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Disclaimer: Not my characters.

A/N:. Mentions rape and child abuse; consider yourself warned.

Fallen Angel
Melanie-Anne


i. (try to) fly away

She huddles in the shed, trying to make herself as small as possible. She wishes the ground would open and swallow her up, or lightning would strike, or something. Anything to make this stop.

(She likes to pretend that she was swapped at birth, that somewhere out there she has kind, loving parents who would never hit her.)

Her ribs hurt where Daddy kicked her (No, she thinks, he likes to be called Mr. Lyle) and her back stings where his belt buckle connected with her flesh.

You could kill him, you know.

This time, she lets the voices speak.



ii. life doesn't promise a bed of roses

Sweet sixteen and never been kissed.

Yeah, right.

All the boys are half in love with her. She's cold, aloof and beautiful, fuel for their fantasies. She doesn't care.

(No one knows why she locks her bedroom door at night, why a man's touch makes her ill, why she hates her father.)

She has no friends. She doesn't want any. The voices keep her company, whispering words of malice and poisoning her mind.

She steals a gun and starts practicing out in the woods. She's a natural. Time to use her skill.

Not yet.

She's always been a patient girl.



iii. (don't you feel sorry for me?)

She finds out she's the spitting image of her dead mother and goes to the Centre to play mind games with the chairman.

He's frozen, his eyes locked on her.

She laughs. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Catherine?"

Her smile is icy. "Hello, Daddy."

Her brother doesn't like her. She thinks he may be scared of her. (She likes that idea.)

To prove herself, she has to hunt an escaped pretender. She studies his file, watches his SIMs, examines his quarters. To get inside his head, she has to know him inside and out.

She's always liked challenges.



iv. no flaws when you're pretending

Her first encounter with Jarod is a telephone call. His laugh is mocking and she can picture his smirk when he speaks.

"So you're Miss Parker."

"And you're the infamous Jarod."

"I thought I'd wish you luck. You'll need it."

She smiles. "You don't think I'll catch you?"

"I know you won't."

"Then you don't know me at all."

"I know you killed your adoptive parents. I know your father abused you—"

"Go to hell, Jarod."

He chuckles but there is no warmth in the sound. "I'll see you there, Miss Parker. Happy hunting."

With a click, he's gone.



v. am i too lost to be saved?

She wakes up one night, certain that she's not alone. There's a weight on top of her, a hand covering her mouth. Jarod's voice is in her ear, "Don't move."

"What do you want?"

"To help you."

"I don't need any help. I'm not one of your special projects—"

His lips are on hers. His hands slide under her top. It isn't romantic or loving, but suddenly he's inside her and it feels good (and she's a little girl again and it's Daddy in her bed).

"No," she whimpers. "Stop it."

"Shh, Parker. It's okay."

And strangely, it is.



vi. hanging from a dead man's rope

She's not in love with him. (This isn't a fairytale and she's not Cinderella.) She chases him during the day and she fucks him at night.

Sydney calls her on it and tells her she's destroying Jarod. She blows cigarette smoke in his face and laughs.

(He's wrong; the Centre destroyed Jarod a long time ago. She's destroying herself.)

The voices are strangely silent. Surprisingly, she doesn't miss them.

Jarod starts sending her things of her mother's. She tries to imagine who Catherine Parker was. She feels nothing.

Catherine is lucky someone put her out of her misery, she thinks.



vii. still can't find what keeps me here

It ends with a bullet.

She's tired of the cat and mouse game. Enough is enough.

The bullet catches Jarod in the chest. She kneels at his side, holding his hand as the life seeps out of him. Maybe there's still a part of her that loves: she chose the better ending for him.

Still, there's a look of betrayal in his eyes that she can't ignore.

"See you in hell, Parker."

Yeah, she thinks.

Sydney doesn't understand. His glare is accusing, condemning.

She drops Jarod's hand. Stands. Lights a cigarette. Picks up her gun.

"Let's go, Freud," she says.



FIN

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