Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: All characters and events in this story are fictitious, and any similarity to a real person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintended by the author. "The Pretender" is a protected trademark of MTM Television and NBC and the characters of that series are used herein with no mean intent or desire for remuneration. It is, instead, a tribute to innovative television, that rare and welcome phenomenon.
The Third Highway Series Part 06:
Closer
Chapter 2
Witch 1
She's taken the kayak out for an hour while Jarod had gone on line to find the information about Gordon Radtke. As the sun had come up she'd visited a family of river otters who frequented a beach of white-shell grit north of the house, and had glimpsed a sea lion cruising along, intent on it's own errands. She turned and headed back and heard the whump whump of the subwoofer before she could even see the house--Jarod had Offspring cranked up and as she pulled near the dock she could make out the chorus of "Smash": "I'm not a trendy asshole--and I don't give a fuck if it's good enough for you!" One of her favorites, as well, expressing her sentiments about life rather clearly, although she wasn't sure if she was ready for it after the peace and quiet out in the strait. Jarod was impatiently pacing the deck, waiting for her. "Did you book our flight to Chicago?" she called up to him, tying the kayak off to the dock.
"Yes, but it's by way of New Orleans, " he answered as she climbed the steps. "You knew what I'd find, didn't you? Gordon Radtke is still just where he should be--death row. Laura, I ran the medical data from the Radtke killings through my program--they're an exact match with the murders in Chicago. This isn't a surprise to you, is it?"
She paused then, for she had truly hoped that through some fluke of the law Radtke had been let out and that they would be going to Chicago only to find him. Instead she knew what Jarod meant--they had to go to New Orleans first to try to get in to see Gordon Radtke, to resolve how two killers could be committing exactly the same crimes, many years and miles apart.
"I hope you left us some time, like I asked, before the flight--I still need to talk to someone in Seattle first."
"Are you going to tell me about this, Laura, or are you going to keep playing this stupid game?"
"It's not a game--I just wanted to make sure, first, that Radtke was still in Angola. Are you packed? Good, give me five minutes to change and I'll be ready."
She drove, heading south on Route 15 toward downtown and exiting on 45th Street. It was a strangely mixed neighborhood--giant old Victorians next to modern condos, some of the old houses practically falling apart, others either restored or maintained in perfect condition. As they turned one corner Jarod touched her hand and pointed--there were only a few wispy clouds in the sky and there was a perfect view of Mt. Ranier straight up the street. She smiled back at him--the mountain was so rarely 'out' in January. Laura pulled into the driveway of the largest house they had passed: an immense and imposing old mansion that dated from the gaslight era, it's sharp gables, tiled roofs and scalloped shingles crisp, freshly painted, caught in time. Laura reached up around her throat and undid the clasp of her necklace: a thin sliver chain on which was threaded a small sterling charm, a tiny tree with spreading limbs.
"Put in on," she asked him. Jarod took the chain and looked at it quizzically, and then at her very serious face. "Don't question it-- believe me, I wouldn't ask if it weren't important. Here let me . . . " she fastened it around his neck and dropped it, hidden, inside his shirt.
"Do I get an explanation, or am I still supposed to just silently tag along, following your orders like a good boy?"
"OK--we're here to see my Aunt Margrit. The other murders, in Philly-- she asked me--no, she told me--to back off and stop helping the cops. It has to do with her--she knew Gordon Radtke. I think she knows this new killer, too. And the necklace is for protection--don't look at me like that: it's not magic or anything, it's just mine. She'll know that and respect it. And one other thing: don't let her touch you, not a hug, not a handshake, not a brush against you--nothing. Do you understand?"
"No, I don't understand. Why would it possibly matter if your aunt touched me, Laura--you're going to have to explain a lot more than you have . . . "
"OK, how's this: she's what I am times twenty. If I can sometimes, occasionally, now and then read your thoughts, she can do it all the time. If I sometimes can predict things that will happen--like your showing up at my house that night--she does it all the time. The word is 'strega' and as far as I can tell it means wise-woman, healer, witch. There's a group of them--I have no idea what they call it themselves, but I guess it's what Hollywood calls a coven. It's like the freaking mob--I have no clue what they actually do, they don't talk to outsiders, but the whole thing gives me the creeps. Just watch your back. She'll know why we're here. And if you're not careful she'll know what you are, as well. Last night you asked me what I was so scared of, why I wanted you to --well, you know, make love to me that way. I'm frightened of Margrit. I don't like being here. But I moved here partly to keep an eye on her. She's the only person I've ever met in my entire life that is, fundamentally, the same thing I am. She's the only real family I have."
"Forgive me, " he began, "but do you actually expect me to believe-- "
"Just shut up and look, Jarod, just see. I don't expect you to believe in anything. I don't have a clue what to believe, myself. But you were in that house in Santa Cruz with me, you saw that with your own eyes. I've seen things even stranger with my own eyes, and Margrit is a part of that. She won't want us going to Chicago. What I want is to know why. Do that thing you do--figure her out, analyze it and turn it over in your hand like a puzzle and then explain it to me. Because she mystifies me, these killings mystify me--I'll take all the help I can get."
The door was massive oak and it opened before they could knock. They were confronted by a tall, neatly dressed man in his sixties. "Laura, " he exclaimed. "what a pleasant surprise!"
"As if it's really a surprise, Thatcher. What, does she have you answering the door for her now?"
"Maid's day off," he explained, smiling. "Can I take your coats?"
"Jarod, this is Thatcher, one of my aunt's friends." Jarod shook his hand, having not been warned against it, and looked more closely at the man. Tall, thin; a beaky, patrician nose; bushy eyebrows with a few dark tufts, but hair that was absolutely snow white.
"Margrit is waiting for you both in the library. She does so look forward to your visits, Laura," he said smoothly. No matter how hard he looked, Jarod saw only a pleasant, kindly older man, with nothing even vaguely sinister about him.
The library turned out to be a spacious room furnished with Victorian era antiques and several large love seats and arm chairs, in one of which sat an tidy elderly woman, a bit on the plump side, wearing a neat, tweedy skirt and sweater and a crisp white cotton blouse. Her hair was pure silver and swept up neatly into a loose bun at the back of her head, and she had Laura's dark eyes and honey-colored skin. Astonishingly, the sun actually broke completely through the wispy clouds and flooded the cozy room with light, brightening the chintz- covered chairs and splashing across the golden oak flooring. Aunt Margrit looked at Jarod and smiled and in spite of Laura's warnings he found himself crossing the room to greet her, holding out his hand, which she promptly caught and squeezed lightly between both of hers. He realized his mistake, astonished that he couldn't recall having actually crossed the room, even as he heard Laura literally snarl behind him and for just an instant he felt the oddest sensation--almost like a weak, very brief electric shock--pass through his fingers. Margrit released his hand. "So, my dear, aren't you going to introduce me to your handsome beau?" she asked brightly.
"What: you can't do names, Margrit?" Laura asked sarcastically.
"Well, sometimes, but you know how that is, my dear--names are so difficult, so many possibilities! But I know why you're here, and I'm so glad you came. Besides, I know a great deal about this young man now, why would I need a name, as well?"
"My name's Jarod. You say you know a lot about me?" he asked.
"Oh my, yes! More than my Laura would ever tell me. You know, she's gotten quite distant. At one time we were very close. It's such a shame. We could help each other, you and I, Jarod. You have so many questions, don't you? You seek your mother, you seek your past. Answers, for once, real answers, not just teases. Haven't you been teased enough? Also much that was stolen from you--so much cruelty to you, and you were just a child! And you have an extraordinary gift, quite a special skill, I see that quite clearly: you could be one of us, Jarod, if you chose. I would be delighted to answer more of these questions for you--but of course Laura would never let me help you. That's why she made you wear that silly charm, isn't it? She wants you all for herself. Laura has never been a sharing girl."
Startled, Jarod felt for the necklace Laura had given him--it was still hidden inside his shirt. Margrit only smiled, charmingly, calmly, as though what she had just said was a common, everyday event.
"Just tell us about Gordon Radtke, Margrit--tell us how he's able to keep on killing even though he's in jail," Laura demanded, moving closer to her aunt.
"You just don't see it, my dear--you've never been good at thinking things through. If you were you would know to stay out of this. It simply isn't any of your concern. But you, Jarod--" she turned toward him, leaning out of her chair in his direction, "--you I could help. We could find your mother together, my dear, wouldn't that be wonderful? Laura will never do that for you, she's too selfish, she wants you just for herself. " The older woman smiled conspiratorially and lowered her voice. "Now don't take this wrong, Jarod, but I can see you quite clearly--the two of you together. She has tricks, too: ways to keep men interested in her. A love spell is not the same as love, no indeed it isn't!"
"That's enough, Margrit!" Laura interrupted. "That's a lie and it's unfair. I came here because I felt I owed you that much--at least the chance to explain--"
Margrit stood up and Jarod saw yet more of the family resemblance, for while she wasn't as tall as Laura she was an imposing woman. "I owe you no explanations. Go and do as ye will!"
Laura literally backed up out of Margrit's reach--Jarod had never seen Laura act that frightened of anyone before. "Margrit, if you know how to find my mother, why not just tell me how?" he asked. "why could it possibly make a difference to you--but it would mean so much to me."
He felt a wave of coldness then, as Margrit turned to look at him. "Child, some day you will come to me with something to offer, and we will strike a bargain, perhaps. But at the moment you have nothing to offer me in return. But you could be honest with Laura, you know--how sad that you lie to her!"
"About what?" he asked, confused and insulted, "I don't understand what you're talking about."
Margrit approached him more closely, moving quite intimidatingly close. "You lie to her when you say you love her. You only wish to protect yourself--you know she could turn you into those who seek you and you do not trust her. Laura," she continued, turning to face her niece, "you claim to see so much, but you can't see this? How very, very sad to be so blinded by love!"
"Cut the crap, Margrit," Laura hissed, "all you know how to do is cause trouble and tell lies."
"You were once my dear sweet child, Laura--when you came here needing a home I opened mine to you. I taught you all you know, and now you turn away from me, away from your heritage. But you're still one of us, my dear--you proved it yourself when you took Jarod last night and bound him to you--"
"That's enough!" Laura drew herself up to her full height and moved between Margrit and Jarod. "you're right about one thing--you taught me well. You can't harm me and you know it--I can protect myself--and Jarod--from you. Don't fuck with me, Margrit: if I am what you are, then consider carefully just what that means."
"Very well, my dear, if that's how you want it to be. You know, I'm glad your poor mother can't see you now--she always intended you to join us, Laura," she sat again, gracefully, and smoothed her tweed skirt over her knees. "Thatcher, show my guests out, won't you?"
Jarod was startled to glance to his right at a slight movement and discover Thatcher standing only inches away, holding their coats. He couldn't imagine how the man had snuck up on them like that.
Laura turned and walked out without a backward look, and in spite of his curiosity Jarod followed, Margrit's words still ringing in his ears.
Margrit stood at the window and watched the increasingly heavy rain. "Make a few phone calls," she said, "we need to have a meeting tonight."
Thatcher, standing beside her, nodded.
She turned to face him. "Fascinating that out of all the men in the world she should show up here with that one! Perhaps we can use him to control her," she shrugged, "perhaps not. She's let herself fall head over heels in love with him--amusing, really. She's always had a blind spot when it comes to sex. He could be one of us, you know--the potential is certainly there. But then again, we could always return him to his owners, those who made him--or just use him to open a dialogue with them. Either way it's an intriguing turn of events, wouldn't you say?"
Thatcher smiled, "Laura always has created a certain amount of excitement around here," he answered. "If she ever really accepted her inheritance she'd be quite dangerous, you know."
"She never will, though," Margrit responded, turning back to look at the rain. "She puts herself first, beyond the good of the group. She should have brought Jarod to us as an offering. But her innocence is useful--she truly believes she can protect him. How very silly!"
Closer
Chapter 2
Witch 1
She's taken the kayak out for an hour while Jarod had gone on line to find the information about Gordon Radtke. As the sun had come up she'd visited a family of river otters who frequented a beach of white-shell grit north of the house, and had glimpsed a sea lion cruising along, intent on it's own errands. She turned and headed back and heard the whump whump of the subwoofer before she could even see the house--Jarod had Offspring cranked up and as she pulled near the dock she could make out the chorus of "Smash": "I'm not a trendy asshole--and I don't give a fuck if it's good enough for you!" One of her favorites, as well, expressing her sentiments about life rather clearly, although she wasn't sure if she was ready for it after the peace and quiet out in the strait. Jarod was impatiently pacing the deck, waiting for her. "Did you book our flight to Chicago?" she called up to him, tying the kayak off to the dock.
"Yes, but it's by way of New Orleans, " he answered as she climbed the steps. "You knew what I'd find, didn't you? Gordon Radtke is still just where he should be--death row. Laura, I ran the medical data from the Radtke killings through my program--they're an exact match with the murders in Chicago. This isn't a surprise to you, is it?"
She paused then, for she had truly hoped that through some fluke of the law Radtke had been let out and that they would be going to Chicago only to find him. Instead she knew what Jarod meant--they had to go to New Orleans first to try to get in to see Gordon Radtke, to resolve how two killers could be committing exactly the same crimes, many years and miles apart.
"I hope you left us some time, like I asked, before the flight--I still need to talk to someone in Seattle first."
"Are you going to tell me about this, Laura, or are you going to keep playing this stupid game?"
"It's not a game--I just wanted to make sure, first, that Radtke was still in Angola. Are you packed? Good, give me five minutes to change and I'll be ready."
She drove, heading south on Route 15 toward downtown and exiting on 45th Street. It was a strangely mixed neighborhood--giant old Victorians next to modern condos, some of the old houses practically falling apart, others either restored or maintained in perfect condition. As they turned one corner Jarod touched her hand and pointed--there were only a few wispy clouds in the sky and there was a perfect view of Mt. Ranier straight up the street. She smiled back at him--the mountain was so rarely 'out' in January. Laura pulled into the driveway of the largest house they had passed: an immense and imposing old mansion that dated from the gaslight era, it's sharp gables, tiled roofs and scalloped shingles crisp, freshly painted, caught in time. Laura reached up around her throat and undid the clasp of her necklace: a thin sliver chain on which was threaded a small sterling charm, a tiny tree with spreading limbs.
"Put in on," she asked him. Jarod took the chain and looked at it quizzically, and then at her very serious face. "Don't question it-- believe me, I wouldn't ask if it weren't important. Here let me . . . " she fastened it around his neck and dropped it, hidden, inside his shirt.
"Do I get an explanation, or am I still supposed to just silently tag along, following your orders like a good boy?"
"OK--we're here to see my Aunt Margrit. The other murders, in Philly-- she asked me--no, she told me--to back off and stop helping the cops. It has to do with her--she knew Gordon Radtke. I think she knows this new killer, too. And the necklace is for protection--don't look at me like that: it's not magic or anything, it's just mine. She'll know that and respect it. And one other thing: don't let her touch you, not a hug, not a handshake, not a brush against you--nothing. Do you understand?"
"No, I don't understand. Why would it possibly matter if your aunt touched me, Laura--you're going to have to explain a lot more than you have . . . "
"OK, how's this: she's what I am times twenty. If I can sometimes, occasionally, now and then read your thoughts, she can do it all the time. If I sometimes can predict things that will happen--like your showing up at my house that night--she does it all the time. The word is 'strega' and as far as I can tell it means wise-woman, healer, witch. There's a group of them--I have no idea what they call it themselves, but I guess it's what Hollywood calls a coven. It's like the freaking mob--I have no clue what they actually do, they don't talk to outsiders, but the whole thing gives me the creeps. Just watch your back. She'll know why we're here. And if you're not careful she'll know what you are, as well. Last night you asked me what I was so scared of, why I wanted you to --well, you know, make love to me that way. I'm frightened of Margrit. I don't like being here. But I moved here partly to keep an eye on her. She's the only person I've ever met in my entire life that is, fundamentally, the same thing I am. She's the only real family I have."
"Forgive me, " he began, "but do you actually expect me to believe-- "
"Just shut up and look, Jarod, just see. I don't expect you to believe in anything. I don't have a clue what to believe, myself. But you were in that house in Santa Cruz with me, you saw that with your own eyes. I've seen things even stranger with my own eyes, and Margrit is a part of that. She won't want us going to Chicago. What I want is to know why. Do that thing you do--figure her out, analyze it and turn it over in your hand like a puzzle and then explain it to me. Because she mystifies me, these killings mystify me--I'll take all the help I can get."
The door was massive oak and it opened before they could knock. They were confronted by a tall, neatly dressed man in his sixties. "Laura, " he exclaimed. "what a pleasant surprise!"
"As if it's really a surprise, Thatcher. What, does she have you answering the door for her now?"
"Maid's day off," he explained, smiling. "Can I take your coats?"
"Jarod, this is Thatcher, one of my aunt's friends." Jarod shook his hand, having not been warned against it, and looked more closely at the man. Tall, thin; a beaky, patrician nose; bushy eyebrows with a few dark tufts, but hair that was absolutely snow white.
"Margrit is waiting for you both in the library. She does so look forward to your visits, Laura," he said smoothly. No matter how hard he looked, Jarod saw only a pleasant, kindly older man, with nothing even vaguely sinister about him.
The library turned out to be a spacious room furnished with Victorian era antiques and several large love seats and arm chairs, in one of which sat an tidy elderly woman, a bit on the plump side, wearing a neat, tweedy skirt and sweater and a crisp white cotton blouse. Her hair was pure silver and swept up neatly into a loose bun at the back of her head, and she had Laura's dark eyes and honey-colored skin. Astonishingly, the sun actually broke completely through the wispy clouds and flooded the cozy room with light, brightening the chintz- covered chairs and splashing across the golden oak flooring. Aunt Margrit looked at Jarod and smiled and in spite of Laura's warnings he found himself crossing the room to greet her, holding out his hand, which she promptly caught and squeezed lightly between both of hers. He realized his mistake, astonished that he couldn't recall having actually crossed the room, even as he heard Laura literally snarl behind him and for just an instant he felt the oddest sensation--almost like a weak, very brief electric shock--pass through his fingers. Margrit released his hand. "So, my dear, aren't you going to introduce me to your handsome beau?" she asked brightly.
"What: you can't do names, Margrit?" Laura asked sarcastically.
"Well, sometimes, but you know how that is, my dear--names are so difficult, so many possibilities! But I know why you're here, and I'm so glad you came. Besides, I know a great deal about this young man now, why would I need a name, as well?"
"My name's Jarod. You say you know a lot about me?" he asked.
"Oh my, yes! More than my Laura would ever tell me. You know, she's gotten quite distant. At one time we were very close. It's such a shame. We could help each other, you and I, Jarod. You have so many questions, don't you? You seek your mother, you seek your past. Answers, for once, real answers, not just teases. Haven't you been teased enough? Also much that was stolen from you--so much cruelty to you, and you were just a child! And you have an extraordinary gift, quite a special skill, I see that quite clearly: you could be one of us, Jarod, if you chose. I would be delighted to answer more of these questions for you--but of course Laura would never let me help you. That's why she made you wear that silly charm, isn't it? She wants you all for herself. Laura has never been a sharing girl."
Startled, Jarod felt for the necklace Laura had given him--it was still hidden inside his shirt. Margrit only smiled, charmingly, calmly, as though what she had just said was a common, everyday event.
"Just tell us about Gordon Radtke, Margrit--tell us how he's able to keep on killing even though he's in jail," Laura demanded, moving closer to her aunt.
"You just don't see it, my dear--you've never been good at thinking things through. If you were you would know to stay out of this. It simply isn't any of your concern. But you, Jarod--" she turned toward him, leaning out of her chair in his direction, "--you I could help. We could find your mother together, my dear, wouldn't that be wonderful? Laura will never do that for you, she's too selfish, she wants you just for herself. " The older woman smiled conspiratorially and lowered her voice. "Now don't take this wrong, Jarod, but I can see you quite clearly--the two of you together. She has tricks, too: ways to keep men interested in her. A love spell is not the same as love, no indeed it isn't!"
"That's enough, Margrit!" Laura interrupted. "That's a lie and it's unfair. I came here because I felt I owed you that much--at least the chance to explain--"
Margrit stood up and Jarod saw yet more of the family resemblance, for while she wasn't as tall as Laura she was an imposing woman. "I owe you no explanations. Go and do as ye will!"
Laura literally backed up out of Margrit's reach--Jarod had never seen Laura act that frightened of anyone before. "Margrit, if you know how to find my mother, why not just tell me how?" he asked. "why could it possibly make a difference to you--but it would mean so much to me."
He felt a wave of coldness then, as Margrit turned to look at him. "Child, some day you will come to me with something to offer, and we will strike a bargain, perhaps. But at the moment you have nothing to offer me in return. But you could be honest with Laura, you know--how sad that you lie to her!"
"About what?" he asked, confused and insulted, "I don't understand what you're talking about."
Margrit approached him more closely, moving quite intimidatingly close. "You lie to her when you say you love her. You only wish to protect yourself--you know she could turn you into those who seek you and you do not trust her. Laura," she continued, turning to face her niece, "you claim to see so much, but you can't see this? How very, very sad to be so blinded by love!"
"Cut the crap, Margrit," Laura hissed, "all you know how to do is cause trouble and tell lies."
"You were once my dear sweet child, Laura--when you came here needing a home I opened mine to you. I taught you all you know, and now you turn away from me, away from your heritage. But you're still one of us, my dear--you proved it yourself when you took Jarod last night and bound him to you--"
"That's enough!" Laura drew herself up to her full height and moved between Margrit and Jarod. "you're right about one thing--you taught me well. You can't harm me and you know it--I can protect myself--and Jarod--from you. Don't fuck with me, Margrit: if I am what you are, then consider carefully just what that means."
"Very well, my dear, if that's how you want it to be. You know, I'm glad your poor mother can't see you now--she always intended you to join us, Laura," she sat again, gracefully, and smoothed her tweed skirt over her knees. "Thatcher, show my guests out, won't you?"
Jarod was startled to glance to his right at a slight movement and discover Thatcher standing only inches away, holding their coats. He couldn't imagine how the man had snuck up on them like that.
Laura turned and walked out without a backward look, and in spite of his curiosity Jarod followed, Margrit's words still ringing in his ears.
Margrit stood at the window and watched the increasingly heavy rain. "Make a few phone calls," she said, "we need to have a meeting tonight."
Thatcher, standing beside her, nodded.
She turned to face him. "Fascinating that out of all the men in the world she should show up here with that one! Perhaps we can use him to control her," she shrugged, "perhaps not. She's let herself fall head over heels in love with him--amusing, really. She's always had a blind spot when it comes to sex. He could be one of us, you know--the potential is certainly there. But then again, we could always return him to his owners, those who made him--or just use him to open a dialogue with them. Either way it's an intriguing turn of events, wouldn't you say?"
Thatcher smiled, "Laura always has created a certain amount of excitement around here," he answered. "If she ever really accepted her inheritance she'd be quite dangerous, you know."
"She never will, though," Margrit responded, turning back to look at the rain. "She puts herself first, beyond the good of the group. She should have brought Jarod to us as an offering. But her innocence is useful--she truly believes she can protect him. How very silly!"
