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the lurker
Lewes, England
As he made his way up the road, the smell of the wet pavement filled his nose. There was no other scent quite like it. It could cover up a multitude of other smells, and still remain strangely pleasant. It was an inducer of calm. It was a reminder of all that was still left untainted in the world. A small smile lit his lips. Wet pavement was a welcomed friend.
He turned up the crooked cobblestone path to his right and ascended the hill. It was an eerie walk at certain hours, and three in the morning definitely qualified as eerie. The path became a narrow curvature, closed in on one side by the old stone wall of the church grounds, and on the other, the stone wall of the grave yard. Between it a solitary cobblestone path which once saw the likes of Kings racing down it in handsome carriages pulled by royal horses. Or so the locals said.
A mist blanketed the path, thick in its weight and ghostly in its countenance. Visibility was down to ten feet, and he could have sworn that the echo of his steps upon the stones were muffled by the humidity held in the air. He questioned the wisdom of having agreed to the clandestine meeting for which he was headed. He had an odd feeling of foreboding. He shook his head. Everything would be fine.
At the top of the hill, he turned left on the High Street. There was no one about, not even the dog walkers were out at such a late hour. 54 High Street, that was the number. He looked at the addresses on the shops as he walked by, and he was in the forties. Another block to go, and some light would be shed upon the mystery of the convergence. Or so he hoped.
He crossed the street and was in the middle of the fiftieth block, when he spotted it. A small black, wrought iron gate with the numbers 54 engraved upon it. The entrance had been left ajar. Carefully Jarod passed through the gate, and after looking behind him, he closed it. He could barely make out the stone path leading up to the front steps, and the solid oak door beyond.
Even in the darkness and the mist, Jarod noticed the beautiful flowers planted along the walkway toward the small house. The large linden trees were in bloom and their sweet scent carried an air of calm with them. There was a low light coming from the front window of the cottage; Jarod guessed that it was a candle. He ascended the steps and then saw that the front door was ajar, just as the gate had been. He smiled to himself, it was so like Sydney.
Jarod gently pushed the door open, and looked to his right, toward the table and the flickering candle upon it. His heart slammed in his chest at the sight awaiting him.
She stood, but made no threatening move toward him, her voice was calm and low, "Jarod....."
For a long moment, he just stared at her from the doorway, not sure what to say, nor if there was anything to be said. He glanced around the room, and realized they were alone. But Sydney had betrayed him.
Finally he glared into Parker’s eyes, "Why are you here? Where’s Sydney?"
"Jarod--"
Parker looked down, and for the first time, Jarod noticed that she looked pale and exhausted.
He took a few steps into the room, "Miss Parker, are you all right?"
She looked away, "Yes, of course."
Jarod frowned, "Sydney sent me an urgent message to meet him here. After all this time, I’m surprised that you finally talked him into setting me up."
"This isn’t a setup." Jarod stared at her, hard, and she returned it, "Do you see any sweepers here?"
"Where the hell is Sydney?"
"Jarod......"
His voice was tight, angry, "Where is he?"
"He’s very ill, Jarod. They don’t expect him to make it."
It was the first time she had voiced it aloud, and it shook her to the core. She sat down in her chair with a heaviness he had never seen in her before. Jarod slowly sat down in the chair across from her, digesting Parker’s words.
After a few moments, he looked back up at her, "What happened to him?"
"The doctors say it’s spinal meningitis, but I don’t think they know what the hell they’re talking about."
Jarod leaned his head into his hand, "I don’t understand Miss Parker; you didn’t have to tell me this in person. If you’re not here to take me back to the Centre, why did you come?"
"Because Sydney asked me to."
Parker reached into her jacket and Jarod tensed, preparing for the worst. She held one hand up to him, indicating acquiescence, and with the other, she slowly extracted the envelope from her inside pocket. She tossed it on the table between them.
"This is what Sydney was going to give you. It contains files he recently uncovered at the Centre. You may or may not find them useful in uncovering who you are, Jarod, but, Sydney wanted you to have them."
"Why would you do this for me?"
Miss Parker stood, her voice as cool as marble, "I’m doing it for him."
Parker walked toward the door and stopped by Jarod’s chair, placing a cautious hand on his shoulder, "I’m not going to take you back, Jarod, because I promised Sydney I would act only in his stead; but if you want to see him, I suggest you come with me of your own accord. He doesn’t have a lot of time."
Jarod closed his eyes, "I can’t."
She leaned into his ear, her voice becoming a plea, "Jarod, he needs to see you."
His voice was barely a whisper, "I can’t...."
Parker straightened in anger, "You’ll regret it later, Jarod."
He couldn’t speak, but he mouthed the words, I know.
She moved with silent ire to the door, but Jarod’s emotion filed voice stopped her, "Miss Parker, thank you."
Her voice was low, barely covering her indignation, "Don’t thank me, thank Sydney. If it had been up to me, I’d be hauling your sorry ass back to the Centre right now, kicking and screaming all the way."
Jarod stood up and grabbed her arm before she could exit, "If you meant that, you would have brought a sweeper team."
She looked directly into his eyes, "I did this for Sydney, because it meant so much to him." She reached into her jacket pocket again, her voice filling with sarcasm, "I almost forgot, he wanted you to have this...."
She handed him a wristwatch. Jarod recognized it as Sydney’s and flipped it over, reading the inscription:
Jean-Michael,
je t’aime l’éternité
Greta
Tears formed in Jarod’s eyes, "This belonged to Sydney’s father. I can’t take this....it should go to his...."
"His son?" Parker finished it for him, and Jarod nodded slowly. A moment later, she continued, allowing her words to carry an edge, “At least his son is there with him."
Parker left the room before Jarod had a chance to respond. He sat back down in the chair for awhile longer, allowing it all to sink in. He held the watch in his hands, gently brushing it with his fingertips, until finally, he put it in his breast pocket. Jarod stood, and gently blew out the candle. He walked out of the cottage, closing the door behind him, and moved slowly down the small path to the iron gate. He turned and looked at the house once more, then walked through the gate and down the road, never again looking behind him.
He would not see Sydney again. His chest felt tight, like he couldn’t breathe. The smell of the wet pavement rose up to meet him, but its scent was no longer pleasant. It was an inducer of sorrow. It was a reminder of all that was bad and tainted in the world. A tear rolled down Jarod’s cheek. Wet pavement would never be welcome again.
fin
Read the sequel: The Phoenix
