For the Love of Mommy
Part 2
by Laurie
 

     A loud bang woke Miss Parker from her sleep. Instinctively she reached for her gun. But before she could secure it, two large men apprehended her.

     "What the hell is going on?" she demanded.

     "You're wanted at the Centre," one of the men informed. He turned on the lamp, and she immediately recognized Raines' pet sweeper.

     Being roused from sleep for Centre affairs was nothing new to her. Still, each rude awakening taxed the already faded ounce of loyalty she had for the organization. "Can't it wait until morning?" she questioned, knowing full well the Centre and its brass honoured their own timetables.

     "Mr. Raines would like to see you now," was the answer.

     "Of course." She teetered between unappeasable rage, and absolute despair. What if the Centre detected her condition? Would Jarod vengefully tell someone at the Centre? "Do I at least get to put some clothes on?" she sneered. "Or am I expected to parade around the bowels of hell in my night clothes?"

     The dark man grabbed the satin robe from off the chair, and handed it to Miss Parker.

     "Thank-you!" She snatched it as ungratefully as she could, and wrapped herself in it. "Wait until my father hears about this," she threatened, stepping into her slippers.

     "Let's go." They grabbed her roughly by the arms, and led her to the waiting vehicle.

     The Centre was void of all personnel, except the usual security guards, and a small staff awaiting the arrival of Miss Parker.

     "So, where's the party being held?" Miss Parker asked, as she was escorted into the elevator.

     The abductors remained silent. The elevator descended beyond the main floor, beyond the basement, down to the last legitimate sub-level.

     Miss Parker swallowed her fear as she watched the floor numbers get lower. "Either of you have a cigarette?"

     They exchanged glances. "Pregnant women shouldn't smoke," one of them stated.

     Outside, she remained composed. "And real men don't harass pregnant women to validate their virility." Inside she was shattering.

     The elevator stopped on Sub-Level 26. The sweepers dragged Miss Parker from the elevator, and to a secret passageway.

     "Where are we going?"

     "To the bowels of hell," Willie answered. They descended one level on foot, to their final destination.

     "SL-27," she gasped. Sub-Level 27, the scorched graveyard of Raines debased failed experiments.

     "This way."

     "You're both maggot fodder when this is over!" she promised.

     She was taken into a dark, musty smelling room, where Raines waited.

     "You bald son of a bitch." She squirmed to get free to wrap her hands around his chicken neck, but was secured by the two large sweepers.

     "Hello Miss Parker," he greeted, in a breathy voice. "Or should I say, Mommy Parker?"

     "What the hell are you talking about?"

     He advanced slowly towards her. "We know...about... the baby," he wheezed.

     She looked down her nose at him. "You-know-nothing," she spat. "I want to see my father."

     "First things first." Raines nodded at the sweepers, who immediately dragged Miss Parker to an archaic metal chair, and bound all four of her limbs.

     "Raines!" she yelled. "You bastard! You let me go!" She struggled, but to no avail. Although the chair was rusting, the straps of leather were new and sturdy.

     A medical staff of three, a surgeon, a pathologist and a nurse surrounded the chair and produced needles and vials, among other instruments.

     "What do you want?" Miss Parker questioned, desperately.

     "Just a little blood." Vials of red life force were drawn from Miss Parker's arm, and carried out of the room.

     Miss Parker glared at Raines. "I want to see my father!" she demanded.

     "All right, Miss Parker."

     Mr. Parker stepped forward from the shadows. "Hello Angel."

     Miss Parker shook her head, stunned at his appearance. "D-Daddy?" she whispered. "What's going on?"

     "Now now, don't worry, Angel." Mr. Parker approached the chair. "Daddy's going to take care of everything." He smiled and patted her bound hand.

     His smile did little to reassure her. In fact, his presence made her more fearful. She begrudgingly wished for the appearance of a genuine ally, Sydney, or Broots, Angelo. She would even welcome Jarod, if he showed.

     The fear was devastating. If Miss Parker gave in to it, she was doomed. And so she concentrated on her anger. And she aimed it at all in the room. The straps binding her were the only protection afforded the targets. As it was, her rage was consuming her insides at a rapid rate. Once done, it would burst forth and devour everyone in the room. Including the man she graced with the title 'Father'.

     "Daddy, I want to know what's going on," she entreated.

     "Not now, Angel." His attention was focused on the Pathologist who returned to the room with news of the blood test.

     He whispered the results to Raines.

     Raines in turn told Mr. Parker. "She's pregnant," he stated, with smug derision.

     Mr. Parker snorted and rubbed his brow. It was all he could do to keep from striking his daughter in exasperation. "You!" he shouted at her. "How could you!"

     "I'm sorry Daddy," she whispered.

     "Tell me who the father is!" he demanded.

     "I don't know," she answered. She had an idea, but would not indict the poor sap, on a hunch.

     "Tell me!"

     She shook her head. "It was...no one."

     "No one?" he yelled. "A non-existent man cannot impregnate a woman!" He stepped back, collected himself, and then leant in her face. "Is it...Jarod?"

     The blue eyes widened in shock at the suggestion. "How dare you!" she cursed through a clenched jaw. "I'm not even going to dignify that absurdity with an answer."

     "You will answer it!" He rose his hand in a threatening manner.

     Miss Parker didn't flinch. "You going to beat me just like you beat Mom?" she dared.

     He clenched his hand and shook it at her. "Just like your mother!" he denounced.

     The daughter regarded her father with a look of defiance. "Thank-you, Daddy" she said, proudly. "My mother... is the paragon... of parenthood," she praised with tears. "If I'm even 1/10th the parent she was, I'll be 1000 times the parent you ever were."

     Mr. Parker closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He had to resolve this. "Honey," he whispered, feigning fatherly compassion. "Honey." He reached out to stroke her cheek, but she turned away from him. He placed his large hand on her stomach. It was difficult to imagine such a small space hosting a child. The thought repulsed him, and re-lit his anger. "Didn't I say...I would tell you when you could have a baby!"

     Tears streamed down the sides of her face. "I never planned for this to happen," she defended.

     He shook his head, and sighed. "Of course you didn't, Angel." He blinked his cold eyes at her, and smiled. "Accidents happen," he whispered, as he brushed a hurried kiss on her cheek. "Daddy will take care of everything." He approached Raines and the doctors. "Get rid of that thing!" he ordered heartlessly, then left the room.

     "Daddy!" Miss Parker screamed. "Daddy! Don't do this, please!"

     The obedient doctors quickly surrounded the hysterical woman and covered her face with a mask.

     "Please," she begged. "Please don't do this!" She resisted unconsciousness as valiantly as she could, but eventually succumbed to the drug.

     A distant clanging woke Miss Parker. She remained motionless, until she recalled the assault of the night. In a panic she sat upright, swinging her arms, and kicking her legs. Her tired eyes scanned the room for hints of the doomed enemy.

     She found herself alone, in her own bed, in her own home. The noise that roused her was the 7:00 a.m. alarm, which continued to harass her with its buzzing, until she swung her pillow at the clock, and knocked it to the floor.

     She pulled up the sleeves of her satin pajama top, and examined her arms for needle marks. Her limbs were clean. She walked quickly to the full length-mirror. She exposed her stomach, turned sideways, and examined her body's profile. "A dream," she whispered, as she pressed an open palm on her flat stomach.

     "Bad dream, Luv?" someone called from the corner.

     Miss Parker quickly spun around to the taunting voice. "What the hell are you doing here?"

     "Just making sure the Parker spawn is gone." The blonde intruder pointed a gun. "Too bad your lover wasn't  firing blanks, dear," she said with a wink. She pulled the trigger and discharged a shot at Miss Parker's stomach.

     Miss Parker grabbed her abdomen, fell back in slow motion, and hit the ground hard. She struggled to crawl to safety but was paralyzed in pain.

     Brigitte approached, and straddled the injured brunette. "Shame," she mocked. "Mine aren't blanks either."

     Miss Parker breathed through the pain. "Go...to...hell," she gasped.

     Brigitte smiled. "You first, Mummy." She fired another shot.

     "No!" The sound of her own screaming woke Miss Parker. She sat upright quickly. Her heart beat so thunderously it shook her whole body, and rocked the bed. The blue eyes absorbed the surroundings. Everything in the room was familiar. There were no intruders, no betrayers, and no assassins. She was alone. Miss Parker felt her stomach. Although it churned, it was unharmed. She was fine.

     The need to purge the anxiety tweaked her insides. She tried to swallow the panic, but it refused to be kept down. Miss Parker rushed to the washroom, and hugged the cold toilet bowl, as her insides twisted and vomited up its acidic contents.

     After brushing her teeth, Miss Parker stumbled back to bed. She looked at the clock. It read 6:27 a.m. The alarm was due to ring in 33 minutes. Miss Parker reached over, and shut the alarm off. She lay back on the bed, pulled a sweat-soaked pillow over her face, and wept.

                                             *    *    *

     Miss Parker skipped work, and headed out of town. The large building housed both the doctor's office, and an adoption agency.

     Miss Parker took a deep breath, and then entered the clinic, and turned to the left. She walked to the front desk.

     "I'll be with you in a minute," the receptionist mouthed, as she was on the phone.

     Miss Parker nodded. She scanned the crowded waiting room. It was practically overflowing with pregnant women, children, young girls, and nervous couples. Yet in all of those people there was no one with whom she could even remotely relate.

     "How can I help you?" the young receptionist asked, as she hung up the phone.

     Miss Parker turned slowly. "Is Doctor Shay in today?"

     "Yes she is," the girl replied, with a friendly smile. "Do you have an appointment?"

     Miss Parker smiled wearily, and shook her head. "I was hoping she might have an opening. Maybe someone canceled?"

     "Doctor Shay is pretty busy. Let me just see here." She flipped through the pages of appointments. "Hmm, I can pencil you in for next Thursday."

     "No good." Miss Parker removed her sunglasses. She picked up the nameplate on the desk, and looked at the girl. "Are you Tara?"

     Tara nodded.

     Miss Parker set the nameplate down, and leant forward on the desk. "I'm not very good at begging, Tara," she stated. "But this is kind of an emergency," she explained, with beseeching eyes. "Please? I don't care how long I have to wait."

     The young woman smiled, and put the desperate patient at ease. "I'll be right back, I promise." She pushed away from the desk. "What's your name?"

     "Parker."

     "Be right back." Tara disappeared down the hallway. Shortly thereafter, she returned with the thumbs-up signal. "Doctor Shay remembers you, Miss Parker," she announced, with a broad grin. "She'll see you."

     Miss Parker sighed in relief. "Thank-you."

     "Just have a seat. As soon as she has a free moment, I'll call for you. It may be awhile."

     "I understand." Miss Parker hesitantly walked into the waiting room. At first she could see no vacant seats. But then she noticed two overly large women motioning for her to near them. She approached begrudgingly.

     "There's a seat here," the larger of the two said, as she shifted to her right.

     Miss Parker's eyes widened. "Uh...where?"

     "Right here, honey," the second said, as she shifted to her left.

     Sure enough, there was a vacant seat between the hugely pregnant women.

     "Well what do you know?" Miss Parker scoffed. "I'll stand, thanks."

     "In those heels?" the first exclaimed, pointing to the 4-inch stilettos on Miss Parker's feet.

     "Oh come on. You're thin enough, honey." The second shifted a little more, until she was overflowing onto the seat on her left.

     "No kidding is she thin enough," the first echoed. "You must be in your pre-trimester."

     Miss Parker nodded, not amused. She braced herself for what could very well be a painfully long wait, and squished her thin body into the hidden empty seat.

     "I'm about ready to pop," the first said. "My name is Mandy."

     "Mine is Petula," the second offered.

     Miss Parker smiled, apathetic.

     "You got a name, honey?"

     She put her head down, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "God help me," she moaned.

     "You all right, honey?" Petula looked over at Mandy and shrugged.

     Miss Parker flipped her head back. "I'm peachy," she deadpanned.

     "Peachy?" Petula repeated. "Well if that ain't the cutest." She looked at her friend. "You ever heard of a name like 'Peachy', Mandy?"

     Mandy shook her head. "Can't say that I have, Petula. But I remember back in grade school there was a girl, a little farm girl named Candy, who called her horse Peaches," she related. "One year Peaches had a foal, and Candy named her Cream." She put her hand up and pledged. "It's the god honest truth, Peaches and Cream. I swear."

     Miss Parker flashed an impish smile at Mandy. "I... was named after a horse."

     "You're kidding," both women gasped.

     Peachy neither denied nor confirmed the tale, leaving the two mothers-to-be pondering the truthfulness of the thin     woman between them.

                                             *    *    *

     Jarod entered the clinic and went to the right. He had received the phone call he was awaiting.

     "Hello Angela," he greeted.

     The receptionist looked up. "Oh, hello Mr. Rogers."

     "I got the phone call," Jarod said, with a grin.

     Angela nodded. "It's no gamble with Gamble."

     "I'm curious about one thing," Jarod said. "How is it, Dr. Gamble can place babies so easily, when the state run adoption agencies cannot?"

     "I've wondered the same myself. I honestly don't know." She examined Jarod's attire. "Nice cardigan."

     "Thank-you, thank-you very much."

     She looked down at his feet, and saw he was wearing blue canvas sneakers. "You've been watching Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, haven't you?"

     "How did you know?"

                                             *    *    *

     "I love your ring," Petula admired, ending the brief silence between the three.

     Miss Parker glanced down at her silver square ring. "Thank-you."

     "I had to remove all of my rings, once I hit four months," Petula said.

     "Me, once I hit the middle of my first trimester," Mandy offered. "I couldn't even wear my watch."

     "I hear you," Petula said. "And now, look at us!" she giggled. "I'm lucky if I get myself into a pair of underwear."

     "Amen girl friend!" Mandy agreed. "I swear, either this baby's going to pop out, or this belly button is."

     Miss Parker groaned, and looked longingly at the exit door.

     "I used to think feet were the ugliest part of the human body," Petula opined. "But now I gotta say, the belly button of a pregnant woman is the most putrid thing I've ever seen."

     Miss Parker crawled within herself to elude the conversation. But her physical presence betrayed her.

     "Have you always been this thin?" Petula asked.

     Miss Parker just looked at the woman.

     "Well, you won't stay that way, honey! Believe you me!" she promised. "And when your breasts start to grow..."

     The thin woman sprung from her chair, and walked determinedly to the reception desk. "Tara!"

     Tara spun her chair around to face the unimpressed patient. "Miss Parker. Hi."

     "How long, Tara?" she asked desperately. "How long before Doctor Shay can see those two fat women in there, Tara?" she asked, pointing to Petula and Mandy.

     Tara held up her finger, and consulted the schedule. "Soon. Very soon."

     "Do you think you can get them in before they both explode and spatter placenta all over me?" Miss Parker sighed, and leant against the desk. "I need a cigarette." She tucked her hands under her armpits to keep them from shaking.

     "How about a stick of gum?" Tara asked, holding out a piece of Wrigley's.

     Miss Parker took the offering. "Thank-you."

     Tara squeezed the woman on the shoulder. "It'll be okay." She then went into waiting room and called Petula Dawling.

                                             *    *    *

     Miss Parker was one of four remaining in the waiting room. Both Mandy and Petula had seen the doctor and were gone. There was one more couple left, an older pregnant woman, and Miss Parker.

     "Shouldn't be too long now," Tara called from behind her desk.

     Miss Parker nodded, picked up an old magazine and flipped through its soiled pages.

     The article actually had some interesting facts in it about the progression of a baby month by month.

     By the end of the first month the embryo is about 1/2 inch long and weighs less than an ounce. And within that half an inch there were the necessary organs, the beginning of the heart, the nervous system and the brain. She estimated the size with her fingers. How could such a tiny soul be the cause of such chaos?

     She read a little further and understood why her body was betraying her. It was making hormones to grow a baby. No wonder she made more frequent trips to the ladies' room. No wonder it was painful wearing a bra.

     The prenatal care guide warned her of the dangers of smoking, of drinking alcohol, or taking drugs. It counseled to eat lots of vegetables, drink lots of milk, and get plenty of rest. 'Good grief,' she thought. 'Being pregnant is about as much fun as Dr. Shay's suggested method of foolproof birth control.'

     In spite of herself, she was impressed with the baby's progress. By three months the little thing already had fingers and toes complete with nails. By the end of the third month, the resident alien was four inches long. Miss Parker regarded her open palm. A four-inch baby would fit comfortably therein.

     While she was engulfed in the article, someone sat down in the chair right next to her. "This isn't a theatre," she declared, not looking up. "Sit somewhere else." She gave the patient time to respond, and continued reading the article.

     A woman with child could expect to gain 25 to 35 pounds during the pregnancy. Miss Parker shook her head. There was no way she was going to gain 25 to 35 pounds. Her clothes barely allowed room for water retention once a month.

     The neighborly patient started to read over Miss Parker's shoulder. As if that was not annoying enough, he whistled a quaint little tune in her ear.

     Miss Parker flipped down the magazine to look daggers at the obtuse irritant. She came face to face with a grinning acquaintance. "You!"

     "Hello Neighbor," Jarod greeted. "It's a beautiful day." He read aloud the title of the article she was perusing. "'The      Miracle of Birth'. Wondrous, isn't it?"

     She threw down the magazine, and quickly went for her purse.

     But Jarod had managed to snatch it while she was engrossed in the article. "Looking for this?" he asked, with a Cheshire grin, as he held the pocketbook just out of her reach.

     "Give it back, or I'll swear I'll scream for help!"

     "And get caught with a ...loaded 9 mm in your possession?" he dared. "Really Miss Parker, don't you remember what happens when a small town sheriff finds a concealed weapon on a little lady? Or maybe you enjoyed your stay in jail," he gibed.

     "I'd much prefer to see you locked up, again."

     "Sorry to disappoint you." He tucked the pocketbook under his thigh. "You should be ashamed of bringing a weapon here, where there are children," he chastised angrily.

     "Well, I never know where I will bump into the elusive wonder boy," she excused. "What are you doing here?"

     "I could ask the same of you."

     "You first," she challenged.

     He leant over to her. "I've just bought a baby," he whispered. "You see...there's this doctor, just over there, who delivers babies. He tells the young mothers their babies were stillborn. He then sells the healthy infants to the highest bidder."

     "A real ethical entrepreneur," she scoffed.

     Jarod narrowed his eyes. "Exactly the caliber of man the Centre would employ." He regarded Miss Parker. "Your turn."

     "For what?"

     "Why are you here?"

     She clenched her jaw. "You know why I'm here, Jarod," she said with resentment.

     "Then I was right," he said, smugly. "You are pregnant."

     "Not for long," she hissed. At that precise moment, she detested him, and had she her gun, would have shot him dead, regardless of the consequences.

     "What are you going to do?" he asked, concerned.

     "None of your business," she snapped. She hadn't decided, but he didn't need to know that.

     They locked eyes, matched in their disgust for each other.

     It was the voice of the receptionist that stalled the battle of wills. "Miss Parker?" Tara paged.

     The patient ignored the summoning, and kept her gaze on Jarod.

     "Your doctor awaits you, Miss Parker," he said, with a smug smile. "You better go. You know how difficult it is to get in these days." He rose.

     She rose with him.

     "Miss Parker?" the receptionist called again, as she neared the couple.

     Miss Parker sighed heavily. It was now or never. She looked at Jarod and held out her hand. "My bag."

     "Say please," he said.

     She snarled at him. "GIVE-IT!"

     Jarod shook his head, and grinned impishly. "Mind your manners, Miss Parker."

     Tara waited patiently as the two adults bickered like siblings.

     "Jarod! Give me my bloody purse!" she demanded with a raised voice.

     The remaining ones in the waiting room stopped what they were doing, and curiously watched the couple.

     "You're making a scene." He gave the purse to Tara, who took it hesitantly. "She doesn't know how to share," he   explained, with a shrug. He headed for the door.

     "Tara, my purse!" Miss Parker demanded, with outstretched arms and snapping fingers.

     Tara quickly returned the purse to its rightful owner.

     Miss Parker immediately looked inside. Her gun was missing. "Where is it?" she called after him.

     "In a safe place," he answered.

     Miss Parker gave Jarod the once over. "Nice get up," she snorted. "Who in the hell are you supposed to be, anyway? Mister Rogers?"

     Jarod's stopped, looked sideways at Miss Parker, and then ran out of the building.

     Miss Parker threw her head back in frustration, and clenched her fists. "I abhor Mister Rogers."

     "It's all right." Tara patted her on the arm. She pitied the babe yet to be born, whose mother hated Mister Rogers. "It's just a show," she whispered. And she'd keep it to herself that she enjoyed Mr. Rogers, even as an adult.

 

     Dr. Shay finished her examination. "Are you sure of your last period date?" she asked.

     Miss Parker frowned. "Why?"

     "Well, you're either further along than we expected," she sighed. Or..."

     Miss Parker raised her eyebrows. "Or...what?" she asked, suspiciously.

     "Do twins run in your family?"

     The blue eyes doubled in size. "Twins?"

     Dr. Shay nodded. "Either you're further along than I suspected, or you're having twins."

     Miss Parker shook her head. "It never rains," she said, dryly. There was no shelter and she was being assailed by bowling ball-sized hailstones.

     She knew her limitations, though she would never admit her fears as limitations. The public Miss Parker had no   restrictions. She only had dislikes. She wouldn't oblige dislikes. The private Miss Parker was terrified of her current condition. And she didn't know how to settle the fear. She didn't know how to hide it. She didn't know how to live with it. She tried to ignore it, but it grew faster than her resolve. It wove itself into every minute fragment of her existence.

     "I can't do this right now," she stated.

     "Have you told the father yet?" Dr. Shay asked.

     She shook her head. "I don't intend to."

     "What about your father? Or some other family member?" the doctor questioned. "Is there a friend you can call on for moral support, dear?"

     Miss Parker smiled. "Moral support?" she repeated, cynically. "The Japanese Yakuza has more virtue than anyone I know, Doctor." The realization of how alone she was made her sick to her stomach. She rushed out of the office and down the hallway to a vacant washroom, whereupon, she heaved into the toilet. Her empty stomach twisted into knots.

     She sat back on the floor, and leant against the wall. She'd stay in there forever, if she could. Or maybe she'd hide in the washroom until the babies were born, or until she expired. Whichever came first.

     There was a knock on the door.

     Or maybe she'd remain there until someone knocked on the door.

     "Miss Parker?" a voice called from the other side of the door. "Are you all right?"

     She pulled herself up to the sink, washed her face and her hands, and opened the door.

     Tara looked up at the pale Miss Parker. "Are you all right?"

     "I need a drink," she deadpanned. "Make that...two."

     Sleep, without dreams, when she achieved it, was her only solace. And so, Miss Parker forfeited work, completely. She went home, had a drink in spite of the magazine article, and lay down on the bed. Soon enough she was sleeping the afternoon away.

                                             *    *    *

     The ringing of the doorbell woke her sometime around sunset. Miss Parker stumbled to the door and peered through the peephole.

     Sydney stood hunched over in the rain.

     Miss Parker sighed deeply, regretting not making an appearance at work. She unlocked the door and opened it.     "Sydney."

     He bowed slightly. "May I come in?"

     She opened the door wider.

     Sydney removed his hat and stepped inside. "Did I wake you?" he asked, as she was in a pair of oversized cream satin pajamas, and bunny slippers.

     She disregarded the question. She flipped the hair out of her eyes, and flashed him a look of 'what the hell do you want'.

     "We missed you at the Centre today."

     "I decided to work from home."

     "Mm," he refuted, shaking his head. "I called several times throughout the day. When there was no answer, I came by. You weren't here."

     She placed her hands on her hips, and scowled at the older man. "Checking up on me now?"

     He raised his eyebrows. "I'm concerned."

     "About what?"

     "About you, Miss Parker."

     "I'm fine," she enunciated, adamantly. She shuffled to the sofa and sat down.

     He scrutinized her countenance. She didn't look fine. He knew she wasn't fine. "You've been acting... strange, lately."

     "Product of my environment, Doctor Freud," she rationalized, sharply. "As much time as I'm forced to spend with you and Broots, little wonder I'm going out of my mind." On the coffee table a stocked wooden cigarette box tantalized her.

     Sydney regarded her sternly, and chose his words carefully. "You've been...preoccupied. Showing up at the Centre late, if you bother showing up at all. It's very clear, your mind is...elsewhere."

     She glared at him. "My mind is on the assignment, Sydney. 24-7." She eyed the box longingly.

     "Miss Parker, please," he entreated. "Broots and I are not the only ones who've noticed this deviation in your behavior," he warned. "I only want to help. As a friend."

     His well meaning softened her a little. "Look, your concern is noted, and appreciated, Sydney," she patronized. "But I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. I know exactly what I'm doing."

     He raised his eyebrows. "Do you? Really?"

     She gazed at him expressionless. "Yes." She flipped open the carved wooden box, retrieved a cigarette, and stuck it in her mouth. The taste of the filter was like medicine.

     Sydney shrugged and conceded to her stubbornness. He noticed opened photo albums on the lamp stand.      "Reminiscing about the good old days?" he asked.

     Miss Parker glanced at the pictures of her mother. She lit the cigarette, and inhaled deeply. "There were never any 'good old days', Sydney," she said sadly, blowing smoke towards him. She rose, went to the door and opened it, giving her uninvited guest a blatant hint to leave.

     He smiled, put on his beret, and followed her to the door. "Will we be seeing you tomorrow?"

     "I'll surprise you."

     He nodded. "Good-night Miss Parker."

     "Sydney." She watched the older man stride quickly to the car. Once he drove away, she took one last drag from the cigarette, and tossed it into the rain. She closed the door, and double-locked it.

     Miss Parker turned off the living room light, and was on her way to bed, when the telephone rang. "What?" she sniped into the receiver.

     "And how was Dr. Shay?" A miniature black Lincoln Town Car cruised the road encircling the caller.

     "She has cold hands."

     "But a warm heart," Jarod added. "She's a competent, caring Doctor, Miss Parker." The giant Jarod stood in the midst of a raised small-scale replica of the Centre.

     "You'd better be calling to tell me where you've hidden my gun, Mr. Rogers."

     "Nope."

     Miss Parker heaved a weary sigh. She was exhausted, and wanted to get as much rest as she could, between midnight and morning sickness. "What the hell do you want then?" she demanded.

     "I want to know if you're all right," he answered. He slipped his fingers into a hand puppet with a familiar semblance, long dark hair that flipped up at the ends, great grey-blue eyes accentuated by lethally lengthened lashes. The lips were full and painted deep burgundy.

     "I'm tired, Jarod."

     "What have you decided?"

     She plopped down on the sofa, and shook her head. "Decisions are for people who have choices."

     "Aw, don't tell me the indomitable Miss Parker is feeling...defeated," he jeered, as he bowed the puppet head. "You have choices."

     "I don't," she argued. "You have no idea..." she stopped, for she knew he understood from where she came. "Do you know what my father would do if he found out I was pregnant?"

     "I know what your father is capable of doing," he stated, solemnly. There was an ogre-like puppet resembling the chairman of the board lying on the floor. Jarod kicked it across the room. "You're a big girl, now Miss Parker. Why do you still let your father and the Centre manipulate your life? Are you your own person...or," he regarded the toy on his hand, "your Daddy's dummy?"

     It was such statements from Jarod that incensed her rage enough to shoot him. And it was the taunting tone that incited her desire to see him restrained again, in the dungeons of the Centre. "You know...when I get my hands on you...you're going to regret it in a very big way."

     "Ooh," he mocked fear. "You have a lot of unresolved anger, Lady Parker. If we can get that channeled into constructive activities, you'd feel so much better. Have you ever thought of pounding on clay to work out your frustrations?"

     "I'd rather pound on you, you playdoh pest," she hissed.

     "Ah ah ah, Miss Parker," Jarod chastised. "Anger can be expressed, as long as you don't hurt yourself... or others," Jarod stated. "I learned that from Mr. Rogers."

     She ran a hand over her face. "Jarod, you can take those thoughts of the day and shove them..."

     "Lady Parker," Jarod intervened. "You weren't going to say a bad word, now, were you?"

     "I'm going to bed," she whispered.

     "You do need your rest," he said, turning serious. "And while you're on your way to sleep time, think of the life...both you and your baby...could have...if you just left the Centre." He took pleasure in forcing her to contemplate the possibilities of her own freedom. He knew she would be a happier soul, if she would just forsake the Centre and its haunting hold.

     She had been thinking of nothing else but life free from the claws of the Centre. "It's a dream, Jarod."

     "Your mother...had a dream, Miss Parker."

     "Yeah, and look what it got her," she snapped.

     "At least she tried," he rebutted. "You haven't even tried, have you?"

     She didn't answer.

     "We've both grown up alone, Miss Parker," he surmised sadly. He placed the Jarod-like puppet on his left hand. "We've spent all of our adult lives lonely... and loveless. Looking for someone who'll validate our human worth with those words, 'I love you'."

     "I'm pregnant, Jarod," she reminded, acridly. "Do you think I got this way being lonely and loveless?"

     Jarod clenched his jaw. "You know what I mean, Miss Parker. Sex and love are not the same thing."

     "Such insight... from the man who's had...how many sensual experiences? And I'm talking the real thing, Valentino, not simulations."

     "I'm not as green as you think...or hope," he shot back, flushed at the ridicule. "I know there's a difference between instant gratification...and lifelong contentment," Jarod stated. "Your baby...will love you for two lifetimes. Just like your mother... loved you."

     Miss Parker stiffened at the mention of her mother's love. It was personal, unique, special and all she had left. She could not risk speaking of it with anyone, for fear she'd lose some of the love in the discussion. "Why the hell do you care so much, Jarod?" she demanded striving to match his offense.

     "I care, because I have great respect for your mother, Miss Parker."

     "So?"

     Jarod flicked his right wrist downward so that the puppet of Miss Parker fell to the floor. He shook his head, disappointed at her callousness. He recognized the façade; still it irritated and wearied him. "Figure it out," he sighed, and then ended the call.

     She didn't want to 'figure it out'. She had enough on her mind without having to figure out Jarod's motives. Miss Parker let out a groan of frustration, and threw the cordless phone across the room. She sat motionless, as his words resonated in her crowded mind. "I care because I have great respect for your mother.... I care. Your mother...great respect...figure it out."

     She leant her head back, closed her eyes.

     "He's right, you know?"

     Miss Parker opened her eyes, and lifted her head. She listened for the sound, but heard nothing save the pounding of her heart in her ears.

     "He's right, you know?" the words were repeated.

     "Who's right?" she whispered. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and scanned the surroundings to ascertain from whom the words came.

     "Jarod."

     Miss Parker slowly rose from the sofa. She recognized the soothing voice, and searched the room anxiously for its owner. "Mom?"

     Catherine Parker stepped into the moonbeam reflecting through the window. "Hello Sweetheart." She opened her arms, and beckoned her daughter near.

     The younger Parker blinked her eyes, hoping the apparition would either disappear, or manifest itself as reality. "Mom?" she mouthed.

     "I'm here for you, Darling," Catherine said, as she approached.

     Miss Parker stood motionless in fearful elation. "Mama, is it really you?"

     "Of course it's me," Catherine affirmed, with a wide warm grin. "Who did you think it was, the bogey man?" She pulled Miss Parker into her arms, and embraced her tightly. "I've been waiting to do this for so long."

     The hug was perfect, securing, exactly what a daughter needed in her time of distress. Miss Parker buried her head in Catherine's shoulder, leant into the older bosom, and allowed herself to be absorbed by her mother's love. "I've missed you...so much, Mom," she whispered. And as the protective wall crumbled, tears of relief fell.

     "I'm here, now, Sweetheart." Catherine graced her daughter with a smile that promised 'Never fear, little one. I am your mother. I will protect and support you.'

     They sat together on the sofa.

     "Mom, why did you say Jarod was right?"

     Catherine regarded the mirror image of herself in her daughter's countenance. "I did have a dream, Darling," she spoke softly. "It was for you." She stroked Miss Parker's face. "You gave me...hope."

     Miss Parker leant on her mother's chest, and listened to the rhythmic beating of her heart. She had never known such peace. She had never felt so safe.

     "Your baby will give you hope too, Darling. You'll see."

     The Grandfather clock chimed once for 12:30 a.m. and woke Miss Parker with a start. "Mom?" she called out, still drowsy. "Mom?" She sat up straight, rubbed her eyes, and scanned the lonely room for her mother. Although shadows dancing upon the wall gave the appearance of company, Miss Parker was alone.

     She sighed wearily, and headed for bed, tripping over the tossed telephone on her way. "Damn it!" she cursed, as she stubbed her toe. She picked up the phone, and threatened to throw it again. Instead, she placed it on the table, and went to bed.

     The morning came too quickly. She had spent most of the night trying to rid her mind of Jarod's challenge, 'figure it out.'

     Catherine Parker gave her life to save the children, to rescue Jarod. His interest in the younger Parker's unborn was an attempt to compensate for the matriarch's martyrdom.

     If the man-child had such an inciting respect for Catherine, how could Catherine's own daughter, Miss Parker, sacrifice the unborn to save her own soul? It would be a grievous insult, an unforgivable sin.

     On the other hand, if Miss Parker carried her child, or children to full term, her father and the Centre could do whatever they wanted with her and the babies. They had that power, she knew it. She feared it. If the Grandfather-to-be promised to have his legacy exterminated, what hope or protection did Miss Parker and the babies have?

     Or maybe they would have Miss Parker murdered, steal her children, and subject them to the Raines. She knew they were searching for a prodigy in Jarod's truancy.

     She curled up on the sofa, and cradled a picture of her mother. "I wish you were here, Mom," she whispered.

 

Part 3