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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer in part one. . . .
The Truth Hurts
Part 13
Trish
With his arm still locked protectively around Parker's waist, Jarod guided her down the wooden staircase and into the back of the house toward the kitchen, her protestations of "being fine" falling on deaf ears. It wasn't until they reached the wooden table that she removed herself from his arm by pulling a chair out from the table and settling into it.
"Now let's see, what do we have for you to eat?" Jarod said as he rummaged through the refrigerator, popping the tops from rubber containers and the foil-covers from plates.
"No!" Parker said, quite crossly, her eyes glaring at him as he turned from his task, a container of brown liquid in his hands.
"I told you not to argue with me," he said, grinning as he removed the containers lid and poured its contents into a saucepan on the stove and set it to simmer. He then removed two bowls and two glasses from the white cupboard above him. Again he rummaged through the refrigerator, shuffling around containers and such before extracting the bottle of milk, which he placed on the table in front of Parker.
"For the umpteenth time--No! I don't want a drink of milk or whatever it is you're cooking."
"I'm not cooking, Parker, that would involve so much more. All I did is reheat some of Geilie's Scottish Beef Broth for you. I'm also going to pour you a glass of milk to wash it down with," Jarod replied, as he placed the bowls of piping hot soup in front of them and then returned to the counter for the glasses in which to pour the milk and two spoons.
Settling himself into the chair next to Parker, he watched her for a few moments as she cautiously dipped the spoon into the bowl.
"It's not poisoned, if that's what you're thinking," he muttered, before placing a spoonful into his mouth.
"Yeah, right!" she replied and then tentatively brought the spoon up towards her nose, inhaling its aroma. She hesitated just long enough to draw Jarod's mock ire.
"Eat, or I'll feed you myself."
"You wouldn't dare. . ." she exclaimed. She was totally shocked when he pushed her spoon into her mouth.
"Now swallow. That's a good girl," he laughed as he looked at her from across the table. Parker contemplated smacking his self-satisfied smile off his annoyingly handsome face when she realized the food really was appealing. Funny, she thought. A moment ago the idea of food made her stomach turn over, but now that she had actually taken a bite, she found herself suddenly very hungry. Well, lucky for you, Jarod, she thought as she took another bite. Her rumbling stomach had just saved his life.
***
Margaret was lying in bed silently fuming, her mouth dry as paper; she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to summon a little saliva. More than anything, she was annoyed... annoyed at herself for being surprised, and annoyed at Miss Parker for somehow managing to win a small battle in the war that raged between them. Fergus had arrived moments earlier, delivering news regarding the key, or lack thereof, and that's when the irked feelings had begun. She had hoped that the old man would return from the storage area with the key clutched tightly in his gnarled hand and a triumphant look upon his face. And though she was prepared to have that hope dashed, the sense of disappointment that flooded through her when he entered her room without said key had surprised her.
She dismissed the man with a blazing glare and watched as he skittered away, thankful to have escaped alive, no doubt. Catherine's daughter was proving to be far more of a challenge than her mother had ever been. It was the one drawback to the upbringing the girl had been allowed to have...she trusted no one, well, almost no one, and that meant that she was a formidable adversary. Margaret had to remind herself that it was she, in fact, who was in control. The girl's memories were her hostages, and she would wield that power whenever necessary in order to secure the future for the Centre that had always been planned.
Margaret stepped toward the window and looked down upon the moors that surrounded the caer. A shudder passed through her, and a fleeting thought of death seemed to float through the air. The Penfield woman must have gone to the ghosts. Just as well. The old woman seemed to know things she shouldn't, and Margaret was certain she had helped steer Jarod and Miss Parker toward each other the past few weeks. That had caused Margaret complications, and she hoped only that the devil had come to claim Violet Penfield in retribution for her interference.
The key...she had to get the key. If Miss Parker did have it, then they had to get it back. The question was, how to do it when Jarod hawked the woman's every move?
It was such a simple solution that Margaret chided herself for not coming to it sooner. She had separated them emotionally, now she had to separate them physically. Miss Parker would be vulnerable without Jarod at her side, and Margaret's men could take advantage of that to do what was needed to return the key to her possession.
Distracting Jarod would be simple enough. Margaret would just have to make a more lengthy appearance to her son...but Miss Parker--that was a challenge, unless...Her mind clicking, Margaret raced to the phone and pushed two buttons, an action that automatically connected her to the man she wanted.
"Doctor, yes it's me. You said that our girl would be vulnerable to suggestions even without further treatment, is that correct? Good, then I'd like you to prepare something for me. Something that will drive Little Miss Parker right out of Scotland and back home, alone, where she belongs."
Margaret turned away from the window and headed toward her bed. She slipped
between the covers, a smile of satisfaction on her face.
Hours later, the smile returned to Margaret's face as she pushed the button that would activate the signals sent out to the doctor's magnificent transmitter. The two of them had estimated what Parker's "inner sense" voice sounded like thanks to descriptions Catherine had once given to her "friend." Now this simulated voice, the one that sounded barely like a whisper in the large castle room, would do the work Margaret needed it to do--it would drive Jarod and Parker apart.
***
Parker placed the spoon back inside the empty bowl and reached for the napkin to wipe her mouth. She watched as Jarod picked up both bowls as well as the glasses, and placed them in the sink. He then set about washing them and putting the items away.
"That was delicious," she said softly. Jarod turned to look at her, smiling as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans, encountering the cold metal located there. Pulling out the ring of keys, he walked back over to the table and set them in front of Parker.
"The constable gave these to me after the accident. I forgot all about them. They're all there." He watched carefully as she reached over and picked them up, her hand trembling. "And your car should be back day after tomorrow, as well."
"With everything that's been going on, I suppose that it's understandable that you forgot. What good are my house keys going to do you here in Inverness, any way? "
"It's just that----I figured that you'd be angry. Accuse me of -- I don't know--stealing them." His voice was troubled.
"Should I be angry?" she tried to sound reassuring, in spite of herself.
Jarod lowered his eyes, thinking of the small key he had removed from the ring earlier. Somehow, he knew that the safety deposit box key had something to do with what was happening to them, what had stolen away Parker's memories, and though he hated keeping yet another secret from her, he felt that he had to protect her from whatever dangers were lurking around them.
Parker interpreted Jarod's silence as a discomfort in being around her, and for some reason she couldn't quite place, it wounded her feelings. They had been enemies for so long, and yet it seemed strange to her for some reason that he would be so quiet around her. Why was that? Why would she care how Jarod felt about her or wonder at all about his reactions to anything?
As if on cue, Parker felt her head begin to pound. Every time she tried to place something from the past four months, her head would ache so badly she thought it would literally bring her to her knees. She was in so much pain that she couldn't stop the grimace that spread on her face. The change in her demeanor did not go unnoticed by her dinner companion.
"Parker? Parker, what is it?"
"Nothing, I'm just tired." She squeezed the words out through clenched teeth, the pain setting off another wave of nausea. Parker knew she'd be fighting all night to keep down the soup she'd just eaten.
Jarod watched her coil more into herself as the discomfort grew worse. The sinking feeling in his stomach and the lump in his throat betrayed the panic that he was trying to keep in check. Something was wrong and now he knew it. No accident had left Parker in this condition, and he prayed that Broots and Sydney could uncover something to help him solve the mystery of what that was. In the meantime, though, he had to get her back to bed.
"Come on, Parker, let's get you upstairs."
She nodded--that was all the response Parker could muster--and Jarod reached out to help her from the chair. His heart screamed at him to just pick her up and carry her up the stairs, but he realized that while his Annsachd would have understood and even appreciated the gesture, Miss Parker would feel compelled to lash out at him, and right now he just didn't think he could take that.
It took several minutes for Jarod to ease Parker up the stairs and to finally get her settled in bed. He quickly extinguished the lights when he saw her shield her eyes from it, and once the room was dark he watched her curl up into a ball as she tried to fight the pain in her head.
"Remember."
Inside her head, Parker could hear the word screaming at her. Damn voices. Didn't they understand that every time she tried to remember she ended up in this agony? Why couldn't they just tell her what was wrong? Why, so many damn whys...
Jarod watched over Parker until her breathing finally eased and she was asleep. Then he headed down to reconnect the phone line. He didn't have time for another trip into town, he had to find out what Sydney and Broots had found, and he needed to know now.
Once inside Marley's office, Jarod quickly reconnected the telephone line into the jack. He then proceeded to push a series of numbers on the keypad.
"This is Sydney."
"It's me."
"Jarod, how's Miss Parker?" the older man asked.
"Still Miss Parker but without four months of memories," Jarod chuckled, slightly.
"Seriously, Jarod."
"Sorry, Sydney. Her memory loss wasn't caused by the accident. All her tests came back normal and the number of headaches she's been suffering from are leading me to believe that something or someone else is responsible."
"Which means that you two are in danger?" Sydney responded.
"That's a distinct possibility, but from whom? Everyone that matters from the Centre is accounted for, if I'm not mistaken."
"You're correct there. Cox and Lyle are running around Mexico trying to capture your father and ...." Sydney stopped short.
"Jason. I'm glad to hear that Mr. Broots didn't have any problems with my program. Now my next question, did he find anything in the Centre mainframe about Lachlan Abbott."
"I'll let him tell you what he found," Sydney said as he hand to the phone off to the nervous computer techie, who was shaking his head back and forth. The rapid breathing told Jarod that Sydney was no longer on the other end.
"Talk to me, Mr. Broots. And make it quick."
"There were are some references to Lachlan Abbott and Maggie Abbott. Only problem is that the files are in Mr. Parker's office and I haven't been able to get inside."
"Well, then get inside, Mr. Broots." Jarod said, the tone of his voice reminding Broots of Miss Parker. "Get me that information, so that I can compare it to mine."
"Sure, Jarod. I'll get right on it," Broots murmured to a dial tone.
***
When Parker awoke, she noticed that the storm from the previous night had abated and blue sky greeted her. The night had been a roller coaster ride for her, what with coming to grips with her lapse in memory, Jarod's hovering, and Violet Penfield's death, and her sleep had been plagued by dreams.
Parker settled back against the pillows waiting for that wave of nausea that had greeted her the last few mornings, and was surprised when it didn't come. Grateful, she padded out of bed and cast a quick glance into the small room that Jarod had taken up residence in since her release from the hospital. Finding it empty, she then headed for the closet, where she pulled out a blue satin blouse and a pair of black pants. Taking her choice of wardrobe with her, she entered the bathroom. After adjusting the facets, Parker stepped into the shower and allowed the warm water to cascade down her, hopeful that it would wash away the remnants of last night's dreams.
As Jarod entered the bedroom carrying a silver tray that held breakfast for Parker, the sound of a hair dryer alerted him to the fact that she was up. Placing the tray on the ottoman, next to the armchair, he headed into the small room, closing the door behind him. Parker stared at herself in the mirror, not liking what she saw. She had hoped that the shower would refresh her yet there were still dark shadows under her eyes and that ugly bruise from the accident. She realized that no amount of concealer would help.
Opening the door, her gaze fell upon the tea tray and then to the closed door. She poured herself a cup of tea, but ignored the croissants. Sighing, she settled her body into the comfortable armchair and closed her eyes.
"I'm not surprised that you're still tired, you didn't exactly sleep like a baby last night," Jarod said, as Parker opened her eyes to find him standing in front of her.
"And how exactly does a baby sleep?" she replied, before taking a sip of her tea.
"Peacefully, but not you. Toss and turn, turn and toss." Jarod responded as he settled himself on the edge of the bed and reached for one of the croissants. Something troubling you?"
"Just dreams."
"Want to talk about them?" Jarod asked with a hint of a smile. "Perhaps your subconscious is trying to get you to remember."
"They were just dreams. I don't even remember them," she replied, her tone serious.
"I just thought that...never mind," Jarod stood up and headed toward the door, "my mistake. I just thought that you might want someone to talk too. To help you sort things out, but now that I know that you don't, I'll go offer my help elsewhere. Perhaps Marley will accept my shoulder to lean on."
Parker watched as Jarod angrily strolled out of the bedroom. She done it again, provoked him, and this time he'd left her alone to sort things out. Question was where did one start to sort things out, when one had no idea what to sort out? Maybe, she thought, she should try to figure out just why it was that Jarod's words "Perhaps Marley will accept my shoulder to lean on" had stung her. Did she care that Jarod was reaching out to another woman? The answer was clearly yes, and again she found herself asking the nagging question of why. Parker swore silently that if she ever did get a grip on what was going on, she would never use the word "why" ever again.
For the first time since the accident that little voice was quiet, instead of constantly badgering her with incessant chatter, and she wished she could set aside her mixed feelings about Jarod and just enjoy the silence. She brought the teacup up towards her, it's aroma causing her stomach to start roiling, that she leaned back in the armchair waiting for it to pass. So much for feeling better, she thought as the feeling began to subside.
She sat down the teacup and leaned her head back against the back of the chair. It was only a few moments later, when she heard a knock at the door that Parker realized she had drifted back to sleep. Since when did she need to sleep so much? Whatever had happened to her, it was certainly taking its toll on her body.
Parker stood and approached the door, expecting to find Jarod. Instead, she came face to face with Violet's hired man, Donal.
"Oh, hello, Donal. What can I do for you?"
"I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, but the men are here to talk about Miss Violet's send off, and I think...well, she didna say it, but I think Miss Marley would appreciate havin' you there."
Parker sighed. Though she didn't really remember Marley or her grandmother, the two women had been very kind to her, and something about them seemed familiar to her. Besides, she'd had to plan a few funerals in her time, and she knew they weren't much fun.
"Of course, I'll go down and find her."
Donal stepped back into the hall as Parker exited the room. He reached to close the door when his eyes spied the tray on the ottoman.
"Are you done wit' yer tray, ma'am?"
Parker turned back and looked at the tray. Just thinking about the buttery croissants sitting on it made her stomach do a somersault.
"Yes, I am."
"I'll clear it up for ye then."
"Donal, you don't have to do that. I know you've lost Violet, too."
The young woman's kind words wounded Donal to his heart. She didn't deserve what that horrible woman had done to her-didn't deserve what he was about to do to her now, but he knew that he had no choice.
"It's okay, Ma'am. Better for me to keep busy."
The lass nodded at him and made her way down the hall. Once he was certain she was gone, Donal stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind him. Then, with a heavy heart, he walked toward the lassie's bed. He took out the small device that Fergus had brought to him before the sun had even risen. The piece of silver metal was cold in his hands, and Donal wondered what its true purpose was, though he was certain what it had been created for--to cause more pain to the lass, and to Jarod.
An image of Ian filled Donal's mind, and so, despite his hatred for the mistress of the caer and his love for Violet and those she had cared for, he placed the small device on the backside of the headboard, just as he'd been told to. Then he sighed heavily as he picked up the tray and left the room.
***
Trawling through gigabytes of data, Broots found few references to Lachlan Abbott but many to one Maggie Abbott. He was anxious to bring up the files that he had on his computer, but first he decided to run the second phase of Jarod's plan. Once he'd set that into motion, Broots turned his attention back to the Maggie Abbott file, which was proving to be harder to crack than he anticipated. No matter which program he ran it through, the file came up blank.
Broots decided to hardcopy every page; perhaps having it on paper would help. It was not something he had ever seen before, the text obviously a mixture of characters and symbols. What he needed was some point of reference, some starting point on which to build. He started to separate the characters and run comparisons in all languages. Nothing.
Moody with frustration, he snapped at Sydney, who left to go work in the sim lab. Once Sydney had left, Broots decided to abandon the letters and work on the symbols. At last a hit. Broots felt the excitement of success thumping inside his rib cage. By noon, Broots had successfully fed his findings into the Hewlett. All he had to do was wait for the decoding to finish. When it did, what emerged was a long, intricate string of meaningless gibberish. Any normal person would have abandoned this project or slapped the keyboard in frustration. Not him. This was a test and he would not allow it to win. Too much depended on this information, he could feel it.
Looking at the paper, he realized that the order was wrong. So, he rubbed the fatigue from his eyes and glared at the pages. Slowly he started to figure it out, once he had it in the order he believed necessary for translation, he fed it in to the translator program he had devised. The computer hummed and whirred, converting all the information into binary. Several times it stopped to ask for confirmation of a symbol or letter. This eventually decreased in frequency as the computer began to decode the file by learning its secrets. Finally two words flashed on his screen: File Converted.
Fingers shaking with exhaustion and excitement, Broots clicked Print. Several pages scrolled from the DeskJet. It was in English, but more importantly, understandable.
"Well, Broots?" Sydney's voice startled him.
"It's a jigsaw puzzle, Syd and this is only a piece of a very complicated whole. There isn't much about Lachlan Abbott, other than the fact that he died under rather suspicious circumstances." Broots paused, briefly then continued. "There's information in the Centre's database about his sister, Maggie, but even that stops."
Sydney felt a lump in his throat.
***
A sense of danger surrounded him. It was similar to what he felt when he had leafed through the photo album on the plane ride here. Ethan looked around the countryside and tried to dismiss the feeling. He had to get to his sister, and soon. Somehow he knew that getting to her was the only thing that would ease the tension inside of him. And yet something here called to him.
Ethan stood hidden by the evergreens, feeling the full impact of the sight in front of him. He slipped a hand inside his jacket, withdrawing the faded photograph. There under the watchful gaze of two massive stone-carved eagles, was the black iron-wrought gate.
***
As Jarod began to drive, they sat in silence for the few minutes that it took them to drive around the lake for the church to come into view. It was a cobblestone structure built in the 1800s. It seemed to be an appropriate place for Violet, Jarod thought as a steady stream of cars approached the church and the lot around it.
They arrived back at the inn, where an informal receiving line had formed in the spacious parlor. Donal and Geilie, tears welling up in their eyes and their grandson Ian. Jarod smiled at the five year old boy. Scabby knees, two front teeth missing, and blue eyes that twinkled with mischief. Violet's granddaughter, Marley was standing with Dr. MacKenna, greeting the guests and accepting condolences.
"Parker." Jarod pressed her arm and indicated the people waiting behind them to speak to Marley. He was more worried about her than ever after this morning. She'd woken up screaming, calling out for help from some subconscious danger she refused to share with him. He'd sat with her for nearly an hour trying to coax her into telling him what she'd dreamed, but Parker had refused, simply staring at him with a look that was equal parts fear and confusion.
"Jarod," her voice was weak and she felt nauseated, anxiously aware of the tea and scone that she had eaten for breakfast, earlier this morning," I need to sit down."
He guided her toward the sofa, but she collapsed into oblivion, his arms tightening around her. As she collapsed, she was instantly assailed by flashes of her nightmare, and of a strange new voice she'd heard over and over during the night-"You are danger to Jarod. You must leave Jarod."
Almost simultaneously, another voice, a more familiar one chanted its all-to-familiar refrain "Remember." It drowned out the concerned tones of Jarod and Marley and Dr. MacKenna, who were all suddenly cloistered around her.
Remember. The word was beginning to frighten her. And Jarod--why was she endangering him? At that, one clear thought formed in her mind...The Centre. The Centre was about to find her, and that meant finding Jarod. It didn't occur to Parker that finding Jarod was the one goal that had dominated her life for the past five years. No, all she could think was that she had to get away from him. Even though she had no idea why, she couldn't let them take him back there.
"Miss Parker," a woman's voice spoke, "Let's get ye upstairs." Parker nodded as she accepted the older woman's help. "Jarod, my medical bag be in the hatch, would ye be so kind as to..."
Jarod accepted the set of keys that where placed in his hands and excused himself. Dr. MacKenna helped Parker up the stairs and they eventually made it to the bedroom. She steered Parker to the bed and helped ease her down onto it. There was a knock on the door.
"Mairin, I have your medical bag," Jarod replied waiting to be allowed admittance. The door slowly opened and Mairin extended her hand and accepted the bag.
"You can go back downstairs, Jarod. Miss Parker will be quite safe with me. And when I'm done, I would prefer that my patient got some rest." She watched Jarod's features set, determantion crossing. "She'll been fine, Jarod. Now go." The door closed and Mairin MacKenna turned around and faced her patient.
Parker attempted an amused smile. What actually formed on her lips resembled that of a lemon-sucking grimace.
"Nausea?" Mairin asked, as she opened her bag and removed her stethoscope and penlight. Parker nodded. "Still experiencing headaches, as well?" Again Parker nodded. "Canna sleeping well either, are ye?"
"Did Jarod.... "
"Nay, ye pale and dark circles tell me ye canna sleep," Mairin glanced down at Miss Parker. "So, I'm going to take a blood sample." Parker frowned. " Or I admit ye back to hospital."
Parker offered her arm as Mairin reached inside her bag and removed a syringe. She had thought about arguing but she just didn't have the strength to do so. She grimaced as the needle pricked her skin.
"Now ye rest. I'll stop by later to check ye."
The Truth Hurts
Part 13
Trish
With his arm still locked protectively around Parker's waist, Jarod guided her down the wooden staircase and into the back of the house toward the kitchen, her protestations of "being fine" falling on deaf ears. It wasn't until they reached the wooden table that she removed herself from his arm by pulling a chair out from the table and settling into it.
"Now let's see, what do we have for you to eat?" Jarod said as he rummaged through the refrigerator, popping the tops from rubber containers and the foil-covers from plates.
"No!" Parker said, quite crossly, her eyes glaring at him as he turned from his task, a container of brown liquid in his hands.
"I told you not to argue with me," he said, grinning as he removed the containers lid and poured its contents into a saucepan on the stove and set it to simmer. He then removed two bowls and two glasses from the white cupboard above him. Again he rummaged through the refrigerator, shuffling around containers and such before extracting the bottle of milk, which he placed on the table in front of Parker.
"For the umpteenth time--No! I don't want a drink of milk or whatever it is you're cooking."
"I'm not cooking, Parker, that would involve so much more. All I did is reheat some of Geilie's Scottish Beef Broth for you. I'm also going to pour you a glass of milk to wash it down with," Jarod replied, as he placed the bowls of piping hot soup in front of them and then returned to the counter for the glasses in which to pour the milk and two spoons.
Settling himself into the chair next to Parker, he watched her for a few moments as she cautiously dipped the spoon into the bowl.
"It's not poisoned, if that's what you're thinking," he muttered, before placing a spoonful into his mouth.
"Yeah, right!" she replied and then tentatively brought the spoon up towards her nose, inhaling its aroma. She hesitated just long enough to draw Jarod's mock ire.
"Eat, or I'll feed you myself."
"You wouldn't dare. . ." she exclaimed. She was totally shocked when he pushed her spoon into her mouth.
"Now swallow. That's a good girl," he laughed as he looked at her from across the table. Parker contemplated smacking his self-satisfied smile off his annoyingly handsome face when she realized the food really was appealing. Funny, she thought. A moment ago the idea of food made her stomach turn over, but now that she had actually taken a bite, she found herself suddenly very hungry. Well, lucky for you, Jarod, she thought as she took another bite. Her rumbling stomach had just saved his life.
***
Margaret was lying in bed silently fuming, her mouth dry as paper; she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to summon a little saliva. More than anything, she was annoyed... annoyed at herself for being surprised, and annoyed at Miss Parker for somehow managing to win a small battle in the war that raged between them. Fergus had arrived moments earlier, delivering news regarding the key, or lack thereof, and that's when the irked feelings had begun. She had hoped that the old man would return from the storage area with the key clutched tightly in his gnarled hand and a triumphant look upon his face. And though she was prepared to have that hope dashed, the sense of disappointment that flooded through her when he entered her room without said key had surprised her.
She dismissed the man with a blazing glare and watched as he skittered away, thankful to have escaped alive, no doubt. Catherine's daughter was proving to be far more of a challenge than her mother had ever been. It was the one drawback to the upbringing the girl had been allowed to have...she trusted no one, well, almost no one, and that meant that she was a formidable adversary. Margaret had to remind herself that it was she, in fact, who was in control. The girl's memories were her hostages, and she would wield that power whenever necessary in order to secure the future for the Centre that had always been planned.
Margaret stepped toward the window and looked down upon the moors that surrounded the caer. A shudder passed through her, and a fleeting thought of death seemed to float through the air. The Penfield woman must have gone to the ghosts. Just as well. The old woman seemed to know things she shouldn't, and Margaret was certain she had helped steer Jarod and Miss Parker toward each other the past few weeks. That had caused Margaret complications, and she hoped only that the devil had come to claim Violet Penfield in retribution for her interference.
The key...she had to get the key. If Miss Parker did have it, then they had to get it back. The question was, how to do it when Jarod hawked the woman's every move?
It was such a simple solution that Margaret chided herself for not coming to it sooner. She had separated them emotionally, now she had to separate them physically. Miss Parker would be vulnerable without Jarod at her side, and Margaret's men could take advantage of that to do what was needed to return the key to her possession.
Distracting Jarod would be simple enough. Margaret would just have to make a more lengthy appearance to her son...but Miss Parker--that was a challenge, unless...Her mind clicking, Margaret raced to the phone and pushed two buttons, an action that automatically connected her to the man she wanted.
"Doctor, yes it's me. You said that our girl would be vulnerable to suggestions even without further treatment, is that correct? Good, then I'd like you to prepare something for me. Something that will drive Little Miss Parker right out of Scotland and back home, alone, where she belongs."
Margaret turned away from the window and headed toward her bed. She slipped
between the covers, a smile of satisfaction on her face.
Hours later, the smile returned to Margaret's face as she pushed the button that would activate the signals sent out to the doctor's magnificent transmitter. The two of them had estimated what Parker's "inner sense" voice sounded like thanks to descriptions Catherine had once given to her "friend." Now this simulated voice, the one that sounded barely like a whisper in the large castle room, would do the work Margaret needed it to do--it would drive Jarod and Parker apart.
***
Parker placed the spoon back inside the empty bowl and reached for the napkin to wipe her mouth. She watched as Jarod picked up both bowls as well as the glasses, and placed them in the sink. He then set about washing them and putting the items away.
"That was delicious," she said softly. Jarod turned to look at her, smiling as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans, encountering the cold metal located there. Pulling out the ring of keys, he walked back over to the table and set them in front of Parker.
"The constable gave these to me after the accident. I forgot all about them. They're all there." He watched carefully as she reached over and picked them up, her hand trembling. "And your car should be back day after tomorrow, as well."
"With everything that's been going on, I suppose that it's understandable that you forgot. What good are my house keys going to do you here in Inverness, any way? "
"It's just that----I figured that you'd be angry. Accuse me of -- I don't know--stealing them." His voice was troubled.
"Should I be angry?" she tried to sound reassuring, in spite of herself.
Jarod lowered his eyes, thinking of the small key he had removed from the ring earlier. Somehow, he knew that the safety deposit box key had something to do with what was happening to them, what had stolen away Parker's memories, and though he hated keeping yet another secret from her, he felt that he had to protect her from whatever dangers were lurking around them.
Parker interpreted Jarod's silence as a discomfort in being around her, and for some reason she couldn't quite place, it wounded her feelings. They had been enemies for so long, and yet it seemed strange to her for some reason that he would be so quiet around her. Why was that? Why would she care how Jarod felt about her or wonder at all about his reactions to anything?
As if on cue, Parker felt her head begin to pound. Every time she tried to place something from the past four months, her head would ache so badly she thought it would literally bring her to her knees. She was in so much pain that she couldn't stop the grimace that spread on her face. The change in her demeanor did not go unnoticed by her dinner companion.
"Parker? Parker, what is it?"
"Nothing, I'm just tired." She squeezed the words out through clenched teeth, the pain setting off another wave of nausea. Parker knew she'd be fighting all night to keep down the soup she'd just eaten.
Jarod watched her coil more into herself as the discomfort grew worse. The sinking feeling in his stomach and the lump in his throat betrayed the panic that he was trying to keep in check. Something was wrong and now he knew it. No accident had left Parker in this condition, and he prayed that Broots and Sydney could uncover something to help him solve the mystery of what that was. In the meantime, though, he had to get her back to bed.
"Come on, Parker, let's get you upstairs."
She nodded--that was all the response Parker could muster--and Jarod reached out to help her from the chair. His heart screamed at him to just pick her up and carry her up the stairs, but he realized that while his Annsachd would have understood and even appreciated the gesture, Miss Parker would feel compelled to lash out at him, and right now he just didn't think he could take that.
It took several minutes for Jarod to ease Parker up the stairs and to finally get her settled in bed. He quickly extinguished the lights when he saw her shield her eyes from it, and once the room was dark he watched her curl up into a ball as she tried to fight the pain in her head.
"Remember."
Inside her head, Parker could hear the word screaming at her. Damn voices. Didn't they understand that every time she tried to remember she ended up in this agony? Why couldn't they just tell her what was wrong? Why, so many damn whys...
Jarod watched over Parker until her breathing finally eased and she was asleep. Then he headed down to reconnect the phone line. He didn't have time for another trip into town, he had to find out what Sydney and Broots had found, and he needed to know now.
Once inside Marley's office, Jarod quickly reconnected the telephone line into the jack. He then proceeded to push a series of numbers on the keypad.
"This is Sydney."
"It's me."
"Jarod, how's Miss Parker?" the older man asked.
"Still Miss Parker but without four months of memories," Jarod chuckled, slightly.
"Seriously, Jarod."
"Sorry, Sydney. Her memory loss wasn't caused by the accident. All her tests came back normal and the number of headaches she's been suffering from are leading me to believe that something or someone else is responsible."
"Which means that you two are in danger?" Sydney responded.
"That's a distinct possibility, but from whom? Everyone that matters from the Centre is accounted for, if I'm not mistaken."
"You're correct there. Cox and Lyle are running around Mexico trying to capture your father and ...." Sydney stopped short.
"Jason. I'm glad to hear that Mr. Broots didn't have any problems with my program. Now my next question, did he find anything in the Centre mainframe about Lachlan Abbott."
"I'll let him tell you what he found," Sydney said as he hand to the phone off to the nervous computer techie, who was shaking his head back and forth. The rapid breathing told Jarod that Sydney was no longer on the other end.
"Talk to me, Mr. Broots. And make it quick."
"There were are some references to Lachlan Abbott and Maggie Abbott. Only problem is that the files are in Mr. Parker's office and I haven't been able to get inside."
"Well, then get inside, Mr. Broots." Jarod said, the tone of his voice reminding Broots of Miss Parker. "Get me that information, so that I can compare it to mine."
"Sure, Jarod. I'll get right on it," Broots murmured to a dial tone.
***
When Parker awoke, she noticed that the storm from the previous night had abated and blue sky greeted her. The night had been a roller coaster ride for her, what with coming to grips with her lapse in memory, Jarod's hovering, and Violet Penfield's death, and her sleep had been plagued by dreams.
Parker settled back against the pillows waiting for that wave of nausea that had greeted her the last few mornings, and was surprised when it didn't come. Grateful, she padded out of bed and cast a quick glance into the small room that Jarod had taken up residence in since her release from the hospital. Finding it empty, she then headed for the closet, where she pulled out a blue satin blouse and a pair of black pants. Taking her choice of wardrobe with her, she entered the bathroom. After adjusting the facets, Parker stepped into the shower and allowed the warm water to cascade down her, hopeful that it would wash away the remnants of last night's dreams.
As Jarod entered the bedroom carrying a silver tray that held breakfast for Parker, the sound of a hair dryer alerted him to the fact that she was up. Placing the tray on the ottoman, next to the armchair, he headed into the small room, closing the door behind him. Parker stared at herself in the mirror, not liking what she saw. She had hoped that the shower would refresh her yet there were still dark shadows under her eyes and that ugly bruise from the accident. She realized that no amount of concealer would help.
Opening the door, her gaze fell upon the tea tray and then to the closed door. She poured herself a cup of tea, but ignored the croissants. Sighing, she settled her body into the comfortable armchair and closed her eyes.
"I'm not surprised that you're still tired, you didn't exactly sleep like a baby last night," Jarod said, as Parker opened her eyes to find him standing in front of her.
"And how exactly does a baby sleep?" she replied, before taking a sip of her tea.
"Peacefully, but not you. Toss and turn, turn and toss." Jarod responded as he settled himself on the edge of the bed and reached for one of the croissants. Something troubling you?"
"Just dreams."
"Want to talk about them?" Jarod asked with a hint of a smile. "Perhaps your subconscious is trying to get you to remember."
"They were just dreams. I don't even remember them," she replied, her tone serious.
"I just thought that...never mind," Jarod stood up and headed toward the door, "my mistake. I just thought that you might want someone to talk too. To help you sort things out, but now that I know that you don't, I'll go offer my help elsewhere. Perhaps Marley will accept my shoulder to lean on."
Parker watched as Jarod angrily strolled out of the bedroom. She done it again, provoked him, and this time he'd left her alone to sort things out. Question was where did one start to sort things out, when one had no idea what to sort out? Maybe, she thought, she should try to figure out just why it was that Jarod's words "Perhaps Marley will accept my shoulder to lean on" had stung her. Did she care that Jarod was reaching out to another woman? The answer was clearly yes, and again she found herself asking the nagging question of why. Parker swore silently that if she ever did get a grip on what was going on, she would never use the word "why" ever again.
For the first time since the accident that little voice was quiet, instead of constantly badgering her with incessant chatter, and she wished she could set aside her mixed feelings about Jarod and just enjoy the silence. She brought the teacup up towards her, it's aroma causing her stomach to start roiling, that she leaned back in the armchair waiting for it to pass. So much for feeling better, she thought as the feeling began to subside.
She sat down the teacup and leaned her head back against the back of the chair. It was only a few moments later, when she heard a knock at the door that Parker realized she had drifted back to sleep. Since when did she need to sleep so much? Whatever had happened to her, it was certainly taking its toll on her body.
Parker stood and approached the door, expecting to find Jarod. Instead, she came face to face with Violet's hired man, Donal.
"Oh, hello, Donal. What can I do for you?"
"I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, but the men are here to talk about Miss Violet's send off, and I think...well, she didna say it, but I think Miss Marley would appreciate havin' you there."
Parker sighed. Though she didn't really remember Marley or her grandmother, the two women had been very kind to her, and something about them seemed familiar to her. Besides, she'd had to plan a few funerals in her time, and she knew they weren't much fun.
"Of course, I'll go down and find her."
Donal stepped back into the hall as Parker exited the room. He reached to close the door when his eyes spied the tray on the ottoman.
"Are you done wit' yer tray, ma'am?"
Parker turned back and looked at the tray. Just thinking about the buttery croissants sitting on it made her stomach do a somersault.
"Yes, I am."
"I'll clear it up for ye then."
"Donal, you don't have to do that. I know you've lost Violet, too."
The young woman's kind words wounded Donal to his heart. She didn't deserve what that horrible woman had done to her-didn't deserve what he was about to do to her now, but he knew that he had no choice.
"It's okay, Ma'am. Better for me to keep busy."
The lass nodded at him and made her way down the hall. Once he was certain she was gone, Donal stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind him. Then, with a heavy heart, he walked toward the lassie's bed. He took out the small device that Fergus had brought to him before the sun had even risen. The piece of silver metal was cold in his hands, and Donal wondered what its true purpose was, though he was certain what it had been created for--to cause more pain to the lass, and to Jarod.
An image of Ian filled Donal's mind, and so, despite his hatred for the mistress of the caer and his love for Violet and those she had cared for, he placed the small device on the backside of the headboard, just as he'd been told to. Then he sighed heavily as he picked up the tray and left the room.
***
Trawling through gigabytes of data, Broots found few references to Lachlan Abbott but many to one Maggie Abbott. He was anxious to bring up the files that he had on his computer, but first he decided to run the second phase of Jarod's plan. Once he'd set that into motion, Broots turned his attention back to the Maggie Abbott file, which was proving to be harder to crack than he anticipated. No matter which program he ran it through, the file came up blank.
Broots decided to hardcopy every page; perhaps having it on paper would help. It was not something he had ever seen before, the text obviously a mixture of characters and symbols. What he needed was some point of reference, some starting point on which to build. He started to separate the characters and run comparisons in all languages. Nothing.
Moody with frustration, he snapped at Sydney, who left to go work in the sim lab. Once Sydney had left, Broots decided to abandon the letters and work on the symbols. At last a hit. Broots felt the excitement of success thumping inside his rib cage. By noon, Broots had successfully fed his findings into the Hewlett. All he had to do was wait for the decoding to finish. When it did, what emerged was a long, intricate string of meaningless gibberish. Any normal person would have abandoned this project or slapped the keyboard in frustration. Not him. This was a test and he would not allow it to win. Too much depended on this information, he could feel it.
Looking at the paper, he realized that the order was wrong. So, he rubbed the fatigue from his eyes and glared at the pages. Slowly he started to figure it out, once he had it in the order he believed necessary for translation, he fed it in to the translator program he had devised. The computer hummed and whirred, converting all the information into binary. Several times it stopped to ask for confirmation of a symbol or letter. This eventually decreased in frequency as the computer began to decode the file by learning its secrets. Finally two words flashed on his screen: File Converted.
Fingers shaking with exhaustion and excitement, Broots clicked Print. Several pages scrolled from the DeskJet. It was in English, but more importantly, understandable.
"Well, Broots?" Sydney's voice startled him.
"It's a jigsaw puzzle, Syd and this is only a piece of a very complicated whole. There isn't much about Lachlan Abbott, other than the fact that he died under rather suspicious circumstances." Broots paused, briefly then continued. "There's information in the Centre's database about his sister, Maggie, but even that stops."
Sydney felt a lump in his throat.
***
A sense of danger surrounded him. It was similar to what he felt when he had leafed through the photo album on the plane ride here. Ethan looked around the countryside and tried to dismiss the feeling. He had to get to his sister, and soon. Somehow he knew that getting to her was the only thing that would ease the tension inside of him. And yet something here called to him.
Ethan stood hidden by the evergreens, feeling the full impact of the sight in front of him. He slipped a hand inside his jacket, withdrawing the faded photograph. There under the watchful gaze of two massive stone-carved eagles, was the black iron-wrought gate.
***
As Jarod began to drive, they sat in silence for the few minutes that it took them to drive around the lake for the church to come into view. It was a cobblestone structure built in the 1800s. It seemed to be an appropriate place for Violet, Jarod thought as a steady stream of cars approached the church and the lot around it.
They arrived back at the inn, where an informal receiving line had formed in the spacious parlor. Donal and Geilie, tears welling up in their eyes and their grandson Ian. Jarod smiled at the five year old boy. Scabby knees, two front teeth missing, and blue eyes that twinkled with mischief. Violet's granddaughter, Marley was standing with Dr. MacKenna, greeting the guests and accepting condolences.
"Parker." Jarod pressed her arm and indicated the people waiting behind them to speak to Marley. He was more worried about her than ever after this morning. She'd woken up screaming, calling out for help from some subconscious danger she refused to share with him. He'd sat with her for nearly an hour trying to coax her into telling him what she'd dreamed, but Parker had refused, simply staring at him with a look that was equal parts fear and confusion.
"Jarod," her voice was weak and she felt nauseated, anxiously aware of the tea and scone that she had eaten for breakfast, earlier this morning," I need to sit down."
He guided her toward the sofa, but she collapsed into oblivion, his arms tightening around her. As she collapsed, she was instantly assailed by flashes of her nightmare, and of a strange new voice she'd heard over and over during the night-"You are danger to Jarod. You must leave Jarod."
Almost simultaneously, another voice, a more familiar one chanted its all-to-familiar refrain "Remember." It drowned out the concerned tones of Jarod and Marley and Dr. MacKenna, who were all suddenly cloistered around her.
Remember. The word was beginning to frighten her. And Jarod--why was she endangering him? At that, one clear thought formed in her mind...The Centre. The Centre was about to find her, and that meant finding Jarod. It didn't occur to Parker that finding Jarod was the one goal that had dominated her life for the past five years. No, all she could think was that she had to get away from him. Even though she had no idea why, she couldn't let them take him back there.
"Miss Parker," a woman's voice spoke, "Let's get ye upstairs." Parker nodded as she accepted the older woman's help. "Jarod, my medical bag be in the hatch, would ye be so kind as to..."
Jarod accepted the set of keys that where placed in his hands and excused himself. Dr. MacKenna helped Parker up the stairs and they eventually made it to the bedroom. She steered Parker to the bed and helped ease her down onto it. There was a knock on the door.
"Mairin, I have your medical bag," Jarod replied waiting to be allowed admittance. The door slowly opened and Mairin extended her hand and accepted the bag.
"You can go back downstairs, Jarod. Miss Parker will be quite safe with me. And when I'm done, I would prefer that my patient got some rest." She watched Jarod's features set, determantion crossing. "She'll been fine, Jarod. Now go." The door closed and Mairin MacKenna turned around and faced her patient.
Parker attempted an amused smile. What actually formed on her lips resembled that of a lemon-sucking grimace.
"Nausea?" Mairin asked, as she opened her bag and removed her stethoscope and penlight. Parker nodded. "Still experiencing headaches, as well?" Again Parker nodded. "Canna sleeping well either, are ye?"
"Did Jarod.... "
"Nay, ye pale and dark circles tell me ye canna sleep," Mairin glanced down at Miss Parker. "So, I'm going to take a blood sample." Parker frowned. " Or I admit ye back to hospital."
Parker offered her arm as Mairin reached inside her bag and removed a syringe. She had thought about arguing but she just didn't have the strength to do so. She grimaced as the needle pricked her skin.
"Now ye rest. I'll stop by later to check ye."
