∞

Parker awoke with a start when the pilot announced inclement weather; come hell or high water, however, she intended to find her brother. It had taken eighteen hours to trace Ethan's puzzling call, disrupted by static. "Raines-- plans--flying-- two days--England-- you-”

Parker assumed Ethan was still suffering from what Jarod had termed side effects of Raines' work.

Whatever the hell that means.

Out on the tarmac, she dropped her luggage into the trunk of a rented Mercedes, and eagerly pushed the key into the ignition. 

Eighteen hours.

Broots could've traced in two.

If he'd known.

Parker barely noticed the transition from cityscape to farmscape, the emptiness on the horizon, a seedy gas station, and battered sign—swaying precariously on rusted hinges—that cautioned: Next gas station 150 miles.

Beyond the forlorn spectacle, menacing clouds in the darkening sky promised an onslaught of weather. Parker couldn't suppress the haunting sense of uneasiness that pervaded her as she drove farther into emptiness.

She became acutely aware of the sun sinking, and farmscape rapidly transitioning into untamed land. The windbreaks, irrigation systems, and tidy, uniform rows she had passed, hours earlier, had, at least, indicated civilization.

Maybe Ethan wants to be isolated.

Or maybe the GPS is a POS. And maybe-

maybe I should have tried harder to reach Broots and Sydney.

Maybe I should told someone where I was going, left a note, a voicemail.

Mm, right, and risked the Centre finding Ethan?

No.

The right turn onto a narrow dirt road offered little assurance nor did the dense fog. Parker reached for the radio when snow, a wholly unforeseen element that she hadn't prepared for, began to fall.

"Wonderful," she murmured quietly, switching on the windshield wipers, and silencing the weather update. "How much farther?" she asked, noting the fuel guage, and deducing that the Mercedes would barely make it back to the seedy gas station if she turned around.

Why hasn't Ethan called again?

He's vulnerable, alone. Possibly altered.

And England?

What's in England?

Are there more bones in the Parker closet to exhume?

Parker's eyes widened when she glimpsed the umistakable glow in her headlights.

She switched off the headlights, lifted her foot from the pedal. The stunned deer, however, didn't move, and, consequently, crashed into the windshield, shattering the glass. The car inexplicably sputtered to a halt. Parker turned the ignition repeatedly- an exercise in futility.

"Son of a bitch," she groused, slamming her open palm against the steering wheel.

According to her best guestimate, another forty minutes would put her somewhere in the vicinity of the cabin.

I hope.

With a sigh of resignation, she gathered her toiletry and carry-on bags, her coat, and began walking. Several times during the trek she wheeled around and drew her gun-- at tree limbs buckling beneath the weight of the snow.

When Parker, at last, reached an intersection, one that was not on the map, she contemplated returning to the car, which would at least provide her with some shelter from the elements.

Last resort.

Parker searched along the tree tops for any sign of smoke from a chimney but the fog and snow drastically reduced visibility.

Tracks. I'll search for tracks.

Parker knew that any tracks would have been covered; she was desperate. With a frown of curiosity, she knelt to investigate what she quickly deduced was blood.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. "Ethan?" Finding no trail of blood to follow, she returned her attention to the dots of crimson, the way they contrasted vividly with the bright snow. She observed, perplexed, as the crimson spread.

"What the hell?" Parker angled the light, followed the beam up her left arm, and to the rip in her coat sleeve. "Perfect."

There was nothing but emptiness behind her, more of the same ahead. To the east was an empty field. To the west, a heavily wooded area.

Apprehensively, she entered the thickness of the trees and decided she'd chosen wisely when a dog's bark in the distance broke the silence. She moved towards the sound believing it would lead her to Ethan.

Negotiating the snapping branches was tiresome. Clusters of snow fell from limbs, exploded onto her head. When she finally spotted a light in the distance, Parker increased her stride and cautiously crept up the steps of the cabin. Gun and flashlight in front of her she tapped on the door with the toe of her boot.

"Ethan," She called.

She spun around towards the rustling noise behind her. Two squirrels making last minute preparations for the impending blizzard scurried from a nearby bush and into the darkness. Parker breathed a sign of relief just as the door opened behind her.

"You're late," the familiar voice announced. Parker turned, came face to face with-

"Jarod," said Parker, her face twisted in revulsion.

"I was just about to go out and search for you," he said, reaching for her gun, and taking full advantage of her surprise.

"What the hell are-" she began with an abrupt step backward. The movement jostled the bags, which, in turn, slipped from her shoulders and very nearly knocked the gun from her hand. Jarod effortlessly disarmed her.

"This won't be necessary."

"Give me my gun."

"Come inside," he said. "It's freezing out there."

"Ethan called you, too?"

"We'll talk about it inside."

Parker turned, studied the emptiness behind her, and then swung her gaze at Jarod.

"You'd rather take your chances out there," He inquired incredulously. "Parker?"

"I'm thinking."

"You can think inside."

Parker entered, grudgingly, and surveyed her surroundings while Jarod locked the door. The place had a rustic charm to it, was modernized with subtle touches.

It was, fortunately, nothing like Raines' forest home.

"Where is Ethan," She asked, dropping her bags at her side. She turned in a neat, expectant circle, no doubt seeking out her half-brother.

"That's a good question," Jarod answered, unloading her gun.

"He isn't here?"

"No, he isn't."

"We're alone?" She said irritably. "Great."

"I don't bite, Miss Parker."

"I do," She returned brusquely.

"Besides, they're here," He said, looking past her.

Parker turned, gazed indignantly at two rather large canines sitting on the sofa.

"Rhodesian Ridgebacks," he explained, closing the safe wherein he'd tucked her gun.

"Where is Ethan," she demanded.

"I'm working on that one."

Parker shook her head in exasperation. "He called me yesterday, said he was all right, but-"

"The call ended abruptly."

Parker bristled. "How the hell did you know that, Jarod?"

"Alex has been monitoring your calls."

"The homicidal sociopath that shot my-" Parker fell silent, amended softly, "Mr. Parker?"

"He scrambled recordings of Ethan's conversations and telephoned you knowing that you'd trace the call. He planned to lure you to his mountain hideaway in Colorado."

"This is Texas, not Colorado."

"I," Jarod said with a simper tugging at his lips, "re-routed things a bit."

"Wait a minute. You knew Ethan wasn't here."

"Yes," Jarod answered lightly.

"And you had me come all the way out here when a simple telephone-"

"I tried to telephone you, Miss Parker," Jarod interrupted guilelessly, "but you somehow found a way to block my calls, which I took personally, by the way. When I couldn't reach you I was forced to resort to more extreme measures."

"You bastard," she hissed.

"Why didn't you return my calls? Why didn't you tell me that our brother had contacted you?"

"I intended to find him a safe place-"

"You had no intentions of ever telling me," Jarod interrupted shirtily.

"First one to find the answers lives- those were your words and that's the way we've been playing this twisted little game for years- by your rules. Not anymore."

"Have a seat," he instructed. "I'll get you something-"

"No. I have to get back."

"Get back?" Jarod repeated dully, adding incredulously, "Not in this wea-" he fell silent when he glimpsed blood on Parker's coat. "What happened to your arm," he asked, his voice colored with concern. He advanced, reached for her; Parker stepped aside, easily evaded him.

"It's nothing," Parker insisted.

"It doesn't look like nothing to me. How did it happen?"

"A little-- run in with Bambi," she answered, gathering her bags.

"In case you hadn't noticed, it's snowing."

"So?"

"The meteorologists are saying it's a freakish thing and have issued a winter storm warning."

"I don't have time for this," Parker rebutted with an angry glare, "freakishness."

He continued to advance on her. "You didn't drive up. I'm assuming that the car is totaled. Even if it wasn't, you'd be stranded in the snow within half an hour."

"I'll walk," She said, resolutely, opening the door.

"In blizzard conditions?" Jarod argued softly, reaching over Parker's shoulder and closing the door. "Please, be rational for once," he said, taking her bags from her—with a great deal of effort—and returning them to the floor. "Let me take a look at your arm."

"No, thanks," she declined, avoiding his hands. "I'm not one of your little damsels in distress, Jarod," she informed him, dropping onto the sofa. "I've been taking care of myself since my moth--I can take care of myself."

"If you change your mind-" Jarod offered.

"I won't," came Parker's petulant interruption.

Jarod busied himself in the kitchen. Parker, meanwhile, investigated the still-bleeding laceration and retrieved her mobile.

"Damn it," she hissed.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Jarod called from the kitchen, "it's impossible to get a signal out here."

"Out here in Mayberry? I'm sure it is. Where's you car, Jarod?"

"How bad is your arm?"

"It's a scratch. Where is your car?"

"The mechanic will drop it off in a few days."

"Then, I'll rent one. Where is your telephone?"

"I don't have a land line and-"

"And it's impossible to get a cell signal," she said, exasperated. "This is just perfect."  

"Did you hit your head in the accident," he asked.

"I don't-no, I didn't."

"Are you hungry?"

"No," Parker shouted.

Jarod, preparing hot chocolate, frowned deeply.

It's going to be a long night.

Parker would have concurred. She had finally won the war against a roll of medical tape and was putting away supplies when Jarod returned with two cups, offered her one.

"No thank you," she said.

"If you want some ibuprofen-"

"It's a scratch," she interrupted.

"Okay then," he conceded. "I can show you to your room."

Parker nodded, and followed him. Quietly, she observed Jarod enter the bedroom and set her bags on a low table.

"You have your own closet if you want to unpack."

"No, I'm sure the snow will stop soon."

Jarod turned, informed her gently, "I was a meteorologist, Miss Parker, remember?"

Parker averted her gaze, revolved her eyes.

"I've been sleeping on the one next to the window, but they're both comfortable."

"One bedroom?"

"I'm afraid so," Jarod answered neutrally, adding with a frown, "Is that a problem?"

"Everything about this, Jarod," Parker answered in a low, tight voice, "is a problem. I'll sleep on the sofa."

"You're my guest. I'll take the sofa. I have some things to do anyway. Tell me," he said, retrieving blankets, sheets, and pillowcases from a linen closet, "have you heard from the search team."

"Search team?" Parker asked.

"The one you hired to find Mr. Parker," Jarod answered thickly, placing the bedding on the bare mattress.

"How is it th-" She began angrily.

"What," Jarod prompted when she fell silent. He observed her as she massaged her temples, and then quickly dropped her hands at her sides.

It doesn't matter how.

Nothing matters now.

"Miss Parker," Jarod gently disclosed, "it's unlikely he survived that jump."

"Dead. Alive. Either way, he's a liar, Jarod, and I don't want to talk about it," Parker said, snatching a pillow and pillowcase from the bed.

"I think you should."

"Don't confuse me with those people in your newspaper clippings, Jarod."

"What does that mean?"

"You're a genius, mm," she informed him coolly, still wrestling with the pillowcase, "I'm sure you'll figure it out." 

Jarod observed her struggle, and collecting a fitted sheet from the neat stack, offered sweetly, "Let help you with this."

"I don't need your help," Parker snarled.

Jarod nodded his understanding, dropped the sheet on the bed, and left Parker alone to complete a task that proved itself painful. She worked the corners of the fitted sheet around the mattress, wrestled with another pillow, all while replaying the events that had led her to this hell, lost herself in rumination. 

Until-

"You did a spectacular job making the bed, Miss Parker," Jarod lauded from the doorway, "but the idea is to climb in and sleep, not stare at it all night. May I come in?"

"It's your cabin," Parker answered, permitting him with a small wave of hand.

"These are for you," he said, despositing a glass of water and two ibuprofen on the nightstand.

"Thank you," she whispered, and eagerly swallowed the pills-- and bristled at the single raised eyebrow. "Just a scratch huh," He said, cynically.

"Headache," she explained.

"I see. Well, goodnight."

"I'd like to freshen up," she said.

"Across the hall. There are first aid supplies inside the closet, too- uh, for the scratch," he said, adding with an amiable smile, "Have a good night."

"Yeah," she said, half-heartedly, "you too."

∞