Chapter 3

Mulder hung up the phone and pinched the bridge of his nose. Though he now knew where the Center was, he was still no closer to finding a way in. Flashing a badge wouldn't do anything but get him shot and from what else he'd found out, breaking into the place was not going to be easy. He took a sip from the cup of cold coffee sitting on the table and picked up the phone to fill Scully in on the latest information he'd gotten from the Lone Gunmen.

He only got the first three numbers dialed before a knock at the door startled him. He knew Scully was at home, waiting for him to call, Skinner didn't want to see him for the next twenty years and the Gunmen never showed up at his apartment without letting him know first. If it was Samantha showing up on his doorstep, he was going to kill her for all the trouble she'd put him through. He was disappointed though. Jarod stood in his doorway instead. That was worse.

"How long?" Mulder didn't give him a chance to explain anything.

"What no Hi, How you doing?" Jarod had an uncharacteristically uneasy smile.

"I already know the Center has Samantha. How long have they had her?" The harsh, tired look on Mulder's face didn't change. Giving up on pleasantries, Jarod just answered.

"A few days, not more." His voice was tired.

"Can you get in there?"

There was a bit of a pause before Jarod answered in the affirmative.

"Then why haven't you?" There was a faint slur of accusation.

"It's not that simple." Frustration crept into Jarod’s voice. It was not an easy day.

"Why?"

"Aside from the fact I only just found out, I can’t just waltz in there and escort her out." Jarod swept a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. "They’d have her under constant surveillance. The minute they find her missing, the alarm is given and the building locks up tight. We both get caught."

"You got out once. How?" Mulder's eyes narrowed as he gauged the man standing before him. He looked like something the cat dragged in and there was a sadness in his eyes.

"I had help." A clenched jaw also indicated a fair dose of anger.

"Can they help you again?" Mulder didn't care. He wanted answers and he had a source right in front of him.

"I don't know. He might, he might not. How did you know she'd been caught?"

"I wasn't sure. She wrote me a letter, telling me she was breaking in. I got it yesterday. According to the bar, she's on vacation with Micheal."

"Micheal?" Jarod had no idea who that was. Mulder's jaw clenched and then he tersely explained.

"The Immortal, his current name is Micheal."

"Have you heard from him?"

"No." That didn’t seem to bother Mulder, but it set Jarod further on edge.

"From what I know, she's been caught and he was killed," Jarod said, his eyes narrowing in thought. "They should have taken his body out well before now. Why hasn't he gotten in touch with you?"

"He wouldn't call me unless she was dead. If he needed help, he'd go to someone else."

"Duncan?"

"Hasn't heard anything." Mulder had gone through all this already and being forced to go over it again was frustrating.

"What about the Watchers?"

"They don't even know Micheal’s alive," Mulder snapped, "Joe Dawson didn’t exactly get a chance to report in."

The conversation ground to a sudden halt as the two men lost themselves in the situation. After leaving Jarod standing in the hallway, Mulder gave Scully a quick call. He filled her in on Jarod and quickly outlined the information from the Lone Gunmen, nodding once as she said she was on her way. In the mean time, Jarod went and sat on the couch.

"How was she doing?" There was no need to specify who Jarod was asking after.

"She was okay. Had to move around every few weeks. She'd stop by when she could."

"We'll get her back." That seemed to be the wrong thing for Jarod to say as Mulder’s anger got the better of him.

"To help her, or ease your guilt."

"What are you talking about?" With Jarod on the defensive, Mulder pushed him a little harder.

"Do you really care what happens to her? Or are you just here to get back at the Center?"

"Of course I care." Jarod shot back.

"Then why didn't you help her when she needed it. Why did you leave her when she needed someone who understood? But then, you didn't understand. Didn't even try."

"What she did was wrong!" Or so he kept telling himself.

"And what you do is right? You’re a nothing but a vigilante."

"I help people!" Jarod defended himself and what he did fiercely.

"What do you think she was doing!" Mulder countered.

"By blowing off that girl's knees?"

"That girl was a trained and paid assassin after our collective heads!"

"She was cruel."

"Who, Sam or the girl who tortured Miss Parker?"

If looks could kill, those two would have been dead many times over. As it was, they stared at each other waiting for something to happen. Mulder broke the silence.

"She never talked about you. She would talk about Joe, trying to remember everything about him, telling me about how he'd like what she'd done with the Bar. She'd fill me in on Duncan and talk about Richie's latest escapade. Micheal would be mentioned just about every third sentence. She even talked about Mary. But you, she couldn't talk about. She looked to you for guidance and you left. So all I want to know, is why you are here."

Jarod's face was stone and his eyes full of anger; Mulder had hit more than a few nerves. To be truthful, Jarod wasn't too sure himself why he was there. When he saw the clip of Sam, he found himself on his way without much conscious thought. It was the same thing that prompted him into finding out what he could about how she'd been doing. He knew about her buying the bar as well as tracking down some of the places she'd been, once she'd left Seattle. He knew he wanted to help her. He knew he had to.

"I came to help."

Mulder's glare didn't ease up in the least. The two of them didn't get along too well at the best of times and after Samantha had fought Mary, it only got worse. But because he knew she cared about this jerk, he didn't say half of what was on his mind that night when Jarod sewed her up. Later, when she came to see him, he asked after Jarod and she clamed up. When he talked to Duncan, he found out about the fight they'd had, but didn't know the details. He didn’t need to.

"If you ever hurt her again, you won't have to worry about the Center catching you, because I will personally make your life a living hell."

***

Nothing like waking up, head pounding away, to make one's day. Considering how often that had been occurring in what I could remember of my life, it was definitely a habit to kick. At least it wasn't pitch black this time. The muted lighting was much more my taste, although the dull gray décor was something I could do without. A nice, dark green throw rug, a few lamps and a window or two would make the place more habitable. Anything besides a mattress on the floor would make the place more habitable.

My mind was definitely running away without me, though the throbbing headache was down from a full blown fire fight in my head to an irritating distraction. I took a deep breath and sat up. Not too bad, once the black spots cleared from my vision and my gut stopped aching. My mouth felt like something had crawled into it and died. I didn’t even what to think about what they used to drug me.

I spotted the camera sitting on the wall and made a rude gesture at it before going to the little, metal sink tucked into a corner. Dipping a hand under the stream of water, I scooped up a handful and proceeded to rinse the bad taste from my mouth. My hands were stiff as I washed off the bit of blood that still stuck near the scratches and my lip stung as I splashed water on my face and hair.

My poor hair was a mess. The braid from earlier was a tangled nest, with little tufts hanging in my face and various strands working their way out of the elastic. Since I didn’t even have a glass to drink out of, I was thinking that to ask for a hairbrush would be pointless.

Sitting back on the bed, I undid the braid and ran my fingers through, attempting to straighten the mess out. At least I didn’t have any new goose eggs. My hair probably looked worse than it actually was, because pretty soon, I had the worst of the tangles out. I tightly braided it back and it ended up reaching down to my waist. I could probably strangle somebody with it. Now there’s a thought to keep me warm at night.

I was still in the Center, the whole decor screamed Sub-level something, so Father would know where I was. Not that I was just going to just sit on my duff not doing anything. Not that there was all that much I could do. While they couldn’t hurt me, much, if I became too much of a nuisance, they’d just keep me drugged. Not something I was particularly looking forward to, so all I could do was annoy and distract them. That had potential, if only to keep me from going nuts.

"You know, you really need to see someone about the style of this place. Gothic gray is so very early nineties. Color is the big thing right now. Have you thought about a nice pale green with dark undertones?" I started rambling on, talking to the camera and dissecting all the decorating taboos they’d committed. And Joe said watching Martha Stewart was a waste of time. When I ran out of decorating tips, I started in on the lack of hospitality. Then I hit the jack pot.

While waiting tables at the bar one night, there was a group of kids, just barely over the legal limit, who’d decided to celebrate somebody’s birthday. As the night wore on, they all started in on the most horrid song I’ve ever heard in my remembered life; 99 bottles of beer on the wall. Well, they actually started at 9999. Joe eventually poured them into a cab before they got through the first hundred. I still miss him.

I decided not to be too ambitious off the bat and started at 999. Now my voice usually isn’t so bad, but the last few days hadn’t been a walk in the park and I wasn’t about to make this easy on them. I started singing, letting the scratchiness in my throat throw me off key every once in a while. At 783 I heard a scratching above me and looked up at the air vent. Two bright blue eyes peered out at me.

Not stopping my concert, I looked back at him. It was the same guy I’d seen just before they caught me. It looked like he hid out in the duct work a fair bit. They probably hated it and anyone who ticked them off was a friend of mine. I gave him a brilliant smile and started to sing louder. He moved forward a little bit and I could see the smile on his face. A few minutes later, the eyes were gone.

***

Mr. Lyle was ready to kill someone. That in itself wasn’t too unusual, but this time he’d take anyone who happened to make the mistake of getting within his reach.

It was bad enough when she started talking. Worse still when she started singing. Then, somehow the communication system blanked out only to kick in playing the audio feed from her cell over the muzak system. The entire building was now being serenaded with, what was the count to now, 467 bottles of beer on the wall.

When they tracked the problem down, there was Angelo, grinning like the idiot he was, in front of the computer that had arranged the little incident. When confronted, he simply said "pretty" and scampered off back into the air ducts. That little wench had better be worth it. They were still trying to cut her voice off. It was going to be a long week.

***

I had finally run down to one lone bottle of beer on the wall. I could start over again, at a larger number, but my throat had been protesting during the last hundred or so bottles. So when I ran all the way down I took a break and got a drink from the sink. A cold hand on my forehead helped the headache that still hadn’t dissipated.

It had been worth it though. I had just about burst when I heard my own voice (was I really that shrill?) coming from a speaker in the hall. From the irritated looks I was getting through the little glass window in the door, I would guess it had been broadcasted through out the section. I thought again of the eyes in the vent and wondered.

I leaned against the wall and wondered what Fox was up to. I never should have sent him that letter. He was probably going nuts, but I had told him I would tell him if I was up to anything, and I had to keep my promise. For the most part. I hope he hadn’t told Mom yet, I didn’t want her to worry.

My mind wandered to the visit this Christmas. It was completely weird being around so many people at once. Christmas eve, Fox and I went with Scully to her mother’s party. There were a lot of people there. Christmas day was better, with just Mom, Fox and I. Fox dragged me out of bed at some insane hour and pulled me into the living room where the tree was set up. The lights where on, blinking in a steady rhythm that flashed onto the presents lining the tree. It was beautiful.

Fox was just like a kid. I could just see him picking up the presents, not even waiting until Mom and Dad were down the stairs. I didn’t feel the pounding in my head that accompanied the flash of memory.

Mom was standing at the top of the stairs looking down at us, smiling, but Dad was scowling. I didn’t notice as I looked at the pile of brightly colored gifts. Fox had one in his hand, gently shaking it next to his ear, trying to figure out what it was.

Another flash. Dad’s mouth open as he barked at Fox. Fox, carefully placing the box down. Me, weaving my hand into his as we both walked into the kitchen.

With a start, the images still lingering in the corner of my eyes, I shook my head. I had NEVER had a memory come that clearly. I was just in time to watch the door open and Mr. Lyle was walk in. He looked me over with a thoroughly disgusted expression.

"So you finally decided to shut up." Someone wasn’t happy with life.

"What can I say, I had a dry throat. Give me another twenty minutes and I’ll serenade you till the cow come home." No one ever said I couldn’t be sweet when I wanted to. There was enough sugar in that sentence to kill a diabetic.

"Not if you want to eat."

"From what I’ve heard, that’s not a threat."

"Come now Ann, we can be civilized about this." He gave me a smile that, for some reason reminded me of Miss Parker. It was about as sincere as a crocodile’s tears.

"Why? You kidnap me, turn me into an Assassin and then you expect me to be civilized. You can’t have your cake and eat it too you know."

"Actually, you were given to us." He was smug. Smug is not good.

"Really? I didn’t know that. So who by?" I kept my voice light, hiding the trepidation that was starting to make itself known. To ease the tension building in me I batted my eyelids. It didn’t have much effect on Mr. Lyle but it made me feel better.

"You’ll find out soon enough when you go back to them." So that’s who the smoking guy was.

"This is the whole, tell the victim everything because they’re never going to see the light of day again type of thing, isn’t it?" I opened my eyes wide and turned on a dumb blond voice.

"That’s one way of putting it. More likely, you’ll simply never remember this conversation." He said that as he turned around to the door and that scared me more than I wanted to admit. But I wasn’t going to let him know that.

"And that’s a bad thing!?!?"

His shoulders stiffened and he almost slammed the door as he left. I smiled at his reaction and looked at the ceiling above. The eyes weren’t there, but I smiled in that direction anyway. Snuggling into the bedding, I started singing again.

"I’m Henery the eighth, I am. Henery the eighth I am, I am. I got married to the widow next door, and she’s been married 7 times before. . . "

***

The silence was thick enough to cut by the time Scully walked in. She gave Jarod a smile, taking note of his less than pristine condition and the frigid civility between him and Mulder. Having heard Mulder rant about the missing Pretender, she wasn't surprised. The surprise was reserved for the fact neither of them had any visible marks or bruises. They probably confined themselves to body shots.

She had to stop hanging around the Gunmen so much, she was starting to think like them.

Her entrance really didn’t change the atmosphere that much, but eventually, the two were able to put the testosterone aside long enough to share there various bits of information, and generate a few ideas. An hour later, after an update, the Gunmen were rushing over. It didn’t take much once they heard the Pretender was there.

Between the six of them, they were able to hash out something that actually stood a slight chance of posibbly succeeding. That was after they got over circling Jarod like hungry sharks examining something under the microscope. If she was starting to mix metaphors, she needed to get more sleep.

As for getting Samantha out, it looked like Jarod would go in first, scout things out and find where they’re keeping her. If she wasn’t there, they’d have to tie in to the Center network and see if, between Jarod and the Gunmen, they could hack out her location. If she was there, Fox would come in to help get her out. Frohike would be attacking the security, Langly would screw up communication and Scully and Byers would be providing back up. And two get away cars because they wouldn’t all fit in the van.

What would happen once they actually got Samantha out was still uncertain. She would have to hide and hide deep. Then again, chances were they wouldn’t get past the front gate, they’d all get caught and then none of the rest would matter because they’d all be dead. Scully decided to be optimistic from that point on, purely to maintain her sanity.

Chapter 4

Three hours of Henry the Eighth left me with very little voice and more than a few dirty looks through the little glass window in the door. I’d already tried to break that little panel but whatever it was, it didn’t break. I did scare the living snot out of a few people peering in at the wrong moment, though.

I sat back on the mattress and looked up to the vent; the blue eyes were back and the sight of them triggered another memory. I must have been around thirteen and for some reason was locked up in my room. For all I knew that could have been normal. I had woken up from a nightmare and had screamed out, desperate for comfort. But when I saw the eyes in the vent I was more afraid of them, than of the dream. I was huddled in a corner by the time the vent opened and a young man crawled out.

He dropped to the floor and came over, crouched down close to the floor. His face reflected my fear, his eyes full of tears. But he still reached out a hand and touched me. His face screwed up a little and then he looked at me closer.

There was a moment when his eyes cleared and it was like looking into a lake. There was a glimmer of something, very deep and hidden in the waters, but in the next instant it was gone. The clarity in his eyes fogged over. The hand on my arm was still there and he smiled at me. It was a little smile that disappeared quickly, then he backed away and was up the vent.

I remembered the rest of the night, sleeplessly wandering around the cell, pacing back and forth, clenching my arms around me in the chill, but unable to go back to sleep and unwilling to just lie in bed. I was halfway through the next day before I tore myself out of the memory.

I started to walk back and forth, going over what I remembered, trying not to become lost in it. The total loss of time that I experienced this time scared the life out of me. I couldn’t afford to show any weakness to the Center, or they would exploit it and use it any way they could. If they realized I was remembering things, they would pick my mind apart piece by piece before they turned me over to whoever they made the deal with and then it would probably start all over again.

The only theory I could come up as for why this was happening, was that being back in the Center was triggering more memories, breaking whatever barrier was keeping them back. I didn’t say it was a good theory.

I stared at the two men who brought in Supper. Lunch was still sitting on its original plate, but this looked marginally more edible.

Instead of green slop, at least this looked more like some kind of soupy stew. I think the Center liked that sort of thing so they didn’t have to give me anything that could be made to resemble a weapon. The spoon on the tray was even plastic. No use trying to make a shiv out of that.

I waited for them to leave before I took a closer look. I probably would have skipped this meal as well, but I was starting to get hungry. Who was I kidding. I was famished, but that goo at lunch totally turned my stomach. I dug in to the stew.

***

The first thing they did when they hit DC was find a few good clothing stores. Miss Parker needed to look the part if she was going to pull off this plan. She also needed to get Adam in with her, so he needed to look the part as well. As she sat down, her own wardrobe replenished, she looked over the tall, lanky figure standing in front of the mirror.

"I look like a thug." His sour comment matched the scowl on his face.

"That’s what you’re supposed to look like so don’t complain. I’m going to tell Daddy that with someone trying to kill me, I faked my death so I could get some breathing room." She filled Adam in on the plans she and Micheal had made up the night before while Adam had been getting supper. "Not to mention recuperate. While I didn’t find who was behind it all, I had the actual assassin killed. You are my muscle, unaffiliated with anyone, but me."

"And to do that I have to look like a thug."

"The Center is not very original when it comes to hired muscle. You should fit in fine." She smiled as he glowered at her. "That’s the perfect expression. Once you’re in, you will be able to roam around while they have me in what will no doubt be dozens of interview and meetings. You’ll have to stick pretty close at first, but if you accidentally get lost a few times, that would be expected. The Center is a large place after all."

"Wouldn’t they be likely to shoot me if I wander too far?" He started shrugging his shoulders to settle the not-quite-a-perfect-fit jacket into place.

"Of course not. They’ll black mail you. Or perhaps take you out to be shot later. But not right off the bat. We should be able to find what we need and get out." She got up and started fussing with the shoulders of his jacket. It wasn’t that bad of a fit.

"Do you know where to start looking?"

"I have a few ideas. There are a couple corridors that hold the more reluctant visitors. If she’s not there, they might have drugged her, in which case she’ll be in the infirmary. If that is the case, it will take some careful planning to get to her out. What’s Micheal up to right now?"

"He’s picking up some equipment that, as he put it, might come in handy. He’ll meet us at the hotel before we head to Delaware." Adam finally gave up on the jacket and headed back to the change room.

"I can’t wait to get back." She replied. He turned and looked at her, picking up on the hostility in her voice.

"You’re not looking forward to this, are you?" he asked, dryly

"The most common way to leave the Center is feet first. It’s not an experience I’d like to relive. But look at the bright side. . . " She smiled at him and the world’s oldest Immortal felt a chill crawl up his spine, cause Miss Parker was out for blood. "It gives me a chance to settle some unfinished business."

***

I was lost in another memory when he came in. It was a bloody one this time, of one of my earlier assignments that hadn’t gone too well. The target went down, but his security didn’t. I’d ended up weighed down with a little lead as I pulled out of the scene. I could still feel the sharp pain as the bullet plowed into my leg. Mr. Lyle was standing in front of me by the time my vision cleared.

Not sure of how long he’d been there, I left my face blank, hoping he would think I simply didn’t care that he was there and was ignoring him. What else could I do?

"Ignoring me won’t make me go away."

Since he’d fallen for it, I just turned my head away, trying desperately to keep my breathing regular and my hands from tensing. If I had realized how angry it would make him, I would have tried it earlier. He stepped forward and kicked out, his toe slamming just under my ear and forcing my head to snap back and around.

The ever present pounding in my head picked up. I stayed completely still for a few moments, waiting for my sight to clear a bit more before I turned back to face him. When I did nothing else, he relaxed. Then I launched at him.

My hand was around his throat cutting off his air supply before he could utter a word. My left snaked out his gun, and fired it at the two sweepers now running into the room. One dropped but the other ducked out of the door. Mr. Lyle’s face was now an alarming shade of red and I eased up a little so he could breathe. I wasn‘t going to kill him. It wasn’t worth the bother at this point in time.

"You forgot what I am, what you made me. Time to remember. Time to play." I smiled at him, tightening the grip on his neck, watching his eyes roll back as the oxygen deprivation took its toll. Just before he was out of it completely, I let go only to grab the back of his head.

His face found my knee, then the wall and soon after, it connected with a satisfying thunk with the little metal sink in the corner. He was barely standing now and without my hand holding him up by his hair he might have fallen.

The second I felt the change in him, the tensing of muscle in his scalp, I let go and tried to slam the pistol butt into his temple. He had already leaned out of reach, his hand raising another gun that was pressed up against my chin.

"I said they’d get you in one piece, but we don’t need the money that bad." Blood was freely flowing from his nose, though it didn’t look broken, and his voice was scratchy. "Pull another stunt like that and I will find out just how much pain an Assassin can handle before she dies."

He pulled the other gun out of my now slack grip, tucking it back into its shoulder holster. The one in his hand must have been tucked in the back of his pants. He called out over his shoulder that it was clear and waited patiently as a few people filtered in the room.

"Keep her out of it for a few hours. I want some peace and quiet." The gun barrel was still pressing against the soft part in my chin, forcing my head up higher as the guy with the needle came towards me.

The sight of the needle and the drop of liquid coming out the top as the Sweeper pushed the air bubble out sent a chill down my spine and froze me. As he came closer I couldn’t move even if I wanted too. When he grabbed my arm, I could already feel fire running in my veins as another flashback claimed me.

***

Mr. Lyle was intrigued. He held up a hand to pause the Sweeper with the needle. Ann didn’t move; hadn’t move since she got a good look at the needle. Her eyes were lost in some sort of fog and as he took the gun away, she didn’t even blink. It was the same blank expression that greeted him when he entered.

Something was going on that he didn’t yet understand and he was determined to find out what. The last few days she had been seen staring off into space, before resuming what she’d been doing earlier. Sometimes it was a few minutes, sometimes a few hours. He hadn’t really thought much off it, maybe a mild side affect of the usual mix of tranquilizers in the water, but now that he could see the expression in her eyes, caught between terror and nothingness, his curiosity was peaked. Not that he was going to take any chances. Not with her.

Signaling the sweepers to continue, he left the room, dabbing at the blood already drying on his face. She had gotten a few good hits in. Sending someone off for a wet cloth and some ice, he sat down at his desk, his computer still keyed in to the surveillance of her room. Using the cloth to take off most of the mess on his face and ice on the lump forming on the side of his head, he watched her.

The muscle relaxant had taken effect and she was a boneless heap on the mattress. They wouldn’t knock her out, but she wouldn’t be up to any tricks. Or much of anything for that matter. She eventually curled up into a ball on the bed, arms and head tucked in so tight, you couldn’t see her face. It took him a few minutes to realize she was trembling, the movements barely noticeable on the screen.

***

Miss Parker looked around her office. The months she’d been gone hadn’t really changed things much. Mr. Lyle was back, taking over her role in the chase for Jarod but having not much more luck, and Mr. Raines was up to his usual tricks. But the look on everyone’s face when she first walked through the door was priceless.

Daddy Dearest almost had a coronary, Lyle looked ready to choke and Raines had to turn up his oxygen intake. But when Sydney saw her, she was glad she came back. He looked like he’d died and somebody forgot to bury the corpse. Yet, when he saw her, his eyes lit up, he smiled at her and the years were shed from his shoulders. She wished she’d had the courage to contact him earlier, but the risk was too great. Broots just stuttered and turned very pale. He must have looked at the crime scene photos.

The whispered conference with Sydney filled her in on Jarod. They’d gotten very close, more than a few times, but he then headed underground. He hadn’t surfaced in the last month, moving so constantly that they’d completely lost contact. The past two weeks, he hadn’t even been a ghost.

Adam was her shadow. He went where she went unless she was in her office or meetings, when he could be found wandering the halls, inspite of the growls security was spouting. All she had to say was that he was her man and if they didn’t like it they could try to remove him. The one time they tried hadn’t been very successful; broken fingers were the least injury.

The Immortal had picked up more than a few dirty tricks over the years and already being shorthanded from the invitation Ann extended to enjoy a lengthy stay in the infirmary, not to mention those invited to the morgue, they gave up before anybody else died. Broots and Sydney accepted Adam without question, talking freely in his presence. Miss Parker trusted him, that was enough for them.

As for the reports of her death, she made a comment about the wonders of modern imaging techniques and that seemed to satisfy most people. Long, unexplained disappearances were nothing new to the Center. The entire situation just gave her time to find Ann and maybe a little extra to find out who ordered her own death.

There was a gentle knock at her door and Broots stuck his head in. "The tapes are off."

"Good, Where’s Sydney?"

"He’s on his way. I got the records you where looking for." Broots stutter was almost nonexistent. Her eyebrows rose a little as she realized that he hadn’t made any comments on what he had to do to get them either.

"Entered speech therapy Broots?" Her acidic comment wasn’t met with the usual cringe.

"After five months of working with Mr. Lyle, I’m glad you’re back." He looked at the floor as he said that.

"I’m glad I’m back too." To her surprise, it wasn’t a lie. Just then Sydney entered, his warm accent washing over her.

"Is it safe to talk?"

"Safe enough, Sydney; what can you tell me about the Assassins? Where they are now and who they’re working with?" She got straight down to business.

"I only know what I’ve been told. The program was never continued actively, but the few girls that survived the training process are working for the Center right now."

"What about Mary?" She really wanted to here the Center’s explanation about that particular Assassin.

"She was assigned to the Triumvirate for a while and last I heard was contracted out to the Consortium." Sydney took the opportunity to sit down, his movements still those of an old man.

"The Consortium? I don’t know them." There wasn’t much that went on at the Center that Miss Parker hadn’t know about, yet the Consortium was a mystery. "Who are they?"

"I’m not sure exactly. We get the occasional contract from them, research and such." He leaned back in the chair. "They hired one of the Assassins, Ann I think it was. And after her, Mary."

"They hired Ann?" That fit with what Micheal had told her.

"I think so."

"Is she still with us?" It was a bit blunt for Miss Parker’s taste, but then she was in a hurry.

"Last I heard, though it’s been some time since I’ve seen her." The room went quiet as she thought over the information. Sydney leaned forward, his eyes sharpening as he took in the changes in Miss Parker. Broots was just being quiet near the door, not wanting to disturb the conversation.

"Broots, can you get me her file, and find me Mary’s file as well. Also," she paused, her eyes narrowing as she thought about something. "Get me anything you can on the Consortium."

"Why the sudden interest in the Assassins?" Sydney may have aged a life time in the last few months, but his mind was as sharp as ever.

"Mary was the one who tried to kill me." There was very little emotion in her voice as she said that. It explained her caution in coming back to the Center, but Sydney thought there was more to her return. And it didn’t explain her curiosity about the other one.

***

I was in Hell. Or purgatory, or Hades, or perdition, or wherever they sent little girls who were bad. I was burning, from the inside out, heat searing my limbs, flaming my lungs, destroying me. After a while, I could breathe again, the shallow breaths rattling in my lungs and my nerves all pins and needles.

Then They came. The giant blue spacemen, shiny visors hiding their faces, air tubes trailing behind them. They stuck me with needles, drawing enough blood to leave me faint and light headed. They put tubes in my arms, sometimes pumping the fire into my arm, at other times it just gave me oblivion and I woke with my throat so dry I couldn’t speak. Every few hours, they would come and take more blood.

Then nothing. A room with nothing in it except a mattress and blankets and the tube still in my arm. I wanted to rip it out, but I knew it would hurt. I cried out, again and again, forcing the screams out of my abused throat until I couldn’t force out a sound. Everything hurt. After some time passed it all started again, they came for me with a bag to attach to my arm and the fire was in me.

***

Angelo was scared. She just sat now, curled up around herself. He didn’t understand what was happening to her. Jarod would know, Jarod would fix, but Jarod wasn’t there yet. One more day. Then he would come and take her away. But Angelo still needed to know, know what the Center had done to her.

Making up his mind, he scampered through the shafts, dropping down to the ground and then burying himself in the computer. In a few minutes, he had a loop playing in the surveillance tapes. She hadn’t moved in over an hour, so it was an easy switch. A few minutes after that, he was looking down at her through the vent.

Taking the grate off and easing himself down, he crawled towards her. He was ready to jump back, scared to touch her, yet at the same time, needing to find out. A tentative hand reached out to her just brush her shoulder.

The images filtered through, feelings that were racing through her. Fear, loneliness, longing, anguish, pain. Fire in her blood, harsh white walls, cold air against her skin. Angelo shook his head and moved closer to her. He remembered this, from some time in the past, when she was here before. His mind was clearer then, not as many images running through his head.

He waited a moment than touched her again, this time on the back of her neck, skin to skin. More flashes inundated him, pouring into his mind so fast he couldn’t see them all. Most where gray, old, but some were new, recent and colored with the tinge of emotion. He looked at her and this time she looked back. Her dark eyes full of unshed tears.

"Why?" The whispered words barely made it out of her throat. He shook his head, not sure what she was asking.

Chapter 5

Jarod was breathing heavily as he squeezed himself through the narrow vent. Angelo was much better at navigating the web of air vents and tunnels, but a childhood trapped in the Center had still left him with an intimate knowledge. Most of the time when he was growing up, he was kept locked up, but as he got older and the Center became overconfident, he was able to explore and found places to hide and even a possible way out.

But he thought he understood what he was doing there and thought what he was doing was helping people. When he found out what the Center did with his simulations, he left with the help of Angelo, vowing to undo some of the damage they had done. It was time to undo some more. So he put aside his anger and fear, and went into the Center to find Sam. He had to get her out.

He was quickly out of the more constricting areas and started casing out the less public sections. They were empty for the most part, the Center having branched out into other areas and finding simpler ways to conduct their research, ways less connected to the growing legitimate business dealings.

He turned into a slightly smaller vent and started looking through the grates, quickly glancing in and moving on. After a few minutes of empty rooms, he glanced into one and was almost on to the next when he saw the figure huddled on a mattress in the corner. He looked through the metal, focusing on the ball. It barely moved, shuddering every few moments.

It took a while, but he knew it was Sam. He wanted to go to her, to ease what was happening, to just find out what was happening to her. But he couldn’t, to do so would only trap himself. He turned back when he heard the door opening. Keeping well out of sight, he could hear what was happening.

"She’s been out of it like that for the past day." That would be one of the Sweepers who’d come in.

There was some slight shuffling, and then a dull thwack.

"She is rather unresponsive. I want to know what is going on in that pretty little head of hers, though." Jarod’s heart went cold as he recognized Mr. Lyle’s voice. "Talk to Raines, see what little tricks he has up his sleeve. And try to be discrete?"

Jarod waited for ten minutes before he moved out of his cramped position and then he spent another ten watching Sam, noticing the new bruise already forming on top of the older, yellowing ones. He definitely had to get her out of there. But now he was late and he needed to leave. He pulled himself away, hating himself for leaving her.

Coming out of the air system, he stretched out his long frame. He was in a storage area that was rarely, if ever used. He paced, trying to make himself calm down and ignore the knots in his stomach. It wasn’t often that he couldn’t and after a few deep breaths, his mind cleared and he started planing. He needed to talk with Mulder and Scully, but the state Sam was in made things a little more difficult.

He tensed as he heard the brush of cloth behind him. Whirling around, he had to calm himself again, when he realized it was only Angelo. A few deep breaths later, he was back to his usual self. He gave Angelo a big grin, happy to see the man relatively unhurt and still allowed to wander the Center at will.

"Hurts." Angelo looked up at Jarod, his large eyes filled with pain, though Jarod knew he was all right.

"What hurts, Angelo?"

Angelo shook his head, pointed down the way Jarod came, then tapped his temple. "Hurts."

"Samantha? You saw her?"

Angelo bobbed his head in reply, automatically connecting the woman he saw with the one Jarod mentioned.

"Do you know why? Why she hurts?"

Angelo’s face screwed up together, as he tried to find words to describe the images he thought in. He often found words useless to describe the things he felt. Now was one of those times.

"Is she injured, did the Center do this to her?" Jarod was getting worried. They would already have to move up the time table from the way she looked. If the Center was playing mind games, it made it that much more imperative to get her out of there as soon as physically possible.

Angelo just shook his head in frustration. "Head hurts, mind hurts."

"Do you know what is happening to her?"

Angelo gave up on words and slipped his hand into Jarod’s. He’d never tried this. He was a sponge, he absorbed what other people felt, his mind collecting images from everything he touched. But he had to make Jarod understand what was happening with the woman he’d touched. She needed help, as her mind opened up too fast to the images of her past. He pushed for the first time, taking the images and confusion and pain that she felt and pushed them at Jarod.

It was like he’d been punched. Jarod jerked back, his mind flooded with confusing images he couldn’t place. Some were of the Center, some were of another place, some were of a childhood he’d never had. His mind latched on to an image, the reflection of a face in a mirror. Samantha.

With that, things started to settle in his mind. Somehow Angelo had pushed what he’d felt from Sam into his mind, showing Jarod what was happening to her. She was remembering the things that they’d taken from her but the images where flooding in, overwhelming her.

"Is that what’s happening? Everything she’d lost is flooding her mind?"

Angelo again bobbed his head, happy he’d made Jarod understand. He cocked his head at an angle, seeming to listen but actually tracking the movement of the people coming down the hall. One was Miss Parker, her spirit so strong he could feel her from the distance. She’d become stronger somehow, her mind clearer. But she still wouldn’t like to see Jarod.

"Go." Angelo started pushing Jarod towards the vent leading to the storm drain, but before the two of them had a chance to escape, Miss Parker strolled in with Adam behind her and not very visible.

"Jarod?" she asked.

The person in question was seeing a ghost. Literally. He’d seen the police photos; he saw the preliminary report on her body before it disappeared from the morgue. She was dead. But she wasn’t since she was now standing in front of him.

"Miss Parker?" His confusion was more than evident. He didn’t even clue into the Sweeper at her side.

"I can explain what happened." She wracked her brain trying to think up a good enough story to satisfy the Pretender, but nothing was coming immediately to mind and to be perfectly honest she didn’t think she could fool him in the first place.

She looked at him for clues, hoping to see something that would let her know how much he knew about her death. He was involved but he might not know the details. His eyes were dark in the dim light and a myriad of emotions flashed over his face in the few moments that had passed, then understanding flashed only to be quickly replaced with anger.

"Your Immortal." It was a statement of fact. Apparently he knew more than he had any right knowing. So much for the story her brain was finally starting to drag up.

"I guess that means you wouldn’t believe I faked the whole thing to get away from the Center."

"No."

"Listen, I don’t care why you’re here, but it has something to do with Ann, doesn’t it." Miss Parker paused, giving Jarod a chance to speak, but he held his silence. "I’m doing what I can for her, but if the Center finds out you’re here, it will only make things worse. They’re transferring her out in three days. We’ve got till then to get her out."

"What do you mean we?" He was doing a good impression of a block of stone.

"Do you think I came back for my health? A friend of my mentor asked for our help. I still don’t know how he knew I was with him." She stopped talking when she realized she was babbling. No need to give away too much.

"Micheal’s involved with this then."

"Shorter guy, English accent, also known as Alex?"

Jarod nodded. She just sighed and tried to figure out what to do next. Adam was no help, simply fading into the background to the point even she forgot he was there.

"Who all is with you?"

"I’m alone." His cold eyes revealed nothing.

"And Angelo is sane. How many, if you don’t want to involve names." She was hoping Jarod would ease up and that they could work on this together. It would be a lot easier.

"Five others."

"That many? I have Micheal and Adam helping me. We’re all alike." She wasn’t sure, but she was pretty sure Jarod already knew about Micheal. Might as well put her cards on the table and hope he’d trust her. Jarod picked up on her subtle admission and the expression of trust.

"We can get her out of the area if you can get her to us." His eyes eased up and lost their icy edge, but he wasn’t ready to trust her too far yet.

"I’ll see what I can do."

"You have to hurry." Jarod started to turn away, he needed to get going.

"Why?" Miss Parker wondered at the stress she saw on his face as he turned through a beam of light. He looked like hell. Not all of it can be explained by the increased pressure from the Center, or crawling around the ducts in here.

"Have you seen her?" His voice sounded tired.

"No."

"She caught Mr. Lyle’s attention."

Her response was not exactly repeatable. She turned around, her hand over her eyes, thankful she didn’t have to worry about her ulcers anymore. Otherwise, she’d be drinking the pink stuff like coffee. "I really wish he would just die already."

"I have to go." Jarod was cursing himself. He was already behind schedule with Mr. Lyle showing up and this was making it worse. In a few minutes, the cavalry would start charging to the rescue. At least he hoped they would if he was caught. He wasn’t too sure on that point.

"Will you call me?" she asked. Jarod was faintly surprised at the change in her. She wasn’t used to asking, she demanded.

"We’ll see." With that he ducked into a corridor and was gone.

She turned around aimlessly pacing. She was so lost in thought she almost screeched when Adam spoke up.

"So that’s a Pretender."

After she calmed down, more unrepeatable phrases spiraling through her mind, she walked over to the two men. Angelo, who was now standing in front of Adam, was fascinated by the ancient Immortal.

"Is he always like this?" Adam’s eyes tracked the man as he was circled, Angelo practically jumping up and down as he walked.

"Old." Was the only thing Angelo said.

"He’s an Empath. Although this is the most excited I’ve seen him about anything other than Cracker Jacks." She was enjoying this, her eyes lighting up at Adam’s consternation.

"I don’t think I want to know about that."

***

It was getting bad. I knew it was bad to begin with, coming out of a nightmare and realizing that it was real. But now, I didn’t even wait for the memories to grab me. They would come and visit me, spiraling through my mind so fast that my head felt ready to explode. Can we say hallucinations?

I keep seeing people walk through the cell, my dad, mom, Fox, Father, Mary, the girl I used to play with down the street; all hand in hand with more than a few corpses I had disposed of. The worst was when I saw Jarod. I could have sworn he was real; he wasn’t simply going through old motions but actually looking at me.

The first time, he came over and banished the pain in me, his hand cool on the back of my neck. I tried to talk to him, but not much croaked out. The second time, he walked up to me and just hit me. Right across the face. Jarod then said something that I couldn’t comprehend and left.

I’d rather have the memories straight. They hurt less that way. I surrendered myself to the images playing across my eyes, hoping that eventually, I just wouldn’t come out.

***

Jarod’s mind was again running in circles. He had to pause once he got out in the open, so that he didn’t take his frustration out on someone. He and Mulder had been cordial to each other, but it wouldn’t take much to set either of them off. Scully was a saint for what she put up with between Frohike, her partner and himself.

Walking through the late night streets of Blue Cove, he got in his car and headed out of town. It was tempting fate to stay in the town, so everyone was at a local resort, taking advantage of the early spring weather.

By the time Jarod hit the highway, he was mulling things over in his mind, letting the pieces fall in place naturally. Miss Parker was alive and an Immortal. She’d managed to hook up with Micheal and an Immortal named Adam. When Micheal and Sam got caught, Micheal got away, but she didn’t. He called in some help and found Miss Parker. She said something about her mentor.

Joe had mentioned getting information from a friend of his, Adam. They could be the same person. At the thought of the old Watcher, Jarod still felt like he’d failed. Someone else destroyed that he couldn’t help in time. Wrenching his mind back on track, he picked up the train of thought and followed the line.

Something was happening with Sam and Mr. Lyle had noticed. He might figure out that her blocked memories were coming back en masse. If that was the case, he’d try to find out everything he could about her. The transfer would most likely be stopped and if she was extremely lucky, or unlucky depending on your point of view, she might actually survive his questioning.

Her memories had been blocked before she went to the Center, both times. So something in her mind was important enough to hide, even from the carrier and they, whoever they were, didn’t want the Center to know what it was.

Would they be willing to kill her if they knew she was divulging their secrets? So far, they’ve shown no difficulty killing, but they’ve always tried to capture her alive. Was she valuable enough to keep alive no matter what? The Center had wanted her dead, but had kept her alive when she landed in their lap. They must still be in contact with the people who had been trying to capture her. That’s probably where she was to have been transferred to.

Regardless of whether she was to be kept at the Center or to be passed her on, they had to get her out quickly. Pulling up to the seaside hotel, Jarod parked the car and made his way to the suite of rooms everyone was sharing.

When he came in, people were clumped around one of the laptops on the table. Scully broke off from the group when she noticed him come in and the strain in her eyes got worse when she noticed the look on his face.

"How bad is she?" As she said that, the four guys around the computer turned around and looked at him.

"Not good. We need to get her out of there. I also ran into Miss Parker."

Scully’s eyes grew wide as she placed the name, but Mulder didn’t look surprised. The gunmen didn’t know who they were talking about.

"Why didn’t you say anything?" Jarod was looking straight at Mulder.

"Wasn’t my place. You never stuck around long enough to find out." Mulder couldn’t help the jab that slipped out. Scully started putting the pieces together.

"They’re set to transfer her in three days, but she’s come to the attention of Mr. Lyle. She might not make that." Jarod turned away from the laptop.

"Who’s Mr. Lyle?" Scully asked, starting to drag information out of Jarod and getting the full story of his visit to the Center, though he left out the part about Angelo. After a few questions more, everyone was fully agreed that they needed to get her out quicker than they thought. After Jarod was done, Langly started to describe what he’d found on the Center’s computers.

The security was tight, but after a while, the three gunmen had started making progress, the three of them attacking the Center’s database at the same time, dividing the resources of the security net and making it easier for them to get in.

Once in, they cleaned the tracks they made and started snooping. Most of it was automatically saved, since they didn’t really have the time to really look at everything they saw. They also didn’t limit themselves to Samantha and the Assassins. They just didn’t tell anyone else that.

What had intrigued them was the steady flow of cash into one of the Center’s accounts. Not so much as to attract the attention of the automated watchdogs, but the steady flow to a previously unused account was suspicious. They were tracing the money when Jarod walked in.

It could have been any of a thousand illegal and semi legal projects the Center had going, but the timing was too perfect. The payments started the day after Sam was caught and when traced back, it had, surprise, surprise, ended in the Capital. They now had a tentative lead on the people who’d been trying to capture Sam.