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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer; Parker, Jarod, Broots, etc. belong to NBC. No profit is being made off this story.
Note to readers; This is the fourth part of a series. Please read the other parts first, or you're going to be really confused.
None So Blind
part 4
Sarah Lynn
Blood wasn't running through her veins any more, pain had taken ist place. In her mind she could see it travel through her body, making sure nothing went unfelt, and then returning to her heart. Gradually,
she came to a slow realization of herself. She was lying on the floor of her room after that disastrous night. She didn't have to check to know that her computer and books were gone and that life as she knew it had come to an abrupt end. To describe the sim as unproductive would be to make a gross understatement, as Dr. Scott would say.
Dr. Scott.
No! Don't think about that. Or about Him.
Why had she said sim? It was painfully clear that this was not a simulation, but her very real life. Had Dr. Sc- Had they been right? Had they really warped her so much she was unable to handle reality? The first and only thing she had tried on her own and she was a failure. What had gone wrong? Was it just bad luck? Is there such a thing as luck? Why-
The door's machinery hissed its signal that someone was outside. Instinctively she contracted her muscles and held her breath. If it was Him, she couldn't think of a thing she could do to save her life . . .
Click. Click.
She almost cried in relief at the familiar sound of Miss Parker's high heels, but she didn't. Her instinct wouldn't let her move, but held her down in unreasonable terror.
"Rachel!" The high heels quickly moved the eleven and a half paces it took to cross the room, but just as she thought she was safe, she froze again. There was another set of footsteps crossing with Miss Parker's, a man's by the slap of flat leather soles. It could be Him. Then suddenly, there were hands, touching her. She couldn't help it as one instinct gave way to another and she wrenched away with a cry, curling up into a defensive position, head buried under her arms.
"Sydney, what's wrong with her?" Miss Parker's alto talked about her like she wasn't even there. The part of her that still could took comfort in the normality.
"Rachel-" yes, that distinctively accented baritone was Sydney's- "-calm down. We're not going to hurt you. Can you tell us what happened?" It was the textbook opening for a psychologist trying to establish a dialog. She desperately wished she had done more research on his background instead of focusing on Miss Parker and Mr. Lyle. For all she knew, Sydney could be as abusive as Him.
"Sydney?" Miss Parker's voice held an unusual uncertainty as the seconds ticked away and she made no response. What Sydney would have said she never knew, since at that moment Miss Parker's beeper went off.
Miss Parker swore and she could hear her voice change altitude as she stood up and moved away, presumably to check the message. Sydney leaned in, then thought better of it and backed up as he began quietly talking again, but was interrupted by Miss Parker when she said a word Dr. Scott had never taught her the meaning of.
"Sydney, it's from my father. There's a meeting in his office right now that we've been invited to." No! she wanted to scream. She had already pretended Him and knew that at the first opportunity he would cut off her access to anyone not under his control; a list that definitely included Miss Parker. If they left now, so would her hope of assistance. And last night's catastrophe had clearly shown her inability to do anything right by herself.
"Parker, we can't just leave her here," Sydney protested, but the volume of his voice changed. He was standing up. She pressed her face and arms into the ground. "At least let's get her off the floor."
"Fine, but we need to hurry." Miss Parker's voice was back in ist normal, irritated tone. She tried to brace herself for what she knew was coming, but those instincts, bred deeply into her psyche, frantically lashed out at the hands that were trying to lift her as she screamed. Mercifully, it only lasted for a few seconds before the hands pulled back.
"Perhaps you'd better do it, Parker," Sydney suggested quietly.
"Me?" A moment of silence, which she mentally filled in with the silent communication that was no doubt passing between the two, and then the high heels cautiously started towards her. "Rachel?" She reminded herself that this was her last chance, that she knew Miss Parker, and that Miss Parker wouldn't hurt her (or to be more accurate, wouldn't hurt her more than she'd already been hurt). It was that knowledge that allowed her will to finally overcome her instincts as she let Miss Parker touch her without flinching away.
"Okay, Rachel," the alto was surprisingly gentle, "We're going to get up and go to your bed. Ready?" It was far harder to allow Miss Parker's hands to lift her from the safety of the floor into the air. Much to her relief, she realized after a moment that she had the strength to stand on her own and started to pull away from Miss Parker, but quickly changed her mind and slumped against her. She needed Miss Parker's sympathy, and had decided long ago that displays of weakness were the way to Miss Parker's heart.
It seemed to be working. Miss Parker was going very slowly and gently across the room.
"Parker, I'm going to go ahead of you to the meeting," Sydney suddenly broke in. Yes, go! she thought. Removing witnesses would increase the chances of assistance from Miss Parker. Miss Parker must have made some kind of response because the soles slapped away as the door hissed again twice.
With that same surprising gentleness, Miss Parker lowered her onto the bed, but she could feel that it wasn't enough. Miss Parker was too set in her thinking, she needed to do something else to shake Miss Parker enough. But there was only one more thing she could think of to do . . . There was no other way. She resigned herself to the final humiliation, reminded herself of the future, and allowed her hair to fall back from her face as she settled in the bed. She was rewarded with a gasp and another curse.
"Did Lyle do this to you?" Miss Parker demanded in fury. Suddenly a finger touched the side of her face, swollen from cheekbone to jaw. It was enough. She rolled over and shook her hair over her face again.
"Rachel-" Miss Parker started, then stopped. Against her will, her fist clenched the blanket. "Rachel," Miss Parker started again. Do it, she willed. "I know it was Lyle who did this to you, and I know you must feel pretty helpless about now. But don't worry, I won't let Lyle hurt you again." This was it! "I'm not going to leave you here by yourself. I'll talk to my father, and get you assigned to me."
Her heart didn't sink, it shattered.
"I have a lot of influence-" Lyle had more "-and I'm sure that I can getmy father to see things my way-" no she couldn't "-so don't be afraid. You'll be safe with me. And with Sydney and Broots," Miss Parker added as an afterthought. A blanket was pulled around her numb shoulders, and the long coat flapped against her hands as Miss Parker leaned over her awkwardly. Almost automatically she saw her chance and took it. A second later the high heels went clicking confidently away, carrying most of her hope with them. But not all of it.
She listened to the silence as she clutched Miss Parker's cell phone tightly. A plan was spinning itself out in her brain, ignoring the voice that said it could never work. But why not? At the meeting, He would manage somehow to cut off Miss Parker's access to her, and then leave her in this room to let her imagination torture her for the rest of the morning. She stuck her hand under the mattress, and was amazed to find that no one had found what she'd hidden there in case a contingency plan was necessary. No one would be in for at least seven hours, which should be more than enough time. Then why didn't she get up?
She turned her mind inward and focused on herself. She was afraid. She was experiencing all the doubt that comes after failure, but it was magnified a hundredfold by virtue of the fact she had never truly done anything on her own before. Despite the rewards and punishments system, she had never really felt the results of a failure before, and was now paralyzed by the fear of another failure with even worse results. What could possibly be worse? she asked herself, and shuddered as her overly-trained mind presented idea after gruesome idea. Pushing the ideas and the blanket away, she struggled upwards to a sitting position in an attempt to think more clearly. Her mind, almost of its own accord, predicted her chances of survival if she stayed, and she shuddered again. There was no help for it. She couldn't stay in the Centre, she had to leave. Her mind was still analyzing, so she left it to analyze on its own as she opened the phone.
If she believed in God, she would have thanked him she had taken the precaution yesterday (only yesterday?) to cut off Miss Parker from the Centre by jamming her phone. She summoned up all her memories of the workings of the Internet connection. She had no way to read what the phone said; she would have to do this by trial and error. Still, it was with surprising speed that she began to tap the buttons.
It took almost an hour to access the Centre's computers through the Internet, another fifteen minutes to input the command to open her door, and five minutes to work up the nerve to pull herself to her feet. She almost fell as she went through the door and just barely managed to catch the wall. Strength is down, both mentally and physically her mind informed her, but it was a small matter. She had rehearsed her plan in her head several times a day for the past few weeks. Hopefully, it was deep enough in her memory that she could do it without thinking too much.
The slow crawl through the air vents took forever (or to be more accurate, it seemed to take forever). With every foot she traveled she found a new bruise on her hands and knees. Furthermore, she forced herself to go slowly and carefully, not making any noise at all. That had been her mistake last night, she had been too eager, had taken too many shortcuts. This was her last chance to get it right. There could be no unnecessary risk. But noise and other physical obstacles were the least of her concerns. Despite the Centre, she could control her physical surroundings to a greater extent than they thought possible; it was controlling herself she was worried about. She had predicted the (high) probability that escape after years in the Centre would induce either claustrophobia at this point or agoraphobia once she was outside. She had hoped it would be the claustrophobia, but much to her dismay, she felt mentally comfortable in the cramped vents. That meant when she got outside . . . No. Don't think about it now. Just keep crawling.
And then suddenly forever was over. Her heart was hammering as she tentatively pushed the screen aside and she shivered at the gust of cold air. She hung back, checking her pockets to make sure she still had everything that she had hidden earlier, then braced herself and slid out into the real world.
The real world was freezing.
She gasped out loud at the icy wind that cut through her thin shirt and pants, and at the moisture which almost immediately soaked through her cloth tennis shoes. How could she have forgotten to consider the weather? What else had she forgotten? Quickly she reviewed her options. The plan called for her to travel on foot (approximately 100 yards straight forward to the road then approximately a quarter mile down the highway) to a bus station. She wouldn't make it without something more. Reluctantly she turned back and hoisted herself back into the Centre. It was even more reluctantly she left again ten minutes later, this time with an enormous coat stolen from the lost-and-found, which was mercifully close to her exit. Fortunately, the snow wasn't deep and she set off at the fastest walk she could manage towards the road.
Despite the exertion, she was still shivering as she swung up onto the bus. The cold was such a shock it took her a minute to realize that she had done it. For the first time in her life she wasn't in a Centre building (but she wasn't free yet). She sat in the back, her hands clenched tightly in her lap and her head tilted to the side as she listened with all her ability for any hint of a pursuit. Reaching the airport with a head start of at least two hours was crucial if she wanted this to go off without a hitch. Her hands clenched tighter as she remembered that there had already been a hitch, but she pushed the thought away. She couldn't let that distract her. Instead she focused all her willpower into staying alert.
---
There had been silence in Parker, Broots, and Sydney's room since the meeting that morning, a silence broken only by Parker's heels tapping the floor as she paced back and forth. Broots found it to be unnerving, but decided that it would be extremely unwise to irritate Miss Parker for any reason at all. Her expression was so fierce a blind person could have felt it. Immediately he was thankful he hadn't voiced that thought aloud.
"I am not going to let this happen," she said suddenly.
"How do you intend to do that?" Sydney asked, but his face showed the same resolution just as strongly.
"I'll think of something. I'll take it all the way to the Triumvirate if I have to," Parker vowed as she paced the same route back and forth.
"But what can we do?" Broots finally managed to work up the nerve to join the conversation. For the first time since he could remember, neither Parker nor Sydney had an answer for him. The silence fell again, punctuated by Miss Parker's heels.
"Look," Sydney said finally, "It's almost noon. Why don't I order out for some Chinese-"
Miss Parker whirled on him. "How can you think of food now?" she snapped.
Sydney looked at her patiently. "Parker, not eating isn't going to help us get Rachel away from Lyle. It's very upsetting, but we must be calm about it . . ."
"You be calm about it! I'm going to get upset," Parker almost yelled. Sydney didn't say anything, but waited for her to calm down. A minute later she threw up her hands. "Fine. I'll even order it myself," she said wearily as she fumbled in her pockets for her cell phone, then froze abruptly.
"What's wro-" Broots started to ask, but cut himself off as he saw what Parker had seen.
"Hello, all," Lyle said cheerfully as he strolled down the stairs. "My, aren't we quiet today," he tossed out into the stony silence that greeted him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" Miss Parker hissed through her teeth.
"Just came by to remind you that your card no longer gives you access to G17," Lyle drawled. "I'd hate for you to waste your time by going all the way down there only to be locked out."
"Sure you would," Miss Parker said, twisting her mouth in a smile. "Leave. I'm busy," she ordered as she tried to find her cell phone so she looked like she was doing something.
"What are you doing?" Lyle asked in amusement at Parker's growing discomfiture.
"Don't you have a hole you need to be crawling back into right about now?" Parker asked with as much calm as she could muster.
"Hey, I offered you the chance to work with me early on," Lyle held up his hands. "You gambled and lost. By the way, I tried to reach you on your cell phone earlier and it was still jammed. Broots hasn't figured out how to break Rachel's program yet?"
Miss Parker blinked, but replied "Broots undid the damage last night on the plane. Maybe it's you who should be making sure Rachel didn't do anything to your phone."
For an answer Lyle pulled out his phone and held it out to show the normal display. "I've shown you mine, now you show me yours."
Parker rolled her eyes. "Why are we having a fight about cell phones?" she asked the ceiling.
"So, your computer wizard here couldn't break the program?" Lyle gloated at finding a weakness.
"He broke it, I just haven't seen my phone since this morn-" Suddenly Parker's face dropped the anger and took on a new expression, this time of shock.
"What?" Lyle asked.
Miss Parker's eyes slowly lost their far-away look, and turned back to him. "Have you seen Rachel since the meeting this morning?" she asked in a tight voice.
---
The agoraphobia didn't hit in the open air outside the Centre, it attacked her in the airport. She stood petrified just inside the swirling mass of humanity, realizing that she had no one to help her and no idea where to begin. Bodies and bags bumped into her and vanished away into the maelstrom of noise without so much as a muttered apology. Thousands of sounds assaulted her on every side; she couldn't isolate any of them. She staggered to one side and somehow made it to the wall without being killed by one of the frantic, shoving noises. A minute of leaning against the cold solidity of concrete reassured her and she nervously approached a passer-by, still keeping one hand on the wall.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for-" He didn't even stop, but just brushed by. It took seven more people before one of them impatiently told her that the line for ticket buyers was immediately in front of her.
She made herself leave the safety of the wall, and after a few more bumps, had secured herself a place in the line. Nervously she played with the cards in her pocket that she'd gathered slowly and carefully over the past few weeks. It was all come down to this. Months of planning . . .
"Next!" a voice called over the hubbub.
"That's you, dear," said a friendly mezzo-soprano behind her.
Pulling herself up to her full height, she stepped forward.
---
Miss Parker hadn't seen an uproar like one the Centre was in since Jarod escaped. The only good thing was that her father limited his screaming at her to a brief outburst on checking her pockets before he turned and chewed Lyle out in front of the staff for disgraceful negligence and his inability to read the pretender's mind. Reviewing the DSA of Rachel's escape from her room didn't help Lyle much either since it was clear that at one point Rachel had retrieved something from under her mattress. Mr. Parker then delivered another tirade on improper searches. Furthermore, she happened to see Lyle at one point slink off to a corner and quickly flip through his wallet. Words couldn't express the delight she took in seeing his face turn a shade redder as he looked through his wallet again, this time more carefully, then clap it shut and storm away. Miss Parker slipped away herself at the first opportunity.
Sydney had had to leave to do other work, and the long-suffering Broots had fallen asleep at his desk. She dropped her hand on his shoulder and shook him awake. "Rachel has at least one of Lyle's credit cards," she said as soon as the head lifted an inch from the desk. "I need you to check the accounts for recent purchases- Broots, what's wrong with you?" she shook him harder as his head dropped again.
"I haven't slept in thirty hours," his muffled voice muttered from where it was buried in his arms.
"Neither have I," Miss Parker pointed out, "And I'm fine."
"I don't drink as much coffee as you do," Broots grumbled, lifting his head from his arms.
"Come to think of it, Rachel hasn't slept either," Parker mused to herself, ignoring Broots' whining. "Good, she's more likely to make mistakes."
The meaning of what she said suddenly struck Broots. "You're going after Rachel?" he asked in befuddlement, trying to shake the fog away from his brain.
"Of course," Miss Parker said, sitting down across the room and picking up a magazine. "This is a finders, keepers situation. Whichever one of us gets to her first gets the glory, and probably her along with it."
"Us?"
"Lyle and me," she explained impatiently. "You don't really want Lyle to find her, do you?"
"Of course not, but-"
"Then start looking," Parker was already flipping through the magazine.
Broots stared at his computer for a moment. "Um, Miss Parker?"
"Yes?"
"You wouldn't happen to know which credit card Rachel has, do you?"
"How would I know?" Miss Parker said indifferently. "Just check them all."
"Do you know how long that's going to take?" Broots protested feebly. Miss Parker lowered her magazine and arched an eyebrow at the computer technician. "Fine," Broots muttered after a minute.
"Thank you."
---
She tried to look relaxed in the waiting chair, absently worrying open a tear in the plastic cover. The registration stage of the plan had gone surprisingly well. The only thing she hadn't anticipated was the special treatment she'd received on account of her blindness. She'd known that she would be a distinctive person easily remembered once the Centre got here and began asking questions, but she hadn't expected to have to fight off suggestions of reminders, of escorts, and of other special treatment, every word of which made her more and more memorable. But it was all over. Now all she could do was wait to board and hope she'd been clever enough. By now the Centre must have noticed her disappearance and He would have been humiliated. If He caught her now . . . She shivered as she absently traced the bruise on her cheek.
---
"Alright." Broots pushed his chair back from the computer, rubbing his eyes.
"You've got something?" Miss Parker asked, folding her magazine.
"Yes," Broots leaned forward to peer at the tiny print of the screen. "A purchase on Lyle's MasterCard of a plane ticket at the airport. A flight to New York that left a half-hour ago."
"Get the plane," Parker ordered as she strode out of the room. Five minutes later she strode back in and stopped abruptly as she saw the chagrined look on Broots' face.
"Lyle beat us, didn't he?" she guessed, and was rewarded with a sheepish shrug. She turned and slammed her fist against the wall. Broots flinched. Parker stood, fist on wall, head on fist, for almost a full minute before she suddenly looked up.
"That was too easy," she announced.
"What do you mean?" Broots asked nervously at Parker's avoidance of reality.
"I mean that you found the ticket in an hour, and Lyle found it in even less time. Rachel's too smart for that, there's got to be a catch. Look at the airline registers for other Rachels who bought tickets today."
Parker stood over Broots' shoulder as he checked, which made him nervous, but again he didn't have the nerve to ask her to move. Still, he came up with a list of eleven names relatively quickly.
"Rachel Lyle?" Parker said out loud.
"That's the name she used to buy the ticket for the flight that Lyle's going after," Broots confirmed.
"I'd love to see what she did for ID for that one," Parker muttered. "Well, keep looking and tell me when you find her."
"I found her," Broots said quickly.
Miss Parker turned back towards him. "That was fast. How do you know?"
"Trust me," Broots said. "This is her." Parker leaned toward the screen to look, and her jaw dropped.
"What is this!" she demanded, in combined shock and anger.
"A ticket for a flight to Cincinnati," Broots answered nervously.
Parker's eyes narrowed. "I can see that," she said very softly. "What I mean is why the hell did she use my name and buy the ticket as Rachel Parker! Did she buy this ticket on Lyle's credit card too?"
Broots pointed and clicked on something else, and then winced. "Um, not exactly."
"What do you mean, not exactly?" Parker asked in the same low voice.
"I mean she bought it on credit card, but it wasn't Lyle's," Broots answered apprehensively. Parker looked at him blankly, then suddenly understood and yanked out her wallet. She began flipping through the cards.
"It's your American Express," Broots said helpfully, and winced again at the look she gave him. He didn't have to ask when she threw her wallet down on his desk in fury with an expression that boded no good for Rachel if Parker found her.
"What time did it leave?" she asked finally after a minute.
"It's going to leave in forty-five minutes," Broots said. It was like a bolt of energy suddenly hit Parker.
"Then we won't be too late!" she exclaimed, half running to the stairs.
At the door, Parker stopped and turned to look at him. "What are you waiting for, an invitation? Come on!"
Broots grabbed his laptop and stumbled after her.
---
Because she was blind, they let her board early. Her heart was pounding as the attendant led her to her seat. This was the worst time. If they found her now, she would be trapped. There was nowhere else to run. She was handed off from one person to the next, each one someone who would remember her later. But the special treatment couldn't be helped now. Special treatment! She'd almost forgotten. She pulled out Parker's cell phone and dialed in a number she'd memorized earlier.
---
Miss Parker charged through the airport and shoved her way into the front of the line at the gate where Rachel's flight was leaving from, ignoring the protests behind her.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry but you'll have to wait," the attendant in front of her began, but Parker cut him off.
"I'm sorry," she said with a wolfish smile, "But my, ah, sister, Rachel Parker, is on this flight. I really need to talk to her, can I just slip on and off?"
"Can I see some ID?" the attendant asked. Miss Parker pulled out her driver's license. The desk attendant gave it a perfunctory glance, then returned his attention to his computer. "No, ma'am, I'm afraid I can't let you do that," the attendant said, not sounding like he really cared at all. "You can send a message with a flight attendant, though."
"Gee, where have I heard this before," Parker muttered to herself. "Look, I need to-"
The desk phone rang. "One moment," the attendant said, and before she could protest picked up the phone and turned away. Miss Parker was getting ready to grab the phone out of the attendant's hand, but just then Broots came panting up behind her.
"Where have you been?" she snapped.
"Security made me turn on my laptop before they'd let me through," he gasped, leaning against the desk and facing the rest of the line. "Um, Miss Parker? Why is everyone glaring at us?"
But Miss Parker didn't hear. She was waiting for the flight attendant who was giving her a very strange look as he typed in something on his keypad.
"Right, I got it. You're off the passenger roster. You realize that it's too late for a refund? Good. It's funny you should call just now, your, um, sister's standing right across from me-"
Parker lunged across the counter and snatched the phone from the attendant's hand.
"Rachel?!" she almost screamed. A gasp and a beep as the line was terminated were her only answers. "Quick!" she ordered the attendant. "Dial in this number; 511-"
"I think not!" the attendant exclaimed, looking at her like she was crazy.
"Miss Parker," Broots muttered, tilting his head toward the two security guards heading their way. Parker threw the phone back at the attendant and stormed across the passageway to the public phones, giving the guards an angry look as she brushed past them. A minute later, she slammed down the phone in disgust.
"Too late, she turned it off," she fumed. Broots waited, keeping an eye on the security guards who were keeping an eye on them. "A double red herring. She bought three tickets . . ." Parker said, shaking her head. "All right, Broots. Check the list of tickets bought today again. She's on some flight in this airport and we're going to find it."
---
Gasping for breath from the sudden shock, she leaned her head against the window and let the turned-off cell phone fall into her lap. Well, Miss Parker had found her second safety measure, but it didn't really matter now. By the time Miss Parker figured out where she was, she'd be miles away. Absently she traced a pattern on the cover of the cell phone, the only physical link now to the woman. Suddenly an idea struck her and she struggled for a moment with the window latch before she managed to open it a few inches and push the cell phone through. She heard it land in the slush with a satisfying plop.
"You aren't going to leave the window open for the whole trip, are you?" her seatmate asked.
"Oh, no," she said quickly. "I, ah, just wanted some fresh air for a moment." She pulled the window shut.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," the seat shifted as the man next to her settled back. "I've always thought the air inside these buses is worse than the air in the airplanes."
She politely murmured back a response, then quietly tried to pull herself as far away from the man as she could. Would she always feel this nervousness around strangers?
She had divided her bus trip into seven separate rides. At every stop she had to get off and buy a new ticket in person, paying with some of the precious cash it had taken her weeks tto accumulate. She could hav bought just one ticket straight to her destination, Baltimore, but not without creating a paper trail. So she forced herself to stay alert, despite the fatigue pressing down on her.
Still, she was staggering by the time she got off the bus. As the bus roared off behind her, she tripped fell against a pole, barely managing to catch herself. Glad for any support, she leaned against it for a moment as she pulled her coat tighter around herself. The city was surprisingly quiet for only 9:00 at night. She had expected noise and bustle, but the part of town she was in was as still as a tomb. The only passer-bys she could hear were a group of young men, by the sound of their voices, coming towards her. She pushed herself off the pole. Only a few more minutes now and she'd be safe.
"Excuse me, can you tell me which way it is to 670 Preston?" she said with a polite smile, and was surprised by laughter. "Did I say something funny?" Raucous noise floated around her until one nasal voice cut through like a knife.
"Yeah, girl, we can tell you. The question is, do we want to?"
"Why wouldn't you want to tell me?" she asked in confusion, taking a step back so to keep the group in front of her (her instincts shivered), but a few straggled around her back anyway.
"Well, what's in it for us?"
"Well, nothing, really," she answered. This situation was not good. "I was just asking it as a favor. If you don't want to, I'll just find it on my own." She turned, randomly chose a direction, and tried to walk away, but the circle now formed around her didn't move.
"No, we'd be happy to help you." The nasal voice sent shivers down her spine. "But we'd appreciate a little compensation for our time."
"You want money?" she asked, trying to keep the panic down.
"I knew you were smart." Nasal Voice was a tenor. Like Him. "Just give us your- oh, well, it seems you're the only woman in Baltimore without a purse." The voice circled around her and she turned to follow it, not wanting it behind her back. "OK, then, what pocket do you have your wallet in?"
"Inside my coat," she reached in as she said the words.
"No, I'll get it," Nasal Voice snapped, and suddenly the hands were grabbing her again and she couldn't push them away they were coming from behind and in front and she couldn't get away and soon she wouldn't be able to move as the hands kept grabbing her and she screamed and screamed and
"I said, shut up!" yelled Nasal Voice inches away from her face and the hands drew back away from her, except for one gripping the front of her coat. He dropped to a rasping, angry hiss. "Can't you see I've got a gun?"
"I can't see anything!" she gasped. "I'm blind!"
Suddenly the street was as silent as it had been a moment earlier, the silence broken only by her uneven breathing as she gasped for air. A footstep crunched in the snow towards her, and a moment later she felt the tiniest gust of air on her face, like something was being waved in front of it. A few mumblings were cut short as Nasal Voice muttered something she didn't understand under his breath, and then grabbed her shoulder.
"Don't scream," he said as he turned her around and gave her a slight push. "Just keep walking straight. 670 is right in front of you."
All her dignity was gone and she stumbled away from the group as quickly as she could. Dimly she was aware of the footsteps and mutters crunching away behind her, but that burst of adrenaline had drained the last of her strength. She didn't realize that she hadn't truly slept for 36 hours, and hadn't eaten for 25. She only knew she had to focus everything she had left on just putting one foot in front of the other until she walked into a brick wall and collapsed against it, just as a door was flung open a few feet away.
"Hey!" a gravelly baritone called above her as his footsteps crunched down the snowy steps. "Are you all right? I heard screaming." Hands were touching her again, but she had nothing left to resist with.
"Can you hear me? Don't panic, you're safe now, I'm here to help you." Those words . . .
"Jarod?" she whispered. The hands on her shoulders froze.
"Do I know you?" It was the most beautiful voice she'd ever heard.
"I took your place at the Centre," she said with a weak smile.
"Rachel?" Jarod said in shock. She mumbled a yes. There was a brief silence, and then an explosion of talk. "I don't believe this! I just left Eryll's Tower last week and now here you are! How did you- No, no questions now, let's get you inside, is the Centre on your trail? Do we need to leave? Because I can- Rachel?"
She was safe.
"Rachel!"
At long last she gave in and let herself float away into the silence.
TBC
Note to readers; This is the fourth part of a series. Please read the other parts first, or you're going to be really confused.
part 4
Sarah Lynn
Blood wasn't running through her veins any more, pain had taken ist place. In her mind she could see it travel through her body, making sure nothing went unfelt, and then returning to her heart. Gradually,
she came to a slow realization of herself. She was lying on the floor of her room after that disastrous night. She didn't have to check to know that her computer and books were gone and that life as she knew it had come to an abrupt end. To describe the sim as unproductive would be to make a gross understatement, as Dr. Scott would say.
Dr. Scott.
No! Don't think about that. Or about Him.
Why had she said sim? It was painfully clear that this was not a simulation, but her very real life. Had Dr. Sc- Had they been right? Had they really warped her so much she was unable to handle reality? The first and only thing she had tried on her own and she was a failure. What had gone wrong? Was it just bad luck? Is there such a thing as luck? Why-
The door's machinery hissed its signal that someone was outside. Instinctively she contracted her muscles and held her breath. If it was Him, she couldn't think of a thing she could do to save her life . . .
Click. Click.
She almost cried in relief at the familiar sound of Miss Parker's high heels, but she didn't. Her instinct wouldn't let her move, but held her down in unreasonable terror.
"Rachel!" The high heels quickly moved the eleven and a half paces it took to cross the room, but just as she thought she was safe, she froze again. There was another set of footsteps crossing with Miss Parker's, a man's by the slap of flat leather soles. It could be Him. Then suddenly, there were hands, touching her. She couldn't help it as one instinct gave way to another and she wrenched away with a cry, curling up into a defensive position, head buried under her arms.
"Sydney, what's wrong with her?" Miss Parker's alto talked about her like she wasn't even there. The part of her that still could took comfort in the normality.
"Rachel-" yes, that distinctively accented baritone was Sydney's- "-calm down. We're not going to hurt you. Can you tell us what happened?" It was the textbook opening for a psychologist trying to establish a dialog. She desperately wished she had done more research on his background instead of focusing on Miss Parker and Mr. Lyle. For all she knew, Sydney could be as abusive as Him.
"Sydney?" Miss Parker's voice held an unusual uncertainty as the seconds ticked away and she made no response. What Sydney would have said she never knew, since at that moment Miss Parker's beeper went off.
Miss Parker swore and she could hear her voice change altitude as she stood up and moved away, presumably to check the message. Sydney leaned in, then thought better of it and backed up as he began quietly talking again, but was interrupted by Miss Parker when she said a word Dr. Scott had never taught her the meaning of.
"Sydney, it's from my father. There's a meeting in his office right now that we've been invited to." No! she wanted to scream. She had already pretended Him and knew that at the first opportunity he would cut off her access to anyone not under his control; a list that definitely included Miss Parker. If they left now, so would her hope of assistance. And last night's catastrophe had clearly shown her inability to do anything right by herself.
"Parker, we can't just leave her here," Sydney protested, but the volume of his voice changed. He was standing up. She pressed her face and arms into the ground. "At least let's get her off the floor."
"Fine, but we need to hurry." Miss Parker's voice was back in ist normal, irritated tone. She tried to brace herself for what she knew was coming, but those instincts, bred deeply into her psyche, frantically lashed out at the hands that were trying to lift her as she screamed. Mercifully, it only lasted for a few seconds before the hands pulled back.
"Perhaps you'd better do it, Parker," Sydney suggested quietly.
"Me?" A moment of silence, which she mentally filled in with the silent communication that was no doubt passing between the two, and then the high heels cautiously started towards her. "Rachel?" She reminded herself that this was her last chance, that she knew Miss Parker, and that Miss Parker wouldn't hurt her (or to be more accurate, wouldn't hurt her more than she'd already been hurt). It was that knowledge that allowed her will to finally overcome her instincts as she let Miss Parker touch her without flinching away.
"Okay, Rachel," the alto was surprisingly gentle, "We're going to get up and go to your bed. Ready?" It was far harder to allow Miss Parker's hands to lift her from the safety of the floor into the air. Much to her relief, she realized after a moment that she had the strength to stand on her own and started to pull away from Miss Parker, but quickly changed her mind and slumped against her. She needed Miss Parker's sympathy, and had decided long ago that displays of weakness were the way to Miss Parker's heart.
It seemed to be working. Miss Parker was going very slowly and gently across the room.
"Parker, I'm going to go ahead of you to the meeting," Sydney suddenly broke in. Yes, go! she thought. Removing witnesses would increase the chances of assistance from Miss Parker. Miss Parker must have made some kind of response because the soles slapped away as the door hissed again twice.
With that same surprising gentleness, Miss Parker lowered her onto the bed, but she could feel that it wasn't enough. Miss Parker was too set in her thinking, she needed to do something else to shake Miss Parker enough. But there was only one more thing she could think of to do . . . There was no other way. She resigned herself to the final humiliation, reminded herself of the future, and allowed her hair to fall back from her face as she settled in the bed. She was rewarded with a gasp and another curse.
"Did Lyle do this to you?" Miss Parker demanded in fury. Suddenly a finger touched the side of her face, swollen from cheekbone to jaw. It was enough. She rolled over and shook her hair over her face again.
"Rachel-" Miss Parker started, then stopped. Against her will, her fist clenched the blanket. "Rachel," Miss Parker started again. Do it, she willed. "I know it was Lyle who did this to you, and I know you must feel pretty helpless about now. But don't worry, I won't let Lyle hurt you again." This was it! "I'm not going to leave you here by yourself. I'll talk to my father, and get you assigned to me."
Her heart didn't sink, it shattered.
"I have a lot of influence-" Lyle had more "-and I'm sure that I can getmy father to see things my way-" no she couldn't "-so don't be afraid. You'll be safe with me. And with Sydney and Broots," Miss Parker added as an afterthought. A blanket was pulled around her numb shoulders, and the long coat flapped against her hands as Miss Parker leaned over her awkwardly. Almost automatically she saw her chance and took it. A second later the high heels went clicking confidently away, carrying most of her hope with them. But not all of it.
She listened to the silence as she clutched Miss Parker's cell phone tightly. A plan was spinning itself out in her brain, ignoring the voice that said it could never work. But why not? At the meeting, He would manage somehow to cut off Miss Parker's access to her, and then leave her in this room to let her imagination torture her for the rest of the morning. She stuck her hand under the mattress, and was amazed to find that no one had found what she'd hidden there in case a contingency plan was necessary. No one would be in for at least seven hours, which should be more than enough time. Then why didn't she get up?
She turned her mind inward and focused on herself. She was afraid. She was experiencing all the doubt that comes after failure, but it was magnified a hundredfold by virtue of the fact she had never truly done anything on her own before. Despite the rewards and punishments system, she had never really felt the results of a failure before, and was now paralyzed by the fear of another failure with even worse results. What could possibly be worse? she asked herself, and shuddered as her overly-trained mind presented idea after gruesome idea. Pushing the ideas and the blanket away, she struggled upwards to a sitting position in an attempt to think more clearly. Her mind, almost of its own accord, predicted her chances of survival if she stayed, and she shuddered again. There was no help for it. She couldn't stay in the Centre, she had to leave. Her mind was still analyzing, so she left it to analyze on its own as she opened the phone.
If she believed in God, she would have thanked him she had taken the precaution yesterday (only yesterday?) to cut off Miss Parker from the Centre by jamming her phone. She summoned up all her memories of the workings of the Internet connection. She had no way to read what the phone said; she would have to do this by trial and error. Still, it was with surprising speed that she began to tap the buttons.
It took almost an hour to access the Centre's computers through the Internet, another fifteen minutes to input the command to open her door, and five minutes to work up the nerve to pull herself to her feet. She almost fell as she went through the door and just barely managed to catch the wall. Strength is down, both mentally and physically her mind informed her, but it was a small matter. She had rehearsed her plan in her head several times a day for the past few weeks. Hopefully, it was deep enough in her memory that she could do it without thinking too much.
The slow crawl through the air vents took forever (or to be more accurate, it seemed to take forever). With every foot she traveled she found a new bruise on her hands and knees. Furthermore, she forced herself to go slowly and carefully, not making any noise at all. That had been her mistake last night, she had been too eager, had taken too many shortcuts. This was her last chance to get it right. There could be no unnecessary risk. But noise and other physical obstacles were the least of her concerns. Despite the Centre, she could control her physical surroundings to a greater extent than they thought possible; it was controlling herself she was worried about. She had predicted the (high) probability that escape after years in the Centre would induce either claustrophobia at this point or agoraphobia once she was outside. She had hoped it would be the claustrophobia, but much to her dismay, she felt mentally comfortable in the cramped vents. That meant when she got outside . . . No. Don't think about it now. Just keep crawling.
And then suddenly forever was over. Her heart was hammering as she tentatively pushed the screen aside and she shivered at the gust of cold air. She hung back, checking her pockets to make sure she still had everything that she had hidden earlier, then braced herself and slid out into the real world.
The real world was freezing.
She gasped out loud at the icy wind that cut through her thin shirt and pants, and at the moisture which almost immediately soaked through her cloth tennis shoes. How could she have forgotten to consider the weather? What else had she forgotten? Quickly she reviewed her options. The plan called for her to travel on foot (approximately 100 yards straight forward to the road then approximately a quarter mile down the highway) to a bus station. She wouldn't make it without something more. Reluctantly she turned back and hoisted herself back into the Centre. It was even more reluctantly she left again ten minutes later, this time with an enormous coat stolen from the lost-and-found, which was mercifully close to her exit. Fortunately, the snow wasn't deep and she set off at the fastest walk she could manage towards the road.
Despite the exertion, she was still shivering as she swung up onto the bus. The cold was such a shock it took her a minute to realize that she had done it. For the first time in her life she wasn't in a Centre building (but she wasn't free yet). She sat in the back, her hands clenched tightly in her lap and her head tilted to the side as she listened with all her ability for any hint of a pursuit. Reaching the airport with a head start of at least two hours was crucial if she wanted this to go off without a hitch. Her hands clenched tighter as she remembered that there had already been a hitch, but she pushed the thought away. She couldn't let that distract her. Instead she focused all her willpower into staying alert.
---
There had been silence in Parker, Broots, and Sydney's room since the meeting that morning, a silence broken only by Parker's heels tapping the floor as she paced back and forth. Broots found it to be unnerving, but decided that it would be extremely unwise to irritate Miss Parker for any reason at all. Her expression was so fierce a blind person could have felt it. Immediately he was thankful he hadn't voiced that thought aloud.
"I am not going to let this happen," she said suddenly.
"How do you intend to do that?" Sydney asked, but his face showed the same resolution just as strongly.
"I'll think of something. I'll take it all the way to the Triumvirate if I have to," Parker vowed as she paced the same route back and forth.
"But what can we do?" Broots finally managed to work up the nerve to join the conversation. For the first time since he could remember, neither Parker nor Sydney had an answer for him. The silence fell again, punctuated by Miss Parker's heels.
"Look," Sydney said finally, "It's almost noon. Why don't I order out for some Chinese-"
Miss Parker whirled on him. "How can you think of food now?" she snapped.
Sydney looked at her patiently. "Parker, not eating isn't going to help us get Rachel away from Lyle. It's very upsetting, but we must be calm about it . . ."
"You be calm about it! I'm going to get upset," Parker almost yelled. Sydney didn't say anything, but waited for her to calm down. A minute later she threw up her hands. "Fine. I'll even order it myself," she said wearily as she fumbled in her pockets for her cell phone, then froze abruptly.
"What's wro-" Broots started to ask, but cut himself off as he saw what Parker had seen.
"Hello, all," Lyle said cheerfully as he strolled down the stairs. "My, aren't we quiet today," he tossed out into the stony silence that greeted him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" Miss Parker hissed through her teeth.
"Just came by to remind you that your card no longer gives you access to G17," Lyle drawled. "I'd hate for you to waste your time by going all the way down there only to be locked out."
"Sure you would," Miss Parker said, twisting her mouth in a smile. "Leave. I'm busy," she ordered as she tried to find her cell phone so she looked like she was doing something.
"What are you doing?" Lyle asked in amusement at Parker's growing discomfiture.
"Don't you have a hole you need to be crawling back into right about now?" Parker asked with as much calm as she could muster.
"Hey, I offered you the chance to work with me early on," Lyle held up his hands. "You gambled and lost. By the way, I tried to reach you on your cell phone earlier and it was still jammed. Broots hasn't figured out how to break Rachel's program yet?"
Miss Parker blinked, but replied "Broots undid the damage last night on the plane. Maybe it's you who should be making sure Rachel didn't do anything to your phone."
For an answer Lyle pulled out his phone and held it out to show the normal display. "I've shown you mine, now you show me yours."
Parker rolled her eyes. "Why are we having a fight about cell phones?" she asked the ceiling.
"So, your computer wizard here couldn't break the program?" Lyle gloated at finding a weakness.
"He broke it, I just haven't seen my phone since this morn-" Suddenly Parker's face dropped the anger and took on a new expression, this time of shock.
"What?" Lyle asked.
Miss Parker's eyes slowly lost their far-away look, and turned back to him. "Have you seen Rachel since the meeting this morning?" she asked in a tight voice.
---
The agoraphobia didn't hit in the open air outside the Centre, it attacked her in the airport. She stood petrified just inside the swirling mass of humanity, realizing that she had no one to help her and no idea where to begin. Bodies and bags bumped into her and vanished away into the maelstrom of noise without so much as a muttered apology. Thousands of sounds assaulted her on every side; she couldn't isolate any of them. She staggered to one side and somehow made it to the wall without being killed by one of the frantic, shoving noises. A minute of leaning against the cold solidity of concrete reassured her and she nervously approached a passer-by, still keeping one hand on the wall.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for-" He didn't even stop, but just brushed by. It took seven more people before one of them impatiently told her that the line for ticket buyers was immediately in front of her.
She made herself leave the safety of the wall, and after a few more bumps, had secured herself a place in the line. Nervously she played with the cards in her pocket that she'd gathered slowly and carefully over the past few weeks. It was all come down to this. Months of planning . . .
"Next!" a voice called over the hubbub.
"That's you, dear," said a friendly mezzo-soprano behind her.
Pulling herself up to her full height, she stepped forward.
---
Miss Parker hadn't seen an uproar like one the Centre was in since Jarod escaped. The only good thing was that her father limited his screaming at her to a brief outburst on checking her pockets before he turned and chewed Lyle out in front of the staff for disgraceful negligence and his inability to read the pretender's mind. Reviewing the DSA of Rachel's escape from her room didn't help Lyle much either since it was clear that at one point Rachel had retrieved something from under her mattress. Mr. Parker then delivered another tirade on improper searches. Furthermore, she happened to see Lyle at one point slink off to a corner and quickly flip through his wallet. Words couldn't express the delight she took in seeing his face turn a shade redder as he looked through his wallet again, this time more carefully, then clap it shut and storm away. Miss Parker slipped away herself at the first opportunity.
Sydney had had to leave to do other work, and the long-suffering Broots had fallen asleep at his desk. She dropped her hand on his shoulder and shook him awake. "Rachel has at least one of Lyle's credit cards," she said as soon as the head lifted an inch from the desk. "I need you to check the accounts for recent purchases- Broots, what's wrong with you?" she shook him harder as his head dropped again.
"I haven't slept in thirty hours," his muffled voice muttered from where it was buried in his arms.
"Neither have I," Miss Parker pointed out, "And I'm fine."
"I don't drink as much coffee as you do," Broots grumbled, lifting his head from his arms.
"Come to think of it, Rachel hasn't slept either," Parker mused to herself, ignoring Broots' whining. "Good, she's more likely to make mistakes."
The meaning of what she said suddenly struck Broots. "You're going after Rachel?" he asked in befuddlement, trying to shake the fog away from his brain.
"Of course," Miss Parker said, sitting down across the room and picking up a magazine. "This is a finders, keepers situation. Whichever one of us gets to her first gets the glory, and probably her along with it."
"Us?"
"Lyle and me," she explained impatiently. "You don't really want Lyle to find her, do you?"
"Of course not, but-"
"Then start looking," Parker was already flipping through the magazine.
Broots stared at his computer for a moment. "Um, Miss Parker?"
"Yes?"
"You wouldn't happen to know which credit card Rachel has, do you?"
"How would I know?" Miss Parker said indifferently. "Just check them all."
"Do you know how long that's going to take?" Broots protested feebly. Miss Parker lowered her magazine and arched an eyebrow at the computer technician. "Fine," Broots muttered after a minute.
"Thank you."
---
She tried to look relaxed in the waiting chair, absently worrying open a tear in the plastic cover. The registration stage of the plan had gone surprisingly well. The only thing she hadn't anticipated was the special treatment she'd received on account of her blindness. She'd known that she would be a distinctive person easily remembered once the Centre got here and began asking questions, but she hadn't expected to have to fight off suggestions of reminders, of escorts, and of other special treatment, every word of which made her more and more memorable. But it was all over. Now all she could do was wait to board and hope she'd been clever enough. By now the Centre must have noticed her disappearance and He would have been humiliated. If He caught her now . . . She shivered as she absently traced the bruise on her cheek.
---
"Alright." Broots pushed his chair back from the computer, rubbing his eyes.
"You've got something?" Miss Parker asked, folding her magazine.
"Yes," Broots leaned forward to peer at the tiny print of the screen. "A purchase on Lyle's MasterCard of a plane ticket at the airport. A flight to New York that left a half-hour ago."
"Get the plane," Parker ordered as she strode out of the room. Five minutes later she strode back in and stopped abruptly as she saw the chagrined look on Broots' face.
"Lyle beat us, didn't he?" she guessed, and was rewarded with a sheepish shrug. She turned and slammed her fist against the wall. Broots flinched. Parker stood, fist on wall, head on fist, for almost a full minute before she suddenly looked up.
"That was too easy," she announced.
"What do you mean?" Broots asked nervously at Parker's avoidance of reality.
"I mean that you found the ticket in an hour, and Lyle found it in even less time. Rachel's too smart for that, there's got to be a catch. Look at the airline registers for other Rachels who bought tickets today."
Parker stood over Broots' shoulder as he checked, which made him nervous, but again he didn't have the nerve to ask her to move. Still, he came up with a list of eleven names relatively quickly.
"Rachel Lyle?" Parker said out loud.
"That's the name she used to buy the ticket for the flight that Lyle's going after," Broots confirmed.
"I'd love to see what she did for ID for that one," Parker muttered. "Well, keep looking and tell me when you find her."
"I found her," Broots said quickly.
Miss Parker turned back towards him. "That was fast. How do you know?"
"Trust me," Broots said. "This is her." Parker leaned toward the screen to look, and her jaw dropped.
"What is this!" she demanded, in combined shock and anger.
"A ticket for a flight to Cincinnati," Broots answered nervously.
Parker's eyes narrowed. "I can see that," she said very softly. "What I mean is why the hell did she use my name and buy the ticket as Rachel Parker! Did she buy this ticket on Lyle's credit card too?"
Broots pointed and clicked on something else, and then winced. "Um, not exactly."
"What do you mean, not exactly?" Parker asked in the same low voice.
"I mean she bought it on credit card, but it wasn't Lyle's," Broots answered apprehensively. Parker looked at him blankly, then suddenly understood and yanked out her wallet. She began flipping through the cards.
"It's your American Express," Broots said helpfully, and winced again at the look she gave him. He didn't have to ask when she threw her wallet down on his desk in fury with an expression that boded no good for Rachel if Parker found her.
"What time did it leave?" she asked finally after a minute.
"It's going to leave in forty-five minutes," Broots said. It was like a bolt of energy suddenly hit Parker.
"Then we won't be too late!" she exclaimed, half running to the stairs.
At the door, Parker stopped and turned to look at him. "What are you waiting for, an invitation? Come on!"
Broots grabbed his laptop and stumbled after her.
---
Because she was blind, they let her board early. Her heart was pounding as the attendant led her to her seat. This was the worst time. If they found her now, she would be trapped. There was nowhere else to run. She was handed off from one person to the next, each one someone who would remember her later. But the special treatment couldn't be helped now. Special treatment! She'd almost forgotten. She pulled out Parker's cell phone and dialed in a number she'd memorized earlier.
---
Miss Parker charged through the airport and shoved her way into the front of the line at the gate where Rachel's flight was leaving from, ignoring the protests behind her.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry but you'll have to wait," the attendant in front of her began, but Parker cut him off.
"I'm sorry," she said with a wolfish smile, "But my, ah, sister, Rachel Parker, is on this flight. I really need to talk to her, can I just slip on and off?"
"Can I see some ID?" the attendant asked. Miss Parker pulled out her driver's license. The desk attendant gave it a perfunctory glance, then returned his attention to his computer. "No, ma'am, I'm afraid I can't let you do that," the attendant said, not sounding like he really cared at all. "You can send a message with a flight attendant, though."
"Gee, where have I heard this before," Parker muttered to herself. "Look, I need to-"
The desk phone rang. "One moment," the attendant said, and before she could protest picked up the phone and turned away. Miss Parker was getting ready to grab the phone out of the attendant's hand, but just then Broots came panting up behind her.
"Where have you been?" she snapped.
"Security made me turn on my laptop before they'd let me through," he gasped, leaning against the desk and facing the rest of the line. "Um, Miss Parker? Why is everyone glaring at us?"
But Miss Parker didn't hear. She was waiting for the flight attendant who was giving her a very strange look as he typed in something on his keypad.
"Right, I got it. You're off the passenger roster. You realize that it's too late for a refund? Good. It's funny you should call just now, your, um, sister's standing right across from me-"
Parker lunged across the counter and snatched the phone from the attendant's hand.
"Rachel?!" she almost screamed. A gasp and a beep as the line was terminated were her only answers. "Quick!" she ordered the attendant. "Dial in this number; 511-"
"I think not!" the attendant exclaimed, looking at her like she was crazy.
"Miss Parker," Broots muttered, tilting his head toward the two security guards heading their way. Parker threw the phone back at the attendant and stormed across the passageway to the public phones, giving the guards an angry look as she brushed past them. A minute later, she slammed down the phone in disgust.
"Too late, she turned it off," she fumed. Broots waited, keeping an eye on the security guards who were keeping an eye on them. "A double red herring. She bought three tickets . . ." Parker said, shaking her head. "All right, Broots. Check the list of tickets bought today again. She's on some flight in this airport and we're going to find it."
---
Gasping for breath from the sudden shock, she leaned her head against the window and let the turned-off cell phone fall into her lap. Well, Miss Parker had found her second safety measure, but it didn't really matter now. By the time Miss Parker figured out where she was, she'd be miles away. Absently she traced a pattern on the cover of the cell phone, the only physical link now to the woman. Suddenly an idea struck her and she struggled for a moment with the window latch before she managed to open it a few inches and push the cell phone through. She heard it land in the slush with a satisfying plop.
"You aren't going to leave the window open for the whole trip, are you?" her seatmate asked.
"Oh, no," she said quickly. "I, ah, just wanted some fresh air for a moment." She pulled the window shut.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," the seat shifted as the man next to her settled back. "I've always thought the air inside these buses is worse than the air in the airplanes."
She politely murmured back a response, then quietly tried to pull herself as far away from the man as she could. Would she always feel this nervousness around strangers?
She had divided her bus trip into seven separate rides. At every stop she had to get off and buy a new ticket in person, paying with some of the precious cash it had taken her weeks tto accumulate. She could hav bought just one ticket straight to her destination, Baltimore, but not without creating a paper trail. So she forced herself to stay alert, despite the fatigue pressing down on her.
Still, she was staggering by the time she got off the bus. As the bus roared off behind her, she tripped fell against a pole, barely managing to catch herself. Glad for any support, she leaned against it for a moment as she pulled her coat tighter around herself. The city was surprisingly quiet for only 9:00 at night. She had expected noise and bustle, but the part of town she was in was as still as a tomb. The only passer-bys she could hear were a group of young men, by the sound of their voices, coming towards her. She pushed herself off the pole. Only a few more minutes now and she'd be safe.
"Excuse me, can you tell me which way it is to 670 Preston?" she said with a polite smile, and was surprised by laughter. "Did I say something funny?" Raucous noise floated around her until one nasal voice cut through like a knife.
"Yeah, girl, we can tell you. The question is, do we want to?"
"Why wouldn't you want to tell me?" she asked in confusion, taking a step back so to keep the group in front of her (her instincts shivered), but a few straggled around her back anyway.
"Well, what's in it for us?"
"Well, nothing, really," she answered. This situation was not good. "I was just asking it as a favor. If you don't want to, I'll just find it on my own." She turned, randomly chose a direction, and tried to walk away, but the circle now formed around her didn't move.
"No, we'd be happy to help you." The nasal voice sent shivers down her spine. "But we'd appreciate a little compensation for our time."
"You want money?" she asked, trying to keep the panic down.
"I knew you were smart." Nasal Voice was a tenor. Like Him. "Just give us your- oh, well, it seems you're the only woman in Baltimore without a purse." The voice circled around her and she turned to follow it, not wanting it behind her back. "OK, then, what pocket do you have your wallet in?"
"Inside my coat," she reached in as she said the words.
"No, I'll get it," Nasal Voice snapped, and suddenly the hands were grabbing her again and she couldn't push them away they were coming from behind and in front and she couldn't get away and soon she wouldn't be able to move as the hands kept grabbing her and she screamed and screamed and
"I said, shut up!" yelled Nasal Voice inches away from her face and the hands drew back away from her, except for one gripping the front of her coat. He dropped to a rasping, angry hiss. "Can't you see I've got a gun?"
"I can't see anything!" she gasped. "I'm blind!"
Suddenly the street was as silent as it had been a moment earlier, the silence broken only by her uneven breathing as she gasped for air. A footstep crunched in the snow towards her, and a moment later she felt the tiniest gust of air on her face, like something was being waved in front of it. A few mumblings were cut short as Nasal Voice muttered something she didn't understand under his breath, and then grabbed her shoulder.
"Don't scream," he said as he turned her around and gave her a slight push. "Just keep walking straight. 670 is right in front of you."
All her dignity was gone and she stumbled away from the group as quickly as she could. Dimly she was aware of the footsteps and mutters crunching away behind her, but that burst of adrenaline had drained the last of her strength. She didn't realize that she hadn't truly slept for 36 hours, and hadn't eaten for 25. She only knew she had to focus everything she had left on just putting one foot in front of the other until she walked into a brick wall and collapsed against it, just as a door was flung open a few feet away.
"Hey!" a gravelly baritone called above her as his footsteps crunched down the snowy steps. "Are you all right? I heard screaming." Hands were touching her again, but she had nothing left to resist with.
"Can you hear me? Don't panic, you're safe now, I'm here to help you." Those words . . .
"Jarod?" she whispered. The hands on her shoulders froze.
"Do I know you?" It was the most beautiful voice she'd ever heard.
"I took your place at the Centre," she said with a weak smile.
"Rachel?" Jarod said in shock. She mumbled a yes. There was a brief silence, and then an explosion of talk. "I don't believe this! I just left Eryll's Tower last week and now here you are! How did you- No, no questions now, let's get you inside, is the Centre on your trail? Do we need to leave? Because I can- Rachel?"
She was safe.
"Rachel!"
At long last she gave in and let herself float away into the silence.
TBC
