Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. The plot isn't all that original either. But what the hell, 
I'm having fun. I'm not making any money off this so nobody gets any royalties. Please don't sue. 
My only profit will be in the warm fuzzy feeling I get when readers leave a review. – Thanks!
08/30/03
-

Stumbling Toward Nirvana 

By Phenyx
Chapter 1

-

Miss Parker stared in dismay at the bright magenta neon lights above her head.

"You've got to kidding me," she hissed as she slowly removed her sunglasses in astonishment.

Parker was a stunningly beautiful woman, the type that could turn heads when she entered a 
room. Her deep mahogany colored pants suit was elegantly tailored and very professional, 
despite the incredibly high-heeled shoes she was wearing. Her stance radiated an air of authority, 
a distinct chill that was further supported by hard, steel gray eyes.

Accompanying her was the requisite trio of men that made up her team. An older, slightly balding 
man, a distinguished psychiatrist named Sydney, frowned at the disturbing establishment they 
were undoubtedly about to enter. A second man, younger but far more bald than the first, fidgeted 
in his rumpled clothing and glanced nervously up and down the street. 

"Miss Parker?" Broots stuttered. "What is this place?" 

A handsome, dark-haired man stepped away from the limousine to stand at Parker's side. 
Parker's twin brother was as devastatingly handsome as she was beautiful. He was lean and 
charming but missing a thumb. Mr. Lyle was also quite mad, the Ted Bundy of his time, though 
Parker could not prove it. Sharply dressed in an Armani suit, Lyle grinned wickedly at the building. 

"It is a bar, Mr. Broots," Lyle said in a smooth voice. 

Parker snorted derisively. The old two-story brick building had been a movie theater once, 
probably around the time Greta Garbo was big. But now, flashing across the old matinee was the 
representation of a brightly colored horse galloping across a field of lights. A dozen or more of the 
lights needed repairing giving certain portions of the sign a connect-the-dots feeling.

"The Pink Palomino," Parker groaned to herself. "What on Earth was coo-coo boy doing here?"

With a sigh of resignation Parker strode angrily toward the doors. As she yanked open a door that 
had a wooden plank nailed in place where glass had once been, Broots whispered frantically, 
"You don't suppose it's a strip club do you?"

"You wish," Parker snarled.

Inside the building, the old fifties theme of the theater had been semi-restored. The bar occupied 
the area that had once been the refreshment counter. Cozy little tables were scattered throughout 
the room and vinyl covered booths lined the walls. A slight haze of smoke filled the room, as it did 
in any drinking establishment. Just as an old Liza Minelli song began to play on the crackling 
sound system, Parker realized that the patrons were almost exclusively men.

"The music is a bit of a cliché, isn't it?" Lyle asked, chortling in amusement. 

Parker cast him a withering glare. "I wouldn't be so amused if I were you, pretty-boy," she growled 
menacingly. "Be nice and I'll try to protect you when one of these nice men grabs your ass."

Lyle's eyes turned hard and angry. "Anyone who tries will lose a hand," he hissed.

Parker smirked humorlessly, "Don't be greedy, Lyle. You only need to take the thumb."

"Sydney!" Broots gasped suddenly. "This is a gay bar!"

With an angry hiss, Parker stomped across the floor, achingly aware that she was being watched 
as she did so. 

Rapping her knuckles on the bar's surface Parker caught the attention of the bartender. "We are 
looking for this man," she said holding a photograph out to him. "We have reason to believe that 
he has been here."

"Jarod didn't show up for work today," the man replied after glancing at the photo. "Some 
nonsense about an emergency he needed to take care of." 

Parker sighed. "Do you have any idea where he may have gone?"

"No," the bartender said with a frown. "But Jarod was staying at Sterling's place. He may know 
more about it."

Looking in the direction in which the bartender was pointing, they saw an outrageously dressed 
man lounging in one of the booths. As the group approached, they could see that Sterling was a 
man in his late forties or early fifties. He had not one hair on his head and a flamboyant taste in 
clothes. He was talking to a thin young blond man, barely old enough to grow fuzz on his chin. 

"Magnificent outfit, darling," Sterling said as Miss Parker stopped beside his table. 

"Have you seen this man?" Parker demanded, flashing the picture again.

The bald man frowned. "Manners, my dear, manners are everything," he scolded. "Do please sit 
down." 

Parker glared at the boy sitting on the opposite bench. After a quick nod from Sterling, the boy 
rushed away, leaving the space open for Miss Parker. She sat down, leaving her three 
companions to stand awkwardly beside the table.

"They call me Sterling," the man said, holding a limp hand across the table.

"Parker," she replied, not sure whether she was expected to shake the hand or kiss it. Parker 
chose to shake.

Sterling made a great display of lighting a thin, European cigarette before saying, "So you are 
looking for a man. Aren't we all, my dear?"

Parker sighed in an effort to regain some semblance of patience. "His name is Jarod. The 
bartender said that he has been staying with you."

Sterling shot a haughty glare in the direction of the bar. "Anthony has a big mouth," he 
complained. "He's just jealous, the bitch," Sterling added with a shrug. "Anthony wanted Jarod for 
himself."

Sydney cast a startled look at the gay man. "You had a relationship with Jarod?" the psychiatrist 
asked. 

"Only in my fantasies, I'm afraid," Sterling practically whined. "As delightful and positively edible 
as he is, the poor boy is hopelessly straight." He took a long drag from the cigarette. "Didn't stop 
him from being a wicked tease though. With those tight black jeans of his and those washboard 
abs, my, my, my, he is nice to look at. Isn't he, my dear?"

Parker glared angrily. "I never noticed," she hissed.

"Whatever you say, dearie," the other man said with a knowing smirk. 

"Can you tell us where Jarod is now?" Parker asked trying to maintain a calm voice.

"Alas, he is gone," Sterling sighed dejectedly. "He slept on my couch for a few weeks, despite my 
finest attempts to lure him to my bed. It was rather frustrating as you might imagine." 

Parker flinched, "I'd rather not," she grimaced. 

Sterling laughed. "Truth be told, I think he liked the attention. Jarod struck me as being a bit 
starved for affection. Soaked it up like a sponge, he did. And of course I could deny him nothing. 
All he had to do was flash that twenty-four carat smile and I was his to command," Sterling said 
with a heavy sigh. He paused to draw on the cigarette again. "And I certainly didn't mind having 
him around. A strong powerful young thing like that is just what a girl needs in these dangerous 
times."

"Dangerous times?" Parker asked.
 
"There had been a series of burglaries in the neighborhood," Sterling explained. "Several men of 
an alternate lifestyle had been badly beaten during the robberies. One boy died. They caught the 
man responsible just yesterday." He shrugged. "That made it a little easier to let Jarod go."

Parker nodded in understanding. "Do you have any idea where Jarod may have been headed?" 

"Afraid not," Sterling said liltingly. "Something about trouble and that he was going east."

Parker stood and straightened her jacket in a brisk movement. "Thank you for your time."

"My pleasure, darling," the man said with a genuine smile. "If you see Jarod, tell him to stop by 
anytime. I miss him already. Such a sweet boy." 

Parker pushed roughly past Broots and stalked out of building, leaving Sydney to collect the red 
notebook that she knew Sterling was now handing over. 

Once back out on the pavement, Parker took her sunglasses from her pocket and shoved them 
back into place on her nose. Lyle and the others joined her a moment later. 

"Well, wasn't that fun," Lyle purred.

"We might have caught him if you had shown up on time, Lyle," Miss Parker hissed. 

Lyle shrugged, "I had to take care of some things," he groused. "Besides, Jarod left this morning. 
I can guarantee that you didn't get the tip on his whereabouts until after he had already left town. 
So don't try pinning this on me."

"You were late," Parker snarled. "Don't make me wait for you again."

"You do it to me all the time, Parker," Lyle said offhandedly. "Deal with it."

"Get in the car," Parker growled in exasperation. 

The sun was beginning to set in the west and their shadows were growing long on the sidewalk 
as they piled into the limousine. It was going to be a very long flight back to Delaware.

-

It was dark, nearly midnight, by the time Parker had finished her paperwork and debriefing 
regarding the latest tip on Jarod. She strode to the elevator and was just about to punch the 
button for the lobby when Lyle dashed through the closing doors.

"Headed my way, Sis?" Lyle asked merrily.

For a long moment of silence, the two siblings watched the elevator lights mark their progress 
toward the main lobby. 

"You look tired, Parker," Lyle said in what passed for a kind voice.

"Your concern is heart wrenching," Parker drawled sarcastically. 

"I'm serious, Parker," Lyle went on enthusiastically. "You need to rejuvenate once in a while. Get 
out. Get some fresh air. Pursue a hobby."

Parker eyed her brother suspiciously. An icy chill ran down her spine at his words. Parker was 
only too aware of Lyle's most gruesome hobbies.

Lyle smiled beautifully as the elevator deposited them at their destination. He even held the door 
for Parker as they left the building. 

Trying not to run as she walked in the direction of her car, Parker was startled when her cell 
phone abruptly rang. By the time she pulled the device from her pocket and answered it, her 
brother was some distance away. His car was parked in the opposite direction.

"What?" Parker hissed as she held her phone to her ear.

"Where are you?" Jarod demanded.

Glancing nervously across the darkened pavement, Parker could see Lyle unlocking the door of 
his car. She quickly turned, hiding her conversation from her brother as best she could.

"Not that it is any of your business, Rat-boy," Parker hissed. "But I am going home."

"Where is Lyle?" Jarod asked.

"About a hundred yards from me. Why?" she asked, her nerves suddenly crackling with tension. 

"Do you know where he has been for the last couple of days?" Jarod asked carefully.

Parker squeezed her eyes shut, dreading what the pretender was about to say. "Do I want to 
know?" her voice wavered.

"Another Asian girl is missing," Jarod explained. 

Parker slumped against her car. "Damn," she whispered.

"You knew," Jarod stated in surprise. 

"I was just beginning to suspect," Parker admitted.

"Miss Parker," Jarod went on urgently. "This was no ordinary girl. Lyle got sloppy. He didn't know 
who she was. He must have been rushed for some reason."

Parker turned and glanced back across the asphalt. Suddenly alert, her senses twitching, Parker 
looked frantically for some sign of Lyle. His car still sat silently in its spot but Lyle was gone.

"Lyle?" Parker called. 

"What's wrong?" Jarod asked, hearing her yell.

"I'm not sure," Parker said in a slow wary tone. "He was there a moment ago."

"Parker," Jarod hissed urgently. "Get out of there. Go. Now!"

"Lyle?" she called again. She walked around the back end of her vehicle, headed toward where 
she had last seen her brother. Parker saw a blur of motion out of the corner of her eye as two 
men clan in black rushed at her from the shadows.

Parker gasped in surprise as the men tackled her to the ground. With a grunt, her phone was 
jarred from her hand and skittered under the car. A gloved hand pressed hard against her mouth, 
holding her down. She could hear Jarod's voice calling frantically through the still active cell 
phone.

"Parker? Parker are you there?" he cried. "Miss Parker! Answer me. Parker!"

Parker struggled, kicking and punching as best she could. For a moment she saw stars as one of 
the men flipped her onto her stomach and her forehead hit the pavement. She felt her gun ripped 
from its holster. There was a biting against her flesh as plastic ties were used to bind her wrists 
and ankles.

It happened so fast. Parker knew that these men must be professionals. Thrashing out with her 
knees, she kicked hard. At the same time she managed to wrap her lips around a bit of leather 
glove and she bit down in a grinding motion.

There was a startled yelp and Parker's mouth was suddenly freed. Then she did the only thing 
she could do. 

"JAROD!" she screamed.

Strong hands grabbed Parker by the ankles and began to drag her away.

"JAROD!" she screamed again. "JAR-" Something hard hit the back of Parker's head, abruptly 
silencing her cries as everything went black.

-

End Part 1.




Chapter 2

-

Miss Parker flinched as pain pressed against her forehead. Consciousness wafted just outside 
her reach. She was aware of the repeated stinging against her brow and a thudding agony 
pounding at her temples. She moaned at the stiffness in her joints and tried to move.

"Be still, Parker," a low soft voice whispered. "Allow me to clean this cut."

The voice was familiar, smooth and nearly musical in timber. As Parker blinked into wakefulness, 
she realized that the language being spoken to her was not English.

"Ouch," Parker groaned. "Stop it."

"There is blood on your face, Parker," the voice purred in Japanese. "It is rather unbecoming. 
Now be still."

"Tommy?" Parker gasped as she looked up at her old friend and ex-lover. "What happened?" she 
asked in his native tongue.

"You struck your head during the struggle," his eyes danced with amusement. "But I understand 
that you gave as good as you got."

Tommy Tanaka was crouched on the floor in front of Miss Parker. He held a damp handkerchief 
in one hand. The reddish brown tinges visible on the cloth attested to the truth of Tommy's 
statements. 

Parker tried to move, to reach up and inspect the damage caused by her wound, but she 
discovered that she was tied, securely fastened to a wooden chair with several lengths of rope. 

"Tommy?" Parker asked warily. ""What is this all about?"

Tanaka stood, straightening regally before her. He gestured over her shoulder and Parker was 
forced to crane her neck to see. Her chair was back to back with another and both were lashed 
together.  Situated in the other chair, unconscious and bound, was Lyle. His head was slumped 
awkwardly to one side though he was beginning to stir. 

Parker glanced back at Tommy with a questioning look in her eyes.

"Your brother is a reckless fool," Tanaka said as though that alone would answer her queries.

Parker snorted, then winced at the pain it caused. "Not exactly a newsflash, my friend." Parker 
looked up at the handsome dark-haired man with as much longing as she could muster. "Untie 
me, Tommy. This position is highly uncomfortable."

Bowing slightly in the old custom, Tommy said, "I regret that I can not. I have no say in this 
matter. I will not be able to help you, Parker." He paused. "I am sorry."

"You can do anything you wish," Parker replied in clipped Japanese. "You are Tomeshki Tanaka, 
son of Samishu Tanaka, and heir to a powerful Yakuza family. There is nothing in this world 
beyond your capabilities."

Tommy smiled sadly. "I am afraid that the world has changed since last we met, Parker," he said. 

Parker frowned in disapproval. "You once told me that you feared nothing."

"I have lost face with my family," Tommy explained softly. "In failing to free my father, I have failed 
in my first and greatest test of leadership. As a result, I do not rule in my father's place. Instead it 
is my uncle who now controls your fate, my lovely one." 

"You must at least tell me what I have done to incur your uncle's wrath," Parker said fearlessly.

Tommy caressed Parker's cheek with the fingertips of one hand. "Nothing, Parker. You have 
done nothing but be beautiful and intelligent." Leaning toward her slowly, Tommy kissed Parker 
gently on the lips. Gazing into her eyes he sighed heavily. "Such a waste," he whispered.

Straightening quickly, Tommy turned on his heel and strode across the room toward a steel door.

"Tommy," Parker called. "Don't leave me here!" But it was too late, the door clanged shut with 
finality as Tanaka left.

Parker sighed with frustration, looking around the room for the first time. They were in a large 
warehouse-like building. Huge glass tanks were placed in rows throughout the open area. Each 
tank was roughly twelve feet deep and twenty feet long. Peering into one of these containers, 
Parker could see dark liquid masses writhing within. Upon closer inspection Parker could see 
hundreds of pairs of blank black eyes mingled in the dark liquid. 

A moment more, and Parker realized they were fish. Thousands of small fish about the size of her 
hand swam around in the large tanks. They were in a fish hatchery. The climate was controlled, 
set slightly warmer than was comfortable, for the benefit of these creatures. High windows circling 
the room were misted with humidity but Parker could see the light of a new dawn filtering through 
them.

Behind her, Parker could feel Lyle moving about. He moaned groggily.

"Lyle!" Parker hissed. "Wake up!"

"What?" he groaned. "What is going on?" 

"You tell me," Parker snarled.

Lyle shook his head to clear it and struggled for a moment against his bonds. 

"What have you done to piss off the Yakuza this time?" Parker snapped.

"What do you mean?" Lyle asked craning his neck to try and see her.

Parker prodded her brother hard in the ribs with her elbow. "Tommy Tanaka was just in here 
being cryptically unrevealing about our situation," she explained. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Lyle protested. "Trust me, Parker. Once you lose an appendage to these people, you 
tend to stay out of their way whenever possible."

Twisting at the ropes with her wrists, Parker frowned in thought. She quickly remembered the 
phone call from Jarod just before she and Lyle had been grabbed. Parker felt the color drain from 
her face as a horrible thought occurred to her.

"Oh shit," she hissed.

"What?" Lyle asked. "What?!"

Turning her head to the side so that Lyle could still hear her, Parker asked in a low, wary voice, 
"Who was she Lyle?"

Lyle swallowed and tried hard to remain passive. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Cut the crap you psycho," she snapped. Parker purposely allowed anger to bubble within her. 
Seething fury worked well to squelch the fear that niggled at the edges of her mind. "Your 
rejuvenating little romp in the woods. I suppose it's too much to hope she may still be alive?"

Lyle grinned evilly and Parker could hear the smile in his voice. "I never leave loose ends, Parker. 
You know that." He paused. "You know everything about me, don't you?" He added with a distinct 
tone of admiration. 

Parker could not suppress the shudder of revulsion that raced through her at the sensuous timber 
of her brother's voice. 

Lyle laughed. "How exhilarating! Such a turn on." 

Cringing, Parker mentally searched for that pocket of hatred in her gut once more. She was 
frightened. Very frightened. She wasn't quite sure what scared her most, the wrath of the Yakuza 
or the sexual attentions of the thing she was now tied to. Her instincts for self-preservation kicked 
into high gear.

"Put it back in your pants, baby brother," Parker snarled viciously. "If I am not mistaken, your most 
recent extra curricular activity had some kind of connection to the most powerful crime syndicate 
in Tokyo. You idiot!"

"Oops," Lyle replied with a shrug.

Parker hissed in frustration. "If we get out of here, Lyle, I swear to God I'm going to wring your 
neck."

"It will be fun to see you try," Lyle purred.

At that moment, the steel door opened with a bang and half a dozen Japanese men in suits 
entered. Tommy was among them, walking at the side of an older man. This man had slightly 
graying hair and an impeccable suit. His dark almond shaped eyes were cold and hard.

The man stopped in front of Lyle, his accompanying thugs taking positions nearby. The man held 
a photograph in front of Lyle's face, a photograph of a beautiful young girl in a slim blue Japanese 
style dress.

"Where is she?" the man demanded in highly accented English.

Lyle blinked innocently. "Pretty girl," he said. "But I've never seen her before."

In a lightning fast motion, the man punched Lyle hard in the stomach. Parker felt the impact 
through her own body.

Lyle was gasping for air as the man screamed in his face, "WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?"

"I don't," Lyle panted. "Know what, you mean."

"Do not insult my intelligence, Mr. Lyle," the man said. Turning to his men, he barked at them in 
Japanese, "Prepare the woman."

Parker shot a worried glance at Tommy who sorrowfully bowed his head to stare at the floor. Two 
of the other men quickly removed Miss Parker from the chair and dragged her to the center of the 
room. Roughly tearing her suit jacket from her shoulders, Parker's wrists were bound tightly in 
front of her with more rope. A long length of hemp was attached to her wrists and tossed over 
some pipes running high above them.

The older man, obviously Tommy's uncle and leader of the clan, spoke to Lyle in English in a 
voice that shook with fury. "She is my only child. I will not dishonor her by begging."

As the man spoke, one of the thugs pulled hard on the length of rope, yanking Parker's arms over 
her head until her feet just barely left the floor. Dangling helplessly, Parker struggled and twisted 
against the ropes, succeeding only in cutting the flesh on her wrists.

"I know your work, Mr. Lyle." The man went on coldly. "I know my child is dead. You will tell me 
where she is. You will tell me how she suffered."

Lyle looked up at him blandly. 

"Until you do," Tommy's uncle continued. "You will watch helplessly as your own blood suffers. 
Your twin, your flesh, shall agonize in torment until you reveal what I wish to know. Only then, will 
you and she be permitted to die."

Parker swallowed. How could these criminals possibly understand the hopelessness of what they 
proposed to do? The Yakuza were dangerous men, yes. But they were still human. They 
assumed that Lyle could be swayed by an emotional connection to his twin sister. They did not 
know that this monster would enjoy her pain as much as, or more than, he had enjoyed that of his 
last victim.

Glancing across the space that separated them, Parker and Lyle locked gazes. She could see the 
smirk in his eyes. Yes, he would enjoy this immensely. Wrapping one hand around the rope that 
held her in the air, Parker set her jaw firmly. She vowed that she would not cry out, no matter 
what they did to her. She would not give Lyle the satisfaction.

Out of the corner of her eye, Parker saw movement as one of the Yakuza thugs approached her. 
As she twisted to face him, Parker gasped as a bucket full of icy cold water was tossed at her. 
Sputtering, she tried to shake the wet tendrils of hair from her eyes. She blinked in wonder at the 
two fish that were now twitching on the floor, unfortunate victims of Parker's dousing.

Another shadow moved and Parker heard a crackling of sound. Twisting again, she saw what 
these men intended to do to her. 

"Damn," she hissed between clenched teeth. "What is it with you lunatics and your jumper 
cables?" She growled arrogantly.

Parker glanced quickly toward Tommy and saw pride flash across his face. In his eyes, she was 
facing her end with courage and dignity. Tommy's admiration for her didn't mean much, but 
Parker felt an insane kind of gratitude towards him all the same.

The thug with the jumper cables moved closer and Parker steeled herself for the contact. She bit 
down on her lip to prevent her cries. She began thinking over and over to herself, "I will not 
scream. I will not scream. I will not scream."

Parker had thought herself prepared for what was to come. But the fire that suddenly raced 
through her upon contact was more intense than she expected. Blinding white-hot pain flashed 
again and again. Her body swayed in the air, snapping and jumping like the dying fish on the floor 
below her.

Each crackle and zap of electricity seemed to last forever as Parker was hit over and over again 
with the metal clips. Some detached part of her mind whispered to her, "Jarod has done this. 
Jarod survived. You can too."

The cables struck again, the pain flashed again. Parker felt blood on her chin where she had 
bitten through her lip. "I'm sorry, Jarod." She whimpered incoherently. 

Time lost all meaning. There was nothing but the pain and the murmur of voices in her mind that 
went on and on. "I will not scream. I will not scream. Jarod screamed. Jarod survived, I will 
survive. I will not scream. Jarod survived. Jarod survived, Jarod – "

Parker finally passed out with a whimper.

But she did not scream.

-

End part2
 





Chapter 3 

(Nukeru wan =missing one)

-

Parker moaned. Every inch of her body ached. Even her hair hurt when it shifted across her face. 
She tried to move, to test for the existence of her limbs. But she found that she was again tied to 
the wooden chair. 

"How long have I been out?" She asked with a groan.

"Several hours," Lyle answered from his position behind her. 

Parker ran the tip of her tongue across dry swollen lips. "I don't suppose they've brought us any 
water?" she asked hopefully.

Lyle snorted in the negative.

The lighting had changed in the large room indicating that it was now dark outside. As Parker 
glanced at the window, there was a flash, illuminating rivulets of rain that ran down the window. 
Thunder could be heard only faintly over the bubbling fish tanks. Despite the agony it caused, 
Parker craned her neck to look around for her captors.

"Where are they?" she asked.

Lyle shrugged as best he could in his bindings. "Said something about coming back after sunset, 
but they were talking too fast for me to understand everything."

"You should have paid better attention to your lessons, moron," Parker scoffed. 

"Shut up, Parker," Lyle snapped.

"Kiss my ass, you psychotic imbecile," she snarled back at him.

The Yakuza chose that moment to re-enter the room. Tommy and his uncle, along with two other 
thugs, strode toward their prisoners with determination. Stopping only a few feet from where 
Parker sat, the elder Tanaka, Tommy's uncle, nodded briefly at one of the men. Unusually tall 
and broad for a Japanese man, the henchman had a gauze bandage wrapped around one hand. 
With a leering grin, he reached into his breast pocket and removed a long thin blade.

"I will ask you again, Mr. Lyle," Tommy's uncle said. "Where is my daughter?" 

"Your guess is as good as mine," Lyle responded with a smile.

"Cut her," the elder man ordered in Japanese.

The steel door abruptly clanged open again and another Yakuza henchman entered. Crossing 
the room toward his leader, he glanced furtively at the Parker twins before bowing low to his 
boss.

"Nukeru wan itaru, Tanaka-san," he said. 

The other men looked to their boss with startled expressions.

"What is lost?" Lyle hissed to Parker. "I didn't catch it all."

"Hush," Parker snarled.

"Nukeru wan?" Tanaka pondered. "Why?" 

The younger man shrugged. After a moment's hesitation, the Yakuza boss barked more 
commands in Japanese, sending the newest arrival back the way he had come. With a wave of 
his hand, Tanaka ordered the man with the knife to back off as well.

Parker hissed a silent sigh of relief.

"What is lost?" Lyle asked again in a low voice.

Parker shook her head. "Not 'lost'," she translated. "'Missing'. He said that 'the missing one has 
come'."

Miss Parker frowned as she noticed Tommy and the other thugs pulling pistols from their holsters. 
They did not look happy at this new revelation. The elder Tanaka stood formally with his hands 
clasped behind his back. When the younger man returned a moment later, he was followed by 
another tall lean figure dressed in black.

Parker nearly burst into tears when she saw him. Never in her life had she been so glad to see 
the irritating son of a bitch. He was wearing black jeans, a dark sweater and a pair of combat 
boots. Droplets of moisture clung to his thigh length leather coat. 

Jarod walked calmly across the room and stopped in front of the elder Tanaka. The younger man 
who had been Jarod's escort, turned to Tanaka and handed him a semi-automatic 9mm handgun, 
butt first.

"Good evening, Honorable Sir," Jarod said in Japanese, bowing low as a sign of respect.

Tanaka was silent for a moment as he inspected the weapon that he had just been handed.

"Did you intend to use this on me, Nukeru wan?" Tanaka asked blandly in the same language.

"Only if necessary, Sir," Jarod answered.

Lyle, unable to keep up with the unfamiliar dialect, leaned toward Parker and hissed, "What are 
they saying?"

"Hush, or I won't be able to find out!" she whispered as she listened attentively to the 
conversation unfolding before her.

"I have no quarrel with you, Nukeru wan," Tanaka said. "Yet you come here, prepared to kill me. 
Why?"

Jarod's eyes glittered with hard determination. "I have come for the woman, honorable Sir."

Tanaka gazed thoughtfully at the pretender. "She is your enemy. I shall kill her for you. As my gift 
of friendship."

"I have no wish to see her dead, Sir." Jarod said in a deep dangerous voice. The musical lilt of the 
Japanese language flowed smoothly from the pretender's lips, as though he spoke it everyday. 
"On the contrary, should harm come to her while in your care, I would consider it a personal 
affront."

Jarod's eyes flickered toward Miss Parker purposefully. He quickly took in her haggard look and 
his jaw clenched.

"Unfortunately," Tanaka said icily. "I have found it necessary to cause her harm. I find it 
necessary to continue to do so."

Jarod replied in an equally cold tone, "I prefer not to be an enemy to the Yakuza. Give the woman 
to me and I will be indebted to you and your clan."

Tanaka's eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "A potentially profitable offer, Nukeru wan," he 
said.

"Very," Jarod agreed. "To deny me this request would carry a high cost, I assure you."

It was Tanaka's turn to nod. "The Yakuza also prefer not to be your enemy, Nukeru wan. We 
have already suffered your wrath, though indirectly."

Jarod smiled slyly. "Yet it is through those actions that you are now in power rather than your 
brother, Tanaka-san," he purred.

At this, Tommy Tanaka jumped forward as if to strike the pretender, but his uncle held him back 
with a glance.

"This is true," Tanaka said. "And yet, these things are all in regards to business. My interest in the 
Parkers is personal. It is a matter of family."

Jarod bowed again. "I know what you want from them, Sir. I grieve with thee. Your daughter has 
indeed been taken from you too soon. But your vengeance should be wrought upon Lyle. Not his 
sister."

"He will suffer as I suffer!" Tanaka yelled suddenly. "He will watch her die first!" 

Jarod's voice stayed just as low an ominous as it had been before. "Lyle enjoys death. He will 
enjoy her death more than you know. You will be rewarding him for his crimes against you." 

Tanaka snorted derisively.

"Give the girl to me," Jarod urged.

"Why does this matter to you?" Tanaka asked.

"Call it a healthy respect for our rivalry," Jarod smirked. "She is a worthy adversary, makes the 
game more interesting."

Tanaka turned and glanced thoughtfully toward Miss Parker. "The respect of one's enemies is an 
admirable trait," he said after a moment.

Parker straightened haughtily, shooting Tanaka the most regal glare she could conjure up 
considering the circumstances.

"Give me the girl," Jarod repeated. "Slice Lyle into bits and use him to chum the fish for all I care. 
But leave the woman to me."

"No," Tanaka said, his voice shaking with sudden fury. "I must have full retribution for what he has 
done."

Jarod nodded sadly, cast a soulful glance at Parker and began to turn away. As if it was an 
afterthought, Jarod bent at the waist, bowing low to Tanaka. In a blur of motion the bow morphed 
into a somersault as Jarod abruptly dove forward. 

Rolling into a crouch, Jarod came up with a gun in one hand. Before anyone else had the chance 
to blink, there was a loud report and one of the Yakuza henchmen went down. Another was down 
and a third was falling before the others could dash for cover.

"Kill him!" Tanaka yelled as he scurried away. "Kill him and the woman! But leave Lyle to me!"

Jarod ducked and dodged across the room as bullets whizzed passed. The pretender ran toward 
the two rope-bound chairs as he fired his gun over one shoulder. 

Parker and Lyle, immobile as they were, could do nothing but cringe and flinch as the firefight 
continued.

Jarod hopped over the two prisoners, grabbing the chair back as he vaulted over them. His 
momentum carried him passed Parker while his grip on the chair remained firm. Parker braced 
herself as he yanked on the chairs and she and Lyle both toppled over. 

Lying flat on his belly, Jarod covered Parker's head with one hand and using her shoulder to 
steady his arm, he took aim and fired. With an abrupt cry and a wild shot, a fourth thug fell to the 
ground. 

The stray bullet zinged over their heads and with a sickening thud, shot into the glass tank behind 
them. A heartbeat later, there was a cracking sound and the wall of the tank gave way. A huge 
wave of water came gushing out, smashing Parker, Lyle and Jarod into one another. Parker 
sputtered and tried to lift her head away from the fetid liquid. Scaly dark bodies slithered down her 
own as the fish washed over her.

The gunshots abruptly stopped. Jarod knew that Tanaka and his nephew were still lingering near. 
Jarod froze in position, listening as running footsteps echoed through the room. The pretender 
took the opportunity to reload his weapon, rolling onto his back to scan the area behind him. 

Parker lay as still as she could, barely even breathing. Jarod's eyes, mere inches from hers, 
searched the room with icy precision. His gaze was flat and dark, almost black, and glittering 
dangerously.

There was another shot, coming so close that Parker could feel it nearly singe her thigh. Jarod 
ducked for only a moment before firing a shot in return. A body could be heard thudding to the 
ground just as Parker saw a shadow appear over Jarod's shoulder, creeping up on him from 
behind.

Tommy towered over the three prone figures. Parker watched in horror as the Japanese man 
cocked his pistol, aiming at the back of Jarod's head.

"Tommy, no!" she cried.

Jarod froze then slowly raised his hands before rolling over to see Tommy standing over him. 

"Impressive, Nukeru wan," Tommy said. "You would have made a powerful ally."

"A liaison between us is still possible, Tanaka-san," Jarod said carefully. "The decision is now 
yours. Keep Lyle. Let Parker go free."

"If I were to show such weakness over a woman," Tommy said softly. "I would lose the respect of 
my men." His arm straightened as he prepared to fire. "I shall remember you fondly, Parker."

"No!" she screamed helplessly. 

Jarod twitched, kicking upward, and suddenly a large fish was flying into the air. The creature was 
flopping about and gasping as it hit Tommy in the face. Jarod threw himself backward, covering 
Parker as best he could. Tanaka's gun went off, Lyle cried out and Jarod's pistol sounded 
simultaneously.

"Tommy," Parker whispered knowing immediately that her ex-lover could no longer hear her.

Tanaka had a startled look on his face. A bright red stain began to spread across the man's shirt 
as he dropped silently to his knees. A moment later he fell face first onto the floor.

"I'm hit!" Lyle groaned into Parker's ear. "Damn, my shoulder. I'm hit!"

"Not enough," Jarod hissed. The pretender crouched beside the tangled chairs. Pulling a 
switchblade from his pocket, he quickly slid the blade between the two chairs and sliced the rope 
that tied them together. Another flick of the knife and Parker's legs were free. 

Jarod grabbed the rope binding Parker's wrists and hauled her to her feet. In a smooth, effortless 
motion, the pretender then tossed her over his shoulder and started to run toward the opposite 
wall. 

"Jarod? What about me?" Lyle called. "JAROD!"

Leaving Lyle where he lay, Jarod dashed between two tanks and rounded a corner to another 
door. Three quick shots from his gun blasted away the lock. He crashed through to the other side 
just as many footsteps could be heard entering the room they had just left.

Jarod ran through a series of corridors without hesitation. Parker could only trust that he knew 
where he was going. She was bounced uncomfortably on his shoulder blade as the pretender 
sped through the halls.

Reaching an outer door, Jarod tipped Parker off of her perch. Her feet touched the floor as Jarod 
pressed her against the wall and signaled for quiet. He ducked his head outside for a fraction of a 
second, quickly scanning the area. Voices could be heard yelling in the distance but no one could 
be seen. Rain beat heavily onto the paved surface, leaving it slick and shiny.

Turning back to Parker, Jarod took a moment to use his knife and removed the rope from 
Parker's wrists.

"There is a jeep parked beside the building to our left," Jarod said softly. "It's about a hundred 
yards away. Can you make it?"

"I'll make it," Parker said firmly.

Jarod glanced warily at her. "How long have you been tied up?" he asked.

Parker shrugged. "I'm not sure exactly."

The pretender shook his head. "Can't risk it. If you stumble, we're done for." Without another 
word, Jarod grabbed Parker's left wrist and folded her over his shoulder once again. One quick 
glance out the door, and then Jarod was tearing across the compound, through the chilly rain.

All Parker could do was hang on for dear life and try to stay as evenly balanced as she possibly 
could. Even with her extra weight as a burden, Jarod crossed the distance much faster than she 
could have. 

Parker's nylon clad feet hit the ground with a gentle splash when Jarod set her down. Having lost 
her shoes long before Jarod had shown up, Parker tiptoed through the icy puddles as she quickly 
rounded the car and jumped into the passenger seat.

A moment later, Jarod had started the engine and slammed the vehicle into gear. With the 
headlights off to prevent detection, Jarod drove through the darkness with skill and confidence. 
Whipping around a corner, the jeep skidded for a moment on the wet asphalt.

"You'd better buckle up, Parker," Jarod said grimly.

No sooner had Parker clicked the restraining belt into place, than Jarod maneuvered the car 
around another turn. The car headed straight for the chain link fence surrounding the facility's 
property. Parker braced one hand against the dashboard and squeezed her eyes shut.

There was a crash, a screech of metal against metal. Parker was thrown back and forth against 
the seatbelt. For a heart-stopping moment, Parker felt the car leave the ground. Thudding back to 
earth, the vehicle spun its tires briefly before catching as Jarod twisted the steering wheel hard. 
Fishtailing wildly, the car sped away. 

Jarod's eyes flickered to the rearview mirror and Parker saw his jaw tighten. Whirling in her seat 
she glanced behind them and saw two pairs of lights glowing in the distance.

"Reload my weapon," Jarod commanded. "There are extra clips in the glove compartment."

Parker responded without hesitation. She took the gun from where it rested on Jarod's lap and 
quickly replaced the spent cartridges. 

Jarod clenched the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. The jeep was bouncing 
erratically across the terrain. They were not on any road that Parker could discern. How the 
pretender managed to avoid obstacles, driving in the dark as he was, Parker could not begin to 
fathom.

Their flight through the blackness and rain seemed to go on for hours. Neither spoke, as if they 
both understood that Jarod needed all of his concentration focused on driving. They finally jolted 
onto a dirt road and the ride evened out to a degree. 

Parker searched for lights behind them, lights that would indicate that they were still being 
pursued. Only one car followed at a distance. Jarod pressed on the accelerator and their vehicle 
soared down the well-worn road.

They raced through the darkness, speeding down the old country track. Parker leaned back 
against the headrest and closed her eyes, clinging to her seat with both hands. The car seemed 
to be going faster and faster and Parker's heart rate increased accordingly. Placing her faith in 
Jarod's skill, Parker did her best to stay calm.

The dirt road on which they traveled emptied onto a desolate, two-lane highway. Jarod pulled 
onto the asphalt and eased up on the gas pedal as he flipped on the headlights with one hand.

Glancing behind them he said, "I think we lost them."

Parker's wavering sigh caused Jarod to glance at her with concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

"I will be," Parker whispered.

Jarod frowned. "There's a knapsack behind my seat," he said. "With some bottled water and a 
couple of granola bars."

Parker unbuckled her seat belt and strained over the seat. Rummaging through the pack, she 
quickly found the water, twisted off the cap and began to gulp at it thirstily. Quickly finishing one 
bottle she opened another and drank half of it before she slowed.

Leaned wearily against the cushioned seat, Parker sighed and closed her eyes.

A moment later, Jarod pulled the jeep off to the side of the road and put it in park. Stepping out of 
the vehicle, he wordlessly came around to Parker's door. Flipping the overhead light on, Jarod 
crouched at Parker's side, chewing thoughtfully at his lip as rain began to dampen his hair.

Reaching out, Jarod tenderly took her chin between his fingers and tilted her face toward the 
light. Brushing her lip with the pad of his thumb he whispered, "This is a little swollen."

Parker simply nodded.

Leaning closer, the pretender carefully inspected the cut on her forehead. "This must have bled 
like a bitch," he observed. 

Reaching into the backpack, Jarod retrieved a small first aid kit. He applied a little ointment and a 
band-aid to the cut on her head. 

"There," he whispered when he had finished. "Does anything else hurt?"

Parker nodded softly. "Everything."

Jarod smirked. Scanning her appearance quickly, Jarod took Parker's hands in his own and 
turned them over, gently prodding at the red, raw flesh around her wrists. Taking a length of 
gauze from his kit, Jarod wrapped each wrist professionally, gently tying the ends in place.

"That's about all I can do for you right now," the pretender said softly.

"I'm fine," Parker protested.

Handing over a chewy snack bar Jarod said, "Eat this. The carbs will do you some good."

Parker took the offered treat without complaint as she leaned back against the headrest in 
exhaustion. Jarod reached across Parker's lap and refastened her seatbelt. Sliding his jacket off 
his shoulders, the pretender draped Parker in the warm leather, tucking it around her chin like a 
blanket.

Patting her gently on the shoulder, Jarod stood and closed the passenger side door. Quickly 
jogging back around the car, Jarod got in, started the engine and headed back onto the road.

Parker had no idea where they were, where they were headed or how long it would take to get 
there. To be honest, she didn't care. Snuggling into her seat, Parker closed her eyes. She reveled 
in the mixed scent of leather, rain and maleness that rose from Jarod's coat. 

Parker's eyelids fluttered closed as the steady rhythm of the moving car lulled her into a deep 
sleep. 

-

End part 3




Chapter 4
-

Parker woke as she realized that the car was no longer in motion. Blinking in the dark, she could 
see Jarod, still sitting behind the steering wheel. His dark eyes gazed at her solemnly. 

"Have I been asleep long?" she asked with a yawn.

Jarod shrugged. "No. A little over an hour."

The rain had stopped. Looking around Parker could see a small cabin nestled in the woods a few 
yards away from the car.

"Where are we?" Parker asked curiously.

"Does it matter?" Jarod replied.

Wincing slightly as she stretched her sore muscles Parker groaned. "Not really. It could be the 
back woods shack from 'Deliverance' and I wouldn't care, as long as there is a shower."

Parker could see Jarod frown over the unfamiliar reference. Smirking slightly, he shrugged, filing 
it away for future exploration. 

"Sorry, Parker." Jarod murmured softly. "No shower." At the withering glare she shot at him, Jarod 
chuckled in amusement. "A hot bath will have to suffice."

Parker rolled eyes. "Don't tease me, Rat. Hot water is no laughing matter when I've gone without 
for, - - " she frowned and glanced questioningly at Jarod. "How long was I a prisoner?"

"Roughly twenty-one hours," Jarod answered simply.

"What took you so long to find me?" Parker asked sarcastically. She had been missing for less 
than a day. She hated to admit it but Parker was impressed by the speed and efficiency of the 
pretender's actions.

Jarod laughed softly. "Well, I was the one who knew you were in danger, remember?" He cocked 
his head inquisitively at her. "I knew that Sui Ling's father was in charge of the Tanaka clan now. 
It was simply a matter of figuring out where he would take you." 

"How did you manage it?" Parker wondered aloud as she ran her fingers through tangled hair.

Jarod looked a little bemused, almost embarrassed. "Let's just say that I've left several known 
Yakuza associates a little worse for wear."

"You beat them up until they snitched," Parker translated. 

The pretender shrugged. "I didn't have time to be subtle."

"Subtlety has never been your strong suit, Pez-head, " Parker replied with a smile. After a 
moment's pause she added quietly, "Thank you."

Even in the darkness that surrounded them, Parker could see Jarod's eyes light up with 
amusement. "Wow!" he exclaimed. "I'll need to write this down on the calendar. A 'thank you' from 
Miss Parker is a rare event."

Scoffing, but only half irritated, Parker grabbed the handle and tossed open the door. "Come on, 
Genius," she ordered haughtily. "I want my bath."

The cabin was a simple abode, one large room with a kitchenette along one wall. Jarod directed 
Parker to the small bathroom and began running hot water into the old claw foot tub for her. 
Pulling clean towels from the cabinet beneath the sink, Jarod glanced warily at her.

"Will you be alright?" he asked with a frown. "Do you need me to help you with anything?" 

Parker shook her head. "I can manage."

Moving about the room quickly, Jarod poured some oil into the deepening water and the room 
was suddenly filled with the scent of lavender. Parker watched as he dug into his pack again and 
found a warm cotton sweater and a slender pair of denim jeans. 

Handing them to Parker, Jarod said, "These should fit fine."

Somehow Parker didn't doubt that they would.

A moment later, Jarod left, carefully closing the door behind him with a click. Parker removed her 
clothes, cringing as she found every aching muscle during the process. Stepping gingerly into the 
tub, Parker eased herself down, sighing as the very hot water began to work miracles on her 
bruised body. When the tub was full, Parker turned off the spigot with her toes and allowed 
herself to enjoy the simple pleasure of a good soak.  

The water had cooled to lukewarm when a new aroma made its way into Parker's senses. The 
smell of beef stew and warm bread made her stomach growl. Quickly washing her hair and body, 
Parker finished in the tub. She toweled dry and dressed in record time, dragging a comb across 
her scalp in a half-hearted attempt to do something with the tangled tresses.

When Parker entered the main room of the cabin, Jarod was just spooning stew into bowls. He 
gestured her toward a small table set for two. 

"You're looking better," Jarod smiled at her.

"I feel almost human again," Parker agreed.

"Hungry?" he asked, placing a steaming bowl in front of her.

"Starved," Parker growled. For several minutes, there was silence between them as Parker 
attacked the food with gusto. She was stuffing a second roll, smothered with butter, into her 
mouth when she caught the amused gleam in Jarod's eyes. "What?" she snapped.

"Your ordeal seems to have improved your appetite," he observed.

"I can't remember the last time I had anything to eat," Parker snapped viciously. "I guess a little 
dance with the ole jumper cables serves to improve the metabolism."

Jarod flinched as though she had struck him. His eyes turned into smooth pools of remorse. "I'm 
sorry, Miss Parker. I didn't realize."

Parker sighed. "I'm the one who's sorry, Jarod. I should be grateful, not snarling at you like this."

A sad smile graced the pretender's face. "Old habits die hard," he said.

"Don't they though?" Parker murmured sorrowfully.

Cleaning the sides of her bowl with the last bite of bread, Parker sat back and sighed with 
contentment.

"Did you get enough to eat?" Jarod asked. "I could open another can of stew."

Parker shook her head and belched in a decidedly unladylike manner that made Jarod snicker.

"You must be tired," he said kindly. 

Again Parker shook her head, "Actually, I've spent most of the last twelve hours unconscious. 
The last thing I want to do is sleep. I feel worlds better now that I'm clean and well-fed." She 
looked up at Jarod with a hopeful expression on her face. "A couple aspirin would be nice 
though."

Jarod smirked with understanding. Crossing the room he rummaged in the ever-present 
knapsack and found a couple of tablets for her. After she had taken them, Jarod said, "Well, if you 
aren't going to use the bed right now, do you mind if I catch an hour or so? I haven't slept in a 
couple of days."

Parker shrugged noncommittally. 

Peeling off his sweater, Jarod crossed the room to the double bed along the opposite wall. He 
kicked off his shoes and flopped down on the mattress with a sigh. Parker watched him with her 
eyes, marveling at the sharp angles of his frame. 

They remained that way for several long minutes. Jarod was lying on his back with his eyes 
closed while Parker stared at the easy rise and fall of his chest. Parker was sure that the 
pretender had fallen asleep. So sure in fact, that when he spoke, his voice startled her and Parker 
flinched in her chair.  

"Are you angry with me?" he asked softly.

Overcoming her small shock, Parker whispered, "Why would I be angry at you, Jarod?"

There was another long silence that stretched between them. Finally Jarod said in a low voice, 
"I'm sorry about Tanaka, Miss Parker. I know that he meant something to you."

Parker shrugged, though she doubted that Jarod had opened his eyes to see her do so, "He 
didn't give you much choice. " 

Jarod nodded. "He would have let them kill you. You know that don't you?"

"Yes," Parker answered. "He was only doing his job. It wasn't personal."

Jarod propped himself up on one elbow and frowned at her from across the room. "How can you 
say that, Parker? You loved him. It HAD to have been personal."

Parker smiled sadly. Jarod just didn't get it. He couldn't understand the separation of personal 
feelings and familial responsibility that had been such a large part of her relationship with Tommy. 
If wonder-boy was lucky, he would never learn to split himself in two that way. "What Tommy and 
I had was a long time ago," she said gently. "We were two affluent young people, offspring of 
similarly powerful fathers. We traveled in the same circles while I was in Tokyo. We went to the 
same parties." She shrugged. "We enjoyed each other."

Jarod lay back down and stared up at the ceiling, pondering her words in silence for a time.

"I wonder how Lyle is faring," Parker wondered aloud, if only to change the subject.

"Honestly," Jarod said bluntly. "I could not possibly care less."

"I guess he has it coming," Parker sighed with a shrug.

Jarod snorted with derision. 

"Do you think he's dead?" she asked.

"I doubt it," the pretender replied coldly. "Lyle is a monster, a hard creature to kill."

Parker glanced up in irritation. "He is my brother, you know. My twin."

"Are you going to sit there and defend him?" Jarod sat up and asked with a snarl.

"No," she admitted. "I just,- oh – never mind."

"Go on," Jarod urged. "I want to know what you were going to say."

"It doesn't matter," Parker growled. "Go to sleep, Rat-boy." She crossed her arms over her chest 
defensively.

There was another long silence.

"You aren't like him, Parker," Jarod purred in a warm, sensuous voice. "You have a conscience."

Tilting her head inquisitively Parker asked, "Why do you always do that?" Standing abruptly, 
Parker began to pace, anger rising in her voice. Her sense of emotional self-preservation kicked 
in and she reacted in the only way she knew. "I'm no martyr Jarod," she yelled. "I'm not the 
compassionate yet tragic heroine in this story you've concocted in that strange little head of 
yours. I work for The Centre. It is who I am, what I am."

Jarod rose from the bed and walked across the room until only a few feet separated them. "Are 
you going to continue to deny the bond that we share?"

"Our only connection is that you run and I chase. Nothing more," Parker said in voice sounding 
tired of the repetition.

Jarod shook his head and laughed sadly. "Perhaps you are right," he whispered. "Maybe I only 
see what I want to see, not what really exists."

They stared at each other, saying nothing for a long time.

"I suppose I should congratulate you, Miss Parker," Jarod said in a smooth, hard tone that made 
Parker wary. "You've succeeded in doing something Raines and Sydney have never been able to 
manage."

Parker was afraid to ask. Jarod's face had that hard, hidden look that meant he was about to be 
cruel. But curiosity killed the cat, and she asked anyway, "What is that?"

"I have killed for you." The pretender said in a tight voice. "Six men are dead because I chose 
your life over theirs." 

Parker looked up into Jarod's eyes and saw hard flints glittering there. She was suddenly very 
aware of how much the pretender had changed in the past six years. So much of his innocence 
had gone since he joined the real word. The naiveté had vanished, replaced by the hardness of 
survival. Parker felt a deep sense of regret that something so precious had been lost. 

Parker knew perfectly well that Jarod's words had been carefully chosen. He was trying to get her 
to react; to reveal a soft side that only he knew existed. 

"What do you want me to say, Jarod?" she asked with a weary sigh. She was so very tired of this 
game. "What do you want from me?"

Jarod sighed, sounding just as exasperated as she did. He stepped closer. "Why do you ask 
questions when you already know the answers?"  He whispered so close that his breath tickled 
Parker's cheek. 

Parker's eyes fluttered shut as Jarod's warmth radiated through her. He was so close that his 
nearness was oppressive. Need wound its way through Parker's body, a deep desperate need 
that made her shiver. 'This is too dangerous,' her mind screamed at her. 'You'll pay for it with 
your life. Or worse, he will die in your place.'

"Talk to me, Parker," Jarod murmured in a voice think with desire. 

The pretender's words flickered into Parker's brain, but it was Thomas' voice she heard. Flashing 
across her mind's eye she saw the carpenter's crumpled body sprawled on her porch. She 
flinched, and the image behind her eyelids morphed into Tommy Tanaka, slumping to his knees 
in a shirt stained with crimson. Parker's eyes snapped open and she saw Jarod, leaning in close 
to kiss her. 

Panic slammed into her like a freight train. "No," she whimpered, recoiling as though snakes had 
just popped from Jarod's forehead.

"Parker," Jarod said tenderly, stepping forward to keep the distance between them close. "You 
know that we both want this. You've known since that night in Ocee's cottage."

Miss Parker stepped back and she bumped into the kitchen counter. Cornered and afraid, her 
well-honed survival skills took over and she lashed out at the man in front of her. She needed to 
hurt him, to make him withdraw and give her room to breath.

"Do you want me, Jarod?" she purred in a suddenly icy voice.

The pretender nodded warily.

"What would you do to gain what I have to offer you?" the chill in her tone doused the desire in 
Jarod's eyes to some degree.

Tilting his head with a frown he said cautiously, "I would do anything for you, Miss Parker. Don't 
you understand that yet?"

"Prove it," Parker purred in a hard sexy voice.

"How?" 

Stepping close, Parker went on the attack as her only means of defense. She reached out and 
raked her fingernails down Jarod's naked chest, making his breath catch. "I'll give you anything 
you want, anything you ask for. Tonight I'm yours," she whispered seductively against his lips. 
Her eyes glittered and she straightened defiantly away from his embrace. "But tomorrow, you are 
mine. You come back to The Centre with me like a good little lab-rat should."   

Jarod blinked, stunned at what Parker had proposed. Of course, that had been her intent all 
along. She knew that the proposition would only anger him, which was exactly why she had made 
it.

Parker stood back and folded her arms over her chest, waiting for Jarod's wrath. A minute 
passed, then two, and still Jarod had not stormed away from her in disgust. He simply stood 
there, his big brown eyes gazing soulfully at her. He studied her as if he would see into her very 
soul if only he could look hard enough.

"Okay," he said finally.

Parker nearly fell on the floor in shock. She had expected anger and petulance, never for a 
moment believing that Jarod would agree to so outrageous a plan. Parker was still staring at him, 
her mouth agape in surprise, when the pretender stepped up to her, wrapped her in his arms and 
kissed her with a drugging intensity.

Parker could do little more than cling helplessly to his shoulders as Jarod drank from her lips like 
a man dying of thirst. She couldn't breath, and deep down she realized she didn't want to. Her 
mind was assaulted by sensations of him. His scent, the taste of salt and butter on his lips, the 
soft steel of muscle beneath her clutching fingertips. 

When the kiss ended, they were both panting for air. Jarod snuggled into the crook of Parker's 
neck, burying his face in her hair. Holding her tightly against him he whispered with a sad laugh, 
"I always wondered."  

"Wondered what?" Parker's voice rasped huskily.

"If I could resist you," Jarod murmured, trailing kisses along her jaw. "I knew it was only a matter 
of time, before you realized,"

Parker sighed dreamily as Jarod's tongue flicked around her ear.

"You could have caught me years ago, Parker," he went on as he nibbled at her flesh. "Little more 
than a flash of your panties in my direction and I would have followed you back like a puppy."

Parker stiffed in his arms but Jarod held her firmly.

"Do you have any idea how much that frightened me?" he sighed.

"Jarod," Parker whimpered as fear clawed its way into her heart.

"It's okay," he whispered, switching his attentions to her other ear. "I'm done fighting it. Buy your 
freedom with your body, Miss Parker. I pay the price willingly."

Jarod slipped to his knees so that his lips were now at a level with Parker's stomach. Strong 
fingers slid beneath her shirt, revealing tender flesh beneath. He suckled and licked at her belly 
button until she whimpered with need rather than fright. Jarod gazed up at Parker like a man 
praying at the foot of the Madonna. His eyes were so full of longing that Parker felt herself 
drowning in them.

"Tonight you are mine," Jarod whispered in awe.

With Jarod's arms wrapped possessively around her thighs and his gaze so full of hope, Parker 
could no more deny him than she could stop the world from turning. 

"Yes," she whispered tearfully as she stroked one hand through his hair.

The pretender put his head against Parker's abdomen and hugged her close. "Anything I ask for," 
he purred.

"Anything," Parker agreed. 

Jarod paid homage to her body, worshiping every inch of her until Parker was lost in him. As they 
moved to the bed, Parker pushed aside all her fears. Nothing and no one existed beyond the tight 
circle of paradise they found together. Rest of the word be damned. The dawn would come all too 
soon and Parker knew that when it did, she and Jarod would be forced to return to the land of the 
cursed. But for now there was only the two of them, a man and a woman, clinging to each other in 
passion and desperation.

When Jarod's body finally joined with hers in the most intimate of ways, Parker could do nothing 
but cling to him, reveling in the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him.  Parker wrapped her 
arms and legs around Jarod pulling him even closer to her as the world spiraled around them. 
They were invincible in this place, safe where nothing could hurt them. 

They shivered and trembled against each other in the aftermath. Never had Parker felt so 
completely at one with another human being. Never had she felt so desolate at was to become of 
them. 

"Parker," Jarod whispered reverently against the damp flesh of her breast. 

"Hush," Parker begged, hugging him tight. "Don't talk. Don't ruin this moment."

Jarod nodded and snuggled tenderly against her. Parker felt his breathing deepen as he drifted to 
sleep in her arms. Only when she was sure he was asleep did she let the tears come. She cried 
for what could have been between them. She wept for everything that had been stolen from them, 
for the happiness neither would ever be able to find. She wept silently until exhaustion 
overwhelmed her and sleep finally won over despair.

The next morning, Parker woke to find Jarod sitting on the edge of the bed. He was fully clothed, 
his leather jacket creaking slightly as he moved. Keys to the jeep dangled in his hand. 
Wordlessly, he handed Parker her clothes and turned away discretely while she dressed. When 
finished with the simple task, Parker followed meekly as Jarod led the way out of the cabin.

They climbed into the car and Jarod drove away. He never looked back. But Parker couldn't help 
herself. She craned in her seat and watched out the rear window until long after the tiny house 
had disappeared from view.

They rode in silence, neither saying a word. Thirty minutes later, Jarod pulled into the parking lot 
of a small motel. Disappearing in the office for a moment, Jarod returned with a room key in his 
grasp. When they arrived in the dingy room, Parker sat morosely on the edge of the bed. 

Jarod took the old rotary phone from the nightstand and tenderly placed the device in Parker's 
lap. At her worried glance, Jarod smiled reassuringly and briefly caressed her cheek with his 
fingertips. A moment later he sat cross-legged on the floor with his back against the wall. A pair of 
handcuffs materialized from one pocket and he used them to calmly chain himself to an old, 
heavy bureau. 

Parker's lower lip trembled. Jarod had brought her here to fulfill his side of the bargain. She 
stared down at the telephone in her lap and the image blurred through unshed tears. He had 
been unwilling to let the sweepers come for him back at the cabin. It was too special, too close to 
his heart. This place was neutral, and had no emotional meaning for him. Parker knew that 
neither of them would ever tell another soul what had happened in their little hideaway in the 
woods.

Parker looked up at Jarod. He simply stared at her, expectation written across his face. With a 
heavy sigh, Parker closed her eyes and picked up the receiver. Her fingers seemed to dial the 
phone of their own accord. 

The other end of the line was picked up before it could ring twice. "This is Sydney," the familiar 
voice said.

"Its me," Parker said. Her voice was strong, and held not a trace of the shattered creature within. 
"Come get me. And bring a sweeper team with you." She felt oddly detached, as if her actions 
were being performed by someone on a stage and she was only watching. "You're lab-rat is 
coming home."

-

The days that followed blurred together for Miss Parker. When Jarod had been escorted back 
through the doors of The Centre, she had been heralded as a conquering hero. Raines had 
promised her a hefty reward, which she had promptly declined. Instead, she had submitted her 
two weeks notice.

It felt so surreal. Parker had cleaned out her desk and shredded tons of files. She couldn't quite 
make herself believe that she was actually going. Strangely enough, she owed this easy 
departure in large part to Lyle's persuasion. 

Lyle had somehow managed to escape from the fish hatchery. How, Parker didn't know nor did 
she care to ask. He had been through the wringer, of course, badly beaten and cut in numerous 
places. He still had his one arm in a sling and he limped when he walked. But it had been Lyle 
who had talked Raines into letting Parker go.

Parker knew better than to think it was brotherly concern that made Lyle act in her favor. On the 
contrary, with Parker out of the picture, Lyle had no other obstacle in his path. If Parker left, Lyle 
would have no more competition in regards to Centre leadership. Parker was more than glad to 
let him have it.

Now Parker wandered through these dark corridors for the last time. Her office was bare. Her 
house was full of boxes and sheet-shrouded furniture. Tomorrow she was leaving town for 
destinations as yet unknown. 

Sydney and Broots had given Parker a small farewell this afternoon. They had taken her to lunch 
and given her a small gift, a silver necklace. She had been touched, had even cried a little. Her 
fingertips brushed the delicate chain that now hung around her neck. 

Parker trailed one hand along the wall as she rounded a corner. She had known so much 
sadness here, so much grief and hatred. Yet The Centre had been a huge part of her life, a life 
she was walking away from. As much as she hated this place, she found herself mentally bidding 
it farewell.

Realizing that she was on SL-23, Parker became aware of her true destination. There was one 
more goodbye that she needed to get through.

The room was bathed in shadow. A single bare incandescent bulb hanging from a chain was the 
only light. The bars of his cell cast crisscrosses of shadow on the floor. Stepping forward quietly, 
Miss Parker clasped the iron rods between her hands and found them to be very cold. 

"Jarod?" she whispered, half hoping he wouldn't be there.

A dark form, little more than a pile of crumpled rags, shifted in the corner. There was a distinct 
rattle of chains and the shape stood and shuffled toward the light. Parker's heart clenched hard 
when she saw him. 

Jarod was shackled around his bare ankles. A leather belt was locked around his waist and to 
this belt his wrists were closely chained. A similar belt cinched around his throat. This was 
attached to a chain connected to the wall. Raines was obviously taking no risks this time around. 
Houdini himself couldn't get out of that get up.

Not that the pretender seemed to be in any shape to perform a disappearing act. He looked tired 
and sore. Bruises covered every inch of visible flesh. His head hung low and dejected.

"Hello, Miss Parker," he said carefully, as though speaking caused him pain. "To what do I owe 
this honor?"

Parker heaved in a deep breath, fighting for the courage to see this through. "I'm leaving in the 
morning, Jarod. I won't be back."

Jarod's head rose up and Parker could see his dark eyes shining at her through a curtain of long 
hair. "I'm glad for you, Parker. I really am."

"Why didn't you just run?" Parker sighed woefully, leaning her forehead against the cold bars. 
"You could have gotten away."

"A deal is a deal. I made a promise," Jarod said calmly.

Gazing intently at him, Parker had a startling revelation. Anger flashed through her. "You were 
testing me," she accused. "You wanted to see if I would go through with it. To find out how much 
of a Centre whore I had become."

Jarod shrugged as best he could in his restraints. "I needed to know. I needed to know if there 
was any remaining trace of the girl I fell in love with so long ago." He sighed sadly. "But I 
understand now. The Parker legacy has stolen her from me forever, just like they've taken 
everything else. I haven't the power to bring her back."

Her rage flared out as quickly as it had come. "I'm sorry, Jarod," she whispered tearfully.

"Don't be," the pretender replied in a tender voice. "It isn't your fault. It was your job. You had a 
duty to perform." Jarod closed his eyes as if in prayer. "But for one night," he murmured. "I could 
pretend that the most incredible woman in the world loved me. For one magical moment in time, I 
made myself believe it was true." 

Parker choked back the sob that was building in her throat.

Then Jarod grinned at her. His face broke out in one of those dazzling, beautiful smiles of his. 
"Hell is so much easier to live in when you have memories of paradise to lean on. Even if 
paradise was only a dream."

"Jarod, I," Parker began.

Jarod cut her off with a shake of his head. "Goodbye, Miss Parker," he said in a kind voice. "I 
hope you find what you are looking for someday."

A sweeper stepped into the room then, with a stainless steel tray in his hands. Parker fled. She 
ran blindly through the corridors and ran from the building as though the devil was after her. It 
was two days and twelve hundred miles later that Parker began to wonder exactly how long she 
could keep running.

Only time would tell.

-

End Part 4



Chapter 5

-

"Quittin' time boys!" the foreman hollered over the staccato of hammers. "Come on down and get 
them pay checks!"

Terry, a young blond man far too fair for this kind of work, slapped Jarod on the back with a 
friendly grin. "Let's go buddy. I'll buy you a beer at Mickey's."

Jarod stood and arched his back, easing the strain of the day from his muscles. He gazed out 
over the rooftops of the surrounding housing development. All around him were homes like this 
one, in various states of completion. 

He had been surprised to find that he enjoyed construction work so much. It was hard, draining 
labor. Hot days were sweltering on asphalt roofs while cold days were mind numbing, the chill so 
much more bitter two or more stories off the ground. But Jarod enjoyed the reality of it. Each day 
he could see the difference he had made, the progress that had been accomplished on each 
structure. Sometimes, he would drive through areas where the buildings had already become 
homes, and families had moved in.

This work was tangible and restorative, so very different from his past.  

Jarod followed the sun burnt Terry across the roof and down the ladder to the ground. They stood 
in line with the other men, chatting amiably until Jarod could collect his paycheck. When the 
supervisor handed the envelop to him, the pretender grinned in thanks. This square of paper 
represented the 30th paycheck that Jarod had collected from this man. 

Jarod wasn't quite sure when he had started keeping track, perhaps he had counted the checks 
all along. These were special. They held his real name, and a social security number to boot. Last 
spring, Jarod had even filed his income tax. It was as close to normal as Jarod had managed to 
come in the decade since he had first fled from The Centre. 

Of course, things were very different now. Without Miss Parker to make the pursuit interesting, 
Jarod had quickly tired of the game. He had stopped leaving clues to his whereabouts. He hadn't 
called Sydney in years, though Jarod always sent a Christmas card. He no longer lived in hiding. 
Jarod had stepped out of the shadows and joined the world.

As a result, Jarod half expected Centre sweepers to converge on him any day. He wasn't being 
particularly cautious or secretive about his location. He just wasn't afraid anymore. The fact that 
anyone at The Centre had yet to find him, after more than seven months in the same apartment 
and the same job, was an infinite source of amusement to the ex-pretender.

That was how he thought of himself now, an ex-pretender. Simulations were a thing of the past 
for him. Thirty-eight months, and twelve days in the past to be precise. That had been the last 
time he had gone on a pretend, an intentional one at any rate.   

Strolling casually across the street with a handful of his co-workers, Jarod got into his car and 
followed Terry to a familiar tavern. As a pretty, big-breasted girl brought him an ice-cold beer, 
Jarod grinned at her flirtatiously. She smiled back. Betty had been a waitress here for longer than 
Jarod had been a patron. Jarod came in with the other construction workers every payday and 
she did her best to hit on him. He always flirted playfully but never took her up on the offer.

"Can I get you something to eat tonight, Jarod?" Betty asked. 

"Anything interesting on the menu?" he asked, flinging one arm along the back of his chair.

"You can always have me," she murmured, seductively tracing the white scar that ran the length 
of Jarod's jaw line on one side.

Jarod wrapped the other arm around the girl's waist and declared, "You're far too spicy a treat for 
me, Betty." He laughed and tipped her well before she sauntered away.

It had become a weekly ritual for Jarod. Payday always meant a trip to Mickey's Tavern and a 
little flirting with the buxom blond. He would drink one beer and then go home to his loft 
apartment. When Ethan came home from work, they would order pizza and watch stupid movies 
on television. 

In the past few years, Jarod had discovered that he craved routine in his life. It allowed him to 
function on autopilot at times and made it easy to get through tough days. He needed to know 
exactly what to expect each day, to the point of near obsession. 

He had a compulsive nature. Jarod knew that. And it had been four long years since a major 
obsession had walked out of his life. Four years since his last escape from The Centre. Without 
that obsession to distract him, Jarod tended to fixate on more mundane things. Sometimes Jarod 
could even micro-manage his life to the extent that he could get through an entire day without 
thinking about her, wondering where she was, or hoping she was safe. Sometimes.

Jarod took a swig from his bottle and downed half of it in one long swallow. He scrubbed at the 
three days worth of stubble on his face, absent-mindedly scratching at the scar there. 

It had taken nearly three months for Jarod to escape the last time. Raines and Lyle had watched 
him like hawks and he was constantly in restraints. As a result, Jarod had been unable to slip 
away from The Centre. He had been transferred to Triumvirate headquarters in Africa. And there, 
Jarod had learned what a kind tormentor he had in the wheezing Mr. Raines. His brief stay in the 
Triumvirate compound had taught Jarod the true meaning of pain. His childhood torment seemed 
like playtime in comparison. 

Jarod's fingertips caressed the white line of scar tissue, a permanent souvenir of his time in 
Africa. The Triumvirate henchmen had been extraordinarily cruel, but they had also been overly 
confident. They had underestimated Jarod's determination and will to survive. Ultimately, this flaw 
had allowed Jarod to make his escape.

Not long after making his way back to the States, Jarod had met up with his half-brother, Ethan. 
The two had been pretty much inseparable ever since. Deep down, Jarod hoped for the day when 
Ethan would receive word from his sister. But that day had yet to come. 

Within a year of joining forces with his brother, Ethan had fulfilled the prophecy that Catherine 
Parker had made so long ago. Ethan had found Jarod's parents. And for a time, Jarod's life had 
been almost perfect. 

Ironically, it had been Jack that had been the one to chase Jarod from his parent's home. Jack, a 
younger version of Jarod, was quite literally a genetic reincarnation of Jarod's self. It was only too 
easy to see in the young man Jarod's own insecurities and failings. Jarod found himself 
subconsciously competing with the boy for his parents' attention. Jealousy flared within him and 
Jarod felt as though Jack was intentionally stealing affection that belonged to him. It was childish 
and neurotic but Jarod simply could not help himself. 

Jack had reacted in a similar manner. The boy was desperate to prove himself as good as the 
original so to speak. And the boy had no qualms about being fiendish in the subterfuge of his 
elder twin. After all, Mr. Raines had been the one to raise the boy for the first fifteen years of his 
life. As a result, where Jarod's emotions ran close to the surface, visible to anyone who looked 
into his eyes, Jack was a terribly closed off individual. All his feelings were buried deep and 
hidden.

They were so very much alike and yet so different, polar opposites of the same magnet, opposite 
sides of the same coin. 

There had been a horrible fight. Jack had been instigating it for weeks, poking at Jarod's patience 
until his temper had gotten the better of him. Furniture had been broken, windows shattered. 
Jack, at nineteen, was strong and wiry but had not quite developed the mass Jarod possessed. 
And Jarod had training that the boy lacked. Years of pretending had taught Jarod to fight with his 
fists.

The boy had gotten in his share of punches, but in the end Jarod had decked him. Their father 
had stepped between them then and in his fury Jarod had nearly taken a swing at him too. 
Standing there, with his fists clenched at his sides, Jarod had towered over his duplicate and had 
seen anger and hatred in the boy's eyes. Rage that Jarod abruptly knew was reflected in his own.

Jack hated being his clone, a Jarod copy, like some cheap knockoff of a designer clothing line. 
Jarod could not fault the boy for that. But disturbingly enough, Jarod realized that he resented the 
boy in return. He envied the boy's rescue from The Centre and wished that someone had cared 
enough to do the same for him. Jarod longed for someone to protect him the way his father now 
stood up for the youngest of his sons.

Jarod had moved out three days later. The symbolism of fighting with one's self had been the 
deciding factor. Jarod was well into his forties and hopelessly screwed up. Jack was still young 
and had a chance at becoming a whole being one day. But the boy would never be able to build a 
personality for himself if Jarod was there to cast his shadow over everything the young man did. 
Jack was a nice boy, a good kid most of the time. However, Jarod feared that the boy would go to 
extremes to prove he was different from his twin. And Jarod was in the unique position of knowing 
exactly what the younger man was capable of doing in that attempt.

So Jarod had moved to the city and got a job working with his hands. His folks lived sixty minutes 
away in a small rural town where Amish carriages were a regular sight. Ethan had come to the 
city with him. Jarod always suspected that the Major had sent Ethan to keep Jarod out of trouble. 
That was okay. The two brothers understood each other quite well and managed to stay out of 
each other's way often enough to not ruffle any feathers. 

Every other weekend, Jarod and Ethan drove out to the house and spent Sunday afternoon with 
the family. It was a comfortable arrangement. Jarod's mother saw him often enough to make her 
happy. Jack saw him rarely enough to build his confidence. At this point, Jarod knew that he and 
his twin would never be close, but they were at long last learning to be friends.

Jarod finished his beer and headed for home. The apartment was empty when he arrived. Ethan 
worked second shift as a clerk in the campus library at a college not far away. Jarod had 
approximately thirty minutes to shower and change, maybe read the mail, before his younger 
brother came through the door with dinner.

Jarod tossed his tool belt and hardhat onto the island that served as the only kitchen counter. The 
loft was open and spacious, too expensive for the meager salaries the brothers brought home. 
Small investments on the international markets, monitored via laptop connections to the Internet, 
served to boost their income to a more comfortable level. The brothers sometimes made a game 
of the exercise. The edge of competition between them was serious enough to heighten their 
earnings while managing to maintain a playful nature.

Jarod peeled off his shirt and dropped it to the floor on his way toward the bathroom. Ethan would 
scold him later, as he picked up Jarod's soiled clothes. But Jarod wouldn't mind. Ethan, whose 
needy, clinging personality had been fostered for so long, had matured quite differently in the last 
four years. Rather than hanging desperately onto others, Ethan had developed a deep need to 
care for and protect those around him. Jarod recognized the same trait in himself.  

So Jarod allowed his little brother to fuss over him whenever Ethan's mood became parental. It 
was a small enough thing. Personally, Jarod couldn't care less what the apartment looked like. 
The current décor was only here now because Jarod's mother had taken Ethan on a shopping 
spree just after the two men had moved in. 

There were plants and a couch, a table with matching chairs, end tables and lamps and throw 
rugs. Jarod's sleeping area was along the wall just past the bathroom, separated from the 
common room by a series of bamboo screens. Ethan's bed was located directly above, on a large 
balconied area some twelve feet from the ground, accessed by a simple but sturdy set of wooden 
stairs. 

There were the requisite signs of bachelorhood strewn about. Bicycles hung from a rack attached 
to a huge beam in the center of the room. Fishing poles jutted from an umbrella stand that held 
no umbrella. The entertainment area consisted of a large, flat-screen television hung from one 
wall. Speakers were positioned discretely yet efficiently around the room. There were no fewer 
than six laptop computers lying about. Ethan had a habit of collecting them, buying new ones 
every few months when new technology became available.  

Jarod washed quickly. Glancing in the mirror he noticed that he had not shaved in several days. 
'You're beginning to look like a pirate, Pez-head,' he thought. 'All that scruff makes the scar even 
more noticeable.'

He shrugged, deciding he would shave tomorrow.

It was dark when he left the bathroom. Rather than flip on any lights, Jarod went to the window 
and leaned against the frame to gaze out at the city. The apartment was several stories up. The 
view, which in the daytime was little more than a series of brick walls, became at night a twinkling 
of lights in the darkness. 

Jarod was still standing there in his blue jeans, hugging his arms around himself, when Ethan 
came in. The enticing aroma of melted cheese and spicy pepperoni floated in with him.

"Hey there little brother," Jarod said softly. 

With a sigh, Ethan tapped the switch that brightened the room, "You're brooding in the dark 
again, big brother." he scolded gently.

Jarod grinned. "I get moody when I haven't been fed. You should know that by now," he chortled.

Ethan stopped suddenly and gave Jarod one of those eerie I-can-see-your-soul looks. "I only 
know what you've let me know, " he murmured just loud enough for Jarod to hear.

Jarod cast his brother a wary glare. "You've been talking to Mom," Jarod grumbled.

Ethan set a square carton, distinct in its universal purpose of holding pizza, on the counter in the 
kitchen. Jarod, lured by the promise of grease and mozzarella cheese, pushed away from the 
window to join him. 

Ethan shrugged. "Margaret did call this morning," he admitted. "She's worried about you."

Jarod opened the box, grabbed a drooping slice and took a huge bite. "My mother is always 
worried," he said as he chewed. "It's her job."

Ethan grinned in agreement as he took a slice of pizza and bit into it. After a long silence he 
asked, "Jarod, are you happy?"

"What?" Jarod frowned.

"It is a simple enough question," Ethan said firmly. "Are you happy?"

"Yes," he declared. "I have everything I want out of life. I have my family. I have a place to call 
home and a job I enjoy. I haven't seen a sweeper in ages."

"Your nightmares are still bad," Ethan pointed out.

"Sometimes," Jarod admitted. "But I've learned to live with them."

"May I make an unbiased observation?" Ethan asked.

"Do I have a choice?" Jarod sighed in exasperation.

Wiping his hands on a napkin Ethan said, "For someone who used to slip into different lives on a 
regular basis, you have become strangely rigid in your behavior. You've stopped adapting. It's 
like you've boxed away that part of yourself and hidden it away. You're not growing." 

"At my age, I should be done growing, don't you think?" Jarod said softly.

"As human beings, we are constantly in a state of change," Ethan explained. "It is what we strive 
for, to better ourselves."

"That's an overly idealistic sentiment, little brother," Jarod scoffed. 

"You're a cynic, big brother," Ethan said woefully. 

Jarod shook his head. "Perhaps," he sighed. "Are we going to analyze my psyche all night or 
what? There's a Clint Eastwood movie starting in two minutes," Jarod complained. 

"You're trying to change the subject," Ethan groaned.

"Yep," Jarod said as his face broke out into his trademark, 'gotcha' grin.

--

It was a little after four in the morning when Jarod woke. He and Ethan had watched the movie 
and followed it with a quick trip to the ice cream shop on the corner. The owner of the shop, an 
older fellow named Gary, sometimes let the two brothers help close the shop. In exchange for 
sweeping and a little cleanup, Jarod would be permitted to make an elaborate sundae of his own. 
It was a weekly treat that Jarod enjoyed immensely. 

Upon returning to the loft, they had harangued over their investment returns for the week and 
spent some time discussing options for upcoming trades. Jarod flopped into bed just before 
midnight. He had slept for just over four hours though half remembered images had plagued him 
for much of that time. Regardless, Jarod got up, never having learned to extend his need for rest.

Moving back to his laptop, Jarod booted up and began reading. He held an unofficial position with 
the Susan Granger Agency. Granger was a private investigator who specialized in reuniting 
missing children with the parents who searched for them. In the last decade, Jarod had helped 
Granger locate dozens of children.  Jarod had learned that a depressing percentage of these 
children could be found by scanning the John Doe files for morgues across the country. On a 
regular basis, Jarod collected basic autopsy information and then cross-referenced the 
descriptions with those of the missing children database that he and Granger had compiled.

Just last week, Jarod had been able to use this system to verify the location of a girl name Cheryl 
Stapleton. The seventeen-year-old runaway had been found stuffed in a dumpster behind a truck 
stop in Mobile, Alabama, nearly nine hundred miles from her home. It was heartbreaking, but at 
least her parents now knew. The waiting was over.

Jarod sighed as he watched his program connect to the Cuyahoga County Medical Examiner's 
office and begin to download stats on the newest John Doe bodies. With a snort of disgust, Jarod 
hit the escape key angrily. He didn't feel like searching the dead tonight. The image of Cheryl 
Stapleton's mangled corpse was still too raw, even though the killer had since been found. 

Changing tactics, Jarod typed the words 'missing children' into the text box on his search engine. 
From the results, he randomly chose a site and started to browse. For forty minutes Jarod clicked 
through web pages arbitrarily, looking for a name or story that would catch his interest this 
evening. It was on an obscure little page, coincidentally based out of Delaware, that Jarod saw 
something odd. 

The page contained just a blurb describing the reason for the site's creation and a long list of 
names and dates. The names were those of missing children. The dates defined when each child 
had disappeared. Each date was in blue type leading to a hyperlink that further described each 
victim's story. 

About two-thirds of the way down the page, a particular name caught Jarod's eye. "Faith Parker" 
The date beside her name was additionally surprising. Jarod remembered each detail of that day 
with frightening clarity. It was the day that he had pulled Parker out of the fish hatchery. It marked 
the date that he and Parker had made their tawdry bargain.

Frowning at the odd fluke, Jarod clicked on the link. The resulting text that popped up was, at first 
glance, a jumbled mess of nonsense. A second glance and Jarod realized that he was reading 
Apache, or a bastardized version of Apache at any rate. The standard PC keyboard did not have 
all the symbols and accents needed to write the language properly but Jarod could still recognize 
it.

The text simply stated the girl's name again along with a location. A chill shivered down Jarod's 
spine. The address for the fish farm floated at him from his monitor. Jarod clicked on the address, 
another hyperlink, and found himself looking at a question, written in Japanese font. 

"Which of these symbols represents the ancient Japanese sign for pain?" the question asked. 
Beneath this were two glyphs, one was an ancient symbol for agony. The other was a much more 
modern Japanese representation meaning danger. 

Jarod stared at the two choices. The symbol on the right, though the incorrect answer to the 
displayed question, was a common Yakuza mark. Jarod clicked over the Yakuza symbol. A 
message box appeared saying, "Enter your password."

The cursor blinked expectantly as Jarod thought. "Refuge" he typed unsuccessfully. 

"Faith", was wrong.

"The Centre", wrong again.

"Pez", was also incorrect.

Jarod pressed his palms against his eyes and fought to stay calm and to think clearly. Sudden 
inspiration caused him to type "You run I chase" and the link abruptly shot to another page.

This page held no text. Jarod watched in dumbfounded wonder as a single photo began to take 
shape on the screen. It seemed to take forever as row by row from the top down appeared on the 
screen. The picture was of a smiling brunette sitting in a brightly lit kitchen. Her hair was pulled 
back carelessly and she wore no makeup. The appliances behind her seemed worn but tidy. The 
olive colored refrigerator was adored with magnets and a calendar indicating a year and month 
more than three years past. 

Grey eyes glowed with joy as the woman grinned delightedly for the picture. She wore beige 
pants, no shoes and a floral print blouse. The shirt hung open to her waist and would have left her 
revealed but the small infant suckling at the woman's breast hid any indecency from view.  

Jarod stared, openmouthed. He stopped breathing and the only sound he could hear was the 
rushing throb of his heartbeat in his ears. He gazed at the simple kitchen, the blue romper the 
babe was wearing as well as the woman's obvious joy. Jarod's mind began to register smaller 
details slowly. The calendar was one of those generic things, given away by banks every year. 
But the month displayed was what Jarod focused on.

Nine months after the night in the cabin. Nine months after Jarod had made that bargain. And the 
baby in the picture looked very young. 

Moving as if in slow motion, Jarod got up and went to retrieve the printer from the closet. He 
needed a hard copy of this. He needed something tangible to prove to himself that what he saw 
was real. 

As he hooked up the wires and carefully loaded the device with the highest quality paper, Jarod 
wondered, "How long has it been there?" he asked aloud. "Could this picture have been out there, 
waiting for me to find it for more than three years?"

One minute later, Jarod was holding the photograph in his trembling hands. He quickly started 
making mental lists of things to do by morning. Only an agonizing amount of willpower, and 
respect for his parents, kept him from leaving right this moment. 

But Jarod knew that before the sun had fully risen over this city, he would be gone. He would 
head for the bank that had provided the calendar and hope to find another clue there. And Jarod 
had little time to waste. Three years was a long time to wait. And Miss Parker had never been 
well known for her patience. 

-

End part 5  


Chapter 6

-

Jarod stood thoughtfully on the corner, staring across the street at the brick church with its 
attached school. Maybe this was a bad idea. He should just go back to the little townhouse and 
wait in the driveway until someone came home. Prowling around on school grounds could get him 
into more trouble than he was willing to handle right now. 

He wearily scrubbed one hand across his eyes. He was tired, and should probably get some 
sleep before attempting this. But Jarod knew full well that he'd get no sleep until he had 
completed his task. 

It had taken a little over a week for Jarod to get this far. The simple picture he had found on the 
Internet ten days ago had been the beginning of a scavenger hunt-like journey across the Central 
United States. The trail, though more than three years old, had been alarmingly easy for Jarod to 
follow. The clues that had been left behind were astonishing in their simplicity yet distinctive 
enough that only Jarod would understand their meanings. 

Upon arriving at the bank that had been advertised on the calendar in the picture, Jarod had 
asked for information about Ms. Parker. The teller had checked her computer for a Jarod Parker 
and revealed that a safety deposit box existed in his name. But Jarod had no key and was 
therefore denied access. Speaking to one of the managers, Jarod had conned his way into 
finding out how long it had been since anyone had used the box. 

According to the card used for sign in, there had been only one entry for this box and that had 
been almost three years ago. Jarod had peeked at the card and found an address for the account 
owner as well as a small notation scribbled along the side. 

"Find your present," it said simply.

Jarod had gone to the address and found a simple boarding house run by a lady by the name of 
Betty Hansen. Betty had remembered the woman in the photograph and had recognized Jarod's 
name. She gladly showed Jarod where the "sweet girl" had stayed for the two months she'd lived 
there. When she had arrived, the woman had been very pregnant. When she left, her son had 
been six weeks old. 

Betty had given Jarod a tour of the house, including the worn but homey kitchen from the picture. 
Jarod stood in that kitchen and caressed the counter tops, imagining Parker standing in that very 
spot. If he closed his eyes, he imagined that he could almost smell her perfume.

Jarod found the next clue exactly where he had once told Parker that her father's gift had been 
hidden. In the antique roll top desk located in the room where Parker had stayed, there was an 
envelope taped to the back of the lower left hand drawer. He'd torn open the envelope and 
dumped a safety deposit box key into the palm of his hand.  

What had followed had been a series of notes and symbols, each one significant only to Jarod. 
No one else would ever be able to interpret the signs because only Jarod and Parker knew what 
they meant. Mementos from his childhood drew Jarod along on his search, brightening his spirits 
with each new discovery. 

He had thought that Miss Parker had forgotten such things. He had believed that he was alone in 
cherishing those moments in time. That Parker remembered them at all was a balm to his soul. 
That she knew how important they were to him meant even more. 

Jarod had finally found a post office box in Wisconsin with his name on it. When he had opened 
box number 1019, a tumble of postcards had fallen into his lap. The postmarks indicated that a 
new card arrived every four or five months. Sorting them chronologically, Jarod had a detailed 
look of Parker's travels over time. Each card had a different return address and the same simple 
message. 

"Wish you were here." The notes were unsigned.

Jarod had quickly located the newest of the postcards and driven for the next fifteen hours to get 
to this quiet town. It had been mid-morning when he had arrived at the address printed on the 
card. The little white duplex had been empty, though it obviously had current occupants. 

Painfully aware of his stalker-like actions, Jarod had picked the locks on the door and slipped into 
the apartment. It was a generic place, decorated in the basic colors and white walls that were 
typical of furnished rentals. Jarod's heart twisted as he stood in the kitchen and stared at the 
multitude of crayon colored artwork plastered over the refrigerator door. 

Many of the images were unrecognizable jumbles of color, but there was the unmistakable 
representation of an old-fashioned locomotive with smoke billowing from its stack. Another picture 
was at first glance a simple oval with four rays jutting from the bottom. Balanced on top was 
another oval attached to a slithering snake of a line. Jarod stared at it for a moment, transfixed. 
With trembling hands, Jarod tugged the drawing into his hands. He smiled as he traced the 
simple lines with one finger.

"That," he whispered to himself. "Is a cowboy." 

It was suddenly so obvious to him. The squiggle of a rope and lasso, the wisp of a horse's tail and 
a brown smudge of a hat were all there, created by the awkward scrawls of a little boy. Jarod 
clutched the picture to his chest and closed his eyes, trying to imagine the child as he drew. With 
a sniff, Jarod put the precious artwork back where he'd found it and wandered through the 
apartment.

There were no pictures, much to Jarod's dismay. He wanted to see what the boy looked like. He 
needed to know. But aside from a few toys strewn about and a single tiny shoe beneath the 
coffee table, there were very few personal items to be found. Jarod made his way down the back 
hall to the single bedroom where he found two beds. One was neatly made while the other, 
bedecked with images of a furry red Muppet, was a tussled, mangled ball of sheets and blankets. 

On an end table bedside the smaller bed, Jarod found a nightlight shaped like a teddy bear and a 
small silver picture frame. He gazed in wonder at the picture it held. Jarod's own face smiled up 
at him from under the glass. Jarod wondered if the child had begun to ask questions about his 
father or if Parker simply kept the photo here on principle. 

As Jarod set the frame back in its place, a colored, half-sheet of paper caught his eye. Across the 
top of the paper were the words, "Progress Report". There were a series of check marks all under 
the category of "Achieves at expected levels", but it was the header that caught Jarod's attention. 
The name and address of the school were boldly displayed in one corner. 

Jarod knew exactly where his son was at this moment. Parker was undoubtedly at work, so the 
boy would need to be looked after in some sort of daycare setting. This was the address of that 
daycare center.

Knowing full well that he should wait for Parker, Jarod had headed for the school none-the-less. 
He simply couldn't resist the urge to see the child. 

So now Jarod stood on the corner watching the school building as he worked on his cover story. 
He couldn't just stand on the playground, staring blatantly at every little boy who went by. That 
would get him thrown in jail. Jarod needed to find a way to observe the children without raising 
suspicions. He needed the time to figure out which child was the one he was looking for.

Pushing a pair of glasses onto his nose, Jarod took a deep sigh and strode across the street 
toward the school office. Fifteen minutes later, he was inside the building getting a grand tour 
from the head mistress herself.

"I appreciate you taking time out of your day, Sister Agatha," Jarod purred in his most persuasive 
tone. Evidently not even old nuns could resist his charm when he really put forth the effort. 

"Not a problem, Dr. Hawkins," the woman said. Her black habit was starched stiff so that it barely 
moved regardless of the excited way the older woman shook her head. 

"My wife and I are looking at several possible places to relocate," Jarod went on with his story. 
"With the triplets, I'm sure you understand that much of our decision will be based upon the 
educational opportunities for them."

"As it should be Doctor," the nun agreed. 

"We want our boys to be part of a community, a strong congregation," Jarod went on. 

Bobbing her head Sister Agatha said, "I think you'll agree that our little school is like a big family. 
Children thrive in a loving environment and we do our best to provide that. In addition, we don't 
teach our children to pass a standardized test like they do at some public schools. We teach the 
children to learn, to enjoy learning and to strive toward learning."

The two stopped in front of a glass door as they peered in at a dozen or more students. These 
children were older, nine or ten years of age and they were all gathered around a large table and 
a microscope. 

"These are our fifth graders," the sister explained. "From here they'll go to the junior high. How old 
are your triplets Dr. Hawkins?"

"Three." Jarod answered.

The sister's enthusiasm deflated slightly. "Normally we don't take children until they are four," she 
said. 

"No exceptions?" Jarod pried. 

"Well," Sister Agatha wrung her hands. "We do have one three-year-old enrolled right now. But 
he's quite mature for his age and his mother is actually one of the preschool teachers, so we 
allow it as part of her employment compensation."

Jarod fought to hide his jolt of surprise at that statement. Miss Parker, a nursery school teacher? 
His lips curled into an amused grin. This he had to see for himself.

"By the time we make our decision, move and get settled in, the boys will be old enough to enroll, 
Sister." Jarod lied smoothly.  

"Oh good," the nun sighed happily. "Then let me show you our pre-K program." Leading Jarod 
down a different hallway she said, "For obvious reasons, the daycare aspect of the program 
makes this our largest group of children. We have two or three teachers in each classroom every 
day, as well as parents who work with the co-op." Stopping suddenly, the nun asked, "Would you 
or your wife be willing to help out two or three days a week?"

Jarod shrugged, trying hard to stay calm. "My days are quite busy with my practice and all. But 
my wife loves children."

"Excellent," Sister Agatha exclaimed. "Here is one of the three pre-K classrooms we have," she 
said, pointing through another glass door. 

Jarod gazed into the room and saw a dozen small children sitting in a half circle at a plump old 
woman's feet. Evidently it was story time. 

"Three classrooms?" Jarod asked in dismay. He needed to narrow his search down to one room.  
"Since the boys will be only barely old enough, would it be possible to have them in the same 
class as the three-year-old you mentioned?"

"I think we may be able to arrange something," the nun went on helpfully. "Ms. Miller's class is 
over here." 

They stepped across the hall and looked into another room. Jarod felt his heart stop. As before, 
there were a handful of young children sitting on a brightly colored carpet gazing up in awe at 
their teacher as she read to them. Jarod was equally spellbound. 

The woman sitting in the child sized chair bore a distinct physical similarity to the Miss Parker 
Jarod had once known. Though still quite slim, she had gained a few pounds. Just enough so that 
where there had once been sharp angles, she now had soft curves. Her hair was pulled back 
carelessly into a loose ponytail. Jarod doubted that she'd seen the inside of a salon in months. 
Her skirt was a long flowing cotton fabric and her blouse was a simple off-the-rack style. Jarod 
noticed that her shoes were flat sandals with no heel at all. It was an observation that made him 
wonder if this was the same Parker.

As Sister Agatha quietly opened the door she whispered, "The school day will be over shortly. 
Would you like to speak with Ms Miller for a few minutes?" 

Jarod nodded his head, not daring to trust his voice. 

He and Sister Agatha stood at the back of the room and listened as the story went on. Jarod was 
enthralled by the rich, warm tone of her voice as Parker narrated the tale of a boy named Max. 
She seemed to put all her heart and soul into the telling of the story even to the point of growling 
and snarling like the monsters in the book. Jarod nearly laughed out loud when young Max 
defeated the monsters with a glare and they made Max their king. As the story ended, Parker's 
smooth voice conveyed serenity and solace, letting her listeners know that all was right in the 
world.  

Jarod had a gut wrenching need to run up to her and lay his head in Parker's lap. Until this very 
moment, he had not realized how much he had missed her voice.

"Did you like that story, children?" Her tone was light and airy. When one little blonde haired girl 
began talking excitedly, Parker/Ms. Miller leaned forward, genuinely interested in what the child 
had to say. She smiled at the girl. It was no shut-up-before-I-shoot-you smile or even a sad 
hopeless kind of smile. This was a radiant, happy smile full of love and acceptance. 

"What a lovely thought, Kayla! Now, give me a hug," Parker said with a laugh. "Your mother is 
here and its time for you to go."

Jarod realized with a start that as the story had progressed, several other adults had entered the 
room. Rather than interrupt, the parents had lined up against the back wall, quietly waiting for 
their children. 

A loud bell pealed, making Jarod flinch. What ensued was fifteen minutes of organized chaos as 
parents and children reunited after a long day. 

Sister Agatha spoke over the din. "Ms. Miller teaches from six to three. The children who need 
extended daycare will now go to Miss Carpenter's classroom. We can keep children until six 
o'clock PM. Anything after 6:15 and there is an additional fee."

Jarod blinked at the nun. He was momentarily at a loss to understand what she was talking about 
before he remembered his cover story. 

"That shouldn't be an issue," he stammered.

Nearly half the children were now gone and the rest were lined up beside the door, jackets and 
cloth book bags in their hands.

"Ms. Miller," the aged nun spoke up. "This is Dr. Hawkins. He is considering bring his family to our 
congregation. Would you be so kind as to talk to him about our program? I'll walk the children 
across the hall."

"Thank you, Sister." Parker smiled radiantly. 

Jarod's gaze met Parker's and he stood speechless before her. Parker's gray eyes twinkled 
merrily as she looked back. Neither spoke until after the nun had led the train of children out of 
the room and the door closed behind them.

"You're late," she smirked.

"I," Jarod stuttered. "I only found the picture a few days ago." He shrugged. "I had no idea."

Parker's lips twitched with amusement. "You must be slipping, Pez-head."

Jarod nodded in uneasy agreement. "Must be." He stared at her in silence for a long moment 
before whispering, "You look fantastic, Parker."

Her smile grew. "I'm happy, Jarod." 

Jarod nodded slowly. "You seem to have built a good life."

Parker stepped closer with a nod. Reaching out, she gently traced the white scar on Jarod's jaw. 
Her touch was so feather-soft that it sent shivers down Jarod's spine. "The only thing missing in 
my life, is you," she purred huskily.

She leaned toward Jarod and for one heart-stopping moment, Jarod thought he was going to be 
kissed but a small panic-stricken voice interrupted them.    

"Momma!" a child cried. "Momma, I can't find New Hampshire. It's gone!"

Standing just a few feet away was a small boy. He had wavy brown hair that curled around his 
ears and large dark brown eyes that wavered with unshed tears. The boy was wearing a simple 
pair of denim blue overalls spotted with yellow paint. One shoelace was untied and flopped 
awkwardly as the child ran to his mother. Clutched to his chest was a wooden puzzle nearly as 
big as he was. 

"I can't find it!" he cried again. 

As the child held the puzzle out toward Parker for her inspection, Jarod could see the face of the 
design. It was a well-crafted puzzle of the United States. Each piece represented a state and 
each had a yellow plastic grip located approximately where the state capital should be.

"We'll find it, Charlie," Parker soothed as she crouched beside the little boy. "It's here 
somewhere."

Something in Jarod's gut twisted hard as he watched Parker caress the little boy's hair. 

"Charlie?" Jarod croaked softly.

Parker smiled and scooping the little boy up in her arms she introduced Jarod to his son. "This is 
Charles Sydney Parker," she said with a grin. "I thought that Sydney Charles sounded better, but 
in this day and age, little boys named Sydney tend to get beaten up."

"Hello Charlie," Jarod said, his voice little more than a whisper. 

"Hello," the child said. Suddenly shy, he buried his face in his mother's hair.

Parker chuckled softly, tickling the child's ribs. "Don't start acting coy, young man. I won't fall for 
it." 

Charlie giggled obligingly. He looked at Jarod curiously and tilted his head in confusion. Jarod 
recognized the action as one of his own. 

"I know you," Charlie blurted accusingly. "Momma has your picture." The child's speech still held 
just a trace of babyish pronunciation so that the word sounded like pitcher rather than picture.

"She does?" Jarod asked. 

The boy nodded vigorously. "She said you would come someday," he said. "She promised." 

"Really?" Jarod's head was spinning. This seemed so unreal, like a dream that had suddenly 
become reality.

As if remembering his upset from a moment ago, Charlie abruptly started to cry again, "New 
Hampshire! I need it to hold Vermont and Maine down or they'll get lost." He squirmed out of his 
mother's arms, miraculously keeping the puzzle in place. Stomping his little foot in frustration he 
moaned, "Then I'll lose all the little states until New York pops out too!"

Parker sighed patiently. "Let's see if we can find it." 

Jarod watched for a moment as Parker took the boy by the hand and began to walk across the 
room. A huge grin spread across Jarod's face as he watched them search among the clutter on a 
small round table not far away. 

Jarod joined them and slipping to his hands and knees, he started to look around on the floor 
beneath the table. He caught Parker smirking at him and he laughed out loud. When he noticed 
Charlie frowning in puzzlement Jarod said, "If we lose New York, the whole Eastern sea board 
will disappear. We can't have that now can we?"

Charlie blinked for a moment before crouching on his haunches beneath the table. In an 
exaggerated whisper the little boy said, "It's only a puzzle, you know."

Jarod laughed again. But when he saw the serious gaze from those large dark eyes, Jarod 
sobered quickly. Charlie seemed to look right through him. The boy's gaze was so intense. Jarod 
wondered briefly if this was normal behavior for a three and a half year old. He didn't know. Jarod 
had not known many small children in his lifetime.

"Here it is!" Parker exclaimed from beside the painting easels. 

Charlie flopped onto the floor, landing on his butt with a thud that made Jarod flinch. Placing his 
puzzle between his spread legs, the child took the puzzle piece from his mother and slid it into 
place. 

"Be a good boy for a minute while Mommy gets our things together, okay Charlie?" Parker said. 

"Okay." The little boy chirped happily, his tears forgotten. 

Jarod stayed where he was. Sprawled on the floor, with his head propped in one palm, Jarod had 
the perfect opportunity to study the boy.

"This funny one is Missouri," Charlie said holding the puzzle piece up for Jarod to see. "I was born 
in Missouri." 

"Yes, I know," Jarod smiled.

Charlie's little tongue stuck out between his teeth as he concentrated on placing the Show Me 
state back in the puzzle. He held up another piece.

"This is Delaware," the boy explained, pointing. "It's too small to have it's own piece, so it holds 
hands with Maryland. Momma was born in Delaware."

"That is a fact," Jarod agreed. 

Maryland/Delaware went back in its slot. "Where were you born?"

"Georgia," Jarod replied softly.

Charlie called across the room to his mother, "It is Georgia, Momma!" 

Jarod glanced over his shoulder to see Parker watching tearfully as he interacted with his son for 
the first time. They smiled waveringly at each other for a moment before Jarod turned back to the 
little boy.

Charlie prattled on. "Momma thought maybe Georgia but she wasn't sure." The topic of 
discussion abruptly changed. "Have you been to lots of states? Momma has. She says you've 
been lots of places too. Have you been lots of places?"

"Yes," Jarod said. 

"I was on a airplane once," Charlie said. "When we came to live here, I rode in an airplane. It was 
a long time ago when I was little but I can remember."

Jarod grinned. He happened to know that Parker had come here with her son less than six 
months ago. 

"Did you ever ride in a plane?" Charlie asked.

Jarod nodded. "Sometimes I even fly the plane myself." He said.

Charlie's confused look came back for a moment causing Jarod to rephrase the comment. 
"Sometimes I drive the plane."

"Really?" the little boy's eyes grew wide with astonishment. "Wow."

"It's time to go Charlie, put your puzzle in your book bag now," Parker said softly as though she 
hated to interrupt them. 

" 'Kay," the boy said. Hopping from his seat he dashed across the room with his puzzle against 
his chest. Jarod watched as Charlie pulled a canvas bag from a cubbyhole and slid his puzzle 
into the bag with an ease born of repetition.

Jarod sat up, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Charlie swung the handles of his tote over one 
shoulder and came running back toward the center of the room. The boy stopped abruptly about 
half way and frowned at his errant shoelace as though he had only just noticed it. 

Stomping his foot on the floor in front of Jarod, Charlie said demandingly, "Tie my shoe."

Parker gasped, "Charlie! What do you say when you want help?" 

Charlie glanced at his mother in chagrin. 

Parker crossed her arms and said sternly, "Say the magic word young man."

Charlie turned back to Jarod and said, "Tie my shoe, NOW."

Jarod burst into delighted laughter. Reaching out he grabbed the little boy and swung the 
squealing child into his lap. Jarod was laughing so hard he could barely breath as he obediently 
tied Charlie's shoe. Wrapping the child in a huge embrace Jarod sat on the floor and rocked the 
boy back and forth while he chortled with amusement. 

Parker was trying hard not to snicker as she scolded the boy. "Charlie, the magic word is 
'Please'."

Twisting his head so he could look up at his father, Charlie asked, "Is it really?"

Jarod huffed and wiped a tear of laughter from one eye. "I don't know, Charlie. NOW always 
seemed to work for your mom." Jarod dissolved into another fit of chuckling when Parker glared 
angrily at him.

Charlie glanced uncomprehendingly from one adult to the other. He didn't quite understand what 
was so funny. But that didn't matter. The little boy started to smile anyway. Pressed close to his 
daddy's chest the way he was now, Charlie could feel the big man's laughter vibrating through his 
own small body. It tickled him inside to know that he had made his father so happy. 

A moment later, Charlie's giggles joined Jarod's and the two of them laughed like loons until they 
both had hiccoughs and Parker was forced to rescue them with cold drinks of water.

-

End Part 6



Chapter 7

-

"… started singing it not knowing what it was, " Charlie's lilting voice sang. "And we'll go on 
singing it forever just because." The little boy was safely strapped into his car seat in back, his 
head bobbing back and forth and his feet swinging enthusiastically as he sang.

Jarod sat in the front passenger seat with his back against the door so that he could watch the 
child. Parker drove her old but sturdy Honda hatchback.

As the car eased to a halt at an intersection, Charlie's song abruptly ended. "S-T-O-P." He 
spelled. "That spells stop."

"Yes, sweetheart," Parker smiled. 

"G-O, spells go," the boy went on as though he was imparting sacred information. "I can spell 
McDonald's!" he added excitedly. "M-C-D-O-N-A-L-D-S, McDonald's."

Jarod grinned when he saw Parker rolling her eyes dramatically.

"Very good Charlie," Jarod smirked.

The little boy grabbed the cushioned brace in front of him and leaned forward. Charlie's dark eyes 
shined brightly as he said, "I can spell french fries, too! F-R-E-N-C-H-F-R-Y-S."

"Close enough," Jarod agreed.

"I like french fries," Charlie volunteered. "Do you like french fries, Daddy?" he asked with grim 
seriousness.

Jarod blinked in startled wonder when he realized that the boy was referring to him. "Yes," Jarod 
replied slowly. "Yes I do."

Charlie's lips broke into a huge delighted grin. "Momma! Daddy likes french fries! We should buy 
some for dinner."

"Not tonight, Charlie," Parker said gently. "You had french fries yesterday."

A look of wounded dismay brought a frown to the boy's little face. "But Daddy wasn't here 
yesterday. He didn't get any." 

"Not tonight," Parker repeated. 

A soft pink lower lip began to tremble and large dark eyes filled with tears. "But Daddy wants 
french fries, don't you Daddy?"

"I said 'no'," Parker reiterated more firmly.

Jarod glanced frantically from the woman beside him to the boy in back. Charlie seemed about to 
burst into tears and Jarod felt a desperate need to make the boy smile again. 

"My treat, Parker," Jarod offered. "A few fried potatoes two nights in a row won't hurt him."

Parker smiled sadly, reached out and took one of Jarod's hands in her own. "I know that you want 
to give him everything right now, Jarod. I know how desperate you are to make up time with him," 
she gave Jarod's hand a slight squeeze. "But you can't give in to him once you've said 'no'. If you 
do, he'll be impossible to handle for days. Don't let him manipulate you."

Jarod frowned and glanced back at his son. Tussled hair fell in unruly locks across the boy's 
forehead and Charlie's large brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears. The toddler looked so 
forlorn and wounded that it made Jarod's heart ache. 

"He doesn't have a scheming bone in his body," Jarod whispered tenderly.

Parker's joyful laughter filled the car. "Don't let him fool you. The little con-artist is his father's 
son," Parker's smile of joy filled Jarod with amazement. "Besides, we are having spaghetti when 
we get home."

"With meatballs?" Charlie asked tremulously. 

"Yes," Parker grinned again. "With meatballs."

"YEA!" Charlie suddenly crowed kicking his feet excitedly. "It is the song that never ends," he 
began singing as though he had never paused. Smiling happily and bobbing his head with the 
tune again, Charlie stared out the window as though his brief distress had never existed.

Jarod gazed at Charlie and then glanced at Parker in astonishment. "He WAS trying to 
manipulate me," he whispered in dismay.

"He's three and a half years old," Parker smiled indulgently. "A very bright three and a half years 
old. It's very normal behavior for a child his age to begin testing boundaries."

"Does he do this type of thing often?" Jarod asked with concern. 

Parker glanced lovingly at the reflection of her son in the rearview mirror. "He isn't purposely 
being malicious," she explained. "But Charlie has learned that he can sometimes have things his 
way if he can make me feel guilty about it." Parker paused for a moment then added, "It is very 
much the same way his father used to coerce me."

At that point, the little car pulled into the driveway in front of the townhouse that Jarod had visited 
earlier in the day. Jarod stood by and watched her movements as Parker got out of the vehicle 
and tipped her seat forward to unbuckle her little boy. Lifting Charlie out of his seat, Parker gave 
him a warm embrace and kissed the boy's forehead before setting him gently on the sidewalk. 

No sooner had Charlie's feet hit the pavement than he turned to the adults and announced, "I'm 
going to bounce." He then proceeded to hop up and down on both feet. 

Parker smiled at the look of total confusion on Jarod's face. With a contented chuckle she said to 
her son, "Bounce in the general direction of the front door, please." 

"'Kay," Charlie said obediently. 

As Parker and Jarod strolled up the walk, Charlie bounced happily at his mother's side.

"Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce" Charlie sang. "Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce."

Jarod grinned broadly as he quickly recognized the tune to which the child was chanting. Charlie 
had changed the words yet the familiar melody rang through Jarod's head. 

"Cree craw toad's foot," Jarod sang. "Geese walk barefoot."

Charlie stopped abruptly and froze in place. Gazing up at Jarod with wide awestruck eyes, 
Charlie seemed frightened for a moment. Jarod halted as well and for a long heartbeat in time, 
the two stared at each other. Then Charlie suddenly broke into peals of laughter and began 
literally running circles around his parents.

Jarod looked at Parker and smiled in wonder. "He seems to have a great deal of energy."

"He's a bit excited," Parker snickered. "But this is nothing. You should see him after a bowl of ice 
cream and half a glass of cola."

At Jarod's confused frown, Parker explained, "Take a slightly hyperactive little boy, add sugar and 
caffeine, and the result is a lovable little bundle of very destructive energy. The chaos theory in 
action."

Jarod's eyes followed Charlie's progress as he ran around and around. "It must be difficult 
keeping up with him on your own," Jarod said softly.  

Parker placed one hand gently on Jarod's arm. "He's the light of my life. I wouldn't trade one 
moment with him for anything." She shrugged. "The trick is to keep him occupied. For the most 
part, he's a very good little boy."

"For the most part?" Jarod asked raising his eyebrows.

As they reached the front door, Parker slid her key into the lock. "He has my temper," she 
explained apologetically. "And your tenacity. When he decides to throw a tantrum," Parker sighed. 
Smiling indulgently at her child she said, "Let's just say he can pitch quite a fit when he chooses 
to do so."

The three crossed the threshold and entered the house. Charlie promptly dashed across the 
room and down the back hall making motor sounds as he ran. 

"How can I tell the different between a con and a temper tantrum?" Jarod asked fearfully. 

Parker gazed at Jarod with amusement. "Trust me on this one, Genius. When Junior-Pez decides 
to explode, you'll know it."

Jarod grinned, "Junior-Pez?"

Parker surprised him by stepping up to Jarod and wrapping him in a warm embrace. Leaning 
against Jarod's shoulder she said tenderly, "He is so much like you, Jarod. He's so full of wonder 
and curiosity. He is so sensitive and loving."

Jarod rested his cheek against the top of Parker's head. Closing his eyes he savored this feeling 
for a moment. "He is my son." Jarod whispered reverently.

Parker nodded.

Jarod squeezed Parker in a hard bear hug. She could feel him trembling against her as Jarod 
struggled with his overwhelming emotions. 

"I'm hungry!" Charlie chirped suddenly as he tugged at Parker's skirt. 

Jarod and Parker laughed tearfully at each other before stepping apart. 

The next hour was spent in a scene of such domesticity that Jarod was sure he must be 
dreaming. Parker puttered around in the kitchen cooking pasta and warming a loaf of bread in the 
oven. Jarod sat at the small table nearby with Charlie in his lap as the boy enthusiastically 
described all the refrigerator artwork. The child was even so magnanimous as to allow Jarod to 
share his paper and crayons as together they added to the collection of drawings. 

As Parker dumped a pot full of pasta into a colander to drain, Jarod glanced up and asked, "Can I 
help with anything?"

Wiping her hands on a towel Parker smiled. "You're helping right now, more than you realize," 
she said with a gesture toward Charlie. 

Jarod gazed at the little boy again and lovingly stoked one hand through the child's hair. Charlie 
turned toward his father and beamed happily. 

"Time to wash your hands, baby," Parker said gently. "Supper's ready."

Jarod helped Charlie to the floor so he could run to his mother. Parker swung him up to the 
kitchen sink where she held him in her arms while he clumsily spread soap over his palms. Jarod 
watched silently. Every glance, every caress that Parker gave her son was so full of tenderness 
and love. It made Jarod want to weep at the sheer beauty of them. The sad, haunted woman 
Jarod had once known was gone. In her place was this incredible creature whose soul called to 
him. 

Jarod realized he was staring when Parker looked at him with a questioning glance. 

Mentally shaking himself, Jarod said, "Let's eat."

Digging hungrily into the mound of sauce-covered spaghetti, Jarod exclaimed, "This is really 
good."

"Don't sound so surprised, Rat." Parker chuckled mildly. "Then again, in all the time we've known 
each other, I guess this is the first time I've ever cooked for you."

"Second," Jarod corrected around a mouthful of garlic bread. 

Parker frowned, trying to remember.

"You were thirteen," Jarod recalled. "You shared a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with me."

Parker smirked. "That hardly constitutes cooking, Jarod." 

"Perhaps," he shrugged. "But I have had more than my share of P, B and J in the past decade, 
Miss Parker. Never once have I been able to find one that tasted as good as the one you made 
for me."

By the time dinner was over, Charlie had tomato sauce all over his face and in his hair. 

"Bath time, young man," Parker announced. Charlie stood on his chair and fell into his mother's 
waiting arms. 

Jarod grinned at the bright red handprint Parker now had on her blouse. 

"Here," Parker said as she handed Jarod a large manila envelope that had been sitting on the 
counter. "Look through these while Mr. Spaghetti-o gets his bath."

It was a regular business type of envelope. It was creased and wrinkled, well worn and repeatedly 
used. Neatly written across the front were two words, "For Jarod." Jarod had not seen the packet 
on his first trip through the house and he wondered briefly where Parker had been hiding it. 

Jarod placed the envelop on the table in front of him and stared at it for a while. He could hear 
water running in a tub and Charlie's giggles as water splashed. Finally, with his heartbeat 
thudding in his ears, Jarod opened the package and dumped the contents out. 

They were pictures, dozens and dozens of photographs. Each one was carefully marked on the 
back with a date and a brief description written in Parker's handwriting. Jarod quickly found a 
copy of the image he had found on the Internet not long ago. But the earliest was a picture of 
Parker sprawled awkwardly on a couch. Her hair was loose and curling wildly around her face. 
She looked tired and worn and swollen, mainly because she was obviously very, very pregnant. 
But despite her thick ankles and what looked to be an uncomfortable girth, Parker's eyes were 
bright and shining happily. 

Written beneath the date on the back it said, "Just after this picture was taken, my water broke. 
Our baby was born on the same day, 16 hours later."

The next photo was of Parker and her newborn babe. The child was still slick and wailing. 
Parker's brow was beaded with sweat and she looked exhausted. Jarod could see the tears of joy 
shimmering on her face in the picture. 

The back of this one said, "How I wish you could have shared this moment with us. I can never 
give it back to you. Please forgive me." 

Jarod wept silently as he carefully went through all of the pictures. Each depicted a precious 
moment in Charlie's life that Jarod had missed. But Parker had desperately tried to salvage some 
slice of those moments. The captions on the back of the photos said nothing about where they 
were taken or what was happening in each shot. Instead, Parker labeled each one with her 
thoughts and feelings from that point in time.

As Jarod worked his way forward through the years with each snapshot, he lost track of time, 
totally immersed in the wonder of this precious gift Parker had given him. Before he realized it, 
two hours had slipped away. Jarod slowly became aware of the fact that the house had gone 
quiet. 

Sliding the treasured photos back in the envelope, Jarod tucked them into this jacket pocket and 
went looking for Parker. He found her in the single bedroom, stretched out on the smaller bed 
reading to Charlie who was snoring softly at her side.

Jarod stood in the doorway for a time, leaning against the jamb and listening to Parker's voice. 

"You can come in," Parker called to him softly.

Jarod straightened. "I don't want to wake him," he argued.

"He sleeps like the dead," Parker assured him. "You won't wake him."

Jarod walked carefully into the room and knelt beside the bed. Crossing his arms on the mattress 
in front of him, Jarod laid his head in his arms and gazed in awe at the sleeping child. 

"My mother can't get used to the fact that I sleep so little and so uneasily," Jarod whispered. "She 
says that when I was little I used to sleep like the dead. She used those exact same words."

Parker smiled at Jarod, grinning over the child sleeping between them. "You found your mother," 
she exclaimed. 

Jarod nodded. "Ethan found her and my father," he said. "They are cautiously excited about 
meeting this little guy."

"Cautiously?" Parker asked.

Jarod smiled sadly. "My mother was not thrilled to learn that my son is a Parker."

"We can change his last name if you want," Parker offered, caressing the little boy's hair.

"Really?" Jarod asked in surprise.

"Sure," she replied. "Why not?"

They sat in silence for several minutes, watching Charlie sleep.

"Tell me what you are thinking," Parker urged. 

Jarod frowned, puzzled for a moment as he tried to form his thoughts into something coherent. "I 
think," Jarod whispered softly. "I think I envy him." He sighed. "I'm jealous of my own son."

"Why?" Parker asked, caressing the scar on Jarod's face. 

"He's so small, so tiny. Yet he has managed to do what I never could, what I spent a lifetime 
striving for but could never attain." Jarod said. "He has chased the sadness from your eyes. He 
makes you smile."

Parker smiled. "He is an incredible little boy, and he does have a magical power over me," she 
whispered tenderly. "But, Jarod, he has that gift only because you have given it to him. It is your 
spark inside him that makes me smile."

The look in Jarod's eyes as he gazed up at Parker was gut wrenching in its intensity. He wanted 
so much, but after so many years he was afraid to hope for what she seemed to be offering him. 
When Parker cupped his stubbly cheek in her palm, Jarod closed his eyes and snuggled against 
her touch. 

"Can you ever forgive me, Jarod?" Parker whispered tearfully. 

Jarod's eye's snapped open and he stared at her. "What is there to forgive?" he asked innocently. 

Parker gasped, "I took you back to The Centre. I failed you. I betrayed our friendship."

Jarod took Parker's hand in his own and tenderly kissed her palm. "You didn't betray me, Parker." 
He said. "You found a way to escape, knowing full well that they could not keep me there. You did 
what you had to do to protect yourself and our child." 

"I didn't know I was pregnant when I left," Parker denied.

"Didn't you?" Jarod asked. His knowing gaze pierced into her soul. "You must have realized the 
possibility."

Parker's eyes took on a far away look as she thought back. "It never occurred to me that night, 
not consciously anyway. But then again, I wasn't really surprised when my cycle didn't come."

"You must have been frightened and angry," Jarod surmised quietly.

"I was never angry," Parker sighed, caressing Jarod's cheek again. "At first, it seemed so surreal, 
like I was watching everything happen to some other woman. Then I realized that the package I 
carried inside me was very valuable, another Mirage. I was terrified. I imagined sweepers on 
every corner, spies in every doorway."

"I'm sorry," Jarod moaned. "I should have been there for you."

Parker's smile grew radiant. "You were," she whispered. "I was sitting on a park bench one day, 
waiting for a bus, the first time I felt our baby move. I started to cry," Parker gasped, her eyes 
filling at the memory. 

Jarod's vision began to blur as well.

"I felt so guilty," Parker went on. "I knew what that moment would have meant to you and I had 
denied you that experience. So I tried to imagine what you would have done, what you would 
have said if we had been together."

Parker gazed at Jarod with a tender smile. "I heard your voice in my mind so clearly, Jarod. That 
was when I knew."

"Knew what?" Jarod asked.

"I knew you were still alive. I knew you would come back to me, to us, one day." Parker sniffed. 
Casting a loving glance at their sleeping child, Parker placed one hand protectively over his 
chest. "I had to keep him safe until you could come. And I never once doubted that you would."

Jarod shook his head slowly as a single tear rolled down his cheek. "I don't deserve you," he 
murmured prayerfully.

Parker laughed. "Too bad, Wonder-boy. You're stuck with me, because I'm never leaving your 
side again."

"Promise me," Jarod urged desperately.

"I promise," Parker whispered. She leaned gently over their sleeping son and sealed her vow to 
Jarod with a tender kiss on his lips.

--

It was very early. The sun would not rise for more than an hour. 

Jarod sat on the couch in the livingroom studying the photographs that Parker had given him. He 
was in awe of the changes in her. Jarod had always known that Parker's tough exterior hid a 
loving and passionate soul. Yet the woman she had become still amazed him. 

Even more shocking, in Jarod's mind, was the fact that Parker seemed determined to give Jarod 
credit for the change in her. Jarod felt it was obvious that the child had softened Parker's heart 
from within. Charlie had possessed the power to alter her life, even before he'd been born.

Deep down, Jarod knew that he would always envy the boy. He would love his son with every 
fiber of his being. The child had owned his father completely from the moment Jarod had laid 
eyes on him. Nothing would ever be able to diminish the overpowering devotion Jarod felt for this 
little boy. 

Yet some part of Jarod, a secret corner on the dark side of his heart, would twist just a little every 
time Parker smiled at her child. Jarod envied the affection Charlie received, his innocent belief 
that a mother's love could make all the world's hurts go away. 

Jarod closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the couch with a heavy sigh. 
These thoughts and feelings filled him with shame so he forced them away. Like so many other 
ugly and frightening aspects of his personality, Jarod shoved the darkness into the furthest recess 
of his mind and locked them up tight.

A startled little gasp from the doorway caused Jarod to glance up suddenly. Charlie stood less 
than two yards away wearing a pair of blue footy pajamas decorated with trucks. The little boy's 
eyes were wide with fear, nearly panic-stricken.

"What's wrong?" Jarod asked fearfully.

"Don't tell Momma," Charlie whispered in a frightened voice. "Don't tell her I got out of bed."  

"Why not?" Jarod asked with a frown.

Charlie stepped backward as though preparing to flee back to his room. "Momma doesn't like to 
be alone," the child intoned seriously. "It makes her cry."

Jarod stared at the boy in puzzlement. "Why?"

Charlie shrugged. "I don't know," he frowned in concentration. "But at Christmas time, I got up to 
play with my puzzle. I wasn't s'posed to be up so I hid under the table to play," Charlie shrugged. 
"I fell asleep." The little boy's eye began to fill with tears, "When I woke up, Momma was crying 
and yelling my name."

"She couldn't find you," Jarod said softly as he began to understand. 

"She got scared," Charlie agreed.

"Come here, " Jarod said gently, patting the cushion beside him. 

The little boy climbed onto the couch without hesitation. Jarod put one hand on the child's 
shoulder and gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Momma was afraid someone may have 
taken you away from her," he said finally.

Charlie nodded solemnly. "The broom people," he whispered.

"Sweepers," Jarod reiterated. "Did Momma tell you about sweepers?"

"Yes," Charlie said quietly. "They are bad people. They took my Daddy - -, I mean, they took you 
away from us." 

"What else did Momma tell you?" Jarod asked. 

"Never, never go anywhere alone," the boy said. "And don't ever talk to people you don't know." 

Jarod nodded seriously. "Very true. Those are important rules, Charlie. You must always obey 
those rules. Okay?"

"'Kay," Charlie's big brown eyes gazed up at his father intently for several long moments. 

Jarod could see that the child was puzzling over something but was unsure of what to do about 
his confusion. 

"Daddy?" the little boy asked finally.

"Yes," Jarod smiled. It was getting easier. Every time his son called him 'Daddy', Jarod was 
becoming more accustomed to the name.

"Does that hurt?" Charlie asked, pointing to Jarod's cheek.

Jarod's fingertips caressed the white scar on his jaw as he shook his head, "Not any more," he 
answered. 

"Can I see?" Charlie asked cautiously.

Jarod shrugged. "Sure."

The little boy clambered up until he was standing on the couch. Bouncing excitedly, he stepped 
onto Jarod's thighs and leaned over. Grasping Jarod's chin in his little hand, Charlie tilted his 
father's head so that he could get a good look at the old wound. 

"There aren't any whiskers there," Charlie observed as he traced the line with one tiny finger.

Jarod sat quietly as Charlie studied him and measured the length of the scar against one palm. 
The child's gaze was so clinical, so intense, that Jarod began to get the distinct feeling of a bug 
under a magnifying glass. Just as Jarod began to feel uncomfortable under the boy's scrutiny, the 
child flopped into a sitting position, straddling Jarod's lap.

"I'm glad it doesn't hurt," Charlie smiled sweetly. 

"Me too," Jarod replied with a smirk.

Again the two watched each other silently for a while. 

"There is something else you want to ask me," Jarod said.

Charlie blinked in surprise. "Momma said you have magic," he blurted.

It was Jarod's turn to look confused. "Magic?" he asked.

"She said you are special," Charlie explained.  

Jarod felt his heart constricting in his chest. "Momma said that about me?"

"Yep," Charlie nodded. "Will you show me some magic, Daddy?"

Jarod obediently made a quarter disappear then pulled it from the little boy's ear. It was a 
hackneyed old trick but Charlie was delighted. Jarod proceeded to run through his entire 
repertoire of card tricks and slight of hand while Charlie applauded enthusiastically.

"Are you two having fun?" Miss Parker asked nearly two hours later. 

Jarod was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table. Charlie was tucked 
securely on Jarod's lap as early morning sunshine streamed through the nearby windows. The 
table's surface and the floor around them were littered with scraps of paper and tightly folded 
origami birds. 

"Look what I did, Momma!" Charlie exclaimed. "I made it all by myself." The crumbled piece of 
paper that Charlie held out did bear a remarkable resemblance to a bird.

Parker smiled reassuringly at Jarod. "How long did that take you?" she asked him with 
amusement.

The pretender shrugged. "His fine motor skills are still developing so it took us a few tries."

Crossing her arms with a smirk Parker said, "Just a few?"

With a small laugh Jarod explained, "He wanted to do it on his own." Gazing fondly at the child, 
Jarod lovingly ruffled Charlie's soft brown hair. "He was rather emphatic about that point."

Parker smiled tearfully at the scene. "He tends to be quite determined about things like that."

"Stubborn," Jarod agreed with a cocky grin. "He gets that from you."

"I don't think so Rat-boy," Parker growled playfully. "You're the hard-headed one."

Jarod smirked gleefully. "I'm tenacious. That's not at all like stubborn."

Parker made a rude scoffing noise as she turned toward the kitchen. Jarod watched her as she 
scooped fresh grinds into the coffee maker and pressed the button. Dress in a well-worn pair of 
jeans and a soft pink blouse, Parker moved with the same grace and efficiency that Jarod had 
always remembered. She was barefoot, Jarod noticed and her hair hung loose around her 
shoulders. The dark brunette tresses hung nearly to her shoulder blades and were longer than 
Jarod could remember ever seeing them. 

"So what's the plan for today?" Jarod asked.

"We have a fairly regular Saturday routine," Parker replied as she pulled two mugs from a 
cabinet. "Charlie and I will walk to the end of the driveway and get the paper. Then we'll come 
back in here and he will read the comics while I make french toast."

"Do you read the funny pages to your mom?" Jarod asked, tickling Charlie's ribs. 

"Yes," the little boy giggled. "Well, some of them anyway."

Parker smiled. "He points out the words he knows," she explained. "And usually manages to 
figure out one or two new ones. Let's go get the paper, baby."

"'Kay," Charlie jumped up happily and ran toward the front door. 

"He isn't dressed yet," Jarod pointed out as he watched Parker take the little boy's hand. 

"Going outside in my pajamas is what makes it fun!" Charlie exclaimed. 

Jarod pulled his knees up so that he could prop his arms across his kneecaps. "I guess that 
makes sense," he said with a shrug. Parker flashed a brilliant smile over her shoulder and then 
headed down the front steps with Charlie skipping merrily at her side. 

Standing quietly, Jarod stepped over to the doorway to watch the two. It was a beautiful day. 
Sunshine filtered through the trees, speckling Parker and her son with light. Jarod was vaguely 
aware of other people in the neighborhood. A young man across the street was washing his car. 
The older fellow next door was trimming well-kept hedges. But Jarod ignored them. He had eyes 
only for this beautiful woman and the child they had made together. 

Jarod smiled as he watched Parker lift Charlie from the ground so that the little boy could pull the 
newspaper from the slot beneath the mailbox. With the paper clutched to his chest, Charlie began 
skipping back up the sidewalk toward the house. 

"Hello, Mr. Sommerset!" Charlie called, waving wildly at the man with the hedges. 

"Hello, Charlie," the low grating voice made Jarod flinch. In a purely reflex action, Jarod stepped 
back, away from the doorway and into the shadows of the house. "Lovely day, isn't it Ms. Miller?" 
the neighbor said.

Jarod stared at the man. The salt and pepper colored hair was a fine dye job indeed. The 
gardening hat and sunglasses served to further disguise the man's appearance. Jarod watched in 
horror as Parker cheerfully crossed the yard to talk to the man.

"She never met him," Jarod whispered to himself in dismay. 

"I am a finder," he had said to Jarod all those years ago. "Missing families are my niche. And 
yours, brother, is a fulltime job." 

Mr. White's distinctively low threatening voice had given Jarod pause that day in the furnace 
room. The albino's knowledge of Jarod and his family had been eerily disturbing then. The man's 
presence now, mere yards away from the offspring Jarod had just found, was enough to send an 
icy bolt of panic through Jarod's heart. 

Jarod was moving before his mind registered the action. He could see the young man across the 
street, still absently washing the same bumper of the car as he gazed toward them. Jarod 
recognized the odd tilt of the man's head, indicating that he had just spoken into a hidden 
microphone. Out of the corner of his eye, Jarod saw a van on the corner. It was marked with the 
name of a cable company, but there was no cable connection box on the utility pole above. 
Jarod's heart was thudding in his ears as he quickly crossed the yard to where Parker stood with 
Charlie in her arms. 

Jarod's fear must have registered on his face because Parker gasped when she saw him. 
"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Mr. White," Jarod croaked from a dry throat.

Moving with the deliberate slowness Jarod remembered, Mr. White turned toward him and smiled 
coldly. "Good to see you again, Jarod," he purred.

"Mr. White?" Parker asked, glancing from one man to the other nervously. 

"Get in the house, Parker," Jarod hissed. 

"Oh my god," Parker gasped as she recalled the name from her memory. She began to back 
away, clutching her child to her bosom. "Jarod! Are they coming?" Parker asked in a frightened 
whisper.

"No," Jarod said, feeling his blood turn into ice. "They are already here."

Parker turned and ran. Jarod did what he could to place himself between her and the abruptly 
growing number of people on the street. But as Parker reached the steps, Willie and two other 
men stepped out the front door of the house. Having evidently entered through the back door, the 
sweepers had been prepared to attack them inside. 

"He's too young," Jarod pleaded to Mr. White.

With a careless shrug, the albino replied, "Only by a few months. I should thank you, Jarod. 
Really. The boy was going to bring me only a pittance, barely enough profit to cover my expenses 
for these last few months. But my vigilance has paid off. With you as an added bonus, I may be 
able to retire." 

The sweepers grabbed Parker by the arms and though she twisted and fought to hold on, Willie 
pried Charlie away from her. 

"Momma?" Charlie began to cry. 

When Jarod turned to help her, the car washing man, a man in a cable service uniform and two 
suited sweepers fell on him, wrestling him to the ground and clapping cuffs around his wrists.

"WILLIE!" Parker screamed. "On my mother's grave, I swear I'll kill you if you hurt that child. I'll rip 
your god damned head off!" She kicked and hollered and swore at the sweepers with 
vehemence. 

Jarod couldn't see. They had his face pressed into the concrete and there was a knee planted 
between his shoulder blades. Jarod could only hear Parker's furious screams and the soft sounds 
of Charlie sobbing. 

Jarod's shoulder joints jerked painfully when his captors dragged him to his feet. With a mighty 
surge, Jarod rushed against the sweepers in an attempt to break free, or at least give Parker the 
chance to do so. But they were ready for him. A sturdy club impacted with the back of Jarod's 
head and he went down hard. He fought to stay conscious, blinking away the stars that floated 
before his eyes. 

He heard a thumping whoosh of sound and realized that Parker had just been punched in the 
stomach. That was when little Charlie's whimpers turned to screams. 

A long black car glided to a stop at the curb. Willie carried the child to the waiting vehicle. Jarod 
struggled frantically against the weight that held him but he was pinned tightly. From his awkward 
position on the ground, Jarod could see the car door open.

"Hello, Charles," a familiar voice wheezed from within. "I'm your grandpa."

--

End part 7


Chapter 8

-

Jarod, with his wrists still cuffed behind his back, sat awkwardly in the leather seat of the private 
jet. Beside him, Miss Parker's hands were bound in front of her. Charlie curled on her lap as 
Parker held him protectively in the circle of her arms. The three huddled together as the plane 
took off, headed east toward Delaware. 

Willie and a second sweeper sat in the seats opposite their captives, glaring menacingly. Lyle sat 
further up, toward the front of the plane, sipping a glass of champagne. Raines was busily barking 
orders into a phone, making arrangements for their immanent arrival back at The Centre.

"I'm sorry," Jarod whispered miserably in Parker's direction. "I shouldn't have come."

Cuddling the top of her son's head to hide her moving lips, Parker said, "Not your fault. That 
bastard was living next door right from the start. He led me to believe that he'd been there for 
years. They weren't following you, Jarod. They were just waiting for Charlie."

"If I hadn't been there," Jarod hissed. "They'd have left you alone."

"For how long?" Parker whispered. 

The despair in Jarod's eyes spoke volumes. 

"Momma?" Charlie asked softly. "I'm scared."

Caressing the little boy's head she answered, "Me too, baby."

"Charlie, listen to me," Jarod murmured. "You need to be ready to do exactly what Mommy or I 
tell you to do, okay? Just be ready."

Charlie nodded solemnly. "They are the broom people, aren't they Daddy?"  He asked in a voice 
so low it was barely audible. 

Jarod nodded. 

"Well, well, well," Lyle purred as he towered over the trio. "This seems so familial, it gives me a 
warm fuzzy feeling inside." Raising the champagne flute in his hand, Lyle sarcastically saluted his 
sister, and drank from the glass. "But, somehow," he added. "I don't thing it's quite safe to let you 
three sit together and conspire against us."

With a quick glance at Willie and a flick of his wrist, Lyle ordered, "Separate them. And lock the 
kid up. They'll be less likely to try something."

Charlie immediately began to cry as Parker snarled at the sweeper. Jarod flew out of his seat and 
kicked Willie away. But the second man punched Jarod in the face, dragging him toward the far 
corner of the cabin. The little boy in his blue pajamas clung desperately to his mother. For a 
moment it looked as though Parker may win the tug-of-war over her son. But a well-placed jab to 
the kidneys from Lyle and Parker lost her grip. Charlie kicked and flailed in the large sweeper's 
arms. 

Parker fought valiantly against the men separating her from her child but to no avail. Willie easily 
dragged the little boy across the cabin and pushed him into one of the lavatories. Shoving the 
door closed, Willie twisted the lock and braced a fire extinguisher against the door handle. 

Within moments, little Charlie's cries could barely be heard over the thudding and pounding noise 
he was making. Hammering and kicking at the inside of the door, Charlie begged to be let out. 
Minutes passed. Gradually, as time continued to tick by, the tone of the boy's voice began to 
change.

From where they sat at opposite corners of the plane, Jarod and Parker glanced at each other in 
misery. 

The fearful sound of Charlie's cries dropped an octave and the pounding grew. Fear and 
trepidation faded away from his voice to be replaced by rage. Twenty minutes went by before the 
pounding abruptly stopped. But furious screams still echoed from the small space.

There was a tearing, cracking sound and a moment later the pounding started again with 
renewed energy. The thudding noise was now being made by some object much larger than a 
child's fist or foot. The thin door shook wildly in its frame.

"For crying out loud," the unnamed sweeper exclaimed. "Has the kid got an ax in there or what?"

"Paper towel dispenser," Lyle commented as he sipped a second glass of champagne. "He's torn 
it from the wall. He'll tire soon enough."

"You don't know him," Parker warned. "His tantrums can last for hours."

"Then we'll simply sedate him once we get to Blue Cove," Raines snarled. 

Jarod looked around frantically as tears welled in his eyes. He had to find someway to get them 
out of this situation. His mind raced at the possibilities for escape. Jarod had little concern for his 
own safety but Parker's was another matter altogether. One of them had to get away with Charlie. 
As the scenarios played out in his mind, Jarod realized that only two of the three would escape.

When the noise Charlie was making abruptly stopped, Jarod glanced frantically at Parker. She 
frowned with concern at the sudden silence. Lyle grinned in satisfaction as the Centre stooges all 
noticeably relaxed. 

However the quiet only lasted for a few minutes before the little boy resumed his screaming and 
pounding on the door. The enraged hollering came in an unending wail. The thudding sound now 
bounced higher on the door panel as though Charlie was standing on the toilet and whacking at 
his target from there.

The screeching rose to a deafening level that grated horribly on everyone's nerves. Ten minutes 
later, Lyle rose from his seat and stomped angrily across the cabin. 

"I'll shut him up," Lyle growled. 

Parker and Jarod both started to rise but the sweepers guarding them shoved them back into 
their seats. 

"What the hell?" Lyle exclaimed as he stood in front of the tiny room. Tapping his foot on the 
carpeted floor, Lyle splashed droplets of water onto his pants. He was standing in a large and 
rapidly growing puddle.

With a growl Lyle tossed aside the extinguisher and yanked open the door. From his position at 
the opposite side of the plane, Jarod could see into the lavatory. Charlie was standing on the 
commode with a badly dented towel dispenser in his hands. The faucet on the sink was running 
and water flowed out of the basin and onto the floor. Charlie had stuffed the drains with paper 
towels and turned on both taps. Streams of water poured onto the floor creating a puddle nearly 
two inches deep. 

Lyle snatched the little boy from his perch with a snarl and shook him in the air like a rag doll. 
Charlie hissed and scratched at his uncle fearlessly. Twisting in the man's grasp, Charlie found 
the nearest unprotected area and bit down hard. 

Lyle gasped, pulled back one hand and slapped the little boy to the ground. Not hesitating for a 
moment, Charlie sprang to his feet, dashed around Lyle's legs and ran straight into his mother's 
arms. 

Red-faced and sweating from exertion, Charlie glared at his uncle from the protection of Parker's 
embrace. A droplet of blood trickled down the boy's chin from a cut on his lip.

Lyle stalked toward Parker, prepared to pull the boy away again. Charlie began to scream in a 
high-pitched wail of rage. 

"Stop it," Raines groaned. "Lyle! Leave him be." He demanded.

Lyle wavered for a moment before stomping back to the restroom to turn off the tap and tend to 
the angry bite mark on his hand.

Jarod stared in awe at his son. Parker was tenderly rocking the boy back and forth, caressing his 
damp brow as she soothed him. 

"He has my temper," Parker had said last night. "And your tenacity." 

Jarod could hardly believe what he had just seen. A three-year-old had defied the will of The 
Centre, and he had won. The little boy was right where he had wanted to be. Jarod had never 
been so proud in his life. 

Jarod glanced at Parker but she was focused solely on hushing the child. Jarod was stunned as it 
occurred to him that Parker had no concept of his amazement. Why should she? Parker had 
never understood how incredible her force of will could be. The strength that she had always 
possessed had been glossed over by so many people in her life, rarely admired. Parker did not 
recognize that special quality in her self. As a result she could not see it in her son.

Parker believed that Charlie was like his father, but Jarod now knew just how much the boy was 
like his mother. Little more than a year out of diapers and this child already possessed a strength 
of character and determination far greater than most grown men. In the years to come, Jarod 
knew, Charles Parker would be a force to be reckoned with.

Charles Parker – As Jarod turned the name over in his mind, he had an epiphany. His son was 
heir to the Parker legacy. With complete certainty, Jarod abruptly knew that Charlie would one 
day be Chairman at the Centre. What the Centre would become would be based on the 
leadership of this little boy. That leadership, the type of man Charlie grew to be, would be shaped 
by those who raised him. 

Raines and Lyle could ensure another generation of terror and oppression for those who suffered 
under them. Or, Parker could raise the boy to be the tender hearted, determined fighter that she 
had always been. As if seeing into the future through a looking glass, Jarod could imagine both 
possibilities. Charles Parker could be a powerful, dangerous link in the chain of Parker evil or, he 
could break the prophecy and put The Centre back on a more righteous path.

Jarod glared menacingly across the cabin to where Raines sat. Staring at the gray-skinned ghoul, 
Jarod caught the old man's eye. For a long moment the two exchanged unspoken threats. Raines 
knew. He knew that Charlie was the future. 

As the jet touched down at The Centre's landing strip, Jarod searched around him frantically. 
There wasn't much time left. Once they were inside the Centre, things would be beyond his 
control. Jarod calculated his options. Parker was in more danger than any of them. She was now 
expendable in the eyes of The Centre. They would kill her and they wouldn't wait long to do it.

The plane coasted to a stop and the two sweepers dragged Jarod to his feet. Shoved roughly out 
the door, Jarod felt panic rise in him when he noticed two separate vehicles parked on the 
tarmac. He struggled frantically as he was pushed into the back of a delivery van and his cuffs 
were attached to a chain bolted to the floor. As the doors to the van slammed shut behind him, 
Jarod could see Parker and their son being forced into the back of a limousine. 

"Please, oh please," Jarod thought. The rational part of Jarod's mind knew it would be illogical to 
kill the mother as the child watched. Such an action would only ensure the boy's continued hatred 
and defiance. Raines would want to befriend little Charlie, gain his trust. They wouldn't hurt 
Parker while Charlie was with her. 

But the sensible, thoughtful part of Jarod's psyche was rapidly weakening against the panic that 
screamed through him. Fear and desperation were clawing at Jarod's mind. Fighting to stay calm, 
Jarod ceased his struggling. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing in a deep easy 
rhythm. He needed to stay sharp so he brutally forced his feelings aside. If he were to get his 
family out of this, Jarod would have to act quickly and instinctively. There would be no time to 
think or feel.

By the time the van stopped in front of the stone tower of The Centre, Jarod was ready. 

Because they expected it, Jarod fought the sweepers that pulled him from the van. His struggles 
served to slow their progress enough for Jarod to glance around. The limo had arrived first. 
Parker and Charlie were already being led through the Centre's doors. Jarod managed to quicken 
the pace without alerting the sweepers so that moments later, he was standing in the lobby only a 
few yards from where Parker clutched her son. 

Jarod's gaze, flat and icy cold with determination, met Parker's. In a flash of silent 
communication, he warned her of what was about to come. A stern looking woman in a dark suit 
stepped up to Parker and spoke. 

"Hello, Charlie," the woman said. "My name in Ellen. I'm going to look after you while your mother 
takes care of some business."

Parker snorted rudely in reply. "Don't you touch my son," she growled. 

The other woman grabbed the little boy as Willie roughly took Parker by the shoulders. In the 
blink of an eye the child had been torn from his mother's arms.

Charlie began to scream at an ear-splitting volume. 

Jarod jumped at the opportunity. Charlie's thrashing and wailing provided only a minimal 
distraction, but it was enough. With a smooth fluid motion, Jarod twisted against the sweeper to 
his right and lashed upward with the back of his head. Jarod felt bones crunching against his skull 
as some part of the other man's face fractured. 

Kicking viciously as Jarod had once learned in a jujitsu class, a whoosh of air was forced from the 
sweeper to Jarod's left. As the injured man went down, Jarod whirled gracefully, landing on the 
sweeper's chest with one knee, crushing his ribs. It took less than two seconds for Jarod to roll 
over the gurgling man's body and take his weapon from the holster. 

By the time anyone else in the room could react, Jarod was ducking for cover as he fired the gun 
from behind his back. Even handcuffed and shooting from this awkward position, Jarod's aim was 
deadly accurate. 

The first bullet went through Willie's eye, sending bits of blood and flesh spattering on the wall 
behind him. Too startled to realize he was dead, the sweeper stood swaying for a moment until 
Parker wrenched herself away, pushing him to the ground as she dashed toward her son. 

Stern-looking Ellen was Jarod's next target. He shot her in the throat, a mere three inches over 
the top of Charlie's head. Parker had the little boy back in her arms before the other woman could 
drop him. 

Pressing Charlie against her chest Parker whispered fervently, "Close your eyes, baby. Don't 
look."

Wrapping his small arms around Parker's neck, Charlie whimpered and buried his face in the 
crook of her neck as chaos broke out around them. Parker plastered herself against the wall, 
desperately trying to protect Charlie as pandemonium ensued. 

Jarod dodged to his left, drawing attention to himself and further away from Parker and the boy. 
Sliding on the tiled floor, Jarod rolled backwards and like a contortionist, he wriggled his butt 
through the circle of his chained wrists. Even from this distance, Parker could see his shoulder 
joints popping beneath his shirt. 

When Jarod rose to his knees a heartbeat later, his hands were no longer behind his back. The 
gun went off twice more, dropping two more of the oncoming guards.

Parker searched around, frantically looking for some means of escape. She saw Lyle on the floor 
not far away, inching his way toward her on his belly. Parker could see the fear in her brother's 
eyes, the anxious knowledge that Jarod had just changed the rules of the game. The pretender 
had never before lashed back in such a manner. He had never been so dangerous.

Parker turned and ran. Staying as close as she could to the wall, Parker headed toward the doors 
and freedom.

"Stop her!" Raines yelled over the shots. "Get the boy!"

Three more sweepers appeared as if by magic, blocking Parker's way. With a burst of speed she 
dodged in another direction hoping to elude them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lyle 
raise his gun toward her. Parker's thigh exploded in pain as a burning sensation ripped through 
her leg. 

Stumbling to the ground, Parker crumbled over her son, protecting him with her body. Parker 
scrambled for cover as she dragged her useless leg behind her. Looking around, Parker saw 
Jarod only a few yards away, stealing a new weapon from a downed sweeper. 

"Charlie!" Parker hissed. "There's Daddy. Run to Daddy, sweetheart!"

Charlie's arms squeezed her harder and he whimpered.

"Move, Charlie. NOW!" Parker's stern voice offered no room to argue. She pulled her boy away 
from her body and set him on his feet. With a firm nudge in the right direction Parker commanded, 
"Go!"

The little boy dashed away. Strangely enough, over the din of gunfire Parker could hear the 
whisper of the child's padded pajama clad feet as he ran. Jarod scooped the boy up one handed 
as Charlie reached his side. With the boy under one arm, Jarod continued to shoot with the other 
hand. 

Jarod glanced at Parker for only a split second before he abruptly ran in the other direction. 
Parker shivered. The hard blank look in Jarod's eyes was frightening. Parker knew that he would 
stop at nothing to protect their son. Her eyes filled with tears as she mentally wished the two of 
them good-bye. 

Parker screamed when Jarod's body suddenly jerked forward. The pretender went down hard, a 
bright red stain forming over his shoulder blade. 

A roar of frustrated rage burst from Jarod as his gun began to click on an empty magazine. "Run, 
Charlie!" Jarod yelled, pointing toward the doors. "Run and hide!"

Clutching her wounded thigh, Parker added her voice to Jarod's. "Run away, Charlie! Run!"

The little boy, panicky tears trailing down his cheeks, scrambled to his feet and ran. As more 
sweepers rose to block the doorway, Charlie instinctively changed direction. Zigzagging like a 
rabbit fleeing a wolf, the boy skirted around several pairs of hands and scooted under a bench.

A big sweeper that Parker didn't recognize pulled the bench away from the wall to grab at the little 
boy. But Charlie wasn't there. Small blue feet disappeared in to a black square in the wall. The air 
duct wasn't large enough for a man to squeeze through but there was plenty of room for a small 
boy.

"Run and hide!" Jarod hollered.

"Get that kid!" Lyle cried. 

One man stood guard over Parker and two others towered over Jarod. The rest of them fanned 
into two groups and ran off down separate corridors in pursuit of the missing child. 

"Secure these two," Raines hissed at Lyle before turning and stalking down the hallway.

Lyle grinned evilly as he stood over his two wounded captives. With a deceptively calm smile on 
his face, Lyle picked up one foot and pressed it against Jarod's torn shoulder. The pretender 
grimaced with pain but refused to cry out. He glared murderously at Lyle from his position on the 
floor. 

Lyle's grin broadened. Without a word, he stepped over Jarod's prone form and kicked Parker in 
the stomach. Jarod surged off the ground with a growl of hatred. Parker lay gasping as she 
watched Lyle take aim at the pretender again and pull the trigger. 

Jarod didn't even flinch as the bullet thunked into the floor just inches away from him. 

"You can't kill me," Jarod snarled derisively. "Not even you have that kind of clearance."

"True," Lyle purred. "But wounding you is not only permitted, it is encouraged." Lyle leaned 
forward and placed the muzzle of his gun against Jarod's kneecap. The evil grin grew as Lyle 
began to squeeze the trigger with agonizing slowness.  

"NO!" Parker cried. Thrashing out with her good leg, Parker caught Lyle in the lower back, 
pushing him forward and into Jarod's lap. 

The two men struggled furiously as Parker did her best to knock the other sweepers away. A shot 
rang out and Parker held her breath. She watched in fascinated horror as her twin and her lover 
fought. 

The gun went off again and Parker realized that one of the sweepers had fallen. Jarod had shot 
him through Lyle's body. Reaching forward awkwardly, she grabbed one of the remaining men 
and yanked him off his feet. He fell against the tile with a sickening crack and was abruptly still. 

When Parker turned back, Jarod had just kicked the third sweeper into unconsciousness. 
Gasping in exhaustion, Jarod swayed drunkenly, holding his bleeding shoulder with one hand and 
the hard won pistol in the other. Lyle was lying on the floor, spitting blood from internal injuries. 

Straightening with determination, Jarod stood panting over Lyle. 

"You can't kill me," Lyle laughed around a mouthful of blood. 

"Why not?" Jarod asked with cold curiosity.

"I'm unarmed," Lyle chortled. "You aren't a murderer."

Jarod scoffed. "I can be anything I want to be," he said in a dangerous tone. Then with a steady, 
almost casual air, Jarod shot the wounded man through the forehead. Too shaken to look at the 
carnage around her, Parker clawed her way to her knees and crawled to the air duct. 

"Charlie!" she cried into the void. 

From the darkness she could hear deep voices, the sounds of pursuit. 

"Charlie!" she called again. 

Thundering footsteps were coming down the corridor toward them. Sweepers, drawn by the 
gunshots, were coming back. 

"Parker," Jarod hissed urgently as he grabbed her shoulder. "We must go. There are too many of 
them."

"No!" she twisted away. "I won't leave him. Charlie!"

"We need help," Jarod argued. "We'll bring back help."

Echoing from the black vent Parker could hear them chasing her son. "This way! He's this way! 
Cover the other room!" Thudding sounds of running feet pounded from far away. 

Similar noises, much closer, were coming down the corridor.

Suddenly a child's voice screamed from the vent only to be cut short abruptly. 

"Charlie!" Parker threw herself against the wall desperately trying to follow her child through the 
small aperture. But a vice like grip fastened around her upper arm and yanked her to her feet.

Parker began to thrash wildly as desperation overcame her, "Charlie!" she cried again.

"PARKER!" Jarod yelled at her. "They won't hurt him. They WON'T hurt him."

Large frightened eyes filled with tears as she glared angrily at the man before her. "Like they 
didn't hurt you?"

Something flickered in those hard brown eyes. Emotion flared for a fraction of a second before 
the cold determination of survival quickly replaced it. 

"I won't leave my son," Parker growled. 

"I know," Jarod replied.

Parker saw the blow coming just a moment too late. She braced herself, cringing as Jarod hit her. 
Then everything went black.

--

End Part 8


Chapter 9

-

Parker's consciousness returned slowly. She became aware that she was in a car, propped 
against the passenger side window like a crumpled sack of groceries. There was movement, 
jerky brisk motions as the vehicle sped around turns and curves in the road. When she opened 
her eyes, Parker could see that she was in a sporty black mustang. The torn wires leaking from 
the dashboard indicated that the car had been hotwired.

Jarod was in the driver's seat. His jaw was clenched tightly as he drove, furious determination 
etched in every line of his face. His shirt and jacket were both shiny with blood from the wound on 
his shoulder. 

As Parker tried to straighten in her seat, her own injury flared in pain. Looking down, Parker could 
see that her thigh had also been bleeding badly.

"I noticed a gym bag in the back seat," Jarod said in a hard, clipped tone. "See if you can find 
something to use for bandages."

For a moment, Parker stared numbly at him, as though she couldn't understand the language. 
Finally, she shook herself and leaned into the back seat, being careful not to jostle her leg any 
more than necessary.

Locating a small duffel bag on the floor behind Jarod, Parker hauled the bag onto her lap. 
Rummaging inside, she found workout clothes, a towel and a travel sized first aid kit. Though the 
kit contained little more than liniment and tiny band-aids, it did include a small pair of scissors that 
Parker used to cut the towel into long strips.

Quickly wrapping her thigh, Parker firmly tied a makeshift bandage around her leg, grimacing 
slightly as she pulled it tight. Jarod shrugged his torn arm out of the sleeve of his jacket so that 
Parker could cover his shoulder in the same manner.

With that done, Parker searched through the duffel again, hoping for something useful in this 
situation. Once she realized the futility of the exercise, Parker tossed the bag over her shoulder 
and into the back seat. 

Gazing out the windshield, Miss Parker recognized the state highway on which they traveled. It 
would not be long before they crossed out of Delaware and into Maryland. She wordlessly cast 
Jarod an icy glare.

Though the pretender seemed intensely focused on the road in front of him, he answered 
Parker's scowl. "They won't hurt him," Jarod said firmly. 

Parker crossed her arms over her chest.

"I found a cell phone," Jarod added, pulling the device from his pocket like evidence. "I've called 
for help. They'll meet us in Virginia. We should be there before nightfall."

Steely gray eyes shot daggers at the pretender across the tight confines of the car. Parker 
radiated pure fury. 

"We'll get him back," Jarod vowed. "If I have to tear that place down brick by brick, we will find 
him." With his free hand, Jarod gently reached out to pat Parker's arm. 

She cringed away from Jarod, violently slapping at him. "Don't touch me!" Parker shrieked. As 
she batted at Jarod, she jostled the wound on his shoulder, making him gasp. The car swerved 
abruptly on the road as Jarod cringed in pain. 

"You!" Parker yelled, oblivious to the car's erratic motion. "Of all people, how could YOU leave 
him there!"

"What could we have done, Parker?" Jarod yelled back. "Charge down the corridor and get 
ourselves shot?" 

"You left him there alone!" Parker hollered. 

"We are both wounded," Jarod exclaimed. "You were unarmed, I couldn't reload the weapon I 
had. We were hopelessly outnumbered. I did what I had to. We can't help Charlie if we're dead or 
captured."

"You did what you had to in order to survive, to save your own ass!" Parker hissed.

"Survival is what I was taught," Jarod snarled back. He sighed, trying to reign in his temper. 
Parker was entitled to be upset, he couldn't blame her for that one bit. But Parker's instinct was to 
lash out and Jarod was currently her only target. Jarod's instinct was to fight back, but if he 
started retaliating to Parker's barbs, things would only get worse than they already were.

"You abandoned my son in that horrible place," Parker gasped in a choked voice.

"We will get him back," Jarod said with determination.

Parker's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "He's all alone and they have him," she said 
hopelessly. 

"We'll find him," Jarod repeated. 

"Oh Jarod," Parker cried with an anguished gasp. "What will they do to my baby?" 

Jarod chewed for a moment at his lower lip. "They will run tests first. For the next thirty-six hours 
or more, they will give him puzzle problems to test his skill level."

"What if he's not good enough?" Parker whispered. "What if he can't pass their tests?"

Jarod wordlessly cast a quick glance at Parker, his dark eyes wide and anxious. He didn't need to 
tell her what would happen, they both knew. If Charlie didn't have the natural pretender gift that 
Jarod possessed, Raines would try to instill the talent in the boy by artificial means. 

"They won't hurt him," Jarod said in a low urgent voice. "They won't." 

"Say it a few more times," Parker hissed icily. "You might be able to believe it. But I don't." 

Parker hid her face in her hands and began to cry silently. She made no sounds other than her 
breathing and the occasional sniffle. Only the fragile shaking of her shoulders gave any indication 
of her tears. With every soundless sob, Jarod felt his heart crumble a little more.  

Jarod would have preferred Parker's fury. The hopelessness of her quiet tears ripped into Jarod's 
heart. Choking back his own fear and grief, Jarod focused on the road. He used all his powers of 
concentration to keep himself from worrying about Charlie. 

After what seemed an eternity, Parker raised her head to stare blindly out the window. They 
drove on in silence for hours. Bloodied and disheveled as they were, Jarod had to be very 
cautious when he stopped for fuel. Luckily he found a deserted gas station that had the pay at the 
pump option.

Time slid by as the ribbon of asphalt passed beneath them. At some point, Parker fell into an 
uneasy, fitful sleep. Jarod frowned at the road as his head began to pound with fatigue and his 
shoulder throbbed. Finally, just before sunset, Jarod turned the car down an old dirt road leading 
up to a large farmhouse. 

The farm was well tended but without crops. The fields around the house and barn were filled 
with tall grass and wild flowers. As the car pulled to a stop beside the front porch lights could be 
seen shining from inside.

Turning off the ignition, Jarod heaved a sigh and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel 
wearily. His wounded arm hung woodenly at his side and he cradled it gently against his body. 
Parker yanked on the handle and threw open the door, trying to get out of the car as fast as she 
could. But as she stepped out, her injured leg stiffened and she gasped.

"Hey there," an anxious voice purred. "Easy now, sis." 

Parker looked up and saw Ethan standing at her side, holding the door open for her. With a 
gentle smile, her half-brother took Parker by the arm and helped her ease from the vehicle. 

"Careful," Ethan said. "That's it, lean against me."

"You beat us here," Jarod observed as he climbed out of the driver's seat. 

Ethan nodded. "We flew. You said it was urgent, so Dad thought we should get here as quickly as 
possible."

Jarod carefully made his way around the car and walked at his brother's side as they headed 
toward the house. 

"What's the emergency?" Ethan asked curiously. As observant as he was, it only took Ethan a 
moment to realize that Jarod and Miss Parker were avoiding all contact with each other. 

"I would rather only have to explain it once," Jarod said with a sigh. "Let's join the others."

Once inside, Parker was quickly maneuvered to the couch. With pillows propped behind her back, 
Ethan gently stretched Parker's injured leg on the cushions and began to examine the wound. 
Jarod stood in the center of the room, cradling his arm and watching his brother's actions. 

"Jarod!" an older, red-haired woman exclaimed from the doorway. "You're hurt."

Jarod shook his head sadly. "It's nothing, Mother. I'll live."

Jarod's mother rushed to his side and carefully pulled back the blood soaked rags covering his 
shoulder. "Charles!" she called through the house. "Bring the triage kit. We have wounded."

A moment later, Major Charles appeared carrying a case roughly the size of a tackle box. At his 
side was a handsome young man with dark eyes. Parker did a double take. The young man 
looked to be in his early twenties, his wavy brown hair had been streaked with blond dye. He had 
a powerful physique though his musculature was not quite as well defined as Jarod's. 

The young man grinned in a cocky manner that Parker recognized all too well. "Good grief," the 
young man exclaimed. "Don't we look like hell?"

Jarod sighed wearily. "Not now, Jack," he groaned. 

With a shrug, the young man crouched beside Ethan next to the couch. "Hello, Miss Parker," Jack 
said. "It is good to see you again."

Parker blinked at him. "Look at you," she said softly. "All grown up." 

Jack grinned playfully causing Parker to feel strangely disconnected. She knew that this boy was 
the genetic replication of Jarod. But despite the incredible similarities between the two, the visible 
differences between Jack and his twin were numerous. They were not mirror images of one 
another. The age difference and the scar along Jarod's jaw were the most obvious discrepancies 
but there were others. Jack seemed softer somehow, less angular in his features. 

For the next several minutes, Jarod's family tended their wounded. Emily fetched water from the 
kitchen and clean clothes from another room. 

Glancing furtively from Jarod to Miss Parker, Margaret asked cautiously, "What about the little 
boy?" 

Straightening in his chair, Jarod said bluntly, "The Centre has him."

Jarod's parents both gasped. 

"But we will get him back," Jarod added firmly.

"We wouldn't have to get him back if you hadn't left him behind," Parker hissed.

Jarod flinched as though she had struck him. 

"Miss Parker," Margaret scolded gently. "Blaming Jarod won't help ease your pain." Jarod's 
mother crossed the room and perched on the cushions of the couch. "You'll need each other's 
strength now more than ever. Trust me, I know."

"You know nothing," Parker snarled. 

"I know how you feel," Margaret said softly. "You've lost your child and now you are hurting like I 
was so many years ago."

"No," Parker growled. "It isn't the same. My son isn't lost. I know EXACTLY where he is." She 
gasped as agony ripped through her heart. "I know exactly what they are going to do to him."

Margaret cast a wary glance across the room at Jarod. The pretender looked away, unable to 
meet his mother's gaze. Parker saw the silent exchange and interpreted it with flawless accuracy.

"He's never told you," Parker laughed cruelly. "He was missing for thirty years and you have no 
idea what happened to him during that time. Shall I tell you, Margaret? Do you want to know how 
they treated him?"

"Parker," Jarod whispered desperately. "What purpose would it serve?"

Parker went on as though the pretender hadn't spoken. "Shall I tell you about the injections, the 
experimentation, the torture?" her voice began to rise. Whether it was with anger or hysteria, no 
one could tell. "Shall I tell you about the Christmas I found him cowering under his cot? His wrists 
were torn and scorched where manacles had circled his flesh. They had chained him up and then 
heated the metal until it blistered his skin. He was shivering in shock and pain when I found him. 
He was twelve years old." 

Margaret stared at Parker, her eyes widened in horror with each word. 

Jarod glanced up at Parker miserably, "You gave me candy," he remembered. "Orange flavored 
Pez from a Santa shaped dispenser."

"Who's going to be there to give Charlie candy?" Parker asked hopelessly. 

The Major stepped to his wife's side and laid a calming hand on her shoulder. Jarod's mother was 
visibly shaken by what she had just learned. 

"Together we will bring him home," Major Charles said forcefully. 

Parker glared at him with a frightening, ice-queen look. "You couldn't rescue your own son," she 
bit menacingly. "Why should I trust you with mine?"

"You frigid bitch," Emily exclaimed harshly. "How dare you!"

Parker half rose from her seat as Ethan tried to keep her still. Margaret jumped from the couch as 
though burnt by a flame. Turning toward her husband, Jarod's mother rushed into the major's 
protective embrace. 

"Please STOP!" Jarod wailed. His body seemed to collapse as Jarod hugged himself and curled 
into a ball. This was too much. Kidnappings had always preyed viciously on the most fragile point 
of Jarod's psyche. The abduction of his own son and Jarod's inability to protect the boy pushed 
the pretender to the very edge. The slender thread of control Jarod had on his emotions began to 
snap, cascading rapidly into a full meltdown.

Shivering uncontrollably, Jarod huddled against the easy chair in which he sat. "I'm sorry," he 
began to murmur as tears ran down his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." 

Emily stroked one hand across Jarod's brow in a soothing motion. But the pretender's reaction 
was a frightened scream as he flailed away from his sister. Jarod's eyes glazed over and a 
tortured moan escaped his lips. 

"Jarod?" Emily cried moving toward him again.

"Don't touch him!" Jack ordered. Scrambling across the room, the young man pulled his sister 
away.

"But," she began.

"Do you want him go ballistic on us?" Jack asked in a hard tone. "He could end up catatonic if 
we're not careful. Give him a minute."

The family stood around helplessly for several minutes as Jarod wept and rocked his body 
miserably. Finally, Jack crouched in front of his older twin, carefully leaving several inches of 
space between them. 

"Jarod," Jack called in a firm voice. "Pull it together bro. This isn't going to help that little boy."

Parker, tears cascading down her cheeks, felt an odd sensation envelop her. It was so strange, 
watching the two not quite identical men interact. Jarod was in anguish and Parker had ripped 
into him even more. Her Centre training had served her well. Of all people, Parker knew how 
badly Jarod would react to all this. Yet she had still kicked the pretender while he was down. In 
her own pain, she had succeeded in increasing his. 

"Jarod," Jack called a second time. "Charlie needs you. We have work to do."

Jarod's shuddering began to ease. His agonized sobs grew quieter.

"That's it," Jack said. "Get a grip, big brother. Charlie needs his daddy."

Jarod sniffled as he struggled to regain his composure. Heaving deep, cleansing breaths, Jarod 
fought for control over his emotions. Raising his head, Jarod cast his brother a look of woe. 
"Jack?" he asked meekly.

With a reassuring smile Jack replied. "Yea, Jarod. It's me." Moving slowly so as not to spook the 
pretender, Jack reached out and patted Jarod on the knee. "Come on back to us, bro. We can't 
do this without you." 

Nodding wordlessly, Jarod straightened and took several more deep inhalations. Clamping down 
tightly on his fear and pain, Jarod forced his tumult aside, burying it deep within. 

"That's better," Jack purred. Jack clasped one hand around the back of Jarod's neck, giving his 
big brother a rough hug of sorts. "Gotta stay cool, bro. Frosty like a snowman."

Scrubbing one forearm across his face, Jarod sniffled and wiped away the last of his tears. "I'm 
okay, " Jarod said steadily. "Thanks, Jack."

"You were overdue for a neurotic episode anyway," Jack teased with a grin. With a playful slap on 
the back of Jarod's head, Jack stood. "At least you didn't punch me this time."

Jarod rose from the chair and tested the stiffness of his wounded shoulder. "You didn't deserve to 
be punched this time," he said with a sad smile.

"Here," Emily said gently as she handed Jarod a glass of water. 

"Thanks," Jarod took the glass and gulped down the contents noisily. "Ethan, I need a lap top," 
Jarod said between swallows. 

With a brief nod Ethan said, "I brought three." He left the room to fetch the computers. 

"What can I do, Jarod?" his mother asked. 

Jarod glanced questioningly at Miss Parker. "Coffee?" He asked. 

Parker nodded. Margaret scurried off to the kitchen with Emily in tow.

Standing beside the couch, Jarod looked down at Parker and asked, "Do you need anything 
else?" 

Parker shook her head. The frightened, broken soul who had been bitterly weeping a few minutes 
ago was completely gone. In his place was this calm, confident pretender, ready for anything. 
Parker gained a new appreciation for this man. She suddenly realized that Jarod had never truly 
put his childhood trauma behind him. He simply chose to ignore it, to move past the horrors The 
Centre had inflicted on him. But in failing to deal with those scars, Jarod had never really healed. 
As a result, the old wounds surfaced on occasion causing the pain to ooze from him like an 
infection. 

The Centre had left its mark on them both. Neither would ever be able to forget their past. 

Jarod began to turn away. 

"Jarod?" Parker stopped him with a word. "I'm sorry."

Jarod kept his back to her as he sighed. "So am I, Miss Parker. We have a real talent for ripping 
into one another whenever The Centre starts screwing with us. Old habits die hard."

"It wasn't your fault," Parker whispered. "You did what you had to. I know that." 

Jarod nodded but said nothing. 

"Jarod," she said with soft urging. "Look at me."

As though gathering his courage, Jarod faltered for a moment before turning to face Parker.

"Promise me that we'll get him back," she whispered. 

"I swear it," Jarod vowed. Whirling briskly on his heel, Jarod stormed after Ethan and left room.

--

The waiting was hard.

Jarod had never felt this type of impatience before. Waiting had been such an integral part of his 
life that patience had become second nature to him. More than one simulation had succeeded 
simply because Jarod had learned to wait for the results. 

But this was so very different. Jarod could feel every minute ticking by as though some 
cataclysmic count down was running in his head. Each hour brought more terrible images to 
Jarod's imagination. Yet despite his anxiety, there was nothing left to do but wait.

Jarod had started his campaign to rescue his son by emailing Angelo. The only connection Jarod 
had left in The Centre, Angelo was the only way of learning about the current security setup. 
Jarod had been out of contact for too long. He could not expect things to be the same as they 
were four years ago. And with a little luck, Angelo would be able to pinpoint Charlie's location, 
making the rescue effort that much easier.

Ethan and Jack had left the farm for several hours during the night. When they had returned 
shortly after midnight, they had come equipped with a small arsenal. Jarod didn't know where his 
brothers had found so many weapons and frankly he didn't care. He was now well armed and 
more than willing to use deadly force to get his son back. 

Jarod had accessed some old files he had stored on a remote server some years ago. There he 
retrieved copies of The Centre's blue prints. The possibility did exist that major renovations had 
changed the basic layout of the compound in the last few years. But that was a variable they 
would have to be prepared for. The plan Jarod devised needed to be flexible enough to handle all 
the unknowns in this equation. 

Once Angelo returned his email, Jarod would know more. Then they would be able to move. So 
now, the pretender waited to hear from his old friend.

Parker had finally fallen into a fitful sleep just before dawn. Stress and exhaustion had finally 
overcome her concern for her child. Jarod had stood in the dark room for a long time and 
watched her sleep. Parker's anger had shifted away from Jarod since they had arrived. Her fury 
now focused entirely on the people who had taken her son. 

As they had worked and plotted together during the night, Parker had shown Jarod her 
repentance again and again. Gentle random touches and the occasional caress, told Jarod that 
she did not really blame him for Charlie's abduction. Her rage had been an instinctive reaction to 
the situation.

When Parker had finally turned toward Jarod and allowed him to embrace her, the pretender had 
felt as though heaven itself was offering him absolution. She had cried in his arms, drenching his 
shirt with her desperate tears. Jarod tried to soothe her with promises as she wept, vowing again 
and again that Charlie would be back. Jarod had held her until she finally drifted to sleep. 

Jarod had watched over her for a time, marveling at her beauty. Parker had always been the 
standard by which he measured every woman he'd ever met. She was no less incredible to him 
now that she had been when he was a boy. Gazing at her through the dark, Jarod knew that he 
would do anything for this woman and her child. The fact that Charlie was Jarod's own son had 
little to do with the pretender's devotion to the boy. Parker cherished the little tyke therefore Jarod 
would give his life to bring the boy back to her. 

As sunlight began to ease over the horizon, Jarod had left the room to check his email. There had 
been no reply from Angelo. Frustrated and irritable, Jarod had quietly stepped outside and sat on 
the porch stairs to watch the dawn. The pretender was amazed at how normal everything 
seemed. The sun rose, the birds sang, fluffy clouds blew across a bright blue sky. The world went 
on, oblivious to the plight of a lost little boy and the family who missed him so desperately. 

The thirty-six hour mark came and went. Jarod tried to imagine who had been assigned to 
Charlie's case as project coordinator. Was there anyone left at The Centre who possessed the 
subtle kindness that Sydney had shown him as a boy? Knowing that Sydney had retired a couple 
of years ago dashed Jarod's hopes that the psychiatrist could help this time. 

The morning sun was well into the sky when Jarod heard a quiet sound behind him. The screen 
door opened slowly and cautious footsteps approached. 

"Any word from Angelo?" Parker asked softly. 

Jarod glanced at the laptop, open and waiting to one side. "Nothing," he answered. 

Parker sat on the step beside him, carefully favoring her sore leg. "Jarod," she began. "What if 
Angelo isn't there? What if he's gone? What if they've finally killed him?"

Jarod shook his head sternly. "No," he said firmly. "I won't believe that. Angelo has survived all 
this time, I won't believe that he has struggled so long, only to fail."

They fell silent, staring out over the sun drenched meadows. The farmhouse was in a deeply rural 
area. The long gravel driveway led only to a dirt road. The occasional tractor or sturdy pickup 
truck rumbled passed. Big eighteen-wheelers loaded with livestock zoomed by at long intervals. 

"What will we do if Angelo doesn't contact us?" Parker asked finally.

"He will," Jarod argued. 

Parker sighed. "You're putting a lot of faith in that mush-headed cretin," she said warily.

Jarod frowned. "Angelo is a lot saner that anyone gives him credit for," he protested. "He's always 
played the idiot for them. The more that The Centre underestimated him, the better his 
advantage. Many times, I've relied on Angelo and he has never let me down. Never."

"Then why won't he answer?" Parker asked desperately.

"I don't know," Jarod whispered back. Parker put her forehead against Jarod's good shoulder and 
snuggled against him. Greedily wanting to be comforted in return, Jarod put an arm around 
Parker and held her close. 

They sat there, clinging to each other, drawing strength from one another. 

Jarod stiffened when he noticed a grungy, battered old truck on the dirt road. The truck didn't roar 
by like all the others had. Instead this one screeched its brakes and wheezed to a halt at the end 
of the long gravel driveway. The truck idled there for a full minute as two figures hopped to the 
ground from the cargo area. 

With a chugging cough and a beep of the horn, the truck began moving again, spitting dust from 
the road as it went.

Jarod sat in stunned amazement as he watched two people wave the truck away and begin the 
long walk up the driveway. Parker gasped beside him and staggered to her feet. From this 
distance, it wasn't clear who was approaching but it was obviously a man with wild, tangled hair. 
He held the hand of a little boy who was happily bouncing up and down on both feet as the pair 
made their way toward the house.

"CHARLIE!" Parker screamed as she hobbled across the yard. 

The child left his companion behind and began running toward the house. "Mommy!"

Jarod was not aware that he had actually left the porch. He raced down the driveway and 
scooped the little boy into his arms and squeezed him close. Parker reached them a moment 
later and hauled Charlie against her bosom as she burst into happy tears. 

"Momma," Charlie cried as he hugged his mother hard. "I missed you!" 

Parker laughed. "I missed you too baby. I was so worried."

"I rode on a train!" Charlie grinned. "Angelo and I had french fries for breakfast. He never had 
french fries before." Charlie babbled excitedly.  

Jarod, blinded by tears of sheer joy, turned toward the odd, wild-haired man as he approached. 
"Angelo," Jarod gasped in a choked voice. "I don't understand. How did you? Why, after all this 
time?" The pretender shook his head, unable to articulate his astonishment.

Angelo smiled in that strange, crooked way of his. "It was time to go home," he said.

Jarod laughed. "How can I ever thank you, my old friend?" 

"French fries?" Angelo asked hopefully.

Parker and Jarod burst into laughter, so full relief that it bordered on hysteria. 

"Anything you want, Angelo," Jarod managed to say. "Anything at all."

--

End Part 9



Chapter 10

-

"You can't put this decision off forever, Mr. Parker," the middle aged woman said gently.

With a sigh the dark-haired, dark-eyed young man slumped into the leather chair and propped his 
elbows on the large mahogany desk. "I know, Linda," he nodded. "His social skills are 
deteriorating more every year. But he doesn't mean any harm."

"I never suggested that he did," the older woman said. "Your uncle needs specialized care. The 
Centre just isn't the place for him anymore." 

Loosening his very expensive tie, Mr. Parker leaned his head wearily against the back of his 
chair. "Uncle Martin has lived here all his life. He's never known anything else. I'm afraid so 
drastic a change will be too much for him."

Kind eyes gazed across the desk with understanding. "You feel sorry for him. Hell, we all do. 
Martin is a sweet boy. But he's isolated here. Pinewood is the perfect place for him. There are 
medical facilities that can deal with his disability while teaching him some simple skills."

"This is an old argument, Laura," the younger man sighed. 

"Yes," she agreed crossing her arms determinedly. "One that has yet to be resolved. Your Uncle 
Martin has a mental disability. That isn't going to go away."

"I hate the idea of locking him up in some strange place," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose 
in an attempt to ease the headache that was forming. "It wasn't his fault that there was a lack of 
oxygen during his birth."

Laura nodded. "And it wasn't his fault that he was relegated to the bowels of this facility all his life. 
But why keep him locked away in this familiar place when Pinewood will be so much better for 
him in the long run?"

"I don't want to see him hurt," the man's smooth brow furrowed with concern. "Worse yet, I don't 
want to see my mother hurt. You know how she feels about this."

"If you keep ignoring the problem," Laura said sternly. "Someone will eventually get hurt." 

"I know. I know. I'll figure something out by the time I get back," he promised. "I can't worry about 
anything else until the babies come." 

"Speaking of which," Laura said, dropping the issue for the time being. "I've got something for you 
to take home to Mrs. Parker." With a flourish, the woman produced a large package that she had 
been surreptitiously hiding behind her back.  

"Laura," the younger man gasped. "You didn't need to do this!" 

"I know," she replied handing over the present. "I wanted to. It's nothing really, just blankets and 
two pair of booties."

Dark eyes sparkled up at her, "And you crocheted them yourself, right?"

Laura smiled shyly. "Well, yes," she admitted.

"If it's anything like the receiving blanket you made for Angela when she was born," he grinned. 
"Then I'm sure it's beautiful." Rising from his seat, Mr. Parker took the package and smiled fondly 
at his assistant. At his full height of six-foot four inches, he towered over the diminutive little 
woman and was forced to bend over to kiss her blushing cheek. "How did I manage to find such a 
great secretary?" He asked.

Laura laughed. "You didn't you rascal. Your wife found me and you know it."

"She wanted to make sure there was someone to keep me out of trouble when she isn't around," 
was the wry response.

"It's a tough job," Laura said, only half-joking.

"And I pay you well to do it," her boss said in a slightly scolding tone. 

The thin, slightly aging woman smiled jovially. Working for The Centre had always been difficult. 
Laura had been an employee for nearly twenty-five years. For the first two decades, she had 
been a low level clerk, skulking in and out of her cubicle everyday and trying hard not to be 
noticed. 

Then Mr. Parker had come. He had swooped in with new ideas and new ways of doing things. He 
had been very young, fresh out of Harvard with a Master's degree in business and finance. At the 
tender age of twenty-two, he had become one of the youngest corporate chairmen in the country. 

Choosing Laura Becker from a swarm of similarly qualified men and women, Mr. Parker had 
raised her to the rank of administrative assistant to the Centre chairman. Her life had never been 
the same. These past five years, Laura had worked harder than she ever imagined. Mr. Parker's 
intelligence and stamina never ceased to amaze her. She was unquestioningly devoted to him 
and had come to care deeply about the boy. In return, he treated her as much more than an 
assistant.

Charles Parker yanked harder at his tie until the knot gave way. Sliding the silk from his collar he 
carelessly balled it up and stuffed it into the pocket of his well-tailored suit. 

"I feel like I'm forgetting something," he said glancing around furtively. 

Laura snorted. "Not likely," she drawled. 

Nodding absently as he tucked the present under one arm, Charles took his briefcase in one 
hand. "If you need me," he began.

"I'll call you," she sighed. "You've worked from your office at home before."

"Yes," Mr. Parker rolled his eyes. "But never for an entire month. When Angela was born I was 
only out of the office for a week."

"It was closer to two weeks," Laura corrected. "So with twice as many babies, you should take 
twice as much time. Besides, once those twins are born, you won't give this place a second 
thought."

Grinning broadly, her boss answered, "You're right." With another quick peck on the cheek, Mr. 
Parker bid his secretary a fond farewell. "Hold down the fort, Laura."

"Go home," she ordered. "Call me when the babies come."

Charlie left the office, swinging his briefcase merrily. As he strode through the corridors, a series 
of employees wished him luck. He nearly bounced with excitement as he went down the stone 
stairs leading to the parking lot. He opened his car door and tossed his briefcase onto the front 
passenger seat. Climbing in behind the steering wheel, Charles started the car and began the 
forty-minute drive home.

As he drove, Charlie reflected upon the day's events. Overall it had been a productive afternoon. 
Everything was ready for the chairman's month long absence from the Centre. Charlie had 
surrounded himself with good, trustworthy people. His confidence in them was unshakeable. 
Things would run smoothly in his absence, of that Charlie had no doubt.

Charlie's only concern was in regards to his uncle Martin. Laura was right. Keeping Martin at the 
Centre because it was easier just wasn't fair to the other man. Part of Charlie's reluctance was 
due in large part to guilty feelings on his part. Martin was only a handful of years older than his 
nephew. If the man had been of sound mind, Martin would now be chairman rather than Charlie. 

In some ways, Charlie felt as though he was living the life that Martin had been denied. The more 
his life improved, the worse he felt about Uncle Martin. And Charlie had a really good life. He was 
blessed and he knew it. Charlie had a wife whom he absolutely adored and a beautiful two-year 
old little girl. He also had twin sons who were ready to make an appearance any day now. He had 
a lovely home and a job he loved. In addition, his parents were both in good health and lived at 
the summerhouse not far away. Though until the twins came, Charlie's folks would be staying in 
the guest room at his place to help with Angela and the new babies. 

Charles Parker was indeed a lucky man. Always had been really. His parents had seen to that.

No child had ever received more love and affection than Charlie had growing up. Granted, his 
parents had been over-protective to the extreme. As a result, Charlie had led a very sheltered life. 
Home schooled by both his mother and father, Charlie's education had been rather eclectic, 
consisting of philosophy, literature, finance and music. High ethics and a deep sense of honor 
had been drilled into him for as long as Charlie could remember. 

His parents' protectiveness bordered on the obsessive until Charlie had finally rebelled. 
Smothered by their need to keep him safe, Charlie had been forced to break from his parents 
rather suddenly. Not that Charlie didn't understand their wariness, he did. 

Charlie had always been well aware of the fact that he'd been abducted as a small child. Even 
now, he had vague memories of the incident. Running through dark corridors, an overflowing 
sink, the fearful sound of his mother's screams. But they were mere images to him now. No 
longer real actions in his mind. But to his parents, the danger was as tangible as if it had 
happened yesterday.

They had only wanted to protect him. But Charlie was outgoing and inquisitive. He had always felt 
safe. So when he had turned seventeen, Charlie had applied to and been accepted by Harvard, 
more than fifteen hundred miles from home. What had ensued was the worst battle of his young 
life. 

His mother had been furious. His father had simply forbidden him to go. But Charlie had been 
determined. They had tried demanding, pleading and even negotiating for more time. He could 
not have picked a worse time to leave home, his father had told him. It was a dangerous time, he 
had said. 

Charlie did not understand the correlation between the death of a grandfather he had never 
known and his parents' fear. On the contrary, Charlie had felt that it was more important than ever 
for him to learn more about the world and the people in it. If what his father had told him was true, 
the death of Charlie's grandfather had left him heir to a rather impressive corporation. 

Regardless of who was trying to take it from him now, once the estate had been processed 
through probate court, if Charlie didn't know what to do with his newly acquired fortune, he would 
lose it some other way. Finally, Charlie had told his parents that he was going and there was little 
they could do to stop him. 

Knowing their son for the stubborn mule that he was, Charlie's parents had let him go. But not 
before teaching him to be a crack shot with a pistol. Less than a month after Charlie had started 
his first term, his parents had moved to an old house in Delaware, only a six-hour drive away from 
the college. Looking back on it now, Charlie suspected that his folks had kept a much better eye 
on him than he realized.

But the years spent in Massachusetts had been good ones for Charlie. He had learned to fit in 
with other young people to an extent. Being so much younger than the other students had been 
difficult at first. The highly competitive environment at an ivy-league school had made him more 
than a few enemies. Charlie was a brilliant young man from an affluent background. His naiveté 
had made him an easy target. But his charm had served him well. He had made friends, slowly at 
first, but with increasing ease and frequency. 

During his first term as a senior, Charlie had met a very special girl. With her auburn hair and jade 
green eyes, Charlie thought she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever met aside from his 
own mother. Heather was a slender, athletic girl attending Harvard on a literary scholarship. She 
was nineteen, like many of the other freshmen. Charlie was two months older. 

For the first time in his life, Charlie had been embarrassed by his lack of social skills. He'd had no 
clue how to ask her out. After several bungled attempts, Heather finally managed to interpret his 
intentions and agreed to go to a movie with Charlie. The months that followed were marvelous. 
They discovered they had similar tastes in food and literature and spent many of their dates 
eating Chinese food from cartons as they debated over the classics. 

They had lost their virginity to each other on a stormy night in October. They had snuggled 
blissfully in each other's arms afterward, listening to the thunder. The wind whipped at the 
curtains as the rain poured outside, sending a sprinkling mist of cold water into the room. The fact 
that Heather liked the windows open during a storm drew Charlie to her even more. When Charlie 
mentioned that he had never, NEVER, slept with the windows open, Heather had laughed and 
called him weird. Then she said she loved him and Charlie felt like a king.

The two were inseparable for the rest of the semester. Heather essentially moved into Charlie's 
apartment. For Thanksgiving, they had gone first to Delaware to see Charlie's folks, then to Ohio 
to meet Heather's. When they had parted for Christmas break, Charlie went home and asked his 
mother for her diamond ring. He intended to ask Heather to marry him the moment they reunited 
in January.

But Heather hadn't returned. On New Year's Day, her parents had been killed in a car accident. A 
drunk driver had hit them head on. They had died almost instantly. Charlie had flown to Ohio for 
the funeral and did his best to help, but Heather had wanted nothing to do with him. When she 
had finally returned to campus in the spring, Heather was a totally different person. Depression 
and despair darkened her life. 

Charlie tried everything. But in her grief and anger Heather isolated herself from her friends. She 
had no other family. Charlie had done what he could. He had known death. He knew what it was 
to grieve. So he talked about his own experiences. He told Heather about his sadness at the 
death of his paternal grandparents when he was young. He prattled on about the shock of losing 
his beloved Uncle Jack. 

Uncle Jack had been nothing short of a hero to young Charlie. When he'd been a boy, Charlie's 
Uncle Jack would abruptly appear in their lives every few months. With him he'd bring presents 
and stories of far away places. Charlie would sit on the floor at his uncle's feet and listen, 
enthralled by the man's extravagant tales. Even Uncle Jack's death had been heroic. 

Four brothers, playing on a frozen pond, had suddenly fallen through the ice. Jack happened to 
be there and saw the accident happen. Without hesitation, he had jumped into the frigid water to 
search for the boys. By the time he'd found the first boy, there were several other onlookers doing 
their best to help haul the child to shore. Jack had gone back into the water and pulled out a 
second little boy. When he surfaced with the third child, Jack was pale and exhausted. His lips 
were a ghastly blue as his body began to succumb to hypothermia. But he refused to leave the 
last child behind. Jack had gone back into the water. Divers found his body and that of the fourth 
boy shortly after dark the same day.

Charlie had been devastated. He'd been only twelve years old at the time. Uncle Jack's death 
had been the greatest tragedy of his young life. He'd been hurt and angry. But time had healed 
his sorrow. Eventually Charlie had been able to think of his uncle without bursting into tears. One 
day, Heather would heal too and he'd told her so.

She had told him to mind his own damn business. 

Charlie's relationship with Heather came to a screeching halt. She moved back to the dorm and 
started sleeping too much. Her grades dropped so low that her scholarship was revoked. Charlie 
discretely made arrangements for her to receive an "alternate scholarship". To this day, Heather 
did not know that Charlie had paid her tuition.

Heather became a shadow of the vivacious girl she had been. Charlie could do nothing but stand 
quietly at her side. He looked after her as much as she would allow him to do so. He made sure 
her place was relatively clean. He saw to it that she ate regularly. Heather pushed him away at 
every opportunity. But Charlie would not give up on her. 

When summer came, rather than take classes straight through as he usually did, Charlie took 
Heather to Delaware. They stayed with his parents all summer long. Heather had her own room 
and everything between them was purely platonic. In the circle of love and security his parents 
provided, Heather began to find solace. She cried a great deal. Charlie's mother shared long 
walks with her as the two women talked about grief.

Charlie's mother and father were able to work wonders with the shattered young girl. They 
understood things, sorrow and pain, in a way Charlie could not fathom. At times, Charlie had felt 
like an outsider, unable to comprehend the shadows that surrounded these people he loved so 
dearly. It was only then that Charlie had begun to wonder about his parents' past and the 
darkness they both seemed to know so intimately. 

Slowly, painfully, Heather learned to smile again. But the whirlwind romance she had shared with 
Charlie was gone as if it never existed. They were friends. Charlie, still desperately in love, 
carried the diamond ring in his pocket for more than a year, waiting. 

For Heather's twenty-first birthday, Charlie went over the top. He hauled out every romantic cliché 
he could think of. There was a limousine and roses, a tuxedo and musicians playing violins. He 
chartered a jet and flew her to New York for a carriage ride through Central Park. It had worked. 
By morning, the ring in Charlie's pocket had been transferred to Heather's finger.

The running gag between them now was that Charlie had charmed the pants off her, literally. 
Heather's response was that he'd taken his good sweet time in doing it.  

Charlie smiled to himself as he pulled into his driveway. The drive home always seemed to pass 
quickly when his thoughts centered on his wife and family rather than on work. 

The house was a large rambling Victorian with a well-tended yard and magnificent gardens. Not 
that Charlie had either the time or the patience to work in the yard. That job was obsessively 
performed by the gray-haired old man currently crouched in the rose garden. 

Retrieving his things from the car, Charlie strolled toward the house and stopped for a moment 
beside the roses. 

"Are you weeding the flowers, Angelo?" Charlie asked. 

"Not today," the wild haired man declared. "Digging worms." He said.

Charlie admired the large earthworm dangling from Angelo's fingertips. 

"Need bait," Angelo added for further clarification.

"Ah," Charlie nodded. The only thing Angelo enjoyed more than gardening was fishing with 
Charlie's father. Charlie himself had never found the passion for that particular sport, though he 
did accompany the older men on occasion. "Well, have fun," Charlie said, affectionately patting 
Angelo on the back. 

"Always do," was the wry response. 

Charlie entered the house and set his briefcase and package on the table in the foyer. He slid his 
suit jacket from his shoulders as he walked down the hall and tossed the item carelessly over the 
wooden banister leading upstairs. He stopped in the archway between the hall and the livingroom 
and leaned casually against the wall. 

Lying on the couch, fast asleep, was Charlie's very pregnant wife. Her bare feet, only slightly 
swollen at the ankles today, were propped up on several pillows. There was a light blanket tossed 
over the swell of her abdomen, accentuating her protruding stomach. Even standing several feet 
away, Charlie could see the covers shift as the children within her moved. 

As though sensing his presence, Heather sighed wearily and blinked into wakefulness. 

"Charles," she smiled. "How long have you been there?" 

"Not long," he assured her. Moving into the room, Charlie perched on the edge of the coffee table 
and leaned over to kiss his wife. "How are we doing today?"

"We," she sighed. "Are trying out for the Olympic soccer team." 

Charlie laughed tenderly as he splayed one large hand over Heather's belly. "You were the one 
who wanted a large family, Love."

"For future reference, Charles," she scolded him lovingly. "I'd like to have the rest of our children 
one at a time. Okay?"

"I'll try," Charlie said. "But you know what an over-achiever I am."

They laughed quietly together for a moment. Charlie slid to his knees on the floor and cuddled 
around his wife as best he could with the mound of babies between them.

"Where's Angela?" He asked.

"Your mother put her down for a nap," Heather replied, running her hands through Charlie's hair. 
"Did you get everything taken care of at the office?" She asked.

"Yep," Charlie grinned. "I'm all yours for the next four weeks." 

"Great," she drawled, rolling her eyes. "Now I'll have you and your father both hovering over me 
all day."

"He hasn't been that bad, has he?" Charlie asked softly.

"Charles," Heather said kindly. "You know that I adore your dad. But he's absolutely driving me up 
the walls."

Charlie snickered. "Dad can be a pest when he's worried. Right now he is only concerned about 
you and the babies."

"I know, I know," she huffed. "But I swear to God, if he asks me if I'm having any pain even one 
more time this afternoon, I swear I'll go postal on his ass."   

Charlie lifted Heather's legs and sat down on the cushion beside her. Almost absently, he began 
to rub her calves as he spoke. "I'll be the first to admit that Dad can be annoying at times. But he 
is a wonderful person." 

"He is darling, he is," Heather said affectionately. "But could you please just ask him to back off a 
little? You're home now, he can relax a bit." 

"I'll see what I can do," Charlie agreed reluctantly.

"I hate to be a bitch, Charles," she said apologetically. "But I just don't have the patience right 
now."

"You're entitled," he said. There was silence for a moment as Charlie continued to massage 
Heather's legs. 

Humming with pleasure, Heather closed her eyes and sighed. "I do love your father, Charles."

"He loves you too," Charlie admitted. 

"He makes me feel guilty, sometimes," Heather said quietly. 

"Guilty?" Charlie frowned. "Why?"

"Because my father and I were never as close as you and Jarod," she said, her eyes filling with 
tears. "Because, sometimes I miss my dad and I'll go to yours for comfort." 

"Oh sweetheart," Charlie crooned. He pulled his wife onto his lap and wrapped protective arms 
around her. "Don't feel guilty about that. You and Dad both have so much love to share. I think it's 
wonderful that you can share some of it with each other." 

"Do you think Jarod would have gotten along with my father?" Heather asked.

Charlie sighed tenderly. "They would have been great friends," he assured her.

"Does it ever bother you?" Heather asked. "That Jarod wasn't around when you were young?"

"No," Charlie answered without hesitation. "I was too little. I can barely remember a time when he 
wasn't a part of our lives." Charlie gave his wife a faraway smile. "One of my earliest memories is 
of my father."

Heather snuggled against Charlie's shoulder, reveling in his strength. "Tell me," she whispered 
dreamily. 

"I must have been about four or five years old," Charlie began as he rubbed gentle circles over 
Heather's belly. "It was dark and I was in bed. Dad came into the room and nudged me awake. 
He said there was something he wanted to show me. So he scooped me off the bed, blankets 
and all." Charlie grinned as he lost himself in the memory. "There I was all wrapped up in a 
cocoon of bed linen. Snug as a bug you could say. Dad took me outside. It was snowing and 
everything had that soft muffled quality to it."

"He carried me in his arms as though I weighed nothing. I remember thinking how strong he was. 
He took me to an old tree stump in the back yard where he sat down. He put me in his lap and 
wrapped his coat around me to keep me warm." 

Charlie smiled adoringly at his wife. "'Look Charlie,' he said to me. He pointed at the sky and we 
both looked straight up. There were these big fluffy snowflakes falling from a pitch-black curtain of 
night. They were sparkling like weightless diamonds as they fluttered soundlessly around us. 

'The stars, Charlie,' he told me. 'The stars are sprinkling on us.'" 

"It sounds wonderful," Heather sniffed tearfully. 

"It was like magic," Charlie admitted with a whisper. "Even now, the smell of suede makes me 
think of my Dad and that night I spent wrapped in his jacket while the stars scattered around us." 

"I love you," Heather sighed.

Charlie smiled. "I love you more," he answered.

They cuddled together for a long time until Heather drifted back to sleep. At this point in her 
pregnancy, rest was essential but nearly impossible to attain. Her moods would swing drastically 
from fits of fevered activity to bouts of total exhaustion. The babies kicking inside her made it 
difficult to sleep more than a few hours at a time. 

Easing carefully away from his dozing wife, Charlie covered her tenderly with the blanket and 
quietly left the room. He kicked off his shoes and tiptoed upstairs to check on his little girl. Angela 
still slept soundly in her crib with one thumb tucked in her mouth and her little butt sticking up in 
the air. 

Charlie's heart swelled at the sight of her. The child was so precious, so perfect. He stroked the 
fine light hair on her head and smiled in wonder. A week from now, this little tot would have two 
new brothers. Angela seemed to understand that concept and was adorably excited by the 
prospect. 

Satisfied that Angela was well. Charlie went down to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of 
iced tea. With his drink in one hand, Charlie stood at the back door and looked out at the fields 
behind the house. 

That was when he located his parents. 

Charlie's mom and dad were sitting on the porch swing snuggling in each other's arms much like 
he and Heather had been doing a short time ago. His mother was smiling up into his father's 
sparkling brown eyes in a way that made Charlie grin. Charlie loved to watch them together, to 
see them when they thought no one else was looking. They were so in tune to each other, so 
aware of what the other was thinking. They rarely argued. 

Charlie longed for the day when he would understand his wife's thoughts the way his dad seemed 
to do with his mother. But that would take time. Charlie's parents had known each other for a very 
long time, decades before their son had come along. 

"Don't skulk in the shadows, Charlie," his mother's voice scolded him. "You make me nervous 
hiding over there."

Charlie grinned and pushed the screen door open. "I'm not hiding," he denied.

"Just eavesdropping," his mother said wryly, cocking one eyebrow at him.

"Maybe a little," Charlie admitted as he flopped into one of the nearby wicker chairs.  

"We didn't hear you come in," his dad's deep voice purred. 

Charlie smiled tauntingly. "You were probably too busy necking," he teased.

"Yup," his dad replied bluntly. This response earned him an elbow in the ribs from Charlie's 
mother. 

"Have you talked to Heather?" Charlie's mother asked, effectively changing the subject. 

He nodded. "I've been home for nearly an hour. We talked for a while. She's asleep now."

"She has been sleeping too much," Charlie's dad said with a frown. 

"Rest is the best thing for her, Dad." Charlie said. "She'll need it soon enough." He sighed before 
continuing reluctantly. "You need to ease off a bit, Dad. You're seriously trying her patience."

"Told you so," Charlie's mother growled, giving her husband another jab to the ribs.

"Parker!" the older man pouted. "That hurts."

"Stop whining you big baby," she replied crossly as she tenderly ran one hand through the 
graying hair at his temples.

"I'm just worried about my daughter-in-law," he groused.

"I'm worried too," Charlie admitted. "Just try not to upset her, all right?"

"Are you okay, Baby?" Charlie's mother asked.

He shrugged. "Wearing a little thin perhaps, but I'll be fine. I just wish it would happen already."

Grey eyes gazed knowingly at him and Charlie had the odd sensation that his mother was 
reading his mind. "She'll be fine, you know," his mother said gently.

"Don't get me wrong," Charlie sighed. "I love the idea of more children. I just hate what she has to 
go through to get them."

"She'll be fine." The conviction in his mother's voice helped ease Charlie's concern only a little.

Charlie nodded thoughtfully for a moment. Then, in an action so like his father's, Charlie heaved a 
deep breath and pushed his worry aside. 

"I'm hungry," Charlie said abruptly. "What's for dinner?"

"I hadn't thought about it yet," his mother replied with a grin. "What would you like?"

Charlie stood, taking his now empty glass with him. "I'll have something delivered." 

As they watched their son wander back into the house, Jarod put his arm around his wife and 
with a push of one foot, set the swing into motion.

"You know what, Miss Parker?" he purred into her ear.

"What's that, Pez-head?" she smiled playfully. 

"You've got an amazing kid," Jarod murmured. "You must have done something pretty special to 
deserve him."

"Yes," Parker agreed. Kissing Jarod lovingly on the forehead she whispered, "I finally let his 
daddy love me." 

"I always did, you know," Jarod said as he traced Parker's lips with one finger.

She nodded. "I know."

"Parker?" Jarod asked. "Do you suppose this is happily ever after?"

"Yes," she replied. "Yes, I suppose it is."

-

The End.

-


 

    Source: geocities.com/phenyx525@sbcglobal.net