Burning Eden

"And I don't need the fallout of all the past

That's here between us

And I'm not holding on

And all your lies weren't enough to keep me here."

--Goo Goo Dolls

Sydney's hands shook as she held the sealed document before her. She'd seen too much already; she didn't want to keep reading, but her hands—moving with some dark, perverse desire from the furthest reaches of her mind—continued to move the black light over the paper, and her eyes couldn't help but follow along.

The room around her was silent, but the quietness seemed grievously misplaced. Inside her own head, she was screaming as the words before her tore down the pillars that held up the world she'd always known. One by one, the pillars fell, crashing down and demolishing all that was left, leaving her mind in chaotic tangles. She felt as though the world around her should reflect the cacophony of pain within her—explosions, crashes, loud and angry music; all would be adequately fit to express the torment she was feeling in a much more accurate manner than this cruel silence.

"Sydney."

She voice made her look up, and her continuous, desperate motion came to an abrupt halt at last. Here stood before her the man she'd depended on her whole life—the same man who had just brought it falling down around her. She could hardly stand to look at her father, but just as the paper had held some cold lure, she could not look away from his face. As always, it was so passive—perhaps it was even a bit softer than usual. He showed no signs of shock or anger at finding her in the possession of the documents that he had clearly tried so hard to hide from her for all these years.

"You were never supposed to have found this," he said. Was it regret she heard in his tone? Was she reaching too far? Or was it true that he was regretful—regretful at the fact that the secrets he'd held for so long had been revealed?

Sydney stared at him, trying unsuccessfully to choke back sobs of anguish as she studied his face, vying so desperately for the smallest shred of hope to cling to. He was quiet, and once more Sydney cursed the sound of nothingness. She regarded him from her seat through wary and tear-filled eyes.

"I suppose your being here is Lauren's doing," Jack said after the silence dragged on past his endurance. His voice was still calm as ever, making her wish that he would display even the slightest sign of emotion.

"And what does that say about this whole situation?" Sydney snapped, her voice hostile. "What does it say that I can trust Lauren's word more than my own father's?"

For the briefest instant, Jack's face twitched in what Sydney would swear was a flinch. Contrary to this, his voice was harsher this time. "Lauren only gave you this information because she is sadistic. She knew her own life was coming to an end, and she was going to do everything within her power to destroy yours in return. You know that."

"Yeah," Sydney countered. "Yeah, I know why she did it. But you were the one that put it there for her to use!"

Jack moved forward into the room, coming to stand on the side of the desk opposite her. Sydney glared at him without a word. She appraised him through the slits of her pupils. Though Jack was undeniably an older man, she'd never thought of him as elderly or aging; his spirit was always far too young for her to think of him in such a manner. But as he stood before her now, he looked older than she'd ever seen him.

"Sydney," he began, his voice toneless once more, "I have made mistakes. I have made horrible, unforgivable mistakes. Believe me, I know that. But you must give me a chance to explain this . . . not everything is as it first appears to be."

Shaking her head in exasperation, Sydney looked him straight in the eyes. "There is nothing you could possibly say that would make this all right."

"I know that," Jack said. He paused a moment before continuing. "I know that you have every right to hate me for this, and I dare not say that after listening to me you'll feel any different. But you cannot base your opinion of this situation on those documents alone."

"Why should I trust a word that comes out of your mouth? My whole life has been a lie, Dad, and you've been the one orchestrating it! That doesn't spawn a lot of trust," she spat.

Jack's composure was slipping. There was a gleam of desperation in his eyes. "You have no reason to trust me. I've been untruthful to you more times than I can easily count, but if you don't understand more than the facts on those pages, you'll be in grave danger. You are already."

Sydney stood up abruptly, tossing the document back upon the desk, and tucking the tools she'd used back into her briefcase. She did not look up until she'd finished. "I've been in grave danger my whole life," she said in response to his last comment. "I don't need your help. I don't need you for anything anymore." Her words were biting, containing a chill that was alien to her personality.

There was no hiding the hurt on Jack's face this time, but it wasn't buying him a speck of sympathy from Sydney, who was trying desperately to hold her composure until she was out of his vicinity.

"Sydney . . ." he began tentatively.

She glared at him. "Stay away from me," she ordered coldly. "Don't talk to me, don't try to 'help' me, don't even look at me. Just stay away. I never want to see you again." With these last words of painful sincerity, Sydney spun and strode through the door without another look back, leaving her father to pick up the papers she'd left scattered, along with the pieces of a lifelong lie.