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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Part 1 – Largo
Jarod grinned once more as he slipped the letter of acceptance back into his pocket. His last foray into the world of music had moved him as much as it had, he reflected with a soft chuckle, moved some members of his audience. Since his series of concerts had ended, he had been practicing his singing abilities for the one role that he had decided would be the most fun for him to play. No pretend, no pressure was involved in this one. It was just for himself. And, he had to admit to himself if he wanted to be completely honest, one other person.
His eyes took in the rehearsal dates and he glanced over the days in which he would be required. Only one day off here and another there. A few hours to himself every day, but most of the time would be spent on stage or backstage or trying on costumes. Jarod reached forward and pulled the program towards him with a lazy finger, glancing around his room as he did so. For once, and especially for him, it was extravagant. The cream walls contained artworks – his own – and the furniture was expensive and modern. It wasn’t, of course, his house. He had simply rented it, fully furnished, from a fellow actor who had got a job in London and had to move immediately.
Jarod stretched himself out on the cream leather sofa and began to flip through the program, an occasional glance at the photos of his character, resplendent in fishnet stockings, enough to emphasize his earlier thought about pleasing another person. Or, he thought with a grin, perhaps pleasing was the wrong word…
Jarod stretched his arms out behind him and then reached over for the glass of blood-orange juice that was on the table beside him. Picking up the show’s score from where it lay on the table, he walked over to the grand piano that the room boasted and, seating himself in front of it, threw himself into the playing of one of his songs. Suddenly he stopped himself, got up and walked over to the stereo in the room. Picking up a tape from a pile beside the machine, he slipped it into the player and pressed the record button. Then, walking back to the piano, he threw himself once more into the introduction.
It was already very dark by the time he opened his eyes. After the first two times playing through, the music was indelibly written on his mind and he had simply closed his eyes and allowed his fingers to continue playing as they would. The innocuous click as the tape finished recording his performance went unnoticed, as did the fact that the entire afternoon had slipped by and that it was already evening. Glancing off to his right, he could just barely see, through the windows that covered the entire wall, the Pacific Ocean that crashed against the sand, out of sight on the beach below him. The room in which he stood jutted far out over the water and, as the owner had proudly showed him, the floor of the balcony was glass and could be opened for easy access to the waves.
The growling of Jarod’s stomach broke the peace of the evening. Stepping into the kitchen, he began to prepare a meal for himself, expertly flipping each pancake over until they were all lying in a golden stack on a plate. Reaching into the freezer, he pulled out the large-sized carton of ice cream and placed several scoops of it atop the warm pile, drizzling the golden syrup over the entire tasty concoction. Picking up a fork and spoon from the bench-top, he wandered into the living room and sat down in front of the television, flicking it on. A cartoon show was the first thing he found and, a grin on his face, he settled down to watch it.
Several hours later he awoke with a jerk. Through the curtainless window, moonlight streamed in and he could see that the now-empty plate sat on the table in front of him and the television was off. A frown crossed his face briefly before he reached over and turned on a lamp that sat on a table behind him and he saw the cause of the silence.
“I never thought housebreaking was your style.”
Miss Parker allowed a smile to briefly cross her face.
“It is when you’re inside it.”
The potential double meaning of the sentence crossed Jarod's mind briefly and he got up and walked over to the window, looking out into the darkness that was punctuated by the occasional streetlight. To his relief the street was empty.
“Does anybody else know you’re here?”
“No,” her voice was cool, “and I have no intention of them ever being aware of it.”
“So you’re going to take me back to the Centre yourself?”
She stood up and pushed open the door to the other room. “Only if you can’t give me a good reason not to.”
He followed her through the doorway and gasped aloud as he saw the various alternations that had been made. On the top of the grand piano stood two candelabras, the white candles gleaming in the light caused by each other. A book stood open on the music stand but the contents of this Jarod ignored as he took in the changes that had occurred in the rest of the room. It was almost entirely covered with red rose petals. A second candelabra, this with numerous branches, stood on the table beside two carafes, one half-filled with white wine and the other with red, giving further light to the room. A small bottle of vodka stood nearby, as well as one of whisky.
“What’s this?” He turned to her and grinned. “International Women’s Day?”
Her face had contained traces of amusement, but, at his tone, they vanished and she pulled her gun out of the holster, unlocked the safety catch and, seating herself on the sofa, placed it on the table in front of her. Carefully, she removed her watch and set it so that she could see it from where she was.
“You have exactly thirty minutes, maestro.” She emphasized the word snidely. “If you haven’t made me lose track of the time by then, we’re going for a drive back to Blue Cove.”
Jarod glanced once at her out of the corner of his eye, noticing that the emotion he had seen last on her face, when she had been standing backstage after his concert, had now vanished completely. It was now obvious to him why she was there – she wanted to feel that way again and thought that he was the only person who could make it happen. The roses and candles were just a nice touch, but with no real meaning. As for the alcohol, that was intended merely to heighten the emotion, if any, that he might arouse. Feeling himself tense as the full potential danger of the situation sank in, he seated himself on the bench and brushed aside the music she had put there, turning to her politely but nervously.
“Does madam have any requests?”
“Yes,” she growled in response. “Make it good.”
*~*
Jarod glanced over his shoulder as he finished the second movement of his current piece. Both carafes were empty and the whisky bottle was rolling on the floor under the table, but the vodka had not yet been opened. The candles were almost melted away, but no sunlight had yet appeared at the window. A morose figure sat on the sofa with her head buried in her hands. Jarod was waiting until she started on the vodka before he began to play a series of pieces that he had planned and which, he hoped, would bring the night to an end. He was exhausted and his hands trembled so much that he could hardly touch the keys; only sheer terror was making him hit the right notes. The feelings of anxiety with which he had begun his recital had gradually expanded within him until it was an effort for him to remain at the keyboard.
Still, he had managed it.
The sight of the gun sitting on the table was incentive enough and he knew that, in the mood into which he had thrown her, she wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot him. It seemed ironic, then, that it was this same mood that was most likely to save him. She had been moderately drunk when she had arrived, he knew. Her actions were not something she would have done if completely sober and he could only hope that she could drink herself into oblivion and give him a chance to get her out of the house and, with any luck, drunk enough to make sure that she wouldn’t remember where he was.
He played blindly. Panic - pure, undisguised panic - drove him to pour as much emotion as possible into his playing and hope that it had the desired effect. It must have been having some impact, because the two of them were still there and not in a car, driving back to Delaware. Still, Jarod had no doubts that he wouldn’t have been able to talk his way out of the situation and what he was now doing was the only thing he could do – play for his life.
A movement caught his eye and he watched her subtly as she reached forward and picked up the gun, playing with it in hands that trembled slightly from the alcohol but were still firm enough to get a good shot in. Suddenly he could tell that she was also watching him. Her eyelids lifted marginally and Jarod looked away before she could meet his gaze. A moment passed, Jarod's frantic playing filling what would otherwise have been a deathly silence, before he once more glanced at her.
She sat with her eyes closed and her head resting against the back of the couch, her lips slightly parted. Jarod changed the music slightly so that it was quiet enough for him to hear her regular breathing. As sweat began to drip onto the keyboard, Jarod lifted his shaking hands from the white and black ivory and dropped them into his lap, sinking forward until his head rested on the music stand and perspiration ran down the dark wood and into the instrument. He let out a shaky breath and was about to look at her again when he felt the small ring of steel pressed into the middle of his back.
“I didn’t say you could stop.”
Jarod shook his head helplessly. “No.” The word was a tortured whisper and he could feel every nerve in his body shaking. “I can’t play anymore.”
Miss Parker moved around to the side of him so that she could see his face, but he turned away and refused to look at her.
“Take me back to the Centre, Miss Parker. I won’t play another note for you.”
He stared out of the window with eyes that saw nothing, waiting for her to yank him to his feet and drag him out of the room. Instead he heard her inhale sharply and could hear the footsteps as she ran down the stairs to his front door, opened it and ran out into the night.
Jarod dragged himself off the stool and lay on the floor, his face resting in his hands and staring down at the gun he found at his feet. Gradually his body began to react to lying so still and he progressively pulled himself up into a sitting position, picking up the revolver and cradling it in his hands. She would come back for it – he knew that much. It was all a matter of when. He painstakingly dragged himself forward on hands and knees, pushing the weapon in front of him. His limbs trembled with the exhaustion and tension that had filled the room, and not even the fact that he was still not safe was enough to make him move from his seat on the cool white tiles. Slowly, he pulled himself to the edge of the glass floor that ran the length, although not the breadth, of the room.
Stretching a weary arm and feeling his muscles cramping slightly at the movement, he opened the cover and sat for a few moments, tiredly and briefly enjoying the muted sound of the waves breaking on the sand below. Holding the gun in his hands, he prepared to toss it into the rolling sea.
“I’m sorry.”
He jumped and a bullet discharged from the barrel, startling several fish on its way to the ocean floor. Only instinct made Jarod clutch the gun more tightly as he turned to see her standing in the doorway. She held her jacket in one hand and the sleeves trailed on the floor. Her tailor-made trousers were wet and dripped on the tiles and her top was splashed with water. Jarod turned his head away, anger rising in him at the situation she had placed him in, and once more refused to meet her gaze.
“What do you want from me, Parker? What else? Go ahead and call the sweeper team. Drag me back to the Centre. Get back into Daddy’s good books.”
“Jarod, please…”
She took several hesitant steps into the room; her usually firm tread marred by uncertainly rather than the effects of the alcohol. He still gazed firmly at the floor, his emotions blocked by the exhaustion that he still felt and the determination that he wouldn’t yield to her pleas as he had done in the past.
The minutes slowly ticked by. Jarod refused to raise his head and he wondered what her reaction to his words would be. Would she run away, like she had before? Would she drag him to his feet and cuff him before leading him to the car for the drive back to Blue Cove? Would she knock him unconscious and leave his body for sweepers to find in the morning? In the end, she did none of those things…
Her first step startled him, but, at the end of six footfalls, he was waiting for her to pull him to his feet. Instead she lowered herself to the floor and tentatively stretched out a hand towards him. He drew away slightly but raised his head and, finally, looked at her. Her face was white except for red marks on her lips where she had obviously bitten them until they bled. Her cheeks were also tear-stained and he could feel himself beginning to falter in his determination to show no sympathy for her actions. As he pulled himself away, she drew back also as though fearful of some violent reaction. He could see that she was trembling slightly and he unconsciously turned towards her. Reaching out, he could feel that her skin was cold to the touch and he felt sympathy begin to take the edge off his anger as he realized that her damp clothing was adding to her coldness.
Jarod turned slowly towards her, pulling himself closer until they were only separated by a few inches. This time, as he reached towards her again, she remained still, only her eyes showing her emotion. He could see fear in them – fear of him. In an effort to remove it, he cupped her chin in the palm of one hand and, with the other, gently brushed the last remnants of the tears away.
“I’m sorry.” The words came out as a sob. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why, Parker?” His own were tender. “Why did you come?”
“I…I don’t know.”
He forced her face up to meet his own and raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
She tried to smile but he could see the tears still welling up inside her and, reaching out his other arm, gathered her to him. “Let it out, Parker. Let it out and then tell me what it is.”
He could feel the tears as they began to pour from her eyes and down his front and he knew, with a sudden feeling of relief, that he was now safe. Whatever the reason had been for her to seek him out, it wouldn’t result in what he had feared and so he was willing to be generous to her in whatever unspoken pain she was suffering under. His anger ebbed away and, finally, he could feel the tears begin to slow. Making no sound, he rocked her gently, as he would a small child, until they stopped completely.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“It’s… There was an accident today.”
Jarod froze and his heart seemed to stop at the same moment. “Sydney?”
“No, not Sydney.” Miss Parker shook her head and tried to control her voice and her tears. “Broots… and Debbie… Their car was rammed. It slammed into a tree and exploded. “
“How do you know, Parker?” The whisper was full of compassion.
“I was in another car, some distance behind them. I watched it… happen.” She began to shake violently in his arms as the memory came sweeping back in on her again.
“And…did they…?”
“I ran to the car. I couldn’t get too close – the flames were so hot. But I could see them. They were both in the front – either unconscious or dead. It took half an hour for them to put out the fire before they could retrieve the bodies.”
Jarod sat silently, his mind trying to absorb the fact that the man whose life he had once saved and the girl for whom he had saved it were now both dead. It was no wonder that she had come to him wanting help. He gently released the grip that her arms had on his and stood up, helping her likewise to her feet.
“What are we going to do, Jarod?”
The whisper was hardly audible but he heard it and swung her up in his arms in response. “We’re going to get you into some dry clothes first. If you stay like that, you’ll catch…” He had been about to say that she would catch her death of cold, but stopped himself in time. “Pneumonia,” he finished carefully. “A hot shower will help a lot.”
He carried her into the bedroom and put her down on the bed. He pulled open the cupboard door, pulling out a white bathrobe and tossing it onto the bed beside where she sat. Then he helped her into the bathroom.
“Take as long as you like,” he said gently. “The hot water won’t run out. Call me if you want anything.”
Leaving the room, he pulled the door shut behind him. He made his way slowly down the stairs, his mind struggling to deal with what she had told him. He mentally replayed the moments when he had been in the house of the man who was now dead and the things he had done to make both he and his daughter happy. An idea began to work its way into his mind and, reaching the bottom of the stairs, he sat down on the sofa in the music room and allowed himself to contemplate it. As he was about to definitely decide that the Centre was involved, the phone on the table in the other room rang.
“Jarod?” The voice on the other end was so muted that, for a few seconds, Jarod thought he had imagined it.
“Sydney? Are you okay?”
There was a pause.
“No.” The voice was decisive. “I’m not.”
“Where are you?” Jarod's voice held a note of command.
“Nowhere near Blue Cove, if that’s what you were wondering.”
“Sydney…” Jarod paused. “Did the Centre have anything to do with it?”
There was a sigh at the other end of the line. “I don’t know. I didn’t see it, only heard about it when Parker called me. Did she find you?”
“Yes,” Jarod affirmed. “She found me.”
“And is she okay?”
“As well as can be expected.”
For several seconds there was another long pause, then, as if he had run out of things to say, Sydney terminated the call, leaving Jarod staring at the floor.
*~*
“Parker?” Jarod tapped gently at the bathroom door but pushed it open when he heard no response. For a moment he stared at her unconscious body on the floor, wrapped in the gown that he had provided, before dropping to his knees beside and feeling immediately for a pulse. It was the work of only a few seconds for him to realize that a combination of alcohol and emotion had finally taken their toll. He grabbed a cloth off the sink and, dampening it, gently wiped the cool material across her face and hands before reaching up for the box of bath salts that sat on the sink and holding them under her nose. Old-fashioned treatment, he thought to himself, and reminiscent of some films he had seen but remarkably effective. Her eyelids flickered for a moment and then lifted, focusing immediately on his face. Memory was almost immediate as she looked at him and, for a short moment, she clung to him as the tears threatened to fall again.
“Parker, come on. This room isn’t the most comfortable for you to be lying in, so let’s get out of here, okay?”
He helped her to her feet and she swayed until he put an arm around her shoulder and led her back into the bedroom. He sat her back down on the bed and pulled out one of the long shirts that the home’s owner also possessed, putting it into her hands. She stared at it blankly for several moments before looking back helplessly up at him. He came over, knelt in front of her and read the expression in her eyes as she held the shirt out to him. With gentle hands, he untied the bathrobe and slipped it off.
His movements were quick as he slipped the shirt around her shoulders and put her arms, once free of the gown, into the sleeves in the way he might have done for a child. Doing up the buttons of the shirt so that it covered her to just above her knees, he helped her to stand and pulled the robe away from her, letting it slip to the floor. In that short half-second she let herself fall against him and he had to grab her to prevent her from falling through his arms to the floor. The force sent him onto the bed, with her held tightly in his grip.
Jarod gently pulled himself upright and released the firm grasp that he now felt himself holding her in. Looking down at her face, he saw that the emotion she was feeling was muted, and that she was blocking much of it with force of will. He, of all people, knew how dangerous that could be, but, for the moment, he thought that he preferred it that way. Standing, he picked up her unresisting figure and placed it on the bed, drawing a blanket over her.
“Try to sleep, Parker.” His voice was soft and gentle.
He placed a hand lightly on her shoulder and then brushed the hair out of her face, allowing it to spread out over the pillow on which he had placed her head. Bending down, he allowed his lips to touch her forehead before drawing back and leaving the room.
Pulling the door shut behind him, Jarod leaned against the wall and exhaled deeply, his hands trembling once again. He hadn’t been able to take in before what he had been told but now the information was beginning to slowly work around the defenses he had built up against it. Despite having spent almost no time together, Jarod felt that he knew the technician well. They had, after all, been matching wits for more than four years. Jarod walked along the hallway and opened the door at the end, stepping out onto the balcony. He could feel the cool breezes gently sweep over and around him and he looked out into the darkness ahead of him. He could feel his own pain beginning to rise to the surface and he struggled against it in vain. He could also feel the exhaustion once more making itself felt, and this, too, he fought against. The struggle was only temporary as he opened the door of the balcony and re-entered the house. Walking into the other bedroom that the house boasted and stretching himself out on the mattress, he wrapped a blanket around his body and closed his eyes.
