Chapter 12 – A Deal with the Devil

THE TRIUMVIRATE, AFRICA

Henrik swallowed apprehensively as he took in the body posture and unimpressed stares the two powerful men before him were emitting.

“You’ve been here over two months Henrik, and to what results?” Dr. Masoud asked harshly.

The young pretender kept his head lowered as he straightened his stance. He knew enough to know that it was a rhetorical question and took a deep breath and prepared himself for the harsh words that would be coming.

Dr. Stone took over, “Jarod is working, but we could drag any member of the general public in here and they could tell you in an instant he still has more than enough fight in him. His eyes are full of disdain and hatred. He may be simming, but only a fool would believe this to be a permanent solution. His disrespect is palpable.”

Henrik cringed at the harsh tone of the voice as the words cut into him. His hard work had always been rewarded and complimented. He was trying his best, giving them everything he had, yet no matter how hard he tried the two doctors could find only short comings in his work, always prodding for more. They had tasked him with the impossible. Dr. Klaus had always referred to him as a mediocre pretender at best, but gifted with a much different set of skills, those of an empath. What else could he do to earn their approval?

The British doctor continued, “You have failed to produce any quantifiable plan of action for Lysander. She’s rotting in an isolation cell, and on the occasions I’ve bothered to drag her back into reality, she acts as if she’s miles away, won’t even pick up a pencil.”

“I’m trying sir,” Henrik defended himself.

“Intentions mean nothing Henrik, only the final results. Only what you accomplish or fail to complete will matter in the end. Are you getting my point?” Dr. Masoud replied bluntly.

Henrik just nodded weakly, not entirely sure if he wanted to acknowledge the underlying threat in the man’s words or not.

Dr. Stone’s next words quickly put to rest any doubts he had to the intent of this meeting. “We expect results Henrik, or we will be forced to take a more hands on approach with your quest to understand the true nature of Jarod’s and Lysander’s fruitless plight.”

The young pretender swallowed nervously, the walls of the small observation room closing in on him. He easily recognized the ominous nature of this man’s words

He had done everything he could, faced with an impossible task, asked to destroy not just one person, but two; to discover a pathway into their soul that would leave them empty enough to obey but alive enough to not get lost in their minds. Henrik had this image in his mind, of a man desperately holding on to an edge of cliff, Dr. Masoud slipping his fingers off one by one.

He couldn’t imagine a scarier place to be. He’d given Jarod his first push, but they wanted more, to send him closer to tumbling over.

“I’m doing my best sir.” Henrik finally spoke, aware of how pathetically defensive was becoming.

Masoud scoffed at this, and Henrik spoke his next words quickly. “Lysander and Jarod both have so much fight in them because of their time in the outside world, the bonds that they formed, the people that they miss. Both cling onto hope that one day they will once again be able to re-kindle those bonds, to feel like they belong out there instead of in here.”

“So you’ve said on multiple occasions. What do you propose we do differently?” The dark African inquired.

“I don’t know sir, but I can tell you this. When someone has hopes and dreams there is only one thing more effective than simply taking them away.”

“What’s that Henrik?” Dr. Stone prodded.

“The only thing more painful, more discouraging to losing something is to…” Henrik’s voiced trailed off, but as he glanced up at the two doctor’s he found the rest of his sentence to be a moot point as the two men were sharing knowing smiles.  

He couldn’t help to imagine that the two handlers were now backing him towards that obtrusive edge. Continue to fail in their eyes, and Henrik knew they would push him down, leaving him teetering beside Jarod and Lysander.

Not that he had much of soul or a life to destroy in the first place. He wasn’t even sure if it was worth holding on.

THE CENTRE, BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

It was time. The carefully etched plans were about to be set in motion, assuming he took the bait. Parker inhaled sharply as she focused her steely gaze on the door in front of her, her face hardening, her stature poised and powerful.

Pausing momentarily, she allowed herself a few extra moments to prepare for what was to come. Without the courtesy of a knock she entered his office, pulling the doors open with authority.

Staring down the surprised man, Parker strode towards him; her stilettos making an impressive click as she moved across the room.

The thin file folder she had gripped in her hands was tossed onto the desk, the occupant of the room opening it instantly.

“What’s this?” Lyle asked with a clearly unimpressed tone.

“It’s time to get back what’s ours,” she said with doubtless determination.  

Lyle raised his eyebrows in obvious disbelief, but didn’t hesitate to open the folder with a casual flick of a finger. A chuckle of amusement left him as he caught sight of the small picture affixed to the summary report.

“I knew it was too good to be true that he would be gone – forever,” her twin remarked sarcastically. “Although I must admit it is a shame that I am no longer stationed over there. Nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to see our blessed boy-wonder lose that arrogant smirk and collapse on his knees,” Lyle added wistfully as he sat back against his tall leather executive chair.

“Just what the world needs, another Alex,” Parker retorted dryly.

Lyle ignored her barb, but instead gazed at her thoughtfully, “Why?” he finally questioned, almost sincerely. She still caught the suspicion in his tone.

Parker smiled powerfully. “I thought even a moron like you would be able to figure this one out. Our father, or whoever the hell he was, may have bailed with the scrolls, which was our best assurance towards keeping the triumvirate at bay…”

“And?” Lyle asked impatiently.

She glared at him, “Daddy made damn sure that I knew two things. One was to honour the Parker name, whatever that means these days,” she added, slightly nostalgically.

“Dare I ask the second?” Lyle probed.

“That Jarod was the key – to everything.”

Lyle smirked and opened his mouth to reply, but Parker cut him off by raising her hand.

“Our lives have always been controlled by powerful men, and one by one their reign’s are coming to an end. When I seize my destiny, I don’t want to figure out we let the one Centre creation that mattered slip through our fingers.”

Her twin studied her thoughtfully, “I didn’t realize you had such ambitious career goals.”

“This isn’t about the nameplate on the door and the personal secretary. It’s about power and control and reacquiring what we have lost since Raines started running the show.”

Lyle remained silent, instead he returned his attention to the file folder and quickly skimmed the summary report that Parker had provided.

“Someone has been a busy little beaver. Should I be concerned on what information you and your posse have been gathering on me?” her twin questioned impassively.

“You should, but the Centre would have to add another sub-level to store documentation on all the rift-raft you associate yourself with,” Parker replied smartly.

“You can’t expect me to believe that you found this information out by yourself.”

“As I told you before Lyle, I love to be underestimated,” Parked said with a sultry smile.

“Seriously Parker…” Lyle warned.

She sighed, “Let’s just say I have a source with a vested interest in seeing Jarod returned here. He belongs in our cage, not theirs.”

Lyle furrowed his brow, “Let’s just say hypothetically that I choose to endorse this scheme, what’s in it for me?”

Parker gave her twin a casual wink. “Anything… Everything… You’re the one with the big dreams to climb the corporate ladder. You stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of yours.”

Lyle returned his attention to the file, scanning the contents with greater care as Parker lowered herself into a nearby chair, crossing her legs as she leaned back.

Dance puppet dance.

THE TRIUMVIRATE, AFRICA

Dr. Masoud paced the length of the small interrogation room, waiting impatiently for the guest of the hour.

The rustling of chains from down the hall indicated his wait was nearing at an end.

He leaned impassively against the wall, watching as the shackled man was escorted through the doors.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” The elderly man questioned flatly.

“Have a seat Dr. Visser.” Masoud commanded, smiling as the other man shuffled his way to the awaiting table. “You’ve been playing games with my new monkey,” he finally stated, his tone laced with menace.

Visser shrugged. “You have all made it quite clear that my presence in Africa is coming to a tragic end. You can’t fault me for taunting your latest toy, I have few pleasures left in my life.”

Masoud gave a cruel smile. “He is a rather fine specimen.”

“Again, I assume we are not here for small talk.” Visser queried impatiently.

Masoud walked towards the man, seated at the small table. “Why the hurry? You can’t tell me you actually enjoy your current accommodations.”

The Dutch doctor ignored him.

“Just think, if it wasn’t for your squealing pet project, you might have gotten away with it.” Masoud reminisced cruelly.

“Betrayal is the name of the game in Africa,” the older man replied.

“So you don’t regret your actions?” Masoud asked.

“Only getting caught.”

Masoud studied the man thoughtfully. “And if there was a chance for redemption?”

The older man huffed in amusement. “Africa doesn’t forgive.”

Masoud shook his head from side to side. “No she doesn’t. However my friend, I am not talking about forgiveness. Our memories are long, and we shall never forget the magnitude of your betrayal. What we are here to talk about is redemption. Your sins will never be erased, but maybe your signed death order can be.”

Visser gave him a long and thoughtful glance. “I’m listening.”

HOUSE OF BROOTS, BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

Broots smiled as Jay zealously flipped the pancake, the teen’s enthusiasm was contagious.

“Careful,” he cautioned, “finer men have been known to roof those things on occasion.”

Jay snorted. “Is this from experience?”

Broots shrugged innocently. “It’s all hearsay.”

“Plate!” the teen called out and Broots grabbed one just in time, the pancake landing in the centre, almost perfectly.

“If you say that you calculated the trajectory angle…” Broots threatened mockingly.

Jay’s smile grew even bigger. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll be forced to tell Miss Parker she’s mislabelled me as the household geek. Clearly there is a new contender, and I am quite willing to concede the title.”

“Even after factoring in your pyjamas?” Jay teased back.

“I told you, Debbie…”

“Not fair, blaming the one person who can’t rebuke your statement,” the teen interrupted.

“Convenient isn’t it?” Broots replied as he poured a generous helping of syrup.

Both were smiling as Jay joined him at the table, slathering butter on his relatively generous heap. Broots had to suppress a laugh as the top pancake on his stack was unmistakably paying homage to Mickey Mouse.

“So what should we work on today?” The young pretender queried.

Broots gave the boy a gentle smile as he placed a forkful of pancake in his mouth. “Well, I thought that we could take the day off and just relax.”

Jay tensed as Broots realized just how intuitive the teen was.

“Jay, we’ve been working non-stop since you arrived. The play station and movie breaks here and there are good, but I think we need to take a step back, I know I do anyways,” The tech prodded gently.

“You want to talk about something, don’t you?” Jay asked, his enthusiasm from earlier had vanished.

Broots looked up at him in surprise.

“Only Sydney is more obvious.” Jay remarked dryly. “If it’s about my brother…”

“It’s not.” Broots interrupted, watching as the teen sat back in slight surprise.

“Then what? Here to impart on me your great wisdom about some life lesson I have yet to hurdle?” Jay asked. Having a teenage of his own, Broots didn’t need to look up from his pancakes to imagine the eye-roll that was for his benefit.

“You have your own father to do that.” Broots reminded the boy.

“I know…I know…”

“When’s the last time you contacted him?” Broots pried, knowing full well the teen hadn’t, not since he arrived in Blue Cove.

“Why does it matter?” Jay asked.

“I would have thought a boy who spent most of his life separated from the family he deserved wouldn’t have needed to answer that question.”

Jay looked away. “I left without saying goodbye,” he finally replied, his voice hushed.

“You think you are the first teenage in the world to runaway?” Broots asked softly.

“No,” was the annoyed reply.

“Then what is it?”

“I hurt them.” Jay finally replied, his voice hushed but still full of shame.

Broots set down his fork, as a wave of compassion washed through him. It was hard to remember that Jay still had that scared and isolated little boy firmly etched into his soul.

“I hate to inform you, but that’s what being part of a family is all about,” Broots offered sincerely, giving a small smile of encouragement as Jay finally made eye contact with him.

“Family is forever kiddo – through good times and bad. We all do things that hurt, or make each other mad, and then we get over it.”

“What if what is done is unforgivable?” Jay countered.

Broots found himself flashing back to some of the earlier conversations that he had been forced to eavesdrop on between Jarod and Sydney, after the pretender had first escape. Jarod had been so naïve, and had seen everything in stark black and white. Jay seemed so well-adjusted, but it was coming clear that he still had a few life lessons to pick up on.

Feeling out of his element, Broots took a deep breath and continued onwards, “Jay, speaking as a father, nothing is unforgivable. There isn’t a thing in the world Debbie could do that would lessen my love for her. She can disappoint me yes, but nothing could make me stop loving her.”

“How can that be true? Look at all the pain and the suffering, the anger in the world.”

“I cannot vouch for every family on the planet, but I can vouch for yours. Jarod has a heart of gold, and I can tell you that compassion didn’t come from his childhood. That mixture of sensitivity and strength it came from within, a gift your father gave both of you. But all of this is irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?” The teen queried, almost rudely.

Broots nodded. “Jay you have done amazing things, made sacrifices and taken an unspeakable risk. If you were my son not only would I not be angry, I would be beaming with pride. Few kids your age have your courage, let alone the rest of the population.”

Jay bent his head down in embarrassment. “So what now?”

Broots picked up his fork. “I’m going to finish my pancakes, and then we’ll work together to track down your family, ok? It’s going to be hard, but we can start by reading the stack of unanswered emails that I imagine are flooding your inbox.”

Jay nodded slowly, but still avoided eye contact, as he pensively went back to working on his breakfast.

“Hey Broots…” the teen finally spoke after several minutes of uncomfortable silence.

“Mmpf,” was the muffled replied through half-chewed pancakes.

“With motivational talks like this, you could have a successful career as a writer for Hallmark. I can see the line of cards now.” Jay stated with that trademark smirk that he and Jarod shared.

Broots looked up, catching the twinkle in the young pretender’s eyes. It wasn’t long until the kitchen had erupted into laughter.

Things were going to be okay.

THE TRIUMVIRATE, AFRICA

Lys grimaced as the door was rudely thrown open to her small cell.  She instinctively raised her arm to shield her eyes while she struggled to focus her vision in the intense light.

She need not have bothered as she finally was able to blearily focus onto the shoes her handler, Dr. Stone. With a heavy sigh she leaned back against the cement wall.

“After how many days, I’d think you would be happy to see me,” the doctor stated simply.

Lys shrugged, sighing despondently as she heard two guards move into the room, shackles clanging in their hands. “Time for an excursion?” she questioned unnecessarily as two grips locked onto her arms and roughly pulled her upwards.

“Let’s just call it a last chance,” was the simple reply.

“Then you’ll what, put me out of my misery?” Lys questioned sassily.

Dr. Stone just chuckled. “You haven’t even begun to grasp the concept of misery my dear.”

Lys ignored his remark, as she was grateful to be out of the mind-numbing emptiness of the isolation cell. Already she could feel her mind come to life with the new stimulation, her mathematical mind cranking to a rough start as she was bombarded with stimuli.

The number of steps to their destination, the number of left turns, the number of footsteps made by the guards; it was always numbers that made her world go round.

Four hundred and twenty three steps later she was guided into the sim lab. She was pushed into a chair hood pulled off, right arm chained to the table.

“I’m not going to do anything,” she announced stubbornly, as Dr. Stone casually sat down across the table.

“I assume you are familiar with the concept of patience?” the British doctor finally asked.

Lys rolled her eyes, “Another life-lesson to be imparted on me?” she asked.

Stone narrowed his gaze but did not reprimand her sarcastic tone.

“We won’t wait around forever. We are after all running a business.”

“I’m sure you are breaking the bank given my five star accommodations and the delectable meal plan,” Lys countered.

“Is five minutes of silence too much for ask for, or should I ask one of the guards to find something that will ensure that only my voice is heard?” Stone queried impatiently.

Lys let out a huff, but held her tongue.

“Good girl,” Stone patronized before continuing. “I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of your rope Lys. Bottom line is that we are through. This is your last chance.”

Lys looked at the man with a piercing gaze. Was this really it, or just another tactic to coerce her into working?

“Off to the gallows, after all of this,” she mumbled casually, unsure if her words reached Dr. Stone or not.

Apparently they did.

“You are far from one of a kind Lysander. Valuable to a point, but that line has long been crossed by your foolish antics.” Stone reprimanded. “You have one last chance to pick up that pencil, or we shall part ways - forever.”

“The moment I have been dreaming of since my arrival.” Lys countered, projecting false confidence into her tone.

Stone chuckled, but his face hardened. “It’s hardly something to dream about Pet. One phone call and you’ll be transported across our compound. Some come back from there, their tails between their legs, begging for forgiveness, their very beings shattered into a pathetic shell of mindless obedience. Most, however, they never return. I’ve never set foot in that building, but the stories that come from there are the kind whispered around fires on gloomy evenings, the ones older brothers tell their younger siblings to impart nightmares and unwarranted fears of things that go bump in the night.”

“Life without freedom is hardly worth living,” Lys whispered, aware her heart was beginning to thump madly in her chest.

“Well congratulations, you have been given a rare gift that most Triumvirate subjects never get the opportunity to experience.”

“What’s that?” Lys asked.

“A choice. Life or death, what will it be?”

“I made that choice before arriving here, but someone saw fit to intervene or we would not be having this conversation.” Lys spat back, her emotions quickly becoming raw and uncontrollable.

The doctor was unfazed. “A few little pills is nothing. The journey you have to look forward towards your ultimate end is long and treacherous. Deep down inside we all hope that we can get you back to work, the only difference you have to look forward to is that our means are no longer limited solely by your physical limitations.”

Lys closed her eyes as years of instinctual fear towards the Africans took over. The stories had made the circuit of the residential ring of the Conglomeration about the crazy Zulu torture sessions, the madness, the suffering. She knew they were not exaggerated.

Her eyes flew open as the tall dark doctor she had seen with Dr. Stone several times stormed into the room.

“Stone, I need to see you now,” the authoritative voice of the dark African man she had seen with Dr. Stone interrupted.

“Not now, I’m in the middle of something.”

“It can wait, this can’t.”

With a heavy sigh Stone stood up from the table, giving Lys a long look up and down.

“Use this time wisely Pet.” He cautioned with almost a hint of kindness.

Lys turned away from him as he followed the dark African man out of the room, leaving her alone with just her guard for company.

Her life had finally come full circle.

What was there left to live for? Her mom was her only living relative that she was at all close with, but after two decades without her daughter, Lys suspected that she was lost to her forever.

The chance for freedom, wasted by her many unsuccessful attempts to disappear after breaking out of the Conglomerate.

Her entire being was exhausted, the years of repression, the complete and utter misery and desolation of knowing that this was all her life could ever be from this point forward.

She wanted a way out, but was it worth the path it would take to get there?

Lys shivered, not wanting to begin to hypothesize what the Africans would have waiting for her behind door number two.

Damn Jarod, if he had just let her go in the first place, none of this would have happened.

THE TRIUMVIRATE, AFRICA

Jarod resisted to the urge to look up as a set of footsteps approached him. He gripped the pencil in his hand even tighter, forcing himself to jot yet another note down on the pad in front of him.

“Now this really is a sight, the Centre’s absentee pretender not only back in his cage, but diligently working away,” a painfully familiar voice purred.

Jarod let his pencil fall to the table. “Cox,” he stated apathetically. Deep down he knew the man’s appearance should shock him, but Jarod felt nothing but the same numbness that surrounded his daily life.

“Still as sharp as ever I see,” the man replied.

“It is the reason I continue to be the guest of honour.” Jarod remarked, looking up as the doctor finally moved into Jarod’s line of vision, studying the pretender intently.

Jarod self-consciously looked away, feeling vulnerable and exposed, given he was clad only in the neutral coloured hospital-like pants he was forced to wear. He knew his bare chest and back easily gave away the degree of physical abuse he had been subjected to.

“I’m simply admiring Dr. Masoud’s handiwork,” Cox announced as he observed the pretender’s body language.

So that was his name, the African handler that had controlled Jarod’s life since the pretender had arrived in Africa. Just another thing he was denied as Masoud continued to remind Jarod just exactly where his place was in life.

Cox chuckled at Jarod’s embarrassed silence. “There is no need to get sullen with me Jarod. I spent a great deal of my time in Blue Cove cleaning up the messes you left behind, despite the fact we were never formally introduced. I do believe the closest I ever got to you was in the form of a saucy little red-head by the name of…”

Zoe.

Jarod instantaneously sprang from his chair, only to find himself forced back down by his two guards. He clenched his fists in anger, trying to divert the memories before they overcame him.

They had been far from soul mates, but Zoe had given Jarod a piece of himself he thought that he would never find. It wasn’t the physical aspect of the relationship that he missed most, but just the general closeness - the way she would run her fingers through his spiky hair, or rub his back as they were sitting together, or just the casual conversations about normal day to day activities, while holding hands.

“I seem to have struck a nerve.” Cox remarked with a cocky smirk. “Who knows, continue being the obedient project you once were, and maybe we can find someone to scratch that itch.”

Jarod looked away in disgust, a chill running down his spine, as he imagined himself wrapped in Zoe’s comforting embrace.

It was just one more thing to add to the list of things they had taken from him.

In here, it was just him, on a slab of grey. His world held no colour, no freedom, just the constant clanging of his shackles, physical or mental. There was no bright sun with it’s warming rays, the joy of standing under endlessly falling snowflakes, calming hugs or just a conversation between him and a friend.

After everything Jarod had experienced and seen, his life had been reduced to just this, a black hole of despair, pain and suffering, and now he was forced to pull innocent people down with him.

“Dr. Cox, to what do we owe this pleasure?” Dr. Masoud’s voice questioned from across the room.

Jarod met Cox’s gaze only to find the doctor to be smirking.

“No one fights the Centre and wins Jarod, no one.” Cox lectured before turning his attention back to Masoud.

“There is an important matter that must be attended to,” he announced.

“Certainly.” Masoud agreed. “I expect your proposed system by the time I return.”

Jarod closed his eyes against the retreating footsteps.

How much longer could he go on? Then again, what choice did he have?