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Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: The Characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots and The Center are all property
of MTM, TNT and NBC Productions and are used without permission. No profit has been made. blah, blah, blah.
Of Envy and Darkness
11/16/03 Part2 - By Phenyx
-
She was falling off her bike. She called it her bike anyway. In reality it was only a tricycle and she had gotten it for her third birthday.
One part of her mind knew that this was only a memory. She knew that she was standing in a hotel room decades away. But part of her was three years old, gasping in fear as one wheel of her tricycle veered off the sidewalk and into the grass. The tiny vehicle tottered, spilling her onto the ground. At her startled cry, her mother appeared, scooping her out from under the metal contraption and hugging her close.
Another part of her smiled indulgently. This faction of herself, that was, yet was not her self, whispered in her mind. 'She was beautiful.'
'Yes,' she thought back.
It was a strange sensation. It was as though she was thinking to herself and responding in kind. 'This must be what schizophrenia feels like,' she thought with amusement.
It felt safe here, snuggled into a mother's comforting embrace.
The scene shifted. She was held close by another woman as they walked under a scorching African sun. This other mother hummed a soothing melody as she walked and the voice sent delightful tingles of vibration through her slender body.
It was abruptly very dark. She could feel eyes watching her as she walked slowly toward the middle of the room. She hated this, being observed so closely. It made her frightened and self-conscious. Reaching the glass- enclosed box that was her destination, she curiously eyed the boy within.
"You're a girl," he said with a delighted smile.
"I am Miss Parker," she replied.
'Jarod,' her voice whispered in her mind. 'We have known him a very long time.'
'He was a friend,' she thought sadly.
"Stop!" Jarod called down the dark hallway. "You're hurting her!"
Together, the two minds cried out in grief as they watched Catherine Parker die in an elevator.
'Momma,' her heart cried in anguish. But this time, the pain was shared with the other self who watched.
The darkness vanished, replaced once again by bright sunlight over a dry savanna. She was standing on a stone stairway in front of the city courthouse. She wore the feeble rags that made up her best dress. Her mother smiled and stroked her plaited hair.
"Be a good girl, Mercedes," her mother whispered.
"I will Momma," she vowed. She watched innocently as her mother, coughing wretchedly, shambled away through the crowded streets.
She waited. She waited for a long time. Days, weeks and months passed while she sat quietly on the steps awaiting her mother's return. The courthouse was a thriving and busy place. Powerful, wealthy men came and went from its frightening grandeur. Occasionally, one of them would give her a coin, or something to eat. Yet still she waited.
She didn't notice him when he first arrived. The young man, though handsome, had been one of several bodyguards that accompanied a powerful businessman into the courthouse. It wasn't until they were leaving that the man broke away from the group and approached her.
"What is your name, little one?" he asked in a voice that seemed to purr.
"Mercedes," she replied meekly.
"You are here every day," he said accusingly.
"I'm waiting for my mother," she answered.
"Have you any money, child?" he asked with a quizzical tilt of his head.
"Some," was the response.
"You are a beggar," he stated.
This aroused both indignation and embarrassment in her and she snapped back in anger. "I am not! I earn my way by telling fortunes to those who wish it."
The sharp angles of his face softened greatly as he smiled at her. "Then tell my fortune little flower."
She did. He had been much impressed and dropped a coin into her palm. The next day, he returned without his employer or the other bodyguards.
"Your mother is not coming back, child," he said gently as he crouched before her.
She began to cry. "I have nowhere else to go," she whispered.
He stood, towering over her. Holding out his hand he said, "Come with me."
"I must wait for my mother," she said, shaking her head.
"Listen to me, Mercedes," he commanded. "Today you are but a child, a simple waif haunting these streets. But I can see the beauty that lies within you, the woman who waits just around the corner of time." He paused. "How long will it be before your inherent loveliness becomes more sought after than your fortune-telling skills? How long before you have to sell your body to gain those few coins that keep you fed?"
Silent tears tracked down her soft cheeks.
He held his hand out to her again, "Come with me, Mercedes. I swear I will ask for nothing you do not willingly offer me."
She looked up at him with wide dark eyes. "I don't even know who you are," she argued.
"I am Adama," he smiled. "And I will protect you. We will learn more about each other in time."
When she took his hand, it swallowed her own. His strength and confidence seemed to radiate through her body. He smiled at her and his reassurance wiped away her fears.
They walked hand in hand, but the hot pavement beneath them was gone. They were in the dark. The hand she held was no longer the large hand of a man. Her palm was clasped tightly to that of a boy.
"This way, Jarod," she whispered.
"I'm not allowed on this level, Miss Parker," the boy nearly whimpered.
"Don't be such a baby," she scolded him. "Even if they catch us, what could they possibly do?"
She had been clueless then. She had not understood the cruelty this boy was subjected to at the time. She could not comprehend his fear. The adult part of her psyche felt a terrible pang of remorse at the torturous life this boy had led.
"Please, Miss Parker," Jarod begged. "We should not be here."
"Don't give up on me, Jarod," she demanded. "I need your help to find that present."
Jarod swallowed. "I won't give up," he whispered.
"Then you will do this for me?" she asked, pulling his hand close.
The boy nodded. "Of course," he said, putting aside his fear.
She smiled brilliantly at him, coaxing a grin from him in return. "You're a true friend, Jarod," she whispered. Placing a quick kiss on his cheek, she led him through the corridors. "My father's office is this way."
Their adventure in the tower was only one of many secrets she shared with the lonely boy. She never really understood why Jarod lived at The Centre or what had become of his parents. Each time she had asked her father about the boy, she had been scolded. So she quickly stopped asking.
The pretender was devoted to her. She knew that. He had even fewer friends than she did and he was unwaveringly loyal. But the camaraderie between them only lasted a few short years. It had been her fault that it ended.
She had been stupid enough to seek Jarod out while he was working one day. In her folly and ignorance, she had wanted only to see him. The simulation unraveling in the lab that day had been singularly cruel in her limited opinion. Her young friend had been in pain and she had attempted to help him.
Her interference had enraged her father. In his fury he accused her of betraying her family in favor of the pretender. Her protests only angered her father even more. Within a fortnight, she found herself packed off to a boarding school in Europe. In her misery and distress, she blamed Jarod for her exile. She'd never said goodbye to him. The two would not speak again for nearly two decades.
She had been only fifteen when she'd been sent from her home.
She had been fifteen when she first offered herself to her patron. In the few years after Adama rescued her from the streets of Rumpalla, his career with the Triumvirate had soared. He had been far kinder to her than he had needed to be. She would have been forever thankful for just the food and clothes that he gave her. But he used his steadily increasing income to not only provide her with food and fine clothes but also an excellent education.
She learned to read. He took her with him on his many travels. She learned quickly. Adama raised her from the poverty she had always known. She knew that he had wanted only what her gift could provide yet she still worshipped his kindness.
One stormy night, she came to him while he worked at his computer. She had planned the seduction carefully and wore a diaphanous gown that eagerly displayed her still blossoming figure. She was crushed when he rejected her advances.
"But you've always said that I am beautiful," she had stuttered tearfully.
"And that you are, my flower," Adama told her. "But you are still young. Too young for a man my age."
She wiped away a tear with the sleeve of her negligee. "You're not even ten years older than me," she argued.
Adama smiled indulgently. "But it is an important decade that separates us now my pet," he said. He wrapped her in a warm, protective embrace. "I have no desire to hurt you, Mercedes. And such behavior between us at this juncture would only cause you pain. But I promise you," he whispered softly as he rested his cheek against the top of her head. "When the time comes, I will be there to accept the gift you've offered me tonight. You will belong to no other, my love."
Adama had thought it best then to send her away to school for a time. She had obeyed reluctantly, spending her years away in Switzerland. But Adama had come to visit often, bringing gifts in exchange for her unique insight into the minds of the guests he brought with him.
Her two selves consoled one another through the memory of the loneliness in the years that followed. As she became a woman in both lives, she learned to move in a world of privilege and success. She learned to survive on her own.
Memories of a hot summer in Tokyo flooded through her. With Tommy Tanaka, she explored a deeper sense of sexuality that she had ever known with any of the teenaged boys she had fumbled with in high school. She learned that her sensuous form was an object of desire that gave her power over the men around her.
She flushed with excitement as they relived the night that Adama first guided her into womanhood. At nineteen, she had been with no other man. He had been the one and only lover in her life. His desire for her had been tempered by great gentleness and the patience of a saint. The way in which he worshipped her each and every time he took her to his bed, made her feel like royalty. She loved him more with each passing day.
She wanted nothing more than to please him in all things. With her continued assistance, Adama's influence with the Triumvirate continued to grow. Even Mutumbo was wary of the younger man's success. But these things were important to her only because they were important to the man she desired.
Adama loved her. Of this she had no doubt. As his career bloomed, so did the life that they shared together. When Adama proposed and they were married, she thought she may die from the blissful happiness that was hers.
Memories shifted and began blending together more rapidly. The loneliness of one self mingled with the blinding joy of the other until both were abruptly wrapped in sorrow. The bitter grief of a dead carpenter intertwined with the premature birth of a dead child. Pain ripped through their body from complications caused by the stillborn infant as agony ripped through them from a bullet through their back.
Emptiness engulfed her. Shame. She felt shame at having sacrificed a kind and innocent man to The Centre. There was shame at learning her womb was now barren and her husband would have no son.
Somehow, her depression was lifted. Adama convinced her that his love for her was unconditional. His continued adoration helped to heal the wound in her soul. But her other self had no one to lean on. Her loneliness returned. Yet, with time, her grief also abated.
'Not entirely true,' her other self whispered through her mind. 'He was there when you needed him.'
'He always is,' she admitted ruefully.
He had been on the plane when she had faced the most recent trauma in her life. He had been just as stunned as she had been upon learning about her father's ultimate lie. She'd seen him, straining to see around the group gathered in the cargo area. Chained as he was, he had been forced to watch the drama unfold from a distance.
'Handcuffs,' her thoughts gasped.
"Adama thinks you're bad luck," her father said angrily.
"Parker!" Adama bellowed. "What is she doing here?"
"She just wanted to surprise her father, that's all." She scoffed. It wasn't a total lie, she supposed. She had indeed surprised her father, though she still did not know which man owned that title.
"Take these three forward," Adama demanded.
She had glanced at Jarod, unsure of what action to take. He had nodded reassuringly. Bide your time, his look said to her. Wait. She didn't have to wait long. One of Adama's men had taken her sidearm and she was settling into her seat when the distinctive sound of a silenced pistol began popping around her.
'Adama!' the anguished voice cried through her head as the African sank to the floor.
"Tell Mr. Parker to get ready," Raines snarled at her.
"Get ready for what?" she cried.
"Just do it!" Lyle barked.
She ran back to the cargo hold and saw Jarod sitting just as she had left him, chained to the wall.
There was a blinding flash of light and fury surged through her mind like a scalding flame. The images around her abruptly vanished, Jarod and her father and the airplane were all gone. She found herself standing in the hotel suite.
Parker staggered. Sam was standing at her side, steadying her as she swayed.
"Miss Parker?" the bulky sweeper said with gentle concern.
She blinked. Parker glanced at the dark-skinned woman. Mercedes was trembling like a leaf as one of her guards helped her to ease into a nearby chair.
"Sam?" Parker stared in wonder. "How long have I been. . . were we. . . connected?"
Sam shrugged. "Twenty maybe thirty seconds," he replied.
"That's all?" Parker gasped. She stared in awe at the woman before her. Parker had shared a lifetime with this girl in the span of half a minute. "My god," she whispered. Mercedes was right. Parker would profit greatly by having this woman on her side.
Mercedes sighed wearily. "We have much to discuss, Miss Parker. But we must both rest first." She reached out to one of the ever-present guards. "Show Miss Parker to the other room."
"Yes, Mistress," the man bowed.
Mercedes was being led carefully out of the room as she turned back. The two women nodded at each other in understanding before moving to separate rooms to recuperate from their strange encounter.
of MTM, TNT and NBC Productions and are used without permission. No profit has been made. blah, blah, blah.
Of Envy and Darkness
11/16/03 Part2 - By Phenyx
-
She was falling off her bike. She called it her bike anyway. In reality it was only a tricycle and she had gotten it for her third birthday.
One part of her mind knew that this was only a memory. She knew that she was standing in a hotel room decades away. But part of her was three years old, gasping in fear as one wheel of her tricycle veered off the sidewalk and into the grass. The tiny vehicle tottered, spilling her onto the ground. At her startled cry, her mother appeared, scooping her out from under the metal contraption and hugging her close.
Another part of her smiled indulgently. This faction of herself, that was, yet was not her self, whispered in her mind. 'She was beautiful.'
'Yes,' she thought back.
It was a strange sensation. It was as though she was thinking to herself and responding in kind. 'This must be what schizophrenia feels like,' she thought with amusement.
It felt safe here, snuggled into a mother's comforting embrace.
The scene shifted. She was held close by another woman as they walked under a scorching African sun. This other mother hummed a soothing melody as she walked and the voice sent delightful tingles of vibration through her slender body.
It was abruptly very dark. She could feel eyes watching her as she walked slowly toward the middle of the room. She hated this, being observed so closely. It made her frightened and self-conscious. Reaching the glass- enclosed box that was her destination, she curiously eyed the boy within.
"You're a girl," he said with a delighted smile.
"I am Miss Parker," she replied.
'Jarod,' her voice whispered in her mind. 'We have known him a very long time.'
'He was a friend,' she thought sadly.
"Stop!" Jarod called down the dark hallway. "You're hurting her!"
Together, the two minds cried out in grief as they watched Catherine Parker die in an elevator.
'Momma,' her heart cried in anguish. But this time, the pain was shared with the other self who watched.
The darkness vanished, replaced once again by bright sunlight over a dry savanna. She was standing on a stone stairway in front of the city courthouse. She wore the feeble rags that made up her best dress. Her mother smiled and stroked her plaited hair.
"Be a good girl, Mercedes," her mother whispered.
"I will Momma," she vowed. She watched innocently as her mother, coughing wretchedly, shambled away through the crowded streets.
She waited. She waited for a long time. Days, weeks and months passed while she sat quietly on the steps awaiting her mother's return. The courthouse was a thriving and busy place. Powerful, wealthy men came and went from its frightening grandeur. Occasionally, one of them would give her a coin, or something to eat. Yet still she waited.
She didn't notice him when he first arrived. The young man, though handsome, had been one of several bodyguards that accompanied a powerful businessman into the courthouse. It wasn't until they were leaving that the man broke away from the group and approached her.
"What is your name, little one?" he asked in a voice that seemed to purr.
"Mercedes," she replied meekly.
"You are here every day," he said accusingly.
"I'm waiting for my mother," she answered.
"Have you any money, child?" he asked with a quizzical tilt of his head.
"Some," was the response.
"You are a beggar," he stated.
This aroused both indignation and embarrassment in her and she snapped back in anger. "I am not! I earn my way by telling fortunes to those who wish it."
The sharp angles of his face softened greatly as he smiled at her. "Then tell my fortune little flower."
She did. He had been much impressed and dropped a coin into her palm. The next day, he returned without his employer or the other bodyguards.
"Your mother is not coming back, child," he said gently as he crouched before her.
She began to cry. "I have nowhere else to go," she whispered.
He stood, towering over her. Holding out his hand he said, "Come with me."
"I must wait for my mother," she said, shaking her head.
"Listen to me, Mercedes," he commanded. "Today you are but a child, a simple waif haunting these streets. But I can see the beauty that lies within you, the woman who waits just around the corner of time." He paused. "How long will it be before your inherent loveliness becomes more sought after than your fortune-telling skills? How long before you have to sell your body to gain those few coins that keep you fed?"
Silent tears tracked down her soft cheeks.
He held his hand out to her again, "Come with me, Mercedes. I swear I will ask for nothing you do not willingly offer me."
She looked up at him with wide dark eyes. "I don't even know who you are," she argued.
"I am Adama," he smiled. "And I will protect you. We will learn more about each other in time."
When she took his hand, it swallowed her own. His strength and confidence seemed to radiate through her body. He smiled at her and his reassurance wiped away her fears.
They walked hand in hand, but the hot pavement beneath them was gone. They were in the dark. The hand she held was no longer the large hand of a man. Her palm was clasped tightly to that of a boy.
"This way, Jarod," she whispered.
"I'm not allowed on this level, Miss Parker," the boy nearly whimpered.
"Don't be such a baby," she scolded him. "Even if they catch us, what could they possibly do?"
She had been clueless then. She had not understood the cruelty this boy was subjected to at the time. She could not comprehend his fear. The adult part of her psyche felt a terrible pang of remorse at the torturous life this boy had led.
"Please, Miss Parker," Jarod begged. "We should not be here."
"Don't give up on me, Jarod," she demanded. "I need your help to find that present."
Jarod swallowed. "I won't give up," he whispered.
"Then you will do this for me?" she asked, pulling his hand close.
The boy nodded. "Of course," he said, putting aside his fear.
She smiled brilliantly at him, coaxing a grin from him in return. "You're a true friend, Jarod," she whispered. Placing a quick kiss on his cheek, she led him through the corridors. "My father's office is this way."
Their adventure in the tower was only one of many secrets she shared with the lonely boy. She never really understood why Jarod lived at The Centre or what had become of his parents. Each time she had asked her father about the boy, she had been scolded. So she quickly stopped asking.
The pretender was devoted to her. She knew that. He had even fewer friends than she did and he was unwaveringly loyal. But the camaraderie between them only lasted a few short years. It had been her fault that it ended.
She had been stupid enough to seek Jarod out while he was working one day. In her folly and ignorance, she had wanted only to see him. The simulation unraveling in the lab that day had been singularly cruel in her limited opinion. Her young friend had been in pain and she had attempted to help him.
Her interference had enraged her father. In his fury he accused her of betraying her family in favor of the pretender. Her protests only angered her father even more. Within a fortnight, she found herself packed off to a boarding school in Europe. In her misery and distress, she blamed Jarod for her exile. She'd never said goodbye to him. The two would not speak again for nearly two decades.
She had been only fifteen when she'd been sent from her home.
She had been fifteen when she first offered herself to her patron. In the few years after Adama rescued her from the streets of Rumpalla, his career with the Triumvirate had soared. He had been far kinder to her than he had needed to be. She would have been forever thankful for just the food and clothes that he gave her. But he used his steadily increasing income to not only provide her with food and fine clothes but also an excellent education.
She learned to read. He took her with him on his many travels. She learned quickly. Adama raised her from the poverty she had always known. She knew that he had wanted only what her gift could provide yet she still worshipped his kindness.
One stormy night, she came to him while he worked at his computer. She had planned the seduction carefully and wore a diaphanous gown that eagerly displayed her still blossoming figure. She was crushed when he rejected her advances.
"But you've always said that I am beautiful," she had stuttered tearfully.
"And that you are, my flower," Adama told her. "But you are still young. Too young for a man my age."
She wiped away a tear with the sleeve of her negligee. "You're not even ten years older than me," she argued.
Adama smiled indulgently. "But it is an important decade that separates us now my pet," he said. He wrapped her in a warm, protective embrace. "I have no desire to hurt you, Mercedes. And such behavior between us at this juncture would only cause you pain. But I promise you," he whispered softly as he rested his cheek against the top of her head. "When the time comes, I will be there to accept the gift you've offered me tonight. You will belong to no other, my love."
Adama had thought it best then to send her away to school for a time. She had obeyed reluctantly, spending her years away in Switzerland. But Adama had come to visit often, bringing gifts in exchange for her unique insight into the minds of the guests he brought with him.
Her two selves consoled one another through the memory of the loneliness in the years that followed. As she became a woman in both lives, she learned to move in a world of privilege and success. She learned to survive on her own.
Memories of a hot summer in Tokyo flooded through her. With Tommy Tanaka, she explored a deeper sense of sexuality that she had ever known with any of the teenaged boys she had fumbled with in high school. She learned that her sensuous form was an object of desire that gave her power over the men around her.
She flushed with excitement as they relived the night that Adama first guided her into womanhood. At nineteen, she had been with no other man. He had been the one and only lover in her life. His desire for her had been tempered by great gentleness and the patience of a saint. The way in which he worshipped her each and every time he took her to his bed, made her feel like royalty. She loved him more with each passing day.
She wanted nothing more than to please him in all things. With her continued assistance, Adama's influence with the Triumvirate continued to grow. Even Mutumbo was wary of the younger man's success. But these things were important to her only because they were important to the man she desired.
Adama loved her. Of this she had no doubt. As his career bloomed, so did the life that they shared together. When Adama proposed and they were married, she thought she may die from the blissful happiness that was hers.
Memories shifted and began blending together more rapidly. The loneliness of one self mingled with the blinding joy of the other until both were abruptly wrapped in sorrow. The bitter grief of a dead carpenter intertwined with the premature birth of a dead child. Pain ripped through their body from complications caused by the stillborn infant as agony ripped through them from a bullet through their back.
Emptiness engulfed her. Shame. She felt shame at having sacrificed a kind and innocent man to The Centre. There was shame at learning her womb was now barren and her husband would have no son.
Somehow, her depression was lifted. Adama convinced her that his love for her was unconditional. His continued adoration helped to heal the wound in her soul. But her other self had no one to lean on. Her loneliness returned. Yet, with time, her grief also abated.
'Not entirely true,' her other self whispered through her mind. 'He was there when you needed him.'
'He always is,' she admitted ruefully.
He had been on the plane when she had faced the most recent trauma in her life. He had been just as stunned as she had been upon learning about her father's ultimate lie. She'd seen him, straining to see around the group gathered in the cargo area. Chained as he was, he had been forced to watch the drama unfold from a distance.
'Handcuffs,' her thoughts gasped.
"Adama thinks you're bad luck," her father said angrily.
"Parker!" Adama bellowed. "What is she doing here?"
"She just wanted to surprise her father, that's all." She scoffed. It wasn't a total lie, she supposed. She had indeed surprised her father, though she still did not know which man owned that title.
"Take these three forward," Adama demanded.
She had glanced at Jarod, unsure of what action to take. He had nodded reassuringly. Bide your time, his look said to her. Wait. She didn't have to wait long. One of Adama's men had taken her sidearm and she was settling into her seat when the distinctive sound of a silenced pistol began popping around her.
'Adama!' the anguished voice cried through her head as the African sank to the floor.
"Tell Mr. Parker to get ready," Raines snarled at her.
"Get ready for what?" she cried.
"Just do it!" Lyle barked.
She ran back to the cargo hold and saw Jarod sitting just as she had left him, chained to the wall.
There was a blinding flash of light and fury surged through her mind like a scalding flame. The images around her abruptly vanished, Jarod and her father and the airplane were all gone. She found herself standing in the hotel suite.
Parker staggered. Sam was standing at her side, steadying her as she swayed.
"Miss Parker?" the bulky sweeper said with gentle concern.
She blinked. Parker glanced at the dark-skinned woman. Mercedes was trembling like a leaf as one of her guards helped her to ease into a nearby chair.
"Sam?" Parker stared in wonder. "How long have I been. . . were we. . . connected?"
Sam shrugged. "Twenty maybe thirty seconds," he replied.
"That's all?" Parker gasped. She stared in awe at the woman before her. Parker had shared a lifetime with this girl in the span of half a minute. "My god," she whispered. Mercedes was right. Parker would profit greatly by having this woman on her side.
Mercedes sighed wearily. "We have much to discuss, Miss Parker. But we must both rest first." She reached out to one of the ever-present guards. "Show Miss Parker to the other room."
"Yes, Mistress," the man bowed.
Mercedes was being led carefully out of the room as she turned back. The two women nodded at each other in understanding before moving to separate rooms to recuperate from their strange encounter.
