Sometimes, things are too broken to be fixed. No matter what you do, no matter what you try, no matter the effort you put in or the new parts you buy. Sometimes there’s just nothing left you can do but realize it’s time to let things go. Time to stop fighting and move on.

I look at my son and I realize now the truth of what my family has done. What my blood has done to him. I ignore the violence of the moment, ignore the smell of death as I try to think of what I want to say and more importantly, of how to say my deepest, darkest secret that is not even realized in my worst nightmares.

My megalomaniac father’s broken body lies at my feet, his eyes in death just as accusing, just as tormenting as they had been in life. I do not feel anguish or bereavement. In fact, I feel nothing as a glance down at his stiffening corpse. I had known all along it would come to this; it was inevitable….

That my son would kill my father.

That this would be Jarod’s cross to bear.

******************

Waking up was like coming out of deep sleep, suddenly and without warning. It was like the time when Jarod had woken her that first time he had phoned her.

“Oh! I intentionally wake you in your deepest sleep stage and all I get is a lifeless ‘what’?”

Damn Jarod. Why couldn’t he leave her in peace for just one minute? Why did he have to come and confuse the hell out of her perfect little screwed up world? She was perfectly happy with being Daddy’s girl. At least it was what she knew. With her life and her friends and her distorted memories of who she was supposed to be.

“Do you think we’ll ever find that kind of love in our lives?”

And now she had a deadfather who had pretended to be a hero for once and had taken a dive from a plane, telling her that someday she’ll understand.

Yeah right.

All it meant was that she had ended up learning that her mother’s death was faked and then to confuse her even more, she discovered that her mother had in realitydied a little less than a year later. That her father most probably wasn’t her father but her uncle.

And that she had married the guy that had not only been her best friend when she had been growing up, but also had been the guy she had chased ruthlessly for 5 years at the behest of her father.

For the promise that she’d be free from the Centre at the guy’s expense.

“The true casualties of war are always the innocent.”

No shit. And now she was back at the Centre. Even with all the assurances and promises that Jarod had given her, she was back.

Damn him.

Why did she have to go and fall in love with him?

Hadn’t Tommy’s death taught her anything about the capabilities of the Centre. About the lengths to which the powers that be are willing to go to keep her here. To keep Jarod here.

That’s the wonderful thing about life, Miss Parker. If you change the story, the ending is up to you.”

It was as if she was back there again, on that damn island where so much had changed. Where she had finally realized that Jarod was right. As always.

Maybe it’s time that the story gets changed.

Maybe it’s time that she determines the ending.

After all, what else can go wrong?

******************

On some distant plane Jarod realized what he had done. He ignored his mother, ignored the dead bodies around him. Dropping the gun, he moved away towards the window where the winter storm still raged.

“Jarod?”

He felt numb inside. He had no idea anymore who he was supposed to be. All his hopes and dreams seemed just as scattered as the waves that were tossed against the rocks down below.

What was he?

A child? A man?

A puppet.

A pretender.

He wasn’t real.

Did he even exist?

“Miss Parker?”

Sydney sighed in relief when she moaned and then opened her eyes.

“Daughter help friend.”

Miss Parker blinked up at Angelo. Then it looked like she visibly gathered her thoughts and the inner strength that Sydney had seen so many times over the years.

“Lyle?”

Her voice had a steely edge to it, her eyes dark and determined.

“Dead."

She nodded and then reached for his hand to pull herself up. Sydney tried to stop her, tried to protest about internal injuries and that she was too weak.

Angelo though seemed to understand what it was that Miss Parker needed to do.

A moment later he had her in his arms, making her way down the hall towards the elevators.

All Sydney could do was follow.

She tried again to reach him. Jarod was staring out the window, his eyes intent on the surf down below.

“Jarod. Please. You’re scaring me.”

He didn’t acknowledge her plea. Kept staring down and when she touched him, he didn’t startle, didn’t move.

Jarod’s body was in the room.

His mind most definitely wasn’t.

Margaret had no idea what to do.

Except pray.

Angelo seemed to know where to go.

For some strange reason there were no sweepers around. Everything seemed quiet but it gave Sydney the same sense of calm just before a storm. As if the whole Centre was waiting for the violence to erupt, for that pivotal moment in time where everything changes.

They rode in silence, watching the numbers change in the Tower’s lift. Then they reached the floor Angelo had pressed. The doors opened on a hallway that seemed to stretch ominously before them. A deep burgundy carpet decorated the floor, starkly different against the eggshell colored walls. The light was set to dim, the effect a nightmarish scene seemingly straight from a horror movie.

No wonder those that returned from the Tower had that look in their eyes. That look that said they had seen hell and survived it.

Angelo exited the lift, Sydney in tow as they made their way slowly down the hallway. Two turns later and they came to a halt in front of an open door. Miss Parker gave a short command. Sydney thought of protesting, but it fell empty against his lips.

Nothing was going to stop Miss Parker from walking through that door.

Not even her own broken body.

Margaret turned from where she had been standing next to Jarod to see Miss Parker enter the room. Her face was ashen, white against the dark mahogany of her hair. She couldn’t believe that Miss Parker was even standing, even alive after the beating she had witnessed.

But then again, Miss Parker was her mother’s little girl and the same strength she had seen in Catherine now showed in Miss Parker.

“What happened here?”

While Margaret was tryingto come up with answers, an impatientSydney brushed by Miss Parker, making straight for his prodigy.

“Jarod?”

Margaret watched as Sydney gently touched Jarod, watched as his eyes filmed in unshed tears as he tried to get the Pretender’s attention again without any luck.

She sighed.

So many things have gone wrong in the past 24 hours.

Sometimes, just sometimes, things are too broken to be fixed.