Part Seven

Brownies safely in the oven and a timer set, the two returned to the living room, where Parker eased herself down to lay on the sofa. Debbie took up a position on the floor in front of her, grabbing a book and propping on her elbows to flip the pages. With a yawn, Parker glanced at the girl and smiled, then closed her eyes, ignoring the other occupants of the room in favor of a short nap. Broots looked quizzically at Miss Parker, then his daughter, shrugging his shoulders when neither offered explanations for their slightly red-rimmed eyes. Within moments, Broots heard a quiet sigh as Parker drifted off to sleep. Smiling slightly, he returned to typing on his keyboard after exchanging a quick glance with his daughter. The file Miss Parker wanted to see, he acknowledged, wouldn’t open itself. While the process would move more quickly once Jim and Ethan returned, setting up the foundation of their operation could easily be taken care of beforehand.

--

A hooded figure was crawling through a stone passageway, the oppressive scent of mold clung to the fabric of its cloak as it moved through the dankness. There was light ahead, growing nearer by the second. Reaching an open, candlelit chamber in the stone, the figure crawled to the opposite wall and flipped back the hood, revealing feminine, delicate features and curly dark hair. She reached a pale hand toward an ungrouted stone, tugging at the loose bit of masonry and shifting backward as broken pieces of granite rained on the damp floor at her feet. Carefully lowering the stone to the ground, she reached forward with both hands and pulled a cherry-finished box from inside.

A hand fell on the woman’s hood-covered shoulder, silver ring glinting in the candlelight from the sconces that ringed the chamber. “Ocee,” the voice whispered, causing the slight woman to tense, turning carefully with the box in her hands. A look of agonized resignation crossed her face as she turned to face the speaker, the weight of the box suddenly cumbrous in her grasp.

“We have to do this,” Ocee replied to the questions the other did not ask. “We can never stop them if we don’t know what it is we’re stopping, Catherine. If Margaret…” her words trailed off, urgent and uttered low.

Dropping her hand from the other woman’s shoulder to her wrist, a young Catherine Parker moved forward into the light of the chamber. Drawing to her full height, the brunette sighed and let her gaze fall to the box in her friend’s hands. “I know,” she answered, watching as her friend knelt on the stone floor and placed the box in front of her. Ocee’s gaze drifted up to fix on Catherine’s face, hands folded in her lap in front of her. For just a moment, she hesitated, then forcibly steeled herself and sank to her knees beside the other woman. “The price of this…”

“Is high,” Ocee nodded, lowering her gaze.

With a sigh, Catherine placed her left hand over Ocee’s right. Offering Ocee a tentative smile, she raised her right hand to the corner of the box, lifting the corner and sealing their fates.

--

“Ben, you are truly gifted,” Sydney chuckled, cuffing the other man on the shoulder as he pulled open the living room door. Before he could reply, both men were cut off with an urgent shushing sound, as Broots pointed at the brunette napping on the couch.

“She just fell asleep about five minutes ago,” Broots spoke quietly, peeking cautiously across the room as he stood and walked over to the two older men.

Ben nodded, setting the object he was carrying on the floor in the unoccupied corner of the room, a white blanket covering the lumpy shape. With a smile, he tugged the heavy blanket off the back of the recliner nearest him and carefully covered his surrogate daughter. Every time he looked at her, Ben could not help but see the Catherine he had once known and loved. He carefully leaned close and placed a gentle hand on her forehead, brushing the hair from her face, before standing straight and stepping around Debbie to rejoin the others.

“What’s going on?” Broots asked, gesturing at the object on the floor.

With a grin, Ben winked at the other man. “You’ll see, Mr. Broots. It’s a bit of a surprise for Miss Parker, something to make her smile.”

Frowning, Broots nodded. “I think she was crying in the kitchen with Debbie,” he whispered. “Neither one of them said anything but… well, I think she’s kind of upset about something. Not that, you know, there’s an absence of things for her to be upset about.” Looking helplessly at Sydney, the younger man continued, “I just don’t understand why they’d do this to her, Syd.”

Sighing, Sydney placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and lightly pushed him toward the couch on the opposite side of the room. “The Centre does what it wants to do, Broots. They don’t see faces or personalities, or even alliances. Parker was there, she fit the bill for what they needed.”

“Do you really think that’s the only reason, Sydney?” Ben spoke, his words filled with a dangerous, quiet sort of anger.

The psychiatrist shook his head, eyes flicking from one man to the other. “No, I don’t. I think this has everything to do with her, and probably with her mother.” With a shrug, he added, “And likely the child’s father. Why and what are what I’m curious about.”

“Syd…” Broots began, turning his head to gaze across the room at the sleeping woman beside his daughter. Catching her father’s gaze, Debbie smiled curiously and pulled herself to her knees, crawling quietly away from the couch and toward the men.

“I don’t know, Broots,” Sydney cut him off, knowing the younger man was preparing to ask him a question he could not answer. The child’s paternity, he knew, depended entirely on the precise use the Centre intended for the child as well as a dash of convenience.

Debbie pushed herself to her feet and smiled at her father, slipping her arm through his. “Daddy, the brownies will be done in a little while. Will you watch them so I can go downstairs? We set a timer.” She leaned against his shoulder, turning puppy dog eyes up at him.

Crumbling beneath her gaze, Broots nodded. “Sure, Deb. I’ll come get you when they’re ready.” He smiled a little wider when she pecked him on the cheek before leaping from the couch and disappearing down the stairs.

“She’s a good girl,” Ben offered, watching the man sit a little straighter, countenance infused with pride.

Nodding, Broots began to speak, only to be cut off by a flurry of activity across the room. The Major trudged up the stairs, having met Debbie on the stairs as she returned to the library. Laughing to himself, he trod into the room just as Parker jerked awake. Springing forward as she woke, Parker flung the blanket off of her and stared at the door, chest heaving. “Ocee,” she croaked, hands clenched into fists around the cotton blanket.

“Parker?” Major Charles asked, moving quickly as he entered the living room.

“Ocee,” the brunette repeated, eyes unfocused as she curled her fingers around the edges of the blanket. A shudder worked its way violently through her body.

Dropping to sit on the edge of the couch, Major Charles clasped his hands around her thin arms. Without a thought, Broots rushed into the kitchen for a glass of water, while Sydney neared the two others and slipped his fingers around Parker’s wrist. After a moment, he removed his hand, satisfied her pulse was within a normal range, and dropped into the recliner nearest the couch. Ben stood beside him, confusion and concern drifting across his face.

“Parker? Wake up,” Major Charles spoke, voice firm.

“Awake,” she gasped, pulling her right hand loose from the blanket and placing it over her racing heart. Working her mind around the words, she again uttered, “Ocee.”

“Ocee?” Major Charles repeated, “The woman from the herb shop?”

Nodding, Parker tugged her arms loose, pressing her hands together and pulling them to her face. “I think I’m going crazy,” she laughed, the sound hollow and verging on hysterical.

Broots cautiously stepped toward the couch, quietly placing the glass of water on the coffee table and taking a seat on the other side of Sydney. He wrung his hands as he listened.

“You’re not going crazy,” the Major comforted. “It was just a dream, Parker. It’s okay.”

“No,” she shook her head. “No it wasn’t a dream. Ocee met Margaret – more than once I bet. I thought, when we were there, I thought she spoke of visions and seeing things that weren’t there – maybe she did. But I think she had also met Margaret before. And she knew my mother.” Her gaze was fastened desperately on the Major’s face. “She knew them, from before. Sometime before – before she was blind, before my mother… before Margaret went her own way. Before,” Parker’s voice was adamant.

“It’s okay,” Major Charles repeated, biting back the urge to question her about her dream.

As if reading his mind, Parker shook her head. “It wasn’t a dream. I just… it makes sense. Mama, your Margaret, Ocee – they read the scrolls, didn’t they? I don’t know how. The little girl, little Miss Parker, she hid them with the Brothers who founded the Order. Ocee – probably, Ocee – must have found them.” Her voice rising, she continued, speaking quickly. “The scrolls drove my father crazy. He threw himself from an airplane. And Ocee, Ocee was blind but she had visions. My mother, she heard voices. And Margaret… she was looking for the scrolls – but maybe she hadn’t read them yet. Maybe that’s why she was searching for them there. They all… they all lost a sense of reality and gained something else.” A second shudder racked her body as she stared through the Major. “They all read the scrolls, didn’t they? And now they’re driving me crazy.”

Trying to follow her dizzying train of thought, Major Charles reached his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. “Did you read the scrolls, Parker?” his voice was quiet, calming.

She shook her head violently, forehead pressed into his left shoulder. “No. Jarod and I… as soon as we found them, the cavalry arrived,” she laughed bitterly. “But Mama… Mama’s been reading them to me. I don’t want… I…” she stuttered, turning to press her face into his neck.

“Are you sure what you’re hearing, what your mother is telling you… are you sure these are the scrolls?” Sydney asked, leaning forward and pressing a hand against her back in comfort.

She nodded into the Major’s neck. “I can’t make out most of what she’s saying. It’s not… it’s not in English. Most of it’s Latin… and it’s stuttered. The voices… I still don’t hear them very clear…ly,” lifting her head from the Major’s shoulder, eyes wide, Parker asked, “Ethan? Where’s Ethan?”

“Hush,” Major Charles ordered, rocking her against his frame. “Calm down. Ben will find Ethan, and we’ll see if he’s heard anything. He hasn’t mentioned anything about the Vespatian Scrolls, but it’s possible he’s just unaware of what he’s hearing.”

“I don’t understand,” she muttered. “Why wouldn’t Ocee just tell us, instead of sending us on a chase? If they made Mama hear voices I already hear, and made Ocee see visions I’m already seeing, why does Mama want me to know what is written in the scrolls?”

“You said,” Sydney began, “that you saw a vision of a little girl on the Isle of Carthis.”

“Yes,” she croaked, brows furrowed as she lifted her face to gaze at the psychiatrist.

“Perhaps Ocee wanted to see what you knew, what you could see by yourself. Maybe she was going to tell you but never had a chance.”

“That’s why they killed her,” Parker sighed, body slumping. “They didn’t kill her for helping us search for the scrolls. They killed her because they were afraid of what she might tell me.”

“It’s also possible that the scrolls didn’t do any of these things to your friend Ocee, or to your mother. You may just be looking for commonalities where none exist,” he rationalized.

“No,” she argued. “No, that’s what Mama told me. That to have the knowledge the scrolls contain, you must give something up. Ocee gave her sight to keep her life, to guard the scrolls. Mama gave her life, but kept her voice. If Margaret read them…” she glanced carefully at the Major, preparing to continue.

“Maybe she gave up Jarod?” he spoke, voice hurt and eyes lost. His body tensed and he pulled away from the brunette, sighing as he leaned over, placing his head in his hands. “And the rest of us. To save her life. To…”

“Save more than that,” Ethan interrupted, entering the room and letting the screen door slam closed behind him. “This is bigger than any one life, even hers. Even our mother’s… even ours.” He clambered over his father and sister’s legs, dropping onto the couch in the unoccupied space on the other side of Miss Parker. “I couldn’t make out everything she was saying, either,” he offered, watching as she turned from the Major to better see both men.

“Ethan…” she tried, letting a hand rest carefully on the Major’s shoulder, drawing herself upward and taking a deep breath.

“I don’t know, sister,” he breathed. “She says you hold the key. You’re the only one who can find the answers,” he shrugged. “I’m just here to help you translate.”

“If I have to go crazy to know the answers…” she began, “I don’t know if that’s a price I’m willing to pay.” Major Charles sucked in a noisy breath, straightening his back and forcing himself to listen as the half-siblings spoke.

“You won’t have to,” Ethan assured. “I think that’s the point. I think the scrolls take one thing and give another in its place. Our mother lost her life but gained an afterlife – an eternal voice. The woman on the Isle, she lost her sight but gained the gift of prophecy and vision. Don’t you see? You already have the vision and the voice – you can see and hear what the rest of us can’t. The scrolls can’t give you anything because the gifts it can impart – you already have them. The Centre may have created us,” he waved his hand between them, “for their own nefarious purposes, but I think they failed to realize that creating us the way in which they did may have made us immune to the effects that annihilated their prior threats.”

“How…” she began, shaking her head and glancing from Major Charles to Ethan. “The static,” Miss Parker answered herself. “The answers are in the static for you, aren’t they?”

“Our mother’s voice, she speaks clearly. And she usually speaks a lot. In the few days she hasn’t spoken to us, I’ve been listening to the other voices – the ones I usually can’t hear over her,” Ethan smiled, taking his sister’s hand in his own. “She’s there for both of us, to keep us safe and together. But the information she’s offering you right now, that’s your gift, sister. I think mine is what’s in the background.”

Tugging her hands from his, Parker flung her arms around her brother’s thin shoulders. “I’m glad you’re my brother, Ethan,” she mumbled into his ear as she offered him a quick hug. “I really would go crazy without you.”

Major Charles sighed quietly behind them, avoiding Sydney’s penetrating gaze as he filed his hurt and frustration away to be dealt with after the more imminent threats had been dispelled. Ethan glanced over his sister’s shoulder as she flung her right hand out, letting it fall over the older man’s knee. Squeezing lightly, she offered the three men a tired, embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry for frightening you.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Miss Parker,” Ben spoke from his position inside the door. “We’re just glad you’re okay.”

Nodding to Ben, she added, “She catches me off guard, sometimes.”

“You’re also pregnant,” Sydney nodded toward her midsection, “which may have an effect on the way in which you hear her voice and your stress reaction to it.”

“When Marg…” Major Charles cleared his throat, “When my wife was pregnant, she dreamt the strangest, most vivid dreams.” He glanced down at the hand on his knee as Parker patted it in sympathy.

“What’s that smell?” Parker spoke, feeling an almost desperate need to change the subject. “Oh, the brownies. Broots, weren’t you watching them?”

“Shit! Oh.. uh.. sh-shoot!” he yelped, nearly stumbling over his feet as he rushed into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him. Grumbling as he flung the oven door open, Broots stared forlornly into the oven at the cracked and blackened brownies. “Debbie’s going to be upset.”