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Disclaimer: The characters portrayed in this story do not belong to me. They are the property of whoever created The Pretender. Actually, those guys have probably sold the rights by now and Jarod, Sydney and Miss Parker are owned by the same folks who own Mickey Mouse and Nabisco. Who knows? All I know is that I don’t own them, I’m not making money from them and this rant is just my feeble attempt at avoiding litigation.
Author’s Note: This story is a sequel to Seizing Destiny. If you haven’t read that story, this one won’t make much sense. Short synopsis is thus: Jarod’s mother is dead. This pissed J off to extremes. He and Parker and Lyle plotted together to gain control of the Centre. They have succeeded. Lyle and Jarod are forming a shaky truce between them. Jarod and Parker are sleeping together. Sydney doesn’t like Jarod working in The Tower and has made the mistake of saying so.
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Destiny Unfolding
Part 1
By Phenyx
03/13/05
Lyle flopped against the pillow and closed his eyes. Panting and covered in sweat, he smiled dreamily, unaware of the blissfully serene look on his face. The sound of a small sniffle and a wet cough floated on the edge of his awareness, but he chose to ignore the girl’s whimper. He clung viciously to the contentment he was feeling, for he knew it would evaporate only too soon.
He had needed this escape. He had needed it badly. The day had been a long and grueling exercise in restraint. Lyle wasn’t sure why he felt so affected. After all, it wasn’t as if they had been burying his mother.
It was Jarod’s mother that they had laid to rest this afternoon. She had been buried with little ceremony, only half a dozen mourners in attendance. Lyle had been among them. He had stood at Parker’s side as she stood at Jarod’s. No one had shed any tears at the graveside, though even a blind man could see how devastated Jarod had been.
Something about the desperation in Jarod’s eyes, his fierce grip on Parker’s hand and the anticlimactic thud of earth against the casket had echoed in Lyle’s being. Another dead mother, one Lyle had never met. By all accounts, Jarod’s mother had been a sweet and compassionate woman, yet Lyle knew she had hated him.
A spear of envy rose in Lyle’s chest, killing the satisfaction he had so briefly won. ‘Damn him,’ Lyle thought. ‘Damn him to hell.’ Jarod was always playing the victim, always the tortured soul. Did the dark-eyed pretender have any idea how lucky he was? At least Jarod had felt a mother’s love, no matter how briefly. At least Jarod’s mother had known he existed.
Even now, Jarod had everything Lyle longed for. As the moon began to rise in the night, Lyle could easily imagine how his rival was spending the evening. Jarod wouldn’t need to hire a prostitute. Lyle’s own sister would provide all the comfort Jarod would require. Behind closed eyelids, Lyle could almost see them. Jarod and Miss Parker engrossed in one another, loving one another, until nothing and no one else would matter.
With a sigh of frustration, Lyle opened his eyes and sat up. He gazed down at the naked girl at his side, staring at her with contempt for several moments. Her fair skin was blotchy and already bruising in spots. A cut above her lip had been bleeding profusely and one eye was swelling grotesquely.
For a full minute, Lyle contemplated killing her. Dispatching the young woman would be simple. A fistful of hair in one hand and a sudden wrenching of her head with the other and Lyle could finish her, perhaps finding another moment of ecstasy in the process.
Shaking his head ruefully, Lyle decided against it. Hiding the body would be more trouble than she was worth. Sliding out of bed, Lyle crossed the room without bothering to dress. He ducked into the bathroom and grabbed a cloth from beside the basin. As he returned to the girl, Lyle submersed the washcloth in the half melted bucket of ice on the nightstand.
The girl hissed air between her teeth when Lyle pressed the cold compress to her cheek. “Hush now,” Lyle soothed. “You’ll be fine.”
One deep brown eye stared up at Lyle warily. The other was hidden behind the girl’s tangled hair. “You ignored the safe-word, you bastard,” she moaned painfully. “You could have killed me.”
“But I didn’t.” Lyle smiled beautifully at her, giving her no clue how close her statement had come to being truth. The girl responded immediately to his charm. Her smiled wavered for a moment and then broadened crookedly.
“Miss Allie wasn’t joking about you liking it rough,” the girl said with chagrin.
Allison, the Madame from whom Lyle had acquired his current companion, had functioned in the girl’s stead on many occasions over the years. Older than Lyle by half a decade, Allison had received her share of beatings at his hands. Of course Allison, Miss Allie to her employees was a true masochist and had thoroughly enjoyed her encounters with Lyle.
“Do you need medical attention?” Lyle asked.
The girl shrugged. “Nah,” she said. “I’ll live.”
Lyle answered with an affectionate smile that belied the danger the girl had been in so briefly. With a quick pat on her thigh, Lyle said, “You need to get cleaned up. I’ll call and have the car brought around for you.”
Less than thirty minutes later, Lyle stood at the window of the hotel room as he watched the girl depart. From seven stories up, there wasn’t much detail to be seen. The large tip he’d offered for services rendered would be more than enough to ensure the hooker’s future cooperation.
Lyle gazed through the glass into the night long after the girl had gone. His mind kept returning to the solemn ceremony that had taken place earlier in the day. It bothered him, made him restless and uneasy. Yet he had no idea why. After several minutes of reflection, Lyle recognized his actions. He was depressed. He was disheartened, almost sad, as a result of the funeral service he had attended.
Wry laughter floated through the room. “Why do I even care?” Lyle asked himself aloud. He turned from the window and frowned. “I don’t,” he bit angrily. Striding to the bar, Lyle poured himself a healthy serving of brandy. As he drank, he found his gaze drawn to the nightstand and the phone that rested upon it.
Heaving a sigh of resignation, Lyle shook his head. He set his glass on the nightstand and picked up the telephone. With a weary acceptance of his defeat, he dialed the number. It took only a moment before the call was answered.
“What?” The familiar voice held its usual sharp tone while still being pitched low and hushed.
“Is he there?” Lyle asked.
Parker huffed. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” Lyle closed his eyes, repeating the statement in his mind, as though repetition could make it true. ‘I don’t.’ he thought. Aloud he said, “Let me talk to him.”
There was a hesitation from Lyle’s twin before she answered softly, “He’s asleep.”
“No,” Lyle told her. “He isn’t.”
Another long pause followed. In his mind’s eye, Lyle could see his sister’s uncertainty as she gazed at her bedmate. Whether Parker made the choice or the decision was made for her, Lyle didn’t know. But a moment later Lyle was no longer talking to Miss Parker.
“Lyle?” Jarod’s voice was deep and melodic as it always was. His tone gave no sign of his current mood.
“Jarod,” Lyle replied. He said nothing more, walking across the room to stare out the window again. He stood there for several minutes and allowed the silence to stretch between them unbroken.
Lyle sighed quietly and leaned his forehead against the cool glass pane. It frightened him, this eerily comforting connection that existed between him and Jarod. To hate and to be hated with such purity must be somewhat akin to the perfection of true love. At least Lyle liked to think so. And yet, he’d never known love, not really. It was only hatred that he really understood.
“Lyle,” Jarod said again. He didn’t question. He simply stated the name as though that single word held an encyclopedia of information. His voice was knowing and deliberate.
That was what concerned Lyle the most about Jarod. The pretender understood him, knew him in a way few had ever known him before. To understand a thing is to control it. Lyle had learned that lesson long ago, when Raines had first entered his life.
“Jarod.” Lyle nodded to the empty room. He ended the connection, hanging up on Jarod as Jarod had so often done to others. As he placed the receiver gently in its cradle, Lyle smiled to himself. He felt better. Despite the hatred that existed between them, Lyle had come to realize a fundamental truth. In all the world, it was only with Jarod that Lyle always knew exactly where he stood.
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Jarod silently handed the receiver back to Miss Parker. She took it, eyeing the device suspiciously before returning it to the cradle. Jarod sat in the bed with his back against the headboard, blankets pooling around his waist.
“What did he say?” Parker asked.
“Nothing,” was the reply.
The pinched look on Parker’s face made her disbelief obvious. “He must have wanted something,” she huffed.
“Undoubtedly.” Jarod shrugged. “But he didn’t say anything.”
Parker frowned. Turning awkwardly, she fluffed up her pillow, cushioning herself against it so that she could sit up beside Jarod. As she smoothed the quilt in place across her legs Parker shook her head in confusion. “Then why the call?” she pondered.
Jarod shrugged again. “My guess is, he was checking up on me.”
That response brought Parker’s head up with a snap. “You don’t really believe he gives a damn do you?” Her voice was icy with distaste.
Dark brown eyes studied Parker solemnly. A long moment passed before Jarod answered. “You underestimate him.”
“How so?” Parker crossed her arms, preparing for a lengthy discussion.
“He hasn’t completely lost his humanity,” Jarod said. “Beneath the many layers of monster, he does have a soul.”
Parker laughed. “You give him too much credit, Pez-head. You don’t know him like I do.”
“On the contrary,” Jarod argued softly. “I know him very well. Very well indeed.” He paused to lick his lips before continuing. “There is a part of me that is just like him.”
“Jarod.” Parker placed her hand on Jarod’s arm in a gentle caress. “You are not Lyle. Nothing about you is remotely like him. You abhor violence and do everything in your power to prevent it. Lyle enjoys it. He thrives on the pain of others.”
“Part of me,” Jarod began with a choked whisper. He swallowed hard then admitted, “Part of me enjoyed watching Willie suffer.” Jarod’s dark, pain-filled gaze wavered with unshed tears.
“You are a good man,” Parker insisted. “Faced with the consequences of a horrible encounter. And you’ve been torturing yourself with guilt ever since. I don’t see Lyle feeling remorse over the people he’s harmed in the past.”
Jarod straightened, propping his elbows on bent knees. “There is a frightening part of my psyche, a terrible, vicious aspect of my personality, that understands Lyle completely. It scares me, so I hide it. I bury those shadows, keeping them locked deep inside.” With a heavy sigh, Jarod continued his musings. “Lyle doesn’t hide that monster. He has no fear of it. Instead he embraces it.”
“He doesn’t recognize the evil in himself,” Parker said.
“I think he does,” Jarod told her. He turned and stared at Parker, his dark eyes boring into hers. “What if Lyle hides something else?”
“Like what?”
“What if,” Jarod wondered, “Deep down, Lyle still possesses the ability to care? What if, somewhere inside, Lyle hides a flicker of compassion?”
“No,” Parker snapped. “There is no room for kindness in a soul as black as his.”
“What if there is?” Jarod asked again. “How horrible would it be for him, to be so alone? Everything he could ever have cared about has been torn from him. Even his own twin despises him. What kind of loneliness must he endure? What vacuum of emotion is it that drives him to the desperation of that cabin in the woods?”
“Jarod,” Parker stated firmly. “There is nothing of humanity left in him. Remember who spawned him.”
Jarod smiled sadly. “Raines is your father too, Parker,” he said. “And yet, you’re still human. You can love.” As he spoke, Jarod leaned over and caressed Parker’s cheek with one hand.
Parker’s eyes fluttered closed in response to Jarod’s touch. In the resulting darkness, she could concentrate on the feel of Jarod’s flesh against her own. “It’s dangerous for you to think this way, Jarod,” she said. “You start feeling empathy for Lyle and he’ll use it against you.”
“Don’t misunderstand me, Parker.” Jarod replied in a disparaging tone. “Lyle and I are not about to start shooting hoops together or heading to the lake for a bit of fishing. Hate is a word that describes our feelings for each other quite well.
I will never forget who killed my brother,” Jarod went on. “And he will never forgive me for the loss of his thumb. I expect he and I will kill each other someday.”
“Don’t say that,” Parker hissed.
Jarod sighed. “I don’t trust him. Even if I wanted to, I doubt I could ever really let my guard down when it comes to Lyle.” Jarod paused for a long thoughtful moment. “But our positions could so easily have been reversed. If Raines had been the one to raise me, I could have turned out very much like your psychotic brother.”
Leaning back, Jarod pillowed his head against Parker’s shoulder and took her hand in his. “Sometimes I wonder what it must be like for him, to be so twisted that he can only find gratification in the feel of a pretty girl’s throat as he strangles her. Do you suppose they haunt him at all? Do the eyes of those he’s murdered chase him through his dreams?”
Running her hand through Jarod’s hair, Parker shook her head. “You feel responsible about things from your past that you had no control over, Jarod. Now, you’re superimposing your own emotions onto Lyle, assuming he must feel the way you do.”
“You sound like a shrink.” Jarod grinned wryly. “You’ve been spending way too much time in a certain psychiatrist’s office.”
Parker ignored him. “But Lyle is a true sociopath. He doesn’t feel remorse. He has no guilt with which to torture himself.”
“I hope you’re right,” Jarod said with a doubtful shake of his head. “The alternate possibility is that there is a conscience deep inside Lyle. A sane soul buried beneath decades of death and countless corpses.” Jarod gazed at Parker gravely. “I really hope you’re right,” he repeated. “Because the alternative is truly horrifying.”
Author’s Note: This story is a sequel to Seizing Destiny. If you haven’t read that story, this one won’t make much sense. Short synopsis is thus: Jarod’s mother is dead. This pissed J off to extremes. He and Parker and Lyle plotted together to gain control of the Centre. They have succeeded. Lyle and Jarod are forming a shaky truce between them. Jarod and Parker are sleeping together. Sydney doesn’t like Jarod working in The Tower and has made the mistake of saying so.
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Destiny Unfolding
Part 1
By Phenyx
03/13/05
Lyle flopped against the pillow and closed his eyes. Panting and covered in sweat, he smiled dreamily, unaware of the blissfully serene look on his face. The sound of a small sniffle and a wet cough floated on the edge of his awareness, but he chose to ignore the girl’s whimper. He clung viciously to the contentment he was feeling, for he knew it would evaporate only too soon.
He had needed this escape. He had needed it badly. The day had been a long and grueling exercise in restraint. Lyle wasn’t sure why he felt so affected. After all, it wasn’t as if they had been burying his mother.
It was Jarod’s mother that they had laid to rest this afternoon. She had been buried with little ceremony, only half a dozen mourners in attendance. Lyle had been among them. He had stood at Parker’s side as she stood at Jarod’s. No one had shed any tears at the graveside, though even a blind man could see how devastated Jarod had been.
Something about the desperation in Jarod’s eyes, his fierce grip on Parker’s hand and the anticlimactic thud of earth against the casket had echoed in Lyle’s being. Another dead mother, one Lyle had never met. By all accounts, Jarod’s mother had been a sweet and compassionate woman, yet Lyle knew she had hated him.
A spear of envy rose in Lyle’s chest, killing the satisfaction he had so briefly won. ‘Damn him,’ Lyle thought. ‘Damn him to hell.’ Jarod was always playing the victim, always the tortured soul. Did the dark-eyed pretender have any idea how lucky he was? At least Jarod had felt a mother’s love, no matter how briefly. At least Jarod’s mother had known he existed.
Even now, Jarod had everything Lyle longed for. As the moon began to rise in the night, Lyle could easily imagine how his rival was spending the evening. Jarod wouldn’t need to hire a prostitute. Lyle’s own sister would provide all the comfort Jarod would require. Behind closed eyelids, Lyle could almost see them. Jarod and Miss Parker engrossed in one another, loving one another, until nothing and no one else would matter.
With a sigh of frustration, Lyle opened his eyes and sat up. He gazed down at the naked girl at his side, staring at her with contempt for several moments. Her fair skin was blotchy and already bruising in spots. A cut above her lip had been bleeding profusely and one eye was swelling grotesquely.
For a full minute, Lyle contemplated killing her. Dispatching the young woman would be simple. A fistful of hair in one hand and a sudden wrenching of her head with the other and Lyle could finish her, perhaps finding another moment of ecstasy in the process.
Shaking his head ruefully, Lyle decided against it. Hiding the body would be more trouble than she was worth. Sliding out of bed, Lyle crossed the room without bothering to dress. He ducked into the bathroom and grabbed a cloth from beside the basin. As he returned to the girl, Lyle submersed the washcloth in the half melted bucket of ice on the nightstand.
The girl hissed air between her teeth when Lyle pressed the cold compress to her cheek. “Hush now,” Lyle soothed. “You’ll be fine.”
One deep brown eye stared up at Lyle warily. The other was hidden behind the girl’s tangled hair. “You ignored the safe-word, you bastard,” she moaned painfully. “You could have killed me.”
“But I didn’t.” Lyle smiled beautifully at her, giving her no clue how close her statement had come to being truth. The girl responded immediately to his charm. Her smiled wavered for a moment and then broadened crookedly.
“Miss Allie wasn’t joking about you liking it rough,” the girl said with chagrin.
Allison, the Madame from whom Lyle had acquired his current companion, had functioned in the girl’s stead on many occasions over the years. Older than Lyle by half a decade, Allison had received her share of beatings at his hands. Of course Allison, Miss Allie to her employees was a true masochist and had thoroughly enjoyed her encounters with Lyle.
“Do you need medical attention?” Lyle asked.
The girl shrugged. “Nah,” she said. “I’ll live.”
Lyle answered with an affectionate smile that belied the danger the girl had been in so briefly. With a quick pat on her thigh, Lyle said, “You need to get cleaned up. I’ll call and have the car brought around for you.”
Less than thirty minutes later, Lyle stood at the window of the hotel room as he watched the girl depart. From seven stories up, there wasn’t much detail to be seen. The large tip he’d offered for services rendered would be more than enough to ensure the hooker’s future cooperation.
Lyle gazed through the glass into the night long after the girl had gone. His mind kept returning to the solemn ceremony that had taken place earlier in the day. It bothered him, made him restless and uneasy. Yet he had no idea why. After several minutes of reflection, Lyle recognized his actions. He was depressed. He was disheartened, almost sad, as a result of the funeral service he had attended.
Wry laughter floated through the room. “Why do I even care?” Lyle asked himself aloud. He turned from the window and frowned. “I don’t,” he bit angrily. Striding to the bar, Lyle poured himself a healthy serving of brandy. As he drank, he found his gaze drawn to the nightstand and the phone that rested upon it.
Heaving a sigh of resignation, Lyle shook his head. He set his glass on the nightstand and picked up the telephone. With a weary acceptance of his defeat, he dialed the number. It took only a moment before the call was answered.
“What?” The familiar voice held its usual sharp tone while still being pitched low and hushed.
“Is he there?” Lyle asked.
Parker huffed. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” Lyle closed his eyes, repeating the statement in his mind, as though repetition could make it true. ‘I don’t.’ he thought. Aloud he said, “Let me talk to him.”
There was a hesitation from Lyle’s twin before she answered softly, “He’s asleep.”
“No,” Lyle told her. “He isn’t.”
Another long pause followed. In his mind’s eye, Lyle could see his sister’s uncertainty as she gazed at her bedmate. Whether Parker made the choice or the decision was made for her, Lyle didn’t know. But a moment later Lyle was no longer talking to Miss Parker.
“Lyle?” Jarod’s voice was deep and melodic as it always was. His tone gave no sign of his current mood.
“Jarod,” Lyle replied. He said nothing more, walking across the room to stare out the window again. He stood there for several minutes and allowed the silence to stretch between them unbroken.
Lyle sighed quietly and leaned his forehead against the cool glass pane. It frightened him, this eerily comforting connection that existed between him and Jarod. To hate and to be hated with such purity must be somewhat akin to the perfection of true love. At least Lyle liked to think so. And yet, he’d never known love, not really. It was only hatred that he really understood.
“Lyle,” Jarod said again. He didn’t question. He simply stated the name as though that single word held an encyclopedia of information. His voice was knowing and deliberate.
That was what concerned Lyle the most about Jarod. The pretender understood him, knew him in a way few had ever known him before. To understand a thing is to control it. Lyle had learned that lesson long ago, when Raines had first entered his life.
“Jarod.” Lyle nodded to the empty room. He ended the connection, hanging up on Jarod as Jarod had so often done to others. As he placed the receiver gently in its cradle, Lyle smiled to himself. He felt better. Despite the hatred that existed between them, Lyle had come to realize a fundamental truth. In all the world, it was only with Jarod that Lyle always knew exactly where he stood.
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Jarod silently handed the receiver back to Miss Parker. She took it, eyeing the device suspiciously before returning it to the cradle. Jarod sat in the bed with his back against the headboard, blankets pooling around his waist.
“What did he say?” Parker asked.
“Nothing,” was the reply.
The pinched look on Parker’s face made her disbelief obvious. “He must have wanted something,” she huffed.
“Undoubtedly.” Jarod shrugged. “But he didn’t say anything.”
Parker frowned. Turning awkwardly, she fluffed up her pillow, cushioning herself against it so that she could sit up beside Jarod. As she smoothed the quilt in place across her legs Parker shook her head in confusion. “Then why the call?” she pondered.
Jarod shrugged again. “My guess is, he was checking up on me.”
That response brought Parker’s head up with a snap. “You don’t really believe he gives a damn do you?” Her voice was icy with distaste.
Dark brown eyes studied Parker solemnly. A long moment passed before Jarod answered. “You underestimate him.”
“How so?” Parker crossed her arms, preparing for a lengthy discussion.
“He hasn’t completely lost his humanity,” Jarod said. “Beneath the many layers of monster, he does have a soul.”
Parker laughed. “You give him too much credit, Pez-head. You don’t know him like I do.”
“On the contrary,” Jarod argued softly. “I know him very well. Very well indeed.” He paused to lick his lips before continuing. “There is a part of me that is just like him.”
“Jarod.” Parker placed her hand on Jarod’s arm in a gentle caress. “You are not Lyle. Nothing about you is remotely like him. You abhor violence and do everything in your power to prevent it. Lyle enjoys it. He thrives on the pain of others.”
“Part of me,” Jarod began with a choked whisper. He swallowed hard then admitted, “Part of me enjoyed watching Willie suffer.” Jarod’s dark, pain-filled gaze wavered with unshed tears.
“You are a good man,” Parker insisted. “Faced with the consequences of a horrible encounter. And you’ve been torturing yourself with guilt ever since. I don’t see Lyle feeling remorse over the people he’s harmed in the past.”
Jarod straightened, propping his elbows on bent knees. “There is a frightening part of my psyche, a terrible, vicious aspect of my personality, that understands Lyle completely. It scares me, so I hide it. I bury those shadows, keeping them locked deep inside.” With a heavy sigh, Jarod continued his musings. “Lyle doesn’t hide that monster. He has no fear of it. Instead he embraces it.”
“He doesn’t recognize the evil in himself,” Parker said.
“I think he does,” Jarod told her. He turned and stared at Parker, his dark eyes boring into hers. “What if Lyle hides something else?”
“Like what?”
“What if,” Jarod wondered, “Deep down, Lyle still possesses the ability to care? What if, somewhere inside, Lyle hides a flicker of compassion?”
“No,” Parker snapped. “There is no room for kindness in a soul as black as his.”
“What if there is?” Jarod asked again. “How horrible would it be for him, to be so alone? Everything he could ever have cared about has been torn from him. Even his own twin despises him. What kind of loneliness must he endure? What vacuum of emotion is it that drives him to the desperation of that cabin in the woods?”
“Jarod,” Parker stated firmly. “There is nothing of humanity left in him. Remember who spawned him.”
Jarod smiled sadly. “Raines is your father too, Parker,” he said. “And yet, you’re still human. You can love.” As he spoke, Jarod leaned over and caressed Parker’s cheek with one hand.
Parker’s eyes fluttered closed in response to Jarod’s touch. In the resulting darkness, she could concentrate on the feel of Jarod’s flesh against her own. “It’s dangerous for you to think this way, Jarod,” she said. “You start feeling empathy for Lyle and he’ll use it against you.”
“Don’t misunderstand me, Parker.” Jarod replied in a disparaging tone. “Lyle and I are not about to start shooting hoops together or heading to the lake for a bit of fishing. Hate is a word that describes our feelings for each other quite well.
I will never forget who killed my brother,” Jarod went on. “And he will never forgive me for the loss of his thumb. I expect he and I will kill each other someday.”
“Don’t say that,” Parker hissed.
Jarod sighed. “I don’t trust him. Even if I wanted to, I doubt I could ever really let my guard down when it comes to Lyle.” Jarod paused for a long thoughtful moment. “But our positions could so easily have been reversed. If Raines had been the one to raise me, I could have turned out very much like your psychotic brother.”
Leaning back, Jarod pillowed his head against Parker’s shoulder and took her hand in his. “Sometimes I wonder what it must be like for him, to be so twisted that he can only find gratification in the feel of a pretty girl’s throat as he strangles her. Do you suppose they haunt him at all? Do the eyes of those he’s murdered chase him through his dreams?”
Running her hand through Jarod’s hair, Parker shook her head. “You feel responsible about things from your past that you had no control over, Jarod. Now, you’re superimposing your own emotions onto Lyle, assuming he must feel the way you do.”
“You sound like a shrink.” Jarod grinned wryly. “You’ve been spending way too much time in a certain psychiatrist’s office.”
Parker ignored him. “But Lyle is a true sociopath. He doesn’t feel remorse. He has no guilt with which to torture himself.”
“I hope you’re right,” Jarod said with a doubtful shake of his head. “The alternate possibility is that there is a conscience deep inside Lyle. A sane soul buried beneath decades of death and countless corpses.” Jarod gazed at Parker gravely. “I really hope you’re right,” he repeated. “Because the alternative is truly horrifying.”
