Blindsided by Mirage
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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Concourse three was gelid and brightly illuminated, and despite the frenzied activity, and the anticipation and anxiety on the faces of the various work crews, unnaturally quiet.
There was no cacophony of excited laughter, only well-oiled efficiency. It was the Centre, after all, and board members insisted that all activity transpiring on Centre premises be conducted with rigid professionalism.
If Balsam firs and wreaths were installed in December, the edifice would be adorned with the same obstinate haste and stern straightforwardness as the shrouded marble statue presently being erected.
If Balsam firs and wreaths were installed in December, the edifice would be adorned with the same obstinate haste and stern straightforwardness as the shrouded marble statue presently being erected.
Parker knew already what lie beneath the cloth, but had been ordered, nonetheless, to be present at the pending unveiling.
And the subsequent circle jerk.
Chief elder Faraijii Mkhize had, in fact, dictated the to-be-issued-Centre-wide memorandum to his secretary declaring mandatory attendance for all Centre personnel. Parker, nevertheless, felt personally and directly singled out, and attacked.
She had returned the Pretender to the Centre, thus fulfilling her contractual obligation to both the Centre and Triumvirate, only to be informed—via a vaguely congratulatory letter from the Council—that aforesaid contract had been nothing more than a father's attempts to appease and motivate his daughter, and with apparent success.
The Council, nevertheless, vowed to consider honoring the contract, and intended to notify Parker of their decision, and the future of her relationship with the Centre and Triumvirate during the forthcoming employee review assembly.
My future. Parker knew a threat when she heard one. The Centre was hardly a pink-slip sort of a corporation. There were no retirement parties or cakes for departing employees, and no commendations for a job well done.
The Centre offered pats on the back only to terminated and treasonous employees who needed physical assistance in falling to their deaths.
I am not going to die here, Parker vowed to herself.
I am not going to die here, Parker vowed to herself.
"So, the statue's ready," Lyle observed, startling Parker. "Funny, isn't it," he added with a laugh, absentmindedly tapping the folder in his right hand. "They're celebrating Jarod for being captured. He gets a statue of himself, and to be hailed as Centre guest of honor, and you don't even get a promotion for doing all of the work."
"It's hilarious," Parker sang sharply, agreeing with Lyle's sympathy-coated taunt. "What do you want, Bobby?"
"For you not to call me Bobby, for starters, Sis."
"I'll tell you what, Lyle," Parker said in a quiet, tight voice, "don't call me sis and I won't call you Bobby."
"I knew you could be reasonable, Si- uh, Miss Parker. Look, we have a problem. It's Jarod."
"Some things never change," Parker said with a meaningful look at the shrouded statue.
"Everything has changed this time," Lyle groused, "including how we address him. I'm partial to doctor myself, considering the surgical precision he applied to unaliving G.I. No. Look," Lyle said with obscene eagerness, opening the folder to reveal photographs of Mark's body. "Impressive, isn't it? What about you hmm? Will it be Dr. Jarod or Mr. Jarod?"
Parker averted her gaze from the lifeless eyes in the photographs, and, turning to leave, answered Lyle brusquely, "Get back to me about that when hell freezes."
"I haven't told you what the problem is," Lyle hastily called to Parker in a voice as menacing as it was soft. "Doctor Jarod hasn't touched the Orxxzyueiijs project, or his breakfast, and is asking to speak to Sydney."
"Tell him Mummy can't come to the phone right now."
"Been there, did that," Lyle said, lengthening his stride to catch up with Parker. "You're number 2 in his speed dial directory."
"Lucky me," Parker murmured, turning to the bank of elevators and slapping the down arrow with an open hand.
"You're not going up to see him?"
"No, I'm not," Parker answered.
"You have spoken to Jarod since depositing him in the infirmary two months ago, haven't you?"
"I've got work to do, Lyle," Parker said stiffly. She had tactfully avoided the Pretender, delegating Jarod-related responsibilities to Broots and Sam. "Meanwhile," added Parker fiercely, "he's living in luxury in the Chairman's wing with Tower access, his closets are filled with designer clothes, and his meals are prepared by a 9 star Michelin chef."
"That's because the board voted, unanimously, to house, clothe, and feed the Centre's preeminent asset like he is, in fact, the Centre's preeminent asset, and not a servant."
"Go back up there and remind the asset of the glorified closet the Centre kept him in for a decade, the gray pajamas, the green slop, and that forced feedings are never off the Centre's menu."
Lyle whistled quietly, and said, blandly, "Ouch. That's unnecessarily harsh."
With some effort, Parker smiled wickedly, ignoring the throbbing behind her eyes, the spasm of guilt in her chest. She handily concealed her relief when the lift opened behind her; she longed for the awaiting refuge, provisional as it was.
"It's called doing my job, Lyle," Parker rejoined casually, stepping onto the lift. "You might want to try it yourself."
"Jarod is your job," Lyle discreetly reminded Parker, extending a foot to prevent the elevator doors from closing. "Or have you forgotten?"
"Returning him was my job," Parker argued indignantly.
"Look," Lyle cautioned darkly, "the only thing you're going to accomplish here is pissing off the Director, the Council, and the Chief Elder. Faraijii likes Jarod. Hell, he's considering giving Jarod full access to the grounds."
"Full?" Parker repeated in astonishment, nearly choking on the word, and adding with a low snarl, "The Triumvirate wouldn't dare."
"What's wrong, Miss Parker, hmm, not comfortable with free range Jarod?" Lyle jested.
"You can't be serious."
"I'm dead serious," Lyle confided softly. "I don't know if they're planning to chip him or brainwash him, but I do know they're confident he won't escape. This means your job, and by extension you, could soon be-- obsolete.
Personally, I've always believed that it's important to have another skill to fall back on," he added with a cursory glance at his watch. "I hope your cleaning skills are up to par."
"Back off, Bobby, or you'll find out how up to par they are."
"That's the Parker spirit," lauded Lyle with a wink. "See you tonight, Sis," he added jovially as the doors closed.
Parker massaged her temples with a trembling hand and closed her eyes. Fucking perfect.
