Mind's Eye - Part 1
PG for language and violence
As one reviewer pointed out, I forgot to remove an old disclaimer from when I originally posted this story on another site. Yes, the ink is very dry by now, but the content is still the same. And nope, it still hasn't been edited.
As always, any and all feedback (including criticism) is welcome.
Rated MATURE for violence and mild language.
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All the usual disclaimers for every chapter of this story - if I owned 'em, my name would be in the show credits. Since it's not, I will continue to work at my day job.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------Miss Parker leaned back in her office chair and stifled a yawn. It was late, and the Centre had her feeling so tired that her bones ached with frustration. The pressure was on to catch Jarod, but the man was always one step out of reach. Even in the rare instances when she had taken possession of him, his list of markers came to his rescue and helped him fade into the anonymous population.
His latest red book sat on her desk. She had read it cover to cover, not bothering to infer anything from the clippings and notes on the pages. The messages contained in them were always the same: Jarod wanted to be left alone; the Centre should give up looking for him; Miss Parker should seek more of the truth.
Sydney, of course, would analyze the finer points of Jarod's messages and come up with an esoteric interpretation of what was going on in the pretender's head. That was his job, and she was content to let the psychiatrist wallow in all of it as long as she was not dragged into the equation.
Her relationship with Jarod was an odd one. It might have been easier to pursue him if he had been some vile mutation that murdered and molested. Instead, Jarod was obnoxiously noble, helping the less fortunate who had somehow managed to screw up their lives beyond recognition. He even tried to help Parker when he could, which only complicated matters for her all the more and skewed her resolve to catch him into something that was sometimes a lackluster performance.
The search for him was getting old. It was the same routine week after week, month after month. Jarod would entice, hint and mock while Parker would search, chase and become infuriated at his games. Anger was the only fuel she had left in her arsenal of incentives to capture him. Once, she had Thomas and her potential freedom from the Centre if she caught Jarod as her motivation. Someone took that away, though. Someone had torn yet another part of her soul from her with clawing cold hands that showed no mercy. They had taken Thomas and killed him to keep her at bay and in the service of the Centre.
The frosted double doors of her office opened suddenly, breaking her quiet train of thought. Lyle bounded into the room, his steps light and quick, like a happy child. He came to her desk and sat down in the chair on the other side, raised his arms and laced his fingers behind his head.
Parker was not amused at the unannounced intrusion. "Finished licking Raines' boots so soon? I would have thought two days at the very least."
Lyle dismissed her with a grin. "You make sucking up sound so criminal, sis. It's amazing how far it will get you, though."
"Surely, you're not suggesting I consider you the yardstick?" she asked with unabashed disdain.
"There are very few around here who qualify," he told her arrogantly.
Her patience was gone for the day, not that it was ever present where her brother was concerned. "What do you want, Lyle?" she grumbled.
"Actually," he said, bringing his arms down again, "I've come to offer you a change of pace."
She said nothing but leaned to the side and cupped her chin in her hand in boredom.
Her brother seemed unfazed by her lack of interest. "There's a list of children who were here about twenty five years ago, give or take. They were released. The Centre would like you to run a follow-up on them to see what they're doing now that they're a part of the free world."
"I assume they were here for a reason?"
Lyle smiled mischievously. "Aren't we all?"
"Is there a plot to this story, dear brother, or are we just looking to invite them for tea?"
He looked down and picked at a microscopic piece of lint on the lapel of his tailored suit. "Apparently, Raines found a group of them who were telepathic." He concentrated on her again, flicking his fingers. "Or was it telekinetic? I can't remember. In any case, it's your job to find as many of them as you can."
She sat up again, a dull throb beginning in her temples. "And where, pray tell, do I begin looking for them?"
Lyle's grin was not diminishing in the least, making Parker suspect there was something utterly amusing about the task to him. "That's entirely up to you and your two minions," he said flippantly, "but you may want to look through the archives at a project named Black Arrow."
She filed the project name away in her mind. The proverbial other shoe was hanging heavily in the air, waiting for the proper moment to drop, and that interested her more. "Why do I get the feeling you're giddy as a schoolgirl for reasons other than the obvious?"
"Because I," he said deliberately emphasizing his words, "am out of here for two weeks . . . and you're not."
She forced a smile, though it was not one of happiness for his impending escape from the confines of the Centre. It was cold and lifeless and mirroring the level of affection she had for her brother.
"Another fantasy vacation?"
Lyle looked contemplative. A glassy look flickered for just a moment in his eyes, sending a disgusted chill up Parker's spine. She had certainly been implying that "fantasy" had meaning, but Lyle seemed to be clueless that she knew there was significance to his mountain trips. When the time was right, she would find out all there was to know about his obsessions with Oriental women and what he did with them when he was done. She would even accept information from Jarod if he offered it, much to her chagrin.
"As a matter of fact, yes. Fresh outdoor air, the flowers in full bloom – you should take some time off, yourself. You've looked like hell since Thomas's funeral. Even Brigitte is concerned."
Lyle's audacity had no bounds. "I'm touched," she groused.
Her father's only son stood with a spring. "Well, I should be going. I have a lot of packing to do."
She looked at him, feeling more tired than when he first entered her office.
"I'm sure you do," she said. It undoubtedly took time to pack all the handcuffs, shovels and accessories needed to complete his vacation.
He turned toward the door. "Remember," he called to her, "Black Arrow."
Her brother was gone just as quickly as he had appeared, and she was alone once more. Her office was devoid of sound except for the steady hiss of the ventilation system. She knew she should go home, but the house seemed so painfully empty without Thomas there to assure here that she had a life outside the Centre. Though their time together had been brief, there were too many memories bear if she took the time to sit alone in her own home.
He had been there with her, had been ready to make a life with her in spite of the iron wall she had cultivated over the years. For one brief shining moment in her life, she had visions of normality, of spending her life with someone who loved Parker because of who she was, not for what could be gained. Then someone took that – took Thomas – away from her in a most brutal fashion.
Parker's eyes closed as a vivid vision of Thomas flashed in her mind, the scent of him fresh in her memory. She was long past the point of shedding tears over his death. If she gave into the pain any more than she had already, she ran the risk of becoming weak, of losing her focus on finding his killer. The killer, she knew, lay somewhere buried in the hierarchy of the Centre. Any fool could have seen that. The lies had compounded too deeply to make the source of those responsible be anything other than someone within the Centre. Even Jarod, the outsider, knew the evidence pointed at those in power.
She had no desire to go home, and her mind was too active to even consider sleep. She decided to take a stab at Black Arrow and see what turned up before she turned the rest of the research task over to Broots in the morning. She would have an entire night to review the Black Arrow project and all its players so that she would be in the know and not relying on others for the facts.
Full coffee cup in hand, she traced the path to the labs where Sydney had conducted his historical simulations with Jarod, where the boy who had given the Centre a foothold in the logistics world had resided for years. Jarod had grown into an adult man, serving the only authority he had ever really known. He had given the Centre answers to so many political and technical puzzles. He revealed to them the unknown factors that could never have been fathomed by even the most experienced scientist. Most remarkably of all, he did so at a phenomenally young age.
Parker thought of Jarod as she walked through the quiet halls of the Centre. They had grown up together, despite the lack of a normal childhood. Somehow, she and Jarod had bonded as children. They shared the same burden of secrecy, the same forced insistence that the Centre was their home, that the outside world was just that – the outside.
A minimal security detail was on duty as she passed through the lower levels and into the testing labs. They revered Parker with an obliged nod, knowing that to extend communications any further was an invitation to be verbally slapped. She blew past them, not returning any sort of courtesy.
She went straight to Sydney's lab, where all of Jarod's clues and gifts were stored in a chronological array. There was no limit to the man's imagination. Each clue was a reflection of his latest exposure to culture. Toys, television shows, movies – Jarod had been denied them all his life, and he seemed to be making up for lost time.
The lab was dark except for minimal spots that lit the path to the desk on the far side where a DSA terminal sat. She sat down at the desk and began a search at the computer terminal. She sorted through the listings in the archives for Black Arrow. The hit was immediate, and she was presented with reference information as well as library numbers for the discs containing experiment video.
She read the description of the program. Black Arrow was the typical Centre foray into the world of telekinesis, something it thought to be an invaluable power if it could be harnessed and trained to do the impossible. She still had a hard time accepting the concept, since she had never known of any proven cases of the ability to truly exist. Then again, the Centre was full of unpublished secrets that even she was not privy to in the archives.
Parker was not surprised to find Raines listed as the project coordinator. It seemed that the more twisted the project, the more he was involved. Telekinesis, in its most basic form, was fascinating. Telekinesis with Raines as a mentor could only mean it was trying to be cultivated into something offensive.
Parker called to the upper floor archive for the discs that would give her a view of the project from the eagle eye view of Centre surveillance. She read the overview of the program on the DSA terminal while she waited for them to arrive.
In 1968, twelve children were inducted into the Centre for further evaluation of potential telekinetic and empathic development. Like many of the children brought into the ranks of research, they were blatantly taken from their families, never to be seen again by parents who mourned their loss. Parker knew it was no accident the children were taken young, ideally eight or nine years old. The mind was easier to mold, easier to convince than when the imprinting stage was far past completion. Fear was used to induce compliance, and Raines was a master of tormenting children into submission.
She read through the text of the project at length, absorbing all the sordid details and subject profiles. More than once, she had to stop and remind herself that the profiles were children who were now probably grown adults if the Centre had not already disposed of them. It was a morbid thought, but it did happen. The Centre was not averse to getting rid of dead weight. There was no letting the children return to the life that they once knew, with parents and order and freedom. That was a liability Raines would not allow. He would not allow his projects to be jeopardized by mere children, because children would talk. They would tell what had happened. There would be too many questions asked, and that was simply not acceptable. To Parker, that presented a problem.
"So, what are they doing roaming around in the free world?" she said to the empty room.
The discs she had requested arrived by courier. She accepted the delivery, dismissing the young man with a nod. Not even a word was exchanged between them. None was warranted. The hour was late, and Parker had a tendency to carry a bad mood when she worked late. That fact was not lost on the staff of the Centre.
She waited for the courier to close the door behind him before slipping the disc into the DSA. She sat back, bringing the coffee cup to her lips as she did so, and settled in to view the available surveillance video of the project.
For Centre Use Only.
Surveillance – David and Jeanie – SL29 – Playroom
April 9, 1971 09:26
The camera peers through smoked glass. The children on the other side are oblivious to the man watching them from the other side of the mirror. Raines stands to the side of the glass to give the camera a full view of the events inside the playroom where an older boy and a very young girl sit amid blocks and assorted toys.
Raines turns to the camera and speaks his introduction.
"We've learned through one of the other children that David and Jeanie have bonded since coming to the Centre. David's extraordinary telekinetic powers have been dormant in all our testing. Yet, he displays them for the girl to comfort her."
He turns back toward the window. The camera view switches to the inside of the room and focuses closely on the children. David is dressed in a white cotton shirt and dark pants. He sits cross-legged opposite Jeanie. She is dressed in a dress that flourishes around her. It is difficult to discern the color because of the black and white quality of the recording.
Jeanie's countenance is one of fear and despair. She is staring intently at a block on the floor. "I don't want to be here anymore, David. I want my mom and dad," she says.
David nods solemnly. "I know, but I don't think any of us is going home for a while." He is trying to be strong and comforting, but the slight quaver in his voice betrays his own fear. "We just have to make the best of it, okay?"
Jeanie's head is still cast downward in sadness. Her swollen eyes indicate she has been crying recently. David reaches out and gently touches her chin, urging her to look at him, at his eyes.
"You have to be strong, Jeanie. Promise?" There is an underlying desperation in his voice, noticeable only to an adult. A child of Jeanie's age, no more than seven or eight years old, is unlikely to understand how crucial his words really are.
The girl's eyes are bright with tears that do not fall. Perhaps she is holding them back to be strong for David, just as he has asked. She waits a moment before speaking. Then she gives the slightest nod and says in an impossibly small voice, "I promise."
David smiles in what can only be relief. He appears comforted that she has not given argument to the request. "Good," he said solidly. Then, with a renewed smile he says, "Hey! Watch this!"
The camera's view loosens. The shot pans back to show the children and the array of toys surrounding them. David concentrates on a stuffed bear a few feet away from them. It is flat on its back, but not for long. It suddenly lurches, then stands erect and moves smoothly toward Jeanie.
She is unable to suppress a giggle at the sight of a walking bear. Her arms stretch out before her, as if to coax it her way. The bear turns toward her in a clumsy motion and topples toward her waiting arms. She picks it up once it nears her, hugging it tightly.
David smiles, too, happy to see Jeanie forget the rigors of the Centre for even a moment. He is happy he has brought her even a few minutes of respite from the fear all the children have been feeling since being brought to the Centre. He moves other toys, all to her delight. Their play time continues.
The segment suddenly shifts to another time marker.
Surveillance – David – SL31 – General Test Facility
March 12, 1972 11:14
While David's body has not aged, his eyes tell a different tale of stress. He looks defeated and tired. He is systematically moving object with his mind, hurling them with great velocity at a far wall. A tennis ball, a baseball, and finally an orange sail through the air and impact against the cinder block wall. The next few items are more unconventional for a small boy. They are lined up on the table by size, largest to smallest – a fragmentation grenade, a knife and a bullet. Each sails through the air at the wall. It is clear just how much control David has over each object. The knife and bullet fly point first, the way they were intended if being used to kill.
Raines is there, beaming with pride at his successful specimen. David is developing better than expected. "Excellent, David," he says, approaching the boy. "Excellent," he repeats.
David shows no emotion. He does not even regard the praise coming from Raines. His sight is concentrated on the wall, on the objects on the floor. His stare is cold, broken only when two guards enter the room to return him to his quarters.
End of surveillance.
Parker's brow rose in amusement. "Oh, that's precious," she said to the empty room again. It was difficult enough to believe she was seeing the telekinetic ability in action, but it was a whole other thing to see it used in such a bizarre fashion and with a boy so young.
She turned her attention back to the text files of the project, piecing together its intent and that of Raines. She had a decent idea what that was already from the objects young David was hurling in the DSA video. Raines had been cultivating a human weapon.
It was the perfect idea, Parker admitted. The applications involving those with telekinetic abilities were infinite. The most significant of all possibilities was an anonymous assassin, one who killed with the power of thought to move deadly objects. There would be no trace evidence. Fingerprints would never be found because the need for physical contact with the object would be negated. Forensic investigators would be at a loss, trying to identify weapons that did not exist.
Parker continued her examination of Black Arrow's files, gleaning the highlights of the project. There were hundreds of pages of study information she would assign to one of the Centre's eggheads, most likely Broots. He would know to give her the condensed version of the story and highlight the important parts.
It was ironic to Parker how she allowed herself to trust Broots. She had power over him through both fear and his misplaced crush on her. That, she felt, gave her a measure of insurance against his misleading her or outright lying. Broots, his hair nearly gone at a premature age, represented the typified result of classmate torment and social inhibition. He bordered and perhaps sometimes achieved the level of genius in his work with the Centre's computer systems. The keyboard became an extension of his body when he worked, which was why Parker routinely dumped research work in his lap. She trusted he would reduce the reams of reports down to the important highlights and leave the rest for posterity.
And, she had to admit, there was a nerdish charm about him that she found comforting. He was one of the few people at the Centre who did not regard her with a hidden agenda. Broots was honest to a fault and a good father to his young daughter. He was a good man, by all accounts, which clashed horribly with the philosophy of the Centre.
She would instruct him to give the background information on David and Jeanie, maybe have one of his egghead cronies conduct an aging composite on the children's faces to show what they might look like twenty-five years later. For the moment, she would ignore her resentment of Lyle's assigning her to the "Where Are They Now?" game and enjoy the respite it brought from chasing Jarod across the country. She was tired, both physically and mentally, from always being one step behind the boy she had grown up with in the halls of the Centre.
Her eyes closed as she stretched her neck against the back of the chair. Maybe Lyle had been right. Maybe she did need a vacation. Then the images of his purported fantasies came to mind, reminding her of the need to be vigilant, especially around Lyle.
"Not a chance in hell, dear brother," she muttered.