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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: Do any of us really own anything? Can anyone claim to possess the lives of these characters that we hold so dear? You betcha. But it isn't me. Don't own them. Just borrowing them. This is just my feeble attempt to keep the Pretender alive and well until we finally get to find him again on DVD release. If anyone tries to sue, I'll disavow all knowledge.
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The Straight Path Lost Part 8
By Phenyx
08/06/04
Jarod decided that this had been, without a doubt, the least romantic sexual encounter he'd ever experienced. Hay was not soft. Truth be told, it was rather prickly. He lay there, staring at the rafters as his breathing began to return to normal. It occurred to him, somewhat belatedly, that he was dirty and sweaty from being on the roof all day. He probably smelled awful but was afraid to test his theory.
The soft, sultry body sprawled across Jarod stretched languidly. Reaching around her head with one hand, Miss Parker brushed aside her hair, revealing her face. She propped her chin on Jarod's chest and smiled at him.
'This is what they mean by chemistry,' the pretender thought to himself. Dirty or not, scratchy straw and all, Jarod wouldn't trade this moment for anything in the world. Passion like this could not be planned. One couldn't arrange it with flowers and candlelight. In his wildest fantasies, the pretender had never imagined that possessing this woman could be so incredible.
"I've waited so long." He didn't realize he'd spoken his thoughts aloud until Parker chuckled.
"It was inevitable," she replied. "You and I have been doing the dance for years. It was only a matter of time before we ended up this way."
Jarod ran one forefinger down the curve of Parker's jaw. "Are you saying we were destined to sleep together?" he asked with a smile.
"Either that or we were going to kill each other," she answered.
Jarod grinned. "I'm glad you chose this alternative."
"Hmm," Parker sighed as she snuggled her cheek against Jarod's chest. "This is much less hassle than putting a bullet in you."
"Hassle?" the pretender asked with a smirk.
Parker twined her fingers in the hair curling around Jarod's nipples. "No need to dispose of the body," she said.
This caused a delighted peal of laughter from Jarod. "I love you," he said. The declaration had been completely spontaneous, had in fact slipped out before Jarod had realized it was coming. He immediately regretted it.
"Don't," Parker bit. She abruptly sat up and reached for her clothes.
"Don't what?" Jarod asked, frowning. He recognized Parker's defensive posture, saddened that it should appear at this precise moment.
Yanking her shorts over her hips, Miss Parker glared at him. "Don't make this out to be more than it is, Jarod."
The pretender sat up slowly; suddenly aware of his nudity and the vulnerable position he was now in. "And what is that, exactly?"
Parker fumbled with her top for a few moments. She did not speak until she was fully dressed. "We are two healthy adults," she said. "Thrown together by the consequences of our lives. Just because we find some... enjoyment in each other, doesn't mean we are soul-mates."
"So glad I could entertain you, Miss Parker," Jarod's voice dripped with icy sarcasm.
"You wanted this as much as I did," Parker replied. "Don't be so melodramatic."
Jarod stared up at her in disbelief. "Why me?" he asked quietly. Rising slowly, Jarod grabbed his jeans and slid them on. "Sydney and Ben, I understand. Too old for a libido such as yours. But why me instead of Broots?"
The pretender could see the fury building in Parker's eyes but he could not stop the flow of words. "If Sam had lived, he'd be here now instead of me. Wouldn't he?" Jarod had never felt so much pain in the absence of a physical wound. "If he hadn't died to protect you, he'd have been the one you cradled between your legs."
The blow nearly rocked Jarod off his feet. The stinging of his jaw where Parker had hit him was a welcome distraction from the knife-like agony ripping through his chest.
"Don't you ever speak about him that way," Parker hissed. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears as her voice shook with anger. "Don't even mention his name."
"It's true, isn't it?" Jarod asked, rubbing at the red mark on his cheek.
"What would or would not have happened is a moot point." Parker crossed her arms and glared regally. "We can't undo the past. All we can do is make the best of what we have now."
"We have nothing," Jarod said.
With a heavy sigh, Parker stepped forward, cupping Jarod's sore cheek in her cool palm. "The sex was good, wasn't it? You liked it, didn't you?"
"You know I did," Jarod admitted.
"Then why should either of us spend our nights alone?" Parker asked.
Jarod felt his lower lip trembling and he bit down on it hard. He would not let Parker see how much she had affected him. He would not cry in front of her.
"It isn't enough," he whispered. "I want more than just your body."
"You ask too much," Parker said as she withdrew her hand and crossed her arms again. "It's more than I can give you."
It is a strange thing, to feel a dream shatter. As Jarod stood there in that dark, musty barn he stared at the woman before him and abruptly realized that he didn't know her. All these years, he had attributed her with certain characteristics and feelings that had no basis in fact. He had imagined her to be someone that she was not. It suddenly became clear to him just why Parker had been so successful within the Centre's upper echelon. She may not have agreed with the things that went on there, but she had managed to fit in quite well.
The air around the pretender was abruptly too thick to breathe. He felt as though he was smothering, a fit of claustrophobia washing over him. Jarod turned and rushed from the building leaving Parker to stare after him. His legs carried him faster and faster until he was running through the woods.
On no discernable path, Jarod barreled through the trees as branches and brambles clawed at him menacingly. He ran, for how long he did not know. There was only an undeniable need to escape, to flee. Only when his body could go no further did he stop. Collapsing in a gasping heap, he pounded his frustration into the detritus of the forest floor.
Unfocused anger boiled in him and he screamed his rage at the uncaring night. It was all so unfair. He had come so close to achieving the life he had always dreamed of, only to learn that it would be forever denied him. He would never be a part of his family. He would never have a home of his own. The woman he cherished above all others would never really be his.
Worst of all, he could never stop running. Whether he was running from the Centre or running from the law, it made little difference. He would always be looking over his shoulder. Running was one thing he did really well. He'd had a lot of practice running from Parker, from her father and from his own past. He would spend the rest of his life running to the four corners of the Earth. Only now did he recognize, that no matter how far he went he could never escape himself.
The tears came. Jarod's fury morphed into a massive wave of self-pity and he wept at the misery that was his life, the emptiness that was his future. Never before, not even locked in the bowels of the Centre, had he felt so alone.
For a long while, Jarod debated what he should do next. He'd never felt so lost before. He had always had some goal to strive for, some hope to attain. Now there was nothing. He considered standing up and just going. He could simply follow his nose and wander like some vagabond. There were cities where he could go, where the winters weren't too harsh. He could join the ranks of this country's gypsies, the homeless who wandered through the populace unseen.
How long would it be, Jarod wondered morosely. How long before he was pushing a rickety old shopping cart and mumbling to himself? With this thought came the understanding that he could not do it. Jarod knew that his sanity could never withstand being completely alone in the world.
For as lonely as his childhood had been, Jarod had never truly been alone. There had always been the cameras. Despised as they were, the eternal surveillance represented eyes that never left him. There had always been Sydney, or Parker. Even after he had fled from them, they had never been more than a phone call away.
With a sad acceptance of his fate, Jarod stood and began the long walk back to the inn. He tried not to think too much as he went, striving instead for a blank mind, devoid of pain. By the time he reached Ben Miller's place, the sky was beginning to lighten in the East.
Showering quickly, Jarod wrapped a towel around his waist and slipped into the hall. Moving through the silent house like a wraith, the pretender went to Miss Parker's room. He didn't hesitate, squashing the twinge of caution that flared in him. Crawling between the sheets of her bed, Jarod wrapped his arms around Parker's waist and spooned her body against his.
Parker moaned softly as she was roused from her sleep. Craning her neck to look at Jarod over her shoulder she sighed. "You said that this wasn't enough," she reminded him.
The pretender shrugged. "It will have to be enough," he said sadly. "It's all I've got."
Miss Parker rolled over and kissed him. "It is more than we had before," she whispered.
For the first time in his life, Jarod had sex for the sake of having sex. He took what Parker offered him, giving her little in return. He wasn't gentle, not even particularly kind. Perhaps he was punishing her in some way, he wasn't sure. But it angered him some to find her enjoying his forcefulness.
In the aftermath, Jarod pillowed his head against her breast, listening to Parker's heartbeat. He felt empty, bereft of feeling.
"Parker, tell me you love me," he begged. "I don't care if it's a lie. Just say it once, and I will make myself believe."
The soft body beneath him went incredibly still. "Jarod," she murmured sadly. "There have never been any lies between us. I won't start now."
Jarod nodded silently. If Parker felt the hot tears striking her flesh, she didn't mention it. The pretender lay there, listening to Parker's breathing as she drifted to sleep. He held her close and tried to decide which of them he despised more, her for using him this way, or himself for allowing it.
The sun was well over the horizon and the birds were singing merrily before Jarod's exhaustion overwhelmed him and he finally slipped into a dreamless slumber.
-
The days that followed passed in a blur for Jarod. He and his companions left Maine and Ben Miller's bed and breakfast. They stopped in Delaware for the afternoon of the thirteenth, allowing Parker a few hours at her mother's graveside. After that, they headed west only because east had little to offer.
Jarod got up every morning and went through each day like an automaton. He did the things that he seemed to be expected to do. He played chess with Sydney. He chatted about inane topics with Broots. Without any further discussion on the matter, Jarod and Miss Parker began to share a bedroom. Much to his chagrin, the pretender was able to perform for his new mistress upon demand.
Days became weeks and Jarod's listlessness grew. He slept a great deal, escaping into unconsciousness for six or seven hours each night and dozing some more each afternoon. He stopped reading the newspapers, and ceased his attempts to help others.
Depression was not unknown to the pretender. Locked away in the dark for three decades, the insidiousness of despair had nipped at Jarod's heels a number of times during his life. He knew the signs and he knew that he was slipping into that misery. But in the past, Jarod had been able to fight the shadows on his soul. He had always found some slender thread of hope to cling to. Hope of finding freedom, of finding his parents, of living a normal life. These dreams had kept him optimistic and had driven away the gloom. Now, he found himself wallowing in it.
Sydney noticed, of course. The older man hinted at the subject several times, but Jarod always deflected the thinly veiled questions. One day, nearly a month after they had left Maine, the psychiatrist stopped trying to be subtle. He confronted Jarod over breakfast one morning.
"You don't look well, Jarod," Sydney said. "And you aren't eating properly. You need to talk about this."
Shoving aside an untouched plate of pancakes, Jarod downed half a cup of coffee in one long gulp. The liquid was still hot, leaving a scorching trail along his throat. But the pretender didn't care.
"I just miss my family, "Jarod said sullenly.
"Jarod," the older man said sternly. "I have watched you for thirty years. I am an expert on your psyche. Your mental state is getting worse every day. You are clinically depressed, to the point that I am tempted to prescribe something for it."
"You don't like to give me drugs," Jarod replied.
"No, I don't." Sydney agreed. "But I am becoming very worried about you."
Jarod stared mutely into his cup.
The psychiatrist sighed. "I'm going to discuss this with Miss Parker," he told Jarod. "I want her to stop sharing a room with you."
"It's none of your business, Sydney." Jarod growled.
"She'll probably say the same thing," Sydney nodded. "But the relationship between you seems to be making matters worse. I don't understand why."
"She doesn't love me," Jarod said in a voice that was little more than a whisper. "What does it feel like, Sydney?" he asked abruptly. "What is it like to be loved by someone?"
Sydney frowned. "You know what love feels like."
Jarod laughed, a feeble attempt to keep himself from crying. His voice held a mixture of anger and desperation as he replied. "Love hurts," he said. "It is a deep, unending ache that gnaws at you from within." The pretender nodded sadly. "Yes. I know what it feels like to love. But what is like to be loved? What does it mean to be the most important person in someone's life?"
Sydney smiled gently at his troubled protégé. "I'm not the best person to ask that question, I'm afraid."
"Why? Jacob loved you. Michele and Nicholas still do," Jarod said accusingly. Taking a deep breath, Jarod yanked an agonizing truth from his soul and gave it voice. "I always have. For as long as I can remember, I have adored you. Surely you knew."
"I knew," Sydney admitted.
"You used it against me," Jarod whispered. "Used it to manipulate me and keep me in line. Did you care about me at all, Sydney? Did you love me even a little?"
Leaping from the chair as if it were a flame, Jarod ran one hand through his hair. "Don't answer that," he hissed. "The truth is never easy."
"Jarod," Sydney stood and stepped forward as if to offer comfort.
The pretender stepped away. "I just want to go home," he murmured. Wrapping his arms around his chest, Jarod hugged himself defensively. "I want to be with my mother. I know she loves me. She does. But I've never spent enough time with her to understand what that really means."
"We can arrange a visit," Sydney offered.
"It isn't the same," Jarod said. He turned to stare forlornly out the window. With a sigh he decided to share an idea he had been toying with. Sydney wouldn't like it, Jarod knew that much. But it was time to discuss it.
Summoning his courage, Jarod turned and faced his mentor. "I think I know a way," he said. "I think I should turn myself in."
"What?" Sydney almost shouted.
"Hear me out," Jarod added quickly. "Alex has been sentenced to life in prison but that was largely due to the officers he killed during his capture. If I turn myself in quietly, without any struggle I won't get so harsh a sentence."
The psychiatrist eased slowly back into his chair, staring at Jarod in wide-eyed astonishment.
"I have the DSA's. I can use those during my trial and really play up the part of a victim. If I can build sympathy among the jury, they are sure to go easier on me." With a shrug, Jarod went on. "I'll have to do time for the things I've done since I escaped from the Centre. Impersonating an officer, a doctor, practicing law without a license, that kind of thing. But even if they charge me with every count I can't get more than a twenty-year sentence. I could make parole in ten."
"Jarod," Sydney gasped. "Are you mad? You're talking about being locked up for a decade."
"I've been locked up most of my life," the pretender argued. "I can do ten years standing on my head."
"Pardon me?" an icy voice asked from the doorway.
Jarod turned to find Parker glaring at him. He wondered exactly how much of the conversation she had heard. A moment later, Sydney was filling her in on whatever it was she might have missed.
"Jarod wants to surrender himself to the authorities," the older man said.
"Why the hell would you want to do that?" Parker snapped. She stormed into the room. The air around her nearly crackled with fury.
"Prison wouldn't be like the Centre," Jarod said defensively. "I would be allowed outside every day. My parents could visit. I would have cellmates and friends."
"Yeah," Parker hissed. "A big burly cellmate named Buford who would be only too glad to be friendly with a boy as pretty as you. With a face like yours, you'll be very popular on the cellblock, I guarantee it."
"But it would end," Jarod pleaded desperately. "I could count the days on the calendar until the time I would be truly free. No more running, no more hiding, no more secrets. Hell," the pretender laughed sadly. "If I make the trial sensational enough, I could get a book deal out of the whole thing."
"And what if the prosecutors find out about Oklahoma City, hmm?" Parker snarled coldly. "Or the chemical explosion in Argentina? Or the building collapse in Atlanta? In this age of terrorism and fear, do you really think they will ever let you roam free?"
Jarod shrugged. "At least there's a chance."
"What about us?" Parker asked. "What happens to Sydney when you show the world those DSAs. Do you honestly think they will blame the Centre? No. They will blame him," Parker pointed her finger at Sydney who just sat there, staring back at her.
Parker raged on. "You'll never see any of us again," she pointed out. "Sydney won't be able to come visit you in prison, Jarod. There's no telling where he'll be a decade from now."
Jarod sniffed and stared morosely at the linoleum under his feet.
Miss Parker stepped closer, leaning her knees against Jarod's. Cupping one soft palm beneath his chin, Parker tilted Jarod's face up to meet her gaze. "I know you miss your family. Hell, we've all had to leave the people and places we love. But we must go on, for their sakes."
"I can't run forever Parker," Jarod sighed in defeat.
"You can," Parker contradicted him. "You can and you will. Because you have no other choice."
Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, Jarod nodded sadly. Parker pulled him closer and Jarod fell into the embrace, welcoming her warmth. He pressed his cheek into Parker's abdomen and squeezed her hard.
'If only,' he thought to himself. 'If only this feeling were real.' For the briefest of moments, he felt safe, safe and cherished in Parker's arms. Jarod knew, without a doubt, that if anything could keep him going, it would be the love of this woman.
He would have to learn to fake it. He would have to settle for whatever scraps of happiness fate saw fit to toss his way. He was alive. He had the two people he loved most in the world standing by his side. To hope for more from them was greedy.
This was his life. Jarod would learn to make the best of it.
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The path to our destination is not always a straight one. We go down the wrong road, we get lost, we turn back. Maybe it doesn't matter which road we embark on. Maybe what matters is that we embark. -Barbara Hall, Northern Exposure, Rosebud, 1993
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The Straight Path Lost Part 8
By Phenyx
08/06/04
Jarod decided that this had been, without a doubt, the least romantic sexual encounter he'd ever experienced. Hay was not soft. Truth be told, it was rather prickly. He lay there, staring at the rafters as his breathing began to return to normal. It occurred to him, somewhat belatedly, that he was dirty and sweaty from being on the roof all day. He probably smelled awful but was afraid to test his theory.
The soft, sultry body sprawled across Jarod stretched languidly. Reaching around her head with one hand, Miss Parker brushed aside her hair, revealing her face. She propped her chin on Jarod's chest and smiled at him.
'This is what they mean by chemistry,' the pretender thought to himself. Dirty or not, scratchy straw and all, Jarod wouldn't trade this moment for anything in the world. Passion like this could not be planned. One couldn't arrange it with flowers and candlelight. In his wildest fantasies, the pretender had never imagined that possessing this woman could be so incredible.
"I've waited so long." He didn't realize he'd spoken his thoughts aloud until Parker chuckled.
"It was inevitable," she replied. "You and I have been doing the dance for years. It was only a matter of time before we ended up this way."
Jarod ran one forefinger down the curve of Parker's jaw. "Are you saying we were destined to sleep together?" he asked with a smile.
"Either that or we were going to kill each other," she answered.
Jarod grinned. "I'm glad you chose this alternative."
"Hmm," Parker sighed as she snuggled her cheek against Jarod's chest. "This is much less hassle than putting a bullet in you."
"Hassle?" the pretender asked with a smirk.
Parker twined her fingers in the hair curling around Jarod's nipples. "No need to dispose of the body," she said.
This caused a delighted peal of laughter from Jarod. "I love you," he said. The declaration had been completely spontaneous, had in fact slipped out before Jarod had realized it was coming. He immediately regretted it.
"Don't," Parker bit. She abruptly sat up and reached for her clothes.
"Don't what?" Jarod asked, frowning. He recognized Parker's defensive posture, saddened that it should appear at this precise moment.
Yanking her shorts over her hips, Miss Parker glared at him. "Don't make this out to be more than it is, Jarod."
The pretender sat up slowly; suddenly aware of his nudity and the vulnerable position he was now in. "And what is that, exactly?"
Parker fumbled with her top for a few moments. She did not speak until she was fully dressed. "We are two healthy adults," she said. "Thrown together by the consequences of our lives. Just because we find some... enjoyment in each other, doesn't mean we are soul-mates."
"So glad I could entertain you, Miss Parker," Jarod's voice dripped with icy sarcasm.
"You wanted this as much as I did," Parker replied. "Don't be so melodramatic."
Jarod stared up at her in disbelief. "Why me?" he asked quietly. Rising slowly, Jarod grabbed his jeans and slid them on. "Sydney and Ben, I understand. Too old for a libido such as yours. But why me instead of Broots?"
The pretender could see the fury building in Parker's eyes but he could not stop the flow of words. "If Sam had lived, he'd be here now instead of me. Wouldn't he?" Jarod had never felt so much pain in the absence of a physical wound. "If he hadn't died to protect you, he'd have been the one you cradled between your legs."
The blow nearly rocked Jarod off his feet. The stinging of his jaw where Parker had hit him was a welcome distraction from the knife-like agony ripping through his chest.
"Don't you ever speak about him that way," Parker hissed. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears as her voice shook with anger. "Don't even mention his name."
"It's true, isn't it?" Jarod asked, rubbing at the red mark on his cheek.
"What would or would not have happened is a moot point." Parker crossed her arms and glared regally. "We can't undo the past. All we can do is make the best of what we have now."
"We have nothing," Jarod said.
With a heavy sigh, Parker stepped forward, cupping Jarod's sore cheek in her cool palm. "The sex was good, wasn't it? You liked it, didn't you?"
"You know I did," Jarod admitted.
"Then why should either of us spend our nights alone?" Parker asked.
Jarod felt his lower lip trembling and he bit down on it hard. He would not let Parker see how much she had affected him. He would not cry in front of her.
"It isn't enough," he whispered. "I want more than just your body."
"You ask too much," Parker said as she withdrew her hand and crossed her arms again. "It's more than I can give you."
It is a strange thing, to feel a dream shatter. As Jarod stood there in that dark, musty barn he stared at the woman before him and abruptly realized that he didn't know her. All these years, he had attributed her with certain characteristics and feelings that had no basis in fact. He had imagined her to be someone that she was not. It suddenly became clear to him just why Parker had been so successful within the Centre's upper echelon. She may not have agreed with the things that went on there, but she had managed to fit in quite well.
The air around the pretender was abruptly too thick to breathe. He felt as though he was smothering, a fit of claustrophobia washing over him. Jarod turned and rushed from the building leaving Parker to stare after him. His legs carried him faster and faster until he was running through the woods.
On no discernable path, Jarod barreled through the trees as branches and brambles clawed at him menacingly. He ran, for how long he did not know. There was only an undeniable need to escape, to flee. Only when his body could go no further did he stop. Collapsing in a gasping heap, he pounded his frustration into the detritus of the forest floor.
Unfocused anger boiled in him and he screamed his rage at the uncaring night. It was all so unfair. He had come so close to achieving the life he had always dreamed of, only to learn that it would be forever denied him. He would never be a part of his family. He would never have a home of his own. The woman he cherished above all others would never really be his.
Worst of all, he could never stop running. Whether he was running from the Centre or running from the law, it made little difference. He would always be looking over his shoulder. Running was one thing he did really well. He'd had a lot of practice running from Parker, from her father and from his own past. He would spend the rest of his life running to the four corners of the Earth. Only now did he recognize, that no matter how far he went he could never escape himself.
The tears came. Jarod's fury morphed into a massive wave of self-pity and he wept at the misery that was his life, the emptiness that was his future. Never before, not even locked in the bowels of the Centre, had he felt so alone.
For a long while, Jarod debated what he should do next. He'd never felt so lost before. He had always had some goal to strive for, some hope to attain. Now there was nothing. He considered standing up and just going. He could simply follow his nose and wander like some vagabond. There were cities where he could go, where the winters weren't too harsh. He could join the ranks of this country's gypsies, the homeless who wandered through the populace unseen.
How long would it be, Jarod wondered morosely. How long before he was pushing a rickety old shopping cart and mumbling to himself? With this thought came the understanding that he could not do it. Jarod knew that his sanity could never withstand being completely alone in the world.
For as lonely as his childhood had been, Jarod had never truly been alone. There had always been the cameras. Despised as they were, the eternal surveillance represented eyes that never left him. There had always been Sydney, or Parker. Even after he had fled from them, they had never been more than a phone call away.
With a sad acceptance of his fate, Jarod stood and began the long walk back to the inn. He tried not to think too much as he went, striving instead for a blank mind, devoid of pain. By the time he reached Ben Miller's place, the sky was beginning to lighten in the East.
Showering quickly, Jarod wrapped a towel around his waist and slipped into the hall. Moving through the silent house like a wraith, the pretender went to Miss Parker's room. He didn't hesitate, squashing the twinge of caution that flared in him. Crawling between the sheets of her bed, Jarod wrapped his arms around Parker's waist and spooned her body against his.
Parker moaned softly as she was roused from her sleep. Craning her neck to look at Jarod over her shoulder she sighed. "You said that this wasn't enough," she reminded him.
The pretender shrugged. "It will have to be enough," he said sadly. "It's all I've got."
Miss Parker rolled over and kissed him. "It is more than we had before," she whispered.
For the first time in his life, Jarod had sex for the sake of having sex. He took what Parker offered him, giving her little in return. He wasn't gentle, not even particularly kind. Perhaps he was punishing her in some way, he wasn't sure. But it angered him some to find her enjoying his forcefulness.
In the aftermath, Jarod pillowed his head against her breast, listening to Parker's heartbeat. He felt empty, bereft of feeling.
"Parker, tell me you love me," he begged. "I don't care if it's a lie. Just say it once, and I will make myself believe."
The soft body beneath him went incredibly still. "Jarod," she murmured sadly. "There have never been any lies between us. I won't start now."
Jarod nodded silently. If Parker felt the hot tears striking her flesh, she didn't mention it. The pretender lay there, listening to Parker's breathing as she drifted to sleep. He held her close and tried to decide which of them he despised more, her for using him this way, or himself for allowing it.
The sun was well over the horizon and the birds were singing merrily before Jarod's exhaustion overwhelmed him and he finally slipped into a dreamless slumber.
-
The days that followed passed in a blur for Jarod. He and his companions left Maine and Ben Miller's bed and breakfast. They stopped in Delaware for the afternoon of the thirteenth, allowing Parker a few hours at her mother's graveside. After that, they headed west only because east had little to offer.
Jarod got up every morning and went through each day like an automaton. He did the things that he seemed to be expected to do. He played chess with Sydney. He chatted about inane topics with Broots. Without any further discussion on the matter, Jarod and Miss Parker began to share a bedroom. Much to his chagrin, the pretender was able to perform for his new mistress upon demand.
Days became weeks and Jarod's listlessness grew. He slept a great deal, escaping into unconsciousness for six or seven hours each night and dozing some more each afternoon. He stopped reading the newspapers, and ceased his attempts to help others.
Depression was not unknown to the pretender. Locked away in the dark for three decades, the insidiousness of despair had nipped at Jarod's heels a number of times during his life. He knew the signs and he knew that he was slipping into that misery. But in the past, Jarod had been able to fight the shadows on his soul. He had always found some slender thread of hope to cling to. Hope of finding freedom, of finding his parents, of living a normal life. These dreams had kept him optimistic and had driven away the gloom. Now, he found himself wallowing in it.
Sydney noticed, of course. The older man hinted at the subject several times, but Jarod always deflected the thinly veiled questions. One day, nearly a month after they had left Maine, the psychiatrist stopped trying to be subtle. He confronted Jarod over breakfast one morning.
"You don't look well, Jarod," Sydney said. "And you aren't eating properly. You need to talk about this."
Shoving aside an untouched plate of pancakes, Jarod downed half a cup of coffee in one long gulp. The liquid was still hot, leaving a scorching trail along his throat. But the pretender didn't care.
"I just miss my family, "Jarod said sullenly.
"Jarod," the older man said sternly. "I have watched you for thirty years. I am an expert on your psyche. Your mental state is getting worse every day. You are clinically depressed, to the point that I am tempted to prescribe something for it."
"You don't like to give me drugs," Jarod replied.
"No, I don't." Sydney agreed. "But I am becoming very worried about you."
Jarod stared mutely into his cup.
The psychiatrist sighed. "I'm going to discuss this with Miss Parker," he told Jarod. "I want her to stop sharing a room with you."
"It's none of your business, Sydney." Jarod growled.
"She'll probably say the same thing," Sydney nodded. "But the relationship between you seems to be making matters worse. I don't understand why."
"She doesn't love me," Jarod said in a voice that was little more than a whisper. "What does it feel like, Sydney?" he asked abruptly. "What is it like to be loved by someone?"
Sydney frowned. "You know what love feels like."
Jarod laughed, a feeble attempt to keep himself from crying. His voice held a mixture of anger and desperation as he replied. "Love hurts," he said. "It is a deep, unending ache that gnaws at you from within." The pretender nodded sadly. "Yes. I know what it feels like to love. But what is like to be loved? What does it mean to be the most important person in someone's life?"
Sydney smiled gently at his troubled protégé. "I'm not the best person to ask that question, I'm afraid."
"Why? Jacob loved you. Michele and Nicholas still do," Jarod said accusingly. Taking a deep breath, Jarod yanked an agonizing truth from his soul and gave it voice. "I always have. For as long as I can remember, I have adored you. Surely you knew."
"I knew," Sydney admitted.
"You used it against me," Jarod whispered. "Used it to manipulate me and keep me in line. Did you care about me at all, Sydney? Did you love me even a little?"
Leaping from the chair as if it were a flame, Jarod ran one hand through his hair. "Don't answer that," he hissed. "The truth is never easy."
"Jarod," Sydney stood and stepped forward as if to offer comfort.
The pretender stepped away. "I just want to go home," he murmured. Wrapping his arms around his chest, Jarod hugged himself defensively. "I want to be with my mother. I know she loves me. She does. But I've never spent enough time with her to understand what that really means."
"We can arrange a visit," Sydney offered.
"It isn't the same," Jarod said. He turned to stare forlornly out the window. With a sigh he decided to share an idea he had been toying with. Sydney wouldn't like it, Jarod knew that much. But it was time to discuss it.
Summoning his courage, Jarod turned and faced his mentor. "I think I know a way," he said. "I think I should turn myself in."
"What?" Sydney almost shouted.
"Hear me out," Jarod added quickly. "Alex has been sentenced to life in prison but that was largely due to the officers he killed during his capture. If I turn myself in quietly, without any struggle I won't get so harsh a sentence."
The psychiatrist eased slowly back into his chair, staring at Jarod in wide-eyed astonishment.
"I have the DSA's. I can use those during my trial and really play up the part of a victim. If I can build sympathy among the jury, they are sure to go easier on me." With a shrug, Jarod went on. "I'll have to do time for the things I've done since I escaped from the Centre. Impersonating an officer, a doctor, practicing law without a license, that kind of thing. But even if they charge me with every count I can't get more than a twenty-year sentence. I could make parole in ten."
"Jarod," Sydney gasped. "Are you mad? You're talking about being locked up for a decade."
"I've been locked up most of my life," the pretender argued. "I can do ten years standing on my head."
"Pardon me?" an icy voice asked from the doorway.
Jarod turned to find Parker glaring at him. He wondered exactly how much of the conversation she had heard. A moment later, Sydney was filling her in on whatever it was she might have missed.
"Jarod wants to surrender himself to the authorities," the older man said.
"Why the hell would you want to do that?" Parker snapped. She stormed into the room. The air around her nearly crackled with fury.
"Prison wouldn't be like the Centre," Jarod said defensively. "I would be allowed outside every day. My parents could visit. I would have cellmates and friends."
"Yeah," Parker hissed. "A big burly cellmate named Buford who would be only too glad to be friendly with a boy as pretty as you. With a face like yours, you'll be very popular on the cellblock, I guarantee it."
"But it would end," Jarod pleaded desperately. "I could count the days on the calendar until the time I would be truly free. No more running, no more hiding, no more secrets. Hell," the pretender laughed sadly. "If I make the trial sensational enough, I could get a book deal out of the whole thing."
"And what if the prosecutors find out about Oklahoma City, hmm?" Parker snarled coldly. "Or the chemical explosion in Argentina? Or the building collapse in Atlanta? In this age of terrorism and fear, do you really think they will ever let you roam free?"
Jarod shrugged. "At least there's a chance."
"What about us?" Parker asked. "What happens to Sydney when you show the world those DSAs. Do you honestly think they will blame the Centre? No. They will blame him," Parker pointed her finger at Sydney who just sat there, staring back at her.
Parker raged on. "You'll never see any of us again," she pointed out. "Sydney won't be able to come visit you in prison, Jarod. There's no telling where he'll be a decade from now."
Jarod sniffed and stared morosely at the linoleum under his feet.
Miss Parker stepped closer, leaning her knees against Jarod's. Cupping one soft palm beneath his chin, Parker tilted Jarod's face up to meet her gaze. "I know you miss your family. Hell, we've all had to leave the people and places we love. But we must go on, for their sakes."
"I can't run forever Parker," Jarod sighed in defeat.
"You can," Parker contradicted him. "You can and you will. Because you have no other choice."
Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, Jarod nodded sadly. Parker pulled him closer and Jarod fell into the embrace, welcoming her warmth. He pressed his cheek into Parker's abdomen and squeezed her hard.
'If only,' he thought to himself. 'If only this feeling were real.' For the briefest of moments, he felt safe, safe and cherished in Parker's arms. Jarod knew, without a doubt, that if anything could keep him going, it would be the love of this woman.
He would have to learn to fake it. He would have to settle for whatever scraps of happiness fate saw fit to toss his way. He was alive. He had the two people he loved most in the world standing by his side. To hope for more from them was greedy.
This was his life. Jarod would learn to make the best of it.
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The path to our destination is not always a straight one. We go down the wrong road, we get lost, we turn back. Maybe it doesn't matter which road we embark on. Maybe what matters is that we embark. -Barbara Hall, Northern Exposure, Rosebud, 1993
