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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: The characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots etc. and the fictional Centre, are all property of MTM and NBC Productions and used without permission. I'm not making any money out of this and no infringement is intended.
The Gift
part VIII
by Shannon
Sydney stared at Sam, letting the information he just revealed, slowly sink in. Fear coiled in his heart. He should have realized that Jarod had been close. After all he had asked him to stop Parker from rescuing the child. That he was on his way.
"You have my undivided attention, Sam," the doctor replied.
"He called asked to talk to Lyle, then Mutumbo. He wanted the search for the boy and Miss Parker called off. Mutumbo agreed for all of ten minutes, then once Jarod was back inside the Centre, the sweepers were unleashed. She took a hit, didn't she. I saw the trail of blood," the sweeper closed his eyes, briefly.
"She's not dead, Sam, and that's all I'll tell you," he returned a hard stare at the sweeper," Why are you telling me about Jarod, anyway?"
"Do you know where she is?"
The sweeper watched the good doctor shake his head, no.
"Where's Jarod, Sam?"
"SL-26 across the hall from Lyle. Raines was given the go ahead to debrief him."
"Damn! I was afraid that he'd do something stupid. He sacrificed his freedom for the boy and Miss Parker."
"Can I ask why she took the child? She didn't tell me a thing, earlier."
"That child is her son, and Jarod's."
He watched the face of the sweeper pale than darken with anger, the implications of what Sydney just told him taking hold.
"Her son?"
"Yes, seems that the Centre decided to branch out and try other ways of creating the prefect pretender. Seems that the cloning business is all right for cattle," Sydney spat in anger.
"I'd be careful if I where you, Syd. Loyalty to Miss Parker is a dangerous thing around here, at this moment in time."
"So are you saying that you are no longer loyal to her, Sam?"
"She deserves better, Syd. Does that answer your question?" the sweeper turned and headed back to the door, but not before he looked at the doctor, again," If you need anything, don't hesitate."
"There's no going back, once that line is crossed."
"They crossed it first," with that said he left the office, and headed for the meeting with Mutumbo, appearances needed to be kept up.
Sydney sat in the chair, that previously held mother and son, picking up the picture of the beautiful woman and adorable girl off the desk, he wondered if getting to Jarod was a possibility.
"Catherine, protect her. She needs your love and strength more than ever, now. And don't let Ryan give the Russell's a hard time. They say this is the season for miracles, Lord, then we could use one." Removing the picture, he put the empty frame back on the desk and then left the office, stopping at his office, he made a call.
"Broots, get to Miss Parker's house. No, the cottage. Hurry before the sweepers get there. Any information regarding Jarod and his family take it out, now. Don't come back here, take Debbie and go. No don't worry about me. Jarod. Yes, I know where he is. he turned himself. Worried, hell yes, I'm worried. It was a stupid move on his part. Have I seen him, no? Raines is in charge of him, at the moment. Now, go. No. I'll keep in touch."
Snapping the cell phone shut, he headed for the confrontation with the triumvirate boss over the supposed care of Jarod, he would get in to see him if it killed him.
Meanwhile in Miss Parker's office, the grate to the air vent opened very slowly and effortlessly. Fingers reached for the computer, quickly accessing the files, the download was completed within a few minutes, and the safety perimeters of the Centre's mainframe never knew that a breach had occurred. He had stayed to help protect his friends. Always overlooked and underappriecated. Returning to the air shaft, he made his way to the little room that he used to send out his tidings of good cheer. Swiftly accessing the video tape that was recorded from Miss Parker's office earlier, on the Centre's cameras. He pulled up the image of Miss Parker with the boy on her lap, both laughing, happy. Once the image printed, the paper is folded and placed it in a pocket. Gone into the bowels of hell, he crawled. Down and down, into areas that he rarely ventured to go anymore.
Jarod sat on the cot that was located just under the vent of the air shaft, hearing a shuffling noise, he knew that his Centre connection had come to offer some form of solace. Quickly making his way to the door and the small barred window, he watches as the surveillance camera follows his movements.
"Hey, Lyle!" the pretender calls out watching as the hated man comes his own barred window," Fancy meeting a sick, sadistic soul like you in a place like this?"
"She's dead," he sneered, hoping to get a rise out of the pretender," And when they bring the little labrat back, he's all mine."
"Really! Doesn't look like you're going anywhere, anytime soon, Lyle. Going against the triumvirate is not one of your smartest move, but then again you never were considered genius material, now were you, more like primordial ooze," he laughed, trying to fight down the rage and anger he felt for the man across the hall. After all it was his bullet that placed his son and mother in a rather precarious position. She wasn't dead, repeated over and over in his mind. As long as he held on to that thought, he could endure whatever the Centre had planned. For a while.
"Shut up, Jarod. I will triumph, believe me," it was the timbre of his voice that betrayed him to the pretender.
"Lyle, you're a dead man. Whether its at the hands of the Centre or," he paused and whispered the words," Mine. DEAD MAN."
Returning to the cot, Jarod almost missed the small folded piece of paper, realizing that the camera was upon him once again, he slowly sat down, placing his hand on it. Watching the blinking light on the surveillance camera suddenly stop, he frantically unfolded it. A picture that would remain burned in his brain and give him the incentive to get the hell out of the damn mess he had gotten himself into. If Parker was alive, he was never going to live this one down, she's make sure of that.
*******************************
The snow continued to fall, heavier with each passing hour, and the wind whipped it around like cotton balls. The Major was worried about the fever that was consuming Miss Parker's, in her weakened condition, he hoped that she had the strength to fight it off. Margaret was in with the woman, while he paced waiting to see if his son answered his email message.
Margaret watched as her toss and turn, asking for her mother. Earlier, when Margaret had checked her, she had fallen into a deep slumber, but now the fever called forth memories and she spoke to imaginary ghosts.
There came a bright light from under the door and the sound of a child's laugh, turning her head, Parker tried to call out for Ryan, but failed to find her voice.
"Oh, my baby," she thought, as a single tear escaped her.
"Suddenly a cool hand brushed the tear away, opening her eyes, Parker looked into familiar blue ones.
"Momma."
"Hush, Morgana, you need to rest."
"Have you come to take me with you," her words caught in her throat, yet she could not remember why.
"Not yet," the voice answered," Rest."
The hand closed around hers and she felt herself drifting back to sleep remembering.
A warm kitchen, the aroma of freshly baked cookies wafted through the house. Hints of cinnamon, allspice, and cardamom layered together. A figure by the oven, Momma.
"Are they done, Momma?"
"As soon as the timer rings, Morgana," she turned and smiled.
"That's the last batch, right?'
"Yes, baby. That's the last batch," the woman smiled, just as the timer buzzed," Go get your skates."
The little girl scampered off the kitchen chair and dashed into the hallway, only to emerge minutes later, dressed for the outdoors, her shiny figure skates in her gloved hands.
Miss Parker watched and remembered the joy that use to fill her heart at Christmas time, but that changed when she was ten. After that the holidays held no special meaning for her, not anymore.
"What made you forget to celebrate Christmas?"
"Your death, daddy, the Centre, a million reasons. Why?"
The room changed and became cold, dark and devoid of anything that would have announced the Christmas holidays. No light, no tree, no tinsel, not even a wreath on the front door. It was at that moment that the door, opened and in entered Parker. This Parker made a beeline for the sideboard that housed the liquor and glasses. Pouring a glass and dropping on to the sofa, she sipped her drink and was about to lean her head back when the knocker on her door fell. A guttural groan escaped the woman's lips, as she got up and answered it. Lyle. Damn.
"Missed them again, did we? If I didn't know better, I'd say you did it on purpose."
"Go to hell, Lyle and leave me alone."
"Sis, it's Christmas Eve."
"I said go away," she aimed the empty tumbler at his head. It only just missed.
Parker turned to the figure next to her to find her mother gone and someone else from her past.
Thomas.
"Christmas last year, the year before that, will it be like that this year, Parker," he said shaking his head, sadly," there was only one time that you actually enjoyed Christmas, since your mother died."
The cabin stood nestled between the tree, lights blazing from the windows, smoke curling from the chimney. A car pulled up and parked, a lone figure emerged, the black leather duster, a dead give away as to who it was. She watched from a distance, the door slowly opened and mother and son, stood hugging in the doorway, under the mistletoe.
"You always made sure that no one found that place, Parker."
"I have no regrets," she said wistfully.
"Liar!"
She closed her eyes tighter, afraid. Margaret took the cool cloth and wiped away the beads of perspiration that had appeared on her forehead. A slight knock at the door, broke Margaret's thoughts.
"Mom," Emily entered with a tray laden with tea pot and a cup," It's willow bark tea. It's supposed to help reduce her fever."
"How's Ryan?"
"He's with Dad and Jake. They got him to eat something and then promised to let him see her briefly."
Parker eyes opened. For a moment she was startled, unsure where she was. Shapes.She shrank against the pillows, the inky dark reminded her of the Centre.
"Yes, it's the Centre," the voice was monotone.
No lights came from the room that they stood in front of, and no noise either. Yet the door swung open and laying on the cot was a little boy of around four. His features familiar to her. Two entered the room, one older, the other younger, but it is the older one that speaks.
"Ryan, they need us in the SIM lab."
"No," Parker whispered,"Jarod, should have waited. So sorry." She fell into a troubled sleep.
Someone is crying. A child crying. A man and child walking away from a white headstone.
"Jarod," she murmurs, as another tear falls from her eyes.
The two women stepped out of the room only for a moment, curious if there was any news on the whereabouts of their missing family member. Entering the living room, the found the Major in the computer.
"Where's Ryan?" Margaret asked as she scanned the room.
"He was on the sofa just a minute ago. Jake, is Ryan in there with you?"
"No, dad. I left him on the sofa, he wanted another glass of milk."
The tiny hand pushed the door open slowly, his eyes found Miss Parker laying on the bed , her face ashen, her dark hair damp from the fever, spread around her face. As though sensing that someone had returned to the room, Parekr stirred. Trying to wake up, was like trying to rise from a pool of sryup. Every muscle in her body ached, she was exhausted, and breathing still hurt. She forced her eyes to open. Not her bed. Not her home. then the nightmare came back to her. It was then that she caught sight of dark eyes peering from over the mattress.
"Ryan," she whispered, straining to sit up, but barely able to raise her head.
The little boy scampered around to the other side of the bed and crawled up, pulling the covers back, he snuggled close to the woman.
"I won't leave you, again. I promise, " his tiny hand draped itself across her chest, his head nestled next to her shoulder. He kissed her cheek, just like she had done to him, when he was sleeping.
"Ryan, my baby," she murmured as she felt sleep over take her again.
***********************************
Broots looked out the window again for the umpteenth time. He got to Parker's and immediately began to search for any sign that all these years that she know the location of Jarod's family. Sydney had said that she made it to their house. Drove right up to the front door. Hurt and in pain, she still managed to get away. Sweepers would be here, soon, granted the snowstorm would slow them down but not for long. Entering the dining room, Broots stopped cold in his tracks. Jarod was either extremely careless or in such a hurry that he neglected to take his laptop with him. Disconnecting the computer, Broots hurriedly placed it in the bag that lay on the floor, pulling his coat around him, he made his way to the car that was parked across the street. Placing the laptop in the front seat, he returned to the house to check out the closed door off the living room. As he started to turn the knob, he heard the slam of car doors and the shouts of sweepers.
part VIII
by Shannon
Sydney stared at Sam, letting the information he just revealed, slowly sink in. Fear coiled in his heart. He should have realized that Jarod had been close. After all he had asked him to stop Parker from rescuing the child. That he was on his way.
"You have my undivided attention, Sam," the doctor replied.
"He called asked to talk to Lyle, then Mutumbo. He wanted the search for the boy and Miss Parker called off. Mutumbo agreed for all of ten minutes, then once Jarod was back inside the Centre, the sweepers were unleashed. She took a hit, didn't she. I saw the trail of blood," the sweeper closed his eyes, briefly.
"She's not dead, Sam, and that's all I'll tell you," he returned a hard stare at the sweeper," Why are you telling me about Jarod, anyway?"
"Do you know where she is?"
The sweeper watched the good doctor shake his head, no.
"Where's Jarod, Sam?"
"SL-26 across the hall from Lyle. Raines was given the go ahead to debrief him."
"Damn! I was afraid that he'd do something stupid. He sacrificed his freedom for the boy and Miss Parker."
"Can I ask why she took the child? She didn't tell me a thing, earlier."
"That child is her son, and Jarod's."
He watched the face of the sweeper pale than darken with anger, the implications of what Sydney just told him taking hold.
"Her son?"
"Yes, seems that the Centre decided to branch out and try other ways of creating the prefect pretender. Seems that the cloning business is all right for cattle," Sydney spat in anger.
"I'd be careful if I where you, Syd. Loyalty to Miss Parker is a dangerous thing around here, at this moment in time."
"So are you saying that you are no longer loyal to her, Sam?"
"She deserves better, Syd. Does that answer your question?" the sweeper turned and headed back to the door, but not before he looked at the doctor, again," If you need anything, don't hesitate."
"There's no going back, once that line is crossed."
"They crossed it first," with that said he left the office, and headed for the meeting with Mutumbo, appearances needed to be kept up.
Sydney sat in the chair, that previously held mother and son, picking up the picture of the beautiful woman and adorable girl off the desk, he wondered if getting to Jarod was a possibility.
"Catherine, protect her. She needs your love and strength more than ever, now. And don't let Ryan give the Russell's a hard time. They say this is the season for miracles, Lord, then we could use one." Removing the picture, he put the empty frame back on the desk and then left the office, stopping at his office, he made a call.
"Broots, get to Miss Parker's house. No, the cottage. Hurry before the sweepers get there. Any information regarding Jarod and his family take it out, now. Don't come back here, take Debbie and go. No don't worry about me. Jarod. Yes, I know where he is. he turned himself. Worried, hell yes, I'm worried. It was a stupid move on his part. Have I seen him, no? Raines is in charge of him, at the moment. Now, go. No. I'll keep in touch."
Snapping the cell phone shut, he headed for the confrontation with the triumvirate boss over the supposed care of Jarod, he would get in to see him if it killed him.
Meanwhile in Miss Parker's office, the grate to the air vent opened very slowly and effortlessly. Fingers reached for the computer, quickly accessing the files, the download was completed within a few minutes, and the safety perimeters of the Centre's mainframe never knew that a breach had occurred. He had stayed to help protect his friends. Always overlooked and underappriecated. Returning to the air shaft, he made his way to the little room that he used to send out his tidings of good cheer. Swiftly accessing the video tape that was recorded from Miss Parker's office earlier, on the Centre's cameras. He pulled up the image of Miss Parker with the boy on her lap, both laughing, happy. Once the image printed, the paper is folded and placed it in a pocket. Gone into the bowels of hell, he crawled. Down and down, into areas that he rarely ventured to go anymore.
Jarod sat on the cot that was located just under the vent of the air shaft, hearing a shuffling noise, he knew that his Centre connection had come to offer some form of solace. Quickly making his way to the door and the small barred window, he watches as the surveillance camera follows his movements.
"Hey, Lyle!" the pretender calls out watching as the hated man comes his own barred window," Fancy meeting a sick, sadistic soul like you in a place like this?"
"She's dead," he sneered, hoping to get a rise out of the pretender," And when they bring the little labrat back, he's all mine."
"Really! Doesn't look like you're going anywhere, anytime soon, Lyle. Going against the triumvirate is not one of your smartest move, but then again you never were considered genius material, now were you, more like primordial ooze," he laughed, trying to fight down the rage and anger he felt for the man across the hall. After all it was his bullet that placed his son and mother in a rather precarious position. She wasn't dead, repeated over and over in his mind. As long as he held on to that thought, he could endure whatever the Centre had planned. For a while.
"Shut up, Jarod. I will triumph, believe me," it was the timbre of his voice that betrayed him to the pretender.
"Lyle, you're a dead man. Whether its at the hands of the Centre or," he paused and whispered the words," Mine. DEAD MAN."
Returning to the cot, Jarod almost missed the small folded piece of paper, realizing that the camera was upon him once again, he slowly sat down, placing his hand on it. Watching the blinking light on the surveillance camera suddenly stop, he frantically unfolded it. A picture that would remain burned in his brain and give him the incentive to get the hell out of the damn mess he had gotten himself into. If Parker was alive, he was never going to live this one down, she's make sure of that.
*******************************
The snow continued to fall, heavier with each passing hour, and the wind whipped it around like cotton balls. The Major was worried about the fever that was consuming Miss Parker's, in her weakened condition, he hoped that she had the strength to fight it off. Margaret was in with the woman, while he paced waiting to see if his son answered his email message.
Margaret watched as her toss and turn, asking for her mother. Earlier, when Margaret had checked her, she had fallen into a deep slumber, but now the fever called forth memories and she spoke to imaginary ghosts.
There came a bright light from under the door and the sound of a child's laugh, turning her head, Parker tried to call out for Ryan, but failed to find her voice.
"Oh, my baby," she thought, as a single tear escaped her.
"Suddenly a cool hand brushed the tear away, opening her eyes, Parker looked into familiar blue ones.
"Momma."
"Hush, Morgana, you need to rest."
"Have you come to take me with you," her words caught in her throat, yet she could not remember why.
"Not yet," the voice answered," Rest."
The hand closed around hers and she felt herself drifting back to sleep remembering.
A warm kitchen, the aroma of freshly baked cookies wafted through the house. Hints of cinnamon, allspice, and cardamom layered together. A figure by the oven, Momma.
"Are they done, Momma?"
"As soon as the timer rings, Morgana," she turned and smiled.
"That's the last batch, right?'
"Yes, baby. That's the last batch," the woman smiled, just as the timer buzzed," Go get your skates."
The little girl scampered off the kitchen chair and dashed into the hallway, only to emerge minutes later, dressed for the outdoors, her shiny figure skates in her gloved hands.
Miss Parker watched and remembered the joy that use to fill her heart at Christmas time, but that changed when she was ten. After that the holidays held no special meaning for her, not anymore.
"What made you forget to celebrate Christmas?"
"Your death, daddy, the Centre, a million reasons. Why?"
The room changed and became cold, dark and devoid of anything that would have announced the Christmas holidays. No light, no tree, no tinsel, not even a wreath on the front door. It was at that moment that the door, opened and in entered Parker. This Parker made a beeline for the sideboard that housed the liquor and glasses. Pouring a glass and dropping on to the sofa, she sipped her drink and was about to lean her head back when the knocker on her door fell. A guttural groan escaped the woman's lips, as she got up and answered it. Lyle. Damn.
"Missed them again, did we? If I didn't know better, I'd say you did it on purpose."
"Go to hell, Lyle and leave me alone."
"Sis, it's Christmas Eve."
"I said go away," she aimed the empty tumbler at his head. It only just missed.
Parker turned to the figure next to her to find her mother gone and someone else from her past.
Thomas.
"Christmas last year, the year before that, will it be like that this year, Parker," he said shaking his head, sadly," there was only one time that you actually enjoyed Christmas, since your mother died."
The cabin stood nestled between the tree, lights blazing from the windows, smoke curling from the chimney. A car pulled up and parked, a lone figure emerged, the black leather duster, a dead give away as to who it was. She watched from a distance, the door slowly opened and mother and son, stood hugging in the doorway, under the mistletoe.
"You always made sure that no one found that place, Parker."
"I have no regrets," she said wistfully.
"Liar!"
She closed her eyes tighter, afraid. Margaret took the cool cloth and wiped away the beads of perspiration that had appeared on her forehead. A slight knock at the door, broke Margaret's thoughts.
"Mom," Emily entered with a tray laden with tea pot and a cup," It's willow bark tea. It's supposed to help reduce her fever."
"How's Ryan?"
"He's with Dad and Jake. They got him to eat something and then promised to let him see her briefly."
Parker eyes opened. For a moment she was startled, unsure where she was. Shapes.She shrank against the pillows, the inky dark reminded her of the Centre.
"Yes, it's the Centre," the voice was monotone.
No lights came from the room that they stood in front of, and no noise either. Yet the door swung open and laying on the cot was a little boy of around four. His features familiar to her. Two entered the room, one older, the other younger, but it is the older one that speaks.
"Ryan, they need us in the SIM lab."
"No," Parker whispered,"Jarod, should have waited. So sorry." She fell into a troubled sleep.
Someone is crying. A child crying. A man and child walking away from a white headstone.
"Jarod," she murmurs, as another tear falls from her eyes.
The two women stepped out of the room only for a moment, curious if there was any news on the whereabouts of their missing family member. Entering the living room, the found the Major in the computer.
"Where's Ryan?" Margaret asked as she scanned the room.
"He was on the sofa just a minute ago. Jake, is Ryan in there with you?"
"No, dad. I left him on the sofa, he wanted another glass of milk."
The tiny hand pushed the door open slowly, his eyes found Miss Parker laying on the bed , her face ashen, her dark hair damp from the fever, spread around her face. As though sensing that someone had returned to the room, Parekr stirred. Trying to wake up, was like trying to rise from a pool of sryup. Every muscle in her body ached, she was exhausted, and breathing still hurt. She forced her eyes to open. Not her bed. Not her home. then the nightmare came back to her. It was then that she caught sight of dark eyes peering from over the mattress.
"Ryan," she whispered, straining to sit up, but barely able to raise her head.
The little boy scampered around to the other side of the bed and crawled up, pulling the covers back, he snuggled close to the woman.
"I won't leave you, again. I promise, " his tiny hand draped itself across her chest, his head nestled next to her shoulder. He kissed her cheek, just like she had done to him, when he was sleeping.
"Ryan, my baby," she murmured as she felt sleep over take her again.
***********************************
Broots looked out the window again for the umpteenth time. He got to Parker's and immediately began to search for any sign that all these years that she know the location of Jarod's family. Sydney had said that she made it to their house. Drove right up to the front door. Hurt and in pain, she still managed to get away. Sweepers would be here, soon, granted the snowstorm would slow them down but not for long. Entering the dining room, Broots stopped cold in his tracks. Jarod was either extremely careless or in such a hurry that he neglected to take his laptop with him. Disconnecting the computer, Broots hurriedly placed it in the bag that lay on the floor, pulling his coat around him, he made his way to the car that was parked across the street. Placing the laptop in the front seat, he returned to the house to check out the closed door off the living room. As he started to turn the knob, he heard the slam of car doors and the shouts of sweepers.
