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Hello again!

This is the last part in Section II – the next will begin Section III. I think I’ll wait a few extra days before resuming my posts here – drum up a little interest, increase the suspense, perhaps? Oh, who am I kidding? Expect more in a few days!

This note is more personal and less related to the plotline, but is still relevant to the subject at hand: In many ways, this story has been an exorcism of sorts – an experimental look at the sometimes tragedy of birth families and the potential to build others over time and distance. When this is complete, I can move on to a series of books I’ve been outlining and re-outlining in my own mind. Yet, at the same time, I have put off completion of this story for several years now. Finishing this is closing a chapter of my own life, and there are moments when, as hard as I have fought to get to these last pages, writing the final few words seems more difficult than writing the first few.

So here is to us – the children of secrets and lies, betrayal and tragedy. May we – like the Parker and Jarod of Steven Long Mitchell and Craig W. Van Sickle’s imaginations – find our own missing pieces, our own inner peace, and a refuge to call our own – whatever, whoever, or wherever that may be. Know that no matter your origins, regardless of your bloodlines, you are who you want to be and family is what you make of it.

Without further adieu – and thanks for the indulgence – the story continues,

NDV


Part Nine

It had been almost two days since Broots and Major Charles had outlined the plan for lifting the blue box from the Denver satellite office. Jim, Ethan, and Broots had spent the remaining hours of the first day outlining two computer components, one a transmitter and the other a terabyte microcomputer that would automatically copy the remote files from all of the facilities the Centre was responsible for maintaining. The hardware structure of the microcomputer was based from a prior model Ethan had used in his attempts to carry out Raines’ mass-assassination plot in Washington. The transmitter was not at all unlike one Jim had helped Jarod design years prior to plant on Parker’s computer at the Centre. Her initial annoyance at learning the information quickly faded as Jim outlined the usefulness of the device in accessing updated information remotely. Unfortunately, the chief limitation of the transmitter would allow access only to the physical files on that hard drive at any given time. In order to gain access to future files on the Centre mainframe, they would need to break back into one of the storage facilities and tap in remotely, or plant a transmitter in the hardware of the Centre mainframe in Blue Cove. Though Parker had not voiced the thought, the benefits of such an ability was quickly outweighing the risk of getting caught – at least in theory. How to break into the Centre when the facility had inevitably increased security after her departure was another matter entirely, definitely worthy of more examination.

Thursday morning had not yet dawned over the horizon as Parker crawled from beneath the sheets of her bed. Sleep had not come easily the night before, and wakefulness had been as unwelcome as the nausea that caused it. Hunched over, she eased carefully to the window seat of her bedroom, once again thankful the Major had offered her a room carved into the canyon-side of the house. Parker curled forward toward her knees and grabbed a decorative pillow Ben had brought from the inn, holding it tight against her stomach.

He had presented it to her the night before as she stood in a similar position on the porch, staring out over the setting sun as the silence of the evening settled around them. He had been whittling, carving from a large block of wood what she could already see was a gift for her child, a being he was intent on looking after as he would any grandchild. Her back was to Ben, her hands wrapped around an ever present mug of tea, the one thing that seemed to calm both her nerves and stomach. Major Charles had brought her the hot tea, physically wrapping her fingers around the curve of the cup as she stared into nothing. He had not yet worked up the nerve to speak to her about the images that had passed through her touch into his own mind, preferring instead to wait until he had sorted through them himself. Parker had offered him a small smile as she looked at the fading sunset, worry knotting her stomach as she thought of the trip half of their group would make when the sun again made its appearance. There were moments when the Major reminded her so much of Jarod, handing her a cup of tea to calm her nerves as his son had done on the Isle of Carthis.

Ben watched in silence under the guise of carving the rounded bottom of the wooden block he had acquired in North Carolina. Like Parker’s tea, the slide of his knife against the oak calmed his anxiety. After a few more minutes of silence, Ben stood and slipped inside the creaking storm door, returning moments later with the pillow tucked in his fists. Embroidered on the white fabric were the initials CEP, a curling strand of ivy framing one side of the letters before sliding off into the scalloped edge. Ben stood beside her, taking note of the empty mug in her hands. He reached forward and removed the mug from her hands, causing her eyes to drift from the distant horizon to the face of the man beside her. With a soft smile, Ben sat the mug on the table to his left, then slipped the small pillow into her hands.

“Your grandmother made this for your mother when she was a little girl,” he offered, watching her face as her eyes flicked from Ben’s face to the face of the pillow. Tentatively, the fingers of her left hand drifted to trace the letters embroidered in a simple, scrolling blue. “She left it in the rocking chair in my bedroom the last time I saw her. Never could bring myself to move it,” he shrugged, eyes following Parker’s shaking fingers.

“I…” she struggled to form words, fingers tracing the E that stood for Elaine. “My mother loved you.”

Ben gave a short nod, smiling tenderly at the young woman. “Yes, Catherine loved me and I loved her. But more important than that, she loved you. And I think this belongs to you, now. There’s another rocking chair that pillow should sit in.”

Lowering her brows and pulling the pillow to her chest, Parker’s eyes met Ben’s and a small smile stretched across her face. “Mama would have been a wonderful grandmother,” she ventured.

Nodding, the older man placed a hand on her right shoulder blade, unknowingly laying his palm over the place where she had taken the bullet meant for a man she had once called Daddy. “That she would have.”

After a few more moments of silence, Parker inhaled the dampness of the cooler night air, then spoke. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day, Ben.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “I think Ethan and Jim just went to bed. They’ve been studying the building blueprints that Mr. Broots managed to locate earlier today. I think the Major is preparing a video message for Jarod should he get in contact with us while they are in Denver.” After another pause, Ben applied pressure to her shoulder, steering her toward the door. “Bed would probably be a good idea, Miss Parker. Why don’t you go rest? An early night seems like a good idea for all of us.”

Smiling kindly at the older man, she allowed him to guide her toward the door and pull the screen door open. “Sounds like a good idea, Ben. Thank you,” she released one of the hands holding the pillow and squeezed his arm. “Good night.” He watched as she turned the corner, still holding her mother’s memento against her chest.

Sleep had not come easily as she stared out the window into the darkness, and when it had it was filled with nonsense words and fragmented images of things she could not remember. Of late, this had not been particularly unusual, though Parker had to admit it was a trifle annoying and reminded her far too much of her insomnia-plagued teenage years.

If anything happened to her brother, Jim, Broots, or Major Charles, she wasn’t sure how they were going to pull this off. Ethan was the twin-brother she had longed for, though they were separated by a decade in years. His heart was so much like her own, his gift so entertwined with hers. Functioning without Ethan to interpret some of the messages her mother tried to pass through the Inner Sense was a thought that made her weary. More importantly, she had grown to love Ethan, an emotion she certainly never felt toward Lyle. Jim reminded her so much of a young Jarod that her heart physically hurt when she turned a corner and unexpectedly saw him sitting alone. Broots was one of her best friends, and certainly her most trusted. He was not part of the Centre, yet he was close enough to it that he understood the horrors the place perpetrated and would defend her ability to dismantle them at every turn. And Major Charles… exactly what Major Charles was, she had yet to define. He was both an ally and a confidante, and she was beginning to consider him a close friend. They were bound inextricably by the Centre, much as she and Jarod were or she and Angelo were. Both of them had their families ripped away at the whim of Raines and his cronies; both of them had been used in ways no human being should ever be manipulated. Two days ago, he had seen into her memory. Whether that was through the growing strength of her Inner Sense or the potential gift of the child she carried, she was unsure. One thing, however, Parker knew was very clear: she and Major Charles were tied together by more than mere Centre manipulation. It was entirely possible, she recognized, that the child she carried was his. If not, it was likely his grandchild. The weeks to come would bring answers to those questions. But, Parker thought, that still doesn’t explain how he was able to see what I was thinking when he touched me. I think it’s time to speak with Sydney about this thought projection I seem to be doing. Why, she had wondered, had this happened only with Major Charles? Was it merely the fact that her emotions were in such turmoil that the strength allowed her thoughts to cross the boundary of her mind, much as her mother’s voice crossed the boundary of death? Or was it a matter of timing – the placement of his hand timed with the strength of her mental anguish? Was it the child? Or was it something else entirely?

As her thoughts ran their course, Parker leaned toward her knees, surprised to find that she could not quite touch her forehead to them. Slipping her hand to her stomach, she smiled lightly and laughed to herself, knowing that it was still as visibly flat as it had been days ago. However, her upward movement caused her stomach to roll unpleasantly. Biting back bile, Parker moved swiftly toward the attached bathroom, leaving the pillow on the window seat and clutching her hand to her midsection.

Moments after entering the bathroom, the brunette pressed her face against the side of the bathroom cabinet, flicking the handle on the commode. The door creaked open behind her, and her eyes drifted closed as she heard the water faucet turn on. A few moments later, a cool rag was placed against the back of her neck as a hand swept her hair to the side. Major Charles settled on the floor just behind her, knees bent awkwardly and arms resting over them. She had yet to see his face, but recognized the scent of his cologne. Only days earlier, she would have flinched at the presence of another in her bathroom, or would have at least bit back a sarcastic comment. The exhaustion and frustration of the past few days, the concern over the success of their plan, drove away any remaining concern Parker had over maintaining her distance. After a moment of leaning carefully into the cool side of the cabinet, she turned her head to the right, taking in the image of the older man positioned uncomfortably on the floor. Leaning backward against the legs positioned only inches behind her, she sighed, rubbing the palm of her hand across her stomach in an effort to calm the rolling. Major Charles soon frowned, finding her effort had been unsuccessful as she lurched forward again, hanging her head over the toilet and heaving dryly. Scrambling to his knees, he tried to offer support but she flung her hand backward, gesturing for him to give her space. It would be several minutes before either of the two were able to leave the bathroom.

Upon returning to the comfort of the bedroom, Major Charles offered a small smile while guiding her toward the bed. “Jim heard you. He thought it would be a good time for us to talk about the other day.”

“While I was hurling?” she queried dryly, an eyebrow arching perfectly.

Shaking his head, the older man offered a chastened smile. “I think he meant after.”

“Now?” Parker sighed, crawling between the sheets of her bed and patting the other side. She nodded at the older man and continued. “I guess now is as good a time as any. The whole thing might be an unwarranted distraction while you’re in Denver.”

“With four of us making the trip, what happens in Denver has very little to do with what I saw the other day, Parker,” his voice was wry. “They were memories?”

Parker nodded, shifting to her right side. “Everything the Centre has taken. Mama. Tommy. The truth. My choices.” Each phrase was punctuated by a short pause, her voice low and contemplative. “My friend, my brother.”

With a sigh, Major Charles leaned backward against the headboard. “I recognized everyone else – Tommy must have been the man who died?”

“Yeah,” her voice softer still. “Tommy was,” bottom lip drawn between her teeth, “he was everything to me.” With a bitter, quiet laugh, Parker continued. “That was the problem. I tried to leave the Centre for him, and they killed him to prove that I could never leave that place.”

Major Charles watched as she swallowed against the breath caught in her throat. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he finally spoke. “But we, all of the people in this house – and Jarod – are here to make sure that the Centre can’t take anything else from any of us. The Centre is a widespread organization that covers six of the seven continents. No, we probably can’t take it down. And no, we probably don’t want to because the price in terms of human lives and truths would be too high. But we can make damn sure we’re safe and that they know we’re going to be watching them, always. Maybe we can change the way they do business, maybe we can make the government think differently about their Centre contracts. We can make a difference here, Parker. We have to.”

“I know,” she replied with a chuckle. “We’re going to bring that place to its knees in more ways than one. I just wish I could see the look on Raines’ face when he realizes we’re behind it.” She picked at the edge of the pillow beneath her head.

“Margaret and I agreed when Emily was young that it was better if we went our separate ways. We were afraid that they would come after her, too. After all, they’d taken Jarod and Kyle already. From time to time, we’d cross paths in our search for the boys, especially before we knew Kyle had been killed. Once Jarod was free, we tried to reunite. Unfortunately, for Margaret and Emily to meet Jarod, I had to cover the trail – and vice versa. Emily had settled into her life in Pennsylvania and there were no signs that she had any of the Pretender abilities so evident in Jarod when he was a child and the Centre never showed any interest on her, even after her assumed names were shown in the bylines. This was, of course, before you brought the information explaining that particular genetic foible. Margaret and I… we learned to lead separate lives out of necessity. Our search for our sons and our need to avoid the Centre were the primary concerns for most of our marriage. We were so young, when we met. The Centre took away the possibility we had to raise our children, be a family, live our lives together. You’ve seen Margaret more recently than I have,” Major Charles spoke, voice tinged with sadness even as he inserted a quiet laugh at the end. “I don’t know if our marriage would have lasted had the Centre never entered into the picture, but I like to think we would have given it our best shot.”

Parker blinked against the tear that threatened to leak from the corner of her right eye into the cotton of the pillowcase. Against every command she issued her body, her mouth tugged downward into an involuntary frown. “I didn’t know Thomas for very long, just a few months. But I love – loved – him and wanted to start a new life in Portland, even if the city itself didn’t appeal to me,” this time her laugh was genuine. “I was so pleased when I thought he was talking about Maine, we’d have even been close to Ben. But Oregon? That was a pretty tough sell.”

Major Charles grinned back at her, letting out a laugh of his own. “You’re certainly not enjoying this slower-paced Western United States lifestyle, are you?”

Shaking her head ruefully, Parker sighed. “Afraid not, but I’ll get used to it if I have to.” After a few moments, she continued, voice a few octaves lower. “I want to thank you for your help, Major. This was not what I came to you for, not really.”

The older man nodded, gaze drifting past her form to the vista view behind her. “You and I are a lot alike, Miss Parker. And Catherine… you are certainly her daughter. She tried to help me, once. I never had the opportunity to return the favor. When you appeared on my doorstep, when you showed me the files you’d taken from the Centre…”

“You decided to return the favor,” Parker finished, eyelids lowering over her eyes, heat emanating from beneath the lids.

“In a way, yes. You’re also my son’s sister. And perhaps my friend,” he offered a small smile, “Besides, I never could resist a damsel in distress.”

Miss Parker choked out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh. “So that’s where Jarod got it from.”

Major Charles shrugged his shoulders, laughing quietly. “Guess so.”

He could not discern whether her next movement was involuntary or not as she eased her body a few inches closer, a tear slipping from her tightly closed eyes. “It’s funny, hearing Mama’s voice makes me miss her even more. And Tommy, God. I never wanted children, I never even thought of it. But God, I wish this were Tommy’s baby. I wish he were here.”

Shifting sideways, Major Charles lightly rested an arm over her shoulders. “I know, Parker, I know.”

It was only a few minutes later that he slipped from his seat on the opposite side of her bed and stretched upward, gazing at her face, streaked with sadness even in her sleep. With a small sigh, he pulled the covers to her chin and turned against the image, leaving her room and closing the door behind him. It was, he knew, time to wake his two younger sons and Mr. Broots.

In the next twenty-four hours, the balance of power between the Centre and their small band of refugees was going to shift, one way or another. If their plan was sucessful, it would be in their favor – and the Centre would not even know it. Denver was waiting.










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