Note: Dead work-in-progress. Probably no more updates.

Home Is Where The Heart Is



In a two-storied colonial styled villa, (with three bedrooms two bathrooms and family room), Mrs Melanie Charles sits in the kitchen drinking a glass of red wine. It is her third this morning and it is only ten AM.

Picking up the filled crystal glass with careless grace, she heads to the front porch and pointedly ignores a retriever's whine for comfort. When they first brought the house it didn't have a porch but Jarod was insistent. So after a couple of days and a few distractions caused by Melanie, they had a porch. A climber is tangled in the trellis it's still small but in the summer produces pretty purple flowers; it will take many more years to grow. Melanie wonders if it's one of the most interesting things in her life.

Sitting in one of the deck chairs she can see the neighbours - most middle-aged with two and three children. A few are elderly and only come out for a daily mail check. Melanie knows all the women well; they come over every Tuesday for brunch. The one she waves to now needed the concept of brunch explained, but they are nice enough people and this is a nice enough neighbourhood - full of golden retrievers and white picket fences. It's the kind of neighbourhood that the American Dream is built on.

In the back of her mind Melanie knows that an alcohol doused part of her brain is protesting; crying out in abject terror against her fairytale life and doll-like house. The red wine keeps it quiet and Jarod buys her a couple of bottles everyday on his way home from work. $500 a bottle but he says she's worth it.

In a past life Mrs Melanie Charles was known as Miss Parker, a cold frigid bitch that was owned by a company with no soul. Her every thought and action was carefully controlled and recorded. Then three years ago she was freed, the horrible place she had grew up in crumbled, toppled and finally fell.

Jarod had found her a broken shell of a person, devastated by loss and grief. There had been no hope for her, no hope at all.

While things didn't get immediately better Jarod gave her a love and hope. Eventually he gave her a life with a white picket fence; a dog that she can't stand and a couple of bottles of wine to get through the day.

Miss Parker is gone, nothing remaining but shattered memories and penchant for high heels. Though he doesn't say it she knows Jarod has felt good riddance on more than one occasion.

At 11:40 Jarod drives up in his black BMW, he works in the local hospital, Chief of Paediatrics. He's well liked and respected around the neighbourhood and many of the younger wives blush when he goes past.

"Honey, I'm home," he greets and kisses her on the forehead.

Melanie smiles at his predictability, his response unchanged in all the years of their marriage. It's a constant in her life and it will be until they grow old together.


"I want to grow old with you Parker," he whispers in her ear, her face is pressed up against his chest and she can smell the sent that is only him; a hint of sawdust mixed with cologne.

"…I will make you a deal, when I die, I'll leave you all my shirts."


Melanie shakes the other life from her mind and gets up from the chair, leaving the glass behind and asks him how his morning has been as they go inside.

Jarod launches into a long story about a humorous young boy with a broken arm and his repeated attempts to rid himself of his cast. Melanie smiles and laughs on cue while they lunch and half an hour later Jarod drives off again.

The smile fades from her eyes as he rounds the corner; with nothing else to do she retrieves the bottle he has left on the counter. By tonight she will be feeling friendly enough to go out, by the time she arrives home from the latest charity event she will be drunk enough to believe it's Tommy she will wake up beside tomorrow.

Home Is Where The Heart Is



It is a Tuesday and 10 am. The house is alive with talk and gossip. The voices can be traced back to the breakfast nook where the light is playing through the stain glass windows and casting multicoloured shadows on the trays of food. Melanie sits at the head of the table, surveying her friends. Around her the talk flows freely, they are too used to her to care she's not contributing - so rarely she does anyway. Those more alert in the group may notice the lack of wine glass in her hand and perhaps those more observant the bags carefully, and almost completely, covered by makeup. None do, they're all talking about Mrs Walker who lives a street away and her newest addition.

An hour passes and the women gather up their purses and jackets and leave, happy with the gossip they've learnt for another week. A few hug Melanie goodbye, most just thank her with a smile.

Lassie the dog barks at their departure and brushes herself up against Melanie for comfort, she pats his head impatiently as she searches for something to do.

The wine cupboard will be locked. Jarod has arranged a family gathering this afternoon and he likes her to be sober and alert when he does so. The cupboard was locked yesterday also; experience has long taught Jarod that Melanie with a hangover is almost as bad as Melanie after a couple of glasses of wine.

The book Melanie has been reading lies spine up on the bedside table where she left it; Jarod disapproves of her taste in books - not that he says anything about it. Jarod disapproves of quite a few things Melanie does, but he takes them in his stride and never comments. He loves her. She knows that. She's always known that.

Melanie reads the book until lunchtime, nearly finished it. Jarod arrives at the regular time and calls "Honey, I'm home." His voice travels all the way upstairs and into the fantasy world of romance and intrigue Melanie inhabits.

Jarod has brought lunch with him from the small bakery on the way - a crème bun for himself and a slice of cheese cake for her. The abuse to her body leave Melanie with no appetite though she eats at his request; he says the sugar will help and he's a doctor and knows what's best for her. He's always known what was best for her. He gave her truth, freedom, Tommy and now a life. She likes to think this is the life that her mother always imagined for her.

This afternoon they're going to Jarod's parents, they live a half hours drive from home: close enough for Jarod to visit whenever he feels like, but not too close as to encourage the strange silence that grows between them when they're around each other for to long.

When Jarod first introduced them Miss Parker was freely welcomed, they called her by her first name and told her all about her mother and how she tried to help them. Miss Parker had sat more politely than she ever had, listening and smiling, and for their part they sat and told her happy tales and welcomed her into the family. No one was remembering when Miss Parker scared of Emily and Margaret. No one was remembering when she captured and nearly killed Major Charles. Not one person remembered that she was Jarod's huntress and that she was there when Kyle died. They treated her as she imagined they treated Zoe, polite distance from the blank slate they made her.

Ms. Melanie Kate Parker was born there, Mrs. Melanie K. Charles came ten months later when Sydney gave her away and Jarod's clone - also known as Kurt - got drunk and hit on Debbie. Debbie smacked him in the mouth when he tried to check the hem of her skirt (as he later explained).

Its all different now, family visits are a weekly thing; Jarod has been known to rearrange entire hospital schedules so they can be, and Melanie is always locked out of the drinks cupboard for a day prior. Sometimes, like today she feels bitter that her life is so easily controlled.

The feeling takes her back to the last Christmas Debbie came to visit; she gave Melanie a snow globe with a house inside. "The house looks just like yours,' Debbie explained happily. Jarod thought it was lovely and put it on the mantel piece. Melanie played with it for days, tipping the snow around and around, imagining the happy family just like hers inside. Then she wondered if inside the ball of glass a woman just like her was trapped, her life being tipped up and down by the whims of others. The thought grew and grew until she smashed the globe on the tiles, freeing the non-existent woman. When Jarod came home he swept up the shards, he never mentioned the snow globe again and neither did she.

After lunch they climb into Jarod's car and drive for 30 minutes to another house that looks like it walked out of a snow globe. Margaret - or mum as she insists Melanie call her - is waiting on the porch with glasses of lemonade and a condescending expression.

'Mum,' Jarod greets her, 'how are you?'

Margaret hugs and smiles at her first born and answers as she always does, that she's fine as is his father, then she enquires as to Jarod and how his life is. Finally she turns to Melanie with a stern expression, 'You're looking after him aren't you?'

Melanie chuckles a bit, though there is no joke, and nods. Yes she is looking after Jarod, just like she was the last time she asked, and the time before that.

The house is quiet, only Margaret and Major Charles live here, Emily lives a block or two away with her partner of a year, Kurt is away at college, Ethan is travelling the country and Baby Parker lives with a foster family in the State he was born.

The chit chat is nothing new or interesting, Jarod does most of the talking, telling once again the funny story about the boy with the broken arm and all the other things he's done since the last visit. Melanie smothers a yawn with a laugh; she's tired more often these days, just not at night. At night she lays still with eyes closed, ignoring the screaming in her mind. Jarod says he can give her something to make her sleep only if she stops drinking the wine.

Hours pass like days but eventually Jarod stands to leave. He kisses his mother on the cheek, hugs his father and takes Melanie by the waist to the car. Melanie only gives verbal goodbyes; neither side has wishes for physical contact no matter how many times they may insist they love her.

In the car Melanie turns on the radio rather than listen to him parrot what has just been said. He does anyway but she just tunes him out and nods accordingly.

When they get home Melanie extends her hand to Jarod for the key to the cabinet, but like Melanie did with the radio, today he breaks routine. 'I'd rather you didn't,' he says and takes her inside to the kitchen. Once there he investigates the medicine stock and pulls ends up with three small blue pills.

'Take them later,' he advises. 'With water,' he adds as an after thought.

They watch television for a while and Melanie quickly gets bored and finishes her book. She's picking another from her extensive romance novel collection when Jarod suggests she might like to take the pills. She does so happily - anything to get a good night sleep. Jarod long figured out her tactic of taking medicine to make her drowsy and removed all such pills from the house.

Less than half an hour later she's asleep, a truly peaceful smile adorning her face - one that try as she might she cannot fake in her waking hours.

Jarod brushes his finger down her cheek and wonders not for the first time about his motives. Going downstairs for his own sleeping pills the thought is quickly pushed aside. He loves her; she's happy, well cared for and not in federal prison. That's all that matters.

Four blue pills are washed down with water as Jarod carefully avoids thinking about his dreams the pills might or might not stop. Dreams of Tommy's accusing, damning eyes, his head shaking as he pleads with Jarod to let her go. Without that thought in mind, Jarod travels the staircase and takes his rightful place beside Melanie in bed.

Home Is Where The Heart Is



Melanie wakes in her room at 8:15 as she always does. The elaborately decorated bedroom is dark with the drapes pulled back, no light enters save for the stain glass window above the bed. Rainbow colours pooling on her bed as light streams through. The window is of her, Jarod made it many years ago as a gift of sorts. Then it had been incomplete, its heart missing, just as she’d been.

He gave her the heart on their wedding day. She knows she has no excuse not to feel as complete as the picture so she doesn’t ponder it anymore.

At 8:20 when the red light in her eyes becomes annoying, she gets up. Dressed in only a robe she pads down the stairs in search of coffee, maybe a bagel, and what passes for a newspaper.

Jarod has left her a fresh pot of coffee, (it their anniversary, the wine cabinet will be locked) the morning paper and a bagel. She sips the coffee while reading the paper, no longer interested in the bagel. Pictures from last nights charity affair plaster the front page. Why, Melanie doesn’t know, most of the town must have been there. She skims the rest with disinterest; briefly look at the latest break in, the winner of the small beauty contest (you never known when someone would mention them and it wouldn’t do not being informed), and finally the personals.

Her name catches her eye.

Melanie,

Will you once again make me the luckiest man alive by giving me your hand in a second wedding?

Happy anniversary.

All my love,

Jarod.

The phone rings breaking Melanie’s train of thought, she knows who it is.

“Hello.”

“Hi, have you read the paper yet?”

“Mmhmm,” she replies noncommittally.

“And the personals?” he asks.

“Them too,” she confirms.

“And?”

“The Cederman’s have lost a parrot.”

“Anything else?”

“They’ll pay $100 for its return.”

“Besides the parrot,” Jarod replies impatiently.

“I have the most wonderful husband in the world,” she says, and knows he’s now smiling.

“And I have the most wonderful wife, why don’t you think of a date and I’ll try and come home for lunch.”

“I will.”

She puts down the phone, now pondering a date, her dress, the guest list and the inevitability of Jarod’s family coming. Maybe she can invite Sydney and Angelo. No, Angelo had some sort of episode just before their marriage; he flat out refuses to go near them. Jarod had taken his childhood friends sickness very badly, more so when he found he couldn’t even try to help him. Angelo lives with Sydney on the west coast; Broots says he’s happy there.

Maybe she couldn’t invite Angelo, and Sydney might be hesitant to leave him, but Broots would come, so would Debbie. Maybe she could even be her bridesmaid.

It’s only been a few years since their last wedding, though the last six months have been especially trying and Jarod’s spent more time away at the hospital or on business trips, leaving her nothing to do.

Melanie heads upstairs to see what her wardrobe has to offer, in such a small town the only fancy dresses are those that people have made and Melanie will never be a seamstress. Some of the other ladies in town thought her a bit of a snob, just because when she went out of town she brought dresses with brands they’ve never heard of.

For a while she sits on the bed, pondering whereabouts she hid it. Either among the jumpers or the dry-cleaning bag of something Margaret had brought her, she finally decides. She starts with the jumpers, not wising to be reminded of the things her mother-in-law brought her. Searching is no small task, shopping is a passion her friend Jennie shares so most of the shopkeepers know them by name.

Jarod has had to enlarge the storage three times so far.

Near the bottom of the shelves Melanie finds something, for a second she thinks it’s the dress but whatever she’s found isn’t even remotely similar. It was though, vaguely familiar.

She lets out an audible gasp when she recognises her old gun. Jarod had insisted she get rid of it before they got married, it wasn’t a matter of him not trusting her, he’d said, it was her not trusting him.

She’d handed it over without ceremony or pausing. It was a matter of trust.

He’d kept it, all these years.

The safety catch flicks open and she removes the weapon with the ease of long practice.

He’d kept it all these years in good condition.

The magazine slides easily into her hand, eleven bullets plus one in the barrel. She slots the magazine back in, the weight familiar and comforting in her hand. As much as she hates the gun and all it stood – still stands – for, the reminders it holds of times and things she’s tried not to think about for a long, long time, it remains comforting in her hand.

Power. That’s what the gun had represented.

Quietly, carefully, she replaces the gun where she found it.

In a dry cleaning bag with a lime green sweeter and an orange floral skirt she finds the dress.

“Honey, I’m home.”

She abandons the dress on the bed and goes to find her husband, a dozen questions blaring in her head. Accusations and betrayal blurring into one.

He meets her on the stairs with a dozen red roses, “Happy anniversary,” he says.

Melanie nearly resists when he kisses her, there has never been room for lies in their marriage.

“What’s wrong,” he asks, taking her hand and leading her downstairs to the dining room. On the table is yet more flowers and delicious looking food.

Jarod had always known what was best for her, maybe …

“Nothing,” she says.

He pauses for a moment before he picks a velvet box off the table and gives it to her. Inside is a diamond necklace with matching earrings. “I love you,” he tells her, absolute sincerity shining in her eyes. She looks at his smiling, open face, the table covered with her favourite foods and flowers, she thinks of the gun upstairs well kept and loaded.

“I love you too,” she tells him.

He smiles.

That afternoon after Jarod leaves, Melanie invites Jennie over, they sit in the dining room finishing off the food Jarod brought while Jennie does her best not to be jealous. “It’s so romantic!” she gushes, “I’ve been married to Ken for 15 years and he’s never given me a second wedding! You’re so lucky, Melanie.”

Melanie smiles brightly at her friend who has managed to make bridal magazines appear from nowhere, “obviously nothing too elaborate,” Jenny mumbles, “After all your second wedding - maybe something in pink or blue.”

The two women look at the picture of Jarod and Melanie on their wedding day that sits over the mantel. Melanie was wearing a beautifully designed, light-blue silk dress, Jarod was dressed in a black tuxedo and both of them were smiling happily.

“Mel, why ever didn’t you wear white on your wedding?”

Melanie frowns slightly, “It just didn’t seem right, we just had to much history for me to walk down the isle in virgin white. Not that he didn’t insist anyway, he’s such a traditionalist.”

Jennie giggles slightly at the thought of Jarod being a traditionalist,
“Anything in mind?”

Melanie takes another bite of cheesecake and nods, “I brought something a while ago.”

“Can I see?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll see later,” she teases, definitely not avoiding going up to their room.

“Fine, keep your secrets, what about the guest list? Any family?”

She hesitates, Jarod has always insisted that they don’t give anything but the barest of details, having a story such as yours, he said, is memorable and memorable is something we need to avoid.

Jarod – her husband – who promised her a new life and kept the worst parts of the old one.

“My mother died when I was young, my father before Jarod and I got married. I have a twin brother who I haven’t seen for several years and a half brother from my father’s second marriage, he lives with a family upstate.”

Jennie pauses, having not expected an answer. “Anyone else?”

“I had an adopted sister Faith who died of leukaemia and a half sister Annie who was murdered when she was a teenager; I also have a half brother, now in Europe.”

Jennie manages a “Big family,” to cover her surprise.

Melanie smiles, “You’ve no idea.”

The chubby, bored looking guard takes back his pen, checks the man’s name
against his ID at the door, and nods entrance to the suited man. Tommy Tanaka glances around the concrete room, divided into small booths, with obvious disdain. His eyes quickly find the man he’s looking for and he resists the urge to smile.

Lyle looks like shit.

Prison did nothing to support the expensive lifestyle to which he’d grown accustom. Removed from his Armani suits and designer shoes and dressed in inmate orange he looked almost comical, he’d let his hair grow out and he had a five O clock shadow. A still healing scar went from just under his left eye to his ear lobe.

He takes his time sitting on the metal chair (bolted to the floor) and picking up the phone.

“About time,” Lyle snaps.

“I’m busy man, Mr Lyle,” Tanaka replies, his voice deeply accented. “My family were surprised to hear from you; usually we deal with people who’re smart enough not to try their luck too often. How’s the thumb?”

Lyle ignores the comment. “I have information on something that interests both of us.”

Tanaka looked bored. “And what could possibly interest us, Mr Lyle?”

“My sister.”

“Parker?”

“I found her.”

Tanaka sits forward eagerly then tries to cover it by straitening his suit, “You found Parker? How?”

“I have sources,” Lyle replies mysteriously, then continues when Tanaka takes a meaningful glance at his thumb. “Knowing Jarod’s history of saving the little guy I have a team of people who search constantly for any trace of his do good-ing. They struck gold a couple weeks ago.”

Tanaka nods. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Then why ask for me?”

Lyle glances around – quite unnecessarily, the tapes of their conversation will mysteriously disappear, “She’s married to Jarod, living the American dream is some hick town she wouldn’t have given the time of day five years ago.”

Tanaka frowns, “Jarod. The one she was chasing. The one that stole the money?”

“The very same. You heard about her last boyfriend didn’t you. Bullet in his head lying on the front porch, he was going to take her away from The Centre. Daddy didn’t appreciate it.”

Tanaka nods, “I wouldn’t want history to repeat.”

A bell rings and the guard escorts Lyle away, he’s humming. Tanaka pauses for a moment before replacing the phone and leaving.

Melanie always imagined that a month would be enough time to plan a second
wedding. Margaret disagreed. Though Margaret would disagree if Melanie said the sky was blue.

It’s the day before the wedding, Broots and Debbie flew in yesterday, Sydney and Kurt arrived today (though Kurt only agreed after hearing that Debbie would be attending). Tomorrow the wedding would take place at the local botanical gardens at Melanie’s insistence.

Currently Margaret’s making a last ditch attempt to get her to wear white. Her desperation is probably to do with Emily’s “living in sin” and stance on marriage. That is, it happens to other people.

Melanie’s always liked Emily and Emily genuinely likes Melanie – a welcome change. What little clashes The Centre caused Emily accepts as Melanie just doing her job. Emily’s complete devotion to Ethan has also helped. Margaret ignores her husband’s pleas to leave the flowers alone and let Melanie choose her own dress as the two sisters in law hide out in the kitchen.

“And here we have why I never intend to marry David.”

Melanie laughs. “Elope. Run away and get married without telling anyone. I’m starting to wish I had.”

Emily shakes her head. “Mum would track us down and plan it anyway, she has this sense. Just be glad she hasn’t pestered you for grandchildren yet.”

They smile; both women were determined not to pass on their families curses,
something that upset Margaret greatly.

From the next room they hear Charles’ insistences that its time to go and Jarod’s half-hearted protests.

“Emily, you coming?” her father calls.

“Yeah. Just a second. Mel, you take care of yourself, ‘k?” At her nod, she hugs Melanie goodnight with uncharacteristic sobriety and leaves quietly.

In the lounge Sydney and Jarod are talking quietly, while Kurt listens to his MP3 player. She bids them goodnight, explaining that today has been especially trying and tomorrow will be even more so, Sydney hugs her and Jarod kisses her cheek, explaining he’d follow soon enough.

Melanie sleeps immediately.

She dreams.

A picnic in the park, a flannel rug all that separates her from the damp grass. Her mother sits across from her, smiling and unpacking the picnic, she doesn’t think her daughter knows, but she’s seen the box of Cracker Jacks, her favourite snack.

She’s 11 years old again and everything is right.

“Mama, do you think I’ll find someone to love. Like you found daddy?”

Her 11 year old self isn’t aware that ‘daddy’ had her mother impregnated with his brother’s sperm, stole her twin, beat his wife and would one day use her in a project that would kill her.

She’s 11 years old and has the perfect life.

“I think you will.”

The sound of a gunshot gars her from her slumber.


May be continued. May not. Don't get your hopes up.