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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
The Winds of Change
Chapter 5 (rating PG-13 Adult Situation, mild language)
Springdale, Arkansas
August 15, 1997 1530 CST
The last week had flown past in a blur of long walks and longer evenings. Even Dorothy had begun to
worry that Bridgett and Jarod would need to sleep much more than they were. The two of them were
up talking long hours after the others had gone to bed and rarely had they been asleep when Kevin
came down in the morning. Once, Kevin went down at four, just to check if they ever slept. Jarod was
just lying down after having walked Bridgett to the basement stairs. Returning to sleep, Kevin found
Jarod up at six looking rested as always. Love can work strange miracles.
Jeff and Marty had long since given up their bet on how long Jarod and Bridgett could abstain. They
convinced each other that this event had come and passed but Jarod was strangely tightlipped about his
nightly activities. Unable to pinpoint the date, they called the bet a draw. Dorothy was thankfully sure
that Jarod and Bridgett were still sleeping in separate places. She could never bring herself to accept
this modern lifestyle that so many young people seemed to enjoy. She had never been with another man
and she knew it made her relationship with Kevin special. She didn’t think Bridgett was a virgin, but
was glad they didn’t rush into anything: Jarod just might be.
Throughout the week, Bridgett and Dorothy had baked a new dessert for Jarod each night. The two of
them had become inseparable and Dorothy had completely forgotten the nights she sat up wondering
why Bridgett never took to her. She had begun to teach Bridgett needle-point and crocheting, too.
Bridgett had too much boy in her for her own good, Dorothy thought. Maybe tomorrow she could get
Bridgett to wear a skirt or a dress for God’s sake. Nothing got a man’s mind moving like a good fitting
dress. Shorts and pants always blocked the mind's path towards the promised land, her mother had
told her. Keep a path open and the road ahead would be smooth. Her mother had been drinking
Scotch that night and the comment shocked Dorothy. She did remember the lesson, though.
Dorothy had begun to wonder about Bridgett’s deliberate use of baggy clothing. Although she wasn’t
emaciated like most young women wanted to be these days (didn’t they call it the wafer look or
something like that?), she had a truly beautiful figure. Dorothy couldn’t help notice as she moved
around the kitchen and they sat and drank their afternoon tea how loose the clothes really were.
Dorothy had once accidentally walked in on Bridgett removing her shirt and shorts in the laundry room
for washing. Bridgett had her robe nearby, but hadn’t had a chance to put it on yet. She was truly an
exquisite woman. Her figure seemed carved from pure marble and sculpted by the hands of a true
master. Except for the strange looking tattoo on her left shoulder blade, partially covered by the tan,
tight-fitting sports bra she was wearing, her skin was perfect. Why did such a pretty girl want to ruin
her skin by getting a tattoo on it? Bridgett had whirled around in surprise and quickly slid on her robe.
Dorothy still cringed at the thought of how tightly the sports bra contained her surprisingly large breasts.
Dorothy had always assumed Bridgett was small chested. How did she handle the pain? Why would
anyone want to intentionally hide breasts that a lot of women paid money to imitate? Maybe Bridgett
was just shy. Of course she was, Dorothy scolded herself. When men saw breasts like that, they rarely
saw anything else. She was probably just embarrassed by them. Dorothy started to tell Bridgett that
she didn’t need to worry about how she looked, but when Bridgett started to cry, relating the story of a
particularly rough ex-boyfriend, Dorothy was shocked and very sorry to have brought up the topic.
Obviously Bridgett had some very traumatic experiences relating to her beauty. Jarod would just have
to wait to find out what a lucky man he was.
Jarod seemed content to wait. He began to explore every avenue of this new sensation of Romance.
Regularly he would spend hours combing the neighborhood looking for wildflowers to bring to Bridgett.
The two of them took long walks in the afternoon and sat on the porch nearly every night to watch the
sunset. At first the mosquitoes had been bad, but Jarod had again amazed them all by whipping up
three of the most effective mosquito candles Dorothy had ever seen. He was truly an amazing man.
Each day brought new surprises in him.
He had finished the two Sherlock Holmes books and even Dorothy, who had grown quite accustomed
her husband’s recital of Holmes, had become quite fed up with Jarod. He had taken to smoking this
infernal pipe and carried a large magnifying glass around with him everywhere. He would often spend
hours studying a trail of footprints through the grass or go through a spell of tipping over flower pots just
to see how they broke when they landed. He even went out and bought seventy different perfumes for
Bridgett and then told her to wear a different one each time he saw her. He was very good at guessing
first the specific fragrance and then the multiple fragrances Bridgett used to try and trick him.
Throughout it all, bless her heart, Bridgett remained utterly fascinated with Jarod. He was like a ten-
year-old boy with an overactive imagination. Dorothy had found herself a son.
*****
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
August 15, 1997 1830 EST
“So, Broots, is this the big weekend?” Miss Parker’s abrupt entrance violated the sanctity of the
elaborate fantasy Broots had been working on for the last fifteen minutes. The start she gave him
caused him to topple over his chair.
“Uh, Miss Parker,” Broots stammered as he fought to regain his feet. “I, ah, didn’t hear you come in.”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Her mocking tone belied her wish that this was true. “You haven’t
been downloading your pictures again, have you?” The one time she had caught him showing Sam
some Jenny McCarthy pictures on the Internet would live forever in her memory. That’s okay, he
thought to himself, I have a pretty good memory, too.
“Ah, well, no. Actually I was, um, just about to leave.”
“Meeting Delilah for the first time? Did you bring your rain gear, Broots, or does mommy have to have
that little talk with you?” The mocking contempt in her voice made him feel like a ten-year-old again.
Damn her, who the hell did she think she was?
Broots shook his head in disbelief, wishing she would get to the real subject of this intrusion. Miss
Parker never paid a social visit, as much as he may have wished she would. Truthfully, he was glad she
wasn’t a Pretender and didn’t know what he thought around her. Too often, she startled him not
because of her intimidation, but due to his complete lack of ability to concentrate while around her.
Something primal in her awakened that part of him beaten and bruised by years as a punching bag. The
Sam’s of the world had long since stopped beating him up for being small, but Miss Parker never did.
As a child, physical abuse from peers was a kind of acceptance for him. If they beat him up, at least
they noticed him. On some level he still felt this way about Miss Parker. She cared enough to think up
ways to pound on him. She cared enough to remember Delilah’s name, his daughter’s name and the
important dates in his life. He doubted Sydney did. She had even given him his daughter’s birthday off,
though she claimed it was because he needed a shower and she was sick of seeing him at the Centre.
Broots knew it was no coincidence. She cared enough to show she cared, in the only way she knew
how. Broots was just sick enough to recognize it.
Miss Parker moved in close to him. The fragrance she wore, he thought it was Obsession, began to
wash over him and he could feel the bitter surrender of arousal sweeping over him like a tide. She had
to know what this did to him. “Brootsie,” her breath blew hot in his face, her finger found a home
poised on his chest. Damn her, who did she think she was? “I need you to check on something before
you leave for the weekend. It should only take a minute, and then you can go. In fact, take Monday
off, too.” Broots had submitted the leave chit for Monday a month ago and it was still unsigned. He
didn’t hold the illusion that she meant for him to take off Monday. She just meant she wouldn’t call him
in until Monday.
“I, ah, really have to go. I’ve got to ride back home, finish packing and then take a cab to the airport. I
don’t know….” Time to up the stakes a little.
“Broots, I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.” Her heels put her a good two inches taller than
him, a fact of which he was increasingly aware. The threat of physical and mental violence was plain in
her voice. The game was progressing right on schedule.
Broots looked at her and then sheepishly looked at his watch.
“All right, I’ll swing you by home and then take you to the airport. Now will you help me?” Broots
knew she spent weekends at the Parker’s summer house in Jersey and the airport was on her way. He
just liked to hear how much of an inconvenience it would be for her. He had subconsciously stayed late
to see if something like this didn’t develop.
With an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders, Broots slumped down at his terminal. “Okay, what is it?”
Miss Parker leaned back in deliberately close to him. This was definitely getting interesting. “Jarod
Stewart just popped up on the records of MIT showing a Master’s Degree in Computer Science with
remedial classes to fill the gaps between this degree and his undergraduate work at the University of
Illinois in Meteorology.”
Broots whirled to face her. Their faces were two inches apart. She didn’t budge and Broots felt the
incredible tension building. He fought back his intense desire to kiss her. “Y-you don’t think this is our
Jarod?”
“No, you moron, I’m checking up on Martha Stewart’s husband so I can blackmail her into redoing this
dungeon you call an office. Who the hell do you think it is?” Pure hatred, pure emotion, pure violence.
Miss Parker was all woman and she left it all out on the table. Broots was unusually impressed.
“If you know it’s Jarod, what do you want me to do?” Broots was still confused by her motive but
intrigued by her information.
“Jesus Christ! What the hell do you think I want!” Miss Parker’s rages were famous around the
Centre. They were reputed to have three stages: Anger, Full Rage and Dead Calm. Broots knew he
had just passed into Full Rage and was on a collision course with Dead Calm. This was very serious
indeed. “I want you to find where he accessed these records from, how he changed them and where
the hell he is! Is that clear?”
Time to elevate the stakes one more time. “This is going to take hours! I, um, well, what about my
weekend?”
“The jet is fueled and Sam and I picked out your clothes. Have you even entered a store since the early
eighties or do you buy your clothes from the Nerd’s Warehouse?” She paused only long enough for
Broots to register this as an insult. “You can still make your rendezvous, but only if you hurry. Delilah
will be in Charleston in fourteen hours and the jet takes three to get there. That gives you eleven.
Understood?” The cocked eyebrows and sharp stance she had assumed told him he had hit critical
mass. Fortunately he could track the information down in five hours if he had to. As he turned back
towards the computer, she turned to walk out.
“Oh, Broots,” Miss Parker turned for one last jab. “If you don’t find him in time, I can always get Sam
or Willie to go down to Charleston and comfort her in your absence. You will let me know the minute
you find something.”
“Yeah,” Broots mumbled, completely unaware she was still in the room.
*****
Broots settled in behind his terminal and began to use his contacts and Centre access codes to make the
computer dance before him. The information Jarod had left him in Arizona would help him zero in on
Jarod’s new location, but Broots figured he’d try to do it unaided for a few hours. If he could just nail
that guy once without help, then he wouldn’t feel so bad about letting the Centre know. As long as
Jarod helped him look good, though, he would continue to allow Jarod to make him look good and
make Miss Parker look like a heel.
Of course, maybe Jarod was pushing her too hard. That ulcer wasn’t doing any better and she chain
smoked like an English dock worker. Broots couldn’t help laughing about the ulcer medicine Jarod had
left for them in Arizona. It almost made up for what she had done to that guy, Ted, wasn’t it? Oh well,
Broots just figured that was a lesson learned about opposing her. It was one he took to heart.
*****
Springdale, Arkansas
August 16, 1997 0245 CST
Even Jarod was beginning to tire. The incredible pace he and Bridgett had been maintaining for the last
week was actually starting to get to him. He knew it had to be killing her, but she seemed as fresh as a
rose each time he saw her. She did sleep much later than he did, sometimes not rising until seven or
eight o’clock. So he figured she was getting at least a few decent hours of sleep, something he was not.
Most nights he was lucky to get three. Tonight, though, they had said goodnight a little early. He still
had barely enough energy to check the on-line information he needed.
Jarod chuckled as he booted up his laptop. He had never spent this much time away from the Internet.
He actually hadn’t been on-line since that first night a week ago. Tonight, he had barely enough energy
to check the NWS information he needed and then go to bed.
Jarod accessed the NWS server using the Centre access codes he had used for years. He never used
these during times when the Centre could be monitoring due to the possibility of placing a cross-feed
trace on the similar command code structure. Jarod had designed this capability for the computers at
the Centre himself. He regretted it every day since his escape. Any computer using a Centre access
code could be traced by another computer using the same Centre code on the same sight at any given
time. At just after three in the morning on a Saturday, Jarod felt very sure that no one at the Centre was
accessing the NWS sight. The random sweeps of Centre access code use, he knew, were performed
at six minutes past every hour. Jarod knew they would never detect him in the thirty-five seconds it
took him to download the weather and barometric charts for the next day.
Downloading was always the most dangerous time. Any computer he was using opened itself up to the
host computer during a download. Given the talents of some of the people at the Centre, especially
Broots, Jarod was vulnerable for those few precious seconds. The cellular - land - satellite - cellular
modem connection would take at least thirty seconds to cross-feed trace. Broots would have to be
lying in wait for him in order to get a positive trace. Broots had round-trip tickets for Charleston and
would be no where near the Centre this weekend. Jarod felt as safe as he could have.
As the weather service charts slowly filled the small screen of his laptop, Jarod smiled. Good, he
thought, a warm air mass from the Gulf was coming towards them. When that front combined with the
cold air mass speeding towards them from the Dakotas, sparks would fly. Yes, after a week of nothing,
maybe tomorrow they’d get some action.
*****
Parker Summer Residence
Spring Lake, New Jersey 0352 EST
“What.” The sleep-heavy voice of Miss Parker dared the person on the other end of the phone-line to
sign their own death certificate.
“I’ve got him.” Broots was beaming. Even through the phone she could hear it. The little geek finally
nailed him. Damn.
“Broots,” she was instantly awake, “are you just going to breathe heavy or do you want to tell me
what you know.”
Broots was gushing, “Damn! I mean, I can’t believe he actually did it! I had a trace on the NWS sight
for Centre access codes with one terminal locked on the sight to make sure I wouldn’t have any
problems getting in after him. I mean, damn! He just waltzed right in bigger than, damn! Oh yeah, I got
him. DAMN!”
“Broots, do you need a napkin?” The cool violence of her voice sliced through his jubilation like an
early returning parent.
“What? Ah, no, I mean….”
“One word at a time Broots, I want to catch him while I’m still young and you’re still breathing.”
“Okay, okay. Jarod’s in a little town called Springdale, Arkansas. I don’t have a phone number or an
address, but the satellites triangulated the cellular signal to a one square block area and there’s only one
house on the block. The streets are Westwood and Huntsville. I’m sending over the satellite photo of
the house.”
The fax machine on the desk beside her bed fired up to life. How did Broots know that number? The
quaint little shack Jarod was hiding in came out in remarkable detail. What did we ever do before
satellites? The hot flush or excitement began to waif over her body, starting between her legs and
spreading slowly over her body. The chase was on, Jarod. Too long has the fox been allowed to roam
free in the henhouse. I was time to let the dogs out. Oh yes, it was time to end this.
She hung up on Broots without another word, barely managing to push the off button on the handset
before it slipped from her hands to clatter to the floor. She never heard it hit.
She quickly rose and began to select her wardrobe for this momentous day. Although accustomed to
false leads and dead ends she could sense this break was different. Broots had wet himself gushing
over this lead. Jarod never slipped up like this. The smart ones always did do something stupid. Was
is hot in here? She went to open the window, only to find it wide open. She tingled with anticipation.
She had to call Daddy.
*****
Springdale, Arkansas
August 16, 1997 0254 CST
Jarod turned off the laptop and settled down on the couch for another short night's rest. Three hours of
sleep was pretty good, though, recently. Jarod had never been comfortable with other people awake in
a house while he slept. After Nia had found the DSA’s he swore that no one would catch him unaware.
He always woke to Kevin flushing the toilet at six.
As he started to drift off to his normally dreamless sleep, two things began to gnaw at his normally very
precise memory. He knew that there was something he needed to do on-line, but he could not
remember just what it was. It had something to do with the night he and Bridgett had first talked, but he
couldn’t remember what about her had prompted him to want to search the Web. He just wasn’t sure.
He knew that something she said made him want to look up a specific web sight, maybe one she had set
up showing off her photos. No, it was something else. Why couldn’t he remember?
This feeling was so much like his childhood. He could never seem to remember the specifics of his
childhood. In watching the DSA’s he marveled at their scope and depth. He was also more than
slightly disturbed that he featured prominently in them yet he remembered little of actually performing the
sims. He found that the specific skills he had learned from the sims had stuck with him – flying, surgery,
linguistics, chemistry, and many others, yet the specific details of the sims were a mystery to him until he
watched them. Maybe he had just repressed the memories.
Sydney had always thought that the Pretenders shed memories along with psyche, but Jarod now knew
that wasn’t the truth. He no longer had any problems with maintaining memories from one Pretend to
another. Maybe he should discuss this further with Sydney. He made a mental note to do this the next
time they talked.
The other thing that had begun to trouble him was his uncertainty regarding Bridgett. Normally, casual
contact with any other person allowed him to absorb and utilize their abilities, thoughts and memories.
Not quite reading their minds, it was more like just getting strong enough impressions to approximate
their actual thoughts. He had no trouble picking up Kevin and Dorothy’s paternal love for him and
Bridgett. He knew that even now Dorothy’s maternal side was awakening, wishing to bring Bridgett
and Jarod into her fold. It hurt Jarod to think that this Pretend, like all the others, must end. It would be
painful for them. Kevin’s impending financial success and notoriety should ease that, though.
What troubled him was that he got absolutely no reading from Bridgett. He could gain no external
impressions of her and her mind was a blank slate to him. At first, this fascinated him. He relished the
thought of a real relationship without his Pretending ability giving him unfair advantages. Now, he wasn’t
so sure. Some deep part of him kept tugging at the one string of doubt any running man must maintain
to stay alive.
He needed to feel something from her besides the intoxicating, overwhelming joy he felt just sitting near
her. They had taken to sitting on the porch, Bridgett curled up against his chest, until late in the evening.
They would then come in and she would present the daily dessert, which they would devour on the
couch. After the first night, they had slowly crept towards each other and the last two nights, Bridgett
had jumped on the couch next to him and actually laid down against him. The smell of her hair in his
face was overwhelming. He wanted her very badly but strangely he knew the time was not right. He
could feel the moment building but knew it had not reached its crescendo. Maybe tomorrow night.
Tonight, at the top of the basement stairs, they had kissed for the first time. He had gone to open the
basement door for her and she had turned to tell him something at the same time. Their faces ended up
less than two inches apart. Jarod could feel his will stripped from him and an involuntary, irresistible
force drew him forward towards her.
Their lips touched once, softly. He could taste the panting, tentative breath from her lips and as the two
of them parted she slowly backed to the door jam. Jarod reached up with one hand and cupped the
back of her head drawing it back up towards his. Their lips touched again, firmer. Jarod felt her soft
pressure up against him and he moved his second hand to the refrigerator behind her. He leaned closer
pushing still more firmly against her lips.
Jarod felt her back off pressure slightly and as he began to release her lips he was pleasantly surprised
to feel her hand slowly move to his side and then caress its way up towards his shoulder. With a
surprisingly firm grip she drew him back to her, her mouth slightly parted for the impending kiss. Parting
his lips with slight pressure from her tongue, she drew him in closer for a deeper kiss. Jarod felt some
incredibly resistant part of his mind curse the towering height that precluded his chest from exploring
hers.
Unexpectedly, her hand had continued down from his shoulder and ended up in the center of his chest.
She slowly pushed him away with her hand, maintaining contact with his lips much past the natural
breaking point. Finally, unable to hold the kiss any longer, she released him and breathed a long deep
sigh. “Whoa.”
Jarod was having far too much trouble convincing his legs they were strong enough to support him to
respond.
“I’ve gotta go downstairs,” Bridgett sighed. “See you tomorrow?”
“Uh, yeah.” Jarod was still unable to move. His one hand remained on Bridgett’s face as the other
maintained a firm position on the refrigerator which was keeping him upright. As he watched her
movements down the stairs, he was pleasantly surprised to see that she need both hands to negotiate the
stairs.
Now, fifteen minutes later, his lips still tingled and he had far too little blood in the vital areas of his body
to allow for proper thinking. As he began to fade off to sleep, Jarod had already forgotten the things
that nagged him earlier. Remembering the kiss had completely wiped anything bad from his memory.
He fell asleep with a grin normally reserved for skydiving.
*****
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
August 16, 1997 0635 EST
Miss Parker had driven the two hours to the Centre herself. Her driver had been asleep and she
decided the twenty minutes it would take her to get him up and ready to go weren’t worth the trouble.
Besides, she hadn’t taken the new Porsche out for a real test run yet. She had just taken delivery of a
bright red Porsche boxer. Although not as fast as her slant nose 911 Turbo, it was much less common
and it drew the attention she craved. She knew she looked good in the car, hell, she could make a
Yugo look good, she thought, laughing. Not that she would ever test that theory.
Despite not recognizing the car, the gate guards knew who the only one person who would attempt to
clear the six foot gap in the security fence at ninety was. They opened the gate and logged Miss Parker
in at 0630.
She was in her office by 6:45. A discrete call by the front hall security guard woke her two assistants
and sent them scrambling for clothes and mouthwash. She didn’t normally come in on a Saturday unless
it was important. When she did, she was always pissed.
She strode into her office and went immediately to her phone. “Daddy, sorry to wake you. Oh, you’re
already up. I have Jarod. I’m taking the jet down to Arkansas to pick him up. No, I didn’t call
Sydney yet. Sydney works for me, not vice versa.” Temper, temper she began to warn herself. He
may be her father, but he was also the Chairman. What was he hemming and hawing about.
“WHAT! Daddy, no offense, but I thought catching Jarod was more important than some golf game! I
understand he’s the President, but daddy, this is our best chance. Yes, I know that if he doesn’t know
we’re coming then he’ll be there tomorrow. Yes, daddy, I understand. I’ll get Sydney, brief him and
schedule us on the next flight. Excuse me? No daddy. I understand. We will use the jet tomorrow. I
understand, daddy.” The phone never made it back to the receiver. With every ounce of strength in
her five-foot-ten body, she hurled the phone into the wall severing the cord at the outlet. The receiver
and handset fell to the marble floor in far more than two pieces.
“Get Sydney,” she growled to the assistant she knew would be standing behind her.
On impulse, she glanced at her watch. Damn him! She was not going to wait until tomorrow to bring in
Jarod. The Porsche could get her there in twelve hours if she didn’t have to spend too much time
dealing with the local kangaroo cops. Damn him!
Sydney strode into her office, pleased he had planned to spend his Saturday doing research. He loved
being there when she least wanted him. “You wanted to see me?”
Miss Parker wheeled, completely surprised at the entrance. How the hell did he get here so fast?
“Let’s go. Do you drive stick?”
Chapter 5 (rating PG-13 Adult Situation, mild language)
Springdale, Arkansas
August 15, 1997 1530 CST
The last week had flown past in a blur of long walks and longer evenings. Even Dorothy had begun to
worry that Bridgett and Jarod would need to sleep much more than they were. The two of them were
up talking long hours after the others had gone to bed and rarely had they been asleep when Kevin
came down in the morning. Once, Kevin went down at four, just to check if they ever slept. Jarod was
just lying down after having walked Bridgett to the basement stairs. Returning to sleep, Kevin found
Jarod up at six looking rested as always. Love can work strange miracles.
Jeff and Marty had long since given up their bet on how long Jarod and Bridgett could abstain. They
convinced each other that this event had come and passed but Jarod was strangely tightlipped about his
nightly activities. Unable to pinpoint the date, they called the bet a draw. Dorothy was thankfully sure
that Jarod and Bridgett were still sleeping in separate places. She could never bring herself to accept
this modern lifestyle that so many young people seemed to enjoy. She had never been with another man
and she knew it made her relationship with Kevin special. She didn’t think Bridgett was a virgin, but
was glad they didn’t rush into anything: Jarod just might be.
Throughout the week, Bridgett and Dorothy had baked a new dessert for Jarod each night. The two of
them had become inseparable and Dorothy had completely forgotten the nights she sat up wondering
why Bridgett never took to her. She had begun to teach Bridgett needle-point and crocheting, too.
Bridgett had too much boy in her for her own good, Dorothy thought. Maybe tomorrow she could get
Bridgett to wear a skirt or a dress for God’s sake. Nothing got a man’s mind moving like a good fitting
dress. Shorts and pants always blocked the mind's path towards the promised land, her mother had
told her. Keep a path open and the road ahead would be smooth. Her mother had been drinking
Scotch that night and the comment shocked Dorothy. She did remember the lesson, though.
Dorothy had begun to wonder about Bridgett’s deliberate use of baggy clothing. Although she wasn’t
emaciated like most young women wanted to be these days (didn’t they call it the wafer look or
something like that?), she had a truly beautiful figure. Dorothy couldn’t help notice as she moved
around the kitchen and they sat and drank their afternoon tea how loose the clothes really were.
Dorothy had once accidentally walked in on Bridgett removing her shirt and shorts in the laundry room
for washing. Bridgett had her robe nearby, but hadn’t had a chance to put it on yet. She was truly an
exquisite woman. Her figure seemed carved from pure marble and sculpted by the hands of a true
master. Except for the strange looking tattoo on her left shoulder blade, partially covered by the tan,
tight-fitting sports bra she was wearing, her skin was perfect. Why did such a pretty girl want to ruin
her skin by getting a tattoo on it? Bridgett had whirled around in surprise and quickly slid on her robe.
Dorothy still cringed at the thought of how tightly the sports bra contained her surprisingly large breasts.
Dorothy had always assumed Bridgett was small chested. How did she handle the pain? Why would
anyone want to intentionally hide breasts that a lot of women paid money to imitate? Maybe Bridgett
was just shy. Of course she was, Dorothy scolded herself. When men saw breasts like that, they rarely
saw anything else. She was probably just embarrassed by them. Dorothy started to tell Bridgett that
she didn’t need to worry about how she looked, but when Bridgett started to cry, relating the story of a
particularly rough ex-boyfriend, Dorothy was shocked and very sorry to have brought up the topic.
Obviously Bridgett had some very traumatic experiences relating to her beauty. Jarod would just have
to wait to find out what a lucky man he was.
Jarod seemed content to wait. He began to explore every avenue of this new sensation of Romance.
Regularly he would spend hours combing the neighborhood looking for wildflowers to bring to Bridgett.
The two of them took long walks in the afternoon and sat on the porch nearly every night to watch the
sunset. At first the mosquitoes had been bad, but Jarod had again amazed them all by whipping up
three of the most effective mosquito candles Dorothy had ever seen. He was truly an amazing man.
Each day brought new surprises in him.
He had finished the two Sherlock Holmes books and even Dorothy, who had grown quite accustomed
her husband’s recital of Holmes, had become quite fed up with Jarod. He had taken to smoking this
infernal pipe and carried a large magnifying glass around with him everywhere. He would often spend
hours studying a trail of footprints through the grass or go through a spell of tipping over flower pots just
to see how they broke when they landed. He even went out and bought seventy different perfumes for
Bridgett and then told her to wear a different one each time he saw her. He was very good at guessing
first the specific fragrance and then the multiple fragrances Bridgett used to try and trick him.
Throughout it all, bless her heart, Bridgett remained utterly fascinated with Jarod. He was like a ten-
year-old boy with an overactive imagination. Dorothy had found herself a son.
*****
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
August 15, 1997 1830 EST
“So, Broots, is this the big weekend?” Miss Parker’s abrupt entrance violated the sanctity of the
elaborate fantasy Broots had been working on for the last fifteen minutes. The start she gave him
caused him to topple over his chair.
“Uh, Miss Parker,” Broots stammered as he fought to regain his feet. “I, ah, didn’t hear you come in.”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Her mocking tone belied her wish that this was true. “You haven’t
been downloading your pictures again, have you?” The one time she had caught him showing Sam
some Jenny McCarthy pictures on the Internet would live forever in her memory. That’s okay, he
thought to himself, I have a pretty good memory, too.
“Ah, well, no. Actually I was, um, just about to leave.”
“Meeting Delilah for the first time? Did you bring your rain gear, Broots, or does mommy have to have
that little talk with you?” The mocking contempt in her voice made him feel like a ten-year-old again.
Damn her, who the hell did she think she was?
Broots shook his head in disbelief, wishing she would get to the real subject of this intrusion. Miss
Parker never paid a social visit, as much as he may have wished she would. Truthfully, he was glad she
wasn’t a Pretender and didn’t know what he thought around her. Too often, she startled him not
because of her intimidation, but due to his complete lack of ability to concentrate while around her.
Something primal in her awakened that part of him beaten and bruised by years as a punching bag. The
Sam’s of the world had long since stopped beating him up for being small, but Miss Parker never did.
As a child, physical abuse from peers was a kind of acceptance for him. If they beat him up, at least
they noticed him. On some level he still felt this way about Miss Parker. She cared enough to think up
ways to pound on him. She cared enough to remember Delilah’s name, his daughter’s name and the
important dates in his life. He doubted Sydney did. She had even given him his daughter’s birthday off,
though she claimed it was because he needed a shower and she was sick of seeing him at the Centre.
Broots knew it was no coincidence. She cared enough to show she cared, in the only way she knew
how. Broots was just sick enough to recognize it.
Miss Parker moved in close to him. The fragrance she wore, he thought it was Obsession, began to
wash over him and he could feel the bitter surrender of arousal sweeping over him like a tide. She had
to know what this did to him. “Brootsie,” her breath blew hot in his face, her finger found a home
poised on his chest. Damn her, who did she think she was? “I need you to check on something before
you leave for the weekend. It should only take a minute, and then you can go. In fact, take Monday
off, too.” Broots had submitted the leave chit for Monday a month ago and it was still unsigned. He
didn’t hold the illusion that she meant for him to take off Monday. She just meant she wouldn’t call him
in until Monday.
“I, ah, really have to go. I’ve got to ride back home, finish packing and then take a cab to the airport. I
don’t know….” Time to up the stakes a little.
“Broots, I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.” Her heels put her a good two inches taller than
him, a fact of which he was increasingly aware. The threat of physical and mental violence was plain in
her voice. The game was progressing right on schedule.
Broots looked at her and then sheepishly looked at his watch.
“All right, I’ll swing you by home and then take you to the airport. Now will you help me?” Broots
knew she spent weekends at the Parker’s summer house in Jersey and the airport was on her way. He
just liked to hear how much of an inconvenience it would be for her. He had subconsciously stayed late
to see if something like this didn’t develop.
With an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders, Broots slumped down at his terminal. “Okay, what is it?”
Miss Parker leaned back in deliberately close to him. This was definitely getting interesting. “Jarod
Stewart just popped up on the records of MIT showing a Master’s Degree in Computer Science with
remedial classes to fill the gaps between this degree and his undergraduate work at the University of
Illinois in Meteorology.”
Broots whirled to face her. Their faces were two inches apart. She didn’t budge and Broots felt the
incredible tension building. He fought back his intense desire to kiss her. “Y-you don’t think this is our
Jarod?”
“No, you moron, I’m checking up on Martha Stewart’s husband so I can blackmail her into redoing this
dungeon you call an office. Who the hell do you think it is?” Pure hatred, pure emotion, pure violence.
Miss Parker was all woman and she left it all out on the table. Broots was unusually impressed.
“If you know it’s Jarod, what do you want me to do?” Broots was still confused by her motive but
intrigued by her information.
“Jesus Christ! What the hell do you think I want!” Miss Parker’s rages were famous around the
Centre. They were reputed to have three stages: Anger, Full Rage and Dead Calm. Broots knew he
had just passed into Full Rage and was on a collision course with Dead Calm. This was very serious
indeed. “I want you to find where he accessed these records from, how he changed them and where
the hell he is! Is that clear?”
Time to elevate the stakes one more time. “This is going to take hours! I, um, well, what about my
weekend?”
“The jet is fueled and Sam and I picked out your clothes. Have you even entered a store since the early
eighties or do you buy your clothes from the Nerd’s Warehouse?” She paused only long enough for
Broots to register this as an insult. “You can still make your rendezvous, but only if you hurry. Delilah
will be in Charleston in fourteen hours and the jet takes three to get there. That gives you eleven.
Understood?” The cocked eyebrows and sharp stance she had assumed told him he had hit critical
mass. Fortunately he could track the information down in five hours if he had to. As he turned back
towards the computer, she turned to walk out.
“Oh, Broots,” Miss Parker turned for one last jab. “If you don’t find him in time, I can always get Sam
or Willie to go down to Charleston and comfort her in your absence. You will let me know the minute
you find something.”
“Yeah,” Broots mumbled, completely unaware she was still in the room.
*****
Broots settled in behind his terminal and began to use his contacts and Centre access codes to make the
computer dance before him. The information Jarod had left him in Arizona would help him zero in on
Jarod’s new location, but Broots figured he’d try to do it unaided for a few hours. If he could just nail
that guy once without help, then he wouldn’t feel so bad about letting the Centre know. As long as
Jarod helped him look good, though, he would continue to allow Jarod to make him look good and
make Miss Parker look like a heel.
Of course, maybe Jarod was pushing her too hard. That ulcer wasn’t doing any better and she chain
smoked like an English dock worker. Broots couldn’t help laughing about the ulcer medicine Jarod had
left for them in Arizona. It almost made up for what she had done to that guy, Ted, wasn’t it? Oh well,
Broots just figured that was a lesson learned about opposing her. It was one he took to heart.
*****
Springdale, Arkansas
August 16, 1997 0245 CST
Even Jarod was beginning to tire. The incredible pace he and Bridgett had been maintaining for the last
week was actually starting to get to him. He knew it had to be killing her, but she seemed as fresh as a
rose each time he saw her. She did sleep much later than he did, sometimes not rising until seven or
eight o’clock. So he figured she was getting at least a few decent hours of sleep, something he was not.
Most nights he was lucky to get three. Tonight, though, they had said goodnight a little early. He still
had barely enough energy to check the on-line information he needed.
Jarod chuckled as he booted up his laptop. He had never spent this much time away from the Internet.
He actually hadn’t been on-line since that first night a week ago. Tonight, he had barely enough energy
to check the NWS information he needed and then go to bed.
Jarod accessed the NWS server using the Centre access codes he had used for years. He never used
these during times when the Centre could be monitoring due to the possibility of placing a cross-feed
trace on the similar command code structure. Jarod had designed this capability for the computers at
the Centre himself. He regretted it every day since his escape. Any computer using a Centre access
code could be traced by another computer using the same Centre code on the same sight at any given
time. At just after three in the morning on a Saturday, Jarod felt very sure that no one at the Centre was
accessing the NWS sight. The random sweeps of Centre access code use, he knew, were performed
at six minutes past every hour. Jarod knew they would never detect him in the thirty-five seconds it
took him to download the weather and barometric charts for the next day.
Downloading was always the most dangerous time. Any computer he was using opened itself up to the
host computer during a download. Given the talents of some of the people at the Centre, especially
Broots, Jarod was vulnerable for those few precious seconds. The cellular - land - satellite - cellular
modem connection would take at least thirty seconds to cross-feed trace. Broots would have to be
lying in wait for him in order to get a positive trace. Broots had round-trip tickets for Charleston and
would be no where near the Centre this weekend. Jarod felt as safe as he could have.
As the weather service charts slowly filled the small screen of his laptop, Jarod smiled. Good, he
thought, a warm air mass from the Gulf was coming towards them. When that front combined with the
cold air mass speeding towards them from the Dakotas, sparks would fly. Yes, after a week of nothing,
maybe tomorrow they’d get some action.
*****
Parker Summer Residence
Spring Lake, New Jersey 0352 EST
“What.” The sleep-heavy voice of Miss Parker dared the person on the other end of the phone-line to
sign their own death certificate.
“I’ve got him.” Broots was beaming. Even through the phone she could hear it. The little geek finally
nailed him. Damn.
“Broots,” she was instantly awake, “are you just going to breathe heavy or do you want to tell me
what you know.”
Broots was gushing, “Damn! I mean, I can’t believe he actually did it! I had a trace on the NWS sight
for Centre access codes with one terminal locked on the sight to make sure I wouldn’t have any
problems getting in after him. I mean, damn! He just waltzed right in bigger than, damn! Oh yeah, I got
him. DAMN!”
“Broots, do you need a napkin?” The cool violence of her voice sliced through his jubilation like an
early returning parent.
“What? Ah, no, I mean….”
“One word at a time Broots, I want to catch him while I’m still young and you’re still breathing.”
“Okay, okay. Jarod’s in a little town called Springdale, Arkansas. I don’t have a phone number or an
address, but the satellites triangulated the cellular signal to a one square block area and there’s only one
house on the block. The streets are Westwood and Huntsville. I’m sending over the satellite photo of
the house.”
The fax machine on the desk beside her bed fired up to life. How did Broots know that number? The
quaint little shack Jarod was hiding in came out in remarkable detail. What did we ever do before
satellites? The hot flush or excitement began to waif over her body, starting between her legs and
spreading slowly over her body. The chase was on, Jarod. Too long has the fox been allowed to roam
free in the henhouse. I was time to let the dogs out. Oh yes, it was time to end this.
She hung up on Broots without another word, barely managing to push the off button on the handset
before it slipped from her hands to clatter to the floor. She never heard it hit.
She quickly rose and began to select her wardrobe for this momentous day. Although accustomed to
false leads and dead ends she could sense this break was different. Broots had wet himself gushing
over this lead. Jarod never slipped up like this. The smart ones always did do something stupid. Was
is hot in here? She went to open the window, only to find it wide open. She tingled with anticipation.
She had to call Daddy.
*****
Springdale, Arkansas
August 16, 1997 0254 CST
Jarod turned off the laptop and settled down on the couch for another short night's rest. Three hours of
sleep was pretty good, though, recently. Jarod had never been comfortable with other people awake in
a house while he slept. After Nia had found the DSA’s he swore that no one would catch him unaware.
He always woke to Kevin flushing the toilet at six.
As he started to drift off to his normally dreamless sleep, two things began to gnaw at his normally very
precise memory. He knew that there was something he needed to do on-line, but he could not
remember just what it was. It had something to do with the night he and Bridgett had first talked, but he
couldn’t remember what about her had prompted him to want to search the Web. He just wasn’t sure.
He knew that something she said made him want to look up a specific web sight, maybe one she had set
up showing off her photos. No, it was something else. Why couldn’t he remember?
This feeling was so much like his childhood. He could never seem to remember the specifics of his
childhood. In watching the DSA’s he marveled at their scope and depth. He was also more than
slightly disturbed that he featured prominently in them yet he remembered little of actually performing the
sims. He found that the specific skills he had learned from the sims had stuck with him – flying, surgery,
linguistics, chemistry, and many others, yet the specific details of the sims were a mystery to him until he
watched them. Maybe he had just repressed the memories.
Sydney had always thought that the Pretenders shed memories along with psyche, but Jarod now knew
that wasn’t the truth. He no longer had any problems with maintaining memories from one Pretend to
another. Maybe he should discuss this further with Sydney. He made a mental note to do this the next
time they talked.
The other thing that had begun to trouble him was his uncertainty regarding Bridgett. Normally, casual
contact with any other person allowed him to absorb and utilize their abilities, thoughts and memories.
Not quite reading their minds, it was more like just getting strong enough impressions to approximate
their actual thoughts. He had no trouble picking up Kevin and Dorothy’s paternal love for him and
Bridgett. He knew that even now Dorothy’s maternal side was awakening, wishing to bring Bridgett
and Jarod into her fold. It hurt Jarod to think that this Pretend, like all the others, must end. It would be
painful for them. Kevin’s impending financial success and notoriety should ease that, though.
What troubled him was that he got absolutely no reading from Bridgett. He could gain no external
impressions of her and her mind was a blank slate to him. At first, this fascinated him. He relished the
thought of a real relationship without his Pretending ability giving him unfair advantages. Now, he wasn’t
so sure. Some deep part of him kept tugging at the one string of doubt any running man must maintain
to stay alive.
He needed to feel something from her besides the intoxicating, overwhelming joy he felt just sitting near
her. They had taken to sitting on the porch, Bridgett curled up against his chest, until late in the evening.
They would then come in and she would present the daily dessert, which they would devour on the
couch. After the first night, they had slowly crept towards each other and the last two nights, Bridgett
had jumped on the couch next to him and actually laid down against him. The smell of her hair in his
face was overwhelming. He wanted her very badly but strangely he knew the time was not right. He
could feel the moment building but knew it had not reached its crescendo. Maybe tomorrow night.
Tonight, at the top of the basement stairs, they had kissed for the first time. He had gone to open the
basement door for her and she had turned to tell him something at the same time. Their faces ended up
less than two inches apart. Jarod could feel his will stripped from him and an involuntary, irresistible
force drew him forward towards her.
Their lips touched once, softly. He could taste the panting, tentative breath from her lips and as the two
of them parted she slowly backed to the door jam. Jarod reached up with one hand and cupped the
back of her head drawing it back up towards his. Their lips touched again, firmer. Jarod felt her soft
pressure up against him and he moved his second hand to the refrigerator behind her. He leaned closer
pushing still more firmly against her lips.
Jarod felt her back off pressure slightly and as he began to release her lips he was pleasantly surprised
to feel her hand slowly move to his side and then caress its way up towards his shoulder. With a
surprisingly firm grip she drew him back to her, her mouth slightly parted for the impending kiss. Parting
his lips with slight pressure from her tongue, she drew him in closer for a deeper kiss. Jarod felt some
incredibly resistant part of his mind curse the towering height that precluded his chest from exploring
hers.
Unexpectedly, her hand had continued down from his shoulder and ended up in the center of his chest.
She slowly pushed him away with her hand, maintaining contact with his lips much past the natural
breaking point. Finally, unable to hold the kiss any longer, she released him and breathed a long deep
sigh. “Whoa.”
Jarod was having far too much trouble convincing his legs they were strong enough to support him to
respond.
“I’ve gotta go downstairs,” Bridgett sighed. “See you tomorrow?”
“Uh, yeah.” Jarod was still unable to move. His one hand remained on Bridgett’s face as the other
maintained a firm position on the refrigerator which was keeping him upright. As he watched her
movements down the stairs, he was pleasantly surprised to see that she need both hands to negotiate the
stairs.
Now, fifteen minutes later, his lips still tingled and he had far too little blood in the vital areas of his body
to allow for proper thinking. As he began to fade off to sleep, Jarod had already forgotten the things
that nagged him earlier. Remembering the kiss had completely wiped anything bad from his memory.
He fell asleep with a grin normally reserved for skydiving.
*****
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
August 16, 1997 0635 EST
Miss Parker had driven the two hours to the Centre herself. Her driver had been asleep and she
decided the twenty minutes it would take her to get him up and ready to go weren’t worth the trouble.
Besides, she hadn’t taken the new Porsche out for a real test run yet. She had just taken delivery of a
bright red Porsche boxer. Although not as fast as her slant nose 911 Turbo, it was much less common
and it drew the attention she craved. She knew she looked good in the car, hell, she could make a
Yugo look good, she thought, laughing. Not that she would ever test that theory.
Despite not recognizing the car, the gate guards knew who the only one person who would attempt to
clear the six foot gap in the security fence at ninety was. They opened the gate and logged Miss Parker
in at 0630.
She was in her office by 6:45. A discrete call by the front hall security guard woke her two assistants
and sent them scrambling for clothes and mouthwash. She didn’t normally come in on a Saturday unless
it was important. When she did, she was always pissed.
She strode into her office and went immediately to her phone. “Daddy, sorry to wake you. Oh, you’re
already up. I have Jarod. I’m taking the jet down to Arkansas to pick him up. No, I didn’t call
Sydney yet. Sydney works for me, not vice versa.” Temper, temper she began to warn herself. He
may be her father, but he was also the Chairman. What was he hemming and hawing about.
“WHAT! Daddy, no offense, but I thought catching Jarod was more important than some golf game! I
understand he’s the President, but daddy, this is our best chance. Yes, I know that if he doesn’t know
we’re coming then he’ll be there tomorrow. Yes, daddy, I understand. I’ll get Sydney, brief him and
schedule us on the next flight. Excuse me? No daddy. I understand. We will use the jet tomorrow. I
understand, daddy.” The phone never made it back to the receiver. With every ounce of strength in
her five-foot-ten body, she hurled the phone into the wall severing the cord at the outlet. The receiver
and handset fell to the marble floor in far more than two pieces.
“Get Sydney,” she growled to the assistant she knew would be standing behind her.
On impulse, she glanced at her watch. Damn him! She was not going to wait until tomorrow to bring in
Jarod. The Porsche could get her there in twelve hours if she didn’t have to spend too much time
dealing with the local kangaroo cops. Damn him!
Sydney strode into her office, pleased he had planned to spend his Saturday doing research. He loved
being there when she least wanted him. “You wanted to see me?”
Miss Parker wheeled, completely surprised at the entrance. How the hell did he get here so fast?
“Let’s go. Do you drive stick?”
