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The darkness was so deep that he could see no light. He felt cold. He tried to wrap his arms around his body but it brought no comfort. The cold radiated from somewhere inside him, outwards until all he felt was numbness. He blinked against the darkness, his eyes tearing and yet there was nothing. He closed his eyes and leaned back. Though he could sense the leather against the shirt and the shirt against his back, he couldn’t seem to get his nerve endings to acknowledge the actual feel of it.

It was too cold. Too numb. Too much.

There was another presence. He knew that this presence was the reason for his non-feeling, for his numbness. He knew that its existence was defined by others, made into being until it had conformed. He wondered briefly if that was what was happening to him.

Too much.

He knew without knowing what the presence embodied. It moved closer and he felt his breath hitch a little as the beating in his chest increased by a fraction. He could move his arms and legs, but he stayed still. He would only watch and be silent. Be aware but be invisible. Be conscious but try not to think too much.

He jumped slightly when heat touched his face. He opened his eyes and the darkness receded until he was aware enough of who it was that was staring at him from across the vast distance that was nothing. He watched fascinated as the mouth opened and closed. Sound reached his ears an infinite time later and he nodded, not really aware of why.

Anything to go back to his state of bliss, of unawareness.

Before he could slip away again, a stinging sensation spread outward from his cheek, his head ricocheting of towards the side. A rush of feeling drowned the numbness until he became aware again and the hopelessness of his situation enforced itself back into his psyche.

He sighed and closed his eyes.

And awoke, sharply.

“I see you’re awake. Good. We’re nearly there.”

Jarod didn’t reply, instead continued to gaze out the window by his head. It was dark, the sky bright with starlight. The horizon’s backdrop of flatness was broken occasionally by small hills or rock outcroppings. It had the feel of an alien landscape; all that was missing was little green men and Miss Parker.

A slight smile settled briefly before it disappeared again, just as quickly. His breath was making small clouds of condensation on the window pane; his skin – where it touched the window – was numb with cold.

“Do you remember the plan?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge his captor except for what was necessary. Lyle glanced at him briefly in irritation before turning his concentration back to the road in front of them.

“Get in there, Margaret.”

“No, I…please, Lyle,” Jarod pleaded.

He didn’t know what else to say anymore. His last words came out broken, his eyes dark and moist. Lyle smiled down at him and they both watched as his mother climbed shakily into the metal box. He had nothing more to give. His soul felt bruised and numb. He started to shiver uncontrollably.

“Mom?”

Her smile quivered for a brief moment until she turned her eyes from him towards the sociopath. It disappeared, her eyes wide with fear, her nostrils flaring. He tried not to but it came as second nature as he started to sim his mother.

He began to scream his safe word frenziedly, over and over. The panic inside his chest didn’t want to let up and he started to hyperventilate. Lyle stalked over and he was aware again when his face impacted with the dirt.

All he could inhale was the smell of fresh, moist dirt that had been unearthed not too long ago. He snorted, trying to get the cloying feel of it out of his nostrils.

The clang as the lid closed echoed around him, through the hills and he started to sob uncontrollably. He wasn’t aware of the skin he had now completely scrubbed raw with his efforts to free himself. The tang of copper filled his nostrils as Lyle grunted and pushed the box into the hole. The dull thud as it hit bottom rang through the ground, vibrating through his bones.

The sound of dirt hitting metal felt like the stab of a knife into his body until with the last settling of dust, his hope had bled out, leaving a gaping hole of numbness.

The car slowed and turned into a side street that led towards bright lights and civilisation. Lyle brought the car to a halt in a darkened corner of the street, just before the entrance to the clinic. The man turned sideways in his seat and reached back. Jarod shifted as he put the blanket around the pretender, tucking him in against the seat and safety belt. The thumbless hand turned Jarod’s face towards him and he didn’t move it from his hold until the dark eyes settled slowly on his own.

“You better make this believable, Jarod. I would hate for your mother to run out of air, alone, afraid.”

His face had no emotion, his voice no inflection when Jarod answered, “I was born to pretend. Can you?”

Lyle gave a short burst of laughter and patted Jarod’s face lightly. “Very good, Jarod,” he said patronizingly, emulating Sydney. “Do you need more time or can we go. I don’t have to remind you that you have a twelve hour window.”

Jarod shrugged and as Lyle started the car and pulled away, he leaned his head back against the window, feeling the warming spot that had been numbed by the window before, cool again.

Jarod was leaning against the car, his tall body hunched inwards, as if to ward of blows. Satisfied that the pretender was not going to move from his position, Lyle turned away and dialled a very familiar number. The deep, sensual voice of his sister waved over the line and he smiled.

“Hello Sis. Miss me?”

“No. You’re not dead yet?”

He felt too good to be slighted by her sarcastic wit. He could his pretender’s questioning gaze on his back. Jarod was his and he had finally managed to break the man. No, he decided. Nothing his sister could say will take that feeling of triumph away from him.

“I want you and Major Charles to meet me on the old Bauer farm in one hour. No guns.”

“It will take us longer than that to get there.”

“Steal a helicopter then. I don’t care. If you’re not there, I get to shoot Margaret or Gemini.”

He cut her off then, knowing that it would infuriate her further. Better for him. That way she wouldn’t think to clearly. He wanted her out of the way. Away from any chance of saving Jarod from doing what he is told.

Away from saving Sydney.

The door opened and he nearly fell out the car. The pressure of his safety belt was released and then he felt hands pull him from his seat. Jarod staggered and then Lyle was pulling his arm around his shoulders, helping him upright. He moaned, shifting his feet so that it looked like he was weaker than he was.

“We were hiking and we saw a coyote or something and then he fell. I…we finally got to my car. He’s really hurt. I don’t know if…,” Lyle’s continued to babble, sounding just like a concerned friend. He felt his back sink into softness and then a vision of light exploded into his right eye. He turned his head away sharply.

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Bobby. Bobby Bowmen.”

“Any allergies?”

The voice was business like, as hands continued to prod his body. He felt suddenly nauseous, aware of what had to come later and as the burning started upwards towards his throat he heard Lyle say pistachios. Someone helped him upwards and sideways and then he was hanging over the bed, purging his stomach. Hands patted his back soothingly and after a short while when he fell composed enough, he allowed them to lean him back against the bed.

“Bobby, can you hear me?”

It took him a moment before he remembered that the name was his for now. He managed a nod as the pressure cuff around his arm tightened. He heard his blood pressure read out, and something about it being too low.

“Bobby, I need to check your ribs. If it hurts, tell me ok.”

He felt the shirt being cut away and then he heard a slight gasp from somewhere to his right.

“How far did he fall?”

Lyle answered the question and it almost sounded like the man was close to tears. He opened his eyes to slits. Lyle had a look of concern on his face, the very essence of what a friend would be like. He didn’t wonder any more how the man had been able to convince the authorities that his father had killed his best friend.

Fingers gently roved over his bruises and cuts and then he allowed consciousness to slip away.

He awoke some time later to stillness. He was clean, dressed in the usual hospital garb. Lyle was sitting by his side, a magazine in his lap.

“How you feeling? Want some ice chips?”

Jarod gave a small nod and then watched warily as the other man got up and moved towards the side table.

“Don’t disappoint me now, Jarod,” he whispered as a presence filled the doorway.

“Good, you’re awake Mr Bowman. I’m Dr Brennan and I’ve been assigned to your case. Nasty fall you had there.”

Jarod didn’t reply and turned his head away from Lyle, staring at the water stain on the wall to his right. He heard the woman order his captor out and it was with protest that Lyle left. He could feel the warning stare the other man left him with. He ignored it.

The door closed and he slowly slit upwards until he leaned against the headboard. Doctor Brennan started taking his vitals and he stayed quiet, answering only when it was expected. When she was done, she sat down on the bed and tilted her head slightly, her gaze sympathetic.

“Care to tell me why you have burn marks on your wrists?”

He pulled the blanket higher and looked at her in silence. “Tell me, Bobby, is that really your friend out there?”

“Yes.”

She smiled reassuringly. “You do know that whatever you tell me will be in confidence? There are a lot of things that don’t add up and unless you tell me what really happened to you, I will be forced to let the sheriff know about your case.”

“N…nothing happened,” his voice cracked and he had to swallow before he could continue, “I…we, there was….I just slipped and fell. That’s it. You have to believe me.”

He could see it in her eyes that he hadn’t convinced her at all. He knew she wasn’t going to let this go.

“I’m really tired.”

He watched her leave and Lyle re-enter the room. He had a duffel bag in his hand that he threw on the bed before locking the room.

“Get dressed.”

“It’s too soon. They’ll be watching this room.”

Lyle lifted an eyebrow, his head tilted slightly. “Really, Jarod? Or are you trying to put of the inevitable?”

“Just give it another thirty minutes. At least by then it should be easier to slip out.”

Lyle considered his request and for a moment he thought he had failed. But in the end his captor agreed.

J woke to darkness and for a moment he was disorientated. His hand reached out towards his bed light and instead of the switch he hit a solid metal wall. It took him another few minutes before he remembered the last day. The last thing he could recall was being in a room, with his brother holding his hand.

If that was the case and he was back what seems like the back of a utility van then it must mean that he and his brother was back under Lyle’s control.

He slowly sat up, feeling his side. The pain was manageable and he slowly slid forward until he met the doors. He was surprised to find the door unlocked and he opened it slowly until only a slit of moonlight entered the back. The smell of smoke wafted inside and he heard a soft shuffle before the point of a cigarette end glowed briefly. The guard was standing by the side of the van, facing the horizon.

J waited, counting under his breath until the guard turned and walked towards the front of the van, out of his sight. Very carefully he lowered himself out of the back, closing the door, making sure that no click sounded. His side gave a twinge and the muscles pulled when he lowered himself until he was under the van.

The feet of the guard appeared briefly in front of him. “No. Everything’s quiet.” A short pause followed and then the sweeper replied, “I can’t hear the generator from my position. Wait.”

J watched as the guard walked off into the veldt. He squirmed out from under the van and started to follow, careful to keep his distance and trying to stay out of sight in the sparse surroundings.

“It’s still running.”

He had no idea what the guard was on about until he took a tentative step closer and his ears picked up the very faint beat of a generator. Making himself small behind a straggly bush, he watched the man disappear back to the van.

His side still hurt but he felt better. Jarod must have done a miracle to the cut or else his sleep had done him good. He knew that he wasn’t out of it yet but at least it didn’t feel like he was dying. He hoped he wasn’t so disillusioned that he was ignoring his own peril by moving about. He just knew that he couldn’t wait for Lyle to start his games again.

The faint beat intrigued him and he decided to investigate. Moving stealthily closer, he kept an eye constantly on the lookout for the sweeper. The generator was loud, increasing his caution. One hand was holding on to his side, his breaths coming faster. Sweat had started to form on his forehead again. He knew it wasn’t a good sign but nothing less decided that anything was better than being with Lyle.

A clang sounded and he swore briefly when his foot connected with another object. He stopped and waited, holding his breath until he was satisfied that the sweeper had not heard. Crouching, he reached out and touched the object. It was a shovel. He frowned, wondering why someone would leave it out here in the middle of nowhere.

Another twinge sends flares out from his side. He tried to ignore it as best he could while he moved closer to the generator. It had pipes running from its side. He took one and gave a small tug. It pulled his muscles down his side and he gripped the cut, waiting until the red spots in front of his sight disappeared. His curiosity now thoroughly raised, he followed the snaking line until it disappeared into the ground. He gave it a smaller tug this time. It seemed to be attached to something.

He sat down, and looked at the stars while he contemplated the problem before him. He had two choices. Try and get as far away as possible though he had no idea the distance he could manage with his injury. His other choice was to try and figure out why there was a generator out here in the middle of nowhere with pipes attached that disappeared into the ground.

He had started to feel warm again. A small shiver went through his body and he suppressed it as best he could.

Running was not going to get him far.

He looked again at the pipes before staring into the distance towards the road. It was far enough for the sweeper not to notice him unless he flashed light. Satisfied, he took the shovel, and mindful of his wound, slowly started to uncover the recently disturbed ground.

They had somehow managed to enter Sydney’s room without notice. Jarod stared at his mentor, lying comatose in the bed. The lines around the older man’s eyes were less pronounced, his features peaceful.

“You can do this any way you want, Jarod. I don’t care how.”

He didn’t acknowledge Lyle. His hands were sweaty, his legs felt rubbery. Everything inside him was turning numb. He had no idea if he could do this in the end. Willingly take a life, a life that had influenced his own for so many years.

“Jarod.”

Lyle’s voice was impatient, a slight edge towards the end. Jarod still couldn’t move. His mouth felt dry. “I….I,” he started, his gaze not leaving his mentor’s face. Lyle snorted and took his phone out.

“Any problems?”

Lyle watched Jarod, his blue orbs observing everything. “The generator’s still running.” Jarod turned, his own now fixed on the other man. Lyle smiled evilly. Jarod took a deep breath and when Lyle started to give the command to stop the machine, he shook his head.

“Wait. Don’t, Lyle.”

“I’m waiting, Jarod.”

He swallowed, wiping his hands on the jeans he had been given earlier by Lyle. On legs that didn’t feel his own, he stepped closer to the bed. He smiled down at Sydney, aware of Lyle’s unrelenting gaze, the phone loosely held in his hand.

“I’m sorry, Sydney,” he whispered and he bent down, leaving a small kiss on the older man’s forehead. Feeling the warmth of life on his lips, he slowly reached out and took a pillow from a pile that had been put on a chair beside the bed.

Tears started to roll down as he brought the pillow closer and with a last imploring look at Lyle, that brought nothing, he pressed it against the man’s face that had been like a father to him for most of his life.