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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
“Do you recognize any of these names?” Jarod asked the young man sitting across from him.
Mario studied the list before he shrugged. “I’ve seen some of the names in the paper and on the news.”
“Take another look.”
Jarod shot Parker a warning look. He’d ask her when they met that morning not to unnecessarily intimidate Amelia’s family members. She’d said she try, but so far she wasn’t doing very well.
“Tell me who you two are again,” Mario said, glancing at the paper.
“I’m Detective Wayne, I’m with the NYPD and heading the City Slayer investigation,” Jarod said smoothly. “This is my partner, Detective Gordon.”
“I see you’ve got the good cop/ bad cop routine down pat,” Mario commented dourly.
Parker rolled her eyes skyward and Jarod tried to conceal a smirk.
“I still don’t get why you’re looking for Mia,” he went on. “You know, it kinda bites when everyone’s askin’ questions expecting you to answer, but won’t answer none of your questions.”
“That’s understandable,” Jarod nodded. “We’re just trying to help her, Mr. Micelli.”
“Yeah, they don’t send two hot-shot detectives after a kid unless something serious is up,” he glared at them angrily. “So if you’re going to accuse my sister of some crime, I wanna know what it is.”
Parker gave him a withering look. “You can do this the hard way or the easy way, Slick. It’s you’re choice.”
Jarod sighed inwardly, almost wishing he’d made her wait in the car.
“What my partner is trying to say,” Jarod cut in, trying to ward off a confrontation. “We need to ask Amelia about a murder.”
“Whose murder?”
Parker gestured at the sheet.
“All of the them?” Mario stared at them dumbfounded. “You’re kidding right? Man, this is some sort of… You’ve got her confuse for someone else.”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Micelli,” Jarod informed him sorrowfully. “We were hoping that she could help us straighten this all out.”
Mario said nothing. He stood and began to pace the floor. Jarod glanced at the partly open kitchen door and saw Mario’s grandmother peering out. He felt badly for the family, they were obviously very upset about Amelia’s disappearance. He always hated to be the bearer of bad news. Parker, on the other hand, seemed unaffected by the whole thing.
Mario suddenly turned on them, his face darkened by outrage.
“You’re telling me that my sister, my little sister, is a murderer. And not just any murderer- a serial killer! You are so wrong… She’s a good person. She’s not capable of something like this!”
“No one wants to believe that their sibling is a sociopath, Mr. Micelli,” Parker said rising from her seat. “Believe me.”
Jarod stood up as well, and took Parker by the elbow.
“Cool it,” he whispered. “Please.”
She pulled out of his grasp and walked over to the living room window. While Jarod spoke comfortingly to Mario, Parker stared out of the window watching the street the below. In the building across from them a dark figure stood by one of the windows. When he saw her watching him, he vanished. Parker turned back to the men.
“Has anyone come here looking for Amelia?”
Mario looked up with a frown. “Yeah, actually, a couple of people.”
Jarod picked up on where Parker’s questioning was leading. “What can you tell us about them?”
Mario shrugged. “One was a Doctor… Puccini, I think. Apparently, Mia was seeing a shrink.”
“Who else?”
“Her new husband stopped in looking for her.”
Parker and Jarod exchanged surprised looks.
“Looks like baby girl’s been busy,” Parker commented as she walked around Jarod.
She gave Mario a slight smile. “That must have been quite a shocker.”
“Yeah,” the youth shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re telling me.”
“Do you remember his name?” Jarod asked.
“Sure. It’s Robert. Bowman… I think.”
Parker’s eyebrows rose. “Bobby Bowman?” she mouthed. Jarod nodded.
“Look, Mario,” Jarod placed a friendly hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I know all this must be very hard to deal with. But we really do want to help your sister. We are going to do everything to find her. Okay?”
Mario nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. Thanks, Detectives.”
Once they were back in Jarod’s rented car, Parker turned to him with an exasperated look.
“Detectives Wayne and Gordon? As in Bruce Wayne and Barbara Gordon?” she asked him reproachfully. “What is it with you and pop culture references?”
Jarod feigned injury that only made Parker more disgruntled. His partner went to buckle her seatbelt, but had difficulty finding the lock. A fight ensued. Jarod almost went to help her, but thought better of it; he was afraid he might loose his hand if he intervened.
Once she was settled in, Jarod buckled his own seatbelt without a hitch.
Parker shot him a dirty look.
“Lyle’s a real piece of work,” she seethed “What won’t he do for power?”
“Yeah,” Jarod gripped the steering wheel and frowned. “That was quite a story for him to concoct. But it tells us one thing…”
Parker looked at him. “What?”
He fired up the engine and pulled into the stream of traffic.
“He doesn’t have her yet….”
There’s a problem with me I can’t seem to shake it away… It feeds on the doubts and it’s fueled by uncertainty…
He stood by the window in a darkened room. The blinds were cracked open only enough for him to see out. All seemed still and calm and that’s what bothered him most.
He left the window and paced the floor. He was conflicted over what to do: follow original orders and return Mia to the Centre or not? He reached for his cell phone and was about to dial, then thought better of it. If Parker had traced his location via his phone surely the Centre would be ready and waiting to do the same.
His briefcase was waiting for him, concealed in a false panel in the wall of the kitchen. For the first time, he was glad that he bought this little flat in the City; it certainly had come in handy, though he hoped the Centre was as unaware of it as he thought they were.
From the attaché case he retrieved a portable telephone scrambler and attached it to the back of his cell phone. As he waited for the target of his call to pick up, he doubled-checked all the locks on the doors and windows and tripled-checked his gun.
“Hello?” the voice that answered seemed annoyed.
“Hello, Dad,” he said crisply. He stopped his pacing by the bedroom door.
“Lyle!” Mr. Parker tone was furious. “Where are you? Triumvirate’s been going mad trying to locate you!”
Nice to hear from you too, Pops! Lyle cracked open the door and peeked in. He saw Mia’s sleeping form and, when he was satisfied that she was all right, he closed the door again.
“Well, gee, I’m just a phone call away- why didn’t they just ring?”
“Stop fooling around, Lyle! Do you have the Seventh Member or not?”
He paused, greatly irritated. Then a smile slipped over his features. “No,” he said lightly.
“Lyle…” Mr. Parker’s tone was dark and threatening. “If you’ve screwed this up…”
“Look,” he snapped, “Call off your goons in black and then maybe I could get my job done.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb, Dad, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Fine,” Mr. Parker replied grudgingly. “I’ll see what I can do. But, Lyle, it is imperative that you find the Seventh Member. It is…”
“Of utmost importance,” He rolled his eyes skyward. “Yeah, save the spiel for Parker, okay?”
It took several seconds for Mr. Parker to control his fury enough to answer Lyle civilly. “Speaking of your sister, she’s disobeyed orders and gone to the City. Has she contacted you?”
Parker’s rebellion was certainly news to him and it came as a great surprise. He never would have thought that she would disobey Daddy Dearest. That knowledge made him feel a strange sort of pride in her…and it sickened him. But he had been presented with an interesting choice. If he said yes, Parker’s world would no doubt cave in; there would T-boards to suffer through and whatever else the Centre deemed appropriate for the sin of insubordination. Then of course there was Daddy to deal with. She’d certainly be taken off the Pretender Retrieval. A simple yes and little information on his part and he would get to sit back and watch Parker’s downfall.
“Lyle?”
“Sorry, Dad,” Lyle said. “Just try opening a door without thumb sometime. What were you asking?” He was standing in the middle of the room, nowhere near a door.
“Miss Parker… has your sister contacted you?”
He rubbed his chin. “No,” he said rather disgusted with himself for protecting her. “She hasn’t.”
“Fine,” Lyle could tell by his father’s tone that he didn’t quite believe him. “I want a full report from you in two days. And you’d better have the Seventh Member with you!”
Cra-a-a-a-ck! The cell phone slammed into the kitchen table as Lyle shrieked his rage. He was about to put his fist through a wall
when a moving behind him made him pause.
“Lyle?” Mia stood in the bedroom doorway, sleepily rubbing her eyes. “I heard a noise… are you okay?”
Suspicion gives birth to this animal inside of me… Shaping faults that cease to exist… this madness is all I see…
“Yeah, fine,” he said shortly without looking at her. “Just having a loving conversation with my father.”
His sarcasm was not lost on the sleepy redhead. She watched him pace for a while, then sitting and standing again, and finally sitting again on the edge of the reclining chair. She softly walked over to him and sat on the coffee table tucking her legs underneath her.
“I take it your not on very good terms with your dad.”
He looked at her through narrowed eyes and did not answer right away.
“You could say that,” he said finally. And he did not say more.
“Oh.” Mia fingered the fresh hole in the right knee of her jeans and pulled at the frayed edges. They sat in the gloomy silence for a long while. He watched her with a veiled gaze; he had no intention of discussing his past with her- the less she knew the better- but it made him uneasy when she seemed to take it so personally. Sitting Indian-style on the coffee table in front of him, she was hidden almost completely from his sight by the cloak of hair that surrounded and enclosed her like curtains. His gaze fell to her fingers that fidgeted with her jeans.
Suddenly, a hand trapped her fingers. She looked up curiously at him.
“Stop,” he said and collapsed back against his chair.
She pursed her lips together in a thin line and folded her hands in her lap.
“Stop that,” he snapped fiercely.
“What?” she looked confused.
“That…that pitiful look. I’m getting sick of it!”
“Sorry,” she mumbled. His criticism only made the forlorn look worse.
He was immensely uncomfortable with her in close proximity. Typically, when he felt like he did, usually he dealt with it by lashing out at whatever unfortunate thing happen to be nearby. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to quell the urge to grab her and do something he might regret.
Regret…feh… what would one more regret be? I’ve got a lifetime of them… His body trembled with manic laughter as he fought to keep it silent.
“So hear from your old man much?” It was a stupid question asked in bad-tempered, disagreeable tone. He was surprise that she actually answered him.
“I can’t remember.”
Of course, she can’t remember! What an idiot you are!
She stretched out her legs and slipped over to the couch, staring at him over the arm.
“Tell me about your family.”
It feeds on the doubts and it’s fueled by uncertainty… As I tear at my prey this angry heart tries to push you away…
And so he told her about his family. But the truth was so intertwined with invention in what he told her that it was doubtful that Lyle himself could distinguish fact from fiction. And it wasn’t a sob story he gave her either, at least not at first. He attempted using the technique that usually best achieved what he wanted and that technique was fear. He told her horror story after horror story about his childhood and adulthood, making sure to expound on the most gruesome details. He even went so far to completely expose his warped hand in the same manner that always sent Broots scurrying into hiding. And for the first time in his memory, fear failed him. He was the one sent running for cover when he displayed his hand and she cradled it in hers, running her fingertips over the scar. Naturally, he made sure that his demeanor stayed intact and she did not see how badly that simple gesture rattled him. She thought she had hurt him by the way he jerked away from her; she apologized profusely and seemed on the verge of crying until he assured her he was fine.
Her unorthodox responses to his tactics meant that he had no way of predicting her actions that left him feeling that he wasn’t in control of the situation. He hated not being in control.
This flaw in me is your hero’s tragic end… The one that you reach has let you down…
There was one thing he could control, however, and that was her perception of Miss Parker and Jarod. He was meticulous in his tale about them, making absolutely sure that by the time he was finished with his story, she had nothing but dislike and malice for his twin and the Pretender. That partnered with her compassion for him only solidified her allegiance to him.
After she fell asleep once again, he gingerly slipped his left hand from between her hands and walked over to the window. Once more, he cracked the blinds enough so that he could see the City. His gaze swept over the skyline. Somewhere out there, he was certain, though he didn’t know why, that Parker had found Jarod and, whatever her reason, was not taking him back where she should. And it was in this realization that he discovered why he had not turned Parker in earlier. She might have been able to escape complete destruction with the help of their father if he had told Daddy Parker the truth. But if he were able to provide the Triumvirate with indisputable evidence that his sister was fraternizing with the enemy, nothing would save her.
Lyle smiled. Parker may have a Pretender, but he had a Centre creation too. The playing field had just been leveled.
Jealousy mocks my soul- it’s reduced to ash… As this night stands still erase the pain I can no longer mask… Erase the pain inside of me…
Jarod let out a long sigh as they parked across the street from Puccini’s office building. He and Parker had been arguing since they left the Micelli’s and the last thing he wanted to do was waste the precious little time he with her by fighting. Yet it seemed unavoidable.
“Wipe that pitiful look off your face,” she hissed at him, getting out of the car before he had a chance to respond.
Jarod bit back a sharp reply and followed her. They were about to enter the building when Parker abruptly stopped, backtracked, and pulled him out of sight.
“What are you-“ a sharp jab to the ribs silenced him. He followed her gaze and saw the three men in black exiting the building.
“Those freaks sure get around,” Parker murmured. In the back of her mind, there was the worry that someone had found out
where she really was and had sent them after her.
“What is it?” Jarod whispered, watching the men disappear into an alley.
“I don’t know,” she replied, motioning for him to follow her. “They showed up at the Centre days ago and have been hanging around ever since. But what they are and who they’re working for, I don’t know.”
“I’ll bet your father does,” Jarod commented as they trailed the men. “Why didn’t you mention them before?”
She ignored him.
The duo hid in the shadows of a doorway and continued watching the figures. Seemingly out of nowhere several Black Coats assemble in the alley. Jarod squinted at the two figures at the head of the gathering, but it was difficult make out their faces even in daylight. One of them turned slightly. Jarod’s eyes widened.
“White?”
“And Cox,” Parker added dourly.
White began to move around as though looking for something. Mr. Cox regarded him with superior disdain. A phone rang and Cox answered it. Wordlessly, he listened to the caller and then hung up. He motioned to Mr. White who rejoined him at the head of the procession. The two exchanged words, before White addressed the assembled.
“This way,” he said shortly.
Parker and Jarod exchanged apprehensive looks as the bizarre troop marched away from them.
“We need to find out what they’re here for,” Jarod said with a deep frown marring his features.
“First things first, genius,” Parker said, stepping out of the doorway. “Let’s solve this Heptagon mystery first. As long as they don’t bother us, let’s leave ‘em alone.”
With a lingering concerned look at the alley, Jarod followed Parker into the office building.
She woke up in a fog due to someone shaking her. She resisted waking up, but the shaking was persistent.
“Mia, get up,” Lyle’s voice seemed a thousand miles away.
“What?” she slurred, struggling to sit up and still half-asleep. “Did they find us?”
“No,” he said. “Just get up. I need to ask you some questions.”
She yawned and blinked several times. “Ask me what?”
“What happened while we were separated?”
She frowned as the memory was hazy. “It was really strange,” she said after awhile. “I remember waking up underwater in tub.”
This caught his attention. He crashed next to her on the couch, gazing at her intently. “Underwater?”
She flushed, embarrassed by how ridiculous it sounded. “Yeah, uh, when I got out of the tub I remember when I looked down at my wet clothes I saw a broken syringe on the floor…”
“What else?”
She proceeded to tell him everything she could remember. He listened without interrupting, growing more and more disturbed. Then, suddenly, his face contorted in agony. A low growl escaped through clenched teeth.
“The case,” he choked out. “Get the black case.”
Mercifully, her memory did not fail and she was able to recall what he was talking about. She fumbled in the briefcase for the
syringes while his groans of anguish increased.
His condition wasn’t so deteriorated that he couldn’t administer the injection to himself and she found that she had to look away when he did. He improved immediately.
“That’s the syringe,” she told him as her eyes lit with recognition.
“Huh?”
She reached over and tapped the hypodermic needle. “That’s just like one I found in the bathroom when I woke up.”
He stared at her. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Why do you have to take them?”
He turned the syringe over in his hands. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve had to take them since I was fifteen. If I don’t… well you saw happened before…”
“What happens if you stop taking them?”
He just looked at her. Her eyes widened. “Oh…” she breathed. “Wow… and no one’s ever told you why?”
He shook his head. “Withholding crucial information is a way to exert control.”
“What’s that suppose to mean?”
“Nothing,” he said, looking away from her.
They sat in silence until he broke it with an outlandish question.
“Do you believe in shame?”
She gave him a funny look. “Yeah. At least, I think so.”
He appeared to mull this over. “I’m not sure I do.” He said nothing for a long while. Then he did something he wasn’t suppose to
do… he told her about his job… and the Centre, those little details he had conveniently left out earlier.
“Why would they want me?” She spoke so softly he almost didn’t hear her.
“I’m just beginning to figure that out.”
“Did I do it?” she asked despondently. “Did I kill those people?”
He found it difficult to meet her eyes, so he locked his gaze on the coffee table. “Yes,” he replied coarsely, massaging his left hand absently. “Most likely. It’s my guess that the Centre’s created you to be an assassin. But I’m not sure.”
Her eyes filled with tears that brimmed over and dripped onto her sweater. “It’s all been a lie,” she whispered in despair. She felt as though her world collapsed. “Everything…I’m a…no…no…” She turned and buried her face in a pillow, but she didn’t sob and her breathing remained even. After a while, she felt a hand on her shoulder and then she fell into darkness.
Apparently, they had disturbed the doctor for he seemed rather displeased by their sudden presence. When Jarod’s genial approach failed to get them anywhere with the tight-lipped doctor, Parker stepped in and took the matter into her own hands.
“So she’s amnesiac?” Parker raised a skeptical eyebrow. Jarod stood in the doorway, blocking the doctor’s escape path; he looked just as cynical as she.
“Listen,” Puccini cast an exasperated look in their direction, “I haven’t seen Miss Micelli in weeks, but when we last spoke she convinced me that she really could not remember who I was or who she was… She claimed not to have a concept of her identity or past. When I began questioning her, she resisted, and when I tried to convince her to come see me, she hung up. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Are you sure that’s all you can remember, Doctor?” Parker put her hands on her hips pushing her jacket to the side. Her gun flashed in warning.
Puccini eyed the weapon and Parker. “Yes, Detective. That’s all that has happened. Aside from the unfortunate death of my assistant, very little has occurred around here in weeks.” He turned to Jarod. “Any news on who did it?”
Jarod shook his head. “We’re still working on it.”
Puccini nodded and turned back to his work. “If you’ll please excuse me now, I have work to do.”
“That’s, uh, some interesting work,” Jarod commented, trading places with Parker. His eyes swept over the makeshift laboratory Puccini had set up in a small room adjacent to his office. There were cages of various sizes housing rats in various states of consciousness. Lobotomies had been performed on several of the rodents.
“Just a hobby really,” Puccini said off-handedly. “I’m studying the memory center, the adding and removal of memory and its effects on the animal. You know, I often wonder what they’re thinking- if they realize they’re a part of an experiment or if they think this-“ he waved his hand at the surgical implements scattered around with an odd smile on his lips, “is just a normal facet of their life.”
“Interesting thought,” Jarod replied darkly, his thoughts on the experiments he had suffered through. He felt a strange empathy for the animals trapped in the cages.
“They could be plotting against me for all I know,” he continued.
“Lovely thought, Doctor,” Parker interrupted. “But let’s get back to Amelia.”
“Amelia,” Puccini sighed, “suffers from continual dissociative fugue.”
“Why did she start coming to you?”
“Severe depression.”
“When did the memory loss occur?”
“Approximately seven weeks ago, however, she implied that this has occurred at a less frequent rate for several years. I do not know why or how it happened to her and I doubt that she has any idea either.” Puccini sighed. “It would be much easier for me just to give you her file, but unfortunately it was stolen the day of the murder. I don’t have any backup copies either.”
Parker was about to say something when Jarod took her arm and pulled her toward the exit.
“Thank for your trouble, Doctor,” Jarod said, struggling with Parker who didn’t care for him touching her. He let her go once they were out of the door, then paused and step back into the room. “Doctor?”
Puccini turned.
“We’d like to speak with Amelia’s brother. Do you have any idea where I might find him?”
“I’m afraid not, Detective”, Puccini said without looking up. “I wasn’t aware that she had any siblings.”
Jarod nodded thoughtfully and with one last look at the bizarre experiments, followed Parker down the hall.
“What was that about?” she asked him them as they stepped into the elevator.
Jarod glared back at the office they had just come from. “A psychoanalyst who breaks client privileges so quick and who performs warped experiments on rats? Something’s wrong here.”
“And he has seen Mario,” Parker added.
“And a liar as well. Something is very, very wrong…”
Out of the ruins, out from the wreckage… can't make the same mistake this time… We are the children the last generation We are the ones they left behind…
While she slept, he sat on the edge of the couch deep in thought. He had no idea what was going on here, what the Centre wanted with her. He also beginning to question the injections he was taking- he had never questioned it before, but now that he actually thought about it, it was the Centre- or Raines to be exact- that put him on them.
He ground his teeth together and demeaned himself for being so stupid as to blindly take a drug that he didn’t even know what it did. Was he really so mindless as to come when they snapped or jump when they said jump?
Staring blankly ahead, he clasped his hands together and rested them against his lips. He made a decision in that instant to go back to the Centre with Mia. However, he was not going to turn her in… not yet. He was going to find out what she was and what they were doing to him.
She stirred slightly, her face contorted in agony as though she were having a nightmare. He pulled the afghan back up on her shoulders, then picked up the last syringe and carried it back to the briefcase.
And I wonder when we are ever gonna change it… living under the fear till nothing else remains…
Looking for something we can rely on… There's got to be something better out there…
“I don’t know what else to do,” Jarod twisted against the seatbelt to better see Parker.
“For a genius you really are stupid,” she spat at him. “Do you expect just to walk into the Centre, find the files you’re not even sure exist, and then walk back out? What is wrong you!?”
He frowned at her in exasperation. “That wasn’t exactly what I had planned on doing,” he muttered, feeling rather like a child in her presence.
“Then what are you going to do?”
“I haven’t figured that out just yet.”
She snorted in derision. “If anyone is going back to the Centre it should be me. Or even Sydney or Broots.”
“And you don’t think that someone back there has figured out that you’re not where you’re supposed to be?”
She had no answer for him. “You can’t go back. Figure something else out.”
“Like what?”
“Just promise me you won’t be that stupid.”
“Gee, Miss Parker, I didn’t think you cared,” that old twinkle returned to his eyes.
“Promise me or I’ll shoot you to make sure you don’t.” She was dead serious in her threat.
“Okay, I promise,” he held his hands up in surrender. “I promise.”
And I wonder when we are ever gonna change it… Living under the fear till nothing else remains… What do we do with our lives? We leave only a mark… Will our story shine like a light or end in the dark? Is it all or nothing…
We don't need another hero… we don't need to know the way home… All we want is life beyond…
