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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer in part one. . . .
NOTE: Annsachd means Beloved in Gaelic Scotch. . . .
The Truth Hurts
Part 11
by Trisha & Lizzy aka chopsticks
Parker had not slept well since the accident. As she reclined in the overstuffed armchair, she tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable, visions filled her head. Dreams of touching someone. Everywhere. Mouths, tongues, hands touching, stroking, tasting. The whispering returned, soft soothing murmurs calming her. They had a lullaby’s beat, almost hypnotic. Then the dreams took on darker, harsh tones with grim images. Someone in danger. Someone in pain. Someone filled with great hatred. Her mother's voice soon filled her head, repeating softly, "safety in remembering".
Parker woke, covered in sweat, her satin blouse clinging to her body, and despite the comfortable temperature of the bedroom, she felt as if she were suffocating. She tried not to let the whole dream sequence affect her, but she had been left shaken and nauseated by the intensity of the empathic burst. Parker bolted out of the chair and headed for the bathroom, the urge to retch strong.
Once in the bathroom, she collapsed to her knees in front of the toilet and everything she had eaten in the past two days came up. Reaching for the towel above her head, she gingerly wiped her mouth and then stood up, flushing the contents away. Going over to the mirror, Parker splashed her face with some cold water, still trying to fight down the intense feeling of nausea. Looking at herself, she did not see the same woman she was used to seeing. Who she saw was someone who looked irreparably older, with lines that had never been there before. She didn't recognize herself anymore, let alone understand.
"What's happening to me?" she wondered aloud, tears forming in her ice blue eyes.
Stripping off the sweat-soaked clothes, Parker wrapped herself in the soft black velour robe that was hanging on the bathroom door and then she turned toward the shower and adjusted the knobs. Quickly removing the robe and stepping into the shower, she let the warm water cascade down her body, and tried to reconcile her dreams with something from the past four months.
*****
Jarod was silent for a moment, then he quietly whispered, into the receiver, "There's been an accident, Syd." He surveyed the room. There were two connecting doors, one to the kitchen, the other to the pub's back room. Rain flayed the lone window, sending jagged rivulets coursing down the glass.
"Jarod? Accident? What kind of accident?" Sydney asked, his inflection rising with fear upon hearing each stifled sob that came over the other end of the phone.
"I-it's Miss Parker," Jarod choked out as he finally submitted to the tears that had been threatening to fall since he had first heard Sydney's voice. He tightened his fingers around the keys causing them to bite into his palm.
"Jarod? What happened to her?" Sydney asked quietly, emotions taking over his own voice.
He listened to the crying and broken man on the other side, fearing the worst. He patiently waited on the outside, while inside he was screaming for Jarod to hurry up and tell him what had happened. One thought ran through his head, 'She's dead. My God, she's dead.'
Little did he know that his thoughts weren't all that far away from the truth.
*****
Margaret had to take action, now. She had to locate that key. Damn Catherine, she thought. Catherine had known that if she had left everything in one location regarding the Centre that eventually Margaret would get a hold of it. So, she scattered bits and pieces of her findings throughout the world. Jarod had managed to find some of them, ones that she hadn't even known existed but especially the ones that Margaret wanted him to find.
Like the medical records of Mr. Parker's physical abuse of Catherine. Margaret shuddered at the thought. Mr. Parker had been punished for that, she had seen to it by deliberating usurping Mr. Parker's plans to control Ethan. She had sent Raines to Catherine with proof outlining the deception that Mr. Parker had perpetrated. Mirage was her creation, no one else would take credit for him. She had always been intrigued with Catherine's gift, her ability to sense danger. She allowed herself to remember late night gab-sessions that she had had with Catherine over tea and scones at the country estate, right here in Scotland. She had gathered valuable information in regards to this inner sense, and she methodically formulated her plan regarding Mirage's conception. Her thoughts reverted back to the key that would open another of Catherine's little time bombs. She had never been able to locate which bank that key belonged too. She also had to find out who had requested information about Lachlan Abbot. The truth about his untimely demise did not bode well for her or the Centre.
*****
Margaret reached for the phone and dialed.
"Fergus?" she snapped when the receiver on the other end was answered.
"Missus," the older man replied, knowing that no good was about to come from this conversation.
"I need you to sweep the area where we found Miss Parker. It seems that I may have underestimated her after all," Margaret said, as she got out of her chair and walked toward the window that looked down on the city of Inverness.
"I be lookin for somthin?" Fergus asked, waiting for his orders.
"A little silver key. The kind a bank would issue for a safety deposit box. I want that room turned inside out, is that understood? And if it's not there, inform Donal of the problem and have him search Miss Parker's room at the inn."
"Are ye daft, woman, Violet Penfield be crossin o'er and ye want Donal . . . ?" Fergus snapped, and immediately regretted making the impromptu statement when he heard the sharp intake of breath on the other end.
"Daft, Fergus, me?" Margaret said, an evil laugh escaping, "You could be dead." And with that the call terminated.
"Aye, Missus." Fergus muttered, knowing that no one heard him. This wasn't how he wanted to spend his night, searching the dark, dank dungeon of the Caer, not with the banshee beginning her pitiful wail. Death hung in the air this night in Inverness. That of longtime inhabitant--Violet Penfield. He would stop by the inn on the way to the Caer, his excuse--to check on Violet's condition and it would allow him the opportunity to fill Donal in regarding Margaret's instructions about searching the lass' room.
******
Ethan ran his hand through his dark hair, as he uncurled himself from his position on the bed.
"Mom?" he asked, hoping for an answer. He rubbed his cheeks and headed for the small area that he used as a kitchen. Opening the refrigerator door, he reached for a can of soda when suddenly he heard what he so desperately needed to hear.
"Ethan," his mother's voice crooned, softly.
"Mom, I hear you, but there's someone else trying to reach me. Is it my sister?"
"No dear, but someone equally important to her, she just doesn't know it yet."
"She found the truth, didn't she, Mom?" Ethan cried out, desperate to piece together the knowledge his mother had just given him," The voice makes no sense, Mom, he's babbling."
"I need to be with your sister. You need to concentrate on the babbling, Ethan. You'll will understand in time."
"Mom, don't go. Tell me who is he?" Ethan cried out, desperate to keep his mother's voice inside him.
"Cameron," was the garbled reply. Ethan placed the soda back in the refrigerator and grabbed the duffel bag located on the table and threw his belongings inside, then headed out the door. If there was one thing that his brother, Jarod, had taught him, was that in order to stay ahead of the
Centre, you had to move. He pondered what his mother had just imparted to him. Asking himself questions that he didn't have the answers too. Why would she need to be with Parker? Unless. . . .his sister had been plunged into darkness. He had finally realized that it was his connection to Parker that was missing. . . .as though it had been short circuited, somehow.
Instead he had this non-stop reply echoing back at him.
"Who are you? What do you want of me?"
"Cameron! Cameron!"
"I'm coming," he replied.
"Cameron! Cameron!" continued to reverberate in his head. He hoped that by going to help his half brother and half sister that all his questions would be answered.
********
Jarod eventually calmed himself from the fear that had gripped him and told Sydney what had happened. He realized that Sydney must have suspected the worst when he heard the collective sigh of relief on the other end of the phone. It didn't make sense to either of them. Jarod had described the sim he had run regarding the crash. It wasn't severe enough to cause memory loss and other than the bruise to the temple, she suffered no major injuries. So how was it that her memories of the past four months were gone?
"Can you explain it to me, Sydney?"
"I can't, Jarod. From what you tell me, it's as though her memories have been erased." Sydney's voice broke through his befuddled mind.
"That's impossible, Syd. No one knows that we're here. Mr. Broots is to good to make mistakes. So, who could have possible erased Miss Parker's memories." Jarod stared down at the key ring, making a mental note regarding Miss Parker's keys. He recognized all of them except a small silver one with well-worn letters. The only two he could make out were an S and E.
"Jarod? Jarod, are you still there?" Sydney asked.
"Yes, I'm here. I'm sorry, what were you saying?"
"Broots is enjoying the task that you and Miss Parker assigned him. He seems to be sending Lyle on many different goose chases." Syndey responded," But Jarod what do you intend to do about Miss Parker?"
"I'm not sure, Syd. I'd like to try and hypnotize her but . . ." his voice trailed off as the wind outside started to shriek and causing the lone window to rattle, " Thank you for your help, but I have a rather important meeting to make. I'll keep in touch about Miss Parker's state of mind. Tell Broots to keep up the excellent work and and could you have him run a check in the Centre's databases for any information on a Lachlan Abbott."
"Who's . . . ?" Sydney stared at the reciever, a small smile turning the corner of his lips, his question answered.
*********
Parker emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in the robe, it's musky male scent making her heady. Making her way to the armoire, she pulled open the top drawer, looking for her pajamas. Instead, sitting on top of the neatly folded shirts and sweaters, was a manilla folder. Picking it up, Parker noticed the notation written in Jarod's handwriting. PHOTOGRAPH.
"What are you trying to hide from me, Jarod?" she muttered, placing the folder on the top of the armoire, she quickly opened the next drawer and was relieved to discover her pajamas. She quickly pulled the gray silk on, its softness reminding her of soft caresses similar to those of her dream. Shaking herself from her reverie, Parker turned her attention toward to file. Slowly and with trembling hands, she and the folder moved to the bed.
*********
Twilight was coming on and the weather had become rainy and windy, so Jarod had to borrow an umbrella from Connor and made his way down the street toward the small cottage located next to St. Andrew's Catherdral. Knocking quickly, the door opened and the aroma of freshly baked bread assailed Jarod's nostrils, setting his stomach to rumble.
"Father MacMurty," he said with little enthusiasm," Violet sent me for you."
That was all he needed to say and the two of them were in the Reverend's car heading back over the bridge toward Penfield's.
"The banshee be a'comen," Father MacMurty replied as the car shook from the howling wind.
**************
As the car pulled into the small driveway, Jarod watched as a old truck passed him in the driveway. The driver looking vaguely familiar to him but with the rain coming down it was hard to tell. He eased the car in a spot next to his SUV and he and Father MacMurty made a mad dash for shelter inside the inn. Once inside, Jarod saw Donal pacing in the hallway and Marley coming down the stairs.
"Father," her voice filled with melancholy, her step slow as she reached the bottom stair and took the Reverend's coat and hung it on the cast iron coatrack.
"Marley," Father MacMurty said as he hugged the petite woman.
"Aye, Father. Get on wi' ye; Grannie's waiting." Father MacMurty nodded, his lips drawn tightly, his grey eyes sad and weary, reminding Jarod of the look he saw in Sydney's eyes after Jacob had died.
The wind continued to keen sharp and loud outside as the rain continued to fall. Jarod saw Marley shudder and bring her hands across her chest as though fighting off the inevitable.
"Banshee awailin'," she muttered, her lids narrowing, before she turned toward the pacing man, "Donal?".
"Uhh," Donal stopped his pacing and stared at the young woman, a dazed expression on his face.
"Ye wera talking to someone."
"Aye! Neighborly concern for Grannie and ye as well," Donal replied and resumed his pacing.
"Ye can come help me wi' something, Donal. Ye be wearing out the floor. Jarod git wi' ye upstairs too, Parker dinna look to well, earlier."
Without so much as a second thought, Jarod bounded up the stairs two at a time, only coming to an abrupt halt outside the bedroom door, a room that they had been sharing together until the accident. He pushed opened the door slowly, noticing that the only light came from the bathroom. After allowing his eyes to adjust, they immediately fell upon the sleeping form of Parker. Slowly, he made his way to the edge of the bed, pulling the homemade quilt up around her, as well as brushing strands of hair off her face. Upon straightening up, it was then that he noticed the manilla folder sitting on the nightstand. To exhausted to remove his jacket, he collapsed in the chair that had previously been occupied by Miss Parker, and realized that he would have some explaining to do regarding the file and the information he discovered about the photograph and it's photographer. But for know he sat there in the dark, watching Parker sleep. Running a hand through his damp locks, he let his mind wander back to not so long ago nights, when after making love, sleep would eluded him so he took comfort in watching her sleep peacefully from the shadows.
Her dreams of warm kisses and feathery touches had resumed the moment she closed her eyes. She allowed herself to get lost in the dream. And when she had thought that she could finally see who it that created these intense feelings in her, a misty fog swirled around as she tried to pull into focus the face. The face would vanish, only to be replaced by an urgent childlike plea for her to remember, but no matter where she turned, the fog got denser and the plea became more and more urgent. Then when she thought that she had finally found the source, darkness would engulf her and a harsh laugh echoed around in the darkness. Her crying out alerted Jarod to her anguish and he was beside her in a flash.
"Shhh, Annsachd," he whispered, using the scottish endearment that meant so much to both of them, as he wrapped her in his tight embrace," You're safe. Talk to me, Annsachd."
Dazed and groggy, she nestled her head against his chest, her eyes tightly closed.
"Four months of my life, gone. I can't remember anything, but when I sleep, feelings of being alive invade my mind, tantalizing feelings of being loved and safe. And when I try to find the source or get close to the memories; they are drowned out by an intense feeling of fear and horror, not only for me but for someone else," Parker murmured.
"Oh, Parker, you're safe, believe me," he whispered, his hand gently caressing her cheek, his lips brushing against her head," As well as. . . . . loved."
That did it, her eyes flew open, panic reflecting in them, once the voice finally registered with her. Pulling out of his embrace, she scrambled off the bed and stood there shaking, enraged and furious, not noticing his hurt expression.
"Loved, really. By whom? You?" she snapped, her blue eyes rolling at the thought, "What the hell kind of game are you playing with me, Jarod? Huh?"
"This isn't a game, this is a search for the truth. Damn it, Parker, I thought that we were beyond this . . ." Jarod said, anger filling his voice. He approached her, talking as he did," I'm not playing games with you. Not since. . ."
"Since what. . .what did you think we were beyond?" she demanded," Answer me that, Jarod! Or can't you think of a good enough lie to feed me!"
"Lies! That's the Centre's specialty not mine. I don't lie. Not to you. You want a good reason. Fine, how's this for a good enough reason!" Jarod reached out, his hands cupping her face, his lips capturing hers. The kiss lasted but a moment and when he broke it, he looked into her blue eyes, hoping for. . . .it was out of the corner of his eye that he caught the movement of her hand on the upswing. It was the knock on the door that interrupted the slap midair.
"Jarod. Miss Parker," the voice was Marley's. Jarod stroded to the door, without glancing back at her, therefore missing her running her fingers across her lips.
"It be time. She's askin for ye, both."
The walk to Grannie's bedroom seemed to take forever, even though it was only a matter of minutes. Marley opened the door and allowed Jarod and Miss Parker to enter, she following behind.
"Lass," Grannie's voice was weak, her attempt to motion for Parker feeble. It was Marley, who pushed her toward the bed. " Closer, this be for ye alone."
Parker leaned in close to Grannie's lips, unsure why. Grannie's voice was faint, almost inaudible, that Parker wasn't even sure that she heard the woman clearly.
"The wee voice ye hear when still, he be tellin' ye what ye need to know, he's but a whisper but ye must listen. Ye need to trust that wee voice, lass," Parker backed away, the color draining from her face. Jarod quickly came to stand behind Parker, concerned that she was about to faint on the spot.
"Donal? Geilie, where be Donal?" Violet murmured as her eyes closed.
NOTE: Annsachd means Beloved in Gaelic Scotch. . . .
The Truth Hurts
Part 11
by Trisha & Lizzy aka chopsticks
Parker had not slept well since the accident. As she reclined in the overstuffed armchair, she tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable, visions filled her head. Dreams of touching someone. Everywhere. Mouths, tongues, hands touching, stroking, tasting. The whispering returned, soft soothing murmurs calming her. They had a lullaby’s beat, almost hypnotic. Then the dreams took on darker, harsh tones with grim images. Someone in danger. Someone in pain. Someone filled with great hatred. Her mother's voice soon filled her head, repeating softly, "safety in remembering".
Parker woke, covered in sweat, her satin blouse clinging to her body, and despite the comfortable temperature of the bedroom, she felt as if she were suffocating. She tried not to let the whole dream sequence affect her, but she had been left shaken and nauseated by the intensity of the empathic burst. Parker bolted out of the chair and headed for the bathroom, the urge to retch strong.
Once in the bathroom, she collapsed to her knees in front of the toilet and everything she had eaten in the past two days came up. Reaching for the towel above her head, she gingerly wiped her mouth and then stood up, flushing the contents away. Going over to the mirror, Parker splashed her face with some cold water, still trying to fight down the intense feeling of nausea. Looking at herself, she did not see the same woman she was used to seeing. Who she saw was someone who looked irreparably older, with lines that had never been there before. She didn't recognize herself anymore, let alone understand.
"What's happening to me?" she wondered aloud, tears forming in her ice blue eyes.
Stripping off the sweat-soaked clothes, Parker wrapped herself in the soft black velour robe that was hanging on the bathroom door and then she turned toward the shower and adjusted the knobs. Quickly removing the robe and stepping into the shower, she let the warm water cascade down her body, and tried to reconcile her dreams with something from the past four months.
*****
Jarod was silent for a moment, then he quietly whispered, into the receiver, "There's been an accident, Syd." He surveyed the room. There were two connecting doors, one to the kitchen, the other to the pub's back room. Rain flayed the lone window, sending jagged rivulets coursing down the glass.
"Jarod? Accident? What kind of accident?" Sydney asked, his inflection rising with fear upon hearing each stifled sob that came over the other end of the phone.
"I-it's Miss Parker," Jarod choked out as he finally submitted to the tears that had been threatening to fall since he had first heard Sydney's voice. He tightened his fingers around the keys causing them to bite into his palm.
"Jarod? What happened to her?" Sydney asked quietly, emotions taking over his own voice.
He listened to the crying and broken man on the other side, fearing the worst. He patiently waited on the outside, while inside he was screaming for Jarod to hurry up and tell him what had happened. One thought ran through his head, 'She's dead. My God, she's dead.'
Little did he know that his thoughts weren't all that far away from the truth.
*****
Margaret had to take action, now. She had to locate that key. Damn Catherine, she thought. Catherine had known that if she had left everything in one location regarding the Centre that eventually Margaret would get a hold of it. So, she scattered bits and pieces of her findings throughout the world. Jarod had managed to find some of them, ones that she hadn't even known existed but especially the ones that Margaret wanted him to find.
Like the medical records of Mr. Parker's physical abuse of Catherine. Margaret shuddered at the thought. Mr. Parker had been punished for that, she had seen to it by deliberating usurping Mr. Parker's plans to control Ethan. She had sent Raines to Catherine with proof outlining the deception that Mr. Parker had perpetrated. Mirage was her creation, no one else would take credit for him. She had always been intrigued with Catherine's gift, her ability to sense danger. She allowed herself to remember late night gab-sessions that she had had with Catherine over tea and scones at the country estate, right here in Scotland. She had gathered valuable information in regards to this inner sense, and she methodically formulated her plan regarding Mirage's conception. Her thoughts reverted back to the key that would open another of Catherine's little time bombs. She had never been able to locate which bank that key belonged too. She also had to find out who had requested information about Lachlan Abbot. The truth about his untimely demise did not bode well for her or the Centre.
*****
Margaret reached for the phone and dialed.
"Fergus?" she snapped when the receiver on the other end was answered.
"Missus," the older man replied, knowing that no good was about to come from this conversation.
"I need you to sweep the area where we found Miss Parker. It seems that I may have underestimated her after all," Margaret said, as she got out of her chair and walked toward the window that looked down on the city of Inverness.
"I be lookin for somthin?" Fergus asked, waiting for his orders.
"A little silver key. The kind a bank would issue for a safety deposit box. I want that room turned inside out, is that understood? And if it's not there, inform Donal of the problem and have him search Miss Parker's room at the inn."
"Are ye daft, woman, Violet Penfield be crossin o'er and ye want Donal . . . ?" Fergus snapped, and immediately regretted making the impromptu statement when he heard the sharp intake of breath on the other end.
"Daft, Fergus, me?" Margaret said, an evil laugh escaping, "You could be dead." And with that the call terminated.
"Aye, Missus." Fergus muttered, knowing that no one heard him. This wasn't how he wanted to spend his night, searching the dark, dank dungeon of the Caer, not with the banshee beginning her pitiful wail. Death hung in the air this night in Inverness. That of longtime inhabitant--Violet Penfield. He would stop by the inn on the way to the Caer, his excuse--to check on Violet's condition and it would allow him the opportunity to fill Donal in regarding Margaret's instructions about searching the lass' room.
******
Ethan ran his hand through his dark hair, as he uncurled himself from his position on the bed.
"Mom?" he asked, hoping for an answer. He rubbed his cheeks and headed for the small area that he used as a kitchen. Opening the refrigerator door, he reached for a can of soda when suddenly he heard what he so desperately needed to hear.
"Ethan," his mother's voice crooned, softly.
"Mom, I hear you, but there's someone else trying to reach me. Is it my sister?"
"No dear, but someone equally important to her, she just doesn't know it yet."
"She found the truth, didn't she, Mom?" Ethan cried out, desperate to piece together the knowledge his mother had just given him," The voice makes no sense, Mom, he's babbling."
"I need to be with your sister. You need to concentrate on the babbling, Ethan. You'll will understand in time."
"Mom, don't go. Tell me who is he?" Ethan cried out, desperate to keep his mother's voice inside him.
"Cameron," was the garbled reply. Ethan placed the soda back in the refrigerator and grabbed the duffel bag located on the table and threw his belongings inside, then headed out the door. If there was one thing that his brother, Jarod, had taught him, was that in order to stay ahead of the
Centre, you had to move. He pondered what his mother had just imparted to him. Asking himself questions that he didn't have the answers too. Why would she need to be with Parker? Unless. . . .his sister had been plunged into darkness. He had finally realized that it was his connection to Parker that was missing. . . .as though it had been short circuited, somehow.
Instead he had this non-stop reply echoing back at him.
"Who are you? What do you want of me?"
"Cameron! Cameron!"
"I'm coming," he replied.
"Cameron! Cameron!" continued to reverberate in his head. He hoped that by going to help his half brother and half sister that all his questions would be answered.
********
Jarod eventually calmed himself from the fear that had gripped him and told Sydney what had happened. He realized that Sydney must have suspected the worst when he heard the collective sigh of relief on the other end of the phone. It didn't make sense to either of them. Jarod had described the sim he had run regarding the crash. It wasn't severe enough to cause memory loss and other than the bruise to the temple, she suffered no major injuries. So how was it that her memories of the past four months were gone?
"Can you explain it to me, Sydney?"
"I can't, Jarod. From what you tell me, it's as though her memories have been erased." Sydney's voice broke through his befuddled mind.
"That's impossible, Syd. No one knows that we're here. Mr. Broots is to good to make mistakes. So, who could have possible erased Miss Parker's memories." Jarod stared down at the key ring, making a mental note regarding Miss Parker's keys. He recognized all of them except a small silver one with well-worn letters. The only two he could make out were an S and E.
"Jarod? Jarod, are you still there?" Sydney asked.
"Yes, I'm here. I'm sorry, what were you saying?"
"Broots is enjoying the task that you and Miss Parker assigned him. He seems to be sending Lyle on many different goose chases." Syndey responded," But Jarod what do you intend to do about Miss Parker?"
"I'm not sure, Syd. I'd like to try and hypnotize her but . . ." his voice trailed off as the wind outside started to shriek and causing the lone window to rattle, " Thank you for your help, but I have a rather important meeting to make. I'll keep in touch about Miss Parker's state of mind. Tell Broots to keep up the excellent work and and could you have him run a check in the Centre's databases for any information on a Lachlan Abbott."
"Who's . . . ?" Sydney stared at the reciever, a small smile turning the corner of his lips, his question answered.
*********
Parker emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in the robe, it's musky male scent making her heady. Making her way to the armoire, she pulled open the top drawer, looking for her pajamas. Instead, sitting on top of the neatly folded shirts and sweaters, was a manilla folder. Picking it up, Parker noticed the notation written in Jarod's handwriting. PHOTOGRAPH.
"What are you trying to hide from me, Jarod?" she muttered, placing the folder on the top of the armoire, she quickly opened the next drawer and was relieved to discover her pajamas. She quickly pulled the gray silk on, its softness reminding her of soft caresses similar to those of her dream. Shaking herself from her reverie, Parker turned her attention toward to file. Slowly and with trembling hands, she and the folder moved to the bed.
*********
Twilight was coming on and the weather had become rainy and windy, so Jarod had to borrow an umbrella from Connor and made his way down the street toward the small cottage located next to St. Andrew's Catherdral. Knocking quickly, the door opened and the aroma of freshly baked bread assailed Jarod's nostrils, setting his stomach to rumble.
"Father MacMurty," he said with little enthusiasm," Violet sent me for you."
That was all he needed to say and the two of them were in the Reverend's car heading back over the bridge toward Penfield's.
"The banshee be a'comen," Father MacMurty replied as the car shook from the howling wind.
**************
As the car pulled into the small driveway, Jarod watched as a old truck passed him in the driveway. The driver looking vaguely familiar to him but with the rain coming down it was hard to tell. He eased the car in a spot next to his SUV and he and Father MacMurty made a mad dash for shelter inside the inn. Once inside, Jarod saw Donal pacing in the hallway and Marley coming down the stairs.
"Father," her voice filled with melancholy, her step slow as she reached the bottom stair and took the Reverend's coat and hung it on the cast iron coatrack.
"Marley," Father MacMurty said as he hugged the petite woman.
"Aye, Father. Get on wi' ye; Grannie's waiting." Father MacMurty nodded, his lips drawn tightly, his grey eyes sad and weary, reminding Jarod of the look he saw in Sydney's eyes after Jacob had died.
The wind continued to keen sharp and loud outside as the rain continued to fall. Jarod saw Marley shudder and bring her hands across her chest as though fighting off the inevitable.
"Banshee awailin'," she muttered, her lids narrowing, before she turned toward the pacing man, "Donal?".
"Uhh," Donal stopped his pacing and stared at the young woman, a dazed expression on his face.
"Ye wera talking to someone."
"Aye! Neighborly concern for Grannie and ye as well," Donal replied and resumed his pacing.
"Ye can come help me wi' something, Donal. Ye be wearing out the floor. Jarod git wi' ye upstairs too, Parker dinna look to well, earlier."
Without so much as a second thought, Jarod bounded up the stairs two at a time, only coming to an abrupt halt outside the bedroom door, a room that they had been sharing together until the accident. He pushed opened the door slowly, noticing that the only light came from the bathroom. After allowing his eyes to adjust, they immediately fell upon the sleeping form of Parker. Slowly, he made his way to the edge of the bed, pulling the homemade quilt up around her, as well as brushing strands of hair off her face. Upon straightening up, it was then that he noticed the manilla folder sitting on the nightstand. To exhausted to remove his jacket, he collapsed in the chair that had previously been occupied by Miss Parker, and realized that he would have some explaining to do regarding the file and the information he discovered about the photograph and it's photographer. But for know he sat there in the dark, watching Parker sleep. Running a hand through his damp locks, he let his mind wander back to not so long ago nights, when after making love, sleep would eluded him so he took comfort in watching her sleep peacefully from the shadows.
Her dreams of warm kisses and feathery touches had resumed the moment she closed her eyes. She allowed herself to get lost in the dream. And when she had thought that she could finally see who it that created these intense feelings in her, a misty fog swirled around as she tried to pull into focus the face. The face would vanish, only to be replaced by an urgent childlike plea for her to remember, but no matter where she turned, the fog got denser and the plea became more and more urgent. Then when she thought that she had finally found the source, darkness would engulf her and a harsh laugh echoed around in the darkness. Her crying out alerted Jarod to her anguish and he was beside her in a flash.
"Shhh, Annsachd," he whispered, using the scottish endearment that meant so much to both of them, as he wrapped her in his tight embrace," You're safe. Talk to me, Annsachd."
Dazed and groggy, she nestled her head against his chest, her eyes tightly closed.
"Four months of my life, gone. I can't remember anything, but when I sleep, feelings of being alive invade my mind, tantalizing feelings of being loved and safe. And when I try to find the source or get close to the memories; they are drowned out by an intense feeling of fear and horror, not only for me but for someone else," Parker murmured.
"Oh, Parker, you're safe, believe me," he whispered, his hand gently caressing her cheek, his lips brushing against her head," As well as. . . . . loved."
That did it, her eyes flew open, panic reflecting in them, once the voice finally registered with her. Pulling out of his embrace, she scrambled off the bed and stood there shaking, enraged and furious, not noticing his hurt expression.
"Loved, really. By whom? You?" she snapped, her blue eyes rolling at the thought, "What the hell kind of game are you playing with me, Jarod? Huh?"
"This isn't a game, this is a search for the truth. Damn it, Parker, I thought that we were beyond this . . ." Jarod said, anger filling his voice. He approached her, talking as he did," I'm not playing games with you. Not since. . ."
"Since what. . .what did you think we were beyond?" she demanded," Answer me that, Jarod! Or can't you think of a good enough lie to feed me!"
"Lies! That's the Centre's specialty not mine. I don't lie. Not to you. You want a good reason. Fine, how's this for a good enough reason!" Jarod reached out, his hands cupping her face, his lips capturing hers. The kiss lasted but a moment and when he broke it, he looked into her blue eyes, hoping for. . . .it was out of the corner of his eye that he caught the movement of her hand on the upswing. It was the knock on the door that interrupted the slap midair.
"Jarod. Miss Parker," the voice was Marley's. Jarod stroded to the door, without glancing back at her, therefore missing her running her fingers across her lips.
"It be time. She's askin for ye, both."
The walk to Grannie's bedroom seemed to take forever, even though it was only a matter of minutes. Marley opened the door and allowed Jarod and Miss Parker to enter, she following behind.
"Lass," Grannie's voice was weak, her attempt to motion for Parker feeble. It was Marley, who pushed her toward the bed. " Closer, this be for ye alone."
Parker leaned in close to Grannie's lips, unsure why. Grannie's voice was faint, almost inaudible, that Parker wasn't even sure that she heard the woman clearly.
"The wee voice ye hear when still, he be tellin' ye what ye need to know, he's but a whisper but ye must listen. Ye need to trust that wee voice, lass," Parker backed away, the color draining from her face. Jarod quickly came to stand behind Parker, concerned that she was about to faint on the spot.
"Donal? Geilie, where be Donal?" Violet murmured as her eyes closed.
