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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: The Pretender and its related characters don’t belong to me. There is no money involved here and no copyright infringement is intended. Actually it is intended but I’m not making any profit so there’s really no point in suing me over it.
- Author’s Note: I don’t know much about cars. But when I was very young, my dad had a convertible like the one described in this story. White interior and a six-year-old child were not a good combination, so being permitted to ride in that car with the top down was an incredible treat. Those drives were some of the few fond memories I have of my father. So I don’t care what the car is really like. I don’t care if the engine is, in reality, a piece of junk. In my mind, the 1964 Mustang convertible is the coolest car ever made.
Veil of Contentment - Part 4
- By Phenyx
- 04/03/04
-
Dawn was just creeping over the horizon as Jarod left the interstate, following the curving exit ramp to the state route that led home. A cool morning breeze blew in through the open window. Jarod had rolled it down the moment he’d climbed back into his car at the airport. It had been dark in the parking lot, wavering on the cusp of daylight so that the overhead lights were blinking out one by one. For a moment, Jarod had struggled to locate his deep blue Toyota among the hundreds of abandoned vehicles lined up on the asphalt. The moment of disorientation had forced Jarod to recognize how weary he was.
He could have stayed in Delaware for the night. Parker had made the offer. After walking Teddy down the hiking trail, Jarod had waited with the boy as they were greeted by police officers. Jarod had done his best to chat the kid up, calming his nerves, while they were both whisked away to the nearest hospital. Parker had met them in the emergency room and it had taken the opinion of two doctors, Sydney and Jarod as well as Teddy’s request for a pizza with double pepperoni before she would accept that the child was unhurt.
The pretender had joined the small family for dinner and had enjoyed the experience immensely. It was the first time in his life that he’d eaten a leisurely meal with his ex-pursuers. Watching Parker slurp stringy melted mozzarella from a baked crust had sent the pretender into fits of near hysterical laughter. Greasy pizza and warm beer had never tasted so good.
Teddy complained as loudly as he could around a yawn when Parker took him off to bed. Sydney agreed to stay in the guestroom for a few days. He would provide Teddy with a live-in shrink to help with the inevitable emotional residue of the boy’s abduction. Jarod could have crashed on the couch. To be honest, the prospect was tempting. But the pretender was all too aware of his responsibilities elsewhere.
Jarod had said his goodbyes, promising to visit again soon. Though mechanical difficulties had delayed take-off, the actual flight to Florida had been uneventful.
The pretender maneuvered his car around the bend and sighed contentedly as he passed a weather worn barn. The nearly collapsed structure served as a landmark indicating that Jarod was exactly five minutes from his destination. Easing the accelerator a bit closer to the floor, Jarod nudged a little extra speed out of the vehicle and found himself wishing he was in his other car.
This mid-sized four-door was reliable and efficient. It always got Jarod to wherever he was going. There was never any concern about leaving the mundane automobile at the airport’s long-term parking lot. It was a good car. Boring, but serviceable, it blended in well with the other cars on the road.
When he wasn’t working or driving to the airport, Jarod preferred to drive his 1964 Mustang convertible. Shiny black with a white top to match the leather interior, Jarod’s ragtop was one of his favorite toys. The pretender had done a little tweaking on the engine of course. Modern technology had allowed for improvements in both power and efficiency.
Pulling into the long gravel driveway that led to his house, Jarod smiled as an idea began to form. He and Zoë hadn’t gone driving for ages. As early as it was, the morning promised to become a beautiful day, a good one for cruising aimlessly. Jarod would catch a few hours sleep and then he and his wife would wander the back roads for the afternoon. They could take turns driving the Mustang and simply enjoy each other’s company.
If Zoë insisted, Jarod would agree to take her car instead. The huge red convertible she still owned wasn’t as fast or racy as the Mustang, but Zoë adored that car. It didn’t really matter which automobile they went driving in, as long as they went together. They had fallen in love on a two-day road-trip. Jarod hoped he could recapture that same magic.
With his plan well set, Jarod slid his Toyota into its place among the other cars parked behind the house. Everyone in residence had at least one car. Jarod and his father each had two. Counting the two motorcycles in the garage, there were no fewer than ten vehicles owned by the entire household. The Major regularly joked that the insurance company should be sending them a personalized thank you card.
Jarod yawned and climbed from the car. Stretching his aching muscles, Jarod took a moment to admire the serenity of early morning. Dew sparkled on the grass and birds sang merrily in the trees. The sky was a deep crystal blue color with not a cloud in sight. Inhaling the scent of fresh air and grass, the pretender gazed up at his home.
It felt strange at times, almost surreal. Everything he had ever hoped for, every wish he’d made was inside this three story rambling house with its Queen Anne architecture. At moments like this, when Jarod was happy and content, he sometimes felt as though he was dreaming it all. As if, at any moment, he would wake up and find himself locked in his cell back at The Centre.
Shaking away his dark thoughts, Jarod retrieved his bag from the trunk and headed for the house. He unlocked the back door, not bothering to be quiet about it. Renovations done to the building right after he’d bought it had essentially created two separate wings within the house, one for himself and Zoë, the other for his family. Only the kitchen and the den connected the two dwellings, like an umbilical between homes.
Jarod had designed the layout when he had learned, very shortly after moving in, that he and his wife required privacy. During the early days of their marriage, the perceived solitude had allowed the newlyweds to explore each other, as newly married couples tend to do. More recently, it had given them the opportunity to argue without interruption.
Jarod kicked his boots off in the mudroom and continued through to the laundry. He tossed his bag of soiled clothes on top of the washing machine and peeled off his shirt, replacing it with a clean one from the dryer. He ran a hand through his hair and decided he would take a shower later.
With a yawn, Jarod ambled back the way he had come, headed for the main part of the house. In his socks, he made no sound. In one hand he carried his jacket, intending to hang the garment up before he went to bed.
The pretender took two silent steps into the kitchen and froze. He stood there, stunned into stupidity at the sight that greeted him. Zoë was leaning against the counter, dressed only in one of Jarod’s silk dress shirts. Her hair was in disarray as though she just gotten out of bed and she was smiling seductively at the lean blonde man who stood before her.
The man was tall, nearly Jarod’s height, with broad shoulders and deeply tanned skin. His hair was long, nearly to his shoulder blades and pulled back into a neat ponytail. The stranger was smiling gleefully as he lifted Zoë onto the counter top and kissed her deeply.
Jarod’s throat clicked as he swallowed hard and found his voice. “Who the hell are you and why are you sucking on my wife’s face?” the pretender asked in a surprisingly calm voice.
The reactions of Zoë and her companion were classic. The man flinched away as though Zoë had suddenly become a scalding thing. Zoë yelped in surprise and she stared at Jarod with wide fearful eyes.
The blonde held his hands in front of him as he backed toward the far door. “Now, lets all stay calm here,” he stuttered.
“Calm?” Jarod asked, raising one eyebrow curiously. “Do you see any reason why I should stay calm?” Taking a menacing step forward, Jarod glared at the man.
“Jarod!” Zoë cried. She hopped off the counter and placed herself in her husband’s path, one dainty palm against the pretender’s broad chest. “You’d better go, Cal,” she said over her shoulder.
The blonde needed no second urging. He promptly turned on his heel and fled.
“Nice,” Jarod taunted. “He just up and leaves you to face the jilted hubby all on your own, eh? Chivalry is dead.”
Zoë’s eyes narrowed angrily. “Don’t get all high and mighty about this, Jarod. That would be too hypocritical even for you.”
“What?” Jarod blinked at her. He knew he should be angry. The rage was undoubtedly inside him somewhere, but right now the pretender couldn’t seem to find it. For the moment, all he felt was confusion.
“Did you think you could bang your girlfriend whenever you liked and I would just sit here and wait for you?” Zoë hissed viciously.
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Jarod said as slowly and distinctly as possible.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Zoë made a scoffing sound. “Where have you been for the last forty-eight hours? With Susan,” she said, answering her own question.
“No,” Jarod cried. “I never,” the sentence stopped, hanging unfinished in the air. The pretender abruptly realized that his wife didn’t trust him and probably never had. It wouldn’t matter what he said or did right now. Their marriage was over. He could live with her not trusting him. He would have spent a lifetime proving himself worthy of her. But now, he would never trust her again. And Jarod simply could not love what he did not trust.
“I want a divorce.” When Zoë said the words, Jarod was not surprised to hear them. His shoulders slumped and he sighed as the magnitude of his failure began to dawn on him. He nodded in acceptance.
Zoë sat down at the kitchen table. “We’ll sue on grounds of infidelity. I don’t want the house, but I’ll need a lump settlement to get started on my own again.”
“No,” Jarod whispered.
“What?” Zoë’s head snapped up and she glared angrily at him.
“I’ll give you whatever you want,” Jarod said. “But you won’t get it because of my infidelity. I never broke my promise to you. I kept my marriage vows and I will not sign paperwork that claims I was unfaithful. It isn’t true.”
Zoë stood slowly, her body trembling with rage. “You self-righteous son-of- a-bitch!” she screamed. “How dare you lay this at my feet!”
“I never slept with Susan!” Jarod roared back.
“Liar!” Zoë yelled.
With a sigh of resignation, Jarod ran one hand through his hair. “I’m too tired to fight about this Zoë,” he said. “You’ll get what you want. There’s no point in yelling about it anymore.”
Turning his back on the frustrated redhead, Jarod crossed the kitchen and left through the swinging door that led to the rest of the house. In the hallway, he nearly bumped into his mortified mother. It was obvious that she had heard at least some of the argument.
“I’m sorry, Jarod,” she said gently.
The pretender shrugged. “We’re getting divorced,” he said.
Opening her arms, Margaret pulled her eldest son into a reassuring embrace. Jarod leaned his head against his mother’s crown and allowed her to comfort him. “There was another man here,” Jarod murmured sadly.
“I know,” Margaret replied. She felt her son stiffen in her arms. Jarod pulled away slightly and gazed down at his mother. Margaret watched in concern as emotions flittered across her son’s face.
In the years since they had been reunited, Margaret had learned that her son wore his feelings very close to the surface. But the thoughts those emotions provoked were always very well guarded. Jarod was a warm, caring and outgoing man but there had always been a part of him that Margaret had been unable to understand. It was this unfathomable side of her son that stared at Margaret now.
“How?” Jarod asked. At his mother’s puzzled frown, Jarod elaborated. “How did you know there had been a man here?”
Margaret glanced away, embarrassed for her child. “He’s been hanging around for a while,” she admitted.
“Hanging around?” Jarod repeated. Stepping back he felt his hands clench into fists at his side. “For how long?”
Margaret shrugged. “A couple of months I guess,” she said.
Jarod gasped. Pain knifed through his chest leaving a burning trail. Behind it came the anger he’d been missing earlier. Some vicious black part of his psyche made him laugh coldly as he realized that the real world was back. The dream had ended and Jarod was alone again.
The pretender turned away wordlessly, unaware of the anguish on his face. He walked like an automaton back to the kitchen, passed his quietly weeping, soon to be ex-wife. He slipped his jacket over his shoulders and stopped at the back door to stomp his boots onto his feet.
“Jarod,” his mother began. She had followed him, unable to recognize the reason for his sudden despair.
“Don’t,” Jarod hissed. “I don’t want to hear it.” He looked over at his mother, his cheeks now wet with scalding tears. “You should have told me,” he said in a voice wavering in agony.
“I didn’t want to hurt you Jarod. I was trying to protect you,” she said. “I did what I thought was best.”
The searing knife in Jarod’s heart twisted and the pretender lashed out in self-defense. “Amazing,” he sneered. “That’s exactly what Mr. Parker always told his daughter. But it was nothing but lies. Secrets and lies is all you’ve ever offered us. The one constant in my life.”
Margaret gasped. “Jarod, no.”
“Withholding the truth is the same as lying,” Jarod grimaced. “I’ve had enough lies to last a hundred lifetimes.” Turning abruptly, he yanked open the door with enough force to rattle the hinges.
“Wait,” his mother cried, placing one hand on her son’s arm to stop him.
The pretender flinched. “Let me go,” he growled in a low dangerous voice.
Snatching her hand back, Margaret asked tremulously. “When will you be coming back?”
“I won’t.” Without another word, Jarod slammed out of the house, leaving his mother to stare after him in horror. A moment later, there was the squeal of tires and spewing gravel as a car raced away from the house.
--
Parker eased her gun from its hiding place in a locked drawer of her bureau. For Teddy’s sake, the weapon was usually carefully hidden away and well secured. But when someone had started pounding on the front door, Parker had quickly retrieved her pistol. It was after one o’clock in the morning. Having visitors at this hour was never a good sign.
As she padded through the dark house, she tried to listen for intruders. But outside the rain had returned, muffling any small sound that may have been inside the house. Lightning flashed and Parker nearly cried out when she saw the shadowy figure to her left.
“It’s only me,” Sydney’s calm voice spoke before she had the chance to shoot him. The psychiatrist had decided to spend a second night in the guestroom. Parker was now very glad that he had done so.
They both jumped when three loud knocks reverberated through the house. Someone was outside, banging on the doorframe. With her gun firmly clasped in one hand, Parker tiptoed up to the door and peered through the peephole.
Blinking in surprise, she glanced at Sydney before Parker clicked the safety on and unlocked the deadbolt. Throwing open the door revealed a very wet and miserable looking pretender on the front porch.
“Jarod!” Miss Parker exclaimed. “Did you forget something?”
“May I come in?” he asked in a flat, dull voice.
Nodding, Parker stepped back and waved Jarod into the warmth of the house. “Sydney, get us some towels,” she called over her shoulder.
Jarod stood in the foyer, dripping rainwater onto the hardwood floor and looking much like a drowned rat.
“Are you okay?” Parker asked perceptively.
The pretender stared at the tip of his shoes and slowly shook his head.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she tried.
“Not yet,” Jarod whispered.
Sydney reappeared and offered the pretender two fluffy cotton towels. Jarod held them in his hands for a moment, staring at them as though he wasn’t quite sure what they were for.
“Jarod, what’s happened?” Sydney asked.
Dark eyes filled with moisture as Jarod gazed from one worried face to the other. Lower lip trembling, the pretender gasped and said, “I ran away from home.” A huge sob tore from his throat, as though it had been held back for too long.
“I ran away.”
- Author’s Note: I don’t know much about cars. But when I was very young, my dad had a convertible like the one described in this story. White interior and a six-year-old child were not a good combination, so being permitted to ride in that car with the top down was an incredible treat. Those drives were some of the few fond memories I have of my father. So I don’t care what the car is really like. I don’t care if the engine is, in reality, a piece of junk. In my mind, the 1964 Mustang convertible is the coolest car ever made.
Veil of Contentment - Part 4
- By Phenyx
- 04/03/04
-
Dawn was just creeping over the horizon as Jarod left the interstate, following the curving exit ramp to the state route that led home. A cool morning breeze blew in through the open window. Jarod had rolled it down the moment he’d climbed back into his car at the airport. It had been dark in the parking lot, wavering on the cusp of daylight so that the overhead lights were blinking out one by one. For a moment, Jarod had struggled to locate his deep blue Toyota among the hundreds of abandoned vehicles lined up on the asphalt. The moment of disorientation had forced Jarod to recognize how weary he was.
He could have stayed in Delaware for the night. Parker had made the offer. After walking Teddy down the hiking trail, Jarod had waited with the boy as they were greeted by police officers. Jarod had done his best to chat the kid up, calming his nerves, while they were both whisked away to the nearest hospital. Parker had met them in the emergency room and it had taken the opinion of two doctors, Sydney and Jarod as well as Teddy’s request for a pizza with double pepperoni before she would accept that the child was unhurt.
The pretender had joined the small family for dinner and had enjoyed the experience immensely. It was the first time in his life that he’d eaten a leisurely meal with his ex-pursuers. Watching Parker slurp stringy melted mozzarella from a baked crust had sent the pretender into fits of near hysterical laughter. Greasy pizza and warm beer had never tasted so good.
Teddy complained as loudly as he could around a yawn when Parker took him off to bed. Sydney agreed to stay in the guestroom for a few days. He would provide Teddy with a live-in shrink to help with the inevitable emotional residue of the boy’s abduction. Jarod could have crashed on the couch. To be honest, the prospect was tempting. But the pretender was all too aware of his responsibilities elsewhere.
Jarod had said his goodbyes, promising to visit again soon. Though mechanical difficulties had delayed take-off, the actual flight to Florida had been uneventful.
The pretender maneuvered his car around the bend and sighed contentedly as he passed a weather worn barn. The nearly collapsed structure served as a landmark indicating that Jarod was exactly five minutes from his destination. Easing the accelerator a bit closer to the floor, Jarod nudged a little extra speed out of the vehicle and found himself wishing he was in his other car.
This mid-sized four-door was reliable and efficient. It always got Jarod to wherever he was going. There was never any concern about leaving the mundane automobile at the airport’s long-term parking lot. It was a good car. Boring, but serviceable, it blended in well with the other cars on the road.
When he wasn’t working or driving to the airport, Jarod preferred to drive his 1964 Mustang convertible. Shiny black with a white top to match the leather interior, Jarod’s ragtop was one of his favorite toys. The pretender had done a little tweaking on the engine of course. Modern technology had allowed for improvements in both power and efficiency.
Pulling into the long gravel driveway that led to his house, Jarod smiled as an idea began to form. He and Zoë hadn’t gone driving for ages. As early as it was, the morning promised to become a beautiful day, a good one for cruising aimlessly. Jarod would catch a few hours sleep and then he and his wife would wander the back roads for the afternoon. They could take turns driving the Mustang and simply enjoy each other’s company.
If Zoë insisted, Jarod would agree to take her car instead. The huge red convertible she still owned wasn’t as fast or racy as the Mustang, but Zoë adored that car. It didn’t really matter which automobile they went driving in, as long as they went together. They had fallen in love on a two-day road-trip. Jarod hoped he could recapture that same magic.
With his plan well set, Jarod slid his Toyota into its place among the other cars parked behind the house. Everyone in residence had at least one car. Jarod and his father each had two. Counting the two motorcycles in the garage, there were no fewer than ten vehicles owned by the entire household. The Major regularly joked that the insurance company should be sending them a personalized thank you card.
Jarod yawned and climbed from the car. Stretching his aching muscles, Jarod took a moment to admire the serenity of early morning. Dew sparkled on the grass and birds sang merrily in the trees. The sky was a deep crystal blue color with not a cloud in sight. Inhaling the scent of fresh air and grass, the pretender gazed up at his home.
It felt strange at times, almost surreal. Everything he had ever hoped for, every wish he’d made was inside this three story rambling house with its Queen Anne architecture. At moments like this, when Jarod was happy and content, he sometimes felt as though he was dreaming it all. As if, at any moment, he would wake up and find himself locked in his cell back at The Centre.
Shaking away his dark thoughts, Jarod retrieved his bag from the trunk and headed for the house. He unlocked the back door, not bothering to be quiet about it. Renovations done to the building right after he’d bought it had essentially created two separate wings within the house, one for himself and Zoë, the other for his family. Only the kitchen and the den connected the two dwellings, like an umbilical between homes.
Jarod had designed the layout when he had learned, very shortly after moving in, that he and his wife required privacy. During the early days of their marriage, the perceived solitude had allowed the newlyweds to explore each other, as newly married couples tend to do. More recently, it had given them the opportunity to argue without interruption.
Jarod kicked his boots off in the mudroom and continued through to the laundry. He tossed his bag of soiled clothes on top of the washing machine and peeled off his shirt, replacing it with a clean one from the dryer. He ran a hand through his hair and decided he would take a shower later.
With a yawn, Jarod ambled back the way he had come, headed for the main part of the house. In his socks, he made no sound. In one hand he carried his jacket, intending to hang the garment up before he went to bed.
The pretender took two silent steps into the kitchen and froze. He stood there, stunned into stupidity at the sight that greeted him. Zoë was leaning against the counter, dressed only in one of Jarod’s silk dress shirts. Her hair was in disarray as though she just gotten out of bed and she was smiling seductively at the lean blonde man who stood before her.
The man was tall, nearly Jarod’s height, with broad shoulders and deeply tanned skin. His hair was long, nearly to his shoulder blades and pulled back into a neat ponytail. The stranger was smiling gleefully as he lifted Zoë onto the counter top and kissed her deeply.
Jarod’s throat clicked as he swallowed hard and found his voice. “Who the hell are you and why are you sucking on my wife’s face?” the pretender asked in a surprisingly calm voice.
The reactions of Zoë and her companion were classic. The man flinched away as though Zoë had suddenly become a scalding thing. Zoë yelped in surprise and she stared at Jarod with wide fearful eyes.
The blonde held his hands in front of him as he backed toward the far door. “Now, lets all stay calm here,” he stuttered.
“Calm?” Jarod asked, raising one eyebrow curiously. “Do you see any reason why I should stay calm?” Taking a menacing step forward, Jarod glared at the man.
“Jarod!” Zoë cried. She hopped off the counter and placed herself in her husband’s path, one dainty palm against the pretender’s broad chest. “You’d better go, Cal,” she said over her shoulder.
The blonde needed no second urging. He promptly turned on his heel and fled.
“Nice,” Jarod taunted. “He just up and leaves you to face the jilted hubby all on your own, eh? Chivalry is dead.”
Zoë’s eyes narrowed angrily. “Don’t get all high and mighty about this, Jarod. That would be too hypocritical even for you.”
“What?” Jarod blinked at her. He knew he should be angry. The rage was undoubtedly inside him somewhere, but right now the pretender couldn’t seem to find it. For the moment, all he felt was confusion.
“Did you think you could bang your girlfriend whenever you liked and I would just sit here and wait for you?” Zoë hissed viciously.
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Jarod said as slowly and distinctly as possible.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Zoë made a scoffing sound. “Where have you been for the last forty-eight hours? With Susan,” she said, answering her own question.
“No,” Jarod cried. “I never,” the sentence stopped, hanging unfinished in the air. The pretender abruptly realized that his wife didn’t trust him and probably never had. It wouldn’t matter what he said or did right now. Their marriage was over. He could live with her not trusting him. He would have spent a lifetime proving himself worthy of her. But now, he would never trust her again. And Jarod simply could not love what he did not trust.
“I want a divorce.” When Zoë said the words, Jarod was not surprised to hear them. His shoulders slumped and he sighed as the magnitude of his failure began to dawn on him. He nodded in acceptance.
Zoë sat down at the kitchen table. “We’ll sue on grounds of infidelity. I don’t want the house, but I’ll need a lump settlement to get started on my own again.”
“No,” Jarod whispered.
“What?” Zoë’s head snapped up and she glared angrily at him.
“I’ll give you whatever you want,” Jarod said. “But you won’t get it because of my infidelity. I never broke my promise to you. I kept my marriage vows and I will not sign paperwork that claims I was unfaithful. It isn’t true.”
Zoë stood slowly, her body trembling with rage. “You self-righteous son-of- a-bitch!” she screamed. “How dare you lay this at my feet!”
“I never slept with Susan!” Jarod roared back.
“Liar!” Zoë yelled.
With a sigh of resignation, Jarod ran one hand through his hair. “I’m too tired to fight about this Zoë,” he said. “You’ll get what you want. There’s no point in yelling about it anymore.”
Turning his back on the frustrated redhead, Jarod crossed the kitchen and left through the swinging door that led to the rest of the house. In the hallway, he nearly bumped into his mortified mother. It was obvious that she had heard at least some of the argument.
“I’m sorry, Jarod,” she said gently.
The pretender shrugged. “We’re getting divorced,” he said.
Opening her arms, Margaret pulled her eldest son into a reassuring embrace. Jarod leaned his head against his mother’s crown and allowed her to comfort him. “There was another man here,” Jarod murmured sadly.
“I know,” Margaret replied. She felt her son stiffen in her arms. Jarod pulled away slightly and gazed down at his mother. Margaret watched in concern as emotions flittered across her son’s face.
In the years since they had been reunited, Margaret had learned that her son wore his feelings very close to the surface. But the thoughts those emotions provoked were always very well guarded. Jarod was a warm, caring and outgoing man but there had always been a part of him that Margaret had been unable to understand. It was this unfathomable side of her son that stared at Margaret now.
“How?” Jarod asked. At his mother’s puzzled frown, Jarod elaborated. “How did you know there had been a man here?”
Margaret glanced away, embarrassed for her child. “He’s been hanging around for a while,” she admitted.
“Hanging around?” Jarod repeated. Stepping back he felt his hands clench into fists at his side. “For how long?”
Margaret shrugged. “A couple of months I guess,” she said.
Jarod gasped. Pain knifed through his chest leaving a burning trail. Behind it came the anger he’d been missing earlier. Some vicious black part of his psyche made him laugh coldly as he realized that the real world was back. The dream had ended and Jarod was alone again.
The pretender turned away wordlessly, unaware of the anguish on his face. He walked like an automaton back to the kitchen, passed his quietly weeping, soon to be ex-wife. He slipped his jacket over his shoulders and stopped at the back door to stomp his boots onto his feet.
“Jarod,” his mother began. She had followed him, unable to recognize the reason for his sudden despair.
“Don’t,” Jarod hissed. “I don’t want to hear it.” He looked over at his mother, his cheeks now wet with scalding tears. “You should have told me,” he said in a voice wavering in agony.
“I didn’t want to hurt you Jarod. I was trying to protect you,” she said. “I did what I thought was best.”
The searing knife in Jarod’s heart twisted and the pretender lashed out in self-defense. “Amazing,” he sneered. “That’s exactly what Mr. Parker always told his daughter. But it was nothing but lies. Secrets and lies is all you’ve ever offered us. The one constant in my life.”
Margaret gasped. “Jarod, no.”
“Withholding the truth is the same as lying,” Jarod grimaced. “I’ve had enough lies to last a hundred lifetimes.” Turning abruptly, he yanked open the door with enough force to rattle the hinges.
“Wait,” his mother cried, placing one hand on her son’s arm to stop him.
The pretender flinched. “Let me go,” he growled in a low dangerous voice.
Snatching her hand back, Margaret asked tremulously. “When will you be coming back?”
“I won’t.” Without another word, Jarod slammed out of the house, leaving his mother to stare after him in horror. A moment later, there was the squeal of tires and spewing gravel as a car raced away from the house.
--
Parker eased her gun from its hiding place in a locked drawer of her bureau. For Teddy’s sake, the weapon was usually carefully hidden away and well secured. But when someone had started pounding on the front door, Parker had quickly retrieved her pistol. It was after one o’clock in the morning. Having visitors at this hour was never a good sign.
As she padded through the dark house, she tried to listen for intruders. But outside the rain had returned, muffling any small sound that may have been inside the house. Lightning flashed and Parker nearly cried out when she saw the shadowy figure to her left.
“It’s only me,” Sydney’s calm voice spoke before she had the chance to shoot him. The psychiatrist had decided to spend a second night in the guestroom. Parker was now very glad that he had done so.
They both jumped when three loud knocks reverberated through the house. Someone was outside, banging on the doorframe. With her gun firmly clasped in one hand, Parker tiptoed up to the door and peered through the peephole.
Blinking in surprise, she glanced at Sydney before Parker clicked the safety on and unlocked the deadbolt. Throwing open the door revealed a very wet and miserable looking pretender on the front porch.
“Jarod!” Miss Parker exclaimed. “Did you forget something?”
“May I come in?” he asked in a flat, dull voice.
Nodding, Parker stepped back and waved Jarod into the warmth of the house. “Sydney, get us some towels,” she called over her shoulder.
Jarod stood in the foyer, dripping rainwater onto the hardwood floor and looking much like a drowned rat.
“Are you okay?” Parker asked perceptively.
The pretender stared at the tip of his shoes and slowly shook his head.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she tried.
“Not yet,” Jarod whispered.
Sydney reappeared and offered the pretender two fluffy cotton towels. Jarod held them in his hands for a moment, staring at them as though he wasn’t quite sure what they were for.
“Jarod, what’s happened?” Sydney asked.
Dark eyes filled with moisture as Jarod gazed from one worried face to the other. Lower lip trembling, the pretender gasped and said, “I ran away from home.” A huge sob tore from his throat, as though it had been held back for too long.
“I ran away.”
