The day began like any other for Larry Summerson, a sixty five year old fisherman. Born in New Orleans; there he lived during the first years of his life until the day his parents died on a car accident. His uncle Joseph was his only living relative in the United States so Larry was put under his care. Two days after the funeral, Larry and Joseph took a flight to Europe. Joseph had a house in northeastern France. They lived there from that moment on.

After his uncle’s demise, Larry already had a life of his own. He had enough money from his inheritance to go anywhere he wanted; however, he decided to stay in the same place for as long as he lived. He felt good there and to him that was what mattered.

Larry had always been a fisherman. Ever since the day his father took him on a fishing trip when he was five years old he knew that the ocean would be a part of him for as long as he lived. And, although his uncle had encouraged him to finish his studies, he went no further than High School. There was a reason for this. For Larry Summerson, fishing had always been more than just a job—it was a way of life, one that—he felt—would follow him to the end of his existence. It was not the kind of excuse one could bet his life on, but for Larry it was just as good.

There were other things that—he knew—would also be with him for as long as his journey would last. One of those things, the most relevant to his spirit, was an utter feeling of loneliness caused by the violent death of his wife two days before their 25th wedding anniversary. They had one kid, a troublemaker with a good heart that had also died on that same accident.

The two of them were heading home on a stormy November night. The road was wet and slippery but she was a good driver and managed to keep the car steady. Unfortunately, some drunk driver was not so careful and the cars crashed against each other. The only comfort Larry had had from this —if such a word can be used on this kind of situation—came from knowing that they had a quick and painless death. It was the second time Larry lost his family; coincidentally speaking, on a same type of accident and that didn’t make things easier. Quite the contrary. It only served to remind him how much he hated cars.

And speaking of coincidences today was precisely the day of the 20th anniversary of the death of his wife and kid. It was a day that he insisted on making different from all the others.

On every other day, Larry would get up early in the dawn and go to the ocean on his small fishing boat. Today, he would begin by having a generous breakfast and then walking down to the beach, where he would spend the following hours watching the waves and listening to their sound as they came and went. It was his and his wife favorite song. Better than any tune ever composed by humans or any other intelligent life form.

He arrived at the beach at approximately seven am. According to his plans, today would be no different from all the other anniversaries he’d spent there. However, as soon as he sat on the sand he saw something near the water that quickly got his attention. It was—he instantly knew this—something that would change his life forever.

Larry Summerson had witnessed strange events before; it was part of the gift he had been blessed with. Sometimes, most times as a matter of fact, he believed the correct word was ‘cursed’. And this was one of those times. His ability to see beyond the realms of time, beyond of what is real, warned him, as soon as he laid eyes on those artifacts partially buried, that those were not ordinary artifacts. They were impregnated with evil. Evil with a capital ‘E’.

The wisest thing to do was to run away and forget all about it. The sane, and cautious, part of him yelled to do so. The other half, the curious and irreverent one, the same one that he had passed on to his late son, made him get up and walk to where the artifacts were buried.

He knelt down and touched them. He felt it again; the urge to run; but still, the urge to dig was stronger. He used his hands to do so and in a matter of seconds he was holding two scrolls on his hands. Some of them were badly damaged, but most of it was still readable. It appeared to be centuries old. He wondered momentarily how they had gotten there and how no one had found them. Perhaps they were waiting for him.

Larry tried to force himself to rip the papers apart and leave, but the curious part of him was stronger once more and he found himself reading the words written in archaic lettering. He read them out loud.

“The Centre shall rise. . .the Chosen will be found. . .a boy named Jarod.”

The words hit him like a gunshot straight through the head. It sounded like a prophecy for a very distant future. But that was not what had caught his attention. It was that word—Centre. That’s how the company where his parents worked was called.

He always knew there was something evil about that place. He felt it, even at the age of five, and, were it not for the nurturing of his mother, he would spend the nights dreaming about dreadful horrors that, fortunately for him, his young mind was still unable of converting into real images. Today, almost sixty years later, what he felt as he read those words, was far more evil than all he ever felt back then. He knew by heart that this was no coincidence. The words on the scrolls clearly referred to the place where his parents used to work.

Still, he also sensed something good. He felt it. Like a tiny spark shining in the darkness, growing and growing, waiting for the right time to show up.

For a while he just stood there, thinking about what to do. After a few long moments, he came to a decision. He would gather his things and return home. Once there, he would think things through and then, only then, he would decide what to do next. Although he felt more like burying the scrolls as deep as he could and then leaving, he knew that it was now his obligation to guard them. And so, he put them on his inside pocket and began to follow his own footsteps back home, just as the first drops of a heavy rainstorm fell on his head. He looked up, saw the dark clouds gathering, heard the thunder clasps and hurried his steps.

Larry Summerson was not a rich man. Some would consider him wealthy, others just well-provided, but he wasn’t rich. He had a small but distinguished house, which stood alone in the centre of an almost three square miles area. Outside his house rested—or rusted—his old car. He preferred to walk. He had enough good reasons to stay away from those. . .things, as he now called them.

Larry was walking the road back home with nothing but the moonlight to guide him. He’d postponed his going home during the entire day. He wasn’t afraid of what he was about to do, nor afraid of doing it at night, because, strangely as it seemed—mostly for him, anyway—he felt, not knew, felt, that it was safer for him to do what he intended to when the light of the day was gone.

The sun had set almost four hours ago and what had been a relative warm day, turned to a cold, almost shivering night. This night was one when he could feel the demons that were about to be summoned—demons from his own past and others from a more ancient one. Demons born of his memories and demons from evil, evil that—he knew it now—was also related to him.

A car drove by Larry and the driver signaled him with the headlights. Larry waved to him in response and continued on his way as nothing had happened. Later on, if someone decided to ask him if he recalled seeing anyone during that day or, more specifically, during that night, he’d probably say no—a somewhat unsure no, but a no, nonetheless.

Tonight, his thoughts were definitely elsewhere.

An hour later Larry arrived home, took off his now dried coat and threw it on the couch. The promising morning storm had only lasted about two or so hours, the rest of the day had been mild and relatively warm. But Larry—who’d spent the past sixteen hours roaming around, thinking and rethinking on what to do, better yet, on how to do it—couldn’t care less about the weather. All he cared about was. . .how?

How to do it? He wondered to himself. Nothing else mattered to him at the moment.

A growl from his stomach woke him up from his daydreaming.

Well, he thought, whatever I do, I better not do it with an empty stomach.

Time to feed the monster. That was something his father used to say. He never understood what it meant and before he had the chance to ask, he was boarding the plane that brought him to Europe. However, he understood the basic idea of that bizarre expression and, at the time, it applied to him one hundred per cent.

He went to the kitchen and made some tea and toasts. It would be his second meal since he had awaken the past dawn—almost twenty hours ago—to mourn his family’s death. And then, there he was again. He fought against it but it was useless.

The entire room began to vibrate, the frame of reality torn like it was being subjected to some kind of outside manipulation. Objects started to disappear and years of accumulated dust were instantly gone. Larry knew that this would happen sooner or later. It was exactly like every other year. Other people remembered things; some had the luck—yes, that’s the word—of being able to forget. Larry was not like that, not like that at all. He didn’t need his memory to recall past events; if he wanted to (and even if he didn’t), he would go back in spirit and re-experience everything once more, this time as a mere watcher, unable to stop what was to happen.

He arrived at the scene, same space, twenty years in the past, and watched as his younger self interrupted his three hours wait to go answer the phone.

“Hello?” His voice was shaky. He hadn’t meant for it to sound like a question.

Larry the observer knew he could not change the upcoming events, but he could hope so. If only he could stop his younger self from listening. Unfortunately, it was too late. He was there only as a guest—a forced guest, but a guest nonetheless—a simple spectator to the play.

“Mr. Summerson?”

“Yes. May I ask who’s calling?”

The voice on the other side spoke almost mechanically. It was a human voice yes, but it seemed to have lost something. What, he wasn’t sure. “I’m sorry to call you at such a late hour but. . .It’s about your family.”

Larry noticed the pause—impossible not to—a long badly hidden breath from the other side and he knew. He knew what had happened before it was even said. To say the truth, due to his gifts, he knew what had happened even before it had actually happened. He had ignored the visions, prayed for them to never become real. Well, there he was, about to be told otherwise. He knew what, but had no idea how or why. No, that was not entirely true. Some of the why derived from his own lack of action. He had no reason to take the vision seriously, except that this wasn’t the first time he had seen the future unfolding before his eyes. Maybe he just didn’t want to believe. That had been his choice and now, no matter how painfully it could get, he had to deal with the consequences of it.

“How?” Larry asked.

“Excuse me?”

Had he been surprised about the question? Probably. At least to Harry he sounded like it.

“How did they die?”

“How did you know that?”

“I’ve been waiting for them to come home for almost four hours, its’ the Devil’s storm out there and the way you made that pause, it’s easy to guess that you’re not about to tell me something good. So, if not for this, what possible reason could you have for calling me at this time of night?”

“They were involved in a car accident.”

After saying that, the voice on the other side, more human than before, proceeded to relate the events as they had happened; exactly as Larry had envisioned them. Told him about their instant deaths, how they didn’t feel anything. Told him where the bodies were. Larry wrote down the address. He would go there as soon as the call ended.

“They were luckier than the other driver.” The voice on the other side said. “He’s going be a vegetable for the rest of his life. If you want my opinion, I think it’s better like this.”

Larry never got to knew who that voice belonged to. Maybe it had been just his imagination.

About half an hour or so later, when he got to the hospital to see the bodies, everyone was surprised to see him there. That only strengthened the hope that it had all been a dream. If he turned around and returned home, he would be welcomed by his wife and son. He was almost inclined to believe that, but when a doctor approached him and called him by his name, he realized it was real.

He recognized the doctor from a coffee-shop he used to go to. He was an acquaintance, a drinking buddy; he was not his friend, but he was the closest to that right now. They shook hands.

“Larry, I’m very sorry. . .”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” He was trying, but couldn’t remember what the doctor’s name was. Probably, he was never told. Someone makes a comment about a match, next thing you know, you’re drinking beers with him. And you don’t even know who the guy is.

“How did you get here? I mean, how did you know?”

“Someone called to tell me.”

“That can’t be. They only got here ten minutes ago. And besides, our phone line is dead.”

“I’m not interested in knowing when or how, I want to know where they are.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. They are–”

“I don’t care how they look. I want to see my family.”

The doctor took a long breath and nodded. “Alright, Larry. Follow me, please.”

They walked across the white corridors, all the way to the Morgue. As they entered the “Archive Section”, they were acknowledged by another doctor on his way out. The doctors nodded to one another—it seemed like the only type of greeting they could have on a place like this, at least in the presence of an outsider.

Larry looked around. The room was cold and smelled of loss; not death, not antiseptic, not ether, just. . .loss. He saw the two bodies disposed on the autopsy-tables, waiting to be filed. They were covered by a white sheet from head to toe; their soles badly burned. He couldn’t see their faces, but he could feel their spirits. They were troubled, as if trying to warn him of something. But Larry wasn’t paying attention. He was too shaken to do that.

He saw the doctor walking to the bigger body, placing his hand at the edge of the cold metal table. He looked into his eyes, Larry’s eyes, made a brief pause before asking: “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Larry nodded. And he swallowed. Hard.

Slowly, the doctor pulled the sheet down. Once the head was visible, Larry’s face paled and he had a hard time suppressing his vomit. His beautiful wife had been reduced to something beyond recognition, something beyond visual tolerance. The doctor pulled the sheet back on, went to Larry and placed a friendly—at least condescending—hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

But Larry didn’t hear him. He was looking at himself in the mirrored ceiling: going older by the second. The walls around began to shine. A light so intense and so dazzling he had to cover his eyes. The ground started to shake and he felt himself falling into a deep hole. There was nothing he could hold on to.

This is it. Larry thought.

But, suddenly, he stopped—he was back on solid ground. For a while, he just stood there, afraid to look, afraid to see what would be standing before him.

Again, he heard the Voices, like so many other times before. Again, he ignored them.

Then, having nothing else to do, he opened up his eyes and realized that he was back where he had started: his kitchen, face to face with a cup of tea.

This year’s remembrance was over.

After twenty years remembering it, it never went any easier. The questions he had had when he received that phone call, the how and the why were seemingly answered. He knew the how, but not the why; at least, not all of it—he knew, felt, that some of the why had been because of him. Maybe, just maybe, the rest of the answer could be in those scrolls. He knew they held some answers. Maybe that could be one of them. It was somewhat farfetched, but it was worth the try, wasn’t it? Larry thought so, to a certain extent he even believed it and, as he ate his meal, all he could think off was the future. Something big was about to happen. That he knew. What he didn’t know was what or when. At least, not yet.

When he finished eating, he put the dishes in the sink and went back to the living-room. He sat on the couch, adjusted the cushions and closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he reopened them, everything was still the same. Why wouldn’t it be?

He checked his watch. 2 minutes to midnight. Time to summon the demons. In a matter of speaking. Or was it not? He opened the inside pocket of his coat and produced the two scrolls discovered at the beach the previous morning.

He unrolled the first of them and began to read the words carefully. Most of the text had been erased by way of time or water but Larry, unbeknownst to all, could see what others could not. In his mind he could see the images; he could hear the Voices, as the archaic characters strode by before his eyes, like musicians on a parade.

During the following hours, there was nothing. Nothing except the words. Even his own thoughts had been ordered to stay put, and that they did. When he finished his reading he was, some would say perplexed, others pensive, but yet, surprisingly calm. He focused on one of the passages, the one he considered to be the most important.

When at night the demons lure, The Centre shall rise

An evil place born of greed and lust for power

Throughout generations, it shall breed its own demise

From the ancient past to the distant future

The Chosen will be found by way of blood

And then all secrets shall be revealed

The man with no past, a boy named Jarod

Firstborn to the woman with fiery hair on the seventh day of the tenth month

Eight shall be his number—the key to upright infinity

Next to him, stays the Hunter, the broken half of an all

The woman with no name, his nemesis and his helper

Blood ties will rule their fates, the quest for power a goal to kill for

Her bond will be unbreakable, forged by true love

Some will harvest hate upon them, until one man arrives to answer their questions

Take faith in the Shifter and in the Hunter: they will bring peace

These are the words of power which only the Chosen ones and their helpers can endure.

From this day forth, hope shall rest upon their future.

Larry rolled up the scrolls and put them back on the inside pocket of his coat. He recalled the name mentioned: Jarod. It was all related to him, to him and to the woman with no name.

It was time to make a journey. His future quest was about to take him to the place in the world that still caused him nightmares. Back to the land where he had spent the first years of his childhood, the same land where evil now lured—evil that could consume the entire world unless he did something about it. He promised himself this time he would. One thing he knew for sure: it all depended on the Chosen ones.

Larry closed his eyes. Time took his advantage on him and he fell asleep almost immediately. Surprisingly as it may seem, his summoning hadn’t woke up any demons, they remained quietly asleep. Perhaps he would meet them on his dreams. Perhaps. He wasn’t afraid. Tonight, since a long, long time, he had the feeling he would rule supreme.

When Larry woke up the morning after he was feeling surprisingly good. Truth be told, he hadn’t felt like that for ages. The past night had been a test to Larry’s endeavor. Luckily for him, his soul wasn’t taken by any demons from this or from any other world. Even his sanity was left untouched.

So far everything was good. So far. There was still the matter of finding Jarod. Larry had his own personal resources to help him locate his target—the Shifter—Jarod. His instincts told him Jarod was still in the United States. But Uncle Sam’s land was a very big land and Larry was alone in his quest. He wished he could ask someone for help.

A long time ago, more than he could remember perfectly to recall all the details, Larry had a friend in The Centre. Someone he had met in his old twenties at a bookshop in Namur, southern Belgium, a year before he met his wife, Laura. He and the stranger began discussing about an essay and quickly became good friends. It was almost like meeting someone at a bar—like the doctor, for example. The basic difference was the fact that Larry knew his friend’s name. In fact, he could refer to him as a friend not just someone he knew.

They would meet once a week at a local bar and talk about various subjects; from fishing—Larry had found someone who enjoyed fishing almost as much as he did—to books and women.

There were other differences as well. Larry, unlike his friend, was not a doctor, but he wasn’t a dumb fisherman either. He had a very good memory and he was an excellent learner; he just didn’t like school. Its discipline and rules reminded him too much of a part of his own childhood. A part he didn’t like to remember.

Two months after their first meeting, they both went their own ways. Larry returned to France—ten months later he met Laura—, his friend went to the States to find work.

Throughout the following years, Larry and his friends kept their conversations updated by becoming pen-pals. Larry would write about Laura and his fishing trips; his friend would write about his researches at the company where he and his brother were working.

Larry had never been told where this company was, nor did he know its name. One day he decided to ask. The answer didn’t surprise him. He knew it before asking but wanted, needed, to confirm it—The Centre.

Larry didn’t write back for a whole year. When he finally did, after his wife pushed him to do so, he told his friend about his personal relation with The Centre. His friend wrote back and explained that The Centre was a place of pure evil and that his and others’ lives were in danger.

A few months later, one of Larry’s letters was sent back with a note written by someone else. The note simply said:

Jacob is no more. The Voices advise you to wait.

C. P.

Poor Jacob. Larry thought. If only you were still alive, I’d have someone to help me.

He needed a new ally. Someone who could help him to narrow the gap between him and Jarod. That was an urgent matter; although not one as urgent as the one presented to himself at the time. Each and every morning when he’d wake up, his bladder would reach the critical level during the night. Now he felt full, almost painfully full; a going to the bathroom was at hand.

*/*

Hours later, Larry was flying over the Atlantic. Two hours had passed since he boarded the plane and the flight was going on smoothly. On his private screen, he had a classic from Jacques Tati playing, although he was not paying much attention to it. Instead, Larry was lying back on his seat, with his eyes closed. He was drifting into himself, into his memory, recalling lost moments he would be wise not to think about.

*/*

The Centre

SL 2—Private School

1942—Early October

The room was displayed like a normal classroom: six children, no older than five years old, were seated in individual desks, aligned in two rows. Each child was writing a test.

The teacher was a tall, thin man with grey hair, even though he was probably still in his thirties. He was referred to as Mr. Edwards and had a look that would keep his colleagues cautious and his students afraid and at bay.

The room was extremely quiet, each of the children concentrated on what they were doing.

Mr. Edwards checked his watch and waited a few moments before saying: “Children, please stop writing. . .now.”

The children immediately stopped writing. Mr. Edwards was gathering the tests when someone knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened and a man in his near fifties entered the room, followed by two children and a nurse. One of the children was wearing an oxygen mask, while the nurse carried a small oxygen tank.

“Mr. Parker. I wasn’t expecting—”

Mr. Parker cut him off with a simple, yet effective, stare. Mr. Edwards did not retort. Mr. Parker seemed to inspire fear on everyone, even on a man like Mr. Edwards. “I’m bringing my son and this boy to this class. I expect you to treat them as normal students. No less, preferably no more.”

“May I ask who this other boy is?” Mr. Edwards asked, obviously referring to the child wearing the mask. He already knew Mr. Parker’s son. The all staff knew. He looked very innocent, like a normal five year old, but there was something in him. Something that made some people uncomfortable. The worst part was no one knew why this happened. It just did.

“Is name is William Raines. Who he is or where he is from is not of your concern. Or his, by that matter.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I have a meeting at The Tower in fifteen minutes. How’re the rest of them doing so far?”

“They just finished the first test.”

“Good. How long before the results?”

“Next month, if all goes to plan.”

“Make sure it does.”

“Of course, Mr. Parker. I will.”

Mr. Parker took a look around and then left the room. Mr. Edwards indicated the new students to their seats. Young William sat next to a boy with curly hair and looked into his eyes. The boy felt a sting down his spine, like he was looking into the eyes of a demon. Or worse.

The boy swallowed, tried to move as away as he could. Young William just kept on smiling. Then, he looked at his other new colleague, Mr. Parker’s son, expecting to find some sort of support. What he found was even more frightening than what he had seen when he’d looked into young William’s eyes.

He wanted to go away, needed to go away, but he couldn’t. He was too afraid to make the slightest movement. Then he heard Mr. Edwards' chilling voice, speaking directly to him, and he became even more frightened.

“Mr. Summerson, I have warned you several times about this kind of behavior. It seems to me that my warnings didn’t have the necessary importance to you that they should have had.”

Young Larry Summerson decided to choose that moment to speak. He knew it was wrong, dangerous, to interrupt Mr. Edwards while he was speaking, but Larry needed to say something; he needed to warn the teacher and the rest of the class about the new students. They needed to be warned of how evil these children were—or would be. Instead, what he said was no more than a very shy: “I’m sorry, Mr. Edwards.”

Mr. Edwards put his pen inside his breast pocket and took a deep breath. That was not a good sign.

“I don’t like. Matter of fact, I hate to be interrupted.” He walked to young Larry and grabbed his arm. “You’re no different than anyone else here, understand?”

Young Larry nodded frantically.

“Good. I expect no further insubordination from this moment on or I promise you, I will make you regret it.”

*/*

Over The Atlantic

Present Time

Larry opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew better than going back into such dreadful remembrances, but he had been unable to avoid it. In a way, it had been good. It had served as a reminder of what he was about to reencounter in the near future.

The movie credits were beginning to roll, but Larry’s story was far from over.

*/*

The Centre

SL17—Dr. Summerson’s Office

1942—Late October

Dr. Summerson was a man in his forties. His trimmed beard matched perfectly with his short round glasses. He was a man of science, as the framed diplomas hanging on the walls showed, but he was also a man of family. A picture of himself, his wife and a baby Larry was proof of that.

Yet, in spite his possessions—both material and spiritual—Dr. Summerson was not a happy man; at least, not at the moment. And all because of the contents of the envelope he had received from an unknown source. Inside the envelope was a copy of the results of the tests performed on his son and the rest of the staff’s children. There was also a handwritten note, saying that he and his family should take precautions.

The test had been taken at the beginning of the month at Mr. Edward’s class. Larry had revealed himself as a very intelligent boy but, unfortunately, that hadn’t been all. His blood analysis also showed that his son had a small anomaly in his blood. What that anomaly was or what it could do was still unknown—for the outside doctors anyway.

Dr. Summerson, as the head of the Genetics Department, knew better than letting his son be tested. Even though it was a company policy, he should have at least tried to tamper the results. He was one of the few people who could that do without raising suspicion. The problem was that the other two people with access to the Bodily Fluid Storage Facility were Robert Haring, also responsible for another Centre institution known as NuGenesis, and the chairman himself, Mr. Parker. And if Mr. Parker were to discover Dr. Summerson’s doings, he and his family wouldn’t have a long life. And if they did, it wouldn’t be a very pleasant one.

Damn! What the hell was he thinking?! Once Mr. Parker saw the results he knew what was going to happen. They would get rid of him and his wife and take his son under their care, to do as they wished. That was also another one of the company’s policies. Only this time, he would do something to, if not to stop it, at least to diminish its consequences. So, he picked up his phone and called the only person he trusted to set a meeting. Once he did that, he opened up his drawer and put the envelope and the papers inside. He closed the drawer and locked it.

There was still fifteen minutes before his expedient was over. He grabbed his coat and left the office. Today, he and his wife would go home earlier.

*/*

The Centre

The Tower—Top Floor—Mr. Parker’s Office

1942—Early November

Inside his office, a very irritated Mr. Parker examined some reports, while Mr. Edwards tried his best to maintain a low profile.

“Does anyone know about this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Damn.” He pounded on his desk and thought about what to do. “Contact Sanders and inform him of the situation. He will know what to do.”

“What about Dr. Summerson?”

“Sanders will know what to do.”

“That’s not what I meant, Mr. Parker. We are going need a new head for the Genetics Department.”

“I already took care of that. Dr. Haring will provide the necessary assistance.”

Mr. Parker resumed his readings. Mr. Edwards just stood there.

“Are you planning to stay here for the rest of your life?”

There was no humor on that phrase and Mr. Edwards knew it. If he had made the mistake of answering yes to a question like that, Mr. Parker’s response would probably be to shoot him right there. He knew what to say. “No. I was just leaving.”

And that he did.

*/*

Over The Atlantic

Present Time

Larry looked through the window and understood the purpose of the clouds. They would hide the heaven above from mere mortals, but also keep men’s evil doings from showing too much.

So many lives destroyed and for what purpose? And then it came again. . .

*/*

The Centre

The Tower—Top Floor—Secret Office

1943—Mid January

Mr. Parker entered the office. A man in his seventies was sitting at his desk waiting for him.

“Well, have you found out anything about his whereabouts?”

“He’s in Europe. We’re still trying to narrow it down to a more precise location.”

“I ALREADY know he’s in Europe. When are you going to bring me more relevant information?”

“He’s hard to locate. His uncle is covering their tracks very well.”

“We should have killed his entire family, not just his parents. Get me that boy. We need him for the project.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Leave now, I have a lot on my mind to focus.”

Mr. Parker turned and left without saying a word. The chain of command came from the old man. No one was above him. Yet. He knew that after the old man’s demise, he would be put on the Chairman seat. This time for real.

He hated having to pretend he was the chairman. He wanted the real thing. He was tired of being his father’s lackey, his errand boy. People thought his father was already dead, but he knew how many times his father had cheated death.

The moment was almost coming. Son would follow father and the idea of accelerating the process was running seductively through his mind. No time for moral ramblings on The Centre. It was survival of the fittest, the law of the jungle. His father had killed his other family before leaving Carthis.

He would do exactly the same if it became necessary in order to achieve the high ranks of power.

*/*

Over The Atlantic

Present Time

Larry shook his head once the visions ended. The pilot announced on the P. A. system that the plane would be landing in approximately twenty minutes. Larry took a tissue from his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

Soon, very soon, the first part of his journey would be over. After that, no one, not even God, could tell what was bound to happen.

“This is all your fault!” Miss Parker said as she walked away from the window and sit on the only available chair in the room. The car outside was now totally covered by the snow. She pounded the table. “Damn!”

A calm, deep voice spoke from the other side of the cabin. “Is something troubling you?”

Miss Parker snapped quickly. “Yes. . .you! Now, shut up!”

She didn’t even bothered to look at the man cuffed at the far wall.

Outside, there was a raging storm, growing stronger and stronger. Inside, the situation was not much better. There she was. Alone with someone she had spent the past five, almost six, years of her life chasing. For what, she didn’t know. She knew by now, that capturing Jarod would not grant her freedom from The Centre. That had been just another empty promise made by her father.

Her father.

What a joke. A sad joke, that is. According to Centre records, the recent Chairman of The Centre, Mr. Raines, was her true father. And he, like her first father, had too made her a promise. To her and her twin brother Lyle.

“The first one to bring Jarod back, lives.”

Those hadn’t been his exact words, but the meaning was close. Deadly close.

The rules had changed since then. Her efforts to locate Jarod were endangering her health. Despite Sydney’s best advices, she paid little attention to him and spent day and night analyzing whatever crumbs Jarod would leave behind. The trail kept her going.

Yes, there was a storm outside. But, if compared to what her life had become, she would much rather be outside and end it once and for all. To hell with the truth! And the answers and all those things that had made her life a living nightmare.

She was tired.

Tired of chasing, tired of failing, tired of everything. Her life could be resumed to one person—Jarod—and he was the one she was supposed to hunt down like an animal. Part of her wanted to look at him. The other part was afraid to do so. Afraid of the repercussions. Afraid it would be inevitable. No one was here except them.

She looked at her weapon, her old Smith & Wesson, and put all thoughts aside. She had a job to do. This was not the place, nor the time for such considerations. If things had been different, perhaps.

Perhaps.

Unfortunately, life had taught her a lesson at a very young age: never depend on hope.

“What are you thinking about?”

Usually that was one of the many question to which she would respond with one of her registered sharp remarks. She didn’t like admitting something was wrong. She never did. Except to her mother. And she was dead. Killed by the hand of her father. This time, however, she closed her eyes and spoke in a calm voice.

“Nothing much.”

“I don’t believe you.”

There he was again; digging into her mind like an ordinary oil drill. Again she went against her usual behavior and answered back.

“I was thinking about ‘ifs’.”

“What kind of ‘ifs’?”

His deep, penetrating voice was calling for her. He had told her so. Months before. On the Island. She closed her eyes and, as she reopened them, her Ice Queen facade was back.

“Shut up, Jarod. Just shut up.”

“No one’s here but us. I promise, whatever you say, I will not tell anyone.”

That’s where the trouble resided. If only she could allow herself to reveal that truth to him.

If only she could admit that truth to herself.

He insisted. “Come on. Let it out.”

That really irritated her. Half of her knew he was only trying to help her—and she appreciated that, although she would never admit it—but the other half thought it was all just an act. Just another one of Jarod’s wicked mind games. Usually, the latter was, statistically speaking, stronger. This time she didn’t go against her usual self.

Without thinking, she grabbed her gun, aimed and fired one single shot. The bullet landed a few inches away from his left foot. Probably it would have hit him if he hadn’t moved. She put the gun back on the table and said nothing.

He didn’t say anything either, but she could tell he was angry at her. She didn’t need to look at him to know that. It was better that way. Better for him. Better for them. As long as he was safe, she could stand the pain. She had gotten used to it a long time ago. After years of training and coercion, she was a master at hiding her emotions.

Except from him.

And he knew that. He knew something was wrong with her. He always did. She knew that he knew. And he knew that she knew that he knew.

It was an endless cycle; a clear describer to which their lives could be reduced to.

*/*

Jarod waited for her to calm down before saying anything. Part of him wanted to yell at her for what she had just done. He didn’t do anything—he knew it would be pointless to sink down to her level—so he just waited.

Her level. Ah! What was his level, anyway? In what did he differ from her? They both had shattered pasts thanks to The Centre, both were prisoners—he, a constant fugitive, unable to set bonds anywhere; she, her designated hunter, her former childhood friend. It could all be resumed to just one single word: Centre. The Centre. That was the source of all their problems.

He knew that, but he wasn’t sure about her. He thought that after revealing some of The Centre’s secrets, she would probably believe him.

Outside, the storm was starting to come to an end. But inside the cabin there was another one beginning to form.

He decided to try again. He had never given up before. And he surely wouldn’t begin with a woman who meant so much to him.

“Feeling better?”

She sighed before answering. “I. . .” She stopped there.

He knew she was trying to say something. He also knew that this was very hard on her, so he remained quiet, allowing her to wander through her mind and find whatever she was seeking.

“I’m sorry Jarod.” She said.

He smiled inside. He knew how hard that had been. The hardest step had been given. The rest was a walk on the park. A long, turbulent walk on the park. Oh well, he was used to that.

“Don’t. It was my fault.”

“No. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s all right. You missed.”

“No, I didn’t. You moved.”

She smiled. He smiled. And soon they were both laughing. Laughing like old friends laugh when one of them remembers a joke. Except in their case, they didn’t have to say anything.

“Feeling better?” He asked again.

“I don’t know.”

“What’s wrong?”

Her smiled died at that moment.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“It’s okay.”

“You want to talk?”

She waited before giving him the answer.

“You want to listen?”

In his mind, he thought, To you? Always. But his voice simply said: “Sure.”

It was at that precise moment that they heard something knocking against the door.

*/*

Larry had been following the trail for hours. He knew he was closer to his goal. The Voices were telling him so.

The snow was blinding most of his path. Not that it made any difference. He didn’t need to see to know where he was heading. His return to the home of evil was not what he expected. His search was about to come to an end.

Larry saw the cabin at a short distance. He knew he was there. Better yet, he knew she was there. He knew she could also hear the Voices as he did but she, like he had done in the past, paid little attention to them.

He walked the remaining distance. The storm was coming to an end. He could feel it. Finally, he approached the door of the cabin and knocked once.

*/*

“What was that?” She asked.

“Probably the wind.” He said.

Then they heard two distinct knocks.

“That’s not the wind. Someone’s out there.”

She grabbed her gun and moved closer to the door. She put her hand on the knob and pulled the door, ready to fire if necessary.

“Don’t move!”

She looked at the man in front of her. White hair, medium structure, about Sydney’s age. There was something about this man. The Voices told her so, but like so many times before, she ignored them. However, she allowed him to get inside the cabin and closed the door.

“Who are you? And why are you here?”

“The name’s Larry.” He said with a French accent. “And I’m here because of him.”

“Him?”

“You’re Jarod, aren’t you?” He asked, as we walked towards him.

Miss Parker aimed her gun.

“Hold it right there!”

Larry stopped, turned around and looked at her. She was one of the chosen.

“I don’t know who you are. But you stay away from him.”

“Why? I don’t believe he’s going to hurt me.”

“But I will.”

“Can I use that chair? I could use some rest. My legs are not what they used to be anymore.”

“Uh. . .sure.” Miss Parker said. She put her gun back on the holster. She believed that this man presented no threat.

“Where are you from, Larry?” Jarod asked.

“South of France.”

“You’re a little far from home, aren’t you?” Miss Parker asked.

“And how do you know my name?” Jarod asked.

“They told me.”

“They?” Who’s ‘they’?”

“The ones who told me who he was and where he was.”

“Are you talking about The Centre?”

“No. Something much more powerful.” He answered.

Larry unbuttoned his coat, opened the zipper of the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a piece of fabric. He put it on the table and before their astonished eyes he revealed what was hidden.

“Oh my God!”

“Not exactly.” Larry said. “But it’s awfully close.”

The three had been gathered around the table for what appeared to be hours but, in fact, wasn’t much than fifteen minutes. The scrolls were still there, although Larry had rolled them up. “Too soon for you to read them,” he said.

Jarod was no longer cuffed. Both he and Miss Parker were standing, while Larry, still tired of his journey, was sitting at the only available chair. After revising the entire situation, Miss Parker had decided to listen to her mother’s voice—and her own, as a matter a fact—and release Jarod. They weren’t allies yet—she didn’t feel like that—but most of the hostility was gone.

Larry was telling them his story. Told them he had been born in New Orleans and moved to Delaware at an early. After his parents’ died, he was taken to Europe, where he was raised by his uncle. He was almost six at the time.

His parents had died at a car crash. Normally, there wouldn’t be anything abnormal about that. Only when Larry told who his parents were, did things become clear. They were high figures in The Centre hierarchy. From what he could remember—it happened more than sixty years ago—his father was the head of some department. His mother was a scientist.

Jarod considered the ramifications. There was so much they could learn with this man.

“I remember these two kids being brought to my class by the Chairman. He was a scary man, but the kids. . .They were really scary. One of them had a small oxygen tank.”

Miss Parker interrupted him. “That ought to be Raines.”

“This would imply that the other boy was your father.” Jarod added. “But what were they doing together so early?”

“Mr. Parker wasn’t my father. Raines is.”

“Raines? I thought—”

“I’ll explain it later, okay? Let’s let Larry talk.”

“Fine. What about these kids, Larry?”

“I felt evil in them. I’ve always felt things around me. I’m not an empath, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just. . .it’s like I could look ahead and see the essence of what their lives would be.”

“What you were studying, Larry?”

“Grammar, mathematics. Basic stuff mostly. It was an Elementary School for Centre high rankings. But I think they were more interested in what they could learn from us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I overheard my parents talking one time late at night. I was running a high fever but I remember hearing something like special gift. Years later, when I began to see the visions, I knew the truth. For years I ignored what the Voices told me but—”

“You hear the Voices too?” Miss Parker was surprised.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Jarod wondered.

“That we’re related? Is it possible?”

“I don’t think.” Larry said. “I would know if something like that had happened.”

“They could have done it without you knowing. It wouldn’t be a first.”

“What else, Larry? How did you find the scrolls?”

“I’m almost there. After I was taken to Europe, my uncle did what he could to give the best education possible. We spent most of the time moving from country to country. As a child I wouldn’t understand totally why. I only knew my uncle was a businessman. I guess that was one of the reasons why we used to travel so much.”

“You think The Centre was after you?”

“Had to be. When my uncle died, he left me all his money. I went to France, was at my twenties, and started a small business. Didn’t work out all that well. Decided to go to Belgium. It was there that I met this man. We became good friends, he was my fishing partner. By the time we parted ways, me back to France, he to the United States, we became pen pals.

“For the next couple of months our letters would broach regular topics: books we were reading, fishing trips, that sort of thing. Then one day he tells me he and his brother had found a job. Afterward, everything changed. The topics were still the same, but I knew something was bothering him.

“Then one day, he told where they were working.”

“The Centre.”

“I stopped writing for a while. When my wife convinced me to write again, I received a letter saying he had died and that I should wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“When did this happen?”

“Almost forty years ago.”

“He must have been Jacob. Sydney and Jacob were from Belgium.”

“Yes, that was his name, yes.”

“How did you know that?”

“Just a hunch. I was a psychic once.”

“More like a psychotic.”

“Hey!”

There was a friendly banter between these two. Whatever their story was, Larry felt there was too much they were still hiding. They were afraid. He continued.

“A few years before this, my son had been born. Nasty little brat he was. A rebel with a heart of gold.”

Larry stopped.

“Something happened to them, didn’t it?”

He nodded. “You know that saying that goes ‘a lightning never strikes twice at the same place?’ Well, this time, it did. It was two days before me and my wife’s twenty fifth wedding anniversary. She and our son were driving home. We had made plans for dinner and I was just waiting for them to come home.

“I spent hours waiting. Finally, I received a phone call telling me they had died at a car accident. They told me their deaths had been painless. If that’s any relief.”

Larry tried to hold his tears but it was useless. And he didn’t felt like to.

Jarod was still analyzing what he had just heard, when Larry said something that recaptured his attention.

“My poor Alex.”

“What did you just say?”

“I was remembering my son.”

“Larry how old was your son when he died?”

“About sixteen. Why?”

“What did he look like? Blond, blue eyes?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Jarod, is there something wrong?”

Jarod’s mind was at a highway, and there was no one patrolling the road.

“Larry, your son didn’t die at that accident.”

“What?!”

“Oh my God!” Miss Parker finally realized what Jarod was saying.

“He was brought to The Centre. I remember the first time they brought him. He was reaching his seventeen’s. Looked like someone who had just returned from war.”

“But I saw the body.”

“They must have switched it.”

“No. . .no. . .no. It can’t be.”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“Are you telling me my son is alive?”

The question was one Larry never expected to ask. He had seen the bodies. Why would he suspect anything? Suddenly he recalled.

The Voices.

He had never heard his son or his wife voice inside his head. Could this mean they were still alive?

Jarod didn’t how to answer.

“I really don’t know.” He said. “What I can say almost for sure is that Alex didn’t die at that car crash as you thought he did.”

“Can’t it just be a name coincidence?” Miss Parker asked.

“I don’t think so.” Jarod retorted. “Alex was brought from Europe. France, to be more accurate. He told me this personally.” He looked at Larry. “Considering your gift, I don’t think there’s any coincidence here. Especially not with The Centre involved.”

“What happened to him?” Larry’s plea was intense. “Tell me all you know. I need to know the truth.”

Jarod and Miss Parker shared a look. This wasn’t going to be easy. How to tell someone who lost his son that, not only had his son survived, but that he had grown into someone consciously evil? Jarod knew he had no place to lie to this man. Something about him seemed oddly familiar. What it was, he couldn’t quite place it. Not yet, anyway.

“Alex was brought to The Centre around 1977. That boy you mentioned earlier, Mr. Raines, the one with the oxygen tank, became one of The Centre’s top people. He is the second in command to Mr. Parker. He was assigned to monitor your son—”

“You’re wrong, Jarod. Dr. Thompson was the one in charge of Alex. Raines told me that.”

Jarod shook his head. “Dr. Thompson was a façade. Raines was the one in charge of Alex’s training.”

Larry felt like asking what this training was. Somehow he knew he wouldn’t like the answer so he remained quiet, letting Jarod choose his words.

“Alex was inserted in the Pretender Project and trained to do simulations. The project had various faces, some official, others not quite. According from records, I was the first. Next came Lyle and Angelo, Eddie, Damon, Dannie, my brother Kyle, Miss Parker here, although she was never an integrant part, and later on. . .Alex. Most of us were inserted in the project at an early age. Alex, on the other hand, arrived at a time when we were eons ahead of him. He had a lot of catching up to do so Raines decided that—.”

“Before you go any further, there’s something I need to ask.” Larry said.

“Go ahead?”

“What’s a pretender?”

“Pretenders are individuals whose special gifts allow them to process information faster than the average people.”

“Like gifted children?”

“It’s more than that. A pretender processes all the existing information about a topic and, if a problem appears, he knows exactly how to solve it.”

“In very few words, they’re genius who can become anyone they want to be.” Miss Parker complied.

“That’s right. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Miss Parker grinned. “And they call you the genius.”

“Please continue.” Larry said.

Jarod nodded. “Our advance on Alex forced Raines to use extreme measures. In other words. . .”

“Torture,” Larry completed the sentence for him.

“At the time, none of us knew what was being done to him. I saw him when he arrived and, after that, only a year later when he was inserted in the project for good.

“The Centre had us believed that our simulations were being used to help people. Instead they were being sold to the military, terrorists, drug dealers, Mafia, Yakuza, anyone who paid the highest bid. Alex, Damon and, I think, Kyle were trained to alter the usage of our simulations in order to, for example, turn a vaccine into a deadly virus.”

“They turned my son into a murderer.”

It was not a question.

“I don’t know what was done to him while he was away.” Jarod continued. “Alex was a rebel like you said, but his heart had turned from gold to lead. He enjoyed twisting the simulations’ benefit results to more devious ones. He had become what the specialists refer to as a sociopath; an individual who. . .”

“I know the term.” Larry interrupted, obviously not wanting to hear the definition of what his son had become.

“Once I discovered the truth I decided to escape. I asked Eddie to come with me and made arrangements to escape during the night. Angelo helped us by looping the surveillance cameras.”

“So, he was the one.” Miss Parker said.

“You’d surprised if you knew what is capable off.” Jarod told her. “Anyway, when we were running down the corridor, Alex called from his cell and asked to come with us. I hesitated. I had simmed my escape plan for two people only and the rumors about Alex’s usage made him hard to trust. Still, we decided to give him a chance.

“Unfortunately, something went wrong. He slipped and fell into the Rehydration Core. I grabbed his hand and tried to pull him up, but he slipped from my fingers.”

Jarod’s mind instantly recalled that moment when he saw Alex disappear in the mist.

“Eddie and I always assumed he had died then. He didn’t. Instead, he was taken to The Triumvirate headquarters in South Africa to be reeducated.”

Seeing the look in Larry’s face, Miss Parker anticipated his question. “The Triumvirate is a stockholders group who controls most of The Centre’s current activities. Including the Pretender Project.”

“Thanks.” Jarod said. “During the first years of my escape I had no reason to believe Alex and survived. A few months back, however, he resurfaced. He wanted to exact vengeance on all those he felt were a menace to him. He killed Eddie, tried to frame me for the deaths of several NSA agents, and kidnapped Mr. Parker.

“I was trying to stop him when he fell into the ocean. His body was never found, so there’s a chance he may still be alive.”

Jarod’s mind traveled to the scene at the Opera House, at the precise moment when Alex had said, referring to Miss Parker: You have no idea how important to you she really is. And after today, you’ll never know.

Things needed to be straightened out. Once and for all. As soon as this situation with Larry was solved, he promised himself he would go talk to her.

“You haven’t heard about him after that?”

“We didn’t look. Other problems came up.” Miss Parker answered.

“Very well, then.” Larry said. He tapped the table, thinking what their next move would be. He closed his eyes and listened. For minutes, he remained still. Finally, he reopened his eyes and spoke. “The first part of my mission was to find you two. That part is done, so it’s time to move forward.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Jarod asked.

“I’m an old man, Jarod, and I have nothing to lose, except my life. Which I will give gladly if it means putting a stop to The Centre. They took everything we had. It’s time for them to feel the same. And most of all, I want to know what happened to my son. I want to look at him one last time. Ask for his forgiveness.

“But I need your help. I can’t do this alone. I feel you had your quarrels, still do, but I say it’s time to decide. Are you with me?”

Jarod nodded. “We’re going to need a plan.” He added.

“We already got one.” Larry pointed to the scrolls. “What about you?”

Miss Parker was quietly considering her options. Like Larry, she also had her eyes closed and was listening.

Jarod was about to say something when he felt Larry nudging him. Looking at Larry, he saw him shaking his head. It was her decision to make. Jarod nodded in agreement.

Miss Parker opened her eyes. She had a determined look on her face—one that Jarod knew very well. Whatever her decision was, she wouldn’t change her mind about it later. The question was: what had she decided?

“I’m in.” She said.

Jarod smiled to himself. He had dreamed about taking aggressive measures against The Centre dozens of time but had never put anything into motion. He always knew he would need her at his side to succeed. Now, after so many years, that moment had finally come.

*/*

An hour later they left the cabin. Jarod and Miss Parker cleaned the snow covering her car and the three hopped in.

Jarod had stashed his car in the woods nearby. Once they got there, they would split up. She would return to The Centre and start digging for information, while Jarod and Larry would go to Jarod’s current lair to analyze the scrolls.

All things planned, Miss Parker turned the engine on and drove away.

No one noticed the extra pair of footprints next to the cabin.

Jarod’s current lair was located a few miles from the cabin where he and his now two partners had been trapped moments earlier. Driving at a rate of sixty miles per hour, they reached their destination in less than twenty minutes.

Located at a small town, Jarod thought of this lair as one of his favorites. It was one he used from time to time. The closeness to the ocean helped him to relax from what was, otherwise, a very stressful life.

Larry was quickly fond of it as well. It brought him an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia. How long had it been since he’d last seen those shores? He sighed.

“This feels strange.”

“What?”

“Being back here. After so many years. I’ve been away an entire life. Everything’s changed, everyone’s different. . .”

“Ice cream is still good.” Jarod replied.

That simple remark helped to ease the mood a bit but, even so, Jarod couldn’t stop thinking about what Larry had said. He had been away from his family for more than thirty years. He didn’t know them; they sure didn’t know him either. His contacts with family members had been brief and sporadic, often followed by a period of going underground. Why was he looking for people who were practically total strangers to him?

The answer was simple.

Because they were his family, and because they had answers to who he was and why The Centre wanted him so badly. Ever since his escape, he always thought that it was due to the fact that he was a pretender. But that final rendezvous with Alex had made him wonder what it really was that The Centre wanted him so much for. And so, there he was, side by side with a man whose life had also been destroyed by The Centre. A man who possessed some of the answers Jarod had been searching for so long.

A few moments later, they finally arrived. Jarod parked the car and they exited, moving toward the house. Once inside, Jarod turned the lights on.

Looking at the state that the living room was, he felt the need to apologize. “Sorry about the mess. Being on the run leaves me no time for housekeeping.”

“Don’t worry. I live alone too.”

Jarod directed Larry to the couch. “Take a seat. You must be tired.” He said, while setting up his laptop.

“Thank you. I am.” He took a seat. “Mon Dieu. . .I haven’t walked like this in ages.”

“I’m still wondering how you managed to find us.”

“The Voices. Once I started to listen to them, they turned out to be pretty helpful.”

“So I heard.”

A few minutes later, Jarod had finished setting up his laptop and walked over to Larry.

“I’m going to grab a bite. Can I get you anything?”

Larry thought of the last time he had a meal, not a decent meal—that had been weeks, months ago—, a simple meal. He was unable to remember when that had happened, but he knew for sure that it was time to refill his energies.

“What do you have?” Larry asked.

“Pop-tarts.”

At Larry’s sudden frown, Jarod added quickly.

“They contain eleven essential vitamins and minerals.”

“Thank you. Anything else?”

Jarod took a moment before answering. “I think I may have some bread and cheese. . .”

“That will be perfect.”

The computer beeped once and an electronic voice spoke. “You’ve got mail.”

“I’ll be right back.” Jarod said, walking quickly to the desk where his laptop stood, screensaver still activated.

He pressed a key to clear the screensaver and clicked on his mail box to read the message.

JS 32

Signed: CJ

It looked like a reference file. To what he didn’t know. Yet. There was a file attached. Jarod clicked on the link, saved it to his hard drive and opened it.

It was a scanned copy of a birthday record from 1935. Jarod read the contents quickly but he couldn’t figure out what it meant. To all appearances this looked like an ordinary birthday record. Unfortunately, Jarod knew that with The Centre involved, there had to be more.

And then he saw it.

The document was signed by a doctor Robert Haring. He recognized the last name instantly as being related to NuGenesis—The Centre’s private fertility clinic. Looking at the date, he assumed this doctor was probably the father of the two brothers who founded NuGenesis.

He read the record again and, when he saw the names of the progenitors of the child, he knew this was just the beginning. Justin Summerson and Elizabeth Summerson were the names.

During their trip Larry had told him a little more about his past at The Centre. Including who his father was; which would mean that Larry had a brother out there. One he probably didn’t know about.

“Larry, it seems our snack is going to have to wait.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I think you should come here and see for yourself.”

Larry got up from the sofa and walked over to Jarod.

“I found something about your past.”

Larry pulled a chair and sat next to Jarod

Jarod quickly showed him the copy of the birthday record he had received. “A friend of mine sent me this. It appears you have a brother.”

“A brother? That can’t be.”

“When we’re talking about The Centre, everything can be.”

Larry read the names on the document and replied. “That’s not my mother’s name.”

“What?”

“That’s not my mother’s name.” Larry repeated.

“Are you sure?”

“I think I know my mother’s own name.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“What do we do now?”

“We hack into NuGenesis system and find out what JS32 means.”

Suddenly, the front door was kicked and a group of sweepers came bursting in. Jarod reacted quickly and tried to run but he and Larry were restrained with almost little effort. Jarod’s anger only increased when he looked at the street door and saw Lyle walking in.

“Lyle. . .” He said, with gritted teeth. “How did you find us?”

“A friend told me.”

Without waiting for the inevitable question, Lyle signaled someone outside. “You can come in now.”

The stranger walked in. Jarod did his best to hide his surprise, but found himself unable to.

“Alex.”

“Hello, Jarod. Did you miss me?”

Jarod couldn’t decide what had surprised him the most—the fact that they had been caught or the fact that a presumably dead man had caught them. Larry, on the other hand, had trouble recognizing the grown blond man as his mourned son.

“I thought you were dead.” Jarod said.

“The rumors about my death have been. . .unfounded.”

Lyle stepped in. “One of our crews discovered Alex moments before he made it to the other world and did their best to. . .reeducate him. He’s much better now. Still a sociopath, of course, but now he only kills when I tell him too.” Lyle smiled. “Like a puppy, see?”

“You know how Alex is, Lyle. You can’t control him so easily.”

“Actually, this.” Lyle produced a remote from his breast pocket, “says I can.”

Lyle pressed a button on the remote and immediately Alex felt a jolt of energy traveling across his brain. His scream show how agonizing that pain would be.

“It’s very effective. Painful, yet not lethal.” He smiled. “The best part about it is. . .he was actually the one who developed this device. Alex may be second in ranking when compared to you, Jarod, but he's still a good pretender.”

Larry was trying to keep a calm resolve, not let his anger show but this was too much. He opened his mouth to speak, but the fury in him made it sound almost like a growl. “What have you done with my son?”

*/*

Meanwhile

The Centre

Miss Parker’s Office

After parting ways with Jarod and Larry, Miss Parker returned to The Centre to gather all the information possible about Alex and his parents. So far she had found nothing new to add to what she already knew.

Alex had been brought to The Centre as part of The Pretender Project at the age of 16. His grandparents had been part of the Centre’s top hierarchy. His father had been tested as part of the company’s policy regarding top members.

Apparently, Alex’s past had been entirely manufactured. Jarod had told her that Alex once claimed to destroy the only leverage The Centre had on him by killing his own family. The question regarding the need to produce a false past was one she had yet to find out.

Now she had more pieces of the puzzle than before, but the final picture was still a distant one.

Alex had been taken to The Triumvirate headquarters in South Africa and trained to be their “fixer”. His job, from what she had learned, was to identify the possible flaws in Jarod’s simulations or, in some cases, to make them fallible. It was no secret that The Centre had no morality to guide the usage of its projects. In a balanced like effort, Jarod pointed out the benefit use of each sim, while Alex would indicate its exact opposite.

Lyle had told her that Alex was too evil, too crazy to be reeducated. A statement such as that coming from a man like Lyle had to be at least considered. Her. . .father had declared Alex as Lyle’s personal maniac. She had reasons to believe that Lyle once possessed a great influence in The Triumvirate. The relationship between Alex and Lyle and the latter’s power over The Triumvirate was something she had never considered until then.

After the Emma Barrett incident and the following troubles with the Yakuza, that influence had decreased to the point that a sanction order on him had been issued. Lyle faked his death then and came back. Just like he had done before going to Africa. What if that sanction was related to his lack of success in training Alex?

One thing she never understood was how Lyle managed to climb the stairs of power—from a baby stolen at birth to a man capable of forcing control over The Triumvirate. What leverage did he possess and, more important than that, was that information still existent? Again, the duo Alex / Lyle came to her mind.

She remembered the time when she spoke to Raines, what he told her before Mr. Parker had shot him. Her mother had recorded a DSA explaining her plan. She hadn’t found that DSA yet, but Raines had said something else. “There’s still one person alive who knows the all truth.”

It was at that precise moment that Mr. Parker showed up and shot Raines in the back, preventing him to say anything else.

All the elements were connected—Larry, Alex, Lyle, Jarod, The Centre, The Triumvirate, her mother’s plan. Pictures circled her brain like a carrousel. And all was tied up to a simple piece of plastic.

The DSA.

If only she could find that DSA. But how? She couldn’t search The Centre floor by floor. But there was someone who could. In fact, it was possible that he already had the item with him.

“Angelo.”

She spoke softly, barely audible to anyone to herself, yet her call caught someone’s attention. The sound of something falling on the floor near the air vent made her get up and walk toward it. The man behind the grid said nothing.

She knelt to pick up the object and recognized it as the St. Christopher medal her mother used to wear. Before she could ask Angelo what he was doing with it, he was already crawling away leaving her with more questions to ask.

She returned to her desk and stared at the medal. Her mind returned to the forest cabin where the medal had been found. Her mother had worn it. Angelo told her that much. And something else, something she hadn’t truly acknowledged so far.

“Sydney knows all the secrets and lies.”

Her mother’s ring, the one that saved her life once, brought back another memory.

“Ask your father. He knows all the secrets.”

The relation between these two sentences was making her tremble inside. It couldn’t be.

Raines returned to her mind with one of his epitaphs. “There’s still one person alive who knows the all truth.”

And, finally, Alex, when she said she was looking for the answers only her father could give her.

“He’s not your father.”

Memories from her childhood came back like a flood washing away a world of sin and after its passage only one question remained.

Was Sydney her father?

The biological exams had pointed Raines as a more likely subject. But the samples could have been tampered before being stored. The samples analyzed were the ones belonging to Mr. Parker and his brother Raines. They could have switched it with the ones belonging to Sydney and Jacob.

Was it possible? Should she dare to believe it or prepare herself to face one more disappointment?

*/*

Jarod’s Lair

Lyle couldn’t hide his smirk. “Your son?” Lyle asked. “My, my, isn’t this interesting?”

“I’ll show you what’s interesting. . .”

Larry made a move to attack Lyle. Jarod tried to stop him but two sweepers grabbed him from behind and immobilized him.

Lyle made no move to protect himself.

A powerful kick in the knee was all it took to end the attack. Larry fell on his back and stared, incredulously, at the man who had stopped him.

“Why, son?”

“I’m not your son.”

The last thing Larry saw before the coming of darkness was Alex’s foot approaching his face.

Fact: being unconscious steals the perception of time.

When Larry regained his senses, he was surprised when he found himself still in the same place.

His house in southern France.

This was the day he most dreaded. A walk in the beach was the recipe for keeping the demons tamed.

He left his house and walked. Just like in any normal day. Storm clouds were gathering. It wouldn’t be a good day.

Something’s different, he thought. His mind told him he was imagining things, his senses confirmed that—yet, he could feel a vibe. A tiny spark enough to make him question his mind and his senses, to abandon logic and focus on that vibe.

Larry had a gift. Sometimes, he’d choose to use it, instead of pretending it didn’t exist—this was one of those times. He closed his eyes and, one by one, he turned off his senses; his perception waned until the only two things still remaining were the notion of his self and the vibe.

Larry locked on it, opened his eyes and began following the trail toward the beach.

Minutes later, Larry was digging a hole on the beach. There, he found a box. Inside, there were two scrolls that burst into flames as soon as Larry tried to grab them.

And then he woke up.

He was in a cell. It was just him and the camera at the ceiling. He knew where he was. Even if he didn’t know who had brought him here, he felt it. Perception had a way to surpass knowledge.

His mind was racing for clarity. He recalled everything and felt a mist of sorry and hatred when he remembered that it had been his son that knocked him out cold.

His nose had been band-aided. It still hurt a bit, but not as much as it hurt every time he closed his eyes. Larry thought of his son—dead and mourned—and could not stop blaming himself for what had happen.

*/*

The Centre

SL-27

Jarod woke up and had to avert his eyes from the light. Where the hell was he? And then it hit him.

The stench.

It was, unfortunately, too familiar to be confused with anything else. He looked down and realized he only had his pants on. He tried to adjust his position; that’s when he felt his hands cuffed behind his back.

His mind was still clouded from they had given him, but he knew he wasn’t alone. They wouldn’t make the mistake of leaving him alone. Not this time.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake,” said Lyle from behind.

“What. . .have you done to me?”

“Just a small sedative. Nothing much. I didn’t want you to sleep during the show.”

A sweeper entered the room with a bucket of water and splashed it over Jarod.

“What the hell are you doing, Lyle?”

Lyle smiled, but it faded quickly. “Payback.”

The sweeper grabbed Jarod’s feet and put them inside the bucket. Jarod instantly remembered the time when he trapped Lyle on a small warehouse and threatened to electrocute him; instinctively, he kicked the bucket away. The sweeper hit him in the face and was about to throw a second punch when Lyle spoke.

“Never mind that. Leave us now. I’ll call you when I need.”

“I know why you’re doing this.”

“Oh, really?” Lyle wondered with a grin on his face. “Do you mind telling me why?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe you need me for some deed.”

“Jarod, let me be perfectly blunt. We, I mean, I don’t need you anymore. You have—how shall I put it?—outlived your usefulness.

“Now that I have the scrolls on my possession and Alex under my control, I have everything I need to assume control of The Centre and The Triumvirate.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I always knew about the scrolls, the power they conceal. Its words were written purposefully to affect two lineages. Yours and mine. One would be able to read it and control its power, the other would be consumed by it. That’s what happened with my ancestor, the one who founded The Centre.”

“That’s why they needed me all along.”

“Yes but, like I said, it doesn’t have to be you, just someone from the same lineage. Kyle failed, Gemini and Ethan also, but the other one. . .I believe it’s going to work out perfectly.”

“I don’t understand.”

Lyle chuckled. “And they thought you were the smart one.”

Jarod’s mind returned to that moment on the pier when Alex had spoken those very same words to him.

“Do you even know why they want you back so much? Why they have been chasing you for five years?” Alex grinned. “You don’t really think it’s about being a pretender, do you?”

Jarod had never considered that idea until then.

“What are you talking about?”

“You have no idea who you really are.”

Something inside him began establishing connections until it all started making sense. Alex and Larry were his relatives. How that was possible was the fifty million dollar question. Unless Larry’s missing brother was. . .

*/*

Miss Parker walked purposefully toward Sydney’s office. Her mind was racing, trying to figure out a good way to execute what she had in mind. She wanted to compare a sample of Sydney’s blood with the one stored on the Bodily Fluid Storage Facility. IF they matched, she would forget the whole thing. If they didn’t. . .

She smiled to herself and it almost reached her eyes, but she quickly forced it to disappear. It could turn out to be another disappointment. Her mind was yelling that the whole thing was a waste of time, her heart too numb to be of any guidance—only the voice inside her head gave her a feeling of calm and security.

Have Faith, Angel, her mother’s voice kept whispering.

Yes, mama.

Only a couple more steps.

*/*

Sydney heard the door being opened, but didn’t turn to see who it was. He was checking his file cabinet when he heard her footsteps from outside. She was the only one in the entire Centre staff who came into his office without knocking. Even Lyle and Raines were polite enough to knock. Angelo didn’t knock either, but he never used the door anyway.

“Miss Parker! I see you’re back from your trip.”

“You have a gift to overstate the obvious, Freud.”

Her demeanor was the same, but he noticed the tone in her voice. He turned and saw something in her eyes. A spark like he didn’t see in a long time.

“Parker, are you all right?”

The question was a simple one and normally she would retort with a dry ‘Fine’ or a more aggressive ‘None of your goddamn business’. Instead, she stared at him, studying him.

Sydney felt her scrutiny reducing him to nothing more than a molecule under a microscope. No one, not even Jarod or Jacob, had looked at him that way. She wasn’t just looking at him, she was analyzing him, trying to understand him. She was searching. But he could only see that far.

“Parker. . .”

“I. . .”

Before she could continue, the grid from the air vent was removed and a small envelope fell on the floor. Sydney and Miss Parker immediately went to see what Angelo had left them.

Inside the envelope was a DSA and a piece of paper with JS 32 scribbled on it.

Miss Parker watched the contents for a bit before putting them in her pocket. “We need to go somewhere else.” She whispered.

Sydney nodded and they both left the office.

Sydney thought about turning the radio on.

That thought lasted only a couple of seconds.

The silence inside the car was deafening, almost oppressive. She was quiet—too quiet—and he didn’t like it when that happened. Usually, when this type of silence invaded her, there was something wrong.

From The Centre to her house it took no more than thirty minutes—fifteen according to her standards. They were on the right track, but they were taking too long. Almost forty five minutes. Even Broots would be there by now (and Broots WAS a slow driver).

She was driving slowly enough to reveal a certain anxiety. It was like her mind was so focused on other subjects that the part concerned with the driving had to be reduced to a minimum.

Sydney had plenty of time to consider this later, so he simply reclined his seat a bit and closed his eyes.

They would be there soon.

*/*

At the deepest bowels of The Centre, Larry had managed to regain his composure and was sitting at the east corner, away from the door. His eyes were open, but his mind and self were elsewhere.

Larry Summerson, age sixty-five, was now an empty shell.

He was six again, a scared little boy. Scared of Mr. Edwards, scared of Mr. Parker; but, most of all, scared of his two new colleagues. He felt evil in them. In their eyes he saw a glimpse of the future yet to be written and was so frightened that all rational thinking abandoned his body.

He knew no one would listen to his warnings. In fact, he was afraid that letting the future be known to those responsible for it, would only help to accelerate the process. If he kept his mouth shut, perhaps fate turned out differently.

He was too young at the time to understand his gift. He was too young to even realize he had a gift. Young Larry would acknowledge the occasional visions he’d have as if they were regular events in every normal child.

Years later, he discovered they weren’t and regretted for not taking a stand when the first vision revealed. Maybe things had worked out different. Maybe then his uncle would never take him to Europe, he would never meet his wife and his son would never be born.

He would be a prisoner all his life, gladly sacrificing his freedom for a chance to release his son from what he had become; even if that meant erasing him from existence.

They had done to Alex what they intended to do with him. It was his fault. But, perhaps, he could do something to change that. All his life, ever since Larry realized he was not ‘normal’, he had always interpreted his gift as something passive. He had little control over it. He could ignore it, turn it off, whatever. But, every time he’d choose to let himself go or every time it was too strong for him to avoid, it would take him beyond time and space and allow him to assist events as a mere spectator.

For the first time ever, Larry was considering that it might be possible to intervene in the vision, to alter the events from their core. In other words, it was time to stop being an ordinary spectator and assume a more active role.

*/*

SL 27

Jarod’s Cell

“You look like you have something on your mind,” Lyle said, amused. “Wish I could help you out, but this is a puzzle you gonna have to figure it out yourself.” He smiled. “Ah. . .It really is so nice.”

“What is?”

“Power, Jarod. What else? When you realize the power you possess, that feeling, that knowledge is even more overwhelming that the power itself.

“I have to be honest. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here right now. Your existence brought me nothing but pain. However, it also made me an extremely powerful man, and for that I thank you. In fact, right now, I don’t know what makes me happier—having this power or seeing that priceless dumbfounded look on your face.”

“I will figure it out”

“I’m sure you will. But, by then, it will be too late.”

The cell door swung open and Lyle turned around irritated. A sweeper came in.

“I said I wanted NO interruption.” Lyle growled.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lyle; but we have a situation. The prisoner in room 17 has been found catatonic.”

“Greet. . .Where is he now?”

“He’s still there. We decided to wait for your instructions before taking him to Renewal.”

“No, don’t take him there. Call Dr. Mitchum, tell her I need her cooperation and silence on this level.”

“Where do we take the prisoner, then?”

“Take him to Lab A.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And tell Alex to be there too. I want him to watch.”

“Yes, sir,” the sweeper said, before exiting the room.

“You’re sick, Lyle.”

“Can’t blame a guy for enjoying a good show. Besides, I’m sure he will be totally indifferent to his father’s pain. What I really want to see is the look in the old man’s eyes when he finally realizes that.”

“Damn you!”

“There’s no redemption for me, Jarod. Not anymore. It’s time for each one of us to assume his role.”

*/*

Alex was in his private office. The term was not the most suited. Honestly speaking, it was a cell like all the others in that level. The big differences were the existence of furniture and an unlocked door. He could leave whenever we wanted—unlike other inmates, he had that option—but he wouldn’t do it unless he was told to.

He was staring at the wall with a smile on his face. He could almost experience the feeling of liberation as he visualized himself crushing Lyle’s head against the wall until it was no more than a deformed mass of flesh, bone, hair, skin and blood.

It was nobody’s fault, but him the fact that he was a puppy—a deadly puppy, but still a puppy—calmly waiting for his master’s orders. Yet, somehow, that wasn’t much of a concern to him. Not really. Like Jarod, Alex too had a flaw in his character.

He trusted no one.

It had been he who first told Lyle about the existence of the scrolls. He let Lyle believe that he was in charge, when in fact it was he who was calling all the shots from backstage. Lyle would make the decisions, but they would be based on the information gathered by Alex.

He convinced everyone he was a crucial piece of the puzzle. He was not obsolete. He had a purpose. They needed him, Lyle needed him—he made sure of that. It was almost like a puppeteer being animated by his own puppet.

Now, things were different. Lyle had complete control of his physical action, but there was something in Alex no one could, ever would, control.

His mind.

Until the right moment came, he would make them believe they did.

*/*

Sydney followed Miss Parker into the living room and sat on the couch as she continued to the kitchen.

“Tea?”

“Yes, please.”

Sydney watched as she moved in the kitchen.

The kettle was already in place. She filled it with water and put it on the stove. From the cabinet above she took two mugs and two tea bags. She put a tea bag inside each mug and waited for the water to boil.

Sydney simply watched.

Never. Not once. She did not look at the living room. Ever. Normal chit-chat wasn’t Miss Parker’s regular behavior, but this was different. She was almost avoiding him.

The tension in her actions was worrying Sydney. About an hour earlier, when had burst into his office she had THE spark in her eyes—the same spark her mother used to have when she meant business. Now, not only was the spark gone, it had been replaced with something he wouldn’t consider finding on someone like her—fear.

She was clearly afraid. Others wouldn’t notice—to them she would be their regular ‘Ice Queen’—but he knew her too well. Sometimes, better than she knew herself, or even than he knew himself.

The kettle hissed and she put water on the two mugs. No sugar added. They both enjoyed it that way.

Miss Parker walked back to the living room and handed one of the mugs to Sydney, before sitting on the couch. She let her hair fall downward in a, otherwise innocent, way to hide her face from Sydney.

They both drank in silent.

Sydney, getting ready for what Miss Parker had to say.

Miss Parker, getting ready to say it.

Finally, she put the mug on the coffee table and began talking. “I’ve been doing some thinking and. . .” She hesitated. “I discovered some information that may lead to. . .” Another pause. “What I mean is. . .” Then she stopped abruptly and looked away.

“Parker? Are you alright?”

He motioned to touch her shoulder. As he did so, she turned around unexpectedly, with teary eyes, and asked, plain in simple:

“Are you my father, Sydney?”

The question hit him like a bullet; metaphorically speaking, of course, because a bullet could have been more easily avoided. Sydney looked in her eyes and knew she wouldn't accept less than the truth.

Unfortunately, he was not in a position to say it. Not because he didn't want to—he wanted, he had his suspicions; always have had, but not enough to say yes or no. So, he decided to answer her the only way he could.

“I don't know, Parker.”

“Cut, the crap, Syd. For once in your life, forget about any promises you made and just tell me the truth.”

“I am telling you what I can without lying.”

“How's that?”

“Well, your mother never told me, but I always sensed you and I were connected. Perhaps it was because of me knowing you since you were a child.”

“Did you and my mother ever. . .?”

“No, never. But, the first time I saw you I felt something. The same thing I felt when I saw Nicholas for the first time.”

“I wish we could be more certain.”

“What brought this up, anyway?”

“I've been connecting some dots. For instance, I realized that the whole issue about my father being Mr. Parker or Mr. Raines could also be applied to you and Jacob.”

As soon as he heard it, Sydney knew immediately where she was going with it.

“You think our samples were exchanged.”

“It's a possibility.”

“But how can we know for sure?”

“We run a paternity test. I know a private clinic, with no connections to The Centre.”

“This may turn out to be another disappointment, Parker.”

“At least, it won't be a lie like anything else on my life.”

*/*

Larry heard them coming in. He acknowledged the commotion but made nothing about it. He was safe in the deepest recesses of his mind, traveling beyond the realms of his self.

He was at a library. A very extensive library. He went to a shelf and picked a book. He flipped a few pages and recognized the words instantly: they reported to the time when he first met Jacob.

From his pocket he drew a pen—he didn't know it to be there, it simply was—and considered changing the events on that book.

For a while the pen wandered over the open page, almost touching it. Finally, Larry decided to leave things as they were. Changing the past can be tempting, but it can also be dangerous.

And yet, if he had a possibility, why not use it?

He knew why. Because things could get aggravated.

Larry put the book back on the shelf and continued strolling around.

He had to find another way to help his son without jeopardizing him any further.

*/*

When Lyle came into the lab, everyone else was already in there. Larry was strapped on a gurney, next to him a blonde woman in her mid forties was checking his IV. Jarod was being held by two bulk sweepers. Alex was at a corner, smirking, with his arms crossed. A third sweeper was watching him attentively. No one or anything was holding Alex but, like the other two, Lyle knew he wouldn't go anywhere.

He had them all under his control and that felt good. So damn good.

“I was almost starting to think you wouldn't show up.” Alex said, grinning.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Lyle walked over to Larry and looked at the chart. He turned to the woman, “What do you make of all this?”

“I don't know. Everything is normal. I don't know how to explain it, but his vitals, his breathing, his pulse, even his brain waves, shows that he's awake.”

“But he's not. I can see that he's asleep.”

“Well, sir. . .that's the thing.” She took the chart from his hand and pointed to a red line on a graphic. “Look at this.”

Lyle watched the graphic. She proceeded to the explanation.

“This is a mapping of his brain activity taken when he first arrived here, before being taken to his cell, before the accident.” She flipped a few pages and displayed a new graphic. The values were the same, but the line on this was blue. “And this was taken about fifteen minutes ago.”

“They are the same.”

“Yes, and that's the problem. Normally, there would be a change in activity, but not this time. There are no differences. He's both asleep and awake.”

“How can this be?” He turned to Alex and Jarod. “You two geniuses have any idea?”

“I have a few,” Jarod said, attracting Lyle's attention, “but they all begin and end with sticking something up your—”

One of the sweepers punched Jarod on the stomach before he could finish speaking.

“You've been hanging out with my sister too much,” Lyle commented.

“You know, he does have a point.” Alex said. “I mean, you were on the program too. You should be able to figure this out yourself.”

“Are you saying you won't help?”

“No. I'm saying I don't know how to help.”

“You better think.”

*/*

Larry heard the voices. They were getting closer. Soon he would awake up. Not to worry. He was almost there.

His first intention was to change his visions from the core; in other words, to recede in the past and change the future. After reflecting about it, he realized it was something too dangerous to be attempted.

That's when he discovered something else. What he needed to do was not changing the past: he needed to change the present. And since the present is a continuation of the past, he had to go back, except now he knew how to do things right.

His plan was simple in terms of conception, not so easily graspable in execution. He would choose an A and a B point and change them, leaving everything else the way it were. It would be like rewriting the beginning and ending of a story, but leaving the middle intact.

Larry felt the scenario around him change and when he opened his eyes he was back in Jarod's lair, reading the cryptic message from CJ.

This time, however, Larry was not an observer: he was part of the show and he knew how to make things turn out differently.

He thought about alerting Jarod to the imminence of their capture, but chose not too. He knew THAT was something meant to happen in order for his son's soul to be saved. Instead, he went to his jacket, took out one of the scrolls and handed it to Jarod.

“Read this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hurry. We don’t have much time.”

Jarod saw the look in Larry's eyes and asked no further. He began reading and he felt the Truth emerging from within.

Just then, as expected, the door was kicked in and Lyle came in. Quickly, Larry took the scroll from Jarod's hand and tossed it into the fireplace. Reading was actually unnecessary—Jarod would simply need to glimpse at it for the words to register.

One of the sweepers rushed to the fireplace and tried to save the scroll from burning but it was too late. Larry took advantage of the moment and kicked Lyle on his crutch.

This time, Larry was not knocked out by his son.

*/*

Lyle was about to exit the lab when he felt a sharp pain on his crutch and fell down. He gasped for air.

The sweeper watching Alex rushed to him and helped him getting up.

“Are you alright, sir?”

Lyle dismissed the sweeper and uttered no word—he simply looked over to Larry.

“What happened?” Dr. Mitchum asked, more curious than concerned.

“I don't know. But I think he's got something to do with it.”

“But he didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t ask me to explain it. I KNOW he did this.”

*/*

Jarod knew things were different now. Like Lyle, he knew Larry had been the one responsible for that sudden change of events. Unlike Lyle, his changes were not in the physical world.

As frustrating as it was, he didn’t know what had happened. He had the perception of things having changed, but not the knowledge of it. It was like breaking into a safe. He had the combination, but if he opened it ahead of time the inside would explode.

He had to wait for the right moment.

*/*

Alex knew that the right moment had come. The time to strike was NOW.

“This is probably related to that scroll he threw in the fireplace when we burst into the cabin.”

Lyle realized what he was saying. “Yes, you're right. But how come he hadn't noticed it earlier?”

“Beats me. I just thought about it now.”

Lyle walked over to Jarod. “What was on that scroll?”

Jarod grinned and then said. “It's time for each of us to assume his role, Lyle” He paused. “And you're on the losing side.”

Lyle fumed, drew his gun from his holster and fired a single shot.

Dr. Mitchum's coat was splashed by the sudden burst of Larry's head. Lyle aimed the gun at Jarod.

“Tell me.”

Jarod was furious, but his demeanor didn’t show it.

“I said, tell me.”

Alex cleared his throat and Lyle looked back. It was exactly what Jarod needed. He kicked Lyle on his hand and the gun flew away, landing right next to Alex.

They all watched as Alex picked up the gun and stared at it, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Lyle turned to Alex and was about to speak when Alex fired two deadly shots, killing Dr. Mitchum and one of the sweepers. Before anyone could do anything, the gun was aiming at Lyle.

“What the hell are you doing, Alex?”

“Seizing power. I'm the one supposed to be in control—not you. I'm only playing my role. Nothing personal”

Alex squeezed the trigger and Lyle's world ceased to exist.

Everyone in the room was quiet. Alex was aiming his gun at Jarod. The two still living sweepers couldn't make up with their minds on who to shot down. Jarod could not escape but, on the other hand, Alex had killed their boss.

Alex smiled slightly and took the decision for them.

Two more shots and they were down.

The gun was now trained on Jarod.

Face to face finally. The Shifter and the Deceiver.

“What do you want, Alex?”

“I thought you'd already figure it out. It's not so much a question of 'What I want', but what I have to do.”

“You'd do anything for power.”

“It's the way it has to be. I read fragments of the scrolls, Jarod. I KNOW what my role in the scheme is. I've seen it. And I'm not the least satisfied about it. I want more. I deserve more, damn it!”

“What if you do? What then? You know their power, Alex. You know where they came from.”

“Yes, I know. I know that only 'The Chosen' can claim the power without losing himself.”

“Then you know that's not your name there.”

“You're right but, as you are probably aware, I lost myself a long time ago. And besides, even Gods mistakes. In this case, they made the mistake of choosing you instead of me.”

“So now what?”

“I'll prove them wrong.”

One final bullet and Alex was the last man standing.

*/*

Miss Parker was heading for the clinic—Sydney was at the seat next to her, trying to ease the pressure they were both feeling—when suddenly she felt a jolt of pain in her head. A charge so powerful she lost control of the car. Sydney quickly grabbed the steering wheel and pulled the car over before an accident could happen.

“Are you alright, Miss Parker?”

But he knew she wasn't. She was pale, breathing hard and. . .almost crying. He was afraid to ask, but he had to.

“What happened?”

“I can't feel him anymore, Syd. His voice has always been with me and now. . .it's gone.”

Sydney thought he knew who she was referring to, but still. . .“Who is?”

“Jarod.”

*/*

There was silence in darkness. He had always known that. Every time he had found himself in the dark he had stood still listening to. . .nothing. Again, things were no different.

He couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't feel. Normally, he would be afraid, but not this time. He knew this was the way things were supposed to be.

He recalled that stinging moment of clarity when the bullet entered his brain—the moment when the dark came—and almost smiled.

Time has no meaning within the dark, yet he sensed it was too soon to make his next move.

He would have to wait.

*/*

Miss Parker was staring straight ahead but her eyes weren't registering anything. Right now, she could be on a desert, at the eye of a hurricane, deep down near the earth's core eating biscuits. She could be anywhere, doing anything.

It would all be meaningless without him.

She swallowed hard and tried to put her Ice Queen mask back on. This time, however, she was too troubled to do it. She had hid her pain for too long and the only one next to her was Sydney.

He didn't say anything, just gave her a reassuring look. Everything will be all right, it said. Only she knew different.

She was using her gift like she had never used it before. She had discovered, for instance, that her Inner Sense didn’t just put her in contact with the dead; she could also feel three other voices. Two of them she recognized as being Ethan and Angelo; the third one was new, barely audible yet, but growing day by day; and a fourth she had trouble accepting as being related to her. She didn't know who this person was and it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore now with Jarod gone. A sob came, then another; she fought the pain but this was a battle she was destined to lose, and soon she was crying.

*/*

Sydney and Miss Parker entered a small café and sat at the farthest booth. A waitress came by. Sydney asked for two cups of tea and two pieces of cake. Miss Parker said she wasn't hungry but was too tired to argue with Sydney.

Sydney looked into her eyes. The spark he saw earlier had disappeared and a frightening void had taken its place. She had hardly spoken a word since she mentioned Jarod's name. He hoped nothing serious had happened and mentally whipped himself for being so naïve.

The waitress brought their order and left them alone. Sydney watched Miss Parker as she grabbed her cup absently and drank a few gulps without adding sugar.

Sydney waited a few seconds, took a sip of his tea, before asking. “How are you feeling?”

She laughed. “How am I feeling, Sydney? You wanna know how I'm feeling?” She sniffled. “He's dead. Jarod is dead. He's not coming back. Ever.”

Sydney opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.

“You really wanna know how I'm feeling?”

He nodded.

“I feel great. You know why?” She leaned over and whispered. “Because he's free now, he doesn't have to run anymore, doesn't have to search for the truth anymore. He's free and I'm not; I'm still here. I'm happy for him.”

“No, you're not, Parker. You're trying to bring a positive side to something horrible, when you don't even know if such a thing is true. You don't know if Jarod is really dead.”

“But I do. I can feel it.”

“I don't understand completely how your gift works, but isn't it possible that he's just asleep?”

“There's a difference between being asleep and being dead, Syd. I would still feel him if he were asleep.”

Sydney considered his options for a while. There was a chance Jarod could still be alive. It was a long shot but it was possible nonetheless.

“What if he's neither?”

*/*

When the medical team assigned to Dr. Gershon arrived at Lab A on SL-27 they were shocked with what they saw.

“Oh, my God. Dr. Mitchum?”

“I'm afraid she can't answer.”

They all turned to where the voice was coming from and saw Alex standing at a corner with a gun on his hand.

“What the hell happened here?”

Alex shrugged as if he had been asked the same question several times before. “A tragedy, really. Our prisoner entered a catatonic state and we brought Dr. Mitchum down here to provide the necessary assistance.”

“That doesn't explain any of this.”

“Well, I'm not sure what exactly, but something happened here that pissed Mr. Lyle off—you know how he is—and he shot the patient and Dr. Mitchum. Jarod lost his temper too, took a gun from one of the sweepers and shot Mr. Lyle. Then he used Mr. Lyle's body as a shield and killed the rest of the sweepers.”

Dr. Gershon didn't seem to buy that story. “Jarod. . .killed the sweepers?”

“Yes.”

“So, who shot him? You?”

“No. I didn't have a gun. The third sweeper managed to fire a shot before dying and hit Jarod on the head.”

“What I want to know, first of all, is why wasn't I aware of this? I am the Head of Renewal Wing. Every medical doctor, nurse, surgeon, whatever, is under MY command. When and if any of my staff members is moved to a different assignment than the one I had them on, I HAVE to know. It's Centre standard procedure.”

“Too bad you can't ask Mr. Lyle about it.”

Dr. Gershon took a cell phone from his pocket. “I'm calling Mr. Raines. This is out of my authority.”

Alex pulled the gun safety off. “No, it's not.”

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“Lyle may be dead, doctor. But Jarod is not. I need you to do anything in your power to keep him alive. He's much too important to die.”

“You can't keep Mr. Lyle's death a secret forever. Sooner or later, Mr. Raines will find out.”

“Don't worry about Mr. Raines. I'll make sure he knows.”

*/*

Miss Parker wasn’t sure she understood what Sydney had told her. Something about brain waves frequencies and Jacob and. . .Whatever he had said, the only thing worth registering was: Jarod could still be alive.

She tried to recall that conversation. It had happened less than two hours ago, but her mind was so unfocused it looked like it had been years ago.

“Tell me about this feeling you said you have.”

“What do you want to know?”

“You told me you could hear Jarod's voice.”

She nodded.

“Since when?”

“Since always, I guess. I have always heard his voice, even before I met him. Our first meeting just gave me the possibility to add a face to it.”

“Is it like your Inner Sense? Does it work the same way?”

“No. This is something that has been with me for a long time. The Inner Sense is more powerful; it's much more perceptive. This is sort of like a gut feeling. Like he was a part of me, you know?”

Sydney nodded. “I understand perfectly.” He paused, as if to choose the right words to say. “As you know, my brother Jacob was in a coma for thirty years. Like any normal twins, we always shared a special bond—especially after what we had been through in Dachau during the War. I could feel him, could hear him. I could talk to him, even after the accident. He was still there to guide me.”

“What are you saying? That Jarod could be in a coma?”

“It's possible. I don't know what happened and neither do you. All you have is this feeling. Without physical evidence, the best we should do is to consider it a premonition.”

“So what do we do?”

“We go to the clinic like we were supposed to.”

“And if he dies?”

“Parker, I don't like this more than you do, but the fact is: even if we try to help him, we can't because we don't know where he is.”

She sighed and nodded. “You're right.”

And so it was; they were now waiting at the clinic for the doctor to see them. Sydney was right when he insisted they should come here; with Jarod—possibly—gone, this was all she had left. She had to know once and for all.

Was Sydney her father?

All evidence pointed towards it. Her heart felt it. Even if not biologically, Sydney had always been like a father to her. This was a mere redundancy to something she acknowledged a long time ago but had never actually assumed publicly.

The receptionist called out their names. “Mr. and Miss Farley?” They got up. “You may come in now.”

As they walked to the door, Miss Parker leaned over and whispered “Farley?”

Sydney whispered back. “Sorry.”

They entered the doctor's office and closed the door.

Alex entered the elevator shaft and pressed the ground level button. He checked his ammo. Seven shots left. It was more than enough. If all went according to plan he would only need one. After making sure everything was ready, he concealed the scroll inside his pocket. Soon he would claim what was rightfully his.

He doubted Dr. Gershon had kept his mouth shut about Lyle’s death. Nothing to worry about, but that being the case he would have to act quickly. He had studied his actions carefully. From where he was there was no escape route possible. The ceiling could not be moved and the shaft could not be stopped until it reached the chosen floor.

One thing about safety: there is always a failsafe. In this case, if an emergency should happen, the elevator would stop automatically. Alex knew this because he had analyzed The Centre’s elevator system; unnoticed, of course.

Alex jumped and grabbed something that was hidden on a small ledge between the roof and the shaft. It was a perfect spot. Even the janitors would leave it unattended, as the layers of dust perfectly showed. He was now holding a small electronic device with a single button. Alex waited for the elevator to reach SL-12 and pressed the button.

Instantly, an alarm went on and the elevator stopped. Darkness enveloped the elevator and the emergency lights turned on. The elevator remained stopped.

Alex opened the electronic panel and began to change some wires. He grinned, the same way Jarod used to. They could wait for him all the time they wanted—he would go right past their noses.

*/*

At the ground level, a team of three sweepers watched as the elevator resumed his motion. Apparently, it was now descending. The light stopped at SL-24.

Max, the team leader, used his radio to contact his colleagues. “Attention, Team Four. Subject is now on SL-24. I repeat subject is now on SL-14.”

*/*

A second team of sweepers arrived at SL-24 and saw the elevator’s light on. They trained their weapons on it and waited for Alex to come out.

After a while, they realized something was wrong. Kurt walked slowly and carefully to the elevator and tried to open the door. It didn’t move.

“It’s not here!”

“What?”

“The shaft. It’s not here!”

Nick and Frank joined their team-mate. Nick pressed the open button several times, but the result was the same.

“How can this be? The light is on!”

Frank took his radio from his pocket. “Subject has eluded us. He is not on SL-24. I repeat he is not on SL-24.”

Max’s voice came on, distorted. “Are you sure? The light shows---”

“He probably tampered the elevator system.”

“Then where the hell is he now?”

“Could be anywhere for all I know. We need to search every level now.”

*/*

Inside the doctor’s office, Sydney took the leading role and explained what their intentions were. He didn’t reveal the whole story, only enough to make the tests look justifiable. The doctor offered no objections and scheduled the exams to later that afternoon. The results would be available the next day; not due to sympathy, but to a large check covered The Centre.

Sydney and Miss Parker left the building and went to the car. Sydney sat on the driver’s seat and waited for Miss Parker to close the door.

“What do we do now?” he asked her.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you hungry?”

“A bit.”

“Let’s grab something then.”

Sydney turned the engine on and drove to small café near the area. Throughout the entire trip Miss Parker kept her mouth shut. Sydney decided to wait until they were sitting on a booth, with their orders already made to check upon her.

“Do you feel all right, Parker?”

Miss Parker frowned. It could be possible signs of a headache or perhaps. . .

“Are you hearing anything?”

Miss Parker didn’t hear Sydney’s question. Her eyes were already closed; her mind elsewhere, focused on the Voices. The two regular presences on her mind were normal, while the third continued to grow. One thing was different, though—the fourth voice was gone. She didn’t know who the fourth voice belonged to and, frankly, she felt like she shouldn’t care. Instead, she concentrated on the third voice. Maybe if she discovered who it was, she could get some answers.

Or, she feared, even more questions.

Miss Parker blinked her eyes and saw a small faceless head appearing before her.

“Who are you?” she asked, a false attitude of confidence camouflaging her discomfort.

“See me as I am,” the faceless answered.

As she heard the voice, she felt stunned. It was the voice of a child. But it was not just any child. She remembered that voice from the DSAs she had watched countless times since she was transferred from Corporate. It was Jarod’s voice. Almost immediately, she felt afraid of what the truth behind the identity of whoever was talking to her could bring.

“Who are you?” she asked, trying to keep the anxiety in her voice well hidden.

“You know.”

“No, I don’t.” She tried to sound annoyed, even angry. Maybe her old Ice Queen trick could help her. “Who are you?”

Silence. Then the answer came, cryptic as possible. “Thank you.”

Although surprised, she couldn’t help asking “For what?”

“For bringing me to life.”

Miss Parker gasped and watched as the small faceless head morphed to the features of her baby brother.

“Oh, my God. . .”

The world around her was shaking uncontrollably. First, the discovery of Sydney being her father—though not yet confirmed, in her heart she had already assumed such—and, then, knowing that her baby brother was in fact Jarod’s son. But what was really troubling her was the feeling that these two events were not the last to be discovered. There were still more surprises yet to come. Perhaps sooner than she felt ready for.

“Help daddy, mommy. Help me.”

And then she was back at the café, face to face with Sydney.

“What happened, Parker? Are you alright?”

Miss Parker felt like she had woke up from a very long sleep; her vision was a blur. Slowly, she regained her senses and acknowledged where she was.

“Parker?”

“I’m not all right, Syd. But I will be once I return to The Centre.”

Sydney felt at least surprised to hear that, but tried to keep his standard calm face on. “Return to The Centre? Why?”

“To get my son.”

*/*

He embraced the dark and the shelter it provided him. He felt others like them, floating on the ocean of black emptiness. Unlike them, however, he had a purpose to achieve. He focused on the Voice that had welcomed him when he first arrived there and listened carefully as it spoke.

“She knows.”

Soon, he thought. Soon.

Jarod ignored the lack of a body or a face and smiled.

Triumvirate Headquarters

Pretoria – South Africa

Soweto had achieved the top position in Triumvirate’s hierarchy quite unexpectedly. No doubt he was highly intelligent and resourceful, but he was also too young compared to his predecessors; or his companions, for that matter. Besides the fact they were at least twenty years older than him, they dreaded him for being chosen by Adama as his successor.

The Triumvirate has always consisted on three individuals – mostly men, although women have filled in the ranks from time to time. In order to achieve a better dynamic, the three come from separate continents. The idea is to expand their influence to as many areas as possible.

Soweto was at home in Pretoria. He knew his people and he knew how The Triumvirate worked inside and out, even before Anderson and Nagano came into their positions. After all, Soweto had been raised inside The Triumvirate headquarters; an orphan adopted by Mutumbo who trained him to be the best. When Mutumbo died, Adama fulfilled his predecessor’s final wish and continued to prepare Soweto to be the leader of The Triumvirate when the moment came. Soweto never knew why his fate had been so carefully determined, but he felt that the purpose of his very existence was to be where he was now.

Unlike Mutumbo or Adama whose main goal was obtaining profit, Soweto had other purposes in mind. And all of which concerned The Centre. Just an hour early he had received a mail from Mr. Raines summoning him to a private meeting. It concerned a matter of great importance and urgency.

The message told him to come alone but Soweto decided to warn his colleagues anyway. Even though as the leader he could act unreported, he felt two possible allies were always better than two sworn enemies. And knowing Mr. Raines like he did, all precautions were necessary.

*/*

The Tower

Mr. Raines’ Office

Mr. Raines was lying on the floor trying to save his air. His oxygen tank was almost empty and chances of getting a new one were none. This was the end and he knew it. He would suffocate to death.

He looked up to his desk, where Alex was now sitting with a smile planted on his face. Alex had promised to be merciful if he sent a message to The Triumvirate’s leader. He did as told based on a stupid sense of hope. Alex wouldn’t never let him live – that much was set from the beginning – what he really hoped was a quick and painless death. Of course, being true to his character, Alex decided to do the exact opposite: he provided Mr. Raines with a slow and painful death.

Mr. Raines was beat up slowly, so slowly he could almost hear Alex’s arm ripping the air. Blow after blow, Mr. Raines felt for the first time since his childhood what it felt to be on the other side. Both his eyes were swollen; his legs and arms broken, leaving him immobile; several ribs were broken – which made the breathing more difficult. Still, he felt like he needed to speak.

“Your plan won’t work, Alex.”

“Oh, yeah? And why is that?”

“Soweto will not come along. Mutumbo and Adama trained him well. He is too smart to come alone.”

“I know Soweto better than you. He spent a lot of time together. For instance, there are things about The Centre only he and I know. I know how smart he is. I also know he will invite the other members to join him, despite the fact the invitation was sent to him only. He will think of it as… a gesture of good will. He’s going against your request to be on their good side.”

“You’re setting them up.”

“The Triumvirate is the last obstacle. Once I remove them from my path there will be no stopping me.”

“You think you can destroy The Triumvirate?”

Alex smiled. “I spent too many years with them, and Soweto for that matter. Look at where I am now, Raines. I’ve taken control of The Centre, I’ve killed Lyle and neutralized Jarod. Believe me. My moment of glory is about to come and there is no one capable of stopping me.”

*/*

Sydney had lived through some bad moments. Life had taught him from a very early age to be prepared for anything. He survived Dachau, he survived The Centre – he even survived his guilt. He felt like he was ready to face anything.

But not this.

“Your what?” Sydney asked dumbstruck.

“My son. And your grandson.”

“My grandson?”

Miss Parker sighed. “Syd, let’s face. Even if Raines is my father – let’s hope not! – I would never let him get near my son.”

“I don’t understand. You were never pregnant. How can you possibly have a child?”

“I didn’t carry it. But I helped bringing him to life.”

Then he knew. There was only one child living at The Centre at the time, a child whose mother had died during labor. It was too much coincidence to be just a coincidence.

“My God, Parker. How did you know?”

“He’s been with me since he was born. I always believed it was because he was my brother. Now I know the truth.”

“What about the father? Do you know him?”

“I better. I’ve been chasing him for five years.”

Sydney couldn’t hide the shock or the anger from his face. “Damn them!”

“Calm down, Syd.”

“How can you expect me to calm down, Parker? How can YOU be so calm at a time like this?”

“Losing my temper will not help me get my son. I need to keep my head clear until I have him safe.”

“You’re right.”

“He asked for my help, Syd.”

“What do you want to do?”

“First I’m gonna call Sam. I’ve been away from The Centre too long. We need an update on things.”

“Why not just go back?”

“I’m not taking any chances. Let’s see how things are at The Centre and then we’ll decide what to do” She took her cell phone from her purse and saw that it was off. “My battery has run out. Can I use yours?”

Sydney took his cell phone from his vest pocket and saw that he was also out of power. “Sorry.”

“Just my luck” She signaled a passing waiter. “Excuse me?”

The waiter approached the table. “Yes? More coffee?”

“No, thank you. We’re fine. Is there a payphone I can use?”

“Ask my colleague at the counter. He will give you one.”

“Thanks.”

Miss Parker got up and walked to the counter. Once the phone was at her disposal, she closed her eyes and tried to picture her son’s face. So many lost moments. Best not to think about that now. She took a deep breath, punched in Sam’s number and waited.

“Where the hell are you?”

“Excuse me?” She was surprised to hear Sam talking to her like that, but not enough to let it show.

“I’m sorry, Miss Parker. But hell is breaking loose here and I’ve been trying to reach you for I don’t know how long and—”

“Sam, calm down. What’s going on?”

“We better not talk on the phone. Meet me at the Paradiso in half an hour and I’ll explain everything.”

She put the receiver down and returned to the table.

“What did Sam tell you?”

“He was too nervous to be coherent. It appears hell is breaking loose at The Centre. I told him to meet me at the Paradiso.”

“What is that? A restaurant?”

She smiled. “Yes. A Chinese restaurant.”

“Chinese?”

“Yes. Sam and I call it Paradiso because the owner looks like an Italian gangster.” She chuckled briefly.

“You okay?”

“I will be once I have my son.”

She signaled the waiter again and asked for the check. “It’s a bit ironic, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“We’re going to paradise plan an attack on hell.”

“Let’s hope the gods are on our side, then.”

Major Charles greatest fear was not ever being able to find his family – little by little, he was getting to that –, it concerned whether or not they could overpass the decades of separation and live together as a normal family. A normal family chased by The Centre, he thought. More specifically, he feared if and his wife could go back being a couple again. His love for her was as strong as on the day they started dating; but what about HER feelings? They say time distance only increases the passion, but what about time? Almost twenty years apart. God! He missed her so much!

Fortunately, things were about to change. Soon, he would discover if their relationship was still good. Casually, he checked his watch again. Jason – formerly know as Gemini – noticed the gesture and nudged him.

“Will you relax? You look more nervous than me.”

“I am more nervous than you, “ Major Charles said, while checking his tie on a nearby mirror. “How do I look?”

“You look fine, dad.” Jason sighed and took a look around. “You heard anything from Ethan?”

“Not yet.”

“You think it was safe letting him go to Delaware alone.”

“I’m not one hundred per cent sure myself, but Ethan made it clear to us that his going alone was necessary for his plan to work.”

“I know, but—”

“Don’t worry about Ethan. He knows how to take care of himself.”

For the first time since they arrived, Jason checked his watch. They should here by now. Maybe dad’s right. Maybe they’re taking too much of a risk. The entire Russell family – with the exception of Jarod and Ethan – together at the same place is too tempting for The Centre not to take advantage. Luckily, the restaurant was crowded and the owner was an ex-military that had served with Major Charles in Vietnam. They were safe. Still…

Jason watched his father on his grey suit and knew exactly what he was feeling; he checked his tie on the mirror and felt the same. Formal attire was not his favorite choice of clothing. They looked like businessmen waiting for other businessmen to conduct a business meeting, not two people waiting for their relatives for the first family dinner in decades.

Though Jason kept telling his father to calm down – his face was one of serenity; one that read control – inside, he was terrified. He had already met Emily and got along just fine. But his mother… Could he call her ‘mother’? Would she admit it? Major Charles had taken some time – understandably – to get used to the idea of fathering a clone of his first born. Would she be like that? Would she accept him or reject him? One thing he knew: he had to keep his poker face the whole time, make everyone believe he was in control. It was the only to avoid the pain.

The door of the restaurant opened and two women entered. Major Charles and Jason smiled when they realized how beautiful they looked. They were an hour and a half late but it was worth the waiting. Emily kissed his father and introduced her mother to Jason, before stepping aside, allowing space for her parents to be face to face for the first time in years. The moment was awkward. Each afraid of what the other might think.

It was Emily that solved the problem. “Come on, mom. What’re you waiting for? When I showed you his picture you said he looked as hot as on the day you met.”

Major Charles watched Margaret’s face blushing and smiled. “So, you think I’m hot?”

“Oh, stop it!” Margaret said, trying to appear angry, but failing.

Major Charles took her hand and kissed it gently. “You look beautiful too.”

Their eyes locked. The flame had been reignited. They were together at last. Emily was about to say something when her parents – regardless of their surroundings – began kissing like passionate teenagers. Emily and Jason did not try to hide their embarrassment, because they weren’t embarrassed: they were happy.

Finally, the kiss ended and a waiter came along to show them to their table. They made their orders and, since it was a special occasion, the owner offered them a bottle of his best champagne.

Major Charles made the toast. “To family. Especially to our sons, present and absent, without who we would never be here.”

After drinking her champagne, Margaret put her glass down and turned to Jason, smiling. “So, Jason, I hear you’re a good friend of Jarod.”

Jason felt the color running away from his face. Though he tried to keep his ‘poker face’, Margaret noticed it immediately.

“Are you alright?”

Major Charles turned to Emily as if asking ‘You didn’t tell her?’

Emily took the hint and said. “Mom, there’s something you need to know.

*/*

Although he wanted to be at the restaurant with his family, Ethan had other matters that required his immediate attention. One of which was finding out what happened to Jarod. The Voices had already told him something bad had happened, but one thing they never did – sadly – was being specific. Perhaps they should appoint a spokesman.

Ethan had arrived at Delaware two days ago – too much time to be that close to The Centre – and only half an hour ago had he been able to learn what had happened during the past few days. Someone named Angelo had sent him an e-mail with details about Jarod’s abduction and all that was happening at The Centre.

Though he had never seen him face to face, Ethan knew about Angelo. He was Jarod’s inside man, someone to be taken seriously. According from what he heard, he knew Angelo’s lack of communication skills was his greatest flaw and, similarly, his greatest asset. People often tend not to take people like Angelo seriously. They pity them and lower their defenses, because they believe the threat is minimal or even non-exist.

A trip to The Centre’s mainframe had revealed nothing about Jarod even being at The Centre. Apparently, the ‘retarded’ Angelo – as some of the staff members would consider him – was able of accessing every corner of that place and finding every bit of information available. Angelo was a threat because he knew everything about The Centre. And, being an empath, what he did not know, he could feel.

Reading his e-mail, Ethan thought whether to call Miss Parker or Major Charles. Miss Parker was closer and she would help him after hearing what he had to say. Major Charles, though not that far, was not that close either; however, he needed to know what had happened to his son. He also deserved to have a few moments of happiness. After carefully analyzing his options, Ethan decided to call Emily.

*/*

Major Charles stepped outside and saw his wife sitting at the sidewalk sobbing. He put his hand on her shoulder and sat down next to her. He opened his arms and she accepted his invitation. Embraced after so many years, he decided not to say anything for the moment.

Slowly, the sobs began to soft, turning to hiccups; speech, though trembling, was now possible. “Why did they do it, Charles? Why?”

“They’re monsters, honey. Who knows what their reasons are?”

Margaret sniffed. “It’s not fair.”

“I know. I know. But whatever you’re feeling right, you have to accept the fact that none of it is his fault.”

“I know. He’s just an innocent boy. I could see it in his eyes. He was so afraid. It reminded me of Jarod.” Margaret focused on her husband’s face and smiled. “It reminded me of you when you proposed.”

Major Charles returned the smile.

“It may take a while getting used to the idea, but I’ll manage.”

“Good. Now, while we’re at it, I’d like to tell you about a –“

At that moment, Emily stepped outside holding her cell phone. “Ethan just called, dad. He found Jarod.”

Margaret smiled to her husband, then noticed the look on her daughter’s face and realized she wasn’t bringing them good news.

*/*

Miss Parker and Sydney walked into ‘The Paradiso’ and saw Sam waiting at a table at the corner. They joined him.

“Miss Parker, I wanna apologize for–“

“We’ll discuss that later, Sam. Right now, I need to know what’s going on at The Centre.”

“You want the short or the long version?”

“Be thorough, but be succinct,” was her answer.

Sydney signaled the waitress to bring them some coffee and prepared for what Sam had to say.

“It began on the day you returned to The Centre, Miss Parker. Two prisoners arrived through the White Channel.”

Sydney exchanged a knowing look with Miss Parker. ‘White Channel’ was The Centre’s code for secret retrieval, meaning the mission had not been sanctioned by the Chairman.

“You know who was in charge?”

“Lyle. I heard two sweepers talking about it”

“Go on, Sam.”

“I thought about going to SL-27 to check it out. I feared it might be you. Wouldn’t be surprised if Lyle had finally decided to get rid of you. But I couldn’t just go there without a reason. Luckily my team got called because of a security incident. That’s when I learned who the prisoners were. I didn’t find out the first one’s name, he was about Dr. Sydney’s age, but the other one was Jarod.”

“What happened?” Miss Parker asked.

“No one knows for sure. All that is certain is that Jarod is in a coma and the other man, whoever he was, is now dead.”

“His name was Larry,” Miss Parker cut in.

Sydney turned and asked, “You knew him?”

Miss Parker observed her companion’s faces carefully. They had proved their worth dozens of times in the past, but this was a whole new thing. Going against The Centre was too dangerous. Just how much were they willing to risk? “There’s something I need to tell you before we can proceed.”

Sydney nodded. “Go on.”

“Jarod and I together at a cabin during a blizzard when…” Right then, she noticed a mischievous look on Sydney’s face, “Get your mind out of the gutter, Syd. That’s not what happened. He was my prisoner, okay?”

Sydney concealed his smile. “I’m not saying anything.”

“I was chasing him through the woods when suddenly we got caught by a snow storm. Luckily, we were able to find a cabin. Unfortunately, we were unable to leave until the storm cleared out.”

“And where does this Larry come in?”

“Jarod and I were making casual conversation when we heard someone knocking at the door.” She thought telling Sydney’s the subject of her conversations with Jarod was not necessary. “It was Larry.” Her eyes focused on Sydney. “Sydney, he had the scrolls with him. He knew about The Centre and who we were.”

“Who is he?”

“Was,” Sam corrected.

“How did he get involved with The Centre, Parker?”

“From what he told us, his parents were high ranking members during the Second World War. You see, Larry has a gift too and when The Centre discovered they killed his parents. Fortunately, Larry’s father had taken precautions to protect his son and his uncle took Larry to Europe with him. He spent most of his life not thinking about The Centre, until one of his friends came to work here.”

“Who?”

“Jacob.”

“My God! How did he know my brother?”

“They met at a bookshop by accident and became fishing pals.”

Sydney smiled. “Larry Summerson.”

“Right.”

“I remember. Jacob once told me about him.”

“Larry’s involvement with The Centre doesn’t end there. His wife as killed and his son was captured and brought to The Centre in the late seventies to be the last subject of The Pretender Project.”

“Alex.”

Miss Parker nodded. “Thank God that bastard is dead.”

“Not exactly,” Sam said. “In fact, he’s the one responsible for everything that’s going on at The Centre.”

Miss Parker turned to Sam immediately. “Start talking.”