DISCLAIMER: Jarod, Miss Parker, Sydney, Broots and the fictional Centre are property of MTM Entertainment and NBC Productions and used without permission for the sole purpose of entertainment. This is based loosely on a dream I had. A first season story, thus timeline and mild spoilers for the 1st season.


THE SEARCH FOR TRUTH

by Leah

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"I won't stop chasing you, Jarod. I'll catch you and drag you back by the ears."

"Then, you're going to be running for a long time."

"It's you who's running Jarod. You can't beat the Centre."

"Yeah, well my view on the Centre is quite different than the all powerful deity you make it out to be."

"You think you're smart, don't you Jarod.? Well, one day you're going to slip up and I'm going to be right there to catch you." She pushed a button and it began taping the phone call.

"Don't count your chickens before they're hatched. Miss Parker, don't you think this act is a bit obsessive. I know you."

"No, you don't. You don't know me at all."

"Your mother did."

"Are you going to start that again, Jarod? I quit your little games long ago."

"Did you?" Those two words cut into her thoughts and she felt her guard slipping.

"You'll just have to see it to believe it," she hissed.

"Don't you think you better see who's at the door?"

"There's no one at--" BUZZ! The doorbell interrupted her. Another of Jarod's plots. She set the phone down on the desk and went to the door.

"Are you," a delivery man stood at the door, consulting his sheet. "Missy Parker?"

"Miss Parker!" she corrected him. "I assume you have some reason to come knocking at my door at four in the morning."

"It was a rush. Sign here please. There you go."

Miss Parker took the box and returned to the desk. Her frown was deliberating. She opened the box and found, "A hat?" she asked, picking up the phone.

"I hafta be goin' now darling," Jarod said with a Southern accent and a smile in his voice. "I've got some plucking to do."


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THE CENTRE, SUB-LEVEL FIVE
"It's a derby," Sydney said, looking over the black hat, while Miss Parker paced the room impatiently.

Broots watched them nervously.

"Derby?" he asked. "Like the Kentucky Derby?"

Miss Parker quit pacing and fixed a stare on Broots. "And what would you know about that?"

"It's for horses," he mumbled.

"Kentucky," Miss Parker repeated.

"Then, Jarod wasn't talking about plucking feathers." Sydney said. He handed the hat to Broots. "He meant a banjo. A bluegrass band."

Miss Parker shook her head in disbelief. "Kentucky bluegrass. What next?"

She went to Kentucky alone, in her own car, and told Sydney and Broots she'd contact them when she wanted a Sweeper team. She had an inkling that this was not a normal one of Jarod's pretends. It had something to do with a puzzle piece of what had happened to her mother.

Miss Parker was driving to Louisville, where the Kentucky Derby was held each year. As she was going through a wooded area, her car suddenly stalled. She tried starting it a few times, but it seemed for mysterious reasons the battery had gone completely dead. She banged the steering wheel with her fist, before searching in her glove compartment for a flashlight. The evening was already growing dark. It wasn't there. She got out of the car planning to walk down the road in order to reach the nearest town.


She hadn't been walking five minutes, when the beam of a flashlight blinded her and a familiar voice said, "Hiking's always a lot easier without high heels."

"Jarod!" she gasped in surprise. In the same moment, she pulled out her gun and aimed it at him.

"You came alone," he observed.

Miss Parker, anxious to know why he had marooned her here, answered impatiently, "Not quite." She nodded towards the gun in her hands.

He was seemed unperturbed by her threat. "Then, perhaps you're more interested in your mother and your past than even you knew."

"You stole my flashlight," she answered, trying not to think about his question and still refusing to lower her aim.

"Aren't you're arms getting tired?" he asked, lightly.

"Don't test me, Jarod. I bet my car's perfectly alright. How'd you find time to...Wait, I know. When I dropped it at the Auto Shop across from Grandpa's Diner during lunch. Very clever," she smiled with the exuberance of her capture. "But not clever enough. This time there's no hurricanes, no security teams, no jail cells to protect you. I'm taking you in."

Jarod pulled a remote control from his jacket pocket. "With the computer systems in cars these days it was a simple matter to hook up to the battery a remote on and off switch, so to speak."

Miss Parker moved the gun into her right hand. "Toss it to me," she ordered. Jarod did toss it but at the same time he threw the flashlight at her head and she had to dodge out of the way. When she found the flashlight and remote, Jarod was well hidden.

"If you want to continue this pleasant chat," he called from somewhere in the darkness. "Shine your flashlight to the left."

She did. It illuminated an abandoned house and alongside it was a ramshackle garage.

"Leave your car there," Jarod's voice instructed. "You see, I wouldn't want your car to be a source of a leak. Then, look in the bushes to your right, up the road about a mile. You'll find what you need to get to town and grab a bite to eat. I've heard a full stomach improves your disposition. Bye."

"Jarod!" Miss Parker called, indignantly. "Jarod!"

Miss Parker drove into town in a red jeep Jarod had left for her. She checked into a hotel for the night. The next morning, she asked the hotel clerk if he knew of any good eating places. His response was, "Are you Miss Parker?"

Her eyes narrowed and she asked, guardedly, "Who wants to know?"

"Nothing particular. Only a man was in here two days ago and said his cousin was coming here for the derby. You fit the description."

The serious expression never left her face as she nodded, "Yes, I'm Miss Parker." So Jarod had even expected her to come this far. He had known what she would do. Even where she would stay. The thought maddened her. "I should have shot him when I had the chance," she whispered to herself. But something whispered in the back of the mind that her statement was untrue. She ignored the whisper and looked at the clerk.

"I think he left you something," the clerk continued.

Miss Parker quickly manufactured a smile and put it on. "How thoughtful!" she said, sharply as she took the envelope Jarod had left her.

She walked outside to the jeep, ripping the envelope open and reading the words, "Hungry for answers. JJ's Restaurant. #4 Junction, Wooded lane."

A few hours later, Miss Parker pulled out the note again to double check. She got out of the jeep and looked around. Here was the wooded lane. All she could see were green cow pastures stretching on either side of the road. Had Jarod finally lost his mind? Then, she heard it. Someone was whistling a chipper tune behind that sparse section of trees. The smells of a barbecue wafted over to her.

Miss Parker went over to investigate. She spotted Jarod, in chef's hat and apron, operating a huge grill and whistling. Picnickers were scattered throughout the woods and fields. She walked into view and went up to Jarod.
He smiled broadly at her dismay and said, "You're right on time." He began whistling the tune "Pop Goes the Weasel." Then, he stopped and said, "You know it's amazing, by blowing air through your lips you can make music. I've been practicing that one especially for you. Fitting, don't you think?"

Miss Parker rolled her eyes. "So fitting I forgot to laugh." she replied with annoyance. "Is this what you meant by JJ's restaurant?" she asked, surveying the grill.

"Jarod Johnson. That's me for now." And he began whistling again.

"I thought you were going to answer some questions."

Jarod took off his apron and hat. He tossed them to a nearby picnicker. "Could you do me a favor, Will. Take care of the steaks for while."

"Sure thing, Jarod."

Jarod sat down at an empty picnic table and Miss Parker took a seat, too. She didn't look at him. "About those rescued children, Jarod. Broots found out they've all been dying or going into mysterious comas."

"I know," Jarod said, speculating. "I tried to help once, but I was too late. I got you here to make you a deal."

"I'm not going to jeopardize my relationship with the Centre to play along with one of your games, Jarod. I was hired to bring you back and I will."

"Maybe you will and maybe you won't," Jarod said. "At any rate, you'll never find out for certain what happened to your mother if I'm locked up for the next thirty years. And not knowing about your mother....it gets to you. Think about it."

Miss Parker pulled a cigarette pack from her pocket, but Jarod snatched it away from her, stood up, and tossed it into a bon fire. It shriveled and blackened as the flames engulfed it.

He handed her a pitcher of lemonade and a glass.

"I need you thinking clearly--no smoke on the brain." Jarod said. He went over to some of his bluegrass buddies and they put on an impromptu show. Jarod strummed on the banjo like a pro. When the show ended, Jarod returned to the picnic table.

Miss Parker sighed and then said, slowly, "Jarod, I want you help me find out what happened to my mother."

Jarod looked solemn. He took out a pez canister and popped a piece of candy into his mouth before responding, "Fine. Then, here's the deal. You help me find out where my mother is without exposing my family to the Centre."

"Jarod! I can't do that. I can't lie to the Centre."

"You already have. You didn't kill Jacob. And though you hate to admit it, there's some good behind that icy wall. You're father hasn't managed to kill all the things your mother taught you."

Miss Parker lowered her voice to a threatening whisper, "You leave my father out of this."

"How long do you think you can keep this up?" Jarod asked. "Wondering, guessing, but never knowing for sure. It eats away at you slowly, day by day. The endless suspense."

"Alright! It's a deal!" Miss Parker gasped, angrily. She was shocked she was even agreeing to such a scheme. But, she had seen Jarod work wonders and lately the matter of her mother's murder had been weighing greatly on her mind. "But how do you know I won't double cross you, Jarod?" she grinned, malevolently.

"Because I trust the good in you."

"It's too late, Jarod. You won't reform me with one of your speeches."

Jarod looked at her with a knowing smile. "Then, I trust you want to know the truth about your mother just as much as I do."

Miss Parker fidgeted with the glass of lemonade and stood up. "People who trust wind up the losers. I'm going back to the Centre and I'm going to get you what you want. And you better give me what I want or else..." She turned and began to walk away.

"Thank you," Jarod called after her.

She wheeled about and came back to face him. "For what?"

"For the warning, about Raines' Sweepers....when I saw my mother. I think it taught you something."

"And what's that?" Miss Parker asked in disgust.

"That you still have a heart." Then, Jarod turned back to the large grill and began turning steaks.

Some of the anger went out of Miss Parker's eyes as she turned back towards the road. So she was helping the Centre catch Jarod and she was helping Jarod find his mother in return for the truth about her own. It didn't make sense. But then nothing involving Jarod ever did.

THE END?

Read the sequel:

DISCLAIMER: The Pretender and all its characters (Broots, Sydney, Miss Parker, Jarod, Brigitte etc.) and places are the property of MTM Entertainment and NBC Productions and are used without permission for no profit. I was asked for a sequel to "The Search for Truth" so here it is. This takes story takes place after the episode, "Exposed." Hope you enjoy! Again, I'm on my knees begging you to, please send comments.

FLASHES OF TRUTH

by Leah
Copyright 1997

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"Daddy, I don't need any help," Miss Parker retorted, weakly.

"Listen, Angel," the man with a white mustache and balding head replied. "I'm not asking much of you. You know what we have to do so just don't worry about it. My asking that another be brought in to assist you, besides Brigitte, was approved by the Tower."

"But, Daddy..."

"Father knows best," Mr. Parker stated. "It wouldn't look good now for us to back down on my decision. It would seem we have something to hide," Mr. Parker explained, kindly--but in the way that left Miss Parker powerless to question his decision. All the walls of her objections were torn down and she was left speechless.

How could she tell this man whom she had trusted and thought of as father the doubts now surfacing in her mind. Something to hide. That last remark cut into her, breaking through the facade of Ice Queen and made her want to shout. Something to hide? Don't you know, don't you suspect that I may not be who you think I am? She did have something to hide. She had everything that was important to hide. Half of her wanted to tell her father that she had spoken to Jarod, face to face, made a deal with him. The other half screamed a warning that if she did so everything would be lost. She feared shattering Mr. Parker's image of her as his perfect little girl. He had acted as her father and it didn't matter what the message Jarod had sent in the music box meant.

The music box...Ben Miller...Maine...Mother...These thoughts haunted her mind as her father, calmly unaware of her inner torment, continued, "Our hired man is coming in this afternoon. Make him welcome."

Miss Parker nodded and Mr. Parker left her to attend to some arrangements he had in progress since his return to the Centre.

Jarod, she thought. The cause of all her problems but also the solution to them. Where could he be now?


"Hey, Chef. Hurry up with that spaghetti! I got two tables waiting," Sylvia, manager of the Divine Dines called into the kitchen.

"No problem, coming right up," a good-natured voice called back.

The kitchen was filled with food preparers and steamy vapors wafted from boiling pots. The chef of the kitchen seemed to have it all under control, as if it were an exact science. He pulled bread from the oven, seasoned the salad and sent it out, and at last came over to the steaming pot of spaghetti noodles. He lifted a few out with a large spatula, flipped them into the air and the activity of the bustling workers around seemed to stop for a moment as they watched him. SPLAT! The noodles adhered to the wall.

In less than two minutes, he had the spaghetti noodles rinsed, five plates filled complete with spaghetti sauce and meatballs, and each plate was garnished with two leaves of oregano.

"All done!" Jarod grinned. The chef's hat bobbed on his head as he spoke.

A cheer went up from his fellow workers, and the bustling began again. Jarod alone did not continue in his work. He removed his chef's hat and apron and slipped out of the kitchen into the restaurant lobby.


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"What?"

"Still looking for me, Miss Parker?"

"No, Jarod. I was waiting for a call from Grandma," she snapped, every syllable edged with sarcasm. "For a genius, you certainly have a knack for stating the obvious."

"Well, I'm cooking up a few surprises for you, Miss Parker."

"How nice, Jarod, and am I supposed to thank you for this?"

"I hardly would expect that. Just thought you needed to taste a bit of humble pie."

"The music box, Jarod. The photograph? What does it all mean?"

"You know what it means," Jarod replied, steadily. Miss Parker moved in her chair and then stood up, clutching the phone to her ear. She turned to peer out the window. Yes, she knew what it meant, but she had somehow hoped Jarod would deny the meaning, tell her it was some cruel trick, while her wits told her there was no denying the knowledge Jarod had given her.

"And now you tell me something," Jarod's voice cut in. "About my family."

"Your family? Well, things have been a bit hectic around here, Jarod. Daddy's back and Princess Eyes thinks she owns Mr. Lyle--" she cut herself off, remembering Jarod was the escaped and she was his pursuer. "Wait a minute," and her voice rose, sharply. "Why should I tell you anything?"

"Because I need to know the truth," Jarod responded, not missing a beat. "Our deal stands." The dial tone came on and Miss Parker slowly lowered the phone from her ear and snapped it shut. Yes, she thought, resignedly. Our deal stands. To think of it now she couldn't imagine what on earth had possessed to make such a promise. Jarod would give her information on her mother, while she--at her own risk--would find out information about Jarod's family when the opportunity presented itself. Why? Because he wanted to know the truth.

Flashes of truth. That's the way it always was with Jarod. He was never content to impart information in the normal way. No, he always, gave you a piece here, a bit there. A jigsaw puzzle of information until FLASH! All the pieces would drop into place and some vital truth would be revealed.

Her phone rang again. "What is it?" she snapped. She hated being interrupted, even from her own thoughts.

"Um...it's...it's," Broots' voice stuttered. "He's here, Miss P."

Miss Parker held back the anger in her voice to ask, "Who?"

"The Guesstimator."


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The man was clad in a white suit complete with black tie and white polished leather shoes. His build was thin and tall. His hair was blond and his eyes were gray. There was a perpetual smile that never left his face and as Sydney, Broots, and Miss Parker stood on the above level looking down at this visitor, he quietly walked about the room. In his hand he held a report which he must have just finished reading. Stacked neatly in rows of two were file folders, ones which he evidently had been reading before their arrival. Now, he simply paced around the room in a circle as if deep in thought.

"Who is this neat freak?" Miss Parker whispered, picking her way across the floor gratings in her heels, as they prepared to go down the stairs. "Is he a Pretender?"

Sydney smiled to himself. He felt Miss Parker always had Pretenders on the brain. "No," he replied in his soft Belgium accent as the trio started down. "Guesstimators, unlike Pretenders, do not have the ability to become anyone they want to be. But their powers of perception and understanding motivating factors behind why people do what they do are remarkable."

"Like Angelo, then?" Broots asked, trying not to break into a sweat. How come he had to be dragged into this thing? He would much rather have been back safely behind his computer where it was safe. But Miss Parker had directed him to come, so he was coming. Besides what if Brigitte should choose to pay a visit while his teammates were out? He shuddered and moved to catch up with them.

Sydney shook his head. "These beings do have personalities of their own...they are at times unruly, unpredictable, and egotistical. This comes from the fact their minds are continually active and if not constantly fed a puzzle to figure out, they become bored."

"Well, that shouldn't be a problem, should it, Syd?" Miss Parker said flashing a set of white teeth as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "Everything about Jarod is a puzzle."

Miss Parker moved into the room first, followed by Broots and Sydney.

"Hi, I'm Jonathan Bink," the Guesstimator greeted them at their appearance. His smile seemed to grow wider. Jonathan Bink, thought Miss Parker. How ridiculous! JB would be more like it. She followed her father's direction however, and said, "Well, Mr. Bink. You've been briefed. Let me know when you get something."

She was about to turn away when the Guesstimator's laugh halted her. He came up and walked in a circle around her, speaking at the same time. "JB, that's what you'd rather call me, I guess." He promptly pulled a small notebook from his pocket and a pencil from the other, and began scribbling notes in it. He tore off a sheet and handed it to her. On it was written in calligraphy: A Guessitimate, Why don't you like me?

Miss Parker didn't like the way this man was studying her, even though she was fully decked out as the Ice Queen, despite the absent smokes. "The first thing you are going to learn about me, JB," Miss Parker replied. "Is that I ask the questions and you give me the answers."


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The restaurant had closed and Jarod was sitting, studying the plaques on the wall that were displayed above the cash register.

"Looking at the competition?" Sylvia asked, peeking over Jarod's shoulder.

Jarod smiled. "Well," he began pointing at a gold plaque, "Actually this kind of interested me. Sands Springer? He's not working around here anymore is he?"

"No," answered Sylvia, slowly. She turned to the cash register to check the money. "That was last year...Sands was quite an amazing guy."

"Manager as well," Jarod prodded. He took off his chef's apron and folded it up. "Employee of the year. Nice title, that."

"Oh," Sylvia said with a smile. "There was a customer in here one night, must've had some type of allergic reaction. Sands was running a minimum staff that night. I guess I was one of the few there. Anyways, he was the only one to notice this man who was having trouble. He runs over there shouting, "Call 911!" But there was this rainstorm going on outside, see, and the wind broke the phone line. So he gets the man in his truck, drives him to the hospital in the pouring rain. If that isn't customer service, I don't know what it is!" She was finished with sorting the bills and went to put them in the safe.

"Why did he leave?" Jarod asked, helping her check the doors and switch off the lights.

"Oh, turns out after he became regular hero around here, we come to find out that he's just been working at Divine Dines to make a little extra cash. He really had been studying medicine quite a bit and was taking a little break. But being back at the hospital scene, made him want to get back there. He quit two weeks after that." Sylvia sighed. "Just when you think you're really starting to know someone..."

"They do something totally unexpected," Jarod said with a knowing look.


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The Centre
Sub-Level Five, Tech Room

A promise is a promise, this thought ran through Miss Parker's head as she entered the room and hovered uneasily for a moment over Broots' computer. It was too early in the morning even for the tech head to be there, but glancing at her watch she was sure he would arrive at any moment. She was dressed in her dark brown pants suit, and it reflected somewhat her dark frame of mind.

"Miss Parker!" Broots exclaimed in a startled fashion, nearly tipping his coffee cup. "Did you forget something?"

Miss Parker turned and gave him a calm, cool stare. "No. But I want you to."

She handed him a note to read, and on it was instructions on what she wanted him to do. After he read it, Broots' mouth dropped open in amazement. He shook his head. There was no way. Not with his daughter just home. He wouldn't stick out his neck like that, not for anybody. What if it led them to finding out how he had broken into Mr. Lyle's office?

"I'm sorry," Broots finally managed to say.

Miss Parker looked at him. Broots took a step back as if to wield off blows. She stared at him. Broots shook his head and tried to hand the note of instructions back to her. And then, the chairman's daughter did something worse than anything else imaginable for Broots.

"Pleeease!"

Broots could not refuse. His hand closed over the note of her request. He nodded and Miss Parker left swiftly, pausing only once to give a look of caution. She turned her head to the left and to the right, her eyes scanning the area to see if they had been watched. Then, she strolled out of sight.


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The Centre
Sydney's Office

"Sydney," Sydney answered the phone, calmly.

"Why do people do it, Sydney? Why do they hide the truth?"

Sydney picked up a pencil and fiddled with it. He knew it was Jarod and had spent the past year in the chase after The Pretender he had trained and raised. But Sydney really could not be considered to be a chaser, he was more along for the ride, trying to be sure that Jarod was safe. He smiled to himself, glad that Jarod had called, silently wondering if Jarod would ever come "home" to the Centre.

"It's good to hear your voice, Jarod. I think it's in human behavior....the hiding of a the truth. A child breaks something and then lies because the child loves the parent and is afraid of losing the parent's love. But children aren't born liars..."

"Yes, Sydney...Deception is a behavior they learn," Jarod replied, not wishing for an example. "But something goes beyond that. It seems to be a human tendency. What about adults? Why do they hide the truth?"

"Well, as an you grow, there is a difference between right and wrong and a mature person knows this. It's the conscience, the voice inside you that tells you when something you're doing is right or wrong."

"But people don't always listen to that voice," Jarod commented. He picked up a red notebook from the table where he had been sitting.

"No," Sydney said, laying the pencil on the table in front of him. "Your conscience is relative to your actions. If you ignore that voice inside you, it grows fainter and fainter until eventually it disappears altogether."

"But if that's the case," Jarod's voice sounded distressed. "And if people know this, why do they lie? Why do they hide the truth from themselves and others?"

"Because they are afraid the truth will hurt them."

"Then, they're fooling themselves. Lies hurt more. I know that more than ever before. I will find out the truth, Sydney. I will!" Jarod said, determinedly. He flipped open the red notebook and leafed through a few pages, pausing at one.

Sydney nodded to himself. His fingers brushed the pencil and it rolled across the desk. "Be careful, Jarod. You may not like what you find." The pencil dropped to the floor.

"No matter how deep it's buried, I'll find out the truth!" Jarod said. He pushed the 'off' button of his cellular and looked at the headline of the clipping he'd stopped on. It read, "Child Mourns Death of Grandfather." There was a photo of a ten-year old, wide-eyed girl. Her brown eyes brimmed with sadness. The eyes were what struck Jarod the most. The painful sense of loss he saw there reminded him of someone he knew well.


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CENTRE DATABASE
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware

The door creaked open and Miss Parker crept in, pausing to peek around the door and looking up at the wall where a security camera vigilantly was scanning the area. The room was filled with dark monitors, keyboards and computer panels and only special personnel were ever allowed to access to the wealth of information stored in this electronic library. The red light of the security camera went off and Miss Parker's heart beat faster as she realized this was her chance. Broots had done as was asked and looped the security cameras. There was at least two hours before any of the employees would arrive.

It was now or never.


Yes, Miss Parker had a security clearance to be in the Centre Database, but only as an observer. Any research she wanted done would have to be cleared with the Tower and then only if one of the Centre researchers assisted her. The information Miss Parker wanted to search on would have caused too many questions to arise. She moved into the room and sat down quickly at a computer terminal.

Miss Parker glared at the screen and then entered the code to access a specific line of data. THE PRETENDER PROJECT, she typed and pressed enter. The usual info came up about Pretenders among us and geniuses with the ability to become anyone they want to be. She skimmed over that. Then, she typed two more words and initiated a search on them. PRETENDER: JAROD. The usual explanation scrolled across the dark computer screen in blue letters. In 1963 the Centre isolated a young Pretender named Jarod and harnessed his genius for their research. Then one day, the Pretender ran away. Well, that's all very well and good, Miss Parker thought fiercely. Everyone knows that! She hit the key for the search to continue, but a box flashed up which read: NO FURTHER FILES FOUND.

Stupid databases! A wealth of knowledge at her fingertips and this is what she got! She was almost struck the keyboard with her fist, but caught herself in time. Why hadn't she convinced Broots that he could loop the security cameras and still come into the database for her? Miss Parker frowned and was about to enter and initiate a new search, when a voice behind her said, "What are you doing here?"

Her heart leapt into her throat. She spun around and then her look of shock changed into one of annoyed surprise.

"Syd! What are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?"

Sydney was calm and collected. He held a book in his hand and repeated the question. "Miss Parker, what are you doing here? The Centre Database employees won't be around for another hour and a half."

"You never saw me, Syd. I'm not here," Miss Parker replied, stubbornly. She couldn't let Sydney know she was doing this for Jarod. Why didn't he just go away and leave her to do what must be done?. Sydney caught an inkling of the dismay Miss Parker was feeling. He had known her since she was not the persistent, relentless huntress of the day, but a little girl lost, alone, and saddened by her mother's death and Sydney, with his analytical mind, still saw that side of her. "This has something to do with Jarod, doesn't it? Something that we don't want," his accented voice lowered, "them to know about."

Caught in the act, Miss Parker had nothing to say. It wasn't a question as to whether or not Sydney would tell. She had no fear of Sydney. It was a question of admitting that she had been--She shook her head and rolled her eyes trying to clear her head of the thought, but to no avail. She had been helping Jarod. And more surprisingly, the thought unfurled in her mind....Sydney would help her!

"Well!" Miss Parker said, sharply.

Sydney smiled, amusedly and said, "If there is something you need, Miss Parker, you should ask for it."

Miss Parker pushed her rolling chair back from the terminal and spun it around to face Sydney's position. She rested her chin on her hand and said, "Well, Syd. Think you can get Cyber Brain to talk. Please..." She gestured towards the terminal. "Your audience awaits."

Sydney opened the book, he had been carrying, read something from it, and then looked at Miss Parker. The book snapped shut and was placed beside the monitor. Sydney gave her one last bemused smile. Then, his finger moved toward the keyboard. He typed and entered the words which initiated a search: The Pretender Project, 1963: Jarod. "NO FURTHER MATCHES FOUND," flashed on the screen. Then, Sydney entered another word into the keyboard and pressed enter. The message stopped flashing. The screens on the computer began to change rapidly at last stopping on one which listed three files.

Miss Parker jumped up from her chair and crowded Sydney away from the monitor, staring at it in amazement. "What was the magic word, Syd?" she said in wonderment. Then, without waiting for a reply, she quickly pulled out a headset piece and placed it on her head. Adjusting the mouthpiece, she spoke softly into the mike. "Pigeon this is Falcon. Come in. Do you read?"

"Loud and clear, Falcon," Broots replied.

"We have found the nest, Pigeon," Miss Parker said. "Sending you the egg."

"Don't you think if would be safer to copy it later, on disk, Miss Parker?" Sydney asked.

"Last time I listened to that advice of yours, Sydney, and we lost all those folders in SL-27," Miss Parker replied. "This time, I'm not listening." She grimaced and turned to punch some keys on the keyboard. Perhaps she should listen to Sydney? This thought surfaced involuntarily in her mind. No, that was ridiculous. She had enough superiors to worry about without having Jarod's nursemaid start ordering her about.

As she began uploading the three files onto the network, she spoke into the set, "Pigeon, the birds are flying the nest." She turned to Sydney who had again taken up his book, but was giving her a think-about-what-you're-doing-look. "This way, Syd," Miss Parker said, throwing up her arms and pointing at Sydney as she spoke. "There's no mess. I keep the Tower off my back and I walk out of here scot-free. With nothing on me."


All the lit computer screens in the room went dark! A glaring red box labeled warning sprung onto the screen. "Unauthorized access of files."

"Falcon! Abandon nest, abandon nest!" Broot's strained voice came through on the headset. She yanked off her headpiece and concealed it in her jacket.

"Time to go, Syd!" Miss Parker said, immediately tense and alert. As an alarm bell sounded, she grabbed Sydney's arm and hurried him out of the room. They glanced around the hall be sure no one had seen them come out.

Miss Parker and Sydney began walking down the hallway away from the Centre Database. They hurried through one more hall when Miss Parker held up her hand to tell Sydney to stop. There were rushing footsteps headed directly towards them. Miss Parker pulled out her gun. "Miss Parker!" Sydney exclaimed. She turned back to face the direction of the Centre Database and her expression was deadly. She stood very straight and still...waiting.

Brigitte and a security team of five sweepers rushed up to them. The sweepers' pace slowed as Brigitte nodded at them and then looked at Miss Parker and Sydney. "The alarm sounded. What's going on, luv?" Brigitte asked, breathlessly. Her own gun was pulled.

"About time you got here!" Miss Parker snapped, gripping the 9mm. "I called for backup five minutes ago. Let's move it!"

Without questioning it, they complied. Brigitte and Miss Parker led the security team back towards the Centre Database. So far so good, Miss Parker thought. They entered quickly and swept through the room, pointing their guns in all directions.

"Ooooh!" Miss Parker kicked the wall in pretended frustration, careful not to set off the trigger of her gun.

"They're gone, whoever twas," Brigitte observed, smiling at Miss Parker's dismay. Good, Miss Parker thought, inwardly relieved her sham had worked. Miss Parker stood in the background, watching to see what Brigitte and her team would do. Brigitte walked over to the lit computer screen and typed something into the board saying, "Let's see what was wanted." The screen in white letters flashed: Files deleted. "Can you retrieve it?" Brigitte asked one of the security team.

He moved forward and typed in several things, but then shook his head. "Memory's been wiped," he mumbled. "Don't know what was erased."

Brigitte replaced her gun in her holster. She pulled out a red sucker and licked it. "I best report this to Mr. Raines," Brigitte remarked and exited followed by the security team.

Miss Parker stood alone in the room, running her fingers through her hair. Who had erased the files? Jarod! Miss Parker thought fiercely. This is all your fault. The things you make me do! Then, she also exited. If she had stayed a moment longer, she would have caught the scratching sound of a grate snapping in place. And if she had been a keen listener she would also have caught the stifled laughter of someone who was treating himself to a snack of Cracker Jacks.


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The Hallway of a Hospital

"He made you do it, didn't he?" Jarod confronted Sands. "Lie for him."

"Look, I've got a lot of work I need to do," Sands said, giving a worried smile.

"You're afraid," Jarod said. Sands stopped his tracks, still facing away from Jarod as the Pretender continued, "Afraid of the truth. Afraid of what might happen to you if you do tell. How long can you live knowing that a life was lost and the man responsible for it walks around free because of you? How can you even look at yourself in the mirror every morning knowing what you have done?"

There were tears in Sands' eyes as he turned around to look at Jarod. He covered his mouth with his hand and shook his head, trying to hold them back. "I can't," he said. "I didn't know it was that serious. I never thought he'd die. Doctor Robins said it was okay. Whatever treatment given wouldn't do much good. He was old, had lived his life. It was best we concentrate on giving someone else a chance. Then, I...when I saw him in the restaurant, I knew what the problem was. It had been a misdiagnosis. More tests should have been run. I knew we had to get him to the hospital. And he was safe, then. But Doctor Robins wasn't really worried about the patient. He died about a week after that."

"And if Doctor Anthony Robins had cared, this little girl might still have her grandfather," Jarod held up the red notebook and pointed to the picture of the wide-eyed little girl in the news clipping. "Why didn't you tell the truth in the first place?"

Sands eyed the photo guiltily. "I knew if anyone ever found out, I'd lose all hope of getting a degree. Dr. Robins would find a way to pin all the blame on me."

"A doctor who doesn't tell his patients the truth doesn't deserve one," Jarod replied. "But you can redeem yourself..."

Sands snapped to attention immediately. "How?"

"A favor," Jarod answered.


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Hospital Research Area
Storage Room

"Sands?" asked Dr. Robins, walking into the dimly lit room. It was after visiting hours and he couldn't understand why this meeting had been arranged.

"Excuse me, coming through," a voice called. Someone bumped into him and he felt something piercing his skin.

"Ouch! What do you think you're doing?" Doctor Robins shouted, grabbing his arm where he had just been poked with a syringe. "Who are you?"

"Jarod Learner. Call me Jarod. I'm sorry," the man half-hidden by the shadows apologized.

"What was in that?"

"Oh, did I poke you? It's just some experimental research for class. It was this," Jarod held out an empty bottle of the fluid that had been in the needle.

"What?" asked Dr. Robins, trying to read the label. He felt he was getting light-headed. "You're...one of the medical students?"
"You might want to sit down," Jarod instructed, easing Dr. Robins into a chair. "Yeah, you got a dose of a special concoction of mine. Pretty potent stuff. Happily for you, I've already formulated an antidote."

"Antidote? Give me the antidote!"

"Problem is, I haven't tested it. It'll either cure you or constrict the flow of blood to your brain."

Dr. Robins eyes widened. He tried to stand up, but realized his legs would no longer support him. "What! You haven't tested it yet? Don't use it on me! Call a doctor."

"But now's a perfect time as any," Jarod countered. "Hey, I think you'll make the perfect lab rat." He filled another syringe with purple fluid and stepped towards Dr. Robins.

"Are you crazy?" Dr. Robins asked, still helplessly sitting in the chair. "You never administer anything without the proper tests! Haven't they taught you anything in medical school!"

"Afraid not," Jarod said, looking at the needle. "But if makes you feel any better I'm not really a medical student."

"Madman!"

"No, I'm someone who doesn't think a little girl should have lost her grandfather. You were his doctor. He trusted you and you let him down. He came to you to be treated and you didn't bother performing a simple test! It was procedure. But you didn't think it mattered....you skipped the extra tests. You were proud of yourself. You thought you were a medical whiz, that you knew it all. And you made a misdiagnosis and then tried to cover it up, didn't you? Didn't you?" Jarod moved the needle closer. "Didn't you?!"

"Yes! I did," cried Dr. Robins, his eyes were fixed on the syringe in Jarod's hands. "How did you know? Springer must have told you. I'll kill him! Now, please get that stuff away from me. Don't give me that." Dr. Robin's vision was getting blurry.

"Oh, if I messed up the antidote, what does it matter," Jarod shrugged. "I think you've lived a full life. Now it's time give someone else a chance." Jarod smirked at him, in a quick motion, he injected Dr. Robins with the needle.

"What's happening to me!" Dr. Robins gasped as Jarod's potion began to work. "You can't get away with this," he panted.

"You can't get away with the death of someone whose life you were responsible for," Jarod said. "Smile, for the camera!" Jarod said, pulling a cloth away to reveal a hidden video camera. "I think it'll be interesting to know what the medical board has to say."

These words rang in Dr. Robin's ears as he slumped to the floor.

Sands stood in the doorway looking down at the doctor. "When he wakes up he's going to have a killer hangover."

Nodding, Jarod handed Sands the video tape. "Just goes to show, lies are one big headache after another."


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Miss Parker's Office
Intergroup Concourse Level
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
"What?" Miss Parker answered her cellular phone. "Oh, it's you Broots. Got it?"

"Yeah, I think so....I mean I think no one saw me," Broots replied.

"Did you get it?"

"Uh, can't tell you now. This guy here...he's driving me nuts," Broots whispered into the phone.

"Who?" asked Miss Parker in puzzlement.

"The Guesstimator guy. Who else? He been hovering around here like...a vulture all day, taking notes and asking questions...about you." Broots swallowed hard.

"He's there! In the tech room? WHAT did YOU tell him?"

"Nothing, I swear!" Broot insisted.

"I'm coming down." Miss Parker knew she sounded annoyed and didn't care. She snapped the phone shut and sighed. If the Guesstimator was asking about her, she better get going and make some pretense of working with him before Daddy found out about her neglect.

"There you are, wondered where you were," the Guesstimator said with his perpetual smile as Miss Parker entered the tech room. Broots breathed a sigh of relief.

Miss Parker stared at JB. "Well?" she said. She wished this Guesstimator was out of her hair. If anyone but Daddy had brought this "helper" in she would have gotten out of working with him long ago. When the young man only looked at her, she added, "I don't suppose you have any idea where Boy Wonder is?"

The Guesstimator shook his blond head. "I do not know, Jarod," he explained. "Never seen him before. Hard to guess without seeing him. My guesstimates must be based on what I know. I would like to talk with him."

"JB, we have had others before you who specifically located him, but had never met him. I'll take no excuses." She turned to go out and was dismayed to find JB was following her. She did an about face and leaned towards him, "What are you doing?"

He had a smile in his voice too, as he explained his own strange logic. "He knows you and you know him. You have seen him. If I know you, I'll find him!"

"You don't get out much, do you?" Miss Parker smirked.

The Guesstimator turned serious suddenly. In amazement, Miss Parker saw his smile vanish. "My guess is," Jonathan Bink said, suddenly. "That the escaped is somewhere, somewhere close."

Miss Parker froze. She stared at the Guesstimator. "Why?"

But he continued, "You talked with him recently..."

Miss Parker crossed her arms. "It's common knowledge that he makes calls here. Because of Sydney playing Mommy. I don't think guesses are going to do you any good. The cold, hard facts are Jarod only lets us get close when he wants us to."

The blond man smiled at Miss Parker. "I could do much better. Much better...if you do not fight me on this."

"Fight you?" Miss Parker shrugged, boiling with agitation. She laughed, wryly. "I have not yet begun to fight!" She had entered her office and stood in the doorway, looking back at the Guesstimator. "Look, do me a favor. When you find Jarod, call me." The door slammed in his face.

She sat down at her desk in her office and tapped her fingers on the desk. A distant look came across her face. She opened a case on her desk and pulled out the music box. Her fingers stroked the lid before she opened it and immediately the music began to play and the two ballerina figurines danced before her eyes. Water gathered behind her eyes. She blinked hard to keep the tears from coming, however a single crystalline tear escaped, sliding silently down her cheek before splashing down onto her desk and slowly evaporating. She closed the music box and the music ceased, but her feelings did not diminish.

Her mind went back over the conversation she had just had. The words she had spoken, Jarod only lets us get close when he wants us to. A year ago she would have vehemently denied such a thing. Now, she believed this was a fact. She knew from her own experience and the overconfidence of Brigitte had served to aggravate Miss Parker's best chance at catching Jarod. But why? Why would Jarod let anyone from the Centre get close. In fact, if it weren't for the diligence in their pursuit and the clues the genius helpfully left behind, Jarod was quite capable of disappearing altogether.

Well, one reason was Sydney but there was more to it than that. Miss Parker didn't want to think about it anymore. This place she worked was full of contradictions.

The cellular phone in her pocket rang.

"What?"

JB said, "It's Jonathan Bink, Miss Parker. It is a guesstimate, but I believe I have located your Pretender."


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"JB, Broots...Stay!" Miss Parker directed, as she stepped from the limo. Sydney was the only one allowed to follow her into the Divine Dines restaurant. It was early morning and not many customers had come in yet, so the manager was quite cooperative.

"Yes, Jarod worked here. He was substitute chef, but his job ended yesterday," Sylvia answered as Miss Parker held up the photo of Jarod. Her brown eyes sparkled merrily. "He was the nicest guy. Hey, you must be that woman he was talking about! He left you something."

"This is Miss Parker. I am Sydney," Sydney answered, kindly.

Miss Parker decided to cut the small talk. "Do you know where Jarod might be now?"

"Oh, well I know he was going to the hospital."

"The hospital?" Sydney asked with concern. "Is he well?"

"Oh, fine," Sylvia replied. "Wait a minute." Sylvia walked back to the into the kitchen. When she returned, she was carrying a cardboard pastry container and on top of this was a manila envelope.

"Thank you," Miss Parker said, abruptly taking the items. She opened the cardboard container. "Pie," she said in annoyance, shutting it again and passing it to Sydney. Then, Miss Parker opened the envelope and took out a red notebook. Without another word, she turned and headed towards the exit.

"Where's JB?" Miss Parker asked when she got into the limo.

"Um," Broots replied. "I think he said he had to get something."

Sydney got into the limo and the Guesstimator quickly appeared behind him.

"Miss Parker," JB began. Miss Parker ignored him. She had told him to stay and he had disobeyed her order. She told the address of the hospital to the driver. The automobile sped down the busy streets.

"You will be interested in this, Miss Parker," the Guesstimator insisted.

Broots was intently studying the road maps of the city on his laptop computer. Sydney was occupied with observing Miss Parker and wondering what he could do to keep her calm.

"But the train..."

"One more word, JB..." Miss Parker hissed not finishing her threat and then returning to the task of viewing Jarod's red notebook.

The Guesstimator sat back in the car seat and looked out the window. Observers, less occupied than the trio, would have noted that he seemed to be laughing to himself.

Miss Parker's eyes settled on the picture of the little girl. So this is what Jarod has been up to lately, she thought.

Now that Miss Parker seemed calmer, Sydney noticed the newspaper the Guesstimator had been holding. He held out his hand in a "May I?" gesture and received the newspaper. Sydney unfolded it and began to read the words of an article, softly, " 'I'm glad to know the truth. That Grandpa didn't leave me on purpose,' the ten-year old stated. Doctor Anthony Robins, 49 was exposed for malpractice due to the efforts a mysterious man--" Sydney's reading halted as his eyes skipped ahead. He read on in surprise, "known only as Jarod."

If lightning had struck then, the hearers couldn't have been more stunned.

"If you had listened to me," the Guesstimator smiled in amusement.

"Jarod!" Miss Parker dropped everything and snatched the paper. There was a photo of the same ten-year old granddaughter. In one hand, the girl held a model train. The caption underneath read, "A gift from a sympathetic mystery friend."

"HE'S AT THE TRAIN STATION!" the Guesstimator shouted. Sydney had stated that guessitimators are unruly, unpredictable and egotisical and JB was no exception. "That's what I have been attempting to tell you." He crossed his arms and shook his blond head. "Some people..." he muttered, inaudibly.

"We're at the hospital ma'am," the driver said, pulling over to the curb.

"Can the hospital!" Miss Parker said. "To the nearest train station! Step on it."

An engine's whistle blew. The occupants who sprang from the limo arrived just in time to catch the glimmer of a Pretender's smile as he waved from the caboose of the train, well out of shooting range, speeding onward to his next adventure.


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LATER...
The Centre,
Blue Cove Delaware

"And why JB didn't you speak up?" Miss Parker snapped. Sydney quietly sat in background, taking notes.

The Guessitmator's answer silenced any further questions she had. "I was merely performing my task. You did not wish to listen. It implied your existence rested on the chase of the Pretender. My guesstimate was you didn't really want to catch him. Not yet anyway."

She stared steadily at him, trying to see if that had been an accusation. It wasn't. She glanced at Sydney who only shook his head, relaying that JB had not made an accusation. Like Sydney he was stating a perception. He had simply been doing his job...which included guesstimating the motivations of others. Miss Parker concentrated. Was this correct? Was the reason she had been so unwilling to listen to JB was because unconciously she didn't really want to catch Jarod? Had she lost her focus. Shut up! She stopped that line of reasoning abruptly. I'm beginning to sound like Sydney.

"Absurd!" she hissed. She shook her head in disbelief. "I am very disappointed."

The Guessitmator's smile vanished. He began to breath rapidly. "I did my job! I made a guesstimate!" he said, making a fist and pounding the table. Bruised egos were never to be taken lightly, not by Guessitmators.

Sydney jumped in. "Of couse you did, Jonathan, but you are human and all of us make mistakes. Come along, I believe you have been assigned another project to work on elsewhere. We'll go and find out where your skills are needed."

The young man nodded. His eyes pierced Miss Parker for a moment and as Sydney gently led him to the door, he gasped, "I didn't guess! I know."

The door closed and Miss Parker was left in the empty room. She sat down wearily.

The phone buzzed, she pulled it out and put it to her ear, too piqued to even breath out her usual 'what'. "And a big "howdy" to you, ma'am," Jarod's voice greeted. "Westerns...pony express quite interesting."

"Spare me the run around, Jarod. You want to know what I found about your family." Miss Parker sighed. "It wasn't easy. Broots pulled some files out of the Centre Database...it was risky."

"And?"

"The transferred copies were damaged...the originals erased." There had been a tone of hopeful expectancy in Jarod's one worded question and Miss Parker knew that Jarod's family was the one thing that clouded his well-trained judgment when it came to keeping ahead of his pursuers.

"Keep trying," Jarod said, simply.

"Keep trying! And how am I supposed to get information to you about your family if I don't where you are?" Would he take the bait?

"Do I detect a note of concern in your question, Miss Parker? How flattering. Then, you haven't tasted your humble pie. Little Jack Horner sat in a corner eating a cherry pie..." CLICK!

Miss Parker's thoughts turned back to the pie. Quickly, she tried to recall the next lines of the famous nursery rhyme. Miss Parker opened the container with the pie and took a good look at it. He stuck in his thumb and... She pushed one of her fingers into the filling and then tasted it. Cherry! ...pulled out a plum. An inspiration struck her. Writhing with the displeasure of messing up her manicure, she pushed her whole left hand into the center of the pie through the gooey filling. Yes, there was something there! She pulled it out quickly, shaking the cherry filling from the rolled document she had found. Slowly and carefully, she unfolded it and read: What a good boy am I! You've got questions. I've got answers. Keep in touch.--J.

It came to her. The flash of truth! Another piece of the puzzle had dropped into place. She stared at the document for a long moment and then said, softly, "You know something Jarod. Something about my mother. Something you're holding back."

Now her resolve to catch him was stronger than ever before.


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Author's note: If you're reading this, you've read my story. Please send

DISCLAIMER: The fictional characters (Miss Parker, Jarod, Sydney, Broots etc.) and places of the dramatic television series "The Pretender" are the property of MTM Entertainment and NBC Productions. This story is an independent ffan production with no harsh intent for free entertainment only. Second season story. This is the sequel to "The Search for Truth" and "Flashes of Truth." Rated PG for some violent content.

FIRE AND TRUTH

by Leah
Written in 1998

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"You kicked the habit. It was something you'd had for so long, that you thought you needed it. It controlled you, while at the same time destroying you and now you're free of it. Look inside. Free yourself, Miss Parker." Click. Miss Parker hung up before the dial tone could come on. What was Jarod talking about now? She was still groggy from sleep and wondered why it was Jarod always seemed to contact her when she was at her most relaxed moments. Out of habit, she reached over to her night stand but came up empty. Then, she realized it. Boy Wonder was talking about the fact that she had quit smoking.

Or was he? And how did he know?



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"I don't think so, Sydney." Broots shook his head. "You know how she's been lately."

Sydney agreed, "Rather on a short fuse....Why don't you ask her, Broots?"

"Ask me what?" Miss Parker said, strolling into the tech room. Her hands were full of recent reports on Jarod's whereabouts and she flipped through them.

"Um...it's really nothing, Miss Parker," Broots replied, beginning to sweat. "Well...I don't mean nothing. It is something," he rambled on, pulling at his collar. "It's just...Well." Broots put both of his hands together in a pleading posture. "There's a school field trip today and I promised Debbie that I would go. She's really counting on me being there and it's all day and," he gulped. "It starts in an hour."

Through all of this Miss Parker did not even look at Broots. She continued flipping through her folder of reports and Broots was not entirely sure she had heard a word of it.

"Broots!" Miss Parker said, so suddenly that he jumped. "Get out of my sight!"

"Oh, thank you! Thank you," Broots said, nearly groveling as he headed for the door.

Miss Parker called out the door after him for the benefit for all to hear. "And if I catch you around or anywhere near the Centre today, your head will roll!"

"That was very kind of you, Miss Parker," Sydney observed. "As you can see, Broots appreciated it."

Miss Parker watched Broots' back disappearing down the hall. Then, she turned to Sydney with a pleased smile and an innocent look, "Kind? I don't know what you mean, Syd." She pushed the folder of reports at Sydney. "Let's get to work."

By lunchtime, Miss Parker was still thinking of the words Jarod had said in his phone call of the night before. She went over them again and again in her mind, looking for a hidden clue. Finally, at her wit's end, she asked Sydney about it. After all, if anyone would know what Jarod meant, it would have to be Sydney.

"Jarod is fond of using analogies," Sydney explained. "He makes connections comparing one thing to another as I'm sure you're aware."

Miss Parker thought of the time in Florida when Jarod had compared the meanest alligator to her and replied, "I'm aware of it alright."

"Do you mind if we continue this later?" Sydney asked, checking his watch. "Although, you're welcome to join me."

Miss Parker shook her head and Sydney headed to lunch. She walked to her office to take the medicine that had been prescribed for her ulcer and thought over the events of the past few weeks. The pressure on her had been greater since Brigitte and Mr. Lyle (who knew where Lyle'd disappeared to?!) had come, but especially great because of her father. Mr. Parker did not totally trust her as he once had and, though she would never have admitted it, that hurt.

Her mind flashed back to only a few weeks before, when her father and Mr. Raines had plotted to steal ten million dollars from Mr. Lyle. Through several manipulations, they had used her as a pawn to carry out their plan. Her mind went back to the conversation she had had with her father, in the infirmary, when she had first found out that he was behind the plan.

"I apologize for the secrecy, but is was important you believed exactly what you believed," her father had patronized, unashamedly.

"And all that stuff about a younger lion. That was all part of it?" she questioned, pacing to and fro. She was floored. How could he have not told her about this?

Mr. Parker had an answer for everything. "For your own protection."

"And the money?" Miss Parker had asked.

He answered the question, calmly. She sighed then, and had asked in bewilderment, "Why didn't you just tell me the truth?"

"Well considering everything that happened, I didn't think you'd trust me," Mr. Parker had responded. She had spent a long time thinking about that afterwards.

There was a tapping on the side of the open door. Miss Parker looked around to see Brigitte peeking in at her. She caught the feeling the cleaner had been studying her for several seconds before making her presence known. The blonde's bangs were annoyingly curled over the eyes which were accented by the overabundant blue eye shadow. And between Brigitte's lips, as usual, a lollipop stick protruded.

"What brings you here?" Miss Parker asked, making no effort to hide the displeasure in voice. Brigitte had not been visible for the past several weeks, but Miss Parker knew that didn't mean the cleaner hadn't been keeping an eye on her. Brigitte was her assigned watch dog and Miss Parker had accepted the situation the same way a cat accepts the existence of fleas. Brigitte existed, but that didn't mean Miss Parker had to like her...or even make the pretense of doing so.

Brigitte understood her and smiled to herself. She pulled the sucker from her mouth and gestured with it. She always did enjoy annoying her rival. "It was necessary," she replied. "To inform you. We are going to Kentucky."

Kentucky, Miss Parker groaned inwardly. The last time she had been in Kentucky was May of 1997. She had gone to Louisville alone, following a tip from one of Jarod's calls. He had stranded her car, eluded capture--she couldn't very well pull a gun on him in a woods full of picnickers--and thrown her cigarettes into a bon fire. It was there she had made The Deal with him. He would give her information on her mother's death, while she would provide him with information about his family. She had no desire to relive that humiliating experience--especially not with the added burden of Brigitte.

"Actually informing me? My, how your standards change! And is Franken Boy in Kentucky?" This better not be an investigation on my solitary trip there, Miss Parker thought, darkly.

"Difficult to tell with Mr. Broots gone, isn't it?" Brigitte shrugged. But she dared not linger on that particular subject, still apparently remembering Miss Parker's warnings about messing with her team. "It remains to be seen. See you there." Brigitte slinked away.

Miss Parker picked up her phone. "Sydney? Get back here," she said, firmly. "We have an assignment and I don't want the Amateur trying to start without us." Well, Miss Parker breathed, still thinking to herself. She had to work with Brigitte, but at least she didn't have to travel with her....only beat her to the destination.


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KENTUCKY

"So," Jarod asked, the girl working the concession stand, "Why is it that people are so willing to pay these high prices for movie popcorn when this is something they could make at home?" He gave her a friendly smile.

"Well," replied the girl, giving Jarod a wondering look. "Guess it's cuz the rules say you can't bring your own food to the movies."

"Oh, I see," said Jarod. "So the whole system is set up so that people who come to see the movies end up having to pay twice as much for snack foods that they could get for one-third of the price they pay if they just bought them at the store and ate them at home?"

"That's about the size of it," she drawled. "But most folks don't seem to mind, 'sides popcorn at the show's just," she shrugged, trying to explain. "Tastes better. We pop it fresh. So you buying or just yakking?"

"Sure," said Jarod, good-naturedly. "How much popcorn will this buy?" He threw down a twenty-dollar bill.

The girl gave him an amazed look. "All popcorn? Just for you, mister?" she asked. "Four large buckets." She whistled.

"That's about the size of it," Jarod drawled. "But can I get it in a bag to go, instead of a bucket? I'm kind of in a hurry."

Jarod made his purchase and the girl shook her head in disbelief over the man who had bought four large buckets of popcorn, but hadn't stayed to watch a single movie.


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Jarod had good reason to be hurried. Having stepped by that local news camera, the day before, he was expecting company would be joining him soon. He knew some sharp eye at the Centre would likely catch it, so it was best to stay alert.

Jarod, from his roost atop a building, looked down from his vantage point and grinned boyishly. He put his hand in a paper bag and pulled out another handful of buttery popcorn. He had doubled back on his pursuers and now he was behind them. As he looked below, he saw Miss Parker run past, followed by several sweepers. They fanned out through the area then, halted and regrouped at a four-way crossing. He could see that she was shouting directions at them, ordering half to the right and half to the left. They scattered. Miss Parker herself, drew her gun and forged straight ahead. Then she rounded the right corner of a building and left his sight. Jarod ate another handful of popcorn, simply enjoying the live action. He admired her persistence. He knew that the route she had taken led to a dead end alleyway and unless she thought of climbing the fire escape (as he had done in order to double back undetected) she would soon reappear.

Another movement along with the flash of a metallic-colored suit below distracted his attention. He recognized the woman moving below as the cleaner, Brigitte. He was not surprised to see her, but there was something in her movements that struck him as suspicious. She did not seem to be involved in his chase, although doubtless she was keeping an eye out for him. She was walking slowly and deliberately, and when she reached the four-way, she paused. Two sweepers ran back into sight, the ones Miss Parker had sent to the left, evidently returning empty-handed. He could see the blonde woman approach and consult with them. This lasted only two minutes, then the sweepers headed back in the direction from which Brigitte had come. The cleaner walked onwards, going in the same direction Miss Parker had taken. Jarod stopped eating the popcorn. He shook his head. Something about this did not feel right. He left his perch, headed over the rooftops, back in the direction from whence he'd come.

Dead end, Miss Parker thought. But so what if she had run into it? Wasn't it likely that Boy Wonder had too? Hey, he couldn't be that smart all the time. She looked around the alley, there were trash cans lining the tall brick buildings on both sides of it. The brown fence that impeded her path looked insurmountable--even for Jarod. She sighed.

WHACK! Stars swam before her eyes. She looked down and saw the pavement was moving towards her. Then, blackness.

When Miss Parker opened her eyes again, the first thing her fingers did was grip. They grasped nothing. Her gun was gone. The daylight hadn't changed much, she could only have been unconscious for several seconds.

"Looking for this, luv?" a British voice asked in a pleased manner.

Miss Parker stood up slowly and turned to see Brigitte, holding Miss Parker's very own 9mm in a gloved hand. It was aimed directly at her head.

"Not my style," Brigitte said. "But I suppose it'll have to do. Well, Parker, I'm glad you shall be awake for your untimely demise." Miss Parker opened her mouth to shout for the sweepers, but Brigitte caught the action. Click. She took off the safety and warned, "I wouldn't try that, luv! I'll shoot before anyone will ever reach you."

Miss Parker fell silent as a statue. She felt cold and dead inside. Totally detached from her emotions. She had become the Ice Queen. "What's the matter, Brigitte?" she spoke suddenly. "Couldn't take the heat?" It felt good to talk. She no longer felt any pain. She stared at the glinting gun and felt no fear, no anger. Only bitterness. Her heart had grown numb. Miss Parker continued rashly, "I know Jarod and you don't. I've been on this chase from the beginning and now you feel the need to eliminate the competition. I'm too much for you, eh?"

"On the contrary, luv. I have an advantage in not knowing the man. I can maintain my distance in the matter. He does not know me and thus cannot predict what I will do, as is often the case in your encounters with 'im. I will do something unexpected...the element of surprise is on my side."

"Surprise, but not time," Miss Parker smirked. "How many miles do you think he's run while you were wasting the time standing here?" Miss Parker didn't care anymore. She felt nothing. It was as if she were frozen inside. "I respect Jarod's abilities. I know what I'm dealing with, which is more than I can say for you."

"I know the consequences of my actions quite well. We ran into your Pretender. He stole your gun and fired it at us. You were hit. There was nothing I could do. He often wears gloves, doesn't he, luv? Which accounts for no fingerprints." Brigitte gave her a calculating gaze, then took several steps backward preparing to fire. "Your main disadvantage is that you know Jarod too well," Brigitte continued, squinting. She grinned impishly and began to repeat Miss Parker's own words back at her, "Jarod's not just a man, he's a pretender. A human chameleon, a genius who can literally become anyone he wants to be, I believe those were your exact words. You are too close to your subject and I even would go so far as to believe there is a childish infatuation with 'im. I've seen this sort of weakness before. Pursuer's sympathy, I call it. You begin to relate to the feelings of your intended prey, even develop admiration for it...begin to feel that you share a common bond. Which quite frankly for you, Parker, will prove fatal. Don't believe I 'ave 'the rocks' to pull the trigger? We'll find out presently, won't we luv?"

Miss Parker flashed Brigitte one of her killer looks. "Go ahead. I dare you!" She felt Brigitte was a coward, but then a saying came uncomfortably to mind. Only cowards need guns. This might be the end. She had heard that those facing death had their whole lives flash before their eyes...but it seemed she was to lose out on that experience, too. Undoubtedly, Mr. Parker would have an investigation run, but knowing Mr. Raines it would probably twist in Brigitte's favor. She thought of how her mother had died, valiantly trying to save the lives of others. How did she compare? The world seemed unreal to her. She heard the shot and had time for only one thought: Jarod would never know... Something zipped past her ear.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" this superhuman cry ripped through the air, seeming to come from in front, behind, from all sides of her. She heard the second report. Her body flinched preparing for the impact. Then, she saw a man's body jumping into the air, blocking her own from the bullet that was whizzing towards it's mark. There was a loud clang of metal and then, the man fell backwards towards the ground. It just barely registered in her mind, that her intended murderer gave a cry of pain and slumped to the ground, dropping the deadly weapon. The dented lid of a metal trash can spun out of the man's grasp and slid across the cement. His whole right side and his head smacked the pavement hard. She looked at the body lying on the pavement and gasped.

It was Jarod.



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Jarod had rushed across the rooftops, going back over his escape route from the dead end alleyway. He had reached the roof of the brick building and looked down from overhead just in time to see that Brigitte had slunk up behind Miss Parker and hit her in the small of the back with a blunt object. Miss Parker collapsed to the ground. He didn't wait to see more. He rushed inside the building and down the stairs, heart pumping smoothly for he had grown accustomed to running. He reached the level that he needed and ran to the open window and climbed out onto the fire escape. His fleeting glance below showed that Brigitte now had Miss Parker's gun and was cocking it towards her, which only served to speed his impetuous. Snatches of the conversation floated up to him, but he paid no heed. I respect Jarod's abilities. Ran into your Pretender. Stole your gun. Fired at us. Prove FATAL! Rocks to pull the trigger. Down, down, down, he ran. His mouth went dry. He finally reached the end of the fire escape and leapt the rest of the way to the pavement accurately landing on his feet.

His breath now came to him in short gasps and he realized neither of the women had noticed his entrance upon the scene. The adrenaline was pulsing through him. He looked to the left and saw Brigitte's hand about to pull the trigger. There was no time to think, only to do. But do what? She would fire upon him the second she saw him. He grabbed the nearest thing handy. A trash can lid. Then, he heard the shot. A cry ripped from him and he launched himself forward into the line of fire. The second bullet left the gun and he knew if his leap was a second off, instead of being deflected, the charge would rip into his flesh. Either way he knew, he would block the bullet and Miss Parker would be safe. It struck the lid of the trash can he held up as a shield and ricocheted off, whizzing back towards Brigitte and striking her. From the corner of his eye, he saw the cleaner fall before he himself impacted the pavement. But Miss Parker was alive!

"Jarod! Are you hurt?" asked a woman's voice. The question floated above his head. It was a voice that was familiar though he caught the impression the concern in it was normally foreign to the speaker. Jarod shook his head trying to clear the haziness away from his eyes, but this only served to increase his headache. He took up his pretender skills and echoed the question back to himself. Was he hurt? He analyzed his symptoms. "No," he heard his own voice replying. "Nothing serious, just the shock." His vision cleared and he saw Miss Parker standing over him. "It'll pass," Jarod ended his explanation.

Miss Parker looked down at Jarod and nodded. Then, Jarod flexed painfully, trying to regain his faculties and the same time asking, "Is she...dead?" The tone of fear in his voice was surprising to Miss Parker. She was used to the Jarod who teased her, who left behind frustrating clues and taunting gifts, who predicted what she was going to do next. But not this Jarod, laying momentarily helpless on the ground. She went over to Brigitte and kneeled down, reclaiming her gun which was also lying a few inches from the cleaner. She saw Brigitte still breathed. She returned to Jarod's side.

"She's alive," Miss Parker said. Jarod breathed in relief. Miss Parker looked at the gun in her hands. Her dream had come true. She had Jarod right where she wanted him, but--

"Did you find anything on Igor?" Jarod's question broke through her thoughts. Miss Parker watched as Jarod began to sit up, clutching his right arm. Igor! In all this excitement, she had almost forgotten. This Igor, as Jarod had taken to calling him, was someone her mother had known. He holds the key to both our pasts, she remembered Jarod had told her. Just like Boy Wonder to bring up something like this now. The sweeper teams must have returned to the car. If anyone had been near and heard the shots, they would have been here by now.

"No, Jarod," she replied, gripping her gun tighter as Jarod stood up to his full height. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her nerves steady. "He remains a mystery. Like my mother." Why did everything about Jarod never make any sense? Why did it always have to be so confusing? A small movement from Brigitte distracted her. "I have bigger problems right now, Jarod. I need to call a Med team. They'll know it was my gun once an examination begins. How am I going to explain this?"

"Just tell the truth," Jarod offered, smiling at her and the gun. "That she took your gun and shot at you, but I deflected the bullet and it hit her. It's simple."

"It's not that simple, Jarod. If I tell them you did it, every operative in the Centre will be authorized to shoot to kill you. I'm the only one authorized to do that!" she stated, emphatically. "And if I tell the truth," Miss Parker paused. She dropped her eyes, not wanting to look at him. "They'll know I let you get away. I owe you my life. And I always pay my debts."

Jarod slid a finger under her chin to get her to look at him and said, "Come with me?" At his words, a warm feeling ebbed inside her heart, warming her whole being, melting the ice. He still welcomed her company, after all she had done to him? She recalled Sydney's words, about how she and Jarod and others whose lives were shaped by the Centre really weren't that different. Suddenly, she was inclined to agree. He was a Pretender. He could be anyone he wanted to be. The next thoughts entered her mind of their own accord. In a way, she was a pretender, too. The only difference was she was pretending to be something she was not. She envied his freedom to choose. Gently, she pushed his finger away.

"Life's not simple, Jarod. My life's complicated. I work for the Centre."

"Then, free yourself, Miss Parker," Jarod replied, steadily. His words were meant to be a challenge, but they were accompanied by a tone of hope.

So that's what Jarod's call had meant, Miss Parker thought rapidly. Jarod had been comparing the control and destruction in supporting her smoking habit to that of the control and destruction caused by working for the Centre!

"I can't," Miss Parker replied. There was disappointment in his eyes. She wished she could make him understand. She pulled out the lighter she still carried. "Here's an analogy for you." Flick. Hsst! The flame leapt up from her lighter. "Anything to do with the Centre is like playing with fire. And so is anything to do with me...I'm part of the Centre," she explained, bitterly. She tossed the lighter towards the ground where some garbage lay. The flames began to catch quickly starting a small blaze and acrid smoke drifted towards them. "Fire turns on you, suddenly. Without warning--it can kill you." She emphasized the last four words with a tone of finality.

Jarod kicked the trash aside and the flames subsided. He rescued her lighter and moved towards her, saying, "Fire also has the power to give out a warm glow. It offers safety." He slipped the lighter into her free hand, the one which did not hold the gun, still speaking softly, "In the freezing cold," he gave her a winning smile. "It can save your life!"

"What are you doing?" asked Miss Parker, suddenly realizing Jarod was uncomfortably close.

"Showing you I haven't forgotten the gift you gave me, so long ago," Jarod whispered and, before she could protest, he kissed her, sweetly, briefly, tenderly.

She was startled. She felt her heart beating rapidly. Her guard had been momentarily thrown off. As Jarod backed away, she realized he was holding her gun. He had disarmed her!

As Jarod alighted to the fire escape, he called down to her. "They can't examine what they don't have! I'll take good care of it for you, until it's safe to return it." As he ran up a few more flights, Jarod paused once more and called down again, grinning widely, "You can fight it if you want, but I'm going to do everything in my power to help you!" Laughter floated down to her ears. "Catch me if you can!"

Thus, the Pretender disappeared over the rooftops, leaving Miss Parker for once, absolutely speechless. He was gone. She pulled out her cellular phone and called the medical team, feeling as if nothing in this world was going to make sense ever again. She wanted to laugh, cry, scream--all at the same time.

Then, reality hit. She stepped over to Brigitte who had at last stirred to life.

Miss Parker stooped and pulled Brigitte's pistol out. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't..."

The cleaner smiled weakly and answered with a question. "Who ordered your death, luv?"

Who indeed? Miss Parker thought. She ought to have known Brigitte was following orders. "Good answer." Miss Parker dropped the pistol and went to meet the medical team. It was best to keep the enemies one knew.


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SEVERAL DAYS LATER...
Sub-Level Five, Tech Room
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
"Well," Broots said, for he loved reading reports. "Brigitte got through her surgery fine. No vital organs hit. The bullet was removed." Broots dropped the report and began to look nervous. "Which means--she'll be back."

Miss Parker laughed from the corner of the room where she was sitting and asked, "How was the field trip, Broots?"

"Oh, it was great! Debbie loved it. Thanks." Broots was all smiles.

Sydney looked at her. "Sometimes we only remember what we want to, Miss Parker," Sydney said. He felt that Miss Parker had been acting strangely since they had returned from Kentucky. "Are you certain that..."

"Listen, Freud," Miss Parker replied, acutely. "If I had shot Brigitte, she'd be dead."

"There's really no way to tell one way or the other with your gun missing and all," Broots said, absently. He watched to see Miss Parker's reaction and was surprised when she seemed totally unconcerned. "Brigitte claims to remember nothing, except that she nearly captured Jarod. I don't know about that," Broots scratched his head. "I mean, when I met him, it was like...like I was meeting a Phantom, a legend a..."

"Jarod's real." Miss Parker smiled. She stood up, and patted Broots reassuringly on the shoulder. Then, she crossed her arms and strolled from the room, saying determinedly as she left, "No one's going to capture my Pretender, but me!"

Broots and Sydney exchanged bewildered glances in stunned amazement. Would wonders never cease!

"Uh, Sydney," Broots said in hushed tones. "Did you hear that? Do you think the stress of this job is finally getting to her?"

Sydney rubbed his chin thoughtfully, shook his head, and finally shrugged. But sometimes, he wondered....

THE END (Here's your chance, tell the author what you thought!)

DISCLAIMER: The fictional characters (Miss Parker, Jarod, Sydney, Broots etc.) and places of the dramatic television series "The Pretender" are the property of MTM Entertainment and NBC Productions and used with no harsh intent for the purposes of entertainment only. There are some real facts in this story, but it is entirely a work of fiction. This is an independent fan production. It takes place directly before the episode, "Toy Surprise." Written with much admiration for the writers and actors that create and portray these characters. Fourth in the "Truth" series.

DEADLY TRUTH

by Leah
Written in 1998

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Outside Abandoned Theatre
Jersey City, New Jersey
March 31st
Tuesday 8 P.M.

The black car screeched through the streets chasing the fleeing form before them. Evening had fallen and the headlights were the only illumination in this part of the city. A thunderclap rolled through the air with the threat of rain. The car pulled around a corner and came to a halt. The pursued was no longer in sight.

Miss Parker and Sam the Sweeper sprang from the car, zeroing in on the only building their fugitive could have disappeared into. "Go around to the front and block the entrance!" she hissed at the driver. The car sped off into the night.

"This way," Miss Parker said, pausing before a dark alleyway. "It's like Wonder Boy to choose large empty buildings to hide in." She was again wearing her headset and mouthpiece to keep in touch with the occupants of the car.

The alley was very dark and very long and for once Miss Parker hesitated. She had the same eerie feeling she had had when first staring down the porthole which led to SL-27. She had ordered Broots to go down first. This was not an option this time. She looked at Sam and ordered, "Give me your gun!" In her last encounter with Jarod, he had taken her gun. Her personal gun, her 9mm. She was now very much frustrated without it and even felt a bit lost, rather like a snake who has lost its rattle. She had carried it almost everywhere with her. Her gun had been her security blanket, whenever she had been on edge or in danger, it was something comforting to clutch and flourish. It instilled fear, it gave power, and as of yet she had not felt like getting a new one. She had extra weapons, but had failed to bring any along this trip. Partly in defiance of the fact that Jarod had taken hers and partly because it just wouldn't have been the same.

Sam's gun in hand, she had the sufficient amount of courage to plunge into the darkness of the alley, whispering to Sam over her shoulder, "Stick close." The sky grew even darker as clouds covered the stars overhead. They reached the door and Miss Parker gestured at Sam to go in first. He pulled the door open and they both sprang inside into the even more encroaching blackness of the interior.

Sam, in his dark suit, was nearly invisible in fact yet Miss Parker still insisted he go first as they walked down a dim hall into the auditorium. Their footsteps had echoed on the cement floor of the halls, but were muffled on the red carpeting of the auditorium. Rows and rows of seats greeted them and Miss Parker thought uneasily that Jarod could be hiding behind any one of these. She pointed her gun in all directions, then looked at Sam and said. "Get back and guard the door! If anything moves, alert me at once!"

With a nod, Sam complied.

Miss Parker continued on, scanning the rows. From pitch blackness, the room began to take shape. Miss Parker squinted as there was a flickering of lights and the stage suddenly was illuminated. She looked up towards the light fixtures, pointing her gun accordingly, but spotted no one. Her nerves were now on edge. She quickly turned to look behind her. She felt as if she were being watched. There was definitely someone here.

But she never saw who was, for just then, the lights died again. And in that moment when one's eyes are still adjusting to the dark, still dilating in order to see more, she heard a moaning noise coming from the direction of the back door. A hand slapped over her nose. She smelt a strange sweet odor and lost consciousness.


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On the Highway
Somewhere in New York
April 1st
Wednesday 3 PM
Time has a way of changing things, Jarod thought. He was driving down the road in a grey Intrigue, leaving the scene of his last Pretend. Who would have believed now that it was over a year since he had escaped the Centre? He ate a mouthful of Pez from a Snoopy dispenser and smiled to himself remembering how his coworkers had looked at him strangely when he had asked how come Charles Scultz, the writer of this comic strip had called it Peanuts, when it was about children and super-intelligent animals. When he had insisted on knowing the answer, some had broken into laughter and Jarod had joined them.

He raised his arm to look at his wristwatch. It was three fifteen, he still had about forty-five minutes left before he was due for the job interview. Jarod pulled over to a gas station to get his tires checked. While he did so, he munched on Pez and pulled out his lap-top computer, which he kept in his silver Haliburton briefcase, along with the precious DSA's which contained his life. You Have Mail, flashed across the screen. He opened it, and began decoding the message. It was from Sydney and read "Jarod, we need to talk." Jarod typed back a message which read, "Page me." He knew Sydney now had his pager number, he had sent it with a drawing not long ago and doubted if the Centre had yet found out about it. Besides, it was much easier for Jarod to get a secure line, one Broots would not be able to trace until it was too late, if it was he, Jarod, who called Sydney.

About ten minutes later, Jarod heard a sharp series of high-pitched beeps. He looked at his beeper, pulled out his cellular phone, and punched the buttons.

"Sydney," a voice answered.

"It's Jarod," he replied. "What do you need to talk about, Sydney?"

"Thanks for calling here so promptly. I have a question to ask you. Where is Miss Parker?" the Belgium accented voice contained a masked anxiety.

"Isn't she supposed to be wondering that about me?" Jarod replied, warily. "What did she convince you to do this time, Sydney?"

"I'm serious, Jarod. She left two days ago following your clue and we haven't heard from her since. She should have contacted us by now."

"What clue?" Jarod asked in a surprised tone.

"Your bread crumb arrived Monday morning while Broots and I were on coffee break. When we returned, Miss Parker had left to follow it," Sydney explained.

"Left? To where?"

Sydney replied, "Broots was able to deduce New Jersey, but nothing else very specific. Miss Parker must have taken the item with her."

"Alone?" asked Jarod, sounding worried. "Sydney, I didn't send anything to the Centre, let alone to Miss Parker."

"Are you certain, Jarod?" asked Sydney, incredulously. "No, not alone. I believe she was accompanied by some sweepers."

"I'm positive. But if I didn't, then who did? Keep me posted, Sydney." He pushed the 'off' button on his phone.

Sydney sighed and hung up as well.


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MEANWHILE,
Somewhere in Rochester, New York

The first thing Miss Parker was aware of was a sickening, splitting headache. Her brain was fuzzy, she opened her eyes but her vision was blurred. Her brain registered that she was in a dark, enclosed room. What was going on? What had happened? She closed her eyes again, and tried to touch her head, but her arm wouldn't move. Something was restraining it. Miss Parker opened her eyes again and looked down at her arm. In the dim lighting, she could just make out the fact that she was sitting in a chair. The fog began to lift from her brain and she realized the reason she was unable to move. She was tied in the chair with ropes, her arms were tied to each arm of the chair, leaving only enough slack to wiggle her fingers ever so slightly. She was being forced to sit.

At this point her brain cleared completely and she jerked to broad awakeness. "What in the world!" she cried out, tossing her head back and nearly toppling the chair. She struggled, pulling at the ropes, but noticed another tied around her waist, keeping her back against the back of the chair. She turned her concentration to the bonds around her arms, but found she was not able to move enough to dislocate any joints...fingers or otherwise. The only part of her free were her legs.

The effort of speaking told her that her mouth was dry, but she ignored that fact. She was more interested in knowing who her captors were and she did not have long to wait. Footsteps echoed on the cement floor, and then the screeching hinges of the door moaned in protest at being opened. Two shadowy figures stood in the doorway, Miss Parker was unable to make out any details. She felt a cool breeze blowing on her from above and looked up to see a grate. I'm in the basement of somewhere, she thought.

One of the shadowy figures nodded to the other. "You're right. She's awake."

Miss Parker swallowed the lump in her throat, realizing she had nearly exhausted herself from struggling against her bonds. There must be a peephole somewhere, she thought to herself. These thugs have been watching me. Her head was still throbbing slightly, but her blood pulsed faster as her temper began to take over.

"YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!" she shouted hoarsely at the two figures in the shadows. Yes, her father was chairman of the board, they would definitely pay.

"Hit the light if it pleases you, Mr. K," directed the one in charge to the other. A single bulb suspended from the ceiling flicked on, serving to chase away a few shadows. "Now perhaps you can tell us about Jarod?" the one in charge said.

He advanced toward her and she waited tensely, coolly calculating a certain distance. His eyes were beady and shifty, shaded under a grey broad-brimmed hat. His hair was red, slicked down under the hat. He looked for all the world like something picked straight out the days of the Prohibition. But if he did, his associate who still stood in the shadows, looked even more so. The second man wore a black Fedora which was pulled low over his eyes. He also wore a long black coat, the collar of which was pulled up so that there was no way of seeing his entire face. Only the glint of his eyes. Both hands were in his pockets and he remained standing near the doorway.

"Why would I know that?" Miss Parker retorted, lowering her voice deliberately. The one in charge moved closer, trying to catch her response. A plan had not yet formulated in her mind, except one. She wasn't going to be a willing prisoner. This gang, whoever they were, were going to regret the day they ever messed with a Parker!

"I've got news for you," she said, blatantly. "Al Capone is dead."


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Photography Museum
Rochester, New York 4:30 PM
"You the new security guy," asked the man, walking into his office.

Jarod nodded assent. He was dressed in a black watchman security suit. A walkie-talkie was strapped to his side. He had the vigilant air of someone constantly scanning for something out of the ordinary. "Jarod Locke," he replied. "You can call me Jarod."

"Good. I'm Charles Ray. I'm hiring you temporarily. Our normal guy's on vacation, but we can't stand to take any chances. You have any idea what you're guarding?"

"Of course," Jarod replied. "Mr. Eastman is credited with coming up with the idea for a simpler camera. The first camera that was easy and uncomplicated enough for an amateur photographer and even a child to use. This museum was loaned some older models which are usually displayed at the Eastman museum."

"Excellent," nodded Charles Ray. "And you're not from around here, did you say? How did you know that? Been looking around the museum while you waited?"

"Oh, well...With the growth of multinational corporations, marketing has greatly expanded its scope; many marketing managers take the whole world as their marketplace. Thus Eastman Kodak marketed its new Instamatic camera simultaneously in 28 countries in 1963--the first time simultaneous worldwide marketing was achieved--and prepared advertising and publicity in more than 20 languages. Managers of such global activities must take into account international differences in climate, customs, and business practices, " Jarod rattled out these facts.

"You sure you just got into town? You talk as if you saw all of this happen. How old were you then? Five?"

"Well, not in person sir, but I did think of the initial business plan. I was four at the time," Jarod grinned.

Mr. Ray shook his head in appreciation of what he thought was a joke.

"Well, good. You do know a lot, I see. There have been several museum break-ins lately. Authorities believe that a certain Jimmy Murdock gang is responsible. We can't afford to lose anything, Jarod. That's why we're adding to the security of this place. I must admit, your credentials are extremely impressive. You worked for the Detroit Bomb squad?"

"Yeah," Jarod replied, shrugging. "But I didn't stay long."

"Why not?"

"Things kept blowing up in my face," Jarod replied.

Mr. Ray broke into a laugh. "That's a good one, Jarod."

"Well, you need a sense of humor when you're in my line of work. You wouldn't happen to have a photo of this Murdock fellow would you? I could--keep an eye out for him?" Jarod raised a questioning eyebrow.

"As a matter of fact, we do. The police have been sending it out to all the local museums in the area. Just ask, Marie, at the desk on your way out. Well, Jarod. Come in and start tomorrow. 8 P.M. sharp."

"How's your day security?" Jarod asked, suddenly.

"Day security? With all the cameras and alarms up in this place you think the crooks would try to steal something in broad daylight? Jarod, your sense of humor amazes me. We have a man to open the doors in the morning and check things over to see if they're in order. It's all covered."

"I see," Jarod replied, backing out of the room. "Well, stranger things have happened. See you tomorrow."


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Outside, Jarod observed the man who was walking across the street from the museum. This man had black hair and dark eyes, looking of Spanish origin. He looked to be about Jarod's age, but maybe a few years younger. He was wearing a white T-shirt with a blue shirt over it, which buttoned in the front. He also wore black jeans and a brown belt. He was talking to another man who was dressed in a suit and tie. He was shaking his head fiercely, apparently in response to what the well-dressed man was asking.

Jarod moved unobtrusively closer to catch the words that were being said.

"Why don't you understand, man? Es simplemente. No and no means no. You got me?"

"I got ya, Lopez. So, I'm supposin' you want to be taken off the list. Are you ready?".

"Por supesto! What do you think I've been telling you guys. I'm out and I don't intend to go back. Nunca. Never in my life."

"So you don't wanna hear about the job?" asked the man with a tie.

"No way, man. You think I'm stupid or something. I hear about the job and I'm in. Murdock don't tell his plans to nobody but those involved. I'm out. I never heard of you, never spoken to you, never seen you. Nunca. Me comprendas amigo?"

"I get you. Well, don't say I didn't give you a chance at the cut. Be seein' ya Lopez."

"Don't bet on it, Crumel. Don't bet on it," Lopez replied.

The two men parted ways and Jarod followed the man called Lopez.


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A Basement
Rochester, New York
Wednesday 6 PM
Miss Parker was more bruised then she had been before. Her legs were now bound and her chair was shoved into a far corner of the room.

The man with the slicked back red hair was now walking with a slight limp. He glanced back at her warily looking at the foot of the chair which had so rudely been brought down on his foot. He rubbed his thigh where the toe of a pointed shoe had kicked it. Then, he pulled up a stool and sat down facing her.

"Now let's dispense with this rumble and act like civilized persons. I am Mr. Murdock and you, let me see if I got this right, are Miss Parker," he said with a patronizing tone which indicated he knew perfectly well who she was. "And now, that we have been formerly introduced let's get down to business. You do look like her, but that's beside the point."

Miss Parker's eyes widened, cat-like. "You knew my mother?" she gasped.

Mr. Murdock removed his hat and ran a comb through his red hair. Then, he put his comb away and said, "That grabs your attention, doesn't it? You could say that, yes."

Miss Parker became as still as a statue. She stared at him, frowning.

He noted the look and shook his head. "No, I didn't bring you here for small talk." He pulled out a small pocket knife and began tossing it. "Now, we can do things the easy way..." He gripped his penknife and used it to cut a stray thread from his suit. "Or the hard way." He glanced at his sore foot and then looked up at her menacingly. "You know what the hard way is. The simple fact of the matter is you know something that I want to know. We all want to know. And it would be to your benefit and ours if you would join us in this little...arrangement."

Miss Parker's eyes narrowed. "Do you know who killed my mother?" Her words dropped into the air plummeting like rocks that pounded on the floor.

Mr. Murdock grinned and said, "You're not getting the point. You have been brought in to help us. To help me."

Miss Parker's mind was racing. What was it they wanted? What did Murdock know about her mother? Why had they brought her here? "What do you want from me?" she snapped.

"I already told you," Murdock replied. "What do you know about Jarod? You're going to tell us everything you know about him."

Miss Parker arched her eyebrows, incredulously.

"That's your job at the Centre," Murdock continued in an even tone. "Only in this case you won't receive a paycheck....you'll receive something of much greater value." He pressed the penknife and the blade snapped back into its place. "Your life." He deposited it into his pocket and stood up. "Don't you agree, Mr. K?".

Although hard to see, the shadowed man appeared to be nodding silently.

"Well, I'm a little tied up right now, boys." Miss Parker replied, wrapping herself in the facade of Ice Queen.

Mr. Murdock acted as if he didn't hear. "You are a part of our plan. I've heard of this Jarod fellow and word on the street tells me I won't like him too much. Seems he's taken up a dangerous hobby...and none us intend on becoming a piece in his collection."

"If you know as much as you say you do about me," Miss Parker said in a forced bright tone. "Then, you know as much as I know about Jarod. I don't see what any of this has to do with me. Not that I haven't enjoyed these little pleasantries, but show's over."

Murdock who had worn cordiality like a blanket was reaching the end of his patience. He limped over to her and harsh eyes glared her directly in the face. There was no mercy there. "I say when the show's over," his voice was now razor-like. "I'll give you twelve hours to make this decision. And then, it'll be curtains for you!" He turned and stalked out the door. Mr. K flicked out the light and shut the door, engulfing the room once more in darkness.

Feeling momentarily safe from scrutiny, Miss Parker shivered and then allowed herself a deep breath, hoping to calm her raw nerves. She now knew that the lead to New Jersey must have been a total setup to lure her into an elaborate trap. Did the Centre know where she was? She hadn't really told Broots or Sydney where she was going. Such a terrible price must be paid for independence. She wondered what her father was doing now. She wondered if Broots and Sydney missed her. She wondered if Sam was still alive, if he had been captured or simply knocked out and thus able to report back to the Centre when he recovered. Was anyone looking for her? And then she wondered something that totally shocked her. She wondered: What would Jarod do in a situation like this?


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Where could Miss Parker be? Jarod wondered silently as he pulled out his laptop computer and sat it on the table in front of him. His current dwelling was the basement of a small boardiing house. Well, Jarod thought, Sydney would call as soon as he heard something. Perhaps Miss Parker had chosen to take a little unscheduled break from her Centre duties. Of course, that was highly unlikely. Unless she had gone back to visit Ben Miller. Jarod popped a piece of Pez candy into his mouth and puckered at the sweet and tart flavor. He tried hard to focus and concentrate on his current mission. He had followed Lopez to an old-and-run-down apartment and discerned the man was out of work, having recently just returned from serving a sentence.

Jarod lost no time in using his laptop computer and finding out more details of Mario Lopez's life. Basically, Jarod was able to cull facts from in between the lines and with Sherlockian-like deduction, he decided that the blame for a certain robbery which had happened a little over a year ago had been pinned on Lopez, while the most guilty parties seemed to have gotten away without a trace. But who were they? This is what Jarod would have to find out.

Jarod stood up, yawned, and stretched. He checked his watch. It was getting late. He heard padded footsteps coming down the stairs. He turned around and smiled at the young, bright-eyed boy who appeared and paused on the landing. The boy was hugging a teddy-bear in his arms and wearing fuzzy lion slippers. Each foot was stuck in a lion's mouth. The boy smiled shyly.

"Come on in, Felipe," Jarod smiled. "I was just about to make myself a snack."

"Gracías señor, but por favor, call me Filly. Everyone does." He padded the rest of the way down.

"Alright, Filly. And you can call me Jarod." Jarod opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of chocolate ice cream. He got two bowls and two spoons. "Your mother wouldn't mind if you had some of this, would she?" Jarod moved his laptop aside and set the bowls down on the table.

Filly shook his head, climbed into a chair, and then remembered the message he had been sent to deliver, "Mama told me to say...to ask you if there was anything else you needed. A veces," the boy slipped into Spanish a moment and then corrected himself, "Sometimes this basement gets cold, so we have some more blankets."

"I don't think I'll sleep much tonight, so blankets aren't really necessary." Jarod spooned the smooth gooey lumps of ice cream into each bowl and offered a spoon to Filly. "¡Me gusta helado! ¿Y tu amigo?" Jarod gestured towards the bear, "¿Le gusta helado de chocolate tambien?"

The little boy took the spoon with one hand, holding his bear under his arm and nodding excitedly. "You speak Spanish!" he exclaimed delightedly. "My mama does too, but she says it is best to speak English here. Papa always said I could speak both." A small hint of sadness filled the young boy's eyes. He laid his teddy bear next to his bowl, and began to eat the cool ice cream, pretending first to offer the bear some.

"Where's your Papa now?" Jarod asked.

"I don't know. They took him away. And..."

"And what?" Jarod encouraged him to go on.

"And Mama says she doesn't think we're ever going to see him again, but I do. Because I miss him." The boy ate the last spoonful of ice cream and stood up, dragging his stuffed bear off the table. "Buenas noches, Señor Jarod."

Jarod nodded and smiled sadly. "I know the feeling," Jarod said, as he watched Filly disappear up the stairs. "Sleep well, Felipe Lopez."

Scooping out more ice cream with one hand, Jarod reached over with the other and pulled a folder from the pocket of his jacket where it hung on the back of his chair. He opened it up and looked at the police photo of Murdock. He stared at it long and hard. He had seen that face somewhere before. It seemed like it. He was positive. But where?


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The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
5:15 AM
"Any word, Sydney?" Jarod's voice came over the line.

"Yes, the Sweeper team that accompanied Miss Parker have just returned and reported in," Sydney replied. "Broots has gone to see what has happened."

Broots ran into Sydney's office looking like a scared rabbit and shaking his head.

"What is it, Broots?" Sydney asked.

"I don't know, but whatever it is, it's got Mr. Parker mighty upset. I didn't see Miss Parker. I think she's missing. And you should have seen Sam, the lump on his head was the size of a toma--" Broots paused thinking. "Do you think Jarod..."

Sydney shook his head and pointed to the telephone. He pressed the button, switching to intercom mode so Broots could listen in.

"Oh," said Broots, plopping into a chair.

"So the Centre has no idea where Miss Parker is?" Jarod asked over the line. "You really should keep better track of your employees. Disappearing acts seem to have become a regular routine."

"Jarod, if you know anything about this, something that would give us a clue." Sydney asked. "Have you found anything yet?"

"The real question is," Jarod replied. "Do you know who Jimmy Murdock is?"

"Jimmy Murdock?" Sydney replied, trying to decipher what this had to do with Miss Parker's disappearance. He glanced questioningly at Broots who shook his head. "No, I'm sorry that name doesn't ring a bell. Jarod, if there is anything you can tell me..."

"I've told you enough already," Jarod replied. "What makes people join gangs, Sydney?"

This sudden change of subject did not throw Sydney off one bit. He was used to swift changes of subject trained by over thirty years of work with this genius' probing mind. "It's caused by a basic human need, Jarod. The need to feel accepted and to belong to something. Ideally, this need should have it's fulfillment in..." He paused realizing he was brinking on a touchy subject.

"In a family," Jarod finished for him.

"Yes, Jarod. And when the system of family fails or doesn't fulfill that need then a person turns elsewhere for acceptance and may join a gang, in a sense trying to make their own family."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. "When I discover the truth that leads to my family, then I'll know where I truly belong," Jarod's voice was choked with emotion. The line went dead. Sydney slowly put down the receiver and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He no longer had any taste for reading. Jarod was still determined not to return the Centre. Miss Parker was still missing. And he knew both were seeking answers, seeking the truth. And yet, as in the case of Catherine Parker, these could be deadly truths indeed.

"Sydney," Broots said, starting nervously out of his chair. "I think I'll get to the Tech room and see if I can find out anything on the name Jimmy Murdock."

"Good idea, Broots," Sydney agreed, nodding.

Broots started for the door, then broke out in a nervous sweat and looked back at his coworker. "Um, Sydney."

"Yes, Broots?" asked a calm and patient voice.

"Ever get the feeling that you're being watched? I mean like a spooky feeling that little, beady eyes are...well um...staring into the back of your head?"

A small twinkle appeared in Sydney's eye and there was almost humor in his voice as he replied, "Of course, Broots. This is the Centre." In Sydney's opinion, one had to simply grin and bear it.

An air vent opened just then and all of Broots' paranoia was, for once, amply justified. A man with a thin crop of hair hopped out, crouching on the floor, holding something shiny in his mouth. His eyes were a pale blue and his expression was nearly blank, but it changed swiftly like the wind. First, mirroring Broot's expression of surprise and then Sydney's expression of interest before returning again to a blank look.

"Angelo," Broots said, immediately lowering his voice at the warning look from Sydney. He whispered, "How does he always get out?"

"Worry, worry," Angelo stated in his hoarse, low-toned voice, removing the shiny disk from his mouth. He looked back and forth from Sydney and Broots' faces, picking up on their emotions. Then, Angelo said, cryptically, "Help Jarod. Help Daughter. Help Jarod help Daughter."

Sydney held out a hand, nodding persuasively and saying, "Yes, Angelo. What is it?"

Angelo looked skeptical for a second and then handed the shiny, iridescent item to Sydney. It proved to be a DSA.

"Wow!" said Broots. "Wonder if he has a stash of those some--Nah, silly idea," Broots shrugged.

Angelo began mumbling again.

"What's he saying, Sydney?" Broots asked as Sydney stared at the disk. Broots screwed up his face as Angelo kept speaking. "Sounds like...worry...worry again," Broots said. "No wait," Broots clapped his hands together and looked at Sydney. "I got it! He said Murry."

"Murry, Murry." Angelo agreed, his face twisting into a strange contorted grin.

"Murry," Sydney repeated in a tone of recognition.

Minutes later, Broots and Sydney entered a secured room, followed by Angelo. "Are you sure no one's about, Broots?" asked Sydney.

"As sure as I can be," replied Broots, looking extremely uptight. He set the computer he had been carrying down. Sydney slid the disk into the slot. The DSA began to play.

At the bottom of the screen flashed the words:

For Centre Use Only
5/4/68
Murry James
A fifteen-year old boy walked into a room. Stubbornness was written all over his face. The camera panned and a young Sydney was shown sitting at a desk. "You're late, Murry. Sit down. I'm glad Dr. Raines agreed we could have this session together."

"My name ain't Murry, it's Murdock!"

"Murry is the name I have been directed to call you," replied Sydney, informatively.

"Yeah, yeah," replied the youth, anger in his eyes. "You the shrink here? I don't need no shrink." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. He was wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt.

"Can you tell me what's troubling you, Murry? " Sydney asked, kindly. "Perhaps I can help."

"Take me back to my family," Murry pleaded. "I don't like this stupid place. It was supposed be a good place, cause I was smart. Well, I hate it! It stinks. This whole place stinks." He moved moodily off the chair and began kicking the floor with the toe of his shoe.

"I'm sorry, Murry. I can't," Sydney replied.

"They're dead, ain't they? They're all dead," Murry cried.

"Now, Murry...I don't know about your family."

"Well, I'm gonna get a family someday, I promise you! I'll go to New York and I'll get me a family and nobody, ain't nobody gonna mess with us." He was yelling now, but there were tears in his eyes. He pointed a finger at Sydney in a gesture of emphasis. "You're gonna pay for this. All of yous. I'll make you sorry! And that big wig, Mr. Parker too!" His eyes turned toward the camera. "You hear that," he shouted. And the whole view of the room was blocked by a balled fist.

Static appeared.


Broots looked on with gaping mouth. Angelo touched the screen where the black and white images had just faded and looked sad. Sydney pulled the disk from its slot and sighed. None of them spoke. It was a story all too common. Another life ruined by the Centre.


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Rochester, New York
April 4th
Thursday 6 AM
"The Centre's done too many little projects...when they affect me, I draw the line. I want Jarod." Murdock had returned, bringing with him Mr. K and another mystery man who also stayed hidden in shadows.

"Well, get in line," Miss Parker replied in a tone of utter boredom.

"Looky Miss Parker, picture this: I'm in the middle of pulling of the biggest job of my renowned career and this Jarod fellow bungles in and ruins it. How would that look to my competitors? Nope, I simply cannot have it. I refuse to give up my throne. You understand that?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Mr. Murdock turned to give her a critical stare, but her expression was of absolute seriousness, so he let it pass.

"Now," Mr. Murdock rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. "Let's say that this Jarod fellow bungles in and I got you there, say strapped to a bomb of sorts. How would that affect him? Would it maybe bring him round to my point of view?"

Miss Parker looked at him. "And that point would be?"

"Well, Jarod likes to be a good guy....suppose he wouldn't want you to have such an accident. Ain't he protectin' you in some way?".

There was a stony silence.

Murdock persisted. "Sure...I mean it ain't like your strangers. Knowing each other when you was both kids. Maybe you're even protectin' him."

How much more did he know? Miss Parker wondered. Who could he be in contact with at the Centre? "I'm not the sentimental type," Miss Parker retorted, hiding the pain that lay behind that statement. "My job is to bring what belongs to the Centre, back to the Centre."

"What no pursuer's sympathy?" scoffed Murdock.

Those words were electric. They shot through her veins like cold fire. She glared at Murdock and said icily, "I wouldn't trust that blonde."

Murdock simply stared at her for a moment. "I thought I'd ask is all...such an interesting conversation was had about you and your father. But I'm the one running this operation." He snapped his fingers. Mr. C moved forward and placed something in Murdock's hand.

"Your time's up, Miss Parker. And the answer is...?"

Miss Parker sighed inwardly. Currently, her hands were tied and her limbs had become stiff sitting one position for so long. She was hungry and thirsty. It seemed the cleaner Brigitte was somehow connected with Murdock's gang which simply heaped a further log on the fire of her miserable situation. It was best to play along with these ruffians until some sort of rescue was in sight or she saw a window of opportunity for escape. She would have to pretend to go along with their plan. Pretend? Miss Parker almost cracked a smile at the thought and began to speak. "If Jarod wants to interfere, he'll pull something that you won't expect when you least expect it. He's a genius who can literally become anyone he wants to be from a policeman to a thief. You won't be able to let down your guard for a second because the second you do, he'll disappear."


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CENTRE HELICOPTER
"I can't believe Mr. Parker actually authorized us to go, without Miss Parker being around," Broots said in wonderment.

"I think it was more perhaps his concern over the immediate situation than for us, Broots," Sydney replied. "And he didn't seem to think it necessary to cancel his trip to Bermuda. Are you positive New York is our best choice?"

Broots nodded. "It's the best I could do...scans on the net revealed that police have a warrant out for a Jimmy Murdock in the area of Rochester, New York."

Sydney agreed. "New York seems plausible, especially based on that DSA Angelo gave us. Murry was a very clever lad. He changed his name...from Murdock James to Jimmy Murdock. I remember being given implicit orders never to call him Murdock, only Murry...which is the reason I didn't recognize the name when Jarod called. I remember him now. He was very determined and older than most children who are brought here. He never quite adjusted to life at the Centre. Then, he simply disappeared."

Oh," said Broots. "When?" Broots wondered if he someday would simply vanish. The Centre had a way of doing that...making people vanish as if they had never existed.

Sydney squinted, thinking. A wrinkle grew on his forward and a grim line around his mouth. "Murry was seventeen the last I saw of him. May of Nineteen-Seventy."

"Nineteen-Seventy?" Broots gulped. "A month after Miss Parker's mother was killed?"


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Mario Lopez opened the door a crack and peeked out. A tall man was standing there dressed in a leather jacket, a black shirt, and black pants. "Uh...yes?" Lopez asked.

The man took off his shades and gave Lopez a serious look. A look that seemed to say that there was more than met the eye about this visit. "May I help you?" Lopez asked, still hiding behind the door.

"No, but I'm hoping I can help you," the mysterious visitor replied.

That statement didn't make any sense. "Who are you?" Lopez asked in bewilderment.

"Someone who thinks you made a mistake. Someone who wants you to know you're making even a bigger mistake now. Someone who doesn't think a child, a little boy who misses his father should go without one." His hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph, holding it out to Lopez.

The door opened wider and Mario Lopez grabbed it. It was a picture of a smiling dark-haired boy who was dressed in white shorts and a red shirt, gripping tightly to a teddy bear. A picture of his son. Lopez sighed.

His visitor heaved an echoing sigh. "My name is Jarod. I know what you've went through...you bypassed the security systems when that painting was stolen. You were one of the few caught. The rest walked. You've been serving time and now that you're out, you're unemployed. And your wife and your son....you haven't contacted them. You feel ashamed. You feel afraid, but believe me, having a family, having people who care about you is better than isolation. I met your son, Filly. He really misses you....mentions you all the time. Please reconsider. Go back to your family."

Lopez was unable to hide the emotion on his face. He had felt ashamed, afraid and alone. He shook his head quickly however and said, "I can't. I can't face them and ask for their forgiveness. And even if I could, I couldn't. Nunca en mi vida. ¡Nunca!"

"Nunca," Jarod repeated, understandingly. "Never is a long time, Mr. Lopez."

"Don't you see?" Mario asked. "If I go back now, he'll get me. He'll use them against me. No one is safe."

"You mean Jimmy Murdock?" Jarod asked, targeting his question and hoping it struck home.

Lopez jumped visibly. He lowered his voice to a whisper, "Yes. Once you're in, it's like you're in for life. You can never leave."

"There is a way." Jarod replied.

Lopez's eyes widened in disbelief. "How?"

"You can do me a favor."


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April 5th
There was something different in the air. Miss Parker had felt it ever since she had disclosed information to them about Jarod. She had not told them everything, basically only the barest of details covering things that she had guessed they might want to hear. However, Friday was going to be different. Miss Parker had no doubts that their famed plan had gone into action.

Mr. K came in not long after she had been making these reflections. Suddenly, the world went dark. He had blindfolded her.

"Where are you taking me?" she dared to ask, when the rest of her bonds had been loosened and she had been allowed to stand up. She wobbled slowly as she felt herself being pushed through the doorway and guided onto the stairs.

"It doesn't concern you," Mr. K replied.

It was the first time she had heard him speak. "Who says?"

"Mr. Murdock."

"Go figure. King Carrot Top sends out another royal decree and his subjects fall over themselves carrying it out."

There was no comment. Handcuffs were slapped on her wrists.

A gust of wind blew past her and dozens of noises assailed her. The smell of the outdoors filled her nostrils. It had rained recently. The air was damp. She played it smart, she felt she was being carefully watched and these were mean characters she was dealing with. Mr. K stayed directly behind her

Then, once again, the outside world was shut out. The noises were muffled. A stuffy smell of dust, oil, and metal filled her nose. She was in a confined space again. The air reverberated as a door was pulled shut.

The blindfold was removed. The lighting of her surroundings was dull and the sound of a motor starting and the ensuing motion revealed she was inside a large van. Miss Parker frowned. Two others sat on crates, their faces hidden by shadows. Slowly, Miss Parker sat down in a corner, pressing her back up against the wall. Her hands, thus hidden from observation, began to fiddle with the handcuffs.


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BASEMENT OF BOARDING HOUSE
ROCHESTER, NEW YORK
FRIDAY 1 P.M.
It was strewn with empty cartons of chocolate ice cream and boxes of ice cream bars. However, the most prominent features of the room, besides the contents of the refrigerator, were the fuzzy inhabitants of the room. There were big teddy bears and little teddy bears, tan teddy bears and brown teddy bears, teddy bear books, teddy bear musical tapes, teddy bear videos and most any other item remotely related to a teddy bear.

Broots giggled as he nearly tripped over several pairs of teddy bear slippers. "I have to get some of those. Debbie would love them."

The two sweepers sent along to accompany Broots and Sydney were not amused. They swept throughout the area and uncovered a laptop computer, which had been half hidden by a monster-size bear.

"Hey, look at this," Broots said, pressing a button on the keypad. A box popped up with a video image. "It seems to be live, coming from a camera someplace."

Sydney and one of the sharp-eyed sweepers came over to watch the screen.

Broots maximized the images that they were receiving.

A truck pulled up and parked in front of the museum. The van was white and on its sides were painted bright green stems and yellow flowers.

Moments later, a grey-colored car pulled up beside it.

A man dressed in the uniform for flower delivery, stepped out of the van and went over to the car. He apparently exchanged a few words with the person and then car's motor revved up and the car pulled off the screen. The man looked around casually and then walked slowly over to the back of the van. He rapped three times on the back door of the van. It opened.

From the van stepped three figures, one tall man wearing a Fedora hat low over his face and his collar up, one man with dark hair who looked Spanish, and one woman wearing a dark wrinkled suit. She wriggled out of something around her wrists, but the man in the Fedora grabbed her by an arm to prevent her escape. The man who had rapped on the door caught what they were now able to recognize as handcuffs and stuffed them in his pocket. The woman had auburn hair and she turned her head once to scowl at him before being pushed towards the doors of the museum.

"Miss Parker!" Broots exclaimed.

"Broots, where is this?" Sydney demanded.

"I'm working on it, " Broots replied. His face took on a concentrated look as he attempted to trace the image's source. "Just give me a little more time."


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The watchman opened the door and glanced at his watch. "We're not quite open yet," he stated.

"It's alright, we're just here to deliver these decorations." There was a light Eastern accent touched with a slow southern drawl in the voice.

"Flowers," asked the man, puzzledly. "I wasn't told..."

"Look man, we came all the way out here. At least let us do our jobs and all the other details can be sorted out later. Understand?"

What an ego, Miss Parker thought. Murdock and his thugs are actually going to try to get away with this in broad daylight. It'll never work!

The man thought a moment. "Sure, what do I think you're going to do...rob me?" he chuckled. "Come on, I'll show you and your crew the main displays."

Idiot! Miss Parker thought.

"Much obliged to you, sir," replied Mr. K. There was hint of some strong reserve in his voice....of something wild that was being restrained. Miss Parker had the faint notion that she had heard it somewhere before.

THONK! The watchman was knocked out as soon as they had cleared the doorway and the door had been closed to the outside street.

"No violence! You promised Crumel," said Mario Lopez, looking in shock at the injured watchman lying on the floor.

"Can it, Lopez," replied Mr. C, better known as Crumel. "Murdock's orders are for you to get rid of the record." He gestured towards the security camera, waving the crowbar he had carried concealed in his suit coat.

Lopez swallowed another protest, clutched a small tool box and worked on the security system controls, while Mr. K, Crumel, and Miss Parker continued on towards the selected antiques that were to be stolen.

They had not taken their eyes off of her for a moment, Miss Parker thought. How was she to ever get away? For now, excepting the mysterious Mr. K, she had seen their faces. And despite the fact that Murdock strictly called the members of his gang by their alphabetic designation, they had just carelessly let her overhear their actual ones. So when this was all over....

"It's off," Lopez called out about the security system.

A moment later, Murdock walked into the display room. "So where is he? Where is the famous Jarod?" He walked up to Miss Parker and jeered, "He should be here, shouldn't he? To teach me a lesson? To spoil my plans?"

Miss Parker didn't answer. She was staring past Murdock at the display that had been spotlighted. Instead of looking at a large antique camera...as well as several old film reels which Murdock had explained earlier to her that a "ransom to die for" would be paid for these relics' return, she saw a yellow, picnic basket.

Murdock followed her gaze and a look of dismay came across his face. He moved quickly to the display, pulled the basket down and opened it. He lifted out a brown plush teddy bear wearing a bib labeled, "Miss Parker." He tossed the bear at her.

But suddenly, a mechanism in the basket was triggered.

The bear felt weighted in Miss Parker's hands, she shook it slightly and an opening appeared. She reached in her hand and pulled out her 9mm.

The attention of Murdock's gang was fixed on the basket. If you go out in the woods tonight-- A song about a teddy bears' picnic blared in their ears.

Murdock turned just in time to see Miss Parker's back disappearing out the door.

"That's the last straw," he shouted. "She dies!"

Mr. K stuck his foot out and Murdock sprawled on the floor. He looked up with anger his eyes. "What do you think you're doing?".

"I decide who lives or dies! I decide!" replied Mr. K, vehemently. He threw his Fedora on the floor. His coat and gloves followed suit. Murdock's last impression of the man was a fleeting glimpse of an oddly-shaped scar on his right hand.


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Miss Parker almost ran full throttle into a black Centre car that came barreling down the street. It pulled up beside her and she hopped in, throwing the teddy bear on the seat and clutching her gun tightly.

"Are you alright, Miss Parker?" Sydney asked.

Miss Parker puffed. "I will be. And if I never see another gangster movie again, it'll be too soon. Step on it, driver!" she ordered.

In the rearview mirror, the flashing lights of a police car flashed behind them and sirens rang in their ears, but these soon grew fainter. The real prize was inside the museum and one car driving away didn't concern the authorities.


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A FEW DAYS LATER...
A red notebook arrived at the Centre. For once, Miss Parker was totally uninterested in the contents. Her mind had turned to other things and especially a particular day that was coming up.

"I know all about it, Syd," she said, upon returning from a few days leave of absence.

"How nice," Broots said, when he got to look through it. Angelo looked on over his shoulder. "This man Lopez helped to bring in some key members of the Murdock gang and was reunited with his family after they hadn't seen him for months. And now, he's been given a job in developing burglar-proof security systems."

Sydney was lost in other thoughts. After viewing the DSA Angelo had provided, Sydney had sent Jarod information about Murdock's former life at the Centre. "Yes, but somehow Murry escaped."

Broots nodded. "Yeah well, if you can escape the Centre you can pretty much escape anything else."

Angelo retired to the vents with his Cracker Jacks with a very satisfied look on his face.


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APRIL 13TH
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
Her cell phone buzzed and she snatched it from her pocket and brought it up to her ear as she walked swiftly through the halls towards her office. Her heels clicked on the floor.

"Are things back to normal as usual at the Centre, Miss Parker? Not that there's anything usual about it," questioned a familiar voice with a smirk in it.

Miss Parker thought of the gun Jarod had returned to her and replied, "Yes. I'm about to go and speak with my new sweeper...Hayes, I think his name is. I have to wrap things up around here before some fire security test that's been ordered," she added.

"And I'm about to do finish up an investigation of my own."

"Where are you, Jarod?"

"Oh, I da know if I owe you that bit of information." Jarod smiled to himself, glancing at a vehicle that drove past. Its license plate read: Idaho.

"What are you hiding, Jarod?" Miss Parker accused him.

"I think the bigger question is what is the Centre hiding from you? Murdock knew something about the people who killed your mother. Another link in the chain, Miss Parker. Don't give up! Who knows? The truth may be closer than we think." Click.

Miss Parker snapped the phone shut and put it her pocket. She smiled inwardly as she opened the door of her office and spotted Hayes taking candy from the dish on her desk.

Give up? Never.

DISCLAIMER: The Pretender and all of its characters and places are the property of NBC Productions and MTM Entertainment. This an independent fan production written by a fan of this dramatic television series for the purposes of free entertainment only. It is the fifth story in the "Truth" Series. In answer to those Pretender fans who wrote and said, "Write more!" Thanks!:)

This idea had its first flicker of a beginning with these statements.

"In 1969...Catherine showed up and asked me to shelter a man and a woman who had had their two young sons abducted. I knew them as Charles and Margaret. They were afraid. They'd been searching for years and they were on the run...She (Margaret) gave birth to a little girl a month later." --Harriet Tashman, in the Pretender episode, "The Dragon House."

This is an expanded version of the original one I wrote.


SHADOWED TRUTH

by Leah
Written in 1998 and 2001

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She never knew how closely he had watched over her since breaking free of the Centre. Nor how much he tried to help her in any way he could. Sometimes in subtle ways, doing things for her that would go unnoticed. Sometimes in larger ways such as warning her that her father's life was in danger. But mostly in the notes, the gifts he left her and the things he did to help her find out the truth of what happened to her mother.

He stood silently at a distance, watching from behind the shrubbery, as Miss Parker read the note, "Her voice is inside you." And he was gratified to see that she clutched it to her heart, then quietly touched her mother's gravestone in parting, with the arm that wasn't in a sling. Then, she walked away, still clutching the note.

Yes, then she remembered. Remembered the conversation that they had had as children. He had wondered whether or not she would, but she had not forgotten. And he had helped her, if even in a small way. It had comforted her, it had made her feel better, if only for a moment. He watched Miss Parker get into the car with her father and then watched the car disappear from sight. He gazed wistfully after it. Then, Jarod sighed and pulled out a red notebook. He had a job to do.

SEVERAL WEEKS LATER...
THE CENTRE
BLUE COVE, DELAWARE
A woman with a deadly serious expression was seated at a desk in her office, staring at a computer screen. She sighed, rubbed her temples, closed the laptop computer and stood up. She rubbed her arm, which had healed, though it still felt somewhat stiff at times. She strolled around the desk, stretching her legs. Those tracking reports were getting her and her team nowhere. They needed something fresh....something totally new...something that didn't end in a splitting headache. She pulled the cellular phone out of her pocket and hit a button.

"Um...this is Broots here," the familiar, stumbling voice came over the phone. Miss Parker grinned to herself over the thought that she could scare Broots even without being in the same room with him. However, that was not her purpose today. She had something else in mind.

"Broots...do you remember," she chose her words carefully, for one never knew if even her own office been bugged. One never knew exactly who was listening. Not at the Centre. "The eggs? The ones that turned out to be rotten?" You better remember it, Broots, she thought.

"Um...rotten eggs?" Broots repeated in a clueless tone.

"Yes, bird brain!" Miss Parker hissed. Remember Broots, don't be an idiot. I don't have time today, she thought furiously. Once Miss Parker with the help of Broots had snuck into the Centre Database to do some unauthorized research. Sydney had shown up unexpectedly and with his assistance, three hidden files had been found. Three long lost files about Jarod. She had uploaded these "eggs" from their "nest" onto the network and sent the files to Broots.

"Oh," a note of realization dawned in his voice. "Yeah, Falcon, I...I understand."

Falcon. Her code name. Good Broots, good that you remember. Now, for her plan. "Get them ready. We may be able to make a meal out of them yet." Then, after a moment's pause, she added, "And get Sydney."

"Now?" asked Broots.

She didn't want to say anything more to him over the phone. "Ditto!" She snapped the phone shut, stuffed it into her pocket, ran her fingers through her hair and exited her office on a straight-arrow course to Sub-Level Five.

As she rode the elevator down, certain words echoed in her mind. Although, this time, it was not the normal nightmare she had everyday. Nor was it anything to do with her own brush with death when she had been fired upon by Brigitte in this very elevator, racing against time to save her father's life. It was something else. It rested hazily in the back of her mind for a moment and then broke into her conscious mind. She remembered Jarod's voice. And now you tell me something...about my family. And why not? Hadn't he told her about hers. About her mother. Oh, he hadn't told her everything. She had a gut feeling about that and knew Jarod's ways all too well. He was holding something back from her and it only increased her certainty that she wanted to know what it was. On the day they had made The Deal, she had challenged him openly:

"But how do you know I won't double cross you, Jarod?" she grinned, malevolently.

"Because I trust the good in you."

"It's too late, Jarod. You won't reform me with one of your speeches."

Jarod looked at her with a knowing smile. "Then, I trust you want to know the truth about your mother just as much as I do."

Miss Parker fidgeted with the glass of lemonade and stood up. "People who trust wind up the losers. I'm going back to the Centre and I'm going to get you what you want. And you better give me what I want or else..."

The hum of the elevator ceased and the doors hissed as they slid open. Miss Parker brought herself back to the present and stepped out onto Sub-Level Five, heading in the direction of the Tech room. Trust was a huge issue for her. You can't trust anyone, not at the Centre, she thought. Not completely.

She paused in the doorway and surveyed the scene. Broots was sitting at his computer, his back towards her, fidgeting nervously with a disk. Sydney had taken a seat at the table and seemed to be absorbed in whatever reading matter that he had selected for the day. They were awaiting her arrival. She marched into the room, with unspoken instructions at the tip of tongue. Dare she trust them? Dare she trust them anymore than she already had? Memories seemed to flash through her brain, as if in a silent response to her unspoken question. Recollections of SL-27, Kyle, Jacob....these names were associated with secrets they shared. Then, memories of Raines, Lyle, Brigitte...foes they had fought...together. And then of Jarod. That's where her analyzations of herself usually began and ended. Jarod. She never allowed her thoughts to drift beyond that.

"Is something wrong, Miss Parker?" Sydney asked, half-shutting his book, but keeping his thumb on the page to mark the spot.

Miss Parker realized she had been standing in the middle of the room for several moments without speaking. She shook her head. "I'm fine, Syd." With a purposeful air, she looked towards Broots.

Broots looked at her blankly for a moment and then seemed to rally himself and asked quickly, "Are you sure about this?"

Definitely, Miss Parker thought. "Don't make me repeat myself," she warned. "Do it!"

Broots popped the disk into the slot and proceeded to call one of the three files up on the computer. Hazy images were produced along with strange looking computer codes and dispersed through these were lines of incomplete text. He looked at Miss Parker for further instructions. "What is this?" Miss Parker snapped, pointing to a fuzzy image on the screen.

"A photo," answered Broots. "From what I can tell....it's of..." Broots hesitated.

Miss Parker glared at him impatiently. "Of?" Spit it out, Broots, she thought.

"Of Jarod's father."

"How do you know?"

"From reading the text...well what I can get of it anyways. It seems to be about Jarod's father. The rest of the text is so broken up and I can't get the meaning out of it."

Miss Parker gave a condescending nod. "Can you clear it up?"

Broots fiddled with the keyboard, then gulped, and replied, "It's too far gone to salvage...I told you the files were damaged, Miss Parker. It would take a miracle to really get any real information out of them."

Yes, Miss Parker nodded her head impatiently, she already knew the files had been damaged. But this was important. Where there was a will, there was a way.

"Well, you'll just have to become a miracle worker, Broots!" Miss Parker commanded.

Broots turned back, punched several more keys, and the fuzzy image disappeared altogether.

"What happened?" Miss Parker demanded.

"I....I lost it," Broots admitted nervously. "The file's become irretrievable."

There was no time for wrath. This was too important. Miss Parker was silent a moment and then she said, "Open the second file."

Broots nodded. He began typing rapidly, his fingers flying across the keyboard and slowly the images of the second file began to take shape. Miss Parker peered over Broots' shoulder studying the keyboard. "What is this?" the question buzzed in Broots' ear again.

Broots, now feeling wound as tight as a spring, replied, "I've deciphered it has to do with...Jarod's mother."

A file having to do with Jarod's father and now Jarod's mother. How logical! "Jarod would kill for this," Miss Parker grinned like the Cheshire Cat, lapping up the cream.

"I doubt that greatly, Miss Parker," Sydney replied. "Jarod wants to know about his parents, but to take another human life is quite against his moral standard for life."

"It's an expression, Syd," Miss Parker said, rolling her eyes and once again focusing her attention on Broots and the file.

A photo on the screen, cleared and became a photograph of a beautiful smiling woman with red hair. Jarod's mother.

"And?" Miss Parker prodded.

"Well," Broots gulped. "That's it."

"What?"

"That's all I could salvage of the file....the photo."

Broots winced as Miss Parker made a threatening gesture. "But wait, there's still the last file!" he exclaimed. Miss Parker forestalled whatever onslaught of words or otherwise she had stored in her artillery, and fixed her eyes on the screen. Without being told, Broots began to work with the file. It was more complex and larger than the last two. He looked more hopeful. "This one wasn't damaged as much as the rest," he informed Miss Parker and Sydney. "I may be able to do something with it...it'll take a little time."

"Miss Parker," Sydney said, pulling her aside for a moment. "If you please, what is the purpose of this?"

"It's my plan," Miss Parker replied, shortly but not unkindly. She ran her fingers through her hair and paced the room in agitated excitement.

"Which is?" Sydney pried.

"What it always is, Syd. To find Jarod."

"That's (wheeze) something you should have done (gasp) a long time ago, Miss Parker," a sinister voice said.

Miss Parker took alarm suddenly. She flashed a warning look at Broots who quickly turned his computer monitor dark and hopped out of his swiveling chair, retreating to a far corner of the room.

Mr. Raines stepped out of the shadows of the doorway and looked at the trio, when his gaze fell on Broots, the computer tech shrunk and then shook like a dry leaf in the wind. Miss Parker noticed the effect Raines was having on her team and took action.

She stepped over to Mr. Raines, crossed her arms in a power stance and said, snappily, "Hey! I don't remember putting you on the guest list."

"Well, (wheeze) I decided to crash the party," Mr. Raines replied.

"I liked him better when he was confined to the burn ward," Miss Parker addressed the room in general, making no attempt to hide her hostility. There was no one she knew of who appreciated Raines' company. But he had some unknown hold over this place, over her father even and she didn't know what that was. She was also convinced that he knew some secret about how her mother had died, but he was deliberately obscuring that knowledge.

Sydney was no longer reading his material, but stood silently like the calm before the storm. There was more to him than met the eye and he had no fear of his former colleague Raines. There was only disgust left. He remained silent for now. Miss Parker objected to having her battles fought for her. Sydney, however, knew that this battle Miss Parker was fighting was not hers alone.

"We can't always have what we like," rasped Mr. Raines. Squee...squee...squee. He wheeled his oxygen tank over to the computer where Broots had been sitting and breathed heavily. He stretched out one of his bony fingers and none made any attempt to stop him. He pressed a key. The screen lit up again and letters scrolled across the screen. SAMSON. These were followed by animation of a strong man with long braids performing daring feats. Evidently, it was Broots' personal screen saver program. Mr. Raines turned around and looked at all of them with shifty eyes. He was trying not to appear too foolish and his morbid curiosity in Jarod's chase was coupled with suspicion that Miss Parker still had failed to catch the Pretender.

Miss Parker grinned widely and raised her eyebrows in an expression that meant checkmate. She had won this round. "Can I help you out?" Miss Parker asked, pointedly.

Raines' sweeper Willie appeared and walked to Mr. Raines' side. Mr. Raines gave them a tired look and then nodded to Willie. They exited the room.

Broots went to the door and watched to see if they had really and truly left.

"That was too close of a shave!" Broots quavered.

"Silence, Broots. Get on with it!" Miss Parker replied, agitatedly. Then, once again she thought of the defeated expression on Mr. Raines' face and added, "By the way, good work!"

Once again, Broots took his post at the computer keyboard and worked with a new diligence after being tossed this unexpected praise.

Three hours later, Broots phoned Miss Parker with news. "I know it may sound hard to believe but I think I really got something this time."

"Bravo, Broots!" Miss Parker said.

Minutes later, she was standing behind Broots, eagerly peering over his shoulder to see what he had found.

"I think it has do with how the Centre obtained Jarod," Broots explained. "About where he was taken from. A location somewhere in Michigan. The Centre owns the property now."

"And?" Miss Parker prodded.

"Well, I put two and two together here and there with some of the info on Jarod's mother and on this Harriet Tashman person. Also, on that phone tap conversation that the Centre did and then..." Broots always seemed to enjoy explaining how he came to the solution or break-through. "And then," Broots held up his index finger and pointed to a shady corner of the room. "I showed all the information to Angelo."

"Angelo?" Miss Parker questioned, looking over to where the aforesaid was crouching like a frog staring at some papers on the floor. He seemed oblivious to her, Sydney's or Broots' presence.

"It was a brilliant move on Broots' part," Sydney said. "You remember how Angelo was able to figure out the location of Kyle and Jarod."

"I remember," answered Miss Parker, stepping back and watching Angelo more thoughtfully. Angelo was holding a marker in his mouth the way a dog carries a bone. It didn't look promising. Well, if Sydney was willing to put stock in Broot's plan...then perhaps she would, too.

Angelo suddenly picked up a map and lay it on the floor, staring at it, running his fingers over it. He pulled the marker from his mouth and drew something on it. Then, he quickly folded it again, gripping tightly to it, preparing to stuff it in his sweater.

Sydney kneeled down beside Angelo and said, calmly, "Angelo, please. Will this information help Jarod?"

Angelo stared at Sydney and mirrored the smile he saw there. Slowly, his hands loosened around the paper he was holding. Sydney gently took it and stood up. He started to unfold it.

Miss Parker snatched it away. "Thanks, Syd." She held it up to the lighting and studied it. Hmm...X marks the spot. She nodded to Broots. "Nice work, Broots." She looked around for Angelo, but he had done another one of his disappearing acts.

Her heels clicked on the floor as she left the room without another word.

Broots grinned from ear to ear and looked at Sydney and Angelo. "Well, what do you know." He always took great pride when any of his work panned out. "It worked!"


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Rochester, New York
Jarod was sitting on bench, wearing a black leather jacket and shades. In front of him, his hands were holding an unfolded newspaper, but he was neither reading the paper nor listening to the music which floated out of the restaurant behind him.

Presently, he lay the newspaper down beside him and pulled a cellular phone from his pocket.

"Sydney speaking."

"Sydney...do you think it's possible for people to change?"

"In what way, Jarod?" Sydney asked, jumping into the flow of conversation right away. He was used to these conversations that started with no greeting and ended with no farewell. Phone courtesy was never taught by the Centre.

"I mean people who have done the wrong thing. Who have made wrong choices in their lives because of things they had no control over. Can that person ever turn around and do what is right?"

"Yes," Sydney answered, slowly. "But I believe you know the answer to that already. But when given the chance, the person has to want to change for the better and still may have to accept the penalty for his or her former actions. That is not something easily done."

"Nothing is ever easy. Is it, Sydney?" Jarod put the phone back in his pocket and returned to his vigil.

His eyes were focused on the building across the street and he waited. As the time passed, his mind wandered and he thought back.

Thought back to a time when life had been easier and simpler. The innocence of his childhood. It had been a strange innocence though, more based on the fact he was ignorant of the way his simulations were being used. He thought of those he had met as a youth...Angelo, Kyle, Miss Parker...Somehow they were all tied together. The Centre had tied them together and there was now no way to separate them. He had escaped. He was free...and yet still he wasn't free. Not until he had helped them.

He spotted the person he sought. A lanky-looking man was headed towards the museum with a hat cocked over his head. Jarod calmly strolled across the street, taking an intersecting course with the man. He blocked the man's path before he reached the doors of the museum. Jarod slid the shades off his face and said, "Murdock! We need to talk."


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SAFE HOUSE
Somewhere in Michigan
Exact Location Unknown
She was dressed in black from head to toe...the perfect outfit for midnight snooping. The moist cool air blew past her. She had no apprehension of what she was doing as she approached the house. No one knew where she was for she had informed no one. She hadn't risked using a Centre vehicle or her own car. There was always the risk of bugs. She hadn't even called Broots nor Sydney. This victory was to be hers and hers alone. She smiled as she watched the lights flick out in the house. She had done the impossible. She had found Jarod's family.

There was a faint tap, tap, tapping on her conscience as she entered the garage. "Keep your nerve, Parker," she whispered forcefully to herself. The tapping stopped. She slipped black gloves on her hands. Then, she pulled a long pin from her pocket. There was a long hissing noise as the air escaped the punctured tires. One avenue of escape gone, she thought.

As she moved to put the pin away, it slipped from her hands and rolled on the floor. She turned her head quickly, trying to follow the sound in the dark. Leave no evidence. This thought rang her mind. She dropped to the floor on her hands and knees, groping in the dark. Where was it? A sudden careless movement on her part, tipped a small workhorse and several tools clattered noisily to the cement floor. Through the window outside, Miss Parker saw a light flick on. She sprang to her feet and rushed for the exit door. Just then, her foot struck the wayward pin and she toppled over, hitting her forehead hard against the floor. Stars swam before her eyes as she passed out in a dead faint.


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Jimmy Murdock, as he was known, narrowed his eyes and turned to make a break for it.

"I wouldn't run," Jarod warned. "The moment you do the police will be after you."

"What police?" scowled Murdock. "And what do I care anyways? When you have the right connections, you can get away with murder."

"The ones who are watching this area. Seems they got a tip to look out for any suspicious behavior," Jarod smirked. "Because this time, none of them are going to let you get away."

Murdock turned his head to study Jarod more closely. "Who are you?"

"Someone you've been looking for. Returning to the scene of the crime was not a smart move, Murry. You can call me Jarod."

Murdock's eyes widened at the sound of the name he had left behind at the Centre.


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SAFE HOUSE
Somewhere in Michigan
The voices floating above her head seemed to be faraway and she couldn't make out any words. It was as if she had been swallowed by a great black sea and was drowning. She fought against the waves of dizziness and semi-consciousness until finally she broke through the surface and there was light.

A glaring blinding light at first and she could only make out indistinct shapes. Then, suddenly everything came to into focus. She was lying on a soft bed and there was the scent of potpourri in the air....a calming fresh scent like a spring breeze. She tried to sit up, but her head began to throb.

"Try and keep still," a low calm voice said. "You hit your head pretty hard."

She obeyed the instructions, but turned her head slightly to see the speaker's face. She saw a young woman with red hair around twenty-seven years old. Her eyes were bright, shining with intelligence.

The girl smiled pleasantly. "Mother and I were beginning to wonder if you would ever wake up."


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Murdock sat looking down at Jarod through his nose like a weasel. They were seated across from each other in a booth, inside a cafe across the street from the museum.

"Why did you come back?" Jarod asked, returning Murdock's look with a knowing gaze of his own.

"I always finish what I start," Murdock replied, slicking his red hair back.

"So do I," Jarod replied.

Murdock sniffed. "So, I figure if you was going to pull something, I'd be in the hands of the cops right now."

"Maybe," Jarod replied, enjoying being mysterious.

Jimmy Murdock sneered at him. He stood up. "Then, I'm goin'."

"But I'm not finished yet." Jarod shook his head and sipped his coffee.

Murdock was not surprised. "Got a bone to pick with me? Was waitin' for you to get to that part."

Jarod continued. "You kidnapped Miss Parker, you got away with various crimes, you attempted to steal valuable museum artifacts and you run a gang of master thieves."

Murdock grinned and sat back down. "Yeah, what can I say? I'm a good enterpriser. And if it had worked, if I had got you, Jarod. I'd be retired right now."

Jarod was not in the mood to build Murdock's oversized ego. "You came back here to ruin a man's life. You were going to break into the museum and lay the blame on Mario Lopez. He has a good job now and a family to provide for."

"He had a good job," Murdock snarled. "He blew it. He betrayed us and there are rules among my business associates. No one betrays us and no one leaves."

"Well, you're just going to have to change the rules, Murry." Jarod replied. "Because people get hurt."

Murdock slammed his fist down on the table. "It's none of my fault! None of it! They'll all pay. All of 'em. Every single one," he hissed, significantly. There was a fierce, cold emotion in the voice that made Jarod shudder inwardly. Hatred.

Jarod sighed. Somehow he had hoped he might reach the young Murdock, the one who had been a wayward youth when first brought to the Centre. Murdock believed the Centre had killed his parents and Jarod wouldn't put it past them. The Centre had taken Murdock away from his family. Since then, Murdock had been building his own family...one of organized crime. Jarod wanted so much sympathize. The young Jarod and the young Murdock weren't all that different. Both had wanted to be with their families. But the older Murdock had made the wrong choices, showing no signs of wanting to correct them. And the young Murdock was gone...leaving in his stead an adult that was a menace to society. A menace made by the Centre.

Jarod stood up and made an almost imperceptible nod at Murdock. "You like that sort of thing, don't you, Murdock?" he asked. "You can run but you can't hide. Kind of like them, wouldn't you, think?" Jarod looked quickly to something behind Murdock, but the look was lost on Murdock, as he was concocting a plan of his own to nail Jarod and collect the reward offered to him by a certain cleaner at the Centre.

Jarod headed towards the door and Murdock, taking no time to puzzle out why he was being let off the hook, jumped up from his seat in surprise, attempting to follow him.

"Hold it!" a voice cried. "You're not getting out without paying the bill!"

Murdock shrugged off the manager and turned towards the door to find his path blocked by two official-looking people...a man and a woman.

"Jimmy Murdock?" the man wearing a suit said, looking at a sheet of paper with his picture on it. "Among your other aliases, I believe that is the one you use most."

Murdock eyed the man in puzzlement.

"A pattern, Mr. Murdock?" the woman observed. "Skipping out on the money you owe."

"Out of my way," Murdock snapped, balling his fist.

"IRS," said the man, holding up identification.

"No need to resort to violence, Mr. Murdock," said the woman, also holding up her own FBI identification. "You are charged with fraud and won't be going anywhere for a very long time."


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Miss Parker blinked a few times to see if she were dreaming. "What am I doing here?" she asked. She thought hard, but there was a sharp pain in her head. Fear entered her voice. "What's my name? I can't remember my name!" Her fingers gripped at the bedspread, convulsively. This was something she knew for certain she should remember and yet, no it couldn't be! There was nothing.

A flush of worry stole over the face of the girl who was watching her and then vanished and once more the young woman smiled pleasantly. Miss Parker watched her. She stood up slowly and left the room as one accustomed to making quick disappearances.

Miss Parker closed her eyes, willing that this nightmare would go away. When she opened them again and turned her head to look about she saw three now occupied the room. Herself, the young woman, and the third...an older woman with smile lines on her face and kind eyes. She bore resemblance to the young woman and Miss Parker did not take long to decide they were mother and daughter.

The mother sat next to the bed, smiled reassuringly and said in voice that sang with the sweet sincerity of it, "Please try not to worry. You hit your head and are disoriented."

"But my name," Miss Parker whispered, for undeniably those words had a calming effect on her. She dissolved into tears, "I can't remember it!"

"You need rest," the sweet voice of reassurance continued. "Rest now and try not to concentrate so hard. It will come back to you."

Through the tears, the world seemed to blur before her. Like my mind, Miss Parker thought. It's all blurry. I can't see anything clearly. But once again, the words of this kind motherly woman calmed her as had the pleasant smile the young woman still gave her. She needed rest. She closed her eyes and dropped back wearily into heavy sleep.

Every hour it seemed, though, they disturbed her sleep....shaking her, calling to her, making her awaken. Then, satisfied at last, the mother and daughter were content to let her rest. She fell into a soothing sleep and began to dream.

"What?"

"How are you coming with my gut feeling?"

"You need to ask...Why the game, " Miss Parker breathed, "with the creature? Why not just tell me?"

"Sometimes the destination isn't as important as the journey."

"Well...where on your journey did you find that surveillance tape?"

"In one of your mother's safe deposit boxes."

"Like her wedding ring and medical file."

"Oh, you'd be surprised what one could find in there."

"Jarod--" Miss Parker took a deep breath as he interrupted.

"Ah, you know the dance, Miss Parker. You help me with one of my secrets, I help you with one of yours."

Miss Parker gave in. "We weren't able to find anything about Igor or Fenigor. I don't know if he was my mother's ally or betrayer."

"Well keep searching. Igor...he holds the secrets to both our pasts."
"What makes you so sure?" Miss Parker pried.

"Call it, gut feeling." Click.

"Jarod," Miss Parker mumbled, slowly waking from her dream of the past. She opened her eyes again. She felt light-headed and weak, but better.

"She's awake again, Mom," the girl's voice rang out. Miss Parker was offered an icy compress and she took it gratefully and pressed it to her forehead.

"Then, the danger has passed," the sweet voice said in approbation.

The young woman studied Miss Parker's face intently. "Do you know who you are now?" she asked, hopefully.

Sparks of memory flowed into her mind. A hissing of tires. A fallen pin. Alarm at the sight of a light flicking on in the house. Bits and pieces. Fragments. Miss Parker whispered, "What am I doing here? Where am I?"

A hand touched the young woman's shoulder and she moved from her seat by the bedside and left the room. Her mother took her place and looked at Miss Parker. "We found you. As to what you were doing, we ourselves are puzzled by that...you don't know me...but I know who you are," she smiled gently. "I don't wish to shock you. Are you certain you don't know who you are?"

"I should know," Miss Parker said, blinking hard as she thought. "It's right there in the back of my mind, but I can't reach it."

The woman looked at her seriously. "Perhaps the reason you cannot remember is because the person who you are is someone you don't wish to be," she suggested.


Miss Parker couldn't follow this line of reasoning. "You think I want to forget who I am?" she asked, incredulously. "Who are you?"

The kind-faced woman's eyes grew darker as she thought over the wisdom of answering the question. "You may call me Margaret," she replied, steadily. "That was my daughter, Emily. And you are Catherine Parker's daughter."

You are Catherine Parker's daughter. Those defining words brought back the rest of her memory and things snapped into place coherently. She knew why she was here. So she had done it at last. Found Jarod's family. The perfect trap in which to catch her elusive Pretender. Smart move Parker, she thought. In the stillness of the room, after her two benefactresses had left her alone for a minute, Miss Parker began to think. Her mental faculties in fact were well in tact. She knew her name and even where she was, but this mattered little now. For she was in no condition to act at the moment. Not when her head felt like this. She had the strongest conviction that if she sat up now, her head would fall off.

They didn't leave her alone for long. Emily came again and handed her a glass of water. She watched as Miss Parker took a long draught and then said, "I think I should tell you."

"Tell me what?" Miss Parker asked.

Emily seemed to hesitate for a moment and then shook her head. "No. Nevermind. Forget I brought it up." Emily's face took on a sad look. "I'm sorry," she said. Swiftly, she got up and ran out the door.

Before Miss Parker had time to analyze Emily's puzzling behavior, she was presented with a new difficulty. A sharp pricking sensation in her stomach. Her ulcer. Miss Parker set her water glass on the nightstand near the head of the bed. She tried to ignore it and hide the pain. It was best the enemy did not see her at a disadvantage. But were these two women her enemies? Had not they, like her, had a major part of their lives shaped by the Centre? Several months ago, before she had made The Deal, such thoughts would never have occurred to her. But now. Another sharp pain. She grimaced and hugged her stomach. She was thinking too much. Sleep, that's what she needed. Perhaps then it would be easier to do what she had to do.

"Drink this," she heard a voice say, faintly. Still in the mists of sleep, Miss Parker unprotestingly drank the milky substance that was held to her lips. Immediately, the fire in her stomach ceased to burn. Ah, relief!

"How did you...?" she began to ask.

"Emily found your bottle of pills in your belongings and noted that you seemed to be experiencing some pain," explained the sweet voice pleasantly.

Miss Parker opened her eyes wider to contemplate this woman more thoroughly. "How did you know my mother?" she asked, in spite of a promise she had made to herself to keep silent.

"I was eight month's pregnant with Emily and things did not look well. We were being chased...There was no one to turn to. Nowhere to hide. But Catherine Parker...she found us a place to hide. A place to be safe...to have a home. For that, I shall be forever grateful to her." She stopped remembering and her gaze turned to Miss Parker. "And now...for you to be here. Life truly presents us with amazing gifts...now I have a chance to repay her."

Was this the reason she was being cared for so kindly? Miss Parker thought. There was no bitterness or reproach in the words of Jarod's mother. Yes, this was Jarod's mother, she finally allowed herself the thought. Her mother had rescued Jarod's mother and the rest of his family. She had tried to rescue Jarod too...and look what happened to her. Yet, surely Jarod's mother must know what Catherine Parker's daughter had become? How could she look upon her coming as one of life's 'amazing gifts'? What could she mean by that? Or was this kindness only prompted by the fact she was under the impression that Miss Parker had amnesia?

Miss Parker allowed herself a question. "How is my being here a gift? You don't know what I was here for." She hadn't meant her reply to be harsh, but it sounded harsh in her own ears.

"Because you know my son," answered the voice full of motherly love. Then, she repeated, "Because you know, Jarod."

"I don't understand," Miss Parker replied and it was the honest truth.

Jarod's mother smiled sadly. "I...I never got the chance to watch my little boy grow up. And yet I always thought of him...wondered about him. Each year I would think about how old he was...how big he must be getting. Wondering what were his hopes, his dreams. Wondering if he was alone or if he was loved...if he even remembered me. If he blamed me. Just wondering."

Miss Parker lay in bed silently listening. The pain her stomach had just about disappeared now, though her head still throbbed. The stray thought floated across her mind that since she had given up smoking these attacks of pain had been lessened. But the pain in her mind and heart still troubled her, nor would it lessen soon. Not at as long as she worked for the Centre.

Yet, as Jarod's mother continued to talk and tell the story about her search for her son and the years of hiding yet still maintaining such strong love and hope, the oppressive and demanding atmosphere of the Centre seemed a million miles away and she felt touched by a strange peace.


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The Centre
SUB-LEVEL FIVE TECH ROOM
BLUE COVE, DELAWARE
"No, sir. I don't know. She's gone. Where? Um...I don't know sir. She left and...No, no she didn't tell me where. Yes of course I will and I'll be sure to...Hello?" Broots set the phone down in frustration and finished his interrupted sentence anyways, "I'll be sure to notify you the minute I hear anything, you old pompous windbag!"

"Broots? Who are you talking to?" Sydney asked, walking into the room, holding a mug of coffee.

Broots nearly leaped out of his skin, wondering if his rant had been overheard. He tried to look nonchalant. "Um, nobody. I mean, that was Mr. Parker."

Sydney stopped in his tracks. "Mr. Parker?"

"Yeah," Broots said, putting his hands in his pockets and explaining. "He called looking for Miss Parker. Apparently, he couldn't reach her in her office, at home, in her car, or on her cell phone, so he tried here."

"But you do know where Miss Parker is, don't you, Broots?" Sydney asked, rubbing his chin. "You spoke to Angelo after he gave Miss Parker the map location."

"Me? Well, don't you? I mean, didn't you see the map?" Broots asked.

"I saw the map, Broots...for the space of two seconds. There was no time to read it. But Angelo knows--where is he?" Sydney questioned.

"I don't know," Broots shrugged. "Uh, Sydney."

"Yes, Broots?"

"You won't mention to anyone about...um anything you might of happened to hear me say. Cause I was talking to myself and I didn't mean anything by it. If Mr. Park-" Sydney slapped Broots on the shoulder and said, "Not to worry. These ears don't hear like they used to. I'm going to look for, Angelo. Keep an eye out."


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SAFE HOUSE
Somewhere in Michigan
Miss Parker's eyes shot open at the familiar click of her gun. Her sense of peacefulness was shattered. She turned her head swiftly and sat up to see Emily standing next to the bed holding it. She was wearing blue jeans and a slightly oversized gray sweatshirt. Emily was examining the gun intently and when she turned and saw the alarmed look on Miss Parker's face she said, quickly, "Oh, I'm sorry. It's not loaded. Didn't mean to startle you."

Miss Parker gave a short, nervous nod. She felt a small wave of dizziness from moving her head too quickly and eased it back onto the pillow. She caught the sense that Emily, Jarod's sister, had led a very sheltered life. She wondered what it was like...being in hiding since you were born.

Emily set the empty gun down on the nightstand and looked directly at Miss Parker, raising her eyebrows with curiosity. "You're one of them, aren't you?" she asked. "The people with guns who chase us."

Miss Parker made no attempt to hide the truth. "Not you...Jarod." She pressed back the guilt that began to press in upon her for she believed she would not have hesitated to use Emily to catch Jarod. She thought for a moment. "Where are the rest of my belongings?"

"Someplace safe," Emily shrugged. "I thought if I brought this for you to see...you would remember."

What was the point of this conversation? Miss Parker thought. Where was it all headed?

"Mother says...you know my brother." Miss Parker made no movement to deny it. Her thoughts were fixed upon the location of her belongings...there was a cell phone among them. Emily's words suddenly registered in her mind and she began to pay attention. "Did you know him when you were little?" Emily asked, quietly.

"Yes," Miss Parker replied, pressing the back of her head against the pillows she was propped up on. She was beginning to feel hungry...and why not? She hadn't had a proper meal in several days.

Emily suddenly remembered something. She walked around the bed and picked up a tray which she placed across Miss Parker's bed. She lifted the cover and a savory smell reached Miss Parker's nostril's. Her mouth watered. There was a rich and warm soup sitting in the bowl in front of her along with various tasty accessories.

"Thought you would be hungry," Emily said, smiling as she saw the way Miss Parker eyed the meal before her. Careful not to tip the tray, she sat down on the edge of the bed. "What was he like? My brother?"

Well, Miss Parker thought, as the young woman handed her a spoon, there was no harm in answering a simple question now was there? She sipped a spoonful and replied, almost cordially, "What do you mean?"

"Was he a nice boy? The kind who would have protected his little sister?"

"Yes," Miss Parker nearly smiled as Emily's questions caused her to remember days of her childhood. The days she had spent hiding near the sim lab to watch Sydney putting Jarod through his simulations. The times she had visited Jarod secretly and the short conversations they had had. "He let me hold a rabbit once...I wasn't allowed to have one as a pet at home," these words slipped out of her mouth before she was aware she had said them.

At this, Emily seemed to study her intently. "Then...you were friends," she surmised. "And yet, you chase him now, just like the rest of them." Emily brushed her red hair out of her face and seemed distressed.

Friends, Miss Parker thought. Her mind repeated Emily's words unmercifully. You were friends. She felt the iron resolve of her plan weakening within and fought to save it. "I don't have time for friends," Miss Parker whipped out the words, falling into a stony silence afterwards. She concentrated her energies on eating, feeling the warm broth enter her mouth and trickle down her throat...trying to empty her mind and think of nothing else. Trying to push away shadows of truths which tugged at her mind.

"How can you say that?" Emily asked her, sadly. "Everyone needs friends. True friends...friends that are forever. Even if we don't get to see them often."

The words touched Miss Parker and she felt tears gathering behind her eyes. She had tried so hard not to think about the childhood friendship between her and Jarod. It was something irrelevant to the chase...and perhaps even hampering. She was the huntress...Jarod was the hunted. She must keep a cool state of mind. She must stay detached. Brigitte had accused her of pursuers' sympathy. The Guesstimator, a man called Jonathan Bink who had once been brought in to assist her on the Hunt had told her, "My guesstimate was you didn't really want to catch him. Not yet anyway." At the Centre, such as these, amounted to weakness...weakness amounted to elimination. Thus, she had most heartily denied such accusations. But still, a deeper voice inside, whispered to her. Asking the question, to desert a friend...was this not worse still? Yes, Jarod deliberately annoyed her, teased and taunted, even set her up...but underneath it all...didn't he at least show he cared? A thing which her father, Mr. Parker, rarely if ever did show.

Her soup was finished and Emily, noting Miss Parker's silence to her statement in disappointment, silently removed the bowl and left the room.

Miss Parker could no longer hold the storm back. She took a deep breath, but the floodgates broke. The salty rain fell and trickled down her cheeks...and no one was there to wipe it away.

The house was quiet. Miss Parker slipped silently out her bed and began to search. At last, she found a clothes hamper in the bathroom built off of her room. It was filled with clean laundered garments. She took a shower and then got dressed.

She left the room she had occupied and then looked cautiously out into the hallway. She searched several drawers in the living room and at last found a bag containing her belongings in the bottom drawer. And then, she picked up her cellular phone. Quietly, she slipped back to her room and closed the door.

The Centre was just a phone call away. In a matter of minutes, she could have sweeper teams headed to this location and become woman of the day, capturing Jarod's family after they had managed to avoid capture, year after year. All she had to do was dial.


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The Centre,
Blue Cove, Delaware
Mr. Raines was not happy. Once again, Miss Parker had gone off without telling anyone and this made him suspicious. Mr. Parker obviously didn't know where she was, though he had dropped hints and done all he could to subtly push Mr. Parker into initiating a search for her. Mr. Parker's inquiries had come to nothing and thus there was left to him only one recourse.

"Mr. Broots (wheeze) where is Miss Parker?"

"Um...um...um," Broots gulped, breaking out into a sweat. "I don't know. I swear I don't know." He was cornered like a rat. No one was around, but himself and he wished with all his might that Raines would believe him.

"Broots?" Mr. Raines questioned, as Willie moved into the room. "I had hopes that you would be more cooperative before the situation gets too....heated."

Willie took a step towards Broots. Broots suffered flashbacks of a blow torch in another confrontation with Mr. Raines. "Please!" Broots said, dropping to his knees on the floor. "I...I really don't know."

"Well, then that'll be too bad for you, Daddy," Raines began.

Debbie! Broots thought. Would they harm Debbie if he didn't tell even what little he knew. "Alright! Alright!" Broots cried, getting to his feet. "I'll tell you. Just don't hurt my daughter. Miss Parker left. She got a lead on catching Jarod. It's the honest truth...she had some sort of plan to trap Jarod. That's where she's gone...but she didn't tell where. And that's all I know. I swear."

"Good," Raines breathed, heading for the door. Willie followed him. As he wheeled the oxygen tank away, he added, "For now." They would check the Centre flight records and if that failed, the commercial flights. They would speak to everyone who had seen Miss Parker the day she had left. A trail to follow was always left behind...no matter how one tried to cover it up.


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Angelo picked up an empty box of Cracker Jacks. He swept his fingers through it feeling the cardboard insides assuring himself that indeed no more of the toffee or bits of popcorn remained. Instantly, he dropped the box and scrambled through the air vents. He crawled through the vents with much self-assurance barely looking at the route he was taking. He knew every twist in the passages by heart.

He had been listening during Broots' interrogation by Raines and was relieved Broots was in no danger. At last, he came to a special part of the vents. Here, he kept a collection of things valuable to him. He fished through the contents of a box, little plastic boats, small iridescent DSA disks, prizes from Cracker Jack boxes; compasses, stickers, etc. and at last came to his assortment of maps.

He picked up a map, stuffed it in his shirt and scrambled through the network of vents. He finally emerged from a ventilation duct, entering Raines' office. As he had expected, no one was there. He turned on the computer. Then, quickly, he scribbled on the map, placed it in the scanner, and then hit send. He grinned slowly to himself. Jarod would understand.


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"I was hoping that since she found us, perhaps he too could find us. But we have delayed long enough already. It's not safe for us here anymore. Her injuries are healing."

"And she will fully recover?" Emily asked.

"We have a new vehicle without punctured tires and it is not safe to stay any longer." There was resolve even in the sweet soft-spoken voice. It contained a will made of steel which had held out against the Centre for many years.

"And if she tries to follow us to the rendezvous point? Notify those who chase us?"

"She will not try, because she is coming with us."


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It was the bumping that awakened Miss Parker from her drug-induced sleep. She was in the backseat of a road vehicle and the sky had grown dark. Jarod's mother and sister rode in the front seat...the older woman at the wheel. Neither of them looked towards the backseat, blissfully unaware that she had awakened. Miss Parker's hands were tied behind her back, but she noted her head rested on the bag of her belongings which she had discovered earlier. It took her only a few moments to work her hands free. Then, by stealthy movements which weren't quite as dexterous as usual due to the bumping of the vehicle on the road, she secured a grip on the bag without being detected.

"Hold it!" Miss Parker cried, throwing the bag to the front, obscuring vision at the windshield. Tires screeched and the vehicle skidded to a halt on the back road. By this time, Miss Parker had found a sharp object and was jabbing it into Emily's back. "Don't anyone move," she hissed. Her mind was teetering for she hadn't yet decided what she was going to do. All she knew was she was going to reclaim control of this situation for she had no desire to be bundled off to parts unknown unless she had picked the parts.

Emily sat stiffly, staring straight ahead, but she spoke quietly and seemed to sense Miss Parker's indecision, "You would go back then...when you have the chance to get away."

"Shut up!" Miss Parker replied, flashing her killer look. She was listening to a sound in the distance.

The soft-spoken voice of Jarod's mother again used that strange influence over her, despite the obvious distress in the tone, it again had a way of breaking down her defenses. "It is not us who you are angry with, Miss Parker. We have no fight with you. Please let us continue with what we have left of our lives."

"Your lives? What about my life?" She looked sharply at the older woman, attempting to stare her down.

Margaret replied, "Start a new life and become someone you truly want to be."

"What is it with this family? Sounds exactly like something Jarod would say," sneered Miss Parker. She gulped. The sound that she heard was that of a helicopter...and it was coming close. "You're my ticket to Jarod and Jarod is to my freedom. Understand?"

"I don't know how you found us. I don't know how it is the Centre discovered our location. But I do know this, you did not call the Centre," Margaret asserted.

"What makes you so sure?"

"I watched you. I ask only one thing. If my son contacts you...tell him...I haven't forgotten and that I love him."

Miss Parker looked into the older woman's eyes and what she saw there reminded her of an important thing. This was a mother, Jarod's mother but a mother nonetheless, and those were mother's eyes. Miss Parker looked at the weapon in her hand and her hand shook. She looked at this mother and whispered, "He doesn't blame you." Miss Parker appeared to have a spasm in her arm. She dropped the sharp piece of metal she had held to Emily's back and growled, "No one escapes the Centre for good. It's only a matter of time," at the same time she threw herself against the door and flung herself out of the jeep. She slammed the door shut behind her and looked up. Emily looked out the window at her. The young woman smiled a sad thanks. Immediately, the motor roared to life and the vehicle sped away through the twisting back roads disappearing at once from sight.

Miss Parker turned and began trudge along the path, headed in the opposite direction. It was dark and she stumbled often in her heels. "This better lead back to civilization," she grumbled to herself with clenched teeth. Gusts of air brushed past her and she had to blink to keep the debri from getting into her eyes.

Quickly, the noises of the helicopter's motor and propellers overtook her drowning out the rest of the wilderness around her. A searchlight hit the ground and Miss Parker stopped and stood where she was on the overgrown trail. A shudder rippled through Miss Parker's spine and then she frowned. But in a wink, all traces of the frown or any other emotion were gone from her expression. The light spotlighted her and the chopper flew in lower. A hooked ladder fell from the hovering craft as it slowly moved towards her position. The Ice Queen reached out a hand and grabbed the bottom rung. She had been found by the Centre.


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UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
SOMEWHERE IN MICHIGAN
SEVERAL HOURS LATER...
The message from Angelo had pinpointed this location. As Jarod approached the house, his nose picked up the unmistakable smell of smoke. And where there is smoke...Jarod broke into a run and arrived upon the site. A busy scene met his eyes. A fire chief was shouting directions to a small band of firefighters. Some were equipped with shovels and were digging trenches. Others were standing on the wet and slippery ground, holding onto fire hoses and attempting to direct the jet streams of water towards the base of the fire. Mists of their spray floated up and dampened the air.

Jarod ran over to a firefighter who seemed to be on the ball. "Stay back!" warned the firefighter. He spread out his arms as if becoming a human wall as he warned curious onlookers back from the dangerous flames.

"Is the fire under control? Anyone inside?" Jarod asked, grabbing the man's shoulder to get his attention.

The man shook his head. "No one inside, thankfully!" Then, he spit out bits of information as he continued to perform his job. "It's spreading quickly, but only--Step back folks!--through the house. You there! With the camera. Get behind the line. We've given up on saving the house, but right now we're watching to be sure it won't spread to the trees. I told you all to stay back. Funny thing though. One of the swiftest but cleanest burning fires I've seen. Might be it would have only burnt down the house and garage--even if we hadn't got here. There's little wind. Guess we were just fortunate."

Jarod didn't wait to hear more. He turned abruptly and weaved his way through the small crowd, who weren't many since this was a fairly rural area. Jarod entered the trees. Soon, the sounds of the roaring fire and the bustle of the firefighters were left behind him. He pulled out a flashlight. Jarod went into the trees and studied the ground, every twig that had snapped, every undergrowth disturbed. He walked over the area thoroughly, his eyes taking in each detail and recording it in his memory. It was the jeep tracks which he lingered over then followed for the longest. He paused and his excitement increased when he saw a depression of the tire tracks deeper than the rest and realized the vehicle had stopped here. He studied the footprints in the dust, noting the tell-tale marks of sharp heels. There was a quick intake of breath at his amazement over it. Then, onwards Jarod plunged through the brush and trees for now the paths were less travel worn here and soon dwindled away altogether vanishing in the wilderness. Still, he followed harder to find signs, trampled brush, broken twigs, slight disturbances on the ground that could not possibly have been made by animals. Quite abruptly, these faint signs disappeared altogether.

No longer trying to control his excitement Jarod beat the bushes until he struck metal. He pushed several lose branches to reveal the exterior of a jeep. Quickly, he yanked the door open and climbed inside. A moment later he jumped out, with something tucked securely under his arm. He looked around, picked a direction and went on with a purpose. He ran out into a large clearing, large enough for a small plane to land. It was here the trail ended. Jarod fell to his knees in disappointment, laying the item he had taken from the jeep on the ground. With decision, he flicked on his flashlight, opened the bag and peered inside. Someone had some explaining to do.


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MISS PARKER'S RESIDENCE
SOMEWHERE IN DELAWARE
Miss Parker sat curled up in an easy chair, trying to chase away the headache that still lingered after her debriefing session with the Board, which even Mr. Parker had chosen to attend. Her palm felt cold as she lifted pieces of ice from a cup on the stand next to the chair and popped them into her mouth.

It was with great reluctance that she answered the phone. "What?"

"Ring a bell?" greeted Jarod's voice, but she detected a note of discord in the tone which told her the Pretender was far from cheery.

"Haven't we had this conversation before?" Miss Parker asked, raising her eyebrows and wondering what more could go wrong in a week's time.

Ding dong! Her doorbell rang. Miss Parker shook her head. She should have known--

"Oops. Someone beat you to it," Jarod said. "You might want to answer that."

Miss Parker set down the phone and opened her door, cautiously. She saw no one. Her gaze fell to the ground and she knelt and picked up a navy blue dufflebag. She closed the door and carried the bag, sat down with it in her lap, and picked up the phone once more.

"Why'd you send me this, Jarod?" she asked. She couldn't say how glad she was to get her belongings back and along with it the confidence that there would be no possible way for her tools to be discovered out in the woods somewhere and be examined for incriminating evidence. "And how did you get it?" she added, eagerly.

"I found it lying around. Why were you in Michigan?" Jarod countered.

Miss Parker skirted around the question. "Why were you there and what do you want, Wonder Boy?"

"What I always want. The truth," Jarod replied, shortly. He continued, "I heard the Centre wished to know why it is that YOU--were near the vicinity of a Centre safe house which hadn't been used in years. In fact, would have been totally forgotten had it not been for the fact that you went unaccompanied by sweepers to that general area." Now came the clincher, "Did you find my family?"

Miss Parker sighed, Syd must have spilt the beans. She was not in the mood to talk to an irate Pretender. "I have just spent hours before the Board, answering questions. I don't have to answer to you, Jarod."

There was a pause. "I'm sor--"

Miss Parker refused to accept sympathy. "Oh, it wasn't a total loss. Raines was in such a fiery rage he nearly blew up his oxygen tank."

"Speaking of fires," Jarod said. "There was a fire which coincidentally destroyed all the clues. Except the one I just sent you."

A stony silence.

"What's the matter?" Jarod challenged finally. "Not up for the dance?"

"How is it, Jarod, that the more I learn about my mother from you the further away it seems I get from the answers?"

"No puzzle is complete until you have all the pieces," Jarod said. "The more you know, the more you find out just how much you don't know. By the way, did you know Murdock's in custody? I had plans of making him talk before I had to make that unscheduled trip to Michigan."

Miss Parker shrugged. "You want to know the truth, Jarod?" she asked, briskly. "Then, tell me everything you know about what happened to my mother."

"That's not the deal," Jarod replied, his own voice now seemed suddenly weary. "It doesn't have to be like this." Jarod displayed the prowness of his observations. "I think you found my family and you let them go."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Miss Parker retorted.

"No one will know," Jarod's voice lost its accussary note. It had been too late for Murdock--Murdock had long ago ceased to care if his actions hurt other people. But Jarod had always hoped, and now he knew, that this was not the case with Miss Parker. "Because the tracks aren't there anymore. And the fire destroyed any evidence sweepers might have otherwise found combing the area. But I won't forget it. The truth of the matter lies in your heart and that isn't ice."

The conversation would have ended right there on that note, but Miss Parker appealed suddenly, "Jarod!"

"Yes?" he asked in surprise.

"The Centre...I'm not their puppet...I--" Miss Parker hesitated.

There was no point in telling Jarod anything, she told herself. She didn't owe him anything. Then, Emily's words once more seemed to float across her brain like wisps of clouds in a night sky: You were friends. Almost before she knew it she heard the words escape her lips, "Your mother, she..." Miss Parker blinked. Her eyes were growing misty. "She never forgot and sends her love." Oddly enough, she realized her headache had completely flown.
"Thank you," Jarod replied at this unexpected proffering of information.

"Don't. I didn't do it for you," Miss Parker grumbled.

"I understand. Your mother would be very proud." The dial tone rung in his ear. Jarod smiled slowly to himself and hung up the phone.

DISCLAIMER: DISCLAIMER: The characters (Miss Parker, Broots, Sydney, Jarod etc) and places are the property of NBC Productions and MTM Entertainment for the purposes of entertainment only and with no harsh intent and used without permission.

NOTE: It, most amazingly, is the sixth but short sequel to the "Truth" series which began as one simple short story. Please do not repost this work or related works without permission of the author. I like to know where it's archived. End of Second Season story. Timeline starts just before Bank. This has taken forever to write and rewrite but was neccesary to give a nice flowing end to the "Truth"series. Please enjoy! Rated PG.

CLOSER TO THE TRUTH

by Leah
Written in 1998 and 2001

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The stress pressed around her from all sides, forming a box around her, an invisible one that closed in on all sides. Anxiety was eating her up from within. She stared down at the cigarette pack in her hand, the one her father had suddenly given her as a gift. She looked up at him silently with a question in her eyes.

His response was as inexplicable as ever. "Don't disappoint me, Angel."

"I'll get him," she had responded mechanically, however there was nothing behind the words...only a numb sort of feeling. Chasing Jarod was now a force of habit--a whole way of life.

Mr. Parker nodded his approval and walked down the hallway out of sight.

Jarod's words came back to haunt her. The ones he had spoken on that infamous day when they had made The Deal. "I want you thinking clearly, no smoke on the brain." Perhaps her father suspected it--that the reason she had quit smoking was because--she tired to wrestle with the thought to keep it from coming but lost the battle--because of Jarod. Think clearly! she rebelled. How could she ever think? Her mind was swimming now. She was torn in half. There were no easy choices. Not at the Centre.

She hadn't caught Jarod yet. That was a blatant fact that she could not deny--it was something her father never failed to mention--when she saw him. Mr. Parker had once asked her, "Who are you going to believe, me or Jarod?" She hadn't known how to answer.

She was always watched. She was used to it now, she told herself. It most certainly had gone through the Centre grapevine, warped and twisted as it always was, that she had quit smoking. Even Jarod had known and compared her nicotine addiction that controlled her to that of the Centre's control on her life. And now, this! After a week of not seeing a trace, Mr. Parker had appeared in the hall, smiled and informed her that he was not happy with her performance of late and (Mr. Raines had brought this to light) that because of a report written by Brigitte, of all people, the reviewing of Miss Parker's files had leaned towards the professional opinion that 'the Pretender man' was simply too clever for Miss Parker to catch. This had reached the ears of the Triumvirate.

"Daddy, no matter how clever he will slip!" She snapped her fingers. "And I'll catch him."

Then, Mr. Parker had said those four words, "Don't disappoint me, Angel," patted her shoulder with a smile and left her standing in the hallway, holding the poisonous gift in one hand and a small briefcase in the other.

His attitude had been the same when he had ordered her to eliminate Mr. Lyle and her retort, "I am not an assassin," he had brushed off like a piece of lint. She hadn't allowed herself to think about it after that or rather she had tried not to think about it, but had run into Sydney soon after the conversation with her father and Sydney suspected. He hadn't told her not to do it--only he had questioned her in that steady way he had that always made her feel guilty...because those questions always tapped into the side of her nature that she had inherited from her mother. A side of her that was neither ice, nor steel but all heart. She had immediately shut down Sydney's questioning with one of her coldest remarks and left quickly before anymore doubts could be raised in her mind.

Jarod...dead or alive. Dead was becoming more preferable, but Jarod was more valuable alive. At least, that's what she kept telling herself. It seemed now she was on the spot. The next time she saw Jarod...the next time she was near enough then...She shivered and tried to push away these dark thoughts. But if she didn't capture Jarod--She squeezed the handle of her briefcase and choked back an indignant cry of frustration. And still the words echoed in mind: Don't disappoint me, Angel.

It unsettled and unnerved her and she began to walk, walk past her office, walk all the way to Sydney's office and even beyond. She walked blindly, with no clear idea of where she was headed. She only knew she was going somewhere...and anywhere was better than the position she now stood in. Once, when walking past a wastebasket in the hall, she flexed her fingers and released the box of menthols. It sank into the trash. She breathed deeply and walked faster. The motion and movement of the walking helped and at last she came to rest her troubled emotions enough to look about her.

The place looked familiar. Yes, she had her bearings now. She turned a corner and came to Jarod's room. Not the simulation room...but the room where he had been kept. The four walls he had lived and breathed and slept in for over thirty years. The thought of it nearly stifled even her, whereas before she had never allowed herself to think about it. The door to the room was unlocked now and never had been used since the Pretender's escape. It still awaited his return. On an impulse, she opened the door and entered the prison.

She set the briefcase down on the floor and sat down on the single chair in the room. She pulled out her silver cigarette case and opened it. One cigarette remained. After only a moment's hesitation, she pulled it out, snapping the case shut. Then, she reached for her lighter.

"I thought you quit," a voice came through the darkness, startling her so that the cigarette slipped from her shaky fingers to the floor.

"I did! I have!" Miss Parker stood up quickly and turned to see the speaker. "Jarod?"

The black toe of a well-made shoe stomped on the fallen cigarette, deliberately crushing it and Jarod stepped from the shadows and nodded a greeting to Miss Parker.

"But, what are you doing here?" stammered Miss Parker, seriously wondering if she was perhaps hallucinating. She gripped the back of the chair behind her to keep from falling over in shock.

Jarod shrugged and stuck his hands in the pockets of in his leather jacket. "No one guards the empty cage," he replied.

Miss Parker nodded. How true that was! There were no security guards patrolling the halls, nor were the surveillance cameras even operational in Jarod's room. They were thought an unnecessary expense and these security measures were only to be reinstated upon Jarod's return to the Centre.

"If you must know," Jarod said with a sigh, sitting down on the edge of his cot. "I came to see you."

Miss Parker had pulled her cellular phone from her pocket and was about to dial. Something in Jarod's manner made her pause uncertainly. To see her? What could he mean by that? Weren't the taunting phone calls he made to her at all hours of the night enough?

"You want to turn me in?" Jarod asked, somewhat bitterly. "Go right ahead."

There was something wrong here, Miss Parker thought. She snapped her phone shut. "What about, Jarod?" she asked, sitting down again.

"I came to find out why you haven't quit," Jarod replied.

His response seemed utterly preposterous to her. She arched her eyebrows. "I told you, I did quit! I'm entitled to relapse every so often, aren't I?"

"I meant The Centre," Jarod replied, watching her steadily.

"You're asking me to quit the Centre?" Miss Parker asked with a sad grin. "Why sure, I'll just march up to Daddy and say, 'Jarod wants me to quit so I've decided to become a ballerina instead!' Wouldn't that just thrill him?" she remarked, sarcastically.

Jarod folded his hands across his knees and rested his chin on them. He ignored her remarks and endeavored to reach the heart of the matter. "You're afraid," he stated simply.

"Afraid?" scoffed Miss Parker. "Oh, Jarod, you have to do better than that."

"You are," Jarod insisted. "Afraid of leaving. Afraid of what would happen to you if you did. Afraid for your life."

"What? You want me to end up like you? Running for my life and never knowing what job I'll do next. Not hanging around long enough to get job benefits. To always have someone on my tail. You call that a life?"

Something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh came from the shadows where Jarod was sitting. "You should have been a Pretender," he said. You might have been, he added silently to himself. "You captured my situation well. You're wrong about the benefits though. Being able to help people...the look on someone's face or just knowing that you made a difference--"

"My mother tried to make a difference...and look what happened to her."

"Do you remember your mother, Miss Parker?" Jarod asked.

What a question! "Of course I do, Jarod. Everyday."

"Then, she did make a difference. She still is, every day."

She had no answer for that.

"Just try it," Jarod said, a note of challenge and note of pleading in his voice. "Just once. Before it's too late."

"Too late for what?" Miss Parker frowned, once again raising the phone.

She saw Jarod make a movement in the darkness and the next moment she felt something whiz by her head and bounce against the wall behind her. Startled, she turned to look at it and in that split second distraction, she felt the phone slipped gently from her hand. She watched a bouncy ball first bounce, then roll along the cement floor and then looked at Jarod once more, watching as he settled back into his former position, the phone now clutched in his palm. At the present moment, she was too curious about what Jarod wanted to be angered at being out maneuvered once more. Jarod seemed almost to read her mind. "You'll find out," he explained. "Unless you're afraid."

Miss Parker was afraid. But she wasn't about to admit this to anyone, especially not Jarod.

"Until we meet again," Jarod said. He rose suddenly about to run out the door into the hall.

Miss Parker leapt up, preparing to run after him. A scent assailed her nostrils and the room seemed to waver before her eyes and dissolve.

Miss Parker found herself walking to her car. She got in and pulled out leaving the Centre behind and entering the traffic she always encountered on her commute. Miss Parker's car phone rang. Grimly, she answered it, "What?"

"Turn right at the next corner and proceed five blocks until you see the city limits sign," Jarod's voice instructed.

Click! Miss Parker heard before she even had the chance to sputter a "Why should I?" Well, Miss Parker thought, she wouldn't. She just wouldn't. She was done with Jarod's games, she thought. Besides, why should she? Hadn't Jarod been responsible for her mother's death? Her mother had died with plans of saving Jarod. Hadn't Jarod been responsible for all the suffering and--hadn't he been responsible for starting her on the road to truth about her mother in the first place? The image of Jarod the Scapegoat faded in her mind...it had been fading for quite some time. Hadn't Jarod warned her and helped her save her father's life? Hadn't Jarod indirectly helped her escape her kidnappers? Wasn't he trying, even now, to help her?
Her car had turned right and she was counting the blocks almost before she knew what she had done.

The road seemed strange to her although she had driven it dozens of times. Or had she? Things seemed fuzzy. Distorted somehow. And to top it all off her phone was ringing and she couldn't find it! She ran her fingers through her hair. Beautiful! Miss Parker thought. Just beautiful.

A figure ran out into the road and instinctively her foot reached for the brake. She hit the city limits sign and at the same time her tire struck something sharp. She skillfully maneuvered her vehicle off the road into a ditch.

The screeching tires sounded strangely like that infernal phone that wouldn't shut up. Someone really should answer it. If only--

Coughing, Miss Parker awoke with the sense of lost time. She rubbed her eyes and found herself blinking rapidly, trying to ward off the sleep agent she had apparently breathed in. She opened her eyes wider, realizing with a start, that she had never left the Centre. The digital beeping noise of the cell phone that had aided in awakening her went unanswered and ceased.

Miss Parker ran out into the hall. She glanced to the right and to the left but saw no one. Neither did she hear any footsteps. Once again, the Pretender had vanished into thin air.

She turned and went back into Jarod's room to fetch her case. She noticed her cellular phone was lying neatly on the floor and she knelt to pick it up. As she was retrieving it, her eye caught sight of the small rubber ball. Without pause, she knelt down and picked it up, rolling it from hand to hand and then gripping it tightly. Until we meet again, those parting words of Jarod's echoed in her brain. "Until then," Miss Parker whispered under her breath, still finding it hard to believe what had just occurred though she literally held the proof between her fingertips.


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The Centre, Blue Cove Delaware

Not long after this incident, Miss Parker strode into the Centre after a visit with her father at her home. He hadn't stayed long and hadn't said much, but the strangeness of his unexpected visit had disturbed her. She had asked him why he came but he had said he had just come to make sure she was alright and something about a bad dream, but this explanation was disatisfying. Miss Parker was certain that there had to be more to it than that.

Sydney and Broots were sitting in the office conversing and eating a snack when she arrived.


"This came for you," Broots remembered suddenly, hopping up to give her an Express Mail envelope.

The smooth-textured brochure was the first thing that caught her eye when she ripped open the envelope.

"Dover Town Bank?" Miss Parker read the title. Dover wasn't too far from Blue Cove, but she didn't hold any accounts there. She flipped open the brochure and immediately said with understanding, "Jarod." A picture of Jarod's face smiled at her from one of its leaves. The words next to his photo were cryptic but flourished with his sense of humour. "Something of interest today at 11:00--The secrets to your past."--Jarod.

As she was turning over the contents of the envelope, something escaped her grasp and fell to the floor.

It was a small white envelope and the handwitten words stared up at her from the floor.

For my daughter.

"A letter from your mother?" Sydney questioned as it lay on the floor and he bent to pick it up. But Miss Parker seized it first and moved to the other side of the room to read it privately. A letter addressed to her? One that she had never read, never even knew existed until now? This was not something she was ready to share with Broots or even Sydney.

Gingerly, she opened it. March 20, 1970, the aged stationary was dated. Miss Parker could almost hear her mother's voice in her head as she read the brief words the letter contained.

I am counting the days until our trip to Europe. How excited I am at the prospect of showing you the world. For now though, my friend and I must amend some of the ugliness that exists around us. But I promise, you and I will put all of this behind us on April 14th. All my love, Mom

Miss Parker caught her breath. "April 14th," she murmured to herself. "The day after Mom died."

Her mother had wanted to make a difference.

She still is, every day, Jarod had said.

And Miss Parker reflecting on everything, on her life after her mother's death, and what the Centre had made her become sighed once and headed for Dover.

It wasn't too late. Not yet.