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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: Jarod, Lyle, Miss Parker and anyone else associated with the Centre are characters that do not belong to me. Someone else thought them up, pitched the idea for a series and sold them to a bunch of schmucks who didn't know a good thing when they had it sitting in their laps. I have blatantly stolen the pretender and his associates. I'm not sorry. I won't apologize. I am not, nor have I ever made any money in these endeavors. But it has been a lot of fun.
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Author's Note: First, please allow me to apologize to any of my Brazilian readers. I mean no offense. As research for this chapter, I went onto an internet search engine and typed in "South America" "poverty". After reading a few articles on the topic I learned about favellasand was struck by the economic contrasts of Rio de Janeiro. Seemed like just the kind of place Lyle would enjoy. (Sort of like Las Vegas, but with more exotic scenery.)
Seizing Destiny – Strong PG-13 rating!
By Phenyx
Part 8
09/26/04
-
"We shouldn't have left her alone," Jarod grumbled.
The street before them was in desperate need of repair. But Lyle was driving a jeep, so the unpaved road was little more than a bumpy nuisance. "She's a big girl," Lyle answered.
Jarod sighed in frustration.
"Come on," Lyle said, exasperated. "She can handle it. Besides, the false lead you've planted for Raines' benefit will keep her out of Blue Cove until we get back."
"One of us should have stayed with her," Jarod frowned. He didn't like this one bit. The situation had made him feel uneasy ever since he had returned from Paris. As planned, he had waited at Parker's house for her to return from work. When she had stepped across the threshold, Jarod had suffered quite a shock.
Parker had a hand-sized bruise forming on one cheek. Evidently, Mr. Parker had been fuming with righteous indignation when Miss Parker and Lyle had shown up at the Centre. From what Lyle had told him, Jarod gathered that Miss Parker had thrown fuel on the already intense fire. She had been insubordinate and disparaging of her father's words, literally picking a fight with the older man.
Mr. Parker had lost his temper. He had lashed out at the woman he had raised as his own child and had struck her across the face. According to Lyle's narrative, Miss Parker had straightened regally and smiled at the old man with a bitter, knowing grin. Then, turning on her heel she had left the room without another word, not even waiting to be dismissed.
As Jarod had listened to the twins tell him the tale, he'd gently pressed an ice pack to Miss Parker's swelling cheek. He had said nothing. The look in Miss Parker's steely gray eyes had spoken volumes. In an eerie way, the incident had been a victory for her. She had pushed her father to a breaking point, forcing him to lose control. His loss of control, for even that brief moment, had bestowed Miss Parker with a power no one else had possessed in years.
A secondary result of the confrontation had been that Jarod was now forced to acknowledge just how much faith Parker had placed in him. They were at a dangerous crossroad, with no chances for turning back. Jarod's plan simply had to work. Which was, of course, why he and Lyle were now driving through the streets of Rio de Janeiro.
For the sake of appearances, Miss Parker was busily pursuing a phantom pretender across the Northern hemisphere. This not only kept her out of her father's path, but also served to disguise Jarod's true location. He was sitting less than two feet away from one of the very people sent out to capture him.
"You know what we are looking for, Jarod," Lyle said. "I know how to get it. There was no choice but to leave Parker to fend for herself."
Jarod cast Lyle a suspicious frown.
"What?" Lyle gasped. "You can worry about the ice queen but her own brother can't?"
"I didn't think you had it in you," Jarod told him.
"Then you don't know me that well," Lyle said.
"I know you better than you think I do," Jarod replied. "And far better than I ever wanted to."
The two men sat in silence for a few minutes. Jarod allowed Lyle to concentrate on the pockmarked road. They were in a seedy part of the city. It seemed as though they were fathoms away from the elegant, posh resorts of Rio. But in actuality, only a few miles separated this favella from the exclusive haunts of the wealthy.
Lyle brought the jeep to a stop in front of a two-story, stucco building that had seen better days. Music blared from the open door. A group of four young men, barely more than boys, lounged against the wall, eyeing the jeep and the men within.
Jarod frowned. "Are you sure about this, Lyle?" he asked. "This place looks a bit treacherous."
"That's because it is," Lyle said with a sly grin. "They aren't called houses of ill repute for nothing, you know."
Jarod eyed Lyle warily for a moment, then turned and glared at the young men watching from the doorway. "I've never been in a brothel before," he murmured.
This made Lyle laugh. "This joint isn't classy enough to be called a brothel, pin-head," he drawled callously. "I wouldn't even call it a whore house."
"Then what would you call it?"
Lyle shrugged. "It's a body shop. Bodies for sale or rent, by the week, the day or the hour." With that Lyle climbed from the car and strode toward the front door. Feeling as though he was not about to enjoy this new experience, Jarod followed his companion into the building.
Inside, it was dim and filled with smoke. It reminded Jarod of a sleazy, rundown tavern he had been in once. The main difference between that place and this, however, was that this room was scattered with men and women in various stages of undress.
As he and Lyle headed toward the bar, Jarod passed a dark-haired girl half sitting, half lying on a table. She caught his eye, smiled and then lifted her skirt, showing him, and everyone else, her bare assets. Jarod was stunned, momentarily frozen in place with his mouth hanging open.
"Maybe later, doll," Lyle told the girl in Spanish. Chuckling, he grabbed Jarod by the arm and dragged him up to the bar.
"Welcome back, Joe. Haven't seen you around in a long while," the bartender drawled in heavily accented English. "You want the usual?"
Lyle nodded at the rotund little man. "And a beer for my friend," he added, jerking a thumb at Jarod.
Two drinks appeared on the counter as if by magic.
"Is your boss around?" Lyle asked casually.
The bartender shook his head. "Don't expect him for another hour or so."
"We'll have to come back later," Jarod said.
"Nonsense," Lyle scoffed. He took a sip from his glass and declared, "We can find a way to while away the time." With a grand sweep of his arm, Lyle said, "Pick one Jarod. My treat. I'll even spring for a room."
For a split second, Jarod didn't understand what Lyle meant. He followed Lyle's gesture and scanned the room. The girl who had advertised so blatantly when they had walked in, had found herself a customer. A dusty, jean clad man with blonde hair was handing the girl a bill. The money vanished into her bodice. She raised her skirt and the man began to ravage her right there on the tabletop.
Jarod quickly turned his back on the scene. Wide-eyed and confused, he glanced at Lyle in near panic. "No thanks," he croaked.
Lyle tossed back the rest of his drink and grinned. "Well I hope you don't mind if I relieve a little tension," he said.
"Would it matter if I said I did mind?" Jarod asked, already knowing the answer.
"Nope." Smiling rakishly, Lyle pushed away from the bar and strolled across the room. As he made his way toward a wooden staircase, he grabbed a woman by the wrist as if by random choice. She was pretty in a sad sort of way with a tiny bosom and long straight hair.
Jarod kept his gaze focused on the drink in front of him as though nothing else existed. As the minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness, he memorized every microscopic detail of the beer bottle. He gauged the weight and classification of the glass, calculated the volume it contained and even estimated the rate of gas exchange as the beer fizzed.
Jarod closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. God he hated this. He hated Lyle for leaving him in so awkward a situation. He hated Lyle in sheer principle. He hated the way it felt when hate curled around his heart like it did now. It was a cold snake leaving a constrictive trail of ice around his soul.
Hate was one of those words most people bandied about so easily. Jarod wondered if what he felt was a common feeling with others. Somehow, he doubted it. 'I hate asparagus. I hate that movie. I hate this outfit.' None of those seemed representative of the deep hatred Jarod was becoming familiar with.
It frightened him, the ease with which hate had been blossoming in the last few weeks. The feeling had flared abruptly and with great intensity when Jarod had seen the bruise on Parker's cheek. He'd wanted to hunt the old man down with dogs and rip his throat out. Gripping the beer bottle fiercely, Jarod tried to reign in the emotion. But like a wild creature locked away too long, this darkness became harder to keep chained once it had broken free.
Jarod slugged down the last of his beer and slammed the bottle onto the counter. Glancing at his watch, he wondered idly how long it took to bed a prostitute. Was there small talk involved? His experience in the field had all been from the other end, when he had done a stint as a gigolo in Detroit. He had no clue what etiquette was involved for a paying customer.
Just as he was about to order another beer, Jarod became aware of something odd. It was something in the way the bartender looked at him, with a combination of respect and revulsion. Jarod frowned and tried to decipher the sudden dread that settled upon him. He remembered the jovial gleam in Lyle's eyes as they entered this place and the strange tone to his voice when he had said the word "bodies".
Jarod's instincts had kept him alive and free for too long. He wasn't about to ignore them now. Rising from the bar stool, Jarod hurried to the stairs and climbed them two at a time. Reaching the second floor, he found a dimly lit, narrow hallway bordered on each side by matching wooden doors. For a long minute, Jarod stood in the corridor with his head tilted to one side, trying to figure out which room Lyle was in. A muffled thud, followed by the sound of glass breaking, made the decision for him.
Dashing to a room about halfway down the hall, Jarod threw open the door. Inside he found Lyle. The dark-haired man was wearing nothing but his unbuttoned jeans. His skin was shiny with a thin sheen of sweat, indicative of his recent exertions with the girl. The naked girl was pinned to the mattress beneath Lyle's knee. Around her throat was a coil of fabric, a pillowcase from the looks of it, which Lyle was using to gleefully strangle the life from her.
Jarod barreled across the room, slamming into Lyle and shoving him off the choking young woman. Jarod scooped the girl off the bed, the sheets still tangled around her. Setting her on her feet, he gripped her by the arms and shook her to get her attention as she coughed and gasped.
"Run," Jarod commanded. Weaving drunkenly, the girl did as she was told, stumbling from the room as quickly as she could.
Covering her escape, Jarod turned to face Lyle. Blue eyes burned fiercely as Lyle growled at him. With his hair in disarray and his fists clenched tightly at his sides, the dark-haired man was almost unrecognizable. Jarod felt fear spear through him. This was not the Lyle he knew. The creature panting before him was a madman, the thing that had become a serial killer.
Trying to stay calm, Jarod voiced his thoughts. "How many girls are buried in the woods, Bobby?" Jarod asked with a deceptively bland tone.
As intended, Jarod's words seemed to jerk Lyle in surprise. "They don't all go to the woods," Lyle responded.
'Even his voice sounds different,' Jarod thought. Lyle's tone was gravelly and deeper than normal, as if his throat were raw.
"Only the special ones get a trip to the cabin." Lyle's beatific smile sent a shiver of trepidation down Jarod's spine. Lyle heaved a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair to straighten it. "How long have you known?" he asked.
"A while," Jarod admitted.
Lyle smirked uncaringly. Rummaging in a drawer he found a pack of cigarettes and lit one. "Does Parker know?" he asked exhaling a white cloud of smoke over their heads.
Jarod nodded.
"That explains a lot."
It was astounding. As Jarod watched, the dark creature that had been intent on murder a moment ago began to slip away. The erudite businessman returned, with his dashing smile and charming ways. It was as if Lyle's body held two visibly different people, a real life Jekyll and Hyde.
Jarod's thoughts must have been apparent on his face. "I'm not schizophrenic," Lyle said. "I'm perfectly cognizant of what I'm doing." He shrugged. "After all, we all have a dark side. I just give mine free reign once in a while. Doesn't everyone?"
"Your dark side kills people, Lyle." Jarod said.
"So does yours," Lyle pointed out in a soft, cruel voice.
Jarod gasped in pain. "That's different," he whispered.
Shrugging into his shirt, Lyle asked, "Why? Willie is just as dead as May Lin. Dead is dead."
"May Lin was an innocent."
"Everyone is guilty of something," Lyle smiled again.
Jarod was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. It felt as though a vice was clamping down on his chest. He didn't want to have this discussion any longer.
"You are what the Centre has made of you, Jarod," Lyle said. "Just like the rest of us. The only difference is that I embrace who I have become, while you wallow in self pity and martyrdom."
"They had no right to take me from my family," Jarod nearly whimpered.
Lyle's reaction was immediate and explosive. "You think I don't know that?" he screamed. "I was stolen from my parents as I left my mother's womb!"
Jarod involuntarily took a step backward, retreating from the other man's fury.
"Easy. Easy now," Lyle hushed. He held his hands forward in a calming gesture. Jarod wasn't sure which of them he was trying to soothe. He watched fearfully as Lyle approached him. Moving with a gentle slowness, Lyle stepped toward Jarod as though the pretender was a wild animal, ready to bolt.
Wide brown eyes stared into sharp blue ones as Lyle spoke. "We are kindred spirits you and I. No one knows your inner demons like I do."
As Lyle put his arm around his shoulders, Jarod felt a terrible need to cry. Desolation swept through him like a windstorm in the desert, leaving nothing in its wake but dry, barren sand. Lyle gave Jarod an amiable pat on the back before turning to locate his jacket.
"We've got work to do, partner," Lyle said. "The owner of this lovely establishment should have arrived by now. Let's go have a talk with him."
Jarod looked up in concern. "The girl will have called the authorities. We can't stay here."
"Don't worry about it," Lyle grinned. "They know me here."
Understanding dawned in Jarod's weary mind. "You've been here before. You could have killed that girl and no one would have done a thing about it," he said in awe.
"The trick is to know whom to pay," Lyle told him. "Come on, Jarod. We have a boy-toy to buy."
As Jarod followed Lyle out of the dingy room, he clamped a mental fist over the roiling in his stomach. With a heavy sigh he closed his eyes and tried to find that safe place in his mind. His years at the Centre had taught Jarod to find a mental sense of detachment, helping him to escape the pain and loneliness. He could function from that place for days.
Something told Jarod that he was going to need it.
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Author's Note: First, please allow me to apologize to any of my Brazilian readers. I mean no offense. As research for this chapter, I went onto an internet search engine and typed in "South America" "poverty". After reading a few articles on the topic I learned about favellasand was struck by the economic contrasts of Rio de Janeiro. Seemed like just the kind of place Lyle would enjoy. (Sort of like Las Vegas, but with more exotic scenery.)
Seizing Destiny – Strong PG-13 rating!
By Phenyx
Part 8
09/26/04
-
"We shouldn't have left her alone," Jarod grumbled.
The street before them was in desperate need of repair. But Lyle was driving a jeep, so the unpaved road was little more than a bumpy nuisance. "She's a big girl," Lyle answered.
Jarod sighed in frustration.
"Come on," Lyle said, exasperated. "She can handle it. Besides, the false lead you've planted for Raines' benefit will keep her out of Blue Cove until we get back."
"One of us should have stayed with her," Jarod frowned. He didn't like this one bit. The situation had made him feel uneasy ever since he had returned from Paris. As planned, he had waited at Parker's house for her to return from work. When she had stepped across the threshold, Jarod had suffered quite a shock.
Parker had a hand-sized bruise forming on one cheek. Evidently, Mr. Parker had been fuming with righteous indignation when Miss Parker and Lyle had shown up at the Centre. From what Lyle had told him, Jarod gathered that Miss Parker had thrown fuel on the already intense fire. She had been insubordinate and disparaging of her father's words, literally picking a fight with the older man.
Mr. Parker had lost his temper. He had lashed out at the woman he had raised as his own child and had struck her across the face. According to Lyle's narrative, Miss Parker had straightened regally and smiled at the old man with a bitter, knowing grin. Then, turning on her heel she had left the room without another word, not even waiting to be dismissed.
As Jarod had listened to the twins tell him the tale, he'd gently pressed an ice pack to Miss Parker's swelling cheek. He had said nothing. The look in Miss Parker's steely gray eyes had spoken volumes. In an eerie way, the incident had been a victory for her. She had pushed her father to a breaking point, forcing him to lose control. His loss of control, for even that brief moment, had bestowed Miss Parker with a power no one else had possessed in years.
A secondary result of the confrontation had been that Jarod was now forced to acknowledge just how much faith Parker had placed in him. They were at a dangerous crossroad, with no chances for turning back. Jarod's plan simply had to work. Which was, of course, why he and Lyle were now driving through the streets of Rio de Janeiro.
For the sake of appearances, Miss Parker was busily pursuing a phantom pretender across the Northern hemisphere. This not only kept her out of her father's path, but also served to disguise Jarod's true location. He was sitting less than two feet away from one of the very people sent out to capture him.
"You know what we are looking for, Jarod," Lyle said. "I know how to get it. There was no choice but to leave Parker to fend for herself."
Jarod cast Lyle a suspicious frown.
"What?" Lyle gasped. "You can worry about the ice queen but her own brother can't?"
"I didn't think you had it in you," Jarod told him.
"Then you don't know me that well," Lyle said.
"I know you better than you think I do," Jarod replied. "And far better than I ever wanted to."
The two men sat in silence for a few minutes. Jarod allowed Lyle to concentrate on the pockmarked road. They were in a seedy part of the city. It seemed as though they were fathoms away from the elegant, posh resorts of Rio. But in actuality, only a few miles separated this favella from the exclusive haunts of the wealthy.
Lyle brought the jeep to a stop in front of a two-story, stucco building that had seen better days. Music blared from the open door. A group of four young men, barely more than boys, lounged against the wall, eyeing the jeep and the men within.
Jarod frowned. "Are you sure about this, Lyle?" he asked. "This place looks a bit treacherous."
"That's because it is," Lyle said with a sly grin. "They aren't called houses of ill repute for nothing, you know."
Jarod eyed Lyle warily for a moment, then turned and glared at the young men watching from the doorway. "I've never been in a brothel before," he murmured.
This made Lyle laugh. "This joint isn't classy enough to be called a brothel, pin-head," he drawled callously. "I wouldn't even call it a whore house."
"Then what would you call it?"
Lyle shrugged. "It's a body shop. Bodies for sale or rent, by the week, the day or the hour." With that Lyle climbed from the car and strode toward the front door. Feeling as though he was not about to enjoy this new experience, Jarod followed his companion into the building.
Inside, it was dim and filled with smoke. It reminded Jarod of a sleazy, rundown tavern he had been in once. The main difference between that place and this, however, was that this room was scattered with men and women in various stages of undress.
As he and Lyle headed toward the bar, Jarod passed a dark-haired girl half sitting, half lying on a table. She caught his eye, smiled and then lifted her skirt, showing him, and everyone else, her bare assets. Jarod was stunned, momentarily frozen in place with his mouth hanging open.
"Maybe later, doll," Lyle told the girl in Spanish. Chuckling, he grabbed Jarod by the arm and dragged him up to the bar.
"Welcome back, Joe. Haven't seen you around in a long while," the bartender drawled in heavily accented English. "You want the usual?"
Lyle nodded at the rotund little man. "And a beer for my friend," he added, jerking a thumb at Jarod.
Two drinks appeared on the counter as if by magic.
"Is your boss around?" Lyle asked casually.
The bartender shook his head. "Don't expect him for another hour or so."
"We'll have to come back later," Jarod said.
"Nonsense," Lyle scoffed. He took a sip from his glass and declared, "We can find a way to while away the time." With a grand sweep of his arm, Lyle said, "Pick one Jarod. My treat. I'll even spring for a room."
For a split second, Jarod didn't understand what Lyle meant. He followed Lyle's gesture and scanned the room. The girl who had advertised so blatantly when they had walked in, had found herself a customer. A dusty, jean clad man with blonde hair was handing the girl a bill. The money vanished into her bodice. She raised her skirt and the man began to ravage her right there on the tabletop.
Jarod quickly turned his back on the scene. Wide-eyed and confused, he glanced at Lyle in near panic. "No thanks," he croaked.
Lyle tossed back the rest of his drink and grinned. "Well I hope you don't mind if I relieve a little tension," he said.
"Would it matter if I said I did mind?" Jarod asked, already knowing the answer.
"Nope." Smiling rakishly, Lyle pushed away from the bar and strolled across the room. As he made his way toward a wooden staircase, he grabbed a woman by the wrist as if by random choice. She was pretty in a sad sort of way with a tiny bosom and long straight hair.
Jarod kept his gaze focused on the drink in front of him as though nothing else existed. As the minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness, he memorized every microscopic detail of the beer bottle. He gauged the weight and classification of the glass, calculated the volume it contained and even estimated the rate of gas exchange as the beer fizzed.
Jarod closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. God he hated this. He hated Lyle for leaving him in so awkward a situation. He hated Lyle in sheer principle. He hated the way it felt when hate curled around his heart like it did now. It was a cold snake leaving a constrictive trail of ice around his soul.
Hate was one of those words most people bandied about so easily. Jarod wondered if what he felt was a common feeling with others. Somehow, he doubted it. 'I hate asparagus. I hate that movie. I hate this outfit.' None of those seemed representative of the deep hatred Jarod was becoming familiar with.
It frightened him, the ease with which hate had been blossoming in the last few weeks. The feeling had flared abruptly and with great intensity when Jarod had seen the bruise on Parker's cheek. He'd wanted to hunt the old man down with dogs and rip his throat out. Gripping the beer bottle fiercely, Jarod tried to reign in the emotion. But like a wild creature locked away too long, this darkness became harder to keep chained once it had broken free.
Jarod slugged down the last of his beer and slammed the bottle onto the counter. Glancing at his watch, he wondered idly how long it took to bed a prostitute. Was there small talk involved? His experience in the field had all been from the other end, when he had done a stint as a gigolo in Detroit. He had no clue what etiquette was involved for a paying customer.
Just as he was about to order another beer, Jarod became aware of something odd. It was something in the way the bartender looked at him, with a combination of respect and revulsion. Jarod frowned and tried to decipher the sudden dread that settled upon him. He remembered the jovial gleam in Lyle's eyes as they entered this place and the strange tone to his voice when he had said the word "bodies".
Jarod's instincts had kept him alive and free for too long. He wasn't about to ignore them now. Rising from the bar stool, Jarod hurried to the stairs and climbed them two at a time. Reaching the second floor, he found a dimly lit, narrow hallway bordered on each side by matching wooden doors. For a long minute, Jarod stood in the corridor with his head tilted to one side, trying to figure out which room Lyle was in. A muffled thud, followed by the sound of glass breaking, made the decision for him.
Dashing to a room about halfway down the hall, Jarod threw open the door. Inside he found Lyle. The dark-haired man was wearing nothing but his unbuttoned jeans. His skin was shiny with a thin sheen of sweat, indicative of his recent exertions with the girl. The naked girl was pinned to the mattress beneath Lyle's knee. Around her throat was a coil of fabric, a pillowcase from the looks of it, which Lyle was using to gleefully strangle the life from her.
Jarod barreled across the room, slamming into Lyle and shoving him off the choking young woman. Jarod scooped the girl off the bed, the sheets still tangled around her. Setting her on her feet, he gripped her by the arms and shook her to get her attention as she coughed and gasped.
"Run," Jarod commanded. Weaving drunkenly, the girl did as she was told, stumbling from the room as quickly as she could.
Covering her escape, Jarod turned to face Lyle. Blue eyes burned fiercely as Lyle growled at him. With his hair in disarray and his fists clenched tightly at his sides, the dark-haired man was almost unrecognizable. Jarod felt fear spear through him. This was not the Lyle he knew. The creature panting before him was a madman, the thing that had become a serial killer.
Trying to stay calm, Jarod voiced his thoughts. "How many girls are buried in the woods, Bobby?" Jarod asked with a deceptively bland tone.
As intended, Jarod's words seemed to jerk Lyle in surprise. "They don't all go to the woods," Lyle responded.
'Even his voice sounds different,' Jarod thought. Lyle's tone was gravelly and deeper than normal, as if his throat were raw.
"Only the special ones get a trip to the cabin." Lyle's beatific smile sent a shiver of trepidation down Jarod's spine. Lyle heaved a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair to straighten it. "How long have you known?" he asked.
"A while," Jarod admitted.
Lyle smirked uncaringly. Rummaging in a drawer he found a pack of cigarettes and lit one. "Does Parker know?" he asked exhaling a white cloud of smoke over their heads.
Jarod nodded.
"That explains a lot."
It was astounding. As Jarod watched, the dark creature that had been intent on murder a moment ago began to slip away. The erudite businessman returned, with his dashing smile and charming ways. It was as if Lyle's body held two visibly different people, a real life Jekyll and Hyde.
Jarod's thoughts must have been apparent on his face. "I'm not schizophrenic," Lyle said. "I'm perfectly cognizant of what I'm doing." He shrugged. "After all, we all have a dark side. I just give mine free reign once in a while. Doesn't everyone?"
"Your dark side kills people, Lyle." Jarod said.
"So does yours," Lyle pointed out in a soft, cruel voice.
Jarod gasped in pain. "That's different," he whispered.
Shrugging into his shirt, Lyle asked, "Why? Willie is just as dead as May Lin. Dead is dead."
"May Lin was an innocent."
"Everyone is guilty of something," Lyle smiled again.
Jarod was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. It felt as though a vice was clamping down on his chest. He didn't want to have this discussion any longer.
"You are what the Centre has made of you, Jarod," Lyle said. "Just like the rest of us. The only difference is that I embrace who I have become, while you wallow in self pity and martyrdom."
"They had no right to take me from my family," Jarod nearly whimpered.
Lyle's reaction was immediate and explosive. "You think I don't know that?" he screamed. "I was stolen from my parents as I left my mother's womb!"
Jarod involuntarily took a step backward, retreating from the other man's fury.
"Easy. Easy now," Lyle hushed. He held his hands forward in a calming gesture. Jarod wasn't sure which of them he was trying to soothe. He watched fearfully as Lyle approached him. Moving with a gentle slowness, Lyle stepped toward Jarod as though the pretender was a wild animal, ready to bolt.
Wide brown eyes stared into sharp blue ones as Lyle spoke. "We are kindred spirits you and I. No one knows your inner demons like I do."
As Lyle put his arm around his shoulders, Jarod felt a terrible need to cry. Desolation swept through him like a windstorm in the desert, leaving nothing in its wake but dry, barren sand. Lyle gave Jarod an amiable pat on the back before turning to locate his jacket.
"We've got work to do, partner," Lyle said. "The owner of this lovely establishment should have arrived by now. Let's go have a talk with him."
Jarod looked up in concern. "The girl will have called the authorities. We can't stay here."
"Don't worry about it," Lyle grinned. "They know me here."
Understanding dawned in Jarod's weary mind. "You've been here before. You could have killed that girl and no one would have done a thing about it," he said in awe.
"The trick is to know whom to pay," Lyle told him. "Come on, Jarod. We have a boy-toy to buy."
As Jarod followed Lyle out of the dingy room, he clamped a mental fist over the roiling in his stomach. With a heavy sigh he closed his eyes and tried to find that safe place in his mind. His years at the Centre had taught Jarod to find a mental sense of detachment, helping him to escape the pain and loneliness. He could function from that place for days.
Something told Jarod that he was going to need it.
