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The Ultimate Pretend
by D.W. Chong
Jarod trailed the line of pregnant ladies in their grey shifts and paper slippers as they made their daily walk through The Centre's habitat modules. It was nice to smell the flowers, but The Centre's greenhouses were too much like The Centre itself: changeless, seasonless, statically frozen in time.
Even though he could only remember being Outside three of his forty years, he missed the bite of Winter's cold and the kiss of wind against his face.
He hung his head, glancing at his guards from under his long eyelashes. For fear of Daddy Parker's wrath, they did not dare manacle or shackle him. They did not dare raise a hand to him. But they did not dare let him walk around unescorted,
either.
He smiled shyly and smugly all at the same time, as stonished by his circumstances as any of them, but the moment passed, and so did their time in the gardens.
Jarod and the pregnant ladies shuffled back to the nearest bank of elevators and, as they had done now for the last six months, he left them there, taking a separate elevator down to Renewal Wing. Once his personal team of Sweeper-guards crowded in after him, there was no room for anybody else.
Jarod gulped as he stepped to Miss Parker's room. As usual, Sam the Sweeper was the only one who followed him inside. There had been no change since he had visited her yesterday, and Jarod tried not to sigh out his disappointment as she blinked at him with vacant eyes. He brushed her hair and touched up her make-up before settling into the chair beside her bed, then, lifting her hand off the bed as if it were the most delicate porcelain, he gently pressed her palm against the bare skin of his distended belly.
"She's here, Miss Parker. She's just fine. She's waiting for you to wake up. We all are," he told her. He knew she could hear him, he just didn't know if she could understand what he was saying and, as happened every day, tears glittered down his cheeks like beads dropping off a broken necklace.
He couldn't help it. Seeing her like this, so helpless, so lost, so lax and unresponsive amid her crisp, white sheets devastated him. She had lapsed into a coma after the operation to remove the bullet she had taken to save her father, but, despite her encouraging arrousal into a vegetative state following aggressive theraputic measures, she had made no further progress.
It was the ultimate irony.
Jarod was back at The Centre and, as she had always vowed, it was Miss Parker who had captured him --not with her Sweepers and threats and superior tactics, but her self-sacrifice for a man Jarod still considered unworthy. Jarod had not been able to leave her, at first. He wouldn't have left her at all, if Brigitte hadn't pulled a gun on him.
Once they had gotten him back to The Centre events has taken their expected course: he had refused to perform, to speak, to even eat. They had restrained him so he couldn't hurt himself, and locked him in a cell even more severe than the one he had occupied as a child.
But then, after two weeks of escalating threats, Sydney had come to him...had taken him to see Miss Parker...had told him that she was pregnant with Thomas Gate's child.
Jarod had been flabbergasted. He knew immediately that Miss Parker hadn't known she was pregnant. She would never have thrown herself into the path of that bullet had she known, even if that meant she had to watch her father die. The child --Thomas's child-- would have been that precious to her.
But Jarod had done enough pretends as a doctor to know that comatose patients were rarely able to carry a child to term, even with the best of care, and the demands a pregnancy put on their bodies pretty well eradicated any chance the mother had to regain consciousness. Miss Parker's only hope was an abortion.
That was the accepted treatment for her condition. Only, he knew Miss Parker would rather die than lose Thomas's child.
That's when Sydney had sprung his trap.
When Jarod first heard Sydney's proposition, he thought his mentor had lost his mind. But Jarod knew --especially given The Centre's history of medical innovations-- that what Sydney proposed was possible and, as Sydney had pointed out: in the whole of The Centre's Blue Cove operations there were only three people currently in residence who could save Miss Parker's child, because only they shared Miss Parker's rare AB- blood type: Mr. Lyle, Angelo, and Jarod himself.
Jarod would not entrust the care of a goldfish to Mr. Lyle, and Angelo lacked the mental competence to equal the task. That left Jarod.
Sydney had counted on a combination of Jarod's protective instincts and dire necessity to coerce Jarod's cooperation, and Jarod had not disappointed him, for he could not stand idly by while he possessed the means to save any child at risk, and this was no ordinary child. It was Miss Parker's child. It was Miss Parker's only hope. It was the ultimate Pretend.
Jarod laid Miss Parker's hand back atop the crisp, white sheets, caressed her face, and heaved himself out of the chair. If she woke up --when she woke up-- she would need this child to give her the strength and the will to soldier through her rehabilitation. He rubbed his swelling breasts. They had been so sore these last few days. He blamed the hormones. He wished he could blame the hormones for his stretchmarks, too.
It had been an exquisite torture, one he had suffered gladly, but it would be over any day, now. Of course, They knew that, and they'd be ready for him --and *he* knew that. It was just part of the game. But it wouldn't be today, and they all understood that, as well.
Jarod smiled slyly and shuffled out the door with Sam to heel like an obedient dog, heading for the nearest bathroom, the strains of a song he had heard Outside, 'Anticipation', running through his head.
He was back at The Centre, a place to which he had vowed he would never return, cooperating fully, a thing he had sworn he would never do, and although he was free to wander where he willed, he had not tried to escape in six months. He had not even entertained the notion. And he wouldn't, as long as he was carrying Miss Parker and Thomas Gate's child.
The End.
The Ultimate Pretend
by D.W. Chong
Jarod trailed the line of pregnant ladies in their grey shifts and paper slippers as they made their daily walk through The Centre's habitat modules. It was nice to smell the flowers, but The Centre's greenhouses were too much like The Centre itself: changeless, seasonless, statically frozen in time.
Even though he could only remember being Outside three of his forty years, he missed the bite of Winter's cold and the kiss of wind against his face.
He hung his head, glancing at his guards from under his long eyelashes. For fear of Daddy Parker's wrath, they did not dare manacle or shackle him. They did not dare raise a hand to him. But they did not dare let him walk around unescorted,
either.
He smiled shyly and smugly all at the same time, as stonished by his circumstances as any of them, but the moment passed, and so did their time in the gardens.
Jarod and the pregnant ladies shuffled back to the nearest bank of elevators and, as they had done now for the last six months, he left them there, taking a separate elevator down to Renewal Wing. Once his personal team of Sweeper-guards crowded in after him, there was no room for anybody else.
Jarod gulped as he stepped to Miss Parker's room. As usual, Sam the Sweeper was the only one who followed him inside. There had been no change since he had visited her yesterday, and Jarod tried not to sigh out his disappointment as she blinked at him with vacant eyes. He brushed her hair and touched up her make-up before settling into the chair beside her bed, then, lifting her hand off the bed as if it were the most delicate porcelain, he gently pressed her palm against the bare skin of his distended belly.
"She's here, Miss Parker. She's just fine. She's waiting for you to wake up. We all are," he told her. He knew she could hear him, he just didn't know if she could understand what he was saying and, as happened every day, tears glittered down his cheeks like beads dropping off a broken necklace.
He couldn't help it. Seeing her like this, so helpless, so lost, so lax and unresponsive amid her crisp, white sheets devastated him. She had lapsed into a coma after the operation to remove the bullet she had taken to save her father, but, despite her encouraging arrousal into a vegetative state following aggressive theraputic measures, she had made no further progress.
It was the ultimate irony.
Jarod was back at The Centre and, as she had always vowed, it was Miss Parker who had captured him --not with her Sweepers and threats and superior tactics, but her self-sacrifice for a man Jarod still considered unworthy. Jarod had not been able to leave her, at first. He wouldn't have left her at all, if Brigitte hadn't pulled a gun on him.
Once they had gotten him back to The Centre events has taken their expected course: he had refused to perform, to speak, to even eat. They had restrained him so he couldn't hurt himself, and locked him in a cell even more severe than the one he had occupied as a child.
But then, after two weeks of escalating threats, Sydney had come to him...had taken him to see Miss Parker...had told him that she was pregnant with Thomas Gate's child.
Jarod had been flabbergasted. He knew immediately that Miss Parker hadn't known she was pregnant. She would never have thrown herself into the path of that bullet had she known, even if that meant she had to watch her father die. The child --Thomas's child-- would have been that precious to her.
But Jarod had done enough pretends as a doctor to know that comatose patients were rarely able to carry a child to term, even with the best of care, and the demands a pregnancy put on their bodies pretty well eradicated any chance the mother had to regain consciousness. Miss Parker's only hope was an abortion.
That was the accepted treatment for her condition. Only, he knew Miss Parker would rather die than lose Thomas's child.
That's when Sydney had sprung his trap.
When Jarod first heard Sydney's proposition, he thought his mentor had lost his mind. But Jarod knew --especially given The Centre's history of medical innovations-- that what Sydney proposed was possible and, as Sydney had pointed out: in the whole of The Centre's Blue Cove operations there were only three people currently in residence who could save Miss Parker's child, because only they shared Miss Parker's rare AB- blood type: Mr. Lyle, Angelo, and Jarod himself.
Jarod would not entrust the care of a goldfish to Mr. Lyle, and Angelo lacked the mental competence to equal the task. That left Jarod.
Sydney had counted on a combination of Jarod's protective instincts and dire necessity to coerce Jarod's cooperation, and Jarod had not disappointed him, for he could not stand idly by while he possessed the means to save any child at risk, and this was no ordinary child. It was Miss Parker's child. It was Miss Parker's only hope. It was the ultimate Pretend.
Jarod laid Miss Parker's hand back atop the crisp, white sheets, caressed her face, and heaved himself out of the chair. If she woke up --when she woke up-- she would need this child to give her the strength and the will to soldier through her rehabilitation. He rubbed his swelling breasts. They had been so sore these last few days. He blamed the hormones. He wished he could blame the hormones for his stretchmarks, too.
It had been an exquisite torture, one he had suffered gladly, but it would be over any day, now. Of course, They knew that, and they'd be ready for him --and *he* knew that. It was just part of the game. But it wouldn't be today, and they all understood that, as well.
Jarod smiled slyly and shuffled out the door with Sam to heel like an obedient dog, heading for the nearest bathroom, the strains of a song he had heard Outside, 'Anticipation', running through his head.
He was back at The Centre, a place to which he had vowed he would never return, cooperating fully, a thing he had sworn he would never do, and although he was free to wander where he willed, he had not tried to escape in six months. He had not even entertained the notion. And he wouldn't, as long as he was carrying Miss Parker and Thomas Gate's child.
The End.
