Broots

“I’m not sure we should be doing this, Syd!” I muttered, following the man in the tweed jacket along the corridor. As usual, he sounded rather amused as he turned around to face me.

“Don’t worry, Broots. What do you think is the worst thing that could happen?”

I frowned, knowing this question far too well.

“I am very well aware that this is the kind of question a psychiatrist would ask an angst condition patient,” I growled very unlike myself.

“You got me,” he said rather sheepishly. At least that was one of the rare moments in which he admitted to using his psychiatrist’s skills against me.

I followed him into the living-room and for the first time ever actually dared to inspect my surroundings. On the few occasions that I had spent time with Miss Parker here, she had got straight down to business. Whenever I had tried to catch a glimpse at the interior of the room she had harshly admonished me to focus on the task at hand.

The living-room was surprisingly comfortable. I wasn’t sure what I had expected but it was certainly not the modern, state of the art, clinically tidy environment one could perfectly picture Miss Parker in.

I took in warm colors, tasteful paintings and framed pictures of happier times in her life. They were all black and white. Ancient memories that persisted despite the fact that a lot of time had passed since then.

“She’s unhappy.” Sydney stood next to me and carefully picked up a picture that showed Miss Parker’s mother and her little girl looking at each other with happy smiles. I looked up at him and wondered just how much he knew and how much he guessed.

“Do you think so?”

Had she ever told him about her loneliness? She had certainly not needed to tell me. It was so evident. I fondly thought about Debbie who brought joy into my otherwise dull life. I was so very lucky to have somebody who unconditionally loved me.

“Why else should she cling so desperately to the times that have so long gone?” Sydney asked, sadly replacing the picture on the shelf.

I looked at the rest of the pictures. A young Miss Parker who had just graduated from college standing next to her father. Although he had put an arm around her shoulders the distance between them was almost palpable.

The wedding picture of Brigitte and Mister Parker was nowhere to be seen. While Sydney moved on into the kitchen I remained standing and reached for a picture that stood in the back where it was half hidden by other fotos.

Miss Parker could be seen on it with a perfect smile on her lips. Not the insincere one she used to give people when it was absolutely unavoidable or the cruel one that she had reserved for torturing. This was different. Open, happy.

Her head leaned against Thomas Gates’ shoulder and her fingers were entwined with his. I caught myself wishing that it could be me who could make her smile like this and quickly put the picture back.

Don’t go there, I thought. I was here to find evidence where she had gone.

“Nothing down here,” Sydney stated from the doorway. I snapped out of my thoughts and followed him towards the stairs.

The higher we climbed the stairs, the more the temperature dropped. I could smell the October rain in the fresh cold air that I breathed.

“Strange,” Sydney muttered and opened the first door to the right which seemed to be her bedroom. I had never been up here and I had not thought I ever would be.

But then again I had been holding Miss Parker in my arms. And that had seemed about as likely.

We quickly found the cause for the coldness in the upper rooms: The bedroom window stood wide open. Why would anybody who wanted to leave for good leave the window open? Why would she leave the pictures behind that reminded her of her mother?

“We should check whether anything is missing from the closet,” Sydney said and opened one of the two large wardrobes. The inside was about what I had expected. An incredible amount of designer clothes that must have cost a fortune.

“How are we supposed to find out whether something is missing?” I asked, discouraged. “She’s got so many clothes…”

I looked at the elegant evening-dresses, the lines of suits, sorted by color, the terrifying amount of shoes… (Who was this Manolo Blahnik guy anyway?!)

Sydney chuckled beside himself. “You’re right.”

He pointed towards the suitcase Miss Parker usually carried on business trips. It stood next to its set of bigger companions.

“It doesn’t look as if she’s packed anything,” Sydney stated.

I agreed. A set of pyjamas was flung across the unmade bed, her watch lay on the bedside table and although I could not tell whether she had removed any make-up devices from the dresser, it seemed unlikely.

“Broots!” Sydney’s voice sounded agitated for the first time.

“Yes?” I swirled around finding him staring at a small prescription bottle only half filled with pills. The label read “M. Parker” and listed a few names of medical substances I could not pronounce, let alone understand.

“Probably medication for her ulcer,” I offered, but he shook his head. “That would not be the right active substance.”

He pocketed the bottle and looked around again.

“We need to have this analyzed.”

“Why? It could simply be vitamins,” I objected.

Sydney placed a comforting hand upon my shoulder and led me out of the bedroom.

“I have a guess what it might be, but I need to confirm it,” he told me and from his tone of voice I knew that he would not reveal the theory to me until it was actually confirmed.

I followed him downstairs, still pondering the secret of Miss Parker’s sudden disappearance. One thing was for sure. She had not been planning this.

Jarod

After so many hours of work my lunch usually consisted of a quick frozen pizza or some stuff from take-away but since I was far too wired to be tired anyway, I decided that I might as well cook. Unfortunately I did not have the faintest idea what food Miss Parker liked. There had been very few topics we had ever been able to talk about without ripping each other to shreds; food not being among them. Understandable, since it would have been weird to exchange recipes over solving secrets about our past or simply playing the tired old game of you-run-I-chase.

She was walking around, arms folded over her chest and inspected my home. I had rented the cottage just outside the city from a wealthy divorce-lawyer who spent a few months in Europe so it was very tastefully furnished. She obviously liked the expensive furniture, the huge flatscreen TV and the polished cherrywood floor.

“It’s a beautiful house,” she finally said, walking towards the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the garden. “And you have a pool,” she added, obviously impressed, pointing towards the pool house that was half hidden by marple trees.

“Yes. It is heated so you can still use it in fall.”

“If only I had a bikini,” she said, only half joking, then turned away from the window and wandered into the kitchen to take a look at the huge refrigerator, the marble countertops and a bar equipped with bar stools.

“Can you do cocktails?” she asked, surprising me greatly.

“Sure,” I replied a little too quickly, but the memory of me mixing cocktails in a fancy bar to make sure the bar owner’s ex-wife got her child-support was still very vivid.

She had noticed my quick answer and smiled.

“Sounds as if you had experience.” Her smile didn’t cease and I was left to stare blankly at her face. She looked so completely different when the sneer was replaced with a smile. A pretty seductive one, I noticed, my stomach twisting into knots.

“Well, I haven’t met a barkeeper who didn’t like the effect that position has on the ladies.”

Her smile got even wider. “And what would be so sexy about a barkeeper?”

“They’re in charge and in control,” I joked. “so it might be the power that draws the women in.”
”They say the same things about doctors,” she mused.

“And do you agree?”, I replied.

We simultaneously noticed that we were flirting. This time it was me who stated the obvious.

“You seem pretty used to this banter,” I said although I knew pretty well that Miss Parker could be one hell of a flirt if she felt like it. Once I had followed her into a bar because I had been worried that she would once again get herself gloriously drunk in order to drink away Thomas’ memory. But that evening had been different. I was still pretty sure that she had not paid for a single drink that evening and when she had gone home –alone- late that night, she had left behind several lovesick puppies who barely remembered that they had once been men dripping with self-confidence.

Instincts, I thought with amusement, did obviously preserve.

“Feel free to look around upstairs,” I told her. “I’ll make us something to eat. Do you like chicken salad?”

“Who doesn’t?” she answered carelessly. She’d never been much of an eater and now she didn’t seem to be very interested in what she ate, either.

“I’ll take a shower if that’s okay. And then I am going to go shopping.”

I turned around and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Shopping?” I echoed, sounding pretty stupid.

“I am a woman! Do you honestly think I’d stay in the same clothes for two days or go another day without make-up?” She laughed. “I was going to ask you whether you were single but I don’t think I have to ask that question anymore.”

I looked after her when she crossed into the hallway, slowly climbing the stairs. If not for her careful movements and the stitches on her forehead that were covered by expertly arranged strands of hair, I would have forgotten that she was still weakened.

I heard the shower run upstairs while I cut chicken and vegetables.

Then suddenly a thought hit me. The Centre did keep track of their employees. Somebody just disappearing was not acceptable. So they would certainly look out for the usage of her credit card. And if she bought clothes now, they would track her down. That, however, was inacceptable for me.

I quickly went towards the bar where she had left her handbag and retrieved her wallett. Its contents consisted of about a hundred dollars in cash, her driver’s license with a pretty unrecognizable picture and two credit cards which I weighed in my hand, but then put back. She would notice if they were gone. I just had to come up with another idea.

When she returned twenty minutes later I had set the table in the dining-room and offered her a seat.

“I was thinking,” I told her after I had made sure that she liked the food.

“You were?” she asked mockingly. “About the barkeeper thing?”

“No. I think I am going to accompany you to the shopping-centre.”

She smiled again now, amusement written all over her face.

“I am not sure you really want that,” she said. “Remember that I don’t have any stuff at all!”

I smiled back. “I am just worried about you,” I finally stated. “You’re in no condition to drive and I want to be there should you experience difficulties with that concussion of yours.”

She snorted, but looked slightly flattered. “You worry about me,” she said. “Well that’s pretty sweet. But beware. I don’t remember my shopping preferences but I have the distinct feeling that the whole thing will take time.”

I decided to have a few coffees after lunch. Just so I would stay awake.

---

I released a deep breath when we stepped back into the house several hours later. She had never noticed me using my credit card instead of hers when I had offered to stand in line of the fancy boutique she had shopped empty. The amount of money I had just spent on her resembled almost a six months salary but I did not care. I was never short of money and if that was the prize I had to pay for the Centre not finding us, I would happily do so.

Somehow I regretted insisting on carrying the bags now that I could not see where I was walking with them obscuring my vision. The afternoon had been more fun than I had expected. Shopping seemed to have a calming influence upon Miss Parker’s temper because she had seemed at ease, almost happy while going through the shelves and buying everything in sight.

I had known her sense of humor only as dark and twisted so far, but now I had learned that she could be very funny in a playful way, too. More than once we had exchanged one or two flirty sentences and I had enjoyed it greatly beside myself.

Having a soft spot for your huntress was something very undesireable, but now that she was just a woman on a shopping spree it seemed less impossible.

“How about those drinks?” Miss Parker asked.

I saluted the way I had learned during my time with the marines.

“I’ll go and change,” she explained and pointed at a spray of bloodstains on the collar of her jacket. “So I can finally forget about that accident.”

“You did already!” I called after her when she carried her new posessions upstairs.

“Do your job!” her muffled voice called from the bathroom.

I smiled to myself and filled ice cubes into two large glasses.

Let the fun begin, I thought to myself. After a few years of being out of captivity I had not really taken up drinking so I still needed to watch myself to not get drunk too quickly.

I mixed two cocktails but did not add any alcohol to either of them. Miss Parker was still on painkillers and alcohol was not exactly what the doctor ordered for patients with concussions.

I accidentally spilled some of the mixture of several fruit juices and grenadine over my hands when she entered the room. She had applied some make-up and was dressed in a considerably short black skirt and a light blue cashmere pullover.

She had noticed my reaction and now grinned at me when she accepted the glass.

“Tell me more about the night we met in that hotel,” she asked me when we had settled down on the sofa, sipping our drinks.

“What would you like to know?” I stalled. Lying to her was still hard although I knew very well that I had every reason to.

“When was that and what was the name of the hotel?” she asked, getting right to the point. I understood now that she had seemed at ease this afternoon but that her thoughts had always been circling around the mystery of where she’d come from despite that.

I thought quickly. I couldn’t lie too much, so I needed to stick closer to the truth. I remembered her and Broots following me to a hotel in Los Angeles three months ago, so I decided to use that. Even if she called the hotel, the Centre wouldn’t have left any traces. False leads were what they spread and they never left any information on where to find their employees.

“It was called the Sunshine Inn in LA,” I told her. “We met in the hotel bar.”

True, I thought. She had seen me there, dropped her Gin and Tonic to the floor and had chased me into the hall where I had been able to shake her off.

“Sounds good,” she sipped her cocktail again. “Do you have anything to go with that?” she raised her glass and I dutifully got up to retrieve a bowl of cherries from the refrigerator in the kitchen.

When I returned, she had leaned back and was obviously enjoying the drink tremendously. I grinned. She had not even once suspected that there was no alcohol in there. The right amount of lemon juice could do wonders…

An hour later I realized that it hadn’t been the lemon juice. Even without her memory, that woman was more twisted than I could have suspected.

I nearly enjoyed the comfortable dizziness that made my head spin, but I also knew that this didn’t result from her enjoyable company only.

“Are you a little drunk?” she asked sweetly.

“No way…” I said. “I didn’t put alcohol into the drinks.”

Whoops. I wasn’t too good with secrets.

“Ah well, but I did. The second liquor cabinet in the living room is pretty useful”, she said lightly, sipping her own third drink. I looked at my empty glass and sighed.

“When did you do that?”

She counted at her long fingers. “The first shot when you got the cherries, the second when you got me water and I spiked the third one when the phone rang.”

I snorted, far too amused to actually be cross with her. Plus I liked the heat that had crept into my cheeks and the light feeling that seemed to lift all the worries I’d had.

Miss Parker didn’t look drunk at all which was probably down to her regular nightcap that had obviously served to make her pretty much immune to the effects of alcohol.

Not completely immune, but a lot more immune than I was.

“So we met how… exactly?” she asked, returning to the topic I had been trying to avoid for the last two hours.

How did we meet? How would I stay close to the truth and still not tell her anything?

“You know… boy meets girl. Boy is interested in girl and doesn’t know how to tell her, girl kisses boy…”

I still very vividly remembered our first kiss a long long time ago in the Centre sublevels and it seemed strangely appropriate to tell that tale.

“I kissed you?” she asked, amused, but didn’t comment further.

We remained in silence for a moment, then she set her empty glass down onto the table. She swayed slightly when she got up. Aha, she wasn’t as immune after all. Or maybe the painkillers had done their work. Never mix tablets with alcohol, I thought. She would have a hell of a hangover in the morning. And so would I.

I stood, too. Just so I could catch her, should she fall.

“How very sweet of you,” she remarked sarcastically, which made me realize with a start that I had spoken my thoughts aloud.

“Why did you pay for my clothes?” she suddenly asked, her voice sharp and inquisitive again.

“You… You noticed?” I asked, alarmed.

“I lost my memory not my eyesight. So?”

This thing was getting out of hand and realizing that caused me to sober up a bit.

She would not accept any evasive statements so I had to come up with something better. It was just that I was already so tired of this game.

It would be better to keep her past from her until her injuries had completely healed, I told myself. Better for her safety and for her health. And still I knew that this was what I made myself believe to be the reason for my actions. Somewhere deep down I knew, however, that evenings like today had been exactly what I’d really wanted. Meeting Miss Parker in a relaxed atmosphere, without her always trying to outsmart and capture me. It was so much better like this. I just wanted to hold on to this peaceful status for a little bit longer.

But I had to face reality: It was impossible.

“I’m sorry,” I finally tried. “I mean… we don’t know whether you have money at all and I felt like I had to make up to you for being such an ass back in the hospital. I shouldn’t have treated you like that. Well… I should have been more helpful.”

There was a weird expression in her eyes that told me that there was a severe battle going on at the inside. I understood that she wanted to believe me and that she was unsure whether she should trust me or not.

I wanted to believe that our growing friendship was real and she wanted to believe that she could trust me. Why didn’t we just arrange ourselves with each other and both pretended that everything was the way we wanted it to be?

“What you said to me at the hospital…” she tried for the last time. “When I woke up… You shouted at me and asked me how I’d found you.”

Oh my god. She remembered that semi-conscious moment. How was I supposed to get out of that one?

I sighed. Denial was good. “If you don’t trust me at all, why did you come to my house to stay with me?” I asked instead of answering her question.

Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, then she turned away, arms wrapped around her upper body as if she was cold.

“I came because I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she finally whispered.

Although I did my best to battle the feeling, I felt sorry for her. She was completely lost. But still she was the woman that had been chasing me for the past four years. But could you hold somebody responsible for deeds they did not remember? A life that they would probably be horrified to have led? How could that troubled woman in front of me possibly be compared to Miss Parker- the ice-queen of ice-queens?

“Don’t worry,” I said and approached her, gently wrapping my arms around her.

“Everything will be fine.”

She did not object and did not demand an answer to her questions. Even a Miss Parker was willing to believe what she wanted to believe so badly for her own sake.

She didn’t answer, just rested her head against my chest for a moment, then freed herself from my embrace. I caught myself only reluctantly letting her go.

“I’m so tired. I should go to bed now.”

She gingerly walked towards the door and turned around for the last time in the doorway, her hand resting against the frame as if she expected me to say something.

I met her gaze and tried to put all the warmth I suddenly felt towards her into one single look.

“We’ll find your family,” I assured her.

Only when her bedroom door had closed upstairs I added quietly:

“I just don’t want them to find you.”

Mister Parker

I stared down at the picture of my beautiful daughter that I held in my hands. It showed her the way I liked her. No smile disrupting her perfect features, pale complexion contrasting against red lips, a superior, almost arrogant look in her eyes that was emphasized by the slightly raised corner of her mouth.

She looked so strong in this picture. So pulled-together, so in control, so very Parker. That was the way I wanted her. The way she had been supposed to become.

Most fathers secretly wish for their daughters to stay all child and innocent so they can protect them and prevent them from seeing the evil of the world. My daughter had seen evil very early in her life and although it had hurt me at first, I had very soon realized that it had been the best that could have happened to her. She had grown up so fast. Had become that stunning presence so quickly.

She had seen the evil of the world so now she could protect me.

And that was the way it had to be.