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Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: The Pretender and its characters, Miss Parker, Jarod, etc, belong to NBC. Any other character that isn't part of the show belongs to me (meaning I made them up).
Author's note: This story is a prequel to my Shadows of the Past series. Be warned this story is quite dark (at least I tried to make it dark), and contains offensive language as well as gruesome violence. A quick thank you to Sarah for some much needed translating, Yip, Ambrosia, and Terri for putting my story on their page, and anyone else that helped me that I forgot to mention. Most of all I would like to thank Andrea Parker for playing Miss Parker so well and inspiring me to write.
They called it the Centre. Built in a cheery little town in Blue Cove, Delaware it was a place that inspired hope and ingenuity. But dark forces soon closed its choking grasp around it, poisoning and corrupting with its hideous touch. Not too long after Hitler's fall, the denizens of the Third Reich nested within the Centre, and their empire grew again. They continued their depraved experiments, destroying the humanity of those they captured. Of all the 'daemons' in the Centre one surpassed all the others. This one was filled with such cruelty, evil, and malice it seemed that eternity with Satan was much more preferable. As with the start of the Third Reich people disregarded the perilous danger. They still went about their pathetic, meager, little lives ignorant of the darkness about to descend upon them. Some things never change...
Midnight Sun:
A Prequel to Shadows of the Past
By Chris Fujioka
Part One: The Dark Rises
Berlin, East Germany. March 8th, 1958.
Tension was building in East Germany. Riots broke out in the most unexpected moments. People would club neighbors half to death just for a loaf of bread. In East Germany the populace was starving, desolate, and envious of their counterparts in West Germany.
Catherine Jameson Parker was beginning to consider that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to come after all. Her husband would often say she was mule-headed when she had her mind set on something. Kind-hearted and passionate, Catherine Parker cherished life, especially the lives of the very young. So it came as no surprise when she decided to help a boy that would later cause her much grief.
She noticed the little boy when her sixth sense told her something was wrong. Indeed, something was very wrong.
"Are you alright? Do you need any help?" Catherine said in the most non-threatening tone she could.
"Mami," the boy cried, "Mami."
The boy wants his mother Catherine realized.
Trying to comfort the child she spoke in the best German she could. "Es ist alles in Ordnung, alles wird gut."
The boy looked at Catherine with empty eyes. "Mami," he repeated. The boy turned and Parker soon saw the blood. A lot of blood. It dripped down his left arm, reminding Catherine of the time she watched a cat drained of all its blood.
"Oh God, oh God," Catherine repeated over and over again. She ripped off part of her shirt and wrapped it around the wound on the boy's arm. Then she cradled the boy in her arms, careful not to make anything worse. As the boy was carried he screamed in pain, and tears finally came to his vacant eyes.
"Help, someone, please help," she shouted. Then considering the fact that no one might understand her she spoke in German. "Bitte, irgendjemand, helfmir!" She continued to shout, continued until she could shout no more.
People finally arrived, wondering what all the racket was about. But no one helped. Not a single soul cared if a little boy was dying. They had their own problems to worry about. And so they stood there, stood there and watched a boy die.
But Catherine cared. She would make them help her. As her temper and frustration began to rise she could hold back no longer. She cursed at them, called them cowards, weaklings, too concerned with their own hides, their own troubles.
Nothing in East Berlin goes unnoticed very long by the East German Secret Police or the Red Army. The gathered crowd scattered like leaves in the wind as they approached. Some were fortunate enough to escape. However, some were not. These unlucky souls were beaten, then forced to their knees. Catherine Parker didn't receive any better treatment. A soldier tore the child from her arms, and with the butt of his rifle, hit her in the stomach.
Why were they hurting her? Catherine wondered. She was only trying to help the boy. "Sie verstehen nicht, ich hab` versucht zu helfen," she told the soldiers.
"Do you think they care if you were only trying to help? You are such a naďve fool." An old hag of a woman appeared from behind the soldiers. Her voice was poison, her cold stare like hellfire, and she seemed to radiate pure evil and malice. She lifted one bony arm and shook her finger in Catherine's face. "You shouldn't be so far away from America, girl. Now you'll pay the price for your idiocy." The old crone issued one order to the soldiers. "Tötet sie, tötet sie ALLE."
Those that were on there knees were now dead, laying in their own blood. The echo of gunfire could still be heard. Admist all the chaos the little boy shivered. Merciless the old woman stepped in front of the boy, pulled out a Luger, and aimed it at his head.
"Mami," the young child whispered.
"NO!" Catherine screamed. She struggled against the soldiers, but she could do nothing. She watched, helpless, as the old hag pulled the trigger, ending the boy's life.
"Let that be a lesson to you, Catherine Parker. No one can hope to challenge the Centre. Be grateful I did not take your life as well." The threat in the old woman's voice was clear, and the next mistake Catherine made could be her very last. But there were worst things than death. And Catherine Parker would discover that all too soon.
The soldiers holding Catherine dropped her. Then they beat her bloody, hating her for her easygoing American lifestyle and what they perceived as Western Imperialism, hated her because of her beauty, and so they continued to mar her radiance, and then they left her, bruised and broken, surrounded by death. Catherine Parker welcomed the darkness that soon engulfed her.
Author's note: This story is a prequel to my Shadows of the Past series. Be warned this story is quite dark (at least I tried to make it dark), and contains offensive language as well as gruesome violence. A quick thank you to Sarah for some much needed translating, Yip, Ambrosia, and Terri for putting my story on their page, and anyone else that helped me that I forgot to mention. Most of all I would like to thank Andrea Parker for playing Miss Parker so well and inspiring me to write.
They called it the Centre. Built in a cheery little town in Blue Cove, Delaware it was a place that inspired hope and ingenuity. But dark forces soon closed its choking grasp around it, poisoning and corrupting with its hideous touch. Not too long after Hitler's fall, the denizens of the Third Reich nested within the Centre, and their empire grew again. They continued their depraved experiments, destroying the humanity of those they captured. Of all the 'daemons' in the Centre one surpassed all the others. This one was filled with such cruelty, evil, and malice it seemed that eternity with Satan was much more preferable. As with the start of the Third Reich people disregarded the perilous danger. They still went about their pathetic, meager, little lives ignorant of the darkness about to descend upon them. Some things never change...
Midnight Sun:
A Prequel to Shadows of the Past
By Chris Fujioka
Part One: The Dark Rises
Berlin, East Germany. March 8th, 1958.
Tension was building in East Germany. Riots broke out in the most unexpected moments. People would club neighbors half to death just for a loaf of bread. In East Germany the populace was starving, desolate, and envious of their counterparts in West Germany.
Catherine Jameson Parker was beginning to consider that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to come after all. Her husband would often say she was mule-headed when she had her mind set on something. Kind-hearted and passionate, Catherine Parker cherished life, especially the lives of the very young. So it came as no surprise when she decided to help a boy that would later cause her much grief.
She noticed the little boy when her sixth sense told her something was wrong. Indeed, something was very wrong.
"Are you alright? Do you need any help?" Catherine said in the most non-threatening tone she could.
"Mami," the boy cried, "Mami."
The boy wants his mother Catherine realized.
Trying to comfort the child she spoke in the best German she could. "Es ist alles in Ordnung, alles wird gut."
The boy looked at Catherine with empty eyes. "Mami," he repeated. The boy turned and Parker soon saw the blood. A lot of blood. It dripped down his left arm, reminding Catherine of the time she watched a cat drained of all its blood.
"Oh God, oh God," Catherine repeated over and over again. She ripped off part of her shirt and wrapped it around the wound on the boy's arm. Then she cradled the boy in her arms, careful not to make anything worse. As the boy was carried he screamed in pain, and tears finally came to his vacant eyes.
"Help, someone, please help," she shouted. Then considering the fact that no one might understand her she spoke in German. "Bitte, irgendjemand, helfmir!" She continued to shout, continued until she could shout no more.
People finally arrived, wondering what all the racket was about. But no one helped. Not a single soul cared if a little boy was dying. They had their own problems to worry about. And so they stood there, stood there and watched a boy die.
But Catherine cared. She would make them help her. As her temper and frustration began to rise she could hold back no longer. She cursed at them, called them cowards, weaklings, too concerned with their own hides, their own troubles.
Nothing in East Berlin goes unnoticed very long by the East German Secret Police or the Red Army. The gathered crowd scattered like leaves in the wind as they approached. Some were fortunate enough to escape. However, some were not. These unlucky souls were beaten, then forced to their knees. Catherine Parker didn't receive any better treatment. A soldier tore the child from her arms, and with the butt of his rifle, hit her in the stomach.
Why were they hurting her? Catherine wondered. She was only trying to help the boy. "Sie verstehen nicht, ich hab` versucht zu helfen," she told the soldiers.
"Do you think they care if you were only trying to help? You are such a naďve fool." An old hag of a woman appeared from behind the soldiers. Her voice was poison, her cold stare like hellfire, and she seemed to radiate pure evil and malice. She lifted one bony arm and shook her finger in Catherine's face. "You shouldn't be so far away from America, girl. Now you'll pay the price for your idiocy." The old crone issued one order to the soldiers. "Tötet sie, tötet sie ALLE."
Those that were on there knees were now dead, laying in their own blood. The echo of gunfire could still be heard. Admist all the chaos the little boy shivered. Merciless the old woman stepped in front of the boy, pulled out a Luger, and aimed it at his head.
"Mami," the young child whispered.
"NO!" Catherine screamed. She struggled against the soldiers, but she could do nothing. She watched, helpless, as the old hag pulled the trigger, ending the boy's life.
"Let that be a lesson to you, Catherine Parker. No one can hope to challenge the Centre. Be grateful I did not take your life as well." The threat in the old woman's voice was clear, and the next mistake Catherine made could be her very last. But there were worst things than death. And Catherine Parker would discover that all too soon.
The soldiers holding Catherine dropped her. Then they beat her bloody, hating her for her easygoing American lifestyle and what they perceived as Western Imperialism, hated her because of her beauty, and so they continued to mar her radiance, and then they left her, bruised and broken, surrounded by death. Catherine Parker welcomed the darkness that soon engulfed her.
