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Disclaimer: I do not own The Pretender or anything related to it. It is owned by TNT, NBC, and Steve and Craig. No money is being made from this and no infringement is intended. Please don’t sue.

Author’s Notes:
This is just a character musing. /frowns/ I haven’t written one of these in a while. /frowns again/

Summary: Appearances can be deceiving. Sometimes, what is seen is not always the truth.

Appearances
by: chopsticks
p g

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I sigh quietly as I step out of my car into the chill night air. It’s after midnight and I’m finally getting home for the night. Sidney, Iowa, does not fall on my list of "Top Ten Places to Visit." In fact, it doesn’t even make it into the top million. It reminds me of that quaint—I use that term loosely—little town I was stranded in for quite a while a few years back. Dry River, Arizona. What a horrible place that was. Barely a drop of water in sight. Awful little place with a stupid sheriff that couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn with a plane if the plane was on autopilot.

I shake my head gently against the memories and stick the key in the lock, turning it to the left. An audible click is the only sound that echoes throughout the night, and, in response, I grab the door handle and twist it. It clicks as well and allows the door to swing open, as if an invisible force is pulling at it.

I step across the threshold, a place that, if I remember my lore correctly, vampires cannot cross without being invited. Perhaps I’ve been watching too much Buffy the Vampire Slayer recently. But really, there is something about those vampires, especially that Angel fellow. He’s like me, in some ways. Not in the vampire sense, as I’m quite sure I’m not a vampire, but in the split aspects of personality.

I’m really not that bad of a guy. Really. I know many people wouldn’t believe me on this, but I’m actually a really nice guy. Ask my last girlfriend. She swears that nobody’s treated her better than I have, and that makes me feel better. The only reason we ever broke up was because she didn’t like having to have all our dates behind closed doors. She wanted to go out in public, but with my job and my reputation, that’s just not possible.

People at The Centre expect me to be some flesh-eating sociopath, so I live up to their expectations and possibly more. I allow them to think I have a fetish with Asian women, that I love to eat humans for dinner, and that I’ll kill with no regrets. When I killed those men at the data annex, I’ve never felt worse in my life. I had taken human lives. Humans, with emotions, personalities, hopes, dreams, futures. I ripped those futures away from them with the twitch of a finger.

The memories begin to overwhelm me and I let out a quiet sob, sitting heavily on my leather couch. The Asian artifacts around me seem to mock me for keeping up such a horrible façade. I feel the tears make small, red tracks down my face as I think of everybody I’ve been forced to kill in my life. I never wanted to hurt anybody. Ever.

When I was a boy, all I wanted was to be a veterinarian. I loved animals with all my heart and would always bring home an injured animal whenever I went tramping through the woods. My father hated it, but my mother thought it was endearing. She’d help me make little beds for them to lie in and put the bandages on. Then I’d feed and water them every morning and every night, making sure they got the food they needed to get strong and healthy again. I was always so sad when I had to let one go, but even sadder when one died.

Miss Parker and Jarod think that I was heartless enough to kill my best friend when I was a teen and then frame my father for it. Well, I didn’t have to frame my father for anything. He actually did kill my friend; I just made it look like he had killed me instead.

The three of us were camping out in the woods, and my father got angry. Really angry. If anybody was the sociopath in my family, it was him. He flipped out, grabbed the hatchet we had brought along, and killed my friend while he slept next to me. He chopped his head off and left the body there for me to find in the morning.

When I woke up that morning, I screamed. I screamed so loud that people said they heard it two miles away. I was never more terrified in my life. I ran outside, searching for daddy dearest, but I found all of his stuff packed and gone, as was he. After that, I threw up. I don’t know for how long, but I know I kept on until I was dry heaving for quite some time. Then I sat and cried until nightfall. I don’t think I’ve cried so much in my life.

That night, I decided I had to do something about my father. So, I cleaned up the area under the moonlight and pulled the body out of the tent and threw it in the lake that was about a quarter-mile south of our location. I knew that the body would become waterlogged, making fingerprinting impossible. I then buried the head out there, next to an old willow tree. Both the tree and I were weeping that night.

I disappeared after that, hoping they’d think the body was mine. I made sure Lyle Bowman would pay for everything he did. I felt horrible for leaving my mother. She was the only one who ever protected me. She’d slip me treats when I was locked up in that shed and made sure I remained hydrated.

When Jarod had told me he’d been to visit her, and relayed her condition to me I wanted to cry. But instead, I felt the anger welling up within at the tone of voice he used to describe what he’d found. I think I attacked him, but how and with what I don’t remember. All I remember thinking was how dare he talk about my mother like that. He didn’t know her and how sweet she was. Hell, he doesn’t even know his own mother, a thought that pains me to this day. How he ever managed to survive without a mother’s love escapes me still.

The thought of Jarod brings me to Kyle, his psycho brother. I never meant to kill Kyle, just injure him enough for me to get away. When I found out he died, I cried for a day over the loss. I only wanted to get away; to save my own ass. I never dreamed I’d have to take away the one piece of family Jarod had.

The striking of the clock jolts me back to reality and I realize I’ve been sitting in the same position for half an hour now. I sit up quickly and wipe away the tears, but I can feel fresh ones marring the area I’ve just touched.

I sigh quietly and stand up, knowing that I need to secure the house for the night and then go to bed. I have to be in at nine o’clock sharp, and I find it impossible to think if I don’t get at least six hours of sleep in.

I stroll leisurely around my abode, flipping on light switches and securing doors and windows as I go. One can never be too careful, especially when Miss Parker and company broke into my house that one time. I’m quite sure Jarod had too, because otherwise Parker would never have known about the little shed behind my wall.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: Why would a nice guy like me keep something like that back there? Well, one simple answer. The mask. It’s all for the mask. The decorations in the apartment, the car, the clothes, the Spartan furnishings, the meticulous cleanliness, the shed. Everything. There isn’t one thing that surrounds me that isn’t for the mask. Not even my underwear, for God’s sake. Everything must be a certain way to maintain the façade.

Many would think I would lose myself having to be so immersed in something, but I haven’t yet. I keep true to myself privately in a time-tested and proven method: meditation. There is nothing better for the soul than to sit quietly and reflect on oneself. I do it every morning and, if the day has been extremely harrowing, at night as well.

Thankfully, today wasn’t that bad. I simply sat behind my desk and performed menial tasks and coordinated a few projects, then went out to Sidney to search for Jarod. This, of course, was another dead end. But that doesn’t bother me one bit. It’s comforting to know that somebody has managed to escape the stranglehold of The Centre.

My birth mother tried to escape, along with the children, but she failed, instead opting to protect one and trust her life to the gatekeeper to Hell himself, Billy Raines. Why she ever did that, I will never know. All I know is that sometimes, when I’m meditating, I can hear her voice inside me, giving me strength and the courage to go on. I know what I’m doing is right, in the end. The ends justify the means, right?

And one day, I will be the one to bring the downfall of The Centre. One day. . .

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the end.

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