Shaddyr's Eclectic Collection > Pretender Fanfiction > Liz Shelbourne > Brick by Brick
Brick by Brick
During the day at work, Jarod and Hannah tried to give as little grist to the rumor mill as they could. Then each evening, after basketball practice, they time spent with each other, sometimes enjoying a late dinner, often just sharing Caitlin’s company until the little girl went to bed. Afterward, they spent long hours talking, learning about each other. It seemed that each night they had moved physically nearer as they grew emotionally closer, until Thursday night they had drifted off to sleep on the couch in each other’s arms.
To Hannah, things were happening fast, and not fast enough. She could not remember ever feeling so comfortable with a man before, yet she knew so little about him. Each night she would tell him stories about her childhood, but if she asked about his, Jarod’s answers were usually short, often cryptic. At times he still seemed as nervous as that first night at his apartment, was it only a few days ago? Other times, he held her with such intensity that she thought that he might never let go. And always he was wonderful with Caitlin, almost like a child himself as they played together on the floor while she made dinner or cleaned up the kitchen. More than one time she caught her eyes welling up with tears as she watched them. This is the kind of life Caitlin should have, she thought, with a father to love her as much as Scott would have.
Even with Jarod there, Scott often crossed her mind. They were very different people; Jarod was introverted, even mysterious, but with an uncanny ability to understand other peoples feelings; Scott had been more confrontational, certainly more sure of himself, at least with her, but he had also been a kind and giving person, like his parents. She thought about what Fiona had said, how Scott would have wanted her to go on. A year ago, those words would have been unthinkable, to love someone else, to be with another man, absolutely impossible. But with Jarod, somehow the unthinkable became a possibility.
Early Friday morning she woke up where she had fallen asleep on the couch, Jarod’s strong arms wrapped around her. He must have left during the night, taking off her shoes and getting a pillow and blanket from her bedroom before he left. She wrapped herself tighter in the blanket thinking, wondering what the next step would be, what secrets he held inside.
Jarod opened the door to his apartment, aware of the presence of another person in what should have been an empty room. His heart raced as he quietly put down the black gym bag to free up his hands should he need to fight.
There was no illumination except a glow coming from the table. Facing away from him, the pale light outlined the edges of the open silver case that stored and played all his simulation disks. He could hear his own young voice coming from the speaker. Someone had accessed one of the DSA’s.
He inched cautiously around the table to see who was hidden behind the lid of the case. In the light of the screen he could see brown hair veiled over hands, hands that covered a face and supported a head.
When she looked up, Hannah’s face was tearstreaked, overwhelmed. "My God, Jarod," she gasped. "What did they do to you?"
Jarod picked her up by her shoulders and held her tightly against his chest. Her body softly shuddered in the aftermath of crying as he stroked her hair away from her face. "What are you doing here?"
She trembled once again. "Caitlin is staying overnight at my parents. I thought we could have a nice dinner, alone." She nodded toward a collection of food on the counter, French bread, lettuce, tomatoes. "I didn’t think you would mind if we ate here, so I let myself in. I wanted to turn on some music," she pointed toward the silvery disks scattered on the table, "I thought they were music, I swear, but when I saw what was on one . . ." She drew away from his arms. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude." She looked back at the case sitting on the table. "Why? Why did they do that to you? Who are those monstrous people?" She hesitated, staring up into his face. "Who are you?"
Jarod took her hands in his own, gazing at them as he sought words to explain his life, his lifestyle. Finally he looked up into her expectant eyes, his own, deadly serious. "Today, I’m Jarod Johnson. I don’t know who I will be tomorrow."
Hannah swayed a little, pulling her hands away from his grasp. She staggered toward the couch and leaned against the arm, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off a chill.
Jarod could see fear building up in Hannah’s expression. He walked past her and sat on the edge of a nearby chair. Hannah would have to turn to look at him: he waited but she did not. He decided to begin his story anyway.
"Those people, those monsters, as you call them, are from a place called The Centre. They took me from my family when I was very young. For years they kept me there, training me, watching me, forming me until I became what they call a Pretender, someone who can become anyone else, take on any personality or occupation, actually experience life as another person. Then they used me for their ‘simulations,’ their exercises, and they used the information I gave them for a variety of different purposes. Sometimes I would help them answer questions, or create solutions to problems. Occasionally my simulations were recreated in the real world, sometimes for good, many times not. Sometimes people died." He paused, remembering the pain of knowledge.
"Three years ago I escaped their marble prison. They’ve sent people after me, specifically a woman, Miss Parker, and Sydney, my mentor, but for the most part, I’ve managed to stay free. I’ve spent the last three years looking for answers to questions, looking for my family." He rose and moved in front of Hannah once again. "When you asked who I am, I couldn’t give you a real answer. I don’t know. I’ve been looking for my family to try to find out who I really am, so that I can be someone other than a Pretender."
Hannah finally looked up and searched deeply into his face. "When I saw that little boy, when I saw the look in his eyes, the awful loneliness, I started to cry for him, and then I realized that it was you."
He reached down and ran his fingertips along the side of her face; she placed her hand over his. "I’m not lonely now. I have you and Caitlin."
"What are you doing here?" she asked gently, the accent on the last word.
Jarod sighed, then gently pulling her arm, led her to the couch. They sat next to each other, still holding hands.
"When I came out of the Centre, the first thing that I wanted to do was to find my family, but I also knew I had to do something to make up for the things I had done, for what they had used me for. I started looking for people who needed help, people who had been hurt, or cheated, or wronged, and I did what I could to fix things for them. I used the skills the Centre had taught me to try and make things right for those people. At the same time I continued my search first for my mother, then for my family."
"So you help the underdog, the little guy."
"In the past three years I’ve been a doctor more than once, a lawyer, a firefighter, a thief, a safecracker, a criminologist, dozens of other people." He smiled in memory. "I found the ones who have done the harm, and brought them to some kind of justice. I’ve tried to help mothers and children, fathers, friends, whoever was hurt by the actions of someone who did not care, just as the Centre did not care. I can’t turn back time, for them or myself, but at least I can help the victims."
Hannah thought over his words. "Then you’re not an architect."
Jarod shook his head. "I’ve studied architecture, I enjoy it, but I’ve never been to school for it, and I have never worked anywhere else as one."
Once again Hannah was momentarily silent as she digested his words. "Then why are you he-"
A slow horror dawned in her gray eyes as she thought over his words. She dropped his hand and started to move backward off the couch. "Victims. Justice," she whispered under her breath, staring into his face. "No, no," she prayed aloud. "Oh, God, Jarod. Please tell me I’m wrong. Please!"
Jarod edged toward her, his tone pleading. "Hannah, don’t."
"I’m not, am I." Her voice, her fear, was growing in intensity. "You’re here for me, because of what happened to that man. You came here to bring me to justice, didn’t you? Tell me, Jarod, tell me!"
"Yes."
Hannah stood up and stumbled backward, as if the acknowledgment had been a physical blow. For a moment, she stood trembling, staring at him as he walked toward her, then, suddenly, she changed. She clenched her fists and her eyes blazed with a newfound fury. Once again Jarod was faced with Brock’s "she-tiger."
"Is this how you do it, then?" she questioned him tauntingly. "Do you worm your way into your victim’s life until they care about you, and then, when it will hurt the most, you tell them what terrible things they’ve done, how they have to pay? Do you pretend to care so that you can do the most damage to them? Is this your idea of justice, Jarod, this emotional assassination?"
"Hannah, please. Let me explain."
"No, no, let me explain. Let me tell you about the nightmares I had after I found out that that man died, after I found out that it was my fault. Let me tell you how everyone tried to say it was because of Scott’s death, that I was preoccupied, that I couldn’t do my job, but I knew. I knew that no matter what excuses people gave to me, I still had his blood on my hands." She leaned forward menacingly over the arm of the couch, her voice tinged with hysteria. "For two weeks, I sat through a trial while the lawyers and the insurance companies decided my fate. They took my house, my car, they took away the job that I loved, they even took away my husband’s death benefits. Did you know that I’m bankrupt? They left me with nothing!
"But do you know what is really the worst, Jarod? It isn’t enough. Nothing will ever be enough, for his family or for myself, because I killed that man, as sure as if I had put a gun to his head and pulled a trigger. I know exactly what his family is feeling, knowing that their husband, their father, will never come home again, and it will never be enough!
"And now, now you come along and you’re going to bring me to justice. Well, there’s nothing left, Jarod. It may not be enough, but they’ve taken everything already." She stopped suddenly. "No, that’s not true. I had only one thing left to give, and you took it, from me and from Caitlin, and then you destroyed it." Turning away, she started for the door. She grabbed at the knob, then whirled back to face him. "So tell me, judge, jury and executioner, is justice done?"
Jarod stood watching her in shock as she glared at him, waiting for an answer, but his mind was blank, reeling from her accusations. He was transfixed as she opened the door and left, only the sound of it slamming brought him to action.
He ran out into the hall, watching as she darted into her own apartment. He tried to reach the door before it closed, but was a half-second too late, and he could only bang on it with both hands.
"Hannah, talk to me. Please, Hannah, let me explain."
A muffled voice came from the other side of the door. It sounded tired and sad, no longer angry. "Go away, Jarod. Your simulation is over. There is nothing left to discuss."
"Yes there is! Please, Hannah! There’s so much to explain. Open up!" He banged his open hands on the door again, but this time more softly. "Damn it, Hannah. Talk to me."
There was no response.
His forehead fell in despair against the wood of the door. "I love you."
The hallway was silent, as was the apartment behind the door. Jarod stood for minutes, his head and hands still pressed against the wood. Finally he pushed himself back and walked despondently away.
Inside her apartment, Hannah leaned against the door and listened to the sound of his footsteps going down the hallway. Slowly, silently, she slid down to the floor. The heavy tears could wait no longer.
For two days Jarod sat inside his apartment, listening. At first he had been angry, at himself, at Hannah, at the Centre for putting him in this impossible situation. His frustration emerged violently at first, the stacks of digital archives taking the brunt of his fury as he swept them off the table. Then, as he sat on the floor surrounded by the silvery disks that held his life, his turmoiled emotions jelled into desolation.
He had knocked at her door on Saturday morning, giving her the chance to calm down, but had gotten no answer. Saturday evening was the same. Every time he heard the sound of footsteps in the hall, he would peer out his door, but was greeted only by friendly, or wary, looks from his other neighbors.
Late that night he made the call.
"Hello?" came the familiar, slightly accented voice over the line.
"Sydney, I need your help." Jarod’s own voice was tired, depressed. "I don’t know what to do."
The older man had never heard his protégé sound like this before. At times, Jarod had been confused, angry, righteous, even malevolent, but never so downtrodden.
"What has happened?"
"I’ve hurt someone. Terribly."
"Physically or emotionally?"
Jarod laughed cynically. "You know, I’ve learned ways to treat so many kinds of physical injury. I’ve played doctor more than once, but I’m quite lost when it comes to emotions. It seems that my training was somewhat lacking in that department, Sydney. You’ll have to redo your curriculum."
"You’re covering your own pain with sarcasm. That is not new for you." Sydney paused in a classically psychotherapist way. "But I have a feeling that this has hurt you as much as some one else. Explain to me what has happened."
Jarod’s manner was once more subdued. "I came here to try to help someone, but I ended up hurting someone else instead. I was wrong in my assumptions, wrong in what I was trying to do, but I didn’t know, and that ignorance has cost me. . . " His voiced trailed off as he remembered Hannah’s angry words, her accusations, his own feelings. "It cost me something very special."
Sydney was also introspective. "And now you doubt yourself. You know, sometimes we do the wrong thing for the right reason. In trying to help, we as humans often end up hurting the ones we care for." He paused in thought again. "Is this ‘something special’ with a woman?"
For a split second, Jarod was embarrassed. He felt his face flush, as if he had just been caught doing something wrong. Then he realized that in his own mind he had; he had attempted something he had little experience in, he had fallen in love, and he had, at least at this point, failed. Hannah, who had become so vital to him, was nowhere to be found. He felt lost.
"She’s so important to me, Sydney, and I’ve hurt her terribly." He was on the verge of tears, and yet angry. "I can’t find her, I can’t explain it to her! I’ve never felt this way before, so helpless."
Sydney smiled quietly to himself. "You are in love."
There was stillness from the other side of the phone line.
"If she did not have some of the same feelings for you, do you think your actions would have hurt her this much?"
Jarod thought this over. "I think she did care, I know she did. But now?"
"If she left, as you say, it is for a reason. She needs time to sort things out for herself, by herself. If it were not important to her, she would not need to do this away from you." The words came from the voice of experience. "Does she know?"
"About the Centre? Yes, I was able to explain that much."
"Are you in danger?"
The query brought Jarod up short. It was a question he had not asked himself. "I don’t think so. She isn’t vindictive."
Sydney’s next thoughts were more to the point. "What about from yourself? Does this involvement compromise your situation?"
Jarod realized that he had received not a question, but a warning. It would have been simple to let his confused feelings cloud his judgment, take away the edge which had ensured his freedom so far. "No," he said, a little more confidently, knowing that Sydney was still trying to help him in his own way. "I don’t think that this will give the Centre any opportunity. You’re still going to have to find me before you can drag me back."
Sydney smiled to himself once again - Jarod had understood. "You’ve entered a whole new realm, one that can leave you feeling euphoric one minute and take you to the depths of despair the next, but it is part of the human experience that you needed to feel for yourself. No simulation can take the place of actually loving another."
"You think there’s hope?" The words came out almost fearfully.
"Hope is an essential part of love. It is when she tells you that there is no love, then hope will be gone. One of the reasons she went away is because she could not tell you this. Don’t give up yet, but, at the same time, Jarod, you must be realistic." Sydney said the last words as a veiled warning once again. Jarod understood that he must not let his guard down, for the Centre was always there to capitalize on the smallest mistake.
Jarod hung up the phone and ran his hand over his rough face. He had not showered or shaved, had not gone to the high school, had done little but sit in his apartment and think, always waiting for the sound of footsteps, mother and daughter’s, in the hallway. Now he realized what a sight he would be should they have actually come home. As he moved toward the bedroom, he passed the table with his briefcase open upon it. For a few minutes that morning, he had thought he would work on some of the items he had brought home from the office, but had soon realized that it would be impossible to concentrate. He picked up the papers and carefully placed them back into the case. "Don’t give up," he whispered to himself, "but be realistic." He closed up the case and set it near the door. There were things which he would have to do Monday morning whether he saw Hannah or not, things which would need to be set straight. He sighed. He had enjoyed being an architect.
Sunday was another day of tense waiting. The front door opened a few times, but the footsteps always walked past Hannah’s door. That evening, as he sat staring at the window, his eyes fell upon the piece of the "strained glass" Caitlin had made for him. The light from the street lamp fell through the colored pieces of paper and made a pattern on the floor in front of him. A thought came to his mind and he reached for the phone book.
The voice that answered the phone was familiar. "Father Paul, " Jarod started nervously, "I don’t know if you remember me. My name is Jarod, we met at the Coneely’s on Thanksgiving."
"Why of course," came the welcome reply. "How nice to hear from you again. What may I help you with?"
"Actually, I’m calling about Hannah. She’s told me that you and she talk quite a bit, I was wondering if you had heard from her recently?"
There was a pause. "No, I haven’t. Is there something wrong?"
"No. Yes, " Jarod stammered. "I don’t really know. She left Friday night and I haven’t seen her since. I’m worried about her - she was upset."
"I see." There was another pause. "Jarod?"
"Yes."
"If you don’t mind my saying so, you sound upset yourself. If you’d care to talk to someone, I’d like to offer my services as a professional listener."
Jarod was thinking about his talk with Sydney, and was just about to decline when the thought struck him that Sydney did not really know Hannah. He had not spent the time with her that the priest had, did not know her painful recent history. Perhaps a different point of view would help him decide what to do next.
"I think I’d like to take you up on that, Father, if you’re available."
The priest gave him directions to his home. "I look forward to seeing you."
As he walked out into the cold night, Jarod wondered what he would tell the priest. How could he explain what had happened with Hannah without going into his whole life, how could he possibly help her without divulging his secret. For a moment, he almost turned back, then his resolve took over. He would do anything necessary to try to make it up to Hannah, if it meant telling Father Paul about his past, even if it meant moving on.
Monday morning dawned brightly against the backdrop of an early snow that had begun late the night before. Jarod walked off of the elevators with a number of the other people at the firm, all chatting about their battle with the traffic and how every year it seemed that people forgot how to drive in the snow and had to re-learn, usually during rush hour. Jarod was oblivious to their talk, he was thinking about Hannah and how she had not returned throughout the night. His concern grew as he saw that she was not at her desk at the front of the office either. It seemed that he would have to go through with his plans this morning without the opportunity to talk to her.
As he walked toward his office to drop off his case, one of the assistants passed him in the hall. "Oh, Mr. Johnson," the petite woman called out to him as he passed, "Mr. Coneely wanted to see you in the conference room as soon as you got here."
Jarod thanked her and stepped into his office for a moment. His concern turned into fear, first for Hannah and Caitlin, then, selfishly, for himself. Could something have happened to her over the weekend? Or was it that she had decided to expose his masquerade? He glanced around the offices as he walked back down the hall, looking for anything out of place, anyone suspicious.
Knocking on the big wood door, he was greeted with a muffled "Come in." Opening it, he was both surprised and relieved to see Hannah sitting at one end of the long table with her father-in-law. Her face was strangely blank, however, when she looked up at him, and the hopefulness in his own eyes soon faded. He disciplined himself for what he was about to do.
"Mr. Coneely," Jarod spoke to the older man but could not take his eyes off of Hannah. "I was hoping to talk to you this morning."
Arthur stood up, and walked around the table. Taking Jarod by the elbow, he led him back to one of the thickly padded chairs. "And I’d like to talk to you about something too. Have a seat." He took the chair at the head of the table. "Hannah and I have been talking about you and your work here."
Jarod tried to break in. "That’s what I wanted to disks."
The older man brushed away his remarks with a wave of his hand. "You’ll get your chance, son, don’t cut in or I may lose my train of thought. I do that more often these days." He took a sheaf of papers from a yellow folder. "I’m sure you know that, whatever has happened in the past, I give quite a bit of weight to Hannah’s talent and her opinion. We’ve been looking over your work, and I think we both agree that it is time for a little change around here." Once again Jarod attempted to speak but was stopped. "A situation arose this weekend, and it needs to be dealt with right away.
"I have a very exciting chance to do some preliminary work on a new museum in Savannah this week, and I’m looking for someone to come with me, a person with fresh insights and the ability to do some fast thinking if it comes to that. Hannah and I have been talking it over, and we both think you should be the one."
Jarod sat up straighter in his chair and looked at Hannah quizzically. She replied with a soft smile. Underneath he could still see sadness, hurt, but she also conveyed a whole new emotion, was it pride?
The lull drifted on. Finally the older man could stand it no longer. "Well?" he asked meaningfully. "Do you want the job, or are you two going to trade looks all morning?"
Both Jarod and Hannah turned toward him sheepishly. "Yes," Jarod stammered. "I’d be happy to work with you. Thank you."
"What was it you wanted to say to me then?" the architect reminded Jarod as he started to collect his files. "Make it quick, I’ve got a meeting across town in twenty minutes."
"Oh, nothing, nothing important. It can wait for another day." Jarod stood up as the older man walked toward the door.
"Hannah, would you brief Jarod on the Mapleton project then, and get us tickets to Savannah. I’d like to leave tomorrow morning, if at all possible. I’ll see the both of you in a few hours." In a flurry of activity, the older man grabbed his briefcase from the floor and left. The heavy wooden door swung closed behind him.
Suddenly the room seemed very quiet to both Hannah and Jarod. She turned toward the table and started grouping papers into piles as Jarod stood near the table. Finally he found his voice. "Why?"
"Why what?" she responded, not looking up from the table.
"Why did you recommend me for this project? You know I’m not an architect."
Hannah set the papers into one large pile and looked up at him. "Because he wanted someone with ability and a fresh outlook, and I think you have both."
For some reason, Jarod found it hard to meet her gaze. "I was going to quit today. I didn’t want to keep up the lie any longer."
"I think that would be a mistake. When you’re here, you are an architect, it’s not a lie."
"That’s what Pretenders do, you know."
Hannah glanced up at him long enough that he could see the hurt return to her eyes. She sat in the chair and struggled to fit a sheaf of papers into a manila folder. "Here’s all the information you’ll need," she said, rising from her seat. "I have to go make the travel arrangements for tomorrow."
"Can we talk, later?"
"Tonight," she answered, walking toward the door.
It was after eight when Jarod had finished packing. He glanced at the bundle of information Hannah had given him at the office once again, shaking his head. Steeling himself, he walked down the hall and rapped softly on the door to her apartment. It cracked open after a second knock.
She held the doorknob tentatively, her face peering out. "Hi," she said after what seemed like a long pause.
"May I come in?"
After another pause, she swung the door open, then turned and walked toward the kitchen. "Caitlin is already in bed," she said quickly, nervously. "She had a big weekend and she’s still tuckered out. I’m making hot cider, would you like some?" She poured the steaming liquid into two mugs without waiting for an answer.
"Either that or a cup of hemlock." Jarod’s comment held little emotion, and she turned around to look at him quizzically as she handed him the cup. "I don’t think I should go with Arthur tomorrow."
A sudden flash of anger burst across Hannah’s face. "It’s a little late for that now, isn’t it? He’s depending on you!"
"And what exactly am I supposed to do for him?" Jarod was adamant. "I’m a fraud! I read books and looked at pictures, that’s all. It’s not fair to him to go on pretending I’m something I’m not. You said it yourself, the simulation is over."
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as Hannah walked around him to sit on the couch, her feet curled beneath her, her body seemingly wrapping around the steaming mug in her hands. He could sense her frustration as he put his own cup on the counter and moved toward the other chair.
"Why do you doubt yourself?" she started as he sat down in front of her. "Jarod, I’ve seen your work. It’s brilliant. You have a talent, a vision that cannot be learned from books. It’s part of what you are.
"Here, let me prove it to you, let me ask you a question. When did they start you drawing, designing structures?"
"I don’t know, I guess I was around eight when I drafted my first skyscraper. From there I worked on some other projects on and off: a military aircraft, a couple of earthquake-proof buildings, a high-speed train."
She shook her head at the wonder of it. He spoke so nonchalantly, as if it were normal. At eight years old, he should have been building his skyscrapers and airplanes out of wooden blocks. The power of his intellect frightened her almost as much as the horror of the abuse he had been put through.
"All right. Now, when you were all alone, no demands, no simulations, did you draw then?"
"Yes."
"What? What did you sketch?" She moved toward the edge of the couch. "I bet you drew faces, and people, maybe horses, or cars. But what you really enjoyed drawing were the buildings. Big, fanciful skyscrapers, whole towns of steel and glass, or huge Victorian houses with gables and chimneys and bay windows. Am I right?"
Jarod nodded, remembering. "I liked the order of it, the angles and the lines, but how at the same time, it could be anything I imagined. I didn’t have to make it look like someone else’s idea of what it should be."
"Do you see what I mean? You may be a genius, you may be a Pretender, tomorrow you may be someone completely different, but in your heart, you are an artist. Your palette is filled with steel girders and windows and concrete, or brick and wood and shingles. I’ve seen you when you work, and I know that look, I know that feeling. This is what truly makes you happy."
She rose and walked over to the drafting table near the wall. Moving some papers, a book and one of her daughter’s art projects, she pulled an oversize paper off of the tilted table. She turned back toward Jarod, holding the unfinished drawing of a home in front of her. He could see the artistry that had gone into the design, the forethought and attention to detail, even though it was incomplete.
"I used to feel that way," she explained. "I used to stay up all night, drawing things for the sheer pleasure of creating something out of nothing and putting it onto paper. This, this here was my greatest joy - my dream house, where I would grow old with my husband and my children. Nothing made me happier than designing that home, designing our future.
"I don’t have that now. I can’t even bear to put pencil to paper, but you do! I’ve looked in on you while you’re working – I bet you never even noticed. You love doing this, it’s part of you now. You can’t give it up so easily."
Once again a hush filled the room. Hannah rolled up the drawing and set it on a bookshelf, then sat down again on the couch with the mug in her hand. She sipped the hot liquid, trying to warm away the cold feeling she felt when she thought about her shattered dreams.
"Where did you go?"
Hannah was surprised by the sudden change of topic. "To Chicago. My sister lives there, but you knew that already."
Jarod sighed. "You’re right, I know about your sister, your parents. I know all about Hannah Braun. I know where she was born, where she grew up and where she went to school. I know that she started working for Arthur Coneely seven years ago. I know that Hannah Braun was ambitious and sometimes even a little ruthless. I know that Hannah Braun was involved in an accident that caused a man’s death eighteen months ago.
"And that’s were it ends, that’s all I knew, until recently. All I had was newspaper articles and one name to follow. I didn’t know about Scott or that you married him and became Hannah Coneely. There was no record to connect you to that name."
Hannah put her mug down on the coffee table. "We were married in Europe, not here. I would have thought the records would have been sent."
"Well, they’re not there," His voice gained intensity, "So I didn’t know anything about him or about Caitlin. I didn’t know that they forced you to pay anything for what happened to Jack Dawson. I didn’t know about your bankruptcy, or your losing your house or any of the things that were in anything but your professional name. I had no idea who you really were and what you went through. As far as the information told me, you were just-"
"One of the bad guys?" Hannah interrupted as she rose from the couch and walked toward the window. Silence hung between them.
"Things aren’t so black and white in the real world, are they Jarod?"
The words stung him. "I’m learning that."
Hannah ran her fingertips over the frost that had formed along the bottom of the window. "Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much if I didn’t-" The words, spoken so softly, trailed off into a hush.
She turned to face him once more, seeing that he had risen from his chair. "Friday night, you were outside my door, asking to explain. Is that what you wanted to say?"
He nodded to her wordlessly.
"You said something else. Did you mean it? Do you love me?"
Jarod’s voice was a harsh whisper. "Yes."
"Why do you make it sound like a defeat?"
Once again there was a long stillness. "I have never felt for anyone before what I feel for you. And Caitlin." He seemed to search around for answers as he blinked away the emotion threatening to overflow his eyes. "I’ve been with a woman before, someone whom I will always care for, but not in the same way. Then later, there was someone else - I thought we had something. . ." He shook his head at the floor. The sentence remained unfinished.
"What happened?"
Jarod looked up and smiled wryly. "She told me she loved me, and five minutes later tried to kill me."
Hannah had to smile with him. "It doesn’t sound like you’ve had much success in that department."
"I wasn’t looking for it. Half of the time I’ve been running for my life, the other half I was waiting for someone."
"Anyone in particular?"
Jarod’s thoughts raced through the moment. The conversation was opening doors he had never fully investigated before. As he told Hannah things, he was realizing them for himself. He thought of the woman who had been, in his mind, both his nemesis and his destiny. "I thought so at the time. I didn’t know it would be you."
Hannah turned back toward the window so that he could not see the tears that had started to collect in her eyes.
"I know that you don’t see much reason to trust me now," he continued. "I’ve investigated you, I’ve lied to you, I’ve tried to plot your downfall. But that was all before I knew who you really were. Once I did, I - I never wanted to hurt you, or Caitlin. I wanted to tell you before, about myself, about the Centre, but the time never seemed right.
"Now that you know, I don’t think that you’re the only one who should know the truth. Arthur has been so generous, inviting me into his home, his family. He should know that I was pretending all along. It’s not fair to him to continue this charade."
Hannah whirled around to face him, her eyes once again blazing. "Oh, you think so, do you? Now that you’ve turned my life upside-down, you’d like to do the same for Arthur, all in the name of fairness. Well, let me tell you, Jarod, what’s not fair is you letting him down at a time like this. This is the first major work the firm has been invited to since I single-handedly tried to put it out of business. Arthur may be a wonderful man, but believe me, he didn’t invite you along out of pity. He sees your talent the same as I do; he needs that talent tomorrow. To take away his best opportunity for putting his firm back on the map, especially after how he has treated you, that would be unfair." She turned her back once again.
"How am I supposed to do that, huh, Hannah?" Jarod shouted back. "Are we supposed to go back to work tomorrow like nothing happened? Do you honestly expect me to work alongside you every day, live in this building, and not be able to talk to you, never be able to hold you again?
"And how will you feel, seeing me in the hall, at work, being reminded everyday of the real reason I came here? No, I’ll leave before I hurt you like that again."
"Stop running, Jarod. You’re not in danger here."
"What do you mean?"
Slowly walking toward the couch again, Hannah sat in the far corner and wrapped her arms around a throw pillow. "It’s just that it seems like you’re trying to run away, like you did from the Centre, but things aren’t that easy out here. Your actions follow you, because you can’t run away from your own conscience." She sounded worldly, tired. "Sooner or later, you have to forgive yourself."
"This isn’t the only thing I’ve done that I regret." The memories flashed through his mind; the simulations misused, the terrible suffering, the trigger in his hand, the sound of the gunshot in his ears. "You don’t know what I’ve done."
"No, I don’t. I don’t know you as well as I thought I did, but I think I understand why you do things, and right or wrong, you do them for a valid reason. That counts for something."
"It’s not right just because I meant well."
"No, it isn’t, but we’re all human. Genius or not, you have to allow yourself to make mistakes, to forgive yourself and give other people the opportunity to."
"Are you saying-"
She cut him off. "I’m saying that I’ve grown a pretty thick skin over the years. Some people consider that a fault, but I’ve done what it takes for myself and my family. You got through, you caught me off guard and I’m - I’m still not sure what I feel about it, but I am not fragile and I am not broken. What I am is concerned - about Arthur and about you. He needs your help, your talent right now, and I’m beginning to think that you might just need to help him. You can, you know, just get on that plane tomorrow and go to Savannah."
"What about you? What do you need?"
She looked up at him earnestly. "I need you to go to Savannah. For Arthur’s sake. I owe him so much, too. Please, do this for me."
Jarod nodded silently and turned to walk toward the door. It seemed decided then. He given her the opportunity to tell him if there was any chance left for him, but her thoughts had been for her father-in-law. He would do as she asked, one last attempt to make up for hurting her as he had.
For a moment, he thought to himself, things had seemed brighter, when she had talked of forgiveness, but then absolution was only part of the equation. The rest was no longer there.
Just as he was about to open the door, Hannah’s voice caught him. "Could you tell me," she asked, rising from the sofa and nearing him, "What is your real name?"
"My name is Jarod," he said, cocking his head slightly. "That’s all I know."
"Ironic, isn’t it?" Hannah was now only a few feet away. "Neither of us knew each others’ real name."
"Maybe." Jarod studied her face to find the meaning of her words, but it was indecipherable. "I’d better be going, so I can be ready for tomorrow."
Hannah reached around him to hold open the door, leaning against the edge of it as he walked into the hallway. "I hope you have a good trip," she called out suddenly.
The word played silently through Jarod’s lips as he turned back to look at her. Hope. Yes, it was there, what he had been looking for, shining dimly but yet still there in her eyes. He glanced back at her murmuring "thanks," not sure he could trust his voice, then turned and walked back to his apartment.
The flight to Savannah was uneventful, and Arthur Coneely took the time to brief Jarod on facts that had not been included in the material he had read. "Two of the board members are friends of mine from way back, but that only opens the door for us, it doesn’t guarantee the job. I know some of the other firms that will be putting packages together, and all in all, they’re a pretty tame bunch. That’s why I wanted to bring you along, Jarod. You have a more unconventional outlook than some of these other fellows, I think it might be helpful.
"We’re going to spend the afternoon at the proposed site. There will still be a few buildings standing that will be demolished before construction, but I wanted you to get a feel for the area, the local architecture and the like. It’s in an older area of town, or so I’m told, the first step toward renovating the area.
"Tomorrow we can meet with the chairman of the building committee, find out exactly what they want and how much funding they’ve put together. Then I’d like you to put together some preliminary sketches to show my friends at dinner tomorrow night."
"You’re asking quite a bit, sketches after less than a day on the job." Jarod said.
The older man laughed. "I know, I know, but I have faith in you, in your talent. I’m not saying that these will be what we finally deliver as blueprints, but I want to dazzle them a little with your vision. Then again, I’ll be putting lead to paper myself; we’ll have to wait and see who dazzles them more."
The next two days were a flurry. Jarod took the opportunity given and spent hours walking around the future site, staying until the light faded and the streetlights came on. He and Arthur had a long discussion about the city and the surrounding buildings over a room service dinner that night. As they finished their meal, Arthur put aside the legal pad he had been making notes on, leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach.
"I think we’ve hashed over this as much as we can before we get some concrete numbers, we don’t need any strong preconceptions before we find out just what they’re looking for. I have to admit, though, I like the way your mind is working so far. Hannah was right about sending you on this job. You’re a credit to the firm."
Jarod was forced to look away. His face felt hot as he tidied the dishes, trying to avoid the other man’s eyes. "Thank you," he mumbled.
Arthur caught Jarod with an unexpectedly fatherly look. "I noticed that you’ve been a little preoccupied, yesterday at the office and today on the plane. It hasn’t interfered with your work, and I wasn’t sure it was any of my business, so I didn’t say anything about it. However, from your reaction just now, I have a feeling I know what’s troubling you, and if I’m right, I’m going to make it my business."
Jarod said nothing as he carried the trays outside the door and left them in the hotel corridor. He returned to the chair across the table.
Arthur leaned in toward him. "She’s worth the fight, you know."
"What do you mean?"
The older man’s face creased as memories flashed through his mind. "She was the most challenging woman Scott, or I, had ever met. Strong, opinionated, sometimes a little too quick with her temper, but loyal as the day is long. Talented and beautiful, inside and out. Scotty fell head over heels for her almost from the start, but she would have nothing to do with him. Time and time again, he tried to impress her, but she would have none of it.
"Finally, I managed to pair them up at the company picnic. Made them both run the grill." He laughed at the thought. "They were both so busy trying to keep everyone else satisfied, Scott stopped trying to show off and Hannah dropped her guard. By the end of the day, they were bone tired and friends. Things developed from there. I’ve never been more proud than the day the were married."
He paused, this time his face fell. "Scotty’s death hit all of us so hard, but she didn’t really have time to grieve, not with the baby. She just about threw her entire life into her job and bringing up that little girl; it was her way of dealing with it. Then, this whole mess with the collapse of that building and that poor man’s death, well, it would have been enough to put anyone else under. Instead, Hannah built up another defense, a wall of anger and stubbornness, not to hide behind, mind you, but to hold herself up. Nonetheless, it’s managed to separate her from almost everyone but her family. Even we aren’t allowed to see the woman she used to be, if she’s even there anymore.
"When I met you, I thought you might be the one to get through to her, the one to get through that wall, and I was right. At the party, when the two of you were dancing, I saw absolute delight in her eyes, something I haven’t seen in two years. She enjoys herself around you, lets down that defense a little.
"It looks to me like the two of you have hit a rocky patch right now, and the wall has come back up, but that’s just her way of protecting herself from being hurt again. I was afraid she might never take the chance on loving someone again after she lost Scott. I had just about given up hope, but I’ve seen how she looks at you," he peered at Jarod conspiratorially, "even though the two of you have been trying to hide it from the rest of the office, I saw it.
"Now, I don’t know what happened, and you don’t have to tell me, but, please, don’t give up. As much as I loved my son, he’s gone now. Hannah deserves to be happy, to be loved by a man again, and I think you’re the one for the job, if you’re willing to fight for it." He stood up and rested his hand on Jarod’s shoulder. "I hope you are. I consider myself a relatively good judge of character. I hired you for your ability, but truth be known, I’m not above a little matchmaking when it comes to the people I care about. After all, it worked once before."
Arthur picked his coat up off the double bed and moved toward the door. As he departed, he glanced back at Jarod and smiled brightly. "Consider the prize, my boy, consider the prize. I’ll see you in the restaurant downstairs at six a.m."
Flying back two days later, Jarod was almost euphoric. The meetings had gone exceptionally well, both he and Arthur felt they had a real grasp of what the museum board was looking for. Sitting down before dinner at the desk in his hotel room the day before, a half dozen different conceptual drawings had practically flown out of his pencil. Each of the ideas was unique, even if not fully developed, but the two acquaintances Arthur brought to the restaurant table that evening had been more than impressed. They had latched on to two of Jarod’s conceptions and one of the four Arthur brought along. Promising to expand upon the three, the group had proceeded through a delightful meal that had, for a time, made Jarod feel that he really had belonged there, that he was an architect designing a new museum. The imitation had become the reality.
On the flight back, Arthur had regaled him with a variety of anecdotes, from his days in the war to some of the more colorful clients he had had in the past. It was not until the plane pulled into the snow-covered gate that the painful memory of the weekend slammed into Jarod’s consciousness. Suddenly, he was afraid to get off the plane. For the last 48 hours, he had been too busy to think as he had tried to glean every thing that he could from the man who had become his mentor. Now, he was once again faced with the coldness not only of the weather, but also of his life.
Arthur noticed the change in his mood as they pulled their carry-ons from the overhead compartments. They walked up the gangway in silence. Ahead, they both could see families reuniting with loved ones who had been away, tender, personal moments in the middle of the crowd. Jarod watched them with a subdued envy.
Suddenly, the noise of the growing crowd was broken by a squeal. Adults could be seen jostling around as an invisible figure rushed through their midst. Ten feet away from the two men, the mass of people parted and the blur of a three-year old burst across the corridor.
"Jarod!" Caitlin cried as she ran as fast as her legs could go. "Jarod is back!"
It was all he could do to drop his brief case and coat and crouch down before the pint-sized figure rushed into his arms. She tried to wrap her tiny limbs around his whole body as she continued to sing out loudly "I’m so happy! Jarod is back!"
Jarod held the little girl tightly, closing his eyes and relishing the squeak of her voice, the feeling of her little heart pounding against his chest. When he looked out again, Hannah had emerged from the crowd to stand in front of him, smiling broadly at her daughter.
Arthur glanced at the two adults for only a moment before he tapped Caitlin on the shoulder. "What about me? Doesn’t Grampa get a hug?"
Caitlin squealed again and started to squirm out of Jarod’s arms. He set her down and she immediately latched onto the older man. "Grampa, Grampa, I missed you. Where did you go?"
It was a moment before both Jarod and Hannah took their attention away from the child. She was the first to speak. "How did it go?"
Jarod took a deep breath. Was this his answer, a hug from an innocent child and a question about work? "Very well," he answered professionally, keeping his gaze on her, hoping that his eyes would not betray the fear in his heart.
Hannah nodded, but she too never broke eye contact. "Good. I knew you would do well." As he watched, a tiny shudder ran through her body and she turned away to look at her daughter, now sitting on Arthur’s lap in a nearby chair. "We missed you - I missed you." She looked back into his face, her eyes shiny, her smile full of tenderness. "I’m glad you’re home."
Home. That’s what it was here, that’s what it would be. He was home. The feeling rushed through him like electricity. Suddenly he realized that he had been holding his breath, and it rushed out of his lungs like a wind blowing away the doubts in his mind.
With a gentle but fervent intensity, his hands reached up to cup Hannah’s face. His eyes looked into hers, enraptured by their silent beauty, the hope he had searched for so desperately before now bloomed before him. He felt as if he could reach out and touch her soul if he wished. He leaned down to kiss her, and her tears brushed onto his cheek.
It had been almost a week since Jarod had been to the high school. He had called Coach D’amico on Monday and explained the sudden trip out of town, the coach had been understanding and promised to continue the drills that had been started.
When he arrived Thursday afternoon, the practice had already started. With pride, he saw the team going through the conditioning exercises that he had introduced the week before; now, however, they were running through them with much less difficulty. In the space of a few weeks, his program had significantly increased most of the boys’ stamina, even Coach D’amico looked in better shape.
After he demonstrated a variation on the sprint drill that the team was running, he sat down on the bench with a stopwatch and folder, recording each boy’s time. He sensed rather than saw John Dawson sit on the bleachers just behind him.
"Hey, Coach," the teen acknowledged nonchalantly. Jarod raised his hand in silent welcome.
"So, where were you last week?"
Jarod looked over his shoulder at the boy to determine his attitude today. John’s face showed genuine interest.
"I took a business trip out of town," he said.
"Oh, okay. I was just wondering if you bailed on this or what."
"Do you think I should ‘bail’?"
"No, no, I don’t think so. I think you’re really helping them. Parrish looks like he might actually make it without that body transplant."
Jarod nodded. "He’s one of the most improved. Still think you can take on the whole team?"
Anger flashed quickly across the boy’s face, until he realized by Jarod’s expression that there was no offense meant. "They’ve still got a ways to go before I get scared. I’m still not seeing any shoe companies."
They watched the drill for a few minutes. Jarod made notations on his pad and offered encouragement to the boys on the hardwood. He started onto the floor to demonstrate one last drill before the other coach took over.
"Hey, Coach." John’s hesitant voice pulled him up short. He glanced back. "Are you going to be in your office after practice?"
"I was planning on it. Why, do you have more cookies?"
"No," he laughed. "I was just wondering if I could talk to you for a minute. You know, more alone than here."
"Sure. I’ll meet you there after these guys hit the showers. Okay?"
The teen nodded, his eyes still uncertain.
An hour later, John Dawson walked into the coach’s office carrying a shopping bag. He set it on the desk in front of Jarod. "I need help with this Christmas stuff. My dad always got something for me to give my mom, now I gotta do it and I’m not sure what to do." He pulled a soft pink sweater out of the bag. "Would your mom like this?"
Jarod felt the soft cashmere of the sweater. "I haven’t seen my mother for a long time, but I think she would. It’s very pretty."
"Thanks." He pushed the sweater back into the bag. "I hope you’re right. Like I said, my dad did all that stuff. He did everything for me before he died."
Jarod noticed that anger had edged back into the boy’s voice. "It sounds like you two did a lot together.
John snorted. "Yeah, right. We ran drills together, we shot free-throws together, we analyzed games together, we were really tight." The sarcasm in his voice was echoed in the defensive stance of his body. "Anything that wasn’t basketball he did for me, so I would have more time to practice. All he wanted was for me to make it to the pros, hell, he could have had a different job, but he wanted the time to practice with me. Look what it got him."
"So what are you so mad about, the fact that he pushed you so hard, or that he died?"
The question caught the teen unaware. He stared at Jarod wide-eyed.
Jarod sat back into his chair. "Let me tell you what happened to me. When they told me that my father had died in a plane crash, at first I felt nothing. I felt dead, like a body going through the motions of living. Then I started to think and I started to hate my father. I hated him for allowing me to be in the situation I was, hated him for not being there to help me out, hated him for leaving me alone."
John sniffed, staring at the floor while he shuffled his feet. Jarod waited.
"I was really pissed off at him, you know," the boy confided, his voice growing in anger as he spoke. "When he went to work that day. He wanted me to skip a party I was invited to so I could meet this friend of his from college, some scout or something. So he goes off to work, and then he doesn’t come back. I mean, I was out there practicing for him every day, missing parties, missing going out, and then this big opportunity shows up and he’s gone. I needed him and he was gone." He stalked around the room until he came face to face with one of the team pictures on the wall, his father featured in the front row. "I just can’t believe he left me."
"So you’re getting back at him by not playing."
Once again the boy was dumbfounded. "I’m not playing because I don’t want to play." The excuse sounded lame even to his own ears.
Jarod shrugged. "Like I said, I don’t care if you play or not. No one can force you to, if you really don’t want to."
There was something in the way the coach said the last few words, as if he didn’t believe what he had heard. John turned back to the desk and grabbed the bag, annoyed. "I have to get home. Thanks for your opinion."
"Anytime. My door is open."
Jarod watched him as he left. There was only one part of his plan left.