the clamps has a sponge that is dripping wet secured in its teeth. This is, quite possibly, the best torture I have ever come up with in the entirety of my life, and I’ve come up with a lot of crazy shit. I think we all know that Jarod is to thank for this one, though. After all, his actions back at that cabin a year ago got me thinking about this little idea in the first place. It’s only fair that he be the first one to experience it.

The best part is when he screams from the pain because the sound echoes out of the DSA player and into the room, giving it a weak surround-sound effect. It is truly magnificent. I am a genius, at least when it comes to torture.

Sydney leans down nearer to me, obviously suddenly concerned about my mental health. Yeah, like he ever cared before. "Listen to me Lyle, you're a sick man."

Please. Sick is not the term I would use to describe myself. Maybe disturbed, yes, but not sick. Besides, this is just too entertaining to look away from.

"I'm a. . .persuasive man."

The on-screen version of myself starts talking, and I realize I’ve managed to find another of my favorite parts. Sydney’s attention is thankfully drawn back to the player. I hate it when he stares at me and starts analyzing me. It gives me the creeps.

I love how much control I have over the little freak in this particular part of the video. It gives me so much pleasure it should be deemed illegal in public!

"Jarod, I have a project that I'd like you to do for me." My alternate self sits down on Jarod’s cot and Jarod shuffles over, obviously under my control. I love it.

"Anything you want. . .Mister. . .Lyle." The only thing I hate about this particular section of the recording is how he’s practically spitting out my name. You’d think that with everything I’d given him—a bed, for example—that he’d be a bit more grateful to me than he is. Figures. I never get any gratitude around here.

"Brain washing’s not possible with Jarod," Sydney interjects over the DSA. He says that like I don’t already know that. You know, I didn’t get to be in charge purely by chance—I did have to think a bit. I guess I’ll just have to explain it to Sydney, per usual. It’s amazing how little doctors actually seem to know.

"Oh, we all have an Achilles heel. In Jarod's case it's family, the one he so desperately wants back."

Oh, oh! I think I shocked Sydney yet again. Another point for Mr. Lyle!

Sydney finally focuses his attention back on the screen, where it should have been all along, just in time to hear and see the best part.

"If you wanna hear about mommy and daddy, you have to trust me." Jarod starts sobbing and places his head on my thigh, just like a broken child.

"I love that part," I mumble absentmindedly. If only I didn’t have a meeting in a few minutes, I’d grab my current secretary and have some fun and fine cuisine tonight.

"Lyle, please, let me go to him," Sydney begs, pulling me out of my euphoria. The bastard. Just when I start getting happy, he has to go and ruin it on me. Oh well, it’s just as well. I have to be coherent and decidedly non-happy to deal with Mr. White. I exhale sharply and unite my thoughts into something coherent. Hopefully this answer will be enough to placate him.

"Sydney, if it were up to me, you two could go on a father-son picnic. But the isolation orders come from The Triumvirate. Big Mutumbo." If that picnic included two pine boxes and two large holes in the ground, I'd be all for it. Otherwise, the two of them aren’t getting out of my sight (or a sniper’s sight, for that matter) any time soon. "But, the isolation orders come from The Triumvirate. Big Mutumbo."

Sydney looks like he's about to say something idiotic, per usual, when my door swings open and I'm saved by the albino-for-hire himself, Mr. White. Ironically, Mr. White is dressed all in black. It's a nice effect, and seems to be confusing Sydney even more. I wonder when the last time he had a mental proficiency test was. . .

"I got here as quickly as I could," Mr. White says in his typically chilling voice as I rise to my feet and begin to move around the desk, trying to get past the hunk of lard that is standing to my left.

"Sydney, if you'll excuse me..." I say, walking around Sydney and making a beeline for the exit. I'll be damned if I'm going to get stuck continually answering questions about my treatment of Jarod! I feel two cold and wrinkly hands grab my shoulders and spin me around, and I make every effort possible not to gag noticeably.

"We haven't finished talking about Jarod!" Sydney exclaims insistently, as if he expects me to spend my entire day talking to him about Jarod when I clearly have better and more important things to be doing.

"Sydney," I explain patiently, "Jarod is no longer the most important thing in the world. And tomorrow, he leaves forever. He's Mutumbo's property. And I, for one, am not going to cross that crazy Zulu. Did you see the look on his face when he took Raines and my father away?" I tried to make it seem like I really cared with that last line, but it's a bit difficult when I really could care less and am pressed for time. Thankfully, the bumbling psychologist doesn't seem to notice and just nods absently, his mind clearly already wandering off into unknown spaces. I turn and go toward the door, glad to be leaving this pointless conversation behind. "Just, uh. . .take in a movie, get a massage, check out the amputee dwarves down on SL-6. Just forget about Jarod!"

Mr. White and I make our hasty exit, heading toward the elevators in the rotunda.

"I trust your arrival was uneventful?" I inquire mildly to Mr. White. No, I don't really care how his arrival was, but even sociopaths know when to follow common courtesy.

"I don't like niceties, Mr. Lyle. Let's just get down to business, shall we?" His tone is cold and professional. He obviously knows what he's doing and probably even enjoys his work. I admire that in a person.

"That's quite all right with me. But let's not discuss this in the open. . . There are eyes and ears everywhere." I happen to control all the electronic ones, but little does Mr. White know I'm referring to a certain resident thing that always manages to pop up at the most imperfect times. It would be just my luck that it'd overhear our conversation and scamper off and tell one of the bumbling idiots.

"Understandable. I trust that any people that would pose a problem have been removed for the time being?"

"Yes, I made sure Miss Parker was placed under a suicide watch over at Saint Catherine's. She won't be leaving any time soon! Any others are well within my ability to manage." Yes, all the bumbling idiots are taken care of for now.

Speaking of bumbling idiots, they both are blatantly watching Mr. White and me get on this elevator. I bet they think they're being sneaky about it all as well. . . Idiots. The doors close, cutting off my view of them, and Mr. White and I are on our way to one of the greatest projects ever undertaken by The Centre in the past ten years.

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to be continued. . .

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

Disclaimer and other information in part one.

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My meeting with Mr. White finished quickly, all our plans being laid out. If this project succeeds. . . Well, I don't even want to think of the possibilities, but all of them are of a large benefit to yours truly. Now to add the finishing touches to the day's work, and then I'll be on my way home to a relaxing evening of wining, dining, and binding. I allow a smile to creep to my features at the thought of what awaits me at home in my secret closet.

It is, of course, right at this point that I hear voices drifting from the vicinity of Jarod's cell, and one of them has a distinct accent. Only figures that he'd finally, at the worst time, find the balls to go searching for Jarod. I bet he even used that thing to help him out.

As I turn the corner but remain hidden in the shadows (God bless the poor lighting in the sublevels of The Centre!), Sydney's accented voice seems filled with incredulity. Actually, it sounds as if he is genuinely amused as he asks Jarod the one question that manages to sneak under my skin and really piss me off.

"You trust Lyle?"

Jarod, the good little puppy that he is, promptly asks in return, "Don't you?" It is at this point I decide to make my entrance. Maybe I'll give the old man a heart attack from the shock!

"Well, don't you? Sydney?" I allow my anger to seep into my voice, knowing it will, if nothing else, cower the thing standing next to Sydney. Sydney, on the other hand, is not so easily cowed, but I'll work on it. I firmly believe that when I'm through with this place, everyone will be begging to lick my shoes! Sydney shoots me a slightly amused look (Does the man have any looks other than variations of stupefied?) and rolls his eyes, but I continue on with my tirade.

"I see even you found this little needle in our haystack," I say, advancing into the room further, planning to intimidate the thing as best as I can (Which, honestly, isn't very hard, now is it?). "I wonder how?" I hiss at the thing, following it until it's cornered. "I never liked you. I'm not even sure what the hell you are." It cowers slightly, bowing his head and shuffling away. Good. It needs to learn its place. If I remember it, I'll be sure to stick it in Renewal Wing for a little reeducation sometime this week.

I glare at the thing a little more, just to get my point across, but the clock is ticking, and we need to get moving. "Come on Jarod, time to go." I pat Sam on the back like the cute little doggie he is. So obedient, and he knows better than to bite the hand that feeds him, unlike the other occupants of the room.

Sam unlocks the cage and Jarod just stares stupidly. Yawn. Nothing knew, You'd think he'd learn how to make other facial expressions by now, right?

"No injections this time, Jarod." Sam shakes the pill bottle he's holding in front of Jarod's face, as if that would help explain everything in the world. People do the strangest things, like talking louder and slower when dealing with someone who can't speak their language. Yes, because doing that really helps them to understand the nonsense they think you're spewing at them! People are morons.

Sam hands the pills to Jarod, and he blinks and stares at them for a bit, then asks the stupid question I expect him to ask (He's so predictable! Now tell me why Miss Parker has failed to capture him before now? Oh wait, nevermind. Stupid question.).

"Sedatives?" Dumbass.

"Jarod!" Sydney exclaims suddenly, as if to make his presence known again. The good doctor just can't stand being ignored for longer than ten minutes, can he? Sheesh.

"It's okay, Sydney. I prefer to sleep through this," Jarod says to placate Sydney, though I suspect it's more just to get the doctor to shut the hell up. Maybe it'll work. . .

"Jarod, don't!" Damn it. Oh well, at least it's driving Jarod to take the pills. I almost let my glee escape, but I catch the grin before it can fully form on my face. Things actually seem to be working out for me!

Sydney turns around, probably thinking that somehow he'll manage to confront me and make me change my mind. Right. Because, clearly, dreams are now reality. Stupid dog.

"Lyle, I won't allow it." Oooh, he's all authoritative sounding and everything! Wow! Well, when Sydney decides to lay down the law, then I just gotta follow, right?

Ha, hell no.

"Deny the sweet sorrow if you want to, but you two are parting. So, be a man." Instead of a dog for once! "Say adios." God, he's so attached to the Lab Rat. Honestly, aren't doctors supposed to not get emotionally involved? Why on Earth have we kept him around this long?

The two embrace, as expected. Oddest. Relationship. Ever. And I've had some pretty fucked up ones!

"Good-bye, Sydney," I hear Jarod partially whisper, as if it's the biggest secret in the world and big, bad Lyle can't know about it! Puh-lease.

They finally let go of each other and Jarod walks up to me for inspection. Ah, he knows the routine. So easily trainable, this one. Now, time to check to make sure he's not trying to pull one over on me, but I doubt that. I have gotten him so well trained he's probably even willing to lick my shoes clean after I go for a walk in a dog park.

I grab him by the cheeks and move his head around, checking his mouth. He has really bad breath. I must remember to make sure he gets a mint or something on the plane. God, I can barely breathe!

"Tongue," I command, and like the good doggie he is (bad breath and all), he lifts his tongue and I check underneath it for the sedatives. Nothing at all. I must admit, I'm a little disappointed. I was so hoping to torture him just a little bit more before shipping him off.

"Thatta boy," I say, patting him on the head. He'd make such a lovely pet. If only he were Asian. . .

Time to go, though. Time is running out. I turn to leave, stopping just long enough to issue an order to the beloved (Pff, yeah, by brainless freaks!) doctor.

"Sydney, put him away," I say, making a small motion toward the thing that's curled in on itself over there.

Sam grabs Jarod and leads him out of the room with me, and Jarod sends one last, sad look to Sydney. Yes, that's it. Motivate the doctor to pester me some more. Great. Thanks a lot, asshole. And here I thought he was on my side for getting Sydney to shut up.

I walk with Sam and Jarod part of the way in silence, then split off from them and head back to the office. So much to do, and oh-so-very little time. In a couple of minutes, one of my problems will be solved, and the solution to another will be put into motion.

I don't think today can possibly get any better.

-----

The phone rings next to me, and I clumsily reach for it, more distracted by the hunt for my missing DSA. Where the hell did that get off to?

"Lyle," I say tersely, digging through a drawer at the same time.

"Mr. Lyle." Sam. Why is he calling? "We have a problem, sir."

Oh, shit.

"What kind of problem, Sam?" I ask, my relentless searching ceasing for the time being.

"Well, sir. .." I can hear the hesitation in his voice. This is just plain screams "not good!"

"What?" I grind out, my patience pretty much exhausted now. I have a minute amount of patience for each day, and between this and having to deal with that thing and Sydney down in Jarod's former cell, it's gone.

"Jarod escaped, sir."

"WHAT?" I shout, standing up and sending the chair flying toward the wall behind me.

Jarod. Escaped.

Again.

Fuck!

There is nothing but silence on the other end. Damn it all. I feel like destroying something, and something pricey at that. I grab at the nearest thing (some artifact Daddy dearest has lying around the office) and hurl it at the wall, satisfied when it shatters and the sound reverberates throughout the room.

Okay. Better now. Less seething anger, more thinking. Always a good thing.

"How did he escape?"

Sam relays the entire story to me in detail, telling of his and the other sweepers' ineptitude. Lovely. And, of course, that rat bastard didn't take the damn sedatives. I bet he passed them off to Sydney or something. I'll have to remember to interrogate the old man a little later on, when there's less shit flying off of the fan.

"So Mr. White just disappeared after the plane crash?" Not good at all. He needs to not be running off to God-knows where right now. No, he needs to be going to do his damn job!

"Yes, sir."

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

"Get out of there and get someone to clean up the mess in the woods," I instruct quickly and hang up before Sam even has a chance to respond. He'll be dealt with when he gets back here. Renewal Wing sounds rather pleasant for his return.

I need to get in contact with Mr. White. If everything I've worked for has just been destroyed, I will personally tear Jarod limb from limb, and I'm gonna start by ripping out each and every single piece of hair on his body. With jumper cables.

I allow the pleasant image of Jarod screaming in tortured agony to wash over me for a minute, calming me considerably.

I pick up the phone and dial the number Mr. White has given me as his cell number. I can only hope he didn't lie to me. Something has to go right today, right?

The line rings a few times, then he answers.

"White."

"Mr. White, it's Mr. Lyle. I heard about the mishap. Are you all right?"

"Yes, Mr. Lyle. No major damage has been done, though I should inform you that Jarod did take some of the information on Silence."

Son of a bitch. Just what I don't need: Jarod sticking his nose where it most certainly does not belong! I really should have cut that thing off when I had the chance!

I sigh heavily out of irritation, then ask if he still has everything that he needs for Silence to be successfully completed (That is, of course, if I can manage to make sure Jarod doesn't get involved.).

"Yes, Mr. Lyle. I have the blueprints and everything I need. Tell our clients and Raylor that as soon as our inside person gets the ETA, Silence will go down flawlessly this time."

Flawlessly. If that doesn't sound like a salesman trying to sell me a lemon, I don't know what does!

"Flawlessly? What exactly do you mean by flawlessly? The Nash family will actually be killed this time around?"

"Well, the C-4 will catalyze the on-site accelerant and burn white-hot." He has an obtuse answer for everything. It's rather irritating, especially since Jarod likes to do the same thing. At least Mr. White's response are coherent and you know, smart.

"Will there be any links back to us or the corporate customers in the debris?" Have to keep the people paying the bills happy, you know. Plus, I'd lose a lot more than just another thumb if The Centre was ever implicated in any of the things we've been doing!

"Well, even if someone could dig through the debris, our corporate customers can rest assured that there will be no trace of even the timing device that survives. Oh, I guarantee you, there will be no trace left of the Nash family or anyone else that happens to be in that building."

"What about fallout in the surrounding areas and buildings?"

"Any residual fallout while just help mask the ID of our intended targets. I'll contact you when I'm in place."

The line cuts out. Done like a true salesman. I must admit, Mr. White is damn good at his job. Damn good indeed. Now I only need to make one more call, and then I can get out there and try to hunt down that rat bastard.

I grab the handsfree version of the phone. I just know I'm going to be pacing like mad. If there is one person I can't mouth off to, it's the man I'm about to call. Big Mutumbo. God help me.

I dial his direct line and prepare myself for what could possibly be the beginning of the end for me. God knows Mutumbo has a tendency to act out on his every whim.

He picks up, and my heart has literally stopped beating. I am going to die today, I can just feel it.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

I begin to pace as I explain the situation to him. I stop and squeeze my eyes shut when the last words leave my mouth, hoping that he won't order sweepers to kill me where I stand.

After a long silence, he finally speaks, though it is in his native language. That means he's probably too angry to speak coherently in English. Fuck.

One thing you should know about my illustrious boss is that he is long-winded. The man can just go on and on and on and on and on! Right now he's explaining to me how ironic it is that Jarod has escaped. Repeatedly. Using different phrases and descriptions each time. If it wasn't so damn irritating, I'd have to say it's quite impressive that he's that verbose.

But, God damn, it is irritating.

"Yes, Mutumbo. I understand clearly every word that you are saying and I assure you that the irony of Jarod's escape is not lost on me either." I rub my forehead during my pacing and stop behind my desk, my frustration and irritation clouding my judgment.

Of course, Mutumbo calls me on it, and I'm forced to try to cover my ass and suck up as best as possible in the situation.

"Facetious? No, no. Of course I'm not being facetious."

I sure hope that didn't sound like I'm trying to cover my ass. It's probably best not to dwell on that, so I cue up a picture of the Nash family on my computer. Soon they will be just a memory, and I'll finally be fully in charge of this place. Everything is coming to be as it should. Now if only Jarod were locked up in a cage somewhere deep underground, all would be perfect.

Speaking of Jarod, Mutumbo has been prattling on about him for some time now, saying exactly the same thing ten different ways.

"Yes, I understand the importance of reacquiring Jarod as it relates to Silence, but, as you know, we have an inside person, so our friends at Raylor can rest assured-"

It is at this point that Sydney waltzes into my office and I tense up, knowing I have to choose my words carefully now. Why does everyone think I have an open-door policy around here? I don't! Get the hell out of my office, damn it! I need to talk to my secretary about this.

"-that the project will not be compromised."

I eject the disc with Project Silence on it and drop it into my top drawer. I hope Sydney didn't notice, because I'll be damned if I have to deal with his ethical bullshit today. (Who is he to talk about ethics anyway? He kept a kid locked up and solving the government's dirty problems for the last thirty years! Not to mention all those freaky twin experiments he has going on.)

Mutumbo actually manages to keep one sentence fairly short, and I promptly answer, glad the conversation is over.

"Yes, sir, you have my word." I push the headset down around my neck and face Sydney, trying to prepare myself for whatever complaint he wishes to lodge now. If there is anyone that can complain about the smallest things, it would have to be Sydney. I wouldn't be surprised if one day he walked in here and started complaining that a piece of framed art down in the lobby was crooked by the merest thousandth of an inch.

"It seems like the world hasn't changed so much," Sydney observes gleefully. Great, he's come to gloat. Dog's don't gloat. Someone should probably inform Sydney of this, because he looks like the cat that ate the canary.

You know, I really don't need this today. I just need to get him out of here so I can go back to crisis management.

"Okay, Sydney. You were right, and I was wrong," I hiss at him, much like a child would, only I'm slightly more stressed out than your average child. Ah, if only my biggest concern was getting a cookie out of the cookie jar! "But I'd rather be alive and wrong than dead right. If we don't get Jarod back, I'm not going to be the only one Mutumbo is going to personally reeducate."

Sydney continues smirking at me, but I think he knows as well as I do that he will be among the reeducated, especially since Jarod was originally his ward.

Broots bursts through my door. People really need to stop just walking in here! I turn to find out what the hell the little weasel wants-

Ahhh! My eyes! What the hell is he wearing? Dear God. .. It's some sort of yellow and green bowling shirt.

First thing I'm doing when I have full power is implementing a dress code. Or maybe just taking Broots' wardrobe and burning it all. Wait, that would leave him shirtless to wander around The Centre. I repress a shudder at the image. Good thing I didn't eat anything yet today. Dress code for all it is.

"Oh, sorry for bursting in!" Broots raises one of his hands in an apologetic gesture. Well, at least he apologizes for it. Still doesn't help my mood any.

"What?" I ask, exasperation seeking into my voice as I roll my eyes at the techie before me.

"You wouldn't believe who I saw lurking the hallway, looking as alive as day!" Great descriptive prowess there, Broots. Please, drop the tech stuff and go be a writer! Your butchering of the art of language is just what the public is looking for!

Jackass.

"I mean, rumor has it he's supposed to be dead! But he's. . ." Broots trails off a bit when the door opens (Damn it! Stop it already!) and in wheezes Mr. Raines. ". . .not."

Why. Is. Raines. Alive? I thought for sure Mutumbo would have had him conveniently disappear when he tried that little coup d'etat on Mr. Parker. It worked, of course, just not in the way he wanted it to. Lucky me.

The oxygen tank squeaks, which is quite possibly the single most terrifying noise one can ever hear in their life. Yes, even I'm scared of this man. He's just. . .creepy!

The squeaking blessedly stops when Raines stops in front of Broots and wheezes at him, "Glad to disappoint you." Oh ho ho, Broots is so very dead!

I blink and the most surrealistic thing I have ever witnessed in my life happens. Raines hugs Broots. Yes, hugs! Broots looks like he might pass out at any moment and has emitted some kind of high-pitched squeak for help. I'll be damned if I'm going anywhere near that walking dead man.

"Mmmm, it's good to be back in the bosom of The Centre!" Raines exclaims cheerfully as he pats Broots on the back. Broots just looks like he wants to sink into a very, very large hole and never crawl out. I think that can be arranged.

Sydney looks over at me and I'm suddenly aware of the fact that my jaw is not, in fact, closed. My mouth is gaping open in complete and utter shock, because, well, this is pretty damn shocking!

People at The Centre never die, do they?

"God bless you all!"

God? He found God? Maybe whatever Mutumbo did to Raines here was worse than death. . . I can only imagine, but I really don't want to.

Broots is released from Raines' grip, and he looks greatly disturbed. You and me both, buddy.

"Now. . . let's go catch Jarod!"

There's only one response to that: "Amen!"

-----

to be continued.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.

Disclaimer and other information in part one.

-----

I am now alone in my office, thankfully. I'd also made sure my lovely secretary understood that no one was to enter without my express permission. For once I am actually putting her to use!

I sit quietly, absently swirling the vodka that resides in the tumbler in my good hand.

Raines is back. Somehow, someway, he escaped Mutumbo's clutches and came back relatively unscathed. And by "relatively unscathed" I mean "a Bible-thumping sociopath." Kind of an oxymoron, if you ask me, especially after everything the "good doctor" has done. (Including, of course, the formation of my little personality quirks.)

He's back, and I seriously doubt he's going to take my takeover lying down. After all, this entire situation only came about by his own little attempt at a coup d'etat, which I promptly took from him. In fact, he's probably scheming on how to take over now that dear old Dad has disappeared to who-knows-where. The only person standing in his way is myself, and I doubt he has any issues with taking me out of the game for good.

And all had been going so well. Raines and Dad were gone, dragged off by Mutumbo. My dear sister was--is--safely tucked away at Saint Catherine's (Rather fitting, don't you think?) under suicide watch (She, of course, is about as likely to commit suicide as Broots is to do something that isn't asked of him. Really, he's quite lazy! I always have to intimidate him to get him to do anything, though less so now that his protector is lying drugged up in the hospital.). Family history can be a powerful tool. Jarod was happily imprisoned several floors below me, and we were actually on the trail of his misfit family.

Things were, for once, looking up. Then again, what goes up (or perhaps even looks up), must come down. Karma, or at least physics, can be a real bitch.

I think that, unfortunately, in order to secure my position and make sure everything works out, I'm going to need Parker's help. That means I need to let her out of the hospital so she can be breathing down my neck in a rather displeasing way.

Perfect.

Oh well. I'm sure that I can use her to track down Jarod. Or make him come to us, actually. Because, you know, they don't have any leftover feelings from when they were kids. Not at all. Nooo.

A plan is beginning to form in my mind as to how I might be able to use her (No, no, not in that way, unfortunately!). I can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, things can still work out for me, even after going so horribly awry.

Now I just need to finalize a few plans, then call Saint Catherine's and let Sis out. With any luck, I can put the plan into motion by this evening.

-----

I roll up to my sister's house and kill the engine. Time to see if I can convince my dear sibling to join me tomorrow for what will be her and Jarod's meeting last meeting. At least in this world, that is.

I sneak into the house unnoticed. Lucky for me, she's enraptured by a video that's playing on a camera. I can hear our father's voice talking about family and trusting me (That's a laugh and a half!). The old man is either playing straight into my hands and not realizing it, or there's more going on than what meets the eye. It probably has to do with that bitch Brigette. She always seemed to have it out for me (even when she was sleeping with me).

Dad's voice sounds a little rough around the edges, which means he's probably fallen on hard times. Good. I hope he stays away forever or Mutumbo catches up to him. His time is done. It's my time to shine. His legacy has been taken over (perhaps prematurely, in his view) by his son. I'm the head of this little tyranny he calls a family now.

Parker is still completely oblivious to my presence. No wonder she never catches Jarod! She wouldn't know if he was in the same room with her until he was out of it! Why my father had her work on this project I will never quite understand.

"Don't forget: 'A family is a tyranny-'"

Time to make my presence known and play doting brother!

"'-ruled over by its weakest member," I finish for him, coming up behind dear Miss Parker, no longer hiding my presence. She slams the camera onto the end table in shock, and I'm sure that, if I could see her face, I would be greeted with the sight of her closed eyes and tense face. Oh yes, I love fucking with her head.

"Thank God you're safe! You had me worried!" Did that sound too phony? I'm always concerned about how my acting is. Too bad I can't ask for honest feedback.

"About what? That suicidal sis might play a little game of razor roulette?" she hisses, clearly not believing me. I guess that's all the feedback I'm gonna get. Time to kick it up a notch.

I look down at the floor, acting a bit abashed by her anger. "The suicide watch was for your own protection." Yeah, sure, when "protection" means "kept the hell out of my way for a few days so I can finalize my plans to kill you." That's protection, right?

"Oooh," she nods while grinning. I really don't think she's buying this.

"Not perfect, but it was all I could think of. The more others thought you were a non-factor, the safer you'd be." Yeah. . .that sounds plausible enough. I love my moments of genius inspiration!

"Others?" she questions, sound like she's starting to believe me. Yes! I am awesome! (Already knew this.) I am the greatest actor in Blue Cove! (Okay, that's not saying much, but it's a start.)

"The same ones that got to Raines, that put the scare into our father." You know, it's really hard to be vague but specific at the same time. I'll have to work on that when I have some spare time.

"Which conveniently puts you in charge." Damn, she's not believing me any more and her tone has just become accusing once again. It seems to be the only one she has around me. She really needs to work on that.

"Mutumbo snaps, I jump. Guilty." Even she understands that Mutumbo is one crazy fucker and it's prudent to do what he says rather than try to negotiate with him. Anyone that has ever tried it has ended up in a hole approximately six feet deep.

"You and your team. . . I know all about your covert division. Mr. White. Silence." She's glaring at the back of my head, and I can just about feel my hair starting on fire with her gaze. Ouch. How the hell did she find all that out so quickly? Well, I'll just have to work with it. Already I have a plan beginning to form.

I spin around to face her and say, "Good, because I need your help. Look." She just turned away from me, arrogant bitch. I'm trying to explain something I just made up five seconds ago! The least she can do is give me her full attention! "I'm being straight here. Silence is a Level A contract! The last thing I needed was for Jarod to escape and make this his cause!" Somehow, I think I knew I'd end up having to deal with Jarod trying to ruin my plans. He always does, and for no real good reason either. So what if one insignificant family (to his life, anyway) dies. Thousands of people die every single day! Why doesn't he go and try to fuck up someone else's plans for once!

Parker walks away from me and grabs a bottle. How typical. That woman is going to die of a diseased liver in the next ten years. That is, if I don't get to her first.

"Careful, you're sweating," she hisses. Always hissing at me! I'm her brother! I at least pretend to be nice to her. She could do the same!

"Well, with Jarod hovering I'd be stupid not to." My sister is an alcoholic. I think I have the worst family in the history of families. Well, second worst. The first one was just a bit worse, what with the beatings and such. She pours herself a glass of some random (and probably expensive, knowing her) alcohol, and then points at me with it. She's gotten quite good at gesticulating with a glass in her hand, I'll give her that, I guess.

"You botch a Level A and you'll need my prayers, not my help." She moves to walk away to some other part of the house, but I get in her way. Time to start "pleading!"

"I need my sister. I've always been a survivor, Parker, but in the past year since I found my father and you I've realized it's not just me against the world." I am so damn good at creating bullshit. If I didn't enjoy my job so much, I might have once considered a career change to lawyer. God knows bullshitting is a necessary skill for lawyers!

She walks past me slowly, going to sit down, and says breathlessly, "I hear the world's changing." Good. She's still in pain and not in top form. This helps me even more.

"And one look into Dad's eyes confirms that," I say, grabbing the camera and showing it to her. "And like it or not, you and I are it. Let's fight for it. For us. For him." The undertones in that little speech are amazing. She may be my sister (according to Jarod, at least), but that doesn't mean I don't find her damn attractive. If I had things my way, sister or no, she'd be in that little shed behind my closet, and we'd be having lots of fun right about now. Well, fun for me at least! I've always wondered what it would take to break her.

"We'll see," she replies, glaring at me. Somehow I get the feeling this will all depend on how hungover and how drugged up she is in the morning. Time to pull out the wildcard.

"You know that Jarod will most likely make an appearance, and if you get him, especially with the all the rearranging going on at The Centre. . ." I let that hang in the air, hoping it'll be enough to convince her.

"We'll see," she repeats, but she's obviously thinking about it now. She takes a sip of her alcohol, then says, "Get out of my house." She is not a good hostess. She needs to learn some manners! I guess after tomorrow they'll be moot anyway, but still. It's like she was raised in a shed, and I would know, because I was raised in a shed!

I nod and walk toward the door, stopping briefly to rest my hand on her shoulder. I can feel her immediately tense up and I notice her sharp intake of breath. I probably just made her strain her back a bit. Good.

"Be safe." And with that, I'm gone. I need to rest up before tomorrow. I need to get an early start and double check that everything is going to be in proper working order.

-----

I have just gotten off of the phone with Mr. White, and he assures me that everything is going smoothly thus far. He hasn't seen hide nor hair of Jarod yet, which is good. It, of course, doesn't mean that he isn't going to make an appearance, it just means that for right now, everything is still in order. White says that our contact is still in play, so that means Jarod hasn't gotten to him. Yet.

I can't shake this foreboding feeling. Today just seems off to me. Maybe it's the weather. I never was a fan of cloudy days, especially when I'm on a plane. Somehow I don't like the idea of flying through the air when you can't see anything at all. It's like driving your car through dense fog. Just not fun, in my book.

We start making our final descent and my mind turns to what will happen today. An entire research facility will be leveled, blamed on terrorists or some random extremist group by the government, and the Nash family will be no more. Finally. How they even managed to escape the first time around is beyond me. But, well, the best laid plans. . .

The sweepers are the first off of the plane (which had a bumpy landing, also something I'm not a fan of) and they all manage to pile into a car, while I get into the limo. I love being the boss. Sure, they have a nice sedan to ride in, but I have a minibar. And peanuts! Peanuts are my favorite. I grin as I toss a few into my mouth. Maybe today will work out for the best. After all, down here the sun is shining and everything seems right.

Today is suddenly on again, and it will be a good day.

-----

I'm explaining the plan (For the second time, mind you. Sweepers aren't hired for their brains, you know.) to the sweepers when I notice Miss Parker walking up to us, albeit slowly and carefully. Guess she's not that drugged up after all. I was kind of hoping she'd be a little more out of it so she doesn't notice what's going on until it's too late, but she never was known for figuring things out beforehand. She's not the most observant (or brightest) of the bunch!

"Glad to see you've decided to take up the fight," I say to her as I walk up, the sweepers trailing behind me like good little minions. I wonder, if I poke one with a stick, will he just take it? After all, he is trained to obey me. . . I'll have to try that later.

"I didn't come here to help. I came to catch Jarod," she bites out, turning away and leading us toward the building. I'll let her think she has some semblance of authority. Let her think she's important before she dies. Yeah, I know, I'm just that nice of a guy.

Time to put the plan into motion.

"We'll have a better chance of catching Jarod if we split up. You three take the inside and I'll cover the outside." Let her think I'm giving her the glory. After all, didn't I say I'd do that last night. Oh yes, I'm evil. And I love every moment of it!

"Fine," she says curtly and flings open the door (Must she do that with every single door? No wonder they've had to replace her door twice since I've been at The Centre!), walking inside. I watch them go, then check my watch. Ten minutes.

I head back to the car and grab the paper that's sitting on the seat. My original plan was to read it while waiting for the big bang, but my nerves are preventing me from doing that. This is a Level A. My mind just keeps repeating that, over and over.

I cannot afford to fuck this up. I can only hope that Miss Parker finds Jarod and stops him before he does any real damage, then they all go boom. That would be absolutely perfect. Of course, what are the odds of that happening?

If Jarod doesn't manage to stop Mr. White (Though he assured me he as a way to distract Jarod, but I doubt there's anything that can keep him from saving as many pointless lives as possible, except for maybe information on his family.), I wouldn't be too surprised if he and Parker formed an alliance and managed to get out of there in time. That would be just my luck. And given their history and their obvious feelings for each other, it's entirely possible too.

Sometimes I wonder if Dad even wants Jarod recaptured. Sure, he talks about (like he did last night on the camera), but then he sticks his daughter who has obvious emotional ties to the stupid moron to catch him! Does that make sense? Nooo.

Like I said: second worst family ever. My father is a moron and my sister is an alcoholic. Oh yeah, and my mom was murdered by a jealous (and conniving) friend of my father's. Oh, and they didn't even know I existed until about two years ago.

Alright, maybe Lyle Bowman wasn't quite as bad as the family I'm stuck with now. He's still qualifying as the worst family ever though. Bastard, locking me up in a shed for hours and days on end. . .

My anger is beginning to take control of me, and I can't afford to have that happen right now. I clench a fist and take a deep, steadying breath. The paper is still in my hand and I look at it, the words swimming in front of my eyes.

I check my watch. It's now officially after noon. What. The. Fuck.

I toss the paper down in irritation. I knew something like this would happen! I get out of the car and crash into my dear sister. Oh, fuck.

"Parker." I can't keep the surprise out of my voice. Fuck.

"Our work here is done," she says, handing me the bomb White was supposed to have ensured blew. Jarod's ID tag is clipped to it. I stand up a bit taller and prepare myself for the coming onslaught. All I can do for the moment is use my wonderful acting skills to find out just what happened.

"What? He got away? How?" I demand, looking at the sweepers, who cower under my gaze. Oh, they are going to pay.

"You shouldn't underestimate Jarod. Mm-mm," she says, coldness seeping into her voice. She suddenly steps closer to me, so close our noses are nearly touching. "And you should never underestimate me," she hisses into my ear. I can feel her breath tickling my earlobe, and if it weren't broad daylight in public, something far more entertaining would be happening in about two seconds. "And the next time you send me into a building that's gonna explode. . .it had better blow, because if it doesn't, it'll be your gray matter they'll be mopping up with a toothbrush." Ouch. Not a fun mental image, but she's using a damn sexy voice.

"By the way, Jarod left you something." Bam. Erection gone at the mention of that halfwit's name. Thanks, sis, thanks a lot. I reach for the cardboard box and open the flaps, looking at the contents. That arrogant asshole.

Inside there's jumper cables connected to a sponge. Of course there's a note as well. There's always a note.

See you soon.
-J.

I toss the jumper cables back into the box in disgust and unconsciously wipe my mouth. It's something I do whenever I get annoyed, and I am very annoyed.

"Let's go," I shout at the sweepers, and they instantly pile into the car. I grab the box and toss it in the back of the limo with me and we take off. I look at the note again to make sure I didn't miss anything important (For being such an idiot, he is rather good at hiding clues in his notes.). I flip it over and notice two words printed in his handwriting on the back.

Nothing's forever.

Asshole. I will kill him. It's my new mission in life. Assuming I survive to see another day.

-----

the end.

feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.