Disclaimer:  Does anyone ever read these things? I mean, if nobody has sued me yet I doubt they 
ever will. But just to be on the safe side, none of these characters are mine. I "borrowed" them all. 
I didn't make a dime so no one gets royalties. 06/04/03

After the game, the king and the pawn go into the same box.  (Italian saying)

The King and the Pawn 
Part 1 – Lost and Found
By Phenyx

-

The slim brunette stepped gracefully from the car, her incredibly high-heeled shoes clicked on the 
cement with the confidence of familiarity. Her fashionably tailored back suit was crisp and 
unwrinkled after her brief time in the driver's seat. 

She was a stunning woman, beautiful in a regal manner. Her flawless appearance and confident 
poise spoke of wealth and power. Her gray eyes were hard, often flashing in anger. As a result, 
she radiated a demeanor of frosty coolness. She worked hard to keep that icy barrier between 
her and the rest of the world. It was an emotional barricade that Miss Parker had spent a lifetime 
building.

Today, on this bright Sunday morning, Miss Parker's stoicism was even more pronounced. The 
deep sorrow she always felt on this day manifested itself to society as an even harder personality. 
Only a small handful of people knew Miss Parker well enough to understand the vulnerability that 
hid beneath her tough exterior.

It was April thirteenth. The anniversary of the day that Miss Parker had, for all intensive purposes, 
lost her mother so many years ago. She had been only a girl when she had first stood at the side 
of her mother's grave to grieve. It was an annual pilgrimage that Miss Parker dutifully continued to 
perform.

On this anniversary in years passed, Miss Parker had spent long hours in the cemetery, finding a 
measure of peace as she felt her mother's presence. But this year had been different. Standing 
before the headstone, engraved this year with two names, Miss Parker had found no solace.

Walking up the walkway to the front door, Miss Parker sighed as she returned home less than an 
hour after leaving. She stepped across the threshold and tossed her keys onto the nearby table. 
For several minutes, she stood there, staring forlornly at the room. It was still early, barely nine 
o'clock in the morning. 
     
"What the hell am I supposed to do now?"  She grumbled to herself.

Miss Parker's busy schedule rarely left her with free time. She purposely had nothing planned for 
today, intending to spend the majority of this Sunday at the cemetery. But this year, Miss Parker 
had been unable to feel her mother's presence. Standing before the cold stone engraved with her 
mother's and father's names had seemed so futile. It was a hollow gesture, for both graves were 
empty.

Miss Parker had grown up believing that her mother shot herself in an elevator at The Centre, the 
malicious corporation run by the Parker family. The truth about her mother's murder had been 
revealed to her several months ago. The man Miss Parker would always think of as her father 
had jumped to his death from an airplane last autumn while Miss Parker watched. She had been 
unable to locate either body.

The irony of the empty tombs had been too much for Miss Parker to bear. Vacant graves, empty 
promises, deceitful lies and unending pain were the legacy Miss Parker had inherited. The 
Centre, and all its woes, was all Miss Parker had left. Her twin brother, a lunatic called Lyle, was 
too vile a creature for Miss Parker to claim as her own.

The Centre had been built by Miss Parker's great grandfather, an evil man who had murdered his 
wife and children in Scotland before immigrating to the United States. The powerful corporation 
that he had created was just as corrupt and horrific as its originator. Human beings were tortured 
and used for experimentation in the lower levels of the facility. Children were bought, stolen or 
bred and then treated like guinea pigs in an attempt to make a profit.

For most of her life, Miss Parker had only been aware of the most insignificant of The Centre's 
atrocities. It wasn't until a few years ago that she had begun to open her eyes to the truly 
repulsive acts that had been occurring around her. She had been blissfully ignorant of The 
Centre's activities and her father's lies until Jarod had begun to show them to her.

Jarod had been one of The Centre's best and brightest inmates. He'd been brought to The Centre 
as a small boy, barely two years out of diapers. The child had been stolen from his bed and 
isolated at The Centre in order to exploit his incredible mind. Imprisoned in a dark series of 
rooms, he had been trained to become a pretender, someone who could be anyone, anything he 
wanted. Jarod had learned quickly and excelled.

For more than thirty years, Jarod had lived in the dark confines of The Centre's underground 
laboratories. He was told when to eat and to sleep. Jarod's every move was documented. He'd 
been submitted to the cruelest of tortures and emotionally flogged for decades. And yet one day, 
he had simply vanished from his cell. Jarod had run away from The Centre and, ever since, it had 
been Miss Parker's job to bring him back. 

The two of them had been friends as children, two lonely waifs searching desperately for the 
affection they each craved. For several years they had found a forbidden companionship as they 
played together among the shadows. Miss Parker had eventually been sent to Europe to 
complete her education at a posh boarding school and the friendship had ended. 

But now, as adults, Jarod clung stubbornly to the idea that their friendship meant something. 
While Miss Parker and her team chased Jarod around the globe, he insisted upon leaving her a 
trail so that she could follow him. In the six years since he had escaped, an odd sense of 
dependence had built up between them. Jarod worked diligently to uncover the secret of his true 
identity and he shared that information with Miss Parker. They had even learned that they shared 
a half-brother named Ethan. 

Over the past few years, Jarod and Miss Parker had learned to trust one another in a way they 
could trust no one else. 

For the most part, Miss Parker found the pretender incredibly annoying. He invariably called at 
the oddest times and foisted unwanted information on her. The lies that they had uncovered 
together had been numerous. But deep in the hidden recesses of her soul, Miss Parker knew that 
her friendship with Jarod had never really died. She depended on him at an emotional level that 
was far stronger than she cared to admit.

Glaring at the phone, Miss Parker willed it to ring. She wanted to hear Jarod's voice. He would 
find some way to ease her troubled mind. She knew he would call at some point. He always did 
on this day of the year. 

Sighing dejectedly, Miss Parker gracefully stepped out of her shoes and headed toward her 
bedroom to change. It took only a few minutes to return the sleek black suit to her closet and don 
blue jeans and a simple cotton shirt. Leaving her feet bare, Miss Parker wandered aimlessly into 
the kitchen and poured herself the last cup of coffee from the carafe on the counter. 

After reheating the brew in the microwave, Miss Parker took her mug and returned to the 
livingroom. With a shrug, she took her briefcase and curled up on the couch to complete some 
paperwork.

Just as she was about to begin, Miss Parker shook her head in determination. Slamming a folder 
back into her case she grumbled to herself, "No." she hissed to the empty room. "I will not treat 
this like any other Sunday."

Hopping up from her seat Miss Parker folded her arms across her chest angrily and began to 
pace. She had always needed to feel close to her mother on this day of the year. She needed to 
wallow in the memories of a kind and gentle woman who had loved her so completely. Having 
recently learned that her mother had not died on this particular day made no difference to Miss 
Parker. In her mind, April thirteenth would always mark that loss in her life. 

Chewing anxiously at her bottom lip, Miss Parker tried to think of some way to find that lost 
connection with her mother. Sudden inspiration sent her to the bookshelf where Miss Parker 
found an old family album. Sitting in an easy chair, Miss Parker flipped pages like an automaton. 
The flat glossy images seemed as false and empty as the barren graves at the cemetery.

Tossing the album onto the table, Miss Parker frowned. She stuffed her hands into the back 
pockets of her jeans in irritation. The fingertips of her right hand struck a hard thin object. Pulling 
the bit of metal from her pocket, the stunned woman stared in wonder at the key she now held in 
the palm of her hand.

Miss Parker hadn't realized that she was carrying this particular key. But concentrating on the 
object now, she recognized the fact that it had been in her pocket for several days. She had 
automatically transferred the key from one article of apparel to another without thought.

With the key in one hand, Miss Parker padded through the house to the dining room. She spent 
several long minutes frowning intently at the pale wooden door with the lock that would match this 
key.

Thomas Gates, dead for nearly three years now, had placed this door in the wall. The wall had 
once blocked off the next room, a studio where, as a child, Miss Parker had spent many hours 
with her mother. Thomas had been doing some repairs in the house and had discovered the 
hidden room.

Gentle soul that he was, Thomas had not been put off by Miss Parker's violent reaction to the 
room. Rather than replace the wall as she had demanded, he had put up the door. After much 
debate, Tommy had led a tearful Parker into the room one night. 

The experience had been a heart wrenching one for Miss Parker. Thomas had managed to get 
passed many of Parker's emotional defenses. But ultimately, she had been frightened by the 
intensity of her feelings. A deeply suppressed need to be comforted and protected had surged 
through her. 

In a reflexive act of self-defense, Miss Parker had shied away from such weakness. She had 
altered the comforting embrace with the handyman into a deeply passionate kiss. Rather than 
reveal the hidden vulnerability of her personality, Parker had turned the moment into a sexual 
encounter. She and Tommy had made love for the first time in the darkened studio.

Miss Parker hadn't set foot in the room since. 

She supposed that Tommy's death should have been one more reason to stay away from her 
mother's studio. But Miss Parker had finally learned to accept Tommy's fate. She had loved the 
dark haired handy man deeply. He had made her realize how hard her heart had become over 
the years and had helped her to soften it. Parker would never forget him, but she had learned to 
let him go. 

She'd never let go of her mother. 

Desperate to find the solace of her mother's spirit, Miss Parker slid the key into the lock and 
opened the door.

Sunshine filled the room, shooting beams of light through thick layers of floating dust. A huge bay 
window was centered in the far wall. The cushioned seat at the base of the window had paled 
over the years, bleached by the sun. An easel stood sentinel in one corner, as though waiting 
patiently for its artist to return. The rest of the room was empty. 

The bare walls were dotted with lonely nails and squares of color a single shade darker that the 
rest of the wall, evidence of the paintings that had once hung there.

Miss Parker silently crossed the room and sat gingerly on the window seat. She opened the 
window using the crank at her side in an attempt to air out the stuffy dustiness. The view outside 
the window was still glorious. Her well-paid gardener had earned his keep. Smiling gently to 
herself, Parker remembered the many times she had sat in this very spot while her mother 
painted.

She had loved to watch the blank canvasses turn into colorful works of art. Though Miss Parker 
would later learn that her mother's talent was amateurish at best, as a child she'd believed her 
mother to be an incredible artist.

Parker frowned at the empty room for a moment as she tried to remember where all the paintings 
had gone. Another door caught Parker's eye. Located to the left of the one Parker had just come 
through, this door was narrower than most and the panel was dark with age.

Parker stood and clasped the knob in one hand. When it opened effortlessly, she was mildly 
surprised. She had expected the door to be locked. Sitting on the floor of the closet, stacked 
carefully against the wall, were dozens of canvasses. 

Grinning like a child who has just found a treasure, Miss Parker pulled out one of the paintings 
and held it in the sunlight. It was a still life image of a vase full of flowers. The edges of the 
painting were thick with dust but the colors were still vibrant and alive. 

Setting the first painting against the wall, Miss Parker retrieved another from the closet. This one 
had a wooden frame, evidently having once earned the right to be displayed. The garden scene 
Parker had just witnessed through the window had been duplicated in this picture.

Miss Parker spent the next hour looking through the many paintings her mother had created over 
the years. Her clothes were dirty and her bare feet were dusty when she came across a painting 
she remembered. 

Parker's eyes welled with tears and she laughed sadly as she gazed at it. This particular picture 
had hung beside the window seat for as long as Parker could remember. Her mother had painted 
this shortly after her daughter's birth. Her mother had often told Parker stories about this picture, 
but Parker's favorite story had always been about why her mother had painted it.

"I was so eager to meet you, darling," her mother would say. "There were so many stories that I 
wanted to share with you. I painted this so that I could remember the best of them."

The painting was a conglomeration of fairy tale creatures. Somewhat cartoonish in nature, the 
canvass was filled with colorful characters dancing in a playground surrounded by an enchanted 
forest. The forest was obviously magical because the trees all had smiling faces and twinkling 
eyes. 

In the center of the painting, a man-sized frog dressed in royal clothing and a crown, kicked huge 
webbed feet in the air as he twirled. To his left, a cat stood on its hind legs playing a violin. A pair 
of cuddly brown bears sat on a blanket beside a picnic basket while a third smaller bear played 
nearby on a merry-go-round. Riding in circles with the baby bear were three pigs and several odd 
looking little dwarves.

A mother duck waddled across the foreground with a trail of ducklings following her webbed prints 
in the grass. At the end of this train was a large black gosling looking decidedly out of place 
amongst the smaller ducks. To the far right was a nervous looking little chicken hiding under an 
umbrella. Coming down the slide was a boy made of gingerbread and a rabbit wearing blue 
trousers and a jacket. 

Flying across the sky was an elfish-like boy in green chasing his shadow. A cow was jumping 
over a grinning moon. Below that, there were three goats munching on green grass and a turtle 
wearing a racing cap.

The only human characters in the scene were two dark haired children, a boy and a girl, riding the 
see-saw with gleeful smiles on their cherubic faces.

Miss Parker sat down in the window seat and reveled in the storybook portrait. Each character 
brought renewed memories of her mother's lilting voice and bedtime fairy tales. Abruptly deciding 
to place the painting back on the wall, Parker turned the frame around to check for a wire to hang 
it from. 

As she turned the object over in her hands, a gentle clacking sound came from within the frame. 
Startled for a moment, Parker tipped the painting to the opposite side. Again she heard the soft 
whisper of something shifting from inside the frame.

Loathe to harm this precious item in any way, Parker shifted the entire thing in her hands one 
more time in an attempt to identify the noise. Laying the frame face down on her lap, Parker 
examined the brown paper backing that had been attached to the canvass. Finally deciding that 
any damage to the frame could be repaired, Parker carefully peeled up one corner of the paper. 
Holding the opening with her fingers, she tilted the painting again.

A small square object, about three inches across, slid passed Parker's fingertips and fluttered to 
the floor at her feet. Setting the painting aside, Parker reached down and picked the object up 
with trembling fingers. 

It was a black and white photograph. The image was of two toddlers sitting in the same window 
seat Parker currently occupied. The first child was a baby girl in a flowered dress. She sat, 
grinning mischievously, with a small sock in one hand. Her little feet were both bare. 

The second child was a dark-haired boy wearing overalls and a striped shirt. Several months 
older than the girl, the pudgy, padded look to his clothes indicated that he was still in diapers. 
Parker guessed that he was no more than eighteen months old. 

The boy was crouched on his haunches, bent over in a contortionist fashion that only toddlers can 
manage. He also had a small sock in his hands. Frowning with intense concentration, his little 
tongue sticking out at the effort, the boy was trying to place the sock on his companion's tiny foot.

Feeling as though she was moving in slow motion, Parker flipped the photograph over and found 
her mother's distinctive handwriting on the back.

"Jarod helps us dress for our birthday party – 01/04/61" the inscription said.

Dazed at her monumental discovery, Parker stared in awe at the image in her hands. Time 
slipped away from her as she gazed in wonder at the two bright-eyed, happy children. 

The sound of a phone ringing from the other room finally snapped Miss Parker out of her trance.

Dashing out of the studio with the photograph still in her hand, Parker ran to the phone. She had 
no idea how long it had been ringing when she grabbed it up and whispered breathlessly, 
"Jarod?"

"That's a dangerous way to answer your phone, Parker." A deep throaty voice purred. "What if it 
had been your brother calling instead of me?"

"Jarod." Parker sighed.

Seeming to sense some of her distress, Jarod asked, "What's wrong?" 

Closing her eyes, Parker tried to calm her racing thoughts enough to be coherent. "Oh my God." 
She said, her voice wavering. "Jarod, you are not going to believe what I just found."


--


End Part 1

Disclaimer: See Part 1. 06/08/03

The King and the Pawn
Part 2 - Puzzles
By Phenyx

-

The sun was just beginning to set in the west when there was a knock at the front door. 

"Damn." Parker grumbled around the finger she had stuck in her mouth.

She was in no mood for company. Having spent the last several hours meticulously searching 
every painting from the closet, Parker was disheveled and filthy. None of the other paintings had 
seemed to contain foreign objects. But in order to be sure, she had used a sharp knife to cut open 
the backing of all the framed canvasses.

Parker had found no more photographs, no messages from her mother. She had succeeded only 
in slicing her finger, which was now bleeding. Pulling the finger from her mouth, Parker tried to 
inspect the damage but blood immediately began to well from the cut again, making it impossible 
to see the wound.

The knock at the front door was repeated and Parker stomped toward it. 

"I'm coming, damn you." She hollered. 

Peeking through the aperture in the door, Parker gasped when she realized the identity of her 
visitor. Throwing open the door she hissed, "Are you insane? You can't just waltz up to my front 
door in broad daylight!"

"Good afternoon, Ma'am. My name is Jarod and I have an incredible offer to share with you 
today. I represent the Kirby vacuum cleaner company and if you have a few minutes I'd like to 
show you the last vacuum you'll ever need to purchase." The tall lean man said seriously.

Miss Parker glared at him. "Jarod, you don't have any vacuum cleaner."

The athletically built, dark-haired man suddenly grinned, his handsome features brightening with 
mischievous glee. "I knew I was forgetting something." He snickered.

"For pity's sake get in here before someone sees you." Parker growled, stepping aside to let him 
pass.    

Slamming the door closed once Jarod had entered, Miss Parker turned the deadbolt. As she slid 
the chain lock into place, she bumped her bleeding finger against the copper fastener.

"Damn," she muttered again shoving the offending appendage back into her mouth.   

"Parker, you're bleeding," Jarod frowned.

"Brilliant, Sherlock," she groused. "No wonder they call you genius."

"What happened?" Jarod asked.

Parker glared at him. "I cut myself," she growled. She stormed into the kitchen and held the 
bleeding finger under the tap, letting cool water wash away the dust and grime on her hands.

"How did you manage that?" Jarod asked as he followed her.

"With a knife, you idiot," Parker snarled.

With a sigh, Jarod stepped over to the sink and gently pulled Parker's hand from under the water. 
"Let me see it," he said softly when she glared at him.

Parker nodded reluctantly.

Jarod took a paper towel from the rack nearby and wrapped it firmly around her finger. Grasping 
the wound, Jarod held the makeshift bandage tightly.

"Ouch." Parker frowned.

"I need to apply pressure to stop the bleeding," Jarod said. "Is the first aid kit still in the 
bathroom?"

"Yes," Parker hissed. 

Still holding her hand firmly, Jarod led Parker through the house to the master bathroom. He 
opened a cupboard and retrieved the items he needed without hesitation.

Glaring angrily, Miss Parker said, "You could at least have the manners to act like you don't know 
my house as well as I do."

Jarod grinned crookedly at her. "I spend too much of my life pretending. Besides, I would never 
try to deceive you in any way, Miss Parker."

Parker scoffed. "You couldn't fool me. I'd see right through your charade."

Gazing seriously into Miss Parker's eyes Jarod tilted his head and murmured, "I don't doubt that 
one bit. You know me too well."

Jarod shrugged and bent over Parker's wounded hand. Peeling away the blood spotted paper 
towel, Jarod gingerly inspected the cut. "It isn't so bad," he commented. "You don't need stitches."

"Good." Parker sighed. 

With a smirk, Jarod glanced up at her. "If I said you did need stitches, would you go to the E.R.?"

"Probably not," Parker admitted slyly.

Jarod chuckled softly as he cleaned the rest of the blood away, liberally applied antibiotic 
ointment and tightly bandaged Miss Parker's finger.

Inspecting the neat job when he'd finished, Miss Parker said, "Nice work. Thanks."

Jarod bowed tauntingly at her. "We aim to please, Ma'am. Now about that vacuum cleaner,"

"Shut up, Jarod," Parker moaned as she walked back toward the livingroom.

Jarod followed. "Got it. No vacuums." He grinned playfully at the glare Miss Parker threw over her 
shoulder. "Well then, can I see the photograph?"

Parker went to the studio where she'd left the photo sitting on the window seat. Handing the 
picture to Jarod she said, "I was looking through my mother's old paintings and found this 
between the canvas and the backing."

Jarod took the image as she offered it to him and slowly sat on the cushioned seat as he looked 
at the picture for the first time. Parker watched his reaction closely. For a moment he just blinked 
silently as though he expected the square of paper to vanish. Then a grin began to spread across 
his face. 

Glancing at the woman standing at his side, Jarod said, "You were a cute baby, Miss Parker."

"All babies are cute, Jarod," she answered indulgently sitting carefully beside him.

Jarod laughed. "I guess we've known each other longer than we thought."

Parker shrugged. "I suppose there is the possibility that those are two different children. Or that 
could be you and some other little girl."

The pretender raised his eyebrows at her skeptically. "It has been my experience that Jarod is not 
a terribly popular name. And there are various ways of spelling it. The probability that this little 
boy happens to share my name without being me is highly unlikely. Even more unlikely would be 
your mother having a picture of some other little girl who just happens to share your birthday."

"I have no doubt that this is a picture of the two of us as babies. I just thought I should mention it 
is possible that I could be wrong," Parker said.

For several long minutes they sat in silence studying the photograph. After a time Jarod 
whispered, "May I have a copy of this?" Parker glanced at him questioningly and he shrugged 
sadly. "I have no baby pictures, Parker."

Parker nodded in understanding. 

Jarod shook his head and laughed softly. "Its hard to imagine," he said. "You and I sitting together 
in this window, in this very spot, so many years ago. What does it mean?"

"I don't know," Parker said.

"Were my parents here with me?" Jarod asked. 

"I don't know," Miss Parker repeated. "You know just as much as I do about it."

Jarod frowned. "In which painting did you find it hidden?"

Parker reached over and drew the storybook painting toward her. Showing the colorful artwork to 
Jarod she watched him smile delightedly. His laughter was much like Parker's had sounded when 
she'd first seen the painting again this morning.

"I recognize some of these characters," the pretender exclaimed. "That's Peter Pan."

A grin broke out on Miss Parker's face. "It figures that you would know about the boy who never 
grew up."

The two of them grinned ridiculously at each other for a moment. When Jarod looked back to the 
painting he asked, "I don't understand the poultry." 

Parker snickered. Pointing to the ducks she said, "This is the story of the ugly duckling. The black 
one on the end isn't a duck at all. It's a swan."

Jarod frowned, tilting his head in concentration. "What about the chick with the umbrella?"

"Chicken Little." Parker replied. "Something fell on her head, an acorn I think, and she over-
reacted. She thought the sky was falling."

Studying the pictures intently, Jarod gently brushed his fingertips across each colorful character. 
"Who are the children on the see-saw?"

Parker shrugged. "I always assumed that they were Hansel and Gretel."

At Jarod's questioning glance, Parker explained further. "Hansel and Gretel were left in the woods 
by their father because he couldn't support them. Lost and wandering in the forest they come 
across a house made of candy."

"Candy?" Jarod smiled.

Parker nodded. "Except a witch lives in the house. She locks them up and tries to eat them."

"That's a terrible story!" Jarod grumbled.

"It ends happily," Parker assured him. "They shove the witch into the oven, find their father and 
live in the candy house with plenty to eat."

"Cannibalism, murder, abandonment and starvation do not make for a good children's story if you 
ask me," Jarod said.

"I didn't write it Jarod," Parker chuckled. "I'm just repeating an ages old story."

Frowning, Jarod held the painting up for Parker to see. "Do you notice anything odd about this 
picture?" He asked.

Parker blinked in surprise. "No. I've known that picture all my life."

"Don't you think that the positioning of each character seems very… deliberate some how?" He 
said.

"What are you saying Jarod?" Miss Parker asked warningly.

Excitement brightened Jarod's eyes. "What if this means something?" Jarod asked. "What if this 
painting is actually some kind of map or a puzzle that needs to be deciphered?"

"Really?" Parker asked, flabbergasted.

Jarod shrugged. "I'm not sure. But my gut is telling me that this is important. This is very 
important somehow."

-

Some part of Jarod's mind knew that he was asleep. He'd sat in the studio in Parker's house for 
hours, staring at the colorful painting. He'd tried to imagine himself in the playground, riding the 
merry-go-round and the slide. He'd even made Parker bring him a ruler so that he could measure 
different aspects of the painting in an attempt to find some kind of pattern.

But hours had gone by and it had gotten dark. Parker had carried a lamp from another room so 
that Jarod could see. The pretender had racked his brain in an attempt to figure out what this 
painting was trying to say to him. Frustration crept into his mind to distract him. 

Parker eagerly did her best to help him. But her enthusiasm only made matters worse. Jarod 
knew that Miss Parker was counting on him. She was depending on him to discover the hidden 
meaning in the fairy tale painting. The possibility of letting her down was crushing.

Jarod had used his calming exercises to overcome his frustration. One must have a clear mind in 
order to think clearly, Sydney had always said.

The pretender's deep breathing had worked. He had relaxed so completely that somewhere 
along the way he'd drifted to sleep, not even realizing that he had succeeded in achieving a form 
of self-hypnosis. 

As a result, while one small part of his mind was aware that he lay curled on his side in the 
window seat, the rest of his consciousness was running through a mist shrouded forest. Jarod 
was running but he wasn't afraid. He ran through the fog happily, gleefully following the sound of 
a child's laughter.

Giggles surrounded him as Jarod dashed through the trees. His own voice bubbled in his ears as 
he laughed as well. 

"This way, Jarod," a soft voice lilted through the mist. "Look this way." 

Changing direction, Jarod now followed the soothing sound of a woman's voice. The voice sang a 
melody he knew all too well.

"Cree craw toad's foot geese walk barefoot," the voice sang. "Sing with me, Jarod. Sing with me. 
Cree craw toad's foot geese walk barefoot."

Jarod opened his mouth but the deep timber of his voice was gone, replaced by the lisp of a 
young child. "Cree craw toad foots geese walks bare foot."  

Jarod suddenly found himself in a large room that resembled the studio in Miss Parker's house. 
But this room was huge compared to the one he's fallen asleep in. He abruptly felt himself flying 
in the air, twirling around and around as warm, safe arms danced him around the room.

"I knew you could do it, Jarod," the soft voice surrounded him. "You sweet baby. Promise me that 
you'll never forget."

Jarod blinked at the woman holding him in her arms. He was tired and he very much wanted to 
put his thumb in his mouth. But he had promised to be a good boy while his mommy and daddy 
were away. Mommy had told him that if he was very good, they would bring Jarod a brother or 
sister. 

But he had to be good and not cry or suck his thumb like babies. He wasn't a baby anymore. 

"Sing with me again, Jarod." the woman said. 

Jarod obliged, his young voice calling out the words like a little parrot. "Cree craw toad foots 
geese walks bare foot."

"What a remarkable boy you are," she whispered. "Now you won't forget what Auntie Catherine 
taught you, right? Don't ever forget," she said, pointing to a painting with frogs and cows and 
piggies and ducks.

"That's you Jarod," the woman said. "That's you in the picture. Don't forget. Be a good boy and 
don't ever forget. That is you sitting right above the secret place." 

"I'm a good boy," Baby Jarod vowed. He was being good. Maybe Mommy and Daddy would 
come back soon with a little brother. A brother would be better than a sister for Jarod had realized 
earlier today that girls didn't like to play trucks with him. Girls cried and sucked their thumbs. 

Bouncing excitedly in the woman's arms Jarod sang for her once more, for good measure, "Cree 
craw toads foot geese walk barefoot."

The woman smiled gloriously. "Good boy. Mommy and Daddy will be so proud of you."

"Mommy?" Jarod asked hopefully.

"Not yet, precious," the woman soothed. "She isn't back yet."

Jarod sighed and put his head on the woman's shoulder. He was tired. He didn't want to wait 
anymore. He wanted his mommy and daddy. But it took a long time to get a baby, Jarod knew. 

Daddy had told Jarod all about getting a baby. Mommy had to go to the place where Jarod had 
gotten stitches in his chin. You had to go to that scary place and wait and wait for your turn to see 
the people with the lollipops. But instead of getting stitches, Mommy would get a baby and bring it 
home for Jarod.

"She'll be back soon, precious," the woman cooed. She rocked Jarod back and forth as she 
whispered into his ear. "Don't forget, Jarod. Don't forget."

- 

"Jarod?"

Snapping awake with a violent start, Jarod nearly tumbled off of the window seat. Miss Parker 
crouched beside him, her hair still damp from a recent shower.

"Jarod," Parker called firmly. "You're okay. It's only me."

Taking deep breaths, Jarod closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "How long have I been asleep?" 
he asked.

Parker shrugged. "A couple of hours. It's nearly midnight."

Running his hands through his hair Jarod stood and paced across the room.

"Are you okay?" Parker asked gently.

Jarod shook his head. "I can't figure it out, Parker," he sighed. "I know that painting is important. I 
can remember your mother telling me how important it is."

Parker stood and folded her arms. "You remember the painting?"

"Yes," the pretender whispered. "Until now, all I had remembered was the song. That stupid 
song."

Parker waited for Jarod to go on.

"For some reason I thought that my mother had taught it to me," he said.

Parker frowned. "Didn't she?"

"No," Jarod replied, shaking his head. "It was your mother."

"I don't understand," Parker said.

Jarod slumped down onto the cushioned seat. "I was here while my mother was in the hospital 
giving birth, to Kyle I guess."

"Your parents must have known mine pretty well, to leave you here like that," Parker said 
thoughtfully.

Jarod nodded. "One would assume. But I get the feeling that your father wasn't here."

"It wasn't usual for my mother to come up here in the middle of winter," Parker mused. "Maybe 
she brought us here rather than staying at the house with my father."

"Two toddlers would have been a nuisance to him," Jarod agreed.
  
 "Jarod," Parker hesitated. "Is the painting a message of some kind?"

Jarod nodded. "Your mother said that I was in the painting, sitting over the secret place. But I 
don't understand the significance of the seesaw. I just can't figure it out." He growled angrily.

"You'll do it," Parker said confidently. "I know you will." 

Jarod sighed.

"Tell you what," Parker suggested. "Let's get something to eat. Walk away from it for a little 
while."

Parker managed to get Jarod out of the room for all of about twenty minutes. She made him a 
fried egg sandwich, a delicacy Jarod had never tried, that he gulped down in three huge bites. 
Once she made him a second one, he took the sandwich and wandered back to the studio, 
munching away as he walked.

Parker quickly turned off the stove and hurried after the troubled pretender. She found him sitting 
cross-legged on the floor. The painting was propped up on the window seat so that Jarod had to 
look up to see it. 

When he noticed her questioning look, Jarod explained, "Maybe a change of perspective will 
help. When I saw it as a baby, I would have been looking at it from this angle."

Curling her legs up beneath her, Parker sat down beside Jarod on the floor. They sat together in 
silence staring at the painting.

After a time Parker asked, "What did my mother tell you about the painting exactly?"

Jarod sighed. "She said that I was in the painting. That I'm sitting above the secret place."

"Nothing else?"  Parker asked hopefully.

"Nothing," Jarod whined. "She just kept telling me not to forget. That I was sitting above the secret 
place and don't ever… " Jarod's face suddenly fell and his mouth dropped open in surprise.

"What?" Parker whispered.

"Idiot!" Jarod exclaimed, jumping up from the floor. "You stupid idiot!"

"What?" Parker cried.

Eyes flashing with excitement, Jarod frantically began searching his pockets. "She didn't say 
painting," Jarod said excitedly. "She said 'picture'. It's me in the picture and I'm sitting above the 
secret place."

Slowly pulling the photograph from his shirt pocket, Jarod held it out to Miss Parker. The two 
babies sat in the bay window totally ignorant of the misery looming in their futures. As if on cue 
Jarod and Miss Parker both turned toward the window seat as realization dawned on them both. 

Scrambling across the floor they knelt in front of the wooden bench. Parker carefully lifted the 
painting aside as Jarod began tapping with his knuckles on the wooden outer surface of the 
window seat.

"It is hollow," he said, his eyes twinkling merrily.

Parker grinned. "Kick it in," she demanded.

"Wait," Jarod cautioned. He spent several moments inspecting the cushioned bench. Along the 
back edge, he found old coppery hinges tarnished with age. With his fingers, he tried to open the 
compartment to no avail. "It's nailed shut. Get me a hammer."

Parker dashed away, returning only moments later with a hammer and a long heavy screwdriver.

"Stand back," Jarod warned as he placed the screwdriver between the boards and whacked at it 
with the hammer. After a minute or two of prying at the sturdy old nails, they finally gave way with 
a shriek and the cushioned seat flew open.

Inside the dark chest they found only a metal box about the size of a large shoebox. The tiny lock 
was merely a formality as Jarod easily pounded it open with the hammer.

Giggling at each other in triumph, Jarod tilted the box to reveal its contents to Miss Parker. It was 
a very old, leather bound book, worn soft with use. Engraved on the cover along the bottom of the 
book was the name "E. J. Parker"

Jarod carefully lifted the book out of its metal case and flipped through the pages. Each page was 
covered with neat handwritten script. Only the last handful of pages were blank. As Jarod came to 
the end of the book, an envelope made of high quality paper slipped from within and dropped to 
the floor. 

Parker crouched and picked up the envelope. A chill of foreboding raced down her spine as she 
read the words on the front.

"The last will and testament of Eugene Jarod Parker," she read aloud.

Jarod swallowed. "I have bad feeling about this, Parker," he said as he handed the leather bound 
volume over to her. 

Parker didn't respond, choosing instead to inspect the book in her hands. She turned it over and 
over, feeling its smoothness before she finally worked up the courage to open it. She was aware 
of Jarod nearly pressing against her back as he leaned over her shoulder to see the first page 
with her.

"February 19th, 1899" was written at the top of the page. 

The first paragraph read, "I am Eugene Jarod Parker. Most everyone who knew me called me 
Gene. At least that is who I was, before that life ended. My mother and my brothers and sister are 
all dead, and all who knew me believe me dead with them. I am fifteen years of age and this is 
the tale of my journey to America."

- 

End Part 2




Disclaimer: See Part 1-06/08/03

The King and the Pawn 
Part 3 –The Journal of E.J. Parker
By Phenyx


-

February 19th, 1899-

I am Eugene Jarod Parker. Most everyone who knew me called me Gene. At least that is who I 
was, before that life ended. My mother and my brothers and sister are all dead, and all who knew 
me believe me dead with them. I am fifteen years of age and this is the tale of my journey to 
America.

I am not sure where to start my story for there is so much to tell. Yet I am told that the trip by boat 
to shores of the U.S. will take nearly two weeks so it would seem that I have plenty of time. I find 
myself bunked in cargo class and we are packed in the space like sardines in a can. But my 
space is dry and I have simple rations that should last for the entire trip. The book I write in now 
seems to be an unheard of luxury among my traveling companions. Some call me Plato, in 
deference to my education. 

Father Theo taught me to read and to write as he did with many of the children on the isle were I 
was born. I swore to him that I would never neglect my studies. I guess it is for him that I write my 
thoughts down now. For Father Theo and my sister Angel I dedicate this tale.

The good father would berate me if he could see these ramblings, now. Organize your thoughts 
boy! He would tell me. Don't waste fine paper with dawdling scratches. You are creating 
literature! Treat your knowledge with respect. 

He's been dead for a year now and thoughts of him still bring sorrow to my heart.

I shall begin my story with the day my life changed. 

I was a normal enough boy before that night. I was the eldest of seven children and I had many 
responsibilities. Marcus and Harold, younger than me by two and three years respectively, were 
in constant need of brotherly supervision. I used to trick them into doing my chores for me. We 
often tussled in the yard. How I miss them.

Maggie, sometimes called Angel by those who truly loved her, was the lone girl among us 
children. She was only nine but she carried a spark of divinity in her. Maggie had an angelic 
beauty that would have one day turned her into an amazing woman if only she'd been given the 
chance. By far the smartest of us all, it was her warning that alerted me to danger that night. She 
was the angel who saved me from the fire though she could not save herself. 

Colin, half my age then, was a typical seven-year-old. He and Percy, at five, used to follow us 
older boys around like puppies nipping at our ankles. I remember the time that Harry and I drew 
spots on their faces while Colin and Percy slept. We told them that they had grown freckles 
during the night for fibbing to our mother. Lord how we laughed!

Little Robin was one month shy of his third birthday. Such a sweet and affectionate tot, Robby 
loved it when I would grab his hands and spin him high in the air. He would squeal and giggle 
until he got hiccups, then Momma would grin while she scolded us both. I spent so little time with 
Robby, too wrapped up in boyish things to be bothered by my baby brother. What wouldn't I give 
to hear that tinkling laughter one more time?

Even after so many months, the wounds left on me by their deaths are fresh and raw. I miss my 
brothers. I have failed my only sister. I want my mother to rouse me from my sleep and tell me 
this has all been a bad dream. 

I want to go home.

Instead I shall chase the solace of sleep. Perhaps I can find little Robby waiting for me in my 
dreams and we can play together for a while. – I write no more tonight.

-

February 21, 1899 –

It was a year ago today that my father set fire to our house and burned our family to death. 

I stare at these words I have just written and I am amazed. How can such a catastrophic change 
in one's life be defined by so simple a sentence? 

Yet it is true, my father set out to kill us all that night. I suppose that he succeeded in a way, for 
the boy that I had been died in that house with his brothers. As I hid among the trees behind our 
home, the screams from within the flames were like daggers, cutting the last of childhood away 
from my soul.

I was helpless to save them. 

Angel had tried to warn me just before supper. She had run in to the house, clutching her doll to 
her chest as though she had seen a ghost. She told me to keep my eyes and ears open, for she 
felt that a curse was about to befall us. She seemed so frightened, so serious, that I dared not 
disbelieve her.

"Go to Father Theo." She said. "If anything bad happens we must go to Father Theo."

My little sister had been so convincing about the danger we were in, that I did not retire for the 
night. I sat, fully clothed, in the doorway of the room I shared with Marc and Harry. But Father 
must have put something in our food for try as I might, I could not stay awake.

Screams from downstairs finally roused me but by then, there were flames all around. I rushed to 
my two brothers and dragged them from their beds. We huddled together in the middle of the 
room as the fire grew around us. I was forced to shoulder through a burning wall in order to reach 
the hallway. The small round window at the end of the hall led to the back yard and salvation.

Marc was too frightened to attempt the jump from the second story to the ground. I went first and 
tried to coax him and Harry down. They hesitated for a moment too long. I remember yelling at 
them, screaming. But the roof collapsed and they were gone.

I began to run, frantically searching for help. When I saw my father standing in front of the house, 
I stood dumbfounded. He was wearing a cloak and a satchel sat on the ground at his feet. He 
looked as though he was headed for the mainland on an ordinary business trip.

But there was an unholy light in his eyes. A grin of pure malice darkened his face. In one hand he 
held a torch and as I watched, he tossed it into the burning house. He turned, perhaps sensing 
my presence. As if by instinct, I dropped to the ground, cringing in the tall grass like a frightened 
rabbit.

It was many long minutes that I lay there, too frightened to move. When I finally summoned the 
courage to look about, my father was gone.

I ran.

I ran as though demons were after me. Perhaps they were.

Remembering Angel's warning, I fled through the woods toward the abbey. Father Theo 
welcomed me, ushering me into the church with a strong shoulder to lean on. I managed to tell 
him what had happened and shockingly, he believed me. 

I think that perhaps Angel had warned him as well.

"You must hide, Eugene." Father Theo told me. "Your father must not find you here."

I told Father Theo that my father probably thought I was dead along with the rest of my family. 

Father Theo felt I would be safer if others thought I'd perished as well. 

I began to weep.

The dear priest put an affectionate arm around my shoulders. I shall never forget what he said 
next. "The devil walks the isle this night Eugene," he told me. "I'm afraid you've no time for grief. 
You must go on. Survive. For if you fail, the last spark of goodness in the Parker line will be 
forever extinguished."  

He hugged me tightly then. "All the goodness and light that was in your brothers and your sister 
has only you to carry it forward. You must not let them down."

I swore to him that I would do my best. Father Theo then wrapped me in a warm blanket and bid 
me hide among the rafters in the bell tower. He would go and gather some things for me. Bring 
me a few coins from the poor box.

I waited for what seemed an eternity, shivering and sniffling in pain. When the door to the room 
opened again, Father Theo returned but he was not alone. The manner of the priest's speech and 
demeanor told me to stay hidden in my spot. I froze in terror as I realized that it was my father 
trailing into the tower with him.

My father was furious, growling threats and obscenities at the priest. Unaware of my presence, 
my father evidently felt no need to mince his words. He wanted Father Theo to give him 
something. My father knew that Angel had come to the church this afternoon and he believed she 
had given something of great value to Father Theo.

When it became apparent that the priest would be of no help, my father went into a rage. Roaring 
with anger my father grabbed the priest by his robes. Before I realized what was happening, he 
tossed Father Theo from the bell tower.

I fled through the night. The image of Father Theo's bloody, broken body on the stone steps of 
the chapel will forever haunt me.

I remember little of the next few days. I think that I may have gone mad for a time. I managed to 
sneak onto the ferry and escape the isle. I continued to travel by night, stumbling through my 
tears as I headed south toward London. I hid from others, crouching in the weeds at the roadside 
as they passed. 

It was full spring when I finally reached that great city. To this day I don't know how I managed it. I 
was little more than skin and bones by then. But London was a good place to hide. There were 
many lost and wandering souls in the gutters of Whitechapel. It is a good place to lose one's self. 
It is a good place to become someone new.

-

March 2, 1899-

Who knew that sorrow could be such an exhausting burden? It has taken nearly a week to write 
this much. For all these months, I have thought of nothing but survival and earning enough 
money to afford passage on this ship. These long buried recollections of my loss are heavy. The 
toils of my pen exhaust me even more than the chore of mopping out this section of the ship. 

I have made friends with the steward on this deck. He gives me a nickel a day to perform many of 
his lesser duties. With me at his chores, he has time to dally among the rich ladies in the dining 
room. Who am I to say that he should not pretend to be the first mate? He is a handsome and 
witty American. The girls fawn over him. And I get 35 cents a week out of the deal. 

Yesterday, he got lucky. Whatever that means. But he shared his good humor with me by giving 
me an apple that he'd swiped from one of the cabins. Forbidden fruit never tasted so sweet.    

But I digress. 

Once I had reached London, I spent some days learning my way around. I discovered the best 
ways to obtain food and found the driest places to sleep. Father Theo's gift of literacy became a 
marked advantage. Reading is a talent much desired among the poor.

My ability to read landed me a job in a grocer's shop. I would be summoned to fine houses and 
given a list of desired goods. I would run the lists back to Mr. Talbot's store collect all the items 
and deliver everything requested. I prided myself on quick and courteous service. All the tips 
were mine to keep.

It was by mere chance that I came upon a rather profitable enterprise. Each morning, Mr. Talbot 
sent me to the Quarter with the hard and moldy three-day-old loaves. There I would sell them to 
the wretched for a tuppence. If I sold them all, Mr. Talbot would give me a percentage of the 
sales. 

The rolls were hardly edible until I realized that a pat of butter would be a great improvement. My 
own mother churned butter almost daily in my old rural home, so I was ignorant of its perceived 
fanciness among my new neighbors. Unbeknownst to Mr. Talbot, I purchased a half-pound of 
butter, sliced it into thin pats and sold them for ha'penny each. I made a tidy profit from my 
invested purchase as well as the percentage from Mr. Talbot.

In this manner, I managed to scrounge up enough money to secure passage on this ship.

I'm not quite sure when I decided to go to America. But all my funds were budgeted toward that 
goal. I am told that there is so much land in the new world that they practically give it away. 
Hardworking men can go from rags to riches with nothing more than a strong back and a little 
ingenuity.

That is where I will build a new life, a life that my mother and my siblings would be proud of. A life 
of which even Father Theo would approve. 

Dark nights on this ship are the worst. Bunked below deck as we are, when the lights are doused 
for the night, we are engulfed in a total blackness. It is as black as the grave. God curse me for 
the coward that I am but the totality of it frightens me. 

I am so very lonely. Sometimes, I swear that I hear sweet Angel's voice whispering to me in the 
dark. I strain to understand her words, but I cannot. 


March 5, 1899 – 

Lenny has helped me sneak on deck. As steward, he is permitted this privilege. 

I now stand in the sunshine, a cold sea breeze blowing in my face. I can see the dark outline of 
New York rising out of the horizon. Shining like a beacon in the harbor I can see the copper 
statue that marks our destination. 

I am so excited that I can barely hold my pen. I even find that I am smiling. For the first time since 
the fire, I can smile.

Lenny has boxed my ears to reduce my enthusiasm. Ellis is a hard place he says. He warns me 
that the guards will take my journal if they see it. The leather binding and blank sheets could be 
worth half a dollar. I will need to hide anything worth keeping or it will be stolen. Put nothing in my 
shoes but my feet, Lenny says, for that is where the guards will search first.
 
According to Lenny, many of us will be given new names. The bookkeepers are weary and over 
worked. They have no desire to stumble over troublesome spellings. The thought occurs to me 
that I can choose any name I wish. Once it goes into the book that is who I will become.

I must go and gather my things. The shore grows close.

-

March 9, 1899 –

New York is much like London. People throng in the streets. The poor and bedraggled jostle 
down the same walkways used by the rich. Last night, I slept in the doorway of a warehouse 
much like the one I left in England. I had a fistfight with another boy who tried to bully me out of 
the spot.

I am Gene Parker, now. That is the name that the recorder placed in his book.

I deliberated about a name for the entire two days that we waited in line. Father Theo's last words 
to me finally clinched my decision. I must carry on in the name of my brothers and my sister. I 
must carry their name. I cannot erase them from my life or from my memory.    

There are too many newcomers on these streets. Too few jobs to go around. I will make my way 
down the coast until I find a job. With a little luck I can find an apprenticeship as a typesetter or a 
journalist. Both are successful and well-respected professions.

The story of my journey to America is ended. I have reached a new world that beckons to me. I 
feel the darkness of the past twelve months beginning to slip away. 

The hole it has left in me will never truly heal. But I will survive.

-
-

August 19, 1934 –

Many years have passed since my last entry in this book. I had thought the horror over, confined 
to the occasional nightmare. Over the past thirty years, even the dreams had slipped away to 
almost nothing.

But I was a fool. I deluded myself into believing that good had triumphed. I assumed that evil no 
longer walked among us.

How wrong I was. 

And now, my lovely wife lies alone in our bed upstairs, weeping. My nightmares have returned in 
all their fury. My screams of terror woke both her and the baby. But I refused to talk to her about 
my troubles.

For the first time since we met, I cannot talk to her.

My father comes between us. I've told my wife nothing about my family.

Ruth is a kind and beautiful woman. She had many suitors and could have had her pick of any of 
those younger men. Yet she married me. I was nearly forty-five when we first met. She came to 
me with a children's book for publication. Our attraction for each other was immediate.

But I was a confirmed old bachelor, a well-established and influential man in this town. It was 
unseemly for a man of my stature to court a girl half my age. But my Ruthie is a pistol. Her 
tenacity and brightness of spirit wore me down in the end. Being her husband has been one of 
the great blessings of my life.  

Of all the gifts Ruthie has bestowed upon me, none has been as precious as our child. Our 
daughter is like her mother in many ways. The child's coloring and beauty reflect her mother's 
influence. But my little Maggie has a charm about her, a cleverness and spirit that remind me so 
much of my long lost sister. I often think that my sister's name suits the child so very well.

If I listen carefully, I can hear my Maggie crying too. Seeing her mother's tears frightens her as it 
would any other three-year-old. She does not understand. 

No one can.

Today I learned that my father still lives. I read an article in the newspaper about his recent 
illness. Evidently he runs a rather successful company, no small feat in these hard times. He is 
quite wealthy and politically important. But all his wealth and power cannot protect him from the 
reaper.

He has suffered a stroke. He is dying.

Ruthie doesn't understand my fury. I cannot bear the thought that he may have found peace. Has 
he sought forgiveness from our maker? I pray not. I want him to rot in hell for all of eternity. 

My anger has lain dormant for too long. Its sudden escape from my psyche frightens me as much 
as it does my poor wife.

He has a son, a brother that I have never met.

Does my brother know what our father did? Does he know that his sire is a murderer?

I feel myself drawn toward Delaware. I need to look that old man in the face one last time and 
curse him. I want to rub his nose in his failure. He did not destroy me. I have survived and built a 
life that he would have denied me.

I live and through my child, some part of my siblings will live as well.

-

September 1, 1934-

I have returned home. I came through the front door unannounced and promptly begged Ruthie 
for her forgiveness. 

I told her everything, from the fire on the isle when I was a boy to these last few days when I ran 
off to Delaware. I was calm and deliberate during the telling but burst into tears when I was done.

Blessed woman. Ruthie said not a word but simply opened her arms to me and held me tight. I 
found solace in the safety of her embrace. She let me love her right there in the foyer. She is 
magnificent. 

I don't deserve her. 

Good Lord willing, this is all behind us now. My father is dead. His curse shall die with him. 

I caused much commotion when I arrived at my father's bedside. He recognized me immediately, 
which surprised me some. No one questioned the authenticity of my heritage. My brother was not 
pleased to meet me. The younger man is vile and something is his eyes makes me 
uncomfortable. He is a dangerous being.

I have a nephew. But the boy is just as disturbing as his father. Barely seven-years-old, the child 
insists that everyone call him Mr. Parker. The boy stood, watching his grandfather die, without the 
slightest hint of emotion. It was eerie.

I had my say with the old man. He cursed me just as vehemently as I did him. According to him I 
should have died. I cheated him! The bastard.

I stayed in the room until it was over. I waited while he drew his last breath. Father Theo would be 
disappointed in me for truth be told I stayed to make sure there would be no priest. No last rites, 
no absolution for that devil. 

Then the oddest thing happened. As I left the room, an expensively dressed Black man 
approached me in the hallway. My father's body was not yet cold and here was an attorney with 
the dead man's will in his hand.

Apparently, my father's will leaves all his assets to his eldest living son. No specific name is 
mentioned in the document. I am my father's eldest. Everything is mine. My initial impression is 
that the sums in question are rather sizeable.

I didn't care. I barely registered what the man was saying. I wanted out of that house of death. 
The desire to flee rose in me like a specter from my past. I want nothing from my dead father and 
even less from my coldhearted half-brother. 

When the lawyer stuck a paper under my nose, I signed it automatically and with little thought. I 
was desperate to be away from that place and back home in the arms of my wife.

It was not until I was on the train coming home that I bothered to read my copy of the paper I had 
signed. The document was an affidavit regarding the provisions of my father's will. In essence, 
the paper, signed by witnesses, declares me as my father's sole heir. My signature attests to my 
acknowledgement of this huge endowment and my acceptance of it.

I fear that I may have made a terrible mistake.

I want nothing to do with The Centre. I want nothing built on the evil legacy my father created. I 
don't want his money. 

I never want to set foot in Delaware again.

I have the lawyer's card. I will write to him and see what I need to do to get everything signed 
over to the brother I barely know.

Let him have the legacy he wants so much. Devil take them all.

-

June 30, 1959 –

I have an heir.

My daughter, Margaret, and her Major have gifted me with a grandson on this fine day. They 
have even named the boy after me. I finally convinced Margaret that the name Eugene is too old 
fashioned and snotty for a child these days so they have switched the first and middle names. He 
is Jarod Eugene rather than Eugene Jarod.

He has large curious eyes and a thick tuft of dark black hair. He is quite simply the handsomest 
boy I have ever seen. Even the nurses in the hospital agree. 

I wish Ruthie could have lived long enough to see him. 

I will go to the office tomorrow and have my Will altered. Young Jarod will inherit everything. I will 
leave him all my assets, including the ones I never touch.

I never did sign over The Centre to my half-brother. I'm not sure why. I never read the documents 
he sent me. The checks that roll into bank accounts with my name on them have never been 
touched. Maybe it is some spiteful part of me that does it to anger my dead father's spirit.

One day it will all belong to my grandson. He alone will hold the keys to The Centre. 

Mr. Parker, the odd half-nephew I met at my father's sick bed, runs The Centre now. I know little 
of the man. I wanted nothing to do with any of them. My outrage at the loved ones who were 
stolen from me still clouds my judgment. 

My new grandson will have a clearer head about these matters. He won't have dead brothers 
haunting his decisions. He will not have been robbed of his childhood the way I was. Jarod will be 
better able to cope with the legacy I leave him.

For you Jarod, I leave these final words. They are the same words Father Theo left with me so 
many years ago.  

You must carry on. All the goodness and light that has sprung up in our family has only you to 
carry it forward. 

As I hold you in my arms and gaze into your eyes, I know that you will not let us down.

-

My part in the Parker legacy is done. The rest I leave to you, my beloved grandson.

-

End Part3



Disclaimer: All I'm getting from this is a little bit of fun. No cash is involved, so there are no 
royalties for those who really own the characters. 06/13/03


The King and the Pawn  
Part4 (Reactions)
By Phenyx

-

The remaining pages in the leather bound book were blank.

Miss Parker sat in the window seat opposite Jarod, with her back against one wall. The two of 
them had taken turns during the night reading passages from the journal aloud. They had 
managed to work their way through the entire book and dawn was still nearly an hour away. 

The leather was soft and warm under Miss Parker's fingers as she studied the cover intently. For 
several long moments, she avoided looking at her companion. The discovery of Jarod's true 
origin was as chilling as it was incredible. She was afraid the pretender would not take this 
information well.

But Jarod had been there for her when Parker had discovered her connection to the gruesome 
ancestors on Carthis. It had been Jarod's quiet strength, his curious presence on the plane that 
had kept her from bursting into tears when she learned of her true paternity. Jarod's compassion 
had been her salvation that day. He deserved the same support from her.

Slowing raising her eyes, Miss Parker saw the look of dismay and revulsion on Jarod's face. 
Reacting instinctively, she reached across the space separating them and placed a reassuring 
hand on Jarod's knee. He was trembling.

"Jarod?" she asked carefully. Jarod's face was as white as a sheet and his entire body was 
shaking.

The pretender made a whimpering, strangled sound then he scrambled off the cushioned seat 
and ran from the room. Miss Parker dashed after him.

She heard a door at the end of the hall slam shut. A moment later, Parker could hear Jarod in the 
bathroom, retching. For a full minute, Parker stood on her side of the door while Jarod was 
violently ill. 

When Miss Parker finally turned the knob and stepped into the room, she found Jarod gasping for 
air. He was sitting on the edge of the tub, bent over the commode, clinging to the porcelain as 
though it was a life preserver. 

Fighting for air like a fish out of water, Jarod's eyes were wide with fear. 

Without hesitation, Parker rushed to the sink and ran cold water over a washcloth. "Calm down, 
Jarod." She said. 

She took the cloth and placed it across the back of Jarod's neck as he bowed before her, 
wheezing helplessly.

"Hush," she whispered. "Easy now, Jarod. You're having a panic attack." Stroking her hand 
soothingly down Jarod's back, Miss Parker continued to murmur reassurances to the distraught 
man as he gasped.

Holding the cool cloth to Jarod's neck with one hand and squeezing his shoulders with the other, 
Miss Parker said, "You will be all right, Jarod. Concentrate on breathing. Calm down. You'll be 
fine. Just calm down."

As the minutes passed, Jarod's wheezing eased. Panting breaths finally turned into heavy sighs.

"Are you okay?" Parker asked softly.

Fear and shock morphed suddenly into anger and Jarod lashed out at the only person available. 

"No!" He yelled furiously as he sprang to his feet. "I am NOT okay. Do you have any idea what 
has just happened? Do you know what my life has just become?"

Calmly blinking up at him from her seat on edge of the tub, Miss Parker said sadly, "Yes, Jarod. I 
think I have a pretty clear understanding of how you feel right now."

Her words, spoken so softly, froze Jarod in his tracks. For a moment he simply stared at her. 
Then without another sound, Jarod turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. When the 
back door slammed shut, Parker sighed and wiped away the single tear that trailed down her 
cheek. 

After tidying up the lavatory, Miss Parker wandered through the house. Back in her mother's 
studio, she picked up the journal and the heavy envelop, placing both items back in the hidden 
compartment where they'd been found. She then turned out the light and left the room, locking 
the door behind her.

As the house began to brighten with early morning sunshine, Miss Parker went into the kitchen to 
brew a pot of coffee. She wouldn't bother trying to get any sleep now. There was no point. Moving 
to the sink with the empty coffee pot, Miss Parker glanced out the window as she began to run 
water from the tap. She nearly dropped the glass carafe in surprise.

Jarod was sitting on the steps of her back porch. Quickly finishing her task and setting the 
machine to brew, Parker carefully opened the back door and gingerly sat down beside him.
In silence, they watched the sun come up. The birds were singing merrily around them, but all 
else was quiet. 

Finally, Jarod said softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you."

Miss Parker shrugged. "You needed to yell at somebody. I didn't mind."

There was another long silence between them. 

"I thought you'd gone," Parker admitted.

Jarod watched a bird cross the sky. "Do you want me to?" he asked quietly.

"Nah." Parker said, watching him intently. Jarod hadn't looked at her once since she sat on the 
stoop. He was frowning and his shoulders were hunched over. He seemed defeated. "To be 
honest," she whispered. "I'll feel better if you hang around a while. You're worrying me."

"What did you expect me to do?" Jarod grumbled. "This isn't exactly the family I was hoping for 
you know."

"Listen," Parker said kindly, placing a gentle hand on Jarod's arm. "Your grandfather sounded like 
a good man. He loved his family very much." Leaning over slightly, Parker tried to look into 
Jarod's face but he shied away from her. She continued, "He had some difficult times when he 
was a boy, but he survived. His experiences left their mark on his life but he still managed to 
become a kind and loving man." Parker smiled wryly. "He reminds me a great deal of his 
grandson."
  
"I don't want to be his grandson," Jarod sighed. "I don't want what he has left me."

"He loved you very much, Jarod," Parker said. "He left you a great gift."

"The Centre is no gift," Jarod growled. "It's nothing but a warped curse."

"He left you everything he had," Parker replied simply. 

Jarod swallowed. "I don't want it."

Parker shrugged her shoulders, "Then walk away." She said in an offhanded voice. "Leave it for 
Raines and Lyle."

Jarod did look at her then. His eyes were red and swimming with unshed tears. "How could I live 
with myself, Parker?" he cried softly. "How many innocent people would die at their hands, 
because I was too self centered to step in and stop them?"

A wicked grin curved the corners of Parker's mouth. She nudged Jarod with one elbow. "Just 
think of how much fun it's going to be when you tell Lyle." She snickered, trying to brighten 
Jarod's mood. "He'll be really steamed when he finds out that you are in charge. You're top dog. 
You're the king and you're holding all the cards."

Jarod sighed heavily. "I've been a pawn to The Centre all my life, Parker." He said. "The king is 
just a different piece on the board. I'm still caught in the same sick game."

Parker didn't know what to say. She understood Jarod's distress. She of all people knew exactly 
how he felt. There had been many times when Parker had wallowed in her own self-pity and 
depression at her entrapment in The Centre's snare.

With another sigh, Jarod reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his sunglasses. He opened 
them, but rather than put them on, he twirled them by one earpiece, studying the shades intently.

"Have you ever considered my collection of sunglasses?" he asked. "I've always got at least two 
pair, wherever I go."

Parker shrugged. "I never gave it any thought."

Jarod closed his eyes and tilted his face to the sky with reverence. "I love the sun." He said. "I 
love its warmth on my face. The way it makes colors seem so vibrant."

Parker tilted her head at him with a frown. She wasn't sure what he was trying to say. Jarod 
shook his head, leaving his statement hanging in the air for her to finish. "But?" she urged.

"It is so bright," he whispered sadly.

Parker flinched as if she'd been struck. Why hadn't it occurred to her before? 

"It hurts your eyes," she stated sadly.

"On a nice day like this, I'll get a headache in less than an hour without these." He said, gesturing 
with the shades in his hand. Jarod shook his head sadly. "I lived in the dark for too many years."

"Jarod," Parker cried softly.

His lower lip began to tremble as Jarod looked at her. "I don't want to go back to living in the 
dark." 

Parker pulled him toward her gently as Jarod choked back a sob. Placing his head in her lap, 
Jarod curled into a fetal position. He desperately wanted to undo the last twenty-four hours. He 
wished he could unlearn what he had just learned. 

With an odd sense of revelation, Jarod finally understood the old saying, "Ignorance is bliss." 
Some information just isn't worth knowing.

As Parker began to stroke the back of his head, Jarod sighed. Her arms around him felt so safe. 
He wondered idly what he would have done if Parker had not been with him when he'd learned 
about his grandfather. She alone, in all the world, could understand his anguish. 

Her fingers, weaving through Jarod's hair, had a magical, calming influence on him. Parker was 
so much stronger than he was. Some of her strength, her will, seemed to flow through her 
fingertips and into Jarod as she continued the reassuring caress.

Jarod sighed again. Pressing close to Parker's side, he reveled in the feel of her. The softness of 
her touch, the gentle tone of her voice were a soothing balm on his soul. He inhaled the flowery 
scent of her like a connoisseur sniffing fine wine.

A moment later Jarod snapped into a sitting position with a snarl. Propelling himself off the stoop, 
the pretender stood in the yard and growled angrily toward the sun. "Damn!" He yelled. A long 
string of oaths and curses followed. Swearing like a sailor at work on the docks, Jarod ground out 
his frustration between clenched teeth.

"What?" Parker cried. "Jarod, what's wrong?"

"Even this," he grimaced. "Even this they've taken from me. Christ." Jarod said dejectedly. 
Crouching on his haunches in the grass, Jarod buried his head in his hands in defeat.

Standing carefully and moving toward him, Parker knelt beside Jarod. "What is it?" 

Jarod flinched away from her. Looking up at Parker with a look of total desolation, Jarod said, 
"You are my cousin." 

Parker's brow wrinkled in confusion. 

"They've stolen my fantasies, Parker." Jarod said sadly. "I'm not allowed to have tawdry thoughts 
about you anymore."

For a moment Parker was stunned speechless. Then she giggled.

"It's not funny damn it." Jarod grumped.

"Actually," Parker responded lightly. "This part is very amusing."

Jarod glared at her as Parker grinned mischievously.

"It isn't funny." Jarod repeated, less vehemently.

Parker chuckled. "Oh Jarod," she said, kissing his stubbly cheek. "If it makes you feel any better, 
we aren't really cousins."

"We shared a great grandfather," he said softly.

"That makes us second cousins," Parker said. "Not even that. Our grandfathers were only half-
brothers. So that makes us, what? Half-second cousins? Or would it be second half-cousins?" 
Tilting her head at Jarod with a smirk she added, "It's a stretch to even say we're related. A few 
imaginative thoughts aren't going to constitute incest."

"I have a really good imagination, Parker." Jarod admitted quietly.

Parker snickered. "Not as good as the real thing." She purred.

Jarod glanced up at her with a startled look. "If I weren't your cousin, would I have chance at 
testing that theory?"

She laughed. "Only in your dreams, Hotshot."

Parker's lighthearted teasing began to have the desired effect. Jarod almost smiled. But his 
brown eyes still held a deep sadness; a hopelessness that Parker knew could not be chased 
away with humor.

"Come on," Parker said, tugging gently on the pretender's arm. "I need a cup of coffee. And I 
think you could use one too."

Some time later, they sat quietly together at the table in Parker's kitchen. She had managed to 
coax Jarod into eating a little toast but Parker could tell that he hardly tasted it. Jarod was starting 
his second cup of coffee. The fact that the sugar addicted pretender was drinking the brew black, 
pointedly defined his current disinterest in his taste buds.

With a sigh, Parker reached over and tipped a spoonful of sugar into Jarod's cup. She stirred the 
sweetener into the coffee for him. Jarod didn't seem to notice. He just frowned thoughtfully at an 
imaginary spot on the tabletop. 

When they had finished the pot, Parker wordlessly took the cups to the sink and washed them. As 
she dried her hands on a nearby towel Jarod spoke. "You're going to be late for work," he 
murmured.

"I'll call Sydney," Parker shrugged. "And tell him that I won't be in today. I'll let him assume that 
I'm hung over. No one will question it."

Jarod nodded slowly, as if he wasn't really listening.

Parker sat back down at the table. Folding her hands primly in front of her she asked, "What will 
you do now?" 

Jarod sighed forlornly. "The envelope with the will in it has an attorney's name and address 
imprinted on the flap."

Parker nodded. She had noticed the silver lettering on the stationary as well. "I doubt that he's still 
practicing law after so many years, Jarod."

"No," Jarod said. "But the journal entry sounded as though the attorney's office was nearby. He, 
my grandfather," Jarod stumbled over those two words slightly. "Talked about going to the 
lawyer's office like it was no big deal."

He glanced at Parker cautiously.

"What if that office wasn't far from where I was born?" Jarod asked. "I thought I might see if I can 
find a birth certificate or something."

"So," Parker sighed. "You're off to St. Louis then?"

Jarod shook his head. "I can probably find everything I need online. Those kinds of documents 
are all on public record." He frowned. "But don't fret Parker, I'll be out of your hair soon. I've hung 
out here too long as it is."

Parker stood as Jarod rose and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "Jarod," she said 
gently. "Stay here."

"It's dangerous, Parker," he said. "I'm not in charge yet."  

"You're tired." Parker observed.

Jarod laughed a cold, mirthless laugh. "Understatement of the century. I feel like I could sleep for 
a month."

"Until you get through all the legal ramifications of the will," she said. "The situation will be very 
dangerous for us both."

The pretender stared blankly at her, waiting.

"Stay here," Parker repeated. "I'll watch your back. You can watch mine. I have a really nice guest 
room. It's yours for as long as you want it."

"Why?" Jarod asked angrily. "You would be safer if I just disappeared until everything was set."

Inhaling deeply, Parker took a leap of faith and told Jarod the simple truth. "I'm concerned about 
you." She admitted.

"I can take care of myself, Parker," Jarod groused.

Tilting her head at him curiously Parker asked, "Can you?" Gesturing helplessly she added, "You 
aren't behaving like yourself, Jarod. I'm worried."

"Are you afraid I'll jump off a bridge or something?" he snarled.

"The thought had occurred to me," Parker said honestly.

Jarod slumped down onto a chair with a sigh. "While I was sitting alone on the steps this morning, 
I did toy with the idea of stealing your gun," He admitted in a whisper. "But I couldn't do that to 
you," he said, looking up at her in utter desolation. "I couldn't let you find another dead man on 
your back porch." 

Her eyes were swimming with tears as Parker stepped closer and hugged Jarod close. He placed 
his forehead against her abdomen and wrapped his arms around her thighs. 

"Stay." Parker whispered to the top of Jarod's head. She knew, that as long as he was in her 
house, Jarod wouldn't try to hurt himself. 

"I'll never escape," he moaned into her stomach. "The Centre will have me for as long as I live."

"We are both trapped by our heritage, Jarod," Parker said softly. "Stay. You don't have to do this 
alone."

Jarod sighed. 

"Stay," she whispered again.

He stayed.

-

End Part 4






Disclaimer: All I'm getting from this is a little bit of fun. No cash is involved, so there are no 
royalties for those who really own the characters. 07/06/03


The King and the Pawn  
Part5 (Pawn's Gambit)
By Phenyx

-

Miss Parker stood in the kitchen sipping at her coffee as she waited for her bagel to pop from the 
toaster. Glancing at her watch for the third time in five minutes, she sighed. Jarod was not back 
yet. They were going to be late.

The last three months had been stressful ones. Once Jarod had found his birth certificate, things 
had started happening very quickly. He discovered that he had been born in a hospital in a small 
suburb of St. Louis, Missouri. Rather than wait three weeks for the certificate to come in the mail, 
Jarod and Parker had visited the town briefly to collect a copy of the paperwork. It had seemed 
like a nice place. Tree lined streets and peaceful gardens echoed with the laughter of children.

They had found Gene Parker's grave. In a well-tended cemetery beside an ancient church, 
Jarod's grandfather was laid to rest beside his beloved wife. Jarod had stared at the headstone in 
silence for a long time before walking mutely away. The pretender had been ominously quiet for 
the rest of the afternoon. 

Parker understood. The date on Gene Parker's marker indicated that the man had died exactly 
one month before The Centre DSAs had begun recording young Jarod's life. The boy had been 
locked away to prevent him from claiming his inheritance. His abilities as a pretender had been 
secondary, an added bonus for his captors.

Once Jarod had proof of his identity, he had taken the papers, the journal and his grandfather's 
will and they had gone to Triumvirate headquarters in Africa. As though finally facing the 
inevitable, the powers that be on the council had accepted Jarod readily. There had been a frenzy 
of self-preservationists who flocked to do whatever Jarod asked of them. 

Jarod's attitude, taciturn and moody at best, became a topic of fear and concern. As news of 
Jarod's imminent return spread through the halls of The Centre, some employees simply left. 
Abandoned desks and lockers became like beacons marking those people who had wronged the 
pretender when he had lived among them.

For the most part, Jarod behaved in a coldly professional manner, rarely even raising his voice. 
But his distaste for everything Centre related was poorly veiled. Parker wasn't the only one who 
could see his disappointment and anger. 

Only once did Jarod let his rage get the better of him and when he did, Parker saw that it 
frightened him. It had frightened her as well. 

It had happened on their first day at The Centre. Jarod and Parker had arrived by limousine, 
pulling right up to the front entrance. The Triumvirate-provided sweepers had been in the car 
ahead of them, so no one but Parker had seen Jarod's nervousness as the building came into 
view. His anxiety had been a tangible thing, making the air around them crackle with tension. 

But as he stepped out of the car and up the steps, Parker had seen him rein in the perceived 
weakness. She had watched him as he squelched his fear. 

Parker should have known that Jarod was going to do something shocking. He had even half-
warned her. In a backhanded comment over breakfast, he had mentioned the need to display his 
control in terms that Raines would understand. Parker should have seen it coming, but she 
hadn't.

They had strolled into The Centre as though it was something the two had done every day. Four 
burly black men walked discretely with them. It was Willie who approached the group first. It was 
Willie who was the one Jarod chose as an example for the others. 

Jarod's entourage had moved skillfully to deflect the sweeper's advance but the pretender had 
waved them away. Willie shoved Parker from Jarod's side and grabbed his quarry by the arm. 
Jarod had turned on the man with a viciousness Parker had not realized he was capable of.

Weeks' worth of tightly controlled anger at the injustice of his life had boiled up in Jarod. He 
summoned up his fury and used it, focusing all of his rage on the unsuspecting Willie. The 
Centre's lobby had been bustling with activity at that time of day. Many people, including Raines 
and Lyle, had witnessed the damage Jarod inflicted. He pummeled Willie into a bloody mess.

No one moved a muscle to stop him.

Jarod would have killed the man; Parker knew that now. He could have beaten the sweeper to 
death on the cold tile while The Centre watched. But she had stopped him. 

In a voice far steadier that she felt, Parker had spoken up, "We haven't time for this, Jarod," she 
said as calmly as she could. "They are expecting us in The Tower."

Jarod stopped in mid-swing. Hard, dark eyes surveyed the stunned faces around him. With a 
steadying sigh, Jarod ran one hand through his hair. He straightened his tie casually then turned 
away. Taking Parker by the elbow, Jarod had cast a look of cold disgust at the shuddering mass 
at his feet.

"Take him to the infirmary," Jarod ordered in a flat voice as he steered Parker toward the elevator.

Never in their lives had Parker been afraid of Jarod. But he had frightened her that day. He had 
scared her badly. 

Of course the entire incident had achieved Jarod's goal. No one underestimated him. Centre 
employees did not question their new commander. Jarod's quiet, thoughtful manner hid a coldly 
vicious anger and everyone knew it. Even Lyle squirmed now, when Jarod's hard brown gaze fell 
on him for too long.

In the two months since Willie had been put into a hospital bed, the ranks of The Centre 
employees had dwindled rapidly. Entire departments had been completely shutdown. People had 
been pink-slipped by the hundreds. Others had quit before the ax could find them.

Raines had retired. In actuality, Jarod had demanded that the old ghoul leave or suffer the 
consequences. Parker had not been privy to the meeting between the two men, so she didn't 
know exactly what Jarod had threatened to do. But she had met Raines in the hall two days later. 
She had seen the ghastly white pallor of his face. Jarod had obviously done something to further 
encourage Raines' resignation. But she had yet to discover what had happened.

Oddly enough, Lyle still worked among them. Jarod assigned him some of the dirtiest, most 
demeaning tasks he could find. When Parker suggested they just get rid of the slimy weasel, 
Jarod disagreed. 

"Keep your enemies closer," he would murmur softly.

Parker was worried about Jarod. She worked at his side, tearing down the old Centre and finding 
ways to build a new one. They drove to the office each morning and back to the house together 
each night for Jarod still stayed in her guest room. But he was withdrawn and isolated. He 
wouldn't confide in her or in Sydney. It bothered her.

However, this weekend Jarod had behaved much more like his old self. They had taken a well-
deserved break from The Centre. The weather had been perfect so the two of them had gone to 
the beach. They had picnicked on the sand and strolled through the surf at the water's edge. 
Jarod had teased her unmercifully, reciting all the states in which relations with one's cousin were 
legal.

Parker had playfully argued back, falling into the comfortable banter that had been so familiar to 
them a few months ago. Jarod's delighted smile and easy laughter had done much to ease 
Parker's concern. She began to feel as though the strain of The Centre takeover was drifting 
away from them, as though the pretender she knew was returning.

Parker glanced at her watch again as she emptied her cup. She was beginning to get irritated. 
Jarod knew that Mondays were always busy and this morning would be especially so. Her first 
meeting was scheduled for 8:30. They would have to leave soon.

Standing in the front doorway, Parker scanned the road for Jarod's figure. Why the pretender had 
decided to take up jogging, Parker didn't know. Maybe his strange sense of humor found it 
amusing. Jarod claimed that it helped him to think, to relax. But Parker didn't believe him. 

She had followed him once, trailing him carefully on a rented bicycle. Jarod didn't jog casually like 
most people. He ran at top speed through the park and the woods beyond as though the devil 
were chasing him. He ran until his breath came in gasps and sweat ran in rivulets down his face. 
He ran like that for miles, until his lungs and his legs gave out and his body forced him to stop.

Parker had gotten one hell of a workout herself, just trying to keep up with him.

The fact that he'd gone out this morning was new cause for concern. The easy, quiet weekend 
they had just shared seemed contradictory to the punishing behavior of one of Jarod's runs. His 
mood had evidently swung back into a darkness that he refused to share. 

When Jarod finally appeared at the end of the road, he was nearly stumbling with exhaustion. 
Parker crossed her arms over her chest and watched as he stopped at the end of her driveway. 
Sweat soaked and panting heavily, Jarod bent over, placing his hands on his knees as he 
gasped. He stood that way for several minutes with one hand on the mailbox to steady himself.

Jarod was still breathing heavily when he stood and walked up the driveway to where Miss Parker 
stood. 

"It's getting late, Cuz," she scolded him. 

"Forgive me, Miss Parker," Jarod said. "I guess I must have lost track of time."

The bland, even tone to Jarod's voice made it obvious that the playful taunting from the past two 
days was now ended.

Parker shrugged. "It's okay. If you hurry, I can still make it to my 8:30 meeting with Broots."

Jarod sighed. "Go ahead and drive in without me," he said as he walked into the house. "I'll take 
my car when I'm ready."

This was new. They had always driven to The Centre together. Parker frowned. 

"I'll wait," she said. "I can reschedule with Broots."

"Nonsense," Jarod replied as he yanked off his soggy shirt. "Go to your meeting. I can find my 
way on my own."

"Are you sure?" Parker asked fretfully.

"You worry too much, Cuz," Jarod grinned.

Parker chewed thoughtfully at her lower lip. Jarod's smile wasn't reflecting in his eyes. He wanted 
her to go without him. She hated this. She hated not knowing what he was thinking. She hated 
that Jarod was hiding things from her.

"I'm a big boy, Parker, " Jarod added softly. "I'll see you in two hours."

Parker nodded. "We have a ten o'clock."

"Yes," he agreed.

"You'll be there?" she wavered.

"Of course," Jarod said. "Now go, or you'll be late." With that, the pretender turned on his heel 
and headed down the hall toward his room.

Parker stared after him for several long moments before finally grabbing her keys and heading 
out to her car.

--

It was five minutes before ten when Parker breezed into the outer reception area leading to the 
chairman's corner office. 

"Good morning, Jeffrey," Parker said to the twenty-something man seated at the desk. The 
painfully thin, brown haired assistant was the exact opposite of every stereotypical executive 
assistant Parker had ever known. But he was very thorough, detailed and precise. And he was 
devoted to Jarod. "Is he in?" Parker asked as she blew passed Jeffrey's desk.

The young man stood and hastily blocked Parker's path as she tried to enter Jarod's office. She 
cast him a withering glare, to no avail.

"I'll need to see if he is available, Ma'am," the assistant said. He waited patiently until Parker 
nodded in the affirmative. Stepping to his desk, he pressed a button. "Miss Parker is here to see 
you, Sir."

After a moment's hesitation, Jarod's voice wafted up from the intercom. "Send her in."

Glaring angrily at the assistant, Parker stormed into Jarod's office. "Since when do I need 
clearance to see you, Jarod?" she seethed.

"Did everything go well in your meeting with Broots?" Jarod asked, ignoring her statement. "Is 
security in the Miami office going to be a problem?"

"No," Parker groused. "Broots has the system well in hand there." Jarod was leaning against the 
large oak desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Parker sat in the chair in front of the 
desk as Jarod waved her toward it. 

"I've brought the file," Parker said. "As well as some others. You never mentioned what this 
meeting was about so I've brought information about several of the current issues."

Jarod took the folders that Parker held out to him. Flipping through them casually he walked back 
around the desk and sat in a large leather chair. With a sigh, Jarod set the pile aside and glanced 
up at Parker.

"We don't need to talk about any of these," Jarod said. Opening a drawer at his side, Jarod pulled 
out a new folder and set it on the desk in front of him. He stared at it for a moment then slid the 
file across the desktop, placing it in front of Miss Parker.

Parker leaned forward and opened the manila cover, quickly scanned the folder's contents.

She glanced up at him in disbelief. "You're kidding, right?" Parker asked.

Jarod stood and went to the counter along the right side of the room. He poured himself a tumbler 
full of amber liquid and sipped at it.

"Jarod," Parker growled warningly. "It's a little early for that don't you think?"

Ignoring her comment, Jarod walked to the large picture window and gazed at something on the 
horizon.

"You are kidding about this, aren't you?" she asked again.

Jarod took another sip from his glass. "It's a good offer, Parker," he said to the window in front of 
him. "Twelve months severance pay as well as a sizeable bonus, more than you'd make in five 
years."

"You're firing me?" Parker asked in an incredulous voice.

"During the transition to new management, I've been forced to restructure our hierarchy," Jarod 
began.

"Don't you dare," Parker snarled, getting angry now. "Don't hand me that load of crap. I helped 
you come up with it, remember?"

"The fact is," Jarod said loudly, slamming his glass onto the desktop, "Your sole job here has 
been to bring me back to The Centre. Well congratulations, Miss Parker, mission accomplished."

"But Jarod!" Parker cried.

"Your services are no longer required, Miss Parker," Jarod growled. "I have to let you go."

"No." Parker said. "You can't."

"I can," Jarod said coldly. "I did. Sign the papers."

Tossing the folder over her shoulder in a flurry of paper, Parker said coldly, "No. We need to talk 
about this."

Jarod plucked his drink from the table and swallowed another mouthful. "Don't make me call 
security, Parker. Sam would feel terrible if he had to escort you off the premises."

"But Jarod," Parker gasped in shock, "I thought things were going so well, especially during the 
last couple of days. You seemed like your old self again. I had hoped – " Parker stopped in mid-
sentence. Staring up at Jarod in wonder, the significance of the past weekend slid into place in 
her mind.

"You knew," she gasped. "The entire time, you knew that this was coming."

Jarod shrugged. "I'm a selfish bastard," he said sadly. "I wanted us to be friends for just a little 
longer."

"You should have said something. We could have talked about this," Parker said.

Jarod sighed, "Take the severance package, Miss Parker."

Vaulting to her feet, Parker yelled angrily, "I neither want nor need the damn money, Jarod. Talk 
to me!"

Jarod stepped away from the window and pressed a button on his desk. "Jeffrey, could you have 
security summoned to my office, please?" he said calmly.

Heaving in a jagged sigh Parker fought to control her temper. "I'll go. For now. We both need to 
calm down a little," she said. "We'll talk about it tonight."

"No," Jarod said in a flat voice. "We won't. I moved my things out of the house this morning. I 
won't be back."

Stunned, Parker sank back into the chair. "Why?"

"It's time I found a place of my own and let you get on with your life." Jarod said simply.

"But this is my life," she whispered.

"Not anymore," Jarod said in a hard voice. "I'm letting you go."

The office door opened and two sweepers stepped into the room. 

"Gentlemen," Jarod said brusquely. "See to it that Miss Parker gets safely home." Parker stood 
gracefully and allowed one of the men to lead her to the door. Jarod swallowed the last of his 
drink in one long gulp. "Don't worry about your office," Jarod said. "I'll have everything boxed up 
and sent around to you."

Parker held her head high and said, "You've got everything under control, don't you?" 

"Trust me, Parker," Jarod replied. "I'm only doing what's best for you."

She laughed sadly. "You sound like my father, Jarod. Maybe you should call me Angel and make 
the transformation complete." 

The snide barb did not have the affect that Parker had intended. Jarod didn't seem fazed in the 
least. Instead he crossed the room and kissed her chastely on the cheek. "Goodbye, Angel. Have 
a good life."

Then Jarod turned away, dismissing her and the sweepers with a flick of his wrist. As the office 
door closed behind her, Parker heard Jarod pick up the phone, conducting business as usual. 

Parker had been too shocked to be angry. Even when her escorts had dropped her off at her 
house and asked for her security access cards, Parker had been uncharacteristically calm. Once 
the two men left, Parker had changed out of her suit, made a pot of coffee and sat by the phone 
to wait.

As the afternoon wore on and the sun began to set, Parker sat thinking, carefully working over in 
her mind Jarod's behavior over the past few weeks. Daylight had long ago slipped away and 
Parker was sitting in the dark when her phone finally rang.

--

Jarod was lying on the cot with one arm thrown over his eyes. The room wasn't so bad. He had 
removed the camera, literally torn it from the wall, and popped the locking mechanism so that the 
door no longer latched. Those simple fixes had made all the difference. No longer a prison, the 
small room felt oddly welcoming. Each brick felt familiar in a strangely soothing way. 

Jarod supposed that he should be worried about the strange sensation. A few months ago, he 
would have driven nails through his own flesh before coming back to this room. But now, he hid 
here. While his thoughts and emotions seemed to spiral away from his control, this place 
anchored him. There was a connection here. And Jarod desperately needed to feel like he 
belonged.

He had no idea how long he laid there. Time never seemed to pass in the windowless room. He 
may have fallen asleep for a while, Jarod wasn't sure. Eventually, he became aware of the 
sensation of eyes watching him. He was no longer alone in the room.

"You can't stay here," the soft voice whispered.

"Why not?" Jarod growled. 

"Because it's just too weird," she said in a scolding tone.

Blinking against the light as he looked up at her, Jarod sighed, "What are you doing here, Miss 
Parker? You don't have access to this section anymore."

Smiling indulgently, Parker stepped gracefully from her position against the doorframe. Sitting 
gently on the edge of the bed, she smoothed a lock of hair from Jarod's forehead. "When have I 
ever needed access to come down here? If I could get in as a child, I most certainly won't have 
trouble doing it now."

"How did you find me?" Jarod asked.

"Sydney," she answered simply. "He's worried sick. When he realized that you were hiding here, 
of all places, he began to panic."

Jarod sighed dejectedly and covered his eyes with his arm again. "I'm fine," he mumbled. 

"And I'm Eleanor Roosevelt," Parker scoffed.

"You shouldn't be here, Parker," Jarod said. "You don't work here anymore."

"I know," she said simply. "You let me go, didn't you? You think you've set me free."

"One of us should be allowed to be free of this place. No need to trap us both," Jarod said sadly. 

"Neither of us is trapped anymore, Jarod," Parker soothed. "Our lives are no longer ruled by 
anyone else."

"It doesn't feel that way," Jarod said sadly.

"You know," Parker said sharply. "If you could stop feeling sorry for yourself for just one minute, 
you might be able to see the good in this situation."

"What?" Jarod cried, sitting up and glaring angrily at her.

"Quit acting like the martyr. Look at what you've accomplished already," Parker exclaimed. 
"Raines is gone. Pakor is shut down, permanently. Angelo and the others are free to come and 
go as they choose."

"Not without supervision," Jarod added morosely. "They can't cope."

"That may be so, but at least they aren't locked in dungeons like these anymore," Parker said 
gesturing around her fervently. "Have you noticed him lately? Do you realize that Angelo has 
found a girl friend?"

Jarod stared at her in wonder, shaking his head slowly.

"Yes," Parker urged. "Do you know about Heather?"

Jarod thought for a moment, "That little blind girl they found huddled in a corner on SL-24?"

Parker nodded. "She's blind and deaf but not a little girl. Jarod, she's a beautiful young woman."

Jarod gazed at the floor thoughtfully. "Does she understand? Does she know that Angelo is 
special?"

Parker shrugged. "Find out. Stop hiding behind where you come from and start behaving like the 
person you really are. Like the person I know you to be."

Jarod sat down on the cot beside Parker. Hanging his head dejectedly he whispered, "I don't 
know who I am anymore, Parker. Perhaps I never did."

Taking his face in her palms, Parker turned Jarod's gaze toward her own. "That's okay, Jarod. 
Because I know, I've always known."

As she watched, Jarod's warm brown eyes filled with tears. "You can't spend the rest of your life 
helping me to define mine."

"Why not?" she grinned.

A salty tear rolled down his cheek. "You should have a life of your own. A chance to build a 
family." 

"I have a family," Parker said gently. "There's this strangely eccentric cousin of mine who means 
the world to me." 

Jarod brushed the tear from his cheek with the back of one hand. "That would be me," he sniffled.

Parker laughed softly, "Yeah, genius. That would be you." 

They sat together that way for a long time. Parker held Jarod's face in her hands as their 
foreheads leaned one against the other.

After a while, Parker asked, "Would you like to go home now?"

Jarod's eyes fluttered shut and he whispered reverently, "Home." Pulling back, Jarod sat up and 
smiled waveringly at Parker. "I like it there so much."

Standing, Parker smiled and said, "It will be your home for as long as you want it to be. It's where 
you belong."

Jarod nodded, unable to speak.

Parker held one hand out to Jarod, waiting for him to take it. "Let's go home, Jarod."

Taking her hand the pretender stood and wrapped Miss Parker in a warm embrace. "I'm sorry I 
fired you, Cuz." He murmured into her hair.

"You'd better be, Pez-head," she scolded him.

"I'll make it up to you," he promised.

"You're damned right about that," Parker growled playfully.

Jarod chuckled softly. "Let's go home."

--

End part 5

Disclaimer: All I'm getting from this is a little bit of fun. No cash is involved, so there are no 
royalties for those who really own the characters. So finally, the saga continues. 08/19/03


The King and the Pawn  
Part6 (Acceptance)
By Phenyx
-

Sitting primly in her leather seat, Parker tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she shuffled the 
papers in her lap. The atmosphere among her fellow passengers had been curt and business-like 
ever since the jet had left Delaware more than two hours ago. 

Broots was dozing in his corner while Parker and Lyle quietly reviewed the documents they had 
brought with them. Jarod stared out the window, speaking only infrequently to bark facts and 
plans that the documents lacked. Dutifully scribbling these additional bits of information on the 
papers, Parker did her best to keep up with the stats Jarod threw at her. 

Once they reached their destination, Parker would recruit an effective secretary from the general 
staff to serve the Chairman and his group for the duration of their stay. But for now, Parker was 
forced to take the notes herself.

It seemed almost as though Jarod was intentionally changing things just to see the rest of them 
jump. For more than a week, Parker had been looking forward to this series of meetings in 
Europe, hoping to have a little free time to shop in Paris.  But the unpredictable behavior spewing 
from the current chairman of the board was sure to turn this journey into an exhausting venture.

Parker had planned every minute detail of the trip. She had arranged the schedules and 
distributed the predetermined agendas for each meeting. With her carefully laid out itinerary, 
Parker had been prepared to have an entire afternoon available to peruse the French shops. 

Jarod had sent all her strategies crumbling into dust when he had demanded that they leave for 
Europe a day earlier than agreed. Parker had spent the last eight hours frantically scrambling to 
rearrange the scheduling conflicts for the nearly five hundred people Jarod was to meet with over 
the next three weeks. Conference rooms had to be re-booked and deadlines for reports moved 
up. Some of the appointments were of a seminar format, with up to fifty people in attendance at 
once. The French prime minister's schedule had been the most difficult to accommodate.

But Parker had managed the situation with a strict efficiency. 

In the eight months since the pretender had gained control at The Centre, Parker had become 
quite accustomed to Jarod's manic swings in mood. He hated his job and Parker knew it. Despite 
the tremendous advances they had made in procedure and protocol, Jarod was unable to view 
the corporation he now owned in anything but a distasteful light.

It did not matter that all projects now had to face an ethical review board to gain funds. It made no 
difference that the pretender himself chaired that review board. The cessation of all illegal 
activities and entanglements at The Centre had done nothing to absolve Jarod's deep seeded 
belief that anything tied to The Centre was not to be trusted. The Centre had been an evil force in 
his young life. Nothing had been able to change that point of view for him. 

For a while, just after Jarod had fired and then re-hired her, Miss Parker had felt the pretender's 
despair lessen to a degree. He seemed to be more playful, more amiable for a few months. When 
Major Charles had contacted them about six weeks ago, Jarod's attitude had soared. His 
enthusiasm and excitement at seeing his father again had been nearly annoying. His joy was a 
tangible and contagious thing. 

Parker had been so happy for him. 

It had been such a lovely change of pace to wake up in the morning with the sound of Jarod's 
whistling coming from somewhere in the house. On more than one occasion, Parker had caught 
herself humming the simple tunes along with him.

Jarod's reunion with his father had been quickly followed by a phone call from his sister Emily. 
The young woman had kept in touch with Ethan and had recently learned about the change in 
command at The Centre. Emily had arrived in Delaware two days later bringing her mother 
Margaret along as well.

Miss Parker had quickly volunteered the use of the big house. She had inherited the house in Mr. 
Parker's will and had been unable to decide what to do with the place. For much of her childhood, 
that large echoing façade had been her legal residence, though only the summerhouse had ever 
felt like home. As a result, Miss Parker had been unable to sell it, and unwilling to move into it.

Although the mansion had seemed oppressively large to a single child, for Jarod's rapidly growing 
extended family, it seemed just right. Major Charles and his wife occupied the master suite of 
rooms. Emily and her young friend Robert set up residence in the Northern hall. Ethan and his 
brother Jack, the younger pretender from the Gemini project, also each had their own rooms.   

Jarod had laid claim to the big room over the library. The large arched windows had an excellent 
eastern exposure from which to see the sunrise. However, even though his family had moved into 
the big house nearly a month ago, Jarod had not yet joined them.

This was not a fact that had missed Parker's attention. Jarod did visit his folks often. But Parker 
had noticed that the visits were quickly diminishing. Jarod had stopped by every day for hours at 
first. Last week, he'd gone only twice for brief visits. 

When Jarod had first broached the topic of this extended business trip to England and France, 
Parker had immediately recognized the separation this would impose upon his family. Jarod's 
mother had done her best to talk him out of it, to no avail. 

In order to appease his mother's sullen response, Jarod had agreed to stay with his parents for a 
long weekend. He prepared to leave last Saturday morning with a gym bag in one hand. He stood 
in the kitchen, staring at Parker and shuffling awkwardly from one foot to the other. 

"You're sure you can handle things on Monday? There's still a lot to do for the trip to Europe." He 
had hedged.

"I've got it under control, Jarod." Parker had assured him. "Take the day off. You haven't had a 
break since you became chairman. You deserve it." Smiling she added, "The place won't 
plummet back into the abyss if you're gone for one day."

"Are you sure?" Jarod had asked.  

"Positive," Parker had replied. "Now, get going. I want to spend the day at the salon and you are 
making me late for my appointment."

Parker had gone to an exclusive establishment in Dover. She had a facial, followed by a 
manicure and pedicure, and wrapped it all up by having her hair done. After much debate with 
Etienne, her stylist, Parker decided to have her hair trimmed slightly and darkened only half a 
shade.

Being away all day, Parker hadn't really noticed how quiet the house was until nearly ten o'clock 
that night. Thinking little of it, she had gone to bed without realizing that she had checked all the 
locks three times. It was the first night she had spent alone in the house for over three quarters of 
a year.

On Sunday, Parker ran errands, wrapping up a few things that had to be taken care of before 
they left the country. She had stopped at a deli for a single takeout salad for dinner on her way 
home because the refrigerator was bare. When Jarod had stalked into the house just before dark, 
he had startled Parker badly.

"Jarod!" she said. "What are you doing here?"

"I have a lot of packing to do," Jarod had growled. "I want to leave for Europe in the morning."

"But Jarod," Parker replied. "No one's expecting us that soon. The plan was that we would leave 
Tuesday."

"Adapt," he had said in a clipped and brusque tone. Glaring in a manner that indicated this topic 
was not open for debate, Jarod sighed in frustration, turned on his heel and stormed from the 
room. A moment later, Parker heard his bedroom door slam.

The next twelve hours had been a hectic exercise in organization and damage control.

As Parker finished with the paperwork, she stacked it neatly and tucked it away in her briefcase. 
With a weary sigh, she gestured to the flight attendant for more coffee. Leaning back, she sipped 
at her brew and surreptitiously watched Jarod. 

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that something had gone wrong during Jarod's visit 
with his parents. He had been sullen and pouting ever since he returned to the house last 
evening. 

"Would you like some coffee, Jarod?" Parker asked.

"No," he clipped as he glared out the window.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Parker prodded.

Jarod stared blankly at her, his face an unreadable mask. "Talk about what?" He replied.

Parker shook her head sadly. "Is that the way you want to play this?"

"I don't know what you mean, Miss Parker," Jarod said.

"Stop playing the dummy, Jarod," Parker snapped. "You were more open with me while we were 
playing our sick little game of fox and hound. Talk to me."

Lyle slid into the seat at Parker's side and purred, "Do I detect trouble in paradise? Are we having 
a little lover's quarrel, kids?"

Snarling loudly in stereo, Parker and Jarod answered simultaneously, "Shut up, Lyle!"

Jarod sprang to his feet. "I think I'll go check in with the pilot," he grumbled abruptly.

As the pretender stalked away, Lyle sighed. "We won't see him for the rest of the flight."

Parker shrugged. "If he wants to fly the plane, let him. It's something he really enjoys."

"I'm sure Jarod's a better aviator than the current pilot anyway," Lyle agreed.

"Damn right," Parker grimaced. "His skill has saved your butt before."

"So what's up with him, anyway?" Lyle asked chattily.

"Why would I know?" Parker asked. 

"I assumed that inside knowledge was one of the perks to boffing the boss," Lyle said 
offhandedly. "Right up there with long lunches and a company car."

Parker rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. She was very tired and too irritable to try to conduct a 
civil conversation with her twin. "Not that it is any of your business, you sick cretin, but Jarod and I 
do not have that type of a relationship."

Lyle frowned suspiciously. "I don't believe you," he said.

"Not my problem," Parker shrugged. "I doubt you have the capacity to understand the kind of 
friendship that exists between us. It would require a depth of feeling you are incapable of 
attaining."

"I don't need to sit here and take this kind of abuse," Lyle whined childishly.

"Take the hint, Damien," Parker growled cruelly.

"Bitch," Lyle hissed as he too stormed away to the opposite end of the cabin. 

Parker laid her head back against the cushioned seat and closed her eyes. The next few weeks 
were going to be very long and stressful, indeed.

--

For the third time in ten minutes, Marcus Proteau was forced to flip through the stack of 
paperwork in front of him in order to answer the questions posed by the Centre chairman. Mr. 
Jarod had taken him completely by surprise. Rather than asking about the impressive revenue 
generated over the last quarter, the tall and imposing figure had asked about employee security 
checks and pension plans. Now, Proteau was frantically searching for information regarding 
projected staff growth and scheduled updates to job descriptions. 

"Rebecca?" Proteau turned to his assistant in frustration.

The dark haired, frumpy young woman push her heavy glasses up her nose and replied, "You'll 
find that information in the folder for next quarter in the section marked 'Prospects', Mr. Proteau. I 
believe we've estimated our employee growth at 5% over the next year to accommodate 
expansion in the division. Job descriptions are to be revised accordingly by the end of next 
quarter."

Nodding thoughtfully, Jarod said, "Expand all the job duties. Rewrite the descriptions entirely. 
Each employee needs to become more efficient. I believe we can keep the staff increase to under 
three and a half."

The young woman spoke again, "The five percent estimate is considered very conservative 
already, Mr. Jarod."

Proteau interrupted, "We can make three and a half, Sir. We'll do whatever it takes."

Miss Parker stood to one side, leaning against the oak cabinet behind Jarod's desk. She listened 
carefully with her arms folded casually over her chest. An emaciated, thin, blond man sat in a 
chair in the corner taking notes on a legal pad while a tape recorder spun at his side as a backup. 

Parker could see that this division president was woefully unprepared for Jarod's style of 
business. She almost felt sorry for the guy. But at least Jarod wasn't harassing her at the 
moment, of that Parker was very thankful. 

They were halfway through the scheduled stay in Europe. The last ten days had been grueling. 
Jarod worked at a frantic, nearly frenzied, pace, pushing all those around him to the brink of 
exhaustion. Though Miss Parker, professionally dressed in a sharp burgundy suit, looked as cool 
and beautiful as always, the stern businesslike manner hid a weary woman.

There was little she could do about Jarod's behavior. There had always been an unspoken 
agreement between them. Work was work, and Jarod was in charge. Parker never second-
guessed his business decisions, nor did she usurp his authority in any Centre related issue. He 
was the boss. 

When they were at home, it was a different matter entirely. Parker held the heavier vote on 
personal issues. Jarod did not argue with her about decisions on the home front. His sulking often 
indicated his disagreement, but he never argued.

Even so, Parker may still have complained about the strain if not for the fact that Jarod pushed 
himself twice as hard as he did anyone else. He never seemed to stop. The pretender worked 
around the clock. Three assistants, working in shifts, were tending to Jarod's demanding requests 
for documentation and transcription.

Jarod took the proffered file from Mr. Proteau and began flipping through the pages. "May I keep 
this?" he asked.

The girl Rebecca answered, "Yes Sir, these copies are all for you."

With a perfunctory nod, Jarod dismissed the two. 

"It was an honor meeting with you, Mr. Jarod," Proteau said, shaking the pretender's hand. 

"We'll be in touch, Mr. Proteau," Jarod replied noncommittally.

As the office door closed behind the retreating forms of Proteau and his assistant, Jarod turned to 
Parker and said, "Fire him. He's an inefficient 'Yes' man." Jarod shook his head. " 'We'll do 
whatever it takes.' He says," Jarod scoffed. "With the server upgrades we have planned, it will be 
hard enough to keep to a five percent staff increase. Three and a half won't even get the new 
equipment plugged in properly."

Parker nodded. 

"That assistant of his seems to be on top of things," Jarod added. "Do a background check on 
her. See if she is a viable candidate for the job."

Similar scenes had been played out again and again over the last week. Jarod had no tolerance 
for incompetence. One idiot had gone so far as to subtly remind Jarod of a personal friendship to 
the Parker family. The man had found himself escorted to the parking lot with a box full of 
belongings before the hour had ended.

On the other hand, employees who impressed the chairman were just as quickly rewarded for 
their hard work. One middle-aged secretary, harried and worn looking, had been called out of an 
important board meeting by a frantic phone call from one of her children. Evidently, a pipe had 
burst in the kitchen at home and the three youngsters had no idea how to deal with it. 

Jarod quickly learned that the divorced woman had children ranging in age from three to nine, 
whom she was raising on her own. The woman's attendance perpetually bordered on the poor 
side as a result. Yet her loyalty was beyond reproach and her work ethic admirable. With one 
swift phone call, Jarod had dispatched an army of handymen to the woman's home and he 
arranged to have her attendance record expunged entirely.

An in depth discussion about company-provided day care quickly ensued.

Wherever Jarod went, he left two distinct groups of people in his wake, those who despised him, 
and those who worshipped him. Despite his demanding expectations, Jeanette, Robert and 
Katrina, the assistants assigned to be Jarod's aides, each adored the handsome chairman. They 
had been carefully screened and chosen by Miss Parker based on their performance records as 
well as personal recommendations. Jarod had doubled their salaries immediately on the first day, 
simply for being able to pass Parker's inspection.

The three aides were earning every dollar. Jarod pushed them hard and expected great things 
from each of them. He was brutally demanding at times. But Parker had seen what others had 
not. Jarod offered encouragement and support at the oddest of times. He subtly coaxed brilliance 
from each of the assistants. 

As the mid-point of the business trip came, Parker noticed that Jarod was carefully delegating 
assignments to the three aides, allowing them each to take on more responsibility. He insisted 
that they make more decisions on their own, relying less on the chairman and his staff.

Parker knew that by the time the pretender left Europe, these three employees would be a well 
trained, devoted center of command within this region. The old regime of terror and blackmail was 
withering away. In its place Jarod was creating a fluid teamwork of loyal followers.

If only Parker could find some way to bring the old light back into Jarod's eyes. The twinkle of 
mischief that had resided there for so long had vanished. Irritating as it had always been, Parker 
discovered that she missed the pretender's taunting and playful nature.

Parker decided that she would need to find some time alone with Jarod. They needed to talk. She 
had to find out what had happened during his last visit with his parents. If Jarod refused to tell 
her, she would simply have to go see Ethan at the house and find out for herself.

--

The pace that Jarod kept up during the ensuing weeks made it impossible for Parker to find a 
moment alone with him. When they finally prepared to return to Delaware, the weary group had 
been in France for nearly a week longer than originally planned. But the amount of work that had 
been accomplished was astounding. 

An entirely new infrastructure now existed in The Centre's European division. Robert and 
Jeanette had been dispatched to Tokyo to begin preliminary renovations there, while Katrina had 
been left in charge at the headquarters in Paris. Jarod would continue to monitor the new 
command closely but as long as they stayed true to their ethics, he would not interfere. 

As soon as the pretender boarded the private jet, he disappeared into the cockpit for the flight 
back to the States. When the plane began to taxi down the runway, Parker knew that Jarod was 
behind the wheel. She closed her eyes and sighed tiredly. 

Jarod was avoiding her and she knew it. He was hiding behind his chairman role, preventing her 
from talking to him on a personal level. But he could not hide forever. They would be home soon 
and once there, the two of them would be alone again. With no Lyle around, no aides or flight 
attendants, Parker would have the opportunity to get to the bottom of Jarod's strange behavior.

No one was in the mood to chitchat as the airplane chased the sun westward. Parker dozed off 
and on during the trip but found little rest. As a result, when they arrived in Delaware, she was 
bone tired and nearly dead on her feet. Jarod didn't seem to be in any better shape. 

Thankfully, Parker had had the foresight to arrange limousines to transport everyone home. 
 
It was dark and Parker was curled sleepily against the soft leather of the car's interior when a 
heavy sigh from Jarod startled her awake. 

"We are nearly there," Jarod said softly.

Parker glanced out the window as the limo rounded a corner and she recognized her own 
neighborhood. They were less than a block away from their destination. As the car pulled up the 
driveway, Parker could see the well-lit house beckoning to them warmly. Thanks to the well-paid 
services of a cleaning crew, Parker knew that the house would already be aired out and the 
refrigerator well stocked.

Parker opened the door and stepped aside, allowing the driver to enter with their luggage.

"Where shall I put these, Ma'am?" he asked.

"Oh just drop them there, Albert," she sighed. "We'll deal with them in the morning." 

The chauffeur did as he was told. "Is there anything else I can do for you this evening?" Albert 
asked. 

Indicating the negative, Parker swiftly dismissed the man. She closed the door behind his 
retreating form and slid the chain lock into place. Turning, she saw Jarod standing in the middle 
of the room, staring around him with a slightly dazed look on his face.

Daintily lifting first one foot, then the other, Parker removed her high-heeled shoes while Jarod 
blinked mutely at her. With a heavy sigh Parker said, "It feels good to be home." 

Jarod flinched as though he'd been slapped. He had such a startled, stricken look in his eyes that 
Parker was alarmed. She had seen that wounded look before.

"Jarod?" she asked gently. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." His clipped response came out sounding like a choked snarl. Abruptly turning on his 
heel, Jarod all but fled to his room.

With her face etched in concern, Parker followed. When she found the pretender's door closed, 
Parker hesitated for a moment. In all the time Jarod had stayed here, Parker had never 
trespassed on his privacy. It had seemed very important that he have this space of his own. But 
Parker simply could not wait for answers any longer.

Turning the doorknob she gently pushed open the door without knocking. 

"Jarod?" she called quietly.

The pretender was lying on the bed, curled on one side so that his back was facing the door.

Sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, Parker ran a gentle caress across his shoulder blades. 
"Jarod," she repeated softly. "What's wrong?"

Jarod sighed. "I didn't know what it was," he whispered. "I didn't understand."

Parker silently patted his shoulder to urge him on.

"I thought I was just tired," he said. "I was just so very tired." Jarod rolled onto his back to stare at 
the ceiling. "We turned the corner and I saw the house. I felt so, so very," he paused searching for 
words. "Relieved. It was as though some huge weight was suddenly lifted from my shoulders."

Parker frowned slightly in confusion, but remained silent.

"I just did not recognize it for what it was," Jarod whispered miserably. "Not until you said it."

"What did I say?" Parker urged when he seemed unwilling to go on.

Jarod turned and looked at her. His lips were trembling and his eyes were swimming with tears as 
the pretender whispered, "It does feel good to be," his voice wavered. "Home." With a huge gasp, 
he said again, "It feels really, really good to be home."

Parker smiled as teardrops began to run down her face. "Yes, it does."

"I don't want to leave," Jarod whispered woefully.

Grasping his one hand between both of her own, Parker sniffed, "No one said you had to go 
anywhere Jarod."

"I can't stay forever," Jarod sniffed.

"Why not?" she whispered in return.

"This is your home, not mine," Jarod argued.

"But that is not what you just said," Parker cajoled him. "You can't force a place to be your home, 
Jarod. Either it feels like a home or it doesn't." She gently stroked a lock of hair away from his 
brow. "And if it FEELS like home, it is home."

"But, Parker," Jarod began. 

Miss Parker placed her fingertips over Jarod's lips to hush him. "We are home, Jarod. This is your 
home, and this is your room and your bed. Preferring this house and this furniture to some other 
is not wrong. I won't ask you to leave, and no one else will force you to do so."

"My folks want me up at the big house," Jarod admitted.

Parker cocked an eyebrow at him, "Your parents will adjust."

Jarod sighed as his eyes drifted shut.

"Sleep now, Jarod," Parker whispered. "You need to sleep."

Jarod squeezed her hand slightly in his, "You take such good care of me, Parker. And I've been 
such an ass lately."

"Lately?" Parker taunted in amusement. "News flash, Genius, but you've been an ass for a very 
long time."

Jarod laughed softly. A few minutes later, his breathing had taken a deep and even rhythm. 
Parker started to stand but Jarod held her hand tightly, preventing her quiet retreat. 

"Don't go," Jarod whispered, his eyes still closed as though sleeping. "We need to talk."

"We're both exhausted, Jarod," Parker fussed. "We can talk in the morning."

"Don't go," he repeated. He tugged gently on her hand, pulling her down onto the bedspread with 
him. 

With a sigh of resignation, Parker laid down beside Jarod. He curled around her, fitting himself to 
the contour of her body. Snuggled deep in Jarod's embrace like his favorite teddy bear, Parker 
allowed her own eyes to drift shut and sleep overcame them both. 

-

End Part 6


Disclaimer: All I'm getting from this is a little bit of fun. No cash is involved, so there are no 
royalties for those who really own the characters. So finally, the saga continues. 08/27/03


The King and the Pawn  
Part7 (Refuge)
By Phenyx

-

The sun was high when Parker finally stretched and woke the next morning. She found herself 
alone in Jarod's room. One half of the bedspread had been gently folded over to cover her, 
wrapping her in a warm cocoon. With a yawn, Parker ran her fingers through her hair and 
wandered down the hall to the bathroom.

After a long hot shower, Parker wrapped herself in a plain cotton robe and headed for the kitchen 
for coffee and something to eat. Halfway to her destination, she found Jarod stretched out in front 
of the television, fast asleep. CNN news was scrolling through the headlines of the day on the TV 
screen while a bubbly blond haired girl regaled the audience with the most recent weather update 
for the country. A mug, half full of cold coffee, sat on a nearby end table along with an empty 
cereal bowl and three neatly stacked piles of various envelopes. 

A quick glance made it obvious that Jarod had gone through the mail, carefully sorting each piece 
and categorizing them into stacks. One stack for bills, one for junk, and one for miscellaneous 
items. Nothing had been opened, for they were all addressed to Miss Parker or to occupant. 

As Parker gazed down at the sleeping pretender and the heaps of correspondence at his side, 
she frowned sadly. Jarod had been in residence for nearly a year now, and yet he was so very 
conscious of the fact that nothing outside of his bedroom belonged to him. Aside from the actual 
presence of the man sleeping on the furniture, Parker could find no indication in the entire room 
that anyone else lived here.

Parker headed to the kitchen with these thoughts heavy on her mind. The conversation they had 
shared last night made it apparent that Jarod was beginning to feel a stability in this house. It was 
a feeling of constancy that Jarod didn't think he was entitled to claim.

Pouring herself some coffee, Parker sipped at her mug and stared thoughtfully out the window. 
Admittedly, Parker's attitude had always been that Jarod could stay until he was ready to leave, 
whenever that may be. She realized now that she needed to change her thinking on the issue. To 
be honest, she enjoyed Jarod's company most of the time. The mere thought of being forced to 
live alone again made her skin crawl. 

Jarod didn't want to leave. Parker wouldn't make him. It was time to make the house 'theirs' and 
not just 'hers'.

But convincing Jarod of this on an emotional level would be difficult. Jarod had been displaced 
and outcast for a very long time. Although he already felt an attachment, a belonging, in this old 
house, learning to accept the permanence of it would be a struggle. 

Parker needed to find a symbol of Jarod's claim on their home, something that was uniquely his. 
Or even better, she needed to find something that they had created together.

As Miss Parker began to prepare herself a late breakfast, she began to wonder if perhaps it was 
time to redecorate the house. The place hadn't been given a good overhaul since she had moved 
into it years ago. She had wanted to keep the memory of her mother alive by keeping her 
sanctuary just as it had been.

The more Parker thought about it, the better the idea sounded. The décor was too dark and she 
wanted a change. Her life had altered drastically since Jarod had come back to Delaware. As a 
result, Parker's attitude had become brighter and she no longer felt the need to wallow in the dark 
to feel some connection to her mother.

Munching on a piece of fruit while her bagel toasted, Parker was still lost in thought when a 
sleepy eyed Jarod wandered into the room.

Scratching at the hair on his bare chest, Jarod yawned, "Good morning. Or is it good afternoon?"

"Still morning for a little while," Parker smiled.

Jarod frowned slightly as he dumped the cold liquid from his cup and filled it with fresh coffee. 
"You have that look on your face, Parker," he scolded. "What's going on?"

"What look?" she cried defensively.

Jarod sat in a chair at the table with Parker and said, "That thoughtful, list-making look."

Parker raised her brows questioningly. 

"You're making lists of things to do in your head," Jarod explained.

Parker smirked, "Maybe."

With a soft chuckle Jarod said, "You really do have control issues, Miss Parker."

"Look who's talking, Buster," she replied laughingly.

Snatching a bagel for himself from the package, Jarod began to eat as he asked, "So what is on 
the agenda for today?"

Parker nodded, "We need to pay some bills. That stack of mail is huge," she complained. "I'd 
appreciate your help getting that done as soon as we can."

"Sure," Jarod said.

They fell into a comfortable silence for several minutes. Parker was chewing thoughtfully and 
staring at the wall when she said slowly, "I think I have decided that I hate this wallpaper."

Jarod blinked at her, startled by the sudden comment. He gazed intently at the design for a 
moment before responding, "It seems to be a simple enough pattern. A little worn perhaps."

"Those tiny little flowers have been there for as long as I can remember," Parker said. "I'm tired of 
flowers."

"Okay," Jarod replied slowly.

"Do you think we will have any trouble getting the paper off the wall?" Parker asked nonchalantly.

Jarod's eyebrows rose slightly. "Not if it is that old," he said. "There's a place it town that rents 
steamers made for removing wallpaper. But it's a very messy job."

Parker paused for a long moment before asking, "So what do you think, just paint it white? Or 
should we hang a new design?"

Jarod smiled as he realized where this conversation was going. "Why do I get the feeling that I'm 
the manual labor in this equation?"

"I'm not tall enough to reach the corners," Parker complained.

"That's what ladders are for," Jarod said.

Parker smiled tauntingly, "But I don't need a ladder, Jarod. I have you."

They were both chortling in amusement when the phone ran a moment later.

As Parker started to move toward the ringing device, Jarod put out a hand to stop her. "Let the 
machine get it," he commanded in an icy voice.

Parker sat back down cautiously. Jarod's good humor slipped into nothingness when his mother's 
voice floated out of the answering machine in the next room.

"Good morning, Dear," the older woman called cheerfully. "I guess you must still be asleep. I'm 
sure you're jet lagged but we have all missed you so much. I'm preparing a big welcome home 
dinner for you. So I want you to get plenty of rest this afternoon and come by at around six. See 
you then sweetheart. Bye!"
 
There was a distinctive click of sound as the connection ended. 

Parker watched warily as Jarod stood and went to the sink to rinse out his cup.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Parker asked.

Jarod sighed and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "Talk about 
what?" he replied.

"What happened when you last visited your parents, Jarod?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "We argued. That's all."

Parker folded her arms and sat back. "Well, whatever you disagreed about, your mother doesn't 
sound like she's still upset."

Jarod pushed away from the counter angrily and began clearing off the table. "I'm still upset," he 
grumbled.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Parker repeated.

Jarod slammed the refrigerator door after replacing the butter. "No," he growled. With a heavy 
sigh, he sank into the chair, propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. 
"Yes," he whispered in a small voice.

Parker waited. Jarod was ready to talk now. All she needed to do was wait for him to find the 
words.

He sighed again. "My mother wants me to give Emily a job. Teach her about the family business 
so to speak."

Parker nodded, "We can find something for her, in H.R perhaps. Or even better, with her 
journalism background maybe she'd do well in media relations"

"That's what I thought," Jarod said morosely. "But as it turns out, they already have a position in 
mind for her."

"Well?" Parker urged.

"They think I need someone to help with the day to day minutia of running the corporation. 
Someone to take the meetings I can't fit into my schedule, decide what little emergencies require 
my attention, host company functions and such like," Jarod explained.

"I see," Parker said slowly, beginning to understand. "And you told your parents that you didn't 
need someone to do those things for you."

Jarod nodded. "You are there to do those things for me," he said in a low voice.

"Emily has no experience with the people at The Centre," Parker expounded. "She wouldn't have 
the first idea of how to get anything done."

"I know that," Jarod griped. "Hell, look at what I've thrown at you in the last month. No one else 
could have accomplished what you did."

Parker blinked at the pretender in astonishment. "Are you telling me that you were purposely 
being difficult to see if I could hack it?"

Jarod looked at her sheepishly, "Maybe just a bit."

"Damn it, Jarod," Parker began.

"But I had to know," Jarod interrupted. Seeing Parker's frown, the pretender sighed once more. 
"My mother claims that I let you have the job in return for sexual favors," he said miserably.

Parker tried hard to hide a smirk. "Did you tell her that we don't sleep together?"

"Where I sleep and whom I chose to sleep with is none of my mother's business," Jarod hissed 
between clenched teeth.

"Well, she isn't alone, you know," Parker said gently. "Seeing as we are literally living together, 
I'm sure the general assumption is that we have sex."

"But we don't," Jarod cried in exasperation. 

"Do you want to?" Parker asked mildly. 

The startled look on Jarod's face was so comical, that Parker nearly burst out laughing. 

Placing her hand over one of Jarod's, Parker said gently, "It's about time we talked about this 
don't you think?"

Jarod wrapped Parker's hands in both of his own and gazed at her for a long moment. Parker 
could see the astonishment slip away to be replaced by serious thought and reflection on the 
subject. 

"Sometimes," Jarod began slowly. "There are times when you are so beautiful, so sensually 
attractive, it makes me crazy. But," he tilted his head thoughtfully. "It isn't as often as one might 
think." Jarod shrugged. "Maybe it's because I never had much of a sex life when I was a younger 
man. Maybe it's because we are so incredibly intimate in so many other ways. Sex seems almost 
like an afterthought."

"For the most part," Jarod said seriously. "I'm perfectly content just spending time with you, alone 
like we are now. Talking or walking in the park, or even just sitting together while we watch 
television," he smiled warmly. "I especially like it when I stretch out on the couch and pillow my 
head in your lap. You play with my hair in this absent-minded sort of way that feels really nice."

Parker nodded. "You like the normal things," she agreed.  

"It's not just that," Jarod frowned. "I like who I am when we are alone together. I don't have to hide 
anything. I can say just about anything I want."

"You can't do that with your folks, can you?" Parker said knowingly. She had spent a lifetime 
carefully choosing her words with her own father. 

The pretender shook his head. "There is so much I don't want to explain to them. So much that 
would only frighten and upset them. I don't have to worry about that with you. You have seen 
every dark and horrific aspect of my personality. You know all there is to know. There are no 
secrets between us." Jarod sighed. "There is a great deal of security in the knowledge that no 
matter what I have done, you haven't judged me in any way."

Miss Parker smiled affectionately and patted Jarod's hand. "Our relationship is slightly Oedipal in 
nature. Do you realize that?"

Jarod nodded slightly. "You do take really good care of me, Parker. You protect me when you can 
and let me fail when you feel I need to." He smiled. "You've watched me grow up over these past 
few years."

Parker ran a tender caress over the stubble on Jarod's jaw. "We are a part of each other, you and 
I. We are more than friends, closer than partners."

After a heartbeat's worth of pause, Jarod added with a growing smile, "But if you're interested in 
exploring a sexual aspect of our relationship, I'll be more than glad to oblige."

Parker snickered, "I don't doubt that one bit, Pez-head."

With an exaggerated look of disappointment, Jarod teased, "Is that a 'No'?"

"You're not the only one going crazy on occasion, Wonder-boy," Parker purred. "Especially when 
you walk around half naked like you are now."

A sly grin spread across Jarod's face. "If you like what you see, feel free to take it for a test drive 
sometime," he growled invitingly.

"Promise me that you won't have a coronary when I take you up on that offer," Parker chuckled 
as she pushed away from the table.

Jarod's grin spread. "I like ' when '. ' When ' is a good word. So much more optimistic than the 
word ' if ', wouldn't you agree?"

With a snort, Parker headed for the door. "Get dressed, Jarod. We have a lot to do before we go 
up to the big house this evening."

A few minutes later, Parker was in her room pulling a shirt over her head. As she pulled her hair 
out from under the collar and straightened the cotton over her waistband she became aware of a 
sound coming from down the hall. Jarod was whistling the theme from "Bonanza".

Smiling happily, Parker sat on her bed to slip a pair of canvass shoes on her feet. It was a full 
minute before she realized that she had begun to hum the tune as well.

--

"Is that straight?" Jarod asked.

"Up on the left just a smidge," Parker ordered.

Jarod frowned in confusion, "What's a smidge?" 

Parker rolled her eyes and reached up to tap one end of the painting so that it hung properly on 
its anchor. Nodding with satisfaction, she glanced around the room appreciatively. The fairy tale 
painting had been the last item of décor to go up in the room. 

"This looks really nice, Jarod," she said proudly.

"You like it?" he asked warily.

"It's perfect," Parker assured him with a soft touch on his arm.

This had been the last room in the house to be renovated. Once the two of them had set to work, 
the kitchen had been quickly overhauled. They had then moved to the bathrooms, the bedrooms 
and the living room. Parker and Jarod had each decorated their own bedrooms and baths. A door 
had been placed in one wall so that Jarod's room now had its own adjoining bathroom. 

The living room had been a joint effort and the subject of much debate for the two weeks they had 
worked on it. But finally they had agreed on a combination of earthy tones ranging from deep gray 
to tan. Splashes of rust-colored hues, ceramic vases and a spastically designed rug all blended 
together for a friendly, warm atmosphere.

They had made love a handful of times in the weeks since they had first discussed it in the 
kitchen. The encounters had been more playful than passionate though thoroughly enjoyable and 
very satisfying for them both. Overall, their sexuality had not altered the relationship in any way. 
Jarod and Parker each slept in their own rooms at night. Both were perfectly content with the 
arrangement. 

It had been on the new rug, in front of the fire, that Parker had first voiced her ideas for the last 
room of the house. The two of them had been curled together in the sleepy aftermath of what 
Jarod now called "test drives".

"You cart too much stuff back and forth in your briefcase, Jarod," she had whispered while playing 
with the hair on his chest. 

Jarod knew that Parker rarely changed the subject so abruptly without a purpose. So he went 
along with it to find out what she was after, "If I leave the files at the office, I would be at The 
Centre eighteen ours a day in order to get everything done. This lets me accomplish things here 
at home."

"You should have an office here," Parker told him. "That way you would have a place to keep 
extra files." 

Jarod smiled. "Do you want to build an office onto the house, Parker?"

"No," Parker whispered. "I thought you could use the studio."

Jarod had been flabbergasted. "You would let me put my things in your mother's studio?" he 
asked in shock. 

"It needs a good cleaning, and a new coat of paint," Parker said. "You'll need to get some 
furniture and it probably needs to be rewired so that you can install computers and a phone line."

"Parker," Jarod whispered. "I don't know what to say."

"Say it's a good idea." She answered.

"Are you sure?" he argued.

"Positive," Parker said with a nod. "I've thought about it quite a bit."

Jarod had kissed her then. After a long moment he asked, "Have you picked a color scheme for 
this office?" 

"It's yours, Jarod," she smiled. "You get to pick."

Jarod had taken the assignment very seriously, knowing only too well what this gesture 
represented. Redesigning and furnishing this room had taken the pretender nearly a month. He 
had done all the work himself, from the electrical wiring to the new woodwork. On more than one 
occasion, Jarod had spent all night in the room, sanding or painting or putting up new drywall. 

The result was a lovely room with dark mahogany woodwork. The faded pattern on the window 
seat had not changed. The room had been decorated to match that old scrap of fabric. The two 
large desks were of modern design, crafted to look old, but equipped with hidden compartments 
for electronic devices. The desks were situated close to each other, each with an elegant leather 
chair facing one another. 

Along one wall was a work counter with a series of built in drawers for files. On the opposite wall 
was a large cabinet with double doors that contained a copy and fax machine and an assortment 
of other office paraphernalia. 

The large windows had tieback curtains in a deep emerald color that matched the desk pads. 
These served to accentuate the green of the dancing frog in the painting that had just been re-
hung in its place near the window. 

The room was tastefully done, functionally practical and yet distinctly Jarod. On the wall above 
one desk was a glass-encased cabinet like the ones used by miniature collectors. But rather than 
holding matchbooks or pewter figures, this case held Jarod's favorite Pez dispensers. 

The surface of one desk was empty, waiting for Miss Parker's things. But on the other desk were 
a silver perpetual motion toy, a bright red plastic slinky and a picture frame. In the frame was the 
black and white image of the two toddlers sitting in the window seat.

Parker smiled as she turned and looked into the next room. The wall she had once erected to 
close this area off had now been torn down. In its place was a set of sliding wooden panels. 
When the doors were open, as they were tonight, the two rooms melded into one. But if privacy 
was needed, the panels easily slid shut.

"It really looks nice," Parker repeated stepping into a quick embrace.  

"I'm glad you like it," Jarod murmured into her hair.

"You are the only one who matters in this, " Parker scolded as she brushed a bit of fluff from his 
black shirt. "You have to work in it."

"I know," Jarod said. "But I want you to approve." 

"Well, I do," Parker reassured him. "It looks fabulous."

"You look fabulous," Jarod grinned. 

Parker smoothed her hair nervously. "I hope everything goes well tonight," she fretted. "This could 
be a disaster."

"Lyle isn't coming," Jarod reassured her. "So what could go wrong?"

Parker scoffed and strode into the dining room to check on the arrangements one more time. 
They were having a small dinner party. It was the first such gathering that they had held in their 
home. The only guests in attendance would be family and friends. Not only would Jarod's parents 
be here, but Sydney and Broots were coming as well. In the past, all interaction between Jarod's 
two distinct families had been through very brief phone messages.

"They could wind up throttling each other," Parker said in a worried tone. 

"Nah," Jarod scoffed. "I made everyone promise to be on their best behavior."

Over the last several weeks, Jarod had found a way to deal with his mother's attempts to direct 
his decisions. He simply ignored them. Whenever she broached the subject of his moving in with 
rest of the family, Jarod simply blew her off. More often than not he responded to such inquiries 
with detailed descriptions of the current work he was doing on the cottage. His mother had quickly 
gotten the picture and had let the subject drop.

The same was true regarding Emily's new job at The Centre. Jarod had placed her in the media 
department as a low level assistant. Emily would be given plenty of opportunities to advance her 
position within the corporate structure. But Jarod had made in quite clear that she would need to 
earn any promotions. They would not be handed to her.

A plump, dark haired woman cleared her throat discretely to get Miss Parker's attention.

"Yes, Caren?" Parker said in acknowledgement.

"Carl has just arrived with the pastries for desert, Madam," the woman said. 

"Thank god," Parker sighed. Entertaining a house full of people was stressful enough. Parker 
couldn't imagine how harrowing it would have been if she had not decided to have the food 
catered.

"I found the mail on the kitchen counter. Ma'am," the girl added. "Thought you might like to put it 
safely away."

"I'll take care of it," Jarod offered, taking the small stack and strolling back toward the office. 

The doorbell rang and Parker hurried to open the door. As Broots and his daughter, Debbie, 
crossed the threshold, Parker turned and saw Jarod leaning casually against his desk. He had a 
letter opener in one hand and a torn envelop in the other. The pretender was perusing a credit 
card bill. 

Parker smiled happily to herself. Jarod looked so relaxed, so sure of himself. He seemed to be 
coming to terms with the life he now led. Jarod seemed to be happy. He was at home.

Granted, there would always be times when the darkness of their past would rise up and haunt 
them. Jarod's sudden aversion to small children was a prime example. For reasons that he had 
yet to discuss, the pretender had abruptly decided he would never have a family of his own. 

"This branch of the Parker family tree has been trimmed," he would say coldly.

In what Parker guessed was a subconscious effort to avoid what he could not have, Jarod had 
become very sensitive to the presence of children. Jarod and his corporation donated millions to 
fight for children's rights and he had started the Timothy Foundation to help parents find missing 
children. But the pretender was easily irritated whenever youngsters were actually in his 
presence.

Parker understood. She had come to the same conclusion herself quite some time ago. She 
could not picture herself as someone's mother any more than she could imagine becoming a nun. 
No child of hers would ever grow up in the shadows of The Centre.  

As Parker answered another knock at the door, she caught Jarod's eye and smiled. The 
pretender's face lit up and his eyes twinkled as he beamed back at her. Parker chuckled. 

Yes, there would always be dark days. There would always be nightmares and irrational fears for 
them both. But together Jarod and Parker could find their way. And one day, one day soon, the 
good days would begin to come more often than the bad. 

Perhaps they already did.


-- 
The end.

    Source: geocities.com/phenyx525@sbcglobal.net