Chapter #1 – GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

ONE WEEK LATER …………………

THE CENTRE – BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

Sydney stared at the empty glass before him. It had been one week since Jarod had left for Africa. Every minute had passed in excruciating silence, Sydney swearing he could hear the seconds ticking in his head. As always, he had failed to make a difference, failed to save the young man from whom he cared so deeply about.

He had wronged Jarod in so many ways over the years, and once again any attempt to protect the pretender had been thwarted by the Centre. Jarod was now in the clutches of the Triumvirate, and despite all of the pretender’s inner-strength, Sydney couldn’t help but realize, that if he was ever again to see the Jarod he knew and loved, it would be nothing short of an act of god. The Africans would torture Jarod, emotionally and physically until the pretender submitted to their will.Sydney knew the pretender well enough to know, that doing their simulations, living with the guilt, would cause Jarod to fall into madness. It surprised him that after all he had witnessed in life, that he could still even contemplate the existence of a higher being. It was a wonder anyone could.

Unbeknownst to others, Sydney had spent the better part of the past seven days under the influence of his private scotch reserve, tormenting himself with the memories from nearly four decades of wrong-doings on his part. Four decades of hidden fatherly love, four decades of deception and lies, and for what?

As Sydney poured more of the amber liquid into his glass, he allowed himself to drift back into the past. Another memory of Jarod’s life soon resurfaced in his aging mind, back to a time when the pretender had been somewhere in his mid teens.

“Jarod, I would like you to come with me.” The young psychiatrist informed his protégé. Jarod looked up at him hesitantly, aware of the four sweepers that had now stepped into his room.

“Where?” The pretender questioned suspiciously. The presence of more than one sweeper indicated they were not heading to the Sim Lab.

Sydney looked down into Jarod’s eyes, aware that his protégé was quickly sprouting upwards, and would one day likely stand equal to Sydney’s stature, if not surpassing it. He placed a comforting hand on Jarod’s shoulder, hating himself for what was about to be done.

“Jarod, the Tower believes it is time that we move you to different quarters. This area of the Centre was designed to hold children, and by the number of inches you have added to your height this year, it is clear to us that you are quickly growing up.”

Jarod looked around his small quarters desperately, the pictures on the wall, Kyle’s flying cross that was carefully hidden behind the toilet, the air vent that Angelo used to visit him. This room was all he knew, the small pieces of his life were all in here.

“Why Sydney?” He questioned softly, his eyes conveying the emotions that couldn’t be said.

Sydney squeezed the teen’s shoulder.

“Come along now Jarod.” He ordered, his heart lurching as the pretender’s shoulders slumped forward.

“But Sydney, all my stuff!” Jarod cried, grabbing his beloved sketch pad and pencils – his only real possessions in the world. Sydney had fought Mr. Parker and Dr. Raines to get permission to give the child the sketch book, knowing the therapeutic benefit it could have, allowing Jarod to release his demons on paper. As of today, it was a battle he had lost, the others arguing Jarod spent too much of his time dwelling upon his past, questioning his origin, and dredging up painful emotions. Jarod’s sketchbook was filled with the empty faces of his family, crashing airplanes, given that the boy’s parents had been killed in such an accident. Such thoughts would no longer be tolerated, given Jarod had now spent more than 10 years at the Centre. According to Raines it was time he simply learnt to accept his fate, and look only toward his future. Any childhood habits, including Jarod’s sketches, would be forbidden, as of today.

Hating himself even more than he thought possible, Sydney motioned to the sweepers, taking his eyes away from Jarod as they grabbed the pretender’s arms, propelling him forward, stopping him at the doorway. Sydney walked up, and gently removed the sketchbook from the boy’s grip. “Jarod you are growing up, it’s time we stopped these childish habits. Now please go with the gentlemen. I’ll be by before I head home for the evening.”

“Sydney! No! No! ” Jarod cried, as the sweepers had pushed him down the hallway. Sydney flinched as the sound of flesh hitting flesh silenced the pretender. The sweepers were becoming increasingly physical with Jarod, to the point that Sydney had taken it up with the Tower, specifically Mr. Parker. He had only been informed that it was imperative that Jarod learn to respect the sweepers, to submit to their will without question. A lesson that would need to be complete before the boy finished his metamorphosis into a young man, and would have the physical stature to seriously defy those around him.

Several hours later, the tired psychiatrist had travelled down to SL-21 to visit his protégé for the evening, only to find the wing had been placed under lockdown for the night. There would be no more late night visits to check on Jarod, as he had often indulged in during the past. SL-21 was maximum security, designed to keep their most prized possessions from ever stepping foot outside the building. The next morning, a sullen Jarod had been waiting in the SIM lab for the psychiatrist. Sydney had known instantly that just one night on SL-21, had done more to illustrate to Jarod that he truly was considered their property, than the last ten years all put together. The pretender had been dressed in the grey, institutional smock like clothing he would wear until the day he escaped, escorted everywhere by no less than two sweepers, on the wrong-side of the lock-down procedure that was executed nightly. Sydney did not have to imagine the despair that Jarod had felt, being trapped in that small room after hearing the electronic hiss of the lock. The shutting off of the lights at 10 pm sharp, the strobe like-light that was turned on in the hallway for the benefit of the security cameras, it was all orchestrated to remind those on the other side of the door of their place in the organization hierarchy and that they were powerless – that there truly was no hope.

Present Day

Sydney couldn’t fool himself, he knew the Triumvirate would throw more at the pretender than a small dark cell, electronic locks, and jumper cables. They would try and take his mind, try to destroy the very core that made him Jarod, that made him compassionate, that gave him the will and the strength to fight them. It would be a battle for control of Jarod’s soul, the essence of his character, that indefinable je ne sais quoi which made him so charismatic, so loved to virtually everyone he had met in the outside world. For the first time in his life, Sydney found himself questioning the boundaries of his protégé’s ability to thwart their relentless attempts to break him. The pretender had spent three decades under lock and key in the Centre, another six years on the run from them and his inner demons. The pretender had waged a good battle, and the fact he hadn’t slipped into psychotic-like behaviour was a miracle. Sydney couldn’t help but fear that Jarod’s nine lives were up, that after nearly forty years of Centre influence, perhaps the pretender’s fight to hang on to reality, was finally coming to an end.

In the end, the Centre destroyed everyone who has the misfortune to cross its’ path. It was just a question of to what degree you fought them on your way down. Glancing at a framed photo of himself and Jacob, Sydney downed the shot. He had just sat by silently acting as clueless as Angelo appeared, while the Centre insidiously destroyed Timmy, and any other he truly cared about. He’d chosen the easy path, and left the ones he cared about to wrestle with their Centre induced demons alone.

Sydney had energy for only one more battle. In truth, he didn’t even know where to start, who to turn to, but he would give it his all, and only pray it would be enough to bring Jarod safely back. If not, as he had said to Miss Parker years ago, you can’t kill a man who was already dead.

THE CENTRE, GERMAN DIVISION – HAMBURG, GERMANY

Henrik looked up from his work as Dr. Klaus entered the room. He had been returned to Germany two weeks prior, and was comfortably living out the same routine he had for his twenty year existence. No more Aquastar, no more Jarod, no more Mr. Lyle. The past weeks had made his life here seem like heaven compared to the treatment he had been subjected to in. Despite his own genius and intelligence, it never occurred to Henrik that his belief system was a result of early on successful brainwashing. It didn’t matter how he had ended up here, he was who they wanted to be, and as long as he stayed that way, he would be safe. The past two months had only strengthened Henrik’s resolve to be the well-behaved subject he had always been. Henrik had longed ago embraced his fate, and as a result, had managed to accept the restrictions that had been placed on his life. Witnessing the abuse Jarod had and would continue to be subjected too, had only reaffirmed his willingness to obey. He promised himself that he would never become a rebellious project – not ever.

The older doctor sat down across from the young pretender. “Henrik – the Triumvirate was very impressed with your work regarding Jarod, so impressed that they have asked for your presence as a special consultant.”

Henrik sat straight up in his chair, he knew he should be feeling pride from the rare praise from the doctor, but anything regarding the Triumvirate had to be bad. He swallowed nervously.

“Special consultant?” He questioned weakly.

The doctor nodded curtly. “In fact, they are so impressed in fact my boy, that they have requested your presence.”

Henrik eyes widened in fear. “Africa?” He questioned meekly.

“Where else?” Dr. Klaus responded dryly.

The young pretender shot up from his seat. “But doctor, I’ve done every thing you’ve asked of me. Please don’t send me there. Please!!”

“Enough.” Klaus yelled, glaring at his young charge as Henrik shrunk back into his seat, his eyes cast downwards.

“You have nothing to fear Henrik. This is your opportunity to shine, to show the Triumvirate what you are capable of. Succeed, and you might just get what you never dared to even dream you could have.”

Henrik hesitantly brought his eyes upwards, meeting those of Dr. Klaus. “My freedom?” He questioned so quietly, it was barely a whisper. Despite the comfort of his routine here in Germany, there was only one thing in the world Henrik could admit to dreaming of obtaining: his freedom.

The doctor laughed cruelly. “We always will own you Henrik, freedom is not an option your kind will ever have the opportunity to experience. However we can change the rules of your tenure. I have big plans for you Henrik, much bigger than the pretender wing at this small complex will ever be able to offer. Do what they ask of you, and I promise you, your world will change in ways you can’t possibly imagine.”

Henrik fearfully stared at the doctor. He didn’t want his life to change, he was back where he belonged, where he felt comfortable. He wanted to stay here, or be given his freedom, nothing else. But by the hunger he saw in the doctor’s eyes, he had a feeling that whatever changes the older man prophesized for him would not spell good news for Henrik.

But as was his life, he knew he would have no choice in the matter.

TRIUMVIRATE STATION –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Jarod lay huddled in a miserable heap, his face pressed against one of the walls that made up his prison. The unblinking red light was always trained on him, so he kept his face hidden from its prying view. He would not let him see the agony that his face so clairvoyantly portrayed, nor the tears that would fall as he dreamed of his family.

Jarod cringed at every breath, as the foul odour of his own sweat and blood entered his nostrils, a constant reminder of where he was and what he had been subjected to him thus far.

Time had lost all meaning for Jarod the instant the sedative had claimed him on the airplane, dragging him into its dark prison. He had awoken here, in this hole. It was a small cell, completely barren. He was surrounded by concrete, in stifling heat to which he could find no relief. He concluded he was likely above ground, as even being one floor down would offer some relief from the near equatorial temperatures. He wasn’t sure if that fact should give him hope to a potential escape, or ignite fear at the fact they were so sure he couldn’t get out, they didn’t even bother to lock him up as far below the surface as possible.

This cell was the only part of the Triumvirate complex he had been allowed to see. When they came for him at irregular intervals, he was always hooded by the muscled goons, before being dragged out and taken to some delightful torture wing. It had taken a few times, but he had managed to suppress the childhood memories that escaped when the black cloth was pulled over his head. In some twisted way, he now drew comfort from the darkness. Behind the cloth he didn’t have to suppress his emotions, deny the tears of pain and desperation that fell during their torture sessions.

Jarod hadn’t worked up the courage to feel the brand that had been seared on to his back. He would leave that twisted revelation to some other time. He already had enough material with which to torture his mind. He did not need to add the image of what he would carry with him for the rest of his life.

Reason told him he hadn’t been here for long, a few days, a week perhaps? But to his soul, it already felt like an eternity. Not a word had been spoken to him, no demands had been placed upon him. The lack of social stimulation was tearing into him more than he wanted to admit. He would give almost anything to have a normal human conversation, even if it was just trading barbs with Lyle, or be on the receiving end of Raines’ threats.

It hadn’t taken Jarod long to come to the conclusion he should have made months ago. He had always wondered, how after what had happened in Carthis, that Lyle and Raines had managed to stay in the good graces of the Triumvirate, given that they had murdered Adama and his men simply to keep the power they enjoyed running the Centre. Jarod had always assumed that they had placed blame on Mr. Parker, but he now realized he had been used as their scapegoat.

What would have been a death sentence for Lyle and Raines, was now a living nightmare for Jarod. But he wouldn’t beg, he refused to plead his innocence, not that they would listen to his pleas. They would likely never believe him anyway. He could withstand the physical torture, as Sydney had given him the gift of being able to retreat into the depths of his powerful mind; the ability to separate himself from the pain and suffering that was being inflicted upon him. He was almost grateful for the physical abuse, as it was delaying the inevitable psychological warfare he knew was coming while they tried to turn him into their obedient little pretender once again.

He could handle the beatings, the aftermath of the intravenous hallucinogenic drugs, the fear brought on by being bound and helpless. All he had to do was close his eyes, and his family would come to him in flashes. He would remember the concern he saw in Sydney’s eyes in the infirmary, the comforting squeeze Parker had placed on his shoulder as the sedatives had claimed him on the plane. It was a loving and supportive slideshow he played over and over again in his psyche as he retreated into his own pretender, a place where his pain was not real.

It was the fight for his mind that scared him most. When Jarod was returned to this pitiful cell, he would curl up into himself, despite the oppressive heat, the ache that was now always present in his joints, the pins and needles numbing pain that shot through his broken wrist was relentless. He ignored the blood that slowly dripped from his wounds and allowed his ego to release itself from its disassociated state. He would not continue to repress the agony, as the true nature of the physical pain he felt surfaced, but enjoyed the relief at allowing his mind to be free again even if only temporarily.

Jarod had started out six years ago naive and confused, but free from the Centre. Now, the puzzle that explained his existence was almost filled, with just a few missing pieces remaining, the most notable his Mom. It was the memories of his family, his dreams of one day meeting his mother that truly comforted him as he lay in miserable and isolated in the dark, that and the last words he had heard before he had woken up here.

“This isn’t how our story ends rat, don’t you forget it.”

Miss Parker, despite all of her harsh words and icy-ness, still cared. He still had a chance to make things right between them, to convince her that he really cared more than she ever had realized, or would let herself believe.

The blood, the sweat, the pain, he could handle it all.He could withstand anything to meet his mother, anything to make it right with Parker. Together they were the two missing pieces in his life. He wouldn’t give up until his puzzle was filled.

PARKER SUMMER HOME – BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

It was only in the confines of her house that Parker finally let herself fall apart. She was exhausted from trying to keep it all together, from pretending that she really didn’t care - when in fact she did – too much so to safely confide in anyone, including herself.

She had called in sick today, citing a migraine. Hangover was more like it, but in reality she simply didn’t have the energy to keep up pretending today. The Centre was filled with reminders of Jarod, and a week of pretending that delivering the genius to the eager Africans was something she had enjoyed, was taking its toll.

Every time Parker closed her eyes, she was haunted by visions of Jarod. The desperation in his eyes when he realized his father would not be able to rescue him, the pain that had been etched on his face as he had been forced to watch his father retreat, the fear he had shown as he had stood shackled outside the airplane. She could still hear the panic in the pretender’s voice as he begged not to be hooded, not to be sedated. His desperate thrashing as the sedative had slowly claimed him, rendering him unable to speak, unable to do much more but moan as he was forced into the darkness, knowing he would awaken in a place worse than hell.

Parker couldn’t pinpoint exactly when her resolve had changed. The lab rat had an ability to stir up her emotions like a blended fruit smoothie. She had been so ready to forget him, take the easy path out and erase the errant pretender from her life. She had suffered so much loss in her life, her mother, Thomas, her ‘Daddy’, she simply couldn’t have taken anymore.

Maybe it was seeing Jarod, his eyes alight with hope as his father had bravely tried to rescue him that had changed her, or his reaction to the cold-hearted way that Lyle had informed the pretender of Angelo’s execution. She had realized in those instances that unlike the others who were cruelly taken from her by the twisted will of the Centre, that Jarod still had a chance. The pretender contained inner strength that only could have been developed by over three decades of captivity, a will to survive that she had seen in no other. He had one card to play, one that none of the others she cared about could have used – he was a Centre commodity, their very valuable property. They would never do away with him, instead they’d try to torment his mind until he once again submitted to their will. Parker knew that the Triumvirate would not be able to snap his soul in two like a twig, but rather, it would be a long hard fought battle. The fine line between genius and insanity was very precious, and the Africans would be willing to do almost anything to ensure that Jarod crossed that line.

However this time she wasn’t a helpless child, a naïve lover, or the sad daughter standing on the wrong side of an airplane. No, this time she was in a position to do something, to save Jarod. She was a key player in Centre politics, far from the inner circles of Raines and her demented twin brother, but still important with her own set of contacts and resources. Her successful transfer of Jarod into Triumvirate custody and bought her a lot of clout. The Centre was all about power, and while she didn’t have it all, she certainly had enough to make her worth something to someone.

It was time to play a little political game with Captain Wheezy and brother dearest.

She would battle with everything she had at her disposal to get Jarod transferred back, and pray that he had managed to preserve enough of his soul to be worth saving. She owed him this at least. Once he was back in the relative safety of Blue Cove, it would be back to the status quo; whatever that meant in the Centre.

Parker studied the remains of the scotch in the bottle that lay before her. Seeing it was still well over half full she grabbed her keys, hedging a bet that she was still sober enough to drive. She realized as she left the safe confines of her home, that it was perhaps the first time she’d anything as half full rather than half empty in many years. She could only imagine what Sydney would say about that. Time for that later – right now she needed to see a man about a rat.