Seven Deadly Sins

Asian and beautiful, Lyle’s newest secretary left his office with a smile. Lyle bit is lip, trying to smile also but she was gorgeous and had a temper on her. He shook his head. No. It had only been a few weeks since the last one in the woods. Lyle always liked visiting the woods, it was calm and peaceful and no one could hear as loud as they might scream. He’d once experimented in the woods, fool of curiosity of just how much it took to kill one. It had been an education, a particularly messy and wasteful one and he hadn’t done it since. Sounds outside brought him back to this particular woman, with her blonde highlighted hair and especially pale skin she could be the best of all of them. Lyle smiled broadly; another week, then he’d invite her out to dinner and enjoy a dinner of his own.

Dust motes twisted in the sunbeams that had somehow penetrated the darkness of the room. Jarod didn’t bother to waste thought on how, only on the wonderful warmth he felt from the tip of his head to the bottom of his toes. The comforter covering him was heavy, almost pushing him back to the world of dreams. Jarod had no protests; the bed was soft, softer than anything he’d slept on in a long time. Rolling over to get into the perfect position his long hair was swept from his eyes carefully. Jarod smiled from halfway to slumber and circled his arms around Parker’s form.

At forty Miss Parker was still one of the most beautiful women in the Center – and she knew it. On days when meetings would not be called she abandoned the mannish tailored suits and went for leather. Black and red leather. Some days they got a hit while she wore them and on those days Broots couldn’t figure out why Jarod didn’t hand himself over. He would’ve with a smile on his face. Yesterday was the weekly meeting with Lyle and Cox so today she wore a black skirt that was just decent. “Keep running Jarod,” Broots thought to himself as she strode down the corridor. “You keep me in work.”

There was always another murder, always another rapist, always another injustice. “Why the hell do I bother,” Jarod thought to himself, and then chastised his brain for the treacherous thought. The man kneeling in front of Jarod had killed his own son, beaten the boy to death over his going to a school disco. He was going to plead insanity to the jury and Jarod knew they’d find him so. “You killed your own son,” Jarod hissed at him, “you beat him to death and even now show no remorse.” The man smirked at Jarod, confidant he would not hurt him. Jarod was after all a cop at the moment. That smirk, it mocked Jarod, taunted him so. It could only be described as the sum of Damien’s and Lyle’s smirk put together and then some. “And what are you going to do about it, officer Hoover?” Jarod calmly and carefully put the cuffs on the killer and when he was finished with that, turned him around and beat him calmly and carefully, to death.

[Placed after the Centre has tumbled]

He walks into a room and people notice. It doesn’t matter if he’s pretending or not – he has presence. Broots has never had presence. Dressed in an Armani suit he could slip into a room unnoticed. Only when Miss Parker escorted him did they stop. But then it was a ‘What’s she doing with him.’ stop. Jarod has it all, looks, intelligence, family and... Miss Parker. They don’t know it yet, she’d shoot him if he ever said or implied...

But that doesn’t stop it from being there.

And that didn’t stop him from hating him just a little bit.

Major Charles wasn’t much like his son. Sure he was ethical and intelligent but that’s where the similarities ended. Major Charles was less compassionate than his son, strong willed and morose. “The kind of boy that a father could be very proud of.” Sydney had said in their car trip. It was true, Jarod wanted to save the world. Not unlike a young man and his brother had been, some forty years earlier. “Very proud,” he repeated, just to himself.

It was with a sad sigh that Jarod handed over the keys to his black Ferrari, it was a wonderful car and powerful as hell. He really regretted Parker’s sweepers catching a glance at it now he needed a new car and all that was left was “Persian Cars” and the last time they’d seen a Ferrari was probably when some businessman stopped to take a wiz on their sign. “Got a great car you for yah sonny, real beaut', in fact it’s a shame to have to part ways with it but yah seem like a nice enough fella.” Jarod carefully didn’t groan at the 1989 Honda that was now his new car.

He gave the man a couple hundred dollars and told him not to say anything if a brunette turned up asking about him. If she found out what he was driving he’d never live it down.

“Don’t be greedy.” It was a statement that Jarod had heard many a time, from many a different mother. Not his own, never his own, so he wondered for a time if it applied to him.

He rolled over in bed and took in the site of Parker beside him. Her hair was tousled and the rumpled sheets wrapped around her so tight it was like a second skin. He moved a little closer, marvelling that he could and kissed his way down her collarbone.

“Don’t be greedy,” Parker said with a smile. Then kissed him deeply anyway.