Shaddyr's Eclectic Collection > Pretender Fanfiction > the lurker > The Shadowlands
The Shadowlands
by the lurker
The Centre
He walked down the long corridor toward his office. It was late, and there were
not many people around. His long stride slowed as he neared his area; he was
struck by an intense feeling of foreboding. He tried to shake it off.
Cautiously, he stepped inside his office space. The room was as dimly lit as it
always was, but the fact that it was attached to a labyrinth of other corridors
and sub-levels created an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He
couldn’t shake the sense that he was being observed. He looked around the
office; it was as he had left it. He released a sigh of air which he hadn’t
realized he had been holding. Smiling slightly at his own paranoia, he walked
over to his desk, setting the file folders in his hands down on the top.
That was when he saw it: An innocuous looking envelope, sitting there. It was
blank on the outside, sealed, and he was sure that it had not been there when
he left his office earlier. He looked around again, the eerie feeling of being
watched, reasserting itself. He upended the envelope, allowing the contents to
spill out onto the desk. A single DSA fell to the blotter with a slight thump.
************************
Pier 24, San Francisco
The fog rolled across the pier, blanketing the boardwalk with a dense coat of
cold humidity. She stood silently in the shadows, shivering in her jacket. The
steel of the gun in her hand felt cold against her skin. Why she hadn’t thought
to bring gloves she couldn’t fathom. But there had been no time. She had hopped
on the company jet with only the clothes she had been wearing.
She watched as several Sweepers quietly moved to their secondary positions. Sam
looked expectantly at her from across the nearest alcove of shadows. She took
in a deep breath of the cold, wet air and nodded to him.
Sam whispered into his com link, “Final mark, go.”
The first set of Sweepers broke through the warehouse door, the second set ran
past the first, guns drawn. She followed Sam at a dead run through the door and
into the darkness of the warehouse. It smelled of must and mold; the kind of
smell that can only come from years of disuse.
The smell gave it away. She didn’t need the lights to suddenly snap on, causing
several Sweepers to duck and roll, preparing for the worst, to tell her that
they would not acquire the target.
Her arms dropped to her sides as she sighed deeply, “Shit,” was all she
muttered under her breath.
The lights weren’t the only things on a motion censor. Much to her great dismay
and torment, after the lights, music began to blast through the large room. It
was the song, Happy Birthday. Her teeth began to grind in frustration.
She looked up just in time to see the massive sea of balloons falling from a
net in the ceiling. Damn him. Damn him all to hell.
Sam looked over at her, his face a mixture of disappointment and barely
contained amusement. It made her blood boil. She fixed him with a withering
stare, causing him to look down at the floor.
As she swept by him, she barked an order, “Comb it for anything that might be
useful; and if I ever hear one word about this back at the Centre, your
ass is mine.”
“Yes ma’am,” was all he said.
As she exited the building, she slammed the door as forcefully as she
could. It didn’t help. Happy Birthday? Happy Fucking Birthday.
Her jaw set tightly as the anger rose in her throat. She would catch him
eventually, and when she did, there would be hell to pay.
*****************
The Centre
The images of the DSA continued to replay in his mind. He couldn’t shake the
feeling of dread which had crept over him. Still in his clothes from the
previous day, he stood, arms folded across his chest, in the middle of the Sim
Lab. Exactly why he ended up here, he was not sure; he had been guided by a
force within him that was far stronger than his conscious mind. His eyes
closed, as he concentrated upon the unseen force. And it came to him in a
single word: Jarod. A smile turned up the corners of his mouth slightly. Of
course he would come here, where the memory of Jarod was still the strongest.
He hadn’t realized how profoundly the information stored on the DSA had jarred
him. He needed to feel safe, and it was that need, which had called him
here.
“Well, your freaking wünder-monkey did it again.....”
The voice right behind him, made him start. He was so deeply ensconced in his
own thoughts, he hadn’t heard her come in.
She laughed at his surprise, “What’s the matter Freud...too much java juice got
you jumpy this morning?”
The smile on her
face quickly fell away as he turned to face her, and she took in his disheveled
appearance. His clothes were rumpled, his face unshaven, and there was a hollow
look in his eyes which made her blood freeze.
She took a step closer to him, her tone laced with concern, “Sydney, are you
all right?”
He smiled wanly at her, “Of course. Everything’s fine.”
He was a lousy liar. He always had been.
An eyebrow arched at him, “Let’s play again, Alex, I’ll take truths over lies
for two hundred.”
He looked to the floor and then moved away from her, not volunteering anything
more. Parker simply followed him across the lab, like a dog biting at his
heels.
“Sydney.....Sydney--”
Unexpectedly, he whirled on her, intensity flashing in his eyes, “I told you,
I am fine. Now let it go.”
He stalked out of the lab, leaving Parker to stand there in the shock of the
moment.
******************
Toronto, Ontario
The snow lined the pathways of the park, and the crunching sound under his
boots was as pleasant to him as the feel of sand could be under bare feet.
He shoved his hands further into his pockets; it was far colder here than
he ever remembered it to be in Delaware.
A ball of snow flew past his nose, and the joyful giggles of children playing
to his left, filled his ears. He looked over at them, and had to laugh at
the pure mischief on their faces. A smile overtook his features as he walked
toward them, taking the further pelts of snow in stride. He watched with fascination
as one boy molded two handfuls of snow into a ball, patting it down to make
it harder.
“Why mold snow into the circular shape of a ball? Why not just use a ball?”
The boy looked up at him, “We wouldn’t have enough balls between us to have
a real snowball fight. Besides, a ball’d hurt.”
“Snowball fight?”
“Yeah, you know...a snowball fight.”
“So you wage battle upon each other with little balls molded from frozen water.....cool.”
The boy launched the snowball right at Jarod, who dodged it. Running to his
right, he scooped up a handful of snow and molded it into a ball. He launched
it back at the boy. It was all out war. Jarod had no idea that a snowball
fight could be such good fun.
Ducking behind a nearby trash can, he reloaded his pocket with more ‘ammo’.
He heard a giggle to his left, and barely dodged another one. As he prepared
to throw a retaliatory launch, he heard the first scream. Then another, and
another.
Jarod dropped the snowball in his hand, and ran towards the sound. A man was
being beaten senseless by several other men. The beaten man was much larger
than any of the others, and yet he did not appear to resist in any way. A
ten year old boy, presumably the man’s son, was screaming at the top of his
lungs, and yanking at the clothing of the thugs.
“Hey,” Jarod screamed, “Hey, stop! What are you doing to him?”
One of the men called the others off and they got into a nearby car.
The ringleader turned to the man now lying bloody on the ground, “Remember
what we talked about, Harry.”
The man jumped into the car and it quickly drove off. Jarod reached the man
as he struggled to get to his feet, his son crying all the while.
“Here, let me help you.”
Jarod gripped the man’s elbow and helped hoist him to his feet.
“Thanks.”
“Dad.....dad...”
The man picked up his son and held him close, “It’s okay, Ben, it’s okay.
I’m fine, shhhh, it’s okay.”
“Are you sure you’re all right? Maybe you should go to a hospital and be examined.”
The man turned toward Jarod, “I’m fine, thanks.”
The man began to walk away with his son; Jarod closed the distance.
“Look, you’re obviously in some kind of trouble. Maybe I can help you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“It was you this time, but what about the next time? What if they come after
your son?”
The man stopped and glared at Jarod, “Just who the hell are you to say that
to me? You don’t know anything about me. What’s it to you anyway?”
“I don’t want to see a son lose his father.”
The man stood still, thinking for a moment, gently stroking his son’s hair.
“Look man, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into here.”
“Don’t worry about it. The name’s Jarod.”
The man shook Jarod’s extended hand, “I’m Harry, and this tough guy here is
Ben.”
“Mister, can you really help us?”
“I can try, Ben.”
**********************
The Centre
Broots was exactly where she expected to find him; staring into his computer
screen in yet another attempt to track Jarod.
She peered at the screen over his shoulder, “Find anything?”
“Nope. Cleaners got nothing at the scene except for the balloons.”
“Damn. I assume that they went through all of them.”
“Yep, nothing there to find.”
“Another dead end; not even a small clue this time. I guess last night was
just for show.”
Broots smiled, “Yeah, I heard he got you big with the birthday thing.”
The smile was wiped from his face a moment later as her hand connected painfully
with the back of his head.
“Ow....Miss Parker, that hurt.”
“Good.”
“Miss Parker?”
“What?”
“Uhm, well, your pacing is kinda getting on my nerves, and--”
Her glare stopped him in mid sentence. Slowly, she stalked back over to his
desk, and leaning down on it, she loomed very close to his face.
“Too. Bad.”
“O-o-okay.”
Parker paced a few more steps then turned back to Broots, almost nonchalantly,
“Have you seen Sydney this morning?”
“He seem okay to you?”
Broots stopped typing and looked up at her; she was on a fishing expedition.
“He looked a little tired, but I heard he was here all night.”
“Doing what?”
“Researching some files or something.”
“Well which one is it, Broots, researching files, or...something?”
“I uhm, don’t know for sure....you want me to ask him?”
Parker fixed him with the look she reserved for moronic moments, “No Broots,
I do not want you to ask him about it. I could have done that, myself.” She
paused to shake her head at him, “Is there any way that you can isolate his
terminal and double check the files he was calling up?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Good. Do it.”
Parker started out, but Broot’s voice stopped her, “Miss Parker?”
“What now?”
“I feel.....well, I feel weird spying on Sydney.”
“We’re not spying on him, Broots, we’re just making sure that Dr. Strangelove
hasn’t crawled into a boiling pot of lobsters.”
Parker didn’t wait for another reply.
*******************
Toronto, Ontario
Jarod surveyed the simple apartment. There were small hints of a woman’s touch
throughout, but other than photographs, no sign of a woman.
“You want a cup of coffee, Jarod?”
“Sure, thanks.”
“Dad, can I just sit in here while you guys talk?”
“No Ben, you have to do your homework, buddy.”
“But Dad--”
“Nope, cowboy, homework is non-negotiable.”
“Yeah, I know.” Ben headed toward his room, “Will you be here when I’m done,
Jarod?”
“How much homework have you got?”
“A ton from stupid ol’ Mrs. Winslow.”
“Ben...”
“Sorry dad. See ya later, Jarod.”
“Later, Ben.”
The boy disappeared down the hallway and into his room. Jarod followed Harry
into the kitchen, where the latter began to prepare coffee.
“So Harry....who were the men? Mob?”
“Yeah, I owe them some money. I was laid off my job about six months ago,
and it’s been kinda tough.”
“So you borrowed some cash from these guys and now they want it back.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
Harry poured two mugs of coffee and handed one to Jarod.
“And Ben’s mother?”
Pain flickered across Harry’s eyes for a moment, and Jarod felt the pang of
regret.
“She’s dead. It’s just me and Ben.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Jarod followed Harry back out into the living room, and they both sat down.
“How much money?”
“What?”
“How much money do you owe?”
“Eight grand.”
“Don’t lie to me, Harry.”
“What?”
“Only eight grand?”
“All right, I owe a lot more than eight grand. Look, Jarod, I don’t care about
the money...I don’t even care about me. I just don’t want them coming after
my boy.”
“That’s why you didn’t fight back today, isn’t it? They threatened Ben.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Someone who can help you, if you let me.”
****************
The Centre
The click of keys from his keyboard could be heard echoing down the corridors
branching out from his office. It matched the click-clacks of Parker’s spiky
heels on the floor.
She walked into his area, unannounced, “What are you doing? We had a meeting
with Mr. Clean upstairs fifteen minutes ago, and you were conspicuous in your
absence.”
Sydney started at the sound of her voice, just as he had done earlier. It
was not lost on Parker, who moved closer to his desk. He quickly removed whatever
document he had displayed on his screen, before she could see what it was.
Parker arched an eyebrow at him, “You’re a little tense today, Freud. What
are you doing that you shouldn’t be?”
Sydney stood up and walked a few paces away from her, irritation filling his
voice, “I was just doing some research. Or do I now need your permission to
do that?”
Hurt flashed in her eyes, and Sydney felt the immediate sting of regret. He
looked away. Parker let the awkward silence sit between them for a moment,
before she closed the distance between them, stopping right in front of him.
Uncomfortable with her scrutiny, Sydney folded his arms across his chest.
“Sydney, what is it? What’s wrong?”
He smiled at her reassuringly, “Nothing, Miss Parker. I’m just a little tired
today, that’s all.”
His lying was not improving. For the moment, Parker decided aggression was
the wrong tact to take with him.
“I heard you were here all night.” He looked at her sharply, and she continued,
“Look, Syd, whatever you’re up to, be careful. Nosferatu’s on the warpath
this morning, and my father has suddenly run off to some conference in the
Middle East. Now may not be the best time to rattle anybody’s cage.”
Parker saw something light up his eyes for a moment when she mentioned her
father, but in another moment it was gone. He was hiding something from her,
but what and why she didn’t know.
“There’s nothing for you to be concerned about, Miss Parker.”
She fixed him with a solid stare, “I hope not, Sydney.” She started to leave
and then turned back to him, “By the way, Broots has another lead on Jarod.
He should have something for us in a few hours.”
“Fine.”
She turned on her heel and walked out, leaving him alone.
**********************
Toronto, Ontario
Jarod
sat in front of his laptop, searching. Nothing had come through the standard
avenues, and it was time to run Mr. Harry Sykes through the non standard ones.
He had been working for several hours on hacking into the mainframe of Canadian
Intelligence, and finally, he was in. He typed in Harry’s name and waited.
A file popped up; Harry had a record. He had been convicted of embezzling
funds from a company called Gentech.
Jarod logged out of the mainframe, and leaned back in his chair. It was all
beginning to make sense. Harry had been out of work for six months because
he lost his bonding as a security agent; a convicted felon could not be bonded.
That explained the inability to find work, and the need for money. Jarod frowned;
there was still something missing. Not only did Harry not seem like the type
to embezzle, Jarod couldn’t imagine him risking his son’s future. It was clear
that Harry loved Ben. So why?
As Jarod’s mind worked on the puzzle, it wandered into the corner of Centre
memories......
July 18, 1966
The Centre
Jarod looked at Sydney in confusion, “But Sydney, I don’t understand why that’s
important. It’s not a factor in the situation.”
“Because Jarod, it is not only important to understand the black and whites
of a situation, but also the grey areas as well.” Jarod’s brow creased in
concentration as Sydney continued, “Even a criminal legal case such as the
one we’re studying is not cut and dried; there are mitigating factors that
have to be considered.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Jarod, you’ve looked at the facts of the case, and you have concluded that
the son killed his father. But you haven’t considered why he killed him. What
purpose did it serve?”
“I don’t see how the ‘why’ matters. He still killed him, what difference does
‘why’ make?”
“In a criminal case, a lot. You see, even if the son is guilty, his attorney
must consider the end game. If the boy killed his father out of malice, then
perhaps the punishment should fit the crime; however, if he killed him by
accident, or by reason of insanity, then the punishment could be less.”
“So, even though he killed him, if it was an accident, then you’re saying
he shouldn’t have to spend the rest of his life in prison, because the intent
to kill him wasn’t there.”
“Exactly. This type of reasoning is important, Jarod, because there are many
situations in life which will require three dimensional thinking as opposed
to two.”
“I think I understand now, Sydney.” Sydney smiled at the boy and started to
walk away, but Jarod’s voice stopped him, “Sydney, are you......”
Jarod’s voice died out and Sydney turned back to him. The small boy looked
sad and alone. Syd walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Jarod, what is it?”
“I just.....I....am I here because I killed my father?”
Sydney dropped to one knee, and grabbed Jarod by the shoulders, “Oh dear god,
no, Jarod. What makes you think that?”
Jarod didn’t answer Sydney, instead he looked down at the floor.
Sydney swallowed hard, “Do you think you’re here because you’re being punished
Jarod?”
Slowly the boy’s eyes rose to meet his mentor’s, “It would make sense, wouldn’t
it?”
“Jarod, no. You’re here because you are very special, not because you’re being
punished for something.”
“Sydney?”
“Yes?”
“Do I have a father? Is it you?”
A pain filled Sydney’s eyes, and he was slow in answering, “No, Jarod. I’m
not you’re father.” Sydney stood up and stared at the wall, “I’m not anyone’s
father.”
“That’s too bad. You’d be a good father.”
Sydney slammed his eyes shut against the tear he felt in his heart, and his
voice was slightly shaky when he answered.
“Go do your work, Jarod.”