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Chapter or Story
Disclaimer is that I don't own them other than Caitrin Parker, she is mine and mine alone, this started as an excerise to clear cobwebs out of my head to work on my other stories and here's what evolved. . . . there are character deaths and some spoilers in this part twisted to fit my personal taste . . . . . . . Feedback please not that it matters . . .
Memories Of Long Ago
part 7
by Trish
Sydney and Broots are gone and I am alone. I wonder why they left me alone? Alone with my past. . . .my future. Whatever is contained in these letters, in his journal, it will impact my life in ways that I have not even begun to consider. I ask myself if I really want to do this. Do I want to know? Pulling my legs up under me, I reach for the red notebook, the one I found hidden in the bottom of the box that Angelo gave me and in my heart I know the answer to my question. Yes!
The first entry starts twenty four hours after he returned. In fact, his statement is hauntingly beautiful:
" I can sleep knowing that you're free. Dreamless sleep, profound as the darkness itself, unpenatrable. I am with you, close beside you. I can feel you, see through your eyes. There is no other life to dream of other than yours. Do not limit the dream! Fulfill it for me."
The dream of living outside the Centre, free. Something that I have taken for granted. Freedom, the ability to move from place to place without worring that someone would want to take that away from me. I turn the page of the journal, not allowing the tears that fill my eyes to fall on the crisp pristine pages. His next entry tells more:
" They try to break me, and can not. The destruction of my soul is their main goal, purpose. I retain my self-control, knowing that through you, a small part of me will live outside these dark walls. "
It was a bleak, desolute and empty world that my father returned too. He sacrificed his freedom for mother's, no questions, no complaints. The greatest gift he could have given to her, other than me. A continuation of the entry that rips at the heart strings:
"Sydney and I had a chance to talk, finally. Sydney thinks that I should leave this place. He knows that there is nothing preventing me, yet he is so wrong. If I left, the urge to be with you is too strong, and they would hunt for me and then they could find us. I told him that for now this is home and the outside world is your's."
His next entry deals with the uncle I never knew but who's son still lives because of my father:
" I try in vain not to have to look at the nightmare known as Lyle. The hate and violence that is reflected in his eyes is perverse. He interrupted a Sim. Two weeks after I'd returned; he strolled in, his manner gruff and yet gleeful at the same time. He announced that his sister, his rival, his nemisis was dead. Behind him, was Mr. Parker, distressed at the news. His normally rubicund face was ashen and he seemed to have shrunk into himself. I knew it was coming and quickly closed my eyes, I slipped into pretend mode. He thinks he's won."
This is harder than I thought it would be. I feel like I am breaking a silence that is better left alone. I feel that I am betraying secrets that should remain sacred. I am stripping away the masks. I look out the window, my breath causing the window pane to fog, it's past midnight and my task is only semi-completed. I take up the journal, again, wondering what the next entry will tell me.
This time it is the details of the power struggle that occured shortly after mother's supposed death:
" Raines tried to wrest control from Mr. Parker, but Cox proved stronger. He has a slyness about him, he reminds me of a wolf, not exactly flattering to the animal, but there it is. Raines is heading toward death. I bid him a silent goodbye."
Then while reading father's journal, I found the passage that I had known would be there. There in father's script was the scene that Mr. Cox had told me about earlier.
"Three days after the attempted coup by Raines, Sam came to the SIM lab, telling me that Mr. Cox was coming to see me. He came for me and demanded answers about Lyle and how he had tried to help gain control along with Raines. Hell, illict activities were nothing new to either man for that matter. I told him the truth. He clapped his hands together and smiled; then he hurried from the SIM lab."
I stand for a moment, the room suddenly turning cold. My bones ached and my stomach growled for I had not eaten all day. Taking a break, I headed into the kitchen and rummaged around for something to extinguish the hunger pangs. I return to the window seat and devour the food. I take up the journal again, and continue with my quest. The next entry has me frightened for a moment:
"Sam came and got me from my slumber and it could not have happened at a better time. Nightmares. No ordinary dreams, I am happy to be awake. Sam informs me that I am needed in Master Parker's room. It seems that the young boy has taken ill and with Raines just another addition to the Centre burial grounds, there is no one else."
His journal is suddenly quiet for a more than a week and when he resumes, I realize that he discovered the truth regarding the little boy. His small parathesised notation in the margin confirms it: (renascence ms).
" How I wish that I could tell you he's alive? How he's not your brother but your nephew. There is no other way to do this, he must remain hidden, just as you do. And if Sydney decides to tell you the truth someday regarding his grandson, I hope that you do not hold it against him. I know that you would want him with you, unfortunately it would only raise questions and draw attention to you and the child you carry. I know that your grief rans deep, Sydney told me that, yet he also told me that you are at peace knowing that he will not become a pawn for the Centre."
***
I glanced out the window, and a web of stars appear between the stark and barren branches, an omen, a sign. My stomach's in knots and my hands are shaking and I wanted something to drink to drive away the dryness from my mouth, instead I returned my gaze to the journal.
" I woke up this morning thinking I was with you. I heard your voice and I sat up in the darkness of my cell and thought that we were together. Then I remembered were I was and I laid back down. Reaching under my pillow, I take that which must have caused the dream. I stare at the picture Sydney gave me, reveling in the feelings of knowing I created something wonderful. Yet distrubing noises in the corridor bring me back to the harsh reality of being confined, within the Centre walls. I scarcely have time to hide my daughter's picture, when the door is drawn back and I have visitors. It is Lyle and a pair of sweepers and he has a syringe in his hand. He motions for me to open my shirt, I refuse and that is when the sweepers who have accompanied him grab hold of my arms. I watch as he plans to inject whatever is in the syringe into my chest. He is stopped by a voice. It is Cox's voice that causes the syringe to freeze midair, mere inches above my heart. There is a light, ever so faint, and my heart is filled with renewed hope."
I place the journal on the window seat and take the first envelope from the stack that Sydney entrusted to my care, earlier. The paper is yellowed and it crackles when I unfold it. His block letters bold. His salutation is for them alone, the rest I take comfort in.
" I returned from the SIM lab this morning to find Broots pacing nervously in my room. As jittery as a water bug, it seemed like minutes ticked by before he handed me the letter. Joy, tears of elation: I can see your handwriting. My fingers shook so badly, as I carefully opened the letter, my first from you since I returned. You're safe. I read and re-read. Your sentences are short and simple. You even acknowledge my sense of humor regarding your new name. Yes, Parker, I laughed."
It is the shrill of the telephone that interrupts me. Reaching for and flipping open the receiver, I sigh, annoyed at the intrusion.
"What?"
"Miss Parker, it's Vivienne."
I sit up a little straighter, and my eyes seek out the watch that is on my wrist. Its an outdated piece but it means so much to me for it was my grandmother's, 3:15 in the am it reads.
"Yes?"
"He's dead, Miss Parker."
"And?"
"He made it known that he wanted you to have his belongings, instead of Dr. Green. He indicated that they will aid you in the truth."
" Bring them tomorrow morning," then as an afterthought, I asked," Who's making the arrangements for him?"
"Dr. Green made them months ago."
"The Centre cemetary?"
"No, cremated and then his ashes are to be delievered to Dr. Green."
"Really," I am surprised, somewhat," Tommorrow morning then, say 10:00 am."With that I terminate the call. So he did know more that he let on when I visited him in that dark, cold place that has been his home for years. Father was right about you, Mr. Cox but I sense that you were more like a fox than wolf, and a sly one at that.
Feedback please : Ractrish@aol.com
part 7
by Trish
Sydney and Broots are gone and I am alone. I wonder why they left me alone? Alone with my past. . . .my future. Whatever is contained in these letters, in his journal, it will impact my life in ways that I have not even begun to consider. I ask myself if I really want to do this. Do I want to know? Pulling my legs up under me, I reach for the red notebook, the one I found hidden in the bottom of the box that Angelo gave me and in my heart I know the answer to my question. Yes!
The first entry starts twenty four hours after he returned. In fact, his statement is hauntingly beautiful:
" I can sleep knowing that you're free. Dreamless sleep, profound as the darkness itself, unpenatrable. I am with you, close beside you. I can feel you, see through your eyes. There is no other life to dream of other than yours. Do not limit the dream! Fulfill it for me."
The dream of living outside the Centre, free. Something that I have taken for granted. Freedom, the ability to move from place to place without worring that someone would want to take that away from me. I turn the page of the journal, not allowing the tears that fill my eyes to fall on the crisp pristine pages. His next entry tells more:
" They try to break me, and can not. The destruction of my soul is their main goal, purpose. I retain my self-control, knowing that through you, a small part of me will live outside these dark walls. "
It was a bleak, desolute and empty world that my father returned too. He sacrificed his freedom for mother's, no questions, no complaints. The greatest gift he could have given to her, other than me. A continuation of the entry that rips at the heart strings:
"Sydney and I had a chance to talk, finally. Sydney thinks that I should leave this place. He knows that there is nothing preventing me, yet he is so wrong. If I left, the urge to be with you is too strong, and they would hunt for me and then they could find us. I told him that for now this is home and the outside world is your's."
His next entry deals with the uncle I never knew but who's son still lives because of my father:
" I try in vain not to have to look at the nightmare known as Lyle. The hate and violence that is reflected in his eyes is perverse. He interrupted a Sim. Two weeks after I'd returned; he strolled in, his manner gruff and yet gleeful at the same time. He announced that his sister, his rival, his nemisis was dead. Behind him, was Mr. Parker, distressed at the news. His normally rubicund face was ashen and he seemed to have shrunk into himself. I knew it was coming and quickly closed my eyes, I slipped into pretend mode. He thinks he's won."
This is harder than I thought it would be. I feel like I am breaking a silence that is better left alone. I feel that I am betraying secrets that should remain sacred. I am stripping away the masks. I look out the window, my breath causing the window pane to fog, it's past midnight and my task is only semi-completed. I take up the journal, again, wondering what the next entry will tell me.
This time it is the details of the power struggle that occured shortly after mother's supposed death:
" Raines tried to wrest control from Mr. Parker, but Cox proved stronger. He has a slyness about him, he reminds me of a wolf, not exactly flattering to the animal, but there it is. Raines is heading toward death. I bid him a silent goodbye."
Then while reading father's journal, I found the passage that I had known would be there. There in father's script was the scene that Mr. Cox had told me about earlier.
"Three days after the attempted coup by Raines, Sam came to the SIM lab, telling me that Mr. Cox was coming to see me. He came for me and demanded answers about Lyle and how he had tried to help gain control along with Raines. Hell, illict activities were nothing new to either man for that matter. I told him the truth. He clapped his hands together and smiled; then he hurried from the SIM lab."
I stand for a moment, the room suddenly turning cold. My bones ached and my stomach growled for I had not eaten all day. Taking a break, I headed into the kitchen and rummaged around for something to extinguish the hunger pangs. I return to the window seat and devour the food. I take up the journal again, and continue with my quest. The next entry has me frightened for a moment:
"Sam came and got me from my slumber and it could not have happened at a better time. Nightmares. No ordinary dreams, I am happy to be awake. Sam informs me that I am needed in Master Parker's room. It seems that the young boy has taken ill and with Raines just another addition to the Centre burial grounds, there is no one else."
His journal is suddenly quiet for a more than a week and when he resumes, I realize that he discovered the truth regarding the little boy. His small parathesised notation in the margin confirms it: (renascence ms).
" How I wish that I could tell you he's alive? How he's not your brother but your nephew. There is no other way to do this, he must remain hidden, just as you do. And if Sydney decides to tell you the truth someday regarding his grandson, I hope that you do not hold it against him. I know that you would want him with you, unfortunately it would only raise questions and draw attention to you and the child you carry. I know that your grief rans deep, Sydney told me that, yet he also told me that you are at peace knowing that he will not become a pawn for the Centre."
***
I glanced out the window, and a web of stars appear between the stark and barren branches, an omen, a sign. My stomach's in knots and my hands are shaking and I wanted something to drink to drive away the dryness from my mouth, instead I returned my gaze to the journal.
" I woke up this morning thinking I was with you. I heard your voice and I sat up in the darkness of my cell and thought that we were together. Then I remembered were I was and I laid back down. Reaching under my pillow, I take that which must have caused the dream. I stare at the picture Sydney gave me, reveling in the feelings of knowing I created something wonderful. Yet distrubing noises in the corridor bring me back to the harsh reality of being confined, within the Centre walls. I scarcely have time to hide my daughter's picture, when the door is drawn back and I have visitors. It is Lyle and a pair of sweepers and he has a syringe in his hand. He motions for me to open my shirt, I refuse and that is when the sweepers who have accompanied him grab hold of my arms. I watch as he plans to inject whatever is in the syringe into my chest. He is stopped by a voice. It is Cox's voice that causes the syringe to freeze midair, mere inches above my heart. There is a light, ever so faint, and my heart is filled with renewed hope."
I place the journal on the window seat and take the first envelope from the stack that Sydney entrusted to my care, earlier. The paper is yellowed and it crackles when I unfold it. His block letters bold. His salutation is for them alone, the rest I take comfort in.
" I returned from the SIM lab this morning to find Broots pacing nervously in my room. As jittery as a water bug, it seemed like minutes ticked by before he handed me the letter. Joy, tears of elation: I can see your handwriting. My fingers shook so badly, as I carefully opened the letter, my first from you since I returned. You're safe. I read and re-read. Your sentences are short and simple. You even acknowledge my sense of humor regarding your new name. Yes, Parker, I laughed."
It is the shrill of the telephone that interrupts me. Reaching for and flipping open the receiver, I sigh, annoyed at the intrusion.
"What?"
"Miss Parker, it's Vivienne."
I sit up a little straighter, and my eyes seek out the watch that is on my wrist. Its an outdated piece but it means so much to me for it was my grandmother's, 3:15 in the am it reads.
"Yes?"
"He's dead, Miss Parker."
"And?"
"He made it known that he wanted you to have his belongings, instead of Dr. Green. He indicated that they will aid you in the truth."
" Bring them tomorrow morning," then as an afterthought, I asked," Who's making the arrangements for him?"
"Dr. Green made them months ago."
"The Centre cemetary?"
"No, cremated and then his ashes are to be delievered to Dr. Green."
"Really," I am surprised, somewhat," Tommorrow morning then, say 10:00 am."With that I terminate the call. So he did know more that he let on when I visited him in that dark, cold place that has been his home for years. Father was right about you, Mr. Cox but I sense that you were more like a fox than wolf, and a sly one at that.
Feedback please : Ractrish@aol.com
