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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: Ditto the disclaimer in chapter 1.
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Author’s Note: I just saw the coolest thing on a rerun of CSI. To be honest, I had never seen the show until Spike TV ran a marathon on Labor Day. Anyway, there was this woman who had been abducted when she was four and was now (21 years later), suspected of murder. The investigators were talking with a psychologist regarding the woman’s state of mind. He said that children abducted at that age tend to develop sociopathic personalities. They will do anything, absolutely anything in order to survive. I thought that was rather significant in regards to our favorite pretender. Just thought I would share.
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Seizing Destiny
Part 2
09/06/04
- Two years earlier. -
Jarod hovered in the shadows as dawn crept over the treetops. He waited with what seemed to be a remarkable calm. Few who knew him would have recognized the pretender’s economy of motion as the tension it was.
Everything about this screamed of a trap. An unsolicited email allegedly sent by “a friend”. A meeting place that was uncomfortably isolated, a state park far from civilization. It felt wrong, as if things were being manipulated. Having played by the Centre’s rules for so long, Jarod could smell a setup from a mile away. And right now the odor was very strong.
And yet, there was still a chance, however miniscule it may be, that the arranged meeting was for real. Jarod’s mother could have found a way to contact him. They had been so close on Carthis. In the four months that had lapsed since then, Jarod had confirmed her location on three different occasions. He had been less than a day behind her the last time.
Perhaps it was because he was getting so close. Each near miss became more disheartening than the last. The running, the searching was taking its toll. He was so weary of the game that he was willing to grasp at straws. However, Jarod wasn’t blind to his own desperation. He wanted this liaison to be the reunion he hoped for. But he very much doubted it.
It was a dangerous risk he was taking. In the months since Carthis, with Mr. Raines in charge at the Centre, the game had taken a serious turn. Jarod had always counted on the fact that the powers that be wanted him alive. That knowledge had given him an edge in every encounter. But things had changed. The threats themselves had not, Parker still snarled at him with the same fervor during their phone calls. But there was a new tension in her voice. An uncertainty that told Jarod how bad things had gotten within the Centre’s dark halls. He feared for her. He feared for Sydney. He feared for himself should he ever fall into Raines’ grasp.
This meeting was a gamble and the pretender knew it. But forewarned was forearmed as the old saying goes. Jarod could not pass up this opportunity. Yet he still braced himself for disappointment.
Jarod barely moved as he waited for the appointed time. Still as a statue, he hid among the pines at the edge of a large field. This position gave him the best view of his surroundings. He could see the empty parking lot, a dozen barren picnic tables and the entrance to a trail that disappeared into the woods.
There was no one to be seen. Not surprising, given the day and the location. In another state, closer to a town, Jarod may have found the occasional jogger this early in the morning. Weekends would have brought campers, hikers and nature lovers on picnics. But today the park was vacant.
Jarod had arrived early. So much so that by the time the red hatchback pulled into the lot, his legs and shoulders had begun to ache from the tense immobility of his stance. His heart leapt in anticipation as the automobile came to a stop.
For one long minute, the driver was nothing more than a shadow within the car. Jarod held his breath as the shadow shifted and the door opened. A denim-clad leg stepped from the vehicle as the driver stood and glanced around warily.
Jarod gasped. He had never seen her wear her hair loose, except in pictures. The long tresses were the most unusual color. Age had lessened the red and the auburn locks were now shot through with streaks of white. Early morning sunlight illuminated the soft curls, revealing every imaginable color in red-orange spectrum.
Simply dressed and without makeup she was lovely without even trying. She had no manicure, no dye in her hair, nothing artificial to mar her radiance. She cupped one hand over her eyes and squinted toward the tree line, deepening the wrinkles at the edges of each eye. Jarod stared at her, thinking that no other woman in the world carried such natural beauty. No woman - except one.
Jarod’s gawking lasted for the span of two heartbeats. Habit forced him to scan the park with his eyes once more before he stepped from his hiding place. He hesitated for a moment, waiting for her to see him.
“Jarod?” she called uncertainly.
“Mom.” His voice was little more than a strangled croak. Suddenly, Jarod was running. He sprinted across the grass, closing the distance between them in a matter of seconds. Jarod scooped his mother into a huge bear hug and spun her in circles as he buried his face in the mesmerizing curls.
“Oh my god. Oh my god,” Jarod’s mother cried over and over.
Jarod’s laughter rolled through his entire body. Tears wet his cheeks and he didn’t try to wipe them away. When his spinning slowed and came to a stop, Jarod hugged his mother tightly, resting his cheek on the top of her head. She had her arms wrapped around his midsection, squeezing him hard as she wept into the fabric of his shirt.
With the palm of one hand, Jarod made soothing little circles on his mother’s back. He felt a mild sense of disorientation as he realized that he was comforting her. In his dreams, he had always imagined their reunion to consist of mother reassuring child.
“It’s okay,” Jarod murmured. “Don’t cry. We’re together now.”
The woman continued to sob as she spoke. “I can’t believe you finally found me, Jarod. How on earth did you do it?”
Jarod’s entire body tensed and went on the alert. “I didn’t,” he replied bluntly. Snapping to attention, the pretender’s eyes scoured the area. Still, he saw nothing, no one to cause concern.
“What’s wrong?” his mother asked.
Pulling his mother from his embrace, Jarod shifted her into a defensible position. “They are here.” He couldn’t see anyone, but Jarod was sure that they weren’t far. The abrupt cessation of sound seemed to prove it. The birds that had been singing moments ago were now mute. Heavy silence blanketed the park as Jarod grasped his mother by the arm and they started to run.
“My car,” Jarod’s mother began.
“No,” he bit in frustration. “The road is easily blocked. We’ll go this way.” Nearly dragging his mother with him, Jarod dashed across the field toward the hiking trail.
Behind them Jarod could hear cars screeching to a halt in the lot. He didn’t need to look to know that the sweepers had boxed in the little red vehicle. Doors slammed and voices shouted instructions. The pretender used the sounds to tell him what he did not want to know. There were two sedans, carrying no less than six sweepers. Parker was not among them, nor was Sydney, a fact that caused a sudden bolt of panic to surge through Jarod’s veins.
It was a matter of speed now. Jarod knew that he and his mother only needed to make it to the trees and they would be safe. Once in the woods, he could easily vanish. Even with an untrained woman along, Jarod’s skill at evasion would be no match for those that pursued him.
They were less than fifty yards from the edge of the trail before Jarod risked a glance backward. The sweepers were well behind them. He and his mother had gotten a good head start. A smile curled Jarod’s mouth as he calculated the two distances and realized that the shorter was in their favor.
Jarod suddenly stopped in his tracks, his body reacting before his mind even registered what was happening. Willie had stepped out of the trees and was pointing a pistol. The tall black man stood between Jarod and safety.
“Willie,” Jarod hissed. The sweeper had been waiting, hiding in the trees just as Jarod had done. Willie had been waiting longer than Jarod, for the pretender would have noticed his approach otherwise. “Why didn’t you just grab me? Why the charade?” Jarod asked coldly as the other sweepers caught up and surrounded them.
“I wasn’t waiting for you,” Willie answered.
There was a loud report, a single gunshot ripping through the air. Jarod flinched in astonishment. In the same moment, his mother crumpled to the ground at his side.
“NO!”
With her hand still clasped in his, Jarod’s mother dragged him down as she fell. She landed on her side so that Jarod was forced to roll her over in order to see her. The dark red stain on her blouse was spreading rapidly. Whimpering his distress, Jarod put one hand over the scarlet hole and put firm pressure on the wound. Under his palm, he could feel the spongy surge of liquid as his mother’s heart pumped blood through the puncture in her chest.
“Mom,” Jarod cried through a blur of tears. “No, please no.”
The startled look on the woman’s face softened into sadness. She placed one hand over her son’s and gave it a little squeeze. “My poor baby,” she whispered. Reaching up she ran her fingertips across Jarod’s cheek, leaving bright red streaks of blood wherever she touched.
Jarod sobbed. “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me.”
“Remember,” she gasped as she clutched weakly at Jarod’s shirt. “I always loved you. Always remember.”
The human body contains approximately twelve pints of blood. When more than half of that volume is lost, the body shuts down. Jarod knew this. He knew exactly how much of his mother’s life was slipping away with each heartbeat. As her eyes slipped closed, Jarod gathered her into his arms and pulled her on to his lap. Beneath his palm he could feel the heart struggling, weakening as the precious liquid leaked between his fingers.
When Jarod could no longer feel the beats in her chest, he placed his hand to his mother’s neck and counted the fluttering pulse at her carotid. Moments later, this soft sign of life faded as well. She was gone. Jarod had found her and lost her in the span of just a few minutes.
Hugging his mother to his chest, Jarod held her tightly and wailed in grief. The edges of his vision wavered and suddenly it was night. He was in a dark desert kneeling over his brother as a different set of Centre representatives watched. The strange sensation lasted only a moment before he snapped back to the present where the day was bright and the body he held was a parent rather than a sibling.
One of the sweepers, someone Jarod did not recognize, stepped to his side and grabbed him by the arm. The sweeper dragged Jarod backward and as the lifeless body slid from his embrace, he was overwhelmed by a black rage. This wasn’t the first time the pretender had surrendered to fury. Men had been badly beaten in the past, one nearly choked to death, when Jarod’s anger had ruled him.
With a roar of pure hatred, Jarod spun in the other man’s grasp and jabbed upward in a sharp, vicious motion. The man went down like a stone, blood bursting from his nose and eye sockets as cartilage shattered and was forced into the brain. As the sweeper fell to the ground, Jarod took the man’s gun. Before the others could react, Jarod was using the weapon on them with a deadly precision.
There was a clattering of gunfire, pitifully short in duration, as Jarod mowed down his opponents. Few of the sweepers even managed to return fire at all. In what seemed to be little more than the blink of an eye, only Jarod and Willie were left standing. The two men stood, rigidly pointing their weapons at one another. With a blatant disregard for the black man’s gun, Jarod stalked toward Willie, closing the distance between them.
“You didn’t have to kill her,” the pretender growled.
In a blur of motion, Jarod lunged forward and grabbed Willie’s pistol. There was a shot but it went wild as Jarod wrenched the gun from Willie’s hand and promptly began to beat him with it. Tossing aside both guns, Jarod continued to pummel the sweeper with his fists. He grabbed the other man by the shirt and slammed him against the tree that Willie had been hiding behind. The back of Willie’s skull cracked against the bark repeatedly.
“Why did you have to KILL HER?” Jarod screamed with rage.
“Orders,” Willie gasped. “I had orders.”
The pretender went terribly still. For a long moment, he was as motionless as a statue. When Jarod moved again, it was with lightening speed. A knife abruptly appeared from under Jarod’s jacket. It was a very large, wicked looking knife that he held to Willie’s throat.
“Whose orders?” Jarod asked with an ominous quiet.
“I don’t know,” Willie answered. Looking into Jarod’s hard brown eyes, Willie knew that he was staring at his own death. “I swear to god, I do not know. All Centre contracts are issued through code names. You know that as well as any of us.”
The blade turned so that Jarod held it along his forearm at Willie’s neck. The sharp edge pressed into Willie’s tender flesh leaving a fine red line as more weight pressed against the sweeper.
“Enigma,” Willie added quickly. “Code name enigma. That’s all I have.”
“It isn’t enough to save you” Jarod hissed. With a violent jerk of his arm, he slashed the blade across the dark skin. Jarod didn’t even flinch when hot liquid spurted across his face. Willie was gurgling through a sliced windpipe as Jarod stepped back and allowed the other man to fall.
The pretender stood and watched with a detached fascination as Willie bled to death. Only after the sweeper’s legs had given their last convulsive twitch, did Jarod turn to survey the carnage that surrounded him. Bodies were strewn everywhere like in some grotesque horror film. But he ignored them, stepping over them as if they didn’t exist.
Kneeling beside the dead woman, Jarod reached out and caressed her soft hair. Something deep inside his soul sighed with resignation. Hatred and rage hardened in Jarod’s chest, so that he could not even weep. The sorrow was there, Jarod knew. But for the moment, his grief was buried beneath icy hate. Cradling his mother in his arms, Jarod stood up. He carried her into the woods and vanished, leaving the sweepers where they lay.
-
Author’s Note: I just saw the coolest thing on a rerun of CSI. To be honest, I had never seen the show until Spike TV ran a marathon on Labor Day. Anyway, there was this woman who had been abducted when she was four and was now (21 years later), suspected of murder. The investigators were talking with a psychologist regarding the woman’s state of mind. He said that children abducted at that age tend to develop sociopathic personalities. They will do anything, absolutely anything in order to survive. I thought that was rather significant in regards to our favorite pretender. Just thought I would share.
-
Seizing Destiny
Part 2
09/06/04
- Two years earlier. -
Jarod hovered in the shadows as dawn crept over the treetops. He waited with what seemed to be a remarkable calm. Few who knew him would have recognized the pretender’s economy of motion as the tension it was.
Everything about this screamed of a trap. An unsolicited email allegedly sent by “a friend”. A meeting place that was uncomfortably isolated, a state park far from civilization. It felt wrong, as if things were being manipulated. Having played by the Centre’s rules for so long, Jarod could smell a setup from a mile away. And right now the odor was very strong.
And yet, there was still a chance, however miniscule it may be, that the arranged meeting was for real. Jarod’s mother could have found a way to contact him. They had been so close on Carthis. In the four months that had lapsed since then, Jarod had confirmed her location on three different occasions. He had been less than a day behind her the last time.
Perhaps it was because he was getting so close. Each near miss became more disheartening than the last. The running, the searching was taking its toll. He was so weary of the game that he was willing to grasp at straws. However, Jarod wasn’t blind to his own desperation. He wanted this liaison to be the reunion he hoped for. But he very much doubted it.
It was a dangerous risk he was taking. In the months since Carthis, with Mr. Raines in charge at the Centre, the game had taken a serious turn. Jarod had always counted on the fact that the powers that be wanted him alive. That knowledge had given him an edge in every encounter. But things had changed. The threats themselves had not, Parker still snarled at him with the same fervor during their phone calls. But there was a new tension in her voice. An uncertainty that told Jarod how bad things had gotten within the Centre’s dark halls. He feared for her. He feared for Sydney. He feared for himself should he ever fall into Raines’ grasp.
This meeting was a gamble and the pretender knew it. But forewarned was forearmed as the old saying goes. Jarod could not pass up this opportunity. Yet he still braced himself for disappointment.
Jarod barely moved as he waited for the appointed time. Still as a statue, he hid among the pines at the edge of a large field. This position gave him the best view of his surroundings. He could see the empty parking lot, a dozen barren picnic tables and the entrance to a trail that disappeared into the woods.
There was no one to be seen. Not surprising, given the day and the location. In another state, closer to a town, Jarod may have found the occasional jogger this early in the morning. Weekends would have brought campers, hikers and nature lovers on picnics. But today the park was vacant.
Jarod had arrived early. So much so that by the time the red hatchback pulled into the lot, his legs and shoulders had begun to ache from the tense immobility of his stance. His heart leapt in anticipation as the automobile came to a stop.
For one long minute, the driver was nothing more than a shadow within the car. Jarod held his breath as the shadow shifted and the door opened. A denim-clad leg stepped from the vehicle as the driver stood and glanced around warily.
Jarod gasped. He had never seen her wear her hair loose, except in pictures. The long tresses were the most unusual color. Age had lessened the red and the auburn locks were now shot through with streaks of white. Early morning sunlight illuminated the soft curls, revealing every imaginable color in red-orange spectrum.
Simply dressed and without makeup she was lovely without even trying. She had no manicure, no dye in her hair, nothing artificial to mar her radiance. She cupped one hand over her eyes and squinted toward the tree line, deepening the wrinkles at the edges of each eye. Jarod stared at her, thinking that no other woman in the world carried such natural beauty. No woman - except one.
Jarod’s gawking lasted for the span of two heartbeats. Habit forced him to scan the park with his eyes once more before he stepped from his hiding place. He hesitated for a moment, waiting for her to see him.
“Jarod?” she called uncertainly.
“Mom.” His voice was little more than a strangled croak. Suddenly, Jarod was running. He sprinted across the grass, closing the distance between them in a matter of seconds. Jarod scooped his mother into a huge bear hug and spun her in circles as he buried his face in the mesmerizing curls.
“Oh my god. Oh my god,” Jarod’s mother cried over and over.
Jarod’s laughter rolled through his entire body. Tears wet his cheeks and he didn’t try to wipe them away. When his spinning slowed and came to a stop, Jarod hugged his mother tightly, resting his cheek on the top of her head. She had her arms wrapped around his midsection, squeezing him hard as she wept into the fabric of his shirt.
With the palm of one hand, Jarod made soothing little circles on his mother’s back. He felt a mild sense of disorientation as he realized that he was comforting her. In his dreams, he had always imagined their reunion to consist of mother reassuring child.
“It’s okay,” Jarod murmured. “Don’t cry. We’re together now.”
The woman continued to sob as she spoke. “I can’t believe you finally found me, Jarod. How on earth did you do it?”
Jarod’s entire body tensed and went on the alert. “I didn’t,” he replied bluntly. Snapping to attention, the pretender’s eyes scoured the area. Still, he saw nothing, no one to cause concern.
“What’s wrong?” his mother asked.
Pulling his mother from his embrace, Jarod shifted her into a defensible position. “They are here.” He couldn’t see anyone, but Jarod was sure that they weren’t far. The abrupt cessation of sound seemed to prove it. The birds that had been singing moments ago were now mute. Heavy silence blanketed the park as Jarod grasped his mother by the arm and they started to run.
“My car,” Jarod’s mother began.
“No,” he bit in frustration. “The road is easily blocked. We’ll go this way.” Nearly dragging his mother with him, Jarod dashed across the field toward the hiking trail.
Behind them Jarod could hear cars screeching to a halt in the lot. He didn’t need to look to know that the sweepers had boxed in the little red vehicle. Doors slammed and voices shouted instructions. The pretender used the sounds to tell him what he did not want to know. There were two sedans, carrying no less than six sweepers. Parker was not among them, nor was Sydney, a fact that caused a sudden bolt of panic to surge through Jarod’s veins.
It was a matter of speed now. Jarod knew that he and his mother only needed to make it to the trees and they would be safe. Once in the woods, he could easily vanish. Even with an untrained woman along, Jarod’s skill at evasion would be no match for those that pursued him.
They were less than fifty yards from the edge of the trail before Jarod risked a glance backward. The sweepers were well behind them. He and his mother had gotten a good head start. A smile curled Jarod’s mouth as he calculated the two distances and realized that the shorter was in their favor.
Jarod suddenly stopped in his tracks, his body reacting before his mind even registered what was happening. Willie had stepped out of the trees and was pointing a pistol. The tall black man stood between Jarod and safety.
“Willie,” Jarod hissed. The sweeper had been waiting, hiding in the trees just as Jarod had done. Willie had been waiting longer than Jarod, for the pretender would have noticed his approach otherwise. “Why didn’t you just grab me? Why the charade?” Jarod asked coldly as the other sweepers caught up and surrounded them.
“I wasn’t waiting for you,” Willie answered.
There was a loud report, a single gunshot ripping through the air. Jarod flinched in astonishment. In the same moment, his mother crumpled to the ground at his side.
“NO!”
With her hand still clasped in his, Jarod’s mother dragged him down as she fell. She landed on her side so that Jarod was forced to roll her over in order to see her. The dark red stain on her blouse was spreading rapidly. Whimpering his distress, Jarod put one hand over the scarlet hole and put firm pressure on the wound. Under his palm, he could feel the spongy surge of liquid as his mother’s heart pumped blood through the puncture in her chest.
“Mom,” Jarod cried through a blur of tears. “No, please no.”
The startled look on the woman’s face softened into sadness. She placed one hand over her son’s and gave it a little squeeze. “My poor baby,” she whispered. Reaching up she ran her fingertips across Jarod’s cheek, leaving bright red streaks of blood wherever she touched.
Jarod sobbed. “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me.”
“Remember,” she gasped as she clutched weakly at Jarod’s shirt. “I always loved you. Always remember.”
The human body contains approximately twelve pints of blood. When more than half of that volume is lost, the body shuts down. Jarod knew this. He knew exactly how much of his mother’s life was slipping away with each heartbeat. As her eyes slipped closed, Jarod gathered her into his arms and pulled her on to his lap. Beneath his palm he could feel the heart struggling, weakening as the precious liquid leaked between his fingers.
When Jarod could no longer feel the beats in her chest, he placed his hand to his mother’s neck and counted the fluttering pulse at her carotid. Moments later, this soft sign of life faded as well. She was gone. Jarod had found her and lost her in the span of just a few minutes.
Hugging his mother to his chest, Jarod held her tightly and wailed in grief. The edges of his vision wavered and suddenly it was night. He was in a dark desert kneeling over his brother as a different set of Centre representatives watched. The strange sensation lasted only a moment before he snapped back to the present where the day was bright and the body he held was a parent rather than a sibling.
One of the sweepers, someone Jarod did not recognize, stepped to his side and grabbed him by the arm. The sweeper dragged Jarod backward and as the lifeless body slid from his embrace, he was overwhelmed by a black rage. This wasn’t the first time the pretender had surrendered to fury. Men had been badly beaten in the past, one nearly choked to death, when Jarod’s anger had ruled him.
With a roar of pure hatred, Jarod spun in the other man’s grasp and jabbed upward in a sharp, vicious motion. The man went down like a stone, blood bursting from his nose and eye sockets as cartilage shattered and was forced into the brain. As the sweeper fell to the ground, Jarod took the man’s gun. Before the others could react, Jarod was using the weapon on them with a deadly precision.
There was a clattering of gunfire, pitifully short in duration, as Jarod mowed down his opponents. Few of the sweepers even managed to return fire at all. In what seemed to be little more than the blink of an eye, only Jarod and Willie were left standing. The two men stood, rigidly pointing their weapons at one another. With a blatant disregard for the black man’s gun, Jarod stalked toward Willie, closing the distance between them.
“You didn’t have to kill her,” the pretender growled.
In a blur of motion, Jarod lunged forward and grabbed Willie’s pistol. There was a shot but it went wild as Jarod wrenched the gun from Willie’s hand and promptly began to beat him with it. Tossing aside both guns, Jarod continued to pummel the sweeper with his fists. He grabbed the other man by the shirt and slammed him against the tree that Willie had been hiding behind. The back of Willie’s skull cracked against the bark repeatedly.
“Why did you have to KILL HER?” Jarod screamed with rage.
“Orders,” Willie gasped. “I had orders.”
The pretender went terribly still. For a long moment, he was as motionless as a statue. When Jarod moved again, it was with lightening speed. A knife abruptly appeared from under Jarod’s jacket. It was a very large, wicked looking knife that he held to Willie’s throat.
“Whose orders?” Jarod asked with an ominous quiet.
“I don’t know,” Willie answered. Looking into Jarod’s hard brown eyes, Willie knew that he was staring at his own death. “I swear to god, I do not know. All Centre contracts are issued through code names. You know that as well as any of us.”
The blade turned so that Jarod held it along his forearm at Willie’s neck. The sharp edge pressed into Willie’s tender flesh leaving a fine red line as more weight pressed against the sweeper.
“Enigma,” Willie added quickly. “Code name enigma. That’s all I have.”
“It isn’t enough to save you” Jarod hissed. With a violent jerk of his arm, he slashed the blade across the dark skin. Jarod didn’t even flinch when hot liquid spurted across his face. Willie was gurgling through a sliced windpipe as Jarod stepped back and allowed the other man to fall.
The pretender stood and watched with a detached fascination as Willie bled to death. Only after the sweeper’s legs had given their last convulsive twitch, did Jarod turn to survey the carnage that surrounded him. Bodies were strewn everywhere like in some grotesque horror film. But he ignored them, stepping over them as if they didn’t exist.
Kneeling beside the dead woman, Jarod reached out and caressed her soft hair. Something deep inside his soul sighed with resignation. Hatred and rage hardened in Jarod’s chest, so that he could not even weep. The sorrow was there, Jarod knew. But for the moment, his grief was buried beneath icy hate. Cradling his mother in his arms, Jarod stood up. He carried her into the woods and vanished, leaving the sweepers where they lay.
