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Disclaimer: The Characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots and The Center are all property of MTM, TNT and NBC Productions and are used without permission. Blah, blah, blah, yea, yea just get on with it. No money has been involved here and no infringement is intended.


Author's Note - Just a reminder for those of you who may not remember, the character of Damon referred to here is the evil blonde assassin who chases Broots in the episode "Betrayal." Damon once betrayed Jarod's trust, killed a friend of Jarod's and basically was responsible for Jarod's deciding to run away in the first place. Also, there are IOTH spoilers here. - Enjoy!




One Good Turn Part 1



Snow and Ice

By Phenyx



Jarod pulled the quilted collar of his coat up around his ears as he trudged through the snow. Although the coat was made to insulate and conserve body warmth, Jarod's action didn't help much. The last few days had been miserably cold here in the northeastern tip of Ohio. Big fat flakes of snow had been falling steadily all day and the wind blew the white fluff into drifts that made walking difficult.


Jarod had been working for the state's wildlife department for the past month. He set out salt licks and performed rough counts of the deer population in this area. It was a solitary type of assignment, but Jarod had needed time to himself after his adventure on the Island of Carthis and this had seemed like a good idea at the time.


Even now, cold and tired as he was, Jarod couldn't deny the peaceful tranquility that he found in this pretend. He looked around. The rural forested area that surrounded him carried that heavy, magical silence that can only be caused by a foot of snow. The snowstorm had come quickly. The dirty brown forest, dead for the winter, had transformed overnight into a white crystalline covered world of wonder. Postcard perfect in the stillness, the only sounds were the mournful sighs of tree branches groaning under the weight of ice and snow.


This time alone had been good for him. The solitude had given Jarod the opportunity to lick his wounds. He had nursed his pride, battered by Parker's cruel rejection. Jarod had mentally rehashed each word, every conversation he'd shared with Parker while in Ireland. The hurt and sorrow he had felt when they had last spoken was gone now. Acceptance and understanding had taken their place.


Jarod understood Parker's reluctance to flee. Deep down, Parker knew that The Centre would never let her go, even if she did succeed in capturing him. But part of her still held out hope that the life she led was not a complete lie. Jarod knew that Parker was clinging desperately to that slender thread of hope. Everything she had ever believed about her life and her family depended upon The Centre's tapestry of deception. Parker wasn't ready to abandon the image she held of her own life. Not yet.


Jarod couldn't blame Parker for her self-delusion. How long had Jarod suspected that his sims were being misused? Long before Damon had come along and so blatantly demonstrated his fears, Jarod had voiced concerns about his work. Even as a boy, Jarod felt uncomfortable about certain simulations and had mentioned possible abuses to Sydney. When had those vague fears turned into serious suspicions?


For years Jarod had lived as Parker was now. Fully cognizant of the horrible transgressions occurring around him, he too had pushed his doubts into a dark recess in his soul in an attempt to ignore them. Turning your back on the only life you've ever known is a difficult thing to do. It had required that terrible experience with Damon to push Jarod out of his state of denial and finally force him into action.


Jarod couldn't force Parker to see the reality around her. She would have to meet her own Damon, so to speak. That final straw would eventually come for Miss Parker. If she survived, she too would finally be forced to act. Jarod could only hope that he would be able to help, that she would allow him to help, when that time came.


He was worried about her. The one thing Jarod had learned on the island that he had not been able to overcome was the fact that he was now, probably always had been, irrevocably connected to Miss Parker on a deep emotional level. The image he carried of her in his mind was no longer a cigarette smoking, gun toting, leather-clad bitch. Jarod's mental image of Parker was now a wide-eyed co-conspirator, a partner, a friend.


The moment in time that tormented Jarod’s dreams was not the guiltily erotic span of seconds when he had watched Parker changing her clothes nor was it the breathless heartbeat when their lips had nearly touched. Instead, Jarod carried in his heart the brilliant smile of triumph she had given him when a tiny key opened the box they had found hidden beneath the alter. His mind replayed for him again and again the moment on the airplane when, surrounded by her family and Triumvirate goons, she had looked to Jarod for direction. It had been a moment of doubt, no more than a glance, but Jarod had felt her need. He had given Parker a fraction of a nod, and though no one else in the room had noticed the communication between them, it had been the reassurance that she needed.


Parker of course, probably had no recollection of these moments that Jarod held so dear. To her, the island of Carthis brought only memories of a dead father who wasn't her father and a cruel taskmaster who was. Jarod knew that his feelings were the least of Parker's concerns. She had a false father to grieve for. Jarod sighed sadly as he tried to fathom what turmoil she must be going through.


Readjusting the pack on his back, Jarod marched on through the snow. His jeep was parked less than half a mile from here at the end of a long access road through the preserve. It was time to move on. Jarod was finished counting deer. And frankly, though the current landscape was beautiful, he was tired of being cold and wet. The pristine whiteness of the snow would not last. Within a few days, the temperature would warm up and the twelve inches of powder would turn into a quagmire of slush.


The people who lived in this area had a saying 'If you don't like the weather, just wait a few days and it will change.'


Jarod had found the adage to be true. Just after he had arrived, there had been a day that began warm and sunny. Jarod had started his hike in short sleeves and had quickly worked up a sweat. But by mid afternoon, icy rain had turned to sleet and hail had pelted bruises onto Jarod's back. By the time Jarod had found his way out of the wildlife preserve and back to his rented apartment, snow and ice had made driving hazardous.


Jarod's next destination would be some place warm, he decided. Florida, perhaps. Or maybe Hawaii or the Caribbean islands. He would go some where with a beach and lie on the sand for a day or two until he got bored. Jarod crested a hill and carefully began to make his way into a gully. From here he could see his snow-dusted jeep parked several hundred yards away on the opposite side of a small river.


Little wider than a large creek, the water here was deceptively deep. Ice had formed in some places but the current beneath kept the layers thin. It was a great place to fish in the summer time, with large boulders conveniently located at the water's edge. Because the area was such a draw for fishermen, a small paved road had been put in to allow easier access. A nice little walking trail was also in place, though it was never used at this time of year. A sturdy wooden bridge crossed the water along that walking trail and it was this bridge that Jarod now used to reach his automobile.


Jarod was halfway across the bridge when he looked down at his feet and noticed that his footprints were not the only ones desecrating the new fallen snow. Several sets of boots had recently crossed the bridge to the side of the river that Jarod had just left.


For a moment, Jarod stopped and listened carefully. He heard nothing and yet his chest constricted with sudden anxiety. Quickening his pace, Jarod hurried across the rest of the bridge and rushed toward his jeep. As his angle in relation to the automobile changed, he could see two other cars parked at angles behind his jeep. Both were dark luxury models often driven by Centre personnel.


Jarod saw them before they saw him. Wading through the snow on the opposite river bank, Jarod could easily see Parker, Sydney, Broots, Lyle and three stocky sweepers, one of which was probably Sam. Jarod glanced toward his jeep, still several hundred yards away. His pursuers were slightly further up stream than Jarod. A quick estimate of everyone's location and Jarod's face broke out into a cocky grin.


"Lucky bastard," Jarod chuckled to himself. There was no way that his pursuers could run a hundred yards upstream to the bridge, cross the river and get to the cars before Jarod could dash the short distance to his vehicle and escape. He was going to get away again. Dumb luck was going to get him out of it this time.


As Jarod hurried toward the cars, he watched the group on the other bank. They were obviously struggling in the deep snow and searching for him in the opposite direction. They had yet to notice Jarod. Pure mischievousness bubbled up in Jarod and he called across the water.


"Sydney! " Jarod raised a hand and waved at the stunned little crowd.


"Jarod!" Parker yelled, rage growling in her voice.


Still grinning, Jarod reached down and scooped up a hand full of snow. He pressed the snow into a tight ball, drew back one arm and hurled the snowball across the river as hard as he could. It plopped onto the ice less than ten feet from where Parker stood. The raw fury visible on Parker's face urged Jarod to tease her even more.


Shrugging the backpack off his shoulders, Jarod bent and picked up more snow. The second snowball was slightly larger and flew much further. Though Lyle and the sweepers had already started running for the bridge, Parker and Sydney hadn't moved. As a result, this ball of snow hit Parker squarely in the chest and puffed into a shower of flakes in her face.


Giggling delightedly, Jarod turned and started to run toward his jeep.


It was Broots' voice that made Jarod glance back over his shoulder.


"Miss Parker," the bald little man called. "Wait!"


The smile slid from Jarod's face and he stopped in his tracks at what he saw. Parker was clambering down the embankment straight toward the water. Jarod could see that she intended to run straight at him, across the frozen river itself.


"Parker!" Jarod cried as she slid onto the ice. "Don't!"


The stubborn woman ignored him. Parker managed to get almost half way across the expanse before there was a sickeningly loud crackle of sound and Parker abruptly vanished.


Jarod sprinted downstream, pulling rope from his pack as he ran. Discarding the backpack, Jarod tied a knot around his waist and made a large loop with the other end of the rope. At the same time, he calculated depth and current versus the weight currently being dragged along beneath the icy surface. Moving faster than he ever thought he could, Jarod estimated where Parker would be and tossing the looped end of rope around a nearby tree trunk, he slid onto the ice like a baseball player stealing home.


For a minute, the ice held and Jarod grimly realized that he had nothing with which to hit the solid surface. Bringing one leg up, Jarod kicked frantically at the ice with the heel of his boot, feeling panic rise as precious moments slipped by. Then he felt a jerking sensation and he began to sink.


Though Jarod knew the water would be cold, he wasn't prepared for the breath stealing frigidity of the liquid that sucked him under. Seeping through his clothes in a matter of seconds, the freezing water clawed at him like a malicious creature. Jarod felt the current pull at him and for a dizzying few moments he lost his sense of direction. His forehead impacted sharply against the rocky bottom, conveniently reassessing his location.


Jarod tried to look around but the water was dark and gloomy. As the rope pulled tight at his waist, Jarod realized he'd been swept downstream to the limits of his lifeline. The current was faster than he'd anticipated. Parker may have already passed him.


Jarod's chest began to ache painfully at the lack of air. He had in the past been able to hold his breath for two minutes or more. But submersed in ice-cold water, the human body shuts down rapidly. Jarod knew he didn't have much time. Flailing his arms, Jarod frantically searched the immediate area. His mind and heart and lungs all cried out painfully.


A silky tendril slid passed Jarod's frozen fingertips so softly that he nearly missed it. Snatching at a shadow, Jarod forced his fingers to move. Hands tangled in Parker's hair, Jarod pulled her toward him. Grasping desperately at the slick rope, Jarod hauled himself and a limp Parker up the length of twisted hemp. Lungs near bursting, Jarod pulled on the line with a hand he could no longer feel.


In seemed like hours went by as Jarod inched his way through the water. Jarod sensed, rather than felt, the rock beneath his feet. Moving toward it, Jarod managed to find himself standing on the river bottom with his shoulders pressed against the icy surface of the water. With a desperate lunge, Jarod broke through the ice and gasped in a lungful of air.


Dragging Parker's motionless body with him, Jarod stumbled toward the shore. When the rope pulled tightly at his waist again, he realized that he was on the other side of the river from where he had gone in. He found himself tied to the opposite shore. With frozen fingers, he pried the rope from his waist so that he could climb out of the water and set Parker delicately on the ground beside him.


Parker wasn't breathing. Her skin was bleached white except for her lips, which were a gruesome shade of blue.


Jarod began to perform CPR. He tilted Parker's head back and after checking her airway, Jarod put his lips to hers and breathed for her. If Jarod's own body had not been drained of its warmth, the icy chill of Parker's flesh would have frightened him. But as it was, Jarod's could not see the blue tinge of his own lips or the ghostly pale color of his skin. His extremities were numb but Jarod had no concept of his own condition. His thoughts centered entirely on the lifeless form beneath him.


Seconds ticked into minutes in Jarod's mind as he counted breaths and chest compressions. His murmured counting became a mantra of prayer.


"Please breathe." Jarod whispered between breaths. "Please, oh please, oh please."


The world narrowed into a tight frame where nothing else existed for Jarod. There was only the two of them, the breathing, the counting and the mumbled prayer. "Oh please, please breath."


Rough hands grabbed Jarod's arms and began dragging him away from Parker's body. But he raged against the hands, thrashing out and shoving them away. Fury gave Jarod strength and he viciously knocked his captors away, clawed across the ground to Parker's side and began the breaths again.


In a burst of frustration and helpless anger, Jarod suddenly shouted, "Damn you I said breathe!" He slapped Parker's face. "Just once you will do as I tell you! Breathe!"


Jarod put his lips to hers and forced another lungful of air into Parker's body. With a ghastly retching sound, water abruptly gurgled from Parker's lips. She coughed, retched again and then gasped in a lungful of air on her own.


The rough hands were back, pulling Jarod away, shoving him to the ground. Jarod realized he was shivering uncontrollably and he still couldn't feel his fingers. He heard the metallic click of handcuffs around his wrists. But none of that mattered to Jarod.


Parker was alive, she was breathing.









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