Dr. Gamble delivered a baby, and quickly whisked it away. He regretfully told the young mother, Janice, her baby had been stillborn. While she grieved, one of the doctor's accomplices telephoned a waiting customer and informed him he was the proud father of a son.

Upon receipt of the full payment, Dr. Gamble was much more pleasant to deal with. "What will you be naming him?" he asked the new father.

"That depends," Mr. Rogers replied.

"On what?"

"On what the lucky lady in my life decides." Jarod went to the door, and opened it. "Would you like to meet her, Doctor?"

"I'd be happy to."

Jarod opened the door, and showed Janice in.

Dr. Gamble went pale. "Is this some kind of a sick joke?"

"You're the sick joke, Doctor," Jarod answered, irately. He grabbed the doctor by his lapel, and shoved him into the wall. "You prey on innocent young mothers. You tell them their babies are stillborn, and then you sell the healthy newborn to the highest bidder. Don't you?"

The doctor was tightlipped.

"Babies are not commodities Doctor. They're human beings. And what you've done to them and their mothers is unforgivable."

"What are you going to do about it?" the doctor sneered.

Jarod shook his head. "I can think of no just punishment to atone for what you've done. Death...would be too humane." He opened the door. Numerous victims stood outside. "But I'm sure these ladies will be able to come up with a penalty to match your atrocities. I'd hate to be the one who forsook a mother's love." Jarod pushed the doctor into the angry mob. "Lady Luck is not on your side, Dr. Gamble."

                                             *    *    *

Broots sipped contentedly on his morning Java. While he slurped the hot beverage he browsed the funnies of the local paper. It didn't take him long to get accustomed to Miss Parker's tardiness, at all. Her increasing truancies graced the work environment with a relaxing atmosphere. Work wasn't so bad, when the boss wasn't around.

The docile computer technician even felt a surge of masculinity in her absence. He suggested to a few superiors that maybe the Centre should endorse working remotely as a standard for some, as it improved attitudes, and  enhanced productivity, particularly his own.

"Talk to me Brootsie," Miss Parker barked, barging in and shattering Broots' illusion of eternal bliss.

"Oh, Miss Parker!" he exclaimed surprised, disappointed. As he jumped, he spilled the hot brew on himself. "Damn! You're in?"

"'Damn-you're in'?" she repeated, icily.

"No-no!" he yelled, hopping up. "Damn! as in 'Damn, I spilled the coffee on me, and it's hot," he clarified. "And oh, you're in, as in 'oh... you're-uh-in?'"

She rolled her eyes. "I do work here, dimwit."

"Of course you do," he agreed. "You practically run the place," he tried to compliment.

She nodded, stole his cup of coffee, and took a sip. "Where's Sydney?"

"He's not in yet?" Broots answered, sheepishly, hoping he wasn't getting Sydney into trouble. "But then, it's only 7:45, Miss Parker. Work doesn't start for another forty five minutes."

"Work starts when... I say it starts, Broots," she made plain.

"Right." He stood at attention, hoping she would return his mug soon enough, so he could fetch more caffeine in which to drown his sorrows. "So, uh-how are you?"

The tall brunette glanced sideways at him. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, suspiciously.

He shook his head, nervously. "Uh...nothing? Nothing."

Miss Parker downed the rest of the coffee. She read the caption on the mug in her hand. "World's Best Dad?" There was sarcasm in her tone.

Broots shrugged and blushed. "What can I say?"

Miss Parker couldn't contest that her colleague was a good father to his child. He'd do anything for her, to make her happy, to make her feel safe. Broots made sure his daughter knew she was most important in his life. That she came before work, or prestige, or clients. He even went so far as to put Debbie's wishes before the fear-inspiring Miss Parker's.

Broots, still trying to justify the mug said, "Debbie's just a kid."

"She's a smart kid, Broots." Miss Parker handed the cup back. "Not all kids bestow this title on their fathers."

"Uh...thank-you...thank-you," he replied, baffled at her teetering demeanor. He knew not to push it, though. He would leave the conversation as it was, with his saying thank-you. Knowing Miss Parker as he did, she would soon offset the recognition with an affront or two.

Sydney came upon his two awkwardly silent colleagues. "Good morning," he sang. He looked at Miss Parker, and smiled. "And how are we today, Miss Parker?"

Miss Parker scowled. "Is he always this nauseatingly cheerful in the mornings?" she asked Broots.

Broots nodded, and fetched himself another cup of coffee.

"Un-freaking-believable," she said dryly. She made a mental note not to show up at the Centre any earlier than 8:30 from then on. "Where are we with Jarod?" she asked, getting on with work.

"You may not believe it, Miss Parker, but there's a lot of shady dealings going on in a lot of the hospitals," Broots informed. "Jarod could be involved in a billion worthy causes."

"Broots, the only thing I can't believe, is that Jarod continues to slip through our fingers!"

He shrugged, indefensible.

"I want him," she demanded. "The sooner I haul in his simulating butt, the sooner I can get mine out of his hellhole."

Sydney was about to say something, when she cut him off. "And don't you go alluding to the virtues of patience, Sydney," she ordered. "Patience is for the pitiable underdogs who have no power." With that, she snatched Broots' coffee cup right out of his hand. "I've been doing a little research of my own," she informed.

The men exchanged glances, and then looked at her.

"Broots, find out what you can about a Doctor Gamble."

"Who's Doctor Gamble?" Broots questioned.

"That's what you're going to tell me," she answered. "And while you're at it, find out who Mister Rogers is." She took a sip of the hot coffee, and handed the lipstick stained mug back to its owner. "Thanks...Dad. You're the best!" She left the men alone.

                                             *    *    *

"Your friend was here again," Tara offered.

"What friend?" she asked suspiciously. "I don't have 'friends'."

"Well, that Mr. Rogers, he was here," she clarified. "Did you know, he worked with my sister, just over in the other office."

Miss Parker shook her head, amazed. What were the chances that she picked an out of town doctor where Jarod chose to Pretend? "Clever." No wonder he knew about her pregnancy. Her bloodwork was like writing on the wall. "Did he leave me anything?"

Tara nodded. She reached under her desk and pulled out a parcel wrapped in paper decorated with pink and blue baby bunnies. "He did a nice job on the wrapping."

"Very," she deadpanned. She took the box in her hand and flipped it over and over. The light contents barely moved. She tore at the paper mercilessly, and threw it to the floor. The lid was removed, the tissue paper crumpled, and two tiny bunny-like sleepers, one pink, and the other blue were exposed.

"Aw," Tara sighed. "Those are so cute."

Miss Parker raised her eyebrows, unaffected. She grabbed the pink sleeper and wrung it thoroughly. It was limp,
concealing nothing. She tossed it to Tara, and roughly grabbed the blue sleeper from the box. It too was put
through clothes abuse, as the huntress searched for clues.

There was nothing to be found. She shook her head. "What the hell am I supposed to do with these?"

"I guess you'll find out today, Miss Parker," Tara said, quietly. She folded the pink sleeper and placed it neatly in
the box.

"I guess so."

The ultra-sound revealed two fluttering heartbeats, in two separate sacs.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Doctor Shay enthused.

Miss Parker was mesmerized. "You were right," she whispered. "There are two of them."

"Twice the fun," the doctor encouraged.

"Twice the misery," Miss Parker countered. Twice the misery, double the responsibility. Two more lives the
Centre would destroy once it discovered their existence. And what should have been a cause for great joy gave
rise to mourning.

                                             *    *    *

"Dr. Gamble...an Obstetrician who runs an adoption agency on the side," Broots shared the information he had gathered. "Has one wife, two daughters, and three grandchildren."

"He was indicted in suspicious infant deaths at the Memorial hospital where he resides," Sydney added. "But he was cleared of all charges."

Miss Parker recalled what Jarod had told her. "Must have had one hell of a lawyer," she said. "What else you got?"

"Well, his practice is in a town about an hour from here. Do you really think Jarod would get involved in something that would have him this close to the Centre?"

"You bet your booties I do," she stated, knowing for a certainty he did. "What about Mister Rogers?"

Broots clicked on the keyboard, and retrieved information on the stated name. "Fred Rogers, host of a public television's program for children," he said. "Maybe you remember...Mister Rogers' Neighborhood?"

"Vaguely," she moaned. "What about Jarod?"

"Well, this is very classified," he whispered. "In fact, no ordinary person can get this kind of information..."

"Quit tooting your horn, Dizzy, and spill the beans," Miss Parker ordered.

Broots looked at her disappointed. He didn't get to impress her with the ingenious way he achieved this confidential information. No brainless lemur could do this job. "All right," he sighed. "Well, just a few days ago, a Mr. Jarod Rogers was approved to adopt a baby, from none other than the..."

"Infamous Dr. Gamble," Miss Parker finished. "So the little bastard did buy a baby," she said under her breath. "What do you think about that, Grandpa?" she asked, elbowing Sydney in the ribs.

Sydney raised his eyebrows. He didn't know what to make of it.

"Do we know where our Mister Rogers has made his nest?"

"I'm working on it," Broots answered.

While all three were hunched over Broots desk, eyeing the monitor, a courier barged in on them.

"Speedy delivery! Speedy delivery!" the white-haired man sang.

"Who the hell are you?" Miss Parker asked.

"Speedy delivery! Speedy delivery," the old man repeated with a white mutached grin. "Speedy delivery for Miss
Parker!"

"It's Mr. McFeeley!" Broots identified, excitedly.

"Mcwho?" she asked. She nodded at Sydney to take care of the courier fee, while she examined the large parcel.

"Mr. McFeeley," Broots repeated. "The Neighborhood of Make-Believe. Of puppets and large dogs, and little tiny buildings," he listed to spark her memory. But, she closed her ears to him as soon as he opened his mouth. "Mr. McFeeley rode around Mister Rogers' neighborhood on his trusty bicycle, delivering parcels. He was never late." Broots hunched over, and ran around on his tiptoes. "When I was a kid, I used to pretend I was..."

"What did you say?" she asked, tuning back into his aimless trip down memory lane.

Broots ran circles around Miss Parker, pumping his arms. "I used to do an impeccable impersonation of Mr. McFeeley," he said, proudly. "Speedy delivery. Speedy delivery."

"Would you STOP that!" she ordered, as she grabbed him by the collar of his plaid shirt. "What show did you say Mcfeelme was on?"

Broots grinned. "Uh-it's not McFeel-me, Miss Parker. It's McFeel-ey," he corrected.

"What-the-hell-ever McBozo! What show?"

"Mister Rogers," Broots answered.

She raised her eyebrows. "Thank-you." She picked up the parcel. "Oh, and Broots?"

"Yeah?"

"Stick to your Raines impersonation."

He beamed proudly. "You-you uh liked my Raines impersonation?"

"No," she answered, nonchalantly. "It's just more your speed." She made haste to her office.

Broots looked at Sydney. "What do you think she meant by that?"

Sydney smiled, and shrugged.

Miss Parker took the large box in her two hands and shook it roughly. The contents barely moved, and made not a sound. She ripped the paper off, and threw it to the floor. She opened the lid, and exposed two teddy bear bunnies, one pink, and the other blue.

Miss Parker shook her head. "More bunnies," she sneered. She grabbed the pink stuffed toy by its neck, and squeezed. She folded and twisted the toy into all sorts of shapes until she was satisfied it was filled with only stuffing. She tossed the pink rabbit across the room. The blue bunny was then yanked out of the box by its ears and subjected to the same abuse. It, however, suffered her displaced rage at Jarod, and was torn in two.

The phone rang just as she dropped the blue bunny's severed head in the wastebasket. "What!"

"Did you get the gifts?"

She knocked the box off of her desk with her arm. "Not exactly my style."

"There you go again thinking only of yourself," Jarod scoffed. "The gifts are not for you, Miss Parker."

"Then once more, you've wasted the Centre's money, Jarod" she said, ungratefully.

"What do you mean?"

She lit a cigarette and inhaled. "I have no use for blue bunnies or pink sleepers," she informed, coolly.

He felt anguish. "What have you done?" he begged.

"Nothing." She sat down. "Yet."

"What about the father?" Jarod asked. "He has every right to know about this."

"If he ever dares bump into my ship again, I'll have him neutered."

"Neutered?" Jarod turned off the television program he was eyeing. He didn't care as much for the big purple dinosaur as he did Mister Rogers. "Please don't do this, Miss Parker."

"Don't do what?"

"Whatever you're planning to do with those babies."

She remained cold. "I have no options."

"Miss Parker's moral dilemma..." he mused aloud. "If ever there were a contradiction in terms, it would be Miss Parker's moral dilemma."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning...in order to face a moral dilemma, one needs... morals," he needled. "We both know, anyone on the Centre's payroll is devoid of virtue."

"Your opinion," she snapped, defensively.

"It's the truth and you know it," he accused. "If you had any moral integrity, you would have left as soon as your eyes were opened to the underhandedness of the Centre's dealings. Instead, you've bargained with the devil and you allow Raines and your father dictate to you the lies you should believe, and the life you should live. If you can call that kind of existence... living."

"It's a hell of a lot better than running with my tail between my legs."

"Who's the one running?" he shot back. "At least I'm not betraying the memory of your Mother. You disregard
every upright cause she ever believed in... everything she died for," he accused, mercilessly.

"That's enough, Jarod!" She crushed the shortened cigarette in the ashtray.

"What would Catherine Parker say if she knew what her little girl was about to do!" he demanded.

"My mother isn't here, you son of a bitch!" she fired back, and slammed down the receiver. With shaking hands she fetched another cigarette, lit it and quickly inhaled the drug.

The phone rang seconds after.

She took another drag, before answering. "What!"

"Listen to me!" Jarod seethed, as he paced the floor of his room. "Just listen."

She blew smoke into the receiver. "Why should I?" she inquired in her husky menacing voice.

"Because I can help you."

She shook her head. "I am not the *little guy*, Jarod. I don't need your help."

"Your babies do," he stated. "I can help. Please, Miss Parker," he pleaded, softening his voice. "Please?"

She sighed. "Fine. Knock yourself out, Mr. Man," she challenged, smartly. "How in world can you help? You going to plant some magic beans?"

"I don't know anything about magic... beans. But I do know you don't want this to happen," he replied. "I know you want very much to honour your mother's memory, Miss Parker. And I know that you're feeling trapped."

She sat back in the chair and kicked her legs up on the desktop. "You seem to think you know a lot about me, Jarod."

"I know that when I look at you... I see... your mother, not your father," he said.

It was a grand compliment, of which she felt unworthy. Miss Parker cast her eyes down and caught sight of the blue bunny's head in the garbage can. She was evil like her father. Just ask the toys. "My father... said he'd have any bastard of mine exterminated," she confided, solemnly. She retrieved the stuffed toy, and combed its blue fur with her long nails. "I don't know if he was serious..."

"Your father is nothing but serious, Miss Parker, when it comes to the Centre and its goals. If you get in the way of  those mercenary objectives... you end up..."

"Like my mother," she finished.

"Walk away from the Centre," he urged.

"I can't," she snapped. "I can't leave the Centre...until I bring you back," she informed.

"Is that the deal you made with your father?" he asked, bitterly.

"Those are the terms he's given me," she said, quietly. "I bring you in, I get to leave."

"One freedom for another," he scoffed, angrily. "And you believe your father will respect this agreement?"

She shook her head. "I don't know." She didn't know what to believe anymore. She still couldn't believe she was pregnant. She couldn't believe Jarod had found out about her being pregnant. And she couldn't believe she was actually discussing her condition with him. He said he could help. She didn't believe he could.

They were silent.

"Then I'll let you bring me in," Jarod announced.

"What?" She sat upright in the chair.

"Your mother...sacrificed her life...to try and save me, Miss Parker," he said. "The least I can do is sacrifice my freedom to save her grandchildren."

Miss Parker leant forward on her desk. "You don't intend to surrender," she doubted.

"I can escape again," he assured. "What hope do those babies have?"

"Jarod..."

"You said you had no choices," Jarod interrupted. "Well, I'm giving you a choice, Miss Parker. Either I return to the Centre on your leash, whereupon Daddy commends you, and rewards you with your freedom. Or I resign to Raines and his henchmen. They'll get the kudos. You'll have forfeited any hope of gaining your father's approval, and we'll both be prisoners of the Centre. And who knows what nasty experimentation your father will subject your babies to at Raines' solicitations."

She was stunned. The obvious answer was to accept Jarod's proposal. It was too simple a solution, for such an involved and complicated problem. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because you're desperate," he answered, frankly. "Desperate times, desperate measures."

"You're so full of it," she scoffed, hating his candor.

"What's it going to be, Miss Parker?" Jarod spoke. "Do we have a deal?"

Miss Parker sat in the waiting room. All night her stomach had been cramping. But she was nervous. What would life be like away from the confines of the Centre? Could she really leave? How would she settle the questions she had spent the past few years researching, if she severed ties with those who could provide the answers? Would she have to flee to Europe once Daddy honored the agreement, if he honored the agreement?

Would she be a good mother?

Would she really turn Jarod in? Would he be able to escape again, like he affirmed? It was truly one freedom for another, and she was torn.
                                             *    *    *

Jarod entered the lobby. He didn't have to go through the main doors. He could still bolt. He owed Catherine
Parker, not her daughter. His only obligation to Miss Parker was his word. He would honor his promise to her.

Miss Parker espied the leather clad Jarod standing motionless in the lobby. It was at that moment that she
accepted the fact she was going to be a mother. She rose slowly, cradled her tender abdomen, and went to him.
"Where's the cardigan?"

"In the wash." He looked around nervously, and clenched his fists. The tiny window of opportunity for escaping
was quickly closing. "I guess...this is it," he said, soberly. The imminent loss of his freedom grieved him
tremendously. "Mine and yours interchanging."

"I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show," she said, breathing through the pain.

"We have a deal."

"Why here?" she asked, looking around the building's lobby. "Why not in Blue Cove?"

"Sentimental reasons, Miss Parker," he answered. He reached into his pocket, and retrieved a baby's blanket.

"Another gift?" she asked. She took the blanket, and nodded when she felt the hardness of her 9-millimeter Smith
and Wesson. "Let's go," she ordered.

Jarod heaved a great sigh of concession. "After you."

She removed her gun from the blanket, and secured it in its holder, concealed under the length of her leather
jacket. As she turned, a flood of excruciating pangs besieged her lower abdomen, and overwhelmed her. "Oh no!"
she moaned, dropping to the floor in a ball.

Jarod knelt beside her. "Miss Parker? What is it?"
                                             *    *    *

Dr. Shay entered the private room, and was greeted by distressed eyes. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Dear."

The blue eyes blinked, and resumed their focus on the ceiling. As long as they concentrated on the tiles of the ceiling, as long as the mind was ordered to count the tiles on the ceiling, reality was kept at bay. Even though Miss Parker knew reality would soon win this contention, she still coerced her mind to concentrate on the tiles overhead.

"Your gentleman friend had to leave," the doctor informed. "Is there someone else I can call for you?"

"No," she whispered, barely audible. "No one." She tried to sit up, but was still groggy from the surgery. The room
started to spin.

Dr. Shay placed her hands on Miss Parker's shoulders, and gently held her down. "I want to keep you here a little while longer, Miss Parker, just until the anesthetic has worn off," she informed, solicitously. "We can't send you home in this condition."

"I'm fine," Miss Parker whispered. Her throat was raw.

The doctor smiled, kindly. "We'll see how fine you are in an hour." She stroked her patient's forehead, and then left her alone for more rest.

No matter how hard she focused her attention at the ceiling, she couldn't count past eleven tiles. Why eleven, she didn't know. She raised her head, looked around the room, and then lowered it. She was alone. The tears were free to roll. They trickled down the sides of her face, and crept ever so slowly past her ears, down her neck. She was relieved. Yet the tears were of sorrow. The overwhelming feeling was that of loss, and not of contentment.

She placed a flat palm on her stomach to feel for signs of life. She felt nothing. She was dead inside. She fell asleep.

There was a slight rap on the door, and then the visitor entered the room.

Miss Parker glanced at the caller. "What are you doing here?" His presence weakened her.

"I've come to take you home."

She closed her eyes tight, to keep back the tears. "Are you alone?"

He nodded. "I am."

"Does my father know?" she whispered.

Sydney shook his head. "No, Miss Parker. Your father does not know," he said, putting her at ease. He regarded her with eyes of empathy. "Why didn't you tell me?" he wondered, hurt at her lack of trust. "I would have helped you...supported you." He approached her bedside.

Miss Parker shook her head. He was the psychiatrist. He could come to his own conclusions, without her telling him. "How did you find out?"

"A little birdie told me," Sydney answered.

"Jarod," Miss Parker sighed.

Sydney took Miss Parker's hand. "When will you realize you can trust me? This is something you should not have gone through alone."

"I survived, Syd," she said, emotionless. She withdrew her hand, and slowly sat up.

"There's more to life than just 'surviving', Miss Parker."

"That...I know," she said, with a weary smile. "It's the 'more to life' that led me to this hell." She threw the sheets off of herself, and sat up on the edge of the bed.

Sydney tried to break through the bravado. "You know, Miss Parker, losing an unborn child is no less traumatic than losing a living child," he counseled. "You need to grieve."

"I don't have time to grieve, Sydney," she retorted. "I've got a candy striper to catch." She stood, and steadied herself by holding on to his arm.

Sydney handed Miss Parker an overnight case of fresh clothes. "Jarod said you might need these."

She pulled the curtains around herself and dressed. "You didn't happen to see Jarod loitering in the lobby, did you?"

"No," the older man answered.

Miss Parker stuck her head through the break in the curtains to interpret Sydney's facial expression. "You're lying."

He smiled, and shook his head.

Sydney walked Miss Parker to the door. Upon entering the home, he noticed the photo albums were still out, and opened on the table. "Catherine loved being your mother, Miss Parker. You were in essence, her every reason for being."

Miss Parker tried desperately not to hear the words. For the few days she was aware of the babies, she understood the intense love a mother has for her child. Now she missed her mother more than ever. She missed the love of her mother.

"I'm tired, Syd," she whispered, hoping he would leave before she fell apart in his sight.

"Understandably." Sydney nodded. "Is there anything I can do for you before I leave?"

She shook her head. "Life goes on."

The exact words Mr. Parker said after his wife died. "You are not your father, Miss Parker," he reminded. "You are allowed your own feelings."

She stared at the perpetual shrink. Regardless of their topic for conversation, Sydney could always switch into head doctor mode. Whatever her retort, he'd challenge her with a thought-provoking statement she didn't want to hear.

"If you should ever want to talk..."

"I can call you," she interjected, impatiently. He had only offered to be her counselor an infinite number of times. And always she refused. "If ever I need an emotional pacifier, Sydney, I'll be sure to let you know."

The older man smiled kindly. "I don't come cheap, Miss Parker," he teased. "But for a friend, I'll give you the company rate."

"Appreciated."

He turned to leave. "I'll call you later."

She nodded. That he could do, and chat with her answering machine.

Sydney opened the door, took one last look at her, and then left.

Miss Parker locked the door, leant against it, and slid to the floor. She drew her knees up to her chest, hugged them, and rested her head down. In a way, she was grateful for the inhibiting fatigue. It kept her from facing and feeling the loss.

The ringing of the telephone disturbed Miss Parker's resolve to become one with the floor. She pushed herself up, and nonchalantly walked to the phone, not caring if she missed the caller. She picked up the receiver, and listened.

"How are you?"

Miss Parker lowered herself into the chair, and sighed. "Where did you disappear to?"

"To the Neighborhood of Make-Believe," he answered. "I would have stayed, but your hound dog was... hounding me."

"Sam's strictly muscle... albeit sluggish muscle," she said. The devoted sweeper was her guarantee for freedom. In case guilt, empathy, or insanity made her release Jarod before she presented him to her father, Sam was to intervene.

"I threw him a bone, and he was easily thrown off of my scent."

She smiled, as she tried to picture Sam chase after Jarod on his own. "He's loyal to the cause, but slow in the go."

Jarod agreed. "Are you...all right?"

She clenched her jaw. "I will be."

"I am so sorry."

"Another miscarriage, another day of freedom," she pronounced.

"I never wanted this to happen to you," he pledged earnestly.

"Life goes on," she droned, mechanically. If she could just believe that, if she could just be like her father, she wouldn't feel the pain. "At least...that's what my father would say."

"And what would your mother say?" he asked.

The lump in her throat threatened to sever her vocal cords. Jarod...you were right," she whispered.

"About?"

She blinked away the tears. "We are alone...loveless," she quoted, her voice cracking.

He sighed, feeling her pain. "You...don't have to be alone...Miss Parker."

"What?" Her eyes shifted from corner to corner of the room. She was alone. But she knew better than to take anything as it appeared. She placed the phone down, and physically examined the room. She pushed back a curtain and looked out the window.

Jarod stood tall on the other side of her door.

She withdrew against the door, and tried to collect herself. She had never felt so subject to her feelings. They were disregarding her every command to be cool, to be ignored, to be subdued.

There was a light knocking on the door.

Miss Parker inhaled deeply, slowly turned around, and undid the dead bolt. She opened the door as far as the chain lock would allow. "You're taking a risk being here. What if my father comes by?"

He lowered his head, and looked at her, skeptically. "Does Daddy care enough to come by?"

Miss Parker was too depleted to defend her father to Jarod. Of course Daddy didn't care. Maybe that was a good thing. It was easier to deny sorrow and pain when someone didn't care. She closed the door, removed the chain lock, and allowed Jarod in.

He stepped inside, and glanced around the modestly decorated country home.

The persistent huntress couldn't believe she had her elusive prey standing in her very own home. A week earlier, a day earlier, she would have capitalized on the opportunity and nailed his slippery butt to the wall. However, at that moment, his capture was trivial, unnecessary. Freedom from the Centre meant nothing when enslaved to grief. She was full of emptiness, and trapped in its haunting vacuum.

"Your father may not care, Miss Parker, but I do," Jarod stated, breaking the silence.

She glanced up at him and tried to elude the compassion reflecting in his brown eyes. "I never asked you to," she  rushed, fighting to keep up the shield. It was disintegrating at an alarming rate, and her replenishing resources were tapped. She retreated to the sofa.

"I never asked to either, " he retorted, following her. "But I have cared...from the first day...I met you."

Why did he have to be there, so determined in his consideration, sensitive to her anguish, as if it were so damned manifest? She drew her knees up, and hugged them, hoping if she could curl up small enough, he'd lose sight of her and leave. "Why?" Tears welled in her eyes.

He sat down on the coffee table, and faced her. "Because...I do," he answered with a dimpled smile.

She fought bravely not to give in. "Did you get Dr. Gamble good?"

"Let's just say, he gambled, and lost," Jarod answered, with a sly smile.

"Couldn't you just see me as a mother?" she chuckled. "Doing diapers, lullabies, the PTA? Kissing scraped knees, and broken hearts. Making peanut-butter sandwiches?"

"You...would have been a wonderful mother, Miss Parker," Jarod assured. "You are...after all, your mother's daughter."

Miss Parker closed her eyes, and pursed her lips to keep the hurt suppressed inside. But the grief had momentous force, and bullied its way out. Tears escaped the tightly shut eyelids. "I never expected to feel anything, you know. Not one damned thing, Jarod," she whispered. "How does this happen?"

"I don't know," he answered, softly. "Maybe...that's just the way we were meant to be. Maybe a mother's love is founded...as soon as the baby is conceived," he supposed. "You now know how deeply your mother...loved you," he soothed. "You have that to hold on to, Miss Parker."

She graced him with an indebted smile, and then buried her face in her hands, as sorrow possessed her.

Jarod blinked away his own tears. He eased down beside Miss Parker on the sofa, and put his arm around her shoulder. When she didn't flinch, he pulled her into his chest and held her tightly, as she sobbed.

In the morning, she awoke covered in a quilt, on the sofa. She sat up, and scanned the room for Jarod, though she didn't expect he would stick around.

There was an envelope propped up against vase holding a single yellow rose on the coffee table. Miss Parker leant forward, inhaled the aroma of the flower. She took the envelope in her hands, and pulled out a card. It was addressed to her in her mother's handwriting.

"My Dearest Daughter,

If it is the child who perpetuates a mother's beauty, then you have adorned me with a splendor that can only be described as angelic. You are my proudest moment, and my every reason for joy. Without you, my life would be meaningless.

Remember Darling, should anything ever happen to me, I will live on in your memories. And you must remember that I've loved you with the truest, deepest love, a Mother's love.

All of my Love, Mom"