The sounds of the Centre were all around him. The pulse of the massive generators, the hum of the lights and the gentle swoosh of air rushing through the vents. It was all there, just as it had been for 40 years. But today, it was different.

He sat calmly in his chair, waiting. He knew it was only a matter of time before she stormed in on him, demanding to be told the truth. His outward calm misrepresented the turmoil that was swirling inside him. He could no more have exposed the veracity of her lineage, then he could have told her that her mother hadn’t expired in an elevator. It wasn’t his place.

His place. Exactly what was his place, and who had put him in it? He had always thought of Jarod and Parker as his children. He couldn’t love them more if they were blood, but he knew it wasn’t for him to think of them this way. Sydney wished he could still pray to a god who would listen; but he knew better. There was no way to salvage this one, and that was that.

Nothing could stay dead and buried forever; this little lie was no exception. How the pretender Alex had come to know the truth was beyond Sydney, but in the long run, it hardly mattered now. It was out. She would come to him looking for answers, just as she had always done. And as had always been the case, for her own protection, there was only so much he would tell her.

It was grossly unfair. The Centre had taken the very life and breath out of so many of them, and now, it was once again gunning for Miss Parker. There was no way he could protect her, and he knew it. She would keep digging, until she uncovered the truth, it was only a matter of time and determination. Sydney knew she had both.

He closed his eyes; he would lose her. There was no way around it. She had barely forgiven him for keeping the truth of her mother’s death hidden, even though she learned it had been out of loyalty to her mother. There would be no amnesty from her for this one, he was certain.

An ironic smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. The very foundation of the Centre was rooted in secrets and lies; and slowly over the years, the conspiracies had seeped out, like blood from an open wound. Blood. He grimaced at the analogy. It was all about genetic research, dna, anomalies in the blood, and ultimately, blood ties. Family. Sydney opened his weary eyes. He didn’t want to think about it anymore, he was tired.

But the Centre didn’t care what he wanted. It never had. He looked around his office space, at the walls which had been privy to it all; they were like co-conspirators in a blood oath of silence. The Centre. Over the years, he had begun to think of it as a living, breathing organism, possessing a life and a mind of its own; dictating to all of them which parts of their lives they could keep, and which would be sacrificed to the evil gods of the Centre.

His eyes focused on the file cabinet in the corner of the room. He could still see his brother Jacob leaning on it, expressing his excitement over the upcoming pretender project. How young they were then, all of them. How young, and how naive. He could still smell Catherine’s perfume in the hallway leading to his office. It had been a heavy mix of lavender and orange, and somewhere in the recesses of his mind, it still existed. When the first signs of trouble had surfaced at the Centre, she had come to him, but he shut his eyes to all of it, and so it had fallen to Jacob.

A lump formed in his throat. If there was one defining moment in his life that he wanted to change, that was the one. Had he listened to Catherine, he would have been the Centre’s target, instead of his brother. He would be dead now, comforted in death by at least having tried to right the wrongs for which they were all horribly responsible. But instead, his lack of courage had landed him in the here and now, living a shadowy existence in a mind tortured by staggering guilt.

The prices exacted from him had been high, even by Centre standards. The hurt was palpable. His mind cried out with the images of what could have been, and his eyes filled with the pain of knowing. Soon he would pay the Centre its final installment; he would give up the last piece of his soul. After this, there would be nothing left for them to take.

Miss Parker, the quiet and happy little girl who had infiltrated his heart so long ago, would be lost to him. He had betrayed her, just as he had betrayed Jarod, through a string of omissions. And how many of those had there been over the years? The number didn’t matter. It would only take this one.

The sound of high heels clicking on the marble floors in the corridor, caused his heart to sink to his knees. He felt the sting of tears touch his eyes, but fought to keep them in check. It simply wouldn’t do for her to see him grieving a loss not yet suffered. He stood as he heard her approach his office, straightening his tie and his jacket. He realized that his hands were shaking, and found that he suddenly didn’t know what to do with them.

Parker stormed into his office, prepared for battle. She stopped short when she saw Sydney. He was standing behind his desk, with his hands clasped behind his back, quietly staring at her. She swallowed hard, her throat closed down, and her mouth dry. She didn’t need to probe for an answer. It was on his face; it was in the way his lips were tightly pulled together, forming an almost straight line. Most noticeably, it was in his eyes.

They were eyes she had known all her life. The eyes which had held her, comforted her and protected her, now communicated his duplicity. She felt her own eyes filling with the tears of truth, her heart weighted down by the knowing.

"How....." she stuttered. She steadied herself by looking down for a moment and then slowly back up at him, her voice becoming low and deliberate, "How long have you known?"

Sydney continued to stare directly into her soul, steadfast in his demeanor. He knew there was nothing he could say. She had looked all the way through him, and had seen the deceit. It was over, he had lost her. And so, he said nothing.

Parker resisted the rain in her eyes, and kept it from falling. She bit down on her lower lip and once again glared into the brown unflinching eyes across from her. Her voice was unsteady and barely above a whisper.

"Are you just going to stand there, Sydney? You’ve known from the beginning, haven’t you?" He just calmly stared at her, which fueled her anger. Her voice rose in pitch, "Haven’t you?"

He could no longer look into the piercing grey eyes, and his gaze dropped to the floor. Parker felt a stab of pain in her chest, knowing that it was a subtle confirmation of her accusation. She had prayed that she would be wrong, wanting so much to believe that Sydney was still the one person she could trust. But like every other parental figure in her life, he had let her down.

"You knew that the man I believed to be my father, wasn’t-- Why --Why would you do this to me? I guess Jarod’s right; you’re not capable of feeling anything." His eyes darted up to hers and the vulnerability in them made her want to inflict more pain, "How do you live with yourself, Sydney?" Parker’s voice took on an edgy quality of demand, "My father, who is he?"

His voice was barely audible, "I don’t know."

Parker snorted in derision, pulled her gun from under her jacket, grabbed Sydney’s collar with one hand, and pinned him against the wall within seconds. The gun was shoved up under his chin, pressing hard, against his trachea. Utterly despondent, Sydney didn’t even attempt to break out of her grasp. His eyes were dead.

Her hand flexed around the grip of her gun, "Wrong answer, Mr. Magoo. Tell me who my father is." When Sydney’s silence continued, Parker pulled the hammer of the gun back, "Tell me."

His voice was flat and devoid of life, "Do it. Do us both a favour."

Parker stared into his eyes; he meant it. Her brow furrowed and she found she once again had to fight to keep her tears at bay. Her hand shook slightly as she held the 9mm to Sydney's throat. For a brief moment, the strength of her anger threatened to overwhelm her self control; but she knew she couldn't kill him. No matter what he had done, he was still Sydney. She couldn't pull the trigger.

Her voice wavered with emotion, “Damn you.”

She released the hammer and holstered the gun, and slowly, she loosened her grip on Sydney's shirt. She stood nose to nose with him, glaring into the chestnut brown eyes. Sydney didn't react, except to stare back at her, his eyes stone cold.

Her composure returned, and her voice was like a smooth piece of glass, devoid of all the emotion that was bubbling underneath the surface of her heart, “You will be transferred to another project within the Centre. I don't want to see you, I don't want to hear from you, I don't even want to know that you still exist. You and I are done. You get me?”

Sydney nodded slowly, and Parker pounded a fist into the wall by his head, her eyes charged with emotional fire, “Good.”

Miss Parker stalked out of his office, and he could hear the clacking of her heels on the floor as she retreated down the corridor. Silent tears rolled down his face, as he leaned against the wall where she had left him. He couldn't bear to utter a sound, nor could he move; he could hardly breathe. He had lost the little girl, who for so many years, had completely wrapped him around her finger. The wound was a deep one, unlikely to ever heal. The Centre had taken its final payment. It had always been a matter of time.

fin