Disclaimer: The characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots etc. and the fictional Centre, are all property of MTM and NBC Productions and used without permission. I'm not making any money out of this and no infringement is intended.

This kind of a what if story. What if a pretender grew up outside the Centre? I hope you all enjoy reading it. Please send your comments and suggestions to Julie_a_1@msn.com I will try to reply to every e-mail



Choices
part 1
By Julie D.




Some times the greatest mysteries in our lives involve our own identities. In my case this is definitely true.

I am twenty-three years old and have been considered an official Jane Doe since I was 71/2 (I now go by Sarah Williams) when I was abandoned at a convent, which supported an all girl’s school. I was left there and was raised by the sisters of St. Catherine’s church in a small town near Portland, MN.

My favorite of the sisters was an old Mexican woman. She was 92 years old when I was left there and taught foreign languages at the school to the day she died 10 years later. She insisted upon being called by the name she had taken when she took her vows. “Hermana Maria Carolina”. If you called her anything else she would simply ignore you. She was a tough teacher and always found a way to challenge her students.

I still look back astounded at how unimpressed she was that I learned more Latin in three days at 8 years old than most students learned in all of their years of study. Instead of being overly impressed as most adults were she told me to sit up straight and enunciate my words properly. When I had mastered one language, she was ready with another. Under her strict eye I translated Plato and Socrates from classic Greek. She taught me not only to read the bible in it’s original language and speak to foreign visitors in their native tongues but continuously seek out new challenges and that no matter how smart I am, I still don’t know everything.

It was she who found me fast asleep in one of the pews and she who taught me to trust both her and God. And it was she who gave me the courage to seek out the mysteries of my past….

********************************************************

“You’re not even trying,” he yelled at me. “Concentrate! Finish your work. Then we’ll take you back to you’re room and you can be left alone.”

“I can’t,” I cried. “It’s too hard.”

I was scared and tired my small five-year-old body shook from fear and exhaustion. I wanted to be left alone. Mr. Raines’ hand began to rise and was ready to strike, when suddenly I saw behind him that Jared was running towards us to stop him. Jared was nearly there when out of no where Mr. Lyle came out from behind him and shot Jarod in the head. Jarod’s dying body collapsed and Mr. Lyle pointed the revolver at me and just as he was about to pull the trigger I woke up in a sweat.

It was an old nightmare. When I had first been left at St. Catherine’s I had such dreams several times a night. Now sixteen years later, it was the only one by which I was regularly haunted. I am twenty-three now and have spent the last five years searching for my past my family and my true name.

I was born on the twenty-seventh sublevel of a research corporation know as the center from a surrogate mother who I can only assume was killed shortly after my birth. I was raised and trained to do research for the corporation using the special “pretender” abilities with which I was born. On one particular day when I was about four years day I had refused to do anything I was told and Mr. Raines had chased me when I ran away from him to avoid being beaten.

I was running down a hallway in a part of the Centre to which I had never been. I suddenly felt myself being pulled into one of the air vents and my captor let me go to put the screen back behind us. He then took me in one arm and turned a few corners before putting me down. I looked up at him and realized that it was Angelo who had often sat silently next to my bed while I slept. Angelo led me up one passageway and down another. He carried me up ladders and eventually left me in the air vent, which led directly into Jarod’s room.

I remember lying down on the cold metal floor of the air vent and crying silently. All of a sudden the vent cover next to me was being removed and Jarod was with me holding me in his arms while I cried myself to sleep. I woke the next day in my own bed. I remember Jared later telling me that Angelo had come back and shown him the way back to my room. It was the first of my many trips to Jarod’s room over the next few years. Before long I knew the way myself and went to Jarod whether Angelo came for me or not. Jarod always offered me his love and comfort whenever I was with him.

The last time I went to Jarod’s room is a night I will never forget. I had once again refused to do a simulation and Mr. Raines had beaten me badly. That night I told Jarod that I wanted to kill Mr. Raines. He had left me with a black eye and a broken cheekbone. I cried no tears that night. Instead I raged until I fell asleep from exhaustion.

I woke to find myself being carried in Jarod’s arms. “Where are we going?” I asked.

“Quiet. Don’t Talk”, Jarod whispered sharply.

I was silent and wondering where we were going in what my body was telling must still be the middle of the night. We went up ladders and through air vents until there were strange lights above me, and something unseen brushed up against my skin.

“You see that”, Jarod asked whispering and pointing at the largest of the lights above us? “That’s the moon, and the other lights are stars.” I realized suddenly that for the first time in my young life I was outside.

Jarod carried me quickly to the parking lot and put me in a car. He cut a few wires and started driving. I fell asleep as we drove and the next thing I remember is Jarod lying me on the pew and telling me to wait for someone to wake up. He put a blanket on me and was gone. Out of my life for good.

Over the last few years I have discovered many details of my life not the least of which was that there was an explosion and fire in the part of SL-27 where I lived the same night that Jarod carried me away from The Centre. Jarod had gone back and made sure they would never look for me. Official and not so official records all read that I was killed in an accidental explosion.

I didn’t understand at the time why he risked himself for me, or why he didn’t take the opportunity to escape himself. Now I do. Because Jarod sacrificed himself for me I have witnessed the beauty which abides in the human spirit. I have seen kindness such as I would never known existed if I had remained at The Centre. I have also seen acts of cruelty and vengeance. It is our choice which part of ourselves to reveal and Jarod wanted to make sure that I made the right choice and could see that under the influence of The Centre I was going to make the wrong one. I am eternally grateful to him.

Jarod escaped the Centre two years ago and I hope that one day he will pass my way.

********************************************************************

It has been two years since I wrote down my memories of my passed and I have continued to seek out the identity of my biological parents and finally I have found them. I am to meet them in the Church at St. Catherine’s in five minutes. I sit now in the pew where at 71/2 years old I lay frightened at the prospect of facing a new and unknown world. I am nervous and wish that Hermana Maria Carolina were sitting beside me as she had throughout my childhood.

My mother is here. She looks uncomfortable in church, but she is beautiful to me. Her mid length brown hair and dark suit with the collar of her blue shirt pulled over the jacket collar. She is looking at me but looks away when I look up. Her high heeled boots make noise on the stones of the floor and she looks as if she is unsure what to do I rise and walk over to her. I give her a hug and she stiffens.

Behind her my father has come. I release my mother and run to my father. He returns my hug just as my mother turns around and exclaims, “Jarod!”

“Hello, Miss Parker,” my father responds. “Why don’t we sit down.” He suggested

That is probably a good idea since my mother looks like she is about to black out. We all move to a pew and sit down with me in the middle. Jarod begins to explain to my mother how this came to be.

“When you were a teenager,” he begins. “Your father saw you beginning to drift away both from himself and from The Centre. He thought that if you had a child being kept at The Centre, than he could ensure that you would never leave. He drugged you and extracted your eggs when you were fourteen. He also wanted the child to be pretender so they also stole my sperm. They created embryos and inserted them into a surrogate. Sarah was the only survivor. Your father intended to use Sarah as a hostage. To force you to stay at the Centre forever, but in 1982 I changed his plans. I started a fire in her room and brought her here to St. Catherine’s in honor of your mother’s attempt to rescue us.”

“My father”, Miss Parker begins, “Would never…. He would never do that to me.” Her voice is irritated and arrogant, but I can tell that even she does not believe her own words. She knows that Jarod is telling the truth.

We talk for an hour. The three of us together. Then Jarod gets up to leave. He gives me a hug and says goodbye promising that one day we will see each other again. He looks at Miss Parker and then turns around and walks out the door. Leaving me behind once again. Miss Parker stays a little longer, but we sit in silence. The spell of togetherness and bonding has left with Jarod and neither one of us know what to say. Miss Parker starts to get up to go. I give her another hug and this time she returns it although a little stiffly. No words pass between us. There is nothing to be said. We are mother and daughter but we can not openly acknowledge it or we trap each other at the Centre forever even if neither of us is locked up by them we will be running from them possibly for the rest of our lives.

I watch my mother walk slowly down the isle and watch her walk out the door as I had watched my father do just a few minutes ago.

Part of me still wants revenge. Wants to hurt and kill the people at The Centre who have ripped so many lives apart. But then there is the other side, which tells me to watch out for ways to save their other victims and leave those who have harmed me to God’s justice. It is my choice to make and I make it anew every day. For the sake of those who have given up their time, energy, and freedom to save me from my own bitterness, I hope that I continue to make the right decision.

Disclaimer: The characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots etc. and the fictional Centre, are all property of MTM and NBC Productions and used without permission. I'm not making any money out of this and no infringement is intended.

It has been several weeks since I submitted “Choices”. I have decided to write a sequel which is more action packed this time.



Choices
part 2
By Julie D.




I had just watched my parents leave and was still sitting on the pew looking up at the carved wooden cross at the back of the sanctuary. “Why?” I prayed. “Why, allow me to meet them just to watch them walk away.”

I rarely succumbed to tears and did not do so now. Instead an old familiar rage which I had always managed to control, welled up at me. I wanted to take the prayer candles and light that cross with fire out of frustration at God’s unfairness. I wanted to hit something. I wanted to tear down The Centre and take everyone who had ripped our lives apart along with it.

I suddenly heard a door open and it was Sister Mary Francis who I had known when I lived at St. Catherine’s.

“Sarah?” she said. “Is that you?”

I looked up at her. She came and sat down next to me and I fell into her arms and she held my tense body to her. She rubbed my back and I slowly relaxed and the tears came.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s happened?”

“I don’t know”, I lied. “I’m just tired of feeling all alone.”

“You’re never alone, Sarah,” Mary Francis replied. “Haven’t we taught you that?”

She paused and looked down at me and when I remained silent she said, “Stay here for a while. You can relax and figure out God’s purpose in your life.”

“Okay,” I replied weakly.

********** 6 Months Later**********

“Sarah,” sister Mary Francis called. “When you go into town could you pick up another string of lights, this one is burnt out.”

“Sure,” I said, just as I was about to step out the door.

I drove down the quiet road, which led to town and relaxed. I had found a purpose in life. I was a teacher at the school, which I once attended. I taught languages. Everything from Latin to French. Now, here I was on my way to pick up my best friend, Carlos. We had known each other since Jr. High School. He had taken me to my first dance when he had been visiting his great grandmother who had been a nun and also my predecessor Hermana Maria Catalina. The thought of her brought a brief tear to my eye. I missed her often especially in the six months since I had been back at St. Catherine’s.

My thoughts were interrupted, when I noticed a car pulled over on the road with emergency lights on. A woman was standing over the hood, and kicking the front license plate violently. I pulled over unwilling to let anyone be stuck in the winter cold.

As I got out of my car the woman looked up. “Miss Parker?” I said in surprise. “What are you doing out here?”

“I could be asking you the same thing,” she said. “I was thinking about visiting St. Catherine’s for a few days.”

“I teach at St. Catherine’s now,” I said. “What’s the problem with your car?”

“I’m not sure,” Miss Parker answered. “If the boy genius was here, I wouldn’t have to worry about it. He’d have it fixed by now.”

“Boy Genius?” I asked.

“Jarod,” she answered.

I was slightly hurt by the way she said this. After all Jarod was my father. But then Miss Parker was my mother so I decided to ignore the comment for now. The two of us had only spent an hour together in our entire lives. I wanted to get to know her better and was not going to allow one rude comment to get in the way of that.

I looked under the hood and checked all of the fluids, the engine and the transmission and after determining that the repairs would require tools which I didn’t have, I offered my mother a ride.

I was late picking up Carlos, but he greeted me with his usual smile and got into the backseat of my car. I introduced Carlos and Miss Parker without mentioning that she was my mother and drove back to St. Catherine’s. It was not until I got there that I realized that I had forgotten the Christmas lights.

As we got out of the car Carlos gave me a hug. We hadn’t seen each other in three years although we had been exchanging e-mail. He had finally reached his full height of 6’ but he still had the sparkle in his eye which I had always loved about him. Miss Parker stood to the side watching us and I noticed that she seemed slightly uncomfortable, so I pulled away and walked toward the house carrying Miss Parker’s bag and Carlos took it from me as well as carrying his own.

We went inside and were greeted by Sister Mary Francis. She was surprised to see the extra visitor and looked at me in question. “This is Miss Parker,” I introduced. “And Miss Parker this is…”

Before I could finish Sister Mary Frances looked up in recognition. “Miss Parker, it’s good to see you again. I don’t know if you remember me. Why you must have been ten years old last time you and your Mother came here.”

“Mary Francis,” Miss Parker said. “Of course I remember you. It’s been so long.”

“So,” Mary Francis said. “How did you two know each other?” she asked me.

The two of us shuffled a bit nervously for a second neither of us sure what to say. ‘Come on dammit I thought. You’re a pretender, so pretend.’

“We met last spring through a mutual friend,” I said. It was only half a lie. Jarod was my friend before we knew he was my father and he had arranged the meeting six months ago.

“How’s you’re mother by the way,” Sister Mary Francis asked.

I cringed. Even in the little time I had spent with Miss Parker I had learned that this was a sore subject with her.

“She died when I was eleven,” Miss Parker responded shortly. I could tell she was making an effort not to break down.

“I’m so sorry,” Mary Francis replied.

A bell went off and the subject was dropped for the moment.

Dinner was ready and waiting in the dining room. The Bostonian cook brought out her native favorites, baked beans and brown bread. We joined hands for the blessing. Carlos on my left held my hand gently and gave it a friendly squeeze, while Miss Parker on my right had her hand placed stiffly in mine. I could tell that she was uncomfortable and whispered quietly in her ear. “Relax, God doesn’t bite.” Her hand relaxed a little and the corner of her mouth quivered slightly.

The next morning we had Miss Parker’s car towed into town where the small town’s only mechanic told her that he would have to order some specialty parts for her car and that it would be a week before it would be done.

Miss Parker had scowled at him and told him, “just do it!” then she pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number. “Daddy, my car broke down…I’m in Maine near St. Catherine’s. You don’t need to send anyone. They’ve invited me to stay a few days. I’ll just wait until the mechanic is done with my car. Don’t worry about me” she hung up and under her breath said. “Not that you would.”

“So what now?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Miss Parker responded. I’ve never taken real time off before.

“Let’s go shopping,” I said.

Miss Parker looked around at the small town doubtfully, and I laughed.

“Not here,” I said. “In Portland. It’s an hour drive each way, but well worth the trip. I still have a few gifts left to buy.”

“Good idea,” Miss Parker said. “I love shopping.”

Carlos was not with us so, I called St. Catherine’s from Miss Parker’s cell phone and we headed straight for Portland. The weather was clear and there was a light layer of snow on the ground from the night before. The drive was beautiful and Miss Parker seemed to relax a little.

We spent more time in Portland than I had expected. The first store we went into I found a gorgeous dress in red. It was way out of my price range, but Miss Parker convinced me to try it on anyway. It looked great and she bought it for me, despite my insistence that I’d never have a chance to wear it.

That was pretty much how it went. I finished my Christmas shopping and Miss Parker did hers. She insisted on buying me anything I showed an interest in resulting in a large new wardrobe which she seemed to consider modest and in my feigning a lack of interest in a lot of things I would have loved to own, but could not afford.

It was after 7pm when we finally left town and we were both quiet. Miss Parker was the most relaxed I had seen her since she had come the day before. I just thought about how happy I was that she had come. I’d gotten to know her a little that day and wished that this could last forever.

We came to a roadblock about a mile from St. Catherine’s which had not been there earlier in the day. I stopped and a police officer in a poncho came up to the drivers window and I noticed another on the other side.

“Step out of the car please ma’am,” he said to me. “We have reason to believe this car is stolen.”

“Stolen,” I said. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve owned this car for five years.”

“Step out of the car please ma’am.”

I reached to open my door just as I felt something cold and heavy slip into my coat pocket and Miss Parker whispered sharply. “Don’t get out, drive.”

I turned on the engine and slammed on the accelerator. I noticed as we passed that the man from my nightmares was there and I knew that they were from The Centre. I drove faster than I ever had in my life as Mr. Lyle and three sweepers chased closely behind us in another car.

I made a quick decision and turned into a small forest like area, knowing that my SUV could go a lot faster off roading than the luxury car that was following us. I drove around on the trails trying to lose our pursuers and hoping that no adventurous hiker had decided to go out at this time of year.

I saw a steep hill up ahead and decided to attempt to climb it knowing that the other car would not be able to follow. I moved up the hill and looked back with satisfaction as I watched the other car sticking itself deeper into the mud left over from last nights melted snow. When I looked forward, I realized too late that the other side was a ledge and we were forced to jump from the car just as it fell over the ledge.

Miss Parker motioned for me to stay down and we crawled to a place on the edge where six feet below us a platform of rock jutted out from the edge of the cliff. We jumped down to the platform and pressed our backs against the cliff and stood in silence.

Above us I could hear Mr. Lyle swearing as he looked over the edge to where the car had fallen. “Miss Parker’s not much of a loss,” he said. “She just got in my way anyway, but the triumverate is going to have our necks over the girl. They’ve been trying to get her back ever since they found out about her meeting with Jarod and Miss Parker six months ago.”

I stared at Miss Parker in misbelief. They had known the whole time and now they were both on the run. We stood on that ledge for ten minutes before Mr. Lyle and the sweepers headed down the hill, and it seemed like ten hours.

Suddenly the rock began to give way where Miss Parker was standing. The ground shook under our feet causing her to fall. Finally it fell beneath her feet and she grabbed the edge of the rock next to my feet and hung on for dear life.


To Be Continued…