Table of Contents [Report This]
by L.K. Lamar
Disclaimer: The Pretender and its characters herein are property of NBC, TNT, and probably a few other folks as well. Namely, they aren't mine, and I take no credit for them. This is purely for the enjoyment of fans--no money is being exchanged and no copyright infringement is intended. Just read and enjoy!
This is the story of the Centre--the most screwed up fairy tale anyone has ever heard of. A great castle stood in Blue Cove, Delaware. It was far more vast than most of its occupants imagined, extending far above and below the ground. This castle, known as the Centre, was home to a plethora of secrets. It was believed that no person existed who knew all of the secrets within. Each member fought the others for a greater knowledge, for knowledge in the Centre was equated with power and control.
The castle had its requisite princess--a real ice princess known as Miss Parker. Apparently her given name was forgotten with disuse. Our princess was no pushover; she’d slay the dragons or anyone else who got in her way without hesitation. But the princess was not without imperfections. Her mother, Queen Catherine, died when the princess was young, as is often the case in fairytales. But the queen did not die in childbirth, from consumption, or some other genteel cause. The queen was murdered, and her death haunted the princess for all her life.
The king was rather a courtesy title, as he was certainly not absolute ruler of the Centre. But the metaphor holds for our purposes. Mr. Parker was not a good king, although he led his daughter to believe so. He manipulated his subjects, his daughter, and in fact those with whom he shared power. And if the king was a disappointment, think then how we must feel about the princess’ long-lost evil twin. Lyle was a sinister black sheep, always trying to outdo his sister and usurp his father’s power. The princess even endured a wicked stepmother for awhile, but soon the duplicitous king dealt with Brigitte.
Also in the castle was the wise chancellor, Sydney. He was advisor, friend, and father figure to the princess, but he also had his own demons behind him. He was assisted by Broots, whose specialty was information-a behind the scenes guy. The last of the princess’ supporters in the castle was Angelo, the fool, not of his own choosing but because of the experiments of the evil wizard, Raines.
Raines tried to use magic--in the form of science--to secure his power. He held many of the castle’s secrets, destroyed lives and challenged good Sydney. He worked for and against the king and the evil prince, depending on how it suited his goals. Raines had his own army known as sweepers, whom he would use against the princess and king at will.
High up in the castle’s tower was not an imprisoned maiden, but the governing forces of the Centre. These mysterious beings, called the Triumvirate, had a power that could intimidate even the king, and we get the feeling that these are beings of evil. Yet every once in awhile, their mandates would actually help the princess and her compatriots.
The princess had her very own white knight, although she would never admit it. There was no doubt that he was a noble savior to many, but the independent princess would not entertain the thought of needing his help. In fact, the princess did her best to take the knight out of commission, but Jarod was too crafty to be caught. Our gallant knight was indeed a genius, a pretender capable of becoming anything he chose. See, the knight used to be a prisoner of the Centre; he was raised under the tutelage of Sydney until he left in search of his identity and family. Once he escaped, it became the princess’ duty to capture him, but as time passed she became more of an unwilling ally. Each needed the other to help unlock the secrets of their past . . . .
“What a corny dream,” Miss Parker said aloud to the darkness surrounding her. Nothing replied . . . fortunately. In her life, who knew what could happen? Late-night visitors weren’t unheard of. “’Unlock the secrets of their past.’ Sounds like some Hallmark made-for-TV movie.” She flung back the covers and lurched out of bed, slamming the light switch on. “And I am not an ice princess.”
She was halfway to the kitchen when the phone rang. She grabbed it roughly from the table, chipping one black-lacquered nail in the process. “What?”
“You’re very pleasant at two in the morning.”
Miss Parker scowled at the phone wishing the man on the other end could see just how unpleasant she felt. “Are you just calling for the company, Jarod, or did you have something to tell me?”
“Having family troubles lately?”
“None of your damn business.”
“You’ve gotten in your brother’s way too many times, Parker. Be careful.”
“I don’t--” The line went dead. Talking to Jarod was never a typical phone call. She knew better than to trust Lyle, and Jarod knew that as well. She wasn’t stupid. Jarod’s little warning only made her more aggravated, but she returned to bed to attempt a few more hours of sleep before returning to the Centre.
*
“Good morning, Miss Pa--” Broots stopped in midsentence under the icy glare. “Nevermind,” he said under his breath, returning to the computer screen.
Sydney was not so easily intimidated. After all, he’d known Miss Parker since she was a little girl. “Another package arrived from Jarod this morning. Postmarked Alameda, California.”
“At least he gets to be someplace warm. So what did wonderboy send us this time?” she asked, yanking a cigarette from the pocket of her ankle-length coat.
“I thought you quit,” Broots said, looking up from his desk. He was met with stony silence.
Sydney held up a box filled with green material. Miss Parker gingerly picked up the fabric, waiting for something to fall out of it. Holding it up, she discovered the green thing was some sort of garment.
“Hospital scrubs?”
“I believe so,” Sydney replied.
“This was it?” Miss Parker started turning it around and inside out, looking for some other sort of clue. There was a tag inside the shirt, so small she nearly had to squint to read it. “Oakland General,” she read aloud. “This is too easy.”
“What’s too easy?” Lyle’s shadow blocked the doorway. He was immaculately dressed, as usual, but his sister was revolted by his presence, nonetheless.
“The way you always seem to know exactly where you’re not wanted.” She advanced on him, hoping he’d leave.
“More presents from Jarod, sis?”
“If it were, I’d be sure to tell you, now wouldn’t I?” Lyle started to reply, but she shut the door on him.
“You’re not going to tell him?” Broots ventured.
“No. And neither are you. Keep looking and keep little brother out of my way, got it? I’m going to California.”
“Without a directive from the Tower?”
“That’s why I’m going by myself, Sydney. Jarod must want me to find him, otherwise he wouldn’t have made this so simple.”
“Or else he’s setting you up,” Broots offered.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
*
Oakland General Hospital had a bustling ER, with patients ranging from crime victims to careless children. The place was understaffed and overworked, but a tight budget almost prevented Dr. Jarod Carter from being hired as a resident. The pretending part wasn’t hard at all; he’d been a doctor several times before, each time with a slight variation. The emergency department was new to him.
Jarod had just stitched up a man with a knife wound and was cleaning up in preparation for the next patient when the doors burst open as two paramedics wheeled a gurney in. The woman lying there was very pale, and her dark brown hair was matted with blood. Jarod finished what he was doing and ran towards them in time to get their rapid description of the patient.
“Single gunshot wound to the chest. Head injury. She’s unconscious and lost a lot of blood. BP 92 over 60. Pulse 50.”
Two nurses and a petite blonde doctor in a white labcoat ran alongside the gurney. They rushed the patient into a room and transferred her to the table. For the first time, Jarod got a look at her face as the other doctor pushed the woman’s hair aside to get a better look at her head injury. He froze.
“Dr. Carter, are you all right?” one of the nurses asked.
Jarod shook himself out of it and once again became the doctor. “Let’s get some blood into her. Get me two units of O neg. Put it on the rapid infuser.”
“This is the last of it,” a nurse whose badge read “Carol” said, handing over one bag.
“What do you mean that’s the last of it?” Jarod demanded. “This is a hospital.”
Carol shrugged helplessly. “Low supply. I'll get some more from the blood bank.”
“No time. We’ll have to auto-transfuse,” Dr. Anna McKenzie replied.
Jarod looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “There’s not enough blood to put back in her.”
McKenzie worked quickly and steadily, ignoring Jarod’s protest; soon blood was flowing back into the patient. “All right, I want some CT scans of her head and chest. Let’s see what we’re up against.”
“We need to intubate her.”
“She breathing on her own for now, Jarod,” McKenzie said. “I’d rather it stayed that way.”
The regular beeping suddenly became a high-pitched whine.
“She’s flat-lining,” McKenzie shouted.
“Lydocaine,” Jarod responded.
Anna nodded and added, “Get me the paddles.”
Jarod immediately started CPR while the nurses administered the drug and got the defibrillator. He pounded with desperation trying to get the woman’s heart beating again.
“Two hundred. Clear.”
Jarod jumped out of the way as McKenzie delivered a shock to the woman’s chest. The monitors began beeping steadily again, and the entire room breathed a collective sigh of relief.
“All right, let’s get this lady stabilized and up to the OR.” The staff hurried to obey McKenzie’s orders. “Any lead on who this lady is?”
A clerk at the desk looked up. “Not yet. No purse, wallet, nothing. Well dressed, though.”
“Thanks. Keep looking.” Anna McKenzie looked around her, but her fellow physician was nowhere to be found. “Anyone seen Dr. Carter?”
*
The princess was in the middle of a vast field in the middle of nowhere. The emerald green grass was bordered by dark evergreen trees on all sides. Sunlight made everything sparkle, and it felt wonderfully warm on the princess. She had no idea what she was doing in the field or where she was, but it was a beautiful day to be there. She had the feeling that she didn’t ever have the time to enjoy the outdoors like this.
“Daughter.”
The princess spun around. There was no one there. Yet she swore she heard someone.
“Here.”
She looked again, and there was a woman standing before her. The woman looked no older than the princess. In fact she was virtually a mirror image of the princess except for the long, flowing hair.
“Mother?” Queen Catherine enfolded her adult daughter in her arms. “Mother, what is going on here?”
“You are in danger.”
“From whom?”
“Beware those you trust, and those you don’t.” Catherine’s image started to become translucent.
“What do you mean? What’s happening? Mother!”
Queen Catherine was gone. The meadow wasn’t as bright anymore. The bordering trees had a dark, foreboding look to them. In the distance, the princess could now see the oppressive castle. Inexplicably exhausted, she sat down in the grass.
“You’re not really alone.”
“Yes I am,” she replied, not even bothering to look up. “My mother is dead, my brother would probably like to see me that way, and I don’t know if I can trust my father.”
“Family is not always what it seems.”
“Then why are you so determined to find yours?” she asked, finally looking up at Jarod.
“I’m sorry your family doesn’t live up to your expectations, but at least you know who your family is.” He sat down on the grass next to her. “But you have other people in your life. Sydney, Broots, even me.”
“I’ve been trying to hunt you down for years. Why are you even here?”
“I’m the white knight. It’s my duty to help you . . . plus I want to help, Parker.”
“The white knight perennially dressed in black. Funny.”
*
In a small room of an Oakland hospital, the white knight kept watch over the princess currently known as Jane Doe. He knew perfectly well who she was, but he was afraid that if the hospital knew her identity, she’d be an easier target. Right now she needed as much recovery time as he could give her.
Miss Parker had been unconscious for over 12 hours. The longer she stayed under, the greater chance of neurological damage. Jarod had been relieved from his shift for the day and had stayed with Miss Parker since she got out of surgery. All the major damage had been repaired, and she was in good condition other than her state of unconsciousness. Jarod sat, occasionally talking to her and hoping she would wake up.
Her hand twitched, but Jarod thought it was only a muscle spasm. He took her hand anyways and was startled to feel her fingers weakly close around his.
“Come on, Parker,” he urged. “Wake up.”
Her lips moved, but no sound came out. She tried again and whispered something barely audible, “White knight.”
Jarod wasn’t sure if he’d heard her correctly. Was she delusional, or perhaps just dreaming? He held her hand tighter and those familiar ice-blue eyes slowly opened, squinting in the light.
“How do you feel?” he asked softly.
“Like hell.” Her voice was even huskier than usual from disuse. Then she did as close to a double-take as she could in her condition. “Jarod? What is going on here?”
“Surprise, you found me.” He gave her a wry smile, which she returned with a scowl.
“Nice to know some things still go right.” She pulled her hand from his and raised it to touch the bandages surrounding her head. “What happened?”
“You were brought into the emergency room with a gunshot wound to the chest and a concussion, but I don’t know who or why. Did you see who shot you?”
“I can’t even remember being shot right now. I feel like my head’s been through a blender.”
“There’s a good chance it’ll come back to you.”
“There were trees . . . no. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.” She shook her head and winced.
“I think you might have been having some sort of dream just before you woke up. You said something about a white knight.”
“Not that dream again,” she muttered. “When am I getting out of here?”
“When it’s safe for you to leave.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think you get it, Jarod. It’s my job to catch you, not the other way around.”
“I’m trying to help you, Parker, but someone out there wants you dead. Do you have any idea . . . ?”
A knock at the door heralded the entrance of a young nurse. She saw Jarod and immediately took a step back. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dr. Carter. I just came in to check on . . .” she looked at Miss Parker. “She’s awake. I’ll let Dr. McKenzie know.” The short brunette woman hastily backed out of the room.
Miss Parker looked at Jarod with mild disgust. “A doctor. I should’ve known. Don’t tell me you saved my life.”
“Actually,” he said, standing up, “it was really just a coincidence that you ended up in this hospital. And it was really Dr. McKenzie that saved you. I didn’t tell them who you are. It would be too easy for someone to track you down here. I suggest that you . . . pretend.”
*
“Been spending a lot of time with our Jane Doe, haven’t you, Jarod?” Anna McKenzie was taking a quick break between patients. A mischievous smile lit her face as she sipped her tea. “She’s very pretty.”
Jarod reclined against one of the lockers in the breakroom. “It’s not like that, Anna.”
“I know, I know. That whole doctor-patient thing. I’m just teasing. Amnesia is such a romanticized condition.”
Jarod was momentarily confused. Amnesia? That must’ve been Parker’s idea of a cover. “What is that?” he asked, changing the subject.
Anna held up her teacup. “This? Chrysanthemum tea. Very sweet. Want some? I keep a whole stash of teas in my locker. And if you’re really nice to me, I’ll take you for pearl tea.”
“You drink tea made from pearls?”
Anna laughed and pushed her hair back from her face. “No, silly. The pearls are little balls of tapioca. You have to know where to get this stuff.” She winked at him. “Oh, by the way, Carol told the cops our mystery guest was awake. They’ll be by soon to take a statement. If you’re so determined to look after her, you might want to be there to protect her from the big bad wolf. So long as it doesn’t interfere with your work here.” She smiled. “Sorry, that’s the chief of emergency medicine bit. I have to at least pretend I’m in charge.”
“I know all about pretending,” Jarod replied as he left.
*
“Dr. Carter!”
Jarod finished signing off on a chart and looked up. The ER desk clerk was rushing towards him.
“Someone on three called down to complain about your amnesia patient. She’s trying to leave . . . well, rather forcefully. They thought maybe you could help stop her.”
Jarod handed her the chart. “I’ll go check in on her.”
Miss Parker’s room really was quite a sight. A very large orderly actually almost looked intimidated by Parker’s vicious glare. While the man was big, he had a quiet voice and was trying to reason with a very annoyed and strong-willed woman.
“Ma’am, you shouldn’t leave until the doctors okay it. And the police will be by for a statement any minute.”
Miss Parker was not impressed. In heels, she was six feet tall, allowing her to stare the man down eye to eye. “I said move.” She was dressed in what remained of the outfit she was admitted in. Her burgundy suit jacket was slightly torn, the nylons were gone, and everything was wrinkled. She looked like she’d just been on the losing end of a fight.
Jarod wove through the throng of people outside the door and entered the room unnoticed, hidden by the orderly’s wide frame. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and dismissed him, making sure the door closed behind him before facing Miss Parker.
“You really should be kinder to those who take care of you.”
Miss Parker practically growled at him. “I have work to do.”
Jarod had that confident look that Parker loathed. “Somebody tried to kill you,” he reminded her. “Don’t you want to know who? In case he might try again.”
“Only two people know I’m here. Sydney and Broots saw the clue you sent.”
“What clue?” Jarod was genuinely confused.
“The hospital scrubs.” She gave him a sideways glance. “You didn’t send them?”
“I wouldn’t give my location away so easily.”
“I thought you wanted to talk to me. I thought it was another one of your little games.” She stared at him for a moment as her mind put the pieces together. “Somebody set me up.”
“Trying to kill two birds with one stone.”
“Well nobody’s going to kill this bird without a fight.” A mischievous smile crossed Jarod’s face, and Miss Parker was immediately wary. “What?”
“How about a business proposition? A partnership.”
Miss Parker’s raised eyebrows were best described as incredulous. “Why shouldn’t I just drag you back to the Centre?”
Jarod looked at her ragged and weakened appearance and didn’t feel a need to point out the obvious physical limitations of the threat. “You won’t. At least, not this time.” He watched as Parker stalked to the bed and sat down again, partially resigned. “I’ll get you out of the hospital, someplace safe. Then we find out who shot you, and how they knew I was here or if it was all a highly improbable coincidence.”
“Anything that involves the Centre is never a coincidence.”
Jarod had to agree with her on that.
*
The small apartment just south of the Oakland-Berkeley border was a perfect example of the Bay Area housing crunch. It made Miss Parker’s home look like a lavish mansion in comparison. Needless to say, Parker was not impressed with her surroundings, although they were an improvement over the hospital. She really just wanted a hot shower in her own bathroom in her own elegant home in Delaware. Instead, she was stuck in a small apartment with Jarod, 3,000 miles away from home.
The annoyance in question tossed her a large but lightweight bag. “What’s this?” she asked, catching the easy throw.
“I thought you could use a change of clothes.”
Parker didn’t have much faith in Jarod’s selection of women’s clothing. She hoped it wasn’t the unrelieved black he often wore. Not that it looked bad on him. Hold on, where was her mind wandering? She couldn’t think about Jarod like that. She must’ve hit her head harder than she thought.
While her inner conscience was berating itself, Jarod was giving her a puzzled look. She realized she’d been standing there, motionless, for quite awhile now. She spun on her heel, and took her parcel into the bathroom to change. Jarod, in the meanwhile, sat himself down at his laptop to see what information the Centre mainframe would yield.
Miss Parker returned a few minutes later in a simple light blue pantsuit. It was conservative compared to most of her outfits, and the color wasn’t one she’d normally wear, but it matched her eyes perfectly. Strangely, the ensemble fit well, and she didn’t want to know how Jarod knew what size she wore. She felt rather plain-no makeup, her hair straight and unstyled, and most importantly, no gun. She almost felt naked without the familiar feel of gun and holster at her back.
“I hope my fashion sense doesn’t offend you too much,” Jarod commented with mild sarcasm, not looking up from the computer.
“You’re no Anna Sui, but it’ll do,” she commented dryly. Jarod had no idea who Anna Sui was, but he got the gist of it, anyway. “Any leads, wonderboy?”
“Just the usual suspects. Raines, Lyle, Cox, your father-“
“Daddy would not try to kill me.” Miss Parker, as always, was highly defensive about her father.
“Not personally, but I wouldn’t put it past him to send someone.”
“This isn’t getting us anywhere.” Parker started pacing the small room. “Who knew you were here and how? And why would they lead me here rather than bring you in? Or just kill you and be done with it.”
“Your concern for my well-being is touching.” Jarod was interrupted by an obnoxious beeping. He looked down at his pager, then rose from the computer. “Guess I’m still on call. Try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”
“You’re going to keep playing doctor?”
“The assassin might try to inquire about you.”
“You just want to keep playing god. What am I supposed to do?”
Jarod gave her a wry grin. “Dinner?” He ducked out the door before he could get nailed by any flying objects.
*
It was a fairly well-known fact that Miss Parker did not consider herself domestic. Therefore, she was very bored and even more hungry before she ventured into the apartment’s tiny kitchen. Jarod’s laptop was locked so she couldn’t gain access to the system, and he didn’t even have a television, not that she ever had much time for it. The only books in the house were on emergency medicine. She skimmed through one but only understood every tenth word and gave up. After two hours she started nosing through the kitchen cupboards.
“Instant macaroni and cheese?” She shuddered at the thought. That was sinking pretty low on the food chain. She considered ordering Chinese takeout but realized she had no wallet, and she couldn’t count on Jarod getting home to pay. Parker was frustrated with being stuck in that little apartment with no gun, no money, and no transportation.
The last cupboard revealed spaghetti and a jar of sauce. At least it was within her culinary ability. She tried to remember where she saw the pots and started water heating on the stove. Thirty minutes and one tiny, annoying, tomato-red stain on blue rayon later, dinner was ready to go.
Just as Miss Parker was ready to sit down to dinner, she heard someone outside the apartment. Faint footsteps. She ran to the door and tried to peer out through a small gap in the curtains of the neighboring window. It was dark out, and the streetlamps didn’t provide adequate illumination. She swore under her breath and wished she still had her gun. The rational part of her mind said “relax, it’s just Jarod,” but the paranoid, Centre-cultivated part of her brain screamed wordless warnings. She grabbed a metal lamp and kept her back to the wall, ready to strike an intruder.
The deadbolt turned and the door slowly swung inward. Parker brought the lamp down, but Jarod was ready and caught it before it made contact with his skull.
“Honey, I’m home,” he greeted her in a grating singsong voice. “And I see you’ve made dinner. I’m impressed.”
Parker turned her back and stalked to the kitchen. “I was hungry,” she replied, grabbing her plate, stabbing the fork straight up in the pile of pasta. “There’s more in the pot.” Jarod brushed past her in the close quarters to get to the food. “Find out anything?”
“Learned how to extract a crayon from a three year old’s nose.” He helped himself to the rest of the spaghetti and looked around. “Bread?”
Miss Parker nearly dropped her fork in disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Oh, you meant about the Centre.”
Parker stood up and took her plate to the small coffee table. “You’re going to make me lose my appetite,” she muttered.
*
The princess found herself in the meadow once again. She still didn’t know where she was, but it was calm and peaceful. A vast departure from her normally hectic life. The sun was warm and the quiet lent itself to her lethargic mood. She was too tired to explore the surroundings.
“You must get up, daughter.”
“Mom? What’s going on?” Parker expected to see the image of her mother before her, but it was a disembodied voice.
“You are in danger.”
“When am I not? You keep telling me this.”
“You must run.”
“Run where? From what?”
“Trust me. Trust him.”
“Him who?” the princess asked, standing up.
“The white knight.”
*
An explosion woke Jarod from his less-than-peaceful sleep, folded up on the couch. He bolted up, immediately feeling his body protest from spending too much time resembling origami. A second bang confirmed his assessment of the first: a gunshot. He ran into the bedroom to make sure Parker was still where she should be. He opened the door and glimpsed dark hair spread out on the pillow before ducking back out to check on the gunfire. The front door opened to reveal . . . absolutely nothing. Everything appeared as it should be. He leaned cautiously over the railing to scan the ground some ten feet below. Nothing seemed amiss.
“Jarod?”
Miss Parker wandered out of the bedroom, still slightly disoriented from sleep and drugs that hadn’t quite cleared her system. Jarod turned to look back into the apartment and shoo her out of the way. Then all hell broke loose.
A bullet whizzed past, causing Jarod to hit the deck. “Get down!” he yelled to Parker as he crawled back in the open door. He saw a brief flash of a black trenchcoat. Certainly not the attire of your typical East Bay gunslinger. It was the type of outfit that generally brought the words “government agent” to mind, but in this case, Centre agent was much more likely.
Jarod’s mind was racing to find a way out. Getting himself out wasn’t hard, but getting Miss Parker out with him when she wasn’t at a hundred percent would prove difficult. A solution arrived in the form of a siren. Someone had called the cops, and there was no way the sweeper, or whoever he was, would stick around for the police. Unfortunately, while he’d been spared for a moment, the apartment would no longer be a safe hideout for him or Miss Parker.
In less than an hour, the hapless pair were packed up (not that there was much to pack) and on a BART train out of Oakland. Miss Parker was certainly not a morning person, and she made it clear to him. She stared out the window as the train moved swiftly out of a tunnel and up onto elevated tracks.
“Where the hell are we going?”
“Pleasanton.”
“Why? What’s there?”
“Nothing really. I found the name to be rather pleasant.”
Jarod could’ve sworn he heard Parker growl in response.
“Is this how you always pick your destinations?” she asked, finally looking at him.
“No, but then I usually don’t have a travelling companion, either.”
“Lucky me.”
“Excuse me, we need an apartment.”
A middle-aged Chinese woman turned at her desk to face them. “New to the area?” she smiled. The small bronze plaque read Deborah Chen.
“Yes. We need something right away.”
Miss Parker stood there with a pained expression while Jarod negotiated a new residence with the real estate agent. She was amazed at how he didn’t bat an eyelash at the exorbitant rent. Of course, reason got the better of her. He was never anywhere for more than a few weeks and seemed to have an endless cashflow. Money was never a problem.
“Mrs. Martinez?”
The agent repeated the name before Miss Parker turned to look at her. She wasn’t used to all this multiple-identity business.
“Mrs. Martinez, here’s the key to your new home. I’ll be happy to take you two out there, since your husband said you haven’t purchased a car yet.”
Me, married to Jarod, Parker thought with amused disgust. This woman has another think coming.
Ms. Chen drove them to their new place, chatting happily with Jarod the entire time. The commission she was going to make off the deal made her very effusive. When they pulled up to the driveway, Miss Parker understood why. She was expecting another tiny apartment, not . . . this.
The building was a full-fledged top-of-the-line single family home. It couldn’t have been more than a few years old and it was beautiful. Two stories, cream stucco, Spanish tile roof, high ceilings, stained glass inlaid doors, hardwood floors . . . the house must have literally cost a million dollars.
Ms. Chen drove off after promising to make sure everything was arranged to make it a livable home. The place was already furnished-probably a model home. Parker was awestruck.
“Impressed, honey?” Jarod asked smugly.
“Cut the act,” she said, knocking his hand away from her. “Why are you doing this?”
He walked past her and started up the stairs. Halfway up, he stopped and turned to her. “Did you ever play house as a child, Miss Parker?”
“I guess so.”
“I didn’t.”
Parker started up the stairs after him. “Listen, I don’t need to hear about your childhood, just like I don’t need to be dragged into your sick fantasy. I want to get back to my home and my life. What’s to prevent me from just calling the Centre and getting the hell out of here.”
“Nothing is stopping you except yourself. And the fact that there’s still someone out there who wants you out of the way. Trust me.”
Parker was suddenly hit with a strong sense of déjà vu. Who else had said those words? It was in those crazy dreams about her mother. She never really remembered them once she woke up, but she could have sworn her mother said that.
Suddenly, Jarod was beside her. “Are you all right?” He was looking into her eyes, checking her pulse, and just being annoying.
“I’m fine,” she replied, pushing him away.
“How’s your back. The exit wound was pretty bad.” He tried to turn her around.
“I’m . . . just . . . fine. Ouch! Dammit!” Jarod had accidentally touched the wound on her back.
“Have you checked to make sure it’s not infected? You really should have stayed in the hosp--”
“When I need a doctor, I’ll call 911.” Parker stormed into the master bedroom and locked the door. She removed the blue jacket and tossed it on the bed before walking into the adjacent bathroom. In the large mirror, she noticed a red stain on the back of her white blouse. More agitated than anything else, she removed the blouse and tried washing it in the bathroom sink. Soap would’ve helped, but as she rummaged through the drawers and cabinets, she didn’t expect to find much. Surprisingly enough, there was a hairdryer stashed in one drawer. She didn’t even try to think where it came from.
After another five minutes of scrubbing with the hottest water her hands could stand, she wrung out the blouse and turned the blowdryer on high. Between the steam and the dryer, the small bathroom was getting very warm. She hung the slightly damp blouse on the shower curtain rail and went back into the bedroom. She really needed new bandages for her torso; otherwise the blouse would just get bloodstained again.
Parker started searching every shelf and storage space in the bedroom, hoping to luck out again with a first aid kit. The room was proving to be bare, and she was getting more frustrated by the minute. Soon, items were flying across the room, as she took her anger out on inanimate objects. She was preoccupied enough to not notice a clicking noise coming from the doorway, and Jarod nearly got beaned by a decorative pillow as he slowly opened the door. He was shocked to find Parker topless except for a bra and rust-red-stained bandages, throwing everything about the room.
“Sit down.”
Parker looked up at him, dumbfounded. Jarod gestured to the bed. He set down a roll of gauze and scissors on the bedside table. She acquiesced and sat quietly as Jarod snipped the bandages, dropping them in the wastebasket. He carefully wrapped a new, clean layer of gauze around her ribcage, while Parker was as still as a statue. Her back wasn’t infected, just slightly bloody.
“It’s like the time I shot Sydney,” she murmured. “Not that I meant to shoot him.”
Jarod attributed her rambling to fatigue. “Now stay here and relax,” he ordered.
Downstairs, a little icon was flashing on the screen of Jarod’s laptop to let him know there was new mail in his in-box. Jarod clicked on it to reveal a message from Mr. Broots. Broots was worried about Miss Parker, whom no one had seen or heard from in five days. He must have been very worried to risk contacting Jarod for help. Jarod decided it was safer for Broots not to know where Miss Parker was at the moment. With luck, she’d be back in Delaware and everything would go back to normal before the week was out. Otherwise it was quite likely the pair would kill each other.
As the message from Broots sat in the back of his mind, an idea formed. Broots and Sydney might be able to use their Centre status to help find Parker’s would-be assassin. Jarod typed a reply to Broots, telling him that he suspected Parker was in danger, but he never let on that he knew where she was. Jarod assumed the assassin had been sent by either Mr. Parker or Mr. Lyle, but he needed to know why.
The only way to find out was to let him think he’d succeeded. So what was the goal? Miss Parker’s death. Perhaps they intended for Jarod to be discovered and killed as well, or captured and returned to the Centre. Could Parker have been a lure? No, Jarod thought, they would have used someone more obviously connected to him, like his family.
Jarod was going to have to create a lure of his own. Someone wanted Parker dead, so Jarod was going to accommodate him. He deleted the e-mail to Broots without sending it. He had a better idea, and the less anyone knew, the better. He set up the camcorder and taped a special message for Mr. Parker.
“Some things should be said in person,” Jarod said to the camera, “but I value my freedom too highly to venture into the Centre. I regret to inform you that your daughter, Miss Parker, died from multiple gunshot wounds to the chest. She was brought to Oakland General Hospital, but the damage was too severe and the doctors were unable to help her. I believe she was the victim of a Centre assassin, but I leave any further investigation of her death to you.”
With a little computer work, Jarod filed a death certificate with the county and the hospital, in case anyone cared to check. A quick trip down the street saw the video on its way to be delivered to the Centre within 24 hours. Soon things would be in motion at the Centre, and Jarod made sure Angelo was keeping an eye on things from the inside. All he could do right now was wait and try to keep the late Miss Parker in line.
*
The next morning Miss Parker made her way down the stairs following the aroma of coffee. She found Jarod sitting at the kitchen table with the morning paper, doing his best impression of Ward Cleaver. At some time during the night, he had stocked the kitchen and everything else. She helped herself to a large cup of coffee and started to feel a little better. By the second cup, she felt a lot better.
“You need new clothes,” Jarod said without looking out from behind his newspaper.
Parker, dressed in her recently washed blouse and the short burgundy skirt she’d worn the day she was shot, couldn’t agree more. “I think we have more important things to worry about than shopping.”
“Actually, we’re playing the waiting game at the moment. You might as well be comfortable.”
Parker wanted to toss the contents of her mug in his face, but she figured that would be a waste of perfectly good coffee. Jarod put the newspaper down and handed her a slim wallet that she opened to reveal a substantial amount of cash and a California driver’s license. She removed the license, which had her picture on it. It gave her name as Jessica Martinez and the house as her current address.
“You have been a busy little bee,” she commented. “But Jessica?”
“Jarod and Jessica Martinez. I liked the sound of it.” He picked the paper back up. “There’s a shopping center about a quarter mile down the street. Get whatever you need.”
“You trust me to come back?” she asked incredulously.
“I trust that you want to know who tried to kill you.”
She had to admit he had a point.
*
Miss Parker took her time on her shopping trip, relishing the time away from Jarod and out of the hospital. It was the first taste of freedom she’d had in awhile. She stopped in a coffee shop, setting her purchases beside the table. She got a coffee and a copy of the Oakland Tribune and sat down to read. She’s skimmed through most of the local section and was about to close it when something caught her eye-her name. It was only a small blurb, but she couldn’t believe what she was reading.
“M. Parker, 40, was pronounced dead yesterday morning from injuries resulting from multiple gunshot wounds. She was transported to Oakland General Hospital Tuesday after what police say was an attempted robbery. While Oakland General surgeons were able to repair most of the damage, Parker was deemed brain-dead and removed from life support. She is survived by her father and brother in Delaware. Oakland Police currently have no suspects in the case.”
I feel pretty damn good for being dead, Miss Parker thought. But what the hell is Jarod doing? There was no better solution than to ask the man himself.
*
Jarod was sitting on the couch in the living room when Miss Parker returned home. She dropped her shopping bags in the hallway and made a beeline for him.
“What the hell do you mean by this?” she demanded, smacking the newspaper down on the coffee table in front of him. He had a decidedly odd look on his face.
“Honey, we have company,” he said, gently removing the newspaper from her grasp. Parker’s jaw dropped as she followed his gaze to the young couple seated across from them. Jarod put a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to sit down beside him.
“You must be Jessica,” the lovely raven-haired woman said. “I’m Liang Russell, and this is my husband, Ken. We live across the street. This is a great neighborhood; I’m sure you’ll be happy here.”
“I’m sure,” Miss Parker replied. Oh, how she wanted to kill Jarod at the moment, especially since he seemed to be so enjoying the domestic life. The saccharine factor in the room would kill a lab rat in a matter of minutes. Ken Russell looked as uncomfortable as Parker. No doubt the little woman had dragged him out on a Saturday morning.
“Well, I guess we should be going. I just wanted to greet out new neighbors.” Liang leaned across the table to Parker. “And I brought over a chocolate cake--make sure Jarod shares it with you.”
Parker forced a smile. “Sure thing.”
Liang grabbed her husband’s hand and hauled him up from the couch. The man towered over his wife by a good eight or nine inches. Parker and Jarod stood as well, and Liang had to look up at all of them. Jarod walked them to the door, dragging Parker along by keeping one arm firmly around her waist. When the good-byes were said, the waving was done, and the door shut firmly behind the departing couple, Parker forcefully removed Jarod’s arm and picked up the newspaper he had discarded on the coffee table.
“Now will you tell me what the hell kind of sick joke you were playing? Publishing my obituary in the Oakland Tribune.”
“Bait.”
“What?”
“Someone wants you dead. I’m betting that if he thinks you’re out of the picture, he won’t be as cautious about his identity.”
“You told daddy that I’m dead? Are you insane?” She turned away from him and started pacing the room. “Of course. He’s insane, I’m insane. It’s a wonder we’re both still alive.”
“This is the thanks I get for trying to help you?”
“Lyle is more helpful.”
“I’m hurt,” Jarod replied, laying on the insincerity. “Well, if that’s the kind of help you want . . .”
“No, I just want to go home and get my life back to . . . well, as normal as it ever was. My house, my clothes, my life.”
“Welcome to my world,” Jarod said wryly.
“I don’t want to be in your world . . . playing house. This is a sick game, and I don’t want any part of your playacting.”
“You think it’s any picnic living with you?”
*
“I still can’t believe she’s gone,” Broots said mournfully, shuffling out of the Oakland airport towards a Centre-owned car.
“For the fifth time, will you shut up,” Lyle growled without sympathy. “You would think she was your sister, not mine.”
“Your grief hasn’t been very demonstrative,” Sydney offered.
“We have business first.” Lyle shrugged, “There hasn’t exactly been any love lost between my sister and myself, anyway.”
Broots moved faster to keep up, yanking luggage behind him. “What makes you think Jarod will still be here?”
“He has a sick little fascination with my big sis. He’s probably planning on putting in a special appearance at the funeral.”
“Jarod has known Miss Parker since they were children; he may feel especially connected to her.”
“Exactly what I’m counting on, Sydney.”
The drive to the hospital was swift and silent. Broots and Sydney were subdued by Miss Parker’s passing, and neither was comfortable in Lyle’s presence. At their destination, Lyle took charge, striding up to the first desk he saw: the emergency department. Sydney and Broots simply stood back and watched.
“Have you seen this man?” Lyle demanded, holding up a picture of Jarod. The desk clerk looked at the photo, at Lyle, and at the photo again. Then she picked up the phone.
“Just a minute,” she smiled at him.
A blonde woman, open white labcoat and stethoscope signifying she was a doctor, walked briskly up to the desk. She glanced at the clerk who gestured to Lyle.
“I’m Dr. McKenzie, chief of emergency medicine. Can I help you?”
Lyle gave the woman his most charming smile. “Yes. I was wondering if you’ve seen this man here recently.” He showed her the photograph.
“Oh, you mean Dr. Carter. Yes, he was here, but he’s on personal leave right now.”
“Since when?”
“Hmm . . . Mindy, when did Dr. Carter leave?”
“Last Thursday, I believe,” the desk clerk replied.
“Yes, that sounds right. What did you need to see him for? Is it anything we can help with?”
“I’m afraid this man has been masquerading as a doctor. If you should see him, please detain him and contact me at this number.” He handed Dr. McKenzie a business card. “You said he was on leave. Do you have an address or other means of contacting him?”
“Yes, of course. Mindy, look up Dr. Carter’s address please. He lives fairly close by.”
Mindy handed a post-it note to Dr. McKenzie, who inspected the contents before handing it to Lyle.
“Have any patients died under his care?”
Anna McKenzie paled. “Yes, there was that Jane Doe that was brought in last week. We both saw her prior to sending her off to the OR.”
Broots jumped forward. “Was this her?” he asked, handing McKenzie a picture of Miss Parker.
Anna studied the photo for a moment. “It’s hard to say, she was pretty banged up, but yes, I think so.”
Broots appealed to Sydney. “But Jarod wouldn’t have hurt her.”
Lyle ignored him. “Thank you very much. And please, if you see him--”
“I’ll let you know right away.”
Lyle followed Sydney and Broots out of the hospital, but once outside, he grabbed Broots by the collar.
“What are you doing with a picture of my sister in your wallet?” Broots could do nothing but stammer in reply. “Nevermind,” Lyle said, dropping the smaller man.
*
“The trap has sprung,” Jarod reported as he hung up the phone.
“What are you babbling about now?” Parker demanded.
“That was Dr. McKenzie, the woman to whom you probably owe your life. Apparently brother dearest along with Sydney and Broots were just at the hospital asking about us.”
“What good does that do? So now you’re going to be chased by Lyle.”
“Oh ye of little faith. You haven’t captured me yet, why should Lyle? And we have the advantage of knowing where he is, while he doesn’t know where we are.”
“I haven’t brought you back to the Centre because I . . .”
“You can admit it. You don’t have the heart to do it.”
Parker reached for her gun out of reflex, but of course it wasn’t there. “Don’t push it. One day this is going to come down to my life for yours, and I’m not that noble.”
“I don’t expect you to be,” Jarod said quietly. Honestly, he was somewhat surprised how much more lenient she was getting over time. Maybe her mother’s memory was starting to undo all the damage her father and the Centre had caused over the years.
“So what are we going to do now?” Parker asked.
“Have a nice dinner, I think. Do you like Thai? Liang suggested a good take-out place.”
Parker looked at Jarod’s smiling face as if he had suddenly sprouted horns or something equally ridiculous. “Have you already forgotten about Lyle? You said your plan was a go.”
“Everything is in motion, my dear, but Lyle needs to take the next step on his own. We’ll probably pay him a little visit tomorrow, and until then, I suggest we enjoy our last evening in this house.”
“You know, Jarod, I used to think you were a genius. Now I just think you’re nuts.”
“I like to defy people’s expectations. Just have a seat, and I’ll be back with dinner in half an hour.”
Miss Parker sat on the couch with nothing to do. It wasn’t quite a real home--there was nothing personal about it. There wasn’t much to do, either. No books, no radio or television, and the only computer was Jarod’s laptop, which she couldn’t use anyway. She poked through the kitchen and was surprised to find a bottle of white wine. Maybe a gift from the neighbors? She poured herself a glass and went upstairs, changing outfits just to have something to do. She had bought a red and black dress for no particular reason other than that she liked it and it was Jarod’s money, not hers. It wasn’t exactly her usual trend-setting business attire, but it was nice nonetheless. By the time she’d finished puttering around in the bedroom, the half hour had passed, so she wandered back downstairs just as she heard the front door open and shut.
Jarod stood in the front hallway carrying two large plastic bags, presumably their dinner. He caught a glimpse of Parker descending the stairs and stopped. For a glib-tongued smart aleck, he was speechless. Think about who she is, you idiot, the rational part of his brain said. Without comment, he carried dinner into the dining room. Miss Parker crossed into the kitchen and returned with the open bottle of wine and two glasses. Jarod nearly bumped into her as he went to get the china.
“Well,” Jarod spoke up as they were halfway through a very quiet dinner, “I think this may be the first time we’ve had dinner together . . . ever.”
Parker raised her glass. “Here’s to the end of our domestic life. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.” She’d gone through nearly half the bottle of wine on her own, while Jarod was only on his second glass. The alcohol was starting to take effect.
“Yes, by the end of tomorrow, our little adventure should be over.”
“It’s never over. We’ll go our separate ways tomorrow, but it won’t be over.” Miss Parker was becoming positively melancholy.
Jarod stood and walked around the table to Parker, peeling her fingers from the wineglass. “I think it’s time for bed.” He helped her up from her chair and guided her upstairs to the bedroom. He sat her down on the bed and left, figuring the worst that would happen was that she’d fall asleep right then and there. He returned downstairs and topped off his glass before clearing the dishes and remnants of their dinner. Once everything was put away, Jarod was feeling pretty lethargic himself and made his way up to the adjacent bedroom. Weary from the week’s events and his constant battles with Miss Parker, Jarod fell asleep quickly.
*
“Trust him.”
“I do, mother,” the princess answered from the now all-too-familiar meadow. “Why else would I be playing Ozzie and Harriet with him?”
The voice did not answer.
“Mother?” The princess turned around where she stood but saw nothing in any direction. “Mother, wait. I need to know who’s trying to kill me.”
“No one is trying to kill you,” a man answered. The princess spun around to confront the white knight.
“What do you mean? I was shot.”
“But your death is not their goal. Although I think you may be . . . expendable to them.”
“So what do they want?” the princess asked in frustration. The white knight placed his hands on her shoulders. Suddenly, she understood what he was trying to say. “They want you. They’re using me to get to you. But why, how?”
Jarod looked down, avoiding her gaze. Then he steeled himself and looked into her ice-blue eyes, taking her hands in his. Neither said anything for a moment.
“Do you know who ‘they’ are?”
“No.”
“But you do.” Queen Catherine appeared before them. “Your suspicions are right. The son I never knew is behind this, but he is not alone.” She looked at the princess. “Your father approved this mission. It is difficult, but you must learn he is not to be trusted. Neither pulled the trigger, yet both are responsible.”
“Daddy?” the princess asked quietly. “No! I don’t want to believe you.”
“I know,” Catherine responded as she faded into nothingness.
*
Miss Parker awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed, gasping for air. “No,” she said aloud to herself as the door swung open and Jarod rushed to her bedside.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
Parker just shook her head. “I don’t know what to believe.”
Jarod sat on the bed beside her. “Was it a nightmare?”
Without looking at him, she started to speak. “I’ve been having these strange fairy-tale dreams lately. Don’t laugh, but it’s all the characters from my life recast into a work by the Brothers Grimm. My mother appears to me as the dead queen and keeps telling me that I’m in danger and that I have to trust the white knight.” Finally she looked at him. “You. ‘The white knight perennially dressed in black.’”
“The dream you had in the hospital.”
“One of them, yes.”
“But you haven’t reacted like this before.”
“Tonight my mother told me that I wasn’t the target-you are. They’re using me as bait.”
“It’s just a dream.”
“But it worked, didn’t it? She also told me who was responsible. Lyle and daddy.”
“Dreams are just an expression of your subconscious mind. That’s what you fear, so that’s the scenario your mind created.”
“But even you said--“
“It’s only a possibility, but you know your father can’t always be trusted.” Before she could protest, he added, “Now do you feel ready to try and sleep again?”
She nodded, but as he stood up to leave she stopped him. “Stay. Please.”
Without a word he sat back down beside her as she finally lay back and closed her eyes.
*
Jarod was awakened the next morning by the telephone ringing. He opened his eyes, shocked to see Miss Parker a mere six inches away. He jumped off the bed and grabbed the phone. Sure enough, it was his informant; the trap was closed with the prey inside. He gently shook Miss Parker awake, not wanting to discover just how vicious she was first thing in the morning.
“We’ve got an appointment with the devil.”
“Let me guess,” she replied groggily. “My darling brother.”
*
“Let me out of here, you lunatics,” Lyle shouted at the men who were quickly leaving the scene. He’d been stripped of his expensive suit and was strapped to a gurney wearing nothing more than a flimsy hospital gown. He wasn’t even sure what hit him. He’d been investigating Jarod’s last known address when he suddenly found himself in a dark room on an uncomfortable table. Suddenly thousands of watts worth of lights came on, blinding him. Lyle could see that he was in a white sterile-looking room. It was hard for him to see much other than the ceiling, strapped to the gurney as he was.
“I see our patient is awake,” a slightly muffled voice spoke behind Lyle. He craned his neck as best he could to glimpse a man in full surgical garb, from blue scrubs to a cap and face mask. A rattling to his left made him turn to see a woman, equally disguised by all the blue covering, pushing a stray of shiny instruments.
“What is going on here?” Lyle croaked. “I feel terrible.”
“Apparently you were the victim of an attempted murder,” the masked doctor replied.
“Wh-who?”
“I don’t know. Try to kill anyone lately?”
“No, of course not,” Lyle lied.
“Not even an ordered assassination? I hear you’re a pretty high-power lowlife.”
“N-no.”
The woman held a scalpel at just the right angle so the reflected light shone directly in Lyle’s eyes. “No one appreciates a liar.”
“So what if I did? You don’t know. You can’t prove it. Am I going to be all right? You’re doctors; you’re supposed to help me.”
“Unfortunately you’re going to be just fine . . . physically,” the doctor responded.
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“Parker?” Lyle gasped. “You’re dead! Does that mean I’m . . . ?”
Miss Parker waved the scalpel a little closer to Lyle’s face. “If you were, I’d be dancing on your grave right now.”
Jarod removed the surgical mask. “Risking your sister’s life to get to me is pretty low. Even for you.”
Lyle sputtered. “Jarod? You and her?” He looked at Parker. “Whose side are you on?”
“Mine.” She got right in his face. “You told one of your goons to kill me just to lure Jarod out of hiding? How could you?”
“He wasn’t supposed to kill you, just cause a little injury.”
Parker gave him a sarcastic smile. “Oh and that makes it okay.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“Just a minor technicality,” Jarod corrected. “I seem to have captured you, not the other way around.”
Lyle looked pleadingly at his sister. Parker ignored him, grabbing a sheet off the cart and covering Lyle from head to toe. Just before she covered his face, she leaned down and whispered, “Jarod’s letting you off easy. I won’t.”
Jarod and Parker walked back out into the California sunshine as another car pulled up next to the one they arrived in. Sydney and Broots emerged, but Broots nearly fell to the ground when his brain registered what he saw.
“Miss Parker!” he shouted, running towards them.
Jarod smiled. “It looks like somebody missed you.”
Before she could stop him, Broots had flung his arms around her. “Oh Miss Parker, we thought you were dead. I mean, Jarod sent that tape, and . . . .” Suddenly, it occurred to Broots who was standing next to him. In the pause, Parker shoved him away from her. “So it was all part of the plan. But who--why?”
“I suspect Mr. Lyle played a part in Miss Parker’s alleged demise,” Sydney commented as he joined the group.
“Lyle thought an assassination attempt would bring Jarod out of hiding,” Parker explained.
“Which it did,” Jarod piped up.
“But my brother,” she said with distaste, “is only devious, not clever. The pretender outwitted him again.”
“And Jarod?” Sydney prompted.
“I think we’ll take Lyle back as our prize this time, gentlemen.”
“I take it this is good-bye,” Jarod said, looking only at Miss Parker.
She nodded. “Thank you . . . for saving me,” Parker said quietly. She clenched and unclenched her fists before quickly leaning over and kissing Jarod on the cheek. Broots’ jaw just about hit the floor, and Sydney had a pleased paternal smile on his face. “Now get the hell out of here before I have to shoot you.” Jarod smiled and saluted her. He walked quickly back to the car, turning back only once to wave before he got in and drove off.
Broots was still staring in disbelief. “Are you going to tell us what you’ve been doing with him for the last week?”
Parker gave him one of her patented “if looks could kill” expressions. “In your dreams.”
