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Chapter or Story
DISCLAIMER: The characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. "The Pretender" is a protected trademark of MTM Television/Pretender Productions and NBC, and the characters of that series are used here with no mean intent or desire for remuneration. It is a fan tribute to excellent television, for which the author is grateful.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was written approximately three months after the series debut, immediately following the episode, "Not Even a Mouse." I had my own plans for Jarod, and didn't think the series was moving fast enough in the direction I wanted him to go. The creators waited until Valentine's Day, two months later, to broach the subject of Jarod's innocence and they handled it very well. This was my take on the subject, and started a series of stories that carried through to the end of the mystery of Jarod's origins. The television series has gone a completely different direction than I did, but here and there we both got awfully close to the same idea.
Scary, isn't it?
--VR
A Minor Obsession - Part I
by Victoria Rivers © 1996
Appendicitis, he was sure of it.
And that meant surgery. Unavoidably. Which meant that he would have to trust his life to a stranger who might or might not have hidden agendas, and might or might not do the job right, as he had discovered with the drunken Dr. Trader whom he had seen brought to justice. And there were always the possibilities of unexpected complications during the process, which could mean an untimely end to everything. Jarod Russell had agendas of his own to settle, and consequently took a great deal of time researching surgeons and hospitals in the city where he found himself ill, and placed his life in the hands of a distinguished young surgeon building a brilliant career. He checked himself in and gave the emergency room his diagnosis, then left it to them to confirm it in the slow, painstaking way that big city hospitals did things.
The wait almost killed him.
He awoke to a semi-dark room, groggily recognizing from the subdued lighting that it was time for the night shift. That made him uneasy, for it had been early morning, just after dawn when his surgery was scheduled and he should have awakened to bright day. He felt stiff and sore in a variety of places, and while he could attribute part of that to the after-effects of the anesthetics that had kept him unconscious during the procedure, a warning bell went off in his head that told him something else had happened, something unexpected. And his abdomen felt as if it was on fire.
"Holy Mary, Mother of Grace..." a soft voice intoned from beside the bed. He felt warm hands holding his right one lightly, the warmth comforting, the words of the prayer sinking into his heart. Someone was praying for him.
Jarod turned quickly to look at the woman and regretted it instantly. Needles of pain made him clamp his eyes shut, waiting till the discomfort passed before opening them again.
"I'm glad to see you're awake at last," said the woman, a nurse from the look of her starched white uniform and traditional cap. "We were beginning to think you weren't going to make it." She smiled warmly and stood over him. "How do you feel?"
"Thirsty," Jarod croaked, licking his lips with a sticky, dry tongue. "What happened?"
"Are you one of those macho guys who waits till the last minute, or do you just not have any pain sensors in your body?" the nurse asked teasingly. "Your appendix must have ruptured hours before you came in, Mr. Edison. I hear you were quite a mess to clean up once the doctors got in there. You've been out for two days now." She laid a cool hand on his brow as if to check his temperature, then let her fingers trail off his forehead and down his cheek.
"Welcome back." She crossed her arms and stood back a little. "Sorry, but you're NPO till the doc says you can have something to drink. I can check on getting you some ice chips and push to get an answer in a reasonable amount of time. How would that be?"
He tried to answer her, but his throat was so dry the words stuck and made him cough, which made the incision pull against his abdominal muscles. He winced and lay still in the bed. After a quick, skilled check of his vital signs, she left the room and returned ten minutes later to pour him a glass of water and help him sit up just enough to drink it.
"Thank you," Jarod sighed. Almost as an afterthought he read her nametag and checked her ring finger for a wedding band, but there was none. "Ms. Morgan, is it?"
"Call me Athena," she said with a smile. "Feeling better?"
"Could I have another drink?" he asked, smiling back. There was warmth in her face that he liked instantly, aside from the fact that she was beautiful, her skin glowing in the dim light that always burned in private rooms to allow night shift nurses to check on their patients without disturbing them. She had red hair, more auburn than his mother's, but long like hers, done up in a soft knot at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were avocado green, her features were fine and delicate, but it was the dimple in her chin that caught his attention and held it, and made him smile again.
"Sure thing," Athena responded. "Just take it slowly and don't overdo all at once here. You've had a rough couple of days."
"Is that why you were here?" he asked as she eased her arm beneath his shoulders to help lift him up. "To monitor my condition? I thought the nurses kept tabs on the machinery from the station down the hall."
Even in the dim light he could see the color seeping into her fair cheeks, darkening her skin significantly. She gave a whispery little laugh. "No, sir, Mr. Edison. You got special treatment. I can't stand to see critical patients without visitors, so I've been sitting with you during some of my free time. I just finished my shift an hour or so ago, so I'm all yours. Anything you want, or errands you need run, people to call, that sort of thing? I noticed on your chart there was no next of kin listed."
"No, no family," he said somberly. "Please call me Jarod."
"Yeah, me too," she returned. "My folks died when I was ten. I've been a little of everywhere since then."
Jarod glanced away. "Same here." He had just begun establishing his newest identity, accomplishing little more than renting a seedy apartment to get him through his mission and getting his telephone activated. When he recovered he would apply for a job at a certain recording studio and make sure there was an opening for him. Recovery time would allow him to learn how the soundboards worked and allow him to familiarize himself with Mia Sharp's music throughout the length of her 20 year career. But for now he would spend a little time resting and recovering from the surgery, and making new friends.
Athena took off her cap and put it on the chair beside the bed. "So what do you do, Jarod?" she asked quietly.
"A little of this, a little of that," he replied vaguely. "Right now I'm between jobs. I guess that's a good thing, considering I won't be able to work for a week or so anyway."
"Maybe two," Athena corrected. "You've got a pretty good infection going there. You'll probably be in here for at least a week, and then at home for another before you're able to get out and about. You look pretty fit, but I'd wait on the exercise for at least two weeks, maybe three depending on how the incision heals, and take it easy for another two. No iron man stuff, you know."
"We'll see," he returned with a lazy smile. "I've found that the body can far exceed its limitations when pressed." He really liked to see her smile. It made him feel warm all over. Positively cozy.
She touched his wrist, ostensibly checking the IV plugged into a vein in the back of his left hand. "I can see you're going to be a handful," she chuckled softly. "I'll sit on you if I have to, to keep you in bed."
"I'll be a good boy while I'm here," he promised.
She squeezed his forearm, patted it and moved away. "It's after you leave that I'm worried about," she said with a wink. "Can I get you anything?"
"Got any Pez on you? I think I'm addicted."
She laughed brightly and went to sit in the bedside chair, moving her hat to her lap. "Nothing Per Oral, remember? That's what NPO stands for. Maybe tomorrow you can have some jello and broth. Won't that be tasty?"
"Does working in a hospital warp your sense of humor?" he asked bemusedly. The warmth went clear down to his toes, which had been cold a moment before. He felt something inside him dancing, which was incredibly unusual, especially since his body felt particularly leaden at the moment.
"We have to get an associate degree in torture before we graduate to RN, Jarod. I was top of my class."
"I like you, Athena," he pronounced, relaxing into his pillow. "I think I'll enjoy my stay in this fine establishment. Provided I don't get any bedpans dropped on my head or secondary infections along the way."
Athena's face softened, glowed in the pale light affixed to the wall on the far side of his bed. "You'll get the best care we can give, Jarod. I promise you that," she vowed. "I consider it my personal mission in life to look after the Onlies that come my way."
"Onlies?"
"Only ones left," she explained. "Loners. People without ties. They need more than those who get regular doses of familial affection. Sometimes it's just an ear to listen, or a shoulder to cry on. Sometimes it's knowing they aren't alone in a difficult time. I figure, maybe if I'm there for someone else, when my time comes, someone will be there for me." She took down her hair, letting it fall in a burnished rush of silk around her shoulders. "Right now it would probably be a good idea for you to get some rest. I'll stay here with you for a while if you want to talk, and later on I'll need to go home and get some sleep before my next shift. I've got class tomorrow night so I'll only be able to stay for a little while, but I promise to spend as much time as I can keeping you company. That is, if you want me to. I know some people prefer the quiet."
"I'd like that, Athena," Jarod told her honestly. "You're a very nice person."
She smiled and said nothing. He was tired already, a little drowsy, and moving hurt all over, so he decided to try for some sleep. After a few minutes he opened his eyes again and found his guest standing by the window, looking out at the night. She seemed to sense that he was watching her and turned toward him with a guarded expression.
"Do you want something for the pain?" she asked solicitously. "There's a 'scrip on record for you if you need it."
Jarod lifted his right hand from beneath the covers and tucked it beneath his head, propping himself up a little so he could see her better. "No, thanks. I prefer to keep my wits about me. Pain serves a purpose anyway. It's supposed to remind us there's something wrong so we don't hurt ourselves further."
"Yeah, I know, but if it hurts too much you can't rest well, either," she reminded him. "Let me know if you want to get some sleep."
She opened the blinds fully, bathing in the blue-white glow of the streetlights outside the hospital, stripes of shadow curving across the planes of her face. "It's snowing outside," she remarked casually. "It hardly ever snows this late in the year. Spring's just around the corner."
"I love the snow," he told her. "I never get enough of it."
"You must be from the South, then," she returned. "I've had a steady diet of it every winter, all my life. Sometimes I wish I lived in Florida where I wouldn't have to bother with it."
"I guess it's all in the attitude," Jarod observed. "We always seem to want what we don't have."
"For the most part, but I've learned to be at ease with the cards I've been dealt. Something comes up in my life that bothers me, and I change it. Right now, life's okay. Very neat and tidy." She turned toward him and smiled.
He loved to see her happy. The realization of that pleasure flashed a warning signal in his mind, but the alarm was muted by the sparkle in her eyes, and faded away quietly in a matter of seconds.
"You're beautiful, Athena," he said softly.
Her smile faltered, and her eyes grew sad. "Thank you, Jarod," she said politely. She glanced down at the floor, at her shoes, then nervously returned her gaze to his face. "You caught my eye, too. I couldn't imagine why someone as handsome as you would be alone in the world. I was hoping you weren't psychotic or anti-social, and it looks like my faith wasn't too misplaced. You seem like a nice man, and fairly intelligent aside from being a bit too macho."
He chuckled softly, his free hand moving down to support his injured abdomen. "It isn't a matter of machismo," he assured her, but said nothing more to explain himself. It was better that she didn't know he was on the run, and that being drugged and having his mental processes slowed by the medication might mean the difference between freedom and imprisonment. He might have already lost valuable time in his quest, might even have been entered into a system that could raise a red flag somewhere at the Center. He would have to make sure his tracks were well covered and that nothing incriminating had been done while he was unconscious.
They chatted for another hour before sleep came for him, and when he awoke it was morning and Athena was standing beside the doctor, waiting for new instructions for her patient, and in short order she had breakfast for him, and a portable stereo complete with a stack of CDs that she had brought from home to entertain him. Before her shift was over there was a balloon bouquet and an arrangement of fresh flowers to brighten his room, and he began to feel guilty over all the attention she gave him. Athena seemed to understand immediately, and spent less time in the room with him for a day or two, giving him time to adjust to her friendship. After that she spent every free moment with him, and he grew to miss her when she wasn't with him.
As he spent less time sleeping, he returned to his casework, studying the newspaper clippings about the death of a recording engineer employed at Cutting Edge Recording Studio in downtown Nashville. Athena did not stay to visit when he was working and never asked him about what he was doing. Other nurses did, and teased him about being Athena's latest foundling, which he accepted with humor and good grace. Out of curiosity he began to ask questions about her, and discovered that none of her co-workers knew much about her life after hours, except that she was always busy with something and rarely at home.
That piqued Jarod's curiosity, for he had found in his various quests that most people led shallow lives in fixed areas, with routines that favored indolence rather than industry. He was constantly learning, having been programmed to do so from an early age, asking questions about the simplest things and connecting references that hadn't made much sense to him before.
He was discovering the world at large and the way people fit into it, the way their lives all melded together and touched everyone else's, the way their existence affected everything. The other nurses accepted Athena's mystery as a personal idiosyncracy, but Jarod was determined to discover why she kept to herself and where she went when she wasn't working.
He asked her casually about the class she had mentioned to him previously, and found her startled that he would remember such a minor reference.
"Tuesday and Thursday nights I go to the university," she admitted frankly. "It's something I do just for fun. I'm not working on a degree or anything like that."
"What else do you like to do?" he asked innocently, sensing she didn't want to give him details. "You have an eclectic taste in music, a little of everything from classical to country to rap. Most people don't have such a wide range of interests in the different genres."
"I like to dance," said Athena, blessing him with another bright smile. "You could say I'm interested in everything. I love to read, but I don't always have much time for it. Usually I crack the books in binges, when I'm studying something new I want to learn. How about you? How do you like to spend your spare time?"
"I actually lead a pretty busy life," he answered evasively. "Sometimes I don't even have time for sleep. I'm sort of catching up right now, but this bed is getting to be a prison."
"How about if I borrow a robe for you and we go for a walk up the halls?" she offered. "You'll have to bring your IV along, but you can use the pole for support in case you get tired. Or you can lean on me, if you'd rather."
Jarod peeled back the sheet and started cranking up the bed to a sitting position to make it easier to get to his feet. By the time she returned with a worn terry-cloth robe that was a little small for him but still covered the gap in the back of his hospital gown, Jarod was standing beside his bed, clutching the cold metal pole where his intravenous liquids were hung. Athena took him by the elbow and led him slowly out of his room and on a tour of the hospital. They found themselves outside of the nursery on the maternity floor, watching the nurses caring for a tiny premature infant in an incubator.
"Babies are such incredible creatures," he observed, watching with wondering eyes as a newborn was bathed and wrapped in a warm blanket, then tucked away in a plastic bassinet with a nametag written in bold black magic marker. The blue balloons and teddy bear proclaimed It's a Boy! and the surname beside it read, "Russell." His eyes traced over the curves of the baby boy's face, looking for some similarity to his own, hoping for a moment that there might be some connection between them and wondering if he would ever be safe enough to risk having a child one day.
But then, he wasn't really Jarod Russell. There was no connection between him and that innocent aside from his own powerful wishes. He wondered about his mother, what had happened to her and his father, if they even knew he was alive, and sadness settled over him like a mantle of lead.
Athena put her arm lightly about his waist and gently urged him away from the window. She had seen the wistfulness in his expression turn to pain and kept her curiosity to herself, determined to keep Jarod from unpleasant memories if she could help it. "Come on, Jarod," she ordered softly. "It's time you were getting back to your room now. This is enough for one day."
He accompanied her without protest, his gaze turning from the polished tile floor beneath them to her face as she walked him back down the halls and into the elevator that would take them to his floor. They spoke quietly about music and art and books, and she asked him for a reading list. She was surprised at the subjects he requested, but once again asked no questions about the purpose of his research or the wisdom of his choices. Once her shift was over she left the hospital and scoured the library for a selections of books, including a handful from the children's library that had been her favorites as a young girl. Those books she placed on the bottom of the stack and sent them up to him while she went to her class.
Late that night, as she was turning down the bedcovers to retire for a well-deserved sleep, her phone rang.
"Thank you for the books," said a deep male voice in her ear.
"How did you get my home number, Jarod?" she asked with a smile in her voice.
"A little charm goes a long way, Athena," he returned mischievously. "My favorite was The Velveteen Rabbit. It was sad and happy all at once."
"I know. I always cry when I read that one," said Athena. "I always identified with the Rabbit, how much he loved the Boy and yet yearned to be Real. He wanted it and feared it all at the same time. That's how I've always felt, like I was never quite real, always on the outside of what everyone else is doing, never really part of anything."
Jarod felt her words take hold of his heart, and tears gathered in his eyes. "Me, too. Being different is lonely, Athena. But I don't feel lonely with you. Thank you."
"How are you different, Jarod?"
There was an edge to her voice that he recognized instantly. She was expecting something unpleasant to come up, something that would make him alien to her. He wanted to make a joke, to pass it off lightly, slide past it. But something deep inside him made him reach for the truth instead. He wanted her to know.
"I'm very smart, Athena," he said slowly. "I've led a sheltered life directed toward making me smarter, so there's a lot that I've missed. Including being a child."
There it was, plain and simple. He waited patiently, gripping the phone as if it was a tangible link to her, connected to her more than just a piece of machinery pressed against her ear.
"Then we seem to have a lot in common," she said huskily. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jarod. I'm glad you liked the books."
There was a slight pause before he heard the click of the receiver settling into the cradle on her end. It disturbed him that she didn't say goodbye, but part of him was soaring. She wasn't put off by his brilliance in the least; in fact, she seemed to feel there was common ground between them. And for the first time in his life, he felt the presence of another soul within his, as if Athena had somehow stolen into his heart and lay whispering inside him, comforting him, touching him so intimately that he could think of nothing else. He disregarded the warning bell ringing in his subconscious though he could clearly hear its toll. For the first time he began to think as a man rather than a person, and wonder what it was like to hold a woman closely, to feel the curves of her body molding against his, to breathe her perfume with every breath he took, to feel her lips touching his.
The fantasy was painfully beautiful, and would not go away. He turned on the television for some distraction, but every program seemed to involve romance and featured some man and woman in a clinch. He knew how the act progressed, had studied it in clinical detail, but never actually imagined what it was like. Now it consumed him, made him hot and agitated and in need of motion. He got out of bed, eased slowly into his borrowed robe, clutched his IV pole and went for a walk down the corridors. He stopped by the supply room and fetched himself a pair of surgical greens, removed his IV and taped a band-aid over the tiny wound, then headed for the doctors' locker room. He lifted a lab coat and nametag, found a pair of shoes that fit, and made his way to the administrative offices. After a few minutes at a computer he determined that nothing incriminating had gone out of the hospital on him and that his location was still probably safe from the Center. He returned all the borrowed items and took a new IV kit, hooked himself back up to the fluid drip and returned to his room.
A week later he was discharged and paid his bill in full, with a fond farewell to the nursing staff, including a special word of thanks to Athena Morgan. She extended an invitation to lunch sometime during the next week, and he promised to call, not at all sure he would have time for a social life once he got started on his mission. But it was nice to know that she wanted to see him again, and he hoped he would be able to comply with her wishes. He wanted to spend time getting to know her better, though he was not at all sure of the wisdom of such action considering his precarious personal history, and decided at last to just let go.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Cutting Edge Recording Studio was a legend in the music business. Though the name was new, the building and its principles had been in operation for decades and none but the biggest stars booked time there. Only the best engineers were available, with resumes that would make even the most jaded producers take notice. Jarod Edison had worked there less than a week when he was dubbed the Wizard by the other engineers, making even the spottiest recording session sound like the work of angels. It was said of him that a singer could not make a mistake with his fingers on the soundboard, and for that reason he was selected to work on Mia Sharp's new album. Rumor had it that Miss Sharp's star was falling from grace, and after two decades in the business she needed all the miracles she could get.
But when Jarod found out that Dave Palmer, the engineer whose death had prompted him to come to Nashville, had had a minor obsession with Mia Sharp, she became his prime suspect in the man's death. Palmer had been chief engineer in every one of Sharp's recording sessions at Cutting Edge, including several late night rehearsals with only a skeleton crew working into the wee hours to get the new material in shape and ready to record.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Damn, I sound like I did when I first started," Mia said admiringly as she listened to the replay of her vocals on the latest track. She closed her eyes and let her hips sway to the rhythm, her scarlet painted nails delicately touching the headphones covering her ears. "Very good, Jarod. You can work for me anytime."
Jarod sat back in his chair before the soundboard, his arms crossed over his chest. "Thanks, Ms. Sharp," he drawled slowly. "Your opinion means a lot to me."
Charles Pierce swept into the soundbooth at that moment, still wearing his coat from outside though the recording booths were deep in the bowels of the huge building, insulated from the sounds of the outside world. He tapped Mia on the shoulder impatiently, and she jerked the headphones off, her head snapping around to confront whomever had disturbed her.
"What the hell do you want, Chuck?" she snarled. Her short blonde hair was swept across one fine-boned cheek in the wake of the cushioned earpiece, and she swept the locks savagely back into place. "And it damn well better be important!"
"You've got to find someone else to take you to the premier tonight," he said brusquely. "I have to meet with the record label execs. They're talking about pulling the plug on the album."
Mia Sharp narrowed her over-painted steely eyes at the tall, graying gentleman who had produced her last 5 albums, including the one she was presently making. "You'd better talk them out of it, Chuck. We can't afford to stop now. It's almost complete. Just a couple more songs and once this is out, I'll be back on top of the charts again."
"Leave that to me, Mia," Pierce reassured her stiffly. "But meantime, you've got to find an escort to the gala."
The singer glanced down at the silent engineer watching the exchange interestedly. "Can you dance, Wizard?" she asked.
Jarod had never danced in his life. "Of course," he returned easily.
"Then grab a tux, handsome. You're taking me out tonight," she told him sharply. "And bring me a pale pink rose to wear in my hair. Take the rest of the afternoon off and be ready to pick me up in the limo by eight."
"Yes, ma'am," said Jarod. He started shutting the equipment down, but Mia caught him by the shoulders and turned him in his wheeled chair toward the door.
"Now, Jarod," she commanded. "I don't want you getting a tux off the rack and embarrassing me with trousers that don't fit. I'll get someone else to come in and shut down."
Jarod strode out the door obediently, but hesitated on the far side of the wall for a moment, hoping to overhear some important tidbit of conversation between the principals of his investigation.
"You'd better keep this album alive, Chuck," Mia hissed angrily.
"We've both got a lot at stake here," Pierce retorted softly. "Don't think I don't remember."
"That was an accident," she snapped.
"Was it?" he asked disbelievingly. "Palmer had been stalking you. Everybody knows that."
"And he said he would stop after I confronted him in front of the other engineers. I've never seen a man more humiliated."
"Yeah, and you remember what happened after that, too, don't you, Mia? I don't suppose you'll ever forget that, even if you were three sheets to the wind."
"Stop it, Charles. I'm finishing the album. That's all that's important, isn't it?"
After a moment Mia Sharp sauntered out the studio door and into the empty hallway toward the ladies room. A second later, Jarod Edison emerged from the nearer men's room and went out to look for a formal wear shop and a florist.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was written approximately three months after the series debut, immediately following the episode, "Not Even a Mouse." I had my own plans for Jarod, and didn't think the series was moving fast enough in the direction I wanted him to go. The creators waited until Valentine's Day, two months later, to broach the subject of Jarod's innocence and they handled it very well. This was my take on the subject, and started a series of stories that carried through to the end of the mystery of Jarod's origins. The television series has gone a completely different direction than I did, but here and there we both got awfully close to the same idea.
Scary, isn't it?
--VR
by Victoria Rivers © 1996
Appendicitis, he was sure of it.
And that meant surgery. Unavoidably. Which meant that he would have to trust his life to a stranger who might or might not have hidden agendas, and might or might not do the job right, as he had discovered with the drunken Dr. Trader whom he had seen brought to justice. And there were always the possibilities of unexpected complications during the process, which could mean an untimely end to everything. Jarod Russell had agendas of his own to settle, and consequently took a great deal of time researching surgeons and hospitals in the city where he found himself ill, and placed his life in the hands of a distinguished young surgeon building a brilliant career. He checked himself in and gave the emergency room his diagnosis, then left it to them to confirm it in the slow, painstaking way that big city hospitals did things.
The wait almost killed him.
He awoke to a semi-dark room, groggily recognizing from the subdued lighting that it was time for the night shift. That made him uneasy, for it had been early morning, just after dawn when his surgery was scheduled and he should have awakened to bright day. He felt stiff and sore in a variety of places, and while he could attribute part of that to the after-effects of the anesthetics that had kept him unconscious during the procedure, a warning bell went off in his head that told him something else had happened, something unexpected. And his abdomen felt as if it was on fire.
"Holy Mary, Mother of Grace..." a soft voice intoned from beside the bed. He felt warm hands holding his right one lightly, the warmth comforting, the words of the prayer sinking into his heart. Someone was praying for him.
Jarod turned quickly to look at the woman and regretted it instantly. Needles of pain made him clamp his eyes shut, waiting till the discomfort passed before opening them again.
"I'm glad to see you're awake at last," said the woman, a nurse from the look of her starched white uniform and traditional cap. "We were beginning to think you weren't going to make it." She smiled warmly and stood over him. "How do you feel?"
"Thirsty," Jarod croaked, licking his lips with a sticky, dry tongue. "What happened?"
"Are you one of those macho guys who waits till the last minute, or do you just not have any pain sensors in your body?" the nurse asked teasingly. "Your appendix must have ruptured hours before you came in, Mr. Edison. I hear you were quite a mess to clean up once the doctors got in there. You've been out for two days now." She laid a cool hand on his brow as if to check his temperature, then let her fingers trail off his forehead and down his cheek.
"Welcome back." She crossed her arms and stood back a little. "Sorry, but you're NPO till the doc says you can have something to drink. I can check on getting you some ice chips and push to get an answer in a reasonable amount of time. How would that be?"
He tried to answer her, but his throat was so dry the words stuck and made him cough, which made the incision pull against his abdominal muscles. He winced and lay still in the bed. After a quick, skilled check of his vital signs, she left the room and returned ten minutes later to pour him a glass of water and help him sit up just enough to drink it.
"Thank you," Jarod sighed. Almost as an afterthought he read her nametag and checked her ring finger for a wedding band, but there was none. "Ms. Morgan, is it?"
"Call me Athena," she said with a smile. "Feeling better?"
"Could I have another drink?" he asked, smiling back. There was warmth in her face that he liked instantly, aside from the fact that she was beautiful, her skin glowing in the dim light that always burned in private rooms to allow night shift nurses to check on their patients without disturbing them. She had red hair, more auburn than his mother's, but long like hers, done up in a soft knot at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were avocado green, her features were fine and delicate, but it was the dimple in her chin that caught his attention and held it, and made him smile again.
"Sure thing," Athena responded. "Just take it slowly and don't overdo all at once here. You've had a rough couple of days."
"Is that why you were here?" he asked as she eased her arm beneath his shoulders to help lift him up. "To monitor my condition? I thought the nurses kept tabs on the machinery from the station down the hall."
Even in the dim light he could see the color seeping into her fair cheeks, darkening her skin significantly. She gave a whispery little laugh. "No, sir, Mr. Edison. You got special treatment. I can't stand to see critical patients without visitors, so I've been sitting with you during some of my free time. I just finished my shift an hour or so ago, so I'm all yours. Anything you want, or errands you need run, people to call, that sort of thing? I noticed on your chart there was no next of kin listed."
"No, no family," he said somberly. "Please call me Jarod."
"Yeah, me too," she returned. "My folks died when I was ten. I've been a little of everywhere since then."
Jarod glanced away. "Same here." He had just begun establishing his newest identity, accomplishing little more than renting a seedy apartment to get him through his mission and getting his telephone activated. When he recovered he would apply for a job at a certain recording studio and make sure there was an opening for him. Recovery time would allow him to learn how the soundboards worked and allow him to familiarize himself with Mia Sharp's music throughout the length of her 20 year career. But for now he would spend a little time resting and recovering from the surgery, and making new friends.
Athena took off her cap and put it on the chair beside the bed. "So what do you do, Jarod?" she asked quietly.
"A little of this, a little of that," he replied vaguely. "Right now I'm between jobs. I guess that's a good thing, considering I won't be able to work for a week or so anyway."
"Maybe two," Athena corrected. "You've got a pretty good infection going there. You'll probably be in here for at least a week, and then at home for another before you're able to get out and about. You look pretty fit, but I'd wait on the exercise for at least two weeks, maybe three depending on how the incision heals, and take it easy for another two. No iron man stuff, you know."
"We'll see," he returned with a lazy smile. "I've found that the body can far exceed its limitations when pressed." He really liked to see her smile. It made him feel warm all over. Positively cozy.
She touched his wrist, ostensibly checking the IV plugged into a vein in the back of his left hand. "I can see you're going to be a handful," she chuckled softly. "I'll sit on you if I have to, to keep you in bed."
"I'll be a good boy while I'm here," he promised.
She squeezed his forearm, patted it and moved away. "It's after you leave that I'm worried about," she said with a wink. "Can I get you anything?"
"Got any Pez on you? I think I'm addicted."
She laughed brightly and went to sit in the bedside chair, moving her hat to her lap. "Nothing Per Oral, remember? That's what NPO stands for. Maybe tomorrow you can have some jello and broth. Won't that be tasty?"
"Does working in a hospital warp your sense of humor?" he asked bemusedly. The warmth went clear down to his toes, which had been cold a moment before. He felt something inside him dancing, which was incredibly unusual, especially since his body felt particularly leaden at the moment.
"We have to get an associate degree in torture before we graduate to RN, Jarod. I was top of my class."
"I like you, Athena," he pronounced, relaxing into his pillow. "I think I'll enjoy my stay in this fine establishment. Provided I don't get any bedpans dropped on my head or secondary infections along the way."
Athena's face softened, glowed in the pale light affixed to the wall on the far side of his bed. "You'll get the best care we can give, Jarod. I promise you that," she vowed. "I consider it my personal mission in life to look after the Onlies that come my way."
"Onlies?"
"Only ones left," she explained. "Loners. People without ties. They need more than those who get regular doses of familial affection. Sometimes it's just an ear to listen, or a shoulder to cry on. Sometimes it's knowing they aren't alone in a difficult time. I figure, maybe if I'm there for someone else, when my time comes, someone will be there for me." She took down her hair, letting it fall in a burnished rush of silk around her shoulders. "Right now it would probably be a good idea for you to get some rest. I'll stay here with you for a while if you want to talk, and later on I'll need to go home and get some sleep before my next shift. I've got class tomorrow night so I'll only be able to stay for a little while, but I promise to spend as much time as I can keeping you company. That is, if you want me to. I know some people prefer the quiet."
"I'd like that, Athena," Jarod told her honestly. "You're a very nice person."
She smiled and said nothing. He was tired already, a little drowsy, and moving hurt all over, so he decided to try for some sleep. After a few minutes he opened his eyes again and found his guest standing by the window, looking out at the night. She seemed to sense that he was watching her and turned toward him with a guarded expression.
"Do you want something for the pain?" she asked solicitously. "There's a 'scrip on record for you if you need it."
Jarod lifted his right hand from beneath the covers and tucked it beneath his head, propping himself up a little so he could see her better. "No, thanks. I prefer to keep my wits about me. Pain serves a purpose anyway. It's supposed to remind us there's something wrong so we don't hurt ourselves further."
"Yeah, I know, but if it hurts too much you can't rest well, either," she reminded him. "Let me know if you want to get some sleep."
She opened the blinds fully, bathing in the blue-white glow of the streetlights outside the hospital, stripes of shadow curving across the planes of her face. "It's snowing outside," she remarked casually. "It hardly ever snows this late in the year. Spring's just around the corner."
"I love the snow," he told her. "I never get enough of it."
"You must be from the South, then," she returned. "I've had a steady diet of it every winter, all my life. Sometimes I wish I lived in Florida where I wouldn't have to bother with it."
"I guess it's all in the attitude," Jarod observed. "We always seem to want what we don't have."
"For the most part, but I've learned to be at ease with the cards I've been dealt. Something comes up in my life that bothers me, and I change it. Right now, life's okay. Very neat and tidy." She turned toward him and smiled.
He loved to see her happy. The realization of that pleasure flashed a warning signal in his mind, but the alarm was muted by the sparkle in her eyes, and faded away quietly in a matter of seconds.
"You're beautiful, Athena," he said softly.
Her smile faltered, and her eyes grew sad. "Thank you, Jarod," she said politely. She glanced down at the floor, at her shoes, then nervously returned her gaze to his face. "You caught my eye, too. I couldn't imagine why someone as handsome as you would be alone in the world. I was hoping you weren't psychotic or anti-social, and it looks like my faith wasn't too misplaced. You seem like a nice man, and fairly intelligent aside from being a bit too macho."
He chuckled softly, his free hand moving down to support his injured abdomen. "It isn't a matter of machismo," he assured her, but said nothing more to explain himself. It was better that she didn't know he was on the run, and that being drugged and having his mental processes slowed by the medication might mean the difference between freedom and imprisonment. He might have already lost valuable time in his quest, might even have been entered into a system that could raise a red flag somewhere at the Center. He would have to make sure his tracks were well covered and that nothing incriminating had been done while he was unconscious.
They chatted for another hour before sleep came for him, and when he awoke it was morning and Athena was standing beside the doctor, waiting for new instructions for her patient, and in short order she had breakfast for him, and a portable stereo complete with a stack of CDs that she had brought from home to entertain him. Before her shift was over there was a balloon bouquet and an arrangement of fresh flowers to brighten his room, and he began to feel guilty over all the attention she gave him. Athena seemed to understand immediately, and spent less time in the room with him for a day or two, giving him time to adjust to her friendship. After that she spent every free moment with him, and he grew to miss her when she wasn't with him.
As he spent less time sleeping, he returned to his casework, studying the newspaper clippings about the death of a recording engineer employed at Cutting Edge Recording Studio in downtown Nashville. Athena did not stay to visit when he was working and never asked him about what he was doing. Other nurses did, and teased him about being Athena's latest foundling, which he accepted with humor and good grace. Out of curiosity he began to ask questions about her, and discovered that none of her co-workers knew much about her life after hours, except that she was always busy with something and rarely at home.
That piqued Jarod's curiosity, for he had found in his various quests that most people led shallow lives in fixed areas, with routines that favored indolence rather than industry. He was constantly learning, having been programmed to do so from an early age, asking questions about the simplest things and connecting references that hadn't made much sense to him before.
He was discovering the world at large and the way people fit into it, the way their lives all melded together and touched everyone else's, the way their existence affected everything. The other nurses accepted Athena's mystery as a personal idiosyncracy, but Jarod was determined to discover why she kept to herself and where she went when she wasn't working.
He asked her casually about the class she had mentioned to him previously, and found her startled that he would remember such a minor reference.
"Tuesday and Thursday nights I go to the university," she admitted frankly. "It's something I do just for fun. I'm not working on a degree or anything like that."
"What else do you like to do?" he asked innocently, sensing she didn't want to give him details. "You have an eclectic taste in music, a little of everything from classical to country to rap. Most people don't have such a wide range of interests in the different genres."
"I like to dance," said Athena, blessing him with another bright smile. "You could say I'm interested in everything. I love to read, but I don't always have much time for it. Usually I crack the books in binges, when I'm studying something new I want to learn. How about you? How do you like to spend your spare time?"
"I actually lead a pretty busy life," he answered evasively. "Sometimes I don't even have time for sleep. I'm sort of catching up right now, but this bed is getting to be a prison."
"How about if I borrow a robe for you and we go for a walk up the halls?" she offered. "You'll have to bring your IV along, but you can use the pole for support in case you get tired. Or you can lean on me, if you'd rather."
Jarod peeled back the sheet and started cranking up the bed to a sitting position to make it easier to get to his feet. By the time she returned with a worn terry-cloth robe that was a little small for him but still covered the gap in the back of his hospital gown, Jarod was standing beside his bed, clutching the cold metal pole where his intravenous liquids were hung. Athena took him by the elbow and led him slowly out of his room and on a tour of the hospital. They found themselves outside of the nursery on the maternity floor, watching the nurses caring for a tiny premature infant in an incubator.
"Babies are such incredible creatures," he observed, watching with wondering eyes as a newborn was bathed and wrapped in a warm blanket, then tucked away in a plastic bassinet with a nametag written in bold black magic marker. The blue balloons and teddy bear proclaimed It's a Boy! and the surname beside it read, "Russell." His eyes traced over the curves of the baby boy's face, looking for some similarity to his own, hoping for a moment that there might be some connection between them and wondering if he would ever be safe enough to risk having a child one day.
But then, he wasn't really Jarod Russell. There was no connection between him and that innocent aside from his own powerful wishes. He wondered about his mother, what had happened to her and his father, if they even knew he was alive, and sadness settled over him like a mantle of lead.
Athena put her arm lightly about his waist and gently urged him away from the window. She had seen the wistfulness in his expression turn to pain and kept her curiosity to herself, determined to keep Jarod from unpleasant memories if she could help it. "Come on, Jarod," she ordered softly. "It's time you were getting back to your room now. This is enough for one day."
He accompanied her without protest, his gaze turning from the polished tile floor beneath them to her face as she walked him back down the halls and into the elevator that would take them to his floor. They spoke quietly about music and art and books, and she asked him for a reading list. She was surprised at the subjects he requested, but once again asked no questions about the purpose of his research or the wisdom of his choices. Once her shift was over she left the hospital and scoured the library for a selections of books, including a handful from the children's library that had been her favorites as a young girl. Those books she placed on the bottom of the stack and sent them up to him while she went to her class.
Late that night, as she was turning down the bedcovers to retire for a well-deserved sleep, her phone rang.
"Thank you for the books," said a deep male voice in her ear.
"How did you get my home number, Jarod?" she asked with a smile in her voice.
"A little charm goes a long way, Athena," he returned mischievously. "My favorite was The Velveteen Rabbit. It was sad and happy all at once."
"I know. I always cry when I read that one," said Athena. "I always identified with the Rabbit, how much he loved the Boy and yet yearned to be Real. He wanted it and feared it all at the same time. That's how I've always felt, like I was never quite real, always on the outside of what everyone else is doing, never really part of anything."
Jarod felt her words take hold of his heart, and tears gathered in his eyes. "Me, too. Being different is lonely, Athena. But I don't feel lonely with you. Thank you."
"How are you different, Jarod?"
There was an edge to her voice that he recognized instantly. She was expecting something unpleasant to come up, something that would make him alien to her. He wanted to make a joke, to pass it off lightly, slide past it. But something deep inside him made him reach for the truth instead. He wanted her to know.
"I'm very smart, Athena," he said slowly. "I've led a sheltered life directed toward making me smarter, so there's a lot that I've missed. Including being a child."
There it was, plain and simple. He waited patiently, gripping the phone as if it was a tangible link to her, connected to her more than just a piece of machinery pressed against her ear.
"Then we seem to have a lot in common," she said huskily. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jarod. I'm glad you liked the books."
There was a slight pause before he heard the click of the receiver settling into the cradle on her end. It disturbed him that she didn't say goodbye, but part of him was soaring. She wasn't put off by his brilliance in the least; in fact, she seemed to feel there was common ground between them. And for the first time in his life, he felt the presence of another soul within his, as if Athena had somehow stolen into his heart and lay whispering inside him, comforting him, touching him so intimately that he could think of nothing else. He disregarded the warning bell ringing in his subconscious though he could clearly hear its toll. For the first time he began to think as a man rather than a person, and wonder what it was like to hold a woman closely, to feel the curves of her body molding against his, to breathe her perfume with every breath he took, to feel her lips touching his.
The fantasy was painfully beautiful, and would not go away. He turned on the television for some distraction, but every program seemed to involve romance and featured some man and woman in a clinch. He knew how the act progressed, had studied it in clinical detail, but never actually imagined what it was like. Now it consumed him, made him hot and agitated and in need of motion. He got out of bed, eased slowly into his borrowed robe, clutched his IV pole and went for a walk down the corridors. He stopped by the supply room and fetched himself a pair of surgical greens, removed his IV and taped a band-aid over the tiny wound, then headed for the doctors' locker room. He lifted a lab coat and nametag, found a pair of shoes that fit, and made his way to the administrative offices. After a few minutes at a computer he determined that nothing incriminating had gone out of the hospital on him and that his location was still probably safe from the Center. He returned all the borrowed items and took a new IV kit, hooked himself back up to the fluid drip and returned to his room.
A week later he was discharged and paid his bill in full, with a fond farewell to the nursing staff, including a special word of thanks to Athena Morgan. She extended an invitation to lunch sometime during the next week, and he promised to call, not at all sure he would have time for a social life once he got started on his mission. But it was nice to know that she wanted to see him again, and he hoped he would be able to comply with her wishes. He wanted to spend time getting to know her better, though he was not at all sure of the wisdom of such action considering his precarious personal history, and decided at last to just let go.
Cutting Edge Recording Studio was a legend in the music business. Though the name was new, the building and its principles had been in operation for decades and none but the biggest stars booked time there. Only the best engineers were available, with resumes that would make even the most jaded producers take notice. Jarod Edison had worked there less than a week when he was dubbed the Wizard by the other engineers, making even the spottiest recording session sound like the work of angels. It was said of him that a singer could not make a mistake with his fingers on the soundboard, and for that reason he was selected to work on Mia Sharp's new album. Rumor had it that Miss Sharp's star was falling from grace, and after two decades in the business she needed all the miracles she could get.
But when Jarod found out that Dave Palmer, the engineer whose death had prompted him to come to Nashville, had had a minor obsession with Mia Sharp, she became his prime suspect in the man's death. Palmer had been chief engineer in every one of Sharp's recording sessions at Cutting Edge, including several late night rehearsals with only a skeleton crew working into the wee hours to get the new material in shape and ready to record.
"Damn, I sound like I did when I first started," Mia said admiringly as she listened to the replay of her vocals on the latest track. She closed her eyes and let her hips sway to the rhythm, her scarlet painted nails delicately touching the headphones covering her ears. "Very good, Jarod. You can work for me anytime."
Jarod sat back in his chair before the soundboard, his arms crossed over his chest. "Thanks, Ms. Sharp," he drawled slowly. "Your opinion means a lot to me."
Charles Pierce swept into the soundbooth at that moment, still wearing his coat from outside though the recording booths were deep in the bowels of the huge building, insulated from the sounds of the outside world. He tapped Mia on the shoulder impatiently, and she jerked the headphones off, her head snapping around to confront whomever had disturbed her.
"What the hell do you want, Chuck?" she snarled. Her short blonde hair was swept across one fine-boned cheek in the wake of the cushioned earpiece, and she swept the locks savagely back into place. "And it damn well better be important!"
"You've got to find someone else to take you to the premier tonight," he said brusquely. "I have to meet with the record label execs. They're talking about pulling the plug on the album."
Mia Sharp narrowed her over-painted steely eyes at the tall, graying gentleman who had produced her last 5 albums, including the one she was presently making. "You'd better talk them out of it, Chuck. We can't afford to stop now. It's almost complete. Just a couple more songs and once this is out, I'll be back on top of the charts again."
"Leave that to me, Mia," Pierce reassured her stiffly. "But meantime, you've got to find an escort to the gala."
The singer glanced down at the silent engineer watching the exchange interestedly. "Can you dance, Wizard?" she asked.
Jarod had never danced in his life. "Of course," he returned easily.
"Then grab a tux, handsome. You're taking me out tonight," she told him sharply. "And bring me a pale pink rose to wear in my hair. Take the rest of the afternoon off and be ready to pick me up in the limo by eight."
"Yes, ma'am," said Jarod. He started shutting the equipment down, but Mia caught him by the shoulders and turned him in his wheeled chair toward the door.
"Now, Jarod," she commanded. "I don't want you getting a tux off the rack and embarrassing me with trousers that don't fit. I'll get someone else to come in and shut down."
Jarod strode out the door obediently, but hesitated on the far side of the wall for a moment, hoping to overhear some important tidbit of conversation between the principals of his investigation.
"You'd better keep this album alive, Chuck," Mia hissed angrily.
"We've both got a lot at stake here," Pierce retorted softly. "Don't think I don't remember."
"That was an accident," she snapped.
"Was it?" he asked disbelievingly. "Palmer had been stalking you. Everybody knows that."
"And he said he would stop after I confronted him in front of the other engineers. I've never seen a man more humiliated."
"Yeah, and you remember what happened after that, too, don't you, Mia? I don't suppose you'll ever forget that, even if you were three sheets to the wind."
"Stop it, Charles. I'm finishing the album. That's all that's important, isn't it?"
After a moment Mia Sharp sauntered out the studio door and into the empty hallway toward the ladies room. A second later, Jarod Edison emerged from the nearer men's room and went out to look for a formal wear shop and a florist.
