I aplogize for a) taking too long to get this
chapter out, and b) for not
having much of Buffy in this chapter. This chapter
is mostly Pretender-related,
but it is part of the story. I promise, more
Buffy(and hopefully more
Buffy/Willow smoochy goodness) in the next chapter.
Let the exposition begin!
Oh, and I'm going to upload a photomanip I did for
this story in the files
section in a minute. Enjoy.
Disclaimers; Joss and Mutant Enemy created the Buffy
stuff for 20th Century
Fox. The Pretender is owned by NBC and TNT right
now, to the best of my
knowledge.
Rating; PG-13 to R
Spoilers; This is an Alternate Universe, set just
after "Goodbye Iowa".
Author's note; Rather than bog down the plotline
with a generic subplot about
Buffy and Willow finding themselves and each other,
I'm writing them as
already together as the story starts. And Tara's
not in this story. In this
universe, she's already got a girl, she's happy, she
and Willow are friends, let's
just leave her alone. 'Kay?
Distribution; Ask first. I've got a big enough ego,
I'm likely to say yes.
Feedback; It's the cherry on the cake of my writing.
JDMeans@xxxxxxx
Summary; He's not a Watcher, but he knows more about
what's going on in
Sunnydale than even the Council. His name is Jarod.
The Centre Cannot Hold
by Kirayoshi
Chapter Three
The Falcon Cannot Hear the Falconer
"Well if you told me you were drowning,
I would not lend a hand.
I've seen your face before my friend,
But I don't know if you know who I am.
But I was there, and I saw what you did
Saw it with my own two eyes,
So you can wipe off that grin,
'Cause I know where you've been,
It's all been a pack of lies.
I can feel it coming in the air tonight,
Hold on...
And I've been waiting for this moment for all my
life,
Hold on...
Can you feel it coming in the air tonight,
Hold on...
Hold on..."
--Phil Collins
"In The Air Tonight"
In his room in a sub-basement of the Centre, the
tortured young man known
only as Angelo squirmed in his chair, his eyes
staring wildly from behind his
nest of black curls, constantly darting back and
forth between two different
computer monitors, his mind absorbing every image,
every word like a sponge.
Images of vampires flashed across the monitors at
lightning speed, interspersed
with sites and details from a small California
college. "Monsters," he muttered
to himself. "Monsters are out there, monsters out
to get Jarod, out to get
Miss Parker..."
Angelo was a testimony to the intellectual acumen of
the Centre, as well as
to its utter disregard for human life. A child
prodigy, Timothy was taken by
the Centre as an infant, much as Jarod was. Through
various exercises, up to
and including massive shock therapy, Mr. Raines had
succeeded in boosting
Timothy already preternatural empathic traits, at
the cost of the young man's mind.
His mind was now attuned to the minds he had
encountered before, feeling
what they felt on a subconscious level. But his own
mind was erratic,
conflicted, unable to hold any linear thought or
even regard himself as a distinct
individual. The Centre's experiments succeeded in
destroying his mind. Where once
there was an entity named Timothy a human being
capable of laughing, loving
and dreaming, there now stood the hyper-empath known
only as Angelo, only
capable of serving the ambitions of others, with no
capacity for any ambitions of
his own.
He sensed intuitively that Jarod was in great
danger, probably greater than
any the pretender had ever known in his chaotic
life. What endangered him was
more than Centre politics, more than Miss Parker's
relentless pursuit, more
even than Lyle's insanity or Mr. Raines' white-hot
hatred of the entire human
race. He sensed that Jarod would soon come face to
face with true evil, and
that knowledge was driving the already unstable
empath further into a downward
spiral.
A sudden sharp latching sound broke his
concentration, and he spun in his
chair, glancing behind him. The grating over the
ceiling air vent hinged open,
and then fell clattering to the floor. A black-clad
figure dropped feet-first
from the vent, landing in a crouching position on
the concrete floor beneath
him. The figure turned his head toward Angelo,
removed the ski mask that
obscured his face and smiled. "Hello, Timmy," he
greeted him knowingly.
Angelo craned his head at three different angles,
sizing this new visitor up
for ten whole seconds; the wavy gray hair, the
hard-worn expressive face, the
authoritative spread of his shoulders. All this and
something oddly familiar
overlaid across his face. "You know Jarod?" he
asked. "You seem a lot like
him."
"I should," the visitor answered, "I'm his father.
Call me Major Charles.
Jarod sent me to break you out of here. Don't
worry, Timmy, I have some
medicine that Jarod recommended for you. We'll make
you better again."
The mention of Jarod's name sent Angelo into a more
violent seizure. "Jarod's
in trouble," Angelo shouted as he backed away from
the Major, his head
twitching from side to side, his eyes darting
furtively back and forth like a jungle
animal trapped in too small a cage. "Something's
happening to him, something
evil's going to happen."
"Yes, yes," the Major spoke in soothing tones as he
approached the frightened
young man, "Jarod told me himself. He's up to his
eyeballs in something big.
And knowing him he's having the time of his life.
Now, let's get you out of
here before..." Almost as if on cue, alarm sirens
keened, and flashing
lights colored the dark room a vivid red. "Damn and
blast," Major Charles muttered
under his breath. "Lyle's goons will be here in a
minute! Quickly, Timmy,
we have to get up the vent!" Charles stood under the
vent opening and held his
hands three feet above the floor palm-up, his
fingers interlaced.
Angelo nodded once, and stepped onto the offered
hands, allowing Charles to
push him upward into the vent. Once he saw Angelo's
foot disappear from view,
he jumped upward, grabbing the edge of the opening,
and strained to lift
himself up.
"Uh, uh, uh!" the voice behind him chided like
honeyed venom. "On the floor,
Major, hands where I can see them."
Major Charles let go of the ledge, landing on his
feet and holding his hands
over his head. "Isn't this rich?" Lyle smiled
darkly