Despair

“There’s nowhere left to go, Alex.”

Alex turned at his voice, frustration evident in his posture. He glanced down at the water and back at Jarod; his intent and resolve clear. “Well, there’s one place.”

Clearly not liking what he had implied, Jarod stretched out his hand and said, “Come back in. What was done to you, what was done to me was inexcusable but it’s not worth dying for.” In reply Alex looked down again as Jarod continued to plead, “Let me help you.”

“Now why would you want to help me?”

“I have a flaw in my character, remember.”

“No thanks.”

“It doesn’t’ have to end this way.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Jarod.”

“I know that there’s always hope. Always!”

“There’s no hope for me. Or for you. Do you have any idea what they would do to me if they got me back? Do you even know why they want you back so much, why they’ve been chasing you for 5 years. You don’t really think it’s about being a pretender, do you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Alex laughed and then said, “You have no idea who you really are.”

Jarod clearly didn’t like the other pretender’s assertions. Even less when Alex asked, “Did you find your mom yet?”

“No.”

“They’re never gonna let that happen.”

“Why not?”

“And they thought you were the smart one.” Alex stepped back and slipped, arms flailing, he fell through the gap in the railing. He managed to grab onto Jarod and the floor of the grating.

“I’ve got you,” Jarod said.

“No Jarod, if you save me, you win. If I fall, only you lose.”

Jarod couldn’t help but scream his denial, as he watched Alex let go, knowing that with him fell all the answers he needed.

The air-conditioned room was situated underground on sublevel 5. It was richly decorated, the boardroom table a deep mahogany, with matching leather chairs. There was only one entrance with guards standing attentively outside the room. It was soundproof and regularly swept for eavesdropping and digital devices.

At the head of the table sat an old man. He wore an Armani suit, his tie a garish yellow against the backdrop of his white shirt. He was almost bald, his ears ringed by wispy white hair. Age-spotted hands rested on the table, folded comfortably in front of him.

Kittycorner to him on either side sat a man and woman, both of African decent. Dlamini surreptitiously wiped the sweat from his forehead. He glanced at the woman across from him. The old man had placed the wedding rings in the middle of the table; they gleamed in the light, not unlike his tie. It reminded the Triumvirate member of a series of books he had once read. Something about a ring that will rule all. That had been fantasy.

This wasn’t. The scrolls had been clear on that aspect of the prophecy. Even if the rest had been garbled and twisted.

Mr Parker had failed to keep his daughter in check. Had failed in cleansing her from her mother’s emotionally fraught influence. And the Pretender’s. If Mr Parker wasn’t already dead…

The old man’s attention was drawn to Nkosisana when she cleared her throat and said hopefully, “We have their rings. That should be enough evidence, shouldn’t it?”

Dlamini shifted in his seat uneasily. He was young, only forty five and wouldn’t have been here if not for his predecessor’s untimely demise. Adama had died under suspicious circumstances and the “story” that Raines told had for some strange reason been accepted without question by the older man. This behaviour, however, was not that which got him to the rise in power he now enjoyed. Dlamini had his private thoughts on the matter but he never voiced them, aware of what the other man was capable of when doubted.

When no one else said anything, the woman restated her previous words, “They got married.”

Even though he had heard it before, an icy feeling crept down Dlamini’s spine at the ramifications.

“We know, but all is not lost. Miss Parker has her instructions; and given her success, we won’t have to concern ourselves with their earlier…ah… indiscretions.” The most senior member of the Triumvirate said evenly, his gaze shifting between Dlamini and the woman. As far as Dlamini was aware, no-one except the two members of the Triumvirate had ever met the man that now occupied the seat in front of him.

“But the scrolls…” Nkosisana started to protest.

“…are buried at sea and not relevant anymore,” the older man cut her off.

Dlamini gathered his courage. Even though he had destroyed and killed ruthlessly to ascend the Triumvirate hierarchy, the man at the head of the table petrified him. Still, things needed to be discussed and said

“Really?” the youngest member said. Choosing to ignore the warning glance the woman threw him, he continued, “If that is true, why is the Centre trying to convince the Pretender that he never got romantically involved with Parker?” Indicating the rings, he continued, “Why do we have the rings?”

“It never hurts to cover all our bases,” the white man said, his dark eyes watching him with ancient menace.

Dlamini refused to back down, throwing caution to the wind. “Then what the scrolls say is true?”

“Not necessarily,” the older man said, his voice cold and thin and sharp. “They are like Nostradamus’ predictions…open to interpretation. That fool Adama chose to believe in them and it got him killed in the end. I will not have the Triumvirate or the Centre teeter on self-destruction because of the legacy the scrolls proclaims.”

Dlamini swallowed visibly, conscious that he may have already crossed a thin line. But he hadn’t gotten here by staying silent either. It was the proverbial fine line. So, he asked the question that had been burning inside him since he had joined the inner circle and had learned about the scrolls.

“Then the prophecies are real?”

Prehistoric evil stared back at him, holding him fast and sucking all the courage from his body. He had no doubt anymore as to why the old man was still in charge, still alive.

He never did get an answer to his question.

Jarod woke by his own scream, sounds of his nightmare still echoing in his mind. His head snapped up from the pillow, his eyes shot open and he stared blankly at the wall in front of him. His heart thudded in his chest while his breathing was ragged and harsh in the silence of his cell.

Just a dream, he reasoned.

Jarod placed his arm over his eyes, waiting for the last dregs of the nightmare to fade away. It had seemed so real. He swallowed against the lingering fear as he sat up, feeling the sheets pull against his damp skin. In a morbid sort of way, it had always struck him as fascinating how the events of a dream faded long before the emotions.

Parker, where are you?

The ghostly feel of his wedding band still remained, not unlike a phantom limb sensation. He wanted to believe – needed to believe – that the memories of all the experiences had been real. That his last encounter with Parker in the infirmary had all been another elaborate Centre setup. Another mind game to break down his defences.

He remembered clearly the day after - when Lyle had visited him.

He woke to find that he was alone. Even though he had somehow expected it, it still hurt to know that Sydney hadn’t stayed with him. He wasn’t a child anymore yet he still craved the false security and safety that his mentor symbolized. Without Sydney there, he felt vulnerable. Exposed.

Bad things always happened to him in the Centre when Sydney was gone.

He turned his head and stared at the camera which was focused on his bed. Maybe this time, Sydney’s absence will be temporary?

Footsteps echoed and then the familiar figure of Lyle entered the room. Jarod shifted higher, grimacing when his ribs flared in protest.

Parker didn’t appear behind Lyle like he hoped she would.

“Where is she? I want to see her.”

Lyle lifted one eyebrow, tilting his head, watching him with intent. “Where is who?”

“You know very well who I mean – my wife, Parker.”

“She’s probably in her office” Lyle informed him, his smile a twitch at the corners of his mouth. “You’re not going to see her for a long while yet, Jarod. Until you are deemed well enough to do simulations, Sydney and I’ll be the only people you see.”

Lyle studied him silently and when Jarod didn’t speak, he added, “You’re delusional Jarod. She’ll never be yours; she’s made that clear and I must say the look on your face was priceless, when she did so. She belongs to the Centre. Always has, always will.”

And then Lyle left, leaving him alone with his increasing nightmares and perseverative thoughts of all the possibilities why Parker had acted the way she did.

A small part of him continued to resist what the Centre was trying to do. He treasured his memories of Parker.

He would close his eyes and he’d see her again, radiant against the backdrop of winter. Her hair smelled of summer, rich colours that swam through his senses until he was drunk on their scent. He’d reach out and touch her skin, gliding his fingers across the soft satin of the canvas that was her body. He’d feel wind caress their bodies and then he’d lean down, kissing his dream-bride, tasting her all over again.

He’d never forget his first kiss at the jetty. It was one of his strongest memories and he held it up as a shield against Lyle’s manipulations.

His weariness was a dark encompassing cloud that clung ominously and would not let go. He fought the urge to close his eyes lest the nightmares return. However, he was so exhausted in body and mind, he finally succumbed to sleep.

The recurrent nightmare surfaced instantly, as he watched in utter numbness as Lyle stood behind Parker and pulled the trigger. Jarod watched her eyes register shock, then pain as she collapsed at his feet. Her life bled out of her as Lyle laughed, holding the smoking gun at his side.

It felt like a dream and as if it really had happened at the same time

No…..Don’t leave me, Parker. Please.

He thrashed and fought to come awake and afterward he laid sweating and gasping in the dark. Even though he was awake, her eyes still haunted him.

Maybe his memories weren’t real.

Maybe his dream of them was all he had.

All he wanted to do was talk to her, be alone with her and find out the truth. But all he had was Lyle and Sydney. And his fears.

Despair washed over him and he wept.

Her heart pounded in her ears, her palms were sweaty, her breath shallow as she took the gun from the sweeper sitting next to her. Sleep eluded her the night before. She had never imagined herself participating in this hunt, not even when she had been hell bent on catching Jarod.

Now she had no choice.

Bitterly, she cursed the Centre. Once more the Centre was ruining any chance at happiness for both her and Jarod. And what the Director had asked her dwarfed anything she had done in the past. It tore at her soul but if she faltered now, Jarod would be lost.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Their current location was the first clue they had managed to find since she had started on the Director’s mad quest. It had been pure dumb luck even then that they had found the address.

Gripping the gun firmly to keep her hand from trembling, she checked her gun like an automaton as the car crept up the gravel driveway to the farm house nestled between some evergreen trees. She could hear the crunch of the wheels against the silence of the surrounding area. The house appeared empty in the moonlight.

Please, please let no one be inside.

The car coasted to a standstill. They waited for the signal that the second sweeper team under Lyle’s direction was in position.

“One minute, Parker,” Lyle said in her earpiece, intruding on her thoughts. She took a deep breath before exiting the car and making her way to the front door. Willie was a dark presence right behind her, a constant reminder, not so subtle that she was still under the Centre’s scrutiny. Her freedom of movement was illusionary at best.

One of the sweepers on her team jimmied the lock open. She entered quickly with her gun aimed at chest level; crouching against the wall, her eyes and body swept the room. There was nothing there to indicate that anyone had lived here for the past two weeks. Hope flirted with her while she moved deeper into the house and took the stairs. Her senses were on high alert; the presence of the sweepers behind her was palpable

Just maybe she would be lucky for a change and they’d find no-one.

The gun heavy in her hand, she slipped into the first of the rooms on the top floor, while the sweepers headed for the adjacent doors. The curtains were slightly open, allowing a sliver of moonlight to enter. There was enough illumination for her to see a figure slumped over the papers that lay haphazardly across the surface of the desk.

As silently as possible, she closed the door behind her and locked it. It wasn’t enough, she knew. The sweepers could break it down with one good kick but it would buy her time, even if a little. Twisting the ear piece out, she dropped it into the pocket of her jacket, hoping it would be enough to ensure that her betrayal wouldn’t be noticed until it’s too late.

For a moment, she braced herself, asking for strength from deep inside. Her course was set and she could only hope that Jarod would one day understand why she did what she had to do. That she had to protect him no matter the cost to herself. Drawing herself up proudly, she opened her eyes, in control once again.

The soft click as she locked the door must’ve woken her former target for when she looked back at the desk, the woman was awake, her eyes glistening dark in the moonlight. Putting a finger to her lips, Miss Parker pressed her ear against the door. No sound except her own heartbeat.

Satisfied, that for the moment they were as safe as they possibly could be, with Lyle and the sweepers searching the other rooms, she made her way to the desk and the silent woman.

“Is there another way out of here?” Miss Parker asked softly, aware of the tension and frightened gaze that had darted from her drawn gun to the closed door and finally settled on Miss Parker in recognition.

“How did you find me?”

“That’s not important now,” she whispered back, “you have to get out of here before my idiot brother decides to investigate where I’ve gone.”

“Why are you doing this?” the woman asked softly, as she started to gather the papers before placing them in a large bag which Miss Parker had not noticed until then.

The sound of a doorknob being turned stopped her from saying anything. Ignoring the startled look from the woman, Miss Parker quickly grabbed a chair and pushed it against the door. Not that it would do much good, but at least she’d know she had damn well tried, Miss Parker thought.

“Parker, open the door.”

In answer to Lyle’s command she flicked the safety off her gun. There was no going back now.

Jarod, please understand why I did this.

She brought her gun up in one fluid motion when the door shuddered. Her makeshift barricade held for another ten seconds and then the door flew open, propelled by a kick and she fired, point blank at the first sweeper’s body. He went down without a sound, crashing against the chair that lay sideways on the floor in front of the doorway. She saw the second sweeper line up his gun but he was too slow. She shot him in the knee. He staggered back into the third sweeper and that probably saved her life. His shot went wild, thudding into the far wall even as she dove for the floor. She heard Lyle shouting commands and then the doorway was clear, except for the first sweeper that was still sprawled across the chair, unconscious or dead.

“I guess you found her, Parker. That’s the only reason why you’re suddenly so protective.”

She didn’t reply. Watched the doorway like a hawk for any indication that Lyle was sending his sweepers to try again. He’d never go first. That much she knew for certain even while she longed to put a bullet in his head.

“You only have three bullets left, Sis. You can’t possibly think that you’ll get away with this. Give up now and I might consider letting you live.”

There’s that. She smiled grimly and then the next wave of sweepers crashed into the doorway.