Shaddyr's Eclectic Collection > Pretender Fanfiction > Rebeckah > Reality Check - Rose's Story
Reality Check: Rose's Story
The Platonic Ending
by Rebeckah
My meals were delivered at regular times with no input as to what my preferences were. They were absurdly nutritious, not a refined sugar or deep fried item to be found. The foods included high calorie items like cheese and avocados, though, undoubtedly to help me put on weight. Actually, I considered myself fortunate to be served dairy foods; Raines had apparently decided I was going to be a vegetarian from now on, but I obediently ate every morsel, considering it a small sacrifice if it kept Lyle away from me.
After one day of excruciating boredom I decided to rearrange my living room furniture to leave a wide-open space in the center, and began doing my Katas again. Lyle appeared while I was in the middle of "fukio-kata-di-nee". Moving through the familiar ritual had soothed my damaged self-esteem to the point that I had the courage to ignore him and continue with the ancient choreography. It was a stupid act of defiance. Lyle pounced like cat, whipping one of my arms behind me and pulling it painfully up towards the shoulder. To make it even more painful, he was wrenching on my sprained wrist.
I was catapulted onto the couch with a powerful shove. I rolled immediately and pushed myself up off of my back. I wasn't going allow myself to be brutalized while lying down. Lyle towered over me, his handsome face red and contorted with a rage that petrified me. I edged slowly towards the far end until he blocked me with an arm on either side while he leaned in on me, practically touching my face with his. I'd pushed him too far with my minor rebellion and I wondered in an instant if I was going to survive this encounter.
"Hold still, woman!" He hissed malevolently. He pulled back far enough to deliver a vicious backhanded slap, so angry that he didn't even realize that I minimized the impact by rolling my head with the blow. He got a good grip on my short curls at the nape of my neck and held my head fast.
My ever-calm commentator pointed out that at least if he killed me I wouldn't have to worry about getting hit again. Besides, it added cheerfully. Raines would probably kill him if he damaged the prize cow. That's worth dying for, right?
"I was called away from my very pleasurable personal life to deal with your delusions of independence." He went on, shaking my head for emphasis from time to time. "And I don't like to have my free time interrupted, so pay attention! You—have— no-thoughts. You—will-not-form-an-opinion. I-tell-you-what-it-is. Do. You. Understand?" The final rattling of my head was so vigorous that he pulled out a handful of hair. He resumed his grip immediately, though, forcing me to pull painfully against the tension to nod my head.
"That's better." He finally released my hair, leaning in on me and bracing himself against the back of the couch. He had his rage under control now, but his lips were still pinched so tightly the corners were white and his eyes still smoldered balefully. "Now let's go over this little lesson, shall we? Do you rearrange furniture?" I shook my head. "Do you ever ignore my presence?" This question was accompanied by the weight of his free hand on my neck, fingers clenched tight enough to make it hard to breathe. I shook my head again, thoroughly cowed by now.
"Very good!" My neck was released to pat my cheek sharply enough to sting. "Now---pay close attention to this part--- Raines has made it clear to me that I must let these bruises heal before I am allowed to inflict more, but don't imagine for a moment that my ability to make your life hell is reduced in the slightest. If I ever am called away from my free time to deal with you I will personally make it a point to make you wish you'd never been born. Got it?"
I nodded franticly, gasping in pure terror when he pulled out a silver lighter and flicked it on.
"Good." He replied blandly, slowly waving the flame closer and closer to my face. "It would be such a shame to waste that pretty little face. But, as you know, all we really need is your womb."
Tears trickled from the corner of my eyes as he held the flame under my chin just long enough to sear the skin. With skin reddened Lyle finally seemed satisfied, flicking off the lighter and straightening up. He adjusted his jacket and left the room, the rigid set of his back belying the composure on his face. I was busy pulling the furniture back into position before the door clicked shut behind him.
I carefully replaced every item of furniture before allowing myself to retreat to the bathroom to assess the damage he'd done. The sensitive skin under my chin was reddened and blistered. The central blister had already broken and seeped a clear fluid. My stomach churned queasily as I considered just how I was going to apply anything cool to the burn. I knew the raw skin under the broken blister was going to sting like hell the moment I applied a washcloth to it but I also knew that if I didn't stop the heat I'd have more broken blisters and a deeper burn.
When Johnston arrived I was seated on the vanity chair, re-wetting the washcloth for another application to the burn. Tears of pain still trickled down my face as I applied the rudimentary first aid.
"What is it this time, Eve?" He asked abruptly, his gentle face showing all the torment that my own set face couldn't. I removed the washrag and lifted my chin revealingly.
"Oh, God!" He groaned weakly. "Eve, you've got to stop upsetting Mr. Lyle. I'm sure he'll leave you alone if you just cooperate."
He had the grace to blush at the incredulous stare I gave him. I mimicked writing, and he pulled a pen out of his pocket.
"Cooperation won't do a thing for me, and you know it." I quickly scribbled on a small square of toilet paper, an idea formulating as I wrote. "Rains and Lyle are sadist who delight in the torment of others. My only hope is to escape this place. Please help me?"
His face paled dramatically.
"Oh no!" He shook his head vehemently as he whispered the denial. "No, I could never do that! Why, they'd----" His eyes glazed over at the enormity of what they might do to him.
"If you could just tell Sydney or Miss Parker I'm here---maybe they could help me." I suggested hopefully, using my large blue eyes, still swimming in tears, as weapons. "Maybe Broots could help you---you two probably have a lot in common."
"I---I don't know." He stammered timidly. I managed to squeeze out two tears. "I'll try!" He promised desperately. Satisfied, I wadded up the notes and flushed them down the toilet, hoping that there weren't any camera's situated where they could have been read.
Johnson quickly cleaned the burn, smeared a white ointment on it, and taped a gauze square over it for protection.
"I'll be back tomorrow to change the dressing. Try to stay out of trouble, okay?"
I nodded my agreement, carefully keeping my unflattering opinion of his advice off of my face. It wouldn't help anything to reveal what an idiot I thought he was, and he did mean well.
Two mind dulling days later a large, ape-like woman arrived right after breakfast and indicated that I was to follow her to the Centre gym. Lyle accompanied her, much to my dismay.
"Hello, Eve." He purred ominously. "I'm so happy I could join you today, I've missed your smiling face."
Like I've ever smiled in your presence! I thought grimly, working at keeping my terror at bay. If I ignore you, will you go away?
"You know," he continued insinuatingly, sensing and enjoying my fear in spite of my best efforts to control it. He slid an arm over my shoulders, enjoying my wince of pain as he pressed on painful bruises, and pulled me firmly against his side. "I'm hoping we can get to know each other much better."
I'd rather get closer to a snake. I thought, keeping my face as impassive as I could.
"I do so love that blank look you get." He cooed, flicking the burn on my chin and bringing fresh tears of pain to my eyes. The female gorilla ignored everything, leading us relentlessly into the bowels of the Centre.
I toyed with thought of several Karate moves that would leave him writhing on the floor. One of which was lethal. Was it worth the consequences to rid the world of his loathsome presence? I was spared the necessity of making a decision by two faint whooshing sounds.
Red-feathered darts appeared in the back of the gorilla-woman and she fell bonelessly to the floor.
The cavalry has arrived! I exulted inwardly. Lyle turned, dragging me in front of him as he moved to be a human shield. That only added to my rising spirits--it was the perfect position for me to use a hip- throw on him.
Standing about fifteen feet down the hall was the trembling form of Broots; a dart gun shaking in his hands as he tried to find an opening he could use to shoot Lyle without hitting me.
"You realize you've just committed suicide, don't you, Broots?" Lyle called down the hallway at the timid looking man. Broots raised his chin defiantly---he had more gumption than most people gave him credit for.
"Let her go." Broots answered with commendable tenacity. I caught his eye and gave him my warmest, most grateful smile, receiving a timid and uncertain half-smile in return. Then, before I could second-guess myself, I shimmied my right leg and hip behind Lyle, pushing against his chest with my elbow and right arm and with all the energy fear and anger could give me. He was on the floor before he had even registered my sudden rebellion. Sensei would have been proud of me.
"You'll die for that." He hissed furiously, his eyes narrowed with the rage that flowed so close to the surface. "You too, Broots. And if you were stupid enough to join in the pathetic excuse for a rescue you'll be dead too, sister dearest." His raised his voice to carry down the hall, not needing to see Miss Parker to know that she was somewhere near.
Another soft whoosh sounded as Lyle started to rise, causing him to stiffen comically before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed with satisfying finality. Unable to resist the temptation, I gave him a hard kick in the ribs before turning to face my unseen rescuer.
"Why yes, brother dearest, I did join him." Miss Parker murmured with saccharine sweetness, coming up to my side. She gave me a coldly calculating look before turning her attention to Broots.
"Well, don't just stand there, move it!" She ordered him brusquely. "They'll be here in minutes to fix the security camera malfunction. And make sure you take the darts with you. We don’t want them traced back to us, now do we?"
She grabbed my arm, pulling me behind her down the hall without a moment to pause. I stumbled at first, and then coordinated my feet to keep up with her longer stride.
"I must say, I'm not impressed." She informed me matter of factly as she led the way through the maze of corridors that comprised most of the Centre. I felt my eyebrow raise mockingly, but I couldn't have responded even if had had felt the inclination to fight with her.
"What, not even one snappy comeback? What one Earth did Raines see in you?" She gibed; pulling me into an elevator that had been waiting while Sydney held the doors for us. Just inside the doors I jerked free of her grip and caught her eye, raising my chin defiantly. The utter callousness of her attack hurt surprisingly and I wondered if I'd misjudged her nature during my weekly viewing of the show. I’d always thought she was a decent person underneath her hard exterior.
We exchanged heated glares for several long moments, much to Sydney's restrained amusement, but I finally won that battle of wills when I indicated the thin white scar on my neck. Her sarcastic facade faltered as she realized the import of the scar.
"What happened?" Her voice was suddenly husky and uncertain, as the suspicion that she might have gone too far struck her. I realized then that I hadn't misjudged her, she was just a little harder to take at first acquaintance than I'd expected. My anger and hurt vanished in an instant.
"Raines." I spelled with my hand.
"Ah, yes. Raines." Sydney nodded his head; his face set in lines of compassion but his gaze inquisitive. I wondered if it was the psychiatrist in him that kept him detached from what happened around him or if it was a defense mechanism he'd developed to survive the Centre. If it was something he’d developed for himself, I wondered if he could teach it to Johnson before he got himself killed.
"Thank you." I signed with heartfelt gratitude for my rescue.
"Not even Jarod deserves such an atrocity." It was Miss Parker who answered grimly; her gaze fixed firmly on the numbers lighting up over the elevator door. She was obviously highly uncomfortable at being caught doing anything that might be construed as kind. I suspected that she wasn’t too thrilled at the idea of openly helping Jarod either. Sydney remained quietly in the corner, intently observing everything we did.
"Lyle-Raines?" I spelled quickly. "They'll kill you!"
Parker snorted inelegantly. "I don't kill that easy honey." She told me dismissively. I had to admit that was true, but no one is invulnerable.
"Your friend, Dr. Johnson," Sydney explained gently. "He provided a sample of his current project. It's present drawback is that while it enhances long-term memory, it wipes out short-term memory. Lyle won't remember any of us. He’ll have no idea what happened or who helped you escape. Of course, he might have some nasty flashbacks about his childhood."
That was a definite plus in my book. Lyle deserved every nasty memory he got! I nodded my understanding before spelling out my last question.
"Where?"
The doors opened, almost as if in response to my question, revealing a tiny windowless room. I must have looked slightly panicky because Sydney smiled reassuringly and gestured toward the door on the far wall.
"We're on the roof." He explained compassionately, ignoring Miss Parker's impatience to be gone. "You can leave any time you want but I suggest you wait until nightfall." He opened the door, proving his words and pointing to a pair of metal rails protruding from the side of the roof. "It will be a long climb down. When you get to the bottom you'll be on the beach. Follow it south, to town, and use this key to pick up the red Subaru in the Best Mart parking lot on 5th and Main. It has a full tank."
I nodded my understanding.
"Good luck." Miss Parker told me with grudging sincerity. I gave her my warmest smile, wishing once again that I could actually talk and let them know how grateful I felt, but settled for signing another "thank you" before the door closed on the two.
Once my rescuers were out of sight, however, I ignored Sydney's advice and climbed down the metal ladder immediately. There was no way I was going to spend another instant at the Centre! I silently vowed to drown myself in the ocean before I let them take me back.
I don't know if it was fear, determination, or anger, but I made really good time. When I hit the beach alarms had just begun sounding, the shrill cacophony echoing faintly over the gentle waves on the rocky shore where I stood. I kept the tall cliffs to my right and walked swiftly away, south towards town and was completely out of sight of the Centre long before anyone even thought to look for me on the beach.
After some searching I found Main Street, and then the Best Mart. The Subaru, a cherry red station wagon, had Oregon plates and two brown leather suitcases. One suitcase was packed with clothing, the other, smaller one, with money and a simple tan file folder holding forged documents. New name, new identity, everything I could possibly need, including a license. I tapped the documents against my hand, debating with myself.
I wasn't returning to the Centre, that much I'd already pledged myself. Just how anonymous were these papers? And the Subaru, who had purchased it? How? With what funding? I decided that the pretty vehicle was too much of a risk and left it in the lot.
I made a quick trip inside the Best Mart, making a pile of purchases with some money from the suitcase. After having explained to the manager with a note that I was deaf and running away from my abusive boyfriend, and would he please call a cab for me? I retrieved the suitcases from the back of the car and waited for my cab in front of the store.
I knew that I was far too easy to track, with the still spectacular marks of Lyle's beating visible on my face and not being able to speak. At the bus station I again put the bruises to good use, convincing a sympathetic traveler to purchase my ticket to Chicago for me so I could elude my boyfriend. I then used the station bathroom to apply a heavy coat of makeup to hide the worst of my marks. I changed into a beige suit from a suitcase. The jacket came down to mid-thigh, far longer than I would have chosen, and I had to make judicious use of the safety pins Miss Parker had thoughtfully provided, but I thought I looked quite chic when I was finished. I was certainly a far cry from the battered woman in baggy exercise clothes who’d entered the facilities!
I slipped on the shoulder length black wig I'd purchased, grateful for the first time for my short hair because it eliminated the need to pin it up. Finally, I settled a tan hat with a broad, drooping brim over the wig. The brim I situated to droop just over my black eye, further sheltering it from view. Satisfied that I was disguised as well as possible, I left the restroom and joined the crowd in the foyer, passing the time until my bus came just watching the crowd around me.
I exited the bus in New Jersey and visited a small, seedy hotel to dye my short curls a bright, copper red. An optometry store in a strip mall supplied contacts that turned my blue eyes green. I then returned to my hotel room and checked out my new wardrobe.
I could see Miss Parker's hand in the purchases. Mini skirts, long, business like jackets, trouser suits and spiked heels abounded. I finally decided the entire collection was far too expensive and noticeable and dropped them all off at a Salvation Army center with a note asking that it be donated to the local battered women's shelter. I then went to the nearest St. Vincent's and bought faded, ragged jeans with the bell-bottom flares that kids liked so much. I found a tie- dyed tank top and a white man's dress shirt to wear over it to cover my bruised shoulders and arms. Well-worn tennis shoes, oval mirror-like sunglasses, and a navy blue hat that reminded me of Gilligan's added the finishing touches.
I kept my makeup heavy, but darkened the makeup around my eyes the way some teenagers currently did. My forged papers went into the hotel dumpster, along with the beige suit, and another teen-aged hippie wannabe boarded the Greyhound bus the next day and continued on as far as Michigan before once again getting off. This time I threw the remainder of my ticket into the nearest garbage can. I made my way to the nearest battered woman's shelter and asked them for help.
I refused tell them anything more than my name was Rose, and I was in mortal danger from my husband. The shelter manager came in person to interview me. I finally consented to let her see the bruises, still in glorious colors, marking my entire body. They were enough to convince her of my need but she was still reluctant to commit to helping me with new ID. I didn’t blame her, what I was asking for WAS illegal. Finally I saw that I had no choice but to tell her a little of my story- --I simply didn’t know enough about this world to make up a believable lie.
I carefully told I had no boyfriend; that the bruises were from a lunatic who’d kidnapped me. I explained that I wasn’t going to tell her the name of the place because it would put her in danger. I showed her the scar on my neck and revealed just how I’d lost my voice. It was my guess that a doctor could verify that my vocal chords been severed, not crushed or otherwise accidentally destroyed. Finally, I told her some of the experiments that I’d seen done in the place, although I avoided telling her that I’d seen them on the television set in the safety of my front room.
That was when she turned the tables on me. She asked me if I was referring to the Centre in Blue Cove, Delaware. For a moment the room swam around me, so great was my shock. When I’d recovered my color she told me that Jarod had breezed into her life one day, helping a corporate wife escape an untenable situation. He’d also left the shelter quite a bit of money and warned them, giving no details about the organization behind the danger, but being very precise about what they were capable of. He’d wanted her to know that people would be following and looking for him.
She ended her recital by telling me that she’d tracked down the Centre by the simple expedient of using some of Jarod’s money to hire a private investigator who then followed Sydney, Broots and Miss Parker back to the Centre after they visited the shelter to search for Jarod. The grandmotherly type women sitting behind the desk in the shelter’s office calmly explained her strange actions by saying that Jarod was a very nice young boy, and she wasn’t about to let anyone hurt him. She then pumped every iota of information I had about the Centre from me and sent me back to my room, telling me not to worry, she’d handle everything, and thank you very much for the added information.
I was so stunned by the unexpected turn of events that I completely forgot to tell her that Jarod needed to be warned. I just walked back to my room in a daze, sat on the hard mattress, and considered that maybe there were cooperative scriptwriters in this universe after all. I didn’t remember Jarod and his danger until the next morning.
That night I had a particularly vicious nightmare and probably would have wakened the entire shelter screaming, if I’d had a voice. As it was, my roommate went to the office to complain, thinking I was a druggie or alcoholic having DT’s. The savvy old woman running the shelter gave her another room and came in to wake me and calm me down. Apparently the shelter manager, whose name I still didn’t know, had warned her to take special care of me.
The next morning, before breakfast even, I demanded to see that manager. I refused to leave the office until I spoke to her, and waited patiently for the twenty minutes it took for her to arrive.
“I remembered something last night.” I handed her the first of several notes I’d written during the wakeful hours after my nightmare.
“Thank you, Betty, you were right to call me.” The woman told her night counselor. “We’ll be in the office, all right?” And she hustled me in, leaving Betty standing with her mouth open in amazement.
“What is it?” She asked over her shoulder, even as she locked the wooden door.
“Jarod is in danger.” My second note was read in an instant. “He has to be warned.”
“Warned of what, Rose?”
“Raines, he said that he’d set traps for Jarod---traps that he’d fall into because of how he helps people. Please, can you contact him?”
The older woman sighed, looking at me regretfully.
“No one can contact Jarod—--he’d have to contact us. He does, sometimes, but there’s no pattern to it for me to tell you if he’ll call tomorrow, or next Christmas.”
“Someone contacted him once by placing an ad in almost every paper in the eastern seaboard. Maybe we could try something like that?” My final note was read, after this I’d have to scribble my questions and answers down as they came to me. I promised myself that I’d take sign language courses as soon as I found a place to settle.
“Just how do you think we could do that without triggering the Centre’s attention?”
I thought carefully and began to write. After scribbling out several false starts I finally came up with what I thought would be an ad subtle enough to escape the Centre’s attention, but clear enough for Jarod to understand.
J. Rod, your friend Argyle suggested I contact you. Please look me up on the net at Prodigy_Project.com. Chrysanthemum
“Argyle? Chrysanthemum?”
“Argyle is a friend of Jarod’s, although he doesn’t know me. Chrysanthemum because I doubt it’s been taken as an online alias and it can be shortened to ‘mum, which I certainly am now!”
“Is there a Prodigy_Project.com?”
“I don’t know, if there isn’t we’d better get one started.” I suggested, a mischievous smile tugging at my lips. I was actually having fun! Besides, I thought inwardly, if the scriptwriters were on my side I’d better get what I could accomplished before they decided to louse up Jarod’s life again. With any luck I could warn Jarod and disappear into the background of the entire convoluted story line for good.
“I suppose you’ll want a computer?”
“No, I’ll handle that myself. The people who helped me escape the Centre provided me with quite a sizable chunk of cash. They gave me an identity too, but I didn’t trust it.” But the woman frowned, troubled.
“I don’t really want you running around in public, dear. You are still very, very noticeable, you know.” She told me slowly. She seemed uncertain of my reaction to the suggestion that I sort of place myself under house arrest, at least until the bruises had healed.
“You’re right.” I wrote, hating to admit it. “Do you know someone you can trust to pick a good machine?”
“Oh yes, I know a wonderful young man who runs a computer shop nearby. He’s an old family friend and has helped me with many confidential projects.”
“I want a laptop with a built in modem. I’d like a 56K, but I’ll take a 33.6K if I have to. I also want a decent amount of RAM---I hate it when I have to wait forever for a download!” She smiled as she read the note.
“I’m sure Paul will supply something that more than suits your needs. In the meantime, you can use the office computer to begin to set up the connection point. You know, find Prodigy_Project, or start it, or whatever. Get an e-mail account set up for Chrysanthemum. That sort of thing. I assume you know how to work it.”
I nodded, smiling at the gentle teasing.
“If I may, what’s your name?” This was a note that I’d penned the night before but didn’t have the courage to give her until that moment.
“Oh, everyone just calls me Grandma---Grandma Tubman if they have to be formal.” My smile morphed into a grin as I recognized the name of one of the most famous “conductors” of the Underground Railroad.
“Precisely, my dear.” She nodded her head and left the room with a pleased expression.
I was fortunate enough to find a Prodigy_Project and to be able to set up an e-mail account that day. I spent the rest of the day posting my ad on every forum I could think of. Yes, I know it could be considered spam, but it was important.
Surprisingly enough, the next day I had a hit that seemed interesting.
{Chrysanthemum, Saw your message on the net but am confused. Friend Argyle doesn’t use the computer. Details? J. Rod}
I composed a second message to J. Rod and e-mailed it to the address provided, thinking all the while, “make it be him, oh mighty scriptwriter, make it be him!”
{J. Rod, I wanted the chance to warn you about traps at the Centre of the Universe. They can be very hard to avoid and every detail you can add to your map helps. By the way; I know Argyle and Dog, they don’t know me. Sorry for the confusion. ‘Mum}
By lunchtime I had a reply, solidifying my belief that I’d actually contacted Jarod.
{‘Mum, Do we, by any chance, have a mutual friend languishing in said black hole? Older man, refined speech, watches other people a lot, but never quite joins in? J. Rod}
I knew he referred to Sydney, and struggled with a subtle way to respond to this e-mail. I was pretty sure that the scriptwriters had come through and I was really communicating with Jarod, but didn’t dare give him contact information without talking it over with Grandma.
{J. Rod, I only met the dear man for a very few moments but he gave me good counsel during that time. His companion, M. Sparker, was also most kind, although she took pains not to show it. ‘Mum}
I knew that we’d be meeting soon when I received his final message, soon after dinner. By then Grandma and I had gotten together and discussed the situation. She agreed that my correspondent was probably Jarod, but suggested one last test, which was also his clue as to who to contact.
{‘Mum, I’m very interested in hearing more about avoiding that black hole in the Centre of the universe. Want to chat? J. Rod}
{J., sorry, but Grandma won’t let me chat with strangers. She said for you to call home and she’ll tell you when you can come to dinner. ‘Mum}
It turned out that Grandma Tubman had Jarod pegged, because he called the shelter office's unlisted number not ten minutes later. Grandma put the call on speaker so I could hear both sides of the conversation.
“Jarod, it’s so good to hear from you!” She answered the phone warmly.
“Don’t you know how risky it is for you to contact me?” Jarod bit out irritably.
“Don’t you know I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think it was vital that I contact you?” Grandma answered just as acidly.
“What is it? And is “Chrysanthemum” with you?”
“She’s the reason we contacted you. You understand that she can’t talk to you directly, don’t you?”
“A friend of mine filled me in a few days ago. He didn’t know why she was there, though.” Jarod answered, speaking cryptically. I think it was almost second nature for him by then. “He said Dr. Johnson probably knew the entire story, but he’d been reassigned to a branch office in Africa.”
“Is Dr. Johnson still alive? Does he know?” I wrote anxiously.
“’Mum wants to know if the Doctor was in good health the last time you checked. She seems to think he’s a little fragile.” I nodded emphatically at that statement.
“As far as I know he’s fine. His entire research staff went with him, so I’m sure he’s planning to work while he’s there.”
I was surprised at how relieved I felt. I liked him, heck, he was the only person there who’d actually looked at me like a human being, but I hadn’t realized just how much I liked him.
“So, where’s the fire?” Jarod asked laconically. I guess that was his newest piece of slang.
“Should well tell him over the phone?” I asked her.
“If you make it quick.” She answered briefly. Now, I flushed---how on earth do you tell a man that he’s being viewed as a prize stallion?
“Tell him that Raines has set traps for him. One of his rescues could very well end up being his ticket back to the Centre. He needs to be extra careful.” I finally wrote, avoiding the whole issue of why they were stepping up the chase. After all, with me gone they’d have a much harder time with their plans, right?
“Why the sudden increase in interest? Does she know?” My cheeks flamed as Jarod asked the one question I wanted him to avoid. I decided that if I ever got back to reality I was going to start sending letter bombs to television scriptwriters---they deserved it!
“She does,” Grandma answered with a chuckle, “But I think it’s something better said face to face. You let me know if you ever decide to look her up. Better go now, boy, don’t want them to trace the call, do we?”
“Yeah, there are only so many satellites you can bounce a signal off of. By Grandma, and thanks.”
“Be careful, boy.” She responded gently and disconnected the line.
“Okay, Rose, now we’ve got to get you out of here right away. The Centre will have a goon squad here in next to no time; quicker if the goons know how valuable you are to the Centre.” She turned to me briskly.