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Chapter or Story
A/N: Double treat! Two chapters in one night! R/R, PLEASE!
Portrait of a Killer
8/10
by RRP
Debbie Broots sat on her father's bed, watching him hurry around the room, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. She watched for several minutes, before she tried to protest.
"But, Dad! We can't move to Europe!"
"Why not? You liked Paris when we were there!" Broots replied, pulling everything that he needed out of drawers and from under the bed, and tossing it on the bed, so that Debbie soon was surrounded by a sea of her father's belongings.
"Paris was a vacation! Sure, another trip there would be great! But not now! What about school? And all my friends? We can't move!"
"You weren't going to stay in Dover for college anyway, Debbie, so what does it matter?" Broots demanded, angry mostly with himself for daring to ask her to move. He understood what she was losing, and he just wished she understood what he was leaving behind as well.
"No, but I wanted to come home, come here, during my breaks. At least I was still going to be in the States!"
"Please, Debbie, try to understand," Broots shoved some stuff off the bed so he could sit down next to her. "Our lives are in danger right now. You know how ruthless the Centre is. If they want to transfer me to their European Branch, I've got two options: Say yes, or die." Debbie's eyes were filling with tears, but she laughed anyway.
"Yeah, Daddy, I know."
"Daddy? You haven't called me Daddy since..." She hit him playfully on the leg.
"Don't start getting all sentimental. Finish explaining to the helpless two-year-old why we have to move."
"Well...I obviously said yes, because I'm alive right now. I know it's a lot to leave behind, but we can always visit. Think how jealous all your friends are going to be! How many young, American girls get to spend their college years overseas? It'll look great on resumes, too, if you want to think that far ahead. Touring in Germany, traveling through Paris again, Rome, Prague, and London! If you work really hard, you may even get into Oxford." Debbie's eyes had been getting wider and wider the entire time Broots was talking, and she nearly squealed with excitement.
"I hadn't even thought of that! A psychology degree at Oxford! Can you imagine, Dad? That's the kind of degree that makes people beg for you to work for them, instead of the other way around!" She paused, then looked up at him. "And you know the best part?"
"What?" He asked, a confused smile forming on his lips.
"I'll be with my Dad."
"I thought you were going to say that Oxford's in London. They still speak English there."
"Well, that too..." Debbie said thoughtfully.
"So, is that a yes? You're okay with moving, now?"
"Well, I can't say I'm ecstatic. But I can say you won't be going without me." Debbie grinned. "When do we leave?" Broots was about to answer, when the phone rang.
"Hold on..." He muttered, searching for the phone underneath a pile of things atop the dresser. He found it, and picked it up. "Hello? Yes. Just my daughter. What? No, that's good. Just...wait. Yeah. I'll be there." Broots became silent, after hanging up the phone, and Debbie broke the silence with an impatient plea.
"What's going on, Dad? I think you can tell me the whole truth now. Miss Parker's missing, all of the sudden you're transferred to Europe. What's going on?" Debbie repeated the question she had begun with, and waited impatiently for an answer.
"Umm...it's a long story, Debbie."
"Well, we have time." Debbie pointed out. "Tell me while we pack." Broots took a deep breath, and reluctantly consented.
"It all started seven years ago, I guess...when Mr. Lyle met this girl named Aimee..."
---
Lyle sat in his new office, his head resting on his desk. Everything wasn't quite going as planned. Mr. Lyle didn't have the access to Miss Parker that he wished he had, Broots was being forced to leave, and the biggest blow was that the Sweeper- one of the few left that the entire group of Patriots, or Fugitives, or whatever they wanted to call themselves, trusted- Sam was dead.
A Sweeper team had set off for Canada to investigate a 'Gemini Sighting', Lyle deciding to stay behind, and reasoning that he was still just getting settled in. He now almost wished he had gone. He was in a thread-bare office, that had just that morning belonged to the man he murdered. Raines' death kept playing over and over in his mind, and he couldn't wash himself of the image.
Raines, laughing hysterically, a truly insane laughter, as Lyle aimed and pulled the trigger. Even Willie, who had been standing right next to Raines, had sighed in relief. Finally free of the death grip Raines' had had on his job and life. Lyle, on the other hand, while feeling a faint success in the revenge, was finding revenge to not be as sweet as he had hoped. Instead, he felt dirty. Guilty. He kept telling himself, reassuring himself, that Raines hadn't deserved to live, but no matter how much he believed that one fact, it didn't make him feel any better about taking a life.
*Be strong, Lyle. Be strong.* Lyle told himself. It didn't work. *Emily...I wish you were here...*
"Mr. Lyle?" Lyle's head snapped up, as Willie gruffly interrupted his thoughts.
"Willie?" Lyle asked calmly, trying to keep his cool. This was the same man who had so many times beat him. By Raines' orders, but still.
"I've been assigned to you." Willie stated awkwardly. Lyle sighed and waved him in. "Something wrong, sir?" Willie asked, as Lyle collapsed back into his chair. His thoughts had instead turned to convincing himself to model an unlikely role-model: Jarod.
*Forgiveandforgetforgiveandforget*
"No, Willie. Nothing's wrong. Why don't you update me? I've missed seven years of Centre-life." Lyle motioned to a chair, and Willie slowly sat down, clearly scared to death that Lyle was going to pull a gun on him any minute.
"Well, you know about your sister already. And Jarod. Sydney's missing, too. Sam was terminated this morning." Willie frowned as he stated the last fact. "He was a good man. A good Sweeper. We had a mutual love-to-hate-you work relationship, but I wouldn't have minded him as a partner."
"Hmm..." Lyle replied, almost distractedly.
"Yeah..." Willie trailed off, and both sat in contemplative silence for several minutes. Lyle suddenly sat up, and started moving files around on the desk, snapping back into action.
"Willie, I want you to get me the DSA of Sam's 'termination'. I need it here, yesterday. I want medical files on my sister, all you can find, and all the newest files on Gemini."
"They'll be on your desk by seven this evening, sir." Willie stood, nodded, and left. Lyle sighed as he started pouring over files. It was going to be a long day...
---
Miss Parker laid in her bed, confined to a reclined position, and hating every minute of it. She had nearly believed her father, nearly. It was hard to believe the man who tried to kill you. But as even the night watchmen had the same sad story, she had nearly fallen for the lie. Two weeks, whenever she was coherent and awake, she worried.
Then Lyle had shown up, mouthing messages to her, and then verbally tearing her apart. She acted along, almost unnerving herself with the ease with which she slid into the hateful sister role. Now all she wished was to be allowed to get up, to move around. But even now she had to Pretend she believed them. She had forced herself to cry once or twice, just to let them think they'd broken her.
Miss Parker was satisfied with the results. She had them wrapped around her little finger. They thought she believed the lie, and at the same time, she had hope. She really was going to kill her father, as soon as she got out of the Infirmary.
She spent a lot of time thinking about what she was going to say to Jarod, the next time she saw him. 'You bastard' just didn't seem enough, while she didn't believe she was ready to say, 'I love you'. Ah, choices, choices. It was a good thing she had plenty of time.
---
Jarod sat in front of his laptop, a sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. It was a feeling of failure and disgust. Failure? He had failed Sam. The two hadn't been the best of friends, but the past few weeks he had come to understand Sam, if not like him. And now the Sweeper was dead. Broom Man was gone, and Jarod felt as though he had failed Aric Joel as well.
He should have known that the Centre would kill Sam, he should have already known that. But he ignored the obvious, instead only thinking of Miss Parker, and sent Sam into a dangerous situation. One of the things that infuriated him the most was the thought that Sam had known it was going to be a kamikaze mission, and had not said anything. Jarod still couldn't figure out what Sam had hoped to gain by his own death.
The disgust stemmed from the knowledge that the Centre would allow an employee- namely Cox- to kill, just because someone (including one of their own employees) refused to release information pertaining to his (Jarod's) whereabouts.
The laptop's screen held the Centre's 'Top Operatives: Missions' page. The newest note at the top, assigned to all operatives, was the dismissal of the former Centre pilot, Jack Ryan.
Dismissal? Jarod thought, a sarcastic mental laugh echoing in his mind. Dismissal from life, that is.
Footsteps behind him alerted him to the presence of another person in the room, and he turned in his chair. Emily gave him a soft smile, and after a quick glance at the laptop screen, she sat down at the table, next to him.
"Kids asleep?" Jarod asked, eyes downcast. The last thing he wanted to do was explain to Aric Joel, at ten PM, that Sam wasn't coming back. Emily nodded.
"Yep. Finally." Her voice relayed her weariness, and he looked at her, his concern clear.
"Why don't you get some sleep? You sound tired."
"I'm not tired, Jarod. I'm worried. I'm scared." Emily replied with a sigh. Jarod frowned at his laptop screen. Emily interrupted his thoughts with a question, "Jarod? What's going on at the Centre? Is Lyle okay?"
"Well," Jarod looked back over at her. "Lyle's okay. The Tower welcomed him back. But, there is some bad news. First, Raines is dead."
"And that's bad?" Emily asked incredulously.
"You didn't let me finish, Em." Jarod responded, gently. "Um...Lyle was the one who killed him." Emily's hand flew up to her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears, and she said nothing for several uneasy minutes.
"Oh no. Jarod," She began, struggling to speak. "I didn't think...it was revenge, wasn't it?"
"And the Tower's orders." Jarod laughed dryly. "But I doubt that had much to do with it. Yes, I think it was revenge. Lyle did what no one except Sydney had ever tried- he pulled the trigger. Good riddance is what I say. But I'm more worried about Lyle's emotional state right now."
"It's only been two days, and I already want it to be over." Emily said quietly. "I just want things to go back to the way they were. Everything's different. Charlie doesn't understand why I left, and Spider barely remembers me. It's all changed, and I can't do anything about it."
"I'm sorry, Emily. I really am." Jarod answered.
"What else went wrong, Jarod? With the plan, I mean." Emily questioned, after a pause. Jarod sucked in a breath of air, and bit his lower lip before replying.
"Sam is dead." Emily's hand flew up to her mouth for the second time. She hadn't known the Sweeper very well- but remembered seeing him play checkers with Aric Joel a few times, as well as have some type of inside joke with Jarod about brooms and rats. She also knew it was a severe blow to the plan. Silence passed between her and her brother for several minutes, before she stood.
"I think I'll go to bed now." She moved out of the kitchen, missing the hurt look in Jarod's eyes.
Jarod thought Emily blamed him for Sam's death, and half-way believed she was right. Too right. He sat in contemplative quiet for a while, before he realized someone was reading over his shoulder. He swung around quickly, just in time to see Jack Ryan go pale.
After a minute, Ryan extended a shaky hand.
"I'm on your side now. No question." Jarod tentatively shook his hand, and Ryan disappeared without another word. Jarod understood. It was pretty unnerving to know that your own employers had just condemned you to your death. Jarod reached out, rapidly typed several things, erasing his history files on both his hard drive, and the Centre's tracking records. After the small but important task was finished, he switched the laptop off, and sat in darkness.
"Like mentor, like protégé." Sydney spoke, causing Jarod to jump a little. The older man flipped a nearby lamp on, before joining Jarod at the table- taking the same seat Emily had sat in earlier. "I often sit in the darkness, thinking." Jarod gave Sydney a half-hearted smile.
"Why would one need physical lights for the mind? I'd settle for the inner light of truth."
"As would I, Jarod. As would I."
"Hmm."
"We haven't had much chance to talk in the past weeks, have we?" Sydney asked, feeling that the responsibility of continuing the conversation rested on his shoulders.
"No, we haven't, have we?" Jarod replied, looking over to Sydney. "It's all falling apart, Sydney. The plan, our lives- everything. Sam's dead, Broots is going to Europe, Miss Parker's in the infirmary. It's not fair. Aric Joel's going to be devastated. A friend is more than any child should lose to death."
"It's more than anyone should lose, Jarod. But that doesn't mean it stops stealing."
"The Grim Reaper. Ever since that one time we talked about the creature, in your office, I've wondered about him."
"You were just a boy then, weren't you?" Sydney's eyebrows pursed with thought, and his eyes darkened with memory. Jarod nodded.
"Grim. Most people think it means frightful. You know what else it means, Sydney? Merciless and unyielding. Never stopping. And reaper. Gatherer. Collector. 'Merciless Gatherer'. It's what he is, Sydney. A merciless gatherer. He doesn't care who he takes, as long as they have that invisible mark. How does it happen, Sydney? Does some deadly Sandman come in the night, and paint our foreheads with blood, so that when the Reaper's making his rounds, he kills those that bear the mark?"
"I don't know, Jarod. I do know that it's hard to cope with the harvest." Sydney answered thoughtfully.
"I can't stop them, Sydney. They keep killing, and it's all because of me. The Grim Reaper isn't what he used to be. He no longer wears a black warlock robe, carrying a sharpened scathe. Now, the Reaper wears a suit and a Centre name-tag. He carries a gun, and shoots all that the Tower's Sandman tells him to." Sydney chuckled, unable to hold back the laughter. Jarod looked up sharply, glaring quizzically at Sydney.
"I'm sorry, Jarod. It's just..." Sydney trailed off, unable to think of exactly why Jarod's comparison had sounded funny. It just had.
"It's okay, Sydney." Jarod answered a minute later. "I guess it did sound strange."
"Jarod, get some sleep." Sydney said, standing up and yawning. "Keeping yourself awake isn't going to do you any good. I believe everyone else has already slipped off to bed."
"Jarod," A new voice joined the conversation, with a tone suspiciously close to whining. Sydney chuckled again when he saw that it was Patrick.
"Yeah, Patrick?" Jarod smiled as well. Patrick put a hand on Jarod's shoulder, and suddenly looked very serious.
"Mr. Master Copy. We are-" He paused, for effect. Both Jarod and Sydney started to get worried. "Out of Pez." Patrick finished. Both of the other men in the room started laughing. Patrick looked offended. "What? We are!" He stressed the 'are' part, and shook his head. "You two make no sense at all. I'm going to the store tomorrow." He left the room, still shaking his head. Jarod and Sydney met each other's eyes, and the laughter subsided.
"Good night, Jarod."
"Night, Sydney." Jarod replied, copying Sydney's motions, and standing and yawning. Sydney flipped the lamp off, and both shuffled off to their beds.
---
Broots leaned his head against the glass of the airplane window, and sighed. What he could see out the window was nothing more than wisps of clouds and blue sky. The ground beneath wasn't ground- it was ocean. The rolling waves of the Atlantic blurred gray and green below. Debbie listened to music in the aisle across from him, bouncing her head along with the beat. Broots shook his own head, and mentally sorted all the events of the past few years.
Like he had told Debbie, it all started with Lyle leaving. The man had simply disappeared, no warning signs, nothing. Miss Parker had gone around the Centre with an occasional smirk, and Broots suspected at the time, that she had known more than she was letting on. Meanwhile, the Board was in an uproar. Find the Chairman's son, and find him now, had been an order for weeks. California had been searched to no end, after the postcard had arrived, and then the rest of America had been searched. Rather heartlessly, for no one really wanted to find the man.
Raines, meanwhile, had been in Renewal Wing ever since the Incident. The Incident in which Lyle left the Centre for two months- and the vacation wasn't one of his own choice. Broots wasn't sure when Raines had returned, but he did know it was a good year later. Unchanged, it seemed. None worse for wear. Broots sometimes wondered if they had done nothing more than lock the dying man in a cell for a year.
The hunt for Jarod had gone on, easing over the years. The urgency dropped to find the Pretender, as more pressure to successfully train Aric Joel was applied. Raines disappeared again, to dabble in personal projects. One of those projects, as Broots had found, was Emily herself. Broots feared what the other projects were- what they could hold. He was also assured that Raines was dead and whatever projects had been in the works, would stop. He hoped so, anyway.
"Dad," Broots' thought train was sidetracked by Debbie, who was tugging on his arm.
"What, Deb?"
"Listen to this. I was trying to find a radio station, and found this." Debbie stressed the end of the sentence, as she slipped the headphones on her father. Broots' forehead creased with thought, suspicion, and worry, as he listened to the transmitted message.
"Shadowcat, do you copy? Over."
"Roger that, AirTiger. Over."
"Identified craft at five o clock. Repeat, identified craft at five o clock. Over."
"Identity, request? Over."
"American Sub-Government Aircraft, Boeing 747. Over."
"Any scheduled flights for such aircraft, AirTiger? Over."
"No such flight, Shadowcat. Presumed stolen or hijacked. Over."
"Permission to contact craft? Over."
"Permission granted, Shadowcat. Over and out." Broots took the headphones off with shaking hands, and gave them to Debbie.
"Excuse me, Deb." She moved, to let him out into the aisle, with a confused look on her face. Broots made his way towards the front bathrooms- conveniently located next to the cockpit. He muttered under his breath as he went,
"Please, God. Don't let them contact our plane. Please don't let them contact our plane." He cracked open the cockpit door just in time to hear the words he had been dreading-
"This is American Airforce, Codename Shadowcat-"
"Hey! What are you doing up here?" The co-pilot demanded, as soon as he saw Broots. Broots shook his head, and thought fast.
"Just wanted to see how much longer it will be." He shrugged. "All the flight attendants seem to have disappeared."
"Another few hours, buddy. Go sit down." Broots backed up, and pulled the door shut behind him. He hurried back to his seat, and pulled Debbie over.
"Deb, this is supposed to be a commercial flight. How come I don't see any families, hear any kids?"
"They said it was a skeleton flight, Dad." Debbie leaned closer. "But I don't believe them. All of the passengers are guys in black suits- Sweepers, I think. And I just found a bunch of parachute packs near the back bathrooms. Dad, I counted..." Debbie trailed off, tears brimming in her eyes. "Dad, there are enough parachutes for everyone but us."
"The Centre." Broots growled, instinctively feeling protective of Debbie. He fumbled with his cell phone, and finally managed to dial. He waited impatiently, as the other end of the phone line rang.
"Jarod here." Jarod's voice answered.
"Oh, god. Jarod," Broots lowered his voice to a mere whisper. "They're trying to kill us."
"Hold on, Broots. Let me get Jarod." Jarod's voice spoke again. There was some scuffling on the other end of the line, and a slightly angry voice shouting,
"Patrick! Stop answering my phone!" The voice turned to the phone, and spoke. "Broots?"
"Jarod. They're trying to kill us. The flight was supposed to be commercial, but it's not. And Debbie found parachutes in the back of the plane- enough for everyone but us." Broots barely managed to keep his voice from shaking.
"Calm down, Broots." Jarod replied promptly. "Check under your seat. The Centre labels all their airplane seats with the number of the plane." Broots ducked down, and quickly found the small silver label.
"52115. Why?" Broots relayed the information to Jarod, who breathed a sigh of relief.
"Good."
"Good?" Broots yelped, before lowering his voice again. "Jarod, I just confirmed that my daughter and I willingly climbed into our execution chamber!"
"The Centre's 747's were recently installed with a computer tracking and piloting system. As long as I have the plane number, I can pilot the plane from the ground. The pilots on board won't know what's going on."
"That's sounds pretty far-fetched, Jarod. And I'm supposed to be the techie." Broots whispered back.
"I know, I know. But since when is anything at the Centre close to normal or possible-sounding?"
"Good point."
"I'll pilot the plane from here. I'm going to land it in New York. Contact me from a payphone there, okay?"
"Sure. New York. Payphone." Broots nodded, without thinking about the fact that Jarod couldn't see him.
"Hang up, and keep Debbie next to you the whole time." Broots pushed the end button, and shoved the cell-phone in his pocket. He leaned over to Debbie, and spoke quietly.
"Debbie, go across the aisle, get your stuff, bring it over here. But ask me, loudly, if you can go to sleep on my shoulder. Then pretend to fall asleep." She nodded, with wide eyes, and quickly followed his orders. Broots felt a strange sense of relief when she set her head on his shoulder- somehow, deep inside, he knew they would be alright. His little girl would be safe.
---
Lyle leaned back in his chair, a glass of water in one hand. He looked around his office, and sighed. The two week pretend was draining on him, heavily. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so tired. The office did nothing to help lighten his mood, or spirit, and despite the office, he didn't want to go home to an empty apartment. It wasn't really home, and felt more like a prison. He sighed again, as numerous thoughts drifted through his mind.
*Good Lord, how did Jarod survive this?* He wondered in amazement, taking a sip of the now luke-warm water. There wasn't an answer. He desperately wanted to talk to Emily, to hold her, to know she was safe. He needed to. A year apart had nearly broken him completely, and two and a half meager weeks together wasn't enough to calm and heal his soul. Or hers, for that matter.
He worried, and wondered, about how she was doing. After the torture she had survived, and the stress, he doubted she was really as fine as she told everyone she was. He was thankful the kids were there- Charlie would help her a lot, he knew. Just being with Maddy, Cat, and Spider, would be good for her as well.
Lyle rubbed his forehead, and set the glass of water on the desk, and slowly stood to his feet.
*Dear God...* The thought that managed to slip inside his mind was more of a prayer than a curse, for his joints seemed to catch fire at the movement. In a standing position, the slightest move pained him. He stood, frozen, for nearly a full minute, afraid of stepping forward. He finally did so, and realized almost instantly that it was a mistake.
The room spun, the colors blurred, and all went black.
8/10
by RRP
Debbie Broots sat on her father's bed, watching him hurry around the room, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. She watched for several minutes, before she tried to protest.
"But, Dad! We can't move to Europe!"
"Why not? You liked Paris when we were there!" Broots replied, pulling everything that he needed out of drawers and from under the bed, and tossing it on the bed, so that Debbie soon was surrounded by a sea of her father's belongings.
"Paris was a vacation! Sure, another trip there would be great! But not now! What about school? And all my friends? We can't move!"
"You weren't going to stay in Dover for college anyway, Debbie, so what does it matter?" Broots demanded, angry mostly with himself for daring to ask her to move. He understood what she was losing, and he just wished she understood what he was leaving behind as well.
"No, but I wanted to come home, come here, during my breaks. At least I was still going to be in the States!"
"Please, Debbie, try to understand," Broots shoved some stuff off the bed so he could sit down next to her. "Our lives are in danger right now. You know how ruthless the Centre is. If they want to transfer me to their European Branch, I've got two options: Say yes, or die." Debbie's eyes were filling with tears, but she laughed anyway.
"Yeah, Daddy, I know."
"Daddy? You haven't called me Daddy since..." She hit him playfully on the leg.
"Don't start getting all sentimental. Finish explaining to the helpless two-year-old why we have to move."
"Well...I obviously said yes, because I'm alive right now. I know it's a lot to leave behind, but we can always visit. Think how jealous all your friends are going to be! How many young, American girls get to spend their college years overseas? It'll look great on resumes, too, if you want to think that far ahead. Touring in Germany, traveling through Paris again, Rome, Prague, and London! If you work really hard, you may even get into Oxford." Debbie's eyes had been getting wider and wider the entire time Broots was talking, and she nearly squealed with excitement.
"I hadn't even thought of that! A psychology degree at Oxford! Can you imagine, Dad? That's the kind of degree that makes people beg for you to work for them, instead of the other way around!" She paused, then looked up at him. "And you know the best part?"
"What?" He asked, a confused smile forming on his lips.
"I'll be with my Dad."
"I thought you were going to say that Oxford's in London. They still speak English there."
"Well, that too..." Debbie said thoughtfully.
"So, is that a yes? You're okay with moving, now?"
"Well, I can't say I'm ecstatic. But I can say you won't be going without me." Debbie grinned. "When do we leave?" Broots was about to answer, when the phone rang.
"Hold on..." He muttered, searching for the phone underneath a pile of things atop the dresser. He found it, and picked it up. "Hello? Yes. Just my daughter. What? No, that's good. Just...wait. Yeah. I'll be there." Broots became silent, after hanging up the phone, and Debbie broke the silence with an impatient plea.
"What's going on, Dad? I think you can tell me the whole truth now. Miss Parker's missing, all of the sudden you're transferred to Europe. What's going on?" Debbie repeated the question she had begun with, and waited impatiently for an answer.
"Umm...it's a long story, Debbie."
"Well, we have time." Debbie pointed out. "Tell me while we pack." Broots took a deep breath, and reluctantly consented.
"It all started seven years ago, I guess...when Mr. Lyle met this girl named Aimee..."
Lyle sat in his new office, his head resting on his desk. Everything wasn't quite going as planned. Mr. Lyle didn't have the access to Miss Parker that he wished he had, Broots was being forced to leave, and the biggest blow was that the Sweeper- one of the few left that the entire group of Patriots, or Fugitives, or whatever they wanted to call themselves, trusted- Sam was dead.
A Sweeper team had set off for Canada to investigate a 'Gemini Sighting', Lyle deciding to stay behind, and reasoning that he was still just getting settled in. He now almost wished he had gone. He was in a thread-bare office, that had just that morning belonged to the man he murdered. Raines' death kept playing over and over in his mind, and he couldn't wash himself of the image.
Raines, laughing hysterically, a truly insane laughter, as Lyle aimed and pulled the trigger. Even Willie, who had been standing right next to Raines, had sighed in relief. Finally free of the death grip Raines' had had on his job and life. Lyle, on the other hand, while feeling a faint success in the revenge, was finding revenge to not be as sweet as he had hoped. Instead, he felt dirty. Guilty. He kept telling himself, reassuring himself, that Raines hadn't deserved to live, but no matter how much he believed that one fact, it didn't make him feel any better about taking a life.
*Be strong, Lyle. Be strong.* Lyle told himself. It didn't work. *Emily...I wish you were here...*
"Mr. Lyle?" Lyle's head snapped up, as Willie gruffly interrupted his thoughts.
"Willie?" Lyle asked calmly, trying to keep his cool. This was the same man who had so many times beat him. By Raines' orders, but still.
"I've been assigned to you." Willie stated awkwardly. Lyle sighed and waved him in. "Something wrong, sir?" Willie asked, as Lyle collapsed back into his chair. His thoughts had instead turned to convincing himself to model an unlikely role-model: Jarod.
*Forgiveandforgetforgiveandforget*
"No, Willie. Nothing's wrong. Why don't you update me? I've missed seven years of Centre-life." Lyle motioned to a chair, and Willie slowly sat down, clearly scared to death that Lyle was going to pull a gun on him any minute.
"Well, you know about your sister already. And Jarod. Sydney's missing, too. Sam was terminated this morning." Willie frowned as he stated the last fact. "He was a good man. A good Sweeper. We had a mutual love-to-hate-you work relationship, but I wouldn't have minded him as a partner."
"Hmm..." Lyle replied, almost distractedly.
"Yeah..." Willie trailed off, and both sat in contemplative silence for several minutes. Lyle suddenly sat up, and started moving files around on the desk, snapping back into action.
"Willie, I want you to get me the DSA of Sam's 'termination'. I need it here, yesterday. I want medical files on my sister, all you can find, and all the newest files on Gemini."
"They'll be on your desk by seven this evening, sir." Willie stood, nodded, and left. Lyle sighed as he started pouring over files. It was going to be a long day...
Miss Parker laid in her bed, confined to a reclined position, and hating every minute of it. She had nearly believed her father, nearly. It was hard to believe the man who tried to kill you. But as even the night watchmen had the same sad story, she had nearly fallen for the lie. Two weeks, whenever she was coherent and awake, she worried.
Then Lyle had shown up, mouthing messages to her, and then verbally tearing her apart. She acted along, almost unnerving herself with the ease with which she slid into the hateful sister role. Now all she wished was to be allowed to get up, to move around. But even now she had to Pretend she believed them. She had forced herself to cry once or twice, just to let them think they'd broken her.
Miss Parker was satisfied with the results. She had them wrapped around her little finger. They thought she believed the lie, and at the same time, she had hope. She really was going to kill her father, as soon as she got out of the Infirmary.
She spent a lot of time thinking about what she was going to say to Jarod, the next time she saw him. 'You bastard' just didn't seem enough, while she didn't believe she was ready to say, 'I love you'. Ah, choices, choices. It was a good thing she had plenty of time.
Jarod sat in front of his laptop, a sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. It was a feeling of failure and disgust. Failure? He had failed Sam. The two hadn't been the best of friends, but the past few weeks he had come to understand Sam, if not like him. And now the Sweeper was dead. Broom Man was gone, and Jarod felt as though he had failed Aric Joel as well.
He should have known that the Centre would kill Sam, he should have already known that. But he ignored the obvious, instead only thinking of Miss Parker, and sent Sam into a dangerous situation. One of the things that infuriated him the most was the thought that Sam had known it was going to be a kamikaze mission, and had not said anything. Jarod still couldn't figure out what Sam had hoped to gain by his own death.
The disgust stemmed from the knowledge that the Centre would allow an employee- namely Cox- to kill, just because someone (including one of their own employees) refused to release information pertaining to his (Jarod's) whereabouts.
The laptop's screen held the Centre's 'Top Operatives: Missions' page. The newest note at the top, assigned to all operatives, was the dismissal of the former Centre pilot, Jack Ryan.
Dismissal? Jarod thought, a sarcastic mental laugh echoing in his mind. Dismissal from life, that is.
Footsteps behind him alerted him to the presence of another person in the room, and he turned in his chair. Emily gave him a soft smile, and after a quick glance at the laptop screen, she sat down at the table, next to him.
"Kids asleep?" Jarod asked, eyes downcast. The last thing he wanted to do was explain to Aric Joel, at ten PM, that Sam wasn't coming back. Emily nodded.
"Yep. Finally." Her voice relayed her weariness, and he looked at her, his concern clear.
"Why don't you get some sleep? You sound tired."
"I'm not tired, Jarod. I'm worried. I'm scared." Emily replied with a sigh. Jarod frowned at his laptop screen. Emily interrupted his thoughts with a question, "Jarod? What's going on at the Centre? Is Lyle okay?"
"Well," Jarod looked back over at her. "Lyle's okay. The Tower welcomed him back. But, there is some bad news. First, Raines is dead."
"And that's bad?" Emily asked incredulously.
"You didn't let me finish, Em." Jarod responded, gently. "Um...Lyle was the one who killed him." Emily's hand flew up to her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears, and she said nothing for several uneasy minutes.
"Oh no. Jarod," She began, struggling to speak. "I didn't think...it was revenge, wasn't it?"
"And the Tower's orders." Jarod laughed dryly. "But I doubt that had much to do with it. Yes, I think it was revenge. Lyle did what no one except Sydney had ever tried- he pulled the trigger. Good riddance is what I say. But I'm more worried about Lyle's emotional state right now."
"It's only been two days, and I already want it to be over." Emily said quietly. "I just want things to go back to the way they were. Everything's different. Charlie doesn't understand why I left, and Spider barely remembers me. It's all changed, and I can't do anything about it."
"I'm sorry, Emily. I really am." Jarod answered.
"What else went wrong, Jarod? With the plan, I mean." Emily questioned, after a pause. Jarod sucked in a breath of air, and bit his lower lip before replying.
"Sam is dead." Emily's hand flew up to her mouth for the second time. She hadn't known the Sweeper very well- but remembered seeing him play checkers with Aric Joel a few times, as well as have some type of inside joke with Jarod about brooms and rats. She also knew it was a severe blow to the plan. Silence passed between her and her brother for several minutes, before she stood.
"I think I'll go to bed now." She moved out of the kitchen, missing the hurt look in Jarod's eyes.
Jarod thought Emily blamed him for Sam's death, and half-way believed she was right. Too right. He sat in contemplative quiet for a while, before he realized someone was reading over his shoulder. He swung around quickly, just in time to see Jack Ryan go pale.
After a minute, Ryan extended a shaky hand.
"I'm on your side now. No question." Jarod tentatively shook his hand, and Ryan disappeared without another word. Jarod understood. It was pretty unnerving to know that your own employers had just condemned you to your death. Jarod reached out, rapidly typed several things, erasing his history files on both his hard drive, and the Centre's tracking records. After the small but important task was finished, he switched the laptop off, and sat in darkness.
"Like mentor, like protégé." Sydney spoke, causing Jarod to jump a little. The older man flipped a nearby lamp on, before joining Jarod at the table- taking the same seat Emily had sat in earlier. "I often sit in the darkness, thinking." Jarod gave Sydney a half-hearted smile.
"Why would one need physical lights for the mind? I'd settle for the inner light of truth."
"As would I, Jarod. As would I."
"Hmm."
"We haven't had much chance to talk in the past weeks, have we?" Sydney asked, feeling that the responsibility of continuing the conversation rested on his shoulders.
"No, we haven't, have we?" Jarod replied, looking over to Sydney. "It's all falling apart, Sydney. The plan, our lives- everything. Sam's dead, Broots is going to Europe, Miss Parker's in the infirmary. It's not fair. Aric Joel's going to be devastated. A friend is more than any child should lose to death."
"It's more than anyone should lose, Jarod. But that doesn't mean it stops stealing."
"The Grim Reaper. Ever since that one time we talked about the creature, in your office, I've wondered about him."
"You were just a boy then, weren't you?" Sydney's eyebrows pursed with thought, and his eyes darkened with memory. Jarod nodded.
"Grim. Most people think it means frightful. You know what else it means, Sydney? Merciless and unyielding. Never stopping. And reaper. Gatherer. Collector. 'Merciless Gatherer'. It's what he is, Sydney. A merciless gatherer. He doesn't care who he takes, as long as they have that invisible mark. How does it happen, Sydney? Does some deadly Sandman come in the night, and paint our foreheads with blood, so that when the Reaper's making his rounds, he kills those that bear the mark?"
"I don't know, Jarod. I do know that it's hard to cope with the harvest." Sydney answered thoughtfully.
"I can't stop them, Sydney. They keep killing, and it's all because of me. The Grim Reaper isn't what he used to be. He no longer wears a black warlock robe, carrying a sharpened scathe. Now, the Reaper wears a suit and a Centre name-tag. He carries a gun, and shoots all that the Tower's Sandman tells him to." Sydney chuckled, unable to hold back the laughter. Jarod looked up sharply, glaring quizzically at Sydney.
"I'm sorry, Jarod. It's just..." Sydney trailed off, unable to think of exactly why Jarod's comparison had sounded funny. It just had.
"It's okay, Sydney." Jarod answered a minute later. "I guess it did sound strange."
"Jarod, get some sleep." Sydney said, standing up and yawning. "Keeping yourself awake isn't going to do you any good. I believe everyone else has already slipped off to bed."
"Jarod," A new voice joined the conversation, with a tone suspiciously close to whining. Sydney chuckled again when he saw that it was Patrick.
"Yeah, Patrick?" Jarod smiled as well. Patrick put a hand on Jarod's shoulder, and suddenly looked very serious.
"Mr. Master Copy. We are-" He paused, for effect. Both Jarod and Sydney started to get worried. "Out of Pez." Patrick finished. Both of the other men in the room started laughing. Patrick looked offended. "What? We are!" He stressed the 'are' part, and shook his head. "You two make no sense at all. I'm going to the store tomorrow." He left the room, still shaking his head. Jarod and Sydney met each other's eyes, and the laughter subsided.
"Good night, Jarod."
"Night, Sydney." Jarod replied, copying Sydney's motions, and standing and yawning. Sydney flipped the lamp off, and both shuffled off to their beds.
Broots leaned his head against the glass of the airplane window, and sighed. What he could see out the window was nothing more than wisps of clouds and blue sky. The ground beneath wasn't ground- it was ocean. The rolling waves of the Atlantic blurred gray and green below. Debbie listened to music in the aisle across from him, bouncing her head along with the beat. Broots shook his own head, and mentally sorted all the events of the past few years.
Like he had told Debbie, it all started with Lyle leaving. The man had simply disappeared, no warning signs, nothing. Miss Parker had gone around the Centre with an occasional smirk, and Broots suspected at the time, that she had known more than she was letting on. Meanwhile, the Board was in an uproar. Find the Chairman's son, and find him now, had been an order for weeks. California had been searched to no end, after the postcard had arrived, and then the rest of America had been searched. Rather heartlessly, for no one really wanted to find the man.
Raines, meanwhile, had been in Renewal Wing ever since the Incident. The Incident in which Lyle left the Centre for two months- and the vacation wasn't one of his own choice. Broots wasn't sure when Raines had returned, but he did know it was a good year later. Unchanged, it seemed. None worse for wear. Broots sometimes wondered if they had done nothing more than lock the dying man in a cell for a year.
The hunt for Jarod had gone on, easing over the years. The urgency dropped to find the Pretender, as more pressure to successfully train Aric Joel was applied. Raines disappeared again, to dabble in personal projects. One of those projects, as Broots had found, was Emily herself. Broots feared what the other projects were- what they could hold. He was also assured that Raines was dead and whatever projects had been in the works, would stop. He hoped so, anyway.
"Dad," Broots' thought train was sidetracked by Debbie, who was tugging on his arm.
"What, Deb?"
"Listen to this. I was trying to find a radio station, and found this." Debbie stressed the end of the sentence, as she slipped the headphones on her father. Broots' forehead creased with thought, suspicion, and worry, as he listened to the transmitted message.
"Shadowcat, do you copy? Over."
"Roger that, AirTiger. Over."
"Identified craft at five o clock. Repeat, identified craft at five o clock. Over."
"Identity, request? Over."
"American Sub-Government Aircraft, Boeing 747. Over."
"Any scheduled flights for such aircraft, AirTiger? Over."
"No such flight, Shadowcat. Presumed stolen or hijacked. Over."
"Permission to contact craft? Over."
"Permission granted, Shadowcat. Over and out." Broots took the headphones off with shaking hands, and gave them to Debbie.
"Excuse me, Deb." She moved, to let him out into the aisle, with a confused look on her face. Broots made his way towards the front bathrooms- conveniently located next to the cockpit. He muttered under his breath as he went,
"Please, God. Don't let them contact our plane. Please don't let them contact our plane." He cracked open the cockpit door just in time to hear the words he had been dreading-
"This is American Airforce, Codename Shadowcat-"
"Hey! What are you doing up here?" The co-pilot demanded, as soon as he saw Broots. Broots shook his head, and thought fast.
"Just wanted to see how much longer it will be." He shrugged. "All the flight attendants seem to have disappeared."
"Another few hours, buddy. Go sit down." Broots backed up, and pulled the door shut behind him. He hurried back to his seat, and pulled Debbie over.
"Deb, this is supposed to be a commercial flight. How come I don't see any families, hear any kids?"
"They said it was a skeleton flight, Dad." Debbie leaned closer. "But I don't believe them. All of the passengers are guys in black suits- Sweepers, I think. And I just found a bunch of parachute packs near the back bathrooms. Dad, I counted..." Debbie trailed off, tears brimming in her eyes. "Dad, there are enough parachutes for everyone but us."
"The Centre." Broots growled, instinctively feeling protective of Debbie. He fumbled with his cell phone, and finally managed to dial. He waited impatiently, as the other end of the phone line rang.
"Jarod here." Jarod's voice answered.
"Oh, god. Jarod," Broots lowered his voice to a mere whisper. "They're trying to kill us."
"Hold on, Broots. Let me get Jarod." Jarod's voice spoke again. There was some scuffling on the other end of the line, and a slightly angry voice shouting,
"Patrick! Stop answering my phone!" The voice turned to the phone, and spoke. "Broots?"
"Jarod. They're trying to kill us. The flight was supposed to be commercial, but it's not. And Debbie found parachutes in the back of the plane- enough for everyone but us." Broots barely managed to keep his voice from shaking.
"Calm down, Broots." Jarod replied promptly. "Check under your seat. The Centre labels all their airplane seats with the number of the plane." Broots ducked down, and quickly found the small silver label.
"52115. Why?" Broots relayed the information to Jarod, who breathed a sigh of relief.
"Good."
"Good?" Broots yelped, before lowering his voice again. "Jarod, I just confirmed that my daughter and I willingly climbed into our execution chamber!"
"The Centre's 747's were recently installed with a computer tracking and piloting system. As long as I have the plane number, I can pilot the plane from the ground. The pilots on board won't know what's going on."
"That's sounds pretty far-fetched, Jarod. And I'm supposed to be the techie." Broots whispered back.
"I know, I know. But since when is anything at the Centre close to normal or possible-sounding?"
"Good point."
"I'll pilot the plane from here. I'm going to land it in New York. Contact me from a payphone there, okay?"
"Sure. New York. Payphone." Broots nodded, without thinking about the fact that Jarod couldn't see him.
"Hang up, and keep Debbie next to you the whole time." Broots pushed the end button, and shoved the cell-phone in his pocket. He leaned over to Debbie, and spoke quietly.
"Debbie, go across the aisle, get your stuff, bring it over here. But ask me, loudly, if you can go to sleep on my shoulder. Then pretend to fall asleep." She nodded, with wide eyes, and quickly followed his orders. Broots felt a strange sense of relief when she set her head on his shoulder- somehow, deep inside, he knew they would be alright. His little girl would be safe.
Lyle leaned back in his chair, a glass of water in one hand. He looked around his office, and sighed. The two week pretend was draining on him, heavily. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so tired. The office did nothing to help lighten his mood, or spirit, and despite the office, he didn't want to go home to an empty apartment. It wasn't really home, and felt more like a prison. He sighed again, as numerous thoughts drifted through his mind.
*Good Lord, how did Jarod survive this?* He wondered in amazement, taking a sip of the now luke-warm water. There wasn't an answer. He desperately wanted to talk to Emily, to hold her, to know she was safe. He needed to. A year apart had nearly broken him completely, and two and a half meager weeks together wasn't enough to calm and heal his soul. Or hers, for that matter.
He worried, and wondered, about how she was doing. After the torture she had survived, and the stress, he doubted she was really as fine as she told everyone she was. He was thankful the kids were there- Charlie would help her a lot, he knew. Just being with Maddy, Cat, and Spider, would be good for her as well.
Lyle rubbed his forehead, and set the glass of water on the desk, and slowly stood to his feet.
*Dear God...* The thought that managed to slip inside his mind was more of a prayer than a curse, for his joints seemed to catch fire at the movement. In a standing position, the slightest move pained him. He stood, frozen, for nearly a full minute, afraid of stepping forward. He finally did so, and realized almost instantly that it was a mistake.
The room spun, the colors blurred, and all went black.
