Northwestern Africa

It was a sudden loud chuckle that snapped him awake. He groaned and blinked his eyes open slowly; before him he could see the blurry outline of three men sitting at a table, smoking long, wooden pipes. Shifting slightly, still disoriented, he realized that he was laying on a scratchy mattress made of what felt like old grasses and leaves. As he squinted, his vision slowly became clearer, and he found that he was in a small hut. All at once, his senses came back to him and he remembered everything: going to the island, the plane, Jarod...the scrolls. He frantically sat up and began looking for the sack he had been carrying when he jumped from the plane.

Mr. Parker heard deep voices and turned - slowly, because moving his head at all made him dizzy - to find that the three men he had seen earlier were pointing at him, muttering amongst themselves. Their pipes had been extinguished, and their eyes were fixed on him. All three were dark-skinned, which, he realized, made perfect sense. From where he had abandon the plane, it would only be logical that he would have ended up in western Africa.

"Where am I?" he asked, his voice hoarse and gravelly.

"Ivory Coast," one of the men confirmed as he got to his feet from the wooden chair. "Abidan," he pointed to one of the sitting men, "found you on the shoreline. You were delirious, speaking of crazy things, slipping in-and-out of confidence."

"Did you find anything along with me?" Mr. Parker asked anxiously, but the man called Abidan shook his head.

"Abuja and I searched the area," he explained, getting to his feet, "but we found nothing more than your parachute. I am sorry."

Abuja, the man who had first spoken, nodded. "There was nothing else."

The only sitting man coughed, and Mr. Parker glanced briefly at him. It was the first sound, or, for that matter, movement, that man had made. Mr. Parker looked back at the two standing men and massaged his temples wearily. "I need to get to Morocco," he said. "Can you bring me there?"

"Our ways of transportation are limited," Abuja said, shaking his head. "We are surrounded by a dense rain forest to our right, and water to our left; very few vehicles can come here. The only way we can get to Morocco is by a canoe along the coast."

Mr. Parker sighed and looked around. "One of those will have to do, then. Unless you have any means of contacting people in Morocco…?"

"I am sorry, but even if we could, we cannot let you leave. We have been told to keep you here."

"What? By who?" Mr. Parker barked, trying to stand. Abuja gently pushed him back onto the cot.

"You are in no condition to travel as it is," he said, ignoring Mr. Parker's question. "You must rest here until we receive further orders."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Mr. Parker opened his eyes later that night. He couldn't see more than a couple inches in front of him in the utter darkness that surrounded him, but he knew exactly what he needed to do. He had to get to the Centre branch in Morocco soon – he couldn't remain here for more than another day. Already, lies and explanations of his actions were beginning to form in his head.

He slowly and painfully got to his feet. Even when (if in fact he could find a way to Morocco) he got to the Centre and if he managed to speak with the Triumvirate, he wouldn't be safe. Everything of his had been taken. His gun, his phone, all identification. The scrolls. He knew they were here. Abidan and Abuja had undoubtedly found them. Whether they were keeping them along with his other belongings with unknowing, selfish greed, or because they were ordered to, he didn't know. But he needed them back.

His tired eyes were adjusting slowly to the darkness, and he began to search around. There wasn't much to search. Under the bed, around the table, and near the chairs. That was all that the hut contained.

As he looked under the final chair, a hand rested on his shoulder.

"You will find nothing there." He turned to see the only man who hadn't spoken earlier standing behind him with a large leather sack around his arm. "These are what you're looking for, I assume," he said, handing the sack to Mr. Parker.

Mr. Parker pulled the sack opened and dug madly through, pushing aside all items that, in any other situation, would have been of great importance. Where were the scrolls? Deep down, in the crease of the bag, he felt his hand close around something cylindrical. He held his breath as he lifted it from the sack. As he looked at the scroll in his hand, he let out a long, deep sigh of relief.

The man looked at him questioningly and asked, "These are yours?"

"Yes," Mr. Parker said, tightening his grip for fear his things would be taken again.

The man nodded. "My name is Batna. When my brothers found you, they also found your belongings. We were under orders to keep all washed up items, so please, do not judge them too harshly for lying to you."

"Whose orders?" Mr. Parker narrowed his eyes.

"Our…what do you call it in America…mayor?" Batna answered. "We are not a wealthy community, and when there comes a chance that we might have found something worth money, we are supposed to bring it to him."

Mr. Parker wondered whether or not he could trust Batna. Finally, deciding he had no other choice, he asked, "Can you get me to Morocco?"

"Yes. There is a boat that we can use. Follow me." Batna lead Mr. Parker to a river where a small canoe was half in the water, half on the land. "The Matoro River," Batna said. "The currents go towards Morocco. With any luck we should be there in less than a week. I have enough supplies prepared for twice that."

"Very well," Mr. Parker said, a half-smile forming under his scruff. "Thank you, Batna."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

East Coast of Scotland

Michael McFarnon looked up from his fishing rod to watch the ferry unloading. As he watched the people slowly coming off the ship, he felt a warm satisfaction in knowing that, at 87 years old, he was on first name terms with all of them. The village where he lived was small, and had few visitors – in fact, the visitors the port town had had in the last 70 years, he could name off the top of his head. But today, it was all locals he saw. Men with round, smiling faces, and equally pleasant women with red hair; all familiar to him.

He waved and smiled, shouting out occasionally something like, "How was your trip?" or, "How're your folks doing?"

Once he was almost sure the boat was emptied, he focused his attention back to his fishing, whistling a made-up tune as he looked into the clear blue water.

"Excuse me?" The deep, unfamiliar voice caught McFarnon off guard. He turned around to see a tall man dressed entirely in black leather standing behind him, a kind, but somehow hollow, smile on his thin lips.

"Careful, Sonny, you almost scared me right off the wharf there!" McFarnon chuckled. "Name's Michael McFarnon – how can I help you?"

"I'm terribly sorry. My name is Jarod," the man said. "I'm looking for someone who might have come here about a week ago – when people were being evacuated from Carthis Isle."

"Who're you looking for – I'm sure I can help you," McFarnon nodded, smiling. "All boats to-and-from Carthis stop here."

"Thank you," Jarod said, sighing in relief and reaching into his pocket. "I'm looking for this woman."

McFarnon looked at the picture of a red-haired, cheery-looking woman for no more than a second before he smiled and nodded.

"You know her?" Jarod said, feeling his heart race. "Have you seen her – where is she?"

"Aye, Margaret," McFarnon said. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Jarod, but I've not seen her for a long time."

"She didn't get off the boat from Carthis?" Jarod asked, his stomach sinking.

"I don't know whether or not she was on the boat," McFarnon answered honestly. "My right elbow gets creaky when there's a storm coming, so I stayed inside and watched from my window. I wouldn't have seen her if she was going towards the mountains." McFarnon pointed behind Jarod, who turned and saw that, indeed, behind him, there were large, rocky mountains with a very small, very narrow valley in between them.

"Only two ways in and out of this town," McFarnon said. "The ferry you came in on just now, and that valley there."

"But you would have seen her if she was staying in the town?"

"Unless she's been hiding in her old house all day, yes."

"Her old house?" Jarod frowned.

"Aye, the house her grandparents left her when they died," McFarnon nodded. "Just down the lane here, toward the center o' town. Would you like me to show you?"

"Yes!" Jarod said, more of a an excited exhale than I word. "Please."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Blue Cove, Delaware, USA

"Miss Parker? Miss Parker, are you there?" Broots called through the window he had been pounding on for the last three minutes.

Sydney rubbed his gloved hands together and looked up at Miss Parker's dark house in front of him. "She's not here, Broots, let's go. Rains will start looking for us if we don't get back soon."

"Then where is she, Syd?" Broots asked, turning to him, his eyes narrowed. "I haven't seen her for days, and when I call her, she never answers!"

"I'm concerned about her as well," Sydney said. "But we can't risk the safety of all three of us by hunting around. Miss Parker probably just needs time by herself. If we could contact her, we would help, but it doesn't seem as though she wants to talk to us right now; if she did, she would have told us where she was going." Broots was still looking at him skeptically, so Sydney added, "If you had found out that Rains is your father, wouldn't you want some time to yourself? She is probably very upset."

"Finding out that that bald-headed creep is your father would upset anyone," Broots agreed, then grimaced. "Almost anyone; since Lyle found out, he's spent every waking hour hunting for Jarod. You think Rains was telling the truth, Syd? I mean when he said that the first one of them to Jarod wins a future at The Centre and the other…dies?"

"You never know with The Centre, Broots," Sydney shook his head. He placed a hand on Broots's shoulder and led him away from the house. "I'm worried about her too, but there's nothing we can do." As they stepped onto the driveway to leave, a buzzing came from Sydney's pocket. He reached his hand in and pulled out his phone. "This is Sydney," he answered. He raised his eyebrows when he heard the voice on the other end. "Miss Parker!" he exclaimed, hitting the speaker button so Broots could be part of the conversation. "It's good to hear from you - are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Syd," Miss Parker's voice came through the phone static-y, and it was hard for either of them to judge her mood or sincerity.

"Where are you?" Broots asked, his foot tapping with anticipation.

"I'm…" she paused, "at my house."

"Your house?" Sydney raised his eyebrows at Broots. "Really?"

She answered hesitantly,"Yes. Why? What's wrong? Where are you?"

Sydney and Broots exchanged looks, then glanced back toward's her dark and empty home before them. "Your house," Broots answered.

There was silence on the other end for several seconds, then Miss Parker asked, "Are you two alone?"

"Yes."

She sighed. "Go to the back of the house," she instructed. "Under the lilac bush there's a small black box with a key in it. Make sure nobody else has been in the house, then keep the key with you, okay?"

"O-okay," Broots said. "But, then, where are you?"

"I can't tell you now, Broots," she said, though not in her usual impatient tone. "Call me when you've looked around, and maybe I'll tell you."

"But Miss Parker, wait!" Broots pleaded. The phone clicked off and started to hum. "Damn it, Sydney, where is she?"

"I don't know, Broots," Sydney muttered, looking around nervously. "Let's just look around inside, and quickly."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Well, nothing seems out of the ordinary," Sydney announced half an hour later. "Everything's in place, the eating utensils and plates and bowls are all clean, there's old food in the refrigerator. The bed's made, the showers are dry. It looks like no one has been here for about a week."

"Some there's lots of empty space in her closets," Broots noted. "And I couldn't find a hairbrush or toothbrush anywhere in the bathrooms. D'you think she packed up and left?"

"That's exactly what I think," Sydney answered, frowning and stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps we'll get lucky and she'll tell us. Perhaps she won't - if she has run away from The Centre, she would have plenty of reason not to."

For a few tense minutes, the two friends stood still in her living room, worried and wondering about Miss Parker. Finally, Broots broke the silence. "Come on, Syd, let's get out of here," he said, giving a final paranoid look over his shoulder. "It's only a matter of time before Lyle or Rains start poking around in here, too."

Morocco, Africa

"Well, Mr. Parker," Batna said, lying the ores in the bottom of the canoe as he dragged it up to shore. "This is where the river ends. If we go straight on the footpath through the forest, we should be there in five days."

"Thank you, Batna," Mr. Parker said, nodding to him as he struggled, still sore from his jump almost two weeks ago, to get out of the boat onto dry land. With Batna leading the way, they began walking, Mr. Parker limping slightly on one leg.

"Tell me again," Batna asked, "where are you going? I am not being intrusive, but we have a long walk and I will try to get you as close as possible."

"The organization I work for," Mr. Parker answered stiffly, though he supposed that at this point, it didn't matter how much he told the man anyway. "It's a research facility. We have a number of projects that have been running for decades. Some of the job is to research events and…predict certain outcomes and sell the answers to world powers."

"Ahhh, yes," Batna nodded. "Tell me, if you will, because it really isn't my business, but this organization you speak of – is it the one described in the scrolls?"

Mr. Parker stopped dead in his tracks, his face hardening. He clapped a hand down roughly on Batna's shoulder to stop him. "You read the scrolls?"

"Yes," Batna said, putting his hands up defensively, though his warm smile never left his face. "They describe how the one boy, the intelligent Jarod, will lead The Centre to power. How…"

"That's enough," Mr. Parker barked gruffly, glancing around nervously and tightening his hold on the leather sack containing the scrolls.

"Not to say I believe them to be true," Batna added, gently lowering Mr. Parker's hand and motioning for them to keep walking. "They also predicted your death shortly after the jump from the aircraft, and you are very much alive, my friend. I do not think ill of you for these predictions. They are pieces of paper – I could write up anything like that."

"You're damn right they're just pieces of paper," Mr. Parker said harshly, returning to their steady pace along the path.

They were silent for a minute. Finally, Batna said, "You can have faith in me, Mr. Parker. I won't tell a soul. I will bring you to your Centre, then forget this ever happened."

"I'm sorry Batna, but that won't work," Mr. Parker said, shaking his head despite the fact that he had no remorse for what he was about to do. "Thank you for your help, but you know too much." He reached into his jacket, pulled out his gun, and made sure Batna would never have a chance to tell anyone anything again. As he looked down at the still and bleeding body of the kind man who had gone against his family to help a stranger, he shook off any guilt. Mr. Parker didn't carry guilt.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

East Coast of Scotland

"Used to visit here every summer with her family," McFarnon explained as he looked up at the small cottage before them. "It was Margaret's grandparents's home. She and her sister would climb up to the roof just to watch the clouds go by. Sweetest little angels to come through the town, I'd reckon."

"Her sister?" Jarod said. "She has a sister?"

"Had," McFarnon said, sadly shaking his head. "On the family's plane ride back to America one summer, her little sister got separated from the family after they landed at the airport. After over a year of searching, they received word that she was dead. The family was never certain what happened; they never saw a body, they never got proof either way. Poor little girl; remember her clear as day. After that, the family never came back here. Last time I saw Margaret, she was all grown up, talking about finding lost loved ones. I think now that she's an adult, her sister's death is hitting her even harder."

Though the house hadn't been lived in for years, it was still in relatively good condition. The white paint on the outside was peeling and dirty, and the green on the windowsills had faded and flaked off, but it had a charming air to it. It was a very small house; the face had only two large windows, which Jarod peered inside through. "When did you last see Margaret?" he asked McFarnon, pressing his forehead to the glass and looking around inside the two-room cottage. He could see the whole interior – even some pictures on the mantel.

"About three years ago. If you don't mind me asking, why're you so interested?"

Jarod swallowed. "She's my mother."

"Your mother!" McFarnon gasped.

"I was...separated from her almost 40 years ago – I've been searching for her for the last six years," Jarod said. "Since I gained my freedom."

"Your freedom?"

Jarod shook his head. "It's a long story."

McFarnon exhaled, still taking the news in. "Well, I'll be darned. You're the one she's looking for then!"

"Yes," Jarod said. "We've been searching for each other for a long time. We've almost been reunited, but unfortunately fate isn't on our side." He sighed and again looked into the cottage. "Is there any way you can get me into the house?"

"It's probably open," McFarnon shrugged. "Go ahead, try the door."

Jarod took a deep breath and turned the doorknob. The old door creaked open. He smiled at McFarnon, who held out an arm to point him inside. Jarod stepped through the doorway, McFarnon close behind, and took in the house. Even though it was old, it comforted him somehow as he inhaled the stale air - maybe, just maybe, his mother had breathed the same air.

"Haven't been in the Elaine house since 1960!" McFarnon said, running a hand fondly along a dusty cupboard.

"Elaine?"

"That's your mother's last name. Or was, until she got married. What is it now?"

"I – I don't know," Jarod said, and he could see McFarnon raise an eyebrow curiously. Jarod walked around the ancient, yet still fully intact, wooden table to the fireplace. On the mantel, there was a black-and-white picture of two little girls sitting on the roof – the older one with her arms around the younger one. Both girls were smiling brightly, leaning against each other with the love only sisters can share.

"This picture," Jarod said, taking it off the mantel and bringing it to McFarnon. "My mother's the older one?"

"Yes," McFarnon said. Then he sighed as his gaze fell to the younger one. "This was the year she disappeared. She was eleven," He pointed to the smaller, darker-haired girl. McFarnon looked up at Jarod and saw him frowning.

"What's the matter, Jarod?"

"The little girl – she looks just like a girl I knew when I was growing up. Just like her."

"Really?" McFarnon said. "Isn't that sad. Poor little Catherine."

"Catherine?" Jarod said, feeling a chill run through his body as he repeated the name.

"That was her name. Catherine Elaine."

"You said they never found a body?" Jarod said, his jaw trembling. "So they were never sure if she was really dead or not?"

"No," McFarnon shook his head. "But after so long, they could only assume. Much as it tore them up, I suppose it's better to have some closure than spend all your life wondering."

Jarod sighed; he wouldn't know. He looked again at the photograph, his hands shaking at his discovery. The young Catherine Parker looked just as much like her daughter when she was young as Miss Parker looked like her mother now.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Great Yarmouth, England

Miss Parker jumped when she heard the phone ring. Walking over to the desk, her heart still thumping, she tried frantically to remember where she'd left it. After a few seconds, it came to her, and she dug it out of her jacket pocket. She gave a quick glance at the front screen to make sure it wasn't anyone she didn't want to talk to - that was, anyone except Sydney and Broots - and answered, "What?"

"Miss Parker, it's me," Sydney said.

"Hold on, Syd, I can barely hear you," she told him, closing her room's window and going to sit on her chair. "How was my house?"

"It was fine," he said. "I don't think anyone's been there since you left."

"Thank God," she said, giving a sigh of relief.

"Where are you, Miss Parker?" Broots's voice said anxiously from somewhere near Sydney.

"Look, Broots," she groan, closing her eyes, "I can't tell you now."

"Miss Parker, we're very concerned about you," Sydney piped in.

"I can take care of myself, Syd," she snapped "If I need you guys, I'll call."

"But Miss Parker –!"

Miss Parker put her phone down on the table and looked at the ocean view outside her window. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, the water blue, and Miss Parker felt lousy. She pressed her palms into her eyes and tried to take a couple deep breaths, each one sending a Her phone rang again. "Broots!" she said angrily. "I said –."

"It's been an entire week and I haven't seen one sweeper. Don't tell me you're going to let your brother win this one."

"Jarod" she sighed, rolling her eyes and crashing down on her back and putting a hand on her forehead, distressed and wondering why all the universe seemed to conspire against her and her flaring ulcer. "What do you want?

"Do they have internet access at The Ocean View?"

"What?" she asked, not surprised that yet again, his babbling left her feeling like she could not possibly be more lost.

"The Ocean View – do they have internet access?" Miss Parker frowned and gave him a slight growl. "Oh, come on, Miss Parker, look out the window."

As much as she hated listening to Jarod, she looked out the window. A large sign near her room read clearly, "THE OCEAN VIEW MOTEL – LESS THAN A MILE FROM THE NORTH SEA! (Free internet access!) "Jarod –."

"Well, does it?" he asked, and she could tell he was amusing himself at her expense...again. "I only drove by quickly a couple days ago – I forget."

"Yes," she groaned, "it does."

"Check your e-mail," he said, his voice no longer full of amusement.

She opened her computer. "This had better not be one of your little games, Jarod, because I'm NOT in the mood."

"It's not," he said simply.

She typed in her password and found Jarod's e-mail.

"Read it," he instructed. "Aloud."

"Fine," she grumbled, double-clicking it and scanning it quickly before reading, "'Thought this photo might interest you as much as it did me. J.'."

"Open the attachment."

"I figured that one out by myself," she snapped, clicking 'Open file'. Slowly, a photo came up on her screen. "It's a picture of my mother, as a child. With another little girl. What's that supposed to mean, Jarod? That my mother had friends and I never have, and never will because I'm too – ."

"That's not just a little girl, Miss Parker," Jarod said softly. "And I'm not trying to hurt you; I'm trying to help you. That girl is my mother."

"You're…my God, Jarod," Miss Parker said, putting a hand to her mouth. "They knew each other when they were that young?"

"Oh, yes, they knew each other. Well. Your mother's middle name, Elaine – did you ever ask her where she got it?"

"It was her last name before she married my..." Miss Parker's voice trailed off, "before she got married, I think."

"Right," Jarod said. He gave an irritatingly dramatic sigh and said, "Oh, look at the time, I've got places to go, stuff to do. Hope I've reeled you into this mystery."

"But, Jarod, what...?" The phone clicked. "Son of a bitch," she snarled, slamming her phone shut.

What was the relationship between Jarod's mother and hers? Why the hell was he toying with her again? After their encounter on Carthis, she had thought, and though she wouldn't admit it, hoped, that their relationship would be different. But he was still the same old Jarod, always under her skin, feeding her another dead end.

She groaned and turned onto her miserably onto her side, tucking into a ball. She was starving – maybe some food (or, better yet something hard to drink), would clear up her head.

She walked down to the lobby and sat at the small, makeshift bar. "Scotch, fast," she barked at the bartender. She put her elbows up on the table and stared out the window. What was Jarod up to now?

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Scotland

"Thank you for all your help, McFarnon," Jarod said, putting a final bottle of water in his backpack and flicking his flashlight on a notch brighter.

McFarnon rubbed his elbow and grimaced. "My pleasure, Jarod. I'd do anything to see Margaret and her son reunited. Now, be sure to come back here for a visit once you've found her."

"I will," Jarod said, smiling and giving the stout man an appreciative hug. "Thank you." With a glance over the intimidating dark mountains, he started off to mouth of the narrow valley that led between them. He would never give up looking at his mother, and as slim of a chance it seemed that he would find her traveling from this town, he had no other option. It was going to be quite a walk, and he had to catch up with her before someone caught up with him. It was a footpath, so if he kept a steady pace, he figured he would be safe. Even if Miss Parker did catch up with him, the answers to both their mysteries lay ahead; what would she do? He waved one last time at McFarnon, who was just a small figure in the distance now, and started down the path. It was narrow, rocky, and uneven, and Jarod couldn't help but look up at the menacing cliffs and ridges. If one rock in the make-up of the mountain dislodged, he would be done with.

Jarod walked through the night. It was only when the sun had risen that he sat down, though he had become exhausted several hours prior. He would rest his eyes for a moment. Just one moment…

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware

Sydney looked down at the man in front of him at the table. "And so, even if the plane crashed…?" Sydney asked questioningly.

"The pilot would be safe," the young man finished for him, nodding.

"Very good, Christopher," Sydney said, writing on a pad of paper. "Very well done. "

The door behind him opened and a breathless Broots ran into the room, brandishing a piece of paper.

"Sydney!" Broots said. "Syd, I found out – oh, e-excuse me." He glanced at Christopher, who scratched his corkscrew-curled blonde hair. "Uh, can I see you a minute?" Broots coughed.

"Just one second, Broots, we were just finishing up," Sydney said. He handed Christopher some papers, then ushered him out his office. "What did you find?"

"Well," Broots began, sitting down on the corner of the desk and springing to his feet when it began to tip. "Miss Parker called up on a cell phone – her cell phone. It's a Centre phone, so, naturally, there are ways to track it from within The Centre. It was complicated, but I found out that she was calling from the UK. Now, there was a way to trace her to her exact location at the time of the call, but you have to enter a pass code, and it can only be done once."

"Do you have the pass code?" Sydney asked.

"Well, good news and bad news. Yes, I do have the pass code, and I was able to get more information then I had before, but the thing is, Syd, somebody already got that information. And once the location's been seen once, you can't get the exact coordinates ever again."

"So someone else knows where Miss Parker is?" Sydney said. "Who?"

There was a knock, and the door to Sydney's office opened.

"Oh, sorry, didn't realize it was time for a coffee break." Mr. Lyle smiled and massaged his gloved, four-fingered hand.

"Morning, Lyle," Sydney said, trying to keep himself from exchanging glances with Broots. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, actually, you can," Lyle said, grin still on his face. "I'm curious of the whereabouts of my sister. Any idea?"

Sydney and Broots were silent for a moment, then both tried to put a credible look on their face. "No, none at all," Sydney said. "We've been very concerned."

"Well," Lyle stretched and leaned against the wall, "I'm sure she's all right. I also have another purpose for being here."

"What's that?" Broots asked.

"You three," he said, "have come so close to bringing in Jarod over the last five – or is it six now? – years. However, Miss Parker has had many one-on-one opportunities with him, and on none of these occasions has she managed to capture him. My only explanation is that she doesn't fully have her heart set on bringing him back."

"I-I don't think that's it," Broots stuttered. 'I'm sure there are other explanations."

"That she's stupid?" Lyle said, pursing his lips in a mock-hidden smile.

"Well, n-no…" Broots muttered, immediately wilting under Lyle's smirk.

"My point is, you two have been doing your jobs – well. I think that the three of us could have Jarod back within a month."

"I don't think so, Lyle," Sydney disagreed, shaking his head.

"Be the one to bring Jarod in and you have a life at The Centre. Don't bring him in, and you may not have a life… at all." Lyle chuckled as if the thought of Sydney and Broots's death was a happening he had been gleefully awaiting.

"I'm sorry, Lyle," Sydney said, the calmness still in his voice. "We can't do that. We've always worked with Miss Parker."

"Of course," he said, nodding. "But think about the offer. And if you find out where Miss Parker is," he winked, "let me know."

"Syd, I have a very bad feeling about this," Broots said, leaping over a pile of wood scraps as he chased after Angelo. Angelo had appeared in Sydney's office several minutes ago, shouting at them to come with him, to follow him, that he wold help them. And so, off they went. He had scurried through The Centre like he had a map in his head, choosing the most direct and unoccupied routes that eventually, they found, brought them to SL-19, which was affectionately known by the employees as "Hell". This was due to the many hot water pipes that ran through it, sending their heat through the entire sublevel, keeping the temperature at a comfortable 97 degrees Fahrenheit.

"Angelo can help us, Broots," Sydney assured him breathlessly; Angelo had been running the entire way.

"I know, but running through SL-19 isn't exactly a safe idea," Broots pointed out doubtfully. "If we touch one of those hot water pipes -" he gestured to the wall, which was covered with tangles and mazes of them "-they'll scorch us to crisps."

Before Sydney had a chance to answer, Angelo, from several steps ahead, came to a stop and muttered, "Mr. Rains mad! Mr. Lyle mad! Bad, bad for them. Bad for us." He pointed up, and Sydney and Broots realized that he had stopped right under an exposed pipe.

"Oh my God, Angelo, get away from there!" Broots half shouted. "Syd, come on, please...let's get out of here."

"Shhhh, listen, Broots," Sydney said, putting a finger to his lips and moving closer to Angelo and the pipe.

"…bad news."

"Where the hell did that - ?"

"Shhh!" it was both Sydney and Angelo who shushed Broots this time, and Sydney edged closer to Angelo.

"What is it, Lyle?" Mr. Rains' voice rattled through the pipe.

"It seems that my f–your brother, was spotted in Africa."

"The pipe must lead into Lyle's office," Sydeny hissed. He and Broots exchanged glances, wondering how long Angelo had know about this method of listening in.

"My God," Mr. Rains's voice wheezed down to them, echoing slightly, "he didn't die after the jump?"

"No, he didn't. And the scrolls haven't been ruined. That doesn't tie in very well with our story to the Triumvirate. If he makes it to Morocco and is able to tell them how we planned to take over The Centre, it'll be bad for us."

There was silence for several seconds, and then, "Do you think Miss Parker is helping him?" Mr. Rains asked.

"No, I don't," Mr. Lyle said firmly. "But I do believe she might be helping Jarod. But I'll take care of her, don't worry." They could here a sickening happiness in his voice, as though nothing appealed to him more than the thought of harming his sister. "I approached Sydney and Broots with my offer, and they refused."

"Of course. Sydney has always helped Jarod. The only reason he ever helped Miss Parker was because he alone knew Jarod well enough to predict where he could be. We had hoped that he would believe that it was for the greater good for him to be recaptured, but we were obviously mistaken. Broots follows his suit, and Miss Parker...well, she has been brainwashed by Jarod and Sydney alike. As of now, you are my only trusted colleague. Jarod has to come in, and we can't have any setbacks. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Mr. Lyle said, his voice unwavering. "I'll take care of it." They could barely make out the sound of shuffling, and then the bang of a door slamming, which echoed deafeningly through the pipe, expelling poofs of steam. Angelo moved away from it, gesturing for Sydney and Broots to follow.

"Syd, Syd, they're gonna kill us!" Broots spluttered. "We gotta get out of here! Now!"

"We need to find out where Miss Parker is first," Sydney said hurriedly, shaking his head. "They're going after her. Hopefully she really is with Jarod and we can protect both of them. I bet the information is on Lyle's computer. Broots, you need to get into his office."

"Fast!" Angelo added, grabbing Broots's unwilling elbow and starting to hurry him to the stairs that would take them out of SL-19.

"Yes, Angelo," Sydney agreed, running after them. "Fast."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Jarod had been dozing for hours before the urgent, but not unhappy, voice snapped him awake. "Jarod, wake up!"

He bolted up as his eyes shot open and he reached instinctively for the gun in his pocket. He was breathing hard from the fright, but as his eyes fell on the two people in front of him, all fear vanished into pure excitement. "Oh my God!" he said, unable to stop the smile from bursting across his face. "Dad!"

His father chuckled happily, helping him up and giving him a hug.

"It's so good to see you!" Jarod said. He looked behind his father, and his sister grinned at him. "Emily!" Jarod ran forward to hug her as well. "How did you two find me?"

"Your mother contacted me," Major Charles said, and Jarod's eyes grew wide. "She said that she needed our help and she would be around here. When she wasn't in the village we started down here looking for her."

"We were hoping you would be looking for her too, and we might find you along the way," Emily said. "I'm glad we did."

"I followed her here," Jarod explained. "Did she say where she was going?"

"She didn't tell us exactly," his father said, shaking his head sadly. "Said she couldn't stop running - that someone was following her, and we would have to catch up to her before they did."

"What's she running from?" Jarod asked, then frowned, "Or who?"

"She didn't say," Emily told him. "But whoever it is probably isn't far from here."

"You're right," Jarod nodded. "We should get out of here and keep looking for Mom. I'm going to follow the path and wherever it leads, I'll take it from there."

And the three of them set off together, for the first time feeling like a somewhat united family.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Miss Parker rested her head in her hands as she slowly sipped her scotch. What had Jarod said? Her mother and his mother had known each other when they were young. How important was that? Why did he make it sound like such a big deal? What had he said exactly? "Hope I've reeled you into this mystery." What was that supposed to mean?

She looked out the window at the small ocean town and sighed - it was a nice day, maybe the fresh air would lift her spirits. Unable to stop from smirking at herself, she realized that throughout her life she had thought the same thing so many times, yet a walk in the great outdoors never did anything but make her more miserable...after all, the most beautiful, sunny days became marred with storm clouds and thunderclaps eventually. It was the story of her life. Regardless, she slipped her coat on and stood. There was a marina right in front of the motel – maybe she would watch the boats go by. She downed the rest of her scotch in one gulp, gave her head a shake as it burned down her throat, and headed for the door.

"You gonna take your crackers, Ma'am?" the bartender said, making her jump. Since she had left The Centre, any small noise or disturbance startled her.

"What?" Miss Parker asked shortly, spinning around. He held a small packet out in his hand, waving it back-and-forth as though trying to entice her with it.

"Your oyster crackers," the man said. "They aren't really oysters, you know, they're just shaped like…"

"I know what they are," Miss Parker snapped.

"We give 'em to all our patrons, on account that we're called the Oyster Bar and…"

"Oh, just give them to me," she muttered, snatching the crackers from his hand. She rolled her eyes and stuffed them into her coat pocket.

Several minutes later, and after a short walk down the docks, Miss Parker had seated herself on a bench and was sipping from a cup of coffee she had gotten from a vendor in a small snack shack on the way. The bench was perched on the edge of the boardwalk, and Miss Parker could looked directly into the water. She watched a school of fish as they skimmed the top of the water for food.

"Mommy, Mommy!" she heard a little girl's voice exclaim from just a couple feet down the dock. "Look at all the fish!"

Miss Parker turned slowly to look at the young girl as she ran up and stopped beside the bench. She was leaning over the small railing looking down into the water, grinning from ear-to-ear as she pointed down into the sea. Her teeth were crooked in the way that only made her smile look bigger and happier. Miss Parker's had been the same way before her father had insisted she get braces at thirteen.

"Do you have any food for them?" the little girl asked her mother hopefully, big blue eyes pleadingly wide.

"Sorry, sweetie, I don't," the mother said, putting a hand apologetically on her daughter's shoulder.

Miss Parker's head turned away from them as the voices began flooding her head, and the picture of the past played so clearly in her mind that it could have been a movie running in front of her.

"Daddy look at the fish, they're so bright!" Miss Parker said as she skipped across the shoreline of the ocean. She had come with her father on a business trip to the Dominican Republic and was enjoying running along the Centre's privately owned strip of beach "The fish are beautiful, Daddy! I still have some bread from dinner, can we feed them? Please?"

"No Angel, I'm busy," her father said gruffly from behind her. He was at a wooden table on a large patio with six other men in dark suits, executives from The Centre's Central American satellite, drinking an expensive fruit drink that he hadn't allowed Miss Parker to have any of. Mama had always gotten her a alcohol-free version of whatever she had been drinking if Miss Parker wanted some. She would have asked one of the waiters herself, but she didn't speak Spanish, and her father had already gotten mad at her once this vacation for distracting his translator.

"But Daddy, look at them!" she continued, her eyes fixed on the pretty fish.

"Angel, please!" He apologized to the men sitting with him, but before they could resume the meeting, Miss Parker interrupted again.

"Mama always let me…"

Mr. Parker got up from the table and bent down to talk in her ear. "You are embarrassing me in front of my colleagues. You need to start acting more your age. You're eleven, you shouldn't still want to feed fish like you did when you were five."

"But..!"

"Angel! Stop embarrassing me."

As suddenly as the memory had started, it snapped off. Miss Parker gave an almost inaudible gasp as her eyes opened - she didn't even remember closing them - and looked around, blinking in the sunlight, and taking deep breaths to remind herself that it was a memory; a very distant, very raw memory.

"Maybe they'll have something to give the fish at the boathouse," the little girl's mother said, pulling Miss Parker mind back to the cold marina. Miss Parker glanced at the boathouse, and it was only then that she saw the sign:

Wellson Marina – The best in water transportation. Take a look; we'll reel you in!

She read the last sentence again mouthing "Reel you in...". It didn't take long to put together the pieces of Jarod's stupid little puzzle. "Son of a bitch," she whispered under her breath. Getting to her feet, she reached in to her pocket and pulled out the crackers. "Here," she said, holding them out to the little girl. "You can use these."

"Thanks!" the girl said as she took them happily from Miss Parker, her eyes glowing. "Do you want to feed the fish with us?"

"No," Miss Parker said as she turned away. As she started walking away she added quietly, "I don't feed fish."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The Centre

"Come on, Broots, we don't have much time!" Sydney said, pacing nervously back-and-forth in Lyle's office.

"Hold on, Syd, I've almost got it," Broots said, entering a code and watching the screen. His hands were shaking, and he kept entering the wrong numbers. Finally, forcing himself to breathe and stay steady, he got the password right, hit the "Go" button, and an address appeared on the screen. "Okay, here it is. Write this down." He repeated the address to Sydney three times, back and forth to make sure they had it copied down correctly. Then, after closing the window and trying his best to hide the evidence that he had been on the computer, Broots got up.

"All right, let's go," Sydney said, stuffing the piece of paper with Miss Parker's location on it into his pocket. His hand was on the doorknob when it turned. He and Broots jumped backwards and scrambled around. There was no where to hide – they were stuck.

"Well, look at this," Mr. Lyle said, smiling at them. "Office party?"

"We were just looking for you, Lyle," Sydney said coolly, stepping in front of a sweating, panting Broots. "We have some information about Jarod."

"Really?" Mr. Lyle said, sitting at his desk. "Let's hear it."

"He phoned today," Sydney said. "Broots traced the call and found out he was in California."

Mr. Lyle smiled. "Well, that is fascinating, isn't it?"

"Why?" Sydney asked. "I'm just telling you what I know."

"No, not that," Lyle said, waving him off as though it was nothing. "Someone broke into my computer. And it looks like they got some valuable information."

"Oh?" Broots said, trembling to the point that his keys rattled in his pocket. "R-really?"

Mr. Lyle raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "Oh, don't tell me that surprises you, Broots, because I know it doesn't." His smile vanished. "I don't like it when people lie to me." Lyle got to his feet and came around the table, stopping inches in front of the still even-faced Sydney. "What information did you two get?"

"We suspected you had information on Jarod, and we wanted to know where he was," Sydney said, as calm as ever. "We would have asked you, but we feared that you wouldn't tell us. It was me, Miss Parker, and Broots who started the hunt for Jarod, after all. Even though Miss Parker has vanished, we would like to be the ones to bring him in."

"You've had five years to bring Jarod in," Mr. Lyle said, sneering at them as he reached into his jacket pock. "Time's up." Before his gun could leave it's compartment, the door behind Mr. Lyle banged open and he flew to the ground. All Broots and Sydney could see was a blur of clothing and hair as Angelo's fist collided with Mr. Lyle's head.

"Angelo!" Sydney said, running forward.

Angelo threw one last elbow into Mr. Lyle's head, and then stood up, grinning like it was his birthday.

"Thanks, Angelo," Broots said, stepping away from the unconscious Mr. Lyle. "You really saved us! Come on, Syd, we've got to get out of here – NOW!"

Sydney nodded. He put a hand on Angelo's shoulder. "Thank you, Angelo."

"Wait!" Angelo stopped them before they stepped out the door. "Angelo wants to come, too!"

Despite the fact that he couldn't have been much happier, Jarod felt a slight uncomfortable silence as he began walking with his father and Emily. They had very little past to talk about, none of them knew what was going on now, and the future was uncertain, leaving their topics of discussion narrow. "How's Gemini?" Jarod asked finally, breaking the long quiet.

"He's well," Charles answered, smiling. "Emily and I figured that he would be safer with someone else, so for now he staying with some friends of Emily's. He and Ethan."

"Ethan contacted you?" Jarod said, feeling relief flood through his body. Ethan's disappearance had been a large part of his worries recently, but he had done his best to put it out of his mind and deal with it later. Hearing that he was with Gemini - and alive - was a huge weight off his chest.

"Yes, he's been with us for a couple weeks now," Charles nodded. "He said he'd stay with Gemini, but to send you his well-wishes."

"The family Gemini and Ethan are staying with, they have two children, about his age," Emily said, smiling contentedly. "Hopefully he'll be safe and happy there." She sighed thoughtfully. "Seeing him is like seeing you as the brother I never got to see as a child. It's nice."

"And for me, the son I missed so dearly," Charles added, patting Jarod on the shoulder. "I –" he stopped abruptly and frowned. "What was that?" The three of them spun around, looking up and down the path. Jarod's eyes darted around each tree, looking and listening for someone who might be following them. "It was right back there, in the bushes," Charles said, his voice hushed. "It sounded like a footstep."

There was total quiet while all three of them stood, tensed and ready for any sudden noise or movement. Jarod felt his heart sinking; it would be so typical - he finally finds part of his family, and The Centre is there to steal it away from him yet again. After a full minute of unnerved waiting, Emily shifted and began to whisper, "I don't hear any –." She shrieked in fright as Jarod shoved her and their father out of the way as a gun fired, a bullet exploding on a rock behind them, missing her by inches.

"Look OUT!" Jarod shouted, scrambling to his feet. He had caught a glimpse of someone taking off into the trees after the gun had fired, and his feet were pounding after them, as though they were independent of his brain, which was telling him to run with his family and hide. "GO FIND MOM!" he shouted back at them as he spotted a man in a black suit leaping over a patch of moss. "GO!" He followed the man through the trees, squinting as branch after branch scratched his face and stung his eyes. He was catching up to the man now – just a couple more seconds and he would have him.

Jarod gasped as he felt his foot catch on a root. He saw the large rock as his head approached it, and for a split second felt his head rumble with impact and his forehead split against he roughness. Then he remembered no more.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Miss Parker stepped off the boat and clutched her coat a little more tightly around her chest. Looking around at the small town in front of her, she drew a picture of Jarod out of her pocket, prepared to send every resident of the island through a polygraph if that was what it would take to find him. After a well-spent bribe of fifty dollars, one of the boat operators had informed her that Jarod had in fact visited the marina across from her hotel in Great Yarmouth not long before and had taken a boat here, 'here' being a small island off of Scotland. After another, and much loftier, bribe, she had convinced the man to take her there immediately. Now she stood looking at the tiny village, sure that this time, Jarod wasn't far.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" a voice behind her said, and she turned around into a wrinkled, smiling face. She uncomfortably turned the corners of her mouth up into what she hoped resembled a smile and briefly shook the stumpy-fingered hand. "Name's Michael McFarnon."

"Miss Parker," she said heavily, and he chuckled

McFarnon chuckled. "Miss Parker? That's a little formal for these here parts."

"That's what everyone calls me," she said briskly. Not wanting to waste any time, she held the photo out and asked, "Have you seen this man?"

McFarnon smiled and nodded, but didn't look at the picture. Miss Parker held it up to his face, but he brushed it away and said, "Smart man that Jarod. He left just two days ago. He told me you'd be coming to look for him. This time, he said, he expected you to meet up with him. There's something he wanted me to show you, follow me."

"Where did he go?" Miss Parker asked, but McFarnon had already started walking away, with a surprisingly quick step for someone his age, and she hurried to catch up.

It wasn't a far walk to the quaint cottage McFarnon brought her to. Straight from the docks, it was only five minutes in from the village's border. It sat on a flat, plain lot, that still had the feel of a one-time beautifully cared for garden. Miss Parker couldn't help but admire the little house, despite her spinning head.

"This is it," McFarnon said, sighing and resting a hand on the peeling fence. "He said you'd be interested in the little girls who used to visit here."

Miss Parker tore her eyes off the house and whipped her head around to look at him. "What little girls?" she asked, her gut already screaming the answer at her.

"His mother Margaret, for one. And her little sister."

"Sister?" Miss Parker repeated faintly, saying it like a question, but suddenly, she exactly who it was.

"Yes," Mr. McFarnon nodded. "Little Catherine." Miss Parker closed her eyes and took a deep breath, putting a hand on her forehead to stop the nausea that started flooding from her head down to her stomach. "Well, I'll be damned, that's the same reaction Jarod had. What does it mean to you, Miss Parker?" McFarnon asked, putting a hand on Miss Parker's shoulder. She was too confused and dizzy to bat it away.

"Catherine was…is my mother," Miss Parker said, leaning against the fence, her eyes still closed.

McFarnon stared at her for a second, brow furrowed, and then slowly a grim look appeared on his face. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, sighing apologetically. "That can't be, Miss," he said softly. "She was reported dead when she was just a little girl. You must have made a mistake."

"This is no mistake," Miss Parker said hoarsely. "Jarod doesn't make mistakes. Trust me."

When her phone rang, her initial instinct was to smash it to pieces on the ground and leave; go anywhere else in the world, forget every bit of her life up till this point and start a new. But she'd tried that before, and it hadn't worked. Maybe, just maybe, for the first time, she was on a path that would lead to something. Perhaps this was a little shortcut that would bring her beyond the dead ends; what did she have to lose in answering anyway? "What is it?" she answered the phone finally.

"Miss Parker, it's me," Broots said hurriedly. "My God, we thought you'd never pick up!"

She sighed. "Broots, I'm not –."

"We know where you are," he interrupted her, and she felt her heart skip a beat. "And so do Lyle and Rains. They're coming to get you. They want you dead, Miss Parker."

"What?" she said, running her fingers through her hair anxiously and stepping away from McFarnon. "How do you know that?"

"Angelo helped us listen in to a conversation between Mr. Rains and Lyle. They think you know too much, and that you're helping Jarod."

"I have no idea where Jarod is!" she said, rationalizing that it wasn't a complete lie. "Listen, Broots, you and Sydney get out of there. And don't call me anymore – they might have bugged your phone." She hung up and stuffed the phone roughly back into her pocket. She let out a deep breath, racing through her thoughts as she tried to put the pieces together. "McFarnon," she started, but before she could say anything, he raised his hand to silence her.

"I know where Jarod is."

Miss Parker blinked. "What? How? Where is he?"

"He went to look for his mother," McFarnon said, waving a hand towards the menacing mountains the encased an entire side of the town. "By that narrow pass - it's the only way out of the village other than the boat you got off."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" she asked, frowning at him skeptically.

"Why wouldn't I?" McFarnon asked, smiling. "I'm telling you the truth just like I told Jarod." He sighed, "And I suspect Jarod's waiting for you; he knew you'd be coming through here, and he said you'd be on his tail in a matter of days. You should go after him."

"You're right," she nodded. "Thank you, for everything. McFarnon, if anyone comes through here asking about me or Jarod, please, don't tell them where we are."

"I won't," McFarnon promised. "Go to the store and get some supplies, it's not a short walk." She nodded and reached for her wallet, beginning to jog towards the middle of town. "Good luck Miss Parker. And take my advice as an old man," he added, and she had to turn now to see him. "Happiness is a choice."

She furrowed her brow at him. "I was never given choices," she said shortly.

"You don't need to be given choices," he told her, smiling sadly. "You just need to make them. Life's too short." She waited, assuming he was going to complete the thought - life's too short to...? But he didn't. Instead, he sat on a stone wall, waving her on to the town, and she set off again. 'Life's too short' to...the choice was hers.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Sydney dumped the contents of a deep drawer into a large bag, then turned to Broots. "Important personal belonging," he explained. "Ready?"

"To get out of here?" Broots said, giving a nervous chuckle. "I've been waiting fifteen years. Let's go."

Broots turned to Angelo, who sat on Sydney's chair, spinning in circle while he waited for them to go. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Broots stopped his spinning, and Angelo grinned dizzily at them. "Come on, Angelo," Sydney said, extending a hand to help him up. "It's time for us to leave." He headed for his office door, Angelo and Broots right behind him. He swung it open and started down the long hall, looking around him for signs of anyone following them. "Let's go," he said, waving the other two on. "It's safe."

They went down the long hallways, their heads down. Each carried bags from their offices, but despite that tried to look discrete. Angelo was a quiet as either of them, and though his hands were empty but for a half-eaten bag of cracker jacks, he looked uncomfortable. Broots realized that he knew as well as they did the dangers of escaping - he just hoped Angelo would know what to do if they were caught, because he certainly didn't

Halfway out of The Centre, Broots stopped dead in his tracks, raising a hang to halt Sydney and Angelo. "What's that?" he whispered, looking anxiously down the hall. It wasn't too loud, but it sounded like it was getting closer. It was a rhythmic thumping, not unlike the beat of a heart - very sinister, threatening heart. "It's getting louder!"

"Hide," Sydney hissed, darting off the side of the hall and opening one of the office doors. Broots and Angelo sped in behind him, and all three of them duck and peered out of the small window in the door.

At first they saw nothing. Then, the army of black-suited men turned a corner and came into view. "Oh my God!" Broots hissed, ducking out of view. "Look at all the sweepers!" Sweepers, in pairs of two, were in step with one another, almost marching down the hall. They were in two neat columns, like soldiers heading off to battle.

"Where are they going?" Broots asked Sydney, woefully rubbing his head.

"I could ask you three the same thing." Sydney, Broots, and Angelo spun around and pressed themselves up against the wall in their sudden shock. Willie emerged from the shadows in the office's corner, his hand inside his jacket, poised over his gun. He drew it and pointed it towards Broots's chest, cocking his head and raising one eyebrow threateningly as he waited for their answer.

"We're taking Angelo out with us," Sydney said slowly, and the calm he had had while lying to Lyle earlier was wavering now. "Jarod's latest hideout. We thought that maybe it would help if Angelo looked at some of his belongings in their proper environment. The group of sweepers startled him, so we came in here."

"Do you have authorization from Mr. Rains?" Willie asked skeptically, gun not budging.

"Yes," Sydney said coolly, tightening the grip on his bag. "And we really have to be going, the jet is waiting."

"Not so fast," Willie said, taking out his cell phone. "I'm going to make a little call to Mr. Rains."

Sydney knew he had only one chance. He swung his bag up, catching Willie square in the side of the head before he could send the call. Willie stumbled to the ground, his head clanging into the desk on the way down. Sydney peered briefly at Willie before turning and opening the door. "Let's go!" he said. "Run!" He swung the door open and bolted out, Broots and Angelo running just behind him. Broots glanced back nervously as they ran, and he could just see the last pair of sweepers turning the corner away from them, oblivious to the attack on their comrade.

"Geeze, Sydney, Lyle and Willie in one day – Mr. Rains is gonna kill us," Broots stuttered, and he didn't mean it as a figure of speech.

"He would kill us," Sydney corrected him, "but he is not going to find us." They ran out the large door into the parking lot, buzzing by the sweeper guarding it, who may or may not have been sleeping behind his dark sunglasses. They raced past the rows of cars till they got to the very back, where Sydney had parked that morning, which seemed like decades ago. He hit the remote to unlocked it, swung the back open, and threw his bag in the trunk. "Come on, in here," he said, motioning for Angelo and Broots.

Broots rushed into the passenger's seat, shutting the door behind him, but Angelo froze, shaking his head suddenly and backing away. "Angelo, hurry!" Broots told him. "Come on, get in the backseat!"

"He's afraid of the car," Sydney said. "It's all right Angelo. Come on, you'll be safer in here." He extended a hand and slowly led Angelo through the open back door. He gave a small whimper as he slunk nervously into the backseat, clutching onto the headrest in front of him. "Good," Sydney said gently. "Now stay there. It's going to be all right."

"Syd! Syd, look!," Broots shouted, pointing behind them. The doors of The Centre were opening; the stream of sweepers they had seen earlier rushed out the door, a jogging Mr. Rains in their midst, his oxygen cradled in his arms as he tried to run. Sydney dove in next to Broots and shoved his keys into the ignition. The engine roared as he sped backwards out of the parking spot, then gave a screech as he put it in drive and pressed the pedal to the ground. "Let's go, go, go, go, GO!" Broots said, fumbling as he tried to put his seatbelt on while Sydney took a sharp corner towards the exit.

They flew towards the gate, Sydney deciding to take a shortcut across the grass. They could hear a siren wailing behind them, but none of the three men dared look back. At the gate guard, Sydney crashed through the rail, sending it straight behind him and leaving a decent-sized dent in his hood.

"Well," Broots said, slumping down in his seat as they pulled onto the main road. "We won't be welcomed back here."

When Jarod groaned and opened his eyes, the sun was bright and he had to squint his eyes shut. His hands and feet were bound together, and he was on a boulder, surrounded by unfamiliar rocks. He couldn't be far from the path, because he could see the edge of the forest that had enclosed one side of it; he must be on the other side of the trees, on the mountain slopes.

"Hello, Jarod," a voice to his left said.

He felt his stomach sink even before he turned his head to see the speaker. "Mr. Cox," he said curtly.

"Jarod, Jarod, Jarod," Mr. Cox said, smiling. "Who knew I would run into you while I was out here looking for you mother?"

Jarod sneered at him, pulling against his binding. "What did she ever do to you?" he snarled.

"It's not that she did anything," Mr. Cox's grin widened. "In fact, if you hadn't escaped, she could be living a peaceful life right now."

"Why?" Jarod asked. "Why do you people ruin families?"

"We don't ruin families, Jarod," Mr. Cox said, shaking his head as if what Jarod had just said hurt and offended him. "No, we wouldn't do that. We simply put gifted children to good use. We're doing it for the greater good of the world."

"The greater good for the world, or for yourselves?" Jarod growled. "Power – that's all you people have ever cared about."

Mr. Cox raised one shoulder lightly. "Well, it's certainly put us in a good position. Better than yours, anyway." He drew a gun from under his navy jacket and pointed it towards Jarod.

"You wouldn't shoot me," Jarod snapped, though he fought against his constraints a little harder. "What good am I to you dead?"

"To me? To me, you're no good in any way, shape, or form. My job, my orders, were to kill your mother. And I won't have anyone standing in the way of that."

Jarod couldn't get his wrists out of the ropes, and his feet were trapped under him; for the first time ever, there was absolutely nothing he could do. Mr. Cox undid the safety on his gun, a crooked half-smile on his face. "Goodbye Jarod."

A gun fired, Jarod squeezed his eyes shut – but nothing happened. He opened his eyes, and, there in front of him, Mr. Cox lay dead.

"Jarod!" Jarod's quaking head turned towards the tree line, and from behind a large pine tree stepped Emily. "Are you all right?" his sister asked, running forward to free Jarod.

"I'm fine," Jarod nodded, holding out his hands so she could undo the ropes around his wrists. He was breathless, and his heart still pounded, but he smiled."Thank you."

Emily smiled back, finally freeing his hands, and they both began to pull at the bindings around his ankles. "Dad went after Mom, but we both figured you'd be safer if I came to look for you."

"Well," Jarod said, taking her hand to help himself to his feet, "I'm glad you did."

"Come on," she said, taking his hand. "Let's go find Mom."

Hours later, they had caught up with his father, traveled a short distance together, and then his father had insisted they all stop and rest. Though his father had begged him to sleep, Jarod was acting as self-appointed look-out while they rested. But as time wore on, he was struggling to keep his weary eyes open. They had found a patch of grass free from snow, and, though a little wet and entirely frozen through, it served as an acceptably comfortable place to rest their exhausted bodies.

To help himself stay awake, Jarod got to his feet and shined his flashlight up at the cliffs enclosing him on the path. There was about 500 yards of dense deciduous forest on either side of him, then a steep, almost completely vertical jagged rock wall, reaching easily seventy feet until they began to smooth into a less severe slope. Jarod could vividly picture The Centre's helicopters appearing from behind a mountainside, descending on him while the roar of ATVs closed in from either side of the path to rob him of his family yet again. He shook his head to try to lose the image.

He didn't like the enclosed feeling of this path, it reminded him of his childhood in The Centre. Just the thought of it made him fidget and squirm uncomfortably, and he had to walk into the trees to stretch his legs and feel free again.

Suddenly, something behind him cracked and Jarod jumped. He held his breath for a minute, listening for any other sound. And then again, over his father's gentle snore, was another crack. It was in the woods with him. He stepped deeper into the forest, looking around, shining his flashlight in random directions, looking for the source of the loud crackling. He desperately hoped it was a very large squirrel; he weighed out ravenous grizzly bear versus sweeper team in his head. He'd take the bear.

He took a few steps farther into his sylvan surroundings. The sound was steady now – crack, crack, crack…it didn't sound like footsteps, it was too steady and loud. It was coming from right it front of him – but what was it?

Jarod jumped as the ground beneath him began to tremble…not like an earthquake, more of a lifting, as if there was something under the ground trying to get up. He looked down and gasped. The ground was lifting beneath him! He followed it along the ground till his eyes hit a gigantic tree truck. Horrified realization suddenly dawned on him. The tree he was staring at, easily over a hundred feet tall, was leaning dangerously, swaying further at every crackle that it's uplifting roots caused from under his feet.

Jarod sprinted back to his father and Emily, the crackling getting louder by the second. "Wake up!" he shouted, shining the flashlight at his family. "Wake up!"

His father sat bolt upright; Emily slowly pushed herself to her feet.

"What? What is it?" they asked, looking around, still dazed.

"Quick," Jarod cried, "run! Just run!"

His father stared at him a second, then must have heard the sounds of the beginning of the avalanche and started to run. Emily stared at Jarod, her eyes wide, shaking her head.

"GO EMILY!" Jarod yelled. "I'LL BE RIGHT BEHIND YOU, JUST RUN!"

With one last glance she did as he said and started running away from the danger. As Jarod quickly knelt down to pick up one pack of water, he heard a ear-splitting ripping, then a crash.

He could just see his father and Emily running around a corner in front of him, and just behind them a wave of rocks started to fall.

He had no choice but to go backwards, back towards the small town they had departed. Right towards where The Centre may very well be waiting for him. He began running; it didn't matter right now. The only other option was to stay and get crushed.

He ran as fast as he ever had until his legs went numb, and then pushed through the searing pain in his sides. He ran even though his lungs were burning, and his throat was so dry it was about to crack. He knew he had to run until the crashing behind him stopped.

He didn't know how long he'd been running – maybe it was thirty seconds, maybe it was thirty minute – before the last rumbles ended with a few roaring echos. He collapsed onto the ground, panting. He was nearly sure the avalanche was over, although his heart was pounding so loudly in his ear, it was hard to tell. What would he do now? His father and Emily could still find his mother, but he would have to go back to the town and take a boat and maybe a plane to wherever his mother was headed.

He hadn't anticipated any backtracking on his trip. Had he really been traveling for less than twenty-four hours? His usually perfect timing was screwed up now, and he dreaded the consequences.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Miss Parker had only been walking for about two hours, and she was still on the path, but already she felt as though she was lost in the middle of the woods with no hope of ever getting out. She had stopped dead in her tracks when she heard the first signs of the avalanche, listening to the vicious rumble every tense second it lasted. If that truly was an avalanche - and she didn't know what else it would be - it was an exceptionally large one, which would make the road ahead more difficult to traverse.

Once all had quieted, she sat despairingly down on a tree stump and dumped dirt out of her shoe. Jarod had led her here, why couldn't he have left her a better pair of walking shoes? She closed her eyes for a second and took a steadying breath. She was going to need to hurry if she wanted to catch Jarod. Grudgingly standing up, she stretched, and then continued on her way.

Even when she caught up to Jarod, then what? Jarod was her only hope of getting answers right now. But all she knew with Jarod - at least, now as an adult - was hunt and chase. What was she to do? Propose the idea of going with him to find the answers they had been seeking for years; the answers that would shut down every last inkling of hope for going back to The Centre, the only life she'd ever known. Somehow, she doubted that any of it would sit right with him coming from her. He would suspect that she would just bring him back to The Centre. If she did catch him, she supposed that was what she should do. But what then? She didn't believe Mr. Rains' promise that the one who brought in Jarod would have a future at The Centre. But what other future did she have?

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Jarod had been hearing the footsteps for a while. He had turned his flashlight off when he saw the glow of someone else's and had darted behind some brush. He had a pretty good idea of who it was, but wasn't keen on being found by the wrong people.

As the figure in the light became clearer, he gave himself a slightly satisfied grin. He put his finger on the knob of his flashlight and stepped out onto the path

"Miss Parker," he said in the singsong voice he loved to taunt her with. His finger slid the know and turned the light's blinding beam on her.

Miss Parker gave a startled jump at his appearance and the sudden light. She tossed the flashlight to the side and whipped out her gun, squinting. Jarod blinked at the gun in her hand. "Put your gun down," he said casually, as if asking her to pass the mashed potatoes over a holiday supper. "It's never worked with me before. And besides, returning – with or without me – to The Centre isn't really you best option anymore, is it?"

"Listen Jarod, I just want to talk to you," she said, her voice shaking. "I just want some answers."

Jarod sighed and stepped forward. "So do I. You know I don't have any answers to give you. And waving a gun in my face wouldn't be the best way to get them if I did."

Her hand faltered, but then the gun lowered. "Jarod, you have to tell me everything you know," she said, stowing it away in her coat and crouching to pick up her tossed flashlight.

Jarod gave a nervous look behind him. "Let's walk while we talk," he said, motioning to her to follow.

"Not that way," Miss Parker said, shining her flashlight at Jarod. He didn't usually make mistakes like that. "That's the way we came from," she added when he didn't turn around.

"We can't go the other way," Jarod said . "There was an avalanche, it's completely blocked. We have to go back the way we came."

"We can't!" she said, panic infused in her tone as she realized what that meant. "The Centre's been tracing my calls; they might be right behind us!"

Jarod sighed, irritated but not disheartened. This was nothing new; he'd certainly had his fair share of near-run-ins since his escape. He turned around to meet Miss Parker's gaze with a glint of daring confidence in his eyes. "I'm good at avoiding them." He couldn't resist a teasing wink. "Just keep up with me and we'll be fine."

Miss Parker blinked, and when her eyes opened again, all she could see of Jarod was a blur of shadow disappearing down the path. She took off after him, barely able to keep up, let alone catch up. No wonder she hadn't caught him in six years…

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

After what felt like hours of running, Jarod stopped. Miss Parker ran up to meet him and collapsed, panting, onto her knees, her long-numb legs immediately turning off and flopping limply under her. Jarod sat on a rock, taking some water out of his backpack.

"When it gets bright out," he panted when he finally took the bottle away from his lips, "we'll have to go through the woods. Just in case, we should go at least fifty feet or so in now."

Miss Parker snatched the water away from him and took a sip. Wiping her brow, she chucked it back at him, and he tucked it back into his bag. For a moment, he felt like resting for five minutes. He leaned back and looked up at the sky, filled with stars. It was beautiful and open and free. He wanted to be able to look at that sky for the rest of his life.

"Well, then," he said, standing and tightening his backpack straps. "Let's go."

"What – now?" Miss Parker said, not even bothering to try standing. "I need a minute, I can't keep running!"

Jarod looked at her warily. "Welcome to the hell you put me in for six years."

He took a few steps into the woods, and Miss Parker heard cracking twigs getting softer and softer, a sign that he really was walking away.

"Jarod!" she called, holding onto a branch and getting to her feet. "Come back here! Now!" And when no reply came, "Come on Jarod, I just need a minute! Please Jarod!" She hated the whiny, immature tone in her voice but was becoming desperate as her legs began stiffening. She couldn't hear the cracking of Jarod's footsteps anymore. She was alone and lost. "Damn it, Jarod!" she shouted, feeling around in the dark for anything to tell her the direction; she wasn't even sure of up and down anymore.

She sat down again and thought about what Jarod had said – "Welcome to the hell you put me in for six years." With a fleeting thought of pity for Jarod, she sat down again on the rock and folded her arms. His life was still better than hers, so what was he complaining about? He would come back - he was Jarod.

As Jarod stepped through the trees, his natural instinct was to feel bad for leaving Miss Parker stranded with no flashlight, but he forced himself to think of how miserable she'd made his life since he broke out of The Centre. She certainly hadn't felt bad when she'd barged in whenever he came close to making a discovery, or when she'd shot at him, or when…

But she wasn't trying to bring him to The Centre now, he reminded himself. She was in the same position he was – on the run from The Centre, looking for answers to many of the questions he asked day after day, night after night. And if they could work together to find the clues, Jarod figured everything would be a bit easier.

He stopped jogging and placed a hand on a tree to steady himself. Sydney had always made him very in touch with his emotions, and, more importantly, where they stemmed from. Why was he especially bitter right now? He supposed it stemmed from the rejection he had faced when they left Carthis. He had imagined them working together then…being together…having each other. That was in the past. If Miss Parker was willing to work with him now, that was all that mattered.

He remembered speaking with her on the phone several days after he had crash landed the plane and escaped yet again. "Whoever finds the answers... lives." That was what he had said. But that didn't need to be the case. If they could get their answers and destroy the Triumvirate along with The Centre, neither of them would end up paying in the end. Before, if she brought him in, it spared her life (or whatever she had clung onto as a life for so many years) and ruined his. And, likewise, if he had found the answers, he would have destroyed The Center, and though he would have tried to avoid it, possibly her, Sydney, and Broots as well.

But now they might be able to destroy both the Triumvirate and The Centre twice as fast, with a higher chance of all four of them surviving. Miss Parker was the only one who had ever come remotely close to catching him in all these years. If they put their minds together...the thought made him smile. Maybe something was finally working out. With a contented sigh, he turned around and headed back to Miss Parker, his genius mind thinking of a plan all the way.