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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Part 5
"Remember this, --that very little is needed to make a happy life."
Meditations. ii. 67
…Infinity"
"For a man can lose neither the past not the future; for how can one take from him that which is not his? So remember these two points: first, that each thing is of like form from everlasting and comes around again in its cycle, and that it signifies not whether a man shall look upon the same thing for a hundred years or two hundred, or for an infinity of time; second, that the longest lived and the shortest lived man, when they come to die, lose one and the same thing."
Meditations. ii. 14
Jarod watched from the window as Miss Parker entered the building just below. It hurt for him to have to stay there and allow her to find him but he knew it was necessary. From the window he saw Brigitte sitting in the car below and he slipped further behind the curtain as she swept the window with a pair of powerful binoculars. As the black sedan drew up behind the other car, Jarod heard the footsteps outside his room. The preparation he had made was coming to fruition and he slipped behind the door, confident that things would work out as planned.
Brigitte turned and was about to look out the rear window of the car when he husband appeared at the door.
"Give him to me."
"But I..."
"Shut up and hand him over."
Brigitte looked up into her husband's eyes and tried to force away the fear that flowered in her own as she gave the baby to his assumed father.
"Why are you doing this?"
"You know why."
"Tell me again."
One of the sweepers came up and pulled the woman roughly out of the car. The street, ending in a dead end, had only a few windows facing from the surrounding buildings and she knew that she could get no help. Even Parker would not be able to save her. Not that Parker would do it anyway, Brigitte thought bitterly as her arms were dragged behind her back. She couldn't help looking up again at the man she had married. They both knew why she had married him, or he had married her. It had been a marriage of convenience, but now it was no longer convenient and so the end would be quick and clean.
Miss Parker kicked the door open and, gun raised, entered the room. The two arms that grabbed her from behind caught her off guard, as Jarod had known they would, and he was able to disarm her by slamming her hands against the wall. When the gun dropped to the floor, he slightly loosened his grip. She angrily twisted in his arms, expecting to see the annoying grin with which he generally greeted a confrontation. The sight of a serious, and somewhat sad, expression on his face knocked the words out of her head.
"What do you want, Jarod?"
"To show you this."
He walked her over to the window, knocking the gun under a cabinet with one foot as he did so, and the two stood behind the tinted glass, staring down as the scene unfolded below.
Brigitte stared up from the seat of the car where the sweeper had thrown her. Her feet were tightly bound and she could see the hands, holding a mask, gradually approaching her face.
"You still haven't told me why." She suppressed the tremor in her voice.
"Why? Because you would have done the same to me. Because you know, when you married me, that this would be the result. Because I no longer need you or want you."
"Is this what your first wife felt like? Did you explain it to her, too? Did she feel like this? Was she useless to you as well?"
Mr Parker brushed the sweeper aside and dragged the woman from the car. On the ground he kicked her repeatedly in the stomach and chest, ignoring the screams that came from the twisted mouth. Picking her up, he slammed her against the bonnet of the car and began smashing his fists into her face.
"How dare you?" The voice was low and Brigitte, her whole body throbbing in agony, barely heard it. "It would serve you right if I just left you here to bleed to death instead of humanely putting you out of your misery."
He stepped back and nodded to the sweeper. "Never mind about the blindfold. Let her see it coming. The bitch deserves it anyway." The sweeper paused for a second. "Well, what are you waiting for? Or do you want to join her?"
"N...no, Mr Parker. But I thought you were going to..."
"Well, I'm not. I want to make sure that you do it, understand?"
The first shot made Miss Parker turn and bury her head in Jarod's chest. A second crack made her look up in amazement to see the sweeper at her father's feet and the older man quietly wiping his hands on his handkerchief after returning the small pistol to his pocket while the body of the woman lay draped across the bonnet. Her eyes were wide and stared up at the sky as blood commenced its slow movement down the car's black metal surface and onto the ground. As he picked up his cell-phone from the driver's seat of the black sedan and began dialing, Miss Parker finally found her voice.
"Why?"
"You heard why," Jarod told her quietly.
"Why did I have to see this?"
"I wanted you to know the truth, Miss Parker. Before he comes for you, too."
"My father would never..." She looked out of the window, down at the blood-filled scene and couldn't finish the sentence.
Jarod pulled her gently away from the window and put her on the bed that sat in the corner of the room. She didn't resist when he began to wrap the rope around her wrists and then tie them to the head of the bed. Only when he started on her feet did she speak again.
"What now?"
"That depends on what you want, Miss Parker."
"Why do you have to show me these parts of my life?"
"Would you rather learn them the way your stepmother did? Or before you can do something about them? You know what he's really like, Miss Parker. You've always known it. I can't take any of it away from you. I can only help you to make a better future." The ropes were soft; having been created from the linen sheets that had been on the bed until the morning.
Jarod's knots were firm enough that removing them would be difficult but they were unlikely to cause her any pain. Once she was secured, he stepped back. "I hadn't wanted you to learn that lesson but, once I knew about it, I couldn't help it." He walked to the door but looked back just before leaving. "I never really wanted to hurt you, Miss Parker. I want you to know that."
Mr Parker looked up as a car announced the arrival of the cleaner team that he had requested. A second car, he noted with inward frustration, contained Sydney, Broots and Lyle. Broots, following Sydney, stumbled out of the car as though glad to be escaping from its remaining occupant.
"Well, Dad, what happened?"
"It seems as though they had a shooting match. I was too late to do anything about it." Lyle noted the lack of concern in his father's voice but, feeling as little emotion himself about the death, turned away without a word.
"Lyle." The young man turned back. "Take this." The baby was hurriedly dumped in his arms as a third vehicle drew up. Lyle just as rapidly handed the baby to Broots.
"Oh, Mr Parker," Sydney's voice was calm. "I understand that Miss Parker came with Brigitte. Do you know where she went?"
"I'm not sure, Doctor. Possibly into the building."
Sydney and Broots, still carrying the baby, disappeared into the aging structure as the cleaners began their gruesome task.
"Miss Parker?" the psychiatrist called, somewhat tentatively.
"She's upstairs." The figure, dressed in black, materialized beside the two men. "Take care of her. She's been through a lot."
Before Sydney could even address him, Jarod had slipped through a hidden door and was gone. The two men climbed the stairs and entered the room as Miss Parker managed to free her hands from the straps and sit up.
"Parker?"
"Is my father still here?"
"Yes, Angel. I was worried about you." The voice from the doorway caused Miss Parker to shrink back slightly but her father failed to notice. "What did he do?"
"He tied me up after...so he could escape."
"So he got away again."
"Yes." There was a pause. "I'm fine though, Daddy."
Sydney noticed the almost child-like tone of her voice, and recalled the numerous other times he had heard it, as her father turned away. After leaving the room, Mr Parker began to walk down the stairs. The group heard the feet on the stairs as Sydney moved forward and undid the bonds from Miss Parker's ankles.
"Give him to me." Miss Parker reached out her arms, a curiously soft look on her face, and Broots handed over the small bundle.
"I'll take that, Miss Parker." A thin, rasping voice from the doorway made the group turn to see Raines waiting, his arms outstretched.
"No, Raines." Miss Parker held the child close to her. "You won't."
"Give me the boy, Miss Parker."
Miss Parker dumped the baby back into Broots' arms and stood up. Moving over, she hissed in the ghoul's ear. "How do you want to die, Raines? Quickly or slowly? From a great height, perhaps? Such as a three-storey window - maybe like this one?"
His eyes widened and, without another word, he turned and left the room. Miss Parker retrieved her gun from where Jarod had kicked it and returned it to the holster before taking the baby again.
As the group were leaving the room and walking down the stairs, Raines was already waiting inside his limousine. One of the sweepers that he had brought with him ushered Mr Parker into the vehicle.
"I think that it's time we had a talk."
Mr Parker surreptitiously fingered the blade that he had earlier concealed in his sleeve and thought comfortingly of the gun in his pocket as he swung his legs into the car and pulled the door shut.
"Yes, William, I think so too."
The black car created a cloud of dust as it left the scene.
Miss Parker's hair was wrapped in a damp towel and her skin had been rubbed almost red raw from the shower, in which she had tried to remove the feelings that she knew were internal but which she wanted to get rid of in any way possible. She thought longingly of the evenings that she and Thomas had shared, in which she would rest a damp head on his lap while they watched t.v, resulting in him needing to change before he could go to bed. The memory made her throat tighten and, to distract herself, she drew the diary, identical to her mothers, towards her and read through the entry that she had written the day before. The vortex of the Centre. She hadn't realized at the time how right she had been.
The phone rang and she picked it up without thinking, tucking the receiver under her chin.
"Hello."
"How are you doing?" a deep voice asked softly.
"I...don't know."
"And your father?"
"He hasn't come back."
"But Raines has returned?"
"After a few hours, yes."
There was a pause.
"Can you cope, without him?"
"Perhaps better than if he was around."
Jarod could hardly prevent himself from sighing audibly with relief. The outcome of what he had shown her was the only part of the situation that he had been unable to accurately simulate before the event and he was relieved that it seemed to be relatively positive.
"And Lyle?"
"Nothing yet." Miss Parker's voice hardened. "But I think he's planning a take-over as soon as possible."
"And how's your other brother?"
Miss Parker looked down at the small figure in her arms and then at the silhouette of the sweeper outsider her front door, standing guard. "He's fine. He's here, with me."
"I'm glad. He's your family now. Take care of him, won't you?"
"And what about you?"
"I'm doing just fine, Miss Parker. Just fine." Jarod smiled as he looked down at the scene between the stair rails above her head before retreating into the bedroom. Going through the window and down the tree outside took less than a minute and, as he passed the sweeper and pushed an envelope into the man's hand, he ended the call.
An hour later, in accordance with the plan, the sweeper entered the room. "Miss Parker, I found this at the edge of the garden. It's addressed to you."
"Yes, thank-you Sam." She put the baby down in the corner of the sofa and took the envelope. Her eyes returned to the television until the man had left the room and then she took up her paper knife and slit the white surface. Her eyes widened as she picked up the first piece of paper and began to read.
I don’t know what first prompted me, when I got out, to help people. A desire for justice, perhaps, or just the need to make up for what happened. But if I really wanted justice then I would have begun destroying the Centre from the outset, and if I wanted to make up for what had happened, I would have gone to all of the people who I harmed, or their families, and told them what had happened. People always want answers to their questions and this is always more so in a tragic event or even a near-tragic one. But I could never bring myself to go and admit to being the cause of their problems. Would it have helped? I tried to convince myself that it wouldn’t. But I’ll never really know whether it would or not…
