Truth Series by Leah
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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
DISCLAIMER: DISCLAIMER: The characters (Miss Parker, Broots, Sydney, Jarod etc) and places are the property of NBC Productions and MTM Entertainment for the purposes of entertainment only and with no harsh intent and used without permission.
NOTE: It, most amazingly, is the sixth but short sequel to the "Truth" series which began as one simple short story. Please do not repost this work or related works without permission of the author. I like to know where it's archived. End of Second Season story. Timeline starts just before Bank. This has taken forever to write and rewrite but was neccesary to give a nice flowing end to the "Truth"series. Please enjoy! Rated PG.
CLOSER TO THE TRUTH
by Leah
Written in 1998 and 2001
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The stress pressed around her from all sides, forming a box around her, an invisible one that closed in on all sides. Anxiety was eating her up from within. She stared down at the cigarette pack in her hand, the one her father had suddenly given her as a gift. She looked up at him silently with a question in her eyes.
His response was as inexplicable as ever. "Don't disappoint me, Angel."
"I'll get him," she had responded mechanically, however there was nothing behind the words...only a numb sort of feeling. Chasing Jarod was now a force of habit--a whole way of life.
Mr. Parker nodded his approval and walked down the hallway out of sight.
Jarod's words came back to haunt her. The ones he had spoken on that infamous day when they had made The Deal. "I want you thinking clearly, no smoke on the brain." Perhaps her father suspected it--that the reason she had quit smoking was because--she tired to wrestle with the thought to keep it from coming but lost the battle--because of Jarod. Think clearly! she rebelled. How could she ever think? Her mind was swimming now. She was torn in half. There were no easy choices. Not at the Centre.
She hadn't caught Jarod yet. That was a blatant fact that she could not deny--it was something her father never failed to mention--when she saw him. Mr. Parker had once asked her, "Who are you going to believe, me or Jarod?" She hadn't known how to answer.
She was always watched. She was used to it now, she told herself. It most certainly had gone through the Centre grapevine, warped and twisted as it always was, that she had quit smoking. Even Jarod had known and compared her nicotine addiction that controlled her to that of the Centre's control on her life. And now, this! After a week of not seeing a trace, Mr. Parker had appeared in the hall, smiled and informed her that he was not happy with her performance of late and (Mr. Raines had brought this to light) that because of a report written by Brigitte, of all people, the reviewing of Miss Parker's files had leaned towards the professional opinion that 'the Pretender man' was simply too clever for Miss Parker to catch. This had reached the ears of the Triumvirate.
"Daddy, no matter how clever he will slip!" She snapped her fingers. "And I'll catch him."
Then, Mr. Parker had said those four words, "Don't disappoint me, Angel," patted her shoulder with a smile and left her standing in the hallway, holding the poisonous gift in one hand and a small briefcase in the other.
His attitude had been the same when he had ordered her to eliminate Mr. Lyle and her retort, "I am not an assassin," he had brushed off like a piece of lint. She hadn't allowed herself to think about it after that or rather she had tried not to think about it, but had run into Sydney soon after the conversation with her father and Sydney suspected. He hadn't told her not to do it--only he had questioned her in that steady way he had that always made her feel guilty...because those questions always tapped into the side of her nature that she had inherited from her mother. A side of her that was neither ice, nor steel but all heart. She had immediately shut down Sydney's questioning with one of her coldest remarks and left quickly before anymore doubts could be raised in her mind.
Jarod...dead or alive. Dead was becoming more preferable, but Jarod was more valuable alive. At least, that's what she kept telling herself. It seemed now she was on the spot. The next time she saw Jarod...the next time she was near enough then...She shivered and tried to push away these dark thoughts. But if she didn't capture Jarod--She squeezed the handle of her briefcase and choked back an indignant cry of frustration. And still the words echoed in mind: Don't disappoint me, Angel.
It unsettled and unnerved her and she began to walk, walk past her office, walk all the way to Sydney's office and even beyond. She walked blindly, with no clear idea of where she was headed. She only knew she was going somewhere...and anywhere was better than the position she now stood in. Once, when walking past a wastebasket in the hall, she flexed her fingers and released the box of menthols. It sank into the trash. She breathed deeply and walked faster. The motion and movement of the walking helped and at last she came to rest her troubled emotions enough to look about her.
The place looked familiar. Yes, she had her bearings now. She turned a corner and came to Jarod's room. Not the simulation room...but the room where he had been kept. The four walls he had lived and breathed and slept in for over thirty years. The thought of it nearly stifled even her, whereas before she had never allowed herself to think about it. The door to the room was unlocked now and never had been used since the Pretender's escape. It still awaited his return. On an impulse, she opened the door and entered the prison.
She set the briefcase down on the floor and sat down on the single chair in the room. She pulled out her silver cigarette case and opened it. One cigarette remained. After only a moment's hesitation, she pulled it out, snapping the case shut. Then, she reached for her lighter.
"I thought you quit," a voice came through the darkness, startling her so that the cigarette slipped from her shaky fingers to the floor.
"I did! I have!" Miss Parker stood up quickly and turned to see the speaker. "Jarod?"
The black toe of a well-made shoe stomped on the fallen cigarette, deliberately crushing it and Jarod stepped from the shadows and nodded a greeting to Miss Parker.
"But, what are you doing here?" stammered Miss Parker, seriously wondering if she was perhaps hallucinating. She gripped the back of the chair behind her to keep from falling over in shock.
Jarod shrugged and stuck his hands in the pockets of in his leather jacket. "No one guards the empty cage," he replied.
Miss Parker nodded. How true that was! There were no security guards patrolling the halls, nor were the surveillance cameras even operational in Jarod's room. They were thought an unnecessary expense and these security measures were only to be reinstated upon Jarod's return to the Centre.
"If you must know," Jarod said with a sigh, sitting down on the edge of his cot. "I came to see you."
Miss Parker had pulled her cellular phone from her pocket and was about to dial. Something in Jarod's manner made her pause uncertainly. To see her? What could he mean by that? Weren't the taunting phone calls he made to her at all hours of the night enough?
"You want to turn me in?" Jarod asked, somewhat bitterly. "Go right ahead."
There was something wrong here, Miss Parker thought. She snapped her phone shut. "What about, Jarod?" she asked, sitting down again.
"I came to find out why you haven't quit," Jarod replied.
His response seemed utterly preposterous to her. She arched her eyebrows. "I told you, I did quit! I'm entitled to relapse every so often, aren't I?"
"I meant The Centre," Jarod replied, watching her steadily.
"You're asking me to quit the Centre?" Miss Parker asked with a sad grin. "Why sure, I'll just march up to Daddy and say, 'Jarod wants me to quit so I've decided to become a ballerina instead!' Wouldn't that just thrill him?" she remarked, sarcastically.
Jarod folded his hands across his knees and rested his chin on them. He ignored her remarks and endeavored to reach the heart of the matter. "You're afraid," he stated simply.
"Afraid?" scoffed Miss Parker. "Oh, Jarod, you have to do better than that."
"You are," Jarod insisted. "Afraid of leaving. Afraid of what would happen to you if you did. Afraid for your life."
"What? You want me to end up like you? Running for my life and never knowing what job I'll do next. Not hanging around long enough to get job benefits. To always have someone on my tail. You call that a life?"
Something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh came from the shadows where Jarod was sitting. "You should have been a Pretender," he said. You might have been, he added silently to himself. "You captured my situation well. You're wrong about the benefits though. Being able to help people...the look on someone's face or just knowing that you made a difference--"
"My mother tried to make a difference...and look what happened to her."
"Do you remember your mother, Miss Parker?" Jarod asked.
What a question! "Of course I do, Jarod. Everyday."
"Then, she did make a difference. She still is, every day."
She had no answer for that.
"Just try it," Jarod said, a note of challenge and note of pleading in his voice. "Just once. Before it's too late."
"Too late for what?" Miss Parker frowned, once again raising the phone.
She saw Jarod make a movement in the darkness and the next moment she felt something whiz by her head and bounce against the wall behind her. Startled, she turned to look at it and in that split second distraction, she felt the phone slipped gently from her hand. She watched a bouncy ball first bounce, then roll along the cement floor and then looked at Jarod once more, watching as he settled back into his former position, the phone now clutched in his palm. At the present moment, she was too curious about what Jarod wanted to be angered at being out maneuvered once more. Jarod seemed almost to read her mind. "You'll find out," he explained. "Unless you're afraid."
Miss Parker was afraid. But she wasn't about to admit this to anyone, especially not Jarod.
"Until we meet again," Jarod said. He rose suddenly about to run out the door into the hall.
Miss Parker leapt up, preparing to run after him. A scent assailed her nostrils and the room seemed to waver before her eyes and dissolve.
Miss Parker found herself walking to her car. She got in and pulled out leaving the Centre behind and entering the traffic she always encountered on her commute. Miss Parker's car phone rang. Grimly, she answered it, "What?"
"Turn right at the next corner and proceed five blocks until you see the city limits sign," Jarod's voice instructed.
Click! Miss Parker heard before she even had the chance to sputter a "Why should I?" Well, Miss Parker thought, she wouldn't. She just wouldn't. She was done with Jarod's games, she thought. Besides, why should she? Hadn't Jarod been responsible for her mother's death? Her mother had died with plans of saving Jarod. Hadn't Jarod been responsible for all the suffering and--hadn't he been responsible for starting her on the road to truth about her mother in the first place? The image of Jarod the Scapegoat faded in her mind...it had been fading for quite some time. Hadn't Jarod warned her and helped her save her father's life? Hadn't Jarod indirectly helped her escape her kidnappers? Wasn't he trying, even now, to help her?
Her car had turned right and she was counting the blocks almost before she knew what she had done.
The road seemed strange to her although she had driven it dozens of times. Or had she? Things seemed fuzzy. Distorted somehow. And to top it all off her phone was ringing and she couldn't find it! She ran her fingers through her hair. Beautiful! Miss Parker thought. Just beautiful.
A figure ran out into the road and instinctively her foot reached for the brake. She hit the city limits sign and at the same time her tire struck something sharp. She skillfully maneuvered her vehicle off the road into a ditch.
The screeching tires sounded strangely like that infernal phone that wouldn't shut up. Someone really should answer it. If only--
Coughing, Miss Parker awoke with the sense of lost time. She rubbed her eyes and found herself blinking rapidly, trying to ward off the sleep agent she had apparently breathed in. She opened her eyes wider, realizing with a start, that she had never left the Centre. The digital beeping noise of the cell phone that had aided in awakening her went unanswered and ceased.
Miss Parker ran out into the hall. She glanced to the right and to the left but saw no one. Neither did she hear any footsteps. Once again, the Pretender had vanished into thin air.
She turned and went back into Jarod's room to fetch her case. She noticed her cellular phone was lying neatly on the floor and she knelt to pick it up. As she was retrieving it, her eye caught sight of the small rubber ball. Without pause, she knelt down and picked it up, rolling it from hand to hand and then gripping it tightly. Until we meet again, those parting words of Jarod's echoed in her brain. "Until then," Miss Parker whispered under her breath, still finding it hard to believe what had just occurred though she literally held the proof between her fingertips.
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The Centre, Blue Cove Delaware
Not long after this incident, Miss Parker strode into the Centre after a visit with her father at her home. He hadn't stayed long and hadn't said much, but the strangeness of his unexpected visit had disturbed her. She had asked him why he came but he had said he had just come to make sure she was alright and something about a bad dream, but this explanation was disatisfying. Miss Parker was certain that there had to be more to it than that.
Sydney and Broots were sitting in the office conversing and eating a snack when she arrived.
"This came for you," Broots remembered suddenly, hopping up to give her an Express Mail envelope.
The smooth-textured brochure was the first thing that caught her eye when she ripped open the envelope.
"Dover Town Bank?" Miss Parker read the title. Dover wasn't too far from Blue Cove, but she didn't hold any accounts there. She flipped open the brochure and immediately said with understanding, "Jarod." A picture of Jarod's face smiled at her from one of its leaves. The words next to his photo were cryptic but flourished with his sense of humour. "Something of interest today at 11:00--The secrets to your past."--Jarod.
As she was turning over the contents of the envelope, something escaped her grasp and fell to the floor.
It was a small white envelope and the handwitten words stared up at her from the floor.
For my daughter.
"A letter from your mother?" Sydney questioned as it lay on the floor and he bent to pick it up. But Miss Parker seized it first and moved to the other side of the room to read it privately. A letter addressed to her? One that she had never read, never even knew existed until now? This was not something she was ready to share with Broots or even Sydney.
Gingerly, she opened it. March 20, 1970, the aged stationary was dated. Miss Parker could almost hear her mother's voice in her head as she read the brief words the letter contained.
I am counting the days until our trip to Europe. How excited I am at the prospect of showing you the world. For now though, my friend and I must amend some of the ugliness that exists around us. But I promise, you and I will put all of this behind us on April 14th. All my love, Mom
Miss Parker caught her breath. "April 14th," she murmured to herself. "The day after Mom died."
Her mother had wanted to make a difference.
She still is, every day, Jarod had said.
And Miss Parker reflecting on everything, on her life after her mother's death, and what the Centre had made her become sighed once and headed for Dover.
It wasn't too late. Not yet.
NOTE: It, most amazingly, is the sixth but short sequel to the "Truth" series which began as one simple short story. Please do not repost this work or related works without permission of the author. I like to know where it's archived. End of Second Season story. Timeline starts just before Bank. This has taken forever to write and rewrite but was neccesary to give a nice flowing end to the "Truth"series. Please enjoy! Rated PG.
by Leah
Written in 1998 and 2001
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The stress pressed around her from all sides, forming a box around her, an invisible one that closed in on all sides. Anxiety was eating her up from within. She stared down at the cigarette pack in her hand, the one her father had suddenly given her as a gift. She looked up at him silently with a question in her eyes.
His response was as inexplicable as ever. "Don't disappoint me, Angel."
"I'll get him," she had responded mechanically, however there was nothing behind the words...only a numb sort of feeling. Chasing Jarod was now a force of habit--a whole way of life.
Mr. Parker nodded his approval and walked down the hallway out of sight.
Jarod's words came back to haunt her. The ones he had spoken on that infamous day when they had made The Deal. "I want you thinking clearly, no smoke on the brain." Perhaps her father suspected it--that the reason she had quit smoking was because--she tired to wrestle with the thought to keep it from coming but lost the battle--because of Jarod. Think clearly! she rebelled. How could she ever think? Her mind was swimming now. She was torn in half. There were no easy choices. Not at the Centre.
She hadn't caught Jarod yet. That was a blatant fact that she could not deny--it was something her father never failed to mention--when she saw him. Mr. Parker had once asked her, "Who are you going to believe, me or Jarod?" She hadn't known how to answer.
She was always watched. She was used to it now, she told herself. It most certainly had gone through the Centre grapevine, warped and twisted as it always was, that she had quit smoking. Even Jarod had known and compared her nicotine addiction that controlled her to that of the Centre's control on her life. And now, this! After a week of not seeing a trace, Mr. Parker had appeared in the hall, smiled and informed her that he was not happy with her performance of late and (Mr. Raines had brought this to light) that because of a report written by Brigitte, of all people, the reviewing of Miss Parker's files had leaned towards the professional opinion that 'the Pretender man' was simply too clever for Miss Parker to catch. This had reached the ears of the Triumvirate.
"Daddy, no matter how clever he will slip!" She snapped her fingers. "And I'll catch him."
Then, Mr. Parker had said those four words, "Don't disappoint me, Angel," patted her shoulder with a smile and left her standing in the hallway, holding the poisonous gift in one hand and a small briefcase in the other.
His attitude had been the same when he had ordered her to eliminate Mr. Lyle and her retort, "I am not an assassin," he had brushed off like a piece of lint. She hadn't allowed herself to think about it after that or rather she had tried not to think about it, but had run into Sydney soon after the conversation with her father and Sydney suspected. He hadn't told her not to do it--only he had questioned her in that steady way he had that always made her feel guilty...because those questions always tapped into the side of her nature that she had inherited from her mother. A side of her that was neither ice, nor steel but all heart. She had immediately shut down Sydney's questioning with one of her coldest remarks and left quickly before anymore doubts could be raised in her mind.
Jarod...dead or alive. Dead was becoming more preferable, but Jarod was more valuable alive. At least, that's what she kept telling herself. It seemed now she was on the spot. The next time she saw Jarod...the next time she was near enough then...She shivered and tried to push away these dark thoughts. But if she didn't capture Jarod--She squeezed the handle of her briefcase and choked back an indignant cry of frustration. And still the words echoed in mind: Don't disappoint me, Angel.
It unsettled and unnerved her and she began to walk, walk past her office, walk all the way to Sydney's office and even beyond. She walked blindly, with no clear idea of where she was headed. She only knew she was going somewhere...and anywhere was better than the position she now stood in. Once, when walking past a wastebasket in the hall, she flexed her fingers and released the box of menthols. It sank into the trash. She breathed deeply and walked faster. The motion and movement of the walking helped and at last she came to rest her troubled emotions enough to look about her.
The place looked familiar. Yes, she had her bearings now. She turned a corner and came to Jarod's room. Not the simulation room...but the room where he had been kept. The four walls he had lived and breathed and slept in for over thirty years. The thought of it nearly stifled even her, whereas before she had never allowed herself to think about it. The door to the room was unlocked now and never had been used since the Pretender's escape. It still awaited his return. On an impulse, she opened the door and entered the prison.
She set the briefcase down on the floor and sat down on the single chair in the room. She pulled out her silver cigarette case and opened it. One cigarette remained. After only a moment's hesitation, she pulled it out, snapping the case shut. Then, she reached for her lighter.
"I thought you quit," a voice came through the darkness, startling her so that the cigarette slipped from her shaky fingers to the floor.
"I did! I have!" Miss Parker stood up quickly and turned to see the speaker. "Jarod?"
The black toe of a well-made shoe stomped on the fallen cigarette, deliberately crushing it and Jarod stepped from the shadows and nodded a greeting to Miss Parker.
"But, what are you doing here?" stammered Miss Parker, seriously wondering if she was perhaps hallucinating. She gripped the back of the chair behind her to keep from falling over in shock.
Jarod shrugged and stuck his hands in the pockets of in his leather jacket. "No one guards the empty cage," he replied.
Miss Parker nodded. How true that was! There were no security guards patrolling the halls, nor were the surveillance cameras even operational in Jarod's room. They were thought an unnecessary expense and these security measures were only to be reinstated upon Jarod's return to the Centre.
"If you must know," Jarod said with a sigh, sitting down on the edge of his cot. "I came to see you."
Miss Parker had pulled her cellular phone from her pocket and was about to dial. Something in Jarod's manner made her pause uncertainly. To see her? What could he mean by that? Weren't the taunting phone calls he made to her at all hours of the night enough?
"You want to turn me in?" Jarod asked, somewhat bitterly. "Go right ahead."
There was something wrong here, Miss Parker thought. She snapped her phone shut. "What about, Jarod?" she asked, sitting down again.
"I came to find out why you haven't quit," Jarod replied.
His response seemed utterly preposterous to her. She arched her eyebrows. "I told you, I did quit! I'm entitled to relapse every so often, aren't I?"
"I meant The Centre," Jarod replied, watching her steadily.
"You're asking me to quit the Centre?" Miss Parker asked with a sad grin. "Why sure, I'll just march up to Daddy and say, 'Jarod wants me to quit so I've decided to become a ballerina instead!' Wouldn't that just thrill him?" she remarked, sarcastically.
Jarod folded his hands across his knees and rested his chin on them. He ignored her remarks and endeavored to reach the heart of the matter. "You're afraid," he stated simply.
"Afraid?" scoffed Miss Parker. "Oh, Jarod, you have to do better than that."
"You are," Jarod insisted. "Afraid of leaving. Afraid of what would happen to you if you did. Afraid for your life."
"What? You want me to end up like you? Running for my life and never knowing what job I'll do next. Not hanging around long enough to get job benefits. To always have someone on my tail. You call that a life?"
Something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh came from the shadows where Jarod was sitting. "You should have been a Pretender," he said. You might have been, he added silently to himself. "You captured my situation well. You're wrong about the benefits though. Being able to help people...the look on someone's face or just knowing that you made a difference--"
"My mother tried to make a difference...and look what happened to her."
"Do you remember your mother, Miss Parker?" Jarod asked.
What a question! "Of course I do, Jarod. Everyday."
"Then, she did make a difference. She still is, every day."
She had no answer for that.
"Just try it," Jarod said, a note of challenge and note of pleading in his voice. "Just once. Before it's too late."
"Too late for what?" Miss Parker frowned, once again raising the phone.
She saw Jarod make a movement in the darkness and the next moment she felt something whiz by her head and bounce against the wall behind her. Startled, she turned to look at it and in that split second distraction, she felt the phone slipped gently from her hand. She watched a bouncy ball first bounce, then roll along the cement floor and then looked at Jarod once more, watching as he settled back into his former position, the phone now clutched in his palm. At the present moment, she was too curious about what Jarod wanted to be angered at being out maneuvered once more. Jarod seemed almost to read her mind. "You'll find out," he explained. "Unless you're afraid."
Miss Parker was afraid. But she wasn't about to admit this to anyone, especially not Jarod.
"Until we meet again," Jarod said. He rose suddenly about to run out the door into the hall.
Miss Parker leapt up, preparing to run after him. A scent assailed her nostrils and the room seemed to waver before her eyes and dissolve.
Miss Parker found herself walking to her car. She got in and pulled out leaving the Centre behind and entering the traffic she always encountered on her commute. Miss Parker's car phone rang. Grimly, she answered it, "What?"
"Turn right at the next corner and proceed five blocks until you see the city limits sign," Jarod's voice instructed.
Click! Miss Parker heard before she even had the chance to sputter a "Why should I?" Well, Miss Parker thought, she wouldn't. She just wouldn't. She was done with Jarod's games, she thought. Besides, why should she? Hadn't Jarod been responsible for her mother's death? Her mother had died with plans of saving Jarod. Hadn't Jarod been responsible for all the suffering and--hadn't he been responsible for starting her on the road to truth about her mother in the first place? The image of Jarod the Scapegoat faded in her mind...it had been fading for quite some time. Hadn't Jarod warned her and helped her save her father's life? Hadn't Jarod indirectly helped her escape her kidnappers? Wasn't he trying, even now, to help her?
Her car had turned right and she was counting the blocks almost before she knew what she had done.
The road seemed strange to her although she had driven it dozens of times. Or had she? Things seemed fuzzy. Distorted somehow. And to top it all off her phone was ringing and she couldn't find it! She ran her fingers through her hair. Beautiful! Miss Parker thought. Just beautiful.
A figure ran out into the road and instinctively her foot reached for the brake. She hit the city limits sign and at the same time her tire struck something sharp. She skillfully maneuvered her vehicle off the road into a ditch.
The screeching tires sounded strangely like that infernal phone that wouldn't shut up. Someone really should answer it. If only--
Coughing, Miss Parker awoke with the sense of lost time. She rubbed her eyes and found herself blinking rapidly, trying to ward off the sleep agent she had apparently breathed in. She opened her eyes wider, realizing with a start, that she had never left the Centre. The digital beeping noise of the cell phone that had aided in awakening her went unanswered and ceased.
Miss Parker ran out into the hall. She glanced to the right and to the left but saw no one. Neither did she hear any footsteps. Once again, the Pretender had vanished into thin air.
She turned and went back into Jarod's room to fetch her case. She noticed her cellular phone was lying neatly on the floor and she knelt to pick it up. As she was retrieving it, her eye caught sight of the small rubber ball. Without pause, she knelt down and picked it up, rolling it from hand to hand and then gripping it tightly. Until we meet again, those parting words of Jarod's echoed in her brain. "Until then," Miss Parker whispered under her breath, still finding it hard to believe what had just occurred though she literally held the proof between her fingertips.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Centre, Blue Cove Delaware
Not long after this incident, Miss Parker strode into the Centre after a visit with her father at her home. He hadn't stayed long and hadn't said much, but the strangeness of his unexpected visit had disturbed her. She had asked him why he came but he had said he had just come to make sure she was alright and something about a bad dream, but this explanation was disatisfying. Miss Parker was certain that there had to be more to it than that.
Sydney and Broots were sitting in the office conversing and eating a snack when she arrived.
"This came for you," Broots remembered suddenly, hopping up to give her an Express Mail envelope.
The smooth-textured brochure was the first thing that caught her eye when she ripped open the envelope.
"Dover Town Bank?" Miss Parker read the title. Dover wasn't too far from Blue Cove, but she didn't hold any accounts there. She flipped open the brochure and immediately said with understanding, "Jarod." A picture of Jarod's face smiled at her from one of its leaves. The words next to his photo were cryptic but flourished with his sense of humour. "Something of interest today at 11:00--The secrets to your past."--Jarod.
As she was turning over the contents of the envelope, something escaped her grasp and fell to the floor.
It was a small white envelope and the handwitten words stared up at her from the floor.
For my daughter.
"A letter from your mother?" Sydney questioned as it lay on the floor and he bent to pick it up. But Miss Parker seized it first and moved to the other side of the room to read it privately. A letter addressed to her? One that she had never read, never even knew existed until now? This was not something she was ready to share with Broots or even Sydney.
Gingerly, she opened it. March 20, 1970, the aged stationary was dated. Miss Parker could almost hear her mother's voice in her head as she read the brief words the letter contained.
I am counting the days until our trip to Europe. How excited I am at the prospect of showing you the world. For now though, my friend and I must amend some of the ugliness that exists around us. But I promise, you and I will put all of this behind us on April 14th. All my love, Mom
Miss Parker caught her breath. "April 14th," she murmured to herself. "The day after Mom died."
Her mother had wanted to make a difference.
She still is, every day, Jarod had said.
And Miss Parker reflecting on everything, on her life after her mother's death, and what the Centre had made her become sighed once and headed for Dover.
It wasn't too late. Not yet.
