“A man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green, which otherwise would heal and do well”.
- Sir Francis Bacon

She had left Jarod and Miss Parker through the exit Lyle had presumably departed by- one that had been hidden in the darkness. Escaping the corridor was simple; the difficult part was finding Lyle in the labyrinth of passages. She brought to mind the schematic drawing of the Centre, but it was useless since it couldn’t tell her which way he would have gone.

Taking a gamble and praying she was right, Mia turned and followed a passageway to the left. She stumbled through the halls that seemed to stretch forever. Drained, Mia paused to rest, propping herself up with her hand against the wall. Tiny tremors vibrated through the cement to her palm as though something deep within the building had awakened and was now moving through the Centre. With an intense sense of foreboding, Mia hurried on.

Just when the situation seemed utterly hopeless she heard a muffled sound coming from somewhere nearby. As she got closer to the source, the sound became more discernable, though it was still hard to tell if it was heavy uneven breathing or sobbing. After a series of wrong turns and backtracking, she finally found him crumpled on the cold floor, shivering violently.

There was little she could offer him in warmth for she was herself freezing. She crouched down next to him and reached out to touch him. His hair, still damp, felt like icicles.

“Bobby.” Her soft voice echoed around them.

He sat up quickly- too quickly.

She edged closer and gently touched the left side of his face. He jerked involuntarily, quaking even more fiercely. Mia worried that his trembling signaled the need for another shot, which they did not have.

“Bobby.”

His left eye twitched as it slowly opened while his right eye remained swollen shut. He blinked his good eye at she as she caught sight of his damaged hand. The bandage was completely soaked in blood.

“Oh!” her breath caught in her throat. “Bobby, we’ve got to get you out of here.”

His lips moved to form a question, but no sound came out.

“Can you move at all?”

A frown marred his bruised visage. “Wa-“ he attempted. Closing his eye, he inhaled as deeply as he could. “What are you doing here?” he finally croaked out.

A bemused smile graced her lips. “What do you think?” she chided warmly.

“Dreaming…” he murmured vaguely. “I’m hallucinating…”

“No, you’re not.”

He reopened his eye and stared her in unveiled incredulity. Mia pressed the back of his left hand against her lips affectionately as their gazes connected. It was in that moment that it dawned on her exactly how badly she could be hurt if things did not go well between them. A small sigh escaped from her.

“We have to get out of here,” she repeated with urgency.

“No,” he said hoarsely.

She blinked. “No?”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

He tried to moisten his lips, but his mouth was too dry to do any good. “Go back. Leave with them. I’m not leaving and I don’t want you around. So go.”

Biting back an angry retort, she clenched her teeth until she could answer calmly. “Do you really mean it?” she asked evenly. “Do you really not want me?”

“Yes,” he said after a hesitant pause. He dodged her eyes. “I have business to attend here and I am not going to play babysitter at the same time. You’ll just be in the way.

“And exactly how are you going to ‘attend to business’?” she asked a tad reproachfully. “You can’t even crawl out of here.”

“I’ll manage,” he snapped. He grimaced in pain and his right hand went to his ribs. “I’ve always managed on my own. I don’t need you or any one else. So go on- go away!”

She didn’t believe him. Oh, he sounded quite serious, but though his words were harsh and biting, there was something so despondent in his eyes that she knew he was lying.

“Fine,” she shrugged insolently as she stood. “Have it your way. If you’re going to let your ego get the best of you, then fine. I will go and leave you to your misery.”

To his great surprise, she actually walked away and disappeared into the passage she came from.

He sat there, waiting for her to return for he fully expected her to come running back at any moment. All was still; expect for a strange pulsing he could feel in the wall.

She did not come back.

He never thought that she would leave him; she simply wasn’t the type- she was the puppy-dog kind: loyal, devoted, the unquestioning shadow. And yet she was gone.

His heart began to pound as he worried that he may have pushed too hard, that he had underestimated her. The horrible realization that he was alone sent him into a panic. He moved as swiftly as his body would allow him, crawling awkwardly into the corridor.

“Mia!” He was incapable of projecting his voice above a whisper.

He had barely gone ten feet into the hall when his body, crying in agony, gave out on him. He fell flat on his stomach. His throbbing left hand landed on bare toes.

Huh…?

It sunk in pieces at a time until he understood that she had never left him- she just let him think that she had. He certainly had underestimated her.

He had to roll onto his side in order to see her. As he did, she knelt in front of him. He was fully prepared for a triumphant sneer or vicious smirk to be on her face now that she knew she had some control over him. Any one else would have, but it was not anyone else, it was Mia. Her sad eyes were kind, her tiny smile was compassionate, and her small hand was offered in friendship. He did not know how to respond.

Once he was sitting up, she again urged him to leave. Then he explained his earlier refusal.

“No,” It was difficult to speak when his mouth and throat were so parched. “Raines will be back and I’m not leaving until he’s suffered as much as I have.”

“Bobby,” she bit her bottom lip through a frown. “I understand that you want to see him pay- so do I- but now’s not the time. You’ve got to take care of yourself first, then go after Raines.”

He muttered disjointedly.

“Besides,” she went on, nervously glancing about. She pressed her palm against the wall. “Something strange is going on down here and I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Earlier, while I was still locked up, I over heard Miss Parker tell Sydney that the Centre was empty, there was hardly anyone left in it. And, well, you heard Sydney tell her that Raines’ men are back. I don’t like it, Bobby, not at all.”

“Are you sure about this?” Lyle seemed greatly perturbed and his demeanor changed noticeably.

“I’m sure of what I heard.”

He nodded grimly. “Help me up.”

She willingly obliged his order. He was heavier than she had anticipated, but she got his arm around her shoulders and supported him at the waist as best as she could. Awkwardly, they made their way out of the sub-level.

“You know,” she said at length. “I never would have actually left you.”

He snorted disdainfully. “That’s because you’re incapable of following directions.”

The comment was snarky, but she didn’t miss the gratitude that was hidden in it.

Jarod checked up abruptly and turned around several times with a mystified frown on his face.

“What is it?” Parker growled impatiently.

“Do you know where we are?”

Parker swore. “This is no time for games, Jarod. Let’s go.”

When the Pretender did not move, Parker became more aware of their surroundings. Though they had been going up, she was certain they had been, it appeared that somehow they had actually descended further into the bowels of the Centre.

“This is impossible,” Jarod murmured to himself. He shot Parker a bewildered look.

She would never admit it, but Jarod’s confusion frightened her. If he couldn’t figure out what was happening, how would they get out?

A deafening boom from what sounded like a million men marching thundered around them. They found themselves standing incredible close to one another. Jarod’s hand gripped hers as the sublevel was suddenly flooded by a multitude of Black Coats.

Parker tried to pull out his grip, but he held fast and pulled her after him. Without knowing where they going, the duo tried desperately to stay one step ahead of the strange men. At one point, Parker felt her waistband suddenly loosened as her gun somehow managed to work itself free. It clattered to the ground.

“My gun!” she yelped and tried to go back for it, but Jarod wouldn’t let her. The spot where the gun had fallen was now overrun with Black Coats. Time after time, they narrowly avoided being exposed by one of the men. Finally, Jarod saw a narrow opening where he thought they might be safe until the threat had passed. The passage was narrow and, while Parker slide through with ease, it was more difficult for Jarod. It was after they had both gotten through that they realized they had inadvertently stumbled upon a terrific finding.

They were on a catwalk type of structure that overlooked a massive fallout shelter type of room. Swarming in from every side were the Black Coats. Parker glanced around Jarod and saw a better, more covered place to watch the bizarre proceedings. They settled in just in time to see Mr. White take the floor.

Once the room was filled from wall to wall with Black Coats, Mr. White moved forward to speak. An eerie stillness fell over the assembled. Four Black Coats, shorter in stature than their counterparts in the congregation, flanked White two on each side. White cleared his throat and began in on an elaborate greeting to the mass.

As they watched the bizarre sight, Jarod heard a crackling in his ear.

“What was that?” He questioned Parker with a disturbed frown.

“What was what?”

“That sound.”

She listened, but heard nothing. With a skeptical glance, she turned her attention back to White. “You’re hearing things,” she said. “Now shut up before we miss something.”

“As you are all aware,” White’s voice suddenly spiked in volume and intensity, “we have a very serious situation on our hands. Somehow, we have lost Mr. Lyle again and no one has ever recovered Amelia. This is unacceptable.”

An alarmed murmur rippled through the crowd.

“Mr. Raines will return in forty-eight hours to initiate Dominatus but we are not ready!” White glared threateningly at the crowd. “The project cannot proceed without all seven members alive and accounted for. It cannot possibly be that difficult to find and capture one man and a little girl.” He motioned to the men on either side of him and they stepped forward. “You have your orders,” he snapped intolerantly. “Find Mr. Lyle and the girl. Your collective consciousness and the future of Dominatus depend on it!”

Parker wrapped her hand around Jarod’s collar and jerked him close. “Okay, Genius,” she hissed in a low voice. “What is he talking about? Lyle said that that the original five members where killed during the experiment.”

“Yes,” Jarod said slowly, still processing the information they just heard. “That’s what Mia said too.”

“Why that lying…!” Parker cursed, feeling like slamming her fist into something or better yet, someone. “I knew better than to believe anything he says!”

“I’m not so sure he was lying,” Jarod replied, surprising himself as much as Parker.

“Care to explain that?”

“I don’t know what Lyle knows about all this, but something is not right.”

Parker stared at him like he just spoken Latin. “Apparently I need a translator because I have no idea what you just said.”

“What I mean,” he said seriously, trying to compose his thoughts, “There must be something holding Lyle back from participating in whatever it is Raines is trying to do. Maybe he does know what Dominatus is and that why he’s resisting or he’s resisting because he doesn’t know what it is.”

“Maybe,” Parker responded absently, pondering his last statement.

Jarod’s ears popped with the same crackling sound he heard earlier. “What is that!”

“What!” Parker twisted to face him and as she did a piercing whine ripped through the entire room catching the attention of those below them.

It took Jarod but a moment to diagnosis the problem. “Parker!” He reached for her jacket’s lapel. She didn’t know what he was doing and slapped his hand away.

“Are you out of your mind?” she snapped. The squeal intensified with every move she made.

Jarod was acutely aware that the crowd beneath them was disbanding to search for them. “Parker,” he said again. “The mike!” He reached around her and snatched the wire from her jacket.

Finally understanding, Parker aided him in the removal of the concealed communication device but it was too late; their cover was completely blown.

By the time Mr. White reached the spot where the intruders had been hiding, all that was left was a discarded electronic gadget. White picked up the device and turned it over in his hands with a dismal frown. They had been infiltrated; Mr. Raines would not be pleased.

She sat on the edge of his bed, watching him with a cheerless expression. Quietly, she stood and pulled the comforter up over his shoulders and tucked him in with a sigh. Fidgety, she wandered from the small bedroom and explored the rest of his place.

There was absolutely nothing inviting about the apartment. Tasteful Asian décor was interspersed with the ultra-modern layout, but did little to bring any warmth to the area. The kitchen, like the rest of the place, was austerely spotless. There were no dishes in the cabinets and only bottled water in the refrigerator. Even his closet was virtually barren with only a few clothes neatly hung from the rails. She expected him to have a large wardrobe and noted that none of the expensive suits he always wore where anywhere to be seen. She wondered if he had another closet somewhere, but, feeling she had intruded enough, returned to the bedroom. She took with her a small chair from the living room, though “living” was hardly an adjective that could be used to describe any room in the house. She scolded herself for being so paranoid; maybe he was just obsessive-compulsive and he was most comfortable with his house that way.

She set the chair close to the side of the bed and figured he could yell at her for moving his stuff when he woke up. She watched his agitated sleep in a bed that was so narrow he could barely turn over without falling out. The longer she watched him the more she became certain that he did not sleep in this room. She had nothing to substantiate this except strong intuition.

When Lyle finally woke up, Mia was leaning forward in her chair with her head resting on the bed next to his shoulder with one hand on his arm. He rolled over with a groan and stared at the ceiling. Painfully, he hauled himself out of bed and gathered a change of clothes before locking himself in the bathroom. He staggered to the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He was surprised that his face wasn’t as injured as it felt. With careful, exaggerated movements he opened and closed his mouth examining the pain in his jaw. Eventually, he made it to the shower.

The heat of the water steamed up the bathroom and, for a time, relieved his physical agony. It annoyed him tremendously to find he could do little more than stand under the showerhead as his range of motion was so limited that he could hardly bathe himself. Once the dried blood was sufficiently rinsed off of his person, he slammed the water off.

The roar of the exhaust fan drowned out the chatter in his head as it sucked the moisture from the room. He doctored his wounds as best he could, saving his hand and foot until he had finished dressing. As he bandaged his damaged hand, he worried over the strange color surrounding the stump of his thumb; he had never seen it quite that color before. Pushing the concern out of his mind, he scrubbed the bathroom until it looked it like it did before he used it.

Mia was awake when he returned to the bedroom and sitting Indian-style in the chair. “Are you all right?” she asked apprehensively.

“Yeah,” he muttered shortly, sitting onto the foot of the bed to put his socks and dress shoes on.

“You were in there a long time.”

“Sorry.”

“Can I do anything?”

“No.” He struggled to put the dark socks on, but he could not force his body to comply. Frustrated, he took a shoe and slammed it into the floor.

Without a word, she sank to her knees in front of him and discreetly helped him. He didn’t fight. It was such a small thing, but it had such a large impact on him.

“I still think you should see a doctor,” she said after she was through. She regarded him with fret.

“I plan on it,” he said, standing up laboriously. “Come on, I need you to drive.”

“Where are we going?” She asked following him.

“New York City.”

“The City? There’s no doctor in Blue Cove you can go to?”

“The doctor I want is based in the City.”

“Who?”

“Viktor Puccini.”

“Bobby…” Mia wedged herself in between Lyle and the door. “This isn’t the time for that. Please, just see a real doctor first.”

“Later,” he said firmly. “We have a plane to catch.”

Mia argued no further, took the keys, and trailed after him. Suddenly, he turned back to her looking supremely annoyed.

“What?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he said eyeing her lower body. “You have to change!”

“Huh?”

“Get out of my pants!”

She stared at him for a moment. He glared at her, standing with his hands on his hips, but after a moment his head bowed.

“I mean, I can’t stand those clothes on you,” he barked. “You know what I mean.”

“Uh-huh.” She held her hands out to the side and let them fall against her thighs. “I don’t exactly have many clothing options.”

“Come,” he said, turning his back on her. “We’ll pick up something on the way.”

Lyle forced the poorly secured door open. The office was dark and he did not bother looking for a light source. Mia, now wearing a fitted black jogging suit, clutched the back of his shirt, partly out of nerves and partly to avoid tripping over something.

“What are we looking for?” she whispered.

“Puccini.”

“But he’s not here.”

“I know.”

“Then why are we here?”

“Because he will be.”

She fell silent unable to shake the ominous presentiment in her gut.

With every move he made, Lyle found he had a shadow not his own stuck to him. After a series of annoyed grunts, he spun around to face her. However, she moved perfectly in sync with him. He tried thrice more to no avail. Feeling like a dog chasing his tail, Lyle finally stood still, reached behind his back, and grabbed the hand that was cemented to him. He tugged her out in front of him.

They were standing next to Puccini’s desk and Lyle rolled out the doctor’s chair. He glanced around for a moment and saw a space in between the wall and a file cabinet. He directed Mia to stand in the gap and stay hidden. Then he seated himself behind the desk.

The door to the office swung open several minutes later. Puccini entered with his head down and his attention on the files in his hand. Inattentively, he flipped on the lights. He turned to his desk and stopped cold. The folders fell from his grasp.

The shock that registered in the man’s eyes brought a devilish smile to Lyle’s lips. “Hello, Doctor,” he purred. As he studied the man with a distinctly evil look, something within the recesses of his memory stirred.

Puccini knew that he wasn’t being paid a social visit. There was something so familiar about the man at his desk. His mind went into overdrive trying to match the face with a name. Looking beyond the injuries, he finally saw…

“Robert?” He stared slack-jawed at his former patient.

“It’s Mr. Lyle,” he was callously informed.

Puccini had heard all about the infamous Mr. Lyle, the man Robert Bowman had grown into. He shivered.

Lyle leaned forward, still a frightening force in spite of the injuries. His hand were lying before him, black-gloved fingers interlaced with bare ones. “I want answers,” he said darkly.

He knew this day would occur at some point. Puccini paced the floor in front of the desk impatiently, lost in his thoughts. Finally, he stopped and faced the other man. Whatever doubts and fears he had were placed aside as he assumed the role of psychoanalyst.

“Yes, of course, Robert,” he said genially. By his tone and body language it would appear that Puccini was not even going to attempt to challenge Lyle. However, by refusing to call his ex-patient by his pseudonym, Puccini was, in fact, asserting that he was the one in control of the situation. “Robert, do you know who I am?”

Lyle’s mouth twisted into a frown. “Would I be here if I didn’t?”

“Point taken, Robert,” the doctor said with a laugh.

Lyle wasn’t unaware of what Puccini was attempting to do. He growled. “My name is Mr. Lyle. I suggest you commit that to memory, Doctor.”

Puccini turned slightly, studying Lyle thoughtfully. “And why is that?” he inquired, genuinely interested. “Why did you choose Mr. Lyle?”

Lyle responded by grounding his teeth together until his jaw hurt. He wasn’t about to play that game- no one was going to get into his head.

“Mr. Lyle,” the doctor continued musing. “That is what your father made you call him, isn’t it? I suppose it makes some sort of sense. You accrued quite a terrifying resume I know and to do so you assumed the name of the most terrifying person you know- your father. Fascinating.”

Puccini was enormously fortunate that Lyle did not have his gun. “Mr. Lyle is not my father,” he spat out each word. “And he never was.”

“Yes, yes, that’s right,” Puccini chattered on as though they had nothing better to do. He acted as like he had just remembered an interesting piece of trivia. “It must nice for you to be reunited with your father and twin sister. It’s just a pity you never knew you biological mother. Beautiful woman Catherine was.”

Enraged by the knowledge the doctor had of him and feeling that he was being mocked, Lyle jumped to his feet, slamming the chair back into the wall. A sharp familiar pain flooded his head.

He fumbled in his pocket for the bottle of aspirin he had grabbed before leaving his place. His hands trembled so much as he tried to open the lid that he dropped the bottle; pills scattered everywhere. He cursed in anger.

“What’s the medication about?” Puccini frowned watching Lyle on his hands and knees trying to capture the pills.

“Headache,” he muttered in response.

“How long have you been having these headaches?”

“A while. I don’t sleep much.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Lyle stopped what he doing and glared at the doctor, “when I sleep I have a nasty habit of dreaming.”

Puccini was extremely intrigued by this statement. “Wait,” he said as Lyle stood back up. “I have something better.”

Lyle watched the old man pull a bottle of vodka and two glasses out of a cabinet. Lyle eyed the glass he was offered. They raised the glasses to one another and Puccini downed his drink. Lyle, however, sat his glass down without touching it.

“Tell about these dreams of yours,” the doctor said casually.

But Lyle had not come for dream analysis. “Why don’t I ask the questions?”

Puccini shrugged. “If you wish.”

Lyle moved around the desk in order to stand face to face with the other man. “You were my counselor when I was a child, weren’t you?”

He was surprised that Lyle remembered this- he wasn’t supposed to- but he did not express this astonishment. Instead, he replied evenly, “That’s right.”

Without warning, Lyle pounced. He viciously grabbed Puccini’s faded tie at the knot and pulled the material taut. He slammed the doctor against the wall, leaving the man gasping for air.

“You know something about me,” he snarled sinisterly, shaking Puccini. “Stop playing stupid games with me! Something is going on… I want to know what you know!”

He could hide his fear no longer. “Please,” he choked out, terrified. “Please, Robert! I’m here to help you.”

With a homicidal gleam in his eye, Lyle slammed him into the wall again, this time shaking loose a mirror mounted near Puccini’s head. The mirror shattered at their feet.

“Bobby!” The sudden cry had a profound effect on Lyle. The murderous look evaporated and his grip on Puccini loosened slightly.

Small fingers wrapped around his upper arm, gently tugging at him. He released the doctor and backed away to calm himself down.

Puccini, whose throat remained constricted by fear, slid a finger into the knot of the tie and loosened it. Ultimately, he decided to remove it completely. The doctor turned to thank his rescuer but the words of gratitude froze on his tongue. His jaw unhinged a bit when he saw Mia standing next to Lyle.

“This is unbelievable,” he breathed as he stared at them. “Incredible.”

“Now what are you gibbering about?” Lyle snapped sharply, still incredibly volatile.

Puccini excitedly pressed his spectacles back up on the bridge of his nose, muttering nonsensically to himself as though he was witnessing some once-in-a-lifetime event. “How did… do you… I can’t believe you’re together!”

Lyle looked like he was ready to haul off and hit the doctor, so Mia laid her hand over his. He stayed put.

“What do you know about each other?” Puccini asked in an awestruck tone. His hands trembled as he stepped towards the pair.

“Shut up, old man!” Lyle began to pull away from Mia.

“Are you aware of your connection to each other?”

“If,” Lyle spat derisively, “you’re asking if we know that we were both used in your twisted little experiment, then yes.”

“Fascinating… we always wondered what would happen if two functioning Members became aware of each other.”

“What are you talking about?” Lyle was uneasy with the implication of the statement. “Are you telling me that this whole thing,” he said in reference to his being assigned to the Seventh Member Retrieval, “is another experiment?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Puccini admitted distractedly. “What are your feelings towards each other?”

“Shut up!”

Mia jumped slightly when Lyle smashed a glass of clear liquid into the floor. Puccini wrung his hands in nervousness. Regardless of which name he went by, Lyle was a very dangerous man. Puccini appealed to Mia with his eyes; he knew that he had just exhausted the last of Lyle’s patience.

“I. Want. To. Know. Everything. You. Know.”

Puccini swallowed. “Yes. Yes, of course,” he said in quiet resignation. “Please,” he motioned them to follow him. “Come.”

They were led down a long dark corridor. The doctor glanced over his shoulder. Mia was directly behind him followed by Lyle.

“You are in a very frustrating situation,” he said subdued. “I understand that, but you must be patient. Trust me.”

Lyle began to respond in an undoubtedly nasty way, but Mia stopped him. Puccini walked slowly onward, not realizing they were no longer behind him.

“Just play along with him,” she said. “Let’s see what happens.”

He grunted dissatisfied, but nodded. Mia hurried to catch up with Puccini.

“We do trust you, Doctor,” she said demurely.

Puccini was relieved and relaxed slightly. “Good,” he said, feeling in control again. “I will do all I can to help.” He stopped short and turned to a door to his right.

The room he ushered them into was small and bare and looked remarkably like an operating room. The moment they set foot in the room, Lyle wanted to leave as he had the concentrated feeling that they had just walked into a trap. Puccini had disappeared from sight and Lyle didn’t want to wait around to see where he had gone.

Mia looked at Lyle quizzically as he grabbed her hand and proceeded to pull her back towards the door.

“We’re leaving,” he said shortly.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Robert.”

Before they could face him, the doctor was upon them. He struck Lyle brutally in the back of head with the butt of a gun. Mia cried out and immediately dropped to her knees next to her fallen companion.

“You’re quite fond of him, aren’t you?” Puccini looked at her the same way he had when asking them what they knew of each other.

Mia glared murderously at him.

“I’m sorry I had to do that, Amelia,” he said sincerely. “I don’t like to use force, but he gave me no choice. Now,” he leveled the gun at her, “let’s stand up shall we?”

She reluctantly obeyed. The doctor motioned her into another tiny room adjacent to the one they were in. Once inside, Puccini shut the door behind them.

“Sit in that chair behind you, Amelia, and bind your feet and hands.”

“Excuse me?” She stared at him with stunned incredulity.

“I didn’t want it be this way, Amelia. I really didn’t, but time is quickly running out. Now sit.”

She turned to face the chair in question. It looked like a dentist’s chair, but it had straps for the wrists, ankles, waist, and head. She shivered.

“You can’t just leave Bobby,” she said flatly, as she complied with his disturbing order. “There’s no telling what the extent of his internal injuries are. If you leave him, he could die.”

“He allows you to call him Bobby?” he watched her with enthrallment. “Oh, we have so much to talk about you and I…”

“You’re mad,” she breathed with disgust.

He smiled in amusement as he finished tightening the restraints. “That’s what all mental patients say about their doctor now isn’t, Amelia?” He put the gun down in favor of a black liquid-filled hypodermic needle. There was a deranged smile on his visage. “I am going to show you things, Amelia- Things that you don’t know. Look at the syringe.”

She looked at him blankly. “Why?”

“Do it!”

She looked. “So?”

“Focus on the Serum inside,” he instructed. An eerie glow lit his eyes as he stared at the injection. “Do you know what you’re looking at?”

“No,” she responded sardonically, looking away.

“Within this syringe,” he went on, ignoring her attitude. “Is the capability to be anyone… to do anything…” Do you understand, Amelia?”

She remained silent, grounding her teeth together. There was something incredibly annoying in hearing her name repeated over and over.

“It’s not been perfected yet,” he said with a tinge of sadness in his voice. “It’s far from being perfect actually. It’s limited in it’s capability to create alter egos, but the potential is there.” He turned his hungry eyes on her. “Do you understand now?”

“No!” she exploded, unable to contain herself any longer. “No, I don’t understand anything! I don’t understand why everyone is so obsessed with Jarod and creating Pretenders or whatever it is you call him! I assume that what that…that…aurgh!” She shrieked in frustration as she searched for the missing word. “Tar in a jar!”

“Tar in a jar,” Puccini chuckled. “Clever, Amelia, very clever. So you do understand.” He raised the needle and advanced on her. “Do you remember who you are, Amelia? Do you remember your family, your friends, your life?”

Mia blinked. She had “forgotten” about the gaps in her memory. “No,” she admitted sourly. “Not everything.”

“I can make you remember, Amelia- so easily.” He tapped the side of the syringe and squirted out the air bubbles. “You are not a killer. You are an innocent child.”

She fought against her restraints; the leather was old and weak and she prayed to find the weakest spot. She looked up at him fearfully. “Do you know who they are?” she asked, hoping to stall long enough to find that weak area. “The men following me?”

Puccini’s smile widened. “Ah, yes, our allies in black. That’s rather complicated I’m afraid. There’s been an experiment, Amelia; a very risky one. I arranged it, but things did not go as planned. As for you, you were left vacant- but I can fix that.”

“What about Bobby?”

“Bobby?” he frowned. “Oh, Robert. A great many things went wrong there.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry about him, Amelia. I’ll take care of him, too.”

She didn’t like the tone of his voice when he made the last comment. She struggled harder.

“It’s all right, Amelia,” he assured her. “Everyone gets one of these.” He tilted the needle towards her.

“What do you mean everyone?”

“All of the Members, of course.”

“Oh, of course…” She looked at him sharply. “I thought there were only two left.”

“Not hardly,” he said lightly. “Don’t be afraid. This is a special form of the Serum. It will help you remember, Amelia.” His massive hand caught the back of her head and held it firmly in place. “There might be a little pain, but it will be worth it.”

“Why are you doing this!” she screamed as she gave into panic and hysteria. “Tell me why!”

“Relax, Amelia. In a few minutes, you’ll understand everything.”

A strange sound echoed in the corridor. It was coming towards them. Jarod peered into the darkness but saw nothing.

“Keep watch,” he told Parker who just looked at him charily.

He began to feel along the wall and low ceiling. His hands happened across a grate above their heads and it was not a moment too soon. Mr. White was moving at deliberate pace in their direction.

“Hurry,” Parker hissed when she saw the figure.

Jarod wrenched the grill off and climbed up, pulling Parker after him. They crawled frantically through the ductwork. Jarod saw a light ahead of them that was streaming in from an exit. He kicked the new grate off.

They found themselves in complete darkness standing on a narrow ledge outside of the building. Somewhere below them water roared. There was nowhere to go but down.

“I’m going to look for a way out,” Jarod told her, but Parker wasn’t listening. Mr. White was still after them, crawling through the duct with a knife clenched between his teeth.

After Jarod had disappeared, Parker caught sight of a narrow pipe running vertically up the side of the opening they had exited from. To test her theory that the pipe could be their salvation, Parker grabbed hold of the metal tubing and pushed herself up. Unfortunately, the pipe was slick from grease and her grip did not hold. Her feet did not halt her fall and she dangled precariously off the edge of the ledge. She did catch hold of the duct opening and managed to prevent herself from falling further. Perspiration droplets formed on her temples as she struggled to hold on- she couldn’t even spare the energy to call out to Jarod.

A light snickering drew her attention upward. Mr. White was perched on the edge of the duct above her with a condescending smile on his pale lips. He took the knife from his teeth and positioned it above the fingers that held onto the opening. Her eyes widened in horror as he brought the blade down.

The blade sliced into her flesh and sent blood running down her arm as her face curled in agony and shock. Mr. White lifted the blade and watched curiously as she struggled to hold on. Then he raised his hand and wiggled his fingers at her in a mocking good-bye gesture.

Parker lost her grip completely and plummeted into the depths below.

He had checked with every precinct in Manhattan and the Boroughs only to find that, while there were several Gordon’s and Wayne’s on the force, there was no Jarod Wayne or Parker Gordon. In fact, of all the strange characters to have paid them a visit in the recent weeks, he could only confirm the identity of Viktor Puccini. The nagging suspicion he had of his brother-in-law had spurred him check City Hall for a marriage license. It hardly surprised him that there was none for Robert Bowman and Amelia Micelli. Of course, he knew there was a possibility they had not been married in the City, but he had not the time or the means to check the Vegas records.

He sighed in frustration and gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He was worried about his baby sister- very worried. There was no telling what kind of mess Mia had gotten herself into this time. Her problems, his problems, Maria’s problems had all begun after their father’s conviction. With Salvatore Micelli serving three consecutive life terms and Kathleen Micelli voluntarily commitment, there had been no one to raise them. Their oldest sister, Maria, battled drug and alcohol abuse before finally ending her life. Mia was the one who found Maria dead in the bathroom the girls shared lying in a pool of her own blood- she had slit her wrists. Mario had dealt with his own anger and bitterness by withdrawing from everyone and immersing himself in work and school. And that meant the Mia fell into the cracks, often living on the street and running with the wrong crowd.

Guilt weighted him down and he blamed himself for what she had to live through, but he was determined to make it up to her, starting by getting her out of whatever it was she had gotten involved in.

Mario had to walk a short distance to Puccini’s office building after he had parked his car. He figured that since Puccini was legit and Mia’s doctor, he might be able to help him. However, Mario wondered how accurate this assumption was once he entered the doctor’s office.

It was obvious that something had happened in the office. Shattered glass lay all over the floor and an overturned vodka bottle lay on the desk soaking the paper contents that lay across the top. His attention was caught by an open door to his right. He entered the dark hall and followed it to another lighted room.

The first thing Mario saw in the room sent his stomach to his feet. Robert lay face down on the floor moaning weakly.

“Yo,” Mario crouched down next to his brother-in-law. “Yo, Rob, you okay? What happened man?””

“Mia,” Lyle managed, not sure who he was talking to. “Get Mia.”

Mario’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah? Where is she?”

Lyle raised his head. “Get me up and I’ll show you.”

Mia found one of the wrist restraints was poorly fastened and she managed to wrenched free of it. She lashed out at Puccini, scratching the doctor in the face. His glasses went flying and he fell to the ground, blinded and scrambling for his spectacles.

Mia finished freeing herself just as Puccini place his glasses back on his face. Quick on his feet for an old man, the doctor dove at Mia trying to stab her with the syringe. They struggled, each trying to force the needle onto the other. Puccini shoved Mia onto an examining table, sending a tray of surgical instruments crashing to the floor. The syringe was inches from her neck when the door slammed open.

Puccini, firmly pinning Mia down, looked up irritably to see the silhouette of a furious young man holding the gun he had disposed of earlier. Mario stared at the man that was practically on top of his sister. They stared at each other- no one seemed to know what to do.

“Get off of her,” Mario hissed.

Puccini quickly backed off of Mia who stared at her brother as though he was a ghost. Mario did not notice the doctor edging towards the fallen medical instruments- his focus was on his sister who had run into Lyle’s arms.

“She is much more disturbed than I thought, Mr. Micelli,” Puccini explained nervously, picking something up off the floor. “I never thought she would attack me like that. I- I don’t want to involve the police naturally.”

Mario glared at him sharply, now more suspicious of Puccini than anyone else. Without warning, Puccini lunged at him, slicing the air inches from his face with a scalpel. Mario was so stunned that he stumbled backwards into Lyle and Mia, dropping the gun. Lyle, none too steady on his feet to begin with, fell to his knees. Mia, naturally, went with him. In the brief time it took for the trio to recover, Puccini had fled, the door swinging in his wake.

Mario ran to the door, but there was no sign of the doctor.

Jarod!

She watched as he fought with White, trying to dodge the sinister blade while keeping his footing on the impossibly slick surface of the ledge. White, who had no difficulty maintaining his traction, lunged and, as Jarod leaned back to avoid the knife, the Pretender’s right foot slipped out from under him and he fell hard on his backside. As he fell, his head hit squarely on the lower edge of the duct opening.

Parker’s eyes briefly closed and her brow furrowed in disbelief of what was happening. This was impossible! When she opened them again, she saw White standing over Jarod’s prone form, studying him intensely while caressing the knife’s blade. A cold, compact weight settled in her stomach as White stood and gave Jarod a swift, brutal kick in the side which sent the Pretender over the ledge. A splash was heard and once satisfied that his job was done, White disappeared.

Her mind shut out the horror she had just witnessed and her training kicked in. Edging as far the beam as she could, Parker scanned the quick-moving current for any sign of him. Her hope was that the cold water had awakened him, but that hope seemed to be in vain. Her arm ached, numbed by the icy water, and she felt her fingers weakening. Then she saw a black form break the surface and her strength came back. Reaching out a hand, she managed to catch hold of his shirt.

“Come on, Jarod, help me out here!” She tried retained her usual sarcasm, but her comment came out as a desperate plea. She struggled to keep both his and her head above the water. Her hand began to cramp. Parker frantically searched for something- anything- that could possibly be used to get them out of the water and Jarod’s weight pulling her down was only making things worse. The stark realization that she was going to have to choose between keeping her grip on the beam or her grip on Jarod hit her with heavy despair.

With reluctance, she released the metal beam and left the subterranean river carry them where it would.