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Scene 1: Outside the Whitney University Research Lab. Lewis has just been arrested by the police. Tom and Sloan are walking away from the "crime" scene. Not a word was spoken between Tom and Sloan as they walked away from the police cars that had assembled in front of the University Lab. They held each other close, but nervously, and both felt an urgency to get as far away from the Lab and from that night's events as quickly as possible. Their strides, steady at first, hastened as they approached the parking lot behind the research building where Sloan's car was parked. To Sloan, the last few days seemed like a dream, a nightmare, the realization of her worst fears but also of her unspoken hopes about Tom. She flashed on images of Lewis and Lisa as she walked arm in arm with the man who had suddenly become such an integral part of her life. "Are you in love with him?" Lewis had asked invadingly. She shuddered at the recollection of his dispassionate voice, his icy stare on her face, and his hands on her skin. "You are, aren't you?" Lewis' answer to his own question resounded in her mind. Was he right? Tom and she had become closer, true, but somehow it was more than that. Their friendship, their connection had strengthened... had become more genuine... despite the terror and chaos of recent events. Tom and she had found something good and special amidst this nightmare, and in spite of it. They had found each other. Sloan was lost in an ocean of conflicting emotions, tired and very numb from the series of events that had changed her life forever - that were changing her. But at least they were all safe....... A sudden chill swept through her. Startled by the night air, Sloan looked up to realize that they had reached her car and that Tom had removed his arm from around her shoulder. He was waiting patiently for her to unlock the car door, but he stood motionless and silent, his gaze fixed on a distant somewhere, on a distant nowhere. "Tom?" she whispered. "Are you all right?" "I'm fine," he responded in his usual stoic manner. "I was just thinking...." He stopped mid-sentence, once again drifting back into his own private world and leaving Sloan in her own. His eyes appeared clearer, brighter, almost glowing in the evening moonlight. "What?" she asked. There was a hint of worry and anxiety in her voice. The expression on her face was one of fear of losing him again, of watching him slip away into his world of violence and brute instinct. It was her greatest fear, for she knew that she could not follow him in that world. There was no place for her there. But was it fair to expect him to remain with her? Could he? The only thing she was sure of was that they needed him at the Lab, on their side in this evolutionary struggle, and that she needed him..... "Tom, what is it?" Sloan's voice was tense. "I think I should go back," he replied, his eyes now staring directly at Sloan. She felt another chill go through her, but it wasn't the night air. "What?" "Lewis....I should go back and find out where they'll be taking him. What will they do with him, Sloan? I shouldn't have just left like that. I need to....." "Tom, let it go," she interrupted. "Attwood and the police can take care of this now. You've done the right thing, and now it's in their hands." There was a pleading in her voice and Tom sensed it. It confused him. "In whose hands, Sloan?" Tom's voice was gentler now, almost comforting. "In the authority's...the police." She unlocked the passenger door and walked around to the driver's side. "Please, Tom, let's just go home. We've both been through so much and we're both tired." He nodded his head and neither said another word as they got into the car. As she started the ignition, he began to gently stroke the side of her face as if to reassure her that everything was going to be okay. For a moment, as he peered into her eyes and into her soul, she wasn't afraid. "It's all right, Sloan," he whispered. "Everything's all right now." And she believed him. How could she not..... "It's all right," he had said out loud. Tom's words of reassurance and comfort echoed repeatedly in his head. But was it? It had been almost an hour since he had first awaken from that state of slumber that Lewis' training had forcefully induced upon him. But since then his thoughts had been fragmented and cloudy. His mind had continuously wavered back and forth between two separate realities and two different identities of who he was and was meant to be. His head ached from the incessant pounding in his mind, and from the pull of two opposing worlds which at the moment were tearing him apart. Which world did he belong to? Which did he choose? Which identity was HIS? A growing sense of desperation began to fill his being as he struggled to separate reality from illusion, and as he fought to keep himself from being ripped apart. He needed to anchor himself, to regain control, to be true to himself......himself???.....to.... A cry of pain and frustration escaped from his lips. "Slooaan..." he said as he reached for her hand that was clutching the steering wheel. "Sloan, I...." He couldn't find the words to express what he was feeling, because there were no such words. Nor did he understand the melange of emotions and thoughts that were whirling inside of him. He knew only that he needed to be with her, to sense her next to him. They were at a stoplight. Without speaking Sloan took his hand in hers and turned to face him. She seemed to understand what was happening to him, to her, and between them. She held the back of his hand to the side of her face and began to cry...softly and quietly. "I'm so glad you're all right," she whispered. A tear fell gently into Tom's hand and it felt warm on his skin. Warmth. Looking into her eyes he saw.... no, he felt...... warmth....affection....purpose. "This is my world," he thought to himself. "This is my reality, here, with her. She's part of who I am....of who I want to become." The pounding in his head ceased. The painful tearing and ripping in his heart stopped. The tug of war was over. Then the light turned green. 
Scene 2: Outside the Whitney University Research Lab. The police have Lewis handcuffed and sitting in the back of one of their police cars. Attwood is speaking with an officer and making arrangements concerning Lewis. "I want him held at a maximum security facility," Attwood explained to the officer, "kept in isolation and guarded twenty-four hours seven days a week....." "But, Sir, I think...." the officer stuttered as he attempted to articulate his thoughts but was quickly interrupted. "Your job is not to think...so don't! Just do what I say." Attwood was surprised at his impatience, at the coldness of his own voice and demeanor. This situation with the new species was getting out of hand, and he himself was no longer sure about who was in control or who was calling the shots. "But Dr. Attwood," the officer continued, "I have orders to remain here with the prisoner until a special transport vehicle arrives to take him." "What special transport vehicle?" Attwood asked. "And under whose orders? I'm in charge here....." He was cut off suddenly by a familiar voice coming from behind him. "No you're not," she said forcefully. Attwood spun around quickly and found himself standing face to face with his Contact, or his so-called boss. "I'm in charge, Walter, or haven't you figured that out yet?" Attwood was speechless. "M'am," the officer interjected, "the prisoner is ready for pick-up, just as you ordered." "Good," she replied, "now take him to that limousine and then get out of here." The officer motioned to two other policemen on guard at a distance. The three of them then proceeded to transfer Lewis from the police car to the limousine. She watched intently as her orders were carried out, and as the handcuffed prisoner glared knowingly at her as he was escorted from one vehicle to another. "Ok, Walter, I'll take it from here," she said to Attwood who was silently watching the events of the evening unfold. He was beginning to feel like a pawn in a complicated and evil game. "Go home," she continued. "As usual, you look like hell." Too tired to protest, Attwood obediently headed back to the lab. But while still within speaking distance of his Contact, he called out, "You'll keep me informed?" "You're on a 'need to know basis' Walter," she answered, "and that's all you to need know now." Attwood watched as she disappeared into her limousine. He felt a wave of nausea rise within him as he thought about how much he disliked her, how he hated the way she manipulated him and those on his team, and the way she abused her power. But he knew his place in this political hierarchy, and as always, he would simply obey. He made his way back to the Lab and smiled at the thought of Lewis in handcuffs and imprisoned, and of Tom safe again with Sloan. He brought out his cell phone and hit a number that was stored in his phone's memory. "Hi, Ed... it's Walter. I thought I'd update you....."
Scene 3: Inside the limousine. They're driving to LL headquarters. "Are these handcuffs really necessary?" Lewis asked dispassionately." He stared coldly at the woman sitting across from him. "Things did not go according to plans, now did it, Lewis?" She said angrily. She reached across and released him from the cuffs that bound his wrists. "Tom should be in my custody now, not you, and those fools in the Lab should be dead! My superiors are displeased with your futile attempts to 'retrain' Tom." It was obvious that she found no pleasure conversing with the infamous mentor. "I explained to you and your people that Tom is special," Lewis replied as he glared out the car window. "He's different....one of the best I've ever trained, one of the chosen of our species...and he's strong. Not just physically, but he's strong mentally as well. His sense of individuality has always been a challenge for me to break." The coldness of Lewis' voice was piercing, and his gaze as he spoke of Tom was one of fascination, of obsession. "And you've failed," the woman said. "Do you realize how much work it took to orchestrate this chain of events? Sloan's abduction...Lisa...and this farce that you call re-training." The air of superiority with which she spoke was beginning to amuse Lewis. "Fool," he thought to himself. "Such a pathetic and impatient species!" He said nothing aloud to his companion, however, and sat quietly, entertained at the display of inferiority sitting across from him in the limousine. "We did not enter into this collaboration with your species only to work with incompetents like you," she continued. Lewis' amusement increased with her every word. "I heard everything that went on in that lab through our surveillance devices," she said. "And I heard just how easy it was for Dr. Parker to undo Tom's retraining. It was prudent that we had devised an alternate plan." "You do think that, don't you?" He said without a hint of emotion on his face. "No matter. The master plan has not changed. I regret only that there are those who foolishly desire co-existence. If it weren't for dissidents from each of our species, we would not be speaking like this, would we? And I would not have had to play at being arrested by your pitiful policemen, or tolerate your company as I am now." He stared coldly into her eyes, his voice steady and never faltering, never changing in tone and fluidity. It surprised him how easily and naturally she returned his gaze, his intensity, his coldness. And she was strangely cold for a homo sapien. He sensed it and was amused by it. "But I suppose we must all sacrifice for the greater cause," he continued. "We need Tom out of the picture," she replied, changing the subject and, from her perspective, regaining control of the conversation. "He has done nothing but thwart our efforts." "My 'kind' has tolerated his betrayal long enough," Lewis said dryly, all the while never flinching, never blinking. "His treason, although intriguing, must not be allowed to interfere any longer." "Our superiors are planning the next phase as we speak," she continued. "I assure you that special plans are being made for Tom." "I have no superiors," Lewis replied coldly. "I work only for the sake of the master plan, the 'inevitable'....for the survival of my species." "It seems that Attwood may still prove useful afterall," she said ignoring Lewis' remarks. "And Ed.....well, I think his genius may prove invaluable to us." She smiled wickedly at the thoughts swarming through her mind. Lewis, still amused by his companion's blatant inferiority, returned her smile but without the arrogance that seemed to accompany hers. His superiority and dominance were self evident. "And what of Dr. Parker?" he asked. "Dr. Parker is easy enough to incapacitate," she responded. "Her achilles heal is clearly obvious...." With a tilt of his head Lewis communicated to her that he understood precisely what she was inferring. She recalled observing the same behavior in Tom on numerous occasions, and she marveled at how so much alike Tom and his mentor were, and yet how different. "And you may get another chance with Tom," she added. "No doubt that I will," he said. "Tom cannot escape his destiny. He cannot alter the path of evolution. He will take his proper place of command as one of our chosen leaders....in time." Silence. There were no words left that needed be spoken. Both passengers' body language, tense and suspicious, reflected the unnatural cooperation that had emerged between the species in their quest for domination, power and control. The limousine drove on, carrying its passengers to their final destination as the inevitable course of events continued to unfold.
Scene 4: Sloan's apartment. Sloan is in her kitchen preparing some tea. Tom is sitting quietly in the floral-upholstered couch. They had barely spoken to one another during the drive home. It was enough that they were together and driving away from the Lab and from the others. Here, in Sloan's apartment, they found solace and reprieve from a world that had become increasingly hostile to all of them, and to their special yet vulnerable friendship. Looking up from her kitchen counter Sloan noticed that Tom was becoming agitated. He had been distant since his awakening, but now he appeared troubled, almost in a panic. "Tom, what's wrong?" she asked as she approached him with the mug of tea she had prepared. "Tom?" "I don't know," he whispered. He was holding the back of his neck with one hand, his head with the other, and his breathing was becoming irregular...frantic. "Tom, please..." Sloan was kneeling in front of him trying desperately to connect, to understand.... "please tell me what's wrong!" Her concern was apparent now, and Tom, sensing her rising anxiety, leaned towards her and rested his forehead against hers as if to offer her whatever comfort and strength he could. "I don't know," he answered. "I keep getting mental flashes of what happened the last couple days...my childhood...my training." His breathing was laborious and came in shudders. "But I can't tell what's real!" He leaned back on the couch and cupped his head with both hands. Sloan, helpless and scared, sat frozen in front of him. "Tom," she pleaded, "talk to me! Just tell me what you're seeing, what you're remembering..." "A white room....and Lewis....syringe...my mother," he whimpered. "Slooaan?" His confusion was becoming more like a delirium, as if he were reliving the memories playing through his mind. "I'm here," she said, "I'm right here...." "I left you at the motel..." Tom's voice was desperate, fearful. "I shouldn't have done that..." He flinched suddenly as he experienced a different memory. "Oh, Sloan.... I was going to shoot you, going to kill you! I shoved you hard...pushed you...." The expression on his face transformed into one of shocking realization. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" He was leaning his head against hers again, shuddering and trembling as memories of the last twenty-four hours played through his mind like a newsreel. "It wasn't your fault," Sloan cried. Tears were pouring from her eyes as she held Tom close to her. "It was Lewis...it was the training." "I could never hurt you, Sloan," he said between shudders. "I would never hurt you...." "I know, I know...and you didn't...." She was sobbing now, attempting unsuccessfully to control her emotions. "I'm sorry," he repeated, "I'm so sorry...." Still resting his forehead against hers, Tom began to stroke the side of her face like he did when they were in the car. He peered intensely into her eyes, never breaking contact, never breaking their connection. Minutes later, or what seemed like minutes, he became calm again. He sat back in the couch and turned away from Sloan. His face was devoid of emotion, his posture rigid and defensive. Sloan sat quietly next to Tom with her eyes fixed worriedly on his face. She noticed that all color had drained suddenly from Tom's countenance. His eyes were wide and strangely dead. "Tom?" Sloan whispered. "Tom?" "I killed my mother," he said dispassionately. "I killed my mother." "What..." Sloan wasn't sure she had heard him correctly. "I don't understand...." A buzzing at Sloan's door sounded through the room causing Sloan to jump at the unexpected interruption. Tom sensed who was outside but said nothing. Sloan went to her door and saw Ed looking up at the camera outside her apartment. "Hi, Ed..." she said softly. "Hey...I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and that Tom was okay," he said through the intercom. "We're fine, Ed," Sloan replied. "Well, aren't you going to let me in?" "Yeah, come on up." She punched the access code that granted visitors entrance to her apartment building. Turning back to the sofa where Tom had been sitting she realized that he was no longer there. She felt a panic rise within her, but it quickly receded as soon as she saw Tom standing out on the fire-escape. He was looking out towards the city, his face still wanting of emotion, his gaze fixed once again on a distant somewhere, on a distant nowhere. And Ed walked in the door.
Scene 5: The following morning. Whitney University Lab. Attwood and Sloan are talking in Attwood's office. "What do you mean you don't know where Lewis is being held?" Sloan's frustration was growing steadily. She was already worried about Tom, and she knew that this news about Lewis was only going to disturb him more. "My Contact has him." Attwood responded. "That's all I know. I had no choice in the matter." "We always have choices, Walter," she said angrily. She began to pace from one side of the room to the other. "Not in this case." He replied. "We're involved in something much larger and more complex than we can even begin to imagine. I'm at the bottom of the chain of command....if I'm part of that chain at all!" His attempt to defend himself was unsuccessful. Attwood himself didn't buy his "no choice" line of argument and he didn't expect Sloan to either. He didn't trust his Contact, or anybody else for that matter, except for his colleagues in the Lab and Detective Peterson. So why did he continue to work for this boss of his and her people? He had to make changes soon. He understood that, and it worried him. Sloan stood opposite his desk, arms folded tensely around her waist, cheeks flushed with anger. "There must be some way we can find out where they're holding him," she said. "Maybe we can interrogate him ourselves and get information from him that can help us." She heard the words she thoughtlessly spoke aloud, but knew that what she had proposed was an impossibility. "Sloan..." Attwood began. "You know as well as I that that will never happen." He spoke authoritatively, almost condescendingly. It infuriated Sloan even more. Speechless, she glared at Attwood as he sat behind his desk. He was nervously twirling a pencil in his right hand, seemingly out of frustration, and it was obvious to Sloan that he was just as displeased with the situation as she. Tension filled the room. The door to Attwood's office swung open suddenly as Ed came in with a pile of computer printouts in hand. "Hey," Ed said, all the while feeling the tension and the very loud silence that he walked into. "Is everything ok in here?" "Yeah," Sloan replied. "Just fine. Are those the results of Tom's blood work-up?" "Uh-huh." Ed stood quietly as he scanned the test results. Sloan and Attwood waited patiently for him to share the information with them. "Well?" Sloan finally asked. "Well, based on the blood sample I took from Tom last night, it appears that Lewis injected him with some kind of substance that alters the neurotransmitters in the brain," Ed began. "But I'm not sure exactly what the substance is. I mean, there was only a residual amount detectable in his bloodstream, so it's hard to know for sure." "Know what for sure?" Attwood asked. "What the substance is exactly, or what it does to a person's neural pathways?" "Both," Ed replied. "His blood tests definitely revealed traces of some foreign chemical. I don't know what it is. The new species may have manufactured it." He flipped through the computer printout again and stopped on the last page. "The substance causes some kind of neurological reaction affecting the brain synapses and activity, but I can't say for sure just what kind of reaction." "Maybe," Sloan interjected as she grabbed the printouts from Ed's hands and began to peruse the findings herself, "the substance works like a synaptic 'inhibitor,' and prevents the brain's neurotransmitters from doing their job properly thereby altering the rest of the brain's chemical processes..." Ed pondered what Sloan had just said and what the implications of her ideas were. He thought back to his basic biology courses as he mentally followed Sloan's reasoning. Ideas started to come to him. "Which could then alter the brain's normal functions enough to place it in a kind of homeostasis...." Ed declared. The light bulbs illuminating above both their heads were almost visible. "And which would obviously make a person more susceptible to mind control," Sloan continued. "Some kind of phrase could be used to trigger a specific response from a mind that was in a suspended state, or maybe a phrase could be used to revert the mind back into a suspended state." She frowned as she contemplated the pieces of the puzzle. "Do you know if the substance remains in the person's system indefinitely, or causes any permanent changes to the brain's functions?" "I can't say for sure, Sloan," Ed replied. "I don't have enough data to draw any reliable or valid conclusions." He was accustomed to Sloan's inquiring and obsessive mind, but her constant questioning annoyed him at times. Like now. "Haven't there been hundreds of studies on such drugs and hypnosis techniques?" Sloan interjected. "Did you check the research base on mind control methods in both psychology and neurology archives?" "Of course I did," Ed responded. "But it did no good. What I'm saying is that the particular substance in Tom's blood is undocumented, unknown. It doesn't exist, Sloan, not in our science books anyway, and definitely not in our research databases." "But it obviously exists in theirs," Attwood said. "At any rate, how's Tom now?" "Oh, he seems ok," Ed replied. "He's in the other room thinking...or whatever it is he does when he just sits quietly. This chemical substance in his system, whatever it is, appears to be dormant right now. But there are residuals in his blood...." "You mean that the drug can be 'turned off'...or that the person can turn it off," Sloan interrupted. "What if...." She stopped mid-sentence as she thought about the enigmatic details of Lewis' programming methods. "What?" Ed asked expectantly. He knew how sharply tuned her deductive reasoning skills were and how quickly her mind worked. It was one of the things he loved most about her, and why he respected her so much. "Nothing..." Sloan answered. "I don't know...." "What are you thinking Sloan?" Attwood asked. "It's just that it didn't take too much effort for me to bring him back and to snap him out of Lewis' control," she explained. She became lost in her own thoughts again and her words trailed into a whisper. Ed and Attwood waited patiently for her to speak again, but they, too, became absorbed in their own ideas. "I just wish that we had more information, more details about the substance and how it impacts neurons and the corresponding pathways..." "But what if Tom's just different from the rest of his species," Ed began, "what if his brain operates differently than the average member of his kind...." "Tom IS different," Sloan interjected. "Perhaps Lewis and the rest of the new species underestimated the strength of Tom's mind, of his individuality. He's not like them. He's proven that repeatedly." "What you're saying, then, is that Tom may be an unexpected case, a sort of mutant?" Attwood asked. "I don't know. I just don't think that they ever counted on any member of their species to be the way Tom is," Sloan reasoned. They grew silent as they contemplated the implications of their emerging new theory. "Well, then," Ed said breaking the silence, "assuming that Tom is different from the normative member of his species, can we assume that he's the only one - that his neurological and personality 'uniqueness' is an isolated event?" "Maybe there are others like him," Sloan said, completing Ed's thoughts. "It's only logical that there would be..." "I agree with Sloan," Attwood added. "It's likely that there are others like Tom, resilient to programming with a strong sense of individuality." He stopped and thought about what it would mean to have others like Tom out there. "For our sake," Attwood continued, "Let's hope that there are." For what seemed like hours they continued to discuss various theories about mind control and brain altering substances. But their discussions only led to more questions and more ambiguities that none of them could answer. Frustrated, they all agreed to go home for the evening.
Scene 6: Sloan's apartment, later that evening. Dinner. Tom and Sloan are sharing a pizza and ice tea. At Sloan's apartment there were no conversations about programming, unknown chemical substances, or even Lewis. In fact, there was hardly any conversation at all. An unusual silence had developed between Tom and Sloan since they left the Lab and it persisted throughout dinner. Nibbling at her pizza, Sloan debated whether or not to engage Tom in a discussion about his mother again - to pickup where they had left off the other night. Their conversation had been cut short the previous evening when Ed unexpectedly dropped by to check up on them. She was glad that he did, though, since he had brought his medical bag with him and was able to examine Tom and get a new sample of his blood. But Tom and she never finished what they had begun to talk about... and she was worried about him. "Do you want my crust?" Tom asked breaking the silence. "Huh?" Sloan asked coming out of her daze. "Do you want my pizza crust?" he repeated. He was smiling. It was the first time she had seem him smile in a long time. She couldn't help but smile back. "Oh, no thank you," she answered. "I'm not that hungry." She stood up and left the kitchen counter at which they had been quietly eating dinner. She plopped herself down on her floral-upholstered sofa as Tom watched her every move. "Tom," she began, "we need to talk." "About what?" he replied as he looked intently at her. He so admired her beauty, her gentle green eyes that relayed so much expression and intelligence. And he had almost killed her.... the thought, the memory of it all caused him pain. Immediately he forced himself to disconnect. The notion of losing Sloan - of ever losing Sloan was too much for him to comprehend...and to bear. Tom looked away from her. "Your mother," Sloan said bravely. She held her breath in anticipation of his reaction. But she observed none. "There's nothing to talk about," Tom said dispassionately. "I remember killing her." The coldness in his voice sent shivers up Sloan's spine. "I was ordered to shoot her," he continued. "And so I did." "It wasn't your fault, Tom," Sloan said as she walked towards him. She wanted to comfort him, to reassure him, to hold him like she did the other evening. Tom said nothing. "It was Lewis - he was controlling your mind and your actions," Sloan added. She reached out for his arm but stepped back from him when he flinched at her touch. His reaction surprised her. He had never refused her before - not in any way. "Tom, what's the matter?" she asked. "Nothing." His voice was stern, and his eyes, like the evening prior were unusually dead. "Don't shut me out, Tom," she pleaded. "Let me help you. Let me help you through this." She felt the tears welling up in her eyes, and the lump in her throat was painful. "I'm fine, Sloan," he said unconvincingly. "Leave it alone." He turned away from her and started to walk towards her bedroom, but she stepped in front of him and stopped him in his tracks. "Tom, please..." she began, "don't push me away. Just talk to me, tell me what you're feeling..." She held his face with both her hands, holding his head steady and forcing him to return her gaze. He resisted her at first and tried in vain to avert his eyes from hers. But he couldn't break away from her... he didn't want to. Succumbing to emotions he had been desperately trying to repress, Tom wrapped his arms around Sloan's waist and held her close. Reluctantly he allowed himself to once again relive the moments he had just spent with Lewis and his mother. His head began to throb and ache at the memory of what he had done and at the realization of what he had been instructed to do. But he knew that he needed to face what had happened. He had shot his mother! Oh, God, he had killed his own mother! Why....how could....who....what was he.....? As emotions flooded his entire being, Tom felt as if his mind and heart would burst at the weight and intensity of so many feelings - feelings that he had been trained all his life to bury down deep within himself. "Slooaann..." he whispered painfully, "Slooaann...please..." He continued to hold her tightly in his arms, burying his face in her soft curly hair as she clung gently to him and cried the tears he himself could not shed. "It wasn't your fault, Tom," she said softly, "You're not to blame." He believed her. He had to. "I almost killed you," he whispered as he looked into her tear filled eyes. "I remember watching my mother fall to the floor after I had shot her," he continued. "That could've been you..." The thought of what might have been was so unbearable to him that he could not bring himself to describe what he was feeling. Perhaps there were no words that could. He was trembling in Sloan's arms, confused and overwhelmed by both of their emotions which he allowed for the first time to pervade his being. "It's ok," she said still fighting back sobs. She didn't know what else to say or what more to do but to hold him close to her. She felt so amazingly one with him, so intimate, so connected. And she knew, by the way he looked at her and touched her, that he felt the exact same way. They stood quietly in each other's arms in the middle of Sloan's apartment. Both were calmer now, but tears still flowed from Sloan's eyes and down her face. One solitary tear fell into Tom's hands which were gently caressing her cheeks. He seemed fascinated by the feel of it on his skin. "So much power and meaning contained in such a small teardrop," he thought to himself as he watched Sloan cry for the both of them. He was captivated. Gently he brought his mouth down to meet hers. Then, as if to check himself, he stopped suddenly and looked at Sloan to make sure that it was all right... to make sure that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Sensing her emotions, Tom resumed to ever so lightly brush his lips against hers - but his kisses quickly became more passionate and more ardent. He permitted his emotions and need for her to dictate his actions, so he kissed her mouth, her neck, her tear stained cheeks, and then her lips again... So much urgency and longing... so much love? Neither of them knew. Neither understood. And it didn't matter at the moment.
Scene 7: Same evening. Limo Lady Towers. She appeared very pleased with herself as she sat behind her desk leaning comfortably in her chair. The situation with the new species was becoming increasingly intriguing, almost entertaining, and she marveled at the series of events that had played themselves out in the last few days. She had released Lewis only a few short hours after they had allegedly arrested him - immediately after they had debriefed in her office and discussed the next phase in the master plan. She didn't trust him, though, or any of his kind. And she knew that he didn't trust her. If only he knew what she knew..... Minutes earlier she had received word about a young member of the new species who wanted to give her information - who wanted to help humans protect themselves. Oh, the irony of it all...the humor! Things couldn't be any better for her home team! "Another Tom," she said to herself - and she smiled at the thought of it. "Just what they needed!" The sound of the telephone ringing snapped her out of her arrogant reverie. "Yeah," she spoke into the phone receiver. "That's correct. His name is Shane." She listened intently to the party at the other end of the phone line. "I'll send Attwood and his crew to check it out," she continued. The expression on her face was stern, her voice sterile but arrogant... vain. "And one more thing," she said to her unknown caller. "Lewis and his faction know nothing about this. Neither does Attwood and company. Let's keep it that way." She placed the phone back in the cradle and again leaned back in her chair. She smiled.
Scene 8. Same evening. Some unknown house just outside the city. It's a fairly large house, secluded, and strangely furnished with only a few items; a desk with a laptop computer on top of it, several wooden chairs, and two odd pieces resembling black coffee tables. "Your training of our young chameleons continues?" the doctor asked. He stood in front of one of the windows that looked out into the front yard. He himself was not a chameleon, or a mentor, but his place and purpose were no less important and critical to his species' survival than those of his colleague standing before him. He was called away from the University Medical School that evening and sent to Lewis' training house to debrief. "But of course," Lewis responded. "The master plan has not changed. The inevitable can not be altered." He spoke with the same cold and dispassionate voice. Classical music, Chopin's Nocturne in G minor, played softly in the background. "And this setback with Tom does not concern you, I see," the doctor said as he turned away from the window to face Lewis. "It's of little consequence, I suppose. It's only a matter of time now." "Yes." Lewis walked to the desk and switched on his computer. After scanning various files on the screen he turned to his companion and with a tilt of his head asked, "And your work with the human children, Ian?" "Proceeding as planned," he replied. "The experiment has been very successful - and the principal..." He laughed as he thought about the pathetic and easily intimidated woman who had agreed to betray her kind and collaborate with them. "Need I say more?" "Very good," Lewis said with a smile. "These humans just don't understand what they are up against." "No," he began, "but we must not underestimate them. We must not allow our superiority of mind to make us careless. We must remain versatile at all costs, ready to do what we must when we must for the sake of the master plan. And we must never trust them." The doctor returned to his vigil at the window. Lewis resumed his work at his computer. Both were absorbed in their own musings and pending duties - but the same phrase echoed repeatedly in their minds: "We shall reign in the kingdom of man."
Scene 9: Sloan's apartment. The next morning. Tom and Sloan are asleep on the sofa. The intensity of emotions they had shared with one another the previous evening had so exhausted Tom and Sloan that they had fallen asleep on the sofa and in each others arms. Sloan slept peacefully, her head resting on Tom's shoulder, as he, too, slept deeply with his arms wrapped gently around her. It was morning. Although both were awake now, Tom and Sloan lay motionless on the sofa. Neither was looking forward to facing yet another day or to leaving the comfort of each others embrace. "Tom?" Sloan whispered sleepily. She noticed that his eyes were fully open. He had been watching her sleep. "How long have you been awake?" "Not long," he replied. "How are you feeling, Sloan?" His voice was gentle, soothing, but aloof. "Ok," she said. "How about you?" "I've been thinking," he said not really answering her question. "I'm not sure if Attwood's boss is someone we can trust." "Do you always begin your day with such pleasant thoughts?" Sloan asked jokingly. Tom smiled, but then sat up on the sofa and quickly became absorbed by his thoughts again. Sloan felt cold suddenly. "What do you want for breakfast?" She asked playfully. He turned towards her and stroked her hair. "Whatever you'll be having," he said attempting to return her lightheartedness. He stood up and headed towards the kitchen. "What about I make the coffee..." He had awaken at sunrise that morning. He had slept well despite the uncomfortable sofa he had shared with Sloan, and strangely enough he felt better, less burdened, more complete. "Thank you," he said to Sloan as he peered at her from the kitchen counter. "For what?" she asked. She was standing now, stretching, and fully awake. "For helping me through last night," Tom explained. "For letting me hold you all night. I've never experienced anything like that before - never needed anyone like that...." "Tom," she began as she walked towards him. She had so much she wanted to say to him and to share, but suddenly she was at a loss for words. So many emotions began to fill her as she stood next to Tom in her kitchen and as she gazed into his piercing blue eyes. She was confused. Tom, sensing her feelings, held her hands in his and attempted a smile. "So," he said breaking their silence. "Are you going to make breakfast or not?" He knew that so much had changed between them - and inside of him. They both needed time to sort things out, to process everything that had happened, but most importantly, they had to keep proper perspective in light of the growing hostility between their species. Nevertheless, looking at Sloan that moment, Tom stood in awe and wonder at the priceless jewel he had found in her - at the special bond they had created together - amidst and in spite of their species' ruthless quest for domination and control. "We can co-exist," he thought to himself. "We must." The sound of the phone ringing startled both Tom and Sloan -breaking their gaze and connection with one another. Sloan turned away from Tom and picked up the phone. It was Attwood. "Yeah...ok," she said into the receiver. "We'll be right there." "What is it?" Tom asked after Sloan had hung up the phone. "We need to get to the Lab right away," she replied. "There's some kind of trouble with a bunch of school kids somewhere..." She hurried into her bedroom to find a change of clothes. As usual, she quickly allowed her job to rule her emotions, mind and actions. Sloan the scientist, and an obsessed one at that, emerged from her closet wearing a different outfit from the one she had slept in the night before. Tom, pleasantly amused, watched her rushing around her apartment. She completely captivated him. "So much for breakfast," he whispered as he himself prepared to meet another day. |
The End 
