Disclaimer: I don't own "The Pretender"
Jarod couldn't believe it. He felt responsible for her death as if he had crushed her heart into his bare hands. He had been at a park in the midst of watching a little league game, cheering and smiling at the players when his phone rang. The blue skies reminded him of Miss Parker's eyes. Sky-blue, he once told her. He never smiled again.
He reminisced of his last conversation with her just a week ago. It was an unusual phone call. Parker had been the one who initiated the call.
Flashback
"It's been weeks, Jarod. What have you been up to?" She slurred.
"Miss Parker? Is that you?"
"The one and only."
"I thought I was the one to do the calling."
"Just thought you needed a change of pace. I missed my best friend." Her voice was soft and he barely recognized her for it was not the usual tone he had grown accustomed to.
"Something wrong, Miss Parker?" He queried concerned.
There was silence.
"You've been drinking again. Told you it's bad for your health, bad for your ulcers," he scolded.
"Fine, Jar, I'm fine. Come over and play with me."
"Parker, Parker, Parker. You think I was born yesterday? No sooner would I get there, I'm sure you and your sweepers will return me to "The Centre"."
"Not today, Jar. I'm calling a truce. Play with me? Just for today. I promise to be good."
"Put your drink down, go to bed and sleep it off. Maybe I'll call you in a few days."
End of Flashback
Paramedics found her sprawled on the living room floor with a bottle of sleeping pills in one hand and a bottle of scotch in the other. She was lifeless. She died alone. Miss Parker had been reaching out for help and she called the one person who had always been a friend to her. Only he hadn't recognized her plea for help. Some pretender he told himself. He had impersonated as a psychiatrist for more than once, yet, he failed to see the warning signs of grief, depression and loneliness.
He pretended no more. Jarod walked around the face of the earth like there was no tomorrow.
Dressed in his usual
attire, black jeans, tee-shirt and his leather jacket, he sat outside
of Miss Parker's house with feelings of
guilt and anger.
"I'm sorry, Parker," he yelled out. Only she was not around to hear him anymore.
Jarod reached for his cell phone and hit number two on his speed dial. Number one had been Parker's. "Can people die from grief? I'm here at Parker's," he told the person on the other end of the line.
Sydney's phone call had been intercepted by "The Centre", knowing that their "boy genius" would be calling his mentor. Two black limos pulled up in front and the sweepers aimed their 9mms at him. He wasn't surprised by their arrival. Sydney and Broots pulled up a couple of minutes later and watched helplessly. Parker would have wanted for them to have helped Jarod escape instead of being returned to that god-forsaken place. She could have brought him in on numerous occasions, but found every excuse she could think of on why she had lost him.
Jarod stood slowly up, raised his hands above his head and walked towards them. He stopped just a few feet away as the hunters were taken aback, they lowered their guns. Only Lyle stood at a stance with his weapon ready to pull the trigger at the slightest sudden movement.
Jarod looked at him blankly and spoke in a low-toned voice.
"Hit me with your best shot," he told Lyle.
The End