Chapter # 8 – Gathering Strength

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Lysander groaned as the hood was yanked off her head, revealing that she was back in the SIM Lab. She didn’t know how, but somehow she had survived what was officially the worst night of her life. She would take all the beatings and psychotropic drugs in the world over what she had been subjected to last evening.

The metronome was still reverberating in her head, so much so she was almost drawn to moving her body side to side to the rhythm still pounding in her skull.  The steady click, click, click in her mind was driving her insane. It was so simple, and yet so insidious.

By the time morning had come, despite her best efforts, Lys had been folded over, her hands only a few inches off the ground. They had dragged her to the shower blocks where she had been able to clean up and most importantly relieve her screaming bladder. When the guards had seen her tilt her head back to attempt to satisfy her thirst, they came at her menacingly, rewarding her with a violent thump to back of her head. 

Lys had half-hoped that she would then be returned to her cell for at least a few hours of sleep, or at the very least given a glass of water let alone something solid to eat. Her mouth was painfully raw, and her already dry lips were beginning to crack. She very much doubted she could speak much above a halting whisper at this point.

“Alright Pet, what’s it going to be today?” The taunting voice of her so-called master questioned her from behind. Lys looked over to her work space, her unfinished prediction from yesterday sitting at the ready.

Why had she bothered to resist in the first damn place? What had that accomplished?  It was clear the Africans weren’t quite ready to destroy her yet, although she didn’t doubt they had the ability when it became prudent to do so. Or maybe this was the grand scheme, slow destruction from within. Tearing her core away piece by piece until what was left was too broken to pick up the scattered pieces.

Welcome to life in Africa.

Lys’ attempt to catalyze the process had resulted in nothing but a painfully sore back and further deflated ego strength.  But she couldn’t give in. Something, whatever it was, just wouldn’t let her.

And then there was Jarod. How was he faring? She still had much residual anger about what had transpired back in Delaware. She was far beyond that level of hopelessness, almost a twisted sense of acceptance that this was simply where her life at taken her. Being locked up for two decades had taught her a lot about acceptance. Every time an electronic lock had sounded, it had taken a small piece of her soul with it. What had transpired after her attempt at escape from Corporation Zero and subsequent entrapment in Blue Cove had taken whatever small fragments still remained.

Lys knew she was no longer living, just existing.

Her back was aching; her throat was raw, her head pounding with a borderline migraine. Although being their puppet hurt in a much deeper and more fundamental way, she could control only one thing in the twisted web of the Africans, and that was her cooperation, or complete lack thereof.

Lys brought her gaze down to the floor, her heart and soul screaming rebellion, her mind and body crying for relief. She stood frozen; half hoping the man behind her would make the next move.

“You have found yourself to be in quite the quandary.” Her handler antagonized her further. He grabbed her arm and propelled her forward, handcuffed as she was, Lys could do little to protest. She stared spitefully at her workspace, as he pushed Lys towards it; releasing her from the handcuffs. 

“Sit.” He ordered, pulling her head backwards by her hair.  She grimaced slightly before noticeably hesitating, causing the man behind her to chuckle.

“Rule number three is complete and utter obedience, no hesitation.” The man informed her neutrally.

Lys remained standing, staring thoughtfully at the small piles of paper that lay on the table in front of her. For the smallest of instances she contemplated sitting down and going back to being their well-behaved monkey once again.

But she didn’t have it in her. She had to keep on fighting; it was the only way.

“Heard the expression a picture is worth a thousand words?” Her handler asked sharply, bending slightly so he was speaking directly into her ear.

Lys flinched away from him. “I think even that one was used before I was locked away from the world.” She replied bitterly.

“Then picture this. Your exaggerated negative mannerisms: the scowl on your face and sarcasm indicate a poor attitude. What image does this paint in your mind?” He pressed on.

Lysander shrugged. “Why don’t you enlighten me?” She asked with forced disinterest.

Her handler stood back for a moment, before reaching down and grabbing a large handful of Lys’s long blond hair. She cried out in pain, as she was pulled from behind and dragged backwards.

“It’s blatantly obvious to me and everyone around you that you require more time to contemplate your exact position in life. The attitude, you will lose it now.” The British man threatened, before pushing Lys in the direction of the guards, as if she were a wilful child.

She didn’t bother struggling, as she was dragged across the lab, back to the same spot she had had occupied just a few short hours ago. Lys squeezed her eyes shut tightly as the chains were attached around her wrists.  Her already aching muscles tightened involuntarily at the thought of being held in the same dreadful position without the possibility of respite.

“See you tomorrow.” Her handler taunted, as he started the metronome. Lys fought the urge to scream, as the antagonizing tick-tock filled the room.

But in a small way, she had to admit, her rebellion felt kind of good.

Lys thought of her mum, closing her eyes as the images danced in her mind. The imagery always brought her strength. She hadn’t forgotten that warm and happy face, but the details had slowly been erased as the years had passed. Lys would give almost anything to know what had happened to her mother after the Conglomerate had stolen her. 

Whatever had happened, she’d like to think her mum would be proud; Twenty years and still going strong.

HOUSE OF BROOTS, BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

Parker guided her Porsche into Broots’ driveway. Sydney had been insistent that they meet at the tech’s house tonight. The psychiatrist had been a no show at the Centre today, some excuse about a terrible migraine. She hadn’t bought it.

She was curious as to why Sydney was so adamant about where they meet.  She could sense there was something big going on and she was rarely wrong.  Something was up, every fibre in her being screamed towards that conclusion.

Throwing the car into park, and shutting off the ignition, Parker quickly exited her Porsche Boxter. Here she was, at the house of Broots of all places.  It had to be only one step up from all the lairs Jarod had dragged her to over the years. Whether he was just a Centre prisoner, Africa’s newest acquisition or just the tormenting genius she had chased for six years, she was beginning to believe that her life was never going to be Jarod free. She would never escape his tangled web.

Parker knocked impatiently at Broots’ front door, grimacing at the wicker furniture placed carefully on the front porch. It was all suburbia was meant to be; a pathetic attempt to project normalcy when all that was hidden in the cookie-cutter tract homes was a regular freak show, at times one that could rival even that of the Centre.

“Miss Parker,” Broots greeted formally. She could tell the tech was nervous. Whatever Sydney had to reveal, it must be good. Even she hadn’t had the ability lately to cause that amount of anxiousness in the tech, and that was saying something.

“Relax Broots. I’m sure whatever Freud has to divulge, it’s not worth using up the entire stick of deodorant.” She commented dryly, obviously remarking at his uneasy demeanour.

Broots shrugged, ignoring her remark. Instead he stepped into the kitchen, taking his seat at the large kitchen table.

“Miss Parker,” Sydney acknowledged from his chair.

“So what do I owe the pleasure of my own little personal trip to Pleasantville boys?” Parker questioned, joining the two men at the table.

“What’s Pleasantville?” an adolescent voice questioned curiously from behind her.

Parker spun around, her mouth gaping slightly. “Gemini,” she stated, her surprise evident in her tone. When she had expressed her earlier desire to touch base with Jarod’s clone, it had been wishful thinking. Never in her life had she actually expected to see him here. It wasn’t right; in fact it was nothing but extremely wrong.

“Jay,” he corrected her quickly. “It’s nice to see you again Miss Parker,” the teen added with a soft smile.

“What are you doing here?”  Parker asked suspiciously, but knowing it had everything to do with Jarod. Few things in her life didn’t, and she suspected that same could be said for Gemini.

“I came to rescue my brother,” Jay responded confidently.

Parker rolled her eyes. Only Jarod and his family would be able to turn something as immoral and unspeakable as a clone, into the long lost son they never had. It was pathetic, yet touching.

“I need a drink,” Parker muttered, as she turned around and faced Sydney, surprised by the guilt that was quickly overwhelming her. She knew better.  Gemini shouldn’t be here, as it was beyond wrong. How could Sydney be so blind as to not see that? 

“You miss your original lab-rat that much Sydney that you need to endanger the life of his copy? Gemini shouldn’t be here, and we should most definitely not be here with him,” she stated, a noticeable edge to her tone.

“It was my idea,” Jay’s hesitant voice shot back, his earlier confidence obviously faltering.  

Parker kept her eyes on Sydney. “And I’m sure that you found your way to Broots’ humble abode all by yourself,” she asked the teen knowingly.

Sydney’s eyes narrowed slightly, “Parker, you said it yourself. We need help to bring Jarod home.”

Parker wordlessly accepted the shot of whatever Broots had managed to dig up in his liquor cabinet without breaking eye contact with Sydney. She wouldn’t involve Gemini in this charade. With Jarod safely back in their custody, every sweeper in Blue Cove was now gunning for the evasive carbon copy. The state of Delaware was the last place the teen should be. Jarod’s quest for freedom may be a lost cause, but Gemini had been saved. She would be damned if she would participate in anything that could lead to his recapture.

She turned back to Gemini. “I can’t believe the Major let you come here – knowing the risks. We might as well call Raines right now and tell him his little pet project is ready for a little school reunion.” she stated neutrally, her eyes boring into the teen’s. Gemini flinched at the mention of Raines, his gaze immediately falling to the floor as he tugged nervously at his sweater.

It was obvious that the Major didn’t know. With an impatient sigh, Parker turned back, prepared to throw her wrath completely at Sydney.

“Miss Parker …” the psychiatrist started.

“No Sydney. It isn’t enough that we have all committed Jarod to a lifetime of hell in Africa, now you want to involve Gemini as well?” She demanded angrily.

“Uhh it’s Jay, Miss Parker,” Broots interjected, only to be immediately silenced as Parker glared in his direction.

“Jay, Gemini whatever. I cannot believe you Sydney. What about the Major? Are you planning on hiding yet another one of his family members from him for god knows how long? This is our mess to clean up, not theirs. If Jarod ever were to find out about this, he’d…”

“He’d what Miss Parker?” Sydney questioned her angrily. “Jay volunteered his help to us. Face it, we are beaten. We need help. Our answers won’t be found behind Centre walls, not this time. He is here because he wants to be, and under the circumstances who are any of us to deny him that chance?”  

“This isn’t about saving Jarod, Sydney. If it were you’d have the balls necessary to do it yourself. Do not turn this into something it’s clearly not. It’s not about Jarod; it’s about you and satisfying whatever issues you still have with your twisted life. You can’t find absolution with your original science experiment so why not turn back the clock and using the newer and improved version,” Parker accused, her tone dripping with venom.

“You don’t understand Parker. I make no excuses for my past, but I promised Jarod I would come for him, that I would find a way to save him. I’ve looked the other way too many times. It’s far time I did something about it.” Sydney growled back. It wasn’t often the psychiatrist got this riled up over something. 

“Yes Sydney. It’s time you did something. I’m done trying to find method in your madness. You have an excuse for every action or decision.  If this is how you are going to save your precious golden boy, by exploiting his carbon copy, then so be it. Is this the path to get you what you really want, having both Jarod and Jarod 2.0 under your precious guidance? You are dearly mistaken if you think for one moment that I’ll be a participant in this twisted game. I’m out.” She sneered.

 “Miss Parker.” Broots gasped. Parker swung her head towards the tech where he was hesitantly pointing in Jay’s direction.

Parker turned around to see the teen fleeing from the room, as the true gravity of the words she had just said hit her straight on.

With a groan of frustration, Parker turned back to face the two men before her.

“Tell me Broots you don’t agree with this. Jay shouldn’t be here. Jarod has wanted only two things from his freedom: answers and family. How can you allow his family to be broken up even more than it already is? This is the last thing Jarod would want.”

“Jay came on his own Miss Parker.” Broots reminded her. “Sydney had taken every precaution to make sure he is safe. Not one of us wants the Centre to find out he’s around. I don’t think you are being fair to him.”

“Jay doesn’t know any better. Hell I remember Jarod at that age, he believed he could do anything and everything, without the reality of consequences.”

“He still does Miss Parker.” Sydney stated irately.

She shot the shrink a glare. “He believes, but he knows there are consequences to his actions. What about Jay? Well I don’t deny that he lived a less than pleasant life under Raines, do you want to enlighten him as to the welcome home party that will be waiting him? What about the grim details of exactly what is likely being done to Jarod in Africa? And what about Jarod, what are you going to tell him if by some miracle he’s still kicking and screaming if we manage to get him transferred back here? How are you going to explain why the little family he gave everything to find is nothing but a bunch of scattered pieces for him to put back together again?”

“I don’t know Miss Parker.” Sydney said with obvious frustration, burying his face into his hands.

“Miss Parker, if raising Debbie has taught me anything, it’s that children are capable of things even we can’t imagine. If Jay wants to help, who are we to deny this to him? If Debbie is old enough to spend the semester in France, then he’s definitely old enough to make his own choices.”

Parker scoffed. “There’s a big difference between lollygagging in the Louvre versus playing chicken with the Zulus.”

Sydney stood up angrily from the table.

“Where do you think you are going Freud? This conversation is far from over.” Parker sneered.

“In case you didn’t notice Miss Parker, the harshness of your words sent the very person you are so dearly trying to protect running out of the room. I’m going to speak with him. Whatever this is, can wait.” Sydney stated with conviction.

Parker shot up from the table. Sydney’s eyes narrowed as she pushed him aside.

“I’ll do it.” She offered, leaving no room for argument.

She didn’t know what to think. Every fibre of her being screamed that Jay should not be here, that it was wrong to use him, but a very small part of her was already considering the possibilities.

Whatever it takes. It was a statement she had said over and over again in the past six years chasing Jarod. Whatever it takes to bring the genius home, whatever necessary to dig up the secrets of the past, whatever it takes to survive.  

She wouldn’t sacrifice Jay to save Jarod. Sydney clearly had no issues making that decision and Broots was too wrapped up in his new age parenting methods to see the stark black and white of this particular situation.

Jarod wasn’t around to protect the boy, and the Major was nowhere in sight, likely not even remotely close to Delaware.

She would shoulder the burden.

As she climbed the stairs, she had to wonder how it was so easy for her to care for Gemini, but when it came to Jarod, she rarely did anything. Two people, same twisted Centre tale, one genetic code. Her feelings simply didn’t add up. 

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Jarod inhaled sharply as he struggled to slip out of the unconscious haze the sedatives had created for him. The memory of what exactly had occurred before he was sedated quickly resurfaced, a feeling of violation immediately consuming him. He pushed away his memory of the first time his annual Centre medical exam had involved two plastic sample cups. Jarod had been so distraught after that first visit, they had subsequently sedated him for all future examinations. 

The Africans had clearly proven their point. For all his bravado and resistance they had demonstrated there was one thing that was completely out of his control.  Jay had been created well over fifteen years ago, he would be stupid to believe that they had been letting his apparently invaluable DNA sit idle since then.

It was just easier not to think about it. He couldn’t, not here, not now.

Jarod gave a gentle tug on his left wrist, not surprised to find himself in soft hospital restraints, all part of their need to constantly assert their control over him. He reluctantly glanced down, surprised to find an IV running out of his left hand. He followed the line up, but was unable to read the contents of the bag. He suspected that it was most likely rehydration fluids, but too many nights spent under the influence of some unidentifiable narcotics made him wary.

Turning his head to the right, Jarod let in a deep breath, enjoying the moment to simply be himself. He was mentally and physically exhausted, and craving human interaction in a way he never had thought possible. His personal resources were slowly dwindling and his memories of his freedom and of his family were growing slightly more distant with each passing day. It was hard, picturing his father, Jay and Emily together as he lay a prisoner an ocean away. The memories had initially brought him comfort, and still did, but now they were starting to add to his hopelessness and misery. 

Logically he knew they would be working hard towards a rescue, but he had been here for what had been at least a month, likely much longer, and had yet to find a single flaw in their security. If he couldn’t even begin to plot a way out, how would they plot a way in? It was ironic, as the only person who could make a difference, would be Raines. Jarod knew that the chairman would not lift a finger to bring him home, until Raines was certain that he had shattered into a million pieces. If the Centre even had that kind of leverage to begin with.

Aware his desperation was quickly growing, Jarod turned his thoughts to the new accommodations he had been escorted to last night, desperate to decipher exactly what game they were trying to play at. Isolation had been an unspoken requirement of his captivity his entire life, and yet they had thrown him into a cage with several other men and why?

Given he had spent the majority of his night handcuffed to one of the bars that made up the perimeter of the prison, Jarod had spent most of his night simply observing the other men. He had quickly leapt to one observation, that only he wore a brand on his top left shoulder. It made him different.

He now knew that they were using these new harsher conditions, as a means to attempt to further break him down. Jarod had spent so much time behind locked doors in his life, he had simply learned to cope. The punishing routine of his days here at the Triumvirate Headquarters had made his isolation at night that much more imperative to his survival. His mind was his one and only powerful weapon against them, and as long as he possessed the capability to use it to its full potential, they would never break him down. His resolve might diminish, but it would never crumble.  

The Centre had never fully understood what he was capable off, and instead of relied on threats and intimidation to ensure Jarod’s compliance. The Africans were clearly were much more educated on how to play the game.

Jarod knew his new accommodations would stretch his already waning mental resources even further. They had taken the last few morsels of privacy he still had left out of the equation. He was no longer free to recover from the ramifications of his nightmares, to let his frustrations out, to simply allow his tortured soul a few moments of relative safety.

It meant every second of every day he was held prisoner here, would be a fight for survival.

Jarod shuddered slightly as his mind began to question exactly how long he could go on like this for. He refused to broach the question, as he recalled the emptiness in the eyes of the men who shared his imprisonment.

As to who they were and why they were locked up in such pitiful conditions, Jarod was clueless. Not that he wanted to investigate what could lead to such disparity in the first place. When it came right down to it, it didn’t matter anyway. It was out of his control.  His own survival was questionable, let alone that of poor men, most of which he suspected were well beyond the saving stage.

Jarod could hear Sydney’s voice in his head, pleading with him to be strong, to fight. He heard his father’s pleas screaming at him not to give up, that they would wait for him to come home, that they would come home. He was beginning to realize that they were nothing but nice thoughts. Africa was his battle to fight, alone. The images of his family gave him strength, but survival was up to only him.

The days had turned into weeks, and the weeks eventually would turn into months. Jarod knew he couldn’t hold on forever. Eventually it would come down to one simple choice; the lives of the innocent or his. 

MEXICO CITY, MEXICO

Emily closed the door gently behind her, looking cautiously to her father staring out of their airport room hotel. The Major was too distraught to even pilot a plane, and hence they were returning to America via commercial airlines.

“Dad?” she called softly, giving him a small smile, as he turned to meet her gaze. “I’ve brought some take-out, enchiladas.”

The major nodded his thanks, returning to his empty staring out the window, his face expressionless.

“He’s okay Dad, I know he is.” Emily assured the Major. She was trying so hard to be so strong, to keep it together, but even she was beginning to falter. Her father, already mentally exhausted with trying to process Jarod’s fate, was falling further and further from her reach.

“I just don’t understand why he couldn’t feel that he could trust us with that information. I tried so hard to give that boy the life he deserved after we rescued him from the Centre.” The Major stated softly.

“He left without a word because he knew we would have talked him out of it.” Emily replied, setting the takeout down on the table and walking over to her father.

“Why?” He whispered, his despair evident.

“I don’t know Dad.” Emily remarked honestly. “But I do know he has a big heart. He’s just a lost teenage boy, trying to save his older brother from the same fate that he, himself, was rescued from.” Jay’s note had been extremely vague, filled with obvious guilt-ridden apologies and a few words stating he had gone to find a way to bring Jarod home. There was no clue as to where he might be headed, Emily could only pray it was neither in the direction of the Congo or Delaware. Her instincts screamed otherwise however.

“We have to find him.” The Major said with broken conviction. “It seems that history has chosen to repeat itself. All my sons – missing once again.”

Emily sat down next to her father, pulling him into a big bear hug.  “I’m still here Dad, and I’m never going to let go of you.” She whispered, shivering slightly, as he pulled her tight against him.

They were holding on by the thinnest of threads.

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Henrik studied Lysander intently from his private viewing area behind the two-way mirror. The predictor had him admittedly stumped. She had arrived in Africa only days after a failed suicide attempt. She had cooperated without question, but now, out of the blue had found strength to fight.

They wanted him to figure out how to destroy her spirit, but Henrik was slowly realizing it was already gone. How do you break someone who is fighting for nothing? It was as if Lysander was willing death to come to her, and that rebellion would catalyze the process that the predictor was so certain was coming towards her.

Jarod has been suspiciously absent from the lab for the entire day, but Henrik had been too fearful to dare bring up the issue to Dr. Masoud.

He was getting close to finding a way to entice Jarod, he could feel it. After his talk with Dr. Masoud he had realized something very key to the pretender’s inner workings – feelings of guilt. Everything Jarod had done leading up to and after his escape had been motivated by the guilt he felt about the misuse of his simulations.

Henrik had sifted through pages of electronic reports, detailing the many people Jarod had helped on his so-called pretends. It was as if one person at a time, the pretender was trying to balance the scales.

It was a misguided quest, although Henrik had found the little tales admittedly touching. As a small boy he had lain awake, cursing whatever higher being had sentenced him to a life of captivity. He would wish for a miracle, someone to save him from his fate.

Henrik now knew the world didn’t work like that. Life was all about power and what one did with the opportunities they were born into. In the big scheme of things, Henrik knew he didn’t have any power by which to bargain with. He had been gifted with accelerated intelligence, an asset so powerful that if it wasn’t the Centre exploiting it, it would have been some other nefarious organization.

Henrik had forgotten what it was like to feel hope, until he had the pages and pages of documents detailing the people Jarod had helped. The path his life had taken him on had taught him only how to accept his fate.  His genius had sentenced him to this life, and all he was able to do was learn to accept it and learn to make the best of it.

Still Henrik had found himself drifting slightly into SIM mode, as he had reviewed the files, relishing in the happy emotions Jarod’s pretends had brought to others. Such pleasant feelings were not part of his existence.  

It was not the life of a pretender to feel emotions, rather to interpret them from a neutral standpoint. Jarod would learn eventually. Henrik would see to it. The key to the pretender’s rebellion was guilt, and this would also be the solution to his undoing.  The solution was so close, Henrik could almost taste it.

Henrik could only wish that unlocking Jarod’s resistance would be his ticket out of Africa.

Dr. Klaus wouldn’t leave him here, would he?