Just like me

The divider showed just enough of her body to draw his attention to it. A moment later he averted his eyes when she emerged, wrapping the robe tightly around her. Ignoring the sudden feel of tension in the air, he said, “It’s not exactly the monk’s brandy but Ocee says it’s good for emotional upheaval.”

“Can she back a truckload of it up to my house?”

Jarod sighed, placing the tea on a small table. “Let the storm rage outside, Miss Parker, not inside you.”

“Easy for you to say, Jarod. A graveyard full of Parkers burned to death by their father, my great-grandfather… the same year my great-grandfather arrived, alone, and founded the Centre. Generation after generation. That evil…has been passed down to me.”

“You know who you are.”

“I’m a Parker and with every new revelation in my life, my family portrait becomes a more hideous picture.”

She sat down before the fire place, watching as Jarod picked up her forgotten cup of tea and brought it over. She sighed.

“Do you remember when we were kids, that night that I snuck you into my father’s office?”

“You said if I were really a genius that I would help you figure out where your father hid the present he bought you on his business trip. And later you found it exactly where I said it would be,” he uttered with his trademark smirk.

“Yeah. Only it wasn’t. I just told you it was because I was so disappointed. My father lied about buying it. The pathetic part is that I’ve been searching for that gift from Daddy ever since.”

“Your father, the Centre – manipulation is what they do. The only present they ever left us with was emptiness.”

“All those Parker graves out there go way beyond empty. Which brings me back to wondering…”

“Who it is you really are?”

“I don’t know now if I ever really want to know.”

“Yes. Yes, you do.”

Miss Parker clutched the robe with both hands. A moment later Jarod folded a blanket around her shoulders. Their fingers touched and she froze before pulling the blanket even tighter around her body.

“The Centre wants us to believe that finding the truth is a mistake. That looking for answers about who we really are is futile and finding any kind of connection outside their control is wrong.” Jarod paused briefly, watching her face tense, knowing he had hit a sore spot. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you can feel it. You’ve been a Centre prisoner all these years, just like me. And with every discovery you find, you’re every bit the outcast.” Miss Parker turned watching him as he said, “Just like me.”

“Why is it that the one person that I’ve been trained to distrust, to hate, to capture…is always with me during the most difficult moments of my life.”

“Maybe it’s supposed to be that way.”

And a timeless moment later, they started to lean towards each other for their first promise of a kiss.

He awoke again in the slow, aimless hours between midnight and morning. It was something more diffuse than nightmares that woke him, an inkling that something was impossibly wrong. He sat up, glancing at the closed door first before looking at the red blinking light of the camera. He couldn’t pinpoint the sense of his trepidation and it frustrated him.

Sighing, he lay back down and closed his eyes, willing the uncomfortable feeling to go away. A moment later he drifted back to sleep.

She heard him whisper her name. She closed her eyes, feeling his lips moving along her cheek. A short intake of breath escaped involuntarily when his lips touched hers and then his tongue was inside her and she tasted him. There was a hint of cherry mixed with coffee. And as the kiss deepened she smelled the rain, felt the wind tuck at their clothes.

Miss Parker was at peace. A deep pervasive calm had settled inside her, something she had not experienced in years. She couldn’t explain it, couldn’t justify it. By rights she should’ve been terrified, knowing what the Centre and more importantly, Lyle was capable of doing.

After all, the chances that she was going to die were almost certain.

She fought with desperation, knowing that in the end, it might not be enough. The bodies of the sweepers she had killed surrounded her, their blood splattered across her face and body.

Her gun empty, she had used it as a club with precision and cold calculation measured in each stroke.

“What’s your name…you’re first name?”

A moment later she was there, whispering it in his ear.

She felt a rib crack. Grunted. Swung away from the second fist she saw coming, her arm snapping upwards to block it.

“You know, girls mature faster than boys.”

She staggered, went down. Saw the foot coming and somehow managed to roll away before forcing herself to her feet again. Blood dripped from a cut in her eyebrow and she wiped at it with irritation. And then they were on her again…

“You’re a… girl.”

She was weightless for a moment and then the she impacted with the wall. She collapsed to the floor, nearly blacking out from the impact. She gasped for breath and struggled up again, tightening her grip on the gun, surprised that she hadn’t lost it yet. There was blood and dust in her eyes and she could barely see. She caught movement to her right and turned, slashing with arms that were almost too tired to lift her makeshift club.

“My name is Jarod. What is your name?”

A forearm hammered into her face with such force that she was knocked sprawling and dazed. Heavy limbs pounded. Fiery pain lanced down her body. She felt her right arm go numb. She could tell something tore inside her as a heavy foot connected to her stomach, forcing already non-existent air further out of her body.

She looked towards her father and when he gave his consent, she turned back to the wall and said, “Miss Parker.”

She struggled to rise but found that her legs were not working. Blood pounded loud in her ears and she couldn’t even make it to her knees. She was aware of voices that surrounded her, of vague images and feelings of dread and despair and hopelessness.

His eyes dark with passion looked at her with possession and she found that she didn’t mind it at all. He cupped her face, bringing his own closer and he kissed her.

She didn’t have strength left to fight anymore. And as her world faded to nothingness, she whispered his name. She swore she felt his lips on hers, tender soft against the bruises and blood, kissing all her hurt away.

“Parker!”

Jarod stared at the wall, his breathing fast, his body dripping with sweat. The sense of foreboding had deepened and what was worse, it all centered on one person.

He thought he had heard her whisper his name, had heard her tell him that she loved him. He could still feel the warmth from the fire that danced in the fireplace, could still smell her, could still see her smile, her eyes soft and filled with tenderness he’d rarely seen in her.

The feeling of dread wouldn’t leave him.

Somewhere in Virginia

“You were right. She did exactly as was predicted.”

“And you were ready?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have both in custody?”

“We have Jarod’s mother fairly unharmed.”

“What about Miss Parker?”

“Mr. Lyle, are you there? Is Miss Parker still alive? Answer me!”

“She resisted; we had to use force.”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Mr. Lyle. I want to know if she is still alive.”

“They’re working on her now,” he said flippantly. “I sent for a helicopter to take us directly back to the Centre. Have the medical team standing by. I’ll personally deliver Margaret to your office.”

Margaret exited the helicopter slowly, ignoring Lyle’s hand. It must’ve been close to 35 years since she had been here last. Since that night she had come here, hoping for closure. Hoping to find her son. And failing. Tears slid silently down her cheeks and she wiped them away quickly, not wanting to appear weak even though she felt her stomach rebelling at the thought of being back inside the Centre.

She had kept her side of the bargain.

Why did they want her here? Why now.

She followed Lyle to a door set in the concrete and as she entered the Centre she remembered a similar time, so long ago…

“Oh God, Catherine, he’s gone.”

“Who? Is it Charles?”

“No, it’s Jarod. He’s taken my little boy, Cat. I…I can’t….”

“Margaret, listen to me. We’ll get him. Okay, we’ll get him back. Where are you now?”

“I’m here, in Blue Cove. I’m going to get him back. I have to….”

“Wait, where are you? Let me come and get you, we’ll go in together. Maybe I’ll be able to help?”

“Uh, I’m outside the bank. I left Charles at the farmstead. He…he doesn’t know I’m here. You…you have to promise me you won’t tell him. Please, Cat. Please promise me.”

“Okay, I promise. Just wait for me, okay. Don’t do anything stupid.”

It was Catherine that had stopped her from falling apart completely. She knew why this had happened, why her little boy had been taken from her. She had her suspicions when Jarod had been tested by NuGenesis but had hoped that they’d be left alone because of the promise she had made to him. And because of the promise, she had thought her family safe from his attention. From his insanity. She knew then with certainty that nothing in her life would ever be safe again; that it would be forever changed by the knowledge of what her little boy’s disappearance meant. And Charles hadn’t known about her past. He had asked once and she had told him that it didn’t matter because she didn’t want him to know. She had told him that she had no family even though that had been a lie.

“Margaret?”

She looked up from where she had been sitting on the steps. Catherine’s worried gaze met hers and she started to sob, unable to hold her fear and grief at bay. Catherine sat down next to her, pulling her into her arms as she cried, her eyes stinging with tears. But she couldn’t be comforted, not with the knowledge she had. She willed herself to stop crying and took a deep breath, wiping at the tears and moving away from Catherine’s embrace.

“I have to find him. I need your help to get him away from there.”

She didn’t meet Catherine’s eyes, kept staring at her shoes while she tried to imagine feeling Jarod’s arms around her again. Her little boy.

“I’ll ask my husband about Jarod. Maybe he’ll know if Jarod…”

“No!” Catharine shrank away from her forceful reply, surprise etched into her widened eyes as Margaret turned and grabbed her hands, holding on tightly. She knew she was hurting her friend, but she needed that lifeline, needed it to feel grounded. Needed it like she never had before.

“I want us to go there now. I want my little boy back.”

“Margaret, he might not even be there.”

“Don’t say that! He’s there. I know it. I can feel it,” Margaret pleaded, knowing that she sounded desperate; sounded like a mother clutching at straws. Dammit. She was allowed some feelings. This was her son.

“Okay, but you’ll have to trust me, Margaret. I’ll have to smuggle you inside and I don’t know if I can do it alone. Maybe we should contact Jacob. He’ll know where Jarod is.”

“He’s one of them. I can’t trust him. Not with Jarod. We have to do this. I know you’ll get me in. Please Cat, please do this for me.”

“Shush, okay, Margaret, we’ll do it your way.”

They left less than a minute later, driving towards the Centre in Catherine’s Cadillac. It was a big car and she fit comfortably in the trunk, hidden underneath a rug in case the sweepers did a spot check. They made it through security at the main gate and she breathed a sigh of relief even though she knew only the easiest part of her mission was completed.

Catherine parked underground, away from the ever present cameras; they entered the building unnoticed.

“Do you know where they would be keeping him?”

She was suddenly frightened that they’d come all this way and that Catherine wouldn’t know. She had somehow assumed that her friend would guide her right towards the room where her boy was kept, that she’d know how to get there. Catherine nodded hesitantly and Margaret closed her eyes briefly, lifting up a prayer that it would be true. They wandered through dank corridors, up and down empty concrete hallways with dim lighting every few feet. She didn’t want to think about her baby in this place. Couldn’t think of it.

An intermittent time later, she didn’t know how long, they stumbled upon a viewing room. It looked over a big room, at least two stories up from where the glass box in the centre of the room stood. And she saw her boy encased inside, sitting on a chair, his head resting on his arms on a table. She reached out for the glass, felt the coolness of it against her fingertips as her heart broke for her son.

She needed to go down there, needed to be with him. Needed to take him away from these people.

Because she knew all too well what they could and would do to him. She knew all too well what he was capable of.

“I thought I would find you here.”

She froze. She knew that voice but only had eyes for her little boy, knowing fully the distance that separated them might just as well have been a thousand miles.

“I’m disappointed in you both. You should’ve known better Margie, then to come here.”

“He’s my son.”

She felt the sweepers’ hands on her shoulders and tried to shrug them off. She didn’t want to leave her spot just yet; didn’t want to acknowledge the defeat that tasted like ashes in her mouth. He was standing behind her, confidant that the sweepers would keep her in check. Margaret didn’t need to turn to know that his dark eyes would be appraising her. Like he always did.

“Not anymore.”

“You can’t do this…Please!” she screamedand even as she said it, she knew it would mean nothing to the man standing behind her. That nothing she’d say or do will change his mind.

“It’s done. Unless you want to see him hurt, I suggest you forget about Jarod and about the Centre. If you ever come here again, I’ll kill him in front of you.”

She turned, her rage evident, as she stared into his malevolent eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“You already know what I’m capable of, Margie. What makes you think this will be any different?”

“He’s just a small child. Let him go. He can’t hurt you. He doesn’t even know about you.”

“No.”

Just one word but it tore her heart in two. Her little boy. Here. NO! She couldn’t allow it. She tried to get to him, to tear him to pieces with her hands but she even failed to achieve that.

She lost her little boy to the Centre. Her greatest fear on this earth had just come to fruition.

And it was all her fault

And here she was, 35 years later and back at the monolith dedicated to the destruction of lives. This time she was with Catherine’s daughter. She gave a quick prayer for her recovery. She had tried to stop the sweepers but had been held back, forced to watch while they continued their battering. Lyle had held on to her arm with one hand, his gun pressed hard enough into her side to leave a bruise. And Catherine’s daughter had continued to fight long after even most men would’ve given up.

And she wondered as she was led down those same dank and dimly lit corridors to the Director’s office, if they’d allow her to see her son again. Even if it would be from a distance.

She could only hope.