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Disclaimer: See chapter 1 -( 09/07/03 )
Stumbling Toward Nirvana
By Phenyx Chapter 5
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"Quittin' time boys!" the foreman hollered over the staccato of hammers. "Come on down and get them pay checks!"
Terry, a young blond man far too fair for this kind of work, slapped Jarod on the back with a friendly grin. "Let's go buddy. I'll buy you a beer at Mickey's."
Jarod stood and arched his back, easing the strain of the day from his muscles. He gazed out over the rooftops of the surrounding housing development. All around him were homes like this one, in various states of completion.
He had been surprised to find that he enjoyed construction work so much. It was hard, draining labor. Hot days were sweltering on asphalt roofs while cold days were mind numbing, the chill so much more bitter two or more stories off the ground. But Jarod enjoyed the reality of it. Each day he could see the difference he had made, the progress that had been accomplished on each structure. Sometimes, he would drive through areas where the buildings had already become homes, and families had moved in.
This work was tangible and restorative, so very different from his past.
Jarod followed the sun burnt Terry across the roof and down the ladder to the ground. They stood in line with the other men, chatting amiably until Jarod could collect his paycheck. When the supervisor handed the envelop to him, the pretender grinned in thanks. This square of paper represented the 30th paycheck that Jarod had collected from this man.
Jarod wasn't quite sure when he had started keeping track, perhaps he had counted the checks all along. These were special. They held his real name, and a social security number to boot. Last spring, Jarod had even filed his income tax. It was as close to normal as Jarod had managed to come in the decade since he had first fled from The Centre.
Of course, things were very different now. Without Miss Parker to make the pursuit interesting, Jarod had quickly tired of the game. He had stopped leaving clues to his whereabouts. He hadn't called Sydney in years, though Jarod always sent a Christmas card. He no longer lived in hiding. Jarod had stepped out of the shadows and joined the world.
As a result, Jarod half expected Centre sweepers to converge on him any day. He wasn't being particularly cautious or secretive about his location. He just wasn't afraid anymore. The fact that anyone at The Centre had yet to find him, after more than seven months in the same apartment and the same job, was an infinite source of amusement to the ex-pretender.
That was how he thought of himself now, an ex-pretender. Simulations were a thing of the past for him. Thirty-eight months, and twelve days in the past to be precise. That had been the last time he had gone on a pretend, an intentional one at any rate.
Strolling casually across the street with a handful of his co-workers, Jarod got into his car and followed Terry to a familiar tavern. As a pretty, big-breasted girl brought him an ice-cold beer, Jarod grinned at her flirtatiously. She smiled back. Betty had been a waitress here for longer than Jarod had been a patron. Jarod came in with the other construction workers every payday and she did her best to hit on him. He always flirted playfully but never took her up on the offer.
"Can I get you something to eat tonight, Jarod?" Betty asked.
"Anything interesting on the menu?" he asked, flinging one arm along the back of his chair.
"You can always have me," she murmured, seductively tracing the white scar that ran the length of Jarod's jaw line on one side.
Jarod wrapped the other arm around the girl's waist and declared, "You're far too spicy a treat for me, Betty." He laughed and tipped her well before she sauntered away.
It had become a weekly ritual for Jarod. Payday always meant a trip to Mickey's Tavern and a little flirting with the buxom blond. He would drink one beer and then go home to his loft apartment. When Ethan came home from work, they would order pizza and watch stupid movies on television.
In the past few years, Jarod had discovered that he craved routine in his life. It allowed him to function on autopilot at times and made it easy to get through tough days. He needed to know exactly what to expect each day, to the point of near obsession.
He had a compulsive nature. Jarod knew that. And it had been four long years since a major obsession had walked out of his life. Four years since his last escape from The Centre. Without that obsession to distract him, Jarod tended to fixate on more mundane things. Sometimes Jarod could even micro-manage his life to the extent that he could get through an entire day without thinking about her, wondering where she was, or hoping she was safe. Sometimes.
Jarod took a swig from his bottle and downed half of it in one long swallow. He scrubbed at the three days worth of stubble on his face, absent- mindedly scratching at the scar there.
It had taken nearly three months for Jarod to escape the last time. Raines and Lyle had watched him like hawks and he was constantly in restraints. As a result, Jarod had been unable to slip away from The Centre. He had been transferred to Triumvirate headquarters in Africa. And there, Jarod had learned what a kind tormentor he had in the wheezing Mr. Raines. His brief stay in the Triumvirate compound had taught Jarod the true meaning of pain. His childhood torment seemed like playtime in comparison.
Jarod's fingertips caressed the white line of scar tissue, a permanent souvenir of his time in Africa. The Triumvirate henchmen had been extraordinarily cruel, but they had also been overly confident. They had underestimated Jarod's determination and will to survive. Ultimately, this flaw had allowed Jarod to make his escape.
Not long after making his way back to the States, Jarod had met up with his half-brother, Ethan. The two had been pretty much inseparable ever since. Deep down, Jarod hoped for the day when Ethan would receive word from his sister. But that day had yet to come.
Within a year of joining forces with his brother, Ethan had fulfilled the prophecy that Catherine Parker had made so long ago. Ethan had found Jarod's parents. And for a time, Jarod's life had been almost perfect.
Ironically, it had been Jack that had been the one to chase Jarod from his parent's home. Jack, a younger version of Jarod, was quite literally a genetic reincarnation of Jarod's self. It was only too easy to see in the young man Jarod's own insecurities and failings. Jarod found himself subconsciously competing with the boy for his parent's attention. Jealousy flared within him and Jarod felt as though Jack was intentionally stealing affection that belonged to him. It was childish and neurotic but Jarod simply could not help himself.
Jack had reacted in a similar manner. The boy was desperate to prove himself as good as the original so to speak. And the boy had no qualms about being fiendish in the subterfuge of his elder twin. After all, Mr. Raines had been the one to raise the boy for the first fifteen years of his life. As a result, where Jarod's emotions ran close to the surface, visible to anyone who looked into his eyes, Jack was a terribly closed off individual. All his feelings were buried deep and hidden.
They were so very much alike and yet so different, polar opposites of the same magnet, opposite sides of the same coin.
There had been a horrible fight. Jack had been instigating it for weeks, poking at Jarod's patience until his temper had gotten the better of him. Furniture had been broken, windows shattered. Jack, at nineteen, was strong and wiry but had not quite developed the mass Jarod possessed. And Jarod had training that the boy lacked. Years of pretending had taught Jarod to fight with his fists.
The boy had gotten in his share of punches, but in the end Jarod had decked him. Their father had stepped between them then and in his fury Jarod had nearly taken a swing at him too. Standing there, with his fists clenched at his sides, Jarod had towered over his duplicate and had seen anger and hatred in the boy's eyes. Rage that Jarod abruptly knew was reflected in his own.
Jack hated being his clone, a Jarod copy, like some cheap knockoff of a designer clothing line. Jarod could not fault the boy for that. But disturbingly enough, Jarod realized that he resented the boy in return. He envied the boy's rescue from The Centre and wished that someone had cared enough to do the same for him. Jarod longed for someone to protect him the way his father now stood up for the youngest of his sons.
Jarod had moved out three days later. The symbolism of fighting with one's self had been the deciding factor. Jarod was well into his forties and hopelessly screwed up. Jack was still young and had a chance at becoming a whole being one day. But the boy would never be able to build a personality for himself if Jarod was there to cast his shadow over everything the young man did. Jack was a nice boy, a good kid most of the time. However, Jarod feared that the boy would go to extremes to prove he was different from his twin. And Jarod was in the unique position of knowing exactly what the younger man was capable of doing in that attempt.
So Jarod had moved to the city and got a job working with his hands. His folks lived sixty minutes away in a small rural town where Amish carriages were a regular sight. Ethan had come to the city with him. Jarod always suspected that the Major had sent Ethan to keep Jarod out of trouble. That was okay. The two brothers understood each other quite well and managed to stay out of each other's way often enough to not ruffle any feathers.
Every other weekend, Jarod and Ethan drove out to the house and spent Sunday afternoon with the family. It was a comfortable arrangement. Jarod's mother saw him often enough to make her happy. Jack saw him rarely enough to build his confidence. At this point, Jarod knew that he and his twin would never be close, but they were at long last learning to be friends.
Jarod finished his beer and headed for home. The apartment was empty when he arrived. Ethan worked second shift as a clerk in the campus library at a college not far away. Jarod had approximately thirty minutes to shower and change, maybe read the mail, before his younger brother came through the door with dinner.
Jarod tossed his tool belt and hardhat onto the island that served as the only kitchen counter. The loft was open and spacious, too expensive for the meager salaries the brothers brought home. Small investments on the international markets, monitored via laptop connections to the Internet, served to boost their income to a more comfortable level. The brothers sometimes made a game of the exercise. The edge of competition between them was serious enough to heighten their earnings while managing to maintain a playful nature.
Jarod peeled off his shirt and dropped it to the floor on his way toward the bathroom. Ethan would scold him later, as he picked up Jarod's soiled clothes. But Jarod wouldn't mind. Ethan, whose needy, clinging personality had been fostered for so long, had matured quite differently in the last four years. Rather than hanging desperately onto others, Ethan had developed a deep need to care for and protect those around him. Jarod recognized the same trait in himself.
So Jarod allowed his little brother to fuss over him whenever Ethan's mood became parental. It was a small enough thing. Personally, Jarod couldn't care less what the apartment looked like. The current décor was only here now because Jarod's mother had taken Ethan on a shopping spree just after the two men had moved in.
There were plants and a couch, a table with matching chairs, end tables and lamps and throw rugs. Jarod's sleeping area was along the wall just past the bathroom, separated from the common room by a series of bamboo screens. Ethan's bed was located directly above, on a large balconied area some twelve feet from the ground, accessed by a simple but sturdy set of wooden stairs.
There were the requisite signs of bachelorhood strewn about. Bicycles hung from a rack attached to a huge beam in the center of the room. Fishing poles jutted from an umbrella stand that held no umbrella. The entertainment area consisted of a large, flat-screen television hung from one wall. Speakers were positioned discretely yet efficiently around the room. There were no fewer than six laptop computers lying about. Ethan had a habit of collecting them, buying new ones every few months when new technology became available.
Jarod washed quickly. Glancing in the mirror he noticed that he had not shaved in several days. 'You're beginning to look like a pirate, Pez-head,' he thought. 'All that scruff makes the scar even more noticeable.'
He shrugged, deciding he would shave tomorrow.
It was dark when he left the bathroom. Rather than flip on any lights, Jarod went to the window and leaned against the frame to gaze out at the city. The apartment was several stories up. The view, which in the daytime was little more than a series of brick walls, became at night a twinkling of lights in the darkness.
Jarod was still standing there in his blue jeans, hugging his arms around himself, when Ethan came in. The enticing aroma of melted cheese and spicy pepperoni floated in with him.
"Hey there little brother," Jarod said softly.
With a sigh, Ethan tapped the switch that brightened the room, "You're brooding in the dark again, big brother." he scolded gently.
Jarod grinned. "I get moody when I haven't been fed. You should know that by now," he chortled.
Ethan stopped suddenly and gave Jarod one of those eerie I-can-see-your- soul looks. "I only know what you've let me know, " he murmured just loud enough for Jarod to hear.
Jarod cast his brother a wary glare. "You've been talking to Mom," Jarod grumbled.
Ethan set a square carton, distinct in its universal purpose of holding pizza, on the counter in the kitchen. Jarod, lured by the promise of grease and mozzarella cheese, pushed away from the window to join him.
Ethan shrugged. "Margaret did call this morning," he admitted. "She's worried about you."
Jarod opened the box, grabbed a drooping slice and took a huge bite. "My mother is always worried," he said as he chewed. "It's her job."
Ethan grinned in agreement as he took a slice of pizza and bit into it. After a long silence he asked, "Jarod, are you happy?"
"What?" Jarod frowned.
"It is a simple enough question," Ethan said firmly. "Are you happy?"
"Yes," he declared. "I have everything I want out of life. I have my family. I have a place to call home and a job I enjoy. I haven't seen a sweeper in ages."
"Your nightmares are still bad," Ethan pointed out.
"Sometimes," Jarod admitted. "But I've learned to live with them."
"May I make and unbiased observation?" Ethan asked.
"Do I have a choice?" Jarod sighed in exasperation.
Wiping his hands on a napkin Ethan said, "For someone who used to slip into different lives on a regular basis, you have become strangely rigid in your behavior. You've stopped adapting. It's like you've boxed away that part of yourself and hidden it away. You're not growing."
"At my age, I should be done growing, don't you think?" Jarod said softly.
"As human beings, we are constantly in a state of change," Ethan explained. "It is what we strive for, to better ourselves."
"That's an overly idealistic sentiment, little brother," Jarod scoffed.
"You're a cynic, big brother," Ethan said woefully.
Jarod shook his head. "Perhaps," he sighed. "Are we going to analyze my psyche all night or what? There's a Clint Eastwood movie starting in two minutes," Jarod complained.
"You're trying to change the subject," Ethan groaned.
"Yep," Jarod said as his face broke out into his trademark, 'gotcha' grin.
--
It was a little after two in the morning when Jarod woke. He and Ethan had watched the movie and followed it with a quick trip to the ice cream shop on the corner. The owner of the shop, an older fellow named Gary, sometimes let the two brothers help close the shop. In exchange for sweeping and a little cleanup, Jarod would be permitted to make an elaborate sundae of his own. It was a weekly treat that Jarod enjoyed immensely.
Upon returning to the loft, they had harangued over their investment returns for the week and spent some time discussing options for upcoming trades. Jarod flopped into bed just before midnight. He had slept for just over four hours though half remembered images had plagued him for much of that time. Regardless, Jarod got up, never having learned to extend his need for rest.
Moving back to his laptop, Jarod booted up and began reading. He held an unofficial position with the Susan Granger Agency. Granger was a private investigator who specialized in reuniting missing children with the parents who searched for them. In the last decade, Jarod had helped Granger locate dozens of children. Jarod had learned that a depressing percentage of these children could be found by scanning the John Doe files for morgues across the country. On a regular basis, Jarod collected basic autopsy information and then cross-referenced the descriptions with those of the missing children database that he and Granger had compiled.
Just last week, Jarod had been able to use this system to verify the location of a girl name Cheryl Stapleton. The seventeen-year-old runaway had been found stuffed in a dumpster behind a truck stop in Mobile, Alabama, nearly nine hundred miles from her home. It was heartbreaking, but at least her parents now knew. The waiting was over.
Jarod sighed as he watched his program connect to the Cuyahoga County Medical Examiner's office and begin to download stats on the newest John Doe bodies. With a snort of disgust, Jarod hit the escape key angrily. He didn't feel like searching the dead tonight. The image of Cheryl Stapleton's mangled corpse was still too raw, even though the killer had since been found.
Changing tactics, Jarod typed the words 'missing children' into the text box on his search engine. From the results, he randomly chose a site and started to browse. For forty minutes Jarod clicked through web pages arbitrarily, looking for a name or story that would catch his interest this evening. He was on an obscure little page, coincidentally based out of Delaware, that Jarod saw something odd.
The page contained just a blurb describing the reason for the site's creation and a long list of names and dates. The names were those of missing children. The dates defined when each child had disappeared. Each date was in blue type leading to a hyperlink that further described each victim's story.
About two-thirds of the way down the page, a particular name caught Jarod's eye. "Faith Parker" The date beside her name was additionally surprising. Jarod remembered each detail of that day with frightening clarity. It was the day that he had pulled Parker out of the fish hatchery. It marked the date that he and Parker had made their tawdry bargain.
Frowning at the odd fluke, Jarod clicked on the link. The resulting text that popped up was, at first glance, a jumbled mess of nonsense. A second glance and Jarod realized that he was reading Apache, or a bastardized version of Apache at any rate. The standard PC keyboard did not have all the symbols and accents needed to write the language properly but Jarod could still recognize it.
The text simply stated the girl's name again along with a location. A chill shivered down Jarod's spine. The address for the fish farm floated at him from his monitor. Jarod clicked on the address, another hyperlink, and found himself looking at a question, written in Japanese font.
"Which of these symbols represents the ancient Japanese sign for pain?" the question asked. Beneath this were two glyphs, one was an ancient symbol for agony. The other was a much more modern Japanese representation meaning danger.
Jarod stared at the two choices. The symbol on the right, though the incorrect answer to the displayed question, was a common Yakuza mark. Jarod clicked over the Yakuza symbol. A message box appeared saying, "Enter your password."
The cursor blinked expectantly as Jarod thought. "Refuge" he typed unsuccessfully.
"Faith", was wrong.
"The Centre", wrong again.
"Pez", was also incorrect.
Jarod pressed his palms against his eyes and fought to stay calm and to think clearly. Sudden inspiration caused him to type "You run I chase" and the link abruptly shot to another page.
This page held no text. Jarod watched in dumbfounded wonder as a single photo began to take shape on the screen. It seemed to take forever as row by row from the top down appeared on the screen. The picture was of a smiling brunette sitting in a brightly lit kitchen. Her hair was pulled back carelessly and she wore no makeup. The appliances behind her seemed worn but tidy. The olive colored refrigerator was adored with magnets and a calendar indicating a year and month more than three years past.
Grey eyes glowed with joy as the woman grinned delightedly for the picture. She wore beige pants, no shoes and a floral print blouse. The shirt hung open to her waist and would have left her revealed but the small infant suckling at the woman's breast hid any indecency from view.
Jarod stared, openmouthed. He stopped breathing and the only sound he could hear was the rushing throb of his heartbeat in his ears. He gazed at the simple kitchen, the blue romper the babe was wearing as well as the woman's obvious joy. Jarod's mind began to register smaller details slowly. The calendar was one of those generic things, given away by banks every year. But the month displayed was what Jarod focused on.
Nine months after the night in the cabin. Nine months after Jarod had made that bargain. And the baby in the picture looked very young.
Moving as if in slow motion, Jarod got up and went to retrieve the printer from the closet. He needed a hard copy of this. He needed something tangible to prove to himself that what he saw was real.
As he hooked up the wires and carefully loaded the device with the highest quality paper, Jarod wondered, "How long has it been there?" he asked aloud. "Could this picture have been out there, waiting for me to find it for more than three years?"
One minute later, Jarod was holding the photograph in his trembling hands. He quickly started making mental lists of things to do by morning. Only an agonizing amount of willpower, and respect for his parents, kept him from leaving right this moment.
But Jarod knew that before the sun had fully risen over this city, he would be gone. He would head for the bank that had provided the calendar and hope to find another clue there. And Jarod had little time to waste. Three years was a long time to wait. And Miss Parker had never been well known for her patience.
-
Stumbling Toward Nirvana
By Phenyx Chapter 5
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"Quittin' time boys!" the foreman hollered over the staccato of hammers. "Come on down and get them pay checks!"
Terry, a young blond man far too fair for this kind of work, slapped Jarod on the back with a friendly grin. "Let's go buddy. I'll buy you a beer at Mickey's."
Jarod stood and arched his back, easing the strain of the day from his muscles. He gazed out over the rooftops of the surrounding housing development. All around him were homes like this one, in various states of completion.
He had been surprised to find that he enjoyed construction work so much. It was hard, draining labor. Hot days were sweltering on asphalt roofs while cold days were mind numbing, the chill so much more bitter two or more stories off the ground. But Jarod enjoyed the reality of it. Each day he could see the difference he had made, the progress that had been accomplished on each structure. Sometimes, he would drive through areas where the buildings had already become homes, and families had moved in.
This work was tangible and restorative, so very different from his past.
Jarod followed the sun burnt Terry across the roof and down the ladder to the ground. They stood in line with the other men, chatting amiably until Jarod could collect his paycheck. When the supervisor handed the envelop to him, the pretender grinned in thanks. This square of paper represented the 30th paycheck that Jarod had collected from this man.
Jarod wasn't quite sure when he had started keeping track, perhaps he had counted the checks all along. These were special. They held his real name, and a social security number to boot. Last spring, Jarod had even filed his income tax. It was as close to normal as Jarod had managed to come in the decade since he had first fled from The Centre.
Of course, things were very different now. Without Miss Parker to make the pursuit interesting, Jarod had quickly tired of the game. He had stopped leaving clues to his whereabouts. He hadn't called Sydney in years, though Jarod always sent a Christmas card. He no longer lived in hiding. Jarod had stepped out of the shadows and joined the world.
As a result, Jarod half expected Centre sweepers to converge on him any day. He wasn't being particularly cautious or secretive about his location. He just wasn't afraid anymore. The fact that anyone at The Centre had yet to find him, after more than seven months in the same apartment and the same job, was an infinite source of amusement to the ex-pretender.
That was how he thought of himself now, an ex-pretender. Simulations were a thing of the past for him. Thirty-eight months, and twelve days in the past to be precise. That had been the last time he had gone on a pretend, an intentional one at any rate.
Strolling casually across the street with a handful of his co-workers, Jarod got into his car and followed Terry to a familiar tavern. As a pretty, big-breasted girl brought him an ice-cold beer, Jarod grinned at her flirtatiously. She smiled back. Betty had been a waitress here for longer than Jarod had been a patron. Jarod came in with the other construction workers every payday and she did her best to hit on him. He always flirted playfully but never took her up on the offer.
"Can I get you something to eat tonight, Jarod?" Betty asked.
"Anything interesting on the menu?" he asked, flinging one arm along the back of his chair.
"You can always have me," she murmured, seductively tracing the white scar that ran the length of Jarod's jaw line on one side.
Jarod wrapped the other arm around the girl's waist and declared, "You're far too spicy a treat for me, Betty." He laughed and tipped her well before she sauntered away.
It had become a weekly ritual for Jarod. Payday always meant a trip to Mickey's Tavern and a little flirting with the buxom blond. He would drink one beer and then go home to his loft apartment. When Ethan came home from work, they would order pizza and watch stupid movies on television.
In the past few years, Jarod had discovered that he craved routine in his life. It allowed him to function on autopilot at times and made it easy to get through tough days. He needed to know exactly what to expect each day, to the point of near obsession.
He had a compulsive nature. Jarod knew that. And it had been four long years since a major obsession had walked out of his life. Four years since his last escape from The Centre. Without that obsession to distract him, Jarod tended to fixate on more mundane things. Sometimes Jarod could even micro-manage his life to the extent that he could get through an entire day without thinking about her, wondering where she was, or hoping she was safe. Sometimes.
Jarod took a swig from his bottle and downed half of it in one long swallow. He scrubbed at the three days worth of stubble on his face, absent- mindedly scratching at the scar there.
It had taken nearly three months for Jarod to escape the last time. Raines and Lyle had watched him like hawks and he was constantly in restraints. As a result, Jarod had been unable to slip away from The Centre. He had been transferred to Triumvirate headquarters in Africa. And there, Jarod had learned what a kind tormentor he had in the wheezing Mr. Raines. His brief stay in the Triumvirate compound had taught Jarod the true meaning of pain. His childhood torment seemed like playtime in comparison.
Jarod's fingertips caressed the white line of scar tissue, a permanent souvenir of his time in Africa. The Triumvirate henchmen had been extraordinarily cruel, but they had also been overly confident. They had underestimated Jarod's determination and will to survive. Ultimately, this flaw had allowed Jarod to make his escape.
Not long after making his way back to the States, Jarod had met up with his half-brother, Ethan. The two had been pretty much inseparable ever since. Deep down, Jarod hoped for the day when Ethan would receive word from his sister. But that day had yet to come.
Within a year of joining forces with his brother, Ethan had fulfilled the prophecy that Catherine Parker had made so long ago. Ethan had found Jarod's parents. And for a time, Jarod's life had been almost perfect.
Ironically, it had been Jack that had been the one to chase Jarod from his parent's home. Jack, a younger version of Jarod, was quite literally a genetic reincarnation of Jarod's self. It was only too easy to see in the young man Jarod's own insecurities and failings. Jarod found himself subconsciously competing with the boy for his parent's attention. Jealousy flared within him and Jarod felt as though Jack was intentionally stealing affection that belonged to him. It was childish and neurotic but Jarod simply could not help himself.
Jack had reacted in a similar manner. The boy was desperate to prove himself as good as the original so to speak. And the boy had no qualms about being fiendish in the subterfuge of his elder twin. After all, Mr. Raines had been the one to raise the boy for the first fifteen years of his life. As a result, where Jarod's emotions ran close to the surface, visible to anyone who looked into his eyes, Jack was a terribly closed off individual. All his feelings were buried deep and hidden.
They were so very much alike and yet so different, polar opposites of the same magnet, opposite sides of the same coin.
There had been a horrible fight. Jack had been instigating it for weeks, poking at Jarod's patience until his temper had gotten the better of him. Furniture had been broken, windows shattered. Jack, at nineteen, was strong and wiry but had not quite developed the mass Jarod possessed. And Jarod had training that the boy lacked. Years of pretending had taught Jarod to fight with his fists.
The boy had gotten in his share of punches, but in the end Jarod had decked him. Their father had stepped between them then and in his fury Jarod had nearly taken a swing at him too. Standing there, with his fists clenched at his sides, Jarod had towered over his duplicate and had seen anger and hatred in the boy's eyes. Rage that Jarod abruptly knew was reflected in his own.
Jack hated being his clone, a Jarod copy, like some cheap knockoff of a designer clothing line. Jarod could not fault the boy for that. But disturbingly enough, Jarod realized that he resented the boy in return. He envied the boy's rescue from The Centre and wished that someone had cared enough to do the same for him. Jarod longed for someone to protect him the way his father now stood up for the youngest of his sons.
Jarod had moved out three days later. The symbolism of fighting with one's self had been the deciding factor. Jarod was well into his forties and hopelessly screwed up. Jack was still young and had a chance at becoming a whole being one day. But the boy would never be able to build a personality for himself if Jarod was there to cast his shadow over everything the young man did. Jack was a nice boy, a good kid most of the time. However, Jarod feared that the boy would go to extremes to prove he was different from his twin. And Jarod was in the unique position of knowing exactly what the younger man was capable of doing in that attempt.
So Jarod had moved to the city and got a job working with his hands. His folks lived sixty minutes away in a small rural town where Amish carriages were a regular sight. Ethan had come to the city with him. Jarod always suspected that the Major had sent Ethan to keep Jarod out of trouble. That was okay. The two brothers understood each other quite well and managed to stay out of each other's way often enough to not ruffle any feathers.
Every other weekend, Jarod and Ethan drove out to the house and spent Sunday afternoon with the family. It was a comfortable arrangement. Jarod's mother saw him often enough to make her happy. Jack saw him rarely enough to build his confidence. At this point, Jarod knew that he and his twin would never be close, but they were at long last learning to be friends.
Jarod finished his beer and headed for home. The apartment was empty when he arrived. Ethan worked second shift as a clerk in the campus library at a college not far away. Jarod had approximately thirty minutes to shower and change, maybe read the mail, before his younger brother came through the door with dinner.
Jarod tossed his tool belt and hardhat onto the island that served as the only kitchen counter. The loft was open and spacious, too expensive for the meager salaries the brothers brought home. Small investments on the international markets, monitored via laptop connections to the Internet, served to boost their income to a more comfortable level. The brothers sometimes made a game of the exercise. The edge of competition between them was serious enough to heighten their earnings while managing to maintain a playful nature.
Jarod peeled off his shirt and dropped it to the floor on his way toward the bathroom. Ethan would scold him later, as he picked up Jarod's soiled clothes. But Jarod wouldn't mind. Ethan, whose needy, clinging personality had been fostered for so long, had matured quite differently in the last four years. Rather than hanging desperately onto others, Ethan had developed a deep need to care for and protect those around him. Jarod recognized the same trait in himself.
So Jarod allowed his little brother to fuss over him whenever Ethan's mood became parental. It was a small enough thing. Personally, Jarod couldn't care less what the apartment looked like. The current décor was only here now because Jarod's mother had taken Ethan on a shopping spree just after the two men had moved in.
There were plants and a couch, a table with matching chairs, end tables and lamps and throw rugs. Jarod's sleeping area was along the wall just past the bathroom, separated from the common room by a series of bamboo screens. Ethan's bed was located directly above, on a large balconied area some twelve feet from the ground, accessed by a simple but sturdy set of wooden stairs.
There were the requisite signs of bachelorhood strewn about. Bicycles hung from a rack attached to a huge beam in the center of the room. Fishing poles jutted from an umbrella stand that held no umbrella. The entertainment area consisted of a large, flat-screen television hung from one wall. Speakers were positioned discretely yet efficiently around the room. There were no fewer than six laptop computers lying about. Ethan had a habit of collecting them, buying new ones every few months when new technology became available.
Jarod washed quickly. Glancing in the mirror he noticed that he had not shaved in several days. 'You're beginning to look like a pirate, Pez-head,' he thought. 'All that scruff makes the scar even more noticeable.'
He shrugged, deciding he would shave tomorrow.
It was dark when he left the bathroom. Rather than flip on any lights, Jarod went to the window and leaned against the frame to gaze out at the city. The apartment was several stories up. The view, which in the daytime was little more than a series of brick walls, became at night a twinkling of lights in the darkness.
Jarod was still standing there in his blue jeans, hugging his arms around himself, when Ethan came in. The enticing aroma of melted cheese and spicy pepperoni floated in with him.
"Hey there little brother," Jarod said softly.
With a sigh, Ethan tapped the switch that brightened the room, "You're brooding in the dark again, big brother." he scolded gently.
Jarod grinned. "I get moody when I haven't been fed. You should know that by now," he chortled.
Ethan stopped suddenly and gave Jarod one of those eerie I-can-see-your- soul looks. "I only know what you've let me know, " he murmured just loud enough for Jarod to hear.
Jarod cast his brother a wary glare. "You've been talking to Mom," Jarod grumbled.
Ethan set a square carton, distinct in its universal purpose of holding pizza, on the counter in the kitchen. Jarod, lured by the promise of grease and mozzarella cheese, pushed away from the window to join him.
Ethan shrugged. "Margaret did call this morning," he admitted. "She's worried about you."
Jarod opened the box, grabbed a drooping slice and took a huge bite. "My mother is always worried," he said as he chewed. "It's her job."
Ethan grinned in agreement as he took a slice of pizza and bit into it. After a long silence he asked, "Jarod, are you happy?"
"What?" Jarod frowned.
"It is a simple enough question," Ethan said firmly. "Are you happy?"
"Yes," he declared. "I have everything I want out of life. I have my family. I have a place to call home and a job I enjoy. I haven't seen a sweeper in ages."
"Your nightmares are still bad," Ethan pointed out.
"Sometimes," Jarod admitted. "But I've learned to live with them."
"May I make and unbiased observation?" Ethan asked.
"Do I have a choice?" Jarod sighed in exasperation.
Wiping his hands on a napkin Ethan said, "For someone who used to slip into different lives on a regular basis, you have become strangely rigid in your behavior. You've stopped adapting. It's like you've boxed away that part of yourself and hidden it away. You're not growing."
"At my age, I should be done growing, don't you think?" Jarod said softly.
"As human beings, we are constantly in a state of change," Ethan explained. "It is what we strive for, to better ourselves."
"That's an overly idealistic sentiment, little brother," Jarod scoffed.
"You're a cynic, big brother," Ethan said woefully.
Jarod shook his head. "Perhaps," he sighed. "Are we going to analyze my psyche all night or what? There's a Clint Eastwood movie starting in two minutes," Jarod complained.
"You're trying to change the subject," Ethan groaned.
"Yep," Jarod said as his face broke out into his trademark, 'gotcha' grin.
--
It was a little after two in the morning when Jarod woke. He and Ethan had watched the movie and followed it with a quick trip to the ice cream shop on the corner. The owner of the shop, an older fellow named Gary, sometimes let the two brothers help close the shop. In exchange for sweeping and a little cleanup, Jarod would be permitted to make an elaborate sundae of his own. It was a weekly treat that Jarod enjoyed immensely.
Upon returning to the loft, they had harangued over their investment returns for the week and spent some time discussing options for upcoming trades. Jarod flopped into bed just before midnight. He had slept for just over four hours though half remembered images had plagued him for much of that time. Regardless, Jarod got up, never having learned to extend his need for rest.
Moving back to his laptop, Jarod booted up and began reading. He held an unofficial position with the Susan Granger Agency. Granger was a private investigator who specialized in reuniting missing children with the parents who searched for them. In the last decade, Jarod had helped Granger locate dozens of children. Jarod had learned that a depressing percentage of these children could be found by scanning the John Doe files for morgues across the country. On a regular basis, Jarod collected basic autopsy information and then cross-referenced the descriptions with those of the missing children database that he and Granger had compiled.
Just last week, Jarod had been able to use this system to verify the location of a girl name Cheryl Stapleton. The seventeen-year-old runaway had been found stuffed in a dumpster behind a truck stop in Mobile, Alabama, nearly nine hundred miles from her home. It was heartbreaking, but at least her parents now knew. The waiting was over.
Jarod sighed as he watched his program connect to the Cuyahoga County Medical Examiner's office and begin to download stats on the newest John Doe bodies. With a snort of disgust, Jarod hit the escape key angrily. He didn't feel like searching the dead tonight. The image of Cheryl Stapleton's mangled corpse was still too raw, even though the killer had since been found.
Changing tactics, Jarod typed the words 'missing children' into the text box on his search engine. From the results, he randomly chose a site and started to browse. For forty minutes Jarod clicked through web pages arbitrarily, looking for a name or story that would catch his interest this evening. He was on an obscure little page, coincidentally based out of Delaware, that Jarod saw something odd.
The page contained just a blurb describing the reason for the site's creation and a long list of names and dates. The names were those of missing children. The dates defined when each child had disappeared. Each date was in blue type leading to a hyperlink that further described each victim's story.
About two-thirds of the way down the page, a particular name caught Jarod's eye. "Faith Parker" The date beside her name was additionally surprising. Jarod remembered each detail of that day with frightening clarity. It was the day that he had pulled Parker out of the fish hatchery. It marked the date that he and Parker had made their tawdry bargain.
Frowning at the odd fluke, Jarod clicked on the link. The resulting text that popped up was, at first glance, a jumbled mess of nonsense. A second glance and Jarod realized that he was reading Apache, or a bastardized version of Apache at any rate. The standard PC keyboard did not have all the symbols and accents needed to write the language properly but Jarod could still recognize it.
The text simply stated the girl's name again along with a location. A chill shivered down Jarod's spine. The address for the fish farm floated at him from his monitor. Jarod clicked on the address, another hyperlink, and found himself looking at a question, written in Japanese font.
"Which of these symbols represents the ancient Japanese sign for pain?" the question asked. Beneath this were two glyphs, one was an ancient symbol for agony. The other was a much more modern Japanese representation meaning danger.
Jarod stared at the two choices. The symbol on the right, though the incorrect answer to the displayed question, was a common Yakuza mark. Jarod clicked over the Yakuza symbol. A message box appeared saying, "Enter your password."
The cursor blinked expectantly as Jarod thought. "Refuge" he typed unsuccessfully.
"Faith", was wrong.
"The Centre", wrong again.
"Pez", was also incorrect.
Jarod pressed his palms against his eyes and fought to stay calm and to think clearly. Sudden inspiration caused him to type "You run I chase" and the link abruptly shot to another page.
This page held no text. Jarod watched in dumbfounded wonder as a single photo began to take shape on the screen. It seemed to take forever as row by row from the top down appeared on the screen. The picture was of a smiling brunette sitting in a brightly lit kitchen. Her hair was pulled back carelessly and she wore no makeup. The appliances behind her seemed worn but tidy. The olive colored refrigerator was adored with magnets and a calendar indicating a year and month more than three years past.
Grey eyes glowed with joy as the woman grinned delightedly for the picture. She wore beige pants, no shoes and a floral print blouse. The shirt hung open to her waist and would have left her revealed but the small infant suckling at the woman's breast hid any indecency from view.
Jarod stared, openmouthed. He stopped breathing and the only sound he could hear was the rushing throb of his heartbeat in his ears. He gazed at the simple kitchen, the blue romper the babe was wearing as well as the woman's obvious joy. Jarod's mind began to register smaller details slowly. The calendar was one of those generic things, given away by banks every year. But the month displayed was what Jarod focused on.
Nine months after the night in the cabin. Nine months after Jarod had made that bargain. And the baby in the picture looked very young.
Moving as if in slow motion, Jarod got up and went to retrieve the printer from the closet. He needed a hard copy of this. He needed something tangible to prove to himself that what he saw was real.
As he hooked up the wires and carefully loaded the device with the highest quality paper, Jarod wondered, "How long has it been there?" he asked aloud. "Could this picture have been out there, waiting for me to find it for more than three years?"
One minute later, Jarod was holding the photograph in his trembling hands. He quickly started making mental lists of things to do by morning. Only an agonizing amount of willpower, and respect for his parents, kept him from leaving right this moment.
But Jarod knew that before the sun had fully risen over this city, he would be gone. He would head for the bank that had provided the calendar and hope to find another clue there. And Jarod had little time to waste. Three years was a long time to wait. And Miss Parker had never been well known for her patience.
-
