Chapter # 2 – Even in my Memories

SYDNEY’S RESIDENCE – BLUE COVE, DELAWARE, Present Day

Sydney sat in his leather recliner, unable to keep memory lane from reclaiming him once again. If he had bothered to calculate the hours, he would be alarmed to find exactly how much time he had spent reliving the past.. He found himself recalling a particular memory from when Jarod had been in his late teens.

“Jarod, are you ready to begin the simulation?” Sydney questioned impatiently. The young man had been uncharacteristically unfocused as of late, to the point where his decreased productivity had been noticed by the Tower. Raines was due at any moment, and Sydney was anxious to get going. “Sydney, I’ve already told you. I’m not comfortable with this simulation. The results can be easily be manipulated to do harm.” The pretender responded with emphasis, standing up from the small simulation table and beginning his familiar pattern of pacing. Sydney took a moment to observe his protégé. Jarod had sprouted up in the past year, and had now surpassed six feet. His voice now had the beginning of the deep tones that would carry him into his adult life.

Sydney sighed impatiently, raising his voice as he spoke, something he rarely needed to do with Jarod.

“This is not open for discussion Jarod. Our clients’ building was bombed! They only wish to find out how it happened.”

Instead of flinching, as the pretender used to do as a child when Sydney had vocally expressed anger towards him, Jarod approached his mentor.

“As I have said many times before Sydney, the design of the building is too common, too generic. Finding the solution is like giving future bombers an instruction kit of how to blow up similar buildings across the country. Picking up the file and tossing it down in front of Sydney, Jarod protested adamantly. “ I won’t do it.” .

Sydney remembered how Jarod had held such narrow-minded views of the world at that stage in his life, not unlike most young adults. Everything to him was black or white. Every problem had one definite solution. Every action was either right or wrong, people were good or bad, no middle ground. Sydney could hardly fault him. It had taken Jarod nearly three years of freedom before the psychiatrist had been able to conclude that the pretender was finally beginning to grasp the concept of shades of grey instead of his stark view of black or white.

It had been the beginning of difficult times for Jarod, and Sydney for that matter. As the pretender’s black and white view of the world had hardened, the stronger his sense of morality became. Sydney had spent months trying to figure out exactly where he had gone wrong with regard to Centre values. He had tried so hard to teach Jarod about the world he was not allowed to experience, but had seemingly failed. It had only recently occurred to him that Jarod’s metamorphosis had begun the day he had been informed his parents had died in an airplane crash. Given he no longer had any true hope of meeting them, Jarod had desperately clung onto the last positive thing he had left in his life, using his mind to help others. It had taken several years, but eventually Jarod had started to refuse some of the simulations he was required to do. His humanity and conscience had taken a firm hold in his ego development.

Sydney tried again “Jarod, I have people to answer to. The Tower expects results. What will you have me do?” The psychiatrist begged. The pretender’s resolve was strong, and he knew he would only gain Jarod’s concession by playing into his desire to help others.

“I won’t do it Sydney. They can’t make me.” The pretender responded, crossing his arms across his chest in defiance so that his body language matched his words.

As the twisted will of the Centre would have things, Raines had chosen that exact moment to make his entrance in the room.

“Jarod, you do not have a voice in this matter.” The man wheezed, pausing slightly to take a deep breath from the oxygen tank he had carried around for the last two years.

Sydney watched mutely as the pretender shrank slightly, as he became aware of Raines’ presence in the room. A quick glance at the simulation material on the desk seemed to strengthen his resolve.

“No.” Jarod responded, his voice wavering slightly, betraying the fear the young man had towards the former doctor.

“Jarod… ” Sydney began to argue, only to be silenced by Raines.

“I’m sorry to hear that Jarod. I think it’s time for a lesson in Centre hierarchy, don’t you Sydney?”

Sydney stood open-mouth, at a lost for words, as both Jarod and Raines focused their stares on the psychiatrist. He was struggling internally, knowing Raines had him cornered. He could not let Jarod believe he was agreeing with the former doctor, but no matter what was about to happen, Sydney had failed to protect his younger charge. Finding his words, he continued on, praying that he might be able to at least temper Jarod from Raines’ wrath.

“Mr. Raines, I was just trying to explain to Jarod the benefit his work could do for our clients. Perhaps if you would aid me in allaying his fear about possible exploitation of this project, we could proceed with the simulation as planned.”

Raines chuckled as four sweepers entered the room, closing in on Jarod.

“Jarod will be returned to you in a week. Until then, I suggest you find other methods of keeping your projects under control. The Tower is not happy with the lack of progress Sydney.” Raines warned, watching in satisfaction as Jarod’s arms were grabbed by the sweepers.

“Sydney?” Jarod pleaded, his eyes wide open in fear, “Help me, please.”

Sydney could only silently shake his head, as the pretender was escorted out of the SIM lab, grateful that Jarod did not put up much resistance. He had tried to prevent this from happening, but he knew that in Jarod’s eyes whatever would happen to the pretender in the next week, would be Sydney’s fault.

Minutes later Sydney had been called to the Tower, and had spent a few hours convincing Mr. Parker that he was still fit to be Jarod’s mentor. He had pleaded to be allowed to go to the pretender, only to be denied. Jarod had remained with Raines for that week, on the belief that he would never again refuse his work once he became aware of the painful consequences of defiance.

When the young man had been returned to the SIM lab after his seven day absence, Sydney would never forget the change in Jarod. The pretender had tried to cover his limp, hide the cigarette burns on his body, never mind the bruises. Sydney had questioned him only once about what had happened, only to be silenced by the haunted look in Jarod’s eyes. The pretender had been so withdrawn, unwilling to engage in conversation, it was as if he was lost. That day, Sydney had realized the ramifications of all the mental tools he had taught Jarod over the years to cope with the psychological stress he encountered as a pretender, the exercises to clear his mind before simulations. Jarod had used these skills in order to survive Raines’ torture, forcing his mind inwards to separate himself from the pain. It had taken weeks for Sydney to pry Jarod out of the sanctuary he had created for himself.

It was not unlike how Jarod had responded to Lyle’s treatment, when he had been returned to the Centre last time, after Miss Parker had been shot. When Angelo had led Sydney to where Jarod was held, it had taken only one look into Jarod’s eyes to realize the pretender had applied the same technique he used to survive Raines’ mistreatment. On the outside, he had appeared broken, and defeated, but in reality Jarod had simply retreated into his mind, his soul carefully buried under the many layers that was his genius, his gift, his curse. Sydney had been greatly concerned, until Jarod had magically slipped him the sedatives that he had somehow managed not to swallow. In that moment Sydney had realized Jarod was still there, not lost.

This time the situation was gravely different. Three weeks under Lyle’s taunting hand would be much different than anything the Africans would likely dream up for Jarod. How long could that precious mind be suppressed before it was lost for good, shattered by its unrelenting mistreatment?

It was that question that concerned Sydney the most.

TRIUMVIRATE STATION –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Lysander groaned as she slowly slipped out of her dreamland. The first few moments of consciousness were such bliss. She could make-believe anything; that she was at home with her mother, still the carefree sixteen year old. She would relish in the warmth and comfort she felt, until she opened her eyes, her ever present headache ripping into her psyche, reality reminding her that she was neither happy nor safe.

The cell Lys was being kept in was small, so tiny that she could barely stretch out, let alone spread eagle. It was also completely barren. She was dependant on them for everything, food, water, bathroom breaks, even her hygiene. Everything was bland, even her uniform was blah, describable as a colour that best resembled vomit. She could almost picture her teen-aged self-consciousness in the mirror, knowing her pale complexion did her no favours. How she would give anything to be able to obsess over such trivial matters as her appearance once again.

Lys didn’t know exactly what she had expected to experience, when she had arrived here, but her worst fears had yet to come to fruition. She had envisioned evil Zulu contraptions, torture, drug binges, but no one had yet to lay a hand on her, save the first time she had woken up in here. They had dragged her, hooded and shackled to some fun little corner in their maze. She had been strapped, face down, bending over a table, until some red hot poker stick had been painfully pressed onto the top left of her back.

It had taken a few days, but eventually the skin had healed enough to allow her to tenderly trace her fingers over the shape that had been permanently burned into her skin. It was a constant reminder that in their eyes, she was no better than livestock. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, as her fingers had found the pattern, the three interconnected triangles seared onto her flesh. It was the mark of the triumvirate that would stay with her until death. Even if by some grace of god, she managed to escape from here, the marks of her time in Africa would always be with her, a constant reminder. Despite her hopeless situation, Lysander had to smile at the thought of trying to explain the brand on her back to her old high school crush. Lys often spent many hours trying to recall her most missed luxuries of freedom. If she had been asked to trade anything for one moment of bliss, she would ask for a hug. Nothing was more comforting than the sensation of being surrounded by warm, loving arms. In here, the only time she was touched brought about pain and restriction.

Lys had made only one snide remark about her accommodations to the man who was her new handler, only to be informed that as long as she behaved like an animal, she would be treated as such; the reference obviously correlating with her desire to flee.

They were trying to dehumanise her, remind Lys that her position on the totem pole was hugging the ground. Lysander was never referred to by name, never spoken to unless absolutely necessary. The man who led her through the predictions had not told her his own name. The guards pulled and shoved her along, never making eye contact, let alone instigating conversation. She was desperately craving human interaction but was far from her breaking point. Although Lysander’s back screamed for the creature comfort of even a pitiful old lumpy cot, the dignity of being able to relive her screaming bladder when she needed to, or a tap to quench her ever present thirst, it didn’t matter. The hours were long, and empty. She would do almost anything to relieve herself from the boredom.

She had performed three stock market predictions to date, as a follow up to the demise of Corporation Zero. The underground corporation that had stolen her was days away from ruin. The Triumvirate was now focusing their efforts on the main financial supporters of the company. Lysander wasn’t sure if it was actually to ensure there would be no retaliation, or just the underlying theme of power that existed in their ranks. It was a message to those who would dare to dream to take on the Triumvirate and its twisted holdings. Mess with them, and you’ll lose everything.

Lysander wasn’t naïve any more. She had made one escape too many, enough that the powers that be in Africa had called in her number. She was here for one reason and one reason only, to have her spirit broken. She would stay here indefinitely, only hoping to return to New Zealand, when they’re certain she wouldn’t have the will to try and leave again. In all likelihood they would just leave her here to rot, stewing in the madness she had no doubt they would create for her. They would torture her eventually; the question was whether it would be emotional or physical? She could sense that something big was brewing. Lys could almost imagine the powers that controlled her life plotting her destruction behind closed doors, dreaming up the itemized list that would cause her to fall to her knees. She could only hope her madness wouldn’t leave her the bitter murderous being that Alex had become.

Lys knew that the despair she had felt at the Centre was slowly returning. She had been so close to ending her life on her terms. On some twisted level she was grateful at Jarod’s selfishness in refusing to allow her suicide attempt to be a successful one. However, when Lysander returned to reality from the comforts of dreamland, she could feel nothing but anger towards Jarod. The pretender had bought her nothing but a few extra weeks, maybe months of misery and pain. Lysander truly believed, that when the Africans found the key to unlocking her soul, that she would be dead, at least on the inside. There was no way she would submit to their will without losing herself in the process, unless by some miracle she could act her way through their dance. Jarod had fought hard for her life, and Lys drew comfort from the fact that the pretender was nearby, experiencing the same anguish she was. She could draw strength from him, knowing for once in her life she wasn’t totally alone. However Lys knew she was fragile, and her lifeline was much shorter than the battle she was embarking on would call for. Pills or insanity, either way she was on death’s door. Jarod had taken away option A, and now she would die by their terms - not hers, unless by some miracle she could escape the hopeless situation she was in.

She couldn’t help but wonder what was happening to the pretender. She had such mixed feelings about Jarod. Every minute of existence in this pitiful African prison was due to him. Every bruise, every humiliating taunt by her keepers, the brand of the triumvirate she would carry to her grave. But there was still some small part of her that was hoping for a different outcome, one that would make all of this pain and suffering worthwhile.

But for all of her hoping, Lys could see no way out of this hole she had been pushed into. She was freefalling without a parachute. Whatever they had planned for her, she could only hope that she would find peace from insanity before she crashed into the ground. She didn’t want to be aware, when they turned her into a monster. She could only take comfort in the fact that she would fight them until she was destroyed. She would give it her all, and only hope that it would score her points, when she finally met her maker.

God.

If only she had the luxury in believing in his existence. She had long given up on the concept of a higher being. How could she believe, in a world where she had been ripped from her home, and held captive for two decades with the worst kind of monsters imaginable?

But for this journey she would pretend. It was a nice thought to think that when her soul was finally shattered, that she would finally be able to find peace.

SYDNEY’S RESIDENCE – BLUE COVE, DELAWARE , Present Time

Sydney was once again lost in the thralls of his memories. As a young boy, Jarod had held on so dearly to the hope that one day he would once again be reunited with his parents. The pretender had been so devastated to learn of their apparent crash. The day they had ‘died’, had been the day that Jarod’s innocence had slowly begun to slip away. Little by little, the pretender found the will to defy a little more, to question, and to resist. The light at the end of the tunnel had been cruelly blackened out, and Jarod had been forced to finally accept the fact that he would likely remain at the Centre indefinitely. He had never given up hope of being granted his freedom, but Sydney suspected that deep-down Jarod knew it would never be that simple.

Sydney had to remind himself that there had once been another shining light in Jarod’s life; Miss Parker. The moment the young girl had entered the lonely pretender’s life. Jarod had become consumed with the beautiful girl, likely the one positive thing in the boy’s troubled life. As soon as the young woman had come of age, Mr. Parker had sent her to Europe to complete her secondary education. Jarod had asked about her once, and Sydney had given the pretender the reply his superiors had ordered.

“She’s gone away Jarod. She’s growing up. You won’t see her again. Best just to forget. You will not speak of Miss Parker again, am I clear?”

With that, Jarod had lost the one person who treated him as an equal. The girl who allowed him to forget about being property of the Centre, even if just for a few short minutes a day. Sydney sighed as the guilt he carried regarding his role in destroying Parker’s and Jarod’s friendship surfaced. At the time, he had been just following orders, but as the hunt for Jarod had played out over the past six years, he realized just how deep their bond had been, and that it wasn’t just Jarod who had benefited. Jarod’s humanity had rubbed off on Parker, kept her deceased mother close to the girl’s heart, but most importantly her gentle, loving side. The pretender’s gentle demeanour kept Miss Parker grounded. The instant Jarod had been removed from young Miss Parker’s life, her father had been free to fully manipulate the woman, resulting in the hardened Ice Queen facade that had joined the Jarod pursuit six years ago. Sydney wasn’t quite sure where she stood now. Miss Parker had exhibited such kindness, but also such coldness towards Jarod in the past weeks. Sydney wasn’t even sure if Parker knew where she stood anymore in regards to Jarod.

Sydney truly believed Miss Parker was at a crossroad, stuck somewhere in the middle, a dangerous place to be at the Centre. The younger woman was forced to be so strong and callous by the nature of her work. However at the same time she had become increasingly aware, mostly due to Jarod’s interference, of the evil work that was supported in the many sublevels of the complex; projects that her mother would never have allowed to have continued. He had invested much energy trying to lend support to Parker over the past six years, whether it was wanted or not.

It was now time to shift his focus back to the horrid reality of Jarod’s current situation. The pretender needed him now more than ever. It frustrated Sydney to no end that here he was, with his eyes wide open, only to now be an entire ocean away from his beloved protégé.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, the psychiatrist slowly rose to his feet. He had wasted enough time reliving the past. There was only one person he could possibly trust to help him get Jarod back. She obviously had the skills required. He could only hope she would find the inner strength and compassion necessary to make this journey with him. Miss Parker had suffered so much, almost as much as Jarod had, and he hated himself for even considering asking her to join him on this plight. Yet, Jarod had done so much for them, and Sydney knew that Jarod still had a chance, that his life was still worth fighting for, no matter what sacrifices he needed to make personally.

Grabbing the keys to his Buick, Sydney purposefully opened his door, jumping back in shock as his eyes focused on a small, dark figure waiting on his porch, lit cigarette sending tendrils of smoke into a grey sky. She wasn’t facing him, but the psychiatrist didn’t fail to notice that her back tensed, as his presence was felt.

“Miss Parker.” He exclaimed, trying to suppress the surprise in his voice. “What can I do for you?”

“I …” The young woman started, struggling to find the words as she turned to face him.

Smiling knowingly, Sydney led the younger woman into his house, graciously pulling her leather coat from her slender frame, giving her the time and space she needed to settle in. Parker was always so tough, she needed time to allow her softer side to shine through. Sydney could wait, he relished moments like this, when Parker was much closer to Catherine than the façade Mr. Parker and the Centre had forced her to create in order to survive in their environment.

“I’ve never heard such desperation in his voice Sydney.” Miss Parker finally admitted forlornly. “I can’t get his pleading out of my head. He was so scared, so alone, and I just allowed them to sedate him without a word.” She continued, her voice wavering slightly.

“Parker…” Sydney began patiently, not wanting to imagine the fear Jarod would have experienced as he had felt the needle prick, knowing he would regain consciousness in the one place on earth that could claim to have more demons than the Centre.

“No Sydney. I’m not here to play what would Freud think. Jarod’s been a real pain in the ass the last six years, his games, his whining, his bad childhood theatrics. But at the end of the day, as hard as it is to admit, he’s the only one around here who has never lied to me. I just let the Africans take him like a flock of hungry vultures. I did nothing to fight for him. You know if the situation was reversed, he would have done whatever it took. He always does.”

“What could you have done Parker? We were just as powerless as he was to stop the transfer. ” Sydney argued.

Miss Parker snorted. “Please Sydney. I don’t see anyone dragging your shackled ass across the Atlantic.”

“There is nothing more we could have done Miss Parker at the time. You have to realize that. Anything we might have tried would have been a death sentence for any one of us.”

“Like what you did for the Major?” Parker asked knowingly.

Sydney shrugged slightly. “It was the only direction I could pursue without my hands being tied Miss Parker. I’m only sorry that it didn’t work out for the best, as I suspect so are you?”

The young woman smiled bitterly. “Daddy – or whoever he was, once told me that it was time for his treasure to shine. He taught me well Syd. I’m the epitome of Corporate.”

“You are in everyway Miss Parker, except for the most important one.” Syd countered. “You still care.”

Parker sighed heavily. “My mother’s legacy, or is it curse? Feelings get you killed around here, whether murder or self-inflicted suicide. My life would be a hell of a lot easier without them.”

Sydney stood back as Miss Parker began pacing in his front entranceway, ignoring her bitter remarks. It was Parker’s way of dealing with pain, he had long ago given up trying to rid her of that habit. “Jarod’s given me every important discovery in my life for the past six years, anything positive in my life is because of him. Pain in the ass or not, I owe him.” She continued. “Bringing home his genius ass is the only way I can repay him.”

Sydney nodded in agreement, watching as Parker sighed heavily, bringing strength to her posture, before bringing her eyes to meet Sydney’s gaze.

“Let’s get him back Sydney. Whatever it takes.”