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Title: “The Journey”
Author: R.Schultz cousindream@msn.com
Series: The Pretender
Parts: 1/1
Rating: R for violence
Pairing: Miss Parker, of the Centre, and her sister

Disclaimer: “THE PRETENDERS” and all it’s characters are the property of MTM and NBC. I’m just playing with them. Honest. Afterwards I’ll put them all back where they belong. Don’t sue me as I bleed easily and it hurts. Story mine under Berne Copyright Laws. 10,000 words, rewritten for the Canon group, July 2002.

Summary: It is after second season, after the arrival of Bunny, and the discovery of Parker’s ulcer. Not at all a happy period for our hard-bitten searcher-after-Jarod. She’s discovered she has a sister or two. First of “The Journey” series.
Encouragement may be sent to: cousindream@msn.com





THE JOURNEY

by R. Schultz







Her destination, finally, her destination. Back and butt aching from the drive, coffee, cigarettes, too much anticipation, and dread. Now, here she was.



The tall house was the past; its sides and porch decorated with that wooden busywork called Gingerbread. Painted field gray, as if trying to hide in the November landscape. Sky gray itself, bitter, colder than Delaware. It looked like a movie lot construction. All it needed was for a young Anthony Perkins to race out the front door for it to be a scene from 'Psycho'.



"Pocket full of posie," she thought to herself, "And all fall down". This place and the Black Death for a matched pair.



She chided herself for being judgmental and negative. She was on edge, exhausted, and knew it. It had been a long drive from Guelph.



She thought; Instead, think of it as on the set of the Wizard of Oz, first part. That sounded better.



She gladly exited the Rental Taurus, hands massaging the small of her back, cramped thighs, sore butt. Wishing she had recaptured Jarod years ago, wishing.... Wishing she wasn't as confused as she was. Before the hunt for Jarod, life had been simpler, more black-and-white. She had been one of the guys in the white hats then.



Across the hump-back county road she could see someone on a tractor, making their way across the uneventful landscape. Doing whatever it was farmers did at this time of year. She wondered if this were deer country. She hoped the girl she’d rented would treat Bunny well.



Eyes were drawn to the scurry of a brown squirrel across the leafs, climbing the lone tree in front. Two discolored remnants of rope hung on an out-thrust limb. She never had a swing on a tree as a child, and didn't much feel the lack.



To one side she could see the outside cellar entrance, with its slant-roof doors. Tornado-shelter doors; it was a tornado cellar. Boards propped the side doors of a red barn closed, and the remains of a large vegetable garden went off for an acre. She could imagine the crackling if she chose to walk in its browning remnants.



The house was two-story, with attic, dormer windows, gingerbread frettwork painted a hideous blue across porch and eaves. She supposed the blue was an attempt to beautify an aging monument. As if Victoriana were hard to find across the rural heartland. She thought it archaic, and refused to even think of words like 'home'. It was someplace to live. Older, that was all.



Kneading her butt, wondering what, if anything, she would find inside, she looked to the roof. It had a small Captain's Walk, complete with black iron railing. A figure sat on that high perch, legs through the railing, looking down.



Her pulse started beating hard, in that second of recognition. Her sister. Her other sister, her youngest sister.





As she continued looking, the figure rose and disappeared, probably through a trapdoor in the roof. Heels striking the gravel, Parker moved at a run she did not notice. To the blue-bordered door in the middle of the porch.



An older woman answered, wire-frame glasses, gray hairs thick in the brown. She asked a solitary "Yes?"



That was all. She shook, looking, really seeing Parker for the first time, gentle mouth slightly open.



Then she collected herself, asking Parker in. In seconds both could hear the frantic steps of the rooftop girl.



Parker moved to the stairway, hand on the balustrade, staring at the young blond as she abruptly stopped on the landing. Mouth open, the young honey-haired girl put her hand out as if already touching Parker.

"Hope?" the mother breathed, "Your sister is here."



The blond and Parker stared at each other as the blond gingerly took the steps one by one. Until their fingertips met, and hands meshed.



The blond put a tentative finger to Parker's hair, tracing the line of cheek, eyes locked.



"You're not Patience," she blurted, sure of this. The hands did not stop their tentative caresses, the eyes their inquiries. Looking for any sign of rebuke or disappointment.



"You're beautiful," Parker said aloud. Inside she thought how young Hope was.



"You're older," the blond continued.



Offended, unshowing, Parker nodded yes. "I'm not Patience. She guided me to you. It's due to her that I'm here, she wanted us to meet," Parker blurted.



Patience had hoped I'd decipher her obscure codings, was what Parker said to herself. The Tells she had placed in her room months before. Sure, somehow, that she would have secrets to hide. She'd hoped I'd come here, that I'd find my way here.



Somewhere in the sixth sub-level, her sister had stood in the front room of an unpretentious three room apartment. A few comfortable lamps, warm colors on the walls, furniture, shelf stereo in one corner, disc cases on the floor around it. A small TV atop a computer desk, all computer equipment gone. Home, now, for the woman Parker could barely believe existed.



Her sister. Patience.



Parker had walked through the unlocked door of the holding cell, knowing the freedom and normality a sham. Somewhere in the corridors outside this apartment, this comfortable lockbox, were people at monitors. Watching Patience, listening to her, analyzing her. Finding, they hoped, the buzz-words she responded to, the lies she would believe, the hooks they could place in her soul. The means by which they might control her, to own her.



If Patience were to leave the cell through the unlocked door, she would soon find herself 'discovered' by cheerful people in hospital clothes, helpful people who would summon other people to 'explain' things to Patience; help her back to her cell, or maybe to some clean medical room where friendly people would engage in reassuring dialogues, getting things, being nice, giving her oral doses of tranquilizers in a cold can of Coke. Give her a new book, or today's newspaper from Toronto. A chocolate bar (not many; they had her on a healthy and regulated diet in this 'facility').



Friendly people, of all ages, sexes and races. Willing to help her even though their job didn't involve going out of their way to help this young woman undergoing studies and tests. After all, they would explain, it was unusual to find twins like Parker and Patience. Separated by years, but still twins.



Nice people. Helpful. Studying Patience.



Parker knew the routine, had been part of it in the past. She stepped into the apartment, knowing it for a well-upholstered jail cell. She looked about, knowing the cameras and microphones were there, though unseen.



Then there was Patience, and Parker knew her for her sister.



Knew something else, as well. If they studied Patience, could they fail to study Parker as well? How long had she been observed, listened to? What had they seen her do?



Her ears had burned then, and she wondered what events or deviations they had gotten wind of. Did some man, Brigid, whoever, did Parker exist as erotic images in a pornographic video library?



Now the sisters came to each other. Patience crying, and holding Parker tight, smelling of bath salts. Nothing said of any importance while Parker digested the possibility of herself being observed.



How long, how well?



What did they know? A chill grabbed Parker's heart, even as she composed her face and words.



How much did they know?



How loose a leash might they have her on? How far might Daddy's protection go?



How much did they know?



Did they know of Jarod's communications, tapes, phone calls? Parker relaxed slightly as she rationalized that level of betrayal would have provoked massive reaction, if known. She would be treated differently if they knew that much.



Other things they might know, and Parker's ears burned again. Things, people in her past, Prep school, that Taxi driver, roomies at Brown, hangovers, cheating in Medieval History, toys, one-night stands. The things even a modern, hell-with-'em-all woman didn't want to be common knowledge. Would just as soon not see on the ten o'clock news, or the Centre equivalent.



Holding each other, caressing Patience’s short hair, Patience touching Parker in inquiry and happiness, bonding in a holding cell in the Centre. Small talk, sisters meeting, strangers taking first steps in bridging a gap of twenty years.



Sitting alongside each other, with Patience holding Parker's hand. The two of them talking, discovering, finding commonplaces. And Patience tapping the soft of Parker's palm with her middle finger. Hidden from view, invisible to the watchers and the listeners, tapping finger to palm in Morse code.



Patience had assumed her sister would know Morse, had hoped Parker would not visibly react to the rhythmic touching of Parker's palm. Morse, delivered by a middle finger deliberately beating. Telling Parker things Patience didn't want to say aloud in that room. Not much time together, so that phrases and sentences were shortened to single words or codings. Messages. Secrets.



Sister - North Dakota - InterNet - Warn - Tape - Top Of Door - Hide - Bedroom - Save her.



Save her.



Save the blond she now held. She knew from whom.



"Is this how I'll look in a dozen years?" the blond asked, wonder alive in her voice as well as joy.



Parker touched the face of the blond, the nose, cheeks, chin, a smile building on her face. Sister.... Family.



Save her, she had been desperately asked. Save her.



"Is this how I looked so many years ago?"



They embraced again, Parker realizing the blond was softly crying. She whispered, "I have a sister, I have a sister, I have a sister...."



Standing in a foyer in rural North Dakota, as blond Hope wound down, tears ebbing, Parker turned her head. Softly kissing this woman-child who held her so fiercely.



Pressing lips to the blonde’s ear, Parker spoke the words that finally admitted the blond was her sister.



"I've held Patience," she spoke in the blonde’s ear. "She's real, she's very real, I've held her. I learned from her about you, where you were, how you met on the Net." She did not attempt to explain the trail she had followed from that bedroom in Canada to here.



Patience’s signals, hints about computer discs in Guelph. Yet she had done enough, did it in the depths of the Centre. Secrets from one sister to the other under the eyes of the Centre, understood by Parker. She was proud of Patience; they both had strong, sharp, and superior minds. Hardwiring. Sisters.



They were hardwired alike, their minds worked similarly, genes the same, minds tight and focused. Hardwired, born to think in the same way.



Save her.



"You have two sisters," Parker smiled, breath moving that soap-smelling hair. ”TWO!” she revealed to the girl in a country house.



Her outer calm was false, for inside Parker knew the song of adrenaline in her blood. She felt a stranger to herself for embracing this unknown so immediately and fully.



In the Centre, Constance and she had known they were observed, listened to, their every word judged and weighed. They had embraced, but not like this, they would not give observers that small power over them. The sight of souls bare.



Here Parker knew she was letting her defenses down. It was unlike her, her basic Id was screaming beware, beware, stranger, unknown quantity, beware!



For once she was forcing her forebrain to supersede inner walls, this once to accept and hold. It felt different and unaccustomed, so warm and pleasing.



Yet she still felt isolated. She had never accepted hedging bets, vagueness, generalities, safety-games she had observed other women playing. She did not deal in hesitations, that was for weaker women. Yet now Parker was playing the little games of normality.



"See?," she voiced to the world. "Am I not normal, ordinary, mundane, tied to the customary world? I have family, allies."



Trust? No, but consciously willing to accept the possibility. Family. Something to believe in, a constant, a benchmark, a foundation. Family. Herself, not squared, but cubed.



It felt different, novel, good to be part of a family. It should be the sort of family she could lean on. Someone she could trust.



Elation did not come. The blood murmured, but joy did not come. She had always assumed that her childhood fantasies of family would bring happiness. Instead, in this instant, she thought of how Daddy would not approve.



A smile, happy crinkling of eyes. all painted on for the benefit of strangers. Wearing warm modesty, Parker allowed herself to be led into the front parlor. Sister holding tight, constantly brushing close. The blonde’s mother, her only mother until recently, inviting them both to sit on the settee.



Wallpapered walls, small lines on blue, high ceiling bone-white. A single large portrait of Dore' praying hands on the wall. Photographs in aging frames, a large TV behind closed panel doors in an aging console. Pictures on a small lamp table. Behind a curved glass shield the turn-of-the-century photo of a man and woman.



Names exchanged, pleasantries given, information, stilted, embarrassed gropings with words.



Parker gave as her own the name of April, and spoke careful enthusiasms about her work at the Centre. She spoke of a condo in a suburb, and presented (quite phony) pictures of her ex-husband. Also of a pet Alsatian frolicking. Quite phony also. A graduation photo with four strangers hugging her. The sort of legends, commonalties created at the Centre for their agents. A photo of herself being held by Daddy, dark blue graduation gown and hat. The obscured background was the Centre, the gown was from Costuming, and the man was actually Daddy.



Hope held the photo in awe, fingering the edges, fingertip to the male face Parker knew so well. For Hope a profound revelation.



"Is this my father?," Hope asked. "Is this my real Daddy? My own real Daddy? What sort of a man is he? What does he do, where does he live, is it a nice place, does he have any pets? Does he have lots of friends, does he like to go to the seashore, what kind of a car does he drive, what sort of music does he listen to? I play the violin, not all that good, but I'm getting better.



"Patience plays six instruments, did she tell you? That's how we met. Through her playing. She plays the Viola de Gamba, it's a small bass fiddle, and there's this really great Celtic singer, Lorenna McKennitt, and like everyone these days she did a few music videos. For one of them Constance was sitting there, big as all outdoors, playing her Viola.



"It's quite a shock to see yourself on MTV playing something I didn't even know existed at the time.



"She was so nice, Lorenna McKennitt," Hope bubbled onwards. "She, her agent, contacted Patience for me, gave her my name, address. I come home from school one day and there's this international number to call, collect, and I must have cost her a hundred dollars at least. I had family, my own blood family, and her name was Patience. She was adopted, too, and she told me about Guelph, which I had never heard of before, and later on we exchanged pictures of our parents, our adoptive parents, oh, it was so exciting!



"We moved to the Web next. I cried for half an hour before I dared log in. Suddenly I had a sister." Hope suddenly looked hard in Parker's face, the room, her mother, all disappeared in her eyes.



"Do I have any brothers?"



How to tell her about Lyle? Was he her brother or Jarod’s? How to make Hope so afraid she would never trust Lyle? This was not the time or place. For now say their brother was dead, work-related, moving machinery. She burned inside to see the sadness roll over Hope anew. How to tell Hope Lyle was a combination of brains and relentless depravity?



A bare second's pause, then; "Why am I here?"



"Why aren't all of us together? Where is our Mommy? Is she dead? Why were we adopted out? Why isn't my Father here? Why did he raise you but not us? Can I go meet my real Daddy? Someday?"



She knew that was the real question. Why wasn't she raised by Daddy, just like Parker was. Where was their mother. Why the hell did he, she, desert me? Did I do something wrong? Why was I thrown away?



All Parker would need would be for her ulcer to awaken.



"Daddy and my Mother went their separate ways years and years ago," Parker explained. "She went away when I was very young, and I don't remember much of her. Others have said I look a lot like she did, but I couldn't tell you, I don't remember. Her life was apart from me". Yes, certainly.



Death has a monumental ability to separate people.



"Daddy would never talk of her if he could avoid it, and never said much even to direct questions.



"It must not have been the picture-perfect life together, the two of them, and me. Daddy must have met with her, tried reconciliation, I don't know what, I was never told. There's you and Patience, after all. They must have gotten together again, somehow, somewhere.



"There's a lot I don't know or understand myself. Maybe when she died... I just don't know what happened. The only person who could tell us is dead," Parker finished.



"She's really dead?" Hope pleaded. "Tell me no, she's still alive, I want to see my real Mommy, tell me she's somewhere far away, but don't tell me....."



Parker shook her head, and Hope twisted to look outside, past the lace curtains. Her face gone to stone. She said nothing, did not cry, held the end of a hope to herself like a precious thing. Their hardwiring did not let something like this die easy.



Parker recognized the stare, the fugue Hope had fallen into. She had been there herself. The hardwiring was identical, after all.



In a minute, or ten, she would return to the real world. But for this moment she had to taste, savor, and digest the unpleasant rock in her stomach. Later would come forced acceptance, a tentative smile. Later still would come the sick edge in her stomach. Hardwiring.



The adoptive Mother stirred, held out a hand, then got up and held Hope for two or three eternally long minutes. Hope reached and patted her Mother's hand softly, then resumed staring out the window on her loss of hope.



The Mother sat back down, glancing at Hope, wanting something else from Hope. Parker left a hand on Hope's thigh, expecting a tremor when Hope forced herself to accept the unacceptable.



Meanwhile the mother began to talk of herself and Hope's adoptive Father, Nicholas, how proud they were of Hope.



The adoptive mother's name was Margie. Hope came to her adoptive family from the agency, already with this name, over fifteen years ago. The agency told them nothing of sisters, Margie emphasized. Until Hope found Patience, they had thought her an only child.



Embarrassed, and unsure of what to say, Margie began to tell things of Hope's childhood, and school. How she broke a leg in LaCrosse. The type of things trotted out by parents to display the pride she felt in Hope. How ... not quaint ... how normal, Parker thought.



Save her. From what? The Centre? That for which Parker had long ago sworn to kill for, if necessary?



Margie continued about Hope's achievements in school, sports, pointing to cheap pedestal and plaque prizes on a fireplace mantel. No dust anywhere. Looking around the archaic front room the eyes were again drawn to that print of the Dore’ praying hands. Neatness unsullied by life or human weakness. Parker had a suspicion Charity might be in short supply in this home. She presumed Hope had learned to surmount her life as Parker had learned to surmount Daddy.







------------THE NEARBY CORRIDOR







Later, exiting the gratefully accepted bathroom, Parker was trying hard not to call this house dry. Framed embroidered sentences had hung on the wall opposite the spotless throne. A quote from Ecclestiastes, about beasts and Vanity. Outside a pale Hope had been faithfully waiting for her, to hold her hand as they re-entered the parlor. Parker knew the girl was forcibly controlling her stomach. Hardwiring.



Margie, the almost-mother, suggested something to drink or eat, and Parker almost turned her down. Suddenly Hope was facing her, squeezing Parker's thigh. Asking something of her. On instinct, smiling, Parker accepted a glass of water.



The minute the mother left the room, Hope whispered she wanted to talk with her, really talk, it was important. Make an excuse, get the two of them alone far from here. Get them both out of this house.



Irritated, Parker had wanted to see her sister's room, learn where Hope's mind was. Tastes, fears, hopes, dreams. Discover how much of what made Parker Parker showed in her sister. Or how little. What Hardwiring she had.



Curiosity, Parker said to herself, simple curiosity, nothing more. She did NOT want to really know her. Just save her. Parker did not really want to be vulnerable to this child. To love her.



Even if she was family, Parker didn't want a family. Families were unnecessary, and she didn't already love this child ricocheting her way into maturity. She didn't want to commit to this unformed almost adult. A squeaky little mouse voice asked why she had driven a thousand miles.



Families were encumbrances, families were obligations. Families were hostages.



A thousand miles?



But they could be allies. She was NOT becoming emotional. Parker wanted allies, not weaknesses. The squeaky little voice dwindled and disappeared.



Parker insisted on being shown around by her sister. Specifically into the sacred confines of Hope's room. A moment's ill grace, then Hope led the way upstairs. On the way Parker paused, fascinated by the sight of her sister easily taking the dark wooden stairs. Tight worn jeans displaying her almost-woman's long legs and tight butt. Hope noticed the pause, and looked a question.



"I'm just now coming to understand what so many men have seen in me, in my walk," Parker laughed. "I've got a great body." Believing it for once.



For seconds Hope struggled with meaning, then realized Parker was referring to herself. Hope's body. The same one, with some minor differences, that Parker possessed herself. A younger herself, but still herself.



Parker ran to take the stairs alongside Hope, taking the opportunity to pat Hope’s butt on the way up. Wreathed by giggling, they came together to Hope's room.



Encased in yellow wallpaper, Hope's room was all clutter and confusion. The room in Guelph had been cluttered but organized, Patience had the Hardwiring to overcome modern teenagerness. Patience was older than Hope.



Torn posters taped to walls told of Pop stars recently Terrific and now on the way out. Mr. BIG, Snoop Snoopy Dog, Boyz 2 Men, Sting, Backstreet Boys, Janet Jackson.



Parker caressed the hair of the sister she had never known she had. Smiling without meaning to. Just a tiny bit. This sister, babbling over boys, teachers and friends in a chaotic fashion, was also a being of passions and lusts. Fifteen was such an impossible age. Parker had taken years to discover what she could tolerate from men (and women) in the way of relationships, sexual and social. She was a controller, and knew it.



More photos in frames on a bookshelf. An older woman with Hope. With a friend, another girl sharing the holding of a plaque. The bookcase, used pocketbooks, neatly proclaiming itself the only organized object in the disordered room. Nancy Drew, Robert Heinlein, Jacqueline Susan, Dean Koontz, Diane Duane, other titles and authors Parker knew or remembered. Narnia's and dog-eared fairie tales.



The only fully closed drawer in her ancient mirrored dresser probably contained undies. Some Verboten sensual object, or souvenir. Others trailed sleeves, socks, and pants from their openings. A sweater draped on the bed, blue jeans on the floor of a closet. Pointed cowboy boots behind the entry door. She line dances, Parker thought.



Parker remembered a plump girl in the Centre-staffed school for staff children. So long ago. She had said that if you couldn't get sex at least you could always dance. Plump had been unfashionable. She had almost been a friend. But plump had been unfashionable, so Parker had abandoned her.



A small boombox with large earphones on the night-stand. Plain wooden desk, armless chair, algebra homework on its surface. A smaller desk with an old Macintosh, her entreport to the Net.



No sign of parental nosing, but Parker was sure it was there. An only child. Yet now knowing more of her biological mother and father, knowing she had an older twin in Canada.



Knowing she had a sister from Delaware. One she could touch, and did so, constantly.



Normality. With a pang Parker realized she envied Hope more than her youth. She also envied Hope her closer ties to family, probably closer than she had with Daddy.



A few tentative questions about Parker's family, a hesitancy, a desire to know about this unknown family.



Parker recently also realized how little she knew of her own family. All she had was Daddy, and secrets. Parker had never known her mother. Maybe a different term should now be used instead of mother. Like sister.



She had to retell Hope lies of how Daddy had raised her, not knowing her mother; they were apart. Hope kept picking, trying to understand her abandonment, unsure what questions to ask. Mommy and Daddy were apart.



As apart as death could make a couple.



How could I tell Hope that her mother died twelve years before she was born? Or maybe Parker should use the word sister?



"Gee," they had all said to Parker. "You look just exactly like your mother did when she was your age."



An exact match. Exact.



Exact.



She wondered what great advances in the sciences the Centre knew of, held tight to, did not share?



Save her. Save Hope. Who would save Parker?



Hope begged Parker to take her from the house, just for a while, take her into town, take her someplace to talk.



Someplace safer? Or to show off a new older sister, one with taste and wardrobe and money? One she could look up to, maybe one able to take Hope with her, to Delaware. Show Hope off, love Hope, take care of Hope, teach her, be a parent. A dream parent, one who wouldn't be like the parents Hope already had. Like all parents, never quite understanding their children.



Save her.



Little girl dreams. Hope fantasized she really was a changeling Princess. They'll be sorry when I'm gone. New schools, new wardrobes, expensive like Parker's, new friends, the ability to cast off all her old mistakes, start over again.



Parker tried thinking of what to say, how to let the bubbling teenager down easy. She could be brutally honest, dash all Hope's mushrooming dreams in an instant. She could be self-centered, Miss Bitch, the Ice Queen, and walk out of here. Only she couldn't.



She cringed to think she probably would have to take Hope with her. Hide her. Save her.



How?



While Parker wrestled with those concepts, she had to sit. Hope continued bubbling, apologizing for her room, its condition, the quality of her clothes.



Hope had to change to a better set of clothes, of course, to go out with Parker. They would be seen by people she knew. Classmates, and other people to be impressed by Hope's sudden family.



Hope saw taste, class, money, sophistication, whenever she sneaked looks at Parker. Feeling much the ugly duckling; dull, drab, a typical hick. Nothing like the glamorous sister in her darkly elegant suit. Envying the ease of movement, confidence and combativeness in her older sister’s stride. Parker knew the fledgling heroine worship in Hope's mind, and debated augmenting it.



Parker might have to make Hope do things she did not want to do at times when she didn't want to do them. She might need control. For now she agreed to take Hope downtown, to a restaurant named The Brick. If her folks would allow. Hope tried to disagree with that condition, but was reminded they were indeed her legal parents.



While options and scenarios were examined and discarded by Parker, Hope was shedding clothes and picking others, a commentary for each possession. Suddenly Hope stopped, fresh bra in hand, and looked searchingly at her sister. Parker realized she was staring at the space occupied by Hope's prominent nipples. Understanding the question posed by her sister, Parker softly laughed at her.



"I prefer guys," she said. "I was just woolgathering, thinking, I, we, we have a lot to discuss.



"Not just the past. We can't change things, we can't live in might-have-bean’s. Weak people live in the past because they can't do anything about the future. We have to discover what we can do next, us. We've got a life ahead of us and we're going to grab it by the short hairs."



Parker was gratified to see Hope smile, but Parker was both saddened and pleased to know Hope would willingly go into oblivion for her.



Yet more and more she could see something was troubling Hope, some unknown clouding her face. To Parker it was just another obstacle. All life was obstacles, and another set was just as capable of resolution as the old set. Somewhere. Somehow. Somewhen there were answers.



Hope opened her mouth twice, then asked the wish Parker knew was coming. Hope had a problem and was on the verge of running away. Leaving home, the only home she'd had. Parker was finding life didn't hold many sureties. Now what?



"Can't you take me with you?" Hope asked.



For seconds Parker debated refusal, the lie of a yes, or a yes not being a lie. Then resigned herself to their truth.



"They're your parents," Parker reminded her. "Regardless of troubles or fairy-tale wishes, they're legally your parents.



"You've got a problem, can't you let me help? You're my sister," as if that explained all. Maybe it did.



"But I'm not a magical Princess, and can't wave a magic wand to make things happen. If you have a problem, you'd better tell me what it is. Lots of things are resolvable, including any you can't see over to the other side. But I can't do much with you, for you, if you don't let me know what they are." Parker did not tell Hope her own fears were that they might have to flee; together, tonight, next month, next day. How the hell would she live without The Centre? Join Jarod?



Jesus, what a family we'd make.



Parker waited for revelation, waited for Hope to tell why they had to leave here, what her problem was. Hoping it wasn't a sex thing with her father. Hope swallowed her words, turning her face to the side. Parker hated to know it would take more than an invitation to force Hope to share the millstone about her neck. Yes, Hope was showing similar hardwiring, similar bullheadedness, that Parker would just as soon not see right now.



She stared at Hope, controlling her temper, knowing the stubbornness she and Hope were capable of. It irritated Parker to know this version of herself so well on an instinctual level, and still be unable to understand her thinking. For the first time she was realizing how trying having a sister could be. She couldn't bear seeing patterns in Hope other people had complained of in herself.



To change directions Parker went to the closet, alongside Hope, giving her arm an affectionate caress. The motion distracted Hope, the smile disarmed, the touch took Hope down other mental pathways. Parker pulled out an obviously expensive fawn colored buckskin jacket, complete with fringes. Parker complimented her on the jacket, caressing it. Hope touched it, a prize from some past indulgence; possessive and proud. Hope smiled, distracted, as Parker held it to herself, gauging size. Then she realized, of course, that everything in this room should fit. Shoes, panties, sweaters, PJ's, everything.



"Hope", she began, "do you like my suit? I mean, do you really really really like it?"



Hope bit her thumb as Parker spun about, confusion showing in her eyes. When Parker moved closer and began unbuttoning her expensive subdued jacket, she backed up half a step. The suit jacket was given to Hope and Parker started working on the pants, an elfish smile on her face. Parker ungraciously fell to the rumpled surface of the bed, then presented her booted feet to Hope.



"You might as well make sure these fit too."



Suddenly Hope understood, and she bent to help pull the dressy black shoes off, giggling madly. Parker smiled inside, noting how well distraction worked on Hope. And how she loved to dress well. Hardwiring.







---------FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, DOWNSTAIRS







Skipping down the stairs Parker was surprised by the sudden appearance of a tall blond man, all pink-faced from outside air, his plaid coat exuding cold. Without needing introductions Parker knew Hope's adoptive father. He had an air about him of being accustomed to receiving respect. Someone who took the role of family patriarch seriously. Parker tried not to lapse into defensive-attack mode as she reacted to his surety of his position and place in the world.



He shook his daughter's hand in a slow up and down motion, looking at Parker, looking to Hope, a small smile on his face.



"Hope," he began, speaking to Parker, "why don't you introduce me to your sister?" Parker immediately lost most of her hostility at the touch of his hand and the sound of his voice. She was reminded surety did not always mean arrogance.



Instantly his face displayed confusion, as he looked from the face closest to his, to Hope, and back again to Parker a half dozen times. He had to stop to realize he was holding not the newcomer's hand in welcome, but his daughter's. Amazing how young someone could look without make-up. how much older with it on. Amazing what a little beret cap and a Stetson could do for them both. Parker’s dark beret set off Parker's suit worn by Hope beautifully, and the beret hid her blond hair inside it.



The stranger in unfamiliar clothes was his daughter, the one in Hope's leather fringed jacket and gray country Stetson the new-found sister. In slightly faded Lee's too-tightly sheathing her legs, Parker was familiar. His own daughter was made over in a black suit never seen before. Chic, grown-up.



"You've switched clothes," he observed, "you're playing a little game, aren't you?" The voice was startlingly high-pitched, but Parker heard no anger in it. Just a statement of acceptance. Maybe a repressed urge to laugh at a joke; in this case one made on him.



Hope moved forward past Parker, boot heels clicking on the dark wood floor; pirouetting in her borrowed finery, seeking fatherly approval of her adult look.



He held Hope's hands out and carefully examined the black chic suit (ignoring the travel wrinkles if he even noticed). Margie, the mother, clutched her husband with one hand and carefully felt the black cloth with the other.



"You're very much the grown-up now, aren't you?" he asked. There was regret in that truth. Hope had crossed another line this afternoon, and he hadn't even known it was this close. Parker now realized there was Charity in this house, even a little love. Hope was living the life Parker had always wanted. Parker envied Hope.







--------------MAIN STREET, TEN MINUTES LATER

--------------ACROSS FROM “THE BRICK” RESTAURANT







It bothered Parker that Hope still had yet to tell her what was so devastating she wanted to run away from it. Her father didn't seem the problem, though she had been wary of crossing him. He didn't seem the sort to cut a lot of slack for anyone, except Hope. Hope never noticed. She was, after all, a teenager.



He was probably over-protective. Meeting him, judging Hope's reaction to him, at least there wasn't a sexual problem. Just Daddy and daughter.



Margie had to talk to him before he allowed Hope to leave with Parker. Sister talk, Margie said. A lot to catch up on. Parker knew the father was unhappy, but he smiled in assent. Whatever had gotten Hope grounded must have been a doozy. Still...



He cared.



She thought that maybe we can find truth in this drab little restaurant. A long sheet of glass, dark wooden false-front giving a small bit of comfort and intimacy. “The Brick”, complete with a real neon Pepsi sign to one side.



They left the Taurus in angle parking across the street, Parker feeling the approach of a cold front right through her sister's buckskin jacket. Hope bounced quickly to the street; then waited for Parker, waited to hold tightly to her hand. They crossed together, Hope searching for familiar faces. Look at me, that looking said. Notice me, I have a sister. Isn't she beautiful?



They separated at the door, as planned. Parker went to sit at the counter, eyeballing the clientele in passing. Accepting the nods and greetings in passing. The waitress came over, apron over pink uniform, hair tight in a bun under a hair-net, pulling out her pad.



"How ya doing, Hope? Whatcha want today?"



Parker ordered a bagel and a blackberry muffin, and chocolate milk, deliberately not reacting as Hope moved in next to her. Hope indeed looked a grown woman in Parker's black suit, rubbing her arms in reaction to the cold outside, dark-and-blond hair under dark beret. They both forced down grins as the waitress returned with the food and a small brown milk in a glass.



Hope took the muffin, Parker took the bagel. Hope then asked the waitress a question.



"May," she noted, "Can I have a cup of your coffee today?"



"You know coffee's bad for you at your age," she stated. The young waitress paused, and for a minute failed to understand what she was seeing.



"Hope?" she managed, looking from one face to another.



"What's the matter, May", Parker volunteered, "you forgotten how I look already?"



Finally Hope started giggling, and embraced Parker tight about her arms, rocking the both of them. "May..." she began.



"Your sister!" the waitress whooped. "It's your sister! She's here!" May was confused until she sorted out which one was Hope and which the sister. Probably the hair the only obvious giveaway. She embraced the now standing Hope, calling for the other waitress and her cook, to show them the revelation.



Parker accepted the handshakes and hugs as people gathered. Mostly she watched Hope bask in the glories of having a beautiful sister. Validating what she had told them previously about a sister. These others had probably harbored many reservations about Hope's claims, since teenaged girls sometimes had problems with exaggerations. Today, now, Hope was red-faced with the flush of glory and fat with vindication.



After the others had returned to their meals and jobs, May followed the sisters to a back booth. Questions followed as May yielded to curiosity and grilled Parker about her identity, her past, the story of Hope being here and Parker in Delaware. While evading or lying to the inquisitive young waitress, Parker watched Hope become jumpy as time went on. She consulted her wrist watch and the wall clock a dozen times, anticipating someone, something.



Privately Parker began to assume it was young and male, and most likely worked at the restaurant. May noticed it, her eyes daring Hope to ask an expected question, staring a rebuke or question.



"He's not coming," May finally said. "He don't work here anymore. He quit as of yesterday, and Tenn's oldest boy is filling out the rest of the week."



Parker stared at her sister as she shrunk under May’s words, but especially under the tone of her voice. She picked at the table for a minute, trying to ignore May's words and Parker's eyes.



"It's pretty definite, he's got that scholarship from Michigan, and he's gonna take it," May stated.



"This town, you, everyone here is past history already. He's going places, young Mr. Robertson is, and he's shaking the dust off his heels as he goes," May continued. Her hand held Hope's for a minute until Hope shook it off.



"I've said for a year he was a mistake," May said. "He was just one of many you'll have, love, believe me, just one of many. At least this one was handsomer than most." May ceased in her roll of clichés, able to see as Parker did that Hope was immune to words and comforts right then.



From mere hints of body language Parker shifted to let Hope exit the booth, following her as she pressed herself into a group of phones in wall slots.



May and Parker followed, Parker signaling May to stand back. Lord, Parker told herself, it's a goddamned MAN! It's another damned male, experimenting with the cute blonde. Parker was totally enraged at that moment, bent tight with the thought of some panting dipshit jock using HER sister like a fresh liver and then walking away. Not HER sister! Couldn't her hardwiring keep her smart?



"Who is he?," she hoarsed as Hope fumbled with the phone. "Captain of the football team? Red convertible? A string of goddamned past girlfriends and you didn't have the dog's brains to stay away?"



Hope flinched at each accusation, tears making dark stains on Parker's fine jacket.



"How could you do it, Hope? Didn't you know men only want one thing from you? Teenagers anyways? Sweet Jesus. I wouldn't be surprised if you let him ...get... you....." Parker trailed off. Hope's face had caved in until it was a bloodless ashen gray, totally lacking all humanity.



"Oh shit," Parker whispered. "We have a problem, don't we?"







---------IN THE RENTAL TAURUS, ACROSS FROM “THE BRICK”







Hope kept checking in the side mirror, and Parker let her. Hope would know this Mr. Testosterone when he got here. In the meantime a Delaware prescription ulcer medicine still fouled her mouth.



Hope chewed on a chocolate bar as Parker also waited for her six Advils to take effect. Her ears ached her headache was so bad. She idly wondered if this was what a migraine felt like. Her butt hurt from sitting in the goddamned underpadded driver's seat after so many miles driving here. All she'd need to do now would be to start spotting.



Parker sat there for two dozen heartbeats, her eyes acquiring a distant wraith as its focus. She mouthed the words rather than spoke them. The thought is mother to the deed, she breathed. Her body letting her know this time it didn’t matter worth a damn what time of the month it was. Now was now, period, so to speak.



Hope watched her with some misgivings as Parker sprinted back into the drug store. When she cane back to the car clutching a box of pads, she managed a weak smile. Parker was absolutely furious with her body for betraying her that way. Too pissed to even ask Hope to watch out for police or priests for the next few minutes.



The damned tight Lee’s finally moved down her hips enough for Parker to be able to arch herself and clumsily place the pad and crimp the edges. She knew now Hope and herself didn’t quite share the same hip size. All she’d need today would an arrest for indecent exposure. Hope carefully looked away as Parker zipped the damned skin-tight Lee’s back up and re-belted herself. Parker was nearly insane with rage at being betrayed so by her body on this day.



Fortunately her head commenced to hurt so bad Miss Parker forgot her anger.



Her eyes hurt from all this, AND the crying she had shared with Hope as they had folded around each other in misery.

Rental Ford's were not made for tear-jerker sessions, and Parker was not made for family reunions like this one was turning out to be.



It did not help that she was truly appalled by the animal fat (burger and double fries) and sugar (Snickers bar and this Baby Ruth) Hope was shoveling into her system. Parker contemplated warning Hope about what would happen to her metabolic rate once she got past twenty, but decided to let that sleeping dog snore on. Let Hope find out the fucking hard way, just like she had. Parker was not in a forgiving mood, and was looking forward to practicing her verbal castration techniques on the happy father.



Jesus, it had all been such a cliché. Football jock, past girlies, sincere promises of love, jock scholarship to Michigan, only the car he had was a blue Mirage instead of a red convertible.



Parker was thinking hardwiring just meant possibilities, not the surety of having common sense as well.



She was actually sorry for Hope's adoptive parents. They must suspect something, surely, if not know for a fact. Hope herself was making noises about the decidedly vague joys of parenting.



Parker was all for a visit to Minneapolis, a few days to recover, and a return to Hope's young life as it should be. It didn't help any to remember she'd have to save Hope, which probably meant taking her and hiding her somewhere. Which probably meant together, which probably meant she, Jarod and Hope becoming a goddamned FAMILY. All on the run from the Centre.



When were those damned Advils going to work?



At least the drug store had plenty of wearable makeup as well as lots of Puffs. Parker felt a lot better behind her makeup than without. She was debating the joys of spending a night at the Motel 6, or enjoying reruns all night long of her holding Hope and Hope babbling on. Right now Parker considered her genius sister a bit of a bubblehead.



It was not helpful to see Hope brighten, no, GLOW, when two young jocks in the inevitable Varsity jackets appeared across the street, visible in the side and rearview mirrors. Jesus, big blond hunk, lots of shoulders, yattering with another jock, a light-skinned Black with identical build. Parker straightened, preparing to.... What? Anything and everything.



Hope jumped out of the car, waved, and jumped up and down. The two jock's did some fist thing, probably stolen from TV, the 'see ya later, dude' thing. Once outside the Taurus, Parker felt twenty or thirty lines of thought and dismay sprint through her mind once she realized it was the young Black who was coming over.



Parker was not your normal American racist after all. She had awoken on many a morning with more than a few young Blacks across her pillow. She knew, though, that in America today any mixed kid and the mother were living in a world of diminishing possibilities. She was furious Hope had left this datum out of her explanations, and it didn't improve her mood to realize it probably diminished their own mutual future options. It was becoming increasingly obvious Patience had set her a Xena-sized quest to fulfill. Save her. Save the bubblehead. Easier said than done.



She wondered how easy it would be to get in touch with Jarod.



He was Mister Crusader, the Righter Of Wrongs. Well, here's a genius bubblehead and she's in deep trouble. Fix it.



She'd love to unload this one on Jarod.



She felt like barfing to watch Hope happily crawl all over the jock. Wearing her own good suit. Have to get it cleaned.



Introductions followed, Hope fawning over him, the teenaged jock a poster boy for the Arrogance Foundation.



Goddamned right she was being judgmental.



When they shook hands, Parker was surprised to find he was doing the dominance thing by squeezing her hand too tight. The Jerk! So she smiled and squeezed the bones in his hand together, bringing an expression of surprise to his face. You practice firing range a half hour each and every day and see what sort of muscles you get in your hand, Mr. Dipshit.



She contemplated forcing him to his knees, but mentally forbade it. Hope would not understand. Meaning she'd probably get hysterical. So she let go, but in her mind she mentally stuck her tongue out at the confused muscle-head. Infantile reactions. It must be catching.



Reluctantly, Hope and the...Eddy...were allowed into the back seats of the Rental while Parker stood outside. Lot of serious talking to do, Hope and her loverboy. Nice buns on him, though, Parker thought.



Privately she knew Hope was getting a load of smoke blown in her ear. I love you, baby, but I've got to move on, it's my future, you understand, don’cha?



After a while she heard voices raised, angry voices, and knew the loving couple had just got to the Baby? What Baby? How do I know it's mine? section of the discussion.



And she was out of cancer-sticks, knowing she'd chain-smoked the whole pack. She turned around to the Drug Store again, quickly got three packs, and returned to her car just in time to see Phase 3 in this reunion cycle. The part where Eddy erupted out of the car, Hope right behind, loud voices in the frosty air.



Parker was calm, a fresh smoke filling her lungs, watching the inevitable. On the street the people would stop to find the source of the yelling, then continue to mosey on their way. Probably memorizing every golden word. The only thing she regretted about this danse macabre was that Nicholas and Margie, Hope's adoptive parents, would have to listen to reruns of this scene for years to come. What fools we mortals be.



When Hope started screaming incoherently, young Mr. Eddy slapped Hope Hard across the mouth. Parker didn't know whether she'd just been splattered with blood or spit from Hope's torn mouth, and she didn't care. She was off the curb, cigarette gone, fumbling her snub-nosed out of a pocket, about to put an end to this portion of Hope's growing up lessons. She'd forgotten Hope was an athlete too.



Blood streaming down her chin, Hope straight-armed her lover, then followed his pause with a cross-over left that whipped his head to the side. Then belted him in the nose with another right.



Parker wondered if she could have a spontaneous orgasm, it felt so wonderful to see the jock on his knees, blood all over his face. When Hope pushed her way past, Parker gave her a big bandanna hankie she'd found in the Lee's back pocket.



"I'll probably be in the restaurant when you come back," she said loudly to her sister. Watching Hope stride so forcefully away, she could understand a little of what made herself seem to intimidating to so many. That was one HELL of a stride!



Back to unfinished business. Hooray for women's sports, and WHAT the hell had Hope learned in that quaint High School?



When lover-boy came roaring after Hope, Parker merely moved her legs, twisted her body and was gratified to see Eddy go right down on the pavement. Her Master would be pleased to see so perfect a movement. She mentally gave a small bow to the aging Korean, thanking him for the training.



She put a (she hoped) painful wrist lock to the bloodied hero as he tried to rise again. There was a nice little space between two of the buildings, and she guided the protesting Eddy there.



He kept trying to rise to his feet, dominate the situation, and she wouldn't let him. So he duck-walked away from the street, blood dripping from his face.



"I shouldn't try too hard to rise, if I was you. I'd probably have to break something in your wrist, and it could negatively impact your football career to have a once-broken wrist on a star quarterback." From his quieting she knew he was indeed the quarterback star.



"Now what we are going to have is a little quiet discussion, just the two of us, do you think that's do-able? No yelling or recriminations? Good!"



She kept him bent over and let him see the 9MM loosely held in one hand. "Now it seems we have a problem here," she cheerfully said. His eyes couldn't help tracking the automatic Baretta pistol, especially because she was motioning with it as she spoke.



"You're leaving to start January semester in Ann Arbor, and all your life lies ahead of you. So go.



"Don't come back to harass Hope, please. That, that would make me unhappy. Just disappear into your football scrimmages and basket-weaving classes and forget all about Hope's sweet tight under-age body, for which I think you could get five years for in this state.



"Pretend she doesn't exist, pretend you never met, pretend there is no baby. Be a Pretender. Keep your mouth shut about her. Keep your hands off her. Leave. Go."



She fired one round into the loose dirt here, relishing the way Eddy flinched at the firearm going off alongside his face.



"Because if you don't leave her alone, you'll make me unhappy. This is not a smart thing to do. Do you know why not? Answer me, dammit!"



He finally shook his head in a no, blood landing on her boot as he did.



"Because if I'm unhappy, my Uncle Vito gets unhappy. He's not really my Uncle, but he loves me very much.



"Believe me, you do not want to see my Uncle Vito unhappy. At times like that he isn't the sort of nice person I am. He gets very, very, very angry, and does things he later regrets. His regrets, however, do not always help those he had been mad at."



She had time, waiting for Eddy to answer her, to marvel at the perfect way she had created a fictitious uncle, probably Mafia, with which to instill some sense into this meshegennuh. He wouldn't be afraid to meet Daddy, or Brigid, but he should fear both more than any real Mafia Don.



Eddy nodded agreement, and she stepped quickly back, still holding the pistol. She waited until he started shuffling the other way before she turned to go back to her Rental. She was listening carefully in case he came back for a little revenge.



Jocks don't take well to women beating up on them. As for herself she was shaking, feeling the adrenaline overload, and desperately needing to see the powder room after so long in that damned Rental car. She took a second to stash the pistol in her glove compartment, then crossed to the restaurant.







---------------LATER, IN “THE BRICK” RESTAURANT







She was nursing a (hopefully) genuine orange juice. Telling herself her ulcer was happy. Then noticing the fact something had happened at the south end of town, from the way people outside were reacting. She had a sudden chill a half second before she saw a kid pointing at the restaurant. The kid had been here when she and Hope were being congratulated. He was talking to a brown-coated sheriff with a black fur Ushanka hat.



For a few seconds Parker considered making a run for it, then decided to sit tight. Burning inside to think of the many ways she would skin Eddy alive if he was creating a ruckus. Of how she'd start by removing his testicles, if he had went after Hope. Before getting hurtful. But not right now. Later.



"Miss Corey?" the Deputy asked, with an open wallet in his hand. Parker felt for her wallet in the Lee's pocket, realizing they'd never switched wallets back when they'd switched clothes. Back at Hope's home. Parker’s money was loose, it sat now in a pocket of the Lee’s. But not her wallet. Hope had been carrying that. She'd never had reason to discover the accidental switch.



"April Corey?" he repeated. Parker nodded a yes, fear spiking her thoughts. Even then her long experience with other false identities kept her aligned with this particular legend.



"It's Hope," she husked. "Isn't it?" She could see the blood on the wallet.







-------------------A FEW BLOCKS AWAY







She didn't much listen to the sheriff's deputy as they went the two streets up, and two over. Some of it she heard.



"We'll probably find the driver soon," he'd pointed out. “This isn't such a big place as D.C., and there ain't much of anywhere to hide. Probably some teenager on a joy ride, we'll get 'im, you'll see, probably before the end of the day."



The side street wasn't much. Three deteoriating gray buildings on one side, four on the other; all two-story structures. Broken macadam road, lots of potholes and gravely verge.



She had to stop and stare at the side of one building. A dark curving swipe darkened it. Two stories up.



Later she would puke, she told herself, then she went and did it anyways. On her hands and knees, the deputy giving her his red bandanna handkerchief when she was done. His pants were stained, and her own front. She wiped as best as she could, trying not to look at that vivid curving stain on that prosaic building.



"She must not have felt a thing," he lied. Parker knew he had to know few went quickly, and most lingered, in great pain. But she was so grateful for the intent of the lie she began crying, hard, against his shoulder.



In the interval until she was able to stand by herself again, she noticed Hope's parents had arrived. Fortunately Nicholas had understood, he and the Sheriff had kept Margie from viewing ... not a corpse. No. Her child. Already covered with a darkening blanket.



That long curving swipe of blood on the wall kept drawing Parker's eyes. She would never save Hope now.



She looked back, down towards the center of this little town, her hands crossed on Hope's fine leather jacket. The stains would go, the tears were already drying, and Parker was thinking cold thoughts.



A big sporty car not from here; dark gray or light blue, the deputy had said. Some teenager, he opinioned.



Parker took in the long track made by a car roaring across gravel, going as fast as it could, high performance, probably stolen. Throwing gravel and dirt as it sped towards a blond in a good dark business suit.



No deviation at all.



The driver had been accelerating all the way, probably, and was aiming at that...child. Aiming to kill.



Arms still crossed, she gazed at the height of the red impact swipe, and the distance Hope's body went after being hit. Doing a hundred, she thought, or better.



Parker had stopped crying.



Blond hair, probably knew it wasn't Parker herself, despite her sister’s appearance. Even dressed in Parker's suit they had known it was the blond, Hope, her sister.



Not herself. The target was Hope.



Save Hope, Patince had asked.



Anger burned now in Parker, and a lust to hurt, destroy. Be avenged. Part of that flame licked Parker's soul and hurt it badly. She’d failed. She had not saved Hope.



Just to close a possible avenue of investigation?



With chilling certainty she came to a new hypothesis.



Hope and Patience (and maybe herself) were an experiment. Patience came out of the experiment a hard, sharp cookie, just like herself. Hope came out of it pregnant, and possibly that alone might have marked her as a failure. Men would think like that.



An experiment. A failed batch, too bad, throw it away.



They'd find the car somewhere, and it would have been stolen in Fargo or Chicago or somewhere. No trace of the thief.



That was okay, Parker thought she knew where to find the driver. She wondered if it could have been Brigid and decided possibly, yes, but it was probably a glinty eyed muscle. Yet, whoever it was....



Parker was going to ask to keep the fringed jacket. She didn't need a photo to remember how Hope looked.



Save her? Well, maybe not. But maybe she could warm up a cold dish of revenge some day.



She would lay flowers on Hope's grave then. She looked around, looking for more clues, if any existed. Inside her soul smiled as she recalled a line from an old movie. She even managed the Austrian accent, though she didn’t notice. Aloud she said:



"I'll be back."





THE END
-----------------

Please read the sequel: Pickin’ Up the Pieces









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