Some Disassembly Required


This isn’t part of the game, or at least isn’t in the rules.

The house was cold, dark and silent. It wasn’t a home; had never really been a home, Jarod imagined. It was always cold in the Summer House, with its brick and cold imported tiles. There were no homely colours, no photos on the wall; nothing to make it hers. It would always be Catherine Parker’s favourite place to go and never Miss Parker’s home. Jarod didn’t know if she understood that. There were many things about herself that Jarod wished she understood.

Normally he would explore, but tonight he was on a mission. If things were to go ahead tomorrow then he definitely needed her unarmed, and that meant the delicate task of removing the gun from under her pillow. How anyone could sleep with a loaded gun was beyond Jarod – even in his deepest moments of paranoia he had never stooped to such measures.

Perhaps she thought to arm herself against the ghosts, he pondered, and made a note to mention it later.

Carelessly his gloved hands trailed over her wooden dresser, darting around the objects that shone in the moonlight. He carefully didn’t look at her – not yet – instead looking around for the points of exit. They came easily:

Window, door, closet – though only if she starts to stir.

Satisfied, he finally turned to her. She slept under duvets and surrounded by pillows despite the slight warmth. Perhaps unconsciously she had moved to what Jarod imagined was Thomas’ side of the bed. Her face was lax and impassive, when he moved closer – careful not to breathe – he could see the slight lines etched in her face. They were getting too old for this. He didn’t let himself contemplate that too deeply – that there might come a time when she did not hunt him. It was too optimistic, and at the same time too sad. She was important, an opposite. Not quite Moriarty to his Sherlock, or moon to his sun – no binaries ever fit them – but maybe she was a fellow shade of grey, and that was enough.

But no, he wasn’t going to contemplate that, and so with the skills of a master burglar – (a man stealing children’s toys and selling them on the internet in Idaho) – he slipped his hand underneath her pillow. If she stirred now she would feel him in the room, or at least under the pillow, she would dart up and he would be seven kinds of dead man. A breathy moan escaped her lips as he tugged the weapon out, “Tommy,” she murmured.

Jarod paused mid removing the firing pin; he had never heard her say someone’s name like that, so warm and expressive. She had loved him without a doubt, and that love had been as pure as the young girl Jarod had known. The gun made a slight click as he finished removing the pin, and she didn’t stir when he returned it under her pillow. He stared at her a moment longer, and then carefully removed a clean handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped away something from the left corner of her mouth. She smiled slightly as he did so; an expression he didn’t recognise on her.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly – so quietly he could barely hear it himself. “I truly did want you to be happy.”

He let himself out, following the hallways automatically, all the while thinking he would never forget that look on her face.

No, Jarod would never forget that Miss Parker smiling in her sleep looked nothing like a sleeping young Miss Parker.