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Disclaimer: The characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots etc. and the fictional Centre, are all property of MTM, TNT and NBC Productions and used without permission. I'm not making any money out of this and no infringement is intended.
ARCHIVE: Go right ahead.
Redemption
part 1 - Death and Recreation
by P.Effect
Closed eyes, closed doors, closed shades. This was how he wanted it. How he needed it. Closed off and darkened, tight and locked up. The way it had to be.
So he could SIM the way she had felt.
SIM the way she had died.
The gun casings felt cold and bulky in his palm.
Uncomforting.
The necklace was small and fragile, and it warmed against his throat. Useless.
The air tasted musky, aching for an open window.
Hurtful.
It seemed everything he had felt that way now. Unhelpful and worthless--shooting pain down to his core, forcing needles through his skin.
He welcomed the pain.
It kept him sane--the hurtful belongings and the constricting world. The agony of life kept him alive--there was delicious irony in there somewhere. But he was too weak, too depressed to search for it.
Now he knew how she had felt.
With every teasing phone call, during every chase, tagging along with all of his red notebooks and gifts.
She'd ached.
She'd cried.
She'd prayed for her release.
He'd spent so much time making her life miserable, rubbing his freedom in her face, waving her family's secrets just out of reach...
And she had never truly hated him.
Her threats had been halfhearted, her chases indifferent, her searches filled with apathy. She hadn't wanted to catch him. She had never wanted to catch him. She was free vicariously through him. Miss Parker had wanted to live as free as he did.
She hadn't wanted to die.
She never would've shot herself.
She never would've allowed herself to be killed.
She had wanted to be free. Not dead.
So why was he sitting here SIMing her death?
With a determined sigh, he focused his mind on her.
The way she acted.
The way she looked.
The way she died...
...Nothing...
He was getting nothing. Just darkness and flashes of her face in his head. A brief image came, and he clung to her face and her figure like a Godsend, drinking it in like manna from heaven..
Her eyes staring into his, her long legs propelling her slowly towards him, her face cool and calm, her hair falling perfectly around her face. Bending over him with boneless grace, one slender and delicate hand came up to his face. His eyes closed against his own will as her cool palm brushed his hot cheek. And then she gave his face one last caress, and vanished.
He jumped up, running after her, clawing at the door she had vanished through. Pounding on it, scratching at it, begging for her return. He screamed until his voice was hoarse, beat at the wood until his knuckles bled, pleading until the hopelessness of it all overwelmed him. In exhaustion, he crumpled into a heap on the floor, shaking all over in agony and silent torture.
And Jarod closed his eyes, and wept.
tbc...
ARCHIVE: Go right ahead.
part 1 - Death and Recreation
by P.Effect
Closed eyes, closed doors, closed shades. This was how he wanted it. How he needed it. Closed off and darkened, tight and locked up. The way it had to be.
So he could SIM the way she had felt.
SIM the way she had died.
The gun casings felt cold and bulky in his palm.
Uncomforting.
The necklace was small and fragile, and it warmed against his throat. Useless.
The air tasted musky, aching for an open window.
Hurtful.
It seemed everything he had felt that way now. Unhelpful and worthless--shooting pain down to his core, forcing needles through his skin.
He welcomed the pain.
It kept him sane--the hurtful belongings and the constricting world. The agony of life kept him alive--there was delicious irony in there somewhere. But he was too weak, too depressed to search for it.
Now he knew how she had felt.
With every teasing phone call, during every chase, tagging along with all of his red notebooks and gifts.
She'd ached.
She'd cried.
She'd prayed for her release.
He'd spent so much time making her life miserable, rubbing his freedom in her face, waving her family's secrets just out of reach...
And she had never truly hated him.
Her threats had been halfhearted, her chases indifferent, her searches filled with apathy. She hadn't wanted to catch him. She had never wanted to catch him. She was free vicariously through him. Miss Parker had wanted to live as free as he did.
She hadn't wanted to die.
She never would've shot herself.
She never would've allowed herself to be killed.
She had wanted to be free. Not dead.
So why was he sitting here SIMing her death?
With a determined sigh, he focused his mind on her.
The way she acted.
The way she looked.
The way she died...
...Nothing...
He was getting nothing. Just darkness and flashes of her face in his head. A brief image came, and he clung to her face and her figure like a Godsend, drinking it in like manna from heaven..
Her eyes staring into his, her long legs propelling her slowly towards him, her face cool and calm, her hair falling perfectly around her face. Bending over him with boneless grace, one slender and delicate hand came up to his face. His eyes closed against his own will as her cool palm brushed his hot cheek. And then she gave his face one last caress, and vanished.
He jumped up, running after her, clawing at the door she had vanished through. Pounding on it, scratching at it, begging for her return. He screamed until his voice was hoarse, beat at the wood until his knuckles bled, pleading until the hopelessness of it all overwelmed him. In exhaustion, he crumpled into a heap on the floor, shaking all over in agony and silent torture.
And Jarod closed his eyes, and wept.
tbc...
