by Rebeckah
I nodded frantically, 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 attractive 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 that 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, rewetting 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, knowing instantly that Johnson had come through for me and this was a rescue.
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 am part of this pathetic excuse for a rescue." Miss Parker murmured with saccharine sweetness, coming up to my side. She gave me a short, 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 on 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 finger-spelled.
"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 the poor man 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, "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 that it wasn’t locked 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 I realized I was now deeply indebted to them, 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 take my chances 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 bottom 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?
It didn’t take long to decide that the vehicle was too much of a risk. Regretfully, (because it was the prettiest car I’d ever had a chance to own), I opted to leave 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 would be 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 by watching the crowd of humanity around me.
It was a little frightening to be around so many people after so many months of virtual isolation. I was actually glad that Raines’ actions precluded me from having to speak to any of my fellow travelers. Once I was on the bus it was easy to feign sleep or stare fixedly out the window, planning my next moves.
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 definitely see Miss Parker's hand in the purchases. They consisted of mini skirts, long, business like jackets, trouser suits and two pairs black dress shoes with high spiked heels. I finally decided the entire collection was far too expensive and noticeable, (not to mention not my style in the slightest), 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 teenagers seemed to favor these days. 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. This time I continued on as far as Michigan before once again getting off. I threw the remainder of my ticket into the first garbage can I came across, 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 day manager made a phone call, bringing in the shelter's Director to interview me in person. I finally consented to let her see the bruises hidden under my clothes, still in their glorious colors. 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 cautiously revealed I had no boyfriend; that the bruises were from a lunatic who'd worked for people who kidnapped me. I explained that I wasn't going to tell her the name of the place I'd escaped from 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 removed, not crushed or otherwise accidentally destroyed. Finally, I told her some of the experiments that I'd seen done in the place, although I wasn't about to tell 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 about the 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 that night gave her another room and came in to wake me and calm me down. Apparently the Director, 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 the Director. 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 said that they'd set traps for Jarod---traps that he'd fall into because helping people is an obsession for Jarod. 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 not on a regular schedule---I can't 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?" This was my final note about Jarod's problem, after this I'd have to scribble my questions and answers down as they came to me, making the conversation that much longer. 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.
"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 storyline for good.
"I suppose you'll want a computer?"
"No, I'll handle that myself. The people who helped me escape the Centre provided quite a sizable nest egg for me. They gave me an identity too, but I didn't trust it."
The woman frowned, clearly 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 and speed---I hate it when I have to wait forever for a download!"
She smiled as she read the note.
"I'm sure John 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, later that day I had a hit that seemed interesting.
I composed a second message to J. Rod and e-mailed it to the address provided, half-praying all the while, ’make it be him, oh mighty scriptwriter, make it be him!’
By lunchtime I had a reply, solidifying my belief that I'd actually contacted Jarod.
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.
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 would also be his clue as to who to contact.
It turned out that Grandma Tubman had Jarod pegged, because he called 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 in his neck of the woods, 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---it was obviously something that should have been done long ago!
"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 ways to hide a phone call, and my enemies probably invented most of them. Bye, 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.
I was surprised---how would Grandma know the Centre wanted me? I wasn't even sure of that----for all I knew Raines hadn't bothered to tell anyone about me.
"Oh no, child, they want you." Grandma correctly interpreted my expression. "Jarod had been warned by his friend about you, and that means that he thought you needed warning yourself. I'd say you're about as hot an item for the Centre right now as Jarod himself. Don't worry, though, just go to your room, grab your stuff, and meet me in the basement. The door is the unmarked one in between the bathrooms." Grandma pushed me gently out the door before my mind kicked back into gear and I hurried off, knowing she was right.
The Centre had undoubtedly bugged her phone as a general precaution right after her encounter with Jarod. If they had, then they would suspect, sooner or later, that "'Mum" and the missing "Eve" were one and the same, and they'd come looking here. If I was still at the shelter when they got here, everyone would be in danger. If I was gone, no one but Grandma would know anything about me but that I'd been abused, like so many of the other women there, and I never spoke. Since Grandma would be with me, the Centre wouldn't have a clue as to where I'd gone. Besides, in a battered women's shelter the Centre was going to find it hard to get anyone to talk about one of the clients---privacy is the password in those places.
I actually didn't have anything to take but a small purse, holding only a wallet and several small notepads and pens, and my backpack with the money in it. I was wearing my hippie clothes, the only clothing I owned at the moment and I hadn't had a chance to acquire any other possessions.
I raced down the hall towards the bathrooms, suspecting that this time luck, and the scriptwriters, were against me and that the Centre was be closing in. I eased the door shut quietly behind me even as I heard strident voices coming from the direction of the office.
"Come on, girl!"
Grandma waved me into the dim room and pointed me towards a staircase hidden behind a false set of shelves holding linens. I didn't feel even moderately safe until the shelves clicked into place behind her and we both hurried down the rickety wooden stairs.
Grandma didn't give me a chance to look at the basement, full of shadows and cobwebs, but rushed me through it to an inconspicuous wooden door at the back. It led to another room, filled with unmarked boxes and ancient trunks. Grandma pulled open a second hidden door and we hustled through a dark, narrow corridor that was so long it had to extend all of the way to the other side of the block.
We emerged in another basement and surfaced through an old-fashioned cellar door leading directly to the driveway adjoining the Victorian style house. A van idled there, it's side door opened for us and a driver already behind the wheel.
"Airstrip, John, she's a hot one." Grandma said tersely, making me smile at the melodrama in spite of my anxiety. John was pulling smoothly out of the driveway even as Grandma urged me into a cooler that was actually larger than it looked, having a false bottom. She really did run an underground railroad!
She'd no sooner fitted a cover of soda on ice over me than I felt the van pull to a halt.
"Is there a problem, Officer?" I heard John ask smoothly.
"We're looking for a runaway, John." Apparently the Officer knew John personally. "It seems she's not quite stable, you know, emotionally. Gets violent without her medication."
"Family must be well off to get you all involved in the search." John responded affably.
"Yeah, well, I got to look inside, you understand, don't you?"
"Sure---what's this vicious escapee look like, anyway?" He wanted to know.
"Evidently she's a skinny thing, about 5'3" or 4", but only weighs about 110 lbs. or so. Short curly hair, a kind of reddish brown, (I touched my copper red curls gratefully) and blue eyes, (I closed my green eyes with relief). Here's a picture of her."
After a short silence John laughed merrily.
"You've got to be kidding, Rob!" He exclaimed. "That little thing couldn't hurt a fly! She's barely old enough to be out of school. You've got a manhunt going for her?"
"I gotta admit, John, she doesn't look that dangerous to me." Officer Rob confided quietly, "But when orders come down, what are you going to do? Anyway, I don't see any stowaways here, so you have a good evening, folks."
The sliding door of the van slammed shut over the good-byes of John and Grandma. I wasn't released from the tiny hidey-hole at that time, though. We drove for at least an hour, and encountered two more checkpoints, this time with officers who seemed a lot more serious about finding the runaway. Their dedication was explained when I overheard a remark about a $10,000 reward, though neither of them checked out the bogus cooler.
’So that's what I'm worth on the open market.’ I thought fuzzily.
It was hard to breathe with my knees crammed under my chin. When we finally reached our destination my legs had lost all feeling and John, who turned out to be a large man about 40 years old, had to lift me out of my cramped hole.
My backpack was pulled out from under the seat, where Grandma had stuffed it, and the three of us started across an unlit tarmac. John had to carry me to the waiting helicopter, since my legs were barely at the pins and needles stage of waking up, leaving Grandma to carry my few personal possessions.
"Okay, sweetie, this is where we part company. These nice folks are going to take over from here. You drop me a line sometime, you hear?" She whispered in my ear.
A petite, curvy blond woman and a taller, muscular man with dark hair exited the helicopter with a stretcher and John immediately placed me on it.
"We know you don't need to be on the stretcher." The woman reassured me at my panicked look when they strapped me on. She smiled soothingly. "This is a medi-vac chopper; and you get to be the patient."
My backpack and purse were tossed carelessly in the chopper and the two strangers lifted me effortlessly in behind them. I felt a moment of panic as the helicopter lifted smoothly off. I'd only known Grandma for two days, but she was familiar and these two weren't.
"Lisa, get her arms out from under the straps." The man suggested quietly.
’Another Lisa?’ My alter ego piped up.
I ignored it, I was too tired to argue, even if it was only with myself.
"Hi, Rose." The blond said warmly. "I'm Lisa and this is Dave. We're taking you to Sacred Heart for a check up---Grandma insisted---and then we'll help you figure out just what kind of an identity you want."
I shook my head vigorously as soon as she mentioned the hospital. I didn't want to see a doctor, I didn't care what Grandma wanted!
"Don't worry, he won't take a history or anything. Grandma just wants to make sure there isn't any damage that might cause you problems later on. He really did a job on you, didn't he?" Lisa tsked reprovingly as she assessed the livid bruises on my skin.
I pointed at my purse, frustrated that I couldn't communicate without a pad and pen. Lisa handed it to me and I rolled and squirmed within the straps over to my stomach.
"I already saw a doctor, right after. I'm fine. Even my sprained wrist has almost stopped hurting." I wrote quickly, knowing I was glaring.
"Maybe so, but Grandma insisted. We won't go against her wishes. Besides, the doctor might know how to reverse the damage to your vocal chords. He's quite gifted and incredibly discrete."
"I don't care if he's the Pope! I don't want to risk it. I'm sure---" I paused briefly, knowing better than to use Raines' name.
"I'm sure the people after me will be looking into every operation involving vocal chords for quite a while!" I finished.
"They'll never hear about this. I already told you there wouldn't be any records."
"Really?" I wrote, wishing there was some way to get sarcasm onto paper. "And I suppose there will be no anesthesiologist for this miracle operation? No nurse or orderly or technician monitoring my vitals?"
"All of those people are trustworthy, too." Lisa assured me quietly. "But no one will do anything unless you want us to. "Harv and I are only going to deliver you to the doctor, if you don't want to seem him after that then all you have to do is tell him, okay?"
I nodded reluctantly. I guessed that was the best I could hope for. Belatedly remembering my manners I signed a quick thank you. At least I knew that much sign language!
We passed the rest of the flight in silence, Lisa and Harv doing paperwork and me brooding anxiously. It had to be close to midnight by the time we finally landed on the roof of a building.
I was rearranged on the stretcher to look like a patient, Lisa even had a bag of saline solution taped to my arm to make it look more realistic. They rushed me into the elevator, spouting medical jargon that meant absolutely nothing to me, while I laid there with my eyes closed and tried to pretend I was dying, or at least mildly ill.
"Here's your patient, Dr. Welby." It was only the second time I'd heard the man, Harv, speak. He had a nice, soothing voice, but I was glad that he'd had the sensitivity to leave me to Lisa. I wasn't too comfortable with men at that point.
’Welby?’ I thought suddenly, suspicion as to the identity of this doctor rising swiftly. ’No, he wouldn't risk---‘
"So, you're 'Mum."
’Apparently he would.’ I answered myself, recognizing Jarod's deep voice in that instant.
Lisa and Harv had thoughtfully undone the straps while we were in the elevator, so I sat up and swung my legs off the side of the stretcher as soon as the door to the treatment room closed behind Lisa and Harv.
"What are you doing here?" I printed quickly.
"I wanted to meet you." He answered easily. "Curiosity has always been my fatal flaw---Pez?"
He held out a brightly colored plastic dispenser with a Garfield head. I shook my head silently---I'm not a big Pez fan.
"They're very good." He assured me with his trademark little boy sincerity. I smiled, in spite of my anxiety and shook my head again.
"I'm more of a Snickers kind of girl." I printed quickly. "So what do you want? Is the Centre close behind you?"
"No, they don't have a clue about this place---it's pretty isolated and the locals keep my presence a close secret. I visit a couple of times a year when I need to relax---I just do some doctoring to keep my hand in." He reassured me. "And what I want is to know who you are and why the Centre wants you so badly. I can't even be sure you aren't a trap set by the Centre."
My smile turned slightly grim. It was late and it had been a pretty stressful day. I wondered if Jarod had planned for me to be exhausted during this interview.
"My name is Rose. And how could I be a trap when you're the one who instigated this meeting, not me?" I wrote slowly, weighing each word in my mind. "I'd really rather not get into why Raines wants me, but no, I'm not a Pretender like you." I guessed, correctly it seemed from the look on Jarod's face, that he was assuming I was the missing Red File child.
"I suppose I could be a really convoluted trap, but I doubt it---I'm pretty sure my escape from the Centre was genuine." Suddenly I wondered if I had some sort of implanted radio-tracking device on me somewhere. "I promise you, though, I don't want to go back or help them in any way!" I finished quickly.
"I really need to know more than that." Jarod told me, gently but implacably. "Raines wants you back pretty badly---why?"
"You aren't going to believe me." I warned in a quick scribble. "Can't you just find some prehistoric corner of the world and let me hide there? I can rough it, I don't care---and you can go back to your own life, right wrongs and maybe find your family. OK?"
Jarod looked startled, and suspicion began growing on his face.
"How do you know that about me? Raines would never tell one of his victims any details. Just who are you?"
’Damn his persistence.’ I though irritably.
"OK, fine." I wrote abruptly. "Here's the whole, sordid story. Make of it what you will."
It took an entire sheet of the legal pad paper Jarod supplied for me to get the whole story down, even with me leaving out every personal detail about myself I could get away with. His response to Raines breeding program was just as queasy as mine had been and his attitude softened marginally after he'd read the page.
"That's a pretty fantastic story." He said briefly, laying the page down and focusing on me. I simply raised one eyebrow---I'd warned him!
"So all you want is a chance to build a new life?" He asked skeptically. Tears pressed against my eyes as I realized, really realized for the first time, that I wasn't going to see my family and friends ever again.
"I don't think even you could come up with a way to get me home." I focused on my writing and held the tears back by sheer will.
"No, from the sounds of things that was more of a one-in-several million shot. I wish Raines luck on repeating that fluke." Jarod answered thoughtfully. "Okay, I'll help you, but first you're getting that physical. I want to make sure there aren't any hidden tracking devices on you that you might not know about, plus I want a look at the damage to your vocal chords. There are a few procedures that might help, depending on the type of injury."
"It wasn't an injury." I reminded him, bitterness radiating from my face. "And I'm not sure I want you to be giving me a physical."
"I'm a good doctor!" He protested, injured pride showing.
"I'd prefer a female doctor." I responded adamantly.
"That would increase your exposure." He responded, the epitome of reason.
"OK, Fine, Whatever! Just get it over with!" I printed, not bothering to hide my displeasure.
I couldn't fault Jarod for his professional attitude, although I couldn't remember ever having been to thoroughly poked, prodded, x-rayed and investigated before. I figured that Jarod now knew more about me than I did myself, especially since I wasn't even the me I'd grown up with anymore.
When he'd finally finished taking the last sample he handed me a pill and small paper cup of water.
"Take this, I'm admitting you for the rest of the night while the tests are processed." He ordered briefly.
"Fine," I wrote back. "I'll stay, but I'm not taking anything."
"It's just a mild sedative. Grandma says you have nightmares
"You have nightmares." I wrote acidly. "Do you take sedatives?" I already knew he didn't, but he seemed surprised, before he remembered that I had an edge on information about him.
"All right." He conceded grudgingly. "Just sit in the wheelchair---hospital policy." He added with a wry grin.
I complied, promising myself that if Jarod didn't come through with an identity for me by the next night that I would strike out on my own. I could always fake amnesia in a small town if I had to.
’At least then those bruises Lyle gave you will be good for something!’ That tiny voice in my mind piped up cheerfully.
I told her to go to sleep and stop bothering me.
My sleep was short and interrupted by the nightmares I'd become accustomed to. At least they'd changed from me being paralyzed in one spot while Lyle came after me to me running endlessly while Lyle came after me. I figured it was something of an improvement---I wasn't feeling quite so helpless.
It was just getting light outside my window when I got up, showering and dressing in the same clothes I'd worn for the past three days. I was glad they were the fairly comfortable jeans and a t-shirt and not Miss Parker's beige suit, but I knew I'd better get something new soon. Even though I'd had the chance to wash them during my brief stay in the shelter they were going to start stinking eventually.
Jarod was waiting in my room when I emerged from the tiny bathroom, still toweling my hair dry. He handed me a cup of coffee and indicated a small pitcher of creamer next to a small pot of sugar on the side table.
"I thought you might like some---I'm sure Raines didn't let you have any during your stay." He said with a warm smile.
’Oh god, Jarod! I love you and I want to have your baby!’ I thought fervently, inhaling the rich scent of my favorite morning beverage with the pleasure only a coffee addict could understand.
My stay at the shelter had been far too short and eventful for me to remember that there even was such a thing as coffee. I added cream, ignored the sugar, and took a long, ecstatic sip.
I opened my eyes to see Jarod watching me with an amused smile. I scribbled on the ever-present note pad, "I'd like to see your face when you eat ice cream!"
"It's very good." He assured me, his grin deepening.
"So I've heard." I responded with a wry half-smile. "So, why'd you come, and why so early? Is it bad news?" I added, getting back to business.
"I peeked in on you at the end of my morning rounds." He confessed. "You were already up."
"You never went to sleep, did you?" I wrote.
"I wanted to get the test results right away."
"So you ran them yourself." I guessed, knowing I was right by the hint of color in his cheeks. I do so love it when a man blushes!
"Well," I added when he didn't say anything. "What's the verdict---will I live?"
"Oh yes! You're in wonderful health. Even your teeth are perfect." He told me honestly. "There weren't any devices hidden on you that I could find, so you're clear there too."
"Jarod, something is bugging you---spit it out!" I wrote with a firm glare in his direction.
"There isn't anything that we can do about your voice." He confessed sadly. "I can get you a machine that will talk for you---" He stopped speaking as I began to write again. "No, thank you! I've heard those voices---they're awful. I'll just learn sign language---it shouldn't take me more than a month or two."
"So you learn quickly, do you?" Jarod asked, an avid gleam in his eyes raising my suspicions. He hadn't told me everything by a long shot!
"Yes, I'm a pretty quick study." I admitted reluctantly, "Why?"
"Do you know anything about the anomaly in my blood?"
"No, just that you have one and that it might be linked to your genius." I responded, feeling the beginnings of writer's cramp in my hand. I'd have to switch to my left hand soon!
"Well, I found the same anomaly in your blood."
"No, Jarod, I am NOT a Pretender. I'm intelligent, yes, and I have a really good memory, yes, but I'm NOT a genius!"
"I didn't say you were!" He protested.
"No, but you were thinking it!" I accused.
"You don't really know what you are anymore. Not since you came over to this reality." He countered reasonably. "It's possible you're a Pretender now."
’One of these days you're going to try reasonable on me one time too many, buddy!’ I thought grimly.
"I don't think it's possible, Jarod." I suspected that he was hoping he'd found a companion in his crazy world, and I hated to burst his bubble, but he needed to face reality.
"Part of what you do has to do with how you were trained to think---I don't have that training and I'm pretty set in my ways." My hand was aching now so I switched to my left hand to write. "I won't ever be like you are."
"No, I don't suppose you will." Jarod admitted with a hint of sorrow.
"Jarod, a person doesn't have to be LIKE you to understand you." I printed, driven to comfort him. "You have lots of friends and more people love you than you realize. Don't waste your time trying to find the impossible, enjoy the good you do have."
"None of those people can really understand." Jarod murmured. "They have no idea."
"Jarod, I know what the Centre is and what it did to you, but does that make my friendship somehow more valuable than----say, Argyle?"
Jarod looked surprised and I wondered if Argyle was the best example I could have chosen.
"No," He admitted thoughtfully. "I don't suppose it does. Although it would make it easier to carry on certain conversations." He added with a small grin.
"That's true. Although, in Argyle's case, just having a halfway normal personality would make it easier to carry on certain conversations." I scribbled on my little pad. "But I'll admit that the entirety of the Centre is a little much for the average person to swallow. Since when have you wanted a confidant, though? You've always been such a loner---why the sudden need for---oh, you were hoping for a peer, weren't you? You wanted an equal?"
"Yeah, I guess I was."
"Jarod, there is no such animal, not for most people. So you're a genius; big deal. I'll bet I know more about children than you could hope to---even with all of your book knowledge. I know how to approach a hurt animal, do you? I know how to listen, when to give advice and when it's pointless to even try, do you? I know how do get eggs from a broody hen, you?----EVERYONE is different with different strengths and weaknesses. Get the point?"
"I think so." He still had a small frown between his brows. I resisted the urge to smooth it away.
’I'm not taking in this particular stray.’ I promised myself firmly. ’He's got too much baggage and I have my own problems!’
"Grandma said something like that, but I didn't think she knew what she was talking about." Jarod's eyes were dark with emotion, mostly loss.
"She's a wise woman." I pointed out quickly. Grandma Tubman would be a better advisor and comforter for Jarod than I ever could, if he'd let her. "I wouldn't ignore her advice lightly. You missed out on an entire world of knowledge by not having a mother---Grandma would be a good resource to fill that lack now."
"So, I suppose you want a new identity and to disappear?"
I felt torn by the husky note of loss in Jarod's voice. How could he be hurt that I wanted to disappear---he'd barely met me! He'd placed far too much hope in the belief that I was another Pretender and I suspected that even with my assurances to the contrary he still hadn't really given up that hope.
"Understand this Jarod, and understand it well; I will never go back to the Centre---not ever! You place yourself at risk for just that every single time you play white knight. I like you---I'd like to be your friend---but there is no way I'm willing to take those chances. I'm afraid for you to have any clue as to who I am or where I'll be. What if you did get caught? And Raines managed to break you---and he could! Do you know what would happen if he got his hands on both of us? No way, not ever, NO!" I could tell that my face had gone white at just the thought.
"I think I know now how my father felt." Jarod mused, his eyes intently on my face. "You haven't told me half of what happened to you at the Centre, have you? Like my father, I wonder just what you've left out, but unlike my father, I have far too many ideas as to what they could have done to instill such fear."
"Back off, Jarod." I wrote, the letters shaky as my hand trembled with suppressed emotions. I didn't want to explore what had happened at the Centre at that moment---it was still too new, too fresh in my mind. "If I want a counselor I'll find one."
"Who? Who could you possibly tell this story to? On the other hand, I am an accredited psychologist." He smiled boyishly.
"I don't have to tell the truth, just a close facsimile of it. Believe me, I'm very inventive." I countered. "Besides, I'm sure the credits were probably forged."
"Please, don't run off." He asked me gently, turning serious again in an instant. "You could stay here; I have lots of friends here who would help you get settled. I really think I could use someone to talk to from time to time who knows exactly what I'm talking about."
"Why do you want this so badly?" I demanded, a little frightened by his need.
"I don't know. Maybe because I feel responsible for you---if it weren't for me---" I cut him of with a few swift strokes of my pen.
"Even if you never existed I'm sure Raines would have tried some other warped experiment----or maybe I'd have gone to a different parallel world. You aren't responsible for me, Jarod. I've taken care of myself for a VERY long time now."
"That doesn't make the guilt go away." Jarod countered ruefully. "Besides, I feel like I can really talk to you----like I don't have to be on guard all of the time. Even when I talk to Sydney I'm always wondering what he makes of what I'm saying and if his answers are honest. You know more about me than anyone in my life, and you have no hidden agenda." Jarod answered, his voice sad and faintly surprised at the same time.
His face showed a combination of utter loneliness and wary preparation for rejection. He was getting to me. My self-interest was drowning under a wave of compassion. I'm a sucker for strays. Don't ask me why, but I've rescued virtually every injured animal that came my way. Every child in the neighborhood practically lived at my house, and some of the things they told me! Maybe I radiate some sort of message that says, "I'll understand you", or something, because I've had total strangers tell me things they wouldn't tell their own spouses!
"I don't know." I wrote, still arguing with myself. My cautious nature was warring with my nurturing nature. I wanted to protect myself but I was starting to feel almost compelled to help Jarod at the same time.
"Why don't you join me for breakfast and a tour of the town." He suggested, working hard to keep his voice calm and reasonable but hope was radiating from his face
He probably could have fooled anyone else, but I knew what to look for. I understand too well how it feels to be alone in a hostile world and I knew far to well the scars it left on your soul. Still, I struggled for the strength to refuse him. I knew that it was a doomed effort even as I did so. I could no more resist the tragic little boy that so frequently peeked out of his eyes than I could the force of gravity.
"Please?" He asked, the little boy appearing as if by magic.
’Damn those scriptwriters!’ I thought with acid resignation.
Already kicking myself for giving in I gave a defeated nod, turning the little boy from tragic to triumphant in an instant. I firmly tamped down the warm feeling of pleasure that his joy gave me.
’No more strays, remember Rose? We can't afford the association. Have you forgotten Lyle?’
’Forget it.’ I answered myself, knowing the battle was lost. ’I don't stand a chance against those chocolate eyes and that velvet voice. All I can do now is cut my losses.’
"But I'm not having ice cream for breakfast." I wrote firmly. "I don't care how good it is!" Jarod smiled warmly, knowing he'd won as well.
"What do you think about chili?" He asked innocently.
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