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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer in Part 1
The Truth Hurts
Part 9
by imagine
She felt his eyes upon her, scrutinizing her movements even as he maneuvered the car down the dark, unfamiliar road. Well, it was unfamiliar to her, anyway. Releasing a tired sigh, she closed her eyes and let her head fall against the cloth upholstery. Maybe after a shower and a good nights rest, things would start to make sense.
“Do you have a headache?”
She heard the concern in his voice, and, for some reason, it annoyed her, “Only the one you’re giving me.”
Though she hadn’t faced him, or even opened her eyes, she could feel his confusion and her mind immediately showed her his image. The dark brown eyes, soft and unsure, gazing at her from under furrowed brows; his lips separating slightly as he formed a question, then pursing, as the thought was swallowed. Rubbing her temples again, she forced the vision and the incessant whispering away.
“Parker . .”
“When are you planning on telling me where we’re going?” she interrupted, not wanting to hear him ask how she was feeling again.
“We’re going to the Inn,” he answered softly, glancing at her, “Violet and Marley are anxious to see you. The were worried.”
“I suppose I should know who Violet and Marley are,” she sighed, letting her hands drop to her lap.
“Violet owns the Inn that her granddaughter, Marley, operates,” he answered, “You’re very fond of them both. Maybe seeing them will trigger something in your memory.”
Miss Parker didn’t respond. Her head was throbbing and trying to make sense of what had happened was making it worse. Releasing a breath, she leaned back again and turned her head to the side, staring at the darkening countryside. She was in Scotland, an ocean away from the Centre, and she had no idea how she had gotten there. She only knew she had an overwhelming desire to leave.
***
Margaret lowered herself to the soft, leather chair and retrieved the hard covered book from the desk drawer. Slowly thumbing through the pages, she gazed at the journal as if it were a parting friend. All of her plans, failures and successes, neatly detailed, stared back at her in the manner they had been documented. Unemotionally.
Over the years, she’d created and hidden numerous journals, each filled with insights she shared with no one; now, it was time to begin the next volume. Placing the spent book of script back into the desk, she retrieved one that was identical in every way, with the exception that it housed blank pages.
She knew, of course, that the diaries were the reason the situation had developed as it had; but, writing about her triumphs had become an obsession of its own, one she was not willing to give up. Margaret smiled and shook her head, remembering the rantings of Mr. Parker when he’d found out about the books. The old man had demanded she shred every volume before her son prematurely stumbled upon the information, insisting that Jarod would not be as easy to recondition a third time. Though she would never admit it to her accomplice, knowing that Jarod might find the journals the way his childhood friend had, made the habit harder to break.
The journals Parker found had been relocated to Margaret’s well guarded estate in London, where they would remain until she decided otherwise. The only records left in Inverness were the completed volume she had tucked away, and the one whose spine she had just cracked. She considered the stark white paper for a moment, gathering her thoughts in the most respectable and coherent manner, before lifting the pen.
Neatly inscribing the date in the upper right corner of the page, Margaret began a detailed description of recent events, taking time to include her plans to lure her eldest son to her side. Remembering their brief encounter in Boston, Margaret had no trouble imagining Jarod’s reaction when she allowed him to see her again, and granted herself the pleasure of documenting the fantasy. Shaking her head when she finished, she added a passage that expressed her sorrow that the reunion would never become a viable memory for her son.
‘Someday,’ she wrote, ‘Jarod will understand. He may not like it; but, he will understand why he was never told the truth.’
***
He found her sitting cross-legged on the window seat, her eyes transfixed on something beyond the window pane, and a plaid blanket draped around her shoulders like a shawl. There was a softness in her features that he’d seen before; and, for a split second, Jarod smiled, finding himself wishing he could turn back time. As he realized the absurdity of the thought, though, Jarod’s smile evaporated. Parker didn’t remember the things they’d said and shared in the last four months; so, for her, and consequently, for him, time had not only been turned back, it had been almost completely destroyed.
“I brought you something to eat,” he said, clearing his voice has he moved hesitantly into the room.
Drawn from her thoughts, the brunette glanced at him with expressionless eyes before turning back to the view. Sliding the tray of toast and tea to the small table, he kept his concerned gaze on her. After a moment, she released a deep, impatient sigh, shrugged away the blankets and laid one foot on the floor, “I’m not . .”
Jarod lurched forward, responding immediately as she swayed to the side and reached for support. Wrapping his arms around her, Jarod gently guided the woman to the mattress and knelt in front of her.
Her head lowered, Miss Parker abruptly pulled her hands from his and ran her fingers through her hair, “I’m fine. I just got up too fast.”
The rejection of his touch felt like a slap across the face and Jarod had to take a breath to steady himself, “I’ll get you some water.”
“I said, I’m fine,” she blustered, her eyes following him as he rose, “I don’t want water, I don’t want tea, and I sure as hell don’t want toast. I just want to be left alone.”
“Too bad.”
“Why are you keeping me here?” she dared, her voice betraying her confusion, “What, exactly, is your game, this time, Jarod?”
“My game?”
Pushing him away, she stood, keeping her eyes locked on his, “You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you? It must have been pretty damned important if you’re willing to risk the wrath of both myself and my father for drugging and kidnapping me. So spill it.”
“What?” he stepped back, startled by her outburst, “You think I kidnapped you?”
“What other possible explanation could there be?” she dared, “I’m half a world away from my life, with no recollection of how I got here. You won’t tell me where my gun or passport are, our accomodations are quaint enough to not include a telephone, and you’ve been hovering over me like you think I’m going to break. What’s wrong? Did you give me something that didn’t work the way you expected? Did you . .”
He listened, his eyes widening with disbelief as she continued her tirade. Watching her movements as she crossed the room, bombarding him with accusations and innuendoes, Jarod couldn’t find the words to defend himself until she hurled a framed photo at him.
“.. and why the hell did you make this?” she spat.
“Make it? Parker, that photo was taken right here, less than two months ago,” he growled, retrieving the snapshot of the two of them from the floor and placing it on the bed stand, “It was taken at Violet’s birthday celebration. If you don’t believe me, ask Marley; she’s the photographer.”
“Oh, that’s right. Somewhere in this Inn, there are two women I’m supposed to be ‘fond’ of,” she replied, sarcasm dripping from every word, “So, where are they, Jarod? Where are the women who were so worried about me? Why haven’t . .?”
“Violet is dying,” he interrupted softly, “She may not make it through the night, and her family is holding vigil.”
The color drained from her face in the time it took him to finish the sentence. Hesitant about offering her comfort, Jarod waited at the far side of the room as Parker lowered herself into the overstuffed recliner beside the door. She held her head, her eyes closed and her body tense. It was a reaction he was familiar with.
“They’re telling you something, aren’t they?” he whispered, moving around the bed, “The voices.”
Not looking up, she nodded, “I can’t make it out. It’s too faint.”
Though he wasn’t sure he believed her, Jarod nodded sympathetically and took another step. She raised her eyes to him, stopping him in his tracks; but, before either could say a word, there was a light rap at the door. Pushing herself to her feet, she moved into the bathroom as Jarod greeted the visitor.
“Marley,” he smiled weakly, stepping back to allow her admittance to the room, “How’s Violet?”
The woman shook her head slightly, glancing at the closed bathroom door, “She’s fading, Jarod.”
Slipping his arms around the petite form, the Pretender offered his support without a word. He felt the younger woman melt against him for a moment, then push away.
Taking a breath, she looked at him, “Grannie is askin’ fer Parker.”
“I don’t know . .”
“Jarod, ye know better than to deny Grannie,” she smiled.
“I just ...”
“So, you’ve decided to make all my decisions?” Parker dared.
Moving from the bathroom, her hair pulled back and her face still damp from the water she’d splashed on it, Parker stopped beside Marley without a trace of recognition in her eyes. Alternating her gaze between the two, the brunette waited for one of them to speak. When neither said a word, she shook her head and reached for the door.
“Well?” she insisted, “Are you going to show me where your grandmother is, or do I have to find her myself?”
Shooting an amused look at Jarod, Marley nodded and followed the brunette, stopping at the door but watching the woman descend the staircase. Turning back to face the man, she offered him a kind grin, “Donal is outside; if ye feel ye need to talk.”
“Actually,” he returned her grin and glanced at his watch, “there’s someone in the States that I haven’t spoken to in a long time. He might be able to help me help Parker.”
She nodded and her eyes dropped to the bed stand, then up at him as she took a step back into the room, “Where’s yer phone?”
“I put it in the office,” he said, “In the meantime, I’ll use the one in town.”
“Now, why would ye do that?” she challenged.
“Until Parker is better, I think it’s best to keep her away from the phones. Anyone she might call could confuse her more,” he answered, hoping she wouldn’t ask him to explain. The threat that Parker would give him up to the Centre, in her condition, had been at the forefront of his mind since he realized her state. Neither he nor Parker had explained their past to Marley or Violet; and the idea of doing so, now, did not sit well with him. “Trust me.”
Marley’s head tilted to one side, her grin to another. Then, shaking her head, she backed into the hall, pulling the door closed. At the last minute, she asked, “Are all Americans like ye?”
“What do you mean?”
“Jest that ye be a strange lot,” she sighed, “Be careful that ye don’t complicate things so much that they become unrecognizable,” she said, closing the door.
***
Ethan sat up in the bed, the palms of his hands pressing against his eyes. The words were louder, more insistant than they had been before; and, no matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to isolate her voice. Jarod had told him to concentrate on what she told him, and to trust her; but, lately, it was becoming exceedingly more difficult.
“Where are you?” he whispered, sinking against the pillows and curling into a fetal position.
Part 9
by imagine
She felt his eyes upon her, scrutinizing her movements even as he maneuvered the car down the dark, unfamiliar road. Well, it was unfamiliar to her, anyway. Releasing a tired sigh, she closed her eyes and let her head fall against the cloth upholstery. Maybe after a shower and a good nights rest, things would start to make sense.
“Do you have a headache?”
She heard the concern in his voice, and, for some reason, it annoyed her, “Only the one you’re giving me.”
Though she hadn’t faced him, or even opened her eyes, she could feel his confusion and her mind immediately showed her his image. The dark brown eyes, soft and unsure, gazing at her from under furrowed brows; his lips separating slightly as he formed a question, then pursing, as the thought was swallowed. Rubbing her temples again, she forced the vision and the incessant whispering away.
“Parker . .”
“When are you planning on telling me where we’re going?” she interrupted, not wanting to hear him ask how she was feeling again.
“We’re going to the Inn,” he answered softly, glancing at her, “Violet and Marley are anxious to see you. The were worried.”
“I suppose I should know who Violet and Marley are,” she sighed, letting her hands drop to her lap.
“Violet owns the Inn that her granddaughter, Marley, operates,” he answered, “You’re very fond of them both. Maybe seeing them will trigger something in your memory.”
Miss Parker didn’t respond. Her head was throbbing and trying to make sense of what had happened was making it worse. Releasing a breath, she leaned back again and turned her head to the side, staring at the darkening countryside. She was in Scotland, an ocean away from the Centre, and she had no idea how she had gotten there. She only knew she had an overwhelming desire to leave.
***
Margaret lowered herself to the soft, leather chair and retrieved the hard covered book from the desk drawer. Slowly thumbing through the pages, she gazed at the journal as if it were a parting friend. All of her plans, failures and successes, neatly detailed, stared back at her in the manner they had been documented. Unemotionally.
Over the years, she’d created and hidden numerous journals, each filled with insights she shared with no one; now, it was time to begin the next volume. Placing the spent book of script back into the desk, she retrieved one that was identical in every way, with the exception that it housed blank pages.
She knew, of course, that the diaries were the reason the situation had developed as it had; but, writing about her triumphs had become an obsession of its own, one she was not willing to give up. Margaret smiled and shook her head, remembering the rantings of Mr. Parker when he’d found out about the books. The old man had demanded she shred every volume before her son prematurely stumbled upon the information, insisting that Jarod would not be as easy to recondition a third time. Though she would never admit it to her accomplice, knowing that Jarod might find the journals the way his childhood friend had, made the habit harder to break.
The journals Parker found had been relocated to Margaret’s well guarded estate in London, where they would remain until she decided otherwise. The only records left in Inverness were the completed volume she had tucked away, and the one whose spine she had just cracked. She considered the stark white paper for a moment, gathering her thoughts in the most respectable and coherent manner, before lifting the pen.
Neatly inscribing the date in the upper right corner of the page, Margaret began a detailed description of recent events, taking time to include her plans to lure her eldest son to her side. Remembering their brief encounter in Boston, Margaret had no trouble imagining Jarod’s reaction when she allowed him to see her again, and granted herself the pleasure of documenting the fantasy. Shaking her head when she finished, she added a passage that expressed her sorrow that the reunion would never become a viable memory for her son.
‘Someday,’ she wrote, ‘Jarod will understand. He may not like it; but, he will understand why he was never told the truth.’
***
He found her sitting cross-legged on the window seat, her eyes transfixed on something beyond the window pane, and a plaid blanket draped around her shoulders like a shawl. There was a softness in her features that he’d seen before; and, for a split second, Jarod smiled, finding himself wishing he could turn back time. As he realized the absurdity of the thought, though, Jarod’s smile evaporated. Parker didn’t remember the things they’d said and shared in the last four months; so, for her, and consequently, for him, time had not only been turned back, it had been almost completely destroyed.
“I brought you something to eat,” he said, clearing his voice has he moved hesitantly into the room.
Drawn from her thoughts, the brunette glanced at him with expressionless eyes before turning back to the view. Sliding the tray of toast and tea to the small table, he kept his concerned gaze on her. After a moment, she released a deep, impatient sigh, shrugged away the blankets and laid one foot on the floor, “I’m not . .”
Jarod lurched forward, responding immediately as she swayed to the side and reached for support. Wrapping his arms around her, Jarod gently guided the woman to the mattress and knelt in front of her.
Her head lowered, Miss Parker abruptly pulled her hands from his and ran her fingers through her hair, “I’m fine. I just got up too fast.”
The rejection of his touch felt like a slap across the face and Jarod had to take a breath to steady himself, “I’ll get you some water.”
“I said, I’m fine,” she blustered, her eyes following him as he rose, “I don’t want water, I don’t want tea, and I sure as hell don’t want toast. I just want to be left alone.”
“Too bad.”
“Why are you keeping me here?” she dared, her voice betraying her confusion, “What, exactly, is your game, this time, Jarod?”
“My game?”
Pushing him away, she stood, keeping her eyes locked on his, “You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you? It must have been pretty damned important if you’re willing to risk the wrath of both myself and my father for drugging and kidnapping me. So spill it.”
“What?” he stepped back, startled by her outburst, “You think I kidnapped you?”
“What other possible explanation could there be?” she dared, “I’m half a world away from my life, with no recollection of how I got here. You won’t tell me where my gun or passport are, our accomodations are quaint enough to not include a telephone, and you’ve been hovering over me like you think I’m going to break. What’s wrong? Did you give me something that didn’t work the way you expected? Did you . .”
He listened, his eyes widening with disbelief as she continued her tirade. Watching her movements as she crossed the room, bombarding him with accusations and innuendoes, Jarod couldn’t find the words to defend himself until she hurled a framed photo at him.
“.. and why the hell did you make this?” she spat.
“Make it? Parker, that photo was taken right here, less than two months ago,” he growled, retrieving the snapshot of the two of them from the floor and placing it on the bed stand, “It was taken at Violet’s birthday celebration. If you don’t believe me, ask Marley; she’s the photographer.”
“Oh, that’s right. Somewhere in this Inn, there are two women I’m supposed to be ‘fond’ of,” she replied, sarcasm dripping from every word, “So, where are they, Jarod? Where are the women who were so worried about me? Why haven’t . .?”
“Violet is dying,” he interrupted softly, “She may not make it through the night, and her family is holding vigil.”
The color drained from her face in the time it took him to finish the sentence. Hesitant about offering her comfort, Jarod waited at the far side of the room as Parker lowered herself into the overstuffed recliner beside the door. She held her head, her eyes closed and her body tense. It was a reaction he was familiar with.
“They’re telling you something, aren’t they?” he whispered, moving around the bed, “The voices.”
Not looking up, she nodded, “I can’t make it out. It’s too faint.”
Though he wasn’t sure he believed her, Jarod nodded sympathetically and took another step. She raised her eyes to him, stopping him in his tracks; but, before either could say a word, there was a light rap at the door. Pushing herself to her feet, she moved into the bathroom as Jarod greeted the visitor.
“Marley,” he smiled weakly, stepping back to allow her admittance to the room, “How’s Violet?”
The woman shook her head slightly, glancing at the closed bathroom door, “She’s fading, Jarod.”
Slipping his arms around the petite form, the Pretender offered his support without a word. He felt the younger woman melt against him for a moment, then push away.
Taking a breath, she looked at him, “Grannie is askin’ fer Parker.”
“I don’t know . .”
“Jarod, ye know better than to deny Grannie,” she smiled.
“I just ...”
“So, you’ve decided to make all my decisions?” Parker dared.
Moving from the bathroom, her hair pulled back and her face still damp from the water she’d splashed on it, Parker stopped beside Marley without a trace of recognition in her eyes. Alternating her gaze between the two, the brunette waited for one of them to speak. When neither said a word, she shook her head and reached for the door.
“Well?” she insisted, “Are you going to show me where your grandmother is, or do I have to find her myself?”
Shooting an amused look at Jarod, Marley nodded and followed the brunette, stopping at the door but watching the woman descend the staircase. Turning back to face the man, she offered him a kind grin, “Donal is outside; if ye feel ye need to talk.”
“Actually,” he returned her grin and glanced at his watch, “there’s someone in the States that I haven’t spoken to in a long time. He might be able to help me help Parker.”
She nodded and her eyes dropped to the bed stand, then up at him as she took a step back into the room, “Where’s yer phone?”
“I put it in the office,” he said, “In the meantime, I’ll use the one in town.”
“Now, why would ye do that?” she challenged.
“Until Parker is better, I think it’s best to keep her away from the phones. Anyone she might call could confuse her more,” he answered, hoping she wouldn’t ask him to explain. The threat that Parker would give him up to the Centre, in her condition, had been at the forefront of his mind since he realized her state. Neither he nor Parker had explained their past to Marley or Violet; and the idea of doing so, now, did not sit well with him. “Trust me.”
Marley’s head tilted to one side, her grin to another. Then, shaking her head, she backed into the hall, pulling the door closed. At the last minute, she asked, “Are all Americans like ye?”
“What do you mean?”
“Jest that ye be a strange lot,” she sighed, “Be careful that ye don’t complicate things so much that they become unrecognizable,” she said, closing the door.
***
Ethan sat up in the bed, the palms of his hands pressing against his eyes. The words were louder, more insistant than they had been before; and, no matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to isolate her voice. Jarod had told him to concentrate on what she told him, and to trust her; but, lately, it was becoming exceedingly more difficult.
“Where are you?” he whispered, sinking against the pillows and curling into a fetal position.
