Chapter One: The End Where We Begin

Who would have figured that I would die by Jarod's hand in a filthy little motel room? But then again, who would have thought that there'd come a time that he wouldn't need me anymore?

The old man had arrived accompanied by two tall men in suits whose faces resembled those of Roman statues as they stood vigilantly on either side of him. His face looked sunken, eyes deep in their sockets and a sickly shade of gray distorted the papery wrinkled skin around them. His hands lay on the table, trembling so very slightly that James McGrew was sure he was the only one who noticed. The way the expensive coat hung on the man's frame was a sure sign for a recent but rapid weight-loss and James had a very clear idea what had caused it.

"I'm sorry, Mister Parker."

James' hand was protectively covering the file that lay on the surface of the coffee-stained table before him as if Mr. Parker might leap up and grab it from him. He had to admit, though, that the man did not look as if he could do anything even close to leaping.

"So you are sure it's her?"

James only noticed now that he had not heard the old man speak until now. His voice sounded as if it was coming from a remote corner of the man's weak body. The sound was raspy, smoky, as if he had inhaled an unhealthy dose of wood-smoke and was still struggling to catch his breath.

"We used the DNA-sample you sent us from her hairbrush on the one we took, sir. We are absolutely positive it was her."

It was never easy to destroy the last bit of hope that was left in a father's eyes, but James knew he had to. Hope could keep you alive for the moment, but in the long run it was more likely to kill. The truth hurt, but it needed to be told before the healing could begin.

"I would like to see the other photographs," Mr. Parker requested and James opened his mouth to tell him how disturbing they would be. He wasn't sure how much more this frail little man would be able to endure. Before he could warn him, though, Mr. Parker raised one now visibly trembling hand.

"I've seen my share of horrible things. And I am not leaving before you have shown me those pictures."

He was broken already, James realized with the bitter taste of regret in his mouth. When a person had been forced to endure a certain amount of pain, they reached a state in which nothing was able to penetrate the wall of shock and numbness that had erected itself around them. When Mr. Parker's office had called and requested the crime scene pictures, James had sent one that was less gruesome than the others, but was enough to allow a visible identification. Now Mr. Parker wanted to see the whole horrible photographic evidence they had collected from the crime scene.

Slowly, James turned the file around, slid it across the table and opened it to the photo page that was marked with a paper-clip. Mr. Parker's eyes widened slightly as he looked down at the glossy pictures of the young woman on the grubby green carpet. James knew the pictures by heart: Her black hair was spread out under her head and a small trail of startlingly red blood had run from the corner of her mouth towards her neck. Her grayish blue eyes stared unseeingly into the distance and would not focus on anything ever again. She was wearing a white blouse and a black pencil skirt and while the latter was accurately in place, the top buttons of the blouse were missing and a large, violent blood-stain had formed just below her left breast. Her arms lay bent at both sides of her body as if she had been held down when shot.

Mr. Parker slowly flipped through the pages and took each picture in carefully, as if committing it to memory. When he reached the last picture, James could see tears forming in his eyes for the very first time. James knew which detail had caused the reaction before he had even followed the man's gaze to the bottom left corner of the photograph. One of the woman's shoes was missing. While the left foot was adorned with a high-heeled black pump, the right one was bare and slightly curled like a small child's. The detail was heart-wrenching in its simplicity as it gave the immaculately dressed corpse something very vulnerable and innocent.

"I want to see her," Mr. Parker demanded and James' insides wrenched. He cleared his throat uneasily.

"Sir, when we found her she hadn't been identified. It's been a year. Nobody came forward to reclaim her so she was…"

"… cremated." The man's voice sounded even more hollow now and his hand now shook so violently that it caused low thumping noises as it repeatedly hit the side of the table.

"I am so sorry, sir," James said again. The man shook his head in agony and grabbed his twitching hand with the other. James found himself suddenly wondering whether he was suffering from Parkinson's disease or whether this were just reminders of the strong emotions the man was obviously trying to contain at the inside.

"Do you have any pictures of her killer?" Mr. Parker now asked and his very obvious need for vengeance gave his voice the illusion of strength for a moment.

James patiently flipped the pages in the file until he reached the other set of photographs it contained. A tall dark-haired man hung from the ceiling, his head at a weird angle.

"Do you have any idea what might have caused him to shoot her, then hang himself?" James asked softly. He hated to do so, but he knew he had to do what he had been told.

Mr. Parker looked up from the file and James was momentarily shocked by the vast emptiness in his eyes. He never answered his question as he shakily stumbled to his feet.

"Thank you, sir." It had been one of the two silent companions who had uttered the set phrase, then they were all gone.

James wasn't surprised and as he watched the old man being led out of the building through the glass wall of his office, he sighed.

"Sacrifice," he said softly, and reached for his phone to make the call.

One year earlier

She liked the way everyone was looking at her, how the men's eyes were glued to her tight-fitting business suit and to her long legs that moved in perfect strides. She was back and she had been gone for so long that none of the Sweepers remembered the despicably frightened little girl she had once been. What they saw was what she wanted them to see. Beauty, strength and superiority. She walked along the hallway of the Centre and kept her gaze fixed ahead although from the corner of her eyes she could see people watching the unknown woman who walked the halls so confidently. The hallway was more narrow than she remembered and she grinned slightly to herself. It had been a long time since she had last been here. Years spent at a boarding-school in Greece, then college in Rome and a university degree in Oxford. And then the travelling she had done in Asia and Australia, the two years she had worked at a company in Germany, then two more in Moscow. Fifteen years since she had last set foot into this building. And it felt good to be back as a confident and well-educated woman whom no one could fathom.

"Miss Parker!" She stopped in her strides, then very slowly turned on her heel towards the voice that had addressed her. An elderly man in a tweet-jacket hurried towards her with a wide grin on his face, his arms outstretched. She made it a point to keep hers folded in front of her chest when he approached her.

"Miss Parker!" He repeated, a little less enthusiastic now. Leave it to him to discover that she had no intention of allowing their past to become part of their present. "How have you been?" he asked, disbelief and joy still equally audible in his voice.

"Good," she replied curtly.

"I am hearing you have been appointed chief of security. Congratulations."

For the first time, he didn't sound sincere and she decided to file the thought away for later inspection. What had happened to super-loyal Sydney? Had he finally discovered the grain of salt the Centre had naturally to be taken with?

"Thank you," she didn't have to try hard to give her voice a disinterested, slightly arrogant note. That one had been well-practiced and she had to hide a triumphant grin at the sight of his falling face. He felt I was the little girl, still, she thought. Sorry to disappoint.

"So where are you headed?" She asked, as he fell in step beside her. She had no intention of leading him back to her office and having a little chat with him while he poured tea and unwelcome memories into her cup and heart respectively.

"I am going to see Jarod," Sydney beamed and his eyes lit up at the thought. Miss Parker was sure it wasn't the prospect of seeing Jarod that made him happy, but the thought that she might accompany him and bond with the Pretender as they had done many years ago. His words confirmed her guess: "Would you like to come along?"

It was curiosity that made her agree and she very consciously smoothed her hair back when she followed him towards the elevator. It wasn't the one her mother had committed suicide in, but she could still see Sydney's eyes flicker towards her. She made an effort to tightly lock her emotions away and present him with an icy façade.

He was probably stunned into silence by her new persona because he cut the chit-chat until they had almost reached their destination.

"He's a bit depressed lately," he explained, with an almost pleading look in his eyes. Well, well, Miss Parker thought. He cares. "Maybe your visit will cheer him up."

"Hardly." The quick and heartless response made Sydney recoil and he rummaged through his pockets to retrieve his security card.

"Let me." Miss Parker swiftly stepped forward and pulled her own card through the reading device. "Access to all levels," she said, her hand on the door handle. He looked into her eyes and she was sure he got the message. She was no longer the little girl who accompanied him. She was here on her own terms and she was superior. She needed superiority like other people needed air to breathe.

The door opened with a click and she walked inside without announcing her presence. Jarod sat on his bed, his legs crossed and was holding a book from which he looked up in surprise as she entered. Her trained eyes took in their surroundings in a flash and she had to admit she found the white windowless walls and modern furnishing a lot less interesting than the man on the bed. Even while he was still sitting down she could tell that he was tall. His physique was quite muscular which he must owe to the Centre's rigorous gym plan that was enforced on him in order to keep him fit for the simulations he still did daily. He was wearing simple slacks and a thin cotton shirt despite the cold winter's day outside. But of course down here in the sublevels of the Centre, seasons did not exist. She could see that there was not a hint of fat on his body and how could there be? His diet was just as heavily regulated as his exercise routines. His skin was slightly tanned despite his never having seen the outside world in thirty years and she knew why. As head of security, of course, she had read the file of their number one prisoner. They were called "probands" in the files, but prisoners were what everyone here knew they were. When he was depressed, they allowed him time in a solarium to keep his spirits up and replace the sun with artificial UV-light. It didn't seem to help, though. There was a hollowness in his eyes, that she did not remember. When he saw her, his eyes lit up. It wasn't recognition, she could tell.

"Hello, Jarod." She gave him a smile and slightly cocked her head.

"Hello." He took in her appearance carefully and she was amazed how he regarded her tightly-clad body with just as much interest as her face and hair. For many of the sweepers in the building she had been a walking set of legs and they would probably not even remember her hair-color. Jarod looked at her in whole. For the first time that day, Miss Parker felt slightly uneasy. She could still see traces of the little boy she had liked but the man on the bed was mostly alien to her.

"Miss Parker?" he finally asked and she felt a bit stung that he had recognized the child under all the carefully applied layers of make-up and clothing. His face lit up with gladness and he was at his feet more quickly than she had expected. She was about to take a step back when his arms already came around her to hug her close. The unexpected heat of his body and the firmness of his hug took her completely by surprise. She didn't remember when she had last been hugged and she hated how it opened up the doors she had so carefully closed years ago. I am pathetic, she thought and stepped out of his embrace.

"I am the new head of security," she told him, aware of how much of a betrayal this must be to him. And really, she could read his pain in his eyes. Inflicting pain was her specialty, but she didn't feel good about it right now.

"You?"

"It's been fifteen years, Jarod. Get over it. I'm here to make sure you won't make it out of here."

And that very moment, the rules were set. She had been his ally fifteen years ago they had roamed the sublevels together and shared their thoughts and dreams. Now she was his enemy and she held all the trump cards. Almost all of them.

"You look very beautiful, Miss Parker," he whispered and she felt her resolve melt instantly. Years of practice prevented her sentiments from showing on her face, however.

"Incredibly cute, prodigy. Now I suggest you get to work. We don't want my work to interfere with yours, do we?"

Without sparing him a second glance she marched past Sydney towards the door.

Broots took a quick look around then furtively wiped his hands on his trousers. His friend Holly from accounting had told him the rumors about his new boss. According to almost everyone at the Centre, she had to be the super bitch from hell that had come to turn all of their lives into a nightmare. Broots wasn't good with women, especially not with cruel ones. Actually he tended to avoid women where he could because he always seemed to make a fool of himself. Now he was supposed to brief her on the security software and he had a feeling that it wouldn't be pleasant. Only a minute later he could muster up the courage to knock.

A sharp "yes" later, he opened the door and moved his body through the crack between the gull-wing doors.

She stood by her desk and turned towards him just as he had finished squeezing through the door. The disinterested gaze she swept over him was quick and assertive.

"Hi, I'm…" he cleared his throat unnecessarily and instantly hated himself for it. "I'm Broots. The technician. I am here to… to brief you on the security program."

"Yeah. Come in." Her voice was deep and throaty and he felt himself tremble. Only now he realized something Holly had not told him. In his mind he had envisioned her to be at least forty and wiry, wearing rimmed glasses and having rampant mean eyebrows (a lot like his fifth grade gym teacher, actually). Instead she was young, probably not quite thirty with glossy dark hair that made a stark contrast to her light-blue eyes, slim with beautifully arched eyebrows. Broots was smitten before he had even reached the desk.

"Make it quick. I don't have all day, Groots."

"It is Broots, ma'am," he said and gave her a lopsided smile that she acknowledged with an impatient hiss.

"Well." She gestured towards her computer screen and he hurried to get behind the desk. She touched his shoulder and gave him a light shove to make him sit down in the office chair while she hovered over his shoulder. Her perfume was heavy and subtle at the same time and he wasn't sure how that worked together, but he knew he had to concentrate on the program now.

He began to explain, hesitantly at first but then his stuttering ceased as he found himself on familiar territory.

"Well, you can click on this icon and you will be connected to the closed circuit feed in either of the rooms in the whole building," he explained. "There's a list…"

"I don't need a list," she interrupted him sharply.

"You don't… but there are a few hundred cameras mounted across the building."

"I have good memory," she replied and he noticed too late that a predatory tone had slipped into her bored voice. Before he could catch himself, he had already challenged her.

"Okay. So which is the number of the security camera in the entrance hall right next to the main entrance?" he asked and she grinned condescendingly. She probably liked a challenge.

"51b."

He entered the number and a moment later the screen flickered and they were faced with a picture of the entrance hall, where someone just passed through the security area and looked up at the spectacular ceiling.

"Don't doubt me again." Her voice just a low dangerous hiss now and he could feel her hot breath on his neck. It was terrifying but Broots felt himself strangely aroused, which only doubled his fear.

"Now get out." He got up and hurried out of the office into the hallway as he had been told.

Miss Parker snickered as doors fell shut behind the timid tech. He was fun to terrorize and she decided to work with him more closely in future.

Sitting down behind the desk, she grabbed the mouse and moved the cursor across the screen, then typed in "211d". Jarod appeared on the screen, his nose buried in his book again. His hair was slightly tousled and he yawned. He looked as if he had just woken from sleep and was now lying down, propped up on one elbow while reading the book. She checked cameras 211 a to 211 c and discovered that she could look at his room from various angles. The audio was so good that she could hear him flip the pages. There was no camera mounted in the small adjoining bathroom and she wondered since when the Centre allowed for any kind of privacy for their subjects.

Jarod didn't even glance up from his book but he smiled downwards and said: "Hi, Miss Parker."

Stung, Miss Parker closed the window quickly and moved away from the desk with her chair as if he might actually jump at her from the screen. How could he know? Did boy genius suddenly possess telepathic abilities, too? She laughed quietly, as she leaned back into her chair. Stupid her. He had probably said that a thousand times before she had actually tuned in because he had hoped to startle her.

"Oh, prodigy." She said with an almost loving tone in her voice. "You can't play me anymore."

And with that, she rose from her chair and walked towards the exit to end her first day at the Centre.

TBC