Mid December at The Centre . . .

Sydney came through Jarod’s door and handed him a bottle of pills. “The Centre doctor wanted her on these.”

Jarod took it and looked at it. He opened up the pills and examined them. “I know these.” He capped it back and tossed it back to Sydney. “She doesn’t need them.”

“Hm. You could have said that over the phone?” Sydney said.

Jarod smiled. “Are you kidding?” He take his construction hat off. “Suit me up, I’m here to stay.” For the last three months, Jarod had been through several different Pretends, catching himself up to where he wanted to be. During his time off, he managed to pull himself to The Centre. Not the funnest experience.

“Any luck in Africa yet?” Sydney asked.

Jarod groaned and spoke in Zulu. “I traveled wide and far.” He spoke in Afrikaans. “I mean really wide and far.” He spoke in Ndebele. “Nothing, Sydney, nothing.” He spoke in Xhosa. “The whole time I kept trying to communicate.” He spoke in Venda. “I spoke most of what I could.” He spoke in Tswana. “Still, all me and my dad heard?” He spoke in his native tongue. “Nothing but whispers on a breeze.” Of course, Sydney didn’t understand most of what he said, if any of it but the last part. Still, it was clear. “I’m trying.”

“I know, Jarod. You’ll get there.” Sydney smiled. “I guess you’ve been counting the days.”

“It’s close,” he said excitedly. “I can’t believe it’s getting to be here. I just wish I could have . . .” He shook his head. “Nah. I’m fine. Just, as soon as they are born, I want to know? I’ve got to see them.”

“It won’t be easy,” Sydney said. “Doctors will be watching closely, and if anyone follows, they’ll ask me and Broots what we are doing. We will try to get down here when it’s time.”

“Nothing so far?”

“No. Miss Parker is working per usual. As best she can,” Sydney said. “You saw her last week. The kicks are hurting her sides.”

“Their position,” Jarod said. “She’s close. Keep a close eye on her. If she hasn’t had them by the time she leaves work, I’ll be taking a short break out again.”

“I’m sure you will, Jarod.”

-----------------------------

That Night in Miss Parker’s house . . .

“Damn it. Damn corrupted Triumvirate bastards making me stay for . . .” She could take the time off. Five days, but she still didn’t trust that Lyle wouldn’t bother Jarod. She held her back as she moved inside.

“Miss Parker.” Debbie helped her over to the couch. “Nice and comfy pillows?”

“No.” Nothing was comfy. She stifled a groan as she felt another kick. Damn Jarod’s kids, they are Pretending to be soccer champions. For the easier days. Oh, for the easier days. The time was supposed to be close, but every hour felt like ten hours and every day more felt like ten more days. As painful as birth was, no one told her how painful it was before birth too.

“Lyle sent some flowers for you,” Debbie said.

“Oh, good,” Miss Parker said looking toward her. “Set them in some water. Holy water, and then burn them.”

“Good to see you’ve still got some of that spark.”

Miss Parker turned and watched Jarod come out of the corner. “Visitation, now?”

“By that sound, you’re exhausted.” Jarod came closer to her and looked around her.

“Can we just get them out? Now?” Her eyes could barely stay awake.

Jarod smiled. “No. They aren’t ready yet.” He felt her tummy, and felt a very visible kick on the sides. “Ouch, huh?”

Miss Parker groaned. “Beeeeeed, Jarod.” Debbie helped her up again.

“Sure you don’t even want to kiss Broots tonight?” Jarod teased as he joined her in helping her up.

“Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed.” She dragged out the word bed all the way across the house until she hit the room of her destination. So out of breath. So tired of it all. She needed a break.

“Better phone in tomorrow,” Jarod seemed to agree as he helped her sit down. “You’re close.”

“But not close enough.” She laid herself down.

“Now, now. You’ll look back at this moment and treasure it. Right before the big day.” Jarod was feeling around her stomach again. “Doctors?”

“Everyday.”

“New pills are no good. You aren’t stressed.” He glanced back toward her. “Just nine months pregnant, and Miss Parker.”

“Saying that is like saying The Centre is just a hotel  you keep sneaking into to dodge a bill.” She groaned again.

“Well, rest will help.”

“No it won’t.” She wiggled slightly. “It’s when I try to rest they start hurting the most.”

“Which is why you need more rest. Less Centre. I can take care of myself.” He knew she wasn’t admitting it, but he could tell. She was working so Lyle couldn’t get near him. “Broots still has all the securities up. I’m fine.”

He had been. He absolutely dreaded the plan when they started it, but he was still out five days a week. It was enough to continue his pretends. He finished his Pretend in Summerlin, went on as a car salesman, and just finished up being a construction worker. Between those pretends though, he had also managed to visit Africa to dig up anything he could.

His dad tried to help too. Major Charles and Gemini were practically living in Africa now, to find the Triumvirate. They had recently found a few clues to what could be a hidden base, but nothing substantial yet.

In the meantime, life went on. Jarod stared at her. Right before the birth, the kicks were the most painful. The babies were fully developed, and the only difference between his kids and a cute kid out there in a stroller right now was being inside Miss Parker.

He glanced back to her. She had faded into slumberland. “You two need to give it a rest a bit,” he said as he spoke to her stomach. “You’ll be out to see the world soon enough.” Angel. Onyssius. It would be soon. He would be a father soon.

“Blasted Centre,” Broots voice came from another room. “Hey, Sweetie.” He was talking to his daughter. “Did you do well with the babysitter?”

“Uh huh,” Debbie’s voice was heard. “Miss Parker’s not feeling too well.”

“I don’t imagine so. She’s in a rough spot. Come on, let’s get you something to eat and let her rest.”

Jarod heard the sound of them scampering off to the kitchen. Miss Parker was asleep. Broots was home to watch over her. He really should go say hi, sit down and eat, and get some rest himself. But, he didn’t want to. He didn’t have a chance to often be beside Angel and Onyssius. It wasn’t like when he was Pretending with her. To make it to Blue Cove, even for Saturdays and Sundays was tough.

All he saw of her was her getting bigger and bigger. She’d visit him for two hours, like he had requested, but that wasn’t nearly long enough it felt like.

His family was almost here, and he wasn’t much closer to finding the clone than he had been since he began staying at The Centre. No closer to Kyle. No closer to finding the actual documentation on all The Centre children. He couldn’t even risk rescuing the fifteen that they did know about, for the safety of his own family.

“Oh, Jarod!”

Jarod looked up to see Broots holding his chest.

“I-I didn’t know you were here,” Broots said. “Sorry.”

“She’s close,” Jarod admitted. “Really close.”

“Uh huh,” Broots agreed. “Life’s really gonna change. So, uh? How is your pretending going? Down to how many?”

Thirty nine. Thirty nine atonements. Not every Sim he ever did for The Centre was bad, or it would be impossible to keep up. It depended who bought them, and what Alex had gotten a hold of too. While many destroyed and killed people, a lot still completed their original intension. Saving lives and helping people. So, just thirty nine Sims to atone for. Meanwhile . . . kids were still being separated from their families, Moms were still looking for their children, Children were still being hurt or abused into being silent. Women were still being hurt, simple men were being used against their will by big business. All the hurt and shame continued on.

That would never change, but, when he could get in there. When he could take that single case, that forgotten and lost soul, and bring justice to it? It was the greatest feeling in the world.

“Oh, tomato sauce,” Miss Parker almost gurgled from beside Jarod. “I need to get supper.” She tried to roll, not even noticing Jarod. Jarod moved out of the way, helping her up. “You’re staying while I’m asleep?”

“I was on my way out soon,” Jarod said pulling her up all the way. “I have 39 more Sims to atone for.” She was busy fixing her dress, not even really paying attention. Why his mom even told him he should bother asking. “Afterwards, we’ll find a place out there. Safe, sound, and live away from society with my family so The Centre won’t find us.”

“Liar.” She finished smoothing out her dress. “You’ll never stop Pretending. Where’d I put my shoes?”

Was that aggravation or fact? “Miss Parker?”

“Do you see them?” Miss Parker looked around.

Jarod bent down. She couldn’t see them over her stomach. “Here, sit down.”

“I just need to slide my feet in, Jarod.” He moved her back to the bed anyway, helping her get her shoes on. Long gone were the day of stilettos or even sneakers. Everything she had was slip on now. She was half reclined back though, unable to sit up like she used to. It was a sight he was fairly sure he’d miss one day. “What were we talking about?”

“Sims,” Jarod said. “I’m almost done with Pretending.”

“No, you’re not. You’ll never stop. It’s who you are.” She tried to help shove her feet in.

“I prefer it?” Jarod tried to help her with her other shoe. “Would it be okay? If I went past the Sim atonement?”

Miss Parker looked toward him, like he was repeating the same dribble. “Jarod. You’re a Pretender. You’re going to do it forever, I already know that. What are you wanting?”

Wait. “You don’t ever want to settle down in one area?” Jarod asked. “Schooling. Friends. Getting to know family.” He waited a minute, still holding her foot, which was annoying her. “You were going to go to Oregon, once upon a time.”

She yanked her foot away at his statement.

“Don’t you . . . miss that option at all?”

“It wasn’t the option, it was the person.” She tried to pull herself up. Jarod helped bring her up again. “I need food, move”, she insisted. “I have to get to it.”

Jarod understood her craving and followed her to the kitchen, seeing Broots and Debbie both eating a thing of heated up pasta and tomato sauce. Looked like Miss Parker was calling the shots at the grocery store. He started to slide out the back.

“Wait, Jarod!” Debbie grabbed a couple of brownies and went out after him. “Hang on. Try a brownie. Miss Parker made them with me.”

“That could be scary,” Jarod teased.

“No, try. This is an old recipe she made with her mom.”

Well. Let’s hope she washed her hands. Jarod took a brownie. “I’m sure it’ll be good.”

“Try it.”

Let’s really hope she washed her hands. Jarod took a small bite. And. Stopped.

“It tastes really good,” Debbie said. “Doesn’t it?”

“Decadent.”

“Yeah, decadent. That’s a good word,” Debbie agreed as she took the other brownie. “Miss Parker, for some reason, never really knew how to cook, even though she did with her mom. Somehow, it’s starting to bounce back. She’s already cooked up three old meals with help from me and dad.” She took another bite.

Jarod looked back at the brownie. It wasn’t an out of the box recipe at all. “She forgot?”

“Yep,” Debbie said. “It was like, almost like shwoo shwoo.” She made an eraser against a chalkboard sound. “She even remembered where her mom’s recipe books were that she had forgotten about. Do you wanna see?”

Jarod looked at the brownie. Forgot. From the focus treatments, or was she supposed to forget? “Sure, I’d like to see.”

When he went in, he saw Miss Parker eating a brownie by dipping it into her tomato sauce. Cravings were unexpected things sometimes. He watched as Debbie came over and handed him some recipe books.

“Whoah, whoah there Debbie Dogooder, what are you doing?” Miss Parker looked toward Jarod.

“Just looking.” He set them down on the table and looked at the first one. They were certainly old. He thumbed through the pages. Old recipes. He put it down and checked out the next one. On the inside cover was the name Catherine Parker. Under it, it said Where the Heart is.

He went back to the first recipe book. It said her name again, but this time it said Always Find Me. There was also something very strange about it. While the name Catherine Parker was certainly worn and faded, it was like the other letters . . . weren’t. He picked up the next recipe book, and it was a little more forward with it, causing Miss Parker to react.

“Jarod, I swear, be careful with those,” she warned him. “They’ve been lost for many years.”

“Sorry.” He looked back toward the front, a little more carefully. Her name again with the words The Warm Heart.

Always find me. Where the Heart is. The Warm Heart. There was a purpose for writing that down in her recipe books. If he rearranged it, it was easy to see. Always find me where the warm heart is. And the warm heart?

Africa. Catherine Parker must have known something about Africa when she was alive. Jarod started to thumb through the pages, little by little. On the back of the index page, there was a piece of old paper folded up with numbers and letters. S1GP210 and several more. Did she leave clues?

“Are you going to share what’s so fascinating about my mother’s books, that you are getting your brownie smudged fingers on them for?” Oh yeah, Parker was clearly annoyed.

Jarod picked up the recipe books. “Can I analyze these?”

Parker placed her hand to her forehead. “You want to analyze my mother’s cooking recipes? Are you becoming a chef on your next pretend?”

“I promise to be very careful.” He gestured to her room. “Won’t even leave far.”

“The babies aren’t going to come shooting out,” Miss Parker said. “You’re not going to leave?” She looked toward Debbie? “See what you did now? If You Give a Pretender a Brownie . . .”

Debbie chuckled. Jarod got the joke too. He gently picked the books up and headed toward her room. He didn’t want to get her stressed out or involved yet. Not this close. But, if The Centre didn’t have any resources?

Maybe Catherine Parker did.

It was a game. S plus the number meant the section involved. The abbreviations were trickier. Miss Parker probably could have done it better, but he was looking for the first words in the titles of the recipes. Once he found that, he had to count down the last of the numbers, to discover the letter.

It wasn’t a fun game. It wasn’t done within an hour. Or two. Or three. By bedtime, Jarod was still deciphering.

“Bedtime,” Miss Parker said next to him. “Are you going to move?”

Jarod just patted the bed next to him. “Won’t bite.”

“Jarod. Please. You are doing something with my mom’s recipe books. What are you doing?”

“No stressing before the birth,” Jarod said. “Just get some rest. I’ll get this.” He continued to look.

“You need to at least leave so I can get dressed,” she complained, gesturing toward the door.

“Miss Parker,” Jarod said like she was being rude. “I’ve been a doctor many times, among other things. I’m quite professional. By all means.”

Miss Parker groaned, grabbed her things and went into the bathroom. She came back in a long, long top. Nothing sexy just as comfortable as she could be. With Jarod clear on the right she rolled herself onto the left side.

Either she didn’t have much fight in her, or she didn’t care that Jarod was still there. He hoped it was the second. She pulled out a little remote and directed it to her fan to turn it on, made a few moaning noises and then nothingness.

After decoding another word, he touched her hand to make sure she was sleeping. It was December now, but it didn’t matter. The pregnant body was a finicky thing. He tried to tighten up his coat closer, and watched the papers. At least there wasn’t many and the fan was pointed to her.

“Uh? You’re still here?”

Jarod looked toward the front of the room and saw Broots. He was still fully dressed, which was good. It meant he wasn’t sharing Miss Parker’s bedroom. Which was a no-no. She stopped looking for loving some time ago, her body was focused on the aches, pains, lack of sleep, hormonal changes, and the babies. No time for hanky panky, not needed or wanted. “Can I help you?”

“How long are you going to be here? All night?”

“I’ll be in The Centre before anyone shows up. Good night.” He went back to decoding everything.

“There’s not much there, a few pieces of paper and three books,” Broots pointed out. “You could go decode them on the table now. No one’s there. Easier on your back.”

Jarod didn’t really show an easily readable emotion. “Fine right here.”

“Yeah, but she needs sleep,” Broots said.

Now Jarod’s head was turning. He looked at Broots over again. “You aren’t . . . doing anything?”

Broots looked offended. “Well, I-I, no. But, neither are you. Right?”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Jarod ignored him and went back to work.

---------------------------------

He would need a nap, but he did it. Each book held something. The first book of recipes held the name of a place in ‘The Warm Heart of Africa’, a specific visitor place to visit in Malawi. It also had something to search for, to help remember the forgotten things.

That was the part that made Jarod stay up past even Miss Parker. Something to remember all the forgotten things that could only be exposed through hypnotherapy, if you knew where and how to look for them. Otherwise, secrets for life trapped in the brain. Now, those secrets could come out.

And what if it went back even farther? If he had that. What if he could remember his childhood, before he was taken away? Remember his mom, his dad, and his brother.

The second recipe book held something odd. It held the name of a place and said distraction. That was it.

And the third? Oh, the third. Oh, the third, third, third. Jarod dialed up his father. “Dad? Pack your bags. I got a full list of places for you to visit in Africa now.”

Just around the corner. A list of places in Africa, and it had to be the places of The Triumvirate. After Catherine Parker passed, they must have known she’d hide something for Miss Parker. Even Raines admitted that he could never find it.

These recipe books, the books that Miss Parker now suddenly remembered like it was clear as day? There was only one reason that happened. If they did it with Debbie, Broots, and Miss Parker in Africa? It must have been done to her then.

Except not out of mistrust or illusion. As Lyle did it to them, Catherine Parker did the same thing. Until a certain time passed.

That’s when her daughter could complete her plan. He set the books down and looked at her.

It was close.

It was close.

But not close enough. What he wouldn’t have given to be there when they were born. Medical in the Centre wasn’t going to be able to be a place to Pretend to get into, no matter how lack security had now been against him.

He heard her moan again. He moved the books away and touched her head. “Stay here. One day. Call Lyle and stay.”

“I hate this.” She was sweating even more. “This isn’t fair.”

“Because you can’t point a gun and shoot at it?” Jarod teased lightly. “Because right now you’re just a helpless being? Whether you got a gun or an attitude, it isn’t changing anything?”

“Oh. Do you have to say it so loud?” She scoffed and tried to move.

“No, no,” Jarod insisted. “No running off from me this time.” He felt her stomach and heard her cry out in pain a little, one she couldn’t hold back. “Do you feel ripples of pain along your sides, sort of like a belt around your belly?”

“Is that right?” she asked. “That’s good?”

“That’s very good,” Jarod insisted. “You ready to not do much else for several hours?” Jarod left long enough to call Sydney, and to ask for certain things for medical. Angel and Onyssius were on their way.

“Anything else?” Sydney asked. “Jarod? You know The Centre is going to want her to come in if they think she’s giving birth. They don’t like outside doctors dealing with Parkers.”

“It’s the night,” Jarod insisted. “I can . . . at least be here as long as possible.” He heard another groan from the room. “Thanks, Sydney.” He hung up, but then heard his other phone go off. The one he didn’t use for Sydney. “Hello?”

“Jarod. We have got a problem.”

No, not now. “What kind of problem?”

“Stan. He’s not letting the death of his father go.”

Jarod was on a Pretend to help a man who died get the justice he deserved, and not the wrap he got. In the process of the Pretend though, he learned about the man’s son, Stan. I knew I should have stayed longer. “I can talk to him longer?”

“Jarod, he’s gone. I think, from the way he’s talking, I think he’s going to be after Eric! What should we do?”

“ . . . I’ll be right there.” He hung the phone back up and looked back toward the bedroom. He went back in and saw her, heaving. “Easy. Lamaze, did you go through it? Take it easier.” Jarod touched the top of her head. She couldn’t even move now, just breathe. “I have to go now, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He felt her hand grab his, and cling to it tightly.

“I don’t want to go. Someone’s  life is on the line.” Damn. She was finally reaching out for him and he heard her yell, causing Broots to show up in the doorway.

“I-is it okay?” Broots asked. “Miss Parker?”

“I have to be gone a couple of hours,” Jarod insisted. “I’ll be back.”

“What if you aren’t?” Broots asked as he came to Miss Parker. He took her extended hand. “We should get her to medical.”

Jarod looked back toward her. He let her other hand go and looked toward Broots. “Two hours. Sydney’s coming too. Give me two hours. If I’m not back in two hours, take her.”

“But, what if it’s sooner?”

“She’ll be fine. Two hours,” Jarod insisted. “Sydney can keep me up on her progress.”

Broots scoffed but kept his head down low. He patted the top of her head. “It’s okay. I’m here for you. Just like last time, with your ulcer? Remember? You pulled through that, you can pull through this.” He kissed her hand delicately. “Come on, it’s okay.”

“Two hours,” Jarod repeated as he left the room. He needed to get out of Blue Cove quickly, find the kids, talk to the kids letting them know that sins of the father didn’t mean sins of the son, and then get back. If he didn’t, one of them might take it too far. It was a chance he couldn’t take.