Shaddyr's Eclectic Collection > Pretender Fanfiction > Shaddyr > Obediance Usque ad Mortem?

Disclaimer: They belong to NBC (and they don’t deserve ‘em if you ask me, but nobody did..) and I promise to put em back when I’m done. And then take ‘em back out to play with again whenever I damn well feel like it. Don’t bother to sue, all you’ll get is some really stale Cheetos and belly button lint.
Authors note: Character death. You’re all going to hate me and I don’t care. Here’s your sequel. (Oh, if you haven’t read Gestalt, you might want to or this might be confusing) Once again, many thanks to Niceole and Christine for reading and input, and especially to Liz for shredding it and sending it back covered in “ red ink”, ‘cause it’s better for it.
Rating: PG13

***********
Friday, 6:23 pm
The Centre
Blue Cove
***********

The Centre was a bustle of activity. Even an organization such as it had to bow to the pressures of holidays, and a reduced staff over Christmas and the New Year had resulted in a huge backlog of the every day work, as well as delays in several new projects. It was almost Spring and Parker was only now catching up with her nemesis – the dreaded reports.

She stood, arms crossed, waiting for the elevator.  Broots was still buried under a pile of scut work she’d dumped on him several weeks ago, so Parker had decided that the least that she could do would be to dig the files she wanted out of the archives herself. It figured that the ones that she needed were not yet on the Centre mainframe. Another thing to waste her time.

The elevator car finally arrived and she stepped in, turned around and leaned against the back wall. As the doors began to close, a man’s hand caught them, bouncing them open to permit him entry. She looked over impatiently to see who was delaying her and felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

 Cox.

“Ahh, Good afternoon Miss Parker,” the quiet man greeted her, his eerie blue eyes meeting hers.

She kept the wave of revulsion rising within her firmly in check and affected the parody of a smile she used on people and occasions that disgusted her, not deigning to reply.

“You’re looking well,” he continued, unfazed.

“I’m alive – a condition you’re relatively unfamiliar with given your choice of leisure time activities,” she spoke in a low tone, upper lip curling back slightly in contempt.

A ding sounded as the elevator stopped, doors parting before Cox. One foot out, he paused and cocked his head sideways, giving her a look that left her feeling like a bug on a pin.
 
“Be careful to keep it that way. Certain behaviors do have a high risk of ending that ‘condition’ – for you or others. Good day.”

As the doors closed behind him, Parker felt a cold chill at his words. The car continued its descent into the bowels of the Centre to the lower sub-levels where all the older files were kept, but she was oblivious, mind kicking into overdrive.

High risk? What was that supposed to mean? Was it a vague and cryptic scare tactic, or a specific warning? What did Cox think he knew and what did he “really” know?   She hugged herself tightly as a shiver rippled through her body with enough strength to make her teeth chatter.

Enough. She had too much to do to waste time thinking about it right now. First, she had to get this damn report about Jarod’s latest mission in the treatment center finished, find the written file that corresponded with the DSA documenting his childhood addiction, append it to her report and send it to the triumvirate. After that, she could go home for a stiff scotch and THEN she could sit down and think about Cox’s nasty little comment..
 

********************
Friday, 7:45 pm
Miss Parker’s Residence
431 Mountain Spring Rd.
Blue Cove, Delaware
********************

Parker leaned back on the sofa, nursing her second scotch of the evening, lost in thought. She was still disturbed by the vivid images of her childhood friend writhing in pain, alone, battling his induced addiction. Just when she thought she’d seen it all, yet another repulsive tidbit about the Centre surfaced. She sighed and a bitter snort of laughter escaped her. God only knew what she was going to discover tomorrow.

Inevitably, her thoughts strayed back to Jarod once more; how she had come so close to betraying herself with her colleagues just a few short weeks ago when Angelo’s empathic gift had alerted them to the pretender’s imminent danger. She thought that she had covered well enough, but she knew her concern for Jarod’s welfare had raised questions in Sydney’s despite her vehement insistence that she was simply first in line to kill him.

Afterwards, alone in her office, memories of first meeting with Jarod and their subsequent kiss had surfaced. Those in turn had led to more recent ones of the grown-up, more passionate variety, the kisses she had shared with him on New Years eve just a few short months before.

Even now, just thinking about that night made her face grow warm, an almost pleasant dizziness at the remembrance of his lips on hers, their bodies close, his hands-

With a shaky in-drawn breath, she deliberately pushed the memory away and sat straight up. She needed to think clearly. Staring down into the amber liquid in the heavy glass tumbler, she considered what Cox had said.

“Certain behaviors do have a high risk of ending that ‘condition’ – for you and others.”

What behaviors? What had she done? Or rather, what had she done that they knew about, or at least suspected? They couldn’t possibly know about her evening with Jarod. True, Lyle had flashed Jarod’s picture around, but there had been so very many people in attendance that he hadn’t a hope of questioning them all. He’d eventually gotten around to questioning her, even intimating she’d seen Jarod and let him go. He’d taken a step back when her face turned positively white obviously thinking he’d just pushed her over the edge and into a cold rage. She had snapped out a lethal comeback, turned on her spiked heel and stalked away, thanking God that her idiot brother was unable to distinguish the difference between white-hot fury and abject terror. For a split second she’d almost believed he knew, before her survival instincts had kicked in and ripped a strip out of him. That secret was still safe between her and Jarod.

The others could only refer to Sydney and Broots. There was no one else in that hellhole they could possibly threaten her with, the sole exception being her baby brother. The Centre wouldn’t do that of course... they obviously had plans for the poor child.  As for the rest of her family... Lyle? Bah. Good riddance. Her father? Up until the baby, a threat to his safety would have been enough to keep her on her best behavior, but his reaction to Brigitte’s death had changed all that.

She’d never liked that woman, and upon learning Brigitte had murdered Tommy, Parker had fully intended to pull the trigger. But, as with everything else in life, intentions come and intentions go – she had realized on the way to the cabin that no matter how much pain and anger she had, she simply could not kill the lolly sucking wench in cold blood. Beat her senseless perhaps, but not kill her.

When she’d finally found Brigitte laying there in the throes of childbirth, frustration and the desire for justice on Tommy’s behalf were quickly replaced by concern for the baby – and his mother. There was so much blood – she screamed at Brigitte that she was not allowed to die damn it!, but shortly after that she held her new brother in her arms and watched the life drain out of his mother. In that moment, she realized she genuinely believed the woman’s proclamation of remorse and sorrow over killing Thomas, and that she had really and truly loved her husband.

When Cox and Mr. Parker had walked in and clinically ascertained the situation, her father showing not even the vaguest hint of sadness or regret over his wife’s death, a grim and unpalatable realization had swept over her and stayed with her ever since. Brigitte had been just as much a pawn of the Centre as she and Jarod were. The main difference between them was their individual methods: Parker used anger and intimidation to get what she wanted where Brigitte had used subterfuge and manipulation – but essentially their goals had been the same. Stay alive and protect the ones you love. It galled Parker to realize that it was the troll who had proved more human than her own father was. She’d been another disposable wife.

Parker had watched Cox carefully apply Brigitte’s prints to the gun that had killed Mutumbo, then had sat in the helicopter and watched the cabin explode into flame. Had events played themselves out differently, it could just as easily have been her in that cabin, being framed for some crime against the Centre she had not committed – or for something she was supposed to do and had been unable to. Like catching Jarod for example...

She rubbed her tired eyes. Okay Cox, warning acknowledged, she thought darkly. Unlike Brigitte, *I* will not be stupid enough to trust anyone anymore, including my father. And God help you if you mess with my friends. I’ll take out your liver with a dessert spoon and then stuff you like one of your little projects.
 

**********
Friday, 9:02 pm
The Centre
Blue Cove
**********

It was late. Even with the daylight savings time, darkness had already fallen. Broots shook his head in despair. How was he ever going to get any of his work done?

There was a program he was writing for Maury in ** to help keep better track of the wire taps, phone taps and other audio files by cross referencing them by case number, code and content. At this rate, however, he was never going to have it done by the end of the week as he had promised. The standard sweeps he did for information on Jarod, as well as his constant updates of the security codes and firewalls around Miss Parker’s private files were at least a week behind and that made him nervous – but boy would she be pissed if he didn’t finish this data entry.

With a deep sigh, he flipped over yet another page and started typing. When were the Powers That Be going to give her a personal assistant to handle all this?

Absorbed in his work, the steady clacking of keys as he rapidly input the information before him filling the room, Broots failed to notice the disappearance of the green “active” light on the ever-present security camera and subsequent shining of the red “standby” light.  Oblivious to the world, he also missed the door as it slowly opened. A figure stealthily crept up behind him, a syringe half-filled with clear liquid in one hand. With lightning-like speed, the intruder’s free hand shot out, slamming Broots’ head forward into the keyboard. He yelped in pain and surprise, arms flailing out spastically in an attempt to find purchase on his attacker. A quick jab of the needle followed, his assailant emptying the hypodermic into the base of his neck in one fluid motion. Stepping back, the figure watched in silence as the technician twitched a few times before tumbling out of his chair onto the floor, continuing to convulse.

“You...” the word escaped Broots’ mouth as a whisper, then all motion ceased and he laid still. The intruder squatted down beside him, checking his neck for a pulse. There was none. A gloved hand reached out to close his still open eyes before the figure rose and left the room without a backward glance.
 

********************
Friday, 11:45 pm
Miss Parker’s Residence
Blue Cove, Delaware
********************

The ringing of the phone roused her and she belatedly realized she’d fallen asleep on the couch. As she groped for the cordless handset, her hand brushed by the half full tumbler on the table, knocking it over and spilling the pungent amber liquid everywhere.

“Oh shit!” she exclaimed, snatching the phone out of the growing pool of scotch. She glared down at the offending piece of plastic as if it were personally responsible for the mess, then hit the ‘talk’ button.

“Somebody better be dead,” she snarled as she hurried to the kitchen for a cloth to soak up the liquor before it ruined the finish on her coffee table.

The silence on the other end provoked her. “Jarod. If this is one of your stupid games, you can kiss my-”

“It’s not Jarod,” interrupted Sydney. There was something in his tone that brought her up short.

“Syd? Is something wrong?”

“Someone is dead Miss Parker,” the psychiatrist spoke evenly, but his voice, shaky with emotion, betrayed him. “Broots has been murdered. ”

The whole world went a little fuzzy and she felt a million miles away as she tried to digest what she’d just been told.  Frightened-of-his-own-shadow, wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly, kinda-sweet-crush-on-her Broots?

“Certain behaviors do have a high risk of ending that ‘condition’ – for you and others.” Once again Cox’s words resonated in her skull.

Suddenly weak in the knees, she crumpled to the floor. The phone slipped from her now nerveless fingers, falling to the floor with a thud. She could hear Sydney’s voice asking her if everything was okay, but she was unable to answer him. An anguished whisper was all that came out.

“Not again... oh, God, Please, not again.”
 
 

Part 2