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Disclaimers: I do not own the characters or premise of "The Pretender," and the song lyrics were reprinted without permission. This story is a work of fiction, for the purposes of fun and amusement (not that it's an amusing topic, by any means), and no infringement was intended. Oh, and if anything seems a bit unrealistic or anything, well... once again, call it artistic license. :o))

Acknowledgments: This story was inspired by the song "Concrete Angel" sung by Martina McBride (and written by Stephanie Bentley & Rob Crosby). It was released after this story was supposed to have taken place, but try not to worry about that. Artistic license and all that. ;) Anyway, it's a good song; look for it on her Greatest Hits CD.

* * * * *

In Someone Else's Shoes
By: Kristin A.

* * * * *






I shifted my weight uneasily on my four-inch heels and studiously avoided my father's stern gaze. I could feel his cold eyes boring tiny little flaming holes through the side of my head, but I tried to pretend I didn't notice.

I stared instead through the large picture window, admiring the deep blue water outside and wishing it was as serene inside myself as it appeared to be outside. But as usual, a storm was raging within me, bubbling just under the surface. A single word from Lyle would have been enough to cause a cataclysmic explosion, but luckily my Antichrist brother was AWOL.

"No, I'm sorry, we haven't found him yet," I said solemnly to my own dim, colorless reflection in the window, feeling like a broken record. Worse yet, a bad broken record, like 'Air Supply' or something. "I have Broots trying to trace Jarod's last package, but he says it might take awhile. The belt and sweater aren't especially unusual in any way, so we don't really know what we're dealing with."

Daddy sighed in irritation. "Angel, when am I going to stop hearing these excuses from you?"

"I'm sorry, Daddy," I repeated as firmly as I could manage. "We're doing our best."

"Are you?"

Injured, I turned to look at him, knowing that my mask was slipping. Yet even at that, the true depth of my pain was too great to be shown on my face. I know; after a particularly bad day or a chilling nightmare, I've seen my face in the mirror, and I'm always a bit amazed to see that I look much better than I feel.

"Of course," I replied, wondering what I had ever done to deserve his lack of faith in me. "We're doing everything we can. We always do." I paused, seeing that my words had no visible effect on him. "I swear to you, Daddy, we're going to get him. I'm never going to let you down again."

He broke out in a wide grin, his eyes crinkling around the edges. I had finally said what he had been wanting to hear. The words I had inevitably uttered in sheer desperation. "Now that's my girl!" he praised warmly. He held his arms out for a hug, and I reluctantly stepped into them. They were cold, just like his eyes and his smile, but I hugged back anyway. "Come talk to me again when you've caught him."

After a minute, I carefully extricated myself from Daddy's embrace and smiled weakly. As always, when I talked with him, I felt another small piece inside of me die. I wondered idly what would happen when there were no more little pieces left. I'd probably just crumble into a tiny pile of dust, to be simply swept away by the nighttime cleanup crew. I probably wouldn't even be missed.

"I'll see you soon," I murmured. Turning quickly, I exited his office and began the long trek back to my office. The hallways were the same as always: dark, cold, and unwelcoming. The few souls who passed by didn't even bother to look up from the floor; they just shuffled along as if oblivious to everything around them.

In a way, I find that insulting; I like to think I'm much more interesting to look at than the floor. However, there's always the possibility that they didn't look at me because they were afraid of me. I like that better. Morons.

"What is this, Revenge of the Mole People?" I muttered to myself as I passed a small, balding man whose black, beady eyes were trained on his squeaky, polished brown shoes. I wasn't particularly amused by my own quiet comment, but my meeting with Daddy had left me feeling vulnerable and defensive. Whenever I felt that way, as I often did, I resorted to bitterness and sarcasm. It was a mask I wore well, for I'd had many years of practice, but it was one which grew heavier with each passing day.

When I finally reached my office, I was annoyed to see Broots and Sydney waiting for me inside. I had been hoping for a few minutes of peace, so I could gulp down a drink and shed a few tears of frustration. But alas, duty called. As always.

Sydney, sitting on my couch, looked as calm and composed as he usually did, but he was tapping his fingers almost unperceptively on the inside of his folded arm, revealing-- to anyone who knew him well-- that something was on his mind. Broots, in contrast, practically bounced out of the leather desk chair upon seeing me, and waved a paper in the air. Sydney followed slowly and the two of them advanced toward me.

"Don't tell me, you finally solved that crossword puzzle you've been working on," I said dryly, rolling my eyes.

"No, it's Jarod!" he cried in excitement. "I finally found something!"

At his words, my heart jumped into my throat, and I had to swallow hard so that the two men wouldn't see my own excitement. I was being given another chance. This couldn't have come at a better time. I vowed not to screw it up this time, not to let Daddy down.

"Well, spit it out already!" I snapped, warning Broots with my eyes that he had better make it short and sweet.

As usual, he didn't get the message.

"Well, we were in the lab, trying to analyze that sweater that Jarod sent," Broots began, "and there was just nothing interesting about it at all. There were no traces of hair or anything on it, so we couldn't do a DNA test, and the sweater is apparently hand-made with material that's available in plenty of stores all over the country, so we couldn't trace--"

"Broots, tell me the good news!" I barked, nearly twitching with impatience.

Broots glanced over at Sydney, who nodded in that annoyingly encouraging way of his. "Uh, well anyway, to make a long story short--"

"I think the train's already left the station on that one."

"Miss Parker." Sydney shot me an expression which was stern but tempered by patient understanding. "Let Broots continue."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. I really couldn't argue with Sydney, especially when I knew he was right. "Go ahead."

"Well, Syd here was looking at the sweater, and he noticed something odd. Stitched into the very bottom, at the back, was the word 'Angel.'"

"Angel?" I repeated, startled. It was well known around the Centre that Angel was the nickname my father had given me, and of course Jarod knew that better than anyone, but he had never attempted to exploit that fact before. I wasn't sure if I should be angry or curious. I was leaning toward angry.

Broots nodded. "Uh huh. Angel. So we tried to figure out what that meant, you know, if it had something to do with you or not, but we got sidetracked when Edwin in the lab-- you know, the guy with three--"

"Broots!"

"Nostrils." Broots cleared his throat nervously. "Anyway, Edwin discovered blood on the belt. We hardly checked the belt, because we were concentrating on the sweater, but there was the DNA information all along."

"Whose blood is it?" I asked, carefully trying to conceal my slight worry. I knew that if Jarod was well enough to send these items to me, he must be okay, but still, the thought of him being hurt was something I always feared. I didn't know why, and I would never reveal it to anyone, but I couldn't ignore the feeling. It was one of the many things about myself that made me sick. "Is it Jarod's, maybe?"

"We checked that first," Sydney said calmly. "It's not Jarod's blood."

I blew out a silent sigh of relief and nodded for Broots to continue.

"We did a nationwide search," Broots said, indicating the paper he held. "We were doing it while you were in with your father. It wasn't really that hard, since we also had the name Angel to go on, so basically we just had to try and match--"

"I don't want to know the details, Broots, just the results."

He nodded quickly. "The blood belongs to a little girl," he said sadly. "Her name is Angel McCann, and she's eleven years old. She has a hospital record a mile long, for all sorts of accidents."

"Broots, her blood was found on a man's belt," I said, my stomach turning in disgust, and my heart aching with a vaguely familiar memory that I couldn't seem to place. "That was no accident."

"Yeah." Broots gazed up at me with a deep sadness in his eyes that affected even me. "He must... he hits his little girl."

"We think Jarod must have tried to help Angel," Sydney said needlessly. "Or may still be trying."

"Well, have you found any more information on these people?" I demanded, shoving aside my own discomfort. "Any newspaper articles about this guy being arrested, or anything?"

Broots shook his head. "No, nothing like that. But this guy is kind of a big shot in his town. He's an ex-cop, and now he's a local politician. Name's Beckett McCann. Apparently they live in New Jersey."

"Exact address?"

"Of course." Broots handed me the piece of paper.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" I asked. "Let's go and catch ourselves a Pretender."

"Um, Miss Parker?"

I looked expectantly at Broots, who seemed to be looking everywhere in the room except at me. That sealed it, the Mole People in the hall ignored me out of fear, just as Broots was doing. "What?" I asked, when it became apparent that he had no intention of speaking without my say so. Actually, I kind of liked that quality in a lackey.

"I was kind of hoping I could stay back this time," he mumbled weakly.

I quirked one eyebrow at him in my signature expression of disdain. "And I was kind of hoping that Jarod would drag his own sorry carcass back here to save me the trouble, but we don't always get what we want."

"Miss Parker, it's Debbie," he tried again, shamelessly exploiting one of my few known weaknesses. It was certainly easy to forget, but he did have a pair after all; he'd have to if he survived working for me. "I promised her that we'd have a special dinner tonight. She got all As on her report card, and she said for her reward, all she wanted was one night where..." He trailed off sadly when I impatiently turned my face away. "I'm sorry," he said in a soft tone. "We can do it another night."

"No you can't," I replied, my voice a low whisper. I was once again feeling the urge to cry, and it took all I had to conceal that fact. "A promise is a promise. Syd, it's you and me."

"Oh, thank you!" Broots cried thankfully.

I grunted in response and walked away from them. I eased myself down on my couch and began rubbing my head, pretending I couldn't hear the whispered words of my co-workers.

"Have a wonderful dinner with your daughter," Sydney was saying warmly to Broots. "We'll give you a call later."

"Thanks, Syd." There was a short pause, and when Broots spoke again, his voice was even softer. I had to strain my ears to hear it. "She can be so great, but she hides it," he said in wonder. "What is it about her?"

"That's a small question with many large answers," Sydney replied, sounding proud. "Goodnight, Broots. Tell Debbie I say hello."

"Oh, okay sure," Broots said. "Thanks, Syd."

I shook my head slightly as I heard Broots leaving. I secretly liked when they said nice things about me when they thought I wasn't listening, but I'd never admit it.

"When do you want to leave, Miss Parker?" Sydney asked softly.

I sighed, wishing I could just curl up in a ball and go to sleep. I suddenly had absolutely no desire to go Jarod-hunting just then. But my sense of duty, and my need to be validated in my father's eyes, kept me going. "In a minute," I said reluctantly. "Get your things, grab the first two Sweepers you see that don't seem brain-dead, and meet me in the garage in ten minutes. I'm driving."

"Alright," he agreed simply.

I waited until I heard my door click shut, followed by his retreating footsteps down the hall, before I allowed myself a few tiny tears. I couldn't even remember anymore what I was so upset about; all I knew was that I wanted to cry. After less than a minute, however, I composed myself and got to my feet, wiping the moisture from my face. It was back to business as usual, and in my business, there was no time for tears.



* * * * *



"This is the place," I remarked stiffly as I drove my car up the circular driveway. "A little showy, don't you think?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Sydney considered the white marble fountain in the front yard and smiled. "It does seem rather out of place in this town," he agreed.

I sighed and pulled the car to a stop. The McCann residence was only two hours away from the Centre, so I had driven the whole way, instead of taking the jet. As a result, my nerves were slightly frayed. I wasn't sure anymore if I had the energy for this.

I watched in my rearview mirror as the second car pulled behind me. "Syd, tell the sweepers to stay behind and wait for confirmation before doing anything," I said distractedly, straightening my hair and checking my gun. Then I stepped from the car and began the walk to the front door.

Sydney was right; the McCann house was oddly out of place in this particular town. It wasn't a poor town, but all of the other houses we had passed were simple and understated. The perfect suburban paradise. A few mansions seemed to be sprinkled around, but this one was by far the most opulent.

The yard was expertly landscaped, the columns were tall and imposing, and the fountain outside spoke for itself. There was a tall, solid fence around the back yard, and I could hear the loud, angry barking of dogs.

Something about the place made me sick. But I was pretty sure my discomfort had nothing to do with the house's outward appearance, and was more in response to the ugliness I suspected was lurking just inside.

I waited at the front door until Sydney had completed his task and joined me. He gave me a curious look, probably wondering silently why I had bothered to wait, but thankfully he didn't speak. I was glad that he wasn't going to make me admit that I felt a little shaky on my own.

Taking a nervous breath, I stretched my arm out and touched the doorbell. As I heard the sound echo hollowly inside, I had to suppress a shudder. It was only as the door was opening that I remembered my purpose there, and extracted a photo of Jarod from my pocket.

"Can I help you?" Standing in the doorway was a tall, large man with a head full of thick brown hair. His hard brown eyes raked down my body, making me wish I had chosen a pants suit instead of my short black skirt and heels.

"Yes, we're looking for this man," I said, holding out the picture and pressing it against the screen. "Have you seen him?"

The man glanced at the picture and grunted angrily. Then he quickly reached behind himself and produced a gun. "What do you want?" he demanded, aiming the gun directly between my eyes.

I was startled for a moment, but I recovered quickly. Having a gun pointed in my face wasn't exactly an abnormal occurrence in my life, and I knew how to bullshit my way out of situations like this. And if that failed, my friends Smith and Wesson always had my back. "Don't worry, we aren't with Jarod," I said assuringly. "We're trying to catch him. He escaped from our psychiatric facility, where we were treating him for manic-depressive disorder, as well as chemical dependency." I ignored Sydney's irritated sigh, wishing he was a better pretender, and continued. "We believe him to be very dangerous, and all we want to do is get him back."

The man lowered his gun slightly. "Well, that sure explains a lot," he growled. "Crazy bastard tied me up and..." He trailed off. "Haven't seen him in a few weeks, but the police have an APB out on him. We're keeping it all out of the press, but the search for him is pretty intense. If we catch him first, I can't promise he'll get back into your facility."

"We?" Sydney asked innocently. He does catch on eventually, I'll give him that.

"Well, the local police," he corrected. He tucked his gun back into his pants and smiled apologetically. "I used to be on the force, and all my buddies still are, so it's like I never left." He paused. "I'm sorry for the way I reacted, but that mental patient of yours nearly destroyed my life. I guess you could say I'm a little gun shy now, when it comes to strangers."

"I don't know if I'd make that leap," I remarked dryly, making my fingers into the shape of a gun and raising my eyebrows at him pointedly.

He shrugged sheepishly. "Well, not literally, but you know... Do you want to come in? Maybe we can work together to catch Jarod."

"We'd love to, thank you." I opened the screen door and stepped inside, letting the door fall back on Sydney. I always feel bad when I do stuff like that, but it helps maintain my cold image. "This is a beautiful house you have here," I remarked disinterestedly, sparing a cursory glance around the large, intricately decorated foyer. I wondered where Angel's room was, and if her room was as perfect and cold as this one.

"Thank you," he said proudly. "My name is Beckett McCann, by the way." He held out his hand.

"That's good to know," I replied shortly, shaking Beckett's hand. "So about Jarod."

Beckett looked amusingly miffed at my lack of introduction, but nodded. "There's not much to tell. He came here to work as a groundskeeper, and he was doing such a good job, I thought nothing of it. But then one day I caught him talking to my daughter, and things just snowballed from there. The next day, he locked me in my wine cellar and tied me up, and accused me of all these things. I admitted to everything, just to shut him up and keep him from killing me and kidnapping my daughter, but of course none of it was true."

I exhaled softly, knowing instantly that the man was a liar. However I felt about Jarod, I had to admit that the people he took down always deserved it. Still, I had to play along. "Jarod has a history of paranoid behavior like this," I said. "We believe he doesn't know what he's doing half the time."

"How can you help us find him?" Sydney spoke up, his voice again expressing his dismay at my harsh words.

"Well, you can head down to the police station for all the information we have," Beckett said. "It's just down on Carpenter Street, just off Main. But they haven't had any leads. We think he might have just skipped town, the bastard. Doesn't mean we're giving up, though."

"Thank you, you've been a big help," I said coldly. "We'll be back to talk again if anything happens."

"Thanks, good luck finding that psycho. He's sneaky, I'll tell you that. I've taken precautions to make sure he doesn't get near my house again."

I raised my eyebrows but didn't ask. Just then, a movement above caught my eye, and I watched almost breathlessly as a young girl descended the staircase slowly. She seemed to be very tall for her age, and rail thin. She was beautiful, I noticed, but disheveled. Her brown hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, and she wore a white dress which was too large for her, and was frayed at the bottom. It looked almost like a wedding dress, and I thought it might have been beautiful once, but now it looked like something that had been picked out of a gutter. Over that, she wore a large white sweater.

"Daddy?" the girl asked softly.

Beckett whirled around to face the little girl. "I told you to stay upstairs, didn't I?" he demanded.

"Yes, but I just wanted to tell you--"

"Tell me later," he interrupted. He pointed his finger toward the top of the stairs. "Go. Now."

The girl bit her lip and looked as if she wanted to argue, but she nodded submissively. "Yes, Daddy." She picked up her skirt so that she wouldn't trip, and raced back up the stairs, disappearing from sight.

Just then, I noticed absently that tears had sprung to my eyes, and I wiped them away frantically before Beckett turned around. I suspected that Sydney noticed, because he can be intuitive that way, but I knew he wouldn't give me away.

Something about that girl, and her interaction with her father, was so familiar and so devastating. It took all my willpower to keep me from pulling out my own gun.

"I'm sorry about that," Beckett said, addressing us. "She doesn't listen very well."

"Funny, I saw her obey you," I said between clenched teeth.

Beckett glared at her sharply. "I didn't get your names," he said at last.

Sydney prepared to speak, but I grabbed his arm quickly. Before I could even think, my mouth opened and words just began pouring out. "I'm Bridget Murphy and this is Doctor Raines. We're from the Bowman clinic. And I'm sorry, but we really must be going. Thank you for all your help."

"Thank you," Sydney added, sounding confused as I began to drag him away.

"If you catch him, make sure you don't ever let him out again," Beckett called as Sydney and I stepped back outside and headed back to the car. Then he slammed the door behind him. The dogs added their input then, resuming their chorus of barking.

Once inside the car, I slumped over the steering wheel and let out a shaky sigh. It scared me how much I had wanted to kill that man. And yet, I had no proof that he had ever really done anything wrong.

"Why the false identities, Miss Parker?" Sydney ventured, his voice tinged with amusement.

"I don't know what we're doing here, Syd," I said, "but I have a feeling that we haven't seen the last of this guy. I don't know about you, but I don't want him knowing my real name."

"I suppose I can understand that." He paused. "But Doctor Raines? Was that the best name you could come up with for me?"

I turned my head, resting my cheek against the steering wheel, and smiled at my companion. "Sorry about that. But hey, I called myself Bridget."

Sydney chuckled. "That's true." Growing serious, he reached out and touched my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I sighed, looking away again. "I don't know why Jarod does this to me, though..."

"We don't even know the whole story here, Parker," he reminded me. "This is a little unusual, even for Jarod, but I'm sure everything will become clear soon."

I nodded. "What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

"Well, we can try the police station," he suggested. "And then, if we still aren't any closer to figuring this out, we can find a hotel and get some rest."

"Yeah, I guess that's all we can do," I said reluctantly. What I really wanted to do was drive the hell out of there and forget any of that encounter ever happened, but I knew I couldn't do that. Jarod had obviously lured us there for a reason, and I couldn't leave before I figured out what that was.

Besides which, I had promised my father I would find Jarod. I wouldn't let him down again. I couldn't bear another meeting with him like the one I had endured that morning.

Suddenly there was a knock on the driver's side window, and I jumped. Next to the glass was a man's face, and I vaguely recognized him as one of the sweepers assigned to this trip. Low forehead, beady eyes, square jaw-- just like most of the Centre's sweepers. I suspected this particular sweeper was named Joe, or Bob, or something else generic. I lowered the window and looked at him expectantly. "What?"

"What should we do, Miss?" Joe Bob asked politely.

I sighed, already bored with him. It was unfortunate that Sam had accepted a special guard post in the Renewal Wing. More pay, perhaps, but also more psychological damage. And I was left with Joe Bob and Billy Bob.

"Why don't you find a hotel for us all to stay in?" I suggested impatiently. "Get us each a separate room, and lie low unless you hear from us. We'll call you later to find out where you are."

"Yes, Miss, is that all?"

"That's all." I raised the window, effectively cutting the conversation short. Luckily for the sweeper, he had moved back just in time to keep his nose from suffering the same fate. I was a bit disappointed; it would have been amusing to hear him scream like a little girl. But alas, I'm much meaner in my fantasies than I am in real life. "Alright, Syd, let's get this over with."

Sydney nodded. "We need to get back out to Main Street. Do you remember the way?"

"Yeah." I pulled quickly out of the driveway, leaving the sweepers behind, and made a right onto Berkely Street. "Hey, Syd?"

"Yes?"

I sighed. "Am I the only one who has a bad feeling about this whole thing?" I asked tentatively.

"No, I'm a little worried, too," he replied.

"About Jarod."

"Yes, about Jarod, and that little girl. What are you worried about, Miss Parker?"

"I don't know," I mumbled. "I just have a really bad feeling."



* * * * *



"The Golden Age Motel. Just down this street a little ways."

I groaned. "That was the best they could come up with?"

"Apparently," Sydney replied. "This doesn't seem to be a very big tourist town."

"Gee, I wonder why," I hissed. "The incompetent and ridiculous police department of this town is quite a tourist attraction."

"I know you're unsatisfied about the lack of information we've received so far, but I believe that Jarod will give us another clue soon. We should call Broots."

"I'm sure he would have called if something had turned up," I said. "Besides, let him enjoy his time with Debbie."

"Alright." Sydney pointed as the sign for the Golden Age Motel flickered ahead of them. The first letter G was unlit, adding to the dilapidated ambience. The Olden Age Motel. Almost funny, but not quite. "This is the place."

"Oh, God." I grimaced as I pulled into the parking lot of the dark, dingy motel. "This place is pure Jarod." It was one thing that Ratboy insisted upon sleeping in abandoned warehouses and seedy motels, but forcing me to accept lodging in such a place was enough to make me scream.

As I was parking the car, one of the sweepers came into view. He walked to the side of the car and waited. Finally, I cut the ignition and stepped out of the car. "This place is disgusting," I informed the sweeper. This guy was slightly younger than the other. Definitely Billy Bob.

"I'm sorry, Miss. The only other motel in town was full."

I rolled my eyes. No sense in arguing; I had already accepted the fact that we were screwed. "Whatever. Just direct me to my room."

The sweeper held out two keys. "You're in 4, Mr. Sydney is in 5."

I snatched the keys out of his hand. "Thanks, that'll be all for tonight."

"Yes, Miss." He nodded at Sydney and walked back to the door marked 3, disappearing inside his room.

Shaking my head in disgust, I opened the trunk and removed the overnight bag that I always kept inside in case of emergencies, and threw Sydney's bag at him. He caught it just in time to see his room key sail past his head.

"Thank you," he said in amusement. He stepped back and bent down to get his key. "Do you want to talk?" he asked when he straightened.

I shook my head. "No, I just want to sleep," I replied. "I'll see you in the morning, okay, Syd?"

"Of course. Goodnight, Miss Parker."

"Goodnight." I slammed the trunk shut, wishing that Jarod was inside, and stalked to my room. Despite my weariness, I was pretty sure somehow that I would never get any sleep that night. There was too much anger, pain, and confusion clouding my brain-- as usual.

Once I was alone in my darkened room, I tossed my bag onto the floor and sank down on the bed. My nose wrinkled at the smell, reminiscent of a gym locker, but I was too tired to care. I needed to relax and decompress, and the smell would just have to be tolerated. I would just have to take a really hot shower in the morning and wash this dirty place from my skin.

"It took you long enough."

I shot up at the sound of Jarod's voice, deep and menacing in the darkness. "Dammit, Jarod, what the hell are you trying to do to me?" I demanded, pulling my gun and aiming it in the direction of the voice. Adrenaline shot through my system like quicksilver, and my pulse raced wildly as I tried to get a handle on the situation.

A lamp snapped on, illuminating the room, and the dark figure of Jarod. He was dressed in all black, as usual, and his face wore a disturbed expression. I felt a chill run through me at both his appearance and his close proximity. "It's nice to see you, too, Miss Parker."

"Give me one reason not to shoot you," I warned in a hollow tone.

He held out a small photograph. "Here's one."

I squinted slightly, and felt a familiar ache in my heart as I saw the image of the young girl. My anger began to subside, and sorrow moved in to take its place. "Angel," I murmured.

"Yes, Angel. Please, Miss Parker, put away the gun so we can talk."

Reluctantly, I placed my gun down on the beside table and took a tentative step toward Jarod. "What is going on here?" I demanded. "Why did you drag us out here?"

"I tried to help this innocent girl," Jarod said sadly. "But something went wrong. The person I trusted to help me turned out to be working for Beckett McCann. And McCann practically owns the police department. He was free within a matter of hours, and they have a shoot to kill order out on me. I can't do anything else to help now, at least not personally. The police department may not be smart enough to catch me if I'm in hiding, but if I show myself, there's not much I can do."

"So you got me out here to do it for you," I growled, irritated again. "Did you happen to forget that I'm supposed to catch you, and not help you?"

"I don't forget anything, Miss Parker," he said mysteriously. "But sometimes I think you do."

I sighed indignantly. "What the hell are you talking about, Jarod?"

He put one hand in his pocket and withdrew a small, gold necklace. He held it out to me in the palm of his hand.

I gasped when I caught sight of the gold chain which held a delicate angel pendant. "Where did you get this?" I asked in a hushed voice, picking it up gingerly. It was almost as light as air, and yet it radiated warmth from Jarod's body. I clutched it in my hand, remembering how I had loved it, and how I had cried when I had discovered it was missing. That necklace had spent nearly seven years around my neck, and I almost never took it off. The only other piece of jewelry that had ever held such longevity was my silver ring, which I have been wearing for nearly fifteen years.

"You lost it," Jarod replied, sitting down on the bed. "It was one of the last times you came to visit me in the Centre. It must have fallen off, because I found it on the floor after you left. I... I wanted to give it back, but I couldn't."

"Why not?" I cried angrily, furious that he would keep it from me, when he had to know what it meant to me.

"Two reasons," Jarod said softly. "The first was that it made me feel close to you. It belonged to you, and you touched it, and you loved it, and it was the only thing of yours I had."

I tensed up, turning away. I wasn't sure how I felt about his revelation, and I was too tired to figure it out. "And the other reason?" I prompted cautiously.

"I hated when you wore it," Jarod murmured. "I hated what it represented."

Startled, I turned around and glared at him. My eyes locked onto his, and I felt a strange flash of recognition that hit me like a punch in the gut. "What do you mean?"

"You do forget," he said, shaking his head sadly.

I closed my eyes and counted silently to ten, hoping to regain my equilibrium. When I opened my eyes again, Jarod was still gazing up at me, his liquid eyes shining with sadness. "Forget what?" I asked between clenched teeth, desperate to seize control of the conversation.

"Your father gave you that necklace," he said. "To make up for hitting you."

I swallowed hard as I finally allowed myself to remember. It seemed like lifetimes ago. I guess I had blocked it all out, for my own peace of mind, but the pain was still there. Still, I refused to recall the details. "Jarod--"

"I hated that he hurt you," Jarod went on. "And I hated even more that you let him get away with it, and that you loved him more than ever. Your whole life, you've been blind to what your father really is, trying so hard to make him proud of you, when you knew deep inside that he wasn't capable of giving you the kind of love you needed."

"Shut the hell up," I snapped, suddenly incensed. He couldn't do this to me. Hadn't he done enough to ruin my life? "You don't know what you're talking about. Who gave you the right to make judgments on my life like this?"

"You did," he replied, undaunted, "when you showed me the bruises and cried in my arms."

"Goddammit," I whispered. Painfully, I closed my eyes as the memory assaulted me with a vengeance.



"Who did this to you?" Jarod asked in a hushed voice, gingerly fingering the exposed bruises on her back.

Miss Parker flinched as he touched a particularly tender spot. "Daddy," she sniffled. "He didn't mean to, I just made him so mad..."

"I don't know what you did, but you couldn't have deserved this."

"I did," she insisted weakly. "I didn't listen... It was my fault."

Jarod lowered the back of her blouse and sweater and turned her around gently by putting his hands on her shoulders. He looked up at her with sad, worried eyes. "Your injuries aren't severe," he said gravely, "but that doesn't mean he didn't hurt you badly."

Miss Parker nodded, tears streaming from her eyes. "He said he was sorry, and he-he gave me this..." She pulled the angel pendant out from underneath her blouse and showed it to him. "Isn't it pretty?"

"Yeah, it's nice," Jarod said vaguely. "So did he only hit you that one time?"

"Yeah. But then he yelled at me again today and I got scared... What if he does it again? I love him, Jarod, and I didn't mean to be bad. Why would he want to hurt me?"

"I don't know..." Jarod gathered Miss Parker into his arms and held her gently while she cried. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. Her answer was just another strangled sob.




"I can't believe this," I said, sinking down on the bed beside Jarod as I emerged from the flashback. "How could I forget something like that? How could I even..." I shook my head, stunned at myself.

"You were a little girl," Jarod said gently. "Your father was all you had left. You wanted to make him happy. I understand that now. There was nothing you could have done. And as much as I wanted to help, there was nothing I could do, either." He sighed. "And then as you got older, you wanted to forget, so you did. The brain is capable of remarkable things."

"You would know," I replied dully. Shock was probably the only thing that protected me from absolute meltdown.

"Do you want to talk about this?" he asked carefully. "I know this must be very--"

"Don't tell me what you know about me," I snapped. "You don't know anything about me, except the perfect way to bring my life down around my ears. I hope you're pleased with yourself now."

"I'm just trying to help you see the truth," he insisted. "You're not doing yourself any favors by hiding from it."

"I don't want to talk about this with you," I said angrily, getting to my feet. "This is none of your business."

He bowed his head slightly. "I'm sorry. Do you want me to leave, then?"

Taken aback slightly at his offer, I snapped my mouth shut and considered it. It was probably a full minute before I found my voice. "Not yet," I replied. "What I want is for you to tell me why you set this all up just so you could torment me. And I don't want you disappearing on me until you explain it." I paused, realizing I didn't sound quite threatening enough. "And if I don't like your explanation," I continued, "I'll kill you."

"Miss Parker, I didn't bring you here to upset you," he said in a soft voice.

"Then why did you bring me here?" I turned to face Jarod, tears burning in my eyes. " Why ? Just tell me , will you?"

"So that you can help me help another little girl who doesn't have a chance. To stop this from happening to another innocent child."

"Helping people is your specialty, not mine," I said, turning away again. "I'm not qualified for this sort of thing."

"You're more qualified than I am," he replied. "You understand what it's like, you've been there. You were a mistreated little girl once."

I brushed at my tears with the back of one hand. "Jarod, what the hell am I supposed to do? I couldn't stop my own father from hitting me, how am I supposed to stop someone else's?"

"In order to get McCann put away for real, Angel needs to tell her story. I couldn't convince her to do it, and it was just Beckett's word against mine. And Beckett owns this town, as I'm sure you know by now."

"Well if you can't convince a little girl to talk, how can I?" I demanded desperately.

"She talked to me a little, but she didn't quite trust me," Jarod murmured. "I'm a man. There's nothing I can do about that; she doesn't trust men." He paused, shaking his head. "Except for her father. The one man who really does hurt her is the only one she trusts. Little girls seem to have incredible faith in their fathers, whether they deserve it or not."

His comment cut deeply, even though I knew inwardly that he wasn't trying to hurt me. However, I chose not to take issue, for fear of the personal and emotional conversation that would necessarily ensue. "Why didn't you just recruit some other woman in town to help you?" I asked. "Why does it have to be me? You're a genius, for God's sake, there has to be another way."

Instead of answering me, Jarod reached out impulsively and took my hand. "Please, Miss Parker," he said simply.

I wanted to pull my hand away, but the warmth of his touch brought back memories of how safe I had always felt in his arms. God, how I had loved him once. I wondered suddenly if I had ever stopped.

"What am I supposed to do?" I sighed, defeated.

Jarod smiled. "Now we're getting somewhere."



* * * * *



Between the hour spent listening to Jarod's plan, and the three hours spent brooding over my own situation, I didn't get much sleep that night. Finally I had passed out from sheer exhaustion, and thankfully, my dreams were vague and non-threatening. I knew there would still be some major fallout from my recovered memories, but I was ready to bury them again for at least a little while. I wanted to save my breakdown until after we had helped Angel.

That sounds strange, I suppose, but I've always had a lot of self-control, when it suited me. That applies especially to emotions, which I've spent a lifetime avoiding.

The next morning, therefore, I refrained from telling Sydney anything about Jarod's visit, except for the plan. He was an integral part of it, after all, so he deserved to be told.

My dirty little secrets could wait.

"Miss Parker, this is crazy!" Sydney exclaimed, failing to hold back an amused smile when I stepped out of the motel bathroom. "What are you wearing?" he asked, looking me up and down.

I let out an irritated sigh as I examined myself in the full-length mirror that hung crookedly on the bathroom door. I wore a long, straight brown skirt with chunky brown clogs, and the boring ensemble was topped with a simple white blouse and a pale blue cardigan. My hair was pulled into a tight bun, and I wore thin, wire-framed glasses with clear plastic lenses.

"I know, can you believe this outfit?" I sighed, adjusting my pearl necklace. "Jarod really does have a sick sense of humor. I don't even know if I can walk in these ridiculous shoes." Disdainfully, I glanced down at the shoes, which were open in the back, and lacked my usual spiked heel.

"They look comfortable to me," Sydney said casually. He met my scowl and quickly looked away. "So you're telling me that Jarod picked these clothes out for you?"

I nodded and looked back at the mirror, secretly stunned at my own transformation. "Yeah. They're not my style, but they're my size." I glanced at Sydney's reflection in the mirror and then looked back at my own, noting how the drab clothing hugged my curves in all the right ways, yet without looking suggestive. My first impulse was to despise the clothes, but it was amazing how good they looked on me, almost as if they had been made especially for me. "My exact size, Syd."

"Interesting," Sydney said mildly.

"Interesting?" I repeated. "You mean freaky. Your boy must have gone rummaging around in my room in order to find out my size. Poking around in my closet, my drawers..." I shivered as I imagined it, and found myself glad that Jarod hadn't provided me with any undergarments. He must have figured correctly that I would already have my own, and I appreciated that he hadn't gone that far. That would have been just one more thing pushing me into psychotherapy.

"Maybe." Sydney shrugged and stood up. "Miss Parker, are you sure you want to go through with this?"

I sighed and walked toward him, stumbling a bit in the shoes. "Dammit," I hissed under my breath. When I recovered, I began to pace, practicing my stride. "I'm sure," I replied. "I think."

"I wonder why Jarod didn't pick out any clothes for me," he said, watching me with amusement.

If it wasn't for the fact that I loved Syd dearly, I would have knocked that smug smile right off his face. "I guess he thinks your regular clothes are appropriate for a social worker," I remarked instead. "And mine are in appropriate for a teacher. How I love Jarod's moral judgments on my life."

"I must say, Miss Parker, you look very nice in--" Sydney stopped speaking when I turned to glare at him. "In anything you wear," he amended warmly.

I rolled my eyes. "Nice save, Dr. Feelgood. So, are you ready for work? I'll drop you off."

"Can I ask a practical question at this point?" Sydney ventured.

"If you must. What?"

"What about the sweepers?" he asked. "I mean, what do we tell them, and how do we keep them from finding out about this?"

I paused, considering. "We tell them we're going undercover to find Jarod, because we know he's in the area. We tell them to lie low but be ready for action whenever we call them. And then once we've helped Angel, we try to get Jarod and go home."

Sydney frowned, his good humor fading. "You intend to capture Jarod?" he asked reproachfully.

"If he lets us get our hands on him," I replied pointedly. It was my way of reassuring Syd and also covering my own butt, in case I couldn't bring myself to capture Jarod. Yet, I wasn't ruling it out, either. Truth is, I was desperately confused, and completely unwilling to think about it.

Sydney opened his mouth to argue, but then I guess he thought again about what I had said, and what I hadn't, because he nodded slowly and smiled. "Okay," he said agreeably.

I smiled back briefly and rifled around in the purse that Jarod had left for me. I fingered the tube of lipstick thoughtfully, noting that it was one of my favorite shades, and flipped through the small stack of cash he had stuck inside. Centre funds, no doubt, and I couldn't say I was sorry. Those bastards owed me at least that. Finally, I examined all the fake documentation Jarod had painstakingly prepared: the driver's license, a few credit cards, and paperwork relating to my new status as substitute teacher. All were marked with my new name: Catherine Tyler.

It struck me suddenly that Jarod had gone to a lot of work for this Pretend, clearly revealing great confidence in his ability to recruit me. I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

"Do you think Jarod's plan is going to work?" Sydney spoke up after a few minutes.

I nodded thoughtfully. "As long as we don't screw it up, probably," I said. "After all, with Jarod the Puppet Master behind the scenes, pulling our strings, what could go wrong?"

"It went wrong the last time Jarod tried to help Angel," he reminded me.

"Don't be so cynical," I chided.

He laughed. "Interesting advice, coming from you," he pointed out.

I was about to yell at him, but instead a small chuckle erupted from my throat and turned into a full-blown laugh. "You're right, Syd, this is crazy. This whole thing, it's insane. Why are we doing this again?"

"For a little girl."

I sobered at Sydney's words, and nodded firmly. "Right. For the girl."

"And for you, and for Jarod," Sydney went on.

I gave him a warning glare, unwilling to let him get personal. I wasn't ready yet to tell him why Jarod had chosen me for this job, and why I had accepted. "Don't push it. Come on, we're going to be late for our new jobs."

He nodded and got to his feet, patting the shiny new briefcase Jarod had left for him. "After you, Miss Tyler."

I just shook my head and smiled, wondering if I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life.



* * * * *



"Good luck, Syd, I'll call you later."

"Enjoy your first day of school," he replied. "Remember to be patient, they're only children."

I grimaced at him. "I can be patient and compassionate," I said. When he only smiled wider, my irritation only grew. "I can!" I insisted.

"Goodbye, Miss Parker," he said simply. He gave me a swift wink and turned to walk into the building.

Once he had disappeared through the doors, I threw the car into reverse and maneuvered out of the parking lot. The school I was to teach at was only a few minutes from our motel, but Sydney's job had turned out to be a bit out of the way, so now I was in danger of being late. I suspected that would not be a good way to start my first day, and even though being late for work had never bothered me before, this was different. For once, my job description didn't include anything that could be described as dishonorable or completely pointless. This was important, and I couldn't afford to mess it up.

As I started down the road, my cell phone suddenly rang, startling me. I reached for it quickly, keeping my eyes on the road. "What?" I asked brusquely.

"You're going to be late, Miss Parker."

I sighed. "Jarod."

"I hope you enjoy your new job. I have a feeling it will be a lot more rewarding than your normal one."

"Well, I don't know, my job takes me around the country," I said dryly. "I get to see the sights, soak up the local culture, encounter the most shady characters each city has to offer... what could be better than that?" I know, I was full of shit. But sometimes I just couldn't help myself.

"Children," Jarod said, his voice thick with emotion. "Children can show you a whole new world, without you ever having to leave the room."

I never would have admitted it to anyone, but Jarod's words stirred something inside me, and I knew instantly that I understood exactly what he was talking about. "What do you want, Jarod?" I asked, my voice disgustingly unsure.

"I left a tape for you. If you have time, you might want to listen. In any case, enjoy your first day. Don't forget the Pledge of Allegiance." With that, he hung up on me.

I tossed the phone into the empty passenger seat and glanced at the tape player. Sure enough, there was a tape sticking out of it, one which I knew had not been there before. I don't often listen to music when I drive; it distracts me. Whether it makes me happy or sad is irrelevant, the point is, it always provokes an emotion of some kind, and usually one that I don't want to deal with when I'm on the job.

Warily, I shoved Jarod's tape in the player and turned up the radio to listen. Somehow, I knew it would be some kind of morality lesson, but I couldn't resist listening to what he wanted to share with me. The lush music began, and by the time the singer's soulful voice uttered the first line, I was undeniably hooked.



She walks to school with the lunch

she packed

Nobody knows what she's

holdin' back

Wearin' the same dress

she wore yesterday

She hides the bruises with linen

and lace



The teacher wonders but she

doesn't ask

It's hard to see the pain

behind the mask

Bearing the burden

of a secret storm

Sometimes she wishes she was

never born



Through the wind and the rain

She stands hard as a stone

In a world that she can't rise above

But her dreams give her wings

And she flies to a place where

she's loved

Concrete angel



Somebody cries in the middle

of the night

The neighbors hear, but they turn

out the lights

A fragile soul caught in the hands

of fate

When morning comes

it'll be too late



Through the wind and the rain

She stands hard as a stone

In a world that she can't rise above

But her dreams give her wings

And she flies to a place where

she's loved

Concrete angel



A statue stands in a shaded place

A angel girl with an upturned face

A name is written on a polished rock

A broken heart that the world forgot



Through the wind and the rain

She stands hard as a stone

In a world that she can't rise above

But her dreams give her wings

And she flies to a place where

she's loved

Concrete angel






By the end of the song, I was in tears, barely able to see the road in front of me. The song was obviously left in my car to remind me about Angel, but it also made me think of my own childhood. Of course, that was part of his evil plan. He was desperately trying to link Angel's problem to mine, in the hopes that I could somehow solve both. Not that I really needed much convincing, he'd made himself perfectly clear the night before.

During our talk, he had tried several times to talk to me about my father's abuse, but I kept changing the subject back to Angel. Of course, it was mostly because I just wasn't ready to talk about it, but my other problem was Jarod. He just had this look of sadness and compassion that I couldn't handle, not from him. Not after everything that we'd been through.

I could almost imagine him crying as he listened to this song he left me, and that only made me feel worse. Why did he have to be so damn nice all the time? I didn't know how to deal with that.

For such a long time, I had been dismissing my father's abuse, and for my own protection had turned myself into a cold, unmovable statue, allowing the happy little girl inside to die. I wondered suddenly if it was too late to get some of that innocence back, and if anyone would miss me when I died. Jarod and Sydney might miss me a little, but probably only because they thought of me as a project, a problem to fix. It couldn't be because they really cared, because who could care about the horrible person I had become?

I wondered if I was truly loved here on earth, or if the only people who had ever cared were already waiting for me in Heaven.

Sniffling, I wiped my face with the back of my hand and dismissed my selfish and pathetic thoughts. This was exactly why I tried to avoid emotion; it turned me into a lonely little child.

"You're a Parker, dammit," I muttered to myself angrily. I almost laughed when I realized that I sounded like my father. " Pull yourself together, Angel ," I mimicked. " That's my girl ."

I shook my head in frustration and tried to purge Daddy's voice from my head. I wasn't going to listen to him anymore. I wasn't going to let him tell me what to do.

Besides, this mission was about Angel, not me. I needed to focus on the issue here, and forget my own issues. Self-pity would never get me anywhere. That was a lesson I had learned early, and one which applied to almost any situation.

I could never change what had happened to myself, but I could try to keep another little girl from dying inside.

By the time I reached the school, which was only a few blocks from the McCann residence, I had pulled myself together, and my resolve had strengthened. I wasn't going to fail this little girl.



* * * * *



I gulped down the last mouthful of lukewarm coffee from the bottom of my cup and pinched the bridge of my nose. I had only been there for half a day, and already I was exhausted. My glasses, which had been digging into my nose all day, lay discarded beside my coffee cup while the children were out of the room.

It was finally lunchtime, and I could not have been more grateful. Although I hadn't needed to do any actual teaching, and only had to supervise the children on their busy work, being alone with so many fourth graders was tearing at my fragile nerves. The children were generally well-behaved, but I was just so out of my element, I felt like they might somehow be able to sense that I wasn't who I was pretending to be.

Briefly, I wondered how Jarod was able to spend his life pretending to be someone else, living in fear of being himself. But I quickly shoved him out of my mind, forcing my thoughts to return to my task.

All morning, I had attempted to be friendly and accessible to all of the children, but I was unable to tear my attention from Angel much of the time. The girl was wearing that same destroyed wedding dress with a white sweater and white sneakers, and she somehow seemed even thinner than she had the day before. There was a small red cut under her left eye, which made me wonder what other marks and bruises were scarring her body.

What struck me most, though, was her attitude. She had only spoken once, when I had called attendance, and she hadn't interacted with any of the other students. She ignored them, and they ignored her, almost as if she wasn't even there. The other girls were always giggling and whispering amongst themselves, and the boys were exchanging secret smiles and nods, but Angel had worked steadily and diligently on her schoolwork.

It broke my heart how much Angel reminded me of myself. When I was in grade school, I too was the class outcast. I was either ignored or picked on, and I had just forced myself to put my head down and work until it was time to go home. Back in those days, I had lived for Jarod and Angelo, my only friends. I wondered if Angel had any friends to run to after a long day, or if her father was truly all she had.

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when the classroom door creaked open. I glanced up with a start, and watched as Angel crept into the room.

"Angel?" I asked gently.

The girl jumped; she hadn't noticed me at my desk. "Oh, I'm sorry," she murmured, turning to leave again.

"No, wait, stay." I stood quickly, and squelched a curse as one of my feet slipped sideways from my shoe. Next time, Jarod better make sure he gets me some real shoes , I thought irrationally. "Is everything okay?" I asked aloud.

Angel nodded quickly, her eyes darting from side to side. "It's just... I usually come in here during recess to do schoolwork. But usually the teacher's not here..."

"Oh..." I nodded in understanding. Lunchtime had turned into recess, the worst possible time of day for timid, silent children. "Well, if you don't mind if I stay, I certainly would appreciate your company," I said, wondering when I had learned to speak so kindly to children. Mama would be proud , I couldn't resist thinking.

Angel hesitated, thinking it over. Finally, she nodded and shuffled over to her desk without a word.

I stood for a long moment as I watched the young girl settle down and take out a notebook and a pink pen. Angel clearly didn't want to be bothered, but I knew that Jarod hadn't sent me to this school so I could turn my back. And I hadn't accepted this assignment just to watch a child's suffering. "What are you working on?" I ventured finally.

"Nothing," Angel mumbled, scribbling furiously.

"It doesn't look like nothing. It looks like you're doing a lot of writing, but I don't remember assigning any compositions. Did your other teacher leave you with work to do?"

"No."

I sighed softly, frustrated. I could tell it wouldn't be easy to get through to this child. "Is it really schoolwork?" I prodded. "Or is it something else?"

Angel squirmed in her seat, but didn't raise her head. "It's nothing."

Just then, the door opened again, and one of the other fifth grade teachers walked in. Miss Robbins was tall, thin, and blonde, and could not have been more than 25 years old. I had found her irritating enough at our first meeting, but now I wanted to smack her. Couldn't the woman see I was busy?

"Miss Tyler!" Miss Robbins said cheerfully, sending only a cursory glance toward Angel.

I forced a smile. "Hi, is there something I can do for you?"

Miss Robbins laughed and waved a hand dismissively. "Nahh, I just came to chat. I noticed this morning that there wasn't a ring on your finger..."

Ahh, here we go , I thought moodily. I usually hear this kind of crap from men, but now I know, it's just as irritating when a woman does it.

"And since my best friend got married, I don't have anyone to meet men with," Miss Robbins continued, oblivious to my annoyance. "So I was wondering if you wanted to hang out this Friday night. I know a great place¬"

"Well, I'm sure it's a nice place, but I'm not exactly free," I interrupted quickly, desperate to get Miss Robbins out of my classroom and my life in less than 3 minutes. "I... have a boyfriend."

Miss Robbins' eyes widened. "Really?" she asked, interested. "Does he have any friends, brothers...?"

Someone's desperate . "Not really, no. Sorry."

"Well, tell me about him." Miss Robbins perched on the corner of my desk, making herself right at home. "What's his name?"

"Name?" I repeated, thinking frantically. "Uh, Jarod?" Where the hell did that come from, Parker? I berated myself silently.

"No way!" Miss Robbins swatted me playfully on the arm, and I had to restrain myself from grabbing the woman's wrist and twisting it.

"Yeah..." I widened my eyes questioningly. "So?"

"There was a guidance counselor here named Jarod," she said, as if it were a miracle. "He was... whoa..." Miss Robbins raised her eyebrows and nodded, in the language of traditional girl talk. She glanced briefly at Angel, who seemed to be in her own world, before continuing. "Well, let's just say I knew some places I wanted to show him ," she said suggestively.

A sudden, white-hot flash of anger ignited somewhere inside my chest, surprising me. I found myself rubbing the small of my back, where my gun would normally have been located. "So what happened to your Jarod?" I asked, managing to unclench my teeth by the middle of the sentence.

Miss Robbins shrugged. "Really weird thing," she said. "He turned out to be insane, or something. Tied up the father of one of our kids, I heard."

This time, I looked at Angel, and I noticed that the little girl was still staring down, but she had stopped writing. My anger grew, and I wanted to shut Miss Robbins up immediately. Violently, if possible. "Well, that's a man for you," I said with false sympathy.

"Shame, too," Miss Robbins went on. "He was one hell of a man. I've never met anybody quite like him before. But then, I guess I don't usually go out with insane men."

Any man who could stand to listen to you speak for more than 2 minutes is obviously insane , I seethed.

"So, tell me about your Jarod," Miss Robbins said, changing the focus of the conversation. "He's not the same one I almost brought home with me, is he?"

"No, Jarod's not a guidance counselor," I replied. Today.

"Oh good," Miss Robbins said, grinning. "I wouldn't want you to think I had my eye on your man. Insane or not."

Strike me down now ... "No, there are more people in the world than one named Jarod," I said, annoyance creeping into my voice.

Miss Robbins didn't seem to notice my interruption, and chirped on pleasantly. "Insane or not, he was one sexy guidance counselor," she said, grinning. "I'd still go out with him." She raised her eyebrows meaningfully. "Being tied up isn't always so bad, you know."

My mouth dropped open in disgust and disbelief. "Hey, you know, one of my kids is in the room," I whispered, jerking my chin toward Angel.

Miss Robbins looked over at Angel, who was scribbling again in her notebook. "She couldn't hear us," she replied. "Anyway, I should go, recess is about over. Let's get together later, okay?"

"Sure." Remind me to bring my gun . "See you later."

Miss Robbins hopped down from the desk, straightening her knee-length skirt. "See ya later, uh..." She paused. "You know, I don't think I remember your name," she said, looking confused.

"Miss Tyler," I said coolly.

"No, I know that," Miss Robbins said with a laugh. "I mean your first name. What you want adults to call you."

"Miss Tyler."

Miss Robbins laughed. "You're a riot," she said, as the recess bell sounded. "I almost wish Ms. McIntyre didn't have to come back, so you could stay."

"Oh, me too," I said with mock sincerity. "Well, see you."

"See you!" Finally, just as I was beginning to reach my breaking point, Miss Robbins took her leave of the classroom.

When the door closed behind the twisted blonde, I let out a heavy sigh and sank down in my chair. "And these are the people teaching our children," I mumbled in deep disgust. I glanced up at Angel, who glanced up at me as well. To my surprise, Angel rolled her eyes slightly and cracked a tiny smile before looking back down. I chuckled softly, my admittedly shaky faith in humanity partially restored, and prepared to continue my conversation with the little girl. But before I could even open my mouth, the classroom door opened, and my students began to stream in, talking and laughing loudly. Sighing in resignation, I took out my lesson book to see what was next.



* * * * *



"Oh thank God." I dropped my head down onto my folded arms and closed my eyes wearily. The last of the students had finally left, and my first day as an elementary school teacher was officially over. Neither I nor the students knew any more than we had known that morning, but I felt it was a victory everyone had survived.

Several times, I had attempted to draw Angel out of her shell by asking her questions, but Angel merely gave soft replies and avoided eye contact. I was frustrated, because after the earlier encounter with Miss Robbins, I had seen a spark of humor in Angel's eyes, and I felt I had lost a good opportunity to get through to her.

Thinking back on Recess, I almost groaned at the memory of Miss Robbins. What a flaming idiot that woman was. I realized, without a trace of amusement, that I could come up with many reasons to hate perky Miss Robbins. Number one on my list was the way she talked in front of Angel. It was bad enough for any adult to do that, but for a teacher, it was inexcusable. Even I knew that much, and I wasn't exactly the PTA's top choice for President. The only consolation was that Angel had seemed okay with it.

Don't forget about Jarod , a little voice in my head reminded me. As if I could forget. As much as I wanted to pretend otherwise, Miss Robbins' discussion of Jarod had bothered me immensely. I wasn't sure if it was the vulgar undertones of the conversation, or if it was the fact that Jarod was the subject, but I knew that if I had to have a reprise of that conversation, ever , I would have to break the woman's nose.

At the thought of having another conversation with Miss Robbins, I jumped up quickly. She could come back, and without children in the room, who knew what would come out of her mouth? I needed to make my escape now, otherwise I was just a sitting duck. I gathered up my books and teachers' manuals, shoving them into my soft briefcase, and headed for the door. Halfway there, my left foot slipped sideways out of my shoe, and I nearly fell on my face.

"Dammit, Jarod," I said under my breath, removing both shoes and barely resisting the urge to throw them in the trash can. I tucked them into my bag instead.

Two minutes later, I emerged from the building, barefoot but otherwise unscathed, and headed for the refuge of my car. When I reached it, however, I noticed that something was different. There was a yellow license plate, bearing the slogan "Animal Friendly," on the front of the car.

"New Jersey?" I spoke aloud, reading the solid block lettering beneath the five digit license plate number. I circled the car, peering in the windows to assure myself that it was, in fact, my car. Then, with a flash, I realized what had happened. Jarod, ever vigilant, had changed my license plates. I almost smiled, but instead I bit my lip and let myself into the car.

Sitting on the dashboard was a folded piece of paper that I knew was not there before. I reached forward and trapped it between two fingers, pulling it over to me. "I told you not to forget the Pledge of Allegiance," I read aloud. Folding the paper, I tossed it onto my seat and frowned. I had forgotten the Pledge of Allegiance. One of the students had reminded me halfway through roll call.

And Jarod knew. He had been watching me. Probably laughing his head off the whole time.

"Damn you," I muttered, cursing him as I often did to make myself feel better. It rarely worked. This time, though, I felt a vague sense of comfort wash over me. I wasn't alone in this crazy situation; Jarod was looking out for me.

Why does that make me feel better? I wondered silently.

Shaking my head, I started the car and backed out of my parking space, wondering if I could find a good shoe store in town.



* * * * *



" I took care of the Centre ," I muttered thoughtfully. "What does that mean?"

After a little shoe shopping, I had picked Sydney up from work and treated him to a nice meal at an Italian restaurant. It had actually been an unusually enjoyable evening for the two of us, and with the help of Sydney's gentle encouragement and a bottle of red wine, I had been able to let off some steam and relax.

However, upon reaching my motel room, I had found another note from Jarod, and I once more felt a little lost. Jarod's note had stated simply that he had taken care of the Centre, and when I found myself unable to find or contact my two sweepers, I wondered what was going on. I wanted to call Broots to see if he knew anything, but I wasn't sure if I should. I found myself hoping Jarod would stop by for another visit, so he could enlighten me.

After an hour of waiting alone in my room, I got irritated and decided to take a shower. Waiting for Jarod , I thought with disgust. What next, shopping at thrift stores?

45 minutes later, I emerged from the steamy bathroom in my gray silk pajamas, my wet hair tangled and dripping on my shoulders. I yawned as I crossed the threshold into the bedroom, but froze at the sight before me.

Jarod was there, laying on my bed as if he owned the place. He was dressed like a construction worker, in tight, dirt-smudged jeans, brown work boots, and a partially unbuttoned blue shirt. His arms were folded behind his head, his feet were crossed at the ankles, and his eyes were closed. I examined him for a long moment before speaking up.

"I thought you were in hiding," I said threateningly, out of habit. "If you're not, maybe you should be."

Jarod turned his face toward me, opened his eyes, and smiled sweetly. "Good evening, Miss Parker, did you have a nice day?"

"It was lovely," I replied dryly. "I'm lucky I didn't wind up in traction because of those ridiculous shoes you gave me."

Jarod laughed, a deep warm laugh that was foreign to my ears, and yet soothing to my frayed nerves. "Sorry, I haven't found any employment opportunities involving women's footwear yet, so it's not really my area of expertise. I had to make a guess."

"So, there's something you don't know everything about," I taunted. "Shocking."

"Hey, nobody's perfect," he said amiably. "Even though some of us come remarkably close."

This time, I was unable to stifle a laugh. "You're awfully sure of yourself, aren't you, Rat Boy?"

Jarod watched me with only a faint trace of a smile playing on his lips. "I wasn't talking about me," he said seriously.

I sobered up quickly, staring back at him. I was pretty sure I caught his meaning, but I didn't understand it. I was afraid to. "Jarod, what do you want?" I asked, changing the subject quickly. "I'm tired."

"I'm sure you are," he said kindly, sitting up. "I just came to see how it went with Angel today."

"As if you didn't know," I replied pointedly.

"I didn't watch you all day, Miss Parker," he told me, sounding almost wistful. "Just for a couple minutes." He gestured down at himself. "After all, I had my own job to get to."

"Yeah, about that," I said, nodding, "I thought there was a shoot to kill order out on you. What are you doing pretending to be a construction worker?"

"I'm pretending to be an outside contractor," he corrected, smiling. "And I'm working in the next town. No one even looked twice at me."

I guess Miss Robbins wasn't there , I thought grimly to myself. "But why are you doing it?" I prodded. "Just for fun?"

"Research, practice..." He shrugged. "It's not that important."

I stared at him for a long moment. His next Pretend was going to be as a contractor. By coming to my room dressed for work, he was giving me a huge and very obvious clue. But why?

"So about Angel," he spoke up, breaking the silence.

"Angel..." I nodded. "I didn't really get anywhere with her. I tried to talk to her during recess, when she came into the classroom to work on something. But she really wouldn't say anything. And then this stupid woman came in and interrupted me..." I let out a low growl, thinking about Miss Robbins again.

"What woman?" Jarod asked curiously.

"Miss Robbins ," I replied, wrinkling my nose.

"Ohhh..." Jarod shook his head. "I should have warned you about her. She can be a little..." He trailed off, words failing him.

"Yeah, a little..." I paused as well, looking at him. "You mean, you didn't like her?" I asked with interest. I thought Jarod liked everyone, except for the criminals he liked to punish. And everyone at the Centre, of course.

Jarod shifted slightly, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "She said some inappropriate things to me in front of a student," he replied. "I'm not really sure she's teacher material." He refrained from making a value judgment, but I could see he was struggling with his own distaste. It had been a long time since Jarod and I were friends, but I still knew how to read him. His eyes had always given him away.

A smile slid across my face as I thought about Miss Robbins, and suddenly I started to laugh. I could totally picture Jarod squirming in front of the little skank, and I imagined that his shyness had probably only increased the crazy blonde's appetite. I almost felt bad for him.

"What are you laughing at?" Jarod asked, grinning broadly.

"You," I replied. "What are you smiling about?"

"You," he echoed. "I don't think I've heard that laugh for at least 20 years."

I halted in mid-giggle and looked at him seriously. I realized with confusion that, for a minute there, it had almost felt like old times between us. How was that possible?

"I'm sorry," Jarod said carefully, frowning now.

"This is all... very confusing," I said, turning my back on him and beginning to pace in front of the bathroom door. "I could bring you back to the Centre right now, you know."

"I know. But you won't."

"And why won't I?" I challenged, knowing full well that he was right.

"It would be difficult, seeing as how your sweepers are indisposed, and your gun is gone. You wouldn't be able to stop me alone; we both know I'm bigger than you."

"And we also both know that size and overconfidence can be your worst enemies in the martial arts," I shot back.

Jarod chuckled softly. "Touché."

Turning to face him, I folded my arms over my chest. "What did you do to my sweepers?" I demanded, catching up with the conversation. "And what did you mean when you said you took care of the Centre? And where the hell is my gun? "

"Ahh, I was wondering when we'd get around to that," he said, nodding. "Well, as far as the Centre is concerned, I kidnapped you."

"What?!" I cried in outrage.

"Now, calm down," he said, holding his hands up in a pose of mock surrender. "I contacted them and I told them that I took you to Arizona. And then I left behind some proof for your sweepers to find."

"My gun," I said in realization.

He nodded proudly. "Everyone knows you wouldn't just leave it unattended, where anyone could pick it up. Everyone but me, anyway. I know you a little better than they do."

"Watch it," I growled. "You're starting to piss me off."

"Starting?" he repeated. "That's not too bad."

"So where are the sweepers?" I asked, itching for my gun, but glad at the same time that it was gone. It was just old habit that made me want to aim my 9mm at Jarod's head, not any real desire to shoot him.

"On their way to Arizona, of course," Jarod said matter-of-factly. "They'll be meeting some of their co-workers there, and probably your other half, as well."

"If you ever refer to Lyle as my other half again, I will personally kill you with my bare hands," I warned.

He smiled. "Sorry. Anyway, with the gun, my phone call, and all the other proof and clues I have set up, the Centre goons should be busy out west for at least a week. They already searched here, and they're convinced that we're long gone."

"What about Sydney?" I asked.

"They think he foolishly tried to follow us, and somehow managed to get lost. They're not too concerned about him, amazingly enough."

"Shocking," I said dryly. Poor Syd never got any respect.

Jarod nodded. "So anyway, with the Centre off our backs for a little while, we can concentrate on Angel."

"You know, I'm not sure I like the way you're manipulating my life, Jarod," I said, clenching my jaw slightly. "You go and set all this stuff up, tell my father that you kidnapped me, and just assume that I'm going to go along with whatever you say. What makes you any better than the Centre?"

Jarod frowned and let out a soft sigh. "I don't want to control you, Miss Parker," he said gently. "But you aren't always the easiest person to negotiate with. And right now, I really need you."

I stared at him, my mouth falling open slightly. I wasn't quite sure how to react.

"When I met her, she reminded me so much of you," Jarod went on, softly. He turned away as he continued to speak, almost as if he couldn't look at me. "It brought back so many memories of how I just wanted to help you. And I couldn't, I failed. And I failed to help Angel, too."

"Well, like you said," I replied numbly, "nobody's perfect."

"No. But I can't just walk away. Not this time." He caught my gaze then and held it firmly. "And neither can you. Please, if we can call a truce for this week and help Angel, I promise I won't hold it over your head. Things can go back to normal."

"Normal." I let out a short, bitter laugh, which sounded more like a bark. "That I'd like to see."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah." The average person wouldn't define normal as chasing your former best friend around the country so that you could kidnap him and lock him away for scientific experiments, but then, I'd always known that my life was not average.

I sighed and turned my back on him again, staring absently into the closet. I noticed that more new clothes had been placed inside, no doubt courtesy of Jarod. "Fine, I'll help Angel," I said after a minute. "But you already knew that."

"Thank you," he said gratefully.

I closed my eyes and tried to block out the warmth of his voice. "This is crazy, Jarod. You know that. You and me, just talking, like... like we're friends, or something. How is life supposed to go back to normal after this?"

"I don't know," Jarod admitted. "But after this is over, you make the rules. The way you like it."

"Yeah, thanks," I muttered wearily. "Make it my problem. It doesn't matter either way to you, does it? You don't care what happens to me. As long as you get what you want."

"Goodnight, Miss Parker," Jarod murmured. "See you tomorrow."

"Wait, I'm not finished talking to you!" I whirled around just in time to see the motel room door click shut behind him. "Dammit!" For several minutes, I stood frozen in place, trying to decide if I wanted to chase him. Finally, I realized that he was probably long gone already, and that even if, in some fantasy world, I did catch him, I had no idea what I'd say to him. Was I really mad at him? Or was I just mad at life in general?

Sighing, I turned and walked back to the bed, throwing myself unceremoniously on top of it. I hadn't expected to be comfortable, necessarily, but I was surprised by the flash of pain I felt as something hard dug into my back.

"What the hell?" I fumed, reaching under me and pulling out a hard plastic object. It was a cell phone, but it wasn't mine. I pushed a button to light up the display and found the speed dial menu. Number 1 was Sydney, number 2 was myself, number 3 was Broots, and number 4 was the main Centre switchboard. He only had 4 numbers programmed into his phone, and they all involved the Centre. How... sad.

Just then, I was startled when the phone began to ring. I almost tossed it across the room, but I stopped myself just in time and answered it. "Hello?" I asked uncertainly.

"Hello?" Broots asked, even more uncertainly. "Miss Parker, is that you?"

"Broots! What in the hell is going on? How'd you get this number?"

"Jarod just called me," Broots explained. "He gave me a phone number and told me to call it. I thought he kidnapped you! Where are you? Do you need me to, uh, come get you or anything?"

"No, that's not necessary," I said, smiling at his concern. "I probably shouldn't tell you," I said reluctantly, "but if the Centre asks, I'm calling from a truck stop somewhere in Arizona. Got it?"

"Got it," he replied. "I'm glad you're okay. Where's Sydney?"

"He's nearby. He's okay."

"Oh, good. What about Jarod?"

"Who the hell knows?" I asked, shaking my head. "But he seems to have switched phones on me. I wonder why?"

"Well, maybe he thinks the Centre might try to call you," Broots said rationally. "And for whatever reason, he doesn't want them to."

"He really does think of everything, doesn't he?" I marveled.

"Well, not everything," Broots corrected. "If you have Jarod's phone, that means I have his phone number now. That means we can contact him whenever we want. Assuming he keeps the phone. Not that I can trace it or anything, you know Jarod, he's too smart for that... But still, you know?"

"Well, the phone number won't help us capture him," I agreed, "but it does mean I can call him at 3 AM and harass him." I smiled wickedly at the thought, and found myself hoping that Jarod did reclaim and keep his phone so I could give him a taste of his own medicine. Sure, it was silly and petty, but that's just me. If you'd had to endure four years of his sleep-shattering phone calls, you'd want to get him back, too.

"Yeah. So, anyway, Miss Parker, there was something I did want to tell you. It's probably no big deal at this point, and maybe it's not even relevant, I mean, I don't even know what's going on with you and Jarod, so--"

"Get on with it, Broots," I said, trying to divert him from his curious questions. I didn't have any answers for him.

"Oh, well, I came across this article from New York, about this corrupt fashion designer who was using illegal labor or something. Sounds like a real nasty guy. Anyway, it looks like Jarod landed him behind bars. That was only a few weeks ago."

"How is something that happened a few weeks ago relevant now?" I asked impatiently. "We already know that trail has long been cold. Jarod's here and... he kidnapped me. Moron."

"Well, I guess it's not really relevant," he said, sounding deflated. "But I thought it was interesting, in a way."

"Why?" I prompted.

"Because now I think that Jarod might have made that sweater," he said. "You know, the one he sent us, with the word Angel sewn into it?"

"You think Jarod knitted a sweater?" I asked, snickering. "Well, that is an amusing thought, while not especially relevant. Thanks for the laugh, though."

"Sure, my pleasure," he grumbled, sounding annoyed. Getting bolder, are we, Broots? "Well, is there anything else you want me to do, Miss Parker?"

I smiled, still imagining Jarod with a pair of knitting needles and a ball of yarn. Maybe even with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. "No, just play dumb, you're good at that."

"Hey," he protested.

"As far as you know, Jarod abducted me, but I'm okay. Got it?"

"Got it," he replied. "Uh, should I call you later, Miss Parker?"

"No, I'll call you," I said. "But hang onto that phone number Jarod gave you."

"Okay. Uh, see you later, Miss Parker. I hope, uh, everything stays okay. Tell Sydney goodnight."

"I'll be fine. Goodnight Broots." I hung up on him with satisfaction, feeling a bit more like myself after harassing poor Broots. It was one of my favorite pastimes, just because he was such an easy target. I hoped he knew that I never meant it in a malicious way. I figured he must, because he kept coming back for more. The only other explanation was that he was a complete masochist, and if that was the case, I refused to take responsibility for his feelings.

As I put the phone on the bedside table, I thought again about Jarod, knitting like an old granny. I would have paid money to see that.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to me, and I shot up to a sitting position. Jarod worked with a fashion designer. Jarod made sweaters. Jarod gave me clothes that fit exactly.

I jumped down from the bed and hurried over to the closet, rummaging through all the things he had left for me. I picked up a silky, cream-colored blouse, admiring the texture, and touched the tag. There was no brand name or designer label. It said simply "Machine Wash, Delicate Cycle." But then I noticed that there was a second tag sewn in behind it. I flipped up the first tag to reveal the second, and a strange shiver crawled down my spine. In tiny, carefully embroidered script, it read "Hand stitched especially for you, by Jarod."



* * * * *



"So let me get this straight: your game piece travels in circles, visiting several different properties over and over, based on the number of dots on a little white cube? And if you land on a property that isn't yours, you pay rent?" Jarod widened his eyes incredulously. "Putting aside the obvious absurdity of the game and imagining that it's based loosely on reality, why not just pick a home and stay there awhile? It would be a lot more comfortable, not to mention affordable."

Miss Parker sighed and rolled her eyes. "It's a game, Jarod. If you picked a home and stayed there, the game would be over. Anyway, it's not about finding a home, it's about making money and owning all the land. Power, possession, money."

"I don't care about those things," Jarod said, shaking his head firmly. "The most important thing is home. If I could find a real home, I'd stay there forever."

"This is your home," she replied impatiently. "Now will you just shut up and pick your game piece?"

Jarod frowned, looking slightly injured. "The canine figure is interesting," he said at last, selecting the dog game piece. "Did you ever see a real one?"

Miss Parker rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I had a dog for a little while. My Daddy accidentally hit it with his car."

"That's terrible!" Jarod gasped. "What happened to it?"

"It died," she replied flatly.

"Are you ever going to get another one?" Jarod asked, his eyes looking suspiciously teary.

"My Daddy doesn't want to have pets anymore," was the stiff reply. "You know that."

Jarod nodded thoughtfully. "So did you like it? The dog, I mean?"

"Yeah, I liked it, it was my dog. And I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Oh okay," Jarod said, shrugging. He pointed at the remaining game pieces. "Which one are you going to use?"

"The thimble," Miss Parker said instantly, clutching it in her hand. She smiled fondly, recalling the last time she had played this game.

"What are you thinking about, Miss Parker?"

Miss Parker snapped to attention, meeting Jarod's curious stare. She thought about telling him to shut up again, but instead she decided to explain herself to him. Jarod was no fun to be around when his feelings were hurt, and she'd already yelled at him several times that day.

"The last time I played this game, I played it with Mama and Daddy," she said. "There was a big snowstorm, and we all got stranded in the house for a long time. We played forever... I was the thimble." She smiled. "That was the best day. We all had so much fun, and nobody yelled..." Nobody got smacked around, she thought.

Jarod smiled. "That sounds really nice, Miss Parker. You're lucky to have memories like that."

"Yeah..." Miss Parker shrugged, trying to throw off the cloak of sadness that seemed to be descending upon her. "So come on, let's play."

"Okay." Jarod reached for the dice.

"Hey." Miss Parker grabbed his fist in her own, squeezing. "I go first."

Jarod's eyes widened in surprise. "Why?"

"Ladies first," she snapped. "Besides, I have to show you what to do."

"Oh." He shrugged and opened his fist just enough to let the dice fall into her hand. Then he extracted his hand gently and sat back to watch her. "It's your game, Miss Parker. You make the rules."

Miss Parker's lips curved up in a satisfied, feline smile. "That's just the way I like it."




"Miss Parker? Are you awake?"

I grunted and rolled over in bed, trying to escape the clutches of my dream. I wondered vaguely why all of my dreams involving myself and Jarod as children were in black and white, and realized that Sydney would probably find that interesting. But I knew that if I ever told him anything about those dreams, I'd never hear the end of it.

"Miss Parker, is everything okay?"

"Speaking of Sydney," I grumbled, rolling over again and forcing my tired body to sit up. "Coming, Syd," I called weakly. I padded slowly across the floor, straightening my hair and my pajamas as I went, and yanked the door open. Bright sunlight streamed in, temporarily blinding me. "Ow... what do you want, Syd?"

"Good morning to you too," Sydney replied cheerfully. "I brought bagels and coffee, may I come in?"

"If you have coffee, you can do whatever you want," I mumbled, stepping back to let him in. I could smell the coffee, and already my eyes began to open a little wider. "What time is it?"

"Nearly 6 AM."

I wrinkled my nose. "And why the hell are you waking me up at 6 AM?"

"You have to be at work by 7:30," he reminded me.

"Oh... yeah, that..." I took a cup of coffee from Sydney and sat down at the tiny table in the corner. "How come you're always so energetic in the morning, anyway?"

"I'm faking it," Sydney replied with a smile, sitting across from me.

I glowered at him over the rim of my cup. "Just what I need, another Pretender."

"Did you see Jarod again?" Sydney asked eagerly.

"Yeah, your little monkey was here last night," I replied snidely. "Annoying as ever." It wasn't necessarily true, but it was easier to complain about Jarod than to try to discern my true feelings about him. Especially in Sydney's presence.

"I wish he would visit me," Sydney said, unexpectedly, sounding sad. "It's been so long since I've seen him..."

Surprisingly, his wistful tone provoked an unusual reaction-- anger. I'm still trying to understand that one. "Oh, please." I rolled my eyes as I took another sip of coffee.

Sydney looked at me critically. "What does that mean?"

"He's not your son, Syd," I reminded him. "And after this thing with Angel is over, everything's going to go back to normal. Us chasing him. Maybe it's time to let go."

Sydney's eyes grew cold, and he stared at me a long moment before rising to his feet. "I found a bus that will take me to work," he said stoically. "So you don't have to drive me today."

I sighed regretfully, seeing that I had hurt him. I hadn't meant to do that. "Syd--"

"I'll see you tonight, Miss Parker." He picked up his coffee and a plain bagel and left the room without another world.

Watching the door close behind him, I sighed again. I wished I knew how to apologize and take back my words, but I was afraid. I knew that if I told him that I didn't really mean my harsh words, I'd also have to explain that my advice was meant more for myself. Sydney had always been attached to Jarod, and so far, he was surviving. It was my own feelings for Jarod that were becoming confusing and distracting, and I was afraid that if I didn't let go, even the Centre's version of Normal would no longer be an option.

As I sat munching on my bagel, I tried to figure out how I could earn Sydney's forgiveness without spilling my guts to him. Suddenly, I came up with an idea, and I pulled out a napkin and a pen, scribbling as I ate. When I was done, I set the note out prominently on my bed, satisfied that it would reach its recipient. If all went as expected, I'd be forgiven by evening.

When I was done, I rummaged through the closet, eventually picking out the silk blouse I had examined the night before, along with a straight, shin-length black skirt. I got dressed, deciding to forego the shower since I had taken on the night before, and completed the ensemble with the jewelry Jarod had left for me, and the shoes I had bought the day before. They weren't any more comfortable than the leather clogs, in fact, they hurt like hell, but at least I knew how to walk in them without falling on my face. I felt a little bit more like myself, and it was that confidence which propelled me out the door for another day of school.



* * * * *



During recess that day, I sat at my desk, eating an apple I had found in the teachers' lounge. It probably belonged to some other teacher, but I didn't care, I was hungry. I always had the bad habit of forgetting to eat until I was dizzy with hunger.

I was waiting for Angel, and trying desperately to figure out what I was going to say to her. I wanted to help Angel, very much, but I wanted to get it over with so I could go back home and forget any of this ever happened. It was too confusing, and too painful. Yet, at the same time, I was afraid of what would happen when this ended. Could I really be Jarod's friend one day, and his enemy the next?

I wondered idly what the illustrious Pretender would think of my impersonation of a teacher. I had certainly never taught children before, and I'd never been in charge of so many children at once. But, strangely, I found that I almost enjoyed it. The students all seemed to buy my act, and they listened to me as much as I imagined they listened to any teacher. And being able to boss them around appealed to my natural need for control.

It was exhausting, however. I felt a lot of pressure to keep my portrayal of Miss Tyler "real," and to treat the children fairly. Meanwhile, a part of my mind was always on Angel, and trying to figure out the best way to deal with her. I found that, although it was only lunchtime, I wanted to lie down for a nap.

As I tossed my apple core into the trash can, I glanced at the clock. Recess was more than half over, and still Angel had not appeared. I suddenly felt a twinge of fear, and wondered if I should go investigate.

Just then, the door opened and Miss Robbins bounced in. I suppressed a groan and stood up, making a quick decision.

"Hey," I said as brightly as I could imagine, "I'd love to chat, but I actually just remembered something I have to do. It's kind of an emergency."

"Oh really?" Miss Robbins asked, looking concerned. "Is everything okay?"

"I think so," I replied. "It's just... something I promised a friend."

Miss Robbins shrugged. "Okay, that's cool. I'll stop by later, okay?"

"Sure, alright, see you later." I plastered on a fake smile and followed the blonde out into the hallway before heading in the opposite direction.

Walking quickly, I made it to the back door of the school, which I knew led to the playground. I let myself outside and began to scan the yard, looking for Angel. I couldn't see her anywhere, and I was about to go back inside when I noticed three other girls sitting under a tree, laughing loudly. The girl in the middle had a notebook spread open in her lap, and I was instantly suspicious.

"Hey, girls," I said casually, walking over to them. "What's going on?"

They looked up in surprise, and one of them looked a bit guilty. "What are you doing out here?" asked the one holding the notebook.

"It's a nice day," I lied, smiling up at the sky. "I thought I'd come out and see what everyone does during recess." I paused when she noticed the girls' puzzled stares. I guess most teachers avoided the playground and left recess supervision to the gym teachers. "I see everyone from our class," I went on after a minute, "except Angel. Do you girls know where she is?"

Two of the girls began to snicker behind their hands, and the third just bit her lip to hold back a smile. "She probably hopped on a white horse and rode back to the tower," one of them giggled.

"What?" I asked curiously.

"Nothing," spoke up the quieter of the three girls.

I lowered myself to the ground in a low crouch, silently cursing the high heels I had decided to wear as they began to sink into the turf. "Is there a problem with Angel?" I asked in a low voice. My eyes traveled to the notebook and I just barely caught a glimpse of some pink writing before two small hands covered it. "What is that?" I asked, feeling that I already knew the answer.

"Nothing," the third girl repeated.

I turned my head toward the girl and gave her what I knew was one of my most terrifying glares. I had even scared Raines away with this glare a few times. I wasn't disappointed by the girl's frightened expression.

"Melanie," I said, in a low, even voice. "Why do I think you're lying to me?"

"I... uh..." Melanie glanced at the other two girls, who shrugged. "It's her notebook," she whispered, avoiding my eyes.

"Why do you have it?" I asked.

"We took it," Melanie whimpered.

"Well, I'll be taking it now," I stated, gently but firmly pulling the notebook away from the middle girl. "And, for the last time, do any of you know where Angel is?"

All three shook their heads, and no one dared to speak.

"Well, if any of you pull this kind of stunt again, I guarantee you will be sorry." Rising to my feet gracefully, I transformed my angry glare into a warning smile. "I'll see you girls in class." With that, I turned around and went back into the building, pleased with the look of fear I had seen in those girls' eyes. It was the look of fear I had always wanted to inspire in my cruel classmates when I was a young girl, and I almost felt that my torment was avenged.

My triumph, however, was short-lived. After a quick search of the cafeteria, ladies' rooms, and guidance office, I had not located Angel, and the notebook I held felt almost like it was on fire. I finally hurried back to my classroom, and when I saw that Angel had still not appeared, I decided to use the rest of my break to read the notebook. I had to know what I was dealing with.



* * * * *



"Those shoes look nice with that outfit. You're right, you do have better taste in shoes than I do."

I groaned as I stepped into my room that evening to find Jarod already waiting for me. Sadly, he had chosen not to wear the construction worker outfit, but at least he didn't look filthy this time. Once again, he was stretched out on my bed, looking comfortable and content. He was also, I noticed, looking at my legs.

"You seem to be pretty comfortable in my room," I remarked casually, throwing my bag down by the door. "Should I get them to bring in a cot for me, so you can have my bed?"

Jarod smiled. "That won't be necessary, but thanks."

"Don't mention it." I slipped my shoes off beside my bag and moaned softly at the relief that the simple action provided. Then, without another word, I went into the bathroom to clean up and remove my stockings. I briefly considered ignoring Jarod altogether and drawing a hot bath, but in the end, I decided I'd better talk to him, at least for a minute. Otherwise, he'd probably barge into the bathroom, making things a whole lot more personal and confusing.

Exiting the bathroom, I crossed the room to the bed, and after shoving Jarod's feet out of the way, plopped down wearily. Too tired to be terribly concerned about Jarod's nearness, I settled more comfortably on the bed and pulled one foot up into my lap to rub it. I didn't speak, waiting first to see what he would say. I glanced at him occasionally out of the corner of my eye, just to make sure he didn't get any funny ideas.

"Your feet hurt?" Jarod asked, after a few minutes of watching me.

"No, I just want my hands to smell like feet," I snapped, nonplused by the inane conversation starter. "What do you think?"

"It's a shame that such nice shoes should hurt your feet like that," he said thoughtfully. "I've never really had that problem."

"Of course not, you're a man," I replied. "With men, comfort always comes first. But us women, we have to look good, even if it means killing ourselves in the process."

"That's terrible," Jarod remarked.

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever."

"Anyway, I think you'd look good in any pair of shoes," he went on. "But the only important thing is for you to like them, I guess."

"Jarod, I don't really feel like talking about footwear at the moment, do you mind?" I grunted softly as I dug a thumb into the arch of my foot and felt a jolt of pain shoot toward my toes.

"Here, let me." Sitting up, Jarod reached forward and grabbed both of my shins, as if it were the most natural action in the world, and swung me around with frightening ease. Then he took one foot between his hands and began to rub it methodically. "You know, you carry a lot of tension in your feet."

"What the hell do you think you're... ahhhhh..." I closed my eyes as Jarod's fingers worked their magic, easing the tension and pain out of my abused feet. A tiny voice in my head reminded me that I should probably protest this uninvited physical contact, but I was literally unable to do so. I would have been perfectly okay if Jarod had continued this for the next three days. Even if Raines and my father had suddenly run into the room, I wouldn't have wanted to give this up.

"Feeling any better?" Jarod asked after a few moments of silence.

"God, Jarod," I mumbled, my eyes still closed, "how in the hell are you doing this?"

"Pressure points," he replied instantly. "It all has to do with where the blood and the nerve endings--"

"Forget it, I don't know what to know," I interrupted. I clamped my mouth shut to suppress a soft moan of contentment. Conversation was no longer of interest to me.

He chuckled. "Okay." He was silent for a long moment, kneading my foot, before he cleared his throat to speak again. "I visited Sydney for lunch this afternoon. Thank you."

I opened my eyes and looked at him. My assumption had been right right; he had gone into my room and found my note, asking him to meet Syd. What surprised me was that he had found it before lunch. That meant he was a frequent visitor of my room, stopping by mornings as well as evenings. I knew I would have felt horrified and violated if any other man had even dreamed of doing that, but with Jarod, I wasn't really sure how I felt about it. After all, he had been making clandestine visits to my house for years, and I hadn't changed the locks or gotten a security system yet. "Was it a nice visit?" I asked neutrally.

"Yes," he nodded. "And I don't think he's mad at you anymore."

"Good. I haven't seen him since this morning."

"Talk to him tomorrow."

I nodded my head in agreement and closed my eyes. At the thought of going through another day of this charade, I remembered what Jarod and I really needed to talk about. I still didn't want to discuss it, but somehow I knew that putting it off wouldn't help anyone. "Don't you want to hear about Angel?" I asked softly.

"When you're ready," he replied. He gently picked up my other foot and began to work on it. "I don't have anywhere else to be."

"Hm." I sighed and tried to concentrate solely on Jarod's warm touch, but once Angel's name had been spoken, the fragile peace inside me had shattered. "I think I blew it," I whispered, feeling the sting of hot tears as they built up behind my eyelids.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I failed." I opened my eyes as the tears began to spill out. "She left school in the middle of the day today, and she never came back. I couldn't get her on the phone, and I couldn't find her. For all I know, she could be--"

"No, don't think that way," Jarod interrupted kindly, momentarily pausing his massage to merely cradle my foot in his hands, in a strange but comforting gesture. "Most likely, she just went home, and maybe she locked herself in her room."

"Or maybe her bastard of a father¬"

"No, she's okay," Jarod insisted.

I sucked in a hopeful breath. "How do you know?"

"She has to be."

Not exactly relieved, I slumped my shoulders and wiped away my tears with the back of my hand. "What am I going to do?"

"Why don't you start with telling me how this happened?" Jarod suggested calmly.

"I waited for her during recess," I recounted weakly, avoiding his eyes. "When she didn't show up, I went looking for her outside, and I noticed three of the other girls laughing about something. I went over to talk to them, and I recognized Angel's notebook in their hands. I made them give it back to me, and I¬" I stopped suddenly as Jarod chuckled. "What?"

"Just imagining what you must have said to them," he replied with amusement.

I allowed myself a small smile. "Well, yeah, those three are going to be my prize pupils from now on, I'll tell you that. Assuming I don't just pack up and leave right now, that is..." Sniffling loudly, I extricated my foot from Jarod's hands and reluctantly slid down from the bed.

"You're not going to give up now," he told me. "This is far from over."

"Yeah, I know..." I wandered over to my suitcase and began rummaging around for a pair of pajamas, embarrassed that he had seen my tears. "I wish it was."

"I know, I do too," he said gently. "What else happened today?"

"Well, I read that damn notebook, that's what," I said, sighing heavily. "Apparently Angel is something of a junior novelist."

"Really," Jarod said with interest. "How do you mean?"

"She's been using the notebook to write a fantasy story," I replied. "About a young princess, and her sick Daddy."

"Sick?"

I let out a short, bitter laugh. "The King is apparently a good, kind man, but sometimes he loses his temper and hurts his daughter. He does it because he's sick, but he doesn't mean it. He loves her. Can you believe that?" I hung my head and stared into my suitcase until the contents blurred before my eyes. There was a long, heavy silence until I felt Jarod's hands resting lightly on my shoulders and his breath near my ear. "And one day a crazy magician named Jarod tried to steal her away from the King," I added.

"I'd almost laugh if it wasn't so sad," Jarod murmured. "I think I played the same role in all those fairy tales Daddy Parker used to tell you."

"Hmmm..." I replied noncommittally. We both knew it was true. I shook my head and forced myself to continue looking through my suitcase. "Anyway, I kept calling over there but I didn't get an answer, and it was all I could do to keep myself from going to the house and breaking the door down. But now I'm thinking maybe I should have gone there... I spent hours in a park, hoping maybe she'd just happen to show up..." I trailed off, angry at myself.

"You did the right thing," Jarod said encouragingly. "Going there only would have blown your cover, and McCann would have figured out that we're working together."

"Working together..." I mumbled. I shrugged off Jarod's hands and walked toward the bathroom with everything I needed for my shower. "I need a hot shower," I stated, my back still to Jarod. "Should I be expecting your company when I'm done?"

"Do you want me to be here?" Jarod asked in a soft voice.

"I don't care," I groaned. "I don't have the energy to care..."

"Miss Parker, I've known you for most of our lives, and I know that the one thing you never stop doing is caring. As hard as you try to pretend, you've never fooled me." He paused. "Tell me the truth."

"I just want to be left alone," I sighed wearily.

"I understand. If you want to talk, about anything, give me a call. You know the number."

I cracked a tiny smile, remembering that he still had my phone. "I'll keep that in mind. Goodnight, Jarod."

"Goodnight, Miss Parker, sleep well. And good luck tomorrow. I'll be close by if you need help."

I almost thanked him, but I stopped myself just in time. Instead I just threw a glance at him over my shoulder and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

"We're going to save her," Jarod's voice rang out. A few seconds later, the front door of my motel room clicked shut, leaving me all alone.

"I hope so," I whispered softly in reply, allowing a fresh onslaught of tears stream down my face. "I hope so."



* * * * *



"Jarod," Miss Parker hissed. "Hey, wake up!"

Jarod rolled over in his bed and squinted up in confusion. "Miss Parker?" he asked faintly. "What's going on?"

"Are you sleeping?"

A slow smile crawled across Jarod's lips. "Not anymore. Is it late?"

"It's about midnight," Miss Parker confirmed with a nod. "My daddy's been working late tonight, and he thinks he might not even go home at all. So I'm sleeping over."

"Except you're not sleeping, either." Jarod sat up in bed, his face reddening slightly when he realized that he was in his bedclothes and she was still crisply dressed from the day. "Is something wrong?"

She shrugged and sat down next to Jarod's feet, suddenly apprehensive. "No," she said, shaking her head. "It's just... I can't sleep in this place. Too many noises... And it's so cold..."

"You get used to it," Jarod replied with a shrug. "At least I did."

"It's all you know," Miss Parker remarked, realizing too late that she sounded callous. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"It's okay," he said good-naturedly. "Tell me what it's like to sleep in your house," he requested. "Is it a lot different?"

She frowned slightly. "I guess it's not that great," she admitted. "But it's better than this, anyway. At least I know that it's just Daddy and me, and that there aren't any sweepers watching me."

"Why isn't it great to sleep at home?" Jarod asked in wonder. "I would do anything to experience that again. I don't remember my old home..."

"Home isn't always a picture postcard, Jarod," Miss Parker replied bitterly.

"A what?"

"A fairy tale," Miss Parker tried again.

"What?"

She sighed in irritation. "It's not always as perfect as you imagine it," she huffed, irritated about having to spell it out for him. "Here, everything revolves around you, you're important. No one will ever forget about you. You should be grateful."

Jarod eyed her strangely. "They make me work all the time," he reminded her. "They keep me locked up."

"But at least you're important," she insisted.

"I don't want to be important," he told her. "All I want is to have a family..."

"Families aren't always that great either, you know."

Jarod's eyes hardened stubbornly. "My family loves me," he said in a sharp voice. "Wherever they are, I just know they love me."

"How can you be so sure?"

He glared unflinchingly. "I just am."

She shrugged. "Well, there's another thing you have that I don't," she said, beginning to feel even more sorry for herself.

Instantly, Jarod's hard expression melted, and he looked at Miss Parker with eyes full of concern. "What do you mean? Your family loves you."

"No, they don't." Miss Parker sighed. "My Mom lied to me all the time, and then she abandoned me. She didn't care enough to stay with me."

"That's not--"

"And then there's my father," she interrupted with a soft snort. "I wonder if he even remembers my name."

"Of course he does."

She shrugged doubtfully.

"I remember it, too," Jarod whispered.

Miss Parker turned to him, smiling sadly. "You know, sometimes I wonder..." She trailed off and looked away, suddenly embarrassed. "Never mind."

"No, what is it?" Jarod prodded eagerly.

She sighed. "I wonder if everyone in the world is loved by somebody," she said wistfully, staring at the cold, gray wall. "Or if there are some people out there who are just alone, totally alone..."

"You're not alone, Miss Parker," Jarod said softly, reaching for her hand. "And neither am I."

"I just want to know, the way you do about your parents, that somebody loves me," she murmured desperately, her voice trembling. "That I matter somehow." She hung her head and began to cry, repressing her sobs to soft sniffles.

Jarod scrambled out of bed, forgetting his earlier embarrassment, and crawled over to Miss Parker on his knees. Gently, careful not to offend or scare her, he put his arms around her. "Shhh, it's okay," he said soothingly.

Instantly, Miss Parker swiveled slightly and threw herself at Jarod, pressing her cheek against his chest. "Why- did this happen... to us?" she asked haltingly, between sobs. "How did we end up so alone? What did we do wrong?"

"We didn't do anything," Jarod said reassuringly, rubbing her back with one hand, and her hair with the other. "And we're not alone, I told you. We have each other."

"Thank you," Miss Parker sniffled. "This is so embarrassing..." She attempted to pull away, but Jarod's hold was firm.

"You are loved, Miss Parker," he whispered into her hair. Then he moved his mouth closer to her ear and repeated the sentiment softly, this time using her real first name. His breath was like a gentle caress against her face and ear, and she closed her eyes at the pleasant sensation.

Miss Parker smiled a bit even as more tears spilled from her eyes, and she clung tightly to Jarod. "Can-can I stay here tonight?" she asked, her voice weak and childish.

"For a little while, of course," Jarod said gently. "But we have to be careful that you don't get caught. I don't want you to get into trouble."

She nodded against him. "Okay," she agreed wearily, her tears abating. "Thank you, Jarod."

"Shhh..." As boldly as he dared, he eased the two of them down to the bed so that they laid alongside each other on the narrow mattress and brushed her damp hair from her tear stained face. She noted that he was careful to behave like a gentleman, and she appreciated it more than he could ever know. "You don't have to thank me. I'm always here for you. Remember that, okay?"

"Okay." Her eyelids began to droop and she snuggled contentedly against Jarod. She felt safe and warm in his arms, and suddenly, the Centre seemed like the most comfortable place in the world. "Same here," she mumbled. "'Night."

"Goodnight, Miss Parker."




"Well, that's a new one," I grumbled as I waded into consciousness to find the bright sun shining on my face. I rolled over and buried my head in the pillow, willing the dream to fade.

I dreamt regularly of myself and Jarod as young children, but rarely did a vivid memory surface in my dreams that my conscious mind had forgotten. However, that was exactly what had just happened that morning, and I felt vaguely sick to my stomach as I thought about it.

As always, I felt a deep loathing for my younger self, wishing I could slap the stupid girl and tell her to grow up and stop being so weak. The way I had clung to Jarod back then was shameful and embarrassing, I told myself, and it was no wonder that Jarod had always kept in touch after his escape. I had made him believe I was dependent on him, and he had taken his vow to me seriously. He clearly forgot nothing, when it came to our relationship, and even went so far as to repeat lines of dialogue to me nearly twenty five years later.

"How did we end up like this?"

"Like what?"

"Alone."


I grimaced as I recalled our conversation from two years earlier, on Valentine's Day. At the time, I hadn't recognized his question as my own childish one, but now I was unable to forget it. Alone... It had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I had turned my back on Jarod, my only solace, and the two of us were left completely alone.

Things were changing now, though. I had let him back into my life for the sake of Angel, and I was finding it difficult to remember why I hated him so much. The thought scared me a little, but I wasn't prepared to contemplate the reason just yet.

Instead, I forced myself to climb out of bed and face the day.

Thirty minutes later, I was outside on the motel's sidewalk, knocking on Sydney's door. I only had to wait a minute before it was opened and the older man stood smiling on the threshold.

"Good morning," he said brightly. "I didn't see you last night, was everything okay?"

I nodded as I stepped into the room. "I had kind of a bad day, and I just didn't feel like coming home. Not home, I mean..." I gestured around, grimacing at the notion that I had just called this motel 'home.' "Here. I stayed out kind of late."

"You ate dinner, I hope?"

I frowned, considering. I did have a gnawing ache in my stomach. "No, I guess not," I replied with a casual shrug.

He shook his head disapprovingly. "Well, it's early, we can get something now, if you want."

"Yeah, and Syd, don't take the bus today, okay?" I requested, offering a small smile. "I can drive you."

"Okay." He smiled back. "Thank you for what you did yesterday."

"What?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"My lunch with Jarod," he specified.

I avoided his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He laughed gently. "He told me that you asked him to visit me," he admitted. "He said he wanted to anyway, but he was afraid." Sydney's eyes widened in disbelief. "Can you believe that? Jarod was afraid."

"I believe it," I replied thoughtfully, acutely aware that inside the cool, confident Jarod, was a scared little boy. His mask was just as successful as mine, but I was one of the few who knew the truth. "So you had a nice lunch, then?"

Sydney nodded, grinning. "It was wonderful to see him when there was no one around holding a gun," he said. "He didn't disappear on me in the middle of a conversation, and I wasn't making him pretend to be someone else. It was just... him and me."

I chewed thoughtfully on my lower lip, thinking about how complicated everyone's relationships were because of the Centre. "He is your son, isn't he, Syd?"

"Not by blood, but yes..." His watery eyes met mine. "I don't know if I should hate the Centre for what it did to us, or thank it for bringing him into my life. And you, as well."

I nodded in complete understanding. Suddenly, my eyes began to itch and I was afraid I would begin to cry. To suppress the urge, I straightened my shoulders resolutely and drew in a deep breath. I was not going to cry in front of Sydney. It was bad enough that I'd done it in front of Jarod. "Well, if we're going to get breakfast and get to work on time, we'd better get going. Are you ready?"

"Yes, just let me get my jacket and briefcase," he said, his gaze lingering on me before he turned away to get the items.

"How do you like being a social worker, by the way?" I asked him.

"Actually, I love it," he said enthusiastically. "I get to be a counselor, but I also get to find practical solutions at the same time. I've already found a foster home for an orphaned child, and the feeling is just..." He shook his head in disbelief. "I believe I went into the wrong line of work."

I chuckled. "Well, leave it to Jarod to point that out to you," I remarked.

"He also explained to me why he gave me this job," Sydney went on. "Once we can convince Angel to leave her father, Jarod wants me to take her case. He wants me to counsel her, if necessary, and find her a family. He trusts me enough to do this." Sydney's eyes shone with pride as he slipped into his jacket.

"You'll do a great job," I said softly, meaning every word. "Assuming I don't screw up my part of the plan."

"You won't," he said confidently. "Now come on, let's get started."

"Good plan." I walked out of the room ahead of Sydney, clutching my briefcase in one hand and fumbling for my sunglasses with the other. I was nearing my car when suddenly the heel of my shoe got stuck in a crack. "Ow!" I barked, nearly losing my balance. "Damn sidewalk." I bent down to free the heel, thinking briefly that something like this wouldn't have happened in Jarod's sensible clogs. "I think this is a bad omen," I remarked to Sydney as I got myself free and stepped off the curb.

He chuckled. "Don't be silly. It's going to be a good day. I can feel it."

I gave him a skeptical look and pulled my car keys out of my pocket. "All I can feel is a migraine," I grumbled. Ignoring Sydney's amused gaze, I slid behind the wheel of my car and begged silently for a miracle.



* * * * *



By recess that day, I was frantic. Angel had not shown up for school at all, and no one was picking up the phone at the McCann residence. I had left a vague message, trying to sound casual and not reveal that Angel had missed school, but once I had hung up the phone, I couldn't even remember what I had said. I'd even interrogated Melanie and her friends, but none of them claimed to have any knowledge of Angel's whereabouts.

My desperation finally drove me to do something I had vowed silently not to do: I went to Jarod for help.

After locking my classroom door and settling down at my desk, I pulled out Jarod's cell phone and dialed the number for my own. I waited impatiently while it rang, terrified that he wouldn't pick up and equally terrified that he would. I didn't like asking for help, but my fear for Angel made the idea of working solo seem dangerous.

Finally, after five rings, the phone was answered.

"What?" Jarod's voice rang out somewhat rudely. There was a loud buzzing sound in the background.

"Whoever taught you phone etiquette should be shot," I quipped nervously.

"Miss Parker!" Jarod replied, sounding relieved. "I'm sorry, but I was afraid it might be Lyle or your father. And anyway, I learned all about phone manners from you."

I cracked a smile, conceding silently that it was the truth. "Where are you?"

"Old habits die hard?"

My smile widened slightly. "No, I'm just wondering about all the noise."

Jarod laughed softly. "Oh, that. I'm at work, of course." He paused. "Miss Parker, is something wrong? I didn't actually expect you to call..."

I sighed, returning to the reason for my call. "Yeah, something's wrong. Angel still didn't come to school today. I'm worried. What if it's too late?"

There was a long moment of silence before Jarod finally spoke. "Give it the rest of the day, maybe," he said, sounding unsure of himself. "Keep trying to call, and keep praying for a miracle. If you still don't see her or talk to her, we'll make a plan. We'll storm the house if necessary, even if it means getting shot at by cops. We can't let this go on much longer... But we can't overreact..."

"Jarod, you're not really making me feel any better here," I said nervously.

"I'm sorry..." He sighed. "Look, let me think about it some, okay? Meanwhile, keep doing your thing over there. I'll be in touch."

"Alright... See you tonight?"

"Uh... Sure."

I smiled slightly, quietly pleased that I had surprised him, and also that he would be there to keep me company after another harrowing day. "Have fun at work, break a leg."

"You're only supposed to say that to actors, not contractors," he replied. "Anyway, I'm heading back toward you, and maybe I'll set up surveillance or something."

"Whatever, just don't get caught." I almost said goodbye, but at the last minute, decided to forgo the formality and simply hang up on him. The small action of retaliation, and the amusement of our shifting roles in the phone games we always played, made me smile a little despite my distress.

Soon enough, though, the end of recess bell rang again, and it was back to work. Thoughts about Jarod and Angel would have to wait.



* * * * *

End of part 1

* * * * *









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