Vertias Odium Parit
Red Roses

The room was dimly lit, electric lights trying in vain to combat clouds of cigarette smoke that floated around the room; hovering over the comfortable looking armchairs and tables holding ashtrays. Most of the occupants were shrouded in shadow, Mr. Parker swallowed audibly.

One of the figures offered a cigarette pack - Mr Parker shook his head. One of the Centre mottoes: Never accept anything that comes from someone who works - or lives - in the tower. Except compliments, and even then be wary.

"You know why you've been summoned."

Summoned, Mr Parker thought. What is this a monarchy?

"Of course," he replied, bowing his head, for in some ways it was a monarchy; these were the kings and he was a messenger.

"We have hit the six year mark, have we not?" The question drifted from towards the back.

"Yes."

"Hmmm," the figure said, taking a drag from his cigarette and producing a small glow.

"Miss Parker is still in charge of the hunt?" Asked another, he was closer to the front and nearly visible in the moving shadows.

They knew of course, the answer to each and every question. The Tower knew everything about everything. They believed that knowledge was important; theirs that is.

Mr. Parker nodded a yes and resisted the urge to cough.

"Good."

This took him by surprise, in the past five meetings there had been nothing but insults, threats and orders concerning his daughter. Now a sudden change of heart? Mr. Parker looked for a cigarette glow and directed the question at that.

"Do not remove Miss Parker from the hunt, if you do these last six years will have been a waste."

If this is monarchy then I'm about to my head chopped off, Mr. Parker thought, but, you don't get anywhere in the Centre if you're out of the loop.

"They have been a waste."

Figures chuckled in the darkness; he was most definitely out of the loop, a big one.

"We are confidant that we will no longer be having these anniversary meetings," said another shape from towards the back. Unlike the first two speakers whose voices were distinctly male, this was a woman.

"What makes you so sure?"

There was an abrupt tension and lack of movement; the room held its breath, waiting for the reply.

"We watch more than just what happens in the Centre Mr. Parker," said the voice, her tone patronising.

The figures began to breath and smoke again, showing that no harm had been done today. Thinking the interview was over after such as near miss, Mr. Parker got up from the uncomfortable chair. The women's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Will you honour your promise to Miss Parker?"

Mr. Parker lowered himself into the chair slowly, focussing on his breathing and not getting angry.

"Which promise?"

"That if she catches Jarod she gets freedom from the Centre."

The chair seemed even more uncomfortable and he squirmed while thinking quickly.

"I don't know if I can," he finally said.

"How so?"

"She's learnt a lot over these last six years, too much."

The woman broke over the murmuring with a 'tsk, tsk' sound. "We handle how much Miss Parker learns."

"Of course," Mr Parker replied smoothly, giving another bow, "I meant that what you have allowed her to learn could still be dangerous."

The women lit up a cigarette, temporarily unmasking her face, from what little he could see she was mid 50's with wrinkled skin and a permanently down-turned mouth.

"When the time comes, let her go, if she does prove dangerous she will be dealt with."

Now it was the end of their meeting, Mr. Parker could feel the shift in attention but he still had questions.

"And if she makes demands?"

"Demands?"

Mr. Parker shrugged slightly, not sure himself.

"If they're reasonable then meet them."

Mr. Parker nodded his head at the figure and gave a bow to the rest of the room before getting up and leaving. He was after all, the messenger.

If her house hadn't been so ordered, she never would have noticed. A single red long stem rose in a crystal vase beside her bed. In its centre perfume had been sprayed, adding to the roses scent.

Miss Parker entered the bedroom, immediately noting the change and in a few fluid motions, she crossed the room and put it in the wastebasket where a dozen others lay.

Another lair, another discovery, it was all becoming a little irritating. No, Parker decided, while removing a PEZ dispenser from yet another bouquet of roses. It was beyond irritating.

"Perhaps Jarod was pretending to be a florist." Sydney suggested from somewhere amongst the sea of flowers.

Thinking of the flowers she'd received, Parker muttered a "Maybe."

They had scoured the lair, looking in every bunch of flowers and even the surrounding warehouses all producing no results. Miss Parker, Broots and Sydney were about to head back to the airport when Broots pointed out a second level.

"Does that look like a platform to you?" He asked in a hushed whisper.

They surveyed the small alcove and noted the only way up was a ladder climbing from on top of a desk.

"Shit," Parker muttered with feeling. There was no way to climb a rung ladder in a skirt, heels and carrying a gun.

Nevertheless she was about to stand on the desk and attempt it when from outside came the sounds of an engine starting up.

Swearing some more, Parker followed the sound and arrived just in time to see an expensive red car and a figure speeding away. "No way!" she howled after it.

Fearing her temper, Broots and Sydney ended up talking to the sweepers who had missed him. Parker used the time to climb the ladder. It looked the mostly the same from down on the ground. The only thing Parker hadn't noticed was a small bottle of perfume tucked away in a corner.

Once back on solid ground she examined the little treasure more closely - it was the scent from the roses - but now in vaster quantities it triggered a memory in her mind. Her mother had worn this perfume on extra special occasions. She wore it once when Parker had a bad day at school and to cheer her daughter up that night they dressed up in there best clothes and talked for hours.

The jet arrived back in Delaware at almost 5 PM the following day. Lyle greeting them on the air-pad with a sneer, "Let me guess, the lab-rat got away again."

"We came very close," mumbled Broots.

"What was that Mr. Broots?"

Sydney jumped to his aid. "He said we had a near miss."

Lyle looked sceptical. "In your last three reports you noted this also. I'm having a hard time believing your genius is getting that cocky."

"Jarod-" began Sydney in his patient physiatrist voice.

"-Does everything for a reason." Lyle finished. "How's this for a reason." He pulled a red notebook from his jacket pocket. "It arrived some time before you did."

Miss Parker snatched it from him and opened it. The usual newspaper clippings displayed the wrongs he'd righted and innocents he'd saved.

"'Rose' Killer Caught By Unidentified Man," read the headline.

She turned the page, Sydney and Broots reading over her shoulder.

"'Rose' Killer Takes Another Victim."

The article was all about an unidentified man who killed people and then left a rose with the body. This article was about the third victim.

"Explains why he had all those flowers," muttered Broots.

Sydney nodded in his 'I knew there was a reason' way and Parker decided to stop for the day. "I wouldn't want to spoil the ending when wonder-boy rings," she said, and shoved the notebook back into Lyle's hands.

It was a beautiful night; the air was still warm from the hot summer day and the clouds distant on the horizon, only just visible in the fading light. Miss Parker was sitting under one the many trees with memories playing all around her. Everything in the house and garden was special, had its own memory. This particular tree even had one; Parker had only been five or six when it was planted, she had helped her mother compact the soil around the roots. "This is my favourite spot in the whole garden." Her mother had said. "And all that's missing is a tree to sit under."

As modern technology often does, her cell-phone broke the moment. She tried to ignore it but the phone continued to ring and disturbed the night sounds. After the fifth ring it switched over to her voice mail but instead of recording, Jarod's voice announced smugly. "You can pick up now or at 2 am."

After a groan that scared nearby crickets into silence, Parker answered.

"What?"

"You know not even I would have guessed that'd be your voice mail."

"People talk more when they're flustered." Parker replied with a roll of her eyes.

Damn, it had been a perfectly good evening until he rang, she thought ruefully.

"Well you'll like what I have to say."

"As long as it's not repeated at 2 am," Miss Parker said tiredly.

There must be some way to hide my number.

"It's about your mother."

It always is, Miss Parker thought but replied, "What about her?"

"Raines' cabin," Jarod said. "The disks you found were ... highlights put together by Raines, there are more."

Miss Parker was shocked, but didn't let it stop her. "What do I have to do for these treats?" She hissed in a venomous tone.

"Tell me why the Centre wants me back."

"You know I can't do that. They'd kill me!"

"Then were going in circles, same questions, no answers," he growled.

"Then stop chasing your tail!" Parker yelled in frustration. Why did he have to keep digging? In all his genius, did he not know the saying 'let sleeping dogs lie'?

"Easy for you to say," Jarod retorted.

"No, it's not. I want answers just as much as you do. The only difference is that I've known true freedom and you haven't." It was a low blow, striking at his freedom but he'd hurt her also, using her mother as bait in yet another giant rattrap. She was beginning to feel just as trapped with him as she was in the Centre.

"There is no freedom from the Centre." Came the reply, the tone sad and angry.

"Then why do you try?" she asked exasperatedly.

"My family-"

"-Yes your family. Who have you found Jarod?

"Your father: that you had to question on my mother's death, that got caught after 30 years on the run and 3 days in your company. Your sister: pushed out a window and then nearly killed by sweepers because she asked questions about you. Your brother jumped in front of a bullet to save you. What, 3 hours after coming back into your life. Your clone will never have a normal life no matter where you hide. And what about Ethan - our brother - who jumped off a train 10 seconds after meeting you!"

A dial tone sang back in response. Miss Parker sighed, threw the phone in her pocket and stood up. The silence and peace was long broken, the warm night air was no longer refreshing but uncomfortable, and the night noises slightly sinister.

Inside she cast off her work clothes and found something silk to get into. The hot chocolate she had made before going outside was cold but she drank it anyway. Only when she climbed into bed did she notice the red rose and Pepé Le Pew PEZ dispenser on the nightstand. Resisting the urge to throw them, she casually turned out the light and rolled away from the foreign objects.

The Pepé Le Pew PEZ dispenser slammed down on Broots' computer monitor. Broots looked shocked more than afraid at his boss's entrance. "Good morning Miss Parker," he said as he moved back slightly, encase there would be more violence.

"Good morning Broots," she replied, "Now. Tell me what this means."

Broots surveyed the candy holder. "Jarod likes cartoons?" He suggested weakly.

"No. This," she said and revealed the tray. Usually filled with square candy it instead held a note that Miss Parker removed for his inspection.

'681' was all it said.

Broots covered his groan with, "I'll get right on it." Parker gave him a rare smile. "Thank you." He returned the smile. "Oh, and Broots." She almost laughed at how terrified he suddenly looked. "I need a new security system for my house. Jarod can beat the current one in his sleep. I want you to set it up." The doors hissed open and close without waiting for his response.

Broots came around that evening, looking like a child who'd been let loose in a candy store. "I got the best." He informed her, as two men began the unloading. Miss Parker surveyed the bill, "Yes I can see that," she said as she scribbled in her Centre expense details. "Which is good, 'cause we need it."

The existing security system went, along with many an hour, while Broots confessed that with a bit of know how, Debbie could have beaten it. "This one," Broots assured her, "Will take a bit more, but then it is Jarod we're talking about." He babbled on a bit on the features before saying, "Oh and I didn't get any further with that number you gave me." Parker nodded, it wasn't a surprise, she had assumed as much so went off to order take-out. Over the take-out Parker inquired as to how Debbie was. "Good," Broots replied cheerfully, if anyone ever wanted to gain Broots trust and affection all they had to do was ask about her; "Actually, it was just the other day she was talking about you. She came first in her cooking class and wanted to invite you over."

Miss Parker smiled around her drink. "That sounds nice."

Broots nearly choked. "Does that mean you'll come?" He missed his mouth with chopsticks when she nodded, causing them both to laugh. "That's - that's great. Debbie will be thrilled."

At almost 11 PM, Broots declared the work finished, and began teaching her how to operate it. There wasn't much to learn, Parker had been reading the instructions and watching as he installed it, only the keypad remained. "The good thing about this place is the fuse box is in a central room. Had it been outside we would have needed an electrician, because you can imagine how easy it would be to cut off power," Broots gibbered as she put in the new code. "Now when you leave you can arm it so that if there's and intruder the message is sent to your mobile."

They tested it a couple of times and it worked perfectly. "One last thing," Broots said, handing her a package. "I thought you might find this interesting."

The package was an automatic call timer.

"To stop all late night calls."

"Next chance I get Broots," Parker said with a smirk, "I'm giving you a pay rise."

It turned out Miss Parker's happiness was short lived; not three days after the new system was installed she came home to find no messages, intruders or alerts but yet a key, attached to a piece of paper sitting on her coffee table.

Grabbing it so roughly a small tear appeared; she quickly read the address of the Dover Bank and ripped it to shreds.

The bank was five minutes from closing when she arrived. The teller made a fuss about the time but escorted her to the safety deposit boxes when she realised that Miss Parker wasn't going anywhere.

"Here you go miss, box 681, please remember the bank will be closing shortly." She said with fake cheer.

Miss Parker smiled sardonically at the teller and waited until she left before opening it.

The box was small, one of the smallest the bank offered; inside were two shiny silver disks. DSA's just slightly smaller than Sony's new Mini Disc's.

Quickly Parker pocketed them and replaced the box. The teller gave a small smile of relief as she left.

Having driven at a cruise 70 mp/h. Parker arrived home and went straight inside. If Jarod could beat the security system, there didn't seem much point in turning it on. The cupboard that held the DSA player was immediately visited; after a brief stop at the liquor cabinet, she set it up.

The black and white screen flickered to life, the camera panning around the grey room, showing the floral wallpaper and highly lacy décor before finally settling on her mother; lying on the bed weeping for her baby girl. Parker's own tears hit the machine and the view crackled. It took a few seconds for her to realise her tears were not the cause. Suddenly Catherine's crying stopped. "I know Jarod and Sydney will look after her!" she said, wiping the tears from her eyes even as more fell. "I just wish I could have saved her," she whispered and began to cry again.

After a while, the DSA and her mothers crying stopped, the only sound in the house became Miss Parker's own tears.

Jarod's next three lairs left this new kind of breadcrumb, each one of them hidden amongst his discoveries and toys. The first one was simple: inside the red notebook full of paper dolls, created by a man who swore innocence to the charge of murder. The second in a Twinkie and covered in strawberry cream, as the victims had been of the serial rapist Jarod put away. The third in the pages of a book they found on a would-be assassin. To Parker these new breadcrumbs added a new dimension to the game, an enticing one. Watching her mother do everyday things was soothing and reminded her of better times - simple times.

Sydney would no doubt tell her it was unhealthy, to continually watch the last months of a parent's life, so she didn't tell him.

Her house was still ordered, but now there was an organised clutter. DSA's stacked and the DSA player left out.

Now and then red long stemmed roses would appear in a crystal vase beside her bed; she'd quickly note the change, take a few strides and gather up the flower. So, it could hang with the others in her mother's studio, refilling the room with her scent.

Vertias Odium Parit
Simon Says

"So it has begun," quietly mused the woman.

An older man answered: "No, it began 30 years go. This is just the climax."

"Do you honestly believe she'll play along?"

"She will," interrupted another voice, male and young, "she cannot resist the DSA's of her mother."

"Yes, I thought Raines destroyed all those."

There was a low chuckle. "It's rather funny how misplaced things can get on the way to the furnace."

"You do realise what happening to Jarod though?" asked the women, a touch of resentment in her voice.

"The same thing that happens to them all," reasoned the older of the men.

"So you don't think that maybe we should let him be?"

The answer was immediate.

"No," said the younger.

"No," said the older.

"Just checking."

"What do you intend to do when Miss Parker asks for the baby?"

Teeth showed in the dim light, but whether they grimaced or smiled remained unclear.

"One less bartering chip for the Chairman."

There was a frown in the reply, "I thought he showed promise."

A shake of the head was just visible, "Not with the original as is."

The other man broke in again. "I don't think you ever told me, who the original is."

The other two replied immediately; "Really,", "Funny that."

Two more lairs; two more DSA's.

Surely, Miss Parker thought, Jarod has used every abandoned warehouse in the country.

The warehouse they stood in was painted black, wall to ceiling. Stars were scattered in luminescence yellow. The constellations stared down at Miss Parker. Sydney turned on the lights - which was actually one meaner bulb, which illuminated 5 cm around its position in the high ceiling. By this dim light and torches, they looked amidst the astrology and horoscopes.

After an indeterminable time of fruitless searching, they pulled out a red notebook, and began reading: a patient let out from a psychiatric centre. Miss Parker was however searching for something different; yet another DSA, but thus far she'd searched without result. There are only so many places to hide something, she thought. Then, angry at the idea that perhaps there were no more, or that Jarod was baiting her, she struck the wall in fury.

Her ring left a small mark, showing the wallpaper beneath.

Wallpaper? Parker thought, in a warehouse?

Realisation dawned and she looked around for Pisces: her star sign. There, over on the far wall. Picking up a bread knife from what could have constituted a kitchen she ignored the strange looks Broots and Sydney sent.

The wall itself was smooth; wallpaper had absorbed all the bumps, and black paint made it impossible to see depth in shadow. Her fingers made do instead. There, a bump about four inches from the epicentre. She followed the groove and located all 360 degrees. The butter knife quickly cut through the paint, releasing the tiny silver disk and Parker breathed again.

"Parker, have you found something?" Sydney asked, his voice half lost in the high ceiling.

She held the little treasure tight for a moment before replying, "Nothing," and putting the disk safe in her pocket.

The DSAs now had there own box, hidden away in her mother's studio, beneath the roses. Jarod rang more often now too, always while she was home, never at the Centre and never at 2 am.

The phone was due to ring tonight. As always, he would ask for answers, something, anything about his family. The Centre surely knew, she thought once. It would be impossible for them not too. But day after day she returned to hell, awaiting the sweepers that would escort her to the Tower. They never came.

Not even when she warned Jarod that Lyle had the location of his father. He gave her three disks after that.

Sometimes Jarod's calls were social - or as social as they could be - Jarod generally asking after her, her family, Sydney, what was happening and all that. On other occasions, he asked specific questions, needing help with his pretends.

There was no doubt during those times she could have sold him, but somehow, it didn't matter. The game was no longer important.

The phone rang right on queue; Parker picked it up on the first ring.

"Parker."

"I see you found my latest."

"Yes, very clever."

The smile was evident in his voice, "I try."

From his tone and joking mood, she could tell it was going to be a social call.

"So, how's Centre life?"

"Wonderful," Parker replied, "Cox decided that my office was in dire need of a dead ferret."

"Lovely," Jarod said with faint traces of disgust.

"That, would be what I told him."

They had been talking on and off about the executioner when Jarod changed the topic. "Parker," Jarod said slowly. "How do you feel about chocolates?"

"What?"

"Chocolates," he repeated. "Do you like them?"

"Not as much as you," was her half serious response. "What's this about, Jarod?"

"You'll see tomorrow. Have to go. Bye."

Dial tone.

The conversations wouldn't be so weird, Parker though with a bewildered shake of her head, if he'd just hang up like he normally does. With that thought in mind, the phone returned to the cradle and the lights turned out.

That night she dreamed she was in Raines woodland house with her mother (who was currently pregnant with Ethan). She looked on fondly a younger Miss Parker talked and played with Jarod and Sydney. It was a pleasant dream - right up until the end - when everyone suddenly left and she was all alone screaming.

In the morning the alarm awoke her at 6 AM, she remembered nothing.

Upon arriving in her office, two things became clear: Jarod had left her a chocolate box, and taken with him the ferret. "Good riddance," she muttered and shook the box; disappointingly it didn't rattle.

The heart shape box was opened and it became clear why it had not. Taped to the lid were a note and … an airline ticket to Hyannis Port, an exclusive town in Massachusetts.

All or nothing was the notes cryptic message.

Parker's mind immediately made the connection: Jarod had always felt that one life was worth everything, he would not hesitate to give all his bargaining chips to save even one life. His bargaining chips being the rest of the disks.

The flight was leaving in three hours, just enough time to leave a message for Broots - two weeks should be enough leeway - dash home, grab her things and get to the airport.

The Inn she apparently had reservations for was actually rather cosy, and in some ways reminded Miss Parker of Ben's. Making a note to see him again soon, or at least call she was lead to her room (double bed with an en-suite), and her luggage arrived a minute later. Not having much else to do or any idea how long the visit would last she unpacked.

It didn't take long and she was almost immediately bored, so she went to look around town. There wasn't much to see, a few boutiques and stores that looked interesting but her mind soon wandered to Jarod, his strange behaviour lately, his affinity for moral justice, and of course - his lovely pranks over the years.

"Shit," she swore aloud, trying to figure out how many times he'd fooled her with the same old trick. Quickly she went back to the Inn, knocked and knocked on the neighbouring room door. An old woman answered, "Sorry, wrong room," she apologised and tried the next; it yielded the same result. The last door she regarded with a predatory smile and knocked twice.

Jarod opened the door and beckoned her inside as if he'd been expecting it all along.

Through the shock that it had been that easy, she surveyed the new surroundings. The room was much the same as hers, same standard art print and duvet covers that you found in every hotel, but his was larger, had a couch and was more lived in. Candy wrappers and art books covered every surface.

He sat down on the nearest space. "Hello, Parker. Have a nice flight?"

Even though they had talked recently, perhaps as friends might, Parker was all business.

"What's to keep me from finding the discs myself and dragging your sorry butt back to the Centre?" she asked, sitting a couple of meters away from the couch.

"I'm bigger than you," Jarod suggested with a shrug.

Like that mattered.

"I have a gun."

Jarod smiled, her smile, the one he compared to an alligators.

"Not anymore."

She touched her holster. Empty, goodness knows how long ago.

"I carry a spare."

Ever since he took the firing pin from the one under my pillow.

"That I removed the bullets from."

Bullets are easy to replace.

"I always keep one extra."

In the bottom of the holster.

"I also removed the firing pin."

Damn.

Parker extracted the weapon from right ankle holster under the new goochies, took aim at his groin and fired.

The weapon clicked and Jarod despite himself couldn't help letting out the breath.

Parker chose some choice words that would have upset the old woman next door.

"Why have you brought me here?" she asked, suddenly feeling weary.

"Why did you come," he asked, never one for a bloody straight answer.

"Because Broots was available for the romantic weekend," she hissed. "Now why did you bring me here?"

So Jarod actually explained: his latest pretend was an art provider for the wealthy of the town, he was replacing another man, who had tried to commit suicide after finding his daughter murdered, in retribution for a deal that had gone bad.

"And I fit in where …?" Parker asked, looking up from stripping the weapon on his bed.

"The people here are naturally suspicious, it comes with the territory, and one of them is a killer. I've already had numerous background checks on me so I need you to play a part and lay down some of the grid work."

She could tell from the way he picked at his Twinkie that there was more. "And what exactly is my part?"

He grinned ever so slightly at her, "You are my drunken wife who gave up an aspiring career in law to marry me and loathe me for it."

The magazine clicked into place as she sarcastically replied. "Gosh I'll have to get Sydney to figure out why you chose me for such a role."

Jarod finished the Twinkie. "Yes, it will require a bit of acting."

Parker glared and explained in explicit detail exactly where he could go.

"I wasn't expecting you to do it for free," he said, tone even colder then hers.

She quirked an eyebrow.

"The remainder of DSAs," he confirmed.

She looked at him, looking for any sign that he was playing her. None was apparent but then he was a pretender.

And now so was she.

In such an exclusive town it was little wonder they had their own dinner hall; particularly one that looked like it had been shipped from Britain and put together again - which it probably was. The ancient dinner hall was crowded and though it was very classy, it just wasn't designed for such large functions. The waiters were having an impossible time navigating the crowded room and not helped by an already understaffed service.

It was making getting drunk rather difficult indeed.

And the alcohol was needed, in the last two hours she'd been introduced to far too many people, most of which wanted to fight Raines for 'Bastard of the year' or wanted to contend with Miss Parker's own bitchy-ness.

Fools, she thought through a tragically small haze, they don't stand a chance. My father was worse to me as a child.

Fortunately this a few other dinners/lunches and gatherings and sharing a room with him were all that was required. Jarod had done a lot of work before she had arrived and her main job was later revealed to be getting drunk and informing them of a painting that Jarod had just acquired. The same painting the little girl had died because of. Then the theory went that Jarod would do his Save The Little Guy thing and not-really purge his soul of some of the guilt.

But that wouldn't be for a while, and in the meantime she had to pretend she knew their names.

It had been a couple of hours since she had seen Jarod, him going off with some of the men and so she was flirting with one of the waiters (not usually her style but he had a tanned Mediterranean look and a drinks tray) when the conversation abruptly stopped.

Parker glanced around to see what had made her companion so scared. And she had to admit that at this moment Jarod pulled off looking very much like a husband that caught his wife cheating.

"Come on, honey," he said, taking grip on her arm. "That's quite enough partying for you."

On the quick way out they hastily bid goodbye and Parker got quite a few names mixed up. "Sorry," she apologised. "I'm normally good with names but right now I'm drunk."

Jarod rolled his eyes and continued to the exit, prying the glass she'd gotten from somewhere from her fingers with difficulty.

Back at the Inn Jarod had more difficulty trying to keep her from being a loud drunk. "This isn't the way to my room you said I wouldn't have to stay with you until later," she announced as they walked past her door.

Jarod continued leading her, "That's because your drunk and I don't' want you getting hurt."

Parker shook off the hands guiding her, "Up 'til now I've done fine on my own."

Jarod rolled his eyes again; she could see him as he got out his key. "Yes like just a few weeks ago you were doing fine, waking up in the recovery position."

"If I had my gun," she muttered quietly, and then in a sudden turn started laughing.

Jarod had her on the bed and one shoe off before she stopped. "You wanna know something incredibly sad Jarod?"

"O-"

"You are one of the only true constants in my life. Other than Sydney's psychobabble, Daddy's continuing rejection and Broots' terror," she laughed so hard she ended up vomiting into a bucket Jarod quickly placed for such an event. He took the opportunity to sit on the bed next to her; she fought for a moment but gave in and let him hold her.

He held her hair back as she leant over again, "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"For?" Parker asked between gulps of air. "I shouldn't have let you drink so much." And seeming to be finished he pulled her back up.

"Let?"

They both smiled slightly.

"You know," Parker said, feeling a little more sober, "I'm surprised at you. You have as of yet to ask me questions."

Jarod's smile grew, "I've tried it before, you're not a very talkative drunk."

"Do you really want to know why they want you back?" she asked sleepily into his chest. From the way his arms tensed around her she guessed a yes.

"You're the only one that was successful," she whispered.

"Successful at what?"

"Everything," she mumbled and fell asleep.

That night she dreamt of her mother and Thomas, they were both standing together and smiling in the not to far distance, but in the dream she had no form and as hard as she tired she could get no closer.

The next morning she rationalized that it was the DSA's of her mother, the feeling of a mans arms around her and large quantities of everything alcoholic that caused it, when she awoke to the pleasant aroma of coffee. Feeling the headache building already behind her eyeballs, she opted for not blinding herself.

"Good morning." Jarod said chirpily. That was something she'd learnt over the last few days, Jarod was a morning, afternoon, evening and night person.

"Ugg," Parker replied and opened her eyes.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been, though the clock read 8:12 the curtains were drawn tight and the room quite dark. Jarod crossed the room and put a glass, two pills and a coffee mug on the bedside table.

"Next time, how about you just pretend to get drunk," Jarod teased as he helped her to sit up.

"Not everyone can be you, Wonder-Boy."

Jarod's smile turned grim and Parker had a sudden unexplainable feeling of foreshadowing, what ever he said would be important. He'd been dancing around it ever since she'd got here. "Well, the Centre looking for damaged goods," he said quietly.

Damaged? She wondered if she looked alarmed.

"I've been having more and more trouble getting in and out of pretends," he confided and laughed bitterly. "Perhaps because I don't know enough about myself to tell whose who."

He frowned, it made lines appear on his face and she didn't like it.

"And sometimes I feel like I'm someone else again. This faint feeling like someone's watching. Only it's inside my head."

And to think I envied him.

"Have you told Sydney?"

Jarod laughed, and Parker heard on element that was not his own. It was slightly … maniacal … she shook herself; it was all in her head - and his.

"What does Sydney do? Tell me to come back home."

"Jarod-" she began but stopped, not sure what to say, despite what some believed she was not a Pretender and had never been. She had no idea what he was going through.

"What happened to the others?" Jarod asked, ignoring her would-be statement.

"What?" Parked answered, trying not to reflect on her still aching head.

"The other Pretenders, why where they not successful?"

Parker took another pill and sipped luke-warm coffee, wondering, and then remembering what she had said last night. The Centre was going to kill her, oh well then screw it.

"Sydney said that in the end their sims and findings became corrupt, their own personality imprinting on the sim. When that happens their useful for data crunching and other genius stuff, but the Centre employs enough people like them to not make it worth while feeding and keeping them."

"Except for me?" Jarod said miserably.

Parker shrugged, the movement jolting her head again and making her wince. Jarod, as always, took note.

"Still in pain?"

She gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Jarod moved around beside her. "Here I'll fix it. I can't give you any more pills because of your ulcer. Lean forward."

Parker conceded after giving him a brief glare, almost as soon as his fingers kneaded the tense nerves and muscles the pain diminished. With a strange sigh she whispered, "I hate you."

Jarod dug a little deeper into a spot that had been bothering her for weeks. "Why?" he asked.

"For variety."

Days passed along with liquid lunches with snobby wives. Most of which wanted to discuss just what a 'biscuit' Jarod was, only pausing occasionally to consider her and tell her they'd 'never ever try anything' … with me around, she said to herself and focused upon laying the bait. Telling them of the big project Jarod is working on. Some of the girls asked about it and Parker, acting twice as drunk as she was would laugh and shrug often with drunken slurs to match.

It was rather easy, she reflected as the waiter brought the next round, people just accepted you as what you pretended to be, simply because it was easier than not. No wonder they'd never caught Jarod these last four years.

The evening on her sixth night during dinner (Chicken Kiev, Jarod was quite the chef) Jarod assured her that tomorrow night it was show time, and the man would come forward. She smiled not entirely happily and continued drinking her lemonade - she'd had quite enough to drink that lunch.

* * *


Despite the bickering that they constantly half-acted, Jarod and Parker where the best looking couple at the ball, Jarod in a deep blue suit and black tie and Parker in a stunning black dress that they brought form one of the boutiques.

"Honey, why don't you go talk with the girls while we discuss business?" Jarod suggested, while prying her fingers from his arm. "There's nothing interesting going on here."

He kissed her hand and gave her a small push in the women's general direction. That was the queue.

"Honey," she replied, tone sickly sweet, "why don't you remember that until I left my job and family to be with you, I made more money than you. So I'm quite capable of discussing business."

The patronising tone continued as though nothing had been said. "I know you are, sugar, but I'm sure thing are much more interesting with the girls."

Her tone lost all sweetness, leaving only cold hard bitch, some of the men flinched. "You never want me around. Never. And ever since that damn Constable painting came along you haven't even looked at me. And you know what? I'm sick of it, Jarod. Go to hell!"

The crowd that had been listening parted for her; some of the older women clicked their tongues in sympathy and started conversations about men's treatment of women these days.

"Say, Jarod," muttered Keith, a banker from New York Jarod had been watching ever since he arrived, "why don't you and I go and discuss some business elsewhere. Those women," he gestured to the tongue clickers, "will be over here in a minute ready to inform you of you're taking your wife for granted. And those," his hand pointed to some women in a far corner with skin tight outfits and heavily painted faces, "will be over to comfort you afterwards."

Jarod nodded and allowed Keith to lead him into one of the smaller dining rooms. As he entering, he spotted Parker watching from a safe distance and gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

This room was almost as extravagant as the main hall; with expensive timbered walls, candelabra and a large mahogany desk taking up the centrepiece. Upon it, ornamental unlit candleholders to match the candelabra stood. High quality silver if Jarod was any judge.

"The owner lets me use this room for business because of the time and money I spend here."

He got a bottle of burgundy from a small liquor cabinet and poured two.

"Now, Jarod, the grapevine tells me that you have a John Constable."

Jarod swirled the drink in contemplation before drinking. "Who tells you that?"

"Well obviously your wife and my own has been telling me about this big project you have."

The pretender smirked. "You're a fan?" he asked, making the banker grin.

"An understatement on the highest level, I love John Constable. Only a few months ago I tried to get a piece, but the deal fell through and I ended up getting into some sticky business." He trailed off shaking his head and pouring more drinks from the cabinet.

The gun went 'click' before he even noticed it had been drawn.

"What you fail to mention, Keith is that when your deal fell through you killed his daughter because he'd spent the money. You shot her through the heart when she was playing on her swing, her father held her as she died, and then when he realised why his only child died he tried to hang himself but the rope broke and he fractured his skull. Now he not only has to face life without his daughter but he might never wake up or be the same. And you did it because he spent the money on paying his wife not to challenge him for custody."

"Didn't you."

"Didn't you!"

"DIDN'T YOU!"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" Keith stuttered.

"You murdered a little girl, destroyed a mans life, and show no remorse."

The gun pointed directly at his heart, the safety switched off, his finger wrapped around the trigger, just a little pressure…

"I did it, yes I did. I killed the girl because he spent the money, now please, don't kill me."

Jarod's finger continued squeezing and an almighty 'bang' issued from it.

A small yellow B.B. bullet hit him squarely in the chest. He looked down at his lack of wound and breathed out; a second later Miss Parker hit him from behind. "I called the cops, they'll be here soon." She said, dusting her hands on the sequined dress.

Jarod pulled a letter from his jacket pocket and placed along with an audio recorder on the desk in front of him.

They just managed to avoid the police going in while returning to their room.

Once inside Parker quickly changed and started packing, it appeared that Jarod had already done so. She tucked the spare gun into the folds of clothing.

"Jarod where is my gun anyway?"

"Being mailed back to the Centre."

"With the firing pin."

He smiled dangerously, "Of course."

Parker continued packing while Jarod watched from the bed that she'd slept on since she and Jarod had become introduced themselves as married couple and had to keep up appearances.

"So will you be picking up your gun and firing pin?" he asked, almost tentively.

The skirt she holding nearly dropped, but she caught it and herself.

"That has been the plan," she replied, choosing her words carefully.

"Why?"

Why? Because that's all I know how to do. The thought flitted across her mind and was halfway to her lips before she caught it.

"Because ... because I couldn't be like you, Jarod, and that's how I'd end up. The Centre will only let me go if I catch you."

"You don't really believe that."

"No," she agreed, "I don't, but its not like I'm going to walk in with you and walk out, when I catch you the Centre will get you back from the end of the runway while I'm on the private plane."

She didn't like his expression as she said that. She could see him in the mirror; he looked angry, dangerous and wild, a reaction to talk of him going back no doubt.

What the hell was happening to him? I've threatened him with worse than that before she thought and looked back to the last week, there had been no uncharacteristic behaviour.

Giving up on the packing, she sat down on the couch that had served as Jarod's bed. He got up from the real bed, sat down beside her and put the comforter around her. It was nice to know that some things never change. She shrugged it off after a moment, standing again.

"Running away?" Jarod asked, affliction in his voice. "You run I chase?" he muttered, standing up also.

"Same as always," she agreed with a nod.

"But this isn't the Centre," he said slowly a strange look in his eyes.

"And this isn't you," she countered.

"How do you know? I can be anyone so why not this?"

He was standing in front of her, eyes that had regarded her with so many emotions over the years now held a surgical coldness as he grasped both her arms.

"Maybe that's what it is, maybe before I was all those people I'd been, part them, part Sydney. This is me."

"No," Parker said recognising his predatory gaze, "This is me."

Jarod grinned crookedly and once again ignored her statement. "You distracted me."

She raised her eyebrows, pretending he wasn't still holding her and she wasn't affected by it.

"We were talking about you."

Parker squirmed slightly but his grip was tight and to move him she'd need to get closer.

"What are you afraid of?"

She stopped squirming and looked into his eyes, seeing the strange figure behind them. "I'm afraid, Jarod, that this is a part of some master plan to make me fall in love with you." she admitted after a minute.

His response was right on the beat, "And if it is?" he asked in an uninflected voice.

It wasn't something that Jarod would do. However, this was not Jarod. God knows who it was.

"Then I'd never be able to bring you back, and you would've won."

"What's the prize?"

It's about what everything is about...

"Freedom."

"What if I told you I wasn't trying to make you fall in love with me?"

"I'd shrug and display the roses."

"I'm not," he said in a tender voice that was almost all Jarod.

"Fine, but your not Jarod."

"You've been around Broots to long, you think everyone's in love with you."

Simple harmless crush...

"Well I don't write romance novels with look-a-like cover art."

"Good thing," he retorted, "I've seen your pictures."

They both stopped and just glared at each other, it always amazed her how angry or exasperated she could make him. The new Jarod just as argumentative as the old, Parker remarked, wanting to stop the silence.

"Yes, but this Jarod finishes what he starts."

Parker realised what was happening immediately, Jarod's grasp on her arms became light, guiding instead of holding. He started to lean in, dimly Parker realised that she could twist now, or stamp on his foot or do damage with her knee.

Instead, she parted her lips.

It was the complete opposite of what she expected, before Jarod's touch had always been light, sweet and innocent now he was ... stronger. He wasn't forceful. Not like Tommy Tanaka, who was rough and didn't care for her pain. Not timid, like Thomas had first been, afraid she'd reject him. Not soft like young Jarod had been. This was Jarod, or at least it was a Jarod, his kiss told that and a lot more.

They broke apart and Jarod took a small step back, she could see in his eyes that this was really he. Automatically Parker's fingers touched her lips, a poor substitute for him.

"I'm sorry," Jarod said sounding slightly confused but not very sorry.

"I'm didn't mean for that ..." he shook his head.

The room seemed very cold with Jarod's warmth gone. Parker swallowed audibly while she shivered. Jarod's taste was still in her mouth. I thought he would taste like PEZ, she thought bemusedly.

Jarod reached over and handed the comforter to her. This time he did it from arms length - afraid to get close.

Parker pulled the blanket around her and watched Jarod run his hand through his hair.

"I'll take the couch," he muttered.

Parker nodded her reply and turned away.

"Parker," Jarod said quietly, sounding for all the world like a little boy, "I'm sorry."

Parker smiled, "I'm not," she said, "Not-Jarod was a good kisser."

If need be I could always blame the alcohol I haven't really consumed.

"Jarod," Parker said quietly, trusting it would reach his ears. "That couch really is uncomfortable-"

The morning the sun did pour from the curtains, streaming in Parkers eyes. But she had no hangover and wasn't bothered. Bathing in one of the light rays was a box that had appeared over night. She showered, dressed and finished packing before she was ready to give it another look.

Inside was another box with Sydney's name on it and around a dozen silver disks along with a note.

Maybe you'll have better luck next time. Was all it read, which was more than she expected.

Upon return to the Centre she was immediately barraged by Broots (who had been worried about the sole message she'd left saying she was chasing a lead and maybe gone or up to two weeks) Sydney gave her that grin and asked if she'd found anything.

"Yes," she proclaimed and dug about in her briefcase.

"I travelled for two weeks so you could add to your collection," she said and handed him her Pepé Le Pew PEZ dispenser and continued on her way her office, her heels clicking monotonously on the marble floor.

"Uh, Miss Parker," Broots stammered slightly, "Now that you're back, Debbie would really like to see you."

Then he seemed to decide this wasn't a good idea, "Unless you're tired or something. Syd, you want to come over?"

"Of course," he replied, voice tinged with amusement. "Will you be there Miss Parker?"

"I'll be there at eight," was the answer as she turned to yell at a passing sweeper who didn't have a tie.

The house was immaculate and the dining room dustless. Debbie had taken Miss Parker's coming very seriously. She served Chicken Kiev as Jarod had and Parker bit her lip to keep from smiling - it tasted almost as good.

The candles Debbie had insisted on lighting flickered as the group talked. Sydney asking Debbie how things were going in that caring, charming voice that children loved while Broots filled her in on what she had missed.

Just before they left, Parker visited her car and came back with two gifts. One to Debbie: a watch she had gotten in Hyannis Port. The other to Sydney, the box that she'd found amongst her hand luggage. "It's from Jarod," she explained as he shook it.

Debbie gushed over her new jewellery while Broots thanked her and Parker began driving Sydney home, after they pulled out of Broots' driveway, he opened it and let out a small gasp. Parker couldn't resist pulling her eyes away from the road for a second and saw the contents just as Sydney closed the box.

An olive branch.

And for the remainder of the trip the old physiatrist couldn't stop grinning.

Vertias Odium Parit
For You

"You were wrong," said the youngest of the three gleefully.

"If I was you don't have to be so pleased about it," snarled the eldest, "besides, I'm never wrong."

"You weren't totally correct," laughed the woman.

"I was in what matters. He loves her, that's clear now, so I was right."

"But they didn't spend the night together," wheedled the youngest.

"Maybe," he conceded, "Our informant couldn't say. Both ways the result is the same and there is still time."

"And that is?" he asked, enthusiasm leaked with every word.

"We'll be seeing soon."

"Jarod will never come back," prophesized the woman.

"I think you mean he'll never be caught."

"It's the same thing."

"No, it isn't," said the man in tones that invited no further argument.

Three weeks and not a word; not a single gloating phone call or package, not a clue or breadcrumb or anything of the sort, Miss Parker had already watched the newly acquired DSA's and was, for the lack of a better word, bored.

In spite of this lack of Jarod's … well anything, and the board meetings that replaced the hunt, she was happy. Since Hyannis Port she'd been sleeping through the night; no waking up a customary 3 and 4 O'clock with horrible pictures of what they were doing in the Sub Levels, no unchecked thoughts about pregnant women in elevators, not even the image of … babies from Donoterase, and she was much more peaceful for it.

For Miss Parker though peace never lasts and had for the last week she had been expecting the gods who usually delighted in plaguing her life to notice the happiness and torment her again.

She was, of course, right.

It lasted until little brother came through her office doors - without knocking, what a hypocrite - from being on the hunt for Emily, Ethan, the boy and Major Charles.

"How did you do it!" he yelled, kicking her desk with slightly muddy shoes. "How did you get word to him this time?"

Completely bemused by little brothers temper tantrum she calmly continued filing in some paper work and waited until he yelled some real information.

"It was going to be cut and dry! One meeting of the whole family - minus two (he smiled sinisterly) - we had a helicopter, three vans, almost a dozen sweepers and they got away!"

"They're Pretenders, besides your job is to catch the family, not Jarod, if you had information that Jarod was going to be there, I should have been there." Parker replied, tone matching her twin's perfectly. "How did they get away?"

Lyle took a deep breath and seemed to calm down, perhaps realising that Parker hadn't tipped them off - which she hadn't - this time. "The boy and Major Charles repeated history and got away in a plane. Emily and Ethan on motorbikes and Jarod picked up the aforementioned Centre helicopter, in a completely different direction I should note."

"They could just be separating to meet again later."

Lyle shrugged, his earlier anger all but dissipated. "Maybe, but the helicopter saw them before they saw us and it looked to me like farewell, not a reunion."

Parker sighed, that migraine she always got around 5 PM was arriving early. Stuff this, she thought.

"Fascinating," she mumbled quietly, sarcasm always got on brother's wick but she didn't feel like provoking him today. In fact ever since she woke up every urge in her was telling her to go home and stay home.

"I'm going home," she announced after a moment, maybe it was time to listen.

"What about your work?"

"Wonder-Boy can torment and abuse me from my home phone," she muttered and left the building.

Parker's Centre issued car pulled up into the driveway, it was only 3 PM - an all time early for her. She sat in the car for a while half-listening to some know-it-all on the radio and half trying to figure out why she had felt the urge to come home. She turned off the radio and focused just like Sydney showed her.

From under the youngest tree in the yard you could see the back of the manor and through many of the windows; but the focus is on one window, it leads through into a hall, the latch is broken and no one ever got around to fixing it.

Eyes wide and purpose found Parker locked the car - with her briefcase still inside - and went around the back of her house.

Only to find Jarod half in the window with a broken latch.

With the stealth of a cat she crept up behind him, "You can come 'round the front," she said to him and grinned as he smacked his head on the windowsill.

Still rubbing his head he followed her inside where they sat on opposite sides of the living room, Jarod carefully avoiding the chair he'd been tied to on his last visit.

"You do know that I have my fully-functional gun back now?" Parker asked suspiciously as they sat.

Jarod nodded.

"Then what are you doing here?" She looked at the pretender sitting across from her, he looked, well, different from the last time she'd seen him, it looked like he'd lost weight and his eyes where lack-luster, but she dismissed it - after all it had only been three weeks.

"I came to … to be near you, I guess." He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. In all the years she'd known him he had never looked so confused and agitated.

"For the last three weeks all I've been thinking about is our time at the Hyannis Port. It's the only thing I have been thinking about. The other day I called a woman Parker by mistake."

Parker couldn't help but laugh a little. Goodness knows that things had gotten confusing one time when Thomas had rung her late and got 'Jarod you bastard' as the welcome.

"Was it close?"

"Not even. Her name was Zoë. Can you see the slight red fingernail marks?"

Parker rolled her eyes at his half-hearted humour and quelled the slight resentment for this Zoë character. "They'll match mine if you don't hurry up."

Jarod went very quiet again and continued to look agitated, from the flickers of emotions that flickered across his face; fear, confusion, pain and determination she could tell he was having some kind of inner turmoil. Not wanting to influence the outcome - he was a genius, he could handle himself - Parker went to make coffee, when she came back with two cups he was a little more talkative. The war apparently won. She just hoped not by not-Jarod again.

"She also said I was different," he murmured quietly around the cup's edge.

Parker drank her coffee quickly and went too fetch something from the other room, when she returned she half expected him to be gone but if Jarod thought it was handcuffs or a ring to the Centre he made no move to stop her.

The mirror she came back with was just like the one Sydney had used all those years ago.

"This is you Jarod," she said, voice strangely gentle. "You're the most caring person I've ever met; you help people and punish those who deserve it. You've helped me become a better person and kept me from loosing my soul in the hell that is the Centre."

Jarod pushed away the mirror - nearly knocking over his own coffee - and shaking his head firmly. "I'm a monster, I've buried a man alive, I've taken away a diabetic's insulin and taken another man's kidney. I've threatened people with their worst fears; nearly drowned a hydrophobic, nearly froze a man to death and come dangerously close to killing others. I'm no angel Parker. And no longer can I accuse the Centre of being a monster when I am one too."

He didn't look at her through this whole speech, or at his own mirrored figure, Parker was beginning to feel the first prickling of fear, the Jarod she knew wasn't prone to such self doubt.

"Jarod for thirty years you were locked away, your sims used for the most evil means. This is your justice, and its better than most of what goes on in the real world. How many families have you put back together? How many lives have you saved? The sins the Centre has made were not your sins Jarod, God understands and He forgives you, now you have to forgive you."

Jarod was shaking his head again, he'd obviously been thinking about this a long time, maybe even before Hyannis Port.

The fear was growing, now in the pit of her stomach and starting to writhe, "I see monsters every day, my own brother, my father, which ever one he is. You are not a monster."

Jarod's eyes were squeezed shut as she moved over beside him; it was like she had butterflies that size of birds in her stomach now.

"Maybe not," he conceded. "But how much longer will you say it? When will the line be drawn?"

He looked into her eyes.

"When will I kill someone?" he said with absolute desperation.

There was so much sorrow Parker didn't know what to do, so she did what her mother did when Daddy once again broke a promise. She put her arms around him and shushed him, making soothing noises she didn't know she could.

They stayed like that for a long time, Jarod taking solace in her presence, like she had done with him so many times after her mother's death.

"What would you do with your freedom?" He asked abruptly into her shirt, that was Jarod, always into the hypothetical.

There was no need for consideration; she'd thought about it almost every day after Tommy's death.

"I would move to Europe, take Broots, Debbie, Syd, Angelo and my baby brother. I would find some place with good shops and settle down; some little town where guns are unheard of and people can let children play without fear," she answered wistfully.

It was only when Jarod wiped the tears from her eyes that she realised she was crying.

As his finger stroked away the tear the situation came crashing down around her, he was free, she was not, if he stayed then visa versa, which was exactly what she could never let happen. "Go Jarod, leave and never come back: no more breadcrumbs or messages just go underground. You'll do so much more with your freedom than I ever will."

In response, he kissed her again; salty from her tears, bittersweet and so full of compassion and love Parker knew without a shadow of doubt this was really Jarod.

"I did come here for a reason," he said confessed and got up, returning with her briefcase.

He sat down next to her again, opened her case - with her combination - and removed her gun and handcuffs. Then from his jacket pocket, he removed a red notebook (later investigation would reveal a story about a father that got child support after the mother accused him of abuse) and his own cell phone.

She stared at him uncomprehending. "My freedom for yours," he said simply, a sad smile on his face.

Parker couldn't believe her ears, surely this was a dream - or a nightmare - so she just gaped at the pretender.

"I called - you'll find the phone records prove it - you heard the sound of the bus announcement I was getting onto and caught me."

"But-" you're insane.

He took hold of her hands, and Parker couldn't help but flash back to their last night in Hyannis Port. "There is no hope. I'm a genius, a lab-rat and Wonder-Boy and so I know. Call the Centre; strike a deal, your freedom, Broots' freedom, Sydney's, Angelo's and Baby Parker's.

"I-" couldn't. Not to you.

"'All or nothing' remember? You were right."

No. No. No. I was wrong. She just managed to utter a comprehensive sentence, "They'll give you to Lyle!"

"Doesn't matter," he said dismissively as if it were the weather they were talking about - not life, death and freedom.

Death. Freedom.

"Your family!"

Jarod's expression changed to something unreadable, "My family," he said slowly, "is what I'm doing this for."

Anger filled her sometimes she really doubted his so called genius.

"How is this good for them in anyway?"

Jarod smiled serenely, "My biological family was not happy in the least, but they never understood me Parker, not in the way they were suppose to. It turns out I got my Save The Little Guy, as you call it, from someone else. Not my father at least."

Of course, he expected everything to be peaches and crème after so many years. "Jarod every family has problems, even ones not on the run from the Centre."

He nodded, "I know that, but I always thought that I'd be able to work it out but Emily refuses to do any sort of disappearing, the boy wants to find all the things he's missed out on. Like girls. And Dad wants us to go underground," he sighed, "the only thing they did agree on was that I shouldn't take risks like contacting you."

So he didn't tell them.

The family idea was definitely not working so she said, "Jarod you'd never hurt anyone."

"I wouldn't, but what about Lyle; I've simed him you know, and Douglas Willard - the blue moon killer; I got into his head, and all the others: murderers, rapists, paedophiles and the just plain evil. Will you vouch for them too? Because they're all in my head too." Again he didn't meet her eyes as he said this.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked in a despair that even Tommy's death hadn't brought.

A ghost of a smile graced his face for a second and kissed her again. It spoke a million words.

"You said you weren't trying to make me love you," she said bitterly.

"I'm not."

"Then-" she began angrily, and found she couldn't say it, "then you shouldn't," she finished lamely.

Jarod smiled slightly again, "How couldn't I?"

She just shook her head.

He handed her the pre-dialed cell phone.

"No."

"What?" he said incredulously.

"This isn't a fair game."

Anger replaced the smile, "This isn't a game!"

"I won't call. You're confused and stupid."

"Then I'll call," he said simply and his finger darted towards the 'talk' button.

She picked up the gun. "Neither of us will ring because all that PEZ has gone to your brain. I will, however, call Sydney."

He pushed another button and handed her the phone. "Go ahead."

She did and 30 minutes later (in which Parker glared at Jarod and he seemed to doze) Sydney arrived.

"What's so urgent, Parker?"

She motioned him into the living room and heard him gasp slightly at the sight.

"Jarod!" he exclaimed.

They embraced quickly and Sydney sat down in the seat Parker had vacated. "What's this about?"

Parker made a hand motion for Jarod to explain. He did, going into detail of the difficulties he'd been having, the slipping into people's skins, his total submersion needed to be able to sim and lastly his fears of what he'd become.

"And what are you going to do?" Sydney asked him in his typical psychiatrist voice, but dip in his voice betrayed his concern.

Jarod raised the handcuffs in explanation.

Complete shock registered on his features. "NO!" he bellowed, "Parker, tell me your not letting him do this!"

Then he seemed to conclude something and suddenly he rounded on her, "What did you do to him?" he yelled, and she was reminded the time when he rammed her into the wall, after following him to see Jacob.

She matched him in anger, "Nothing! I came home and he's climbing through my window!"

The old physiatrist let this slide, "Jarod," he reasoned, "If you go back they could kill you."

Jarod nodded in agreement.

Sydney looked at him expectantly, waiting for further reaction. None came. "I will not let you do this, Jarod, think of your family." It was a trump card and a last ditch effort.

"I've already explained that to Miss Parker and with me back they won't chase them. It's for them as much as you," Jarod said, the epitome of calm and consideration.

"Liar," Sydney yelled, getting up and pacing, "This is you getting tired and giving up and I won't let you."

Jarod smiled. "I love you too. Now make the call, Parker."

Neither moved.

"You don't and I will," Jarod warned.

"There are two of us, Jarod," Parker said quietly.

"Then what? I'll walk out of her and straight into the Centre and you know I've done it before." He mimicked the pose from when he had sat in the Centre lobby, picture of Mr Parker in his breast pocket, ready to trade.

Parker shook her head; Sydney regarded him with horrified silence before braking off into a tirade of French.

"Make the call Parker or I leave."

Tears sprung unchecked into her eyes, there was no persuading him, he was like Parker in that respect, but they had to try. "Why not just disappear, stop playing?"

Jarod shook his head, "It wouldn't work. I can feel them, hear them, all the people I've ever simed like static in my head. Each one wants me to listen and their ideas are not … nice."

Sydney interrupted again. "There's medication-"

"That is no use to me; I've investigated all and come up with some of my own. Sydney I've thought about this for months, in the end it comes down to either the Centre or a clinic."

Parker jumped in. "Take the clinic!"

Jarod gazed at her levelly and shook his head, "This is my last chance to do some good." He dropped the calm façade and just looked tired, "Make the call Parker," he said desperately.

The call was made; Lyle was to meet them at a location specified tomorrow morning and Parker felt like dying, or maybe she had died when she called, she couldn't really tell.

Contemplating this new low she went outside to see Jarod and Sydney. The sun was setting but it would be hours before twilight faded and there was still enough light to see by.

Jarod and Sydney were sitting under a tree talking animatedly; Sydney evidently still trying to persuade Jarod into seeing sense and Jarod telling him politely not to waste his breath.

She padded over on the soft grass to them and the conversation stopped as she arrived.

Sydney regarded her for a long while; probably about to chew me out again, tell me I'm my father's daughter. "I'm sorry Parker," he eventually said and moved to get up. Jarod caught his arm, "If this is my last sunset I want my family here."

Sydney swallowed back tears and so did Parker, he allowed himself to be pulled down and Parker sat on Jarod's other side quietly watching the last of the sun disappear behind houses and hills.

Twilight settled and they still made no sound. Crickets and birds sang their songs and finally Sydney got up. "If not even this can change your mind then I guess your mind is made up."

"It is."

The old Belgium nodded and went back inside, leaving Parker and Jarod.

He turned to her, "If I saw you everyday for the rest of my life you could never look more beautiful."

She tore her gaze from the rhododendron bush that held her attention and found her words failed her. She wanted to ask him where he picked that up, to ask him if he knew how many men had said things like that to her and such like but she found she couldn't. Not tonight - not to him.

His hand rested on her cheek, stroking her with his thumb. "This isn't your fault Parker."

Something inside her snapped, her arms slowly went around his shoulders and her face pressed into his chest. She didn't cry, right now she couldn't all she could do was hold onto him for dear life.

Life and freedom.

No, for me it's always been life or freedom.

"Shh, Parker, it'll be okay. You'll see."

A complete lie, but there was no truth left that was not bittersweet.

"Why are you doing this, and I want a real answer," she half-demanded, some of the old Parker attitude shining through.

He pulled back, "I love you," he said simply. "I'd do anything for you."

Then don't leave.

As much as she wanted to say it back, she found her throat had closed up. He understood though, and they sat in silence as the birds and the crickets sang for them. Had Sydney not awoke them they would have spent the night there quietly content in each-other's arms.

It was a runway just like the last time. An almost dirt track held within untouched fields of wild flowers and miles away from anything. Her mother would have loved it. Major Charles was the pilot, but Parker only realised this after he stepped out of the cockpit with tinted side-windows.

"Major," Sydney and Parker greeted him.

"Dad," Jarod said in surprise after embracing his father, "I thought you were getting someone from the air club to fly them."

The Major shook his head sadly, "And miss a chance to talk you out of it. Never."

Jarod frowned, "Just like I told you before, Dad, I'm doing this no matter what."

The Major shook his head in resignation. "I knew you'd say that but at least this way I can tell Emily I tried."

Jarod clapped his dad on the back one more time. "Take them to Europe; there are new identities in a safety deposit box in our usual bank."

Major Charles regarded Miss Parker as Jarod went to inspect the plane. "Seems like this is the second time he's chosen you over me."

Parker was shocked, but recovered smoothly. "I don't want him to do this just as much as you. I didn't ask him to save me."

The Major frowned and took a step closer, his voice lowered, "If I know my son then that is exactly why he's done it."

Parker just looked at him bemusedly. "Sydney," Major Charles said, now turning to the old psychiatrist. "You're staying in the Centre with my son?"

Syd nodded, he had told her privately last night it was 'in the event we can cure him, and help him'.

"Look after him for me."

Sydney smiled his most comforting smile.

Parker looked at her watch, it was 8:55, and Lyle was to be there at nine. Already they could see the slight dust trail churned up by two black Town Cars. The Major hugged his son goodbye and Parker snapped the cuffs on, it hurt her more than she expected. Sydney kissed her on both cheeks and wished her luck. She hugged him tightly as she whispered her love. "I love you too, Parker."

The car was only a minute away when Parker came to Jarod. "I don't know what to say," she confessed. He smiled. "Trust in your heart, Parker." She smiled too and kissed him.

"Thank-you," she murmured and he kissed her in what would be their last kiss, it replied you're more than welcome.

Lyle got out of the car, with him exited Broots and Debbie - carrying Baby Parker - and Angelo. A sweeper removed bags from the trunk that Broots took.

"As per your orders, sis," said Lyle. "One baby, one girl, one mush-head and one geek. Now give me one Freud and one Pretender."

It needed to be showy, if Lyle got a whiff that this was anything but Parker's idea she wouldn't put it past him to have them shoot the plane into a fiery ball.

Privately hoping this was the last time she ever drew her gun she pressed it into the small of Jarod's back, with her head she motioned the others to get in the plane which they did; Broots and Debbie looking completely bemused, Baby Parker (who would get a real name first thing) started crying. Angelo was the only one who stopped.

"Goodbye friend," he said sadly and hugged both Sydney and Jarod.

"Syd," Lyle said.

Sydney smiled goodbye and walked to the car.

Parker began to back away, still aimed at Jarod.

"Goodbye little brother, Sam, Willie, give my love to Daddy," she said and the planes engine started.

"Any movement and I kill him," she yelled over the noise as the sweepers reached for their holsters.

The gun finally and the door closed, though the porthole she saw Sam and Willie jump on Jarod, he just smiled and didn't resist.

The plane took flight in seconds they were so far away she couldn't tell which sweeper was which and a few moments later couldn't see them at all.

It was then that she started to cry.

Broots and Debbie were out of their seats in a flash, arms around her guiding and comforting her, they were no substitute for Jarod's arms, or even Sydney's who just now she realised how much she would miss.

After some time the crying abated to just the occasional hiccup, Debbie let go and became entertained with Angelo and her baby brother. Broots gave her a quick hug and then went red with embarrassment. Parker smiled and grasped his hand thanking him.

After some time she spoke: "Broots, how do you feel about Europe?" she asked and started to laugh rather hysterically and then began to weep again. This time for Jarod and what he'd done for her. It was an even longer while before she stopped, once again in Broots' arms.

She picked herself up and wiped her eyes, Jarod would not have wanted this; he wanted his family to have a real chance of happiness, even when he couldn't. That was why he did it, he had decided that they where his true family, even after all the searching and heart ache he had done it for them.

Miss Parker gazed around the cabin that held her family - minus two. Debbie noticed the attention and make Baby Parker wave from her lap. Parker shifted seats to sit beside her.

"I've got a great idea for a name," Miss Parker said tearfully. "How about we call you Jarod?"

Her little brother gurgled happily and smiled in that carefree way that babies do.

Parker smiled weakly, she had a whole new life to lead - with this Jarod.

Vertias Odium Parit
Destiny Dictates

Mr Parker sat once again in the tower meeting room. He had been there for almost 10 minutes and only now two figures had arrived. They sat in the chairs closest but still in the shadows. One lit up before talking.

"Did you miss our meetings that much, Mr Parker?" asked the male figure.

To hell with formality, Mr Parker thought.

"Jarod is useless! He's crazier than my own son. He cannot even perform simple simulations with accuracy. Millions have been lost, not to mention my daughter, her tech, his daughter, my son and one of Raines' creations!" Mr Parker yelled.

"We are aware of this." The man stated calmly.

Take deep breaths, they'll kill you as soon as look at you - sooner if they think you will waste their time. "Well what do you intend to do about it?"

"Have him moved to one of the nicer sub-levels, and remove all contact with Mr Lyle."

"That is not the point!"

"Oh," said a woman's voice, "and stop all searches for his family, they are no longer necessary."

Mr Parker was undeterred. "My daughter is gone! Traded for a man who sits there singing about toad's feet." He stopped yelling. "I'll take this to the triumvirate."

The figures laughed.

"We are the triumvirate."

Mr. Parker scanned the room, trying to see in the shadows. The triumvirate, here? No, please no, he thought. But no matter how hard he strained Mr Parker could only see two.

"We agree much better this way," said the man, as if reading his thoughts.

"This still doesn't change anything," growled Mr Parker.

"Mr Parker," said the women, "The fact that Jarod is no longer useful is irrelevant, all that matters is that he's not free."

"Why?" Mr Parker knew it might well be a death sentence.

The male figure leaned forward. "The centre is full of people with special talents; your own wife was one."

The woman carried on. "Is it not, therefore, conceivable that there was more than one scroll?"

Mr Parker thought for a moment. "If that's so, then why not simply kill Jarod and keep my daughter?"

"Miss Parker has her own destiny to fulfil," said the man cryptically. "Away from the Centre."

"She has the Pretender gene."

They laughed again.

"There are more Pretenders than you think, Mr Parker. We only want certain ones."

"Not Miss Parker?" asked the chairman.

"Not Miss Parker," confirmed the woman.

From behind hands now grasped Mr Parker, pulling him firmly to the door.

"Who?" he yelled.

"Her daughter," came the woman's easy reply.

Vertias Odium Parit
Eternal Hope

Three televisions flickered pictures of Jarod's room in black and white. Each screen cycled through a different set of cameras. Some of which Jarod probably had no idea about.

Jarod's room was just one big camera.

The Tower room was brightly lit today/tonight and the sparse room was viewable and stained with nicotine.

The woman with her thin ancient frame and stained teeth looked perfectly at ease - the opposite of the larger balding man whose sallow skin made him look ten years old than … however old he was.

"What a waste," he murmured.

"You didn't even bat an eyelid when the clone escaped, or Kyle died for that matter."

A noncommittal shrug. "After watching someone for forty years you grow a certain fondness for them."

"We watched all of them."

"Him more."

They sat in silence until:

The women tsked, "Fondness. So that's what you call it."

"You preach too much."

"And you don't listen anyway," the woman bit back.

The man's glare was fully visible. "You say that as if you don't know the ending."

In the hotel room she shared, Miss Parker was alone. Broots had taken Debbie, Jarod and Angelo for a walk. In order for her to get some peace, he said. She knew he really couldn't cope with her being in this state much longer.

Sitting on the floral bedspread Miss Parker - or as the registry knew her, Mrs. Jennifer Brown - breathed in deep and listened…and listened…and listened…and threw a lamp in frustration.

There were no voices, just eerie silence. Painful silence.

In this eerie pain she fell asleep and dreamed, if that's what is was.

/Cree craw/

Time was indeterminable in Jarod's room. There were no windows to dictate day from night and a small button above a flimsy mattress controlled the lights.

/Toad's foot/

In the middle of this pink and grey room (it apparently has a calming effect) Jarod sat in stark contrast to the walls. After an order from High Up he wore black jeans and T-Shirt with his leather jacket and socks. He needed no shoes and even if he did they wouldn't have given him the laces.

/Geese walk barefoot/

In the rounded cupboards PEZ, Twinkies and junk food of every type sat untouched. Jarod hadn't eaten in two days.

/And geese walk barefoot/

There were no mirrors in case he did something with the shards, a plexi-glass window made all but the separate bathroom viewable to someone on the other side. The glass on Jarod's side was tinted at his own insistence.

/Cree craw/

And though time was indeterminable Jarod imagined it must have been a few days he head sat there; thinking. Knowing.

/Toad's foot/

His mother had sung that too him, he realized through the haze that clouded his mind.

His mother...

Was searching...

Outside...

The Centre?

For the first time in - maybe - hours Jarod moved, shook the strange hazy thoughts from his mind and the thought obliged, slipping into the pool of whispers.

You could escape?

Which one was that? Sydney's new medication was making it easier to tell but sometimes he still didn't know.

Sydney. He was ... father?

No, his normal self dictated. Sydney was a father figure, the man who lives across the hall. He was a friend and it was his medication that was making it easier to think and remember. He was the one who cried when Jarod remembered his own name.

Perhaps the medication was why Jarod knew as of late.

A feeling had been growing in his heart. It was an excitement that had been slowly bubbling for … sometime - a feeling so full of love.

She was coming.

And soon.

She must be, anymore of this elation and surely his heart would burst.

Sometime ago he tried to explain this to Sydney but he had shushed him with a pointed glance at the camera. The camera that hid behind a glass ever since they'd first moved him in here. Sydney said something about it being for his own protection.

Jarod had stopped immediately, he may have small troubles thinking, but he was still a genius.

She was coming.

And then...

Jarod smiled and hummed his mother's song.

Cree craw toad's foot.

She was coming, everything would be fine.

Geese walk barefoot.

He'll see her soon--

A mere couple of thousand miles away, Miss Parker woke up with a gasp and a grab to her stomach. And she knew too.