Disclaimers: I do not own the characters or premise of "The Pretender," and the song lyrics were reprinted without permission. This story is a work of fiction, for the purposes of fun and amusement (not that it's an amusing topic, by any means), and no infringement was intended. Oh, and if anything seems a bit unrealistic or anything, well... once again, call it artistic license. :o))

Acknowledgments: This story was inspired by the song "Concrete Angel" sung by Martina McBride (and written by Stephanie Bentley & Rob Crosby). It was released after this story was supposed to have taken place, but try not to worry about that. Artistic license and all that. ;) Anyway, it's a good song; look for it on her Greatest Hits CD.

* * * * *

In Someone Else's Shoes
By: Kristin A.

* * * * *





I shifted my weight uneasily on my four-inch heels and studiously avoided my father's stern gaze. I could feel his cold eyes boring tiny little flaming holes through the side of my head, but I tried to pretend I didn't notice.

I stared instead through the large picture window, admiring the deep blue water outside and wishing it was as serene inside myself as it appeared to be outside. But as usual, a storm was raging within me, bubbling just under the surface. A single word from Lyle would have been enough to cause a cataclysmic explosion, but luckily my Antichrist brother was AWOL.

"No, I'm sorry, we haven't found him yet," I said solemnly to my own dim, colorless reflection in the window, feeling like a broken record. Worse yet, a bad broken record, like 'Air Supply' or something. "I have Broots trying to trace Jarod's last package, but he says it might take awhile. The belt and sweater aren't especially unusual in any way, so we don't really know what we're dealing with."

Daddy sighed in irritation. "Angel, when am I going to stop hearing these excuses from you?"

"I'm sorry, Daddy," I repeated as firmly as I could manage. "We're doing our best."

"Are you?"

Injured, I turned to look at him, knowing that my mask was slipping. Yet even at that, the true depth of my pain was too great to be shown on my face. I know; after a particularly bad day or a chilling nightmare, I've seen my face in the mirror, and I'm always a bit amazed to see that I look much better than I feel.

"Of course," I replied, wondering what I had ever done to deserve his lack of faith in me. "We're doing everything we can. We always do." I paused, seeing that my words had no visible effect on him. "I swear to you, Daddy, we're going to get him. I'm never going to let you down again."

He broke out in a wide grin, his eyes crinkling around the edges. I had finally said what he had been wanting to hear. The words I had inevitably uttered in sheer desperation. "Now that's my girl!" he praised warmly. He held his arms out for a hug, and I reluctantly stepped into them. They were cold, just like his eyes and his smile, but I hugged back anyway. "Come talk to me again when you've caught him."

After a minute, I carefully extricated myself from Daddy's embrace and smiled weakly. As always, when I talked with him, I felt another small piece inside of me die. I wondered idly what would happen when there were no more little pieces left. I'd probably just crumble into a tiny pile of dust, to be simply swept away by the nighttime cleanup crew. I probably wouldn't even be missed.

"I'll see you soon," I murmured. Turning quickly, I exited his office and began the long trek back to my office. The hallways were the same as always: dark, cold, and unwelcoming. The few souls who passed by didn't even bother to look up from the floor; they just shuffled along as if oblivious to everything around them.

In a way, I find that insulting; I like to think I'm much more interesting to look at than the floor. However, there's always the possibility that they didn't look at me because they were afraid of me. I like that better. Morons.

"What is this, Revenge of the Mole People?" I muttered to myself as I passed a small, balding man whose black, beady eyes were trained on his squeaky, polished brown shoes. I wasn't particularly amused by my own quiet comment, but my meeting with Daddy had left me feeling vulnerable and defensive. Whenever I felt that way, as I often did, I resorted to bitterness and sarcasm. It was a mask I wore well, for I'd had many years of practice, but it was one which grew heavier with each passing day.

When I finally reached my office, I was annoyed to see Broots and Sydney waiting for me inside. I had been hoping for a few minutes of peace, so I could gulp down a drink and shed a few tears of frustration. But alas, duty called. As always.

Sydney, sitting on my couch, looked as calm and composed as he usually did, but he was tapping his fingers almost unperceptively on the inside of his folded arm, revealing-- to anyone who knew him well-- that something was on his mind. Broots, in contrast, practically bounced out of the leather desk chair upon seeing me, and waved a paper in the air. Sydney followed slowly and the two of them advanced toward me.

"Don't tell me, you finally solved that crossword puzzle you've been working on," I said dryly, rolling my eyes.

"No, it's Jarod!" he cried in excitement. "I finally found something!"

At his words, my heart jumped into my throat, and I had to swallow hard so that the two men wouldn't see my own excitement. I was being given another chance. This couldn't have come at a better time. I vowed not to screw it up this time, not to let Daddy down.

"Well, spit it out already!" I snapped, warning Broots with my eyes that he had better make it short and sweet.

As usual, he didn't get the message.

"Well, we were in the lab, trying to analyze that sweater that Jarod sent," Broots began, "and there was just nothing interesting about it at all. There were no traces of hair or anything on it, so we couldn't do a DNA test, and the sweater is apparently hand-made with material that's available in plenty of stores all over the country, so we couldn't trace--"

"Broots, tell me the good news!" I barked, nearly twitching with impatience.

Broots glanced over at Sydney, who nodded in that annoyingly encouraging way of his. "Uh, well anyway, to make a long story short--"

"I think the train's already left the station on that one."

"Miss Parker." Sydney shot me an expression which was stern but tempered by patient understanding. "Let Broots continue."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. I really couldn't argue with Sydney, especially when I knew he was right. "Go ahead."

"Well, Syd here was looking at the sweater, and he noticed something odd. Stitched into the very bottom, at the back, was the word 'Angel.'"

"Angel?" I repeated, startled. It was well known around the Centre that Angel was the nickname my father had given me, and of course Jarod knew that better than anyone, but he had never attempted to exploit that fact before. I wasn't sure if I should be angry or curious. I was leaning toward angry.

Broots nodded. "Uh huh. Angel. So we tried to figure out what that meant, you know, if it had something to do with you or not, but we got sidetracked when Edwin in the lab-- you know, the guy with three--"

"Broots!"

"Nostrils." Broots cleared his throat nervously. "Anyway, Edwin discovered blood on the belt. We hardly checked the belt, because we were concentrating on the sweater, but there was the DNA information all along."

"Whose blood is it?" I asked, carefully trying to conceal my slight worry. I knew that if Jarod was well enough to send these items to me, he must be okay, but still, the thought of him being hurt was something I always feared. I didn't know why, and I would never reveal it to anyone, but I couldn't ignore the feeling. It was one of the many things about myself that made me sick. "Is it Jarod's, maybe?"

"We checked that first," Sydney said calmly. "It's not Jarod's blood."

I blew out a silent sigh of relief and nodded for Broots to continue.

"We did a nationwide search," Broots said, indicating the paper he held. "We were doing it while you were in with your father. It wasn't really that hard, since we also had the name Angel to go on, so basically we just had to try and match--"

"I don't want to know the details, Broots, just the results."

He nodded quickly. "The blood belongs to a little girl," he said sadly. "Her name is Angel McCann, and she's eleven years old. She has a hospital record a mile long, for all sorts of accidents."

"Broots, her blood was found on a man's belt," I said, my stomach turning in disgust, and my heart aching with a vaguely familiar memory that I couldn't seem to place. "That was no accident."

"Yeah." Broots gazed up at me with a deep sadness in his eyes that affected even me. "He must... he hits his little girl."

"We think Jarod must have tried to help Angel," Sydney said needlessly. "Or may still be trying."

"Well, have you found any more information on these people?" I demanded, shoving aside my own discomfort. "Any newspaper articles about this guy being arrested, or anything?"

Broots shook his head. "No, nothing like that. But this guy is kind of a big shot in his town. He's an ex-cop, and now he's a local politician. Name's Beckett McCann. Apparently they live in New Jersey."

"Exact address?"

"Of course." Broots handed me the piece of paper.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" I asked. "Let's go and catch ourselves a Pretender."

"Um, Miss Parker?"

I looked expectantly at Broots, who seemed to be looking everywhere in the room except at me. That sealed it, the Mole People in the hall ignored me out of fear, just as Broots was doing. "What?" I asked, when it became apparent that he had no intention of speaking without my say so. Actually, I kind of liked that quality in a lackey.

"I was kind of hoping I could stay back this time," he mumbled weakly.

I quirked one eyebrow at him in my signature expression of disdain. "And I was kind of hoping that Jarod would drag his own sorry carcass back here to save me the trouble, but we don't always get what we want."

"Miss Parker, it's Debbie," he tried again, shamelessly exploiting one of my few known weaknesses. It was certainly easy to forget, but he did have a pair after all; he'd have to if he survived working for me. "I promised her that we'd have a special dinner tonight. She got all As on her report card, and she said for her reward, all she wanted was one night where..." He trailed off sadly when I impatiently turned my face away. "I'm sorry," he said in a soft tone. "We can do it another night."

"No you can't," I replied, my voice a low whisper. I was once again feeling the urge to cry, and it took all I had to conceal that fact. "A promise is a promise. Syd, it's you and me."

"Oh, thank you!" Broots cried thankfully.

I grunted in response and walked away from them. I eased myself down on my couch and began rubbing my head, pretending I couldn't hear the whispered words of my co-workers.

"Have a wonderful dinner with your daughter," Sydney was saying warmly to Broots. "We'll give you a call later."

"Thanks, Syd." There was a short pause, and when Broots spoke again, his voice was even softer. I had to strain my ears to hear it. "She can be so great, but she hides it," he said in wonder. "What is it about her?"

"That's a small question with many large answers," Sydney replied, sounding proud. "Goodnight, Broots. Tell Debbie I say hello."

"Oh, okay sure," Broots said. "Thanks, Syd."

I shook my head slightly as I heard Broots leaving. I secretly liked when they said nice things about me when they thought I wasn't listening, but I'd never admit it.

"When do you want to leave, Miss Parker?" Sydney asked softly.

I sighed, wishing I could just curl up in a ball and go to sleep. I suddenly had absolutely no desire to go Jarod-hunting just then. But my sense of duty, and my need to be validated in my father's eyes, kept me going. "In a minute," I said reluctantly. "Get your things, grab the first two Sweepers you see that don't seem brain-dead, and meet me in the garage in ten minutes. I'm driving."

"Alright," he agreed simply.

I waited until I heard my door click shut, followed by his retreating footsteps down the hall, before I allowed myself a few tiny tears. I couldn't even remember anymore what I was so upset about; all I knew was that I wanted to cry. After less than a minute, however, I composed myself and got to my feet, wiping the moisture from my face. It was back to business as usual, and in my business, there was no time for tears.



* * * * *



"This is the place," I remarked stiffly as I drove my car up the circular driveway. "A little showy, don't you think?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Sydney considered the white marble fountain in the front yard and smiled. "It does seem rather out of place in this town," he agreed.

I sighed and pulled the car to a stop. The McCann residence was only two hours away from the Centre, so I had driven the whole way, instead of taking the jet. As a result, my nerves were slightly frayed. I wasn't sure anymore if I had the energy for this.

I watched in my rearview mirror as the second car pulled behind me. "Syd, tell the sweepers to stay behind and wait for confirmation before doing anything," I said distractedly, straightening my hair and checking my gun. Then I stepped from the car and began the walk to the front door.

Sydney was right; the McCann house was oddly out of place in this particular town. It wasn't a poor town, but all of the other houses we had passed were simple and understated. The perfect suburban paradise. A few mansions seemed to be sprinkled around, but this one was by far the most opulent.

The yard was expertly landscaped, the columns were tall and imposing, and the fountain outside spoke for itself. There was a tall, solid fence around the back yard, and I could hear the loud, angry barking of dogs.

Something about the place made me sick. But I was pretty sure my discomfort had nothing to do with the house's outward appearance, and was more in response to the ugliness I suspected was lurking just inside.

I waited at the front door until Sydney had completed his task and joined me. He gave me a curious look, probably wondering silently why I had bothered to wait, but thankfully he didn't speak. I was glad that he wasn't going to make me admit that I felt a little shaky on my own.

Taking a nervous breath, I stretched my arm out and touched the doorbell. As I heard the sound echo hollowly inside, I had to suppress a shudder. It was only as the door was opening that I remembered my purpose there, and extracted a photo of Jarod from my pocket.

"Can I help you?" Standing in the doorway was a tall, large man with a head full of thick brown hair. His hard brown eyes raked down my body, making me wish I had chosen a pants suit instead of my short black skirt and heels.

"Yes, we're looking for this man," I said, holding out the picture and pressing it against the screen. "Have you seen him?"

The man glanced at the picture and grunted angrily. Then he quickly reached behind himself and produced a gun. "What do you want?" he demanded, aiming the gun directly between my eyes.

I was startled for a moment, but I recovered quickly. Having a gun pointed in my face wasn't exactly an abnormal occurrence in my life, and I knew how to bullshit my way out of situations like this. And if that failed, my friends Smith and Wesson always had my back. "Don't worry, we aren't with Jarod," I said assuringly. "We're trying to catch him. He escaped from our psychiatric facility, where we were treating him for manic-depressive disorder, as well as chemical dependency." I ignored Sydney's irritated sigh, wishing he was a better pretender, and continued. "We believe him to be very dangerous, and all we want to do is get him back."

The man lowered his gun slightly. "Well, that sure explains a lot," he growled. "Crazy bastard tied me up and..." He trailed off. "Haven't seen him in a few weeks, but the police have an APB out on him. We're keeping it all out of the press, but the search for him is pretty intense. If we catch him first, I can't promise he'll get back into your facility."

"We?" Sydney asked innocently. He does catch on eventually, I'll give him that.

"Well, the local police," he corrected. He tucked his gun back into his pants and smiled apologetically. "I used to be on the force, and all my buddies still are, so it's like I never left." He paused. "I'm sorry for the way I reacted, but that mental patient of yours nearly destroyed my life. I guess you could say I'm a little gun shy now, when it comes to strangers."

"I don't know if I'd make that leap," I remarked dryly, making my fingers into the shape of a gun and raising my eyebrows at him pointedly.

He shrugged sheepishly. "Well, not literally, but you know... Do you want to come in? Maybe we can work together to catch Jarod."

"We'd love to, thank you." I opened the screen door and stepped inside, letting the door fall back on Sydney. I always feel bad when I do stuff like that, but it helps maintain my cold image. "This is a beautiful house you have here," I remarked disinterestedly, sparing a cursory glance around the large, intricately decorated foyer. I wondered where Angel's room was, and if her room was as perfect and cold as this one.

"Thank you," he said proudly. "My name is Beckett McCann, by the way." He held out his hand.

"That's good to know," I replied shortly, shaking Beckett's hand. "So about Jarod."

Beckett looked amusingly miffed at my lack of introduction, but nodded. "There's not much to tell. He came here to work as a groundskeeper, and he was doing such a good job, I thought nothing of it. But then one day I caught him talking to my daughter, and things just snowballed from there. The next day, he locked me in my wine cellar and tied me up, and accused me of all these things. I admitted to everything, just to shut him up and keep him from killing me and kidnapping my daughter, but of course none of it was true."

I exhaled softly, knowing instantly that the man was a liar. However I felt about Jarod, I had to admit that the people he took down always deserved it. Still, I had to play along. "Jarod has a history of paranoid behavior like this," I said. "We believe he doesn't know what he's doing half the time."

"How can you help us find him?" Sydney spoke up, his voice again expressing his dismay at my harsh words.

"Well, you can head down to the police station for all the information we have," Beckett said. "It's just down on Carpenter Street, just off Main. But they haven't had any leads. We think he might have just skipped town, the bastard. Doesn't mean we're giving up, though."

"Thank you, you've been a big help," I said coldly. "We'll be back to talk again if anything happens."

"Thanks, good luck finding that psycho. He's sneaky, I'll tell you that. I've taken precautions to make sure he doesn't get near my house again."

I raised my eyebrows but didn't ask. Just then, a movement above caught my eye, and I watched almost breathlessly as a young girl descended the staircase slowly. She seemed to be very tall for her age, and rail thin. She was beautiful, I noticed, but disheveled. Her brown hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, and she wore a white dress which was too large for her, and was frayed at the bottom. It looked almost like a wedding dress, and I thought it might have been beautiful once, but now it looked like something that had been picked out of a gutter. Over that, she wore a large white sweater.

"Daddy?" the girl asked softly.

Beckett whirled around to face the little girl. "I told you to stay upstairs, didn't I?" he demanded.

"Yes, but I just wanted to tell you--"

"Tell me later," he interrupted. He pointed his finger toward the top of the stairs. "Go. Now."

The girl bit her lip and looked as if she wanted to argue, but she nodded submissively. "Yes, Daddy." She picked up her skirt so that she wouldn't trip, and raced back up the stairs, disappearing from sight.

Just then, I noticed absently that tears had sprung to my eyes, and I wiped them away frantically before Beckett turned around. I suspected that Sydney noticed, because he can be intuitive that way, but I knew he wouldn't give me away.

Something about that girl, and her interaction with her father, was so familiar and so devastating. It took all my willpower to keep me from pulling out my own gun.

"I'm sorry about that," Beckett said, addressing us. "She doesn't listen very well."

"Funny, I saw her obey you," I said between clenched teeth.

Beckett glared at her sharply. "I didn't get your names," he said at last.

Sydney prepared to speak, but I grabbed his arm quickly. Before I could even think, my mouth opened and words just began pouring out. "I'm Bridget Murphy and this is Doctor Raines. We're from the Bowman clinic. And I'm sorry, but we really must be going. Thank you for all your help."

"Thank you," Sydney added, sounding confused as I began to drag him away.

"If you catch him, make sure you don't ever let him out again," Beckett called as Sydney and I stepped back outside and headed back to the car. Then he slammed the door behind him. The dogs added their input then, resuming their chorus of barking.

Once inside the car, I slumped over the steering wheel and let out a shaky sigh. It scared me how much I had wanted to kill that man. And yet, I had no proof that he had ever really done anything wrong.

"Why the false identities, Miss Parker?" Sydney ventured, his voice tinged with amusement.

"I don't know what we're doing here, Syd," I said, "but I have a feeling that we haven't seen the last of this guy. I don't know about you, but I don't want him knowing my real name."

"I suppose I can understand that." He paused. "But Doctor Raines? Was that the best name you could come up with for me?"

I turned my head, resting my cheek against the steering wheel, and smiled at my companion. "Sorry about that. But hey, I called myself Bridget."

Sydney chuckled. "That's true." Growing serious, he reached out and touched my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I sighed, looking away again. "I don't know why Jarod does this to me, though..."

"We don't even know the whole story here, Parker," he reminded me. "This is a little unusual, even for Jarod, but I'm sure everything will become clear soon."

I nodded. "What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

"Well, we can try the police station," he suggested. "And then, if we still aren't any closer to figuring this out, we can find a hotel and get some rest."

"Yeah, I guess that's all we can do," I said reluctantly. What I really wanted to do was drive the hell out of there and forget any of that encounter ever happened, but I knew I couldn't do that. Jarod had obviously lured us there for a reason, and I couldn't leave before I figured out what that was.

Besides which, I had promised my father I would find Jarod. I wouldn't let him down again. I couldn't bear another meeting with him like the one I had endured that morning.

Suddenly there was a knock on the driver's side window, and I jumped. Next to the glass was a man's face, and I vaguely recognized him as one of the sweepers assigned to this trip. Low forehead, beady eyes, square jaw-- just like most of the Centre's sweepers. I suspected this particular sweeper was named Joe, or Bob, or something else generic. I lowered the window and looked at him expectantly. "What?"

"What should we do, Miss?" Joe Bob asked politely.

I sighed, already bored with him. It was unfortunate that Sam had accepted a special guard post in the Renewal Wing. More pay, perhaps, but also more psychological damage. And I was left with Joe Bob and Billy Bob.

"Why don't you find a hotel for us all to stay in?" I suggested impatiently. "Get us each a separate room, and lie low unless you hear from us. We'll call you later to find out where you are."

"Yes, Miss, is that all?"

"That's all." I raised the window, effectively cutting the conversation short. Luckily for the sweeper, he had moved back just in time to keep his nose from suffering the same fate. I was a bit disappointed; it would have been amusing to hear him scream like a little girl. But alas, I'm much meaner in my fantasies than I am in real life. "Alright, Syd, let's get this over with."

Sydney nodded. "We need to get back out to Main Street. Do you remember the way?"

"Yeah." I pulled quickly out of the driveway, leaving the sweepers behind, and made a right onto Berkely Street. "Hey, Syd?"

"Yes?"

I sighed. "Am I the only one who has a bad feeling about this whole thing?" I asked tentatively.

"No, I'm a little worried, too," he replied.

"About Jarod."

"Yes, about Jarod, and that little girl. What are you worried about, Miss Parker?"

"I don't know," I mumbled. "I just have a really bad feeling."



* * * * *



"The Golden Age Motel. Just down this street a little ways."

I groaned. "That was the best they could come up with?"

"Apparently," Sydney replied. "This doesn't seem to be a very big tourist town."

"Gee, I wonder why," I hissed. "The incompetent and ridiculous police department of this town is quite a tourist attraction."

"I know you're unsatisfied about the lack of information we've received so far, but I believe that Jarod will give us another clue soon. We should call Broots."

"I'm sure he would have called if something had turned up," I said. "Besides, let him enjoy his time with Debbie."

"Alright." Sydney pointed as the sign for the Golden Age Motel flickered ahead of them. The first letter G was unlit, adding to the dilapidated ambience. The Olden Age Motel. Almost funny, but not quite. "This is the place."

"Oh, God." I grimaced as I pulled into the parking lot of the dark, dingy motel. "This place is pure Jarod." It was one thing that Ratboy insisted upon sleeping in abandoned warehouses and seedy motels, but forcing me to accept lodging in such a place was enough to make me scream.

As I was parking the car, one of the sweepers came into view. He walked to the side of the car and waited. Finally, I cut the ignition and stepped out of the car. "This place is disgusting," I informed the sweeper. This guy was slightly younger than the other. Definitely Billy Bob.

"I'm sorry, Miss. The only other motel in town was full."

I rolled my eyes. No sense in arguing; I had already accepted the fact that we were screwed. "Whatever. Just direct me to my room."

The sweeper held out two keys. "You're in 4, Mr. Sydney is in 5."

I snatched the keys out of his hand. "Thanks, that'll be all for tonight."

"Yes, Miss." He nodded at Sydney and walked back to the door marked 3, disappearing inside his room.

Shaking my head in disgust, I opened the trunk and removed the overnight bag that I always kept inside in case of emergencies, and threw Sydney's bag at him. He caught it just in time to see his room key sail past his head.

"Thank you," he said in amusement. He stepped back and bent down to get his key. "Do you want to talk?" he asked when he straightened.

I shook my head. "No, I just want to sleep," I replied. "I'll see you in the morning, okay, Syd?"

"Of course. Goodnight, Miss Parker."

"Goodnight." I slammed the trunk shut, wishing that Jarod was inside, and stalked to my room. Despite my weariness, I was pretty sure somehow that I would never get any sleep that night. There was too much anger, pain, and confusion clouding my brain-- as usual.

Once I was alone in my darkened room, I tossed my bag onto the floor and sank down on the bed. My nose wrinkled at the smell, reminiscent of a gym locker, but I was too tired to care. I needed to relax and decompress, and the smell would just have to be tolerated. I would just have to take a really hot shower in the morning and wash this dirty place from my skin.

"It took you long enough."

I shot up at the sound of Jarod's voice, deep and menacing in the darkness. "Dammit, Jarod, what the hell are you trying to do to me?" I demanded, pulling my gun and aiming it in the direction of the voice. Adrenaline shot through my system like quicksilver, and my pulse raced wildly as I tried to get a handle on the situation.

A lamp snapped on, illuminating the room, and the dark figure of Jarod. He was dressed in all black, as usual, and his face wore a disturbed expression. I felt a chill run through me at both his appearance and his close proximity. "It's nice to see you, too, Miss Parker."

"Give me one reason not to shoot you," I warned in a hollow tone.

He held out a small photograph. "Here's one."

I squinted slightly, and felt a familiar ache in my heart as I saw the image of the young girl. My anger began to subside, and sorrow moved in to take its place. "Angel," I murmured.

"Yes, Angel. Please, Miss Parker, put away the gun so we can talk."

Reluctantly, I placed my gun down on the beside table and took a tentative step toward Jarod. "What is going on here?" I demanded. "Why did you drag us out here?"

"I tried to help this innocent girl," Jarod said sadly. "But something went wrong. The person I trusted to help me turned out to be working for Beckett McCann. And McCann practically owns the police department. He was free within a matter of hours, and they have a shoot to kill order out on me. I can't do anything else to help now, at least not personally. The police department may not be smart enough to catch me if I'm in hiding, but if I show myself, there's not much I can do."

"So you got me out here to do it for you," I growled, irritated again. "Did you happen to forget that I'm supposed to catch you, and not help you?"

"I don't forget anything, Miss Parker," he said mysteriously. "But sometimes I think you do."

I sighed indignantly. "What the hell are you talking about, Jarod?"

He put one hand in his pocket and withdrew a small, gold necklace. He held it out to me in the palm of his hand.

I gasped when I caught sight of the gold chain which held a delicate angel pendant. "Where did you get this?" I asked in a hushed voice, picking it up gingerly. It was almost as light as air, and yet it radiated warmth from Jarod's body. I clutched it in my hand, remembering how I had loved it, and how I had cried when I had discovered it was missing. That necklace had spent nearly seven years around my neck, and I almost never took it off. The only other piece of jewelry that had ever held such longevity was my silver ring, which I have been wearing for nearly fifteen years.

"You lost it," Jarod replied, sitting down on the bed. "It was one of the last times you came to visit me in the Centre. It must have fallen off, because I found it on the floor after you left. I... I wanted to give it back, but I couldn't."

"Why not?" I cried angrily, furious that he would keep it from me, when he had to know what it meant to me.

"Two reasons," Jarod said softly. "The first was that it made me feel close to you. It belonged to you, and you touched it, and you loved it, and it was the only thing of yours I had."

I tensed up, turning away. I wasn't sure how I felt about his revelation, and I was too tired to figure it out. "And the other reason?" I prompted cautiously.

"I hated when you wore it," Jarod murmured. "I hated what it represented."

Startled, I turned around and glared at him. My eyes locked onto his, and I felt a strange flash of recognition that hit me like a punch in the gut. "What do you mean?"

"You do forget," he said, shaking his head sadly.

I closed my eyes and counted silently to ten, hoping to regain my equilibrium. When I opened my eyes again, Jarod was still gazing up at me, his liquid eyes shining with sadness. "Forget what?" I asked between clenched teeth, desperate to seize control of the conversation.

"Your father gave you that necklace," he said. "To make up for hitting you."

I swallowed hard as I finally allowed myself to remember. It seemed like lifetimes ago. I guess I had blocked it all out, for my own peace of mind, but the pain was still there. Still, I refused to recall the details. "Jarod--"

"I hated that he hurt you," Jarod went on. "And I hated even more that you let him get away with it, and that you loved him more than ever. Your whole life, you've been blind to what your father really is, trying so hard to make him proud of you, when you knew deep inside that he wasn't capable of giving you the kind of love you needed."

"Shut the hell up," I snapped, suddenly incensed. He couldn't do this to me. Hadn't he done enough to ruin my life? "You don't know what you're talking about. Who gave you the right to make judgments on my life like this?"

"You did," he replied, undaunted, "when you showed me the bruises and cried in my arms."

"Goddammit," I whispered. Painfully, I closed my eyes as the memory assaulted me with a vengeance.



"Who did this to you?" Jarod asked in a hushed voice, gingerly fingering the exposed bruises on her back.

Miss Parker flinched as he touched a particularly tender spot. "Daddy," she sniffled. "He didn't mean to, I just made him so mad..."

"I don't know what you did, but you couldn't have deserved this."

"I did," she insisted weakly. "I didn't listen... It was my fault."

Jarod lowered the back of her blouse and sweater and turned her around gently by putting his hands on her shoulders. He looked up at her with sad, worried eyes. "Your injuries aren't severe," he said gravely, "but that doesn't mean he didn't hurt you badly."

Miss Parker nodded, tears streaming from her eyes. "He said he was sorry, and he-he gave me this..." She pulled the angel pendant out from underneath her blouse and showed it to him. "Isn't it pretty?"

"Yeah, it's nice," Jarod said vaguely. "So did he only hit you that one time?"

"Yeah. But then he yelled at me again today and I got scared... What if he does it again? I love him, Jarod, and I didn't mean to be bad. Why would he want to hurt me?"

"I don't know..." Jarod gathered Miss Parker into his arms and held her gently while she cried. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. Her answer was just another strangled sob.



"I can't believe this," I said, sinking down on the bed beside Jarod as I emerged from the flashback. "How could I forget something like that? How could I even..." I shook my head, stunned at myself.

"You were a little girl," Jarod said gently. "Your father was all you had left. You wanted to make him happy. I understand that now. There was nothing you could have done. And as much as I wanted to help, there was nothing I could do, either." He sighed. "And then as you got older, you wanted to forget, so you did. The brain is capable of remarkable things."

"You would know," I replied dully. Shock was probably the only thing that protected me from absolute meltdown.

"Do you want to talk about this?" he asked carefully. "I know this must be very--"

"Don't tell me what you know about me," I snapped. "You don't know anything about me, except the perfect way to bring my life down around my ears. I hope you're pleased with yourself now."

"I'm just trying to help you see the truth," he insisted. "You're not doing yourself any favors by hiding from it."

"I don't want to talk about this with you," I said angrily, getting to my feet. "This is none of your business."

He bowed his head slightly. "I'm sorry. Do you want me to leave, then?"

Taken aback slightly at his offer, I snapped my mouth shut and considered it. It was probably a full minute before I found my voice. "Not yet," I replied. "What I want is for you to tell me why you set this all up just so you could torment me. And I don't want you disappearing on me until you explain it." I paused, realizing I didn't sound quite threatening enough. "And if I don't like your explanation," I continued, "I'll kill you."

"Miss Parker, I didn't bring you here to upset you," he said in a soft voice.

"Then why did you bring me here?" I turned to face Jarod, tears burning in my eyes. " Why ? Just tell me , will you?"

"So that you can help me help another little girl who doesn't have a chance. To stop this from happening to another innocent child."

"Helping people is your specialty, not mine," I said, turning away again. "I'm not qualified for this sort of thing."

"You're more qualified than I am," he replied. "You understand what it's like, you've been there. You were a mistreated little girl once."

I brushed at my tears with the back of one hand. "Jarod, what the hell am I supposed to do? I couldn't stop my own father from hitting me, how am I supposed to stop someone else's?"

"In order to get McCann put away for real, Angel needs to tell her story. I couldn't convince her to do it, and it was just Beckett's word against mine. And Beckett owns this town, as I'm sure you know by now."

"Well if you can't convince a little girl to talk, how can I?" I demanded desperately.

"She talked to me a little, but she didn't quite trust me," Jarod murmured. "I'm a man. There's nothing I can do about that; she doesn't trust men." He paused, shaking his head. "Except for her father. The one man who really does hurt her is the only one she trusts. Little girls seem to have incredible faith in their fathers, whether they deserve it or not."

His comment cut deeply, even though I knew inwardly that he wasn't trying to hurt me. However, I chose not to take issue, for fear of the personal and emotional conversation that would necessarily ensue. "Why didn't you just recruit some other woman in town to help you?" I asked. "Why does it have to be me? You're a genius, for God's sake, there has to be another way."

Instead of answering me, Jarod reached out impulsively and took my hand. "Please, Miss Parker," he said simply.

I wanted to pull my hand away, but the warmth of his touch brought back memories of how safe I had always felt in his arms. God, how I had loved him once. I wondered suddenly if I had ever stopped.

"What am I supposed to do?" I sighed, defeated.

Jarod smiled. "Now we're getting somewhere."



* * * * *



Between the hour spent listening to Jarod's plan, and the three hours spent brooding over my own situation, I didn't get much sleep that night. Finally I had passed out from sheer exhaustion, and thankfully, my dreams were vague and non-threatening. I knew there would still be some major fallout from my recovered memories, but I was ready to bury them again for at least a little while. I wanted to save my breakdown until after we had helped Angel.

That sounds strange, I suppose, but I've always had a lot of self-control, when it suited me. That applies especially to emotions, which I've spent a lifetime avoiding.

The next morning, therefore, I refrained from telling Sydney anything about Jarod's visit, except for the plan. He was an integral part of it, after all, so he deserved to be told.

My dirty little secrets could wait.

"Miss Parker, this is crazy!" Sydney exclaimed, failing to hold back an amused smile when I stepped out of the motel bathroom. "What are you wearing?" he asked, looking me up and down.

I let out an irritated sigh as I examined myself in the full-length mirror that hung crookedly on the bathroom door. I wore a long, straight brown skirt with chunky brown clogs, and the boring ensemble was topped with a simple white blouse and a pale blue cardigan. My hair was pulled into a tight bun, and I wore thin, wire-framed glasses with clear plastic lenses.

"I know, can you believe this outfit?" I sighed, adjusting my pearl necklace. "Jarod really does have a sick sense of humor. I don't even know if I can walk in these ridiculous shoes." Disdainfully, I glanced down at the shoes, which were open in the back, and lacked my usual spiked heel.

"They look comfortable to me," Sydney said casually. He met my scowl and quickly looked away. "So you're telling me that Jarod picked these clothes out for you?"

I nodded and looked back at the mirror, secretly stunned at my own transformation. "Yeah. They're not my style, but they're my size." I glanced at Sydney's reflection in the mirror and then looked back at my own, noting how the drab clothing hugged my curves in all the right ways, yet without looking suggestive. My first impulse was to despise the clothes, but it was amazing how good they looked on me, almost as if they had been made especially for me. "My exact size, Syd."

"Interesting," Sydney said mildly.

"Interesting?" I repeated. "You mean freaky. Your boy must have gone rummaging around in my room in order to find out my size. Poking around in my closet, my drawers..." I shivered as I imagined it, and found myself glad that Jarod hadn't provided me with any undergarments. He must have figured correctly that I would already have my own, and I appreciated that he hadn't gone that far. That would have been just one more thing pushing me into psychotherapy.

"Maybe." Sydney shrugged and stood up. "Miss Parker, are you sure you want to go through with this?"

I sighed and walked toward him, stumbling a bit in the shoes. "Dammit," I hissed under my breath. When I recovered, I began to pace, practicing my stride. "I'm sure," I replied. "I think."

"I wonder why Jarod didn't pick out any clothes for me," he said, watching me with amusement.

If it wasn't for the fact that I loved Syd dearly, I would have knocked that smug smile right off his face. "I guess he thinks your regular clothes are appropriate for a social worker," I remarked instead. "And mine are in appropriate for a teacher. How I love Jarod's moral judgments on my life."

"I must say, Miss Parker, you look very nice in--" Sydney stopped speaking when I turned to glare at him. "In anything you wear," he amended warmly.

I rolled my eyes. "Nice save, Dr. Feelgood. So, are you ready for work? I'll drop you off."

"Can I ask a practical question at this point?" Sydney ventured.

"If you must. What?"

"What about the sweepers?" he asked. "I mean, what do we tell them, and how do we keep them from finding out about this?"

I paused, considering. "We tell them we're going undercover to find Jarod, because we know he's in the area. We tell them to lie low but be ready for action whenever we call them. And then once we've helped Angel, we try to get Jarod and go home."

Sydney frowned, his good humor fading. "You intend to capture Jarod?" he asked reproachfully.

"If he lets us get our hands on him," I replied pointedly. It was my way of reassuring Syd and also covering my own butt, in case I couldn't bring myself to capture Jarod. Yet, I wasn't ruling it out, either. Truth is, I was desperately confused, and completely unwilling to think about it.

Sydney opened his mouth to argue, but then I guess he thought again about what I had said, and what I hadn't, because he nodded slowly and smiled. "Okay," he said agreeably.

I smiled back briefly and rifled around in the purse that Jarod had left for me. I fingered the tube of lipstick thoughtfully, noting that it was one of my favorite shades, and flipped through the small stack of cash he had stuck inside. Centre funds, no doubt, and I couldn't say I was sorry. Those bastards owed me at least that. Finally, I examined all the fake documentation Jarod had painstakingly prepared: the driver's license, a few credit cards, and paperwork relating to my new status as substitute teacher. All were marked with my new name: Catherine Tyler.

It struck me suddenly that Jarod had gone to a lot of work for this Pretend, clearly revealing great confidence in his ability to recruit me. I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

"Do you think Jarod's plan is going to work?" Sydney spoke up after a few minutes.

I nodded thoughtfully. "As long as we don't screw it up, probably," I said. "After all, with Jarod the Puppet Master behind the scenes, pulling our strings, what could go wrong?"

"It went wrong the last time Jarod tried to help Angel," he reminded me.

"Don't be so cynical," I chided.

He laughed. "Interesting advice, coming from you," he pointed out.

I was about to yell at him, but instead a small chuckle erupted from my throat and turned into a full-blown laugh. "You're right, Syd, this is crazy. This whole thing, it's insane. Why are we doing this again?"

"For a little girl."

I sobered at Sydney's words, and nodded firmly. "Right. For the girl."

"And for you, and for Jarod," Sydney went on.

I gave him a warning glare, unwilling to let him get personal. I wasn't ready yet to tell him why Jarod had chosen me for this job, and why I had accepted. "Don't push it. Come on, we're going to be late for our new jobs."

He nodded and got to his feet, patting the shiny new briefcase Jarod had left for him. "After you, Miss Tyler."

I just shook my head and smiled, wondering if I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life.



* * * * *



"Good luck, Syd, I'll call you later."

"Enjoy your first day of school," he replied. "Remember to be patient, they're only children."

I grimaced at him. "I can be patient and compassionate," I said. When he only smiled wider, my irritation only grew. "I can!" I insisted.

"Goodbye, Miss Parker," he said simply. He gave me a swift wink and turned to walk into the building.

Once he had disappeared through the doors, I threw the car into reverse and maneuvered out of the parking lot. The school I was to teach at was only a few minutes from our motel, but Sydney's job had turned out to be a bit out of the way, so now I was in danger of being late. I suspected that would not be a good way to start my first day, and even though being late for work had never bothered me before, this was different. For once, my job description didn't include anything that could be described as dishonorable or completely pointless. This was important, and I couldn't afford to mess it up.

As I started down the road, my cell phone suddenly rang, startling me. I reached for it quickly, keeping my eyes on the road. "What?" I asked brusquely.

"You're going to be late, Miss Parker."

I sighed. "Jarod."

"I hope you enjoy your new job. I have a feeling it will be a lot more rewarding than your normal one."

"Well, I don't know, my job takes me around the country," I said dryly. "I get to see the sights, soak up the local culture, encounter the most shady characters each city has to offer... what could be better than that?" I know, I was full of shit. But sometimes I just couldn't help myself.

"Children," Jarod said, his voice thick with emotion. "Children can show you a whole new world, without you ever having to leave the room."

I never would have admitted it to anyone, but Jarod's words stirred something inside me, and I knew instantly that I understood exactly what he was talking about. "What do you want, Jarod?" I asked, my voice disgustingly unsure.

"I left a tape for you. If you have time, you might want to listen. In any case, enjoy your first day. Don't forget the Pledge of Allegiance." With that, he hung up on me.

I tossed the phone into the empty passenger seat and glanced at the tape player. Sure enough, there was a tape sticking out of it, one which I knew had not been there before. I don't often listen to music when I drive; it distracts me. Whether it makes me happy or sad is irrelevant, the point is, it always provokes an emotion of some kind, and usually one that I don't want to deal with when I'm on the job.

Warily, I shoved Jarod's tape in the player and turned up the radio to listen. Somehow, I knew it would be some kind of morality lesson, but I couldn't resist listening to what he wanted to share with me. The lush music began, and by the time the singer's soulful voice uttered the first line, I was undeniably hooked.



She walks to school with the lunch

she packed

Nobody knows what she's

holdin' back

Wearin' the same dress

she wore yesterday

She hides the bruises with linen

and lace



The teacher wonders but she

doesn't ask

It's hard to see the pain

behind the mask

Bearing the burden

of a secret storm

Sometimes she wishes she was

never born



Through the wind and the rain

She stands hard as a stone

In a world that she can't rise above

But her dreams give her wings

And she flies to a place where

she's loved

Concrete angel



Somebody cries in the middle

of the night

The neighbors hear, but they turn

out the lights

A fragile soul caught in the hands

of fate

When morning comes

it'll be too late



Through the wind and the rain

She stands hard as a stone

In a world that she can't rise above

But her dreams give her wings

And she flies to a place where

she's loved

Concrete angel



A statue stands in a shaded place

A angel girl with an upturned face

A name is written on a polished rock

A broken heart that the world forgot



Through the wind and the rain

She stands hard as a stone

In a world that she can't rise above

But her dreams give her wings

And she flies to a place where

she's loved

Concrete angel





By the end of the song, I was in tears, barely able to see the road in front of me. The song was obviously left in my car to remind me about Angel, but it also made me think of my own childhood. Of course, that was part of his evil plan. He was desperately trying to link Angel's problem to mine, in the hopes that I could somehow solve both. Not that I really needed much convincing, he'd made himself perfectly clear the night before.

During our talk, he had tried several times to talk to me about my father's abuse, but I kept changing the subject back to Angel. Of course, it was mostly because I just wasn't ready to talk about it, but my other problem was Jarod. He just had this look of sadness and compassion that I couldn't handle, not from him. Not after everything that we'd been through.

I could almost imagine him crying as he listened to this song he left me, and that only made me feel worse. Why did he have to be so damn nice all the time? I didn't know how to deal with that.

For such a long time, I had been dismissing my father's abuse, and for my own protection had turned myself into a cold, unmovable statue, allowing the happy little girl inside to die. I wondered suddenly if it was too late to get some of that innocence back, and if anyone would miss me when I died. Jarod and Sydney might miss me a little, but probably only because they thought of me as a project, a problem to fix. It couldn't be because they really cared, because who could care about the horrible person I had become?

I wondered if I was truly loved here on earth, or if the only people who had ever cared were already waiting for me in Heaven.

Sniffling, I wiped my face with the back of my hand and dismissed my selfish and pathetic thoughts. This was exactly why I tried to avoid emotion; it turned me into a lonely little child.

"You're a Parker, dammit," I muttered to myself angrily. I almost laughed when I realized that I sounded like my father. " Pull yourself together, Angel ," I mimicked. " That's my girl ."

I shook my head in frustration and tried to purge Daddy's voice from my head. I wasn't going to listen to him anymore. I wasn't going to let him tell me what to do.

Besides, this mission was about Angel, not me. I needed to focus on the issue here, and forget my own issues. Self-pity would never get me anywhere. That was a lesson I had learned early, and one which applied to almost any situation.

I could never change what had happened to myself, but I could try to keep another little girl from dying inside.

By the time I reached the school, which was only a few blocks from the McCann residence, I had pulled myself together, and my resolve had strengthened. I wasn't going to fail this little girl.



* * * * *



I gulped down the last mouthful of lukewarm coffee from the bottom of my cup and pinched the bridge of my nose. I had only been there for half a day, and already I was exhausted. My glasses, which had been digging into my nose all day, lay discarded beside my coffee cup while the children were out of the room.

It was finally lunchtime, and I could not have been more grateful. Although I hadn't needed to do any actual teaching, and only had to supervise the children on their busy work, being alone with so many fourth graders was tearing at my fragile nerves. The children were generally well-behaved, but I was just so out of my element, I felt like they might somehow be able to sense that I wasn't who I was pretending to be.

Briefly, I wondered how Jarod was able to spend his life pretending to be someone else, living in fear of being himself. But I quickly shoved him out of my mind, forcing my thoughts to return to my task.

All morning, I had attempted to be friendly and accessible to all of the children, but I was unable to tear my attention from Angel much of the time. The girl was wearing that same destroyed wedding dress with a white sweater and white sneakers, and she somehow seemed even thinner than she had the day before. There was a small red cut under her left eye, which made me wonder what other marks and bruises were scarring her body.

What struck me most, though, was her attitude. She had only spoken once, when I had called attendance, and she hadn't interacted with any of the other students. She ignored them, and they ignored her, almost as if she wasn't even there. The other girls were always giggling and whispering amongst themselves, and the boys were exchanging secret smiles and nods, but Angel had worked steadily and diligently on her schoolwork.

It broke my heart how much Angel reminded me of myself. When I was in grade school, I too was the class outcast. I was either ignored or picked on, and I had just forced myself to put my head down and work until it was time to go home. Back in those days, I had lived for Jarod and Angelo, my only friends. I wondered if Angel had any friends to run to after a long day, or if her father was truly all she had.

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when the classroom door creaked open. I glanced up with a start, and watched as Angel crept into the room.

"Angel?" I asked gently.

The girl jumped; she hadn't noticed me at my desk. "Oh, I'm sorry," she murmured, turning to leave again.

"No, wait, stay." I stood quickly, and squelched a curse as one of my feet slipped sideways from my shoe. Next time, Jarod better make sure he gets me some real shoes , I thought irrationally. "Is everything okay?" I asked aloud.

Angel nodded quickly, her eyes darting from side to side. "It's just... I usually come in here during recess to do schoolwork. But usually the teacher's not here..."

"Oh..." I nodded in understanding. Lunchtime had turned into recess, the worst possible time of day for timid, silent children. "Well, if you don't mind if I stay, I certainly would appreciate your company," I said, wondering when I had learned to speak so kindly to children. Mama would be proud , I couldn't resist thinking.

Angel hesitated, thinking it over. Finally, she nodded and shuffled over to her desk without a word.

I stood for a long moment as I watched the young girl settle down and take out a notebook and a pink pen. Angel clearly didn't want to be bothered, but I knew that Jarod hadn't sent me to this school so I could turn my back. And I hadn't accepted this assignment just to watch a child's suffering. "What are you working on?" I ventured finally.

"Nothing," Angel mumbled, scribbling furiously.

"It doesn't look like nothing. It looks like you're doing a lot of writing, but I don't remember assigning any compositions. Did your other teacher leave you with work to do?"

"No."

I sighed softly, frustrated. I could tell it wouldn't be easy to get through to this child. "Is it really schoolwork?" I prodded. "Or is it something else?"

Angel squirmed in her seat, but didn't raise her head. "It's nothing."

Just then, the door opened again, and one of the other fifth grade teachers walked in. Miss Robbins was tall, thin, and blonde, and could not have been more than 25 years old. I had found her irritating enough at our first meeting, but now I wanted to smack her. Couldn't the woman see I was busy?

"Miss Tyler!" Miss Robbins said cheerfully, sending only a cursory glance toward Angel.

I forced a smile. "Hi, is there something I can do for you?"

Miss Robbins laughed and waved a hand dismissively. "Nahh, I just came to chat. I noticed this morning that there wasn't a ring on your finger..."

Ahh, here we go , I thought moodily. I usually hear this kind of crap from men, but now I know, it's just as irritating when a woman does it.

"And since my best friend got married, I don't have anyone to meet men with," Miss Robbins continued, oblivious to my annoyance. "So I was wondering if you wanted to hang out this Friday night. I know a great place¬"

"Well, I'm sure it's a nice place, but I'm not exactly free," I interrupted quickly, desperate to get Miss Robbins out of my classroom and my life in less than 3 minutes. "I... have a boyfriend."

Miss Robbins' eyes widened. "Really?" she asked, interested. "Does he have any friends, brothers...?"

Someone's desperate . "Not really, no. Sorry."

"Well, tell me about him." Miss Robbins perched on the corner of my desk, making herself right at home. "What's his name?"

"Name?" I repeated, thinking frantically. "Uh, Jarod?" Where the hell did that come from, Parker? I berated myself silently.

"No way!" Miss Robbins swatted me playfully on the arm, and I had to restrain myself from grabbing the woman's wrist and twisting it.

"Yeah..." I widened my eyes questioningly. "So?"

"There was a guidance counselor here named Jarod," she said, as if it were a miracle. "He was... whoa..." Miss Robbins raised her eyebrows and nodded, in the language of traditional girl talk. She glanced briefly at Angel, who seemed to be in her own world, before continuing. "Well, let's just say I knew some places I wanted to show him ," she said suggestively.

A sudden, white-hot flash of anger ignited somewhere inside my chest, surprising me. I found myself rubbing the small of my back, where my gun would normally have been located. "So what happened to your Jarod?" I asked, managing to unclench my teeth by the middle of the sentence.

Miss Robbins shrugged. "Really weird thing," she said. "He turned out to be insane, or something. Tied up the father of one of our kids, I heard."

This time, I looked at Angel, and I noticed that the little girl was still staring down, but she had stopped writing. My anger grew, and I wanted to shut Miss Robbins up immediately. Violently, if possible. "Well, that's a man for you," I said with false sympathy.

"Shame, too," Miss Robbins went on. "He was one hell of a man. I've never met anybody quite like him before. But then, I guess I don't usually go out with insane men."

Any man who could stand to listen to you speak for more than 2 minutes is obviously insane , I seethed.

"So, tell me about your Jarod," Miss Robbins said, changing the focus of the conversation. "He's not the same one I almost brought home with me, is he?"

"No, Jarod's not a guidance counselor," I replied. Today.

"Oh good," Miss Robbins said, grinning. "I wouldn't want you to think I had my eye on your man. Insane or not."

Strike me down now ... "No, there are more people in the world than one named Jarod," I said, annoyance creeping into my voice.

Miss Robbins didn't seem to notice my interruption, and chirped on pleasantly. "Insane or not, he was one sexy guidance counselor," she said, grinning. "I'd still go out with him." She raised her eyebrows meaningfully. "Being tied up isn't always so bad, you know."

My mouth dropped open in disgust and disbelief. "Hey, you know, one of my kids is in the room," I whispered, jerking my chin toward Angel.

Miss Robbins looked over at Angel, who was scribbling again in her notebook. "She couldn't hear us," she replied. "Anyway, I should go, recess is about over. Let's get together later, okay?"

"Sure." Remind me to bring my gun . "See you later."

Miss Robbins hopped down from the desk, straightening her knee-length skirt. "See ya later, uh..." She paused. "You know, I don't think I remember your name," she said, looking confused.

"Miss Tyler," I said coolly.

"No, I know that," Miss Robbins said with a laugh. "I mean your first name. What you want adults to call you."

"Miss Tyler."

Miss Robbins laughed. "You're a riot," she said, as the recess bell sounded. "I almost wish Ms. McIntyre didn't have to come back, so you could stay."

"Oh, me too," I said with mock sincerity. "Well, see you."

"See you!" Finally, just as I was beginning to reach my breaking point, Miss Robbins took her leave of the classroom.

When the door closed behind the twisted blonde, I let out a heavy sigh and sank down in my chair. "And these are the people teaching our children," I mumbled in deep disgust. I glanced up at Angel, who glanced up at me as well. To my surprise, Angel rolled her eyes slightly and cracked a tiny smile before looking back down. I chuckled softly, my admittedly shaky faith in humanity partially restored, and prepared to continue my conversation with the little girl. But before I could even open my mouth, the classroom door opened, and my students began to stream in, talking and laughing loudly. Sighing in resignation, I took out my lesson book to see what was next.



* * * * *



"Oh thank God." I dropped my head down onto my folded arms and closed my eyes wearily. The last of the students had finally left, and my first day as an elementary school teacher was officially over. Neither I nor the students knew any more than we had known that morning, but I felt it was a victory everyone had survived.

Several times, I had attempted to draw Angel out of her shell by asking her questions, but Angel merely gave soft replies and avoided eye contact. I was frustrated, because after the earlier encounter with Miss Robbins, I had seen a spark of humor in Angel's eyes, and I felt I had lost a good opportunity to get through to her.

Thinking back on Recess, I almost groaned at the memory of Miss Robbins. What a flaming idiot that woman was. I realized, without a trace of amusement, that I could come up with many reasons to hate perky Miss Robbins. Number one on my list was the way she talked in front of Angel. It was bad enough for any adult to do that, but for a teacher, it was inexcusable. Even I knew that much, and I wasn't exactly the PTA's top choice for President. The only consolation was that Angel had seemed okay with it.

Don't forget about Jarod , a little voice in my head reminded me. As if I could forget. As much as I wanted to pretend otherwise, Miss Robbins' discussion of Jarod had bothered me immensely. I wasn't sure if it was the vulgar undertones of the conversation, or if it was the fact that Jarod was the subject, but I knew that if I had to have a reprise of that conversation, ever , I would have to break the woman's nose.

At the thought of having another conversation with Miss Robbins, I jumped up quickly. She could come back, and without children in the room, who knew what would come out of her mouth? I needed to make my escape now, otherwise I was just a sitting duck. I gathered up my books and teachers' manuals, shoving them into my soft briefcase, and headed for the door. Halfway there, my left foot slipped sideways out of my shoe, and I nearly fell on my face.

"Dammit, Jarod," I said under my breath, removing both shoes and barely resisting the urge to throw them in the trash can. I tucked them into my bag instead.

Two minutes later, I emerged from the building, barefoot but otherwise unscathed, and headed for the refuge of my car. When I reached it, however, I noticed that something was different. There was a yellow license plate, bearing the slogan "Animal Friendly," on the front of the car.

"New Jersey?" I spoke aloud, reading the solid block lettering beneath the five digit license plate number. I circled the car, peering in the windows to assure myself that it was, in fact, my car. Then, with a flash, I realized what had happened. Jarod, ever vigilant, had changed my license plates. I almost smiled, but instead I bit my lip and let myself into the car.

Sitting on the dashboard was a folded piece of paper that I knew was not there before. I reached forward and trapped it between two fingers, pulling it over to me. "I told you not to forget the Pledge of Allegiance," I read aloud. Folding the paper, I tossed it onto my seat and frowned. I had forgotten the Pledge of Allegiance. One of the students had reminded me halfway through roll call.

And Jarod knew. He had been watching me. Probably laughing his head off the whole time.

"Damn you," I muttered, cursing him as I often did to make myself feel better. It rarely worked. This time, though, I felt a vague sense of comfort wash over me. I wasn't alone in this crazy situation; Jarod was looking out for me.

Why does that make me feel better? I wondered silently.

Shaking my head, I started the car and backed out of my parking space, wondering if I could find a good shoe store in town.



* * * * *



" I took care of the Centre ," I muttered thoughtfully. "What does that mean?"

After a little shoe shopping, I had picked Sydney up from work and treated him to a nice meal at an Italian restaurant. It had actually been an unusually enjoyable evening for the two of us, and with the help of Sydney's gentle encouragement and a bottle of red wine, I had been able to let off some steam and relax.

However, upon reaching my motel room, I had found another note from Jarod, and I once more felt a little lost. Jarod's note had stated simply that he had taken care of the Centre, and when I found myself unable to find or contact my two sweepers, I wondered what was going on. I wanted to call Broots to see if he knew anything, but I wasn't sure if I should. I found myself hoping Jarod would stop by for another visit, so he could enlighten me.

After an hour of waiting alone in my room, I got irritated and decided to take a shower. Waiting for Jarod , I thought with disgust. What next, shopping at thrift stores?

45 minutes later, I emerged from the steamy bathroom in my gray silk pajamas, my wet hair tangled and dripping on my shoulders. I yawned as I crossed the threshold into the bedroom, but froze at the sight before me.

Jarod was there, laying on my bed as if he owned the place. He was dressed like a construction worker, in tight, dirt-smudged jeans, brown work boots, and a partially unbuttoned blue shirt. His arms were folded behind his head, his feet were crossed at the ankles, and his eyes were closed. I examined him for a long moment before speaking up.

"I thought you were in hiding," I said threateningly, out of habit. "If you're not, maybe you should be."

Jarod turned his face toward me, opened his eyes, and smiled sweetly. "Good evening, Miss Parker, did you have a nice day?"

"It was lovely," I replied dryly. "I'm lucky I didn't wind up in traction because of those ridiculous shoes you gave me."

Jarod laughed, a deep warm laugh that was foreign to my ears, and yet soothing to my frayed nerves. "Sorry, I haven't found any employment opportunities involving women's footwear yet, so it's not really my area of expertise. I had to make a guess."

"So, there's something you don't know everything about," I taunted. "Shocking."

"Hey, nobody's perfect," he said amiably. "Even though some of us come remarkably close."

This time, I was unable to stifle a laugh. "You're awfully sure of yourself, aren't you, Rat Boy?"

Jarod watched me with only a faint trace of a smile playing on his lips. "I wasn't talking about me," he said seriously.

I sobered up quickly, staring back at him. I was pretty sure I caught his meaning, but I didn't understand it. I was afraid to. "Jarod, what do you want?" I asked, changing the subject quickly. "I'm tired."

"I'm sure you are," he said kindly, sitting up. "I just came to see how it went with Angel today."

"As if you didn't know," I replied pointedly.

"I didn't watch you all day, Miss Parker," he told me, sounding almost wistful. "Just for a couple minutes." He gestured down at himself. "After all, I had my own job to get to."

"Yeah, about that," I said, nodding, "I thought there was a shoot to kill order out on you. What are you doing pretending to be a construction worker?"

"I'm pretending to be an outside contractor," he corrected, smiling. "And I'm working in the next town. No one even looked twice at me."

I guess Miss Robbins wasn't there , I thought grimly to myself. "But why are you doing it?" I prodded. "Just for fun?"

"Research, practice..." He shrugged. "It's not that important."

I stared at him for a long moment. His next Pretend was going to be as a contractor. By coming to my room dressed for work, he was giving me a huge and very obvious clue. But why?

"So about Angel," he spoke up, breaking the silence.

"Angel..." I nodded. "I didn't really get anywhere with her. I tried to talk to her during recess, when she came into the classroom to work on something. But she really wouldn't say anything. And then this stupid woman came in and interrupted me..." I let out a low growl, thinking about Miss Robbins again.

"What woman?" Jarod asked curiously.

"Miss Robbins ," I replied, wrinkling my nose.

"Ohhh..." Jarod shook his head. "I should have warned you about her. She can be a little..." He trailed off, words failing him.

"Yeah, a little..." I paused as well, looking at him. "You mean, you didn't like her?" I asked with interest. I thought Jarod liked everyone, except for the criminals he liked to punish. And everyone at the Centre, of course.

Jarod shifted slightly, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "She said some inappropriate things to me in front of a student," he replied. "I'm not really sure she's teacher material." He refrained from making a value judgment, but I could see he was struggling with his own distaste. It had been a long time since Jarod and I were friends, but I still knew how to read him. His eyes had always given him away.

A smile slid across my face as I thought about Miss Robbins, and suddenly I started to laugh. I could totally picture Jarod squirming in front of the little skank, and I imagined that his shyness had probably only increased the crazy blonde's appetite. I almost felt bad for him.

"What are you laughing at?" Jarod asked, grinning broadly.

"You," I replied. "What are you smiling about?"

"You," he echoed. "I don't think I've heard that laugh for at least 20 years."

I halted in mid-giggle and looked at him seriously. I realized with confusion that, for a minute there, it had almost felt like old times between us. How was that possible?

"I'm sorry," Jarod said carefully, frowning now.

"This is all... very confusing," I said, turning my back on him and beginning to pace in front of the bathroom door. "I could bring you back to the Centre right now, you know."

"I know. But you won't."

"And why won't I?" I challenged, knowing full well that he was right.

"It would be difficult, seeing as how your sweepers are indisposed, and your gun is gone. You wouldn't be able to stop me alone; we both know I'm bigger than you."

"And we also both know that size and overconfidence can be your worst enemies in the martial arts," I shot back.

Jarod chuckled softly. "Touché."

Turning to face him, I folded my arms over my chest. "What did you do to my sweepers?" I demanded, catching up with the conversation. "And what did you mean when you said you took care of the Centre? And where the hell is my gun? "

"Ahh, I was wondering when we'd get around to that," he said, nodding. "Well, as far as the Centre is concerned, I kidnapped you."

"What?!" I cried in outrage.

"Now, calm down," he said, holding his hands up in a pose of mock surrender. "I contacted them and I told them that I took you to Arizona. And then I left behind some proof for your sweepers to find."

"My gun," I said in realization.

He nodded proudly. "Everyone knows you wouldn't just leave it unattended, where anyone could pick it up. Everyone but me, anyway. I know you a little better than they do."

"Watch it," I growled. "You're starting to piss me off."

"Starting?" he repeated. "That's not too bad."

"So where are the sweepers?" I asked, itching for my gun, but glad at the same time that it was gone. It was just old habit that made me want to aim my 9mm at Jarod's head, not any real desire to shoot him.

"On their way to Arizona, of course," Jarod said matter-of-factly. "They'll be meeting some of their co-workers there, and probably your other half, as well."

"If you ever refer to Lyle as my other half again, I will personally kill you with my bare hands," I warned.

He smiled. "Sorry. Anyway, with the gun, my phone call, and all the other proof and clues I have set up, the Centre goons should be busy out west for at least a week. They already searched here, and they're convinced that we're long gone."

"What about Sydney?" I asked.

"They think he foolishly tried to follow us, and somehow managed to get lost. They're not too concerned about him, amazingly enough."

"Shocking," I said dryly. Poor Syd never got any respect.

Jarod nodded. "So anyway, with the Centre off our backs for a little while, we can concentrate on Angel."

"You know, I'm not sure I like the way you're manipulating my life, Jarod," I said, clenching my jaw slightly. "You go and set all this stuff up, tell my father that you kidnapped me, and just assume that I'm going to go along with whatever you say. What makes you any better than the Centre?"

Jarod frowned and let out a soft sigh. "I don't want to control you, Miss Parker," he said gently. "But you aren't always the easiest person to negotiate with. And right now, I really need you."

I stared at him, my mouth falling open slightly. I wasn't quite sure how to react.

"When I met her, she reminded me so much of you," Jarod went on, softly. He turned away as he continued to speak, almost as if he couldn't look at me. "It brought back so many memories of how I just wanted to help you. And I couldn't, I failed. And I failed to help Angel, too."

"Well, like you said," I replied numbly, "nobody's perfect."

"No. But I can't just walk away. Not this time." He caught my gaze then and held it firmly. "And neither can you. Please, if we can call a truce for this week and help Angel, I promise I won't hold it over your head. Things can go back to normal."

"Normal." I let out a short, bitter laugh, which sounded more like a bark. "That I'd like to see."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah." The average person wouldn't define normal as chasing your former best friend around the country so that you could kidnap him and lock him away for scientific experiments, but then, I'd always known that my life was not average.

I sighed and turned my back on him again, staring absently into the closet. I noticed that more new clothes had been placed inside, no doubt courtesy of Jarod. "Fine, I'll help Angel," I said after a minute. "But you already knew that."

"Thank you," he said gratefully.

I closed my eyes and tried to block out the warmth of his voice. "This is crazy, Jarod. You know that. You and me, just talking, like... like we're friends, or something. How is life supposed to go back to normal after this?"

"I don't know," Jarod admitted. "But after this is over, you make the rules. The way you like it."

"Yeah, thanks," I muttered wearily. "Make it my problem. It doesn't matter either way to you, does it? You don't care what happens to me. As long as you get what you want."

"Goodnight, Miss Parker," Jarod murmured. "See you tomorrow."

"Wait, I'm not finished talking to you!" I whirled around just in time to see the motel room door click shut behind him. "Dammit!" For several minutes, I stood frozen in place, trying to decide if I wanted to chase him. Finally, I realized that he was probably long gone already, and that even if, in some fantasy world, I did catch him, I had no idea what I'd say to him. Was I really mad at him? Or was I just mad at life in general?

Sighing, I turned and walked back to the bed, throwing myself unceremoniously on top of it. I hadn't expected to be comfortable, necessarily, but I was surprised by the flash of pain I felt as something hard dug into my back.

"What the hell?" I fumed, reaching under me and pulling out a hard plastic object. It was a cell phone, but it wasn't mine. I pushed a button to light up the display and found the speed dial menu. Number 1 was Sydney, number 2 was myself, number 3 was Broots, and number 4 was the main Centre switchboard. He only had 4 numbers programmed into his phone, and they all involved the Centre. How... sad.

Just then, I was startled when the phone began to ring. I almost tossed it across the room, but I stopped myself just in time and answered it. "Hello?" I asked uncertainly.

"Hello?" Broots asked, even more uncertainly. "Miss Parker, is that you?"

"Broots! What in the hell is going on? How'd you get this number?"

"Jarod just called me," Broots explained. "He gave me a phone number and told me to call it. I thought he kidnapped you! Where are you? Do you need me to, uh, come get you or anything?"

"No, that's not necessary," I said, smiling at his concern. "I probably shouldn't tell you," I said reluctantly, "but if the Centre asks, I'm calling from a truck stop somewhere in Arizona. Got it?"

"Got it," he replied. "I'm glad you're okay. Where's Sydney?"

"He's nearby. He's okay."

"Oh, good. What about Jarod?"

"Who the hell knows?" I asked, shaking my head. "But he seems to have switched phones on me. I wonder why?"

"Well, maybe he thinks the Centre might try to call you," Broots said rationally. "And for whatever reason, he doesn't want them to."

"He really does think of everything, doesn't he?" I marveled.

"Well, not everything," Broots corrected. "If you have Jarod's phone, that means I have his phone number now. That means we can contact him whenever we want. Assuming he keeps the phone. Not that I can trace it or anything, you know Jarod, he's too smart for that... But still, you know?"

"Well, the phone number won't help us capture him," I agreed, "but it does mean I can call him at 3 AM and harass him." I smiled wickedly at the thought, and found myself hoping that Jarod did reclaim and keep his phone so I could give him a taste of his own medicine. Sure, it was silly and petty, but that's just me. If you'd had to endure four years of his sleep-shattering phone calls, you'd want to get him back, too.

"Yeah. So, anyway, Miss Parker, there was something I did want to tell you. It's probably no big deal at this point, and maybe it's not even relevant, I mean, I don't even know what's going on with you and Jarod, so--"

"Get on with it, Broots," I said, trying to divert him from his curious questions. I didn't have any answers for him.

"Oh, well, I came across this article from New York, about this corrupt fashion designer who was using illegal labor or something. Sounds like a real nasty guy. Anyway, it looks like Jarod landed him behind bars. That was only a few weeks ago."

"How is something that happened a few weeks ago relevant now?" I asked impatiently. "We already know that trail has long been cold. Jarod's here and... he kidnapped me. Moron."

"Well, I guess it's not really relevant," he said, sounding deflated. "But I thought it was interesting, in a way."

"Why?" I prompted.

"Because now I think that Jarod might have made that sweater," he said. "You know, the one he sent us, with the word Angel sewn into it?"

"You think Jarod knitted a sweater?" I asked, snickering. "Well, that is an amusing thought, while not especially relevant. Thanks for the laugh, though."

"Sure, my pleasure," he grumbled, sounding annoyed. Getting bolder, are we, Broots? "Well, is there anything else you want me to do, Miss Parker?"

I smiled, still imagining Jarod with a pair of knitting needles and a ball of yarn. Maybe even with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. "No, just play dumb, you're good at that."

"Hey," he protested.

"As far as you know, Jarod abducted me, but I'm okay. Got it?"

"Got it," he replied. "Uh, should I call you later, Miss Parker?"

"No, I'll call you," I said. "But hang onto that phone number Jarod gave you."

"Okay. Uh, see you later, Miss Parker. I hope, uh, everything stays okay. Tell Sydney goodnight."

"I'll be fine. Goodnight Broots." I hung up on him with satisfaction, feeling a bit more like myself after harassing poor Broots. It was one of my favorite pastimes, just because he was such an easy target. I hoped he knew that I never meant it in a malicious way. I figured he must, because he kept coming back for more. The only other explanation was that he was a complete masochist, and if that was the case, I refused to take responsibility for his feelings.

As I put the phone on the bedside table, I thought again about Jarod, knitting like an old granny. I would have paid money to see that.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to me, and I shot up to a sitting position. Jarod worked with a fashion designer. Jarod made sweaters. Jarod gave me clothes that fit exactly.

I jumped down from the bed and hurried over to the closet, rummaging through all the things he had left for me. I picked up a silky, cream-colored blouse, admiring the texture, and touched the tag. There was no brand name or designer label. It said simply "Machine Wash, Delicate Cycle." But then I noticed that there was a second tag sewn in behind it. I flipped up the first tag to reveal the second, and a strange shiver crawled down my spine. In tiny, carefully embroidered script, it read "Hand stitched especially for you, by Jarod."



* * * * *



"So let me get this straight: your game piece travels in circles, visiting several different properties over and over, based on the number of dots on a little white cube? And if you land on a property that isn't yours, you pay rent?" Jarod widened his eyes incredulously. "Putting aside the obvious absurdity of the game and imagining that it's based loosely on reality, why not just pick a home and stay there awhile? It would be a lot more comfortable, not to mention affordable."

Miss Parker sighed and rolled her eyes. "It's a game, Jarod. If you picked a home and stayed there, the game would be over. Anyway, it's not about finding a home, it's about making money and owning all the land. Power, possession, money."

"I don't care about those things," Jarod said, shaking his head firmly. "The most important thing is home. If I could find a real home, I'd stay there forever."

"This is your home," she replied impatiently. "Now will you just shut up and pick your game piece?"

Jarod frowned, looking slightly injured. "The canine figure is interesting," he said at last, selecting the dog game piece. "Did you ever see a real one?"

Miss Parker rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I had a dog for a little while. My Daddy accidentally hit it with his car."

"That's terrible!" Jarod gasped. "What happened to it?"

"It died," she replied flatly.

"Are you ever going to get another one?" Jarod asked, his eyes looking suspiciously teary.

"My Daddy doesn't want to have pets anymore," was the stiff reply. "You know that."

Jarod nodded thoughtfully. "So did you like it? The dog, I mean?"

"Yeah, I liked it, it was my dog. And I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Oh okay," Jarod said, shrugging. He pointed at the remaining game pieces. "Which one are you going to use?"

"The thimble," Miss Parker said instantly, clutching it in her hand. She smiled fondly, recalling the last time she had played this game.

"What are you thinking about, Miss Parker?"

Miss Parker snapped to attention, meeting Jarod's curious stare. She thought about telling him to shut up again, but instead she decided to explain herself to him. Jarod was no fun to be around when his feelings were hurt, and she'd already yelled at him several times that day.

"The last time I played this game, I played it with Mama and Daddy," she said. "There was a big snowstorm, and we all got stranded in the house for a long time. We played forever... I was the thimble." She smiled. "That was the best day. We all had so much fun, and nobody yelled..." Nobody got smacked around, she thought.

Jarod smiled. "That sounds really nice, Miss Parker. You're lucky to have memories like that."

"Yeah..." Miss Parker shrugged, trying to throw off the cloak of sadness that seemed to be descending upon her. "So come on, let's play."

"Okay." Jarod reached for the dice.

"Hey." Miss Parker grabbed his fist in her own, squeezing. "I go first."

Jarod's eyes widened in surprise. "Why?"

"Ladies first," she snapped. "Besides, I have to show you what to do."

"Oh." He shrugged and opened his fist just enough to let the dice fall into her hand. Then he extracted his hand gently and sat back to watch her. "It's your game, Miss Parker. You make the rules."

Miss Parker's lips curved up in a satisfied, feline smile. "That's just the way I like it."



"Miss Parker? Are you awake?"

I grunted and rolled over in bed, trying to escape the clutches of my dream. I wondered vaguely why all of my dreams involving myself and Jarod as children were in black and white, and realized that Sydney would probably find that interesting. But I knew that if I ever told him anything about those dreams, I'd never hear the end of it.

"Miss Parker, is everything okay?"

"Speaking of Sydney," I grumbled, rolling over again and forcing my tired body to sit up. "Coming, Syd," I called weakly. I padded slowly across the floor, straightening my hair and my pajamas as I went, and yanked the door open. Bright sunlight streamed in, temporarily blinding me. "Ow... what do you want, Syd?"

"Good morning to you too," Sydney replied cheerfully. "I brought bagels and coffee, may I come in?"

"If you have coffee, you can do whatever you want," I mumbled, stepping back to let him in. I could smell the coffee, and already my eyes began to open a little wider. "What time is it?"

"Nearly 6 AM."

I wrinkled my nose. "And why the hell are you waking me up at 6 AM?"

"You have to be at work by 7:30," he reminded me.

"Oh... yeah, that..." I took a cup of coffee from Sydney and sat down at the tiny table in the corner. "How come you're always so energetic in the morning, anyway?"

"I'm faking it," Sydney replied with a smile, sitting across from me.

I glowered at him over the rim of my cup. "Just what I need, another Pretender."

"Did you see Jarod again?" Sydney asked eagerly.

"Yeah, your little monkey was here last night," I replied snidely. "Annoying as ever." It wasn't necessarily true, but it was easier to complain about Jarod than to try to discern my true feelings about him. Especially in Sydney's presence.

"I wish he would visit me," Sydney said, unexpectedly, sounding sad. "It's been so long since I've seen him..."

Surprisingly, his wistful tone provoked an unusual reaction-- anger. I'm still trying to understand that one. "Oh, please." I rolled my eyes as I took another sip of coffee.

Sydney looked at me critically. "What does that mean?"

"He's not your son, Syd," I reminded him. "And after this thing with Angel is over, everything's going to go back to normal. Us chasing him. Maybe it's time to let go."

Sydney's eyes grew cold, and he stared at me a long moment before rising to his feet. "I found a bus that will take me to work," he said stoically. "So you don't have to drive me today."

I sighed regretfully, seeing that I had hurt him. I hadn't meant to do that. "Syd--"

"I'll see you tonight, Miss Parker." He picked up his coffee and a plain bagel and left the room without another world.

Watching the door close behind him, I sighed again. I wished I knew how to apologize and take back my words, but I was afraid. I knew that if I told him that I didn't really mean my harsh words, I'd also have to explain that my advice was meant more for myself. Sydney had always been attached to Jarod, and so far, he was surviving. It was my own feelings for Jarod that were becoming confusing and distracting, and I was afraid that if I didn't let go, even the Centre's version of Normal would no longer be an option.

As I sat munching on my bagel, I tried to figure out how I could earn Sydney's forgiveness without spilling my guts to him. Suddenly, I came up with an idea, and I pulled out a napkin and a pen, scribbling as I ate. When I was done, I set the note out prominently on my bed, satisfied that it would reach its recipient. If all went as expected, I'd be forgiven by evening.

When I was done, I rummaged through the closet, eventually picking out the silk blouse I had examined the night before, along with a straight, shin-length black skirt. I got dressed, deciding to forego the shower since I had taken on the night before, and completed the ensemble with the jewelry Jarod had left for me, and the shoes I had bought the day before. They weren't any more comfortable than the leather clogs, in fact, they hurt like hell, but at least I knew how to walk in them without falling on my face. I felt a little bit more like myself, and it was that confidence which propelled me out the door for another day of school.



* * * * *



During recess that day, I sat at my desk, eating an apple I had found in the teachers' lounge. It probably belonged to some other teacher, but I didn't care, I was hungry. I always had the bad habit of forgetting to eat until I was dizzy with hunger.

I was waiting for Angel, and trying desperately to figure out what I was going to say to her. I wanted to help Angel, very much, but I wanted to get it over with so I could go back home and forget any of this ever happened. It was too confusing, and too painful. Yet, at the same time, I was afraid of what would happen when this ended. Could I really be Jarod's friend one day, and his enemy the next?

I wondered idly what the illustrious Pretender would think of my impersonation of a teacher. I had certainly never taught children before, and I'd never been in charge of so many children at once. But, strangely, I found that I almost enjoyed it. The students all seemed to buy my act, and they listened to me as much as I imagined they listened to any teacher. And being able to boss them around appealed to my natural need for control.

It was exhausting, however. I felt a lot of pressure to keep my portrayal of Miss Tyler "real," and to treat the children fairly. Meanwhile, a part of my mind was always on Angel, and trying to figure out the best way to deal with her. I found that, although it was only lunchtime, I wanted to lie down for a nap.

As I tossed my apple core into the trash can, I glanced at the clock. Recess was more than half over, and still Angel had not appeared. I suddenly felt a twinge of fear, and wondered if I should go investigate.

Just then, the door opened and Miss Robbins bounced in. I suppressed a groan and stood up, making a quick decision.

"Hey," I said as brightly as I could imagine, "I'd love to chat, but I actually just remembered something I have to do. It's kind of an emergency."

"Oh really?" Miss Robbins asked, looking concerned. "Is everything okay?"

"I think so," I replied. "It's just... something I promised a friend."

Miss Robbins shrugged. "Okay, that's cool. I'll stop by later, okay?"

"Sure, alright, see you later." I plastered on a fake smile and followed the blonde out into the hallway before heading in the opposite direction.

Walking quickly, I made it to the back door of the school, which I knew led to the playground. I let myself outside and began to scan the yard, looking for Angel. I couldn't see her anywhere, and I was about to go back inside when I noticed three other girls sitting under a tree, laughing loudly. The girl in the middle had a notebook spread open in her lap, and I was instantly suspicious.

"Hey, girls," I said casually, walking over to them. "What's going on?"

They looked up in surprise, and one of them looked a bit guilty. "What are you doing out here?" asked the one holding the notebook.

"It's a nice day," I lied, smiling up at the sky. "I thought I'd come out and see what everyone does during recess." I paused when she noticed the girls' puzzled stares. I guess most teachers avoided the playground and left recess supervision to the gym teachers. "I see everyone from our class," I went on after a minute, "except Angel. Do you girls know where she is?"

Two of the girls began to snicker behind their hands, and the third just bit her lip to hold back a smile. "She probably hopped on a white horse and rode back to the tower," one of them giggled.

"What?" I asked curiously.

"Nothing," spoke up the quieter of the three girls.

I lowered myself to the ground in a low crouch, silently cursing the high heels I had decided to wear as they began to sink into the turf. "Is there a problem with Angel?" I asked in a low voice. My eyes traveled to the notebook and I just barely caught a glimpse of some pink writing before two small hands covered it. "What is that?" I asked, feeling that I already knew the answer.

"Nothing," the third girl repeated.

I turned my head toward the girl and gave her what I knew was one of my most terrifying glares. I had even scared Raines away with this glare a few times. I wasn't disappointed by the girl's frightened expression.

"Melanie," I said, in a low, even voice. "Why do I think you're lying to me?"

"I... uh..." Melanie glanced at the other two girls, who shrugged. "It's her notebook," she whispered, avoiding my eyes.

"Why do you have it?" I asked.

"We took it," Melanie whimpered.

"Well, I'll be taking it now," I stated, gently but firmly pulling the notebook away from the middle girl. "And, for the last time, do any of you know where Angel is?"

All three shook their heads, and no one dared to speak.

"Well, if any of you pull this kind of stunt again, I guarantee you will be sorry." Rising to my feet gracefully, I transformed my angry glare into a warning smile. "I'll see you girls in class." With that, I turned around and went back into the building, pleased with the look of fear I had seen in those girls' eyes. It was the look of fear I had always wanted to inspire in my cruel classmates when I was a young girl, and I almost felt that my torment was avenged.

My triumph, however, was short-lived. After a quick search of the cafeteria, ladies' rooms, and guidance office, I had not located Angel, and the notebook I held felt almost like it was on fire. I finally hurried back to my classroom, and when I saw that Angel had still not appeared, I decided to use the rest of my break to read the notebook. I had to know what I was dealing with.



* * * * *



"Those shoes look nice with that outfit. You're right, you do have better taste in shoes than I do."

I groaned as I stepped into my room that evening to find Jarod already waiting for me. Sadly, he had chosen not to wear the construction worker outfit, but at least he didn't look filthy this time. Once again, he was stretched out on my bed, looking comfortable and content. He was also, I noticed, looking at my legs.

"You seem to be pretty comfortable in my room," I remarked casually, throwing my bag down by the door. "Should I get them to bring in a cot for me, so you can have my bed?"

Jarod smiled. "That won't be necessary, but thanks."

"Don't mention it." I slipped my shoes off beside my bag and moaned softly at the relief that the simple action provided. Then, without another word, I went into the bathroom to clean up and remove my stockings. I briefly considered ignoring Jarod altogether and drawing a hot bath, but in the end, I decided I'd better talk to him, at least for a minute. Otherwise, he'd probably barge into the bathroom, making things a whole lot more personal and confusing.

Exiting the bathroom, I crossed the room to the bed, and after shoving Jarod's feet out of the way, plopped down wearily. Too tired to be terribly concerned about Jarod's nearness, I settled more comfortably on the bed and pulled one foot up into my lap to rub it. I didn't speak, waiting first to see what he would say. I glanced at him occasionally out of the corner of my eye, just to make sure he didn't get any funny ideas.

"Your feet hurt?" Jarod asked, after a few minutes of watching me.

"No, I just want my hands to smell like feet," I snapped, nonplused by the inane conversation starter. "What do you think?"

"It's a shame that such nice shoes should hurt your feet like that," he said thoughtfully. "I've never really had that problem."

"Of course not, you're a man," I replied. "With men, comfort always comes first. But us women, we have to look good, even if it means killing ourselves in the process."

"That's terrible," Jarod remarked.

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever."

"Anyway, I think you'd look good in any pair of shoes," he went on. "But the only important thing is for you to like them, I guess."

"Jarod, I don't really feel like talking about footwear at the moment, do you mind?" I grunted softly as I dug a thumb into the arch of my foot and felt a jolt of pain shoot toward my toes.

"Here, let me." Sitting up, Jarod reached forward and grabbed both of my shins, as if it were the most natural action in the world, and swung me around with frightening ease. Then he took one foot between his hands and began to rub it methodically. "You know, you carry a lot of tension in your feet."

"What the hell do you think you're... ahhhhh..." I closed my eyes as Jarod's fingers worked their magic, easing the tension and pain out of my abused feet. A tiny voice in my head reminded me that I should probably protest this uninvited physical contact, but I was literally unable to do so. I would have been perfectly okay if Jarod had continued this for the next three days. Even if Raines and my father had suddenly run into the room, I wouldn't have wanted to give this up.

"Feeling any better?" Jarod asked after a few moments of silence.

"God, Jarod," I mumbled, my eyes still closed, "how in the hell are you doing this?"

"Pressure points," he replied instantly. "It all has to do with where the blood and the nerve endings--"

"Forget it, I don't know what to know," I interrupted. I clamped my mouth shut to suppress a soft moan of contentment. Conversation was no longer of interest to me.

He chuckled. "Okay." He was silent for a long moment, kneading my foot, before he cleared his throat to speak again. "I visited Sydney for lunch this afternoon. Thank you."

I opened my eyes and looked at him. My assumption had been right right; he had gone into my room and found my note, asking him to meet Syd. What surprised me was that he had found it before lunch. That meant he was a frequent visitor of my room, stopping by mornings as well as evenings. I knew I would have felt horrified and violated if any other man had even dreamed of doing that, but with Jarod, I wasn't really sure how I felt about it. After all, he had been making clandestine visits to my house for years, and I hadn't changed the locks or gotten a security system yet. "Was it a nice visit?" I asked neutrally.

"Yes," he nodded. "And I don't think he's mad at you anymore."

"Good. I haven't seen him since this morning."

"Talk to him tomorrow."

I nodded my head in agreement and closed my eyes. At the thought of going through another day of this charade, I remembered what Jarod and I really needed to talk about. I still didn't want to discuss it, but somehow I knew that putting it off wouldn't help anyone. "Don't you want to hear about Angel?" I asked softly.

"When you're ready," he replied. He gently picked up my other foot and began to work on it. "I don't have anywhere else to be."

"Hm." I sighed and tried to concentrate solely on Jarod's warm touch, but once Angel's name had been spoken, the fragile peace inside me had shattered. "I think I blew it," I whispered, feeling the sting of hot tears as they built up behind my eyelids.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I failed." I opened my eyes as the tears began to spill out. "She left school in the middle of the day today, and she never came back. I couldn't get her on the phone, and I couldn't find her. For all I know, she could be--"

"No, don't think that way," Jarod interrupted kindly, momentarily pausing his massage to merely cradle my foot in his hands, in a strange but comforting gesture. "Most likely, she just went home, and maybe she locked herself in her room."

"Or maybe her bastard of a father¬"

"No, she's okay," Jarod insisted.

I sucked in a hopeful breath. "How do you know?"

"She has to be."

Not exactly relieved, I slumped my shoulders and wiped away my tears with the back of my hand. "What am I going to do?"

"Why don't you start with telling me how this happened?" Jarod suggested calmly.

"I waited for her during recess," I recounted weakly, avoiding his eyes. "When she didn't show up, I went looking for her outside, and I noticed three of the other girls laughing about something. I went over to talk to them, and I recognized Angel's notebook in their hands. I made them give it back to me, and I¬" I stopped suddenly as Jarod chuckled. "What?"

"Just imagining what you must have said to them," he replied with amusement.

I allowed myself a small smile. "Well, yeah, those three are going to be my prize pupils from now on, I'll tell you that. Assuming I don't just pack up and leave right now, that is..." Sniffling loudly, I extricated my foot from Jarod's hands and reluctantly slid down from the bed.

"You're not going to give up now," he told me. "This is far from over."

"Yeah, I know..." I wandered over to my suitcase and began rummaging around for a pair of pajamas, embarrassed that he had seen my tears. "I wish it was."

"I know, I do too," he said gently. "What else happened today?"

"Well, I read that damn notebook, that's what," I said, sighing heavily. "Apparently Angel is something of a junior novelist."

"Really," Jarod said with interest. "How do you mean?"

"She's been using the notebook to write a fantasy story," I replied. "About a young princess, and her sick Daddy."

"Sick?"

I let out a short, bitter laugh. "The King is apparently a good, kind man, but sometimes he loses his temper and hurts his daughter. He does it because he's sick, but he doesn't mean it. He loves her. Can you believe that?" I hung my head and stared into my suitcase until the contents blurred before my eyes. There was a long, heavy silence until I felt Jarod's hands resting lightly on my shoulders and his breath near my ear. "And one day a crazy magician named Jarod tried to steal her away from the King," I added.

"I'd almost laugh if it wasn't so sad," Jarod murmured. "I think I played the same role in all those fairy tales Daddy Parker used to tell you."

"Hmmm..." I replied noncommittally. We both knew it was true. I shook my head and forced myself to continue looking through my suitcase. "Anyway, I kept calling over there but I didn't get an answer, and it was all I could do to keep myself from going to the house and breaking the door down. But now I'm thinking maybe I should have gone there... I spent hours in a park, hoping maybe she'd just happen to show up..." I trailed off, angry at myself.

"You did the right thing," Jarod said encouragingly. "Going there only would have blown your cover, and McCann would have figured out that we're working together."

"Working together..." I mumbled. I shrugged off Jarod's hands and walked toward the bathroom with everything I needed for my shower. "I need a hot shower," I stated, my back still to Jarod. "Should I be expecting your company when I'm done?"

"Do you want me to be here?" Jarod asked in a soft voice.

"I don't care," I groaned. "I don't have the energy to care..."

"Miss Parker, I've known you for most of our lives, and I know that the one thing you never stop doing is caring. As hard as you try to pretend, you've never fooled me." He paused. "Tell me the truth."

"I just want to be left alone," I sighed wearily.

"I understand. If you want to talk, about anything, give me a call. You know the number."

I cracked a tiny smile, remembering that he still had my phone. "I'll keep that in mind. Goodnight, Jarod."

"Goodnight, Miss Parker, sleep well. And good luck tomorrow. I'll be close by if you need help."

I almost thanked him, but I stopped myself just in time. Instead I just threw a glance at him over my shoulder and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

"We're going to save her," Jarod's voice rang out. A few seconds later, the front door of my motel room clicked shut, leaving me all alone.

"I hope so," I whispered softly in reply, allowing a fresh onslaught of tears stream down my face. "I hope so."



* * * * *



"Jarod," Miss Parker hissed. "Hey, wake up!"

Jarod rolled over in his bed and squinted up in confusion. "Miss Parker?" he asked faintly. "What's going on?"

"Are you sleeping?"

A slow smile crawled across Jarod's lips. "Not anymore. Is it late?"

"It's about midnight," Miss Parker confirmed with a nod. "My daddy's been working late tonight, and he thinks he might not even go home at all. So I'm sleeping over."

"Except you're not sleeping, either." Jarod sat up in bed, his face reddening slightly when he realized that he was in his bedclothes and she was still crisply dressed from the day. "Is something wrong?"

She shrugged and sat down next to Jarod's feet, suddenly apprehensive. "No," she said, shaking her head. "It's just... I can't sleep in this place. Too many noises... And it's so cold..."

"You get used to it," Jarod replied with a shrug. "At least I did."

"It's all you know," Miss Parker remarked, realizing too late that she sounded callous. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"It's okay," he said good-naturedly. "Tell me what it's like to sleep in your house," he requested. "Is it a lot different?"

She frowned slightly. "I guess it's not that great," she admitted. "But it's better than this, anyway. At least I know that it's just Daddy and me, and that there aren't any sweepers watching me."

"Why isn't it great to sleep at home?" Jarod asked in wonder. "I would do anything to experience that again. I don't remember my old home..."

"Home isn't always a picture postcard, Jarod," Miss Parker replied bitterly.

"A what?"

"A fairy tale," Miss Parker tried again.

"What?"

She sighed in irritation. "It's not always as perfect as you imagine it," she huffed, irritated about having to spell it out for him. "Here, everything revolves around you, you're important. No one will ever forget about you. You should be grateful."

Jarod eyed her strangely. "They make me work all the time," he reminded her. "They keep me locked up."

"But at least you're important," she insisted.

"I don't want to be important," he told her. "All I want is to have a family..."

"Families aren't always that great either, you know."

Jarod's eyes hardened stubbornly. "My family loves me," he said in a sharp voice. "Wherever they are, I just know they love me."

"How can you be so sure?"

He glared unflinchingly. "I just am."

She shrugged. "Well, there's another thing you have that I don't," she said, beginning to feel even more sorry for herself.

Instantly, Jarod's hard expression melted, and he looked at Miss Parker with eyes full of concern. "What do you mean? Your family loves you."

"No, they don't." Miss Parker sighed. "My Mom lied to me all the time, and then she abandoned me. She didn't care enough to stay with me."

"That's not--"

"And then there's my father," she interrupted with a soft snort. "I wonder if he even remembers my name."

"Of course he does."

She shrugged doubtfully.

"I remember it, too," Jarod whispered.

Miss Parker turned to him, smiling sadly. "You know, sometimes I wonder..." She trailed off and looked away, suddenly embarrassed. "Never mind."

"No, what is it?" Jarod prodded eagerly.

She sighed. "I wonder if everyone in the world is loved by somebody," she said wistfully, staring at the cold, gray wall. "Or if there are some people out there who are just alone, totally alone..."

"You're not alone, Miss Parker," Jarod said softly, reaching for her hand. "And neither am I."

"I just want to know, the way you do about your parents, that somebody loves me," she murmured desperately, her voice trembling. "That I matter somehow." She hung her head and began to cry, repressing her sobs to soft sniffles.

Jarod scrambled out of bed, forgetting his earlier embarrassment, and crawled over to Miss Parker on his knees. Gently, careful not to offend or scare her, he put his arms around her. "Shhh, it's okay," he said soothingly.

Instantly, Miss Parker swiveled slightly and threw herself at Jarod, pressing her cheek against his chest. "Why- did this happen... to us?" she asked haltingly, between sobs. "How did we end up so alone? What did we do wrong?"

"We didn't do anything," Jarod said reassuringly, rubbing her back with one hand, and her hair with the other. "And we're not alone, I told you. We have each other."

"Thank you," Miss Parker sniffled. "This is so embarrassing..." She attempted to pull away, but Jarod's hold was firm.

"You are loved, Miss Parker," he whispered into her hair. Then he moved his mouth closer to her ear and repeated the sentiment softly, this time using her real first name. His breath was like a gentle caress against her face and ear, and she closed her eyes at the pleasant sensation.

Miss Parker smiled a bit even as more tears spilled from her eyes, and she clung tightly to Jarod. "Can-can I stay here tonight?" she asked, her voice weak and childish.

"For a little while, of course," Jarod said gently. "But we have to be careful that you don't get caught. I don't want you to get into trouble."

She nodded against him. "Okay," she agreed wearily, her tears abating. "Thank you, Jarod."

"Shhh..." As boldly as he dared, he eased the two of them down to the bed so that they laid alongside each other on the narrow mattress and brushed her damp hair from her tear stained face. She noted that he was careful to behave like a gentleman, and she appreciated it more than he could ever know. "You don't have to thank me. I'm always here for you. Remember that, okay?"

"Okay." Her eyelids began to droop and she snuggled contentedly against Jarod. She felt safe and warm in his arms, and suddenly, the Centre seemed like the most comfortable place in the world. "Same here," she mumbled. "'Night."

"Goodnight, Miss Parker."



"Well, that's a new one," I grumbled as I waded into consciousness to find the bright sun shining on my face. I rolled over and buried my head in the pillow, willing the dream to fade.

I dreamt regularly of myself and Jarod as young children, but rarely did a vivid memory surface in my dreams that my conscious mind had forgotten. However, that was exactly what had just happened that morning, and I felt vaguely sick to my stomach as I thought about it.

As always, I felt a deep loathing for my younger self, wishing I could slap the stupid girl and tell her to grow up and stop being so weak. The way I had clung to Jarod back then was shameful and embarrassing, I told myself, and it was no wonder that Jarod had always kept in touch after his escape. I had made him believe I was dependent on him, and he had taken his vow to me seriously. He clearly forgot nothing, when it came to our relationship, and even went so far as to repeat lines of dialogue to me nearly twenty five years later.

"How did we end up like this?"

"Like what?"

"Alone."

I grimaced as I recalled our conversation from two years earlier, on Valentine's Day. At the time, I hadn't recognized his question as my own childish one, but now I was unable to forget it. Alone... It had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I had turned my back on Jarod, my only solace, and the two of us were left completely alone.

Things were changing now, though. I had let him back into my life for the sake of Angel, and I was finding it difficult to remember why I hated him so much. The thought scared me a little, but I wasn't prepared to contemplate the reason just yet.

Instead, I forced myself to climb out of bed and face the day.

Thirty minutes later, I was outside on the motel's sidewalk, knocking on Sydney's door. I only had to wait a minute before it was opened and the older man stood smiling on the threshold.

"Good morning," he said brightly. "I didn't see you last night, was everything okay?"

I nodded as I stepped into the room. "I had kind of a bad day, and I just didn't feel like coming home. Not home, I mean..." I gestured around, grimacing at the notion that I had just called this motel 'home.' "Here. I stayed out kind of late."

"You ate dinner, I hope?"

I frowned, considering. I did have a gnawing ache in my stomach. "No, I guess not," I replied with a casual shrug.

He shook his head disapprovingly. "Well, it's early, we can get something now, if you want."

"Yeah, and Syd, don't take the bus today, okay?" I requested, offering a small smile. "I can drive you."

"Okay." He smiled back. "Thank you for what you did yesterday."

"What?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"My lunch with Jarod," he specified.

I avoided his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He laughed gently. "He told me that you asked him to visit me," he admitted. "He said he wanted to anyway, but he was afraid." Sydney's eyes widened in disbelief. "Can you believe that? Jarod was afraid."

"I believe it," I replied thoughtfully, acutely aware that inside the cool, confident Jarod, was a scared little boy. His mask was just as successful as mine, but I was one of the few who knew the truth. "So you had a nice lunch, then?"

Sydney nodded, grinning. "It was wonderful to see him when there was no one around holding a gun," he said. "He didn't disappear on me in the middle of a conversation, and I wasn't making him pretend to be someone else. It was just... him and me."

I chewed thoughtfully on my lower lip, thinking about how complicated everyone's relationships were because of the Centre. "He is your son, isn't he, Syd?"

"Not by blood, but yes..." His watery eyes met mine. "I don't know if I should hate the Centre for what it did to us, or thank it for bringing him into my life. And you, as well."

I nodded in complete understanding. Suddenly, my eyes began to itch and I was afraid I would begin to cry. To suppress the urge, I straightened my shoulders resolutely and drew in a deep breath. I was not going to cry in front of Sydney. It was bad enough that I'd done it in front of Jarod. "Well, if we're going to get breakfast and get to work on time, we'd better get going. Are you ready?"

"Yes, just let me get my jacket and briefcase," he said, his gaze lingering on me before he turned away to get the items.

"How do you like being a social worker, by the way?" I asked him.

"Actually, I love it," he said enthusiastically. "I get to be a counselor, but I also get to find practical solutions at the same time. I've already found a foster home for an orphaned child, and the feeling is just..." He shook his head in disbelief. "I believe I went into the wrong line of work."

I chuckled. "Well, leave it to Jarod to point that out to you," I remarked.

"He also explained to me why he gave me this job," Sydney went on. "Once we can convince Angel to leave her father, Jarod wants me to take her case. He wants me to counsel her, if necessary, and find her a family. He trusts me enough to do this." Sydney's eyes shone with pride as he slipped into his jacket.

"You'll do a great job," I said softly, meaning every word. "Assuming I don't screw up my part of the plan."

"You won't," he said confidently. "Now come on, let's get started."

"Good plan." I walked out of the room ahead of Sydney, clutching my briefcase in one hand and fumbling for my sunglasses with the other. I was nearing my car when suddenly the heel of my shoe got stuck in a crack. "Ow!" I barked, nearly losing my balance. "Damn sidewalk." I bent down to free the heel, thinking briefly that something like this wouldn't have happened in Jarod's sensible clogs. "I think this is a bad omen," I remarked to Sydney as I got myself free and stepped off the curb.

He chuckled. "Don't be silly. It's going to be a good day. I can feel it."

I gave him a skeptical look and pulled my car keys out of my pocket. "All I can feel is a migraine," I grumbled. Ignoring Sydney's amused gaze, I slid behind the wheel of my car and begged silently for a miracle.



* * * * *



By recess that day, I was frantic. Angel had not shown up for school at all, and no one was picking up the phone at the McCann residence. I had left a vague message, trying to sound casual and not reveal that Angel had missed school, but once I had hung up the phone, I couldn't even remember what I had said. I'd even interrogated Melanie and her friends, but none of them claimed to have any knowledge of Angel's whereabouts.

My desperation finally drove me to do something I had vowed silently not to do: I went to Jarod for help.

After locking my classroom door and settling down at my desk, I pulled out Jarod's cell phone and dialed the number for my own. I waited impatiently while it rang, terrified that he wouldn't pick up and equally terrified that he would. I didn't like asking for help, but my fear for Angel made the idea of working solo seem dangerous.

Finally, after five rings, the phone was answered.

"What?" Jarod's voice rang out somewhat rudely. There was a loud buzzing sound in the background.

"Whoever taught you phone etiquette should be shot," I quipped nervously.

"Miss Parker!" Jarod replied, sounding relieved. "I'm sorry, but I was afraid it might be Lyle or your father. And anyway, I learned all about phone manners from you."

I cracked a smile, conceding silently that it was the truth. "Where are you?"

"Old habits die hard?"

My smile widened slightly. "No, I'm just wondering about all the noise."

Jarod laughed softly. "Oh, that. I'm at work, of course." He paused. "Miss Parker, is something wrong? I didn't actually expect you to call..."

I sighed, returning to the reason for my call. "Yeah, something's wrong. Angel still didn't come to school today. I'm worried. What if it's too late?"

There was a long moment of silence before Jarod finally spoke. "Give it the rest of the day, maybe," he said, sounding unsure of himself. "Keep trying to call, and keep praying for a miracle. If you still don't see her or talk to her, we'll make a plan. We'll storm the house if necessary, even if it means getting shot at by cops. We can't let this go on much longer... But we can't overreact..."

"Jarod, you're not really making me feel any better here," I said nervously.

"I'm sorry..." He sighed. "Look, let me think about it some, okay? Meanwhile, keep doing your thing over there. I'll be in touch."

"Alright... See you tonight?"

"Uh... Sure."

I smiled slightly, quietly pleased that I had surprised him, and also that he would be there to keep me company after another harrowing day. "Have fun at work, break a leg."

"You're only supposed to say that to actors, not contractors," he replied. "Anyway, I'm heading back toward you, and maybe I'll set up surveillance or something."

"Whatever, just don't get caught." I almost said goodbye, but at the last minute, decided to forgo the formality and simply hang up on him. The small action of retaliation, and the amusement of our shifting roles in the phone games we always played, made me smile a little despite my distress.

Soon enough, though, the end of recess bell rang again, and it was back to work. Thoughts about Jarod and Angel would have to wait.



* * * * *

End of part 1

* * * * *

For disclaimers and other info, see Part One.


In Someone Else's Shoes - Part Two

By: Kristin A.


* * * * *

After school that afternoon, I trudged wearily toward my car, feeling exhausted and defeated. The last hour or so had been rough, as the children had finished their work a little early and had become restless. I hadn't been able to calm them down until I began telling them stories about the various foreign countries I had visited. As I told them all about Japan, I had been mildly disturbed to see their rapt faces and curious eyes. I wasn't used to commanding such an eager audience, especially such a young one, and it had been difficult to sound confident and interesting. By the time it was over, I just wanted to curl up under my desk for a long nap, it had been that tiring.

Rummaging around blindly in my bag as I walked, I dug out my cell phone and hit the redial button. I listened as it rang twice, before Jarod picked up.

"Yes?" he asked cautiously. I noticed that there was no background noise this time, and Jarod sounded more shaky than annoyed.

"It's me," I said, feeling as if I had suddenly slipped into a parallel universe, where Jarod and I called each other to chat after work. The thought almost made me smile, but not quite. "How's it going?"

He sighed. "You're gonna kill me."

I paused, mid-stride, and braced myself for the worst. This was not what I had been expecting him to say. "What?"

"I lost her," he replied darkly. "I saw her, I actually saw her, and then... She got away."

I almost collapsed in a fit of laughter at his response. As it was, I was unable to suppress a soft chortle. Angel was alive, that much was clear, and she was smart enough to elude the Centre's finest mind. I already felt a little lighter.

"What's so funny?" Jarod growled defensively.

"Down, boy," I replied. "I'm just thinking how amusing it is that you're supposed to be a genius, more than a genius, really, and yet you can't keep tabs on an 11-year-old girl. What happened, did you get distracted by an ice cream vendor?"

There was a long pause. "I fail to see the humor in the situation," Jarod replied tightly.

"My, how the tables have turned," I observed candidly. "We switch cell phones and suddenly our attitudes reverse. I wonder if maybe our problem these last five years has been the cell phones."

"Parker..." he said warningly.

"Jarod, relax," I told him, still amused but doing my best to hide it. After all, I know how delicate male pride is, and I knew it was just cruel to keep pushing Jarod's buttons. Even if it was pretty damn fun. "You're missing the whole point here. Angel's okay. You saw her. That means we still have a chance."

He paused again. "Yeah, you're right," he said at last. "It was only about an hour ago that I lost her... She was walking down a street in her neighborhood, but then she suddenly disappeared into a neighbor's back yard... But I guess as long as she's out of her house..."

"Don't panic," I assured him, finding it odd that suddenly I was the confident one. When had that happened, anyway? "Meet me back at my room, and we'll figure something out."

"Alright, I'll be there." Jarod abruptly hung up, almost as if to beat me to the punch.

Laughing softly, I tossed the phone back into my bag and resumed the walk to my car. I was settled comfortably in my seat, the radio playing softly, and directing the car out of the parking lot when I heard a cough from the back seat.

Sucking in a deep breath, I pulled over to the shoulder of the road and stopped the car. I didn't have my gun, of course, but I did have 'The Club,' which I picked up. Then I whirled around toward the back seat, brandishing the makeshift weapon.

"Okay, who the hell is hiding back here?" I growled threateningly.

There was a small sniff, and I lowered the club a bit. "Hello?"

Slowly, a small, dark head peeked out from behind my seat. I nearly dropped the steel bar, I was so startled. "Angel," I breathed, my eyes drinking in the sight of the young girl. There weren't any new scratches or bruises on her face, thankfully, but she did look dirty and tired. Her eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with pink.

"I hope you don't mind," Angel said tentatively. "I didn't know where else to go."

I hastily put my weapon back down on the passenger side floor and turned back to the little girl. "What is going on?" I asked fearfully. "Why have you been skipping school?"

"It's my Daddy," Angel said in a grave voice. "He found out that I ran home from school after those girls stole my notebook, and he said if I was going to be that way, I could just stay home all the time. He locked me in my room..." She sniffled. "I climbed down a tree by my window and got out, but now I don't have anywhere to go... I can't go home, Daddy will kill me. But there's a man chasing me..." She shrugged helplessly. "I knew you would help me."

I swallowed hard, nearly choking on sympathy for this poor girl, and awed at the trust I saw in her eyes. "Angel, does your Daddy hurt you?" I asked gently.

After a long hesitation, Angel nodded slowly. "He doesn't mean--"

"If I take you back to where I'm staying, will you talk to me about it?" I interrupted. "Will you let me try and help you?"

"I guess so," Angel replied. "Only if you'll promise that nobody will hurt me. I'm not supposed to trust strangers, but..."

"You can trust me, Angel," I promised. "And you can trust Jarod, too. He's the man who has been chasing you, isn't he?"

Angel's eyes widened in terror. "Yes," she whispered. "You... you know him?"

I nodded. "He's... he's my friend," I said, wondering when I had started to think of him that way again.

"So when you told Miss Robbins about your boyfriend Jarod..."

"We were both talking about the same person," I confirmed. "I just didn't want Miss Robbins to know that. He's not crazy, I promise you that." Even though he does seem that way sometimes, I added silently.

Angel's eyes darted toward the door. "I don't know--"

"Jarod's a good person, Angel," I said, realizing how true it was. "He would never, ever hurt you. All he wants is for you to be safe."

"But he--"

"Please, will you trust him?" I begged, feeling on the verge of desperation. "I can't do this alone, and I need his help."

Angel pressed her lips together, considering. "I guess," she said doubtfully. "But if he does anything--"

"If he does, I'll kill him," I promised. "But it won't come to that. We both want to help you."

"Okay..."

I blew out a soft sigh of relief. "Okay, buckle up, and I'll take you to my motel. Jarod's going to be there, and we're all going to talk about this, okay?"

"Okay," Angel said, obeying instantly.

"Okay." I turned and put the car back into gear, easing onto the road again. As an afterthought, I glanced in the rearview mirror and caught Angel's eye. "You did the right thing," I said reassuringly. "I'm glad you came to me."

Angel just dropped her eyes and nodded silently. But I wasn't too worried anymore. The hardest part was over.



* * * * *



I pushed open the door to my motel room just in time to see Jarod pacing across my room. He stopped immediately when he heard the noise of my entrance, and gave me a guilty look.

"Miss Parker, I'm sorry," he said nervously. "I--" He stopped suddenly as Angel walked into the room behind me. "My... What... Parker?" His probing stare darted between the two of us, eliciting another laugh from me. I had forgotten how funny he could be when he didn't understand a situation.

"I found this hiding in my car," I said in a teasing voice, placing a gentle hand on Angel's shoulder. "Can I keep her?"

Angel giggled softly, and Jarod's expression relaxed at last. "I'm so glad you're okay," he told the little girl sincerely. He reached one arm out, almost as if he wanted to hug her, but he awkwardly drew back and pointed toward the bed. "Why don't we sit down?" he suggested.

"Good idea." I steered Angel toward the bed, and both of us climbed up, getting comfortable.

Jarod pulled a chair up close and eased his tall frame into it, obviously trying to appear non-threatening. "I know you saw me following you today," he said apologetically. "I'm sorry if I scared you."

"It's okay," Angel said softly, looking down. "It's just..."

"I know, what I did to your dad probably scared you," he said. "I guess I need to rethink my methods a little bit. But I promise, everything I did was to help you."

Angel looked up at him finally, her eyes wide with confusion. "But why?"

He sighed softly. "I was working in the hospital for awhile," he admitted. "I saw you when you came in for a possible wrist fracture. Do you remember?"

She nodded slowly, comprehension dawning on her face. "The X-Ray guy," she murmured. "I knew it."

"Yeah, that was me. I didn't examine you, but from what the doctor told me, I knew what was going on." He paused for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft. "Your dad hits you, doesn't he?"

Angel closed her eyes and sighed. "Sometimes, yeah," she whispered. "But he doesn't mean to, honestly. He loves me, it's just..." she trailed off wearily.

"Angel, I know that you love your father, but you have to realize that what he's doing to you is wrong," I spoke up at last, surprising myself. "No one should ever have to worry about being hit, especially by a parent."

"But sometimes I don't do what he says, or I get in his way..."

"Why did you hide in my car today?" I challenged. "Because he scared you, right?"

Angel nodded mutely.

"Well, then. Maybe it's time to stop defending him and start taking care of yourself."

Angel's eyes flashed defiantly, although the rest of her remained passive and timid. "Why is this so important to you?" she asked. "What difference does it make to you what my father does?"

"Because my father hurt me, too," I murmured, feeling the hot tears begin to prick at the corners of my eyes.

Instantly, Angel's mouth dropped open and she stared at me in amazement. "Will you tell me about it?" I asked. "How did you get through it?"

I glanced fearfully at Jarod. "Um..."

"You can do it, Parker," Jarod said softly, moving his chair even closer to the bed and reaching out for my hand.

Hesitantly, I uncurled my fist and allowed him to loosely grasp my fingers. I watched with curious detachment as he rubbed his thumb over my knuckles and the back of my hand, amazed at how natural the action seemed. Then I looked back at Angel, who was waiting patiently, and bravely began to tell my story.



* * * * *



By the time I had finished telling Angel the abbreviated and censored version of my father's abuse, all three of us were in tears. Nobody seemed to know what to say or do for a few minutes, until finally Jarod pulled his hand away from mine and got to his feet. Wordlessly, he began to pace again, and I could feel the anger and tension emanating from his direction.

I looked over at Angel, who was wiping her nose on the sleeve of her white sweater, and gave her a gentle smile. "So, you see," I concluded quietly, "I just don't want you to be hurt anymore. I know you love your Daddy, but like you said, he's sick. He needs help if he's ever going to get better, and you need to be away from him while he's getting help. Do you understand?"

Angel nodded wearily. "It's just... I'm scared."

"I know you are." I patted the girl softly on the shoulder. "My other friend Sydney is going to find you a good foster home. Only the very best, I promise. And you can stay there while your Daddy's getting well. All you have to do is tell him what your Daddy does to you."

"Can't I stay with you?" Angel asked, her voice heartbreakingly small.

I felt an ache deep in my chest. "No, I'm sorry," I said regretfully. "I'd love that, but... my life is too unstable, dangerous... It wouldn't be safe for you."

"Maybe you need to find a new home, too," Angel said wisely.

I smiled gently as Jarod paused to catch my eye before resuming his restless pacing. "Maybe," I conceded. "But for now, you need to find a steady home. And Sydney's going to help you with that. I promise, you can trust him, too. He's our friend."

Angel sighed. "Alright," I said, pouting slightly, but obviously trying to be agreeable.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked after a minute. "What made you come to me for help?"

Angel smiled crookedly. "I remember that you came to my house," she said. "I saw you and that other man talking to Daddy. Then the next day, you were my teacher. You were dressed all different, and you acted much nicer, but I knew it was you. Your name isn't really Bridget Murphy, and it's not Miss Tyler, either." She nodded toward Jarod. "He keeps calling you Parker."

"You're right," I said, nearly smacking my forehead as I realized the obvious. Angel had known all along that I was a fraud."Is that all? You asked me for help because you knew I wasn't who I pretended to be?"

"Well... No, it's silly."

"Tell me," I urged, curious.

Angel bit her lip. "I just had a feeling that I could trust you. Like... like you were connected to me somehow. I just... trusted you. I've been wanting to ask somebody for help, but you were the first person I trusted. I wasn't sure if I should, but when my Daddy locked me up... I got scared. He's never done that before, and I just knew it was time... I felt like maybe you would listen to me."

Tears jumped once again to my eyes, pooling inside for a long moment before sliding down my cheeks. I imagined, strangely, that I could hear my mother's voice telling me how proud she was. "I'm glad you came to talk to me," I whispered, reaching for her hand.

Angel squeezed my hand slightly. "Tomorrow, I'll talk to your friend Sydney," she said bravely. "If you promise me that my Daddy won't just get thrown into jail, and that I won't get hurt by my new family."

"I promise," I said, nodding.

"Okay. So maybe you can come get me tomorrow afternoon?"

"What?" I narrowed my eyes. "Get you from where?"

"My house," Angel replied. "I'm going home tonight."

"No!" Jarod said forcefully, turning around and staring at her.

Angel's eyes widened in fear. "I--"

"You can't go back there," Jarod said firmly.

"Jarod, you're scaring her," I spoke up, looking between the two. "Calm down, please."

Jarod stared at Angel for a few more seconds before turning his gaze on me. Instantly, he softened and turned away again, muttering to himself.

That obstacle overcome, I turned back to Angel. "Now, why do you want to go home tonight?" I asked, fighting my own nausea at the idea.

"I don't know when I'm going to see my Daddy again," Angel said shakily. "I... I just want to see him once more."

"Don't you think he'll hurt you?" I asked.

She shrugged. "He doesn't do it every night," she said practically. "Please, I'm going to miss him so much... He's all I have."

"Parker..." Jarod said warningly, keeping his back to the two of us.

"It's not a good idea,"I said reluctantly, understanding Angel's problem but agreeing mostly with Jarod.

Angel's eyes took on that contrary expression again and she frowned. "I'm not going to let you keep me prisoner in here," she said. "That's what he did to me."

"We're not trying to hold you prisoner," I said carefully. "We just want to keep you safe. We'll worry about you if you go home."

"I want to go home," Angel insisted. "Please... it's all I have. And I need to pack some things..."

I felt my resolve begin to weaken. I knew if I was in Angel's position, I'd want to go back home, too. In fact, I had been in Angel's position once, and I'd been terribly afraid to leave my home, as much as I had hated it. I understood. "Well, maybe just tonight," I said uncertainly. "But I really don't want you to..."

"Thank you!" Angel cried, surprising me by throwing her thin arms around me. "I promise, I'll do everything else you say, if I can just have one more night..."

"Okay," I said. "We'll take you home and come back for you in the morning. Are you sure we can do it without your father finding out what happened?"

"I'm sure. He won't be home until later tonight."

"I can't support this," Jarod spoke up darkly, still refusing to face us. "I wish you'd reconsider."

"She has to do what feels right, Jarod," I said diplomatically. "If we want to take care of Angel, we have to consider her feelings. Okay?"

His shoulders sagged, but he nodded. "I'll be picking you up at 10 AM," he said, sounding defeated. "We'll go straight to Sydney."

"This is so weird," Angel remarked, sitting up straighter on the bed. "But thank you."

I smiled at Angel, thinking how amazing and intelligent this young girl was. It was incredible, really, how grown up she was. Yet still, she had the ability to be so trusting and hopeful. I supposed that abuse had a way of aging children prematurely, although not completely. I could certainly attest to that.

"Hey," I said suddenly, remembering something. "I have your notebook." I got up from the bed and retrieved it from my suitcase, where I had stashed it the night before. "I took it from the girls," I explained, handing it to the grateful child. "I recognized it as yours."

Angel smiled tearfully. "Thank you," she said, clutching the notebook to her chest.

"You're welcome." I patted the dark head fondly. "Now, before we take you home, how about we go find some ice cream?" I suggested.

Angel's eyes lit up, and suddenly she was just a little girl again. "Can we?"

"Jarod?" I asked, turning to him. "Know any good places where we won't be seen?"

Jarod turned slowly, and despite himself, he cracked a tiny smile. "I might know someplace," he said.

I grinned. "Well, lead the way," I directed cheerfully. I held Angel's hand as the two of us followed Jarod outside, suppressing the urge to laugh. You can always count on Jarod to find ice cream in a crisis situation.



* * * * *



"Are you sure about this?"

Angel met Jarod's eye briefly and nodded. "I want my Daddy to get help, but I need to say goodbye first. Not that I'll actually say it, but..."

"I understand," I spoke up. "We're worried about you, though."

"I'll be fine."

The three of us sat in my car, a few blocks away from the McCann house. We had gone to an ice cream place two towns over, and while Angel and I bonded, Jarod had kept respectfully quiet. I had caught him staring at me several times, but every time our eyes met, he had looked away. I wasn't sure if he was mad at me, or just angry with the whole situation. In any case, I decided to ignore him for the moment and concentrate on Angel.

At the ice cream store, when Angel had come dangerously close to spilling fudge sauce on her dress, I had asked about her unusual clothing. Angel had revealed, as I had suspected, that the white dress she always wore was her mother's wedding dress, cut down to fit her better. She said the dress just felt like her mother, and when she wore it, she could almost hear her mother's voice. I sympathized deeply, and told the little girl to always keep her mother's memory close.

"Well, I better go," Angel said, breaking the heavy silence that had descended upon the car.

I cleared my throat and nodded. "Alright, kid. Let's do this." I got out of the car and opened the door to the backseat. I leaned in slightly to give Angel a hug, then helped her out. "Remember, just pack what you need, and don't let your Daddy know what you're doing."

Jarod got out as well, and came around to where we were standing. He held out my cell phone. "Take this," he offered, shooting me an apologetic look. "Leave it turned off, and use it to call Miss Parker tonight before bed. You remember the number I told you, right?"

Angel nodded and took the phone timidly.

"Good." Jarod sighed softly. "And if you get scared, or change your mind, or anything happens, promise me you'll call?"

"Promise," she agreed. She looked up tearfully at me. "I gotta go."

"I know." I leaned down for another hug and then nodded toward Angel's street. "Don't get caught," I warned.

"I won't. Bye." Angel smiled briefly at the two of us and began to walk away, only looking back once.

After she had disappeared around the corner, Jarod and I reluctantly got back in the car. The tension inside was so thick, I felt like I was choking on it. I rested my head wearily on the steering wheel and sighed.

"I'm sorry," I said softly. "I know you hate this. I do too. But we have to respect her wishes. We can't just kidnap a child, even if it is for her own good."

"Yeah, I know." There was a long pause. "Remember how I said I needed you for this?" he asked.

Surprised, I lifted my head and looked at Jarod. He looked tired and worn down, but his expression was similar to that of a proud parent. "Yeah," I replied, nodding. I had originally thought he was crazy when he had recruited me for this crusade, but now I could see that my presence was the only reason Angel had decided to escape her situation. It was a frightening responsibility to know that I had the power of altering a child's future.

"Looks like I was right," he murmured, smiling gently.

"Looks like," I agreed. Suddenly uncomfortable with the weight of his stare, I turned away and started the car. "I need to pick up Sydney," I remembered suddenly, checking my watch.

"Drop me off at your motel so I can get my car," Jarod requested. "I have some things I should take care of, and then I want to be there tomorrow when you get Angel."

"Why don't you stay with us?" I asked, realizing that I was strangely unwilling to let him go. "We can all go eat."

He chuckled gently. "That sounds nice, but I really do need to work on some things. For instance, making sure someone will be teaching your class tomorrow. Since you won't be showing up."

I laughed, embarrassed that I hadn't even thought of that. "Yeah, I guess that's important," I said. "What are you going to do?"

"Don't worry about it, I have it all figured out," he said mysteriously. "Anyway, there are a few other things I need to set up, in case things go wrong tomorrow..."

I sighed, but nodded reluctantly. "Okay, fine. But you can come back later, if you want." Realizing how needy and pathetic that sounded, I rushed on awkwardly. "I mean, you don't have a phone anymore, so if something happens, I won't be able to call you. You might as well stay close."

"Alright, then, I'll be back," he promised.

"Okay." I pulled back into the road and began the short drive to the motel. I realized suddenly that I lost control of this whole situation. I had allowed Jarod to get close; I had allowed myself to need him. That was going to be a problem.

The mission to help Angel was almost over, and I was proud and happy that I was going to be able to help the girl. But at the same time, I knew that my life wouldn't be the same again. I was almost beginning to enjoy working with Jarod, knowing that we would both look after each other, but I knew it was not something that could last. In other day or two, I'd be back to hunting him down.

"Your mother would be really proud of you, you know," Jarod spoke up as I pulled the car into the motel parking lot.

I grimaced at his typical attempt to exploit my emotional bond to my mother. I knew he was right, of course, and that he was trying to make me feel good about what we were doing, but a part of me still resented him for knowing just how to get to me. "I guess," I muttered. I stopped the car. "See you later."

He smiled slightly. "See you later." He got out of the car and walked to his own, without sparing even a glance over his shoulder.

I watched him as he got into his car, wondering idly what he was going to do for the next two hours, and glad that he hadn't asked for my help. Jarod's talent was in considering all the details and being prepared for every situation, and it always made me tired when I tried to contemplate his methods. Still, I had to admit to myself, I was usually very impressed with his work.

Realizing that I was still staring, and that my thoughts were going in all sorts of strange directions, I forced myself to get moving. I maneuvered the car back out onto the street and headed toward the place where Sydney was working. The whole time, I wondered just what I would say to Sydney about my day.



* * * * *



That evening, instead of an early dinner with Sydney, I opted to hurry back to the motel for a long, hot bath. The stress of the day was catching up to me, and I just felt like I really needed to take a little "me" time before I was invaded by Jarod. Sure, I was the one who had invited him over, but that didn't mean I wasn't nervous and a little freaked out about the whole thing. After all, what exactly were we going to do all evening while we waited for Angel's call? Play cards or something?

As I had hoped, the bath was heavenly, and absolutely what I needed. I felt a hundred times more relaxed, and almost even prepared for Jarod's visit. I could handle this, it was no big deal. I had been forced to do much worse things in my life than spend a quiet evening with a kind, decent man. Even if that man was Jarod.

After my bath, I dried my hair and dressed in the t-shirt and pair of jeans that I always kept in my bag for emergencies. I contemplated makeup, but decided it wasn't worth the trouble. This wasn't a date, anyway. It was more like a vigil.

So it was with confidence and contentment that I strode out of the bathroom, barefoot and relaxed, nearly an hour and a half later. But as usual, my peace wasn't meant to last.

As soon as I opened the bathroom door, I was greeted with the sound of hearty laughter. Then I was treated to a peculiar sight. Over in the corner of the room, sitting at my table, were Sydney and Jarod. There was a chess board between them, and Sydney's hand was hovering over it uncertainly. Beside them, on a spare chair that must have been stolen from Syd's room, was a large pizza box.

Realizing that they hadn't seen me, I stood in the doorway and watched them for a few minutes, struggling between the desperate need to run away and the urge to go over and join them. They looked cheerful enough, but I didn't know if I necessarily wanted to interrupt their moment with my perpetual bad mood.

Eventually, I decided to just get their attention and see what happened. "Comfortable, boys?" I asked snidely, leaning up against the door frame.

Jarod's head shot up, and Sydney's whipped around, so both could stare at me. "Come over, we saved you some food," Sydney said cheerfully, gesturing at the pizza box.

"Oh good, cold pizza," I replied disdainfully, wrinkling my nose. "You really shouldn't have."

"It's not quite cold yet, I'm sure," Sydney said. "It hasn't been here long."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever." I glanced over at Jarod and noted that he was just staring at me like he was paralyzed. "What's your problem?" I snapped.

He shook his head and blinked a few times, as if clearing away the cobwebs. "Nothing," he replied at last. "It's just..." A sly smile crept across his face. "I didn't realize you could dress like a normal person."

I glared at him in annoyance. "Look who's talking," I challenged, gesturing to his all-black ensemble. "Do you dress that way because you're colorblind? And by the way, I don't know what you consider normal, but I've never been too interested in normal."

Jarod laughed, only adding to my growing irritation. "I didn't mean anything by it," he said, grinning. "Just come over and get some pizza, will you? You need to eat."

"What if I don't want to eat?" I argued, ignoring the impatient growl of my stomach.

"If you don't eat it now, it'll just get colder," he said rationally, "and then you really won't want it. Somehow you don't strike me as the cold pizza type."

"All I need is a drink," I growled. "Or a dozen."

He shook his head. "You have to eat. You make yourself sick by not eating."

"Since when are you and Sydney the food police?" I fumed, wishing myself back into the bathtub.

"We're just looking out for you. You should stop denying yourself everything. If you're hungry, eat. You deserve it."

"I deserve a lot more than lukewarm pizza," I muttered. "And I never asked anyone to look after me." I glanced pointedly at Sydney, and was only more annoyed to see that he was gazing at me with his patented expression of paternal affection and concern. Then I saw that Jarod had almost the exact same expression on his face.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," I cried, throwing up my hands. I crossed the room in a few long strides and threw open the pizza box, grabbing a slice. It was actually warmer than I had expected, and smelled good. I stuffed half the slice into my mouth at once. "Happy now?" I asked around a mouthful of pizza.

Jarod and Sydney stared at me, mouths open and eyes wide. I started laughing immediately, and had to cover my mouth to prevent myself from covering them with projectile pizza.

By the time I had swallowed, we were all laughing like old friends. I shifted the pizza box over to the radiator and, despite my reservations, sat down on the spare chair to join them. Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, I made myself comfortable and watched Jarod crucify Sydney at chess.

For a little while, I almost felt normal. And it actually didn't feel too bad.



* * * * *



"Checkmate."

I laughed as, once again, Jarod made short work of Sydney. It was pathetic, really, but Sydney was taking it well. I almost would have suspected him of letting Jarod win, just to keep him there, but I knew them both too well. First of all, Jarod was so good that it would have taken a severe lapse of judgment for Sydney to beat him, despite Sydney's formidable skill. Furthermore, if Sydney had been letting Jarod win, Jarod would have known it, and probably would have turned the tables and lost on purpose, just to make Sydney feel silly. And Sydney knew that.

It may sound absurd, but you learn a lot about someone by playing chess with them. From these two, for instance, I've learned that Jarod always wants to have the upper hand, but he likes to be subtle about it, while Sydney actually likes to see his own talent eclipsed. Of course, they both demonstrated these traits in the real world on a daily basis.

During my childhood, I had played often with both of them, and their techniques hadn't changed a bit. If they were any other two people, they would have been driving each other insane. But the funny thing was, they were having a great time.

"Why don't you give it a try, Miss Parker?" Sydney suggested after his fifth loss, scooting his chair back a little. "I'm afraid the student has surpassed the teacher here."

"I'm afraid that happened a long time ago," I remarked, taking a sip of soda. When I caught Jarod's surprised expression, I nearly choked. Nice, Parker, compliment the genius, his head isn't quite big enough yet.

"I believe you're right," Sydney agreed amiably. "In any case, I'd like to see how much of your chess lessons you have retained."

Sneaky. He wanted to see how Jarod and I would interact, and who would win. He'd probably analyze the whole thing to death later. Once a shrink, always a shrink.

"Yeah, come on," Jarod urged. "I'll go easy on you."

I smirked. "Don't do me any favors." I got to my feet and switched spots with Syd, watching passively as Jarod reset the chess board. I stared at the pieces, trying to remember everything I had learned, and all that I had seen that evening. Despite my many years away from the game, it was all coming back to me quickly.

"Ladies first," Jarod spoke up, gesturing at the board. He'd given me the white pieces and himself the black. I imagine that was supposed to be a joke.

"I don't think so," I protested. "I know that trick. You go first."

"I thought you liked to go first," he teased.

I shook my head, amazed. He was referring to our first game of Monopoly together, when I had pulled rank on him. But I knew better than to take his bait; he had a way of killing his opponent in chess when they went first. I'd learned that lesson back when I was twelve years old. I still don't fully understand how he does that. "Not this time. Go ahead, make your move."

"Whatever you say." He flashed me a quick grin and looked down at the board, considering.

Jarod's cell phone chose that moment to ring. Jarod and I stared at each other for a moment as the shrill sound echoed in the small room. We both knew there was only one person it could be.

"I'll go get it," Sydney said quickly, jumping up and crossing the room to retrieve the phone from my bedside table.

"Isn't it a bit early?" Jarod asked in a soft voice, his jaw tightening.

I looked at my watch, and when I noted that it wasn't even 8:00, I felt a stab of panic. She wouldn't be going to bed yet, would she? "Give that to me!" I snapped, jumping up and grabbing the ringing phone from Sydney's hand. I flipped it open nervously. "Angel?" I couldn't help demanding.

"M-Miss Par-Parker, help, it's, it's Daddy..." Angel's trembling voice said thinly.

My heart nearly stopped. "Angel, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

Jarod was at my side in a moment, pressing his ear up close to mine, and I shifted the phone slightly so that he could hear better.

"He-he found out," Angel murmured. "He's really... he's c-coming back... Help..."

"We're on our way," I said firmly, nearly ready to explode with anger. "Hang on, we'll be right there." But the buzzing on the other end told me that she had hung up the phone. Or someone had.

"Dammit!" I cried, tossing the phone on the floor. It bounced harmlessly and rolled over. "Come on, we're going." I ran to my suitcase and shoved on a pair of boots --you never know when you might need some sturdy boots-- then picked up my car keys. I barely noticed as I ran outside to my car that Jarod had picked up the phone and was calling the police. In fact, I barely waited for Jarod to get in the car with me before I took off. Sydney was just too slow; he got left behind.

As I sped down the street, heedless of the other cars I passed and approached, I vaguely noticed the gentle touch of a hand on my shoulder. I shook it off and his the gas a little harder. Angel had to be okay. She had to.

"Careful, Parker," Jarod was saying. "Slow down."

In retrospect, I guess I feel a little bad for him. I must have completely scared the living daylights out of him. I was probably lucky that it was nighttime and there weren't a lot of cars on the road, because it would have been really easy to get into an accident the way I was driving. And then Angel would really be in trouble.

But at the time, all I could think about was that I had to get to her. I just kept seeing my father advancing upon me with a grim look of determination on his face, and hearing my own screams. I wanted to kill him, but I'd settle for killing Beckett McCann.

Mercifully, the drive was short, and we were there in a matter of moments. I sped into the circular driveway and slammed on the brakes, throwing us both forward in our seats. Then I simply shut off the engine and leapt out of the car, leaving the keys behind, and Jarod in my dust.

When I reached the front door, I didn't bother to knock; I just threw open the unlocked door and let myself in. Immediately, I heard a muffled cry and a masculine yell, and I ran up the stairs in the direction of the noise.

Due to the noise, I found them quickly, in what was obviously Angel's room. Somewhere on the edges of my mind, I noticed the huge white teddy bear, the shelves full of dolls, and the framed photos on the wall, but they weren't important. All I could really focus on was the little girl in the corner, being kicked mercilessly by a man three times her size.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" I screamed as I burst in the door. I reached for my gun, but realized to my frustration that I didn't have it. No matter-- shooting was too good for this man, anyway.

At the sound of my voice, Beckett McCann stopped kicking his daughter and whirled around to face me. "You!" he bellowed, recognizing me instantly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I should probably ask you the same thing," I growled. I jabbed one finger in the direction of Angel. "Didn't anyone ever tell you to pick on people your own size?"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that?" he challenged, advancing on me now.

I watched as he approached, grinning evilly as I noticed the size advantage he had on me. This would be easy. "No, no one ever did." I ducked as he threw a poorly aimed punch at me and then grabbed his arm. I yanked until I heard something pop, and as he screamed from the pain, I threw him to the ground. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. That's what I was taught.

The next few minutes are a haze, and it's probably best that way. All I know for sure is that I pummeled the man for several minutes, screaming obscenities at him in a blind rage. I kept seeing my father's face, and that only made me hit harder.

"I hate you!" I know I screamed at one point, and had continued screaming until I heard Jarod's voice.

"Miss Parker!" he said loudly. "Stop, please!"

I smashed my fist once more into McCann's face before I paused. I found myself straddling the unconscious man, and my hands were covered with his blood. Bruises were already forming on his face, and his nose was bent at an odd angle. I had crushed him.

Slowly, I raised my eyes and met Jarod's stare. He was in the corner of the room, cradling a white bundle in his arms and sitting very still. His cheeks were stained with dark streaks of moisture.

"Is she...?" I dared to ask.

"She's alive," Jarod said, his voice softer. "Cracked ribs, broken wrist, orbital fracture..." He shook his head. "I'm worried about internal bleeding, and her breathing isn't great, so I'm afraid she may have a collapsed lung. It's..." He closed his eyes. "The police and paramedics should be here any minute."

I stared blankly at him as he dropped his head and continued to cry silently over the little girl. I wanted to cry, too, but for some reason, I just couldn't. I just watched, feeling strangely detached, and stayed right where I was.

"I shouldn't have picked her up," Jarod muttered softly, almost to himself. "I could have hurt her worse... But I just couldn't help it..."

I nodded vaguely, thinking of my own actions. I understood.

Before I could form any kind of response, emergency personnel rushed into the room only minutes later, swarming around Jarod and Angel. One grabbed my hand and pulled me from McCann, and another team gathered around him.

"He's not worth it," I muttered, resisting the urge to kick him, like I had seen him to do Angel.

I heard Jarod murmur something about shock, and a moment later, someone put an arm around me and gently guided me out of the room and down the stairs. As I was bundled into the back of a police car, I closed my eyes and tried to feel guilty for what I had done, and what I had said, but I couldn't. I was only sorry that my father hadn't been there to share the brunt of my wrath.



* * * * *



After some waiting, a little questioning, and a lot more waiting, I was finally set free. From the look on Officer Denniger's face, Jarod had something to do with my release. The cops clearly wanted to keep me, and I guess I can't blame them. I did go a little crazy.

"Here are your personal effects, Miss Parker."

"Yeah, thanks," I grumbled, snatching my watch and my silver ring and putting them on. I think the guy continued to talk to me, but I ignored him and walked past, letting myself out the door into the cool night.

"Miss Parker." Jarod sounded relieved. "Are you alright?"

I shrugged at him. "Thanks for getting me released and for paying my bail," I said flatly. "I'm going home now." I brushed past him, intending to walk back to the god-forsaken Golden Age Motel. I guess now I understand that I was in shock, as Jarod had said, but at the time, all I knew was that I was in a wretched mood.

"Wait," he begged, grabbing my arm.

I turned and met his gaze. "Get. Off. My. Arm."

He sighed. "Please, I know what this must be doing to you, but I also know you can't shut everyone--"

"You don't know anything about me, Jarod," I replied. "I want you to leave me alone now, so I can pick up the pieces of my shattered life. You owe me at least that."

"I owe you the same thing you owe me," he countered gently. "Friendship. That's all I've ever wanted to give you."

"Well, I'm not interested," I growled. "Now, get off me."

Reluctantly, he released his hold on me and dropped his hand down at his side. "Don't you even want to hear about Angel?" he murmured.

I stiffened, unsure. I wanted to walk away and forget any of this ever happened, but I couldn't move my feet. But I couldn't speak, either.

"She's going to be okay," he said at last. "She has some recovering to do, but she's okay."

The breath I had been holding whooshed out of my nose, and I felt a strong sense of relief. Still, I knew the horror wasn't even close to being over. "She's never going to be okay," I said in a low voice. "Never." I paused, considering his compassionate expression. "But I'm glad she's alive."

"She's not going back to her father," he added. "I'm not sure yet if he'll go to jail or get help, the way Angel wanted, but I do know there's no way he's getting her back. Sydney's going to help find her a home."

I nodded. "Good, Sydney will do a good job," I said without emotion. "I'm tired, Jarod, I need to go to sleep."

"I understand."

"Do you?"

His shoulders sagged. "Let me drive you," he pleaded.

I shrugged, too tired to fight anymore. "Fine. Let's go." I ignored his sigh of relief and followed him to my car. I climbed into the back seat and shut the door before curling up comfortably. Within seconds, I was asleep.



* * * * *



"Why were you down there? What were you doing?"

Miss Parker cowered against the wall, shivering. "I-I was just visiting Jarod," she said meekly. "We weren't doing anything bad."

"I thought I told you to stay away from him," Mr. Parker said coldly. "Why do you continually insist upon disobeying me?"

"I was bored... I... He's my friend, Daddy."

"He's not your friend!" he bellowed, raising his hand. "He's nobody's friend. He's a monster!"

"He never did anything to anyone," she argued. "He's always good to me. I can trust him."

"Angel, if there's anyone here you can't trust, it's Jarod. He was trained to be a liar, it's what he does." He lowered his hand without touching her and frowned deeply. "I'm afraid he's using you."

"For what? He never asks me for anything!"

"But you do things for him anyway, don't you?" he prodded. "You bring him things, you teach him things... Things about the Centre, especially. If you're not careful, you could teach him how to escape from here. Is that what you want?"

"No, but Daddy--"

"Don't Daddy me, Angel, you know I'm right. I've discussed this with Sydney, and he agrees. You are to stay away from Jarod, from now on. Do you understand?"

"I don't want to stay away from him!" Miss Parker shouted boldly. "He's my friend. You can't keep me away from him, it's not fair!"

Immediately, his hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of her hair. He gave it a yank, pulling her forward, eliciting a pained squeal. "Don't defy me!" Mr. Parker exploded.

"Daddy!" she begged, starting to cry. "You're hurting me..."

He tossed her back toward the wall, where she bumped her head on the edge of a picture frame. "You shouldn't make me do this," he said, shaking his head. "If you would only listen to me, I could take care of you. But you do these reckless things..."

"I don't mean to--"

"Stay away from him, Angel," he interrupted firmly. "Or we'll both be very sorry."

She wiped at her cheeks with one hand. "Daddy, he's my only friend," she whimpered. "I love him."

Mr. Parker's eyes glittered dangerously, and he took another step closer to her. "I can guarantee he doesn't love you back," he told her. "He's incapable of love."

"He's not," she insisted weakly. "He's the nicest--"

"He doesn't love you!" Mr. Parker thundered, grabbing both of her shoulders and pinning her against the wall. "He doesn't love you, Angel, and he never will. No one can love you like I do."



"Miss Parker? It's okay, don't be afraid."

I awoke that morning to the sound of Sydney's voice, and the feeling of a cool washcloth on my forehead. I realized I was shuddering from the effects of my dream, and my heart was pounding desperately in my chest. "What-what time is it?" I asked weakly, noting that it was still mostly dark in the motel room.

"It's not quite 5 AM," Sydney replied gently, smiling down at me. "I'm supposed to go to work today, to help with Angel's case, but I could stay here with you..."

I shook my head firmly, despite the pain it caused. "No, you need to go," I told him. I looked briefly around the dim room for a moment. "Where's Jarod?" I asked.

"I don't know. He only said he had to take care of some things." He paused. "Do you want him to come here later?"

"No," I replied. It was a lie; I did want to see him, desperately. I knew he could calm me down, could make everything better. And yet, I was unwilling to accept his help. I didn't want him to see my weakness; I didn't want him to see that I needed him.

"Well, what do you want to do?" Sydney asked, turning the washcloth over to the other side and pressing it gently to my head.

"I want to stay here and rest," I said. "I'll maybe go out later." At his dubious expression, I forced a smile. "I'll be fine, Syd. Really."

"You didn't seem fine a minute ago."

I sighed. "It was a nightmare. It's over now."

"But--"

"Syd, thanks for caring," I interrupted. "I mean it. But I want you to leave me alone now, okay? And I don't need Jarod, either. I'll be fine."

He frowned deeply. "I'm staying until it's time to leave for work," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Fine," I agreed reluctantly, closing my eyes. "Goodnight, Sydney."

"Goodnight." I felt his lips gently brush my cheek, and I listened to his even breathing until I fell asleep again.



* * * * *



For days, I just stayed in that dingy motel room. Sydney stopped by several times each day to make sure I was eating, sleeping, breathing, but other than that, I had no contact with the outside world. He told me that he and Jarod were working together to find Angel a new family, and they were doing well. So was Angel, apparently. Everything was great.

But I was frozen in a constant nightmare that I couldn't escape from. Every time I slept, I saw my father, I felt his rough hands on me, I heard my own screams. Sometimes I also dreamt of Angel, of her father, and even of Jarod. The dreams always ended with me waking up in a cold sweat, panting and holding a trembling hand over my chest.

I had asked Sydney once or twice to bring me some vodka, but he had vehemently opposed. He brought me fruit juice instead, and various other healthy items. Eventually, the craving got to be too much, and I actually got out of bed, threw on some rumpled clothes, and drove myself to a liquor store. There, I bought enough alcohol to kill a cow, and then I went back to bed, intending to drink it all.

After that, I spent my waking hours staring blankly at the TV as I drank, wondering idly where Jarod was. I was honestly surprised that he hadn't come to see me, the way he always got involved in my business and tried to help me. I suppose he talked to Sydney about me, but Sydney never spoke of him, except to mention him occasionally when he discussed Angel's situation.

The truth was, I missed him. I knew that together, we had helped a little girl escape a horrible life. We were very nearly too late, but we had made it in time, and that was all that counted. And sure, Angel was going to carry the scars, physical and emotional, for the rest of her life, but at least she had gotten away at a young age. And at least she knew that she had tried to do something; she had gone for help.

I, however, had no such consolation. I had allowed myself to suffer needlessly. I had listened to my father's lies, I had trusted him, and I had spent my entire life trying to please him. I was so much weaker than anyone I had ever known. Even Broots knew to get away from an unhappy family situation.

I had never hated myself more than I did that week.

Sydney noticed my mental and emotional decline, and attempted to take me to a doctor, but of course I refused. I also fought him when he tried to take away my liquor, and when he had wanted to call Jarod. I had insisted that I was simply taking a vacation, that I was fine, and that I didn't need any help. I filled the silences between us with my usual sharp candor, doing my best to pretend everything was normal.

It was unfair of me, I guess, to let him stand by and watch me fall apart without letting him do a thing, but I just didn't know how to accept his help just yet.

The only thing that was going to help was talking about what had happened-- to me, and to Angel-- and to decide where the hell my life was going to go from there. But I wasn't ready to do that. I wasn't ready to move on.

I knew this escape from reality would have to end sometime, however, and that occurred on the night Sydney came to tell me that Angel's new foster home was all set up. It had all been done in a remarkably short time, due to Jarod and Sydney's involvement, and it seemed to be the best thing for everybody. Angel had met with her new foster parents-- a couple that Jarod seemed to trust implicitly-- and she was actually excited to try living with them.

Beckett McCann, of course, was still slated for a trial and a slew of psychological tests, but I had a funny feeling that Jarod would involve himself in the process and insure that he wouldn't go free or that he wouldn't be taken away from Angel forever. I didn't ask, and Sydney didn't mention it, but I wasn't worried that Angel's father would be able to hurt her again. Physically, at least. And both of them would have some time to heal before spending time together again.

The situation would be monitored very closely, of course, but Sydney was confident that everything had worked out perfectly. He was especially pleased with the foster care situation, and seemed to credit Jarod with the speed and the quality of the solution.

"That's great," I told him sincerely, putting down the bottle I was holding and smiling a bit. I really was happy for her; she deserved a better life. I knew that it would be scary for her to adapt to a whole new home, and that I probably wouldn't have had the guts to go through that when I was a child, but Angel was strong. She could do this.

Sydney nodded. "My job is done now," he said, "but it will be a shame to leave. It's been wonderful to interact with children again."

"Without electrodes stuck to their heads?" I asked snidely.

He looked pained. "Anyway," he said slowly, "I think Jarod plans to stay around awhile to follow up. So I was wondering, uh... What now?"

I groaned inwardly. This was it. "Now it's time to go home," I told him, as if it were obvious. "Delaware or bust."

"Are you sure you want to do that?" he asked cautiously.

I shot him a withering look. "What's my alternative, stay here?" I challenged. "Or better yet, check myself into a psychiatric hospital? I don't think so, Syd. Life goes on."

He looked pained at my words, and I don't blame him. That was what my father had said about my mother's apparent "suicide" so many years ago. But it was true, after all, wasn't it?

"You don't want to go back now, do you?" he asked.

"Tomorrow," I replied instantly. "I want one more night of my vacation. It's been good for me."

He eyed me skeptically. "I don't know if I'd say--"

"Save it, Syd," I snapped, picking up the bottle again, and grabbing the TV remote with the other hand. "Now, if you don't mind, I want a few more hours of peace and quiet before we go back to work."

"Are you sure you want to be alone?"

I glared at him warningly. "Yes, I am sure," I said clearly. "Go. Please."

"Do you want to visit Angel in the hospital before we go?"

My annoyance faded a tiny bit. "Maybe tomorrow," I said.

He nodded. "Goodnight, Miss Parker," he said gently. "Get some sleep."

Easier said than done. "Thanks, you too." I flashed a fake smile at him then turned away, considering him dismissed. Thankfully, he didn't try to say anything else, he just excused himself from the room quietly.

When I was alone again, I slumped down wearily and closed my eyes. I fell asleep with a bottle in my hand.



* * * * *



"Come on, Jarod, hurry up. We're almost there."

"I don't know where we are," Jarod complained fretfully from behind her. "If I get lost, Sydney will be so mad at me."

Miss Parker paused impatiently, sitting back on her heels. "We're not lost," she insisted, her raised voice echoing slightly in the ventilation ducts. "Angelo showed me the way."

"I know, but what if you made a wrong turn or someth¬" Jarod stopped abruptly at the sound of Miss Parker's annoyed sigh. "Well, I'm just saying...." He finally reached her and sat back, mimicking her position.

"You don't trust me at all, do you?" she demanded.

"Of course I do!" He grabbed her shoulder and squeezed it tightly in an obvious attempt to hide the fact that it was shaking. "I'm just..."

"Scared?" she suggested wickedly.

He jerked his hand away. "No," he said sulkily.

She grinned. "You are. You're scared, you wimp!"

"I"m not scared," Jarod insisted weakly, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm just... cautious..."

She laughed. "Whatever, genius. Then I guess you won't be scared of this."

"What?" he asked, looking around.

"This!" Miss Parker whirled around, still on her knees and lunged at Jarod. She let out a loud yell and curled her hands menacingly, pretending to attack him.

Jarod gasped and fell back, clutching his chest. "Don't do that!" he panted. "Someone could hear you."

Miss Parker broke out in a fit of giggles, watching as he tried to pretend she hadn't scared him. "You are such a wimp," she teased. She was thrilled that, as usual, she had the upper hand on him.

"Oh yeah?" Jarod challenged, sitting up. "Well, would a wimp do this?" He pounced on her, knocking her down, and began tickling her mercilessly as he often did when she teased him.

"Jarod, stop!" She shrieked with laughter, trying to get away.

"No way," he said firmly from his position atop her. "I'm going to make you pay for scaring me like that."

Even though she knew he was just kidding, the mildly threatening tone in Jarod's voice scared her, and her giggles began to subside. "Get off me," she ordered, stiffening.

Jarod kept her firmly pinned down, his knees beginning to dig slightly into her sides. "Sorry, I can't do that," he teased, feeling along the side of her neck for another ticklish spot.

"No, stop," she said shakily, trying to push him away. "Stop, please!"

Jarod paused and looked down at her face. "What's wrong?" he asked in confusion.

"Please, don't..." Miss Parker squeezed her eyes shut and began to hum loudly to herself.

"Miss Parker?" He climbed gingerly off her. "What? Did I hurt you?" he asked in concern. "I was just goofing around.... Miss Parker?"

Feeling his weight lift from her body, she slid away and sat up, hugging herself tightly as she rocked back and forth. She did this for a long moment, before she felt Jarod's gentle hand on her knee. She looked up at him as if seeing him for the first time, and met his concerned gaze.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, sounding deeply remorseful.

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Fine. Let's go, we're wasting time." She pushed Jarod's hand away and turned to go.

"Miss Parker, wait."

"What?" she asked impatiently, refusing to look at him.

"What just happened there?" he demanded fearfully. "You know I wasn't going to..." He trailed off. "What did I..."

"Nothing, Jarod, now shut up, you're starting to piss me off." She began to crawl away, ignoring his sharp intake of breath. "Come on, Angelo's waiting."

After a couple more minutes of silent traveling, Miss Parker reached an opening in the ducts. She slid down and into a small gray room filled with old computer equipment. Hunched in one corner was a small blonde boy.

"Sorry we're late, Angelo," Miss Parker said to him, straightening her skirt and moving aside to let Jarod drop into the room with them. "Now you gotta show us what's so special about this place."

Angelo's pale blue eyes lit up joyfully and he got to his feet. He grabbed Miss Parker's hand and was about to pull her with him, when suddenly he let out a loud gasp and squeezed her hand tighter.

"What's wrong, Angelo?" Jarod asked, obviously still shaken.

"Miss Parker has pain," Angelo said sadly. "Miss Parker hurt... scared..."

"I'm fine," she insisted angrily, pulling her hand back.

Angelo shook his head. "Someone hurt Miss Parker," he insisted gravely.

"Who?" Jarod asked. "Was it me? Miss Parker, if I hurt you at all, I'm so--"

"I am FINE!" she said sharply, gritting her teeth. "And you two are just being really annoying today."

"But what¬"

"Forget it!" she barked. "Just forget it, alright?"

"Forget what?"

Miss Parker sighed heavily. "Nothing. It doesn't matter." she turned her back on the boys and hoisted herself back into the vent. "I'm not in the mood for this crap today," she grumbled.

"No wait, stay!" Jarod begged. "Please, talk to me."

"Angelo will show you the way back," she said coldly. Then she crawled away as quickly as she could, planning to be long gone before she started to cry. Still, even as she turned a corner, Jarod's panicked voice followed persistently.

"Miss Parker!" he yelled. "Let me help you!"



I awoke with a start, my heart thudding painfully in my chest as the dream caught up with me. Once again, my subconscious mind had retrieved a memory that I had stubbornly repressed, and I wasn't prepared to negotiate the complex emotions that accompanied the memory.

Instead, I put aside the bottle I still clutched and ran to the bathroom, where I retched painfully. It was partly from the alcohol, I suppose, but it was more because of my memories. My own guilt and disgust.

After I rinsed out my mouth and washed my face, I padded back out to the bedroom and crawled back under the covers. I knew I'd never be able to sleep again that night, but I knew it was time to come to terms with what had happened. In a day, I'd be back at the Centre, burying my emotions, doing my father's bidding. It was now or never.

So, as I lay awake in the darkness, I allowed myself to remember what had led up to that strange encounter with Jarod I had just dreamed about. In the weeks previous, my father's ongoing but relatively mild abuse had reached new heights. He hadn't wanted to leave obvious marks on my body, since that would show the world what kind of man he was, but he still believed his daughter needed strict discipline. He also, I suspected, believed me to be his property, and therefore eligible to be used for any purpose he desired.

Thinking back on it that night, I realized that my father was a sick man. The things he had done to his own child were unthinkable, and I couldn't fathom any possible excuse for his behavior. At the time, I had forced myself to be brave and keep it all a secret, to protect my pride, my reputation, and my very life, but there were times when fear had clamped around my neck and threatened to squeeze the breath out of me.

That day in the air ducts with Jarod had been one of those times. When he had held me down, looming over me, with his body heavy and warm on mine, I had panicked. Somewhere inside, I guess I had realized that Jarod was only playing his part in our usual game, and that he was far too innocent and caring to hurt me, but my fear had taken over. All I could think was that I was in danger, like I was with my father, and that I didn't want to be used like that anymore. Then, when I had come back to reality and realized the weakness I had displayed, I was embarrassed and angry.

Eventually, as I grew up and became immersed in my own life, the abuse had miraculously stopped. Or so I had believed. Instead of physical abuse, Daddy began to warp my mind. He taught me to trust only him, despite what he had done to me, and to put on a cold, hard face for the world. I suddenly wondered how it was possible for me to be so easily manipulated like that.

My only answer was that Mom's death had left me weak and desperate, and willing to trust Daddy despite everything. But it wasn't really a satisfactory excuse, at least not to me.

Once again deeply disgusted with myself, but now for my unerring trust in my monster of a father, I sat up in bed and reached for the half-filled bottle of liquor beside me. I had taken a few large swigs directly from the bottle when Jarod's cell phone rang. I knew instinctively who it was, and even though instinct told me to ignore him, I knew it was time. I did wonder, however, how he knew it was time.

Wearily, I traded the bottle for the phone, closing my eyes as the alcohol began to drift toward my head. "If you're calling for my morning wakeup, you're too late," I muttered dryly. "I'm already up."

"Miss Parker," Jarod said in a quiet, grave voice. "Are you alright?"

"Was I ever alright?" I challenged.

He sighed. "Sydney told me you want to go back to the Centre tomorrow. He... He said you weren't handling things very well..." He trailed off, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of himself.

"Sydney's a shrink. He doesn't think it's possible for anyone to sneeze without having to deal with suppressed issues and emotional backlash." I reached over with my free hand and reclaimed the bottle. After I had taken another long, satisfying gulp, I spoke again. "Sometimes snot is just snot."

There was a long pause as Jarod tried to choose his words. When they eventually came, they sounded tentative, reminding me of the thoughtful young boy he had been once. "Sometimes it helps to talk to someone," he ventured. "Someone who might not see you every day, you know?"

"So are you saying I should get a different shrink, and tell him all about my twisted past and my even more twisted present?

"I think you know what I'm saying."

I sighed, torn between pouring my heart out to him and screaming at him. I wasn't ready for all this pain that had suddenly come rushing back at once. I had suppressed it for a reason; I had suppressed it to survive. My first instinct was to lash out at Jarod for the pain, because he was the one who made me remember. But I knew in my heart that blaming him would just be playing along with my father's twisted little game.

"What do you want from me, Jarod?" I asked wearily.

"It's not what I want from you," he replied. "It's what I want for you."

"Do I get a hint? Or am I supposed to guess?"

"Parker, I just want¬" He paused again, and the sound of his distressed breathing was heavy on the line. "I want you to be happy. I want you to be yourself, your true self, and I want..."

"What?" I prodded curiously, putting down the bottle and sitting up a little straighter.

"To help you," Jarod finished lamely.

I swallowed against the lump in my throat, remembering how the young Jarod had also tried so hard to help me. I hadn't let him in then, afraid of how he'd react, and afraid of how it would change our friendship, but I had wanted to. After suffering my father's abuses, I had often lain awake in the dark, wishing that my mother and Jarod, the two people I had always felt comfortable with, could somehow help me.

That night, I wished for the same thing. I just didn't know how to admit it.

"Please let me help you," Jarod spoke up, his voice a husky whisper.

A slow tear rolled unchecked down my cheek. "How?" I whispered back. "How can anybody help me now?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But if you open your door, I... I can try." With that last appeal, he disconnected the call, leaving me momentarily paralyzed with fear.

At last, as if in slow motion, I put the cell phone down on my bedside table and slipped my legs out from beneath the sheets. I crept slowly to the door and stared at it for a long moment before unhooking the lock and reaching for the doorknob. As I eased the door open, I knew exactly what I would see, but I was apprehensive anyway.

Standing outside my door, bathed in unnatural fluorescent light from the fixture above my door, stood Jarod. I was surprised to see that he looked worse than I felt. His hair stood on end, his cheeks and chin were dusted with a five o'clock shadow, and his eyes drooped wearily. Yet a small smile graced his lips as he reached for me.

Before I could even think, I felt myself being embraced by warm, strong arms, and I leaned gratefully against his chest. This was nothing like the hug my father had graced me with just before my departure from Blue Cove. This was real, meaningful. He needed this as much as I did. I felt slightly fortified by his support, but at the same time, I knew that he was drawing strength from me, as well. I was mystified by that; I didn't think I had any strength to offer.

"I'm glad you opened the door," he whispered into my hair, his breath warm and vaguely sweet as it drifted back toward my face.

I exhaled softly and forced myself to pull away before I got too comfortable. "So what now, Jarod?" I asked softly, looking into the eyes of the man who had once been my best friend and then my mortal enemy. They glowed with latent hope.

"You make the rules," he whispered, holding his hands out helplessly, his empty palms facing upward.

"This isn't a game," I replied.

He nodded. "I know."

"I'm surprised you didn't come sooner," I commented softly.

He dropped his eyes quickly. "I was afraid," he admitted.

"Afraid of what? Me?"

"No. Not you."

Despite myself, I indulged in a small smile. "You're supposed to be afraid of me," I told him. "My job is based on your fear of me."

He looked up and met my eyes, so I could see the faint twinkle in his. "I pretend to be afraid of you," he replied.

I wanted to laugh, but I just didn't have it in me. Instead, I simply nodded and returned to the original topic. "Well, if you weren't afraid of me, what were you afraid of?"

"Just afraid you wouldn't want me around, that I'd make you feel worse. And afraid of..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"What?" I pressed curiously.

He frowned. "Afraid of..." He haltingly raised a hand and used it to brush my hair back from my face. Then he dropped his hand suddenly as if it had been burned. "Doing the wrong thing," he finished at last, sounding ashamed of himself. It must have been an unusual situation indeed, if Jarod lacked confidence in his own judgment.

I stared at him for a long moment and then turned to walk into my room. I knew instinctively that he would follow me inside, and I also knew that I wanted him to. As I heard the sound of my door closing, I walked to the bottle of alcohol and picked it up.

"You know that's not the answer," Jarod reminded me gently.

"No, but sometimes answers are harder." I took another gulp, satisfied as numbness began to overcome me, but disgusted by the taste, before I put the bottle down again.

"Do you want to talk?" Jarod asked.

I sighed softly. I didn't want to talk, not really. I wanted someone to hold me and keep me safe and tell me that everything would be okay. But a part of me still believed that such things were childish and weak. Besides, there was one thing I did want to get off my chest first.

"When I told Angel about my father, I didn't tell her everything," I said, my back still to him. "Did you know there was more to the story?"

"Yes."

Shocked, I whirled around and glared at him. "What?"

"Well, I didn't know for sure," he amended. "I just knew that you didn't want to scare Angel too much, so you were being careful. Plus, I knew the abuse got worse, much worse, than you told her."

"How did you know?" I asked, my voice trembling. I don't know why I was surprised; Jarod knew everything.

"You changed," he told me. "Back then, I mean. You suddenly didn't want anyone to touch you, and you never wanted to talk about anything personal anymore." He paused, looking as if he had more to say.

"What?" I prodded.

"Do you remember the day we went looking for Angelo's secret room?" he asked. "How we were crawling through the--"

"I remember," I interrupted, unnerved by the fact that he was bringing up an incident that I had just dreamed about only moments before.

Jarod nodded slowly, holding my gaze. "I had no idea why you reacted that way," he said. "I was so confused, and I was scared that I had hurt you. For days, it was all I could think about, especially since you didn't come to see me that week. Then I did a little simulation..." He hesitated. "I wondered if maybe... Did your father..."

I broke eye contact abruptly, turning away again. "Yes," I whispered.

"Why? Why would he...?"

"Control," I spat. "His own demented amusement. Who the hell knows? Who the hell cares?" I wrapped my arms protectively around myself, suddenly feeling cold. "What I wonder is what made him stop."

"It does seem unusual," Jarod agreed. "But who knows what drives someone so..." He stopped suddenly. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, you can say it," I said, blinking back tears. "What drives someone so twisted and evil to do anything?" I shook my head. "I don't think I really want to know."

"Why didn't you talk to someone?" Jarod asked softly. "Were you afraid that--"

"There was nothing anyone could do," I interrupted hotly. "I was just as trapped as you were. I wasn't in a cell, but my prison had to be at least as bad as yours."

"I believe you. I'm sorry."

My shoulders sagged and I felt the anger recede again. "I should have told you. I wanted to tell you, but I was scared. I didn't know what you'd think..."

"I would never have judged you for your father's abuse," Jarod said incredulously. "How could you ever believe I would do something like that?"

"I don't know if you noticed or not, but I wasn't exactly raised to trust people," I replied. "And you and Angelo were all I had. I didn't want to do anything that would change what we had."

"But you did," he whispered. "You left."

I brushed absently at the tears on my cheek. "My father told me things about you... He told me that you couldn't be trusted, that you--"

"Lies," Jarod interrupted fiercely. "He filled your head with lies." He paused. "You were everything to me. Please tell me you understand that now."

"I understand," I said reluctantly. Still, I felt a tingling warmth slide comfortingly through me, and I was vaguely pleased at the change. I wasn't sure if it was caused by his words or the alcohol, but I decided it was probably a bit of both.

He cleared his throat nervously. "You've been through a lot," he murmured. "Your whole life has been such a struggle... It's not fair... You didn't do anything wrong."

I wasn't sure if that last part was really true, but it felt good to hear it, so I let it go. "Well, it's not like your life has been a picnic," I pointed out.

"No. I guess not."

I sighed. "Look, it's not important anymore," I told him. "What happened with me and my father... It's over. I don't want to think about it anymore."

"You can't just forget about it," he argued. "Until you really deal with it, confront him, get away from there, you'll just--"

"What do you want me to say?" I challenged angrily. "Do you want me to tell you that I want to kill him? Do you want me to say I hope his Angel is the last thing he sees before he bleeds to death?"

"Yes," he whispered, "if that's what you feel."

I exhaled heavily. "I don't know what I feel. That night, with McCann... I could have killed him, Jarod."

"I know," he replied softly. "You came close. He hit his head pretty hard when you took him down. And the dislocated shoulder..." He trailed off.

I closed my eyes. That wasn't really what I needed to hear.

"But you didn't," he went on. "You heard my voice, and you stopped before you could do anything worse. And he's okay."

"What happens next time, when you aren't there to stop me?" I wondered aloud. "Or to call the police and the paramedics for me?"

"Don't make yourself out to be the evil one here," he said firmly. "You aren't the one who abused helpless children."

"What about you?"

There was a long pause. "What?" he asked at last.

I turned to look at him, cringing painfully at the expectant look on his face. "I helped them hurt you," I admitted. "For so many years, I followed blindly, I--"

"It doesn't matter," he interrupted.

"It does matter. It does, Jarod. Don't you see?"

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

"I became my father," I whispered, finally voicing my greatest fear. "Just like you've always said..."

"No!" he said urgently, shaking his head harder. "I never said that. I said you try to be like your father. That's true. But you'll never be him. You aren't capable of the things he's done."

"How do you know?"

He touched his hand briefly to his heart. "I know you," he said. "You were used and you were manipulated and hurt, but it's not your fault." When I attempted to protest, he raised a hand to silence me. "It's not," he insisted. "You're the victim here. And you can't let him win."

"What am I supposed to do?" I asked weakly, not quite daring to hope that he was right.

"You have to be yourself," he said slowly. "That's not easy-- trust me, I know-- but you have to find what you really care about, and what's really important to you. And you have to protect that, whatever it is, with your life. And you can't let your father run your life anymore."

"I don't know how to stop him," I admitted softly.

"You'll figure it out," he said confidently, smiling a bit. "You're so much smarter and stronger than you think you are. You can do this. And if you ever need my help, or Sydney's, or Broots'..."

"And what if I do all this to become my own person, and find out that I'm still a worthless coward?" I asked. "What if I find out that I really am my father?"

"You won't," he promised. "But you won't believe me until you find that out for yourself."

I sighed as my head began to swim with confusion. Yet I actually was feeling a bit better. "Jarod, I don't really want to talk anymore," I said wearily, swaying as the alcohol-- definitely the alcohol this time-- affected my balance.

"Well, what do you want to do?"

I shot out one hand and grabbed the edge of a table to steady myself, and once I had regained my balance, I considered his question. I discovered that I wasn't really sure what I wanted to do. All I knew was that I couldn't keep thinking about my father that night, I was driving myself insane. Somehow, I just had to find some peace, at least for a little while. And for once, I felt it was within reach.

"Sleep," I replied finally, yawning. "For a hundred years." I stumbled toward the bed and slipped between the sheets, waiting. After a long moment of silence, I looked up into the darkness and eyed Jarod's still form. "Well are you coming?"

"Are you sure?" he asked uncertainly.

He was surprised, that much was clear. Actually, I was pretty surprised myself, but not necessarily in a bad way. I had finally found a tiny sliver of comfort with Jarod, with my life, and I just wanted to hang onto it a bit longer. "We could both use a little sleep," I replied simply.

"Okay."

I closed my eyes, feeling strangely relieved, and waited for Jarod. After a moment, he slid under the covers beside me, and I snuggled against him. He was a bit too warm and a bit too rigid, but he relaxed quickly. It almost reminded me of the few times we had fallen asleep in each others' arms back when we were children, except for the glaringly obvious changes in our bodies, and the increased burden of our shared emotional baggage.

"Jarod, where do we go from here?" I asked sleepily, smiling in contentment as his hand slid up and down my back in a tentative attempt at comfort.

"We could go anywhere you wanted to go," he replied. "Seattle is a personal favorite of mine. Far away from Delaware."

I laughed. "You know that's not what I mean. I'm serious."

"So am I. Come with me, Parker. Get away from that place, from him. We can both disappear forever. I can help you start over, if you'll only let me."

For a long, delicious moment, I was tempted. But I knew I couldn't do it, not yet. "I still have questions," I said reluctantly. "About my family, about the farce I call my life. The answers can only be found in one place."

"Do you need those answers to survive?" he asked.

"Do you need yours?"

"Hm." He chuckled softly. "Okay, that's fair."

"I have to go back," I said unnecessarily. "And I have to keep chasing you, at least until I find my answers."

"And I have to run away from you," he added sadly. "It's the only way to protect you."

I breathed in his scent and committed it to memory. "You can run tomorrow," I told him dreamily.

"Isn't there another way?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

"You're the genius, you tell me."

He sighed. "This isn't over, you know. This whole thing is going to keep hitting you hard every now and then, and when that happens... I mean... Whenever you need me, Parker--"

"Yeah, I know," I interrupted. "Thanks."

"And someday--"

"Someday it'll all be different," I agreed. "My life may never be normal, but when I have my answers, things will change."

"And maybe then we can disappear," Jarod replied.

I smiled. "Let's worry about that later," I suggested.

"Right now it's just business as usual, huh?"

"No, tomorrow is business as usual," I corrected. "Tonight... tonight we sleep."

He let out a long breath. "You make the rules," he whispered, holding me a little tighter.

"You're damn right I do. And if you rub this in my face..."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

I laughed softly and settled my head against his shoulder, feeling more at peace than I could ever remember feeling. This was much better than when we were children. We weren't at the Centre, for one thing.

"Miss Parker?"

"Hmm?"

He gave my shoulder a slight squeeze. "I've never been real interested in normal, either," he told me.

I grinned. "Goodnight, Jarod," I whispered.

"Goodnight, Miss Parker," he replied. "Sweet dreams."

And that night, I did have sweet dreams. I slept soundly, wrapped in warmth, and my nightly demons kept their distance. When I woke up the next morning, I felt refreshed and rejuvenated, ready to begin my new mission, the one that would inevitably change my life forever.

I tried not to be too disappointed that Jarod was gone, leaving behind nothing but my cell phone and a standard Centre-issue 9mm.



* * * * *



"How did you sleep last night, Miss Parker?" Sydney asked, smiling genially at the departing waitress.

I took a sip of my thick, black, day-old coffee and regarded Sydney over the rim of my mug. "Fine," I replied casually. "Why?"

"I'm just asking," he said with a shrug. "After everything that's happened, I was just wondering how you were coping. You seem much better today."

I rolled my eyes. Of course I was much better; at that time the day before, I was lying in bed, wallowing in guilt and fear. Now I was dressed and out in public. Leave it to Syd to downplay things in an attempt to make me realize the truth.

"Please, Syd, I'm not in the mood for a couch session right now. I'm coping just fine, let's leave it at that."

"Okay." He sniffed experimentally at his own coffee before taking a small sip. "I thought maybe things would be different after last night."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked suspiciously, sitting up a little straighter. Did he know something he wasn't supposed to know? If Jarod said anything to him, I swore silently, I'll just--

"You know, after spending the night with Jarod."

I stiffened in alarm, and my mug nearly slipped from my rigid hands. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about," I growled, knowing that Sydney could see right through me. You're dead, Jarod.

"Don't lie to me, Parker," he said calmly. "I know he was with you."

"And did he tell you that?" I asked in a condescending tone, already plotting Jarod's murder.

"No, as a matter of fact, I figured it all out on my own." He grinned impishly, a sight that sent a chill straight through me. "I'm not completely helpless, you know."

Damn, he's good. I stared at Sydney for a long moment, trying to figure out how I could escape from this situation with my dignity intact. Jarod's murder was postponed for the time being. "And how did you arrive at this conclusion?" I asked him.

He smiled gently. "You know I like to walk in the morning."

I stared. "Actually, I didn't know that." For some reason, I couldn't quite picture Sydney exercising.

"Oh." He chuckled. "Well, I do. And I was walking this morning, just up and down the street, when I saw Jarod come out of your room. I assumed I wasn't just catching him after breaking and entering. Especially since he took the time to change the license plates on your car."

I cringed, imagining the crazy scenarios Syd must have been dreaming up all morning. "Well, he's certainly a master at breaking and entering," I pointed out defensively, trying unsuccessfully to prolong the charade.

"Yes, but this time... I just had a feeling he had stayed the night, and knowing your sleep patterns, I knew how impossible it would have been for him to stay so long without your knowledge."

I chose to ignore the comment about my sleep patterns and pursue the real issue. "You had a feeling he stayed the night?"

"He was carrying his shoes with him," Sydney divulged, smiling fondly. "And he tripped twice on the way to the parking lot, like a man who had just rolled out of bed."

Despite myself, I chuckled as I imagined the scene. Jarod must have been so adorable with his hair all matted down and his--

Syd cleared his throat and I looked up to see him still watching me intently. Needless to say, I sobered quickly. "Fine, he was there. What do you expect me to say about it?"

Sydney shrugged again, offering a mysterious smile. "I just thought that after the two of you..." He trailed off and raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Stop right there," I ordered, pointing one finger directly at his face. "Nothing happened between us, you got that?" I grimaced, pretending the mere idea made my ill, when in fact, I couldn't honestly claim I wasn't intrigued by it. But you didn't hear that from me. "I was drunk, but not that drunk."

"Really? Because I thought--"

"You thought what, Freud?" I hissed.

"Well, I know that somewhere beneath all the anger and confusion, you and Jarod have always... you know..."

I bristled indignantly, unwilling to admit things to Sydney that I myself was not yet ready to deal with. "No. I am not having this conversation right now. Is that understood?"

Sydney nodded placidly. "I just thought things would be different now," he said. "But I suppose I was wrong."

"It was bound to happen sometime," I shot back, lifting my mug for another sip. But after a beat, I glanced up and gave him a tiny, secret smile. I couldn't help it; I loved Sydney for caring. Even if he was a nosy bastard.

As if understanding, he returned it. "Be careful, Miss Parker," he murmured protectively.

I nodded. "I always am."

He reached out and covered my hand with his. "I'm glad you're alright, Miss Parker," he said softly. "You scared me."

"Well, at least I scare someone," I joked weakly, not knowing how else to respond.

He shook his head in mild disapproval, but smiled back. "Remember you can talk to me, Parker."

"I know," I replied. "Thanks."

Just then, the ringing of my cell phone startled me, and I pulled it from my jacket pocket. "What?"

"Miss Parker!" Broots cried happily. "Boy am I glad to hear your voice."

"Why?" I asked in surprise, giving Sydney a look of confusion.

"I just got a package from Jarod," he said breathlessly. "I didn't know if it was a time-sensitive sort of thing, or if it had to do with him kidnapping you or whatever, so I figured I better open it. And you'll never believe what it is."

"Well, spit it out!" I cried.

"It's your mother's diary, Miss Parker," he replied.

I gasped. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," he returned. "And Jarod sent a note, too. Do you want me to read it to you?"

"Sure, I guess," I said, dazed.

"Okay." Broots cleared his throat quickly. "It says 'Dear Miss Parker, I don't know if this will help you or not, but it's the last thing of your mother's that I have. I think you're ready to read it now. And I hope it leads you to your answers. Good luck, and let me know if you ever want to disappear. Jarod.'"

I closed my eyes and swallowed around a lump in my throat. My mother's diary. I knew I should be angry with Jarod for keeping it from me all this time, but I couldn't summon a shred of anger toward him just then. Instead, I was just awed.

The package had to have been sent at least a few days earlier, and yet, the note reflected the conversation we'd had just the night before. He knew I would want to find answers about my mother, and he knew that I would decline his offer to disappear together. He'd had the conversation planned ahead of time, right down to my responses.

I wasn't sure if his accuracy was due to the fact that he was a pretender and he knew people, or if it was just because he knew me so well. I decided not to dwell on it.

"...Parker, are you there?"

I shook myself back into reality as I heard Broots' voice over the phone line. I glanced at Sydney and saw him gazing at me in quiet concern. "Yeah, Broots, what did you say?"

"I just asked if Jarod was still with you," Broots said.

I frowned slightly. "No. He's gone. He traded phones with me again while I wasn't paying attention, which you obviously know since you're calling me on this phone--"

"I tried the other number, but no one answered," he interrupted.

Clearing my throat, I continued. "¬and he gave me a gun. It's not mine, but it'll have to do for now. Anyway, I have no idea where he went."

"Oh, okay," Broots replied. "Well, uh, where are you? Was it Arizona, did you say? Do you want me to send some people to pick you up or something?"

I laughed. "No, I think Sydney and I will be just fine," I told him. "But do me a favor, and don't let anyone know that I'm on my way back, okay? And guard that diary with your life."

"Will do, Miss P.," Broots promised. "Mr. Lyle and Mr. Cox are both still at the Centre, though, so good luck hiding from them."

I groaned. I had been hoping that they'd be running around in Arizona, chasing their tails. "Alright, thanks, Broots."

"Sure. When should I expect you back?"

"Well, we still have something we need to do, but that should take only an hour or less. So we'll be in Blue Cove in a couple hours."

"Wow. I know you drive fast, but really, Miss Parker..."

I snorted. Good old Broots. "We're not in Arizona, Broots," I told him. "We're in Jersey. See you soon. And thank you."

"Uh, okay, sure. See ya later..."

I hung up on him and tucked the phone back into my pocket. "Broots," I said needlessly.

Sydney nodded. "Did he have troubling news?"

"No, not troubling, just..." I paused. "Intriguing."

"Really."

I raised my eyebrows. "Really. Now hurry up and finish your coffee, we have a little girl to visit, and we have business waiting in Blue Cove."

"You're the boss," he said, smiling cautiously.

I rewarded him with an uncharacteristic grin. "That's right," I agreed. "And I make the rules."



* * * * *



"Are you ready?"

I glanced at Sydney and nodded. "Yeah, let's go," I said, pushing open the thick hospital door.

Angel had been patched up days earlier, and the rate of her recovery earned her a private room. I guess it's true what they say about children being resilient. I guess sometimes they have to be.

Thankfully, Angel was only hooked up to a couple of monitors, and was breathing and sitting up on her own. I could see that there was a cast around her wrist, and band aids in various spots. She also had some nasty bruises on her face, as well as a look of pain etched into her features, but she managed a smile when she saw me.

"Miss Parker," she breathed, tucking her hair behind her ear. That was when I realized that it had been cut short. "I was worried about you."

Startled, I paused. "Worried about me?"

"I saw what happened that night, when you came to help me," she said.

As I stared at her, memories of that awful night came rushing back, and for the first time, I was struck with guilt for what I had done. I had nearly killed this little girl's father. Sure, in my opinion he deserved it, but it wasn't my call. Besides, she loved him despite everything, and I knew if someone had done that to my father when I was little, I would have been devastated.

"It's okay," she spoke up soothingly. "He's okay. And... He won't be able to hurt me anymore."

"I'm sorry," I croaked, shaking my head.

She smiled again, looking more serene and enlightened than anyone I'd ever known. "Don't be," she murmured. "I'll see Daddy again someday, but only when I know he's not going to hurt me." She looked past me to Sydney and nodded . "I deserve better."

"Yes, you do," I agreed, looking back at Syd, who was beaming proudly. At least someone was receptive to his teachings and psycho babble. I guess if it could help Angel, there had to be some merit to it. "You deserve so much better. I'm still sorry, though. I shouldn't have..."

"It's okay, Jarod and Sydney explained it to me," she replied.

I raised my eyebrows, taken aback. "Explained what to you?"

"Why you wanted to kill my father," she said simply. "How you were remembering your father."

"Oh." I nodded. "Still..."

She held out one shaky hand. "I'm sorry."

I stared blankly at her as I stepped forward and took her hand. "Why are you sorry?" I managed at last.

"I'm sorry about your father," she said. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet," I admitted. "But I'm going to be okay. You don't have to worry about me, do you understand?"

She nodded. "Same here. But you should call me sometime. Sydney knows what my new number will be."

"I'd love to," I said truthfully. "You take care of yourself, Angel."

"I will," she replied, squeezing my hand lightly. "You too."

I stared at her for a minute, completely amazed. Here was a child, who was not only mature and intelligent, but compassionate for others. How she got that way, especially with her upbringing, I'll never understand. "I... I have to go home," I said reluctantly, pulling my hand away.

She shook her head, pouting slightly. "Stay a little while longer," she begged. "Both of you."

I looked back at Sydney, who nodded. Relenting, I pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. "A little while longer," I agreed with a smile.



* * * * *



"So we were in the East Wing, you know, where they have all the Byzantine art, and there's this really great painting of God. It was huge, like 10 feet tall or something, it was amazing. But the only problem was that since it was so big, it was hard to see the top. I was kind of staring at the feet. And then I found myself wondering why God was wearing these golden sandals on his feet. I mean, he's God! He doesn't need shoes, am I right?"

I rubbed furiously at my eyes at Broots snickered at his own monologue. Thank God Sydney was there, pretending to pay attention, otherwise I absolutely would have had to throttle Broots. Sometimes I wonder what's going on inside that head of his and then I realize that I'm really too scared to find out.

"And right next to that was one of Jesus, you know, standing in a field with some sheep, but the crazy thing was, he had, like, biceps of steel. It was unbelievable. It was like Rambo Christ or something. Of course, don't take any of this the wrong way, I'm not criticizing religion in any way, it's just the way some of these paintings..."

As Broots continued rambling, I prayed fervently to Rambo Christ and shoeless God for an interruption, even if it had to come in the form of Mr. Raines. Or a typhoon. Anything. This was unbearable.

"...and so Debbie says to me," he was droning on, "if you're Greek, you don't get the joke!" He broke out in a fit of laughter that was way too jolly for 8 AM on a Monday. "That Debbie, I'm serious, she just--"

Rambo Christ must have been listening, because at that very second, my door was thrown open, and Willie walked inside looking like a man on a mission. I welcomed it, whatever it was, if it meant avoiding more anecdotes from the Broots family excursion to the art museum.

"Miss Parker, you will come with me now," Willie stated, walking up to my desk.

"It's nice to see you too, Willie," I replied with a dangerous smile. "Care for a cruller? Danish, maybe?"

"Now, Miss Parker," he replied, unmoved.

I shrugged and shot a glance over at Sydney. He looked a little more nervous than I would have liked. "You know what they say," I said, getting to my feet.

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition?" Broots suggested.

I turned to stare at him, and there was a long moment of silence as his cheeks grew slowly redder. I waited until I was sure he was about to wet his pants before I spoke again. "No. I was going to say 'It IS as bad as you think, and they ARE out to get you.'"

It was my turn to be stared at. Until, of course, Willie grabbed my arm and roughly pulled me around to the other side of my desk. It was with great difficulty that I kept both my balance and my composure as I shook out of his grasp.

"After you, Will," I said. "Can I call you Will?"

He grunted and led the way out of my office. I shot a glance over my shoulder at Sydney and Broots as I followed warily. For all my brashness, I was worried. It was never good to be summoned by Willie.

Willie and I reached the end of our little trip together when we arrived at my father's office door. He pushed it open and gestured me inside, remaining in the hall as I entered.

In the office, there seemed to be some sort of argument going on. The taxidermist from Hell, Mr. Cox, was ranting about how expensive it was to keep all his operations running, and Lyle kept interrupting to say something about how hard the Centre works to keep its financial situation in order. My father was listening passively to the whole thing, and none of the three even acknowledged my presence.

"My father does his very best to be fair to all his employees," Lyle said firmly, scowling at Cox. "What you're asking for is just unreasonable."

"And I suppose you're not just saying this because you want a nice, fat, promotion for yourself?" Cox countered.

I rolled my eyes, wondering why in the hell I needed to be present for this nonsense. "Gold-bricking versus brown-nosing: the debate rages on," I spoke up, unwilling to endure more of the inane argument.

"Angel!" Daddy smiled at me, looking relieved at my interruption.

I threw him back a fake smile. I was still playing my part in this whole Daddy/Angel game, but thanks to Jarod, I wasn't fooling myself anymore. Daddy was still my enemy; I was just waiting for the right moment to tell him so. When I was ready, I was going to make him pay for what he did to me. "Willie suggested that I should come to see you," I replied dryly. "Is there something I can do for you?"

His face turned grim, alarming me instantly. "Yes, Angel. I wanted a full explanation of this latest incident with Jarod. Am I to understand that you had him in your grasp and let him go?"

"No," I replied, shrugging. "He was the one holding me captive. I don't know why he let me go, he just disappeared." Of course, the only true part of my story was the part where Jarod disappeared, but I had a pretty strong feeling that the whole truth would get me killed. Painfully.

Mr. Lyle, Mr. Cox, and my father all shared a mysterious stare. Lyle shook his head and clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Tsk, tsk, Miss Parker," he said, sighing dramatically. "If you keep lying to the Centre like that, your days are numbered."

"I'm not lying to the Centre," I shot back. "I'm talking to my father. And who are you to be arranging my calender, anyway?"

"Angel," Daddy said, before Lyle could open his mouth. "We're just a little confused. Jarod kidnapped you and held you for over a week, and yet, you're here and he's not. Can you explain this situation to us?"

"Yeah, what'd he do, just decide he was tired of you?" Lyle asked.

"And why was he able to kidnap you in the first place?" Cox put in. "Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?"

I let out a soft sigh. "Those sweepers you assigned to me are useless," I said, adding a whiny pitch to my voice for melodramatic effect. "They were absolutely no help to me whatsoever. And Jarod, well, you know Jarod. He's just uncivilized. He just dragged me out of my bed in the middle of the night and threw me into the back of his car. And he had friends with him. I really didn't have a chance."

"Are you sure he dragged you out of bed, instead of into it?" Lyle teased, leering. "If I were him, that's what I would have done..."

"Well then, you should be thanking your lucky stars that you aren't him," I growled, clenching my fists and imagining them in Lyle's face. Or better yet, through Lyle's face. "If you or Jarod or any man ever tries that, that man will no longer be recognizable as a human being, let alone a man."

"Oh, Sis, you really know how to sling it with the best of them," Lyle mocked, rolling his eyes. "But how can you honestly expect us to believe that?"

"Believe what you want, Lyle," I snapped. "But I'm lucky to be alive today."

"Oh, Angel, I had no idea it was so bad," Daddy said sympathetically. "I'm so sorry."

I shrugged. "I survived. I think we all better be on the lookout, though, because I think Jarod has truly lost it this time. I'm talking cuckoo's nest, big-time." Time to test the waters. "Kept ranting about... child abuse."

My father raised his eyebrows slightly. "Obviously, he's delusional," he stated. "Or maybe he's having memories of his life before the Centre."

I could have strangled him right then and there. The man who had abused me for several years was standing there telling me that Jarod was abused by his parents before the Centre kidnapped him. As if the Centre had done him some sort of favor by stealing him. And as if I had never been abused by my own father. It was unreal.

I think that was the moment when I truly admitted to myself, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was on Jarod's side. It should have been strangely crippling to realize that my life had turned completely upside down, and that everything I had believed was wrong. But I wasn't terribly surprised by anything anymore.

"So you're saying that this isn't just another one of your famous screw-ups?" Lyle asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I glared at him angrily. "I was abducted," I ground out. "I finally was able to escape, but there was no way for me to bring him back. He had my gun, and my sweepers were gone. I did everything I could. I didn't see any of you there helping me."

"I believe you, Angel," Daddy spoke up. "Why don't you go home and get some rest, to recover from your ordeal?"

I smiled tightly. "I don't need any rest," I told him. "And besides, there's work to do. A Pretender to catch. That's the most important thing, right?"

"Right," he agreed, smiling. "That's my girl. Hey, don't worry about losing him this time, okay? There's always next time."

"Yeah. Next time." Don't do me any favors, old man.

"Mr. Parker, I have a bit of a tight schedule today," Mr. Cox spoke up suddenly, looking bored with the whole Jarod conversation. "I don't mean to push, but--"

"Yes, yes, we'll continue our discussion," Daddy said peevishly. "Angel, that will be all, you can get back to work now."

"Thanks, Daddy," I said, with false sincerity. I nodded at my evil brother and Dr. Roadkill. "Lyle, Mr. Cox," I murmured. Then I turned and quickly exited the office.

Once out in the hall, I noticed that Willie was gone and I was all alone. I waited for a few moments, listening to the hum of voices from inside my father's office. Pretty soon, they grew slightly louder and I was able to hear their conversation with minimal difficulty.

"She has really gone too far this time!" Lyle cried. "Honestly, that story--"

"It did sound rather ridiculous," Cox added. "Especially the part about her just escaping. All the evidence is in place, but it's just too neat... It seems an obvious setup. We know the level of Jarod's abilities, as well as hers..."

"I know," Daddy said grimly. "She's obviously lying. But we can't prove it just yet. Or why. We just need to keep our eyes and ears open, and next time she slips up, we'll be ready. Then we'll have them both where we want them. Is that clear?"

I bit my lip and shook my head, but for a change, no tears sprang to my eyes. I wasn't surprised anymore by his lack of trust. It would have been hard for him to surprise me at that point. But that didn't mean it didn't piss me off. As if he needed another reason to be on my list.

"This isn't over, Daddy," I murmured to the door. Then I turned and walked slowly back to my office, ignoring the curious stares I received on my way. They'd be sorry. They'd all be sorry someday.



* * * * *



"Damn subconscious, what's the point of it anyway?" I muttered, padding down the darkened hallway. It had been another restless night, filled with confusing and frightening dreams, and I had eventually been forced to give up the fight for sleep.

Since my return to Blue Cove nearly two weeks earlier, I had read my mother's diary cover-to-cover, and while I had treasured every word, it had been a deeply emotional and at times disturbing experience. I had begun to search through Centre archives and electronic databases for more information on various topics, but the search was progressing slowly. I was still hounded daily about my failure to retrieve Jarod, and I was forced to conduct my own searches in the rare moments when I wasn't being watched by Lyle, Cox, Raines, or my father.

I was still as determined as ever to find my answers and escape the Centre, and especially to punish my father, but I was beginning to feel helpless. It only made matters worse that I was exhausted, and yet my sleep was haunted by my fears. All I needed was to recharge, to regain my confidence.

That particular night, all I could think about was the peaceful night of sleep that I had shared with Jarod, and a part of me deeply regretted that I hadn't gone with him. I could be sleeping peacefully with him that very minute, in some warm, safe bed in Seattle.

"Well, who needs sleep?" I sighed unconvincingly as I headed for the stairs. "Alcohol is all I need," I added.

I made my way down the stairs, headed toward the liquor cabinet, when I noticed a large brown box near my front door. I hadn't noticed it earlier, but I hadn't been looking for a package. I had come home from the Centre worn down and moody, and had gone upstairs instantly to take a bath and go to bed.

Apprehensively, I walked over to the box and crouched down on the floor beside it. I recognized Jarod's block lettering instantly, and I relaxed. I hadn't heard anything from Jarod since that night in my motel room, and I realized suddenly that I had been eagerly awaiting something like this.

Sitting down cross-legged on the floor, I tore open the loosely taped box.

At the very top of the box was a large sheet of white paper covered with Jarod's handwriting. I smiled as I read the words.

"I'm still working on my designs for comfortable, yet fashionable, women's shoes, but until they're done, try these on for size. And if you or your feet ever need a little extra care, just give me a call--you know the number. Good luck -J."

I put the note aside and laughed softly as I saw the soft, white bunny slippers inside the box. I took them out and put them on my bare feet immediately, sighing at the warmth and softness they provided.

"Thanks, Jarod," I mumbled to the empty room as I stood up. His simple gift and thoughtful message left me strengthened and calm, and I knew that if I went back to bed, I'd probably have a much easier time sleeping. Somehow, just knowing that he was out there, cheering me on, made me feel better.

I picked up the note and then the empty box, preparing to toss it in a corner, when it slipped suddenly from my fingers. As I watched, a tiny piece of white paper fluttered out. I bent over to pick it up, unfolded it slowly, and gazed down at the message. Tears clouded my vision, but I smiled as I spoke the words aloud.

"You are loved."

I glanced at the clock, noticing that it was 3:14 in the morning. Bypassing the liquor cabinet and avoiding the stairs, I stepped over to the couch and sat down. I reached my arm over toward the phone and lifted the receiver, considering it silently.

"Eh, who needs sleep?" I murmured to myself after a minute, as I dialed the number I number I had gotten from Broots upon my return and committed instantly to memory. I held my breath and waited as I listened to the ringing on the other end, and was just about to hang up when the phone was abruptly answered with a gruff, muffled 'what?'

A devilish smile crossed my face and I laughed like a child. "Oh, I'm sorry Jarod, did I wake you up?" I closed my eyes as I listened to his low, rumbling laughter.

It was my game now, and I planned to enjoy every minute.

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THE END

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