Disclaimer: The Characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots and The Center are all property of MTM, TNT and NBC Productions and are used without permission. Don't think of it as copyright infringement. Consider this as an unpaid advertisement to increase interest in "The Pretender" while we wait for the series to come out on DVD and video.
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Author's Note: Due to the extreme nature of the subject matter, this story is rated NC-17. Story contains graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex between members of the same sex. 
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Reconstructing Jarod
Part1 - Capture
-
By Phenyx
12/26/03

-


People were screaming. 

For a mere fraction of a second, the dark-haired, dark-eyed man hesitated. His tall, lean frame was already prepared for flight. In the large crowd milling about on the fairgrounds, he would have no trouble escaping the group of Centre operatives searching for him among the game booths and loud rides. If he chose, the pretender could easily vanish right now, without even laying eyes on the beautiful woman who pursued him. She and her brother were close, drawn to this place by carefully calculated clues left by the pretender, as was his habit.

But fate was against Jarod today. Moments after the screeching sound of wrenching metal rang through the air, the randomly moving crowd of people morphed into a wave of panic. Glancing behind him, Jarod quickly spotted the object of distress. The Ferris wheel, brightly colored but obviously ancient, was tilting forward on its base like the crooked halo of some near-fallen angel.

Jarod began to run toward the broken ride, fighting his way through the throngs that were fleeing from that point. Quickly assessing the situation as he approached, Jarod could see several riders still clinging to the individual cars on the Ferris wheel. The contraption was weaving awkwardly as it tilted even more, causing the trapped passengers to scream all the louder.

As Jarod approached, he could see people clambering from the lower cars. One young man, roughly fifteen or sixteen years of age, leapt from about halfway up the wheel. The car rocked drunkenly as the boy left his perch, tossing him gracelessly into the air. The boy's arms flailed uselessly and he hit the ground with a sickeningly wet crunch as the back of his skull ruptured on impact.

Chaos reigned all around him as Jarod reached the Ferris wheel. People were shouting and there were a couple of men valiantly trying to fling a rope to the top of the wheel. "That won't hold this thing upright for long," Jarod hollered at them. 

"The fire department is on the way," someone yelled back. 

Knowing that help would arrive too late, Jarod clambered up the twisted metal frame and began to climb toward the screams above him. Jarod reached the still swaying car that the now dead boy had jumped from just minutes ago. Peering over the edge, he found another boy cowering on the floor.  

Younger than the first by about four years, this youngster had his hands clamped tightly over his ears. "Tony, Tony, Tony," the boy whimpered over and over, tears streaming down his face.

"Cover the boy," Jarod yelled down to the handful of people gathered below. Turning back to the weeping child, Jarod said, "Come here, I'll help you down."

"No, no, Tony, no," the boy moaned. 

"Come here!" Jarod demanded firmly. "Get up slowly and give me your hand." Jarod's voice was strong and the boy followed the command automatically. Fearfully gripping Jarod's hand, the boy did as he was told. Jarod pulled the child to his chest in a bear-like hug and held him tightly for a moment. 

Glancing at the ground, Jarod was relieved to see that several jackets now hid the dead boy's body. "Hang on to me, sport. Hang on tight," Jarod said in a gentle tone. With the youngster clinging desperately with his arms around Jarod's neck and his thin legs around Jarod's waist, the pretender carefully eased his way back to the ground.

As they reached the earth, Jarod peeled the boy away from his body and handed him to a nearby pair of arms. "Get him a safe distance away from here," Jarod ordered. 

Grabbing the metal structure once again, Jarod began to climb. "I'll come with you," a young blonde man called to him. 

"No," Jarod said. "Too much weight climbing the sides may pull this thing over." As if to emphasize his words, the Ferris wheel wavered and groaned again. The angle of the tilted frame increased as screams ripped through the air.

"My wife and daughter are up there," the blonde yelled. "Please, find them. Please!"

Jarod moved quickly. His past experiences in the search and rescue unit served him well. The adrenaline surging through his body helped Jarod to climb with strength and speed. Moving past the point where he'd found the boy, Jarod climbed higher. The next car was empty. 

Nearing the top of the Ferris wheel, Jarod reached a car containing a pretty young woman and her little girl. The woman was desperately trying to sooth the frightened child but her own fear was easily heard in her trembling voice. "Oh please, help us," the terrified mother whispered when she saw Jarod appear. 

Jarod clung to the side of the car, panting for a moment as he pondered the situation. The child was very small, no more than four years old. He didn't think the woman could safely climb down on her own either. She was too petite, five foot nothing, and the stretch between the metal spokes would be too far for her. The weakening frame shuddered once again, warning Jarod that time was of the essence. 

Looking toward the ground, Jarod could see that the crowd had given the weaving structure a wide berth. The Ferris wheel was going to fall and everyone knew it. A sea of wide-eyed faces gazed up at him. It took only a moment for Jarod to pick out one particular pair of lovely gray eyes. He saw her and knew that Parker had seen him locate her in the crowd. Their eyes met briefly. Unsure of what had passed between them with the glance, Jarod turned back to the woman and her child.

"What is her name?" Jarod asked, tilting his head toward the little girl.

"Melody," the woman answered.

"Melody," Jarod said. "My name is Jarod. You and I are going to be good friends. Your daddy and I are best buddies." 

Mention of her father seemed to grab the child's attention. "Daddy?" she whimpered.

"Yes," Jarod nodded. "Come with me, Melody. I will take you to your daddy." 

The youngster huddled more closely to her mother in terror. "Melody," the woman said tenderly. "You must go with Jarod. I'll see you in a few minutes."

Holding out his hand expectantly, Jarod said, "Come on, sweetie. Your daddy is waiting."

Gently pried away from her mother, the little girl was coaxed in Jarod's direction. Hugging the precious bundle to his chest, Jarod cast a quick look at the woman and said, "I'll be right back."

"Don't worry about me," she said. "Save my baby."

With a quick nod of understanding, Jarod eased his way back the way he had come. Climbing one handed, he held the child close with the other. When the metal groaned beneath Jarod's feet, the wheel tilted even further. For a harrowing moment, Jarod thought the entire contraption was finally collapsing. He held on as tightly as he could, curling his body around the child's in a desperate attempt to protect her. 

When the swaying stopped. Jarod glanced down to find that he was still ten or twelve feet from the ground. The blonde man was gazing up at him frantically. 

"Catch her," Jarod commanded. Grabbing the little girl by her upper arm, he pulled her away from his body and dangled her in the air. The child screamed, as did several of the onlookers. Jarod, firmly gripping the metal support with his opposite hand, stooped low to get the child as close to her father as he could. Then he released the girl, letting her fall through the air into the safety of the blonde man's embrace.

"I've got her!" the man called, hugging the child tightly. But Jarod had already started back up the side of the wheel to retrieve the woman.

Nearing the top, Jarod reached the side of the bright yellow car and looked in at the young woman. "Your turn," he gasped at her. 

"How?" she cried.

"Piggy back," Jarod commanded. Ignoring the trembling muscles in his arms, Jarod reached toward the woman who was still huddled on the floor of the car.

As the woman edged toward Jarod and stood, the Ferris wheel rocked grotesquely. The woman was thrown against Jarod's chest, nearly pushing him from his perch. Metal groaned loudly and although the pretender held on as tightly as he could, Jarod could feel himself falling backward. 

Hugging the useless metal, Jarod felt the twisted ride teeter beneath him and with a final crack, the Ferris wheel collapsed. A soft body brushed passed him but Jarod could only flinch as the woman fell. For a moment, Jarod felt as though he was floating as blue sky and fluffy white clouds flashed by. 

Air started to whistle in Jarod's ears as he plummeted to the ground with increasing speed, pushed faster and faster by the weight of the Ferris wheel. There was no time for regrets. No time for last wishes. There was only the strange sensation of the world tilting and the knowledge that he was about to be crushed by the world's most boring amusement park ride.

-

End part 1

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Author's Note: Due to the extreme nature of the subject matter, the following 
chapter of this story will be Rated NC-17. There will be graphic descriptions of violence and non-consensual sex between members of the same gender. Please do not read this if you are under 17 years of age. 

Many thanks to Rivie and Maestra.

-

Reconstructing Jarod
Part2 - Outrage
-
By Phenyx
12/26/03

-

Jarod felt the sensation of movement. Unlike falling, this was an altogether different feeling. He was in an ambulance. He could hear the siren. Jarod's first conscious thought was, 'I'm alive.'

Tentatively testing the extent of his injuries, Jarod tried to take a deep breath. He was rewarded with a sharp pain that radiated through his chest so viciously that he cried out. The feeble hiss of his own voice frightened him. 

"Hush, Jarod," a tender voice whispered. "You will live. You will." 

Soft fingers with manicured nails brushed through his hair, but even that gentle caress sent shooting flashes of agony ripping across his body. He gasped for air, trying valiantly to speak yet he could not manage anything more than a weak groan.

"You will live, Jarod," the familiar voice vowed again. 

It seemed as though every inch of Jarod's body hurt. He ached everywhere. Yet he still felt the sharp prick of a needle on his inner arm. When the fuzziness of unconsciousness came to claim him, Jarod submitted to it willingly.


-

Time passed. 

Jarod wasn't sure how long he'd been wavering in and out of consciousness. At one point he woke and was dismayed to realize that he knew exactly where he was. An elderly woman in a nurse's uniform was standing at his bedside, changing the plastic packet of medication dripping through an I.V.

Jarod blinked groggily at her for he had known this nurse for much of his life. She worked at The Centre in the renewal wing most of the time. But Jarod had been subjected to her poking and prodding once a month from the time he'd been about fifteen. The regular physical exams had entailed measuring his height and weight, noting the increased hair growth on his body as he matured, and painful injections of a multitude of vitamins.

For obvious reasons, the pretender had never liked her. "Nurse," he croaked through a dry throat. In a foggy disconnected way, Jarod wondered suddenly about the woman's name. In all the years that she had worked on the pretender project, Jarod had known her only as "Nurse".

"You've been injured," the woman said flatly.

'No, shit,' Jarod thought to himself. He would have voiced the comment aloud but he couldn't seem to manage it.

"Your condition has improved a great deal since you arrived," the nurse added. "We downgraded you from critical to serious several days ago." With clinical efficiency, she pulled a pen from her breast pocket and jotted a few notes on her clipboard as she left the room.

Reappearing a few moments later, the nurse filled a syringe. "No," Jarod croaked hoarsely. 

"Don't be difficult," the woman snapped as she slid the needle into Jarod's I.V. "Sleep can only help you heal that much faster."

As the world began to blur again, Jarod watched the nurse stomp into the hallway. He wondered idly if the nurse knew his name any more than Jarod knew hers. He could never recall the woman using any personal references. He struggled to remember a time when she had called him "Jarod". He was still grappling with the puzzle when darkness overcame him.

-

Jarod woke slowly and heaved a large sigh. The simple act of breathing was far easier to accomplish now and Jarod wondered how much time had passed since his fall at the fairgrounds.

"Hold still," a sharp voice scolded. "I'd hate to accidentally slice your throat after wasting so much time getting you healthy again."

Blinking his eyes open, Jarod looked up into the aging face of the familiar nurse. She had a straight razor in her hand and she was carefully scraping the whiskers from Jarod's cheek. With one hand she moved his head back and forth as she efficiently completed her task. Tilting her head slightly, she eyed her patient critically and nodded once in satisfaction. She then took a cloth from a nearby bowel of water and wrung it out. Jarod sighed contentedly at the sensation of warmth as she used the damp cloth to wash his face and wipe away the remaining traces of shaving cream. 

"Tell me if anything hurts," the woman demanded.

Jarod nodded slightly and let his eyes slip closed as the nurse proceeded to sponge his body. Starting at his throat, she worked her way down the pretender's shoulders to his arms. She soaped and rinsed his chest and abdomen then worked down his legs. She professionally rolled Jarod onto his side so that she could wash his back. The nurse finished the job with a vigorous scrubbing of the pretender's genitals and buttocks.

There was, for the most part, only minimal discomfort. Jarod could feel stiffness in his muscles and joints, further indication that he had been bed-ridden for some length of time. There was a slight stinging sensation as soap washed over bedsores on his back and rear end. The only real pain had come when the woman had run her cloth over the lower half of Jarod's left leg. As she had lifted the appendage by the ankle, a stab of agony struck through Jarod so sharply that he had choked out a strangled cry.

The nurse had simply shaken her head in disgust and mumbled something about damaging a perfectly good specimen.

"What's wrong with my leg?" Jarod asked her as the woman carefully dried his body. He tried to sit up enough to see but he could only barely raise his head from the pillow.

With a sour, pinched look on her face the nurse said, "They've hobbled you." There was not a trace of pity or dismay in her voice as she explained. "Your leg was badly broken but we had orders only to stabilize your condition. The bone was not set properly. As a result, it is healing badly."

Jarod shook his head sadly. "I won't be able to run," he sighed despairingly.

"You will be able to walk, but not without a nasty limp," the nurse confirmed clinically.

Jarod stared blankly at the ceiling while the woman continued to perform her duties. She moved her incapacitated patient with a skill born of years worth of practice as she proceeded to change the bed linen. When Jarod was finally tucked between clean sheets, the nurse whipped out her pen and jotted several lines onto the ever-present clipboard. Gathering the soiled sheets and the bath items, she piled everything onto a cart and pushed it all toward the door.

"No sedatives?" Jarod asked wryly as the woman began to leave the room. 

"Not today," she answered simply. "Do you think you could eat something?" the nurse asked, hesitating in the doorway. 

"I'll try," Jarod shrugged.

"Good boy," the woman nodded, as close to smiling as Jarod had ever seen her.

The next several days passed in a similar manner. Jarod's only visitor was the stern old nurse. She checked on the pretender at regular intervals, helped him to sit up in bed and fed him patiently until he was strong enough to feed himself. Twice a day the nurse performed excruciating exercises with Jarod's twisted leg. Clucking her tongue in irritation, the woman massaged the calf firmly until Jarod's face was wet with tears. Then she would flex and straighten 
the limb repeatedly, berating her charge whenever he cried out in pain. 

It quickly became apparent to Jarod that his nurse had not approved of the medical treatment that he had received. The woman's dismay seemed to have nothing to do with pity at the inhumane management. She was instead annoyed that such a fine, muscular body was being left to wither. It was as though Jarod was a luxurious, expensive car that had been dented and was now being left to rust.

The situation did not improve Jarod's opinion of the old woman. 

One day, Jarod sat at the foot of his bed glaring at the nurse. He was no longer naked but instead wore the inmate gray clothing that had been his uniform for most of his adult stay within The Centre walls. The pretender's strength was quickly returning. He could now hobble awkwardly to the bathroom and was able to bathe on his own. But walking was still a challenge and the painful physical therapy continued each day.

The nurse was in the middle of flexing Jarod's leg as he gripped the mattress desperately when the door abruptly opened and Mr. Lyle strolled in. 

Smiling brightly Lyle purred, "Well done, nurse. You've done a fine job with our boy. He looks much better."

The older woman straightened and carefully released Jarod's ankle. "He's not ready yet, sir," she said. 

"He seems ready enough to me," Lyle cooed, eying the pretender carefully. "And the doctor agrees that he has recovered well."

"Not well enough," the nurse argued. "If you take him now, there could be permanent damage."

Lyle nodded. "Yes," he hissed menacingly. "Damage is exactly what I have in mind."

Two sweepers came into the room and promptly grabbed Jarod by the arms. Dragging him off the bed, they hauled him toward the door. Jarod did his best to struggle, but his lameness hindered the attempt. 

As the two large men pulled him into the corridor, Jarod glanced back at his nurse. She had that pinched, irritated look on her face again and Jarod could hear her muttering. "Perfectly good specimen," she was grumbling. "Such a waste."

The door closed behind them, shutting the nurse away from Jarod's sight. As he tripped and limped down the hallway, Jarod glanced longingly back at the room they had just left. For even though the nurse was a cold and impersonal ally, she did have Jarod's physical well being in mind. The pretender knew only too well that his new keeper would not be so benevolent.

The sweepers shoved Jarod roughly into an elevator and he nearly lost his balance. Lyle smirked evilly at the pretender's difficulty but said nothing. They descended to the lower levels in silence. On sublevel twenty-four, the elevator stopped and Jarod was hauled through a maze of corridors. 

Jarod's wounded leg was sore and throbbing when Lyle finally halted in front of a cold steel door. Pulling a thin key card from his suit pocket, Lyle swiped the magnetic strip through a slot and the locking mechanism clicked loudly. Stepping back, Lyle allowed the sweepers to push Jarod into the room first and then followed them across the threshold. 

The room itself was a bare, cold square with cinder block walls. Roughly twenty feet across in either direction, most of the room was sectioned off with thick metal bars creating a cell. With an annoying squeal, the cell door was opened and Jarod was shoved inside. Almost immediately, the bars clanged shut, the lock was thrown and Lyle stormed out of the room with the sweepers directly behind him.

Jarod blinked in confusion at the locked door for a moment then turned his attention to his new surroundings. These accommodations were luxurious in comparison to others Jarod had seen within The Centre. The bars made up three walls of his cell, while the fourth was cold, gray cinder block.

This cell was several square yards larger than the room he had called home during his childhood. There was a toilet fastened to the wall in one corner and beside it a simple porcelain sink. Jarod was somewhat surprised to find running water flowing from the spigot when he tested it.

There was a cot, complete with a mattress and blankets. There was even a pillow upon which Jarod laid his head with a weary sigh. A few feet from the cot, there was a simple but sturdy looking wooden table pushed up against the bars. A matching chair stood neatly at one side. 

Most astonishingly, Jarod could see no signs of a camera or surveillance device. Jarod had become proficient at locating such items over the years. The absence of the ever-present monitoring equipment was both puzzling and a little frightening. 

Knowing quite well that Lyle would be back, Jarod curled up on the cot and closed his eyes. There was no telling what that lunatic had in store for him. So getting some rest seemed to be prudent. It was useless to waste time and energy worrying about what was to come. The pretender was sure he would not have to wait long.

Jarod slept soundly for a time and woke well rested. He got up and limped to the commode to relieve himself. He washed his hands and face, drinking his fill of water from one cupped palm. 
With nothing better to do, Jarod moved back to the cot and sat down to wait. He spent the next hour carefully scanning every inch of the room, searching for a camera. He wasn't sure why it bothered him. Jarod hated those things. But the missing surveillance filled him with foreboding.

The main door clicked loudly, warning Jarod that someone was finally approaching. The pretender stood and defensively backed against the stone wall as Lyle entered the room with a sweeper that Jarod did not recognize. No one said anything, but Lyle grinned maliciously as he used a key to open the cell. 

Jarod tried to back away but the sweeper was faster. The other man snagged Jarod's arm and shoved him roughly against one wall of bars. Pinned as he was, Jarod could do nothing as Lyle took the pretender by the wrist and fastened a metal handcuff around it. Looping the steel links through the bars, Lyle locked the other cuff around Jarod's opposite wrist, effectively chaining the pretender to the bars of the cell.

Lyle stood back and grinned as he admired his handiwork. 

"Time for a visit with the jumper cables I gather?" Jarod asked with a snarl.

Lyle chortled with barely suppressed glee. "Now why would I revert to tactics that have so obvious failed in the past?" he asked. "No, Jarod. I have something new for you." Patting Jarod on the head as though he was a child, Lyle chuckled again and stepped away. 

Backing out of the cell, Lyle nodded to the sweeper who quickly left the room. Returning a moment later, the sweeper was now accompanied by two other men. One of these was undoubtedly another sweeper. But the second was a large, burly bear of a man with a military-like buzz cut to his hair. What little hair he had was a grizzled salt and pepper color. 

Lyle smiled. "Jarod, this is Lewis," he said. "Lewis, Jarod."

Jarod eyed the newcomer suspiciously. Lewis was a big man, taller than Jarod by two inches or more. His shoulders were very broad and he had large, powerful hands. His eyes were an icy blue color that looked unnatural and eerie. The shape of the big man's face and the tilted set of his eyes were the classic indicators of mongoloid retardation.

"Here you go, Lewis," Lyle said cheerily. He held up a long looped piece of string to which a small silver key was attached. "This key will open those handcuffs," Lyle explained. Stretching up, Lyle placed the string over the big man's head and let the key hang around his neck like a necklace.

The blank, empty stare that the big man gave Lyle made it apparent that he understood nothing.

Snickering slightly, Lyle stepped out of the cell and pulled the door behind him with a clang. The sweepers followed their employer out of the room, leaving Jarod alone with his large guest. The two men eyed each other in silence for several minutes. 

The big man was dressed in the same bland cotton as Jarod though Lewis wore canvass shoes while Jarod was barefoot. There was an ugly scar running vertically along one side of the slowwitted man's face starting at his jaw and ending just shy of his hairline. Lewis's strange milky blue eyes studied Jarod vacantly.

Jarod squirmed uncomfortably, rattling the chain between his wrists. "I don't suppose you'll just give me that key, will you?" Jarod asked with little hope.

"Key?" Lewis frowned in bewilderment. 

Jarod nodded. "The key," he said, gesturing to his own throat. "The silver thing around your neck." 

The big man blinked. Slowly reaching up he grabbed the piece of string and dangled the twinkling key in front of his own face.

Jarod smiled reassuringly. "That's it. The key," he urged. "It's a pretty key. Bring the pretty key to Jarod," the pretender waved the man forward. 

"Pretty," Lewis drawled. Dropping the string, the big man let the key fall back against his sternum as he took a shambling step forward. "Pretty," he repeated.

Something in the other man's face put Jarod on the defensive. Lewis moved across the cell until he stood directly in front of the pretender. The cold, mindless stare of the simpleton sent a shiver of apprehension down Jarod's spine.

Suddenly the slowwitted creature was moving very fast. The wooden table slid across the floor and hit Jarod in the thighs. The pretender's breath woofed out of him as he was slammed against the wooden surface. With his wrists still bound to the bars, Jarod's arms were stretched over his head as his body folded across the tabletop.

Jarod frowned in confusion as he felt rough calloused fingers splay firmly over his back.

"Pretty," Lewis purred again.

Jarod's trousers were yanked down to his knees and he became abruptly aware of what was happening. "No!" he cried a moment too late. The larger man impaled the stunned pretender with one great thrust of his swollen organ. The sharp, blinding pain burned through Jarod's body and he screamed shrilly.

Lewis pulled back and rammed forward again. Agony burned though the very fabric of Jarod's being. He gasped, but could take in no air. The big man's hands gripped Jarod at the hips and with his next thrust he yanked Jarod more firmly against his pelvis. Jarod felt as though his wide eyes were bulging from their sockets as he screamed again. 

As suddenly as it had started, the attack was over. Lewis stiffened and groaned. Then with a slick, wet sound he pulled out of Jarod's body, stumbled to the cot and flopped onto the mattress with a contented sigh. A minute later, the big man was snoring softly.

The pretender lay across the table for a long time, unable to control his trembling limbs. Jarod squeezed his eyes shut tightly and he fought the wave of nauseating panic that washed over him. After a time, he was finally able to ease himself away from the table, shoving it aside with one hip. 

Sliding the cuffs along the vertical length of the iron bar, Jarod was able to pull his pants back up to his waist. He stubbornly ignored the red and pink trails of slime on his inner thighs. The entire encounter had happened so quickly that if not for the burning spear of agony up his rectum, Jarod could almost convince himself that he had imagined it.

Unable to sit and too weary to stand, Jarod eased to the ground to lie on his side. The room was silent except for the gentle heaving snores of Jarod's molester. Soft whimpering sounds began to waver through the air and it took a moment for the pretender to realize that he was making them. Clamping his lower lip between his teeth, Jarod hushed the noise with brutal determination. Taking a deep breath, Jarod began calming inhalations in an attempt to meditate. Though the muscles of his sphincter continued to throb hotly, the pretender tried to relax, to ease himself into a place of safety and serenity. It was a place that had served him well over the years and would continue to do so now.

Jarod snapped awake sometime later, only to find Lewis stooped over him with a silly grin on his stupid face. Flinching away instinctively, Jarod flailed backward as far as he could. He was still cuffed to the bars of the cell so Jarod was not able to move more than a foot or two. 

Lewis advanced, reaching out toward his helpless victim. Jarod fought panic as he kicked out desperately at the larger man. His twisted leg struck Lewis in the kneecap, causing them both to cry out in pain.

The big man growled and lashed out at Jarod with one huge paw. There was nothing the pretender could do to fend off the blow. Lewis hit him just above the right ear with such force that Jarod was rocked backward. Stunned and seeing stars, Jarod continued to thrash about as much as he could. But he was no match for the bigger man.

Lewis struck Jarod again. Big knuckles crunched against Jarod's jaw and the pretender tasted blood as his lip split. The edges of his vision began to darken and Jarod struggled to remain conscious. Lewis flipped Jarod onto his stomach as though he was a rag doll and viciously pressed the smaller man's face in to the concrete floor. 

Twisting and fighting, Jarod roared in frustration as Lewis peeled away his cotton pants and spread his legs with apparent ease. Hugging Jarod around the waist with one arm, Lewis lifted his charge just enough to gain access to the pretender's ass. When his body was invaded once again, Jarod could feel internal tears, given no time to heal, rip open with the first violent thrust. 

The darkness of unconsciousness that had threatened to take Jarod vanished, abruptly replaced by the searing white light of pain. He was still struggling but Jarod could barely move as Lewis swayed against him in spastic jerks. With his cheek cruelly pressed against the stone floor, Jarod could feel his skin scraping into the concrete as his body rocked in a sickeningly familiar rhythm. 

Lewis's moans of delight mingled with Jarod's whimpers of pain and despair until finally, what seemed to Jarod an eternity later, the big man arched backward. The climactic thrust of his attacker plowed into Jarod, wrenching another scream from the pretender's throat. Lewis slumped forward over Jarod's body, pinning the smaller man to the floor beneath him.

The two lay panting and sweating in a heap. "Pretty," Lewis cooed inanely as he stroked Jarod's hair. 

"Get off me you fucking retard!" Jarod snarled in a gravely voice. "GET OFF!"

Lewis rolled away, allowing Jarod to scramble against the iron bars. The pretender cowered there, clinging blindly to the same rod he was chained to. When the big man brushed his forearm with rough fingertips, Jarod flinched with a yelp.

"Ouch," Lewis said sympathetically, caressing Jarod's wrist.

Blinking in confusion, Jarod looked down. Both wrists were mangled, torn bits of flesh. During his struggles against his attacker, Jarod had allowed the metal handcuffs to cut deeply into his skin. The raw cuts burned sharply as tears ran down Jarod's cheeks and dropped into the wounds.

Without another word, Lewis reached out and opened the handcuffs with the key from around his neck. For a moment Jarod was startled and didn't know what to do. Then with what seemed to be a huge effort, the pretender hauled himself to his feet and began to stagger to the sink. 

Gripping the porcelain, Jarod ran the cold water and drank thirstily. Aware that he was wearing only his cotton shirt, Jarod grabbed the hem and pulled the garment over his head. Plunging the shirt into the cold water, Jarod held the cotton under the stream until it was soaked through. Then bending over the sink, Jarod leaned his forehead against the wall and with a hiss, pressed the cool compress against the burning sensation between his legs. 

Jarod stood that way for a full minute, savoring the sensation of relief. When he heard Lewis move behind him a moment later, Jarod suddenly realized his mistake. Two mistakes. He was standing naked in front of the large man and Jarod had turned his back on him. 

Lewis pushed him against the sink, grinding Jarod's balls into the cold porcelain. With a startled jerk, Jarod planted the palms of his hands against the block wall as the other man grabbed him. This time Jarod didn't struggle and he bit down hard on his lip to keep from crying out. For as Lewis entered his body, Jarod decided that he had deserved this attack. He should have known better. He should have expected this. 

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Jarod clung to the edge of the sink as Lewis rocked into him over and over. The big man definitely had stamina, Jarod thought, and he only barely stifled a mad giggle. But Lewis's endurance was not endless and it became evident that he was working very hard to get off this time around. Blood from internal injuries served as lubrication and as the big man continued to pound into Jarod's ass, the burning pain grew until the friction became numbness. 

When Lewis finally groaned in climax, Jarod nearly wept with relief. As his attacker released him, Jarod collapsed, falling into a trembling heap on the floor. Every inch of Jarod's body ached. There was not an inch of skin that did not throb in agony. 

Unable to move, Jarod simply lay there and watched as Lewis, now equally as naked as Jarod, curled up on the cot and fell asleep. Jarod thought he would cry but he could not. He stared at the ceiling for a time and was startled to find his world tilting at an odd angle. Feeling as though he was still on the crumbling Ferris wheel, Jarod had the strange sensation that he was falling, though he knew he was not. 

"I wonder if this is what madness feels like," he whispered to the blank surface above.  That was the thought that chased him into slumber.

-

Jarod awoke to the rough feeling of fingers against his lips. He was on the floor but now dressed and Jarod shuddered at the thought that Lewis had touched him while he was unconscious. Calloused fingertips pressed against his mouth again and Jarod sputtered. Lewis shoved a handful of scrambled eggs passed Jarod's teeth and forced the pretender to chew. 

Pushing his tormenter away feebly, Jarod rolled onto his hip. Sitting upright was an impossibility. The pain was too great. But if he balanced himself carefully, this position was tolerable. Jarod glared balefully at his cellmate as the big man smiled and gleefully sat down beside him. Setting a steel tray on his lap Lewis offered a cup to Jarod.

"Drink," he said. 

Jarod frowned mutely. 

"Drink," Lewis said again. Then, reaching out he grabbed Jarod's face in one big hand and forced the pretender's mouth open. Dumping the liquid from the cup, Lewis poured milk down Jarod's throat. 

"Okay!" Jarod gurgled and coughed. "Okay, you don't have to drown me."

Lewis proceeded to share his meal with Jarod. Glaring angrily, Jarod had to admit that he was hungry. He wondered idly how long he'd been locked away with this mindless creature. Long enough for a stubble of beard to appear on both their cheeks. 

Once the food was gone, Lewis licked his fingers and set the tray to one side. Smiling at Jarod like a child with a new toy, the big man lifted one hand and gently stroked the pretender's chin. Jarod reacted instinctively and recoiled from the other man's touch. In doing so, Jarod rolled out of his precarious position and sat up with his back against the barred wall. The pain was immediate and excruciating. 

Jarod gasped and tears sprang to his eyes. Clinging desperately to the iron bars over his head, Jarod used his arms to lift his body off the floor an inch or two. Gritting his teeth, Jarod eased himself back down and slithered onto his side where he lay panting in a cold sweat.

With a heavy sigh, Lewis stood, went to the cot and brought back a blanket. Wrapping Jarod in the scratchy wool, Lewis patted Jarod's shoulder before picking the tray up off the floor and moving it to the table. The feeble-minded idiot sat down in the chair and stared at the ceiling with rapt fascination for so long that Jarod was forced to glance upward in curiosity. But there was nothing to be seen.

They remained that way for a long time. For hours, Lewis stared upward while Jarod curled miserably on the floor. At some point, Jarod slept.

When Jarod woke with a start, it was to the panicky knowledge that he could not breathe. He was lying on his back on the floor and could feel the hard cement slab beneath his shoulder blades. Jarod choked and gasped. Flailing his arms, he cracked the knuckles of one hand against the bars of the cell. 

Some part of Jarod's mind was telling him what was happening but another was fighting the realization. There was pressure on his chest and he choked again as something blocked his airway. Everything was veiled in gray as Jarod felt the strange tilting sensation again. The world tipped wildly and suddenly Jarod was free. 

Jarod was abruptly standing in the center of the room, detached and separate from the two figures writhing on the floor at the edge of the cell. With an odd sense of calm, the pretender watched from afar as a naked Lewis straddled a different Jarod. It wasn't him. This poor smothering body pinned between Lewis's knees seemed to be a separate entity.

As Lewis shoved his hugely swollen cock down his victim's throat, Jarod could only watch curiously. The big man was kneeling over the other Jarod, with one knee on each side of the pretender's head. Lewis had one hand firmly planted on the floor so he looked as though he was crawling. Lewis had long brown strands of hair weaved through the fingers of his other hand and he used this leverage to pump the other's head back and forth.  

Lewis was obviously in the throes of passion, moaning in ecstasy as he ground himself down the helpless captive's throat. From his strange disconnected perspective, Jarod could see the other man struggling madly. The lean body arched and jerked in huge spasms as he tried to toss aside the weight that rode him.

But the other's thrashing seemed to only increase Lewis's excitement. The big man rose up on his knees and grabbing the brown-haired head between both hands he began to thrust faster and faster. As a delighted moan keened from Lewis, he threw his head back. 

Across the room, Jarod felt the tilting sensation once again and then, as though a massive hook had been attached to his chest, Jarod was yanked across the cell. The pretender slammed back into reality just as Lewis came to his climax. The firm rod in Jarod's mouth began to pulse as the big man shuddered with release. 

Warm slime burst against Jarod's throat and he retched. When Lewis rolled away a moment later, Jarod spewed a vile mixture of semen and bile. Gagging uncontrollably, Jarod began choking and hacking as he aspirated some of the noxious liquid. He couldn't stop coughing nor could he stem the endless heaving as he threw up again and again.

By the time he could manage to gasp for air, Jarod's throat was raw from coughing and his stomach hurt from the violence of his retching. He lay there, motionless. He stared sightlessly at the ceiling as he fought waves of dizziness brought on by the smell. Jarod reeked of cum, vomit and piss. For in his struggles to breath, the pretender had wet himself. 

His misery was complete and Jarod found himself wishing he had died in the amusement park. When Lewis appeared at the edge of his vision, Jarod couldn't find the energy to even flinch, let alone move in any other way. Unable to do anything else, Jarod watched forlornly as the large man approached. 

With careful motions, Lewis lifted Jarod's shoulders and pulled off his slime-covered shirt. Removing the pretender's soiled trousers with similar care, Lewis eased Jarod into his arms like an infant and carried him to the cot. The big man took the linen case from around the pillow and used it as a rag with which he washed Jarod's body. The gentle ministrations Lewis performed held a tenderness rarely witnessed in Jarod's strange life.

The smiling adoration visible in the simpleton's icy eyes made Jarod want to weep. He did. The pretender cried silently the entire time Lewis bathed him. He cried when the big man slid Jarod between the clean sheets on the bed. He sobbed uncontrollably until Jarod finally lost consciousness.

He woke slowly. Lying face down and naked across the width of the cot, Jarod gasped when he tried to move. His body ached with the now familiar burn between the cheeks of his ass. Traces of Lewis's most recent affection still oozed down Jarod's thigh. The fact that Jarod had remained unconscious while Lewis raped him was more than a little alarming. 

Dragging himself off the thin mattress, Jarod carefully donned the clean clothing he found neatly folded on the floor. Easing to the sink, Jarod turned the spigot and leaned over to slurp loudly from the faucet. Only after he had drunk his fill did the pretender turn around to locate his antagonist. 

Lewis was sitting quietly in the chair, eating from a steel tray with his fingers. He was silent, merely staring at Jarod with those creepy blue eyes. When he had eaten slightly more than half the food on the plate, Lewis picked the tray up and held it out toward Jarod. 

Limping painfully across the few feet that separated them, Jarod eased forward. Smiling serenely, the pretender reached out and took the tray from the big man. Then, with an air of studied calm, Jarod dumped the remaining food in Lewis's lap. Grabbing the tray in both hands, Jarod wailed at the unsuspecting idiot. The metal whacked against the side of Lewis's head with an immensely satisfying thud. 

The big man reeled in the chair for a moment before lunging at Jarod with a roar. Lewis backhanded Jarod across the face, tossing him across the cell like a rag. Jarod rammed into the bars and clung to them so that he would not fall. The big man advanced, swiping one big palm over the scarlet trail on his head. Seeing his own blood seemed to send Lewis into a rage. 

Snatching Jarod by the scruff of his collar, Lewis tossed the pretender to the opposite wall. Despite the crunching sound his body made on impact, Jarod simply snarled defiantly. Lewis advanced again and proceeded to beat Jarod viciously with his fists. 

This pain was somehow easier for Jarod to deal with. The familiar agony of knuckles against his flesh was a familiar attack, something he could defend himself against even if only in a feeble manner. The pretender preferred the physical beating over the psychological invasion Lewis had been subjecting him too. This he knew. This he could fight. 

But Jarod was no match for the big dull-witted man. Even if he had been in top condition, Jarod would have had difficulty in a physical contest with this giant. And currently, Jarod was wounded and far too weak to put up much of a struggle. But he tried all the same. 

Time ceased to have any meaning. Days went by as Jarod was subjected to Lewis's unpredictable mood. When the big man approached, the pretender was never sure if he came to inflict a tender caress or a crushing blow. The rapes continued. Jarod had found his only defense was in allowing the dimwit to forget that he existed. As a result, the pretender spent much of his time cowering in one corner, curled in a tight ball. Jarod was convinced that if only he could make himself small enough, he could slip from Lewis's awareness altogether.

The tilting sensation washed over Jarod with increasing frequency. Without warning, he would feel the floor slip away from him and Jarod would return to the odd insulated perspective of an outsider, looking in at another pretender's misery. He had no control over the strange sense of detachment and it came and went at the most peculiar times. As the duration of each episode grew in length, Jarod found himself longing for the numbness it brought. 

Sleep brought an additional respite. But Jarod could not escape that way too often. Lewis had a habit of fucking Jarod awake. As a result, the pretender tried not to sleep if he could help it.

Huddled in his corner, Jarod dozed with his back pressed against the iron bars. Lewis snored softly on his cot. When a hand touched Jarod's shoulder and shook him gently, Jarod yelped and cringed away fearfully. 

"Jarod," a kind voice whispered. "It's me."

Blinking stupidly, the pretender looked up into the eyes of his aging mentor. The psychiatrist was on his knees, gripping the bars of the cell with one hand while he nudged Jarod with the other. It took Jarod a moment to recognize the other man. Lewis had been the only being Jarod had seen for many days, perhaps weeks.

As the newcomer's identity registered on Jarod's exhausted mind, his lower lip began to tremble and his eyes welled with tears. "Sydney!" Jarod cried. Vaulting off the floor, the pretender threw himself against the bars. "Sydney, get me out of here," Jarod whimpered. Pressing his forehead against the cold iron he begged, "Please let me out, please, Sydney. I'll do anything." 

The older man's eyes grew wide with concern but Jarod could do nothing to stop the babbling stream of pleas. "Sydney, help me, help me."

"My god," Sydney gasped, stroking a hand through Jarod's matted hair. "What have they done to you?"

Jarod shook the bars weakly. "Anything, Sydney. Please, let me out," he moaned. 

"Anything, Sydney," another voice snarled cruelly from the doorway. 

Jarod cringed and backed into his corner with a hiss as Lyle strolled in with two sweepers. 

"You should not be here, Shrink," Lyle growled. 

Sydney straightened and frowned disapprovingly at the man in his dark blue business suit. "If you had been willing to update us on Jarod's condition, I would not have been forced to investigate it myself," Sydney said in a scolding tone. 

"Forced to investigate?" Lyle mocked. "Is that Belgian for 'blatantly disobey orders'?" Pacing like a cat along the edges of the room, Lyle grinned evilly. "You need to be put in your place once and for all, old man. I'll teach you to mind your own damned business." 

"Jarod is my business," Sydney argued.

Turning abruptly, Lyle glared at Jarod. "Then we'll let your pet pay for your disobedience," Lyle snarled angrily. "Lewis!" he yelled. The big man rose from the bed and stood broodingly in the middle of the cell. "Where is your pretty Jarod, hmm?" Lyle asked in a saccharine voice. 

"No," Jarod whispered. 

Lewis's eyes brightened and he smiled as he moved toward the cringing pretender. 

"Stay away from him!" Sydney protested. 

"Hold him!" Lyle demanded, pointing at the older man. The sweepers each grabbed Sydney by an arm and pinned him against the wall. 

"Pretty," Lewis slurred, rubbing his hands together in glee. 

"NO!" Jarod cried. 

With a desperate lunge, the pretender tried to skirt passed the approaching giant. But the twisted leg slowed him down. Lewis swept Jarod up with one thick arm and effortlessly slammed the pretender against the table. Jarod could hear Sydney yelling his name but the other man's voice was quickly lost in the cacophony of the pretender's own screams. 

Lewis raped Jarod in front of the small audience. Despite the pretender's best efforts to defend himself, nothing he did could prevent the inevitable invasion as the other man plowed his organ into Jarod's ass. Pain, rage and humiliation roared through Jarod and his howls of anguish echoed in the little room. Clutching the bars over his head so tightly that his knuckles were white, Jarod tried to cushion the blows as his head was rammed into the cold iron with every powerful thrust.

When it was over, Lyle rewarded the idiot with a chocolate bar from his pocket. With a wave of Lyle's hand, the sweepers released Sydney's arms and the older man staggered toward the cell in horror. Jarod, collapsing to the floor, began to shudder uncontrollably as he tried to pull his pants up. 

"Jarod," Sydney choked through a voice thick with sorrow. 

"Leave," Jarod moaned. Curling into a ball, the pretender buried his head beneath his arms and began to rock miserably. 

Reaching through the bars, Sydney placed a reassuring hand on the pretender's shoulder. But Jarod reacted violently to the touch, cringing and scrabbling away frantically.

"Don't!" Jarod grimaced. "Don't touch me!" His voice wavered and slid into a low mournful sob. "Please go away," Jarod cried. "Just go away." 

"Jarod," Sydney tried again.

The pretender was suddenly awash in a blinding white rage. Scuttling into his corner like a crab, Jarod snarled viciously at the old man. "GO AWAY!" he screamed with such vehemence that spittle flew from his lips. 

"Come along Syd," Lyle said with false helpfulness. Taking Sydney by the arm, Lyle helped him to stand and began to steer the older man toward the exit. As he passed the sweepers, Lyle glanced back into the cell with disgust. "The stench in here is foul," he drawled. "Have them washed." 

The sweepers opened the cell and roughly hauled Jarod to his feet. As they bustled the pretender across the floor, he stumbled and nearly fell as the floor shifted abruptly. Feeling as though he was lifted up and then rapidly dropped from several feet up, Jarod was yanked into that disconnected place once more. 

For the next hour, Jarod watched from a distance as several orderlies scrubbed his body. At the very edges of his consciousness, Jarod could feel the coarse brushes they were using on his skin. But it was a far away feeling, as though the contact was being made through many layers of thick clothing.

When the shower was over, a new pair of sweepers escorted Jarod down a series of hallways. The pretender stumbled more than once. Coordinating his disassociated limbs enough to walk was very difficult, like learning to use artificial legs. In the end, the sweepers just dragged him along. 

They did not take him back to the same cell. Jarod was hauled into a room so tiny that the pretender could almost span its width with outstretched arms. With an unceremonious flop, Jarod was dumped onto a cot and left alone. 

The pretender sighed heavily and tenderly caressed the cement wall beside the bed. As soon as he touched the cold surface, Jarod felt the slipping jerk that signaled the mental return to his body. A weary giggle, almost a sob, escaped from his lips. 

Jarod knew this room. Running his fingertips along the cold bricks, the pretender stroked the wall as though it was an old lover. He knew every bump, every crack and crevice in this wall. With the basic dimensions and furnishings identical to a hundred similar rooms within The Centre, Jarod still recognized the minutia that made this tiny space his.

There had been a time in Jarod's life when he had hated these four walls. He had cursed them and fled, vowing never to return. But this small room and its little bed had been the pretender's refuge for decades before that. No tortuous sim had ever followed him here. No needle or blow had every struck him on this side of his prison door. The only pain he had felt in this place had been the agony of loneliness. The only thing to fear in this room had been nightmares.

Jarod lay on the bed for a long time soaking up the welcome security. When the door eventually opened, a woman clad in a white uniform stepped in. The pinched look of irritation on the familiar nurse's face seemed to be exactly the same as when Jarod had last seen her. She carried a deep silver tray in one hand and had a towel folded over her shoulder. 

"Hello, Nurse," Jarod sighed with affection. 

"I'm here to shave you," she said with a clipped tone. 

Jarod watched the old woman with wide, trusting eyes as she sat beside him and proceeded to cover his cheeks with shaving cream. For several minutes, the pretender blinked at her silently as the nurse performed her duty. She had finished one side of his face and had turned to wipe the razor before continuing when Jarod spoke again. 

"What is your name?" the pretender asked abruptly.

The nurse frowned at him as though he'd just belched loudly in church. "You have asked me that question before," she replied. "On several occasions."

"But you've never answered me," Jarod argued. 

"Then what makes you think I would do so today?" she huffed. "Now be still."

The nurse quickly finished her task and gathered her things. She rapped briskly on the door with her knuckles and it quickly opened for her. As she stepped from the room, Jarod called to her. "Nurse?" he said softly.

The old woman hesitated and turned to look in Jarod's direction.

"Thank you," the pretender said sincerely.

The nurse's mouth curved upward ever so slightly. Then with a nod, she slipped out the door.

A few minutes later, Jarod managed to drag himself off the cot and hobble to the commode. After gingerly relieving himself, Jarod flushed the toilet and grinned at the swirling water as he jiggled the handle in exactly the way he knew would be required to properly refill the tank. He washed his hands and then stepped over to a small table to peruse the items lying there. 

The desk was a bit too small for a grown man, especially one of Jarod's size, but the dimensions of the room prevented anything larger. Besides, this had always served its purpose well enough. To one side on the flat surface, there were two standard yellow pencils. In the center of the desk was a red notebook. Jarod half expected the notebook to contain the same notes he had left six years ago. But when he flipped through the pages, he found them to be blank. 

Hugging the book to his chest, Jarod gazed around the room with a soft sigh. He was almost smiling when the door opened again. For a long moment, there was nothing but the black maw of the open doorway. Then Lewis was there, shuffling into the room in his typical dim-witted manner. 

The notebook clattered to the floor as it fell from Jarod's numb fingers. The pretender gaped in stunned horror as the other man's gigantic presence filled the room. Jarod backed away until his shoulder blades struck the cement wall then he scooted into the furthest corner of the room. When Lewis spotted him, Jarod slid to his haunches, curling into a ball on the floor.  

"Pretty," the big man cooed.

Jarod clamped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. Tensing every muscle in his body and clenching his jaw tight, Jarod willed himself into that strange sense of disassociation. With a silent prayer, Jarod begged for the power to find that place again. 

Someone was listening. Be they gods or demons the pretender didn't really care. When the ground suddenly angled beneath him, Jarod let himself fall. He was done fighting.

-
End part 2


Author's Note: The worst is over. For those readers who are uncomfortable with the subject matter, I thank you for continuing with this story and not fleeing from it. The graphic violence is over and Jarod will be rescued, I promise. For those readers looking for a little more smut and slash, I apologize, but that's all you'll get. The only sex you'll find in this chapter will be in conversational references to past events. RATED PG-13


-

Reconstructing Jarod
Part3 - Broken
-
By Phenyx
01/01/04

-

Sam maneuvered his car into a parking space and shut off the ignition. Tucking the keys in his pocket, he flipped down his visor and looked into the attached mirror. With a tug at his tie to perfect its straightness, Sam examined his attire one more time. 

Sam wore the unofficial uniform of a Centre sweeper. Today's tailored black suit and matching tie were, to the unobservant, identical to the ones Sam wore every day. But on the contrary, this suit was Sam's best. More than five times the price of anything else Sam owned, this suit had been purchased over a year ago in a special shop in New York. 

The burly man had been out of his element in the ritzy establishment and the price tags had nearly made him choke. Money had been very tight for the first half of Sam's life. Unnecessary spending was a childhood taboo that he had never quite overcome. As a result, the extravagance of this ensemble had felt almost criminal. But Sam had resolved himself to buy it and with a determined set to his jaw, he had let the salesman swipe the credit card through. 

Sam had never regretted it. Reserved only for the most important of functions, this suit had served its owner well in the last twelve months. With the death of Mr. Parker, Sam's employer had moved up in the ranks of The Centre hierarchy. Sam doubted that she had realized it, for neither her team nor the location of her office had changed. Yet Sam was well aware of the subtle shift in the way others treated his stunning boss.  

The new chairman, Mr. Raines, and that creep Lyle both did their best to keep Miss Parker out of important Centre business. In addition, there was a distinct faction within The Centre who believed that the woman had only risen to her current level by riding on her adopted father's coattails. Parker did little to dissuade them of that impression. Often her most powerful weapon was in her opponent's underestimation of her abilities.

But for the most part, Centre employees knew of the lovely lady's talents. Everyone knew of the antagonism between Miss Parker and Mr. Raines. In the last few months, heated and very public arguments between her and Mr. Lyle had been the topic of much cafeteria discussion. The general consensus was that Miss Parker could whip both men with one arm tied behind her back. She only refrained because her twin held a trump card. 

With Miss Parker's perceived rise in power, Sam had felt it necessary to become an extension of that elevation. He had begun assuming authority at a level somewhat above his official rank. Slowly, gradually, Sam had found himself able to command the same obedience afforded to Mr. Raines' sweeper, Willie. It was not a power Sam used often, but it was there all the same. 

It was because of this discordance within the upper echelon that Sam felt the need to look his best today. The quarterly fiscal meeting would be held this morning and Sam would be attending at Miss Parker's side. Since Mr. Parker's death, she had been to every meeting where there was a Triumvirate presence, whether she'd been invited or not. At the quarterly meetings, the entire board was in attendance so it was especially import for Miss Parker to be there. 

Sam would be there as her bodyguard. Of course, no one would notice the sweeper and his good suit. It was Sam's job not to be noticed. Besides, next to Miss Parker, even Sam's fanciest clothes would seem ragged in comparison, especially today. Sam's employer would dress for the meeting, just as he had. She'd be stunning yet professional, sexy yet unapproachable, for Miss Parker knew that there was power in attraction. And she was an expert in demanding that power. 

Miss Parker was the only woman Sam had ever met who could toss out an icy, withering glare that instilled both fear and desire. She used both to establish control. Men who met Miss Parker either feared her, desired her, or loved her. Many suffered from some combination of the three. Only fools failed to respect this woman and her iron will.  

Sam was one of the lucky few belonging to an elite group of people she actually trusted. Miss Parker's trust was a rare thing and Sam had great pride in the knowledge that he held something so precious. He had devotedly worked for Miss Parker long enough to have earned her respect. He had seen the compassionate soul she hid from everyone, including herself. As strong and forceful as Miss Parker was, this streak of tenderness so rarely seen, managed to instill in Sam a strong need to protect her, to defend her whenever she would allow it. 

Only a handful of living souls held such a position in Miss Parker's life. Sam knew that he was one of them and he was deeply honored. The scrawny technician, Mr. Broots, held a similar role though Broots feared her too much to offer much protection. But Sam was aware that there was little the geeky tech would not do for the woman. 

Sydney was another in Miss Parker's inner circle. Very protective in a non-physical way, the psychiatrist clucked over her emotional well being like a hen over chicks. She usually brushed the old man's attentiveness away, only rarely turning to him for moral support. 

Glancing at his watch, Sam stepped from his car and headed briskly toward the stairs leading to The Centre. There was plenty of time before he was scheduled to meet Miss Parker but it would not do to let her wait for him. His employer was not a patient person. 

As Sam stepped onto the elevator that would take him to his rendezvous, he briefly considered the one other person who held Miss Parker's trust. The implausibility of this person's identity was ironic in the extreme and if Sam had not seen it himself, he would not have believed it. But the truth of the matter was Sam had never seen Miss Parker seriously doubt Jarod's word. She and the pretender shared a curious respect for one another. Over the years, Sam had known his prey to relay important information to members of the team who pursued him. Sam suspected that knowledge had traded both ways, though he could not prove it and didn't want to try.

Despite many harsh words between them, Jarod and Miss Parker had never physically harmed one another. And though threats had flown, Sam knew well that neither would ever follow through. They were an unlikely pair whose relationship had deepened somehow since Mr. Parker had died. 

The pretender's current situation was a point of great irritation for Miss Parker. Sam had been among the crowd at the amusement park when Jarod had fallen. The sweeper had been at Miss Parker's side and had heard her scream as the twisted Ferris wheel crashed down on top of Jarod's lean form. He had even helped ease the torn and bloodied body into an ambulance.

Sam had not laid eyes on the pretender since. Neither had Miss Parker. The fact that Lyle kept Jarod from her was greatly annoying for the stubborn woman. Like a child denied her holiday treats, the more opposed Lyle was to Miss Parker seeing Jarod, the more determined she became in wanting to find him.

No one seemed to know where Jarod was or what was happening to him. Several weeks ago, Sydney had spoken to the pretender for a few minutes but he refused to discuss details of the encounter. As a matter of fact, the psychiatrist had become decidedly close-lipped on the subject, rarely even mentioning Jarod's name.

Today's meeting constituted analysis of the first full quarter with Jarod back in the Centre. The pretender project was sure to be on the agenda. Miss Parker's anticipation at learning more about her missing quarry made her even edgier than usual. 

Sam was accustomed to walking with Miss Parker, yet today even he was having trouble keeping up. Miss Parker's long, nylon clad legs strode briskly down the corridor and her high heels clicked sharply on the tiled floor. She walked gracefully with her arms crossed over her chest. The suit she wore was a deep burgundy color. The jacket was long. Its hem fell passed her knees while the skirt was very short, to the very limits of professional decency. Her hair was down, and perfectly styled. No errant strands dared to appear. 

As Sam had foreseen, his employer was breathtakingly beautiful. But as she entered the large meeting room, her icy demeanor kept everyone at a distance. The room itself was prepared and already filling with people. A long mahogany table stood at one end of the room, elevated by a four-inch platform. Comfortable chairs were situated at either end and on the far side of the conference table. This allowed board members and the Triumvirate to face the rest of the room. 

The remaining area was open. An unmarked section in front of the conference table would be where individuals were expected to sit in a single chair facing the panel while they presented information or answered questions. Few actually sat in the chair as it placed them in too great a height disadvantage when facing the Triumvirate. Most people called upon to speak stood beside the lone wooden chair, or behind it. 

There were no other seats forcing the remaining attendees, some fifty or more people, to stand uncomfortably for the scheduled two-hour meeting. Miss Parker could have had a seat at the conference table. Indeed, Lyle normally sat immediately to Mr. Raines' right. But Miss Parker would have none of that. She chose instead to stand at the front of the audience, glaring haughtily at Raines. 

Miss Parker rarely spoke during Triumvirate meetings, her determined presence saying everything for her. In her every action and cold glance, she transmitted defiance and derision. Raines did not rule her and everyone knew it. 

The room began to fill and board members started to arrive and sit at the table. When Raines wheezed in, dragging his oxygen tank, he cast Miss Parker a sly grin that made Sam a bit nervous. The old ghoul had something up his sleeve. Sam could see it in his eyes. 

Sam frowned in further anxiety when one of the other board members sat at Raines' right, in Lyle's chair. As though reading Sam's mind Miss Parker hissed, "Where is Lyle?" Sam didn't reply, knowing that his employer wasn't really expecting him to. 

The room was full and the seats at the conference table were all occupied. The mutter of idle chitchat had dwindled into awkward silence as Raines shuffled his papers and prepared to start the meeting. Only then did Mr. Lyle appear.

Lyle entered wearing a deep navy blue suit and a smug grin. In one hand he carried a black rod, shorter and thicker than a walking cane, about the length of a folding umbrella. In his other hand, Lyle held a thin leather rope that was leashed to the creature behind him. The leather bound the wrists of Lyle's captive but there was little resistance as the tiniest tug on the leash pulled the being into the room.

Sam stared in fascination at the shambling thing at Lyle's side. It was tall but hunched over in a perpetual cringe. Long brown hair hung in his face and Sam registered belatedly that the poor creature was a man. He swayed with an awkward limp as Lyle tugged at the leash, leading the man across the room. The man kept his face toward the floor, refusing to make eye contact with anyone around him. 

With a start, Sam realized that he knew this man. When Miss Parker gasped quietly at his side, Sam knew that she too had only just recognized the missing pretender. For a moment, the man's shuffling flinching motions had led Sam to believe that it was Angelo. But instead this was Jarod, walking with the same halting confusion that seemed to plague the empath.

The pretender had lost weight, Sam noticed. Jarod had always maintained a chiseled physique but where there had once been firm muscled curves there were now sharp angles. Sam continued to eye the pretender and his keeper as the meeting began. Officials droned on about old business and other nonsense. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see that Miss Parker appeared to be totally engrossed in the details of the meeting. The speaker seemed to have her complete attention. But Sam knew better. She was actually watching Jarod just as closely as Sam was. Not that there was much to see. Jarod stood silently at Lyle's side, half a step behind him. The pretender stared blankly at the floor and barely moved for the next hour.

The meeting progressed to new business and the fiscal results for last quarter. One of the Triumvirate bigwigs whose name Sam couldn't pronounce, highlighted some areas of admirable growth, warned about certain disappointing returns and then finally came to the topic of interest. 

"Most encouraging has been the decreased deficit in the pretender project," the dark man's African accent was smooth and melodic. "Mr. Lyle will update us on the project's current status and give us a better estimate as to when the program will begin to turn a profit once again. Mr. Lyle?"

Lyle stepped forward, leading Jarod to the center of the room. "Ladies and gentlemen," Lyle purred. "As you can see, the re-education phase is developing as planned." Mr. Lyle grinned proudly at members of the board. Jarod stood with his head down, staring at the floor as though no one else was in the room. "The subject is no longer combative and is following simple instructions," Lyle said. 

"When can we expect to gain some income on this, Mr. Lyle?" a French woman asked from her seat at the table. "Expenses are lower this quarter simply because the subject has not been free to take funds from us."

"Progress is slow," Lyle admitted. "But we are making strides toward our goal. Though he's still not ready to perform simulations, the subject is capable of answering some questions." Lyle said smoothly. Showman that he was, Lyle knew how to work this crowd. "Feel free to test his improvement Madame Richelieu."

The woman thought for a moment and asked, "What is the current population of New York City?"

Lyle prodded Jarod's shoulder with the black rod in his hand. "Answer?" Lyle demanded.

Jarod's head bobbed up, his eyes rolling blearily in his head. He began to speak in a low gravelly voice. "According to the census conducted in April of 2000, the total population of New York City proper was 8,008,278. Brooklyn is the largest of the boroughs with a population of 2,465,326. Queens is next at 2,229,379. Then comes Manhattan at," 

"That's enough," the Triumvirate woman abruptly cut him off. Jarod immediately turned his gaze back to the floor at his feet. 

"Interesting," another of the Africans drawled. "May I ask a question?" 

Lyle shrugged. "Certainly, Sir."

The man frowned thoughtfully at the pretender for a moment. "Jarod," he said. 

Jarod's head shot up to look at the man fearfully. He swayed as though the slightest gust would knock him over. 

"Would you like to sit?" the man offered gesturing to the lone chair available. 

Jarod blinked in confusion for several seconds before turning frantically toward Lyle. "Sit in the chair," Lyle commanded. 

The board member, sensing something awry, voiced exactly the opposite. "Or you may remain standing," he said.

Jarod suddenly became very anxious, glancing first at Lyle, then the board members. Turning back toward Lyle, Jarod scanned the crowd in the room with frenzied eyes and flinched as though he had only just noticed its presence. 

"Sit," Lyle hissed. 

"Not necessary, Mr. Lyle," the other man said. Sam watched in fascination as the African further antagonized the situation with a broad smile.

"Sit down!" Lyle's voice rose. 

Jarod reacted badly. With a whimper, the pretender dropped onto his butt and sat on the floor so quickly that he landed with a thud. He began gasping with anxiety and rocking back and forth in panicky little motions. 

"In the chair!" Lyle yelled. Jarod seemed to curl in on himself and moaned. Lyle, desperate to save face, turned to the panel at the conference table and shrugged. "As you can see there is still much work to do." Between clenched teeth he said, "Get up, now."

The pretender simply moaned low in his throat. 

"I said, MOVE!" Lyle growled. Then with a flick of the wrist, the short black rod in Lyle's hand came to life. It crackled ominously and as Lyle touched its tip to Jarod's back, the black club hissed loudly. Jarod wailed. 

Several board members frowned with disapproval and many members of the audience gasped. Everyone in the room was aware of the unsavory nature of Centre business. But never before had things been done so publicly. 

The electric prod continued to snap and its poor victim howled.

"Mr. Raines!" The Triumvirate leader running the meeting yelled. "Stop this immediately."

Raines shrugged. "The project is in my son's hands," he wheezed. "To question his authority now could jeopardize future progress."

Sam sensed the movement before Miss Parker made it. He would have stepped with her, remaining at her side as she strode into the center of attention. But with a glance, Miss Parker indicated that Sam should stay put and she moved forward to stand alone before the board members. 

"Well now," Miss Parker purred maliciously. "I'm afraid I don't understand your definition of progress, sir." The last world slid off her tongue like an insult. She stepped toward Lyle regally and with an icy glare she placed herself between her twin and the tortured man on the floor. Jarod curled into a ball, blindly clutching at Parker's legs and cowering behind her. 

But Miss Parker seemed not to notice the sniveling pretender at all as she stared her brother down. With a hiss Lyle turned off the power to the electric prod and Parker curled her lip at him in disgust. Then turning toward the Triumvirate members who were watching so intently, Miss Parker began speaking in a conversational tone. 

"I'm also disappointed in what you've decided is encouraging," she said haughtily. "The fact that the pretender project is bleeding red ink less rapidly than last quarter is no reason for celebration, ladies and gentlemen. It still bleeds red ink. Funds are gushing away and from I see there is little in the way of return on the investment."

Lyle sputtered angrily, "The re-education," he began.

"Is bullshit," Miss Parker snapped. "A pretender who can't think for himself, can not sim. What you have seen here today ladies and gentleman has been preprogrammed. A human parrot that can spew forth any fact Lyle has seen fit to bestow. Lyle's re-education," she grimaced as though the word left a bad taste in her mouth. "Will not create a pretender. You will be left with a monkey that does whatever tricks it has been taught."

"I gather you have an alternative in mind, Miss Parker?" The Triumvirate leader asked. 

Raising her chin defiantly she replied, "Give the project to me."

"No!" Lyle growled. Raines too gasped angrily but the African raised his hand for silence. 

Miss Parker went on, ignoring her brother's outburst. "Give the pretender project to me," she repeated. "This aspect of it at least. I'll stem the deficit. I guarantee that by the end of the next quarter, the revenue generated will be enough to cover the expenses of the program."

"Bold words, Miss Parker," the African said. "How can we know that you will be able to deliver?"

Turning abruptly, Miss Parker crouched on her haunches and placed one gentle hand on the trembling pretender's shoulder. "Jarod," she said gently. "Jarod. Sit up."

After a moment's hesitation, Jarod sat up slowly. 

Glancing over her shoulder at Sam, Miss Parker called, "Bring me a glass of water."

Sam stepped to the table and filled a glass from the water pitcher that sat on one corner of the surface. Ignoring the look of disapproval from the woman who sat there, Sam took the glass and crossed the room to hand it to his employer.

"Drink this," Miss Parker commanded tenderly. 

With a lost look of utter confusion on his face, Jarod drank as Miss Parker patiently held the glass for him. He'd finished half the liquid when Lyle snarled, "This is ridiculous."

No one seemed to pay him any heed. 

"This floor is cold, Jarod," Miss Parker said softly. "Let's get up before we catch pneumonia. Help me, Sam." 

With Sam's help Miss Parker managed to haul Jarod to his feet where he swayed slightly. "You look like you're ready to fall over. Would you like to sit down? "

The pretender blinked slowly and gave a single half nod in response. 

With two small steps, Miss Parker maneuvered Jarod to the chair and he sat. "There you go, Jarod," she purred. Handing the pretender the now half-empty glass she added, "Finish your water."

As the pretender obediently sipped his drink, Miss Parker straightened. She turned to the board members and said, "He is sitting in the chair. He is following simple commands. I did it in less than two minutes. Imagine what can be accomplished in three months."

"You people aren't seriously considering this?" Lyle cried in exasperation. 

The Triumvirate leader frowned. "Can you guarantee to breakeven next quarter, Mr. Lyle?" 

Lyle hesitated for a long minute, thinking. "No, I can't," he growled finally. "But Miss Parker is blowing hot air up her own skirt if she thinks she can turn a profit within one quarter."

"I don't appreciate your attitude, Mr. Lyle. We aren't looking for profit, yet," the African glowered. "I believe the claim was that you could cover expenses, wasn't it Miss Parker?"

"Yes, Sir," She answered simply. 

"And if she can't?" Lyle asked with a vicious snarl.

"Then that will be her problem, Mr. Lyle," the dark man sighed heavily. "It is no longer any of your concern."

With a withering glare at his sister, Lyle turned on his heel and stormed angrily out of the room. 

"Good luck, Miss Parker," the African said, much to Sam's surprise. "This meeting is now adjourned." With the clack of a gavel on the tabletop, people began to leave the room quickly. News of the minor coup would travel rapidly. Within the hour everyone would know that Miss Parker had taken Lyle's most volatile project from him. 

Miss Parker and Sam each stood beside Jarod, protecting him from the throngs as people flowed out of the room. The three were nearly alone with only a few stragglers clearing cups and trash from the table before Miss Parker spoke again. 

"What have I done, Sam?" she whispered. 

"Saved him from your lunatic brother?" he replied.

"For how long?" she asked. Crouching at Jarod's feet, Miss Parker looked into his face. The pretender wore a vacant, bland expression. His eyes seemed very far away and he was unresponsive when Miss Parker patted his knee. "I may have just signed his death warrant," she sighed morosely. Then with a wry chuckle she added, "I'm sure I just signed mine. Lyle will kill me for this humiliation."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Sam declared. 

"Dear Sam," Miss Parker said gently, shaking her head. 

"You have a lot more pull around here than you used to, Miss Parker," Sam said, voicing some of the thoughts he'd had earlier. "Maybe it's time to start using some of it."

"Maybe it's time for a lot of things to start happening," she whispered thoughtfully as she ran one hand through Jarod's hair. Shaking her head suddenly as if to clear it, Miss Parker stood and straightened with determination. "But first things first," she said. "We can't do anything with him in this condition. Let's get Jarod to the infirmary."

"Right," Sam said. He helped Jarod to stand and untied the leather rope around the pretender's wrists. Rubbing gently at the red raw marks, Sam tried to restore some circulation. "Is that better?" Sam asked him. 

But Jarod had no response. Sam could tell that the pretender wasn't really there. His mind was somewhere else. Whether they could bring it back or not was a question Sam did not want to fathom. 

Sam gently urged the pretender forward, guiding him toward the door. As they made their way to the elevator down the hall, Miss Parker began formulating their next course of action. 

"I want four more men," she said. "Sweepers we can trust. Pick them yourself, Sam. Jarod needs around the clock protection and I want people who are assigned to no other project."

Sam nodded. 

"I want a list of all expenses on this project. Everything from laundry detergent to dental floss," Miss Parker went on. "Broots can get that for me. It looks like Jarod will need some time to recuperate before he can get any work done. So I'll need to start by trimming the fat from this program."

As the elevator doors slid shut behind them, Sam smiled grimly. Miss Parker was mumbling to herself as more plans began to unfold in her mind. Sam could see the hard glint of purpose forming in his boss's gray eyes. Miss Parker was on a mission and Sam knew there was little that could stop her. 

--

Several days later, Sam sat in the infirmary at Jarod's bedside, sipping wearily at a cup of coffee. The sweeper had been at the pretender's side constantly at first. Miss Parker had insisted that he be protected and Sam had been the only one she would trust with the job. It had taken forty-eight hours to get another team member. 

Even now, Sam still needed to find one more sweeper to complete his staff. He was leaning toward a very young man Sam had met on the shooting range just over a year ago. The boy had not been with the Centre much longer than that and though he was still very green, the kid had a thing for Miss Parker. She had smiled at him and won the young man's unending devotion. And he just happened to be an excellent marksman.

But until Sam decided, he and the other three sweepers worked in twelve-hour shifts. Shifts began at alternate times but always over lapped so that there were always two guards protecting the pretender. Jason, an old friend and Sam's first recruit, was currently stationed just outside this room. 

Jarod had been unconscious almost constantly since he'd been taken from Mr. Lyle. Miss Parker chose a doctor to examine him and an orthopedic specialist had been brought in to treat Jarod's leg. The damage had been pretty bad. They'd been forced to operate, re-breaking the tibia and setting it properly with the help of metal pins. The pretender now slept in a contraption that his nurse had called traction. But to Sam it looked like something found at the Spanish inquisition. 

As a sign of respect and team cohesiveness, Sydney had suggested that Jarod's injuries stay private. As a result, aside from the leg Sam only knew the obvious, that Jarod was malnourished and exhausted. The rest of Jarod's medical condition remained sealed. Not even Miss Parker had read his chart. 

When Jarod woke, he could tell them what he wanted them to know. According to Sydney, this would help Jarod to feel like a member of the team rather than a subject of it. Their lives were all at stake now and Jarod would have to cooperate if they were to make their goal in the allotted time. 

Miss Parker strode in with Mr. Broots at her side. In one hand she carried a clipboard full of papers and she was quickly flipping through the pages. 

"There, " Broots said enthusiastically, pointing to the top of one of the sheets. 

Miss Parker scanned the information with an irritated frown. "Your telling me that there is a nutritionist on staff who gets eighty grand a year to make that green slop for Jarod?"

"Yep," Broots nodded. "He's assigned specifically to Jarod because each pretender has a different set of nutritional requirements."

"Right," Miss Parker drawled sarcastically. "Green slop is still green slop. And how much would it cost to give him the basic diet like the one they serve in renewal wing?"

"Well, it is pretty bland hospital food," Broots explained. "We can generate similar meals for 21 dollars a day."

"Twenty-one dollars," she said with wry amusement. 

Broots nodded. "But I spoke with my friend, Cookie, in the kitchen and he said we can buy the same meals from them at half the price. They need to mass-produce meals anyway and that lowers the cost. One more tray won't cause them any hardship."

Miss Parker chuckled. "So you're telling me I can trim more than 75 grand from my budget and Jarod gets to eat real food."

Broots nodded.

"Fire the nutritionist, Broots," Miss Parker said cheerily. Handing the clipboard to the tech, she added, "Set things up with your friend in the kitchen. Tell him that we will send someone down to retrieve each meal. He is not to prepare any tray until our people are there to supervise."

"Yes, Miss Parker," Broots said as he scurried from the room.

"Do you think they'll try to poison him?" Sam asked once Broots had left.

Miss Parker sighed. "I don't know. Maybe they won't try anything. Maybe they'll just wait for me to fail and let the Triumvirate kill me. Then they can take Jarod with no opposition."

"He won't let you down," Sam said with sudden confidence. 

Miss Parker's brow rose quizzically. 

"You won't allow him to," Sam added with a smirk. 

"You're getting awfully cocky, Buster," Miss Parker warned coldly.

Sam smiled. He was too tired to play games. "I figure I can get away with it, because you need me," he said.

"Yes," she whispered seriously. "Yes, I do." After a moment she changed the subject. "How is he?" Miss Parker asked gesturing to the form on the bed.

Sam shrugged. "No change. Hasn't even twitched since I got here this morning."

Miss Parker leaned over with a sigh and carefully propped herself on the edge of the hospital bed. With a tenderness she normally reserved for fluffy animals and small children, Miss Parker caressed the pretender's stubble covered cheek.

"Jarod," she purred softly. "It's time to wake up."

The lean form sighed softly in return. Then he mumbled, "Don't wanna."

Miss Parker's delighted grin was one of those rare uninhibited smiles that brightened her face. "Too bad, sleepy head. Time to wake up. Come on, now," she coaxed. "Wake up."

Jarod moaned groggily. His eyelids fluttered and finally opened. 

"Hi there," Miss Parker smiled.

"Hi," he replied. 

"How do you feel?" Miss Parker asked. 

Jarod's hand clenched shut weakly and he pulled the blankets closer. With a frown he said, "My leg hurts."

Miss Parker nodded. "You're in traction. I'm afraid you'll be stuck in that thing for the next week."

The pretender grunted noncommittally. His eyes roamed around the room fearfully and landed on Sam. Jarod pulled his covers up and shivered. 

"Are you cold?" Miss Parker asked with concern.

The pretender frowned. "Yes," he answered slowly. "May I have another blanket?"

"Sure," she said patting his arm reassuringly. 

Sam retrieved another blanket from the linen closet and helped Miss Parker tuck it around the pretender. Jarod watched Sam's every move very closely. Pulling his covers up to his neck, Jarod snuggled against his pillow, warily eyeing the sweeper.

"Don't worry," Miss Parker soothed. "Sam's not going to hurt you. He's here to protect you."

The two men stared silently at each other. 

"I can't stay," Miss Parker sighed forlornly. "Too much work to get done. I'll let the nurse know that you're awake. Sam, try to get him to eat something."

"Yes, Ma'am," Sam replied. 

Miss Parker strode from the room leaving the two men alone. Jarod stared at the sweeper with wide suspicious eyes, saying nothing. 

"I'm really not going to hurt you, Jarod," Sam said. When he noticed that the silent pretender was still shivering, Sam went to the closet and got the last blanket from the shelf. Draping this one over the top of the others, Sam tucked Jarod in as well as he could with the broken leg roped up like it was. "Do you feel feverish?" Sam asked.

Jarod shook his head. 

The sweeper sighed. "I'm trying to help you. You don't have to believe me right now. But you will eventually. You will."

With that, Sam went to the door and relayed his orders to the guard in the hallway.

---

Sam grabbed the small paper bag resting on the passenger seat and climbed out of his car. He walked quickly across the parking lot and into The Centre. As the door closed behind him, Sam sighed at the cool relief he found in the air-conditioned hallways. It was mid-August, and this afternoon was one of the hottest the area had seen all year. 

Just over six weeks had passed since Miss Parker had taken Jarod from that meeting room. The cast had come off Jarod's leg on Monday but he was still forced to perform grueling physical therapy each day. The pretender's strength had returned to some degree and he had regained some weight, though not enough. 

Sam headed directly for sublevel eighteen, where Jarod was currently quartered. As he approached Sam signed in at the security station at the end of the hall, chatting for a minute with the guard there. The security in this wing was as tight as Sam could make it. Cameras hung from the ceiling at regular intervals and only specific personnel were permitted access. The precautions were designed more to keep the unwelcome out than to keep anyone in.

Jarod was the only inmate in the entire section. Miss Parker had ordered it, preferring the ease with which she could track housekeeping expenses this way. Not that Jarod was isolated in any manner. Aside from the two sweepers who accompanied him twenty-four hours a day, there were nearly a dozen regulars on the floor. 

Jarod's nurse, a stern older woman he seemed comfortable with, visited the pretender three times a day to check his progress. There was the tiny Asian woman name Lily who worked as Jarod's physical therapist. There was the janitor to mop floors and a cleaning woman to make beds and fetch Jarod's meals. A young woman, Caryn, served as the pretender's secretary, documenting all of his simulations and performing routine research. This allowed Jarod the free time he needed for the physical therapy and extra rest he still required. 

Increasingly complex simulations occupied the better part of Jarod's day. His morning began just after six o'clock when his breakfast arrived. The next seven hours were devoted to work sessions with only minimal breaks. The pretender's lunch normally consisted of something he could easily munch while he continued to work. In the afternoons, Lily arrived with the ankle weights for Jarod's exercises. These were followed by a shower and an early dinner. Another simulation session usually took place in the early evening. Mr. Broots presented Jarod with most of his simulations, for the pretender no longer worked well with Sydney.

It was this last fact that caused Sam a great deal of concern. He was responsible for Jarod's safety and as time went by, Sam found himself growing more and more protective of the pretender. Sam had begun to wonder if the old psychiatrist was a threat. Knowing how Miss Parker felt about the Belgian, Sam needed to find out for sure before suggesting that they remove Sydney from the project.

Sam passed a young sweeper guarding Jarod's room and nodded at him. "Riley," Sam said in way of greeting. 

"Sir," he nodded back. 

Sam slipped into the very large but sparsely furnished area that made up Jarod's room. Another sweeper stood to one side, near the wall, and Sam moved to join him. 

"Good afternoon, Jason. How's he doing?" Sam asked with a nod in Jarod's direction. 

The other man shrugged. For a moment the two sweepers watched in silence as Jarod worked with his leg on a nautilus-like weight machine. The pretender grimaced each time he lifted his leg and sweat beaded his brow. The petite little therapist at Jarod's side frowned and she chided him in what Sam guessed was either Mandarin or Japanese. The pretender glared up at the girl and replied with a groan in the same language.

"I think he's being difficult," the other sweeper said. "But I'm not sure. At least he's talking today."

Sam nodded without comment. Some days, Jarod barely spoke at all, writing all his work in notebooks rather than narrate to anyone else. The fact that the pretender was being more interactive today would make Sam's task much easier. 

"It's three o'clock. See you tomorrow, Jason," Sam said kindly.

Knowing that he'd just been dismissed. Jason nodded simply as he turned and left the room. With a glance at her watch, the physical therapist tapped Jarod on the shoulder and smiled. The pretender collapsed against the padded backboard and panted with exertion. The girl proceeded to gather a few things, chattering contentedly in the foreign language. 

Jarod rolled his eyes and mumbled something back. 

As Lily headed for the door, she smiled brightly at Sam. She was a pretty little thing in an average kind of way. "Is he giving you a hard time?" Sam asked the girl in a light tone.

"Oh, no," she replied in perfect English. "I can handle his grumbling." 

"His leg seems to be getting stronger," Sam observed.

The girl nodded. "I'm beginning to think he may walk without the limp some day," she added. 

Sam glanced thoughtfully across the room as Lily departed. Jarod still sat on the edge of the weight machine, drying his sweaty face with a towel. Sam strolled over to the round table where Jarod worked and took his meals. Leaning against the sturdy edge, Sam crossed his arms and said blandly, "I thought we had agreed that you would cooperate with your physical therapist, Jarod."

Then, there it was, that wide-eyed, frightened look Jarod got on his face whenever Sam spoke to the pretender. Jarod stood quickly, favoring his sore leg. Even as warm as this room was always kept and despite the sweat on his brow, Jarod shivered. 

Sam sighed. "Well I suppose you can have this anyway," he said, holding the paper bag out. Sam, in an attempt help the pretender put on some weight, had started bringing Jarod a cheeseburger each afternoon.

But as usual, Jarod would not come forward and take the offering from Sam, no matter how enticing the aroma. With a shrug, Sam placed the bag on the tabletop and stepped back several feet. Only then did Jarod come to the table and sit down. 

Sam shook his head slightly. Jarod seemed to be fine with the little Asian girl, his nurse and Miss Parker. The pretender seemed comfortable enough with women. But with Sam and the other sweepers, or the janitor, Jarod was incredibly wary and defensive. The other sweepers on Sam's team had specific instructions not to speak to the pretender when alone with him, unless Jarod instigated conversation. 

It was a symptom Sam recognized though it had taken weeks for him to remember it. As more of Jarod's behavior had begun to make sense in Sam's mind, the sweeper had become more and more vigilant. Under closer examination, Sam had found Jarod's reactions to be as close to a textbook case as he had ever thought possible. 

The pretender shivered a great deal, no matter how high Miss Parker turned up the heat. Jarod often complained of being cold in spite of the fact that it was ninety-five degrees outside. Sam saw the ploy for what it was, Jarod's excuse for wearing layer upon layer of thick clothing. 

Jarod refused to let anyone see him undressed. His nurse even had difficulty getting the pretender to roll up his sleeve when she needed to draw blood. He was easily frightened and when upset, Jarod could slip into a catatonic-like state from which only Miss Parker could rouse him. 

But for Sam, it had been an incident last week that had been the final determining factor. Miss Parker had come to oversee in the evening's simulations, as she normally did. On this occasion she had brought Sydney with her. Because Sam currently worked the afternoon and evening shift, he had been there when the pair had arrived to see Jarod. 

At first all had seemed fine, Jarod was jittery but not uncommonly so. About an hour into the session, Miss Parker had called Sam aside and they had stepped into the corridor to discuss some business. They had left Jarod and Sydney alone for less than five minutes. 

When they had returned, Jarod was curled into a fetal position in one corner and he was screaming at Sydney, "Get out!"  Sydney sobbed apologies again and again to no avail. Miss Parker had been forced to drag the psychiatrist away, leaving Jarod to tremble alone in his corner. 

Sam had tried to comfort his distraught charge but Jarod had whimpered and cringed away. After a long time, the pretender had finally gotten up, gone into the lavatory and locked himself in. Sam had been concerned and listened at the door for three quarters of an hour while the shower ran on and on. 

Just as Sam was debating the safest way to tear down the door, Jarod had reappeared. Bundled in layers of fresh clothes with his hair still damp, Jarod limped across the room and sat back down sat the table to continue the simulation he had begun earlier. As the pretender leaned over his work, Sam noticed the back of Jarod's neck. The skin there was flushed a bright red. Sam examined the pretender more carefully and found similar coloring on the backs of his hands. 

"Jarod," Sam had called softly. "Look at me."

When he did, Sam could see that Jarod's face was also red, as though he had been sunburned. It was obvious that the pretender's skin had been scalded. Sam knew from experience that initially, the skin had been pale and white as it burned under a spray of cruelly hot water. But the blanched pallor had quickly inflamed into this reddish tinge. 

As Sam stood staring at the pretender that day, his throat had gone dry and the edges of his vision darkened. Sam had suffered a flashback for the first time in nearly two decades. He remembered a scalding hot shower of his own and the memory was so clear, it was as though he was reliving the moment.

The experience had frightened the sweeper badly. It was only later, while Sam lay awake in bed that he began to ponder what he now knew. Sam had no doubt that Jarod's physical well-being would continue to improve, but without guidance, the emotional damage would continue unabated. For a while, Sam had considered sharing his insights and suspicions with Miss Parker. But he had decided against it. Miss Parker did need to be told about Jarod's condition. However it was not Sam's place to do the telling. 

The best thing would be for Jarod to tell Miss Parker what had happened. Telling had been the single hardest thing Sam had ever done. But it was the only way to find solace, the only way to begin healing. Getting Jarod to do so would not be easy. 

Now as he stood watching Jarod silently eat his cheeseburger, Sam gathered up his courage and strolled to the table as nonchalantly as he could. Sam could see Jarod tense warily as he approached. He spoke quickly but soothingly, so as to prevent Jarod from fleeing from him too soon. 

"I asked for extra mustard," Sam said softly. "Just the way you like it."

Jarod's eyes flittered nervously before he replied, "Thank you."

Moving carefully, Sam sat in the chair opposite Jarod. "I want to talk with you for a while," Sam said. "Would that be okay?"

"I should get ready for this evening's session," Jarod said nervously. "Miss Parker will be here soon." 

"No, she won't," Sam said gently. "She has a business dinner with some potential clients. She promised to come by afterward but it may be rather late." 

Jarod frowned. "There is no sim tonight?" he asked warily. 

"Tonight's agenda is up to me," Sam said, slowly folding his hands on the tabletop. "And I think you and I need to talk."

Jarod folded his arms over his chest, defensively hugging himself. "Talk about what?" the pretender said meekly.

Sam smiled sadly. Jarod seemed somewhat cooperative tonight, a good sign. 

Sam sighed heavily and began relating the story he had only ever told once before. "I never knew my real father," Sam said. He nodded at the strange look of surprise on Jarod's face at the unexpected topic. Sam plowed on. "My mother always said that he left us when I was a baby. But in all honesty she probably didn't even know who he was."

"You see," Sam said. "My mother was a junkie, a serious drug addict. If you could smoke it, snort it or shoot it, my mother did it. My earliest memory is of being three, maybe four years old. I was sitting on the floor in front of an old T.V. watching Road Runner cartoons. I remember laughing and knowing that my mother was laughing with me. We were watching cartoons together and having a marvelous time."

Sam glanced at Jarod to make sure he was still listening. At the pretender's nod, Sam continued. "I turned around and saw her sitting on the floor just behind me. Her back was against a ratty old couch and in her arm dangled an empty syringe." Sam shrugged. "I was too young to realize that she was a terrible mother. By the time I was six I could get myself off to school and make my own simple meals. I was an expert when it came to ketchup and saltines." 

"There were a lot of faces, a lot of men, in our lives when I was very young," Sam said. "Some of them lived with us for a while. Sometimes we lived with them. Some were kind enough and sober enough to buy us groceries instead of cocaine." 

"When I was ten," Sam said slowly. "My mother shacked up with a guy named Carl. He was a drug dealer and a pimp. He kept my mother stoned and in return she took him to her bed." Sam sighed sadly. "She was one of his whores. I knew that. I may have been young but I'd had a rather graphic education. We lived in this one room flat where my mother turned all her tricks. I used to come home from school and find her humping some stranger or another in the middle of the floor."

"I wondered at first why Carl allowed it," Sam continued. "Most of her boyfriends had gotten angry and beat her up whenever they caught my mother sleeping around. Carl had been living with us for a month or two before I learned the truth."

"There was a big party one night," Sam said, his voice low and determined. "Carl and four or five of his friends, all dirt bags, were getting high and taking turns doing my mother. I was sleeping in the tub, away from it all, when Carl came into the bathroom to relieve himself. In more ways than one as it turned out."

Sam paused and gazed meaningfully at Jarod. "He took a whiz then hauled me out of the tub by the back of my shirt. I didn't know a boy could be raped. Carl enlightened me."

Sam saw Jarod swallow hard. He wasn't sure which of them was trembling more, but Sam tried hard to stay as calm as he could. Sam took a deep relaxing breath before going on. "The bastard molested me for two and a half years. He would get my mother stoned out of her mind and while she slept, he'd take me again and again until I could barely stand." 

Sam shook his head, trying to ignore the moisture building in Jarod's dark eyes. "If I told anyone, he said I would be sentencing my own mother to prison for allowing it. He said he would tell the cops that she had given him permission. Maybe part of me believed that she had," Sam added with a shrug.

"In the end, it was a school counselor who saved me," Sam said with a sigh. He shook his head sadly. "I was pretty messed up, morose and depressed. I got into fights at school, skipped classes. At the time, I didn't understand how the counselor could know such a closely guarded secret. But when she asked who was hurting me and how they were touching me, I broke down. I told her everything."

Sam leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper. "It is not a secret you can keep, Jarod. It eats away at you from the inside out until your psyche is screaming unconscious signals to the rest of the world." Sam shook his head sadly again. "Unfortunately, many people can't read those signals, or they interpret them incorrectly. But I can read them. I can see them. I see those same signs in you, Jarod."

A single tear escaped from Jarod's wide eyes and made a damp track down his cheek. But he said nothing. 

"The secret has to be told, Jarod," Sam said gently. As the pretender gasped in panic Sam went on quickly, "It is the only way to survive. I know it's hard. Telling is the hardest thing you'll ever do, but it must be done."

Jarod looked down at his lap where his fingers were clasped together so fiercely that the knuckles were white. 

"I'm not asking you to tell me, Jarod," Sam said sympathetically. "I'm too intimidating, I understand that. You need to talk to someone you trust. Someone who won't judge you."

Jarod glanced back up at Sam with a frightened look on his face. 

"You need to tell her, Jarod," Sam said gently. "I haven't told her what I've seen and I don't think she has any idea about what's happened to you. She'll be upset, but not with you. I promise that she will not get angry with you. This was not your fault."

The pretender made a strangled, whimpering sound in his throat as tears began to flow. Sam rose quietly from his chair to crouch at Jarod's side. Carefully placing one hand on Jarod's shoulder, Sam repeated, "This is not your fault." 

Jarod heaved in a sob and in a movement so subtle Sam nearly missed it, the pretender leaned toward him ever so slightly. Sam took it for the small sign of encouragement that it was. Placing one arm around Jarod, Sam tenderly pulled the trembling man into a secure embrace. Burying his face in Sam's suit jacket, Jarod began to sob quietly. 

"Let it out, Jarod," Sam soothed, his own voice tight with emotions. "It's the best thing for you, buddy."

"It hurts," Jarod moaned in a muffled voice.

Sam squeezed the pretender a bit tighter. "I know it does. I know." Sam let Jarod weep for several minutes before nudging him slightly and saying, "There is only one thing I want you to tell me, Jarod. One thing I need to know right now, for your own safety."

Sniffling noisily, Jarod lifted his head and looked up at Sam with sad, questioning eyes. 

"Was it Sydney?" Sam asked firmly. "Was he the one who...?"

The pretender's eyes grew wide with shock. "Sydney would never hurt me," Jarod said softly.

Sam frowned at the indirect reply. "Answer the question, Jarod," he said in a stern voice. "Did Sydney have sex with you?"

"No," Jarod replied in a small voice. 

Sam sighed with a huge sense of relief. Jarod's behavior around the older man had convinced Sam that the Belgian had been involved in the assault on Jarod. The idea itself had been enough to turn Sam's stomach. There was more to Sydney's involvement than Jarod was revealing but for now, Sam was confident that the psychiatrist posed no further physical threat.

"Sam?" Jarod spoke with a weary sigh. 

"Hmm?" he replied, patting the pretender's back in reassuring motions. 

"What happened?" Jarod asked. "To Carl and your mom?"

Sam shrugged indifferently. "Don't know. I was placed in foster care and never saw either of them again."

Jarod pulled back and gazed into Sam's face, aghast.

"I was better off," Sam said seriously. "I was taken in by an elderly couple that had nothing to give except lots of patience and a great deal of love. I lived with them until I graduated from high school and I can say in complete confidence that Mamie and Pop saved my life."   

"Do you ever miss your mother?" Jarod asked curiously.

Sam stood and leaned casually against table as he thought about it for a moment. Shaking his head he replied, "No. I miss Mamie. She was the mother I'd never had when I was young. She died while I was in college and Pop followed a year later. I'll miss them for the rest of my life. But my real mom can rot in hell for all I care." 

Jarod stared thoughtfully at the floor for a moment. "It must have been a horrible childhood," he whispered finally. "I can't imagine how you survived it."

Sam sighed and patted Jarod affectionately on the shoulder. "I survived the same way you did, Jarod. I didn't know anything better."

"I'm tired," Jarod said, leaning his head back in exhaustion. 

Sam nodded. "Then get some sleep. I'll wait for Miss Parker." Jarod glanced at him fearfully. "I meant it, Jarod," Sam reassured him. "You have to tell her, not me. But you don't have to do it tonight."

"Okay," Jarod nodded in relief. The pretender stood and limped wearily toward his cot on the far side on the room. A curtain, similar to those found in a hospital room, separated the bed from the rest of the area and provided some measure of privacy. As Jarod pulled this curtain closed he stopped, and called back to the sweeper who watched over him. "Sam?" he said softly. "Thanks."

Sam smiled. "Good night, Jarod," he answered. 

-- 

End Part 3

Reconstructing Jarod
Part4 - Reconstructing Jarod
-

By Phenyx
01/03/04

-

Miss Parker finally arrived at home. Closing the door behind her, she turned the deadbolt and slid the security chain into place. Heaving a sigh she leaned her forehead against the oak panel and squeezed her eyes shut. 

It was dark but not terribly late. Kicking off her shoes, Miss Parker headed first for the bar where she poured herself a generous serving of brandy. Tossing the drink down her throat with one long swallow she immediately poured herself another helping. She gulped the second drink as quickly as she had the first.

With a sigh of resignation, she abandoned the empty glass on the counter and wandered toward her bedroom. Her clothes, dropped randomly as she stripped out of them, made an enticing path along the way. Strolling through the dark house, she stopped only long enough to turn on the bathroom light before stepping naked into the shower. Miss Parker closed her eyes and allowed the warm water to cascade over her upturned face. 

Only then did she finally let the tears come. They began first as silent drops mingling with the water from the showerhead. But they quickly grew in strength and Parker submitted to the anguish roiling through her. Clinging to the wet, tiled wall for support, Parker leaned over and wept uncontrollably. 

Not since Tommy's death had Parker felt such sorrow, such loss at the suffering of another. Grief overwhelmed her and she moaned as the sobs wrenched from her soul. There was no thought, only blinding misery over what she had learned tonight. Another innocent had fallen victim to the Centre. The kindest, most generous man she had ever known had been violated in the worst possible way. 

When Sam had come to her this afternoon and suggested that this evening's simulation be cancelled, Parker had known something was up. Indeed over the last few days, Sam had begun to fret over Jarod, protecting him like a lioness cherishes her cub. So much so that when Sam said that the pretender needed a break, Miss Parker had believed him.   

Even more incongruous had been Jarod's altered behavior toward Sam. A week ago, Jarod cringed whenever the sweeper entered the room. But recently, Jarod had become very dependent upon Sam, growing anxious whenever the bulky sweeper was out of his sight. 

So, Parker had changed their routine, calling off the simulation they had scheduled. Sam had also insisted that they go visit the pretender personally and spend a little time with him. As they walked toward Jarod's door, Sam had hesitated and gazed seriously at his employer. 

"Whatever he says," Sam had told her ominously. "No matter what he tells you, you must not get upset. He will interpret it all wrong and think you are angry with him. Please try to remember that. And for God's sake, DO NOT suggest that he talk to Sydney. Don't even mention the name."

Miss Parker had frowned and nodded warily. But when Sam urged her into Jarod's quarters and did not follow, Parker felt an icy lump of doom form in her stomach. Alone with Jarod in his room, Parker had quickly realized that she was there for a purpose. Jarod had something important to tell her. 

It had taken nearly an hour of fidgeting and false starts before the pretender managed to convey the basic outline of the horror he was trying to share. Another two hours passed as Jarod haltingly described the hell he'd been put through. Parker had required every ounce of determination to heed Sam's warning, to not lose it while Jarod told his tale. 

Once the words had begun to flow, Jarod talked as though he could not stop them. He told Parker about the man who had hurt him, an idiot named Lewis. He described the room he'd been kept in originally and the odd sense of security he'd found, though briefly, when returned to his childhood prison. Jarod tried to define his strange feelings of disassociation and admitted that he could call it up whenever he chose, doing so often.

Parker spent the hours doing what she could to help. She listened. She held Jarod tight as he clung to her, apologizing over and over, for what, Parker wasn't quite sure. Only once did her calm demeanor crack, when Jarod woefully related the encounter where Sydney had been a witness. Parker had gasped in pain for the two men, both so important in her life. She had nearly started weeping then. But instead she'd ground her teeth and swallowed her despair when Jarod had become even more frantic at seeing her response.

Finally, exhausted and emotionally spent, Jarod had curled up on the floor with his head in Parker's lap. They had remained that way for a long time, Jarod's face buried in Parker's abdomen while he hugged her waist. She soothed the pretender as best she could with gentle circular motions on his back and tender caresses through his hair. After a time, Parker found a way to maneuver the pretender to his bed and tuck a few blankets around him. Once she was sure that Jarod had fallen into a deep sleep, Parker left The Centre and started the long journey home.

Crying as though it her heart would break, Parker sobbed as the water in her shower began to run cold. Still Parker wept, shivering under the now icy spray. When her teeth began to chatter and her tears ran dry, she finally pulled herself together. Wrapping a warm robe around her dripping body, Parker wearily hauled her self to bed. 

As she huddled under the covers, Parker could feel the strain of the day's events gnawing at her. But sleep was elusive. Parker's mind returned again and again to the frightened, emotionally starved man who had confided in her this evening. The cocky, confident pretender Parker had once known was gone; lost to the torture Lyle had inflicted upon him. 

"Oh, Jarod," Parker whispered into the darkness. "What now? What do we do now?"

Only empty silence responded. 

Since stepping forward at the board meeting, Miss Parker had been going on pure instinct. Less self-preservation than it was protectiveness, Parker had spent these weeks focused on making the pretender project cost-effective. If the next quarter ended with another deficit, Parker would forfeit her life. Of that there was no doubt. But worse yet, if Parker failed, Jarod would be returned to Lyle's authority and the torment that represented.

To prevent that, Parker knew that she would simply have to keep going. Parker needed to remain focused on Jarod's physical and mental well-being. As the pretender's health improved, the results of his sims would become more profitable. The numbers were already proving that to be true. The question was whether Jarod, in his current state, could perform well enough to reach the goal that had been set for them.

As for the work and the sims themselves, Parker could do nothing to help. Her best course of action was to continue to trim the project's budget, cut expenses to the bone thereby reducing the dollars Jarod would have to attain. She would offer Jarod as much moral and emotional support as possible and increase the time she spent with the troubled pretender. 

There was little more she could do. Prayer wasn't exactly Parker's forte. As exhaustion overwhelmed her, Parker drifted into an uneasy slumber. Her last conscious thought was a hope that the deity she didn't believe existed might cast a little luck in their direction.

-

Parker sat on the stone edge of the fountain as she munched the last of her salad. Sam sat beside her as they finished their lunches. The courtyard was silent aside from the gurgling water. She and Sam had run out of business to discuss so they simply relished the serenity of the place. 

On most afternoons this courtyard was bustling with Centre employees seeking a bit of fresh air. The ominous stone structure stood only a few yards away. But for now, it was nearly deserted. Sam's team of sweepers circling the perimeter made sure of that. 

It had become a routine to come here. Twice a week, weather permitting, Parker came to Jarod's quarters and interrupted whatever simulation was in progress. She'd bring a wicker basket and the swarm of guards and scuttle Jarod off to this fountain for a picnic lunch. 

At first, Jarod had been jittery and anxious, hence the guards. But once he was convinced that the three of them would be undisturbed, Jarod had begun to relax. The pretender had been a tad perturbed when he first recognized Parker's ulterior motives and she'd felt a bit underhanded, but her scheme had worked. 

Parker smiled down at Jarod. He sat on the ground with his back against the low stone wall upon which Parker was perched. His long arms stretched along the wall like a man sprawled on his living room couch. Jarod's head was tilted back and his eyes were closed as he worshipped the late summer sun. 

The heat was nearly oppressive. Parker and Sam had both removed their suit jackets in response to the temperature. Jarod sat quietly, wearing only a t-shirt and blue jeans. His bulky long sleeved shirt and the sweater he usually wore over it were balled up on the ground at the pretender's feet. Parker knew that the clothes would be back in place before he set foot indoors but this was at least a first step. 

Parker had nearly whooped with joy the first time Jarod had been forced by the sweltering sun to remove those outer layers. He had seen Parker's look of triumph and had glared angrily when he realized what she had done. The pretender had sulked for the better part of an hour before forgiving her. 

Parker took the current opportunity to examine Jarod closely. The white cotton t-shirt left little to the imagination. It hugged Jarod's body, revealing the curved muscles in his chest and the tight ripples on his abdomen. Sam's afternoon cheeseburger fixes had done their job. Jarod's scrawny form had filled out into the lean specimen he had once been. 

The regular sunshine had brought missing color to Jarod's face, replacing the pallor with a healthy glow. His limp was also rapidly improving and at times, when Jarod put forth the effort to do so, he could walk without a single hitch in his gait. Physically, the pretender was doing quite well.

But unseen wounds heal far more slowly than those a bandage can fix. Jarod was still noticeably withdrawn. He would sometimes go for hours, even days without saying a word. Sydney could visit but Jarod would speak to him only about mundane generalities such as the weather, assuming the pretender spoke to him at all.

Parker had to admit that she missed the irreverent attitude Jarod had once shown her. The sparkle that had once brightened Jarod's chocolaty brown eyes had yet to return. As irritating as it had been, Parker longed for the stubbornness that Jarod had shown in the past. He never argued with her now, obediently following her instructions without question.

"Time to head back," Sam said suddenly, breaking the silence. 

Jarod opened his eyes and stared at Parker for a moment with a flat, unreadable gaze. Quickly scooping up his outer shirts, Jarod pulled them both over his head at once, hiding his sculpted frame beneath the bulky clothes. Sam signaled to his team, bringing the sweepers into a tight defensive formation. 

They walked back to the Centre and re-entered its air-conditioned depths. They followed the regular route back to Jarod's quarters, stopping in the corridor to wait for an elevator. Jarod gasped sharply and Parker turned toward him in concern. The pretender had gone deathly pale as he gazed fearfully down the corridor. Panting in light panicky breaths, Jarod backed against the wall until his shoulders were plastered against the paneled surface. 

Glancing toward the source of Jarod's anxiety, Miss Parker belatedly realized that their routine was a bad idea. Though regularity in his life could only aid Jarod's recovery, it had left them open to attack. Lyle had known exactly when and where to expect them. 

It was Lyle who now strolled arrogantly down the hallway toward Parker and her team. He was accompanied by four sweepers who led between them a huge man with closely cropped hair. The giant's oddly shaped mouth and slanted eyes gave him a misshapen look. 

Parker groaned. She instinctively knew the identity of this big man and the knowledge made her shiver. Lewis was a walking brick wall, thickly muscled and obviously strong. That this lumbering monstrosity had laid hands on her pretender caused Parker's stomach to roil. Sam and his team immediately stepped in front of Parker and her trembling partner, fanning out between them and 
the approaching group.    

"Well, look what we have here," Lyle purred coldly. He held up a hand and the men behind him halted at the gesture. "Why Lewis, isn't that your friend, Jarod?" Lyle asked cruelly. 

The big man's head bobbed frantically. With a stupid grin and a sloppy smack of his lips, Lewis lurched forward, his arms outstretched. "Pretty," he slurred.

"No," Jarod whimpered. 

Sam and his team went into action. Grabbing the large man around the shoulders, two of Sam's sweepers tried to stop his progress. Then with a snarl at his own guards, Lyle commanded, "Get them!" 

What ensued was a free for all. Black suited sweepers jumped on each other and began pummeling one another as if they were in a bar fight. Lewis, unhindered, headed straight for Jarod. But between the idiot and the pretender stood Miss Parker. The slender woman was no match for the giant and he batted her aside like a fly. Miss Parker hit the wall with a thud and slid to the floor, stunned.

There was an abrupt roar and Miss Parker looked up just in time to see Jarod snap. Never before had she seen such rage on her friend's face. The familiar pretender seemed to melt away, his features changing, and he transformed into something else as he threw himself at the big man. Momentum pushed Lewis into the opposite wall as Jarod rammed into him. A low growl of harsh obscenities rolled from Jarod's mouth as he began to wail on his would be attacker. 

One of Lyle's sweepers managed to grab Jarod and pull him off but with a twist of his body, Jarod smashed an elbow into the guard's face and the man dropped like a stone. Returning his attention to Lewis, Jarod began kicking the downed man violently. With an animal like hiss, the pretender snatched a fire extinguisher from the wall and proceeded to thrash his opponent with it. 

Rapidly pulling herself to her feet, Parker grabbed her pistol from its holster and fired three warning shots into the floor. The chaos around her abruptly stopped except for Jarod's frantic beating on Lewis, which persisted fiercely. 

"Sam," Parker heaved. "Stop him before kills the dumb creature."

Dropping an opposing sweeper from his clutches, Sam quickly moved to Jarod's side. "Jarod," he said firmly, trying to grab the pretender's flailing arms. "Jarod, enough."

Jarod growled in answer as the pounding continued. Sam gestured to his other sweepers and between them, three men managed to drag Jarod off of the wounded and whimpering simpleton. Pressing the pretender against the wall, Sam talked soothingly to him. "Enough, Jarod. Enough."

Panting from his exertions, Jarod blinked and then dropped the blood-spattered club with a clang. 

Sam took Jarod's head between his hands and shook him gently. "Jarod?" he asked. "Are you with me?"

Jarod nodded meekly. "Yeah, Sam," he whispered. "I'm okay."

Sam grinned. "I bet that felt good," he said with a low chuckle.

Wide brown eyes gazed at Sam wryly. "Yeah," Jarod answered with a small crooked smile. "It did."

Lyle, unscathed throughout the short skirmish, snickered evilly. "Your boy is missing a few of his marbles, Sis," he cooed in a smooth voice. "You really should restrain him and prevent such unpredictable behavior."

Moving with the calm grace of a lazy cat, Miss Parker stepped up to her brother until they were standing toe to toe. Transferring her gun to her non-dominant hand, Parker reared back with the other and threw a single punch. Making contact with her fist against Lyle's jaw, Parker felt the satisfying crunch as her brother went down hard. 

Hissing with barely controlled fury, Parker leaned over her dazed twin. "You come near me or any of my people again, dear brother," she snarled. "And I'll break more than your jaw." 

Lyle flinched, one hand clasped over his bleeding mouth.

Straightening regally, Parker turned toward Jarod and the rest of her team. "Is everybody okay?" she asked. "Jarod?" 

The pretender nodded, as did the rest of her sweepers. Jarod watched for a moment as Lyle's men tried to help him up. Turning calmly toward Parker, Jarod asked,  "Did that feel good?"

Parker rolled her eyes dramatically. "I broke a nail," she huffed with an expressive wave of her hand in the air. Parker cast a withering glare at her brother, making him cringe as she added, "But yes. It was quite satisfactory. Let's go boys, we've got work to do." With that, Parker turned her back on Lyle and his men and waltzed down the corridor, closely examining her chipped fingernail as she walked. 

"Wait," Jarod called. 

While Parker watched, Jarod stepped over the weeping Lewis as though he didn't exist. The pretender crossed the hallway and stood very close to Mr. Lyle. Placing one hand on the other man's chest, Jarod moved forward, into Lyle's personal space, until the two men were almost embracing. Leaning in close, Jarod placed his lips near Lyle's ear and whispered to him as though they were lovers exchanging promises. Lyle sputtered and then turned a ghastly shade of white. Jarod placed a tender kiss over each of Lyle's eyelids before gracefully turning away to follow Sam toward the elevator. 

Parker stood like a queen and waited while her team filed into the lift behind her. As the doors slid closed she continued to glare menacingly at the stunned onlookers they left behind. Parker felt a strange sense of accomplishment when she realized that many of them now feared her more than they had before.

The elevator had arrived at their level and they were walking toward Jarod's room before Parker spoke again. "What did you say to him?" she asked nonchalantly.

"I told him that if anything happened to you," Jarod explained calmly. "Anything at all, I would pluck out his eyes with a soup spoon and use their juices to flavor my coffee."

Parker raised her eyebrow at him in concern. "You aren't that crazy, Jarod," she scolded. 

"Lyle doesn't know that," the pretender said with a shrug.

Parker gazed at Jarod for a moment and smiled as he strolled into his quarters and sat down to work. She was still worried about him. She wasn't sure if the pretender's violent outburst was a good thing or bad. The scare tactic Jarod had used on Lyle, though seemingly effective, held none of the wry humor Parker would have expected from her old friend. The pretender's eyes still held that flat, hard look to them. And yet, for the first time, Parker began to believe that they had a chance at this. She had taken a gamble with their lives; sure that someone would call her bluff. 
But now, Jarod seemed to be pulling aces from his sleeve. Parker just hoped that he could continue to do so.

--

Jarod heaved a long-suffering sigh and gazed woefully upward. "Do you know how long it's been since I wore a tie?" he groaned, tugging at the offending silk around his neck.

"Stop fidgeting, Jarod," Miss Parker warned. Leaning toward him, Parker had just enough time to straighten the knot before the elevator doors slid open. Crossing her arms over her chest, Parker strutted toward the conference room as her heels clicked their sharp staccato on the floor. 

Two steps behind her, on either side, was a black suited bodyguard. One of these was Sam, wearing his best suit for the occasion. The other was Jarod, in a new ensemble purchased from the same boutique Sam had visited over a year ago. Of course, Jarod had not been to New York recently. Instead, the expensive tailor had come to Delaware to see the pretender. 

"Showtime, boys," Parker purred throatily. Sam and Jarod each grabbed one of the double doors leading to their destination and threw them open, offering Miss Parker a grand entrance into the room. They had timed their arrival perfectly, stepping across the threshold only moments before Mr. Raines would have begun the meeting. 

A murmur of excitement flittered across the room before Raines could call the meeting to order. As at the last fiscal meeting, the triumvirate and board members were all in attendance in seats at the table in front of the room. Just as it had last quarter, the meeting began with boring recitation of the attendance and wrap up of old business. Nearly an hour passed before the attention was turned to a more interesting topic.

"Miss Parker," the African Triumvirate leader called. 

Parker stepped away from her position at the front of the assembled audience. Stepping into limelight, so to speak, she inclined her head in a gesture of greeting. 

"When I first saw these numbers," the black man frowned. "I thought there must be some error."

"There is no error, Sir," Parker assured him in a strong voice. 

"I know," he said with a nod. "I had the accounting reviewed, thoroughly. Congratulations, Miss Parker, you surpassed your goal."

"By fifty thousand dollars," the Richelieu woman interrupted in her French accent. "Impressive, Miss Parker. But I wonder if you'll be able to maintain this level of performance."

"Actually," Parker declared, raising her eyebrow in condescension. "I expect the levels to increase. The first two weeks of the quarter were total write offs, due to medical necessity. It was nearly six weeks into the period before we were functioning near capacity. If you review the itemized expenditures you'll find a sizable percentage of those were for medical costs alone." 
Parker paused long enough to cast an irreverent smirk at Raines. "These costs have now dwindled dramatically. With the lower expenses and increased productivity, I believe the next quarter will more accurately reflect our capabilities."

"I had hoped," the African spoke again. "You would bring the pretender along. I'd be interested to see his current condition."

Miss Parker smiled a devilishly coy grin. Taking one step to the right, she made a simple gesture with her hand. Jarod, who'd been waiting for the signal, slid from the blur of faces in the crowd and moved to Parker's side.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the pretender drawled in a casual greeting. 

For a long moment no one spoke, the Triumvirate was stunned. None of them could fathom how this handsome man could be the same ragged creature they had seen three months ago. Parker had to grit her teeth to keep from giggling at their reaction. It looked like Raines was about to blow a fuse. Lyle's mouth hung open comically. Great showman that he was, Parker's twin would never be able to work a room like she could, especially with Jarod at her side.

"Thank you for joining us this morning, Jarod," the Triumvirate spokesman said as he recovered from his surprise. "Would you be willing to answer a few questions?"

"I had assumed it would be expected," Jarod observed with a shrug.

"Would you care for a seat?" the African asked slyly.

"Troublemaker," Parker whispered only loud enough for Jarod to hear. 

"I prefer to stand for the moment, sir," Jarod replied calmly.

"If I may be so bold, Jarod," Madame Richelieu spoke up. "How has Miss Parker garnered your cooperation so easily?"

Jarod turned his dark gaze on the middle-aged woman and smiled invitingly. "Simple," the pretender purred sexily in French. "She has promised me Lyle's seat on the board once she is made chairman. Or would that be chairwoman?"

Parker, having spent much time in Paris, understood every word and hid another snicker. Talk about working a room. Jarod had a lot of nerve, but then he had the looks to back it up. In his perfectly fitted suit, his sculpted form looked positively delightful. And even the aging Triumvirate representative was not immune to his charms. 

The conversation continued in a similar vein. Jarod answered many questions, each time using the language of a different board member's homeland. He was consistently irreverent but never crossed the line into disrespect. 

Parker watched the pretender work with a feeling that bordered on pride. He was magnificent. But after a time, she noticed the muscle twitching in Jarod's jaw. Parker could feel his tension growing with every passing minute. Jarod was still uncomfortable with large groups of people and this was the biggest crowd he'd seen since joining Parker's team. The strain was beginning to show. It was time to get the pretender out of there.  

With a meaningful glance at her wristwatch, Parker spoke. "My deepest apologies, ladies and gentlemen. But I'm afraid that my people and I have another appointment." 

Several of the board members frowned at Parker's audacity. But no one spoke to reprimand her. With a polite bow toward the table, Parker pivoted on one heel and turned her back on the Triumvirate. She strode from the room without waiting for a dismissal; her black suited seconds following close at hand. 

Once in the hallway, Parker could no longer contain her grin of triumph. She had indeed moved up on the Centre's chain of command. Not even Raines had dared to show his usual disdain for Parker or those with her.  "Well, done, gentlemen," she smiled to her cohorts as they waited for the elevator. 

"Damn," Sam shook his head in wonder. "That was a beautiful thing. The two of you gave me goose bumps. I think Lyle may have soiled himself." He added wryly.

Parker managed to wait for the elevator doors to slide shut, providing some privacy, before she abruptly burst into laughter. She and Sam laughed merrily together for a minute before quickly sobering. Jarod showed no signs of amusement. 

"Are you okay?" Parker asked him with a worried frown.

The pretender sighed heavily. Tugging loose his tie, Jarod undid the topmost button on his shirt and said, "I'm tired."

Parker nodded with understanding. "It's been a rough morning," she said, patting his shoulder gently. "Would you like to take a break before we go to this other thing? We could take a walk in the courtyard if you like."

"No," Jarod shook his head. "Let's just get it done."

They left the elevator again and headed for another conference room. This area was situated some distance away from the first. It was not in the tower but was, instead, on the same floor they frequented most often. 

"This won't be so bad, Jarod," Sam promised. "You know most of these folks. And there won't be so much antagonism in the air."

Stopping in front of a single paneled door, Parker placed a hand on Jarod's arm and turned him toward her. "These people are on your side, Jarod," Parker said kindly. Reaching up she pulled on his loosened tie and removed it from his collar completely. "They make up your team and they've worked damn hard to help you pull this off. We couldn't have done it without them." Parker balled the expensive silk carelessly and stuffed it into the pocket of Jarod's coat while she continued. "I'm going to thank every single one of them personally. And I'd like you to do the same," she urged.

Jarod nodded obediently and followed Miss Parker into the room. Parker saw him blink in confusion at the number of people gathered within. Most were milling about a buffet table, filling plates with an assortment of deli meats and cheeses. Others had already found a place at the scattered tables and were enjoying the simple lunch they'd been provided.

"There must be thirty people in this room," Jarod whispered in astonishment. 

"Thirty two," Parker corrected. Casting an amused grin toward Jarod she asked, "You didn't realize there were so many?"

"Hadn't thought about it much," the pretender admitted.

"Well don't mention that to any of them," Parker scolded. "We owe our success to these people. I've given them each a five hundred dollar bonus. But that's not nearly enough to show my gratitude."

Jarod raised his eyebrow. "That will make a big dent in your profit margin," he said caustically.

"Not if I paid it myself," Parker mused.

"You gave them bonuses out of your own pocket?" Jarod gasped.

Parker shrugged. "Don't act so astonished. Five bills apiece is nothing." She turned and glared at Jarod angrily. "How much do you think Lyle offered them? How many did Raines try to bribe in the last 12 weeks?" Parker's eyes flashed. "What if Lily or Riley had taken his offer? You could have been swept right out from under our noses."

Jarod's dark eyes scanned the room slowly, thoughtfully. His expression was flat and unreadable. Finally the pretender nodded seriously. "Shall we say a few words to them as a group, or just one on one?" he asked. 

Parker headed toward the center of the room with a small smile on her lips. "No speeches," she said. "I'll just thank them for coming. Later, you and I can form a reception line of sorts."

Miss Parker quickly gained the attention of everyone present. Speaking in a smooth melodious voice, she thanked everyone for the hard work and dedication they had shown over the weeks. Parker did her best to be gracious and she fervently hoped that her gratitude showed. She was not accustomed to expressing herself in such a manner. Parker's words were brief, and she quickly withdrew, urging the staff to enjoy the food.

Leading Jarod to the buffet table, Parker fixed herself a plate. Nibbling daintily as she went, Parker then left Jarod to mingle amiably throughout the room. She found Jarod with her eyes more than once over the next hour. He was planted next to the refreshment table as though rooted there. 

As the luncheon came to a close, Parker positioned herself near the door where she could thank each member of her staff as they left the room. A couple of security guards, normally stationed at the end of the hallway that led to Jarod's quarters, were the first to leave. Parker thanked them by name and as they passed her, the two men found Jarod standing at her side. 

"Thank you," Jarod said in a soft voice as he shook their hands.

A line began to form as more and more people began to file passed the pair. Parker had a genuine smile and a specific word of thanks for each team member. She introduced the few people whom Jarod had never met, the accountant, a file clerk and a supply clerk. 

For the most part Jarod's response was simply a quiet, "Thank you." He shook hands briefly but he kept his eyes downcast, self-consciously avoiding his gaze. The room cleared out until only a handful of people were left. Parker noticed Jarod's sudden animation when his elderly nurse approached.

The woman paused for only a moment to speak to Parker and would have brushed passed Jarod just as quickly. But the pretender clasped the woman's hand between both his hands and shook it warmly. 

"Thank you, nurse," Jarod said sincerely. "But please, tell me. What is your name?" He urged desperately.

Parker began, "This is... " The aging nurse held up her free hand, halting Miss Parker's words.

"My name is Lynn Dawson," the nurse said with a smile.

Jarod sighed happily. "Hello, Nurse Dawson. My name is Jarod."

Nurse Dawson chuckled. "Yes, I know."

"I never liked you much when I was a boy," Jarod admitted. 

"You didn't like me much when you were grown up, either," she said pointedly. "But I can't blame you. I wasn't kind to you." 

Jarod shrugged. "That's okay," he replied offhandedly.

"No," the nurse frowned. "It wasn't. But when I first met you, all I could see was a lonely, wounded boy. Each time we met, your condition seemed to be more extreme than the last. I was sure they would kill you one day." Dawson explained, "So, I treated you as though you were a terminal case."

"You acted with compassion, without getting emotionally involved," Jarod nodded with understanding. 

"But every time, you surprised me," Nurse Dawson smiled, placing one hand on Jarod's cheek. "You continued to survive."

"Yes, I survive," Jarod said in a strange flat tone.

With a quick nod, Nurse Dawson left the room. Parker and Jarod stayed for several more minutes until only Sam and Riley, the sweepers on duty, were left. Parker led the men out of the conference room and toward the elevators. Jarod followed obediently. No one spoke until the doors had slid shut behind them and Miss Parker punched one of the buttons on the wall.

"Why are we going to the eighth floor?" Jarod asked with mild curiosity.

Parker smiled. "You're getting a bonus too, Jarod," she said.

Jarod raised an eyebrow in wry amusement. "Seeing as I don't get a paycheck, I'd think a bonus might be difficult to swing."

"Would you like one?" Parker asked.

"One what?" Jarod asked, confused for a moment. 

"A paycheck, Genius" Parker rolled her eyes impatiently.

The pretender replied with a shrug, "It doesn't matter."

Before Parker could respond, the lift doors opened. Parker could barely contain her enthusiasm as she walked down the hall with Jarod. Reaching the first intersection in the corridor, Parker stopped at a big security station to sign in. The guard examined her identification as well as that of the men with her. He made her place her signature on his sheet and only then allowed the group to pass. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Parker could see Jarod glancing around in bored curiosity. The security in this wing was now as airtight as any other in the entire building, including the board member's offices in the tower. As they reached the door at the end of the corridor, Parker peeked at Jarod's calm face and felt a flutter of apprehension in her stomach. She desperately wanted Jarod to like this surprise. 

Parker slid her personalized key card through the locking mechanism, threw wide the door and stepped back, urging Jarod across the threshold ahead of her. "You two stay here," she told Sam and the other sweeper. Alone Parker and Jarod went into the room.   

It was a very large area, twice as big as the main conference room in the Tower. The floor was carpeted a soothing beige color and there were several pieces of furniture in the room. Along one wall, situated in regular intervals were a series of desks. Each was a different type of desk, useful for a separate set of tasks. The first desk, nearest the door, was a dark wooden desk that sat facing the entrance. The next was a rich oak businessman's desk with a deep red leather chair. There was a comfortably sized computer workstation, complete with all the necessary gadgets and printers. In the far corner facing the wall, was a drafting table and accompanying supplies.

There was a couch about halfway across the room, decorated with pillows and flanked on either side by end tables. Jarod's nautilus machine stood next to a single door directly opposite the one they had just come through. The wall to their left was an efficient counter space. Cabinets hung above a small sink. A flat topped stove with only two burners blended in well with the dark marble counters. 

With desks and equipment on one side and the efficiency-type kitchen on the other, the room seemed to be a strange combination between office and apartment. But the most astounding feature of the place was the fourth wall. Not a wall at all, the last side of the big square consisted of glass panes from floor to ceiling. The view of the surrounding countryside was incredible. Facing the open fields behind the Centre, the windows bathed the room in sunlight. Autumn trees, 
vibrant with color, occupied two thirds of the scenery. The tree line abruptly ended and in the distance, one could see cliffs drop off to a short strand of beach. If one looked out the window from the far corner of the room, the deep blue ocean was visible.     

"Well?" Parker asked after giving Jarod a moment to look around.

"Well, what?" the pretender asked in confusion.

"Do you like it?" Parker asked, an irked tone creeping into her voice. "These are your quarters now."

Jarod blinked stupidly at her. "You're kidding," he said simply.

Parker's grin flashed. "A little birdie told me that you've been wishing for a window," she said proudly. 

"When I told Sam I wanted a window," Jarod explained. "I was thinking of some little one by three thing at the lawn level, crisscrossed with bars. This," Jarod shook his head in wonder. "This is way over the top, Miss Parker."

Grabbing his arm, Parker led Jarod across the room excitedly. "Look," she exclaimed. 

Opening the door on the other side of the room, Parker revealed another much smaller area. A large, king-sized bed dominated this space. A bureau and two near empty bookshelves completed the furnishings and there was a luxurious bathroom to the right.

"This should be more comfortable than that damn cot," Miss Parker observed.

Jarod bounced slightly on the bed's mattress and said, "It is a very nice bed. But I honestly don't mind the cot. I've slept on one most of my life."

Miss Parker shrugged. "Wait," she cried. "I have to show you the piece de resistance."

Taking the pretender by the elbow, Parker dragged him off the bed and back into the larger room. Along the one wall, built into the counter space, was a small refrigerator. Similar to the appliances college students have in dorm rooms, this one was already well stocked. Opening the freezer compartment, Parker pulled out a carton and held it toward the pretender.

"Ice cream!" Jarod grinned. The pretender's eyes lit up dramatically, making Parker laugh.

Jarod took her offering and glanced up at Parker hopefully. 

"Here's the silverware," Parker said retrieving a spoon from a drawer and handing it to him. "The bowls are in this cupboard," she added.

"Would you like some?" Jarod asked. When Parker shook her head, he added, "Then don't bother with the bowl." The dark eyes sparkled mischievously as the pretender grinned and took his bounty over to the windows.

"There he is," Parker sighed with delight.

"Who?" Jarod asked curiously as he hunkered down beside the window and began eating ice cream straight from the box.

"The pretender I used to know," Parker said. Crossing the room, she leaned against the glass as she stood beside her old friend. "That cocky, irritating, fun-loving Jarod I used to know."

"He annoyed you," Jarod gently pointed out, as he licked vanilla from his spoon.

"He annoyed the hell out of me," Parker admitted. Gazing down at the pretender fondly, she continued. "Drove me bonkers. And I can't begin to tell you how much I've missed him."

Jarod lowered his head suddenly, turning his attention to the panorama before him. They looked out the windows together for a long time, a comfortable silence stretching between them. Finally, when his carton was more than half empty, Jarod stabbed the spoon into the remaining ice cream and set the box aside.

"He's gone, you know." Jarod said quietly. Gazing up at Parker with large soulful eyes he explained, "Your pretender isn't coming back. I'm not the same man I once was."

"I don't know," Parker chided him. "You still seem to enjoy sweets as much as you did before." 

"True," Jarod admitted with a wry chuckle. "But so many other things are different. They finally broke me, Parker. They shattered me into a million pieces."

Parker crouched on her haunches beside the pretender and ran a soothing hand through his hair. "We'll fix it, Jarod. Give it time."

Jarod sighed and gazed back out the window. "You can't fix it all, Parker. Lord knows you've done your best. No one else could have managed this much." He turned toward her and his eyes bored into hers with a deep intensity. "You've rebuilt me, piece by piece, bit by shattered bit. But there are spots missing. Big empty places in me where your old Jarod once lived."

Parker leaned in close and pressed her forehead against the pretender's. "It feels that way now, Jarod, but just give it time. Give yourself time to heal."

"You don't really want that," Jarod grumbled sadly. "You need me here, to do your sims, to keep those dollars rolling in. Frankly, I don't care what they do with my work anymore. It doesn't bother me one bit. But it ate away at that guy you miss so much." 

Jarod pulled away and glared morosely out the windows as he went on. "He would have given anything to be out there," he said gesturing to the colored fields. "But I'm just fine right here. I have no desire to go out into the world on my own again."

Parker frowned stubbornly. "I doubt that," she groused. "Come spring you'll probably be itching to get out there."

Jarod scoffed in disbelief. 

"The trick," Parker mused. "Will be to get you out of the Centre within the confines of the new rules of the game."

"We could kill him," Jarod said in a strange flat voice. "I've figured out a way to kill Raines and frame Lyle for his death. With the two of them out of the way, you would be the one making the rules."

Parker stared at the pretender in surprise. "I don't want to hear this."

Jarod nodded. "You're right," he said thoughtfully. "The less you know the better."

Parker blinked at him in astonishment. She had no doubt that the pretender was being deadly serious. It seemed almost surreal. The handsome man sat casually on the floor in his expensive black suit looking as though he was idling in a park rather than discussing murder. Jarod's dark eyes looked at her, somehow both sad and flat at the same time. 

Sorrow washed over Parker like a wave. Was the pretender of old gone forever? Had the powers that be finally succeed in breaking him? Or was that kind, sweet soul still present, buried deep beneath the wounds that had been inflicted upon it? Parker fervently prayed for the latter.

Abruptly reaching out, Parker grabbed the pretender's face between her hands and pulled it close to her own. "Don't you give up on me, Jarod," she hissed passionately. 

Jarod's eyes grew moist and his lower lip trembled slightly. "I think it's too late, Parker. I can't fight anymore."

Parker pulled him into a warm embrace. "You don't have to fight. Let me do it for you," she whispered. "Until you're strong enough to do it on your own."

Jarod squeezed her in return, clinging tightly as he buried his face in the crook of Parker's neck. Parker could feel him shudder and she knew he was fighting tears. 

"Don't give up," Parker repeated softly. "I won't let you. We'll get through this together."

"Promise?" Jarod sighed. 

"Have I ever given you reason to doubt my word?" Parker asked wryly.

"Never," Jarod admitted with a small smile against her shoulder.

Parker ran her fingers through the pretender's hair. "Then don't start," she teased.

They sat together that way for a long time. The remaining ice cream melted and the sky darkened. A bright, full moon rose above the trees. All was quiet. And, for now at any rate, Jarod seemed calm and relaxed. Parker knew that there was still a long road ahead of them. But she had made a promise. One she intended to keep.

She wouldn't let Jarod give up, ever.

-

The End.

    Source: geocities.com/phenyx525@sbcglobal.net