I thought of this story when I saw the end of Crazy, where Sydney was actually reading a Braille book. He had only been blinded for a short time and to be able to read Braille with the speed he was reading it takes a little longer to accomplish. Rating: R, warning some torture involved, set after Bloodlines. What happened to Sydney in the Renewal wing?

 

Renewal

By Giton

 

“Down Jarod, it’s a bomb!” Sydney’s shout reached him moments before he saw Sydney hurling towards him and throwing him against the floor. From the corner of his eye he saw Mr Parker do the same to his daughter. Quickly thereafter the sound of the blast resounded through the corridor and then there was darkness…

 

When Jarod came to, he found the weight of Sydney resting on top of him. When he brought his hand to Sydney’s throat he found a faint pulse, he was still alive but unconscious. He gently eased Sydney’s body off him and quickly examined himself; he couldn’t feel any major injuries. He found his way to where he had seen the Parkers fall and found their pulses beating too.

 

He couldn’t stay here. He could already hear the Sweeper-teams entering the corridor on the other side of the steel door. It shouldn’t be long before they would find a way to get to this side of the corridor. By sheer luck he found one of the air-ducts quickly and disappeared.

 

 

When Sydney came to he was surrounded by darkness. Jarod should have been lying underneath him, but wasn’t there anymore and it could be construed as a good sign.

He tried to straighten up and was driven back to the floor again by the pain in his back. Understandably, he had his back to the blast, didn’t he? Before throwing Jarod to the floor he had seen the Parkers go down to the left of him and he crawled in their direction to check if they were all right. The first body his hands encountered must have been one of the Cleaners who had come with Mr Parker. Clean-shaven, close-cropped hair and dead.

 

He crawled over a bit further. Mr. Parker: alive. Miss Parker: alive too. He breathed a sigh of relief. Mr Parker moaned in pain. Sydney’s gentle fingers searched his body for injuries. When he came to Mr Parker’s hands the other man moaned again.

Sydney wondered how receptive Mr Parker was to hypnotic suggestion and if he was aware enough to hear Sydney’s voice. It could alleviate the pain. “Charles, listen to my voice. Just follow the sound of my voice. Can you hear me?” He repeated this a couple of times until Mr Parker responded with a soft moan. “Good! You’ve found my voice. When I tell you to go back to sleep, you will feel no pain and even when you wake up the pain will be slight. Do you understand? (-a soft moan from Mr Parker-) On the count of three you will go back to sleep. One… Two… Three…” Mr Parker’s breathing slowed to normal.

 

He moved over to Miss Parker and ran gentle hands over her; she seemed to be all right.

At the other end of the corridor he could hear voices coming closer. “There they are!” They could see them? He brought his hands to his face: nothing, but there was no pain or injuries in the face either. When they turned him over and said, “Dr Green is alive.” And he still couldn’t see them it was obvious why.

He had wrongly assumed that the darkness was due to electrical failure because of the blast, but it had been his eyes!

He passed out when they tried to lift him.

 

 

When again he awoke it was still in darkness. He was lying on his stomach. The surface under his hands told him he was lying on a bed and under blankets, quite possibly in the infirmary. He hoped the others were doing all right as well and that Jarod had managed to escape. He drifted off to sleep again.

 

 

Awake again he tried to get up. A sharp pain in the back of his head and the skin on his back drawing tight reminded him again why he was in the infirmary.

“I wouldn’t try and move for a while,” the voice of a male nurse, “Your back is pretty blistered and your head received a nasty thump at the back. Want something to drink?”

Up to that point Sydney hadn’t even thought about anything much, but now he felt extremely thirsty. He nodded. The nurse came over and helped him drink.

 

“Can you tell me what is wrong with me?” Sydney asked hoarsely.

“Slight burns to the back and the back of the head. They should heal soon. There’s also a nasty lump on the back of the head and we suspect a concussion. But since you haven’t been conscious long enough, we haven’t been able to determine how severe it is. Feel up to doing some tests?”

 

Sydney nodded, which sent new stabs of pain through his skull. He knew what the tests were going to show: blindness due to the knock on his head. He had dealt with it before. Hopefully this was of a temporary nature too.

They prodded and poked and “oh”-ed and “ah”-ed and came to the same conclusion he had.

He drew a blank when he inquired after the Parkers. They were not at liberty to tell him. He was worried for them and hoped they were all right. With disconcerting thoughts he drifted off to sleep.

 

 

Again he woke up to total darkness. But things had changed. He was still lying on his stomach, but the texture of the linens he was lying on had changed. No longer were they smooth to the touch. The temperature in the room had dropped. It could be night or they could have brought him down to the deeper corridors. He shuddered and promptly fell asleep again.

 

 

When next he woke he felt better. The skin on his back didn’t feel so tight anymore. The world around him hadn’t changed in perspective, it was still shrouded in darkness, but it didn’t frighten him. Many years ago a knock to the back of his head had rendered him blind for nearly a year.

At first he had been frightened, but he had coped and dealt with it. But it can’t be denied that he was very relieved when eyesight was restored to him again. He suspected, or rather hoped, this to be the same.

 

Directly behind the bed he felt a wall. He carefully got up from his bed, not wanting to disturb his back more than necessary, to assess the rest of his surroundings. A couple of measured steps forwards before he hit another wall. Feeling to the right he encountered a door after only a few steps and then another few steps before he hit a wall again. Further to the right, just a blank wall before hitting the wall his bed was resting against.

Going back to the left. A number of steps, turn, another couple of steps, door, another blank wall. To the left of the door there was a small table with a chair in front of it, than another blank wall.

 

He felt his way back to the bed and sat on the edge. He had been able to stretch comfortably on the bed and with his height of six foot three, that must make the bed near seven feet long. At the head and the foot of the bed there was ample space. With the measurements on the opposite wall the length of the room must easily be nine feet long.

Quick calculations told him that the room was approximately nine by eight feet. No windows. Bare walls. The screams from others on this level told him that he was in one of the rooms in the Renewal wing. His hope sank a notch.

 

He knew he was being watched and they must have seen his measuring of the room, what they made of it was different matter.

Carefully he rested his back against the wall, unmoving, staring ahead. He didn’t care what they were thinking of him. He could keep himself busy quite easily in his own mind; that year, so many years ago, had taught him that.

 

 

Flashback – Nearly forty years ago

He and Jacob had just starting attending Yale on a scholarly grant and being identical twins caused the necessary consternation.

Jacob had always been the flippant one while Sydney took things too seriously. Well, at least in his brother’s opinion and maybe he did.

Jacob was always playing pranks on other people and that day one of his pranks had gone wrong.

 

Choosing the biggest school bully, Clint, hadn’t been one of his better ideas. He couldn’t have found it a big surprise that once he had been caught out the bully had it in for him.

Luckily the twins had always been fair runners, despite their build, and Clint had never kept in shape. Chase was given and Jacob ran, laughing tauntingly when Clint and his cronies couldn’t keep up with him.

He just rounded the corner when he ran into Sydney who was walking around engrossed in a book. Jacob grabbed him by the arm, dragging him with him. “Run,” he shouted with a gleeful smile on his face. No further words were necessary. You didn’t need to be twins as close as they were for Sydney to know that Jacob was in trouble… again! He just managed to drop the book in his pocket, before running with his brother. It was just in time. Shortly after that the chasing group came around the corner with murder in their eyes.

The twins picked up their pace.

 

“What have you done?” shouted Sydney, running next to his brother now.

“Just someone who couldn’t take a joke, that’s all.”

“If that is all, than why are we running for dear life?”

“It’s Clint and he’s bigger, well, at least wider than us,” laughed Jacob.

“Than you, you mean. I could always explain…”

“Sydney, we are identical! Do you really think you can convince the school bully it was all supposed to be a joke? And at his expense? If he can’t have my hide, your hide is close enough like mine to be tanned.”

“You have a point there.”

 

Clint slowed down in frustration. He could never catch up with them. Hell, both of them were on the football-team and there weren’t that many people who could out-distance the twins. He saw a small rock lying on the ground, picked it up and in pure frustration threw it at their receding backs with all of his force.

Sydney felt the impact to the base of his skull. Instantly everything went black and he could feel himself falling. He never felt the contact he made with the ground.

 

It took Jacob another couple of strides before he noticed that his brother wasn’t running next to him anymore. When he looked back he saw Sydney sprawled face down on the ground. He stopped, loped back to his brother and knelt down beside him.

“Sydney?” He gently prodded his shoulder. He then noticed there was blood on the back of Sydney’s head. His eyes filled with tears, “Sydney?” but Sydney stayed unconscious.

 

A rage built up in Jacob. He stood up and glared at the approaching boys. No longer did he care that there was only one of him and four of them. He had forgotten that he had been the cause of all this in the first place.

“Tu l’as blessé!” [You hurt him.] He shouted, while tears of anger were streaming down his face, “Vous allez me le payer! Salouds!” [You are going to pay for this! Bastards!]

 

When the four had seen Sydney go down, they were shocked at first and had gone over to see if the brother needed a hand. But when they saw the other twin red with rage and shouting foreign words at them, their contriteness was soon forgotten. Whether it was him or his brother who had humiliated Clint with his prank, this one, the one still standing, was going to pay for it!

They advanced on the youth.

 

Two of Clint’s group were ready to back off when they saw the glint of murder in the standing twin, but Clint and his lieutenant moved on. The two who held back later had problems to recount what had actually happened.

Jacob was fast as lightening and combining French Savate with boxing, his speed kicking was hard and high and he packed power behind his punches. Clint and his lieutenant went down in no time and had no inclination to continue the fight. Once they got up, they ran.

 

His rage as quickly forgotten as it had come up, Jacob knelt beside his brother again, “Sydney, Qu’est-ce que j’ai fait? Je promets d’être plus serieux, si tu t’en remet. Je le jure!” [Sydney, what have I done? I promise to be more serious if you are going to be all right Honest. I will.] He was sobbing again, but didn’t dare move Sydney lest his injury to the back of his skull was more severe that it looked.

Sydney groaned and seemed to come to. Jacob kept Sydney still.

 

“Jacob? Why speak French? We’re in America now!” Sydney said confused.

“Sorry, Syd, I’m here, brother. Do you think you can get up by yourself?”

“I think so,” and with the aid of Jacob he got into a sitting position, “Uhm, Jacob?”

“Yes?”

“Have I been out long?”

“Depends how you define ‘long’.”

“Not until evening-time for instance?”

 

Jacob laughed, “Not as long as that, brother. Only about five or ten minutes.”

“I thought as much,” Sydney took a deep shuddering breath, “Then I must be either blind or someone switched the lights on me,” he smiled weakly.

If the comment and the smile had been meant to put Jacob at ease it failed miserably. Jacob could detect the small shudder in Sydney’s voice and he could feel the fear in his brother. He tried to put up a brave front for Sydney’s sake, “Come and let’s get you down to the infirmary. Maybe it is just a side effect of a concussion or something equally minor.”

Sydney nodded.

 

 

They got Sydney down to the infirmary where they concluded a concussion. The two boys were then sent to the hospital to get some further tests done. After the testing Sydney was told that he was blind, but that it would probably be of a temporarily nature. There was pressure on the optic nerve, which caused this and it was their experience that such accidents cleared naturally, given time and rest.

 

They were given the address of an institute who dealt with the blind and might be able to help Sydney cope with the concept. When they were there Sydney expressed the wish to learn Braille and although they said it wasn’t necessary (It might be cleared in weeks!) he insisted, especially since they couldn’t give him an answer in the affirmative how long it would take to clear.

 

Sydney explained to the counsellor that they had only just started at Yale, that they were there on a scholarship and he couldn’t waste time sitting around, waiting and maybe losing his place at Yale’s. Nor was it fair to his brother if he was the one who kept him back.

 

He had set his mind to become a psychiatrist and couldn’t afford to waste time waiting for his handicap to clear up.

The counsellor was impressed by the determination of the boy and his lack of fear of being blind. He warned him that it might take a long time to learn and maybe it was all for nought, but still Sydney insisted. With a shrug the counsellor said he could enrol Sydney in his classes. Jacob could bring him after school and pick him up later.

 

When it came to the matter of payment, the boys went quiet. They had come to America on a scholarship and had no family in the States and what was left of their family in Europe was in no financial condition to help the boys.

The counsellor could see Sydney’s shoulders slump. There was no way they could afford the tuition fees. They just managed a meagre existence on the Grant and hadn’t had time yet to go around looking for work to supplement that. They were also too proud to say this out loud.

 

“Come, Jacob, we’ll find a way.” Sydney got up and with a surety of step… walked straight into a chair. “Merde!”

The counsellor felt sorry for them and said, “Hey boys, ever heard of the saying “I scratch your back and you’ll scratch mine”?”

“Like tit-for-tat?” asked Sydney.

 

The counsellor was surprised that the boy had a good grasp of the English language, even though their accents were strong and he had cursed in French. Canadian, maybe? No he had said Europe. “Yes, something like that. We could make a deal.”

“What sort of a deal?”

“I will teach you Braille and in return you will help me with the kids.”

“What can I do for them?”

“I don’t know, keep them sweet. Talk to them.”

 

“Charity!” Sydney’s face turned red. He was slowly getting enough of having to accept charity all his life, first by strangers after the war. Then by remnants of the family who passed them along from one family-member to another and who couldn’t understand what the boys had been through. The Grant. The list went on, and now this.

“No,” said the counsellor, surprised by Sydney’s reaction, “How many languages do you speak?”

 

Sydney was confused, what did his language skills have to do with the children? He answered, “Well, English, French, German, some Italian and Spanish. Why?”

The counsellor was impressed, “We have kids from all backgrounds and languages here and sometimes we can’t communicate because we are not able to understand each other’s language and that could slow down the healing process. Now you understand?”

A big smile spread over Sydney’s face, “You got yourself a deal!”

 

 

During the day Sydney attended his classes, ever so still, absorbing the lecturers words. Then with Jacob to the institute, home and got everything, which he thought of importance, written down with Jacob’s help. They were long gruelling days for both the boys. But Sydney showed an aptitude for picking up Braille and it was soon that he could read it and was now able to order some books from the library and not be such a burden to Jacob. He still went to the institute to fulfil his part of the bargain and found he enjoyed working with children and teenagers. As a matter of fact he enjoyed the more difficult cases best. He decided there and then that should it become time to choose a direction in his studies, it would lean towards child psychology.

 

Luckily the blindness lasted for under a year. Not too long in a lifetime, but it would have been too long had he had to neglect his studies because of it. He counted his blessings to have been able to study Braille and have a brother like Jacob helping him.

 

Even when his sight had returned, Sydney continued to spent time at the institute to help the children and to keep up his studies of Braille. It also helped him to improve their small income. Jacob had found employ in a bar where he worked a couple of evenings in the week and where his natural joviality was much appreciated by everyone.

 

True to his word, Jacob became more serious, but kept most of the light heartedness, which Sydney thought he himself was lacking.

His determination to go on studying against all odds earned him merits from his teachers. Jacob was excelling in his own studies and both boys went on for another year.

 

 

Present

“Yes,” Sydney mused, “We haven’t done so badly. It’s a pity Jacob hadn’t been able to enjoy it for a longer period.” He sighed. Ah well, apart from being ignored at the moment life wasn’t so bad. If this bout of blindness continued at least he could still read in Braille. He had never let up on it and had been able to use and teach it to some of the children at the Centre and had used in some simulations with Jarod.

 

Over the years he had also picked up the language for the deaf and dumb and lip-reading, although about the last ability he didn’t let on. The bosses in the Centre had seen this at first as a distraction on his part and then saw the advantage of it when they had some deaf or blind potential pretenders in. At least Sydney had the satisfaction that these potentially vulnerable children were not handed over to Raines due to his advantage over him. The children already had to cope with a lot. Handing them over to a monster like Raines would have sent them over the edge.

Yes, life had not been so bad to him, although the quality of his spiritual life might have been better or improved…

 

 

“He just sits there,” said Lyle to Raines. He was watching the security-cameras while Raines was sitting in a wheelchair, recuperating from the blast as well.

“What do you expect him to do?” Raines wheezed, “Rave, rant, hit the walls!”

“I would!”

“And hurt himself? That’s not Sydney! We will let him stew for a little bit longer. He should be feeling quite hungry by now. After a while he will be more pliable, you’ll see!”

 

 

Sydney decided they were deliberately trying to ignore and starve him. He didn’t know how long he had been kept here already before he regained full awareness, but at least four hours must have gone by since he started moving about in the room. The rumble in his stomach told him it had been a while since he had last eaten. He shrugged, he had survived worse.

 

He ran his hand over his face and detected a couple of days worth stubble. He was also more aware that he hadn’t had a wash or a bath for a couple of days. And now that he was thinking about his hygiene he started to feel a strong urge to urinate.

He tried to recall the layout of the room when he was measuring it. Was there anything that could be used as a makeshift toilet? He got up, moved to the table and felt around and under it. Presto! A metal waste bin, not perfect but better than urinating against the wall; he sniggered.

Ah, that felt better!

 

He brushed his hand over the table, empty! He moved back to the bed, felt for his pillow and removed the slipcase. This he then draped over the metal-container. It should stop some of the smell.

He lay down again to get some sleep. It would give him some rest and kept his mind off hunger.

 

 

“Let him stew a bit more! A little more pliable! He’ll feel hungry!” Lyle was pacing the room, “The only ones who are stewing is us! Pliable? Hungry? It doesn’t seem to bother him that much, does it now?”

“Give it some time…”

“We don’t have that much time. They say my father will be out of the infirmary soon and he will want answers. My darling sister is getting fidgety and will be starting to snoop around. We don’t know how temporary his blindness is. And the Triumvirate wants Jarod to be found… fast! I don’t think we have that much time to just wait around. I say, we move in and “coerce” him into reasoning.”

 

A hungry gleam appeared in Raines’ eyes, “Coerce, I like that word. Let’s “coerce” him tomorrow, shall we?” an evil grin spread over his skull-like face, it even made Lyle shudder.

Lyle looked back at the monitor, “Oh God, he even peed in the wastepaper bin!”

“Where else would you want him to do it? Against the wall?”

Lyle glared at him. Their subject made himself ready to go to sleep again, unbeknownst further frustrating Lyle.

 

 

When next he woke up, Sydney felt a bit better. His back wasn’t hurting so much now, but the hunger was now joined by thirst. He lay still to preserve his energy and with his face to the wall he wetted his lips. He didn’t know how long he could keep this up and how long he had been here already. How patient were his captors?

He tried to remember how long a person could go without water before all sorts of trouble, like kidney-failure, sets in. It only made him thirsty and he couldn’t remember anyway.

He tried to sit up, to attract their attention, but a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over him and he decided that lying still would be a better idea. He waited.

 

 

The motion had not been lost on Raines who had been watching the screen like a patient vulture. A grin spread over his face, he nudged Lyle, “I think it’s time we have a talk with Dr Green.”

 

 

Sydney heard the door to his cell (he wasn’t thinking of it as a room anymore) open and asked hoarsely, “Who is there?” and was surprised how raw his voice really was.

There was no answer, but he could hear a distinct wheezing intake of breath and the smell of after-shave, which he associated with one man, “Ah, Mr Raines and Mr Lyle! Come to pay me a visit? Did you bring the grapes?”

It infuriated Lyle that, although sounding painfully hoarse, due to the lack of liquids, and being blind, Sydney managed to sound quite flippant and casual. He gnashed his teeth.

 

Raines, on the other hand, had seen through Sydney’s ruse and saw how he had to swallow deeply to create the effect of sounding jovial. He had also noticed that Sydney managed to fight back a wave of dizziness when he sat up on the edge of the bed. He brought his wheelchair closer to the bed.

Sydney’s face turned to him, “You haven’t come out of it unscathed either, have you?”

Raines felt discomfited. It almost looked as if Sydney’s blind eyes could stare right through him. “Better than you fared,” he retorted.

“Was it one of your oxygen tanks that blew up?” Sydney asked innocently.

“We wouldn’t be talking to each other if it had been. I could hear you shout, “It’s a bomb!” How did you know?”

“Did I?”

“Yesss you did!” Raines’ sibilant whisper became stronger, a sign that he was getting annoyed.

“Why am I put in the Renewal Wing?” Sydney diverted the conversation, “A bit of room service wouldn’t be out of place either.”

 

Raines said, “If you are willing to co-operate we can do something about that.”

“Ask and I see if I can accommodate you.” Lyle could only stare in amazement at Sydney.

A nasty smile crept over Raines’ face, but before he could say anything Lyle said, “Tell us where Jarod is.” Raines shot a nasty look at him.

“So, he escaped,” thought Sydney. He said instead, “Wish I could help you there, but being locked up in here I know even less about his whereabouts than you do.”

“You must have an idea.”

“You mean you can’t track him? What a pity. How about Broots or Miss Parker? They have been on the chase as long as I have.”

“We want to know it from you!” Lyle said, receiving another glare from Raines.

 

Sydney “looked” at Lyle, who had to turn his head away, “You mean to say, actually, that you don’t know where he is and that you don’t care where he is at the moment. I am in the Renewal Wing (-he stated that as a fact, rather than a question-) and this is your plan to re-educate me. Knowing full well that I don’t know where Jarod is. Well, those kinds of tactics are not going to work. I would rather die than give in to you!” He should have phrased it differently.

 

Sydney could almost feel the smile creeping on Raines’ face that would turn his face into a reptilian mask, “You might have to do just that, Dr Green, I can be very accommodating in that respect if necessary. But you are right, asking you now where Jarod is would be like asking Mr Lyle here to tell me the distance to the sun to a hundredth of an inch accurately. I’ll see to some arrangements.”

 

“It would be appreciated,” Sydney said just as amicably.

“Any immediate questions?”

“Yes, how are the Parkers?”

“Sorry, can’t tell you that! Anything else?”

“No.”

“We see each other soon, Dr Green.”

They left, leaving Sydney alone staring straight ahead. Small lines of worry creasing his brows.

 

 

When they got back to their observation post, Lyle turned to Raines in frustration, “I thought we were going to “talk” to Sydney. We weren’t even questioning him! We just mollycoddled him!”

“Letting Sydney eat and drink, in moderation of course, will keep some of his strength up, we don’t want him to die on us… yet, do we? It was very unfortunate that you had to ask where Jarod is, now he knows that Jarod is still on the loose. He doesn’t know where Jarod is, but Jarod isn’t his only weak spot. Luckily for us the man is full of principles. We can use that against him. His mind is quite strong at the moment; it will not be easily broken, but it can be… given the right tools.”

 

Lyle smiled, “You are thinking of lacing his food or drink!”

“Mildly, maybe, and than letting him believe that one day we put it in his food and the other day in his drink. We shouldn’t have to do anything, just let his own mind do the work. If we also only give him minimal supplies of food, he will come to rely on us.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“Stronger dosages or physical persuasion, we just have to wait and see.” They both chuckled.

 

 

Sydney waited. He knew that they were going to play mind games with him. He had no inclination to believe otherwise. He didn’t believe for a minute that Raines or Lyle was going to treat him with kindness. If that had been the case they would have left him in the infirmary instead of stowing him away in the “deeper dungeons”.

He was glad that they had left. The little energy he had used to sit up and talk as if nothing was wrong had used his last bit of strength. He lay down again and gave himself over to sweet oblivion.

 

 

When he woke up he knew someone had been in. He sniffed the air. The odour of his earlier urination had gone. At least they had taken that out and hopefully replaced it with something more suitable.

 

With any luck they had left him some refreshments as well. He got up slowly, not wanting to crash into something if his strength would fade all of a sudden, and moved towards the table. His hands moved gently over the surface and his lips curled into a small smile when his hands encountered a tall glass and a plate. He didn’t care if they had laced it, which was probably the case. He brought the glass to his mouth and took a small sip. He had no idea that water could taste this wonderful.

 

He let it be followed by a couple of more small sips, it would be no good to drink it all at once and be sick on it. He remembered his first taste of chocolate after they were freed from the Camp and even the smell of chocolate could make him feel nauseous nowadays.

 

He put the glass down and moved his hand over the plate. Sandwiches. He picked up a piece and took a bite from it. Just an ordinary cheese sandwich. He took another couple of sips of water and took one slice of the sandwich with him and sat on the edge of the bed while eating it. He would take the other piece a little bit later.

Slowly he let his stomach get used to having something solid inside him.

 

 

“This is driving me mad,” said Lyle, “It’s like watching paint dry. If you want to stay with the monitor, be my guest, I have better things to do.” He put on his jacket and without waiting for an answer left the room.

Raines stayed and watched the monitor. Yes, it seemed as if Sydney was untroubled with it all, but still… he had to feel some anxiety with the thought of being blind?

 

Raines looked with a glint of hatred at the unmoving figure on the bed. It was unnatural that he just sat there, even with a hint of a smile on his face.

Raines remembered his own anxiety when the oxygen tank had been blown up by Sydney and left him to spend weeks in the infirmary in agonizing pain, all for the sake of the labrat. He wanted to see Sydney suffer too, but isolation and blindness didn’t seem to bother him.

 

He wondered how Sydney would react to physical pain and a smile curled around his lips. He had doubts that physical “persuasion” would make much difference to Sydney, quite some discomfort for certain, only for that Raines would still consider it as a first rather than a last option.

 

Then another thought struck him, which made him smile even broader. Good, principled Sydney, what would upset him more than physical pain? The threat of others being hurt! He didn’t even have to actually hurt them; just letting Sydney believe that he had or would be. His smile grew when he started to develop the idea in his mind.

 

 

The subject of his thoughts was doing some thinking of his own.

One: Jarod had escaped, or else they wouldn’t ask him about it. Had they caught him they would rather taunt than ask him.

Two: Broots should be relatively safe. He wasn’t even in the corridor when the bomb went off.

Three: unless Miss Parker was injured in the fall she should be relatively unharmed too. Her father’s body should have protected her from the blast as his body had done with Jarod and Jarod had escaped.

Four: Mr Parker should still be alive, at least, or Lyle wouldn’t have to hide behind Raines but would have already ordered to put a bullet through his head.

 

For himself he couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. He smiled at the analogy, very apt to his situation at the moment. And then he became serious again. To be at the mercy of the two biggest psychopaths of the Centre wasn’t his immediate idea of fun, but dwelling on it could make his mindset worse and he was betting money on it that where those two were concerned matters could go from bad to worse.

 

 

Raines and Lyle were back in his room and this time they had brought two Sweepers with them.

“It’s time for your re-education lessons,” Lyle said cheerfully. Sydney’s heart sank, but he showed no outward emotion. At a motion from Lyle the two Sweepers hauled Sydney off the bed and marched him out of the room. Behind him he could hear Raines’ wheelchair.

They went to the end of the corridor and they didn’t have to walk far. Mentally Sydney tried to picture the layout, if only to keep himself from imagining what the other two had in store for him. A door opened and they entered a large room. It was cold.

 

Without saying a word the two Sweepers took Sydney’s clothes off and he was awkwardly aware of his nakedness. He was already barefooted and without his clothes the room was quite cold. They let him stand in the middle of the room and manacled his wrists to two chains hanging from the ceiling.

A strong burst of ice-cold water hitting his body made him gasp for air.

“I thought you could do with a wash,” Raines said menacingly, “I know you always like to look your best. Don’t you think I’m very accommodating now?” He chuckled.

 

Sydney could only gasp when the water continued hitting him. When it finally stopped he hung weakly in the chains. He was shivering from the cold and couldn’t stop his teeth from clattering. The two psychopaths were smiling now.

“Now, how did you know there was a bomb in the corridor?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sydney said shivering violently and trying to keep upright.

“Oh yes you do,” said Raines, “I could hear you. Who are you protecting?”

“Nobody! You must have imagined it!” Sydney smiled. This earned him a slap across the face from Lyle. If he could help it he wasn’t going to tell them he had planted the bomb.

“Had Jarod planted the bomb?”

“No! I… don’t know.”

 

Raines had noticed the slight hesitation, “I think you do know who did.” Sydney stayed silent. “Well, we do have ways of finding out and we have all the time of the world.”

Sydney knew he was lying, he could hear it in his voice. He kept his mouth shut.

“Normally you have so much to tell us. Why not now?”

Sydney said nothing and got another slap across the face from Lyle, “Dr Raines asked you a question, so, answer!”

 

“Mr Raines should then ask me questions to which I know the answer,” Sydney said defiantly and could almost see Raines’ face when he refused to use his official title. Wrong move. He should learn to keep his sarcasm under control. It earned him two harder slaps across the face. He could hear Lyle walk around him and tried to keep from fidgeting.

Lyle laid his hand on his back, “Your back seem to be healing nicely. It would be a pity if we had to damage it again.” Again he ran his hand lightly over Sydney’s back, it sent an involuntary shiver down Sydney’s back. “Uncomfortable? Or do you like it?” Sydney kept his mouth shut.

 

“Now, who planted the bomb?”

Sydney thought they must know, maybe they had found the security tapes?

“Not very co-operative, aren’t we?”

Sydney stayed silent. They either knew or they were stabbing in the dark. The analogy brought a smile to his face, but it was soon wiped off his face and a scream tore from his lips when a whip was laid over his damaged back. He hung in his chains, trembling.

“Now, will you be more co-operative or do you want more?”

 

“Go to hell,” hissed Sydney. He knew there was more to come, whether he was co-operative or not, and he braced himself. The hits on his back and shoulders were hard and brutal and hurt like hell. He couldn’t keep himself from grimacing in pain, but he had the satisfaction of denying them their pleasure of hearing him cry out. It wasn’t long before his weakened condition made him pass out.

 

Breathing from the exertion Lyle looked at the back of his unconscious victim who hung heavily in his chains. There were some angry welts and one of the lashes had made a cut in the left shoulder. He was frustrated that, apart from the first scream, Sydney had stayed relatively silent throughout the proceedings. He motioned the Sweepers to revive Sydney with the cold-water hoses and had the satisfaction that Sydney gasped into consciousness.

“Are you going to be more amicable or…”

“Go to hell and take your lackey with you,” Sydney gasped shivering. He braced himself again for what was to come and did not cry out when the whip hit his left shoulder.

Another session started and was like a repeat performance, with hardly a peep issuing from Sydney’s lips before he passed out again.

 

“This is unnatural,” gasped Lyle while he looked at Sydney’s slumped figure. His back had more cuts than welts now.

“No, this is Sydney!” said Raines, “He knows how to play mind games too and will use it to his own advantage, even if it hurts him. I suspect him of having sentiments of martyrdom hidden in him. Pah!”

“But a whipping like that…”

“I told you his mind is strong, even to the extent of suppressing his physical well-being and we need other ways to persuade him.”

“Maybe the electric…”

“Maybe other than giving him a heart attack and satisfying your own pleasure (-he did not include himself in the equation-) it will resolve nothing. Other tactics are necessary here.”

 

“What do you have in mind?”

“Still working on it. It has to be subtle enough to get past his defences.”

“Then why agree to a physical questioning?”

“It could have worked,” said Raines with an unpleasant smile, which made even Lyle shudder. It was no big secret that there was no love lost between the two psychiatrists.

“I better get him dried, dressed and back to his room then.”

“No, leave him like that for a short while. Give him the impression we might continue.”

 

 

Sydney came to a short while later. He was a bit surprised that he was still hanging from the chains, but that they hadn’t revived him the way they did the last time. He tried to straighten up and winced from the pain in his back. His arm muscles were feeling the strain too of hanging from his wrists. The whole room seemed quiet. Had they left? Most unlikely!

His attempts to straighten out and put less weight on his wrists only resulted in passing out again.

 

 

“Our Sydney is getting quite a bit of rest lately, hasn’t he?” chuckled Lyle.

“Yes, but watching a sleeping man is getting to be boring!” crumbled Raines who had been just as frustrated as Lyle when they didn’t get the desired effect he had been hoping for. He had guessed that Sydney might defy them on that point, but to see it happen… His off-hand remark about Sydney’s stamina was to cover the hurt of his pride and although the explanation had satisfied Lyle it left a discordant feeling in his own stomach. He would have to find another way to break that spirit. It had been unfortunate that Lyle had slipped the information to Sydney that Jarod was still on the loose. He couldn’t use that card now.

Still, he had more irons in the fire.

 

 

Sydney had regained consciousness while still tethered. He tried his voice and found it weak, but still strong enough to be heard, “Anybody out there?” he asked tauntingly, and “I’m getting tired of hanging around!” Despite his pain he chuckled.

 

He gasped when he was hosed down with water again, but this time it helped revive his flagging reserves and when he could speak again he asked, “Can’t you change your repertoire?”

It infuriated Lyle and his hands itched to lay it around Sydney’s throat, Raines intervened, “Do you have a penchant for pain or a death wish?”

“Neither, but your methods are hardly creative, aren’t they?”

“Well, we could accommodate you on the creativity, could we? Any suggestions?”

Sydney was wondering if he had gone too far this time and kept his mouth shut. He was shivering all over his body now from the cold.

 

“How creative can we be? Any suggestions? Just nod, Sydney, if it is creative enough! We could use the electric rods or an extra dose of caning instead of whipping. No? The Chinese Water torture, perhaps. Hang you upside down to give you a different view to the world, no, that wouldn’t be any good since you can’t see anyway. Maybe a touch of good honest rape?”

An involuntary shudder of disgust went through Sydney.

 

“Ah, a soft spot there.” Lyle walked over to Sydney and dropped his hands gently on Sydney’s shoulders, caressing it. Sydney had been determent not to show any hint of how he felt, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying to draw away from those hands. Lyle moved his hands slowly over Sydney’s chest, “Is there reluctance here? Or is it liking?”

“I’m just cold,” Sydney said with a shiver and tried to keep the revulsion out of his voice.

“Are you now?” Lyle moved his hands towards Sydney’s stomach, “Do you want me to warm you up? Or maybe one of the Sweepers?”

 

It was no use, Sydney couldn’t keep himself from showing how distasteful this was to him and he spit in Lyle’s face, “Get your hands off me, Lyle, or I’ll…”

“Or do what?” Lyle said, standing in front of Sydney and pressing his hands on his chest.

“This,” said Sydney and brought his knee up to connect with Lyle’s groin, he went down with a whimper. Sydney couldn’t see Lyle’s face, but he imagined what he would look like, lying on the floor, trying to soothe the pain in his groin.

 

The interaction made Raines smile, stupid Lyle! Who in his right mind stands in front of a victim who hasn’t got his feet manacled to the floor? That will teach him. At a motion from him the two Sweepers walked over to Sydney and held him firmly rooted on the spot.

 

Lyle had climbed back to his feet and with tear-filled eyes filled with hatred looked Sydney in the face, this time mindful that Sydney couldn’t bring his knee up again. “You do that again and I’ll kill you on the spot!” He hit Sydney a couple of times with his fist in the stomach, “Never again, you hear?” The subject of his abuse hung close to the verge of passing out in his chains.

“Mr Lyle!” a sharp command from Raines made him stop.

 

On a quick command from Raines the two Sweepers dried Sydney off, took his shackles off, dressed him and dragged him out of the room.

Raines turned to Lyle before leaving the room, “We don’t want him dead… yet, Mr Lyle, not until we have Jarod in our custody, remember that! What happens after that…” He turned and wheeled himself out of the room. Leaving Lyle to nurture the pain in his groin.

 

 

Sydney came to in his cell again. He was lying face down and when he moved, his back hurt like hell. He tried to lie still, but he was also very thirsty. With difficulty he managed to get himself into an upright position and moved over to the table. The glass was still there and with badly shaking hands he slowly took a large sip of the water. The gulp had been deep and after he swallowed it he thought it tasted strange, but before he could analyse why, he keeled over.

 

 

When he came to he found himself lying between the bed and the table at an awkward angle. Disengaging himself from this position was a rather painful affair and he imagined Raines’ smiling face if he was watching the cell.

He got to his bed again and lay on his stomach. His back was throbbing now and it was all made worse by a terrible headache. Maybe Raines and Lyle had got the better of him anyway.

 

For the next two days he was drifting in and out of sleep, if one could call it that. When he was awake he only drank the water in one go after he had taken it to bed and when it tasted all right after a careful sip, which meant he didn’t drink too much. He treated the food the same way.

 

His brow felt feverish and he guessed that it must have been a combination of the whipping he had received, the cuts on his back had not been treated at all, the cold water dousing, the lack of nourishment and overall weakness. But he was determined that those two had to come up with a better plan to make him think otherwise. Determination was now overriding his natural survival instinct.

 

 

About three days after his re-education lessons, during which time he was left alone, he was woken out of his reverie by a sound at the door, more like a fumbling. He doubted that it was the terrible “twins” come to visit him. They had no need for stealth. He slowly sat up on the edge of the bed.

He could hear the door open. Could hear someone slip inside and closing the door quickly again. This was a person who did not want to be detected. For a small while it was quiet and then he could hear the person utter a sigh of relief. “Who’s there?” he asked.

 

There was a rustle at the door when the person quickly spun round and he heard the familiar voice of Miss Parker exclaim in shock, “My God! Sydney!” Did he really look that terrible that she was shocked to see him?

“Miss Parker…” he started, he was happy to hear that his voice had its old timbre back, or as near as possible, so he wouldn’t scare her away. Was she real? Or was he hallucinating now?

 

With unbelieving eyes Miss Parker looked at the figure sitting on the edge of a hard looking bed in the semi-darkness. He looked liked Sydney, alright, but he was unshaven, unkempt and he looked drawn and tired, “I thought you were…”

“…Dead,” he concluded the sentence for her, “Give them time!”

 

He could feel her sit down beside him. Her presence next to him was quite comforting and for a brief moment he was savouring the human contact. She turned towards him, “What the hell have they done to you down here?”

He contemplated telling her exactly what had happened, but while they were listening to the screams from the other cells along the corridor he could sense her discomfort and he decided against it. It was no good getting her all worried about him. Luckily she wasn’t one of these women who went in for group hugs and the like, so there was no danger of her finding out what they had done to his back. He wouldn’t have been able to withstand a hug anyway.

Instead he said in an off-hand way, “I believe the term is re-education. But I would plant the bomb again to save that child.”

 

Miss Parker could hear the pain and the anger in Sydney’s voice and she was genuinely concerned about her friend, “There is nothing I can do to save you from this.”

With resignation in his voice Sydney answered, “I’m not interested in saving myself. Jarod? Was he able to make it out safely?”

 

Miss Parker looked down, “In body, yes, but Jarod flipped out. Pulled a psycho Martha Stewart at a Centre Records Lab.” She saw a DSA-reader propped up against the wall, put it on the chair’s seat and inserted the DSA of Jarod’s actions at the Centre records lab when he thrashed the Centre’s satellite office and played it.

 

Sydney could hear the anguish and the pain in Jarod’s howls and he was worried about his former charge, he felt helpless, stuck where he was and not having been able to comfort Jarod when he needed him most, “That’s what I’ve been afraid of all this time. That one day the pressure of living in the outside world and the truth about his past would come crashing down upon him.”

 

Miss Parker stared at the screen, not noticing that Sydney was still staring straight ahead and her voice was full of worry, “I need your help. I need to bring him in and I need to know what I am up against.”

She watched Jarod's final assault on the surveillance camera again.

Sydney could only agree with her, “The anguish of his cry comes from deep within.”

 

Miss Parker found that a strange choice of words and looked at Sydney. For the first time she noticed that he hadn’t moved from the position she had found him in. She raised her hand and gently moved it in front of Sydney’s staring eyes and realisation dawned on her, “Oh Sydney. You can’t see!” She looked at him sadly.

Sydney grinned wanly, “Call it poetic justice.” He stood up, away from her prying eyes.

 

She looked up at him with concern, “There must be something…”

“Bring me anything Jarod left behind before he did this.” He spread his arms wide as if to push at imaginary walls, as if he could push it away, “They will never let me out of here. And there’s little time. This may be my last chance to help Jarod…” he turned sharply to Miss Parker and concluded sadly, “…or you.”

 

 

When she left the warmth he had felt for a brief moment seemed to seep back out of the cell again. At least she knew he was alive and some of the burden was lifted from his shoulders knowing that she had come out of the blast practically unharmed.

He was worried for Jarod. What he had heard on the DSA was a man in deep emotional turmoil. He clenched his fists in helplessness and anger, “And I hadn’t been there to help him pull out of it,” Sydney thought.

Had he known about this instead of being cooped up in here, held a prisoner, he might have been able to ease Jarod’s mind and prevent this from happening.

He hoped Miss Parker could sneak back and give him more clues to work on, so he still might be able to save Jarod, even if it was too late for himself.

 

 

Some time later she sneaked back, this time bringing Broots with her. They also brought Sydney the items they'd gotten from Jarod's locker at the records office in York. Gently Sydney ran his hands over the articles and found them to be pill bottles and books.

 

He sat back, unable to see what was on the labels or the titles of the books and waited until Broots read to him what was on the labels. When he finished reading them, Sydney explained what they were, “Neuro inhibitors, anti-depressants, anti-psychotics.”

Miss Parker frowned, “Self medicating?”

“That’s not like Jarod.”

“Well,” Miss Parker guffawed, “the man who destroyed that room is not like Jarod.”

“No, you are right.”

 

Broots had started taking the books out of the box and read them aloud. ““Shedding Light on the Schizophrenic Mind”, “Dementia, The Phantom Within”,  “Dementia Praecox”.” Out of habit he held one of the titles up in front of Sydney to read and then realised his error. He dropped his eyes back to the box and hoped nobody had noticed, but a glance from Miss Parker and a half grin from Sydney, who somehow guessed what he had done, told him otherwise. He said quickly, “They’re all books on the troubled mind.”

Sydney’s voice filled with anguish, “If we had only gotten to him sooner.”

 

Miss Parker was worried for the state of Sydney’s mind, “I wish things were different too, Sydney, but all the pieces to this crazy jigsaw fit.”

Sydney could feel all of his muscles tighten and he sat back.

Broots finally lifted out the last book and read the title aloud, ““Houdini, The Man and His Escapes.” Not this one.”

The last book brought a small smile to Sydney’s face. Maybe not everything was lost.

All too soon the other two left, leaving Sydney on his own.

 

 

Left to his own devices, Sydney contemplated the situation. Hearing about Jarod’s plight made him feel stronger that he had been for days. Jarod needed him that was all that mattered.

Miss Parker and Broots couldn’t do it all on their own. He had to find a way to get out of here, even if it meant giving in to Raines and Lyle.

No, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let the two win.

 

He eased his back against the wall, wincing when he made contact. His wrists itched and when he touched it he could feel the welts and the healing scabs, evidence of the shackles used there. He was surprised and relieved that neither Broots nor Miss Parker had noticed them. Then again, the sleeves of his sweater were long and he hadn’t made any movements to ride them up.

 

When he thought over what he had learned today he wondered if Jarod had really gone crazy. After all, he was a pretender. He could have, the medication pointed in that direction, but the last book…

Broots had picked it up, read the title and tossed it aside thinking it had no bearing on the case. Sydney thought differently. Jarod never did anything by half. Anything he had ever left behind for them to be found always had some bearing on the cases he had been working on, however small the detail.

 

Of course, Broots and Parker could be right and finding out about project Gemini followed by the bomb blast could have tipped his mind over the edge, but somehow Sydney didn’t think so.

He wondered if they had been monitoring his conversations with Parker and Broots. He suspected they had been monitoring him most of the time. He had no way of knowing whether the security cameras were on. The new cameras didn’t make a sound. One could only tell if they were on by the blipping light on the side. Blast his eyes!

 

 

They brought the food and water in a little while after Parker and Broots had left. This time they hadn’t waited until he was asleep again. Mind, he had been so pre-occupied with Parker, Broots and Jarod that he hadn’t even thought about eating or drinking for that matter. Maybe they had expected him to be asleep.

 

“What’s on the menu today? Hemlock or valium?” he said jovially to the unseen attendant. The answer was silence. Either the man didn’t understand the joke or he was under strict orders not to talk to Sydney. Sydney made to shrug his shoulders and then thought the better of it.

 

After the man had left Sydney picked up the water. No funny smell, no funny taste. He drained the glass in one go. No funny effects. The drugs must be in the food this time. Well, he wasn’t particularly hungry anyway and he needed a clear mind to think about Jarod’s problem.

 

Shortly thereafter he heard the door to his cell open again and the unmistakable wheeze of Raines filled the room.

“Not hungry, I see,” there was a threat in his voice.

“No,” said Sydney simply.

“If I were you Sydney, I would eat. I question how many more opportunities you will have to do so.”

“So, let them starve me,” thought Sydney, “they wouldn’t dare!”

 

He got hold of the food tray and threw it in the direction of Raines’ voice. Before he threw it he had felt the shape of an apple and he held on to it. Unless they had injected it with drugs it should be safe enough to eat later on. The sound of the tray hitting the opposite wall was a bit disappointing. It had missed Raines completely. Maybe next time…

Raines raised his eyebrow in surprise. He had expected Sydney to be more docile, not defiant like this. Then Sydney took a bite of the apple he was holding, his stance rebellious, as if to say, “Try me!” his half smile appearing on his face, infuriating Raines.

 

In disgust Raines wheeled out of the room. On his way out he noticed Lyle slipping into the room. “Well, good luck to you,” he thought. The door closed.

For a moment Sydney thought he was alone and the hand holding the apple dropped. “There goes the apple for a rainy day,” he thought. He detected a slight movement, someone breathing. “What more do you want Raines?” No answer, “Who’s there?” he asked aloud.

“A friend,” came the soft voice of Lyle. Whatever his intentions, his voice didn’t sound too friendly and Sydney shuddered.

 

 

Lyle opened the door and two Sweepers entered. They were the same two Sweepers of a couple of days ago. Sydney remembered their smell. They took hold of his arms and marched him out of his cell. This time they brought him to a smaller room where he was placed on a chair. They stepped back.

 

“You have been talking to my sister,” Lyle’s voice whispered in his left ear. “What about? Jarod?”

Sydney wondered. If they had been monitoring him, why didn’t Lyle know what they had been talking about? He stayed silent, let him guess!

“You know what happened last time you kept your mouth shut,” Lyle said forebodingly.

“Miss Parker knows where I am now and that I am still alive!”

 

“Yes, It is an added complication, but not too great an obstacle. There are other methods to coerce your co-operation,” he sniggered. He motioned to the Sweepers and Sydney could feel rough hands remove his sweater and strap his limbs tightly to the chair. He heard the crackle of electricity coming from Lyle’s direction.

 

“Where was I? Oh, yes, different methods of persuasion…” he brought the electric rods closer to Sydney’s skin, who could feel the hairs on the back of his arm rise in static. His breathing quickened.

“Now, are you going to be stubborn and I have to continue or are you going to talk to me?”

Closer the rods came and Sydney knew there was no use to oppose Lyle on this one, a sheen of sweat had spread over his upper body, “No, I will talk…”

 

Lyle sat back and smiled, “Good, I am glad you have came to your senses. How did my sister know where to find you?”

“I don’t know,” said Sydney truthfully.

“She must have told you?”

“No she just appeared in my cell one day.”

“And I have to believe you?”

“Yes! You are the one holding the… cards at the moment.”

“Hm. You talked about Jarod?”

“Yes.”

“Any leads?”

“Miss Parker thinks he’s dropped over the edge. Lost his marbles, gone crazy.”

“But you don’t think so?”

“Based on what she brought me I tend to agree with her,” Sydney said evasively.

 

“Gone off his rocker, eh?” Lyle mused. Not surprising, really. He wondered why Jarod hadn’t lost his mind sooner.

He studied Sydney’s face. Apart from the stubble, which was now growing into a grey beard and signs of weariness, there was nothing that could betray what he was really thinking or feeling. “The eyes must be the keepers of the soul,” he thought, “without them there is nothing.”

 

He turned his attention back to Sydney. “You were talking about a game plan, weren’t you?”

“She and Broots were. I could only act as a sounding board”

“And that was all you talked about?”

“What else is there to talk about?” Sydney answered annoyed.

“Oh, I don’t know… The blast, her health, your re-education…”

“I am not as sick as you, Lyl…”

Lyle struck him across the face for that, “You don’t learn do you?”

 

“Sorry, Lyle, just came out the wrong way,” Sydney hated to grovel, but if he wanted to be of any help to Jarod or Miss Parker then his first aim was to get out of here, even if it meant grovelling to the likes of Lyle.

Lyle sat back with a satisfied grin on his face, “That’s better! I knew you would be more co-operative once we had a word. And to think that Raines doubted my methods, hah, what does he know!”

Sydney said nothing. Let the poor fool delude himself!

 

“You and me are going to work together,” Lyle laughed. Sydney lifted his head. “There are a couple of things I need to find out and you are the man to help me with that.”

“Jarod?”

“Screw Jarod! My sister is already after him. No, this is more important.”

“How can I help you? My eyesight…”

“We can do something about that and if it doesn’t help… Don’t worry; it’s not your ability to see that I need. Funny enough, it’s your ability to read Braille and you language skills I’m after.”

“Are you not afraid I might betray what we find?”

“Not really. I have been thinking of a safeguard.” It was the way Lyle said it that made Sydney cringe inwardly. “You remembered what happened a few days ago!”

“I am old, Lyle, not senile!”

 

“I wasn’t implying that, Sydney, not at all. I just wanted you to remember it.”

“If that’s your threat, then…”

“You don’t let me finish. It is more subtle than that,” he paused to observe a small frown on Sydney’s face, “I want you to remember how it felt, what was going through your mind then. I want you to imagine how it would feel to, say, Miss Parker, Broots, Angelo or… (-he paused for effect and Sydney expected him to say “Jarod”, but was shocked when he said-) Debbie Can you imagine how it would feel to a sweet, innocent, little…”

“Stop!” Sydney shouted, straining in vain against his bonds, “You sick, little bastard…”

 

Lyle just sat back, a big smile on his face. He got Sydney where he wanted him, “Do you think you can protect them all? You can’t even protect yourself at the moment. Just look at you! Sorry, you can’t even do that!” He sniggered maliciously.

 

Sydney hung his head. He knew Lyle was right. He was just wondering what the little creep had in mind. Possibly something that could harm a lot of people. And what would happen to him afterwards? If he helped Lyle with whatever he was after would he then consider Sydney a threat? Have him “cleaned up”? On the other hand he had to get out of here and he had already told Jarod once that in effect it didn’t matter whether he was alive or dead, not after Jacob’s death. He had to find out what Lyle was after. He might be able to use it later. Although still breathing heavily, Sydney stopped straining against his bonds. It just cost him a lot of energy and wasn’t getting him anywhere. “So what do you want me to do, Lyle?”

 

Lyle smiled broadly now, “There are some… reports in my possession, which were written by one of the, ah, patients here. Unfortunately it is written in Braille and since you can read it…”

“Wouldn’t the Centre have transcripts of it?”

“Yes, but they are classified.”

“Then how did you get the reports?”

“Would you believe I stumbled on them? No, I didn’t think you would. Let’s just say, that for the moment they are in my possession and I want them read. Understood? Good!”

“Why not just ask me instead of trying to get it through force?” Sydney lowered his voice.

“I couldn’t trust you to do it without telling the others, could I?”

“You also said you needed my language-skills. Why?”

“The… ah… patient was European and no, I don’t know which nationality. I also don’t know in which language it is written.”

“Then why do you want to know what is in the reports?” Sydney was genuinely confused.

“I just do! Just leave it to that!”

“So, you need me!”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

 

“If I have to help you, I want to be out of the Renewal wing, go home, wash and change. I need a clear mind, so, no more food or drinks laced with drugs.”

“You have nothing to demand. I could stop the lacing of drugs, but letting you go home…”

“I could sit back and don’t even touch the reports.”

“I could go after the others…”

“…And make me more determined not to help you.”

 

Lyle looked at Sydney. He thought he had him by the short and curly’s. Now the table seemed to be turned again. He was sure Sydney could make true his threat, the same as Sydney knew Lyle would keep his. Of course he could go outside the Centre to let someone else translate the Braille reports, but than he might have to murder, sorry “cleanse”, the translator with a possible lead to him or the Centre. He knew he couldn’t trust anyone at the Centre and Sydney knew that as well. By agreeing to Sydney’s demands he might let him know how important the files might be, but he had not much of a choice. On the other hand Sydney might be easier to control.

 

He looked at Sydney’s calm face and reached a decision, “Okay, you can go home, but on certain conditions. You will not convey any messages to my sister or Broots as to the nature of the translations, not even in the future. You will work solely for me until the translations are done. Let the others go after Jarod.”

“They might want my advice.”

“Unless you have to you will leave them to me. If you violate any of the above than, trust me, the first person I will go after will be Debbie!” He watched in satisfaction when he saw the veins in Sydney’s temples stand out, “Do I have your word?”

“Yes.”

“Do I have your solemn word?” Lyle knew that Sydney would keep it if he gave it; Sydney would keep a promise to the devil rather than break it.

“Yes, you have, but let me give you a promise in return. You touch any of them for no other reason than your own pathetic perversions and you better watch your back especially on dark and foggy nights.”

 

Lyle could hear by Sydney’s tone of voice that this was no idle threat; he might have to deal with Sydney after all when everything was over, “That’s settled than. They will bring you back to your room, while I clear it with Raines.”

He wasn’t surprised when Sydney didn’t thank him for the solution when the two men unstrapped from the chair him and escorted him back to his cell.

 

 

The way things had turned about and also the reasoning behind it surprised Sydney. He had to wait to find out why, but for the moment, if Lyle kept up his part of the bargain, he was free to help Miss Parker and Jarod. He had to be discreet about it. There was no sense in trying to provoke Lyle following up on his threats.

 

He wondered if Lyle was serious about letting him go or if this was another attempt of trying to break him. He didn’t have to wait long. His shoes and keys were brought to him, the only worthwhile survivors of the blast. The irony of the whole situation was not lost on Sydney. Prisoner in a cell one minute and free to roam the next. For the Centre total freedom was relative and a rare commodity.

 

Lyle himself dropped him off at his house. He had turned his demeanour a full 180 degrees, “Do you want me to stay and help you out with anything?”

“No,” said Sydney resolutely, “I like to be on my own for a while.”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning than. And no contact with the others,” he added as an unnecessary precaution before driving off.

Sydney had already turned and walked to his front door, waving his hand in understanding and dismissal. He could hear Lyle’s car disappear in the distance.

 

He dropped his shoulders and for the first time in a long while relaxed. He hadn’t even realised how tense he was until now. He let himself into the house and was savouring the silence and the clean smell. Closing the door softly he went up the stairs and indulged in a two-hour soak before walking into the kitchen and enjoying his first absolutely tainted-free water for a week.

 

After a simple meal of some bread, which he kept in the freezer for emergencies, and cheese he went to bed.

The comfort he felt of sleeping in his own bed, feeling the softness of the mattress caress his tired and painful body nearly made him cry. For the first time in a long while he fell in a fitful and dreamless sleep.

 

 

The next morning Lyle picked him up to drive him to the Centre. He was surprised to find Sydney waiting for him, clean-shaven and properly attired and wondered how he managed to do that on his own. Lyle had brought him a white stick to guide him around, which was heartily accepted by Sydney. Lyle only wondered slightly how Sydney managed to walk around with it so confidently after only having been blinded for such a short time, but he put this down as a practice he might have had to explain sims to Jarod in the past.

 

When they got to the Centre Lyle immediately went to the sim-lab with Sydney. He had the manuscript with him and placed it in front of Sydney.

“Why here,” asked Sydney while he was feeling the binding of the book.

“I thought you might like to work in familiar surroundings.” Sydney nodded.

The binding was leather and he could feel tiny pinpricks on the leather too. It could be nothing and it could have some hidden meaning. He had to work that out while Lyle had his concentration elsewhere. He opened the book and let his fingers run over the raised script. A jolt of pleasure went through him. This wasn’t going to be as difficult as he thought it was going to be. The language was in French. He decided then to stall for some time until he had a fair idea what the manuscript was all about before telling Lyle what was in it.

 

He explained to Lyle that it had been a while since he read Braille and that he had to familiarise himself with it again before he could make a serious attempt at reading it. Luckily Lyle bought it and went to get them some coffee.

Sydney read the first lines: “My name is Pierre Chambertin. I have been kidnapped and kept here for several weeks. They want to know my secret on “temporal and corporeal displacement” but I refused to give it to them. How can I trust them? Now they have threatened to get my wife and son and bring them here too. One of my kidnappers has whispered in my ear what he would do to them once they are brought here and, God help me, I believe him. What else can I do than give in?

They want me to type this all down before it gets all lost to posterity, well, that’s what they call it. If it wasn’t all so serious they would make me laugh. Alas, it is bitter reality.

I have no choice but to comply and write it all down.”

 

Sydney gently ran his hand over the volume. A diary of some sort? Written under duress for certain.

While his hand rested on the volume he thought he could detect small differences in the paper under his left hand. Almost like typing errors trying to be erased. That was highly unusual! They weren’t very noticeable and if he hadn’t rested his hand there in contemplation he wouldn’t even have noticed their presence since it wasn’t part of the main text.

 

He quickly ran his fingers over it. They seem to be mainly numbers. He had to pursue this in greater detail, but first he had to know a bit more about it. He could always gain a little extra time by saying that he had to familiarise himself with Braille again. Then he could see if the message should be kept from Lyle and the Centre. He had a feeling that it might.

He ran his fingers over the page again when Lyle came back.

“Sydney, could you come with me for a moment? I need your hand,” he giggled at his own joke.

Sydney closed the book, -did he have a choice?- grabbed his stick and followed Lyle out.

 

Lyle took his arm and guided him through the maze of corridors and Sydney wondered if he had ever been to this section of the Centre.

When they entered the last corridor Sydney could hear Lyle throw some switches before entering and he could hear the humming of overhead lamps. He was now quite sure that they had entered the deeper bowels of the Centre. After about 10 yards they walked into a room and it was cold and smelled musty as if it hadn’t been occupied for a long time.

For a brief moment Sydney was wondering if it was all a cruel joke on Lyle’s part, “Let him taste freedom for a short while and then lock him into a place where no one has been in for years or at least have forgotten about.” But then he could hear Lyle hum to himself as if he was looking for something.

 

“Stand still, Sydney, there are too many objects strewn over the floor, don’t want you tripping over things and hurting yourself. You are too big to carry back and I don’t want the others to find out about this room. At least, not yet.”

Sydney could hear him rummage on some shelves at the far end of the room.

“Ah, there it is,” Lyle said joyfully. He walked back to Sydney and placed something in his hands. “Do you know what this is?”

 

Sydney was confused. Couldn’t Lyle see what it was? He let his fingers glide lithely over the object he was holding, “Feels like a box, with moving parts or sliding panels.”

“Anything on the surface?”

“It could be. There are small indentations on it, quite similar to Braille and they are very regular to be natural, but since I don’t know whether it is up or down it could be anything and might not even be Braille.”

“I knew it,” said Lyle triumphantly, “Can you decipher it? Find a way to open the box?”

“I need some time to work on it. Has it ever been opened before?”

 

“Not to my knowledge. The people who found it thought it be just another trinket, but I believe it holds a secret and maybe part of a solution to the book you will be reading for me.” There was zeal in his voice and silently Sydney promised to read the report for himself first before trying to open the box or revealing the contents of the report and the box to Lyle. He dropped the box in his pocket, but Lyle stopped him from doing that. “I rather take that.” And took it off Sydney.

 

Sydney felt the box being snatched away from him and he said, “If you want me to find a way to open the box I need it with me to study it.”

“Translations first. I bet the secret on how to open it is in there.”

They walked back to the SimLab.

 

 

When they walked down the stairs Sydney thought he caught the whiff of a familiar scent and joy filled his heart, “I know that Chanel anywhere! Good morning, Ms Parker!”

 

“Sydney!” She exclaimed with the same joy, but also with confusion of seeing him here, “What are you doing here?”

Before Sydney could answer her he felt Lyle’s hand on his shoulder, “We’re working together, as a team.” The message relayed by the pressure on his shoulder was obvious to Sydney and had to control himself not to wince. For although most of his movements were becoming more natural his back and shoulders hadn’t healed completely and were still tender.

He felt for his chair and sat down.

 

Ms Parker’s voice was dripping with sarcasm when she looked at Sydney, “Woopty doo! Just one happy family, eh Syd? I am sorry but my ears are still ringing from that bomb blast! You do remember the blast, don’t you Syd?”

Again before Sydney could say anything Lyle said, “Interesting about that. Upon further review they realised you had reached the wrong conclusion.” He patted Sydney on the shoulder in a patriarchal manner, stopping him from saying anything, “Sydney wouldn’t have planted that bomb. It was Gar.”

“Gar?” Ms Parker said with mockery, “Gar couldn’t light a stick of dynamite if he had a road map to the fuse. And why would he?”

“The truth, unfortunately goes to the grave with him.” Lyle answered demurely.

 

Ms Parker continued in the same mocking tones, “Tragedy. But a fortunate one for you Syd, that the Ken doll here corrected overnight the mistakes that my report took a week to find.”

Lyle grinned at her, “No, the fortunate thing is that the powers that be agree with my findings.”

She now glared at him, “Would that be the powers in Asia or Europe?”

“The ones that count.”

 

She now turned back to Sydney, finding it a pity that he couldn’t fully appreciate the glare she gave him, “Gee Syd. I know you’re blind,” she leaned closer to his ear and whispered, “I just didn’t realise that deaf and dumb came with the package.”

Sydney felt hurt and stammered, “You don’t understand Parker…” She couldn’t understand what was going on and he couldn’t tell her.

 

When she answered him it was meant to hurt him and it did, “It’s crystal clear. You sold your soul to save your ass. I just hope you don’t get burned by the guy with the horns and the little red pitch-fork.”

Lyle sniggered and waited until Ms Parker turned to leave, “You know I believe that you are confusing intelligence with guile.”

She turned back on him, “Do I?”

 

Sydney tried to stop this bantering and turned to Lyle, “We do have work to do.”

“Yes, We, is the operative word,” he pulled up a chair next to Sydney, amused by the bewildered expression on Ms Parker’s face and turned to her, “Are you in on this pursuit or not?”

 

She frowned, “Jarod contacted me earlier. He sounded different, disturbed. I came here to research Centre records of his psyche profile. To try and understand his behaviour.”

“Great minds. Sydney and I were just exploring Jarod’s dive off the deep end as well.”

“Do you think he’s really gone crazy?” She looked imploringly at Sydney.

 

As if he could see her addressing him Sydney answered, “Maybe he’s pretending to have lost his faculties so as not to stand out from others who have lost theirs.” Maybe it could give her a clue. He had been thinking it over in the past few days and he didn’t believe Jarod had gone over the edge. Hopefully Ms Parker picked up on the hint.

 

Lyle said jokingly, “Like in an asylum.” Sydney hoped he hadn’t picked up on the hint.

Sydney could hear Ms Parker’s heels turn away, “Well he would certainly fit in around here.”

If it was Lyle’s idea to alienate Sydney from his co-workers it was working.

 

 

After Ms Parker had left Sydney turned to Lyle, “There was no need for that. I still have to work with them after this is finished.”

“Who says?” asked Lyle annoyed.

“I had assumed…”

“Assume nothing. What will happen to you all depends on what you can find out.”

Sydney’s heart sank, he went back to the book, “You can leave me now. I have work to do!”

“Can I leave you alone, Sydney?”

“I work easier without someone leaning over my shoulder who can’t even see what I am doing. I have to familiarise myself with the Braille again and than establish in which language it is written and translate it. Can you be that patient, Lyle?”

It was obvious from Lyle’s grunt that he wasn’t. Without another word he left the room, leaving Sydney to go through the book on his own.

 

 

About another hour later he heard the door to the Sim Lab open again and the voices of Broots and Ms Parker. “We need you hand here, Sydney.”

It was no use denying them, even with Lyle’s threat hanging over him. Denying them his help would make it more suspicious. Besides, he wanted to have a word with them anyway. He closed the book and turned his attention to them. He will explain it all to Lyle later and hoped he would understand.

 

He could hear Broots open his laptop and tap away at the keys, “I looked at all the records. In all the psychiatric institutes in North America 20 have John Does admitted in the last few days.”

He named them all for Sydney’s benefit and Sydney started dismissing some of them based on their admittance regulations, open ground policies and the clues Jarod had left them. They were down to the last ten when Sydney could hear the door to the Sim Lab slide open. Lyle was surprised to find Broots and Ms Parker sitting next to Sydney, but he kept his voice even, “Found anything yet?”

“Well we’re getting close,” said Broots, “We’re down to the last ten here.”

 

Ms Parker pointed at the screen, “Pleasant Woods Psychiatric Institute. Towsan, Maryland.”

“It all seems way too easy,” said Lyle in surprise.

Ms Parker had her old sarcasm back, “Believe me, cuckoo boy is there.”

“But why would he leave us a trail that would lead straight to him?” Lyle asked in astonishment.

Sydney smiled, “It’s simple. It’s Jarod’s way of telling us that he is still in control.”

Broots packed up his computer and Ms Parker stood up, she looked at Sydney, “Bus is leaving. Save you a seat?”

“No,” answered Lyle for him, “Sydney and I have work to do. Happy hunting.”

With a confused frown at Sydney Ms Parker left. She would find out when she got back!

 

 

“Is it possible for me to work in my own office?” Sydney asked before Lyle could say anything else, “I know my way around there better and it is warmer. When the fingers feel all stiff with cold it is very difficult to read the dots.”

“Why were you talking to them?”

”They asked my help. If I had said “No!” they would have become suspicious. You wouldn’t want that would you? And I didn’t say anything about our… deal.”

“I believe you. I see what I can do. Continue.”

 

 

A while later Sydney was back in his own office. Later in the day an unhappy Ms Parker and Broots stamped into his office. “The Labrat has done it again! Flown the cuckoo’s nest before we could get to him. One day… You want a lift home, Freud?”

He was glad when she called him Freud again, the rancour had gone from her voice, “No, Ms Parker, I still have some work to do. Lyle said he was going to drop me off.” He could almost feel her hurt when he said that.

“If you want to dance with the devil, be my guest! Come on, Broots, the smell of brimstone is strong in here!”

Sydney felt bad about the way he had to treat her, but it was for her own good.

 

 

It was later in the evening when he heard his cell-phone go off in his drawer. He just hoped there was nobody listening in. It was quiet enough in the outside corridors. He picked it up.

“This is Sydney.”

It was Jarod’s voice, how he knew Sydney was out was a mystery, “How’s your sight?”

Sydney sighed, “My sight is gone Jarod, but my vision is in some ways clearer than ever.”

“I see you have found a way to survive, again.”

“As have you.”

“It’s a crazy world.”

“You’re not. You’re just lost, Jarod.”

“For now. But somewhere out there I will find my way. Find out who I am!” Jarod disconnected.

“Maybe I will too,” said Sydney to himself before he went back to the book on his desk.

 

THE END

 

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