Shaddyr's Eclectic Collection > Pretender Fanfiction > Liz Shelbourne > Brick by Brick
Brick by Brick
Hannah walked into the office, her back straight, her head erect. She could not let on how difficult this was going to be, or how exhausted she felt. She had just spent the entire morning sitting at a table with a group of lawyers, the same group that had taken everything she had and tried to run her out of the firm, only to be foiled by Arthur’s creative hiring practices. Now, those same lawyers were falling all over themselves trying to find some way to appease her, and prevent themselves from being sued. The insurance company’s men had been particularly cooperative, after all, it as they who had originally sued her personally to regain the losses they had taken paying the widow and her son. Now that it had been proven that she was innocent, they found themselves in the peculiar position of trying to reverse her bankruptcy, a condition that had brought about solely by their own actions. It would be interesting to see just how far they would go. There was a suggestion that they might be attempting to buy back her old house from the new owners. The threat of a multi-million dollar lawsuit, and the accompanying publicity, made incredible things happen.
The day before, she had taken the opportunity to go on a bit of a shopping spree. The tired, workday clothes that had been good enough to "get by" were relegated to the back of the closet. She would have a few months to get herself back into the thick of things, to get her name back in circulation, and she wanted to look good doing it. It would also help when it came to backing down a few lawyers - she would not be the somewhat overwhelmed woman they had railroaded before. The new suit she had on today, a deep green that accented her eyes, had, miraculously, fit to a tee. The others she had purchased would be fitted and delivered by the end of the week. It was a luxury she had not been able to afford for quite a while, and soon would not be able to take advantage of. In she mean time, she would relish being seen in the caliber of clothing that architects, not secretaries, wore.
Walking over to the window, she pulled up the wooden blinds to look out across the city. The office had not been used for almost a week, and she wished she could open the window to bring in fresh air. It seemed that she could smell the cigar smoke that always lingered after Hal Brockton had been in a room. She glanced over at the desk. Items were still scattered about, evidence of the verbal and finally physical battle that he and Jarod had fought. She shivered to herself. Who would have thought that the usually amiable man they had worked with for so many years could be so obsessed with power that he would hold more than one person’s life in contempt? He had caused the death of one man, almost ruined her own, and then tried to remove Jarod. What would have happened to them all if he had succeeded, would Arthur have eventually become expendable too?
Picking up the papers off the floor, she found a picture turned upside-down beneath. Inside the simple black frame, she saw a picture of Caitlin and herself, standing in the doorway of her parents’ home on Christmas, their faces painted with expressions of delight. Her mother must have taken it just as they had heard the sleighbells outside and peeked out to see. She couldn’t remember the picture being taken, knowing Jarod, he had had it planned well in advance, but then again, she and Caitlin had been so excited that she had simply missed the flash going off. Now she found herself grinning at the memory; the sleigh ride had been only the first of the wonderful surprises he had had in store for them.
A few minutes later, she had cleared away the debris and clutter on and around the desk. The picture went on a shelf nearby, she only wished she had one of Jarod to put along side it. Reaching into her briefcase, she pulled out a smooth metal nameplate, and set it on the front of the desk, then turned on the computer, and entered her password. For better or worse, this was her office once again.
A polite knocking sounded on the wooden door, she recognized it instantly. "Come in, Arthur."
The older gentleman walked in cautiously, one hand full of long mailing tubes, the other carrying a large envelope. He leaned the tubes against the front edge of the desk and sat down with the envelope in his lap. He looked at her earnestly for a moment. "How are you doing?"
Hannah eyes crinkled and she gave him an embarrassed smile. "I’m fine, Arthur, but thank you for asking. The lawyers are ridiculous and no one around here knows what to say to me, they all want to say that they knew I couldn’t have made such a mistake, and then again, no one ever really liked Brock, and actually, it would be humorous if it weren’t all so personal. But I am glad I’m here, and the work will do me good."
Arthur relaxed back into the chair. "Good, good." He paused, as if unsure how to continue. "Jarod came to see me at my home last night."
Hannah leaned forward in her chair, her hands splayed on the top of the desk as if to steady herself. Her heart seemed to want to jump from her chest. In her eyes, Arthur could see hope, and fear.
"Is he all right?"
Arthur nodded. "That’s what I was about to ask you. He’s fine, physically. He said that he owed me an explanation about things like his sudden leave of absence. I get the feeling that there’s probably more to his story than he told me."
"There is."
"Do you know?"
"Yes, I do."
"I hate to ask this, but you and Caitlin are all the family that I have left so I’ll just risk offending you and say it; I think I have a good idea about your feelings for Jarod, but are you sure that you know the truth about him? I mean, I used to think myself a good judge of character, but then again I had Hal Brockton working for me for seventeen years. I’m worried about what Jarod might be into, why I get the feeling that he might be in some kind of danger. He’s not into anything illegal is he?" She shook her head. "Is he in danger?"
A long sigh escaped from his daughter-in-law. "Yes, but not in the way you would think. I guess the best way to explain is that he did some work undercover, he brought some people to justice and there are others out there who would like to see him punished for that."
Arthur was skeptical. "That seems an awfully interesting life for an architect, even one as talented as he is."
"Jarod is a very interesting man." She looked at him wryly. "He was very busy before he became an architect."
The older man was still serious. "If that is true, that he is in danger, I certainly hope that it doesn’t spill over to you and my granddaughter."
"No, I don’t think so," she answered firmly. "He was very careful to keep us out of things. That’s one of the reasons he can’t come back right now."
Picking up one of the tubes, he pulled out a sheaf of large blueprints and laid them face up on the desk. "Well, before he went, he left these with me."
Hannah looked over the top page, a full-color frontal drawing of a magnificent building: Jarod’s design for the Savannah museum. Graceful columns adorned a stone facade topped by tall arching windows. The picture brought to mind stately antebellum houses and sprawling plantations, but at the same time, conveyed a subtle modernity. The next page offered an interior view of a central, outdoor gallery, formed by a confluence of lines and arches that reached skyward but at the same time would not dwarf the sculptures that would reside within. Thereafter, page upon page showed the interior galleries, large, simple rooms designed to show the artwork at its best. At the end of the blueprints, there were descriptions of lighting needs, temperature and humidity controls, glass specifications, even paint colors, any detail that might be necessary. She looked up at Arthur in awe.
"That’s not all," he hinted, reaching across to place a CD-ROM in her computer drive. After a momentary hum, the screen burst forth with a computer generated three-dimensional perspective of the outside of the building. As they watched, they could see the angle of the sunlight move as the view changed during the day. Darkness fell on the screen, computer generated lights illuminated the columns, and the three-dimensional doors swung open. The view then changed as they were taken through the various galleries, each elegant room flowing into the next like a string of pearls. Finally, they were brought to the outdoor gallery, where subdued lighting would complement instead of detract from the sculptures which where placed there.
Hannah looked up again at Arthur, dumbstruck. His face mirrored her amazement. "This is the third time I’ve looked at it, and I still can’t believe," he explained. "Not only is it one of the most original designs I’ve seen in years, it has to be the most complete. He must have hundreds of hours of research put into this, hundreds of hours of drafting and computer design." He turned the oversize pages back to the beginning. "And if you’d seen the location, Hannah, and the people doing it, you’d understand. It’s just perfect, absolutely perfect."
It was a moment before the younger woman spoke, and when she did, it was barely above a whisper, her inner thoughts verbalized. "It’s so beautiful. I knew it, I knew he could do it, but I never - I never dreamed!" She ran her fingers over the lines on the paper.
"When I saw these, I practically begged Jarod to stay, but he explained that he had to leave, at least for a while. He told me some other things, too, like how much he cares about you and Caitlin. He asked me to watch over you until he returned, asked me for a few other favors that I’m happy to do for him." He leaned down for the second tube that he had brought in, and pulled out another sheaf of drafting-sized paper, laying it on the desk. He then reached into the envelope he had also brought with him and extracted a legal looking document and a photograph. He laid the photo on the desk before her. "Jarod said you would recognize these."
Hannah picked up the photograph and looked at it. It was a winter scene of virgin snow on a sunny day, a small wood to one side, a trio of pine trees to the other. The place looked vaguely familiar, but she could not immediately place it. She set the photo aside.
The oversize papers beneath, however, were easily recognizable. It was her house, the dream house that had sat on her drafting table for almost two years, but now it was finished. She scanned the added details, the finishing touches and realized that they were exactly what she would have done if she had had the will to continue. She shook her head, smiling. He did it to me, she thought, he pretended he was me.
Underneath the drawing was another series of blueprints, in the same exacting detail as the museum. Everything had been thought through, from the stained glass window in the highest dormer to the heated floors in the basement. It was well beyond her dreams, and honestly, well beyond her budget. Unless she won all of the lawsuits she was loathe to do anything but threaten, she would have to scale back quite a bit when she got around to building. She hoped Jarod would not be disappointed, it would still be a beautiful house.
She picked up the photograph again as Arthur laid the legal document in front of her. It was so familiar, she had seen this place but somehow it was different - it was . . .
"Jarod has asked me to be an trustee of sorts," Arthur explained. "He has asked, and I have agreed, that I would have this house built for you with the funds he will provide. I am to use the blueprints you have there, with any minor changes you may desire, but I am not to take anything out or try to save money in any other way, even if you ask me to, and he was fairly sure you would. He’s said that he had been working on this for the past month, and unless you would like to add anything, it should be built as drawn.
"He told me that he has already secured the lot, it’s titled here in your name. That’s a picture of it, that and about ten additional acres." He picked up the deed and scanned it. "The lot is off of Meadowbrook Road, the details are all here. I would say that it’s somewhere-"
"Dark!" Hannah explained. "It was dark, that’s why I didn’t recognize it!"
"Excuse me?" he begged.
"It was dark outside when we were there, except for the lights. On Christmas! This is the place, Arthur, this is it." She grabbed the deed from his hands, looking for the filing date, giggling while tears started to collect in her eyes. One of them fell onto the paper as she read through, she brushed it away and laughed again. "I can’t believe it, but, yes, I can." December 20th, two days after their walk. He had had this planned, the whole thing planned beforehand. What an incredible man he was! "Oh, Arthur," she looked up at him suddenly, mock horror on her face. "What if I had said no?"
By this time, the older man was completely confused. "What are you talking about, Hannah? Say no to what?"
She moved from behind the desk and wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind. "My dear trustee, I wish I could tell you, I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t yet." She stood up and smoothed the fabric of the front of her suit jacket with her hand, the diamonds on the band on her finger glittering in the light. "But soon, you’ll know soon."
Jarod stood in the doorway of an office building, sheltered from the winter breeze, brisk by Savannah standards. He had been waiting for almost half an hour, watching the doors of the building across the street, scanning each person that went in or out.
At last his vigilance was rewarded. As he watched, a group of people walked out of the building into the gray afternoon, buttoning or tying their coats against the weather. He recognized three of the men from his dinner meeting with the museum planning board members. They talked with Hannah and Arthur momentarily before moving on toward the parking structure nearby. As they left, he could see Hannah turn to give her mentor an excited hug and then slide her arm through the older man’s as they too walked away.
Jarod punched the speed dial on his cell phone and watched as moments later Hannah detached herself from Arthur to pull her own phone from her bag. She motioned him away and sat down on a nearby bench.
"Hello?" Her voice was hopeful.
"Hi."
The sigh of relief was audible. "I was hoping it was you. How are you?"
"I’m all right. I miss you. How are you doing?"
Hannah’s excitement overcame the melancholy that often accompanied his calls. "I’m great. We just signed on the museum project; we start construction in six weeks. It’s all your plans, they loved them."
Jarod smiled to himself. "I’m sure part of it is the woman in charge of the project."
There was a moment of silence. "Jarod?"
"What?"
"You know I just left that meeting, that’s why you called."
Once again there was silence. Hannah stood and turned slowly around, her eyes searching through the people she could see. She wanted to ask where, but she knew he could not answer.
"It’s going to be a beautiful building. When it’s all finished, we’ll have to take a tour."
"Yes, we will." Jarod looked at Hannah across the street. She had finished her turn so that she was directly facing him, but there was no way she could see him in the doorway. "I have to go, I just wanted to tell you how much I love you."
The phone clicked off before she could respond in kind. Putting it back in her purse, Hannah started to walk toward Arthur, waiting patiently at the door to the parking garage. A few feet from the structure, she turned back toward the corner, just in time to see a tall figure in a black leather jacket walking away, his head bent against the wind.
Epilogue
The cell phone trilled quietly on the corner of the large desk. A hand, unsteady and unsure, slowly retrieved it and flipped the speaker down.
"Hannah," the voice called from the other end. "It’s Jarod."
"No," sighed the old man. "I’m sorry, Jarod, this is Arthur."
"Arthur! It’s good to talk to you." Jarod’s voice was warm with greetings, but then suddenly turned wary. "Arthur, where is Hannah? This is the phone I gave her."
There was a long, painful pause, then a resolute sigh. "I’ve been waiting for your call. There’s been an accident."
Jarod tried to speak, but no sound came out. His head shook from side to side, his eyes closed, trying to block the unbidden visions that threatened to overwhelm him. Finally he was able to force words out. "I’m only a few hours away, I can be there by noon."
"I’ll be home for lunch, we can meet there. Jarod, I wanted to tell you before, I-"
"No." He cut the older man off. "Tell me when I get there."
Three hours later, the doorbell rang at the Coneely home. Arthur answered it, his wife standing in a doorway nearby, her eyes red, her hands wringing the apron she had tied around her waist.
Jarod stood framed against the spring sunshine, dressed casually in denim shirt, tee shirt and jeans. He moved into the foyer tentatively. To the older man, he looked like a young boy, alone and afraid of a terrible world, but his eyes held a determined intensity. He took Arthur’s outstretched hand and grasped it with both of his own. He spoke without preamble. "Take me to her."
They rode in Arthur’s car in silence. As they turned into the entrance for the cemetery, Jarod whispered to himself. "Every part of me was praying that we were going to a hospital, even though I knew . . ." His voice trailed off.
The car wound through the gentle curves, past innumerable gravestones and mausoleums. As they crested one last rise, Arthur pulled the car over to the side. Both men got out and he led them toward the edge of the grounds.
As they neared, Jarod grasped the older man’s shoulder, stopping him. "Tell me what happened."
Arthur swallowed hard. "It was about three weeks ago. As near as we can tell, Hannah was driving over to her parents for a visit. Along one of the hills, the witness says that a large, dark car rammed into them, again and again, finally forcing them off the road and down the hill. Hannah’s car rolled, I don’t know how many times, the other one just drove off."
"Then it wasn’t really an accident."
"No. I don’t think that it was."
Jarod looked away in anguish. "And Caitlin?"
"She was in the back seat."
The words were like a physical pain. Jarod’s voice was a whisper. "Show me where they are. . ."
They continued toward one of the tall trees standing on slight hill. There Arthur stopped in front of a trio of headstones, the earth piled before them just starting to sprout with new grass.
Jarod searched the marble blocks, reading the names: Hannah Jane Coneely, Caitlin Marie Coneely, Kyle Charles Johnson. "I don’t understand, this is all wrong." His confusion was edged with panic, his face a mask of pain and bewilderment. "Kyle is my brother’s name, but he’s not buried here. Why are there three?"
Arthur’s hand reached up to rest on the younger man’s shoulder. "I’m sorry, Jarod. Hannah didn’t want to tell you, to try to protect you both. She was pregnant. Kyle was your son."
His legs buckled beneath him and Jarod fell to his knees in the dirt. His eyes ran back and forth across the trio of headstones until the terrible truth forced its way into his mind. His head fell backward and he searched the heavens for an answer. "Nnooo!" he screamed skyward with all the agony of his tortured soul. "Oh, God, NO!"
Arthur left him for half an hour, collapsed in grief beneath the tree. He sat in the car, tied up in his own thoughts, his heart heavy. He had never realized that he could be so moved by another man’s pain, pain he had helped to cause.
He brought Jarod back to the house, where Fiona greeted their return with tears of her own, then did her best to soothe his torment with warmth, food and love. They watched without insult as he picked at his food, sitting in the kitchen and staring out the window. Arthur ate lightly, sitting across the table.
"You said there was a witness."
Arthur choked slightly on a bite of bread. "Yes, there was."
"Can I talk to him, or her?"
Fiona looked at her husband wonderingly, then stepped in to refill the coffee cups on the table. "Didn’t you say that it was someone from out of town, dear?"
"Oh, yes, it was. Salesman or something, travels around quite a bit. I’m not sure that you would be able to find him easily."
Jarod sipped the coffee, never taking his eyes from the window. "That’s alright. He said that it was a large dark car?"
"Yes."
"Was there one person inside or two?"
Husband and wife exchanged glances again. "I believe that there was one passenger, along with the driver."
Minutes passed in silence, then Jarod spoke again, flatly. "I haven’t heard either of you question why anyone would do this kind of thing to Hannah. You know why, don’t you? It’s because of me."
"I don’t know, Jarod." Arthur’s tone was fatherly. "Perhaps it was, perhaps not. You can’t blame yourself. We certainly don’t, neither would Hannah."
"Why not? I promised them that I would protect them, that I would keep the Centre away from them. I failed and they paid for it with their lives."
"Jarod, please." Fiona spoke softly. "You have to remember, they’re in a better place now. I know they wouldn’t want you to punish yourself for what has happened."
Pushing his plate away from him, Jarod rose from the table. "My punishment is living every day without them, never knowing my son." He moved toward the back door, open in the spring sunshine, but Arthur stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"I’m sorry to ask you about this now, Jarod, but what about the house you were building for Hannah? It’s not completed, I can stop construction and try to sell the lot as it is."
Jarod gave him a rueful half-smile. "No, finish it the way Hannah designed it. Then, I don’t care, just give it away. Give it to that single mother that works at your firm. That house should have children in it."
Arthur laid his hand on Jarod’s shoulder. "You’re a remarkable man, Jarod. I understand why you were so important to Hannah. Please, don’t let this change you."
"It already has."
Fiona reached to hug him as he bent down obligingly. "You know you’re very special to us." She sniffed back tears. "I know it’s not easy for you, but please, keep in touch."
Jarod nodded sadly and walked slowly out the door into the early spring afternoon. The older couple watched as he climbed into a nondescript car and drove away.
"I’m worried about him." Fiona stated as she cleared away the dishes on the table while her husband sat down again. "He seemed like just a shell of himself, like he wasn’t alive inside."
"He’s in shock. It will take some time for him to deal with this, but I agree, I not sure what he’s thinking." He stared into his coffee cup as his wife topped it off once again. "Fiona, did we do the right thing?"
His wife sighed as she gently placed her hands on his shoulders, still strong after all of these years. "I’m not sure, dear, but it’s what Hannah wanted. And he deserved to know about the baby. I’m just afraid of what he’s going to do."
The lights of the bedroom were low, only the torchiere in the corner cast a soft pink luminescence into the room. The furnishings did little to reflect the light; mahogany wood, deep burgundy and black linens. The room had the aire of a refuge from the outside world, albeit a sensual one, all in cool silk and satin.
So too was the negligee she wore as she gracefully slid into the room, her feet as bare as her shoulders. The tawny-colored fabric fell like liquid down her body from a tangle of spaghetti straps, swirling around her legs as she approached the chiffonnier and the large mirror above it. She reached for the silver hairbrush and her eyes found the black notebook.
What was it doing here? A black notebook – all of Jarod’s books had red covers, Kyle, his sociopathic brother had chosen black. But Kyle was dead! Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the notebook, her heart racing and her ears straining to hear any noise. They were rewarded with the unmistakable click of a round being fed into the chamber of a handgun. She spun around to the source of the sound, the darkness that covered her bed.
"Well, I’ll admit I’ve considered having you in my bedroom before, but it never involved a gun." She hoped her voice carried her usual sense of arrogance while she contemplated the meaning of her guest’s arrival.
Long legs swung off the bed onto the floor and the rectangular barrel of her own gun could be clearly seen in the low light, silencer attached and aimed at her chest. He sat on the edge of the bed silently, his face still in shadows.
She turned back toward the mirror as she breathed deeply to control her emotions. There was so little information with which to discern the situation, so little to tell her which approach she should take, only his silence and the gun. A tiny flower of fear bloomed deep red in her mind. She shook the thoughts away and reached for the silver hairbrush.
The silencer on the gun spat out at the same time the bullet lodged into the dresser drawer just below her hand. Her arm jerked away involuntarily until she could regain control, then she purposely reached for the brush again. "You already have my gun," she said. There was no response from either the man or the weapon. She brushed her long hair slowly, watching in the mirror for any movement. "So why the notebook?" she asked when she was finished, resting the brush back on the dresser. "One of your brother’s leftovers?"
His voice was low, gravelly. "Open it."
Directly inside the cover there was a single picture, a 3x5 photo of a woman and child. They sat together on a beige couch, the child, only three or four, dotted with freckles and sitting on the woman’s lap. She turned the picture over, there was nothing on the back, then flipped it around again. "I didn’t recognize her right away, but wasn’t she the manager of that apartment you were in while you were playing architect?" She looked at him in the mirror, one eyebrow arched coyly. "Playing house, too?"
Jarod slid off the bed and moved toward the dresser, the gun never leaving its target. She was shocked when he came into the light of the torchiere; his face was gaunt, unshaven, his eyes red. Even his clothes looked like they had been slept in. He walked slowly across the room until he was close to her, too close.
"Her name is Hannah, and her daughter’s name is Caitlin. Do you care?"
Watching in the mirror as he walked toward her, she had glimpsed something in Jarod’s eyes, a fleeting moment close to madness. As suddenly as it appeared, it faded away, but the apprehension inside her grew. She was starting to understand the meaning of the black notebook. It was all she could do to keep up her bravado. "Should I?"
Jarod laughed, a cruel, sarcastic sound. "I actually thought I was getting through to you. I thought there might be a tiny speck of humanity left in you, a little part of your mother and what she stood for. I guess I was wrong."
Miss Parker was silent, but Jarod could see her eyes blaze in the mirror. He picked up the picture with his left hand, holding it in front of both of them. For the first time she noticed a worn gold band around the smallest finger of his hand, it struck her as odd – she had rarely seen him wear any kind of jewelry.
Reverently, he laid the photograph down on top of the notebook. "You sent a sweeper team after them."
"I don’t know what you’re talking about."
The barrel of the gun raised until the silencer slid along the lower edge of her jaw. Jarod leaned in closer. "You sent a sweeper team after them, and they followed her one day when she went to visit her parents."
She protested. "I still don’t-" but was cut off as the gun thrust up painfully under her jaw, forcing her head back. She closed her eyes momentarily, fighting the urge to struggle with him. She had seen the look in his eyes again, the narrow line he walked just this side of insanity. She was sure that given the chance he would pull the trigger, but she still did not know why.
She felt the barrel of the gun slide down the side of her neck, along her bare shoulder and then across to the other. In the mirror, she could see Jarod, his dark eyes following the line he traced across her back with the gun, gliding it slowly to the other side of her throat as he moved around her. Once again, he was sinisterly close. With his free hand, he reached up and stroked the long hair that fell across her shoulder. He smiled slightly, pushing it back, reaching his hand up her neck into the fullness of her hair at the back of her head. At another time, the caress might have been pleasurable, but now it only served to deepen her fear.
He spoke, a hoarse whisper straining with emotion, his mouth only an inch from her ear. "They followed her out of town, then they rammed her car until it went off the road. It rolled three times."
He yanked savagely at her hair, snapping her head back and holding it there. She clenched her eyes in pain, her chest heaving in panicked breath while the cold steel of the gun barrel pressed into her skin, completely helpless to do anything but listen.
Jarod’s voice grew stronger, his lips curled back as he hissed out the words. "You killed my wife, and her daughter, and my unborn son!"
Miss Parker’s eyes snapped open with horror. "Oh, my God!"
"Shut up!"
"Jarod, I swear I never sent any sweepers," she pleaded, her voice thick with emotion. "I’m so sorry, but I swear I didn’t do it!"
With a wordless cry of anguish, her hair still clenched into his fist, he yanked her away from the mirror and threw her onto the edge of the bed. With the pale light coming from behind him, she could make out only the form of his body now standing over her, knowing that the gun was aimed at her heart. At this range, there was no way he could miss. She struggled onto her elbows and tried to move across the bed from him, but her feet tangled in the silk of her gown. Tears of sorrow and fear sprang unbidden to her eyes. She had never felt so afraid.
She inhaled deeply, trying to overcome the panic that nibbled at the edges of her mind. With effort, she controlled the terror in her voice. "What are you going to do to me?"
"I used to look for justice." Jarod’s voice was far away. "Sometimes for vengeance. Now all I want is revenge. Just like the Centre used me, I’m going to use you. I’m going to use you to get to your father, and your father to get to Lyle, and I’m going to use all of you to bring down the Centre once and for all."
"You’ll never do it." It was more a frantic hope than a statement of fact.
Jarod reached down with his left hand and grasped her behind her neck, lifting her up violently. She pressed her hands against his chest, struggling to push him away until he raised the shadow of the gun to her head.
Once more, his voice hissed in the darkness, the madness barely held at bay. "I have nothing left to lose."
The gun raised in the air and fell swiftly against the side of her head. She collapsed onto the bed once again.
The phone rang on Sydney’s desk early the next day. He answered it calmly, expecting the arrogant tones of Miss Parker, now late for an appointment. It was very unusual for the woman.
"Sydney, its Jarod."
The older man flashed a glance around him, checking for unwanted listeners. "Hello, Jarod."
Jarod’s voice was hollow. "Sydney, I’m going to do you a favor, for the times that you have helped me. Get out now, take Broots with you, and get away from the Centre while you can."
"What are you talking about? You know very well I can’t just leave. I have to stay here, for a number of reasons, your own welfare being one of them.
"Don’t worry about my welfare, worry about your own. There isn’t anything you can do for me anymore. Get yourself and Broots out as soon as you can."
"Jarod, what is going on? Why must I leave, what are you planning?"
"You’ll understand soon, Sydney. You only have a few days, get out or be caught in the crossfire." The line clicked dead.
Miss Parker walked in, Sydney noticed, with less than her usual intensity. Her face looked drawn and she frequently held her palm to the side of her head as she sat in the chair in front of his desk. As was typical, she offered no explanation or apology for her late arrival.
"Get Broots in here," she demanded. Her eyes closed, she leaned her head back until he arrived, then she reached into the folder on her lap and tossed a black notebook onto Sydney’s desk. Her eyes followed every movement of both men, every reaction as they opened the front cover to see the picture of the woman and child. Broots was the first to pick up the photo, as usual his face registered confusion, but as he handed it to Sydney, she witnessed a very different reaction. His eyes widened and he reached for the rest of the notebook. She knew what was inside: the headlines about the car accident, the search for the hit and run vehicle, a brief description of the two victims.
Seeing the first of the headlines, he fell back into his chair. "My God." He looked at the other clippings briefly. "My God, what have we done?"
Miss Parker leaned forward. "You knew about her, about them?"
Broots tried to lean over the chair to see the clippings. "Knew about who?"
She gave him a withering look, then turned her attention back to the older man. "When did you find out?"
"I had my suspicions, when we visited the apartment looking for Jarod."
"And you didn’t bother to share them with me, Syd? Was there a reason for this?"
He looked up at her silently. She let her head fall into her hands in a gesture of frustration and helplessness.
"If I had known," she started, spitting out the words one at a time. "Then I could have done something with her right away. Now this happens, and Jarod blames me." She looked up. "I had nothing to do with that woman’s death, I might have been able to avoid it, if I had only known."
"He left you the notebook?"
"He gave me the notebook and this headache. He was in my house last night, in my bedroom. Listen, Syd, he’s not all there anymore. Something has gone seriously ‘snap’ in our boy’s head."
Sydney closed the notebook and set it on the table. "Black."
"Like Kyle’s," Broots burst in. "But Jarod’s not anything like Kyle."
Miss Parker rubbed the side of her head once again, remembering Jarod’s actions of the previous night, the way he had played the gun over her skin, thrown her onto the bed and finally hit her with it. She recalled, too, the words that had come to her as she fell into unconsciousness, Jarod’s voice a whisper in the dark: "Now I decide who lives or dies."
"He is now."
It took four different kinds of pills and until the afternoon before she felt strong enough to walk into her father’s office. As she had requested, Mr. Lyle stood with him at the window, his gloved hand parting the blinds to look out into the sunshine.
"Daddy, I want to talk with you about something."
Her father turned away from the window as she entered, walking forward to give her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. "Of course, Angel. Come and sit down. You look like you aren’t feeling very well."
A sarcastic smirk flashed across her face. "I had a long night."
Mr. Parker leaned back into the chair behind the desk and folded his hands contentedly in his lap. "I’m sorry to hear that. Now, what can we help you with?"
"You remember when Jarod had that architect’s job a few months back? Sydney and I interviewed the manager of his apartment building." Her father nodded. "What did you do with that information?"
He grimaced. "Well, Angel, I’ll tell you. I was a little disappointed that you didn’t do more with that situation. I decided that your brother might have a better chance with it. He did a little digging and discovered a connection between that woman and Jarod, something that went beyond what you had seen."
"Oh, really." The terrible feeling that had nestled in the pit of her stomach since last night started to grow, but at least now she had a target for her anger. "And what did dear brother do with this ‘connection?’"
Lyle turned finally turned toward them. "I used her to try and capture Jarod. That’s what this whole thing is about, isn’t it? If you aren’t able to do it, then I need to step in. Really, this whole chase scenario has gone on far too long."
Her fingers wrapped around the arms of her chair, not in reaction to his insult, but to the truth she saw unfolding in front of her. She strained to keep her voice even. "And how did you ‘use’ her?"
One side of Lyle’s mouth twisted up. "As bait, of course."
She waited, knowing that he was dying to finish his tale, to show her up in front of their father.
"I had my team cause a little accident. Something guaranteed to bring Jarod out of the woodwork."
"Daddy? Did you know about this?"
Her father waved his hand. "Yes, yes, I knew. I – well, he’s right, you know, this has gone on too long."
The feeling in her stomach had grown again. She swallowed. "Do you know exactly what he did?" she said as evenly as possible.
"I saw the report."
"And did you see that not only was the woman killed in that ‘accident’, but her three-year old daughter was killed, too?"
Her father nodded but would not raise his eyes to hers. "It was necessary, to bring Jarod in."
She stood slowly and backed up toward the door. "Yes, of course, it was necessary." Her voice was stony, with any luck they would credit its tone to jealousy. "Well, it’s working, Jarod contacted me last night. I imagine we’ll be seeing him soon, one way or another. I guess we’d all better get prepared."
As she left the room, she glanced back at the two men. Mr. Lyle was once again at the window, gazing out with a malevolent grin. Her father sat back in his chair, watching his son with an aire of satisfaction.
It was all she could do to rush down the corridor into the bathroom, barely making it to the sink before the few crackers and various medications she had forced down this morning reappeared. Her stomach heaved violently, shaking her body with its contractions. When the spasms had finally passed, she turned on the cold water, running her hands beneath it, breathing heavily as the nausea slowly ebbed, but unable to rid herself of the horror that had locked itself into her mind.
The words rang through her head, her father’s voice: "It was necessary." Necessary to murder an innocent child, necessary to murder a pregnant mother. Necessary to the Centre to murder three to bring one man back to his own personal hell.
She looked up into the mirror and tried to wipe away the stains from the tears she hadn’t even known she had been crying. Pushing her hair away from her face, she tried to coerce it back into some semblance of order, teasing the back gently with her fingers, careful of the areas that had been abused the night before.
Unexpectedly, her mother gazed back at her from the mirror. The face was softer than her own, the eyes saddened, the mouth ready to cry in dismay. With a shock, she realized that it was her own face, still distorted with emotion. She stared at her reflection, sliding a lock of hair behind her ear. The eyes in the mirror, her mother’s eyes, stared back questioningly. They understood. For years, Jarod had been manipulating her, moving her in one direction while her father tried to force her another way. Now, however, she was compelled to make the decision on her own, to choose whether she was Catherine Parker’s daughter, or Mr. Lyle’s twin sister. Looking into the mirror, she realized the answer had been in front of her all along.
Copyright 1999 by Liz Shelbourne