Table of Contents [Report This]
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.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Straight Path Lost Part 9
-By Phenyx
08/09/04
-
Broots strolled casually down the beach. He kept his attention focused on his feet and the rippled edges of the water where the surf broke across his toes. Every few minutes, he would bend down to retrieve some shiny bit that caught his eye. He held each seashell aloft, allowing the sunlight to dance across the colorful patterns.
Reaching into his pocket, Broots would pull out the last shell he had found and compare it to the newest treasure. After a moment’s hesitation, Broots would choose the nicer of the two shells and cast the lesser back into the sea. The prized shell would go into the pocket and Broots would start the process again.
It was a lovely way to while away a morning. Walking alone on the beach like this was so relaxing. Given enough time, Broots knew that he would find the perfect seashell. It would be just the right size, shape and color. He would find some small piece of natural perfection and then he would send it to his daughter.
In the three months since Broots had seen her, he had sent Debbie a number of similar things. They were small objects, worthless for the most part. Dried bits of flowers, a matchbook, ticket stubs to an old movie and a plastic ring that Jarod had gotten out of a bubblegum machine, were just a few examples of items, lovingly packed and mailed to Broots’ little girl.
Broots didn’t worry about her as much as he had at first. He spoke with her on the phone at least twice a week. As a result Broots knew that his daughter was being treated well, welcomed into Jarod’s family with ease. Debbie was learning to adjust, slowly accepting the people who were now raising her.
However, knowing that the child was in good hands did not prevent Broots from missing her terribly. He thought of her almost all the time. He wondered what she was doing, who she was with. He agonized over the thought that she may be missing him yet feared the idea that she may not. Broots loved his daughter, and he knew that she loved him. But it ate at him to know that she would grow up without him.
Another family sacrificed to the Centre. At least Broots knew where his daughter was. He knew she was safe. He could talk to her whenever he felt the whim to do so. When he tried to imagine the life Jarod had led, when he thought of the pretender’s parents and the nightmare they must have gone through, Broots felt himself to be very lucky indeed.
Bending down to exchange yet another seashell, Broots allowed his thoughts to turn toward the eccentric pretender. Jarod was the core of their rogue little foursome. He was the axis around which the rest of them revolved.
Broots didn’t begrudge the pretender the attention. Jarod was totally unconscious of the demands he placed on the others. He had spent a lifetime under close supervision by any other presence in a room. The pretender’s magnetic personality must have made him a natural focus for the people he had met during his travels in the real world, only adding to his self-centered outlook. Whenever Jarod opened his mouth, especially with Sydney around, the pretender expected his audience to be attentive.
Even Miss Parker fed this peculiar characteristic. Broots wasn’t sure if she did it on purpose or if the behavior was totally subconscious, but Miss Parker tended to ask Jarod for his opinion on a regular basis. Granted, the two of them often disagreed, on occasion they argued with a ferocity that made Broots uncomfortable. But overall, Miss Parker submitted to Jarod’s wishes almost as frequently as he gave in to hers.
As a couple, Jarod and Miss Parker were well matched. Few men were tolerant enough or confident enough to pair with a personality as strong as Miss Parker’s. In return, Miss Parker had a cleverness that allowed her to keep up with the pretender. With their similar backgrounds, they each understood the other in a way that few others could. Most importantly, there was an inherent trust between the two of them, so strong that even Broots could see it.
Broots had felt a little awkward around the pair when Jarod and Miss Parker had first become intimate. However, those feelings had quickly dissipated. The four of them still traveled as a group, even though it would have been simpler to blend into society if they’d each gone their separate ways.
Miss Parker had firmly ended any discussions about splitting up. She blatantly refused to permit the idea. It was one the rules she had placed upon the rest of them. Another of her rules had been to set a standard for any and all accommodations.
“Just because we are on the run,” she had told them. “Doesn’t mean we need to live like homeless vagabonds. We have plenty of resources. We are fugitives with means.”
It was Miss Parker’s way of saying that there was no need to bunk in the roach infested hideaways that had been Jarod’s prior habit. Her money was what they all lived on, very comfortably too. Broots had been a little surprised to find out just how wealthy his employer truly was. Even excluding the assets that had been frozen by the government, what was left was a sizable amount.
As an exorcise, Jarod and Broots had begun looking for ways to get to the accounts that had been seized. It wasn’t easy, but neither was it incredibly difficult. Only yesterday, Broots had been able to hack into one of Mr. Lyle’s frozen accounts and had transferred all but fourteen dollars into one of Miss Parker’s Swiss bank accounts.
In for a penny, in for a pound as they say. Broots figured he was going to be fleeing the authorities anyway. There may as well be a good reason to do so. Besides, Lyle couldn’t spend it in prison. The thumb less man had been aristocratic and cruel in the past. Taking his money gave Broots a small sense of satisfaction in the petty revenge.
Crouching at the water’s edge, Broots pried up a large mollusk that had been half buried in the sand. Almost as large as the palm of one hand, the clam was a pearly white, almost pink in color. He washed away a few traces of sand as a wave swirled over his hands. Broots felt a shadow fall across him, but he was too engrossed in his find to bother looking up.
With a faint click, the clam shifted in Broots’ palm, abruptly tilting to one side. “It’s alive,” a deep voice said gently.
Broots nodded as the pretender hunched down beside him.
“You’ll need to throw it back,” Jarod added.
Broots nodded again, but did not move to do as suggested.
“Amazing isn’t it?” the pretender mused. “That something can be so perfect, so beautiful, and yet totally ignorant of its effect on us.”
Raising one eyebrow, Broots looked up at Jarod inquisitively. “Waxing philosophically this morning are we?” he asked.
Jarod shrug. “Just in a pensive mood, I guess,” the pretender said with a grin.
Broots gently tossed the clam into the sea and stood up. Jarod’s smile didn’t fool Broots. They had gotten to know each other very well over these last few months. One thing Broots had learned was that Jarod never said anything that did not hold some grain of truth to it. Even when Broots had been on the pretender’s trail, hunting him down, he had never known Jarod to really lie. Bending the facts, manipulating interpretations and guiding their impressions, Jarod did with a talent that was almost frightening. But every thing, every comment and every clue the pretender had ever left behind held truth. It had been up to his pursuers to find it.
“You know, Jarod,” Broots said. “For a guy who just crawled out of a beautiful woman’s bed, you seem awfully down.”
“Perhaps,” Jarod sighed.
Broots started walking again, watching the sand as he went. He felt rather than saw Jarod fall in beside him. They walked easily together. It was ironic really, when one thought about it. Only a few months ago, the two of them had been on the opposite sides of a war. Now, Broots felt more comfortable with Jarod than he had with anyone else in a very long time. He could say anything to Jarod and argue any point without fear.
Jarod had no expectations of Broots. He was neither intimidating nor condescending. Broots didn’t feel anxious around the pretender because he knew that no matter what, Jarod accepted him just as he was. It was rather liberating to know that regardless of what Broots said, the worst Jarod would do is stare at him in confusion.
“I’ve wanted to tell you something for a while,” Broots went on. “And I think we know each well enough that I can say it now.”
Broots glanced quickly at the man beside him and saw the look of puzzled concern on Jarod’s face.
“You don’t appreciate her,” Broots said abruptly.
“Why would you think that?” Jarod asked in a tone too neutral to be unpracticed.
Burying his hands in his pockets, Broots frowned. “Damn it, Jarod. I would give a limb to be in your shoes right now. I’d sell everything I owned to spend just one night with her.”
Jarod shrugged. “Ask her. You might just get your wish.”
Broots stared at the pretender in stunned disbelief. “I’ve just told you that I lust after your girl and you tell me to make a pass at her? I don’t get it. You’re the luckiest s.o.b. on the planet, and you are walking around acting like you’ve just lost your best friend.”
“Maybe I have,” Jarod answered with another sigh.
Broots stopped abruptly. “What do you mean?” he asked in exasperation.
Jarod glanced away, focusing his dark gaze on the water. “She doesn’t have any feelings for me,” the pretender said quietly. “It’s just a physical relationship.”
Broots stared at Jarod. For a moment, he thought the pretender was pulling his leg, but Jarod’s eyes were full of a longing that could not be faked. Broots began to realize that Jarod was totally serious in his belief that he was being used. Of course, there were far worse things in life than being the plaything of a woman like Miss Parker. But Broots had known her for a long time. He had seen men come and go in Miss Parker’s life. Conquests lasted for only a few days. She and Jarod had been together for months.
“Believe me,” Jarod was saying. “If she loved me I’d be the happiest man in the world. But she doesn’t.”
“How do you know?” Broots asked. It seemed a little surreal suddenly, discussing Miss Parker’s love life on a sunny beach. But Broots had always cared for his lovely employer. If he couldn’t be the one to make her happy, he wanted to help the man that Broots believed could.
“She said so,” Jarod replied.
“Did she?” Broots asked. “Did she actually say that she didn’t love you?”
Jarod frowned. “She refused to say that she did,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.
“That’s not the same, Jarod.” Broots said as a smile began to tug at his lips. “Actions speak much louder than words. Especially for Miss Parker.” Broots tried to describe the impressions he had formed during the years he had worked for the woman. “Words are just promises, made to be broken. Her father saw to that. Words are meaningless lies. Those that do have value can be used against you as weapons.”
Broots paused for a moment, allowing Jarod to absorb what he was saying. “The three syllables you want to hear are very dangerous weapons indeed. Deadly in her experience,” Broots went on. “She may never say them out loud. But that doesn’t mean she can’t carry them in her heart.”
“But how do I know if she won’t tell me?” Jarod asked.
“You’ll feel it,” Broots said simply.
The pretender’s dark eyes flashed hopefully. “How do I know that I’m not just imagining it? Seeing things because I want to see them?”
“You don’t,” Broots said with a shrug. “You have to trust that want you feel is real, and not just an illusion.”
“What do you think, Mr. Broots?” Jarod asked. “Do you honestly think I have a chance?”
“I think she trusts you,” Broots told him. “I’ve seen her take your word over her father’s. I’ve seen her drop everything else to follow some tip you’ve fed her. I’ve seen her lie for you. I believe that there is very little in this world that she would not do for you. Do I believe she loves you?” Broots sighed. “What I think is irrelevant. The two of you are the only ones that matter.”
“What should I do?” Jarod shook his head in wonder.
“Pay more attention to the actions,” Broots said with conviction. “She shields herself with words she doesn’t really mean. Ignore them.”
“Ignoring Miss Parker is never a wise thing to do,” Jarod observed.
Broots smiled wryly. “You’re taking advice on your love life from a man who has a horrible track record for his own,” Broots said. “Who said anything about it being wise?”
Jarod’s laughter was a delighted, carefree sound. “You may have a point,” he chuckled.
“I know I do,” Broots said with an exaggerated rolling of his eyes. “My love life is nonexistent. I’m not sure I’d remember what to do with a woman in my bed.”
The pretender snickered. “It’s like riding a bike,” he said. “Once you figure out how, you never forget.”
“You’re doing it all wrong, Jarod,” Broots said pointedly. “It is nothing like riding a bike. No bike I’ve ever seen at any rate.”
At that, Jarod burst into a fit of laughter that was simply contagious. The two men laughed so hard that they nearly fell over. They were still chuckling when they reached the end of the beach. Turning back, they retraced their steps along the surf. As they headed back to the hotel, Broots continued searching the sand for the perfect seashell.
-
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Straight Path Lost Part 9
-By Phenyx
08/09/04
-
Broots strolled casually down the beach. He kept his attention focused on his feet and the rippled edges of the water where the surf broke across his toes. Every few minutes, he would bend down to retrieve some shiny bit that caught his eye. He held each seashell aloft, allowing the sunlight to dance across the colorful patterns.
Reaching into his pocket, Broots would pull out the last shell he had found and compare it to the newest treasure. After a moment’s hesitation, Broots would choose the nicer of the two shells and cast the lesser back into the sea. The prized shell would go into the pocket and Broots would start the process again.
It was a lovely way to while away a morning. Walking alone on the beach like this was so relaxing. Given enough time, Broots knew that he would find the perfect seashell. It would be just the right size, shape and color. He would find some small piece of natural perfection and then he would send it to his daughter.
In the three months since Broots had seen her, he had sent Debbie a number of similar things. They were small objects, worthless for the most part. Dried bits of flowers, a matchbook, ticket stubs to an old movie and a plastic ring that Jarod had gotten out of a bubblegum machine, were just a few examples of items, lovingly packed and mailed to Broots’ little girl.
Broots didn’t worry about her as much as he had at first. He spoke with her on the phone at least twice a week. As a result Broots knew that his daughter was being treated well, welcomed into Jarod’s family with ease. Debbie was learning to adjust, slowly accepting the people who were now raising her.
However, knowing that the child was in good hands did not prevent Broots from missing her terribly. He thought of her almost all the time. He wondered what she was doing, who she was with. He agonized over the thought that she may be missing him yet feared the idea that she may not. Broots loved his daughter, and he knew that she loved him. But it ate at him to know that she would grow up without him.
Another family sacrificed to the Centre. At least Broots knew where his daughter was. He knew she was safe. He could talk to her whenever he felt the whim to do so. When he tried to imagine the life Jarod had led, when he thought of the pretender’s parents and the nightmare they must have gone through, Broots felt himself to be very lucky indeed.
Bending down to exchange yet another seashell, Broots allowed his thoughts to turn toward the eccentric pretender. Jarod was the core of their rogue little foursome. He was the axis around which the rest of them revolved.
Broots didn’t begrudge the pretender the attention. Jarod was totally unconscious of the demands he placed on the others. He had spent a lifetime under close supervision by any other presence in a room. The pretender’s magnetic personality must have made him a natural focus for the people he had met during his travels in the real world, only adding to his self-centered outlook. Whenever Jarod opened his mouth, especially with Sydney around, the pretender expected his audience to be attentive.
Even Miss Parker fed this peculiar characteristic. Broots wasn’t sure if she did it on purpose or if the behavior was totally subconscious, but Miss Parker tended to ask Jarod for his opinion on a regular basis. Granted, the two of them often disagreed, on occasion they argued with a ferocity that made Broots uncomfortable. But overall, Miss Parker submitted to Jarod’s wishes almost as frequently as he gave in to hers.
As a couple, Jarod and Miss Parker were well matched. Few men were tolerant enough or confident enough to pair with a personality as strong as Miss Parker’s. In return, Miss Parker had a cleverness that allowed her to keep up with the pretender. With their similar backgrounds, they each understood the other in a way that few others could. Most importantly, there was an inherent trust between the two of them, so strong that even Broots could see it.
Broots had felt a little awkward around the pair when Jarod and Miss Parker had first become intimate. However, those feelings had quickly dissipated. The four of them still traveled as a group, even though it would have been simpler to blend into society if they’d each gone their separate ways.
Miss Parker had firmly ended any discussions about splitting up. She blatantly refused to permit the idea. It was one the rules she had placed upon the rest of them. Another of her rules had been to set a standard for any and all accommodations.
“Just because we are on the run,” she had told them. “Doesn’t mean we need to live like homeless vagabonds. We have plenty of resources. We are fugitives with means.”
It was Miss Parker’s way of saying that there was no need to bunk in the roach infested hideaways that had been Jarod’s prior habit. Her money was what they all lived on, very comfortably too. Broots had been a little surprised to find out just how wealthy his employer truly was. Even excluding the assets that had been frozen by the government, what was left was a sizable amount.
As an exorcise, Jarod and Broots had begun looking for ways to get to the accounts that had been seized. It wasn’t easy, but neither was it incredibly difficult. Only yesterday, Broots had been able to hack into one of Mr. Lyle’s frozen accounts and had transferred all but fourteen dollars into one of Miss Parker’s Swiss bank accounts.
In for a penny, in for a pound as they say. Broots figured he was going to be fleeing the authorities anyway. There may as well be a good reason to do so. Besides, Lyle couldn’t spend it in prison. The thumb less man had been aristocratic and cruel in the past. Taking his money gave Broots a small sense of satisfaction in the petty revenge.
Crouching at the water’s edge, Broots pried up a large mollusk that had been half buried in the sand. Almost as large as the palm of one hand, the clam was a pearly white, almost pink in color. He washed away a few traces of sand as a wave swirled over his hands. Broots felt a shadow fall across him, but he was too engrossed in his find to bother looking up.
With a faint click, the clam shifted in Broots’ palm, abruptly tilting to one side. “It’s alive,” a deep voice said gently.
Broots nodded as the pretender hunched down beside him.
“You’ll need to throw it back,” Jarod added.
Broots nodded again, but did not move to do as suggested.
“Amazing isn’t it?” the pretender mused. “That something can be so perfect, so beautiful, and yet totally ignorant of its effect on us.”
Raising one eyebrow, Broots looked up at Jarod inquisitively. “Waxing philosophically this morning are we?” he asked.
Jarod shrug. “Just in a pensive mood, I guess,” the pretender said with a grin.
Broots gently tossed the clam into the sea and stood up. Jarod’s smile didn’t fool Broots. They had gotten to know each other very well over these last few months. One thing Broots had learned was that Jarod never said anything that did not hold some grain of truth to it. Even when Broots had been on the pretender’s trail, hunting him down, he had never known Jarod to really lie. Bending the facts, manipulating interpretations and guiding their impressions, Jarod did with a talent that was almost frightening. But every thing, every comment and every clue the pretender had ever left behind held truth. It had been up to his pursuers to find it.
“You know, Jarod,” Broots said. “For a guy who just crawled out of a beautiful woman’s bed, you seem awfully down.”
“Perhaps,” Jarod sighed.
Broots started walking again, watching the sand as he went. He felt rather than saw Jarod fall in beside him. They walked easily together. It was ironic really, when one thought about it. Only a few months ago, the two of them had been on the opposite sides of a war. Now, Broots felt more comfortable with Jarod than he had with anyone else in a very long time. He could say anything to Jarod and argue any point without fear.
Jarod had no expectations of Broots. He was neither intimidating nor condescending. Broots didn’t feel anxious around the pretender because he knew that no matter what, Jarod accepted him just as he was. It was rather liberating to know that regardless of what Broots said, the worst Jarod would do is stare at him in confusion.
“I’ve wanted to tell you something for a while,” Broots went on. “And I think we know each well enough that I can say it now.”
Broots glanced quickly at the man beside him and saw the look of puzzled concern on Jarod’s face.
“You don’t appreciate her,” Broots said abruptly.
“Why would you think that?” Jarod asked in a tone too neutral to be unpracticed.
Burying his hands in his pockets, Broots frowned. “Damn it, Jarod. I would give a limb to be in your shoes right now. I’d sell everything I owned to spend just one night with her.”
Jarod shrugged. “Ask her. You might just get your wish.”
Broots stared at the pretender in stunned disbelief. “I’ve just told you that I lust after your girl and you tell me to make a pass at her? I don’t get it. You’re the luckiest s.o.b. on the planet, and you are walking around acting like you’ve just lost your best friend.”
“Maybe I have,” Jarod answered with another sigh.
Broots stopped abruptly. “What do you mean?” he asked in exasperation.
Jarod glanced away, focusing his dark gaze on the water. “She doesn’t have any feelings for me,” the pretender said quietly. “It’s just a physical relationship.”
Broots stared at Jarod. For a moment, he thought the pretender was pulling his leg, but Jarod’s eyes were full of a longing that could not be faked. Broots began to realize that Jarod was totally serious in his belief that he was being used. Of course, there were far worse things in life than being the plaything of a woman like Miss Parker. But Broots had known her for a long time. He had seen men come and go in Miss Parker’s life. Conquests lasted for only a few days. She and Jarod had been together for months.
“Believe me,” Jarod was saying. “If she loved me I’d be the happiest man in the world. But she doesn’t.”
“How do you know?” Broots asked. It seemed a little surreal suddenly, discussing Miss Parker’s love life on a sunny beach. But Broots had always cared for his lovely employer. If he couldn’t be the one to make her happy, he wanted to help the man that Broots believed could.
“She said so,” Jarod replied.
“Did she?” Broots asked. “Did she actually say that she didn’t love you?”
Jarod frowned. “She refused to say that she did,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.
“That’s not the same, Jarod.” Broots said as a smile began to tug at his lips. “Actions speak much louder than words. Especially for Miss Parker.” Broots tried to describe the impressions he had formed during the years he had worked for the woman. “Words are just promises, made to be broken. Her father saw to that. Words are meaningless lies. Those that do have value can be used against you as weapons.”
Broots paused for a moment, allowing Jarod to absorb what he was saying. “The three syllables you want to hear are very dangerous weapons indeed. Deadly in her experience,” Broots went on. “She may never say them out loud. But that doesn’t mean she can’t carry them in her heart.”
“But how do I know if she won’t tell me?” Jarod asked.
“You’ll feel it,” Broots said simply.
The pretender’s dark eyes flashed hopefully. “How do I know that I’m not just imagining it? Seeing things because I want to see them?”
“You don’t,” Broots said with a shrug. “You have to trust that want you feel is real, and not just an illusion.”
“What do you think, Mr. Broots?” Jarod asked. “Do you honestly think I have a chance?”
“I think she trusts you,” Broots told him. “I’ve seen her take your word over her father’s. I’ve seen her drop everything else to follow some tip you’ve fed her. I’ve seen her lie for you. I believe that there is very little in this world that she would not do for you. Do I believe she loves you?” Broots sighed. “What I think is irrelevant. The two of you are the only ones that matter.”
“What should I do?” Jarod shook his head in wonder.
“Pay more attention to the actions,” Broots said with conviction. “She shields herself with words she doesn’t really mean. Ignore them.”
“Ignoring Miss Parker is never a wise thing to do,” Jarod observed.
Broots smiled wryly. “You’re taking advice on your love life from a man who has a horrible track record for his own,” Broots said. “Who said anything about it being wise?”
Jarod’s laughter was a delighted, carefree sound. “You may have a point,” he chuckled.
“I know I do,” Broots said with an exaggerated rolling of his eyes. “My love life is nonexistent. I’m not sure I’d remember what to do with a woman in my bed.”
The pretender snickered. “It’s like riding a bike,” he said. “Once you figure out how, you never forget.”
“You’re doing it all wrong, Jarod,” Broots said pointedly. “It is nothing like riding a bike. No bike I’ve ever seen at any rate.”
At that, Jarod burst into a fit of laughter that was simply contagious. The two men laughed so hard that they nearly fell over. They were still chuckling when they reached the end of the beach. Turning back, they retraced their steps along the surf. As they headed back to the hotel, Broots continued searching the sand for the perfect seashell.
-
