CHAPTER 11 - Changing Tides

HOUSE OF BROOTS, BLUE COVE, DELAWARE 

Miss Parker lingered a few feet away from the small den/converted office in Broots’ suburban home. Sydney sat oblivious at the small oak desk, his hand twiddling a pencil absentmindedly over a blank piece of paper.

Warm laughter erupted in the kitchen, and Parker turned briefly towards the warm glow that was seeping into the dark living room. Jay had been with them for three weeks, and had formed an instant bond with the geeky tech. The two had become inseparable. Although her input in the logistics of the plan was significant, Parker felt like an almost useless component of the so-called research team. She could only imagine how much the feeling was amplified in the psychiatrist who sat before her.

Both Sydney and she had wronged Jarod in so many ways over the years, her sins more recent, the shrink’s likely repressed behind a wall containing decades of memories and misrepresented deeds. Jay symbolise everything that Jarod had not been allowed to become. Each of them had played a role in stealing his life, his hopes, and his dreams.

With one last glance towards the orange glow, Parker walked the remaining distance to the isolated office, to the psychiatrist who sat lost in his memories, in the dark.

“Penny for your thoughts, Syd?” She offered kindly, giving the shrink a small smile of comfort, as he was clearly roused from his train of reflection. The two simultaneously looking back towards the kitchen, as another round of laughter erupted.

“Care to join me outside?” Parker pressed, Sydney giving a small nod and following her onto the small front porch and the much despised wicker furniture. Winter was finally lifting, and the first warm spring nights were starting to infiltrate the state. It wouldn’t be long until the first sprouts began to cover the trees.

“Jay doesn’t know, does he?” Sydney questioned vaguely.

Parker shook her head, no need for clarification. “As far as I know he hasn’t seen any of the footage they’ve been downloading from the Triumvirate server. I asked him to stay away from it, and for now he seems to be respecting our wishes.”

“It’s imperative we keep it that way.” Sydney cautioned. “Jay doesn’t need to live with those visions in his head. No-one does.”

Parker sighed as her own mind begin to relive the video footage that Broots had shown her last night. He and Jay had lost their path into Jarod’s folder on the network, and had been forced to find another way in. The footage they had watched last night was two weeks old, and none of the three had the stomach, or the heart to watch anymore. She had to admit it was almost genius on the Triumvirate’s part, using Henrik to find a way into Jarod’s soul.

 “No matter what we saw Sydney, you have to take comfort in the fact that Jarod is still there. He’s punching back sarcasm in a way that confirms our beloved boy-wonder is still alive and kicking.” Parker remarked.

“I saw a much different Jarod than what you saw Parker. He’s been repressing himself, hiding from his situation in his mind. I’m may be worried about his physical well-being, but I am seriously afraid for his mental status.” Sydney pointed out.

Parker pursed her lips as she contemplated Sydney’s troubled words. She had seen the panicked look of disbelief as Jarod had finally focused on the five pictures that had been pinned up in front of him. It was such a simple solution; she almost was surprised it had taken a pretender to conceptualize it. All of this time, the answer to Jarod’s cooperation had lain in a storage room in the Centre. How could it be that no one had thought of it sooner? Threaten the very people who Jarod was trying to atone for his past sins with.

Perhaps only her pursuit team had realized the depth of Jarod’s compassion, or maybe the lack of compassion that existed in Raines and Lyle had prevented them from realizing the significance of the people Jarod had helped.

They were all Jarod had for the first two years of his freedom anyway. One person at a time he tried to chip away at the guilt, forging relationships and bonds he could treasure forever, even after parting ways.

“Broots and Jay are getting close.” She reminded the psychiatrist gently. It had taken only one week for Jay to have a plan of action. The boy worked unrelentingly, taking a break only when one of the adults intervened.

“I just keep thinking about what Jarod would say if he were here.” Sydney stated honestly. “Both you and I could have done much more to keep him out of Africa. This ending is entirely our fault.”

“We were just pawns Sydney. Jarod would have ended up in Africa regardless of what we had done.” Parker argued back.

Sydney shook his head sadly, a bitter smile now dominating his features. “Don’t you see Miss Parker? I’ve tricked myself into believing that for years. Just a pawn. But the reality is, the solution was always there, it just took a much braver path to confront it.”

“What? The path of suicide? At the hands of the Centre? Give yourself a break Sydney. Think about where Jarod would be today had you not been in his life.” Parker pressed. “Had you taken that other path the word of the way would not be brave, it would be abandonment.”

“Think about where he would be if…” Sydney started only to be cut off.

 “Enough Syd,” Parker interrupted fiercely. “We can’t do this, not now. Let’s just get him back, and then you can fall to pieces, bow down and beg his forgiveness. Don’t fall apart on me; Jarod needs you more than he ever has. For once in your life, step in and help him instead of sitting on the sidelines.”

Sydney sat back in the rickety wicker chair. “His eyes, I have never seen such pain, not since that night in Dry River.” 

“I know Syd. I know.”

“I can barely stomach the thought of what has happened since,” Sydney admitted.

“You already know the answer to that. Jarod’s doing what he’s done his entire life – he’s surviving.” Parker stated with forced confidence.

“Once, when Jarod was in his late teens, I caught him rifling through my desk the day before my traditional leave for the Christmas holidays,” The psychiatrist reminisced.

“I assume he wasn’t searching for the gift you forgot to put under the tree,” Parker remarked sarcastically.

“That’s just it Parker. He wouldn’t admit to anything, but I soon realized that he was looking for information.” Sydney continued.

“About what? His parents?” She questioned.

The psychiatrist shook his head. “No, far from it. He was trying to figure out where I went, why I disappeared for two weeks at the end of every year. My two weeks off can only be described as a living nightmare for Jarod.”

“Raines.” Parker stated unnecessarily as the shrink nodded in agreement.

“For years I ignored the signs, chose not to see them, while Jarod suffered.” Sydney confessed. “This is no different. Jarod was terrified to go to Africa and I couldn’t extend my neck out enough to even accompany him to the airplane. He was facing his most terrifying demon, and I let him do it alone; while I was drinking scotch in my office, and waiting for the good news phone call that never came.”

“Why are you doing this to yourself Sydney? Getting yourself killed will help no one – it never does. Look at my mother, what happened to her as she tried to protect those she loved.” Parker pleaded, her voice cracking at the rare mention of Catherine.

Sydney stood up. “At least she tried, Miss Parker. I’ve analyzed my life, my choices in more ways than I care to quantify. When Jarod comes back, it will be time to make some changes in my life. May I suggest you do the same?” He finished abruptly, disappearing back into the house.

Parker sat in an almost shocked silence. It had taken so much self reflection to get to this point, sitting outside Broots’ house, conspiracy against men and an organization more corrupt and powerful than most could imagine, all to bring home their lost pretender. 

What more could she do?

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS, AFRICA

Jarod focused intently on the three schematics before him, the figures on the bright white paper dancing in front of him. With a frustrated sigh, he turned away from the diagrams briefly.

He closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead, wanting nothing more than to linger, to allow his mind a few precious moments to escape.

But they came, appearing instantly when his eyes were closed, surrounding him until he thought he would suffocate from their sheer numbers.

Sometimes they had faces, expressions, and other days they were shapeless grey masses screaming in despair. The souls of the people whose lives he destroyed to save the ones of those he knew.

Jarod had tried to rationalize it. The people he had helped on his pretends, were in immediate danger. The simulations could take months, sometimes years before their ultimate purpose was executed. He could be free, prevent the tragedies.

It was nothing but empty excuses, the desperate rationalization of a murderer. Was this how Mr. Parker carried on as he had? Cause-effect, action with a logical purpose. Nothing was unjustified in the big scheme of things. What about Lyle and Raines, how did the live with the evil things they had done, pointless justification or were their souls so truly far gone that the literally just didn’t give a damn?

Jarod wouldn’t forget the people he would never know, or see, he would carry their pain in his soul for the rest of his life. It was one of the few things still left in his power, the sacrifice he made to keep JR playing basketball, Susan Granger reuniting broken families, the Arnold Family from experiencing another tragedy, the list was endless.

“Daydreaming again?” The angered voice of his African handler broke through his tortured thoughts, pulling him back to reality, the schematics, the families he was about to destroy.

Jarod remained silent, turning back to the diagrams.

“If I had a 3D model of the building I could -” Jarod tried to reason with the man.

“You’ve been given adequate resources to complete the simulation. This is your second warning.” The tall man responded with a clearly unimpressed tone, very similar to one the pretender had heard from Raines over the years. Jarod had no doubt he could come up with a plan, one that would likely be successful, but the more he knew, the better his simulation would be, the more innocent lives he could protect. As to whether the African suspected that or not, he was in the dark.

Jarod sighed loudly, the extent to which he dared to vocalize his disdain towards his current situation. As if the man had any concept of what Jarod needed. He closed his eyes, seeing through the grey masses that assaulted his vision; trying to visualize a solution to the problem he had been assigned. Focus was so difficult.

Sydney came to his mind this time, and Jarod felt himself yearning for the comfort and guidance he knew his Belgian mentor would provide. The African was never more than a few feet away, allowing Jarod no freedom, no room to breath, always threatening, never supporting.

This simulation was extremely complex. The client was obviously trying to stage a coup; Jarod had a feeling it was for a nearby African nation, and not that it was information to which he was privy. He was working on the draft plan for taking control of the main legislative building, an act that would coincide with seizure of the main branch of the national bank, University administration building, local hospital and water treatment and energy facilities.

The blueprints were engraved in his brain, but it wasn’t enough, he needed more. Needed to see more of the building, visualize the best plan of attack.

He shook his head in frustration before turning away and walking towards his workspace, the large table covered with an organized chaos of papers.

“I need more information.” He stated again neutrally before taking a seat, staring at the small map of the city he had been given.

The guards appeared almost out of nowhere, although they were never far behind. Jarod allowed himself to go limp as they each grabbed an arm and dragged him back to the wall that had the schematics on display.

“You could have just asked.” Jarod remarked dryly as they let him go about three feet from the wall.

“I instructed you to study the schematics, and you shall remain standing here, at this exact spot, unless I instruct you otherwise. Understood?” The African chided.

Jarod refused to vocalize his assent, as his gaze turned once again to the blueprints on the wall. He had submitted, was performing their tasks like the trained monkey he was so fondly compared to by the dark man. It seemed as if they wouldn’t be satisfied until he was a compliant drone, acquiescing to their every command without hesitation.

He was holding on by the thinnest of threads, his sarcasm and disobedience his only outlet for the mountain of resentment and despair that was building up within.

The blueprints continued to dance in his mind, as Jarod shook his head gently, trying to clear the haze that was preventing him from finding the solution. He took a step backwards, only to find himself back in the unforgiving grips of the two guards.

“I’m trying.” He muttered through gritted teeth and his arms were roughly pulled behind him and secured.

“Your skills have clearly suffered from your little bout of freedom. I’ll be back at the end of the day, at which point you will give the solution. Until then you are to remain glued to this spot. Do I need to add the or else?” His handler threatened.

“I wouldn’t be looking at these diagrams if that part wasn’t clear.” Jarod answered smartly. He imagined the scowl he knew would be on the African’s face should he dare to look up. The dark man lingered for a few moments but his retreating steps were soon heard. Jarod exhaled almost gratefully as the two guards finally released him from their grips. He relaxed his shoulders and slowly brought his eyes back up to the three blueprints. He blinked, the lines slowly blurring until he could almost see the shadows of the people who would be working in the building, those whose lives would be lost. He blinked again, the happy face of JR as he ran down the basketball court, his mother cheering proudly on the sidelines, the happiness. The cheering in his mind turning to screaming, pleas of the dead.

He felt a lone tear fall as he lowered his head momentarily, allowing his thoughts to drain from him.

Minutes later a hardened face was lifted, cold eyes staring unrelenting at the blueprints, Jarod ignoring the part of him that was screaming for relief.

There was no escape for him. 

 HOUSE OF BROOTS, BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

The room was tense. The warm glow Parker had often envied over the past weeks now seemed harsh and florescent.

The four occupants sat around the oak table, staring at the photos and paperwork scattered across it.

Broots was the first to speak. “I.. I can’t help but to feel like were treating this like a game of chess. Like Africa is the King and I’m the sneaky Knight sent in for the kill.”

Parker shot him an unimpressed look. “An inspired analogy.” She turned towards the psychiatrist on her left, his expression was pensive as ever. “Syd?”

“I feel like I’m looking over results of a simulation, something Jarod could have handed me.” Sydney admitted, with obvious praise for Jay. “How did you even begin to find this information?”

Broots easily fielded the question. “We searched for days, Jay was adamant that there had to be something out there.”

“Men are so predictable, especially powerful ones,” Parker added.

Broots glanced at Parker briefly, before continuing on with an excited tone. “Jay found the information; it was like a Pandora’s Box, once we had tagged the file, the electronic trail just lit up.”

“How can you be sure this information is what it seems? From what I’ve read, we are drawing conclusions from circumstantial information at best.” Sydney continued his protests.  

“You were the one who raised Jarod, am I right Sydney?” Parker asked with a scowl.

“Even simulations are completed using a rigid framework Miss Parker. To draw conclusions, you need a solid base from which to draw from.” Sydney pointed out. “While this plan is well thought out and detailed, I’m worried that our structure is lacking.” 

“There is more you are not saying.” Parker pressed, her eyes turning towards the quiet teen on her right. His gaze was on the table, his emotions impossible to read.

“Miss Parker, this reads as if an army of men should be pulling it off, not a small group whose headquarters is on a kitchen table in the suburbs.” Sydney argued with a tone of exasperation. 

“What happened to doing whatever it takes, despite the consequences?” She retorted with an edge to her tone, recalling the abrupt nature to which Sydney had left her sitting on the porch several days earlier.

The psychiatrist gave her an impassive look. “I would have thought the concept of conspiring with Lyle would have been the first indication that any possible benefits are seriously outweighed by the consequences.”

“Funny coming from the man who used Lyle to get himself a get out of renewal wing for free card.” Parker argued back, aware of the maliciousness of her words. She watched as the psychiatrist clenched his jaw, but made no move to respond to her words.

“Sydney, it’s not like we are ambushing Africa with Broots relieving his old childhood GI-Joe fantasies. This is more like puppeteering; something I think your generation is more familiar with.” She added, trying to lighten the mood, feeling Jay’s eyes upon her.

“I understand.” Jay spoke. “It’s ambitious, and risky. If anyone were to anticipate our actions…”

“They won’t.” Parker said confidently, looking around the table to the two men that sat nervously beside her.

“Is there even a contingency plan? Jarod was raised to examine every potential possibility. We owe it to him, to ourselves, to do the same!” Sydney argued.

“This isn’t the sim lab Sydney. Look around you! We are not simulating virtual reality, we are living it. This is no hypothetical situation that we were contracted to dream up. This is the real deal. The longer we spend sitting around here arguing, it’s another minute that Jarod is…” Parker couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence, especially not in Jay’s presence.

“I’ve told you before Miss Parker, I will do whatever it takes. This risk we share it equally. If there was anyway for me, and me alone to shoulder this burden I would. I may owe Jarod my life, but I won’t trade his at the expense of yours.” Sydney finally stated.

“Please. We have to do this.” Jay pleaded. “It’s not just about Jarod. It’s about my family. I’m willing to risk everything to have them back, at the price of loosing them forever. If we don’t do this now, it will be too late, for all of us, for all of you.” 

Parker glanced at the young teen with admiration, surprised at the strength of his tone as Jay gazed pleadingly into Sydney’s eyes.

The same deep, dark brown eyes she had taken comfort in as a small child.

Sydney sighed deeply and sat back against his chair thoughtfully.

Broots and Miss Parker each gave Jay a small smile, recognizing the body language in their colleague. He may be reluctant, but Sydney was all in.

SEVERAL HOURS LATER

Broots watched from the porch as Miss Parker and Sydney drove away in their respective cars, taking a few moments to enjoy the peaceful silence of the brisk spring evening.

It was hard to believe that winter had flown by. Two short months and Debbie would be home from Paris. God he missed her. Her exchange to France was almost like a cruel tease, preparing him for when she would leave for college. Time flew by, for the lucky ones anyway.

How slow the seconds must be passing for Jarod. The pursuit for the pretender had been such a challenge, fun really. He had seldom paused to actually remember what the end goal was, and what it would do to his prey.

The footage from Africa was simply indescribable. The senseless abuse, the degrading routine Jarod was forced to live day in and day out. How had his life led him there? 

Unwilling to reflect any longer, Broots turned back into his house, and slowly moved back into the kitchen, giving his watch a glance as he moved into the light. It was nearly 2 am. So many late nights and far too many early mornings, it was a miracle he was awake, let alone functioning.

Jay’s eyes were on him the instant Broots came into the room, the tech yawning as the true magnitude of his exhaustion began to weigh down on him. He didn’t fail to notice as the teen’s eyes flickered to the monitor briefly, and a quick mouse click was made before Broots could see the contents on the screen.

“You’re hiding something.” Jay stated with a small dose of accusation mixed into his otherwise even tone.

“I’m an adult; it’s apparently what we do. Hide things from children.” Broots admitted truthfully. 

“I know it’s really bad,” Jay asserted, as Broots allowed a loud sigh to escape. “Why won’t you just tell me what is happening with Jarod? I was the one who found the access to the footage in the first place.” The young pretender argued.

Broots just shrugged. “You are right, no one can stop you. So there must be a reason you haven’t looked,” He pointed out, aware his tone was borderline parental.

Jay looked away, his voice halting as he spoke, “Miss Parker. She made me promise. For someone who is refreshingly honest, for her to ask me to stay ignorant to Jarod’s reality, it has to be worse than my imagination.”

“You should be having this conversation with her.” Broots replied.

The teen shook his head. “I was hoping for a sign that perhaps I was only paranoid, that this fear that lives inside of me was not warranted. The more Sydney and Miss Parker try to hide me from the truth, the worse this feeling gets.”

Broots sighed, at a loss for words. He too could feel the same ball of fear in the pit of his stomach, of apprehension every time he swallowed, only his was rolled up in guilt. 

Broots glanced down at Jay, who was looking up at him expectantly. “Jarod is stronger than any man I have ever met. If anyone can survive this, it will be him,” He finally managed to offer to appease the teen.

Jay nodded slowly, his face suddenly betraying his deep state of exhaustion.

“Hey, why don’t you head up to bed? I’ll finishing programming our uploading queue.” Broots offered, surprised when the teen accepted his offer without argument.

“Good night Broots.” Jay said timidly as he exited the kitchen.

The tech glanced at his watch once again as the slender teen exited the room, muttering to himself, “Morning more like it.”

As he heard the wooden staircase creak under Jay’s weight, Broots quickly moved to the computer and with a quick command retrieved the webpage Jay had been looking at while the tech had been absent.

He found himself surprised to be reloading the boy’s web-based email account, the inbox containing nearly twenty emails from the same sender; Emily, Jarod’s sister.

All unopened, unread, unanswered.

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS, AFRICA

Jarod pushed his bowl away, leaving the last few spoonfuls untouched. He had forced the unappetizing meal down, something that resembled rice but was obviously fortified with additional vitamins and proteins to keep his brain sharp and focused. The African version of green slop, and it was equally as scrumptious.

“Back to work.” He was reprimanded sharply by the tall African man who sat across the table, working away on his laptop. Jarod obediently pulled the opened file within his line of vision. He had completed the simulation for infiltrating the government buildings and no sooner had he written his last word on the report had the next sim been dropped onto the table in front of him, the laptop he had used to summarize his findings, removed. His computer access was so tightly controlled, not that he could do much without a network card in the first place.    

Jarod stared at the contents, his brain barely absorbing the words and images before him. Instead his mind was racing, cycling images around his brain like a slideshow projector. 

The security guard who would be killed when his simulation was put to use, the maintenance workers who would be comprised, used sacrificial lambs. Did they have families, children, parents who would mourn them? The government officials who would be ousted, would they be shown compassion?

He had tried so hard to prevent innocent lives from being lost, but when pulling strings for powerful men pitted against powerful men, not even his genius could find a way in without bloodshed.

“Focus.” The angry voice of his handler sounded, splicing into Jarod’s thoughts. He scowled, further spreading out the contents of the file folder, his required background reading in front of him. He briefly focused on placing a thoughtful expression on his features, as he studied the documents, pretending to absorb the contents. The work was non-stop, never a break, rarely a moment for reflection. His every move, twitches were questioned and any behaviour classified as inappropriate was readily punished.

It was quite the contrast to his time spent under Sydney’s guidance and tutelage. He found himself almost conjuring the words his mentor might say in his mind, offering him the support and comfort that Jarod needed to get through the difficult sims. Not that any of them were easy. He could see the counter steadily increasing in his mind, the lives that would be lost because of what he thought up. 

This sim was no different than the others. This client wanted a security system designed; their warehouse held what Jarod suspected had to be contraband of some sort. Would he be designing the system, or giving the client the ability to use any inherent weaknesses in the system to their ultimate and deadly advantage? 

Jarod became aware of a shifting from behind him; he looked up slightly, enough to find the overbearing form of his African handler to his right.

“Bedtime?” He asked with disinterest.

The African man responded authoritatively, “Watch your tone. One miss-step and I could have you work until the next light of day.”

“That would be rather difficult, given it’s been at least two months since I have seen the so-called light of day.” Jarod muttered, making a show of collecting up the contents of the folder, gathering them into a neat pile with a sharp thump on the table, aware he was being studied intently as usual.  He’d always known he was watched at the Centre but he’d never expected the degree of intrusion into his soul as the Africans had apparently perfected. 

The other man finally spoke, “I can’t help but speculate you may actually prefer to stay here in the lab instead of getting your beauty sleep in our high quality zoo cages.” 

Hearing the guard approach him from behind, the handcuffs clanging slightly in the background, Jarod reluctantly stood up and placed his hands behind his back, not responding to his handler’s comment.

The African stepped close to Jarod. “You might think that I am satisfied with you once again being our obedient pretender, but the simulations are only half of what I require of you. Now that we have negotiated that unfortunate hurdle, it’s time to work on your attitude. Let me offer you a piece of free advice; embrace your destiny. It will make this journey a lot easier, for both of us,” He concluded. 

Jarod moved to respond but the guard behind him dutifully placed the hood over his head, escorting the pretender out of the lab and towards his cell. His attitude, his will to fight, he would never give those up, never become their complacent servant. As long as his soul still suffered, agonized over the murders he was forced to conceptualize, there was still a chance that he could escape, that he could once again return to his life of making things right, balancing the scales.

He feared how much farther this handler was willing to go to gain not only his cooperation but total compliance. His current position was volatile, and although he felt as if he had been forced over the edge, he was still clinging on, with desperately clawing fingers. Given one strong gust of wind, would he have the strength to hold on? 

Jarod was pulled out of his reflections as the tracking device on his ankle beeped incessantly while he was guided through the small maze of corridors that led to his cell. Arriving at his destination, the hood was pulled off, the handcuffs released and two white sedatives placed into his hand.

He had fought the pills only twice, both times resulting in him being humiliated by receiving the drug via injection straight into his upper thigh. It wasn’t worth the struggle or the resulting overnight restraints. The resulting haze from the pills in the morning, was easier to claw his way out of as they offered a milder dose coupled with a less acute effect. 

Forcing the pills down his dry throat, Jarod walked into the cage. He tried not to flinch, when the barred door swung shut behind him.

How many nights had he spent locked up? He should be beyond caring capacity at this point.

Dejectedly, Jarod sank down into what had become his corner in the shared cell. The men in the cage with him kept their distance from him, no doubt because his presence automatically brought increased attention from the guards. He kept his head down, not wanting to deal with the elderly gentleman who continually tried to form a connection with him.

A man who sentenced himself to this life through what Jarod could only believe had to be greed and deception. The man had more or less insinuated that most of the men who get in this room were steps away from unnatural death. This was obviously not Jarod’s fate, the Africans were keeping him in here simply to keep him off balance, to prevent a single moment where he could free himself from the rules and requirements of his life in Africa, as a pretender.

Jarod wasn’t interested in offering absolution to a man who had made a living destroying souls, taking away hope and exploiting those on the wrong side of the bars. The elderly gentleman lacked all of Sydney’s caring and warmth, the  more Jarod reflected, the more he began to realize just how lucky he had been the day the Centre lotto had paired him up with Sydney.

The older man clearly had other ideas however, crawling over to where Jarod lay huddled once the guard briefly disappeared from the room. It seemed as a final act of indignity towards these men, hours, days, weeks from the end of their pitiful lives, they were constantly supervised, punished for speaking, crying out in their nightmares, or for doing just about anything but sitting respectfully in silence.

“Leave me.” Jarod warned as the peppered-haired man leaned over him. 

“They’re winning,” The knowing voice replied.

Jarod turned his head away, ignoring his words.

“Your increased hostility towards me gives it away, almost as badly as the defeat and helplessness I can see in your eyes.”  

Jarod grunted in frustration. “As I have said before, you know nothing about me.”

The man shrugged nonchalantly. “It doesn’t matter; the monkeys are always the same. I may not know you, your name, your gift, but anyone who wears that brand on their back, I know more about them, and how to destroy them, than any man deserves to know.” 

“So that’s it? Your last act on this planet is to offer false comfort to another pet project as he falls towards hopeless despair? Spare me.” Jarod spat back.

The man gave an impassive huff. “I’ll likely be dead long before you hit the ground, but rest assured you will; everyone does eventually. My death will be a result of my mistakes, my cardinal sins against dangerous men, but it has nothing to do with you.”

“You want absolution then?” Jarod asked uncaringly, willing the man to leave him alone. He could feel the sedatives finally starting to take effect, his eye lids beginning to feel heavy.

“Call it a dead man’s regrets, call it absolution, a life-time of ignored guilt, but whatever it is, I want to help you.” The man spoke, his tone falling slightly flat of genuine.

“I’ll pass.” Jarod replied darkly, but slowly, as the drugs started to pull him into a dream-free oblivion.

The pepper hair appeared in Jarod’s field of vision as the pretender sunk the remaining distance to the ground, curling into himself and instinctively hugging his knees self-protectively. Jarod closed his eyes, pretending for a few blessed seconds that a fluffy pillow lay beneath his head, and that he was engulfed in the warmth of a goose-down duvet. Despite the almost stifling temperature in the room and crowded conditions, he felt cold, empty and more alone than all the years at the Centre put together.

Jarod forced his eyes open, not wanting for the drug to fully control him just yet.  The elderly gentleman leaned in close, whispering in Jarod’s ear. “Not even if I can help you find your way out?”

Jarod raised his eyebrows in surprise in one final act of lucidity. The words registered in his brain, but he lost the battle to fully process them. He sighed deeply as the drug overtook his system.

And then there was darkness.