Last Requests by KB
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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Part 3
Nobody tried to stop Miss Parker as she left the Centre and got into her car, although several sweepers seemed about ready to do so when they appeared to reconsider. It was only when she was out of the door that she realized the gun was still held firmly in her hand, and thought that that probably had something to do with it as she got into the car and dumped the pistol on the passenger seat.
Deactivating the tracking system, she left her Centre ID card on the ground in her usual parking place and drove out of the parking lot, heading for the state-line and the airport at which she would catch the first of several connections.
It was only when she had left her car in the airport lot and was taking her seat on the flight that emotion began to trickle back and her hands started to tremble. The gun that had killed Raines was now lying under the car seat and she didn’t care whether it was the police or the Centre that found it. If it was the police, several files that she had left in the back seat would ensure that they investigated the organization, and particularly Mr. Lyle, thoroughly.
A feeling of nausea swelled up in her throat, and she barely made it to the small toilet, once the seatbelt sign was switched off, before she retched violently. Kneeling beside the toilet bowl, she pressed the button to flush it with the feeling that she was symbolically purging herself of her past. Getting somewhat unsteadily to her feet, she splashed water on her face and scrubbed it clean of the make-up she had worn to the Centre, drying it on one of the paper towels.
Opening the door, she felt a gentle hand on her arm and looked up into the warm, brown eyes of a flight attendant, who was eyeing her in concern.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
She nodded wordlessly and the woman’s eyes traveled over her face.
“Come back to your seat and I’ll get you something to drink,” the airhostess offered, slipping an arm around hers and guiding her back to the large, first-class seat.
Settling against the cushioned chair with a sigh and reclining it slightly, Miss Parker found it easy to give the woman a grateful smile as she returned with several dry crackers and a small cup of iced water. It was strange, she thought, how quickly people around her changed when she dropped the façade she had used at the Centre.
“Let me know if you want anything else,” the woman, whose tag bore the name ‘Ann-Marie’, said quietly, before retreating to the back of the first-class compartment.
The flight only lasted two hours, and she had several connections to make before finally arriving at her destination: a small town nestled in the Canadian Rocky Mountains, which she had failed to find on any other map than the one included in the envelope with the details of her new identity. From there, she had been assured in a note containing the details, she would be picked up and driven to her new home by someone who would never tell the Centre her new address. Although the note was written in a strange hand, it bore Jarod's signature, and that was enough to convince her of its authenticity.
Ann-Marie checked on her several times, offering light food or drinks, before handing her over to another airhostess for the next part of her journey, after Miss Parker politely but firmly refused to be checked over by the airport’s medical staff.
Exhausted, she slept for most of the second flight and more than half of the third, waking not long before landing to be entertained by the antics of two small children in the seat in front of her. She was beginning to understand Jarod's fascination for the world outside the Centre, and particularly for the people within it. A game of peek-a-boo with a baby on the lap of the woman in the next seat cheered her even further and she waited with eager anticipation for the plane to land and for her chauffer to take her to her new home.
Having reduced the essential parts of her new life to a small bag, containing photos of her mother and Thomas, as well as a few pieces of jewellery with sentimental value, some underwear and a change of clothes, all of which had been carry-on baggage on the flight, she was one of the first people through customs and out into the arrivals hall.
At first glance, she saw no one who appeared to be there to collect her, but then her eyes met a pair of familiar blue ones on the far side of the massive space, hurrying over to where her half-brother waited and seeing, with a small pang, how similar he and Jarod were.
“Ethan!” she sighed in relief, as she returned the hug he gave her, before drawing back to look at him closely, this being their first meeting since he had disappeared from her house. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he assured her with a smile that brought faint dimples to his cheeks. Slipping his hand through her arm, he guided her out of the airport. “We’ve got a bit of a drive from here to get back home.”
“Who else is there?” she asked curiously as they headed into the parking lot.
“My dad,” he responded, smiling slightly, “and his wife and their daughter and,” his voice trembled a little, “Jarod's clone.” After getting into the car, Ethan paused for a moment before continuing. “And Sydney and Angelo are in a house next door, where you can live, too, if you want.”
She looked around as they left the small airport, seeing as the landscape became more hilly and rugged. Opening the window slightly, she inhaled the crisp, fresh air, seeing the snow covering the slopes as she tightened her jacket around her, snuggling her chin into the warm scarf that the coldness of the season made necessary, even as Ethan turned on the car’s heating.
“What a wonderful place,” she murmured, and saw her brother smile.
“He thought you’d like it,” Ethan responded softly. “He described it to us during the last few hours, and hoped we’d be happy and safe here.”
Andrea Stevens, as she had become since crossing the Canadian border with the new papers and passport that had been sent to her, gazed out of the window so that her brother wouldn’t see her lips trembling. As if he understood her feelings, he put his hand on hers.
“I know what it’s like,” he murmured, his voice only just audible over the car motor, pain audible in it. “We all miss him, probably Ryan most of all.”
“Ryan?”
“Jarod's clone,” Ethan told her. “That was the name he chose when Jarod was preparing all this and treating the virus in us.”
“So you had it, too?” She turned to look at him. “How far did it progress?”
“Not far,” he assured his sister. “Jarod managed to treat it, and the last tests showed no signs of it in either Ryan or me.”
She nodded, wishing still more fervently that Jarod had managed to treat himself as successfully, before the car steered onto a large freeway and Ethan increased the speed to equal that of other cars around them. Conversation languished for a moment, before the woman suddenly spoke.
“What’s your name now?”
He smiled. “Tyler Anderson.”
She studied him for a moment before nodding. “It suits you.” Reaching into her jacket pocket, she withdrew the slim booklet that was her new passport and opened it, eyeing the new birth date and other details. “I’ll never remember all this.”
“You will.” He cast her a confident glance. “They’ll school you in it until its second nature.”
“Who?” she demanded. “Who’s ‘they’?”
Her half-brother shot her a sideways glance. “You don’t think we started up a whole town on our own, do you?” He grinned. “It’s a great set-up there, but you don’t have to stay unless you want to. They gradually organized a whole town over the past forty years. When you get there, they give you a new identity and treat you if you’re infected with the virus. They’ve got churches for the different religions, libraries, schools – it’s a whole society.”
The woman turned in her seat to glare at him. “What are you talking about, Ethan?”
“Tyler,” he reminded her with a smile. “I can’t afford to reply to the old name now. Neither can you still think of yourself as Margaret Parker. You’re – who are you, anyhow?”
She looked down at the passport again. “Andrea Catherine Stevens, apparently.”
The man shot her a startled looked. “That’s Sydney – er, I mean Patrick's surname, and Angelo’s – Paul’s – too,” he corrected instantly.
Her eyes widened as she realized what Jarod had done, perhaps aware of what she would do and believing that she would survive her murder of Raines to join her newly created family. She wondered what Sydney's reaction to the situation would be and whether he would be willing to go along with the fantasy.
She was still dwelling on this fact, despite the light conversation she and her half-brother had had during the drive, when the car turned up a steep road. The road veered sharply away to the right, and then, as they turned another corner to the left, she saw a checkpoint a short distance ahead.
“Do you have your letter from Jarod?” Tyler asked, and she nodded, getting it out of her bag.
When they pulled up at the small building, the driver extracted a thin card from his shirt pocket and offered it and her letter to the man sitting in the small white booth. The guard slid the card through a small white machine, which beeped and a light on top of it flashed green. Giving back Tyler’s pass, he scanned the letter under another device. Obviously satisfied, he produced another pass and handed it to the man in the car, before opening the boom gate.
Handing the card to his passenger, Tyler drove along a broad, tree-lined avenue, while his sister looked around at the houses tucked into a fold of the Rocky Mountains, craggy peaks towering, white and glistening, above the rooves.
“What is this place?” she breathed, awed by the stunning scenery.
“You’ll find out,” the man smiled. “Marcus or someone will explain it to you.”
“Marcus?” She stared at him, wide-eyed. “He’s here?”
Tyler laughed as he turned onto a small street. “He’s one of the people who run this place. Kind of like the Mayor, although there’s more than one person in charge.”
“You still haven’t told me where ‘this place’ is,” she retorted sharply.
“Give it time; you’ll find out,” the driver assured her somewhat mysteriously. “For now, I know that Sydney's been anxious about you, so let’s allay his fears first.”
Without giving her time to answer, he turned into a small, dead-end street and stopped outside a house, lightly honking the horn. Within a few seconds, the door opened and Sydney, or Patrick, as he was known here, hurried down the few steps to the snow-covered path, wrapping a scarf around his neck.
“Parker,” he sighed in obvious relief as she got out of the car. “Thank goodness you’re okay.”
For some reason, the sight of him caused a sob to rise in her throat, which escaped before she could stop it, and he slid an arm around her shoulders in a gentle squeeze. The tears kept coming and she turner her face to his chest, feeling his other arm around pass around her back as he held her tightly and she silently sobbed.
One hand released its gentle hold and then she heard the car beside them start up and drive off a short distance. When she looked up, she could see, through blurred vision, as Tyler drove the car up a driveway cleared of snow that belonged to the neighboring house and into the garage and as she looked down, she saw that her former colleague held her bag in his free hand.
“Come on, Parker,” Patrick urged gently. “Come inside out of the cold and we can get you settled in.”
She followed him blindly into the small house, feeling the warmth of the open fire that she could see through the door to the living room as soon as she entered. Wiping her eyes, she removed her jacket and scarf before following him into the spacious area, seeing that it contained a sofa and two armchairs, as well as a coffee table and bookcase. Photos of Nicholas and Michelle sat on the mantel, as well as a framed image of Jarod. Her eyes were fixed on it for several seconds, before Patrick lightly touched her arm, getting her attention.
“Sit down, and I’ll get you something to drink. Tea or coffee?”
“Tea, please,” she requested, after clearing her throat.
He nodded and disappeared into a room that she could see was a small kitchen as she sat on the sofa. Then she felt a hand lightly touch her arm and looked down to find Angelo on the floor at her feet.
“Margaret,” he murmured, and she started in surprise, realizing that he must have felt a shift in her emotions and was showing her that by using her first name instead of the surname with which he generally addressed her.
She looked up as Patrick returned, carrying a small tray on which stood two steaming mugs, a sugar bowl and a jug of milk. After he had poured the drinks and she had wrapped her cold hands around the warm ceramic surface, she turned to him.
“What is this place? Where are we? And why isn’t it on any other maps apart from the one I got with the address and new passport and everything?”
The man smiled, sipping the hot drink. “Tyler didn’t tell you?”
“He said I’d get told.”
“So you will, but I can tell you a little – the history, anyway,” Patrick responded. “I’ll leave the rest for Marcus or one of the other organizers. They know the best way to introduce people to this environment.” He sipped the tea again before putting the cup onto the table, and when he looked up, Andrea could see that his eyes were tender. “Your mother was responsible for the founding of this town and its establishment as a sanctuary for ex-Centre projects and staff. She took the first steps to it being what it is today.”
“Momma?” Andrea whispered. “She started this?”
Patrick reached out to cover her free hand with one of his. “She wanted somewhere safe for you and the other children she planned to rescue from the Centre, a place where you would be looked after, even if she didn’t survive to see you grow. Using her experience of the Centre, particularly as Head of SIS, she went about setting up a new town here in the Rocky Mountains and ensuring that it wouldn’t appear on any maps by paying off as many people as necessary, as the Centre has done to keep Blue Cove a secret for so many years. Nowadays, because nobody flies over here unless by accident, and because intruders are stopped at the gates, really only the people who live here know it exists. If anyone thinks about it, they probably believe it’s a government facility or something. Various escapees and ex-staff have built it up into this township. You’re likely to meet some old acquaintances here.”
“Broots? And Debbie?”
“They live about two streets away,” the man responded with a smile. “Jon works in the security sector and Kelsey attends the school nearby.”
“And you?”
“Nominally, I’m retired, but I do the occasional psychiatry session.” He picked up his mug and sipped at the tea again. “They’ve already got some possibilities in mind for you, if you stay.”
“Do I have to?”
“Of course not.” He smiled. “This place might be made up of ex-Centre staff, but it doesn’t mean it’s the Centre reincarnated. The Board is too careful for that. People are screened before they come here, and all residents have a choice about whether newcomers should be accepted or not. Arguments are put to a meeting and if the reasons are considered important enough, no invitation is extended.”
“Some invitation,” she murmured, thinking of the night when she had been confronted by the men outside her home.
“They have to be careful,” he told her. “They would jeopardize everyone in this entire place if they were rash in making their decisions, and there’s more than two thousand people here that the Centre would love to get their hands on, including us.”
She accepted this in silence, thinking how ironic it was that Jarod's death had resulted in her being as hunted as he had once been.
“Let’s get you settled in,” Patrick said suddenly, standing up, and she did likewise. “Marcus will be here in a few hours to show you around, and you’ll need to have come to some sort of decision about your future here by then.”
Following him down a short hallway, she found herself in a basic but attractive room, with a large bed tucked away in one corner and shelves lining half of the opposite wall. From the bed, she could see out of a massive window that looked out onto a mountain range that was now turning pink as the sun began to descend to the horizon. A small sofa stood facing the view in the middle of the room, piled high with cushions and just waiting to be reclined on. A large wardrobe filled the remainder of the wall next the bookcase, and Patrick smiled at her.
“You’ll find,” he began in a teasing tone, “that although there isn’t quite the same range of clothing stores here as there was in Delaware, you can still get a wide variety…”
Andrea turned and tapped him lightly on the arm. “Stop it,” she ordered. “That was there; this is a whole new life.”
“I’m glad you can see that,” he responded, suddenly serious. “I’ll confess that I was anxious you would try to bring all of that emotional baggage and tension here, and you’d find it frustrating if you were unable to let it out as you did at the Centre.” A small pucker appeared in his forehead. “When Jarod was telling us about how he pictured the future, during that last night, I wondered if you’d be willing to play along with the role he assigned you.”
She looked up into his concerned brown eyes for a moment, before reaching up to lightly kiss his cheek. When she pulled away, she could see the relief in his eyes and smiled.
“I wondered the same thing about you,” she told him softly. “But I’ll play along if you will.”
Still smiling, he guided her gently out of the room and showed her the other rooms that made up her part of the house: a large bathroom with a massive spa bath and a room set up with a desk and other typically office equipment. After she had seen all this, he led her through the rest of the house, including his rooms, and finally the kitchen, where she helped him prepare dinner while the sun sank below the mountains and lights were switched on around the town that was spread out below them.
