Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: The characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots etc. and the fictional Centre, are all property of MTM and NBC Productions and used without permission. I'm not making any money out of this and no infringement is intended.
Most facts are in accordance with the series and the movies, just slightly twisted.
Stop Telling Me What To Do
Part 4 : Take Control
by paula h
Jarod hasn't called.
That should make me happy I guess; I can sleep through the night undisturbed. Not that I've ever slept through the night. My waking life is far too interesting to allow blissful sleep.
I've made my peace with Thomas, and my Mother's voice has become a comfort. On the live relative front, Lyle is being, well, Lyle; I have a baby half-brother who is kept at The Centre and an adult half-brother who keeps himself God-knows-where. Lovers? I have none; I don't want any. I haven't even got time for friends unless you count Sydney and Broots who are working at/trapped in The Centre with me. It's not safe to get too close to me, someone might notice. Let's see, any family I missed? Well, just the father I don't know and the pseudo-father I do.
Daddy is of the very vocal opinion that Lyle and I should still consider him our father. Genetics doesn't matter; he raised me and he would have raised Lyle if Raines - said in a sincere growl - hadn't stolen him at birth. I asked Daddy how Mom could not know that her other child was alive. He answered that she never really understood her gift and how to control it. Raines had given her drugs and she believed him when he told her the child was dead. She got flashes of insight at times and she sometimes spoke of hearing the child. Daddy said he never knew that the baby lived. He even denied that he knew about Ethan; said he thought that baby died when she was killed, and never knew that Mirage/Ethan was hers. I don't know whether to believe him or not. I've believed him so much for so long that I'm too tired of lies to care if he's telling the truth this time.
Mother's voice is comforting at the odd times I hear it. I also have little control over my gift. Syd helped me a bit, so now I can understand sentences if I really listen, but it's nothing like what Ethan endures. Ethan seems better now that he understands what he is and what the voices are. I hope he's all right on his own. He's made no attempt to contact me and I doubt that Jarod's caring for him. Jarod's preoccupied with his own agenda.
My agenda has been modified so many times I doubt I have one any more. Chasing Jarod is not only a waste of time but now my heart isn't in it. Even if I should somehow 'bring 'em back alive' I doubt I could get out of here, not alive at any rate. I'm trapped here, part of some greater plan that I may never know. I'm still looking for the truth about my past, surreptitiously of course. I would give practically anything to locate my mother's DSA, or to find out the goal of The Centre's machinations. I would love to know the story behind that photograph of my mother and Margaret. And now I want to know who my biological father is. Daddy made it clear he will not speak about it and Lyle is not even vaguely interested. I guess he's had enough fathers in his life.
Lyle probably has an agenda. He's being nice, but a nice-Lyle makes me uneasy. He seemed genuinely hurt when he found out that he/we are not Parkers. Maybe he's just worried Daddy has no genetic reason to protect him from his sins. Perhaps that's why Lyle's disappeared only once since I came back last month. A hunting trip, he told me. I was ready to check unsolved homicides across the country, but he showed me a Canadian Safari Adventures brochure and a photo of himself beside a trophy-size elk. Now he has the head mounted at his apartment, or so he says. I have no intentions of going anywhere near that place if I have a choice.
Lyle is acting almost human since he started seeing the newest Centre shrink. According to Broots' housekeeping sources Lyle is taking meds she prescribed. There was a Centre Pharmacy bottle in the trash but the medication name was blacked-out. Broots can't check via computer because the pharmacy is not on the system. At any rate, whatever the pills are they haven't made him any less smarmy. I will never turn my back to him; he might stab it. I will never turn my back on him either; he is my brother.
My father brought in the new psychiatrist that's treating Lyle. Her name is Alicia Ayers. Her main assignment is working with my youngest brother, the child I delivered into this wonderful life, the child I love. If there is one good thing that came out of Jarod's pulling me out of that lake it's that I am still here for Seth, to love him for himself. Who would have loved him if I were dead? Seth is such a big boy now, almost two, walking and talking better than children twice his age. He already reads a bit and understands more than I wish he did.
Dr. Ayres seems all right. She's good with Seth and she is working with Lyle. If Lyle told her his whole story and she's willing to help him I give her credit for a strong stomach and guts. Then again, she's relatively safe; Lyle knows better; even a crocodile doesn't eat the plover.
I know why Daddy sent me away. Raines is back in favor with the Triumvirate. He was at The Centre several times while I was gone. Lyle was quite unhappy about that, but had orders not to tell me until Daddy did. We still avoid talking, especially about Raines, but Lyle expects he will be back to stay in the near future. The way things go around here, Lyle will be returning the thumb and Raines will pretend Daddy and Lyle never tried to kill him. Life goes on.
Raines lied to my mother about my twin and he killed her, but I really wonder if Daddy knew that he took Lyle. We are all part of some big experiment. All of us. What did Jarod say? "Our lives are made of mysteries; built on lies." I'm not even sure what I want to happen to Raines. I wish Daddy had killed him, but I can't see myself correcting that failure. Lyle took revenge on Raines for all he did to him but I doubt that it was enough. I wonder if it will ever be enough. Jarod said he would know when his need for revenge was satisfied. I doubt it.
That's not to say Jarod has disappeared. He went missing for a month but now he's as busy as ever. Two nights ago three sweepers and I were trouping through a flophouse room just about an hour after Jarod slipped out. He'd solved another kidnapping and murder. That's turned into his specialty. He moves in, finds the felon, beats the crap out of him if the opportunity presents itself, and moves on. Jarod hasn't contacted Syd, and I can't tell him I know what started Jarod's descent into violence.
The red notebooks have stopped too. Sydney is extremely concerned because it seems Jarod has stopped associating with civilians, not even the victims. He has nothing to tell us. It seems he's no longer interested in learning about life. And he hasn't called.
Today will be another dead end. There isn't a red notebook but Jarod has started a new pattern. Now there will be a bible, a different version or translation. He seems to prefer the Old Testament and Revelation. Some books have been in Greek or Latin, ancient versions, modern versions, occasionally some Pseudepigrapha, Gnostic texts, or parts of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Sydney says Jarod's searching for something to support him in his isolation. I think he's looking for something to support his anger and pain.
The Book of Enoch in English is the morning's offering. This one I've seen before. Broots says it about vindication of the persecuted righteous by divine judgment and punishment of their persecutors. As usual there is an origami Nemesis used as a bookmark.
Today's pretend was slightly different than his usual. A farmer shot at the police when they tried to foreclose on his farm. He was killed. The bank that owned the mortgage will be under new management and its former administrators are on their way to jail for embezzlement and theft. The bank's VP said the guy who tied him up was going to shoot him, but then just walked away. He's probably still around here somewhere, laughing at us. I hear he doesn't laugh much anymore. I wonder if either of us has laughed since the day we went joyriding in the pink Cadillac. I wish he would call.
For Jarod this was a light week. At least this pretend was in Virginia; a reasonable drive home for a change; first night in my own bed for over a week.
[There she is, rummaging through my things. I don't leave her much of myself anymore; there's not much to leave. They say life makes you what you are...]
Home sweet home, there's no food in the fridge, and a thin layer of dust covers everything. I call for takeout Chinese. While waiting for the delivery boy I start cleaning. I do laundry while I eat General Tso chicken. After eating, I go upstairs and repeat the process. By the time I come out of my cleaning frenzy it's two a.m. Great, all day all I wanted to do was come home and relax and I barely sat down.
I get a hot shower and make the bed and pretty much fall into it. I look at the phone, as though I could will him to call. It rings and I jump. It takes a moment for me to get my heart out of my throat and pick up the receiver.
"What?"
"Can't you sleep either?"
"I was trying" That's a lie. "To what do I owe the honor of this call?"
"Just checking to see if you missed me."
"By a couple of hours. What's with the bibles?"
"A hobby. People put a lot of faith in God." He chuckles.
I'm not sure it's funny. "Do you put faith in God?" I ask.
"I like the idea of just desserts; penalties and retribution."
I don't find that promising. "What about forgiveness of sins?"
"Sure," he answers, "You should mend your evil ways."
"My ways are my ways. And not particularly your business."
"They say that if you save someone's life they are your responsibility." He has to bring that up.
"They say a lot of things. Aren't you tired of these nowhere conversations?"
He answers after a moment, softly, "I'm very tired." He pauses as though he had not meant to say that. "I'll let you get some sleep. You'll need it in the morning."
"Why?"
"The devil is alive and well, and back at The Centre." He hangs up.
I lay in bed unable to sleep until sunrise.
[At least I warned her. I didn't mean to tell her I'm tired. I am tired. I don't sleep much anymore. Not that I ever did. I wonder if she can sleep?
I miss talking to her.]
At sunrise I go in to work. Daddy and Lyle are not in their offices. I am heading to Sydney's office to tell him I finally heard from Wonder Boy when I notice that the door to Raines' office is open. Hmm, wonder if I have time to snoop?
I slip in the door and head for the files, and come face to face with Raines. He's baaack.
"Why, Miss Parker, nice of you to visit. I was just about to leave you a message telling you that I've returned to The Centre, but I see you've already heard."
"Yeah, I just came to see if you were settling in." I don't think I managed to make that sound sincere.
"Just fine, thank you. It's good to be home." He smiles that creepy smile that always makes me want to shower. He rubs his hands together.
I look down. His left thumb is bandaged...he has two thumbs again. He notices my look and the smile broadens. "Ah yes, things are being returned to their rightful order now."
Not without a struggle I'm sure. "Where's Lyle?"
"At home, pouting, last report. You would do better not to ally yourself with him."
"And my father?"
"Away." Just 'away,' said in a tone that discouraged further questions on the subject.
"Is Sydney still here or is it a mass exodus?"
"He was in his office when I spoke to him earlier."
I turn on my heel and walk out of his office, and straight to Sydney's.
Sydney looks up when I walk in his door. He must be able to read my expression because he closes the folder he's reading and folds his hands on the desk.
"Is there a reason you didn't warn me?"
"I just found out myself an hour ago. What purpose would it have served to wake you with the news?"
"I wouldn't have walked in there and had to pretend I was looking for him. What do you know about Lyle and Daddy?"
"Mr. Parker left rather abruptly at noon yesterday. Mr. Lyle was not at The Centre yesterday or this morning, although, from what Mr. Broots tells me, his thumb is."
"Yeah, I wish Broots was as good at finding Jarod as he is at getting the local gossip. Speaking of gossip I got a call last night, or rather, early this morning."
Sydney knows from whom. "What did he say? How did he sound?"
"Something about crime and punishment. He sounded more tired than usual, sad."
"I wish he would call me." Sydney shakes his head.
"He will when he's ready. In the mean time I want to see if there are any clues from Jarod's Virginia pretend. I also want to know what Broots knows about the pecking order around here."
Broots' information pipeline is dry, and there is nothing new about anything taken from Jarod's last rooms. I spend the day catching up on paperwork. I decide to end my day with Seth. I haven't seen him all week.
Dr. Ayers is working with Seth when I walk into the sim lab and sit down. He immediately leaves her side and climbs into my lap.
"I'm sorry, Doctor, I thought you would be done by now."
"It's not a problem, Miss Parker, we were winding down. We had a bit of a late start. Your brother was not in the mood to work this morning. He mentioned your name; I think he missed you."
"I missed him too." I look down at Seth, the one joy in my life. He smiles and hugs me; I hug back. "Has he been doing well?"
"Yes, fine." Something about the way she says it makes me doubt it. "We have to remember he isn't quite two. His reading is progressing and his verbal skills are comparable to a four-year old. He's very imaginative..."
"But?"
"But he is not ready to do sims." She asserts nervously.
I am not happy, "Who wants him to do sims?" I wrap my arms around Seth and he squirms.
"His father, your father," she seems relieved, "I was afraid you approved."
"I do not. I'll speak to my father when he gets back."
"Well, you may want to speak to Mr. Raines before that. He wants to see results before Christmas or I will be reassigned." She looks nervous about that prospect.
"I'll speak to him in the morning. Now, I think I'll take my brother to his supper."
"Yes, of course."
We both get up. She gathers her papers; I gather up Seth.
Dr. Ayres pauses at the door, "Ah, Miss Parker, if you talk to your other brother could ask him to beep me?"
"I doubt that he'll call me, but if I hear anything I'll let you know."
"Thank you, and good evening." She leaves.
I take Seth to his rooms and keep him company while he eats. After supper we play for a bit. Dr. Ayres was right, he gets smarter every day, and I will not allow Raines to turn him into another Jarod or Kyle or Lyle.
The next morning I corner Raines before he makes his office.
"Seth will not be doing sims."
"I doubt if that's your decision, Miss Parker."
"I am making it my decision and I mean it, Raines. He's too young."
"That may well be the case, but we can't be sure until Dr. Ayers tries."
"And that's another thing. Where do you get off threatening her? My father hired her to work with Seth, it's not your concern."
"Everything here is my concern. When, or if, your father returns I will discuss Master Parker's future with him. As far as Dr. Ayers feeling threatened, she has no reason to be. If I do transfer her to other projects it will not be a demotion."
"Now if we're done? We both have other duties that need our attention."
I just stare at him. This is not over.
He just walks away.
I spend the day doing paperwork. I spend the next week of days doing paperwork and spend every evening with Seth.
My father is supposedly in Canada and Lyle has totally disappeared. I have Angelo scanning the newspapers for murders of oriental women. I would have asked Broots but he needs to concentrate on tracing Jarod. It's been a week since I talked to him and he must have finished another mission by now.
Broots ends my week with a report of nada, some possible leads but nothing concrete. It does look like Jarod is staying on the West Coast, as far away from Delaware as possible. That's fine by me. I go to Seth's rooms. He's packed and waiting in his going-outside-to-play clothes, jeans. Sydney, Dr. Ayers and, of course myself, agreed that Seth should have outings. Daddy was not especially hard to convince; I assume past failures had as much influence as our opinions. Unexpectedly, Lyle supported the idea. He said nothing to me, but Daddy mentioned it.
As far as I know Raines doesn't know about the arrangement. I want to keep it that way. I make sure he's long gone before Seth and I make our exit.
We stop at McDonald's for supper and the video store for something Disney. There will be no health food or educational activities this weekend. Seth goes straight for the TV. I insist we unpack first, but the look on his face wins the argument. Yeah, yeah, so he's a little spoiled at my house. What are spinster aunts, or in my case, spinster older sisters for if it's not spoiling little boys?
Hercules starts playing and I head for the kitchen. I stocked the cupboards earlier in the week so we don't have to get into the car until Monday morning. I start the coffee maker and pull out a bag of chocolate chip cookies, then stand in the kitchen doorway and watch Seth watching the cartoon till the coffee is done. I take a cup of coffee, cookies and a glass of milk (a nod at nutrition) and join him in the living room. Seth climbs up onto the couch beside me, chubby little legs barely long enough to make it. He is a joy - pleasant, easy, possessing a smile that would melt a heart. If Raines had one I would feel a lot better about Seth's future.
Seth looses interest in the movie after about half an hour. That's fine; it's here all weekend. We head upstairs for the delayed unpacking. We no sooner walk into the room I fixed up for him than Seth drags me to the bathroom. He' hopping from foot to foot, telling me to hurry. I try not to laugh, and resist asking him why he waited so long. We make it in the nick of time. Daddy may be right and Seth is a genius, but he is still a baby in so many ways. I complement him on his potty training; he's only been at it a month and he's learned it as quickly as everything else.
After redressing and washing up, I tell Seth to go play with the toys in his room while I change clothes. I think I'll pull out the jeans I hardly ever wear and a blue sweater. Seth likes blue. I just get the sweater over my head when the phone rings.
"What?"
Jarod's voice, "Do you think that children really can see angels?"
"What?"
"They're supposed to be closer to God, you know. '...Their angels in heaven always behold the face of my Father in heaven.' Are you his guardian angel?"
I have a bad feeling about this call. "Whose?"
"Master Parker's. It's good to know you care about him. It's surprising that they let him out in the sunlight."
How does he know? Where is he? "Things change; I think they want Seth to be a little more well rounded than the last generation of pretenders."
He snorts. I hate it when he does that. "Nothing changes. Seth, is it? Take care of him, Parker; don't let them do what they did to the rest of us. Angels are supposed to protect. Bear him up, lest he dash his foot against a stone."
"Jarod, you need to put that Bible down for a while."
"Maybe you should pick it up. Satan and The Centre both will tempt you. They tell you what you want to hear and then they cast you into the darkness."
"Which darkness? The sublevels of your mind?"
"I am what The Centre made me. Wait, they'll be doing it to Seth soon. He's almost as old as I was when my nightmare started."
He hit right on my biggest fear. "Don't you think I know that?" That was a bit more than I wanted to let slip. Well, I can't take it back so I continue, "I'll take care of him."
"There's one other thing I want to know."
"Yes?" bracing myself.
"Does Play-Doh stain carpeting?"
"How would I know?" Now Jarod's playing with Play-Doh? "Aren't you getting a little old for toys?"
"When's the last time you checked on Seth?"
"I didn't buy him Play-Doh..."
"...playing on that brand new tan carpet."
I drop the receiver down and head for Seth's room. There's Seth, opening a container of red Play-Doh. I did not buy Play-Doh. There's a container of blue beside him, and a lump of yellow on the carpet near his feet. I grab the unopened containers and Seth screams. I hand him the glob of yellow Play-Doh and he subsides slightly, squishing it between his fingers. Bits of yellow clay fall on the carpet. My vacuum cleaner is dead meat, and so is Jarod. I stomp back to my bedroom, Doh containers in hand.
I retrieve the receiver, "You are a sonofabitch."
"It's just Play-Doh."
"Then you won't mind if I shove it up..."
"Uh, uh, uh, Seth might hear you."
"Hear this, Jarod. You had no right coming in my house. Stay out of it and stay out of my business."
"Your business is Centre business is my business."
"Jarod, get a life!" I slam the receiver and head back to cajole the rest of the Play-Doh away from Seth. I wonder if Jarod left us any other presents? I cannot believe he was in my house again.
[Get a life?
I've never had much of a life. The Centre took that away from me. I tried getting a life, settling down in LA, after I left Vermont. I got a job as a public defender because there was an immediate opening, and just to see if I could defend both the guilty and the innocent. It kept me busy for the first week. Since I hardly sleep anymore I got a second job as a sound technician at a small independent studio. No money but it kept me moving. When I wasn't working I hit the gym, at least four hours a day not counting the jogging. You can meet some really interesting people jogging at two a.m. in the bad sections. But I only ever met them once. I enjoyed that.
When I was exhausted enough my mind stopped moving for a while and my eyes closed but then the dreams came. I started taking mild sedatives, only once a week, so I could sleep at least six hours.
LA lasted month and a week. I swore I was not going to do any pretends or right any wrongs on my own, aside from thinning out the muggers, but then I was assigned this thirty-something blue-collar scumbag. The DA plea-bargained him down to ninety days and the wacko leans over to me in the hall and tells me, in his cigarette and beer breath, that he killed a prostitute the same night he was arrested for possession with intent, so ninety days is nothing. He laughed. I thought for a second I might kill him right there.
Instead I checked out the prostitute murders for that night. There were two, neither was being actively investigated and I couldn't find any evidence leading to wacko on either case. Actually, the crime scenes were so botched that there was no evidence. So I checked into the girls' backgrounds. It turned out that one of them had a brother at the same prison where wacko just went. I paid brother a visit. Wacko died in a prison riot the next week. I quit my jobs the next day.
I can't have a normal life; it was an impossible dream. I've gone back to what I did for the last few years, righting wrongs, saving little guys, tilting at windmills. I am driven to do. It doesn't matter what, I just have to keep doing.]
It took me an hour to calm down after Jarod's call. Seth caught my mood and got whiney. That turned into hyperactive and obnoxious. Thank god he still likes baths. He insisted on taking in every tub toy, but it relaxed him.
I put Seth to bed and picked up his toys while he dozed off. I will have to wait till morning to get the Play-Doh out of the rug; it's probably in there for good. The yellow stain reminds me that Jarod was in my home.
Why does he do that? Circle me and watch me and violate my privacy? Is he trying to make me understand the way he felt at The Centre? Well, the big news is that I already knew how he felt. I hated it when I spent time there as a girl, dodging the sweepers and cameras. Is he just playing with me? Does he think it's funny? What he does went way past teasing a long time ago. He just doesn't seem to see it.
Seth and I are both back to normal the next morning. I scoured the house before I went to sleep on Seth's floor. The Play-Doh was Jarod's only present. Just enough for him to show he can do whatever he wants and I can't stop him. Maybe it's just a boundaries problem. Well, I haven't got time to teach Jarod about personal boundaries so I guess I'll have to improve mine.
I don't let Seth out of my sight for the entire weekend, and I scan constantly for Jarod. I feel like he's watching. Monday morning, Seth is safely returned to his rooms and I make arrangements for a little home remodeling care of The Centre. Seth and I spend time in my house so it needs to be secure.
By the end of the week you would need a bomb to get in the doors, and they still look good with the house. The windows and every nook and cranny are secure and there is a state-of-the-art alarm system. That should keep Snoopy out. I have heavy drapes downstairs and opaque curtains upstairs. The house is too dark but I'm only home at night. I can go outside if I want sunlight and now no one can see in here at all.
I also had the house swept for cameras and bugs. None were found. That's oddly comforting - one boundary he didn't cross. The funny thing is I don't feel any safer.
The week at work was totally unproductive. Jarod has to be doing something besides watching me. Doesn't he? But there's no sign of him anywhere. Broots walks into my office at five pm on Friday. I guess my weekend is about to be ruined.
"Did you hear?"
"I assume that's rhetorical."
"Yeah," undeterred, "There was a fire at the San Francisco office."
"Fire?" It can't be that bad, the place is modern, has sprinklers and more than enough people to man the fire extinguishers. Actually, I consider them overstaffed and way too casual.
"Yeah, two o'clock this morning California time. One of the file rooms sort of exploded, the sprinklers in that part of the building failed. They lost years of records, but nobody was hurt."
"Well, that's good," without inflection. Why is it that the only thing running through my head right now is "Jarod"? "What was in that file room? The place is a bit new for electrical problems."
"Mostly unclassified records, outdated financial and personnel information, and that's the thing," dramatic pause, "it was arson. That's why it was hush-hush all day. They were investigating; grilling everyone."
"Let me guess. They found nothing?"
"No, yes, well not exactly...they found the accelerant."
Like pulling teeth. "And?"
"The accelerant is unusual and exactly the same as the one Jarod used at Donoterase."
Not a surprise. "When do we leave?" I stand.
"We don't. The S F office manager told me they don't want anyone from here out there, per Mr. Raines."
I'm around my desk and heading for the door. "We'll just see about that."
The door opens in front of me. "See about what, Miss Parker?" It's Raines.
"Going to California."
"No. You will not involve yourself with West Coast affairs."
"But the accelerant is the same as Jarod..."
"It may have been the pretender you should have brought back here years ago. Then again, other people had access to information on the Donoterase fire, including your father and brother."
"You think my father did this?" I laugh.
"No, but there is a schedule seven order on your brother. I suggest you stay out of it." He leaves without waiting for an answer.
Surely he doesn't believe Lyle did it? No, it's just an excuse. Well, Lyle knows how to take care of himself so I don't think I need to worry too much. And Jarod won't leave much of a trail, so the trip would have been a waste of time anyway.
I turn around to see Broots' unsure expression. "Well Broots, looks like you just got the weekend off. Try not to have too much fun." I lightly punch his shoulder as I walk past him.
"Thanks, Miss Parker, you too." He hurries out the door.
I pick up my briefcase, stop for a few groceries, then I go home to wait for a call. It comes at midnight, but the caller is unexpected.
"What?"
"Angel?"
"Daddy! Where are you? Are you all right?"
"Yes, Darlin', I'm fine. Just gotta lay low for a while longer, till Lyle gets things fixed up. Have you heard from him?"
"No, Daddy. Do you know where he is?"
"Not where, Angel, but I know what he's doing. When he gets back he'll fix things. You wait and see."
I sigh to myself; it's not worth the fight. "Do you need anything, Daddy?"
"I just need you to help your brother if he asks. It's important. Gotta go." He cuts the call. Well, at least I know he's alive and there's a good possibility Lyle is missing on business rather than a killing spree. Things are really looking up. I stretch out on the couch and try to relax while I wait for the other phone call.
[I tried to call her at midnight but the line was busy. I was tempted to check in on her using the surveillance cameras I installed while I was hanging all those drapes. If I can't see what's going on one way, I'll find another.
I haven't used the cameras. They're just there in case I need them. Parker would be furious if she knew about them. Actually, furious seems mild. Knowing about them might push her away from me and toward The Centre. I couldn't stand that.
I put the cameras in so I'll be able to protect her. Not knowing what's going on got Thomas killed. I have to stay up on things; be able to control the situation, or The Centre will.
It was nice to see Parker with Seth. She really seems to love him. I only hope she can protect him; be his angel.
It's three in the morning now. I got involved in other things for a few hours. I can't sleep and I'm sure Parker is waiting for a call. I pick up my cellular and hit the speed dial.
"What?" Groggy, I must have woken her.
"Have you heard from your other brother? Or aren't you his keeper?"
"Did you do something to Lyle?" So suspicious.
"Not yet. I assume your reaction means 'no.' Checking America's Most Wanted? Or is that Centre's most wanted?" She makes a disgusted noise; I smile and my face muscles feel odd. Smiling uses seventeen muscles. Mine are out of practice.
"You're at the top of The Centre's list."
"I intend to stay there. I hear your brother has joined me."
"He'll be at the other end of the chase before you know it."
"We'll see. I see you've remodeled. Can I get the name of your decorator?"
"Come by my office and I'll give it to you. Do you like the new look?"
"Can't see much from here." Let her think I'm right outside. "I'll come in later and you can give me the tour."
The string of language Parker responds with would burn my ears if I were sensitive. I didn't know she knew all those words. Speaking of burning...
Once she is done swearing at me, I say, "I expected you to be flying west today, to admire my handiwork."
"I'm not fond of charcoal artwork." She sounds slightly out of breath. One school of psychology says that swearing is good for you.
"I thought it was quite effective."
"What effect are you going for?"
"In San Francisco? A little damage, a little confusion, a message of impending doom. I thought it was only fair; they did it for Sodom and Gomorrah. Or did you mean just now? I wanted to check your profanity vocabulary, and I knew just how to do it."
"You think you know everything."
"Just put a book in front of me."
"Anything but bible quotes."
"I can read and say anything I want...now"
"But not on my time." The receiver slams in my ear.
I think I know everything? I wish I did; I wish I knew how to stop thinking and sleep.
How many days has it been since I took pills? Only five? I'm tired, I think I'll take them a little early this week, just this time, just once. It won't hurt anything. And I think I'll take an extra one to make sure I don't dream this time.]
At least I got the last word that time; last time too if I recall correctly. Twice in a row is gratifying. After a Jarod conversation I take what I can get.
Speaking of which, I need to get some sleep. I hit my bed. It seems like only minutes later when I hit the alarm off. Why did I set the alarm? Oh, yes, Dr. Ayers and I promised Seth an outing. Just on Centre grounds this time but there are plenty of fallen leaves and lots of room to run around. It will take both Alicia and I to wear him out but it will be fun.
I keep telling myself that while I groan my way out of bed through a shower and into clothes. My mood improves as soon as I see Seth. Alicia joins us shortly with cookies and hot chocolate. The day gets better and better until I put Seth to bed and go home exhausted.
Saturday was perfect. Sunday was calm, call-less, and I slept in. Monday was a comedown but quiet.
Lyle made his triumphant return Tuesday morning. I was in my office when Broots came running in with his usual calm, collected way, jogging in place till he could follow me out the door. He came close to pushing me down the hall but jumped back when I made a grab for his collar. If he wore ties I would have caught him. Then again, if he wore ties they would be clip-ons.
Broots was gratified by the way my mouth dropped open when I got to the lobby. I saw him out of the corner of my eye but I was too interested in the group in the foyer. Lyle, two of his personal sweepers who had gone missing shortly after he did, and a young man I would recognize anywhere, Jarod's clone.
Jarod-2 was back at The Centre and did not look happy. I knew someone else who would not be happy. I watched Raines come around a corner and take in the scene. If looks could kill there would have been four dead bodies in the lobby. Fortunately, guns are the weapons of choice around here and there were a few too many witnesses. I guess pretender clones beat schedule seven orders so Raines lost the hand. He put a smile on his face and welcomed Lyle back to the fold.
Lyle looked at me over Raines shoulder and gave me a big smile and a wink. I'm actually glad he's back. Lyle makes me nervous but Raines is a bigger threat to Seth. The few times I've seen Lyle with his baby brother he seemed skittish but honestly friendly, like a big dog around a little yappy one. And Seth must have sensed Lyle's unease because he hung on him. I won't say that I completely trust Lyle with Seth, just that I trust him more than Raines on the subject.
J-2 was looking around glumly when he followed Lyle's gaze to me. The boy grinned, Jarod's same infuriating endearing grin, and I had to smile back. Sydney swept into the entrance hall to take the boy under his wing. Raines objected but Lyle handed his prize over to Syd willingly and then faced-off with the opposition. Rarely but occasionally Lyle makes me proud.
It took the rest of the day to get Lyle alone so I could ask him what happened. He didn't know where Daddy went but said not to worry; he would be back soon. He did not give details about loosing his recently acquired thumb. Apparently Raines found out Lyle had a lead on Jarod's clone and wanted the information so he could take credit for it. He decided on some personal questioning. Lyle got away sans thumb and then went after the boy.
They got J-2 in Fort Worth, while Major Charles was out. He returned as they were getting the boy into the car. The Major launched a rear assault. One of the sweepers tried for a headshot, and aimed a little wide. If the man hadn't thought he was such a crack marksman and shot for the chest Jarod wouldn't ever have a chance to ask the Major his questions. According to Lyle, Major Charles barely escaped.
I tend to believe Lyle told me the truth; he has no particular reason to lie about it. At least I hope it's true; I hope the Major didn't sell any children into slavery, now or before.
The boy calls himself Jenis. He's been with Sydney for a nearly a week now. Thank god for small favors, if he'd been given to Raines I would never be allowed to see him. I visited him this morning and told him I was glad to see him again, but not necessarily here. He said he remembered me from before and smiled again. Sydney scowled but it was halfhearted, I don't think he wants the boy, or rather the young man, here either.
Sydney is thrilled with Jenis' performance. He says that Je's time out in the world has improved his empathy and broadened his emotional references. I just nod. Looking at Je reminds me why Jarod was my first kiss. He is quite a young man. He's got a mind that moves faster than anyone else's yet he's not manipulative at all. He's nice, and handsome. I bet the girls will be lining up for him... if they have a chance. The Centre is not the place for him to spend puberty; lack of socialization seemed to cause problems in those of us who did.
Things have been relatively quiet the last couple weeks. No calls from Jarod; still no Daddy; Lyle has been prowling around with a Cheshire cat grin; Raines is keeping to himself; Seth and Jenis are working with their respective mentors; and everyone is leaving me alone.
My office door opens. "Hey, Sis."
I spoke too soon. "Hello, Lyle."
"Coming to lunch?" He has big news and he wants me to beg for it, I can tell.
I won't take the bait. I rise and come around the desk. "Chinese at your place?"
"Club sandwiches in Dad's office."
"He won't like coming back to crumbs on the floor."
"Then you better tell him not to leave any."
Light dawns. "He's back?"
Lyle gets no time to answer as I push him out of the way and hurry to my father's office.
Daddy is sitting behind his desk with a big smile on his face and Seth on his knee. Daddy looks none-the-worse for his absence. He even has a bit of a tan. Seth is unsure of how to act; he hasn't spent much time with Daddy. He reaches for me as soon as he sees me and I rescue him. Daddy looks a bit relieved.
"Hello, Angel, I hear you've been taking good care of your brother while I was gone. Things will get back to normal now."
Back to me being too busy to spend time with Seth? "It's good you're back."
"Yes, well, politics you know. There were administrative changes in the Triumvirate, so there were some repercussions here. Things are working themselves out. Lyle tells me Jarod caused a bit of trouble."
"We've beefed up security."
Lyle adds, "But it would be nice," he elongates the word and looks pointedly at me, "if someone would finally bring him in."
I guess we're jockeying for approval, the only problem is that I don't really care if Daddy likes him better than me. "Jarod has changed his behavior patterns; Sydney is still analyzing his actions but..."
Lyle interjects, "That'll take a couple more years."
"But Jarod seems to be acting out his anger over what was done to him as a child."
Daddy looks worried, "He could become dangerous. Do you want additional help, Angel?"
"No, I think Jarod will come to us now that we have his clone. More people will keep him away. I'll be ready." Seth starts to squirm in my arms. "I think Seth wants to get back to his studies." I look at him in my arms, "Don't you?"
He looks up at me and makes a face then he smiles. I can never deny that smile. I kiss his forehead and put him down. Lyle and Daddy are both looking at me as though I've grown a second head.
Daddy clears his throat, "Of course, Angel. But Seth needs to go to Sydney' work area. He and the clone... did you say he has a name?"
"His name is Jenis."
"Yes. Well, Seth will be working with Jenis today." Daddy waits to see if I object. I keep silent. "I'll speak to you later, Angel. Sydney is waiting."
Seth takes my hand and I take him to Sydney's lab. I wonder what Daddy and Lyle said after I left. Probably they think I've gone soft. Maybe I have. All I want is for Seth to have a life, if it takes all my time and energy, even if it takes my life. No, I haven't gone soft at all. I've just found an agenda.
Dr. Ayers is in the lab with Sydney and Jenis. She doesn't say anything but seems pleased with the arrangement.
Sydney introduces the boys to each other and they play a bit with a couple toys that Dr. Ayers brought down. After about an hour Sydney tells Seth they are going to pretend something and the boys try a simple sim. Jenis gets into work mode immediately; Seth has to be coaxed. Once they begin Seth follows Je's actions and directions. He just drinks in knowledge.
Sydney keeps their interaction short. Everyone is pleased with the meeting and another is scheduled. Am I the only one who doesn't see this as a good thing for Seth?
Last night there was a fire at the Denver field office, the first in a month. Denver was a small operation, an information-clearing center. The information is cleared now. No one was injured but the computers were melted and the place is a complete loss. I expected a call but none came.
Jarod hasn't called me in a month. He obviously doesn't know Jenis is here. I know he would have been on the phone the next morning, if not at the door. The only sign we'd had of him up till yesterday was three more solved murders. I asked Angelo about it. I know he would help Jarod if he needed it and I think he leaks information to him at times.
Angelo said Jarod did not need to know.
That surprised me so I asked why.
He said Jarod was in a dark place and knowing might kill him.
I try not to take what Angelo said too literally. Angelo may be right but I think Jarod has a right to know.
The boys have been doing small sims together almost daily for a week. Seth has a natural talent. They work together so smoothly you would think they read one another's minds. I am not happy about Seth pretending, but I love watching them together when they're not working. In a week they've made a miniature family for themselves. Je teases Seth and Seth torments Je, they argue, they wrestle, they occasionally have to be separated. I worry about what will happen to them if they are permanently separated.
No one else sees a problem with the arrangement, including Sydney and Dr. Ayers. She says that Seth thinks of the sims as a form of play and that she was wrong to worry before. She seems more confident of Seth's future and her position now that Daddy is back. She has no idea how quickly things can change around here.
Today is one of the few holidays The Centre is officially closed. It's Thanksgiving, and an outing day for Seth and me. I considered doing the whole domestic scene myself and nixed the idea. I hoped Daddy might have a family get-together but that was whimsy, and the thought of eating with Lyle creeps me out. So I opt for noon reservations at a nice restaurant in Blue Cove.
Seth and I practiced table manners all week. He's usually quiet around adults so I expect no problems there. I bought him a wool blazer, stone colored cargo pants and a madras shirt. He's a Gap commercial. A pair of Buster Brown loafers and leather trench coat finish the look. If he was thirty-some years older, and not potentially related to me, I would propose here and now. It's been way to long since I had a date.
My little bud and I were heading for the door when he stopped and looked around. "Where's Je?"
"In his rooms, I imagine. He has today off too."
"I want him come with us."
"He can't, sweetie." Please take that as an answer.
"Why?"
I knew I wouldn't be that lucky. "Because he has to stay here."
"But why?"
"This is where Je lives." And I wanted him to learn to talk.
"But this where I live. Was he bad?"
"No, honey, he's very good."
"Then why?"
"He ran away and they brought him back but they're afraid he'll run away again so he can't go outside." Okay, the truth.
He's appalled, "Ever?"
"Not for a while." Liar.
I can see his mind moving in his eyes. They're huge when he looks up at me. "If I be bad will they make me stay forever?"
I take his hand and guide him toward the door. "You're not bad."
He walks slowly, thinking, "But if I be?"
My heart sinks while I search for a reply.
We reach the door; he balks. "I not go without my Je." I knew it was a mistake to let them get together.
"Okay." Think fast. "Okay, how about we go eat something because I'm really hungry. Then instead of going to my house like we were going to, we come right back here and spend the day with Je?"
Seth mulls that over. "We bring turkey? And cwanberries?" He brightens slightly.
I'm relieved, "We can stop and get a pie." There has to be a bakery open somewhere in Blue Cove.
Seth agrees to the plan. He's silent for the trip to the restaurant. The food is good and so is the service. Seth is a perfect gentleman. He eats more than I do and then downs a huge slice of pumpkin pie. He sits there for a moment in a food-induced haze watching other people's children misbehave. I wonder if this is too much exposure to the real world.
Suddenly Seth turns to me. "We go back now."
I feel a chill. Will he become like Angelo? Never wanting to leave The Centre; preferring its dark corridors. No, he just wants "his Je." I tell the waitress to bring a take-out meal. It includes a piece of pie so we go directly back to The Centre.
Jenis is surprised to see us, but happy for the company. He wolfs down the dinner. He shares the pie with Seth, who is always a bottomless pit when it comes to food. Then the two of them move into their private world and I am ignored while they talk and play. Je is better with Seth than I am; they really understand each other.
The afternoon is pleasant until a sweeper comes to take Jenis for his daily exercise. Je's face falls as the reality of his life returns. Seth doesn't understand but he knows something is wrong. He takes Je's hand.
"Next time you go out."
Je looks at me, "I can't." I have to look down.
Seth will not be denied. "I not go out if you not go out. You promise not run away."
Je smiles at Seth and looks at me from the corner of his eye, "Next time I go out you'll come with me." Like Jarod like clone.
I pretend not to have heard. I place my hand lightly on Je's shoulder as I take Seth's hand and lead him back to his room. Seth's evening caretaker is waiting so I kiss my brother and go home. What else can I do?
The phone rings as soon as I throw myself on the couch.
"What?" I say in a tired voice I haven't heard from myself for a while.
"What are you thankful for?" Jarod. My day is complete.
"Silence."
"Lots of that at The Centre. Is that why Seth wanted to go right back?"
He really doesn't know about Jenis. I sit up, instantly tense. He should know. How can I tell him?
"I saw you took leftovers with you. For Angelo? Or has brother dearest been moved to Renewal Wing?"
"You don't know?"
"Know what?"
"Lyle brought Jenis, your clone, back to the Centre." My throat constricts.
Jarod swears, "Is he all right?"
"Yes, considering. He's with Sydney, and Raines is keeping his distance."
"Is the Major back in The Centre's good graces now?"
"No. He tried to stop the... kidnapping." What else can I call it? "He was almost killed. I'm not sure where he is now." I would guess Delaware but Jarod can jump to his own conclusions.
"If it was a kidnapping and not a purchase. Where are they keeping Jenis?"
"You know I can't tell you. But he's fine. He has more freedom than you did, within reason. He and Seth have become friends. The food was for him"
"Big of you. I'm surprised there isn't a sign saying 'don't feed the animals'."
"Jarod!" He slams the receiver in my ear. Crap. I wanted to ask him about Denver; tell him to call Syd.
[I hear her yell my name as I slam the payphone receiver down.
God damn it! What did she expect me to say? Wasn't that fucking kind of you to feed him real food on your day off? All she did was remind him of the life The Centre won't let him have.
God Damn it! God damn it goddamnit! I hit the wall near the phone. The convenience store customers are staring at me as I walk out the door. Shit, I made a scene. They'll remember if a sweeper asks. Oh, the hell with it. Let them remember.
I walk past my rental car and just keep walking into the early darkness. I have to think; have to calm down.
They have my clone. God damn it! That bastard let them have him! Probably gave him back. Sold him like an animal. God damn him. God damn him goddamnhim!
I find myself leaning my head against a cement wall; hitting it with a balled fist. I have to find the Major. I should have done it before, as soon as they disappeared. Instead I experimented with having a life. That was stupid of me. Now the trail is so cold it's taken me a month to find out where they were a month ago. And as punishment they took away my clone's life. Does that balance the scales? A life for a life.
I could just trade myself for him. I've had a few years of freedom. Not really, I've never been free. I can't find my family; if any of them are my family. I can't find answers. I can't seem to live a normal life and I can't walk away from my past. Sometimes now I feel like I'm loosing myself.
No, trading myself for Jenis would mean The Centre wins. They can't win; they've gone against the order of things, defied Nature and God. Such arrogance cannot go unpunished. Hmm, yes, divine vengeance for undeserved fortune, the province of Nemesis. "Baneful Night bore Nemesis, too, a woe for mortals..." Yes, woe, that can be arranged. I think a few more fires are in order. If they thought Denver was the worst I could do they have a lot to learn.]
It's been an interesting week and a half. Jarod must have been upset after our conversation because two small offices, one in Phoenix, one in Taos, pretty much burned to the ground within 48 hours. I haven't heard about the accelerant on those two but I would be willing to make a bet. There was a fire in Chicago three days after I talked to Jarod, and another, in St. Louis two days later.
The fires all had the same strategy. Start small in a non-populated area, engulf it, spread quickly to a large but contained portion of the building, always plenty of warning and always escape routes. Jarod is still careful. There's a pattern to the chosen cities too, or rather Lyle told me there is. I'm not sure how he's keeping track of Major Charles travels but Lyle says Jarod's following the Major's trail.
I pumped my brother for more information so I could intercept Jarod at his next target. Lyle said, and this time I don't believe him, that Jarod is ahead of The Centre's information. He also said he wants to see what will happen when Jarod catches up with his dad. Lyle thinks it's going to be funny. I think it's somewhere between tragic and terrifying.
[I can't get in contact with Angelo. I wonder what they've done with him? I need him to tell Jenis I'll get him out. I'll get Angelo out too.
My "father" never stops moving. That hasn't changed. Things change things stay the same. That's almost funny. The only thing you can change is your attitude. Mine has changed.
Parker told me the Major did not sell Jenis. We'll see as soon as I catch up to him. I'm still four hours drive from New York City and I want to get there tonight. It's a big place, big and anonymous, and it's going to take me a while to find his trail there. But I'm getting closer.
A honking horn brings me back to reality. I swerve my car to the right and nearly through the guardrails. I skid to a stop. Shit. How long has it been since I slept? Three days since I've lain down. Four since I took pills. I've had the usual catnaps sitting in a car or chair. Yesterday I dozed off standing against a wall. I need a shower and a shave too. I guess I'll get a motel before I kill myself. Kill myself? Ha. Wouldn't that piss them off?
I pull into the first open motel I see. It's a dive. I turn on the light in the bathroom and a cockroach scuttles behind the commode. Sleeping in the car looks better. I put my bag back in the car. I slam the door shut and a dusting of fresh snow fluffs into the air. I just stand there. I'm too tired to drive. It's too cold to sleep in the car for more than a few minutes. I sigh, pull my shaving kit out of my bag and go back into the room.
The shower looks clean and the water is hot. While I'm shaving I make the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror. The past five years have not been good to me. I see the years I've lost and the tears I need to cry written across my face. The circles under my eyes are as black as my hair and my hair has a few gray strands. I can't remember when they appeared but it looks like mortality is catching up to me. Getting old.
I shake my head. Not quite old, forty, just not young any more. Around forty; I would need my birth date to be sure. I can't believe I didn't ask my fa...the Major for it when I was with him. I'll ask him when we meet again, if I don't kill him first.
Clean hair, clean face, and clean clothes. I look around the room again. It's old but there's no dust and aside from the bathroom's other resident, now dead, the place looks decent. Okay, so it's an aged hotel and not sterile but and I'm exhausted and the sheets are clean.
Lying down on the lumpy mattress feels wonderful. My spine rearranges itself to the unaccustomed position and my muscles relax. I try to relax my mind, blank it out, deep breathing, meditation techniques, silent chanting. I doze off, and I dream.
It's the same dream every time. It's dark; everything is black. It's silent and dark, like a tomb, or a sublevel of The Centre. I hear Angelo crying like he's terrified or hurt. He screams once. I can't find him. I call his name and there's no answer, only whispers from the darkness.
I see a light; pale white; bright flashes; changing to red; then black, it comes and goes. I move toward it slowly quickly, the way you move in dreams. I want to get out of the dark with its dead whispers. But I don't want to get to the light, flashing, calling me.
I'm there. The light is soft and still. I see him, Jenis, and he's sleeping, no, dead, lying on the floor. He looks peaceful. "... 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd" I look into the pale light. It turns bright; I look back at the body. It's me strapped to a slab.
The light turns red and flashing like a car wreck, blinding black, red, white. I look up. I see them. Faceless bodies, milling around, sightless, are bumping into each other and the walls. A flash of white and one of them turns into me. He stands there staring at me, a mindless mirror image of myself. More flashes, younger 'me's, faster and faster, a sea of Jarods. Then they start screaming and dying and more faceless automatons, always younger, appear to take the place of dead and dying. The flashes get brighter and faster until I'm blessedly blind. The screams get louder and shriller until I start screaming with them.
Suddenly it's black and silent and I'm somehow looking at myself looking down at me and I know I'm dead.
I wake out of breath and gasping. So much for sleeping with no pills. I get up, my back complaining, and go to the bathroom. I take a double dose of sedatives with rusty-tasting water from the spigot. I lay back down and for some reason Hamlet comes into my mind and won't leave,
...To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause:
God, God, I hope there are no dreams after death. Is that what death is? One long dream. If it is then mine are visions of Hell.
...Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
Conscience makes us cowards. It keeps me from destroying them, stopping them now. I should have destroyed them as soon as I had the chance. Then Jenis wouldn't be trapped in there, and Seth wouldn't be at all.
I think too much, worry too much about the little guy getting hurt. The Centre doesn't worry about collateral damage; the end justifies the means. I won't turn away again. They've destroyed innocent lives. If someone gets hurt so be it. No one is innocent at The Centre.
Somewhere along that line of thought the pills kick in and I fall asleep. And dream.
I'm in a forest, and dressed in Elizabethan period costume; that's different. I'm hidden just off a trail. I see a group of men facing away from me carrying a coffin toward a grave dug in a clearing.
The men lower the coffin into the grave and start burying it. They talk while they work.
One man says, "I hear she drowned herself."
Another, "That's why she can't be buried in the Church."
The first man, "Aye, and a shame too. So fine; so like 'er mother."
A third man, whose face I cannot see, says, "I know the truth about the fair Ophelia."
The others stop working and look at him.
The third man straightens and I see his face. It's Angelo. He says, "Jarod did it."
The others look around fearfully and hurry to finish. They leave.
I walk up to the unmarked grave, pick up an abandoned shovel and uncover the casket. I feel unspeakable guilt and sorrow. Shakespeare's words come from my mouth, "The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remember'd."
I open the coffin and look into a deep blue lake. There is a beautiful face beneath the water lilies... No. Parker, No...
I wake up, gasping again, groggy and exhausted. I get up and leave the motel. If I fall asleep at the wheel and kill myself, so be it, but I can't lie there and wait for the dreams. I don't want to dream any more.
Shakespeare really understood people. And people haven't changed, not in all these years. Still evil and good; things change; things stay the same. Was Hamlet crazy? I think he wondered. I wonder if I am. The sedatives have stopped working. I'll prescribe stronger ones.]
Four more days passed; The Centre's offices in New York City caught fire. There was a fair amount of damage because the sprinklers on that floor of the building partially failed. Fortunately, the fire took place on a Saturday evening so there were few people in the building. Only minor injuries to a firefighter. The fire marshal found nothing suspicious.
I tried to find Angelo but he's in hiding at the moment; I think that may be a bad sign. Sydney is on a plane to Paris with Michelle. They plan to spend the holidays in France. Maybe I should call him but I think I'll let the plane land first. There's nothing he can do right now and I can give him at least a couple of days. He needs to get away too I guess.
It's been two weeks since my Thanksgiving conversation with Jarod. Yesterday the Dallas office had a series of "electrical" fires. Nothing big but they no sooner got one put out than another one started. The fires were, of course, arson and the accelerant was Jarod's special blend, but he added a new wrinkle. They evacuated the building so that it could be swept and then three well-placed charges went off. Then the building imploded. A couple sweepers had narrow escapes.
[Watching the Dallas offices collapse was very gratifying. The detonation was nicely planned; nicely executed. I got the timing perfect so the collapse was complete before the fire department had any chance of getting here. No innocent people were injured this time. Glad I signed this little piece of art.
It makes me smile, that signature. It was almost an afterthought but so appropriate. Now I'm off again to find my "father." I just missed him again.
The collapse just missed a couple sweepers. Too bad.]
Jarod seems to be out of the vigilante business, but he's pretty much shut down Centre operations across the country. The sweeper team in Dallas found a name seared into a wall that was otherwise untouched, Abaddon. Otherwise known as Apollyon, the angel-prince of hell, the minister of death and author of havoc on earth. Appropriate.
I called Sydney and told him what's happened. He agreed that the fires are reprisals for real or perceived wrongs by both The Centre and the Major. Finding and speaking with Major Charles may end the assault. Syd promised to catch the first flight home.
Security at The Centre has been tripled and I feel sure Seth is safe. I check on him anyway. Seth is going to be very angry with me. We had an outing planned for Saturday, Disney on Ice. I have to tell him that we can't go.
He reacts as predicted. First begging, then whining, then crying, finally throwing anything he can lift. He is not speaking to me at the moment. When I leave his room he has his back to me. I know it will pass but it still hurts. Before I walk out the door I ask Seth's caretaker to take him to Jenis' rooms later. Jenis can commiserate with him. I hope Jarod finds his father before Christmas.
The pyromaniac only took three days off after Dallas. Then a new office in Oklahoma City went poof. I didn't even know we had an office in Oklahoma. The Memphis office was toast two days later. Why do we have a Memphis office? Was Elvis a pretender? Doesn't matter now. That office is charcoal too.
[I finally talked to Angelo. He said he got my messages.
I asked him why he didn't answer.
He just said, "Not talk Angelo; talk Sydney."
I told him I would take him out of that hole.
He said, "Not go; not hurt." I don't know whom he meant. He refuses to leave that place. It reminded me of the dreams.
The dreams keep coming even with sedatives, unless I take them with a couple shots of vodka. Not that I'm turning into a druggie or an alcoholic, I'm very careful. It wouldn't do to get strung-out and tell my story to the wrong person or get drunk and get caught. And it's only one or two times a week, the rest of the time I just try to keep moving, do anything but sleep. I can do anything except stop doing.]
Then there was nothing for a week, an entire week. I began to believe, hope, that Jarod had come to terms with his father and his anger. I waited for a call.
[I found him. He's in there, in that motel room. Fucking right here in Blue Cove. I chased him all over the country and he ends up right here. The Centre of the universe, it just keeps sucking me back like a soul magnet. If I have a fucking soul.
Maybe he knows. I need to stay calm enough to ask him. If I walk in there now I might just kill him outright. I stand still and watch his door.
I must have stood across from the motel for a long time because it was afternoon when I got here and now it's dark. I walk over to the Major's door and knock. I feel him come to the door. He must have looked out because he swings the door open and says my name. He's smiling. I punch him.
He staggers back into the room, shocked, "What was that for?"
"Did you sell me?"
"Jarod, it's more complicated than that." His nose is bleeding. Don't whine.
"Did you sell Jenis?"
"No, no, I never sold Je." He denies it. He looks at me in the harsh lamplight as I turn from locking the door. He sees my expression and he's frightened I think. He pauses.
I guess I must look interesting. I haven't slept or shaved in days.
He tries to soothe me, "Jarod, sit down. I guess this time you deserve the truth."
I say nothing, just sit in the chair and hold on to the armrests.
"Listen, son, I..."
"I'm not your son."
He clears his throat and looks down, "No, I guess you aren't. But I've come to think of you that way."
I grunt out a laugh; I don't believe him, "Who is my father?"
"I don't know."
I must have tensed in the chair because he hurries on.
"I really don't know. That's the truth. From what Catherine Parker told me, there were several possible donors, men with your talents. She thought your father was a man with a brilliant mind who went mad and was given to The Centre for treatment. That was Renewal Wing's original purpose, a mental asylum for geniuses and idiot savants; a place for relatives to hide the family shame without guilt."
"My father was insane?" Well, this apple fell near the tree.
"Maybe. I never found out. Catherine said that with proper socialization and monitoring, you would be fine. I never worried."
"And what about my 'mother?'" I didn't know I could say that word with hatred, "Was she worried? Did she just pretend to love me?" Was she good at pretending?
"She didn't know until a long time after."
"Is Margaret my mother?" I hear the catch in my voice.
"I honestly don't know. She donated eggs to New Genesis but I don't know if they used them. She doesn't care either way. She loves you."
I feel tears in my eyes, I blink them back and I feel them burn in my throat. "She loves me?" softly, "but she isn't my mother?"
"We don't know. You are part of a plan, a genetics program. But, Jarod, you have to believe that she wasn't in on the deal. I knew. I knew what they wanted. They promised me things. Things that seem worthless now but I jumped for it. Your mother wanted children so badly and New Genesis services were offered to me free.
"If you were 'normal' you would stay with us. If you were slightly talented you would be watched and trained. But you're what you are and they demanded that I live up to my part of the deal. You were their creation and they wanted you there. They offered a repeat procedure, a replacement baby immediately."
"Kyle."
He nods, "I gave in."
"And Kyle was a loaner too."
"Kyle was supposed to be ours. I didn't know they were repeating...repeating the..." he stops.
"The breeding experiment?"
He nods sadly. Is he ashamed? He should be. "Kyle was bright. Not like you though, more distant. I didn't understand him; I worried that we couldn't give him what he needed. When I found out they intended to take him too, we ran. When they took him Margaret had a breakdown."
I never knew that.
"If we hadn't had Emily I don't know if she would have recovered."
"Is Emily another experiment?"
"No. She's ours." He smiles slightly.
His smile is like a bullet through my heart. She's theirs and I'm The Centre's. I can't breathe; I grip the chair.
"When your mother learned the truth, what I'd done, she left me." He looks up at me. "I deserved it."
"So, you knew where I was all that time?" He knew and he left us there.
"I tried to get you out, both of you, with Catherine. Catherine died."
"You sure you didn't have anything to do with that too?" I stand.
"You can't believe that!" He's offended. Or is that fear?
"I know you are a kidnapper, and the worst kind of pimp," I growl. "You pandered children's lives, your own sons. You stole my life. You sold my future for whatever The Centre gave you. You sold your soul." My voice hardly rose above a whisper. My jaws are clenched so tight it hurts. His shirt is in my fist.
He grabs my wrist; pushes my hand away. "I did. And I've spent the rest of my life trying to save you." He is calm but frightened.
I grab him by the neck, "Too late."
I hit him once. "Did you sell other children?" I hit him again. "Did you sell Je?"
"No!" his voice is strangled. He punches back.
I hit him a few more times, I don't know how many. I slam him against the wall. I'm choking him and I can't seem to stop.
He's lying on the floor. I kick him and he doesn't move. I don't care; I turn and leave.
I wonder if I've killed him? So be it. Let his soul be judged.]
Still no calls; the message Jarod finally sent yesterday was mildly cryptic, "For we will destroy this place, get out, lest thou be consumed in the iniquity of the city." I thought it was just a bit too biblical and not very specific. The message hit closer to home this morning.
Last night the data annex in Rehoboth burned down, arson again and signed Abaddon. This fire was different. It started in several rooms simultaneously and spread rapidly. It did not go quite as smoothly as the others. An older sweeper turned security guard tried to extinguish the fire. He got caught in a backdraft. He died of his burns this afternoon.
I don't know what this is going to do to Jarod but I feel sure he'll call tonight.
There is no call.
[After I spoke to the Major I finished up the arson work at the Data Annex. Then I went back to my room. I couldn't stop moving, I punched a hole in a plasterboard wall. I tried it again on a brick wall and spent ten minutes swearing while I stopped the bleeding. I couldn't rest; couldn't even sit. I took a few pills and a drink; then a few more. By the time I collapsed, literally, on the bed I had finished off a bottle of vodka and I'm not sure how many pills.
I could have killed myself. I was unconscious for ten hours. That's too long; someone could have followed me from the motel. They could have walked in and dragged me back to The Centre and I never would have known. It won't happen again.
When I finally got moving I went back to the Major's motel to see if he was alive. He was gone. I don't know how I feel about that; I feel nothing.
I set the incendiaries to go off the following night. I didn't stick around to watch the fireworks; I caught an afternoon flight to Minnesota. The fire should have been a good one, small but more dramatic than the others.
It wasn't till the next day that I found out about the retired sweeper. I don't remember him so he must not have been overly cruel. Just doing his job like any good concentration camp guard. He was a casualty of war. The Angels saw wickedness in Sodom and found that there were not even 10 righteous people living there. I gave them warnings. Soon they'll know.
I have a short side trip to make before then. I owe Miss Parker a message, a short lesson about what a mistake it was not to run away from The Centre when she had a chance. run away from Sodom and not look back. I want no innocents hurt. Soon they'll all know to run. Soon now the retribution really begins.]
Lyle came in this morning to personally inform me that Jarod is no longer following the Major's trail. I asked how he knows that and he handed me a memo saying the Minneapolis office was destroyed last night.
I said, "So?"
"On the nineteenth, Major Charles spent the day in a Dover hospital for injuries supposedly resulting from a fall."
"Not a fall?"
"He had a mild concussion and a couple cracked ribs; lots of bruises. The intern examining him noted neck bruising in the shape of a human hand. The Major left against medical advice when the cops showed up."
"So we lost track of him. How do you know he didn't head straight for Minnesota?"
"Jarod Copperfield got off a plane in Minneapolis on the nineteenth. We have a tip from Portland that he's there."
"We get tips from Portland?"
"They decided to move the Denver functions to Portland. A part-time geek working for the police was hired. He recognized Jarod from a file photo. I took the liberty of sending sweepers ahead."
"Ahead of what?"
"You."
"Lyle, it's three days before Christmas."
"Yeh, and Jarod is running out of Centre real estate to torch. Wouldn't you rather stop him before he turns this place into a charcoal briquette?" Lyle half-smiles but something tells me he's as nervous about that possibility as I am.
I wonder if I can find a nice big chunk of coal to give Jarod as a special present. I'd like to hit him over the head with it. I grab my overnight bag and head for the airport.
It's two days before Christmas and here I am in Portland, Oregon. I'm betting this is one of Jarod's message trips because the crime of choice seems a bit too bland for his present taste. A family of con artists was ripping off the elderly and stripping houses of all their Christmas presents. Three generations of thieves, previously living in one dilapidated trailer, are going away for the holidays. Except for a three-year old who's going to Children's Services and a soon-to-be younger brother who will join him in a week or so. Mommy is pregnant by her second-cousin husband. Sounds like they could be from The Centre. Jarod has already lined up a foster family who wants both of them for as long as necessary. Merry Christmas.
According to the paper, the families who had Christmas stolen have received money or replacement gifts from an anonymous donor. Only one family was willing to be interviewed. I look at the address and it's too familiar. It's not the house Thomas was moving here to remodel but it's on the same street. That's where I am now, parked in front of the house, looking down the street at the house where I might have been living.
I left Broots at home with Debbie, and Sydney has a head cold, so it's just me and the goons this trip. I get out of the car and tell the sweepers to stay put. A man and woman answer the door together, full of good cheer; I can hear kids in the background. I start to introduce myself as an FBI agent and the woman says, "You're not. Are you, really?"
"Excuse me?"
"He said to expect you."
"Who?"
"Thomas."
My heart drops and my throat closes, "T-thomas?" I feel dizzy.
"Thomas Gates, the man who gave us money so our kids could have Christmas. He was very nice but insisted that we not reveal his name to anyone until after you came. He said you would be following him; he seemed very sad."
The man is looking at his wife strangely, "He told you that was his name?"
"Yes... I thought so, and to be sure to tell her before we told the reporters."
The man turns to me, "I'm a little confused. He wouldn't tell me his name; he said he was doing this in honor of Thomas Gates. He also told me to let my wife do the talking and then give you this."
I am trying to regain the power of speech and blink back tears from my eyes as I take a small envelope. I thank them and manage to walk away from the house without staggering. I rip the envelope open; inside is a note with an angel on the cover. It reads, "This should have been your Christmas, yours and his." There's no signature; none is necessary. If he were here right now I would shoot him through the heart.
I get into the car and drive slowly down the street. I'm still shaking inside and I can't see well enough through the tears to navigate at speed. As I pass The House, the house that Thomas bought for us, I have to look. The family is in the yard. Mom is shoveling the walk; dad is doing something on a ladder with the lights; and two kids are trying to build a snowman in the yard, a goddamned snowman. Jesus, all they need is Norman Rockwell. It's almost too much and I pretend to sneeze so I can brush the tear off my cheek.
I make it out of the neighborhood and onto a highway, and then I hit the gas. We only fishtail a couple times but the sweepers seem happy to get to the motel. We've already collected everything from Jarod's room at a disgusting flophouse so I tell the boys they can do whatever they want, even go home early. I must be in the Christmas spirit or something. They look happy and hurry off before I can change my mind. I go to my room.
I go to my room by way of the bar in the motel next door. It's been a while since I did any serious drinking and it seems like a good time to start. The place is just upscale enough to have a bottle of Armagnac I can buy, thank god. My head is pounding from unshed tears.
I hit the room, loose the boots and coat, and pour myself a shot. After I swallow and almost choke I decide to get a bit of ice and water from the vending area, a minor detour on the way to inebriation. Back in the room I turn on the only FM station not playing Christmas music and work on my future hangover in earnest.
Three-quarters of a bottle later my head is still pounding and the FM station has started playing Handle's Messiah. I've had enough of saviors for the day. There's nothing else on radio or TV. I fish through my suitcase until I find some pain medication. I take a double dose and wash it down with the rest of the brandy. I turn off the lamp and pretty much collapse on the bed. After watching the room spin in the dark for a while I drift off toward sleep.
I sit bolt upright so fast I nearly fall off the bed. I fumble for the lamp switch. It's a good thing it's bolted to the table because just about everything else hits the floor. Amazingly, the glass doesn't break. I sit staring at the mess while I try to remember what woke me. After a few minutes the dream comes to me - Thomas and me in front of a fire in The House, holding hands. There's a knock at the door and Thomas gets up to see who it is. I don't want him to go, to open the door, to die again, but I am frozen in my spot and I can't even scream. Then the dream shifts and everything is gray and I hear my mother saying she loves me, and Thomas' voice saying he'll always be with me. Right now that's more than I can take. God damn Jarod for bringing Thomas back, God Damn Sydney for being too sick to bother, God damn Daddy for never being there, God damn Thomas for making me love him, and God damn me...god damn me for thinking I could ever have a normal life and love.
Well, this won't do, tears streaming down my face and nothing to drink. Hell, why am I drinking alone? It's been two years since Thomas and I am done crying. If Jarod thinks he can make me start again he's got another thing coming. I splash water on my face and fix my makeup, a little heavier than usual so they won't know I shed even one tear. My leather miniskirt is none the worse for being slept in; I trade my sweater for a stretch lace tank top I normally wear under suits. The bar is just across the parking lot so I decide to skip the coat and slip on a pair of spike heels. What the hell, let someone else pay for the drinks.
The night is calm and the cold air is sobering. I definitely do not want to sober up but it probably makes walking safer. The bar is warm and has a decent crowd, after work executives schmoozing with business travelers, and not too many sloppy drunks. Every eye is on me as I saunter up to the bar. I take a corner stool, order a scotch and wait for company.
They start circling immediately. I forgot how exciting this can be; it's been way too long. The first candidate has a ring on his left hand; I ignore him. The next two come over together, but they're smarmy and that's not what I'm looking for. Choice number three is a Raines-look-alike; gag me. Candidate four is dark and wearing jeans, I have to chug most of my scotch to fight off a panic attack.
Just when I decide to give it up and go stand on the street corner, Mr. Right-for-the-moment walks over and sits down. Blonde and brown eyes, just the opposite of Thomas, perfect smile but a little too sharp. He's wearing Armani and drinking Chivas, at least he has some taste. He'll do.
We chat each other up for about an hour and two more Chivas apiece. We decide to leave the bar while we can still walk. He has room in this motel so he invites me up to check out the honor bar. I go. We never get near the mini-fridge.
We're lucky we made it to the bed. What's Bob Seger say? "I used her; she used me. But neither one cared. We were getting our share." Change the pronouns; it works. We kept at it for three hours, three hours of totally mindless sex. When we're done Blondie, I can't remember his name, passes out. So much for small talk.
The real downside is that I'm only a little buzzed now and I have to get back to my room alone. There's that word, the one I was trying to avoid with three hours of gymnastics, right back where it belongs. I look down at Blondie while I dress; he isn't even that handsome, just young, so young, with years ahead of him before he wakes up in a motel room alone. Three hours of aerobics, three minutes of oblivion and I'm just as depressed as when I started.
I make my way out of the room, down the elevator and past a leering night clerk. He probably thinks I'm a professional; the smirk on his face makes me feel used. I go out the motel's front door and toward the parking lot. I wonder if Portland has all-night liquor stores or if the Quick Marts sell anything worth drinking? I'm looking down; paying attention to my footing but when I glance up for a second I could swear there's someone tall leaning against a streetlight in front of my motel. Jarod? I loose focus as I slip a bit on the ice. When I look up again there's no one there.
That's definitely what he wants, me imagining him any time I try to have some fun or what passes for it. Define fun. The wind picks up for a second and I shiver. Am I feeling guilty? I definitely feel worse than when I started. And now I imagine Jarod just to give myself guilt.
I turn into the parking lot and head for my car. I don't care if it's cheap hooch, there has to be some alcohol in this town. The lighting is not the greatest and I concentrate on not falling. I hang onto the fender a the panel truck parked next to my car which is, of course, parked on a sheet of ice.
Suddenly, someone grabs me from behind, a hard muscular arm pins my arms to my chest and a hand clamps over my mouth. I'm stunned for a second, just enough alcohol in my system to slow reactions. I brace myself to fight but he's not doing anything. He's just standing there, holding me too tight. I wait for him to make some move so I can use his momentum against him. But he's not moving, just breathing heavily and sort of rubbing his stubbled cheek on my hair. It makes my skin crawl, but still I wait. I know who it is; yet I hope it's a stranger.
He inhales deeply, breathing in the fragrance of my hair, my sweat and the smell of another man. His arm tightens, cutting off my breath and his fingers dig into my cheeks. I barely start to struggle; he relaxes again. Still we stand there.
I feel his breath hot on my neck as he nuzzles it, heavy breathing. It makes me shiver; I try to pull away. He moves his mouth to my ear, warm breath, harsh whisper, "It could have been me."
I'm free. He releases me, hand brushing my breast just a beat too long to be accidental, and I fall against my car. I spin around, catching my breath, trying to find the gun in my purse with numb fingers, but he's already in the shadows.
Oh my god, it was him. Jarod. Oh my god. I'm completely sober now. I have the gun in my hand and it's staying there. The whole time, he's been watching me. Oh my god, he was watching.
I slip and slide my way into my motel. The desk clerk sees the gun and probably the look on my face. "Mugger," to his unasked question, "I scared him off." I brandish the gun. He just nods and dusks his head; he does not want to know. I get on the elevator.
I scared Jarod? Not ever. But he just scared the shit out of me. Oh my god, he was watching. Does he always watch me? Oh my god, did he watch Thomas and me? Did he set us up so he could watch? Oh my god. I can't seem to stop thinking that mantra. I rub the heel of my hand into my forehead. Oh, God.
I have the gun ready when I get to my room. I shove the door hard in case he's behind it. I deadbolt the door. I check the closet, under the bed, behind the drapes, and the bathroom. I check my suitcase; everything looks undisturbed. At least he wasn't in here rummaging through my clothes.
I walk over to the bed again; the bed is still made, bedspread in place. Something is wrong but it takes a moment for me to place it. There's an indentation on the right side of the bed, the side I did not sleep on. I step closer and lift the spread. There, on my pillow are a candy cane heart and a condom. I grab them and throw both in the garbage.
I go back to the window and look out. Is that him in the shadows? I check the windows even though I'm on the fifth floor; they are sealed. I recheck the door. The clothes I was wearing follow Jarod's gifts into the garbage. Then I take the longest hottest shower I can stand. Oh, God.
There is no way I'm going near that bed again. I put on a pantsuit and sit in a chair near the window, facing the door. I don't think he'll come after me here but I'm not sure. I thought I knew him, felt safe when he was around, irritated but safe. Except for moments in Vermont, but I rationalized those. He was upset because of his father. Now I don't think I know Jarod at all; I don't understand what he just did. And when I think about the things he said in Vermont... Was he telling the truth about watching me?
My mind circles until dawn. I find myself peeking out the window every few minutes, waiting for the shadows to disappear so I can get to my car without watching every direction at once. Pedestrian traffic is starting to pick up, and there's no sign of Jarod anywhere. I think I'll get out of here before my paranoia nails me to the spot. I grab my coat and bag. I check the hallway and keep a hand on my gun until I reach the lobby.
Checkout, the drive to the airport and catching the first flight east were uneventful. I finally doze off in-flight but not deeply or for long. I want to go home and change all the locks again but first I need to talk to Sydney about Jarod.
What the hell is wrong with him?
Well, it's Christmas Eve and I'm sitting at my desk looking at Lyle. Ho, ho, ho.
I spoke to Sydney about the Portland adventure and Jarod as soon as I got back. He was surprised by Jarod's near violence toward me. Syd suggested I had overreacted then retracted the suggestion. He's worried because Jarod always separated his opinion of me from his hatred of The Centre. Now he's beat up his father, accosted me and hasn't spoken to Syd in over a month. Sydney is afraid Jarod will disappear or become another Alex. God, that's just what I wanted to hear.
Lyle's here because he was elected to tell me that I can't take Seth to my house for Christmas. Daddy was too occupied to come himself. Yeah, right, he was just afraid to face me.
Raines finally found out I've been taking Seth out of The Centre. While I was away being assaulted, someone expressed concern about our plans for tomorrow. Raines confronted Daddy. I would love to know how long the Chairman defended his children before he caved.
Lyle is apologetic. Maybe he has genuine feelings for his brother. That may be too much to hope for. It's more likely he would do anything to oppose Raines. But still he gave me presents for Seth and Je. When he saw my surprise he told me not to go all warm and fuzzy on him. Then he walked out.
So I get to spend Christmas at The Centre, another thing to thank Jarod for.
Christmas Day goes smoothly. I spend the majority of it with Seth and Jenis. They loved the clothes, books and art supplies I got them. They were thrilled with the Game Boy Advance systems that Lyle gave them. Seth can't quite handle his yet but I give it a week before he has Yoshie doing whatever yoshies do. Je, on the other hand, whizzed through Mario something and is now engrossed in Tony Hawke. Seth is trying to climb into his lap so he can watch the action. I predict a fight in a few minutes. I think I'll make a run for it now.
Sydney stopped in earlier. He lifted an eyebrow at the jeans and sweater I'd given Je, but said nothing. His eyebrows hit the ceiling when I told him Lyle was responsible for the Game Boys. He walked away smiling and shaking his head. Well, I still think it was nice. Nice Lyle, it still makes me nervous.
Sydney asked me to stop by this evening. I'm too tired but I go.
[I take a shot of vodka before I dial the phone; another while it rings, courage in a bottle. The sound of the receiver being lifted on the other end almost causes me hang up.
"Sydney here."
His voice sounds so good, so normal, from another world. For a second I can't speak. Then softly so I don't scare myself away, "Sydney."
"Jarod, thank God!"
"God has little to do with me I'm afraid. And I would think you'd be thanking him more if I just dropped dead."
"Jarod!" softly reprimanding. "Talk to me."
"Have I become what I hate?"
"If you can ask that..."
"Please, Sydney!" my voice cracks, "give me a straight answer just one damn time." Is it anger or despair?
"Your recent behavior is on the edge of real violence. But if you can still ask that question, then I would say you are not a sociopath."
"I think I've passed over the edge of violence. Don't you?
"You may have. Until recently I still saw clear signs of restraint, self-control. Now I worry. Do you know what do you want?"
"I want to be Uriel, the pitiless Fire of God. 'Uriel, the angel of God shall bring forth the souls of those sinners... they shall burn them... in everlasting fire; and after that all of them with their dwelling places are destroyed, they shall be punished eternally.' I want judgment."
"Judgment should be left to... God perhaps. I heard you fought with your father. Was that a form of justice?"
"It was a bit one-sided to be called a fight. I heard he survived. I believe I lost that self-control you speak of, just for a moment. In another way I felt in complete control. I think I liked it. I like the feeling of power when a building goes up in flames like a carefully orchestrated symphony." Fire can be a beautiful thing. Power.
"And the data annex in Rehoboth?"
"An accident. But there are no innocents working for The Centre so I feel no guilt." I feel nothing at the moment, a void where my soul should be.
"If that is true, why are you calling me?" He always manages to see through me.
Do I have a soul? Does Sydney know? "Angelo won't talk to me. He said he's afraid because I feel like Lyle, all black and angry. That's me, another Centre success story. So you don't think I've turned into another Alex?" Not for want of trying
"You are not Lyle or Alex. You are no one but yourself."
"No one? That seems appropriate. I'm Centre property; the construction of two unmarked test tubes in a lab."
"Your genetics were mapped out for years before you were conceived. You were not an accident"
"So you did know?" God, he's lied to me too... all this time. I should hang up now; pay him a visit; explain truthfulness.
"No, Jarod. I only found out after Donoterase. I don't know that many facts but I know you were meant to be."
Should I believe him? "So were Kyle and Angelo and all the rest engineered? Were they meant to be?"
"Genetics is an uncertain process."
"Well, of course it is in the field. So they switched to gene mapping and cloning, more precise and controlled. And after years of methodical experimentation they produced Jenis. If there's one thing I learned from The Centre it's the need for control."
"Your quest for control is understandable."
I laugh aloud. That's funny. That's really funny. "Is it Sydney? If so, you taught me. It's all I ever knew from you; what I got for Christmas and every other day."
"Jarod, you know I regret the things that were done to you and the others. You must come to terms with the truth and the past. For healing to begin, you must first forgive..."
"I can't forgive." I don't want to forgive. I want justice. I want my hands around your neck...
"Do not let your anger get the better of you. Control it, not it you. Let me come to you; we can talk."
I mentally blink. Around his neck? Oh God, do I hate him that much? "I can't talk to you any more." I have to get away from the phone, stay away from him. I need to walk.
"Jarod, please..." Sydney is still talking when I hang up my phone.
I should separate myself from them all; take away their power over me. I need to walk. It's only ten miles to Parker's house and I can't allow myself sleep this close to The Centre any way.
I should hate her. I thought she had changed. I hate what she does; what she did in Portland. I did hate her for that moment when she went with him; when I smelled him on her. I need to see her. It's only ten miles.]
When I get to Sydney's house Michelle answers the door. She tells me Syd is in his study and offers me food. I politely decline and she says she will be in the kitchen if I change my mind. She smiles but does not seem very joyous.
Sydney is pacing and wringing his hands when I walk in. He tells me Jarod just called him. He would not tell me what Jarod said but I don't think I've ever seen him that upset over anything Jarod's done. Then again, Jarod's never been this far over the deep end.
Syd wonders if Jarod's psychosis is permanent. He uses the word salvageable. That surprises me but I don't comment. I do ask if Jarod is ready to get help. Sydney just sits down at his desk and puts his hands over his face. I think he was crying. I walk over and put my hand on his arm. He says he needs to be alone.
I stop in the kitchen on my way out. Michelle promises to take care of him. I go home, make sure the place is locked up tight and Jarod has not managed to get through the alarms and security devices. I pour myself a short brandy and go to bed. I'm tired, the brandy hits me just right, and I fall asleep quickly. This has been a very Un-Merry Christmas.
He's in here, in my bedroom. I hear him breathing. He's at the foot of the bed; I hear the bad floorboard creak slightly. If I lay perfectly still maybe he'll think I'm still asleep. He'll just watch me and leave like he has before.
I don't know what woke me five minutes ago but it's been five minutes of hell. I concentrate on breathing slow and calm, even though my heart is pounding against my ribs. I reach for my gun under the pillow, slowly so the blanket doesn't move at all. It's not there. I know it was there when I fell asleep.
He's moving. His shoe scrapes on the on the carpeting. Stay calm. It sounds like he's leaving. No, he's moving up the bed. He's standing over me. He chuckles softly in his throat; it's not a pleasant sound.
"Do you think I can't tell the difference? I've watched you sleep a hundred times. I know how you breathe, how you move your lips, how you drool." He's leaning over me; I feel the weight of his shadow. "I've seen how your eyes move under the lids when you dream, how you move your arms and legs, how you throw back the blankets when you get hot."
He rips the blanket off. I open my eyes. My arm is still under the pillow; I throw it at his head and start to move. He bats the pillow away and laughs. He was expecting it. I don't even make it to a sitting position. He grabs my throwing arm with one hand, pushing it above my head. He catches my other wrist and pushes me down with his other arm. His knee is on my stomach and I can't breathe. His face, his wild face is over mine.
"Fight me, Parker, go ahead. I've wanted this for a long time."
I fight myself free of the blankets. I can't catch my breath. I'm awake, I'm awake and I'm alone. Jesus; Mary, Mother of God, it was a dream! I know I'm hyperventilating but I can't catch my breath. I deliberately hold my breath for a count of ten, and think about every breath after that. My gun. I rip the pillow off the bed and throw it across the room. My gun is right where it should be. It was just a dream.
I get out of bed and pull back the heavy curtain. There's a half moon and few clouds. Dawn is just a few hours away. I look down. There he is, standing against a tree. He looks up at me and pulls out his cell phone. I walk to the bed and bring the phone back to the window before the second ring.
"What do you want, Jarod?"
"I can't remember any more."
"You know, you could call Sydney again. He's very worried about you." So am I.
"So he said."
"Don't you think you've done enough?"
"I'll know when it's enough."
"Do you think so?"
He doesn't answer.
"Jarod, if you ask for Refuge I will... we will try to help you."
He drops the phone to his side and looks up at me silently. Is that glint a tear on his cheek? He looks down. He puts the phone back to his mouth, then closes it, turns and walks away. Merry Christmas, Jarod.
Most facts are in accordance with the series and the movies, just slightly twisted.
Part 4 : Take Control
by paula h
Jarod hasn't called.
That should make me happy I guess; I can sleep through the night undisturbed. Not that I've ever slept through the night. My waking life is far too interesting to allow blissful sleep.
I've made my peace with Thomas, and my Mother's voice has become a comfort. On the live relative front, Lyle is being, well, Lyle; I have a baby half-brother who is kept at The Centre and an adult half-brother who keeps himself God-knows-where. Lovers? I have none; I don't want any. I haven't even got time for friends unless you count Sydney and Broots who are working at/trapped in The Centre with me. It's not safe to get too close to me, someone might notice. Let's see, any family I missed? Well, just the father I don't know and the pseudo-father I do.
Daddy is of the very vocal opinion that Lyle and I should still consider him our father. Genetics doesn't matter; he raised me and he would have raised Lyle if Raines - said in a sincere growl - hadn't stolen him at birth. I asked Daddy how Mom could not know that her other child was alive. He answered that she never really understood her gift and how to control it. Raines had given her drugs and she believed him when he told her the child was dead. She got flashes of insight at times and she sometimes spoke of hearing the child. Daddy said he never knew that the baby lived. He even denied that he knew about Ethan; said he thought that baby died when she was killed, and never knew that Mirage/Ethan was hers. I don't know whether to believe him or not. I've believed him so much for so long that I'm too tired of lies to care if he's telling the truth this time.
Mother's voice is comforting at the odd times I hear it. I also have little control over my gift. Syd helped me a bit, so now I can understand sentences if I really listen, but it's nothing like what Ethan endures. Ethan seems better now that he understands what he is and what the voices are. I hope he's all right on his own. He's made no attempt to contact me and I doubt that Jarod's caring for him. Jarod's preoccupied with his own agenda.
My agenda has been modified so many times I doubt I have one any more. Chasing Jarod is not only a waste of time but now my heart isn't in it. Even if I should somehow 'bring 'em back alive' I doubt I could get out of here, not alive at any rate. I'm trapped here, part of some greater plan that I may never know. I'm still looking for the truth about my past, surreptitiously of course. I would give practically anything to locate my mother's DSA, or to find out the goal of The Centre's machinations. I would love to know the story behind that photograph of my mother and Margaret. And now I want to know who my biological father is. Daddy made it clear he will not speak about it and Lyle is not even vaguely interested. I guess he's had enough fathers in his life.
Lyle probably has an agenda. He's being nice, but a nice-Lyle makes me uneasy. He seemed genuinely hurt when he found out that he/we are not Parkers. Maybe he's just worried Daddy has no genetic reason to protect him from his sins. Perhaps that's why Lyle's disappeared only once since I came back last month. A hunting trip, he told me. I was ready to check unsolved homicides across the country, but he showed me a Canadian Safari Adventures brochure and a photo of himself beside a trophy-size elk. Now he has the head mounted at his apartment, or so he says. I have no intentions of going anywhere near that place if I have a choice.
Lyle is acting almost human since he started seeing the newest Centre shrink. According to Broots' housekeeping sources Lyle is taking meds she prescribed. There was a Centre Pharmacy bottle in the trash but the medication name was blacked-out. Broots can't check via computer because the pharmacy is not on the system. At any rate, whatever the pills are they haven't made him any less smarmy. I will never turn my back to him; he might stab it. I will never turn my back on him either; he is my brother.
My father brought in the new psychiatrist that's treating Lyle. Her name is Alicia Ayers. Her main assignment is working with my youngest brother, the child I delivered into this wonderful life, the child I love. If there is one good thing that came out of Jarod's pulling me out of that lake it's that I am still here for Seth, to love him for himself. Who would have loved him if I were dead? Seth is such a big boy now, almost two, walking and talking better than children twice his age. He already reads a bit and understands more than I wish he did.
Dr. Ayres seems all right. She's good with Seth and she is working with Lyle. If Lyle told her his whole story and she's willing to help him I give her credit for a strong stomach and guts. Then again, she's relatively safe; Lyle knows better; even a crocodile doesn't eat the plover.
I know why Daddy sent me away. Raines is back in favor with the Triumvirate. He was at The Centre several times while I was gone. Lyle was quite unhappy about that, but had orders not to tell me until Daddy did. We still avoid talking, especially about Raines, but Lyle expects he will be back to stay in the near future. The way things go around here, Lyle will be returning the thumb and Raines will pretend Daddy and Lyle never tried to kill him. Life goes on.
Raines lied to my mother about my twin and he killed her, but I really wonder if Daddy knew that he took Lyle. We are all part of some big experiment. All of us. What did Jarod say? "Our lives are made of mysteries; built on lies." I'm not even sure what I want to happen to Raines. I wish Daddy had killed him, but I can't see myself correcting that failure. Lyle took revenge on Raines for all he did to him but I doubt that it was enough. I wonder if it will ever be enough. Jarod said he would know when his need for revenge was satisfied. I doubt it.
That's not to say Jarod has disappeared. He went missing for a month but now he's as busy as ever. Two nights ago three sweepers and I were trouping through a flophouse room just about an hour after Jarod slipped out. He'd solved another kidnapping and murder. That's turned into his specialty. He moves in, finds the felon, beats the crap out of him if the opportunity presents itself, and moves on. Jarod hasn't contacted Syd, and I can't tell him I know what started Jarod's descent into violence.
The red notebooks have stopped too. Sydney is extremely concerned because it seems Jarod has stopped associating with civilians, not even the victims. He has nothing to tell us. It seems he's no longer interested in learning about life. And he hasn't called.
Today will be another dead end. There isn't a red notebook but Jarod has started a new pattern. Now there will be a bible, a different version or translation. He seems to prefer the Old Testament and Revelation. Some books have been in Greek or Latin, ancient versions, modern versions, occasionally some Pseudepigrapha, Gnostic texts, or parts of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Sydney says Jarod's searching for something to support him in his isolation. I think he's looking for something to support his anger and pain.
The Book of Enoch in English is the morning's offering. This one I've seen before. Broots says it about vindication of the persecuted righteous by divine judgment and punishment of their persecutors. As usual there is an origami Nemesis used as a bookmark.
Today's pretend was slightly different than his usual. A farmer shot at the police when they tried to foreclose on his farm. He was killed. The bank that owned the mortgage will be under new management and its former administrators are on their way to jail for embezzlement and theft. The bank's VP said the guy who tied him up was going to shoot him, but then just walked away. He's probably still around here somewhere, laughing at us. I hear he doesn't laugh much anymore. I wonder if either of us has laughed since the day we went joyriding in the pink Cadillac. I wish he would call.
For Jarod this was a light week. At least this pretend was in Virginia; a reasonable drive home for a change; first night in my own bed for over a week.
[There she is, rummaging through my things. I don't leave her much of myself anymore; there's not much to leave. They say life makes you what you are...]
Home sweet home, there's no food in the fridge, and a thin layer of dust covers everything. I call for takeout Chinese. While waiting for the delivery boy I start cleaning. I do laundry while I eat General Tso chicken. After eating, I go upstairs and repeat the process. By the time I come out of my cleaning frenzy it's two a.m. Great, all day all I wanted to do was come home and relax and I barely sat down.
I get a hot shower and make the bed and pretty much fall into it. I look at the phone, as though I could will him to call. It rings and I jump. It takes a moment for me to get my heart out of my throat and pick up the receiver.
"What?"
"Can't you sleep either?"
"I was trying" That's a lie. "To what do I owe the honor of this call?"
"Just checking to see if you missed me."
"By a couple of hours. What's with the bibles?"
"A hobby. People put a lot of faith in God." He chuckles.
I'm not sure it's funny. "Do you put faith in God?" I ask.
"I like the idea of just desserts; penalties and retribution."
I don't find that promising. "What about forgiveness of sins?"
"Sure," he answers, "You should mend your evil ways."
"My ways are my ways. And not particularly your business."
"They say that if you save someone's life they are your responsibility." He has to bring that up.
"They say a lot of things. Aren't you tired of these nowhere conversations?"
He answers after a moment, softly, "I'm very tired." He pauses as though he had not meant to say that. "I'll let you get some sleep. You'll need it in the morning."
"Why?"
"The devil is alive and well, and back at The Centre." He hangs up.
I lay in bed unable to sleep until sunrise.
[At least I warned her. I didn't mean to tell her I'm tired. I am tired. I don't sleep much anymore. Not that I ever did. I wonder if she can sleep?
I miss talking to her.]
At sunrise I go in to work. Daddy and Lyle are not in their offices. I am heading to Sydney's office to tell him I finally heard from Wonder Boy when I notice that the door to Raines' office is open. Hmm, wonder if I have time to snoop?
I slip in the door and head for the files, and come face to face with Raines. He's baaack.
"Why, Miss Parker, nice of you to visit. I was just about to leave you a message telling you that I've returned to The Centre, but I see you've already heard."
"Yeah, I just came to see if you were settling in." I don't think I managed to make that sound sincere.
"Just fine, thank you. It's good to be home." He smiles that creepy smile that always makes me want to shower. He rubs his hands together.
I look down. His left thumb is bandaged...he has two thumbs again. He notices my look and the smile broadens. "Ah yes, things are being returned to their rightful order now."
Not without a struggle I'm sure. "Where's Lyle?"
"At home, pouting, last report. You would do better not to ally yourself with him."
"And my father?"
"Away." Just 'away,' said in a tone that discouraged further questions on the subject.
"Is Sydney still here or is it a mass exodus?"
"He was in his office when I spoke to him earlier."
I turn on my heel and walk out of his office, and straight to Sydney's.
Sydney looks up when I walk in his door. He must be able to read my expression because he closes the folder he's reading and folds his hands on the desk.
"Is there a reason you didn't warn me?"
"I just found out myself an hour ago. What purpose would it have served to wake you with the news?"
"I wouldn't have walked in there and had to pretend I was looking for him. What do you know about Lyle and Daddy?"
"Mr. Parker left rather abruptly at noon yesterday. Mr. Lyle was not at The Centre yesterday or this morning, although, from what Mr. Broots tells me, his thumb is."
"Yeah, I wish Broots was as good at finding Jarod as he is at getting the local gossip. Speaking of gossip I got a call last night, or rather, early this morning."
Sydney knows from whom. "What did he say? How did he sound?"
"Something about crime and punishment. He sounded more tired than usual, sad."
"I wish he would call me." Sydney shakes his head.
"He will when he's ready. In the mean time I want to see if there are any clues from Jarod's Virginia pretend. I also want to know what Broots knows about the pecking order around here."
Broots' information pipeline is dry, and there is nothing new about anything taken from Jarod's last rooms. I spend the day catching up on paperwork. I decide to end my day with Seth. I haven't seen him all week.
Dr. Ayers is working with Seth when I walk into the sim lab and sit down. He immediately leaves her side and climbs into my lap.
"I'm sorry, Doctor, I thought you would be done by now."
"It's not a problem, Miss Parker, we were winding down. We had a bit of a late start. Your brother was not in the mood to work this morning. He mentioned your name; I think he missed you."
"I missed him too." I look down at Seth, the one joy in my life. He smiles and hugs me; I hug back. "Has he been doing well?"
"Yes, fine." Something about the way she says it makes me doubt it. "We have to remember he isn't quite two. His reading is progressing and his verbal skills are comparable to a four-year old. He's very imaginative..."
"But?"
"But he is not ready to do sims." She asserts nervously.
I am not happy, "Who wants him to do sims?" I wrap my arms around Seth and he squirms.
"His father, your father," she seems relieved, "I was afraid you approved."
"I do not. I'll speak to my father when he gets back."
"Well, you may want to speak to Mr. Raines before that. He wants to see results before Christmas or I will be reassigned." She looks nervous about that prospect.
"I'll speak to him in the morning. Now, I think I'll take my brother to his supper."
"Yes, of course."
We both get up. She gathers her papers; I gather up Seth.
Dr. Ayres pauses at the door, "Ah, Miss Parker, if you talk to your other brother could ask him to beep me?"
"I doubt that he'll call me, but if I hear anything I'll let you know."
"Thank you, and good evening." She leaves.
I take Seth to his rooms and keep him company while he eats. After supper we play for a bit. Dr. Ayres was right, he gets smarter every day, and I will not allow Raines to turn him into another Jarod or Kyle or Lyle.
The next morning I corner Raines before he makes his office.
"Seth will not be doing sims."
"I doubt if that's your decision, Miss Parker."
"I am making it my decision and I mean it, Raines. He's too young."
"That may well be the case, but we can't be sure until Dr. Ayers tries."
"And that's another thing. Where do you get off threatening her? My father hired her to work with Seth, it's not your concern."
"Everything here is my concern. When, or if, your father returns I will discuss Master Parker's future with him. As far as Dr. Ayers feeling threatened, she has no reason to be. If I do transfer her to other projects it will not be a demotion."
"Now if we're done? We both have other duties that need our attention."
I just stare at him. This is not over.
He just walks away.
I spend the day doing paperwork. I spend the next week of days doing paperwork and spend every evening with Seth.
My father is supposedly in Canada and Lyle has totally disappeared. I have Angelo scanning the newspapers for murders of oriental women. I would have asked Broots but he needs to concentrate on tracing Jarod. It's been a week since I talked to him and he must have finished another mission by now.
Broots ends my week with a report of nada, some possible leads but nothing concrete. It does look like Jarod is staying on the West Coast, as far away from Delaware as possible. That's fine by me. I go to Seth's rooms. He's packed and waiting in his going-outside-to-play clothes, jeans. Sydney, Dr. Ayers and, of course myself, agreed that Seth should have outings. Daddy was not especially hard to convince; I assume past failures had as much influence as our opinions. Unexpectedly, Lyle supported the idea. He said nothing to me, but Daddy mentioned it.
As far as I know Raines doesn't know about the arrangement. I want to keep it that way. I make sure he's long gone before Seth and I make our exit.
We stop at McDonald's for supper and the video store for something Disney. There will be no health food or educational activities this weekend. Seth goes straight for the TV. I insist we unpack first, but the look on his face wins the argument. Yeah, yeah, so he's a little spoiled at my house. What are spinster aunts, or in my case, spinster older sisters for if it's not spoiling little boys?
Hercules starts playing and I head for the kitchen. I stocked the cupboards earlier in the week so we don't have to get into the car until Monday morning. I start the coffee maker and pull out a bag of chocolate chip cookies, then stand in the kitchen doorway and watch Seth watching the cartoon till the coffee is done. I take a cup of coffee, cookies and a glass of milk (a nod at nutrition) and join him in the living room. Seth climbs up onto the couch beside me, chubby little legs barely long enough to make it. He is a joy - pleasant, easy, possessing a smile that would melt a heart. If Raines had one I would feel a lot better about Seth's future.
Seth looses interest in the movie after about half an hour. That's fine; it's here all weekend. We head upstairs for the delayed unpacking. We no sooner walk into the room I fixed up for him than Seth drags me to the bathroom. He' hopping from foot to foot, telling me to hurry. I try not to laugh, and resist asking him why he waited so long. We make it in the nick of time. Daddy may be right and Seth is a genius, but he is still a baby in so many ways. I complement him on his potty training; he's only been at it a month and he's learned it as quickly as everything else.
After redressing and washing up, I tell Seth to go play with the toys in his room while I change clothes. I think I'll pull out the jeans I hardly ever wear and a blue sweater. Seth likes blue. I just get the sweater over my head when the phone rings.
"What?"
Jarod's voice, "Do you think that children really can see angels?"
"What?"
"They're supposed to be closer to God, you know. '...Their angels in heaven always behold the face of my Father in heaven.' Are you his guardian angel?"
I have a bad feeling about this call. "Whose?"
"Master Parker's. It's good to know you care about him. It's surprising that they let him out in the sunlight."
How does he know? Where is he? "Things change; I think they want Seth to be a little more well rounded than the last generation of pretenders."
He snorts. I hate it when he does that. "Nothing changes. Seth, is it? Take care of him, Parker; don't let them do what they did to the rest of us. Angels are supposed to protect. Bear him up, lest he dash his foot against a stone."
"Jarod, you need to put that Bible down for a while."
"Maybe you should pick it up. Satan and The Centre both will tempt you. They tell you what you want to hear and then they cast you into the darkness."
"Which darkness? The sublevels of your mind?"
"I am what The Centre made me. Wait, they'll be doing it to Seth soon. He's almost as old as I was when my nightmare started."
He hit right on my biggest fear. "Don't you think I know that?" That was a bit more than I wanted to let slip. Well, I can't take it back so I continue, "I'll take care of him."
"There's one other thing I want to know."
"Yes?" bracing myself.
"Does Play-Doh stain carpeting?"
"How would I know?" Now Jarod's playing with Play-Doh? "Aren't you getting a little old for toys?"
"When's the last time you checked on Seth?"
"I didn't buy him Play-Doh..."
"...playing on that brand new tan carpet."
I drop the receiver down and head for Seth's room. There's Seth, opening a container of red Play-Doh. I did not buy Play-Doh. There's a container of blue beside him, and a lump of yellow on the carpet near his feet. I grab the unopened containers and Seth screams. I hand him the glob of yellow Play-Doh and he subsides slightly, squishing it between his fingers. Bits of yellow clay fall on the carpet. My vacuum cleaner is dead meat, and so is Jarod. I stomp back to my bedroom, Doh containers in hand.
I retrieve the receiver, "You are a sonofabitch."
"It's just Play-Doh."
"Then you won't mind if I shove it up..."
"Uh, uh, uh, Seth might hear you."
"Hear this, Jarod. You had no right coming in my house. Stay out of it and stay out of my business."
"Your business is Centre business is my business."
"Jarod, get a life!" I slam the receiver and head back to cajole the rest of the Play-Doh away from Seth. I wonder if Jarod left us any other presents? I cannot believe he was in my house again.
[Get a life?
I've never had much of a life. The Centre took that away from me. I tried getting a life, settling down in LA, after I left Vermont. I got a job as a public defender because there was an immediate opening, and just to see if I could defend both the guilty and the innocent. It kept me busy for the first week. Since I hardly sleep anymore I got a second job as a sound technician at a small independent studio. No money but it kept me moving. When I wasn't working I hit the gym, at least four hours a day not counting the jogging. You can meet some really interesting people jogging at two a.m. in the bad sections. But I only ever met them once. I enjoyed that.
When I was exhausted enough my mind stopped moving for a while and my eyes closed but then the dreams came. I started taking mild sedatives, only once a week, so I could sleep at least six hours.
LA lasted month and a week. I swore I was not going to do any pretends or right any wrongs on my own, aside from thinning out the muggers, but then I was assigned this thirty-something blue-collar scumbag. The DA plea-bargained him down to ninety days and the wacko leans over to me in the hall and tells me, in his cigarette and beer breath, that he killed a prostitute the same night he was arrested for possession with intent, so ninety days is nothing. He laughed. I thought for a second I might kill him right there.
Instead I checked out the prostitute murders for that night. There were two, neither was being actively investigated and I couldn't find any evidence leading to wacko on either case. Actually, the crime scenes were so botched that there was no evidence. So I checked into the girls' backgrounds. It turned out that one of them had a brother at the same prison where wacko just went. I paid brother a visit. Wacko died in a prison riot the next week. I quit my jobs the next day.
I can't have a normal life; it was an impossible dream. I've gone back to what I did for the last few years, righting wrongs, saving little guys, tilting at windmills. I am driven to do. It doesn't matter what, I just have to keep doing.]
It took me an hour to calm down after Jarod's call. Seth caught my mood and got whiney. That turned into hyperactive and obnoxious. Thank god he still likes baths. He insisted on taking in every tub toy, but it relaxed him.
I put Seth to bed and picked up his toys while he dozed off. I will have to wait till morning to get the Play-Doh out of the rug; it's probably in there for good. The yellow stain reminds me that Jarod was in my home.
Why does he do that? Circle me and watch me and violate my privacy? Is he trying to make me understand the way he felt at The Centre? Well, the big news is that I already knew how he felt. I hated it when I spent time there as a girl, dodging the sweepers and cameras. Is he just playing with me? Does he think it's funny? What he does went way past teasing a long time ago. He just doesn't seem to see it.
Seth and I are both back to normal the next morning. I scoured the house before I went to sleep on Seth's floor. The Play-Doh was Jarod's only present. Just enough for him to show he can do whatever he wants and I can't stop him. Maybe it's just a boundaries problem. Well, I haven't got time to teach Jarod about personal boundaries so I guess I'll have to improve mine.
I don't let Seth out of my sight for the entire weekend, and I scan constantly for Jarod. I feel like he's watching. Monday morning, Seth is safely returned to his rooms and I make arrangements for a little home remodeling care of The Centre. Seth and I spend time in my house so it needs to be secure.
By the end of the week you would need a bomb to get in the doors, and they still look good with the house. The windows and every nook and cranny are secure and there is a state-of-the-art alarm system. That should keep Snoopy out. I have heavy drapes downstairs and opaque curtains upstairs. The house is too dark but I'm only home at night. I can go outside if I want sunlight and now no one can see in here at all.
I also had the house swept for cameras and bugs. None were found. That's oddly comforting - one boundary he didn't cross. The funny thing is I don't feel any safer.
The week at work was totally unproductive. Jarod has to be doing something besides watching me. Doesn't he? But there's no sign of him anywhere. Broots walks into my office at five pm on Friday. I guess my weekend is about to be ruined.
"Did you hear?"
"I assume that's rhetorical."
"Yeah," undeterred, "There was a fire at the San Francisco office."
"Fire?" It can't be that bad, the place is modern, has sprinklers and more than enough people to man the fire extinguishers. Actually, I consider them overstaffed and way too casual.
"Yeah, two o'clock this morning California time. One of the file rooms sort of exploded, the sprinklers in that part of the building failed. They lost years of records, but nobody was hurt."
"Well, that's good," without inflection. Why is it that the only thing running through my head right now is "Jarod"? "What was in that file room? The place is a bit new for electrical problems."
"Mostly unclassified records, outdated financial and personnel information, and that's the thing," dramatic pause, "it was arson. That's why it was hush-hush all day. They were investigating; grilling everyone."
"Let me guess. They found nothing?"
"No, yes, well not exactly...they found the accelerant."
Like pulling teeth. "And?"
"The accelerant is unusual and exactly the same as the one Jarod used at Donoterase."
Not a surprise. "When do we leave?" I stand.
"We don't. The S F office manager told me they don't want anyone from here out there, per Mr. Raines."
I'm around my desk and heading for the door. "We'll just see about that."
The door opens in front of me. "See about what, Miss Parker?" It's Raines.
"Going to California."
"No. You will not involve yourself with West Coast affairs."
"But the accelerant is the same as Jarod..."
"It may have been the pretender you should have brought back here years ago. Then again, other people had access to information on the Donoterase fire, including your father and brother."
"You think my father did this?" I laugh.
"No, but there is a schedule seven order on your brother. I suggest you stay out of it." He leaves without waiting for an answer.
Surely he doesn't believe Lyle did it? No, it's just an excuse. Well, Lyle knows how to take care of himself so I don't think I need to worry too much. And Jarod won't leave much of a trail, so the trip would have been a waste of time anyway.
I turn around to see Broots' unsure expression. "Well Broots, looks like you just got the weekend off. Try not to have too much fun." I lightly punch his shoulder as I walk past him.
"Thanks, Miss Parker, you too." He hurries out the door.
I pick up my briefcase, stop for a few groceries, then I go home to wait for a call. It comes at midnight, but the caller is unexpected.
"What?"
"Angel?"
"Daddy! Where are you? Are you all right?"
"Yes, Darlin', I'm fine. Just gotta lay low for a while longer, till Lyle gets things fixed up. Have you heard from him?"
"No, Daddy. Do you know where he is?"
"Not where, Angel, but I know what he's doing. When he gets back he'll fix things. You wait and see."
I sigh to myself; it's not worth the fight. "Do you need anything, Daddy?"
"I just need you to help your brother if he asks. It's important. Gotta go." He cuts the call. Well, at least I know he's alive and there's a good possibility Lyle is missing on business rather than a killing spree. Things are really looking up. I stretch out on the couch and try to relax while I wait for the other phone call.
[I tried to call her at midnight but the line was busy. I was tempted to check in on her using the surveillance cameras I installed while I was hanging all those drapes. If I can't see what's going on one way, I'll find another.
I haven't used the cameras. They're just there in case I need them. Parker would be furious if she knew about them. Actually, furious seems mild. Knowing about them might push her away from me and toward The Centre. I couldn't stand that.
I put the cameras in so I'll be able to protect her. Not knowing what's going on got Thomas killed. I have to stay up on things; be able to control the situation, or The Centre will.
It was nice to see Parker with Seth. She really seems to love him. I only hope she can protect him; be his angel.
It's three in the morning now. I got involved in other things for a few hours. I can't sleep and I'm sure Parker is waiting for a call. I pick up my cellular and hit the speed dial.
"What?" Groggy, I must have woken her.
"Have you heard from your other brother? Or aren't you his keeper?"
"Did you do something to Lyle?" So suspicious.
"Not yet. I assume your reaction means 'no.' Checking America's Most Wanted? Or is that Centre's most wanted?" She makes a disgusted noise; I smile and my face muscles feel odd. Smiling uses seventeen muscles. Mine are out of practice.
"You're at the top of The Centre's list."
"I intend to stay there. I hear your brother has joined me."
"He'll be at the other end of the chase before you know it."
"We'll see. I see you've remodeled. Can I get the name of your decorator?"
"Come by my office and I'll give it to you. Do you like the new look?"
"Can't see much from here." Let her think I'm right outside. "I'll come in later and you can give me the tour."
The string of language Parker responds with would burn my ears if I were sensitive. I didn't know she knew all those words. Speaking of burning...
Once she is done swearing at me, I say, "I expected you to be flying west today, to admire my handiwork."
"I'm not fond of charcoal artwork." She sounds slightly out of breath. One school of psychology says that swearing is good for you.
"I thought it was quite effective."
"What effect are you going for?"
"In San Francisco? A little damage, a little confusion, a message of impending doom. I thought it was only fair; they did it for Sodom and Gomorrah. Or did you mean just now? I wanted to check your profanity vocabulary, and I knew just how to do it."
"You think you know everything."
"Just put a book in front of me."
"Anything but bible quotes."
"I can read and say anything I want...now"
"But not on my time." The receiver slams in my ear.
I think I know everything? I wish I did; I wish I knew how to stop thinking and sleep.
How many days has it been since I took pills? Only five? I'm tired, I think I'll take them a little early this week, just this time, just once. It won't hurt anything. And I think I'll take an extra one to make sure I don't dream this time.]
At least I got the last word that time; last time too if I recall correctly. Twice in a row is gratifying. After a Jarod conversation I take what I can get.
Speaking of which, I need to get some sleep. I hit my bed. It seems like only minutes later when I hit the alarm off. Why did I set the alarm? Oh, yes, Dr. Ayers and I promised Seth an outing. Just on Centre grounds this time but there are plenty of fallen leaves and lots of room to run around. It will take both Alicia and I to wear him out but it will be fun.
I keep telling myself that while I groan my way out of bed through a shower and into clothes. My mood improves as soon as I see Seth. Alicia joins us shortly with cookies and hot chocolate. The day gets better and better until I put Seth to bed and go home exhausted.
Saturday was perfect. Sunday was calm, call-less, and I slept in. Monday was a comedown but quiet.
Lyle made his triumphant return Tuesday morning. I was in my office when Broots came running in with his usual calm, collected way, jogging in place till he could follow me out the door. He came close to pushing me down the hall but jumped back when I made a grab for his collar. If he wore ties I would have caught him. Then again, if he wore ties they would be clip-ons.
Broots was gratified by the way my mouth dropped open when I got to the lobby. I saw him out of the corner of my eye but I was too interested in the group in the foyer. Lyle, two of his personal sweepers who had gone missing shortly after he did, and a young man I would recognize anywhere, Jarod's clone.
Jarod-2 was back at The Centre and did not look happy. I knew someone else who would not be happy. I watched Raines come around a corner and take in the scene. If looks could kill there would have been four dead bodies in the lobby. Fortunately, guns are the weapons of choice around here and there were a few too many witnesses. I guess pretender clones beat schedule seven orders so Raines lost the hand. He put a smile on his face and welcomed Lyle back to the fold.
Lyle looked at me over Raines shoulder and gave me a big smile and a wink. I'm actually glad he's back. Lyle makes me nervous but Raines is a bigger threat to Seth. The few times I've seen Lyle with his baby brother he seemed skittish but honestly friendly, like a big dog around a little yappy one. And Seth must have sensed Lyle's unease because he hung on him. I won't say that I completely trust Lyle with Seth, just that I trust him more than Raines on the subject.
J-2 was looking around glumly when he followed Lyle's gaze to me. The boy grinned, Jarod's same infuriating endearing grin, and I had to smile back. Sydney swept into the entrance hall to take the boy under his wing. Raines objected but Lyle handed his prize over to Syd willingly and then faced-off with the opposition. Rarely but occasionally Lyle makes me proud.
It took the rest of the day to get Lyle alone so I could ask him what happened. He didn't know where Daddy went but said not to worry; he would be back soon. He did not give details about loosing his recently acquired thumb. Apparently Raines found out Lyle had a lead on Jarod's clone and wanted the information so he could take credit for it. He decided on some personal questioning. Lyle got away sans thumb and then went after the boy.
They got J-2 in Fort Worth, while Major Charles was out. He returned as they were getting the boy into the car. The Major launched a rear assault. One of the sweepers tried for a headshot, and aimed a little wide. If the man hadn't thought he was such a crack marksman and shot for the chest Jarod wouldn't ever have a chance to ask the Major his questions. According to Lyle, Major Charles barely escaped.
I tend to believe Lyle told me the truth; he has no particular reason to lie about it. At least I hope it's true; I hope the Major didn't sell any children into slavery, now or before.
The boy calls himself Jenis. He's been with Sydney for a nearly a week now. Thank god for small favors, if he'd been given to Raines I would never be allowed to see him. I visited him this morning and told him I was glad to see him again, but not necessarily here. He said he remembered me from before and smiled again. Sydney scowled but it was halfhearted, I don't think he wants the boy, or rather the young man, here either.
Sydney is thrilled with Jenis' performance. He says that Je's time out in the world has improved his empathy and broadened his emotional references. I just nod. Looking at Je reminds me why Jarod was my first kiss. He is quite a young man. He's got a mind that moves faster than anyone else's yet he's not manipulative at all. He's nice, and handsome. I bet the girls will be lining up for him... if they have a chance. The Centre is not the place for him to spend puberty; lack of socialization seemed to cause problems in those of us who did.
Things have been relatively quiet the last couple weeks. No calls from Jarod; still no Daddy; Lyle has been prowling around with a Cheshire cat grin; Raines is keeping to himself; Seth and Jenis are working with their respective mentors; and everyone is leaving me alone.
My office door opens. "Hey, Sis."
I spoke too soon. "Hello, Lyle."
"Coming to lunch?" He has big news and he wants me to beg for it, I can tell.
I won't take the bait. I rise and come around the desk. "Chinese at your place?"
"Club sandwiches in Dad's office."
"He won't like coming back to crumbs on the floor."
"Then you better tell him not to leave any."
Light dawns. "He's back?"
Lyle gets no time to answer as I push him out of the way and hurry to my father's office.
Daddy is sitting behind his desk with a big smile on his face and Seth on his knee. Daddy looks none-the-worse for his absence. He even has a bit of a tan. Seth is unsure of how to act; he hasn't spent much time with Daddy. He reaches for me as soon as he sees me and I rescue him. Daddy looks a bit relieved.
"Hello, Angel, I hear you've been taking good care of your brother while I was gone. Things will get back to normal now."
Back to me being too busy to spend time with Seth? "It's good you're back."
"Yes, well, politics you know. There were administrative changes in the Triumvirate, so there were some repercussions here. Things are working themselves out. Lyle tells me Jarod caused a bit of trouble."
"We've beefed up security."
Lyle adds, "But it would be nice," he elongates the word and looks pointedly at me, "if someone would finally bring him in."
I guess we're jockeying for approval, the only problem is that I don't really care if Daddy likes him better than me. "Jarod has changed his behavior patterns; Sydney is still analyzing his actions but..."
Lyle interjects, "That'll take a couple more years."
"But Jarod seems to be acting out his anger over what was done to him as a child."
Daddy looks worried, "He could become dangerous. Do you want additional help, Angel?"
"No, I think Jarod will come to us now that we have his clone. More people will keep him away. I'll be ready." Seth starts to squirm in my arms. "I think Seth wants to get back to his studies." I look at him in my arms, "Don't you?"
He looks up at me and makes a face then he smiles. I can never deny that smile. I kiss his forehead and put him down. Lyle and Daddy are both looking at me as though I've grown a second head.
Daddy clears his throat, "Of course, Angel. But Seth needs to go to Sydney' work area. He and the clone... did you say he has a name?"
"His name is Jenis."
"Yes. Well, Seth will be working with Jenis today." Daddy waits to see if I object. I keep silent. "I'll speak to you later, Angel. Sydney is waiting."
Seth takes my hand and I take him to Sydney's lab. I wonder what Daddy and Lyle said after I left. Probably they think I've gone soft. Maybe I have. All I want is for Seth to have a life, if it takes all my time and energy, even if it takes my life. No, I haven't gone soft at all. I've just found an agenda.
Dr. Ayers is in the lab with Sydney and Jenis. She doesn't say anything but seems pleased with the arrangement.
Sydney introduces the boys to each other and they play a bit with a couple toys that Dr. Ayers brought down. After about an hour Sydney tells Seth they are going to pretend something and the boys try a simple sim. Jenis gets into work mode immediately; Seth has to be coaxed. Once they begin Seth follows Je's actions and directions. He just drinks in knowledge.
Sydney keeps their interaction short. Everyone is pleased with the meeting and another is scheduled. Am I the only one who doesn't see this as a good thing for Seth?
Last night there was a fire at the Denver field office, the first in a month. Denver was a small operation, an information-clearing center. The information is cleared now. No one was injured but the computers were melted and the place is a complete loss. I expected a call but none came.
Jarod hasn't called me in a month. He obviously doesn't know Jenis is here. I know he would have been on the phone the next morning, if not at the door. The only sign we'd had of him up till yesterday was three more solved murders. I asked Angelo about it. I know he would help Jarod if he needed it and I think he leaks information to him at times.
Angelo said Jarod did not need to know.
That surprised me so I asked why.
He said Jarod was in a dark place and knowing might kill him.
I try not to take what Angelo said too literally. Angelo may be right but I think Jarod has a right to know.
The boys have been doing small sims together almost daily for a week. Seth has a natural talent. They work together so smoothly you would think they read one another's minds. I am not happy about Seth pretending, but I love watching them together when they're not working. In a week they've made a miniature family for themselves. Je teases Seth and Seth torments Je, they argue, they wrestle, they occasionally have to be separated. I worry about what will happen to them if they are permanently separated.
No one else sees a problem with the arrangement, including Sydney and Dr. Ayers. She says that Seth thinks of the sims as a form of play and that she was wrong to worry before. She seems more confident of Seth's future and her position now that Daddy is back. She has no idea how quickly things can change around here.
Today is one of the few holidays The Centre is officially closed. It's Thanksgiving, and an outing day for Seth and me. I considered doing the whole domestic scene myself and nixed the idea. I hoped Daddy might have a family get-together but that was whimsy, and the thought of eating with Lyle creeps me out. So I opt for noon reservations at a nice restaurant in Blue Cove.
Seth and I practiced table manners all week. He's usually quiet around adults so I expect no problems there. I bought him a wool blazer, stone colored cargo pants and a madras shirt. He's a Gap commercial. A pair of Buster Brown loafers and leather trench coat finish the look. If he was thirty-some years older, and not potentially related to me, I would propose here and now. It's been way to long since I had a date.
My little bud and I were heading for the door when he stopped and looked around. "Where's Je?"
"In his rooms, I imagine. He has today off too."
"I want him come with us."
"He can't, sweetie." Please take that as an answer.
"Why?"
I knew I wouldn't be that lucky. "Because he has to stay here."
"But why?"
"This is where Je lives." And I wanted him to learn to talk.
"But this where I live. Was he bad?"
"No, honey, he's very good."
"Then why?"
"He ran away and they brought him back but they're afraid he'll run away again so he can't go outside." Okay, the truth.
He's appalled, "Ever?"
"Not for a while." Liar.
I can see his mind moving in his eyes. They're huge when he looks up at me. "If I be bad will they make me stay forever?"
I take his hand and guide him toward the door. "You're not bad."
He walks slowly, thinking, "But if I be?"
My heart sinks while I search for a reply.
We reach the door; he balks. "I not go without my Je." I knew it was a mistake to let them get together.
"Okay." Think fast. "Okay, how about we go eat something because I'm really hungry. Then instead of going to my house like we were going to, we come right back here and spend the day with Je?"
Seth mulls that over. "We bring turkey? And cwanberries?" He brightens slightly.
I'm relieved, "We can stop and get a pie." There has to be a bakery open somewhere in Blue Cove.
Seth agrees to the plan. He's silent for the trip to the restaurant. The food is good and so is the service. Seth is a perfect gentleman. He eats more than I do and then downs a huge slice of pumpkin pie. He sits there for a moment in a food-induced haze watching other people's children misbehave. I wonder if this is too much exposure to the real world.
Suddenly Seth turns to me. "We go back now."
I feel a chill. Will he become like Angelo? Never wanting to leave The Centre; preferring its dark corridors. No, he just wants "his Je." I tell the waitress to bring a take-out meal. It includes a piece of pie so we go directly back to The Centre.
Jenis is surprised to see us, but happy for the company. He wolfs down the dinner. He shares the pie with Seth, who is always a bottomless pit when it comes to food. Then the two of them move into their private world and I am ignored while they talk and play. Je is better with Seth than I am; they really understand each other.
The afternoon is pleasant until a sweeper comes to take Jenis for his daily exercise. Je's face falls as the reality of his life returns. Seth doesn't understand but he knows something is wrong. He takes Je's hand.
"Next time you go out."
Je looks at me, "I can't." I have to look down.
Seth will not be denied. "I not go out if you not go out. You promise not run away."
Je smiles at Seth and looks at me from the corner of his eye, "Next time I go out you'll come with me." Like Jarod like clone.
I pretend not to have heard. I place my hand lightly on Je's shoulder as I take Seth's hand and lead him back to his room. Seth's evening caretaker is waiting so I kiss my brother and go home. What else can I do?
The phone rings as soon as I throw myself on the couch.
"What?" I say in a tired voice I haven't heard from myself for a while.
"What are you thankful for?" Jarod. My day is complete.
"Silence."
"Lots of that at The Centre. Is that why Seth wanted to go right back?"
He really doesn't know about Jenis. I sit up, instantly tense. He should know. How can I tell him?
"I saw you took leftovers with you. For Angelo? Or has brother dearest been moved to Renewal Wing?"
"You don't know?"
"Know what?"
"Lyle brought Jenis, your clone, back to the Centre." My throat constricts.
Jarod swears, "Is he all right?"
"Yes, considering. He's with Sydney, and Raines is keeping his distance."
"Is the Major back in The Centre's good graces now?"
"No. He tried to stop the... kidnapping." What else can I call it? "He was almost killed. I'm not sure where he is now." I would guess Delaware but Jarod can jump to his own conclusions.
"If it was a kidnapping and not a purchase. Where are they keeping Jenis?"
"You know I can't tell you. But he's fine. He has more freedom than you did, within reason. He and Seth have become friends. The food was for him"
"Big of you. I'm surprised there isn't a sign saying 'don't feed the animals'."
"Jarod!" He slams the receiver in my ear. Crap. I wanted to ask him about Denver; tell him to call Syd.
[I hear her yell my name as I slam the payphone receiver down.
God damn it! What did she expect me to say? Wasn't that fucking kind of you to feed him real food on your day off? All she did was remind him of the life The Centre won't let him have.
God Damn it! God damn it goddamnit! I hit the wall near the phone. The convenience store customers are staring at me as I walk out the door. Shit, I made a scene. They'll remember if a sweeper asks. Oh, the hell with it. Let them remember.
I walk past my rental car and just keep walking into the early darkness. I have to think; have to calm down.
They have my clone. God damn it! That bastard let them have him! Probably gave him back. Sold him like an animal. God damn him. God damn him goddamnhim!
I find myself leaning my head against a cement wall; hitting it with a balled fist. I have to find the Major. I should have done it before, as soon as they disappeared. Instead I experimented with having a life. That was stupid of me. Now the trail is so cold it's taken me a month to find out where they were a month ago. And as punishment they took away my clone's life. Does that balance the scales? A life for a life.
I could just trade myself for him. I've had a few years of freedom. Not really, I've never been free. I can't find my family; if any of them are my family. I can't find answers. I can't seem to live a normal life and I can't walk away from my past. Sometimes now I feel like I'm loosing myself.
No, trading myself for Jenis would mean The Centre wins. They can't win; they've gone against the order of things, defied Nature and God. Such arrogance cannot go unpunished. Hmm, yes, divine vengeance for undeserved fortune, the province of Nemesis. "Baneful Night bore Nemesis, too, a woe for mortals..." Yes, woe, that can be arranged. I think a few more fires are in order. If they thought Denver was the worst I could do they have a lot to learn.]
It's been an interesting week and a half. Jarod must have been upset after our conversation because two small offices, one in Phoenix, one in Taos, pretty much burned to the ground within 48 hours. I haven't heard about the accelerant on those two but I would be willing to make a bet. There was a fire in Chicago three days after I talked to Jarod, and another, in St. Louis two days later.
The fires all had the same strategy. Start small in a non-populated area, engulf it, spread quickly to a large but contained portion of the building, always plenty of warning and always escape routes. Jarod is still careful. There's a pattern to the chosen cities too, or rather Lyle told me there is. I'm not sure how he's keeping track of Major Charles travels but Lyle says Jarod's following the Major's trail.
I pumped my brother for more information so I could intercept Jarod at his next target. Lyle said, and this time I don't believe him, that Jarod is ahead of The Centre's information. He also said he wants to see what will happen when Jarod catches up with his dad. Lyle thinks it's going to be funny. I think it's somewhere between tragic and terrifying.
[I can't get in contact with Angelo. I wonder what they've done with him? I need him to tell Jenis I'll get him out. I'll get Angelo out too.
My "father" never stops moving. That hasn't changed. Things change things stay the same. That's almost funny. The only thing you can change is your attitude. Mine has changed.
Parker told me the Major did not sell Jenis. We'll see as soon as I catch up to him. I'm still four hours drive from New York City and I want to get there tonight. It's a big place, big and anonymous, and it's going to take me a while to find his trail there. But I'm getting closer.
A honking horn brings me back to reality. I swerve my car to the right and nearly through the guardrails. I skid to a stop. Shit. How long has it been since I slept? Three days since I've lain down. Four since I took pills. I've had the usual catnaps sitting in a car or chair. Yesterday I dozed off standing against a wall. I need a shower and a shave too. I guess I'll get a motel before I kill myself. Kill myself? Ha. Wouldn't that piss them off?
I pull into the first open motel I see. It's a dive. I turn on the light in the bathroom and a cockroach scuttles behind the commode. Sleeping in the car looks better. I put my bag back in the car. I slam the door shut and a dusting of fresh snow fluffs into the air. I just stand there. I'm too tired to drive. It's too cold to sleep in the car for more than a few minutes. I sigh, pull my shaving kit out of my bag and go back into the room.
The shower looks clean and the water is hot. While I'm shaving I make the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror. The past five years have not been good to me. I see the years I've lost and the tears I need to cry written across my face. The circles under my eyes are as black as my hair and my hair has a few gray strands. I can't remember when they appeared but it looks like mortality is catching up to me. Getting old.
I shake my head. Not quite old, forty, just not young any more. Around forty; I would need my birth date to be sure. I can't believe I didn't ask my fa...the Major for it when I was with him. I'll ask him when we meet again, if I don't kill him first.
Clean hair, clean face, and clean clothes. I look around the room again. It's old but there's no dust and aside from the bathroom's other resident, now dead, the place looks decent. Okay, so it's an aged hotel and not sterile but and I'm exhausted and the sheets are clean.
Lying down on the lumpy mattress feels wonderful. My spine rearranges itself to the unaccustomed position and my muscles relax. I try to relax my mind, blank it out, deep breathing, meditation techniques, silent chanting. I doze off, and I dream.
It's the same dream every time. It's dark; everything is black. It's silent and dark, like a tomb, or a sublevel of The Centre. I hear Angelo crying like he's terrified or hurt. He screams once. I can't find him. I call his name and there's no answer, only whispers from the darkness.
I see a light; pale white; bright flashes; changing to red; then black, it comes and goes. I move toward it slowly quickly, the way you move in dreams. I want to get out of the dark with its dead whispers. But I don't want to get to the light, flashing, calling me.
I'm there. The light is soft and still. I see him, Jenis, and he's sleeping, no, dead, lying on the floor. He looks peaceful. "... 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd" I look into the pale light. It turns bright; I look back at the body. It's me strapped to a slab.
The light turns red and flashing like a car wreck, blinding black, red, white. I look up. I see them. Faceless bodies, milling around, sightless, are bumping into each other and the walls. A flash of white and one of them turns into me. He stands there staring at me, a mindless mirror image of myself. More flashes, younger 'me's, faster and faster, a sea of Jarods. Then they start screaming and dying and more faceless automatons, always younger, appear to take the place of dead and dying. The flashes get brighter and faster until I'm blessedly blind. The screams get louder and shriller until I start screaming with them.
Suddenly it's black and silent and I'm somehow looking at myself looking down at me and I know I'm dead.
I wake out of breath and gasping. So much for sleeping with no pills. I get up, my back complaining, and go to the bathroom. I take a double dose of sedatives with rusty-tasting water from the spigot. I lay back down and for some reason Hamlet comes into my mind and won't leave,
...To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause:
God, God, I hope there are no dreams after death. Is that what death is? One long dream. If it is then mine are visions of Hell.
...Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
Conscience makes us cowards. It keeps me from destroying them, stopping them now. I should have destroyed them as soon as I had the chance. Then Jenis wouldn't be trapped in there, and Seth wouldn't be at all.
I think too much, worry too much about the little guy getting hurt. The Centre doesn't worry about collateral damage; the end justifies the means. I won't turn away again. They've destroyed innocent lives. If someone gets hurt so be it. No one is innocent at The Centre.
Somewhere along that line of thought the pills kick in and I fall asleep. And dream.
I'm in a forest, and dressed in Elizabethan period costume; that's different. I'm hidden just off a trail. I see a group of men facing away from me carrying a coffin toward a grave dug in a clearing.
The men lower the coffin into the grave and start burying it. They talk while they work.
One man says, "I hear she drowned herself."
Another, "That's why she can't be buried in the Church."
The first man, "Aye, and a shame too. So fine; so like 'er mother."
A third man, whose face I cannot see, says, "I know the truth about the fair Ophelia."
The others stop working and look at him.
The third man straightens and I see his face. It's Angelo. He says, "Jarod did it."
The others look around fearfully and hurry to finish. They leave.
I walk up to the unmarked grave, pick up an abandoned shovel and uncover the casket. I feel unspeakable guilt and sorrow. Shakespeare's words come from my mouth, "The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remember'd."
I open the coffin and look into a deep blue lake. There is a beautiful face beneath the water lilies... No. Parker, No...
I wake up, gasping again, groggy and exhausted. I get up and leave the motel. If I fall asleep at the wheel and kill myself, so be it, but I can't lie there and wait for the dreams. I don't want to dream any more.
Shakespeare really understood people. And people haven't changed, not in all these years. Still evil and good; things change; things stay the same. Was Hamlet crazy? I think he wondered. I wonder if I am. The sedatives have stopped working. I'll prescribe stronger ones.]
Four more days passed; The Centre's offices in New York City caught fire. There was a fair amount of damage because the sprinklers on that floor of the building partially failed. Fortunately, the fire took place on a Saturday evening so there were few people in the building. Only minor injuries to a firefighter. The fire marshal found nothing suspicious.
I tried to find Angelo but he's in hiding at the moment; I think that may be a bad sign. Sydney is on a plane to Paris with Michelle. They plan to spend the holidays in France. Maybe I should call him but I think I'll let the plane land first. There's nothing he can do right now and I can give him at least a couple of days. He needs to get away too I guess.
It's been two weeks since my Thanksgiving conversation with Jarod. Yesterday the Dallas office had a series of "electrical" fires. Nothing big but they no sooner got one put out than another one started. The fires were, of course, arson and the accelerant was Jarod's special blend, but he added a new wrinkle. They evacuated the building so that it could be swept and then three well-placed charges went off. Then the building imploded. A couple sweepers had narrow escapes.
[Watching the Dallas offices collapse was very gratifying. The detonation was nicely planned; nicely executed. I got the timing perfect so the collapse was complete before the fire department had any chance of getting here. No innocent people were injured this time. Glad I signed this little piece of art.
It makes me smile, that signature. It was almost an afterthought but so appropriate. Now I'm off again to find my "father." I just missed him again.
The collapse just missed a couple sweepers. Too bad.]
Jarod seems to be out of the vigilante business, but he's pretty much shut down Centre operations across the country. The sweeper team in Dallas found a name seared into a wall that was otherwise untouched, Abaddon. Otherwise known as Apollyon, the angel-prince of hell, the minister of death and author of havoc on earth. Appropriate.
I called Sydney and told him what's happened. He agreed that the fires are reprisals for real or perceived wrongs by both The Centre and the Major. Finding and speaking with Major Charles may end the assault. Syd promised to catch the first flight home.
Security at The Centre has been tripled and I feel sure Seth is safe. I check on him anyway. Seth is going to be very angry with me. We had an outing planned for Saturday, Disney on Ice. I have to tell him that we can't go.
He reacts as predicted. First begging, then whining, then crying, finally throwing anything he can lift. He is not speaking to me at the moment. When I leave his room he has his back to me. I know it will pass but it still hurts. Before I walk out the door I ask Seth's caretaker to take him to Jenis' rooms later. Jenis can commiserate with him. I hope Jarod finds his father before Christmas.
The pyromaniac only took three days off after Dallas. Then a new office in Oklahoma City went poof. I didn't even know we had an office in Oklahoma. The Memphis office was toast two days later. Why do we have a Memphis office? Was Elvis a pretender? Doesn't matter now. That office is charcoal too.
[I finally talked to Angelo. He said he got my messages.
I asked him why he didn't answer.
He just said, "Not talk Angelo; talk Sydney."
I told him I would take him out of that hole.
He said, "Not go; not hurt." I don't know whom he meant. He refuses to leave that place. It reminded me of the dreams.
The dreams keep coming even with sedatives, unless I take them with a couple shots of vodka. Not that I'm turning into a druggie or an alcoholic, I'm very careful. It wouldn't do to get strung-out and tell my story to the wrong person or get drunk and get caught. And it's only one or two times a week, the rest of the time I just try to keep moving, do anything but sleep. I can do anything except stop doing.]
Then there was nothing for a week, an entire week. I began to believe, hope, that Jarod had come to terms with his father and his anger. I waited for a call.
[I found him. He's in there, in that motel room. Fucking right here in Blue Cove. I chased him all over the country and he ends up right here. The Centre of the universe, it just keeps sucking me back like a soul magnet. If I have a fucking soul.
Maybe he knows. I need to stay calm enough to ask him. If I walk in there now I might just kill him outright. I stand still and watch his door.
I must have stood across from the motel for a long time because it was afternoon when I got here and now it's dark. I walk over to the Major's door and knock. I feel him come to the door. He must have looked out because he swings the door open and says my name. He's smiling. I punch him.
He staggers back into the room, shocked, "What was that for?"
"Did you sell me?"
"Jarod, it's more complicated than that." His nose is bleeding. Don't whine.
"Did you sell Jenis?"
"No, no, I never sold Je." He denies it. He looks at me in the harsh lamplight as I turn from locking the door. He sees my expression and he's frightened I think. He pauses.
I guess I must look interesting. I haven't slept or shaved in days.
He tries to soothe me, "Jarod, sit down. I guess this time you deserve the truth."
I say nothing, just sit in the chair and hold on to the armrests.
"Listen, son, I..."
"I'm not your son."
He clears his throat and looks down, "No, I guess you aren't. But I've come to think of you that way."
I grunt out a laugh; I don't believe him, "Who is my father?"
"I don't know."
I must have tensed in the chair because he hurries on.
"I really don't know. That's the truth. From what Catherine Parker told me, there were several possible donors, men with your talents. She thought your father was a man with a brilliant mind who went mad and was given to The Centre for treatment. That was Renewal Wing's original purpose, a mental asylum for geniuses and idiot savants; a place for relatives to hide the family shame without guilt."
"My father was insane?" Well, this apple fell near the tree.
"Maybe. I never found out. Catherine said that with proper socialization and monitoring, you would be fine. I never worried."
"And what about my 'mother?'" I didn't know I could say that word with hatred, "Was she worried? Did she just pretend to love me?" Was she good at pretending?
"She didn't know until a long time after."
"Is Margaret my mother?" I hear the catch in my voice.
"I honestly don't know. She donated eggs to New Genesis but I don't know if they used them. She doesn't care either way. She loves you."
I feel tears in my eyes, I blink them back and I feel them burn in my throat. "She loves me?" softly, "but she isn't my mother?"
"We don't know. You are part of a plan, a genetics program. But, Jarod, you have to believe that she wasn't in on the deal. I knew. I knew what they wanted. They promised me things. Things that seem worthless now but I jumped for it. Your mother wanted children so badly and New Genesis services were offered to me free.
"If you were 'normal' you would stay with us. If you were slightly talented you would be watched and trained. But you're what you are and they demanded that I live up to my part of the deal. You were their creation and they wanted you there. They offered a repeat procedure, a replacement baby immediately."
"Kyle."
He nods, "I gave in."
"And Kyle was a loaner too."
"Kyle was supposed to be ours. I didn't know they were repeating...repeating the..." he stops.
"The breeding experiment?"
He nods sadly. Is he ashamed? He should be. "Kyle was bright. Not like you though, more distant. I didn't understand him; I worried that we couldn't give him what he needed. When I found out they intended to take him too, we ran. When they took him Margaret had a breakdown."
I never knew that.
"If we hadn't had Emily I don't know if she would have recovered."
"Is Emily another experiment?"
"No. She's ours." He smiles slightly.
His smile is like a bullet through my heart. She's theirs and I'm The Centre's. I can't breathe; I grip the chair.
"When your mother learned the truth, what I'd done, she left me." He looks up at me. "I deserved it."
"So, you knew where I was all that time?" He knew and he left us there.
"I tried to get you out, both of you, with Catherine. Catherine died."
"You sure you didn't have anything to do with that too?" I stand.
"You can't believe that!" He's offended. Or is that fear?
"I know you are a kidnapper, and the worst kind of pimp," I growl. "You pandered children's lives, your own sons. You stole my life. You sold my future for whatever The Centre gave you. You sold your soul." My voice hardly rose above a whisper. My jaws are clenched so tight it hurts. His shirt is in my fist.
He grabs my wrist; pushes my hand away. "I did. And I've spent the rest of my life trying to save you." He is calm but frightened.
I grab him by the neck, "Too late."
I hit him once. "Did you sell other children?" I hit him again. "Did you sell Je?"
"No!" his voice is strangled. He punches back.
I hit him a few more times, I don't know how many. I slam him against the wall. I'm choking him and I can't seem to stop.
He's lying on the floor. I kick him and he doesn't move. I don't care; I turn and leave.
I wonder if I've killed him? So be it. Let his soul be judged.]
Still no calls; the message Jarod finally sent yesterday was mildly cryptic, "For we will destroy this place, get out, lest thou be consumed in the iniquity of the city." I thought it was just a bit too biblical and not very specific. The message hit closer to home this morning.
Last night the data annex in Rehoboth burned down, arson again and signed Abaddon. This fire was different. It started in several rooms simultaneously and spread rapidly. It did not go quite as smoothly as the others. An older sweeper turned security guard tried to extinguish the fire. He got caught in a backdraft. He died of his burns this afternoon.
I don't know what this is going to do to Jarod but I feel sure he'll call tonight.
There is no call.
[After I spoke to the Major I finished up the arson work at the Data Annex. Then I went back to my room. I couldn't stop moving, I punched a hole in a plasterboard wall. I tried it again on a brick wall and spent ten minutes swearing while I stopped the bleeding. I couldn't rest; couldn't even sit. I took a few pills and a drink; then a few more. By the time I collapsed, literally, on the bed I had finished off a bottle of vodka and I'm not sure how many pills.
I could have killed myself. I was unconscious for ten hours. That's too long; someone could have followed me from the motel. They could have walked in and dragged me back to The Centre and I never would have known. It won't happen again.
When I finally got moving I went back to the Major's motel to see if he was alive. He was gone. I don't know how I feel about that; I feel nothing.
I set the incendiaries to go off the following night. I didn't stick around to watch the fireworks; I caught an afternoon flight to Minnesota. The fire should have been a good one, small but more dramatic than the others.
It wasn't till the next day that I found out about the retired sweeper. I don't remember him so he must not have been overly cruel. Just doing his job like any good concentration camp guard. He was a casualty of war. The Angels saw wickedness in Sodom and found that there were not even 10 righteous people living there. I gave them warnings. Soon they'll know.
I have a short side trip to make before then. I owe Miss Parker a message, a short lesson about what a mistake it was not to run away from The Centre when she had a chance. run away from Sodom and not look back. I want no innocents hurt. Soon they'll all know to run. Soon now the retribution really begins.]
Lyle came in this morning to personally inform me that Jarod is no longer following the Major's trail. I asked how he knows that and he handed me a memo saying the Minneapolis office was destroyed last night.
I said, "So?"
"On the nineteenth, Major Charles spent the day in a Dover hospital for injuries supposedly resulting from a fall."
"Not a fall?"
"He had a mild concussion and a couple cracked ribs; lots of bruises. The intern examining him noted neck bruising in the shape of a human hand. The Major left against medical advice when the cops showed up."
"So we lost track of him. How do you know he didn't head straight for Minnesota?"
"Jarod Copperfield got off a plane in Minneapolis on the nineteenth. We have a tip from Portland that he's there."
"We get tips from Portland?"
"They decided to move the Denver functions to Portland. A part-time geek working for the police was hired. He recognized Jarod from a file photo. I took the liberty of sending sweepers ahead."
"Ahead of what?"
"You."
"Lyle, it's three days before Christmas."
"Yeh, and Jarod is running out of Centre real estate to torch. Wouldn't you rather stop him before he turns this place into a charcoal briquette?" Lyle half-smiles but something tells me he's as nervous about that possibility as I am.
I wonder if I can find a nice big chunk of coal to give Jarod as a special present. I'd like to hit him over the head with it. I grab my overnight bag and head for the airport.
It's two days before Christmas and here I am in Portland, Oregon. I'm betting this is one of Jarod's message trips because the crime of choice seems a bit too bland for his present taste. A family of con artists was ripping off the elderly and stripping houses of all their Christmas presents. Three generations of thieves, previously living in one dilapidated trailer, are going away for the holidays. Except for a three-year old who's going to Children's Services and a soon-to-be younger brother who will join him in a week or so. Mommy is pregnant by her second-cousin husband. Sounds like they could be from The Centre. Jarod has already lined up a foster family who wants both of them for as long as necessary. Merry Christmas.
According to the paper, the families who had Christmas stolen have received money or replacement gifts from an anonymous donor. Only one family was willing to be interviewed. I look at the address and it's too familiar. It's not the house Thomas was moving here to remodel but it's on the same street. That's where I am now, parked in front of the house, looking down the street at the house where I might have been living.
I left Broots at home with Debbie, and Sydney has a head cold, so it's just me and the goons this trip. I get out of the car and tell the sweepers to stay put. A man and woman answer the door together, full of good cheer; I can hear kids in the background. I start to introduce myself as an FBI agent and the woman says, "You're not. Are you, really?"
"Excuse me?"
"He said to expect you."
"Who?"
"Thomas."
My heart drops and my throat closes, "T-thomas?" I feel dizzy.
"Thomas Gates, the man who gave us money so our kids could have Christmas. He was very nice but insisted that we not reveal his name to anyone until after you came. He said you would be following him; he seemed very sad."
The man is looking at his wife strangely, "He told you that was his name?"
"Yes... I thought so, and to be sure to tell her before we told the reporters."
The man turns to me, "I'm a little confused. He wouldn't tell me his name; he said he was doing this in honor of Thomas Gates. He also told me to let my wife do the talking and then give you this."
I am trying to regain the power of speech and blink back tears from my eyes as I take a small envelope. I thank them and manage to walk away from the house without staggering. I rip the envelope open; inside is a note with an angel on the cover. It reads, "This should have been your Christmas, yours and his." There's no signature; none is necessary. If he were here right now I would shoot him through the heart.
I get into the car and drive slowly down the street. I'm still shaking inside and I can't see well enough through the tears to navigate at speed. As I pass The House, the house that Thomas bought for us, I have to look. The family is in the yard. Mom is shoveling the walk; dad is doing something on a ladder with the lights; and two kids are trying to build a snowman in the yard, a goddamned snowman. Jesus, all they need is Norman Rockwell. It's almost too much and I pretend to sneeze so I can brush the tear off my cheek.
I make it out of the neighborhood and onto a highway, and then I hit the gas. We only fishtail a couple times but the sweepers seem happy to get to the motel. We've already collected everything from Jarod's room at a disgusting flophouse so I tell the boys they can do whatever they want, even go home early. I must be in the Christmas spirit or something. They look happy and hurry off before I can change my mind. I go to my room.
I go to my room by way of the bar in the motel next door. It's been a while since I did any serious drinking and it seems like a good time to start. The place is just upscale enough to have a bottle of Armagnac I can buy, thank god. My head is pounding from unshed tears.
I hit the room, loose the boots and coat, and pour myself a shot. After I swallow and almost choke I decide to get a bit of ice and water from the vending area, a minor detour on the way to inebriation. Back in the room I turn on the only FM station not playing Christmas music and work on my future hangover in earnest.
Three-quarters of a bottle later my head is still pounding and the FM station has started playing Handle's Messiah. I've had enough of saviors for the day. There's nothing else on radio or TV. I fish through my suitcase until I find some pain medication. I take a double dose and wash it down with the rest of the brandy. I turn off the lamp and pretty much collapse on the bed. After watching the room spin in the dark for a while I drift off toward sleep.
I sit bolt upright so fast I nearly fall off the bed. I fumble for the lamp switch. It's a good thing it's bolted to the table because just about everything else hits the floor. Amazingly, the glass doesn't break. I sit staring at the mess while I try to remember what woke me. After a few minutes the dream comes to me - Thomas and me in front of a fire in The House, holding hands. There's a knock at the door and Thomas gets up to see who it is. I don't want him to go, to open the door, to die again, but I am frozen in my spot and I can't even scream. Then the dream shifts and everything is gray and I hear my mother saying she loves me, and Thomas' voice saying he'll always be with me. Right now that's more than I can take. God damn Jarod for bringing Thomas back, God Damn Sydney for being too sick to bother, God damn Daddy for never being there, God damn Thomas for making me love him, and God damn me...god damn me for thinking I could ever have a normal life and love.
Well, this won't do, tears streaming down my face and nothing to drink. Hell, why am I drinking alone? It's been two years since Thomas and I am done crying. If Jarod thinks he can make me start again he's got another thing coming. I splash water on my face and fix my makeup, a little heavier than usual so they won't know I shed even one tear. My leather miniskirt is none the worse for being slept in; I trade my sweater for a stretch lace tank top I normally wear under suits. The bar is just across the parking lot so I decide to skip the coat and slip on a pair of spike heels. What the hell, let someone else pay for the drinks.
The night is calm and the cold air is sobering. I definitely do not want to sober up but it probably makes walking safer. The bar is warm and has a decent crowd, after work executives schmoozing with business travelers, and not too many sloppy drunks. Every eye is on me as I saunter up to the bar. I take a corner stool, order a scotch and wait for company.
They start circling immediately. I forgot how exciting this can be; it's been way too long. The first candidate has a ring on his left hand; I ignore him. The next two come over together, but they're smarmy and that's not what I'm looking for. Choice number three is a Raines-look-alike; gag me. Candidate four is dark and wearing jeans, I have to chug most of my scotch to fight off a panic attack.
Just when I decide to give it up and go stand on the street corner, Mr. Right-for-the-moment walks over and sits down. Blonde and brown eyes, just the opposite of Thomas, perfect smile but a little too sharp. He's wearing Armani and drinking Chivas, at least he has some taste. He'll do.
We chat each other up for about an hour and two more Chivas apiece. We decide to leave the bar while we can still walk. He has room in this motel so he invites me up to check out the honor bar. I go. We never get near the mini-fridge.
We're lucky we made it to the bed. What's Bob Seger say? "I used her; she used me. But neither one cared. We were getting our share." Change the pronouns; it works. We kept at it for three hours, three hours of totally mindless sex. When we're done Blondie, I can't remember his name, passes out. So much for small talk.
The real downside is that I'm only a little buzzed now and I have to get back to my room alone. There's that word, the one I was trying to avoid with three hours of gymnastics, right back where it belongs. I look down at Blondie while I dress; he isn't even that handsome, just young, so young, with years ahead of him before he wakes up in a motel room alone. Three hours of aerobics, three minutes of oblivion and I'm just as depressed as when I started.
I make my way out of the room, down the elevator and past a leering night clerk. He probably thinks I'm a professional; the smirk on his face makes me feel used. I go out the motel's front door and toward the parking lot. I wonder if Portland has all-night liquor stores or if the Quick Marts sell anything worth drinking? I'm looking down; paying attention to my footing but when I glance up for a second I could swear there's someone tall leaning against a streetlight in front of my motel. Jarod? I loose focus as I slip a bit on the ice. When I look up again there's no one there.
That's definitely what he wants, me imagining him any time I try to have some fun or what passes for it. Define fun. The wind picks up for a second and I shiver. Am I feeling guilty? I definitely feel worse than when I started. And now I imagine Jarod just to give myself guilt.
I turn into the parking lot and head for my car. I don't care if it's cheap hooch, there has to be some alcohol in this town. The lighting is not the greatest and I concentrate on not falling. I hang onto the fender a the panel truck parked next to my car which is, of course, parked on a sheet of ice.
Suddenly, someone grabs me from behind, a hard muscular arm pins my arms to my chest and a hand clamps over my mouth. I'm stunned for a second, just enough alcohol in my system to slow reactions. I brace myself to fight but he's not doing anything. He's just standing there, holding me too tight. I wait for him to make some move so I can use his momentum against him. But he's not moving, just breathing heavily and sort of rubbing his stubbled cheek on my hair. It makes my skin crawl, but still I wait. I know who it is; yet I hope it's a stranger.
He inhales deeply, breathing in the fragrance of my hair, my sweat and the smell of another man. His arm tightens, cutting off my breath and his fingers dig into my cheeks. I barely start to struggle; he relaxes again. Still we stand there.
I feel his breath hot on my neck as he nuzzles it, heavy breathing. It makes me shiver; I try to pull away. He moves his mouth to my ear, warm breath, harsh whisper, "It could have been me."
I'm free. He releases me, hand brushing my breast just a beat too long to be accidental, and I fall against my car. I spin around, catching my breath, trying to find the gun in my purse with numb fingers, but he's already in the shadows.
Oh my god, it was him. Jarod. Oh my god. I'm completely sober now. I have the gun in my hand and it's staying there. The whole time, he's been watching me. Oh my god, he was watching.
I slip and slide my way into my motel. The desk clerk sees the gun and probably the look on my face. "Mugger," to his unasked question, "I scared him off." I brandish the gun. He just nods and dusks his head; he does not want to know. I get on the elevator.
I scared Jarod? Not ever. But he just scared the shit out of me. Oh my god, he was watching. Does he always watch me? Oh my god, did he watch Thomas and me? Did he set us up so he could watch? Oh my god. I can't seem to stop thinking that mantra. I rub the heel of my hand into my forehead. Oh, God.
I have the gun ready when I get to my room. I shove the door hard in case he's behind it. I deadbolt the door. I check the closet, under the bed, behind the drapes, and the bathroom. I check my suitcase; everything looks undisturbed. At least he wasn't in here rummaging through my clothes.
I walk over to the bed again; the bed is still made, bedspread in place. Something is wrong but it takes a moment for me to place it. There's an indentation on the right side of the bed, the side I did not sleep on. I step closer and lift the spread. There, on my pillow are a candy cane heart and a condom. I grab them and throw both in the garbage.
I go back to the window and look out. Is that him in the shadows? I check the windows even though I'm on the fifth floor; they are sealed. I recheck the door. The clothes I was wearing follow Jarod's gifts into the garbage. Then I take the longest hottest shower I can stand. Oh, God.
There is no way I'm going near that bed again. I put on a pantsuit and sit in a chair near the window, facing the door. I don't think he'll come after me here but I'm not sure. I thought I knew him, felt safe when he was around, irritated but safe. Except for moments in Vermont, but I rationalized those. He was upset because of his father. Now I don't think I know Jarod at all; I don't understand what he just did. And when I think about the things he said in Vermont... Was he telling the truth about watching me?
My mind circles until dawn. I find myself peeking out the window every few minutes, waiting for the shadows to disappear so I can get to my car without watching every direction at once. Pedestrian traffic is starting to pick up, and there's no sign of Jarod anywhere. I think I'll get out of here before my paranoia nails me to the spot. I grab my coat and bag. I check the hallway and keep a hand on my gun until I reach the lobby.
Checkout, the drive to the airport and catching the first flight east were uneventful. I finally doze off in-flight but not deeply or for long. I want to go home and change all the locks again but first I need to talk to Sydney about Jarod.
What the hell is wrong with him?
Well, it's Christmas Eve and I'm sitting at my desk looking at Lyle. Ho, ho, ho.
I spoke to Sydney about the Portland adventure and Jarod as soon as I got back. He was surprised by Jarod's near violence toward me. Syd suggested I had overreacted then retracted the suggestion. He's worried because Jarod always separated his opinion of me from his hatred of The Centre. Now he's beat up his father, accosted me and hasn't spoken to Syd in over a month. Sydney is afraid Jarod will disappear or become another Alex. God, that's just what I wanted to hear.
Lyle's here because he was elected to tell me that I can't take Seth to my house for Christmas. Daddy was too occupied to come himself. Yeah, right, he was just afraid to face me.
Raines finally found out I've been taking Seth out of The Centre. While I was away being assaulted, someone expressed concern about our plans for tomorrow. Raines confronted Daddy. I would love to know how long the Chairman defended his children before he caved.
Lyle is apologetic. Maybe he has genuine feelings for his brother. That may be too much to hope for. It's more likely he would do anything to oppose Raines. But still he gave me presents for Seth and Je. When he saw my surprise he told me not to go all warm and fuzzy on him. Then he walked out.
So I get to spend Christmas at The Centre, another thing to thank Jarod for.
Christmas Day goes smoothly. I spend the majority of it with Seth and Jenis. They loved the clothes, books and art supplies I got them. They were thrilled with the Game Boy Advance systems that Lyle gave them. Seth can't quite handle his yet but I give it a week before he has Yoshie doing whatever yoshies do. Je, on the other hand, whizzed through Mario something and is now engrossed in Tony Hawke. Seth is trying to climb into his lap so he can watch the action. I predict a fight in a few minutes. I think I'll make a run for it now.
Sydney stopped in earlier. He lifted an eyebrow at the jeans and sweater I'd given Je, but said nothing. His eyebrows hit the ceiling when I told him Lyle was responsible for the Game Boys. He walked away smiling and shaking his head. Well, I still think it was nice. Nice Lyle, it still makes me nervous.
Sydney asked me to stop by this evening. I'm too tired but I go.
[I take a shot of vodka before I dial the phone; another while it rings, courage in a bottle. The sound of the receiver being lifted on the other end almost causes me hang up.
"Sydney here."
His voice sounds so good, so normal, from another world. For a second I can't speak. Then softly so I don't scare myself away, "Sydney."
"Jarod, thank God!"
"God has little to do with me I'm afraid. And I would think you'd be thanking him more if I just dropped dead."
"Jarod!" softly reprimanding. "Talk to me."
"Have I become what I hate?"
"If you can ask that..."
"Please, Sydney!" my voice cracks, "give me a straight answer just one damn time." Is it anger or despair?
"Your recent behavior is on the edge of real violence. But if you can still ask that question, then I would say you are not a sociopath."
"I think I've passed over the edge of violence. Don't you?
"You may have. Until recently I still saw clear signs of restraint, self-control. Now I worry. Do you know what do you want?"
"I want to be Uriel, the pitiless Fire of God. 'Uriel, the angel of God shall bring forth the souls of those sinners... they shall burn them... in everlasting fire; and after that all of them with their dwelling places are destroyed, they shall be punished eternally.' I want judgment."
"Judgment should be left to... God perhaps. I heard you fought with your father. Was that a form of justice?"
"It was a bit one-sided to be called a fight. I heard he survived. I believe I lost that self-control you speak of, just for a moment. In another way I felt in complete control. I think I liked it. I like the feeling of power when a building goes up in flames like a carefully orchestrated symphony." Fire can be a beautiful thing. Power.
"And the data annex in Rehoboth?"
"An accident. But there are no innocents working for The Centre so I feel no guilt." I feel nothing at the moment, a void where my soul should be.
"If that is true, why are you calling me?" He always manages to see through me.
Do I have a soul? Does Sydney know? "Angelo won't talk to me. He said he's afraid because I feel like Lyle, all black and angry. That's me, another Centre success story. So you don't think I've turned into another Alex?" Not for want of trying
"You are not Lyle or Alex. You are no one but yourself."
"No one? That seems appropriate. I'm Centre property; the construction of two unmarked test tubes in a lab."
"Your genetics were mapped out for years before you were conceived. You were not an accident"
"So you did know?" God, he's lied to me too... all this time. I should hang up now; pay him a visit; explain truthfulness.
"No, Jarod. I only found out after Donoterase. I don't know that many facts but I know you were meant to be."
Should I believe him? "So were Kyle and Angelo and all the rest engineered? Were they meant to be?"
"Genetics is an uncertain process."
"Well, of course it is in the field. So they switched to gene mapping and cloning, more precise and controlled. And after years of methodical experimentation they produced Jenis. If there's one thing I learned from The Centre it's the need for control."
"Your quest for control is understandable."
I laugh aloud. That's funny. That's really funny. "Is it Sydney? If so, you taught me. It's all I ever knew from you; what I got for Christmas and every other day."
"Jarod, you know I regret the things that were done to you and the others. You must come to terms with the truth and the past. For healing to begin, you must first forgive..."
"I can't forgive." I don't want to forgive. I want justice. I want my hands around your neck...
"Do not let your anger get the better of you. Control it, not it you. Let me come to you; we can talk."
I mentally blink. Around his neck? Oh God, do I hate him that much? "I can't talk to you any more." I have to get away from the phone, stay away from him. I need to walk.
"Jarod, please..." Sydney is still talking when I hang up my phone.
I should separate myself from them all; take away their power over me. I need to walk. It's only ten miles to Parker's house and I can't allow myself sleep this close to The Centre any way.
I should hate her. I thought she had changed. I hate what she does; what she did in Portland. I did hate her for that moment when she went with him; when I smelled him on her. I need to see her. It's only ten miles.]
When I get to Sydney's house Michelle answers the door. She tells me Syd is in his study and offers me food. I politely decline and she says she will be in the kitchen if I change my mind. She smiles but does not seem very joyous.
Sydney is pacing and wringing his hands when I walk in. He tells me Jarod just called him. He would not tell me what Jarod said but I don't think I've ever seen him that upset over anything Jarod's done. Then again, Jarod's never been this far over the deep end.
Syd wonders if Jarod's psychosis is permanent. He uses the word salvageable. That surprises me but I don't comment. I do ask if Jarod is ready to get help. Sydney just sits down at his desk and puts his hands over his face. I think he was crying. I walk over and put my hand on his arm. He says he needs to be alone.
I stop in the kitchen on my way out. Michelle promises to take care of him. I go home, make sure the place is locked up tight and Jarod has not managed to get through the alarms and security devices. I pour myself a short brandy and go to bed. I'm tired, the brandy hits me just right, and I fall asleep quickly. This has been a very Un-Merry Christmas.
He's in here, in my bedroom. I hear him breathing. He's at the foot of the bed; I hear the bad floorboard creak slightly. If I lay perfectly still maybe he'll think I'm still asleep. He'll just watch me and leave like he has before.
I don't know what woke me five minutes ago but it's been five minutes of hell. I concentrate on breathing slow and calm, even though my heart is pounding against my ribs. I reach for my gun under the pillow, slowly so the blanket doesn't move at all. It's not there. I know it was there when I fell asleep.
He's moving. His shoe scrapes on the on the carpeting. Stay calm. It sounds like he's leaving. No, he's moving up the bed. He's standing over me. He chuckles softly in his throat; it's not a pleasant sound.
"Do you think I can't tell the difference? I've watched you sleep a hundred times. I know how you breathe, how you move your lips, how you drool." He's leaning over me; I feel the weight of his shadow. "I've seen how your eyes move under the lids when you dream, how you move your arms and legs, how you throw back the blankets when you get hot."
He rips the blanket off. I open my eyes. My arm is still under the pillow; I throw it at his head and start to move. He bats the pillow away and laughs. He was expecting it. I don't even make it to a sitting position. He grabs my throwing arm with one hand, pushing it above my head. He catches my other wrist and pushes me down with his other arm. His knee is on my stomach and I can't breathe. His face, his wild face is over mine.
"Fight me, Parker, go ahead. I've wanted this for a long time."
I fight myself free of the blankets. I can't catch my breath. I'm awake, I'm awake and I'm alone. Jesus; Mary, Mother of God, it was a dream! I know I'm hyperventilating but I can't catch my breath. I deliberately hold my breath for a count of ten, and think about every breath after that. My gun. I rip the pillow off the bed and throw it across the room. My gun is right where it should be. It was just a dream.
I get out of bed and pull back the heavy curtain. There's a half moon and few clouds. Dawn is just a few hours away. I look down. There he is, standing against a tree. He looks up at me and pulls out his cell phone. I walk to the bed and bring the phone back to the window before the second ring.
"What do you want, Jarod?"
"I can't remember any more."
"You know, you could call Sydney again. He's very worried about you." So am I.
"So he said."
"Don't you think you've done enough?"
"I'll know when it's enough."
"Do you think so?"
He doesn't answer.
"Jarod, if you ask for Refuge I will... we will try to help you."
He drops the phone to his side and looks up at me silently. Is that glint a tear on his cheek? He looks down. He puts the phone back to his mouth, then closes it, turns and walks away. Merry Christmas, Jarod.
