Timeline: Have no idea. Sometime after May Linn, before the Cannibal incident. Hope you like it! R/R, please! Constructive criticism and flames welcomed! ** - Lyle's thoughts.
::EDITED & RELOADED:: A couple changes in spelling that my friends pointed out. Nothing major at all.
I'm going to include all the song credits in the final chapter, which will be one big author's note. Thanks for reading!

Portrait of a Killer

1/10

"The healthy man does not torture others-- generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers." -Carl Jung

By RRP



The dark-haired man tossed the last shovel-full of dirt into the hole, covering the still, silent body. *She really had been beautiful* He mused, regretfully, hiking back up the hill, away from the pond. *Such a loss.* It was too late to change anything now. The thrill was passing, and the same heavy feeling was settling over him. The feeling he could never place, or name. His stomach knotted painfully, as he stood atop the grassy knoll, looking down on the otherwise peaceful pond, the twilight moon silhouetting him against the sky. He gazed towards the spot he had buried her in.

*Her* The pond's bank held yet another one of his deadly secrets. *If only they knew...* He couldn't have tossed her into the water, no, that would have been breaking tradition. Someone would have found the body. Burying was, and had been, his only option for the past few years. He had tried cremating the body, once. But, without the right equipment, the burning flesh let off a stench that made him sick for days.

"Goodbye, Love. I'll be back." He whispered gently to the wind, softly waving a thumbless hand. It took all of his willpower to turn away, and not run back down the hill, and unearth her to see her one last time.

*No. You know the rules.* He reminded himself sternly. *You don't get another peek* But he would be back. He always came back. Next year, on the day he buried her, same time, same place, he would return. He would come back, to let himself remember the innocence lost every time he killed. Every time he got that welcome rush, someone like her had to pay.

Oh, he visited them all. Once a year, a single tear, he often told himself in his usual morbid cheerfulness. He had a map, with all the locations highlighted, all the names and dates. He would return, and sprinkle petals on the ground. It was part of the ceremony. Always had been, and always would be.

He reached his car, and carefully wrapped the shovel in plastic, before stowing it in the trunk. It would join the others, in the secret room. The Shed Room. Behind the secret door, in the back of his closet. It wasn't his, no, not at all. Raines built that room. It only became a convenient hiding place for his tools of torture. Shovels. Shovels, he had picked for several reasons, which he always went over on his way home. Then, if there was time, if he had been far enough away, he would listen to the radio. The Hits station was always playing good music at the wee morning hours. Morbid songs, by punk bands, that didn't really know what they were singing about. But they still hit the right chords. Like always.

*Point one, for the shovels. I wait until they're dead.* It was true. He could never bring himself to beat someone while they were still alive. The fear during the rape was enough. He had tried to beat someone once, and it didn't work. The pain replaced the fear, and made him sick. She almost got away, for by the time he had recovered and rehydrated himself, she had recovered enough to crawl, and was stupid enough to try to get away. He always waited until they were dead. Sometimes it was drugs, other times, like this one, it had been a simple cut to the throat. She was dead almost instantly.

*Point two: It's not a chain, or a batchain* He cringed, pushing back the memories of the other instruments. Chains, Mr. Bowman had used. He questioned himself often on that point. If Parker and Sydney had really seen his adoptive mother, and the shed, why didn't they deduce the obvious? Like Mr. Bowman had just locked him in a shed. He knew what really happened. How could he not? He had been there. Mr. Bowman had been beating him since he could remember. His adoptive mother didn't know, she never noticed. Never. She had abandoned him. The shed came in when Raines started 'counseling'. Raines had paid Mr. Bowman to lock him in the shed. When he had faked his death, with Jimmy's body, Raines had designed his own little torture chamber in Angel Manor, then Blue Cove. Batchain's had been Raines' creative improvement on Mr. Bowman's chain. Instead, you nailed several lengths of chain to a baseball bat. A hardcore whip was the result. Where did they think he had gone during the eighties? It certainly wasn't Vegas. How else did they assume Raines commanded such explicit, never failing, loyalty from him? But those weren't pictures he wanted to see tonight. Those weren't images he wanted to relive, ever. He pushed them away, again. Pushing the fear away, the lump it caused in his throat, the tightness in his stomach, and the headache. But the worse was the pain he couldn't push away, no matter how hard he tried. He could bury the grief, and the emotional damage for now, but the scars began to ache. The scars on his chest, back, and arms. That's why he always wore long shirts. The scars.

*Point three: I can use the shovels to bury them with. Less tools to drag around.* He smiled a little at that one, thankful Raines had never used a shovel. Point three taken and pondered, and he was still fifteen minutes from home. He turned on the radio.

This is 104 WOLR, your station for hit music! It's now top of the one o clock hour. Good luck and smooth dancing to all you early morning party goers! Don't drink and drive! And our next song is a hit from a relatively new band, known as Boxcar Racer. It's one oh two, 104 WOLR, and you're listening to I Feel So...

He turned it up a little. He hoped this one suited his mood. He wasn't ready for a happy dance party song. The thought of one made him nauseous.

Sometimes
I wish I was brave
I wish I was stronger
wish I could feel no pain
wish I was young
wish I was shy
I wish I was honest
I wish I was you not I

Cause’ I feel so mad
I feel so angry
Feel so careless
So lost confused
Feel so cheap
So used unfaithful
Lets start over
Lets start over

Sometimes I wish I was smart
I wish I made cures for
How people are
I wish I had power
I wish I could give
I wish I could change the world
For you and me

Cause’ I feel so mad
I feel so angry
Feel so careless
So lost confused
Feel so cheap
So used unfaithful
Lets start over
Lets start over

Cause’ I feel so mad
I feel so angry
Feel so careless
So lost confused
Feel so cheap
So used unfaithful
Lets start over
Lets start over

Cause’ I feel so mad
I feel so angry
Feel so careless
So lost confused, yea yea
Feel so cheap
So used unfaithful
Lets start over
Lets start over
Lets start over...



The song faded, and he smiled to himself. It fit perfectly. He would have to find it at the music store. A dance party song came on next, and his face turned slightly green, and he hurriedly flicked the radio off. He mused silently, letting the words of the song play over and over in his head. He had an excellent memory, which he regretted. He didn't want to remember most of his life, but for small things, like the song, it was nice to be able to do.

His mind drifted to making a short to-do list of things needing done, as soon as he got home. He would have to put her location on the map, and hide the shovel, and write down a few notes in his log. Nothing outstanding, just, how he felt when she died, her name, what he had liked most about her. The journal was something he had begun keeping after his first kill. He was pretty sure Raines had initiated the idea, but he had long since stopped showing the journal to Raines. Occasionally, he thought about showing it to Raines to torture the old man. After Anne was killed, murdering young girls was unacceptable in his eyes. But everything else was welcomed. Any sign of violence he exhibited was praised by Raines. Any murderous thought, any twisted plan, anything. It was Raines approval, and push to go through with the Yakuza plan that cost him his thumb. It was the only visible, physical sign of Raines' torture.

He pulled into the apartment parking lot, and parked the Viper. Climbing out of the car, he glanced around to make sure no one was watching, before he pulled the plastic-shrouded shovel out of the trunk, and hurried into the building. He took the back steps, reserved for maintenance, and forced himself to walk instead of run, to his apartment. Once inside, he turned on the front hall light, and a pale glow filled the area. He shrugged off his jacket, and dropped it on a chair as he passed. Into the bedroom, and into the closet he pushed, before stopping at the door. He stooped low, ducking through, and straightened once inside. The journey on the catwalk-like path back to the Shed Room took less than a minute, and he shuddered as he put the shovel down. He found he couldn't pull his eyes away from the shed, his vision locked on that symbolism of torture. He felt his back grow hot, and found he could hardly breathe. He turned, and fled out of the room, almost getting sick before he made it back to the closet. In the closet, he was safe. The memories didn't haunt him there. He sighed with relief, and slammed the trick door shut, before leaning against the wall and sliding to the ground. The memories always seemed to come back, full force, after a kill, and he could never figure out why. Maybe it was just the sight of blood. Either way, he hated the feeling the shed gave him. He hated the fear.

He slowly stood, using the wall for support. He still needed to write down his notes, and mark the map. He pulled the map out from under his bed, and grabbed the highlighter that was attached to it with a string. This one was closer than most. Just twenty-five minutes outside Blue Cove. With that done, he walked over to the desk, and opened the second drawer. In it sat three things. A picture of his real mother; Catherine, a picture of him and Jimmy, and the notebook. The notebook he carefully lifted, shutting the drawer. It was a tattered college rule notebook, seventy pages long. One entry was about a page, and he never used the backs of the pages. The book was about one-fourth full. He wrote her name and the date, almost without thinking. But, he paused at the place he usually wrote a short description of the whole event.

Her eyes. He wrote simply. Her almond shaped, creamy brown eyes. The way she looked at me before I brought her to the motel. Full of life. Fun. And joy.

He had to think hard before writing anything about the actual murder.

I wanted her to hurt. To hurt like I had. It wasn't fair that she should be happy. I wanted her to hurt. I wanted her to fear me. I wanted to feel important, feared, powerful. It didn't last as long this time. It grows shorter with every life I take. The first one, the feeling of power lasted weeks. Now, I'm lucky if it lasts five minutes after the burial. I just want them to notice me. To respect me. I want to feel important to someone. I was the last person she saw. I was power, in her eyes. Her eyes. By the time I was through, the creamy pale brown had turn dark, almost black with fear. They looked horrid. I didn't want them to look that way. I just wanted to feel important...

*-*-*

Mr. Lyle walked off the elevator, looking down the hall with a raised, skeptical eyebrow. What he saw almost made him drop dead in his tracks.

She stood at the mail desk, eating an apple and talking with a mail clerk. Her hair was blonde, he couldn't see her eyes yet, but it was her laugh that caught his attention. He looked at the hand holding the apple. No engagement or wedding band, so she wasn't married, or going to be. He forced himself to walk towards her, but he found his mouth suddenly dry and his knees jello-like.

"Marvin, my mail in?" He finally managed to snap, somewhat weakly. "Hello." He murmured to the girl, trying to appear uninterested, while his mind screamed, *NOTICE ME! NOTICE ME!*

"Hello. You must be Mr. Lyle," She stated calmly, tossing the remainder of the apple in the trash. Marvin quickly grabbed Lyle's mail, and handed it to him. Lyle nodded to the girl's statement.

"And your name would be?" He questioned slowly, tucking his mail under one arm, and leaning against the desk.

"Aimee." She replied simply, tossing her hair back. Lyle saw that her eyes were a striking green shade.

"What do you do here?" He asked nonchalantly, trying to figure it out before she spoke.

"Oh, I work as a SIM consultant. I'm also a counselor. Ex-Sweeper, from the Australian branch." Aimee answered, looking him straight in the eyes.

" I didn't even know we had an Australian branch. And you don't have an accent." Lyle pointed out, smirking a little.

"I was born and raised in the US. And I didn't say Centre branch. I meant Triumvirate. They have one branch on every continent, and then a few."

"Triumvirate?" Lyle asked, straightening.

"Yes. They have Sweepers too. Who do you think the Centre got the idea from?"

"Oh, um, well..." Lyle stuttered, for once in his adult life tongue-tied.

"See ya around, handsome." Aimee whispered, blowing a kiss to Lyle, and stalking off down the hall. Lyle's jaw dropped, and the poor mail clerk barely held in his laughter.

"I'll...I'll be in my office, if anyone wants me." Lyle whispered, turning and walking the opposite direction.

*-*-*

"Mr. Lyle? Miss Parker is looking for you." Aimee tapped at the office door, and Lyle jumped, startled.

"Oh, sure..." Lyle trailed off distractedly, his eyes wandering down to Aimee's chest. She walked across the room, and for a brief second, Lyle feared he might actually drool. But what she did next prevented that. Aimee gently lifted his chin with two fingers, until their eyes locked.

"Mr. Lyle. If I may remind you, a person's character, emotions, and everything that is actually important is held in the face, the rest of the body is simply a transportation unit. Now, when I'm around, I do not want to see you looking at any woman that way unless you happen to be married to her, which would be no one, at the present time. Are we clear?" Aimee spoke gently, yet forcefully. The correction coming from anyone else would have angered him, but he found that he was still tongue-tied, and could only manage to nod. Aimee took a step back, and smiled at him. "Good. As I was saying, your sister wants you. And, I would like to extend the invitation to dinner this evening."

"Uh, sure." Lyle nodded, lowering his head, and looking down at his desk.

"7:00. The Blue Rose." Aimee instructed with a small smile. "See you there." She gave a little wave, and was gone. Lyle started breathing again. How did she do that? How in the world could she demand so much power, without actually demanding? It was frustrating. His head slipped down to his desk, and his eyes shut, as he tried to think. Blue Rose. Blue Rose. Should he bring her flowers on a first date?

"Lyle!" His head snapped up so fast it gave him whiplash. He looked around, before realizing it had been his own voice growling at him.

*It's not your prom, for Pete's Sake! Get a hold of yourself!* He shook his head, to clear his mind. He forgot completely about her first message, and went back to his paper work.

"Lyle!" A voice snapped, and his head jerked up again, causing his neck muscles to vibrate painfully. Miss Parker stood there, one hand on a hip, waiting for him. He nodded, and closed a file, while forcefully reminding himself not to look at Miss Parker in any way that might seem dirty or lustful. *Remember Aimee.* His mind admonished. Why she had such an effect on him was unexplainable, but it was there. He just went with the flow.

Meanwhile, Miss Parker braced herself for his usual appreciative once-over of her legs, but he never gave it.

"Yes?" He questioned, standing up.

"Lead on Jarod." She replied, a tiny bit confused, but not showing it.

"Where?" *Please don't let it be on the other side of the country*

"Washington state."

*NOOOOOO!!!! No no no no no!*

"Take Sam with you. I think you'll be fine. I've got some personal business to attend to here." Lyle replied smoothly. Miss Parker raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, as she turned, and left. *Yes yes yes yes. She believed me! I'm not going to Washington!*

*-*-*

Aimee gave a little gasp of surprise when a hand behind her placed flowers on the table, before coming around to sit down.

"Hello. Am I late?" Lyle asked, watching her face carefully. She dropped the menu, and picked the flowers up, inhaling them deeply.

"They're beautiful! I love tulips!" She exclaimed. He grinned like a small boy, whose mother was pleased with his present of a grimy handful of dandelions.

"You do?" He asked, a hint of shyness creeping into his voice.

"Really." She confirmed, setting them down. His grin grew. She smiled at him, already seeing him for what he really was. He so much wanted approval, and no one would give it to him. "I hope you like seafood." She stated, and he nodded, with a small shrug.

"I live in Delaware. It's what we eat." They both laughed lightly, and within minutes had ordered and began talking.

"So, why did you move to Delaware, and leave Australia?" Lyle questioned, hoping it wasn't the wrong question.

"I was bored. I'd gotten my degree in psychology years earlier, and just protecting people was boring me. What about you? How'd you get to where you are now?" Lyle cringed ever so slightly, and his eyes darkened.

"I'd, I'd rather not talk about that if you don't mind." Lyle usually lied about his past, but he found her couldn't lie to Aimee. She had been so honest and upright with him. Aimee searched his his eyes for a moment, before nodded gently.

"That's fine. What would you like to talk about?" She asked, and he frowned at the tablecloth.

He, the one with the ever-ready tongue, had been foiled. What did one talk about on a normal date? He hadn't been on one is so long he couldn't remember.

"What..whatever you want to talk about." He finally stuttered. Aimee resisted the urge to smile. Tales of the one known as Mr. Lyle, and his power, had reached her ears before, and it was almost comical seeing the man stutter in her presence.

"The future. What do you see yourself doing in the future?" Aimee inquired softly, watching the man closely. Lyle took a small sip of the white wine the waiter had set in front of him.

"I'm not really sure." He admitted finally. "There are so many variables. What about you?"

"I've always dreamed of raising a family. Husband, four kids, two story house on the seaside. Maybe Maine." Aimee became dreamy eyed for a moment, staring off into space, before smiling brightly at Lyle. "What about you? Ever dream of raising a family?" He looked horrified, and Aimee was afraid that his answer would be rough, but, instead, he surprised her.

"Me? I'd, I'd love to. But I wouldn't know what to do!" Aimee laughed, and Lyle relaxed a little.

"Lyle, neither would I. I didn't grow up in the best family setting either, but I would love to find out how to do it."

"Oh." Lyle looked down at the tablecloth. Aimee saw that it was going to be up to her to push the conversation along.

"Do you like the ocean?" Lyle looked up quickly, and slowly turned his head to look out the window at the blue-gray waters, the foamy tips of waves crashing against the beach in the orange light of the setting sun.

"Yes. So seemingly endless, full of possibilities." He replied quietly. She nodded.

"Yes, but nothing is forever." Aimee replied, as the waiter set down two dishes in front of them. He looked at her sharply, searching her eyes for clues to how she would know what he considered 'his' saying. Nothing. Her eyes were full of a serious mirth, that made him want to smile and tremble at the same time.

"Yes. Nothing is forever." He agreed. "Shall we eat?"

*-*-*

Miss Parker looked up sharply as the sound of a whistle reached her ears. The whistle continued, in a jaunty tune she didn't recognize. She stalked around the desk, determined, that if some Sweeper had the nerve to whistle near her door, he'd lose his job. And if it was Sam that had that kind of nerve, so help him, he'd lose a lot more than his job. Say, his head.

"Lyle?" She exclaimed, surprised, as she watched the culprit, who continued to whistle, let himself into a storage room. He turned around sharply, and looked up at her with a grin.

"Hey, Sis." He greeted, turning back to a closet. She crept forward, for once in her life feeling genuine concern for her twin.

"Lyle, do I need to have you sedated?" She asked sharply, trying not to show her worry.

"Oh, no." He laughed. She almost jumped. Lyle, laugh? "I just had a date last night."

"Oh." She stepped back, disgusted with herself for caring. "Should I be looking in the Missing Persons ad, anytime soon?"

"No!" Lyle whirled around, suddenly becoming defensive. "It wasn't anything like that!" He growled at her.

"Lyle!" A female voice called from the end of the hall. Miss Parker watched in amazement, as her psycho brother's eyes lit up, and at the same time, he fell over one of the file boxes he had pulled out, and ended up on the floor.

"Aimee!" He exclaimed joyously. "I was just talking about you!" He announced, standing up, and brushing himself off, yet never taking his eyes away from her face.

"Really? I'm surprised to find you here." Aimee replied easily, turning to Miss Parker. "Here's my latest assessment on Jarod. I hope it's useful." Lyle looked from Aimee to Parker, and back again.

"You've met?" He asked, stepping forward.

"Aimee is our Labrat’s latest shrink." Miss Parker replied dryly. Aimee ignored the terms used, and nodded cheerfully.

"I hope this means I'll get to see more of you, Lyle. Meanwhile, I have other work to do. Call me when you find something." Aimee gave a small wave, and disappeared down the hall. Lyle stared after her, while Miss Parker watched in amusement.

"Lyle." She snapped, trying to hide the comical glint in her eyes.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." He turned back to the boxes of files he had out, and Miss Parker returned to her office, shaking her head.

Life just got weirder, and weirder.

*-*-*

Lyle watched Aimee walk down the hall, and he stared after her. He found it intensely hard to stare at the back of her head, opposed to her other anatomy, but he kept his word.

*Lyle.* The little voice in his head muttered sarcastically, while alarms went off.

*Huh?*

*Since when do you keep your word?*

*Umm...since Aimee.* He replied, playing a battle with his other self. For a brief moment, Lyle pictured himself as a cartoon character, a small angelic version of himself perched on one shoulder, and a demonic version with a pitchfork and horns on the other.

*And why does she matter? What happened to staying strong?* The little demon asked.

*I don't know why. Just shutup. I don't want to talk to you anymore.*

*Sooner or later you'll have to tell her. That's not something you just let slip. What will she think of you then?*

*I don't know. But, but...I love her.* Lyle gasped at the realization, and his jaw dropped.

"Sir? Are you okay?" A concerned Sweeper paused on his rounds, noticing the fearsome Centre Board member, standing in a hall on SL-5, jaw dropped, and unblinking. Lyle shook himself to clear his head enough to walk to his office.

*I love her!*

*-*-*

Aimee sat on the park bench, watching the small children play on the swing set. She sipped a bottled iced tea, and a book lay abandoned beside her.

"May I sit down?" A rich voice lured her out of her reverie. She looked up, startled.

"Oh. Hello, Sydney. Sure, sit down." She slid her book over, and Sydney glanced at the title.

"The Count of Monte Cristo? I haven't read that one in years. Dumas has always been a favorite of mine."

"I'm rereading it. It's one of my favorites. I love the conspiracy." Aimee admitted. "What brings you to the park?"

"I like to walk out here. It helps me relax. Actually, I was hoping I'd find you here." Sydney sat back, his eyes straying to the playground.

"Really?" Aimee sounded surprised. "Why is that?"

"I wanted to warn you. I don't know what exactly is going on, but, Aimee, I've seen far too many women fall at Lyle's hands. He's dangerous." Sydney replied in all seriousness, his eyes turning back to her, and begging her to listen.

"Thanks, Sydney, for the warning, but I've got it under control." Aimee answered sweetly. "Lyle and I...made a few...agreements." Aimee finished. She waved him closer, and whispered something in his ear. Sydney brightened.

"Really? That's wonderful! I've been rather worried about him. He needs some positive reinforcement." At that moment, Aimee's cell-phone rang.

"Hold on." She held up a finger to Sydney, and he nodded politely, as she picked up the phone.

"Aimee here. No. Can I call you back?" Aimee slipped her phone back in her pocket, and picked up her book.

"Sorry I have to end this, but, I need to return this call. Maybe we can talk again?" Aimee offered. Sydney nodded.

"That would be wonderful. I'll see you tomorrow." He stood up, and began down the path again. She jumped up, and hurried in the other direction. As soon as she was sure Sydney was out of earshot, she pulled the phone back out, and dialed.

"What is it, Jarod? No, I'm fine. No, I'm not leaving yet. I have a plan. Yes, I already talked to Sydney. I was just talking to him. No, I'm not." There was a pause. "I promise. I'll tell you." Click.



Two weeks later..

"Sis, will you join Aimee and I for dinner this evening?" Lyle asked, sticking his head through her office door. She looked up, and glared at him. Lyle's smile disappeared. "Please, Sis?" He begged.

"Fine." She snapped, looking back down towards the desk. "And I'm not sure why I'm agreeing. I haven't see you in almost two weeks."

"I know, I've been...busy." He finished, slipping into the room.

"Well," She paused. "I guess I do owe you this one. You haven't killed her yet." The comment was dry and sarcastic, but Lyle's eyes flared up just the same.

"I'm not going to!" He growled. Miss Parker raised an eyebrow.

"Look who has a temper." She retorted.

"Look who's playing the blame game." He shot back. She blinked.

"Blame game?" She asked, trying not to laugh. A grin crept across his face, and he shrugged.

"Aimee doesn't like to curse. So...I've picked up a couple sayings, I guess." Miss Parker was unable to hold back the laughter any longer, and within seconds Lyle had joined her.

"I guess this is what they call sibling bonding." He gasped, and without a second thought, both straightened immediately, and glared at each other.

But, the grins slowly crept back.

"So, where are we meeting for dinner?" Miss Parker asked, as Lyle caught his breath.

"Blue Rose, seven-o-clock." Lyle replied. She nodded.

"The Asian decor seafood restaurant?"

"That's the one." Lyle confirmed. He paused as he turned to leave. "Sis?"

"Lyle?"

"What, what do you see yourself doing in the future?"

"I'm not sure. Too many variables. Hopefully catching Jarod." She replied looking back down at her paperwork.

"Ever think about raising a family?" If the first question hadn't caught her off the hook, the second one did. She looked up sharply.

"Not really, why?" She half-asked, half-demanded. His eyes got a sort of faraway look.

"It's been on my mind." And with that, he was gone.

*-*-*

"Sis!" Lyle waved from a table with seating for four, and Miss Parker looked over from the entrance to the restaurant. Aimee sat next to him, smiling in her direction. She walked over to the table, questioning before sitting down.

"Four chairs, Lyle? Dare I ask for whom the other is for?"

"Dad." He replied simply, as she sat down. Aimee nodded to her.

"Good evening, Miss Parker. Glad you could make it." Miss Parker bit back a sharp remark, instead, forcing herself to smile back. She scanned the room with her eyes, noticing the large wooden dance floor in the center of the room, and the classical music playing softly in the back ground.

"Dad!" Lyle stood up, and Miss Parker craned her neck to see her father enter.

"Hello, son. Angel. What a surprise." Mr. Parker exclaimed, sitting down. "You must be Aimee." Aimee gave him the same smile she had given Miss Parker.

"Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Parker." She extended a hand, and he shook it warmly.

"Waiter...We'll take those menus now." Lyle waved, and the waiter nodded. Miss Parker watched Lyle's face carefully as he turned back to Aimee. Miss Parker herself didn't see what he saw in her, sure, she was beautiful, but so were many other women Lyle had been 'involved' with. But he sat there, staring at her face, his face radiating admiration and love. Aimee, on the other hand, made small talk with Mr. Parker, seemingly oblivious to his stare.

Watch out, Aimee. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing. Miss Parker warned silently. She waited for his eyes to drift downward, as she had see him do with so many other girls he passed. Yet, it never came. She thought back, carefully, and with a shock realized she hadn't seen him look at any women like that since Aimee came into the picture. She felt like bashing the girl over the head, and couldn't figure out why.

What have you done to my stupid twin brother? I liked it when he was predictable!!!

"Miss Parker?" She heard Aimee break through her thought process with a worried inquiry.

"What?" Miss Parker snapped, looking up sharply.

"The menus are here." Miss Parker realized that the waiter was standing next to her and Lyle, holding four menus in his hand. He passed them out, and stepped back.

"I'll be back in a few minutes, to see if you're ready to order."

With that, he left, and the small group of four began pouring over the menus.

It was minutes later, after they had ordered their food, that a small curtain swung back, revealing a stage just big enough for a small orchestra or jazz group. The stage was dark, and empty, and but, as Miss Parker watched, a few lights turned on, the classical music in the background faded, and a plethora of sound equipment was rolled onto the stage. A man came out, and grabbed a microphone.

"Back by popular demand, DJ Mick, the One Man Band!" A young man, with a lip ring, and white-streaked hair, moved behind the equipment and sat down. There was a small click, and the voice filled the room.

"First, I'm going to play a couple from the hit list, but I'll be taking requests later." Music filled the room, to the delight of Aimee, and the dismay of Miss Parker, it was modern.

Jingle a penny, catch a dime

"Lyle!" Aimee exclaimed. "I love this song! Dance?" She stood, and he accepted, not even paying attention to the words of the song.

Didn't have time

"I'll lead. You follow." Aimee whispered, out on the dance floor. Lyle nodded, only aware of her.

To write a decent rhyme



Grab some paper, pick up the pen

I'll tell you where

If you'll say when

"You've been practicing!" Aimee whispered in his ear, as they moved together. Lyle grinned boyishly.

"You noticed!"

No time to pause, no time to walk

Driving fast to make that last date

All my thoughts are on you

And I don't wanna be late

All I want to do is,



Dance with you

All night long

Push the button, play another song

All I want to do is

Just to dance with you

Dance with you

Until the sun comes up

Grab the espresso, drink a cup

So we won't have to stop

I wanna dance with you

Mr. Parker and Miss Parker watched with barely contained interest, as Aimee and Lyle danced, joined only by one other couple on the floor.

Toss the jacket, loosen your tie

As to how you're here

I won't ask why



Crank up the music, sing another tune

Can we dance again darling?

Maybe sometime soon.



The music fades and we're left standing

Wondering where they've gone

The party has left and we're alone

Who cares, let's play another song

Cause, all I want to do is,



Dance with you

All night long

Push the button, play another song

All I want to do is

Just to dance with you

Dance with you

Until the sun comes up

Grab the espresso, drink a cup

So we won't have to stop

I wanna dance with you



Lyle and Aimee came back to the table, winded, but grinning. Miss Parker suppressed the sudden desire to hit the nearest person with a large heavy object. Instead, she sighed. It was going to be a long, confusing night.

*-*-*

Aimee slipped her hand into Lyle's, as they walked down the beach. Both had taken their shoes off, and were carrying them in their free hand.

The sun shone brightly over the sea, climbing higher every minute, purple and pink streaks of color acting as stepladders for the yellow light.

"Aimee..." Lyle hesitated. Aimee looked up at him expectantly.

"Yes?" Lyle's stomach felt strange, but it was time to tell her the truth.

"Aimee, I'm not who you think I am." A flash of alarm claimed Aimee's face for a brief second, before she discerned his meaning.

"Tell me, then." She offered, already knowing most of the story, but also knowing that he needed to say it himself.

"I'm a horrible person." He forced the words out. "I've lost track of how many times I've killed..." He broke off, and motioned to a bench. "Can we sit down?"

"Sure." Aimee turned, and headed for the bench. They sat down, and he began again.

"I taken so many lives...I used to enjoy it, and that's what makes it worse. But...but, I want to change. And it's because of you." His eyes searched hers for acceptance, and Aimee saw the little heart-broken boy he had hid for so long.

"Me?" She feigned surprise.

"You." He confirmed. "I know I haven't known you very long, but, it's true. I want to show you something." He pulled a black, wire-bound notebook out of his jacket. It was a tattered, college-rule standard, and he handed it to her.

"This...this is the darkest part of me. And I don't want it anymore. I just wanted you to see it, and really know. Then I'm just going to toss it." Lyle lowered his eyes, and Aimee felt a pang of pity stroke her heart. He was risking rejection, to let her know who he really was. Still, she felt a slight curiousity about the notebook, and though everything inside of her was telling her to assure him, and not even open it, she did so anyway.

The first page had a name, date, and location on it. Followed by a short account of a rape and murder. She gasped. The information hit her like a punch in the stomach. She had been expecting horrible things, but nothing like this. She turned a page. The next was the same way, with a different name, date and location.

She began rapidly flipping through the book, anger building with each page. It was one-fourth-way full, then it cut off abruptly, the last entry dated just one day before she had first met him. She jumped up, hands trembling. All plans to forgive and forget had vanished, along with her calm disposistion.

"You MONSTER!" She screamed, and he cringed. She stormed off, still clutching the notebook. With a sense of relief, she realized he wasn't following her.

*-*-*

"Mr. Raines? I have something I need to give you. It's from Mr. Lyle." Aimee lied, slipping into the dim office. It was a lie, and she knew he would suffer, but she felt he deserved it. All those girls...

Raines extended a hand, and Aimee handed over the black notebook.

She left the room, feeling the deepest sense of regret she ever thought possible.

*-*-*

Aimee relaxed on the couch, and turned the radio on. The music drifted into the room, and the first words almost made her drop her coffee.

No one would love me if they knew

All the things I hide

My words fall to the floor

As tears drip through the telephone line



And the hands I've seen raised to the sky

Not waving but drowning all this time

I'll try to build the ark that they need

To float to you upon the crystal sea



Give me your hand to hold

Cause I can't stand to love alone

And love alone is not enough to hold us up

We've got to touch your robe

So swing your robe down low

Swing your robe down low



The prince of despair's been beaten

*-*-*

Lyle heard the lock click, and his head shot up.

"Hello?" No answer.

Willie came into view, Raines behind him. The last thing Lyle noticed was the black notebook. Then panic took over, as Willie wordlessly dragged him back to the shed, chains in hand.

*-*-*

But the loser still fights

*-*-*

Raines left, as Willie raised his hand to strike the first blow. Lyle felt the chain descend upon his shoulders, and the blood begin to trickle down his back. He screamed, as the chain was raised again.

*-*-*

Death's on a long leash

*-*-*

Willie's face was grim and set, as the chain was raised again over the trembling figure on the floor. It landed with a crack, and Lyle screamed again.

*make it go away...make it stop..just make it stop! MAMA! MAMA! MAKE HIM STOP HITTING ME!*

Suddenly, Lyle wasn't in the Shed Room of his apartment. He was in a cold shed, long ago, with someone else holding the chain. His Mama stood at the doorway, watching, tears falling down her face, but she made no move to help him.

"MAMA!" Lyle screamed, and Willie jumped back. But only for a second. Just for a brief second.

*make it stop! mama, help me...please...help me...*

*-*-*

Stealing my friends to the night



And everyone cries for the innocent

*-*-*

Lyle sobbed helplessly, and Willie clenched his jaw shut firmly. He was to do what Mr. Raines ordered. And nothing else.

*-*-*

You say to love the guilty, too



Aimee winced at the words, as their meaning hit hard.



And I'm surrounded by suffering and sickness

So I'm working tearing back the roof



Give me your hand to hold

Cause I can't stand to love alone

And love alone is not enough to hold us up

We've got to touch your robe

So swing your robe down low

Swing your robe down low



And the pain of the world is a burden

But it's my cross to bear

And I stumble under all the weight

I know you're Simon standing there

And I know you're standing there



Give me your hand to hold

Cause I can't stand to love alone

And love alone is not enough to hold us up

We've got to touch your robe

So swing your robe down low

Portrait of a Killer

2/10

"What is the use of running, when you're on the wrong road?" – Anonymous

By RRP


Lyle struggled to lift his head, and gasped with pain when he jolted his neck and shoulder. He pulled out his cell phone, praying that it wasn't damaged too badly. It was dented a bit, but intact. He forced the shaking fingers of his good arm to dial, and barely managed to hold the phone up to his ear.

"What?" Came the sharp greeting, after several rings.

"Sis?" He forced out through dry, cracked lips. He knew he sounded horrible. But he didn't care. He felt worse.

"Lyle?" She asked, uncertainly.

"Sis, please, help...my apartment..." Was all the further he got, before he passed out again.

*-*-*

Miss Parker looked at the phone in her hands, and finally blinked before hanging up. Lyle had sounded like he had sandpaper in his throat. Something was wrong. She slid out of bed, and pulled on some clothes, grabbing her gun as she left the house. She vowed to kill him if it was nothing at all, but something inside of her was screaming that it was the exact opposite. She arrived at his apartment in record time, still dreaming up ways to kill him if it was a trick, or a trap.

She hurried up the stairs, and knocked on his apartment door. No answer. She pulled her gun out, and tried the door handle. It easily clicked open, and she slipped inside, gun ready.

"Lyle?" She questioned out loud, looking around. No answer. She searched the apartment for signs of her brother, the results of her search yielding in evidence of a violent struggle in the bedroom. She took a deep breath, and entered the closet, pushing clothes aside, and heading towards the Shed Room, fearing the worst. She received worse than that. Her gun still at her side, she glared around the room at the various signs of torture, including blood on the walls and floor, never thinking it was Lyle's. She was about to call for Centre reinforcements, when a low groan came from the Shed. Her eyes widened in horror, and she tiptoed over to the door, fully believing that one of Lyle's victims lay abandoned inside.

The door swung open, and she saw Lyle, lying on the cot in the corner, arm at an awkward angle, his whole body covered in blood. She rushed forward, all other thoughts discarded, and knelt next to him.

"Lyle, can you hear me? Lyle?" He whimpered, but didn't open his eyes. "Lyle, can you hear me?" She repeated, as calmly as she could. Lyle blinked, and looked at her with glassy eyes. She felt his forehead, and jerked her hand back with a gasp. He was burning up, his fever was dangerously high.

"Sis..." He whispered painfully. "You came." She nodded, blinking back tears. "You can-" He broke off, coughing harshly, and moaning at the same time, as his whole body shook. "Can go home." He finished, blinking at her. "I'll be okay. I always make it okay. It just takes a few days." He assured her, though it was obvious he was in extreme pain, and was forcing himself to just breathe.

"No, Lyle. I'm staying. You need medical attention, I'll call the Centre-" He broke her off, his eyes widening in fear.

"No! No, don't! Raines will...will-" He broke off, coughing again. Miss Parker looked at him in shock.

"Raines did this?"

"Willie helped him. With the chains..." Miss Parker noticed the bloody chains lying in the corner of the shed.

"Lyle, we have to get some kind of help." Miss Parker said firmly. Lyle sucked in another painful breath. "I need to know what's broken. Where does it hurt the most?"

"Everywhere." He moaned back. "I can't move anything. It all hurts." He sounded like a hurt little boy, lost and cold. At that moment, Miss Parker's phone rang.

"What?"

"Miss Parker. Finally have a nightlife?" Jarod taunted.

"Jarod! I need your help!" Miss Parker even forgot to wince as she said the words, she was so worried.

"Really, Miss Parker? With what?" Jarod sounded a little bit surprised.

"I need you to come to Lyle's apartment, and have medical equipment with you. It's not a trap, Jarod, I swear. Just get here fast." Miss Parker pleaded, as Lyle slipped back into unconsciousness.

"Miss Parker?" Jarod now sounded worried. "Are you hurt?"

"It's not me, Jarod."

"It's not Aimee, is it?" Jarod sounded panicked now.

"No. How do you know about Aimee?"

"She's Emily. My sister." Jarod said, his relief evident.

"Jarod, please! Just come!" Miss Parker begged, ignoring the new information. She wasn't sure what he would do, but she had to take that chance.

"I'm coming, Miss Parker. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

*-*-*

"Miss Parker?" She heard Jarod faintly, through the woodwork. She rushed to open the closet trick door.

"Jarod! In here!" She called, and he came running.

"What is it?" He asked, as she led him back to the Shed, ignoring the blood. Jarod's gasp was almost inaudible, but it was there, when he saw Lyle. Ignoring any other facts except that the man was injured, he started taking vitals. Miss Parker watched worriedly, trying to convince herself that Jarod wouldn't do anything to harm Lyle, despite the fact that he had murdered Kyle. Jarod pulled out a cell-phone, and dialed quickly.

"What are you doing?" Miss Parker demanded, jumping forward.

"Calling 911. He needs more help than I can give him, here." Jarod responded, keeping his eyes locked on Lyle, making sure his chest continued to move up and down. "Yes, I need an ambulance at Apartment 504b, Blue Cove Sunset Apartments. Dislocated shoulder, severe gashes and bleeding. Possible broken neck, possible broken ribs, possible punctured lung, possible internal injuries." Jarod paused for a moment, lifting Lyle's eyelid. "Pupil dilated, unresponsive. No. This is Dr. Linder. Yes. I said, Stat! Oxygen and-" Jarod paused again, and looked up at Miss Parker. "What blood type are you?"

"A positive." She replied, after a moment's hesitation.

"And A positive blood drips, four pints. Yes, I'm sure. We'll be waiting." Jarod clicked the phone off, and looked at the cot. "Miss Parker, we need to get him into the bedroom, without moving his neck." He stated after a few seconds.

"Why do we have to move him?" Miss Parker asked dumbly. She didn't feel like thinking, and Jarod of all people wasn't going to force her to tonight.

"Miss Parker, there will be far too many questions if we bring the paramedics back to this room, and you know it. We need to get him into the bedroom. I think we can carry the whole cot." Miss Parker nodded, accepting what he said, thankful he stated it clearly, and she didn't have to figure out another one of his puzzles or word crypts. She moved to the foot of the cot.

"I can carry it." She thought she caught a flicker of a smile in Jarod's eyes, but dismissed it as imagination, as his eyes darkened. He grabbed the head of the cot.

"One, two, three. Steady and slow." They lifted the cot, and Jarod backed out of the room, moving as slowly as possible. Miss Parker tried to keep her hands from shaking.

Several agonizing minutes passed, as they moved down the pathway, and through the trap door. Miss Parker could have sworn that the breath she took after the cot was on the bed, was the first she had taken since they started moving. Jarod knelt down to check Lyle's vitals again, as he gave orders.

"Shut the trap door. Get some cool, damp washcloths." She obeyed silently, and soon was handing him the first washcloth. Jarod was carefully wiping the blood off Lyle's face when the doorbell rang. Miss Parker rushed to the front door, and yanked it open. The paramedics stood there, with arms full of equipment and a stretcher.

"This way." She snapped, leading them back to the bedroom. Jarod stood up, and began giving directions.

"Put his neck in the brace. Don't jolt his neck. Move him to the stretcher on the count of three, one, two, three. Go. Good. Put the oxygen mask on him, start a blood drip, and a water drip. Let's move, people." Miss Parker was pushed out of the way, as they carried the stretched out the door and down the hall. Jarod called back over his shoulder.

"No room in the ambulance. Call Emily, and meet me there!"

Emily? Emily? Oh, yes. Aimee. Miss Parker fumbled with the buttons on her cell phone, before slamming the thing down on the counter and yelling.

"Why my stupid family, for crying out loud? Why couldn't we just be NORMAL???" She inhaled deeply, and sat down on a kitchen stool. After several deep breaths, she felt ready to deal with life again, and picked up Lyle's kitchen phone, and dialled calmly.

"Aimee here." The girl answered the phone.

"Emily? This is Miss Parker. I just talked to Jarod, and I'll explain everything later. Lyle's in the hospital, and Jarod wants us to meet him there. Can you drive to Lyle's apartment?"

"I...I guess so." Emily replied, startled. "Which apartment number is it?"

"You don't know?" Miss Parker asked, almost as startled. Emily suddenly became defensive.

"Miss Parker, half of the people in the twisted Centre family, if you can even call it that, are the result of affairs. I refuse to let that happen to me. I told Lyle that, and we agreed. I've never been inside his apartment building, and he has never been inside of mine."

"Oh, well...I'll just meet you in the parking lot." Miss Parker hung up, slightly shocked. The girl had sense, and a whole lot of courage. She had never even imagined that it was possible for Lyle to be in such a relationship. Well, things were never what they seemed. She remembered the night before, when Lyle had invited her out to dinner with him and 'Aimee', and she had grudgingly agreed. He had seemed so happy...

An overwhelming panic for her brother's safety and health rose up in her, and she rushed down to the parking lot to wait impatiently for Emily.

*-*-*

"What do you mean, the apartment was empty?" Raines wheezed at Willie.

"I went back to see if he was alive, sir, and the apartment was empty. He was gone." Willie replied.

"If he was still alive? How badly did you beat him?" Raines demanded.

"I..think I may have broken his neck, sir." Willie answered, cringing. A loud slap echoed throughout the room, as Raines, even with his decaying health, managed to slap Willie hard across the face.

"I told you to beat him, not kill him!" Raines wheezed furiously. Willie put a tentative hand up to his cheek, and now bleeding lip.

"I'm sorry, sir." Willie stuttered.

"Find him. Now." Raines ordered. "Or else."

*-*-*

Jarod's steps were heavy as he walked towards the waiting room. He still wore his scrubs, and his mask was pulled down around his neck. Both women jumped up when he entered. Miss Parker was one. Good old, familiar Miss Parker. The other was Emily. High-risking, dangerous Emily. His little sister who dared to try what no one else had. Reach the hidden heart of the one they called Mr. Lyle.

"How is he?" Emily demanded.

"He's in recovery." Jarod replied. Emily looked at her big brother, and noticed how tired he seemed.

"How bad is he?" Miss Parker asked.

"His lungs weren't punctured, but we had to tape almost all his ribs. He lost a lot of blood, but his neck wasn't broken. We reset his shoulder, and he's in traction for that. I won't lie to either of you; he doesn't look good. It's going to be a while before he recovers completely." Emily sat down hard on the plastic chair.

"It's all my fault.." She murmured painfully, her head sinking into her hands.

"What do you mean?" Jarod demanded worriedly, bending down to her eye level.

"I...I gave Raines the notebook..." She replied shakily, looking up at him.

"What notebook?" Miss Parker jumped in.

"The black notebook...the one..." Emily broke off, looking back down at the floor with tear-blurred eyes.

"He let you see that?" Miss Parker asked, mentally cursing her brother.

"You knew about it?" Emily questioned and accused at the same time, looking angrily at Miss Parker.

"We..we found it when we searched his house after May Linn..." Miss Parker trailed off, Emily's eyes still demanding a reason.

"May Linn is only the twelfth in the book. There are fourteen more." Emily grated out through clenched teeth. Jarod instantly made the connection.

"Twenty-six?" He asked, paling. "The monster! He deserved it!" He replied, his vehemence for Lyle coming back in full-force.

"No! No!" Emily exclaimed, the tears falling again. "Jarod, don't you see?" She made Jarod look at her, as she clutched one of his arms. "I played God, Jarod! That's not my job, to deal out punishment!" Emily continued harshly, mostly at herself. "And you don't know the rest of his story! You don't know his past! The poor man's suffered worse than the girl's he killed!" Miss Parker's head jerked around, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she confirmed that no one else was in earshot, much less in the waiting room.

"What do you-" Emily cut Jarod off.

"What did you tell me, that day I swore to you I was going to kill him for Kyle? What did you say?"

"That...that life itself was worse than death. If you lived, you had to go on feeling." Jarod reluctantly echoed his words from the months before.

"Exactly! And that's why I came to do something else to him! Make him suffer! And instead...instead..." Emily couldn't finish. Jarod's eyes widened in realization once again.

"You fell in love with him." He finished in a whisper. Miss Parker's eyes widened as well, as Emily nodded in confirmation.

"And then, I hurt him. I didn't mean to, I just wasn't expecting anything so...awful."

"Emily, he deserved it." Jarod repeated. Miss Parker, on the other hand, tried to convince herself that he didn't deserve it after all, but, she found herself believing he did.

"That's why it's wrong, Jarod!" Emily broke out, startling both of them. "If Lyle had given Raines the notebook on his own, to anger him, then he possibly could have deserved it. If a girl escaped, and told the police, and the court gave Lyle a sentence, then he would have deserved it. But it wasn't my place, to give it to Raines of all people! If I wanted justice, I should've given it to the police. But instead, I just wanted him to hurt like they had. And Jarod, he already has! That's why he was doing it in the first place!" Jarod blinked at his younger sister. "I know I haven't known him as long as you have, but Jarod, he told me more than he's told anyone before."

"How do you know he wasn't lying?" Miss Parker asked. Emily looked up at her.

"Because. You can Pretend all you want, but you can't fake an emotional scar. You can't make the pain go away. Can you?" Emily shot back. "Your little brother was hurting all that time, and you were too blind and selfish to see it. All you could think about is how he had acted in the past, but you never cared to find out why."

"He would have never told me." Miss Parker replied haughtily, but she could feel the weakness of the excuse. "He hated me."

"That's a lie. He told me you were one of the few people he wished he could talk to. But he couldn't, because you hated him. From the very beginning, you treated him like it was his fault you were twins. He became the scapegoat for everything that went wrong with your life, and later he just became who you accused him of being. He never knew any better." The harshness of the words themselves hurt Miss Parker. The fact that she knew deep inside that it was true hurt worse.

"Emily, everyone knows better." Jarod protested.

"No! No, Jarod, they don't! Kyle didn't!" Jarod's eyes flared up.

"How dare you accuse Kyle!"

"Look at it from a different angle, Jarod. How dare you defend him? Did you care to ask how many people he killed? Did you ask about his hatred for Catherine Parker? Did you?"

"He...he was trained that way..He didn't..."

"He didn't know any better." Emily finished, pulling out another notebook. She began reading out loud, too angry with the situation to stop herself. "July 12th, 1967. Daddy hit me today. It hurts something awful. I cried for Mama, but she wouldn't help. The kid's at school are right. There's something wrong with her brain. She pretended not to hear me. She said she loved me!" Emily paused. "That is the first entry, of the first notebook." She turned several pages and went on, not even looking at the faces of her listeners. "October 21st, 1967. He beat me again yesterday. I can barely hold my pencil. The teachers at school asked me what happened. I told them I fell down the stairs. It hurts something awful. Mama still doesn't listen to me." Emily pulled out another book, and set the first one down.

"January ?, 1974. I'm in the shed. He beat me, I don't know how long ago. He has to let me out soon. School break will be over. I don't know how much more I can take. It's so cold in here. And dark. I snuck some matches in, and found an old lantern. I can barely see what I'm writing. It's so cold." Emily paused, turned to the next page, and fought back tears. "February 17th, 1974. He used chains..." Emily didn't get any further, before dropping the book to the floor and sobbing helplessly. Miss Parker could see the entire sentence, from where she was.

In scrawled, dirty handwriting, the page splotched with blood, it read,

He used chains and Mama watched, as I screamed for her to help me...

*-*-*

Lyle slowly became aware of things around him, and he struggled to open his eyes, the eyelids of which seemed nailed shut.

A faint beeping greeted him first, then the low hum of several machines. He felt a dull pain in his chest and arm that continued to grow into a sharp throb.

His eyes finally opened, and he attempted to focus. Everything was blurry, and white. The world faded into view, and he could make out a stark-white ceiling, made of tiles. He tried to turn his head to look around him, but something was restricting any movement of his neck. He moaned softly, as a pain shot through his arm.

"Lyle?" A familiar voice asked. "You're awake!" The voice exclaimed only a minute later. The person moved into view.

"Aimee..." He croaked, as his throat was engulfed in flame.

"Shh..." Aimee quieted him, and smiled gently, though Lyle could see the tears in her eyes. They sat in silence, Lyle trying to fight back the waves of pain, and Aimee trying to convince herself to tell him.

"Lyle.." She finally began. "I need to tell you something. I know this isn't the best time, but it has to be said." Lyle looked up at her, not moving a muscle for fear of yet more pain. "Lyle, I'm Emily. Jarod's sister." His eyes widened in shock and surprise.

"What?" He managed to exclaim, his throat protesting violently.

"I'm Jarod's sister. And, and, I have to go." She dropped a note on the bedside table, and fled the room. Lyle's tried to call after her, but his shouts got caught in his swollen throat.

*-*-*



"You told him?" Jarod asked, as Emily slammed the car door shut. She nodded. "What did he do?"

"Nothing." Emily replied. "He couldn't do anything."

"You ready?" Jarod asked softly, watching his sister's face carefully. She turned away, and looked back towards the hospital, to the window of the room she knew was Lyle's.

"As ready as I'll ever be." Jarod pushed in a CD, and pressed play. "What's that?" Emily asked, trying to ease some of the tension in the air, as Jarod drove away from the building.

"A new group. Hoobastank. Someone told me they were very good. I've never listened to them before, though." Jarod reached over and turned the volume up. Emily winced at the words that filled the air. Jarod reached to angrily turn the music off. Emily grabbed his arm.

"Let it play, Jarod. Just let it play."

I don't want you
To give it all up
And leave your own life
Collecting dust
And I don't want you
To feel sorry for me
You never gave us
A chance to be
And I don't need you
To be by my side
To tell me that
Everything's all right
I just wanted you to
Tell me the truth
You know I'd do that for you
Why are you running away?
Why are you running away?
'Cause I did enough
To show you that I
Was willing to give and sacrifice
And I was the one
Who was lifting you up
When you thought
Your life had had enough
And when I get close
You turn away
There's nothing that
I can do or say
So now I need you to
Tell me the truth
You know I'd do that for you
So why are you running away?
Why are you running away?
Is it me, is it you
Nothing that I can do
To make you
Change your mind
Is it me, is it you
Nothing that I can do
Is it a waste of time?
Is it me, is it you
Nothing that I can do
To make you
Change your mind
So why are you running away?
Why are you running away?
What is it I've got to say
So why are you running away?
To make you admit you're afraid
Why are you running away?

*-*-*

"Lyle?" Miss Parker tiptoed into the room. He blinked at the ceiling, not moving. "Lyle?" Miss Parker repeated. Still, no response. She sat down. "She left already. She and Jarod left about half-an-hour ago." Lyle didn't give any sign that he had heard her. It was like talking to a statue. "Lyle-" She was going to snap at him, but she broke off. "You really loved her, didn't you?" Miss Parker asked quietly.

"Yes." Lyle's voice was like sandpaper, and he seemed small and far away. Miss Parker sighed, and looked down at the floor.

"But she hated me." Lyle finished, gasping a little at the pain, both emotional and physical.

"That's not true, Lyle!" Miss Parker protested. "She loved you. She said so, when she was talking to Jarod and I." His eyes flickered with a bit of hope.

"Really?" A pause. "Then why this?" He begged for an answer, and she sighed again.

"Humans do foolish things, Lyle. She was sorry, though."

"But-" She broke him off, putting a gentle hand over his mouth.

"Sleep. You need to rest." He nodded reluctantly. Miss Parker sat down in a chair near the door, and watched as his eyes closed. Within moments, a soft, regular breathing filled the room.

Portrait of a Killer

3/10

"A wound heals, but the scar remains." – Anonymous

By RRP


Lyle walked through the Centre's main doors for the first time in two months. His arm was still in a sling, and a few scars still remained upon his back, but other than that, no sign of the beating was left. He stepped onto an elevator and pressed a button.

He wandered aimlessly through the halls of SL-5 in the early morning hours, blocking any form of thought at all, trying to push the visions of Aimee -no, Emily-away. They still plagued him. Two months, and he couldn't stop thinking about her.

"Mr...Mr. Lyle!" Broots exclaimed, as Lyle walked into the Techlab. He looked up, startled.

"Oh..." He realized where he was, and tried to shrug it off. "Good morning, Broots. Awfully early, isn't it?"

"Miss...Miss Parker wanted me to get an early start today." Broots thought Lyle seemed rather distracted, and in light of recent events, felt sorry for him, in a way. An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

"Um..." Broots paused, not sure that what he was about to do would be a good thing. "She's sent a few pictures of her and Jarod...Would you like to see them?" He didn't have to specify who she was. Lyle's eyes brightened, and he nodded.

"Yes, please!" Broots pulled the pictures out of a nearby file, and handed them to Lyle. Emily's hair wasn't blonde anymore, and many things about her looks had changed. But Lyle found himself trapped within her gaze, though it was only a picture.

Broots watched the man's face carefully. Miss Parker had been right. Lyle was in love with Emily.

Lyle pulled his eyes away from the photos, and handed them back to Broots. Broots took one out of the stack, and handed it back.

"Keep it. I'll tell them I lost one." Broots refused to meet Lyle's eyes, as he slid the remaining pictures back in the file. Lyle whispered a weak 'Thank you', and was gone. Broots smiled. His day was off to a good start.

*-*-*

"Broots, there's a picture missing." Miss Parker announced, going through the files absently. He turned around, and plastered his best innocent look upon his face.

"Really? Hmm..." He reached for the photos, and counted them, and acted surprised. "Oh, I wonder..." His face reddened dramatically, and he cast his eyes downward. "Oh, yeah.."

"Oh, yeah, what?" Miss Parker demanded.

"Well, I spilled some coffee this morning...I wasn't quite awake, and well...I guess I threw it away." Broots offered weakly, forcing a pathetic smile. She glared at him, then sighed.

"We still have the other four..." She murmured, and Broots hid his shocked look. She wasn't going to yell at him? "Have you found anything?" She asked, changing the subject abruptly.

"Um...yeah...there's a Jarod and Emily Runnings, staying at a hotel in Dublin..."

"Germany?"

"No, Ohio."

"Get Syd and Lyle. We're going to catch some Pretenders." Miss Parker left the room, and Broots stood up, following briskly.

*-*-*

"Emily, Emily, come on!" Jarod threw the last bag in the car. "They'll be here soon."

"Can't we stay?" Emily begged. Jarod blinked.

"Stay? Of course we can't stay! Get in the car!" Jarod pleaded, and Emily sighed, as she climbed into the car. "Out of curiosity, why do you want to stay?" Jarod asked, starting the silver SUV, as snowflakes began to fall.

"Never mind..." Emily looked down at the road, moving faster and faster underneath them. Jarod frowned, as he watched her. The Emily he first met had been full of life, exuberance. Now...now, he was lucky to see her smile. She was quiet, secluded, and sad. Jarod knew what pain was, it was a burden he had come to live with his whole life. But the pain he saw in Emily's eyes was unlike his own. It was a longing, for something out of reach, a longing for something lost. Jarod had been striving to place this pain for weeks, and he almost slammed on the brakes as it hit him like a punch to the stomach.

"You want to see him!" He accused sharply. Emily looked up at him, as he continued. "But you swore it was over! You..." Jarod's voice faltered. "You want to risk our freedom to see him." Emily nodded sadly, refusing to look up at him. "Why?" Jarod asked in a small, rejected voice.

"Jarod, you can't kill love. What was that you told me about never forgetting love?" Jarod sighed.

"'Absence sharpens love, presence strengthens it.' Thomas Fuller. Why do you have to continually turn my quotes around on me?" Jarod asked, somewhat playfully, trying to cheer her up. His efforts where in vain. Emily sighed and looked down at the floor.

"The lies of blind love skim the surface, and the truths are buried underneath. What brave souls do dare journey past the lies, to face the truth? It is not the brave at all, for nay, they do not exist. It is but two fools, blinded by their affections, that will dive below and face the pain that awaits. And together, they brave it, only to find that the affections have fallen. Instead, the blind affection is replaced by a burning love, a fire that none can put out. No matter how far apart they travel, they linger on the other's mind, until at last, the only hope for survival of sanity, is to see the other again. Love is not a speechless fascination of a body. It is an undying thirst for the wholeness of soul on both parts. Lovers hold not the others hand, they hold the half of heart the other was missing from birth. A Tribute to Lovers, Jacob Stanley Scott, 1897." Emily quoted beautifully, and Jarod was stunned.

"I've...I've never thought about it that way before." He realized suddenly. Emily gave him a weak smile.

"Neither had I, Jarod. Until he came into my life." Emily did not need to say which 'he' she was referring to. Jarod knew.

They sat in silence, not even noticing the brightly colored sign on the side of the highway.

You're leaving Dublin, Ohio. Please come again!

*-*-*

Miss Parker stormed around the room impatiently, looking under things, for any type of sign that their two Pretenders had actually been there. Broots helped search, but Sydney watched Lyle, who wandered somewhat aimlessly around the parking lot as the snow fell softly, trying to make it look as if he were busy. But, every few moments, he would gaze off down the highway, sigh, shake his head, and begin walking again.

"Miss Parker." Sydney stated simply, turning to her.

"What, Syd?" She snapped, continuing to search. He grabbed her arm, pulled her over to the open door, and pointed to Lyle. She stopped suddenly, and watched him for a minute, all harshness falling from her face.

"You and Broots keep looking." She ordered. "I'll be right back." She left, and headed for Lyle without a second thought. Broots stood next to Sydney, and watched curiously. When Miss Parker led Lyle to the limo, and calmly climbed in after him, slamming the door shut, Broots turned to Sydney.

"What the heck has gotten into them?" He asked shakily.

"Emily." Sydney replied simply. "Emily." Sydney turned away, and began searching the room, as Miss Parker had said. Broots, however, remained at the door for a moment longer, and he could have sworn he saw Lyle leaning his head against Miss Parker, and Miss Parker just holding her younger brother close.

*-*-*

Lyle trudged down the sandy, deserted beach, the sun setting in the western sky. The sand was cold and unforgiving, the water was frothy, white, and a chilly gray. He brushed a bit of snow off a bench, and sat down, the sun still setting behind him. He stared out over the ocean, blinking at the harsh salty wind. He tugged his purposely thin coat tighter around his shoulders, and shivered despite the effort to stay warm. He closed his eyes, and let his mind play over the event that had taken place the same day, over twenty-six years ago.

The crack of chain, and the sickening, dulled snap as metal link cut into human flesh echoed in his ears and mind. With his eyes closed, he could once again see the event, feel the fear.

He watched, as his own arm reached for the lady across the room, watching blankly, eyes devoid of any emotion. His own screams for her help slapped him mentally, as he realized, that, as always, she wouldn't come. He couldn't see the face of his captor, yet he knew who it was.

The man he had called father for so long.

Another scream, precisely mirroring the actual event, was so horrific and begging that Lyle's eyes snapped open. The scene faded from his mind, but the echo of the screams remained, torturing him, haunting him. He gazed out across the sea, with it's unrelenting waves.

The irony of the spot struck him. How often he would come and watch the waves, he didn't know. But it wasn't until that moment that he made the connection. The waves, always bringing things back, never forgetting or letting go. Much like his own past.

"Lyle." The whisper caught him off guard, and he whirled around. His jaw dropped, and he was unable to speak. The figure moved a step closer, and he turned angrily, and stared hard at the waves, fighting the tears threatening to fall.

"Go away, Emily." He ordered, though his heart wasn't in the command.

"I can't, Lyle." She replied softly, sitting down next to him. He turned away from her, refusing to meet her gaze.

"Why not?" He demanded, the tears on the brink of falling. A single tear over spilled, and made it's way down his cold face, leaving a warm, wet trail to the edge of his mouth, where it left a salty, bitter taste.

"Because I know what today is, Lyle. You don't need to go through it alone." Emily responded. He turned slightly, his eyes finally meeting hers.

"You remembered?" His question was a mere whisper, and she nodded.

"I love you, Lyle." Her words caught him entirely off-guard, and he glanced at her sharply.

"You left me." He accused.
"I couldn't stay then. You know that. They would have found us." Emily protested.

"I know." Lyle lowered his head. "They. Them. Always getting in the way, ruining lives." He muttered.

"You see it that way now?" Emily asked. Lyle nodded.

"I guess."

"Would you leave?" She questioned. There was silence.

"Yes." He admitted after several minutes. "I would."

"Do you love me?" Emily's inquiry wasn't as much a question as it was a plead. He looked up at her, and studied her eyes.

"I do."

"Say it."

"I....I love you." Lyle stammered, clearly unused to saying those three words.

"Come with me." Emily begged.

"Where?" Lyle's blue eyes lit up, as if someone had resparked his dying flame of hope, and indeed, someone had.

"Anywhere away from them. Preferably Maine." Emily replied with a small smile.

"Maine? With a two story house and four kids..." He echoed her words from months earlier, a faraway dreamy look in his eyes. She nodded.

"We could make a life for ourselves, Lyle. Away from them. Away from the nightmares, and the memories." Emily offered, and Lyle was surprised that he was so ready to agree.

"I'll do it." He paused. "Are you proposing?" He asked suspiciously. She laughed.

"Maybe. Would you like me to? I thought that was traditionally your job."

"Do you want me to propose? What would your answer be?" Lyle asked hurriedly. Emily laughed again.

"Why don't you ask and find out?" Lyle pulled his Class ring off his finger, and held it out to her, not even bothering to get off the bench.

"Emily, will you marry me?" He asked anxiously. A tear formed in the corner of her eye, and she swatted at it furiously.

"Yes, Lyle. I will." He handed her the ring, and she slid it on. It slipped so the stone was facing down, obviously too large for her finger. Lyle smiled at her, as a fierce wind whipped across the beach. He shivered, realizing how cold he was. Emily noticed, and noted how thin his coat was. At the same time, Lyle saw how thick her coat was.

"You're cold." She stated, pity in her tone. "Let's go inside. Maybe get some tea or coffee?" She stood up, and held out her hand. He gratefully took it, and stood to walk down the beach with her.

"Right there." He pointed to an apartment building, different from the one he had occupied months before. "I moved. I couldn't stay there any longer."

"I understand." Emily replied quietly. Silence took charge until they reached the apartment. Lyle swung the door open, to reveal a sparsely furnished apartment, lacking color or decor.

"So, coffee? Tea?" He asked, shrugging off his jacket and moving to the kitchen.

"Whatever you're having." She answered, sitting down on the one couch in the living room.

"Tea, then. Peppermint sound okay?"

"Fine." Emily fingered the ring on her hand. Jarod was going to be mad. Really mad. She had told him she was just going to say hi, and make sure Lyle was okay. She had said nothing about convincing him to move to Maine with her. And marry her. That wasn't planned, although it certainly was welcome, to her anyway.

Jarod was going to be mad.

*-*-*

"Are you crazy?" Jarod shouted, storming across the hotel room. "What do you mean, you're engaged to him? Insane, perhaps? And we are not, I repeat, not moving to Maine!" It wasn't affecting Emily as much as she thought it would.

"Insane. Yes, with love." She said dreamily, twirling the ring around her finger. Jarod froze and stared hard at the ring.

"I can't believe you!" He huffed, throwing his arms up in the air.

"Why not?" Emily demanded. Jarod snapped.

"Emily! He killed our brother!" Jarod screamed at her. Emily flinched. Screaming wasn't the same as shouting. Screaming sounded....painful. As if she had hurt him.

"Jarod-"

"I will not be his brother-in-law. As the oldest present member of our family, I disown you. I swear, that if you do not take that ring off your finger, and send it back to him ASAP, I will disown you. For the whole family." Jarod's tone was now one of silent, seething, suppressed rage. Emily paled.

"Jarod, you wouldn't!" She exclaimed.

"You won't send it back?" He demanded. She shook her head resolutely.

"Never."

"I am no longer your brother. As far as you are concerned, your parents died at birth." Jarod left the room, and slammed the door shut behind him. Through the thin hotel walls, she heard the car they shared start, and drive off.

Emily began sobbing helplessly, clinging to the bed.

*-*-*

"Let me get this straight, you're running away with Labrat’s sister, and now you're telling me about it?" Miss Parker asked in disbelief, sitting on Lyle's couch. Three duffel bags sat by the door, and the apartment was clean, except for the larger pieces of furniture. The only type of dish left in the house were the two Styrofoam cups that held their coffee.

"Yes. I wanted to say goodbye."

"Well, then." Miss Parker replied, speechless.

"Well what? Are you going to disown me, like Jarod did with Emily?" Lyle asked, almost fearfully.

"He disowned her?" She asked, once again disbelieving.

"Yes. She's been disowned. She has no last name until I marry her."

"Marry her?" Miss Parker practically shrieked. "Does she know about that part?"

"It was her idea." Lyle shrugged. "I was only too happy to agree."

"Well, then. Goodbye, good luck, hope you have fun." Miss Parker snapped.

"Thanks. Your blessing matters the most to me." Lyle replied seriously, not catching the sarcasm in her tone.

"Really?" Miss Parker asked, surprised.

"Really." Lyle nodded.

"Oh." Miss Parker murmured, leaning back on the couch.

"Well, anyway, Dad's probably going to disown me too." Lyle said, a bit regretfully.

"Yeah." Miss Parker agreed softly, staring at the carpet.

"One last thing, before I go." Lyle looked over at her, setting his Styrofoam cup down at the same time.

"Hmm?"

"Listen to the new CD in your car. Track three is a message from yours truly, and Emily."

"Sure." Miss Parker nodded consent.

"Bye, Sis." Lyle stood up, and grabbed the duffel bags.

"Where are you going?" She asked, sitting straight up. He cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm not that stupid. I'll send you a postcard, but there's no guarantee that it'll really be from where we are." Lyle said with a grin. "See you around." And with that, he was gone.

*-*-*

Miss Parker climbed into the small, sleek sports car, and dropped the two Styrofoam cups into the cup holders. Neither was empty, but in each one the coffee was cold. She had sat on the couch for nearly half-an-hour after he had gone, partially in shock and partially just because she need some time to think. She looked over at the passenger seat as she started the car, and a curious CD case caught her eye. What was it he had said? Track three? She had nearly forgotten.

Miss Parker picked up the case, and studied it. The cover was split into two narrow rectangles- the one on the left held a color picture of a red telephone booth, and the right held the words, 'ShakespeareSorrow: Act One, Enter Hero' in a jagged, scrawled font. She popped it open, and slid the CD in, scanning to track three. Music started softly, but grew in intensity- the violins humming faster and faster and the piano nearly flying over the notes. It suddenly slowed, and the words began.

Someone once told me

Told me that love had it's price

I wasn't quite sure that they were right

Now, now I know it wasn't a lie

Now that I'm older

Now that I'm wise



And I feel you falling...



Falling away, falling away from me

Everyone I loved

Everyone I knew

Falling away from me

Just another broken branch/And this is a Portrait

On the family tree/A Portrait of True

Falling away, falling away from me

This is, a Portrait

This is, a Portrait of You



Someone once told me

Told me that you would someday leave

And I played the fool, refusing to believe

Now, now you're really gone

And now I am stronger

Now I am weaker for the loss



And I feel you falling...



Falling away, falling away from me

Everyone I loved

Everyone I knew

Falling away from me

Just another broken branch/And this is a Portrait

On the family tree/A Portrait of True

Falling away, falling away from me

This is, a Portrait

This is, a Portrait of You



And the years have passed

And the years have gone

Did I miss my chance?

I left you alone



And now you're falling...



Falling away, falling away from me

Everyone I loved

Everyone I knew

Falling away from me

Just another broken branch/And this is a Portrait

On the family tree/A Portrait of True

Falling away, falling away from me

This is, a Portrait

This is, a Portrait of You

A Portrait

A Portrait

A Portrait

A Portrait

Of You

A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews! Here you go! I apologize for the frustration my extreme time skip may cause, but it's just my style of writing. Reviews, crits, and flames once again welcomed! Someone mentioned something (I know who, i'm not naming to protect the privacy of the person. I don't know how they feel about this kind of thing.) about doubting the fact that Jarod would disown Emily. You may be right! But, for this story, it was crucial to the plot and psychologically correct, in a way. Not to give a lecture, but Jarod was much more likely to take the side of Kyle, whom he shared a special bond with (the Centre), than the girl he had just met. Even if the girl was his sister, she was marrying the man who killed his brother, who he was closer to.
Anyway...that probably made barely any sense at all...I'm just going to post now. Thanks for reading! And reviewing!

Portrait of a Killer

4/10

"'Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all." - Tennyson

By RRP

Miss Parker walked forward, scanning the scene with her eyes. Several kids clambered excitedly over a large swing set, cardboard swords in their hands. A 'princess' sat in the top of the 'tower', a daisy chain in a ring around her forehead. A few mom's sat talking on a bench across from the swing set, their faces clear to her. No one she knew.

A man sat on another bench, facing the swing set, his back to her. He looked strangely familiar, but he wasn't Jarod, she could tell that, and Jarod was who she was looking for. Two Sweepers topped points on the hill around the valley the park was in, and waved discreetly to her. Sam, and Joel. Joel was relatively new on the job, Sam a long-time veteran.

A little boy, perhaps six years old, wandered over to where she stood.

"Hi." He murmured shyly.

"Hello," She said cautiously, trying to stay aloof. But the little boy looked so familiar, it almost frightened her. He held up a dandelion.

"My little sister told me to give this to you. She says you're very pretty." Miss Parker took the dandelion, and bent down next to the boy.

"I'm Miss Parker. What's your name?" She asked, scanning the mother's on the benches. None of them seemed the least bit interested in the boy.

"Hey! That's my last name!" He exclaimed. "That's pretty cool. Parker is a nice name. I'm Charlie. That's my nickname, Daddy says. My real name is Charles Robert Parker. I'm six years old." The startling fact almost made Miss Parker fall over.

"Who is your Daddy?" She asked, still trying to sound in control of herself. He pointed to the man on the bench.

"He's over there. Lyle Parker." Charlie answered. Miss Parker's jaw dropped, but Charlie went on. "I've got two sisters, and a brother. I'm the biggest." Charlie went on. He pointed to the 'princess'. "That's Maddy. She's five. Her name is Emily Madilyn." He pointed to another little girl next, one who clutched a cardboard sword tightly in one hand. "That's Cat. She's four. Her name is Catherine Margaret." He pointed to a little boy, struggling to climb the highest ladder, to the monkey bars. "That's Spider. He's three. Daddy says we call him Spider for two reasons, one, because he always wants to climb everything. Two, because Mommy named him Peter. His name is Peter Kyle Parker."

"Why Spider?" Miss Parker asked. Charlie looked at her strangely.

"Because Peter Parker is Spiderman in the comic books."

"Oh." Miss Parker replied, instantly remembering the fact, and chastising herself for forgetting it.

"Wanna meet Daddy?" Charlie asked. "He's been lonely since Mommy left. He doesn't say anything, but I know. He's lonely."

"Your Mommy left?" Miss Parker asked in surprise, as Charlie nodded sadly.

"There was a car wreck last year. Daddy came home with a broken arm, but he said Mommy wasn't coming back." Charlie said, his blue eyes big and watery. "It wasn't her fault. I know." He added softly. "But, Daddy doesn't laugh as much as he used to."

"You can go play, Charlie. I'll go talk to your Daddy." Miss Parker said, standing up. Charlie smiled at her.

"Maddy was right. You are pretty." He said, before dashing back off to play. Miss Parker ignored the confused Sweeper's on the hill, and walked up to Lyle.

"I've missed you." Was the first thing that came out of her mouth. Lyle whirled around, and his jaw dropped. He quickly recovered, and scanned the area for Sweepers. He jumped up, and yelled after his kids.

"Charlie, Maddy, Cat, Spider! Come on!" He grabbed Spider off the monkey bars, and the three older kids stood by him in less than a second.

"Lyle-" Miss Parker began.

"How dare you." He snapped back, cutting her off.

"Lyle, I didn't bring the Sweepers for you!" She growled. "We thought Jarod was here. I had no idea it was you. Please, just calm down. I want to talk." Lyle narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and looked up at the Sweepers on the hill, then back down as his kids, the suspicion disappearing as he looked at them. Charlie gazed up at him with wide eyes, while Maddy and Cat stared at Miss Parker. Spider grinned at her from where he was tucked under Lyle's arm.

"We'll talk, minus the Sweepers, at my house." Lyle agreed, looking back at her.

"Sure." Miss Parker agreed, waving Sam and Joel down. The two Sweepers began walking down the hill towards her. Lyle involuntarily tensed, and held Spider closer with one arm, pulling Cat closer with the other, while Charlie and Maddy hid behind his legs.

"Miss Parker?" Sam asked quietly, as Joel and he reached her.

"Sam, you and Joel go get some hotel rooms, and wait for me there. Try the..." Miss Parker paused, and looked over at Lyle.

"The Diamond Swan." Lyle answered, after hesitating for a second.

"The Diamond Swan. Go ahead and order take-out or something for your dinner." Sam nodded, while looking questioningly at Lyle, before taking Joel by the arm, and leaving the park. As they walked off, Miss Parker could hear Joel exclaiming,

"Third week on the job, and she's already telling us to order take-out! When do we get to use the guns?" Then Sam's rougher,

"Shutup. You'll get used to it."

"So..." She began awkwardly, facing Lyle.

"My house is up on the hill." He said abruptly, turning and leading her up the hill in the opposite direction Sam and Joel were walking.

Miss Parker saw a nice, American looking, two-story house made of stucco and brick, with a wide, white door and a stained wood porch, encased by rich wood railing. It was several minutes before they actually reached the house, Lyle still carrying Spider; Charlie, Maddy, and Cat trailing close behind him. Lyle pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, letting them into the house.

Miss Parker looked around, as Lyle set Spider down, and trudged into the living room. The house was a wreck, toys everywhere. She could see the kitchen from where she stood, and it wasn't much better, the only difference was that instead of toys, it was littered by dirty dishes. Charlie looked up at her with big sad eyes, and began picking up things. The act didn't seem forced, as if her presence made him feel guilty about the mess, instead, the little boy seemed far too tired and old, as he went along with something that must have been a bigger part of his life.

"Charlie," Maddy asked, holding Spider by the hand.

"Maddy?" Charlie replied, looking over at her, both seemingly oblivious to Miss Parker's presence.

"Should I get Spider in his pajamas? Or do you want to do it?" Maddy asked, grabbing Cat by the hand as well.

"You help get them dressed. I'll get some juice and fruit for snack. Help 'em pick out a story too, and I'll read it for us." Charlie said, beginning to pick up things again. Maddy began climbing the stairs, Spider beside her and Cat behind them.

Miss Parker knelt next to Charlie.

"Charlie, does your Daddy ever help you with this stuff? Cleaning and bedtime?" She asked gently.

"He used to do it every night. But now, we do it for ourselves most of the time. He's always tired." Charlie answered, arms full of toys as he stumbled to a toy box. "But it's okay. I can do the dishes, and pick up the toys. He still cooks and stuff." Charlie went on.

"Do you want me to help?" She asked gently.

"No, it's okay. We can do it. You can go talk to my Daddy." Charlie answered with a smile. Miss Parker fought back a tear, and joined Lyle in the living room.

"You're neglecting them." She accused. Lyle looked at her from his sprawled out position on the couch.

"I try not to, Sis. I really do. But do you have any idea how hard it is to lose someone, and then go on raising four kids by yourself? I love them all, and Charlie's a wonderful little boy, but...I feel so tired all the time. I know it's not normal, but I can't shake this feeling. It's like a lead cloak that I can't take off. No matter how much I sleep, I'm always tired and sore. I do my best to take them to the park, to play with them, and that kind of stuff, but I just can't! I used to be able to run around the park for hours, and now, I'm exhausted by the time I make it to the bench." Lyle poured out everything he felt, grateful for someone close, or had once been, to talk to. Miss Parker sat down.

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"No." Lyle sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

"You should." Miss Parker said firmly. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

"You haven't seen me for seven years." Lyle replied, not sharply, just as if he regretted the time lost.

"I meant it though. I missed you." Miss Parker pulled a worn, faded postcard out of her jacket pocket. A picture of a giant redwood tree was accompanied by the word, California in big yellow letters. Lyle's eyes filled with tears.

"You kept it?" He croaked.

"Yes. And I turned California upside down looking for you." She said, trying once again not to cry.

"I miss her." Lyle said after a few moments of silence, as he gazed back up at the ceiling. "I miss her laugh, her smile. I miss everything about her. But the six years I had with her were the best six years of my life. I wouldn't have traded them for anything." Lyle said, his gaze straying to a picture of the family on the mantel above the brick fireplace. Emily sat, holding Spider, the girls leaning against her, on either side. Charlie had his hand on Maddy's shoulder, protectively standing over his younger sister, and Lyle stood behind them, his hands on Emily's shoulders. The girls smiled softly, like Emily, while Spider held the first two fingers of his right hand in his mouth. Charlie's grin was identical to Lyle's. Miss Parker followed his gaze, and blinked in surprise at the seemingly normal family it portrayed. But the family was far from normal. Torn apart again and again, this time with no hope of being reunited.

Miss Parker felt anger growing in her, at the Centre, at life itself. Both, for ruining her brother's life so soon after he had been truly found, and for never getting that chance at life herself. She determined right then and there that if even if she had no hope of finding a family for herself, she was going to help put her little brother's back together.

"Lyle, I'll go help the kids get in bed. You just rest." Miss Parker stood up, and he looked at her gratefully.

"Thanks, Sis." His gaze hardened, and he glared at her. "But if you ever, ever try to hurt any of them, or take them anywhere close to the Centre, so help me, I'll kill you."

"I promise, Lyle. I won't hurt them, or let anyone else." She swore, leaving for the kitchen. She turned, just for a second, to see Lyle again. He was already asleep.

*-*-*

"Please don't go, we'll eat you up we love you so!" Lyle read, Spider on his lap, and Charlie leaning on Lyle's knee. Lyle sat cross-legged on the floor, reading 'Where the Wild Things Are' to the boys. Miss Parker watched, unnoticed, from the boy's bedroom entrance.

"Daddy, let's make the island!" Charlie squealed, bouncing to his feet. Lyle looked up at him, feigning a blank look.

"What's the island?" He asked. Charlie tugged on his arm, trying to pull Lyle to his feet. Spider ran around in circles, his arms in the air, shouting,

"Island! Island!"

"You know, Daddy!" Charlie exclaimed. "I dress up in my wolf costume, and get to be Max! You get to be the monsters!" Lyle broke into a grin.

"Alright. Get your costume on. Spider and I will make the forest." Miss Parker watched from the cracked bedroom door, as Lyle draped blankets about the room, and from Charlie's bunk bed, as Spider clung to his back. Charlie donned a furry brown costume with pointed ears that flopped when he walked. He proceeded to pull an empty card-board box without a bottom out of the closet, and sit in it. Lyle stood next to the 'boat' with Spider still on his back.

"I am leaving. I am going home." Charlie said, quoting the book. Lyle pretended to look frantic, and began to chase Charlie around the room, as Charlie dragged the box with him while attempting to run. All the while, Lyle was chanting in a playful, sing-song voice,

"Please don't go, please don't go, we'll eat you up we love you so!"

"I am going home!" Charlie puffed, collapsing with laughter as Lyle pounced on him, and pretended to 'eat' him. Spider squealed out of pure joy, and attempted to copy Lyle's motions, on Lyle himself. All three of them fell over, laughing hysterically, sprawled out on the floor.

Miss Parker felt a small body brush past her leg, and looked down to see Maddy peeking through the door. She turned around with a sigh and a yawn.

"Good morning." Miss Parker whispered. Maddy looked up with sleepy eyes.

"They woke me up. Do you know how to cook?" Maddy asked, clutching a rag doll.

"Some." Miss Parker replied, kneeling down next to the little girl. Laughter still rang out in the background behind them.

"Let's make a surprise breakfast." Maddy whispered loudly. Miss Parker looked behind her at the boy's bedroom door.

"Do you think they deserve it?" She asked teasingly.

"No. But we can still surprise Cat." Maddy answered with an impish smile.

"Okay." Miss Parker stood and took Maddy's hand.

"Maybe if there's some left over, we'll share." Maddy added thoughtfully, tiptoeing back over to the door, for one last look at the boys. The blankets had been quickly converted into tents, and they now sat on the floor with G.I. Joes. Spider was clutching a G.I. Joe and making it 'talk' with a stolen doll from the girl's room.

"That's where Susie went!" Maddy exclaimed, looking at the doll. Charlie and Lyle were making barricades and trenches out of more blankets and pillows.

"Ready to make breakfast?" Miss Parker asked, turning. Maddy sighed, and shook her head.

"Boys." She muttered, following Miss Parker. Miss Parker couldn't help but smile.

*-*-*

Lyle entered the kitchen to the smell of waffles, eggs, and toast. Miss Parker stood, frowning at the toaster, and Maddy and Cat grinned at him through already sticky faces, their hands plastered with syrup. Charlie looked around the kitchen with wide eyes. Spider shouted, and reach excitedly for the table.

"Syrup! Wafalees!" Lyle set him down, and he made a mad dash for the plate Maddy had started putting together for him.

"Good morning." Miss Parker chimed.

"Um, good...morning." Lyle replied, blinking in shock. "I didn't know you could cook."

"I can't. These are frozen waffles." Miss Parker replied, frown deepening as she glared at the toaster.

"You're doing pretty well so far." Lyle murmured appreciatively, looking at the heaping plate of scrambled eggs, and the large stacks of toast and waffles. "What's the problem?"

"Toaster won't pop." She said, tapping her foot impatiently, still glaring at the toaster.

"You have to plug it in." Lyle replied, pointing to the cord. Miss Parker peeked behind the toaster, and saw the empty outlet.

"It must have come unplugged when I moved the toaster." She smiled sheepishly, as a grin formed on Lyle's face.

"My kitchen!" Charlie choked out, looking at the mess around him. "I just cleaned it! And today's a cereal day!"

"I'll clean it up, Charlie." Miss Parker assured him.

"Sorry, Charlie. I forgot." Maddy apologized, looking down at her waffle.

"Do you 'cept her 'pologie?" Cat asked worriedly, looking from big brother to big sister.

"'Course I do, Cat." Charlie said with a grin. "But only if I can have a waffle." Maddy broke into a smile, and handed Charlie a plate as he sat down.

"Wafalee!" Spider cried, his face and hands already covered with syrup.

"They never cease to amaze me." Lyle muttered, as he grabbed a piece of toast and stood next to Miss Parker.

"What?" Miss Parker asked, grabbing the toast as it popped up.

"Their willingness to forgive. And after they've said sorry, it's all over." Lyle replied before taking a bite of his toast.

"Yeah." Miss Parker murmured in agreement, looking at the four kids. Charlie was doing his best to stay clean, Maddy was helping Cat pour more syrup (more syrup was on them than there was in the bottle), and Spider was clinging to a waffle that was so heavy with syrup it was falling apart. She smiled at them, and turned her gaze to her little brother, who was leaning against the counter with a dry piece of toast, seemingly exhausted, but looking at his four kids with a wide, proud grin. The only thing missing from his mask of perfect happiness was the joyous glint in his eyes-the one that only Emily could bring.

*-*-*

"Syd," Miss Parker called out, as she stalked into his office.

"Miss Parker! It's good to see you back! Sam said you'd be gone for several days." The last sentence was posed more as a question, and she shook her head.

"There are a few things I need to do here before I take a real vacation."

"Such as?" Sydney set his chin into his cupped hands, and propped his arms up on his desk.

"A question for you." She replied, pulling a chair over to the desk, with a defiant glare at the camera.

"Which would be?" Sydney prodded gently, waiting for her to continue.

"Hypothetically, if someone came into your office, complaining of loss of strength, inability to sleep, weariness like a lead apron, yet not a single physician had been able to find anything wrong with them, what would your diagnosis be?" Miss Parker asked, leaning towards him, Ice mask in place.

"Well, most psychiatrists would prescribe Zoloft, but I would say CFS." Sydney replied, after thinking for a moment.

"CFS?"

"Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. It's relatively new, but Jacob had it."

"What could bring that on?" Miss Parker pushed. "What would you prescribe?"

"Sudden grief, or a severe case of influenza. As for prescriptions, a few minerals is all I can say. There is no known antibiotic for CFS. Why do you ask?" Sydney questioned, now quite perplexed.

"I might tell you later." Miss Parker said, standing and heading for the door. She nearly ran into Broots, who was rushing in with a printout.

"Syd! Oh, Miss Parker." Broots stopped suddenly (though, the stuttering was absent), and Miss Parker raised an eyebrow.

"What's the rush, Broots?" She snapped. Broots started again, almost as if someone had unplugged him, then plugged him back in.

"I found evidence of another Pretender being kept in SL-15!" Miss Parker snatched the print-put before Broots could blink.

"Female?" Miss Parker asked out loud, scanning the paper.

"She's been here a year, and originally came in from Maine-" Broots got no farther, as both he and Sydney watched Miss Parker in surprise. She sat back down, hard, and stared at the floor, eyes wide in shock.

"It's Emily." She whispered. Broots grabbed the paper.

"Where does it say that?" He demanded, scanning it again.

"It doesn't." Miss Parker replied. She turned to Sydney, and smiled weakly. "I've got a confession, Syd. But I can't say anything here. Both of you meet me on the beach, in front of Lyle's old apartment building, one hour from now, okay?"

"We'll be there." Sydney nodded. Miss Parker stood, pushed past a stunned Broots, and left the room.

*-*-*

Miss Parker stared hard at the stormy sea, ignoring the sand that was whipping around and stinging her legs and cheeks. Her mind reeled with the possibility of Emily still being alive- and with the new found channel of deception her father had been rowing her down. It was time to jump off the boat, and swim the other way.

"Miss Parker?" Sydney asked from behind her, his accented voice thick with worry. She turned slowly, inwardly cursing herself for not hearing the two men approach. Sydney and Broots stood only feet from her, Sydney's characteristic cap cocked over one ear, making a bold, very Sydney-like statement. His classy wire-rimmed glasses were set high upon the chiseled nose- a common sight after all the years that had passed. Broots was tugging a thin black jacket around his shoulders, in an attempt to ward off the harsh wind and sand. Miss Parker sighed as she studied them, moments passing before she spoke. Sydney, except for the glasses, hadn't changed much in the past few years. Broots looked a little older and more careworn.

"It's about Emily." Miss Parker finally spoke, so softly her voice was almost lost in a passing breath of wind.

"I tapped into the cameras. It was Emily. How did you know?" Broots demanded. The past years he had spent working with Miss Parker assured him that tapping into cameras was a good thing. It would be either ignored, or praised. Ignored was most likely.

"Long story. But, I guess we have time." Miss Parker turned her head to gaze again at the waves, crashing onto the angry, swirling sand, calming it and forcing it down with the weight of the water. Broots sighed. Ignored. Miss Parker continued, looking back to the two men. "Seven years ago, when Lyle disappeared? I never knew where he was going, but I knew who he was going with."

"Emily." Sydney supplied. Miss Parker looked sharply at him, not in anger, but in surprise. Sydney shrugged. "I guessed as much."

"Yes." Miss Parker's eyes strayed to the infinite space of thought, not really looking at anything in particular in the tangible world. "He left with Emily, and just two days ago, I found him again. In Maine." She looked straight at Sydney, and gave a little laugh. A hopeless laugh, not quite sure what to think. "He has four kids. Lyle with kids..."

"Kids? Geez..." Broots muttered, suddenly interested in his shoes. Miss Parker nodded.

"Four kids. He said Emily died in a car wreck last year."

"He has CFS, doesn't he? That's who you were asking about." Sydney realized, putting two and two together.

"Yeah. I think he does. But, the important question here, is: Why is Emily still alive? How?"

"And why not just take Lyle? Why leave him there, and take Emily?" Broots added. His attention shifted from his shoes to the sky.

"What are you planning on doing, Miss Parker?" Sydney asked quietly. "That's at least one question we can answer here."

"I'm not sure, Syd. I want to get Emily out of there, though. I've got to. You haven't seen him, Syd. He's just not like himself. Granted, he was going to be a little different- but not that different. He was just so lost..." Miss Parker trailed off, turning her back to the men and looking at the ocean again.

"I'm helping." Broots announced without hesitation. "Anything, Miss Parker. Just tell me and it's as good as done."

"Thanks, Broots. That means a lot."

"No problem." He replied simply.

"I'll help as well, Miss Parker." Sydney said softly. "I'll tell Jarod, next time he calls." He added, almost as an afterthought. Miss Parker gave him a sad smile.

"When was the last time you talked to him?"

"About six months ago." Sydney sighed. "The calls are getting fewer and farther between."

"Falling away." Miss Parker murmured distractedly.

"Hmm?" Broots looked over, not grasping the meaning of the small statement.

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Miss Parker replied, not caring to explain. A strong wind whipped by them, and it seemed as if it carried all their words with it. Silence claimed the small spot of beach for several minutes.

Sydney looked at her, and could have sworn he was looking at Catherine. She looked older than she had nearly eleven years ago, when the chase started. Older, but still beautiful and sad. All three of them were trapped in the eternal game of Centre, never to escape- and it was wearing them all down.

"So, um...about Emily." Broots interrupted the silence, looking from Sydney to Miss Parker and back again. "What exactly are we going to do?"

"First, we find out what she's there for. What kind of condition to except her to be in." Miss Parker said decisively. "Then pick a date."

"Are you going to contact Lyle?" Sydney asked. Miss Parker shook her head.

"Not until I'm sure they haven't done anything to her. Not until I'm sure."

"I'll see what I can get off the mainframe. And I'll try to hack into the Project files." Broots said, tugging his jacket around his shoulders again.

"I'll see if I can get any kind of clearance to work with her." Sydney put in.

"I'm going to take a week or two of vacation time, and go up to Maine. I'll see if I can get Lyle to come with me to Ben's. I think a few days away from the house may be good for him and the kids." Miss Parker said, allowing herself with a small smile. Sydney returned the smile.

"That's a good idea." He assured her. A little voice inside his head was adding emphatically, You need it too, Miss Parker. You too.

---

Jarod crept into the darkened house, stealthily picking his way across the far-too familiar territory and layout of Miss Parker's house. The bedroom door was closed, but the light was on, and it shone out into the hall from underneath the door. It piqued his interest, and he tiptoed forward. As familiar as the area was, it had been quite a while since he had visited. He paused by the door, and allowed his thoughts to stray before he knocked.

It seemed strange, having free reign of her house for so long. It had been an unspoken agreement, sometime after Lyle left, that if he came to see her while she was off-work, she wouldn't drag him in. The relationship was still strained, and tense at times, but midnight talks were common for a while. Then, he started slipping away- spending more and more time on pretends and searches. Losing contact with her almost entirely. Now, a trip was made maybe three times a year. The Centre had even, surprisingly, lifted some of the pressure to find him. The past four years had brought less and less demands, as interest was lost in him. Why wouldn't it be?

Mr. Parker had seven-year-old Aric Joel to worry about- nearly all his time was spent overseeing the boy's training to be the next Chairman. They weren't wasting any time starting with the forming of the next leader of the Centre. They'd made mistakes before, and Mr. Parker was determined not to make those same mistakes again.

Jarod finally pulled himself from his thoughts, and knocked softly on the door. It flew open a split second later. Miss Parker stood in her silk pajamas, and a suitcase was on the bed behind her.

"You're packing." He stated the obvious. She opened the door wider, and he stepped into the room.

"I'm going to see Lyle."

"You found him?" Jarod asked, not sounding at all surprised. Miss Parker decided to try him.

"Emily's dead." She said flatly. A flicker of pain lit Jarod's eyes, but he shrugged.

"Who's she?" He asked, just as calmly and dryly. A slap echoed throughout the room, and Jarod lifted a hand to his stinging cheek. Miss Parker turned from him, and started shoving clothes into the suitcase again. Jarod said nothing, still shocked, as he stumbled to a chair and sat down hard.

"I guess I deserved that." He finally murmured.

"You better believe it." Miss Parker shot back.

"She's dead?"

"No. She's in the Centre. Lyle thinks she died in a car wreck last year." She answered, shoving another outfit into the suitcase. "We're planning to get her out."

"First, you let me in your house. Then, you actually plan to get people out of the Centre." Jarod said, tone bordering on sarcastic. "Your mother would be proud of you." He added seriously.

"I'm getting her out for my brother."

"AJ?"

"No, you idiot. Lyle."

"Oh." Jarod said softly. Miss Parker turned, and sat down on the edge of her bed to look at him.

"You should see their little girls. They both look just like Emily. The boys look like Lyle, though."

"Kids? How many?" A faint smile stole onto Jarod's face, conforming what Miss Parker had believed for years. He still cared. It was Jarod, for crying out loud. He didn't just give up completely.

"Four. Charlie, Maddy, Cat, and Spider." Miss Parker answered. "Spider's middle name is Kyle, by the way." She added, hoping it would push Jarod in the right direction.

"Fine. I'll help Emily, but don't expect me to forgive Lyle." Jarod said after several tense seconds. Miss Parker glared at him.

"Why not?"

"He killed my brother." Jarod growled. Miss Parker gazed into his eyes for several minutes before replying.

"You simmed it, didn't you?" Jarod looked down sharply at the floor. He nodded, and sighed.

"I simmed it. Over and over, hoping I was wrong."

"It wasn't his fault, was it?" Miss Parker demanded. Jarod shook his head so softly that it was almost unnoticeable.

"If...if Kyle hadn't jumped...it would have hit me in the arm."

"Then it wasn't really his fault, was it?"

"No. Not really." Jarod admitted.

"Just help me, Jarod. You can't help Emily unless you're willing to help put them back together." Miss Parker pleaded. Jarod looked up at her, and bit his lip.

"Okay. I'll help." He finally consented.

"And give Syd a call, will you? He's worried sick."

"Sure. In the meantime, want some coffee or something? It's late." Jarod agreed, anxious to change the subject.

"That'd be great. I'll finish here, and join you on the couch." Miss Parker smiled softly, and Jarod grinned.

"I'll go make some coffee then. Mind if I put some music on?"

"Go ahead. Make yourself at home."

"I was hoping you'd say that." Jarod slipped out of the room, and stopped in the living room to turn up the lights just a bit, giving the room a soft moon-like glow. He grabbed a CD from the small stack near the CD player, and pushed it in. He pushed play, and let the soft music fill the room. He moved on to the well-furnished kitchen- complete with modern appliances that were sleek and black. He moved deftly about the kitchen, thankful that Miss Parker never rearranged anything. Everything was the same as it had been when he first started visiting.

Jarod opted for the instant French Vanilla, and filled a teapot with water, then set it on the stove to let it boil. As he waited, he let his thoughts stray again. What exactly had he just agreed to do? Help Emily, yes. Help Lyle? He cringed. Yep. He had just agreed to help Lyle. What was he thinking? He mentally slapped himself, hard.

"Hey, you put the ShakespeareSorrow CD in." Miss Parker exclaimed, entering the living room.

"Yeah." Jarod nodded dumbly. His mind still stung from the slap. And his cheek felt funny too- kinda numb.

"Coffee almost ready?"

"Water's heating." Jarod answered. "How's AJ?"

"Okay, I think. I barely see him anymore." Miss Parker answered, sitting down on the couch. "They have him enrolled in a private, all-year-round, boy’s school not too far from here."

"At least they're letting him outside of the Centre." Jarod pointed out, trying to be at least a little optimistic.

"I might see if I can take him with me to Maine. It might be good for him." Miss Parker said, almost to herself.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Jarod asked, grabbing the steaming teapot off the hot stove.

"The way I see it, no matter what happens, AJ is going to be the next Chairman. If I can install some morals in him, without softening him, then it may turn the Centre around." Miss Parker replied firmly. "He needs some kind of positive reinforcement, or he's going to become what Lyle used to be."

"True."

"The Board voted unanimously for AJ's reserved position as Chairman, so that's settled. Raines is about out completely. It's only a matter of months before he either dies on his own, or they vote him out."

"Besides the Centre, how are things in the world of Miss Parker?" Jarod asked, handing her a steaming cup of coffee and joining her on the couch. He wanted to change the subject, and fast.

"Sydney's fine. Broots is fine, and Debbie just took her SATs. She wants to go to Harvard."

"What's she going to Major in?"

"She says she can't decide between Advanced Computer Technology, and Psychology. If she goes into Psychology, she wants to specialize in psychometry."

"Really?" Jarod asked, surprised.

"She met Angelo two years ago, and has been enthralled ever since." Miss Parker remembered the event with a small smile. The two (Angelo and Debbie) had clicked almost instantly. Now, if she was at the Centre, Angelo was with her.

"Angelo would enthrall anyone." Jarod replied truthfully. "He still amazes me."

"Yeah," Miss Parker nodded. "Me too."

The conversation carried on far into the small hours of the morning, and Jarod finally announced that he had to go. Miss Parker carried the two empty coffee cups into the kitchen, and stumbled back to bed to catch a few hours of much needed sleep before she had to start the day.

---

Aric Joel Parker woke to the beeping of a nearby clock. He laid in bed, and looked up at the ceiling, trying to make his small body suck more warmth out of the thin blankets. The alarm went off automatically after a minute, and he sighed. As every morning, the door swung open five seconds later and a Centre nurse entered the room.

"Come on, AJ. Time to get up." The man said, pulling back the covers. Aric Joel shivered, and slid off the bed. His feet hit the cold cement floor, and he shivered again. “Here, put your socks on.” The nurse handed him a pair of white socks, and Aric Joel accepted them gratefully. As he tugged the spotless, white socks on, the nurse retrieved his clothes for the day from the closet. The same outfit he wore everyday- pleated khaki pants, button up white dress shirt, a burgundy clip-on tie, and a black sports jacket.

While the clothes were strange enough for a normal boy, Aric Joel never questioned them. All the other children he knew wore clothes like his at school- and he never saw them anywhere else. His assigned Centre nurse, Frank, never said anything about the outfit. It was the school uniform, and Aric Joel had no need to change when he got home. He never went outside to play, so there was never the danger of getting dirty.

“Frank,” Aric Joel asked in a small voice. “Do you think Father will let me go on the field trip next week? I’ve never been on one before, and they’re going to the Zoo.” Frank frowned as he pulled a belt out of Aric Joel’s dresser, and he shook his head.

“Sorry, AJ. I don’t think he will. You know the rules.”

“Yeah, I know, I know. I just hoped…” Aric Joel trailed off, knowing also that the hope was misplaced. Mr. Parker would never let him go anywhere off school grounds with the other children. Frank helped Aric Joel pull the loose, gray cotton pajama shirt over his head, and Aric Joel quickly grabbed for the button-up shirt.

“Frank, will you help me with the top button? It’s the only one I can’t get.” Frank nodded, and knelt down to help the boy button the last button of the starched shirt. The pants were next, followed by the belt and the tie. Aric Joel slid his arms into the sleeves of the sports jacket, and the ritual was complete after he finished tying the snazzy, black Oxfords only seconds later.

A knock at the door startled Aric Joel, and he briefly wondered if Mr. Parker had made a surprise visit. Frank opened the door, and Sam the Sweeper stepped in.

“Sam?” Frank asked, tone deepening. It was an unspoken law that no one was to interrupt Aric while he was getting ready for school, and suddenly a Sweeper was breaking it.

“Frank.” Sam replied with a touch of dry humor. “Miss Parker wants the boy brought to her office immediately. Everything’s already been covered with Mr. Parker.” Aric Joel’s eyes lit up at the mention of his older half-sister.

“Really, Sam? I don’t have to go to school?” He asked excitedly. It was indeed a very rare occasion that Aric Joel missed school- usually only days when he was sick. Frank’s jaw dropped slightly, and he tried to come up with a valid excuse, but could think of none to use against Sam. If the message was true, then there was nothing really to do, or say.

“Really, kiddo. Come on, I’ll take you myself.” Sam offered his hand, and Aric Joel took it, with an almost triumphant look back at Frank. Together, Aric Joel and Sam navigated the vast halls of the Centre, climbing onto and off elevators various times, until they finally stopped in front of a heavy wood door. “In there, kid. Just go on in.” Sam pushed the door open, and Aric Joel slipped inside. The door closed behind him, and he realized with a start that the big Sweeper had stayed outside.

He looked around the dimly lit office, and his eyes locked on his half-sister, who was straightening things on her desk. He cleared his throat nervously, and his face wore a hesitant smile.

“Oh, AJ! I didn’t hear you come in. Come on over, I’m almost done.” Miss Parker looked up with a smile, and motioned him over. Aric Joel’s smile turned into a full blown grin, as he hurried over to stand next to her at the desk. He watched silently for several more minutes, before she shut the last drawer, and looked over at him. “You ready? We’re going on a trip.”

“A trip?” Aric Joel’s eyes grew wide, and his mouth opened in a little ‘o’.

“Yep. We’ll stop by your school, and see if there’s anything you need to bring- then we’re off to Maine.” Aric Joel nodded excitedly. Miss Parker stood, and grabbed two bags from their previous spot on the couch, and he followed her out the door. He waved to Sam as they walked to the elevator, and called out,

“Bye, Sam!” Several nearby Sweepers began to snicker, and Sam silenced them with a glare, and called out after Aric Joel,

“See ya around, kid.” Either Miss Parker didn’t hear, or she wasn’t paying attention, or she didn’t care- but she said nothing to Sam at all, or even looked at him as way of reprimand. Sam shrugged. So, she was okay with it- he hoped.

Aric Joel was ecstatic, and could barely hold still during the ride down on the elevator. Miss Parker seemed to sense his excitement, and gave her littlest brother a fond look. He already looked like a little man, in his sports jacket and khakis, and she smiled at him.

“What do you say we stop at a store, and buy you some new clothes? The Kids Gap usually has some nice stuff in.”

“New clothes?” Aric Joel felt as if he could burst. Too many good things in one day, and it wasn’t even nine AM yet! No school, a trip, and new clothes. He nodded vigorously. “I’d like that!”

---

Miss Parker glanced over at her small passenger, curled up on the seat asleep. He was dressed in his new jeans, screen tee, and sweatshirt, which he had begged to be allowed to wear- immediately after buying them. She had consented, of course, and he couldn’t get into them fast enough. They had stopped at a fast food restaurant afterwards, and then moved on towards Maine.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Lyle's house not far ahead, thankful that she remembered where it was. She had nearly made a wrong turn downtown, but had straightened out fast enough. She pulled into the driveway, and slowed to a stop. She turned the car off, and opened her door.

A head appeared at the window, then ducked back in, and she smiled. Another little head joined the first one as it reappeared. Charlie and Spider both pushed their faces against the glass, grinning and waving.

Miss Parker followed the front walk up to the door, and it opened just as she stepped on the porch. Lyle stood, with a sippy-cup full of apple juice in his hand. He wordlessly handed the juice to Cat, who was peeking out from behind his legs.

"The boys said you were here." He said quietly.

"I'm here." Miss Parker replied with a smile. "Can we come in?"

"We?" Lyle asked suspiciously.

"I brought AJ. Our little brother." Miss Parker informed him, pointing to the car. “He’s asleep.”

“Um, sure. Come on in.” Lyle swung the door open all the way, and she pointed to the car again.

“I’m going to go get him, and our stuff. We’ll be right in.”

The door was still open when she returned several minutes later, arms full of bags, and a wide-eyed Aric Joel standing next to her. They stepped inside, and Miss Parker pushed the door shut behind them.

“Lyle?” She called out, dropping the bags in the foyer. The house was now seemingly deserted, except for a low murmur coming from the kitchen. She took Aric Joel by the hand, and walked back to the room where the noise was coming from.

“The Dragon walked in circles around little Hero, but Hero did not let the Dragon know he was afraid. He waved his sword in the air at the Dragon, and yelled, “You shall not have me, nor my city!” The Dragon laughed a great laugh, that shook the ground. “You cannot save them,” He said to Hero. “You are too small. That is why they sent you, because they wanted you to die.” The Dragon breathed a bit of fire through his nose as he spoke, but still Hero stood firm. “That doesn’t matter! I will save them, even if they do not think I can!” Hero lunged forward, and drove his sword into the Dragon’s soft spot, just underneath the Dragon’s steely chest. The Dragon gasped in horror, for he knew that the little boy, Hero, had defeated him. He began to fall forward, and that is when Hero realized his mistake.

“He tried to run out from underneath the Dragon, but it was too late. With a loud sigh of defeat, the Dragon fell. The Dragon was silent, still- unaware of the little boy who was caught under him. The townspeople found them later- the Dragon and Hero fallen together. But it was still easy to tell who had won, for Hero’s little sword was still in the Dragon’s broad side. Too late did the people realize what a hero little Hero was.” Lyle finished the book, and closed it. Spider immediately climbed onto his lap, and Charlie stared off into space with a dreamy smile. Cat was asleep, apple juice still in hand. Maddy was the first to see Miss Parker, and Aric Joel, and she jumped up.

“Aunt Parker!” She exclaimed, running over and hugging her. Lyle looked over at Miss Parker with a sheepish smile, and shrugged.

“I had to tell them. Cat thought you were my girlfriend.” Miss Parker shook her head and smiled.

“It’s okay.”

“Who are you?” Charlie asked Aric Joel, after giving Miss Parker a hug.

“Aric Joel.” Aric Joel replied matter-of-factly. “But everyone calls me AJ. Except for Father and the Board.” Miss Parker knelt next to Aric Joel, and looked him straight in the eye.

“AJ, you remember when Daddy told you that our brother was dead?”

“Your twin brother. I remember.” Aric Joel nodded, confusion stealing his face.

“Daddy lied. That,” She pointed over to Lyle, “is your brother, Lyle.”

---

Lyle sat in contemplative silence, listening to the sounds of the day winding down. Miss Parker was talking to Aric Joel in the guest room, but the voices were muffled, and he couldn’t discern actual words. Maddy, Cat, and Spider were all asleep, and Charlie was reading. A soft glow filtered into the upstairs hall from the boy’s room, and every few minutes Lyle could hear a page turn.

His whole body ached, but he forced himself to ignore the warning signs of being wiped out. He refused to acknowledge the fact that he would barely be able to function tomorrow. So, instead, he leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. His other senses immediately heightened, and after what seemed like hours, he heard the guest room door open. Soft steps on the stairs became soft steps on the floor, until they were right next to him.

“Hey, you asleep?” Miss Parker whispered, sitting next to the still form of her twin brother.

“No.” Lyle whispered back. His eyes opened slowly, and he turned his head to look at her.

“They had fun at the park today.” She observed quietly, leaning back into the pillows.

“Yeah. I get the impression that AJ doesn’t do that kind of thing often?” Lyle more stated than questioned, and Miss Parker nodded.

“What gave you that idea? Was it when he started trying to explain that Merlin was only a master of optical illusion- not actual magic, or when he tried to convince everyone that dragons were actually large iguanas and other lizards?”

“Actually, I was surprised he couldn’t grasp the concept of Pretending. Shouldn’t he be an expert at that?” Lyle asked, brow furrowing.

“You mean, like us and Jarod? The Centre has gone from one extreme to the other. Their first attempt was to create someone who could Pretend all the time. It failed, when the Pretender understood what freedom was.”

“I think they just had him do too many POW Pretends. It wasn’t much of a Pretend for him, so he eventually realized that whatever the men were missing he was missing too.” Lyle interrupted. When Miss Parker looked at him with a raised eyebrow, he shrugged. “I’ve been there. Continue.”

“So, they’re now trying to create a man that doesn’t understand the concept of Pretend at all. Then they can introduce it to him as a science, not a life-style. That’s what they say the mistake was that they made with Jarod- he considered Pretending a job, a life-style, instead of a science. He could only think of it as what he did, not what it was.”

“Please, clarify. I didn’t quite get that.” Lyle closed his eyes again, and Miss Parker went on.

“Jarod sees Pretending as what he does, who he is. If you ask him to explain what it is he does, he tells you that he becomes other people. In reality, that’s not true. Half of the time he’s Pretending, he’s being a non-existent person. Jarod doesn’t become people, he makes them. He’s a master of the art of pretend.”

“Back up. I thought you said a minute ago it was a science?”

“No, I said they wanted Jarod and AJ to see it that way. When we were kids, Jarod always referred to Pretending as his job, his work. AJ, on the other hand, can’t even grasp the idea that you would want to become someone else. He has no haven, therefore, he has no desire to get away from the Centre. He’s happy with being AJ, because he doesn’t know what it’s like to think of himself as another, even when he’s playing. Remember when they were picking names for their game? He kept telling everyone that he just wanted to be AJ. He doesn’t see Pretending as anything but foolish nonsense. When he’s older, they can introduce it to him as a science, just like as adults, we see a game of catch as an exercise to develop hand-eye coordination.”

“Oh. I think I understood you that time. My mind is stuck in the realm of three letter words and simple addition.”

“What?” Miss Parker blinked.

“A, E, I, O, U…I’m teaching Cat and Spider to read.” Lyle explained, without opening his eyes.

“But, they’re three and four.”

“So? Their mother is the sister of Jarod, arguably the smartest man to ever grace the earth, and their father is me. A red file himself.”

“True. Hey, I have a question for you.”

“Shoot. Not literally.”

“Haha.” Miss Parker returned sarcastically. “Do you want to join me and AJ for the week? We’re going up to Ben’s for vacation.”

“Maybe. I dunno.” Lyle’s mind reeled with the thought of vacation- vacation meant chasing kids around unfamiliar territory, looking over your shoulder every five minutes, and a whole lot more work than watching kids at home. The thought process started to give him a headache, and his muscles and joints already hurt like heck. Miss Parker watched with concern, as her little brother winced.

“Lyle, have you gone to a doctor yet?”

“No. Why?” She noticed he kept his eyes closed, but didn’t point it out.

“I think I know what’s wrong with you.”

“Hmm?”

“CFS. Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.” Miss Parker said softly. Lyle shifted uneasily.

“What’s that mean?”

“That means you should probably stock up on minerals and fish oil tablets.” Miss Parker replied. “I can pick up some for you tomorrow, before we leave. Just try them for a day or two, and see what happens.”

“Sure. Anything, anything. But what exactly did you mean by, ‘before we leave’?”

“You’re coming, aren’t you?”

“I hadn’t agreed to that yet.”

“Look, I already talked to Ben. We’re going to watch the kids, and give you a vacation. When was the last time you had some time to yourself? Sure, spending time with them is great, but you don’t want to be burnt out before Charlie’s even in college.”

“Don’t say that. He’s already too old.” Lyle sighed.

"Too old?" Miss Parker questioned. A dreamy smile crept across Lyle's face.

"It seems like just yesterday we brought him home from the hospital. I can still remember the way he smelled, Emily's grin, and me fumbling with the stupid camcorder." Lyle gave a sad laugh, something between a chuckle and a sob. He finally opened his eyes and looked over at Miss Parker. "It seems like just yesterday she was here. Sometimes, when they're all asleep and I'm down here awake, I think I can hear her laughing in the kitchen, or talking to Charlie up in his room. It's really the little things I miss the most. The oreo crumbs on top of a half-finished cross word puzzle, holding her while we watched a movie, watching her dance with Charlie and Maddy." Lyle swallowed the lump in his throat, and blinked back tears. Miss Parker hesitated, then wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

As awkward as it was, it felt right. She was his big sister, and she should be lending a shoulder, right? Right. She confirmed in her mind, as he leaned his head against her shoulder.

"Thanks." The whisper was almost inaudible, but Miss Parker caught it. She couldn't think of anything to say in return.

---

Broots clicked the camera feed off, and sat back in his chair. Things weren't looking too bright in SL-15ville. He had honestly never seen anyone so depressed. Even Jarod hadn't looked that bad before. He shuddered, and pulled up another file on the computer. His eyes scanned it quickly, skimming over the report until he came across something that made him nearly blow his socks.

Project Removal- Along with other Projects, Subject 551 (aka Emily) is under careful watch for Project Removal, studying intense levels of depression and sudden loss shock (SLS). The subject has shown varying symptoms all in the extreme, from silence and refusal to consume food or water to fits of rage and insanity. Still under the impression that her husband, Lyle Parker, is deceased, Subject 551 is a perfect study subject for Project Removal. Consideration for continuation of the Project will go before the board Monday the thirteenth of September. NOTE: Added 9/13- Board approved continuation of Project Removal. The science team will continue as directed with monitoring and administration of experimental depression and relaxant drugs, also in connection with Project Sleepwalk.

A chill ran up and down his spine, and he closed the file. He bit his lower lip, and indecisively pushed the link to the camera, turning the live video feed back on. Minutes ago, Emily had been laying on the gray cot, unblinking and unmoving. Now she was pounding on the door, yelling as tears streamed down her face. Broots turned the sound up just a notch, so he could hear what she was screaming.

"Let me out of here! You're lying, I know you are! He's not dead, he's not. He's not dead." Emily repeated, sinking down to the floor. She pounded helplessly on the concrete. "He's not dead." She mumbled. "He's not. Let me out, just let me out."

Broots hurriedly click the camera feed off, and erased the computer history files. He knew deep inside that something had to be done, and fast. Before she really snapped for good.

Sorry for such a long wait! And I'm afraid the wait for the chapter after this may be just as long! It's a WIP, and I usually have the whole story finished before I post, so this is a rather new ball game.
I apologize in advance for those of you who think I'm straying off-subject in some matters, but I would like you to note that the title is 'Portrait of a Killer'. It never actually specifies which killer. But as the piece was intended to be Lyle and Emily, it will return to just them in the end (their storyline, not them literally. No, I'm not killing Spider. I'm not that cruel.). But I needed to throw in some extra stuff along the way, just because those two can't do everything.
Thanks for the great reviews! Please, do not tear Jarod's head off...*laughs* He is going to be okay in the end. Next chapter holds some surprises, *SPOILER* as well as Major Charles and the Clone coming into the story.
Here it is! The next chapter in the Portrait of a Killer Saga! Chronicle! Thing! (LOtR fans: I'm with you all the way *grin*)
NOTE: This chapter, as well as some of the following, may contain minor language. Very small usage, but still there. Just a warning.

Portrait of a Killer

5/10

by RRP

Ben Miller looked out the freshly washed window, sipping tentatively on a cup of steaming coffee. He anxiously awaited the arrival of Catherine's daughter, and the son she had thought dead. He wondered what it would be like to finally meet the child he had mourned for with Catherine. He took another drawn-out sip of his coffee, just as a dark blue van pulled into the gravel driveway.

Miss Parker stepped out, and he gasped. It was like seeing Catherine for the first time- all over again. He hurried to the front door, and flung it open.

"Miss Parker!" She looked over suddenly, attention turned from the occupants of the van.

"Ben!" Ben left the porch, and within seconds stood next her, and the van. He embraced her, and she awkwardly returned the gesture. The passenger door swung open, and a man's head appeared on the other side of the van. Ben stepped away from Miss Parker, and looked the man over.

"You must be Lyle." The man nodded, but said nothing. There was silence in the air for several tense seconds, before a voice from the back of the van asked with a drawn-out sigh.

"Can we get out now?" Miss Parker laughed, and a smile appeared on Lyle's face. Miss Parker slid the door over, and immediately, four of the five children tumbled out. Spider squealed for someone to release him from his car seat, and Lyle slid the other door open to do so.

"I'll get him, Lyle." Miss Parker called out, reaching in to pick up Spider. Lyle reluctantly stepped back, and watched as she set him down. He was gone almost instantly, running in circles with the other children- all of them glad just to be out of the car.

"Would you like some coffee? Or tea?" Ben asked, breaking the uneasy stillness between the adults.

"That'd be great, Ben." Miss Parker answered for both of them, and Ben led the way inside the house. Miss Parker and Lyle followed, Lyle's step noticeably slower and lagging. They paused in the hall, and Miss Parker leaned over to him.

"You okay?" He nodded, and gave her a forced smile.

"Just tired. I'll be fine."

"Don't give me that, Lyle." Miss Parker snapped. "Or I'll shoot you in the knee. This is your vacation, if you're tired, go rest." She left him in the hall, and from where he stood still in shock, he heard her talking to Ben. "Which guest room do you want Lyle to use?"

"The light blue one okay? That's the one I was planning on." Ben replied.

"That's great. Thanks again, Ben." Miss Parker reappeared in the hall, and took Lyle by the arm. "Come on," He was half-dragged up the stairs, into a fresh smelling room with pale blue walls. There was a pine-frame bed near the window, with dark blue blankets. She pushed him towards the bed.

"Sleep, Lyle. It's been a long day." He nodded and mumbled his thanks, and collapsed on the bed. "Geez. You're worse than Spider. Take off your shoes, and get under the covers." Miss Parker reprimanded, arms crossed over her chest impatiently. He struggled to sit, and then tugged off his shoes. The last thing he heard was her retreating footsteps down the stairs, before everything faded into a dark bliss.

---

"Is she ready?"

"To move?"

"Of course, you idiot. What else would I be talking about?"

"I think so. We'll have to sedate her right before we take-off, but she's been vaccinated."

"Good." The raspy voice of a ragged throat finished the conversation between the two men, with one syllable. The white-cloaked doctor moved away, and disappeared down the hall. The now silent raspy voice moved the opposite direction, accompanied by the squeaking of an oxygen tank. After the squeaking had faded out of earshot, a dark figure stepped out of the shadows. He looked up at the camera, and sighed.

Next, he stepped over to a large window, which the two other men had been standing before. The figure of a woman was inside, still and motionless on the bed. Her chest moved up and down, proving that she was still alive. At least in body. Mind was another matter. The dark clothed figure sighed again, and watched the woman for several minutes. Suddenly, she moved.

Within seconds, she was at the glass, banging and screaming. The dark clothed man jumped, but didn't move away. He already knew, as well as she did, that she couldn't she him. It was a one-way glass. She screamed words, but his trained ears refused to hear them. Minutes again passed, and she sank to the ground sobbing.

The figure turned, and walked quickly down the hall, a purpose held in his firm steps. It wasn't until three floors later, in front of a door marked, 'STORAGE', that he adapted and began using stealth. He sneaked into the room, and browsed the many shelves. He found a certain box, and jerked it off the shelves. It was full of unmarked DSAs, and he grabbed one.

He was off again, down the halls. Back down to the level he had started on, only feet from his original standpoint. Instead, he entered a room, and a startled watchman looked up.

"Hey,"

"You want me to fill in for you, for a couple minutes?" He offered. The watchman nodded enthusiastically.

"That be great. It's all yours, I'll be right back." The watchman left the room, and the figure sat down. He glanced at the screen for only a minute, before opening a tiny disc tray, and grabbing the DSA within. He set the blank one in the tray, and pocketed the used one. The watchman returned a brief minute later, and reclaimed his seat.

"Thanks."

"No problem." The figure left the room, and again changed floors, riding silently on the otherwise empty elevator. He had just betrayed the Centre, and it wouldn't be long before they found out, but he was confident that it was worth it. He entered another room, this one larger than any of the others. Another man sat in the center, at a desk with a computer and other electronic equipment. He looked up suddenly. The figure tossed the disc to him.

"Here, Broots." The figure spoke, "That's for Miss Parker."

"What is it, Sam?" Sam looked around him before he answered.

"Important." And with that, the Sweeper left the room.

---

Miss Parker was about to sip her coffee, when her cell-phone rang. She sighed, and set the coffee down. Lyle was bent over Spider, wiping the little boy's mouth off, and Ben was serving Charlie and Aric Joel more pancakes. She grabbed the phone, and left the room.

"What?"

"Miss Parker!" Broots' voice greeted her nervously, and she sighed again.

"What is it, Broots?"

"Uh, well...Sam gave me this DSA..." Broots began.

"Sam the Sweeper?" Miss Parker asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I really think you should see it."

"Not possible right now. Just tell me what's on it." Miss Parker ordered. Broots lowered his voice to a mere whisper.

"They're moving Emily to Africa!" Broots blurted out. Miss Parker's eyes widened.

"What?"

"Tomorrow! There isn't any more time! There's no way we'll ever even see her again if she goes to Africa!"

"Okay, Broots, listen very carefully. I want you to find Sydney and Sam. Find out why Sam gave you the disc, and then meet with Sydney on the beach behind my house. Take Sam with you if you think he's telling the truth, understand?"

"Yes, Miss Parker. But-"

"Broots, I want all three of you to be there at noon today. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Parker." She hung up on him, confident that he would carry out her orders to the T. She returned to the kitchen, and made an announcement that was rather startling to the other two adults.

"Ben, I need you to watch the kids for a few days. Lyle's coming with me to Delaware."

"What?" Lyle's head snapped up, and he looked at her with wide eyes.

"Come on," She grabbed his arm, and pulled him outside towards the car.

"What are we doing?" He asked frantically, as he snapped the ends of the buckle together.

"Saving your life." Was all Miss Parker would reply.

---

"What?" Miss Parker answered the phone harshly, as they neared Delaware. The car trip had been silent for the past hour- Lyle had given up trying to get information after the first thirty minutes.

"Hello, Miss Parker. So nice to speak to you again." Jarod greeted her in return. Miss Parker sighed, and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Lyle noticed, and leaned forward to hear what was being said.

"Jarod," Miss Parker was upset for a reason unknown to her, yet at the same time, strangely comforted knowing that Jarod would be able to help. She was afraid she wouldn't be able to contact him in time.

"About the games we play with ourselves-" Jarod began giving her his usual cryptic clue, but she cut him off.

"And the games the Centre plays with people and planes and Africa." Miss Parker hoped he would catch on. But knowing Jarod, and his lack of common sense, she didn't place her hopes too high.

"They're moving her?" Jarod exclaimed in surprise. Miss Parker blinked.

"Well, what do you know? Wonderboy caught on reasonably fast! Yes, they're moving her. Beach, behind my house, noon today. Be there." She hung up without waiting for an answer. He'd be there. After a brief silence, Lyle spoke up again.

"Sis? Who's 'she'?" Miss Parker clenched her jaw firmly shut. "Sis? Sis? You're scaring me. Come on. Who is she?" Miss Parker still didn't answer. Lyle finally silenced.

---

Sydney turned from the ocean at the sound of approaching footsteps, crunching in the warm sand. Broots and Sam were walking towards him, and they stopped in front of him. Broots looked characteristically nervous, glancing over his shoulder every few minutes. Sam was silent and rock-solid as usual, his poker face giving nothing away, but his eyes revealing the matching cool interior- one that was almost always (as with this case) accompanied by a deadly 9mm.

"It's five till. She said she would be here?" Sydney asked quietly. Broots nodded, and Sam scanned the area automatically.

"She said she would. I don't know who's going to be with her, or if she's coming alone."

"There." The one syllable from Sam's mouth was already more than Sydney expected to hear, and he followed Sam's extended arm, with his eyes. Miss Parker was walking towards them, from the front of the house, a familiar but long-absent figure following her.

"Miss Parker." Sydney greeted, as she joined them. Lyle hovered nervously behind her, warily eyeing Sam.

"Sydney, Broots, Sam," She nodded to the three men. She raised a finger to them, signaling for a pause, or silence. "Just a second." She strode over to her house, and threw open the back sliding glass door, and stuck her head inside. A muffled, "Jarod, come on out." reached their ears, and all four sets of eyebrows raised behind her.

Miss Parker scanned the darkened room for Jarod, waiting for his tall figure to emerge from the shadows. She wasn't disappointed.

"How'd you know?" He asked, his mouth twisted into what could only be called a pout.

"I've known you for a long time, Jarod. Don't expect less." She snapped back. "Come on, we don't have much time." He followed her out to the small circle of people on the beach. The six people eyed each other for nearly five minutes before Miss Parker spoke up.

"They're moving Emily to Africa tomorrow, for those of you who didn't know." A small gasp came from her twin, and Sydney noticed with unease that he had gone sheet-white. He slowly swallowed, and grabbed Miss Parker's arm.

"She's...she's alive?" Miss Parker nodded, and forced out one small word.

"Yes."

"Oh, God..." Was all Lyle could manage. Miss Parker looked over at him with a flicker of concern, not allowing her true care to come into full light among the other people on the beach.

"We need a plan, and fast."

"I have an idea." Sam spoke up, and it was clear to Sydney that he had gone over whatever the idea was, several times. The rest of the small group looked at him curiously. "The Centre has instructions to send Jarod on the same plane, if possible." He swallowed hard, and looked over at Jarod. "I'm assigned to guard. It's a single guard flight, because of plane capacity limits. And there will be one pilot. I can knock the pilot out easy enough, but I have no idea how to fly. It's sketchy, but I thought it might be easier than trying to get her out of the building."

"You want me to let you capture me!" Jarod exclaimed in disbelief.

"It would only be for a day." Miss Parker pointed out. "Good job, Sam. It may work." Sam nodded, and slipped back into silence.

"I won't-" Jarod started to loudly protest, when he caught Lyle's hopeful eye.

"Please, Jarod? Not for me, I don't deserve it. For Emily. Please do it for Emily." Lyle begged. Jarod glared at the sand. He slowly nodded.

"I'll do it. But if anything goes wrong, I'm holding Sam personally responsible."

"I can live with that." Sam agreed with a sigh.

"Let's do it." Miss Parker nodded decisively. "We need to plan more in detail though. Let's go inside." She started walking to her house, the others striding after her. Lyle dropped behind, and caught Jarod right before they entered the house. He met Jarod's fierce gaze, and gave a weak grin.

"Thanks, Jarod."

"Thank me when this whole mess is over." Jarod growled back, stepping into the house. Lyle looked back out at the ocean, and then followed.

---

Mr. Parker left his office to investigate the loud confusion out in the hall. He flung the doors open to see a site he had been waiting years to see. Miss Parker was stalking towards him in full Parker-glory, eyes like ice, shoulders squared- her thin legs tapping out a sharp tune with her hard shoe heels on the cold floor. Behind her, Sam dragged a subdued and dejected Jarod, the Sweeper's gun held firmly to Jarod's back.

"Angel!" He exclaimed, hurrying towards her.

"Another labrat to ship to Africa." She commented, watching her father carefully, to see his reaction to the fact that she knew about Emily. A flicker of confusion and nothing more. Mr. Parker grinned.

"I knew you could do it, Angel." He snapped his fingers at some near-by Sweepers. "Take him to SL-15, room 155." They nodded, and took Jarod from Sam. He turned to Sam next. "It's Sam, isn't it? Notify Dr. Yancy. He'll know what to do." Sam also gave a curt nod, and disappeared down the hall.

"Daddy," Miss Parker stepped up. "We had a deal. I brought Jarod, and the Centre let me go." Mr. Parker met her gaze, and forced a smile.

"So we did. Come into my office for a moment." She hesitated, then followed him. Once inside, he sat at his desk, and she sat across from him. He pulled a file out from his desk, the file full and overflowing with papers and scraps.

"Daddy?" Miss Parker prompted. He sighed, and set the file down on the desk.

"I'm sure after all these years, it's clear that I lied about several things." He painfully met her gaze, and continued. "But I did make a promise, and for once I intend to keep it. I owe it to you. I owe it to your mother." He slid the file over to her, and she accepted it. He stood, and she copied his motions.

"Just like that? I can leave?" She questioned in disbelief. He nodded.

"Just like that, Angel." He placed a gentle kiss on the top of her forehead, then gave her a soft push away from him. "Go on. Get out of here." Miss Parker walked away, head swirling and thoughts spinning. She knew it was too good to be true. She froze as the tattle-tale thought forced it's way into her mind.

He never said anything about AJ.

At the same time, she heard an ominous click behind her. Things seemed to move in slow motion, as she spun around, to be greeted by the sight of her father pointing a gun at her. He pulled the trigger, and a flash of pain lit in her chest, cascading into an unbearable burning fire of agony. The file spilled, and papers flew about the room. As she fell, she just barely caught her father's words,

"I'm sorry Angel. I lied."

---

Sam shook the Pretender, hoping Jarod would wake up. Nothing happened. Jarod shifted in his seat, and nothing more. Sam swore, realizing that the Doctor must have given Jarod a sedative along with his last shots. The Centre usually didn't make the same mistakes twice- it was an attribute they prided themselves on. Sam cursed again for not seeing the probability sooner.

"Jarod, Jarod..." Sam's conscious was telling him to just give up. Jarod was drugged, Emily wouldn't be of any use even if they did wake her, with her current emotional state. Sam himself had no idea how to fly a plane, and to top it all off, he hadn't gotten any word from Miss Parker since they had brought Jarod in. And the rumors floating around the upper sub levels about a near-death in the infirmary hadn't helped a bit.

"Unnghh..." Jarod moaned, and opened his eyes. "Wha?" He mumbled, confirming Sam's fears that the Pretender was drugged.

"You have to fly the plane!"

"Can't. Sedative. You do it." Sam's eyes widened in shock, and he shook his head.

"Me? I don't know how to fly! That's why you're here in the first place!"

"I tell you what to do, you do it, understand?" Jarod ordered, slurring the words. "Help me into the cockpit." Sam obeyed, and Jarod was soon settled in the co-pilot's seat, struggling to stay awake. Sam sat down in the pilot's chair, eyed all the dials, knobs, and switches.

"Turn us thirty seven degrees north." Jarod ordered. Sam picked out the device he guessed to be the compass-thingy (as he cataloged it in his mind) and slowly turned the steering wheel until the 'compass-thingy' was thirty-eight degrees over in the direction he guessed to be north. At least, he hoped the little arrow pointing somewhat left meant north.

He hoped.

---

Lyle drummed his fingers nervously on the armrest of his chair, and waited Sydney to announce the plane's arrival. No word from his sister had made him worried enough, and the anticipation of seeing Emily again had nearly short-wired him.

"They're here." Sydney called out from next to the window, his voice accompanied by the whine of an airplane engine. They watched from the window as the plane took a moderately rough landing, and pulled to a stop at the end of the runway. Several minutes later, Lyle, Broots, and Sydney all neared the plane as the door flew open. Out stepped a shaky, pale Sam.

"Sam?" Sydney asked, before Sam even made it to the ground. "What's wrong?"

"First, Jarod was drugged. I had to land the plane." Sam began. He took a deep breath, and something similar to a shudder caused his usually study frame to tremble. "I just got the news. Miss Parker's...Miss Parker's been shot." A collective gasp came from the group of three.

"How bad?" Broots found his voice first.

"I don't know, but from the wavelengths I hit on the Centre's closed radio, I'd say pretty bad." He looked over to Lyle, and stepped away from the plane's door. "She's pretty out of it, but she's in there."

Lyle was inside the plane before the other three could blink. Sydney shot a look of half-worry to Broots, and Broots gave a small shrug. Sydney climbed inside the plane after Lyle, and saw a sight he never expected to see in his lifetime- the once fearsome Mr. Lyle hugging the sister of the elusive Pretender, holding her to him like a drowning man clung to a life-ring.

"Oh, god. Emmy...Oh, god...I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. I had no idea...oh, god." Lyle's string of apologies and murmurs was riddled with tears and almost unintelligible. Sydney turned from the two, sensing that there was nothing helpful he could do as the present time, and instead walked the length of the small plane, to the man he considered a son.

"Jarod?" He shook the Pretender, until the younger man blinked.

"Huh?" Jarod looked around, confusion clear in his chocolate brown eyes.

"Come on, let's go inside." Sydney tugged gently on Jarod's sleeve, and Jarod sat straight up in a panic, eyes suddenly sharp and suspicious.

"Did we crash? What happened?"

"Sam landed the plane. All of you are fine! I was under the impression that you walked him through it." Sydney replied, the confusion transferring to his eyes. Jarod shook his head.

"I must have fallen asleep!"

"You mean this plane was just landed by a man who's never flown before?" Sydney asked in astonishment, looking quizzically at the Pretender. Jarod nodded sheepishly.

"I'd say he did a pretty damn good job, too."

"I'd say!" Sydney exclaimed in agreement. Sam, unaware of the topic of conversation, poked his head into the cockpit.

"Sydney, a minute?" He requested quietly. Sydney nodded.

"Come on, Jarod. Inside." He ordered, following Sam outside of the plane- pausing for a brief second to watch Lyle silently cradle Emily.

"Sam?" Sydney asked once he was outside. Sam was looking into the sky, and he quickly turned, and looked around before speaking in low tones.

"I just got a call from Joel, another Sweeper. Worked for Miss Parker. Sydney..." Sam trailed off, and ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. "God...Sydney, she's gone. I don't know how else to say it. They lost her this morning, in the infirmary." Sydney leaned against the plane for support, feeling his face drain of color.

He didn't even realize Jarod was in hearing range, until a flash of dark clothing flew past him, and Jarod had tackled Sam. He was on top of the Sweeper, mercilessly pummeling Sam's face and chest. Sydney struggled to pull the Pretender off of the Sweeper, and yelled for Broots without even realizing it. Broots appeared at his side, and barked in an uncharacteriscally firm voice.

"Jarod, cut it out!"

"Jarod, stop!" Sydney added for emphasis. Jarod finally stopped, and backed away before sinking to the pavement, sobbing helplessly. Broots watched from several feet away, face twisted with confusion, as Sydney's arm's encircled the Pretender and they wept together. Sam slowly stood to his feet, and attempted to seep up the steady stream of blood from his nose.

"Sam?" Broots asked in a mere whisper, fearing the very worst. Sam glanced over to Sydney and Jarod, before starting to walk to the house. "Sam?" Broots persisted, louder the second time, following the Sweeper. "Will you tell me what's going on, already? It's a wonder you're not unconscious the way he was hitting you. What happened?"

"He said he'd hold me responsible. We're both just keeping our promises." He motioned to Sydney and Jarod, "They- you- were made for families. I was a Chicago street kid. Death should be a stranger to you people. It's always been one of my closest companions. And it steals again." Sam stopped speaking, and continued towards the house. Broots froze, the meaning of Sam's words hitting him full in the stomach. He looked back over at Sydney and Jarod, and then down at his hands. He wanted to cry. He wanted to forget everything else, and sob. But first he had to pound some sense into these people. His friends. And he hated confrontations. He took at deep breath, and stalked over to Sydney and Jarod.

"This is insane. Completely and utterly insane." Both Jarod and Sydney were shocked out of their sorrow, and looked up at Broots, as the usually nervous man waved his arms in the air. "Come on! Geez, how many times does it have to happen before you realize it's just a game they play? She's not dead. She's too important to them, for some reason. They just want you to think she's dead. Like they did with Lyle, and Ethan, and Mrs. Parker, and Kyle, and Emily! The list goes on and on! Shall I continue?"

Jarod looked over at Sydney and blushed. Sydney couldn't help grinning a bit. Broots was right- it was rather foolish to assume Miss Parker dead just because of one phone call. Jarod sniffled, and stood up.

"I should probably apologize to Sam, nonetheless." He stated awkwardly. Sydney nodded. Broots watched, rather pleased with the outcome of his outburst.

"And someone needs to get Emily inside, and check her out." Sydney added. Jarod gave a heavy sigh, and a plan could almost be seen forming, behind his eyes. Broots noticed, and couldn't help muttering under his breath,

"They say eyes are the window to the soul. In Jarod's case, it's his brain." Jarod caught it, and gave the smaller man a half-cocked grin. A Jarod-ish smirk many were familiar with.

"Broots, Emily's pretty small. I think you can manage her. Sydney, you may want to help with Lyle. I don't have the slightest feeling that he's going to give her up any time soon. I'll go talk to Sam." Nods were exchanged, and each set off to his own task.

Jarod entered the house, and glanced around. No one was in immediate site, but a few small spots of blood were making a trail to the house's first floor bathroom. He followed the trail to the closed bathroom door, and knocked lightly.

"Sam?" There was no answer, so he continued. "First, Broots pointed out that Miss Parker's probably not actually dead. The Centre has a thing with keeping dead people alive, if you know what I mean. Secondly, I think I should apologize for jumping you like that." The door's lock clicked, and Jarod stepped back. The door swung open, and Sam stood in the doorway, holding an old washcloth to his nose, a bandage already on one side of his swelling lip.

"Sorry I didn't answer the first time. My teeth were clenched. It's no problem, really. We had a deal, you'd blame me for whatever went wrong. But next time, make sure there are some stiff bandages or butterfly tapes around, before you break my nose." Sam's voice was slightly muffled and altered by the washcloth, and the swollen lip. Jarod blinked.

"You just...um, set your own nose?"

"Yes. You have a problem with that?" Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow. Jarod shook his head, for the first and most likely last time in his life, admiring a Sweeper. Jarod grinned mischievously.

"One favor." Jarod replied.

"What?"

"I just got new couches and carpets and everything, so if you tell Broots, make sure he's already near the toilet." Jarod shrugged towards the stuff in the living room. Sam's eyes twinkled, and the uninjured half of his mouth twisted into a smile.

"Sure thing, Labrat."

"Thanks," Jarod returned quickly, "Broom Man."

---

Jarod stood in the doorframe, pushing his worries about Miss Parker to the back of his mind, as he watched Lyle and Emily sleep. She was on the bed, covered in multiple layers of blankets to keep her warm, and Lyle had fallen asleep holding her hand, next to the twin-bed. He felt strangely free, and it was all because of the dream he had had not twenty minutes ago.

He had been tossing and turning, sleepily restlessly, tormented by nightmares- until there was an unusual calm in the storm of his mind...

A bright light, then he saw Kyle with no other than Thomas Gates. Both of them were laughing about something, almost as if they didn't notice him. Kyle finally looked his direction, and Jarod watched him move closer, still speechless.

"Hey, Big Brother. I've been keeping an eye on you."

"Kyle?" Jarod asked, lower lip trembling in disbelief.

"I want you to do me a favor. A big favor." Kyle continued, watching Jarod carefully. Jarod nodded.

"Anything!"

"I want you to forgive Lyle. For Emily's sake. Forgive him once and for all. Start over, with a clean slate." Jarod's mouth twisted into a small frown, and his eyebrows burrowed.

"But, Kyle!"

"You said 'anything', Jarod." Kyle reminded him gently. Jarod's head dropped, and he nodded.

"Okay. I'll forgive him- for you and for Emily."

"Thanks, Big Bro. I'd hug you, but it's against the rules." He waved, as he backed away, then disappeared. Thomas looked around him, almost as if he were afraid someone was listening, then stepped closer to Jarod.

"She's still alive, Jarod. She's not here yet. Take good care of her for me, okay? She needs you now. Whether she admits it or not, she trusts you. Don't hurt her." And with that, Thomas was gone.

Jarod snapped back to the present with a small start, and found that Lyle was eyeing him. Jarod glanced over at Emily, before taking a seat next to Lyle. He swallowed hard before he spoke.

"Things have happened in the past, and I'm not going to bring up specifics right now. I just want you to know that you're forgiven." Lyle looked up sharply at him, and studied him for several minutes before replying.

"Seriously?"

"Yes." Jarod nodded, meeting Lyle's eyes. "Let's start clean."

"I know you're doing it for her, Jarod. And I can't thank you enough. I know I don't deserve it." Lyle caressed Emily's limp hand as he spoke, and Jarod noticed but said nothing about it.

"You know, I didn't decorate all those extra bedrooms upstairs in baseballs and dolls for the adults. How about we give Ben the directions to this place?" Jarod offered.

"That'd be great. I still feel guilty about leaving him with all five kids like that." Lyle murmured in reply.

"I'll call him. You should probably get some sleep. There's a bed in the next room over." Jarod added, knowing Lyle wouldn't accept but offering anyway.

"No thanks. I think I'll just stay here." Lyle replied softly. "With Emily."

Portrait of a Killer

6/10

by RRP


Ben Miller sat at the kitchen table, bewilderment clear, as he looked around and cataloged everything that had happened. He had driven the five kids to the two story house, and they had all been put to bed. Jarod, Lyle, and three strange men had all been running back and forth, into a back bedroom, then to the kitchen, and then to the bedroom again.

One of the strange men sat across from him now, they said Broots was his name, and he was typing at an unusually quick pace on a laptop, muttering to himself every few minutes. Ben hadn't seen Lyle for half-an-hour, and he had only come out of the back bedroom to talk to Charlie and tell Ben thanks for watching the kids.

Jarod had been carrying what looked suspiciously like medical equipment, and occasionally stopped to look at the laptop screen and exchange whispered words with the Broots guy. An older man, who Ben guessed to be about his own age, was Sydney- who Ben realized with a start- was the kind man Catherine had always been talking about. He had a twin, Jacob, if Ben remembered correctly. Sydney had been upstairs reading stories to the kids for a while, a job he had offered to do.

The last man, who had been introduced to him as Sam, seemed to know Aric Joel. He kept stepping outside to stand on the porch, almost as if he was standing guard. He would step back inside every few minutes, look around, then disappear again.

The front door was eased open again, and Sam once again stepped inside. As Ben watched, he made his way to the kitchen, and opened a cabinet to retrieve a glass. He filled it with water at the sink, and drained it in one gulp. Ben blinked.

"Hey, Sam," Broots, if that was really his name, spoke and motioned to the laptop. "Does this look familiar? I've gotten multiple camera feeds and half of them I don't recognize." Sam leaned over Broots' shoulder and nodded.

"Cafeteria. Sub-Level One. Here. You need to scroll down Sub-Level feeds to the Infirmary on Sub-Level 13." He pushed something on the laptop's keyboard, and stepped back. Broots looked surprised, and nodded.

"Thanks."

"Sam!" Sam whirled around at the sound of Jarod's voice, and Ben watched as Jarod held some kind of pole, balancing it on his shoulder- or attempting to. "Help!" The pole slipped, swung around, and whacked Sam in the nose. There was a yelp, and Sam's hands flew up to his nose.

"God..." He muttered, grabbing a washrag from the sink, successfully catching the first drops of blood. "What are you trying to do? Break it again?" He demanded, looking at Jarod.

"Sorry, Sam." Jarod mumbled, grabbing the pole and maneuvering it out of the kitchen.

"What is that, anyway?" Broots asked, eyeing the pole.

"Curtain rods. Tools of death." Sam muttered from near the sink. Ben was the only one to immediately catch the reference, and started laughing. The other three men in the room looked at him in surprise, as if they had forgotten he was there. Broots gave a nervous laugh, and looked from Sam to Ben.

"Am I, like...missing something?"

"JFK's assassination." Jarod murmured.

"That was good," Ben nodded, still smiling broadly. Jarod glared at Sam, as if he held him personally responsible.

"It wasn't funny. Curtain rods were the only thing I could think of. I was having a bad day." He left the house, and confused glances were exchanged in the kitchen. Broots face slowly twisted into a disgusted frown.

"It was a SIM. JFK's assassination was based on a SIM." He concluded out loud.

"Oh..." Was all Sam could say. Ben's brow furrowed.

"What's a SIM?" Broots started typing again, and Sam left the room, still holding the washrag. Broots paused only long enough to glance at Ben.
"Be glad you don't know."

---

Sam bolted upright, and looked around in alarm. He had woken from a nearly sound sleep by a disturbing thought. Jarod looked over to the couch Sam occupied, from his spot at the kitchen table. If nothing had been wrong, Sam would have wondered what Jarod was doing up so late. But something was wrong, therefore, simple questions had to be forgotten.

"Sam?"

"Oh my god...Jarod, the pilot!" Sam returned, in a harsh whisper, throwing the blanket he had been using off the couch, and dashing to the door. Jarod was only seconds behind him.

"Where is he? How could we have forgotten him?"

"I don't know! I tied him up and threw him in the cargo storage of the plane. So much was going on- I completely forgot!" Sam left the house as he spoke, and jerked the plane door open. Jarod followed him to the small door that led to the cargo area. Sam opened the door, and peered inside.

A nervous looking Centre pilot stared back at him, eyes darting from one man to the other. He blinked at the light streaming into the cargo holding, and cringed.

"What...what are you going to do to me?" He finally worked up enough courage to ask, trembling with dehydration and anxiety. Jarod tapped Sam on the shoulder, and Sam stepped aside, allowing Jarod room. Jarod pulled the pilot out of the small space, and started untying his bonds.

"First, I'm going to get some water and food into you. I apologize, but the truth is, we completely forgot you were even out here. There is no good excuse for nearly letting you die, but a lot of stuff has been going on."

"I'm...I'm just glad you forgot me, opposed to leaving me out here while you decided what to do with me." The pilot joked weakly, coughing at the same time. Sam helped Jarod pull the man to his feet, and half carry him out of the plane and inside the house.

They set the man on the couch, and a tired voice asked from the hall,

"What's going on, Jarod?" Jarod looked up to see Sydney, standing there with his 'Yale' sweatshirt on, confusion shining out of his eyes, through his glasses.

"The pilot." Jarod replied. Sydney moved forward.

"I forgot completely!" He exclaimed. Jarod nodded.

"So did we. Can you fill up a few cups of water, and bring them here?" Sydney nodded, and started filling up plastic cups. Jarod took the pilot's vitals, and sat down on the coffee table.

"Well, at least you're alive." He said bluntly, unable to think of anything else to say. The pilot nodded.

"Me too."

"What's your name? You probably already know who I am." Jarod asked, and stated. The pilot nodded again.

"Jack Ryan."

"That's Clancy's-" Sam began, and the pilot glared.

"Don't even say it. It was my name first." He turned back to Jarod. "You can just call me Ryan. Everyone else does." Jarod clapped Ryan on the back, and handed him one of the glasses Sydney had brought over.

"One at a time, slowly. Don't drink too much, too fast." Jarod spoke, almost absently, before adding in a more defined tone, "Well, Ryan, welcome then. To the House of Fugitives."

---

Major Charles clicked the button on the laptop screen, and the computer dialed the number for a video phone. He readjusted his own mini-camera on top of the laptop, and waited for someone to pick up.

"Dad..." A familiar voice behind him said, distractedly. Major Charles turned to see the clone- whom he had come to consider a son- scraping the last mouthful of ice cream out of a vanilla bean carton. "Do we have any more ice cream downstairs?" Major Charles smiled.

"No. You'll have to go pick some up." He replied. The years together had brought them closer than Major Charles had hoped, and the teen had blossomed into what Major Charles definitely considered a beautiful young man. The clone grabbed his coat off a near-by coat rack, and set the empty carton down on side-table.

"I'm going then. Anything else you need?"

"Nope." The computer beeped, and Major Charles swiveled around in his chair. The clone paused, as a voice that sounded exactly like his own greeted the man he considered father.

"Hi, Dad!" The clone strode across the room, speaking to his father as he did so.

"Let me say hi to the Master Copy before I leave." He joked lightly, the subject still sensitive in most areas, but more of a jest between he and his father. He honestly couldn't remember the last time his father had actually gotten in contact with Jarod- not for lack of trying, mind you.

"Hold on, Jarod. Patrick wants to say hi." Major Charles was saying to Jarod, as the clone approached the tall-backed chair.

"Patrick?" Jarod's voice asked, confusion clear. The clone waved to the camera, blinking back his surprise. He had known it would be strange, but it was almost unbelievable. He was looking at an exact copy of himself, except the copy's hair was longer.

"Hi, Jarod." Jarod blinked too, and Major Charles smiled.

"Patrick?" Jarod questioned again.

"Patrick." The clone nodded. "Patrick Henry Charles. Give me liberty, or give me death- and then give me an airplane." Jarod laughed, nodding as well.

"That's a good name, Patrick. A strong name."

"I'm going to go, and let you two talk. I was just on my way out to the store." Patrick waved again, and disappeared from Jarod's view. Major Charles looked at his son for a minute before speaking again. The door was opened and shut behind him, and he finally spoke.

"You look tired."

"I've been busy."

"You look older."

"So do you. It happens." Jarod returned, running a hand through his near-shoulder length hair.

"Son."

"Dad."

"Get a haircut. That's an order." Major Charles said, with twinkle in his eye. Jarod sighed.

"Maybe later, Dad. When this whole mess is over."

"Mess?" Major Charles' brow furrowed. "What's going on, Jarod?"

"Long story short- Emily's here, alive and married to Lyle. But not in perfect health I'm afraid. Miss Parker is somewhere in the Centre, supposedly dead. Her little brother AJ, Emily and Lyle's four kids, Ben Miller, Sydney, Broots, Sam the Sweeper, and a pilot named Jack Ryan of all things, are all here at the Runway house."

"Emily's married to Lyle? When did that happen? Why didn't you tell me?" Major Charles demanded. "And four kids?" Jarod sighed again, and lowered his eyes.

"I apologize in advance, and I'll apologize again. I found Emily- seven and a half years ago. She went undercover at the Centre. One thing led to another, and she told me six months after I met her that she was getting married to Lyle. I made what is arguably the biggest mistake of my life, and disowned her. The Centre kidnapped her, and they've had her for the past year. We just got her out, and Ben Miller brought her and Lyle's kids from his house in Maine, where Lyle and Miss Parker left them when they came to Delaware to rescue Emily."

"We're coming. To help. I'll talk to you there. This sort of thing cannot be settled over the phone."

"We?"

"Patrick and I. We'll be there tomorrow. And I'm bringing scissors to cut your hair." Major Charles ended the call, allowing no time for Jarod to protest. He shut the laptop down, and started gathering things from around the house and packing. It wouldn't take Patrick long to pack and get ready, when he came back, and Major Charles wanted to leave as soon as possible.

---

Emily slowly opened her heavy eyelids, not sure of what was going on, but knowing that for the past few days she had been warm and safe. She heard voices, far away, and her eyes slowly focused. She was in a room, a normal room. The ceiling was white, and what she could see of the walls were a light green.

As her body gradually woke up, she could also feel things. Some sore spots, some bruises, and her right hand. Another hand, warm and familiar was holding it. Emily turned her head, to see Lyle. His head was near their interlocked hands, and his eyes were closed.

Emily laughed out of pure joy. For the first time she could ever remember, she was glad that they had lied. He was alive, she had known it all along! She reached out with her left hand and shook him.

"Lyle, Lyle. Tell me I'm not dreaming. Lyle!" His eyes snapped open, and he looked up at her.

"Emily?"

"Pinch me, Lyle." Emily begged, tears pooling in her eyes. Lyle didn't pinch her, but pulled her into his arms.

"You're not dreaming, Emily. I promise." Lyle felt his own tears gathering when, for the first time in over a year, Emily hugged him in return. They were still hugging each other when a yell sounded from outside the room.

"Charlie! Charlie-" Sam's voice was abruptly cut off by a moan. Then, another yell. "What the hell is it with my freaking nose, already?"

The door flew open, and Charlie stood before them. He blinked in surprise, and took a slow step forward, as Sam skidded into the hall behind him, holding his nose. Another step, and he was at the end of the bed.

"Mommy?" Emily sniffled, and looked over at Lyle before nodding to Charlie.

"Yeah, baby. It's me." She held out her arms, but Charlie didn't come to her. Instead, he took a step backwards, and fled out of the room. Sam looked to Emily and Lyle with a horrified look on his face.

"I'm sorry, Lyle. Geez...I was trying to stop him-" Sam was cut off again, this time by a joyous yell from a nearby room.

"Maddy! Cat! Spider! Come quick! Mommy's back! She's back!" There was thunder on the stairs, and a few brief seconds later, four little bodies flew past Sam and onto the bed. Emily couldn't get her arms all the way around all four of them at one time, and she couldn't kiss them fast enough. She herself was smothered by slobbery kisses and tight squeezes from little arms. The younger three were speechless, while Charlie kept sobbing hysterically, over and over again,

"Mommy, Mommy, I love you Mommy, don't leave again, please don't leave again. I love you, Mommy."

Sam softly shut the door, and walked back towards the kitchen, still holding his nose. Jarod looked over at him, as soon as he finished draining a glass of water. Sam grabbed another dishrag, and muttered a question,

"When did you get back?"

"Just now. Ben and Broots are unloading the electronic equipment first. Ryan's still asleep upstairs. What happened?" Jarod set the glass in the sink, and peered quizzically at Sam's nose. Sam sighed.

"Charlie decided to follow in your footsteps, when I was trying to keep him from going into the back bedroom." Jarod looked suddenly alarmed, and glanced towards the back bedroom.

"What happened? Did he get in?"

"Emily woke up." Sam shrugged. Jarod threw open a cabinet, and started pulling medical supplies out of it, when Sam grabbed his arm. "Jarod. You can check her out later. Give 'em a few minutes." Jarod froze, and dropped the stethoscope and various instruments onto the counter.

"Yeah. I guess I should."

"Sam?" A small voice from the kitchen doorway piped up. Aric Joel stood there, eyes darting nervously back and forth between the two men, quickly labeling Sam as the better-known of the two, and choosing the Sweeper as the target of his bemused inquiry.

"Yeah, kid?" Sam returned, pulling out a chair and motioning for Aric Joel to sit in it. Jarod watched the big Sweeper interact with the tiny seven-year-old, with a slightly amused grin. Aric Joel skittered across the room, and sat down in the chair, watching his hands as he played with his thumbs. Aric Joel sucked in a deep breath, and finally worked up enough courage to ask the three questions:

"Will my Mommy come back? Do I even have one? How come I've never seen her?" It was Sam's turn to inhale sharply, and he pulled out a chair and sat down across from the child.

"Well, um...I'm going to explain this the only way I know how, and it's not just because I work for your sister that I'm saying it this way. Honestly, kiddo, I've never been good with kids, so this may be a tad more awkward than it needs to be, okay?" Aric Joel gave a hesitant nod, accompanied by a small frown, and Sam continued. "The lady that gave birth to you wasn't exactly the greatest lady alive. But she was okay in the end, so I hear. She died right after you were born, so no, she's not coming back." Aric Joel interrupted suddenly.

"Then I don't have a mom?"

"Hold on, and let me finish." Sam replied swiftly, with a sad smile tugging at the corners of his usually grim mouth. "I grew up without the standard definition of a Mom, but I had an older sister, just like you. Just because she was my sister didn't mean she wasn't my Mom, too. She did a pretty good job taking care of a rebel like me, and you're not half as bad as I was. I guess what I'm trying to say is, while there are going to be times in your life when you wish your birth mom was around, at the end of everything, it's your real mom that matters. And for me and you, our real moms are our big sisters. And I'd say yours is one heck of a mom." Aric Joel contemplated this for several minutes before speaking again.

"Sam, what happened to your," The boy paused for a minute, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to remember the previously used term, "birth mom?"

"That's a long story, for when you're much older, if we're both still around. To make it short, she left."

"And your sister? Your real mom? Where's she?" Sam's eyes drifted to the wall behind Aric Joel, and he stood and tousled the boy's dark brown hair.

"She died, kiddo." He left the kitchen without another word, and Aric Joel looked up at Jarod with wide eyes.

"I'm glad I've got Miss Parker for a Real Mom. She wouldn't leave, or die, would she?" Jarod winced with the un-intended sharpness of the boy's words. He forced a smile and shook his head.

"No, AJ. I don't believe she would."

---

Mr. Parker looked through the glass window, into the infirmary room of the Centre's triple-lock down sub-level 19, and he watched Miss Parker's chest move up and down, forced into motion by the machines around her. He sighed heavily, a small bit of guilt nagging at the corner's of his twisted mind. The guilt would do no good- it would work for nothing. The knots Mr. Parker's heart and soul were twisted into could not be undone by anything- he was too far gone.

But, at the site of his still daughter, the knots softened, though they did not untangle. To think that he had caused such a beautiful creature such torment and pain was appalling, and at the same time incredibly fulfilling. He knew the power he carried, and reveled in it. No one would dare try to stop him.

Miss Parker shifted fretfully under the thin, white sheets, and the beeping on the monitors quickened, informing Mr. Parker of what he could already see.

She was waking up.

Her lips moved, and his mouth twisted into a frown, as he tried to comprehend the shapes she was making with her mouth, and turn them into words. After several minutes, he finally made the word out, which she had been repeating ever since the first sign of movement.

The word was 'Jarod'.

Mr. Parker cursed, and slammed his fist against the soundproof glass. Would he ever rid her of that monster, that annoyance? Time after time, he had tried to turn Jarod into her enemy, as well as his, but he had always failed. She had always refused.

She wouldn't this time, though. As far as Mr. Parker thought and knew, it was hard to love someone who was dead. He had his plan, his plot, all perfectly laid out. Everyone who had even the remotest contact with Miss Parker over the next few months knew every detail, a movement necessary to fulfill the dream of ridding his daughter of Jarod.

Even the janitor and night watchmen knew, for crying out loud. Before, it was too dangerous to tell the underlings, the little guys, the details. Now it was too much of a risk not to tell them. In case she tried to question any of them.

The people were set, their stories and information identical and flawless. The physical evidence was just as strong. As soon as Miss Parker was well enough, just well enough that the shock wouldn't kill her, Mr. Parker was to tell her, show her the pictures.

Tell her what? Oh, the truth of course.

Jarod had been sedated through needle, compromising the Leak's plans. Broots had disappeared, Sydney had committed suicide, as soon as they had received the news.

The lone Sweeper guard, a employee of Miss Parker's, had stupidly tried to land the plan in a pitiful rescue attempt. Plane, pilot, Sweeper, and two passengers had gone down in the rocky hills off the New England coast.

Five bodies had been found, and it was confirmed- there were no survivors. The elusive Pretender was dead.

---

Major Charles pulled the sleek SUV into the driveway, and stopped. He was motionless for a moment, before stepping out, scanning the area with his eyes first. Two other vehicles were in the driveway, and a plane sat at the end of the cement and blacktop strip for which they had named the house. There was no moment outside, as far as Major Charles could tell. Patrick copied his father's actions, remaining still until Major Charles opened the driver-side car door.

Major Charles planted his feet in the gravel, and again paused. The green leaves trembled with the weight of the spring dew, and looked almost as if they feared what was sure to be an oncoming storm. Patrick easily sensed the uncomfortable tension in the air, and winced.

But instead of a storm, or the unleashed wrath of a worried father, there was silence and stillness. All the surrounding area seemed to be waiting for something to happen, for the crack in the fabric of peace to appear and rip through the carefully weaved masterpiece. Major Charles choked up.

"Patrick?"

"Dad?" Patrick shot his father a worried look.

"I haven't seen either of them for years. I just don't know what to do, or say." Patrick quickly moved around the car, and put an arm around his father's shoulders, in a very Jarod-like fashion.

"It'll be okay Dad. Just think like one of them. All you have to remember is that Emily and Jarod are both just as much frustrated with the situation as you are, so yelling isn't going to do anyone any good. Right? The Master Copy is obviously sorry for everything he said to Emily, whatever exactly he did say to her, and Emily's probably too ecstatic about just being alive and with her kids, to hold much of a grudge." Major Charles nodded, and fought back a grin.

"You cheater. You simmed them, didn't you?" Patrick stepped back, and sheepishly cast his eyes toward the ground.

"Um, yeah. A couple times, actually."

"Rascal. Let's just go inside." And with that said, both strode towards the house, and Major Charles knocked on the front door. It was flung open a second later, and Broots blinked from his spot in the doorway. He looked at Major Charles for a moment, his eyes soon light, as he realized who Major Charles was. Then, he studied Patrick.

His head cocked to the side, and he frowned. He looked over his shoulder, to someone behind him, then back at Patrick. After a brief second, he jumped, and nearly hit his head on the top of the doorframe.

"Oh my god!" He exclaimed, unable to say anything else. Jarod appeared in the doorway, behind Broots, and he and Patrick both gave Broots identical, skeptical looks. Major Charles laughed.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" He addressed Broots, who nodded shakily.

"Geez...you nearly gave me a heart attack!" He exclaimed. "Um, I'll just go back to my computer now." He disappeared from Patrick and Major Charles' view, and Jarod waved them in.

"You two got here fast!" He exclaimed. Major Charles shook his head.

"I told you we would." Patrick was standing directly across from Jarod, and Major Charles was standing next to Patrick, when Sam entered the room. He did a double take, and stepped backwards, a low, whispered, "My, god!" coming out of his mouth. Jarod and Patrick looked at him at the exact same time. Sam shook his head, as if to clear it, and went back the way he came.

An awkward second passed, before Major Charles pulled Jarod into a warm embrace.

"I've missed you." He said gruffly.

"I've missed you." Jarod returned, returning the hug as well. Jarod started to shake hands with Patrick, but pulled him into a hug instead.

"How egotistical. I'm hugging myself." Patrick muttered, causing Jarod to laugh. "I've missed you too, Master Copy."

"The feeling has been mutual, Patrick." Jarod answered. He turned to Major Charles.

"You want to see her?" It was more of a statement, than a question, and Major Charles nodded vigorously. "This way." Jarod continued, walking down the back hall, to a door. He knocked softly on the door, and recieved a muffled,

"Come in." Jarod softly pushed the door open, and stepped in. Major Charles followed, to see Lyle and Emily holding each other's hands, obviously in the middle of a conversation. Emily's eyes lit up, and Jarod didn't even have to tell her who the man beside him was. She reached out her arms, and exclaimed,

"Daddy!" He was at her side in less than a second, hugging her. Lyle cleared his throat, and mouthed to Emily, "I'll be back later", before leaving the room. Jarod followed Lyle, and started laughing when he saw that Lyle had stopped at the end of the hallway, and was looking at someone on the other side of the room, then back to Jarod, then back again.

"Lyle, I'd like you to meet Patrick. My clone." Jarod said, walking towards him. Lyle's mouth moved up and down a few times, and he looked at Jarod once more.

"Your..."

"Clone. Yes." Patrick finished. "I'm Patrick." He extended his hand, and Lyle tentatively shook it. "Nice to meet again, fortunately under better circumstances." Patrick looked over at Jarod. "I've already talked about this with Dad. Do you have any scissors? I'm supposed to cut your hair."

---

Jack Ryan, or Ryan as he preferred to be called, sat in the bed he had been given, listening to the hurricane in the next room over. Two men we're yelling at each other, unaware of Ryan's listening ears. He tried to pin the voices, and was unable to identify them. He had spent too little time among his new company to know them by voice alone. Or step.

Step, if he had known them well, would have been his next choice, for one of them men was clearly pacing back and forth. The pounding echoed through the walls, and rang clear in Ryan's ears. The noise was chaotic, the yelling and pacing and slamming combined. At least, Ryan hoped it was slamming, and not hitting. It sounded like someone was bringing their fist down upon a table, or such.

He unconsciously leaned forward, hanging on to the words, struggling to put the shouts into an understandable storyline, or conversation pattern. He was slowly succeeding, as the yelling increased.

"No! I won't do it! It's too dangerous!"

"I can't let you!"

"We've got to get her out of there!"

It took Ryan several minutes of ignoring the new installments to figure out the, 'I can't let you!' line. It seemed as though someone was yelling at themselves, but instead of arguing, yelling that they couldn't let himself not do something. A suddenly sharp phrase caught his attention once more, and he again leaned forward.

"I've got to. She's my sister." The normal voice said.

"She's my...um..." The confusing voice struggled, as if for lack of word.

"Girlfriend?" The confusing voice suggested to himself.

"No! Well, maybe. Sorta. No, no it's not like that. She's my friend."

"Mine too." The confusing voice added to his own sentence.

Ryan was mesmerized. Whoever was in the room obviously had a problem with contradicting himself. Then, it hit him. There were three people in the next room over, and two of them sounded remarkably alike. Almost too much alike to even be twins.

"So, we're in agreement?" The normal voice asked.

"About what? That we're going to rescue her, or how to do it?" The first confusing voice questioned in return.

"Both and neither. We are going to get her out of there. But we still don't know who's going to do it, or how. Which means we haven't gotten any farther than where we were when we came upstairs. We've always known we're had to get her out." The second confusing voice answered both questions, and there was a short silence.

"What do we know, exactly?" The normal voice asked, finally. It sounded as if a map was being spread out, or something like that, then a soft jab, as if someone had forcefully tapped the table, or something on it.

"She's in Sub-Level 19. It took us a while to find the camera feed, because of what Sub-Level 19 is." The first confusing voice spoke, now less confusing. Ryan quickly, mentally dubbed them One and Two, to keep better track of them. The 'normal' voice became known as Zero, because it had come third (go figure, Ryan's brain laughed at him, you're a pilot).

"Triple lock-down. Hosts the Lower Renewal Wing, as well as the Prison- or Restricted- Infirmary." Two spoke, telling himself as well as the other two people in the room. Ryan's concentration was now focused on telling One from Two, and he found it rather hard to follow the conversation as well, but managed considerably.

"Understandable. If they're going to lie to her, they want her where no one with the truth can get to her." Zero pointed out.

"Traditionally, we would use air ducts for this type of thing. We always have." One murmured, regret ringing in his tone. "There's a problem, though. The Centre got smart, and decided to re-size the air ducts on that level. According to Angelo, they did the job five years ago. There's no way anyone larger than a child would fit into the shafts."

"Wasn't the whole point of the larger system for ventilation?" Zero asked in confusion.

"They resized the shafts, and divided them into four ducts running alongside each other. Virtually the same amount of air, yet less body space." One answered.

"So, what does that leave us with?" Two inquired. Again, there was a pause. A rather long pause. There was a deep sigh, and then One spoke again.

"There's only one way, this time. Lyle, you have to go back."

"And take over?" Zero asked incredulously. "How? Waltz in, say 'I'm back!', and wait for the Tower to give me my father's position?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't know. I need some time, okay?" One replied sharply, seeming angry with himself, or Zero.

"Okay, okay. I'm going downstairs. Just make sure your decision is something I can live with, and I mean that literally." Steps on the floor, a door opening, then tapping on the stairs, and Zero was out of earshot.

"What about the pilot? Ryan, isn't it?" Two asked One after a moment. Ryan tensed. "I simmed the current situation, and I'm pretty sure we both have a pretty clear idea of what exactly they're going to tell her."

"Plane crash?" One replied, almost questioning.

"Yeah." Two agreed. "And I'm not sure we can trust him enough to let him go back, anyway."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Of course, what else would you think, but what I think, Master Copy? Or the other way around."

"We keep him here, I guess. We have to."

"And Sam? Do we trust him?" Two continued.

"I think we're going to have to let him go back, no matter what. He won't say anything, he's too loyal to her. He knows that everything hinges on, and is revolving around, her rescue."

"What about his life, itself? Won't they try to kill him, just so Miss Parker doesn't see him?" Two drummed his fingers on the table as he spoke, and Jarod sighed.

"They won't try to kill him, if he's with Lyle. And Miss Parker's going to be in Sub-Level 19 for a rather long time, I'm afraid. It won't matter, for at least a year."

"You really think it's going to take that long for her to recover?" Two asked, horrified.

"Of course not." One said, with a sad laugh. "It's going to take that long for them to convince her she's okay, after they convince her she's not ready to leave."

"Damn. I wish it didn't have to be this confusing all the time." Ryan rubbed his forehead, and sighed.

"I agree." He said, in agreement, without thinking. Two identical men were at his door in less than a second. The one that looked slightly older, the same man that had gotten him out of the plane, stormed over to Ryan, and grabbed him by the collar.

"What did you hear? How long have you been listening?"

"Umm...pretty much all of it?" Ryan attempted to shrug, and shot the man a weak smile. The man looked momentarily disgusted, and threw Ryan back against the headboard.

"Come on, Patrick." Jarod or One, as Ryan matched voice with man, walked towards the door. Two followed him, silently glaring at Ryan for a brief second. Jarod turned, and shot daggers at Ryan with his eyes. "Don't leave the room. At all."

Ryan jumped as the door was slammed shut, and his first thought after Jarod and Two had left, was, 'At least I have my own bathroom.'.

A/N: Sorry, so very sorry for the long wait! I've been uber-busy lately. As a reward for your patience, here is the seventh chapter! Hurray! Thanks for the great reviews, looking forward to more (hinthint). Oh, yeah...if you review this chapter, be sure to thank Sunflower for her ridiculously insane review of 'update'. It was that particular review that prompted me to post tonight.

Portrait of a Killer
7/10
by RRP


Sydney sat on a chair in the kitchen, next to Ben Miller, Major Charles, and Jack Ryan, as the four men watched the tearful goodbyes exchanged, possibly for the last time ever. Three suitcases sat at the door, one to each departing man.

Broots and Sam stood silently next to the suitcases, as Lyle kissed each of his kids goodbye, and finally got to Emily. A brief hug was shared, both people obviously unused to being surrounded by other people when they shared affection. He kissed her on the forehead, and then took her face into his hands. She looked up into his eyes, and sniffled.

"Emmy, I love you-" He paused, waiting for her to finish what had been a common saying between them, since before Charlie was even born. The twist on an old favorite phrase of Lyle's was not lost on either Jarod, or Sydney.

"Always, because love is forever." She finished, sniffling again. He nodded, then stepped back. She pulled the kids around her, and put her hands on Charlie and Maddy's shoulders. Aric Joel, feeling slightly left out, slipped off the couch, and hurried over to Sam. He tugged on the suit jacket, and Sam looked down. Aric Joel opened his mouth to say something, but quickly clamped it shut again. He wrapped his arms around Sam's legs, reaching as high as he could to give the Sweeper a hug. Sam blinked in surprise, and bent down to look at Aric Joel.

"Hey, kid. I'll bring her back. I promise."

"I don't want you to die either." Aric Joel whispered, voice cracking. Jarod and Patrick exchanged identical looks. Obviously, the boy was smarter than everyone thought, for no one had told him the situation would be life-threatening. Sam ruffled the boy's hair, and stood back up.

"I'll try not to." He answered with a grim smile. Lyle walked over to the door, grabbed his suitcase, and left the house. Sam, Broots, and Jarod followed him. Out by the car they planned to take, Jarod proceeded to mini-drill each man, just to make sure everything was clear and set.

"Lyle, you have your story?" Lyle nodded firmly, and slipped into the car. "Broots?"

"Got it, Jarod." Broots climbed into the passenger seat, and shut the door. Jarod turned to Sam last.

"Sam?"

"It's covered, Jarod." The Sweeper started to open the car door, and hesitated. "Jarod? Do me a favor?"

"What, Broom Man?"

"Keep an eye on AJ, for me, okay?"

"Expect nothing less." Jarod nodded solemnly, and watched as Sam once again hesitated. He finally looked back up at Jarod, and spoke, seemingly with difficultly.

"She's always cared about him, Jarod. And I won't lie to you- I do, too. He's a special kid." Jarod nodded again, and Sam finally opened the door, and slid into the driver's seat. Sam started the car, and rolled down the window.

"Broots said he'll be in contact."

"I'll be waiting." Jarod replied.

"Later, Labrat." And with those two final words, Sam pulled out of the driveway, and drove off into the distance. Jarod watched for several minutes, before returning inside. The people inside the house were struggling to return to some state of the normalcy they had grown accustomed to. Patrick was teaching Charlie and Aric Joel how to play marbles, Emily was reading a story to Spider and the girls, and the other men were in groups of two; Sydney and Ben were talking, and Major Charles and Jack Ryan were talking.

After several long explanations and interviews, Ryan had been allowed out of his room, to interact with the people downstairs, still on probation from the phone and the internet. He often ended up talking with Major Charles, mainly because of their shared interest in planes. Sydney and Ben talked a lot- mostly about Catherine and Miss Parker. Shared memories of a beautiful mother, and a loved daughter.

Jarod meanwhile, had spent a lot of time with Patrick and Emily, the siblings finally getting a chance to really bond. The five children had not hindered, but helped the process. The facade of trust each had put up for each other, just for the kids, had slowly become a real trust, over the past two weeks. Patrick had been easy enough for Jarod to grow to deeply trust and understand- he had studied himself his entire life. There were rough spots of course, but they had been pretty much smoothed out. It was a process, a journey, that would never truly be over, but they were off to a good start.

Emily had been another matter. Sorrowful apologies were given by Jarod, met by Emily's equally saddened forgiveness. But the seven years before had clearly formed a gap that could not be bridged with only words. Jarod, to his disbelief, was finding it almost as hard to get along peacefully with Emily as it was for him to get along with Lyle. But, their relationship was well on it's way to being completely mended.

And that was fine with Jarod. Perfectly fine.

---

"Mr. Parker? Mr. Parker?" The secretary's nervous voice came over the intercom, and Mr. Parker sighed.

"What now, Rachel?"

"Your...um...son, is here." The secretary replied. Mr. Parker's eyes opened wide in surprise.

"Who brought him in? Have a Sweeper escort him to his room."

"I'm not quite sure you understand, sir. I meant your other son. Mr. Lyle." Mr. Parker's jaw dropped. He finally managed to close his mouth, and after an uneasy silence, he pushed the intercom button again.

"Send...send him in, Rachel."

"Yes sir." The secretary replied compliantly. Mr. Parker sat back in his chair, and waited.

A minute later, the office doors flew open, and Lyle stalked in. He sat down in a chair across from his father, the desk separating the two. Silence grasped the voices in the room for several extended seconds.

"Lyle." Mr. Parker finally managed to speak. "What a...um, surprise. What brings you back here?" The tone was a bit colder and harsher than needed, but expected.

"It was a bad decision." Lyle announced after appearing to think for a moment. "The whole family junk and everything. I just wasn't meant to be a family man." He shrugged.

"What happened?" Mr. Parker pretended to play dumb, as Lyle did just what the word implied. Pretend. Play-act.

"Emily was the only good part of the deal, and I lost her in a car accident last year." Lyle said simply. Mr. Parker pasted a mask of sorrow on, and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Lyle. I don't know what else to say, son."

"The kids, god...they were annoying."

"Were?" Mr. Parker asked in mock horror.

"I hit one of them, I forget which one, and some nosey neighbor saw. Called the social service, and the kids were gone within a few days. Good riddance." Lyle tossed a couple official looking papers on the desk, signed by different authority figures, stating that the man in question (Lyle Parker) was not capable of being a safe caregiver to his children, and they had been forcefully removed by the long arm of the law. Mr. Parker looked them over for a second, before nodding.

"They'll be happy, you'll be happy. It's better for everyone." He said, trying to sound soothing. Lyle snorted in reply.

"So, the search for Jarod still up? Or should I apply for Corporate?"

"The pursuit for Jarod is over. He died in an airplane crash a few weeks ago. On his way to Africa, I'm afraid." Mr. Parker replied lightly, as if speaking of the weather.

"That's a bother out of the way. So, what Project is the Centre working on now? Still looking for Gemini?"

"Yes, yes. The Gemini's Pursuit is still a priority. Raines is currently non-influential. Actually, the Tower's actually considering putting a termination order out on him."

"Sounds like an opportunity. A perfect gift to the Tower, to ensure my loyalty and resecure my position." Lyle said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with the fingers of his left hand. Mr. Parker nodded with a broad smile. Lyle was saying exactly what he wanted to hear.

"What position would that be, Lyle?" Lyle looked up, and raised his eyebrows.

"Chairman's son, of course. And with Raines gone, I could perhaps take his place on the board. As well as finish any projects he's working on. Good deal, actually. Pick one man off, get my job back, plus a new office and a whole fleet of Sweepers." Mr. Parker laughed, and stood as he led Lyle to the door.

"I always did like the way you think, son. I'm sure the Tower will be delighted to welcome you back, despite why you left. They've all made mistakes, I hear. Meanwhile, you can take your sister's old office."

"Miss Parker? Where is she, by the way?"

"Oh, she's in the Infirmary, I'm afraid. Jarod shot her right before he was brought it. Went wild, I hear. Africa wouldn't have even been able to do much with him."

"Sub-level 16? I might like to go bring a couple of old issues up, once she's feeling better. I always warned her about him."

"They moved the entire infirmary down to Sub-level 19, actually. Safer." Mr. Parker gave Lyle a familiar, fake smile, and returned to his office. Lyle was finding it extremely hard to listen to all the repulsive lies, and lie himself, but determined to keep the image up, he muttered,

"Or maybe I'll just go discuss those issues now." To the camera, and the DSA that Mr. Parker later watched, it seemed as though Lyle was simply talking to himself.

---

Lyle entered the Infirmary on Sub-level 19, and searched for his sister's room. He found it, minutes later, and paused to look through the window before entering. She was still surrounded by equipment, and he resisted the human urge to shudder, or wince. He mentally took a deep breath, and entered the room.

She woke up when he entered, and looked at him, her confusion clear. He made sure his back was to the camera, and mouthed the words,

"Don't say anything. I'm really here to help." Thankfully, her eyes cleared, showing that she understood, but she didn't nod. The camera just recorded a once-powerful, and soon to be more powerful, Centre figure, staring at his ill sister.

Lyle personally thought she looked far too pale, and wished there was some way to talk to her alone, without the cameras- some way to reassure her. Instead, he stepped forward, and snapped,

"I warned you about him."

"You bastard." She gasped, chest still in pain from the recent introduction to 'dear daddy's' gun.

"Me? He shot you, so I hear."

"It was an accident."

"That's just what he would want you to think, you know. That's always what he wanted you to think. He never loved you, Miss Parker. He used you. And look where it got you." The words that easily fooled Mr. Parker, while he later watched the DSA, into thinking the topic of discussion was Jarod, held another meaning for Lyle and Miss Parker. They were talking about their father. If he could even be called that.

"Liar."

"Me? Lie? He's the one that died, sis. Not me."

"How dare you."

"Tell you the truth? You want me to tell you Jarod didn't die?" Lyle made sure his back was still to the camera, before he impishly mouthed, 'You're right'.

"I want the truth, Lyle."

"I gave you the truth, Miss Parker. It's Jarod's fault if you don't believe me. Why should I lie to you? It doesn't matter to me, whether either of you are alive or dead." Before Miss Parker could say anything in return, Lyle left the room, pretending to be fuming with anger.

He was barely back in his 'new' office, before the phone rang. He picked it up, to hear four words, before his father hung back up.

"Tower's orders. Kill Raines."

Lyle pulled the extra gun out of the desk drawer, where he knew Miss Parker kept her spare. He made sure the clip was full, and shoved it into the gun. Raines' death was one thing Lyle wasn't going to clear with Jarod. Raines had hurt his Emily, and it was payback time.

---

Patrick's world was spinning. He had no idea what to think. An intricate rescue mission could have possibly just blown up in their faces. Within hours of Broots email arriving, the one that informed the occupants of the Runway House that the trio had made it to Delaware, notices had gone up on the Centre mainframe, and new notices were popping up every five minutes.

Sam was missing, and not quite missing. According to the mainframe notes, he had been whisked off to Renewal Wing as soon as someone spotted him, which was in of itself unusual for a simple Sweeper. Usually, it was aim, squeeze, die. But by some luck, or curse, it was possible he was still alive.

Patrick and Jarod were not counting on any action being taken so soon, so that alone was a huge blow. Then, Broots had been reassigned to the European Triumvirate Branch, for unobvious reasons. Jarod assumed it was because they wanted him to disappear, just like they had told Miss Parker. They were slowly making as much of the lie come true, as possible.

Lyle was the one who worried them the most. The notices about him being back were expected. But less than three hours later, the Mainframe was hit by a tidal wave. Lyle's first assignment had been the removal of Raines, which he had succeeded at. Raines' projects, place on the board, office, and Sweeper team had all been handed over, within half an hour of Raines' death. Lyle had also willingly accepted the Gemini Pursuit Project, and that was the most disturbing piece of news.

Betrayal? Excellent acting? But why murder, if it was all an act? Would Lyle go that far, far enough to kill someone to wear a mask? Patrick's mind was spinning, with questions like these and more.

Was it revenge? For himself? For Emily? Without Broots, it was nearly impossible to contact Lyle without creating some type of trail, which was something they couldn't risk. They just had to trust him, and ride it out.

Patrick was anxiously watching the mainframe, as note after note came up. He would wait five minutes, and click the refresh button. Three or four new items would be up every time. It seemed that Lyle's return had caused more excitement than they were counting on. With his arrival, the Tower seemed to be making decision after decision, all of which had been stale and not thought of for several months, or longer. Patrick hit the refresh button again, and the newest note nearly made him cheer. He yelled for Jarod, instead.

Jarod rushed into the kitchen, to see what had gotten Patrick so excited. Patrick pointed to a note on the mainframe.

'Gemini sighting: Team will be sent to south-western Canada within the hour'.

Not Betrayal- Rescue. They were back in business. Broots and Sam still needed to be worried about, but Lyle hadn't turned. Things were going as well as could be hoped.

---

"Where is Jarod?" Cox demanded coolly, sitting in a chair at the end of the long table. Cox personally would have preferred a T-Board, just for the title and the fear the name implied, but the Tower and Triumvirate had refused. Instead, an interrogation in the Renewal Wing, before they used the man being questioned- for target practice.

"I don't know." Sam answered, for what seemed the hundredth time.

"Where is Jarod?" Cox repeated, as he had done close to what was actually thirty times already.

"I don't know." The same answer was given, in the same even tones. Sam looked around the room they were keeping him in, knowing full well what his fate was to be, but forcing himself to study his surroundings anyway. Gray walls, gray floors, and big surprise- gray table. It was all drab, but he was used to that. What was unnerving was the fact that he knew where he was- Renewal Wing. Heck, even Raines was scared of this place, if he was still alive.

"Where is Jarod?" Cox was getting more than frustrated now, and losing his cool. He stood, and stalked to the end of the table. He raised his hand, to slap the ex-Sweeper, in case of a useless answer. Sam's eyes darkened. He changed his reply.

"Fine. You obviously know that I know. What if I refuse to tell you?" Cox's face reddened with suppressed rage, and the slap rang throughout the room. Sam put a cautious hand to his mouth, and shook his head. "That won't work. I won't tell."

"Where is Jarod?" Cox growled, louder and less controlled than the previous times he had asked.

"Africa."

"Where?"

"Europe."

"Where?" Cox was near-screaming now. Sam gave him a grim, dark smile.

"Anywhere but Hades."

"Tell me, damn it!" Another slap. Sam didn't stop.

"Cook Islands." Cox growled. "Australia."

"Where is Jarod?" Cox ground out through clenched teeth.

"South America."

"Ever hear of John Donne, Sam? Of course you have. Do you know what he said about death? Hmm?" Cox asked, tone sickeningly sweet. Sam glared, and kept his mouth shut. Cox continued, "But I do nothing upon myself, and yet I am mine own Executioner. Remember that, when I shoot you. It's your own fault."

"Duty determines destiny." Sam replied, sounding almost cheerful.

"Your duty to whom?" Cox questioned, an evil gleam in his eye.

"Miss Parker." Sam snapped in reply.

"You think she cares what happens to you? To her, you're just another Sweeper." Cox taunted, raising an eyebrow. Sam didn't speak. Several tense seconds passed before Cox leaned dangerously close to Sam's face, and started talking.

"It's a war, Sam. Between the Centre and those with Jarod. It has been for quite some time, and we've made it clear that if you were with him, you were against us. That means you're an enemy now, Sam. An enemy of the Centre. You're a prisoner of war, and you can do nothing about it. You're already a dead man. You want to know something else? It doesn't matter. None of it does. You don't matter, she doesn't matter, because you're all going to die in the end. You're fighting a losing battle, and if you lose too many battles, the war is over."

"There are some defeats more triumphant than victories. -Michel de Montaigne. You know what Cox? I don't give a damn. You want to know why? Because it doesn't matter what happens to me. Every person you kill, you dig your own grave a little deeper. Someday they're all going to be free, and you won't be able to do anything about it. Someday, the world is going to find you out. The light's going to cast it's white glare on the Centre's dark, deep corners, and no one will be able to hide. It's the prisoners that will walk, and the keepers that will be imprisoned. You don't have to win all the battles to win the war. And it's a war you're going to lose. Someday, Cox, Hell will freeze over, and all the angels will go skating."

"Angels, skate? I doubt it." Cox scoffed, though he was speaking just as metaphorically as Sam. Sam nodded grimly.

"You'd be surprised." Cox had had enough. He pulled out his gun, and stepped back. He leveled it, carefully aimed at Sam's head.

"Any last words, then? It's more than I give most."

"I only regret that I have but one life to lose to the Centre." Sam flashed Cox a sardonic smile. Cox laughed, and tightened his finger around the trigger.

A/N: Double treat! Two chapters in one night! R/R, PLEASE!

Portrait of a Killer
8/10
by RRP


Debbie Broots sat on her father's bed, watching him hurry around the room, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. She watched for several minutes, before she tried to protest.

"But, Dad! We can't move to Europe!"

"Why not? You liked Paris when we were there!" Broots replied, pulling everything that he needed out of drawers and from under the bed, and tossing it on the bed, so that Debbie soon was surrounded by a sea of her father's belongings.

"Paris was a vacation! Sure, another trip there would be great! But not now! What about school? And all my friends? We can't move!"

"You weren't going to stay in Dover for college anyway, Debbie, so what does it matter?" Broots demanded, angry mostly with himself for daring to ask her to move. He understood what she was losing, and he just wished she understood what he was leaving behind as well.

"No, but I wanted to come home, come here, during my breaks. At least I was still going to be in the States!"

"Please, Debbie, try to understand," Broots shoved some stuff off the bed so he could sit down next to her. "Our lives are in danger right now. You know how ruthless the Centre is. If they want to transfer me to their European Branch, I've got two options: Say yes, or die." Debbie's eyes were filling with tears, but she laughed anyway.

"Yeah, Daddy, I know."

"Daddy? You haven't called me Daddy since..." She hit him playfully on the leg.

"Don't start getting all sentimental. Finish explaining to the helpless two-year-old why we have to move."

"Well...I obviously said yes, because I'm alive right now. I know it's a lot to leave behind, but we can always visit. Think how jealous all your friends are going to be! How many young, American girls get to spend their college years overseas? It'll look great on resumes, too, if you want to think that far ahead. Touring in Germany, traveling through Paris again, Rome, Prague, and London! If you work really hard, you may even get into Oxford." Debbie's eyes had been getting wider and wider the entire time Broots was talking, and she nearly squealed with excitement.

"I hadn't even thought of that! A psychology degree at Oxford! Can you imagine, Dad? That's the kind of degree that makes people beg for you to work for them, instead of the other way around!" She paused, then looked up at him. "And you know the best part?"

"What?" He asked, a confused smile forming on his lips.

"I'll be with my Dad."

"I thought you were going to say that Oxford's in London. They still speak English there."

"Well, that too..." Debbie said thoughtfully.

"So, is that a yes? You're okay with moving, now?"

"Well, I can't say I'm ecstatic. But I can say you won't be going without me." Debbie grinned. "When do we leave?" Broots was about to answer, when the phone rang.

"Hold on..." He muttered, searching for the phone underneath a pile of things atop the dresser. He found it, and picked it up. "Hello? Yes. Just my daughter. What? No, that's good. Just...wait. Yeah. I'll be there." Broots became silent, after hanging up the phone, and Debbie broke the silence with an impatient plea.

"What's going on, Dad? I think you can tell me the whole truth now. Miss Parker's missing, all of the sudden you're transferred to Europe. What's going on?" Debbie repeated the question she had begun with, and waited impatiently for an answer.

"Umm...it's a long story, Debbie."

"Well, we have time." Debbie pointed out. "Tell me while we pack." Broots took a deep breath, and reluctantly consented.

"It all started seven years ago, I guess...when Mr. Lyle met this girl named Aimee..."

---

Lyle sat in his new office, his head resting on his desk. Everything wasn't quite going as planned. Mr. Lyle didn't have the access to Miss Parker that he wished he had, Broots was being forced to leave, and the biggest blow was that the Sweeper- one of the few left that the entire group of Patriots, or Fugitives, or whatever they wanted to call themselves, trusted- Sam was dead.

A Sweeper team had set off for Canada to investigate a 'Gemini Sighting', Lyle deciding to stay behind, and reasoning that he was still just getting settled in. He now almost wished he had gone. He was in a thread-bare office, that had just that morning belonged to the man he murdered. Raines' death kept playing over and over in his mind, and he couldn't wash himself of the image.

Raines, laughing hysterically, a truly insane laughter, as Lyle aimed and pulled the trigger. Even Willie, who had been standing right next to Raines, had sighed in relief. Finally free of the death grip Raines' had had on his job and life. Lyle, on the other hand, while feeling a faint success in the revenge, was finding revenge to not be as sweet as he had hoped. Instead, he felt dirty. Guilty. He kept telling himself, reassuring himself, that Raines hadn't deserved to live, but no matter how much he believed that one fact, it didn't make him feel any better about taking a life.

*Be strong, Lyle. Be strong.* Lyle told himself. It didn't work. *Emily...I wish you were here...*

"Mr. Lyle?" Lyle's head snapped up, as Willie gruffly interrupted his thoughts.

"Willie?" Lyle asked calmly, trying to keep his cool. This was the same man who had so many times beat him. By Raines' orders, but still.

"I've been assigned to you." Willie stated awkwardly. Lyle sighed and waved him in. "Something wrong, sir?" Willie asked, as Lyle collapsed back into his chair. His thoughts had instead turned to convincing himself to model an unlikely role-model: Jarod.

*Forgiveandforgetforgiveandforget*

"No, Willie. Nothing's wrong. Why don't you update me? I've missed seven years of Centre-life." Lyle motioned to a chair, and Willie slowly sat down, clearly scared to death that Lyle was going to pull a gun on him any minute.

"Well, you know about your sister already. And Jarod. Sydney's missing, too. Sam was terminated this morning." Willie frowned as he stated the last fact. "He was a good man. A good Sweeper. We had a mutual love-to-hate-you work relationship, but I wouldn't have minded him as a partner."

"Hmm..." Lyle replied, almost distractedly.

"Yeah..." Willie trailed off, and both sat in contemplative silence for several minutes. Lyle suddenly sat up, and started moving files around on the desk, snapping back into action.

"Willie, I want you to get me the DSA of Sam's 'termination'. I need it here, yesterday. I want medical files on my sister, all you can find, and all the newest files on Gemini."

"They'll be on your desk by seven this evening, sir." Willie stood, nodded, and left. Lyle sighed as he started pouring over files. It was going to be a long day...

---

Miss Parker laid in her bed, confined to a reclined position, and hating every minute of it. She had nearly believed her father, nearly. It was hard to believe the man who tried to kill you. But as even the night watchmen had the same sad story, she had nearly fallen for the lie. Two weeks, whenever she was coherent and awake, she worried.

Then Lyle had shown up, mouthing messages to her, and then verbally tearing her apart. She acted along, almost unnerving herself with the ease with which she slid into the hateful sister role. Now all she wished was to be allowed to get up, to move around. But even now she had to Pretend she believed them. She had forced herself to cry once or twice, just to let them think they'd broken her.

Miss Parker was satisfied with the results. She had them wrapped around her little finger. They thought she believed the lie, and at the same time, she had hope. She really was going to kill her father, as soon as she got out of the Infirmary.

She spent a lot of time thinking about what she was going to say to Jarod, the next time she saw him. 'You bastard' just didn't seem enough, while she didn't believe she was ready to say, 'I love you'. Ah, choices, choices. It was a good thing she had plenty of time.

---

Jarod sat in front of his laptop, a sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. It was a feeling of failure and disgust. Failure? He had failed Sam. The two hadn't been the best of friends, but the past few weeks he had come to understand Sam, if not like him. And now the Sweeper was dead. Broom Man was gone, and Jarod felt as though he had failed Aric Joel as well.

He should have known that the Centre would kill Sam, he should have already known that. But he ignored the obvious, instead only thinking of Miss Parker, and sent Sam into a dangerous situation. One of the things that infuriated him the most was the thought that Sam had known it was going to be a kamikaze mission, and had not said anything. Jarod still couldn't figure out what Sam had hoped to gain by his own death.

The disgust stemmed from the knowledge that the Centre would allow an employee- namely Cox- to kill, just because someone (including one of their own employees) refused to release information pertaining to his (Jarod's) whereabouts.

The laptop's screen held the Centre's 'Top Operatives: Missions' page. The newest note at the top, assigned to all operatives, was the dismissal of the former Centre pilot, Jack Ryan.

Dismissal? Jarod thought, a sarcastic mental laugh echoing in his mind. Dismissal from life, that is.

Footsteps behind him alerted him to the presence of another person in the room, and he turned in his chair. Emily gave him a soft smile, and after a quick glance at the laptop screen, she sat down at the table, next to him.

"Kids asleep?" Jarod asked, eyes downcast. The last thing he wanted to do was explain to Aric Joel, at ten PM, that Sam wasn't coming back. Emily nodded.

"Yep. Finally." Her voice relayed her weariness, and he looked at her, his concern clear.

"Why don't you get some sleep? You sound tired."

"I'm not tired, Jarod. I'm worried. I'm scared." Emily replied with a sigh. Jarod frowned at his laptop screen. Emily interrupted his thoughts with a question, "Jarod? What's going on at the Centre? Is Lyle okay?"

"Well," Jarod looked back over at her. "Lyle's okay. The Tower welcomed him back. But, there is some bad news. First, Raines is dead."

"And that's bad?" Emily asked incredulously.

"You didn't let me finish, Em." Jarod responded, gently. "Um...Lyle was the one who killed him." Emily's hand flew up to her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears, and she said nothing for several uneasy minutes.

"Oh no. Jarod," She began, struggling to speak. "I didn't think...it was revenge, wasn't it?"

"And the Tower's orders." Jarod laughed dryly. "But I doubt that had much to do with it. Yes, I think it was revenge. Lyle did what no one except Sydney had ever tried- he pulled the trigger. Good riddance is what I say. But I'm more worried about Lyle's emotional state right now."

"It's only been two days, and I already want it to be over." Emily said quietly. "I just want things to go back to the way they were. Everything's different. Charlie doesn't understand why I left, and Spider barely remembers me. It's all changed, and I can't do anything about it."

"I'm sorry, Emily. I really am." Jarod answered.

"What else went wrong, Jarod? With the plan, I mean." Emily questioned, after a pause. Jarod sucked in a breath of air, and bit his lower lip before replying.

"Sam is dead." Emily's hand flew up to her mouth for the second time. She hadn't known the Sweeper very well- but remembered seeing him play checkers with Aric Joel a few times, as well as have some type of inside joke with Jarod about brooms and rats. She also knew it was a severe blow to the plan. Silence passed between her and her brother for several minutes, before she stood.

"I think I'll go to bed now." She moved out of the kitchen, missing the hurt look in Jarod's eyes.

Jarod thought Emily blamed him for Sam's death, and half-way believed she was right. Too right. He sat in contemplative quiet for a while, before he realized someone was reading over his shoulder. He swung around quickly, just in time to see Jack Ryan go pale.

After a minute, Ryan extended a shaky hand.

"I'm on your side now. No question." Jarod tentatively shook his hand, and Ryan disappeared without another word. Jarod understood. It was pretty unnerving to know that your own employers had just condemned you to your death. Jarod reached out, rapidly typed several things, erasing his history files on both his hard drive, and the Centre's tracking records. After the small but important task was finished, he switched the laptop off, and sat in darkness.

"Like mentor, like protégé." Sydney spoke, causing Jarod to jump a little. The older man flipped a nearby lamp on, before joining Jarod at the table- taking the same seat Emily had sat in earlier. "I often sit in the darkness, thinking." Jarod gave Sydney a half-hearted smile.

"Why would one need physical lights for the mind? I'd settle for the inner light of truth."

"As would I, Jarod. As would I."

"Hmm."

"We haven't had much chance to talk in the past weeks, have we?" Sydney asked, feeling that the responsibility of continuing the conversation rested on his shoulders.

"No, we haven't, have we?" Jarod replied, looking over to Sydney. "It's all falling apart, Sydney. The plan, our lives- everything. Sam's dead, Broots is going to Europe, Miss Parker's in the infirmary. It's not fair. Aric Joel's going to be devastated. A friend is more than any child should lose to death."

"It's more than anyone should lose, Jarod. But that doesn't mean it stops stealing."

"The Grim Reaper. Ever since that one time we talked about the creature, in your office, I've wondered about him."

"You were just a boy then, weren't you?" Sydney's eyebrows pursed with thought, and his eyes darkened with memory. Jarod nodded.

"Grim. Most people think it means frightful. You know what else it means, Sydney? Merciless and unyielding. Never stopping. And reaper. Gatherer. Collector. 'Merciless Gatherer'. It's what he is, Sydney. A merciless gatherer. He doesn't care who he takes, as long as they have that invisible mark. How does it happen, Sydney? Does some deadly Sandman come in the night, and paint our foreheads with blood, so that when the Reaper's making his rounds, he kills those that bear the mark?"

"I don't know, Jarod. I do know that it's hard to cope with the harvest." Sydney answered thoughtfully.

"I can't stop them, Sydney. They keep killing, and it's all because of me. The Grim Reaper isn't what he used to be. He no longer wears a black warlock robe, carrying a sharpened scathe. Now, the Reaper wears a suit and a Centre name-tag. He carries a gun, and shoots all that the Tower's Sandman tells him to." Sydney chuckled, unable to hold back the laughter. Jarod looked up sharply, glaring quizzically at Sydney.

"I'm sorry, Jarod. It's just..." Sydney trailed off, unable to think of exactly why Jarod's comparison had sounded funny. It just had.

"It's okay, Sydney." Jarod answered a minute later. "I guess it did sound strange."

"Jarod, get some sleep." Sydney said, standing up and yawning. "Keeping yourself awake isn't going to do you any good. I believe everyone else has already slipped off to bed."

"Jarod," A new voice joined the conversation, with a tone suspiciously close to whining. Sydney chuckled again when he saw that it was Patrick.

"Yeah, Patrick?" Jarod smiled as well. Patrick put a hand on Jarod's shoulder, and suddenly looked very serious.

"Mr. Master Copy. We are-" He paused, for effect. Both Jarod and Sydney started to get worried. "Out of Pez." Patrick finished. Both of the other men in the room started laughing. Patrick looked offended. "What? We are!" He stressed the 'are' part, and shook his head. "You two make no sense at all. I'm going to the store tomorrow." He left the room, still shaking his head. Jarod and Sydney met each other's eyes, and the laughter subsided.

"Good night, Jarod."

"Night, Sydney." Jarod replied, copying Sydney's motions, and standing and yawning. Sydney flipped the lamp off, and both shuffled off to their beds.

---

Broots leaned his head against the glass of the airplane window, and sighed. What he could see out the window was nothing more than wisps of clouds and blue sky. The ground beneath wasn't ground- it was ocean. The rolling waves of the Atlantic blurred gray and green below. Debbie listened to music in the aisle across from him, bouncing her head along with the beat. Broots shook his own head, and mentally sorted all the events of the past few years.

Like he had told Debbie, it all started with Lyle leaving. The man had simply disappeared, no warning signs, nothing. Miss Parker had gone around the Centre with an occasional smirk, and Broots suspected at the time, that she had known more than she was letting on. Meanwhile, the Board was in an uproar. Find the Chairman's son, and find him now, had been an order for weeks. California had been searched to no end, after the postcard had arrived, and then the rest of America had been searched. Rather heartlessly, for no one really wanted to find the man.

Raines, meanwhile, had been in Renewal Wing ever since the Incident. The Incident in which Lyle left the Centre for two months- and the vacation wasn't one of his own choice. Broots wasn't sure when Raines had returned, but he did know it was a good year later. Unchanged, it seemed. None worse for wear. Broots sometimes wondered if they had done nothing more than lock the dying man in a cell for a year.

The hunt for Jarod had gone on, easing over the years. The urgency dropped to find the Pretender, as more pressure to successfully train Aric Joel was applied. Raines disappeared again, to dabble in personal projects. One of those projects, as Broots had found, was Emily herself. Broots feared what the other projects were- what they could hold. He was also assured that Raines was dead and whatever projects had been in the works, would stop. He hoped so, anyway.

"Dad," Broots' thought train was sidetracked by Debbie, who was tugging on his arm.

"What, Deb?"

"Listen to this. I was trying to find a radio station, and found this." Debbie stressed the end of the sentence, as she slipped the headphones on her father. Broots' forehead creased with thought, suspicion, and worry, as he listened to the transmitted message.

"Shadowcat, do you copy? Over."

"Roger that, AirTiger. Over."

"Identified craft at five o clock. Repeat, identified craft at five o clock. Over."

"Identity, request? Over."

"American Sub-Government Aircraft, Boeing 747. Over."

"Any scheduled flights for such aircraft, AirTiger? Over."

"No such flight, Shadowcat. Presumed stolen or hijacked. Over."

"Permission to contact craft? Over."

"Permission granted, Shadowcat. Over and out." Broots took the headphones off with shaking hands, and gave them to Debbie.

"Excuse me, Deb." She moved, to let him out into the aisle, with a confused look on her face. Broots made his way towards the front bathrooms- conveniently located next to the cockpit. He muttered under his breath as he went,

"Please, God. Don't let them contact our plane. Please don't let them contact our plane." He cracked open the cockpit door just in time to hear the words he had been dreading-

"This is American Airforce, Codename Shadowcat-"

"Hey! What are you doing up here?" The co-pilot demanded, as soon as he saw Broots. Broots shook his head, and thought fast.

"Just wanted to see how much longer it will be." He shrugged. "All the flight attendants seem to have disappeared."

"Another few hours, buddy. Go sit down." Broots backed up, and pulled the door shut behind him. He hurried back to his seat, and pulled Debbie over.

"Deb, this is supposed to be a commercial flight. How come I don't see any families, hear any kids?"

"They said it was a skeleton flight, Dad." Debbie leaned closer. "But I don't believe them. All of the passengers are guys in black suits- Sweepers, I think. And I just found a bunch of parachute packs near the back bathrooms. Dad, I counted..." Debbie trailed off, tears brimming in her eyes. "Dad, there are enough parachutes for everyone but us."

"The Centre." Broots growled, instinctively feeling protective of Debbie. He fumbled with his cell phone, and finally managed to dial. He waited impatiently, as the other end of the phone line rang.

"Jarod here." Jarod's voice answered.

"Oh, god. Jarod," Broots lowered his voice to a mere whisper. "They're trying to kill us."

"Hold on, Broots. Let me get Jarod." Jarod's voice spoke again. There was some scuffling on the other end of the line, and a slightly angry voice shouting,

"Patrick! Stop answering my phone!" The voice turned to the phone, and spoke. "Broots?"

"Jarod. They're trying to kill us. The flight was supposed to be commercial, but it's not. And Debbie found parachutes in the back of the plane- enough for everyone but us." Broots barely managed to keep his voice from shaking.

"Calm down, Broots." Jarod replied promptly. "Check under your seat. The Centre labels all their airplane seats with the number of the plane." Broots ducked down, and quickly found the small silver label.

"52115. Why?" Broots relayed the information to Jarod, who breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good."

"Good?" Broots yelped, before lowering his voice again. "Jarod, I just confirmed that my daughter and I willingly climbed into our execution chamber!"

"The Centre's 747's were recently installed with a computer tracking and piloting system. As long as I have the plane number, I can pilot the plane from the ground. The pilots on board won't know what's going on."

"That's sounds pretty far-fetched, Jarod. And I'm supposed to be the techie." Broots whispered back.

"I know, I know. But since when is anything at the Centre close to normal or possible-sounding?"

"Good point."

"I'll pilot the plane from here. I'm going to land it in New York. Contact me from a payphone there, okay?"

"Sure. New York. Payphone." Broots nodded, without thinking about the fact that Jarod couldn't see him.

"Hang up, and keep Debbie next to you the whole time." Broots pushed the end button, and shoved the cell-phone in his pocket. He leaned over to Debbie, and spoke quietly.

"Debbie, go across the aisle, get your stuff, bring it over here. But ask me, loudly, if you can go to sleep on my shoulder. Then pretend to fall asleep." She nodded, with wide eyes, and quickly followed his orders. Broots felt a strange sense of relief when she set her head on his shoulder- somehow, deep inside, he knew they would be alright. His little girl would be safe.

---

Lyle leaned back in his chair, a glass of water in one hand. He looked around his office, and sighed. The two week pretend was draining on him, heavily. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so tired. The office did nothing to help lighten his mood, or spirit, and despite the office, he didn't want to go home to an empty apartment. It wasn't really home, and felt more like a prison. He sighed again, as numerous thoughts drifted through his mind.

*Good Lord, how did Jarod survive this?* He wondered in amazement, taking a sip of the now luke-warm water. There wasn't an answer. He desperately wanted to talk to Emily, to hold her, to know she was safe. He needed to. A year apart had nearly broken him completely, and two and a half meager weeks together wasn't enough to calm and heal his soul. Or hers, for that matter.

He worried, and wondered, about how she was doing. After the torture she had survived, and the stress, he doubted she was really as fine as she told everyone she was. He was thankful the kids were there- Charlie would help her a lot, he knew. Just being with Maddy, Cat, and Spider, would be good for her as well.

Lyle rubbed his forehead, and set the glass of water on the desk, and slowly stood to his feet.

*Dear God...* The thought that managed to slip inside his mind was more of a prayer than a curse, for his joints seemed to catch fire at the movement. In a standing position, the slightest move pained him. He stood, frozen, for nearly a full minute, afraid of stepping forward. He finally did so, and realized almost instantly that it was a mistake.

The room spun, the colors blurred, and all went black.

Portrait of a Killer
9/?
By RRP


Mr. Parker strode down the hall, Oxford heels clicking on the hard floor, demanding respect, and invoking fear with nothing more than a steady beat. He was headed for the infirmary- various reasons in mind.

He needed to talk to his daughter, after he found out what was wrong with his son. A Sweeper, whose name he had not even bothered to ask for, had come to him less than fifteen minutes ago saying that Lyle had been found unconscious in his office, and was in the infirmary.

Mr. Parker opened the door to the room Lyle was supposedly in, and found Lyle sitting up on the bed, legs dangling over the side, and a doctor talking to him.

"What happened?" Mr. Parker questioned in a deep, stern tone. The Doctor rose from the physician's stool he had been sitting on.

"Mr. Parker! Mr. Lyle here, apparently blacked out. We're running some tests to find out if it's anything serious, but I doubt it's more than stress or lack of sleep."

"It's nothing, Dad." Lyle assured him, in a weary voice.

"Like hell it's nothing, Lyle. You passed out. I want to know why!" Mr. Parker shot back. The doctor cringed noticeably at the words, and stepped in hurriedly.

"The tests have been labeled top priority. They should be back in the morning. Meanwhile, we'll just keep him here overnight."

"Good." With that, Mr. Parker left the room, the tapping of his shoes echoing back to the two remaining in the room. The doctor turned to Lyle, and sighed as he shook his head.

"Sounds like a great father." He commented sarcastically. Lyle quickly glanced up at the ever-watching red eye in the wall, before replying.

"Yeah. Great father."

"About what you where about to say, before he came in..."

"CFS." Lyle answered promptly. "I believe I have chronic fatigue syndrome."

"I've heard of it, but unfortunately, there's no way to prove it. It won't show up on any of our test results. I can't really prescribe anything for it, either. Except rest. Lots of rest." The doctor set the chart he had been holding down on a near-by counter top, and walked to the door. "I'll be back in the morning." He switched off the light, and left the room.

The only source of illumination was a constantly blinking red dot in the corner.

---

Patrick typed lazily on the keyboard of Jarod's laptop, bored and with nothing to do. Major Charles and Jack Ryan were engaged in one of their continually running conversations about airplanes, something Patrick easily could have joined in on, but didn't feel like doing. Emily had taken the kids outside, and Ben and Sydney had relocated the chess board to the porch so they could play and help Emily at the same time.

Jarod, Master-Copy, had left for the grocery store three hours ago, and Patrick guessed that he had long finished shopping for food and had fallen prey to wonders of a toy-store on the way home.

Then, so suddenly that he nearly fell off his chair, and idea struck him. He opened another program on the computer, and began typing furiously. Time passed, and still he typed. Jarod eventually returned, and people begin going in and out of the kitchen with bags of food. Patrick didn't notice when the boys began battling in the living room with brand new toy lightsabers, or when they clambered upstairs with plans to use the bunk bed as the Deathstar. Nor did he notice the girls squealing and playing with a new dollhouse.

Patrick did notice, however, and briefly acknowledge Jarod, when the Master-Copy stopped to read over Patrick's shoulder. Without more than two words, Jarod understood what Patrick was doing, and had another laptop set up within minutes. As it booted, he searched the grocery bags, and pulled out the object of his hunt with a grin. He tossed one of the two items to Patrick, who paused long enough to catch it, read the label, and mutter, "Funny," before opening the PEZ dispenser modeled after the clones in a Star Wars movie. Jarod laughed, and opened his own- the bounty hunter, and slid the candy in, before becoming serious again.

Soon, the sound of two men typing filled the room, and an occasional word of question or answer accompanied the clacking of the keys. Major Charles and Jack Ryan began putting the food away, their conversation never breaking.

"Deletion header?" Jarod asked at one point.

"Done."

"Erase command?"

"Go for it."

It wasn't until Emily asked them to move so she could set the table that either man was again aware of the time. They moved the laptops to the couch, and resumed their typing. Emily shook her head in amazement, but said nothing more. The identical looks of concentration on their faces told her that both her brothers were busy, and that the work was important.

The kids were ushered in to eat, with a softly spoken order to remain quiet. The grown-ups ate after the kids had been sent back upstairs to play until bedtime, and plates were set in front of Jarod and Patrick. Emily thought for a few minutes that they hadn't even noticed, but at the same time, both of them reached out and stabbed a mouthful of beef stroganoff without even looking at the plates.

They continued eating in such a manner, typing with one hand, and the plates were soon empty. The dishes were done, the kitchen was cleaned, another chess game was played, and the kids were asleep before Jarod and Patrick looked up from their screens and blinked.

"So, do you mind telling us more simple minds what exactly you've spent the past," Major Charles paused to look at his watch, "seven hours, fifty three minutes, doing?" The tone was dry, yet humorous, and Jarod smiled, as Patrick yawned.

"Patrick should name it. It was his idea."

"Tro-" The word was cut off by another yawn. "Trojan. We're calling it the Trojan Program."

"What is it?" Jack Ryan questioned, eyebrows raised.

"It's a virus. We put it on a disc, ship it to Mr. Parker with a note that says it's from the Triumvirate, and as soon as he puts it into his computer, it starts." Jarod answered.

"Starts what?" Sydney asked from the chess board. Patrick turned around to make eye contact.

"It will latch on to every other computer in the network, making it impossible to stop even if the computer is turned off. It will delete everything the Centre has stored on computer- it will virtually erase every hard drive they owned that's hooked up."

"Powerful program." Major Charles whistled. Jarod and Patrick nodded simultaneously.

"What of the files not in the computer, Jarod?" Sydney's brow furrowed, and Jarod sighed.

"We'll burn them, I guess. I know it's asking a lot, Sydney, to give up your research, but-" Jarod trailed off, and every eye in the room was locked on Sydney, waiting for an answer. Sydney looked down at the chessboard, and sighed. He moved a piece forward, and muttered,

"Checkmate." He looked up at Jarod. "Go ahead."

---

"Welcome back to the Bureau!" A tall, dark haired man of brown complexion, chimed as two men walked through the door of the large office. Three others around the room looked up from their paper work and conversations and waved or cheered, "Welcome back!" Being the general cry and often punctuating the mix. One of the men who had entered the room clapped and nodded, turning around to face the second fellow.

"Thanks." The second man nodded, and gave a tired smile, as he raised a hand for silence. "Throw a party later. Where is he?"

"In the back." The first man answered, shrugging his shoulder towards a back room.

"I've got work to do, guys."

"Sleep, Rand. You look like hell." Someone chorused, half in jest, from across the room.

"Yeah, thanks, Lloyd. You too." The second man, obviously named Rand, returned, as he walked with a firm and purposeful step towards the back room. He stopped, only feet from the door, and turned.

"God, someone get me my gun. I was beginning to go into withdrawal without it." A black shoulder holster was tossed through the air, and someone placed a silver, gleaming 9mm in Rand's hand. He held it for a moment, treating it as if he was regaining a limb. He sighed in relief, checked the safety, and slid it in the holster.

He opened the door, and entered the room.

---

Gregory Lloyd was a fiery little red-headed Agent with a undying sense of humor. He was usually the noise and pep of his group of Agents- a group of seven, all working on the same project- but now he was silent, and listening. The object of his attention was the back room Special Agent Jon Rand had gone into nearly fifteen minutes ago.

Actually, it wasn't just Gregory Lloyd, it was all of the five Agents currently in the main room. They had continued to go about their business, until about two seconds after Rand had gone into the room, there was a long, drawn out and amazed, "Good God! You're with the FBI?"

Since that first phrase, many interesting things had been loud enough to hear. Curses, ravings, rants, breaking wood, the sound of a gun's safety going off, going back on, silence again, more curses.

"Who got the decaf?" A voice from behind them asked loudly, as the body the voice belonged to entered the room. In unison, five men turned and said,

"Shhh!" There was absolute silence, then the door of the back room opened. Rand stuck his head out, and looked at the five men who appeared to be studying his every movement, and the bewildered sixth of the group, holding trays with cups of coffee, while he blinked. Rand shook his head,

"Back to work, guys." The door closed, and chaos erupted.

"Who would order a decaf?"

"It's not mine. Let me see the latte."

"What latte? This latte? This one's mine."

"Is not. Come on, Frank, tell him the latte is mine."

"Oh, shutup Simon. Stop griping and drink it black like a normal Agent. Let Allen have the latte for once."

"Aaron! Do something!"

"Come on, Simon. You work with the FBI, and you can't stop a coffee theft? If you can't act like an Agent, than act like a citizen and sue." That brought laughter, and the coffee was rightly and justly distributed, the decaf ending up on Jon Rand's desk.

---

It was a clear, cloudless night, the deep navy canvas of sky splattered with the magical glow of stars- the exact opposite of the stereotypical setting for tension and plot. On a night such as tonight, one nearly expected to see a handsome man in a cape ride by on a horse, or a field to fill with singing elves and mythical creatures.

But instead, the night sky shone down upon a huge, imposing structure on a Delaware hillside. Within it's dark, shadowed halls, and dimly flickering bulbs, it held a hell unlike any other. Patrolled by a rigid staff of men who were comfortable holding loaded guns, and occupied by such monstrosities and unusual people the rulers of the sub-kingdom saw fit to keep from the rest of the world.

From limbless men of short stature, to ghost-like men brainwashed until even the idea of a memory was lost to the void. It's cement floors and multiple levels hosted machines and technology beyond humane use, so evil in themselves that one would shudder simply to look upon them.

Cycloptic eyes of blinking maroon hid in the corners, watching and remembering everything. What some of those eyes in the wall would see on this night, however, would soon be erased so none but those who had survived the holocaust would know of the structure's horrific tale of truth.

On every level of the building, in every storeroom, office, file housing, camera storage, at precisely 1:44 am bombs went off. The building shook with the power of the multiple explosions- and people, guards, began running to find the source of the earthquake.

What they found, and were forced to tell their superiors later that morning, cost them their lives- any record the Centre had on film, or paper, was gone.

---

"I can't believe this!" Lyle quietly listened to his father rant and rave about the unexplainable explosions the night before. "Even the storage rooms in other states! Gone!"

"I heard." Lyle nodded, hoping to calm his father down, before more died. Already, the Sweepers who had brought the news were in the morgue.

"This is absolutely ridiculous! I want you to get to the bottom of this, and fast! This is a severe, severe blow to the Centre. Without those records...it instills fear in me, just to think of it. Decades of research, lost forever, and for what? We don't even know!" Mr. Parker slammed a hand upon his desk, and sat down. A black, charred area occupied the area in which his file cabinet had once sat. Almost every room now held the black, tell-tale scar.

"Sure, Dad. Meanwhile, you want to move Miss Parker? What if the explosions go on?"

"We're not moving her. She's not ready, physically or mentally. I've got teams sweeping for more bombs, and they haven't found any more yet." Mr. Parker said firmly, shooting Lyle a warning glare. Lyle shrugged.

"Whatever. Just thought it was in the best interest of whatever project she's involved in."

"Of course you did! And who said she was in a project?"

"All the evidence points to, Dad. Why else keep her here, and not a hospital? What's the plan, anyway? You know me. Can't wait to get involved." Lyle plastered a smirk upon his face, and Mr. Parker smiled.

"Maybe later, Lyle. I don't want you to dive into this too soon. Meanwhile, you've got a bomber to catch."

---

Aric Joel held a hand up to his nephew, and playmate, Charlie- motioning for silence. Charlie froze, and cocked his head inquisitively. Aric Joel, meanwhile, leaned toward the kitchen door.

"What is it, AJ?" Charlie asked in a low whisper. Aric Joel made eye contact with Charlie, the boy he truly considered his best friend, his brown eyes solemn and serious.

"I heard Jarod say something." Aric Joel replied in the same whisper. In sync, the boys crept towards the door, and put their ears against it. A split second later, they both heard a muffled bit of a sentence.

"Now that Sam's dead..." Aric Joel's spine went ramrod straight, his eyes opened wide in shock, and he backed away from the door, his mouth moving but no sound coming out. Charlie stepped towards him, concern written on his face.

"AJ?" He asked, forgetting to whisper. A toy lightsaber clattered to the floor, and Aric Joel was gone. Charlie yelled after him in a near panic, as the door was flung open, and Aric Joel fled outside. "AJ!"

The kitchen door opened, and Jarod stepped out to investigate the noise. He scanned the room with his eyes, and saw Charlie near the door, standing and looking out, arms limp at his sides.

"Charlie?" The little boy turned to him, tears streaming down his face.

"You should have told him..." He accused. "He didn't need to find out that way." The words of wisdom coming out of such a small boy startled Jarod, the shock doubling when he realized what Charlie was talking about. Emily appeared behind Jarod, and knelt down.
"Come here, baby. Jarod will find him." Jarod nodded, gulped, and grabbed his coat, as Charlie flew into his mother's open arms. Jarod stepped out the door, and shrugged the coat on. It wasn't too cold- not quite cold enough to snow, but there was a nasty wind-chill. He couldn't see Aric Joel anywhere on the landscape before him, yet reasoned that the boy couldn't have gotten far.

He was walking around the house when a car pulled up in the driveway- he only stopped long enough to make sure it wasn't a Centre car. He had no idea who would be coming to the house, and on what business, but his first priority was to find Aric Joel. Jarod cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled.

"AJ!!! AJ!!!" There was no reply. Jarod stomped his feet to try to stay warm, and continued searching. Then, he heard another yell.

"Over here!" The person, a man, sounded strangely like Broots. But it couldn't possibly be Broots...Jarod had sent Broots and Debbie to Washington State. He followed the voice, nevertheless, and saw two things that amazed him- the first being Broots in black slacks, white shirt, and a trench coat that looked suspiciously government style. The second being...

Aric Joel sat in the tree, shivering. He heard people yelling a minute ago, for him, but he kept his eyes squinched shut. He just wanted them to go away. They kept lying to him. His sister was not fine, he knew that much. Everyone always looked worried when they talked about her. Then Sam was dead, and they tried to hide it from him. He heard someone walk beneath the tree and stop. He froze, and hoped they wouldn't notice him. Then he heard an all-too familiar voice.

"Hey, kid. It's awfully cold out here, why don't you come in?" Aric Joel opened his eyes, slowly, and looked down, half-fearing that it was just his imagination.

Sam stood beneath the tree, looking up, a grin tugging on the corners of his mouth. Aric Joel slid out of the tree, down to the ground, and cautiously stepped forward.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, kiddo?" Was the reply. Aric Joel flung himself forward, and wrapped his arms around Sam, daring someone to make him let go. Sam, though surprised, squatted down and Aric Joel buried his face in the Sweeper's shoulder.

"They...they said you were dead." Aric Joel choked out. Sam carefully pulled him away, so he could make eye contact.

"Miscommunication. I wouldn't be too hard on them." Aric Joel's eyes were brimming over with tears, and the small boy found that he was incapable of speech. Sam hesitated, then wordlessly picked him up and started walking towards the house. Aric Joel wrapped his arms around Sam's neck, and sniffled as he once again buried his face in Sam's shoulder.

They returned to the house to find a room full of shocked people, attempting to get Broots to explain a dozen different things at once. Sam almost put Aric Joel down, but when the little boy's hold tighten went he started to bend over, Sam decided against it, and just stepped back near the wall, and stood there.

The noise came to a dead stop when the little red-headed man, one of the two others that had come with Broots, put two fingers in his mouth and let out an ear piercing whistle.

"Thanks, Lloyd." Broots muttered. Then, to the people (who were Jarod, Patrick, Sydney, Ben, Major Charles, Jack Ryan, and Emily), "Listen. Just calm down, and I'll explain myself." Everyone seemed to settle down, and Broots continued. "I'm with the FBI, for starters. I accepted an undercover mission nearly eleven years ago, having no idea what it would hold." That statement brought a bit of laughter from the two strangers with Broots. "Broots is my mother's maiden name. My name is Jon Rand, Special Agent. These are two of my highly dedicated team, Gregory Lloyd," The red head nodded, as if introducing himself without the trouble of shaking everyone's hand. "and Henry Allen." The other stranger, a tall blonde man, nodded as well. "As for Sam. James Frank, whom I left at the Bureau to avoid multiple panic attacks, went undercover with me about eight years ago. You know him as Cox."

"I saw the DSA!" Jarod protested. "It..it..."

"It was a bit doctored, at the end, but the rest was brilliant acting on Frank's part. Sam had no idea, until the moment Frank was about to pull the trigger."

"Then what happened?" Patrick asked, unable to hold in his curiosity. Broots, or Jon Rand rather, chuckled.

"He put the gun in his holster, grabbed Sam by the arm, and said, I quote, 'Let's get the hell out of here. This place gives me the creeps, and it's starting to effect my brain. Two seconds more, and I'll snap.' The real DSA was actually sort of humorous."

"We've got some catching up to do, then. Plan wise." Jarod said after a moment of silence. "One question. What do you want us to call you, now?"

"Rand will work." The man once known as Broots replied. "Let's get to work, then."

---

Mr. Parker sat at his desk, staring at a single floppy disk. It was labeled, 'Important. From Triumvirate', and nothing else. He had been staring at the desk for a full ten minutes, afraid of what it might hold. A notice of leave? He knew he hadn't exactly been effective lately. A new termination order? For whom?

He finally picked it up, slid it into his computer's floppy disk drive, and clicked the A drive icon. The computer stalled, and a screen popped up. Before Mr. Parker could even react, the blue load bar had filled completely.

"Thank you for inserting the Trojan Program. Have a nice afterlife." A mechanical voice said from the computer speakers. Mr. Parker realized what was happening, and frantically tried to shut the computer down. The screen went black with a defeated beep and sigh, and Mr. Parker gave his own sigh of relief. Two minutes later, his secretary entered the room.

"Mr. Parker? I can't get my computer to work. It says everything is deleted." Mr. Parker's eyes filled with horror, and slowly shifted to the networking box, which his computer was plugged into.

"Rachel?" He asked. The secretary stepped forward.

"Yes sir?"

"Leave right now, and don't look back."

"Sir?"

"It's all over. There's nothing left. Don't look back. You can save yourself." Confused, Rachel turned and obediently left.

Alarms began going off in the building, and people ran helter skelter, trying to find a way out of the mess, or a way to stop it. Mr. Parker stared ahead silently, waiting for the next blow of the storm to hit. And hit it did.

Ten minutes after the virus had erased every single file the Centre owned, the front doors flew open, and SWAT teams and FBI Agents flooded in.

A/N: It's finished! It's finished! You have, in your monitor right now, the LAST CHAPTER OF PORTRAIT! Don't worry...I'm working on a sequel. It's not really over yet, folks.

Portrait of a Killer
10/10
By RRP


Jon Rand roamed the near-empty halls, occasionally passing a few Agents or SWAT members handcuffing someone and leading them out of the building. He held his arm, wincing when someone bumped into him. It was nothing more than a flesh wound, and he had already slipped into a store room to grab some gauze, which he had applied himself.

So, with his arm taped, he had decided to patrol the area, make sure the men didn't get too rough when handling some of the techies and anxious mail clerks, and generally see who was still inside the building. He hadn't seen Lyle yet, or Miss Parker, and that worried him.

No doubt Jarod, who had insisted on being involved, had already found Miss Parker, and was helping her to the plane. They could, for what Rand knew, already be gone. Lyle however, was a different story, so Rand was keeping an eye out for him.

It had been a two-hour fight, the powers that be resisting until the last minute. Rand himself had barely missed an unfriendly bullet. After the two hours of heated fighting, the Centre had given up, and the past three hours had been spent getting doctors and nurses into the infirmaries to take care of the ill, and getting the other assorted people out. Rand's thoughts were interrupted by a cell-phone ringing, and with a jolt, he realized it was his own.

"Rand here." He answered, thankful to be able to use his own name- his real name, again.

"Dad!" A voice exclaimed happily. "How are you? Did you get hurt?"

"Hey, Deb." Rand replied with a smile, stepping aside to let an Agent and a handcuffed man pass. "Yeah, I'm fine. A little brush in the arm, but nothing serious."

"Oh good!" Debbie sighed in relief. "I stopped by about an hour ago to see if you were alright, but I couldn't get anything out of the men outside. But I did pick someone up."

"Lyle?" Rand asked hopefully.

"No. Angelo. They were trying to put him in a car, and he was hysterical. I got him, and brought him home. He's playing go-fish with me."

"Okay. If he gives you any trouble, you have Sydney's number, right?"

"Yep. Come home safely, Dad."

"I will." Rand hung up after he heard a click on the other line, and he sighed, mentally scolding himself for forgetting about Angelo. He heard a yell behind him, and turned to see Agent Lesley Simon waving at him. Simon jogged over, Major Charles and Jack Ryan following.

"Simon. Good to see you in one piece." Simon, a tall man with brown skin and a shaved head, laughed.

"And you, Rand. However chipped. These two wanted to see you."

"Yeah?" Rand turned to Major Charles and Jack Ryan, a grin lingering on his face.

"The plane is ready, as soon as you are. Have you found Lyle or Miss Parker?" It was Major Charles who spoke, and Rand shook his head.

"Have you heard from Jarod? I can't find him either."

"Yes. But not in the past thirty minutes. Which makes me suspicious." Major Charles said with a frown, though his eyes were twinkling. "Patrick's on the plane. He was scaring some of the Agents."

"How so?" Rand asked, genuinely interested. Even Simon leaned forward a bit to hear.

"It seems that when Jarod was walking around on the main level, and outside, Patrick was following him. Jarod would stop to talk to someone, and about thirty seconds after he had gone, Patrick would purposely show up and talk to the same person. I found him trying to convince someone that they hadn't even been introduced. I put him in the plane, and told him to keep an eye on everything."

"Good." Rand chuckled. "Though a source of humor, now's not the best time to distract my guys. You two need something to do, or are you going to take a break?"

"I think I may go take a breather." Major Charles nodded to Rand. He nodded to Simon as well, saying, "I can find my way out of here. One time in this building is enough to remember it forever." Jack Ryan stayed where he was, and cleared his throat before he ventured to say,
"I can stay and help. What can I do, sir?" Simon clapped Ryan on the back.

"Now I like him, Rand. We could use someone like him on our team." Rand nodded with a smile, and said in a serious tone.

"If you want to think about it later, Ryan, just tell me. I can always pull up an opening. Meanwhile, we've got to find Lyle and Parker, not to mention Jarod."

"I think I've found Lyle." Jack Ryan said, mid-nod. He pointed down the hall to an angry and confused looking Lyle, who was frustrating the Agents trying to handcuff him, by slipping his left hand out of the handcuffs every time they shut the lock. Rand stalked forward, quickly identifying one of the Agents as Japanese-American Micah Daniels.

"Leave him alone." Rand ordered. Lyle looked up in surprise.

"Broots?"

"Rand!" Daniels snapped. "Isn't this-" He was cut off, by Rand.

"I said leave him alone, Daniels."

"But-" Rand put a warning hand on Daniels arm.

"I said leave him alone." Rand growled. Daniels frowned at the floor, and stepped back.

"Whatever, Rand." Rand looked at Daniels, and wordlessly put out a hand. The keys to the handcuffs were slapped in his palm a second later. Simon and Ryan watched from behind, as Rand unlocked the cuffs, and pocketed them.

"Simon, take him to Jarod's plane."

"Sure thing." Simon nodded, confusion written on his face. Rand sighed heavily, and nodded to Ryan.

"Can you give us a minute?" Ryan nodded, and stepped back a couple of feet, turning around so he wasn't facing Rand and Daniels. The other Agents had become scarce when Rand's voice lowered, and Daniels was the only one left. "Daniels," Rand began. "I know what I said, but maybe I was wrong."

"Rand, he murdered people! Lots of people!" Daniels shot back, voice dangerously high-pitched, stressing the word 'murdered'.

"He's got a family, Daniels. Four kids and a wife, who trust him. He's changed, for real. It's been seven years now, and he was never an official case to begin with. The Bureau always drops non-offs after three years."

"But..." Daniels was weakening, but continued to protest.

"Is this about Lissa?" Rand asked, concern appearing among the mix of emotions. Daniels slowly shook his head.

"Kinda, I guess. I know it wasn't him that killed my sister, but...it's hard to watch someone like that walk away."

"I understand, Daniels, I really do, but sometimes giving someone a second shot at life is more important than justice. A little mercy. I believe he's changed, but if he starts looking suspicious, I'll pull him. For now, as long as he's safe, just let him have a family. Live the life we grew up with. Okay?"

"Yeah." Daniels nodded. "I'm sorry I blew up like that..."

"Apology accepted. Take a twenty minute break. I think they've got coffee outside, go grab a cup. If you think you're not going to be able to control yourself, then call it quits for the day. I'd rather be one man short than two men dead. Deb's at my house in 'Cove, and she can make you some coffee there." Rand grinned- it wasn't uncommon knowledge that the young, spiky haired Agent liked Debbie. "I think I trust you enough. Just to be safe, take Jack Ryan here with you."

"That sounds like a good idea." Daniels returned the grin. He turned to Ryan. "Jack Ryan? Like in the-"

"Don't say it." Ryan cut him off.

"I just meant the-"

"Don't say it." Ryan replied, punctuating each word. "Other than that, we should get along. Just don't even say Clancy."

"Gotcha." Daniels nodded, and the two disappeared down the hall. Rand shook his head, and continued on his quest to SL-19. It was time to find Miss Parker.

---

Miss Parker had woken up five hours ago, when all the commotion started. She hadn't been able to go back to sleep since. Her chest didn't hurt too much, but she was afraid that if she sat up, she would blow what little cover she had- if it was still needed. So, bored and impatient, she waited.

It was nearing five and a half hours, when she saw figure slip into the room behind the curtain. The curtain was cautiously pulled back, and Jarod stood before her, an anxious look in his eyes. Her own eyes lit up, and she couldn't figure out why. She had a feeling the game of, 'I run, you catch', was over, and she knew that she felt something for him- she just wasn't sure she was ready to accept that.

"Miss Parker?" He croaked out in a near-whisper.

"Hey, Wonderboy. What took you so long?" She shot back with a smile. He was at her bedside in a flash, and she struggled to sit up. It was harder than she had expected it to be, and Jarod surprised her slightly by sliding some pillows behind her back to make it easier. "Thanks." She murmured. Jarod was fidgeting with something in his pocket, and Miss Parker eyed him suspiciously. "How come I get the feeling you're about to say something that's going to dramatically change my life?"

"Umm...because I am?" Jarod replied. "I know this isn't the best time, but I couldn't wait any longer. I nearly died myself when I thought you had died, I beat myself up every day I couldn't save you. I was lost without you, Parker. Lost."

"Just get to the point." She prompted. Jarod whipped a small box out of his pocket, and held it out to her.

"Will you marry me? Please?" He asked, nervously waiting for an answer. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and it was only when he asked that she realized how ready she was.

"Yes. I will." She choked out, as he slipped a diamond cut ring onto her finger. Jarod pulled her into a hug, and she cried- nearly sobbed- into his shoulder. The tears were a mix of joy, relief, and sadness for the years lost. Time that would never be regained. Miss Parker understood that. She understood, and it was partly why she cried, that after all the time passed, she was nearing the age where she would be too old to have children, as was Jarod.

"I love you, Maggie." Jarod whispered. Parker sniffled at the use of her name.

"Jarod, do me a favor." She mumbled into his shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"Just call me Parker for now. It's going to take some time."

"Sure, Parker. Anything you want."

"Let's get out of here, then." Even though she said it, she didn't really want to move right away. She felt safer in Jarod's arms than she had felt for years.

So that's how Jon Rand found them, ten minutes later. He entered the room, and came to a dead stop. He took a step backwards, and cleared his throat.

"Um..I guess I'm interrupting something. I'll just wait outside." Miss Parker sniffled again, and shook her head. She looked at him, and cocked her head inquisitively. Instead of the normal, nervous techie Broots she was used to, she saw a man wearing black slacks, white shirt, and holster complete with guns. His left sleeve was ripped, and there was a bit of blood on it. He also held himself straighter, looked calmer and more in control. Jarod looked as well, and spoke.

"Hey, Rand. I guess we can go. She probably needs some rest, and it's high time we got out of here."

"Rand?" Miss Parker questioned. "What am I missing here?" The man she knew as Broots stepped forward and extended his hand.

"I don't think we've been honestly introduced." Miss Parker was immediately struck by his choice of words. "I'm Special Agent Jon Rand, FBI."

"FBI?" She demanded suddenly. Confusion, anger, and an overwhelming sense of betrayal was growing inside her. He pulled his hand back, and leant over, so he was closer to her face, yet far enough away that it was still modest- just serious and honest.

"I was doing my job, that was all. Yes, there were times when I wished it was simpler, and I was just Broots. Other times, I kept up the game so I could eventually bring this place down. Today, that dream was realized. I don't care what the reports say, what the badge says, what my ID card says- the past ten years have been the most realistic years of my life. There are only a few moments I regret, and none of them have anything to do with you or Sydney. I still care about all of you, and I'm not going to just disappear now. Yes, I was lying, but no, I'm not going to run away. I might have been wrong to lie to you like that, but I didn't have a choice. I hope you can understand that." Miss Parker slowly nodded, but she knew she would need more time to digest all the information.


"Let's take you home." Jarod announced, breaking the silence.

"And where would home be, brave knight?" She asked, smiling up at him. It was then that Rand noticed the ring on her hand, and let out a little gasp that Miss Parker instantly knew could only come from her Broots. The lovable moron was still within.

"Home would be wherever we're together- that is, the Runway house in Maine for now."

"Let's go."

"Can you stand up, or shall I carry you?" Jarod asked, concern etched in his features. Miss Parker debated for a second, then stretched out her arms.

"Carry me. It'll be my first independent step towards co-dependence." Jarod grinned, and obliged. Rand led the way to the elevator, and out of the building to the plane. Miss Parker blushed fiercely when they passed all the Agents and SWAT members, suddenly aware that she was in nothing more than a hospital gown. Jarod seemed to sense her discomfort, and somehow managed to cover her with his jacket.

They boarded the plane, and Jon Rand shut the door after them, but not before informing them of his plans.

"I've got some things to finish here. I'll be there in a few days, with Deb, Angelo, and Ryan." Jarod nodded, and the door slammed shut. Jarod gave Major Charles and Patrick a thumbs up, and sat down next to Miss Parker as the plane turned around on the runway, and began gaining speed. He looked down at her, and she nodded to a form across the aisle.

Lyle sat, his chair leaned back a bit, his eyes closed.

"The whole thing was hard on him, Jarod." She murmured. Jarod brushed a hair back from her forehead.

"It was hard on everyone. But it's all over now. The Centre is destroyed, and we're safe. He can rest now, and he's got Emily and the kids waiting for him at the house. They have a house and a life to go back to. We've got each other, and Sydney and Angelo. Even Rand, for what that's worth."

"Aric Joel." Miss Parker added, leaning her head on Jarod's shoulder. Just a few months ago, she wouldn't have dared, but now she was engaged to the man, as well as exhausted. "Jarod."

"Yeah?"

"What happened to Sam? I heard someone saying he was dead."

"He's alive, and at the house. He was going to come with us, but AJ wouldn't let him."

"AJ wouldn't?" Miss Parker asked with a smile. Jarod nodded, the disbelief clear in his own eyes.

"Those two are so strange. I've never seen a little kid react to a big guy with a gun, and vice versa, the way those two get along."

"Hmm..." Miss Parker replied, the smile growing even wider. "I can't wait to see everyone."

"Meanwhile, get some sleep." Jarod said softly, running a hand through her hair. "I'm staying right here."

"Good." She murmured. "Good." The plane was a comfortable degree of heat, and Jarod's shoulder was warm, as well as moving up and down with his breathing pattern, and it slowly lulled her into a peaceful sleep.

---

"Ahem." Major Charles stood up, and tapped his glass. Everyone stopped, and looked up. Two tables had been put end to end, and the two now hosted eighteen people. Major Charles cleared his throat, and began.

"The past few years, for some, a lifetime, have been stressful, hard on everyone, as well as nearly killing some. Some we actually went as far as to presume dead. But somehow, we managed to survive. I'd like to give a personal thanks to everyone here, if you don't mind." When the response was strongly affirmative, he started again. "First, to Jarod, Patrick and Emily, for being wonderful children even if we couldn't grow up together. To Sydney, for raising my son when I was unable to. To Lyle, for taking care of my little girl. To Charlie, Maddy, Cat and Spider for being great grandkids, unafraid to open their hearts to a near-stranger, even if he was their grandfather. To AJ, for believing in everyone, and for being perceptive and wise beyond his years, when we needed it most. To Jack Ryan, for being a wonderful young man to talk to, as well as going into a dangerous situation and risking his life for a group of crazy people who he wasn't even able to call family at that point. Please always feel welcome here. To Jon Rand, for accepting a nearly impossible assignment and going beyond and above requirement to save and protect those he grew to care about. To his daughter Debbie, who has wonderful potential as a baby-sitter, as well as backing up her Dad in every decision he made. That takes dedication. To Ben Miller, for being a nearly-unnoticed rock of calm during the storm we've been surviving through, never questioning decisions or being too inquisitive when we needed our space. To Angelo, for saving everyone's life at one time or another. To Sam, for I hear it was his plan that got my Emily out of the Centre, as well as being a great friend to a certain little boy. To Miss Parker, for never failing to bring that light into my son's eyes." Several tears fell during the monologue, and Major Charles himself was wiping away a tear.

Just as he finished, and started to sit down, there was a noise outside, and voice.

"I hope we're not too late. I knew we should have come sooner." Jarod and Miss Parker shot each other looks, and Jarod rushed to open the door. Ethan stood before him, grinning like an idiot, duffel bags in hand.

"Jarod! Hope we're not intruding."

"We?"

"Brought someone you might want to meet." Ethan jerked his head towards a lady coming up the steps. It hit Jarod who she was almost instantly, but he froze- shocked and unable to react.

"Who is it?" Miss Parker asked, as everyone at the table stood up at nearly the exact same time, moving towards the door. Ethan stepped past Jarod into the house, and set the bags down. The lady stood in front of Jarod, and looked up into his eyes for a full thirty seconds, before hugging him fiercely. Jarod was still unable to move or speak, and barely remembered to hug her in return.

"Mom..." He croaked. Emily and Major Charles were there in a flash, hugging and kissing, and Ethan strode over and hugged Miss Parker.

"She told me she loves you. She's happy we're finally meeting like this. She's wanted it to be this way for a long time." Ethan told Miss Parker, voice cracking. He didn't need to tell Miss Parker who 'she' was. Tears were flowing down Miss Parker's face, as well as Jarod, Emily, Margaret, Major Charles, and Ethan's. After initial hugs had been exchanged, Patrick hesitantly stepped forward.

"Um..you probably didn't even know I existed...I'm uh, Patrick."

"Gemini!" Margaret gasped. Patrick nodded, lowering his head. Margaret pulled him into a hug as well. "It's good to finally meet you."

"Family happy, now." Angelo said, breaking the wordless silence. "The Centre is gone, the family is whole. They tried to break you, but they failed. They will always fail, for family is always stronger. The evil are gone, and the good have returned. It is safe to return to the light, for the light no longer means danger as it once did. The lies have withered in the heat of the sun, and faded away with the cleansing rain. The moist ground springs forth anew with life. There is no fear, for there is nothing to be afraid of. But it is not over, for there are still lives to live. Do not lose hope, no matter how hard it will be. Do not give up, for it is always worth fighting for." Six jaws dropped in sync, and all eyes were locked on Angelo.

"Angelo?" Debbie spoke first, stepping forward. Angelo looked over at her with tears in his eyes.

"Brief understanding, Little Deb. Gone now." With those words, he turned and fled upstairs. Debbie and Sydney looked at each other for a short second, before following. There was a pause, and then the reunion become noisy again.

"Dinner! It's getting cold!" Charlie cried out after nearly ten minutes of tearful explanations and hugs. Wet eyes were dried, and people sniffled as they returned to the table. Two more chairs were pulled up, and Margaret was given a seat beside Major Charles, and Ethan by Miss Parker.

Jarod looked around the table at the many faces, noting the fact that Angelo, Debbie, and Sydney were still absent. Even as he noticed, Debbie and Sydney came down the stairs. Debbie returned to her seat, and Sydney walked over to Jarod, and whispered in his ear.

"Angelo doesn't want to eat. He's upstairs in his bed, and I think he's asleep."

"Think?"

"He locked the door." Sydney replied with concern filled eyes.

"Hmm..." Jarod frowned, and sighed. "I'll go talk to him."

"Eat first, Jarod. Angelo will be find." Sydney kept him from standing up with a firm hand on his shoulder. Jarod looked around the table to see his mother and father- his family- and he nodded.

"Okay, Sydney." Sydney returned to his seat- neither noticed when Ethan quietly slipped away from the table.

Upstairs, in the small room they had given him, Angelo sat on the bed, staring out the window to the darkening night sky. A soft knock on the door startled him- he thought they had finally gone away. Then, a voice spoke softly,

"Angelo. It's me, Ethan." Angelo crossed the room in a few steps, and opened the door, waving Ethan inside. Once Ethan was in the room, Angelo reshut the door, and locked it once again.

"Yes?" Angelo asked quietly, resuming his seat on the bed. Ethan sat down next to him.

"It can't go on forever, you know. The Centre is gone, and you can tell them. You'll be safe. They'll be safe."

"I know, Ethan. It's just hard. How do I tell them they've been deceived yet again? That all these years, it was no more than a Pretend?"

"An Oscar-Worthy one at that. I think they'll come to understand." Ethan answered. "But you must tell them. She wants you to tell them. She also wants to know how you managed to come up with such a plan at such a young age." Ethan said solemnly. Angelo turned to him with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"She wants to know? Or do you want to know?"

"We both want to know." Ethan replied with a laugh, his answer keeping him in the safe zone. "We have time. The rest are eating."

"Okay." Angelo took a deep breath. "I had seen Jarod working on a Pretend three days before It happened. I was grasping ideas and concepts quicker than even they expected, partially due to the fact that I was already a strong empath. I kept everything hidden from them, and managed to trick them into thinking I wasn't as smart as Jarod. After Raines hooked me up to his machine, and flipped the switch, it gave me a slight shock- I overreacted, just to give him a show. After Catherine came in and found me, and Raines renamed me Angelo, I decided to see how long I could keep my Pretend up and running. The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years. It became normal and easy to do, and I not once after the first ten years considered telling them what I could really do."

"That's amazing." Ethan breathed out, looking down at the floor. "All that time..."

"All that time..." Angelo echoed. "You're the only one who ever found me out."

"It was because of her, you know. She told me."

"I guessed that." Angelo returned with a small smile. "Meanwhile, I must go to sleep. To keep up the game, you know."

"I know, my friend. It's all to keep up the game. Good night." Ethan left the room with the whispered words, and Angelo laid down on the bed. After a few minutes, he forced himself to sleep.

---

Miss Parker leaned against the wall, halfway to the bed. Almost there, she told herself resolutely. Only a few more steps. She stepped forward again, and found a warm arm supporting her around the waist. She looked up into Jarod's eyes, and he looked down at her with a slightly scolding expression.

"You overdid it." He stated. "Tomorrow you're staying in bed." He helped her the rest of the way to the bed, and flipped the covers back. Miss Parker slid under them with a grateful sigh, and Jarod tucked the covers under her chin. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead.

"I'm not staying in bed tomorrow, Jarod." She finally spoke, and he shook his head with an impish smirk.

"Oh yes you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Who's ring are you wearing?"

"Mine. You gave it to me." Jarod laughed, and Miss Parker wished he would do so again. His laugh sounded so free- happy. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, before standing up to leave. "Where are you going?" She demanded. He turned, with a look of surprise.

"The couch. Where I've been sleeping."

"Stay with me?" Miss Parker asked. Jarod nodded, and walked back to the bed, and around to the other side. He took off his shirt, and tugged off his pants, leaving only his boxers on, and slid into the bed behind her. Jarod seemed to hesitate, then slipped an arm around her waist. Miss Parker leaned into his warmth, and smiled. "Thanks." She whispered.

"Don't think of it." He replied quietly. "This is one of the best days of my life. I've found my Mom, and my family is all together. I'm engaged to the love of my life, and I've got two wonderful brother-in-laws, despite the past of one of them. I've got four great nieces and nephews, a father, and two siblings. Not to mention a half-brother."

"Jarod?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you want to have kids?" Miss Parker nearly feared the answer- afraid that she would be wrong, and his answer would be completely different from what she had always expected it to be.

"Yes. But don't you think we're both getting a little old for that? We could always adopt."

"Yes. We could adopt." She agreed, happy with the answer. It had been what she thought it would be. "I noticed you got a haircut."

"Dad made me cut it off." Jarod replied with a pout.

"Go Major Charles." Miss Parker returned with a smile. "You look sexier with shorter hair."

"Hey! I liked it long!" He answered, attempting to sound hurt, and failing miserably. "But you should sleep now." He placed a kiss on the top of her head, and fell silent.

Soon, the sound of two people, breathing steady and in sync, filled the room.

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! Now click the review button, and you might get the first chapter of the sequel before February 12th! I made 'Margaret' Miss Parker's name as well, for the following reasons:
1. Catherine knew Margaret Charles, right? Why not name her daughter after a friend?
2. If so, it's a good reason for Mr. Parker to insist that everyone call his daughter Miss Parker.
I don't even really like the name, myself. Oh well. Charles is the last name I used because, what else would Major Charles use after a military title except his last name? I've never heard anyone calling Eisenhower, General Dwight.

RRP