Sydney thought about turning the radio on.

That thought lasted only a couple of seconds.

The silence inside the car was deafening, almost oppressive. She was quiet—too quiet—and he didn’t like it when that happened. Usually, when this type of silence invaded her, there was something wrong.

From The Centre to her house it took no more than thirty minutes—fifteen according to her standards. They were on the right track, but they were taking too long. Almost forty five minutes. Even Broots would be there by now (and Broots WAS a slow driver).

She was driving slowly enough to reveal a certain anxiety. It was like her mind was so focused on other subjects that the part concerned with the driving had to be reduced to a minimum.

Sydney had plenty of time to consider this later, so he simply reclined his seat a bit and closed his eyes.

They would be there soon.

*/*

At the deepest bowels of The Centre, Larry had managed to regain his composure and was sitting at the east corner, away from the door. His eyes were open, but his mind and self were elsewhere.

Larry Summerson, age sixty-five, was now an empty shell.

He was six again, a scared little boy. Scared of Mr. Edwards, scared of Mr. Parker; but, most of all, scared of his two new colleagues. He felt evil in them. In their eyes he saw a glimpse of the future yet to be written and was so frightened that all rational thinking abandoned his body.

He knew no one would listen to his warnings. In fact, he was afraid that letting the future be known to those responsible for it, would only help to accelerate the process. If he kept his mouth shut, perhaps fate turned out differently.

He was too young at the time to understand his gift. He was too young to even realize he had a gift. Young Larry would acknowledge the occasional visions he’d have as if they were regular events in every normal child.

Years later, he discovered they weren’t and regretted for not taking a stand when the first vision revealed. Maybe things had worked out different. Maybe then his uncle would never take him to Europe, he would never meet his wife and his son would never be born.

He would be a prisoner all his life, gladly sacrificing his freedom for a chance to release his son from what he had become; even if that meant erasing him from existence.

They had done to Alex what they intended to do with him. It was his fault. But, perhaps, he could do something to change that. All his life, ever since Larry realized he was not ‘normal’, he had always interpreted his gift as something passive. He had little control over it. He could ignore it, turn it off, whatever. But, every time he’d choose to let himself go or every time it was too strong for him to avoid, it would take him beyond time and space and allow him to assist events as a mere spectator.

For the first time ever, Larry was considering that it might be possible to intervene in the vision, to alter the events from their core. In other words, it was time to stop being an ordinary spectator and assume a more active role.

*/*

SL 27

Jarod’s Cell

“You look like you have something on your mind,” Lyle said, amused. “Wish I could help you out, but this is a puzzle you gonna have to figure it out yourself.” He smiled. “Ah. . .It really is so nice.”

“What is?”

“Power, Jarod. What else? When you realize the power you possess, that feeling, that knowledge is even more overwhelming that the power itself.

“I have to be honest. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here right now. Your existence brought me nothing but pain. However, it also made me an extremely powerful man, and for that I thank you. In fact, right now, I don’t know what makes me happier—having this power or seeing that priceless dumbfounded look on your face.”

“I will figure it out”

“I’m sure you will. But, by then, it will be too late.”

The cell door swung open and Lyle turned around irritated. A sweeper came in.

“I said I wanted NO interruption.” Lyle growled.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lyle; but we have a situation. The prisoner in room 17 has been found catatonic.”

“Greet. . .Where is he now?”

“He’s still there. We decided to wait for your instructions before taking him to Renewal.”

“No, don’t take him there. Call Dr. Mitchum, tell her I need her cooperation and silence on this level.”

“Where do we take the prisoner, then?”

“Take him to Lab A.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And tell Alex to be there too. I want him to watch.”

“Yes, sir,” the sweeper said, before exiting the room.

“You’re sick, Lyle.”

“Can’t blame a guy for enjoying a good show. Besides, I’m sure he will be totally indifferent to his father’s pain. What I really want to see is the look in the old man’s eyes when he finally realizes that.”

“Damn you!”

“There’s no redemption for me, Jarod. Not anymore. It’s time for each one of us to assume his role.”

*/*

Alex was in his private office. The term was not the most suited. Honestly speaking, it was a cell like all the others in that level. The big differences were the existence of furniture and an unlocked door. He could leave whenever we wanted—unlike other inmates, he had that option—but he wouldn’t do it unless he was told to.

He was staring at the wall with a smile on his face. He could almost experience the feeling of liberation as he visualized himself crushing Lyle’s head against the wall until it was no more than a deformed mass of flesh, bone, hair, skin and blood.

It was nobody’s fault, but him the fact that he was a puppy—a deadly puppy, but still a puppy—calmly waiting for his master’s orders. Yet, somehow, that wasn’t much of a concern to him. Not really. Like Jarod, Alex too had a flaw in his character.

He trusted no one.

It had been he who first told Lyle about the existence of the scrolls. He let Lyle believe that he was in charge, when in fact it was he who was calling all the shots from backstage. Lyle would make the decisions, but they would be based on the information gathered by Alex.

He convinced everyone he was a crucial piece of the puzzle. He was not obsolete. He had a purpose. They needed him, Lyle needed him—he made sure of that. It was almost like a puppeteer being animated by his own puppet.

Now, things were different. Lyle had complete control of his physical action, but there was something in Alex no one could, ever would, control.

His mind.

Until the right moment came, he would make them believe they did.

*/*

Sydney followed Miss Parker into the living room and sat on the couch as she continued to the kitchen.

“Tea?”

“Yes, please.”

Sydney watched as she moved in the kitchen.

The kettle was already in place. She filled it with water and put it on the stove. From the cabinet above she took two mugs and two tea bags. She put a tea bag inside each mug and waited for the water to boil.

Sydney simply watched.

Never. Not once. She did not look at the living room. Ever. Normal chit-chat wasn’t Miss Parker’s regular behavior, but this was different. She was almost avoiding him.

The tension in her actions was worrying Sydney. About an hour earlier, when had burst into his office she had THE spark in her eyes—the same spark her mother used to have when she meant business. Now, not only was the spark gone, it had been replaced with something he wouldn’t consider finding on someone like her—fear.

She was clearly afraid. Others wouldn’t notice—to them she would be their regular ‘Ice Queen’—but he knew her too well. Sometimes, better than she knew herself, or even than he knew himself.

The kettle hissed and she put water on the two mugs. No sugar added. They both enjoyed it that way.

Miss Parker walked back to the living room and handed one of the mugs to Sydney, before sitting on the couch. She let her hair fall downward in a, otherwise innocent, way to hide her face from Sydney.

They both drank in silent.

Sydney, getting ready for what Miss Parker had to say.

Miss Parker, getting ready to say it.

Finally, she put the mug on the coffee table and began talking. “I’ve been doing some thinking and. . .” She hesitated. “I discovered some information that may lead to. . .” Another pause. “What I mean is. . .” Then she stopped abruptly and looked away.

“Parker? Are you alright?”

He motioned to touch her shoulder. As he did so, she turned around unexpectedly, with teary eyes, and asked, plain in simple:

“Are you my father, Sydney?”